#believe it or not at one point i was a bad artist too!! *gasp* i am only good because i tried. and actually figured out how shit works. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sicjimin · 4 months

Text

— A Public (Hidden) Signs —

Part 1.

a.n : hi !! this is a request, actually. And wow i didn't expect it will came out this long ! sooo, i will split it into 2 parts 😁 i hope this won't be boring to read , and for anon, again i'm sorry this takes long ... i hope you're still around and like it !

tw : emeto, mpreg, graphic description of vomiting

Jimin could think of hundreds reasons of why he's feeling sick—that he also has been giving out to any other person too, "it's the jetlag, i was too exhausted", "i haven't eat anything yet maybe my stomach was upset", "i think i still get caught on the plane, i have motion sickness", "dancing way too hard always makes me nauseous to be honest, the weather tonight was quite hot too i think i lack of fresh air" — everytime they found him at the trashcan near the stage stairs, or at the change room hunching over the bag while makeup artist was left frozen not knowing what's the right step to do in the 5 minutes VCR left, or when he's disappearing few minutes before going on stage and came back with glassy eyes and red nose. And he always brushed it off, believing that all the reasons he had spewed out was actually the right reasons—he means, what else could it be? he just has sensitive stomach, and it has been that way since he's a child ; and he also always vomited only once in a day (even though it's almost happen everyday) and then he's feeling better. So he sees no reason to make a big deal to go for a check up—even Yoongi has given up at his stubbornness.

But like the saying—as good as a squirrel could jump, they bout to fall too someday.

And the saying fits Jimin now.

If he could say, today was one of the bad borderline worse day he ever had. He never felt this sick in his almost 28 years of his life. Something is definitely wrong with him.

It's started at the crack ass dawn, 2 AM, that he stirs awake. His sleep-clouded brain hasn't caught up on anything that could make him suddenly awake at this time as he looks around at his dimmed bedroom. Yoongi is still sleeping soundly, curled on his side as little snores came out of his lips. There's no misscall or any urgent messages either in his phone. There's no noises other than white static buzz from the unwatched television and Yoongi's breathing. Jimin frowns, as he feels something is off with him. He huffs—and moves his hand to curls around his stomach and give it a hesitant rub. It feels bloated. But as far as he can remember, he didn't eat that much yesterday? He even skipped dinner as they both too exhausted after the press conference and rehearsal. His frowns get deeper when the rubbing turns out pressing a wrong spot that makes him burp—he shuddered. It feels gross. It tastes like jjajangmyeon he ate for lunch earlier. He sits up, wanting to wash the aftertaste away by drinking the water—but apparently his body think that was a wrong movement, as the water sloshes around his stomach, and before he can react, it splashes back to the back of his throat. Jimin gasps, quickly clamping his mouth—as he can feels not only water, but his other stomach content also climbing up as his stomach contracts with a gag—and dashes to the bathroom.

But the force of his nausea is too strong to contain. Jimin lets out a loud, gagging belch and covers his mouth with both hands at the bathroom door. He can feel the bitter, acidic taste of his vomit in his mouth and throat. He barely make it on time as he bends over the toilet bowl and lets out another loud belch, then throws up. The retching and vomiting becoming more violent as the minutes pass. His stomach muscles contract and flutter, as if they are squeezing out the last of his lunch. At one point, some solid food comes back up—he can make the black color it's from his jjajangmyeon earlier.

"Jimin-ah .."

Jimin is so caught up in the sickness that he doesn't even notice his boyfriend right behind him, gently rubbing his back and massaging his nape. It does seem to help, too, because the force and intensity of nausea finally subsides a bit. After a minute or two, he leans back with a deep sigh of relief. "I... i wake you up?", he croaks out, sniffling as he reaches for toilet paper and wipes his teary eyes, nose, and wet lips. "I'm sorry .."

"Nah, i wake up on my own. I don't feel you beside me and then i heard you vomiting", Yoongi says softly as he flushes the toilet and settles beside the latter. "What's wrong? Why are you not waking me up if you feel sick?"

"I also don't know hyung .. it was so sudden", Jimin replies, grimacing a bit when he can still taste the bile and remnant of vomit coating his tongue. "Let me rinse my mouth a bit .. it feels weird, and makes me nauseous again", he shuffles, swaying a bit as he stands up and walk to the sink. Yoongi trails behind him silently, even watching his every movement to rinse his mouth and brushing his teeth from the mirror. Like a possessive kitten—especially with his hair fresh from sleep and sticking up everywhere.

The older quickly swoop him back to bed, making Jimin rests his head on his chest while he plays with the blonde lock. "Are you feeling better now? Want anything?"

"Mhm ..", Jimin shrugs, "It was so weird, i was feeling fine before sleeping, and then i feel bloated. I tried to drink but then ..", he groans, nuzzling further into his boyfriend crooks. "I think it was the jjajangmyeon"

"Really?", Yoongi frowns. "But i ate the same thing with you though? And i feel fine?"

Jimin shrugs again, not wanting to think too much as exhaustion catching up on him again. "Dunno ... you know my stomach is weird these days", he yawns, gaining a coos and ruffles on his hair, "That's why you should check up, Min .. there's nothing wrong with it"

"Meh .. i will feel better then"

"You are so stubborn"

"But you love me", Jimin yawns again, his words starts to slur.

"I do", Yoongi hums, "Sleep now"

***

Jimin is wrong—utterly completely wrong. Because as he woke up this morning, nausea been latching on him like a sticky tape. He hasn't throw up again yet, but he definitely will soon. He had been gagging on his hand after finishing his scrambled egg for breakfast that he ate with lots of effort. He had sucking the mint candy hard and desperately while clutching Yoongi's hand as the older whispering a comforting words on the car as his motion sickness adding the intensity of nausea waves over him. It's just .. bad. It feels like he's waiting for something to completely knocked off his resilliance and makes him throw up all over the floor.

"Still sick, love?", Yoongi plops beside him, sitting on the edge of couch that occupied by Jimin as soon as the rehearsal over. The heat outside making him dizzy, so he rushes inside as soon as the music stops and curling himself small on the couch. Jimin nods, not daring to open his mouth as his tongue feels like it's weight a ton—and he's afraid that he might vomit if he attempt to speak as he had been quietly belching on his fist for the past 10 minutes.

"Is there anything that could help?", Yoongi asks again, brushing sweaty locks that framing Jimin's flushed cheeks. Jimin shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tight. "Stay here ..", he grits through his clenched teeth, immediately taking a big deep inhale as nausea rises few levels when he opens his mouth.

"That bad?", without opening his eyes, Jimin can tell that the older is frowning hard.

"Mhm .."

Yoongi sighs, not moving an inch from his position as he keeps placing a soft touch all over the younger body, and shushing away every questions and confused gazes that the other members thrown at them. They stay like that for 15 minutes, before Jimin groans, "Gosh .. i'm going to the bathroom, it's better if i throw up now", he grunts, then snatching Yoongi's wrist to go with him to the bathroom.

True to his words, his body knows that it's a greenlight when it comes to the bathroom as Jimin immediately gagging as soon as they see the bathroom door. "Fuck", he breathes out between his clamped mouth and pick up his paces. He didn't get to find a proper position first before he lets loose another loud, heaving belch. It was empty at first. He sucks a deep breathe, as his stomach readying itself. "Hyung—", he chokes out, blindly searching for the older hands for support. "I feel so sick .."

"I know, love .. it's okay. You will feel bett—", Jimin cut off the comforting words with a deep guttural gag, followed by something solid comes up to his throat. It was harsh, as he almost dived himself to the bowl with how hard his stomach contracts. He cough up a lumpy, wet chunk of food. It stings the back of his throat and he has to work several times to get it all up. "Hyung ..", Jimin pants in the lull of it, as he keep heaving until the bile is all clear. But even after everything's out of his stomach, his stomach continues to rumble and heave. He burps several times and groans out another belch, still very queasy.

"Better?", Yoongi asks as he reaches to flushes the full toilet. Jimin shakes his head, sniffling as he stares at the swirling water. There gone his breakfast. "I don't know .. i still feel nauseous", Jimin croaks out as he press his stomach—triggering a burp.

Yoongi hums understandingly, "You're breaking cold sweat, Min. Do you want me to asks for medicine?"

"Mhm", Jimin hums before cursing under his breath, as nausea washes over him again. He gags, letting out few sprays of clear water. "Fuck .. that's it .. i'm done", he moans, letting himself slumps against the toilet seat.

"Baby .. that's dirty", Yoongi peels him away, then helps him cleans up, as Jimin clings to him—losing all his energy.

Jimin get all the stares he was expecting as soon as he and Yoongi back to the waiting room. "Sick again hyung?", Jungkook scoots closer to him while Yoongi moves around to get the meds and something light for him to much. He can't go on stage on an empty stomach, especially remembering how hard their choreo is. "Mhm", Jimin mumbles, resting his head over the younger shoulder. "You don't want to sit this one, Jimin-ah?", Namjoon asks from somewhere, "Yeah .. it's better rather than you faint on the stage", Jin chimes in too, causing Jimin to frowns at the suggestions, "No .. i can do this. And isn't it a hastle to sit me out on this one? You're making the staff works more, they need to put out an announcement, and don't you think the fans wont be dissapointed—"

"Jimin-ah, watch your tone. Breathe", Hobi cuts his rambles, and Jimin gasps, realizing what he has been spitting out and to Whom he did it. "Oh gosh .. Joon hyung .. Jin hyung .. i'm so sorry i don't know what's going on i just feel tired but it didn't excuse i lashed out like that i'm so sorry i didn't meant to—"

"Sshh ... Jimin-ah, baby ..", Yoongi peels him away from Jungkook, "Ssh .. it's okay. Joon and Jin-hyung understand you didn't mean bad. Right?"

"Yes, Jimin-ah, we're just concerned for you", Namjoon hums, squatting in front of the blonde and pat his shoulders in comforting manners, "Relax Min, i'm not upset"

"Mhm, hyung just concerned. That's it. If you think you can handle it then that's fine", Jin chimes in, ruffling his hair. Jimin sniffles, " 'm sorry .. i don't know what's getting into me"

Yoongi smiles, "Here .. there's energy bar and medicine that supposed to calm down your stomach"

***

The medicine didn't work. Jimin is tired. He has lost count how many times today he had to hide under the blind spot on the stage to bend over his knees—catching his breath while gagging at the same time. At one point, he managed to push out a gush of water over the trashcan that the staff has prepared—looking at his predicament, as that's the only thing he took during the concert. By the time the encore done, Jimin was left exhausted.

"Still nauseous?", Yoongi asks as they prepared to leave. Jimin sprawl at the couch, looking slightly paler. His usually plump lips has gone chapped with how much he throws up and gagging today. It feels like water has left his body just in 5 minutes after he took it. "Mhm ..", Jimin hums, letting Yoongi pull himself to stand up as they leave to the car. "I feel like my soul has got sucked out"

Yoongi chuckles, holding the younger by his shoulders. "Still don't want to go to the hospital? We can get a quick check up, love .. you throws up a lot, i'm worried"

Jimin groans, as he shuffles to the seat. Yoongi plops besides him. "I just want to sleep now hyung. And we're in a foreign country", he sighs. Deep down he also want to put this on stop. Feeling nauseous all the time has driving him crazy actually. "When we go back to Korea?", Jimin bargains, and it swells his heart as he sees Yoongi lits up at his words. He yelps when the older leans forward to steal a quick peck, "Deal"

***

If Jimin tought yesterday was bad, then today must've classified as Worst.

Today, the kitchen sink is the victim of his morning routine, and it was triggered by the hotel breakfast buffet. But he can't pinpoint which one that causing it as he took few small portion from the menu and ran with it. It was when he's back in his room and getting ready that his stomach starts to churn.

Before he knows it, he already lounged to the sink, hands gripping the marble counter with a force that makes his nail white, as his body wracked with discomfort and queasiness. The sound of his gagging and retching into the metal sink echoes throughout the small hotel room. The vomit splattering against the sink in heavy, wet sprays. It's not the usual soupy chunks, but a mess of bile and chunky food matter, like a brown, wet gravy. Jimin's eyes water as he keeps trying to purge the food from his stomach that's so desperate to come back up.

"Gosh .. you're throwing up a lot, love", Yoongi coos from the back. His hand adding the pressure around the younger back, patting it as he chokes on a particular deep gag—resulting in a heavy plops of thick vomit. Maybe it was the dessert this times. Jimin splutters, turning the tap, desperately to rinse his mouth and getting rid of the mess. The sight making him want to hurl more. "All of my breakfast .. ", he sniffles, "Gone hyung .."

"I know", Yoongi answers as he peels himself away to get his boyfriend glass of water. He winces when new found gag can be heard again. He trudges there back, swiping Jimin's hair in one swift motion and tied it before focusing again to the vomiting session in hand. It took him another few dry heaves before his stomach deemed it done.

"I'm so tired hyung ..", Jimin sighs, slumping against the counter as he's too tired to walk to the couch and rest properly. Yoongi is about to reply, when both of their phone ring—their manager is calling, and it's time to go. Jimin groans, before stomping his feet to go.

And it was just like yesterday, except this time Jimin didn't get to bring himself to the bathroom—instead snatching a plastic bag on the table to vomit. He didn't even know what's causing it this time. He had been feeling nauseated as always when he's in the car, but he was just resting on the couch when nausea mounting quickly. He jolts from his position, before projectile vomiting into the plastic bag. His whole body heaving with the force of each painful retch. The vomit is almost all liquid now, barely any solid chunks to his stomach's content at last.

"Jimin ..", someone was beside him, wrapping his arms around his shoulder as Jimin ducked his head down to the bag. He's past feeling embarassed as the sickness is feeling more overwhelming. "Sorry ..", still he feels bad for everyone in the tiny room have to hear him tossing his guts out.

"It's okay .. let it out"

And Jimin back at it—he coughs and sputters his way through another bout of dry heaving, expelling even more water from his body until he's practically bent over, head almost touching his knees if it wasn't for someone holding his shoulder, with his hands gripping the bag tightly. He closes his eyes and lets his tears fall as his body rumbles and churns violently without anything left inside his stomach. "Ah ... hurts", he moans when he finally managed to straighten himself.

"Better?"

Ah, apparently it was Seokjin. Yoongi was also crouching beside him with worry apparent in his eyes. He accepts water that the older hands him, taking a little sips as he isn't sure if his stomach want to cooperate now. "Thank you hyung", he murmurs, letting Seokjin take the bag away and Yoongi scurries to his side. "Baby .. you sure you still want to—"

"Hyung .. please", Jimin pleas, tired of this circling conversation. "I'm sorry .. i'm just—"

"Worried .. i know", Jimin sighs.

"Jimin-ah", Seokjin trudges towards him, but now with IV on his hand. "Do you want to take this? It will help you dehydrated, and maybe feeling better before we go up there"

Jimin nods, willing to accept anything as long as he can go on stage. Yoongi trails beside him as they walk to the emergency make-shift room, and he held his hand during the process.

The IV works wonder—Jimin was estatic that he gonna get to end the concert without a significant hitch. He was able to push through 3/4 of the concert without wanting to throw up. The nausea is still there, but at least it's never spiked up until he needs to throw up. But little did he know that it was a calm before storms—as by the time for encore, it feels like the vitamin and liquid that has been injected to him vanished into thin air. Nausea crashing at him in full force as they are singing So What—that requires him to jump around and be as energetic as he can. He did try to slow down his pace, not jumping around as much ; but it's just inevitable as he sees the audience jumping around too. How can he not gives back the same amount of energy? Even though it's at the cost of feeling his stomach content jolts at the back of his throat every time he jumps.

He reached his peak during Anpanman—the bouncy castles tipped him off the edge. After several, agonizing minutes of wrestling with his body and fighting nausea, Jimin finally just can't keep himself from being sick again. He walks away from the bouncy castles, hoping that it would lessen the churning on his stomach from the movement. But apparently his stomach has become to sensitive, that even walking around making the queasiness intensifies. His muscles feel weak and his head light—Jimin stands still, his ears ringing in between the roar of his blood rushing and the thump of his in-ear monitor ; before he rushes to the back. He can't think of anything but not vomiting his guts out on the stage. He just hopes that he didn't run off on his part. He barely make it to the stairs, when he belches. He cupped his mouth, hoping that the staff already know what's going on and turn off his mic. By the time he got down, his cheeks already filled with vomit.

Staff running off to him, catching his swaying body by the end of stairs and immediately handing him a sick bag. Jimin didn't need to try—one burp already enough to fill the bag with his stomach contents. He sucks a deep breathe ; it hurts to do so, as he still also panting from adrenaline on the stage. His breath comes as a painful gasps, before his stomach belches violently, and he feels a hot, greasy mess flow up his throat and into his mouth. He gags and burps as a bigger wave of vomit flows into the bag. His body shakes and trembles with discomfort. "Oh gosh...", he mutters again, closing his eyes and waiting for the latest bout of illness to fade.

He barely keep his consciousness during the whole ordeal as he can't pull the sick bag away from his mouth—suddenly, he's already in the emergency room, with staff surrounding him. One holding an oxygen can, another fanning him, and another helping him to hold the sick bag.

"Jimin!"

#bts sickfic #bts emeto #tw emeto #tw vomit #and again another mpreg fic #sick!jimin #caretaker!yoongi

16 notes · View notes

pastafossa · 2 years

Note

Okay wait

We discussed Jane being able to see threads through the fourth wall so would that mean she’d be able to see the love we hold for her too

Please say yes, she deserves to know how adored she is, even by those she’s never met

OF COURSE SHE CAN!

-x-

"You've learned of the multiverse before. It is an endless array of dimension, some in which we exist, some in which we do not." Wong reached down and tugged up the glittering, rippling mass of threads at his own chest, the colors made from shades that didn't even exist in your reality. The shape of those threads were so thick you could almost see the shape of grins, hear the bark of laughter and eager gasps, letters in a multitude of languages flowing past. "And some... in which we are story."

You rubbed your fingers against your eye, still not quite getting it. "A... a story."

"Yes."

"So these are... what? Threads to... to storytellers?" "Sometimes. But they also connect us to those who hear our stories in other dimensions. Those who enjoy our tales." There was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. "The story of Jane Hind, in your case. It seems the tale of the Devil and the Hound has been told somewhere beyond our realm."

You blinked in disbelief at the flowing threads at your chest. Not as many, as thick as Wong's, perhaps, but still... bigger than you expected, burning bright and joyful beneath your fingers. "So it's true. I'm..." "You are a character, yes. And you are not." He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the revelation that you were, in fact, both real and not.

"So someone's... writing me. What I'm doing right now."

"Potentially. Or you are having a background moment. A moment off camera, perhaps."

"But like... if they get really horny, they could make me-"

"We do our best not to think of that."

"I've fucked Matt a lot." You squinted up at the ceiling, as if you could see the invisible eye watching. "Either this is fanfic, or you, author, are filthy. Then again, maybe you do a fade to black."

"If it helps, think of it less that they are controlling your actions. They are instead a chronicler of your history, creating a documentary. A biography." Wong waved a hand. "Someone in a dimension, somewhere, has managed to tell exactly your story, with a few artistic adjustments here and there. I tell myself this when I am on yet another rewatch of Breaking Bad. Naturally they would show me watching something new."

"But..." You lifted up the threads and shook them. "But these, Wong. What do I-"

"They clearly care about you, and what happens to you. Is that so hard to believe?"

"I am a formerly-murderous, dumpster-diving possum, Wong. I'm still surprised my husband doesn't use a catchpole on me when he finds me feral and scarfing marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms box at two in the morning."

"And if my etsy feed is to be believed, there are plenty of people who adore possums, murderous or not. Possum mugs, possum shirts, pictures of little possums in flower crowns. So be a happy one. Maybe they will put you on a mug, too."

"Ha," you said sarcastically, as he chortled to himself and turned to walk away. "You're hilarious."

"Accept it, Ms. Hind. We're all stories in the end." "You got that from Doctor Who, asshole."

He waved you off, an orange portal appearing for him to step through.

And as he left, you stared down at the threads... and then up.

Over.

Down.

Are they watching right now?

"So... hi." You reached up and scratched your chin thoughtfully. "So, if you're listening and this isn't a fever dream... In truth, I have no idea why you care. I'm a mess, or I feel like one nine times out of ten, which you... likely already know depending on what point of view my story's in and whether my internal monologues are included. But I'm pretty sure Foggy would advocate self-love, so even though I'm still confused... thank you. I'm..." You stared down at the threads. "Thank you. For caring about me and... and Matt, because if you're still here, then I have a feeling you care about him, too. I hope I don't give you too much grief. I hope you know it ends well. We're happy, even if we had to go through a lot of shit to get there."

A realization hit you and you scowled up at the ceiling. "Wait, was that you?"

Silence.

"I know you're up there behind that fourth wall."

A slightly more guilty silence.

"If you're writing this, you could at least give me an apology. One for me and all the people who care. You put them through hell too, making them read all that angst after the building collapse. What the fuck is wrong with you? I deserve compensation for my-"

You suddenly noticed a box of chocolates on the nearby dresser, a box of chocolates that very much hadn't been there before.

"Chocolate? Really?" You crossed your arms. "After what Matt and me went through, we deserve better. Something fun."

A long, thin piece of plastic connected to a series of leather straps suddenly fell from the ceiling.

"Very funny."

Your phone rang, tinkling notes chosen for the Devil.

"Seriously?"

Amused silence.

"Fine. Be that way. But you better show them happy shit after this. They deserve it, and so do me and Matt."

And somehow, the silence felt... agreeable and fond after that, and you reached down one last time to brush against the little bundle of strange new threads at your chest, a strange warmth filling you that almost made your chest hitch a little. There was... almost something a little reassuring about knowing you had people rooting for you and Matt, and hopefully for all your other friends, too.

"Me and all of you, ride or die," you whispered. "Let's do this."

#the red thread #jane hind #wong who will be helping with shit in TRT later #breaking the fourth wall whoops #this is 100% how it would go or how it did go depending on whether you want to believe this happened #i think after the mind twister of her being a character she'd end up feeling kinda emotional about the idea that people cared about her #and she'd want to say thank you #right before she realized i pasta have been fucking with her life for years and demand compensation #drabble

79 notes · View notes

kirbyprompts · 1 year

Text

𝐉𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐇 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

feel free to change the prompts as you see fit! everything is from songs by artist jhariah.

❝i wish my brain would come and kill me.❞

❝it’s a miracle that i get out of bed everyday.❞

❝my time is running out.❞

❝i get in the way of myself.❞

❝it hurts to admit that sometimes i’m unequipped to handle it all on my own.❞

❝i know how to hide where you least expect and will never look.❞

❝you got what you deserved and i would do it again.❞

❝the world has turned itself on its head.❞

❝the trees don’t grow they kill instead.❞

❝never belonged in that place.❞

❝i don’t take the land for granted, it could flood anytime this year.❞

❝i bid farewell.❞

❝please, you must excuse me, i cannot help but think i've overstayed my welcome.❞

❝dollars and coins can't cut your check this time around.❞

❝kind words and lies won't save your head.❞

❝so when you go, won't you close the door?❞

❝i’m running away.❞

❝how could i ever sleep at night?❞

❝the crickets have grown bored of filling our silent spaces.❞

❝i’m only here to kill my own confusion.❞

❝find me, i dare you to try.❞

❝i’m thinking i might get off and just turn back.❞

❝i’m taking off to my own grave.❞

❝i’m reeling from all this pain.❞

❝slow down. those words mean nothing.❞

❝i need you to promise that you won’t cry.❞

❝brick by brick, we’ll take back what they took.❞

❝i’m so sick of this.❞

❝maybe it’s not so bad.❞

❝when you seek vengeance you must dig two graves.❞

❝will it bring me the peace that i need so desperately?❞

❝i’ll go away until another day.❞

❝i swore to all of you that i’d get my revenge.❞

❝i hate that i can miss a room this way.❞

❝you’ll find me through the fog and filthy air.❞

❝i get this feeling that i’m not the first and not the last to find solace in this empty room.❞

❝i won’t fade away. i’ll detonate my soul.❞

❝i will always be your friend.❞

❝the air in my lungs, it never comes easily.❞

❝i wheeze and pray for a gasp of fresh air.❞

❝you ain’t no friend of mine.❞

❝you’ll never understand 'til it’s gone and there’s blood on your hands.❞

❝it’s just too much.❞

❝it’s never enough.❞

❝in any case, stay safe, stay strong, and never let them think they’ve won.❞

❝i needed a change of pace.❞

❝take a photo while you can. we won’t be here for long.❞

❝how can you watch our castles crumble down?❞

❝i won’t believe a word you say.❞

❝i know you might be right.❞

❝though i don’t think i’m your enemy, i’ll never be your savior.❞

❝my dearest, you bettеr never forgive mе 'cause if you forget what i’ve done, i’ll do it again.❞

❝i’ll bet on my survival, but now you’re gonna die out there.❞

❝i swear it’s the last time. just give me one more try.❞

❝you’re past the point of a story that hopefully has a happy ending.❞

❝i know damn well what i give is what i oughta get, but what if what i give is something i alone possess?❞

❝i’m so glad i woke up today.❞

❝rebuild what they destroyed.❞

❝make a weapon of your voice.❞

❝i’ve finally got you right where i want you.❞

❝you don’t even know the half of what i’m gonna do.❞

❝take my hand. i can’t do this alone.❞

❝love’s a temperamental art. don’t know where the hate starts.❞

❝i don’t think that i’d be alone.❞

❝in the morning you'll learn i disappeared off into the night so quietly that your love for me will vanish too.❞

❝i miss you dearly even though you might have stolen my whole life.❞

❝there’s nothing i can do but stand here and watch it all catch up to you.❞

❝i didn’t have a clue that i would lose.❞

❝though i don’t think i’m a failure, i don’t deserve your sympathy.❞

❝you’re all i’ve got in this eternal hell.❞

❝you’re all that makes me well.❞

❝we’re losing time and got to make this right.❞

❝i won’t break all the promises i made to resist everything you do and everything you say.❞

❝i’ve got a feeling that this chapter will soon come to an end.❞

❝to fake your death is the most honest life.❞

❝it’s just the end of the world.❞

❝i’m not sorry, but thank you for enduring me as long as you did. that’s more than i’d ever ask of you.❞

❝i can’t carry this team.❞

❝what if i said i would take your life tonight?❞

❝i wanna save the world but i’m thinking i might destroy it from the inside out.❞

❝they’ll soon do to you what they’ve done to me.❞

❝a dead end awaits this pointless track.❞

❝i set all of these fires, but now i’m the one who’s all burnt out.❞

❝i don’t wanna die here in this hole.❞

❝i’m breaking down.❞

❝a selfish sense of justice implored me to save myself.❞

❝hear the great tale of how i ruined it all.❞

❝is it all i need? is it all i have?❞

❝you said you’d give me purpose.❞

❝you’ll be fine and so will i. just let me out of your mind.❞

❝you’re safe for now, but are you happy?❞

❝when my head begins to fall apart, i kill my brain and trust my heart.❞

❝i found a backdoor, but no solution.❞

❝what if i said i won’t go without a fight?❞

❝when you left, you left me paralyzed.❞

❝how could you love me so? with all i’ve done and the things you know?❞

❝if i’m gonna die it’ll be my way.❞

❝why is it so hard to fight for what’s right?❞

❝strange how it takes being down to have something to stand for.❞

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompts #rp sentence starters #roleplay memes #sentence starters

10 notes · View notes

as8bakwthesage · 2 years

Text

A Good Time (The Narrator/Sage)

ah yes.

i am not sorry

It had been a relatively quiet evening as Sage was drawing away in their sketchbook in the apartment they shared with Stanley at the moment. Stanley himself was out for a walk in this world while The Narrator was gone for an about an hour. He had only told Sage he would be back soon. They didn’t question it too much as they continued to sketch away.

However, a knock at the front door alerted them that someone was here. Surprised as Stanley or The Narrator would usually let themselves in, Sage walked over, looked through the peephole and smiled when they saw The Narrator.

He was a presence in his taken form, taller than Stanley or themselves and looked to be an older gentleman in his 50ies. When Sage had first seen his chosen form, they had to admit surprise – he looked just like a human, minus the black scar on his temple and the eye colour changing. But they also found that The Narrator was visually appealing as well. They had more than on one occasion wanted to run their fingers through his hair and untie the ponytail and have him hold them in his arms and vice versa.

Trying to ease the blushing away, they opened the door and smiled up at The Narrator, who looked oddly nervous. Their face fell as they approached him cut straight to the point. “Are you okay? You look really nervous.”

The Narrator smiled awkwardly as he nodded. “Yes! I am doing well. Um… would you, um, come with me for a moment?” He asked. Intrigued at what he wanted to do, they nodded and followed him out. They walked beside one another down the hall until they reached another door nearby.

“Could you, um, close your eyes?” The Narrator asked, still nervous. Sage half-smiled as they realised this would be a surprise. So they did as was told and allowed The Narrator to guide them through the door and into a new space. “Okay, you can open them.”

Sage gasped in awe as they opened their eyes and looked around. It was an apartment! But this one had an art studio right where the living room was supposed to be with windows above, letting in lots of natural lighting. There were materials for painting, for drawing, with a massive desk and a computer on it as well. It wasn’t anything too modern but it was capable of having stories written on it, they were sure. The living room had a TV and it was an entirely open plan apartment, with the kitchen attached as well. There were two doors that presumably led to the bathroom and the bedroom. The entire aesthetic screamed rustic cottage-core.

And Sage was absolutely amazed, they couldn’t believe it.

“Narrator…” They murmured softly, unsure of what to say. He immediately took to giving them a tour with a nervous smile.

“I made this for you! I know you’ve mentioned how you miss your setup and obviously I changed it up a bit, but I figured it would be to your liking! I had to do some research on what an artists loft looks like and what you would usually find in a workspace such as this. I’m no artist and I only went off of what you told me and what I found out.” He rambled, trying to avoid looking at Sage, who was staring at him with absolute shock and awe.

“You… you made this… for me?” They asked, emotionally overwhelmed but not in a bad way. They felt so unbelievably happy and delighted. They almost thought it was a dream.

“Yes, of course I did!” The Narrator exclaimed, sounding very proud of himself. “It took some work to get the finishing touches all done! Do you… like it?”

Sage couldn’t help themselves, they threw themselves at The Narrator, who gasped audibly at being held and had to steady himself to support them both. Sage embraced him tightly, squealing in absolute delight. “Yes! Yes yes yes yes!!! I love it! This looks amazing!” They exclaimed, laughing.

Sage pulled away to meet his gaze and they could have sworn their grin was so wide it began to hurt their face, and The Narrator was also grinning too, looking absolutely relieved and happy. It was only then when they both seemed to realise that he was holding them up and their legs were wrapped around his midriff. Both blushed as they pulled away and The Narrator put them down gently.

“Ahem…” The Narrator cleared his throat and Sage averted their gaze.

“It’s a lovely gift. Thank you…” They said softly, finally looking up at him with adoration in their eyes. The Narrator returned the gaze and Sage found themselves floored by how happy he looked.

“You are so very welcome, my dear.” He said with equal softness. And he used that petname, which he only used on occasion. He only used it when he was being vulnerable or giving them comfort. And that gaze… He looked so innocent, so happy, so utterly enamoured and glad to just be with them. They grinned as they hugged The Narrator once more, this time without the dramatics and just a simple embrace. He quietly returned it and stroked their back.

They stayed that way for several seconds before The Narrator pulled away and looked down at Sage, whose gaze immediately met his with wonderment and fondness he had never seen anyone give him. It was enchanting seeing how absolutely delectable they looked, how lovely they looked, how absolutely beautiful, handsome, gorgeous they looked.

“Narry…” Sage whispered, and their voice was weak. They were so absolutely happy and yet also… craving. Craving him. And for once, The Narrator did not mind the nickname.

“Sage…” He replied, voice just as weak. He was weak for them and he knew it. No point in denying it. It was almost comical how utterly and absolutely infatuated he was.

Neither of them knew who made the first move, but neither cared. Their lips met in a hungry yet slow desire for one another, consuming them, devouring them whole. Sage moaned into the kiss as The Narrator’s hands found their way up into Sage’s hair, tangling it and accidentally removing the hairtie. He kissed them harder when they moaned, sliding his tongue into their mouth, eager for more of them. Sage cupped his cheek as they eagerly allowed him access.

They pulled away and smiled up at him, pupils dilated and pulse raised. The Narrator stared back down at them, grinning ever so slightly as he too was panting. It was intense, and they both knew they wanted more.

“D-do you wanna go to the bedroom..?” Sage asked, suddenly feeling shy and nervous, as if The Narrator hadn’t just kissed them silly. The Narrator’s face flushed as he nodded once.

“I would like that…” He admitted lowly, causing Sage to shiver and mewl quietly. The noise made The Narrator shiver as he felt his penis grow harder, which wasn’t exactly something he experienced all that often. He shuddered as Sage took his hand and smiled warmly yet lustfully.

“Which way?” They asked, gesturing to the doors. The Narrator led them to the right door, which opened up into a relatively comfortable sized bedroom with a king sized bed in the middle. Sage grinned fondly at the plushies and pillows on it, a person could make a fort out of the amount there was.

But without much stalling, Sage sat The Narrator down and blushed when they met his stare, which was hungry, ravenous, needy. They nearly gasped at how intense the look was. They had never seen anyone look at them the way he looked at them in that moment. But he was an impatient man and he eagerly grabbed them and pulled them into his lap as he kissed them once more, but this time his hands wandered more liberally and all over their back and hips. They savoured each other, craved each other, and wanted more of each other.

Pulling away for the second time, Sage blushed as The Narrator gave them a concerned gaze as he cupped their cheek. “I want to make sure that you want to do this. I have wanted this for a long time, and this apartment was not made so I could get ‘get some’ as they say. I just want you to know that.” He said reassuringly. Sage smiled warmly as they kissed his forehead and nodded.

“I absolutely want this. I’ve wanted this too. And I know you wouldn’t do something scummy like that.” They replied, voice soft and tender. “I want you, Narrator. I want you so much.”

“Good.” He whispered before spinning them around, making Sage lay on top of the bed with him on top of them, pinning their arms down with one hand. He gestured to their chest and lower half and with a sultry smooth voice whispered: “May I?”

Eagerly, Sage nodded as The Narrator grinned and silently began to fondle the flat chest they had, stroking their nipple a couple times as he looked at them with desire. Sage moaned as his fingers caressed over their hardened nipple. He couldn’t believe it but it was happening. He was touching them, and by the looks of things, it felt good. He carefully moved downwards, smiling as they caved to his touch.

“Look at you, my lovely.” He whispered, eyes trailing over their still clothed form, and suddenly, he knew he wanted to take it all off, to strip them bare. He pulled his hands away and began to slowly pull up Sage’s shirt, with them all too eager to bend to his wishes. They moaned ever so softly as they realised with fervor what he wanted. "So pretty..."

Sage shivered as he leaned forward and began sucking on one of their nipples, running his tongue over it with eagerness. His ministrations felt wonderful as they let out clearly aroused moans. The Narrator grinned as he pulled away. "Do you like it? Do you enjoy that, my sweet?"

"Mmh, yes, I do..." They murmured softly. The Narrator's grin widened as his lips met their neck, hands returning to fondle their chest. "A-Ah!"

"Dearest, I'm barely able to understand you." He chuckled before his kisses became teeth and he nibbled on their neck, trying to leave a mark. Sage moaned as they wrapped their thighs around his waist. He pulled away. "But that doesn't matter. I can do all the talking myself, for as we both know-"

They gasped in surprise as his fingers met a far more desirable prize between their legs. Their pussy was so wet, soaked even through their shorts, and The Narrator clearly seemed to be relishing in it, noting his deliciously smug grin.

"-You love it when I talk." He growled. Sage bit their lower lip and shuddered in response. The Narrator made quick work of their pants and underwear, tossing them aside as he slid one of his fingers into them, going in and out slowly. They mewled and moaned louder than before as they clutched his back. He kissed up their neck before his lips met theirs once more. And as he kissed them, he added another finger and sped up. Sage buckled under him as they kissed him silly.

He kept pumping his fingers in and out of them, going faster and faster. And as he pulled away to meet their gaze, one of which was absolute pleasure and excitement, he stopped and pulled out. Sage groaned in displeasure as their orgasm was violently ripped away. The Narrator chuckled.

"You're so easy to excite. And you clearly are enjoying yourself. Good. And as much as I'd like to indulge myself, I'd like to get a taste of you." He teased, and Sage, recuperating some of their wit despite how red their face was, smiled as he lowered himself down until his face was right in front of their dripping hole.

"Are you sure you can handle that, old man?" They replied, clearly attempting to tease him in return. The Narrator smirked as he shrugged dismissively.

"You doubt me?" He challenged right before his tongue lapped up their liquids, before slowing up at their clitoris and dragging it out.

"Ah!~" They exclaimed, eyes squeezed shut as they resisted the urge to close their legs. The Narrator began to further his taste test as he kissed and sucked at their clit. And Sage swore all they saw were stars. Of all previous partners, The Narrator definitely took the cake with his cunnilingus, happily savouring his treat. "F-Fuck...~"

"Oh?" He replied, pulling away, with earned a whined protest. "Would you like that?" His fingers returned to the spot that was aching at this rate, aching for him but it still felt so good as he stroked them, playing with their pussy almost dismissively. "Would you like me to make love to you? To unequivocally fuck you? To have you so desperately and possessively? All you need is to say the words and I will do so unapologetically, my beloved."

"Y-Yes!" Sage exclaimed without much protest, still shuddering and struggling under him. He raised a brow tauntingly.

"Come now, you must use full sentences, my dear. We need to understand each other." He teased, rubbing his thumb over their clit lazily as he looked up at them smugly.

"Y-Yes, mh, please fuck me!" Sage exclaimed, moaning desperately. The Narrator smirked before he sat up and positioned himself so his pelvis met theirs. He was still clothed however and gestured for Sage to sit up, which they dutifully did. He gestured to himself and then to themselves.

"Are you going to help me first?" He taunted and Sage shuddered as they nodded and quickly made work of his own clothes, taking off his sweater and pants with some help from him. The pants were trickier but they managed with some laughs. Immediately putting back on the arousal, Sage started to slowly and lightly stroke his dick, using their fingers. They grinned as he shivered and moaned. "O-Oh dear..~"

"Narry..." Sage whispered as they laid back down, breaking contact and looking up at him with sultry eyes. His own gaze was that of deep intrigue and also arousal. "...make love to me, please.~"

The Narrator gingerly grabbed their thigh as he cupped their face, leaning down to stare deeply at them. He was so utterly enthralled by them as he positioned himself, ready to slide in. Sage could feel his cock prodding at their opening, hard and eager.

"Gladly.~" He moaned, sliding in to fully hilt them. Sage gasped as they felt him completely fill them, his cock not remaining in place as he slowly began to thrust. He moaned and grunted in absolute delight as he held Sage in place, who was also thoroughly enjoying it, mewling.

"Oh dear God, Sage, hrr, you feel so g-good!~" He stuttered, humping into them faster as he groaned happily. Sage moaned as he quickened his pace and wrapped their arms around him, digging their nails into him.

"Mmh! So do y-you!~" They replied as he continued to fuck them, groaning and even growling at times. His speed quickened and Sage could feel themselves getting wetter and closer. They were getting so close.

"You're so good, so so good, o-oh Sage!~" He moaned, going faster. They cried out as they wrapped their legs around him once more. His voice was so angelic, especially with how desperate he was. He wanted them and they wanted him.

"C-Cum for me, h-hun.~" They murmured, stuttering as he kept hitting them in the right place. It felt so fucking good. They could feel their body shake as he thrust in and out and they desperately needed him to cum inside of them, to claim them as his. The thought drove them wild as he stroked the spot once more and with a loud cry, they orgasmed hard.

"Mmmh!~" The Narrator mewled, his eyes shut and grabbing at Sage's thigh and waist, teeth clenched as he railed them hard. At them climaxing around him, he could feel their walls throbbing. He thrust faster and harder, fucking them happily yet needily. His lips smashed against theirs before he shuddered and thrust jerkily a few times, cumming into them just as hard before slowing down.

The kiss lasted a few seconds as their euphoria was also beginning to lessen. They both pulled away slowly as they gazed into each others eyes, pupils dilated with remaining lust and desire, but with something else mixed in. Sage exhaled as they panted quietly and The Narrator didn't seem as out of breath but he did breathed slightly harder too.

With a lovestruck grin, The Narrator slid down next to them and with his arms brought them into an embrace. He exhaled dreamily as Sage eagerly cuddled up next to him and met his gaze with a silly yet happy grin.

"That was fun.~" They remarked happily. The Narrator giggled quietly before he smiled and turned fully to face them. He cupped their face yet again and kissed their lips, happy to be in their presence just as much as they were happy to be in his.

"Deeply so." He agreed as the two settled into their positions and began talking once more...

#lemon #smut my dudes #just smut #narrage #the narrator x sage #tell me your stories #minors dni

2 notes · View notes

nokwisi · 2 years

Text

bear witness—viktor x fem!reader warnings/tags; nsfw, 18+, dom/sub dynamics (dom!reader, sub!viktor), he's a little bratty, praise kink, hair pulling, pegging and edging and begging (oh my!) note; listen, I know. first thing I've posted in a while, and it's literally pegging viktor? and to that I say: *throws fic at you and runs away* wc; 4k

stunning art by @arcanescribbles VA accompaniment by @kikorenart, do it, get the full experience. —huge, massive thanks, you guys are fucking phenomenal. ♡

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

Your tone is wistful, melancholic in the way an artist might sound admiring the masterpiece of another, and it directly contradicts the erotic image reflecting back at you through the mirror.

"Everything about you is so...pretty."

Viktor finds the compliments split in equal measure between his chest, and his groin; a lovely fluttering of his heart, and a responding twitch of his cock. Dichotomous, and a pleasant warmth simmers beneath his skin, despite himself.

"In truth, I have never considered myself...pretty." He admits dryly.

You harrumph softly, following the prominent track of his spine down his bare back with your fingers. He arches just slightly inwards, turning his head against the bed to peer back at you sidelong.

"Pretty enough it makes me want to ruin you." You muse, a contemplative smile curving your lips as your fingers ghost further, past his tailbone to the cleft of his backside. "But then again, you could make ruin a thing of beauty, too."

Viktor's breath shudders at your touch, his long, pale fingers curling into the duvet. There's a nervous, jittery energy to him right now, and you suppose you cannot fault him for it, not when considering this night—how it leaps past a line neither of you have crossed.

You are both stripped bare, but that isn't of great importance, not when you know each other's bodies as intimately as you do. What makes this a pivotal moment is the fact that Viktor is pressed face-first into the mattress, the long line of his spine curved just enough to accommodate the stretch of his legs as he kneels on the bed.

You'd taken advantage of the multitude of pillows he hoards, cushioning his bad leg with one, and using two others beneath your own knees, elevating you just enough to level the height difference. He is a bloom of pale skin against the dark sheets, inlaid with the faintest of cerulean veins and flecked with a dusting of well-placed freckles. There's an inherent grace in the way he's situated; feline, almost.

It's a position you're personally familiar with, accompanied with Viktor behind you, driving you into the mattress with steadfast thrusts and reedy moans. He has a tendency to dig crescents into your hips with how he grips you—driven by a carnal passion that hardens the usual tenderness of his touch, and a swoop of excitement carves through you at the prospect of doing the same, to him.

Indeed, it's a sure turnabout—he is waiting for you to return the favor, periodically stealing glances at your reflection through the mirror on the wall before you.

His skin is already blushed pink; his eyes pre-emptively lust-heavy, and it's almost hard to believe the sly coercion it took to get him to this point. But, despite his initial hesitance, you saw in Viktor's eyes the answer before he'd even given it—he wanted to please you, and if witnessing himself in the throes of passion was what you wanted, then he will give it to you.

Or, more aptly put, you will be giving it to him.

A smile presses the corners of your mouth at the thought.

"Is that what you wish to see?" Viktor asks with a tone of sarcasm, but he's betrayed by the breathy quality in his throat, "to see me ruined?"

"In a sense, yes." You answer listlessly, sweeping your thumb over his hole with a casualness that belies the palpable tension in the air. You marvel and smile at the way he pushes back and gasps—you're beginning to think his reluctance was simply a front. "But I want you to see, too. See what I see."

"Right now, all I see is you teasing me." You glance once more at the mirror, and yes, he is watching you; rapt, his cheek pressed against the bed, the angles of his face framed with wild chestnut curls. He looks exceptionally delectable. "Am I to be reduced to begging?"

Your heart does a little pirouette in your chest at that.

He's edging impatient, and you know him well enough that that brazen, sharp tone of his is rooted in something far more akin to anxiety than bravado. You would drag the moment out more, just to redeem the promise of him literally begging you to fuck him, but you're not that cruel.

No, he's already giving you everything, placing his body and his pleasure in your hands with the trust that you would cherish and not abuse him—not yet, at least. Not until he asks for that, and you're very nearly positive that he will.

"I'm not opposed to hearing you beg." You say playfully, removing your hand from him to sweep up a bottle of lubricant from beside you. The sound of the container opening makes Viktor visibly jump; you reach out and place a placating hand on his lower back.

"For more..." you lean in conspiratorially, "and potentially, for mercy."

"I never knew you to be so deviant." Viktor exhales, "should I be worried?"

Tilting the bottle, you slant your attention back to him, catching his keen gaze. You smile sweetly, as though assuring him when he tenses up at the cold, viscous liquid drizzling onto his backside. How you can actually discern the blush on his face darkening stirs up your own arousal, a rising thrum between your thighs.

"Of course not." You say easily, capping the bottle and placing it aside. "You trust me, don't you?"

Letting your fingers glide down once more, wetted and slick now, you rub broad circles around him, avoiding direct pressure as your other hand smooths down the back of his now trembling thigh.

Viktor clutches the bedspread, a bracing motion, "yes. I trust you. I would not have agreed to this, o-otherwi—ahh," his mouth suddenly drops, that sharp diction of his scrambled as you tighten the spiral of your fingers to press directly against him.

"O-Oh, that is...that...hnn—" His words dissipate in the air as you apply more pressure, your forefinger threatening to push past that tight ring of muscle entirely—he tenses in response.

"What, Viktor?" Your tone is saccharine, and you want to look once more to the mirror, to ensure that he's watching himself, to bask in the vision of him debauched yourself, but you don't. You push your wants aside, and you focus on the small twitches of his legs instead; the discomforted bend of his back, which you soothe with a gentle palm against his lower spine; and the stretch when you carefully, steadily, push a single finger inside him, "tell me what it is."

Viktor's voice catches in his throat, the sound of his nails burrowing into the bed a whisper beneath the response he chokes out as you push deeper. "S-Strange."

"In what context? Good, bad?" You query, pushing and pulling gently now, easing the incredible tightness of him open with patient, tender movements.

"You e-expect semantics from me—mmmh—right n-now?" He trips over his words with incredulity; but you know him, perhaps more than himself in this instance, in that he will benefit from a distraction.

"I expect you to tell me what is too much, and what is not enough." You supply gently, feeling confident in the thrusting you've built up to, to sneak a glance at him through the mirror.

His brows are furrowed, eyes screwed tight against the intrusion; or perhaps against the raw exposure of seeing himself in such a vulnerable state. There's a sheen of sweat building on his forehead, hells, his entire body, and you think he might not be capable of forming an answer, when suddenly, he forces one out.

"Both—it's both."

"Do you want to stop?" Gentle, but direct. You punctuate the question with the addition of a second finger, pressing it against him each time you sink into the velvet heat of him.

Viktor replies with a short, forceful exhale and a single word: "no." and it rings of that staunch determination reserved for nights when he is far too invested in a project to back down.

"Do you want more?" You ask, despite already knowing the answer.

You want to hear him say it; you need to know that he wants this.

"...yes."

It's just above a whisper, but there is conviction there, and trust runs both ways in that you know he wouldn't have said so, if he didn't mean it. So, you give him more. You ease in your middle-finger alongside your index, slow in a way that avoids agony, but still torturous if Viktor's reaction is evidence enough: breath catching in his chest, stilted and strangled as his entire frame draws rigid with tension; from his blanched knuckles fisting the bedspread, to his toes curling into the soles of his feet.

When your knuckles are pressed flush against him, fingers buried deep, you mercifully still and let him adjust. He's vise-tight around you, his baited breath finally releasing with choked out groan.

"Are you okay?" Eyeing him carefully, you use your free hand to smooth out the tremors that rattle him, caressing from his thigh, over the round of his ass, to his spine and then back down.

Viktor swallows thickly, "t-that is a rather tedious question to ask, when you are...inside me." He sounds ruffled; you can't help but smirk.

"You don't seem to hold that opinion when the roles are reversed." You lob out playfully, to which Viktor clenches around your fingers with a stifled noise, "I'm going to move, now."

"Yes—please, I insist." He grits out, and manages to sound believably testy while he's at it.

You want to strip those vestiges of his ego away; piece him apart with the same deft precision he employs with you, until he's rendered to a blissed-out variation of himself—a man he will not recognize when he looks in the mirror.

Curl your fingers, pull them back, push them forward, spread them—

Viktor vocalizes his rapidly fraying thought process with a series of breathy noises, spilling through his grit teeth, low and husky tones that pitch infrequently to something dangerously piteous when you actively begin searching for that one spot you know will crack his resolve right down the middle.

Flicking your gaze to the mirror, you feel a glowing pride when the knot of his brow loosens, arching with repose, and the tight clench of his jaw slacks enough that his breath no longer comes out in pained hisses, but open-mouthed pants.

"Viktor," you call softly, heat stippling your own cheeks at the obscene, wet clicking that coincides with the now steady thrust of your fingers, "look at yourself."

Contrary to being the one pleasuring him, you feel a bit like a voyeur when his eyes crack open to slits, glassed with a haze of debauchery as he stares at his reflected counterpart. He doesn't look away like you half-expected him to; he lets out a soft moan, and he clenches tighter around your fingers.

"See how pretty you are?" It comes out as a statement more than a question, one that Viktor cannot possibly refute; personal bias be damned, he looks like an erotic vision. "And you're doing so well, too—you're being so good."

He moans, tightens, and rocks his slender hips back against your hand, seeking more from you, and whether that be those walls of his crumbling to pieces, or simply a baser lust that muddles his ever-intricate mind, you cannot be certain—you give him more, regardless.

You glide your hand to the cusp of his hip, digging your fingers into him right above the jutting bone with your thumb pressed into his lower back, and you push deep, pivot your wrist, hone in on a part of him that has never been touched by anyone before.

He gasps loud enough it pierces through the room, so cuttingly sharp and shocked, you're momentarily worried you might have hurt him.

But then Viktor starts pushing back against you with purpose, and you seek him out in the mirror through instinct, see that his face is awash with arousal-tinged rose; twisted with that unmistakable iteration of pleasure that looks like something akin to agony when he wears it.

"P-Právě tam—a-ano—yes, t-there—"

A full body flourish of goosebumps prickles your skin at the sound of him, at the way he falls into the familiarity of his mother tongue in concert to the foreign, intense pleasure you can only imagine is spiking through him.

You let your hand on his hip glide further, along the taut plane of his lower stomach to seek the hard, throbbing heat of his cock between his legs, leaning over him carefully while wrapping your deft fingers around the base of him. He's close, and the sob of a noise that escapes him when you give a single, loose-fisted pump of his length is enough to tug you down with him—

but you let go instead, slow your movements to a crawl, and you nearly feel remorseful at the way Viktor hisses out a string of foreign swears, rolling his head and pressing his face into the mattress to muffle the frustrated groan he gives.

You soothe him with a kiss to his sweat-dampened back, easing your fingers out of him as you settle back onto your haunches behind him. "Not yet, Viktor. I promise, it'll be worth it."

Viktor's still chasing down his breath, visibly trembling as he turns his head enough that his eyes pierce into yours through the mirror.

He replies with an intense urgency that darkens his gaze further, "then please, do not torture me any longer, and fuck me," and his tone is stripped down now; vulnerable and shaken and desperate.

It's everything you wanted to hear, and anticipation is a hungry beast within you, clawing at your insides, because you know that this is just the beginning; you can hardly wait to watch him fall apart, completely.

You make quick work of shimmying into the contraption that had sat beside you during this entire exchange; like a trophy earned for patience—silicone and veined, with a girth and length that rivals that of the man eager to take it before you.

Viktor watches your movements through the mirror, shifting and positioning himself, hissing under his breath at the ache in his joints, but refusing to complain about it. The simple action is more telling than anything he could ever say—he wants this, he wants you to ruin him, he wants to see.

"Eyes on yourself, Viktor." You remind him, sweetly, and he promptly does as such, not daring to look away as you press the lubricated tip against him. "And do tell me if it's too much."

He cants his hips back in lieu of a response; you smile fondly and take hold of his waist with one hand, the other steadying the length of the toy. Your attention is split between wanting to see his expression, and gently easing the tip inside him, stretching him in a way that your fingers could never replicate.

Viktor sucks in a hearty breath, ostensibly holding it as you sink into him; a quick glance upwards, and you can see the vigor with which he grips the sheets, the tension that pulls the muscles in his arms taught, the discomforted expression on his face; pained, concentrated, dazed, a stunning amalgamation of them all—and not once does he look away from himself.

"Almost there," you breathe, "gods, Viktor...you're so beautiful."

Viktor exhales with a punched-out sigh that pitches on a whine, and that sound tangles up in his mouth when you sink the last few inches inside him on a quick stroke; the cradle of your hips flush against him, now. He writhes at the sensation, dragging his hands across the bed to brace them palm flat, as though readying to push himself up.

"Please," he gasps out, "I need you to...need you to move."

The temptation to note that he is, in fact, begging you to fuck him scratches behind your teeth; you revel in it with a private smile instead, and indulge in your earlier fantasy of grabbing Viktor by the hips, and fucking him tenderly into the mattress.

It's a patient process, but the fruits of labor are dipped in the gold of Viktor's gaze: peering back at himself, at you, at the obscene portrait you two paint with a look that resonates awe. He is enthralled, beyond the rattled moans and the cracked sighs and the heat of arousal that colors him in hues of vermillion, Viktor cannot seem to look away from your reflected counterparts.

"You..." Viktor tries to speak, but you've managed to pick up a relatively steady pace, scattering his thought process like papers in the wind, "feel...good, yes—hnn,"

You hum, pleased, relinquishing his hip in favor of tracing the prominent notches of his spine. You fingers stop occasionally in their trek, tracing absent circles around the smattering of freckles you can reach; feeling the shift and roll of lithe muscle under his ivory skin with each forward thrust of your hips.

Following the graceful line of his body upwards, you catch his reflection, his gaze flicking to you through the heavy fan of his lashes.

The shuddering breath he gives, coupled with the blissed-out smile that curves his mouth just so, is all the go-ahead you need. You shift, changing the angle a fraction that is monumental, and you push forward, hard.

It has the desired effect.

His breath catches like you've shoved all the air from his lungs, raw pleasure contorting the twist of his brow and the wide part of his lips, "yes, that," he hisses sharply, "do that again—fuck me harder."

The urgency in his tone lances through you, "mirror," you breathe, and it's like an afterthought, your brain suddenly misfiring with the way Viktor sewed together pain and pleasure so seamlessly, as though it's a normality.

You've never heard him talk like that—but then again, you've never done this before.

Scintillas of excitement flutter inside you, and you dare to smooth your hand further up, gliding between the blades of his damp shoulders, sinking into the soft hair at the back of his head.

"I want you to watch yourself cum." You state, firm as you can, but it's difficult to keep any semblance of composure with the way he looks right now.

"I will," he sounds nearly servile, like making a promise in the face of a god, "for you, I will."

"No," you give a neat tug of his hair, testing, arching his head back enough to expose the long, pale line of his throat; the notch of his Adam's apple bobs when you assert: "for you."

Viktor moans, loud, unabashed and telling, and you pull his hair harder in response, back the stuttering piston of your hips with enough force that his legs shake; that your movements are punctuated with the obscene smack of skin, against skin.

As though following the tension of your fingers in his hair, pliant and eager, Viktor pushes himself up onto his hands with trembling arms, curving his back in a way that cannot possibly be comfortable for him, but differentiating the grimace on his face—pain, pleasure, quite possibly both—is even harder.

"Víc, prosím," he groans, and quickly tacks on, "m-more, please—"

The way his voice cracks is a clear indication that he's close, his gaze lust-laden and fixated upon himself through half-mast lids. With his hair in the steel-grip of your fist, a nearly opaque blush dusting his cheeks and a sheen of sweat on his brow, he looks nothing shy of sinful.

"Tell me what you see." You prompt him with a breathlessness derived from just this—being the one to do this to him, to bear witness to him in a moment so cuttingly vulnerable—and you hastily, perhaps a touch clumsily with the adrenaline that sings in your veins, reach around his narrow waist once more. "C'mon, Vik..."

"I...I am—ah!" He's cut short when you envelope him in your soft, sweat-slick palm, his hips bucking forward and nearly offsetting your rhythm. You pull his hair again, harder this time to drag his head back up to a point he can't look away from himself.

"I'm c-close," he gasps hotly, his mouth perpetually open to let spill the choppy, staccato moans that reverberate in his chest. "Can't...I..."

"Do you see, now?" You tighten your fist on the upstroke, smear your fingers over the wet tip of his cock, drag the slick down and repeat, adding another chord of pleasure to the lewd cacophony, "do you see how fucking pretty you are, Viktor?"

"Yes, yes, yes—!"

He stalls out; like the nerves in his body have all short-circuited, all at once, his voice streamlining into a strangled groan as he falls into his release.

You feel his cock pulse heavily in your hand, see the rush of pleasure hit him in the way his face twists; brows drawn tight, mouth dropped open, eyes barely a sliver beneath the heavy weight of his lashes. He cums hard, spilling over your hand as the lithe frame of his body stiffens and shakes, like the pleasure permeates him down to his bones.

Rocking against him gently, you lull your movements with a steady wind-down, coaxing him down from his high gradually until his sounds of pleasure tinge with a whine of discomfort. Viktor's head drops between the shelf of his shoulders, clearly spent and exhausted to the point he can barely hold himself up.

You loosen your grip in his hair, comb your fingers through the tousled mess in a soothing gesture as his torso follows suit; dropping down with stilted breath that echoes pleasure in low, rolling rasps.

"You were amazing, Viktor." You whisper, tenderly easing out of him with a caressing hand on his lower back. "So good for me."

He exhales shakily at the sensation; you quickly rid yourself of the contraption, smiling fondly when he rolls, and still with that ingrained poise of his, onto his back.

With a fluidity that is enrapturing, Viktor stretches his arms above his head, pulls the length of his body in a way that pushes his ribs out, accentuates the jut of his hips; the coiled, sinewy muscle in his thighs; and then he drops back down with a heavy, shuddering exhale that rings of finality.

His hair splays in a crown of wild curls, sticking to his forehead and temples as he finds a steady rhythm in his lungs; eyes closed, mouth open, highlighted with a glean of sweat and mottles of residual heat against his cheeks, throat, and chest...he looks, to be candid, entirely fucked out.

But there's a sense of tranquil bliss about him right now, one that has become increasingly rare as the days pass, and you're not entirely ready to break the trance with words. You move carefully to his side, fitting in the space there with ease: slithering your leg over his left, laying your arm across his now-steadily rising and falling chest, and placing your head on the hard plane of his sternum.

His heart beats against your ear. With a contented hum that rattles in his chest, he lazily drags his hand through your hair, coaxing a smile to your lips.

You can't help it, you need to ask: "did you like what you saw?"

Viktor huffs out a laugh through his nose, "what was it that you said? That I could make ruin a thing of beauty?"

You blush, turning your head to press your face against his warm chest. "It's true. I wanted you to see it...how you look."

He curls his fingers in your hair, softly tugs in a silent beckoning, and you follow the movement, lift your head and square your gaze with his; his eyes are softened with an ardor like that of adoration.

"If so...I will say that you ruin me, entirely."

#no excuse and no regrets #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane #arcane #fanfiction #viktor #league of legends #i wrote this in a possessed state of thirst pls enjoy #my writing

888 notes · View notes

sukirichi · 3 years

Text

— there’s always a price to pay when you get your hands on a work of art.

PAIRING: tattoo! artist megumi x reader

REQUEST. tattoo artist au + mutual pining + size kink, praise kink, thigh riding + reader is shorter than megumi and isn’t shy

WARNINGS: feral megumi, scratching, vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, mature content, slight overstimulation, sexual tension lol, unedited story

NOTES: ah thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Here is my third contribution for FERAL MEGUMI FRIDAYS! and oh wow tattoo artist megumi uh no thoughts head empty

WC: 5.4k+

The tattoo saloon loomed over you, the neon signs almost blinding in the darkness. You could feel your heart pick up its pace in your chest as you hitched your bag up higher, the excitement settling in your toes. Mustering up the brightest smile you could have, you cleared your throat and pushed the door open, the tiny bell on top jingling to signal your arrival.

Your eyes roamed around the walls covered with intricate drawings, the leather seats dark and kept in pristine. Now that was rare – your leather couches always wore out in just a few weeks.

Making your way inside, grip on your sling bag still tight, you bit your lip as you peaked behind the counter. Empty. No one was there, and the nearby opened rooms were empty as well. Scratching your head, you scrunched your nose in confusion. You were sure you got the right place.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, then stopped in your tracks when a dark-haired man exited a door you hadn’t even noticed at first.

He was tall – taller than you; his arms stretched until the sleeves of his black hoodie were pulled down, revealing a sliver of black tattoos that marked his skin. Upon hearing your awed gasp, his cold blue eyes fluttered to yours, the man – who was absolutely handsome despite his frown – froze in his spot.

You waved a hand to him, your smile bigger than ever. “Hi!” So you would be working with this cute guy? Maybe job-hunting wasn’t such a bad experience, after all.

“Hey,” he drawled out hesitantly, approaching you with his ink stained fingers pointed at you. He was still frowning, which was a damn shame, since you were sure he’d look even hotter if he smiled. “So...you’re Y/N.”

“Yeah!”

“And you...” he tilted his head to the side, inquisitive eyes studying your form. You would’ve felt conscious with the way his brows furrowed, eyes unreadable and lips pressed into a thin line, but you were sure you dressed to impress on your first interview. You admitted, however, that maybe wearing a white collared shirt with a pink tennis skirt made you stand out like a sore thumb in the heaviness of the studio. “...want to be a front desk man here?”

“Yeah!”

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this?” he crossed his arms on his chest, and you didn’t miss the slight bite of his voice. So he was handsome – but cranky. Great. “You don’t look like you fit in here.”

“Judging someone’s appearance and inferring that it has any relation to their credentials isn’t such a professional thing to do, you know,” you raised your chin proudly, jutting a pointer finger to his chest. He clearly didn’t expect this because he scowled and took a step back, while you fought the grin that threatened to paint your face. “Would you like it if people told you that you’re not qualified to be a lawyer because of your tattoos and piercings?”

He scoffed, “I don’t want to be a lawyer. As you can see, I’m a tattoo artist. And to answer your question, no, I don’t give a fuck what people think about me.”

“I can tell,” you muttered to yourself before smiling back up at him. He was too easy to read; his brow quivering and lips firm at your faux enthusiasm. “But yes, I do believe I’m qualified! I’m a fast learner and I’m even quick on my feet! I’m really good at talking to people too so I believe I can help schedule client appointments really well and guide them with this whole process.”

“Being front desk man doesn’t mean serving the clients tea and biscuits.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he snorted with a roll of his eyes. He then gestured you to follow him all the way back to the front desk. You expected he’d teach you about how to handle the appointment books or pick up phone calls, but instead he plopped down on the leather couch of the waiting area, his legs crossed on top of the other.

Your eyes followed the patch of pale skin exposed from his ripped jeans before you looked away, not wanting him to see that you found him attractive despite his less than welcoming personality.

“What exactly do you know about this industry?”

“Nothing, to be honest, but I’m not here to be a tattoo artist or anything. I just really need a job and I assure you I’ve got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to manning front desks or counters,” you stated confidently, “I know I look out of place, but I really need this job.”

The man only narrowed his eyes at you. Contemplation was written all over his face, probably wondering why you couldn’t just work somewhere else. “Why come here, of all places?”

“Because it’s the only one that has a flexible schedule,” you sighed, “I can’t work shifts anymore because I’m too busy at university. From when I talked to your boss – Geto, was it? – he said that the salon was open 24/7 and I could work until before my classes start. He’s not really strict about that kind of thing.”

“So you mean to tell me,” he leaned forwards, looping his fingers with one another while his ice cold gaze slithered over your desperate ones. “You’ll be at university for half the day, sleep until midnight, and then come here to work and attend class a few hours later? Isn’t your schedule a little irregular?”

“Oh no, it’s not like that! I also have mock classes after uni and it lasts until late at night, then I help clean at the local shelter. They’re running out of volunteers and the dogs are really adorable and take my stress away so...I make sure to come by when I have time.”

“You are one odd creature,” he noted loudly, almost as if he wasn’t completely aware he vocalized his thoughts. Well, at least now you knew he wasn’t the type to think his words over, which either made him more entertaining – or insufferable the longer you worked with him – if you began working anyway. “You could’ve used your spare time to rest. Do you even eat?”

“Yeah, I have a granola bar right now with me! I actually brought two,” you pulled out the snack from your bag, “You want some? I only got the oats, though.”

“Keep it to yourself,” he rolled his eyes, slapping his hands over his knees before rummaging over something behind the counter. “Fine. If Geto said he’s okay with you, then you’re hired.”

“Really, that easy?” your eyes widened, but then you chuckled when this strange man glared at you in response. He sighed as he pulled out a piece of paper, a pen on top of it. The papers read something about application forms and credentials, and you beamed, happily writing your information away with a slight bounce in your toes.

Unable to keep your happiness to yourself, you looked back at the bored man, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. “Huh. I was kind of expecting you would grill me – you’ve got that scary look in your eye. Let me guess, you often scare clients off?”

It seemed he could never get tired of glaring at you, because his eyes fuelled with heat as he leaned against the wall.

You hated to admit that he looked ridiculously handsome like that – the guy wasn’t even doing anything remotely attractive in the first place!

“I’m the most booked artist here, and I ask that you don’t get too comfortable with me. You haven’t even started working here and you’re already riling up on my train,” he groaned when you merely laughed in response. He made quick work of signing something in your form before handing you a key. “Here’s for your locker. Come to work tomorrow. Geto won’t be around for a week so I’ll be the one judging your performance. If you fuck up in the slightest – I won’t hesitate to fire you, you understand? We always have Yuuji coming around anyway, you’re really not that needed for the front desk.”

“Oh,” you nodded at his harshness, unsure whether to feel threatened or amused. “O-okay. I’ll do my best then. I look forward to you – ah, wait, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” you muttered to yourself, uttering his name over and over again until it rolled smoothly on your tongue. “Shame you have a shitty attitude along with that handsome face, though.”

“You trying to say something?”

You faced him, about to laugh when he scowled at your not-so-subtle comments. Waving your hands to him, you made your way out the door, your smile only irritating him further. “No, I wasn’t. I’ll be taking my leave then – see you tomorrow!”

Seems like working in a tattoo studio wouldn’t be so bad.

You came to work the next day early and pumped with adrenaline. The idea of meeting the moody tattoo artist caused you to be giggly and happy the whole day, not even feeling the exhaustion of a long day of hard work as you made your way inside the shop.

Clocking in at exactly two in the morning, you proudly tugged your name badge on top of your left breast, patting it for good luck.

The bells jingled, making you look away from your tag. “Good morning – oh, where’s Megumi?” The man standing in front of you was taller than Megumi, his head nearly knocking over the doorframe if it wasn’t for his poor, slouched lanky frame.

He had white hair that brushed atop his cerulean blue eyes, and your eyes widened because wow, he was beautiful.

“Hey, you must be Y/N! Megumi told me you came around yesterday but he didn’t tell me the counter girl was this pretty,” He was in front of you the next second, his nose nearly grazing over yours that had you leaning back into the wall for space. “Hmm...he didn’t tell me that at all.”

“Oh, thank you. You are...?”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, one of the senior artists here. Since Megumi isn’t here yet, let me give you a tour!” Before you could react, Satoru already had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, his other arm waving and pointing to all the hung paintings and labels on each door. You found it odd that he treated you like you were an old friend, but you weren’t going to complain. Nice co-workers were always welcomed.

“Here is the holding area where clients wait to get their session done. This is Geto’s studio and right next to that is his office where he does all the finances and all that jazz, while this is my studio. Cool, isn’t it?”

Your mouth fell ajar as Satoru led you inside his studio, the walls painted the same aquatic shade of his eyes, but what caught your attention was the galaxy themed tattoo designs he made. They came in different shapes – a volcano head, a dragon, a worm, a four-armed monster – but inside them were all galaxies with sparkling and burning stars. You could see everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Whoa, you made all this?!”

Satoru’s chest puffed out proudly, “Yeah, I did. I’m flattered by your reaction, I really am, but you haven’t seen Megumi’s yet. There’s a reason our salon boomed even though he’s only been working here for two years.”

At the mention of his name, your interest was piqued, all ears and curious smiles directed to Satoru. “Oh, can I see Megumi’s studio?”

“You can – if you book an appointment.”

“But I don’t plan on getting any tattoos,” you frowned.

“You’ll never get to see his work then,” he chuckled to himself, the sound growing louder when you visibly deflated. What was the point of getting your hopes up like that then? “Megumi doesn’t like letting others in his studio without permission or an appointment.”

“Why not?”

“He’s just iffy about it,” he shrugged, “Don’t bother trying to decode his personality anymore, Megumi’s very hard to understand. Though if I were to make sense of it...” he rubbed his chin, eyes looking out into the distance. “I guess you could say Megumi’s not the type to be showy when it comes to his work of art. Did that clear it up?”

You blinked back blankly. “No, not really. But it’s fine – I don’t plan on getting to know him anyway.”

That was the biggest lie of your life.

The moment Megumi came around a few minutes later, a loud groan upon your animated greeting over his arrival, your chest bloomed with a different kind of fluttery warmth. He rarely came out after that, clients swarming in to both his and Satoru’s studios, but each faint glimpse of his door cracking open that allowed you to see him focused as he worked, you could no longer deny the heat burning down your legs.

You crushed on the grumpy tattoo artist.

And the more you came around work, greeting him zealously and teasing him to no end that he’d look hotter if he smiled, your crush only intensified for him – completely unaware that he too, couldn’t get his thoughts off of you even with his door closed.

In fact, he kept his door closed all the time because your voice distracted him too much.

“Hey, Y/N, you free?”

You looked up from the textbook you were reviewing, slamming it shut when Satoru’s head peeked out from his studio. He was still wearing gloves with a pen between his fingers, most likely still in the middle of a session.

“Yep! We don’t have appointments yet and I’ve already closed it for non-appointees. Did you need me to get you something?”

“Yeah, could you get Megumi for me? He isn’t picking his phone up and one of our special clients are coming soon. I’m packed right now so I can’t fetch him. I’ll send you the address and you get him, yeah? Just open the counter if you need money for a cab.”

You blinked owlishly at him. On one side, you’d be more than glad to see Megumi again. He hadn’t arrived despite it being four in the morning already, and you were worried, but you also didn’t have his number to ask how he was doing. Progress with Megumi was...slow, to say the least.

He still holed himself up in his studio, coming out only for bathroom breaks, although you noticed a drastic improvement when he finally began to mutter an almost shy “good morning” under his breath for the past few weeks.

It wasn’t much, but you’d have to make do.

“Uhm, when is this client of his coming? Should I run...?”

“Yeah, you need to fucking run. They’re coming in an hour and a half!” Satoru exclaimed, flailing his hands around like a madman.

Even after working with him for some time, you still couldn’t believe the older man was practically a man child, even asking for head pats sometimes. He would lean down with a pout, using a squeaky voice to call your attention, which always succeeded in Megumi fake gagging before he locked himself inside his studio.

“Forwarded you his address. Really sorry for the inconvenience, Y/N!”

“It’s okay!” you jumped out of your seat in an instant, not bothering to take your name tag off anymore as you left the salon, hailing the nearest cab.

Megumi lived quite far from the salon, which had you wondering why he chose to work there when there were plenty of salons in his area too. His place looked shady, as well, his apartment in a high-rise building with endless graffiti and several drunk stragglers hooting for you.

You ignored them all, taking two steps at a time from his staircase, your hands on your knees as you panted for air. Why did he have to live on the tenth floor?

“Megumi! Megumi!” you banged your fist on the door, throat parched from your sudden cardio session. You were sure you burned ten calories just from that sprint, and you sighed in relief when Megumi swung the door open, still looking handsome – and sleep-deprived – as ever in his black shirt and black skinny jeans.

“What?” he demanded. After seeing that it was you, he quickly snatched a water bottle and passed it your way, closing his door behind him. “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where I live?”

“Satoru said you had a really important client. You weren’t picking your phone up so he sent me to come get you.”

“It’s my day off,” he grumbled, answering your silent questions, your worries dissipating into thin air. Once you’d satisfied yourself by basically dunking the entire bottle, Megumi rolled his eyes, his hands flat on the small of your back while he guided you downstairs. The sudden touch flamed your cheeks; a stupid smile on your face. You were shameless, though, leaning back closer to him in the darkness of the early morning. “Why does he send a girl out of all people?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s unsafe. My neighbourhood isn’t the best and who knows what would’ve happened to you if some goons came out?” Megumi hailed for a back, surprising you when he let you get in first and paid for the fee despite your outstretched hand prepared with the bills. “I can’t believe Sukuna chose this day to come of all times. I can never get a damn break.”

“Sukuna?”

“A special client. He’s a really huge tipper and comes on odd schedules – I didn’t think he’d come now.”

“Yeah, I checked the papers and he wasn’t there,” you frowned to yourself.

Megumi pressed his head against the window, eyes closed as his chest heaved up and down rhythmically. With the sun slowly shining from behind you, the golden stretches of it outlined his sharp features you adored, and you rested your chin on your palms, eyelashes fluttering at his beauty. “You know, Megumi, you’re really pissy sometimes – but you’re quite nice, aren’t you? I’d say you were even worried for me.”

He cracked one eye open, those blue eyes still shining with irritation, but make no mistake since his ears were flushed red. “I’m not. I just don’t want to be involved in a police investigation if they find your body near here.”

“How sweet of you.”

“Shut up.”

You and Megumi were beginning to get closer. You couldn’t pinpoint where he started to grow more comfortable with you, but it was definitely there and it was painfully evident that even someone stupid like Satoru noticed the sexual between you two.

He would always sniff the air whenever you and Megumi sat next to each other during lunch breaks, a wide grin on your face while Megumi buried his face in his hands, groaning because he knew the moment Satoru opened his mouth, nothing but dumb comments would come out. And dumb comments they were; the white-haired man merciless as he teased Megumi for acting like a cute little kid around you.

You never took it to heart, though. It was Megumi you were talking about; he was hot and cold; sweet then distant from one moment then an entire person the next.

Not that you minded, it only added to your fuelling crush on him, but you couldn’t control the way your heart fluttered every time Satoru whispered that he did like you, excusing that Megumi just wasn’t the best with words. Apparently, Megumi had spent too much time holed up in his apartment and studio that he had zero to little knowledge on how to talk to pretty girls – especially one that was clearly attracted to him as well.

Satoru encouraged you to go for it – that you should confess or break the ice first otherwise Megumi would never do anything about his raging boner every time you came around.

You only flushed at his statement, but you couldn’t deny that you too felt the same way.

One morning where Satoru and Geto were out restocking supplies, you and Megumi were left alone in the salon. Of course, he still resorted in the comfort of his studio, muttering under his breath that he wanted to try some designs before disappearing. Only this time, he left the door slightly open, the lights peeking through the slight crack.

Walking up to him with muted footsteps, you leaned over his shoulder, glancing over a sketch of...you? “Are you drawing me?”

Megumi yelped at your voice right next to his ear, throwing the paper away on the other side of the room before glaring at you. You laughed at his reaction, because how was it possible he was both so criminally sexy yet adorable? He looked terribly gorgeous today, as well, wearing a short sleeved black hoodie and black sweatpants, looking so comfortable and boyfriend like – and you couldn’t even begin to express your appreciation over his new lip piercing.

“Why do you always sneak up on me?” he snapped, “Didn’t I tell you I wanted privacy?”

“Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Megumi sighed exasperatedly, turning back to organize his pencils before glaring at you. “What do you want? Got no one else to bother since Satoru isn’t around?”

“I just wanted to see your art,” you mentioned, but kept your eyes directed on him instead of the plethora of sketches and designs hanging from his wall as to not offend him. “Satoru told me to never come inside. He said you’re really...private when it comes to your works,” you furrowed your brows at the last part, feeling your heart beat pulse at your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Can I see your tattoos too?”

“Why do you want to see them?”

“A work of art on a canvas who’s also a work of art himself?” you finally gained confidence to tease him again, getting riled up further when Megumi stiffened at your curious hands travelling under his shirt. His breath sharpened as his glare only deepened, though he didn’t make a move to stop you. “Why wouldn’t I want to see that?”

“Being flirty doesn’t work on you. It’s not cute.”

“You’re blushing though,” you remarked. Megumi groaned and pushed your face away until your buttocks landed on his recliner. Satisfied with Megumi not completely kicking you out, you swung your legs back and forth, still staring at his hoodie as if it was an offensive material.

“Can I...see?” Megumi rolled his eyes before he lifted his shirt up, revealing to you intricate patches of black ink splattered over ripples of muscles. Your mouth salivated, and somewhere down there, you drooled too. Tentatively, your hands reached out to finger the image of canines, Megumi shuddering over your cold touch on his warm skin. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

Megumi pursed his lips before whispering, “These are the dogs I had as a child. My father got me them so I wouldn’t be too lonely when he’s away from work.”

“They’re very pretty. They look like black and white wolves,” you smiled, elated that he was opening up in more ways than one. Your touch flitted over to a winged creature under his left collarbone, small letters beside the image. “And this bird? Nue? He’s so majestic,” Your hands never stopped in trailing over his skin like a lost wanderer, sweeping over ink ink until Megumi completely discarded his hoodie to the side, his back faced to you.

A white viper tattoo stood large on his broad back, crawling until over his shoulder with the fangs ending just above his pecs. Megumi swallowed at each slivering touch, your fingers dipping and caressing every dent and curve of his body.

You couldn’t get your eyes off of him, your breath hitching in your throat as one of your hands gripped his biceps subconsciously. “You’re so beautiful.”

Megumi stiffened when your thumbs grazed over his nipple right next to the viper’s fang. Almost as if a switch was triggered inside him, Megumi growled, ducking to capture your lips with his in a sloppy, heated kiss. His hands tugged at the ends of your hair to arch your neck to him, his knees slapping your legs open before he settled comfortably between you, his low groans mixing with your breath moans.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. From the moment I met you,” he nibbled your lips, hands trailing down to thumb at your hipbones. “I knew that innocent good girl look was nothing but an act.”

You smiled through the kiss, a tiny gasp falling from your lips when Megumi pulled you closer until your heat grinded against the hardness inside his pants. Laughing at his harsh movements, you let Megumi tilt your head back, his lips sucking and teeth gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Innocent girl?” you echoed, legs now wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. “What makes you think I am?”

“White lace panties? Short tennis skirts and sunshine smiles?” Megumi clenched his teeth, his hands eager as he tugged the white lace down until it looped to your ankles. You gasped, back arching when he thrusted two fingers inside you, curling and fingering against your bumpy walls. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby, especially not me.”

“Took you long enough to understand I wanted you though,” you chuckled through broken moans, eyes shut tight while your legs opened wider, heels digging into the hard cushion of his seats. “I was wondering when I’d get to break you from that tough guy act of yours and have you fuck me good,” Megumi growled at your words. You leaned forward to scratch at his chest, your tongue licking the shell of your ear as you rasped, “And on a side note, I am a good girl – only to those who can make me feel good, of course.”

Megumi cupped his palm to collect your arousal dripping of his, finally shutting you up when his fingers grazed over your sweet spot that had you clenching around him. And those were just his fingers. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded smugly, hands coming up to tug harshly at his hair. Megumi hissed at the sharp pain, prompting him to fuck his fingers in and out of you faster until you leaked down to his chair, thighs trembling and your high-pitched moans coating the walls of his stupid. “Megumi, ah! Just shut up and fuck me already – been wanting you long enough.”

“Needy little girl,” He pressed you down on the reclining seat, settling between your legs before he spread your lips open with two thumbs. At the sight of your bare cunt clenching around nothing, Megumi groaned, teeth biting his lip because he could cum right then and there. “Fuck, look at you. So wet already,” he ran a hand over your slit to collect your arousal, eyes dark with lust as your juices webbed between his fingers. “All this for me? You’re so good.”

“Fuck – yeah, yeah I am,” you leaned back harder into the seat, groping at your own breasts while you nodded dumbly, too fucked out to even form a coherent response. “Going to be good for you, Megumi, gonna make you feel good.”

“Sorry, babe, maybe next time. I’m too impatient to not feel your pussy around me,” he pushed away at your hands that planned to pump his cock, his hand coming down to push you hard against the seat until his weight loomed over you.

You felt Megumi begin to align his tip at your center, dampening his mushroom head with your arousal first that had you both moaning left and right.

Hands scratching down his back as your teeth dug into your lips, Megumi pushed into you with one thrust, the sudden stretch making your legs shake and your body writhe underneath him. “Shit, why are you so tight? So fucking warm and perfect,” he rasped next to your ear, and you could hear how hard he was breathing as he thrusted into you, his cock hitting all the right places. “Could fuck this pretty pussy all day, baby, shit.”

“Me-Megumi – t-too big!”

“Shh, you’ll be fine. You’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” he cupped your cheek, grinning sinisterly as he watched the way your greedy walls sucked him in. “See how you take me so well? You’re so small and pretty wrapped around my cock. I could break you if I wanted you,” he growled, his hands gripping hard at your hips when you clenched around him, enticing the man above you to quicken his pace.

Megumi watched with a lust filled gaze as your breasts bounced at the relentless pace he started, his balls slapping at your ass. “Oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You want to be stuffed with my fat cock in you? Fuck you until you’re a drooling mess? You’re so gorgeous when I fuck you stupid.”

“Yes, Megumi, agh. Keep going, keep going, I’m so close!”

“Oh, you feel like heaven around me,” he praised at your neck, his cock stretching you wide and pushing into you. Megumi groaned lowly at your ear as his palms flattened over your stomach that bulged every time he thrusted in, his balls tightening at the sight. “Look at how big I am for you, baby, but you’re doing so well. You were made for me – made to take my cock, shit, you’re so perfect around me. Gonna make you feel good, yeah? You’re such a good girl for me. Cum, baby, that’s right – I’m allowing you to cum.”

“Gumi, Gumi, fuckkk,” your legs tightened around him as Megumi panted with each harsh thrust, the black marks over his skin expanding and stretch when his forearm rested beside your head. His muscles clenched as he fucked into you deep, over and over again until he pushed you over the edge.

A silent sob left your lips when you came around him, your juices creaming around his cock. A few thrusts later, Megumi fell on top of you as you felt him spill his seed inside you.

He had too much that you felt both your cum dripping down your ass; Megumi pulling out with a slight wince from the oversensitivity. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid there, legs wide open and the cool air hitting your bare pussy. The door was still open, and Satoru and Geto could walk in on you both looking like this, but you couldn’t care, not when you could barely feel your legs.

You dropped your arm over your face, hearing Megumi pull his pants back up. “That was...”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, wincing as you sat up. Your hair stuck to your forehead in sweaty clumps, dawning on you now that you were still very much covered in your sticky cum. You recoiled from the seats as you realized Megumi hadn’t even put on a towel underneath.

“Shit. Is this chair even clean?”

“I sanitize it every after session. Don’t worry about it,” he rolled his eyes, his tattoos covered and hidden from your sight once more when he pulled his hoodie over his head. Megumi retrieved a clean towel from his drawers and wiped at your sensitive pussy, your legs immediately closing around his hands when the towel accidentally grazed your clit.

Megumi gripped your knees with a silent glare. “Stay still. I’m cleaning you up.”

“I didn’t peg you as an aftercare guy. Thought you would leave me hanging here,” you teased, but really, you were feeling warm all over again as you watched Megumi wipe you all the way down to your other hole, your legs still tensing up.

Once he left to wash his hands, you could relax, tugging your panties back up with immense struggle. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d fuck you good – you could barely feel your legs now.

“And have you make a mess by ruining my seat?” he sighed as he returned, helping you seady yourself while he snapped the slightly soaked panty back to your core. “No thanks.”

“You’re so mean, Megumi. I’m hurt.”

He rolled his eyes at your pout, leaning down to kiss you square on the lips. This time around, the kiss wasn’t rushed; it was slow and sensual, firm yet gentle, and his hands carefully massaged your sore hips that would soon bruise from his grip before.

“No, you’re not,” he mumbled through your lips, mimicking that lovesick smile on your face as he pulled away. “But babe, you know the rules. Now that you’ve seen my work of art – what tattoo would you like me to give you? My name on your inner thigh?”

4K notes · View notes

alcinadimitrescuwu · 3 years

Text

The Portrait (An Alcina x Maiden Fanfic)

You walk into the Atelier and find yourself once again gazing at the portrait of the Lady of the Castle, Lady Dimitrescu. She must have commissioned the portrait when she was younger because she looked like she was in her mid-20’s. She stands in an ivory-colored dress with a full skirt, holding a glass of wine. Her face is clear of her laugh lines, under-eye circles, and wrinkles but she is still as elegant and beautiful as ever. You move closer to get a better look and suddenly wonder who might have painted this portrait. Were they close to Lady Dimitrescu?

“Do you like it?”

You whirl around swiftly and find yourself face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. The corner of her mouth quirks up in an amused grin, making her laugh lines indent into her cheekbones. Her golden eyes are glittering with mischief.

“Well?” she prompts.

You come back to yourself. “I-It’s lovely, my Lady,” you stammer. “Did you commission someone to make it for you?”

Alcina lets out a laugh like tinkling bells. “Why, yes. In fact you could say that the two of us were rather close.” She steps closer to you and the portrait, a knowing smirk on her face. “It was actually me that painted that portrait.”

“You?” you blurt out suddenly. Then you realize how rude you must sound. "Forgive me, my Lady,” you say, ducking your head in apology. “I meant no disrespect. I just didn’t know you were the artistic type.”

“Oh, I’ve dabbled in a lot of different art forms in my life, pet,” she says, and you see her eyes mist over as she reminisces. “I was classically trained in opera, I’ve painted landscapes and portraits, written poetry...I even was a jazz singer for a time. I made that portrait when I was 25. I was a very different woman than the one you see now.” She smiles self-deprecatingly. “Well, aside from the obvious, anyway.”

“It’s exquisite,” you breathe as you lean your head to get a better look at the portrait. You think of something and turn to her. “Do you still paint, my Lady?”

“Lately I’ve taken to sketching. And now that you know my secret,” she says, giving you a conspiratorial wink. “Perhaps I might come in here and do my sketching while you clean.”

You suddenly remember the actual purpose of why you came to this room in the first place. “Right! I need to polish the bells! I’ll just get started on that, then!”

You hear her chuckle low in her throat as you scramble up the ladder, taking out your polish. You look over back at her and she has sat down on the sofa, slipping a pair of pearl chain half-moon spectacles over her nose. She takes out her pens and charcoal, flips to a new page in her sketchbook and bends her dark head down to work.

Soon you and Alcina have a little arrangement going where every time you enter the Atelier to work on your tasks, you know you will soon see Alcina ducking her head under the lintel to work on her sketching. While you are on the ladder, you sneak glances at her every so often. Her lashes kiss the tips of her cheekbones and her brow is furrowed in concentration. Sometimes you will look from her to the portrait and you conclude that if possible, her aging has made her even more beautiful.

You feel a hand on your back and jump making the ladder wobble slightly. The hand braces you against the ladder so you don’t fall and you hear a soft chuckle behind you. “I’m sorry, dear. I suppose I should have announced my presence beforehand. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s not a problem,” you say and you feel color flood your cheeks as you see you are truly face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. Her face is merely inches from yours. Her golden eyes catch the light from the chandelier and up close you see they are not just golden but with hints of silver around the iris.

“There’s this spot around the gears that doesn’t get enough attention that I’d like to show you,” Alcina hands hover around your waist. “May I?”

You nod your consent and she gently moves you on the ladder until you’re on the other side. She bends down and whispers in your ear. “Just between the cog and the gear. Do you see it?” The smell of her perfume is intoxicating. You nod that you understand and she smiles. “Good! I know you always do a thorough job and I wanted to bring that to your attention.” With that she settles back down and resumes her sketching.

This goes on for a while, you working while Alcina is sketching. Occasionally she will take a break and stand nearby observing you as you work. You find it difficult to concentrate when she is around but she eventually smiles to herself saying, “Yes. Very good,” before returning to her seat. A couple times you are not certain but you think you might have seen a flush creep up her cheekbones before she resumes her sketching.

A couple of weeks of this go by and you notice Alcina is not satisfied with the progress of her drawing. You see that she is erasing more often and often starts from a completely new page in her sketchbook. “No, no, this isn’t right!” you hear her say aloud one day. You chance a look at her as you are on the ladder polishing the candlesticks. She is furiously scribbling on the sketchpad and when a loose lock of her ebony hair falls into her eyes, she pushes it impatiently away. You try to lean down further to get a better look. You’ve seen how talented she is, surely the sketch couldn’t be that bad…

Suddenly you feel the ladder twist from under you as you lose your balance. Your arms pinwheel helplessly in the air as you try to regain your footing but to no avail. You shut your eyes tight as you fall, hoping at the most you’ll just sprain an ankle.

Instead of the hard floor, you fall into something soft. You open your eyes and jolt back as you see Alcina’s aureate eyes staring back into yours. She chuckles. “It appears I cannot do much but startle you these days it seems.” She looks at you with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes, my Lady, I’m fine,” you mumble. You blush scarlet as you are very aware that her gloved hand is on your upper thigh, your skirt riding up in her haste to catch you. She becomes aware of this too and smoothes your skirt down, murmuring an apology, but not before you catch the blush in her cheeks.

She turns her head quickly away to hide it, her hat covering her profile. “Would you like to take a moment and rest, dear? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve a break.”

You nod soundlessly and she takes you over to the sofa where she has been doing her sketching. She closes her sketchbook with a snap before you can get a good look at it.

A maid arrives with Alcina’s afternoon tea. “Set out an extra cup for Y/N, if you please,” she commands the parlor maid. The maid nods and pours you both cups of steaming apple cinnamon tea, perfect for a cold winter’s day.

When the maid bows and leaves, you turn to Lady Dimitrescu. You clear your throat. “Um, my Lady?”

She smiles at you over her teacup. “Yes, pet?”

You can’t help it. You’re positively burning with curiosity at this point. “What have you been drawing?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Alcina’s cheekbones flood with color. “Oh, it’s nothing special really,” she says hurriedly. “Just some scribbles.”

You can hardly believe it. Was Lady Dimitrescu, usually so full of pride and grace, embarrassed? You see a scrap of paper on the ground near the sofa and pick it up. Alcina tries to stop you but you’ve already turned it over in your hands. You let out a little gasp of surprise as you see what Alcina has been drawing all this time.

There on the paper is a charcoal drawing of you polishing the bells. In the corner of the page is a closeup of you, your face shining in the chandelier light.

You look back at her, your mouth open in shock. When you finally gain the ability to form words, you ask, “Is this what you’ve been working on all this time, my Lady?” you ask quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Alcina nods and opens her sketchbook to show even more pages of you. You staring at her portrait, you reaching up on your toes on the ladder to dust off a high shelf, you pouring her tea. There are pages upon pages of your likeness.

Alcina turns her head to face you. “I must confess that I had been in need of a new muse for my art,” she says. “When I saw you gazing at my portrait, something stirred within me. There is something about you that draws me to you.” She takes your chin gently in her gloved hand.

“Your hair,” she says, and she takes off your cap and settles your unbound hair about your shoulders. “Even pinned under your cap, it cannot conceal its beauty.” She takes your hand in hers. “Your skin,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the back of your hand, making you feel a pleasant shiver go down your arm. “How it shines under the lamplight. Your eyes.” She is moving ever closer. “The way I could get lost in those fathomless depths. And your lips…”

Her face is so close to yours now, her lips parted. “What about my lips?” you whisper, scarcely daring to breathe.

You are not quite sure who closes the distance between you first, but you are suddenly in Alcina’s arms and you are kissing her fiercely, your hands weaving their way through her ebony locks. Her hands settle themselves around your waist as her tongue gently parts your lips. You lay back on the sofa and bring her head gently down with you. She braces one hand on the side of the couch while the other gently holds the back of your head.

The sound of the clock chiming startles you, making you break apart suddenly. Alcina lets out a girlish giggle. “We simply have to do something about those nerves of yours, draga mea,” she purrs. You smile and lift your head up to receive her kiss again.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 village #re8 fanfiction #lady dimitrescu fanfic #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina x maiden #lady dimitrescu x female reader #lady dimitrescu x maiden #alcina x female reader

515 notes · View notes

packetofsuga · 3 years

Text

Kiss of Death - Corpse Fic

Prompt: “He’s a bad kisser”

Backstory: Y/N is a streamer and secretly dating Corpse, not even their friends know. Other than Dave, of course. They’re playing proximity chat among us with Valkyrae, Toast, Sykkuno, Pewdiepie, JackSepticeye, Pokimane, Ludwig, and Dave (boyinaband).

Genre: Fluff + humor

Content warning: Light swearing

Word Count: 1631

A/N: Okay. First of all, writing an author’s note really threw me back to my Wattpad days but, anyway. I just wanna say feel free to send little prompt requests in my ask box for fics. I won’t write smut, I know I have for kpop artists in the past and I may write smut again in the future but for now, it’s a hard no for all fics. I will write mainly for Corpse Husband, Valkyrae, BTS, and Dream Catcher. Possibly other YouTubers or kpop groups just ask and I’ll let you know! I also will write for some book fandoms, I can’t list all of them so again just ask, please. I’ll get to requests whenever I can so please be patient while waiting.

Until then please enjoy the random prompts I’ve found that I thought would be cute :)

Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction

You were playing among us with your friends and your boyfriend, as usual. The only difference was you were using the proximity chat mod which you had never done before. Because you guys were using that mod every time Corpse got imposter he was doing his “kiss of death” thing.

As you loaded into the game you saw the word crewmate pop up on your screen. Everyone started joking about being a crewmate or imposter and you chuckled to yourself. “I am just a crewmate doing crewmate things. I am doing keys, because I am just a crewmate.” You stated while walking over to the keys task, knowing that you don’t even have keys this round.

“Y/N’s faking keyyysss.” Poki called.

“She’s just reminding everyone to fake keys, guys, everyone fake keys right now,” Sean said, moving his character on top of yours in front of keys. The was a chorus of agreements as almost everyone did the same. Once that was done you split off from the group.

“Guys… I think it’s Poki, she didn’t fake keys.” You said to your chat, laughing to yourself. You went around doing your tasks. You came across Sykkuno in O2, “Hey Sykkuno, whatcha doing?”

He paused in the doorway of the tree room, “Oh! hi Y/N. I’m uh just doing my tasks.”

You cleared the trash shoot, “Oh yeah? Just a crewmate doing crewmate things?”

Sykkuno giggled, “Uh, yep. Just doing crewmate things. Hey, you- you wanna stand on this vent with me?”

You hesitated, knowing there’s absolutely no way for you to figure out if Sykkuno is just being himself or is actually the imposter, “I- You know what yes I would love to Sykkuno.” You walked into the tree room.

“Oh- really? That… Was very enthusiastic.” The two of you walked onto the vent by the tree, stacking on top of each other, “You’re not the imposter, right? You’re not gonna kill me.

“Oh, of course not, Sykkuno. I mean, you know, maybe.” You love making yourself look extra suspicious to him because that’s how he plays, “Here. I’ll click the spot where the kill button is and we’ll see what happens, okay?”

“Oh, Jesus-” He gasped.

You clicked the spot on the screen, “Hear me clicking?” You both laughed.

“Uh yeah I do, that means it can’t be you huh?” He said, “Here I’ll do it too.”

You yelped a little as the body reported screen came up, scaring you.

“I thought I just fucking died.” You said, trying to calm your breathing.

“Honestly, me too.” Sykkuno said, “There’s so many people dead.”

Poki reported the body and the screen showed that Toast, Sean, and Dave were dead, “So Rae and I just walked up on Toast’s body. And I don’t think it’s Rae, I’ve been with her for a good chunk of this round.”

“Soo it could be both of you.” You pointed out.

“Why are you susing me right now??” Poki exclaimed.

“You didn’t fake keys!” You yelled.

“She’s right!” Pewds yelled, remembering that from the beginning of the round, “What the fuck, Poki?”

Corpse laughed, “That’s a little sus Imane.”

Poki laughed, “I can’t believe I’m getting sussed cause I didn’t fake a task.”

“Anyways, I think it’s Rae and Poki. It definitely couldn’t have been Sykkuno, we were chilling on a vent.” You stated. Corpse hummed to himself.

Sykkuno vouched for you, “Yep that’s true. And we did a foolproof test so it’s not either of us.”

“What was the test?” Lud asked

“Well, we both clicked the kill button and neither of us are dead, so.” Sykkuno pointed out.

“You clicked the kill button?” Rae asked, “Wait, so you’re both imposters? You clearly can’t kill each other if you’re imposters.”

You sighed, “I don’t know why Sykkuno had to say it like that but we clicked where the kill button should’ve been and nothing happened. So it’s not us.”

“So there’s two pairs.” Corpse mused to himself.

Pewds brought his mic really close to his mouth, “Get ‘em out of here.”

You yelled over him, “Hold on hold on, it’s seven we can’t vote on seven. Kind of sus that you’re pushing to vote on seven.”

“I’m not sus you’re sus.” He declared.

“Let’s skip, I’m gonna stay with Sykkuno and protect him.” Lud announced as the ‘I voted’ sticker popped up next to his name. Everyone started voting to skip.

“If Ludwig dies it’s Sykkuno.” Pewds concluded as the timer ran out.

“What???” Sykkuno wailed. You quickly ran to go to Lab on your own, afraid of Rae and Poki.

Rae walked behind you into Lab, “ Ahhh- Hi please don’t kill me.”

“No no no I would never,” Rae said, making her voice sound sarcastic on purpose as you guys walked into decontamination. You started to scream dramatically.

“Heeeeeeelp. Heeeeellppp! She’s gonna kill me.” You pushed your character into the door to specimen, desperately waiting for it to open. Once it finally did you rushed down into specimen and she ran after you. You ran around specimen with her chasing after you.

“Stop running. Y/N. Y/N! Hey- Stop running!” She yelled after you.

“Nooooo.” Corpse walked into specimen from the bottom and stood off to the side watching the two of you, “Coooorpse, protect me.” You yelled. He moved his character between you and Rae.

“Yeah, uh, of course. I’ll protect you don’t worry.” He said. Rae stopped in front of him.

“I said I wasn’t gonna kill you Y/N.” She insisted.

You fake cried a little, “You didn’t say you couldn’t kill me though! Corpse, please. Wait-” You realized Corpse could 100% be the imposter right now, “Corpse… It’s not you is it?”

“No no, I’m gonna protect you.” He promised.

“....Does that mean it’s you but you’re gonna kill Rae to protect me?” You asked. They both laughed and Rae backed away from Corpse.

“She knows too much Corpse, she knows too much!” Rae yelled. You started to scream for help again and run around.

“Hey hey hey, relax.” Corpse said, following you. You ran towards bottom decontamination, getting stuck at the door again, “Don’t worry. Y/N, shhh. It’s okay, just-” He made a smooching noise and the kill animation popped up on your screen.

You let out a shriek. “I can’t believe- Well, hi chat.” You giggled and started reading the chat again, “‘You got a kiss from Corpse, how do you feel?’ He’s a really bad kisser, guys. I mean it, did you see that? He kissed me and then STABBED me. An awful kisser.” You shook your head. A body was reported and the meeting screen popped up. They discussed yours and Poki’s death Corpse and Rae vouching for each other and Lud and Sykkuno vouching for each other, leaving Pewds the only one without an alibi and got him voted out. The defeat scream popped up showing Rae and Corpse as the imposters.

Corpse POV

Before joining the lobby again he decided to read chat for a second and talk to his fans. “I’m sorry I can’t really look at chat that much while we’re doing this mod it’s just hard cause everyone can hear you, you know.” He read through the recent super-chats, thanking people as he went. He quickly scanned the rest of the chat. People were spamming that Y/N had called him a bad kisser, “Wait- she- Y/N said what??” He joined the lobby, “Y/N what the fuck?”

“What’d I do??” Y/N questioned.

“Did you really tell your chat I’m a bad kisser? Why are you lyyyying?”

“I-” The whole group started gasping and talking over each other, “I meant in the game! You- everyone shut up oh my god please-”

“Okay okay okay, let her talk guys. Try and talk your way out of this Y/N.” Corpse chuckled.

“Okay, before I get myself into a scandal. In-game, before you killed me, you gave me a little kiss. Then my chat was like how do you feel and I was like you know what, that was an awful kiss I died from it.”

“Ohhh, that makes sense.” Corpse said.

“Wait!” Rae interrupted, “What else would she have to go off of other than in-game?…” There was a long silence.

Corpse was the one to break the silence. “You know what, gamer bladder. Bathroom break.” Everyone laughed and reluctantly agreed.

Y/N POV

You tried to stay calm and talk to your chat about any other topic but your chat was going insane speculating about you and Corpse.

Corpse came into the room and you quickly held up one finger off-camera to tell him to wait a second.

“Uh, hold on just a second guys.” You muted your headphones and took them off. You started to work on turning your webcam off but he reached over and grabbed the arm of your chair, rolling it towards him.

You squealed, “Corpse! What are you doing?”

“I’m a bad kisser, huh? I’m a bad kisser?” He started peppering your face with kisses. You giggled. He planted his hands on the armrests of your chair, practically trapping you in place. He raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk plastered on his lips, “Hmm?”

You cupped his face and kissed him. He started to pull you closer to him but you pulled back, “No, you’re not a bad kisser, baby. You’re the best kisser.” He kissed you again and then went back to his filming room. You slid your chair back to your computer, pretending as if nothing happened. You put your headphones back on and scanned the chat. There were a couple of people being like we saw that hand but you ignored it and continued playing.

3K notes · View notes

arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

Text

A Failed Betrothal /Betrothal AU: Take Two

So here is the second part of the betrothal AU that I decided to name "A Failed Betrothal. This takes place before Part 1 which in hindsight should have been done first. Part 2 got too long so I cut it and started Part 3. I have no idea and nothing planned on how long this will go. Hope you enjoy ❤.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)

PART 2

Marinette also wasn't having a good day or a good week.

Lila Rossi had been up to her usual tricks. You know, spewing lies from her mouth. How she met these awesome celebrities during this trip and they worship the ground she walks on for her amazing and humbling help. There were stories of these charities, trips and galas that she had been to or was invited to. She has problems with her wrists and can't do simple stuff like carry her own bag or do her homework. She has tinnitus in her ears so she needs to sit in the front where the only seat available would be next to Adrien.

And for the finale.

The desert after feeding the class a banquet of lies.

"Mari...nette..has been bullying me, she...told..me not to tell anyone..*sobs*..that she would kill me if I did.."

Lila dramatically gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Turning on the waterworks for a more dramatic effect. They all ate it up, jumping on the ‘let’s hate Marinette, a bad person’ train.

"She is going to kill me now and I am so scared." That snake managed to snuck an evil smirk past her glaring, oblivious classmates.

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

Marinette, at this point of her life, had frankly given up caring for them due to the class's lack of brain cells and Agreste's spineless 'High Road' Approach.

For Kwami's sake, she went through a brutal torture that was training in some jungle temple in Asia before Sabine Cheng, former mercenary/assassin, kidnapped her (Little Marinette took a risk. She ran away and followed her around until Sabine begrudgingly accepted that she was now the 6- year-old girl's mother because screw it, Tom said he wanted children.) to raise/train as her own while she settled down with a baker whose mother may or may not have ties with the Mafia and other illegal activities.

(Mother-daughter bonding days became much more fun once she had Guardianship of the Miraculous. Sabine was ,at first, furious at Master Fu for dumping everything on the girl and losing his memories before swearing to help protect the jewels. Adopted or not, Marinette is her daughter and no one should let a child, even one with training, fight a war. A good thing to come out of her reveal was that her mother was a great tiger to have as back-up. But now, her training regime had become harder and challenging.)

The point was that Lila Rossi would be dead and body missing since that first time she threatened Marinette in the bathroom. The Italian was in perfect health despite what she claims otherwise, because Marinette didn’t want to be the person she was raised to be and also she didn’t want to disappoint Tikki, she was fond of the little red kwami. But sometimes, she just wanted to give into the urge to kill.

She had met and dealt with unsavory characters of all types and she can safely say that Lila Rossi was a manipulator that thrives on attention and like a parasite, latches herself onto the fame of others. None of the unsavory people she had met get under her skin like Rossi had.

Marinette had enough self-preservation to drop the nice girl act and sometimes let the dragon underneath to surface. She stopped doing last-minute favors and giving away free stuff which Lila uses to her full advantage to further destroy her relationships with her ‘friends’. It was better than sticking her neck out for classmates that were no longer worth her time. Attempts to expose Lila had backfired due to the denial they are in, believing the liar to be a sweet, nice girl living the high life.

Adrien with his rose-tinted glasses firmly stuck to his eyes was not happy at all with her decision. That may also have to do where she suggested he shove his advice after he tried to reason her to take the high road for defending herself for the umpteenth time. She felt like the biggest idiot to ever have a crush on him. Every time, Rossi blames Marinette for a problem, he would shoot disappointed looks in her direction.

Alya being Lila's biggest guard dog tore into Marinette for her newfound 'bad' behaviour. The rest of Lila's supporters backed her up with "How could you do that to Lila","I can't believe you changed." Nearly all her so-call friends had turned their backs and lost all common sense to the Italian's manipulations.

(Alya was supposed to be her best friend, aren’t you supposed to listen to your ‘bestie’ over a complete stranger)

The designer took it all with a bored expression on her face, used to the lecturing which was a waste of time because her behavior isn't going to change, no matter what, Lie-la will keep up the act of being the bully's (*cough*Marinette*cough*) victim.

Her heart that cracks the tiniest bit at the accusations. A small part of her, she admits, is hurt that they think so low of her.Was she really that worthless to them? All those times and efforts helping them out on last-minute favors and giving them free treats. Were they not enough to earn their friendship? Their trust or at the very least, a benefit of doubt?

The only ones who didn’t join the berating to 'correct' the raven-haired girl’s attitude were Chloe (who had proven herself to have changed after the miracle queen incident and Lila stole the spotlight and Sabrina. There were a lot of apologizes, gifts and ‘making up to do’) Alix (she came to her senses when the supposed bullying started) and Nathaniel (Lila blatantly claimed to be the artist for the Ladybug comic to his face).

“Girl, Marinette, are you even listening to me?”Alya demanded.

“Maybe. Did you say anything that doesn’t have to do with Lila or how I did her wrong or how I am no longer the person you knew?”

Marinette knew that being sarcastic would backfire but nothing she does or says will change what they think of her. One word from Lila and they will turn back on her. As much as she hates to admit it, Lila’s threat has fallen through and she was alone. Mostly.

She still had Chloe, Nathaniel, Alix, Luka and Kagami as friends. The trust-worthy and loyal kind.

“Girl,” Alya says in a disappointed tone, shaking her head,“when I look at you, I don’t see that girl who stood up to Chloe the bully-”, Chloe snorted, she had changed but they were too blind and prejudiced against her to notice her efforts, “-Picking on Lila, threatening and harassing her. This isn’t you and you know it. Just get over your jealousy on Lila being close to Adrien and apologize to her.”

If Alya had talked to her in the past 12 months other than demanding things that took away her time or anything relating to Lila, she would know that her infatuation had turned into annoyance.

Marinette sighed, too tired of this routine, tired of trying to knock heads so the brain cells can work again. Apologizing would mean that Lila had won. She was petty and stubborn enough to allow that to happen. Lila said she will take the class and Adrien. Fine, she can have them but Marinette Dupain-Cheng will not admit defeat. Bigger men had fallen to the ravenette for lesser offences. A year has passed since the expulsion and the class still hasn't regained common senses, so they can deal with the consequences after the inevitable downfall of Lila and Marinette will be there to see them lay in the grave they dug.

Steeling herself for the pain that will come with the execution of her plan,

“What if I don’t. I won’t apologize to her because I have not done anything to her or even interacted with her. If I apologize, it would be insincere and a lie. And I hate liars.” The former assassin said evenly.

“Lila is not a liar. I don’t know why you are like this.” Alya said, frustrated.

Marinette knew there would be a small chance of an akuma with Gabriel Agreste having an important meeting to attend on this day that would last for the next hour. This was the small window of opportunity to start the plan and also further confirm the identity of Hawkmoth. Killing two birds with one stone.

“Alya, this has always been me, you just never took the time to get to really know the real me.”, she replied, the last part with an icy tone.

“Well-... I- ..You-, fine, then if you can’t say those simple three words, we can’t be friends. I clearly don’t know what a selfish bitch you are. God, I can’t believe I wanted to be best friends with you. You are now replaced by Lila because unlike you, she is genuinely nice and selfless.” Alya declared. The rest of Lila’s supporters murmured in agreement.

Phase 1, complete. Lure the Lie-la into a false sense of security by making her think she won.

Marinette tried not to show how hurt she was, to be replaced by the scheming bitch. But at the same time she felt relieved, she no longer had to walk on eggshells in fear of losing the friendships of people she used to care about. It felt final as she maintained her stoic expression, hoping they didn't notice the glassy sheen her eyes had.

“Then, it is official. We are no longer friends.”

They haven’t been friends for a long time.

Mme. Bustier finally walked into the classroom to start the afternoon classes, signalling the end of the conversation. After class, Marinette resolves to inform them that she was resigning as class president which she was sure the class will be glad for. She was right.

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

Ladybug was, as the Americans say, pissed at Hawkmoth which was nothing new. He had sent out another akuma just as Marinette was back home and trying to relax after the stressful day. The akuma was not any of her ex-friends which she wasn’t sure to be thankful for or not.

Louise Martin was a boy about Luka’s age and mad at his friends who had blamed their fifth loss-in-a-row on him despite the fact that it was his skills that were getting them any progress. They were playing one of those recently released 5V5 skills and strategy battle games. (League of Legends or Mobile Legends. Take your pick, I am going with the latter)

He was akumatized into Hayakuma as proof of Hawkmoth’s lack of creativity. Hayakuma was a bleached out version of Louise’s chosen hero avatar, Hayabusa whose outfit was basically what the media portrays ninjas to look like with some samurai aspects.

Unfortunately, he also had the hero’s ultimate special powers which were making four shadow copies of himself and being able to switch positions with them. Thanks to Rattlesnake’s Second Chance, they know that he can only make a switch once every two minute. Hayakuma also wields a sword, showing off his skills.

Just lovely.

Hydra and Ladybug were the only ones able to counter his attacks with Hydra’s sword and Ladybug’s summoned one. (Let’s go with that headcanon(?)/trope that she can summon weapons for plot convenience and the others can too but just don’t have enough practise yet.)

The others managed to dodge and shield themselves from Hayakuma’s really sharp sword.

The shadows themselves were annoying as they would distract or hinder the miraculous users by grabbing them by their shadows and making them unable to move. Until Bunnix had the brilliant idea of shadow boxing which gave the heroes gain more even ground.

With how strong and handful the akuma was, it was code ‘all hands on deck’. Ladybug, Stinger, Rattlesnake, Hydra, Bunnix, Trickster. Well, nearly every hand. Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was busy with the bakery. Chat Noir was nowhere to be seen or very late which had been the norm for the last year ever since Ladybug wanted to form a new miraculous team consisting of permanent heroes.

(He didn’t show up for the first few months because the first permanent member was Ladybug’s mother who did not like his attitude towards her daughter. He ran away with his tail between his legs once he found out how she was related to Ladybug. His face when he realized it, was something Marinette will cherish forever)

At least when Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was around, he would not dare act out of line. When she is gone however, he is back to his old ways.

After saving one of Louise’s teammates from Hayakuma’s sword, they gathered the rest of the team and hid them someplace safe. Using Trickster’s illusions to trick all the shadows and the original to one place, the heroes were going to surround and ambush them and get the akumatized item. The plan would have been a success if it weren’t for Chat Noir hugging Ladybug from behind, making her miss her cue.

“Hey~ Bugaboo~ Did you miss me~? Your Chaton~?”

Thwack! Smack!

Chat Noir was on the rooftop, groaning pitifully in pain. Especially his crotch area. Ladybug glared at him and looked to the ambush point to see the illusions had disappeared and everyone else gone from their hiding place.

She sighed and turned on the comms, (Thank you, kwamis)

“Sting, did you venomed the akuma?”

“No, he escaped before I could. What happened, LB?”

“A certain cat got me delayed. What’s the status update?”

“Hydra is holding him off and Bunnix found that an umbrella is a good substitute for a sword. The rest of us are keeping track of the shadows. They split up but none of them are getting near where we hid the targets.”

“Where are you? I will meet you later with back-up.”

“Near Notre Dame and tell Mama Tigress I said hi.”

“Tell her yourself.”

She looked down at Chat No-, no he is not worthy of being a hero anymore with the amount of times he had derailed and hijacked the plans to defeat the akumas just so he can ‘earn’ Ladybug’s heart.

She looked down at Adrien Agreste, who was sitting and sulking like a child that was unfairly punished. (Once she got over her crush and started looking at the right things that she managed to piece together her ‘partner’s’ identity by accident. Tikki’s confirmation sealed the deal.)

“Chat Noir, this partnership of ours,” she said, gesturing to the two of them, “ is going to change tonight. Meet me at the ‘spot’ at 11 sharp. Now, go home.”

He left with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes at her words. She felt a little bad about the subtle manipulation but with the way things were now, it can’t go on. He was hindering more than helping and the people of Paris that weren’t shipping ‘Ladynoir’ saw that.

As she jumped towards Notre Dame, she called the bakery with her yoyo.

“Mama, are you free now? I need a little help with the akuma and can you bring the horse miraculous.”

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

Chat Noir waited excitedly at what they both dubbed at their ‘spot’, in the good old days when it was just the two of them. Maybe Ladybug was finally open to the idea of dating. Or maybe she must have seen what a great hero he is and was going to get rid of the team. Or realized that having her mother on her team was a bad idea. Parents are the worst and they both can be two rebellious teenagers in love. Like Romeo and Juliet. So romantic~.

He was so deep in his daydream that he didn’t hear his lady land.

“Chat Noir.” Startled, he nearly fell off the roof. No, don’t make a fool of yourself in front of Ladybug.

“Yes, Bugaboo.” Hoping she didn’t know that he was very distracted. His attention will always be hers 100%.

“Don’t call me Bugaboo. Tikki wants to talk to Plagg about Kwami stuff. So you go over and hide behind that chimney. Then, we can talk about why I told you to be here.” Adrien frowned and then smiled. His lady must be very embarrassed about her mistake that must be why she is taking her time. He tried listening to what they were saying but the kwamis were talking in their special Guardian Language. Was it him or did Tikki’s voice sound more like his lady’s voice?

Whizz!

Adrien was tied up with Ladybug’s yoyo. “M’Lady? Bugaboo!? LADYBUG! WHAT IS GOING ON?!! PLAGG-”

Ladybug cut in, “Adrien Agreste, you have been slack in your hero duty and choosing your own feelings over supporting your partner, me, the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous and current Grand Guardian, in the efforts to defeat the enemy of Paris, Hawkmoth. Due to those reasons, you are no longer worthy to be the Holder of the Black Cat Miraculous” in one swift motion, she took the ring off his finger, “As such you are hereby revoked of Plagg’s Ring.”

“NO, YOU CAN’T. YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I LOVE YOU AND I KNOW YOU LOVE ME BACK. WE ARE SOULMATES, WE ARE MEANT TO BE-”

Adrien went slack at Lady Tigress’s pinch on his pressure point.

“I don’t what you ever saw in the boy.”

“I don’t know either. I think I dodged a bullet here. Can you carry him back to his home? I think I have dealt with enough of him tonight.” Ladybug muttered, as she erased Adrien’s memories of being Chat Noir.

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

Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe.

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

(Part 3)

#maridami #maribat #damian x marinette #mlb x dc #Betrothal AU: Take 2 #A Failed Betrothal #sorry. No Damian this chapter #there is salt #Alya salt #Adrien Salt #Lila salt #class salt #I don't know if it is mild or not #Marinette is an assassin

640 notes · View notes

lvnatiq · 3 years

Text

Random Relationship Headcanons | Felix Escellun x gn!reader

a/n: Hey ! On todays menu I am serving you modern au relationship headcanons. I know for a fact that I can’t write headcanons AT ALL yet here we are, out of spite I will keep trying until I can manage to write good shit. I’m going through a chaotic time in my life so please be patient with me 😭

I’m currently working on tattoo artist! reader x Felix headcanons and college!enemies to lovers one-shot. Knowing that Felix’s fav trope is enemies to lovers, I will post it hopefully before his new chapter drops. I used most of the hcs that were sent to me but if you couldn’t see yours, then it will probably be used on the other works.

No beta we die like men.

warnings: curse words, nsfw under the cut, random sage moments, felix being a ‘the neighborhood’ song basically.

You persuade him to start an Instagram account, and because of his family's popularity, he quickly gains followers. His account is practically empty because he would rather spend his time stalking your account on Instagram. You noticed the emptiness and wanted to take him out and take some photos for his account, which turned out amazingly. He is a little camera shy, so be patient with him.

You like to watch him apply his eyeliner but he finds it so stressing to do under your gaze. He used to be able to do it easily, but it has now become one of his most difficult tasks. You wanted to ask for his assistance in applying eyeliner to you in the hopes of making it simpler for him; he agreed but quickly regretted it when he realized how near your faces would be. You with your eyes closed, waiting for him to drag the line as he was only thinking about how bad he wanted to kiss you.

Felix has a Polaroid of you and stella in his wallet I said what I said.

When it comes to himself, he can be a pessimist, but when it comes to you, he is the most loving and positive boyfriend you could ever ask for. You have a dream ? He is ready to help you achieve it. Do you want to change in your life ? Go for it, He’s more excited than you are.

He can be quite insecure at times when it comes to your relationship because he feels like you deserve the world but the world is too big for his tiny hands. Will his cuddles be enough ? God he hopes so.

He almost cried when you told him you loved him for the first time. He's also baffled as to how you might feel the same way about him.

Drunk Felix is really clingy and honest. Whatever he can’t say sober drunk felix can and definitely will.

“May the stars let my death be between your glorious thighs amen-“ “Felix-”

Felix is weird but it add to his charm. It’s not unusual for you to wake up in the middle of the night and find the pillow besides yours empty. In the dead of night, you will find Felix munching on some weird ass food combinations.

He also has a habit of doing things that are extremely adorable without even noticing it. Like walking around the house in his oversized shirts, his hand clutching at the cuffs whilst the other one sheepishly rubs his eye.

“Can I lay on your lap ? I promise I won’t fall asleep. I just need to rest for a little.” His voice is so soft and hushed. “Of course, come here.” He throws himself onto you as he comes hopping on his tip toes.

He falls asleep on his desk too often, so you have to carry him back to his room, where he snuggles against you while you lead him there. Once he's in his room, he insists that you stay with him, so you wait until he falls asleep as you play with his hair, and he wakes up thinking it was all a dream.

I firmly believe that Felix’s love language is acts of service. Like making you coffee and bringing you random snacks as you work or wrapping you up in fluffy blankets whenever he catches you slacking on the couch.

He's been romanticizing anything and everything since he met you. When he sees beautiful flowers, he wants to bring them to you, but he also believes that their beauty stems from the fact that they are alive, so he argues and stresses a lot when deciding what to do in simple situations like these.

His edginess belongs to his impulsiveness and his style only at any other situation he's a complete softboy.

And I'm certain he knows a variety of card tricks. He enjoys showing off, and he enjoys it even more when you become fascinated and beg him to share the trick.

If you're a morning person, you'll probably spend your mornings alone in solitude, finishing work before the day begins, but if you're a night owl, you and Felix will go out for night walks and Felix would go out for night walks, sharing headphones to play some music, enjoy each others presence and develop a habit of watching the sunrise together.

Felix makes you playlists at the most random times and with the most random names. Until one day he sent you a playlist at around 4 a.m called “you”, filled with his favorite music. He usually sees music as a safe space for himself and now that you are his safe place too it’s only appropriate for him to do so. This only further proves how he spends his time thinking about you.

I feel like Felix would have what most would call "attachment issues" but it’s mainly because of his protective tendencies. This is not to say that he’s this "overly jealous toxic" character; rather, he has never had anyone to truly call his own in his entire life so he would do anything to protect it.

Felix is also big on astrology, so if you want the perfect birth chart, he'll give it to you. Also he owns a lovely deck of tarot cards, and if you ask him for a love reading, he can't manage to keep his words and feelings to himself so he modifies your reading according to him and his desires. Let the boy abuse his powers for the sake of love.

His style could be described as dark academia, his wardrobe mainly consists of dark colors, lots and lots of blazers and a lot of oversized shirts. He also loves jewelry so he owns a lot of rings and chains. Just so you know, if you're wearing any of his rings, his heart is doing cartwheels.

Is it obvious that he loves it when you place your hand in his and play with his rings with your fingertips.

Spoil him. Buy him that baby blue hoodie with cat ears.

“Ah, you look adorable.” “Isn’t it a bit too b-big ?” “You could say that. Do you mind ?” “No, I like it that way.” “I would know.” You smirk followed by felix’s gasp. “If you so desperately wanted a cat boy you know you have me right ?” Nudging your shoulder, Sage leapt into the conversation. “What is he talking about ?” Felix grumbled, only to notice two fuzzy triangular fabrics on top of his head as he brushed his fingertips over it.

He’s obsessed with your hands, kissing your knuckles, drawing circles in your palm. At a certain point it became an involuntary gesture he does it quite often without realizing.

He’s also canonically extremely blushy but he would never admit it. You’re convinced he uses some sort of make up because it is not possible for the pink dusting his cheeks to look this good.

He insists that you’re cold even in the warmest weathers because he wants to see you in his coat.

Sage forces Felix to take his thirst trap Tiktoks.

He really appreciates it when you add to his herbal tea collection without him noticing and he considers it a sign of affection because he takes his tea very seriously.

He loses it when you call him baby he gets flustered and frustrated but it’s all because it rolls off of your tongue so nicely that he can’t get enough of it.

Felix owns a broad collection of scented lip balms some of them are tinted. You didn’t hear this from me.

He never once took anything the Sage says seriously until he saw how well you two got along. He never thought that he would be standing there taking relationship and flirting advice from the frat boy.

Felix is a complete asshole when he wants to. He’s very verbal about it too. Consistent sarcastic remarks and eye rolls. I mean it runs in his blood, look at Escell.

You love it when he suddenly whips out the confident Felix, it’s not a daily occurrence you know.

When Felix is concentrated, he’s lost and there’s almost no way you or anything else can distract him. So it’s time to grab some colorful hair clips and ties to fuck around with his hair.

Felix is not the best at verbally expressing his gratitude towards you. He doesn’t know what he would do if you weren’t there for him at the lowest points of his life where normally he would close himself and bare the weight of his family problems and personal life issues that he can’t seem to get out of. Now he has you, someone who’s willing to listen to him and offer him a warm embrace when he needs the most.

While you to play games together, when he wins he wears that iconic shit eating grin of his with pride looking at you through the corner of his eye. “Shit, what do you want me to say to that felix ? Perhaps I should call you master now that you won ‘one’ fucking round.” He is praying that the screen light is covering the fact that he is a blushy mess after hearing you say that.

NSFW

I cannot stress this enough but he is extremely vocal in bed. Whining, trying to restrict himself from making too much noise but failing miserably.

Muffled pants, choked sobs and lots of pleasure infused tears.

He loves getting praised during sex but what he loves more is to get praised after it’s all over. Like you telling him how great he was, how well he behaved, how good he made you feel. He experiences sub drops a lot so please assure him that he did well :(

He’s into power-play but not in a submissive or dominant kind of relationship, it’s more of a psychological thing where the fact that he can see how good he makes you feel gives him a rush of confidence and adrenaline.

I believe that this motherfucker is a masochist, pain makes him more excited than getting an update on his favorite author who went on a year long hiatus and that is saying a lot.

Bite him. Scratch him. It is so stimulating for him he can reach his high just from those actions.

Fuck do anything to his ears bite, lick, pull, blow on it. He is extremely sensitive so anything you do will basically drive him out of his mind. It will most definitely lead to him trembling beneath your fingertips.

You must think that you are the only one who is such a tease but you’re wrong. Felix teases you quite often mostly to direct your attention towards him or to keep your attention on him. He’s quite greedy when it comes to you and your hands on his body. Unbuttoning unnecessary amount of buttons on his shirt to show a little skin that he knows you’ll notice. Playing with his necklace placing the chain between his lips dragging it towards the inside of his bottom lip teasing the metallic charm with the tip of his tongue. He definitely ain’t oblivious he knows exactly what he’s doing and he makes sure that you know exactly what he’s doing.

When he’s in the mood he will tug the hem of your top meanwhile his eyes are glued to the floor or graze the temples of his glasses between his lips, his teeth lightly nibbling the pointy edge. He loves to play dumb too. When you question him, he acts like he doesn’t intend anything and that you need to get your head out of the gutter.

At the end of the session Felix looks divine. Drool leaking down from his bottom lip to his jaw line towards his neck, his bangs sticking on his sweat coated forehead, his chest rising up and down quickly. His eyes rolled at the back of his head, his hands still clutching tightly to the sheets. Faint whimpers and deep breaths filling the air.

Leading up to the after care, his shy self returns. He buries his face to your chest hiding his blushy cheeks beneath the palms of his hands.

He likes to experiment a lot and you are his favorite subject.

It shouldn’t be surprising to find random kink definitions or role-play ideas on the search history of your laptop. After all Felix just asked for it to write an email, that’s all there is to it. That’s until you offer to try them out.

He doesn’t act upon his jealousy, what he does instead is that leaving marks on you especially around your neck and your chest where he knows it will show. Don’t cover them up if you don’t wanna deal with him.

“People just don’t appreciate art anymore.” “Felix these are, hickeys.” “Oh so now you are judging my art medium ?” “Since when proving Sage that I got railed by you is a form of art ?”

I didn’t see anyone point this out but whenever he is in the sub space he tends to be more on the bratty side. He starts of shy but his confidence builds up as the tension rises. Meaning that you should be ready to get your patience tested.

When you two are in separate places your suggestive words and tone leads up to phone sex, which Felix secretly fantasized about a lot. What made everything even more dirty was the fact that you didn’t know that he was laying on your bed surrounded by your scent and humping your pillow. Once you come back home you are greeted with a fresh pair of sheets on your bed. Apparently Felix decided to do you a favor and clean your room as well as the the whole house. He’s crossing fingers that you don’t notice because he knows that he’ll never hear the end of it.

Felix knows a lot about sex but his knowledge is based upon fiction rather than experience. So, naturally, he is more interested about learning specifically how your body responds to certain actions, what you enjoy and what you’re interested in so teach him. He’s a good student and oh well he’s a quick learner.

Pull his hair pull his hair put his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair.

When he settles between your legs as he ties his hair, he places the hairband between his lips and looks up at you with half lidded eyes. It’s his definition of torture.

Even though he doesn’t give off that vibe, he is very freaky if you would’ve known what his AO3 tags consisted of you would agree.

Tag list is open

#felix escellun #felix #fictif felix #last legacy #fictif #fictif last legacy #nyx hydra #felix escellun x reader #felix x reader #mc #felix fictif

325 notes · View notes

latte-fairytaekwoon · 3 years

Text

𝐻𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑦 𝐺𝑙𝑎𝑧𝑒𝑑 (𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛) 𝑅𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝚂𝚊𝚗 (𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣)× 𝚂𝚝𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 (𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎)

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏, 𝙸𝚍𝚘𝚕 𝙰𝚄

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 4.3K

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚃𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚝𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚞𝚙𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚈/𝙽 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚛.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚂𝚎𝚖𝚒-𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚒𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚓𝚘𝚋, 𝚊𝚋𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 (𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐?) 𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡 (𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗), 𝚂𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 '𝙽𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚊' 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝙳𝚘𝚖! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 × 𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚢! 𝚂𝚞𝚋 𝚂𝚊𝚗

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @seacottons @galaxteez @multidreams-and-desires @yunhoiseyecandy @yunhofingers @little-precious-baby

~ ʚĭɞ ~• • • • • • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~ • • • • • • • •~ ʚĭɞ ~

Y/N took a deep breath as her hand held tightly onto the doorknob of the dressing room. She tried to calm herself, or more specifically, her body. Then again, no amount of preparation could help her when it came to Choi San, the man was unpredictable and absolutely cunning. And the worst part was he knew he was charming, using it to his advantage and then playing coy about it whenever she called him out on it. Not wasting anymore time, she turned the knob and swiftly walked in, tossing her bag on the couch by the wall before beginning to take off her coat to hang on the rack.

"Hello Noona."

She was greeted by the innocent looking dimple smile of the idol she had been assigned to, hands folded across his lap, giving him the aura of a perfect and obedient angel......

When he was everything but that.

"Don't start San, we don't have time for your jokes. The sooner we get you ready, the sooner I can leave."

San poked his bottom lip out, a soft, muffled whiny hum vibrating against his throat.

"You seem to be in a bad mood Noona....aren't you at least happy to see me?"

She rolled her eyes at his question as she began laying out all the stuff she was going to need to prepare him for the photoshoot. Missing a few palettes, she bent over to open the last drawer on the vanity display and began rummaging through its contents. She was completely unaware of the eyes that were now checking out her ass as she was hunched over, the position slightly rising her skirt up.

"Did I mention you're looking especially lovely tonight...Noona?"

Tilting her head over, she caught him as he bit his lip as he shamelessly looked up and down her legs. When he saw she noticed, he didn't shy away or apologized, he merely sent her a wink and went back to gazing at her glorious backside.

"You're a pervert." She accused him as slammed the drawer closed after finally finding what she was looking for.

"I'm simply admiring a beautiful piece of art. Is that such a crime?" He grinned at her.

She hadn't even started yet she already felt exhausted and aroused by the man sitting in front of her. Squirting some of the foundation onto the mixing tray, she picked up a beauty sponge and began dabbing it onto San's already flawless face. He might liked to tease her every now and then, but if there was one thing she appreciated was the fact he stayed still whenever she was working, never moving and always following instructions when she asked him to lift his head or close his eyes when she needed him to. It almost made her think that he was actually a good little boy, so poised and obedient....

And then he'd pull out some stupid shit that made her remember his true bratty nature. Stupid shit like what he was doing now: his hand was gently gliding across her leg, dangerously coming up towards the hem of her skirt. She swallowed a non-existent lump in her throat, clearing it out as she was determined not to loose focus and continued to blend out his contour and shading before moving onto his eyebrows. She could tell him to stop or move away, if she did, she knew he'd at least have the decency to stop and not do anything for the rest of the day. But she didn't want to do that this time. She was tempted to find out just how far he'd go, just how much could she actually let him get away with.

San was also amazed she hadn't slapped his hand away, which he took as an invitation to continue. Sliding his hand up, he cupped one of her ass cheeks and squeezed it softly. His fingers tugged at her panties and pulled on them slightly before releasing them and letting it hit against her skin. When he saw her momentarily pause, he smirked at finally getting her to react. But he was soon disappointed when she chose to ignore him once more and instead move to work on his eye makeup. Not willing to stand and be ignored, he cupped her ass with both of his hands, pulling her closer that she nearly toppled over and fell on top of him, but luckily regained her balance before that happened.

"Have you been working out Noona? Your ass feels a lot firmer and rounder since the last time I touched it."

He couldn't keep the satisfied smile off his face as he began dragging down her panties past her thighs until they were pooling at her ankles, a clear wet stain visible in the center of them.

"Noona are you perhaps needy?" He chuckled.

Stepping out of her panties, she kicked them out of the way before resuming her previous task.

"The only thing I need at the moment is for you to keep still or else your eyeshadow is going to be a mess." She told him.

"Speaking of making a mess, do you know what I wanna see?"

With a shit eating grin on his face, he swiped his index and middle finger along her folds, collecting some of the slick she had already accumulated.

"Wanna see you make a mess all over my hand."

Although she would love nothing more than for him to fist her if he wanted, she couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow up at him, a slight scoff coming out her lips.

"Can you even do that? It wouldn't surprise me if in the end, Choi San was nothing more than an all bark no bite kind of boy."

From out of the corner of her eye she saw him frown angrily. He always did hated having her refer to him as a 'boy.' She didn't care, deep down she knew he was nothing more than a brat that she would love to tame if given the opportunity. And besides he was doing her a favor as he began swirling his fingers around her hole. Pushing them in, he couldn't believe how unbelievable warm she was nor how her walls were practically sucking him in.

"God Noona, I can barely get my fingers out."

He began to thrust his fingers in and out of her, making sure to curl them up so they could graze along the roof. When he felt her shudder as he hit a particular spot, he knew he had found what he was looking for.

"Right here Noona?" He teased as a kept his fingers buried in her, flicking the tips across where he assumed was her g-spot.

"Oh my god yes!" She didn't care if her words boosted his already high ego, all she cared about right then was getting him to continue until she was spasming under him.

San released a light humming tune as his fingers continued their assault on her wet cavern. Wanting to boost her pleasure even further, his thumb began to rub her clit, drawing circles across it. When Y/N's legs nearly gave out, he used his other hand to steady her.

"Cum for me Noona. Make a mess all over me, I want it. Can't you give it to me?"

She melted at the way he was pleading at her, his eyes getting slightly large as he waited in anticipation for her to tip over the edge just for him. Unable to resist his cute plea, she squeezed her thighs shut as she began cumming all over his fingers, a choked out gasp escaping her lips as she held onto his shoulders for support to keep her from falling.

"That's right, such a nice and sweet Noona, giving me what I want."

San didn't pull his fingers away until he made sure to help Y/N ride out her high until she was finished. As his hand emerged from under her skirt, a trail of her cum was dropping all the way up to his wrist. Looking at how wet his hand was, he admired it before holding it out towards her face.

"Told you I'd have you making a mess." He giggled before proceeding to lick off every last bit of secretion he made her produce.

Y/N straightened out her ruffled skirt.

"I should really finish your makeup San."

Thankfully, she was able to finish his eye makeup without any further interruptions. His lip makeup also ran by smoothly, except for when she stared at them a little too long and unconsciously began leaning in, tempted to just bite them.

"Noona....." He tapped her shoulder to point out what she was doing.

She flushed a pink tint across her cheeks, embarrased by her actions. But that was nothing compared to the embarrassment she was going to feel next.

"Ok your makeup is done. You can go wait for the photographer to get here?"

As she began picking the brushes up to go clean them, she turned back around when San was still seated in his chair.

"San...go?" She asked in puzzlement.

San also seemed confused as he tilted his head at her.

"Didn't they tell you?"

By the way she just stood there blinking as she processed what he could mean, San sighed as he began unbuttoning his jacket.

"I.....was going to give Atiny a surprise for this comeback. I'm going to be wearing a crop top, and the photographer suggested it'd be a good idea if maybe my makeup artist could make them... shine a little?"

Y/N was about to ask what he meant by 'them', but when he tossed his jacket to the floor and his torso was fully exposed, she understood what he meant. Although she guessed he had a fit body due to how much he worked out, she was more than surprised to see such a firm and toned 6 pack adorning his lower abdomen. She didn't even realize how long she was staring or had her mouth open until San cupped her chin.

"Close your mouth Noona....."

Leaning in, he whispered in her ear.

"The sight makes me wanna fuck your face."

He couldn't help but laugh softly as he stared at her flustered state. Throwing all inappropriate thoughts out her head and going back to being professional, Y/N began looking around for any oil to douse his abs in.

"San do me a favor and lie on the couch."

The poor boy shot his eyes wide open when she ordered him that.

"Wait- you want me to what?"

She smacked his arm.

"Don't get any ideas. If we do this standing up, it'll roll off your body and I can't spread it evenly if you're sitting down. So unless you're able to levitate, go lay down on the couch."

Now he flushed a red tint for thinking so wrong. He walked over to the couch and obediently layed down. He stiffened considerably when Y/N came over with a bottle of oil, and it was then he realized that although he had grown used to having her touching his face, she had never once touched him anywhere else in his body. This was about to be the first time. He recalled all the times he'd teased her by smacking her ass or letting his hands graze across her chest. It made him fear that she'd probably want to take revenge and tease him back. When she popped open the bottle, he gulped very obviously that even she noticed.

"Relax you baby. It's not going to sting you or anything. It'll just leave you smelling like vanilla."

His ab muscles contracted when he felt the trail of oil splatter across his stomach. Making sure not to pour too much, Y/N closed back the bottle and set it down next to her.

"Just breathe and try to enjoy it."

Deciding it would be best to heed her advice, San closed his eyes and focused on each movement of her hands. It felt absolutely relaxing and blissful having her run her hands along his abs, staying shy away from his nipples. Each caress of her hands had him wondering why he'd never allowed her to touch him like this before. With each swipe of her hand across his body, the more he was becoming addicted to her touch. He began wishing she would travel farther down, reach inside his pants and give it the same care and attention she was giving his abs. He was already letting out soft moans and murmurs before he even became aware of it, or of the growing tent in his pants that was quite obvious now.

Y/N noticed it and it made her proud to know such a simple touch could get him so riled up. Wanting to test something out, she began to dig her nails into his skin. Although she expected some sort of reaction, she didn't think it would result in him flexing his hips up, giving them a slight roll as if micking a sex movement.

"Please do that again."

He stared at her through hooded lids which then closed once again when she raked her nails down his torso, an even louder moan coming out from his lips as he began to buck his hips up.

"M-more please..." He begged her.

Stopping her movements, she feigned ignorance at his request.

"Hmm? What was that Sannie?" She wanted him to repeat himself.

Tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth, he began fussing around.

"Noona please it hurts." He whined.

Cupping his face, she squished his cheeks.

"What hurts Sannie?"

With a frustrated grunt, San took one of her hands off his face as he began unzipping his pants, fumbling with it until he managed to pull them down enough to allow his thick and long cock to spring free from its confinement. He hissed out loud as he made Y/N wrap her hand around the base.

"It hurts Noona. Please do something. Anything." He began moving her hand, hoping she'd get the hint.

Y/N couldn't believe he was actually begging her. He looked so pitiful and desperate under her as he was left at her complete mercy. Wanting to indulge him for a moment, she began pumping at his dick a little bit faster, the leftover oil on her palm serving as lubricant so it was easier for her to smoothly stroke him. San gasped and held his mouth agape when she began running her thumb across his slit, toying around with it as she continued to jerk off the rest of his length.

"Yes! Just like that! Oh my god! It's even better than what I imagined." He was very vocal for sure, but she kinda already suspected that.

"Oh yeah? You imagined my hand wrapped around your cock?"

San grunted harshly when she squeezed him a little too hard.

"Fuck yeah- I got off on fantasizing about you jerking me off." He admitted.

Y/N did not hide the smile of satisfaction spreading across her lips as she heard him say that. It boosted her confidence knowing the sexy man in front of her often pictured her in such an intimate position.

"Tell me Sannie, what else have you imagined me doing to you?"

San bit his lip, unsure of whether it was ok to spill out his dirty secrets. But then he realized that maybe if he said them, Y/N would be nice enough to fulfill some of them.

"I thought about having you ride my face, smother it with your soaked pussy. I wanna taste it. Bet it tastes so good."

He began bucking his hips into her hand, feeling his orgasm fast approaching. Y/N could sense he was close too.

"Keep talking Sannie. What else have you thought about?"

San's cock twitched when he saw Y/N lean down, her face hovering close to his leaking tip.

"Suck-sucking me off. I've always wanted you to suck me off."

He didn't keep his eyes off her mouth as she ran her tongue across her lips, her gaze looking intently at his length.

"Won't you please suck me off?" He raised his hips, the top of his head touching the corner of her lip.

Y/N thought about it for a moment. His cock did look delicious, and she couldn't deny the thought of stuffing it til it reached the back of her throat made her insides start pooling once more. But he was still the same brat he'd been since she met him. It wouldn't hurt to teach him a little lesson for a few minutes. Bending her head down, she opened her mouth as if she was going to wrap her lips around his tip. San was looking at her in eager anticipation, nearly busting a nut right then and there. He began whining erratically when she not only pulled her face away but also let his still erect cock dropped against his stomach.

"Why did you-?"

When he tried sitting up, Y/N roughly pinned him back down which shut him up immediately.

"Stop being a little brat and take what I gave you or else you're going to be going through an entire photoshoot with a denied orgasm."

San blinked slowly at her words.

"God you're so fucking sexy putting me back in my place like that." He confessed.

Y/N giggled softly before pecking his lips. Looking back at his abs, she ran a finger down along them.

"I'm not going to deny it, your abs look mesmerizing." She complimented him, which had San beaming with joy.

"I'm glad you liked them. I worked hard on them especially for you." He looked up at her rather shyly at his confession.

"Oh really? All this is for me?"

San nodded in an affirmative motion. Smirking at him, Y/N bent her body and began pressing feather light kisses along his abs.

"Well if they're meant for me guess I should make sure everyone knows it too."

San couldn't contain his giggles when Y/N began suckling on a small patch of skin. Her hands gripped his waist tightly in an effort to hold him still.

"Sannie, stop moving." She said against his tanned skin before moving down to suck on another spot.

"I'm sorry- I'm just really ticklish." He covered his mouth in an effort to stifle his laughter.

Y/N slapped his stomach rather lightly, finding him to be absolutely cute and adorable as she began leaving a trail of hickeys down his abs, starting from the end of his sternum and ending right on top of his bellybutton. She didn't stop until making sure they were all a bright purple color that was adorning his beautiful skin, admiring her own work. San also sat up slightly to look at what she had left, a fond smile on his lips.

"Does this mean I'm yours?"

The way he was looking up at her in earnest made Y/N realize he was being serious and not being the teasing little shit he liked being. He patiently waited for her answer, his own heartbeat pounding so hard against his chest as he feared getting rejected. Reaching up to cup his face, Y/N nuzzled her nose against his.

"Are you going to stop being a little brat and actually behave?"

San laughed heartily at that before swiping his tongue across her upper lip.

"Where's the fun in that? Don't you like me being a brat?" He counteracted at her.

Y/N pretended to think about it.

"It would be nice to spank you every once in awhile.......but can't you be a good boy every now and then so I can spoil you?" She purred softly as she began kissing along the side of his neck, making him melt instantly.

"I'm being good now N-Noona-" He sucked in a breath when she dragged her tongue along his collarbone.

"Yes you are my Sannie."

Thinking it was time to put an end to his frustration, Y/N stripped him off his pants and underwear before taking off her own skirt and pulling her shirt over her head, discarding them on the floor. San stared in amazement as she stood in front of him completely nude.

"Where have you been all my life?"

Y/N let out a subtle snort as she straddled San's lap. Lining him up to her entrance, she didn't keep him or herself waiting as she sunk down on his length, eye shut tight as he stretched her out in a delicious burn. She felt him twitch inside her, no doubt eager to finally be allowed to cum after having waited for so long. After getting adjusted to his size, she lifted herself off him before sinking back down on him.

"Oh god- it feels so good."

San propped himself up on his elbows, watching with great attention as his dick disappeared and appeared inside Y/N's warm and velvety pussy. When she began picking up the pace, he began releasing soft pants and grunts as his previously denied orgasm came spiking up once more. He could feel it about to burst out of him. Through clenched teeth, he tried to desperately hold back a little longer, just so Y/N could cum before him. But the feeling of her walls squeezing him tightly and rubbing him was too much to bear. No longer able to contain himself, he flopped back into the couch, hips shaking as his nails scratched the leather material under him.

"Y/N! G-gonna cum-!" He tried warning her.

Pulling him out of her, she helped him by pumping him up and down as he began releasing spurts of white, sticky cum all over his stomach. Y/N made sure to milk him until he could no longer squirt out anymore.

"You cum a lot." She giggled as she spread some of his cum around.

Covering his reddened face, San let out a tiny groan.

"I'm so sorry. I wanted to hold out a little longer for you but I couldn't. I promise it won't happen again."

Climbing back on top of him, Y/N surprised him when she straddled his abs.

"Well then....guess I'm going to have to get myself off on some other part of you. Right?"

Smiling down at him in a mischievous way, she began grinding herself against his abdomen, the muscles protruding out of them feeling heavenly as they rubbed against her clit. His skin began to get coated even more as his semen was being spread all over his body the more she rutted herself against his bare skin.

"You like this baby boy? Like watching me fuck myself on your abs?"

"Oh my- please call me that again." Hearing that nickname roll off his tongue send him into a frenzy.

"What? Baby boy? Like it when I call you that?" She teased as she began grinding harder against him.

"I love it. Is Noona gonna cum all over my abs?" He asked as he snaked his hands to grip at her thighs.

"Does my baby boy want that? Want me to make a mess all over his abs?" She questioned him.

"Yes! Want Noona's cum all over my stomach. Mark me as hers and hers only." He released small whimpers as he felt her pick up her pace.

When he felt her shaking on top of him, he moved his hands to wrap around her hips, holding her in place as she began spilling her juices all over his body, mixing with his own as they coated his abs even further. San helped her ride out her orgasm. When her breathing finally calmed down, he sat up to kiss her tenderly, his buff arms wrapping around her to pull her against his body.

"Mine." He smiled against her lips.

"You're so needy." She told him but he merely laughed it off.

Getting off him, they both gazed down at the mess that was covering his entire lower torso.

"They look like honey glazed cinnamon buns." She joked.

"I know. It's so cool." He looked at them in awe, running over to the mirror to get a better look at not just the shiny slick all over him but to marvel at the purple bruises running in a straight line through his stomach.

"Ok we should get you cleaned up before the photographer gets here."

Before she could start wiping off the residues of their sinful acts, San stopped her.

"Or......you were supposed to make my abs shine...well... they are shining." He squealed.

"San you are not about to take concept photos for your next album with your body covered in cum." She stated firmly.

Pouting furiously and stomping his foot, he crossed his arms.

"You're no fun."

Raising an eyebrow at him, she took a step forward and gripped his hips to press him against her.

"Trust me baby boy, I can be very fun if I put my mind to it......"

Ghosting her lips over his own, her hand began caressing her face.

"And I'll let you join in on the fun later tonight if you behave like a good little boy and let me clean you up and cover up those hickeys because they're only mine to see. Got it?"

He let out a soft squeak when she cupped his cock once more and gripped it harshly.

"Otherwise you're going to go out there with blue balls." She continued.

San quickly nodded, quickly succumbing to the charms and domination of the woman in front of him.

"Yes Noona. I'll be your good little boy."

~ ʚĭɞ ~• • • • • • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~ • • • • • • • •~ ʚĭɞ ~

547 notes · View notes

live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years

Text

Rainy Day Rescuer

Feyre Archeron x Rhysand - OneShot

Feyre gets locked out in the rain and fears she'll have to tough out the storm. That is, until a kind stranger opens his window.

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2130 words

*******

Feyre’s favorite thing about her apartment building wasn't the location or the free parking—although she did love that—it was the rooftop.

She’d lived in the building almost a month before realizing she could access the roof. The padlock on the door was apparently for appearances only, and it easily came off when she pulled on it. She figured out how to rest it back on the door so that when she was out on the roof the door still looked locked to anyone who didn't know better.

So far, she hadn't run into any of her neighbors trying to share the spot, but she knew someone else used it. Normally, she came up here to paint or to think and look at the stars. The view from the roof was lovely; she could see the city center and all the lit-up buildings, and the Sidra river that flowed through it.

The first time she set up her easel, one of her paintbrushes rolled away, and when she tracked it down behind an old broken crate she found a book had been carefully tucked away behind it.

Feyre couldn't help it when she picked up the book to get a better look at it. She glanced around quickly before chiding herself, knowing that no one else was out there with her. She recognized it as some sort of mythology retelling. Feyre flipped through it, trying to find some name or any indication of who it belonged to. All she found was an old receipt from a clothing store being used as a bookmark.

Spotting her runaway paintbrush, she grabbed it and put the book back where she found it.

That wasn't the last time she saw that book, and it certainly wasn't the last time she lost one of her paintbrushes.

In the next few weeks, every time Feyre went out to the roof she looked for the book.

It was always in that same place, hidden away so it wouldn't be noticed. But every time she opened the book the bookmark was moved a little further along.

She also started noticing annotations written in the margins. Feyre tried to imagine what this person must be like. It was odd, but kind of fascinating to follow along with this person’s progress.

She tried to focus on the fascinating part, and not the part that made her feel a bit like a creep for peeping into this person’s thoughts.

Except, when she made her routine book check that night, it was gone.

Feyre tried not to feel too disappointed. Why was she so invested in another person’s book? But it had become a constant that she looked forward to, and now it was gone. She could only hope they would start another one.

She laid out a thin blanket and sat down to look at the stars.

She must have dozed off at some point because she was woken up by raindrops hitting her face. It wasn't heavy yet, but she could tell it was going to start soon.

Ignoring the drizzle, she glanced at her phone. Feyre groaned and sat up, rubbing her face.

“Ugh, okay Fey, let’s call it a night.” She mumbled to herself, sleepy and moving slowly. She packed the blanket in her large tote bag and went to go back inside. Pulling on the door, she stumbled back a step. She was too tired, her grip was already slipping.

Feyre adjusted the bag on her shoulder and pulled the door again.

It didn't move.

She gripped the handle with both hands and pulled, hard.

Nothing happened.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

Feyre was wide awake now. This couldn't be happening. Shit.

She threw her bag down and used all her strength to open the door she ultimately knew wouldn't budge.

Breathing heavily from the exertion, she stepped back from the door.

“Shit.”

The rain was beginning to pick up.

“Really?!”

Lunging for her bag, Feyre dug around until she felt her phone. Gripping it, she unlocked it and was about to find someone to call for help...but she had no service.

How could she not have any service? Oh, gods, she was going to be stuck out on the roof, in the rain, until someone decided to come out there. It could be who-knows-how-long until that happened.

Spinning around, Feyre caught sight of her salvation.

“The fire escape!” Beaming, she grabbed her bag and ran over to it. “You beautiful, fantastic fire escape, help me out.”

Feyre managed to climb down the four stories of stairs and ladders without slipping on the slick metal. Gods, wouldn't that be a sight? She’d slip and come tumbling down the rest of the way, providing free entertainment to whoever walked past the building’s back alley.

When she finally made it to the lowest landing she tried to lower the final ladder that would bring her to the ground.

Only, it wouldn't move.

“Come on,” she muttered, still trying to force it down, “Don’t do this to me. I’m so close!” Feyre looked down to see the drop. Cringing, she admitted it was farther than she trusted herself to jump without breaking something—most likely her.

Thunder boomed and lightning flashed across the sky. Feyre pressed herself against the building as the rain finally poured down.

“Seriously?!” She shouted up into the apparent waterfall above her head.

A knock from behind her startled her enough that she jumped around and let out a loud shriek.

“Um, are you okay?”

A voice came from a window set into the wall that she hadn't noticed before with a man’s face pressed up against it. Through the rain streaming down the glass, she couldn't tell if he looked more concerned or wary at her appearance.

It took her a second to respond.

“No.” She tried to shake the wet hair out of her face. “I’m not.”

“Are you trying to go up or down?”

Ah. He was probably worried she was just some random person who decided to hop up onto his balcony landing.

“Down.” She said, trying not to think of how bizarre it must be for him to look out and see a woman stuck outside his window, sopping wet.

This really wasn't how she wanted to make first impressions with her neighbors.

“I got locked out on the roof and tried to get down the fire escape, but,” she gestured to herself and the now downpouring rain that was making this conversation difficult, “it didn't really work.”

She hoped he would offer before she had to ask the insane request.

Thankfully he did.

His eyebrows shot up and he seemed to finally notice how bad the rain was. Hastily opening the window, he gestured for her to come in.

“Come in, it looks awful out there.”

Before she could think better of accepting the stranger's invitation to literally climb into their apartment, she picked up her soaking bag from the grate at her feet and crawled over the windowsill, quickly closing the window behind her to block the storm.

Maneuvering to a standing position, Feyre took a moment to take a breath and thank whoever was listening for her unexpected savior.

She turned to face him. He was tall, she would have to crane her neck up if stood much closer. And he had vibrant violet eyes that the artist in her wanted to study.

“Hang on a second.” He left her standing in his living room. Feyre looked around at the sofa and tv that took up most of the space, the bookshelf propped against one wall, and pictures of friends on the wall.

The man came back in with a towel in hand.

“Here, try this.” He handed it to her politely.

“Thanks.” She quickly wrapped it around herself, trying to dry off and stop shivering.

“No problem.” He looked like he was going to ask her something when something on the bookshelf caught her eye.

“It was your book?” She gasped, pulling the familiar volume from the shelf. Feyre whirled around to face the dark-haired man who was looking at her warily. “You’re the one who’s been using the roof!”

He stepped closer to her and gently took the book from her hands, casually flipping through it. Flicking his eyes up at her, he asked, “How did you know about my book?”

Feyre could feel her cheeks heating and she could've sworn a smirk made its way across his face.

“I, uh, found it one day.”

“You found it?” he asked skeptically. “I hid it behind some old box, how did you find it?”

At least he just looked curious, and mildly amused, and not disturbed at her snooping. Yeah, maybe it was tucked away, but anyone who tried for more than a minute could’ve found it, so she didn't feel as bad.

Drawing as much pride as she could muster when she was dripping water onto this man’s carpet, she huffed, “It was a crate, not a box.” He grinned and she went on, “and for your information, I dropped a paintbrush and it rolled over there. I found the book when I was chasing my brush. I don't actively seek out other people’s things to snoop.”

His grin widened as she explained and by the end, he was chuckling.

“And here I thought you just really wanted to get to know my reading tastes.”

She scoffed, but hid a grin, “Yeah, sure. I don't even know you.”

As she said it, she realized it was true.

Besides the fact that he lived in her building and was kind enough to let her in from the rain, she had no idea who this man was.

It seemed he remembered the same thing as he gave her a charming smile and held out his hand.

“You can call me Rhys.”

“Rhys?” She raised a brow. She’d never met anyone named Rhys before.

“My full name is Rhysand, but,” he paused to wink at her, “the people I like call me Rhys.”

Feyre rolled her eyes at his not-so-subtle flirting but met his hand with her own.

“Feyre. Just Feyre.” She held his gaze for a few more minutes before they both dropped their hands.

“Well, Just Feyre, I think I have something for you.”

Before she could respond, he vanished into the other room. He had something for her? What? Was this some other lame attempt at flirting?

She’d let him flirt if he wanted to, maybe she was a little interested to see what he’d try.

But he came back out to stand in front of her with one hand behind his back.

“Yes?” She tried to peek around him, but he angled his body away so she couldn't see what he was holding.

Leaning in close to her, Rhys said, “I believe that is yours.” With a flourish, he brought his hand in front of him.

“My paintbrush!” Feyre couldn't believe it. She looked back and forth between the brush and the man holding it, “I’ve been looking for this one. I lost it weeks ago! How do you have it?”

Rhys smiled broadly at her as she took it from his outstretched hand.

“I found it near the back corner one night, it must have just rolled away from you. It looked like it could blend right into the wall.”

Ceasing her inspection of the brush, shocked that she had found it—that Rhys had had it—she looked at him and beamed.

He blinked, almost dazedly, as he watched her smile.

“Thank you!”

Without thinking, she reached up and wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug. Rhys tensed, and at that moment Feyre remembered that she was still soaking wet from the rain. Wincing, she hastily pulled away before he had a chance to return her hug.

“Sorry. I got excited.” She glanced down to see the small puddle on the floor beneath her and cringed. “I should probably go.”

“Hm? Oh.” Rhys cleared his throat and nodded, “Right. You probably want to change into something dry.”

“Yeah.” They both stood there awkwardly staring at each other, not sure what to say next.

“Okay,” Feyre picked up her bag and took a step towards the door. “I’m just gonna...” She trailed off as she and Rhys pivoted around each other so that she was closer to the door.

He walked with her the last few steps, pausing when she opened the door and turned back to him.

“Thank you, Rhys. For the paintbrush, and for not making me stand outside like a drowned cat all night.”

His laugh made Feyre crack a smile.

“Anytime Feyre, darling.”

She smiled.

“Goodnight Rhys.”

He mirrored her smile.

“Goodnight Feyre.”

Maybe getting locked out wasn’t so bad, after all.

***

Taglist:

@allthebooksunderthemoon

@astra-ad-mare

@becarefuloflove

@bisexual-genderfluid-fan

@booklover41802

@charlizeed

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@danibutterr

@doubt-less

@emily-gsh

@enormousbooklover

@foughtconquered

@fromthelibraryofemilyj

@hakunamatatazz

@i-have-but-one-brain-cell

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@jorjy-jo

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@mariamuses

@mayhemories

@midsizewitch

@miserablesmusings

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowansfirebringer

@sayosdreams

@sheharahu

@sleeping-and-books

@stardelia

@story-scribbler

@superspiritfestival

@surielandiareendgame

@swankii-art-teacher

@tomtenadia

@westofmoon

@whimsicallyreading

#feyre archeron #rhysand #rhys #rhys x feyre #feyre x rhysand #feysand #feysand fic #feysand au #fanfic #fanfiction #au #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #oneshot #feyre

176 notes · View notes

chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

Washing Machine Heart

Day 22, Story #2 is by @rosequartzstarswrites

Title: Washing Machine Heart Author/Artist: rosequartzstars - @rosequartzstarswrites (Because of Tumblr settings, this is posting from my main blog, but it’s me!) Pairing: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (and background Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger) Prompt: 5+1 Rating: T (only for some strong language and non-explicit insinuations) Trigger Warning(s) (if any): none apply!

“I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” huffed Hermione, struggling to keep up the brisk pace Ron was marking on the sidewalk.

“You never believed you’d have to, did you?” Ron said gleefully, seemingly unaware of just how hard his long-legged strides were to keep up with.

“You never told me you were that good at chess!”

“No, more like you never thought anyone could be better than you at anything!”

Despite only having been friends, close friends, with them for a semester, Harry had already become accustomed to the constant bickering between Ron and Hermione, to the point even of endearment. Coming from the Dursleys’, arguments and rebukes were something he was used to, but the undertone of friendship with which Ron and Hermione faced off was a welcome change (and a very entertaining one). Still, he tended to side quietly with Ron, and this particular time was no exception: part of him was delighted at the prospect of seeing Hermione get a tattoo.

This had all started from a ridiculous bet, born of boredom in the lounge of their dorm building. Ron had eyed the communal chessboard, battered and chipped from years of usage, and challenged Hermione to a match.

Hermione had scoffed: “Only if you want to lose, Ron.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Ron had said, exchanging a look with Harry as a sly smile crept onto his lips.

“I’m completely certain.”

“Certain enough to bet?” Ron had prodded her.

The competitiveness that, before becoming friends, was all Harry had known of Hermione had flared up in her eyes. “I’m listening.”

“When you lose—”

“If I lose, and I won't—”

“When you lose,” Ron had reiterated, “you have to get a tattoo of my choosing.”

Hermione had smirked. “Game on.”

In Hermione’s defense, Harry thought, she hadn’t ever considered she might lose. There really was no way of expecting how good Ron had turned out to be at chess, especially since —Harry thought— Hermione had based her certainty on how abysmal his grades were, against her own straight A’s, in their proofs-based mathematics class, which relied entirely on strength of reasoning. But, as it turned out, Ron was actually a master logician, if only somewhat lazy at his math classes, and this he had proved by absolutely obliterating Hermione with the fastest checkmate Harry had ever borne witness to.

And that is how they had come to find themselves out on the streets of their little college town that night, wrapped in their scarves and their winter coats to battle the first of the December chill, walking to a tattoo parlor Ron knew in the area so Hermione could be forever reminded of her loss by a tattoo Ron would choose. And if Harry knew Ron well, and knew how much he relished teasing Hermione, the reminder would be a strong one.

“I didn’t even want a tattoo,” Hermione was mumbling, more to herself than at either of them. “I never wanted one— did you know that you might not be eligible to donate blood if you have a tattoo? I mean, not that it’s impossible, but it’s a factor against you, like your weight and your age. And my family has a history of needing transfusions— oh, God, what if my grandfather needs a donation, like, tomorrow? The three-month period of eligibility won’t have elapsed, and my father can’t donate, and– and–” She froze in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh, God, have I killed my grandfather?”

“Relax, Hermione,” Ron said, throwing a fraternal arm around her shoulders and squeezing her half in an attempt to get her walking again. “You’re halfway across the country from home. You wouldn’t be able to fly out on such short notice anyway.”

Harry had to stifle a laugh at how Hermione gaped at Ron then, a billion other dire possibilities to worry about racing through her head now. Ron, however, was less successful at keeping down a chuckle. “I’m kidding, Hermione. Besides, a tattoo will make you look badass.”

“I don’t want to look badass!” Hermione squeaked shrilly. “I’ve never been remotely interested in looking badass!”

“Well, interested or not,” Ron said as they came up to a dark brick building with a neon sign reading LOVEGOOD’S flickering above the door, “it seems like you don’t have much of a choice, because we’re here.”

Hermione let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a gasp and a whine as she looked up at the storefront that, to her, was synonymous not only with her doom but apparently that of her grandfather.

“Ron, please?” she said meekly.

Ron, however, looked gleeful and would not be deterred. “A bet’s a bet,” he declared, grabbing her wrist and beginning to march her up the three or so stairs that led up to the door of the tattoo parlor from the sidewalk. Harry lingered behind for an instant, watching the backs of his two friends as they waddled up the stairs, smiling as he listened to Ron debate whether he would make Hermione get a skull or a sailor’s “Mom” arrow-pierced heart, and Hermione pleading shrilly with him not to do either of those things. Watching them, Harry’s smile widened. He was lucky to have them as friends, that much he knew, despite the short time he’d spent knowing them. Why he hadn’t found them his freshman year was beyond him— but now, now that he had these wacky outings and constant bickering to enjoy, he felt overwhelmingly lucky that they had found him.

“Harry, are you coming in or what?” Ron beckoned him. He had stopped on the topmost step and was still gripping Hermione, whose face was a mask of pure, crystallized terror.

“Absolutely,” Harry said, hurrying up the steps with a little hop. “This I’ve got to see.”

Ron pushed open the door to the parlor with a little too much gusto, and Hermione cringed at the metallic sound of the chimes above the door as they tinkled with the announcement of their entrance. The front of the shop, sealing off the rest with a counter that had seen better days, was empty, the backroom separated by a beaded curtain.

“Hellooo?” Ron called into the backroom, marching right up to the counter. “Is anybody here? We bring a very eager customer!”

Hermione began to protest, but just as she did, an employee came out of the backroom to stand behind the counter. Catching a glimpse of her, Harry felt as if the wind had been knocked out of his chest: she was stunning. She was tall and slender, her toned arms visible through the ripped-off sleeves of her vintage Hole tee, with a curtain of straight orange hair pulled back into a long high ponytail. Her bright brown eyes glimmered atop a button-like nose that matched her small, round mouth perfectly, the pale fine face finished by a spattering of freckles. Even before she had spoken a single word, Harry felt the confidence coming off of her in waves, simply by how she propped her elbows up on the counter and eyed their party somewhat playfully. He was frozen to his place with the sight of her, hoping his jaw hadn’t dropped as low as it had felt in the wake of his awe.

Upon seeing her, however, Ron had had exactly the opposite reaction. “Ginny?” he said incredulously.

“What are you doing here?” the woman —Ginny— said without any greeting, returning Ron’s frown.

“I thought you weren’t working today!”

“I’m covering a shift for Demelza, she had a gyn appointment today.”

“Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have come in,” grumbled Ron. The tips of his ears were beginning to pink, a sign Harry had learned to recognize as a hint of extreme emotion in his friend.

“Well, you’re here now, so… what can I do for you?” Ginny said. “I mean, you can’t possibly be the one getting inked, Ron. You’re too much of a wimp.”

“Shut up, or I’m telling mom you got your helix pierced. That’ll make for a fun Christmas greeting when we’re back home, I’ll wager.”

Then the similarity became apparent to Harry: the freckles, the aggressive red of their hair, the same glint in their eyes… Ginny was Ron’s sister. Somehow, he didn’t know whether that was something he should feel good or bad about.

“Tattletale,” Ginny said, swatting at him. “And it’s called an industrial piercing. Not that you’d know.” Only then did she seem to remark on the rest of the party.

“Harry Potter,” she said, and Harry gulped as she crossed her muscular arms over her chest and leaned back, surveying him. “Come to get a sixth tattoo?”

“A sixth— how do you know?” Harry said, befuddled. Out of all the opening lines he would’ve expected her to use, this had not been one of them.

“You can credit the rumor mill at school,” Ginny shrugged, still eyeing him with interest. “You’re a topic of interest. Or at least among the soccer teams.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Romilda swore you had a griffin tattooed on your chest, but I told her I’d heard it was a dragon. Much more macho, I thought.”

“Thanks,” Harry said dully. What else was he supposed to say?

“Don’t mention it,” Ginny gave him a conspiratorial wink. “And if I were you, I’d find out who on the boys’ team has been giving you the eye in the shower enough to count your tats. I bet it’s Ron.”

“It’s not!” Ron said angrily, the red from his ears bleeding out onto his cheeks.

“I bet it is,” Ginny mouthed to Harry, giving him another wink. “But it’s not you?”

“Pardon?” said Harry, for whom the ‘it-is-it’s-not’ exchange had grown somewhat confusing.

“For the tattoo?” Ginny said, and Harry felt like an idiot. “It’s not you who’s getting it?”

“No, ah, actually— it’s Hermione,” Harry was knocked back into his senses as he gestured toward Hermione, who had stood, utterly baffled, throughout that whole exchange.

“Hermione Granger?” Ginny said, and Harry was almost glad when she turned her gaze away from him and toward Hermione. “As in, Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger?”

“The one and only,” Ron declared proudly, happy to be back off a topic that bothered him (teasing Ron) and back on a topic that delighted him (teasing Hermione).

“I wouldn’t have chalked you up to the tattoo type,” Ginny said.

“Oh, she’s not,” Ron said, his face lighting up as if Christmas had come early.

Ginny’s eyes darted between the dismal face of Hermione and the cheerful face of Ron, her eyebrows rising as she took it in. “Okay, I’m not going to ask about whatever this is. What am I doing on you?”

“I’m designing it,” Ron said brightly. And if Harry had thought that Hermione’s face couldn’t get more desolated, he’d been wrong.

“Christ, Hermione, what has he got on you?” Ginny said, already opening a drawer on the counter to pull out a sketchpad and a pen.

“I’m such an idiot,” Hermione grumbled.

Ron pored over the sketchpad, shielding the paper from Hermione’s eyes as he sketched. When he was done, he handed it to Ginny with a quick flick of the wrist that, much to Hermione’s dismay, ensured she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of what was on it. Ginny looked over whatever it was Ron had drawn and then looked up at her brother with a frown.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, then,” Ginny shrugged. She lifted the counter to open a gap through which Hermione could walk. “Follow me.”

Looking like a lamb led to the slaughter, Hermione looked up to heaven as if making one last, futile plea before scrunching up her nose and following Ginny through the beaded curtain to the backroom. Because yes, she hated the idea of getting a tattoo, but she hated the idea of letting Ron hold one over her even more.

Ron watched her leave delightedly, relishing in the jangle the beaded curtain made as it swallowed Ginny and Hermione into the backroom. “This is going to be good,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “Oh, this is going to be so good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister?” Harry blurted out all of a sudden. He startled himself as much as Ron when he said it, though he was glad he’d been able to pare down the question from what was actually swirling around in his head: Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister that looked like THAT?

Ron looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. It never came up.”

“You told me about every other one of your five brothers, but not the sister.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age and plays soccer.“ And is hot.

"Nope.” Ron paused and frowned. “She’s a year below us, anyway.”

“Oh, then that explains it,” Harry said sarcastically.

“It seemed like more of a second-semester-of-friendship revelation.”

“I see.”

Harry held the silence between them for a few moments more before he allowed the next question out. “She plays soccer?”

“One more of the long line of Weasleys that get athletic scholarships to Hogwarts College. Except for Percy— no, he was a disgrace, he got in on an academic grant.”

“The family disappointment, truly.”

Harry wanted to ask more about Ginny, but he held his tongue. His friendship with Ron was the most precious thing his sophomore year of college had yielded him, and he didn’t want to jeopardize it by prying further or making it seem like he had the hots for his sister. Even though he did. He suffocated that small voice at the back of his mind: he hadn’t even spoken properly to Ginny, just stood there like an idiot and let her quip freely about his tattoos— which, mind him, apparently were fodder for locker talk back at Hogwarts.

The buzz of the needle in the backroom as it started up brought Harry out of his thoughts, just in time to see a shit-eating grin appear on Ron’s face.

“I wish I could see her face right now,” he said gleefully, and Harry let himself stop thinking about Ginny to join Ron in picturing what Hermione Granger must look like seated in a tattoo parlor chair.

“It really wasn’t so bad,” admitted Hermione as they exited the tattoo parlor and went down the little steps back onto the sidewalk.

Despite his pretensions of malice, Ron’s nobility (which had never been in question, even despite his teasing) had shone through and yielded a considerably modest tattoo: a small, capital “R” in his own handwriting. Hermione, who had almost cried with relief after Ginny showed her the design, had chosen to get it on her left thigh, on the side and at the very top, right under her hipbone.

“Why did you get it there?” Harry asked as they resumed their brisk walk back to campus.

“It’s not a place you usually show. That means if a sleeve shifts or an interviewer sees, I don’t know, my ankle or something, they won’t notice it.”

“As if a tiny ‘R’ would disqualify anyone from a job, let alone you,” snorted Ron.

“Professionalism is a virtue, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, though her cheeks had gone red. “Besides, since that part of me is always covered, I’ll save myself from having to explain the story behind it to anyone that spots it.”

“Yeah, except the bloke that eventually undresses you and sees you in your panties. Try explaining what that 'R’ means to him,” said Ron. But Harry suspected Hermione wouldn’t have to: from how Ron’s eyes had widened and his gaze had lingered when Hermione had pulled down the side of her jeans ever so slightly to show them the finished product, exposing a sliver of her underwear, Harry could almost wager that Ron would be the bloke in question.

They walked in animated chatter for the rest of the way, the tattoo forgotten until Ron made a quip about Hermione now having crossed the gateway to joining a biker gang and Hermione going positively beet-red in the face with outrage. Then Harry, his hands in his pockets, simply smirked to himself and resigned himself to their bickering for the rest of the walk, knowing he was no longer needed in their exchange. Instead, he let his mind drift to Ginny. She hadn’t really spoken to him again, merely ducking out from the beaded curtain backroom and instructing Hermione on how to take care of her tattoo, saying only a general goodbye to the three of them as they exited the shop. There had been nothing in Ginny’s manner to suggest that she might be thinking of him as strongly, as irremediably, as he was of her, and yet there he was.

The main quad was mostly deserted, except for a few scattered groups of late-night library frequenters or sneaking couples, as the three of them crossed it to get to their dorm. Ron and Hermione didn’t stop arguing as they climbed the four flights up to their floor (the elevator, as usual, was broken), and only broke it off because Hermione reached her room before the boys reached theirs, slipping inside it and shutting the door before Ron had a chance to get the last word in.

“Well, that went well,” Ron shrugged as he and Harry kept walking down the hall to their room.

“You actually got her to get a tattoo,” Harry said with some admiration as they reached their door.

Ron grinned as he swiped the key card. “I may drive her crazy, but if anyone was going to get her to do something like that, it was going to be me.”

Ron pushed the door open and let them into their dorm room. He closed the door and, without taking off his coat, immediately flopped onto his bed— or, well, what could be seen of the bed under mountains of dirty or otherwise discarded clothes. Away from his mother’s chore-mongering for the first time, Ron had let himself go wild and go to the other extreme, but even Harry had to admit that the army of socks draped over the foot of his bed was beginning to smell a little stale.

“So,” Ron said, propping his head up, “no parties tonight?”

“Well, it’s a Wednesday,” Harry said.

“So what? There’s no party spirit around here?”

“Ron, it’s the last Wednesday before final exams. People are studying.”

“I wasn’t aware I was rooming with Hermione,” Ron grumbled. Harry had to admit she might have gotten to him a little. However, Ron’s irritation was short-lived, a grin appearing on his face again. “Wait, but we’re not people. We’re not studying.”

Harry surveyed the room and, despite his desire to throw in the towel for the night and have fun with Ron, felt a pang of dismay at just how much grosser it would be if they caved and did that (last time they had, they’d had a Pringle-eating contest, with devastating results for their sheets, which still had some crumbs). “No, Ron. We’re doing laundry.”

Ron groaned. “Jeez, now I’m rooming with my mother.”

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to do the laundry. I’ll do it for the both of us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go hang out with Dean and Seamus or whatever, see if you can get Hermione to do her second wild-card act of the day and make her stop studying to hang out with the guys.”

“Now I’m a man with a mission,” Ron said, perking up in delight at the prospect of teasing Hermione, or even seeing her once more that night.

“Just shove your clothes in the laundry bag before you go, won’t you? I don’t want to touch your nasty briefs more than I have to.”

Ron obliged, tossing all the clothes on and around his bed into his orange laundry bag and pulling the drawstring to close it. “I’ll update you on the Hermione thing,” he said cheerfully, hurrying out of the room and down the hall to the left to the room they’d left Hermione in.

Harry laughed to himself, wondering how long it was going to take Ron to realize why exactly he always seemed so eager to do anything Hermione-related, as he too threw his dirty clothes into a checkered drawstring laundry bag. Then, he hoisted one sack over each of his shoulders and opened the door using his ankle and leg to let himself out, his hands full with the laundry bags. He stifled a smirk as he passed Hermione’s room and heard the familiar bubbling sound of she and Ron rowing. If Harry knew her at all, he knew however much she might argue she’d be out of that room in an hour tops.

He groaned as he looked down the stairs, and rued the day he had been placed in the dorm with the shittiest elevator on campus. Resigning himself, he began to walk slowly down the poorly-lit stairs to the basement, where the laundry room was. However inconvenient this descent was, Harry was at least comforted with the knowledge that the laundry room would not be crowded, which would be the greater inconvenience once the elevator was fixed.

The basement was even dimmer, the white lights flickering and buzzing with electricity as Harry walked to the laundry room almost at the end of the hall. Sure enough, the laundry room was deserted, oddly quiet with none of the familiar hum and rattle of the machines as they worked. Harry knelt in front of a washing machine and began unloading the contents of the laundry bags into it, cramming them in so they’d fit because he sure as hell wasn’t shelling out quarters for two washers. When he’d made it all fit (which had involved the use of force to jam the door shut), he went to the shelf that held the communal detergent and poured it into the soap compartment. With that done, he dug out eight quarters from his pocket and inserted them into the washer’s slot, pressing the “Start Cycle” button when he heard the clink that let him know his quarters had been accepted. The washer rumbled slowly to life, jets of water trickling out as it began to spin in one direction and then the other, and it was a couple minutes before it was spinning at a hearty pace.

Rising from his crouch (he had always liked to watch the washing machine as it booted up to wash in earnest), Harry took the laundry bags and turned to head back upstairs, already thinking of what he might do to pass the time in the hour he had before he had to switch the clothes to the dryer.

He was so caught up in thinking of this that he didn’t see the person entering the laundry room at the same time as he was exiting, which ended in an awkward clash between them.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry blurted.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry too— Harry?”

Only then did Harry realize who he had bumped into, and only because she kept standing there did he believe it. “Ginny?”

She still wore her Hole shirt, but had discarded the ripped jeans, combat boots, and round-the-waist flannel he’d seen at the tattoo parlor. Instead, she wore frayed gray sweatpants and flip-flops, her hair pulled up from the long ponytail into a messy bun. She, however, somehow still managed to look almost unbearably beautiful. What’s happening to me?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, the only thing he could think of right that second. Spotting the laundry basket she was cradling, he added: “No laundry in your dorm?”

“No, yeah, there is one, but it’s always too crowded, it being a freshman dorm and all.” Harry nodded: his first year, he too had done entirely more laundry than he had to, and was thankful by the quarters he saved just by realizing he could wear a pair of pants more than once before they were dirty. “So I use the one here. Much quieter. I know Ron’s ID and password—”

“You do?”

“He gave it to me once so I could pick up his books from the library. And my memory’s great.” She gave him a half smile and looked beyond him at the laundry room. “Doing laundry?”

“No, I just like the ambience down here. The shitty lighting and bleach smell are really my style,” said Harry. Ginny laughed, and Harry felt a rush of pride at what was probably the first witty thing he’d ever said to her. “Need a hand?”

“I’d appreciate one, sure,” Ginny said, again smiling at him. Harry moved so she could walk into the laundry room, and watched her pick one of the washing machines that lined the wall. When she’d settled on one, he crouched down next to her and help her lob the clothes into the maw of the machine.

“Tattoo parlor let out early?” he asked as they placed the clothes inside.

“More like you guys came in really late. You were my last customers— I just cleaned up and closed after you left.”

“And you work there?”

“Sure beats a regular work-study, doesn’t it?” Ginny grinned. She tossed in a Tide pod that was left at the bottom of the basket, closed the door to the machine, and rose to find the quarters needed to activate it. “Oh, shoot, I left my wallet in my other pants—”

“I got you,” said Harry, digging for eight more quarters in his pocket. For once, he was glad of his bad habit of carrying an excess of loose change in his jeans, something Hermione already got on to him about (sometimes, like when she’d gifted him a money purse, not too subtly).

“Thanks,” Ginny said, picking the laundry basket up from the ground.

Harry listened for the telling clink and then pressed the button. The washing machine whirred to a start, but for once, Harry didn’t feel compelled to watch it boot up: instead, he turned to Ginny. “So how did you come to work there?”

“At the tat shop?” Ginny asked, hopping to sit on the top of the washer where her clothes were spinning. “My friend Luna’s dad, Xenophilius—”

“Gesundheit.”

“Shut up,” Ginny said, but the hint of a laugh was (to Harry’s satisfaction) visible on her lips again. “Anyway, Xenophilius owns the place. He set up in a college town because he knows college is the first time kids are truly free to make rash, impulse decisions.”

“Like getting a tattoo?”

“Exactly. And besides, all the college students love his New Age bullshit, they think it’s very 70s, so his shop is always full. He got a big boost after he started placing crystals in the shop windows.”

“He’s in with the kids, then?”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll be mortified. But he’s great, really. A little eccentric, but great. He knows me from when Luna and I took an art class together in 10th grade, and he’s always complimented my art, so he helped me get my tattoo artist license as soon as I turned 18 and hired me.”

“Is Luna the girl with the shaggy blond hair and the weird glasses?”

“That’s her. Though I’m surprised you didn’t know her by her bottlecap necklaces. That’s usually what people comment on.”

“Does she work there too?”

“Yeah, though not as an inker, she’s useless with a needle. She designs a big chunk of the tattoos, though, both original designs and commissions or requests.”

“That’s awesome,” Harry said. He realized that was the first time through the whole conversation that he had stopped. He’d never hesitated on what to say next: conversation with Ginny had flowed easily, naturally, and he hadn’t had to think too hard to keep it going. Still, he was a little disappointed that it had stopped. Ginny, however, seemed to share in this, because rather than say goodbye and take her leave, she opened up a new topic.

“So how long have you and Ron been friends?”

“Er– since the start of this school year, actually.”

“Really? You’d think from how he talks about you, he’d known you forever.” Harry felt a flush of happiness at hearing that Ron talked about him.

“Well, I got him for a roommate this year, and we just clicked. Then it turned out we had a lot of the same classes. And we’re both on the soccer team, so it just got better from there.”

“It seems strange that you never crossed paths your freshman year.”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, freshman year is weird for everyone. I certainly felt like I was just bouncing from one place to another. I still hang out with a lot of the guys from last year, but my friends have changed. It makes sense— the first year, everyone is trying to meet as many people as possible, as if it’s a race, but by sophomore year you know more of what you want and what you’re looking for. In a way, I’m glad I met Ron now that I’m in a more stable place, now that I know my way around the college and have a better grip on things. I have a feeling he’s a friend I’m gonna keep.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sticking around the Weasleys,” Ginny said, and Harry felt a tingle run up his spine. Was she… flirting with him? “And Hermione?”

“Oh, Hermione’s great, Ron and I would be dead by now if not for her— I don’t know how I got through a full year without her.”

“But she’s very different from you guys, isn’t she?”

“Well— on the surface, sure, but not in the things that matter. The fact that she went through with the tattoo tonight when she could’ve kicked up a fuss and bailed out tells you all you need to know.”

“So what I’m hearing is that Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger is as much of a bonehead as my brother at heart?”

“Stubborn, is the word I’d use. And only when Ron’s involved, actually.”

Ginny smirked. “Idiots. They haven’t even realized it.”

Harry knew exactly what she meant. “You think it too?”

“Oh, I’d bet on it. Ten bucks says they’re together by the end of the year.”

“Hey, did our visit by the parlor today teach you nothing about bets? They can be dangerous.”

“But I’m betting against you, aren’t I?” The way she said you made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “Fine, not ten bucks. But I’ll bet you a load of laundry, how’s that?”

“Deal,” said Harry, taking Ginny’s extended hand to shake it. The touch of her palm, with its long, slender fingers, sent warmth coursing down from his hand and the length of his arm. They let go and dropped hands, and perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but Harry thought he detected a certain reluctance in Ginny as they did.

Harry leaned against the washer, his propped elbow almost brushing up against her thigh. “How about you? How’s your first year going so far?”

Ginny winced. “As well as you’d expect, I suppose. Lots of people still behave like it’s an extension of high school, and I’m very much over that. But as things go, I’m having a blast. Being on the soccer team certainly helps.”

“Congratulations on that scholarship, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said, her wide smile revealing a row of perfect, square white teeth. “You’re on a scholarship too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. My aunt and uncle would’ve never paid a single cent for me to go to college, so it was the only way. But I’m sure they were glad to be rid of me anyway.”

“They sound like lovely people,” Ginny said sarcastically.

“I should introduce them to this Xenophilius sometime. My uncle Vernon would have a stroke just walking into that shop.”

“Well, if you ever swing by, you have an insider contact,” Ginny offered, and Harry loved the implication of something, even something as simple as an 'insider contact’, between just the two of them. “I’d be happy to arrange a meeting, especially for such esteemed patrons.”

“I might take you up on that, if I ever planned on seeing them again,” Harry said. The words came out a bit more harshly than he’d expected, and the second silence in their talk set in, brought on by the darker implications of his family situation. Desperate to break it, Harry cleared his throat and geared up to talk again: “So, do you have any tattoos?”

He was relieved to see the smile, that coy, almost lopsided smile, appear on Ginny’s face again. “Actually, no, not a single one.”

“Do you think you’d ever get one?”

Ginny thought for a second. “I might, if something meaningful enough came around. And only if I was 200% sure. But really, I feel like one tattoo would lead to another, and then I’d never stop and run out of room on my skin. So it’s more of a containment mechanism, really.”

Harry smirked. “Hm. Interesting.”

Ginny broke out onto a full grin as she watched him. “What?” she asked, but when Harry’s smirk only deepened, she shoved him playfully, her touch on his shoulders eliciting the same warm sensation as the handshake. “What, Potter, tell me! Why is it interesting?”

“I mean, since you work at a tattoo shop, and you’re wearing a Hole t-shirt, I just thought you might be the type—”

“The Hole tee? Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna gatekeep it, like you’re the type of guy who’d be like 'name three songs'—”

“No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I don’t know a lot of music by Hole. I really only know who they are because of that one Fall Out Boy song Courtney Love was featured in—”

Ginny winced. “Not Fall Out Boy, please.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Fall Out Boy?”

“Harry—”

“I know they get a lot of shit, but really, their first albums are pretty good—”

“Harry, you’ve gotta stop right here, or you’re going to make me stop finding you so attractive.”

And just like that, there it was, out in the open. Harry felt stun: he felt his mouth open to offer a witty retort, but no words came out. Because the girlish grin had evaporated from Ginny’s face and turned into a different, more mature look, her eyes smoldering slightly and her mouth slightly pouted.

“What about you?” she asked, her words slower, as if she was choosing each one individually. “If the soccer team gossip is true, I know you have five tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice having dropped as well. “Yeah, there were a few tat shops around my neighborhood where the rules were pretty lax.”

“What are they?” Ginny asked.

“The tattoos? Well, the first ones I ever got were my mom and dad’s birth and death dates, on my wrist,” Harry said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to display two small lines of numbers, in plain black ink, on his forearm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ginny said softly.

“Don’t be, I was really small when it happened. But I still wanted to pay them homage. Anyway, I’ll not bore you with my family history right now.”

“But tell me sometime?”

Harry was ecstatic at the implication that Ginny wanted to spend even more time with him. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at her. “Yeah, I will.” He moved on to the second tattoo, shifting the other sleeve up a bit to show Ginny a small black paw print in the center of his wrist. “This was my third one. My godfather was the only person my aunt and uncle would let me see while I was growing up, and even then only because he threatened them. And he had this huge, black shaggy dog, I think it was a Newfoundland, that looked almost like a bear, named Padfoot. I loved that dog, and every time I think of the happiest moments growing up, Padfoot’s in a lot of them. So when he died when I was sixteen, I got this to remember him by. It seems like a tribute to my godfather, too, so I like it doubly.”

He didn’t need encouragement from Ginny to keep going. He raised his left leg and propped it up on the washing machine by where Ginny’s legs hung, rolling his sock down a bit to show a green, line-art tuft of grass snaking above his ankle. “I got this when I got the soccer scholarship to come here. I wanted something to commemorate soccer, seeing as it’s not only, y'know, my passion, but also what got me out of that damn house for good. But I thought something like a soccer ball or a net or even the pitch outline would be too cheesy, so I got a bit of grass, y'know, as in the field…”

“Tasteful,” Ginny nodded her approval, and Harry felt newfound appreciation for that tattoo. “That’s three down, Potter.”

“I’m getting there.” Harry brought his leg down from the washer and turned his back to Ginny, taking his hand up to the nape of his neck and using it to shift the hair there upward to reveal the back of his neck where it turned into his back. “Can you see it?”

“The little lightning bolt?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the story of that?”

“That was my second one. To be honest, I was a little ink-happy after my first one, so a couple of weeks after I got it I went back and got this.”

“But why a lightning bolt?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, turning back around to face her. “I guess it was just cool.”

“Oh, very,” Ginny said, and the edge in her voice let him know she was teasing him. “That leaves us with one, then. The emblematic chest tattoo.” Again, the playfulness disappeared from her face and was replaced by that strange look, the one Harry couldn’t really decipher but really, really liked. “Tell me, then, Harry— is Romilda Vane right?”

It was only because of the suggestiveness in Ginny’s voice and the permanence of that look on her face that Harry did what he did next. His movements slow, he pulled his shirt off over his head, setting it on the washing machine right by where Ginny sat. He heard Ginny draw in a breath and it hitch in her throat as she saw him, her eyes moving over his bare skin to spot the ink blot that had brought this all on. Curled above his right pec was a small, S-shaped dragon, colored in red and gold.

“I win,” Ginny said, her voice still husky, as she extended her left hand to touch the dragon with her fingertips.

“Are you going to tell Romilda?” Harry said, his own right hand settling lightly on Ginny’s thigh.

“No, actually,” Ginny said, her palm now coming down flat on Harry’s chest. Her other hand had also drifted to him, and she had placed it on Harry’s left side, right below his ribcage, as if to hold the side of his torso. “I think I’d rather keep this moment to myself.”

And then she was leaning in and kissing him, touching her lips to his first with tentative softness that turned into a stronger, more determined fire as the kiss deepened. With both of Ginny’s hands on Harry, and one of Harry’s on Ginny’s thigh and the other supporting the weight of the kiss against the solidity of the washer, they leaned into one another. Harry’s mouth sought out Ginny’s eagerly, overcome by the fiery feeling pooling in his stomach and rising up to his throat through his chest, by the fact that everything he’d thought about on their walk back from Lovegood’s was coming true much sooner (and much better) than he’d expected. He felt Ginny’s tongue nudge at his lips and opened his mouth to let her in, engulfing more of her lips with his as he did so. Ginny kissed passionately, her tongue meeting Harry’s even as her teeth dug lightly into Harry’s lower lip, making him kiss her more deeply. With her this close, he was invaded by the flowery smell of her hair, by the soft feel of her skin, by the low humming sound she made as she kissed him. And everything was coming together, making the fire in his chest grow, and it was a good kind of burn, better than whiskey, better than anything—

The loud ding of the washer as it announced it had concluded its cycle startled them, and they pulled back from the kiss looking a little dazed, that one upbeat chime having been all they needed to bring them reluctantly back into the real world. Still Ginny didn’t take her hands off Harry, and Harry felt less than inclined to move his from her leg.

“I should, uh, switch to the dryer,” he said, the only thing that popped into his mind there.

Ginny tightened her hold around his middle and moved her hand from his chest, wrapping it around his upper back to draw him closer. “Oh, let it wait,” she said, and then she was kissing him again, and Harry was finding that the dryer could wait for hell to freeze for all he cared.

The sleepy sound of the chimes above the door didn’t even make Ginny raise her gaze from her stats study guide, which she’d pulled out to make the best of the not-too-busy lull at Lovegood’s. “We’re almost closed,” she announced to whoever had come in.

“You can’t make room for one last customer?” a familiar voice said, and only then did Ginny perk up immediately.

“Harry!” she said brightly, shutting the stats book as it became all-but-forgotten. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to add one more tattoo to the five I’ve already got,” said Harry. “Think you can give me my sixth?”

Ginny didn’t even need to say yes, just opened up the lift-up counter door and disappeared through the beaded curtain. “Flip the door sign to 'closed’ before you come through, will you?”

Harry obliged and flipped the sign before following Ginny to the backroom. He sat patiently on the tattoo chair as Ginny milled about, getting the supplies ready.

“Y'know, you never did tell me the story behind your dragon tattoo,” Ginny commented as she went through the sterilization procedure for the needles. “Seeing as we were, um, otherwise occupied…”

The memory of the kiss flooded through Harry with the same fire that he’d held in his chest ever since, the flame growing to engulf his whole body just hearing Ginny mention it. “Should I tell you now?”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“I got it as a tribute to my old headmaster back home, Albus Dumbledore. Funny old man, and incredibly cryptic, but he’s the one that first gave me the idea of applying for the scholarship and helped me get all my grades and papers in order so I could make it here. We were very close, and he had this saying that he used to tell me whenever I ended up in his office for getting into trouble— 'never tickle a sleeping dragon’, he’d say.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Harry laughed briefly and shrugged. “Hell if I know. But it was his catchphrase. So after I graduated, I wanted to get something to commemorate him, so I got the dragon from his favorite saying. He came with me and got it too.”

Ginny turned to him and eyed him quizzically. “Your headmaster got the tattoo along with you?”

“I told you he was a funny old man.”

Ginny pulled a pair of black latex gloves over her hands and rolled a wheeled office chair over to Harry, the needle in hand. “So by what I’m hearing, you only ever get tattoos of things that are extremely meaningful to you, right?”

“That’s right,” said Harry.

“So, Mr. Meaning, what’ll it be this time?”

Harry smiled. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it slightly upward, just enough to uncover his lower trunk. He pointed to a spot on the left side of his torso, right under his ribcage— right where Ginny’s hand had been, where her touch had been burned into his skin. “Right here,” he said. “I’d like a little washing machine.”

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest platonic #canon fest romantic #submission #hinny #harry x ginny #side romione

98 notes · View notes

rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Thinking Outside the Box

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Humiliation, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Mentioned/Implied Chastity Belt, Mentioned/Implied Sex Toys, Mentioned/Implied Isolation Bondage, Objectification, Choking/Breath Play, Overstimulation, Cum Play, Misuse of a Casket...At Best a Dubious Use of a Casket

Summary: Matsukawa rails you in a pretty casket. That’s it. That’s the plot.

A/N: The original request for this was a coffin, but I took some artistic liberty and changed it to a casket because a coffin just seemed SO uncomfy (I say as if I think casket sex is much comfier ROFL).

You smile as you reach over to grab the proffered bag of takeout you’d ordered, excitedly sniffing the delicious scent of a hot and freshly prepared meal wafting from the hefty paper bag before exiting the restaurant and making your way to your boyfriend’s workplace. Matsukawa has been almost radio silent the past few days and your heart warms from the fact that despite how stressed and overworked you know he is, he had still never failed to send you a good morning and a good night text every day. So when he had sent an apologetic text telling you he’d have to miss your weekly date night, you had offered to pick up dinner and bring it to him so the two of you could at least see each other and so that you could make sure he was taking care of himself in person. And you laughed at how quick he was to eagerly agree.

Ignoring the closed sign on the funeral home’s front door, you walk through the front entrance you know your boyfriend had left unlocked for you and wander through the furnished halls and rooms, noting how there’s not a single soul left in the building. Guess Matsukawa wasn’t kidding when he said the place was currently shorthanded, hence his hectic schedule. It’s eerie walking through the dark and empty corridors, passing rooms you know had housed countless corpses and grieving people and it only grows creepier as you make your way to the basement where your boyfriend currently is.

Unlike the floors above that are at least carpeted and kept aesthetically pleasing, there’s no such care for the cold and sterile basement where all the more morbid dealings happen and you nervously gulp as you walk down the poorly lit walkway, breaking into a run when you see the light peeking out from the door you know Matsukawa is working away in. And suddenly it’s really not all that scary anymore as you swing open the door and bite back a giggle from how absurd your tall boyfriend looks, scowling down at a pale lilac and silver casket like it had personally affronted him.

You’re quick to carefully place dinner on his desk before making your way towards him, sweetly pulling him down for a kiss before wrapping your arms around him and joining him in peering down at the casket, looking up at him with a questioning gaze when you see nothing out of the ordinary.

You rub soothing circles on his back as he loudly sighs, shoulder slumping and melting into your touch.

“My client doesn’t want this casket anymore since it isn’t ‘purple’ enough and I can’t return it because it’s past the grace period, so now I have to figure out what to do with this thing.”

Furrowing your brows, you pull away from him much to Matsukawa’s chagrin, running your fingers over the plush velvet lining and taking a closer look at the colors and detailing.

“Really? They don’t like it? I actually think it’s really pretty. Well, as pretty as a casket can be anyway. I didn’t even know they came in this color!”

You keep rambling on, appraising the casket, eyes so focused on the object in front of you that you don’t notice a dark and inquisitive look in your lover’s eyes as he intently studies the pretty picture you make as you bend over the lilac container, gaze roaming over your figure as arousal stirs inside of him.

How long had it been since he tasted you, touched you, ravished you?

Far too long.

Matsukawa and you have a healthy sex life. You suppose that’s a massive understatement considering the extensive “play room” he has in his apartment and the fact that you’re almost a permanent fixture inside of said dungeon. But between work and life recently, neither of you have had the time to fool around and he can feel the effects of that denial rearing inside of him as you prance around in front of him, so innocent, so clueless of the filthy thoughts racing around his mind.

You squeal, clinging tightly to Matsukawa’s shirt as you’re scooped up bridal style, unsure what’s happening, but you blankly stare in shock as you’re gently laid inside the coffin, easily letting your arms fall limply by your sides when your boyfriend brushes your grip off of him. It’s startling to suddenly be flat on your back, but you whimper as you finally come back to your senses, shuffling around a bit to find a more comfortable position, arms brushing against the firm velvety sides, reminding you exactly what position you’re in and where you’re lying. You feel trapped, vulnerable, small, defenseless as you stare up wide eyed at Matsukawa from your new position.

He’s always loomed over you, tall muscular body always overwhelming you, but like this he seems inhumanly enormous and humiliation washes over you as you feel your thighs instinctively clench, lust pooling inside of you at the familiar predatory leer he’s pinning you down with despite how wrong, how sinful it feels to be aroused in a coffin, in a funeral home, in a place of death and respect.

“You look so pretty in there. Maybe I should take this casket home with us, stuff you with a dildo and a plug, keep them inside of you with your chastity belt and keep you locked up in here when I’m not using you. Treat you like the fuck toy you really are.”

He means it half jokingly, but he can feel his cock twitch, pants instantly tightening at the way you literally whine in arousal at his words. His eyes widen briefly in surprise before relaxing and a razor sharp grin pierces his face and he almost feels giddy with sadistic glee. You always do react so adorably whenever he treats you meanly and he cruelly laughs at your lewd moan when he calls you a fucking slut as he reaches in to swiftly help you completely remove your pesky clothing.

You’re always beautiful, but there’s something breathtakingly gorgeous and forbidden about the way your bare body looks against the lilac velvet backdrop, how the coffin walls frame and trap your body, displaying you like a mindless doll. His body moves on auto pilot, hasty and sloppy as he practically dives headfirst to join you in the small space, groaning as you wantonly rub and grind against his body as soon as he’s in close proximity, hands scrambling to shove down his pants and boxers just enough for his cock to spring out.

He smirks at the way your hips arch, desperately shaking against his now freed length. And despite how tempting it is to just thrust into you, he takes his time to torment you, hovering over you just far enough that you can’t easily make contact with him, slapping your dripping pussy with his cock, laughing at how you wantonly hump the air in search for more. You really are an insatiable thing, aren’t you?

You gasp as a large calloused hand wraps around your neck, tightening more and more until your body begins to writhe for a different reason than the coiling lust inside of you, black spots dancing across your vision as you struggle to breathe. But even in the midst of your predicament you hear his words clear as day.

“When I keep you stored and locked away in the casket, I’ll make sure to drill a few tiny holes for you. Wouldn’t want my little toy to actually die on me before I get my full use out of her. It’ll still be a little hard to breathe, but you don’t mind, right? You always get so wet when I choke you.”

To emphasize his point, his free hand not gripping your neck trails down your body and you wail when he easily slides two long fingers inside of you, the slick sound of him thrusting in and out of you permeating throughout the room.

“I knew you were a slut, but this is filthy even for you. I can’t believe you’re this turned on from the idea of being my sex toy. Since you want it so bad, let me make your dreams come true, princess.”

There’s nothing gentle about the way he suddenly slams his cock inside of you, immediately bottoming out, and you scream as his balls slap against your ass, eyes rolling back in your head from the sudden feeling of being stuffed full. Your lover is well-endowed and no matter how many times he takes you, it’s a stretch, but the pleasant ache of your walls being forcefully stretched, the feeling of being used as nothing more than a rag doll only propels your lustful end closer.

Matsukawa groans as your cunt clamps down around him, almost making it impossible for him to piston in and out of you at the brutal pace he desires. It’s intoxicating, freeing, being able to just lose himself in the feeling of your tight walls and he knows he’s being rougher than he should be, hips crashing against yours with every violent thrust, but he can’t help it, finding peace in the sex-crazed haze, no thoughts of work or stress on his mind as he uses you to chase his own end. And it’s not like you mind if your loud moans are anything to go by and he keeps on thrusting in and out of you, even after you topple off that dangerously high cliff, drowning in pleasure as you convulse and cum all over his cock.

But he doesn’t slow down, relentlessly pounding into you as you ride out the pleasurable waves and you feel like little more than an animal as you sob and drool, overstimulation washing over you, pain and pleasure breaking you as you deliriously beg for more, for him to stop, unable to decide between the two as your body thrashes from the overwhelming feelings bubbling up inside of you. And all it takes is one more look at your lewd disheveled face, the evidence of how thoroughly he’s ruined you, to have Matsukawa joining you over the edge, thrusting one last time and plugging you with his cock as he paints your insides with thick white spurts.

Exhausted, he slumps down on top of your still trembling body and you welcome the warm and comforting blanket of his presence as he murmurs sweet praises into your ears, snuggling into his affectionate and tender caresses, heavy eyelids fluttering shut. But you fight the drowsiness as he softly kisses you, regret and apologies on the tip of his tongue for being so rough without warning that you wave away as you give him a dopey blissed out grin, pulling him down for another kiss before cuddling up to him once more.

He’s careful when he finally pulls out of you, making sure none of his seed spills on the coffin lining and your face heats as you obediently listen to his gentle command for you to cup your pussy and keep all of his cum inside of you as he pulls up his boxers and pants. It’s arousing and humiliating how his dark eyes attentively stare at your used and naked body as he glides your panties back up your legs, nudging your hands away from the apex of your thighs as he snugly pulls your panties up, effectively trapping the thick fluid inside of you as he lifts you out of the casket before helping you dress and ushering you over to the desk where the now lukewarm food rests.

He fondly smiles as you refuse to leave his lap, curling into a tighter ball when he urges you to sit in the second chair he’s pulled up to his desk and eat, staring at up at him with big pleading eyes as you cutely open your mouth like a baby bird begging for food from its mother. And how can he refuse when he knows that you’ll be aching and limping for days after this because of him?

So he just playfully rolls his eyes as he brings a fork full of food to your mouth, snorting at how exaggerated and dramatic your happy dance and reaction to the first bite is, alternating between feeding himself and you. But he freezes, almost dropping the fork in shock when halfway through the meal you shyly ask him if he was serious about keeping the coffin at home, dark eyes snapping towards you, searching for any hint of jest only to be met with a curious gleam, a glimmer of hope.

No one at the funeral home ever asks Matsukawa what he ended up doing with the unwanted casket and he supposes it’s for the best, mind drifting and daydreaming about the new piece of furniture now on display in his special room, currently occupied by his most prized possession.

Suddenly work can’t be over soon enough.

#haikyuu smut #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #matsukawa #matsukawa issei #haikyuu x reader

338 notes · View notes