#sorry this is all the art you get for now

[tidcl]

Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)

CL — slip up and i call you baby

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3)

fc: faceless

word count: 5.1k

warnings: mild sexual references

a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)

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ynusername italy we are in u!!!

Amalfi Coast, Italy

You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.

There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.

For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.

It’s difficult to put into words.

So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.

Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.

Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.

You should know that by now.

Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.

He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.

It sucks. You hate him, you think.

Or you want to.

On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.

“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”

You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”

Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”

“I do not,” you answer too quickly.

Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.

“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”

Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”

“So.”

He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.

“Hi,” he replies.

He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.

“Are you heading back?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.

Ugh.

“I’ll come with you?”

“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”

You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.

“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.

He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”

You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.

You don’t see him watching you leave.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.

You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.

You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.

You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.

When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.

You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.

You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.

“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.

You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.

“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.

At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”

Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.

It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.

You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.

When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.

“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.

He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.

“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.

Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.

Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”

You nod, “Mmm.”

You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.

“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.

You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.

Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.

Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.

Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”

You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.

“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”

You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

You know he means it. It’s not that.

“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.

He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.

Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”

He’s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.

You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”

You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.

You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”

He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”

You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”

You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.

“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.

He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”

“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”

“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”

“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”

Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”

You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.

Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”

You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”

“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.

You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”

Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.

The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”

“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”

You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”

He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”

You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.

He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”

“Alright,” you say, “Good.”

As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.

For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.

It’s nice. He’s nice.

But you knew that already.

Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.

On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.

You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.

“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”

“You guess?”

He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”

He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.

“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.

He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”

“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.

“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.

You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.

The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.

You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.

Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.

He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”

“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.

You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.

He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”

You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”

“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.

You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”

🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE

taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)

#charles leclerc #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc smau #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x artist!reader #⭐️requests #⭐️asks

[yourplasticlittlespastic]

E̴N̴T̴W̴I̴N̴E̴D̴ - Series - Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f/reader

Warnings: Context and then some well-deserved smut, filthy stuff wink wink

Notes: Sorry for not posting but I work F, S, and S 8hrs so here it is!Thank you all for reading, you truly make my day with the likes

WC: 5.6K

Suddenly a good selection of paintings inside the museum made perfect sense. The way the people in the paintings showed their physical affection, the way the sculptures were exceptionally objective with their sculpted fingers gripping legs and arms and oh-so-loving embraces. It made sense to you, after all this time. Erotism.

“The more you stare at it, the more you’ll raise suspicion”

You turned and looked at his tall figure, Benedict was quick to offer you his arm “Isn’t it the opposite?”

“Not quite. People who don’t understand it walk fast and prefer to admire fruit bowls than this” he pointed at the painting “but people who do get it… they admire” he sighed “after all. That’s what you do with art”

“And what if they knew I understand this?” You shrugged “It is like you said… are they going to make us marry? We have the leverage”

Benedict chuckled at your joke "You using the power game here is..." he sighed looking forward "Making me want to do this with you"

You eyed the sculpture of a naked man embracing a woman, his palm resting on top of her breast, the other one resting on her navel... resting? No, perhaps he was going southern to her-

"And still, even if you have a respectful air of confidence I still make you blush. Oh, Lady Danbury"

You blinked away, the blood all around your face being mentally pushed by you so you could face Lady Danbury and her soft yet harsh eyes if that makes any sense "Lady Danbury"

"You pair of doves" she smiled, "I thought you knew better than staring at these cultures far too long"

"I told you so" he whispered in your ear

"Well, Lady Danbury isn't this art to be admired?"

She ticked with her tongue, her cane softly touching your dress "If I didn't know, I would say you and Eloise are twins..." she then frowned looking at Benedict "Do not make fret about it"

"I'll make sure to ignore that"

"Now" she came closer, a hand resting on your back quite tightly "Ready for tomorrow?"

"Sure" you both replied

"I expected more enthusiasm from two people who clearly decided not to follow courtship rules"

"Since when you follow them neat and clear, Lady Danbury?" Benedict teased

"Since our Queen expressed to me that your underground engagement was not keen to her eyes"

"Underground?" Benedict's brows joined "Then what is tomorrow if not a public gathering about it?"

"Your intentions my dear artist were not clear and a man paid for it" She gave one nod "And you are not off the hook, Miss Ashbourne"

"Hmmmm, you sound like my Mama, Lady Danbury"

"And I can imagine what she said to you but at least I had to tell you... you know? Make sure that you know your thing as romantic as it is, it was seen as a surreptitious thing to do. Now, I'll go and you two move from this sculpture, the next thing we don't need is you two to reenact it!"

You saw her walking and how quickly a nobleman was ready to talk to Lady Danbury, you turned to Benedict who was pouting just so slightly.

"Did she just say surreptitious?"

"I don't know brother"

Benedict's face contorted and his eyes glinted with mischief "Oh, please do not. My ears are bleeding"

The day was merely a breeze, compared to the avalanche you believe tomorrow will be. Of course, everyone was invited, the Queen the exception because well... it is not like she helped the match to happen. You did that by yourself. When night became day you followed your morning, you bathed until your skin was wrinkled like a raisin and your hair smelled like a complete bar of soap.

"Tighter"

"Mama"

"Tighter" she refused to let you have some piece "Tighter, girl" she ordered your Lady and you felt your ribcage extremely squeezed "Good" Your Mama stood behind you and stared at your figure "Your father and I haven't talked too much but I know he is quite involved in this, he will have things settled with Mr Bridgerton by no less than before the party ends"

"Alright?" you stared at her eyes but she avoided them "You are still vexed with me?"

"When I see you all dressed in white it will pass, now... tighter"

"No, MamaAaAaouch!"

You could not move as much from your torso and your rapid breathing was not noticeable still you managed to welcome each one from the ton with a wide smile, after all, this was an engagement party for you.

"Lady Danbury, you are glowing"

"Why thank you and you're so... straight, Miss Ashbourne. Lady Ashbourne, a moment?"

You saw your mother leave and that was as if God allowed you to breathe for a second -trying to at least-. The Garden of your house is now decorated with cream and pastels, bushes holding garlands of pearls, tables filled with delicate pastries and-

"Boo!"

You flinched and balanced yourself only to see his clear eyes wrinkling as he laughed "He-"

"Benedict" however it was Violet who went straight to scold the twenty-eight-year-old man winking at you now "Manners, she is your fiancé"

"Indeed" You followed the game but smiled at him in return, your eyes went to the real ton of the evening, all the Bridgertons looking like they always do, stunning. "Lady Bridgerton" but your eyes danced to Kate who quickly shook her head at you and you understood "Lady Bridgerotn" you once called

Violet smiled at you, her kind eyes shining "My dear, you look radiant as always but today..."

"Oh thank you"

"She looks like a bride, right?" Anthony was quick to join

"No, more like a china doll" Hyacinth corrected but Eloise elbowed her

"Thank you Anthony and thank you Hyacinth. Please, there are refreshments, you all can sit down and have a good time"

You watched them go, and then turned to see Benedict still looking at you, you tilted your head and he walked toward you, his hands in his pockets.

"Are you having fun?"

"What do you think?"

His hand went to your dangling earrings and then moved a curl from your face "If I die right now, I'd depart knowing I've witnessed the most enchanting work of art ever created"

The already constricted chest you have due to the corset felt like fire with his words "Thank you, but you won't die now"

"Life is short"

"Not that short for you to die in your engagement party"

"Then marry me now"

"Right"

"Is that a yes?" he murmured and then leaned down kissing your cheek, you sighed closing your eyes and taking a deep breath "Hmm?"

"Yes" You saw him lean back to his place, the violin in the background could not make you flinch nor the chatting could make your ears pierced. What sorcery was this? You could only stay put and see him

"Brother"

You snapped back to see Anthony and blinked away "Lord Bridgerton... I believe your Brother needs you, Mr. Bridgerton"

he grunted, "I love you Anthony but why?"

Anthony so gallantly with a hand on his side palmed Benedict "Business I'm afraid, it won't take that much"

"If it does, I'll send Eloise and she'll throw a book at him"

You both chuckled, you did not move from your place, your Mama did not let you, you saw Eloise coming from the distance and Benedict was nowhere to be seen.

"You look like a statue, a very uncomfortable one"

"I feel like one"

Eloise sighed and leaned on her shoulder "So..."

"So"

"We haven't talked"

"Not because of me"

"Hey, give me some rights..."

"Like?"

"I am the sister, and oh my your sister-in-law, future sister-in-law"

"I love the enthusiasm, El"

"You know I mean well, after all, you are my girl just like Pen who is... eh"

You knew better than to talk so you moved your hand to allow her the stage for the monologue you knew she would throw.

"I mean" she inhaled "Do you, no, did you imagine kissing my brother every time we went out together?"

"El"

"Just answer, you know how this goes"

"No, I did not" you admitted "Especially not the first years"

"That would have been alarming"

"Yes... and I found those sentiments not that long ago but strong. Does that make sense?"

"No, yet I believe you"

"Thanks"

She grabbed your arm "Come on now, let us join Francesca"

"What about Pen?"

"Eh let her do her own thing"

Anthony was lying. Benedict went away and returned before the party finished, some minutes to spare for some dancing couples still taking advantage of the sunny day above them.

"Why haven't we danced?" you inquired and he turned around to see you a slight seriousness on his face "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, it is just that..." his hand caressed your chin and then the palm of his hand went up until it cupped your face, his thumb caressing your cheekbone "I missed you"

"Liar"

He shrugged and looked to the dance floor "We haven't have we? Danced"

"No, now that I think about it we haven't"

"Excluding those small dancing sessions with the family..." he muttered

"So now you also want to save a second thing until marriage?"

He saw your smirk and grinned back "I will only save one thing until marriage and I won't tell you what"

"And I won't ask"

"Dance with me then"

You nodded and he grabbed your hand, the way the wind was moving the tree branches, the birds singing... everything was perfect, the sky was the shade of his eyes, the flowers contrasted with his pale skin and finally you danced. You don't remember why on heavens you haven't shared a proper dance not even during innocent times, perhaps those dancing sessions with the Bridgertons but his hands never landed on your back nor his eyes were fixated on yours like now.

Your hands never surrounded him with intensity like now, your mind was never filled with loving thoughts and passions -maybe except from the last year to the present time-.

"What are you thinking?"

"Your eyes"

"Ohhh?"

"I swear I saw the sky and then I looked into your eyes and I thought..." you smiled, your heart beating rapidly, "I thought... there is not much difference"

Benedict blushed, a thing he has mastered not to feel bad about "You're just making me go all mellow on you"

"Afraid of a lady paying compliments?"

"No, I am just afraid of what my body does when it's near the woman who is paying me the compliment"

You swallowed and stared at his face, his hand caressing your spine, your other hand resting on top of his shoulder "Do it then. We were cut hours ago"

"By my lovely brother"

"Is everything alright with... whatever that was?"

He exhaled "Well, if you want to know I will tell you but what if I tell you tonight?"

"Another adventure through back gardens and brandy?"

"You said it better than I could. Come here"

He stopped dancing to the harmony of the violins and flutes. In a second he gave you the sweetest close-mouthed kiss. You felt tingling for a brief moment, you smelled his cologne and felt the softness of his lips.

You smiled like an idiot. Yes, an idiot you called yourself because you couldn't believe this was happening. You couldn't believe the feeling. It was a mix of everything.

By the time the party ended, you gave your farewell to everyone invited. Still, the party was not kind to your mother's mood, her frown kept crippling now and then, triggered by your closeness and unfortunately the collateral damage, your father's.

However, things ran smoothly and you dismissed your two ladies who were quick to go to the servants' chambers for the rest of the day. You did not change attire and still with some light from the twilight, you bravely walked through the back gardens of the houses.

Before your knuckles could touch the door it opened, Benedict still not changed from his black suit was smiling.

"Did you know I was coming?"

"I did not but I was hoping"

You nodded and walked in, he closed the door "Thank you"

"So" he spun in his heels "I must confess something"

"Yes?"

"I have some work I must finish before we talk and... talk"

"Oh, that's alright I must also confess I'm rather curious about this place"

"Please feel free to explore. It is yours"

You saw him leave with an air of madness, but of course, you knew better than cutting his thread when he had that look. So curiosity got the best of you, the living room had a fireplace and a portrait of the whole family.You went upstairs to the hall and saw that there was a door to another studio this one amazingly empty that made you chuckle. Benedict was never one for bookkeeping, files or forms so this room being clean is exceptionally him. His office is the art studio.

You smiled and before turning away you spotted the mirror on top of the fireplace, you looked the same as this morning with more curls out of your hairstyle yet the same. Your hands however found a fight of their own as your fingers tried to unclasp the buttons of your dress, the damned corset was pressuring you too much. You managed to unbutton it, the sleeves were the problem as you couldn't reach it from your position, you took a deep breath and sighed, your back arching and you saw him through the mirror.

"high!" you flinched and lost balance when you swore you were going to feel the hit on your bum you opened your eyes to see him holding you

"What on earth?" he chuckled

"Hi!" you smiled back "you scared me"

"And you scared me"

"How?"

"I heard silence... silence with you in this place" he pulled you up with him, grunted as he tried to balance your rigid back "Everyone knows that you love creating racket"

"Hey"

"Even if it is just humming a song" he brushed your sleeves "So why are you getting naked in this studio?"

"I am not getting naked, my corset is too tight. Has been like so all day and my chest feels like it's going to explode. Help me please?"

You turned around and he undid your dress, the sleeves falling off, the corset's laces were visible yet he hummed "How?"

"How?"

"It is well-knotted"

"Have you never untied one?"

Benedict bit his tongue. He has seeing corsets but the women never have asked him to remove it or sometimes they don't wear one at all.

"Not... quite"

"Un-knotted" you instructed "try each loop to loosen it"

You felt some movement behind, you moved at his weird shaking of you "there" he said "done"

But the corset was the same you could feel it "No, it is still tied"

"No, I..." he humemd "Oh I untied the sides"

"No that only for decor"

"Noted, so the middle"

"Yes the middle!" you shriek

"Alright Alright..." he stood silent again and sighed "wait here"

"Wha- Benedict you only need your hands!"

"I will be right back!"

"Oh Lord"

"Here" he said

But you frowned at the sound, like knives or... "No, Benedict! Bene-"

"Ahhhhhhh" he exhaled relieved "Done!"

You turned around with the coldest glare you have ever done in your life "Really?"

"What?"

"You cut my corset"

"Horrible corset, ribcage-breaker if you ask me"

"Bu-"

"And you hate it too, I do not know where this affection is coming from"

He was right, your chest felt better and his adorable innocent smile was melting you away "Thank you"

"Always, now... what to do with this?" he pointed at you

"I have my camisole here, you can go now to your work"

Benedict pointed with his finger "I thought you knew I came for you"

"You told me you had work"

"The most infuriating thing I have ever said in my life. Forgive me for that"

"So there is no work?"

"There is, plenty. Loads. But you are here with a broken corset. Call me juvenile but not an idiot, my love"

You rolled your eyes "Fine. Take it away and burn it"

"Aye Aye Captain"

Carefully you slid your arms out of the tiny puffed sleeves and then with his help your broken corset was gone leaving your cotton camisole on. Your hands cupped your breast feeling how the tightness made you sore.

"What's wrong?" he asked behind you

"It hurts... like a lot"

"What?"

"My breasts"

"Well, they're finally free"

"No they are not!" you said turning around "see?" and saw his grin "Oh, I know what you did"

"You turned, not me" he tried not to look down the thin camisole so he instead focused on the two orbs on your face "Are you fine wearing your gown? I can lend you some clothes"

"Like what? Do you have spare woman's gowns here?"

"No, but I can find something, let's see"

"Benedict you don't need to do that, I will be fine"

"Well, I can't have you naked"

"I have a camisole and a dress"

"You are not sleeping in that" he said leaving you again in the studio, you turned around to see your reflection in the mirror and saw how your hair was starting to fall, the pins around your curls as well dropping and your camisole exposing just a tiny pigment of your ni-

"Here!" he exclaimed and entered the room with a pile of clothes "I know you hate wool, flannel is too hot so cotton it is"

"Thoughtful" you took the ample cotton shirt. The flounce long sleeves and the collar made you know this one was a hunting shirt "thank you"

"I'll leave you to it, I will..." he walked to the door but then gave one step backwards "unless you want me to-"

"Me? want to...?"

"I meant that- well, me here-"

"Oh, it's-"

"Fine, yes I'll go"

The awkward moment was cut with him closing the door as you usually let yourself change. Your garters holding your stockings and the camisole away made you look like one of those illustrations you found under your father's desk. You however decided to wear Benedict's hunting shirt, your slender arms too fragile for the flouncing sleeves and your collarbone too narrow for the shoulder-width.

Was it too untoward of you?

"Oh for heaven's sake," you muttered

Isn't this enough? too proper all the time? You have been raised in the rules of the time, clear as water you understand them but you are going to be living behind closed walls with a person who is like you. Why should you keep following them? They have domesticated you so well and here is Benedict who has been too -domesticated- but still you two gravitate to unchain yourselves.

"Why Am I thinking so much about the camisole?"

You opened the door of the studio and heard nothing, however as you descended the staircase you started to hear the brushstrokes, the dipping into the water, the brush getting dried with a cloth and a sudden gulp, Brandy it must be.

You reached the art studio and peaked inside, Benedict was facing back at you, the easel with a canvas was ready and his paint pallet was in front of him, the glass full of a golden liquid. You knocked on the door and he turned around.

It was not your intention -you told yourself- the brandy went to his lungs and he coughed at the sight of you. You took the slight moment as advantageous and you moved to the couch where he had put some pillows, you sat and stared at him as he drank from the glass, the amber liquid sliding down his neck.

"That bad?" you asked

"No" he rasped and cleared his throat "not at all. I... think I died and came back with the sight of you"

"You're such a charmer, Mr. Bridgerton"

"That's why I'm not the one who will inherit the title" he joked "I hope you don't mind"

"The title?" you snorted "as if... although now that I put more thought into it... I think my Mother is quite frustrated about it... with Lord Coxingworth being left aside"

Benedict left his glass on a stool and moved to the couch where you are but he sat down on the carpet instead "You are quite perceiving to form that conjecture"

"How so?"

"Your mother talked to me today"

Your blood, as hot as it was went cold "What?"

"Anthony needed me to talk with your parents about your dowry"

You sneered at the thought "I hate dowries"

"And I hate talking about them... but your mother seemed to love Lord Coxingworth and I can't blame her, the man has his charm"

"And he is a Lord"

"And he is a Lord" he repeated "But still, your father was trying to make everything run smoothly so I only nodded. Anthony will make sure to keep everything in place, after all, you will be part of the family. For me you already are"

"Hmmm"

"I was about to say I do not need the dowry but Anthony knew and did the talking"

Your eyes expanded "What?"

"I don't need a dowry is just money. A Business, as if this" he pointed to you and him "is business... it is not"

"You speak only the truth"

He grinned "Would you have taken the money?"

"Are you mad?"

"Imagine I am Benedictina!" he giggled, you slapped his leg with your foot "Hey! And you Mr. Ashbourne"

"Shush you"

"Would you have taken my dowry, my Lord?" he mocked

"Yes!" you laughed "Yes, to go to the coast of Italy and get some food and live there with your dowry Benedictina"

Benedict chortled loudly and hit your leg with his foot which you retaliated but he held it "Stop! You'll make me choke again!"

"Then let go of my leg!"

"You stop first!"

You stopped and looked at him, the fire in the fireplace behind him and the moonlight from the window making the scene even more dreamlike.

"Ben"

"Yes"

"Are you still certain about marrying me?"

He looked at your eyes and the way the firelight made them shine "More than ever. Why the question?"

you shrugged "I don't want you to feel rushed, perhaps Lord Coxingworth made you act fast and-"

"I know what you're saying" he nodded and took his tie from his neck and rolled it in his hand "but it was that or seeing you getting married to him which..." he pointed "It is not the only thing but it pushed me to do something which is the right thing to do"

"You better still think that" you hit his side with your foot again "because I will terrorize you if you ever point out it was rushed"

"I'll terrorize you back"

You sneered "I'll terrorize you further"

He straightened "I'll terrorize you harder"

"Harder?"

"Yes"

"You think you can"

"Oh I know"

"Bring it, Bridgerton"

He leaned in close, crawling on the couch until his hand touched your clothed calf, his lips inches from yours, the fire's heat behind him and the night sky shining through the window.

"I have a lot of ideas"

"I have some myself" you replied

"Is that so" he licked his lips

"Mhm"

"Then I'll start with this" he pecked your lips, once "Fight me" he kissed you, twice "Love me" he kissed you, thrice "Do it all together" and he kissed you again, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, your lips parted and let him in, his tongue was warm and his breath tasted like brandy and mint.

"And I will start," you said between kisses, his mouth was insatiable, your lips were swollen with his rapture "With this" your hands pulled the tie in his hand and pushed his torso forward, Benedict followed and he was on top of you, his weight pressing down but you loved it "Fight me" you kissed his neck and nipped his lobe, Benedict moaned and moved his lips down your jaw to your chin and then your neck, he was kissing and licking you "Love me" you tugged his hair, the moan reverberating against your neck, his teeth nibbling down to your collarbone "And do it all together"

His hands found the hem of his hunting shirt, your bare legs exposed with the pantalettes still around your body, his hands travelled up your thigh and cupped your ass, the touch burning against your skin. You could feel his fingers digging into your flesh even with the fabric against you.

His eyes as dark as they could be stared at your breathing chest, the small gap of his shirt showing your soft skin "Y/N... I need my shirt back"

"It looks good on me, doesn't it"

"Too good" he groaned as he kissed your collarbone, his hand travelling back to your leg and up to the inner thigh, your heart drummed in your chest, the air was getting thick and your core was getting wet "give it to me" he pleaded

You broke apart and nodded, why are you hiding? Your hands took the buttons in front and started to undo them, slowly and surely while he was waiting patiently, the shirt opened just to expose the middle of your torso and your navel.

"hey" he murmured looking down and up at you "You don't need to open it now"

"Then tell me why it feels alright doing it?" you said and your hands were quick to push the shirt down your arms leaving it forgotten, cornered by the couch that it might absorb it. Your eyes were glued however in the pulsating vein by his neck until his finger raised your chin

"You are still someone unable to be defined by a word" he whispered "beyond what the word beautiful means or any other"

You hummed unfit to say anything and you saw the delicacy of his touch. One of his hands was placed by the side of your head so he wouldn't fall on you, the other softly cupped your breast and traced the round shape. You could see the curiosity, his fingers pinching your nipple and you moaned "It's so soft" he mumbled "And this" he pinched the other nipple and felt it hardening under his palm "This is... everything I thought"

"Am I what you imagined me to be?"

"And more," he said and leaned down "Allow me"

"I-" but you were shushed by the erotic sound of a sucking noise, his lips latched onto your nipple, and you felt his tongue swirling around it and his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. You could feel him sucking the tender spot, the warmth spreading from the tips of your fingers to your toes and you moaned hard.

Benedict was delighted by the sound of your pleasure, his hand caressing the other breast, his thumb pressing the bud until you could only gasp, he stopped and moved to the other nipple.

"You're a tease"

"Let me play"

"Benedict" you groaned and arched your back to press your breast more against him. The scene was like the water you drink in the middle of the night, your mind could not process the moment and still, you could feel it all, your breast, the swelling too close to his face "oh"

Benedict however could not wait, he just couldn't. The sight of you, your warmth was inviting, more inviting than the day before, than any other thing he has done with, for, and by you. He pushed himself back, his hands travelled to your wait and hips and he left -agonizingly- your breasts now covered in his spit. His hands slid down to your thighs and opened them wider, he sat in his heels and took in the view of the most secretive part of your body -yet- he cursed at the pantalettes and then looked at you flushed, red and pink and all colours for him.

"Y/N..."

You saw he wanted to take them away and so you nodded. What could he do? You thought. He's done so much. He could do anything to you and you'd let him, and so his hand slipped into the sides of your undergarment and slid down your thighs. The air hit your exposed body, the wetness dripping from you and Benedict saw. He saw all.

"My goodness" he whispered, his hand trembling "Oh my goodness, Y/N"

You looked away, the sudden shyness taking over, and you could not look at him.

"Look at me" he commanded "Y/N"

"I-"

"Look at me"

Slowly you turned your face and saw his eyes. They were hungry, the pupils blown and his lips were swollen. You bit your lip and he hissed.

"What do you think?"

"You're divine, I can't- oh" his hands were caressing your thigh, his thumb rubbing circles around your inner thighs "You are... more than words can describe"

"Don't use words, please"

He chuckled "Very well" he grazed your folds with his finger and you welcomed it for the second time that "I'll kiss you"

Ignorantly, you plucked your lips and waited however the puck laste a second because you "Uuuuuh!" you flinched but Benedict held you in place.

The sole image of his face close to your core started to drive you insane "What-"

"Shush, honey"

Honey indeed as he kissed your wet core, his tongue explored you, the taste, the sensation, the feeling, he was addicted to you and the moans, the way your hips were starting to grind into his mouth were driving him insane. His hand held you down and his tongue explored, lapped and sucked, his nose nuzzled against your clit and the way his tongue slipped inside your hole, he could not help the groan, his own arousal was hurting him but he wanted you. All of you.

"Benedict!"

He knew what he was doing, the tip of his tongue was teasing the entrance, your juices dripping, the sound of his lips and tongue lapping at you echoed around the studio.

Perhaps you were moving too much you thought. You were squirming and this was not like when he put his fingers inside of you. This was something else, so dirty and so good. Your hips were on their own, you kept arching, buckling, squirming and his chestnut hair was the only thing you could see.

"Ben" you articulated "Ben"

But he roared like a lion, the vibrations sending you over the edge, his tongue was thrusting in and out, his nose brushing the bud of nerves and you cried. He gripped tighter, he was not letting go.

"Ben!" you cried, the sensation too much for your own survival that night and still you managed to say "Ke-keep... going-Ah"

He lost it with your taste that he swore he would never stop doing this, your cries, the stocking threatening to fall, your breasts heaving and your nipples swollen. He has found his place.

And it came, you came on his face as he travelled inside of you with his tongue, your walls clenching around his tongue and his thumb was pressing against the bud. You could feel your eyes rolling, black coming and vision returning. Still, Benedict kept taking all of you, licking you and tasting.

"Enou-Benedict-ah!" you moaned, his tongue still getting into you, his nose hitting your clit "I can't, ah!"

And until your last clenching that is when he stopped, like a madman he looked up to see the sweat on your face, your body twitching and your eyes unfocused.

"I told you" he breathed heavily, his chest also heaving, the bulge in his pants evident and he licked his lips "I'll devour you"

"Why on earth you didn't do that since the beginning?!"

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[sceletaflores]

younger!pervy!patrick stealing your underwear 18+

i blame @poppy-metal for my nasty patrick zweig thoughts, this is for you bae. also extremely extremely inspired by icon @murdrdocs, your fics changed lives thank you for your service.

it's pure fucking luck when it happens.

art wouldn't stop complaining about having to take his dirty laundry to the communal room on his dorm floor that housed all the washers and dryers. patrick doesn't know why the fuck he offered to take it up for him in the first place, to shut art up? to make him happy?

who gives a shit anyways cause while he's taking arts stupidly full hamper to the laundry room and following the half-assed directions given to him, he bumps right into someone as soon as he steps foot through the already open door. when he cranes his head around the edge of art's hamper he nearly jumps with fucking joy at what, or more-so who, greets him.

he knew who you were already. art wouldn't stop blowing up his phone with texts about "the hot new chick with an out of this world backhand and a killer fucking rack!". so as soon as he got off the bus in cali and stepped foot in art's cushy dorm room he obviously demanded he take him to one of your matches, and holy fucking shit.

you absolutely obliterate the poor girl on the opposite side of the net. running her up and down the court like a chicken with its head cut off while you stay calm and collected.

he could come just watching your perfect form as you hammer another excellent serve at your opponent, but something has to be said for the fucking outfit you're wearing. the tight tank of your dress does show off your, now proven, killer fucking rack but goddamn that skirt should be illegal. even the flowy pleated fabric can't hide the thick curve of your ass underneath, bouncing as you take off to chase after the ball.

he's white knuckling the edges of his seat the entire match, using every ounce of willpower in his body to not pop a boner in the middle of the fucking stands and even more willpower to not look over at the smug fucking grin plastered on art's face as he watches him. safe to say, you've been on his mind ever since.

now, you stand in front of him holding your own hamper with an apologetic smile on your face.

"shit, i'm so sorry. i didn't even see you." you say, way too chipper for 9 a.m on a sunday.

patrick is the epitome of a cocky, arrogant asshole. he has girls in nearly every state practically begging to choke on his dick without him so much as raising a finger in their direction. he's beyond smooth. he has every sleazy line known to man on the tip of his tongue at all times, yet when he goes to speak he can't manage anything besides a weak mutter of, "s'alright." he mentally punches himself in the balls for letting your bambi eyes and dick sucking lips get the better of him.

you give him a nod and one last friendly smile before stepping around him and making your way down the hallway. patrick watches in damn near agony as you go, ponytail swinging behind you in time with the sway of your hips.

patrick lets out an all suffering groan, dropping his head to his chest in defeat. "fucking dumbass.' he admonishes himself quietly, letting himself wallow in misery before making to take a step forward when suddenly he spots something out of the corner of his eye.

it takes him a few seconds to register just what he's staring at, but when it clicks he nearly has a fucking heart attack. there on the floor lays a pair of lacy white panties, your lacy white panties. it takes him all of a millisecond to drop art's hamper on the floor carelessly and practically dive to snatch them up. as soon as his fingers touch the fabric he can feel himself chubbing up in his sweats. he runs his fingertips over the hem, feeling the familiar rough texture that was snug against your body so recently makes sparks go off near the base of his spine.

when patrick hears lively conversation and footsteps heading his way he shoves the panties in his pocket and snatches art's hamper off the floor to start haphazardly shoving his clothes in the washer.

when he finally re-enters art's dorm room he's met with his best friends face staring at him suspiciously. "what the fuck took you so long?" art questions, brow raised as he watches patrick stumble over to his bed and plop down a little too roughly. patrick's reply is simple.

“got lost."

it's only later, when he's back on the train heading for his latest stop and digging into his pocket in search of his lighter that he feels it. the lacy fabric of your panties still stuffed deep into his pocket. his breath hitches in his throat and before he knows what he's doing he's up like a shot and speed walking to the back of the cart.

he's in the bathroom a mere five seconds before he's ripping his fly down and furiously stroking his hard as steel cock in a cramped train bathroom he can barely stand up fully in. it takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before he's busting in the fucking sink with your dainty white panties balled up in his fist and held against his nose as he inhales so heavily he might fucking pass out.

patrick has already found, and requested you, on facebook by the time he makes it back to his seat.

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

taglist!

@yuenity @callsign-artemis @ebodebo (who each put up with me ranting about this so wonderfully love you guys mwah)

#✧: 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 #what if i said this was my favorite thing i've ever written #what then #i literally put the pedal to the metal on this one #i wrote it in like an hour #i'm so obsessed with him its not even funny #like i need to be put away #genuinely #or diagnosed with hysteria #it's so bad #challengers smut #challengers movie #challengers #challengers fanfic #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig fic

[allurilove]

Yan!Prodigy x Rival you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: enemies to lovers?— not really he falls in love pretty quick, first time kissing, stalking, admitting his feelings, he gets excited by the tiniest sight of skin, he’s delusional, gender neutral reader.

*I played violin for a couple of years, but my knowledge is a bit dusty and it’s been awhile 😬 And sorry for not posting! I’ve been busy with studying for the SAT! He is referred to as “your enemy” and this is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: He’s been on the top of his game for years. He’s known as the most talented violinist, and his ability to play has brought people to tears. All until you came along and threatened his legacy.

He was upset and furious that a nobody like you could win the spot of the first chair. You were now the center of attention, and not him. He wanted to break you down.

But… why did he find himself yearning for you?

He’s been practicing for years. He spent his whole life dedicating to the art of music. His fingers have been numb before, his wrist hurt, and he’s been staring at music sheets for so long— that everything looked like notes to him.

He’s been the first chair. He climbed his way to the top, he earned his reputation, and everyone admires him.

So, a little and measly talent like you shouldn’t have been in his spot. He had to audition for that seat—just like everyone else— but he knew that the directors loved him the moment he stepped on the stage.

He created masterpiece after masterpiece, and he’s a well sought out man.

He heard murmurs and whispers as he sat down behind you. He could feel everyone look at you with fascination, and admiration. He scowled and his grip on the neck of the violin was tight. He imagined ripping you out of the chair, or shoving his bow down your throat.

He had a steely gaze as you turned around to look at the person who had been glaring daggers at you. You smile at him, feeling a bit bad that you’re a newbie who took his usual position.

Why was his heart beating?

“Dont look at me.” The man scowled at you. His face slowly turning pink, and he looked away as you turned to face him again.

For the first time ever, he was distracted. As the show began he could hear his mistakes. He felt his hand shake, and he accidentally pressed down too hard on the string- causing an eerie squeaking noise. He looked up to see what you were doing and you are confident, each note of yours is perfect, and you were clearly the better choice. His eyes slowly widened as he became hypnotized by the way you moved, and the way your hand was so nimble.

“…fuck.” He was falling in love. That has never happened to him before. His body is filled with warmth, his heart fluttered, and he felt like he could float on the wave of happiness. For the first time ever— he felt alive.

The person next to him gently kicked at his chair, and he snapped out of it. He looked back at the sheet, and he realized he lost his place. His eyes and ears frantically tried to figure out where they were.

The show was a nightmare. He got chewed out for the very first time, and he hung his head low. He made multiple mistakes, made a mockery of the whole orchestra, and organization. He apologized to everyone, and he seethed at how people thought he was slipping.

You were the only one to approach him. Your enemy threw his jacket on, ready to leave, but he paused when he saw you.

“Hey… I’m sorry-“

He raised a hand to stop you. “It’s not your fault.” He said curtly, and he grabbed his instrument case. He brushed past you, and quickly made it out of the building. He had to stop and take a breather- leaning on the wall as he felt red cheeks. He always felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement when you came close to him.

That’s when the stalking began. I mean it was a total accident, and he didn’t mean to find your apartment… he just happened to know it was yours, because of the way the melodic sound came from the window. He was across the street, and he was able to see you sway, and play with such emotion. He stood there for what felt like years, and he started to film you.

He would rewatch them at night in his bed. A huge smile on his face as he was able to relive that moment. Before he knew it… he kissed the screen.

He came to practice early in the morning. Your enemy had to keep up a cool facade, and he ignored your little “hello” to him. He sat in his chair, feeling a bit bitter, but he knew it was well deserved. You’re a good violin player, and he was coming to terms with it. He sighed as he brought his instrument out of the case, he took out his tuner, and he started to tune his instrument. He fiddled with the fine tuners, and eventually adjusting the pegs when that didn’t work.

The whole entire time… he glanced at you. His heart swelled up as he saw you take off your jacket, and he gulped as he saw your shoulders.

Ohhh god.

He slightly groaned as his pants felt tighter.

He heard the peg creak, his fingers mindlessly kept turning and turning. He gasped as the string he was trying to tune snapped, he felt it hit his cheek, and out of surprise he dropped his violin.

He was so embarrassed as you helped him get an ice pack. You two were in the tiny hallway, an ice pack in your hand. Instead of handing it to him, you placed it on his cheek for him. You made him feel better, told a little joke about what happened and he let out a chuckle.

He saw you smile and step closer to him. Was this seriously happening? He immediately kissed you back as you pressed against him, one arm around your waist and the other on the back of your head. You tasted wonderful.

He started to moan out your name, your hand now down his pants, and he arched his back. His hands then gripped at the brick wall, his hips jerked with the movement, and he felt his orgasm coming pretty close.

He felt you pull down his pants and boxers, and you got down onto your knees, and your tongue stuck out to lick his length.

“God, I love you—“ He pants, his stomach tightening as his arousal grew.

“Hello?”

Hello?

His eyes came back to focus on your hand waving in his face. He gulped as he took a step back. You were confused as to what happened, you tried to speak to him, but it looked like he was lost in his thoughts. His face was flushed and he was murmuring incoherent things.

The man quickly snatched the ice pack and he panicked— his dick twitching— and he ran away from you.

Allure: It’s a pretty short fic, unedited, and i wrote this on my break 😭 yandere x zombie part three should be coming soon.

#Allurilove yandere writing #tw stalking #tw yandere #yandere prodigy x rival you #violin prodigy #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #obsessive love #yandere stalking #enemies to lovers #delulu #delusional

[yooglefics]

The casual type: 01 . The blind date

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader  Wordcount: 2,888 words Genre ( for the whole series ): AU. College!verse. Strangers to friends with benefits to ?????. Eventual smut. Hurt / comfort at times. And fuff for cute friends. Summary: Hobi and his girlfriend set you up with a friend of hers to help with whatever happened months back. However no one really expected things to end the way they did.

Warnings ( for this chapter ): Setting things up for plot purposes. Gridding? Mentions of a boner. Making out.  Author's note: So, I wanted to write some friends with benefits thing, plus a bunch of art kids… and this came out ┐( • ֊ • )┌ . I should note here I took the creative liberty to play around with their ages so everyone is in college at the same time, and if you haven't, you can check the presentation post and learn a little bit more about them. Now let's start, hope you like it! If you do you can reblog, like, comment, send an ask, follow and what not. Thank you for reading <3

The place is quieter than the last time you were here, you realize, is earlier in the day and the semester just started after all, meaning students are still moving in from their home cities. And although you want to be mad at him, you can't really blame Hoseok's choice of place for a date, instead, you're already thinking of ways to be able to escape the awkwardness of it all.

Of course, he and Mai don't have to worry about that. Is not their first date and considering they're both dance students it actually makes sense for them to be in a club on a friday night. Is their element, unlike yours, who hasn't left their room for the last couple of weeks if it's not to go art-supply shopping and will spend even weekends far away from a place like this.

But you couldn't say no. Not to Hobi. Not after he held you tight that night and didn't pray for an explanation.

He had come up with his own conclusions, though, and that's how you ended here. On a double date with Mai and her friend who you don't even know, so... Yay! Blind date added to the mix of reasons why you already want the night to end.

"You made it!" Mai greats when the both of you get closer to the bar, standing up to hug you first and then her boyfriend. "We ordered something while waiting."

Your friend nods at the explanation, "What do you want?" He asks in your direction and you settle for a fruity cocktail to not look too out of place with everyone else drinking. Mai insists on going with Hobi and he insists you stay, so, a bit awkwardly, you take the stool besides your date.

"Yoongi, by the way." The guy simply introduces himself before taking a sip of his drink.

"Y/n" short, overthinking if bowing is too formal until you decide is too long of a pause and it would only make it more awkward. In the end, a soft smile is your decision.

"They look cute together," you say looking at your friends, trying to break the silence that has fallen between.

"Listen," Yoongi begins, and your head turns to him, "I'm only here because she asked, so if you're expecting something like that, let's just leave."

"Like that?" Brows slightly closer, "a cute relationship?"

"A relationship in general. I don't do those."

"Oh..."

And before you can say anything else, Hobi is placing a glass in front of you, smiling reassuringly. "You'd be okay if I go dance now?"

A pause and then a nod is the answer. Not having any intentions of spoiling their night.

"Don't worry. Yoongi," Mai turns to him, a serious expression on her soft features, "you better take care of her, alright?"

He salutes, earning a smile from the couple and they walk to the dance floor hand in hand. You watch them make some silly moves at first and giggle, but it doesn't take long before they start to follow the beat and match it with their movements.

"I don't want a relationship either," you clarify, tone assertive, still looking at the couple with a smile.

He laughs, "I'm sorry, but that's hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Look at me and tell me you didn't just imagine yourself with someone on that dance floor."

You turn to him, brown eyes inspecting yours, "Well, yes. But that doesn't mean I want it to happen with someone I'm in a relationship with."

Again, he laughs. Clearly not believing you.

"What? People do casual things all the time," you defend, straightening your back and looking away.

"You do 'casual things'?" His eyebrows raise, "all the time?"

"Shut up, you don't know me."

"That's a no," no need to look at him to know there's a smirk playing on his lips.

"Who are you? Some kind of hook up police or something?" You want to take it back as soon as it leaves your mouth, cringing.

"Are you gonna show me your license?" but he is faster.

"Okay, that was more lame than what I said," you laugh. Maybe he is not as grumpy as he seems. And maybe, just maybe, you would be able to enjoy the night after all. 

If he doesn't want a relationship either, then you don't have to deal with rejecting him or being forced to accept a second date just because you're too kind to say no. That's good.

"Yoongi, hey!" A guy calls out and for a split second your date's expression changes to a surprise one before a polite smile takes place on his face. "Oh, hi. Sorry for interrupting, haven't seen him in months."

"Is alright," you play along even when not understanding.

"I guess he has been busy with yo—"

"Jay," Yoongi's tone is serious, like the one he used to say he doesn't do relationships. However, before he can continue or you are able to clarify that you two just meet, Jay is calling someone over.

"Look who I found, love. Yoongi!"

A redhead girl repeats Yoongi's early expression and you wonder two things about Jay. One: if he always has that effect on people. And two: if he is even more clueless than you in this whole situation, since his smile never falls.

"Hi," the redhead says and Yoongi greets back just as plain.

Are you really imagining the awkwardness? Perhaps you were wrong and in the end you should put one of your plans to avoid it into place?

A few seconds of thinking go by, no one says anything and you could swear the tension is filling the air around your new  group.

"Oh, that's the song!" Fake excitement in your voice tricks everyone into looking at you. "I promise, remember? If it comes on, we'll dance."

Yoongi looks confused for a second, but it doesn't take him long to finally understand, "right, the song. Sorry guys, been waiting all night."

Jay dismisses him smiling with a pat on the back, saying something about not breaking promises and Yoongi takes your hand.

Looking around, you try to find your friends, hoping to copy Mai's moves and keep up with the plan even when you're a self proclaimed not dancer. But they aren't in sight and even if you can't really prove it since your back is facing them, you feel like Jay's and the girl's eyes are on you.

When Yoongi stops and positions himself in front of you, you get closer, sliding an arm on top of his shoulders pretending you're positioning yourself to dance, copying the random couple beside you.

Ugh. Why did you use this plan?

Why was this something you even thought about?

"I don't know what I'm doing," you confess in a whisper.

"What do you mean?” He looks for your eyes, hair strain coming out of place when his head lowers a little, "you want to go back and sit down?"

"No, then they would know I lied," you're still trying to figure out why in the first place and don't need the embarrassment too, "but I don't know how to dance."

He chuckles, "here, I'll help." And holds your hips softly, moving them to the beat of the song, matching your movements with his own. "Relax. Don't think too much about it."

"If I don't, how do I know how to move?" It doesn't make sense and is a bit frustrating, honestly.

"Is not a dance competition, or the grant ball, princess. Just do what feels right."

He catches you looking at your feet and brings you closer, eliminating the gap between your bodies completely. "Don't do that," one of his hands travels to the small of your back, keeping you in place.

"Sorry," you say against his neck. Not intentionally, but because of your height difference, there's no other option. In an effort to not be so dependent on him, both your arms move around his neck and you try to move your hips in a way that in the end doesn't match his movements completely, causing you to bum into his front. He makes a sound that you assume is a complaint at your skills and another apology rolls through your lips.

"Turn around," Yoongi commands, applying pressure to one side of your hip.

You comply, confused even when you feel his hands on your waist. "Well, I'm going to assume you been fucked before, miss casual all the time," with his chest against your back, you can feel his laugh. "Open your legs a little," one of his feets kicks gently between yours, fixing your stand. "You want to lead or should I?"

"...You." Is the safest, you decide. Your turn to assume he surpasses your experience at that too.

“Some describe dancing like a good fuck," he explains, hands softly making their way a bit lower to your hips, "because you have to learn your partner. Find a rhythm together." His movements start slow, moving your body with his from side to side, with small circles of the hips.

Your hands fall on top of his, not knowing what else to do with them. They're soft, which for some reason is unexpected.

"I have dancer friends and they never described it like that..."

"Not to you, probably," he laughs and when you stop the movements to throw an angry look his way — because you're pretty sure that's some kind of insult,— he chuckles, before continuing the swaying of your hips. "Calm down, princess. I meant, they probably just weren't teaching you this kind of dance."

And that makes sense. You can't imagine dancing with your friends like this. You can barely believe you're doing it with a stranger.

Your shyness must have shown, because his next question is why did you even choose this song.

"I was trying to help and get you away from whatever that was," you lift your head, eyes away from your feet and the color lights projecting on the floor, and sure enough, behind red bangs, the girl is looking in your direction.

Your hips halt.

Yoongi catches up a bit too late, bumping his pelvis into you.

"What ar—"

"She is looking." Cutting him off, you want to hide as if you were the one caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. So, you try to turn around on his arms but his hold is firm.

A new song starts, the rhythm not much different.

"Help me with another song?"

You try again, this time using your hands on top of his to soften the grip. He gives in. And after a look at his face, you nod.

You can decide if it's sadness or anger that you see, not knowing him well enough to tell — or at all, to be honest — but either way, there's a part of you that can relate. One for each emotion.

Throwing your hair back, letting all black strands fall over your back, your arms go back over his shoulders, this time your chest flush against him a little more than last.

Yoongi says thanks and you kiss his cheek as his hands hold you again. His movements are more determined and even his fingers form dents over the fabric of your dress.

Assuming his demeanor changed only for the specific viewer doesn't sound too crazy, and you want to confirm the theory by looking at his face, see if he is looking behind you at her. Your eyes travel against the direction the few sweat drops over his skin go, and when they reach Yoongi's, he is looking back at you.

Your body stops.

"Fuck" he whispers when the front of his pelvis bumps yours. "You really need to stop doing that."

"Sorry. Told you I can't dance."

He chuckles.

Your bottom lip forms a small pout. "Don't be mean. I'm trying to help you, remember?" And you initiate the movements again, starting to get the hang of it. Kind of.

"You're not much help right now if you keep making me dry hump into you," this time he is the one stopping, making it so you bump into his front and you can feel the outline of his growing erection.

"Yoo—"

"Exactly," he says so matter of fact, "you're the mean one."

Lowering your head, you try to not think too much about it. It doesn't make you want to run away or kick him, but you also don't want to make him feel like kicking you away. You keep repeating to yourself that is normal with this type of dance, that there's probably more than one hard on at the club right now and how you're probably not the only one who is getting we—

Damn it. Just stop thinking about it.

Yoongi stops your body from moving, and when you realize he has been calling your name, you're even more embarrassed by your thoughts.

"I'm sorry. That was too much, I shouldn't have. We can go sit now." His eyes are looking straight at you, letting you know he's being sincere.

"I need some air."

Without even bothering to wait for a confirmation that he is following or not, you make your way to the side door of the club. The autumn breeze hits your skin as soon as you step into the alley, instantly calming your hormones down.

Hands cover your face in shame after reclining on the wall. Can you stop acting like it was the first time you felt a penies? Because even if it hasn't happened in a while, it doesn't mean the score goes back to zero.

"Should I bring Hoseok?" Yoongi asks a few steps in front of you and you jump a little, shaking your head after.

"I'm good. You can go back in."

"I'm not leaving you alone here. Do you want him or Mai to kill me?"

A small chuckle leaves your throat and one from him follows it.

"And you think he wouldn't kill you for—" stop. You can't think about it.

"For dancing like that with you? Probably. But he also set this date up, so..." Out of the corner of your eye you can see him shrug, "can't complain unless you hate me now."

"I don't hate you."

"Is okay if you do."

"It… it just surprised me."

"In a bad or good way?"

"A good one." You answer directly in a strain of honesty.

"So you're not really the casual type, uh?" He teases after a couple seconds of silence.

"Maybe I just don't like doing casual in the middle of the club," you defend.

"I don't know, you were the one that kept humping into me."

Your mouth opens and closes, finally looking at him and his stupid lips pull up in a smirk. You want to erase it so bad.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

And you do.

Skipping forward, right hand flying to the back of his neck to pull him in and you're able to touch his lips with yours.

He is quick to react. Kissing you back, his hands on either side of your waist pulling your body into his. But you're trying to prove a point, to defend yourself. So, you pull away slightly, making sure your lips are just about to touch.

He pulls in.

Allowing just a peck, you move.

You kind of regret not using your cherry lip gloss, because you know for sure that knowing you're so close for him to smell it but not taste it, would be the biggest tease.

You let him lean in again, not moving this time and he sighs. You smile against his lips just before his tongue asks for permission to enter your mouth. Again, you regret your simple choice of a simple red lip tint, but remind yourself that this date wasn't supposed to go like this. That Yoongi doesn't seem like the guy he was supposed to be, not what he was advertised by your friends.

Fighting back control, your left arm joins the other around his neck, moving your lips expertly and feeling his chest rise and fall quickly against yours. Is pretty much the position you were in on the dance floor minus the grinding.

Casual in the middle of the club is not your thing. Casual in general is actually not something you have experience with. But kissing? You've mastered it thanks to your past relationships and the avoidance of jumping into someone's bed right from the start.

A moan vibrates through your lips against Yoongi's, and even if it's part of the routine, you must admit is pretty real. A soft groan is his answer and the cue for your heels to touch the floor again. His hold tightens in reaction, making your dress rise up and covering a couple inches less of your thighs. Suddenly you're aware of the wind again as a breeze runs up your legs, towards the center of your panties.

Your breath caughts on your throat and Yoongi swallows any sounds before pulling away.

"Fuck," he breaths heavily, "we've to stop."

"Why? Are you not really the casual type?" You tease, stealing his line.

The left corner of his mouth lifts, before falling again in a millisecond. "Not with you."

Should I’ve added “cliffhanger” to the warnings? haha i swear is gonna be okayyyy ♡ Tag list: @n33mesis , @mggv97 , @wobblewobble822 , @bbou-doir , @m00njinnie , @nariee02 , @sexytholland . hope you guys like this one <3

➪ The squad. | ➪ 02 | ➪ Updates for this verse | ♡ Tag list info ➪ Main masterlist. | ➪ Updates in general | ➪ Request & chats

#( writing. ) #( the casual type ) #min yoongi x f!reader #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x fem!reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x fem!reader #yoongi x f!reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts x f!reader #bts x y/n #bts x fem!reader

[mizzuniki]

First of all, I'm sorry, you must get these a lot but.... the way you draw Dark is just sooooo good 🙏🙏🙌 big preachh. Honestly, you draw others just as wonderful but Dark ones,

It makes me feel things. But also really want to eat them.

(Ps some time from now or idk, gonna reblog many of your art of him. Been meaning to for a long time. Just a friendly heads up.)

Thank you!!!!!! you can eat everything, bon appetit х)

#answers

[sonicexelle-junkary]

HUNGRY HERO UPDATE

Hooo! Wow! It’s been…. Almost three months, oh boy— since the last update to HungryHero.EXE. And I know y’all are shaking in your boots wondering,

“Where’s the next HH update?” “Is HH canceled?”

And I’m here to tell y’all that NO! HungryHero is not gonna be canceled! This little update is only to tell y’all what’s going on and why it’s taking me a bit to continue the story. So here it goes!

First thing: I’m tired.

I’m dealing with intense burnout and art block, and I don’t have much motivation to make things other than the occasional art piece here and there (I’m working on getting out of it). So there isn’t much I can give to you other than some things in the future I’m making to get out of my rut.

Secondly, I’m both working on an indie project with a friend (small things that I can’t share) and working on commissions. (Slowly. I am so sorry for those who still haven’t gotten theirs. Like I said, Art block). So I’m trying to manage my time as carefully as I can at the moment. As well, I got my schooling to figure out so things can get wacky.

And thirdly, but the second most important thing on this list; HH is being written and rewritten over and over. I have a bunch of plot points to get to, but I realized they’re pretty close together (and also terribly OOC), so I’ve been looking over my work and rewriting it to be both more efficient, and best suited for the story.

I am just a puddle on the floor right now, trying to figure out what to do in life. So I’m sorry for all y’all hungry fans, but the I can’t estimate the wait. I hope to get back into the swing of things soon, but I have no promises when that will be. Being efficiently productive is far outside of what I’m used to.

Shadow’s part of the story will come someday, just wait.

#rambles #text post #sonic.exe #hungryhero.exe

[memaidraws]

whoops lol

sorry for the silence, folks! i thought i posted the update here as well as on twitter but i guess it never went through??

i wanted to let everyone here know that the reason i've been so quiet is because... i'm officially a mom now woohoo <3 i'm still recovering, still at home taking things day by day, but happy to report that things like writing and drawing are getting easier physically. can't wait to show everyone what i've been cooking up!

i also wanted to take a minute to thank everyone who has been reblogging my fallout fanart since the TV show dropped. i see you, i hear you, i'm working on some art in the mean time to whet your appetites until season 2 drops and has us all in a (radioactive) chokehold again.

#updates!

[harrysbelovedd]

so high school [rafe cameron]

i feel so high school, every time… i look at you <3

football player rafe and his artsy, creative gf. rafe is a finance major, frat boy, and football player at his college. when he started school, the last thing he ever imagined was being completely and utterly, enamored by the quiet creative girl on campus.

but now, two years into school and their relationship, he couldn’t imagine it any other way. she’s a film major and art history minor, dragging rafe to the cinema or the museum at least once a week. he acts like he hates it, but he secretly loves it and has grown an appreciation for the art and culture she surrounds him with.

it all started when he saw the pretty girl sitting in his literature class—which he was barely passing. he watched her work in class, noticing how smart she is. the next day, he goes to sit next to her, slowly scooting closer and closer throughout the class.

“did you need something?” she asks shyly, but slightly annoyed by the stranger invading her personal bubble.

she’s a bit of an introvert.

rafe smirks at her. “no, sorry,” he laughs. “you just looked so smart and i’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask for a tutor so..”

she furrows her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. she’s so shy, she can’t follow the painfully obvious hints he’s laying down. “uhm, do you think you could maybe.. tutor me? i could pay you if—“

“sure,” she shrugs. “no need to pay me, it’s no big deal, really.” she softly explains.

that evening at the library, they did anything but tutor.

rafe got to know everything about her, she got to know everything about him. she glances at her phone through laughs, “oh my god. it’s nearly 10, we didn’t even study.” she sighs, her hand resting gently on his and he swears he felt electricity run through his entire body.

“i’m sorry, come back to my dorm. we’ll actually study. i have a single, no roommates so it’ll be quiet and i can help you!” she grins excitedly, standing up and grabbing his hand, not even giving him a chance to respond. not that he was even thinking about saying no, anyway.

safe to say the next day, he passed the literature mid term exam with flying colors. she hugged him excitedly when she found out, “i’m so proud of you! we have to go to dinner!”

and that dinner turned into the first of many dates.

his favorite dates of all though, are when she comes to watch him at practice and when he gets to go to her film festivals. watching each other do what they love was their love language.

she sits on the bleachers, her eyes staying glued to number 43 on the field. when practice comes to an end, he pulls his helmet off, his eyes going directly to her designated spot in the stands. her cheeks beam pink with blush as she waves at him, a grin plastered to his lips.

or when they sit in a small theatre together, filled with her film peers, professors, and big industry names as her film is premiered at a huge local festival. when the credits roll, rafe is first to jump up, clapping, cheering, whistling loudly in praise as she blushes in her seat next to him.

no one’s ever had me… not like you.

#obx fic #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron fluff #rafe obx #rafe cameron blurb #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #outer banks #outerbanks rafe

[stave-writes]

hello!! may i request mitrun and thistle(separately) x artist!reader who is very interested in their appearance, but hides it very well. most of the time they did not notice the reader's interest in their appearance(and they don't really notice the reader either lol), but one day, approaching the reader from behind to discuss something, they make some very high-quality sketches with them?? I hope this is not a very long request and don't forget to drink water!! :)

Mithrun & Thistle (Seperately) x Artist!GN!Reader

Word Count: 555

So sorry about how long this took to come out! Been fighting writer's block but the power of Mithrun debut (!!!!!) is forcing me to make sure I'm up to date with requests ^^

Also in terms of writing Thistle, I view them as mentally still underage so this will be platonic for them, sorry to disappoint at all ^^'

Mithrun could never understand why you look at him like you do, with a gaze full of curiosity and hiding behind your sketchbook when he catches you. Was there something in his hair? Did he do something to upset you? He tended not to pay you any mind, after all, he didn't care about much anymore. So, when asked by a mutual friend to go talk to you, he wasn't exactly against it.

He'd chosen to approach you from behind, simply to see how you'd react. It was funny seeing people jump or flinch when he teleported behind them, even if he didn't have a desire to play around like a child. So, he'd appeared behind you, face leaning right over your shoulder and opening his mouth to speak before he saw it. A...sketch of him?

It made more sense now, that you'd been watching him so often, that you were always face first in your sketchbook when he was around. You'd been drawing him, and he wasn't against it. In fact, the amount of detail was impressive, even if the visible bags under his eyes and the gauntness of his face did make him recoil just a bit.

"Good job." Was his quiet mutter, turning to look you in the face while you were visibly dying with a mix of surprise and embarrassment that you'd been caught by the very man who filled pages and pages of your sketchbook. A smile couldn't help but rise on his face, chuckling softly as he moved away from your personal space. It seemed he mulled his words for a second before shrugging, speaking plainly, "Someone sent me to come get you, said they have a message for you."

And with that deadpan speech, he was gone. Although, anyone who ran into the Captain that day did seem to think he was a little...sunnier than usual. Odd.

Thistle on the other hand is used to posing for portraits with his family, sitting politely still for the painters or being urged to smile brightly to not distract from Delgal or Yaad. He quite enjoyed not being the focus of the paintings, especially with his ears not paid much attention to.

So it was a little confusing when, as he draped himself to look over your shoulder, he saw a sketch of him. With his white hair tied up into the bun, it'd been in for the last 1000 years, and his ears were floppy slightly with youth but still pointed due to his elf heritage. It was a little flattering, being the subject of someone's art!

Smiling brighter than he had for a while, Thistle leant his head on your shoulder, peering up at you with those curious purple eyes and waiting for your reaction. It was a little confusing when you seemed almost upset he'd found your work. Was...he not supposed to see it?

"It looks good! Why didn't you show me it?" Thistle queried, leaning his elbows on your shoulder with a head tipped to the side, as if tilting his head would just knock understanding right into place. Even when you explained they were just personal sketches, Thistle let out a huff. "I like them. Can you make me one to have?" Eventually, you agreed with a sigh. He was lucky he was so damn cute.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi mithrun #dungeon meshi spoilers #mithrun x reader #mithrun #thistle dunmeshi #thistle dungeon meshi #sissel dungeon meshi #thistle x reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #gn reader #fluff #dunmeshi fluff #♤ stave chatter #long post

[pluckyredhead]

☕️ sliiightly late but would love to hear your thoughts on Tom King (I get the impression you’re not a fan? - ive only read one book of his (heroes in crisis) and a couple issues of mr miracle but I always see people talking about how great some of his books are)

Lol I am indeed not a fan. BUCKLE UP, FRIEND.

So two things about Tom King that give him such a good reputation outside of fandom circles: one, he is regularly paired with some of the best artists in the industry, which means his books look incredible. I mean, just astonishingly beautiful all around.

And two, he is very good at including certain signifiers that indicate "this is a prestige comic." It's hard for me to describe it - it's an "I know it when I see it" kind of thing - but there are certain ways of writing and laying out a comic that signal seriousness, intelligence, boundary-pushing. Art with a capital A.

The easiest example I can give is the nine-panel grid, which is exactly what it sounds like: a page of three panels by three panels, all the same size. This is associated with older comics (like, Golden and Silver Age) because it's so simple, but also it's very very associated with Watchmen. So now when people trot it out there's an element of "Look at me! I'm just like Alan Moore!"

Tom King looooves the nine panel grid. He uses it a ton in Mister Miracle (Kirby used it a lot so this kind of makes sense) and Heroes in Crisis, especially for the therapy sessions. And there's this thing in the industry where people see a nine panel grid and they're like "Oh! This comic must be Smart." But if you scratch a lot of Tom King's work, it has very little substance beyond a sort of complacent nihilism.

(Geoff Johns also used the nine panel grid to signify that he is An Intellectual Writer now with Three Jokers, which was fucking hilarious. Geoff Johns is the Michael Bay of comics and he was trying to be Wes Anderson. It was embarrassing for him.)

And actually, speaking of Tom King and Watchmen, Heroes in Crisis has a great example of how he's using shorthand instead of, like, building a real story. There's a moment where Clark tells Bruce and Diana that someone anonymously sent all the superheroes' therapy footage to Lois, and they're like "She can't publish it," and Clark's like "She's a journalist. She did it 35 seconds ago."

This is a reference to a very very famous line in Watchmen, when Ozymandias is talking about his plan and then reveals that "I did it 35 minutes ago." But Heroes in Crisis has nothing to do with Watchmen, and Lois's actions (publishing private medical information for no reason) have nothing to do with Ozymandias's (dropping a fake alien squid on New York to end the Cold War; also, sorry for the Watchmen spoilers). It also has zero consequences, either within Heroes in Crisis or in later comics.

That moment serves literally no purpose except for Tom King to tell the reader "I've read Watchmen." Which...is not really much to brag about? I'm pretty sure it's the bestselling graphic novel of all time. Lots of people have read it, dude. The line has no story or character purpose, it's just the equivalent of like...teenage boys quoting Rick and Morty or whatever at each other to signal that they're an in-group. Except pretentious. It's like if teenage boys quoted Proust at each other. (That would actually be amazing.)

And in fact - and this is my big beef with King - the line actually harms the story, because it's wildly out of character for Lois (and Clark, who fully supports her decision here). Why on earth would Lois publish the private medical information of dozens of people, many of whom are her husband's friends, or even her friends and in some cases family? It's not newsworthy, it's deeply unethical, and she doesn't know who her source is. It makes zero sense that she would publish it, and equally zero sense that Perry would allow her to - they're the Daily Planet, not fucking TMZ. But she does it...so that Clark can paraphrase Watchmen. Okay???

And that's the big problem with King. He has no knowledge or understanding of the vast majority of characters that he writes, nor does he care to learn. He is a fundamentally ignorant and lazy writer. Heroes in Crisis really exposes this, because it uses so many characters, and he gets so many of them wrong, and it's so clear that he like...Googled shit with no context.

Like, take Kyle Rayner. King has him praying in Spanish, and like...okay, sure, Kyle's dad is Mexican. Except Kyle didn't know that until he was well into his twenties! He literally had no idea that his father was Mexican or that he himself was Latino until he was an adult, and while he does canonically speak a second language in the comics, it's Irish. In both HiC and Omega Men, King writes Kyle as devoutly Catholic, when Kyle has never been shown to be religious in any other comic. King just went "Oh his dad's Mexican, he must be Catholic and fluent in Spanish." Now, I'm not saying we shouldn't have comics where Kyle engages with his Mexican heritage, but this is just a stereotype.

King also has this trick where he goes back to a character's debut issue and does a close reading of it to inform his writing, and everyone congratulates him on his deep cut...but he reads nothing else about the character. In Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, the only Supergirl comic he references out of 63 years of canon is her first appearance, which is all of 8 pages long. Way to dig deep in that research, champ.

His book Danger Street was touted as celebrating the obscure characters of the DCU, but it was really just utilizing this trick to the max, because it was all about characters from a comic from the 70s called 1st Issue Special, which was dedicated to trying out new characters and concepts, so it was a whole bunch of debuts. I only skimmed part of Danger Street while researching something else, so I can't claim an in-depth reading, but one of those 1st Issue Special characters was the blue Starman, Mikaal Thomas. King uses that 1st Issue Special debut issue and literally none of Mikaal's other appearances to inform his writing. And you might say, well, okay, that's an obscure character so who cares? But Mikaal is a historically significant character who was half of DC's first on-page gay kiss in a mainstream comic, and you can't even tell from King's take on him that he's queer, because surprise surprise, his queerness wasn't in his 1976 debut but was a later development. And everything Mikaal does doesn't have to center his sexuality first and foremost, but it would have been nice if it seemed like King was even aware of it.

King also doesn't understand, like...really simple themes. I thought Mister Miracle was really good when I read the first issue...and then the story kept going, and I was like "Ohhhh he doesn't understand the point of the Fourth World at all." And the Fourth World is, like...the least subtle Kirby ever was, and Kirby was never subtle. Anyway Scott Free is a hero and Orion is also a hero, and if you don't understand that basic fact and how it is the central theme of the Fourth World - that given the chance, good will always be stronger than evil - you need to go back to remedial comics school.

AND FINALLY (lol sorry), all of his comics are just...miserable. They're about terrible people being terrible to each other. Which...is fine, I guess? But it's not why I personally come to superhero comics.

So yeah: I don't like King's work because he doesn't actually know what he's talking about, he doesn't do any substantive research, and he's so cavalier with the characters that he's been given temporary charge of that even DC has made almost all of his writing out-of-continuity after the fact. And the fact that the comics establishment treats him like he's some kind of genius makes me want to scream.

#comics

[nyaagolor]

Bad Polls and the Art of Engagement Bait

So as anyone who follows this blog probably noticed, I posted a poll yesterday. Sorry ace attorney tumblr, it was bait. That was part of a little social experiment to test some theories I had about engagement bait and the tumblr "algorithm"-- and it was a resounding success!! I even made a replicate, that being a similar poll only hours later, which had basically the same result. Somehow. Now that the cat is officially out of the bag, I thought it would be fun to talk about it!

The entire point of this little social experiment was to combine some observations I had about what posts do well, the general attitude of tumblr users, and how to maximize engagement with minimal effort within fandom spaces. Thus, I'm combining all my thoughts into a little guide: how to make the lowest effort, highest engagement post possible:

Recognize that negative engagement on tumblr travels father than positive engagement Tumblr may not have an algorithm, but the system is still set up in a way where negative engagement rewards the poster more than positive engagement. A simple "like" is enough to show agreement or approval, but dissent or shock requires replies or reblogs (the latter of which are significantly more common). More reblogs = more people seeing the post, and thus posts that elicit a negative reaction tend to travel further than positive ones

Capitalize on the fact that people love to bitch about things when given the opportunity Generally speaking, going onto a random post you hate and exclaiming how much you hate it is a bit of a tumblr faux pas. Same thing with venting about how much you dislike something. While bringing up the topic yourself and being snippy to specific people are frowned upon, however, places like polls that provide an opportunity to bitch about things are a great outlet, and a LOT of people will take it

Take advantage of the poll's inherent anonymity This may seem counterintuitive-- the person posting the poll and everyone reblogging it aren't anonymous at all! This doesn't matter though, only the votes do. The anonymity of the votes on a tumblr poll turn the opinions of others, no matter their relative size, into a nebulous opinion of the indeterminate masses. THIS is the most important part of the engagement bait, because tumblr users love to complain but aren't likely to do so to someone directly for fear of hurting their feelings or getting called out for being rude. If you can take a dissenting opinion and remove the actual user from the equation, people are far more likely to share exactly what they think about it-- this is when the "no reading comprehension" and "you people seriously think (X)" and "ugh I hate fandom" takes come out en masse. Tumblr users may be mean, but more importantly we are also cowards. In the case of the poll I posted above, even extremely small minority opinions were being commented on in almost every single reblog, despite the fact that these opinions made up less than 10% of the votes for a majority of the poll's run.

More buzzwords, less nuance Buzzwords and a lack of nuance work together to make engagement more likely-- buzzwords are often both overused and misused, while a lack of nuance (typically in the form of a yes or no question) eggs people into explaining themselves. Combine these two and you add people justifying themselves, arguing with others, and complaining about the buzzword in general into your reblogs, boosting your numbers even more. In my case, I chose the lowest of the low when it comes to poll topics: "Is (recognizable character) (buzzword)?". How people fell for this twice I'm not sure, but it works!

If things are getting boring, stir the pot yourself You can use alt accounts or just make up tags yourself, but I was too lazy to do this. However, there's always the option of cherrypicking-- screenshot outlandish or dissenting tags, even if it's just one in a sea of hundreds, and post that in a reblog with an incredulous caption. Bringing tags to the attention of the majority invites new focus on those tags AND your poll, giving people another outlet to add their takes. Some people will likely even reblog it Again.

Now that the bait is set, watch people in your notes talk over themselves like a flock of seagulls

Congrats! You've now made a successful bait poll. Fortunately or unfortunately, mine worked so well that people fell for it twice, both of them got thousands of votes each within the day, my notifications are overflowing, and popular blogs have made posts referencing it. Point proven, hypothesis verified. As they say: easy website.

#mod vex #what do i even tag this #ace attorney poll experiment

[inkyvendingmachine]

Avedone With All of This Season 4, Episode 4

💀 Call of Cthulhu: Haunted Hijinx Masterpost 💀 Call of Cthulhu Season Four Masterpost (Coming Soon)

Warning: This campaign is an edited version of  a Call of Cthulhu scenario from the Tales of the Crescent City book. While a lot has been changed, there IS spoilers for it throughout these posts.

GUESS WHO FINALLY SHOWED UP!!! and also a lot of other stuff happened. I'm sorry, this one is very long because I didn't take notes, and struggle to leave out details when I'm writing from the records instead of the notes.

Art Credit: @inkdemonapologist : sketching + inking @inkyvendingmachine : concept + colouring

Somehow Jack’s car, with all its original passengers and no extras, manage to make it back to the studio. Joey immediately rushes into the studio, to go rant at Bendy about everything that happened… and possibly to go fuse with Bendy because he feels utterly helpless now after completely draining himself with panicked magic. 

But it’s probably just the first one.

Sammy and Henry arrive as well to find Jack and Peter quietly picking glass out of his broken car in something like shock. Upon getting no responses from Jack about what happened, Sammy storms off to find Joey.

Joey is all too happy to start his entire rant over again for Sammy as he works on fusing with Bendy. They were just following Peter’s leads and driving from location to location and then all of the sudden this ASSHOLE shows up out of nowhere and just stands in front of the car. Busts the car, terrifies poor Jack, and then on top of that tries to break INTO the car and abduct Peter?? It’s a good thing Joey managed to blast him out, but they weren’t even DOING ANYTHING that would have possibly summoned him NOTHING AT ALL... And on top of all that, being an absolute PRICK as he’s doing it! 

… Anyways, how was the moooob?

Sammy updates Joey on everything that happened with Johnny Nero, which is pretty much just that he had seen the Yellow sign, that Henry removed it, and that Nero was pretty intent on getting his hands on whatever the Phantom wants first. Which like… yeah, if you wanna solve all our problems and fix this mess, go ahead! But Joey’s pretty sure that’s not going to happen, so he goes back to working on his ritual.

Sammy leaves to go back to Jack, and right as Joey feels ready to start the ritual his phone rings. The special one. And it’s… Avedon??

Avedon immediately starts info dumping on Joey about everything that’s been going on already… like, all the information Joey already knows. A lot of flat “yeah?”s in reply as Avedon rambles on, until he mentions that it’s already gotten to Norman. Wait, what?? But Avedon doesn’t stop, telling Joey to meet him at his hotel room in NYC so they can go over more information. Before Joey manages to get any clarification, he hangs up. 

That’s Joey’s thing!!!

Joey is the one who hangs up on others!!!!!!!

Frustrated, Joey does try to call Norman, and… Yeah, Norman is talking in weird riddles and speech that doesn’t fit with the Normal Norman Vibes. That call is also ended with little information gained… but at least it DOES seem like Avedon knows what he’s talking about this time, so Joey’s willing to meet with him, even though he’s also feeling done with him already.

Joey finishes the ritual and merges with Bendy.

On his way downstairs, Sammy is still turning over the car event he just heard about… and the increasing evidence that Peter might actually be the Phantom’s target?? Why else would he be trying to drag him out of the car?

Sammy approaches Peter, who has since started exchanging information with Henry as they all get the last of the glass shards out of the car, and says that he wants to see if Prophet can tell anything about what happened. Sammy looks distracted for a moment, and [lack of surprise because it was actually somewhat communicated beforehand,] Prophet is here!

Prophet concentrates, and with no hesitation, mushes his hands all over Peter's face. 

The good news is that, while Prophet can tell that Peter’s been grabbed by the Phantom recently, that’s actually all that he can detect. No additional eldritch stuff, he’s not possessed, he’s not weirdly marked or damaged in a way that can’t normally be seen. Great!

But Prophet can’t tell if Peter is the target or not. For his part, Peter has been muttering that it seemed like the phantom was trying to pull information from Peter on someone else he was looking for, someone who “followed us out”, but there’s nothing Prophet can sense to confirm that… but he realizes he can sense the distortions to reality increasing throughout NYC. They’re in the air, moving about… getting stronger.

Henry can feel it too.

But that’s all the energy Prophet has, and he unfortunately misses Joey showing up and dumping his new plan of action on everyone. He, Henry and Peter are going to go find Avedon’s dumb hotel room and figure out what’s going on with him, while Sammy and Jack are going to go check up on Susie and Norman because Norman is definitely acting weird now and he’s not quite sure if Susie is in over her head or not…

Nobody objects to the plan. And with NYC losing more and more of its reality to the yellow mist rolling in, it seems important that they do something.

Henry, Joey and Peter do make a detour to Henry’s house though to make sure all is well there. The car is gone, the lights are out, things seem as they should if Linda managed to follow through and get the kids out of the city. Peter is concerned when he notices some of Henry’s wards, but don’t worry, those are supposed to be there. Henry checks them over, and they all seem good. Bendy finds a bucket of clay he and Henry's kids had played with before, and brings it along to entertain himself on any following sleepovers, since that is a thing that will probably keep happening. For once, it seems like everything is actually left alone? 

Until they look out back and find the treehouse Henry built for his kids is gone. Actually, it’s almost like all the landscaping and such in the area was just… cleared away? Or never happened. Joey meanwhile is tabbing through Henry's photo albums and makes sure everyone is still there, which they are. But the treehouse isn’t. And, perhaps even worse, there’s also an extra guy in the JDS staff photo now? Joey pockets it, since this guy seems to be in the music department according to the photo, but Joey is sure he’s never seen him before. And it’s not Alan. So. Hopefully the music boys can shed some light on this.

Henry grabs some supplies and his gun, and Joey turns him around to fix his outfit and make sure the gun is properly hidden. Avedon is 2 trigger happy, we don’t want to say our hellos by instantly showing off the weapons we brought.

Meanwhile Jack and Sammy’s drive to Norman’s is more fraught than the previous ones. Not only has he moved house again, (though at least this time they have evidence of his new address from the junk mail they took last time) but… many other roads are starting to move too. Also Sammy is driving, so, speed has been cut in the engine department too… don’t need to hit two things in a single day with all this mist building up, and any sort of navigation trouble puts even more delays in.

At least they do manage to find the place and head on in, with hope that also maybe now that Avedon has arrived Norman will stop being so “sticking it out in a house that keeps wandering off apparently.” Things seem kinda fine at first at least, like they’re not immediately shooed out or attacked or have any weird monsters hanging over the house waiting for them to try the door… But upon Sammy questioning Susie while Jack goes to find Norman in the back, the music boys find out that things are very much not fine.

Susie is… very confident with a knife all of a sudden, and very confident that she will be able to just stab the Phantom when given the word to go out and hunt him down. Y’know just… stab the guy who couldn’t be damaged by a 2 ton vehicle slamming square on into him. And when Sammy tries to argue this logic, it just becomes more and more obvious that Susie and Norman are both… in character. Susie’s speech cadence is even reminiscent of when she’s performing rather than talking normally. But they don't seem aware that their actions seem more scripted than decided.

Jack finds Norman in the back, with a hatchet and a very similar plan to Susie’s. But whatever is happening isn’t strong enough to make them completely forget themselves, and with some facts being pointed out and reminders of who they are, the boys manage to get these two actors back to themselves... kind of. There's still some weirdness going on, and this also doesn't answer the question of what could be done to prevent this happening again?

Neither Susie nor Norman really realized when it started to happen, and it took some serious outside convincing to snap them out of it at all… Do they need Henry to expel something to truly get back to themselves again??

ALSO, IF THE PHANTOM CAN’T BE HARMED WITH A CAR, WHAT ARE THEY GONNA DO ABOUT THAT TOO?? THAT SEEMS CONCERNING!!!!

Meanwhile, Henry parks near the hotel they were directed to by Avedon, and the trio look upon it in… concern. First of all, it doesn’t even look like a hotel, or look like it belongs in NYC. And the entire place is surrounded by a yellow mist… and while they could wait it out or try to somehow call Avedon and tell him to come out, it just feels like the longer they wait the worse it will get. 

Really, it’s starting to feel that way for a lot of things.

But even though everything about this feels bad, they press on and enter the “hotel”. What should be the hotel lobby is abnormally empty, and when they start up the stairs… well, that’s not normal either, the stairs just keep going. Joey is flipping any rugs he finds though to make sure they don’t have stupid destabilization spells underneath them.

After a few rounds of strange rooms, weird hallways, some alien screeching outside the windows, and Henry noticing that NYC is not the city outside said windows, he stops everyone out of worry that they’re walking into a trap… and Joey agrees. But not that this hotel is specifically a trap.

All of New York is a trap.

It doesn’t matter where they go next, the longer they don’t solve this issue, the more of a trap everything will be.

They just gotta press on.

…

Aaaaand start yelling for Avedon because clearly they aren’t gonna be just walking up to his hotel room at this point.

Good news! Avedon replies! Bad news!! Only Henry can hear it for some reason!! And… Avedon can hear Joey but not Henry?? 

It’s all very confusing. They find Henry’s reading glasses on a table. Those were in his pocket how did they get there excuse me. All of this isn't fine actually.

But after a few rounds of Avedon Polo, they finally stumble across each other in a… garden. In the middle of a hotel. And of course, the first thing Avedon says is that they need to leave immediately. He didn’t know it was going to be like THIS, he just stepped out to get a coffee and suddenly the whole place is weird??? Well, now that they’re here, time to immediately leave because YEAH THAT WAS THE PLAN FROM THE START. 

Going through another door leads out into a familiar courtyard, at least familiar to Joey. He had been here a few nights ago, while invading Y’s dream, and indeed, right where he’d expect, he finds the Y twins chatting amongst themselves. Marching up to them, Joey demands to know what they’re doing and what’s going on.

They respond by addressing him as royalty.

✧･ﾟ: *Joey Drew, as Your Highness･ﾟ: *✧

Normally, this would probably inflate Joey’s ego! Currently, it sinks like a stone into his stomach!! He does not want to be part of the play!!!

Unless…

Joey suddenly wonders, because it’s the same courtyard, if they are in a dreamscape of some sort… Does he appear different than himself… and that's why they're addressing him this way?

But no, he looks like Joey, and Henry looks like Henry, and Peter looks like Peter, and Avedon is still here… except Joey also notices some of their hands are starting to turn transparent…………. That's probably fine.

He still doesn’t want to be part of their play.

The Y twins try to get Joey to go somewhere with them, and he makes up a story why they need to not do that rn, so that the group of normal fading humans can attempt once again to leave this place. 

Since it's all weird here, Joey tries his little will-what-he-wants-into-reality trick and… well it doesn't work. Instead, he finds a throne room?? and realizes that they aren’t just in Carcosa, they’re in the castle where the Yellow King’s play takes place. And Joey manages to follow his intuition from here to find some kind of portrait hallway, covered with familiar faces… all labeled as characters from the play. Not recognizing all of them, Henry starts drawing them so we have a record of it later.

But there's a few he doesn't have to draw.

One is Alan Leroy, the guy that they're becoming sure is the target of the Pallid Mask. Part of the royal family, apparently. He's a slender man, black hair slicked back, young looking, quite pretty … kinda looks like Joey…

Which makes more sense perhaps when the portrait of the eldest son in the royal family is none other than Joey himself. Guess this is why he was being addressed as royalty… but that means the Y twins are not quite in their right minds, and anything he finds them doing here is probably just play nonsense.

Also Denis is the youngest prince but who cares about that guy.

What they DO care about is the fact they’re getting more and more transparent, so the boys go to find Avedon, who is oh so helpfully knocking shit over and muttering in french, and Joey manages to get his door trick to actually work this time; he opens the door and there’s…

STAIRS!!

Everyone starts running down them, managing not to get turned around when they start making twisty turns, and get to the front door of this stupid castle in a hotel lobby.

They peek outside.

Sure enough, on the side of the building, there’s a shadow shaped suspiciously like nothing they can really identify, so it must be some sort of angel monster or something.

At this point, there’s really only one option they have: try sneaking to the car and hope it’s looking the other way, and if not, run!

Everyone agrees that this is a great plan.

And then they do that.

There’s a bit of fumbling in the middle, but the car was parked outside of the yellow mist for once, so the creature just fades out as soon as it leaves the mist to chase them. 

Well! Okay then!! That problem is solved!! Let’s go deliver Avedon to Norman so that he can take responsibility for his mad man and then maybe stop hiding at home or something!

Henry drives off, and things seem fine for now…

Until Joey swivels around in the front seat to question Avedon, and out the back window, sees something flying after them, only visible whenever it passes through the mists…

Problem… not solved.

#call of cthulhu: haunted hijinx #joey drew #henry stein #sammy lawrence #jack fain #susie campbell #norman polk #peter sunstram #the prophet #francois avedon #SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY #We had stuff delaying the cthulhu games and then i forgot to take notes #and then i got delayed by school #we're still going though and boy howdy do we have plenty of fun updates to share still #also sorry it is so long lmao

[sortasirius]

Frail State of Mind

Fandom: 911

Pairing: Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Words: 1630

Rating: T

Summary:

It's a strange thing, when Eddie realizes how he feels about Buck. For a while, he thinks it's indigestion.

Title comes from this song.

Also on AO3 here

Eddie was laughing. Really laughing too, that kind of laugh that stretches across your chest, makes your face hurt and your breath catch in your throat.

They were all sitting around the dining table in the firehouse, finishing off Bobby's famous lasagna, and laughing uproariously at a story that Bobby was telling about his figure skating days.

"You just don't understand...the art of the dance," Bobby said, waggling his eyebrows, sending the entire table into another wave of hysteria. He smiled at all of them, standing up and walking around to deposit his dish in the sink. "Clean this up so we don't come back to a pile of dirty dishes after the bell rings."

Chim and Hen got up, clearing Buck and Eddie's plates,

"You two are useless at dishes," Chim informed them, "Let the professionals take it from here."

"And you can do the bathrooms," Hen smiled at them sweetly, ignoring their shared groaning.

"You want to come over later?" Eddie was pleasantly warm, probably from the fact that Buck was a certifiable furnace, and their thighs were pressed together on the firehouse couch, digesting after dinner watching Hen and Chim argue over the dishes, "Chris has some new game he wants to show you. We could order takeout."

"Thanks man, but I'm seeing Tommy later," Buck's smile was mega-watt, so bright that it could probably power the entire west coast, "Tell Chris I'll take a rain check."

Something undefined settled in Eddie's stomach. Something strangely heavy that went from his stomach all the way up his chest...

Before he could spend too much time thinking about it, the bell rang, and he and Buck sprang up.

"Oh come on!" Chim gestured up to the alarm with soapy hands, and Buck laughed, sprinting down the stairs three at a time.

Eddie decided to chalk the strange feeling up to indigestion. He would have to start taking tums after lasagna now, he guessed.

At the end of their shift, when morning had just broken over the city, Eddie was sitting next to Buck again, this time in the locker room. They were pulling on their socks in tandem, chatting idly about the call they had taken that night, which involved a couple and an extra large jar of peanut butter of all things.

"It's just gross," Buck was saying, pulling his sock on his right foot. His socks were always mismatched, he said he didn't see the point of sorting them. Eddie had always thought it was strangely charming, if a little silly. "Not to mention a waste of peanut butter."

"The waste of peanut butter was the problem for you?" Eddie asked him, eyebrows raised, "Not...everything else?"

"Everything else was definitely a problem too," Buck shook his head violently, like he was trying to rid himself of the mental image of the call, "Ugh. Gross."

"Breakfast?" Chim poked his head around the corner, "Bobby said he's buying. Peanut butter pancakes for all."

Buck gave a huge fake heave that Eddie couldn't help but snort at.

"Sorry," he grinned at Chimney, "I have a ride."

"Buck, turning down plans for breakfast that Bobby's buying?" Chim looked stunned, "It really is the end days."

Buck ducked his head, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

"Tommy's taking me out for breakfast."

"And so we're nothing to you?" Chim covered his heart with one hand, "I'm hurt, Buckley, really."

"Whatever," he shrugged his shoulders, pulling on his shoes and giving a shifty sort of look to Eddie, "I really hope you don't eat peanut butter pancakes for breakfast."

Eddie shook his head, still grinning.

"Captain's orders, I can't disobey them."

Buck wrinkled his nose.

"Gross."

They finished getting dressed in a comfortable silence, swinging their bags over their shoulders and bumping into each other as usual, making their way into the bay where Hen and Chim were arguing over what the superior breakfast item was.

"Evan!" Eddie nearly jumped at Buck's given name, looking up to see Tommy striding towards them, a wide smile on his face, but with eyes only for Buck, who seemed to shoot up two feet besides him, striding forward to wrap Tommy in a tight hug.

That feeling in his chest was back, that indigestion from the lasagna. Maybe he had GERD or something. He should ask Hen about it.

"Ready to go?" Tommy asked, his hand skating down Buck's forearm.

Eddie swallowed, not sure why he felt so sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

"Sure am," Buck turned around, that bright smile back on his face, giving Eddie a wave, "See ya, tell Chris I'll be around."

"Later, Eddie," Tommy waved at him, before slinging an arm around Buck's shoulders and placing a soft kiss to the side of his face

Eddie swallowed with an audible click. He felt hot all over, like he was about to be sick.

Man, that lasagna had really done a number on him.

He watched them walk away, until they thought no one was watching them. He watched Buck spin Tommy around, kissing him full on the mouth this time. He thought he should look away. It was weird, after all, to watch anyone kissing, but especially two of his friends. Especially his best friend.

He sat with that heavy feeling in his chest long after Buck and Tommy had split apart and disappeared, willing himself to understand it, understand why he felt like this, why looking at Buck made it worse.

He considered the worst case scenario: that looking at Buck and Tommy made him so uncomfortable it made him nauseous.

How could he even be thinking this way? He was an ally! He had been an ally for years! Hen was one of his best friends!

"You okay, Eddie?" Hen's voice came right by his ear, and he jumped, blinking.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah I just...did that lasagna earlier do a number on you too? I've felt off for a few hours."

Immediately, he watched her stance shift from concerned friend to Doctor Wilson mode. If he hadn't felt so crappy, he would have laughed.

"What are you feeling?" she asked him, looking over the thick rims of her glasses.

Eddie shrugged, feeling almost dejected. Normally he would have brushed it off, but Hen was probably the best fountain of knowledge for little ailments like this.

"Just...heavy in my chest and my stomach. Not all the time just- Just..." he trailed off, staring blankly into space.

It was like someone had just moved something from the recesses of his head, pulling forward a tiny box in an abandoned corner of the back of his mind, a place he never bothered to go, and had opened it.

Buck.

Buck.

A man who had shaped his life from the moment he entered it. The only other person he would really trust Chris with long term. The only person he would trust to make medical decisions about himself. A man who had slotted himself so easily into his and Chris' routine it was like he was meant to be there.

He knew his pizza order, he knew how he liked his eggs. He knew what it felt like when his heart stopped beating for three minutes and seventeen seconds.

He couldn't live without him.

The reality of that came crashing down on Eddie like a tidal wave, like a California riptide. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was back to having panic attacks.

"Eddie," he felt Hen shaking his shoulder, "Eddie!"

The truth of the matter, that he was just realizing now, that it may be too late, made him feel like he was caught in a whirlpool, spinning endlessly, unable to catch his breath. That image of Tommy and Buck, so unbelievably happy, so utterly adoring of one another was burned into his brain, he could see it when he blinked, when he closed his eyes.

Had he lost the opportunity for something more real than he may have ever had before he even realized that he wanted it.

"Eddie!"

Bobby was standing in front of him, both hands on his shoulders, craning his neck down to look into his face.

Eddie came to enough to look up, shaking his head back and forth experimentally, knowing how completely insane he must look to the others.

"Yeah," he finally croaked, knowing that this would do nothing to help his case, "Sorry I- I'm fine."

"You sure about that?" Bobby looked him up and down, "Doesn't seem that way."

"I just..." he searched wildly for an excuse. It's not like he could tell them about this revelation. "Got tired all of a sudden. I think- I think I'm gonna skip breakfast. Go home."

"Eddie-" Hen started, but Eddie had already pushed his way past them and headed towards his truck, pulling out of the lot immediately, not daring to look back.

It wasn't until he parked in his driveway that he took a shuddering breath, resting his forehead on the steering wheel.

He wished he could just force this new knowledge about himself back into its little box. It had lived there for so long, what was a little more time? Save himself the embarrassment of pining over his best friend. Who was happily taken by his other friend.

What a nightmare.

His phone lit up in the cupholder next to him. He picked it up, his heart leaping into his throat when he saw the message was from Buck.

Hey, Hen just texted me. You okay?

No. He was decidedly not okay.

He sighed. He could do this. He wouldn't ruin what he had with Buck. He refused to ruin it.

Yeah, totally fine. That lasagna, you know?

Fuck. He was so fucked.

#buddie #my writing #911 #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buddie fanfic

[rosenfey]

⊱ tagged by @thanekrios to recommend some books! I've been back to reading since last winter and it brings me so much joy so I'd absolutely love to talk more about books! ☕🌸

1. — the last book I read:

GRIEF IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS by Max Porter. I just love Max Porter's writing style. It's unlike anything I've ever read before. The way he manages to capture some of the deepest, most confusing human emotions in such a succinct way without making them sound too saccharine is incredible.

2. — a book i recommend:

HOLLOW PLACES by Christopher Hadley. This is my favourite book of all time. I used to sleep with it next to my pillow so the cover is crooked and worn and i love it so much. It's a non-fiction exploration about the life of a medieval legend, how it shaped through the years and affected people around it. It's very much an essay on human memory and culture and our desire to tell stories, inadvertently leaving pieces of ourselves in the narrative as we go. It's beautiful, it's touching, it's incredibly entertaining to read, and it makes me feel so much love inside. As someone who studied folklore and religion in university it is deeply personal for me to visit all the castle ruins and other places people from the past lived in. It's a way to connect with them and to see that even though we are so incredibly different, we are also incredibly similar in some aspects. And this book captures that so well.

3. — a book that i couldn’t put down:

LANNY by Max Porter. Another fave from Max Porter. It's about this sleepy village and the eldritch horror forest being that stalks it and a little boy that is very much very strange. It's also a social commentary and an essay on environmental mindfulness. And it's incredible. I finished it in two days.

4. — a book i’ve read twice (or more):

WITCHES ABROAD by Terry Pratchett. This is where I come out as a Discworld fan. They were a huge part of my childhood and I remember especially loving the books about wizards and the witches. This one was definitely my fave and I did read it basically in one day when I read it for the first time. And I loved it so much I came back to it.

5. — a book on my tbr:

There are literally so many (I have a hoarding problem). But the most recent ones are: The Land of Maybe by Tim Ecott and Master and Margarita.

6. — a book i’ve put down:

The Witcher series... The writing style is really not for me and the plot (and the blatant sexism and male fantasy type of storytelling) lost me after the 5th book (sorry).

7. — a book on my wishlist:

Again, so many. I literally have two excel spreadsheets for my wishlisted books and it's getting out of hand. But the one I am especially keen on getting is A Natural History of Fairies, a beautifully illustrated little guide on fairy folklore.

8. — a favorite book from childhood:

REAPER MAN by Terry Pratchett. I used to be terrified of death when I was a kid. I still am but now I at least know he loves cats, has a horse called Binky, and supports labor workers.

9. — a book you would give to a friend:

WEIRD MEDIEVAL GUYS by Olivia Swarthout. If you are my friend then you know that I am absolutely normal (read "insane") about marginalia art. And this book has some of the silliest ones available for your thine pleasure (I would not want to fuck with a rabbit that has a bomb. Or a cat with a massive club. Or the snail with those grabby hands. Like nu-uh. They would grab me. With their hands. Cuz. Ya know... we still friends right???)

10. — a book of poetry or lyrics you own:

KYTICE by Karel Erben. Okay this is me being Slavic but also not generally into poetry much (as in I don't collect poetry books) but. I adore Kytice. It's a collection of ballads that center around monsters from slavic mythology (eat it witcher I mean I am sorry I just don't like the witcher please don't leave me come back I swear I am more than just a hater listen to me baby give me a chance) and they range from brutally sad to tragic to super gruesome and gory (okay most of them are pretty gory. but in a poetic way). Anyway I am not sure if they were translated to English yet but there is a movie and hopefully that one has subtitles (if not I am gonna learn how to make subtitles because I need people to see it).

11. — a non-fiction book you own:

DON'T TELL MY HORSE by Zora Neale Hurston. Because we need to mention more classical works by people of color. This is basically an anthropological view on the Haitian + Jamaican voodoo beliefs and it's so incredibly intricate and interesting to read I recommend it to anyone who is interested in the subject or just wants to broaden their range of classical literature.

12. — what are you currently reading:

Alice in Wonderland. I got the prettiest edition for my birthday so I am revisiting my childhood. :3

13. — what are you planning on reading next:

The Land of Maybe by Tim Ecott. It's a book about the slow life and nature of the Faroe Islands which is where I am staying at currently!

⊱ tagging (I am not sure who exactly reads from my mutuals so I will be using my regular tag list, feel free to ignore <3):

@hibernationsuit﹒@lavampira﹒@euryalex﹒@starforger﹒@pawnguild

@florbelles﹒@baldurians﹒@archonfurina﹒@dekarios

@inafieldofdaisies﹒@feykiller﹒@zahra-hydris﹒@noughtomaton﹒@corvus-rose

@ferwynter﹒@thefrostyshepard﹒@melancholicrainstorm﹒@sylvthara﹒@katsigian

@rindemption﹒@juniemoe﹒@eldensrings﹒@claudiawolf﹒@therapyvibes

@sibeal﹒@epheyang﹒@lotusfaebell﹒@ravensgard﹒@princessmelinoe

@lutebard﹒@nokstella﹒@pavus﹒@gothimp﹒and you ♡ — (un)like this post to be added / removed.

#ambie got tagged #sorry for the long post i just love books gngngn

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

I'm Back everyone!!! 🩷

Sorry that I kinda dipped without much say- I'll be honest middle to end of May was getting super stressful for me and I knew I should leave most of my social media's [which was also getting tiring and making me feel self conscious there for a hot minute] to focus on my life happening in front of me. But I'm back!! And I'm glad to be back!

This week has been.... A littttle rough. I wrecked my old phone and had to get a new one- and it didn't save ANY of my old stuff transfered to this one. All my photos, art, writing wips, everything that isn't in my computer anymore, gone. I wasn't very thrilled. 😬

But!! To make up for my sufferings, I finally got a new job with my City!! And I'm starting on June 3rd so I can finally leave my other hellhole job- and I'm making a lot more. 🙌 I'm also considering some Etsy/Commission work to take on the side! I'll just see how things play out.

Fo now, just sayin I'm glad to be back even if I wasn't gone for long, I love you all and missed you!! And I got a doodle or two I'll be sharin sometime later! 💋

#cherry rambles #the lost boys 1987 #fruitbats🦇🍒 #🤘🏻🎸Most Excellent Tutor⚡️🤘🏼 #💔🤖Bogus Babe🤖💔 #bill and teds excellent adventure #🎀CobraBaby🎀 #stand by me #stranger things #st #self ship #selfshipper #selfshipping #selfship community