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lightsoutletsgo · 1 month

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flowers are a language of their own — mv.1

pairing: max verstappen x reader word count: 4.2k warnings: slight angst

four times max gives you flowers and the first time you reciprocate, a childhood friends to lovers oneshot this is basically inspired by gwen and for gwen 😭 @verstappen-cult once again thanking you for my max brain rot bc these conversations are just DOING something to me skskksjsj but MWAH! I hope you like it my love 🤍 happy reading! mimi

i. daisies; new beginnings, innocence, cheerfulness (age 6) You hadn’t been at your new school very long, having moved to the town recently. You’d struggled with making new friends, the new language making things even more difficult. But this had really ruined your day. Your bottom lip jutted out and began to wobble as you looked at your drawing you’d spent the whole morning perfecting before tidy-up time. What had once been a beautiful explosion of scribbled crayon colours across one page now lay in two halves. It was more than your poor six year old brain could handle and so you immediately burst into tears. Wailing and sobbing, your teacher hurried over to see what the issue was. Between gasping inhales and snotty sobs you pointed to your crumpled torn drawing. She picked it up and turned to address the class of wild six year olds, “Alright class, does anybody know what happened to Y/N’s picture?” Your teacher’s voice was gentle, “You won’t be in trouble but our friend is very sad so we need to apologise and make it right okay?” Your bottom lip wobbled as your sniffles quietened a little and a small voice could be heard from the back of the classroom, “I didn’t mean to!” A small boy stepped forwards, bright blonde hair with blue eyes and you glared at him. He looked down at the floor as he awkwardly scuffed his shoe against the carpet. The teacher approached him and crouched down, “Thank you for being honest Max… Can you come and say sorry?” He nodded and took the teacher’s hand as she lead him over to you, “I’m sorry…” His apology was accented by a slight lisp and you frowned, arms crossing in front of your chest. “Thank you Max, Y/N? Max said it was an accident and that he’s sorry okay?” You let out a slight ‘hmmph’ as the teacher straightened up at the sound of the lunch bell. Max was quick to run out of the classroom with his friends but you plodded behind the group, still sad about your artwork.

You grabbed your lunchbox from your locker and looked for a chair in the lunch hall. Spotting your favourite yellow chair you couldn’t help but gasp as your little legs headed over as fast as they could carry you. You sat down and opened your lunchbox, legs swinging under the table. You’d barely taken two bites of your sandwich before a boy approached the table. You looked up and saw Max standing there, his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry I broke your drawing.” Max did his best to speak so you’d understand. “‘S fine.” You grumbled, annoyed he was talking to you. Six year old you could really hold a grudge… His cheeks tinted pink as he removed his hands from behind his back to hold out a small bunch of daisies he’d clearly picked from the playing field. Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open. “Here, for you…” He took a step closer and you held your hand out for him to gently place the flowers in your palm. Your eyes looked at him and you noticed how his knees were slightly muddy and there was a streak of dirt on his cheek. You giggled and he beamed back at you, you suddenly felt very shy,

“D-do you want to sit here?” You patted the seat next to you, “We can eat lunch together?” Max nodded, racing off to grab his lunchbox. He dashed back and sat next to you, unzipping his lunchbag to compare the contents with yours. “Are we going to be friends Max?” He nodded enthusiastically, taking your hand in his, “Mhmm! Best friends Y/N! So you can call me Maxie!”

ii. yellow amaryllis; pride, happiness, strength, determination (age 18) “Smile!” You stood with your friends, taking pictures in your graduation gowns and giggling together. But your heart panged, something - or rather someone - was missing from your day. Your eyes scanned the hall, desperately looking for a familiar blonde head. Despite knowing he was currently halfway round the world at a Grand Prix, “Boo!” A hand covered your eyes and a grin spread across your face at the familiar voice, “Maxie!” Turning around, you jumped into his arms and he laughed out loud, “Easy there bug!” You could hear your friends and family laughing and taking pictures of the two of you behind you but you still didn’t pull away, too embarrassed to let anyone see that you had tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be able to make it…” Max squeezed you a little tighter, “I left as soon as the race was over, there was no way I was missing this!” You pulled back and he wiped the tear that had slipped down your cheek. He let go of you and extended his arm towards you, holding out a beautiful bouquet of yellow amaryllis flowers, complete with yellow and white ribbons.

“Max,” you gasped “they’re so beautiful!” he nudged your shoulder with his, “Hey, you deserve it. They stand for pride, strength, happiness and determination.” “Determination” You spoke at the same time, finishing the sentence together. His eyes stared at you so adoringly, you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath. The moment was broken by your parents urging you to stand together for a picture. “What a beautiful couple!” You heard a teacher say as they walked past, “Oh no we’re not-” “Me and him? No way-” Both you and Max spoke over each other, completely missing the knowing looks your friends and family all gave each other. You couldn’t help the fresh wave of giggles that overtook you as Max pulled you into his side. You could have sworn that for the briefest of seconds, butterflies took flight in your stomach but you quickly brushed it off, blaming it on the excitement of the day.

iii. - yellow roses; friendship | bluebells; comfort (age 22) Max couldn’t deny the way that panic flashed through his entire body when he answered your call and heard nothing but your sobs on the other end. “Maxie!” You hiccuped, “Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?” He stood up, not caring that he was interrupting an important team meeting. His alarm grew even more when your only response was to cry even harder. He looked back at the group of people sat around the conference table, “I’m sorry but it’s a family emergency, I have to go.” He raced down the corridor and poked the elevator button far more times than was necessary. “Talk to me bug… I can’t help if you don’t explain what’s going on.” “He cheated Max! I went to his place and he was in bed with my roommate.” Max felt a weird combination of calm and anger wash over him at the same time. Calm because he knew you were safe and anger because who the fuck did your boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend, think he was? Fuck the elevator, Max headed for the stairs, wanting to get to his car and book a flight to you as soon as possible. “Oh Y/N…” “Said he only did it because he knew that I’d been cheating on him with you.” You heard Max scoff, “God he’s so fucking dumb Y/N… I never really liked him, you know that right? You’ve always been too good for him…” You heard Max sigh on the other end of the line and you curled up into an even smaller ball in your bed, pulling Max’s hoodie up even more as your nose inhaled the comforting scent of him,

“Can we move to facetime? Just wanna see you.” You choked out and he obliged, quickly filling your request. Max felt his heart breaking as he looked at you in your bed. “Hey! Is that my hoodie, bug?” You nodded with a sniffle as he did his best to cheer you up even just a little, “Traitor! You told me you didn’t know where it had gone…” A watery smile spread across your face. “Look, I’m gonna come see you okay?” You sat upright and stared at him hard, “Max Emilian Verstappen, you cannot do that! You have important meetings this week.” “Ooo full name?” He hissed through his teeth, “I am in trouble.” You shook your head at him, “You’re incorrigible.” “Big words we’re using today hmm?” You flipped him off and he laughed, “I’ll be there soon, bug okay?” You nodded and he smiled at you once more, “Just hang in there for a little longer.” He ended the call and immediately your smile dropped. In those brief few seconds you’d forgotten why you’d even called him in the first place. But now in the quiet of your apartment, the sad feelings crept up once more, smothering you and dragging you down.

You weren’t sure when you’d fallen asleep the night before, but the combination of the doorbell ringing and the knocking on the door jolted you awake. Rushing to the front door, you threw it open, still slightly disorientated from your rude awakening, “Hey bug.” “Maxie!” You felt wide awake staring at Max who now stood on your doorstep, a warm smile across his face. You immediately felt like bursting into tears once more and Max was quick to see that, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you as he rested his head on top of yours. “It’s okay bug,” you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head, “I got you.” He waddled with you in his arms, through your doorway and into the hallway to close the door and give you some privacy. As he held you, he felt his heart race a little, thinking how he would never make you or let you cry like that if you were his girl - wait what? Now was not the time to be thinking about those kinds of things! Max held you until your sobbing had quietened down again, “Sorry,” you sniffed all snotty and he just poked your nose and laughed gently, “It’s okay Y/N.” His hand gently rubbed your arm as he watched you take a few deep breaths to compose yourself, “Here.” He pulled a somewhat squished bouquet of flowers out of what seemed like nowhere, “Sorry, they got a little uhhh… too involved in the hug?” You let out a breath of laughter and took them from him, a finger gently tracing the petals, “Yellow roses? For friendship right?” Max nodded with a smile, “Yellow roses, because I’m always gonna be your best friend who has your back and bluebells because they’re comforting.” You couldn’t help the way your heart clenched hearing his words. It seemed that Max not only bought you flowers often but he even thought of the meaning of what he was buying. For some reason, the thought had those pesky flutters appearing in your stomach but you quickly reprimanded yourself and shook them off. You hadn’t even broken up with your ex for more than 24 hours yet, but here you were thinking about Max romantically? You shook your head, that was a line you could never think of crossing, no matter how much it seemed to be crossing your mind more and more the older you got.

iv. pink tulips; perfect love, affection (now) Now that you were living in Monaco, not too far from Max, movie nights were a common occurrence, with evenings being split between your apartment and his. Food would be ordered and wine would be drunk, movies would be played but barely watched as the two of you would end up talking into the night and continue long after the credits had finished rolling. If there was one thing you could count on Max for, it was his promptness and so when the clock read seven o’clock exactly, you knew it would only be a matter of seconds before you heard his footsteps down the hallway to your apartment. You were proven correct as Max let himself into your apartment, calling out as he did so, “Hey bug! It’s just me!” “In the living room!” You called back, smiling as he appeared in the doorway, holding something behind his back, “What have you got there hmm?” Max’s smile wavered for a second and you frowned, sitting up on the couch, “Max?” He exhaled and bit his lip nervously, “Maxie?” You tried again much more softly, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, “I’m about to say something and…” He sighed, “I just want you to let me finish okay?” You nodded confused as he came to sit next to you, holding out a bouquet of pink tulips as he did so. You felt yourself gasp as you stared at the flowers, admiring the pretty wrapping and how the ribbon matched the flowers. You wracked your brain as you stared, desperately trying to recall the meaning, Max always gave flowers with meaning. Appreciation? No, apology? Nope not that... No. It couldn’t be? Could it? “Affection?” You didn’t even realise you’d spoken the word out loud but a sharp inhale from Max was enough to tell you he’d heard you. Your eyes shot up to his face and noticed he wouldn’t even look at you, instead choosing to gently trace over the bouquet ribbon, “Yes.” His cheeks were pink and you could have sworn you stopped breathing. It was silent in your apartment. The only noise coming from the traffic outside and the thump of your neighbour as their work boots clunked over the floor before their door slammed. The noise pulled you out of your silence as you stared at Max, “What did you just say?” Max finally dared to look up as he gazed into your eyes, “Pink tulips, affection, perfect l…” “Perfect what?” There was no way he was going to say what you thought he was going to say… “Perfect love.” You stood up from the couch, immediately pacing back and forth as your hands started to fumble together, “Max…” You breathed, finally stopping to look at him sat staring at you. “Okay so this is the part where I need you to listen…” You let out a laugh of disbelief but said nothing as he swallowed, hands nervously rubbing the legs of his jeans. “I like you.” You froze as he continued, “I like you and I think I honestly have for a while… I know that this might not be the best time to tell you but I just can’t keep kidding myself anymore. The feelings I have for you? They’re not things I would be feeling if you were just a best friend to me Y/N. God I think I always knew it was you… From the day I ruined your drawing and then when I surprised you at your graduation… And then that horrific breakup,” You both winced, “I swore then that I would never let you cry over another man like that again. Because I wanted to be the only man that you had from then on.” Your lips parted as a nervous exhale left you. He stopped his rambling, panting slightly as he looked at you, “If you have anything to say, now would be a good time to say it…” You looked at him. Max, your Max. The boy that had been there for you through everything, your best friend.

“No…” You whispered out, your own heart breaking at your words, “I can’t…” Max looked absolutely crushed, “No?” His voice was quiet, “Why?” You shrugged, bottom lip trembling, “I can’t risk losing you.” Max scoffed, “Losing me?” “What if we break up hmm? You’re telling me we would be able to go back to being best friends like nothing ever happened? What if it doesn’t work hmm?” Max shook his head as your spoke, “You think I would say this to you if I didn’t think it would work?” “I-I… I don’t know!” You exclaimed as Max stood up, “You won’t even try?” “I’m too scared to Max…” He nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets as you stared at him, “I’m so sorry.” You whispered, “Me too.” he said before turning and walking out. The door hadn’t even closed behind him before you’d collapsed to the floor, your legs giving out. You’d never cried so hard because of him before. Not when he’d ripped your drawing, not when he'd surprised you at graduation, not even when he’d held you after your breakup.

You stared at the pink tulips as they lay on your couch, their bright happy hopeful colour taunting you. You stalked over to them and picked them up, heading straight to the trash, pulling your arm back to throw them away but you found yourself physically unable to do it.

i. flowers are a language of their own You weren’t sure whether it was convenient or not that Max had a double header after that conversation. Usually you would spam him while he was away and he would pick things up when he could. Often late at night in his hotel bed, a goofy grin plastered across his face as he opened your fit pics and food diary pics of the day, reading through your spam about work, friends and cute cats you’d spotted on the street.

But this time there had been nothing. From either of you. It had been strange and hurtful. You sighed as you checked your phone again for the millionth time that day, already knowing there would be no new notifications from him. Why would there be? The guy you liked had confessed to you and you’d broken his heart because you were too scared he’d break yours. Groaning you dropped your head to the kitchen counter, thumping your forehead against it a few times in the hope of gaining some sense of clarity. It didn’t work. You sighed and stood up straight. You were still kicking yourself for shutting him down so quickly. Yes, he was your Maxie, your best friend, but wasn’t that the point? He knew you so well, he cared for you and loved you, in whatever capacity. He would never intentionally hurt you. You couldn’t lie to yourself, there had been a continuous pull in your stomach and a slight ache in your chest the longer you went without talking to him. You knew if you could do the situation over again you would give a completely different answer. You didn’t want him to break your heart but now you had lost him completely.

Your head shot up as a plan began to form in your head. Grabbing your phone you looked up plane tickets for the country you knew Max was in at the moment. You knew things would be tricky without his help and you didn’t even know if it would work out, but for him you had to try. Selecting your seat you rushed to pack a bag, noticing how the now dry and dead tulips still lay on your bedroom vanity, the pink now much less vibrant and tinged with brown. Your stomach flipped and you hoped to god it would all work out. You knew which hotel the team usually stayed at when they were racing in that specific country and so after making a quick stop you headed straight there, planning to just wait until you were spotted by someone from the team who recognised you and took pity on you. You didn’t have to wait long as one of Max’s race engineers was exiting the building just as your taxi pulled up. Clambering out of the vehicle as you spotted him, he smiled and waved, “Hey! Didn’t know you were coming this weekend? Max usually says something.” “Ah,” you shuffled awkwardly, not wanting to give anything away about your strained relationship, “it’s a surprise!” His eyes widened and he grinned at you knowingly, especially when he spotted what you carried in your arms. “Well… Seeing as it’s you, I’ll give you his room number.” After obtaining the information you needed you thanked him and headed inside, getting on the elevator and pressing the button for his floor as you thanked whatever higher powers there were that so far the plan was working. As the bell dinged for your floor you gulped, a whole new wave of nerves and anxiety washing over you. What if he didn’t want to see you? What if he got angry with you and sent you away? But what if he heard you out? Oh crap, what were you gonna say?

Through your internal rambling, you had somehow managed to walk to his door and now you stood frozen. Unable to knock and unable to move. Swallowing the lump in your throat you knocked the door gently. You heard a crash and then a curse in Dutch came from inside and you winced. Oh god, if he was already in a bad mood… This wouldn’t help. The door swung open and a tired looking Max stood there. Dressed in cosy sweatpants and navy hoodie, no logos in sight but still fitting his team colours. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of you in front of him. “Y/N?” You gave the softest of smiles nervously, “Hi Maxie.”

You weren’t sure what you’d expected when you saw him. You’d thought about how he might yell or cry or get mad or slam the door in your face but you certainly hadn’t expected him to grab your arms and pull you into a hug, burying his face in your neck, “Fuck, I missed you so much I’m so sorry…” You sniffled, pulling back and looking at him, “Why are you sorry?! I’m sorry! I never should have doubted you-” “I never should have pressured you-” “You didn’t! I never should have jumped to conclusions about how things would end. God. It’s been so miserable without you…” You noticed his eyes growing tearful. “Here, come in.” He gently pulled you into the room and closed the door behind you. Your eyes swept the room and zeroed in on an object on his bed, “Is that my t-shirt?” You asked incredulously, mouth gaping at him slightly as he rushed to shove it in his suitcase, “N-no!” “Max Emilian…” Your voice was low, “M-maybe…” You gave him a pointed stare and he relented, “Okay yes fine it is.” He sighed, “I found it at my apartment that night when I got back and… I just… I didn’t have you and it was the closest thing…” He trailed off, sitting on the bed. You padded across the room to take a seat next to him, one hand gently rubbing his back, “I know Maxie… Me too.” His head rested on your shoulder and you inhaled shakily, it was now or never.

You looked back across the room at where your things lay in the entrance. You stood up and made your way over, picking up what you needed before turning back to him with your arms behind your back. “I’m about to say something…” His head shot up to look at you, “and I need you to let me finish.” You gave him a tearful smile and he swore he felt his breathing quicken as you practically echoed his words from a few weeks ago. You approached him and offered him the bouquet from behind your back. He stared at it for a moment before his eyes flicked up to look at yours.

“Red roses?” You nodded, unable to keep looking at him - partly shy and partly terrified of his answer, until he gently held your chin and tilted your head up to meet his gaze once more, “Red roses.” “You know what they mean don’t you?” “I picked them for a reason.” He stood up and gently took them from you, one hand sliding round your waist to pull you into him, “Baby’s breath?” “Baby’s breath.” You looked down, breathing your answer as his face got closer to yours. “Is this your speech then?” You let out a breath, “I figured I would let the flowers speak for themselves, god knows you’ve been doing it long enough.”

His lips were practically on yours and it took everything in you to keep standing as his next words were brushed against your lips, “Is this your answer then?” You nodded, “No schat, please… Let me hear you say it…” His eyes closed as he felt your shuddering breath, “Yes, Max. Yes, I want to try with you, I love you and that’s enough to tell me we should try-” Any further words you had were cut off by Max’s lips meeting yours. His grip around your waist tightened, the flowers sliding from his other hand to the floor as he gently cupped your face, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheek. You couldn’t help the way you smiled against his lips and he laughed at the feeling, the two of you giggling and grinning between kisses like the lovesick idiots you were.

Red roses; declaration of love, Baby’s breath; eternal love.

#mimi.writes #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 angst #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #f1 x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen fanfic

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pallastrology · 2 months

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observations on pisces

artwork by georg janny

saturn in pisces ('tis the season...) suffers greatly with feelings of guilt. something else they can struggle with is fear. the fear is often existential, and the natives experience it from a young age. they will often 'ritualise' their fears, creating structures that help them feel safe and protected, but in doing so, these structures can actually intermingle with their sense of guilt and lead to them feeling responsible for things no person is. they really do have the weight of the world on their shoulders sometimes.

pisces suns are often labeled as easily influenced, and while this isn't entirely untrue, i think it's a bit oversimplified. pisces is receptive and sensitive, taking in a lot from their environment and reading between the lines easily. they are a mutable sign, and so aren't naturally stubborn people. but when well-developed, sun in pisces is a very self-aware placement and that reflective, open nature helps them to actually become quite sure about their beliefs and values. so i suppose, an undeveloped pisces sun will be easily influenced, but maybe not a pisces sun in general.

with pisces in the seventh house, the stereotype is that the native is the type to dream about a prince charming figure who'll sweep them off their feet. in reality, this placement is more likely to not really know what they want from a relationship, to struggle with healthy boundaries, and to feel they have to save - or be saved by - their partner. it takes time and steady reflection to understand where these difficulties come from and how to heal their relationship with love.

mars in pisces tends to really struggle with conflict. they turn it over and over, ruminating endlessly. should i have said this? done that? did i go too far? pisces almost always struggles with boundaries and emotional conflict, but with mars here there's so much energy directed to working on these issues, it can feel like an impassable bridge to the native. as much as they struggle however, they are also fiercely caring, sensitive and surprisingly brave individuals, who can push themselves hard when they are connected to something important.

pisces moons will often disappear when things overwhelm them. they can get a reputation for being a bad friend because of this, despite their caring nature. while they can easily fall into despair over the issue, it doesn't need to be permanent; a big learning curve for these natives is learning to both not induce this crushing overwhelm and urge to vanish, and to better manage their emotions and health when things pop up unexpectedly. embracing their sister sign, virgo, can be a way forward here.

mercury in pisces, when writing or otherwise creating, is very sensitive to the feeling of their medium. so with words, for example, the word has to evoke the right feeling before it's considered to be the right word for the native to use. they are actually pretty perfectionistic in this sense, though their creations can seem to lack a strong, distinctive style; they are mutable after all, and this quality shines through in their work, as they flit through various influences and inspirations.

pisces ascendants get a reputation for being sweet and shy. while they are on the shy side, they are highly receptive and read deeply into what's going on around them, absorbing the atmosphere like a sponge does water. it's a placement that's often infantilised, probably because neptunian placements in general are easily misunderstood. but pisces risings are not so much innocent little faery children; they're a little reclusive, highly attuned to those around them, and easily confused by their own emotions and reactions.

venus in pisces is selfless to a fault, but there's an interesting process going on beneath the native's awareness. they often have a romanticised view of selflessness as a concept, and idealise being nice and giving. so while they are genuinely kind, caring and self-sacrificing people, they do gain something, unconsciously, from giving themselves to others; it bolsters their sense of self and lifts their often low view of themselves. which is part of why it can be so hard for them to set healthy boundaries and stop giving everything to everyone.

#pallastrology #astro community #astrology #astrology blog #astrology posts #pisces #astro notes #astro observations #astrology notes

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branded-rose · 8 days

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Adam bolted upright in bed, a shout on his lips that dropped off as his wings shot out, smacking his lieutenant in the head and nearly pushing her off the mattress.

Lute met the rude awakening with all the urgency it deserved, springing up and drawing her fists in front of her defensively as Adam let loose a string of profanity.

She quickly drew up the blind to let light into the room before she darted around the bed; her eyes scanning the room quickly for signs of danger even if she knew there shouldn’t be anything.

It was Heaven. What threats would there realistically be?

When she was satisfied she returned to the bed, about to ask her superior officer what sick joke he was pulling when she stopped.

Adam was pale, his hands trembling as he brought them up to wipe cold sweat from his brow. A string of curses still fell from his lips, albeit strained.

She tentatively reached a hand out, placing it gently on his shoulder.

“Uh… Sir?”

Adam flinched, turning his head to meet Lute’s concerned expression. He forced a smile and shrugged, trying his very best to play the whole thing off.

“What? Just a nightmare. Geez you’re acting like we’re being attacked or something. Relax.” He forced a laugh and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t get nightmares, Sir. When you wake up screaming, what else am I supposed to think?”

“Heh… right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled and looked up at the ceiling.

“You’re lucky then. Cause they SUCK.”

Lute fell silent a moment, examining Adam closely. It wasn’t often she saw him so… uncertain. So shaken. Even in times he was unsure of himself he covered it up with bravado.

She scooted closer, pushing on his shoulder to encourage him to turn so she could realign some of the golden feathers in his wing that had dislodged when he’d struck her.

“What was it about?” Her fingers very delicately and precisely moved over the wing, sliding the feathers back into place and easing any discomfort. Something that was visible as she watched Adam’s posture relax.

“Just human stuff. You wouldn’t get it.” He ran a hand through his messy hair.

“You haven’t been a human in over a millennia.”

“Yeah well-“ He rubbed the back of his neck. “-that stuff stuck with me. I guess.” He shrugged, waving his hand.

Silence fell between them, Lute uncertain how to respond and Adam lost in his thoughts.

The former finished straightening up his wings, noticing how Adam’s eyes were beginning to droop as he stared into space.

She got up and closed the blinds, allowing the room to fall back into darkness before returning to her spot. Her chin brushed against his shoulder.

“You should go back to sleep.”

“Hmm? Oh… yeah.” He waited for her to get comfortable before he drew close, his arms and wings wrapping around her small frame, almost protectively.

Possessively.

Lute settled into the embrace, familiar and warm as it was. She couldn’t help but smirk softly as she rested her chin on top of his head, his ear against her chest.

“Hey… Lute. You… won’t betray me or whatever, right?” He muttered softly, his tone laced with an uncertainty that was atypical of him.

Lute’s brows furrowed slightly, confused by the suddenness of the question.

“Of course not, Sir.” Her grip on him tightened ever so slightly, a small smile on her lips.

“…I’ll always be by your side.”

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Idea/prompt from the amazing @kimik0hippie! Seriously, their stuff singlehandedly inspired me to come out of my 800000 year hiatus and actually do illustrations again. So please go check their art out. ;D

Adam & Lute © Vivziepop/A24

Artwork © Branded-Rose

#my art #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel adam #guitarspear #adam x lute #brandedroseart #my headcanon is that exorcists are heaven born so they wouldn't get nightmares really.

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illustromic · 1 year

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My thoughts on drawing wings (an unofficial tutorial)

Do you want to get better at drawing your favorite winged character? Do you have winged OCs? Just want to learn something new? I can't promise this post will help, but maybe it'll give you some helpful tips.

I know, I knowww, wing tutorials have been done to death. I don't care. This was initially inspired by a conversation on twitter, but actually I've wanted to write down my notes on the topic for a long time lol. Basically wings are one of my special interests so it's very important, for me, to draw them both nicely and also realistically.

On that note, let me first show you my resume *distant sound of floodgates opening*

Like what you see? Read on! (Oh, and I will only be covering feathered/avian wings bc those are the type I know best.)

Now, I'm not here to give you a step-by-step guide on wing anatomy and aerodynamics, because there are plenty of other resources that cover this already, and I'll list my faves at the end of the post. Right now, I'm going to give you some easy guidelines and tricks that I wish more artists knew.

1: Wings do, in fact, have bones (crazy, I know) and are actually very rigid because they have to support the weight of a living creature. There are some positions you cannot physically force a wing into irl.

2: Flight feathers are not placed willy-nilly on the wing, because then they wouldn't catch the air properly. Again, like the bones, they are rigid and strong, so don't draw them like fur or ribbons. All wings have the same pattern of feather placement, with slight variation depending on species. If you learn the feather sections, it will automatically improve your drawings a lot.

2.5: Feathers overlap each other like a handful of playing cards, and this looks different depending on which side of the wing you're drawing. They always do this unless they're extremely untidy.

3: The size of the wingspan is important if you're going for a more realistic design. There is no "scientifically accurate" measurement when it comes to fictional creatures, but my general rule is when in doubt, you probably need to make them bigger. Personally, for my original winged human species, I give them wings that can be up to 12 feet long each (the artistic sacrifice is that it's really hard to fit the wings on the dang page lmao, so make your own call).

4: Get used to drawing folded wings. Most of the time, birds keep their wings folded because it prevents them from getting damaged and it conserves energy. The trick is to get good at visualizing how the joints bend and overlap (look at plenty of photos!) In general, they can fold much tighter than you think.

5: Wings and feathers take a lot of patience to draw, but the results are worth it. I've seen so so many incredibly beautiful and skillful artworks that are---well, maybe not ruined, but still negatively affected by a pair of wings that look like an afterthought, or not even like wings at all. You have no idea how much a little extra time and practice will add to your work until you see for yourself.

Finally, some notes on "stylized" wings: Of course it's perfectly ok to draw more simplified/cartoony wings if that's your preference!! BUT there is a difference between a stylistic choice and a lack of effort/poor understanding of the subject matter. Even cartoonists have to learn the fundamentals of realism so they know how to make their designs logical and appealing. Here are some examples of more stylized wings that I feel retain the core principles of anatomy/aesthetics:

And last but not least: A list of helpful links I use personally for reference and inspiration!

I made this pinterest board for general artsy inspo, and this board to curate my very favorite tutorials/refs/information, focusing on the scientific aspect of wings and flight in general. Feel free to use both! (I also suggest pinterest in general for pose refs and such, but try to only practice using photos at first and not other drawings.)

I highly recommend this blog and this blog if you want examples of artists who draw more realism-based winged creatures!! They are both huge inspirations for me and I think you should totally follow them even if you don't plan to draw wings lol <3

If you're REALLY serious about it, my favorite ref books are: Winged Fantasy, a lovely drawing book by Brenda Lyons; Proctor & Lynch's Manual of Ornithology; and Angelus vincens by R. Spano, which is essentially an artbook by someone who (I believe) designed biologically plausible "angels" for their senior thesis.

Ok, idk how to end this lol but I hope it helped! I know it's not my normal kind of post but I'm super busy with college stuff rn and this was all I had time for. If you guys have any questions or feedback, please let me know!!!

-Aloe <3

#my art #wings #drawing #tutorial #the way I could've talked for so much longer haha #but it's 3 am for me and I am fading fast so GOODNIGHT

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art · 2 years

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Creator Spotlight: @velinxi

Hello! I’m Xiao Tong Kong, better known as “Velinxi.” I’m the creator of the webcomic Countdown to Countdown and have been doing freelance artwork since I was a teenager. I love telling stories with my illustrations! Tumblr was where I first got my start as an artist, specifically a small fandom artist as a hobby… and now I’m somehow here! When I’m not trying my best to stay awake in front of my tablets, I’m usually cooking, gaming, or sleeping. Sometimes all three, in my dreams.

Check out our interview with Velinxi below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

Yeah! I’ve basically been on track to become an artist since I was a child. I went to a middle school with an emphasis on arts and a high school specializing in it. I went to SVA briefly for computer arts but dropped out to pursue freelance and webcomics after my first year.

Over the years as an artist, what or who were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

My biggest inspirations growing up were Yuumei and Shilin Huang, two titans on DeviantArt back in the day. They still inspire me today, but the list of inspirations has grown exponentially over the years, including artists, movies, entire art movements, etc.

What was your thought process behind the creation of your webcomic, Countdown to Countdown?

Well, Countdown to Countdown started as a passion project back when I was 15, in high school, and pretty depressed. I just wanted to draw whatever story I thought was cool, inspired by my favorite media at the time. There was a very loose beginning and outline, but I was truly just writing as I drew the story. That’s why I had to stop the comic in 2018 and restart from scratch the year after. Now, the story has a set story and a clear outline. It still has similar roots, characters, and themes of neglect, abuse, and escape—but I think the story is a lot easier to follow now. It’s got an artstyle I can actually keep up with in the long run. The origin of why CTC exists also remains the same: I simply wanted to make a story I wanted to read for myself. Which happens to be about two dumb boys with superpowers navigating a hostile world that wants them dead or caged—together.

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

Oh, all the time. It’s part of the process. Personally, though—I just have to draw through it. Every month on my Patreon, I have my patrons vote on a theme I have to draw by the end of the month, and I try my best to make it as interesting as possible. I draw quite a few—tens even, of doodles or compositions for each of these themes to try to make something that tells a story while still being aesthetically pleasing and clear. I think pushing myself like this helps with art block, really. I also do remember to take breaks and simply consume other media I like! It gets the inspiration juices flowing.

Advice you would give to an aspiring creator?

If you do one—your first webcomic should be a short, fun, messy thing. It’s not often you can get it right the first time, but you’ll certainly learn a lot through sheer experience. This goes for a lot of things in art, to be honest.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

3D Animation. I briefly learned it at SVA, and I think that’s enough of that tech for me. I accept that there are some things that are truly beautiful if done right, and I am too simple and lazy for it.

What is your goal for the rest of this year?

Get Countdown to Countdown book 2 finished! And live HAHA

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@yuumei-art on Tumblr, still! They’ve been a huge inspiration for digital artists and storytellers online for years. I have no doubt that many digital artists of my generation have been influenced by them, and they’re still here, making beautiful art and stories. It’s a thing to behold.

Thanks for stopping by, Velinxi! If you haven’t seen her Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here. You can also follow her for more amazing art over at her Tumblr, @velinxi!

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #velinxi #xiao tong kong #countdown to countdown

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glossamerfaerie · 1 month

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I have this headcanon that Nesta’s pegasus** DOES NOT like Cassian. Her pegasus is definitely a black stallion and super aggressive with Fae men, but absolutely adores Nesta and her friends. He’ll allow mane braiding, petting, spoiling with apples and sugar cubes, etc. He’s an absolute sweetheart with the Valkyries, Priestesses, Nyx, and the Archeron sisters.

But Cassian? No, sir. The Pegasus will not let Cassian *breathe* safely. Lots of growling and snorting whenever Cassian is within ten feet. He WILL bite if Cassian attempts to stroke his mane. Even the delicious sugar cubes won’t help Cassian; the Pegasus simply glowers disdainfully and ignores until someone else offers the treat. Cassian is very sad about this.

Nesta does not improve matters by being EXTRA affectionate toward her Pegasus whenever Cassian is around. Or by going on long flights without Cassian whenever Nesta wants alone time. Or by saying things like “you’re my favorite black-haired winged-creature to ride.” This last one is Cassian’s breaking point; he storms out of training while Gwyn, Azriel, and Emerie collapse with laughter. Cassian is especially bitter that the Pegasus has warmed up to Azriel, so he can’t even pretend that the Pegasus has a problem with Illyrians. To rub salt in the wound, Gwyn’s Pegasus *loves* Az (shadow-petting is extremely useful when Gwyn is busy).

Things do change eventually. There’s some battle or conflict (idk just imagine something bloody). And of course Cassian, the overprotective brute, sees a sneak attack from behind and lunges to protect his mate mid-air. The attacker plummets and dies in a very painful manner.

After watching Cassian’s actions, the Pegasus decides that perhaps Cassian deserves Some Rights after all. He still won’t allow prolonged petting or Cassian to sit on him (in his defense, do you want a large Illyrian brute to sit on you? Don’t answer that). But the Pegasus will allow occasional pets and sugary tweets.

Nesta has been publicly amused by this saga for a while but also secretly worried that her two males can’t get along. So the new peace is a big relief to her. She also doesn’t *want* to always fly without company. Alone time is nice, but do you know what’s nicer? Racing with Cassian to see who can reach their destination faster. Nesta loves flying with her two favorite males.

(However, Nesta still maintains that Cassian is her *second* favorite black-haired winged-creature to ride. The man’s ego is dangerous if left unchecked)

______

** The Pegasus colors are inspired by this amazing artwork that lives rent-free in my brain. I’m sure that Nesta is black, Gwyn is white, and Emerie is brown/gold. Not sure about the genders of the other Pegasus — I think Gwyn has a mare but I’m unsure about Emerie.

#my acotar headcanons #gwynriel #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #the valkyries #emerie #acotar #sarah j maas #nesta x cassian

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anxiousdreamcore · 1 year

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Read the first chapter of “From sky to sea” , a fanfic written by @eirianerisdar , I got inspired to make a tiny AU. I present Metkayina!Spider ✨

In this AU, Tonowari, while visiting in the Omatekaya, had found young Spider in the area and after growing attached to him, decided that he had to take the boy and so, without much resistance, he did. Years later, the blonde blossoms into a fine young man, famous for his physical strength and industriousness (or more like stubbornness), but his past comes back to haunt him when the Sully family begs for refuge in Awa’atlu. He reconnects with his old friends and eventually faces the clone of his biological father. What will happen then…?..

Who knows! Headcannon time 😎

Deep inside, Spider is afraid that if he doesn’t do his damn best and work hard, he might loose his place among the people. He often pulls way more than his weight and exhausts himself, so the rest of the fam make sure to reassure him about it.

He’s a very chill older sibling. While fairly responsible, he’s still quite playful and is known as the “village jester”. Very good with little kids and loves entertaining them. Will not stop his siblings from getting themselves into trouble but will tell them that whatever they’re about to do is stupid af.

He and Aonung bully each other CONSTANTLY. Aonung is a little shit, but Spider had learned to fire back. Hates it when he and his gang of jocks pester people and bluntly calls him out on it. They fight a lot because of that, especially when the Sullys arrive.

Aonung may or may not be jealous that the sully siblings get along with Spider so well. He wishes he could have a relationship as open as they do and hates Kiri the most because of that. That girl and the blonde become practically inseparable when they reunite and it rubs him the wrong way.

With Tsierya, Spider turns into the biggest hype-man. He supports and complements her constantly, as well as does her hair. Their relationship pisses Aonung off as well.

When the Sullys arrive and Spider reconnects with them, she begins feeling a bit insecure. She knows that her big bro comes from the forest and often misses it, so in her darkest moments she gets scared that the boy might leave with them when the threat blows over. She doesn’t voice her concerns though, as she does not want to ruin her sibling’s fun.

Ronal was initially wary of the demon boy, but he grew on her, especially when she heard of all the neglect he’s endured. It did not feel right to leave such a sweet kid up to fate and now he is her son as much as Aonung. He helps her with the chores a lot and even opts to tag along with her and Tsireya when they cook. It makes for good bonding time.

It is more difficult with Tonowari, though. On one hand, this man saw Spider at his worst, his rock bottom, when he was an abandoned nobody, but on the other, he’s still a chief and The blonde wants to make him proud and show that he did not make a mistake when adopting him. Tonowari tries not to let his son spiral though, and reassured him that all he wants for him is to be happy, as he wants that for all of his children.

“What happened to his chest tho?”

A skimming incident 😐 I will not elaborate

(Please do not repost my artwork on any other platform, with or without credit. I do NOT give my consent to do so and I will find it🥰)

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obey-me-disaster · 1 year

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Ohoho, I've come up with a fluffy idea and figured I'd come dump it on you because I am too lazy to write it myself. >:)

Various brothers have a tendency to fall asleep in MC's room or within their vicinity. One day MC manages to take off their shirt while they're alseep and draws all over their chest / shoulders/ stomach, this way its not so everyone can see and they dont get embarrassed. They write little poems + hearts + compliments + words of encouragement and "I love you!!" + "MC was here" written everywhere. After MC drew on them they put their shirt back on and went back to bed like nothing happened. Later the brother of MC's choice takes a shower / changes their clothes and finds MC's "artwork". How would they react?

This is so cute??! With the way some of them act like MC's room is their room this can very well happen.

This ask really got me out of the writer's block so I think I ended doing just a little bit more than you asked, hope you'll still enjoy it ^-^

Demon brothers x gn!MC

MC who writes cute messages on their body while they sleep

Lucifer

A/N: This was inspired by a chat with drunk Lucifer.

The likelihood of normal Lucifer falling asleep in MC's room is low. The chances of MC writing on his body are even lower. Drunk Lucifer on the other hand...

MC was just chilling in their room when Lucifer stumbled in. They knew he was drunk due to all the affectionate messages he has been sending them throughout the night but they were not expecting him to show up in their room.

MC rushed to check if he was alright but he merely brushed off their concerns saying he just wanted to see them before going to rest.

There was not much going through his head at the moment besides regretting the 'who can drink the most' bet with Diavolo and wanting to see MC before going to sleep. Between wanting to check up on them and trying to leave the room he wasn't sure when he ended up in their bed.

Maybe it was when MC insisted that they should give him some water before going to him, or it was when he decided to wait for them and ended up falling asleep.

By the time MC came back with a glass of water and a light snack he was fast asleep in their bed. Sighing MC put down the water and snack and went to cover him with a blanket. It wasn't everyday he got to rest and MC was sure as hell not going to wake him up.

As they approached they couldn't help but admire his features. He had a slight flush across his face, probably from the demonus he drank earlier, that made him look quite cute. Paired with the serene look on his face MC couldn't help but take a picture, it was not everyday the avatar of pride looked so relaxed, let alone sleep in their bed.

They wanted to let Lucifer know how much they loved him, how they wanted him to sleep in their room on other occasions, not only when he was drunk and of course, how cute he looked. At that moment, it was not possible, in the morning he may be hangover. If they leave a note about it he may not see it and sending him a text about it may have the same outcome so they settled on the only rational decision their brain could come up with at 3 am, writing on his body.

At first MC wanted to write on his hand, it would not fit all the things they wanted to write so they slowly pulled his shirt up. They looked over at him to be sure he won't wake up, they didn't want to explain why they were lifting up his shirt while sleeping.

Once they were sure he wouldn't wake up they begun to write various messages with little hearts along his torso. Once they were satisfied MC decided to climb in bed and go to sleep cuddled up to Lucifer.

By the time they woke up Lucifer was already gone, probably to avoid his brothers finding him in their room. Checking their phone they saw they got a message from Lucifer. He apologized for the trouble he caused so late into the night and told them to come into his room in order to thank them properly. MC started to wander if Lucifer will ignore the messages on his body or not. Even if he did, this whole incident started to become a habit for MC every time one of the brothers fell asleep in their room.

Meanwhile in Lucifer's room

He woke up not long after MC fell asleep besides him. It didn't take long for him to put two and two together and decided to leave before any of his brothers would barge in and start a ruckus.

In his room he started to undress so he could change into his pijamas when he saw something written on his torso. Going in front of the mirror he started to read all the sweet messages MC left on his body. He couldn't help but smile at the gesture. He snapped a quick photo of all the messages before deciding he should really make it up to them the next day. Who knows, he may end up sleeping in their room again just as they wished.

Mammon

When is he not in MC's room? He might as well move there with how much he stays there. His phone charger, some of clothes and other junk can be found in MC's room.

Tonight was no different. He was sitting in his bed complaining about Lucifer while MC was finishing up a project for school. He tried to convince them to stop doing homework and spend time with him but to no avail. Frustrated he tried to give them the silence treatment. In his mind MC would come and beg for him to talk with them and stop doing all the school work, it was a full proof plan in his head.

What he didn't take into account was the fact that he would fall asleep in MC's bed and how could he not. The bed was so warm and soft and had MC's scent all over it. Add the fact that he was not being entertained by MC and they get a Mammon fast asleep, holding one of their pillows.

After 5 minutes of silence MC went to check on him and sure enough, he was fast asleep. The scene was all too similar to the one time Lucifer fell asleep, fact that gave them an idea.

They grabbed a pencil and went to pull his shirt up. He moved in his sleep a few times and tried to grab at MC but they managed to get away. No need to get beaten by a sleeping Mammon the way Levi did in the past.

With enough space for writing MC went to work. Small doodles of money and hearts and a few messages about how much they love him. They also snuck the words 'great Mammon' and 'first' here and there but they were not very noticeable.

Being satisfied with their work, MC pulled down his shirt and went back to finish their school project. It would take a while for Mammon to wake, late alone to discover MC's little surprise.

When Mammon woke up in the morning he realized that his plan to make MC beg for attention failed miserably but even with the failed plan he couldn't get mad. MC was holding tightly onto him.

He stayed like that for a while, trying to savour the moment for as long as he could. He didn't think to get up until he could hear his stomach growl, at which point he decided it's time to get up.

He slowly got out of bed and went to the bathroom attached to MC room to change his clothes and wash his face in order to freshen up.

When he took of his shirt he noticed something written all over his chest and stomach. At first he thought that some witch did something to him and was on the verge to go wake up MC when he noticed some little hearts from the corner of his eyes.

He pulled out his phones and took a photo of all the writing so he could finally take a proper look at the writing. When he started to slowly read all the cutesy messages written in gold from his chest and stomach he nearly dropped him phone right there and then.

He didn't know whatever to go wake up MC or not so he decided to do the most logical thing in his mind. Go to his room and start spaming their phone with messages. He tried to put on his usual tsundure attitude during their texts but it was clear he was over the moon about the whole thing.

He made sure not only to take a few more photos of himself with the stuff written by MC but to fall asleep in their room more often with a golden marker right next to him. he couldn't be more obvious

Leviathan

Levi is an introvert through and through. Being around crowds drains his energy and he has to spend some time alone in order to bounce back to his old self. But just because he likes to be alone from time to time in order to recharge his social battery it doesn't mean he likes being lonely.

He often goes to MC room and plays or watches something on his phone while MC does something else entirely. Just being in their presence was enough for him to not feel lonely anymore.

It was one of those night where his social battery was below zero but he really didn't want to be alone when he entered MC's room and went to sit on their bed. MC merely waved at him and went back to whatever they were doing.

They knew Levi would come into their room. Earlier that day Diavolo hosted a party which exhausted Levi to the core. They prepared for him some of their softest plushies they got from various brothers for him to hold.

When they first begun to do this Levi was afraid it would get awkward. Sitting in silence and doing different things seemed like a recipe for disaster but it turned out completely fine. It made their bond stronger, Levi could swear his intimacy level for MC went up.

Levi made himself comfortable and started to collect all his daily logins from numerous gacha games from his phone. The only time anyone spoke was when MC asked if he wanted some snacks but they were met with silence. They softly asked again in case Levi didn't hear them but they got the same response.

They went to check on him only to discover that he has fallen asleep while holding his phone. MC couldn't help but go grab their phone so they could take a picture. It was the first time Leviathan felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in their room. Once they were satisfied with the number of photos they took they went to grab a dark purple pen to start writing on him. They already did that to his older brothers, it might as well become a tradition of sorts.

Pulling his shirt up was definitely way easier of a task to do than they thought. The hard part came when they started to write. Apparently Levi was quite ticklish so he would squirm every time MC's been would be tracing anything on his chest, torso and shoulders. They wrote various references to romance anime that they have watched and the inside jokes between them. They tried to draw a small ruri chan too but didn't come out too well. Once they were satisfied they pulled his shirt down and let him continue his nap.

By the time he woke MC was no longer in the room but they did leave him a note saying that they went to out to buy something. Seeing as he was alone he took it as his chance to leave since he felt pretty embarrassed for falling asleep like that.

It wasn't until later that night, when he was preparing to take a bath that he noticed all the writing. He quickly went to a mirror and when he saw all the messages left by MC he nearly fainted right there and then. He felt like the protagonist of some romantic anime, or even beyond that since he has never seen a scene like that in anything that he has watched.

Even when he would try to deny that MC felt like that about him, those thoughts would quickly go away as he would stare down at the proof that MC truly love him.

He stood for quite a few minutes, thinking on the best way to preserve all of this when he realized that MC, in order to leave all the cute notes and doodles, would have had to lift up his shirt . That was the last thing he thought about before his brain started to malfunction.

Satan

Whenever Satan would feel angry at something and needed a way to calm down he would either go read a book, pet some cats, take his anger out on something in the forest or go stay in MC's presence. This situation was quite similar to Levi's, where he would go to MC's room just to spend time together in silence, while they would do different things.

And in the same way MC would prepare some plushies or snacks for Levi, they would prepare tea or sneak a cat in the HOL. While Satan reading in the presence of MC wasn't a rare thing, him coming into their room to read in order to calm down didn't happen too often. As much as Satan appreciates MC looking out for him and enjoys the small things they do for him, he wouldn't want to be angry in their presence too often. Especially during the times when he feels he doesn't have that much control over his emotions.

This time tho, it wasn't that bad. He couldn't say he felt truly angered, just annoyed at how badly the day went for him. When he entered MC's room they immediately could tell why he came, so they welcomed him in and excused themself to go bring some tea for him and something to drink for themself.

He really couldn't thank then enough for all the things they do for him, so he just figured he would think of a way to surprise them once he is fully calm.

After MC came back with their drinks, both of them settled in a comfortable silence, doing their own thing. This went on for a while and before he could even realize, he fell asleep while hugging the book.

Being used to this by now, the gently took the book from his hands and put it on their, making sure to put a bookmark on whatever page Satan was on. After making sure everything was out of the way they grabbed their phone to snap a few pictuers of him and a marker and went to work.

While lightly lifting up his shirt wasn't that hard, MC got stuck on what to write for him. They made sure to write something unique for each brother and they wanted to do something like that for Satan too. Sure, they could draw a cat and make some cat puns, but Satan's range of interests went way beyond his love for felines.

A shiver from Satan snapped MC out of their throughts. If they kept his shirt up for too long he would wake up from feeling cold, so they had to act quickly. They started to think of all the love poems they heard Satan talk about and quickly searched for them on their DDD. While these wouldn't exactly be MC's words they would still carry the same sentiment.

As they start writing down various small love poems, MC made a mental note to actually think of one for the next time this happens. After thet made sure everything was written down, they made a small drawing of a kitten and pulled down his shirt.

When Satan woke up he was none the wiser about the surprise MC prepared for him under his shirt. He apologized for falling asleep like that and excused himself to go back to his room. All of his brothers could tell that he left MC's bedroom so much calmer than when he went in.

He went straight into his room to take a shower so he could properly go to bed after as he still felt quite tired despite the nap that he took. As he was about to step in the shower he noticed the writing across his chest and stomach.

As he went in front of a mirror to read he quickly recognized both the writing and the poems across his body. Those were all poems that Satan has talked about or from poets he has showed to MC. Across his chest there was a small message that said 'Despite them not being my words they carry the same sentiment. Next time I will come up with something just for you.'

If he, by some slim chance was still angry, this would have gotten rid of any and all negative emotions. He made sure to carefully read all the poems. He already knew them by heart, but since this was MC's hard work, it would be a shame to not appreciate it. He really had to come up with something to express his gratitude to MC as fast as he could.

Asmodeus

Sleep overs between MC and Asmodeus happened quite often. Sometimes they were planned well ahead, sometimes they were on the spur of the and this one was of the latter kind. Both of them came back from a party and since neither of them felt like going on their seprate ways, they decided to have a sleep over in MC's room.

The first part of their sleep over was just taking of any make up and accessories they bad followed by changing into their pijamas. While in theory it may sound like this would be done in 10 minutes, it took them an hour, or at least it took Asmo an hour to officialy be done.

He would have been done way faster but he kept on stopping to tell MC about the latest gossip he heard. By the time he was finished getting into his pijamas he was beyond exhausted. All the hype from that party that kept him awake was gone and replaced with need to cuddle up to MC and fall asleep.

He wanted to stay awake and talk with MC a little bit more but he knew all too well that his body was drained from all the partying. Despite slowly falling asleep, he continued to tell MC about the latest drama his fans caused while holding their hand.

When his breathing became even and he stopped from talking, MC saw it as their chance to get up from bed and get a pen ready. They made sure to pick a glitter pink pen just for him. MC made quick work of his shirt, it was honestly shocking he was wearing clothes at all since he likes to sleep all natural. They started to write as many cutesy messages and draw hearts all over him. Asmo would softly laugh in his sleep here in there, probably being tickled by MC writing on his skin.

Once they have deemed that they wrote enough messages MC put the glitter pen away and went back to sleep, this time cuddling Asmo properly.

When morning came Asmo got out of bed way earlier than MC and went back to his bedroom so he could start his skin care routine which would take a while. Before all of that, he wanted to take a bath first in order to relax, but as he undressed he noticed something across his body.

He went to one of his many mirrors and started to admire MC's handiwork. He tried to recall to any time MC showed signs of being into body writing but he couldn't recall any specific moment. He couldn't wait to show MC his appreciation for their little surprise but before that he had to make sure to take a ton of pictures of himself with the writing on him to share on Devilgram. he lowkey started a new trend

Beelzebub

Since MC's room was right next to the kitchen, Beel would often end up in their bedroom in the middle of the night after one of his late snacks and this time was no exception.

After having his fill more like emptying the fridge he decided to pass by MC's room since he felt like seeing them. He slowly opened the door,as to not wake them only to find out they were wide awake, watching a movie. Since he was already there MC invited him over to watch the movie with them and share some of their snacks.

Beel didn't need to be told twice and immediately crossed the room and went to sit next to them on the bed. As the movie went on and the snacks started to disappear, he could feel himself starting to fall asleep. With MC right next to him and with the room being mostly dark, it made it easy for him to fall asleep.

The only reason MC noticed that the demon besides fell asleep was from hearing him snoring. It made for quite the cute and MC decided to play with his hair. As their hand reached his head, Beel grabbed their hand and started to lightly nibble at it.

Quickly MC retracted their hand and got up to pick on of their pens. They were no longer in the mood to finish the movie so they figured it was just the right moment to write something on Beel.

MC gently lifted up Beel's shirt and tried to avoid being grabbed by the sleeping demon. They took a moment to admire his body. It was far from being the first time seeing him like but MC still couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate his body. Since he was the biggest out of all the brothers ment that MC had more space to write all sorts of compliments and words of encouragement. After making sure that his chest and abs were covered in all sorts of messages and small doodles, MC pulled down his shirt and went to sleep like nothing happened.

In morning Beel woke up and left the room while MC was still soundly asleep. He felt bad for falling asleep during the movie, but decided to think of a way to make it up to MC after his morning work out.

When he entered his bedroom he went straight into changing himself into some clothes ment for working out. As he took his shirt off he noticed there was something not only across his chest but across his stomach too. At first he thought he got some food on him from raiding the fridge but when he looked closer he realized there were words written on him.

He took a picture of them and started to read. It didn't take him long to realize it was MC's doing so he didn't waste any second and went back to in their room so he could express how happy he was to wake up with all those compliments on him. He didn't bother to put his shirt back on, there was no need to cover up MC's little surprise for him. imagine waking up by a shirtless beel picking you up in order to hug

Belphegor

MC's room is one, if not his favourite places to sleep in. Not only did he get to sleep surrounded by their scent, but if he got lucky he would get to sleep all cuddled up to MC. It was a win in his book no matter what.

To MC's dismay, he doesn't always announce his presence, so there were quite a few times where MC sat right on top of him without meaning to. To make matters even more difficult for MC, the bastard would require them to cuddle him in order to make up for the hurt that they have caused. If MC didn't know any better, they would think he was doing it on purpose.

Because of that, MC got in the habit to check if there was anyone in their bed before even thinking of trying to get on it. While the habit was a bit weird it finally payed off. There he was, the avatar of sloth in all of his beauty, sleeping and hugging close to his chest one of MC's plushies.

He looked quite adorable in his sleep. you wouldn't believe he was capable of murdering you MC tried to gently shake him awake but he wouldn't budge so they just gave up on the idea all together.

Since it looked he was not going to wake up MC went to pick one of their pens. In a way it was quite ironic that the person that sleeps the most in their room was the last one to get compliments written on him.

MC moved his body so that he would lie on his back. It turned out to be way easier than they would have expected. It honestly felt like Belphie himself moved so MC would have an easier time writing on him.

Lifting his shirt they started by drawing small constellations here and there, followed by some compliments and other cute messages they could think of.

Once satisfied with their work MC tried to get up from the bed when a hand suddenly grabbed. When they looked down they saw Belphie having one of his most insufferable smirks on his face.

At that moment the realization finally hit MC and made them feel quite silly for forgeting such an important detail. Belphie is often aware of what is happening around him while he is sleeping. That's the only reason he has grades high enough to rivale Satan despite doing nothing but sleep during classes. That also explains why he was so easy to move around a few minutes prior.

It was too late to be having regrets tho. MC was being held thightly by Belphegor and they just knew they are about to be teased relentlessly by him.

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netherfeildren · 2 months

Text

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter XII : Venus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

A/N: I realized shortly after posting chapter 11 that I’d made a small mistake in the timeline I’m intending this to follow. I included a line from Din saying Paz had already tried to take the Darksaber from him and failed, but where we’re at now, chapter 5 of The Book of Boba Fett hasn’t happened just yet. So I’ve gone back and deleted that small detail from the previous chapter, and why am I even telling you this, idk, but if you guy could do me a solid and pretend to forget my fuck up, I’d love you forever for it.

Writing Star Wars is hard

Also, the indomitable @dirtysouvenir has rendered the most gorgeous artwork imaginable of Din and Sithy, and I still can’t quite believe my eyes every time I look at it. Everyone please go show Jonis all the love and praise she deserves.

Anyways… like always, forgive me for the wait. I love you all for being so patient with me. And shout out to chapter four of Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband which served as inspiration for this. You will always be famous to me!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

CHAPTER XII : VENUS

What are we doing here, and why are our hearts invisible?

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

“Just like that, yes. Good girl–keep doing what you’re doing.” His hand slides to circle your wrist, leather and the thick weave of your tunic, the slight shake of your nerves caught between. “Grip it firmly, but squeeze it gently. Yes– yes, good. You’re doing so well.”

You suck in a trembling breath, too hyper aware of the feel of his chest plate brushing against your back, the cap of his left knee gently bumping the back of your own, his arms wrapped in a loose and careful cage around your frame where he’s helping you direct the blaster at the target he’d set up several meters away for practicing. He’s got one of your wrists wrapped in the leather of his fist, the other cupping the underside of your elbow to keep your shaking arms steady.

“I don’t know why I’ve never been very good at this,” you whisper over the sound of the burning desert winds lashing you in the brow. “It’s just never come very easy.”

“That’s alright. That’s why we’re practicing again.” The hand cupping your elbow moves slowly to your waist, all his handling of you these past few days has been so intentional, cautious and patient and aware of himself and you and your reactions. Your heart beats, thumps and thumps hard enough to make you a little dizzy, a little sick. “Keep your right arm firm, but fluid. Try not to lock your elbow, let the recoil move through you steadily.”

He’d covered your hair and face in soft white linen wraps to keep you from being scorched by the sun and sand, and his voice is so deep, head pitched low so that the modulator is vibrating right at the level of your ear, the sounds of him sluicing through the linen to curl around your ear. You shiver again, squeezing your fist too tight around the butt of the blaster. You’d asked him if he’d help you practice just before you’d made planet fall a few hours ago, and now here the two of you are. A few clicks outside of Mos Eisley, he’d found a cluster of sandstacks to land the Crest amidst for a couple hours of target practice—near an area he’d told you is called Beggar’s Canyon.

You’re not sure if it’s just an excuse to have him touch you, but here you are now, in the circle of his arms, shivering with nerves and heat and want. The sun burns, but the places where he grips you burn worse, and your heart rings in your skull.

“Focus your gaze between the eyeline, eventually, it’ll come naturally, your aim, but for now, use the field the blaster sets. Squeeze gentle–” He grips your now healed elbow firmly, anchoring your arm, the hand holding your wrist moves to your waist, securing you in his hold so that when you pull the trigger, the zing of the blaster bolt leaving its chamber moves through your limb, into your chest cavity, electrifying your heart, and his hold is steadying all the way through. He’s there to keep you up, keep you strong, and so it’s almost thoughtless when you do it, a gut instinct or some muscle inside your brain desperate to flex and stretch or come awake because faster than you can blink or think, you take hold of that bolt of plasma with your mind, freezing it midway between where the two of you stand and the target he’d set.

You feel his hands flex around you, but he keeps still and silent, watching, waiting for what you’ll do next. And your heart beats faster and faster, the bright of the sun gleaming and nauseating, refracting off the sand, the plasma, your eyes. The bolt screeches and writhes and defies the laws of nature by your hand, and it does not feel good, but it does feel right.

The first time you’ve really wielded the Force since the night you escaped.

There’s something painful and uncomfortable and familiar about it coming back to you. Your breath goes fast within your chest, the taste of the desert on your tongue and the grit of sand sneaking beneath your clothes, sweaty line of anxiety down your spine, and his steady, calm breaths up against your back every other moment, this power inside of you that’s always been the cause of everything bad and only some things good. It vibrates in everything, moves through all living things, the Force, within you, within him.

“Let it go, cyare. It’s okay if you miss.” You shut your eyes and let it fall away and now it’s not the Force or you or anything else, it’s only him keeping you up against the rest of everything.

The two of you, like grief and the mountain.

“How did you meet this woman again?” You ask for about the third time, seemingly unable to keep your mouth shut and your nerves to yourself.

“She’s been keeping up maintenance on the Crest for a while now. And she helped out with the kid, watched him for me a couple times—I trust her.”

“Peli,” you repeat the name contemplatively, taking in the sight of him as he checks the pre-landing codes, flipping switches and punching toggles a little too roughly. He’s agitated, covered and swathed in it. You know he’s worried about you, the way you’ll feel being around someone else, scared you’re still feeling fragile or tired or weak. And you’re accepting it for now because you are. You are tired and you do feel fragile and you do need taking care of. If only for the time being, if only for a little bit longer. A sort of end feels very near, and you’re still working out what that such end is going to be.

“Peli,” he sighs, hitting the last button and finally swiveling in his chair to face you, and you eye him suspiciously, you know that sigh and head tilt. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Not tired?”

“No.”

“Your shoulder?”

Hurts. “Fine.”

“Cyar’ika.”

“Din.” Another sigh. Another shake of his head. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes at you beneath that stupid lug of metal he wears on his fat head. But you hope that he’s smiling too, and you give him a soft, small one of your own, twisting your fingers together tightly in your lap. You want to reach out for him, to go to him and sit with him and kiss him again like the other day. But you don’t feel ready again. Again, fragile, tired, a weakness of heart within you that you can’t understand the source of, or you can, but you don’t want to accept it, you want to be able to move on, to get over it, to be like you once were. But that you also know he’ll let you feel for as long as you need to.

“I promise I feel okay, and that I’ll tell you if I don’t.” The target practice had left you tired and awake, and there is something moving inside of you—a recognition of sorts you can’t pinpoint exactly, but which you know is going to show or tell you something about yourself soon, the Force, the things you’d done or the things you’d do. And there’s patience too, a waiting, a readiness to receive whatever this would be without pressure or urgency. You feel entirely strung tight, a knot about to be set loose, entirely at ease, as well. Something strange about the anxiety you carry within yourself, like it doesn’t really matter much anymore and is only waiting for the right moment to be expelled.

He gives a soft grunt and turns back to face the control panel. The rolling golden sands of Tatooine like an ocean before you, and then there in the distance, the littered smattering of sand blighted little buildings that make up the spaceport of Mos Eisley. He directs the Razor Crest towards Hangar three-five, the ship jostling with the lowering of the landing gear.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” You ask nervously, following him down the ladder once he’s eased the ship into the landing bay, fretting over this ordeal of having to meet someone else from his life, a friend, which wasn’t even something you were aware he knew how to have. You hear the heavy thud of his boots against the durasteel, and then his hands are circling your waist and pulling you down the rest of the way, paying no mind to your indignant squawking.

He’d been strange with his touch, as well. As if he couldn’t help himself some moments, overcome by habit and familiarity, and then afraid and cautious in others. And you can’t understand how you feel about this either. Grateful, a sort of soft that makes your eyes smart and your cheeks bleed with heat. He’s so aware of you, so aware of what you might want or need, but then overcome, as well, needing you, wanting you. And you feel so afraid you won’t be able to give him those things—the ones he wants or needs, that you won't be able to find your way back to the way things had been between the two of you before.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, little compassion to be found for your fretting. You stick your tongue out at the back of his head, rolling your eyes and steeling yourself as he lowers the hatch, and a chirpy little voice calls, Mando!

The plank lowers, and lowers, and lowers, and finally, a mess of springy dark curls come into view. The small woman, Peli, claps her hands excitedly and spreads her arms in wide welcome of him, and something in your heart throbs.

A friend, indeed.

“Peli,” he greets her, heavy, swaying gate stomping down the gangplank, voice serious and not all matching her enthusiasm. You roll your eyes at him again as the reverberations of his steps tickle your feet through the soles of your boots.

“Hey, look everyone! It’s Mando,” she says to the chittering droids whirring around her. You follow him slowly, slinking directly behind him so that the breadth of his shoulders conceals you for a second longer before, “And who do we have here? Another unlikely companion?”

He pivots, letting you step into full view and brave shyness, a hand coming up to hover around your waist, urging you forward, but not actually touching you. The sound of your name rings in tune to the thump of your heart through the modulator. Careful, so careful, and it makes you hurt at your own self. Wanting to touch you one moment, unable to stop himself from ripping you into his arms; another, afraid, feeling like he can’t even put a gently motioning hand on your body, and how will you ever fix this? How are you going to ever be able to get the two of you back to where you were?

You take a hurt little step away from him, swallowing the heat in your throat several times before you can force a smile onto your face.

His body shifts and sways towards your retreating one.

But the small woman steps towards you, pit droids spinning and skittering frantically around her, and she claps a work hewn hand on your shoulder. “Let Peli take a good look at you.” Her gaze is cheerful, full of a youthfulness that belies her age and an even more cheerful, gap toothed smile. “Pretty girlfriend, Mando.” She waggles her bushy brows up at him. “Brought me another set of bright eyes, didn’t’cha?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peli.” Your throat feels humiliatingly tight when she takes your hand in her smaller one, giving it a swift shake, no gentleness about the way she handles you, and there’s something comforting about the forsaking of the kid gloves. Your fracture isn’t obvious for the whole world to see, there’s still normalcy to be found for you.

She looks up at Din as you avoid his burning gaze, laughing scowl on her sunny face. “Who woulda thought you had it in, ya, huh?” She thumps a fist on his chest plate, shaking her head and moves to take a look at the Crest. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Chasing down some elusive bounty? Carbon scoring’s worse than last time.'' She chatters a million miles a minute, pulling out some sort of electric scanner, assessing the old gunship.

“We had a long trip,” he sighs, hands fisted on his hips as he watches her impatiently, turning his gaze back to your face every few moments. You want to bare your teeth at him in a snarl and tell him to stop fucking worrying. You want him to take you into his arms or hold your hand.

“Long trip, sure. That’s what he always says,” she tells you over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Turns out it’s usually a gun fight or something just as idiotic.”

You snicker, enjoying the easy way she handles your Mandalorian’s surliness, grateful for the cheerful buffer she provides between your own internal angst and his overzealous worrying. “It was a long trip this time, I swear. We’re coming from the Core,” he grumbles, and the two of you follow her while she inspects the damage on the ship, and in a moment of bravery or desperation for normalcy or closeness or just him, you reach up to grip two of his thick fingers in your fist. His hand immediately adjusts and curves to wrap around yours, intertwining your fingers and taking you securely in his grip. You feel him turn to look down at you questioningly, but you refuse to look back. This is normal, this is how it should be, this is what feels right even if you need the barrier of his gloves to feel like you can breathe.

“The Core! Long way’s.” Hmm, she muses as she goes. “Got a fuel leak.” Again. He huffs. “Taking a vacation now?” She turns back with another smarmy smirk.

“Something like that.”

“Nice little honeymoon?” She teases. “I could use one of those myself.” She scans something else, and the pit droids chatter and chirp around her, almost full her height, she’s so small.

“Peli–” he grumbles. Your grumpy, shy boy; you wonder if he ever blushes under that thing, squeezing his hand in yours as tight as you can.

“Yeah, yeah. No droids, I know. When are you gonna get over that nonsense, huh Mando? It’s about time, you know!” She bends to inspect something closer near the landing gear, covered in carbon scoring here too, examines her scanner again, then clips it back to her utility belt. “Alright, here’s the deal–” But he cuts her off, pivoting while pulling his blaster in one fluid motion to shoot at a poor little droid that's gotten too close. “Hey! Hey! What’ve I said before? You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it!” She shouts.

“Din–” you scold, gripping the thick of his arm to pull the weapon down.

“What’ve I told you?” He barks.

“No droids. No droids. Blah, blah. You have got to get over that! I’m tryn’a make a deal with you here, ya womp rat.”

He jerks aggressively towards another little droid that wanders too close, sending it skittering away in terror, and you pinch his arm beneath the thick duraweave, frowning up at him, be nice, when he looks down at you, giving him a jut of your eyebrow and thrusting your chin at Peli. He groans, cursing low and grumpy in Mando’a. “Fine. What’s the deal?”

“If you let them work on the Crest–” She jerks her chin at the little pit droids quivering behind the crates strewn about the hangar in abject terror of the mean Mandalorian.

“No,” he cuts her off, stubbornness in every line of his frame.

“Din!” You scold again, bumping your hip into his.

“Come on, Mando! I’ll charge you half price–”

“Deal,” he cuts her off again immediately, the cheapskate.

“Ha!” She hoots and claps loudly. “Droids! Get to work on this lovely man’s ship. Lemme see the cash.” She holds out a grubby palm, wiggling her fingers. “He’s pretty easy, you ever notice that?” She says to you conspiratorially.

“Constantly,” you can’t help the laugh in your voice. Your first laugh in what seems like years.

“Loose knickered is what they used to call it back in my day.” And you have to turn your face into his arm to muffle your cackling, listening to him start up another string of curses beneath the helmet.

“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that before, ever,” he mutters sullenly.

“Well, you’re young.”

“Not that young,” you provide helpfully, big cheesy smile that feels slightly unnatural and rusted spreading across your face.

“Whoopee, Mando! I like this one! You really do know how to pick ‘em.” She claps him roughly on the shoulder, her little paw slapping loudly against his pauldron. “Anyway, I’ve got somewhere to be for the next couple of days, you see. I’m dating that Jawa again—the one I’d told you about,” she announces, proud as anything, big smile across her leathery face.

“A Jawa?” You repeat, making sure you heard right.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, bright eyes. They’re quite furry… very furry, but…” She clicks her teeth together, “You know…” Grins.

You look up at Din, squeezing his arm in your grip. “Guess I gotta try it.” You’re pretty sure you hear him grumble something to the effect of over my dead body, before he’s agreeing to Peli’s deal with a clap and a shake, and the promise of two hundred and fifty Imperial credits and absolutely no harm done to her droids while she’s gone and they work on the Crest.

“Treadwell, get in there!” She shouts, and the little pit droid chirps fretfully, trembling behind an R5 unit. “You can’t say no, you’re a droid. Oh, he’s not going to shoot you. Stop being a coward! What is this, a democracy all of a sudden?” Losing the fight, the droid wheels forward to get to work. “Yeah, thought so.” She turns back to you and Din. “You two can stay here, look after the shop while I’m gone? It’ll only be a few days.”

“We have some resupplying to do, but we’ll stay until you’re back,” he promises.

“And you’re not going to shoot my droids?”

“And I’m not going to shoot your droids,” he agrees, but later, you catch the too rough nudge he gives one of the little droids with his boot when he thinks no one’s watching. This man and his droid complex, you roll your eyes.

“How’s the N-1 keeping up?” He asks as she’s packing up to go.

“Just how you left her. That honey’s faster than a fathier. You should take her out while you’re here, give that baby a spin. Oh! And I added that turbonic venturi power assimilator I’d mentioned before. Remember? S’how I reconnected with my Jawa,” she nudges you with a wink. “You’re gonna be the fastest ship on the Outer Rim.”

“You got a new ship?” You ask curiously.

“Just a side project we took up while I had some spare time.” But the way he says it is a little strange, making you pause to look up and try to read the blank face of his helmet. Ah, and he smooths that same hovering hand from before along the line of your spine, an attempt to soothe or quell your curiosity without actually giving you the gift of his touch.

Peli leaves a few hours later, and she really does have a Jawa lover. The little critter comes to collect her right before the suns set, off to catch the sandcrawler before it journeys off into the desert, leaving you alone with only Din and the little pit droids for company.

And suddenly, that shyness from earlier is back for some reason. The distraction of travel and the buzz of hyperspace lost to the calm silence of the quiet spaceport as the suns set over the horizon and night settles in, cool winds coming in on the sand gusts from deep in the desert. After hours of work, Din posing as the menacing overlord barking orders and complaints, intruding on their work when it isn’t up to his ridiculous standards, the droids finish up for the night, and Din engages the hangar security system, and then the ship’s, locking the two of you in safely for the night.

“Dinner?” He asks as he moves slowly around the hull, pulling the cloak from his shoulders, a river of sand sluicing in a rain sheet onto the steel floor. The sound of it has a shiver moving through you as you lower yourself to the floor, crossing your legs beneath you at the edge of your makeshift bed. You desperately want to crawl between the covers without a shower and find the peace of evasion through sleep, secure in the knowledge that he won’t follow you into bed. He’d refused since you’d reunited, even though you’d invited him several times to share the much more comfortable pile of blankets than what you know his pilot’s chair or bunk provide. He’d not taken you up on the offer yet, and right now, fluttering heart and hot eyes and sweating nape, you’re glad for it.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you—or you do. You’re overwhelmed with want and fear, of him, of his touch, of having lost what the two of you had before. And as you watch him start to pull his armor from his body, first one pauldron, then a vambrace, then a thigh guard, no sense of congruity to the pattern with which he divests himself of his Creed, it’s suddenly like he’s standing right in front of you, and yet you miss him anyway. Miss him in a way that makes you sick and devastated.

You must make some sort of sound, a funny look on your face or a change in your breathing because he turns suddenly, a too worried, “What’s wrong?” on his tongue.

“Nothing.” You look up at him from your spot on the ground, head falling back on your neck, and you can feel the wet of your eyes, trying to force yourself not to blink so that they won’t fall—the tears. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He comes to a slow crouch before you, long legs folding down, down. “What is it? Tell me.” Half missing his armor as he poses now, it’s like he’s half him, half yours, half only-man, half Mandalorian. A little bit like what you feel yourself; half, half, half.

Pulling one glove from his hand, he lifts it, palm spread towards you, showing you his intention before he carefully cups the side of your face; thumb at your pulse, pointer and middle fingers giving your temple a soft pressure, pinky poised at the bridge of your nose. Your lashes brush against his index every time you blink, and his skin is smooth and rough at the same time, and warm—sun-hearted man.

You press your face harder into his palm, letting him support the weight of your head, nuzzling against the rough of his calluses, blaster blister scratchy against your carotid, and heat pulses all through you from the crown of your head, sliding down the length of your, still yet, too long hair, the back of your neck, your chest, pooling to settle deep in the pit of your belly.

And yet there’s something missing or different or off, like you feel empty but too full of trepidation to conjure up that old desire you’d always had, that need for him to fill, fill, fill you. Like the heat is there, but it’s remembered, not necessarily present. It all makes you want to cry and scream and go to sleep.

The truth, and plainly: you’re terrified of anything that might hurt, can’t fathom the idea of it.

Your heart beats in your throat, you taste it on your tongue, and it mixes with the sad when you say: “Do you remember when we were on Kashyyyk—when we sparred?”

“I remember,” he says, voice deep and low—through the modulator. You hate his helmet. You wish you could get beneath. You wish you were brave enough. The feeling of it coming on sudden and unexpected, thought, bitter and foul and not something you’d necessarily felt before, certainly not so viciously. It’s just that you hate that all this has happened—you want to feel the press of his lips at the crown of your head and the wash of his breath like heat moving through your hair—that you are not in the same place you once were, that you’re too afraid to move forward.

“When we switched weapons—”

He hums: “Yes.”

“It was so green there.” You turn your face further into him so that you’re speaking into his palm now, words pooling there in the cup of it like a well of truths and fears.

“It was.” The pointer and index stroke your temple, press once, twice, thrice—harder on the latter. It feels good, it feels real and reminding. He lets a heavy silence pass for a moment, he’s thinking of something, contemplating a push. “Do you remember—” He passes a swallow you can hear the thickness of, “Do you remember how I had you in the dirt—like a fucking animal? How you let me do whatever I wanted, however I wanted.” He gives the hardest press he’s given yet, at your temple, you think you feel the press against your brain, and you open your mouth to let the edge of your teeth dig hard into the meat of his palm. He growls a rough sound, a hungry sound, a sound like one he’d have made when he had you in the dirt like a fucking animal.

You drag your teeth along the hill of his palm, closing your mouth at the end. You don’t give him the wet of your tongue, you don’t feel ready to taste his skin like that just yet—an assimilation of violence.

“Yes,” you finally say, realizing that he understands what you were thinking without having to say it, or knowing how to, that you’re full of memories of past desires and how badly you want them back and how out of reach that all feels, but also, that suddenly now, in a single blink, the heat in your belly isn’t remembered, but present, alive, awake. That you’re cunt clenches once, twice, thrice around nothing—harder, hungrier on the latter. That you’re wet for him. “I remember.”

“Good. I remember every single thing we’ve ever done.” You roll your face in his palm so that you can look up at him now, feeling something like brave. “Every word, every breath, I remember all of it. Alright?”

“Alright,” you say quietly.

“And if you need me to help you remember too, then I will.”

“Alright.” And then: “What if I can’t, though?... What if we can’t ever have that again? What if I can’t remember? What if I can never give you that again?” A tear slides over the bridge of your nose, and now it’s not only truths and fears cupped in the palm of his hand but the saltwater of grief too.

“Then we’ll find something new. A new way, a different way. We’ll do it however you want now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, cyar’ika.” It’s very much a promise, a new Creed being established here.

“Okay.”

He nods, “Okay.”

The water is warm verging on hot verging on scalding. It feels incredible slithering over your tired and sore muscles, the ligatures in your arms still trembling from the blaster practice earlier today, from your overwhelm of emotions.

You hate that you’re not good at it, that the only weapon that seems to become you is a lightsaber.

The suds of his earthy smelling soap slide through your hair, slipping down your spine, over your ass and along your legs to pool around your feet and disappear down the drain. You shiver once, as though letting something fall away as you slide your hand down, over the swell of your belly, to cup the palmful of your cunt, wedging your hand between your thighs. You pet slowly at the wet curls there, realizing some of it is also the sticky slick of your desire. You were right, you’re wet for him and your clit pulses, slightly swollen and wanting. Your body is awake and hungry for him for the first time in what feels like eons.

You explore slowly, your cunt slightly trembling at the feeling of being prodded and touched for the first time in you can’t remember how long. Moaning softly, you pull your fingers from between your legs, hands sliding up now to cup the weights of your breasts in each palm and squeeze tightly. Oh, you want him, you want him, you’re afraid. Your head falls back on a thump against the fresher wall, loud enough that you hear his lurking voice through the door, you okay in there? And instead of being annoyed at his overbearing caution, his hovering, you shiver again, something coming back to you now.

Your desire.

You shut the water off, grabbing one of the soft linens he’d slung over the warm pipe for you to wrap yourself in. He knocks a knuckle against the wobbly little door, “Cyar’ika?”

Looking at yourself in front of the steamy mirror, too long, naiad hair, bright, strange eyes, you want him, you want him, you want to feel alive, awake, anything. You can’t deny your shortcomings, fears, whatever they might be called, but there is yet still a soft place inside of you that they’d not snuffed out, that wants Din still.

You turn to slide the fresher door open just as he’s readying to knock again.

He’d showered before you, after he’d fed you your soup and your disgusting fake bread he’d promised he’d find a real substitution for soon enough, and you’d needed a moment alone to sit in your grime and silence, digest your feelings. He’s clad now in one of his soft, dark undershirts, his flight pants and the helmet, opposite your towel and water dewed skin, steaming from the hot fresher.

You watch a swallow pass through his throat, words caught, slow and heavy. He clears it once, twice, tilts his head down to take in the state of you, before he says, “You alright?”

You nod, wide eyed awake. He’s standing right in front of you and you miss him and you want to shock him wide eyed awake too. “The water was too hot. I got dizzy,” you lie, swaying towards him a little, letting your lashes flutter dramatically.

Not all the way, but enough, just a little, as much as you can bear, that’s what you want from him right now.

His hands come up to grip the sides of your arms immediately, his bare hands, soaking up the wet of your skin. He pulls you into himself, pressing you carefully against his chest, and you shiver and shake against him, teeth rattling with a sound entirely lacking temperance. Your blood feels like it’s boiling, there’s desire alive and writhing in your tummy, and you squeeze your thighs together tightly, shifting from one foot to another while you drip a puddle onto the cold floor.

“Come here, sit down,” he murmurs, gently moving you to your bed, easing you down onto it slowly. “You need to take it easy,” he clucks over you, gripping your elbow to let you down carefully, keeping his hands on your bare skin until the last moment. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re still tired, you’re still recovering. And you never listen. You have to listen to me when I’m trying to take care of you. You don’t eat enough, and I know your shoulder still hurts, little liar. Your elbow is barely better, and I saw you making strange faces when you were walking up the plank the other day. Your hip hurts doesn't it? Or your knee, something. No, don’t answer. I know you’ll just say no.” He talks and talks and talks, and you love him and you think that—

There’s a name for this…

He’d told you he loved you and he’d not said it again, neither had you, it felt too huge a thing to talk about again just yet while there was still so much left to discuss and bridge, but what does it matter if your body sings or screams in pain when you have the love of this beskar titan? What could you care for all the rest of everything?

Yes, Din. Yes, Din. Whatever you say, Din, as he huffs and puffs and arranges you, brings another pillow and blanket from the bunk, his only one in there, not that he cares, lovely man.

And it’s not only that you feel like you need to give him the things he wants or needs, because of course you do. You love him, you need to be able to give him things, everything, you want to be able to give him the whole galaxy. But it’s also that you want to. That to give him what he desires is to feed yourself, to live together, to be together, to give each other the things you need to stay alive.

You let yourself fall back onto the soft blankets slowly, this nest where you’ve always felt so safe and so protected and so loved, even when neither of you knew it was love that was holding you here. And you watch him for a few anxious moments as he pulls the covers this way and that, tucking them here and there, trying to avoid looking at the bare expanse of your dew damp legs. But then, taking hold of his hand, you still his nervous movements, and he finally looks up at your face, letting go of his fretting, taking hold of the bravery in the palm of your hand.

Shy—but brave. Brave—and wanting.

“We’ll take care of each other, won’t we?” You want to tell him you love him again, but there’s something slightly terrifying, gloriously intimate and fragile about the words.

“Always.”

“And we’ll keep each other alive?” Maker, I hope we keep each other alive.

“Yes.”

You take hold of the edge of the linen covering you, revealing your naked body to him slowly, exposing your soft underbelly. You hear his breath hitch, exhale on a groan that sounds like dying. His grip on your hand goes tight to the point of bone crushing pain for one brief, brief moment before he remembers himself and gentles again. You shiver at the pain, belly swooping and quivering with fear and nausea and lust.

You wish you could see his eyes, his face, his want.

“You—” he stutters, swallows, “You don’t have to, my love.” My love. He doesn’t need to say it out loud again now with teeth and tongue, he says it in all the things he does.

“You have to know that I want you so much. That I want you more than anything, Din.”

“I do know,” he says immediately. “I’ve never doubted that.”

“I want to show you.”

“You don’t have to. I know—” His other hand comes up to grip yours with both of his, caging your limb within the strength of his fists—to keep himself from touching you anywhere else, you think. But you can feel the intensity of his gaze along your skin, over your bare breasts, quivering with your hitching breaths, water droplets translating the frantic beat of your heart in their trembling on the surface of your skin. The line of your belly, the slope downward to the soft place between your thighs.

He’d seen the scarring on your hand, it was inevitable as much as you’d wished you could hide the deformity they’d left. As much as you wish you could’ve kept it from him, held an illusion for the rest of your lives together to spare him from the reminder of the things that’d been done, happened, chosen. But now… now he is to be subjected to the whole truth of it. Scars like cobwebs, strangely shimmering in silver lights beneath the surface of your skin—they’d been clever and ingenious in their torture—covering the whole circumference of your left hand up to your elbow. But also, from the lowest point of your last rib, over your right hip, traversing lower down the contours of your skin to wrap around the uppermost swell of your thigh.

They’d left their mark like they’d intended, and it wasn't something you could ever hide from him, the reality of what’d been done, what you’d chosen. It was obvious in everything, etched into your skin, a chasm in the still present distance between the two of you.

You feel like a bruise; tender, vulnerable, incongruously desperate to press on it harder and feel that dull throb, dark and ugly and on display.

His hands go tight around yours again for a moment, before he’s snatching them back to grip his bent knee, white knuckled, silent anger on display when his eyes reach the scarring.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smoothing a hand over your hip down to your thigh to grip yourself there, digging your fingertips lightly into the plush softness. Your skin vibrates. “It doesn't hurt now.”

“What did they do?” His voice is like gravel, restrained fire-full fury.

“They wanted to see what it’d take to leave a mark. They figured it out.” The helmet turns away sharply, a short, brutal curse spit from his mouth. The tongue of his mother, beautiful despite his violence.

“It’s okay, Din.” You take hold of your thigh, pulling it up and apart, spreading yourself for him. Brave, wanting heart, be brave. He turns back immediately. “I want you to see how much I want you,” you whisper. “How much I still need you.”

You let your fingertips flutter lightly over your swollen, needy sex, and you can hear the obscene, sucking sound of your wet lips spreading apart when you part your legs wide enough for your sex to bloom. Cunt hungry and weeping for him.

Fuck, he spits, leaning closer, and his hand snaps forward to grip your ankle all the way around, pulling your foot up onto the uncompromising muscle of his thigh—your only point of contact.

“Show me, cyar’ika. Show me how much that pretty cunt missed me,” he growls.

You start slow, wide eyes fixed on the dark tee of his vizor, fingertips swirling around your clit slowly, it pulses and throbs and beats to the rhythm you can feel his own heart beating at within his own chest. But you pet it slowly, teasing both of you, and then feel lower down to the clenching mouth of your cunt—fuck, he spits again—slicking your fingers in your sticky wet. You start to rock your hips against the flat of your hand, the sound of your cunt, loud in the quiet hull, nothing to interrupt but the too desperate sound of your mutual panting. His fingers around your ankle are so tight they’ll leave a sore spot, and you can't think of the later hurt now, afraid it'll scare you out of this, all you can focus on is the beat of your cunt, the way it cries for him.

You swirl your fingertips at your opening, again, again, “Put them inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” And it’s a demand.

You start with one, slow and tentative, a little, shocked gasp as you probe shallowly within the tight, little hole. Then further, wiggling inside until you’re impaling yourself with your own small finger, the first thing inside of you in so long, and suddenly, you wish it was him. Your eyes fill with tears at the thought, spilling over at the wish that he could’ve been the first thing inside of you after all this time, but the reality that you’re just not ready for it yet. The salted proof of your inevitable shortcomings slide back along your cheeks to drip into your ears.

“Another,” he demands. “Oh, it sounds so pretty, little one. Give it another.” You pull your single finger out, sucking, wet-cunt sound that he groans in tune with, to press another one in, mewling at the pinch and stretch of it, the slick slide. Yes, just like that. You’re doing so well, he says, a mirror of his earlier words to you today during target practice. “Roll your hips, ride your hand.” You hitch another sob, “Don’t fucking cry,” he grits, pressing your heel hard into the meat of his thigh. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re going to come for me, you’re going to let me see it.” He spreads his thighs wider in his kneeling crouch, pushing his hips forward into nothing, drawing your gaze to the heavy bulge behind the plaquette of his flight pants. He’s so hard.

You crook your fingers inside yourself, hill of your palm against the swell of your engorged clit, fingertips against the spongey ridge at the front of your cunt, rolling your hips faster, chasing the orgasm you need to give him. Your foot feels numb in his grip, your cunt, on fire, so tight it hurts. Your belly hitches and heaves, open mouth gasping and you cry his name, moaning and writhing wantonly, your stomach slick and glistening again with sweat now instead of water. One of your palms reaches up to take hold of your breast, nipple caught between your fingers, squeezing tight, tight, tight. And suddenly he’s surging forward, letting go of your ankle to lean over you and rip his pants open, freeing his furious erection. The tip is red-purple and swollen fat, drooling a thick string of sloppy, white precum, and he wraps one massive fist around the angry thing. Din, Din, Din. He beats at his cock furiously, the sound of your name, the slick thwack, thwack, thwack of it sends you spilling into your orgasm, belly pulling tight, cunt twisting even tighter.

“Fuck, fucking come—fucking come,” he snarls as he twists his fist cruelly around the head and the thick white viscosity of his semen starts to spill from the fat head, bubbling up and over his fist and between his fingers, splattering heavy and hot onto your spasming cunt, coating your fingers so that you’re pushing the thick of his come into yourself, slicking you further. “Yes, yes, yes, like that. Let me fucking see it…Look at what you do to me.” And there's so much furious want in his voice, and he’s so big, long and thick, and you know it’s going to hurt when he puts it inside of you for the first time again—you remember how it hurt before, how you loved it—and you’re afraid you’re not going to be able to handle any sort of pain ever again, not even the sort you’d been so hungry for before.

But your womb pulls tight, pulses and throbs, and suddenly your two skinny fingers arent enough, you want the thick heft of his cock fucking hard and fast and deep inside of you, punching at the deepest spot within you.

His orgasm ends on a fierce groan, panting, thick chest heaving, his head hangs low between his shoulders. You pull your shaking fingers from your clenching hole, and he gives a few last lazy strokes, squeezing the last drops of come from the slick tip to splatter against your pussy. “I fucking missed this—your cunt covered in me.” His dripping cock bobs so close, and you have the sudden insane thought of him just shoving it in, holding you down prone and fucking all of his spend into your sloppy cunt, forcing you to take it and be his again. “I can’t wait to eat it. I can’t wait to fill it with my come again and eat it out of you.” There’s a part of you that might want it, that might wish for it.

“Maker, Din…” you moan, rubbing the thick semen into your overstimulated clit, your mound, up the curve of your belly, slicking yourself in him.

If you can’t have his touch, this is enough, and you bring your sticky, soaking fingers up to your mouth, sucking the come from them. He groans, not fair, sitting back on his knees, spent cock hanging obscenely from his open pants, wet and glistening. He reaches behind his head to tug his shirt up and off, leaving his sweaty chest bare and gleaming. Your eyes flutter shut, cupping your cunt in the palm of your hand, covering the slick curve of it, and you arch your back, spreading your thighs further, putting yourself on display for him.

“Gorgeous, cyar’ika,” he says between pants. “So pretty, my love.” He reaches down to squeeze his half hard cock once more. “I can be patient for you, I promise. You’re so worth it.”

He lays beside you in the dark, stretched out long and entirely clothed, but here with you, forced and convinced to share your bed with a line of pillows as a protective moat between the two of you at his own insistence.

You’re on your side, hands folded beneath your smushed cheek, wide eyes searching fruitlessly for the shape of him in the pitch dark. You want to say something else. You want to tell him you love him again, to hear the words fall from your tongue.

“What are you thinking?” He asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” You hum a barely breathed laugh. And then, “I know you’re scared or regretful or worried that we’ll not get back to where we were,” he reads you.

“Yes.”

There’s a name for this…

He sighs long, goes quiet for longer, and then finally: “What’s happened’s happened, which is an expression of faith in the mechanics of the galaxy.”

“Fate?” You muse, a little unbelieving.

Dark red—

“Call it what you want. We met, we separated…you were—gone. We waited. Now we’re here again. It’s meaningful, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You believe in this—fate?” I didn’t think I believed in anything anymore. But I believe in you.

“Call it what you want, but yes.”

—String.

There’s something about this that you need to consider, chew on. The fact that you’d felt, all your life, cursed to know how a thing would happen, be, end, always. Something like fate, perhaps, the whisper of it making a home for itself within the shell of your ear, and now the truth that he too believes in this thing you’ve always lived with. Destiny, what have you—you believe in the same things, you believe in each other.

“Will you hold my hand?”

He turns over, reaching to twine his fingers through yours; large, rough palm against small, soft palm. You want to tell him you love him again, you want to hear the words for him, but they feel trapped, tender, timid.

You’d always thought your destiny fixed, poised, on the tip of your tongue. A thing was what it was birthed unto the galaxy in perpetuity, and no amount of desire could absolve you of its sunken teeth. But this—this desire is like the creation of myth, that dark red thread that goes by the name of fate being pulled taught, humming in accord with a frequency heard only by the two of you.

Now: “Will you kiss me?” A beat of silence, his fingers around yours going tight, tight.

“Come here,” his voice blends with the darkness, and tugging you into himself, protective border between your bodies and his hand around your jaw, he slips a kiss onto your tongue. His mouth holds the hot recollection of being alive; the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the taste, your fingers weaving through his hair, your names sounding together, a pair because they belong on the same breath.

You pull back, and it’s only a small brevity, but it’s enough, and that confusion from earlier, that shiver of letting something go or taking it back into yourself, settles.

You’re afraid or regretful or both, yes, sure. You also find yourself to be, suddenly, forgiving, full of empathy. You won’t be able to have him unless you take possession of yourself first, and on the tail end of a comet breaking across the sky: I love him, but I must also love myself. He deserves someone who loves themself, but more than that, I deserve it too. To be able to give him the things he wants and needs: I deserve to be in love with myself.

You let the Tartarian memory become nothing.

Love manifests itself primarily in forgiveness.

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#TCC fic #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader

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gejo333 · 10 months

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Beach Day

Father Miguel O’Hara x mother reader

Summary: Spending a wonderful day at the beach with your husband Miguel and daughter Gabriella.

It’s been a hectic passed few days for me, which is why I haven’t been updating lately. I promise Chapter two of El Destino will be no later than Monday!

I wrote this cute and fluffy fic that I was inspired by urghoulfriend who drew Miguel and Gabriella going to the beach.

Credit goes to urghoulfriend from TikTok/Instagram. I got permission from the artist to repost! Also, I’m only showing part of the artwork. The beach part. If you want to go see the rest you can find it on TikTok or Instagram.

Also thank you so much for the 50 follows!!! It means the world to me!💕

I apologize for any grammatical mistakes I missed.

Wc: 1.6k

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Morning sunlight seeped through the curtains, the light stirring you from your slumber. You slightly shuffle to face your body toward your sleeping husband. His arm tightens around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest. You lean over his face and leave a small kiss on his cheek, waking him up.

“Good morning Miggy.”

“Morning, cariño. How did you sleep?” His voice is rough from just waking up.

“Pretty good. Gabriella was so excited to go to the beach today that she wouldn’t go to bed for a while. How about you? You came in late. Everything going ok at HQ?” Miguel brought you towards his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kissed you on the head, still trying to wake up.

“I wanted to get much work done to take today off. But a few anomalies popped up on my radar that I had to help with. But Jess arrived at HQ to watch over everything. When I came back, there was a robbery or two that happened. So I dealt with that before coming back.”

“That sounds like a busy day. But I really appreciate you making time for us.” You caressed his cheek as he leaned down to place a long loving kiss on your lips. Back now against the mattress as Miguel hovers over you. He peppers your neck and chest with kisses, his fangs grazing your skin occasionally.

“Anything for you, mi vida.” He mumbled against your skin. He brought a hand down to separate your thighs, positing himself between your legs. He gently grabbed you by the waist as he brought you closer to himself. A moan escaped your lips as you felt his erection against your thigh.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in closer. As he was about to remove your panties, a heavy sigh escaped his lips, stopping his actions. He kisses you before going back to lying next to you.

Your brows furrowed briefly before hearing small footsteps approaching your bedroom door. You give Miguel a quick kiss on his neck, and he lets out a small grunt.

You both sit up, hearing the door open, walking in your precious five-year-old daughter. She hops onto the bed in your arms as you happily give her a big hug.

“Good Morning, Mama! Good Morning Papa!” She smiles brightly. She was the spitting image of Miguel. However, he always said she had your spirited personality and beautiful smile.

“Are you excited to go to the beach today, princesa?” Asked Miguel.

“Yes!” Gabriella yelled as she jumped up and down on the bed before getting down and running out. “Let’s go!”

…

The three of you arrived at the beach which was packed since it was a hot summer day in Nueva York. Miguel put Gabriella on his shoulders as he carried a bag or two. You carrying the other two bags.

Walking on the sand and around clumps of people, you search for a perfect place. Miguel taps you on the shoulder and points ahead, and you follow his direction, seeing the perfect place. It was very close to the water, so Gabriella could play. But the water wasn’t close enough to get to your things.

As all three of you arrive at the spot, Miguel sets everything up while you help Gabriella collect shells.

“All set.” Miguel finished placing the last towel down.

“It looks perfect. Thank you, Miggy.”

“Thank you, Miggy!” Gabriella giggled.

“That’s Papa to you.” Miguel tickles her slightly as punishment, earning high-pitched laughter from your daughter.

All three of you settle on the towels layering near each other. You finish putting Gabriella’s hair in a braid to move it from her face as you take out the Sun spray and pass it to Miguel for him to use.

“If only you brought the lotion. I would have loved your help putting it on.” Miguel winked at you before spraying himself and then your daughter. His comment made your cheeks redden as he handed you back the spray. You move closer to Miguel and spray his back, kissing him, saying you are done.

“Do you need help with your back?” He smirked.

“I do.” You turn around. Miguel moved your hair to your shoulder as he sprayed your back. Once he was done, you turned around to find him still there.

“Need any more help?” His eyes scanned your body. You purposely worse the red bikini that was his favorite on you.

“I’m good, love.” You place a quick kiss on his lips before sitting down again.

…

The Sun beating down against your skin was relaxing as you listened to waves crashing on the shore. You gaze lovingly at Gabriella building a sand castle.

However, your relaxation was cut short as your ears perked up at the sound of women nearby drooling over your husband. A sigh escaped your lips as you heard them talk about him. You knew Miguel was a very attractive man. Since you both started dating, women have been gawking at him. It never bothered you as you were his wife, but sometimes it still annoyed you that some women said stuff like that out loud when you were clearly with him.

You move to sit in between his legs as you rest your back against his chest.

“Cariño, are you sitting with me because you want to or because of those women?” He whispered in your ear.

“Can it be both?” You turn your head and kiss him, which he gladly reciprocates. After the kiss, you turn towards the women and give them a fake smile, wavy your hand slightly at them as if saying ‘hello, I can hear you so shut the fuck up.’ Now caught, the women stop talking afraid to anger you.

“Mama, can I have water?”

“Of course!” You say, grabbing the bag. You sigh in annoyance as you see there are no more left. Remembering there are more in the car, you decide to get up.

“Where are you going?” Miguel frowned slightly, missing your body against him.

“I’m going to grab the other water bottles from the car.” You said as you grabbed the keys.

“I can go instead.” Miguel offered, but you shook your head and smiled.

“It’s alright. The car is close. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Miguel gives your hand a loving squeeze saying alright before you walk back towards the car. You needed to cool off not only from the Sun but from those pesky women.

…

“Here’s what we’re going to do. Distract Mama, and I’ll pick her up and get her into the water. Sounds like a plan?” He whispered to his daughter; a large smile appeared on her face.

“Yes!” She whispered back. You came back from grabbing more water bottles from the car. As you set them down, Gabriella grabs your hand.

“Mama! Look, there’s a baby crab!” Gabriella pulls you toward where she found it. When you both stop, your eyebrows furrowed when you see nothing.

“Where did you see-“ You gasped as large arms picked you up bridal style. You hook an arm around his neck for balance and lightly pinch his cheek.

“Miguel, you scared me.” You said, which your husband only chuckled in return. You look at both your daughter and husband. Both had a mischievous look on their faces. Before you asked further, Miguel rushed into the water, followed by your daughter.

Knee-deep in the water, Miguel stopped, a place his daughter could still go.

“You wouldn’t dare.” You try to hide your smile as you look at your husband with a playful glare.

“Gabi and I thought you might want a dip into the water.” He said before dropping you.

You sat there in the water, soaked from head to toe. A laugh escapes your lips as you stand up, wiping some of your hair from your face.

“Watch out for a splash, honey.” You say to your daughter as you jump onto Miguel, catching him off guard and tackling him into the water. You sit on his lap as he emerges his upper half from the water, sending you a playful glare while laughing. Gabriella then comes and tackles her father with a hug, which he easily reciprocates as she sits on your lap.

“Very sneaky, mi amor.” Miguel places a sweet kiss on your lips, which you happily accept.

“Eww.” Said Gabriella as she giggled. You playfully roll your eyes as you hold your daughter. She wraps her arms around your neck and lays her head on your shoulder. You hear her yawn, signaling the three of you to pack up and return home.

Getting out of the water and drying off, Miguel collects everything as you hold your sleeping daughter in your arms, ready to go home.

…

Entering your apartment, you go to Gabriella’s bedroom, remove her bathing suit, and change her into her PJs. She was so tired you didn’t want to wake her to have a bath. You planned on giving her one tomorrow morning.

After tucking her into bed, you return to the living room, where Miguel put everything away.

“Is she in bed?”

“She is. Sound asleep.” You wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest. He holds you in his arms as the two of you silently stand there for a minute.

“Would you like to take a shower with me? Maybe continue where we left off this morning?” A grin graced his lips as he pulled you closer. You pull away from him and slowly back away in a playful manner.

“Only if you get there before me.” As you race towards your bedroom shower, laughing, Miguel chases after you.

“You’ll lose mi amor!”

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Hope you enjoyed it🥰

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel x reader #oneshot #oneshot requests #jessica drew #gabriella o’hara #family #wife reader #mother reader #light fluff #miguel x you #miguel o’hara x y/n

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ssavaart · 4 months

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Hi Scott, as an artist, I often get the confusing and nasty feeling of envy when I see others' artworks. Even if it's someone whom I feel is very skilled and that I admire.

Have you ever felt this way? If so, how did you overcome it?

Hi. I feel the same way. Every day. I think we all do. It's just a part of being human. Here's a video I made about it.

I hope it helps.

Sending Big Hugs from the Hobbit Hole. ♥♥♥

Scott

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chere-indolente · 6 months

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Treat #2 : The Reformer

This treat is a set inspired by the Dress reform movement (a bit of the Aesthetic movement too, lots of overlap between these two) from the 1895 to the late 1900s.

More pics and download below

It includes the following CC items :

Like the Aesthetic movement, the Reform dress movement dates back to the mid 1800's. It aimed at making women garments less constricting (for reasons varying from praticality, political leanings, supposed health downsides of corsets...). It was linked to feminism especially at the start and gave birth to the bloomers in 1851 for example.

Reform dress usually involved making it so that the main weight of the clothing would be carried by the shoulders and torso instead of solely the waist and thus get rid of the corset and masses of underskirts, to establish a "more practical type of dress that would facilitate a physical and productive life". This resulted most times in flowy dress, usually tea gowns. Like previously mentionned there's a big overlap between reform and aesthetic dresses since the medieval and antique (and even sometimes regency) influences fited the less structured reform dress silhouette of the late 1800's / early 1900's.

Once again this type of clothing wasn't well considered by the society at large, it took hold in specific artistic spheres such as the one surrounding the Wiener Werksträtte (a viennese artist association of which Emilie Flöge was a part of, the artwork is truly fascinating and very influencial look it up !).

This type of dress was so unconventional that apparently, the painter Henri de Toulouse Lautrec (who might I add painted prostitutes and such on the daily) was scandalised by Maria Sèthe Van de Velde's appearance when she welcomed him in a tea gown (see the blue tea gown below for reference) which he mistook for a dressing gown. I feel like this little anecdote helps to put things into perspective.

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Download : dropbox — simfileshare

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And if you’re curious here were my main visuals references for this set :

#my cc #simblreen #simblreen 2023 #1890 #1900 #clothes #grown up #ts4cc #ts4 clothes #ts4 historical #sims 4 cc #sims 4 clothes #sims 4 historical #maxis match #decade challenge #The Reformer

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theoutcastrogue · 20 days

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[From a 2014 article by John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats. He's talking about how a random spam email ended up inspiring a part of his book Wolf in White Van. Later, in 2020, the album Getting Into Knives came out, and I think it inspired its artwork too.]

"It took years for me to be able to just reflexively delete spam, or filter it so that I never see it at all. I blame the spammers for this; the quality of their work took a sharp nosedive at some point. But during whatever period of the internet’s growth you’d call the early 2000s, it seemed like you’d still get some winners: things that had been typed up by a person, sent out to a bunch of email addresses they’d bought or rented for 5 or 10 bucks from the only guy who was ever going to make any money in this particular exchange. Most of them went directly, if manually, into the trash; but once in a while, there’d be one that seemed to earn, at the very least, the minute it’d take me to read it.

The one I’m remembering here was subject-lined SUPPLY OF KNIVES. [...] The subject line opened on an all-caps email that boasted, in ornate, antiquated English appealing to the reader’s more refined sensibilities, about the high quality of the knives on offer at an external website. You shouldn’t click on links in spam email. I live my life on the razor’s edge! I clicked the link.

I want to tell you about these knives: They were beautiful. They were weird. They had elaborate designs in the handles, moons or stars of wolf heads, and special grips, and a variety of points. They were made from metals whose pedigrees were described lovingly, and had been struck — smithed? wrought? — via processes I knew absolutely nothing about, but that sounded fantastic, difficult, arcane. It’s the joy of specialized language: When you’re an outsider to it, it can’t help but sound cool.

Of course this is the whole idea of any operation like this. SUPPLY OF KNIVES could well have been, and probably was, a company in Ohio who’d stumbled across an old warehouse full of knives, and knew enough about sales to describe these things in the most exotic terms they could find. I’m pretty immune to pitches: Who likes to feel like he’s being pitched? But somebody involved with SUPPLY OF KNIVES had had just enough authorial flair — that, or true faith — to caption each knife’s mysterious, blurry accompanying JPEG with a description whose constant recourse to specialized vocabularies seemed to say, “You’re not even reading this unless you already know about this sort of thing. Let us therefore speak like the fellow travelers we are.”

It was like a trade catalog for roadside bandits in need of knives.

I can’t speak for everybody, but I know that when I was a child the life of the roadside bandit seemed like a pretty romantic way to go. I looked at all these knives and read the descriptions and was just generally delighted about the whole thing, so I saved the email in a “memorable spam” folder I used to keep that had maybe two other emails in it. A few years later, Apple came out with this robotic-arm-screen iMac you never see any more, and we were long overdue for a new computer so we got that; and then, after a while, I got myself a laptop, because I was traveling all the time, and eventually both the old iMacs ended up in the basement, and they were both asleep but alive until fairly recently, as far as I knew.

But when I went to check for the email, it was gone. The old blue iMac is dead, bricked, lifeless. Searches on the term “supply of knives” on this laptop and on good old robot-arm-screen find nothing. The backup CD for the blue iMac drive is probably in a drawer around here somewhere, but that’s like saying, “The coin I had in my swim trunks’ pocket is probably somewhere in the ocean.” There is no SUPPLY OF KNIVES. There’s only the memory."

[source]

And this is the wonderful cover art of Getting Into Knives. Back cover and promo material below. Note that "Knives International" and "Knives Wordwide" are not real companies, they appear to be a callback to that elusive spam email.

#not that I'm particularly into TMG #but it's interesting #trs #The Mountain Goats #John Darnielle #Getting Into Knives #Wolf in White Van #only knives left #tools of the trade #bandit #prison ballads #tangentially

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astroboots · 1 year

Text

Cherry Lips

Summary: Steven really likes your lipstick.

Content: Inappropriate use of lipstick, messy blowjobs because like L'oreal, Steven is worth it.

Word Count: 2.4k

Author's notes: Inspired by this beautiful piece of artwork by @guruan-is-not-here

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

The lipstick you're planning on wearing tonight is a striking shade of red. The shocking brightness of a stop traffic light. The bursting richness of pomegranates. Eye catching, alarming and dreamy all at once. It's your favourite and they stopped manufacturing it a while back.

Since you can't up and buy it anymore, you only pull it on special occasions. The last time you've worn it was at a close friend's wedding. You're not going to any churches or galas tonight, just the local cinema, which isn't an extraordinary occasion that justifies pulling out the old favourite shade. But it doesn't have to be the location that's special. Sometimes, what matters is the company you're with. And who is more special to you than Steven?

You're standing in front of the mirror that hangs over your hallway. On an ordinary day, when you're standing here on your own, the tiny hall can already feel a bit cramped, considering the size of your micro-studio of a London flat. Today though?

Today, the way that Steven is standing behind you, almost plastered to your back, you can barely maneouvre your hand far enough to apply the lipstick without jabbing your elbow into his eyesocket.

"Steven, shouldn't you be getting ready too?" you say, in a gentle attempt to goad him into moving into the main space of your flat. But Steven stays unmoving.

He can't hear you.

Mouth dropped open, jaw slack, he's staring at your mirrored reflection with wide-eyed attention.

You turn around and tilt your head in his direction to try to catch his attention. But even though he's staring right at you, he remains frozen. Trapped in some spell, his eyes are vacant. You have to repeat his name for a second and third time and even then the only physical reaction you get from him is a hard swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in the hollow of his throat.

At this pace, you're going to have to break out the smelling salts to snap him out of it.

"Steven, everything alright?"

"Red," he murmurs, and you squeeze your eyebrows in confusion at his lack of coherence.

"Your lipstick..." he sounds almost dazed. "It's very... red–very pretty! It's very pretty I mean, it looks amazing on you."

You follow the line of his eyes and the way he's staring at your lips. His tongue darts out to swipe across his own bottom one, leaving it glistening in the dim light of your hallway.

Steven is looking at you, like you hung each individual star in the galaxy and created every constellation discovered by NASA.

You can't help but smile as lean up and press your red lips against his. Your hand cups the back of his neck and you pull him down closer until you hear that breathless little gasp you love so much escape between his lips. Until that soft noise melts into a deep moan that you can practically taste on your tongue.

It tastes like hunger.

It's wonderful to feel so deeply wanted by someone.

You pull away, leaning back and Steven looks like he's been knocked senseless. Eyes shiny like glass. Kiss swollen lips made more prominent from the red of your lipsticks smudged on him. He's drawing up his hand, thumb brushing against the red.

Whipping around, you realise that he's staring at himself in the mirror. He looks enamoured with it, the smears of red that are on him like a mark seared into his skin of where you've touched him.

It becomes something of a thing between you two.

Before every date night, you'll apply a thick layer of red lipstick on your mouth, the kind that will smear at the slightest touch.

Then you watch in amusement as Steven spends the whole of the evening trying to act discreet (and failing) as his eyes will unfailingly find themselves flickering back to your lips.

You'll watch as he tries to steady himself at a dining table at the small intimate and cozy restaurant sat across from you, hand gripping on top of his knee as you lift your glass and leaves a clear imprint of your lips on the glass.

Hear the small little gasp that escapes from his throat when you lean close to his ear to ask him what he's ordering.

Feel the whole bodyshiver of his as you press your lips to his cheek sometime between dessert and the bill.

Sometimes you even wear it on your lunchdates between work shifts when you know he's having a rough day. Because Steven likes the attention and you like to give it to him. Love the way that fascinating blush blossoms across his chest, travelling up his throat and adorns his cheeks as you pull him into an unoccupied bathroom of your favourite cafe and you leave soft kisses like stamps on a love letter on his skin. Ink of red, pressed into his chest and collarbone and the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't wash it off after either. Wants it to linger for as long as it possibly can. It's why you start to leave the lip stains where his clothes will cover them. Can't have Steven looking like a crime scene when he gets back to work at the museum.

You'll wear it when he comes to pick you home from work. Watch the way his whole body is thrumming with excitement on the tube ride back to his flat. Eyes never leaving your lips.

Those are your favourite special occassions. When you get to leave your mark on him uninterrupted in the dim lighting of his home in privacy. When you get to take your time to peel off his tie like a beautifully wrapped Christmas present adorned with a silk bow and glossy wrapping paper.

You'l leave kisses on the softness of his stomach that has his hips hitching upwards. The insides of his thighs, that will has his legs shaking and trembling and gasping.

Tonight, you have him seated on his armchair, trousers pulled down to his ankles, while you're down on your knees, caged in by his thick thighs.

You press your lips to his soft skin, feeling him tense and rigid above you. Knees trembling next to you, and you pull back to admire your work, the perfect imprint of your lips on his golden skin.

"Love, love -- I, please..."

He's a shivering mess. Soft curls plastered to his forehead, white teeth biting into his full bottom lip as he watches you through half-lidded eyes.

So fucking pretty this one.

You press another kiss, this time on the inside of his thigh and you smile to yourself as his hips hitch up, chasing after your mouth with a choked gasp.

"Please, what, Steven?"

Flicking your eyes to his face, Steven is struggling to verbalise much of anything right now. Maybe you're not being very nice, because you know exactly what he wants.

He's hard. You can see the hardened outline of his excitement straining the front of his jeans. If you leave him hanging much longer, you swear that the seams are going to split open.

"Yo--your mouth, I--I--" he manages to finally stutter out. "Please, please."

God, he even begs pretty. For all that you would love to tease him more, have him tremble, begging and crying underneath you until tears are running down that gorgeous face, you find that it's impossible to deny Steven.

Your hand comes to the rivet of his jeans, popping it open and before you even have the chance to ask him to lift so you can pull them down, Steven's hips are bouncing off the chair so fast and so hard you nearly tumble backwards on your arse from the force of it. Luckily you recover fast enough, steadying your balance with both your hands on his hips. Then you pull the restricting garment down his thighs, far enough that you can free his cock from the barrier of his boxers.

His cock springs up and bobs and nearly slaps your cheek with the momentum, and he's already repeatedly murmuring embarrassed apologies as he forces himself to sit back down into the chair. "Sorry, sorry! Did I--Did I hit you?"

The concern in his voice makes you want to snort with laughter. But whatever laughter you had in your throat dies as you see him. All brain capacity is rerouted to the sight of his cock standing up in full attention between his legs. Eager and twitching, in a deep ruddy dark pink. The tip of his cock practically glistens under the dim light as precome oozes down the length. It makes your tongue salivate. Makes you want to take him into your mouth and try to swallow as much of him as your gag reflex will allow.

Before your brain fully finishes that thought, you lean down, parting your lips and do. Everything inside you aches and burns as you taste him. He's so fucking thick, heavy and absolutely perfect as the weight of his cock throbs on your tongue.

But you'd be lying if you said it wasn't a struggle to fit all of him, can wrap your lips down halfway before you feel your throat protesting, lungs burning, and tears prickling the corner of your eyes.

Underneath you, Steven is having a hard time keeping still. Hips stuttering into your mouth as you try to adjust and swallow around him. He's trembling so hard he's vibrating against you.

"Oh god, oh god, love, I--I-- fuuuck," the last word comes out as a broken moan as he he slides up and deeper into your mouth. Not a shred of restraint or control left in him. You're sputtering, your own saliva escaping from your lips that are wrapped tightly around him and dribbling down your chin, making an absolute mess of both of you.

And god, it's intoxicating to have him this way, you think it'd be worth the asphyxiation and lack of oxygen to your brain and whatever semi-permanent damage it would cause to your brain functions to just keep going, if it mean you can prolong this perfect moment.

The air around you thins, your chest feels tight and despite your hesitance and your desire to keep going, you pull off, gasping for air as the hard girth of him no longer blocks your airways.

You swallow down oxygen, as fast and deep as your lungs will allow, as you try to catch your breath, feeling more than a little bit lightheaded as you do so. Your chin is sticky, and as you bring the back of your hand to wipe it off, there's a residue of spit, precome and bright red smeared all over.

Fuck, your lipstick.

You grumble as you stare at your hand, you instinctively want to wipe it off on your clothes, but if you do, it'll never come out no matter how much Vanish stain remover you rub into it.

"Sorry, sorry," Steven's voice comes to you from somewhere above, and you tilt your head up to him. Hands hovering nervously as he's reaching over the side table for a wad of tissue. "I made a mess of you, didn't I?" he continues. Then he's leaning over, his hand gently cupping your jaw to tilt you up so he can clean you up.

You're almost giggling at how genuinely sorry he sounds, even as his cock, as hard as ever, is nestled between his thighs, twitching and jerking as if to protest the temporary lack of attention.

Steven's eyes follow yours, ducking his head until you're both staring at his cock. Smeared with the red stains and imprints of your lips on him.

An absolute fucking mess.

Leaning up on your knees, you grab the tissues from Steven and move towards him to repay the favour, but he stops you.

"Leave it," he says abruptly. No stuttering this time. No longer the sweet apologetic tone he held before. It sends a thrill across your nerves to hear him like this. Curt, demanding... greedy.

Tilting your head up, you observe him. The darkened eyes blown wide as he stares down at the red smears you've left on his cock. He looks enthralled by it. It's that same look as that evening by the hallway. Dazed like you've cast some witches' spell on him.

It makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest as you watch him. Emotions swelling and expanding until it even blots out the throbbing heat between your legs.

God you want to indulge him. Give him everything.

"Steven, get my lipstick from my bag."

He blinks up at you, until you're jutting your chin in the direction of your purse behind him. Even in his daze, obedient as he always is, Steven scrambles quickly to comply and starts rifling through your handbag before he finally finds the prize and hands the shiny tube to you with shaky fingers.

You smile to yourself as you pull of the cap and twist the tube. Before Steven, you'd barely used an inch of it, having been so careful to savour it and make it last. Now the lipstick is down to its last gasping breath depleted almost all the way down to the base, and with what you have in mind, it's going to completely run out by this evening.

Bringing it to your bottom lip, you look up at Steven who's watching you attentively, as you drag it slowly and decadently across your lip. An unnecessarily thick layer, as you see his mouth drop open.

Worth it, you think to yourself. Definitely worth it for that look on his face alone.

You pull the cap back on, then set it down on the floor next to you, as you scoot closer to Steven, pressing your lips to the base of his cock and watch the length of of it twitch and jump at your touch.

Then you lean back to observe your work. The perfect imprint of your lips marked in a striking shade of red. The red signal of a stop sign at a traffic crossing, except you have no intention of stopping.

Your lips part, wrapping your mouth around the flushed tip of Steven's cock as he throws his head back with a torn gasp, hands cupping the back of your head as he pulls you down deeper on him. Your face tingling with the warmth of his hand on you, as you try to swallow him down deeper.

You must be smearing the perfect imprint of lipstick all over the length of his cock. But that's okay. It just means you have to do it all over again. And that's okay too.

After all, you only use this lipstick on special occasions and who is more special to you than Steven.

Dedications and credit:

Wrote this in honour of @guruan-is-not-here gorgeous, beautiful and insanely horny thot sketches-- in particular the one where she had covered Steven with lipstick stains and my brain just did that funny thing where it imploded and turned into this fic. You can find more of her artwork here and her SFW account at @guruan where you'll be treated to some of the most beautiful Moon Knight fandom you'll see. Also do drop by her ko-fi. A single art piece can take hours and days and weeks for artists to do, and this amazingly talented genius is sharing her work with us all for free!

As always, this is also dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss because she had to listen to my insanity, but also also ALSO!!! This insane clown has written the most horny-beautiful-angst-smutty goodness fic of what happens when Marc sees those very same lipstick stains and I may or may not have written this for the sole purpose so that you good people can see the mindblowing excellence that is that fic. ILUUUUUUU TWP.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #steven grant #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader

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aphrogeneias · 3 months

Note

ill kiss you if you write prompt 21) You need help tying the back of your dress/fixing your cufflinks, and my fingers keep scraping against your skin. How are you so warm? And how are you acting like I’m not right behind/in front of you? with old money!steve <3

old money!steve harrington x fem!reader + you need help tying the back of your dress/fixing your cufflinks, and my fingers keep scraping against your skin. how are you so warm? and how are you acting like i’m not right behind/in front of you?

warnings: very brief feelings of inadequacy from the reader at the end. childhood friends to lovers. totally inspired by joe keery's outfit at the critics choice awards.

Watching Steve simply exist in your small, one room apartment will never get old.

He's sitting on the lid of your toilet, right next to your bright floral shower curtain, and the silly artwork of a bunch of dogs in a bathtub you had framed right above it. Your friend looks even bigger, and taller, in your cramped bathroom, but right at home with your perfumes and lotions and trinkets.

The unusual touch was the suit he was wearing, which was probably worth more than a whole year of rent. The dinner jacket and the dress pants fit perfectly, the white dress shirt underneath hugging his broad frame, a couple of buttons undone to show his chest, adorned with a simple silver chain.

You weren't supposed to look, but your eyes wandered anyway. They wandered through his body, through his face, the slope of his nose, the freckles smattering his skin.

You couldn't help but feel guilty, at times. Steve had been like a sibling to you, the son your mother never had. The Harringtons’ kid, the one she babysat during the week and brought you with her to their big house, too big and too empty for your liking, even as a child.

The two of you played together in their living room, avoiding all the expensive furniture and his mother’s art collection, as your mom would make dinner in the kitchen. You'd spend the summers in their pool, chasing each other with water guns and noodle floaties. You, because you had nowhere else to go, and Steve, because he'd rather be home than travel with his squabbling parents.

Years had passed and nothing really changed. You still hung out and spent the summers together, but you saw Steve through different eyes. No longer the overconfident little boy who likes to hold your hand while you ran and challenge you to do stupid things just to make him laugh, but the man he had become.

Still confident, but earnest and caring. Sweet, even, on his best moments. Your Stevie, your best friend.

Steve, who's now currently watching you go in and out of your bathroom, applying the finishing touches on your makeup, and squeezing into the red dress he'd brought you, while he complained about his college friends.

You chimed in from your bedroom, “They can't be worse than Tommy and Carol, at least.”

He scoffed. “Well, the bar is in hell, then!”

Holding the front part of your strapless dress to your chest with one hand, you prop yourself to the door frame with the other. “I'm glad you finally realized. Now, zip me up, pretty boy.”

If you hadn't been blunt, you'd lose your courage. You'd been trying to close the dress yourself in your room, panicking over it, but realized you wouldn't be able to do it alone. You need another pair of hands, and they're right there.

You miss the blush rising on Steve’s cheeks, after you turn around. It doesn't take long until you feel him standing behind you, the warmth from his body rising a chill up your naked spine. His fingers trail your back first, trying to tickle you.

Slapping his hand away, you chastise him, but you're warm all over now. “Stop, you idiot! We're already late.”

“Sorry! I'm sorry.” Then, he catches your zipper between his fingers, and slowly moves it up, up, up until it's secure at the top. You can still feel the back of his fingers trailing up your back when it's closed, and he puts his hands to your shoulders, moving you to stand in front of your bathroom mirror. “There. The prettiest girl at the party.”

“We're not even there yet. Don't get your hopes up.”

“Well, I know you will be.” He hugs your waist, setting his hands on your tummy, and resting his head on your shoulder. Looking at the two of you in the mirror, you could almost be mistaken for a couple. Young and in love. You sigh.

“You know I'm hardly plus one material, right? I don't… I don't really belong there.” You raise your hand to his hair, messing it up a little. The silver bracelet on your wrist glints in the fluorescent light.

“You belong wherever I am, with me.” Steve’s smile is almost sad on the reflection. “Don’t overthink it. It’ll be over before we know it, ‘kay?”

“‘kay.”

The phantom feeling of his fingers on your back stays with you all night, even when they're intertwined with yours, and even when they find your thigh under the table, as Mr. Harrington gives his guests a speech.

#waiting for that kiss anon #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic

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engeorged · 7 months

Text

In Good Hands?

Author's note: This is my attempt to write a ghost story, inspired by some of the amazing artwork out there featuring ghost hands. Also, I can't find a way to naturally explain what Yann looks like in the story, but as I'm writing to him, I'm picturing him as something akin to John Krasinski. Very tall and unconventionally handsome but with a killer bod underneath his scruffy clothes. Hope that helps?

--------------------------------------------------

Day One

As part of my dissertation on paranormal activity in domestic properties I’ve searched the internet and found the most haunted airbnb that I could find. This is my diary to document my experiences whilst I live here for 3 months. It might be helpful at this stage to list some of the reported sightings that I have come across so far. Then that might give us some helpful data, post study

1) Several reports of items moved around the house. Mostly furniture and food items found in unusual places

2) Numerous accounts of noises and banging, often around meal times

3) Sightings of ‘ghost hands’ in several places on the property. These are mainly visual sightings with a few vague physical encounters. Interestingly all the people who encountered the hands touching them didn’t want to elaborate.

4) One person reported feeling uncomfortable when undressing, as if they were being watched

An unusual observation is that so far, all witnesses are male. Normally, the majority of spectral anomalies that are reported are from female witnesses so this is something to ponder as we go forward.

I have set up my equipment around the house with several cameras and heat detectors. I will endeavour to report on a daily basis

Day Two

Nothing so far. I did wake up in the night to a banging but then discovered a cat had gotten into the property and wanted letting out.

Day Three.

Again, no actual sightings and no recorded 'feelings' around the house. There have been none of the sensors going off and no recordings on the equipment. The only unusual thing so far was two pizza deliveries to the house that I didn’t actually order. I expect that to be the neighbourhood kids having a laugh. They were paid for though?

Day Four

I’m not sure how to report this but in the spirit of scientific advancement I will forgo my own embarrassment.

After eating two large pizzas yesterday I woke up in the night needing to go to the bathroom to relieve myself. Stumbling through the house naked in the dark I found the toilet and proceeded to use the facility. The light wasn’t working and so I used the light on my phone to find the paper. I was a little sleepy and disoriented but in hindsight I think someone, or something, handed me the paper. It wasn’t hanging on the wall anyway and I think it was actually held out for me. I didn’t really notice this at the time but as I was wiping myself clean I stood up to flush and felt a hand grab my left ass cheek and squeeze it firmly.

I’m not ashamed to say that I ran pretty quickly from the bathroom. It wasn’t till I got to my room that I thought to check the cameras. I was now fully awake and checked everything but with no luck. The camera facing the bathroom was also powered down. I think I need to get the batteries checked.

Once I calmed down I recorded my findings and headed back to sleep. A promising start

Day Five

It's been an interesting day. Pizzas have been arriving pretty much every hour alongside grocery orders. None of which I’m ordering. I’m starting to wonder whether they are more than just pranks. There is a phone in the house and when I pressed the redial button it connected me to the same pizza place. They were pretty busy and refused to give out order details for data protection purposes, but they guy did ask if I was having some sort of party.

I’ve been grazing on the pizzas all day. (An important piece of data for later) It was later on in the evening when I was setting up some more equipment and I hadn’t quite realised how much pizza I’d eaten until I felt my belt digging into my lower belly. I’m pretty naturally toned and so it was noticeable. (I’m recording this factually for the study but please understand that’s not a brag)

As I stood up I realised how bloated my stomach was and so I stretched and went to take my belt off. When my hand went to my belt it brushed past another hand also holding my belt. I slowly moved my hands away and looked down. A fairly large male hand was resting on the belt buckle. As I watched, it undid the buckle for me and slid the belt out of the loops and landed on the floor. The hand reached back round, undid my button and then moved up to my lower abdomen where it rested on my belly for a few seconds before dissipating into the air. I physically felt the hand on my skin and it was cool but felt very corporeal.

No more encounters that day.

Day Six

Despite my efforts I have had no more encounters today and no more pizza orders.

Day Seven

For the sake of the research I endeavoured to repeat day five’s conditions. I had stashed the pizza in the fridge and so tried to eat the same amount I ate on that day. The results were the same and my stomach was yet again visibly distended. I waited for a while in the same room with my belt dowe up and no further encounters. After an hour I decided to call it a night and head off to bed. I was a little surprised to find several pizza boxes in my bed when I got there. There was no sign of the hand and I hadn’t heard any movement. I placed the pizza on the floor and got ready for bed. Still no sightings. I set up an extra camera to track any activity and turned the lights off. Almost immediately I felt rapid movement in the bed and turned the light back on to find all the pizza boxes back on my bed.

I moved them back to the floor and turned the lights off and yet again they arrived back in my bed. This repeated four more times until the final time when not only did the pizza end up in my bed but one slice found its way into my mouth. I turned the lights back on and found the hand resting on the pizza slice. I took a bite and began to swallow. The hand then waited patiently for me to chew and swallow and then proceeded to feed me the rest of the slice. It paused briefly in the air before yet again dissipating.

I am left wondering if this apparition is trying to feed me up? I felt no malice towards me and no sense of anger or unrest. Perhaps I need to allow it to do what it wants and see where we get?

Day Eight

Throughout the day, the hand appeared to me several times. Usually during meal times and when I have been in any state of undress. It made no attempt to feed me but did bring me sauces and a few times put additional food on my plate. The hand has not shown up on the cameras but you can definitely see the objects it’s moving. I’m not sure if that will be enough proof though as it does look like I’ve edited it myself. One thing of note is that It tried to help me clean myself in the shower and if I’m being completely objective it actually just sort of felt me up. It was as if it was pretending to help but in actual fact was touching my ass and stomach area. Its touch was gentle but inquisitive? I felt as though I was being explored by something benevolent.

Day Nine

More of the same today. The hand is getting bolder. Touching me more and bringing me more food throughout the day. I’ve been eating as much of it as I can to appease it but honestly it’s a lot of food. I’m struggling to eat it all. After dinner I was pretty much maxed out and crashed on a sofa. I left my belt to see if the hand would undo it for me and lo and behold it did. This time after undoing my belt and top button it slid up my shirt underneath and began to massage my belly for me. I have to say, for the record, that it was actually very pleasant. I can usually eat a lot but I’d lost track of how much I’d had that day and my normally flat stomach had quite a curve to it. The massage lasted for a good 20 mins and I think I had actually nodded off.

I awoke with a start to find the hand was joined by a second. The left hand, also male. I wasn’t surprised to see both of them had food. I opened my mouth to see what would happen and the sandwich the right hand was holding was pushed in straight away. It was a little firmer than last time and more insistent but I obediently chewed and swallowed. I think the massage actually helped and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I was a little hungry!

The left hand brought me a hotdog and began alternating offerings. Not long after, both the sandwich, and hotdog were gone. I waited to see what would happen next. The right hand continued to rub my distended stomach and the left hand appeared with a large pitcher of beer. I would guess maybe four pints worth. I was a little taken aback but the jug lurched towards me and pressed to my lips. I didn’t really have a choice but to swallow as the liquid began to flow. I kept swallowing whilst the other hand continued to massage my expanding stomach. I settled into a pace with no let up from the hand pouring the beer. I was beginning to feel totally maxed again as the foamy beer kept coming. I tried to move the hand but it wasn’t budging. I had no choice but to swallow until the beer was gone. The pitcher fell to the floor and the second hand joined its twin in massaging my bloated stomach. They had at this point pulled my shirt up revealing my distended gut. They were firm but gentle and I can’t lie, it felt really good. As I lay there I couldn’t help but feel safe. Like I was in good hands (if you’ll pardon the pun)

The attention lasted for a good half hour and again, in the interests of recording all the detail, I think they actually got rid of all my gas. The beer and food combo made me belch a lot and the hands seemed to be getting them up. Even giving my stomach a little tap after a good burp. And then just like that they were gone. Leaving me like a beached tourist after a buffet.

I have several questions around the intentions of the hands and why they are so set on feeding me? Is this something that others have experienced? There was no mention of this in the reports I have. Maybe I should contact some of the people who have stayed here and ask some specific questions. I’ll have to word them carefully?

I will have to do this in the morning as I can’t quite think straight whilst I’m this full.

Day Ten

After the events of the previous evening I slept in until midday. I wasn’t disturbed in the night but I awoke to the smell of coffee and pastries. Heading downstairs I discovered a set table with the hands poised on the back of the chair. After sitting down I attempted to eat the offering but the right hand gently held me back whilst the left proceeded to feed me the croissants. I didn’t think I could be hungry after last night but I managed to eat everything I was given. The hands then disappeared.

Throughout the day at regular intervals they would appear and continue where they left off. A brunch of poached eggs and avocado, lunchtime sandwiches. Afternoon tea and a main meal of steak and chips. The meals they present are hearty and as the day wore on I struggled more and more with the portions. The hands remain gentle yet firm, I haven’t resisted them yet but I’m not sure what would happen if I did. For now I will oblige as what I am recording is unprecedented in this field. I am yet to capture them on film but I am seeing interesting readings in the infrared spectrum. I need to keep tweaking but I wonder if this data will help me modify a camera to get some footage.

Heading to bed I half expected more food but as I lay on my bed, my distended belly loudly digesting my feast, the hands appeared one final time to explore my body. The previous encounters had been purely massages of my abdomen or a cheeky squeeze of my ass, but this time the hands started there but quickly covered the rest of my body over. I’m not sure if they are turning into a sexual encounter or not. They have not touched any private areas but the intention of the massage definitely felt more intrusive. I have to admit that I was beginning to feel quite aroused during the whole experience.

Day Eleven

More of the same today. The hands fed me an even larger breakfast of pancakes, brunch, lunch and two afternoon meals. I wasn’t sure my stomach could take any more when I discovered my evening meal. I walked into the kitchen to find the dining table was filled with what looked like a meal for four! A whole roast chicken dinner was laid out on the table with all the trimmings. I felt a little sick just looking at it. My gut was still packed full from the whole day's feeding sessions. I hesitated at the door, wondering what to do when the hands appeared behind me and gently pushed me forward toward the banquet. They weren’t aggressive but I definitely didn’t have a choice but to move. When I reached the chair the hands pushed down on my shoulders and indicated to me to sit. They set about unbuttoning my shirt and removing my belt, which I allowed. The left hand began to massage my stomach, which I also allowed. (They are very good at massaging my stomach when it feels super stuffed and full). I decided to resist slightly to see what would happen. I spoke to the hands to tell them politely that I wasn’t really hungry this evening after all the food they had already given me. This didn’t deter them in any way as the right hand pulled off a chicken leg and brought it to my mouth. I shook my head and politely declined. The leg stayed in front of my face. We waited for a little while in a bit of a standoff. It was even more unexpected then, that the left hand then reached round to my side and began tickling me. It was so out of the blue that I opened my mouth to laugh out loud. At that point the chicken leg made it straight into my mouth. I bit off a mouthful and laughed, I submitted to their feeding yet again. This time the hands were much more persistent and felt even more attentive. As I ate, they paused to give more belly rubs, and would move me when I slouched or needed to belch. At one point they even tipped my forward and rubbed my back to help me belch which also made me laugh.

I was so busy trying to keep track of what they were doing that I didn’t notice I had eaten the whole meal. The moment of realisation was as I saw the hands withdraw and I saw all the plates were empty. I looked down at my stomach and saw how distended I was. It was as if I had swallowed half a basketball. In fact that’s inaccurate. It felt more like half a bowling ball.

The hands seemed very happy with what they had accomplished and did a small clap as I tentatively gave my own stomach a quick explore. The fullness at that point hit me and I felt incredibly uncomfortable. I tried to stand up but they stopped me. I began to protest but soon found my mouth full with beer. The pitcher from the previous evening had been brought back out and they were pouring it down my throat. I had no choice but to swallow or choke but the pressure of the beer in my stomach was increasingly difficult to handle. I tried to push it out of the way but the hands kept on pouring. As the pitcher was finished I coughed and sputtered and pushed one more time and the now empty glass jug flew across the room and shattered against the wall. The hands immediately began to make me stand and I began to worry that they were angry but I was yet to feel that from them. They helped me get to my room and almost laid me down on the bed.

As I lay there they began to undress me. Pulling my trousers down and taking my already open shirt off my back. I lay there bloated and aching only in my underwear and socks. The hands began again exploring my tightly packed abdomen. Tracing the curve of its distended rise and gently massaging some of the aches out. I closed my eyes and let them continue. At some point I must have drifted off to sleep but when I awoke the following morning I was in the same position but totally naked. My stomach had gone down some from the previous evening but I was still pretty distended.

From a scientific viewpoint I am incredibly excited about the results I’m getting. An encounter like this has never been fully documented. I feel like Davies exploring the Antarctic for the first time. This will be groundbreaking research into the paranormal and may even get me a full residential post.

But from a human perspective I am totally baffled as to what is happening. Ghost hands have taken a shine to me and are regularly and consistently stuffing me full of food and giving me sensual massages. What the actual fuck is going on. And I’m being totally honest with myself, they are actually starting to feel really good? I'm finding myself looking forward to encounters with the hands. I sense they are intrigued by me and that they are also enjoying this as much as I am. There seems no mal-intent and nothing malignant about what’s happening. From a purely detached perspective, I need to understand if my feelings are mine or if the hands have some sort of supernatural ability to manipulate my emotions. I have to admit, it all feels very real though.

Day Fifteen

As I write this, I’m finding it incredibly hard to sit upright, I'm so full. After the enjoyable but intense feeding session on day eleven I have been subjected to something a little more intriguing and a little more sinister.

The hands didn’t really bother me at all for the whole day on day eleven. The occasional appearance where they would just touch me but no food and nothing sustained. I was beginning to wonder if they were done with me. As dusk approached I was busy setting up some equipment in the kitchen, as I was starting to wonder where the food was coming from and I wanted to see if they were actually cooking it themselves when the light all went off suddenly. I found my phone and turned on the torch and tried to find my way to the fuse box. As I stumbled in the darkness down into the cellar I felt the now familiar hands on the base of my back, guiding me down. They clearly wanted me to go somewhere and they were pushing me a little harder than I was expecting.

When I reached the cellar I found lights already on. The fuses obviously hadn’t blown, but the hands had done something else. I could smell food in the air and instantly felt my saliva glands begin to water. As I turned the corner I saw they had set a lazy-boy in the middle of the floor and there were two tables full of food laid out. And when I say full of food I mean a full banquet for a few dozen people. A whole thanksgiving meal was laid out including a whole turkey and hams and pies aplenty. I felt strangely worried and also very hungry. Guided by the hands I sat in the chair and waited to see what would happen. I suddenly remembered that I had not set up cameras there yet and went to stand to go get some, but the hands came thumping down on my shoulders, forcing me to sit. They were not keen on me leaving. This also didn’t feel as playful as before and I felt a little nervous that there was no way I would be able to eat all this food? (How wrong I was)

The hands began removing my t-shirt, which was something they had done before. Unbuckling my belt was next as they pulled my trousers off, folding them neatly and placing them amusingly to the side. They began to explore my body gently but firmly. As they did so I began to see that I’d put on a little timber in the past few weeks. My normally flat stomach was a little more puffy than usual. It had been blown out and bloated for a few days and it was only now that I hadn't eaten for a few hours that I could see its newly acquired pounds. The hands had definitely noticed as they both mainly stayed around that area, clearly enjoying themselves.

I lay there (enjoying the attention if I’m honest) until abruptly they stopped and I felt the hands lifting up my arms above my head. This was new and I should probably have been more suspicious of this than I was. I wasn’t aware of what they were doing until I heard a click and looked up to see they had placed handcuffs on my wrists which were attached to a rope tied to the ceiling. As I struggled to free myself, I heard two more clicks as my ankles were also cuffed to the bottom of the lazy boy. I wasn’t stretched out but there was no way I was going anywhere and that’s when the food started coming and let me tell you it did not stop.

I completely lost track of time down there, suffice to say the hands were determined to get every last mouthful of food into me. They would take it in turns pushing fistfuls of pie and meat and roasted vegetables into my mouth. I wouldn’t say they were increasingly aggressive, but they were very insistent. At the beginning, I would be given a bite of something and allowed to chew and swallow but the next bite would come straight away. The pressure in my stomach would increase and increase until I thought I would burst and then they would pause, returning to the belly rubs and massages. I would eventually fall asleep only to be woken a few hours later for the next round of feeding. More and more food pushed into my mouth until I couldn't take any more. This pattern continued for what I now know was 3 days. That’s how long it took me to eat the whole banquet. And I tell you that every last mouthful was fed to me. Not a crumb was wasted.

I am now fully aware that I was under some sort of supernatural influence here. My stomach is way bigger than humanly possible. It's gone from a basketball size when full to to a pregnant looking beer gut. Perfectly round and tight and engorged. There is no physical way a person would be able to eat the amount of food they have packed in me, even at the rate they fed me over the past few days. Also, at no point did I attempt to spit the food out or refuse, I simply gave in and let them stuff me.

I will at some point try to document exactly what I ate and how it happened but for now this is all I can manage. If I think of how much food is currently inside me I begin to feel quite nauseous. If I can manage to get to my feet, my belly now starts straight under my ribs and sticks out at least a foot before curving underneath my belly button and tapering in at my v line. It's as tight as a drum and warm to the touch and as I breathe only my chest goes in and out. I don't think I have ever seen anything like this.

In addition, I should note that the massages became a lot more personal in nature. Again for science I admit that as my stomach was filled, so too were other parts of my anatomy. A state of arousal which the hands most definitely noticed. As they massaged my food baby they also began to massage other engorged parts of my body. To climax. Being totally frank, these have been the most intense orgasms I have ever experienced in my life. The climax started as normal but as it built it spread up the bottom of my distended stomach giving me a whole body experience like nothing I have experienced. It seems that a supernaturally full abdomen is capable of a belly wide orgasm. I need to ask one of my female friends if that’s what a female orgasm feels like.

I am beginning to feel like I need to leave the house at this point. The experiment has already brought me a huge amount of data and I’m worried if I stay I will end up even larger. I am worried to think what they are going to try and pack in me next. I should have weighed myself before the past experience but alas I only have my memory of my weight beforehand. I can’t imagine how my body will digest this amount of food and what will happen to my already bloated stomach after the next day or so.

As I wrote that last sentence the hands have come back. They are currently resting on my belly shelf and I feel they are pretty pleased with themselves. I’m going to see what happens next but for now I’m turning off my laptop.

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