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criminalamnesia · 3 months

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the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

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chrollohearttags · 8 months

Text

kinktober day five

character: multiple (written with some of my fav, big dick slanging demons in mind: tengen, taiju, takita, zoro, draken, gojo, ony, etc.)

kink: size kink

show: multiple (JJK, Demon Slayer, OP, AOT, TR, etc.)

word count: less than 1K idk

content + themes: squirting, heavy drinking, dirty talk, subby reader (described as plus sized), daddy’s used, slaps the reader like once, choking, halloween themed (they’re in costumes), missionary

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ── ･｡ﾟ☆:

“..nngh! Daddy..okayyy, fuck! It hurts..”

“Ah, ah…I don’t wanna here that now. Take it..take this dick like you said you would earlier.”

if there was ever a time in your life that the sentiment of “eating your words” had stood true, then it was this moment right here..somehow, your seemingly normal night of partying and dancing with friends at a fun Halloween party had quickly turned into you being drilled into your plush mattress and your legs pinned back behind your ears! Truthfully, it wasn’t the first time you’d landed yourself in this type of predicament and most certainly wouldn’t be the last but there was a certain intensity about your man that you couldn’t quite pinpoint…perhaps it was your constant misconduct. Being a brat and defying him when he told you you’d had one too many. Insisting you were fine and snatching away. Or maybe even shaking your ass on another man in an attempt to make him jealous. Whatever the root cause, you were certainly regretting your poor decision!

“ ‘S too much…goddamn..so fucking big.”

instead of chopping it up with your girls or taking pictures in those matching Spider-Man and Spider-girl fits, the crotch area had been torn to shreds and his hand was cradling your throat with a vice grip. Your entire lower half was trembling in immense pleasure; sticky from the constant stimulation that tight little pussy being pounded into oblivion. Cream dripping all down the sides of your plush, mocha colored thighs..such a perfect contrast. Clutching your own legs, you’d claw those long acrylics into your skin as those brown eyes rolled to the back of your skull; your body jolted around by those deep, unrelenting strokes. Although you two fucked like animals, it never made it any easier to adjust to how massive he was. Even after trying his damndest to train that body of yours, you could never take him past the halfway point. That thick girth, mushroom tip swollen from the repetitive prodding and those big, round balls smacking against your clit. It felt amazing but it was always a challenge. Releasing a series of whiny and shrill cries, you’d attempt to paw at his shredded six pack but to no avail, you couldn’t keep him out of you. The collision of your flesh filling the room alongside his deep voice, taunting you endlessly..it certainly didn’t help when his larger frame towered over you as well. Regardless of you being a bit bigger than the average woman, he handled you as if you weighed nothing more than that of a feather. Picking you up and thrashing you around at his leisure..it was so hot!

“Talk your shit now, baby. C’mon. Talk that shit with my dick inside of you.”

giving you another reminder not to try him with his thumb circling your clit. His hands soon made place on your pudgy little tummy, which he used to reign you in. His thrusts because faster by the second and you were coming unglued even quicker, quivering and quaking, he’d soon bog all of his weight down on your frame, truly honing in on your sweet spot. He was ensuring you had nowhere to run..it wasn’t long before that tight cunt was squeezing him with all your might and letting those first few inches stretch you open, just enough to get exactly what he wanted. “Come..” his only command and you’d follow shortly thereafter with a giant stream of spraying juices that coated his pecs and abs. A show that didn’t halt for almost an entire minute!…leaving you completely paralyzed with pleasure. Smacking your thigh, your boyfriend cackled in the most maniacal manner as he watched you writhe underneath him. Offering only more snarky remarks rather than solace.

“Next time, don’t get cute and make a scene in front of your little friends..you’re not in charge here, remember that.”

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fraugwinska · 2 months

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Okay but can you do an Al that quite likes to be put in his place by the reader behind closed doors? Can be sfw or NSFW, your choice. Radio Demon deserves to let off some steam losing control. 😏

Oh, what a fun ask that was - I approached it the best way I could, and I for one love it :D My gift to you and everyone who wants to! Attention: This is not mild, it's getting ✨spicy✨! ;>

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hard Day

There were three telltale signs.

Alastor had come home from another meeting of the overlords. He greeted Charlie and the others with his usual smile and the obligatory mocking quip at Angels playful flirtations. But what others didn't see was blatantly obvious to you.

One: His left eye twitched constantly.

Niffty and you were on dinner duty that evening, so the kitchen was, despite your best efforts to tidy up behind her, a raging mess of pots, chopped ingredients and various spots of sauces and suspect fluids. When Alastor came in to get himself a cup of coffee and saw the mess, he excessively scolded the poor girl for being unnecessarily messy.

Two: Losing his patience with Niffty.

After dinner, you and him would routinely join Husk at the bar, you for a digestif, him to get into 'entertaining' banter with the cat demon, who'd pour him a glass of whiskey or two while they'd bicker. Today, he stayed quiet, just played an experimental jazz song from his cane, and when Husk reached for the bottle of rye, Alastor shook his head.

Three: Arhythmical tapping of his claws on the barcounter.

You downed your drink and exclaimed loudly that you were tired. Like a routine, Husk grinned as he took you glass back, turned away to give Alastor the cue to shoot you that look, and the deer followed you silently, taking the invitingly open hand of yours when you were out of sight.

You beelined straight to your room - not his, that was his domain, his kingdom where he could rule over you - the wrong place for tonight.

You lead him through the door, letting go of his hand and locking it behind you. When you turned, he had already loosened his tie, throwing it on the ground with a frustrated huff, brows furrowed and gums showing from the tightness of his snarl.

“Hard day.” You don't ask: you state; and he paced through your room, struggling. You knew the drill, you waited, patiently, neutral. You knew how hard it was for him to overcome his desire to control, to willingly give it up, but also, how much he needed it in these moments.

Finally, he came to rest his head on your shoulder, forehead pressed in the crook of your neck.

“Please.”, he whispered, the voice filter completely gone. The go point. You smiled.

“Sit.”

You followed him to your bed, where he did as he was told. Sitting down on the edge, ears pressed against his head, gaze fixed on the carpet.

You unbuttoned his coat, pushing it off his shoulders and away from him. Then the vest, then his shirt. The silence only disturbed by occasional fizzing of his static, a hint of his inner turmoil of letting you take the lead.

You ignored it, throwing the discarded clothes on a chair nearby. You placed your hands on each of his shoulders, and leaned in. Hungrily, he took your lips, his tongue slid out, licking over them to demand entrance - you stopped, face neutral.

“No.”, you said, not harsh, but firm.

“No.”, he repeated, sighing.

As you returned to his mouth, you let your hands wander, over his collarbone, smooth and grayish, fading into soft, red fur on his chest and onto his back - firm, tense, rigid.

He didn't attempt another grab for power, although you knew his body wanted to. His claws dug into the mattress, as if to prevent them from grabbing your flesh. He was shaking.

You knelt down before him, hands already on the buttons of his trousers. Your steady eyes stayed glued on his burning ones. He took a sharp breath when you stroked his freed, already hard member, a slow, soft, explorative stroke. He closed his eyes.

“No.”, you said again, and he opened them immediately, irises shifting to dials and back. “Eyes on me, my buck.”

The pet name made him shiver, a low groan escaped his throat. Your lips twitched with a smile - moments like these made you feel so immensely happy, to be the one the big bad Radio Demon was submitting to, letting him be weak before you.

With a hum, you took him in your mouth, sliding your lips down his shaft as far as you could. He answered with a moan, deliberate and desperate. His head fell back, you heard your sheets ripping from his tightening grip. Up and down, with your tongue swirling over his reddened tip at every stroke, you sucked him into frenzied panting.

His right hand lifted, reached for your hair, intended to grip it, to guide you on his cock, but you caught him on his wrist, popping him out of you with harsh coldness.

“Ah ah ah.”, you tutted, tilting your head at him. He looked almost manic at this point. “Only good boys are allowed to cum. And you want to cum, my buck, don't you?”

Alastor growled, but it sounded more like a whine.

“I can't hear you.”, you teased with a single stroke of your hand on his throbbing member.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then behave.”

He did. His moans and growls became more heated, loud and frantic as he let himself unravel inside your mouth. You felt him tremble, his thighs you gripped shaking under your fingers.

“Darling…”

You hummed, not relenting, keeping your pace. You knew what he wanted, what he needed, but he had to ask first.

“Darling… may I… “, he was gritting his teeth, beads of sweat on his temples and his grin on the verge of breaking. It was enough.

“Cum.” was all that you said, in the mere second your lips were breaking contact to his tip - it was all he needed. A heartbeat later, he came, violently, securely, in the safe and warm enclosure of your throat. You drank him up, swallowed two times so not to spill any of his precious seed, feeling him twitch inside and pant before you.

He pulled you up to him, onto his chest, and you let him - handing him the power back like a baton. He kissed you forcefully, his first instinct to reassure he was back in control, to return you to submission again - you smiled at that thought. He embraced you, tenderly, pressing you into him like a soft pillow, and took a long, content breath.

“Hard day.” he said, stroking your hair as you closed your eyes, relieved to hear his heart beat steady once more.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel niffty #quick fic #hazbin smut #hazbin hotel x reader

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togrowoldinv · 28 days

Text

Drill Lessons

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Natasha shows you how to use a power tool and your mutual crush comes to light

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, oral (N and R receiving)

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

To you, Natasha Romanoff is the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth.

You’ve been wanting to tell her for months that you like her. Ever since you joined the team you’ve had feelings for her. But you can’t get a read on her.

You have no idea if she has feelings for you too. Sometimes it feels like she’s flirting with you but then you see or hear her act the same way with one of the guys and you brush it off as nothing.

This weekend Clint invited everyone to his farm to enjoy a quick getaway and clear your heads. Missions hadn’t been easy lately, so you all needed the reprieve.

When you arrive, Natasha walks in the house first. She’s clearly very comfortable here.

“Welcome!” Laura says to everyone. “Come on in. Make yourselves at home!”

“Thank you for having us, Mrs. Barton,” you say when you greet her.

“Oh please, called me Laura,” she says. Then she addresses everyone, “We don’t have enough rooms so you’ll have to share. Nat, can y/n sleep with you?”

You try not to have a visceral reaction to the idea. You hold your breath as you await her reply.

“Sure,” Nat simply says. She turns to you, “I’ll show you the way.”

You follow her up the stairs where you run across a couple of kids.

“Auntie Nat?” A girl asks, in shock of seeing Nat.

“Hey malyshka,” Natasha replies. She brings the girl in for a hug. “Lila, this is y/n. Hopefully you won’t discover you like her more than you like me.”

You smile and wave to Lila. She returns the smile before running off downstairs.

Nat takes you down the hallway and to what appears to be her bedroom when she stays here. There are photos of the Barton family and Nat on the dresser. You admire how happy she looks here.

“I always sleep on the door side, but we’ll do whatever you feel comfortable with,” Nat says.

“Oh, either side works for me.”

Nat nods. You set your bag down on the bed and unpack a few things. Natasha moves around the room, gathering a few of her own things.

You both go back downstairs for the rest of the evening. Nothing too eventful happens. Everyone makes plans to spend time outside tomorrow.

Natasha is first to the bedroom. She slips into the bed casually. You try to do the same but fail miserably at not looking nervous.

“I don’t bite, you know,” Nat says teasingly.

“Right,” you respond too quickly. “I just- sorry.”

“Relax, y/n,” she says. You settle on your side of the bed. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Natasha.”

You both drift off into a peaceful sleep. You first, and then Natasha.

At some point during the night, you end up snuggling close to Natasha. She wakes up to the feeling of your arm draping over her. But she doesn’t mind it. Actually, she likes it.

When you wake up in the morning, you find yourself still nestled in her arms.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, trying to move off of her.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Nat says, only tightening her grip a bit before letting you loose. “So, you’re a cuddler, huh?”

You look away shyly and Nat just smirks. Now you definitely can’t believe you slept next to Natasha and accidentally snuggled with her all night. She doesn’t say anything else about it until you go downstairs for the day.

“Good morning!” Laura greets. She’s pulling fresh biscuits from the oven. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” you answer briefly.

“She sure was cozy,” Nat interjects. It’s just Laura in the room with you two, but you still try to hold back a blush.

“Mhm, I’m sure,” Laura replies. Somehow you’re sure she knows the way you feel about Nat and how Nat feels about you.

Soon, the boys come tumbling into the kitchen. You all go outside to do your respective chosen activities. Steve promised to show you how to chop wood while Nat and Clint run off to the barn to build a new shelter for some of the animals.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Romanoff?” Steve asks after a few minutes of chopping the wood.

“Oh, is there- is there a me and Romanoff?”

“Is there not?” He asks genuinely. “I’m sorry. I just thought that you two- nevermind.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, shrugging.

It does leave you wondering if the other members of the team think something is happening there too. You try not to think about it too much as you continue to work outside. The fresh air does wonders for you.

Steve asks you to go grab the axe sharpening block from the barn, so you walk to the structure. When you get there, you catch sight of something that makes your jaw practically drop to the ground.

Natasha is wearing only a blank tank top and shorts are she uses a power drill to build a wooden structure. Sweat drips down her neck and chest as she expertly uses the tool.

You swear she catches the sight of you out of the corner of her eye, but she continues on with her drilling. She lifts heavy pieces of wood with ease. You can’t stop staring.

Nat lifts her tank top up to wipe the sweat from her face. You see her ab happy stomach and the sports bra that’s keeping the rest of her skin covered.

“Enjoying the view?” Nat says aloud. You’ve definitely been caught now.

“Oh, I was just-“ you start, but there’s no use. You were doing exactly that. “My bad.”

“Don’t apologize,” Nat says. “Come on in, what did you need?”

“We needed the axe sharpener block thing?”

“Is that a question?”

“Well, I don’t know what it is so yes?”

Nat chuckles. She turns to look at the shelf behind her for the tool you need. Her backside somehow looks just as good as her front.

“Here you go,” Nat says. She hands you the block. You are standing close to her now. “The real fun is happening in there though. I can show you how to use this.”

She gestures to the drill in her left hand, pressing her finger on the trigger to make it whir. You shouldn’t be so intrigued by it. Or by her for that matter. But you are.

“Maybe tomorrow you can show me?” You ask her.

“How about tonight?” Nat asks. Her voice drops an octave. You pray she means what you think she means.

You swallow shyly and Nat shoots you a smile. Slowly, you leave her there and go back to Steve. He doesn’t mention how long it took you to get the tool, thank goodness.

Later that day, you all grill out burgers and hotdogs. Clint tries to show off his grilling skills, but the team just gives him a hard time saying that it’s not all that hard anyways.

By the time evening comes, everyone’s sitting around a campfire. Natasha sits across from you. She glances at her phone and then to you as a way of alerting you to look at your phone.

The text reads: Meet me in the barn. 10 minutes.

You nod in her direction to acknowledge you got the message. The minutes pass by and you both leave to go to the barn.

When you get inside, Nat is already over by the wood she was working with earlier.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Nat says.

“Okay,” you agree. You stand next to her.

“First things first, always know your surroundings,” Nat says.

She abruptly places her hands on your hips. She easily moves you to the right and left to observe your surroundings. Your heart stops when she reaches around you and her face is mere inches from yours.

She steps back and has a pair of clear glasses in her hand.

“And wear safety glasses,” she says. She places them on your face. You’re sure you look like an absolute fool. “Cute.”

“You didn’t wear these yesterday,” comes your reply.

“That’s because I’m an expert,” Nat says. She surprises you by pinching your cheeks. “You’ll get there, sweetheart.”

Natasha grabs the drill and ushers you to move closer to the wood with her. She takes you through step by step on how to use the power tool.

“Now, you can try,” Nat says.

“Okay,” you reply. You feel a little nervous about trying it. Nat assures you that you can’t mess it up.

You try to focus even with Nat being so close to you. For the first time using a drill, you don’t do terribly.

“Nice job, y/n,” Nat says. “But you’ll want to apply more pressure. Let me help you, sweetheart.”

Natasha places her hand on yours and pushes down on the drill. You pull the trigger and drill the screw into the wood. Her hot breath is on your neck.

You smile at your success and turn just enough to look at Nat. She’s just inches from you.

“Should we take this inside?” Nat asks. Her eyes glance to your lips and back up to your eyes. She brings her other hand to your cheek and brushes the back of it against it.

“Are you- um- yes?”

“Yes? Or yes.”

“The second one,” you say. Natasha smirks at you.

You leave the drill and safety glasses behind. Natasha holds your hand as she walks you to the house. You slip upstairs easily and she closes her bedroom door behind her.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a while,” Natasha says.

“Really?” You ask innocently.

“Really, detka. Come here,” she says, bringing you to the bed with her.

You sit next to her and she kisses you softly. It’s like floating on a cloud. You didn’t think she would be this gentle. But you’re loving it.

“May I?” Nat asks, gesturing to your shirt. You nod. She lifts the material over your head. “Beautiful.”

You feel sure you’re blushing at her words and the way her eyes rake over your body.

“Can I- um?” You pull at her tank top hem.

“Yes, baby,” Natasha says. “You can do anything to me.”

You lift the thin material over her head. Your heart stops at her beauty. You immediately lean forward and take her nipple into your mouth. It surprises Natasha how intentional you are being.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Is this okay?” You ask, pulling away a bit. Nat pulls your head back to her breasts. You’ll take that as a yes.

Natasha fumbles with your pants. She gets them unbuttoned but grumbles in frustration when she can’t get them off. You chuckle against her.

“Okay, hold on,” Nat says. She stands up and pulls her own pants down before grabbing you by the hips and pulling you up too.

Natasha takes your pants off with ease this time and slips them down your legs along with your underwear. She grins and drops to her knees. It doesn’t take her long to get to work licking and sucking at your pussy.

“Oh my god,” you moan out.

“You taste so good, baby. All for me,” Nat says.

“Fuck.”

You feel close to coming embarrassingly quickly but Natasha is proud of her work.

“Come for me, y/n,” she says. Her voice drips with sex.

“Fuck, Natasha!”

You come hard against her tongue. She licks you clean and stands back up. She kisses you deeply. It’s the most on fire you have ever felt.

“I want to taste you,” you tell Nat.

“Your wish is my command,” Nat says. She lays on the bed and you crawl over her body.

“So beautiful,” you say as you kiss from between her breasts down to her hips.

“You’re not so shy now are you?” Nat asks. You answer by diving into her wet pussy.

Her folds are slick and she’s ready for you. You lick and suck her, cherishing every noise she makes.

“Fuck, baby,” Nat says. “I’m going to come.”

“Come for me, Natasha.”

She does just that. You relish in the sounds she makes. You move back up her body and lay next to her.

“So, all of those times I thought you were flirting with me you actually were?” You break the silence.

Nat chuckles. “Yes, y/n. I’ve been hinting at it for months. I’m glad we finally got on the same page.”

She looks at you through her long eyelashes. You rest your head on her shoulder.

“I’ve always liked you, Natasha,” you say. “Do you think the team noticed we left?”

“Nah,” Nat says. “Even if they did, I don’t care. I have you.”

“You sure do.”

You snuggle further into Natasha. She holds you close as you lay together and talk for hours.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff comfort #natasha romanoff smut

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wanderingconstellations · 10 months

Note

Scara fucking us while we were cooking 🤭

This sound so weird 🙂

BAHAHAHA THATS FINE!!

but that actually sounds like a good idea 😳

MAY BE A BIT RUSHED AND OOC‼️

No matter how many times you try to focus— you can't. Why? Because your husband here is fucking you senselessly from behind.

"Come on..If you don't focus on the food, it's gonna burn~"

How can you focus when he's cock was pumping in and out of you, your mind was hazy and your body was reacting to every thrust he made. He knew how drive you crazy with his cock, and damn right you love it.

You continue to chop the food, even though there could be a chance you can hurt yourself. You constantly let out moans and whimpers here and there— your juices were dripping down your legs too..

He suddenly sped up, pounding from behind while were trying your very hardest to focus on cooking breakfast for the two of you. Your hands were shaky as you placed the chopped vegetables on the pan, pouring in some meat and seasoning along with it and trying to focus on the sizzling pan.

"You're doing an amazing job. I'm surprised that you haven't even messed up just one bit~"

That's right, you haven't even messed up even after his ruthless and merciless pace. Your legs were trembling a bit, and you felt him twitching inside of you— signalling that he's close.

He cursed under his breath and got a tighter grip on your hips, soon hammering and drilling his cock into you even more than before— leaving you breathless with every thrust.

You were squeezing him so tight, you were so warm, how can he not help but just pound into you and leave his seeds inside of you?

"Ohh~ You're so good for me..I know you'll me filling you up, don't you?~"

His voice just makes you weak in the knees, and you can't help but just whimper when he pounds into you like no tomorrow. You were trying so hard to focus, that's only when you spasm around him— your cum and his mixing together.

You both came at the same time, some of your mixed essence were now dripping out of you now.

"Now, now..Be good and continue cooking breakfast~"

#genshin imagines #genshin impact x you #smut brainrot #genshin impact scenarios #genshin smut #genshin impact #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #scaramouche smut #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche #wanderer smut #genshin wanderer

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wineauntie · 4 months

Note

can you write on for quinn where you cook dinner together

A SUNDAY KIND OF LOVE – quinn hughes x gf!reader (smut)

note: I know this isn’t my Luke imagine but I couldn’t sleep until I wrote this request! I was so in love with this idea and I can’t lie, I hadn’t planned on it slipping into nsfw material but it all just happened before I could stop, so I hope you enjoy it!

Smut will be separated with asterisks***

warnings: SMALL SECTION OF NSFW CONTENT, MDNI 18+, fem!reader, smut, fingering, f receiving, reader is a ray of sunshine, fluff to the extreme– Quinn is so whipped for reader. Use of nicknames: pretty girl, sweet girl and baby. Quinn has a dirty mouth fr, reader likes cooking and baking.

word count: 3.7k+

One thing you had yet to get used to was the coldness that could sweep across Vancouver. Winter was never too extreme here but occasionally, the snow and stormy weather would infiltrate and last anywhere from a few days to a week. You loved the snow with your whole heart, you just hated being cold...hence why the heating in the apartment had been on blast since you’d reentered your home. You'd been sent home early, by your manager when she'd heard that there was a storm inbound. You'd jumped at the opportunity and rushed home as soon as possible.

Upon your arrival home, you'd instantly stripped yourself of your multiple layers and shrugged on a pair of your fluffiest socks. You'd flitted around the apartment lighting several candles around the kitchen, and living room, along with turning on various lamps you'd found in thrift shops downtown.

You hummed lightly, content in the comfort as you moved into the kitchen, an empty cup that had once been filled to the brim with tea tucked in your hand. The kitchen was your pride and joy out of the whole apartment. It had been painted a softened yellow hue, with white vinyl cabinets and rustic wooden shelves stocked with plants, cooking books and various trinkets. Your varnished wooden countertops lay home to multiple chopping boards, even more plants and a range of appliances.

"I'll be home in five :)"

Your smile widened as the text lit up your phone. You bit your lip as you placed the cup by the kettle and leaned against one of the countertops, your eyes scanning the silent kitchen. You turned towards the small radio hidden between the plants behind you on the windowsill, as your thumb scrolled through your Spotify playlist on your phone whilst the Bluetooth connected. Selecting your favourite playlist, you let out a content sigh, turning up the volume to fill the quiet.

You were in the mood to cook. The need always swept over you every time you stepped into the kitchen, but tonight it was overwhelming. You moved around the kitchen, opening cabinets and the fridge, searching for inspiration to hit you.

Your search was interrupted as the creaking of the front door erupted from the hallway. You heard rustling before the door creaked shut once more. You beamed and hurried towards the door, barrelling towards your boyfriend as he swiped the grey beanie off his head.

"Oh, hello," he smiled, letting his arms fall around you as you crashed into his chest. You felt giddy, quite like you always did when you found yourself around Quinn. "Have a good day?"

"Mhm..." You nodded as you unlatched from him, allowing him to take off his jacket and shoes. "Got sent home earlier due to the storm. How was practice?"

"Good, we just ran drills" Quinn supplied before he turned towards you and tackled you in another hug, basically carrying you towards the kitchen. "'m feeling a bit hungry though, will we order in?"

"I was thinking of making something," you spoke, your hands draped around his neck and your feet on top of his as he moved to set his keys on the counter. "I couldn't decide though...I wanted to wait and see what you'd maybe like."

It was Quinn's turn to hum as he bent down to bury his face in the nape of your neck. "What about pasta?" He suggested, as your eyes ran around the shelves for any stand-out cookery book.

"We had that yesterday," You dismissed with a frown whilst your eyebrows scrunched together.

"We could have it again," he shrugged, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point. "The Italians have that stuff almost every day, surely we'll survive."

Your eyes lit up at his words as you yanked yourself from his grip and bounded across the kitchen. You pulled yourself up on top of one of the counters and grabbed a cooking book from the top shelf. As soon as you moved, Quinn followed, his arms anchored on either side of your legs in case you were to fall.

"How do you feel about pizza?" You questioned with a gleam in your eyes as Quinn helped you down from the counter. "I have a recipe that's easy to make from scratch...ooh! We could also make garlic bread!"

He watched you with soft eyes as you spoke excitedly, your eyes scanning the open cabinets for the ingredients. He loved to see you like this, with happiness radiating out of you. It made the stormy and snowy days like today seem incredibly irrelevant because who needed the sun when you'd bottled it up and released it with every grin you let slip across your face?

"Pizza sounds great, pretty girl." He smiled, his hands running down both of your arms soothingly. "As long as I can help?" He didn't know your twinkling smile could grow any larger, but it had as you practically bounced across the kitchen to grab two aprons.

"Apron up, Hughes," you teased, handing him the pale green apron you'd bought him when you'd moved in.

"I should be saying that to you," he remarked, tying the apron behind his back with a smirk. "I know how messy you can get."

With a feigned look of shock, you playfully whacked Quinn with your apron, stumbling when he caught it in his grasp and pulled it towards him so that you were now nose to nose.

You watched with bated breath as he placed the half apron around your waist, turning you to tie a neat bow in the back. His hands lingered over your waist as you turned around to face him once more. You stood on your toes and pressed a delicate kiss to his lips.

"Welcome home, by the way," you laughed as you pulled away. "I forgot to do it when you walked in."

"Oh, I know," Quinn replied, leaning forward and claiming another kiss before allowing you to grab your cooking book. You hummed along to the song playing in the background as your fingers skimmed through the pages, looking for the pizza recipe.

"Okay, I have dough left over in the fridge from those garlic and rosemary knots I made the other night, so it should be okay to use that for the base," you began as you moved to open the fridge and rummaged for the dough. You retrieved the container you knew was filled with dough and glanced at Quinn. "This should be enough for one big pizza? And we could share it with the garlic bread?"

"Sounds good, baby," Quinn agreed from his place at the sink where he was drying his washed hands. He made his way towards the cabinets and began to pull out an array of ingredients.

You let him walk back and forth to the countertop you intended to use as you scrubbed your hands in the sink. Quinn was continually examining the cookbook, depositing all the ingredients one by one until they were organised in front of the refrigerated dough.

"Okay," you huffed, your hands settling on your hips as you joined his side. "We need to preheat the oven, make the sauce and roll out the dough." You moved towards the oven, pressing a few buttons before returning to your station. "Step one, done! Alright, how about you crush one clove of garlic for the sauce and then maybe four or five for the bread and I'll start mixing the tomato passata and basil?"

Quinn nodded, his mouth slightly agape at how easily you controlled the world when cooking. Whilst he began rooting through the drawers for the garlic crusher, you began to pour out the passata into a large mixing bowl, which Quinn had grabbed and placed down whilst you were washing your hands.

Your humming filled the kitchen as you stirred. Quinn quickly crushed the garlic, looking at you for confirmation as he dumped the one clove into the sauce. You grinned from ear to ear, thanking him as he moved on, crushing the rest of the garlic and grabbing the butter from the fridge. You continuously stirred, ensuring the sauce had been mixed thoroughly. You made light conversation with Quinn as you worked, recounting your day from start to finish.

Quinn listened intently, soaking in your words as if they were honey. He listened as you told him all about your lovely local customers at the cafe to the cat you saw in an alley on the way to work, and he drank all of it in, his eyes finding it hard to focus on the task when your magnetism sought out for him.

"Oh, Q, there should be fresh ciabatta in the bread bin," You told him, "I picked some up when leaving work earlier, just in case we needed it…lucky us!”

"You are something else," Quinn commented with a lazy smile, his hands lightly brushing your allowed back as he moved to grab it. Shivers erupted down your spine at the sparse touch, a breathy sigh escaping your lips.

"Okay, so," You clapped your hands, "the sauce is all mixed, so is the garlic butter–thank you, now...it's just the dough and then toppings!"

Quinn helped set out a large baking sheet and sprinkled some loose flour across the countertop as you retrieved the dough from its container.

"Why don't you grab toppings, and I can start rolling?" You proposed, your bright eyes examining Quinn's face.

"Yes, chef," he saluted, causing you to laugh and push his chest. You slightly shook your head with a smile as you rolled out the dough, trying to maintain an even base. You focused on rolling, your eyebrows scrunched in concentration as your fingers darted out to roll the edges for the crust.

Quinn soon returned to the countertop with an armful of toppings in suit. He placed them all carefully nearby, so as not to crowd you as you focused.

"Why don't we split the pizza into four and do a different topping for each quarter," Quinn murmured, brushing a fleck of flour off of your cheekbone.

"You are incredible," You gushed, your eyes widening at the thought before your face turned rather stern. "but if I see one tiny sliver of pineapple, Quintin Jerome, I will not be happy!"

"No pineapple, pretty girl," he chuckled, "I got it."

Quinn helped to hold the sauce bowl as you gently scooped out and spread the sauce across the base of the pizza before the two of you scattered the mozzarella on top. You and Quinn each took half of the pizza, allowing the two of you complete control of the two quarters.

On one of yours, you placed sliced tomatoes and green peppers with a scattered spread of pesto, whereas on the other, you dispersed diced onions and spinach. Satisfied with your side, you glanced at Quinn, knowing all too well, he would add the meat to both of his. Lo and behold, he had placed pepperoni on one and pre-shredded chicken and red peppers on his other.

His arm fell around your shoulder as both of you stepped back to admire the masterpiece you'd created.

"I almost feel bad having to put it into the oven," you say sombrely.

"I can do it," Quinn spoke, his raspy voice low. "Saves me from worrying about you burning yourself."

"That was one time, mister," you huffed, pointing your finger at him in mock accusation, but your smile betrayed you.

"One time too many," he chided as he removed his arm from your shoulder and cautiously lifted the baking sheet that the pizza had been rolled on, moving it onto a tray before sliding it into the oven and setting the timer.

You watched until he shut the oven door before you sprang into cleaning mode, gathering all of the used equipment and placing them by the sink. Just as you took off your apron and were about to roll up your sleeves, your arms were restricted by Quinn's hands around your wrists as he slowly tutted.

"Nuh, uh," he shook his head with a pointed look, spinning you slowly to face him. "I'll clean up after dinner."

"But–"

"No buts,"

"I thought you liked my butt," you simpered cheekily, causing Quinn to roll his eyes.

"I do...very much," he agreed, pulling you into the centre of the kitchen before he lowered his voice. "Especially when it's squirming beneath me as you beg me to let you come."

All air left your lungs as a nonchalant Quinn stretched out a hand to turn up the music. Etta James' A Sunday Kind of Love had just begun to play, her sultry and smooth voice echoing around the kitchen as your boyfriend held you in his close grasp.

"Dance with me," He held your arms, his eyes searching yours for an answer. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you stepped closer to him, your chests pressed together, one of your hands clasping his, whilst the other curled around his neck, toying with the strands at the base.

The soft glow of the candles and kitchen lights created a warm ambience, casting intertwined shadows that danced along with your synchronized movements. Quinn's fingers traced gentle patterns on your back, pulling you even closer as the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you enveloped in the timeless embrace of the music.

Your head lifted from where it had found itself nuzzled into him. Quinn's loving gaze locked onto yours, his eyes reflecting a mixture of playfulness and desire. The warmth of the kitchen, the subtle scent of dinner lingering in the air, and the rhythmic beat of the music made you want to bounce up and down with joy, belting from the rooftops that you adored your boyfriend and anything he did.

The dance floor was the small expanse of tile under your feet, but at that moment, it felt like you were lost in a world of your own creation, each step cementing the love and care you had for the man in front of you.

In a stolen moment with the music as your witness, Quinn leaned in. His lips met yours in a tender kiss as if sealing an unspoken pact, and for a fleeting instant, the only thing you could fathom was the taste of his lips.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. Your smile traipsed across your face as you leaned forward, recapturing his lips, and deepening the embrace. His thumb caressed your cheekbone as you sighed happily, your fingers soothingly twirling around his hair.

In a sudden move, Quinn's hands dropped down and grabbed your waist as he picked you up and carried you towards the dining table. You emitted a loud squeal, the two of your faces remaining close together as he monitored your emotions. You were still laughing when you were placed down on top of the table, his arms caging your body as his nose skimmed along the warmth of your neck. He placed a gentle kiss on the supple skin beneath your ear, earning him a quiet gasp for air whilst he moved across your jaw until finally lingering a mere centimetre away from your lips.

You whined as you tried to lean forward and take his lips with your own only to be stopped by an amused and dishevelled Quinn, avoiding your movement. His blown pupils examined your wide eyes and pouting mouth before he finally crashed his lips to yours once more.

***

This time, your kiss was feverish, your hands grasping at Quinn's shoulders as his ran along your thighs before creeping towards the waistband of your pants. You careened into his touch, panting into the kiss as he slowly shifted your weight so you were against him before he yanked down your pants, and tossed them across the room.

You gasped at the suddenness of it, your head spinning in need as Quinn pulled away to let you breathe, continuing his tirade of kisses down your neck, stopping just above your pulse point to slowly suckle at your skin. You let out a prolonged moan, your neck arching as one of his hands held your cheek to tilt your head, giving him more access to the skin there, whilst the other hand's fingertips traced circles on your upper thigh.

You melted at his touch, your body putty as he ran his tongue over the reddened patch of skin on your neck once more before he pulled away, placing open-mouthed kisses up to your ear. You gulped as his fingers brushed across the fabric of your panties, your eyes fluttering shut as he stroked his thumb against your cheek.

"Oh, baby," his deep and comforting voice drawled, "you're soaked through." You whimpered as Quinn removed his fingers from the material, placing them lightly in your pubic bone. "You been waiting all day for this, hm?"

You looked toward Quinn, whose darkened eyes kept a careful watch on your face. Your throat tightened as your words failed you, nodding frantically, while your hands desperately gripped his shirt.

"Words, y/n/n," he spoke more softly, his nose brushing yours as he shifted his position.

"Yes," you immediately gasped out, your half-lidded eyes overwhelmed with desire. "Need you...please!"

"So polite," he cooed, his finger tucking a strand of hair out of your face. "I'll tell you what, pretty girl, since you asked so nicely, I'll give you what you need." His fingers above the waistband of your panties slipped beneath the fabric as you let out a breathy moan. His fingers met your wetness instantaneously, a deep grumble slipping from his lips at the feeling.

"All this for me, huh?" He murmured, his finger circling your bud as you struggled to speak. Your head fell back in silent ecstasy, with your mouth agape as he slowly worked a finger inside of you, your walls clenching down as he moved it in and out. "You look so pretty like this," Quinn spoke in hushed tones, "all wet, needy and mine."

"Yours," you parroted breathlessly as he sank another thick finger inside of you. His other hand remained cradling your head, his lips ducking to kiss yours as your body trembled around him. He pushed his body closer to yours, causing your legs to spread further, his clothed groin skimming your own.

"You take my fingers so well," Quinn praised, his eyes unmoving from your blissed face. The feeling of his fingers sliding in and out of your drenched core, fired up every brain cell to send you into overdrive, wiping away any thought other than the pleasure he was giving you. Your hips bucked towards his fingers with a shameless moan, as you tried to feel as much of him as he was letting you.

He curled his fingers inside of you as he moved them quicker, his thumb moving upwards to stroke your sensitive bud whilst you crumbled on the table, the only thing keeping you upright being Quinn's steady hand on your face.

"Oh, does my girl need to come already?" Quinn lowly taunted, as he picked up the pace, his fingers now in an upbeat rhythm, in and out of you, as his thumb furiously rubbed your clit. Your staggered breaths and squeaks of pleasure grew rapid as your fists clenched tight around his shirt.

"Please, Q," you babbled as you begged, your eyes swimming as you found yourself stammering—drunk off of the feeling of Quinn's intoxicating touch. "Please, let me come, please?" You practically sobbed out your words, your back arching as the knot of warmth in your stomach grew tighter.

You felt his breathy laugh against your cheek as his fingers continued their onslaught of pleasures. Quinn leaned closer, letting his chest press flush against yours before he whispered a single word.

"Come.”

You needed no more prompting as your eyes fell shut and you cried out, a loud series of moans tumbling from your lips. Your body shuddered as the knot in your stomach snapped and pleasure erupted across every nerve, sending tingles down your spine all the way to your toes as Quinn worked you through your orgasm. He pumped his fingers in and out until he'd drawn out as much pleasure as he could, leaving you a panting and soaked mess.

The sharp ringing of the oven timer resounded and Quinn chuckled, removing his fingers from you as you whined at the loss of his touch. He raised the fingers to his mouth and licked your juices off of them, his gaze never straying from your overwhelmed self.

***

"Just in time," he said as his fingers popped out of his mouth. His lazy grin returned to his face as he moved both of his hands beneath your shaking legs before placing you down on a blanket on the couch in the living room. He moved the blanket to cover your legs as well as the couch beneath you before stepping back.

"You sit here, sweet girl, I'll sort the food." He told you, his hand lightly brushing over your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to your head as you slumped into the softness of the couch.

You sat happily, watching as Quinn moved around the kitchen so freely as if he hadn't just pushed you into oblivion. You found yourself smiling softly as you settled into the warmth and it hadn't taken him long to reappear with one large serving platter with your pizza on top.

He sat down beside you as you quietly sprang to nestle into his side, trying to get as close to him as possible. He held a slice of pizza towards your mouth as you slowly bit into the end, before swallowing it. Quinn talked quietly to you as you ate, choosing to feed you at least one whole slice before he dug into his own. You remained cuddled into his side as you finished the slice, his arm draped around your shoulders.

"The garlic bread's just gone into the oven," Quinn whispered, watching as your eyes searched for something. They snapped towards Quinn at his words and he raised a brow knowing he'd hit the jackpot. You buried yourself in his side once more, his hand running through your hair as he plastered a joking smile across his face- the smile you adored.

"I got so caught up in dessert that I completely forgot about the sides..."

a/n: I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure for this man <33

#wineauntie #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #hughes brothers x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes smut #i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism #literally toothrotting fluff #soft!quinn hughes #I love quinn hughes what a man #nhl x reader #vancouver canucks

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seamsterslocal · 1 year

Photo

summer binder picture tutorial

this is the third binder ive made for myself recently and the first one i’m writing up. it’s designed to do a few things: 1) allow me to put it on by myself without dislocating my shoulders 2) allow me to breathe well enough to partake in normal activity 3) be cool enough to wear throughout a muggy 90-100F summer 4) not constrict my ribs in a way that aggravates my lack of connective tissue and causes intense pain.

this has become necessary even though i had top surgery many years ago, because when i had it i was extremely skinny and since then i’ve increased in size by about 50%. this has been really fucking good for my health in every single way* except that when my chest is squishy or moves at all it’s So Goddamn Triggering for me. but also since ive had top surgery ive developed and/or been made away of a plethora of chronic conditions that make every single commercially available binding option medically impossible. unbound, my chest is pretty much what you’d expect for a chubby cis guy but venturing out into the world in just a tshirt no longer works for me

*anyone who badmouths weight gain or fat bodies in the notes WILL be blocked

under the cut are a bunch of process pictures and explanations of what they all mean:

first i’ll give you a look at the pieces and measurements:

most of the seams are sewn in this picture and one half is turned inside out, allowing you to see both the finished dimensions (right) and the placement of the fusible horsehair canvas that gives this lil scrap of linen any structure at all (left)

to get your chest measurement, you’re gonna have to do some math:

first measure above and below what you want to bind. average these numbers. mine are something like 32 and 34, which average to 33. subtract a few inches--this is to allow the air movement between the laces at center front and back, critical in the summertime. i deleted 3 inches bc i like that number but you can go bigger if you want. the more inches you subtract here, the more youll be able to ratchet all your chest material down later, but at the same time you need to leave enough fabric for a sturdy garment. let’s say a range of 2-6 inches/5-15cm. by taking your measurements this way, you’re essentially measuring the chest you would like to have. that + the horsehair canvas work together to compress any squishy tissue/force anything that doesnt compress up and to the outside (basically into the armpit/lower shoulder--the chest might stick out but it will give a very puffed chest captain america pectoral silhouette)

you can also see how ive clipped my curves and pre-drilled my lacing holes. i used the marlin spike on my knife to open up the holes on the interfacing side, mainly as a way of marking them. this worked well bc the interfacing’s glue kept the linen from raveling

this is the same stage but looking at the non-interfaced grey linen/cotton blend (the black is some 100% linen from my cabbage stash). you can see ive broken the solar-plexus-to-back measurement up into a bunch of pieces to save on fabric but that’s not necessary. my original pattern was just two pieces (front and back) and chopping the straps into thirds on both sides was aesthetic

in the following picture you can really see how this is really just overgrown regency stays:

i thought about doing side lacing but didn’t think that would be comfortable for me. on the front, the side seam allowance was pressed inwards before turning to create a finished looking slot. on the back the side seam is left unfinished with an extra wide seam allowance, and is inserted into that slot.

here’s a closeup on it pinned in place (you can adjust the angle of the side seam and the fit during this pinning stage):

that side seam was just topstitched in place once i had the fit how i liked it, and the armhole was reinforced with more topstitching

alright, time for eyelets: first, you can see how well the marking worked:

next, two rows of basted eyelets (left), one row of eyelets sewn with a doubled and waxed cotton thread (center right), and one row of eyelets opened and stainless steel rings placed (right).

next time i’m going to mark the eyelets same as i did above, but do this step differently--i’ll mark and baste the steel rings in place BEFORE widening the eyelets. this is bc i had a lot of problems keeping the eyelets on center

eyelets half done on this one! on the left are eyelets sewn with doubled and waxed cotton thread and on the right eyelets sewn with quadrupled and waxed thread. the center is basting again. i was able to force the holes back in line while sewing the eyelets but it was kinda annoying. adding a second picture that doesnt have great focus but hopefully shows how that process worked and shows the spike clearly

i ended up using this white cotton thread because it’s stronger than my black cotton thread (which the rest of it is sewn with). [eta: after this was first posted, i pressed the whole thing heavily, which effectively de-waxed the thread, and i dyed the whole thing a medium charcoal grey, the thread blends in perfectly on the lighter side and isn’t such a sore thumb on the darker side]

bonus: the piecing layout for that little piece of strap. the whole light gray half of the binder was made from 1/2 of one of the legs i cut off some linen suit pants to make slutty camping shorts last year and i really really didn’t want to break into any of the other three halves for this garment--i have Plans for it

overall the fit of this is incredible. it DOESNT hurt my ribs which every zip-up garment ive been able to find (and it is difficult) does due to really thick elastic at the base. it doesnt aggravate my sensory issues with the synthetic fibers that every commercial option is made of. i can walk up a hill or stairs, or go to pt, without getting too out of breath. i can eat with it tight, or loosen the front easily and without taking it off to make eating easier and less nausea-inducing. it is reversible!

best of all the lacing at the back gives the garment enough movement for me to get it on without dislocating, and the interfacing and steel rings give it structure once it’s on. the shaping comes only from fusible horsehair linen canvas and stainless steel rings like youd use for chainmail, there’s no boning at all, which makes it very quick to sew (except the eyelets, but metal grommets would be sturdy and quick provided theyre of good quality)

there’s a small amount of gaping on the outside of the shoulder strap, which i plan on fixing with a tiny tiny dart in the armpit, i want to add pockets to tuck the laces into, and i need a better lace for the back, but it’s completely wearable in time for the 90 weather next week which is all i wanted. i’ll do a reblog when it’s perfectly finished with an update on the fit but for now it is done enough

the little ridge where it doesnt lay flat against the shoulder is most visible with just a single t shirt over it. with a flannel or a sweater, it disappears, and by itself, it’s hidden in movement

eta: after dyeing this, i relaced it a bit looser in the back and that gape mainly disappeared. ive decided to leave it in instead of smoothing it with a dart because the loose fabric gives space for my chest to expand when breathing and shapes my silhouette in a way that emphasizes my shoulders

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incorrectbatfam · 1 year

Note

Could you please do some headcanons about Batmans cooking disasters over the years?

Age 5: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs

Age 6: He decorates a cookie so badly another kid cries until they throw up

Age 7: He tries to make a PB&J and the countertop is sticky for a week

Age 8: He tries to make Martha's chicken noodle soup but ends up crying on the kitchen floor surrounded by half-chopped vegetables

Age 9: He tries to impress a houseguest by recreating Thomas's mixology tricks (sans alcohol). There's still a stain on the ceiling to this day

Age 10: He makes green eggs. It's not on purpose. He's never even read the book

Age 11: He makes lava in the school cafeteria

Age 12: He tries to make cheese bread by drilling holes into a baguette and filling it with melted nacho cheese

Age 13: He melts a cutting board in the oven

Age 14: He folds a Pop Tart

Age 15: The chocolate-covered bananas he makes for the school bake sale come out looking very very wrong

Age 16: He's asked to drop a home economics class after mistaking refried beans for pumpkin puree in a pie

Age 17: He boils eggs in the carton

Age 18: He makes his entire freshman dorm evacuate after burning his ramen to ash

Age 19: He sculpts a severed hand out of meatloaf and is sent to the university psychologist

Age 20: He tries to bake a cake but doesn't have a cake pan, so he pours the batter right in the oven

Age 21: He tries Thomas's mixology tricks again, this time with alcohol. One of the tricks is flipping it over his head. He ends up losing part of his vision for 3 days

Age 22: He burns water. Harley Quinn is there. She still holds it over his head

Age 23: He packs his first patrol snack as Batman. It's a chocolate bar wrapped in a tortilla. The chocolate melts onto his gloves and he drops the tortilla down a sewer grate

Age 24: He makes an ice cream cookie sandwich to eat while he and Batgirl work on a case, but he's so engrossed in the work that he doesn't notice it melt until Babs points it out

Age 25: He enters the first annual Justice League cook-off and immediately gets banned from ever entering again

Age 26: He tries to comfort little Dickie Grayson by making fried cornbread from a book of Roma comfort recipes. It turns out about as well as you'd expect when you give Bruce Wayne hot oil. Bruce is genuinely bummed out, but Dick says it's the thought that counts

Age 27: Clark delivers a huge hunk of beef from the farm. Instead of waiting for Alfred to come back, Bruce and Dick try to break it down with a power saw

Age 28: Bruce and Dick's latkes are burned so badly they can play floor hockey with them

Age 29: He makes stuffed mushrooms. Badly. Like imagine the worst way you can fuck up a mushroom. It still won't compare to what Bruce did. And it's for a potluck with the West-Allens that Barry won't let him live down

Age 30: Bruce sees Dick struggling to make ravioli and he's like "Let me show you how it's done" before proceeding to make it infinitely worse

Age 31: Bruce sees a hungry Jason Todd and the first thing he does when they return to the manor is make a double-decker bread sandwich. That's bread with two more slices of bread in between

Age 32: Bruce packs Dick and Jason's lunchboxes when Alfred is out of town. They're supposed to include a salad. Instead, Dick gets a whole head of lettuce and Jason's is just a bottle of ranch

Age 33: He makes hot chocolate after patrol... but forgets the chocolate

Age 34: The Manor is too cold, so Bruce tries to warm it up by making Jason's favorite soup. His hands shake the whole time. Suddenly, he's eight years old again, sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by scraps reminding him of his failure

Age 35: Jack and Janet Drake are out of the country again, leaving young Timmy by himself. Bruce decides to bring some dinner over. It's baked perfectly, but it's full of things that shouldn't be anywhere near a casserole dish. They end up ordering takeout and watching old detective movies together

Age 36: Steph walks through how to make waffles. Bruce is standing there, watching closely and taking notes. They still come out looking radioactive

Age 37: Cass asks if they can get smoothies. Bruce says he can make them at home. She gives him a warning look but that's not enough to stop him. Cue Bruce forgetting to put the lid on the blender

Age 38: Jason's first night back at home, Bruce tries to make that soup. It shoots out like a geyser and hits the lights. He's panicking until he hears Jason laugh, and then the soup doesn't matter

Age 39: Damian screws up hummus and he desperately tries to hide it so people won't see him as inadequate at something so basic. Instead of getting upset, Bruce assures him it's okay and offers to fix it. (He doesn't fix it, he just makes it worse)

Age 40: Bruce's birthday happens while he's fake-dead and away from home. He grabs a convenience store cupcake and sticks a single candle on it. Then he closes his eyes, pretends his family is around him, and makes a wish. (The candle droops and sets the hotel sheets on fire)

Age 41: Back at the Manor, he attempts to make lemonade on a particularly hot day. Selina offers to help, but Bruce declines, saying, "How hard can it be?" (Spoiler alert: it's not supposed to be full of seeds)

Age 42: Kate shows him a video of Canadians pouring maple syrup into the snow to make candy, so he gets her to boil the syrup so they can do it together. The problem comes when they can't control the pour and end up with a glob the size of Damian

Age 43: As part of a school project, Bruce and Duke try to deduce the Coca-Cola secret formula. Duke's teacher takes a point off because at the beginning he told her he'd taste the results, but there's no way he's doing that now

Age 44: The family gets together to make a full English breakfast Alfred's birthday. Each person takes a part—Dick has eggs, Jason has the grilled tomatoes, Tim has mushrooms, Duke has the bacon, Steph and Cass are tag-teaming the sausages, Damian just has to open a can of beans, and Bruce needs to put bread in the toaster. It goes South immediately when Damian reaches for his katana instead of the can opener

Age 45: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs

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crushedsweets · 9 months

Note

spare me a fantasy crumb??.. i know they’re from marble hornets but Tim and Brian??

maybe as some sort of prophets???

oh my god finally i actually did it. i was fighting for my LIIIFE to finally draw these two. anyway ok yall know the drill i will ramble now

let me clarify that so many characters(including those who have nothing to do with her in canon) are deeply connected to Jane bc 1. she's the princess/queen 2. i need someone to connect the story 3. she's pretty and deserves to be the mc

ok so tims a knight. he climbs up the ranks despite wavering loyalty to the king and queen. he's prob like 40 something in this and watched princess jane grow up. im debating between him going rogue after jeffs attack, or if he has stronger loyalty towards jane since. yk. hes been protecting her since she was a baby and now she's so young and lost her parents and has an entire kingdom on her shoulders now.

regardless, he's always been doing shady shit as a knight, but he was always smart and strong and held up a great image to the public n the royals. decent guy

NOW BRIAN IS MORE FUN TO ME . he was an executioner. i have no real reasoning for this aside from the mask felt very very fitting. i was thinking id put him as an executioner under janes parents, since they'd be more cruel than her, But jane disassembles that bc its freaky and puts him as a knight, getting trained under tim.

although . . you mentioned prophets and i like that idea. maybe smth smth he was an executioner who always had these weird visions and stuff while chopping off heads. and he went to king n queen rambling shit and stuff. and they tell him to shut the fuck up but JANE LISTENED and REMEMBERED and went to him after her parents death and he got put into a brand new weird position. although, i cant really think of a reason Why jane would remember/care if he was just giving prophecies from the operator or something... maybe the operator was the one who got into jeffs head to lead the attack so brian said smth? idk.

maybe ill just make him an executioner prophet turned knight prophet. and obv the prophecies are on behalf of the operator. but jane would follow slender..SO WHO KNOWS

regardless u implanted a very wise thought into my head. im fond of this. thank uuuu

#sweetart #fantasy au #tim wright #brian thomas #marble hornets #hoody #hoodie #masky #masky mh #hoody mh #hoodie mh #idk how to tag their personas

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kissitbttr · 5 months

Note

If you’re open to it, I’d love to request reader leaving scratches on frat!miguel’s back from a good time, and Miguel’s teammates or brothers seeing them and teasing him!! But secretly he loves that everyone knows 💕

“damn.. someone had a good time last night” glen snickers as he watches shirtless miguel with messy hair walk down the stairs before heading towards the kitchen,

miguel rolls his eyes yet can’t help but smile, rubbing his sleepy eyes before yawning. “morning, man. do we have some cheerios left? or captain crunch. doesn’t matter”

glen frowns, shaking his head. “no more of that. coach will kill you. here” he tosses a half sandwich to his way before miguel catches it. “plus, your girl told me to give you more nutritious food. said she’ll chop my balls off if she ever catches me giving you any more of that sugary stuff. and i am not risking that”

“she did huh? sounds like her” he chuckles before taking a bite of the beef sandwich. “what time should we head to practice again?”

“seven. but coach wants us there 20 minutes before for some drills” glen informs, moving a chair next to him. “she’s not up yet?”

“nah” miguel responds, stealing a cup of someone else’s oj off the marble top. “figured i let her sleep in until we’re done with practice. she looks so cute while sleeping you guys know that?”

“we know” glen and beck responds in unison. “you tell us that shit all the time, o’hara”

“well sorry for having a pretty ass girlfriend. arrest me” he puts his hands up. “i’ll get ready in ten. who’s car are we—“

“yo o’hara?! the fuck did that girl do to you, bro?!”

carlos laughs out loud as he appears from behind, making the others jump. miguel’s eyebrows move into a confused frown as the other boys begin to scramble to see what he’s talking about. when they see it, a laugh breaks out of their mouths. fingers pointing at the couple of thin pink scars decorating his back,

“what? the fuck are you guys looking at?!”

“man… she got you good” monty nods with a huge smile, clapping his shoulder. “you seriously don’t feel that?”

“feel what?” miguel looks over his shoulder to see but fails to. then he moves to the nearest mirror and that’s when he realizes. “oh… well fuck me”

“she does that a lot?”

“yeah but… never this far” miguel’s lips turn into a cocky smirk and a chuckle follows after. “that’s the first”

“you look like you just got jumped by twenty cats, o’hara” beck comments, chugging his orange juice,

“ as if gloria doesn’t do the same to you”

“she always got her nails clipped, so no. that shit hurt”

“just admit that you’re a pussy” miguel takes a big bite of the sandwich, earning a flip off from glen. “because i’d let my girl do anything to me. that includes marking me. not that i would ask her to. she does it anyway”

carlos whistles, plopping down the chair next to him. “she’s a keeper then” miguel hums in agreement, “you think if you both broke up, she’ll go for me?”

miguel shoves him so hard he falls off the chair and lands on the floor with a loud thud.

#frat!miguel #miguel o’hara blurbs

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ebongawk · 2 months

Text

"Chrissy used to wait until her parents were out of the house and then dance around her bedroom to Corroded Coffin and sing into her hairbrush. It felt like a huge rebellion in her mind at the time." for @storiesofimagination

More than anything else, Chrissy hated being late.

It was unlike her. Even despite her mother drilling the entire family on being punctual all her life, Chrissy knew that being on time would have defined her. A flower planted in a vase could be just as beautiful as one grown in a field, after all. Just not quite as free.

Despite having a doctor's appointment as an excuse, Chrissy still took the stairs up to school two at a time. The excused absence in her hand for her first two periods felt meaningless – just more wasted time she'd have to use, taking it to the front office. She stormed through the hallway, swinging by the front desk before headed to her locker.

And she stopped all at once. Taking two broad steps back to absorb that which had attracted the attention of her peripheral vision.

A crystal tape case had been dropped on the ground. Innocuous enough, she leaned down, picking it up and turning it over in curious hands.

Songs she didn't recognized were scribbled onto the back fold. The front was hand drawn, as well, featuring a creepy, disembodied hand. Like someone had taken macabre liberties with Thing from The Addams Family (a lovely series of which she'd only been allowed to catch episodes at Vicki Rosenbaum's house during weekend sleepovers). A mixtape?

Without thinking about it, Chrissy tucked the case into her backpack. Wondering if she could figure out who it belonged to later, she regained the time she'd lost in her distraction by practically sprinting to class.

Later, after finishing out the rest of the day and walking home – breaking up with Jason, while the first act of liberty she'd taken for herself in some time, was almost met with regret when school let out and she didn't have a ride home – Chrissy found herself in a commodity of an evening.

She was home alone.

Her little brother was off at a friend's house, and her parents had a dinner event for her father's office. Chrissy was in pajamas, taking the stereo out from her closet with every intention of having her own Risky Business moment as she flipped idly through her small collection of contraband tapes her mother could never find out about.

And she stopped.

What about that tape from school?

It'd fallen beneath her pen case in her backpack at school. Chrissy dug it out, taking in the details of the case art she hadn't before allowed herself to see. Blood dripped down one side of the disembodied hand, with scars etched into the flesh. A hand freshly chopped for Frankenstein's monster, the blood still warm enough to flow.

For the first time, Chrissy also recognized a little brand in the corner of the case.

Corroded Coffin, she read. Why does that sound so familiar?

Only one way to find out.

Chrissy popped the tape into the player.

The sudden, grating sound of guitar feedback screeched through the speakers, and Chrissy slammed the stop button with a little cry of surprise. Her chest heaved, heart hammering against her ribs at the sudden noise. Gosh, but that was unexpected. Her own tapes usually started off with a gentle easing into the music. The steady drumroll or techtonic beat building up the artist to launch.

Turning the volume dial down a few dozen notches, Chrissy paused for a moment before leaning back and hitting play.

The wall of sound that hit her was far easier to manage at a softer level. She listened, waiting for recognition to wash over her, but the seconds ticked by with screaming bass and heavy drums, and Chrissy was no closer to recognizing the song. Even the singer, with his deep, gravelly voice, was an unknown.

The volume came up a few notches. Then a few more. And Chrissy found herself falling into the music.

It was different than anything she'd ever listened to before. Deeper, angrier, with grating sounds and heavy lyrics that pulsed a new heart in her chest. It was music that contained all these dark, terrifying emotions she didn't normally allow herself to feel. All the stuff she kept locked away and buried, only to rear up as monsters in her dreams she couldn't escape.

Even the instruments sounded angry. The drums marched and the bass crooned, but the guitar. It kept going off on these long, intricate tangents, accentuating the point of the lyrics by emphasizing the terrible, wonderful passion. The quality wasn't great – a little too echoey, like it hadn't been recorded in a studio – but the songs were beautiful.

Chrissy lost her will to return the tape back to its original owner. Instead, it found a half-permanent home in her Walkman. Pulled only from the anonymity of her headphones during the limited alone time she was awarded at home.

Every time, the songs greeted her with their energetic shouts. The lyrics embraced her like an old friend.

Chrissy learned them all. She screamed them into her hairbrush, falling dramatically to her knees on her mattress as she extended all of her own deep, dark emotions out into the ether of existence. As her Corroded Coffin album took them in, nurturing them and verifying that it was okay for her to have them. That negativity didn't equate bad, only new.

There was a risk, she knew. Her parents could come home early one day. Her mother could discover the tape case, on the rare occasion she accidentally left it at home. The tape would be disposed of, and Chrissy couldn't exactly buy a new one. She'd checked the record store downtown – the grumpy cashier had never even heard of Corroded Coffin.

She almost thought the tape had been dropped through a wormhole. Like there was another, luckier dimension out there where Corroded Coffin was a well-known band, but here, she would be the only person who would ever know their ingenuity and raw brilliance.

The thought was private and insane, but it made her sad. It made her selfish. It made her desperate to prove herself wrong.

And, completely by chance, she was.

Chrissy walked into Benny's the first Saturday of spring break to meet her friends for milkshakes before they made a trip to Star Court to start browsing prom dresses. Chrissy had to steel herself against their gentle, pitying looks when they talked about their own dates, knowing Chrissy had every intention of going stag. Like that was something to be ashamed of. (Going with Jason would've been much more shameful, considering she'd caught him cheating on her during winter break, but that didn't seem to matter in the eyes of her friends.)

As soon as she walked through the doors, though, something extremely familiar caught her eye. Chrissy had to do a double-take, because no way.

It was that same bloody, disembodied hand from her tape. With huge, boldly printed letters advertising Corroded Coffin's Metal Friday Bash! from the night before at some bar called the Hideout.

The night before.

"Oh, nuggets," Chrissy breathed in disbelief. She'd missed it? She'd missed it. Without warning, her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and Chrissy immediately turned and walked back out the door, much to the startled shouts of her friends.

They were real. They were real, and they'd been here, just the night before, and she'd missed it, and now she'd never find them again. She yanked her Walkman off her belt loop, holding it tightly to her chest like it alone could support her weight as she floated blindly through the vast, endless ocean of the parking lot. The salt spraying her eyes and making them tear up, and was it any wonder that she missed the broad-chested boat out in the middle of all that nothing?

"Ugh," she pitched, her voice drowned out by a startled, "Oh shit." Her Walkman went flying from her grip as she fell backward, two strong hands managing to hold her wrists and keep her upright but completely disregarding the flying tape player. She felt the tug of her headphones as they dislodged from the jack, the thing making a loud crack against the pavement upon impact.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

"Shit, fuck, sorry, sorry," the person still holding her wrists repeated over and over again above her. "Shit, Cunningham, I–– Fuck, I didn't see you–– Oh, shit, here, lemme get that."

Wrists suddenly released, the blob of black she'd barreled into headfirst suddenly swooped down. Chrissy turned at the same time, body operating separately from brain as she searched the ground for the Walkman that had already been collected.

"It doesn't look––"

"My tape," Chrissy gasped, reaching toward the hands holding her player. The bony wrists becoming her new lifeline. "Is my tape okay?"

"Uh, lemme check––" A pause as the hands holding her Walkman hostage popped the cassette lid open. Chrissy held her breath, anticipating the worst, and the mass of person she hadn't quite acknowledged let out a barking laugh. "Holy shit. Holy shit? Christ, dude, uh. What the fuck?"

It was only then, impossibly, that Chrissy looked up and finally registered who it was she was hanging onto like a buoy.

Eddie. Eddie Munson? Eddie Munson had her tape. Eddie Munson was staring down at her, his eyes twinkling in the mid-morning sunlight, with raised brows and a disbelieving grin stretching his cheeks.

Oh, she thought. When did Eddie Munson get so pretty?

"Cunningham, where the fuck did you get this tape?"

Blinking, Chrissy looked at the tape in his hands. Confused. No one knew who Corroded Coffin was. Why was he questioning her?

"Um, it's mine?" she answered, suddenly, just then, remembering that it wasn't actually hers. That she'd found it. That it likely had not fallen through a wormhole, because the band existed, proven just behind her in the Benny's entryway by a hand-drawn poster for a concert she'd missed.

"Uh, no it's not," Eddie laughed. "It's mine."

What?

"What?" she squeaked out, fingertips tensing against his wrists. She couldn't let go, because if she did, he might take her tape. He might destroy it, or step on it, or kidnap it.

"It's our demo tape," he said again, still grinning. Still in obvious disbelief. "Uh, my band's, I mean. I lost it, like, two months ago. Now how, may I ask, did it end up in the dainty little paws of Hawkins' own Queen, Chrissy Cunningham the First?"

His. Eddie's. His band's? Eddie's band? Eddie was in Corroded Coffin. Why wasn't she more surprised? His tape? His demo tape? What was a demo tape? Was he gonna take her tape?

"Um," she said, still blinking up at him. "I-I found it. At school?"

"No shit?" Eddie laughed. "Well, fuck, Chrissy, that's–– Okay, but wait. Why were you listening to it? Why didn't you, like, throw it away?"

She let out an indignant noise of affront. Her own shock slowly succumbing to an accepting sort of anger.

"'Throw it away'?" she asked. "What? Why would I do that? I love it, Eddie!"

His eyebrows had disappeared behind his fringe, he was so shocked. Shaking his head like he couldn't believe it, though his eyes never left hers. After mouthing a what the fuck to himself, he looked over her shoulder. Seeming to remember where they were.

"Uh. I-I mean. Have you, uh. Have you eaten?"

"What?" Her head reeled with the sudden jump of conversation.

Scratching the back of his neck, Eddie shrugged. "I mean. Obviously you, like, listened to the tape, yeah? And, y'know, you're, like, the first, besides the fuckin' band, to do that. I'd, uh. I'd love to know your thoughts?"

Another shrug, bashful, and Chrissy watched in amazement as a flush crept its way up his neck.

"If you've got some time," he tacked on after a few seconds of silence.

Time. Time to talk about Corroded Coffin. Time to talk about Corroded Coffin, with Corroded Coffin.

"I, um, do," she answered. "I have time."

Oh, nuggets, the grin that split his face was brighter than she had ever seen the sun. It softened his features, displaying dimples as his eyes crinkled with warmth.

Chrissy couldn't help it. She smiled right back.

"Fuck yeah," he responded, snapping the case of her Walkman back in place, tape still stuck inside, and handing it back to her. Never breaking the skin contact they'd somehow maintained this entire time. "Well, uh. After you, then?"

She didn't end up going to Star Court that afternoon.

But she also didn't end up going to prom alone.

(inspo ask)

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #stranger things #chrissy x eddie #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #corroded coffin #my writing #hellcheer drabble

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potatoetree · 9 months

Text

Tried out incorrect-quote-generator again here's some of my favorites!

Mumbo : I have a bad feeling about this...

Grian : What do you mean?

Mumbo : Don't you ever get that little voice in your head that tells you if you're going to get into trouble?

Grian : No?

Scar: That actually explains so much.

Grian , acting tough: You guys don't want to mess with me.

Scar: Yeah, Grian will straight up cry in public. Don't try them.

Grian : Exactly, I will straight up-

Grian :

Grian , tearing up: Scar, why would you say that?!

Mumbo , texting group chat: What flavour of ice cream do you guys want? I’m at the store so be quick!

Grian : Moose Tracks is good!

Scar: What the fuck is that!?

Grian : *Gasp* How dare you insult moo-

Scar: No. No no not that. What the hell. Why do you spell flavor like flavour. It’s like you have flavor but then this guy shows up and is like “Oui Oui Would you like chocolate flaVOUR or vanilla flaVOUR.

Mumbo and Grian : what?

Scar: I don’t get it why add the EXTRA u when it’s PERFECTLY FINE AS IT IS!?

Mumbo : You done now?

Scar: Yeah ok.

Mumbo and Grian : ...

Scar: ...Can I have the Mint Chocolate chip flavour?

Boatem Addition!

Scar, to Grian : When was the last time you let someone hug you?

Grian : *thinking*

Grian : 2012.

Pearl : 2012…?

Grian : Yeah. I almost died and it really freaked Mumbo out so I let them hug me.

Mumbo : *gets a text* Oh! It’s Grian.

Impulse, excitedly: Did they get me the stuff?

Mumbo : Yeah, they say they got you the clown costume, the power drill, and 12 gallons of blood.

Impulse: Wow! Where’d they find 12 gallons of fake blood?

Mumbo : You wanted fake blood?

Impulse:

Mumbo : I’ll go call Grian.

Grian : I’m in love with you.

Mumbo : We called off the prank war last night at midnight, dork.

Grian : I know.

Mumbo : Ah. Okay. Um. Cool. Neat. Very cool. Cool. Cool. Coolcoolcool-

Scar: If I run and leap at Grian , they will most certainly catch me in their arms.

Scar, running towards Grian : Coming in!

Grian : No! I’m holding coffee!

Grian : *Drops coffee and catches Scar*

Scar: Are you mad?

Grian : No.

Scar: So sharpening your knives at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

Mumbo : Small creatures are much more vicious because they have a smaller body to bottle up all their emotions.

Scar: Ridiculous. Give me some examples.

Grian : Wasps?

Grian : Terriers?

Mumbo : Grian.

Grian: *Laughs* Babe, you had a crush on me? That’s embarrassing—

Mumbo : We’re married.

Pearl : I haven’t slept in 72 hours…

Mumbo : I haven’t slept in 80. I’m the insomnia king!

Grian: Ha! I haven’t slept in 90 hours, I’m aiming for an even 100.

Impulse: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

Scar: Dear Diary, my teen angst bullshit has a body count.

Grian: What? I'm not aggressive!

Pearl : Last Tuesday, you wacked me with a pair of crocs and stole my chocolate chips?

Grian: Survival of the fittest, bitch.

Pearl : I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture.

The Squad: Awwww-

Pearl : And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything."

The Squad: Oh.

Scar: I am Scar, I speak for the trees. Chop them down and I snap your knees.

Impulse: Just be careful, Scar!

Scar: *heading out the door* I'm always careful, Impulse!

Scar: It's everything around me that's careless.

Mumbo : Grian, is that legal?

Grian: When there's no cops around, anything's legal!

Pearl: Ayo, what the FUCK is this?!?

Grian, sitting down, surrounded by corpses: I won Mafia, that’s what.

Scar: Hey, Mumbo. Why did the chicken cross the road?

Mumbo: To get to the other side?

Scar: You were supposed to say “I dunno, why?“

Mumbo: Uh... fine. I don’t know. Why did it cross the road?

Scar: To get to the idiot’s house.

Mumbo: ...Ok?

Grian: Hey, Mumbo. Knock knock.

Mumbo: No.

Grian: You were supposed to say “who’s there?”

Mumbo: Fine... let’s get this over with. Who’s there?

Grian: The chicken.

Mumbo:

Grian:

Scar:

Mumbo: Listen here you little shits-

#hermitcraft #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #pearlescentmoon #impulsesv #incorrect hermitcraft quotes #boatem

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yaut-jaknowit · 1 year

Note

Can you please write Older yautja x f reader. Like a really big old yautja cheif. The reader is native american (not that it matters) and an overly energetic girl. Very fluffy n cuddly. Reader is whining about the cold and snuggles up to the elder n gets a little frisky he's grumpy but willing to help out. Thank you!

Pet names: Girly, little one, my girl, etc

Kinks: softdom, possesive, breeding, mild somnophilia

Hold You

Pairing: Woftik (Male Yautja) x AFAB Reader

Warnings: SMUT, softdom, possesive Yautja, breeding kink, light size kink, knotting, light aftercare, P in V, soft sex, fluff, use of very feminine pet names. You know the drill people lol

Word Count: 4516

Summary: Yautja Prime is a large planet. It sits in the designated zone for life to sprout. And life easily thrives all over the place. Even when a bitter cold takes over the poles. Woftik lives there with you. Life is great. Until the frozen lands are swallowed with a blizzard. All the two of you could possibly do was wait out the storm with each other.

Author Note: I'm so sorry this took a bit to get to. I had gotten caught up with a few self-interest writings. I do promise, I'm working on the ones that people have requested. Also, I do love all of your requests guys!

Masterlist

Ao3

In the middle of the equator and the poles of Yautja Prime, it had weather closer to earth. Closer to said poles, an actual four seasons will cycle every year of the planet. Though rare, some Yautjas will live up towards the poles. A select few clans have laid down claim to vast, cool plains of barren lands and ocean.

Off of the top of your head, you could remember the clan Woftik was part of and another his clan was affiliated with. Nacht Klinge and Snoq are the clan names. There were two more, you believed that survive in the colder climates. Truly, you didn’t mind the cold as much, enjoying on some days. While on others, you snuggled up to your Yautja and napped content.

Today was no different. A blizzard had wiped the Nacht Klinge clan off of the map currently. It was far too dangerous for even a Yautja to step foot outside without being lost. There wasn’t nothing out there worth the risk in the first place. Food, water, entertainment, warmth all bundled into one place. No one could drag you out there if they wanted to.

That meant, you found yourself pinned to Woftik’s meaty side. One of his thickly corded arms thrown heavily over your shoulders. Just the weight alone had you trapped. Woftik wasn’t moving anytime soon. It seemed, neither were you.

The Yautja had his eyes closed, ears open, and body sagged into the couch. Your little warmth wasn’t attentive but it had him satisfied. He let loose a rumble that vibrated across the expanse of his torso. You giggled and squirmed in your spot, unable to move much.

As time went on, the fire that Woftik had built sometime before, had dwindled. With the harsh cold threatening to breakdown the door and environment you lived in, you felt the crisp, frosty air biting at your exposed skin. Despite the blazing heat warming up your side, it wasn’t enough to hold it back. Your body was raked with a shiver. That caught Woftik’s attention.

His dark, almost black, brown eyes opening and flicked down to you. You gazed up at him with doe eyes. “It’s getting cold,” you explained and trembled again. It wasn’t on purpose.

Old Woftik grumbled, not out of annoyance, just a noise he regularly makes and lifted his arm off of you. His heat fleeting away the moment he did. This was an open opportunity though. You leaped off of the couch and raced over to the fireplace.

Orange, glowing embers produced heated that fell over your goose bumped skin. At this distance, the cold was chased away once more. You reached next to the mantle and grabbed three chopped logs, as much as possible. They were carefully placed on top of the dying fire. Next, you mindfully leaned in, still a safe distance away and gently blew.

It helped stroke the ember, pushing oxygen towards them. They grew bright with flames flickering to life once more. Those flames licked up at the logs a few times as you did this over and over. Until the logs finally caught the fire and burned. You smiled to yourself and stood back up. With one move, you pivoted around to face Woftik.

The elder was the spitting image of tranquility. Arms hanging on the back of the couch, legs spread far wider than necessary. His head leaned back and exposing his throat to you. Not a single muscle was tensed or twitching. Softly, his chest rose and fell with quiet breaths. You didn’t let your smile fade at the sight of him.

Instead, you skipped up to him. Woftik made a noise that kept solidifying his growing age. His Adam’s apple bobbing with the sound. You took the initiative to climb into his lap and straddle his wide waist.

Woftik didn’t move a muscle. Your hands touched at his midriff before sliding up to his wide shoulders. For a male, this Yautja was massive in mass and height. He rivaled a few females that live among his clan. Yet, Woftik’s color has been adapted to his environment over decades of living here.

An off color of white painted his skin. Though white was considered a curse among many of the clans that lived towards the equator. For him, it was a gift. To hunt and live in a climate this harsh and deadly required skill and great camouflage. Maybe that’s why he’s chief of the Nacht Klinge clan.

Similar to all of his kind, he was only adorned with a loin cloth – albeit thicker. The bulky size of him kept him far warmer than you in this kind of weather. Another adaptation for the climate. If he were outside when the weather was normal, a furred covering would hang from his shoulders. Woftik would wear shoes as well. It was too cold for him to go bare foot like the rest of his kind at the equator.

In the safety of Woftik’s dwelling, he sat almost naked and lax. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your chest against his. A short purr vibrated from deep within his barrel torso. You quietly laughed and shook your head.

With the newly rebuilt fire rewarming the house once more, you softened against Woftik. One of his massive arms encircled your form. It kept you snug to him. You release a sigh of content, a hidden smile gracing your features. Barely above a whisper, you mummer, “love ya, ya big giant.” Woftik’s arm flexed just a hair. You felt it though and didn’t let your turned up lips fall.

The temperature continued to drop throughout the day. It sapped up your heat, even your own Yautja started to feel that annoying bite at his heels. He threw his other arm over you, encasing your frame. You canted your hips to scoot forward, to somehow press yourself into his skin. Maybe, somehow get underneath it to steal all of his warmth.

You stuttered with a gasp at the accidently stimulation of your clit skirting across Woftik’s loin cloth. An all too familiar heat bloomed over you features. A new fire sparking to life deep within your stomach. You whined and snuggled deeper into him. This time, you grounded your hips down on purpose. Your eyes rolled back. Woftik’s deadly claws poked into your feeble flesh.

Now, with the feeling starting a fire across your skin, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. It would help keep you warm in this weather, fire or not. You let an arm fall from around his neck and settled on his navel, nails lightly scratching. “Woftik,” you softly cry his name before picking up your head to look at him in the eye. He was already peering down at you, mandibles tense. You had started a gentle fire, not the one in the fireplace.

“What do you want, little one?” he muttered lowly and bent down the best he could. His face was close to yours. You felt the warm, moist exhale flutter over your features. He was close enough to make out the texture of his dark eyes. Darker than usual as need grew within them.

A heavier blush blanketed your cheeks at the name he called you. One he didn’t let fade. Woftik shifted his hands to engulf your hips. With those limbs, he forced you to grind up against him. You sucked in a sharp breath of air between your clenched teeth. “I asked you a question, girly.” You keened quietly and ducked underneath his chin to hide in his neck. But the white Yautja wasn’t gonna let that happen.

With a hand, he pinched your jaw and softly brought you back out. “Little one,” he spoke with a hardened, lax tone. You couldn’t help your hips jutting forward, knocking your clothed cunt against the slowly growing bulge in his pants. Woftik squeezed your chin for a moment before untensing.

“You,” you quietly stated. Woftik was eating this up like a hungry, starved man. From the usual bouncing, talking ooman on daily basis you were, to this. Such a nervous, needy, little ooman, embarrassed about asking for something so normal.

The old Yautja rumbled a noise of thinking. His dark eyes never leaving yours. “You already have me,” he stated a fact. Here you were, plopped on Woftik’s lap, humping against him like a needy little girl.

You keened with a pathetic whine and finally met his eyes. They begged for him silently. They were filled with emotions, flooding them fully. Woftik used a thumb to rub along your cheek bone. Your whole body went slack in his hold. “Yeah, I know. Such a good little ooman for me. Will you let me take you?” he whispered into the cooling living room. “I’ll keep you warm and safe with me.”

How could anyone say no to him when he speaks like that? Woftik was the best person – alien or not – you’ve ever met. His hands were gentle each time they laid on your feeble skin. His words always had you smiling or keening. His eyes had yours captured each time they met.

Your head was quick to nod. “I want you, love. Please, keep me warm.” To sell the whole show, you shivered, partially fake. Truly, it was dropping in temperature inside of his house.

Woftik grumbled a noise of old age and content before letting his hands skirt underneath your shirt. The blazing heat that radiated off of his skin left a hot trail of the skin he touched. As much as you wanted to hide in the safety of his neck, you didn’t want to part from his eyes. You searched through them and found all the love he had for you stored within them.

“Then, you’ll have me.” One of his hands roamed north before settling over the swell of one of your breasts. You sighed softly at the feeling. The hand on his navel scratching once more. The thick muscle there rippled at your touch. He didn’t let that distract him and run a talon mindfully over a pliant nipple. It immediately had blood rushing to it, growing hard underneath his administration. “Your body knows who I am, doesn’t it?” Your empty cunt clenched at his words.

A warm, short gush of slick dampened your underwear. A new flush of blood brushing over your cheeks. You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore and found the ground more interesting. “Sweet girl, look at me,” he called out to you. In return, you whine and kept your chin tucked down. “Come on, let me see your pretty eyes.”

Relenting, you lifted your head, eyes finding each other. “There’s my girl. I can smell you thick in the air-hey don’t look away now. There you go, keep your eyes on me. You smell like heaven.” Your heart thundered in your ears, almost drowning out his words. It stuttered in its bony cage. How could he talk… fuck you.

“Now, lets get these pants off of you.” Woftik helped lift you up and off of his lap. Your legs trembled at first when you added weight to them. With him right there though, he kept you up and removing your leggings at the same time. His arms flex with use of his muscles. Your lips pressed together, eyes roaming over him.

Once your leggings were tossed to the side, you shivered at the biting cold and leaped into Woftik’s lap. Without hesitancy, his large arms encased your form once more. You hummed at the skin-to-skin contact. “Hm, you’re so warm, love,” you muttered against the giant wall of muscle your head was laid on.

With your shirt still on, Woftik slid a hand underneath and had it returned to its original spot. A groan sounding from the back of your throat. His moves weren’t harsh or demanding, gentle like a waves lapping at a shore.

His free hand slipped between the apex of your plush thighs and cupped your moist core. A gasp tore at your throat from the sudden move. Your spine curved to pressed your hips more against him. He rumbled a chuckle and palmed at you. The move rubbed over your soak clit as his fingers teased your folds. One move and he could be buried inside of you. Yet, the Yautja didn’t let that happen. His digits just stayed still like a statue.

A whine built up in the back of your throat. “Love, I need more.” At your begging, Woftik rested his thumb on top of your nub. Immediately, your muscles tensed and waited impatiently at his next move. When he didn’t, you took it upon yourself to hump against him. The former embarrassment slipping away from you like water. “Fuck, like that. That feels so good.”

Woftik felt pleasure wash over him in a heady amount, soaking into his bones. Despite a want to move that hand coated in your slick, the Yautja pinched at your nipples instead. This distracted you from jerking your hips, you bit at your bottom lip.

Now, he took it upon himself to start a slow, mindful rubbing over your clit. The sticky slick coating your cunt easily allowed for him to pass over your nub. You released your lip with an airy cry, hands clawing at his exposed shoulders. The cold forgotten about now. A wall built to deter it away from the safety of your Yautja.

In tandem, your hips rocked against Woftik’s hand, further increasing the pressure. The Yautja watched, raptured with the way you moved with a desperate need. Your eyes hooded over, bottom lip captured between dull teeth. You were heavily breathing through your nostrils before you started to pant.

He let his upper hand abandon your breast to skim up to wrap firmly around your neck. Your eyes snapped open to stare wide at him. With a thumb, he stroked your jawline. “I didn’t say stop, pretty girl,” he huskily whispered. Your eyes rolled up. You didn’t realize you had stopped moving until he said something. You didn’t waste a second to begin again. A new fever rushing into your veins.

“That’s it,” he growled lowly. You squeaked, hands grasping at his skin. It had to be the combination of everything. Him, his noises, his body, his warmth, his hands, everything. It was affecting you. His last encouragement was the final nail in the coffin.

Your back arched, chest pressed up against him. A hardy gasp tore at the back of your throat, causing a cracking sound. “Fuck!” you spat out and refused to still, jutting your hips without rhythm till the end. A new gush of fluids coating his massive hand between your thighs. Despite the Yautja forcing you to look at him, your hooded back over. The bliss ebbing away from the blood that filled your veins.

When you officially slumped against his broad form, head resting on his shoulder. Woftik dragged his lower limb from between the apex of his body and lifted it in front of his alien face. From the corner of your heavy eyes, you watched as the Yautja licked your juices off. You mewled while humping, horny at the display.

Woftik grumbled his elder noises of content. “Hm, always so good for me.” Then, the Yautja tilted his head back to gaze down at your loose form. “Do you know what you do to me, little one? Do you know how hard you get me? How desperate you have me right now?” If you had a sober mind, the blush coating your cheeks could be from him.

All you could do for the moment was make a pathetic sound from the depths of your chest and bury your face in his neck. “Oh no, no, no. You don’t get to hide away from me now. I want to watch you come on my cock next, sweet girl.”

“Fuck me, please,” you groaned into his neck without thinking. Your body tensed a second after those words had left your mouth. Had you just said that?

The alien in front of you rumbled his low laughter. “That’s what my good girl wants, doesn’t she?” You forced yourself to bite at your bottom lip. At this point, it has had to bleeding or rubbed raw. After all the times you’ve constantly agitated it. A part of yourself would be surprised if it wouldn’t hurt in the morning. “Come on, tell me that you’re my good girl.”

Your hips rolled subconsciously. That’s when you felt a bulge in his pants. Without meaning to, they moved against the bump you had felt. Pleasure shot up the length of your spine all over again. With the combination of him calling you his good girl and the proposition of what’s to come, your walls clenched emptily.

“Your good girl,” you whined. You needed him now.

One moment, Woftik had you on his lap. The very next second, you were slammed onto your back on the couch cushions, legs spread wide. The oxygen in your lungs forced out at the sudden pressure. Any sounds of surprise couldn’t reach the air. But there wasn’t a hint of fear in your eyes as you stared up at the lumber giant above you. Woftik had you pinned to the couch, calm as ever, gaze locked onto you. One hand was wrapped snuggly around your throat. His other had found its way to your navel and gently held you there.

With his lower limb, he retreated it to pull off his pants. They were moved down enough for his cock to spring out and slap against him navel. A thick bead of precum leaking from the head, dripping down the length of him. Such an alien look to him that’ll have you always satisfied.

His size matched his body. Thickly corded and large. A vein ran down the side before disappearing where the noticeable lump of his deflated knot. He was a bright, neon green, just like his blood. At the sight of him, your mouth watered.

Your eyes lifted up to find his nearly black eyes on you, heavy with lust. Without even needing to say a word, you knew what he was asking of you. “Fill me, love.” Woftik didn’t need to ask again. With one hand, he lined himself up with your dripping cunt and pressed forward.

The head of his flat head popped inside before he stilled. Both of you relished in the delicious feeling seeping into your veins. Your head leaned back with a keen sounding from you. “You feel so good, little one. So tight and I’m barely inside of you,” he groaned and forced himself to still for your benefit. Past interactions have taught him well.

Woftik was gentle, mindful on his actions until his hips finally kissed your inner thighs. The two of you cried out, heads thrown back at the same time. His hands squeezed temporarily. Before the one on your neck slid up to tangle in your hair. He tugged on the strands to force you to look at him again. “That’s all me, little one. Pauk, yeah. So pauking tight around me.” That lower hand touched your navel again and pressed down. You harshly gasped.

With a newfound energy, Woftik snatched one of your hands and pressed it to your navel. He preformed the same action as before. Your eyes widened, unable to look away from his dark ones. You felt the giant twitch inside of you. You could feel him with your hand, deep inside of you.

“I’m so far inside of you. So deep. I’m inside of your womb. I’m going to fill your womb with my seed. Breed you so full of me.” For a lumbering giant, he knew how to use words for his advantage. You throbbed, walls barely able to even move with him inside of you. “Pauk, I love when you do that. You love the way I’m so far inside of you.”

Yeah, you most definitely do. He’s ruined you for anyone else. And it wasn’t just the sex that convinced you to stay with him. He may have been an ass in the beginning, but he was the best thing you had back then. You were glad to have stayed with him, through the dangers of his life.

“I do. Now, fucking pound me,” you demanded and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down. His warm breath fell over you at each exhale. One deep inhale filled your lungs with his earthy scent of wildlife and nature and salt.

He didn’t need to be told twice at the order of his mate. With one pull of his hips, almost removing himself from you, he thrusted forward. The slap against your thighs wasn’t harsh or painful by any means. This was the beginning after all. He wants to savor the moment for however long he possible could.

On the other hand, you were loving every, single second. His girth pressed every crook and nanny inside of you. You were seeing stars, despite the vanilla pace he usually sets up.

Woftik’s tresses fell around you in a curtain of light green. With the leftovers of your sober mind, you turned your head and captured the end of one of them with your lip. Woftik slammed his hips particular hard against you. It sent your body sliding up before he pulled you back down flush with him. “Do that again,” he begged and partially draped himself over you. His weight kept you trapped.

At his request, you suckled on the end of the one you caught. Woftik grounded his hips hard into you, only thrusting them while holding you down to the couch. It had your clit scrapping across his pelvis. You squeezed like a snake around him at the harsh stimulation. He yowled and shuttered above you, a beautiful sight before you. You felt that familiar heat blooming back into your chest.

The Yautja didn’t speed up but kept the punishing harshness of his hips snapping to you. He fell to his elbows, chest to chest with you now. You were completely pinned between him and the couch. There was nowhere to go. Not that you wanted to leave anyhow. This is where you wanted to be. This is where you are meant to be.

You keened a particular thrust that had you seeing stars. Your whole body shuttered, walls fluttering around him. Woftik snarled huskily above, mandibles clicking wildly. “You’re mine to breed. Mine to fill. Mine to love. Mine to pauk.” Your hands clawed at his back, probably not leaving any sort of marks. Yet, the alien shuttered as if you had hurt him.

“All yours, love. All you-oh!” He firmly rewrapped his hand back around your throat, once he had realized it slipped away. Woftik watched the way your eyes rolled back up into your head, eyelids hooded. You squeezed him once more, dragging him closer and closer towards the end.

His growing knot kept catching on your entrance, almost locking him prematurely inside. As much as he wanted to stop anything from preventing a smooth thrust, he was too far gone. He used the muscles that lined his broad back and waist to keep slamming his hips against you. There wasn’t anything that could pull him away from you. You were his. Through and through.

With the slight increase in his rough pounding, his skin rubbed against your erect nipples. Bliss was thrumming throughout your whole body. From the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You were soaking in it with your mate fucking you into the living room couch. The harsh, winter cold no longer a problem from the heat the two of you generated. No fire was needed for fiery love you held for each other.

One particular slam had you sobbing, body threatening to curl into his blazing body. “That’s it, little one. Be my good girl, come for me. And I’ll fill you with my seed as you’re mine,” he praised into your ear. Harsh clicks following afterwards. He cursed in his own language, losing his ability to speak ooman for the moment.

A body splintering orgasm pushed you right off of the edge. Everything went white, body tense and writing against Woftik’s never ending moving form. There was static in your ear. The only thing you could hear was a far off scream echoing in your ears. Your throat started to burn, vibrating for some odd reason.

Then, as your soul returned, you realized it was you who was making that noise. The rest of the air in your lungs left and forced you to sputter for more oxygen. You were panting, roughly and rasping inhales. Sweat dotted your half naked form. The shirt that hung off of your shoulders was sticking to your skin like an uncomfortable second layer.

You tried to gather your thoughts for a second only to feel a painful slap meet your thigh. If it wasn’t for the strong body pinning you down or the sturdy hold clasped around your throat, you would’ve been thrown far up the couch.

An all too familiar pressure burst inside of you, locking. You keened at the feeling, back arching off of the couch. Woftik’s snarl vibrated across the expanse of your skin. His native language falling off his alien tongue in heady mouthfuls. Your name cried out like a prayer along the words.

With a shaky, weak hand, you cupped his lower jaw. This had him opening his eyes, hooded and heavily to stare down at the mess he made of you. He purred thickly once he did.

There was so many emotions swirl inside of those gorgeous eyes of his. Not just the lust or subdued hunger for you. No, the affection he has that stems from deep within his soul shone through. You felt yourself completely soften at the sight.

The limb on your throat shifted to mirror your action. Woftik leaned forward and softly knocked his forehead against yours. “You did so well for me, sweet girl,” he breathed in to your ear, breathing faster than usual. You smiled up at him with a tilt of your head. “Yeah, you did so pauking good for me.”

Now, the blush blanketing your cheeks wasn’t from your exertion or former embarrassment. It was due to his new words. Instead of shying away, you kept your gaze on him. “Thank you, love. That was amazing, just like you.”

Woftik tensed before sputtering. You giggled softly at his reaction before rewrapping your arm back around him. He relaxed in your hold and let the moment carry on. Until you felt the dreading cold nip at the skin exposed to the house’s air. You whined and wiggled underneath him. “Wof… it’s getting cold again.” There wasn’t much he could do until his knot deflated. So, you had to wait until then. Don’t fret, the Yautja ensured you kept warm underneath him.

#yautja smut #yautja x you #yautja #alien vs predator #predator #predator x human #predator x you #x reader #yautja x reader #predator x reader #yautja x human

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sunshine-zenith · 10 months

Text

…this was supposed to be a three panel gag comic

Anyway, while I like to imagine movie!Ambrosius is an orphan like his comic counterpart, the movie itself doesn’t really give much evidence either way. I’m also a sucker for AUs that connect different iterations of the same character, so when I thought “hey wouldn’t it be funny if…,” I couldn’t stop myself. Plus, in an older post on his tumblr regarding the webcomic, ND Stevenson said he saw Comic!Ballister as being of Asian descent/multiracial, like how Movie!Ambrosius ended up being (that said, Stevenson specifically “fancast” Lucy Liu as Comic!Ballister, who is Chinese-American, and Movie!Ambrosius was modeled after Eugene Lee Yang, who is Korean-American — two different ethnicities with two different originating countries. Given the in-universe No One Goes Over The Wall fact, M!Amb is definitely multiracial, and so would be C!Ballister if set in the same universe. Still, I wanted to acknowledge this)

I tried to make Older!C!Ballister look a bit like M!Amb, implying he’s the bio!grandparent/Gloreth’s descendant. Given the fact that C!Amb longed for parents that were special and were Totally Alive And Just Away For A Good Reason, No Death Or Abandonment Involved, him being Gloreth’s descendant takes away from that a bit of his backstory. This AU would make his parents known to him, and make them “special,” but they’d at least be “normal” knights in comparison to Gloreth’s line. Though thinking about it, given that cloning is referenced in the comic, maybe they used SCIENCE to make a baby that was related to both of them. Or one of them is trans idk

Also, for the record, if M!Amb actually met C!Amb, they’d probably get into a fist fight in like two second. C!Ballister would meanwhile adopt a Frustrated Dad persona and drill in the whole Arm Chopping =/= Love Language thing, while M!Bal would have a conniption over the Actual Law Breaker thing

#nimona graphic novel #nimona movie #nimona #ballister x ambrosius #ballister blackheart #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #cy art #cy fanart #long post #Comic!B hearing about the ‘monster attack’: oh shit my grandbaby. wait oh nO MY LONG LOST ADOPTIVE BABY???#broke 100

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breannasfluff · 1 year

Text

Legend catalogs the reaction he’s noticed of each person with the newest hero.

Wild scares the ever-loving shit out of Four. The smithy steers far away whenever he can help it and his eyes swirl a riot of colors. Legend’s watched him circle the Champion at a prescribed distance—a good 10 feet away if he can make it. Situations that bring him closer result in a flighty energy that steadily worsens until Four bolts further away.

Hyrule spouts so much flowery language and courtly manners he gives Warriors a run for his money. The veteran didn’t know he even knew that many manners, much less how to use them properly. Yet every greeting to Wild is some drawn-out, overextended mess of words that leaves everyone confused. The champion doesn’t seem to get it, either, so who knows why Hyrule insists on keeping it up.

Warriors…well, Legend’s not sure what happened between him and Wild, but the captain is waging a one-man war against his chainmail. Some days he wears it and others he’s stripping as fast as he can. It’d be funny if he didn’t look so frightened. Or if the chainmail stripping didn’t coincide with Wild’s close attention.

Wind is too easy-going to stay away from the champion, but he doesn’t seek him out, either. When they stop at rivers or lakes to bathe, the sailor goes in the water before or after Wild, but never at the same time.

Sky looks perpetually ill, sometimes tripping over nothing when Wild runs up to him. The champion peppers him with questions about his loftwing, or his Zelda. The last brings a frown to his face and if Legend didn’t know the chosen hero was just that, he’d say Sky was jealous.

Legend? He thinks Wild is fucking awesome . Oh, he’s still scary as any monster—scarier, even. The champion brings with him the ache of cold teeth, like chewing on an icicle or eating cold food too fast. Prolonged conversation with him results in a headache.

There’s something wrong with Wild, but not enough to keep Legend away. After so many adventures, it’s rare to find something that surprises him so thoroughly. As long as he doesn’t start manifesting dream creations, he can stay.

“You want to spar?” Legend plants himself in front of Wild, ignoring Warriors choking behind him.

Wild looks up, eyes reflecting light in a way they shouldn’t. “Spar?” It probably hasn’t escaped his notice that no one will fight him, even in training.

“Sure, I need to loosen up.” Rolling his shoulders, Legend moves towards the open area Four and Hyrule were using earlier. The sharp spike of cold goes straight to his head and he futilely presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to warm it.

Warriors, stick in the ass that he is, is trying to get them to stop. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea right now.” He casts about for an excuse, then shifts pleading eyes to Time.

The old man looks like he’s not paying attention, but the veteran catches the tightening in his shoulders and sideways glance. “Play nice, stay safe. Run through some drills, first.”

He’s not a child to be told what to do. Legend tosses one of the practice staves at Wild, not willing to consign himself to metal against the other. “Here, this should do.”

Wild runs a hand over the wood and bends it over a knee, checking it won’t snap. Then he nods and waits for Legend, who stares back.

“Drill?”

“What drill?” Wild’s head tips too far to one side.

Legend doesn’t answer, just starts running through some basic moves. Wild watches but doesn’t join in. Finally, he stops. “Forget it. Fighting or not?”

“Boys,” comes Time’s voice.

“Whatever.” Legend ignores him and raises his stick. “Ready? Go!”

Wild’s not ready, but Legend makes a wide swing to give him time to settle. The kid made it through his journey with whatever weirdness he’s got going on; he can handle one spar without chopping someone’s head off.

His follow-up swing is met with the crack of wood; Wild’s focus is fully on the fight, now. He stays on defense, then switches to offense, and then back again.

Wild’s style is…unique, in that it seems to be a mash of moves with little flowing grace, but he’s a proficient fighter. He’s focused and in control. He doesn’t turn into evil incarnate because he’s crossing blades—or staves, with someone. Warriors worries over nothing.

Legend keeps up, periodically landing faster hits to see how he’ll react. Through it all, the sharp ache in his teeth grows. It’s distracting and the adrenaline of movement isn’t enough to block it out. The tightening band around his head is an indication enough of the growing headache.

Finally, Legend steps back and raises his stave to signal an end. Wild stays poised for one, sharp moment, then steps back as well with a grin.

“Thanks, this was fun.”

Nodding back, Legend tosses the stave to the side and meanders across the camp. Time’s gaze burns, but he ignores it to settle next to Four, far away from Wild and his tooth-aching chill.

The champion may be awesome, but curse the Goddesses, Legend could do without the headache.

Read the rest here!

#eldritch echoes #eldritch wild #lu wild #lu sky #lu legend #lu time #lu twilight #linked universe #linkeduniverse #breannasfluff #my writing #feral wild #linked universe fanfic

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