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beababoobies · 4 months

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Hey there you said you needed a Hazbin Hotel request? I got just the thing. Is it okay you do a Alastor x witch reader? Like reader was a witch before she died and is basically pretty powerful especially in magic? I like to think she covers up her body because she’s covered in tattoos that look like magic ruins or ritual symbols. Idk i just thought it would be cute of Alastor falling in love with a classy yet a badass witch who can put him in his place.

Heya Anon! Yes, Absolutely! I love my witchy friends (shoutout to Tatianna because she follows my blog.) I wasn’t sure exactly on which type of Witch you were referring to, so I decided on a random mix of diff witch cultures! Please shoot me a request if that’s not what you had in mind and I can re-write this for you. Thanks a ton for the request!

From Experience

Alastor x Fem!Witch!Reader

words : 1k , no warnings!

You let out a sigh as you started the spell you had been planning for weeks now. You had to go to Lust to get aphrodisiac rose powder, cannibal town to get the dried blood (and have a coffee and chat with Rosie, of course.) you even attended to Blood Moon festival very shortly to get some black tree root straight from the source from your friend Sally Mae. The candles had been lit - your spirit guides told you it was ready. You closed your eyes softly as you started to read out the incantation in your head.

You sighed softly through your nose as you felt yourself slowly start to float, the bone-marrow candles you had bought starting to glow a blood red colour as you felt the power of the spell start to wash over you, the magical ruins carved into your body lighting up, making you glow softly, and it was all coming together nicely, perfectly one might say -

“Hello, Darling!”

You let out a small scream and opened your eyes, falling to the floor with a small thud, groaning as you open your eyes to the familiar face smiling back at you, chuckling softly as you rub your head gently, rolling your eyes. Not an evil spirit. Okay, an evil spirit. But a very familiar one. “Alastor, what a surprise.” You said as he walked over to you, offering you his hand and you took it, hoisting yourself up and letting out a soft sigh as you saw the spilt wax across the floor.

“How rude of me to interrupt you! Allow me.” He hums softly, and you watch as the candles are returned back to their original state, turning back to him with a smile, brushing your now messed hair back into place, tilting your head. “Back again so soon?” You said with a chuckle, walking into your kitchen to get a cup of tea, him following quickly behind.

Now that you thought about it - he was back very, very soon. You had last seen him yesterday for lunch, and just two days before that for an evening stroll. After seven years of absence, you could’ve sworn you hadn’t even seen him this much before he disappeared. This meant he either needed something, or he was playing you in a big plan.

“Oh, well you just make the best steaming cup of chamomile, my dear.” He compliments, sitting at your small window-side table. You chuckled, taking a spoonful of the mix you had taken years to perfect, crushing the leaves, adding in just a bit of cinnamon. You had even figured out the best tea bags. Possibly your best spell ever. You dismissed your worries as your own overthinking, sighing as you poured the boiling water into the mugs.

“No sugar for you again?” You say, eyes not looking back at him as you pull the cane sugar out from your cabinet, spooning a couple helpings into your mug. “You know me too well, darling.” He says and you blush softly, putting the cane sugar back, bringing both the mugs to the table, placing one in front of him, and one in front of yourself.

“So, why are you back so quickly, hmm?” You said teasingly, leaning back in your chair, mixing the tea in your mug lazily, toying with the spoon as you watching him dip the boiling liquid - always uncanny, how he could do that - before looking back up at you.

“One could say I’ve taken a bit of a liking to you, my love.” He says with a smile, and you feel your face get hot - from more than just the steam from your tea. He chuckles softly at your reaction, taking another sip from his mug, leaning back in his chair and watching you try to find the right words. Platonically? It’s hard to decipher a man who’s walked out of a couple decades before your time.

“One might even say you… like me?” You say, testing the waters as you discard your cup back onto the table, crossing your arms over your chest, skepticism all over your expression causing Alastor to let out another chuckle. “One could say that. But I hate that way of saying it.” He responds flatly, putting his mug down as well, tilting his head at you. Trying to read a man who’s face was always carved into that sharp-toothed grin was hard.

“While we are speaking of taking a liking to things.” He says, holding out his hand, a small jar of black sand from the burning desert - one of a kind, unbelievably expensive, and your eyes widened. You swallowed thickly as you eyes the small vial, looking up at him with a small grin.

“I’m not giving you my soul for this. Tempting, though.” You said with a playful smile, watching him place it delicately on the table. “Oh, no, darling, it is yours for the price of this cup of tea. A friend gave it to me in exchange for a… favor.” He says with a small chuckle, watching you pick up the vial cautiously and inspect it, turning it upside down and watching the pitch black sand move around in the glass.

Oh, the things you could do with this.

“And why should I take your murder sand?” You say with a smile, looking back up at him as you toyed with vial carefully, raising your eyebrows, watching his eyes trail down to the vial and then back up to you.

“Well, I’ve heard it’s good for love spells.” He hums softly, taking another nonchalant sip of his tea, watching you nearly cough on your own spit over the statement, collecting yourself before piercing your lips together, eyes going from him to the vial over and over.

“And how would you know this, hmm? You some sort of ritual expert now?” You said with a playful smile and tone, clutching the vial in your hand and leaning forward, chin resting on your palm.

“Let’s just say I can speak from experience.”

#hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #rosie hazbin hotel #hazbin #hellaverse #hazbin spoilers #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you

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leclerc-hs · 2 months

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tachycardia! pt. 1 - cl16

pairing: doctor!charles leclerc x nurse!reader (alpha/omega au) summary: in which you don't always get along with the arrogant alpha doctor warnings: LIGHT a/b/o dynamics, angst??, none really (yet!), badly translated french, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 1.7k author's note: hi so this is the first part!! I'm thinking about turning this into like a "blurb" series, like i'll do a bunch of parts with them but they won't be toooooo long. emphasis on the LIGHT a/b/o dynamics because i am STILL leaning all about it but I'm sure the more I write the better with it I will get. I def will discuss more about it during smut scenes. let me know what you guys think and what else you would like to see happen between them!! don't be shy!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT WASN’T HATRED, per se, but more so the fact that you both knew how to get under each other’s skin so easily.

The amount of time it took for Doctor Leclerc to make some sort of asshole comment as you entered the doors of the hospital was little to none. It was almost a predetermined ritual at this point. So common that you should’ve been more concerned with the premise that he might’ve memorized your schedule just so it’s his face you see first thing every time you arrive to work.

You had made a solemn vow to yourself long ago never to become romantically involved with a doctor. Any doctor for that matter. The allure of dating a doctor might have seemed appealing in theory, but they tended to exude an air of pretentiousness, rudeness, and arrogance that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Doctor Leclerc was what you would consider the living embodiment of this, a constant reminder of the vows you made in the first place. Yet, the fact that he was probably the hottest fucking man you have ever seen, made it hard to not want to blur the lines sometimes. His chiseled features and commanding presence were sometimes a magnetic force, no matter how much he annoyed you.

So, you wonder why, even as you’re leaned against the nurse’s station with an elbow propped on it, you can’t help but stare at the muscles of his back poking through his scrubs and white coat, as he pours a cup of coffee into his mug. His massive shoulders rising and falling as he picks the coffee pot up and places it back down.

“Did he say something to you?” You ask as you press a tissue into the hands of one of your co-workers, April. You didn’t know that well, but nurses stuck together regardless.

“I’m fine,” she says, but the tears welling up in her eyes, made you know better. “I just need to stop being so sensitive.” The words hang in the air, a fragile façade masking the turmoil within, and you recognize the weight of her emotions despite her attempt to downplay them.

“He must have been a proper douche,” you remark, the water from the bathroom sink running over your hands as you meet April’s gaze through the mirror. “What did he do?” Your tone carries a mix of concern and frustration.

Her hesitance to disclose wasn’t rooted in desire to withhold information, but rather in a reluctance to escalate the situation unnecessarily. Aware of your tendency to stand up to Doctor Leclerc, she treaded cautiously. You turned back around to face her, an eyebrow raised as if you’re saying spill the beans already.

“Well,” she begins, her grip tightening on the crumpled tissue in her fist, “all I did was ask if the symptom the patient was experiencing was a common side effect of the medication we prescribed her, just to be sure.” You cross your arms over your chest, you can feel the agitation growing in your chest. “He wasn’t mean in front of the patient, but he pulled me aside after and told me how unprofessional it is to be questioning in front of a patient.” Her voice wavers with a mix of frustration and hurt.

Your lips press into a thin line as she recounts the encounter. “He then told me that I should’ve paid better attention in school and then maybe I would know the answer,” she emphasizes, tinged with a hint of bitterness. The word “maybe” lingers in the air, weighted with insinuation, as if Doctor Leclerc’s implication stung deeper than mere criticism.

“What an alpha asshole!” you exclaim, your frustration evident in the forceful wave of your hands. “Don’t listen to him.” You offer her comfort, a smile of reassurance accompanying your words, a silent vow to stand by her side.

April’s lips curl upward into a small, grateful smile, her eyes softening as she murmurs a heartfelt “thanks”. In that moment, her expression speaks volumes, conveying both appreciation for your support and glimmer of relief.

You saw him before he saw you.

As you step through the doorway into one of your patient’s rooms, a pang of exasperation washes over you, accompanied by the silent question of what you did to deserve this particular form of punishment. It feels like a cruel twist of fate to find Doctor Leclerc attending to one of your patients, whom had just recently had a coronary angioplasty and a stent placement. Despite the urge to roll your eyes, you summon all your professionalism and force one of the biggest smiles onto your face. It’s a façade of warmth and cooperation, masking the internal tension brewing beneath the surface.

There he stood, a figure of authority on the opposite end of the bed, his arms folded across his chest as he chuckled at whatever anecdote your patient shared with him. His laughter, though genuine, seemed to echo with a hint of superiority. You can’t help but notice the subtle flex of his jaw muscles as his head tilts back briefly. The sight of his scruff and the contours of his muscular neck send a tingling sensation coursing through you.

You need to snap out of it! You repeat to yourself, a silent mantra echoing in your mind. You were so preoccupied with convincing yourself that Doctor Leclerc wasn’t unbelievably attractive that you failed to notice the scrutiny of two pairs of eyes now fixed upon you. The sudden realization jolts you back to the present, and you redirect your focus to the patient.

You didn’t need to glance at Doctor Leclerc to sense the presence of a smirk tugging at his lips; it was almost palpable, a silent acknowledgement that he had caught you staring at him. Distracted by him.

“Glad you can join us, mon lapin.” My bunny.

You narrowed your eyes at him, a flicker of irritation igniting within you. That forsaken nickname—he just couldn’t resist. Ever since your first day, when you innocently showed up with a tote bag adorned with colorful bunnies, he had taken great delight in teasing you with it.

“Ne m’appele pas comme ça.” Don’t call me that.

The patient looked up at both of you, eyes full of delight in entertainment.

His verdant eyes look at you for a few seconds, contemplating something, before looking back at the patient. “I’ll make sure you’re out of here in no time,” he assures the patient, his voice full of warmth. “I just need to check your vitals, and hopefully we can have you out here in a few days.” His words are reassuring, delivered with a blend of confidence and empathy that contrasts with the earlier tension in the room. Despite your reservations, you can’t deny that he provides great care for his patients.

“How has your medication been? Still uncomfortable?” You inquire, while Doctor Leclerc listens intently to your patient’s chest with his stethoscope.

“A little bit,” your patient murmurs in response, pausing between deep breaths as instructed by Doctor Leclerc.

“I’ll make sure you get another dose of aspirin to help ease the pain.” You promise with a tight-lipped smile as Doctor Leclerc removes the stethoscope from his ears.

“I think we need to reconsider the dosage,” you assert, meeting Doctor Leclerc’s gaze.

“We don’t want to risk any adverse effects.” His eyes, a much darker hue of green now, narrow at you, like he can’t believe you’re telling him what to do. “I’ve already adjusted his medication. It’s within the recommended for his condition.”

He shifts his focus back to the patient, the darkness and annoyance that once clouded his eyes now dissipating. “Everything is looking great! I’ll check on you tomorrow morning,” he reassures the patient with a warm smile before bidding his farewells. As he turns to you, nodding toward the doorway, his demeanor shifts, and a lethal glare meets your gaze. Without a word, you follow him out the room, bracing yourself. You refuse to cower, meeting his glare with a steely resolve of your own. Each step you take alongside him is a silent assertion.

His touch on your elbow sends a jolt of tingles to your stomach as he swiftly turns you around, your back now pressed firmly against the wall. His gaze pierces through you with a lethal intensity.

“Que pensez-vous faire?” What do you think you’re doing? He pinched the bridge of his nose in between his pointer finger and thumb, with his eyes scrunched as if he got a splitting headache in the span of one second. Like he was in pain. Did you know how strong you scent was? He wondered mindlessly, almost forgetting why he was so mad at you in the first place.

You thought nothing of his actions, too busy feeling the anger swell in the pit of your stomach.

Your eyes roll in exasperation, and your eyebrows knit together in annoyance at the audacity of this man.

His eyes meet your again and can’t help but think how beautiful you look, even when angry. How he would just love to bend you over his knee and remind you who is in charge.

“Je veille sur mon patient.” I’m looking out for my patient.

He rests his hands on his hips, stealing a glance at his beeping pager before fixing his gaze back on you. His eyes, nearly black, pierce through you. “Non, tu essaies juste de provoquer une dispute comme d’habitude,” You’re just trying to start an argument as usual. He grits through clenched teeth. “His medication is completely fine, et tu le sais!” And you know it!

So, maybe you were trying to start an argument with him. Especially after April’s crying face came to your mind.

He’s so close that you can hardly think around his scent. It’s almost intoxicating.

“Don’t ever make April cry again.” You jab your finger into his shoulder, reminding yourself why you’re here in the first place.

He blinks, and you catch the glimmer of recognition spreading across his features. “Elle n’a aucun courage” She has no spine. He remarks before continuing, “She should learn from you. You probably have spare spines.” He steps back from you before striding down the hallway in opposite direction of the nurse’s station.

No matter how annoyed you were, you couldn't peel your eyes off his muscular back until he was completely out of sight. You scoffed at yourself. How pathetic am I? You questioned yourself repeatedly until you take in his last words to you.

Did he just make a joke?

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine

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mead-iocre · 2 months

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Ducky Turn! | Vivianne Miedema x Reader

You watched as Viv walked into the press conference room, trailing slightly behind Jonas. She was chatting animatedly to Connie, one of the Arsenal staff, and holding a reusable coffee tumbler in one hand. You also know that inside that tumbler is Viv’s favourite coffee "Morning Bliss," a small-batch, artisanal coffee roaster that you had bought from one of the local coffee shops in your area. She would sometimes bring a small bag of coffee beans to training or match days, and when you would ask her where she’ll find supplies to make the coffee, she’ll reply back with a“if there’s a will, there’s a way”. It’s become the only brand of coffee that Viv drinks.

Every morning, Viv likes to indulge herself in what she calls her “ritual”. The dutch begins her ritual by carefully measuring out the perfect amount of Morning Bliss beans. She prefers a medium roast, with notes of caramel and toasted almonds that allow the perfect balance of sweet to the bitter. She would grind the beans to perfection and then use the fancy sleek, stainless steel drip coffee maker that she had treated herself to a few months ago. As she waits for the brewing to complete, she would bask in the stillness and the quiet that is a rarity these days– or at least during the last 3 years.

Viv would then pour herself a cup, inhaling deeply as the steam rises and the aroma fills the empty kitchen. As she takes that first sip of her perfectly brewed coffee, Viv could not help but smile. For her, starting the day than with a cup of her favourite coffee is the second best thing to start the day. The first is–

She hears the pitter patter of little feet before she sees her.

“Mama!”

Evelyn, or Evie for short, is the best parts of you and Viv. Everyone says Evelyn is a spitting image of Viv—from the blonde curls that tumble down her back in unruly waves, to her vibrant hazel eyes, flecked with hints of green and gold. Evelyn has your nose, petite and slightly upturned, and dotted with the same freckles across her cheeks that Viv loves to kiss every night before bed.

You say it’s too early to tell what kind of person your daughter will grow up to be, but Viv swears she’s your mini me. Viv says you’ve both got the same stubbornness (although you would argue Viv is also a contender), the same outgoing personality, and the same sheer curiosity for the world around her. Like you, your little girl is always eager to explore new places and try new things. Whether it's taking the dogs out on new hiking trails, or embarking on a family camping trip, her adventurous spirit knows no bounds.

During her ballet class, Evelyn loves to wear colourful ribbons and bows in her hair. She keeps the same ribbons in her hair during football practice too. When she laughs, her nose crinkles up in the most adorable way, just like Viv. She loves to burst into a song or hum the tune of her favourite music, just like you do. She is your pride and joy, and your greatest accomplishment in life.

But she is also a whirlwind of energy that leaves a trail of chaos and laughter in her wake wherever she goes.

Viv recognises that gleam in Evie’s eyes and the furrow in her eyebrows as she glances at the last two steps leading to the kitchen.

Her daughter was going to jump.

Viv hastily puts her cup down and lurches forward, catching the tornado that is her child. There is not a day that goes by where Viv does not thank her athleticism for being able to keep up with her little daredevil.

She grasps her fearless little girl under her arms just before she can land the short distance to the ground. “Mama, Ducky jump!”

“I saw that, Ducky” She settles Evelyn on her hip, pressing a few kisses to her rosy cheek still warm from sleep. “But I’d rather not see that again. How many times have I told you you can’t jump from there”

“But I jump, Mama. Like a duck jumping in water!” Ducks are the little girl’s latest fixation– she loves going to the pond to watch the ducks, she loves to talk about ducks, she loves her duck stuffed animals etc. Viv thinks your daughter’s fascination with ducks was inevitable. When Evelyn was born, she was sweetly bundled in a light yellow blanket with a matching yellow beanie to warm her little head. Your private midwife briefly commented about how Evelyn little lips were constantly pursed in a pout whenever she slept, like that of a little duckling. Ever since then, “Ducky” became one of her nicknames.

Evelyn points one little chubby finger towards the kitchen counter where a plate of bite-sized waffles await her.

“Waffles!”

Viv snags the plate of waffles off the counter and deposits her duck-obsessed child into her booster chair. She hands her a fork and takes a seat on the chair right beside her. “Waffles yellow– like duckies, Mama!”

Viv smiles endearingly at her daughter, all cherubic face and bouncy curls. “Just like duckies, Evie”

——————————

Now at the press conference, you watch as Viv and Jonas take their seats in front of the press, politely saying a few greetings to some familiar faces. Viv’s eyes meet yours briefly and she offers you a quick wink.

Jonas leans forward in his seat and starts the press. “Hello, everyone. Let’s get this started then– I’ve got Vivianne Miedema with me today”

Being married to a footballer had it’s perks– free match tickets, the cool events, club merchandise, and the occasional Adidas billboards of your wife which your daughter loves to excitedly point out every time she spots one. However, sometimes it seems not everyone understands the difference between the Viv, the mum and wife, versus Vivianne Miedema, the footballer.

“Everyone” being your toddler.

She still hasn’t fully grasped the fact that her Mama can’t be on her beck and call, especially while she is at work. At the age of 3, she can’t tell the difference between the football that she plays at school and the football that her Mama plays. To her, it’s exactly the same.

After all, during her football practice if she looks to the sidelines where the other mummies and daddies are watching and yells for her Mama, her Mama will come running. In Evie’s mind, if she wants Mama, she’ll go to Mama.

You glance down at the little girl tucked in your arms. She was all buzz and energy throughout the match, crawling from lap to lap, jumping, dancing and shouting. It was no surprise that she was starting to doze off now. You were standing off to one side of the room, leaning against the wall to support the weight resting on your front. Evie was curled up in your arms, her eyes tiredly blinking open and closed a few times. Her tiny body was limp in your arms, her breath was evening out, and just like when she first came into this world, her little rosy lips were formed into a pout.

Just like a little duckling.

But despite your soft whispers to try to and lull her to sleep, your stubborn child was determined to fight the pull of slumber. You knew she wanted to see her Mama, just as she always did after a match. It was their routine, and Evie hated breaking routines.

“First question for Jonas…” You tune out the press for a brief moment, reaching out to adjust the yellow noise cancelling headphones that were slipping off of Evelyn’s head when all of a sudden she opens her eyes and sits up in your arms. You didn’t have to guess what had woken up your child when you hear it. “– now a question for Viv Miedema…”

What was once a sleepy and tired toddler is now gone. In it’s place is a little girl who has realised her favourite person is in the room. Her eyes were now bright and alert, craning her neck to follow the sound of her mama’s voice booming from the speakers around the room.

“…don't really think I celebrate goals but all the girls came up to me and they were taking the mick out of me because they were like 'You were actually celebrating’–“

You should’ve anticipated it. You should’ve know it. But by then it was too late.

“Mama!”

Your daughter yells for Viv, lurching forward with her arms open and fingers pointing towards where Viv was sitting at the front of the room. You had no choice but to crouch down so you could stead your suddenly wiggly child.

“Ducky, that’s enough” You speak in a hushed but firm tone. You knew that if you were to use your “Mummy voice” it would likely result in tears, and your daughter was not a quiet crier. “Mama is working right now”

But Evie was very determined to get to her mama, hastily trying to tug away from your hold on her arm. You knew heads were turning towards the both of you.

“Want Mama!”

“Evelyn–“ You try to hug her, wanting to pick her up and run out of the room before she causes anymore distractions. Right now she was the epitome of an incoming toddler tantrum. Her chest heaved with each shaky breath, her small shoulders rising and falling with the weight of her emotions. Her cheeks flushed pink with frustration, and her fists clenched at her sides.

“No no no no!” Her favourite word as of late and she was proudly demonstrating that she knew just how to use it. "No NO!"

Her big, doe-like eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Her bottom lip quivered as she stood cocooned in your arms, but furiously squirming away from your hold. In your daughter’s mind, being told that she can’t go to her Mama right now was the most devastating thing in the world, and the injustice of it all was threatening to overwhelm her.

“–Liefje”

You look up as the sound of your wife’s voice and the familiar nickname echos around the room through the microphone. You crane your neck and you spot her now standing up from her chair, holding the mic to her mouth. She gives you a knowing smile. Viv always knows what to do.

“I’ll take her, Liefje. Give her to me” Viv waves a hand, beckoning you both closer.

You pick up your still teary, pouty daughter and hoist her up to your hip. You walk the short distance towards the front of the room where Viv and Jonas are waiting.

“Looks like Mama wants you, ducky” You murmur softly in Evie’s ear, pushing the curls of hair away from her eyes. Like a switch, your daughter perks up in your arms, twisting her head towards where you were heading. You could feel her little legs kicking the air in excitement. What a mood switch.

You stop by the side of the small stage, placing Evie on her feet and quickly grab her hairband that was in your pocket. “Wait one second, Ducky. Let’s fix your hair.” There were cameras around and you would imagine that 10 years from now, your daughter will never forgive you if you let her stand in front of the cameras with a bird nest on top of her head.

The hairband dangled from your fingers as you attempted to tame Evie’s unruly locks into a neat ponytail. But your daughter was having none of it. She wriggled, clearly eager to get to her Mama, as she batted your hands away.

And like always, Viv knew just what to do to keep your daughter from fussing. Temporarily. “Hi Ducky”

“Mama!” Chuckles round the room when mother and daughter exchanged waves of greetings to each other as if they hadn’t seen each other for days when in reality it had only been a few hours.

You sighed, a hint of amusement twinkling in your eyes as you gently combed through Evie’s hair with your fingers. “Almost done" you coaxed, your voice gentle and patient as you worked to wrangle your little girl’s wayward curls. You settled on just pushing the front pieces of hair away from her eyes with the hairband. “All done. Now you can go to Mama”

Evie did not need to be told twice.

Her little legs pumped furiously and her curly hair bounced behind her. She ran around the table, past Jonas’ chair, to where Viv was standing waiting for her. Viv swings her daughter up to her hip and you watch as Viv leans close to whisper by her ear– most likely prompting Evie to greet the journalists and cameras. Your suspicions were confirmed when your little social butterfly happily waves a hand and bellows a little “hello!”

Your smile widens when her greeting is echoed by all the journalists, some waving back just as eagerly as your toddler.

Viv then proceeds to sit back down, placing Evie on her lap. Your wife adjusts her chair and shuffles closer to the mic. “Sorry for that everyone…”

She gestures to the toddler who is currently conspiring with the Arsenal manager. “This one is going through a phase where I am her favourite person, and I’m making the most of it until she realises her Mummy is more fun than me”

Laughter rings around the room, but all you give the grinning dutch at the table is an eye roll. You know Evie loves you, but her bond with Viv was something special. Evelyn is Viv’s little shadow.

One of the journalists kindly gestures for you to take the seat next to him in front row of the table and you thank him as you take a seat.

“Right then. Let’s continue…” Jonas starts the press again, and this time, your toddler is happily sitting on her Mama’s lap.

———————————-

So far the press is continuing on as normal. Journalists are prepared with questions for Viv and Jonas. “My question is for Viv.” You crane your neck to see a journalists a few rows behind you hold a hand up. “You have broken countless records in England. Arsenal literally put you on a pedestal with a temporary statue outside the Emirates Stadium, a first for a female player. Do things like that matter?” Viv leans forward towards the mic. “No not at all. I’ve already had five great years but I indicated to the club that we have to do better. Other players have done that too. Hopefully the club can bring in some reinforcements this summer–

“AH!” Evie leans up, her little head nearly clashing into her Mama’s chin if it weren’t for Viv’s reflexes, and speaks directly into the mic. She giggles when it echos back.

You wince as the mic feedback rings loudly in the room.

“–Ducky, this mic is not for you. Mama’s trying to answer the question” Viv whispers but it obviously gets caught by the microphone and broadcasted to the entire room. You press your lips together to conceal your giggle as you watch your wife attempt to coax your daughter into letting go of the mic stand. Unfortunately, it seems your daughter is very fixated on the microphone because she tries to grab for it again.

But Viv is faster. She hauls Evie off her lap for a second, turning her around so she is facing Viv and not the mic.

“Ducky turn!” Your daughter whines loudly. She is clearly displeased at being turned away from her new toy. She pouts, twisting her body back around, and points at the mic. “Ducky turn! Ducky turn!”

You never though you would say this, but maybe there are consequences in teaching your daughter how to share and take turns.

And your wife seems to think the same. “Well…at least you all have proof that we are teaching her how to take turns properly” She chuckles endearingly at the pouty toddler on her lap.

“Okay” Viv relents with a sigh. “Ducky gets a turn.” She lifts Evie and turns her back around so she is facing the rest of the room, the press, and her shiny new toy– the black microphone.

You shake your head as you watch your wife visibly soften. Evie has Viv wrapped around her little finger from the day she was born. Viv is almost always unable to deny her daughter anything, even if she claims to be the more stricter parent out of the two of you.

“Since it’s Ducky’s turn, why don’t you have a go at answering the questions then?” Viv pulls the chair closer towards the table so Evie can reach the mic more comfortably. She directs the question to everyone in the room, clearly giving the reporters permission to ask Evie some questions.

Not a second later, a few hands are up in the air. You smile at the sight of these very professional reporters taking the time to entertain your daughter’s antics, no matter how silly they may be.

Jonas playfully gasps and leans into his mic. “Wow Evie, look at that! So many people want to ask you questions”

“What do you think, ducky?” Viv asks the grinning toddler in her lap. “Which question shall we take?”

Your daughter cutely scrunches her face in concentration, one chubby little finger tapping her lips as if she was contemplating the secrets of the universe. You watch as she scans her choices of eager hands, and then points to a man sitting by the front row. You watch as Evie lean up to whisper something to her Mama and then turns back around with a shy smile.

“Evie will take a question from the man in the front row with the yellow tie” Of course, it’s the yellow tie. Anything yellow is guaranteed to win your daughter over.

“Hello Miss Evelyn. My question for you is: what did you think of your Mum scoring two goals today?”

You watch as Viv pulls the mic closer towards Evie, giving her a nod of support when your daughter turns to her for encouragement.

“Uh…” You cringe internally as your daughter presses her mouth as close to the mic as possible, practically gnawing on it, and the sound is magnified by the speakers. The press seem to take it to stride, a few coos of encouragement sounding around the room. “…I like duckies”

“Oh! That’s nice” Bless the journalist. You doubt that bit would make it to the final draft of the article. “Ducks are quite nice, aren’t they?”

Your daughter nods and hums into the mic, wriggling from her spot on your wife’s lap, clearly eager to talk more about her favourite subject. “Duckies yellow!”

You watch as the journalists couldn't help but be charmed by Evelyn’s enthusiasm, their professional demeanour melting away as they listened to your spirited little girl. Some even leaned in closer, eager to catch every word she says, the cameras capturing the moment.

“Ducks are yellow, clever girl! But let Mama have a turn now, please” You try to stifle your laughter behind your hand as Viv has to practically wrestle the mic away from Evie, grabbing both of her little hands in one of hers to settle the mischievous toddler.

———————————————

Viv was more than happy to continue the rest of the press with her daughter in her lap, even if she has to routinely stop and grab a little hand as it beelines for the microphone. Viv lets Evie babble into the microphone a more few times and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in her heart. She may be a footballer on the pitch, but her greatest joy was sitting right here in her lap, eager to share in her world, one stolen microphone at a time.

“Do you want to say anything to Mummy?” Viv points you out for your daughter to see. It was already nearing the end of the press conference. "Anything to say to Mummy before we finish?”

Your daughter thinks for a moment, her face titling to the side and her nose adorably scrunching up in concentration. Thinking about what to say to your Mummy is a very big task for a 3 year old. The room goes silent as everyone waits with baited breath.

“…I- I love you, Mummy”

Hey, my loves!

It's been while since I posted and that's mainly due to life getting in the way + not being inspired to write. By some miracle, I somehow managed to finish writing this short little fic (featuring a different player this time– surprise!). This was inspired by seeing that cute video of Alex Morgan and her daughter doing post-match interviews lol

hopefully this will only motivate me to keep on writing.

I appreciate all of you, thanks for being patient

-- butter

#woso x reader #vivianne miedema x reader #vivianne miedema #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #viv miedema

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erwinsvow · 2 months

Text

YOU LOOK SO SWEET — RC.

“i can’t believe you made out with sarah’s brother,” your friend comments. you choke on your water.

it had been an hour or so since your friends had dragged you out of the bar, bringing you home with them for the pre-planned sleepover that you had been ready to ditch for rafe. in that time you and your friends had taken off your makeup and changed into pajamas, munching on pizza on the floor of your bedroom while discussing the night’s events like you always did. you wipe your mouth, looking up at them incredulously.

“what?”

“you didn’t know that was rafe cameron? shut up.”

“he’s a psycho, that’s what she always says-”

“he was really nice to me,” you defend, not liking the way your friends sound right now. the rest of the night goes like that—you trying to counter and justify everything rafe did for you last night with your friends telling you it’s a good thing they dragged you away.

they fall asleep shortly after, but you lie awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what time your friends will leave in the morning. you’re making plans to go to tannyhill.

normally breakfast the morning after going out is a sacred ritual between you and your friends, which is why they’re extra surprised when you usher them out without any real reason. you hurry back to the kitchen after their car drives away, getting everything ready to make cookies and wondering which kind rafe likes best.

rafe sees it from inside tannyhill—the white bike with the wicker basket pulling up the driveway, the tiny figure dressed in pink parking it next to his truck. you climb off your bike and even from up here he can appreciate how short your dress is, how you almost gave the gardeners a show. he's gotta teach you to be more careful.

you reach into the basket to pull out a matching pink container, walking up to the front door. he’s down the stairs and opening the door before you’ve even had a chance to ring the doorbell.

you beam at rafe, hoping he remembers you and wasn’t drunk during that entire encounter. you smile brightly, offering the pink box of cookies to him.

“sorry to just drop by like this. i made cookies for you. um, to say thank you.”

“yeah, kid? that’s real cute.”

“oh. thank you.” he looks down at you, leaning against the door frame.

your chest is heaving, material of your tight dress moving up and down while you keep your gaze fixed on him, eyes big and blinking fast. you don’t even realize how you look right now, trusting and innocent and staring up at rafe like you’d do whatever he asked. if you looked like prey yesterday night, you’re the definition of an offering today, walking straight into the predator’s den.

“i didn’t know what kind you liked, so i made a whole bunch.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” you stare back at rafe for another few seconds, then tear your eyes away. you think he wants you to go, and as much as you like him, as much as you feel a little brainless around him, you’re not stupid—you can tell when you’re not wanted. “well, i should go. thanks again for last night.”

“stop thankin’ me. it was nothin’.” rafe steps out of the house, just a foot from you on the porch now. his hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you nearly jump at the touch. “come inside. can’t eat all these myself.”

your pretty smile comes rushing back, following him inside just like you had followed him to the dance floor yesterday, looking around at the walls of tannyhill. you’d been once before, years ago for a party for sarah’s birthday that the entire class had been invited to, but you hadn’t admired it then. nor did you realize what other treasures laid inside.

“want milk?” rafe questions, opening up the fridge while you rest your hands on the marble island in the kitchen. you nod your head, still looking around and taking in the new environment. rafe comes back to you with the jug of milk and two glasses, pouring you a cup first.

“how was the rest of your night?” you ask tentatively, breaking an oatmeal raisin cookie in half and offering rafe the other piece. he accepts it with a grin. you’re nervous—scared of the answer, wondering if another girl took your place after you left.

“boring. i left after you did.” he bites into the cookie, and then takes a sip of milk. if he thought you were beaming earlier, you’re radiant now—looking up at him like he’s hung the moon for you. your laugh—and even that’s pretty—fills the room.

“that’s not how you’re supposed to do it, rafe,” you giggle, dipping your own cookie into the milk first to demonstrate. “see?”

it’s quick. rafe takes your wrist into his hand, guiding it up to your mouth, making you take a bite. he doesn’t let go while he speaks, either.

“now it’s soggy. see?” you nod, watching where he’s touching you with big eyes. if you’re this reactive to a little skin contact, he’s dying to see what you’ll be like naked in his bed. he reminds himself to be patient.

“i didn’t realize i was doing it wrong,” you comment, picking up another cookie, this time snickerdoodle, to break in half. he’s half surprised at your compliance, half wondering what else he could convince you of with a little manhandling and kissing.

“don’t worry, kid. i’ll teach you right and wrong.”

#part 2 to down on me!#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #yes rafe eats cookies like that. monster!

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hellenicrisis · 5 months

Text

A Collection of Greek Keywords for Hellenic Pagans (kharis, miasma, etc.)

Kharis:

Kharis means 'grace' or 'favour' and it is in reference to the reciprocal nature of our relationships with the gods.

Liddell and Scott describe it as, "A grace or favour felt on the part of the doer but more frequently on the part of the receiver in the form or thankfulness and gratitude."

It essentially means a favour done in delight. This can be both the offering we give to the gods, and the favours and blessings the gods bestow upon us.

Kharis is both the action of offering and worshipping and also what is built between a worshipper and a god through the actions of offering and reverence. It can be used like this:

'Giving an offering to the gods is an example of kharis.'

Or:

'I have built up kharis with Apollo over the years.'

Khaire/khairete:

Khaire or khairete are words that mean 'hail', 'farewell', or 'blessings'.

It can be used to greet someone, either as hello or farewell (I use it at the end of some of my posts). It can also be used at the end of a prayer.

Khaire is used to address one person or god, and khairete is used to address a group.

Miasma:

Miasma means 'stain', 'pollution', 'defilement', or 'stain of guilt'.

It is a type of spiritual pollution that a person or a place can collect through either happenstance or deliberate action. It makes us spiritually unclean but there is no damnation involved in miasma and thus is not similar to sin. Sin is more comparable to agos, which is mentioned later.

We tend to collect miasma while going about day-to-day life, almost like getting our hands dirty while working. The stain it refers to is always one of a spiritual nature; miasma is a strictly spiritual concept.

It makes a person or place ritually impure, hence it is inappropriate to interact with the divine while in a miasmic state. The gods are said to reject the offerings of a miasmic person or to vacate a miasmic place until it is cleansed.

Human blood is also considered to be miasmic when spilled outside of battle, though this is not the case for menstrual blood (although I tend to avoid praying and doing rituals during that week anyway as I consider it to not be my cleanest state possible. I use this time to tend to my altar physically instead, cleaning it and reorganizing it).

Miasma is very common, everyone gets it, mostly due to plain daily life, though sometimes due to deliberate actions. Miasma can always be cleansed.

Sources of miasma include:

Death in the home - Pollutes the grieving and the home. People and home need to be cleansed before interacting with the gods or going to temple.

Birth - Because of the blood involved. Mother and baby are considered by traditional standards to be miasmic for three days postpartum and both are generally cleansed at five days postpartum.

Intercourse - Both parties are polluted by the act and must be cleansed before interacting with the gods or going to temple.

M*rder/m*nsl*ughter - This collects both miasma and agos. The m*rderer becomes miasmic, and a place can become miasmic if a m*rderer is free and unpunished there. This does not apply to blood spilled in battle.

There is a line in Hesiod's Works and Days that refers to the action of cleansing oneself of miasma before interacting with the gods. It reads, "Never pour a libation of sparkling wine to Zeus after dawn with unwashen hands, nor to others of the deathless gods."

Khernips:

Khernips means 'handwash', or 'lustral water'.

It is basically Hellenic holy water. It is used to purify ourselves of miasma before interacting with the gods.

It can be made by dropping burnt herbs or laurel leaves (bay leaves) in clean water, or by dropping a lit match in clean water. Simply washing our hands in plain water can work symbolically as well if done with the specific intention of purifying oneself.

Agos:

Agos means 'curse', 'pollution', or 'abomination'.

It can be considered as a step up to miasma and, while not quite the same, it could also be considered comparable to sin. It is brought about through deliberate actions and it is very difficult, if not impossible, to cleanse. Agos can also invoke the divine wrath of the gods, so it does involve a form of damnation

Some things that cause/invoke agos include:

Having intercourse inside a temple

Temple robbing

M*rder

Bloodshed inside a temple or on sacred grounds

Broken xenia

The refusal to properly bury a family member or a soldier (even an enemy soldier)

K*lling someone who is under the gods' protection

Offering human blood to the gods (due to its miasmic nature)

Agos is hardly as common as miasma, so it is not something the general practitioner should worry about.

#🏛🕯#hellenic pagan #hellenic paganism #pagan #paganism #helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic polythiest #polytheism #polytheist

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bby-deerling · 4 months

Text

against the kitchen floor (law x reader nsfw)

you push law to his breaking point. he bends for you.

18+, mdni, nsfw wc: 2.1k masterlist

cw: afab!reader, established relationship, toxic relationship dynamics, arguing, law is bad with feelings, ultimatums, angst with a happy ending (?), emotional roller coaster, make up sex, confessions, fingering, law has control issues, emotional manipulation, edging

tagging some law kissers: @eelnoise @ragethebunny @sanjisprincesswifey @willowhaze26 @risenwrites

Tension hangs low and thick in the air. The early, dreamlike glow that illuminates the sky shortly before the dawn breaks is far too weak to break beneath the waves, leaving the inside of the submarine quiet and dark—as murky and clouded as his demeanor as he pours himself a cup of coffee in silence. You eye him carefully, dancing gracefully along the line between staring intently and getting lost in the labyrinth of your own mind; the wheels were turning fast enough that Law could hear the cogs turning inside your head. He knows. He knows this conversation, the one that remains unspoken but hangs in the space between the two of you is imminent, though it doesn’t prevent him from attempting to avoid it. Feigning normalcy, he pours a splash of cream into his mug, and more than a splash into yours, sliding it across the counter towards you.

For a moment, there’s a respite from the painful tug on his heartstrings as a familiar sense of gratitude graces your features, though there’s a sad undertone in the smile you give him, as if this were the last time you’d be partaking in this daily ritual with him. He was far from a fool—he had seen your bags partially packed in your room, and though the gift of a cup of coffee was nothing out of the ordinary, something deep in his heart prayed that the simple gesture was enough to salvage things. Far from an ideal partner, Law was closed off, blunt, and stubborn, though he had thought you admired those qualities in him; however, here you were, on the verge of jumping ship into the cold depths of the unknown without so much as attempting to talk things out with him. As he sips from his mug, he watches you closely with his intense, molten stare; your lips part once, twice, three times without a single word escaping them. Vexed by your hesitation, he almost implores you to spit it out already, and bring your hidden woes out into the open so the two of you can fight about it, but he loses his nerve right as your voice breaks the silence.

“Do you love me?” you whisper numbly, all hint of emotion wiped from your face. The timbre of your voice betrays your pain as it wobbles and warbles, and almost fades into the stale air of the submarine.

Hitting his eardrums sharply, your words pierce straight through the thin membrane and send needles of pain into his head. He had attempted to prepare himself mentally for this conversation, but the reality crashing down on him like a violent, stormy wave is too much for him to handle, overwhelming him before his head even falls underneath the cool water.

“Of course I do. Have I given you the impression that I don’t?” he says; it’s curt, tense, and straddling the line between dismissive and disinterested as Law makes a last-ditch effort to shut the conversation down before it begins.

“Could have fooled me.” you rasp out, nearly choking on the short phrase. The tone that spills out of your throat says more than four simple words ever could, and Law knows full and well what you’re trying to tell him. You’ve never told me that you love me. You’ve been neglecting me. You never open up to me.

None of these sentiments were objectively untrue, but they anger Law nonetheless; his inner world was nearly entirely occupied by you, doubly so during long stretches underwater when a sense of stagnancy enveloped the Polar Tang, leaving the crew with nothing to do but float. As he wakes, his first action is to pull you closer to his chest and place a soft kiss to the back of your head. His time spent locked away in his office studying, drawing up plans, or organizing shifts for the crew is inefficient and takes far longer than it should on account of the visions of you dancing in his mind, distracting him from the dullness of necessary paperwork. Each tick of the clock in the evening is an incessant countdown to the time left until he can pull you close under the comforting confines of his sheets, drifting out of consciousness with you safely tucked into his side.

But how were you supposed to know? He never expresses those feelings, verbally or otherwise, and instead masks his affection for you with an unbreakable stony façade, concealing his feelings in an attempt to preserve his dignity.

He takes a while to speak, jaw clenching so hard he nearly hurts himself. “You’re not leaving.” he says lowly, with authority, and no room for argument, placing the venting of your frustrations on the backburner; Law could address those later, behind closed doors when his overwhelming fear and trembling dies down, but he can’t lose you—not without losing his own mind in the process.

“I didn’t say anything about—” you start, attempting to steer the conversation back to its original course with no avail.

“I saw your bags.” he spits out, unable to mask the pain in his voice. Your jaw snaps shut as your face burns red with the embarrassment of being found out as he continues. “Were you even planning on telling me? Or were you just going to slink off at the next port and disappear on me?” The sheer concept of abandonment has his dark eyes brimming with more pain than you’d ever seen in them, his stare holding a compounded sense of loss and agony.

“Law, I don’t want to go, but—” you whisper, whiny and almost verging into a desperate wail. His glare is dangerous and pins you in place, the edge of the counter digging into the flesh of your back.

“But what?” he hisses, venom and hurt coating his words as he cages you against the counter, arms on either side as he towers over you, puffing himself up in an attempt to plant your fleeing feet to the ground and make them stick.

“I can’t do this anymore if you keep me at arm’s length.” you say, voice wavering far more than you had intended it to; the words you had so carefully crafted in your head felt like daggers crawling up your throat, scratching the fleshy, mucus covered column to break skin along each stretch of their ascent. The last thing you wanted to do was leave him, but you couldn’t go on any longer giving pieces of yourself to a man who wouldn’t—or couldn’t—reciprocate the sentiment.

You needed his heart to spill, leaving pooling blood around your feet as proof that he was alive and beating.

As Law glares down at you, his grip on the counter causing his knuckles to turn a crisp white, he knows the time for bargaining for a lighter sentence had long since passed; it was either spew his guts for you to pick at like a vulture, or lose you to the soft roll of the tides. And so, with a deep breath, he’s forced to tell you why saying those three little words is so difficult for him, how the last time he heard them before you came along was from Corazón’s lips, and how he replays his death in his head every time he hears the phrase I love you, Law. He tells you, tears in his eyes, how he loved his parents, his sister, his neighbors and classmates, and that he fears that loving you—speaking it into existence—would condemn you to the same fate.

He tells you that he loves you, and that he has been loving you silently all this time.

It was the most emotion you had ever seen from Law in the many years you had known him, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and threatening to roll down the plane of his cheek. His confessions were more than enough to sate your need for trust and vulnerability from him, and seeing him so rattled left you with nothing in your chest but the intense need to soothe him. And so, your lips latch onto his, both of you murmuring a muffled I’m sorry into each other��s chapped and cracked mouths. Law had never pressed himself to your body harder as he threads a hand through your hair, digging his nails into your scalp to pull you closer. Coaxing your tongue to entwine with his by dragging gentle stripes along the wet muscle, he takes you, consuming your soul whole with each drag of his lips against yours. He’s messy—sloppy and messier than he’s ever been as he pours himself into you, each twitch of his tongue another confession too fragile to speak aloud.

“You’re not fucking leaving me.” he growls, placing his knee between your legs, “Not now, not ever.” Unable to temper his patience, his hand grasps harshly into your soft thigh, creeping upwards under your nightgown towards your core.

“I’m not—I love you, Law.” you whimper against him, allowing him turn the sounds dripping from your lips from devoted assurances to lewd mewls as he sinks a finger inside of you. His cold skin shocks the warmth of your insides, doubly so when he adds another digit and curls both upwards into your sweet spot.

“I love you too.” he whispers back; the sentiment still feels alien, and in a sense terrifying as it falls from his lips, though the discomfort is well worth its weight in platinum if it means keeping you wrapped around his fingers, his waist, and his heart. “Dripping wet for me—you needed this, didn’t you?” he murmurs, holding only the slightest bit of characteristic teasing in his voice, too mentally exhausted to do much besides act on instinct.

“Needed you. I always need you, Law.” you mumble between gasps as the press of his fingers inside of you brings heat pooling to your cheeks. Scissoring his fingers inside of you, he keeps you straddling the edge, a form of punishment for gaining control of him emotionally, enough to force him to divulge things he’d sworn to keep buried deep in his chest under heaps of cold, dense snow.

A heated whine settles in your throat as he slows down right before your precipice once more. "Lemme come…” you plead, your fingernails digging into the groove of his waist as you cling to him. Denying you the mercy you were expecting, he withdraws his fingers from you and pushes your shoulder down harshly, satisfied as he watches you sink to your knees, back dragging along the metal cupboards. He drops to your level unceremoniously, silently coaxing you to lay down, flush against the floor as he pins you below him like a lowly piece of prey. Latching his lips to yours again, he props himself up with one hand and lets the other roam, harshly grasping at your breasts, trailing down your sides and splaying out over your stomach, and finally settling between your legs, teasingly dragging along your slit, causing you to whine and grind against him. Giving into the sweet song of your begging, he circles his thumb along your aching bud, slowly working you up; tongue buried deep in your mouth, he intends on getting you close but not too close, wanting to keep you panting and writhing beneath you for his own benefit for a while longer. As you whine at the loss of contact against your clit, he undoes his zipper and lines himself up with you, slathering the head of his cock in the slick arousal that coats your folds and inner thighs.

The connection between you had been signed in consummating fluids and deep sighs hundreds of times over, but this is the first time that Law truly makes love to you. He slides into you, keeping his lips firmly on yours, his mind swirling with intimacy he thought himself incapable of. Full of newfound initiative to make you snap as soon as possible, his hand is quick to return to the needy, aching spot you need it most; his movements are practiced and hold precision honed over countless sessions tuning himself to your needs, but each touch is imbued with something novel, intoxicating, and foreign—as you turn red hot and flutter around him, Law is intent on showing you how much he loves you, sealing your promise to never leave him and using his flowing affections to keep you locked into that decision.

Law promises himself he’ll be better to you moving forward, that he will reassure you more, and take care of you in the same way you care for him, but in this moment, he places improvement on the backburner for a short while—all that mattered to him right now was you falling apart for him against the kitchen floor.

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law smut #law smut #law x you #trafalgar law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law #x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #one piece scenario

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ssahotchnerr · 10 months

Note

hotch keeping reader’s favourite tea in stock in his go-bag because he knows their stubborn ass can’t relax after a case without a nice cup of tea. reader is in a huff on the jet because they couldn’t find any in the kitchenette cupboard so Aaron goes digging in his bag, slinks off to the kitchen and returns with a steaming cup of tea for them 💓💓 basically pining!aaron being the sweetest most silently thoughtful boy ever

chamomile and honey

stop that's so 😭💛💞 cw; mention of food (if tea counts), comfort, aaron pining BIG TIME hehe he's so cute <3 wc; nearly 1k

after practically rearranging the entirety of the cupboard, you accepted defeat. but not without gently slamming it shut.

you sulked back to your seat, a huff escaping you as you slouched down within it, silently cursing yourself for not being proactive and buying more of your preferred tea. maybe it was your lack of sleep, but you could've sworn you hadn't been running low. not yet.

your exhale didn't go unnoticed; aaron's eyes lifted from the report he had already busied himself with, taking advantage of the long, late flight to silently work ahead. he noticed your pout, your clear displeasure, and that you were empty-handed.

everyone had their jet ride home rituals - morgan had his headphones, reid completed several books, jj phoned home, aaron had his paperwork and you had your tea.

it's been your thing since day one. the team all jokingly teased you about it, to which you rebutted right back, giggling away. but again, it was your thing. aaron couldn't recall a ride home where a mug wasn't nestled in your grasp, but he could recall numerous times where it eased your frustrated tears, helped you fall asleep, or simply relaxed you.

in addition, the smell of your tea was routine to him. the sweet aroma provided a lightness to the atmosphere; it kept the jet from feeling stuffy, seemingly cleansed any negativity dwelling from the case, and allowed aaron to maintain a clear head.

knowing you were calm, calmed him.

perhaps that's why when he was grocery shopping one day, and recognized your favorite brand and flavor of tea on one of the shelves, he tossed it into his cart without a second thought. and likewise, packed it into the side pocket of his go-bag the moment he was home.

and that's also why he didn't dare waste another second, depriving you of the comfort he knew you deeply and desperately craved.

closing the file in front of him, he swiftly got up in search of his bag, all while avoiding dave's prying and knowing eyes. once found and as expected, the tea was right where he left it - snug within the right side pocket.

he removed a tea bag and trailed to the kitchenette himself, grabbing ahold of a to-go cup and placing the small bag inside. next, he took hold of the already prepared kettle (his heart dropped a bit, knowing you had been the one to and ended up disappointed), pouring the water inside to the rim. after steeping the bag for a few minutes, he then mixed a teaspoon of honey inside, secured it with a lid to keep warm, and to prevent any hot water from scorching you if there was a bout of turbulence, before walking over to you.

you sensed him as he approached; your chin was resting on your hand as your peered out the window, watching the horizon pass, or as much as you could in the darkness. your eyebrows furrowed into a silent question as you noticed the cup in his hands, and then gazed up at him.

"chamomile, with an extra dash of honey. just how you like it."

it took you a second to internalize his words, and then your expression changed completely. your eyes lit up, your posture straightened in your chair, and the beautiful grin aaron loved so dearly took form on your face. "you better not be playing with me, hotchner."

"of course i'm not." aaron laughed lightly, handing the cup to your eager grabby hands before settling in the seat besides you.

you wholeheartedly believed him, but you still played it up. you playfully narrowed your eyes, while aaron cheekily shrugged his shoulders, as you took a timid sip. just as promised, you were met with your favorite delicate floral herbs, hints of apple and honey. and truthfully, it tasted so much better than the way you prepared it yourself.

the aaron hotchner touch, you supposed.

warmth filled you from head to toe, but it wasn't from the tea. you looked at aaron, utterly speechless and in complete awe.

aaron's ears turned slightly pink, a small, nervous chuckle escaping him, "what?"

"i'm just... in shock?" you laughed, an utmost fond glint for him in your eyes. "where'd you find it? am i just blind, i checked the cupboard three times at least."

his gaze averted from yours, an adorably boyish expression filling his face, "i can't reveal all my secrets, can i?"

"oh, that's right. you have to keep up your mysterious reputation, i almost forgot." you teased and took another sip, laughing gently against your cup.

aaron's lips tipped up into a smile, but quickly neutralized.

"but," he paused for a moment, finding your eyes, "i can say that i know how important it is for you to have this after a case. especially... after a case like that."

you sobered for a moment, silently nodding your head in agreement as your grip tightened slightly on your cup, holding it with both hands. the uneasiness you've felt the past few days threatened to return, but it couldn't. not now, not with the comfort and understanding deep in aaron's eyes, making your heart feel ten times too small.

you grabbed his hand, the squeeze you gave it in perfect timing with the flutter that produced in his heart. "thank you, really. i genuinely don't know what to say."

"you don't have to say anything. if it puts your mind at ease, that's... more than enough for me. truly."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fluff #aaron hotchner drabble

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huntiesworld · 6 days

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He loves me | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: Y/n loves to clean and do a everything shower and her nails. Matt her boyfriend can't help but to watch his girlfriend be so cute

Warning: Cuteness, adorable

Requested?: Nope!

Author's note: That is my work, Please DON’T COPY MY WORK!! I think some other people did this, But I made it my own twist. IF I DID COPY SOMEONE WORK, PLEASE TELL ME!!!

I also wanted to post this today, because I didn’t want to lose the plot of the Story! But I’ll still be posting the Matt one on Monday

Y/n woke up early on a sunny Saturday morning, the rays of the sun gently streaming through the curtains, casting a warm glow across her bedroom. Today was her dedicated cleaning day, as she felt a sense of satisfaction and purpose as she slipped out of her bed. She padded quietly across the floor, careful not to wake her boyfriend Matt, who was still sleeping soundly.

She headed straight to the bathroom, where she retrieved her favorite bottle of hair oil. It was her ritual to let the oil soak in her hair for the day before her evening shower. The fragrant scent of coconut and jasmine filled the air as she massaged the oil into her scalp, feeling the tension melt away. With her hair now glistening and neatly tied up in a bun, she washed her hands and moved on to the next task.

The kitchen was her next destination. Y/n loved the process of making coffee; the familiar routine brought her comfort. She filled the kettle with water and set it to boil, then carefully measured out the coffee grounds. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee soon filled the kitchen, invigorating her senses. She poured herself a steaming cup, taking a moment to savor the rich flavor before she got to work.

Armed with her coffee, Y/n began her cleaning routine. She started with the living room, dusting surfaces, fluffing pillows, and vacuuming the rug. Her favorite playlist played softly in the background, keeping her energized. As she moved from room to room, the house gradually transformed, each space becoming tidier and more inviting.

Meanwhile, Matt stirred awake, the sound of music and the faint hum of the vacuum reaching his ears. He stretched and got out of bed, curiosity pulling him towards the source of the activity. He walked into the living room and paused at the doorway, watching Y/n with a smile. She was lost in her rhythm, her movements graceful and purposeful. He admired her dedication and the way she brought warmth and order to their home.

"Good morning, love," he greeted, his voice still husky with sleep.

Y/n looked up, her face lighting up with a smile. "Morning, Matt. Did I wake you?"

"Not at all," he assured her, stepping closer to plant a kiss on her forehead. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

She blushed slightly, appreciating his words. "Thank you. I’m almost done here."

Matt offered to help, but Y/n insisted she was fine. She enjoyed these moments of solitude, where she could clear her mind as she cleaned. After a couple more hours, she finally finished, feeling accomplished as she looked around at the spotless rooms.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, signaling the approach of evening, Y/n headed back to the bathroom for her long-awaited shower.

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Y/n stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her reflection illuminated by the soft, warm light that Matt had installed just for her. She was in Matt's apartment for the weekend, enjoying their time together. She started her pre-shower routine, carefully applying her favorite hair oil to her dry hair. The oil was a luxurious blend of argan and coconut, and she massaged it into her scalp, working it down to the tips. Her hair immediately seemed to glisten, absorbing the nourishing oils.

Matt peeked in from the bedroom, captivated by her focused expression and the way her hands moved through her hair with such care. "You're really something, you know that?" he said, his voice filled with admiration.

Y/n smiled at him through the mirror. "Just trying to look my best for my handsome boyfriend.”

"You always look perfect to me," Matt replied, his eyes soft with affection.

She laughed softly, continuing her routine. After letting the oil sit for a few minutes, she stepped into the shower, the water running warm and soothing. She reached for her strawberry-scented shampoo, working it into a rich lather. Matt had noticed how she loved that scent, and he made sure to keep a bottle of it at his place just for her.

As she massaged the shampoo into her scalp, Matt couldn't help but be mesmerized. Her movements were deliberate and graceful, each action seeming to carry a sense of ritual and care. She rinsed the shampoo out, then applied a hair mask, running it through her strands with her fingers. The mask was thick and creamy, promising deep conditioning and shine.

While the mask did its magic, Y/n began to wash her body with a floral-scented body wash. The scent mingled with the strawberry, creating a delightful fragrance that filled the bathroom. She used a soft loofah, making sure every inch of her skin was gently scrubbed and clean. Then she reached for her razor, carefully shaving her legs and underarms, her skin left smooth and soft.

Matt leaned against the doorframe, unable to take his eyes off her. There was something so intimate and beautiful about watching her take care of herself. It was a side of Y/n that was private, yet she shared it with him, and that made him feel closer to her than ever.

After rinsing out the hair mask, Y/n applied conditioner, combing it through to ensure every strand was coated. She let it sit while she finished her shower, then rinsed it out thoroughly, her hair now feeling silky and smooth. She turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping herself in a fluffy pink towel.

Y/n moved to the vanity, beginning her post-shower routine. She applied a lightweight body lotion, the floral scent matching her body wash. Next, she turned her attention to her hair, gently towel-drying it before applying a leave-in conditioner and heat protectant. She plugged in her hairdryer and began to dry her hair in sections, using a round brush to add volume and shine.

As she worked, Matt came up behind her, watching in awe. “You make it look so easy.” he said, his voice filled with admiration.

“It just takes practice.” Y/n replied with a smile, her eyes meeting his in the mirror, “And a bit of patience.”

Once her hair was dry and styled, Y/n moved on to her skincare. She cleansed her face, applied toner, serum, and moisturizer, each step deliberate and soothing.

Matt watched, entranced by the transformation. "You’re stunning," he said softly, coming closer to place a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Y/n blushed, feeling a warmth spread through her. "Thank you, Matt."

She stood up and moved to the closet, picking out an outfit for her nail appointment she had with herself. Today was her self care day. She wanted something comfortable, something that made her feel cozy and relaxed. Reaching into the depths of her closet, Y/n pulled out a pair of soft, loose-fitting sweat. The light pink fabric felt like a cloud against her skin, she paired the sweats with her favorite oversized t-shirt.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he said, taking her hands in his and pulling her close. "I’m the luckiest guy in the world."

Y/n smiled up at him, her heart full. "I’m lucky too, Matt. Thank you for always making me feel so special."

“Now, time to do my nails!” she said happily, while clapping her hands.

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Y/n bustled around her living room, excitement bubbling within her as she prepared for at home Gel x manicure session. It had been a long week, and this was her way of winding down and indulging in a bit of self-care. She wanted everything to be perfect, from the setup to the final result.

First, she laid out a fluffy, white towel on her coffee table, creating a clean and soft surface to work on. Next, she brought out her Gel-X kit, which included everything she needed: a variety of gel nail tips, a bottle of nail glue, a UV lamp, and several shades of gel polish. She also placed her nail file, buffer, cuticle pusher, and some lint-free wipes neatly beside the kit.

Today, she planned to create a delicate floral design, something soft and feminine that reflected her love for all things pink and girly. Her boyfriend, Matt, sat nearby on her bed, his eyes following her every move with a mix of admiration and curiosity.

She began by prepping her nails, carefully pushing back her cuticles and shaping her nails with the file. The rhythmic motion was soothing, a ritual she found grounding. Once her nails were prepped, she selected the right size Gel-X tips, ensuring each one fit perfectly on her natural nails.

With precision, she applied a thin layer of nail glue to her first nail and gently pressed the gel tip into place. Holding it under the UV lamp, she watched as the glue cured, bonding the tip securely to her nail. She repeated this process for each finger, the UV lamp casting a soft, bluish glow that added to the serene ambiance of the room.

With all the tips in place, Y/n felt a surge of satisfaction. Now, it was time for the fun part: doing the design. She deliberated for a moment before painting her thumb, middle, ring and pinky a hot pink and her pointer finger a milky white.

"You're really good at this," Matt said, his voice filled with awe as he watched her carefully apply the base coat to her nails. "It's like watching an artist at work."

Y/n glanced up at him, a playful smile on her lips. "Oh, Matt, you flatter me too much. It's just nails."

"It's not just nails," he insisted, leaning forward slightly. "You put so much effort and detail into it. It's amazing."

Y/n's cheeks flushed a light pink, matching the color of the polish she was using. She steadied her hand and began to paint delicate pink petals on her nails, her concentration evident in her furrowed brow. Each stroke was precise, creating a beautiful, intricate pattern that seemed to bloom right before Matt's eyes.

"See?" Matt said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're incredible."

Y/n paused, looking at him with a mixture of pride and affection. "Thanks, Matt. It means a lot that you notice."

He smiled, his eyes never leaving her hands as she continued her work. She added tiny green leaves, a touch of glitter to the center of each flower, and a few rhinestones for that extra sparkle. The entire process was meticulous, but Y/n found it relaxing, almost meditative.

As she cured each layer under the UV lamp, she chatted with Matt about their plans for the weekend, her voice light and bubbly. He listened attentively, his gaze soft and loving.

"Can I try?" he asked suddenly, surprising her.

Y/n laughed, the sound like music to Matt's ears. "You want to do my nails?"

"Why not?" he replied, shrugging. "I want to see if I can make something as pretty as you do."

She handed him the brush, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Alright, give it a go. Just don't ruin my masterpiece."

Matt took the brush, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he attempted to mimic her delicate strokes. It was clear he wasn't as skilled, but Y/n watched him with a fond smile, appreciating his effort and enthusiasm.

"Not bad for a first try," she said encouragingly, though the design was far from perfect.

"Thanks," he replied, looking at her with a boyish grin. "But I think I'll leave the nail art to you from now on."

They both laughed, the sound filling the room with warmth and love. As Y/n finished her nails, adding a final glossy top coat, she felt a deep sense of contentment. Having Matt there, sharing in something she loved, made the moment even more special.

Once her nails were completely done, she held her hands up, admiring her work. "What do you think?" she asked, turning her hands this way and that to catch the light.

"Beautiful," Matt said, his eyes locked on her. "Just like you."

Y/n blushed again, the color in her cheeks rivaling the pink polish on her nails. She leaned over, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. "You're the best, you know that?"

"I try," he replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "Anything for you, Y/n."

Y/n cleaned up her workspace, putting away her tools and blowing out the candle. She sat back in her chair, a smile playing on her lips as she looked at her newly done nails. They gleamed under the soft lighting, a testament to her care and attention to detail.

Their lips met, the kiss tender and filled with the unspoken promise of their deep connection.

They pulled apart, still holding each other’s gaze. Matt brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I love everything about you, Y/n. Every little detail, every moment we share. You make even the simplest things seem magical."

Y/n smiled, her eyes shimmering with happiness. "I love you too, Matt. More than words can say."

In that cozy bedroom. Surrounded by steam and the scent of strawberries, they stood together, wrapped in each other’s presence. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, bound by love and the magic of everyday moments. Soon both fall asleep with big smiles on their faces.

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Y/n stirred slightly as the morning light seeped through the curtains. The gentle rustling of the sheets and the warm presence next to her signaled that Matt was already awake. She felt a soft kiss on her forehead, and she slowly opened her eyes to see Matt’s smiling face.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Matt whispered, his voice filled with warmth.

“Good morning,” Y/n replied, her voice still groggy from sleep.

“I have a surprise for you today,” he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “You did such an amazing job cleaning the house yesterday, so I thought we could spend the day shopping. How does that sound?”

Y/n’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Really? That sounds wonderful!”

“Great! Take your time getting ready. I want you to feel special today,” Matt said, giving her another kiss before heading to the kitchen to prepare some coffee.

Y/n stretched and got out of bed, feeling a rush of anticipation for the day ahead. She headed to the bathroom to start her morning routine. First, she splashed her face with cool water to wake herself up, then reached for her favorite cleanser, massaging it gently into her skin. She followed with toner, serum, and moisturizer, taking her time with each step to ensure her skin felt refreshed and hydrated.

Next, she moved on to her makeup. She applied a light foundation, followed by a touch of blush to give her cheeks a natural glow. She opted for a soft, romantic look, using pastel eyeshadows and a hint of eyeliner to make her eyes pop. She finished with a swipe of pink lipstick, completing the look with a touch of gloss.

Feeling satisfied with her makeup, Y/n moved to her closet to pick out an outfit. She wanted something that captured her coquette style—feminine, playful, and a bit vintage-inspired. She selected a light pink, lace-trimmed blouse and paired it with a high-waisted, floral skirt that flared out just above her knees. She added a pair of white, knee-high socks and slipped into her favorite pair of Mary Jane shoes. To complete the look, she chose a delicate pearl necklace and matching earrings.

As she admired her reflection in the mirror, she felt a surge of confidence. Today was going to be special.

When Y/n walked into the kitchen, Matt was setting two cups of steaming coffee on the table. He looked up and his eyes widened in admiration.

“Wow, Y/n, you look stunning,” he said, walking over to her and taking her hands in his. “You always look beautiful, but today you look extra special.”

“Thank you, Matt,” Y/n said, blushing. “I’m excited for today.”

They enjoyed their coffee together, chatting and laughing, the anticipation building. Once they finished, they headed out to Matt’s car, ready for their shopping adventure.

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“Where do you wanna start?” Matt asked, his voice warm and encouraging.

Y/n looked around, her gaze landing on a display of edgy, stylish pieces that were a far cry from her usual pink and frilly dresses. “Let’s start over there,” she said, pointing towards a rack of leather jackets and graphic tees.

As they walked over, Y/n’s excitement grew. She ran her fingers over the fabrics, feeling the smooth leather and soft cotton. She pulled out a black leather jacket, holding it up to her frame. “What do you think?” she asked, glancing at Matt.

“You’d look amazing in that,” Matt replied, his eyes filled with admiration. “Try it on.”

Y/n slipped on the jacket, the cool leather a stark contrast to her usual soft fabrics. She looked at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that. The jacket fit perfectly, adding an edgy vibe to her look. She couldn’t help but smile, feeling a surge of confidence.

Next, she picked out a pair of ripped jeans and a vintage band tee. She went into the dressing room, eager to see how the pieces would look together. When she emerged, Matt’s jaw dropped slightly.

“Wow,” he said, his voice full of genuine awe. “You look incredible, Y/n.”

She blushed, feeling a thrill at his reaction. “Really? It’s so different from what I usually wear.”

“And it suits you perfectly,” Matt assured her. “You can pull off any style.”

Encouraged by his words, Y/n continued exploring the store, trying on various outfits. She experimented with bohemian maxi dresses, chic blazers, and bold prints. Each time she stepped out of the dressing room, Matt’s eyes lit up with love and admiration.

Y/n found herself gravitating towards a mixture of styles – a leather jacket here, a flowy boho dress there, and even some preppy pieces with a modern twist. She was having the time of her life, and Matt’s unwavering support made the experience even more special.

After a few hours, they decided to take a break at a nearby café. They sat by the window, their shopping bags piled next to them. Y/n sipped her iced coffee, feeling elated and a bit tired from all the excitement.

“I had so much fun today,” she said, smiling at Matt. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course, Y/n. I loved every minute of it,” Matt replied, reaching across the table to hold her hand. “Seeing you so happy and confident made my day.”

Y/n squeezed his hand, feeling a rush of affection. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Your support means everything to me.”

Matt leaned in, his gaze tender. “I love seeing you explore and try new things. No matter what you wear, you’ll always be the most beautiful person in the world to me.”

Y/n felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by his love and kindness. “I love you so much, Matt.”

“I love you too, Y/n,” he said softly.

They finished their drinks, chatting about their favorite outfits and planning future shopping trips. As they left the café, Y/n felt a renewed sense of confidence and excitement about her evolving style. With Matt by her side, she knew she could take on any fashion adventure and look fabulous doing it.

Together, they walked hand in hand through the bustling shopping district, ready to face whatever fashion trends the future held, their hearts intertwined and full of love.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As they walked into the house, Y/n looked around at the clean, cozy space she had worked so hard to perfect. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction, not just from the shopping spree, but from the love and appreciation Matt had shown her.

“Thank you for making today so special,” Y/n said, leaning into Matt’s embrace.

“Anytime, Y/n. You mean the world to me,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.

They spent the evening together, snuggled on the couch, talking about their favorite moments from the day. Y/n felt cherished and loved, knowing that she had someone who recognized and appreciated all she did. It had been a perfect day, and she couldn’t wait to see what the future held for them.

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I looked through this like five times. it looks fine but I still feel like its all over the place. BUT ENJOY!!!!

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #coquette

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ironskyfinder · 3 months

Text

"Keep up."

“Keep up” he said, blowing out the cloud of smoke into her face and pushing the bong towards her.

She wiped the little bit of vodka that had spilled on her lips away with her hand and pointed to the bottle of soda behind him. “Chaser, please,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse and her throat burning.

“Finish the bowl first,” he held the tool over the bowl

She pressed her lips to the glass and started to pull. The smoke was thick and starting to yellow when he pulled the bowl and let her try to clear it - but her lungs weren’t big enough and she couldn’t help but cough, and cough, and gasp, and -

He pushed the soda bottle into her hands, and she managed a swallow before she was coughing again, hard, harder than before, seeing spots each time. Trying desperately to catch her breath, or some air, or some relief, until finally she managed a few raw lungfuls and slouched back into the chair.

“You said you could keep up,” he laughed.

She made a noise somewhere between a moan and a whine. That had been hours ago, at dinner at that upscale steakhouse, and she’d meant it about the moscow mules they’d been drinking - and about the vape pen outside, she had to admit.

But it was pride that made her say it about the edible in the uber, and about the detour to the dive bar downtown and the three shots there. The ride back was hazy but they’d definitely hit the pen and made the driver mad, she remembered laughing as he drove away.

They were at his house, and as they were standing at the door she’d kissed him. She remembered being in the kitchen, and him pouring her a mixed drink that tasted like candy and coffee. That she blamed on stubbornness, demanding he pour her just as much, and proving she was tough by hitting his pen.

But then she’d said - something - and now they were downstairs and she was proving she could go shot for shot and dab for dab and she couldn’t remember if her shirt being off was part of that deal or if she was just hot. How had she ended up sitting in his lap?

“Do you need a break?” he teased. He sounded like he was teasing. And she did need the break, needed fresh air and water and maybe to lie down for a while in the dark, but she couldn’t stop now. He was teasing her, she had to prove it.

She looked at him, the words taking too long to form. “Is it a shot or a dab?” she said, avoiding the question.

“You’re way behind, silly,” he chuckled. “There’s no way you catch up now.”

“What?” she twisted to face him. “Why? What am I at?”

He pointed to the table, to the other side, where there was a line of shots laid out. Four. The room was already spinning. There were pennies - nickels? Why were there coins? - between them, and one on each end.

She must’ve looked extra confused.

“Six dabs and four shots,” there was a slur in his voice as they shifted a little in the chair, and she leaned into it, into him. His arm was around her waist, she was so hot and she couldn’t move but that at least felt nice and his chest rumbled when he spoke. “I am, right now, six dabs and four shots ahead of you.”

Her heart was racing, she felt - not tired, but drifty. She tried to stand, he groped her ass at just the perfect time to weaken her knees and she collapsed back onto him. They were both laughing, then he looked down and kissed her, and she was grinding on his thigh as they made out like teenagers. She was reaching back for her bra when he stopped her.

“You said not until you proved you could keep up - or are you giving up?” he asked.

She remembered it as he said it. They’d been in the kitchen, he’d offered her an energy drink and had said it was ‘pretty intense’ and that he wouldn’t think less of her for not keeping up, and she’d told him that not only could she keep up but that she wouldn’t fuck him until he admitted it. He’d laughed and asked if that included his Friday night ritual, and she’d said it had - why did she keep agreeing to things like that? - and then he’d told her about the dabs downstairs and she’d gotten dizzy with excitement.

Now she was just dizzy. She relaxed into him and he groped her again, and she moaned a little despite herself. Feeling herself start to black out, she was reaching for the shot glasses and the suddenly -

- they’d moved, she was straddling his knee and he was holding the bong to her mouth, something was different but the only thing she could do was keep inhaling, even if her lungs were almost full. She twisted away from the glass but before she could exhale he clapped a hand on her face, covering her mouth, holding her nose, and she couldn’t do anything but writhe in his lap and struggle for air.

“Seven, six, five, four,” he was counting - why was he counting? She couldn’t breath, her lungs were burning and she felt like her chest would explode.

She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes as everything started to fuzz and dim, trying to hold on -

- and he pulled his hand away just a little, just long enough to blow out the cloud he’d made her hold, but before she could inhale the hand was back and now her starved lungs were screaming for air -

- for some reason, him laughing at her was hotter when she couldn’t breathe. “I like the way you arch your back,” he chuckled into her ear. “Going to show me more of that later?”

She nodded weakly, barely hearing him.

His hand moved away and she was gasping again, pulling forward as she filled her lungs over and over, desperately.

She looked up. Three shot glasses and four of the coins, piled over on the side. She couldn’t feel her face but there were only two shots left, she was catching up, and she couldn’t help but smile even as she steadied her breathing.

“What the fuuuck,” she slurred as she finished catching her breath. “What the fuck was that?”

He picked up a shot glass and her mind blanked - how was she supposed to take that shot when the room was moving so fast? - but then he raised it to his own lips and knocked it back.

“Do you not remember? You said if I made you hold it for just as long, it’d have to count for two.”

She shook her head and the room tilted with her. He coughed a little as he set the shot glass down in the pile with a clink, and slid two of the coins over to the pile. She stared at it for a moment before it clicked.

“Wait, what about the shot?” He laughed and she blushed and finished, “aah, what?”

“You really blacked out, huh?”

“Maybe a lil’ - a little bit,” she admitted. “It’s a lot. You’re a lot.”

“You don’t remember arguing about hypnosis?”

She shook her head. “Hypnosis is fake. And stupid.”

“We already - right. Well, deal was I take your shots for you and you try it. No harm, right?”

She rolled her eyes and reached for the next shot glass, pulling it toward her. He was saying something about it not being a good idea, and it was almost too heavy to lift, but she was determined to - prove him wrong? No - but she was determined to do it, and as soon as the glass hit her lips, even before she tasted the burn, she was gone again.

She opened her eyes, like in a dream.

He was talking and his words were like velvet in her ears. Convincing words, important words, the words didn’t matter as much as how they sounded, and they sounded like beautiful music, pulling her thoughts down into the melody.

And she was about to fully fall away when she heard that voice, telling her to keep up.

Far away, in her body, she felt - so much sensation - and then her body was getting heavier, and heavier, and she started to sway, and drift, and she was nearly falling, so heavy that no part of her could resist.

Then she heard his voice in her ear, and as he said the words it was easy for her to keep up.

And then his hungry mouth was on hers, but he was exhaling delicious smoke, and she breathed it in and it sent her reeling, she was barely holding on through the dizzy haze.

As she started to black out again, his voice was in her ear, reminding her she would always find a way to keep up.

#patriarchy kink #cvmdump #bitchmaker #corruption kink #mind control #intox kink #forced intox

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ambermotta · 7 months

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Protection Magic: Some Important Concepts

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Long post based on my experience and research. Meant to be informative. I don't claim to know the absolute truth.

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Protection magic is any type of work meant to protect A from B, and there are many ways that this can be done: prayers, charms, talismans, tokens, casting circles, setting up wards, visualization. The list can go on and on because it can be done in many different ways and combining many different methods.

But methods are not the topic of this post today. No, today I would like to talk about some key concepts to keep in mind before getting started on making protections and keeping them effective.

The Importance of Cleansing

Before doing any protection work I like to do a cleansing. Imagine you have an open water bottle, and because it was open, a lot of dirt has found its way into it over time. You decide to seal the bottle so no dirt comes in, but you don't pour out the old water, so you end up sealing it in. Yes, you'll keep more dirt from coming in, but the muck is still there.

It is easier to see this being applied to a physical location, but I personally also apply this to personal protective tokens. I feel they work better when you are taking care of your energies by doing regular cleanses and managing internal negativity.

Important Definitions

Protection ≠ Banishing ≠ Cleansing

I feel a lot of people are under the impression that these are all the same. I think they all work together towards a similar goal, but their jobs are different.

Protection: protecting something from something

Banishing: driving out entities

Cleansing: clearing out energy

You can do cleansing, banishing, and protection at the same time, but that doesn't mean they are the same. You can do a ritual including all of them, but you can also just do a cleansing or just do warding (which is a form of protection).

Note: cleansing is not restricted to “negative energy”. You can cleanse any kind of energy. Exemple: a friend of yours decides tarot is not for them and hands down their deck to you. If you wanna work with that deck it is highly advisable that you do a thorough cleansing of it and then infuse it/consecrate it with the energies you want. It's not that your friend has “bad” energy, it's just that you might not want to work with the same energies they have, or use a tool that has someone else's energy in it.

Not Necessarily a Lazy Job

One important thing with protection magic is that no matter how strong or how successful are at doing it is that it is not failproof. I have yet to see protection work that lasts forever, and there may be a few reasons for it.

Negativity also comes from within

Imagine you have a fish inside an open fish tank. Just like the bottle example earlier, you decide to put a lid on so you prevent leaves from falling into the tank and polluting the water. However, there's a fish, a living being in there, and it produces waste. It is impossible for the fish to live without producing waste. If you don’t regularly clean the water, ammonia and fecal matter will build up.

In this analogy, you are the fish. I am the fish. Humans literally cannot live without ever having a negative thought or feeling, it is part of our existence and we have to live with it. No one lives in constant bliss.

That doesn't mean we have to live in the muck though. That's why cleansing yourself is important.

No one is immune to the environment

Here I have another analogy for you. Imagine you're facing a harsh winter, but you are safe in the security and warmth of your house. Your house is protected from the cold so you don't even mind it. However, you have to go outside. You dress up, go out and you feel very, very cold. You could perhaps wear something warmer, but it will never feel the same as home. Yet it is better than going outside naked, no?

Same thing for energies. You can have protection, but depending on how strong the energy in the environment is you are sure to feel it to at least some degree. However it's best to have some protection than no protection at all.

And there is a difference between Feeling an energy and dwelling in it vs Feeling an energy and not letting it latch onto you.

Energy can wear off, and new energy can build up

Energy is ever changing, ever moving. If you do a strong protection spell once, it can last for a long while, but if you forget about it it will likely lose a lot of its strength over time. Some of what you put out there might wear off and be substituted by something else. The energy can also grow stale, which means it becomes less effective.

But if you do a strong spell every month you will not only make your protections stronger, but also constantly renew the energies and not let them stagnate.

So keep doing cleanses and every now and then give a boost to your protections so they are refreshed and recharged.

Note on "Negative Energy"

One of the main reasons someone might choose to do a protection ritual and a cleansing is to ward off negative energy. But is that really needed? What is "negative energy"?

Negative energy might feel like a sense of heaviness, dread, pain, sadness, feeling ill, angry, sad or anxious. Emotions produce and attract what we can call "negative energy", the same way it can make us feel those things.

And while I personally think nobody wants to feel them, we must understand they are not always bad at their core.

The uncomfortable feelings they can cause may also be a gateway for healing and transformation. Pain tells us there is something that needs to be worked on, that needs change.

If you are feeling negative, ask yourself why. Why does this bother me? What makes me feel this way? What can I learn from this pain?

If you happen to feel negative energy, it is good to cleanse and protect. But I advise you to always look for the source to see what can be done about it or what you can learn from it. Don't just try to use spellcasting to run away from your shit. Own your shit. Deal with it.

Otherwise, it will keep coming back no matter how much protection you have.

Conclusion

It is impossible to always be free from “negative energy” all the time, no matter how strong your protections are. But protections can absorb some of the blows that you would otherwise take and ease the ones you were going to take no matter what.

Protection magic alone will not solve all your problems. It is a great tool to help you keep your center and remain grounded, but it is not usually something you do once and forget. It is a continuous, ever evolving work, meant to be used in conjunction with other types of spellwork.

And most importantly, it can give you some comfort through the many trials of life.

Thank you for reading, and good luck on your path! ♡

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cherepizza · 6 months

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Wow it's been more than a month. Didn't realize that. I guess I have something to show but uhh my sketchbook got under heavy rain so paper here it's a little wavy. It's a miracle it had so little damage considering what happened to my other stuff. Also nights proceed to get longer and I wasn't lucky to take better photos. Anyway..

All beacons' religions are based on mythology and existence of numerous gods and spirits inhabiting the world. The closest thing they have to monotheism is a religion formed around the existence of a transcendent all-present force (spirit) which, however, cannot perceive the world and interact with it by itself, only being able to do so by splitting itself into many different "sides". Only sides are able to maintain physical bodies and though they all come from the same source and it the end would become one again, they are treated as completely different entities. There're 8 major sides – 8 major gods, other deities are considered lesser. Aand I'll just leave it there because I'd better wait for the time I have a fine picture depicting gods to have at least something accompany a ton of sentences that would come describing them.

Many religions practices and ceremonies are performed at altars. The most simple home altar is a wooden table, low enough so that a beacon would have to kneel down to perform any ritual. The most common offering is food, other offerings include things associated with a specific god. Watered down alcohol may be poured only on certain celebrations. It's a very uncommon practice and in some households it's not allowed and has to be done secretly. After all, you want your gods to be sober to do their duty.

Living creatures sacrifices are also practiced, but sacrificing other beacons is forbidden (at least on the territory of the forementioned "all comes from one spirit" believers). Animals cannot be sacrificed on wooden altars and it's quite rare for a beacon to a have a stone one at home, so cooking and eating a designated animal or specific parts of it (obviously offering a piece to the gods in the process) on a celebration is usually enough.

An interesting religious thing are these sticks made from wood or bone, always coming in number of 8. If their owner didn't make them themselves, they may have some standard decorations and phrases pre-carved but most part of their sides would always remain empty for the owner to fill. Each stick is devoted to one of the major gods and contains an encarved list of things which a beacon wants to ask for from the deity. An altar is not needed when you have sticks but you should still make an offering if possible.

The sticks also serve as some sort of passport as encarvings may contain information about beacon's place of birth, place of work, profession, number of children and other things like the kind of crop their village grows even if the owner has nothing to do with farming but wants the crop to be protected anyway.

All stick sets are personal and follow their owner to the grave. However, taking copies is not frowned upon. Keeping the original set for yourself and leaving a copy with the deseased is also fine but the ritual of changing sets should be performed by close relatives who wish to keep the original sticks as a memory. Otherwise it might be considered disrespectful.

#speculative biology #spec bio

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inky-duchess · 8 months

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Etiquette of the Edwardian Era and La Belle Époque: Tea

This is a new set of posts focusing on the period of time stretching from the late 19th century to the early 20th Century right up to the start of WWI. I'll be going through different aspects of life. This series can be linked to my Great House series as well as my Season post and Debutant post.

Today will be focusing on the rules of tea with this time period.

Tea was a staple in society, not only as a comforting beverage but as a social gathering beset by strict rules. Etiquette at tea is not only important for guests but is a sign of respect to one's host.

High Tea vs Afternoon Tea

You're reading both terms and you're thinking high tea is the formal version and afternoon is informal. In fact, no. It is the opposite. High tea was actually served far later, about 6pm/7pm and focused on more savoury, substantial dishes. High tea was more of a lower class tradition, designed to fill the stomachs of hungry workers. The word "high" is derived from the tall tables used. Afternoon tea is served at 4pm, designed to fill the gap between lunch and dinner. Afternoon tea is served at low tables with all the guests seated and involve a lighter meal, more nibbles than anything.

Hosting and Attending Tea

Tea is an event that happens every day, it's not an excuse for a snack, it's a ritual. One can have tea served in one's own home or at the home of a friend. One must be invited to tea, one can't just show up and expect to get fed. Tea was typically served in libraries or drawing rooms and done times outside in the gardens if weather permits. One had to dress for tea usually in comfortable but appropriate clothing. Men would wear suits, women would wear tea gowns or a simple gown - keeping their hats upon their head, if they are visiting. Tea was not poured by the footman but by the host or if it is a large party, by one assigned guest. The hostess or designated tea pourer would serve themselves last.

The Tea Set

Tea sets are highly coveted and much remarked upon at tea. One would usually inherit a service (that's what the collection was called) or be gifted it at one's wedding. Services would all match and most households had different kinds, the best usually reserved for important guests.

Teapot: the tea pot held the hot water and tea leaves was was usually made of china and decorated.

Cups: the cups were generally low, shallow.

Saucer: a small plate for the cup to rest on

Tea cannister: where dried tea leaves would rest until needed.

Sugar bowl: was a small container made of china with a cover to protect the sugar from moisture.

Milk jug: a container for the milk

Slop basin: was a porcelain dish used for disposing tea leaves left behind with the dregs of tea.

Tea spoon: small spoon used to stir tea

Side Plate: small serving plate used for food.

As you might have noticed, other than a tea spoon, cutlery is not listed. There would be a spoon for jam and a knife for a scone, most food was designed to be eaten with one's hands.

There is also one instrument not listed here and it's the most recognisable thing at afternoon tea.

The Tiered Tray

The tiered tray is a set of trays stacked upon one another holding on each one, a different course. Sandwiches and savouries were served on the bottom (Favourites include smoked salmon, cucumber, cress, egg salad sandwiches), scones on the second and sweeter delights served on the top (sponge cake, macaroons, pastries etc). One would begin ay the bottom and work one's way upward.

Making the Perfect Cup of Tea in the Edwardian Era/Belle Epoque/Gilded Age

Disclaimers: Let's make one thing clear. Tea is not prepared one way for all. Tea is culturally important across the world and every culture has their own rules about how tea is consumed and served. There's no one right way.

I will be discussing the English way of brewing tea in this post.

As mentioned before, tea is held in a cannister before use. Tea leaves were added to the hot water and lightly stirred.

Controversially for most people, milk was commonly added first.

One would then set a strainer in one's cup, tilting the pot. The strainer will catch the leaves and leave your cup almost tea-pulp free.

With the tea added, one could add in sugar. The trick is not to make a show about it or be too loud. One simply should gently turn your spoon from the 6 o'clock position to the 12 o'clock position. Also, the spoon rests on the saucer when not in use and doesn't stay in your cup.

When drinking your tea, put your pinky down. That's an American myth. Simply lift your cup to you, lifting the cup to your mouth by the handle. Saucers are not lifted unless your cup is far away. Don't slurp it, there's plenty more where that came from.

Etiquette at Tea

Afternoon tea is for light conversation, do avoid heavy topics.

Listen attentively when being spoken to.

Don't talk with your mouth full or stuff your mouth. Typically everything should be polished off with 2-3 bites.

Gloves should be removed at tea because one is eating with their fingers.

If one is leaving the table to go to the bathroom or a breath of air, simply turn to your neighbours and excuse yourself. No explanation needed.

Napkins should be removed from the table and set across one's lap when one is sitting down. When finished with tea, set it beside your plate before you rise.

Also you daub, not smear.

Don't cut your scone but break it.

Don't lick your fingers.

Don't bang the spoon on the side of the cup.

Also there's no dunking biscuits into your tea. It's just not done at afternoon tea.

Never thank the staff for fetching anything - or at very least, don't be overhead doing so.

Always say your goodbyes to the hostess and compliment the tea, even if you had a rubbish time.

Also most importantly, never criticise somebody else's manners. That's the height of rudeness.

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southernmermaidsgrotto · 9 months

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There's levels to ancestral connection, and you shouldn't skip any of them.

Take this as your reminder to first of all, spend time with your spirits, without expecting anything in return. Heavy on that last part. You don't make and maintain a genuine connection with someone just by showing up to their doorstep every time you need something from them. Treat them as people because they are. Your people. You should care for them as much as they care for you.

Be it ancestors (specifically direct blood lineage or adoptive family, any deceased human relative) or ancestral spirits (in general, that is, all ancestral allies and hereditary connections not just your ancestors). Just make time to hang out. Walk up to their space, a cup of your favorite drink in hand, give them their preferred drink and just chat. Don't ask anything in return. If you have an altar for them, do that. But it can be just going to visit their graves and giving libations and flowers, and telling them how your life's going, sharing memories together, remembrance, or just to listen. It can also be going to the beach or a river, and same thing, pour a drink and talk to them, and listen back. It can be your plant allies, while you're watering them, or putting eggshells or honey or sugar water or other good nutrients and fertilizers on their soil. It can be visiting your ancestors in dreams, and spending time with them there. There's so many ways to do this.

The second level to this is letting them sit in your body too. Listen. Become familiar with how they make you feel. With the signs of their arrival and presence. With the signs they communicate with and what they mean to you. With how they let you know they have a message, or that they're in for a visit. And let them in. Dance to your grandma's favorite beats. Sing your grandpa's favorite songs. Make a family recipe and share a meal with them, enjoy it for them and with them.

Ancestral reverence isn't just the big rituals and they're not the most important aspect of it, it is the everyday coexistence, in your little but constant everyday ways.

Do as you do but also as they did. You're an extension of them and they're an extension of you. They not only walk with you, you carry them within you.

Honor that.

#there's more and I may expand on it later #but this is it for now #hoodoo #ancestral reverence #ancestor worship #brujería #curanderismo #conjure #black conjure #brujeria

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ohsalome · 6 months

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What Ukrainians ate to survive Holodomor

(translated excerpts from an Історична Правда article): + images source

The villagers would dig up the holes of the polecats to find at least a handful of grain hidden by these animals. They pounded it in a mortar, added a handful of oilcake (from hemp seed), beetroot, potato peelings, and baked something from this mixture.

Those who managed to hide at least a little grain would grind it in iron mills made from wheel axles and cook "zatyrukha" (a concoction made from a small amount of flour ground from ears of grain).

Acacia flowers were boiled and eaten raw, and green quinoa was mixed with crushed corn cobs. Those who could - and this was considered lucky - added a handful of bran. This food made their feet swell and their skin crack.

The peasants dried the husked ears of corn and millet husks, pounded them, ground them with weeds, and cooked soups and baked pancakes. Such dishes were impossible to chew, the body could not digest them, so people had stomach aches. Pancakes, the so-called "matorzhenyky", were made from oilcake and nettle or plantain.

It went so far that peasants would crumble straw into small chips and pound it in a mortar together with millet and buckwheat chaff, and tree bark. All this was mixed with potato peelings, which were very poisonous, and this mixture was used to bake "bread", the consumption of which caused severe stomach diseases.

There were cases when village activists took away and broke millstones, mortars, poured water on the heat in their ovens. After all, anything found or saved from the food had to be cooked on fire, and matches could only be purchased by bartering for their own belongings or by buying them in the city, which was impossible from villagers that were on "black lists".

Chestnuts, aspen and birch bark, buds, reed roots, hawthorn and rose hips, which were the most delicious, were used as food substitutes; various berries, even poisonous ones, were picked; grass seeds were ground into flour; "honey" from sugar beets was cooked, and water brewed with cherry branches was drunk. They also ate the kernels of sunflower seeds.

Newborns had the worst of it, because their mothers had no breast milk. According to testimonies, a mother would let her child suck the drink from the top of the poppy head, and the child would fall asleep for three days.

In early spring, the villagers began to dig up old potato fields. They would bake dumplings from frozen potatoes, grind rotten potatoes in a mash and make pancakes, greasing the frying pan with wheel grease. They also baked "blyuvaly" (transl. "vomities") from such potatoes and oatmeal mixed with water, which was so called because they were very smelly.

They ate mice, rats, frogs, hedgehogs, snakes, beetles, ants, worms, i.e. things that weren't a part of food bans and had never been eaten by people before. The horror of the famine is also evidenced by the consumption of spiders, which are forbidden to kill in Ukrainian society for ritual reasons.

In some areas, slugs were boiled into a soup, and the cartilaginous meat was chopped and mixed with leaves. This prevented swelling of the body and contributed to survival. People caught tadpoles, frogs, lizards, turtles, and mollusks. They boiled them, adding a little salt if there was salt. The starving people caught cranes, storks, and herons, which have been protected in Ukraine for centuries, and their nests were never destroyed. According to folk beliefs, eating stork meat was equated with cannibalism.

The consumption of horse meat began in 1931, before the mass famine. People used to take dead horsemeat from the cemeteries at night, make jelly out of it and salt it for future use.

Dead horses were poured with carbolic acid to prevent people from taking their meat, but it hardly stopped anybody. Dead collective farm pigs were also doused with kerosene to prevent people from dismantling them for food, but this did not help either.

After long periods of starvatiom, the process of digestion is very costing for the human body, and many people who would eat anything would drop dead immediately out of exhaustion.

If a family had a cow hidden somewhere in the forest, they had a chance to survive. People living near forests could hunt/seek out berries and mushrooms, but during winter this wouldn't save them. People living near rivers could fish in secret, but it was banned and punishable by imprisonment/death.

#holodomor #ukraine #history #ukrainian history #genocide #ussr #communism

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