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imkyuni · 2 months

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summary: dry humping on your boyf turns into sex.. warnings: pet name “baby”, p in v (with protection, ofc), a little fingering, overstimulation, nipple licking / sucking (fem. receiving), as usual he's a tease. sex is kinda rough. word count: 1.5k

“i need you to ride my cock, baby.” he said as you continued grinding your wet pussy against his still clothed crotch. your lips, that were kissing and sucking on his neck, formed a smile as he said those words. your ego rising a bit as you felt him getting harder underneath you. his hands held your hips tight as he groaned against your ear, making shivers go down your spine.

“don't make me repeat myself.” he said in a more serious tone than before, as he started to get more and more impatient. you just nodded,

not making him wait another second, you moved away from his lap for a bit, giving enough space for him to take his boxers off of the way. his hard cock falling on his tummy as it was released from the annoying fabric that covered it.

you licked your lips unconsciously as you stared at his dick; his veins marking along his shaft, precum leaking from his thick tip. but as much as he enjoyed the attention he was getting, he couldn't help but want to feel your tightness around him already.

palming his thigh, he invited you to straddle him once again. your legs resting at both his sides and your hands holding onto his shoulders. your wet pussy slightly rubbing with his dick, making you let out a small moan from the friction, your cheeks heating up.

“always ready for me, aren't you?” he teased as he grabbed your hips, your juices making it easier for him to slide his dick in between your folds. as his tip hit softly with your clit, you felt yourself getting wetter and at the same time, eager to feel him inside of you already. “does it feel good, love?” he asked, his voice becoming a bit soft now. you hummed as you closed your eyes and began to move a bit faster. “fuck, baby.” he cursed before biting his lip; “needy, are we?” he teased once again, as he moved his hands from your hips to your boobs, squeezing them in his hands as he kissed your neck. leaving warm and sloppy kisses against your delicate skin at the same time he pinched your nipples in his fingers, causing your back to arch and stopping your moves for a second for the sudden action.

“you liked that?” he asked as soon as you two made eye contact.

“maybe.” you said timidly as you felt your pussy clenching, your juices almost soaking his dick underneath you.

“i see.” he said, “take off your shirt.” he commanded, giving you enough space to do as he said before grabbing your breasts in his hands once again, massaging them and circling his fingers around your nipples, feeling them hardening up as he did so. “is this okay?” he asked as he stared up at you. you nodded, moving your hands from his shoulders to the nape of his neck as you started playing with his hair. at the same time you started moving your hips back and forth again on his cock, causing the both of you to moan in unison. he then brought his mouth closer to your boobs, carefully licking one of them with his tongue, wetting your nipple as he did so. the warmness of his mouth making you curse under your breath as you arched your back to get closer to him with the intention to feel him even more. a new wave of pleasure running through your veins as he moaned against the delicate skin of your chest, his lips sucking and slightly biting making you close your eyes at the overstimulation. your hips moving as fast as they could as you craved for more.

“please make me cum.” you whined as you made him look up at you, “please.” you repeated, as you felt more and more eager as the seconds passed by. “fuck me.”

“just because you asked so nicely.” he said before holding your waist to help you rest your back on the bed. he spread your legs and caressed your thighs as got himself in between them. leaning towards his nightstand to grab a condom and sliding it down his shaft quickly before he teased your pussy with his tip, using your juices to lube himself. he rested his hands on your knees as he shoved his dick deep inside you, letting out a loud groan as he felt how tight you were. he waited a couple of seconds before starting to thrust back and forth into you, as usual going slowly at first.

“harder.” you whined, “you don't have to be gente, i can take it.” he nodded, lifting your legs up and resting them on your stomach, allowing himself to go even deeper. he held onto your legs and let himself get lost in you, pounding his hips roughly into you. the sound of his skin hitting against yours filling the room, along with the moans that left your lips, his head going fuzzy as he fucked you harder. groans leaving from him as well as every time he reached that sweet spot inside you, you clenched tightly around his dick.

“feels so fucking good.” he moaned as he tried not to close his eyes and look at you instead. he smiled to himself as he saw your face; your eyes closed as your head fell back against the pillows, your brows slightly furrowed from the amount of pleasure. biting your lower lip in an attempt to keep your moans back a little yet, some managed to escape from your throat as you couldn't help yourself from enjoying the way your boyfriend fucked you.

he parted your legs open again as he wanted to stimulate you a bit more, guiding his thumb to your already swollen clit, he started circling it around it as he continued thrusting his hips roughly into you. the overstimulation started to build up in your body and caused your legs to shake. but he kept you in place with his free hand, holding your waist tightly.

“wrap your legs around me, baby.” he suggested and you did, now holding him even closer to you. “good girl.” he said as he lowered his body onto yours and captured one of your boobs in his mouth again, licking and sucking on your nipple slowly, softly moaning against it.

“fuck.” you said to yourself as you felt a tickling building up in your body, your back arching as he continued to give you pleasure. “mmm, i'm close.”

“cum for me then.” he groaned against your skin, his lips brushing against your nipple and causing you to shiver underneath him. he then moved his mouth from your chest and up to your neck, sucking into it softly as he reached your chin, kissing it too.

you cupped his face in your hands as you wanted to feel his lips against your own already. you stared at them, the way they looked just so.. tentative. so soft yet so sexy and a little wet, a little swollen. not waiting another second, you connected your lips with his; taking the lead in a slow and erotic kiss, moaning in between as your tongue played along with his. at the same time, he could feel his cock throbbing inside of you as your walls clenched hard around his length; cursing against his lips as you both reached the edge.

his hips moved slower and slower until they completely stopped. he broke the kiss to let the both of you catch your breath again. he held your legs in his arms before resting them carefully on the bed, pulling out of you right after.

“how you feeling?” he asked as he recovered completely from his climax. you showed him a thumb up with your eyes closed, making him chuckle. he got up just to trash the condom he was wearing before going back to bed next to you. “you know we should probably clean up…”

“i can't move.” you said.

“are you sore?” he asked, as he got up a bit, reaching your legs and parting them open as he got between them. his breath hitting with your skin.

“what are you doing?” you asked, opening your eyes to look at him as you felt like your body couldn't take another stimulus.

“just wanted to give you a massage, that's all.” he said innocently before pressing a kiss on your leg. “i’m sure you'll like it.” he added as he started leaving a track of kisses all along your inner thigh, slowly reaching your pussy. “you can always tell me to stop, though.” he teased as he looked at you, waiting for a response.

your pussy already getting wet as he spoke, his tongue barely brushing with your pussy lips as he continued tempting you. your hips moving unconsciously towards him as you tried to get more of him.

“you’re such a…” you started but gave up mid sentence as he slid his fingers through your folds.

“sorry, what were you saying?”

“nothing, just…” you cursed, “don’t stop.”

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ultravioletrayz · 2 months

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a request? what about your edging miguel and so you let him cum since he begging it however we continuing to do it? and so what about this but with cumplay ? you know,and he.....like into it,like you playing with he cum, on his body.thigh. abs, idk anywhere and just licking it idk?

so a kinda dom/sub!miguel x fem!reader

yea im crazy for a whiny men whos loves anything we do and espically whimper and beg

you with me girlie?

Yes yes yes, totally with you.

The plot for this was inspired by this ask, btw!!

@ce3stvu tagging my bby girl <3

Pairing: sub!miguel o’hara x dom!f!reader

Warnings: 18+, handjob, edging, cumplay, cum eating, dacryphillia if you squint, themes of jealousy

Summary: you remind miguel who he belongs to

A/N: i love dom!migs, but something about imagining that big man all whiny and crying is sooo hot

Word Count: 1K

It’s all that stupid bitch’s fault. The thought is swirling around in Miguel’s head on repeat as his hips pathetically twitch and spasm upwards to try and loosen the grip you have around the blushing tip of his cock. Still, you merely apply more pressure, squeezing his poor head so hard your fingers act as a makeshift cock ring, making it impossible for Miguel to acquire any sense of relief as your other hand fondles his heavy, aching balls with little skill, your only goal being to tease him.

This was a much better way of reminding Miguel of your loyalty to one another than talking it out. Frankly, you didn’t even know how to approach discussing the topic. You were supposed to be Miguel’s angelic, bubbly little girlfriend. You didn’t want to cause a fight over some random spider-woman from work.

Instead, you smile from ear to ear as you watch the beads of tears that cling to Miguel’s gorgeous, thick eyelashes as he sobs and begs to cum, after you’ve denied climax after climax with your possessive grip around the thick circumference of his dick.

There’s no doubt in your mind that other spider-people can hear Miguel’s unapologetic whines from outside his office, and the thought makes your mind a hazy fog of lust and pride. Hopefully, that new girl that Miguel was training, the one that kept running her grubby hands all over his arms and back like you were an idiot and wouldn’t notice her blatant flirting.

You had initially felt guilty when you pulled Miguel away from his sparring session with the girl, leading him to his office with one goal in mind: reiterating that Miguel is yours and yours alone.

But now that he's been forced into becoming this mess of desperation and sticky pre-cum, your worries and shame have vanished. Only your touch can make Miguel feel this way, making him lose all of his self-control and dignity. And he does the same thing to you. Sure, an outsider would probably say all of this jealousy and possessiveness is toxic or overbearing, but you and Miguel can't help but cling to one another. You're each other's soulmates. That new girl could never compare.

"Hah- ah, fuck! M-Mami, por favor… need- ah! need to cum. Please, please l-lemme cum-!" Miguel begs, his tear-stained cheek squished against the smooth material of your spider suit that conceals your tits, but the warmth of his face seeps through the fabric, his breath causing your nipples to perk up at the subtle contact as you lean over him and giggle.

You keep your fingers squeezed around his tip, rubbing his swollen head in circular motions as your other hand cups his balls in the comfort of your palm. The tension around Miguel’s tip is almost torturous, making him curse and thrash around in his office chair as he desperately attempts to make your hand slip even slightly so that his dick can breathe again.

The thick, chocolate-brown hair that adorns the tan flesh from his belly button down to his base caresses your forearm each time Miguel fails to push through the restraint of your fist and thrust into your closed hand.

You feel bad for taking your insecurities out on your poor, unsuspecting boyfriend, who was just trying to be a good boss and do his job, so you decide to give him a break.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, guapo?" You coo teasingly, releasing the pressure around the leaky head of Miguel's cock and instead starting to pump his shaft, your pace fast and sloppy as you make up for the time spent prohibiting Miguel from having any kind of release.

Miguel's climax hits him like a freight train, his back arching drastically and his claws digging into his seat as his rock-hard cock spurts bucket loads of cum up into the air, the gooey strands of his devotion to you hitting his toned abs and coating the hair on his thighs and stomach, creating a pooling mess of semen, sweat, and tears as he slumps back in his chair and splutters.

You watch with wide eyes as Miguel's cum decorates his tan skin, like an abstract painting of your composition. And you couldn't be more proud of yourself. In a hypnotised state of desire and devotion, you scramble to your knees in between Miguel's spread thighs.

With a smile on your face, you lick a fat, sloppy stripe from Miguel's pelvis up to his juicy pecs, gathering his cum on your flat tongue and swallowing. He tastes divine.

No other bitch would treat him like this, using her hands and mouth to worship him like you do. You lap up every thick glob of shimmering cum from Miguel's panting body, not even able to savour it due to your desperation to taste all of him.

"You taste so good, Mig." You moan, eyes fluttering at the salty, decadent flavour of Miguel's cum flooding your senses. Your hand keeps pumping him slowly, milking every last drop of his delicious cum from his cock as you worship his body and devour his essence as it glistens on his stomach and thighs.

Your free hand scoops up some of his mess to watch how the strings make your fingers stick together, before shoving your digits in your mouth and sucking the cum off your fingers.

Miguel chuckles and moans at the sight of his pretty girl so desperate to please him, all to ensure his loyalty. The fact that you're more willing to drag your wet tongue up and down his cum-covered, shivering body than have a conversation about your feelings is a little odd, but Miguel's not complaining. It's sweet to see how much you love him, and how much you hate that new bitch for thinking she stands a chance against you.

Miguel holds your chin in his hands and stops you from feasting on any more of his cum, directing your gorgeous face upwards so that you're staring into his eyes. You rest your tacky hands on his thighs, making him tremble ever so slightly at the way your skin sticks to his, binding the two of you together.

Breathlessly, Miguel whispers to you, his girl, his one and only, the love of his life, with a crooked smile on his sweaty, fucked-out face.

"Sólo para ti, hermosa."

sick and tired of miguel being depicted as the “jealous and possessive” one in the relationship. If I had a man like that, I’d be just as crazy

#ultravioletrayz #miguel smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #spider man 2099 x reader #miguel 2099 #miguel ohara #spider man 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel ohara x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you

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thevirgincherry · 5 months

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JINGLE BALLS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, leon is creepy ngl, dub-con at first then consensual, daddy issues, you get compared to your mom lots, creampie, daddy kink

note. HAII sorry for this being late omg :3 umm this is weird and jolty and the plot im not totally happy with but :333 ignore typos or I will cry!! feedback and reblogs always so appreciated :3

tumblr removes fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that these fics contain dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

“Pumpkin!” Your dad’s embrace is stiff per usual. This guy - he seriously needs a lesson in intimacy. Can’t go hugging your daughter the same way you do a girlfriend. Dads shouldn’t put their hands below your midriff. They certainly shouldn’t grip your hips and pull you close with such fervour, now you’re tit to tit with the man who gifted you your pornstar rack. And it’s a bit awkward to say the very least.

“Hi, dad.” He backs off, skittish when he hears your tone of voice. Flat and clipped.

“Sweetpea, I’m so glad you’re here,” Leon starts, he’s laying it on super thick, “We’re gonna have a lot of fun.” Oh, you’re exhausted already.

“Mhm.” You nod in disinterest as you toe off your shoes, place them beside his mud-caked boots. Leon is your dad. Your dad is just a guy to you. One that’s around never, you see him seldom and from afar. He’s not exactly awful, but he’s nothing great. A little touchy if anything, and enthusiastic in a way that comes across as disingenuous.

The only thing you really know about Leon is that he’s your dad, he works with the government, and he’s still hung up on your mom. You can tell from a mile away. Looks at her like she crafted the earth itself, mapped out the stars, plucked them from the sky to make him a new moon. Totally whipped for a woman who forgets he exists until major holidays roll around. And you get it honestly, your mom is pretty, fun, and she’s all you’ve got. So you might take after dad in that sense.

You’ve seen the kinda women he brings home. That time you caught him mid disgusting, nasty, abhorrent sex act that you’ve only seen in porn. Had this poor girl’s head tilted so far back, blonde curls like liquid gold running along her back, brushing the swell of her ass, his arm wrapped around her neck - like, was he trying to fucking kill her? Well, she liked it clearly. That’s beside the point, when you saw her face the following morning, her sheepish smile and the slant of her eyes - you got it. Mom. She looked like mom. You overheard him telling her she was too young for him, a college girl, his daughter’s age - only after he came down her throat though. What a creep.

Then there was his girlfriend from a few years back, this chick who popped her gum too loud, bossed him around and got him to pay for a new set of acrylics weekly. It was uncanny the resemblance between her and mom. What next? You? Is it your turn to be pursued by Leon, by dad? The only thing you’ve got from him is tits, busty like your daddy, pretty like your mommy. And he fucking knows it. You know he does.

Leon places a hand on your lower back. Like, way lower back, the spot a boyfriend would touch when he wants to initiate a quickie. You shiver, glance at him through your peripheral as he guides you to the lounge, the wooden floor is so cold you feel it through the fabric of your winter socks. This dude is loaded and he can’t even get heated floors installed? Not even for lil ol’ you? His daughter? The one that resembles his one true love?

There’s a red box that contains a gingerbread house sitting on the coffee table, you groan inwardly. Here we go with the bonding activities, it’s so forced it makes your skin crawl. His Christmas tree is, well, it’s a tree alright, crudely and hastily decorated with a sparse amount of baubles and god-awful paper crafts you gave to him as a toddler. Aw, the sentiment is there though, kinda cute. You’ll cut dad some slack.

By the time midnight rolls around, you realise cutting dad even the slightest bit of slack was a mistake. “Take that off.” You jab a finger into his stomach, met with sinewy, toughened flesh. Woah, dad’s still got it going on. “It’s ugly, and I’m not twelve, dad.”

“Moving fast.” Leon - your dad, biological, held you as a baby, rocked you to sleep at night - wiggles his eyebrows at you. All while dressed in a Santa suit by the way, ‘cause that is one very important piece of information. He looks fucking ridiculous. It’s the same one he used to pull out when you were a kid, back when you actually gave a shit about him, what he thought about you, whether he even wanted you. ‘Cause if your daddy wanted you, why was he away so often? Told mom to jingle his balls once, an unsavoury recurring memory that you’d like to forget.

“Oh, dad, that’s actually really concerning, like, I’m not gonna lie.” You frown at him so hard the wrinkles that form on your forehead become permanent. “Don’t say that to me.”

“I was messing around.” He defends, “Christ, what is up with you today? Got a stick up your ass or somethin’? Y’know, in my day, kids used to be able to take jokes.” Now he’s pouting like a toddler in a sour mood.

“That was not a joke, dad!” You don’t mean to raise your voice, but it happens and within seconds he’s sat on the couch dejected. This fucking dude. Ugh. He’s pathetic. How did he manage to bag a hottie like your mom?

“I just want you to love me, sweetheart.” Here we go again. Leon sighs hopelessly as he slumps back into the cushions, and you can’t take him seriously when he’s wearing a fucking Santa hat.

“I do love you, dad.” And you do. Honest. Really. Like, pinky promise. You love him out of obligation - he’s your dad, and you’re meant to love your dad. Doesn’t mean you like him though. In your very objective-totally-not-biased view, your dad is just a bit unlikeable. A bit of a strange one.

“Yeah?” He lightens up, “You love me?” God, it’s like he gets off on it. Oh, you’re just being mean now. You scoot closer to him, lean in for an awkward side hug.

“I do, dad. I love you.” You don’t have the courage to look at him. Leon’s arm snakes around your waist, and you know what’s coming. How much do you love me?

“How much do you love me?” Called it. Up until now it’s been a harmless question, but when you face him, gaze flitting from his eyes to his nose to his lips, the general wear and tear of his aged face - it’s different. This time you won’t be able to get away with the regular bout of flattery, wax poetry about how much you love him, how you wouldn’t want anyone else but him to be your daddy. When in reality, you’d swap out Leon for any poor sod. They wouldn’t leave you hanging so damn often.

“A lot, dad.” You turn your head to roll your eyes, getting it out of your system proves worthy, now you can plaster your mommy’s smile onto your face, the one he loves so much. “So much, you know that, don’t you?”

“Just don’t seem like it, pumpkin.” Leon gives you a sideways glance, “I’m trying… I wanna make it up to you, y’know? For how much I was away.”

“Dad, you don’t have to do that. I’m over it.” You’re not. But, you’re good at pretending you are. “I don’t need you to make it up to me.” You do. Oh, you so do. You need it to a devastating degree. “Like, I’m not a kid, I don’t want Santa, and I don’t wanna make fuckin’ gingerbread houses, or watch Home Alone-“

“What, so you’re a big girl now?” He tilts his head to the side, there’s an edge to his voice that’s hard to decipher. Don’t know if it’s good or bad.

“Well, I’m not little anymore, dad.” You gasp when he tries to take a subtle glimpse down your shirt.

“I can see that.” Leon pokes his tongue into the corner of his cheek.

“Yeah, and I saw that!” When you go to stand, his grip becomes almost crushing, wanting to hold you in place so badly. For a moment it’s scary, only for a moment, this is just dad. Just Leon. He’s harmless. As lame as he is, your dad wouldn’t hurt you.

“I didn’t do nothing, baby, c’mere, don’t be like that.” Dad pets your head, and it reminds you of your childhood bedroom. “I’m sorry, alright? I never spent Christmas with just you, and I wanted to make it good for you.”

“I know, dad, and I appreciate it, just don’t need you to get all weird about it. Like, we can just— we can just be normal about it. Don’t have to do all this shit, I just want us to be normal.” Normal, huh? Neither of you can do normal, and you’re fully aware of that. ‘Cause your dad is a freak, and you can’t exactly drain Kennedy blood all that easy. You’ll be your father’s daughter even when he’s dead. “Like, I really, I really can’t deal with this whole Santa thing, did you really expect me to like it? I’m not a baby.”

“I just thought it’d be cute.” Cute? What is cute about a grown man in a Santa costume that’s covered in a thin layer of dust, dug out from the boxes he still hasn’t managed to open ten years after the divorce? “Listen, baby, I’m sorry, alright? I’m real sorry, look at me,” Leon cups your cheek, stares into your eyes with his gentle ones, “Dad’s sorry, yeah? I’m just stupid sometimes.”

“You are,” you nod, “but, I’m sorry too.” No, you’re not. Just saying it so he doesn’t drag this on, so he doesn’t call up your mom and tell her you’re not having a good time. Then your mom will be down your throat, your dad’s missed you, and you missed him too, you should be nicer to him, he tries his best, darling! “You, like, went through all that effort, and I didn’t even say thank you, I just got mad at you— so I’m sorry, dad.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, shifts so he can bring you into his chest, cheek squished against one of his fat tits, god, why’re they so big, you swear it’s bigger than both of yours combined. “It’s alright, I know you’re growing up, and I’m sorry for treating you like a baby, it’s just, it’s hard ‘cause you’re my little girl, y’know?” Not true. You’ve always been a mommy’s girl. Dad is an acquaintance.

“Yes, I know, dad.” You blink at him, he melts, traces your cheekbone with his thumb. Thank god he took that dumbass hat off, you couldn’t take him seriously.

“Gosh, baby, you look just like your mama.”

“I know, dad.”

“Crazy, ain’t it?” Leon kisses your forehead, “Only got these from me, and nothin’ else, huh?” Dad gropes your tits. The man that put a baby in your mother, that baby being you, obviously, the man whose name is on your birth certificate— the man who has given you his name, is groping your tits. “Certainly not from mommy are they?”

You shake your head. In agreement though. ‘Cause you can’t deny it, your mom’s as flat as a board. It feels weird, yes. But not bad. Maybe you’ve detached Leon from the title of ‘dad’ to the point where it doesn’t even matter anymore. It’s wrong, so you go to stop him, but he’s unyielding in his perversion.

“You look like your mommy down here, baby?” Dad asks, he cups your pussy through your jeans with his big hand. “Can daddy see?”

You shake your head again. Slowly. This time a flimsy no, one that teeters on the boundaries of a yes. You do owe him, you’ve been acting like a bitch ever since you arrived in D.C. Making a right fuss the moment you stepped through the door. Poor guy put the rather intricate gingerbread house all together by himself, he’s dressed as fucking Santa, all ‘cause he thought you’d like it. How bad can it be? Not like fucking your dad could land the two of you in jail, right? Well, it could, but that’s not the point.

“No? C’mon, sweet girl, dad just wants to see,” Leon’s plump bottom lip juts out, you kinda sit there for a minute, then lay back on the couch. What have you got to lose? You have no emotional attachment to this man. You do. It’s not weird at all. God, it’s so weird you want to claw your skin off. “That’s a good girl.” He butters you up while he unbuttons your jeans, taps your hips so you lift ‘em up and off they pop, jeans thrown to the ground. “Oh, look at her, baby, how sweet, just like mama,” Leon rests your left leg on his shoulder, holds the ankle of your right one to spread you open. “You think she likes it like mommy did?”

“How did… How did mom like it, dad— daddy?” You correct yourself, feel this horrible churning in your stomach. Both nausea and need flooding your shaky body.

Leon presses his wide nose to the bump of your clit through your tight panties, there’s a wet patch that seems to get bigger and bigger the more he sniffs around down there. He lifts his head, rests it on your thigh as he slides them to the side, sticky, gooey arousal stringing apart, sticking to the seat of your undies like PVA glue when he separates the fabric from your soaked centre. “She liked it real sloppy, baby.” With that, he spits on your drippy cunt, runs his finger through your folds, pinches your clit. “Daddy’s gonna give it to you just how mom liked it, alright?”

“Okay, dad,” you tell him breathlessly, hands clasped together as you try to calm your nerves. The warmth of his breath on your puffy clit is enough to make you shiver, he spreads you open with his index and middle fingers, the tip of his tongue traces along the centrefold of your cunt. Then Leon grows agitated by the way your panties insist on snapping back in place, so he has a little wrestle with them and your limp legs, once they’re off he tucks them into his pocket for safekeeping. Santa’s back pocket.

Sweetly, he kisses your clit, sucks on it like he’s getting to the centre of your cunt, blows a raspberry on it - you’re so wet it’s pooling beneath your ass. Leon spreads your cheeks to lick into your cunt, press his nose into it real nice ‘n deep, smacks his lips against your fat pussy, stubble smeared with your slick. Leaking all over your dad’s pretty face, letting your dad tug your clit between his teeth and fuck his tongue into your tight hole. “Should stop shaving.” Is all dad says once you cream on his face, “Your mama didn’t.” Okay, didn’t need to know that, but here you are, dad’s fat cock hard and heavy against your thigh. So you guess fucking him comes at that expense - finding out all sorts of details about their wild sex life. To be honest, you pegged Leon as the kinda guy who knows what missionary is and missionary only, not that you ever thought about that before. He unbuckles his belt, unthreads the prongs from the holes one by one, and drops his red Santa pants. Good riddance.

“Dad,” you whimper when he sits you up, handles you like a dolly. The tight-fitted Santa coat stretches around his biceps when he scoops you up, puts you on his lap, gosh, you’ve never really noticed those. Maybe that’s what your mom saw in him. Big blue eyes and big tits and big fucking arms. This Santa attire is really fucking you up, it’s hard to take him seriously.

“Your mommy’s real good at riding cock, y’know that, pumpkin?” Leon squeezes your ass, you feel him. All of him. His clothed cock grinding upwards into your bare cunt, a toothy grin stretching his lips as he watches the way your lips squish together. Yeah, fat pussy, so what. Get over it, creep. “Best I ever had she was, best fuckin’ pussy,” he licks up the sweat dripping down your collarbones, “but you’re made for me, ain’t you, baby?”

“Yes, dad.” You don’t know what else to say, breath stuttering when he sits you down on his cock. Thick and fairly long in all the ways a dick should be, you suppose. Look at that, giving a review of your dad’s cock. How far you have come. Fucking degenerate cock critic. It sure does feel good, his tip nestled snug against your cervix, pulsing within the silky walls of your tight cunt. Feel every vein, how his tip leaks pre endlessly, how it twitches when you clench around him.

“Baby, you’re such a big girl now,” Dad kisses you smack-bang in the middle. On your pouty lips. The ones that remind him of your mom, same lips that sucked his cock in the marriage bed, same eyes rolling back into your skull when he begins to rock his hips into you. “Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t you? Better than mommy.” Almost, he wants to add. You know he does. He’s so predictable.

There are no words in your brain, only able to let out shaky breaths and the occasional yelp as he takes you, grabs your hips and bounces you up and down on his cock. “Fuck, wait, let me— let me-“ he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he’s sliding you off and bending you over the couch. “Better like this.” That’s ’cause you look like mom from behind. Same hair, same hips, same perky ass. Leon fucks you harder, his strokes deeper, knocking his cock into your poor cervix with his brutal thrusts. Your nails scratch at the cracked leather of his couch, unable to help the way you moan for him, it’s so embarrassing, even more so when your hips begin to move on their own, fucking yourself back on dad’s dick.

Each thrust is harder than the last, god, is he trying to go through you? Put you in A&E ‘cause his cock got tangled in your intensities? “Is this… Is this how mom likes it, dad?” You manage to get out through a stifled groan, he digs his teeth into your neck, licks a stripe over the tender skin then tugs at your hoop earring with his teeth.

“Your mom likes it even harder, baby,” Leon snickers, “your mama is a dirty bitch.” You gasp, tighten around him involuntarily, your pussy behaves in mysterious ways. “She liked it when I did this,” his hand comes down on your ass hard, you squeal, almost lose footing and fall face-first into the couch cushions. “And when I pulled her hair, and slapped her tits, and spit down her fuckin’ throat.” Your mom is one nasty bitch, good on her. Personally, you’re new to it all. “You want that?”

“I don’t know, dad.” You say helplessly, thighs trembling when he reaches round with his nimble fingers to rub neat circles into your bud, so you come undone around his cock. Coat the shaft in cream, drip slick down his balls. You muffle your moans into a pillow, painted toes curling against the wooden floor, suddenly thankful for his lack of underfloor heating - ‘cause you’re sweating like a pig.

Your body trembles with aftershocks as he continues to fuck you through it, helps his little girl out by kissing the wet nape of her neck, a big hand on her waist to steady her. Sweat prickles your skin, jolting as he gives one last sloppy push into you, hips jerking as he unloads all he’s got to give and you milk him just right. ‘Cause you know, you’re his kid, made for him. That’s why he fits like a glove. Born to get your cunt bred by dad. You think he says your mom’s name into your hair, but you don’t question it, slumping over in exhaustion.

“Dad, can you just do me a favour and take that off, please? I’m really tired and it’s pissing me off.” You curl up on the sofa, uncaring of the seed that drips out and trickles down your plush thighs.. Leather’s easy to clean.

“Why? I like it. Don’t you think it’s cute, sweetpea?” Normalcy or what the two of you consider normal returns.

“No, take it off, or I’m taking the next flight home.”

“Alright, pumpkin.”

#leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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dmitriene · 2 months

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THOUGHTS ABOUT CAVEMAN SIMON AND VILLAGER READER.

synopsis: spring has come, and with it the time for sacrifices to someone, who lives far from people and scares everyone who pokes their noses into the forest, and what could be better than bribing the one you fear, so you were chosen as the one who will bear all the gifts deep into the forest.

cw: fluff, comfort, smut, possible dubcon, story set not in modern time and might be unrealistic, not based on real knowledge about cave people, possible ooc simon since he's a caveman, virgin reader, mentions of cannibalism (not in action), biting, licking, groping, simon is rough around the edges, pet names, cunnilingus with dubious consent, simon is inexperienced, male and female intimacy, many mentions of bare flesh, overstimulation, crying, aftercare, kinda kidnapping. pairing: caveman simon ghost riley x villager fem reader

author's note: this idea was born from an absolutely spontaneous conversation with @suimon, and i'm grateful to her, because without her encouragement i wouldn't decide to write such an interesting story, which is kind of new for me, but i still hope those who will read it enjoy, it's my first attempt on writing this kind of plot, that ended up being 4.5k words.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

long melted snow, allowing fresh green grass to break through the once dissipated white fluff of snow, bright flowers decorating endless meadows and forests surrounding the village exactly along the perimeter — all this brings with it spring, warm weather, fresh juicy fruits and vegetables, and after them the time for a sacrifices.

behind the forest clearing, where the trees become thicker and seem to be getting darker, lives one whose cave, the exact location of which not many people know, are afraid to approach, and you never heard the exact answer, the exact reason, but everyone was afraid of this place more than fire, but were justified by a man who was frightening to the point of trembling, as if they had seen a living ghost.

naturally, you had never seen him, and you treated his stories as if they were fairy tales — an attempt to intimidate the kids from going too far during walks, nothing more, or so it seemed to you, until you were chosen as the one who would go to him with the onset of spring with fertile gifts, an attempt to appease the so-called monster, which terrifies the entire village with its very existence, and you couldn’t understand why you should go to the one you’re afraid of, and also with gifts?

but one way or another, it was not in your authority to refuse the election of the head of the village and the people, so you were dressed up in the best dress from your meager wardrobe, the white fabric flowing to your feet seemed as soft as silk, an absolutely light linen, diluted a wreath woven from fresh, sickly sweet flowers, and in your hands a basket of the freshest fruits and vegetables, with a rope on your wrist, a thick plexus leading to the neck of a good, well-fed cow, the devil knows what he will do with the poor, as you would think, animal, but one way or another — your task is to give, even if you looked the most appetizing here.

walking through the forest is difficult, especially when, of all the attempts to navigate, you only have — “go straight ahead and stop when you see the cave„ and the only thing left to do is to listen, periodically stop when the cow bends down to nibble fresh grass, and then walk again until feeling of dull pain in the legs, due to the fact that making your way through trees and large branches with almost bare feet is uncomfortable, a little painful, and you have to pick up the white dress in your hands so as not to get it dirty, trying to maintain a festive look as possible, not drop the basket, and still get to this damned place.

more and more doubts creep into your head, maybe no one lives there at all, or does, but it’s just a wild animal, and villagers just couldn’t see it in the dark clearlier?

but it’s hard to believe that in the thicket, which every time becomes darker and denser, in which there are more and more bushes and broken branches, and somewhere where there are even tree trunks lying — someone really lives, and while thoughts are wandering around your head like a prodigal wind, and the path completely disappears under your feet, you finally reach the right place, meeting your eyes with a stone cave, assembled from stones in a stable structure, sprinkled with greenery, moss and tree trunks.

really someone’s abode, albeit open, and looking as if it could become your undoing.

even the poor animal seems to be enveloped in fear, the cow bursts into a loud moo, resting her hooves on the ground, and with all due respect, you cannot push such a weight behind you, but you will not let her escape, tying the poor thing by a rope and to a tree trunk nearby, allowing her to calm down a little, to be distracted by tufts of grass, while your gaze rushes forward into the darkness of the cave, and your legs tremble slightly.

— “well.. here i come, cave man, huh..„ slips from your lips encouragingly to your own self, although your voice trembles, but you cannot return to the village with the same full hands, and in any case, you will most likely be sent again after this, damn old people, so the only way is forward.

the branches crunch under your feet, it seems to you, until you notice glimpses of animal bones, and it’s as if you are tugging from the inside, your step immediately quickens, and you practically stumble, clutching the basket to your chest and swallowing nervously, saying in your mind over and over — “it doesn't belonged to someone, it doesn't belonged to someone„ but it didn’t get any easier, as if the deeper you went, the more terrible it became, there was only pitch darkness ahead, not planning to make way for you even for a second, so you walk, almost blindly, closing one eye and making your way with the other.

— “is.. is someone there? hello??„

your voice echoes against the stone walls, but it becomes clearer under your feet, and a little brighter ahead, so you continue to walk even despite the dead silence, step by meek step, getting out to the center of the cave, where the walls become wider, and your eyes get used to darkness, letting small details immediately scatter before your eyes — some kind of wooden cabinet, a small rectangular table with a single chair, and above it a shelf with plates, everything is just like in your own house in the village, however, the bed is not very similar to the usual one, full of skins, located quite low, and you hesitantly step deeper, saying

— “hey?.. i'm, uhm.. i mean no harm, hello? someone?„

your voice sounds a little quieter, patient, as you walk to the table and allow yourself to place that same basket on it, carefully adjusting it along with the vegetables and fruits mixed in it, before moving away, smiling at the more welcoming composition, besides, it decorated a small surrounding emptiness, you even forgot for a while that you were in a cave, you felt comfortable, until the moment you turned around, noticing a dark figure in the corner that turned around sharply, and you screamed uncontrollably.

a large, massive figure in the very corner of the cave turns to face you, demonstrating its immensity and body, hidden under only one piece of fabric, vaguely reminiscent of pants, but what catches you, or rather scares you, is the skull attached to his face, and the skull would be less frightening if it belonged to an animal, but the shape was human like, separated from the back and leaving only the front, somehow attached to a dark piece of fabric stretched over the man’s face, showing the world only his sunken, dark eyes.

simon overreacts to the sound, furrowing his brows and clenching his hands into fists that hang on either side of his wide hips, not liking it when someone barges in uninvited, especially like this, but watching you shake like a cornered rabbit , he softens, and at the same time resolutely begins to walk in your direction, without warning, which makes your heart jump right up to your throat and back into your chest when you calm a bit inside, but still take a couple of steps back from approaching figure.

— “uh, h-hi? i'm sorry, i must scared you.. i-i screamed pretty loud, yeah?„

you babble, the words fly out of your soft lips hastily and with an attempt to justify yourself, and he freezes, breathing somehow displeasedly through his nose and causing his bare chest to heave, but still, he grumbles somehow approvingly, tilting his head to the side, as if having mercy on you and giving the opportunity to justify yourself, and you don’t dare to miss it.

— “uh, i was sent from village, you know, not far from here! i brought you some fresh vegetables and fruits, and cow.. you know, that does moo„ the words come out in one breath, while you spin around, pointing first at the basket that suddenly appeared on his table, then towards the exit, talking about the cow, telling him about it as if you were talking to a child, as if mistaking him for a completely savage, and simon squeezes out a rough, dry laugh, crossing his burly arms over his wide, scarred chest, cutting off your explanations

— “i know what a cow is„

his voice is hoarse, tart like coffee beans on the tongue, and you stop, taking a deep breath.

simon has already realized that you are from that stupid village full of fools who take him for some terrible animal, but instead of the usual fear like in other people’s eyes, in yours he sees some doubt and sincere guilt, like in a child’s who was scolded by his parents, and this causes amusement in his gaze, a flutter in his light eyelashes

— “i'm, sorry.. it's just, the villagers acted like you are some kind of wild animal, and i.. i thought..„

the words get confused in your head and on your tongue, one way or another, you, even if not for long, believed to the words of the people living in the village, believed that he was less human than many, now trying to justify his honor and your words, standing under his gaze and trembling as if leaf in the wind, your legs shook as you squeezed them together, feeling his strange, ardent gaze where your plush thighs began behind the thin fabric, and goosebumps ran down your skin as his lips stretched into a wide, wild grin.

you stand before his eyes like a prettiest gift, a prey — you are shaking like a little rabbit, or a newborn doe, as if your legs are about to lose control of your weight and collapse on the stone floor, even though a carpet of someone’s skin lies under your feet, he wouldn’t want you to return back to the village in a deplorable state, or maybe you yourself were sent as a sacrifice?

he doesn't know, because you look incredibly attractive and alluring in that light outfit with just panties underneath, the silhouette of the fabric of which he can see on your hips before his gaze goes up to where your round, soft breasts are hiding under the finest cloth, and up to the strands of your hair, decorated with a wreath of fresh flowers, he knows it by the sweet smell and by the fact that he has already seen such in the forest, and simon has never tasted people, has not eaten human flesh — but looking at you, at the softness, at the sweetness, maybe he should give it a try?

— “i never tasted human flesh before„ words roll off his tongue in advance of rational thoughts, a rich baritone from the thin line of pale lips behind the fabric of the mask and the shape of the skull where he licks them like a predator.

and you are theprey, the one which trembles and whose eyes widen when you hear his unexpected speech, wild, causing the blood in your veins to freeze and your legs to obey the instinct of escape, and you take off from your place, turn around on the thin sole of your sandals and move your body towards the exit and impenetrable the darkness from which you came, which previously let you in — and will no longer let you go without the permission of its owner.

you can’t even hear simon’s steps behind you, because of how adrenaline is pumping in your ears and blood echoes like white noise in the background, as his figure wraps around yours like a shadow and pulls you, he clings to the light fabric with dirty fingers and squeezes with a heavy weight around your waist, first with his fingers, then with his hand, heavy bonds that drag you into the air and there’s no point in even twitching your legs, he immediately turns you around in his arms, places your soft flesh in his palms, relishing in the softness, warmth, fingers greedily kneading the soft, supple skin between his fingers on top of the now slightly stained fabric, pressing you into a cold stone wall as you close your eyes tightly.

your body is trembling, you’re waiting for the touch of someone else’s teeth on your body, a sharp flash of pain, surrendering to the clutches of creeping death in the guise of a person without resistance, having resigned yourself in advance, even on the threshold of this cave, even when the dark, densely trees swallowed you in the depths of the forest, but no pain comes, no sensation of rough, sharp teeth in the skin, just his hands that slide from your butt, where he shamelessly touched you, to your hips and thighs, tracing the skin and bones over your dress, forcing you to twitch, squeezing your legs together.

something inside you is twisting shamefully hotly, curling into a coil in your lower abdomen and setting all your nerve endings on fire, you still don’t look, your eyelashes and eyelids are trembling, and simon takes pleasure in your instinctive fear, akin to the animals he mercilessly catches in the depths of the forest, kneeling in front of you just as he once knelt in front of them, but you were distinguished from a dead animal by your vitality, sweet aroma, soft warm body which he wanted to taste until greedily accumulating saliva in his mouth.

— “pretty„

he growls low from his throat, causing you to flush with a flash of blush, your fingertips prickling nervously, it seems that he’s saying this from a sadistic point of view, not really to you, rather than to your body, to what he will eat, and you refuse to look at the eyes of your fear, even when rough, calloused hands run along your legs until he lays them on his broad shoulders, lifts up the dress that gets in the way, exposes the skin to your thighs and carelessly leaves them rumpled to dangle there, when his bare mouth pierces your skin and licks.

your eyes immediately widen following the hitching breath that flies through your parted lips, and you look at him, this beast, this man, standing in front of you on both knees, and even between your legs he seems immense, but strangely tender, when he licks and gently bites a path to your thighs along the soft flesh, pressing his nose into it, you see it’s slightly crooked form briefly, the black fabric falls to cover everything except his mouth, which greedily tastes you like no one has ever tasted.

his dark eyes meet yours fleetingly, yours are frightened, his are peaceful and satisfied, the corners of his lips rise forward and spread on his face, and you feel every movement of his lips on you in dangerous proximity as he crawls higher and higher, settling between supple thighs with his head, sticking his nose and mouth into a place that attracts him with sweetness and wetness, a small sticky spot on the thin fabric, into which he buries himself greedily, opening his mouth wide and licking the fat stripe along your panty clad pussy, burying his nose in your twitching clit and grinning at the reaction of your body, as well as at the quiet, ringing moan that arose from the depths of your throat.

the light, thin fabric gets wet from the amount of saliva in his mouth, mixing with the moisture that is released from your hot, bothered pussy, causing the gusset of your panties become almost transparent, as simon buries himself deeper, without asking, he just takes it, squeezing your thighs until there is a slight, uncomfortable pain burning on your skin, as your legs kick forward and attempt to squeeze together because of the new sensations that you don’t understand, didn’t experienced before, but he’s not going to let you escape just yet, but you squeak, a shushed, soft sound, which makes him soften nonetheless.

simon's gaze studies you through his light eyelashes, he sees the conflicting emotions on your face, how your chest is heaving, how moisture collects on your lash line, threatening to release and turn into tears, so his arms wrap around and squeeze your legs a little more carefully, stroking the soft skin with awkward, uncertain circular movements of his fingers, he hasn’t interacted with people for a long time, especially in the moments like these, when his face is buried between your thighs while he laps lightly against your panties.

fear slowly leaves your body along with rational thoughts, you lose your vigilance in the hands of a stranger, a person who shamelessly touches your private parts, but touches you so well, so carefully, igniting that warmth in the bottom of your belly more and more each time and allowing you to twitch, squirm as much as it possible while being held half in the air, thus only pushing your hips forward, towards his wet mouth, and shuddering with pleasure and new flashes when his nose nuzzles harder into your little clit, making your toes curl, and he growls.

— “so sweet„

comes out as a muffled growl, and you don’t know if he’s talking about you or your pussy, but he licks you more actively, making your folds stick to the absolutely wet fabric of your panties, while he slurps and sucks your folds and clit, his movements are messy, uncertain, he's been isolated from people and any contact with them with his own hands, but that doesn't stop him from having a taste, as his tongue runs between your folds and he continues to tease you with slow, exploring movements.

you make more and more unusual to yourself sounds, quiet moans, breathy mewls, wet squelches that he swallows whole as your hands find support on his head and you dig your fingers into his mask, as you grow more and more impatient in your movements, just in time when simon gets tired of this unnecessary, wet piece of fabric, a barrier to the sweetest fruit and nectar in his life, so he bares his teeth and clings to the waistband of your underwear, helping himself with his fingertips and tearing them away down your legs, exposing your fluttering, wet hole to his hungry eyes and mouth.

the mere sight leaves him swelling with hardness in his pants, and your gaze catches on the silhouette of his cock, leaning heavily against his meaty thigh and bulging against the thin fabric, one little sight had you swallowwing nervously before your eyes roll back from the sharp contact of his bare lips with your bare cunt, he swipes his thick tongue once, twice, licking your wet folds and slurping your juices as an endless source of quenching his thirst, he licks and licks until you begin to lose yourself in how long you've been in this position, where your folds and clit swell, and simon just presses himself unexpectedly deeper before suddenly diving in further.

a loud sigh and a whiny moan spread through the cave, his tongue curls at the tip, when he accidentally, but with pressure, pushes your folds apart and into your fluttering hole, his tongue flattens against your entrance, before licking and thrusting inside, into the warmth of your velvety walls that tighten around his muscle right there, and he growls with satisfaction, akin to a muffled purr, moving his head up and down, smearing his entire jaw and lips in your slick, surrendering fully to your softness and warmth.

every movement of his tongue inside leaves you trembling, your legs intuitively spread apart further along his broad shoulders, your hips find a natural rhythm and constantly buck forward with every lick of his fat tongue against your walls and his sucking on your clit, noticing what reaction it causes in you and trying to hear more of your absolutely innocent, wanton squeaks and moans, enjoying the knowledge that you act and feel this way because of his actions, so he presses his knees into the stone floor harder and leans forward further.

your stomach twists more and more, and you push his face away from you with sharp, broken whimpers, when his tongue touches your spongy spot again and again, your body seems to be engulfed in flames, your spine arches away from the wall, resting your entire weight on his face and curling over him, breathing loudly and shakily when the tip of his tongue thrust rapidly, abusing your sweet, spongy spot with his hungry, drooling mouth.

he only grunts as you lean your full weight on him, continuing his assault on your throbbing and clenching hole, alternating between grazing his tongue against your folds and clit, or thrusting his muscle deep inside your core in fast, albeit languid movements, just until your loud whimpers and hoarse mewls echo against his stone walls, and your stomach twists and turns as your body convulses in an unexpected feeling of sudden orgasm, cunt clenches and pulsates around his tongue, letting go of your sweet slick and milky cum for him to have, covering his chin and mouth in the huge amount of liquid that he actively drink and lap up, opening his mouth wide and licking you clean, drinking till the last drop.

simon doesn’t stop, as if not knowing the line, which he doesn’t really know, continuing to run his tongue against your slit and cling to your hole, as he sukles on your clit, your whole body is buzzing strangely, your head begins to ache from the endless pleasure and overstimulation that his actions and touches bring, making everything between your legs swell and tingle, you desperately claw his bare back with your hands, adding to the scarred canvas of his flesh, trying to push, resist, but he doesn’t care, right until a loud sob escapes your lips.

he reacts instantly, making something close to a questioning grumble before retreating slightly between your legs, licking his thin lips around the edges and all your fluids on your thighs, you hang on him like a sack of potatoes, trying to grab his back with your hands and at the same time not allowing him to move away from you normally, quietly, pitifully sobbing, which cause him to growl, and with a rough grip of his wide hands on your hips, unhook you from him.

simon holds you more carefully, more gently, his hands are still shamelessly squeezing and pawing your hips, going down to the swell of your plush ass, touching the skin and also pulling down your dress to cover you and provide you with the minimum comfort possible in your position, where your panties lie torn on the floor, and endless salty tears flow down your raw, cowered in slight blush cheeks, and he feels even more sympathy for you than all the times before, frowning his light eyebrows and pursing his lips.

— “don't cry..„

he mutters in frustration, carefully releasing one hand from under your butt to carefully wipe the wetness of tears from your cheeks, while you sniff your reddened nose, your head and body pulsating with a strange surge of fatigue, there's still an uncontrollable throb between your legs, and the very thought of this feeling makes you sad, as your eyelids gradually get heavier with a dissatisfied whine escaping from the depths of your throat.

— “shh„

simon whispers quietly, shamelessly moving his face closer to yours to lick your wet cheeks, making you frown and grimace, resting your hands weakly on his shoulders before he gently begins to rock you in his bulky arms and press you against his chest, changing your position so that he supports you under your knees and your back rests comfortably on his thick bicep, curling up, and you no longer care about everything that happens.

you were in a comfortable, floating state between sleep and consciousness, not struggling or scratching like most of the little preys he meet, allowing him to carry you carefully away from the far wall and to a place that vaguely resembled a human bed, full of soft animal skins and located closer to the floor, on which he lays you down and immediately wraps you in the warmth of various furs, fleetingly touching the top of your head while carefully stroking your hair, reaching to the already slightly tattered wreath with flowers and throwing it away somewhere, to which you don’t even react, on the contrary, you cuddle in response to his touch with your head and face.

this makes him chuckle hoarsely, a sound that makes your skin crawl, but he carefully lays you down more comfortably and strokes your warm cheek, going down to your shoulder and drawing the same awkward circles here with the tip of his finger until you are taken into deep sleep, first with your mind, then with your body, allowing your eyes to close and plunge into darkness in a place unfamiliar to you, going limp and burying your nose in fur that smells sharply of musk, something tartly foresty and reminiscent of him, plunging you even deeper and further in viscious sleep, following the rough whisper, that is contrasting with his careful, soft touches.

— “sleep well, my pretty sacrifice„

simon mumbles practically under his breath, his dark eyes following every flutter of your eyelashes and the sigh that slips from your parted lips, before making sure that you are in a deep sleep and getting himself up from his haunches, the movement is accompanied by a slight crunch of bones and a grumble from his lips, he looks around his own cave, a torn, damp cloth lying on the floor, a wreath with scattered petals and a basket with some sort of offerings on the table, which he will use later.

for now he rests his hands on his hips, licking his slightly dry lips and looking at the prominent weight between his legs, resting against the fabric of his pants and responding with warm, tingling arousal and slight drippling moisture, but he will take care of this later, for now, simon will collect all the unnecessary garbage from the floor and get it as far away as possible, and then take care of the cow you brought with you from the village, even if he doesn't prefer to use meat from someone else's hands, he can definitely let it pass now, because he will need to persuade you to stay with him, as soon as you wake up.

simon will not allow something like you to escape, he has denied himself contact and warmth for too long, and now, having touched the forbidden fruit, he knows one thing for sure — he will never let it go again and will not refuse it, so you are in his abode for a long time.

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poeghoul · 5 months

Text

hard times iii.

in which they're far too drawn to each other.

word count: 7,852 warnings: mentions of drug usage and abuse, unwanted advances, angst, possessiveness authors note: not proofread. only a few parts left to this series </3 im far too attached to them.

masterlist

part one part two

Y/n made her way out of the diner, the new waiter, Ross, following close behind her. “It’s not too bad, I promise. You’ll get the hang of it soon,” she turned to face him, smiling to try and relieve his anxiety. The poor boy had spilled orange juice all over his black sweater, the thick fabric sticking to his chest, and still slightly damp. “Plus you’ll be taking the night shift and barely anyone comes in.”

He exhaled through his mouth, raising his eyebrows at her, “so that means shit tips, huh?” he joked at her. She pulled her lips into her mouth, hesitant to answer, and when she went to challenge his assumption, he cut her off. “Fuck, really? Shit, I’m fucked,” running a hand through his hair, he shook his head. She pursed her lips at him.

“It’s not awful, I swear. And you’re new, so,” she trailed off, not entirely knowing what to say to the blue eyed boy. “They always start the newbies off at night,” the end of her sentence sounded more like a question, and he just smirked at her and tilted his head to the side.

“You’re shit at making people feel better, you know that?” he grinned at her, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth, shaking his head at her. She grinned at him, exhaling a laugh through her nose. “Ya need a ride or anything?”

“Mm, no I have a ride already, thank you though,” she gestured to the man standing next to the black SUV behind her. A ‘shit’ coming from the boy in front of her. “Yeah,” she pursed her lips. Ever since the first night Jax had picked her up, everyone who worked at the diner bombarded her with a million questions anytime the ‘mystery’ man stood in front of the building; how’d you score that, who is he, how do you know him, etc.

“No offense, but how the fuck are you able to drive that? Or have someone drive you in that,” he stared at her, a befuddled look graced his face.

She tucked her bottom lip in between her teeth for a second, his gaze switching from her eyes to her lips and back once the flesh was released, “um, a friend of mine kinda owes me a favor and this is how he’s paying me back,” she shrugged, her right arm coming up to rub her left, an anxious habit.

A humorless laugh escaped him, “I will never ask for a favor if this is what you’re expecting in return,” he gestured to the car. “I’ll see you in the morning, y/n,” he patted her shoulder before running his hand down her arm, barely even touching the jacket covered skin, and grazed her hand for a moment longer than he should’ve. She blushed from the action, taking in a sharp breath before nodding and bidding him goodbye.

They parted ways; Ross walking to a beat up ‘99 Honda Civic hatchback, and y/n to her (Harry’s) personal chauffeur’s car. She sent a smile to Jax before wrapping her arms around his torso, squishing her face into his chest (he was significantly taller than her, but not as tall as Harry).

“Hey, sweetpea,” he greeted her, she felt the vibrations rumble through his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, a hand coming up to caress the back of her head and a gentle kiss was placed on the crown of her head. “Wanna tell me who that was?” he pulled back to wink at her, she just rolled her eyes unwrapping her arms and crossing them over her chest and he opened the door for her,

“That was Ross, he’s the new waiter I told you about. Not very good though,” she stepped up into the backseat and sat her bag down on the seat next to her. A few weeks ago, she’d be getting in the backseat hoping Harry would greet her with an apology or an explanation. Now, she’d be surprised to even smell Harry’s lingering cologne. He’s been avoiding her since the last time he came to her apartment. No calls, no texts, no interactions whatsoever.

Jax laughed, closing the door before running around the back of the car and hopping in the front seat. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, “that bad, huh?” Her eyes widened and she nodded, her mouth agape.

“I’ve never met anyone that uncoordinated, I swear. He’s great with the customers, he really is, he just can’t balance a tray to save his life,” she sighed, “Dan put a lot of faith in me, too, which makes it worse. Like, I can’t just magically make someone a great waiter, especially if this is their first waiting job.”

“That’s rough, sweetpea, I’m sorry.”

“Is it bad I don’t think he’ll last long?” sympathy laced her tone.

“Not at all, and from the sounds of it, that seems likely,” he shrugged one shoulder and started the car. Pushing the parking brake down, he shifted into reverse before pulling out of the parking lot and on to the main street leading to her studio.

“Yeah,” she pulled her lips into her mouth, looking out the window. She had switched to the morning shift, paranoia suffocating her every night making her shifts much harder to get through without choking on her anxiety. And because no one else was willing to take the night shift, they had to hire another waiter. And apparently, for god knows why, they just had to hire one with no experience. And just had to make y/n train him. A form of punishment, she’s sure. “How was your day?” she looked back to him, eyes trained on his side profile.

“Mm, fine. Uneventful as normal. Just waited around for,” he met her eyes in the rearview, “Mr. Styles,” she looked down at her hands, picking at her over bitten cuticles, dried blood staining her nail beds. “He had another meeting with Mr. Horan,” she nodded slowly. Niall hadn’t even come into the diner. They both had disappeared.

The drive was short, it always was. Soon enough, she was thanking him, like usual, and running up the stairs to her apartment. Unlocking the door, she could hear the bells she had attached to the door handle on the inside sing loudly. It was annoying, but with where her mind had been the past month, she deemed it necessary. Kicking her shoes off, she plopped on her chair, rolling her neck from side to side trying to alleviate the tension.

After her third morning shift, she had started to regret asking to be taken off nights, she had no clue what to do in the middle of the afternoon. When she’d get off around ten, she would come home and get ready for bed and watch a show or scroll through tiktok until she’d be half asleep with the phone slipping from her grasp. It was a routine she’d been used to for about eight months, but developing new routines and sticking to them was not her strong suit.

Getting off this early highlighted how alone she felt. It got dark around 4:30 and winter was creeping in. Her seasonal depression started to settle in, making a home in the cavity of her chest.

+++

Harry sat across from Niall in his home office, sitting back in his expensive Italian leather chair with his leg crossed over his knee. He rarely ever hosted meetings in his home, never trusting anyone enough to invite them in, but Niall was entirely different. He managed to snake his way into Harry’s life; calling and texting him at all hours of the day, inviting him to attend church with his wife and two daughters or out to play a game of golf. Harry was suspicious about the amount of communication and invitations, but learned that Niall was one of the friendliest men he’d ever come across, and eventually accepted an invitation to a game of golf. That was entirely a bad idea, however, since Niall was practically glued to Harry’s side ever since.

He had even told him about what happened with y/n, to which Niall prompted him to just come clean to her about how he felt. But of course, it wasn’t that simple. If it was, Harry would’ve done that the moment he saw his sweet girl shed a tear. They never spoke about it after Harry yelled at Niall to stop meddling.

“Who do you think did it?” Harry asked the blue eyed brunette, referring to a shootout that happened at a Motel 6 twentyseven miles from where they were meeting. Motel 6’s were notorious for drug dealings, though Harry never dared to step foot near one.

Niall shrugged, “could’ve been anyone, really. But I’m sure it had something to do with Justus. He’s always down there, creepin’ around,” a scowl graced his gentle face.

Harry brought his fingers to rest on his mouth, tapping a finger on the skin above his lip and raising an eyebrow at the man's theory, “Hm, Justus, aye?” Niall nodded. “ ‘S a possibility, he loves his motels. Who else could’ve been down there, though? Couldn’t have just been a deal gone wrong, he had to have stepped on someone’s toes.”

“Well, it-” Niall cut himself off, perking up as he put the pieces together in his head, “Payne. It was fucking Payne, god that prickhead.”

“Niall, that name holds no significance with me, who is that?”

“Liam Payne,” Niall answered, leaning forward, “terrible prices, terrible stock, always lacing whatever he’s able to get his hands on to sell for less,” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Laced a batch of coke with fent and killed twelve people but of course, being who he is, no one ever ratted him out. Hells gonna swallow him whole rightfully so.”

“Hm,” Harry hummed out, “let’s hope he makes his way up here,” a grin took over his features. Niall stared at him in confusion.

“Why’s that? Don’t want him anywhere near me, if ‘m bein honest.”

“Well, you won’t have to deal with him. I’ll happily take care of him.”

Niall gulped, “I don’t know Harry, he’s shitty but,” he paused, trying to think of the right phrasing, “powerful. Very powerful.”

Harry’s grin widened, the skin around his eyes wrinkling, “and I’m not?” he retorted. Niall shook his head, chuckling, knowing where Harry was headed. “Like I said, I’ll happily take care of him.”

“Devious bastard.”

Niall and Harry said their goodbyes, one of Harry’s men walking him out. Harry sat in his office, alone again. He sat back in his chair, messing with the H and S rings on his left hand, his mind wandering to his little lamb, whom he hadn’t seen in far too long. He wondered if she thought of him, wondered if her thumb ever hovered over the call button under his name in her contacts like he had done with her. She consumed his thoughts daily. He’d ask Jax about how her day went and why she switched to the morning shift, to which Jax couldn’t answer truthfully as he didn’t even know.

Papers scattered the desk in front of him, numbers, dollar signs and crossed out names on nearly every page. The amount of clutter on the desk made him restless, unable to think straight, but he couldn’t bring himself to organize it in any way. He’d begin to put things away but would quickly get overwhelmed with the amount of shit he had to file away. So, he just stared at the piles, his mind occupied by the girl he didn’t get a chance to know, by his own fault.

He reached into his jacket pocket, reading the time, 4:37 pm, and his notifications, looking for one in particular.

Jax D.

She’s home safe, area secured.

A small smile graced his lips, happy she was home safe and unharmed. He wished she would’ve told him instead, however. Wishing to hear the words fall from her pretty pink lips. He tapped at the screen to respond.

Harry:

Good. Thank you.

He set his phone down, his heart aching in his chest, missing his sweet little lamb.

+++

“What are you doing tonight?” Ross asked y/n as she unlocked the front doors for the pair, she looked at him over her shoulder as she pulled the door open.

“Mm, probably nothing, I work tomorrow morning so I don’t really wanna do much,” she let him walk in before her, following him inside before locking the door behind them. “Why, what’s up?” she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Just curious, damn,” he held his hands up in surrender, she rolled her eyes and laughed at him.

“Well, why are you curious?” The two made their way into the back room, setting their stuff in their designated lockers. She sat down on the bench, retying the shoelace that had come undone. He sat in front of her, legs on either side of the bench.

“Well, I was gonna see if you wanted to do something cause I’m off tomorrow and I assumed you were too so,” he shrugged, staring at her as she sat across from him.

She looked up at him, mouth slightly agape. “Oh,” she nodded slowly. “What were you thinking?”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes at him, “what did you wanna do?”

“Oh, I’m dumb, I thought you meant, like, what are you thinking,” he said in a scolding tone, she laughed. “But whatever you wanna do, we can see a movie or something.”

She nodded her head slowly, contemplating the idea. It wouldn’t be bad, she could get a blue and red icee, but she didn’t want to give up her daily alone time (with working in the service industry, she looked forward to that very much needed time). But with how melancholy she’d been feeling lately, the alone time became very depressing after an hour.

“I’m down,” she smiled at him, a dimple cutting into her cheek. “What do you wanna see? The new Priscilla movie is out, I really wanna see that but we don’t have to watch that if you don’t want to,” she rambled.

“That’s Elvis’ wife right?” She nodded, “I love Elvis,” she cringed. She had a deep hatred for him and his stupid voice and stupid hair. She vowed to never step foot in Vegas because of him. “Let’s do it. Check the times, do you wanna go after work so you’re not staying out too late?”

“Oh yeah that’s actually perfect.”

He grinned back at her, “perfect. It’s a date.”

He got up before she had the chance to correct him; it was absolutely not a date.

+++

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, buttoning up a crisp white shirt. He had returned home from his morning jog and worked out for a little over two hours before getting in the shower and readying himself for the day. No meetings planned, which he was thankful for. He just had to foresee a shipment coming in from Arizona, some of the finest coke he had ever seen was set to come in today and he didn’t trust anyone enough to not tamper with the sweet white powder. Jax, Daniel and Lee met him in the hallway, ready to take him to the warehouse, while the rest of his men were already on their way.

“Morning, Mr. Styles,” one of the burly men greeted him, Harry didn’t bother to respond to the greeting, instead looking to Jax to inquire about his angel.

“She was dropped off at 5:45 this morning, I watched her go inside with the new waiter. She texted me she doesn’t need a ride home but I’ll still check the area out when she’s set to be off,” Harry’s neck almost snapped with the way he turned so quickly.

“What? Did she say why she doesn’t need a ride home?”

Jax shook his head, “She didn’t, sir.”

“Show me the texts,” he stopped in his tracks, his hand reaching out, waiting for the phone to be placed in his palm. Jax hesitated. Harry narrowed his eyes at him becoming impatient. “Show me the texts, now.” Jax reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone and tapped on the screen before handing it over to Harry.

Y/n 🐇☁️

Ross said he can give me a ride today:) love u see u in the morning

Harry reread the message four times over, his heart caught in his throat. He turned the screen off and gave the phone back to Jax, turning on his heel to walk out to the car. He settled in the backseat, Lee next to him, while Jax and Daniel sat in the front.

He sat staring out the window, the car not even moving yet. His breathing rapid, his heartbeat similar to one of a rabbit getting caught in the grip of a hawk.

He broke the uncomfortable silence, “Is Ross the new waiter?” Jax nodded, nonverbal. “He seems interested in her?” Again, the man nodded, not daring to say anything more thinking it would just piss him off further. But Harry wasn’t angry, he was more hurt than anything. He knew he had no right to be upset in any way, afterall he walked out on her, but it still didn’t sit well with him. “What time is she set to be off today?” He turned, looking at the man in the passenger seat.

“Scheduled off at 2:30, but depends on if she’s finished with her tables. She's still training the new waiter so it could be longer than that. She said he’s not very good,” Jax threw the last bit in there to appease Harry. It worked.

“You’ll switch cars for the day, you can take the beemer, I want to see her make it home safe.”

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

+++

Y/n and Ross made their way out of the diner, headed to his beat up little car (he swore it was the coolest “ride” and that the ladies “loved” it). He would take y/n home so she could change and lend him one of her oversized shirts, offering him that after they made the plan to go right after work thinking he’d be uncomfortable in a food stained sweater. He declined the offer at first but after he spilled a copious amount of coffee and syrup on him, he asked if it was still on the table.

Harry and Jax sat in the heavily tinted Beemer watching the pair as they walked out of the double doors and into the piece of shit, as Harry put it. He was fuming, his foot tapping against the carpeted mats of the car as he clenched his jaw, Jax thought he was closing to breaking a few teeth or the mandible all together. The two men followed them as they made their way to y/n’s.

Harry hadn’t been in this area in a week's time; he had been following Jax in that very car, watching to make sure she was actually making it safe to her little home.

He watched as he parked his car on the street, and watched as they walked up the stairs and stood at the door for him to unlock it. That made him even more angry, how was she so comfortable with a man she barely knew to allow him in her apartment?

The chiming of bells rang through her apartment as she pushed open the door.

“Bells?”

She nodded, “I’m a girl living alone, kinda a necessity,” she shrugged, setting her keys down. “Thirsty?” He shook his head.

“Ya know something’s really gotta be done about that.” She looked at him, a confounded look on her face.

“What?”

“Like women are scared to live alone, that’s, like, really shitty. And pads and tampons should be free.” She stared at him, her head cocked to the side before shaking her head and approaching her dresser.

“I have a few sweaters you can borrow too if you’re cold,” she reached into her pajama drawer and pulled out an old Jimi Hendrix shirt she had purchased at a record store from her hometown years ago. The neckline was fraying and the graphic design was barely dark enough to where it was easy to make out.

“Yeah, I’ll take one if that's alright,” he smiled at her, holding the t-shirt up in front of him. “Do you actually like Hendrix or is this just like a hand-me-down?”

She rolled her eyes, going through the bin of sweaters she had, trying to find one that would actually fit his lanky, but tall, frame. “Yes, I actually like him, asshat. I have Are You Experienced on vinyl,” she nodded her head to the turntable that sat in the corner, near her bathroom door. A collection of vinyl growing dust sat on the bottom shelf of the stand it sat on.

“Damn my bad, cupcake.” She hated that. She hated how he called her ‘cupcake’ or ‘sweetie’. She hated how it sounded, hated how it made her feel, hated how degrading it was. She handed him a plain gray sweater, saying nothing, not making eye contact. “Thanks,” he took it from her, his hand grazing hers in an unnecessary manner. Without warning, he pulled his shirt over his head and fumbled with the t-shirt she had handed him. He was just standing in her room basically half naked.

“Oh,” she said, turning around and facing the opposite of him. He laughed from behind her. She wished she had chosen her alone time. Or at least asked to see the movie later in the day as she was going on nine hours of being with the boy.

“I’m decent now.” She turned to face her dresser again, filing through her shirt drawer looking for a long sleeve to wear under her sweater. Even with the chilly fall weather, movie theaters cranked their ac all the way up. “I’m gonna change in the bathroom,” she shut the door after getting the last word of her sentence out, thankful to have a moment to herself.

While she was undressing her upper half, she heard a pounding on the door, the bells clanking against the wood. “Hey are you okay?” she shouted.

“Yeah,” he yelled back to her, “there’s some guy at your door, should I open it?”

Some guy? She couldn’t think of anyone who would drop by randomly on a Tuesday afternoon, other than Jax but he knew she didn’t need a ride so it couldn’t have been him, right?

“Gimme a sec,” she tugged her long sleeve over her head and opened the bathroom door, pulling her hair out of the neckline.

She covered the eyehole for a moment before briefly looking into it, but someone was covering the other side of it. She glanced back at Ross, shrugging her shoulders, silently asking what she should do.

“Here, I got it,” he approached her and she stepped back to give him some space. He cracked the door open slightly, just enough space for his head to be visible from the other side. “Hey can I help you?”

The door was pushed open, Ross groaning at the force from the man on the other side. Harry stomped his way in the apartment, looking around the space before his eyes landed on her. His gaze softened. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

“Dude, you can just fucking come into someones house man,” Ross said from behind him. Harry rolled his eyes, turning to face the significantly smaller boy.

“Don’t fucking call me dude, who the fuck are you?” Harry yelled as he approached him, towering over him and backing him into the wall.

Ross swallowed, his back hitting the brick wall. “I-uh, who are you?” he retorted, Harry chuckled.

“What are you doing here?” y/n spoke up, taking a step closer to him. Harry turned, locking eyes with her again.

He didn’t have an explanation that didn’t make him sound insanely jealous and possessive of someone who wasn’t even his. “I, y/n, I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I’m sorry.”

“Can we go outside for a second?” Harry nodded, his hand on the doorknob waiting for her to come with him. He closed the door behind him. She didn’t say anything, a sad look on her face.

Harry’s hand twitched beside him, wanting so desperately to pull her into him to hold her or even to touch her cheek again. She poked at the chipped nail polish on her nails.

“I still haven’t made any banana bread,” she broke the silence. A smile made a home on Harry's lips.

“Hmm, that’s exactly why I came, how’d you know?” she smiled up at him, a gleam in her eyes. Harry’s smile wavered. His hands twitched again, his subconscious begging him to run, begging him to stay far away from the sweet angel that stood in front of him.

“ ‘S just a guess,” her head dipped down again, her arms coming to wrap around her torso as the autumn air nipped away at her.

They stood in silence for a moment, none of the two knowing what to say after weeks of no contact. Harry felt he couldn’t ask her about the morning shift or about the things Jax has told him about her life recently; he wasn’t invited into that part. Rather, he uninvited himself to that part of her life when he sent he Jaxs information then proceeded to go back and forth with blocking and unblocking her number.

“We’re going to see Priscilla, it starts pretty soon.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t know you were an Elvis fan.”

“I’m not,” she was quick to disprove the claim, “it’s not about him, it’s about his child bride.” Harry chuckled.

“Hm, I’m not too fond of the ‘Viva Las Vegas’ bastard either,” she smiled, wryly. “I’ll head out then, I hope you enjoy your night,” he turned on his heel, she followed behind him, meeting him at the stairs.

“Harry,” he turned, surprised with how close she was. “If you’d like, um, you can come over after I get home.”

“I’d love to,” he grinned at her.

“Harry?” They were so close to each other.

“Yes?”

“You promise you’ll come back?” His heart broke, practically shattered at that. He shook his head fervently.

“Yes. Yes, y/n, I’ll come back once you tell me to.”

“I’ll see you soon, Harry.”

“I’ll see you soon, y/n.”

Harry descended down the stairs, she stayed in her spot, peering over the railing to watch him walk away. She hoped he’d keep his promise. The front door to her apartment creaked, Ross peeking his head out, warily.

“He gone?” she nodded, heading back into her space. “Who was that? He’s scary as shit, cupcake. How do you know him?” he asked, bewildered by the mysterious man who practically burst into her home.

“Ya know that friend who owes me a favor?” He nodded. “That’s him. He’s kinda temperamental, I’m sorry,” a pursed smile was sent to him as an apologetic gesture.

“Kinda is an understatement, sweetheart.” There it was again. A nickname coated in degradation. One she hated coming from him, but if Harry or Jax had said it, it would absolutely be and feel different.

“Are you ready to go, I’m sure we’re gonna miss all the trailers and you know what’ll happen if I don’t get my blue and red Icee.” she joked.

“First, I truly doubt something bad is going to happen to the county of Placerville and second its blue raspberry and cherry. Not blue, not red.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

“Yeah whatever, let’s go dipshit.” His laugh boomed through the room as she picked her keys off the counter.

+++

Y/n was sobbing. Her heart caught in her throat as Elvis was forcing Priscilla to pack a bag to take to her parents after she confronted him about finding a love note in his jacket pocket. He was terrifying and the movie just reinforced how poorly she thought of the beloved singer.

A hand grazed her knee, finding a place on her thigh. She was stunned, not daring to move her leg in any way. The thumb moving from side to side, a reassuring gesture, sure, but coming from someone she didn’t think of in any way other than a coworker; it was unwanted, unjustified. She swallowed back the acid building in her throat and reached for her watered down Icee, sipping on the cool liquid. She still hadn’t moved the hand and she wouldn’t for the remainder of the film, far too scared of potential consequences.

A flood of relief washed over her when the movie ended and the lights returned. A halo of light above their heads woke the sleeping boy next to her.

He stretched out, “ ‘s over?” she nodded.

“I take it you weren’t a fan?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think I was the target audience,” he shrugged, “you liked it?”

She nodded, “I loved it.”

They stood from their seats and headed for the exit, she tossed her melted Icee remnants and popcorn before they exited the building entirely. It was completely dark out and pouring. They ran to his car, trying to outrun the downpour embracing them.

Silence covered them as they sat in the car, the heater spat out cold air before finally heating the space to a more comfortable temperature. He put the car into reverse and sped out of the parking lot. Soft indie music played through the speakers, no artists y/n had particularly liked but she wouldn’t complain as she wasn’t the one driving.

His hand found a home on her thigh again, higher than the previous unwanted gesture was. She glared down at it for a moment before grabbing his hand in between her thumb and pointer finger, moving it so it sat on the gear shift instead. He chuckled.

“Sorry, thought it was fine since,” he turned to glance at her before looking back out the windshield, “you didn’t move it earlier.”

She stared at her hands in her lap, swallowing the saliva building up in her mouth. “I, um,” she pulled her lips into her mouth for a moment, “I’m not really interested in you like that. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” he took a sharp breath, before laughing. “I’m really bad at reading people. I’m sorry, I got the wrong idea.” Relief washed over her.

“No don’t worry, I’m also extremely passive and I can’t really express myself like I should, I don't know.”

“Well, it's both our faults then,” he smiled at her and she sent one right back.

Harry watched as he put his car into park, having made it back to her apartment complex before them as his car went much faster than his beat up civic. He watched as y/n reached over the middle console to hug the boy and watched as she got out to ascend the stairs. Now he would simply wait to get a text to invite him up.

Y/n opened the door, greeted by her bells, and flicked on the lights. She ran around her studio, trying to tidy up quickly, and lit a pumpkin spice candle before running into the bathroom to take a quick shower, desperate to wash the rain scent off her (and Ross’ lingering touch).

Harry sat in his car, his fingers dancing along the dashboard impatiently as he wondered what was taking her so long. Naturally, his mind went to the worst case scenario; someone broke in and is holding her hostage or she fell and twisted her ankle and is screaming on the floor from the debilitating pain or-.

His phone chimed, her message casting a glow onto his face.

Y/n:

i’m home now you can head over whenever:)

His anxiety was alleviated from her text message, a confirmation of her safety and wellbeing. He immediately got out of his car, the warmth from the heated seats almost disappeared instantly with how cold and wet it was. And like her, he ascended the stairs to knock on the door.

On the inside, y/n was confused by the knocking, not realizing it was Harry with how quickly the knocking happened after she sent the text. She peered through the peephole and immediately opened the door, not wanting him to stay in the cold much longer. The bells on the handle sang.

“Bells?” She nodded. “Hm.”

“It’s a safety thing, I guess.”

“You don’t feel safe?” He stepped closed to her as she shut the door behind him.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t feel safe, I just wanted extra precaution,” she shrugged.

“If you don’t feel safe I’ll have Jax stay in the area and have hourly check ins or we can relocate you or-”

“Relocate? Harry, no it’s not that big of a deal I just wanted to be able to hear the door from the shower.” Harry glared at her.

“Not that big of a deal? Y/n, your safety is a huge deal.”

“Can we drop it? Please, I don’t want to talk about it,” she approached her bed and sat down, picking up a decorative pillow to mess with the trim.

Harry sighed and sat next to her on the bed, moving her hair from her face. She looked at him, the glimmer in her eyes returning. The little voice in Harry’s head returned, even louder, shouting at him to leave her alone; to get out of there and never look back.

“We can drop it, but you need to tell me if you ever feel unsafe, little lamb, understood?” She nodded. “Y/n,” he said in a warning tone, “tell me you understand, please.

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Yes, Harry, I understand.”

“Thank you.”

“How’d you get here so fast?” Harry froze, trying to come up with an excuse but blanking, just staring at her for a minute while his mind went a million miles an hour. “Harry?”

“I, I kinda just stayed in the parking lot while you were gone.”

She laughed. “No way, you waited more than two hours? Just sitting in your car?” he hesitantly nodded, a blatant lie.

He absolutely did not wait in his car outside of her apartment. He followed them to the theater, bought himself a ticket to the same movie, and sat at the very top with his head low, and watched them the entire time. He watched as her shoulders shook from crying, watched as she ate her candy and drank her Icee, watched when the boy she was with, whose name he never bothered learning, placed his hand on her lap. He watched them leave the theater with anger coursing through him.

“You didn’t have to do that, Harry.” He shrugged, not caring to continue this conversation.

“Why are you on mornings now?”

She sighed, “I got scared,” her tongue was thick in her mouth, scared to cry again if it resulted in him leaving once more and ending contact for another month. His hand met her back, lightly rubbing the tender flesh beneath his rough hand. Her hands fumbled with the zipper on the pillow. “The night we met really freaked me out. Like when you left, I swore someone was still here watching me. It was freaky. And the next morning I was so drained, I think that's why I forgot Jax was coming to get me. And then the time changed and I got even more scared cause I would just basically be working in the dark the entire shift and I don’t know I just psych myself out sometimes,” she ended her tangent, partially forgetting to breathe throughout it.

Harry’s hand moved to tangle in her hair, slightly gripping the strands between his fingers, before removing his touch from her all together.

“And you forgot your phone,” he joked, a soft smile on his lips.

She pulled her lips in her mouth, exhaling a laugh through her nose, “and I forgot my phone.”

Silence dawned on them once more. A comfortable one, neither needing to speak as they basked in each other's presence.

She scooted closer to Harry, her head making contact with his shoulder. Harry gulped at the contact, unsure of what to do with himself. His hand raised, touching her cheek gently. They sat there, in silence, for what felt like an eternity. A comfortable, blissful eternity.

She had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her breathing became evenly paced and softer. Harry laid her down under her sheets, and saw himself out after kissing her forehead and blowing out her candle.

+++

Y/n was having an okay day, nothing bad had happened at work, so far. No rude customers, no shitty tips and best of all, no training needed to be done. So, yes her day was going well. Until she received a message from Harry saying they needed to have a talk and that he’ll be picking her up. He was consistent with punctuation, but the period at the end of his sentence horrified her. She was a sweaty, anxious mess her entire shift.

She reread the message every ten minutes. Time was moving so slow. Her anxiety was eating away at her, like it had been starving for months and had finally found a body to ravage to satiate the hunger. She had four cigarettes during her shift.

Harry leaned against the passenger door of his car, waiting for y/n’s shift to end. She could feel his eyes on her every time she passed by the window at the front to attend to her last table, she knew he was watching her; he was so attentive. It made her sick.

When her shift finally ended, after what felt like an eternity and a half, y/n pushed the doors open and made her way to Harry. He looked down at her with a smirk. She hoped he couldn’t see her throat bobbing while she swallowed down the excess saliva building in her mouth.

“Ya kept me waiting, little lamb.” he opened the car door for her and she could feel her coworkers staring out the window at the pair.

“‘M sorry.” She sat on the heated seat, placing her bag on the floor between her feet. Harry leaned over her to connect her seatbelt. “Thank you,” she muttered before Harry closed the door.

“How was your shift?” he asked as he buckled himself in.

“S’fine.” she mumbled.

“Angel,” her heart pounded against her sternum, you could practically hear her heartbeat in the silence. “What have I told you about mumbling?”

She bit her lip, gnawing on it before answering. “You don’t understand it.” she practically whispered.

“That’s right, little lamb. Now, why do you keep doing it?”

She could cry, sob and dry heave even. Fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness as if she had angered a god. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.” she fiddled with her fingers. Harry’s hand grabbed her own and pinched the inside of her palm, a squeal escaping her lips. He laughed.

“Don’t apologize, ‘m just messing with you,” he smiled at her as he parked his car, already at her complex. He was quick to undo his seatbelt and get out, running to her side to open the door for her. “After you.” he gestured to the stairs, allowing her to go in front of him.

She opened the door, her bells greeting the two. She stood by the door as Harry took a seat in her chair (it finally was free of clean clothing).

“Can you tell me what you want to talk to me about? Please?”

“Eager?” she nodded.

“More scared than anything.” her breathing was heavy.

“Oh, my sweet lamb.” remorse covered his face, so sorry and upset he had made a literal angel wait in apprehension. He stood from his spot on the chair and moved to stand before her. Without hesitation, he held her face in the palm of his hand, her nuzzling into the warmth of his touch. “I’m sorry I scared you, didn’t mean to, angel.”

“S’okay, Harry, I know.”

“Sit with me,” he removed his hand from her face, instead reaching for her hand to sit with him on the chair. He sat and patted his lap, an invitation for her.

“There’s not enough space for the both of us.”

He tugged on her arm, “s’fine, just sit.”

“Harry, that chair is 100 years old, I’m not breaking my favorite antique piece.”

“Y/n,” his tone laced with warning.

“Harry,” she whined back. “Just sit on the bed with me please.” she pouted.

And, of course, Harry would give in, standing up with her hand still in his and sitting on the bed to please her. Their thighs were touching with the proximity of their bodies, y/n hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat or feel the sweat coating her palm.

“Can you tell me now, please.” she rested her head on his shoulder, Harry could hear her pouting as she spoke.

He sighed, squeezing her hand in his. “I feel very,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts so as to not scare her with how he truly felt. “I feel very protective of you, y/n.”

“Wow that’s a shocker,” she interrupted, sarcastically.

“Y/n” he warned, again.

“Sorry. Go ‘head.”

“No interruptions, please.” she nodded, “Good girl.” she grinned, “I feel very protective of you and I thought leaving you alone would make it not as intense but it definitely only made it worse, angel. I just, I need to know you’re safe and okay and I have no idea why but I just need to know. Your safety means so much to me, your wellbeing.” he swallowed, taking in a shaky breath. “I need to tell you, or warn you, about what I do.”

She lifted her head, making eye contact with him, a puzzled look replacing her previously smitten expression.

“I kinda sell drugs.” Still, she maintained eye contact. He looked at her, waiting for a response.

“Is that it?”

“What?” Harry asked, confused.

“You sell drugs?” he nodded. “Oh okay.”

Still, Harry stared at her, bewildered by her nonchalant response. “You’re okay with that?”

“Harry, there’s like ten people in this town with nothing to do, literally everyone deals or buys. Not a big deal.” she shrugged a shoulder, her fingers messing with his rings.

Still, he stared at her, his expression growing concerned. “It’s not just weed, y/n.” She laughed, his eyes were bulging, his jaw slack and a furrow in his brow.

“I can assume it’s not just weed, you won’t be making much with just weed here.”

“Your casualness with what I’m telling you is concerning.”

Her smile faded, “I'm sorry, what do you want me to say?”

He ran his hand through his hair, dropping his gaze to their hands entwined. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect you to be so calm.”

“I used to do coke,” she shrugged. Harry’s eyes snap to hers, squeezing her hand a little more. “I had really bad issues maybe, like, last September. It was really bad, the withdrawals were insane but one of my friends' brothers had, um,” she swallowed down the acid building in her throat. "He got some laced with fent and he passed. My friend only got worse because of it and the guy who sold him it didn’t even care, he was just like ‘well that happens sometimes’, such a fucking asshole like he had just killed someone and that didnt even spark anything in him! I stopped after that cause I was so scared,” she admitted. “My friend never got better, he had to move in with his parents and they forced him to go to rehab but that didn’t even help.”

“I’m sorry.” was all Harry could offer.

She looked up at him through her lashes, “I trust you, Harry. I do. But if you’re selling anything laced,” she shook her head, her breathing picking up.

“I’m not, angel I promise I’m not, I’d never.” he let go of her hand, placing both hands on the sides of her face, forcing her to look at him.

“If you ever work with Liam Payne I’ll kill you.” He laughed at her threat, the name going over his head at the idea of a girl her size trying to cause harm to a man of his stature. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m being serious, Harry. If you ever work with him I’ll never wanna see you again. Liam is a terrible person. I don’t want you to get involved in that too.”

He deadpanned, “Liam Payne?” she nodded. “How do you know him?”

“Who do you think sold the laced batch?” Harry was furious. He removed his hands from her face, standing up and letting out a frustrated groan. “What’s wrong? Do you know him?”

“No,” he responded immediately. “Never met him, Niall was telling me about him. There was a shootout the other day and we think it was him, probably was that stupid fuck. He could be the reason we fucking get caught! Fuck!” he shouted, the girl flinched, her gaze returning to her hands.

“I'm sorry I brought it up, I didn't mean to make you mad at me.”

He stared at her, his breathing heavy. She couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t dare to make eye contact with him out of fear of him taking it out on her. She knew deep down, however, he would never lay a finger on her; never cause any harm to her whatsoever. But the thought was still prevalent.

“ M'not mad at you, never at you, little one. Look at me,” she looked up at him, her eyes meeting the green ones she adored. He sat back on the bed, taking her face in his hands one more. “not at you at all. Promise.” she nodded, grabbed his hands from her face and nuzzled her face into his neck, her hands gripping his jacket. “I’m sorry for scaring you, won't do it again.” he apologized as he rubbed her back.

“Thank you.” she kissed the side of his neck, momentarily feeling his pulse with her lips. Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest.

Harry wished he could stay like that forever, with her warmth against his, her face nestled in his neck. Peace was finally in his grasp, holding onto it so delicately like a fine piece of china, far too scared to drop it and destroy the delicate art, but it was never in his nature to be deft. He’d take what he could get, and if this was all he would be offered, he would accept it with open arms and a half empty heart. He longed to be full again.

and know that one day, you and I could be okay.

tags: @tiaamberxx @jerseygirlinca @n0vaj3an @tpwk-mia @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @hannah9921 @love-letters-to-uranus @ribbonknives @annesauriol @moneybaby07

if your @ is in red the tag doesn’t work. thanks for reading and supporting ₊˚⊹♡

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oftidheard · 5 months

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the lucy gray fic 💔💔 i need a happy reunion after she comes back i can’t handle angst 😥

i almost made myself cry writing this... got the reunion part but kinda forgot about the fluff, sorry </3 i'm willing to write a third part that's actually fluffy if that's something you'd want ♡ this is a part 2 to right here in the old there before but can be read as a standalone

🕊 the sweet old hereafter ㅤ⠀lucy gray baird x reader ㅤ⠀↳ 1.6k ↳ angst to fluff ↳ gender neutral

district twelve is dark. the thick blanket of night is draped over every street as if it may never leave, as if beyond peacekeepers and criminals the real threat that awaited you beyond your home's threshold was the night itself; as if you will now forever be left here to wait for a train that will never come.

the train that would bring lucy gray baird home to you.

the moment she'd won, when the final tribute had fallen and she'd been left alone in the arena, you'd been stood on shaky legs with your eyes glued to the fuzzy screen of the covey household. lucy gray's family had been scattered in front of the television with you, and you'd all held your breath until the moment it was over.

it was no surprise a sob had shook your body, or that the covey had started crying just the same, after having spent so long just waiting for the girl you loved to die it was bound to happen.

but at the end of it all, when everything fell into place and lucy gray stood victorious, a deep fear had grown in you. the fear that they'd kill her anyway, that the capitol would spit in your face and deliver the final blow.

that never happened. the broadcast ended, and you still stood still as a statue in front of the now blank screen, only your distraught face staring back at you.

it had clutched at your heart, and kicked your legs from beneath you as you finally sat down, when you could finally let out a shaky breath. and you'd realised; lucy gray still wasn't safe yet.

you'd still stay up worried sick if the capitol swore she were being treated like one of their own, even if they told you personally she was happy and okay, you'd still feel that inkling of a stomach curdling doubt. you'd still find yourself, here, now, every night until she came home.

it's late enough that there are far less peacekeepers out, and likewise most twelve residents are reasonable, and at home; where they're meant to be. but you know one turn down the slimmer alleyways or a walk through the locked rooms of the hob would lead you right to a rebel gathering.

even with the comfort of knowing there's not a peacekeeper at every corner, your anxiety still spikes with every step, your feet hitting the ground and rustling the sticks and stones no matter how softly you walk — loud enough to alert someone with a keen ear, so you pray no one cares enough to be here.

you'd been stood immediately in front the make-shift train station you now watch from afar several minutes ago, until you'd realised if even a single peacekeeper were on the train with lucy gray and they were to notice you; you wouldn't like your chances of them not hanging you come morning. now your front is pressed against the cold concrete of an alley close enough to give you a clear view, but far enough that you hope your figure blends into the surrounding shadows.

one hand pulls at the loose fabric of your shirt while the other scratches at the wall of the wall beside you, anxiously stimming as your brow only furrows further towards the deep night. you gave up on counting how long it's been five minutes in, but you know from your weary eyes and sore feet that you've been waiting for quite a while.

a new feeling grows and battles with everything in you that begs to stay at the possibility of seeing lucy gray; the guilt of standing out here for an entire night, only to know soon you might return to the seam alone. you don't know if you could stomach facing sweet young maude ivory — who had approached you earlier in the day asking if you would wait after dark for lucy gray's return, which she was certain would be today — only to tell her her cousin still wasn't home.

maybe it would be better to head back now, where you knew she was still staying up waiting for your return, and at the very least let her get a chance at a night's rest instead of pointlessly forgoing sleep.

your throat feels tight as you try to take a deep breath and make a decision — your hand slowly drifting from the wall to wrap around your torso in an attempt to ground yourself — when a deep rumbling begins to shake through your core.

it starts small, like a shiver, but gradually, the tell-tale rattle of the train tracks reaches your ears, and a vibration runs down the line to the ground beneath your feet.

your heartbeat picks up and your hand flies back up to the rough wall, palm flat as you lean out of your hiding spot in anticipation.

your world feels like it's shaking off-axis as the train comes into view, bringing with it a dull echoing thunder and wind reaching out to whip at your face. you're too disoriented and short of breath to let doubt slip in within the time it takes for the train to arrive and for a peacekeeper to emerge and approach a carriage, but the venomous thing almost snags you in the second it takes for the peacekeeper to reach up their arm for the door.

and then — like everything has snapped back into place — you unconsciously hold your breath, and the peacekeeper heaves the door open.

your vision begins to cloud and a gasp bursts out of you as soon as a figure is tugged out of the carriage, and right in front of your eyes, upon the gravel and dirt of district twelve; lands lucy gray.

you watch almost disbelievingly as words you cannot hear are spoken and she's shoved almost to falling by the peacekeeper, who then watches her tentatively take a few steps away, and climbs back into the train once she's turned away and far enough from the tracks.

even as the train leaves, lucy gray stands eerily still, her arms wrapped around herself and head hanging low.

your body itches to just run up to her and twirl her in her arms, but something in you knows better — and something else is too scared — so you take you first cautious step out of the alley.

each step is slow, leaving gentle footprints like a child walking through the snow, like you have something to lose if you're too quick.

you don't know if it's your desperate deep breath or the gravel shifting beneath your next step, but in the blink of an eye lucy gray's head is flying up with eyes wide and fearful, and all of a sudden you're frozen in place.

you're like predator and prey in a final stand-off, just waiting for the other to make a move. you don't know who's either; who's the one waiting to pounce and who's the one shivering off their skin and praying for a chance to live. you feel like you're both prey, but lucy gray's frightened eyes reflect of the moonlight hauntingly, and it almost feels like she sees you as a threat.

you don't know what to say — or if you should say a word at all — but with your next exhale, a, "lucy gray," escapes.

her name hangs in the air, before you walk closer, and recognition sets in.

she says your name back like a gasp of relief, and within moments she's running to meet you halfway with a tight embrace that could bandage a wound.

one hand wraps around her back and the other cups her jaw, her own trembling hands flying up to encase your cheeks. she's muttering between your heavy breaths words you can't make out, and you hold her closer and whisper her own name again, as if to confirm to yourself that she's real, she's here, she's alive. she's safe.

lucy gray's voice is breathy, uneven and threatened with oncoming sobs, as she relievedly whispers, "you're alive."

you almost laugh through the beginning of your own tears, "of course i'm alive, you're alive."

"i am," she cries, "i am."

you smile tearily, wiping away lucy gray's tears as they fall, "you're home."

"i'm home," she repeats, and leans further into you, until most of her body weight rests against you, and her legs give out as you hold her close.

"i can't—" you can barely even begin to explain how much you've missed her, and find yourself closing your mouth before you can finish the sentence. she's the one who could have died — should have died — the last thing you want to do right now is make her feel guilty.

you settle on the reply of, "you're so strong," but are met with the fervent shaking of her head and a more desperate grip around you where her arms now wrap and cling to your shoulders.

"i'm not," she sobs, "i'm not, i'm not."

now, you fully understand the gravity of just how much the world has separated the two of you. you don't know how lucy gray truly feels, nor ever how it might feel to be home as if nothing is amiss after fighting for her life.

so you don't reply — you couldn't summon a word to your tongue even if you wanted to — and instead hum a song to her; one that didn't exist until now with it's jumbled tune from your misremembering and creative liberties, but one that you recite through your own waterworks for as long as lucy gray keeps crying.

beyond the darkest nighttime, you still hum comfortingly to her, even when her head finally hits her pillow but she cannot close her eyes. you hum to her, with her head in your lap and eyes wide open, and you would keep doing it for days onwards if it meant she'd start to feel better.

#lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray x reader #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #thg x reader #❤︎ — the mockingjay sings

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trashpandacraft · 3 months

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I found fibrecraft tumblr after searching drop spindles because my dad *didn’t even know what that was.* And despite having been firmly of the opinion that I didn’t intend to learn it, y’all have me getting ever closer to giving in. However, I’m also growing ever more enamored with the idea of weaving - and despite recently deciding to give knitting and crochet another go - I think it looks the most fun of the fiber crafts. My issue is that I have absolutely no space.

But I’m beginning to realize there’s a lot of different looms and types of weaving. So I was wondering if you have any resources or tips for small space methods and storage?

welcome to fibrecraft tumblr! it's fun here, we have enablers.

i will admit that while i love knitting, weaving is amazing, and is much better with regards to instant gratification—weaving for an hour gets you a lot more fabric than knitting for an hour.

so let's talk about weaving, because i have great news for you: you can 100% totally weave in a small space if you want to, and you even have options for how you do it. i'm going to go through basically all the small space weaving options that i'm aware of in roughly size order, and if you make it to the bottom of this you'll have a pretty good overview of space-saving weaving methods.

the first question to ask yourself is what you want to weave. maybe you're not sure yet, which is totally fine. if you don't immediately have strong feelings about it, though, maybe consider if band weaving strikes your fancy. this is pretty limited in size, but lets you weave belts, straps (like camera or bag straps), lanyards, etc.

if you think that sounds neat, it's worth looking into tablet weaving, an inkle loom, or a band/tape loom. tablet weaving takes up no space at all—if you can fit a stack of index cards into your life, you can fit tablet weaving. the tablets are small square cards, often made out of heavy cardstock, and even with a project on them, you can probably fit them into an index card holder.

inkle looms are larger, and to be honest i've never used one and don't know a ton about them, but they're also used for making woven bands. the looms can also be very aesthetically pleasing, if that's something you're into. they can be very big, but the ashford inklette, for example, is only 36 cm long and maybe 12 cm wide.

tape looms are—in my experience, anyhow—larger than tablet weaving but smaller than inkle looms, and even the larger ones are only about shoebox size. they vary widely, from gorgeous, complicated little looms to a handheld paddle that you use to create a shed, which is what you put your yarn through when you're weaving.

if that doesn't sound like good times, consider a frame loom. these are pretty simple—if you ever wove potholders out of stretchy cloth strips as a kid, you probably used a frame loom to do it on. frame looms are generally inexpensive and readily available, and can be used for small woven objects like potholders, coasters, placemats, etc. they can also be used to make some truly stunning tapestries. while you can buy a huge frame loom, you're still only talking about huge in two directions—it might be as wide as your armspan, but it's still only a couple inches thick.

another option is a pin loom. these don't get mentioned a lot, and i'm not totally sure why. pin looms are shapes with a bunch of pins (metal points, usually) coming out of them. on one hand, you're limited to making things that are the shape of the loom, but on the other hand, if you've been hanging around fibrecraft tumblr, you've seen all the things crocheters get up to with granny squares, right? there's no reason in the world that you can't do all those things with the squares made on a pin loom. or the hexagons! or the triangles! i've been kinda thinking about getting a little hexagon or triangle pin loom and using it to sample my handspun, then turning the shapes into a blanket.

if you hate all of that, that's ok! we have more options.

you could consider a backstrap loom, which is an ancient way of weaving that's still practiced today in many places. backstrap looms are cool because you can weave probably 24 inches wide on them, but even with a project on it, they take almost no room at all. backstrap looms are fairly easy to diy, because they're basically a bunch of dowels, so they can be a good low-cost way to try out weaving. backstrap looms will let you make longer, wider fabric than anything else we've mentioned so far!

another option—stay with me—is a toy loom. there are a number of cheap looms for sale on amazon/ali express/some local places that are actually fully functional looms. recently i've seen a number of people (like sally pointer, though i'm sure i've seen someone using one of the brightly coloured harness looms, as well) who've used them and report that they're functional, if basic, looms. you're fairly constrained in terms of project size, since there's not a lot of space for the finished fabric to wind on, and there's a very limited width, but the looms are quite small and tuck away easily.

ok, but so what if you hate all of those options? don't worry—there are more options! this is the part where things get expensive, though.

as looms go, rigid heddle looms are actually quite reasonably sized. i think the smallest one i've seen is a 40cm (~16") weaving width, which is about 50x60 (20x24") in length/width, and 13cm (5") high. so that's more space than anything else we've talked about, but it's still not a ton of space, you know? a 40cm rigid heddle will let you weave lovely scarves and things of that nature—table runners, placemats, strips of woven fabric to whipstitch together into a blanket, etc.

but maybe that's enough. so let's talk about table looms. some of them are quite large—mine, for example, is about a metre square and sits on a frame that it came with. it is not what you would call space efficient. but many of them, especially modern ones, are very compact, and can even be folded up into something more or less briefcase sized. (weird way to consider it, since the last time i saw a briefcase was probably the 80s, but you know what i mean, i bet.) the cool part here is that you can weave damn near anything you want on a table loom. the less cool part is that for the compact ones that fold up, you're looking at hundreds if not thousands of dollars. the smallest one i'm aware of is the louët erica, which folds down to 42x62x42cm (16.5x24.5x16.5") and gives you 40cm (16") of weaving width. i feel like that's impressively small. you'd have to decide for yourself if that's enough to justify the $500 usd/$800 aud price tag, though.

finally, we've come to folding floor looms. i don't think someone who's never woven before should run out and buy one of these unless money is just literally not at all a concern for you, but they are basically the dream for those of us trapped in crappy rentals, and it seemed weird to leave them out when i'd come this far.

some floor looms are various levels of collapsible. to be clear, this does you absolutely no good at all when you're actively weaving, because you have to unfold them to weave, but it does you a lot of good if you'd like to have a floor loom and still have the ability to, say, walk through the living room when you're not actively using the loom.

most relevant to our discussion about small weaving footprints, some looms fold up entirely. they are incredibly fucking expensive and incredibly fucking cool. the two that i'm most aware of are the leclerc compact and the schacht wolf line, both of which fold up to about half of their unfolded depth. they're still not small—i think that they're both the better part of 75cm (30") wide and tall, so even if they fold down to 40cm (16") deep, they're still 75cm wide and tall. which is Fairly Large, though much better than having something 80cm deep sitting in the middle of the floor.

this was a very, very long post, but hopefully makes it clear that there's a surprisingly wide range of options, and they all have advantages and trade offs. if you're asking my opinion, my suggestion would be to try something—anything—with a backstrap setup and see how you feel about it. maybe you love it and keep at it forever, in which case you're in good company: there are entire cultures that weave exclusively on backstrap looms.

if you like producing cloth but don't love the backstrap setup, or don't like using your body to tension the warp, you have a lot of other options, and you're out maybe ten dollars of dowels.

personally, my next loom is probably going to be a pin loom. unless i win lotto, in which case it's going to be a house that has a weaving studio and like four floor looms in it. but probably a pin loom.

#weaving #i really hope that this was helpful #i get so excited about solving problems that i sometimes go way too hard #but i love thinking about this kind of thing #sorry for infodumping #also weaveblr i didn't forget about warp weighted looms i just don't think that they're super practical #admittedly i am biased by sharing my house with three cats #but also all the learning to weave content is...not on those #if it weren't for the cats my next loom would be warp weighted tho #fibercrafts #fiber art #textiles #smartest raccoon i know #(it's an ironic tag)

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answer2jeff · 3 months

Text

i was just thinking about dad!carmy missing his wifey when she's on a girls trip for the first time since their daughters birth and anxiously waiting for her to call him...

valeria has just been put to sleep after a seemingly endless hour and a half of rocking, soothing, and shushing.

"relax baby, mommy's gonna be home before you know it," carmy says, kissing the top of valeria's head and wincing a bit when her little fist tightens around his thick index finger. "yes i know," he sighs as she lets out one last wail of 'mama' followed by incoherent babbles before her body begins to relax at the sound of her daddy's soothing hums. no one is exactly sure where the song came from. maybe it's a pre-existing song further expanded on with different notes. maybe it's a whole new song with a lack of words he made just for his little girl.

carmen's back is sore and his hands mourn the weight of his precious girl in his arms, even if he's more than happy that she's finally at peace in her crib. the reality of his temporary loneliness really sets in the moment he closes the door to his daughters nursery.

he tries to distract himself from the sight of your nearly empty home. he's been wiping down the perfectly spotless kitchen counter with a microfiber towel for the last 3 and a half minutes while he scrolls aimlessly through your Instagram with his free hand, smiling to himself with every photo of you glistening in the summer heat. a margarita in one hand, a friends shoulder in the other. he's always thought you're the most beautiful when you're happy. with the sand in between your toes, salt water frizzing up your hair, the sun caressing the spots of your skin he wished he was the one to hold and kiss—seeing you free warms something in him.

meanwhile, you're falling onto your back and feeling the silky cold fabric of your hotel room bed against your skin. the bikini you've had on for hours is still a little damp from the ocean. it makes you shiver. you giggle at your 2 friends who pile into your shared bathroom, ready to puke and laugh and cry at their sickness from alcohol. you decide that you should kill some time before it's your turn to shower and boil yourself in delicious hot water. the balcony calls your name, and you quickly grab your phone from your beach bag, getting up to slide the glass door open to your left. the air feels warm and sweet against your sunkissed skin. your bare feet patter against the concrete foundation before you lean against the railing. you don't even bother to check anyone else's attempts at communication with you today. carmen is the only thing on your mind.

carmen nearly jumps at the sound of his cellphone vibrating against the bathroom sink. he quickly spits the minty toothpaste out of his mouth and accepts your call, raising it to his ear and wiping the corner of his lip.

"hey, baby," he breaths into the line, smiling almost uncontrollably as he drops his toothbrush back in the mug. the absence of yours with that pink little clip that covers the bristles is so disheartening. it's kinda silly, the way he frowns at the missing pieces of you all around your house.

"hi!" you chew on your bottom lip. it's like you're hearing his voice for the first time again. the petname sends butterflies swarming through your stomach. hell, even with a ring on your finger, it feels like you'd just met yesterday. the sound, smell, and feeling of him could never get old.

carmen yawns, leaning back on the bed and feeling his stomach drop when the little dip in the memory foam mattress has completely raised up to its original form. god, he misses the weight of your presence. but he tries to keep it cool.

"i was just thinkin' about you. well, i've been thinking about you this whole weekend," he laughs, running his hands through his sweatlogged curls. "glad you called."

"i know," you whine, "me too. missing you both, actually." your head feels fuzzy when carmen's little huff of agreement hits your ears. for a moment, his calm attitude surprises you. but maybe it shouldn't. he insisted you should go on this 2 day trip, swearing up and down he could handle being with valeria for a little over 48 hours.

"missing you so much more."

you didn't doubt his ability to keep his temper down and his self-discipline up when taking care of her, but you almost felt a little guilty.

"how are things?" you anxiously ask. carmen goes to answer dishonestly, but you quickly clarify. "and before you tell me, i know things have probably been kinda crazy. but oh my god, carmy, thank you for letting me do this. really, i mean—"

"what?" he cuts you off with a chuckle. "letting you? baby, you—you needed it. fuck, you earned it." carmen sits up in disbelief. it pains him knowing he can't fill in the much needed space of valeria's mother, but the guilt of ever daring to ask you to fly back home would kill him even faster. all he wanted was for you to be happy. even if that required sacrifice. especially since he knew deep down you did that for him every single day, even if you didn't notice it.

"mhm."

"i'm so glad you're having fun. things have been hectic, but i'm managing, okay? valeria has just been..." carmen pauses, gnawing at the inside of his cheek and pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to find the right words.

you relax a bit, letting out a deep sigh of relief. but the anxiety still eats at you. the feeling of your bikini strings digging into your skin and the sand on your inner thighs forming what would soon become a rash if you didn't shower soon certainly wasn't helping with your situation.

"...tough recently. that's all. nothing for you to worry about."

"i know, i know. i just—i don't know. i feel bad. like, my mom instincts are screaming 'go home and take care of your daughter like a proper mother you sick, sick woman! you're not a teenager anymore! god, your poor husband is taking time off of his career too! not just you,' y'know?"

the attempt of trying to make some light out of your guilt just comes out awfully sad. carmen sighs, wishing he could just envelop you in his arms right then and there and drag you back into bed, kissing and squeezing and softly biting your neck and shoulders. but his needs can be dealt with when you get back. this, your sanity and your happiness, is far more important.

"try not to even think about it like that, sweet girl. just enjoy yourself. promise me you'll do that? not just for me, but for you?"

you nod, humming in agreement and sitting down on the cheap plastic chair on the balcony. you knew he was right. carmen spends next few minutes whispering over and over again how wonderful of a person, wife, and mother you are. he assures you that this is right and that it's good for you. oh, how he wishes he could take every worry that ails you and toss it away. or even carry it on his own shoulders if he absolutely had to.

"call me when you get to the airport on monday, okay?"

"okay, i will. i'll text you as soon as i take off and as soon as i land. promise."

"alright, thank you. g'night, baby. get some sleep so you can have even more fun tomorrow."

"yeah, yeah. okay. gotcha."

"i love you."

"i love you, carmy."

"so much," he breaths.

"so much," you reply.

taglist : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

#carmen berzatto #ugh this was so cute #also i wrote this in 30 minutes please excuse me if there are any typos!!#carmen berzatto blurb #dad!carmy x mom!reader #the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmy berzatto

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clementine-thedestroyer · 5 months

Text

Purls for my love - Miguel O’Hara x reader

Warnings/tags: Fem!reader, Miguel struggling to knit. Miguel still implied to be rich and to enjoy spoiling his partner. (going say they’re engaged by now) Reader is not pregnant but Miguel kinda wants her to be soon/one day. Very domestic, very fluffy.

This is a loosely connected sequel to Sew cute, and this idea came from @reverieblondie in the comments of that post. I’ve been wanting to write this since their comment! But I’ve only just now managed to-

You sneak up behind Miguel, peeking over his shoulder and trying to see what had him so frustrated. You can’t help but feel a bit shocked when you find Miguel angrily hunched over a pair of knitting needles, a skein of soft light gray yarn sitting in his lap and a determined look set on his face as he struggles with a set of messily knit rows.

You grin, standing up from your desk and happily checking over the seams of the skirt you had just finished: a simple ankle length circle skirt- flowy and pretty with a thick waist band that you knew would cinch your waist nicely. It had turned out nice, you already had most of the fabric you needed, and the project had given you a convenient excuse to try out the rolled hem presser foot Miguel had bought for you a few weeks ago. You had been meaning to add some more formal pieces to your wardrobe recently, and this skirt was a simple piece- hardly even needed a pattern- that you figured you could dress up or down easily depending on the occasion.

You poked your head out of your sewing room, grinning when you saw Miguel’s state of unawareness. He’s sitting on the couch and staring intently downwards at his phone or laptop- likely sorting out some ill-timed work issue. You bundle up the skirt and hold it tight against your chest, unable to stifle a quiet laugh as you run behind the couch- making a beeline for the stairs.

You’re sure Miguel heard you. He must have- with the way your bare feet thump loudly against the hardwood floors as you run. But he doesn’t call out for you or even look up from his phone.

You worry about it for a moment- Miguel was always quick to spot you trying to be sneaky. It was almost like he’d notice you faster when you tried to sneak up behind him or surprise him with something.

Miguel found it funny to tease you when you were trying to be sneaky. He wouldn’t try to figure out what you were planning- or at least, wouldn’t tell you if he did find out- but you could always expect to hear Miguel’s amused, rumbling laugh and some mild teasing over your failed attempts at subtlety.

He was probably just focused on dealing with a work thing- and you push his silence to the back of your mind as you continue up the stairs, going into your and Miguel’s shared bedroom and locking the door behind you.

You quickly start kicking off your pants- stumbling over the fabric in your haste and nearly falling flat on your rear. After untangling the pants from your feet- opting to leave them out for you to change back into later- you step into the skirt and pull it up.

The waistband sits perfectly at your waist- drawing in the otherwise loose and flowy fabric in a way that emphasizes your curves. You switch out the shirt you’d been wearing around the house for a simple loose white blouse, and when you get it all tucked in and situated you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you do a little twirl.

The fabric flutters prettily around you as your spin comes to a stop- settling as you smooth it out and look up to the mirror. It really does look nice.

You wet your hands in the bathroom sink- running them through your hair to smooth down any frizziness. Once you’re satisfied with your results, you smile wide and clamber down the stairs- excited to show Miguel your new skirt.

You reach the bottom of the stairs, but pause when you notice Miguel still engrossed in his phone with a rather frustrated look on his face. You walk up behind him, peeking over his shoulder and trying to see what had him so frustrated. You can’t help but be a bit shocked when you realize it’s not his phone or even laptop in his lap.

Instead, you find a skein of soft light gray yarn and Miguel angrily hunched over a pair of knitting needles- a determined look set on his face as he struggles with a set of messily knit rows.

Miguel groans and runs a hand through his hair. “¡No mames! ¿Por qué es tan difícil?” He growls, dropping the knitting needles and leaning back against the couch- flinching when the back of his head fell on your arm where it rested along the back of the couch. He looked back at you, the remnants of a startle on his face as he reached a hand back to brush a wayward strand of hair out of your face. “I didn’t see you there, love. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

You nod, not really processing his words- instead focusing on the absolute mess of yarn in Miguel’s lap that you think is supposed to be knitting.

“Miguel… what are you doing?” You ask, your brow furrowed.

You’re a bit confused, frankly. Before this, Miguel had never shown any interest in doing any sewing, knitting, or needlework. Unless, of course, throwing money at patterns and fabrics he wanted to see you use and leaving them stacked by your sewing machine as a silent way to say “I want to see you in this” counted as sewing. (You weren’t complaining- he never chose anything horribly extravagant or labor intensive, and the way he’d puff his chest in pride and hold you close constantly anytime you wore something you made outside the house filled you with a warm fuzzy feeling that practically washed all your worries away… although you do currently have a bunch of baby clothes patterns from him that you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do with, considering you aren’t even pregnant). But, in general, Miguel had just always seemed like he preferred watching you sew over trying to do any projects of his own.

Miguel sighed, and you were pulled out of your thoughts as he nudged his open laptop towards you, watching your face with apprehension.

The laptop has a knitting guide pulled up. You squint at the small print, leaning closer over the back of the couch until your feet come off the ground, then picking them up and holding them against your rear as you balance on a part of the couch you probably shouldn’t be putting your full weight on. One of your arms is clinging tightly to the cushion, keeping you from sliding backwards as you stretch your other arm to reach the trackpad of Miguel’s laptop.

You start to scroll to the top of the web page- at least until Miguel pulls the laptop away from you, setting it on the ottoman before pushing the knitting stuff to the side and pulling you the rest of the way over the couch with a sigh.

“You shouldn’t be doing that. It’s not good for the furniture, and you could get hurt.” He says, looking down at you with his best attempt at a stern expression.

You huff, rolling your eyes and making a bit of a show of pouting (because you’re not going to hurt yourself, and the couch had a metal frame, it would be fine! But mostly because Miguel’s scolding reminds you of being told to not do the same thing by your parents). But it’s quickly forgotten once you get the computer back into your lap and scroll to the top of the webpage.

It’s a very simple tutorial over knitting hats, but what catches your attention is the very prominent note of “including child and infant sizing”. Before you can say anything, Miguel quickly buts in- speaking a bit hurriedly. “For a coworker- she’s expecting. The office is having a baby shower tomorrow… her kid’s due in December, so- um- baby hats.”

You hum in acknowledgment, looking down at the mess of a knitting project in Miguel’s lap and scooting closer to him. “You could’ve asked me for help, you know.”

Miguel turns to you, his tone questioning. “You know how to knit?”

“I’ve dabbled. I know enough to be able to help you with this- but only if you want me too, of course.” You say, shrugging as you take the needles and work attached to them and starting to look over the stitches.

“Yes. Please.” Miguel replies, immediately leaning closer to you and watching as you go over the stitches- ready for any advice you’d be able to give him.

You look between the rows of stitches and the pictures on the website, frowning as you spot a rather immediate issue. You turn to Miguel, holding up the work and giving him a questioning look. “Miguel, did you mean to do a garter stitch here? The pattern you’re using calls for stockinette.”

Miguel’s face freezes, then falls, and he lets out a deep sigh dropping his head on to your shoulder defeatedly. “I give up.”

You frown, nudging Miguel. “You said the baby showers in a couple days?”

Miguel grumbles, snaking his hands around your waist and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I’ll just pick up a gift card on my way to work.”

“Miguel- don’t just give up- this was a good start” You say, trying to get him out of his mope, only to be cut off by a tight squeeze of your waist and Miguel nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck as he grumbles. “Nope. I give up.”

You frown, nudging him again and giving him a worried look- a bit of guilt building in your chest at the thought of your words being the reason Miguel gives up on his project. “Why are you so discouraged all of a sudden?”

“It’s not all of a sudden. I’ve been trying to do this for four hours- I’m frustrated and tired and confused- and I’ve missed you.” Miguel says, smushing his face deeper into the crook of your neck.

You ruffle Miguel’s hair, wrapping one of your arms around him and giving him a hug of your own. “Sorry… I bet me coming out here and telling you that you may have been using the wrong stitch the entire time wasn’t very helpful.”

Miguel shrugs, looking defeated and taking his face out of your neck. Instead, he pulls you closer, fitting you into his lap like he was your suit of armor against the world. “Don’t feel too bad, I’d pretty much gotten too frustrated by that point to make any more progress.”

You squirm in his arms, tilting your head backwards and looking up at him expectantly.

“Let me try and help you? Please?”

Miguel smiles softly, the tension pent up from struggling all afternoon with this project melting out of him at your request. “If you want, love. I’ll try, but only because it’s you.”

You grin wildly, sitting up and grabbing the knitting needles and yarn as you squirm in Miguel’s lap, getting yourself comfortable. You take the small, oddly shaped and slightly butchered set of stitches off the needles, then pulling at the working strand of yarn still connected to the skein and unraveling the rows of stitches.

You wind the yarn loosely around the skein, just to keep it out of you and Miguel’s way before turning back to him, still grinning.

“Ready?” You ask, placing the needles and length of yarn into Miguel’s hands. “Ready” Miguel says, his face brightened by a happy, loving smile.

“Do you know what casting on means?” You can’t help the bubbly boost in confidence that comes with seeing Miguel smile like that, especially given how down he’d seemed before. Knowing that he was happy to be doing this, and not just going along with you for your sake made you feel a bit lighter and keeps you comfortable and relaxed in his arms as you start with your instructions.

Miguel huffs lightly- a bit of pride in his voice as he starts working the yarn around one of the needles. “Actually, I do know what that one means. It’s how you start, right?”

“Yep! Just cast on a couple of loops and do one row of knit stitches.” You say, watching closely as Miguel casts on, wanting to catch any mistakes or slips of the yarn before they cause an issue or result in a weird looking stitch later.

To your pleasant surprise, Miguel’s knit stitches are… good. Not perfect, but aside from the occasional reminder to come from the correct side, he does the row completely on his own. Once he finishes, he looks down at you, waiting for you to continue.

“Those are really good, Mig. I told you that you shouldn’t give up!” You tease, poking at his bicep before leaning forward and taking his hands as they hold the knitting needles, placing your hands over his in order to guide him through the first couple purls.

“That’s a knit stitch, it’s what you’ve been doing the whole time. Doing a section with only knit stitches gets you a garter stitched knit.” You pause, moving Miguel’s hands how you want them before continuing. “But there’s also the purl stitch- which is just a knit stitch but…” you trail off as you- slightly clumsily- guide Miguel into doing a purl stitch. “But backwards! And a stockinette stitch is just where you do one row knit, one row purled, another row knit, another purled- etcetera, etcetera.”

You pause, taking a deep breath before looking over to gauge Miguel’s expression. He looks a bit lost- his eyes narrowed and jaw set as he stares intensely at the purl stitch you just guided him in doing- so you take his hands again, doing the next stitch in the row and making sure to go slow so Miguel can see what you’re doing.

“See? Just a knit stitch in reverse.”

Miguel nods, slowly starting to do the third purl stitch on his own.

“Yeah! Yeah, just like that! Once you’ve got this down, I can go get my circular needles and you can start practicing knitting in the round!” You say, excitedly cheering him on as he keeps working through the row.

Miguel is quiet when he’s focused- and the two of you quickly fall into a rhythm of him working silently, and you pointing out whenever you catch him coming in from the wrong direction or notice his stitches getting a bit too tight or loose. You find yourself not minding the silence, content to simply guide his knitting and enjoy the warmth of his lap as he sits cross legged and hunched over you on the couch, his chin resting on your shoulder as he works.

It doesn't take long for you to start drifting off. It’s not that late, only about 9:30. But still late enough for it to be dark outside. Miguel’s doing so well at this point that you hardly even have to watch his stitches for slip ups, and sitting in Miguel’s lap means being subjected to how he practically radiates warmth- a blessing in the winter and curse in the summer. The combination of warmth, the absence of sunlight, and Miguel’s lack of need for assistance leaves you drifting through various levels of awakeness.

At one point, you close your eyes- promising to yourself that you’re only resting them and that you’ll open them right back up in just a second- only to startle awake at being lifted off the couch.

“M-Miguel? You’re done? Sorry, ‘m awake.” You mutter, still mostly asleep as you squirm in his arms.

Miguel has one arm under your knees and the other under your back, holding you close to his chest as he walks the two of you towards the stairs. When you start to wake up, the arm supporting your back tightens, keeping you from wiggling too much, and Miguel leans his head down, murmuring sweetly to you.

“Vuélvete a dormir, amor. I’m just taking you to bed, no need to wake up.” He says, starting to climb the stairs.

Miguel’s words have the opposite of the intended effect, and you merely wiggle and whine more.

“Noooo- We gotta’ finish this! I just gotta get my circle needles!”

Miguel pauses, looking down at you with an amused yet adoring smirk. “Circle needles?

You nod hazily. “Mhm. Circular needles- for knitting hats ‘n stuff. We gotta finish- you said you only have a couple’a days.” You say, still only really half awake- at best.

“And stuff?” Miguel asks with a soft chuckle- clearly very entertained by your half asleep ramblings.

“….yeah.” You mutter, your eyes fluttering shut as you curl towards Miguel- who smiles to himself before once again starting to climb the stairs, pressing a soothing kiss to your forehead. “I have more than one day, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t let you keep yourself up all night trying to have us finish this. We can work on it more tomorrow.”

“But-“

“Nope. Time for bed. No more knitting.” Miguel says sternly, reaching the top of the stairs and pushing the half open bedroom door fully open.

Taking you to your side of the bed, Miguel steps over your discarded pants and shirt from when you changed earlier, laughing as he easily stepped over the tripping hazards and lakes you down on the bed. “Are these from when you changed into this skirt you wanted to show me? I never got a chance to tell you how much I like it, it’s very pretty, love.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before helping you out of your clothes and into pajamas.

Even half asleep, you can’t help the gooey mushy feeling buzzing in your chest at Miguel’s praise, (and the rush of affection that runs through you as you realize that he noticed your new skirt) but even that’s not quite enough to fully distract you from your insistence on staying up.

“I’m not tired- I still wanna help…” You mutter, automatically rolling towards and curling up beside Miguel when you feel the mattress dip as he climbs into bed beside you.

You quickly find yourself held tight by Miguel- his hand stroking your hair as he reassures you. “You were very helpful. You’re my amazing girl- who’s sweet and somehow amazing at everything to do with fabric and needles. I know you fell asleep towards the end and didn’t see, but I did a lot of rows- lots of practice, got my stitches looking good and everything. I wouldn’t have been able to do that without you.”

Miguel’s words send what you’re sure is a dopey smile to your face. “Can we do more tomorrow?” You ask, yawning wide and pulling your knees up so you’re curled against Miguel’s chest. “It was fun.”

Miguel smiles, running his hand through your hair lovingly before turning the bedside light off. “Of course, love. I enjoyed it too. But it’s time for you to get some sleep, okay?”

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ashersanity · 5 months

Note

I love how most of us Whitney sluts universally agree that Whitney has a big dick/big tits, sure, but Kylar's is still definitely bigger :) - :) Degenerate anon :)

thanks, degenerate anon. now I’m going to go in specific details of how I headcanon LI’s genitals, m! and f!, think of it as cis or trans, idc.

this is all your fault btw.

cw! asher being fucking insane

robin

dick! : bigger than average, y’know, not too big or on the same calibre as whitney and kylar, but it’s not the cock you’d expect springing out of a sweet guy like robin. blushing furiously the first time you even see it, gets hard easily, brush of your finger tips over the tip and it’s already swelling in his pants, aching to be inside of you. does a bad job at hiding the visible bulge in his pants, thighs not-so-subtly pressing together.

pussy! : uhh warm, like a nice, soothing heat that lovingly welcomes you inside, clenches and squeezes a lot right around your length whenever you tease her too much. kinda hard to describe pussy the same way I do with dick cuz I don’t got one, so.. just like her other counterpart, she’s getting wet in an instant under your fingers, very noisy and squelchy too. attempts to play it off as adjusting her panties beneath her skirt or shorts if she’s cross dressing even if it’s to relieve some tension.

whitney

dick! : that shit is thick, barely can wrap your hand around the full girth, subtle throbbing of his cock from your touch alone. bully definitely has piercings on there, jacob ladder or whatever you call that shit, sink it right inside your warm tight hole just to grind it real well against your walls. likes the sound of your soft whimpers that elicits from you. is always stupidly hard for some reason.(HE IS JUST LIKE ME FR) give whitney a teasing, flirty look in his direction and he’s already erect and ready to go on the park bench, wherever, whenever.

pussy! : oh boy.. demanding and aching to get filled up or stimulated in whatever way possible. if m!whitney is a horny, feral bastard, then f!whitney is twice as bad, if not entirely worse. typa cunt you bury your full length into, just slip it inside and it’s squeezing just right around you and you’re going “OH GOD, IM GON FUCKIN’ NU-“ 12/10 pussy, the one you never forget for the rest of your life. has been penetrated plenty of times and I don’t give a shit if it’s slutty or used up, I’m still using it.

kylar

dick! : monster cock, ginormous. scarred hands reaching for his belt, little kylar fishing that out of his pants and your eyes feel like they might just bulge out of your sockets from how absurdly big that thing is. girth is thick, but not as thick as whitney I’d say, definitely bigger for sure. very veiny, flushed up tip that oozes loads of pre-cum at the end. gets shy whenever you slip your hand past his boxers, fabric of his underwear getting soaked in an instant. would be reaching your crevix the second that gremlin is thrusting that whole shit in, cums easily too and lasts like 2 seconds. (just like me fr)

pussy! : monster pussy too, will destroy your dick/strap-on regardless, sucks that shit in like a vampire who hasn’t had the slightest droplet of blood in the last 5000 years. soaking wet in an instant at whatever thing you’re doing. your warm breath hitting the shell of her ear, elbows brushing against each other as you lean over to observe the sketches she’s made of you. wet, wet, wet, fuck, she always needs a new pair of panties from how much she soaks. got that gorilla grip too, will not allow you to pull out at all, NEEDS you to cum inside her wether you have a dick or not.

sydney

dick! : “guys, did you hear? that church boy’s dick is bigger than expected” yeah, they weren’t lying on that one. gifted from the heavens really, literal angels singing as he finally exposes himself to you, bashfully so too. tip of his cock head is a nice, old pink. classic virgin dick, trailing your fingertips over the length and he’s already up. oddly enough, this may sound weird to say, but it’s the perfect balance of all cocks combined, the perfect dick as one would call it and now I’m envious of you, syd. shit. corrupted sydney is more or less the same except he’s not timid anymore, probably has piercings like whitney too.

pussy! : “holy shit, I heard that church girl pussy is the best.” one wise philosopher once said that, don’t know where I heard it though I’m sure it’s the truth. nothing hits better than getting pussy from a church girl. virgin mary type of shit where you’re burying yourself deep inside that pristine, untouched cunt and yelling out “OH LORD, GOOD HEAVENS!!!” like a british celebrating their 20th victory of colonizing another country. wet and warm, can be heard under the library as you tease her beneath her skirt, very squelchy? it’s just dripping down the length of her legs, clasped hand over her mouth as she tries to muffle her involuntary moans.

#I’m slowly spiraling down to the brink of madness #did I seriously just fucking write about some chars dick and pussy??#what is wrong with me #shit #dol #degrees of lewdity #robin the orphan #whitney the bully #kylar the loner #sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen #degenerate anon #asher gets asks

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thegnomelord · 5 months

Note

OMG CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS!!!!!! how about prompt 30 with trans!ghost? there'd be such a nice mix of battle scars & surgery scars too <3

Thanks! and Anon you have no idea on what kind of a Hyper-fixation fender you put me on with this prompt, like it's 2 in the morning and I've never written something this fast before lol. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Kissing scars

CW: NSFW, Trans Ghost, Male reader but can be read as GN, afab language, kinda non sexual nudity, body worship, scar kissing, fluff, fluffy fluffy fluff, I'm a dirty tease.

You never know what you'll get when Ghost returns after a mission— Sometimes he'll return so hoped up on adrenaline he'll push you down on the nearest flat surface and ride you until he's satisfied, using you as a living dildo with a firm hand on your throat to keep you hard and quiet; Other times — even the barest brush of skin on skin will have him flinching away with a glare able to put you 6 feet deep.

So when you find him in your room, still fitted out in combat gear and staring off seemingly into space, you approach him slow and loud, making your footsteps echo as you draw close. You doubt he can even feel you brush your pinkies together through his thick gloves, but he jolts as if you're electric. . .but doesn't jerk away.

Creeping slowly until you're face to face with him you hold his hand loosely in your own, giving a gentle squeeze. It takes a few more squeezes before his eyes focus on you, the raging storm inside him turning them from honey brown to dark like blood soaked soil. You can tell his face is tense even with the mask on, the thin fabric helping to keep him together as his resolve slowly depletes like a fraying rope.

Something makes you move and before your mind properly registers it you're slowly taking off his glove, brushing the back of his hand with your thumb before you bring it closer to your face. His sharp eyes follow every movement of your lips as you kiss an old cigarette burn on the pad of his thumb and trail soft pecks across the silvery lines dotting his finger down to the meat of his palm, then back up to the pad of his pointer finger, kissing each knuckle as you go from finger to finger.

This doesn't stop or lessen the maelstrom in his mind, but each new kiss is like a new board to patch up the leaking holes in his boat. His other hand finds your shoulder by the time you're kissing the stab scar on the back of his hand.

His voice is so rough your name is hardly understandable, but gains your attention all the same. "Going soft on me now?" He growls, amused or irritated, you can't say.

Tempting luck you reach out to grab the zipper of his jacket, "Do you want me to stop?" You murmur against his skin.

His eyes narrow until you're staring into a dark void, a small and gruff sound leaving his throat. It's not a 'yes', but it's definitely not a 'no'. So like a miner without a canary, you slowly undress him, dropping to your knees to take off his boots and unclipping all his gear, stopping only when he's down to boxers and a long sleeve shirt when you feel him tense.

"Forgetting somethin' Sargent?" He asks, voice rough like he's ready to bark orders across the battlefield.

You look at him like a worshiper looks at a god, "Please, can I take these off Ghost?" You beg, sticking out your bottom lip for extra measure.

"Only because you look pathetic when you beg." There's no heat in his words, but you feel and see his muscles tense as you take away the last remaining articles of clothing. Only his mask remains, and you don't dare touch that.

He's dry as a bone and you can't blame him, this situation so far from normal for both of you. He lets you maneuver him until he's sitting on the bed, his knees spread just enough for you to comfortably kneel between them.

"That's bettah," He hums as you take his other hand and start kissing the rough patches of skin there, though you're a little surprised when he catches your tongue in his fingers. "You're like a damn dog." But he only brushes the his thumb against the flat of your tongue before letting go.

"Just for you, right?" You hum and start trailing bulletwounds and stab scars across his forearm.

"If yea know what's good for yea." He growls, though you can see him starting to relax, the cold edges melting slowly like the first thaw after a 1000 year old winter.

"Where do you ache, love?" You ask, reaching over to kiss a prominent scar on his bicep while you look at his abdomen. His front looks like a roadmap; full of long jagged scars from knives, dotted with small crates from old bullets, mottled with burns, and other unknown scars caused by god knows what. The only 'clean' scars he has are the two silvery lines beneath the curve of his pecs — the ones he never lets you touch.

"Will you kiss it better?" He mocks, like he doesn't believe you and looks at you like you're insane, but decides to humor you and briefly taps the fresh pink line on his abdomen. He watches you like a hawk as you lean down to lay soft kisses along the entire length of the jagged scar, a groan leaving his lips as your tongue tickles the frazzled beneath healing scar tissue, something like pleasure-not-pleasure sizzling wonderfully up his spine.

"Where else?" You ask, letting him place a heavy hand on your head and guide you where he wants you. His body aches in some way every waking moment, but for this night he can let you chase away the gnawing pain with your lips. He doesn't notice when he ends up splayed out on the bed and tugging you on top of him— another usually hard no with him —his mind growing strangely quiet as every lick and kiss on his damaged skin leaves behind shreds of warmth that build in his chest until he's boneless. It's almost like he melts into the bed, into your lips, his muscles more relaxed than they've ever been.

Then your lips brush against his top scars and a bucket of water gets splashed on his head. He barks out your name, raising his head as he scruffs you by the back of the neck before you can even react.

You don't resist his hold, "Yes, my handsome man?" You ask with a teasing lilt to your voice, your lips brushing against his top scars when he visibly shivers at your words.

"The fuck are you doin'?" He asks the question that's been plaguing both of your minds, but he doesn't sound angry and doesn't try to throw you off him, so you continue to gently worship his top scars.

"What's it look like?" You ask and feel his hold on your neck loosen as you trail from one scar to it's twin on the other side. His hand remains where it is, but his blunt nails lightly scratch your skin as reward for adoring scars like you're doing right now.

"Like you're doing something stupid." He huffs and you can finally see the dark clouds in his eyes parting, his chest rising and falling as he lets out a breath that's been weighing on his shoulders for a while. "But-" He takes your hand and moves it down between his legs, both of you groaning when you find his folds wet and pliant to your fingers, clit hard and pulsing against your hand. "-I can think of a few more places where I 'ache'." He gives a smug smirk that's obvious through his balaclava, his other hand lightly tugging on your hair, "Kiss it better for me, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

#Gnome's prompt game #cod mw2 #x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #male reader #top male reader #trinkets from the hoard #gnome correspondence #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #x male reader #fluff #also i'm a tease 😈

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steveharringtonat3am · 2 years

Text

Getting stuck with Steve

kinktober masterlist!!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 916

warnings: little bit of perv!steve, getting stuck trope, oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex

I hated this table.

I hated it when I saw it in the catalogue, hated it when I saw it in the store, and I hated it when Steve insisted on putting it in our living room.

It had a stupid design, was way too low, and collected dust like a magnet. It was the dumbest thing ever.

And now I’m stuck underneath it.

When I had climbed underneath to get that one spot of dust I could never reach, I figured it was fine. But one wrong move had left me stuck in this contraption of metal that I just could not get out of.

“Honey, I’m home!” I hear Steve call out with a laugh. I internally sigh in relief, thankful he’s home on time and can help me get out of this. My knees were getting really tired.

“Living room! I need some help.”

“Help with w-oh.” I hear him come in, and then stop right behind me. I try to wriggle once more but I really am wedged in.

“I’m kinda stuck. Could you help me out?” I was really getting tired of this, my body starting to ache from how high my hips are but how low my front is.

“Of course I can…” His voice sounds…rougher as I feel him climb down to kneel behind me.

“Okay great so…any minute now?” I hear him hum and his hands gently rest on my hips.

“This a new dress babe?” He smooths over the fabric covering my ass, in a very familiar way that makes me realize the very compromising position I am currently in.

“Yeah…do-do you like it?” He starts to push the fabric up, bunching it at my hips and exposing my pink lace panties.

“Very much. So you’re stuck like this huh? Can’t move at all?” His fingers hook onto my panties and begin tugging them down my thighs, stopping at the bend of my knees.

“Nope…are you gonna help me out?”

“What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t?” Steve seems to be doing the opposite of helping, as his fingers dig into my hips.

I can’t say I was complaining though.

Heat radiates off his body as he presses his jean covered cock against my core. He’s rock hard at this point and it makes me squirm.

“Don’t worry baby. I’ll get you out of here in no time.” Before I can get a word out, I feel his tongue run through my folds. He spreads my open with his long fingers. His tongue pushes into me and my eyes roll back.

“S-Steve!” I whine and he smirks against my wetness. He doesn’t bother responding though, too busy circling my clit with his god-sent tongue. His nails dig crescents into my thighs and I’m so wet that I’m practically dripping onto the carpet.

“Taste so good baby. Could eat you out forever.” But he’s pulling away, patting my hip as if he didn’t just edge me.

“W-wait! Why-why are you stopping?” I sound so desperate, but I really couldn’t care less at this point.

“I have a much better way of making you cum baby.” His belt buckle clinks as he undoes it and I instantly start to get excited.

“Okay!” I’ve almost forgotten that I’m still stuck under this table as he presses the head of his thick cock to my entrance. I whine in impatience when he doesn’t press into me immediately and he quickly silences me, pushing his cock in halfway.

I don’t think I’ll ever fully get used to Steve’s cock. It’s so thick and long and fills me so perfectly that it drives me a little crazy everytime.

“So tight…” I hear him mumble under his breath as he starts to fuck me. Normally, I would be pushing back to meet his thrusts but today that’s not really an option.

“H-harder Steve?” I moan as he obliges me and begins pounding into me hard and fast. It’s hot and dirty and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

We’re both covered in sweat and panting, the only noise in the room the sound of skin slapping against skin. I’m getting so close. I can tell by the way Steve’s grip on me has tightened that I’m not alone.

“Want-want you to cum inside.” I whimper and he groan in response.

Y-yeah? I love filling you up.” I’m right on the edge and one hard thrust sends me over. I moan loudly, unable to squirm too much as pleasure rocks through me. It sends Steve over too, who groans loudly and buries himself deep inside me to cum.

“Fuck!” He curses as he calms down. I’m exhausted now, and I really want to get cleaned up.

“Could you help me out now babe?”

“Hm? Oh! Right!” I feel him lift up the table and I quickly climb out. I finally get a look at him after he sets it down. He looks especially good today and now I’m almost sad I didn’t get to see him cum.

“You should get stuck more often.” He grins at me, sending a wink my way.

Maybe next time I’d get stuck in a better position.

hope you enjoyed!!

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #kinktober #kinktober 2022

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inkluvs · 7 months

Note

New follower and I’m obsessed!

Mid-July

Mutual masturbation while camping in a tent

Steve Harrington

pretty

a/n: ur so fucking sweet i'm so sorry it took me so long to get to this </3 i hope u like it !!! tw: SMUT(18+) ; mutual masturbation ; kinda pervy steve? not sure (0.4k)

steve harrington x fem! reader

summer celly // masterlist // taglist

A soft grunt makes its way from Steve’s lips, his palm rubbing against the obvious bulge in his jeans. He twists and turns on his back as he tries to find a position that eases some of the tension, the hard ground underneath your shared tent doing nothing to help. A camping trip with you would be difficult, he knew that. What he didn’t know was exactly how short the shorts you would wear are. Though he did imagine(more times than he’d care to admit) he thinks his imagination can’t possibly perfectly capture the way the fabric hugs the curve of your ass, the soft fat warm as it presses against his own. After all, you wouldn't want him to run cold, right?

You stir at his noises and he freezes, thumb dancing along the button of the denim.

“You got pretty moans. Always thought you would but it’s nice to be sure.” Your eyes are still shut, your cheek pressed into your pillow so he can’t see your grin.

His cheeks flush pink. “Wh–”

“You really aren’t subtle, tossing and turning like that, almost thought you were havin’ a bad dream till I heard that noise.”

Steve can’t deny that his jeans seem to tighten at your words. His hand pushes underneath just barely, his breath hitching as he grazes his cock.

“You can take ‘em off if they’re bothering you, won’t bother me.” You curse yourself at how eager you sound.

Steve’s chest rises and falls more quickly after that, finally managing to pop open the button before saying, “You’re really okay with this?”

You nod and he slides his boxers down with the rough material, his cock thick and hard against his stomach. Steve can feel you staring at him and a fire lights under his skin. Your lips are parted, saliva pooling on your tongue as his hand wraps around his cock.

“Pretty.” Your voice is breathy and your fingers slip under the waistband of those damn shorts.

“You can take ‘em off if they’re bothering you.”

“Shut up.” He grins, cocky and wide and much too proud of himself.

You shove your shorts down and his grin falters into a gasp, his eyebrows pinched as he stares.

His palm starts to stroke his cock and you press your thumb against your clit, eliciting a soft whine.

“Pretty.” He repeats.

#ivy’s inbox 💌#event.midjuly #{ivy's summer celly}#ivy is writing !#steve harrington (ivy’s version)#stluvs #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington reader insert #steve harrington thoughts #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington drabble #stranger things imagine #ns/fw

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paperstarwriters · 3 months

Text

Billowing Fabrics

ouagh. I wouldn't typically post a fic like this lmao I feel like it's kinda underbaked so to say? but deadline is coming in and I don't have the leisure to leave the fic to just bake in my WIP file like I do with other fics 🥲 Not a bad thing neccicarily but if the fic isn't as perfectly polished that's why lol.

anyways,

Pairing: Muriel x reader (romantic)

Warnings: N/a

Summary: You've accidentally made one of your sweaters a little too big when you were trying to make it bigger and slouchier for yourself. Muriel finds your work and takes it upon himself to fix the worn down sweater. Not for any particular reason no, no... he just found a sweater that seemed to fit him....

Vesuvia Weekly Prompt | Masterlists | The Arcana Masterlist

Word count: 1,426

––––––––– ✦✧✦ –––––––––

The objective is a complicated one, but it was supposed to be simple with the aid of magic.

The spell is a simple one, but the objective you want to achieve has made it overly complicated.

You wanted a longer sweater for the upcoming months something long on the lower end with equally long sleeves to tuck your hands and legs into when it got particularly cold, turning yourself into a ball of soft fabrics—a sponge of soft fabrics when you inevitably leaned against Muriel.

There were a handful of well failed attempts that you've since set aside to mess around with later with the help of some borrowed yarn from Portia , or attempts that near destroyed the sweater you were working on. Thankfully the bunch you've targeted using, were either sweaters that have already been worn to bits and a handful of cheaply bought sweaters for more experimentation.

From the various failed attempts you have one sweater that ended up with sleeves so long you could use it for a scarf. Another attempt stole fabric from the sleeves to lengthen the torso portion, and one of the attempts had simply made the woolen material far, far, far too thick to work with. Each were an interesting discovery in their own right of course, with the latter one in particular being added as a possible adjustment you would like to make to your end result. Not as thick as the material at hand of course, but something akin to that amount.

Beneath your fingers the well worn fabric of one of your more damaged sweaters stretches and expands. Fabric spills over your lap, as threads twist and turn growing thicker or longer depending on your desires, and as the light finally dims from it's passage through your fingertips and into the very fibers of the sweater you find yourself with a substantially larger and thicker sweater, fluffy and soft, though a little too big around the collar, and the sleeves seemed a pinch too loose. Practically perfect though! You promptly turn your attention to the target sweater you're intent on changing setting aside the successful practice to join the other attempts and work at slowly expanding the sweater. It doesn't take long before your sweater is now larger and comfier and fluffier around you, and very eagerly, you dash out of the hut intent on showing off your new creation.

——————————

Muriel returns, to the pleasantly warm confines of the hut. You're still outside, having gone on a quick trip to the marketplace, to go grab some groceries intent on getting the most important goods before the worst of an upcoming snowstorm hit. Snow wasn't exactly common in Vesuvia but on the odd occasion a wash of cold weather sweeps through, sometimes bringing snow, sometimes only bringing ice. While Muriel felt far more comfortable than most in the cold chilly temperatures, he knew full well he wasn't exactly a good example of an average citizen and though he knew how to manage his way through frost and snow, getting extra groceries was always a good help.

Extra cuddly items like sweaters and blankets couldn't hurt either.

Noticing the pile of thick fabric materials Muriel pokes his way through your failed attempts. You very eagerly showed off your brand new sweater, or well, old-ish sweater with brand new measurements. Made to protect even better against the cold beneath a water and wind proof cape. While you had tried to explain your process to him, bouncing around with glee at your success, Muriel found it difficult to imagine how you had been able to change the fabric to somehow create more of itself.

His hands stop at the sight of one sweater, well worn, and almost tearing at the seams. There's a little hole around the chest, and the sleeves seem to be moth-bitten, and he wonders how long you've had this. It's a much bigger size, clearly a victim of your testing for your sweater, and as he holds it up into the air to inspect it more, he finds it to almost fit his own size.

Tugging the fabric over his head, Muriel is greeted by a wash of scent. You've worn this sweater a lot surely. Perhaps as casual wear at some point of time. He recalls dimly seeing you wear it around the hut on the odd occasion, and though he feels slightly bad, he takes a moment to appreciate the feeling of being wrapped in something that smells so strongly of you.

When he finally pulls the sweater down, he finds the fabric fits him like a glove. No slouchiness or poofiness that you seemed so fond of in your own sweater, but it fits him, and it fits him well, even if there are a few odd holes amidst the seams.

Muriel takes off the sweater, setting it aside atop of your shared bed before he goes digging in the shelves of your stuff. Portia had lent the both of you some yarn at some point, if he recalled, perhaps he could patch a hole in this.

————————

Muriel returns home a little later than you, and though you're curious to see what he's done while you were out helping Asra and hauling groceries, the question escapes you when you actually see him. Patched with little hearts Muriel wears your old and tattered sweater, the one you made a little too large for you, but perfectly fits him.

And when he walks in the door, he stops, stares, and drops the knitting tools he's likely borrowed from Portia.

And in typical fashion, his face grows pink

"Is that my...?" you barely finish your question before Muriel sputters his reply.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't.... There were a bunch of holes in it and...." Though you try to hide it, try to bite your lips and cover your mouth to hide your grin, there's no mistaking the delight and glee that fills your cheeks, as you grin. Just seeing it Muriel seems to grow worse, face growing redder and redder. "I... Uh.... I didn't ........... It was just there.........and I just thought..........."

You don't say anything, no longer finding any need to hide and instead unabashedly grinning from ear to ear, pleased as punch at the sight of Muriel wearing your clothes. It fits him so nicely, you're almost upset you hadn't thought of doing so yourself.

He goes quiet in reply, staring down at the floor as smoke seems to puff from his ears, while Inanna rolls her eyes behind him and starts headbutting him in through the door. He scrambles to pick up his things at the gesture closing the door and keeping the chill from filling your little home.

Still he tries not to look at you. And yet you can't help but poke and prod.

"Is it comfy?"

He almost jumps at the question. "I.... Yeah. It's really soft and....." His mouth snaps shut with a faint click of his teeth, as he returns to busying himself with putting away the tools Portia let him borrow.

It's just a few tools, in any other scenario, he'd just set them on the shelf and sort it out later, there was no need for him to hem or haw over any container to put them into.

He just doesn't want to look at you right now, doesn't want to see the grin you have at seeing him in your clothes or at what he almost—

"and what?"

He doesn't have to reply, but you both know he will anyways.

With a soft and tepid voice, Muriel turns to just glance at you from the corner of his eye. "It..... It smells nice."

He doesn't say "it smells like you," but you both know that's what he means, and though you can't quite manage a pout around your grin you still lift up the sleeves of your sweater, and open your arms up to him.

"Aww, could you help me make mine smell nice as well?"

And though red faced, and still blushing, Muriel finally turns to you with a smile. How could he not? The prospect of a hug far too enticing, though he still tries to look away to hide it.

Curling up into your arms as his own come up to wrap around you, the both of you find the overwhelming warmth... Pleasant.

Outside it's frigid, icy and cold.

Inside, it's toasty and warm beneath your blanket like sweaters, and the feeling of being totally engulfed the presence of each other.

#x reader #reader insert #Muriel x reader #Muriel the arcana #Muriel #the arcana muriel #the arcana muriel x reader #the arcana #Muriel the mountain man #Muriel the hermit #muriel of the kokkhuri #muriel arcana #muriel the hermit #vesuvia weekly #borrowing clothes

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