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weeknd-ogoc · 5 months

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BEGGING ˳ ׄ ⟡ . CARLOS SAINZ JR.

SUMMARY: in which carlos suffers the consequences of liking an influencer who is younger than him. (part one / part two) FACE CLAIM: kelsey calemine CONTAINS: reader is 21; 8 year age gap, jealous!carlos, lando crushing on reader, ex boyfriend!vinniehacker, oral receiving (m) & smut! AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is a little different than what i usually do so hopefully you guys like it! my requests are open!

ynusername

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username lord have mercy we must stay focused brothers we must stay focused

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ynusername pull up vincent username vinnie what are you doing here

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⟡

you were currently on a secret mini getaway with an older forumla one driver — the both of you were not looking for anything serious right now so you'd secretly meet up every once in awhile.

"listen if you just say yes to lando, we can go on summer vacations together next year!" kika told you over the phone. "when was the last time you had a boyfriend and vinnie doesn't count!"

"whose vinnie?" you heard pierre whisper.

carlos sainz bit back a moan as you jerked his cock off in one hand and held your phone to your ear with the other.

"keeks, i really don't need a boyfriend..."

he undid your bikini top as you continued to listen to your friend. "fuck..." you watched as he pinched your nipple. "i've never seen someone with better tits than yours.”

you smiled up at him before talking once more.

as much as he loved hearing your voice, right now was really not the time. "hang up befor-"

you playfully rolled your eyes at him and gave his tip a little kiss before you wrapped your mouth against his length once more but jumped up once again. "no way! he told pierre that?"

at this point he had clenched his jaw and tried to remember how long ago this conversation first started.

"hold on." you then looked up at carlos who had an unamused face. "did you know lando was going to ask me out on a date a few days ago?"

of coarse he knew.

"why do you think i brought you here." he mumbled and tried snatching your phone from your hand but failed. "please, i'm begging you to hang up..."

even though he wasn't looking for something serious, he didn't want to share the girl he was currently fucking.

you continued pumping his cock and talking to your friend until he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed you down his length causing you to let out a loud gag.

as you slapped his thigh, he overheard francisca ask if you were alright which he grabbed the phone out of your hand and put it up to his ear. "she's busy, she'll call you back later."

he let go of your head and you pinched his arm. "carlos, i swear somet-"

he shrugged as you tried complaining some more but he pulled you up from your knees and kissed you violently, saliva running down your mouth. "now let's take this off of you..." he said as he undid your bottom.

⟡

ynusername

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⟡

a week later you had shown up to club with lando norris after a race in miami, kika had her arm intertwined with yours as you guys went to the bar to get a drink.

"you still haven't told me who the mystery boy was from the other day." she said as you sipped on your drink.

you shrugged. "it was carlos sainz..."

she smiled as she playfully slapped your arm. "oh not a mystery boy, it was a man! he's cute..."

before you could fill her in on all the juicy details, lando was already pulling you away. "i'm going to borrow her..."

lando and you had known each other for about a year now and even though you repeatedly told him that you weren't looking for anything serious, he was trying everything in his power to make you his.

carlos had arrived with rebecca but his eye was on you and he saw how lando would wrap his arm around your waist when a guy would try to talk to you.

that should be him wrapping his arm around you.

when he saw lando getting a bit too close to you, he walked over to you guys and you smiled at the sight of him. "carlos!" you gave him a hug and he hugged you a little tighter, the hug lasted a little longer than what lando expected so he gently pulled you back into him.

rebbeca gave you a small smile and held onto carlos's hand.

"how do you guys know each other?"

"pierre introduced us awhile back."

so the four of you sat in a booth and as the boys talked about the race results, rebbeca and you had small talks here and there.

"so you're twenty one?" she asked and you nodded. "pretty young..."

you nodded once again and swallowed down the drink that lando had ordered you awhile ago. you watched as they continued to talk and had an idea pop in your head, you couldn't lie carlos was looking really good right now.

so while rebecca left to use the restroom and lando went to get you another drink, you decided to tease him just a bit.

"how's your little date going?" he asked as he fixed a button on his shirt.

"not a date." you took your left heel off and began rubbing his leg with your foot.

carlos laid his eyes on and tried shaking your foot off. "don't start..."

after a few failed attempts of him trying to get you to stop, he finally let it go and your foot had finally landed on his crotch. "how's you're date going?"

you felt him getting hard and continued to rub on his clothed erection.

"c'mon let's get out of here, my hotel isn't that fa-"

before he could finish, lando was already on his way back with the drinks. you took your foot away from his erection and turned your attention to lando, “aw, you got my favorite!" you placed a kiss on his cheek and you heard carlos clear his throat.

once rebbeca came back, the four of you talked about different things until something from a distance caught your eye. "i'll see you guys in a bit, just have to say hi to someone..."

they both watched as you walked away and ended up at another booth with a boy who had on a shirt that was the same shade of pink as your dress, they saw as the boy kissed your cheek and you guys began talking — carlos knew who this guy was because he one time saw him comment under your page and he was just being nosy.

vinnie hacker.

⟡

ynspam

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ynspam me + my favorite photographer

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vinniehacker oh yeah, i knew it :))

username omgg are they back together????

username she was just seen with an f1 driver, probably not username she's seen with a new guy every month 😭

ynspam i want everyone to know vincent posted this

vinniehacker lies, im innocent

username 😍😍

francisca.cgomes if you dont answer the phone right now!!!

ynspam im scared pierregasly you're in troubleee

⟡

carlos had shown up to your brand new house in los angeles a week earlier than expected, you had invited him to hangout for a few days the following week.

"carlitos! what are you doing here?" you smiled as he hugged you and placed a kiss on your lips.

you knew that little nickname drove him crazy.

he said it was surprise but the truth was he didn't want someone else hanging around you or your new house; someone else meaning vinnie or lando. you had been on his mind constantly, he felt like you were messing with his head.

“maybe you should stop seeing both of them...” his teeth pulled on the bottom of your lip. "just be with me." his fingers held onto your jaw as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

disconnecting your lips from his, you turned your face a bit "that wasn't part of our dea-" he had quickly began pulling down the little short you had on along with the thong you had, dragging his fingers through your folds. "fuck, what about reb-"

"theres nothing serious going on with her." he shrugged as his fingers pushed into your pussy. "c'mon hermosa, what do you say?"

since you had already took his boxers off, you had gotten on top of him and kissed his lips. "i'm all yours carlitos..."

you knew that carlos was very much into very rough sex with you so you were surprised when he went soft this time, it was actually really nice.

⟡

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ynusername he said he'd leave me home next time. ⛳️

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⟡

everything was going smoothly as you entered four months into your relationship, up until now when you guys finally had your first fight — carlos had taken you to meet his family for the week and let's just say you didn't get along with his mother.

"she's very beautiful carlos but that's not the type of girl you want to be seen with..." he remembered his mother telling him as he watched you play with his dogs in the backyard. "she's young carlos, why not find someone your age or finally rekindle your relationship with isa?"

"i think she's lovely..." his father said as he chewed on his food, earning him a glare from his mother. "she's beautiful, funny and i mean she sure knows how to cook a good meal."

the visit was about to be cut short when carlos had found you back in his room packing your bag. "she basically called me trashy carlos!"

he sighed and shook his head one. "she did not, my mother just said that it wasn't a very appropriate outfit to wear to dinner and you know i also told y-"

"well i'm twenty-one carlos, i'm not going to be dressing up like an old lady..."

the dress you had worn was just a tad bit too short but other than that nothing else was being revealed, carlos had no problem with the dress but he knew his mom probably wouldn't approve.

you had told him that you wanted to leave but he kept begging for you to just stay. "we have three more days left amor, please let's just stay..."

after a bit convincing he got you to stay and you tried to give it another shot but his mother was not cooperating with you and carlos had now seen it.

"it worked amor, she will be civil with you!"

you happily hugged him. "thank you! she's going to love me!"

"i know she will." he nodded and kissed the top of your head, you went on to say how you wanted to set up a breakfast for her in the morning but he quickly stoped you. "well just hold on to that idea, i have a surprise for you in the morning..."

⟡

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⟡

carlos had invited lando golfing because he knew that the two of you got along pretty well considering what went on with the two of you in the past.

"glad it's not awkward since you know..." you joked as carlos wrapped an arm around you.

they both nodded. "the past is the past."

upon returning back to his parents's house, you were met with his family and isa sitting down at the dining table. "there they are! i invited isa to stay for dinner since you guys couldn't make it for breakfast..." his mother smiled at you and then back to carlos. "i did tell you about it last night, did you forget?"

you looked back at carlos who had a nervous smile on his face. "well um-"

"you've got to be kidding." you scoffed as you walked back into his room, packing whatever you could into your luggage once again.

he followed behind you and tried unpacking things. "amor por fav-"

"you lied to me carlos! you made me golf with lando while your ex was here having the time of her life with your parents." you took back the clothes form him and shoved them back in. "you had a totally different conversation with your mother than what you told me."

carlos sighed and wrapped and arm around you. "just please stay, one night and we will leave tomorrow morning..."

"so you want me to put on a smile and go sit with your ex girlfriend and my monster in law?" you threw one oh his shirts at his head but he caught it.

he sighed once again. "one night and we can work it out once we get out of here."

you groaned before nodding. "i will stay and we will leave in the morning but i will be going home, not to japan with you."

for the rest of dinner and the night you had been giving him the silent treatment and since the both of you rarely ever got into arguments, carlos wasn't sure how he was meant to fix things up with you.

he had two days to get you to come with him to japan and most importantly he had to get you to forgive him because he couldn't lose you.

carlos knew you different than any other girl he had ever been with in the past — yes you were a bit spoiled and sometimes a brat but he loved that about you, he cared so much about you and saw a real future with you.

my f1 & f2 masterlist!

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halfbakedfairy · 2 years

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𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 & 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘥 ✨

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sleepinthrumyalarms · 9 months

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— a study in demon

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, a/b/o dynamics in werewolves and demons, penetration, G!P!reader, it's demon girlcock OKAY, cockwarming, breeding kink, size kink, knotting, all characters are aged-up

summary: an unfortunate turn of events leaves wednesday with a very frustrated, very needy oni demon on her hands. what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn't take care of her beloved?

word count: 4.5k

a/n: jesus christ, look at those warnings. this fic is a whole declaration of war. i went feral. i have nothing to say for myself. hope you enjoy

The first thing you feel when the annoying buzzing of the alarm pulls you out of your peaceful slumber is the immense heat of your body and the ache somewhere in your lower belly. A groan leaves your throat before you can even blink your eyes fully open, and you blindly reach for your phone to turn the screaming noise off.

You sit up on your bed and squint at the sunlight that streams through the tiny slit in the tightly shut curtains, opening a small calendar app that’s designed specifically for the creatures of your kind – and with a huff you realize your rut is coming in two days.

Damn it. You’ve completely forgotten about it. That certainly explains the aggressiveness and mood swings you’ve been having for the past week.

You open a new text message, sent from your girlfriend at 5:30 AM – not exactly an early riser, but definitely the type to pull an all-nighter on a school night – wishing you the most dreadful morning. You smile to yourself, and the smallest thought of her seems to be enough to motivate you to get out of bed and start the day despite the uncomfortable feeling stirring in your belly.

Thank all the gods almighty – Larissa Weems, especially – that it is still a non-uniform week at the Academy. Sitting in class with that tie wrapped around your throat like a noose would’ve killed you.

You rummage through your wardrobe, pulling out a tee and a pair of jeans, changing hastily, before your gaze falls on a particular item of clothing that definitely doesn’t belong in your closet.

It’s a black baggy zip hoodie, the one Wednesday constantly wears when out of class. It’s a surprise she has forgotten it at your place – your best guess is she must’ve left in one of your sweatshirts instead.

The fabric feels smooth in your grasp. Warm fleece lining. A bit abrasive on the outside.

Just like her.

You lift the hoodie to your face, burying your nose in the softness and inhaling.

Smells just like her, too.

Without a second thought you put it over your frame – though a bit more of a tight fit, it’s still slightly baggy on your shoulders – and zip it up, pulling the hood over your head to take another small whiff of the familiar scent.

That should get you through the day, you think.

And it does. For the first half of it, at least.

You take an extra suppressant pill during lunch, but skip the meal, opting to spend the free time in the quad to ventilate your head.

It feels better. Much, much better. Even though you don’t get to see Wednesday at the canteen.

You’re back inside for your last period – maths, and your mind gets too busy with the complicated equations and formulas to worry about the hormones running wild in your body.

You’re half-way through a very fucked-up problem with roots and sines before a strong aroma suddenly fills up your lungs – an omega’s pheromones, you realize, wide-eyed.

An omega who is in heat.

You lift your head up, giving the students around you a quick once-over – and your gaze meets a pair of golden orbs, a pretty girl with pink plump lips and fiery-red hair tied into a pony tail watches you with interest, her chin propped on her palm. As soon as you make eye-contact, she gives you a smile, revealing a small, adorable gap in the front row of her teeth.

You shake your head and smile back politely before turning back to your paper, but the rest of the class feels like you’re trapped in a suffocating cage of hot arousal that smells of yellow fruit and washed laundry.

As soon as the bell dismisses the students, you hastily pack your bag and bolt out of the door, desperate to lock yourself in your dorm room and just take care of this stupid predicament you’ve found yourself in. You’ve never been more grateful for the lack of a roommate.

“Hey, (Y/n).”

You stop and turn at the sound of your name being called, although the voice is quite unfamiliar – too melodic and gentle to be anyone you know.

“Hey, uh...”

It’s the redhead from maths. She watches you expectantly for a few moments before her face falls slightly, “It’s Dina! I was with the Black Cats last year. We met at the after party? The one Yoko hosted?” She sounds almost offended at the fact that you don’t remember her.

“Oh. Oh, right. Dina. Sorry. I’m really bad with names.” You smile apologetically.

“It’s fine. I’d be surprised if you remembered me, actually. This academy holds way too many ginger werewolves,” Dina chuckles, and falls in step with you to continue walking down the hall. “So, you up to anything right now?”

“No, not really. Just hoping to get back to the dorms and sleep my awful headache off. Been bugging me all day.”

It’s only a half-lie – your temples are still throbbing like crazy, and the pheromones you’ve smelled in class did nothing to help your case.

The werewolf tilts her head, pursing her plump lips, “Hmm... That’s too bad, because, actually...”

The smaller girl suddenly grabs your hips and pushes you – unprepared, you stumble to the side and right through the door of some random classroom. Barely able to catch your balance at Dina’s abrupt movement, your hands grasp at her forearms, desperately trying to steady the rest of your body.

“I was thinking I could help you relieve that pain of yours.”

She looks up at you, tilts her chin up slightly. The smell of citron and fresh linen suddenly fills your nose.

The same one you’ve felt in class.

The omega in heat.

Fuck.

The werewolf in front of you settles with pumping her pheromones at you wildly, her palms flitting from your hips down to your thighs, slowly closing in on your center – you do nothing to stop her, your own hands reaching behind you to grip the edge of the desk. Her eyes are glinting red now, slitted pupils never breaking eye contact with yours.

She presses her nose against your scent gland, and you feel her grin against your neck.

“I don’t smell an omega on you...” Shit. Of course Wednesday’s hoodie doesn’t smell like anything but her usual dark resins and woods scent. As much as it is alluring and recognizable to you, it’s not pheromones. “You haven’t mated with one yet? That’s just criminal... An alpha like you should spend all her ruts with a pretty omega impaled on her cock.”

You take a sharp inhale through your nose, feeling yourself throb treacherously at her words. Dina giggles softly, pressing her lips to your jaw, her mouth now inches away from yours.

“You know…” she starts sultry, voice heavy with unadulterated lust in a way that only an omega’s can sound to the ears of a rutting alpha, “I’ve never taken an oni’s knot before…”

You feel the werewolf squeeze your thighs, bare her claws in a sharp movement, “I wonder what it feels like.”

Your head is heavy, cloudy – you’re practically unable to resist, tusked mouth hanging open with small puffs of vapors fluttering out. The urge to bend the small werewolf over the desk and pound her into the wood feels even harder to resist, too.

An unpleasant feeling rattles through your chest, unbearable and disgusting. An image of dark-brown eyes and soft lips painted burgundy flashes through your mind.

You feel like you’re going to puke.

“No,” you rasp, pushing the werewolf away. “Get off me.”

Before the startled girl can retort, you stumble out of the classroom and slam the door closed, turning the key that has been left in the keyhole by some clumsy substitute.

You stumble for a moment, lifting a clawed palm to grasp at your head that has suddenly turned cloudy and heavy, and make your way towards the ladies’ restroom.

She must’ve felt the rut closing on you, and her own heat triggered it prematurely.

With shaky hands you pull out your phone, opening the messages app and texting the first person that comes to your clouded mind.

enid

bro you gotta ditch

it’s an emergency

i just stumbled into a girl

uhh dina?

she’s from ophelia hall

anyways i think she needs… help

from a fellow omega wolf

i think she hasn’t been taking her suppressants

for some fucking reason

and yk it’s not like me to live a lady in distress

but i really had to dip

i was doing her a favor by dipping actually

i locked her up on the 2nd floor

202

i really had to leave

Pressing your back against one of the bathroom stalls, you wait anxiously as three gray dots dance on the screen.

The device dingles in your hands.

oooohh

its okay

i gotchu

u should totes find weds tho

im sure she can help u out ;))

You hide your phone in your pocket and open the tap to splash your face with cold water. It eases the flush of your face, but doesn’t calm the raging beast inside.

Your fingers grasp onto the edges of the sink tightly, almost making the marble crack.

As you walk through the corridors and up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, the only thought that occupies your mind is Wednesday. Wednesday and her dark eyes and her lips and her touch and the beautiful curve of her slender hips and everything that is your mate.

You don’t bother knocking, urgently swinging the door open.

And there it is. Your (f/c) sweater, no doubt one of her monochrome striped shirts under it.

Your palms are sweating. Claws digging into your pant legs, tusks into your lip.

The small ravenette turns in her seat to look at you, her fingers stilling over the keys of her typewriter.

Her braided hair looks pristine and untouched, her posture unmatched, the image perfect even when out of public sight.

“Ma bête,” she addresses softly, brows slightly raised in question. “You’re back. And you look… a trifle uncomfortable.”

Does she not know? There’s no way she doesn’t. Such details could never slip Wednesday’s unhealthily constantly alerted mind.

“Is something wrong?”

Fuck. Of course. There it is, that cruel glint in her eyes. You should’ve known.

She wants you to say it.

You shift on your feet. The temperature is becoming almost unbearable.

“I’m…”

Wednesday watches you, tilts her head just a tiny bit forward — dark, haunted eyes deadpan, staring you down, her jaw tightening slightly and relaxing in a way that is barely noticeable but has your gaze flicking down to the enticing slant of her neck.

“I’m… in a rut.” You admit, finally.

Wednesday’s eyes widen slightly — her posture straightens even more, the glint in her eyes turning dangerous, “Oh.” Yes, oh, as if she wasn’t aware. “Why are the suppressants not working?”

Should you admit that the small encounter with the horny omega has sent your hormones spiraling?

Wednesday is by no means a normal human, yet her nose lacks the capability of sensing alpha pheromones. Nevertheless, she can read you like a book, and she probably was aware of your coming rut long before you were. She simply likes abusing the knowledge.

“It must be bad then, if it has you reduced to such a pathetic state,” the goth tuts, drumming her fingers against her desk. “Pure torture, isn’t it, bête? I wish I could help you…”

Wednesday turns back to her paper, shrugging noncommittally, “Unfortunately, it is my writing hour, and you know how much I would detest an intervention in my schedule.”

You whine as the drumming of her keys resumes – like a kicked puppy, you turn to reach for the doorknob, prepared to return back to the restroom and take care of yourself to the thought of your ever-so beautiful and unyielding girlfriend.

Wednesday’s fingers still on the typewriter.

“But I suppose… We can reach a consensus.”

The legs of her chair scrape against the hardwood floor, and you turn to find Wednesday standing next to the desk, palm resting on the back of the seat invitingly.

“Come here.”

You’re beside Wednesday before the whole command can escape her mouth, and she gives a small, amused huff that almost has you howling and gnawing at furniture, then gestures at the chair, “Sit. Unbutton your pants, underwear off.”

You reach to do as told, pulling at a pant-leg to finally discard the constricting garment before the ravenette slaps your hand, “Just the button and the zipper, (Y/n). Do not make me repeat myself.”

You gulp and take a seat at her desk, tugging the elastic of your boxers down to free the hard shaft.

The dark, intense gaze Wednesday is watching you with makes you blush and throb, excitement and arousal mixing with the slightest of embarrassments only her presence can induce.

“Good girl,” she hums, circling the chair like a hunting lioness. “I will allow you to be inside me, just this once. I will not allow you to touch me in any other way. If I feel any movement, internal or external, you will be punished. And by no means are you allowed to cum. Not without my permission. Are the instructions clear, beast? Nod your empty little head if affirmative.”

You nod with a small whimper at the derogatory words, though they do nothing to soothe the aching hardness between your legs.

“Good, good. Well, since the terms are settled, I shall get started.”

Before you can respond, Wednesday steps closer to the desk, slightly flipping her skirt with a quick movement of her hand and letting you catch the smallest of glimpses of her pretty pussy – the show is over before you can marvel though, and the seer sits on your lap, your length pressing against her lower back.

Like this, with no distance left between you, her scent is encompassing your whole being. No pheromones can compare to the way Wednesday smells, the rich, woodsy notes of a forest soaked in rainwater luring you in as you take a small inhale.

You bite back a growl, but a small noise of frustration still manages to reach the ravenette’s sharp hearing.

“Quiet, beast.” She scolds, her tone of voice far from playful, and reaches to straighten her skirt carefully, flicking the non-existing dust off the garment in a graceful movement of her palm.

Then, before you can downright keen with impatience, the same hand moves behind to wrap around your hard member, giving it a squeeze so light it is almost torturous – Wednesday lifts her hips and presses the head against the warmth of her entrance.

That first contact feels like electricity and fire in your belly, worsened when you feel your cock split her lips open, stretching her taut around it, and the smallest worry that you might just not fit passes through your rut-clouded mind.

Then again, Wednesday might not even be merciful enough to sheathe you fully inside her, but the thought of being too big to be properly seated in her cunt is tantalizing and excruciating at the same time.

A small, relieved sigh escapes Wednesday’s lips – the sensation of being filled up with you is like no other, and she can’t help but relish in it despite her aggravation. She takes her time, feeling every inch push deeper inside her and stretch her out, the thick shaft splitting her open, then her thighs press into yours and she stills completely.

If she had to, the goth would put all the time and work in to stretch herself out with your girth, to take all of you inside her like she was molded just for that single purpose. It’s not like Wednesday has something to prove to anyone – or maybe she has, to you, that no one else at Nevermore could take you so well and make all your resolve, might and dominance provided to you by nature, or by gods, or by whatever entity has created such a delectable beast as you crumble under her and make it natural for you to submit to the seer.

And oh does submissiveness look good on you, too – or at least it sounds good, if your heavy breathing mixed with quiet whines hitting her ear is anything to go by.

Wednesday is reminded of her goal suddenly when she feels your hips buck instinctually into her, and the ravenette has to hold back a sound of pleasure at the movement, because she can’t fight how incredible the pressure feels, making her velvet walls flutter. She’s still holding the reins when she tightens her pussy around your throbbing dick purposefully, a trace of a small smirk on her plush burgundy lips at the needy and wanton groan that escapes your mouth.

That was a good enough treat, she thinks. Now to the sticks.

Wednesday kicks you in the shin with the side of her loafer, pulling you out of your pleasure-induced trance and making you flinch.

“Move closer to the desk, beast. I need to be able to reach the keys in order to type.”

You grunt, shuffling the chair closer with your weight, nudging Wednesday’s body forward, and the slightest shift makes you hiss — she slides a few inches up your shaft before she’s at the base again, seated nice and snug, her thighs resting on yours. Your hands fall to grapple at them, and you receive another painful kick.

“No. Hands off. If you are unable to control yourself, I will shun you out.” Wednesday scolds, though has to hide the effect the feeling of your claws curling around her have, and fails. Her voice sounds more breathless than she has intended.

She has a hard time admitting to herself how torturous this is for her, too. The seer sneaks a glance down to where the thick shaft splits her open, so tight she can practically feel it throbbing against her clit. A small bead of precum runs down, skirting one of the throbbing veins.

Wednesday’s restraint is laudable.

“Messy creature,” she murmurs, her tone surprisingly soft, before the paper in front of her takes over her attention again. Straightening her back, the ravenette goes back to her writing as if she’s not full of demon cock right now.

You try to focus on the rapid clatter of the keys, on the way Wednesday’s elegant fingers dance over the typewriter, maybe try and catch a glance of the words the girl is printing on the paper. Anything to pull your mind away from the tight warmth hugging your aching cock, from weight of the small body pressed against you.

The demon inside of you is raging, howling, salivating between huge tusks. The monster is not as prejudiced as the fellow oni of your clan are – it doesn’t care if it’s another demon or a human you’re nestled inside. It demands the frail body pressed against your own is filled up and bred, demands the goth takes all of you, stretching around your swollen knot before it's barely able to slip inside.

Not just any body. Or some omega. Wednesday. Wednesday who isn’t even a part of that animalistic system, but the beast begs for more, wants all of her more, more with each passing second.

A growl mixed with a whimper escapes your mouth – you have no idea what to do with your hands, so you press them into the edge of the table on either side of Wednesday’s typewriter, claws digging into the dark wood. The involuntarily display of strength has the small female tightening around you with a gentle hitch of her breath, making you groan.

“Wednesday,” you rasp through clenched teeth. “I can’t. Please. I’m losing control.”

“O-oh, are you?” The goth inquires mockingly, hoping you don’t take notice of her slight stutter.

“Mhm,” you nod dumbly. “Wanna take you so bad. Wanna fuck you full of me.”

Wednesday can’t fight the way her pussy constricts around you again, though the determination not to lose control remains, strong as ever. She abandons the keys to reach a hand into your hair, grabbing a fistful of (h/c) locks to pull and make you meet her gaze, “Whose is it, (Y/n)?”

You furrow your brows in confusion, making Wednesday’s frown deepen – a hint for the right answer comes in the form of the seer’s hips lifting and rocking back down, the friction making you hiss.

“Answer me.”

“Yours.” You swallow. “Yours, Wednesday. Every- every inch is.”

“Good. Good girl.” She coos, easing her hold on you to rake her short nails down the back of your neck, making goosebumps litter your body. “Bed, beast. Now.”

A low growl rumbling in your chest and vibrating against her back is the only warning Wednesday gets before she’s lifted into the air sharply.

In a rough, barely controlled movement you stand up so fast you topple the chair over, flipping the girl with ease and walking a couple of steps to press her against the bed, the ravenette’s cunt still snug around your shaft. A clawed hand reaches for a pillow hastily to cushion Wednesday’s head, the last resemblance of caring gentleness in your actions before you pull out to the tip and buck back inside.

Wednesday’s head snaps back, mouth falling open in pleasure as you pin her down into the mattress, fucking hard into the welcoming, tight warmth of her pussy. Despite the dynamics of oni demons still being fairly alien to Wednesday – not as alien apparently, as she knows the frequency and signs of your rut better than you do and isn’t opposed to using it against you – she now seems to understand the appeal of being absolutely destroyed by an alpha that omegas in heat are so partial to.

As delectable as the thought is, it rekindles the spark of possessiveness that she thought has almost been extinguished. The goth wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling your bodies flush together.

Hers. No one else’s.

Not some other depraved omega girl’s so desperate to get a taste of you.

“You foolish brute.” She pants as if it’s your fault you seem to be irresistible to other women, voice trembling slightly, her breath completely pushed out of her lungs with each of your thrusts. “You better make good on your promise and breed me like a good alpha should.”

The monster inside you roars at the proposition that is so obviously supposed to be taunting. Your palms slide down the girl’s waist, thumbs brushing against the protruding hipbones to dip into the supple flesh sitting low under her navel, holding her tightly, almost hard enough to bruise and match the brutal pace of your hips rutting into Wednesday, your cock splitting her open deliciously in a toe-curling sensation that has Wednesday’s head falling back against the dark pillows.

The sight under you has you growling savagely – your tongue lolls out to lick a thick stripe up the exposed skin of the ravenette’s neck before you bite down, huge tusks clasping around her throat and keeping Wednesday in place completely, her pulse wild against the rough surface of your muscle. Her pussy constricts around your cock, clamping down hard in an attempt to keep the thick shaft buried to the hilt every time you pull out and quivering when you slam back inside and fill her up enough for the tip to kiss the entrance of her womb, never letting the small female catch her breath.

The lustful fog of ardent fervor clouding Wednesday’s brain doesn’t numb her to the sensation of a swelling at the base of your shaft nudging against her opening every time your hips meet hers. It threatens to push in, catches deliciously on Wednesday’s clit with each thrust and she can feel herself getting painfully close.

But she will not. For the sake of the one thing she wants more than anything else, the goth will deprive herself.

“Knot me.” She rasps into your ear, her feet pushing into your lower back to urge you deeper inside. “Mia bestia, mia alfa. Dentro. Ven dentro di mi.”

You’d have no clue what she has just said on a normal day, and you have zero idea right now, buried eight inches deep inside of her, but the breathless, desperate pants of Italian have you turning feral. In one last brutal thrust the knot slips past Wednesday’s tight lips and inside, stretching and filling her so thoroughly and impossibly delicious it has her eyes rolling into the back of her head. A spill of wetness from her own release rushing forth as she clamps down on your cock lubes her aching walls, helping the bulging slide in firmly.

Your lips gravitate to hers, pulled to her like a magnet, and you growl into her mouth as your cum spills hotly, taking up any remaining space inside the small female and her walls ripple, begging for more. Wednesday's arms tighten around your shoulders and legs squeeze around your hips to keep you close.

You throb with sated completion, press lazy kisses to the seer’s brow and flushed cheeks, and watch as her eyes flutter open to meet yours, her chest heavy with steamy breaths.

“Too hot, huh?” You ask, jaw slack slightly.

Wednesday gives a weak nod, and you reach to tug the sweater off her shoulders, then unzip her skirt to slip it down her pale legs, leaving the girl in just her striped shirt. The newly exposed skin provides better contact for you to revel in – you purr in satisfaction and move to join the seer on the bed, careful not to crush her, and maneuver her small body in your palms to pull her on top of you.

Wednesday huffs but doesn’t resist, nudging at your neck with her nose and pressing a soft kiss to your jugular in an uncharacteristic display of affection.

“How did you find out?” You murmur, lifting your hands to start undoing one of the ravenette’s loosened braids leisurely.

“I have my ways.”

You hum at the vague reply, now certain that the disembodied hand following you around the whole day wasn’t just your imagination playing tricks, “I hope you know I had no intention to lie to you or anything. You just- you didn’t exactly give me a chance to speak.”

“Your explanation wasn’t necessary. I’m well aware of what happened.” The movement of the seer’s plush lips tickles your skin pleasantly, her voice now void of its previous detachment.

You smile softly, finished with unbraiding her hair, your fingers threading through the silky raven locks, careful not to give an accidental tug. Wednesday closes her eyes at your touch, and the tranquility of the moment has you feeling like a cat basking in warm sunlight, despite the object of your passions being a complete opposite to it.

“I’ll have to consult Enid on the topic of which herbs are the deadliest to werewolves.”

“Wednesday.”

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x reader smut #wednesday addams smut #wednesday x reader #wednesday x reader smut #wednesday smut #wednesday imagine #wednesday x female reader #wednesday #wednesday addams #wlw smut

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fiddleleafedfig · 8 days

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@wolfstarmicrofic | April 23:rd Teacher AU | Also inspired by this incredible post | 971 words

“It’s because I’m gay.”

Dora’s words had echoed in his head for the better duration of two years.

Two years.

Jesus Christ.

It sounds more clear now that there isn’t an ever pressing haze of alcohol clouding his brain. But alas, he frankly can’t afford to be an alcoholic anymore. He wasn’t even that good at it. A bottle of wine every evening and Remus just turned into a weepier version of his otherwise quite bleak self and watched old rom-coms on tv until he fell asleep on the couch.

But an English teacher’s salary isn’t hefty enough to really support a proper addiction and Remus hadn’t ever been the type of person to steal a car or break into someone’s house just to fuel his habit. With his luck he’d get caught right away anyway.

“This can’t come as a surprise, Rem, we never even had an active sexlife.”

Sure, fine, maybe they hadn’t. But they had been married for years; university best friends turned adult lovers and confidants turned married at twenty five and divorced at thirty three.

The divorce had at least been simple, easy, just like anything else about their relationship. One second she was there, dying her hair in the tub and staining it all bubblegum pink — the next she was moving out and downloading lesbian dating apps.

Remus munches salad from his little packed lunch. He should be planning his classes whilst having lunch — he refuses to, he’d rather sit here all bent-backed and pretend that the salad actually tastes better, that he isn’t regretting moving across the country to get away from it all. That his new life isn’t sinking his mood just like the old one did.

There’s a knock on his classroom door.

Remus looks up from his sad salad. “Come in?”

The door, covered in prints of Shakespeare plays and old illustrations of Of Mice and Men and other English class classics, opens to reveal the knocker.

Sirius has his hair in a bun today, black strands tied back and into a scrunchy that could rival the cheekiest of cheerleaders’. Other than that he is in his usual all black attire, all except his rainbow colored lanyard which holds his keys and the miniature periodic table keyring.

Sirius smiles. It’s all gray eyes that look like they’re sparkling under the hideous fluorescents and can make even the toughest lunch lady blush.

“Hi Remus, is this a bad time?”

Remus tries to swallow the tightness in his throat.

He can’t really deal with Sirius popping by like this, he’s done it quite frequently since Remus’ first week.

“No, not really,” he says, trying to keep his hands from fiddling and his eyes from darting around the room. “What can I help you with?”

Sirius shrugs, careless and relaxed. “I was just wondering if I could borrow your stapler. Seems like mine’s wandered off.”

Sirius drives a motorbike to school.

Remus saw him get off it in the parking lot not too long ago. It felt like the world stood still or maybe moved in slow motion when Sirius removed his helmet and shook his hair out, kitted out in leather. Then his neck got all hot, for some god forsaken reason, and he had to go splash cold water on his face before facing his students in the first period.

So many of Sirius’ supplies have gone missing in the short time where they have worked together.

“Erhm… Yeah, sure— absolutely,” Remus stumbles through sentences as he stands to go fetch the stapler in the supply closet. He turns the little key and quickly looks over the closet, a bit too aware that Sirius is coming closer; if he isn’t misinterpreting the scuff of boots on the floor.

He grabs the stapler, turns around. “Here.”

Sirius is right behind him, right in front of him now. Looking up at Remus with his easy smile and rows of lovely black lashes and… and… and pink lips.

“Thanks, I’ll give it back as soon as I’m done, okay?”

“Yeah…”

Sirius leaves. Remus has to go sit down, he’s feeling dizzy.

“Are you even attracted to me, Rem? I mean— it’s fine if you aren’t. Maybe I’m not your type or something.”

There was always something hidden in Dora’s words, at least in those words. Remus hadn’t come any closer to figuring them out, not even two years later.

He just sits in his darkening apartment, playing those words over and over whilst watching-but-not-really-watching tv. He should really go over to Sirius’ classroom tomorrow. You know, just to make sure he remembers to give the stapler back. And it has absolutely nothing to do with what Dora said those years ago, nothing at all.

In the following morning, Remus dresses in his good shirt and wrestles with his hair for a touch longer than usual. Why? Don’t worry about it.

He goes into work with a determination and anxiety churning in his belly.

He walks up to Sirius’ classroom, a print of Neil deGrasse Tyson on the door, and knocks.

Deep breath.

Sirius opens the door. Light eyes and smiling lips and an overall undeniably beautiful face.

Stapler, that’s what he’s there for.

“Will you go out with me?”

What?! No!

Remus was supposed to ask about the stapler!

Fuck!

Sirius just looks back up at him, glittering eyes and widening smile. He doesn’t say anything.

Remus tries to backpedal. “The stapler — I really need my stapler, that’s what I meant.”

Sirius just smiles. “So I just missed the point two second window of going out with you?”

There’s cotton in Remus’ ears, ringing in his brain. “No— I mean… Wait— Did you want to go out with me?”

Sirius’ smile looks like it’s almost too big for his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

#wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #writing #fig’s venturing out into the world of microfics #anything to procrastinate my actual large writing project

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puppygirl-milf-cock · 3 months

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I wanna make another one so

#honkai impact 3rd #hi3 #hi3rd

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gatheringbones · 6 months

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[“Terry’s hair was long & thick, bleached blond, perhaps because she wanted to be a princess in a fairy tale instead of real. We wrote letters to one another, passionately declaring our eternal love, which the technicians stole. One night when she was sitting on my bed in the dorm after lights out, as I brushed her hair, they threw on the lights in a frenzy of disgust & separated us for being lesbians. We were too drugged and too frightened to do more than hold hands. The head nurse was a lesbian, who called Terry’s mother, who came the next day to take her home to her psychiatrist father, to whom she had not spoken in over four years. I was sent to the old women’s ward for punishment, where my job was to feed the bed-bound ladies, some of them in restraints all the time. The stench of urine & untreated cancer was overwhelming. I wrote long, intense letters to Terry, which I could not send, hiding them under my green plastic mattress. Terry’s stars are deep burgundy, & I bleed into the other colors when I mourn that we never made love.

Then Maggie was dragged onto our ward, in hot pink tights & purple smock, her teeth glittering with mischief Far from being depressed by the surroundings, she sang bawdy songs to the old ladies she fed, opening our misery with laughter. She was from a wealthy Marin family who sent her there to straighten her up & scare her into agreeing to marry the man they wanted to sell her off to, although they wouldn’t say it like that (she did). Somehow her wedding veil was among her belongings. She liked to wear it to the vast dining barrack because it annoyed the nurses so much. It was very beautiful, expensive lace which she trailed behind her like indifference. One day Maggie & I decided to get married. The guy who thought he was jesus was happy to perform our ceremony, held in the courtyard of our adjoining wards, surrounded by hundreds of old glass windows barred with iron grates. I wore Maggie’s veil & my Napa State Hospital white cardigan tied to make a train. We both carried huge bouquets of lilacs, which were blooming wildly in that hot, dry country. All our patient guests cheered & clapped so loudly that we couldn’t hear what jesus was saying. We only got to stroll down the sidewalk, showered with rice that Edith had filched from the kitchen where she was one of the cooks, before our union was rudely interrupted by burly male guards straining with anger in their white uniforms.

Everyone was locked down, some of us in solitary, & the bells went off for riot alert. Maggie’s poor veil was ripped apart by their feet & rage & arms. The head nurse (another lesbian) called Maggie’s mother that night, & before I had a chance to kiss her hello & goodbye, Maggie was driven away the next morning in her father’s limp-dick limo (her words again), as we ate our powdered eggs, silently depressed.

However, Maggie was a very sneaky & smart girl. She calmly arrived the following day in her VW bug (custom-painted purple, as are her stars) & said she had come back to collect her belongings, which no one had thought to pack up. Her mother, a master materialist (probably hoping for the veil), was very understanding. The hospital wanted to be accommodating in hope of future funds. So Maggie surprised me by returning to busily pack up not very much. We weren’t allowed to talk, & the nurses were watching us sharply until Ursula, understanding our need, threw her tennis shoe at the TV, screaming. Maggie palmed me a note to meet her by the lilac hedge behind the building, where she had conveniently parked. I left as though going to my new job at the dairy (cow shit apparently being a step up from human shit). The other women realized Ursula’s intentions & took off their keds, too. My last sight of that day room (where I had been declared incurably schizophrenic) was of flying sneakers, screaming technicians, breaking glass, & laughing patients—a really lovely melee. Because, of course, Maggie had returned to rescue me. We pulled out the backseat of her bug & I lay down across the battery. She laid a Mexican blanket over me, while I tried to project looking like a backseat. She piled her boxes, mostly empty, on top of me. The guards at the main gate were distracted by another call from the ward where the women who weren’t strapped down could not be contained. Maggie smiled, they gave her back her driver’s license, & off we went. On the other side of town, Maggie freed me from my seat charade & I tasted the wind in my hair for the first time in more than a year. She drove me to Big Sur, where I’d never been & they wouldn’t look for me (I had seven previous escapes, which is why I was on the violent ward so often, a curious juxtaposition—is freedom indeed violence, for lesbians?). In her trunk she had a sleeping bag, some food, money, & clothes that didn’t say Napa State on them for me. She dropped me near an overpass under which fellow fugitives of all kinds were camped, driving back to Marin, where perhaps she did escape marrying him. My belongings & three cartons of writing may still be in a dusty storage room at Napa. I guess I’m AWOL. Freedom’s worth the loss. If not for Maggie, I’d still be in the loony bin, incurable & terrified, not allowed to be a lesbian except with technicians. But I ripped that nurse out of the quilt.

Big Sur was rich with empty summer houses we raided for canned goods as a gang of teenage runaways, Vietnam War deserters, Rez escapees & drug dealers. We caught and roasted a wild pig. We hid out from the park rangers. We flirted with soldiers from the base for bags of potato chips, Hostess lemon pies, & chocolate bars. It was my theory we wouldn’t get scurvy if we ate the pies. We dropped acid & had orgies & stole into the mud baths at night. I was in a fog & detoxing from the nuthouse drugs, until one dusk when my eyes became diamond sharp at the sight of a thin young guy getting out of a hitchhiking ride at the convenience store near the campgrounds. He had black wavy hair cut in a DA falling forward over his face, wearing a leather motorcycle jacket that oozed sex. Our eyes caught across the parking lot & I fell in love like slamming into earth. I walked over, offering my open bag of BBQ pork rinds. Her reaching hand made me laugh & I blurted out, “I thought you were a guy.” She looked me up & down intensely, startled me by stroking my crotch with a quick secret movement, & growled, “Good.”]

chrystos, from cherry picker, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

#chrystos #lesbian literature #terra preta #cw abuse #mad pride

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shitty-goose-quack · 1 year

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psa: you don't have to look a certain way to be enby

you don't have to wear oversized button downs and bagy jeans to "pass"

you don't have to wear intricate and colorful makeup so people know you're queer

you don't have to shave your head to look more androgynous

you don't have to bind everyday to prove that you're really trans, and not just faking

you don't have to use they/them or he/him or fae/faer pronouns to not be a girl

jesus christ i just want to go and shake 14 year old me and tell her she can wear dresses and miniskirts and bras if that makes her feel good

tell her that if wearing mascara threatens her carefully crafted gender identity, then its not a great gender identity

just because you came out as "genderfluid/enby/gender queer/agender/transman/demiboy/unlabelled", masculinity doesn't mean shit (neither does femininity for that matter) and if coming out makes you feel like you're in more of a box, coming out did not serve it's purpose

screw that teacher who asked "why are you wearing girl clothes?" because you came to school in something pink

screw the imposter syndrome you felt wearing a bra instead of a binder

screw the people that say you're misgendering yourself when you call yourself a girl

I can be just as trans in a miniskirt as i am in mens jeans

i can have a gender crisis with or without lipstick on

i can be a lesbian with french braids or a buzz cut

i can flip off gender with long, unkempt cuticles, or 2 inch acrylics

my gender expression is for me, and me alone. if someone with shaved legs, eyelash extensions, waist length hair, and a pushup bra asks you to use he/him pronouns for him, you had better damn well respect that

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georgies-ftts · 8 months

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my genuine thoughts and reactions watching One Piece as someone who has never consumed a different piece of One Piece media before

spoilers… obviously…

Episode 1:

thick glaswegian accent straight away you’ve won me over

this guys moustache is immaculate kinda looks like every version of captain hook ever mushed into one

i recognise the scottish guy

random guy #374’s sideburns are… definitely there

slay drop a bomb before you’re executed horribly

cracker opening theme actually 9/10 should’ve been longer

fourth wall break?

nope he’s talking to a bird

okay funky trouser man you shout into the abyss

this birds got better drip than me

‘Mutiny’ funny actually

he’s not having a good time

what the actual fuck is that ship

aldiva? love of my life?

Koby needs a fresh trim… probably… idk

love me some cheeky windmills

i recognise red hair hat man too

that kids fully gonna die

luffy is fuckin nuts

is he eating… raw??? steak???

australian pink haired harrypotter is about to shit himself

dudes about to get his shit rocked

funky hat man??? is fucking??? elastic

rope burn doesn’t exist in this universe

elastic head is genuinely fuckin horrific

but also slay

think i’m gonna like depressed green hair man

Mr 7 is wearing two ruffs….

‘My favourite is number 1’ fuck him up emotionally i like it

and then fuck him physically this is going grand actually

sword fights that are choreographed immaculately and with fluid camera movements truly do hold a very special place in my heart

oh wait is the luffy kid funky straw hat man

“your mug” yes get that slang in there

wait but luffy has a steady american accent with no twangs

purple orb i’d eat it

oh so would he apparently

what the fuck it’s green

who the fuck is red haired hat man i can’t be bothered to pull up imdb

don’t kill shanks he treats the bar staff with respect

he was in ‘fresh meat’ i found him

he’s so gonna die

i’d slap man bun guy so fuckin hard

luffy needs to like… have a nap or something

woah luffy straight in there with the insults

he had a munch and now he’s a bit bendy

now i recognise koby jesus christ

didn’t need to slap the poor guy jesus

koby is cute i like them

ginger woman floating in the sea

“sweetheart” fucking get rid of them

is she gonna fuck em up

slay queen found a new love of my life and she’s wearing funky socks

‘where’s my face?’ bruvva i could squish your cheeks like a toddler that wall is not for you

it’s green haired sword guy love him

“one for my friend” dude that is a body. in a sack.

it’s ginger sock girl, marry me

blonde british man is gonna catch these fists, sir that is a child leave her alone

lucious malfoy looking ass

yes Zoro (the subtitles are the only reason i know what’s goi-)

did he just eat that off the floor.

blonde british man is fucking terrifying

another sword fight???????

kolby you are me actually

fuck them up fuck them up fuck them up

i’m a lesbian but i do think green haired man just turned me bisexual

“my father” jesus fuckin christ they hired draco malfoy

like the rum???

jesus christ daddy’s boy needs a fuckin gag or some shit

i want Zoro’s earrings please

why does this man have a metal plate bolted into his face

“where does it even go” i think you know

koby realising not everything that’s made out to be ‘good’ is always good slay, we love a little bit of depth

i love a cgi sewer pipe

jesus chrrriiiiiiist draco malfoy is back

kick him in the balls

“when i get down” dude you are literally half on the floor already….

my wife ginger socks girl is back everything is good

she’s gone again, devastated

luffy kinda has the percy jackson cockiness yknow?

luffy 10/10 would do a phycology gcse

fucking english bastards ruining everything

it’s fine she fucked em up again

what is the grand line may i ask

her eyes are stunning

i think she just shat herself

draco malfoy needs to go what the-

that’s his bare arse

chop his dick off

please

i beg you

i think luffy just wants some friends

she’s a pickpocket too holy fuck-

“i’m never joining” yuh huh sure

why’s she searching the papers on the desk surely they would be in a draw or some shit or like a secret message or something

win for luffy

153rd marines really doesn’t sound all that threatening

so he’s like… hench as fuck too?

protect the hat luffy as you should

green haired man’s just pitched up c’mon

slay, literally and figuratively

is he wearing zebra trousers?

not where i thought the sword went…

yeaaahhh fuck him up

that kick was fucking immaculate

so green man is also fuckin hench???

oi listen to the queen

HA MALFOYS HAIR REMINDS ME OF MY WEIRD BARBIE

zoro smiled that’s it life is good

KOBY MY SON

koby no don’t

okay koby you slay love you

you keep them massive fuck off glasses safe

do they meet again? please tell my they meet again and they both live and are happy i will cry-

ooo action music my favourite kind of tv music

what the fuck is that snail and why is it also a phone

SCOTTISH MAN IS BACK

they took your mum actually

a pirate in a straw hat who’s skin is made of rubber thankyou

ooo new emo green haired man

they infact we’re not planning anything ever

that’s that one guy from agents of shield

jesus he’s fuckin creepy

oh that’s terrifying actually

FUCKIN TUNE

#one piece #one piece netflix #ronoroa zoro #monkey d. luffy #op nami #koby one piece #op koby #netflix #one piece live action

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cloud-ya · 8 months

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Is it okay to ask why you don't like Elysia? Personally I don't really like her because she's a walking massive retcon who also undermined the efforts Herrscher of Reason made to rebel from the Will of Honkai

I love being asked why I hate elysia, it's like people falling for my infodump trap

so basically, first off her overfriendliness and ignorance of one's boundaries. that damn horn touching scene sickens me to no end, and even more the dialogue after that with raven joking out it while mei wants her not to talk about it. and elysia having the greatest fucking idea of announcing her success in crossing mei's boundaries via megaphone? dude, what the fuck. like, keep it to yourself. the only reason mei didn't kill her that time was because writers didn't want her to

second off it's her constant idealisation. wherever you see or go she's described as "flawless". flawlessness seems to be her only trait. okay, we got it first time, she's pink jesus so fucking flawless and beautiful and everyone loves her and trees are fucking singing for her like for a damn disney princess. y'know, in my discord server we had a talk about the whole lesbian jesus thing and we came to conclusion that elysia is what christians imagine jesus to be like and kallen is what jesus was more like. failed writing very much

speaking of writing, she seems to drain good writing out of everyone she's around. flamechasers have varying opinions about her, from love to hatred and distrust, but when she was about to sacrifice herself everyone was suddenly like "omg elysia so cool", even kalpas and mobius who are the most known for not liking her. I don't even fucking know what happened to mei, beside good writing she seems to have drained her off brain cells. what does herrscher of origin even do, what are its powers? if they don't plan on elaborating on that part before moving on to apho, I... it's just such lazy writing that tries to pass as some pseudo-wisdom. the answers mei came after to elysian realm? what answers, there's that pink elf and that's all that matters

another reason her writing is questionable is like,, she's said to have done something before current era started that was supposed to make CE herrschers docile, no? seems like mihoyo didn't think that one thoroughly because current era very much still had hostile herrschers. great retcon mihoyo, the plot has as many holes as roads in poland

#cloud has been asked #elysia hate #my server has entire elysian realm slander channel

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loudsnapdragon · 4 months

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On The Sleeve of How It Used To Be

7/7 Chapters. 55,000 words. Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham. Rated Mature. teen pregnancy, inspired by Juno (2007), background steddie, coming of age, childhood friends, no monsters AU. Ao3 loudsnapdragon.

Not-so-secret smalltown lesbian Robin Buckley makes a last ditch attempt at heterosexuality by scoring a one night stand with her old bandmate Eddie, but while the sex does successfully confirm the annoying complete disinterest in men she harbors, it kickstarts another clusterfuck for her to deal with. She’s pregnant. And despite her better judgement, she’s keeping the baby. Luckily, she finds a recently wedded Ms. Kelley and Mr Clarke looking to adopt. But to save herself from some of the mortification, of ya’know; blowing up like a hormonal balloon throughout her Junior year, she decides to not tell anyone who the daddy is. Not the daddy himself, not her parents, not even her favorite dingus. But as is the luck of your regular outcast pregnant sixteen-year-old, someone finds out. And like many secrets, Chrissy Cunningham doesn't make it easy to keep.

Excerpt under the cut.

If they were normal, then the sex would have been really sweet. Eddie would say something like, ‘I’ve wanted this for ages.’ And Robin would say ‘I know.’ And then he would say something goofy and cute like, ‘Wizard.’

But unfortunately for them, the second after she settled on his lap, her knees brushing against the faded leather of the Munson trailer’s shabby couch, she realised three things.

One: There is a limit to Eddie’s goofy cuteness. He is charming, but not charming enough to pull off a stupid catchphrase like ‘Wizard.’ And the first thing he said after he entered Robin wasn’t ‘I’ve wanted this for ages’, it was: ‘Is it meant to make that noise?’

Two: The goofy-cute limit is reached far quicker when Eddie is naked, his worryingly too pink erection pressing into her thigh.

Three: This probably isn’t Eddie’s fault. Because Robin understood, suddenly, but sadly too slowly as to stop the trajectory of her first brave adventure into sex, she’s definitely gay. Super gay. The dykiest dyke to ever dyke. This ain't a switch she can unflip like Chrissy did.

She goes through with it. Because there’s a pesky hope that she could make this work. That she might be gay, but maybe Eddie’s long hair and big lips and dangly earrings could trick her gay ass mind. She finishes the ordeal thanks to a sachet of lube and a traitorous condom he theatrically whipped out his wallet prior. She’s never been a great actress, but she thinks, maybe this time, she’ll convince them all.

Eddie kisses her forehead after he finishes. Keeps on asking if she’s alright, so she knows she didn’t put on a good enough show.

Six weeks later, stone sky ripping into the clouds, the distant haze of woodsmoke trailing the horizon, the suburban roofs shining like jewels in the cold sun, she buys a bottle of Sunny Delight from Melvald’s and walks a loop-de-loop back to Main Street. She’s loath to admit it, but sometimes Hawkins really is beautiful.

‘Well, if it isn’t Birdie, the future mother to be, back again at the nest.’

She throws the third pregnancy test into the trash by the store’s entrance.

‘Jesus Murray, try some sympathy. How did you even get a job here.’

‘Joyce is sweet on me.’ Murray shrugs from behind the counter of Melvald's, holding the bathroom key back like a prize, waiting for her to pay for the fresh pregnancy test she tossed by the register. ‘This is your fourth test today, not like your latest orange delight is going to switch the pee-pee situation.’

‘God, silence old man. Just give me the key.’

‘Pay for the pregnancy test when you’re done. Don’t think it’s yours just because you marked it with your urine!’

She snatches the key and hides away in the store’s toilet, twisting her wrist under her crotch and peeing on the stick with a creeping familiar ease. She walks out to the store, slapping the test against her palm as she waits, trying to shake out the most likely result, considering her lack of period and extremely sensitive nipples, if what Brenda says is true.

‘That ain’t no etch-a-sketch that can be undid, dearie.’

She throws Murray the finger, but sure enough, a minute later, that evil pink plus sign appears for the fourth time, cementing her impending doom.

So she does what she normally does when faced with impending doom. She buys a pack of Red Vines, ignores Murray, and cycles over to Steve’s place.

‘Are you going to go Sunnyvale or Women Now? Cos’ I remember Carol saying you need a note from your parents if you go to Sunnyvale.’

Steve’s parents are never home, so they’re spread out over the couches talking aloud about her impending doom, because the Harringtons are the type of rich to have three couches, all of them ugly.

‘I’ll think I’ll go to Women Now, cos’ ya’ know, they help women now.’

‘Yeah, I get ya.’ Steve says, sitting feet up on his couch. ‘How did you even generate enough pee for four pregnancy tests? That’s amazing.’

‘I drank ten tonnes of Sunny D.’

‘Jesus Birdie, that’s so much sugar. Your teeth are going to fall out.’

‘Doesn’t really matter if my teeth fall out if I’m dead first.’

‘Hey.’ Steve swings his leg down, throws a pillow over the coffee table and on to her couch, smiling when it hits her square on the forehead.

‘Ow.’

‘You’re not going to die. No one is going to find out. We’ll get it sorted, okay? Just tell me the time for the appointment and I’ll pick you up after.’

He looks so stupid. His floppy hair flat on his forehead, that Weird Al shirt he only wears to make Dustin happy, and those ugly basketball shorts that are two sizes too small, cos' like a freak of nature, he’s only gained thigh muscle since quitting the team. She wants to grab him by the apples of his cheeks and smush him a like a golden retriever.

‘You look stupid.’

He smiles. ‘Right back at ya.’

‘I’m going to abort the hell out of this baby.’

‘Fuck yeah, you are.’

#stranger things #stranger things fic #buckingham #chrissy cunningham #robin buckley #juno 2007 #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin/chrissy #robin buckley/chrissy cunningham #i think i'm happy with is but do not be surprised if be editing editing when i reread and see a million mistakes #its chrissy as michael cera and robin as elliot page #do u see the vision #i hope so

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ashtxeman · 2 months

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WHY I LIKE GLASS JOE A LOT

I promised a lot of information about why I like Glass Joe so I wrote this in an hour with no plan, no proof reading, completely improvised. If I planned this it would probably be WAY longer lol but I'll spare you all the pain of that. SO. ENJOY MY REASONING.

Glass Joe. Glass Joseph. Fragile Joey. It’s a name that’s been uttered for centuries in many different forms, given many different explanations. Critics, theorists, philosophers alike have carved away at their lives trying to solve the answer to the universe's greatest question. And that is:

Glass Joe, good why?

I can answer that, absolutely.

HEY I LOVE GLASS JOE A LOT IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT ALREADY JUST GOTTA ESTABLISH THAT HAHAHA OKAY LETS GO. SHOUTOUT TO THE FUCKING RTGAME PUNCHOUT VIDEO YOU DID THIS TO ME.

POINT 1: HE IS HANDSOME.

I swear to God this man was hand-crafted by the hands of an incomprehensible deity because HOW is he this flawless. He’s 5’10, great height honestly I’m 5’3 I don’t want to be dating a skyscraper you know. He’s a skinny bastard but that’s okay, more on that later. His hair, oh my goodness gracious, lord above, help me Jesus. HIS HAIR. IS SO GOOD. If you put that skateboard ramp ass hairstyle on literally any other character they would look like a dumbass, but here, on this man alone, it’s the most delicately poised series of ginger strands I ever did see.

His hair looks SO soft. It’s unbelievable. It’s such a lovely shade of auburn with hints of burgundy. It must smell like cinnamon. He must take great care of it. A real Head and Shoulders, coconut oil, double wash kinda guy. A real bougie kinda guy. Yeah he’s not great physically in SPORT terms but in PUBLIC terms he’s absolutely stunning and stronger than anybody else. I wanna run my fingers through his silky locks so bad it’s insane and to understand this desire I’ll have to be strapped down and operated on. DONATE MY BRAIN TO SCIENCE GO AHEAD. THEY NEED IT.

Not to mention it is SO fun to draw. SO SO SO FUN. Maybe I’m just lucky it’s such a wacky and dynamic hairstyle it transfers quite well into my artstyle, but it’s so fun. It’s easy, it’s fast, it creates an absolutely iconic silhouette, I love colouring it because it’s so damn pretty and ginger/red is such a broad colour scheme that can be put into a gradient so well (i love doing gradients with hair cause i hate when its just a block of colour). Nobody could understand the sheer joy i get putting that dumbass ahoge between the bridge of his fringe and the rest of his hair. That little ‘ right at the top ITS SO FUN. i love him his hair is great.

His face. Carved like the works of the finest artest. He’s a canvas of quality that can rival Van Gogh, for god sake. He’s got the jawline of a man on a lifelong mewing streak, STOP IT HE’S SO GORGEOUS I CANT EVENNNN. He is seriously so good looking. His eyes, the little pink-tinted eyebags that show he doesn’t need sleep because he’s so hardcore on caffeine, his gorgeous big ol nose i wanna kiss so bad, his super dynamic chin i wanna kiss so bad, his face i wanna kiss so bad. I wanna kiss him so bad. He is genuinely such a beautiful man its stunning, im literally a lesbian but if they somehow brought glass joe into the real world looking exactly how he does in those GOD DAMN CUTSCENES OOOOO i’d be bisexual so fast it’s crazy. He’s just that great. He’s got that power. I love his nervous little grin and the little creases on his face, cause he’s OLD AND SENILE. He’s 38 for god sake he shouldn’t look this good and sure, you can see his age slipping in a little with the eyebags and the wrinkles but that only ADDS to how stupidly divine he is in appearance. Stop that handsome man officer!! He’s breaking the laws of BEAUTY. GIVE IT TO MEEEEE. MEEEE.

His fashion sense although odd (ive never actually seen anyone wearing red trousers) just works. It wouldnt work on anyone else but it works on HIM. this is a theme. THINGS DONT WORK ON OTHER PEOPLE BUT THEY WORK ON JOE HE’S SO COOL LIKE THAT. his turtleneck kills me its so good it highlights what little figure he has and it contrasts his red hair so well cause its a really deep blue. SIGH. i wish. I have a turtleneck thats exactly the same but let me tell you i dont even breath the same air of fashion that he breathes. He’s so far ahead of the game he’s on an entirely different runway. He is not gonna sashay away anytime soon. On a constant shante. Unstoppable.

POINT 2: HE EMBODIES HIS CULTURE WELL.

Cats out of the bag, joe is a french stereotype. But. and dont quote me here. I find it very admirable HOW he is a french stereotype. Because he kind of.. Isn’t? He uses the characteristics of that stereotype sure, but he doesn’t engage with them the same way an actual french stereotype would. He likes coffee, he likes bread, he loves France like its his child, sure. But he doesnt have a twirly moustache, he doesnt wear a beret, he doesnt galavant around in black and white mime clothing. Even if that would be funny yknow it just wouldnt be as good.

His admiration of coffee and bread is so relatable cause hell, I LIKE BREAD AND CAFES AND STUFF! He needs that coffee to keep him going you dont understand. If he misses a dose of caffeine he’ll deflate like the pyramids did in despicable me 1. He’ll be a puddle on the floor, he’ll quite literally cease to exist. Coffee is his golden idol, his hand of midas, his treasure. He has great willpower (more on that later) but coffee is that secret weapon he uses to push him just a little bit further. Plus he just thinks it tastes good and is happy to express that, you cant blame the guy for that. A good drink is a good drink. Even though i dont like coffee he’s so happy with it i respect it. He makes things i dont like respectable. Thats whats so real to me. What a goat. As for bread, bread is just great. Baguettes are yum. All the french bread i know about is usually close to white bread and autism behold thats like the only bread i can bear to eat so its alright with me man. You can go to joes house and he will have one of those fancy bread cupboards. He’ll pull out baguettes like he’s at a renaissance fair and they have a sword shortage. He’s on the case. You will NOT leave his house on an empty stomach. Like a very caring grandma, he will get you fed with the most immaculate 5 star meal you ever did eat. French food is great and theres no doubt about that, thats why he loves FOOD. I TRUST HIM. HE KNOWS WHATS GOOD. if mr glass joe turned around to me and said ‘broken glass is good food’ you bet your ass id be smashing windows and munch munch crunching all day long.

Maybe his admiration of his country is a little over the top to some. You know the french landmarks in the back of his cutscenes, the ‘vive le france’ and singing the national anthem. But no. i dont think its excessive, i think its passionate. This is undeniably a man that is SO passionate about his culture and the lifestyle he’s grown up around, he’s not afraid to express it to other people until they cant stand it anymore. He’ll take as many hits as he needs to in the name of france. He is an embodiment of everything endearing about being foreign, honestly. An extreme love for the things his country has: food, landmarks, fashion, language, culture. EVERYTHING IS ON HIS LIST. NOTHING IS LEFT OUT. HE LOVES FRANCE AND I LOVE HIM. YES SIR!! VIVE LE FRANCE!! YES!!!

Also he single-handedly convinced me to start learning french. I seriously didnt care about it before but after i started to like him more and really get into punchout i downloaded duolingo and i still have a streak going AND im actually convinced to try hard in my french lessons and exams because yknow.. I want this fictional french guy to be proud of me. :]

POINT 3: HE IS DETERMINED.

OHHHHHH BOY. okay right im gonna get inspirational here. Play some dramatic orchestral music or something.

The thing about Glass Joe is that he never. Gives up. Never. There is nothing in the world you could do to this man that could possibly stop him from boxing. They call Kaiser a fighting machine but boy have they not seen Joe. once that man stepped into the ring for the first time, he’d found a second home, and i think thats evident. 100 times this man has fallen down, brushed it off and gotten right back up. He’s had hardships, ups, downs, tumbles, falls. But everytime, no matter what, he’s back on his feet and ready to try again. And there is something so admirable and inspirational about that kind of approach being written into a CHARACTER THAT IS MEANT TO BE A FRENCH STEREOTYPE. ‘GHHHH FRENCH PEOPLE ALWAYS SURRENDER ACSHUALLY’ SHUT UP!! NOT THIS ONE!! I like to think Joe’s motto is ‘never surrender’. Yes he’s a little self aware how ironic it is thats hes french and doing all this but shhh. He knows whats hes doing and he’s happy to do it. Because like ive said again and again, theres nothing that can stop him. 100 kos, 200 kos, 300, 400… you keep cranking that number up and he’ll keep cranking the punches. Keep those lights up, keep those gloves on, you knock Joe down and eventually, no matter how long it takes, he’s back for more.

Now dont misinterpret that, he’s not a masochist like aran ryan, no sir-ee. He doesnt enjoy losing, nobody does. But the thing is he pushes past that disappointment and those hardships because he knows that eventually, if he keeps on going, things are going to change. He knows that if he lays down the gloves and walks away, there’s no possibility of succeeding. You could drop Joe off on the other side of the world and just like that immortal snail, he’s gonna find a way back. Even if it takes forever. Cause he is weak but determined, he isn’t threatening but relentless, he is stoppable but unstoppable. Glass joe has the strongest will out of any character i know. Cause if any of my other favourites went through 100 whopping losses like he did, they’d retire on a tropical island and never interact with the world again. But not joe. Never joe. My king.

POINT 4: HE IS ENDEARING.

THIS GUY IS SO DAMN CHARMING IT MAKES ME WANT TO EXPLODE INTO CONFETTI AND GLITTER AGHHHHH.

Come on. How can you look at his smile, his lovely little, subtle smile with those shy old eyes, and not immediately fall in love with him. He’s got some many little subtle things. Like the way his pupils dart around or his little sway back and forth when he’s knocked out or the way he bounds back and forth on his legs like an old-timey guy about to have a squabble. The way his mouth goes :0 so very subtly when he’s breathing. The way he always looks either shocked beyond repair, completely zooted or very confused. It’s all so perfect. IT’S ALL THESE THINGS THEY MAKE HIM BRILLIANT.

Im seriously looking for scraps here but i love finding meaning in otherwise meaningless things. I love analysing every detail until there is literally nothing else i could possibly say about it. He is perfect for this.

His fucking VOICE. OHHH MY GOD. it was so damn funny the very first time i heard his voice, because honestly it feels deliberate how they put his humble cutscenes before his first bit of dialogue so you expect this soft-spoken kinda light-voiced french guy only to be greeted with CHRISTIAN BERNARD’S DEEP ASS VOICE. OHHH KILL ME HE SOUNDS SO HANDSOME I WANNA SINK INTO THE FLOOR AND CRY WITH JOY. i wouldnt even mind if he was a soft-spoken light-voiced french guy but they really had to amp it up a little and give this lowly frenchman the most eloquent unnecessarily deep and silky voice ever. HE DIDNT NEED THAT. BUT THANK YOU FOR GIVING HIM THAT NINTENDO CAUSE ITS ONE OF HIS GREATEST QUALITIES. Plus french is just a really fun language to listen to. I could honestly sit listening to joe’s voicelines on repeat for hours on end and be fine with it. They’re so good. He’s so beautiful sounding. Its absolutely hilarious considering his voice in comparison to appearance. COME ON!!! AAHAHHGGHGHGHGHGHGHGHAGHGHS I LOVE CHRISTIAN BERNARDS VOICE I WISH I COULD HEAR HIM SPEAK IN ENGLISH. I NEED MORE OF HIS VOICE. AGGGGGHHHHH.

POINT 5: WHATEVER ELSE

I erm i erm i just wanna say i love joe so much. The way he’s constructed, appearance, personality, physicality, dialogue, culture inspiration, story. EVERYTHING about him is just so cool and fun to think about and in my head it all weaves perfectly together to create the best character in all of fiction. It has now been over 2 unapologetic years of me yapping on about this guy. Whether it be his canon self and the things he does or the fanon version of him thats ive sourced from other peoples awesome HC’s or forged from my own lore. Any excuse i get, i talk about joe. Because it is so utterly fun. Yeah, he’s not the only boxer i love!!! Not at all!! I have several other favourites persay, but on the punch-out tier list joe is so good he has his own category thats about 4 ranks higher than what S rank is. And that is deserved.

He loves his culture, he never gives up, he’s arguably a weakling and an absolute screwup but he never lets that get in his way because of her persistent he is, he’s gorgeous, he’s cool, he’d be a great friend, dad, boyfriend, husband, EVERYTHING. He’s got a weird hairstyle and weird fashion sense but somehow he looks great with it. He beat NICK BRUISER CANONICALLY?!?! He’s french, he’s ginger, which in a joking sense makes him the worst but against all odds he is the best. The french are lucky to be represented by him because he’s so utterly and unapologetically awesome and cool and fun and nice and inspiring and all that jazz. There is not a single thing that could stray me away from the path of Joe. my lore for him is SO deep. My admiration for him is INFINITE. Ive read through his wiki a pagillion times. Ive beaten him over 80 times in-game simple because i like seeing him so much and.

Well. i have entire shrine dedicated to him. let me know if you wanna see that....

#punch out wii #punch out #glass joe

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