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anantaru · 11 months

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— calling him a petname for the first time

including kazuha, zhongli, kaveh, scaramouche x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack, very sweet n cute

— kazuha + "love"

"there you go."

kazuha proceeded slowly, carefully walking towards you with a cup of sakura bloom tea in his hand— although it was getting relatively hot around inazuma city, when the evenings shadow deepened into a blue and purple, a sudden cold breeze always pelted itself on your face.

you joyfully accept, pulling up the collar of your jacket to shelter your trembling body before taking the cup in your hand, "thank you love." and you certainly said your next sentence without thinking about anything and all.

in fairness, it tumbled out of you rather easily, but the following heat on your cheeks slammed you like a harsh blow when you realized.

"oh?"

kazuha makes himself comfortable next to you, and he looked absolutely beautiful when you face him directly— from the fierce humidity that had occurred earlier on, his upper garments were faintly plastered against his chest and showing a fine outline of his muscles, but the unexpected shade on his skin, the brilliant, blinding blush on his face was not the sun's fault, no, he cannot talk himself out of that one.

it's certain that while you were surprised by the sudden nickname bumbling past your tongue, he too found himself both dumbstruck and flustered by it, wondering why you never said anything like this before.

"I like the sound of that." he admits bluntly, both bracing yourself from a current of a cold breeze washing over your backs, bursting into the heat, his lowered eyebrows and squinted eyes illustrating a motion of both excitement and understanding.

"how should i call you?" oh, well, you didn't see that one coming, did you? but you laugh at his words, then realize he was actually being serious.

"however you want to." you lean close, resting your head against his shoulder as he slants against you as well, both fluttering your lashes open to watch how the sun still casted a faint yellow light through the sky, both awaiting the coldness of the night.

"I will think of something special."

he promises, because kazuha sees nothing but uniqueness and the extraordinary compassion you fueled him with, he's so desperately in love with you, he can barely manage to calm down his heightened breathing.

in his eyes, it's a sentiment not able to be characterized by words— that's how he'd personally describe it if he had to.

— zhongli + "darling"

black, deep branches that traced the blue black heavens overhead, cascading over the darkened night as zhongli finished the last couple tedious tasks he had left before being able to go home and most importantly— finally enclose you in his arms again.

but it was quite different this night, because in a sudden haste, he perceived the sound waves of footsteps nearby, undistinguished, progressively becoming louder until an unforeseen knock on his door.

"yes?"

the man adjusts his clothing before standing up, in pair with you voicelessly opening the door, yet with a smile, one zhongli had dreamed of all day long.

"hello darling." you joke around, being quick when you step towards a pair of open arms, welcoming you right away. "hello to you too."

as a matter of fact, there were a plethora of feelings being released right now, not from you, you were quite busy squishing your face into zhongli's chest, whereas he caught sudden wind of your welcoming words he, at first, didn't note as precisely as he should've.

at the same time, he was aware you were obviously joking around— which you would do more often than not but for some reason he found himself greatly enchanted by being called something else other than zhongli or morax— which, morax was a name you both agreed on not using anymore, despite his past being a pronounced part of him, he preferred to live a life with you, in the present and near future while leaving the past behind for good.

"darling."

in a trice, zhongli addresses you in the same way, but it sounds a little silly coming out of his mouth, maybe because of the certain manner of speaking he'd use on a daily. whilst, who were you to pass up on being called that as well?

with a giggle, you decide to lean into the flavorful gamble, "yes, darling?" and you're quick with your answer, finding it rather amusing how you were able to practically render your boyfriend speechless for a second.

"no wait!" you backtrack, "it fits you more." and point out with a flourish, placing both of your hands against his warm cheeks before puckering your lips out for a quick kiss, "so i figured why not use it on you tonight."

"very well." he accepts the compliment with a gravelly laugh— you cannot even blame zhongli for acting so awkward about it since he never really had something like this before, a genuine relationship with a human.

his gaze narrowed, your sights locked on like magnets, but his entire face sparkled, with the skin on his eyes a little wrinkled round and under them, and with the mouth a little drawn back at the corners he indicates a smile, voice low and ethereal.

it's almost as if with nothing but this, you managed to make his entire day all the more heavenly and fulfilled.

— kaveh + "sweetheart"

what were the specific chances of losing your house keys three damn times this passing week?

kaveh was truly embarrassed about it and wondered if someone else had been playing tricks on him but ultimately decided to brush it off for once in his life, because truthfully— he was tired, to a higher standard exhausted, of walking around sumeru city aimlessly to reach your home now, where he hoped he could stay the night.

to make things worse, it was pouring outside, violently raining and by the end of his designated route, kaveh was thoroughly swamped and so were a couple unfinished drawings he had originally tugged into an envelope, cursing underneath the gloominess of his breathing at the entire moment.

you open the door for your boyfriend, soused in worry, immediately being as understanding and careful as possible, you knew him after all and frankly, it was written all across his face on how awful his day must've went— his eyes lowed as he watched the ground when you took his hand to guide him into your bedroom, so he could change into the spare clothes he left behind at your place a couple weeks ago.

"i cannot do this anymore!" he curses, freeing himself from his drenched garments, the dramatic mannerism and tone was like written out of a dramatic book, fully illustrated and out in the open, and if you didn't know any better you certainly would've answered with a light hearted giggle.

"it's alright." you smile, "you're home now sweetheart."

and follow up your sentence with taking a warm, fuzzy blanket from a drawer, easily slipping it over his shaking body. but hold on— just a second if he may, did kaveh hear that correctly right now?

"what?" his eyes were glowing with a perception of both excitement and being utterly flustered, forgetting he was sad just a second ago.

"what did you just call me?"

it's done now, he can die a happy man after that encounter.

he was observing himself and noticed how this single word shoot an electric pulse through his bones and limbs, he was on fire, truly, already casting aside and putting away the awful day he had prior, it's like it never happened now.

"sweetheart?" you feign innocence, pulling yourself into your boyfriends chest before propping your chin up to face the blonde, the sweetness and compassion he desperately craved from you spiraling inwardly, "do you like how that sounds?"

"i do." kaveh wraps his arms around your body, sighing deeply in his chest, "i really really do."

and silently hopes you'd start calling him that now, because for some reason, hearing you address him in that way, with that familiar soft flutter and how it idly left your lips lingered in his thoughts, tranquilizing him tenderly.

— scaramouche + "baby"

"ugh."

"stop moving, kuni!"

bothersome, or quite tiresome, two words that would perfectly describe the situation you were a part of right now.

if anything would be said or done, scaramouche should be more than delighted, thankful to his very core, that you were gracefully helping him out with his eyeliner on this fine morning— well, if he wouldn't act like a little diva that is.

"i‘m not moving!" he frowns and rolls his eyes at you, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "but you‘re poking my eye on purpose, admit it!"

"i'm not doing it on purpose!" you swiftly bark back and don't give him a single chance to actively engage in a rebuttal, silently inching a little into him until fully seated on his lap, "you're just making it very hard."

okay, he might've been a little too brass today, but you can't really blame him since he had just woken up, his sleepy image was daubed all over him— not just the low-toned shape of his eyes, it's also about the difficulty of staying awake while you're helping him out, because most definitely was sleeping in sounding a lot more appetizing then going to work right after you're done.

maybe, only maybe, dear scaramouche over there did it on purpose, sabotaging your ways of aid, to have you on his lap a little longer. but it's not his fault so don't even dare saying that, you're so comfy when you practically liquefy into his touch and he cannot stop inching you closer to him.

"i'm almost done." you remind him of his current, active fear and he attempts to yank his head to the other side when you swiftly pulled him back to where you wanted him to be.

you whine loudly, "baby!" and quickly lick your thumb to get rid of the expelled color on his face, "i almost messed it up completely!"

"uh—"

he glimmers a little at the name, but tries to keep it low-key if only his cheeks wouldn't decide to blush right now, in the most inconvenient time, "i— I'm sorry."

you laugh before raising a brow, "damn, i never heard you apologize before." and finish up the last line to his eyeliner, yet staying on his lap before sneakily running your hands over the back of his neck to slant yourself into him.

"i never heard you say baby before either." he admits with a giant smirk, but in his usual fashion, with a little snark on the side as well.

"you're right!" you say all giddy, placing a subdued kiss on his lips, "i should use it more often."

in accessory to your kiss, your eyes sparkled vividly before showing the kindness and benevolence he fell in love with.

now, you had suddenly understood what it was about, that in reality kuni only wanted to spend a little bit more time with you before it was impassable to leave for work.

straightaway, scaramouche can't wait for the next time you'll call him that, the little word he already seems to fancy.

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haxkattpress · 29 days

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Away Childish Things by @letteredlettered

I'm so excited to finally share this bind of one of my all time favorite fics! Thanks to lettered's generous binding policy, I decided to go all out.

This bind has a foiled cover and spine, hand sewn silk endbands, and thirteen custom chapter headers. It was also my first time rounding and backing.

You can find more pictures and information about my process under the cut.

For the cover and spine, I recreated the design of Beasts of the Field (1902) by William J. Long.

I wanted something that captured both the whimsy and maturity of the story, and this cover fit my vision perfectly. It also gave me the opportunity to recreate another antique cover from the public domain.

Unfortunately, the design was a bit complicated for my Cameo 4, so I was unable to fill the lines in. You can also tell that the foil did not adhere properly near the bottom, so the flowers are lighter than I would like them to be.

Because of the trouble I was having with my Cameo, I decided to foil the spine by hand. I deeply regretted this decision two hours later, and it took me four hours to finish foiling. My wrist still hurts!

Sewing the headbands was my absolute favorite part. I was encouraged to try them by a lovely binder on Instagram, and I ended up completely addicted. I splurged on some fancy silk thread so I could give this fic the royal treatment it deserves! I think they look like beautiful little caterpillars.

As for the rounding and backing... I'm not going to talk about it. Nightmare. Lots of nervous sweating. Emotional agony. Next topic!

I worked on the typeset back at the beginning of January when I had some time off, and it took me a solid week of obsessive editing to complete. My sister suggested that I use Harry and Draco's patronuses for the chapter art, but there unfortunately aren't many public domain illustrations of deer and foxes playing together.

It was at that point that I also decided that I wanted the animals to match the respective ages of Harry and Draco and the tone of each chapter. For the 13 chapters I ended up editing 25 different illustrations together. The bulk of these are taken from vintage versions of Bambi and Reynard the Fox. It's possible that a few stock images from 1980s nature books snuck in there, but I did my best to keep them all pre 1925.

I'm not a skilled editor, and some of these are worse than others, but I'm quite proud of what I was able to cobble together. On the final page I put a young fox and deer running off together. I wanted it to seem like Harry and Draco's inner children had been freed.

I'm a bit embarrassed to say that this bind took me about 4-5 months to complete! I started in early January, and went wildly off track learning how to round, back, and sew headbands. And then I was hit by some killer creative block that only lifted last week!

There are still many things I could improve on, but I'm so proud of everything that I learned and accomplished with this bind! A big thank you to lettered for inspiring me with such a wonderful story. <3

#book binding #fic binding #fanbinding #fanfic binding #drarry #away childish things #harry x draco #my binds

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eyrieofsynapses · 5 months

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why Aurora's art is genius

It's break for me, and I've been meaning to sit down and read the Aurora webcomic (https://comicaurora.com/, @comicaurora on Tumblr) for quite a bit. So I did that over the last few days.

And… y'know. I can't actually say "I should've read this earlier," because otherwise I would've been up at 2:30-3am when I had responsibilities in the morning and I couldn't have properly enjoyed it, but. Holy shit guys THIS COMIC.

I intended to just do a generalized "hello this is all the things I love about this story," and I wrote a paragraph or two about art style. …and then another. And another. And I realized I needed to actually reference things so I would stop being too vague. I was reading the comic on my tablet or phone, because I wanted to stay curled up in my chair, but I type at a big monitor and so I saw more details… aaaaaand it turned into its own giant-ass post.

SO. Enjoy a few thousand words of me nerding out about this insanely cool art style and how fucking gorgeous this comic is? (There are screenshots, I promise it isn't just a wall of text.) In my defense, I just spent two semesters in graphic design classes focusing on the Adobe Suite, so… I get to be a nerd about pretty things…???

All positive feedback btw! No downers here. <3

---

I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the beautiful, simple stylistic method of drawing characters and figures. It is absolutely stunning and effortless and utterly graceful—it is so hard to capture the sheer beauty and fluidity of the human form in such a fashion. Even a simple outline of a character feels dynamic! It's gorgeous!

Though I do have a love-hate relationship with this, because my artistic side looks at that lovely simplicity, goes "I CAN DO THAT!" and then I sit down and go to the paper and realize that no, in fact, I cannot do that yet, because that simplicity is born of a hell of a lot of practice and understanding of bodies and actually is really hard to do. It's a very developed style that only looks simple because the artist knows what they're doing. The human body is hard to pull off, and this comic does so beautifully and makes it look effortless.

Also: line weight line weight line weight. It's especially important in simplified shapes and figures like this, and hoo boy is it used excellently. It's especially apparent the newer the pages get—I love watching that improvement over time—but with simpler figures and lines, you get nice light lines to emphasize both smaller details, like in the draping of clothing and the curls of hair—which, hello, yes—and thicker lines to emphasize bigger and more important details and silhouettes. It's the sort of thing that's essential to most illustrations, but I wanted to make a note of it because it's so vital to this art style.

THE USE OF LAYER BLENDING MODES OH MY GODS. (...uhhh, apologies to the people who don't know what that means, it's a digital art program thing? This article explains it for beginners.)

Bear with me, I just finished my second Photoshop course, I spent months and months working on projects with this shit so I see the genius use of Screen and/or its siblings (of which there are many—if I say "Screen" here, assume I mean the entire umbrella of Screen blending modes and possibly Overlay) and go nuts, but seriously it's so clever and also fucking gorgeous:

Firstly: the use of screened-on sound effect words over an action? A "CRACK" written over a branch and then put on Screen in glowy green so that it's subtle enough that it doesn't disrupt the visual flow, but still sticks out enough to make itself heard? Little "scritches" that are transparent where they're laid on without outlines to emphasize the sound without disrupting the underlying image? FUCK YES. I haven't seen this done literally anywhere else—granted, I haven't read a massive amount of comics, but I've read enough—and it is so clever and I adore it. Examples:

Secondly: The beautiful lighting effects. The curling leaves, all the magic, the various glowing eyes, the fog, the way it's all so vividly colored but doesn't burn your eyeballs out—a balance that's way harder to achieve than you'd think—and the soft glows around them, eeeee it's so pretty so pretty SO PRETTY. Not sure if some of these are Outer/Inner Glow/Shadow layer effects or if it's entirely hand-drawn, but major kudos either way; I can see the beautiful use of blending modes and I SALUTE YOUR GENIUS.

I keep looking at some of this stuff and go "is that a layer effect or is it done by hand?" Because you can make some similar things with the Satin layer effect in Photoshop (I don't know if other programs have this? I'm gonna have to find out since I won't have access to PS for much longer ;-;) that resembles some of the swirly inner bits on some of the lit effects, but I'm not sure if it is that or not. Or you could mask over textures? There's... many ways to do it.

If done by hand: oh my gods the patience, how. If done with layer effects: really clever work that knows how to stop said effects from looking wonky, because ugh those things get temperamental. If done with a layer of texture that's been masked over: very, very good masking work. No matter the method, pretty shimmers and swirly bits inside the bigger pretty swirls!

Next: The way color contrast is used! I will never be over the glowy green-on-black Primordial Life vibes when Alinua gets dropped into that… unconscious space?? with Life, for example, and the sharp contrast of vines and crack and branches and leaves against pitch black is just visually stunning. The way the roots sink into the ground and the three-dimensional sensation of it is particularly badass here:

Friggin. How does this imply depth like that. HOW. IT'S SO FREAKING COOL.

A huge point here is also color language and use! Everybody has their own particular shade, generally matching their eyes, magic, and personality, and I adore how this is used to make it clear who's talking or who's doing an action. That was especially apparent to me with Dainix and Falst in the caves—their colors are both fairly warm, but quite distinct, and I love how this clarifies who's doing what in panels with a lot of action from both of them. There is a particular bit that stuck out to me, so I dug up the panels (see this page and the following one https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-30/):

(Gods it looks even prettier now that I put it against a plain background. Also, appreciation to Falst for managing a bridal-carry midair, damn.)

The way that their colors MERGE here! And the immense attention to detail in doing so—Dainix is higher up than Falst is in the first panel, so Dainix's orange fades into Falst's orange at the base. The next panel has gold up top and orange on bottom; we can't really tell in that panel where each of them are, but that's carried over to the next panel—

—where we now see that Falst's position is raised above Dainix's due to the way he's carrying him. (Points for continuity!) And, of course, we see the little "huffs" flowing from orange to yellow over their heads (where Dainix's head is higher than Falst's) to merge the sound of their breathing, which is absurdly clever because it emphasizes to the viewer how we hear two sets of huffing overlaying each other, not one. Absolutely brilliant.

(A few other notes of appreciation to that panel: beautiful glows around them, the sparks, the jagged silhouette of the spider legs, the lovely colors that have no right to make the area around a spider corpse that pretty, the excellent texturing on the cave walls plus perspective, the way Falst's movements imply Dainix's hefty weight, the natural posing of the characters, their on-point expressions that convey exactly how fuckin terrifying everything is right now, the slight glows to their eyes, and also they're just handsome boys <3)

Next up: Rain!!!! So well done! It's subtle enough that it never ever disrupts the impact of the focal point, but evident enough you can tell! And more importantly: THE MIST OFF THE CHARACTERS. Rain does this irl, it has that little vapor that comes off you and makes that little misty effect that plays with lighting, it's so cool-looking and here it's used to such pretty effect!

One of the panel captions says something about it blurring out all the injuries on the characters but like THAT AIN'T TOO BIG OF A PROBLEM when it gets across the environmental vibes, and also that'd be how it would look in real life too so like… outside viewer's angle is the same as the characters', mostly? my point is: that's the environment!!! that's the vibes, that's the feel! It gets it across and it does so in the most pretty way possible!

And another thing re: rain, the use of it to establish perspective, particularly in panels like this—

—where we can tell we're looking down at Tynan due to the perspective on the rain and where it's pointing. Excellent. (Also, kudos for looking down and emphasizing how Tynan's losing his advantage—lovely use of visual storytelling.)

Additionally, the misting here:

We see it most heavily in the leftmost panel, where it's quite foggy as you would expect in a rainstorm, especially in an environment with a lot of heat, but it's also lightly powdered on in the following two panels and tends to follow light sources, which makes complete sense given how light bounces off particles in the air.

A major point of strength in these too is a thorough understanding of lighting, like rim lighting, the various hues and shades, and an intricate understanding of how light bounces off surfaces even when they're in shadow (we'll see a faint glow in spots where characters are half in shadow, but that's how it would work in real life, because of how light bounces around).

Bringing some of these points together: the fluidity of the lines in magic, and the way simple glowing lines are used to emphasize motion and the magic itself, is deeply clever. I'm basically pulling at random from panels and there's definitely even better examples, but here's one (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-16-33/):

First panel, listed in numbers because these build on each other:

The tension of the lines in Tess's magic here. This works on a couple levels: first, the way she's holding her fists, as if she's pulling a rope taut.

The way there's one primary line, emphasizing the rope feeling, accompanied by smaller ones.

The additional lines starbursting around her hands, to indicate the energy crackling in her hands and how she's doing a good bit more than just holding it. (That combined with the fists suggests some tension to the magic, too.) Also the variations in brightness, a feature you'll find in actual lightning. :D Additional kudos for how the lightning sparks and breaks off the metal of the sword.

A handful of miscellaneous notes on the second panel:

The reflection of the flames in Erin's typically dark blue eyes (which bears a remarkable resemblance to Dainix, incidentally—almost a thematic sort of parallel given Erin's using the same magic Dainix specializes in?)

The flowing of fabric in the wind and associated variation in the lineart

The way Erin's tattoos interact with the fire he's pulling to his hand

The way the rain overlays some of the fainter areas of fire (attention! to! detail! hell yeah!)

I could go on. I won't because this is a lot of writing already.

Third panel gets paragraphs, not bullets:

Erin's giant-ass "FWOOM" of fire there, and the way the outline of the word is puffy-edged and gradated to feel almost three-dimensional, plus once again using Screen or a variation on it so that the stars show up in the background. All this against that stunning plume of fire, which ripples and sparks so gorgeously, and the ending "om" of the onomatopoeia is emphasized incredibly brightly against that, adding to the punch of it and making the plume feel even brighter.

Also, once again, rain helping establish perspective, especially in how it's very angular in the left side of the panel and then slowly becomes more like a point to the right to indicate it's falling directly down on the viewer. Add in the bright, beautiful glow effects, fainter but no less important black lines beneath them to emphasize the sky and smoke and the like, and the stunningly beautiful lighting and gradated glows surrounding Erin plus the lightning jagging up at him from below, and you get one hell of an impactful panel right there. (And there is definitely more in there I could break down, this is just a lot already.)

And in general: The colors in this? Incredible. The blues and purples and oranges and golds compliment so well, and it's all so rich.

Like, seriously, just throughout the whole comic, the use of gradients, blending modes, color balance and hues, all the things, all the things, it makes for the most beautiful effects and glows and such a rich environment. There's a very distinct style to this comic in its simplified backgrounds (which I recognize are done partly because it's way easier and also backgrounds are so time-consuming dear gods but lemme say this) and vivid, smoothly drawn characters; the simplicity lets them come to the front and gives room for those beautiful, richly saturated focal points, letting the stylized designs of the magic and characters shine. The use of distinct silhouettes is insanely good. Honestly, complex backgrounds might run the risk of making everything too visually busy in this case. It's just, augh, so GORGEOUS.

Another bit, take a look at this page (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-15-28/):

It's not quite as evident here as it is in the next page, but this one does some other fun things so I'm grabbing it. Points:

Once again, using different colors to represent different character actions. The "WHAM" of Kendal hitting the ground is caused by Dainix's force, so it's orange (and kudos for doubling the word over to add a shake effect). But we see blue layered underneath, which could be an environmental choice, but might also be because it's Kendal, whose color is blue.

And speaking off, take a look at the right-most panel on top, where Kendal grabs the spear: his motion is, again, illustrated in bright blue, versus the atmospheric screened-on orange lines that point toward him around the whole panel (I'm sure these have a name, I think they might be more of a manga thing though and the only experience I have in manga is reading a bit of Fullmetal Alchemist). Those lines emphasize the weight of the spear being shoved at him, and their color tells us Dainix is responsible for it.

One of my all-time favorite effects in this comic is the way cracks manifest across Dainix's body to represent when he starts to lose control; it is utterly gorgeous and wonderfully thematic. These are more evident in the page before and after this one, but you get a decent idea here. I love the way they glow softly, the way the fire juuuust flickers through at the start and then becomes more evident over time, and the cracks feel so realistic, like his skin is made of pottery. Additional points for how fire begins to creep into his hair.

A small detail that's generally consistent across the comic, but which I want to make note of here because you can see it pretty well: Kendal's eyes glow about the same as the jewel in his sword, mirroring his connection to said sword and calling back to how the jewel became Vash's eye temporarily and thus was once Kendal's eye. You can always see this connection (though there might be some spots where this also changes in a symbolic manner; I went through it quickly on the first time around, so I'll pay more attention when I inevitably reread this), where Kendal's always got that little shine of blue in his eyes the same as the jewel. It's a beautiful visual parallel that encourages the reader to subconsciously link them together, especially since the lines used to illustrate character movements typically mirror their eye color. It's an extension of Kendal.

Did I mention how ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL the colors in this are?

Also, the mythological/legend-type scenes are illustrated in familiar style often used for that type of story, a simple and heavily symbolic two-dimensional cave-painting-like look. They are absolutely beautiful on many levels, employing simple, lovely gradients, slightly rougher and thicker lineart that is nonetheless smoothly beautiful, and working with clear silhouettes (a major strength of this art style, but also a strength in the comic overall). But in particular, I wanted to call attention to a particular thing (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-12-4/):

The flowing symbolic lineart surrounding each character. This is actually quite consistent across characters—see also Life's typical lines and how they curl:

What's particularly interesting here is how these symbols are often similar, but not the same. Vash's lines are always smooth, clean curls, often playing off each other and echoing one another like ripples in a pond. You'd think they'd look too similar to Life's—but they don't. Life's curl like vines, and they remain connected; where one curve might echo another but exist entirely detached from each other in Vash's, Life's lines still remain wound together, because vines are continuous and don't float around. :P

Tahraim's are less continuous, often breaking up with significantly smaller bits and pieces floating around like—of course—sparks, and come to sharper points. These are also constants: we see the vines repeated over and over in Alinua's dreams of Life, and the echoing ripples of Vash are consistent wherever we encounter him. Kendal's dream of the ghost citizens of the city of Vash in the last few chapters is filled with these rippling, echoing patterns, to beautiful effect (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-14/):

They ripple and spiral, often in long, sinuous curves, with smooth elegance. It reminds me a great deal of images of space and sine waves and the like. This establishes a definite feel to these different characters and their magic. And the thing is, that's not something that had to be done—the colors are good at emphasizing who's who. But it was done, and it adds a whole other dimension to the story. Whenever you're in a deity's domain, you know whose it is no matter the color.

Regarding that shape language, I wanted to make another note, too—Vash is sometimes described as chaotic and doing what he likes, which is interesting to me, because smooth, elegant curves and the color blue aren't generally associated with chaos. So while Vash might behave like that on the surface, I'm guessing he's got a lot more going on underneath; he's probably much more intentional in his actions than you'd think at a glance, and he is certainly quite caring with his city. The other thing is that this suits Kendal perfectly. He's a paragon character; he is kind, virtuous, and self-sacrificing, and often we see him aiming to calm others and keep them safe. Blue is such a good color for him. There is… probably more to this, but I'm not deep enough in yet to say.

And here's the thing: I'm only scratching the surface. There is so much more here I'm not covering (color palettes! outfits! character design! environment! the deities! so much more!) and a lot more I can't cover, because I don't have the experience; this is me as a hobbyist artist who happened to take a couple design classes because I wanted to. The art style to this comic is so clever and creative and beautiful, though, I just had to go off about it. <3

...brownie points for getting all the way down here? Have a cookie.

#aurora comic #aurora webcomic #comicaurora #art analysis #...I hope those are the right tags???#new fandom new tagging practices to learn ig #much thanks for something to read while I try to rest my wrists. carpal tunnel BAD. (ignore that I wrote this I've got braces ok it's fine)#anyway! I HAVE. MANY MORE THOUGHTS. ON THE STORY ITSELF. THIS LOVELY STORY #also a collection of reactions to a chunk of the comic before I hit the point where I was too busy reading to write anything down #idk how to format those tho #...yeet them into one post...???#eh I usually don't go off this much these days but this seems like a smaller tight-knit fandom so... might as well help build it?#and I have a little more time thanks to break so #oh yes also shoutout to my insanely awesome professor for teaching me all the technical stuff from this he is LOVELY #made an incredibly complex program into something comprehensible <3 #synapse talks

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spiderwcd · 4 months

Text

siren lake c.b.

pairing: colby brock x mermaid/siren ! f ! reader

summary: they come to explore the haunted lake, but maybe it wasn't just haunted.

warning(s): mentions of deaths, near drowning, profanity, near-death experiences mystical creatures, etc.

w.c.: 3.3k

a/n: guys, please don't hate me!! i've been away so long, ive been having writer's block and then i've been so busy with my life and having the worst luck ever (they weren't wrong about that fanfic writer curse) but trust me! i have a lot of works saved, slowly plowing through them.

images from pinterest !

“Dude,” Sam abruptly jumped from his seat on the couch, carrying his laptop over to Colby. “Look at this.” He pointed the screen towards him, revealing his discovery.

Colby curiously averted his gaze over to the screen, reading the article that was pulled up. “W-What am I looking at here, Sam?” he inquired, raising a brow towards him.

“Well, someone sent me this article about this supposedly haunted lake,” Sam began, plopping himself next to Colby on the couch. “They say that these entities are haunting it, causing a bunch of disappearances.” He finally added.

Taking a moment, Colby glanced at the article, contemplating. “I mean, it’s worth a shot,” Colby muttered, facing towards his best friend.

In due time, they arrived in Michigan, the Land of the Lakes. Colby had been studying about this mysterious lake, finding holes in different stories. It was something unknown to him, unable to find an obvious answer here.

“Okay, so as we know,” Sam began, looking over at Colby from the driver’s seat. “This lake is in the middle of the forest, near some campsites.” Sam clarified.

Colby nodded, understanding his statement, “Don’t forget to mention the disappearances, also about the spirit that drowns first in the 80s.” He pointed out.

Sam nodded in return, pursing his lips as he attempted to dig further into his thoughts. “Oh, what about the mermaid theory?” Sam suddenly blurted out.

Colby scoffed, looking over at Sam with a slight grimace. “Seriously? Mermaids?” Colby murmured, flipping through his notebook. “I mean, sure, it’s a fun idea to entertain, but we both know that’s not real.”

“Oh hey, come on,” Sam nudged Colby, still steering the wheel of the car. “It’s nice to have an imagination here, Colby.” Sam chuckled, patting him on the shoulder before placing both hands on the wheel.

Colby shook his head, smiling as he studied the pages of research. He examined the illustration on the page, deep into toying with the idea. He shook his head once more, closing the page as he thought about the ridiculous idea.

The car came to a halt, prompting Colby to face upward to the scene. His jaw flew open in amazement, admiring the large forest surrounding them. The middle showcased a lake larger than he had envisioned.

“Woah,” Colby muttered, exiting the car to get a better view. “Did not expect it to be so gorgeous out here.”

“Even if this comes to a dead end, at least we’ll have a good time in the middle of the forest.” Sam joked.

“You must be Sam and Colby,” they had suddenly heard, causing them to avert their gaze over to the voice. “Hi, I’m Ben.” The man waved over towards the two.

The duo made their way towards their host, introducing each other.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ben had asked them.

“Oh yes,” Sam nodded, glancing around once again. “Very nice, exceeded our expectations.”

“That’s great,” Ben chuckled, leading the two towards the cabin that peered over the ominous lake. “Cause the two of you will be staying here, so get used to it.”

Sam and Colby glance at each other for a moment, following Ben towards the door. As they entered, they studied the room. It wasn’t one of their Airbnbs, but it was still nice, grateful for a roof and not a tent.

Colby’s eyes slowly averted towards the window, as if an irresistible force was pulling him towards the lake. But swiftly pulled away at the pat on his shoulder, facing towards the grasp.

“Isn’t that right, Colby?” Sam asked him, confusing Colby.

“Huh? Oh yeah, for sure.” Colby randomly replied, going along with Sam’s story.

“Alright, I’ll let ya get to it then,” Ben sighed, making his way toward the entrance. “I’ll come back in the morning to check on y’all. Remember to check the list I left every night.” He pointed out.

Once Ben had exited the campground, leaving the duo alone in the woods. Colby let out a breath as he planted himself onto one bed, rubbing his eyes slightly.

“Well, what did you want to start with?” Sam asked, plopping next to him. “Did you want to do the intro or do more research?”

Colby peaked from his hands, looking towards Sam. “Uh, let’s just figure out our intro and record that, followed by more research,” he answered.

They didn’t waste any time, every minute counted for them. Considering the way the sun crept through the blinds and curtains, the time was very limited. Colby’s fingers started to cramp from the various writing and typing, along with the migraine sneaking in.

“That’s it,” Colby blurted, tossing the pencil down. “I think it’s time to throw the towel. I need a break.”

“Me too,” Sam sighed. “If I have to write one more thing, my head might explode.”

Colby dryly chuckled, planting himself onto his feet. “I’m just gonna go out onto the pier. I need some time alone.”

He opened the door, letting the cool wind hit his face. He quickly closed the door, walking towards the wooden structure. Colby let out a groan as he crossed his legs, overlooking the large body of water. He ran his hand through his hair, attempting to relax as he listened to the soft music of the forest.

But he lost his train of thought, a splash ringing out. Colby curiously raised his brow, searching for the source of the ripple of water. He focused in on one area, unable to take his eyes off.

Colby soon got interrupted by a ringing from his pocket, pulling his eyes away from the lake. He picked himself off the wobbling planks, retrieving his phone.

“Hello?” he answered, still glancing over towards the ominous lake.

“Colby, get in here,” Sam waved over from the window, still on the line. “I found something.”

Colby hung up the phone call, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. As he entered the cabin, Sam quickly dashed his way and shoved his laptop into Colby’s face.

“Look.” Sam smugly grinned.

Colby looked at his best friend before looking back towards the screen.

‘Sirens in Michigan?’

“Sam,” Colby tried to protest, but Sam was persistent.

“Listen, we hunt ghosts. How much different can this be?” Sam scoffed, attempting to change Colby’s mind. “Can you at least be open to the idea?”

Colby looked at Sam with a blank look, crossing his arms. “Fine, we can be open to the idea, but I’m still skeptical about it all.”

The next day arrived, prompting the boys to prepare their video at last. Colby stood at the edge of the lake, awaiting Sam to finish setting up the camera. Sam gave Colby a thumbs up, signaling everything was ready.

“Hey, what’s up guys!” Sam greeted. “It’s Sam and Colby, and we’re here at the Siren Lake in Michigan!” he panned the camera towards the lake and treeline.

“We’re here to investigate the various spirits that might be roaming the lake,” Colby began explaining. “But also, as the name suggests, there might be more than just spirits here.”

“That’s right guys,” Sam chimed in. “There are supposedly sirens, aka mermaids, in this very lake.”

“If you ask me, I don’t think there’s such a thing,” Colby raised his hands in defense, causing Sam to shake his head. “Listen, ghosts and demons have a lot of proof and we’ve seen them, but mermaids?” Colby scoffed.

“I think you’ll say differently later,” Sam smirked. “Cause one of us is gonna have to go onto the pier and talk to the said spirits or whatever roams that lake.”

The two continued to talk, making their way around the lake for a bit.

“Okay, so the history of this lake begins with a family, as most do,” Sam began. “The Bradson family had owned this lake from generations ago until the 80s.”

“The only reason they had sold it off is because they used to run a camp here until odd drownings had appeared,” Colby added. “And all of them were all men.”

“That doesn’t give us a lot of comfort, does it now?” Sam joked, nervously laughing into the camera.

“Our guide and the owner of the campgrounds will be here in a moment to explain more in-depth,” Colby explained. “He knows more than we do.”

Just in time, a car pulled back onto the dirt road. Ben exited his car, greeting the boys once more.

“Perfect timing,” Sam laughed. “We just began introducing you.”

Ben chuckled, making his way towards the two, “Almost as if I was summoned here.” He joked.

Sam turned on his camera, recording once more, “So actually, as we closed our camera, our guide just pulled in.” He chuckled, pointing it towards Ben. “Say hello to Ben.” He introduced

“Alright, Ben, we just want to know what you know,” Colby started, crossing his arms slightly. “Tell us your secrets.”

“As you must already know, this used to be a campground until the 80s,” Ben began. “Do you know why they call it Siren Lake?” He asked the two.

Sam glanced over to Colby with a grin, causing Colby to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, we might have an idea,” Sam answered.

“Well, people started talking about how the victims were all men,” Ben pointed out. “A rumor started that they were ‘seduced’ over to the water and murdered by a siren.”

“Really? Sirens?” Colby scoffed, laughing a bit.

“Yep, since the lake connects to a river that leads to the ocean, they assumed that something supernatural might cause of this.” Ben chuckled at Colby’s reaction.

“Can you tell Colby is a skeptic about mermaids?” Sam teased.

“Oh, that’s alright, he won’t be by the end of the trip,” Ben replied.

While heading to the pier, Ben entertained the group with tales of the profound history and personal experiences of different individuals.

“So tell us, have you seen the siren?” Sam asked curiously.

Ben thought about it for a moment. “You know, I have,” he nodded. “I was letting a group of guys stay here for the night. I went to check on them and they were freaking out about their friend seeing something. So I went to check out the lake because I figured they saw something and freaked out. But when I stopped at the edge of the pier, I saw something peeking at me through the water.”

“Woah, that’s so weird,” Sam muttered. “What did you do?”

“Well, I thought it was someone playing some joke, so I yelled at them to get out of the water and it was private property.” Ben shrugged. “But they just stared at me for a second so I pointed my flashlight over, which made them go underwater and splash away, and I saw bluish silver scales on the biggest fish's tail I’ve ever seen.”

Sam looked over to Colby, a smug look on his face as if he was saying ‘told you so’.

“I’d be careful, boys,” Ben warned. “Even you, Colby, sirens are no joke. They will lure you and drown you. Just be careful.”

“Thank you, Ben.” Sam thanked him, shaking his hand before letting him return to his daily work.

Sam turned over to Colby, “I told you, what happened to having an open mind?”

“I’m trying, but mermaids? It’s hard to wrap my head around.” Colby responded. “I already have enough of ghosts and demons.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his best friend. “Okay, let’s just talk about the spirits. Surely you’ll keep an open mind about that.” He patted Colby on the back, pulling out the various equipment.

Sam turned on the rem pod, placing it down onto the pier, followed by the Alice box.

“Alright guys, so we’re now gonna talk about the spirits,” Sam sighed. “There were about 3 guys that drowned. They weren’t even able to recover any of their bodies because of how deep this lake is.”

“Yeah, so their bodies could still be down there,” Colby added, shivering at the thought of it.

“There’ are a lot of theories about how these guys died, most of them saying they were drunk or under the influence. There’s also speculation that they died from how cold the water was, causing hypothermia, but of course, there’s the siren theory,” Sam stated. “Sirens, though, tend to just kill to kill. It’s said that it killed them because they were terrible guys.”

“They were awful, apparently having a reputation of being sleazy and gross,” Colby added, having a grimace grow on his face at the idea. “But we’ll try to find out through the spirit box and maybe the Estes method.”

“I think since I’m more open-minded, unlike my colleague,” Sam teased, pointing the camera towards Colby who shook his head. “I’m gonna be doing the Estes method.”

They quickly turned on the devices in hand, thinking of questions.

“Alright, Uh, is there anyone here?” Sam asked to the open, listening carefully as the crickets chirped and the night wind blew past them.

“...you…”

“Who are you referring to?” Sam responded.

“...water…”

“Yep, there’s water here. Is this where you passed away?” Colby nodded, shifting his weight.

“...rocks… drown…”

Sam snapped his head towards Colby, a confused look painted on his face. “Woah,” he muttered. Colby agreed, looking back at the Alice box.

“Who are you? Are you one of three men that drowned here?” Sam added, biting his lip as he rubbed his chin with his finger.

“...Mike…”

Colby’s jaw dropped, facing the camera. "They're not gonna believe that, but one of the men who passed away was named Micheal Anderson," Colby said, his jaw dropping as he faced the camera.

“...unknown…cold…”

Sam’s face contorted to one of confusion, looking at Colby for answers. “Maybe they’re saying they don’t remember how they died? I mean, the water gets freezing.”

Colby nodded, attempting to decipher the various words and their meanings. “Can you tell us what happened? Did you guys just die from the cold water or drown from drinking too much?”

“...none…strange…”

“Huh, maybe the siren theory was right?” Sam nudged Colby.

“Yeah right,” Colby sneered. “Maybe they died from something else.”

“...careful…”

“Look, it’s even trying to warn us,” Sam pointed out, but soon the familiar red light and blaring sound appeared from the rem pod, alerting the two. “Oh my god, that scared the fuck out of me,” Sam murmured, pointing the camera towards the flashing device.

“Is that you Micheal? Or is someone else making that flash?” Colby asked, stepping away from the rem pod as the light continued to circle.

“...pussy…”

Colby blurted out in laughter, followed by Sam. “Wow, maybe they were jerks.”

“I think maybe the Estes Method will give us a simple answer then,” Sam said, calming down from the fit of laughter.

Colby turned off the spirit box, handing Sam the bandana followed by the headphones. Once he had put them on, Colby showed the camera that Sam couldn’t respond.

“Okay, so let’s begin,” Colby sighed. “Okay, can you give us a straightforward answer to what happened here? You guys are being very hush-hush about the answer.”

“Pier,” Sam blurted out. “Something dangerous.”

“Yeah, some can say drinking and swimming are dangerous,” Colby joked. “Can you clarify more?”

“Beware of the woman,” Sam answered.

Colby felt his heart drop, unable to comprehend what that could mean. “Uh, what woman?”

“She calls for you,” Sam responded, confusion in his voice. “Watching you.”

A shiver ran down Colby’s spine, goosebumps covering his skin. “W-Wha… Watching me?” Colby repeated, hearing the familiar splashing near the pier.

Colby snapped his head up, his eyes attempting to adjust to the dark as the moonlight hit the ripples. Colby pointed his flashlight over to the deep gray water, searching for the source, just as he had done earlier in the day.

Sam continued to speak, unknowing of his best friend’s search. Colby’s feet stopped at the edge of the pier, ignoring all the sounds in the background. He let out a sigh of relief, unable to find any evidence of anything going on.

But as soon as Colby put down his flashlight, he felt large hands pressed up against his back. Colby, unable to retain his balance, fell into the deep cold waters, which had created a large splash that traveled to Sam.

Sam tore the headphones and blindfold off his head, turning around to look at Colby as he floated to the top.

“Woah, you alright, man?” Sam hurried to the edge, squatting down as he offered a hand to him.

Colby let out a laugh, swimming towards the pier. “Someone fucking pushed me in.” He muttered, reaching for Sam’s grasp.

He was about to grab Sam’s palm, but felt a tug at the end of his legs. “What the fuck, something grabbed-”

Colby’s sentence soon cut off as he got pulled under the water. He kicked the unknown entity, gasping for air as he heard Sam’s voice muffle as he called out for him.

Colby thrashed, adrenaline kicking in as he attempted to free himself. Colby looked down at the void of the lake, unable to find the source. Water filled his mouth, oxygen slowly escaping his body. His body sank, and the energy to fight slowed.

Colby had accepted there wasn’t a way out of this doom, looking up as he slowly descended into the seemingly never-ending waters. His vision slowly distorted as he examined the murky waters above him.

“Wow, I never realized it was a full moon tonight,” was all he could think about

Just as he thought it was the end, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. A figure slowly circled him as it made its way past the moonlit waters, a glow of bluish silver reflecting as its hair sprawled around it.

Well, it wasn’t rather it; it was a woman. Colby wanted to react, but his body slowly shut down as his vision darkened. She was beautiful, her skin flawless and her long hair engulfing them as she touched his face as if she examined his features.

Colby’s vision became dark, becoming unconscious. She doesn’t remember men being this flawless, gliding her fingers across his skin. His tattoos caught her eye, something odd about painting skin to her. A frown grew on her face, looking back up at the land above as blue and red lights danced around the surface of the water.

She looked back at Colby, knowing the minutes were passing by. She quickly grabbed his arm, carrying his limp body up. Peeking over the water, she glanced around at the various people walking around. She bit her lip, brainstorming ideas.

The mermaid decided it was best to leave him by the shore, where Sam was pacing and freaking out. She knows if she does this, who knows if her identity will be safe? But something against her nature knew this one thing: she did not want the beautiful man to perish.

She drew him above the water, grunting as she pulled his seemingly lifeless body towards the wet rocks. She looked back at him, her brows furrowing as she fought within herself whether she did the right thing. Under the water once more, she dove, splashing as she vanished, making her way under the pier to observe the scene.

It wasn’t long until many flashlights lit up the shore, revealing Colby’s drenched and pale body. Sam let out a cry, watching as his best friend coughed and gasped for air as the water exited his lungs. Sam embraced him, relief washing over him as he recovered from his accident.

Colby sat at the edge of the patient compartment of the ambulance, wrapped in a towel, drowning out as the EMTs and various cops talked to Sam as he stared towards the lake. Something inside him was fighting whether he had made up the mysterious creature or, by some miracle, it was all true.

Colby jumped as Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Dude, what the hell happened? I thought you were gone. The cops said you were lucky to even make it out of that lake.”

Colby looked up at Sam before glancing back at the body of water. “I think a mermaid just saved me.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

thank you guys for reading!

I'm sorry if it's short, Its just something I put together in one day. I do value your opinion, so please do tell me what you think!!

expect more stories soon!

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #colby brock imagine #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #sam and colby #sam golbach #xplr #sam golbach x reader #jake webber #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert #xplr merch #xplr club #colby #sam goldbach

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withleeknow · 6 days

Text

somewhere only we know.

pairing: ot8 x reader (ot8 in the sense that there's no name mentioned so you can imagine whoever you want) genre/warnings: established relationship, (tooth-rotting??) fluff, half a second of angst if you squint; this is pretty self-indulgent and also i just randomly wanted to write it this way. kinda similar to this but not really word count: 0.6k note: again, imagine whoever you want! mimo is on the cover just for illustrative purposes and also he's my guy so what did you expect from me lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

the waterfront on the tail end of a sunset walk. your hand tightly intertwined with his. sharing strawberry tanghulu and tasting the fruity sweetness on each other's lips. neighborhood children rushing by in a hurry to make it home for dinner. 7:12pm, his jacket around your shoulders to keep you warm as dark blue begins its descent for the evening. the wind and her gentle kisses upon your hair. you stop to take a picture of the sunset but he stops to take a picture of you. a rose-colored blush when he tells you you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. love, love, love. him, the stars shining in his eyes before they have to come out and paint the sky. mismatched footsteps and twin smiles.

the middle of your apartment's entryway, not even making it into the living room. your arms around his neck, his hands on your waist and in your hair. a long trip coming to a stop, a big suitcase abandoned by the door. the scent of his familiar cologne that you've yearned to touch for weeks now. 1:19am, wide awake. somewhere in the world, iris by goo goo dolls is playing on repeat. i missed you's and i love you's and fresh tears. feeling like you could hold him like this for hours until the darkness outside falls away. no more facetiming with seas of distance between you. chests pressed tightly together, no space, all love. sweet nothings whispered right next to your ear. home is where the heart is, and your heart is home.

the park five minutes away from his parents' house. your head on his chest, both of you on a large picnic blanket laid out on green, green grass. his heartbeat under your palm, your mind somewhere up there among the clouds. sleepy and lax under the influence of the sun. 3:29pm, an iced matcha latte and a slice of lemon cheesecake sound absolutely divine right about now. there's an urge to voice that thought, but you know neither of you can be bothered to move. his lips pressed against your forehead, then a tender "i could stay like this forever."

the convenience store just around the corner. a spontaneous snack run in the middle of the night because you were craving sweets. empty streets but your hearts are full hearts. the cashier's ringtone is a song that you both hate. 12:22am, no worries in your head. tomorrow is still the weekend. banana milks and chocolate ice cream. he falls for you all over again when you aren't looking, and tells you "nothing," with a coy smile when you ask why he's staring. time works differently at night, almost like it doesn't seem to pass at all. there's no logical explanation to why you feel like you're on top of the world at midnight in sweatpants; maybe it's just being with him, maybe it's just being in love.

your favorite bar on a rainy evening. the argument was stupid, but it was heated enough for you to storm out. only red on your mind; forgotten weather forecasts and forgotten umbrellas. stubborn and angry and alone. the fight was your fault anyway. 8:18pm, a bottle of soju for company. ignoring his calls and texts when your phone lights up with his name. heavy raindrops loud enough to hear from inside your shelter, heavier heart. the way his face fell when you said what you didn't mean. why did you say that? forty five minutes and the bottle is almost gone. far too tipsy to pay attention to the chime of the bell by the door, but sober enough to recognize his presence when he sits down next to you. his rain-dampened hair and your fragile, wounded pride. the apologies are quiet, uttered into the space between the two of you, only for his ears. forgiveness in the form of gentle fingers holding your own. "it's getting cold," he says. "let's go home."

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

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kulapti · 9 months

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Aug 2023, bookbinding of The Silent Isle Imbowers by Tharkuun.

I’m sooo so so pleased to finally share this! I have been actively working on this for many months and waited until Tharkuun received her copy before posting so the final result would be a surprise.

-----------About this bookbinding under the cut

This binding has been one of the more elaborate pieces I have attempted so far. This has been my first binding where I (1) made three copies of a piece at once, (2) used a modified a historical illustration, (3) collaborated directly with another artist on the decorative elements, (4) finished matching art for the cover and title page, and (5) layered paint and heat-transfer vinyl for the covers. These are also (6) the first non-tiny books I have made with this style of hinge and cover attachment.

Pretty much immediately after I first read this story I felt I had to make myself a copy of this. I had a strong mental image of a vintage-looking cover for a fairy tale, with a deceptively simple design of flowers on the cover, probably with fancy metallic accents, the kind of thing you’d find in an interesting used bookstore with no summary, no text on the back, no dust jacket, just the flowers and maybe a title. I’m going to make a separate post about making this cover design a reality because oh man has it been a journey lol! I designed and drew the digital art for the cover (digital because of the cut and application method), as well as the corresponding title page illustration (pencil and dip pen, scanned, title added digitally).

When I asked Tharkuun about it she was excited to suggest I get in touch with quillingwords, who generously agreed to collaborate with me! Among her talents quilling writes calligraphy, and hand wrote both the book title and chapter headers for me to incorporate into my plans. Check OUT those chapter headers! So fancy! A font could never!! Quilling has also been very encouraging and let me yell about this project in dms for months so the final result could be a surprise for Tharkuun. Thank u so much quillingwords, your calligraphy adds invaluable amounts of swag to this project.

I was going to do some kinda neat font for the chapter headers, but quilling’s work is too cool for that and I decided to use a modified piece of a historical illustration instead. The illustration also happens to be cool as heck: I was browsing the Artstor database (an academic quality resource available for free via Jstor, my beloved) and found E. N. Neureuther's 1836 gorgeous etching for etching of the fairy tale Briar Rose, an illustration made for a printing of a Brothers Grimm recorded German fairy tale with Sleeping Beauty elements. Much to my delight this illustration not only matches the general look I wanted but is actually relevant to the story, itself a Sleeping Beauty spinoff.

Slightly less stylistically consistent are the endpapers, which are prints of two different paintings by Arnold Böcklin: Isle of the Dead (1883) in the front and Isle of Life (1888). The first painting had occurred to me as an excellent visual to go with the story, and Tharkuun and I discussed this and agreed that pairing it with the related later, more optimistic piece was too thematically appropriate to resist.

I had fun and learned a lot making these books and I am very pleased with the result!!

Materials: Archival bookboard, cardstock, cotton cheesecloth mull, archival PVA glue, linen thread coated in beeswax, paper cord, red cotton embroidery floss. Blue cotton backed with archival paper, acrylic paint, machine cut black and gold heat-transfer vinyl. Laser printed text and illustrations. Metallic scrapbooking paper.

#artists on tumblr #bookbinding #ficbinding #fanbinding #dreamling #my art #here there be fandom #the sandman #the silent isle imbowers #tharkuun #described #id in alt text #pls imagine me screaming continuously about this project for oh idk 4 or 5 months? oh I can make shiny books??#im not allowed to @ people in this post apparently #links and fic rec in reblog #laying on the floor I found a few missing words I must have deleted on accident while fixing formatting #poppies (Papaver somniferum) and mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)#tailfeather binding

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phonydiaries · 7 months

Text

Beautiful Dreamer - P x Reader

Notes: This is a bit of a shorter fic from me and it's pure unadulterated fluff and sap and nobody gets stabbed! Which is really stretching myself as a writer, to be honest. You guys know I love nothing more than a good life-threatening injury. Anyways, no warnings for this one! Enjoy the cozy vibes <3

---

It seemed somewhat magical in the beginning.

Pino came running to you once, at the very break of dawn when you had just barely opened your eyes; too-bright sunlight stinging them as the puppet shook you from sleep. It was difficult for you to grasp what he meant, at first, to wrap your head around what he was trying to describe. His speechless manner of communication and your general grogginess certainly didn’t help matters. But through a series of signs and expressions from Pinocchio, you came to understand. In his slow but sure gaining of humanity the boy had begun to dream at night.

You were vaguely aware that he did not dream before, and didn’t exactly sleep in the way humans did (although he did something similar enough that you personally couldn’t tell the difference).

“Is it… pleasant?” You asked him, genuinely quite curious as to what a strange thing dreams must seem to someone who had never known them. It had the potential to be wondrous and peaceful, but at the same overwhelming and utterly confusing. P seemed to take your question into careful consideration, really mulling it over. His eyes shone bright as he finally nodded decisively.

For all his excitement over this newfound ability, Pinocchio was frankly dreadful in his attempts at describing his dreams to you. You tried earnestly to follow along, but his gestures and expressions would eventually become too complicated and frenetic for you to follow and so you found yourself utterly lost in his recollections. It was after one such frustrating night that you gifted him a pocket journal to write in. This was much preferred for both of you, and you came to enjoy the routine of him eagerly handing off his scribblings for you to interpret in the morning. You would sit elbow to elbow at the table, sipping morning tea and reading his writing aloud, while he listened and nodded along captivated, his chin resting over his hands on the table.

His writing was uncharacteristically scratchy, with words often misspelled or crossed out implying that he was simply transcribing for speed and not coherence. Now and then there would be an addition of a crude drawing, sometimes the vague outline of a rabbit or a rushed impression of beaming stars.

One day, when it was particularly gloomy, you and Pino wandered to the library. Silence between the two of you was not uncommon, nor was it in any way awkward or uncomfortable. With the heavy fall of rain against the roof on this day, you found the quiet between the shelves especially peaceful. By the orange glow of a lantern, you turned the pages of a dream-interpretation guide. It was a small and somewhat battered thing and had been picked up eagerly by Pinocchio of course, who sat on the floor with crossed legs, chin resting in the heels of his hands as he listened to you, enthralled. In hushed tones, you ran down bulleted lists of common dreams and all the cryptic mysteries they may contain.

“Here, how about this one, have you ever dreamed that your teeth were falling out?” You asked, pointing to a passage in the book. P slapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head vigorously, looking suddenly very concerned with keeping said teeth firmly in his mouth. You couldn’t help chucking as you turned the page.

The day wore on, and the oil in your lantern burned down to nothing, the dim light flickering across an eerie illustration. You’d been leafing through an art book of the romantic era painters and left off on a Fuseli painting of a tormented woman being peered upon unknowingly by some manner of devil. You found the page quite off putting honestly, and closed the book.

“I figure that’s enough of that. What do you say, Pino-oh.”

As you addressed your puppet companion in the dark, you came to see that he sat on the floor still, slumped against the foot of your chair. His cheek was sunk into his left shoulder, eyes shut, breathing soft and shallow. The serenity of the scene warmed your heart some, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Pino…” you whispered, and ran a hand through his hair in an effort to wake him. But he didn’t stir, seemingly in a deep sleep. You were sorry for the uncomfortable condition he seemed to be posed in, but you didn’t want to disturb the poor puppet. You gathered your things and left quietly, shuffling off to your quarters.

It was around midnight that the puppet woke with a panicked gasp. He was surprised to find his legion arm held up defensively, as if in anticipation of an invisible attack. His eyes searched his surroundings frantically, and only when he recognized the library did he hesitantly lower his arm. In the darkness he felt quite uneasy and disoriented. He tried to recall your soothing hushed voice. It had put him into quite a state it seemed before he eventually drifted off. It was in stark contrast to the current thrumming of his mechanical heart and the uncomfortable quickness of his breaths. He had dreamed something wholly unpleasant, and with some sadness realized this new facet of humanity came with drawbacks. He did not care much for these dreams at all.

Pinocchio made his way down the corridor to your quarters, his steps echoing eerily. He threw pointed glances over his shoulder frequently, half expecting some monstrous creature to appear suddenly in the halls of Hotel Krat. The simple casting of shadows had never before made him so on-edge. When he reached your room, he opened the door slowly and peered inside. You lay there in the dark beneath silk sheets, curled in on yourself and sleeping soundly. With great care not to startle you, he knelt by your bedside and nudged you in the back. Your head flinched momentarily, but you otherwise remained still. With some urgency he took your shoulder and shook until you stirred. Rubbing your eyes wearily, you rolled over to face him.

“Pino, it’s ah…it’s late isn’t it? Can’t it wait til morning..?” You grumbled. He shook his head almost apologetically and squeezed your shoulder. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you were able to make out unfamiliar anxious creases in his expression. You willed yourself into a greater awareness and sat up promptly. “What is it, what’s wrong?” You asked, your tone softening significantly. P gestured in the direction of the library and rummaged around in his pocket for a moment. He retrieved the pocket journal you’d given him and pointed several times at the most recent entry. You squinted. On the left page he had simply blacked out the entire thing with a pen, and on the right page the phrase “strung up” was written several frantic times with increasing disregard for legibility.

When you looked up at him to clarify, he raised his hands limp above his head and dropped his chin to his chest. The image was admittedly shuddersome and he cast a long and spindly shadow across the wall.

“I see.” You said, closing the journal. “You had a nightmare, hm? All strung up like an ordinary puppet.” Your heart fell for the poor boy. It must’ve been terribly frightening for him.

Pinocchio nodded solemnly, not meeting your eyes. He stared off blankly and rubbed his wrists, as if easing a phantom feeling of restraints. You took note of this and hummed softly.

“Here, may I see?” You asked, and pulled his arm towards you. You made a show of inspecting it and tapping your chin thoughtfully. Holding his arm with one hand, you stuck up two fingers like a pair of scissors and pretended to snip the invisible puppet string. You repeated this mimic on his other arm and then took his hands in yours, placing a kiss on the back of each.

“All gone.”

Pinocchio looked at you with a kind of boyish wonder. He raised one fist to the crown of his head with a smile, making a pshhh sound and opening his hand, giving the impression of a miniature explosion.

“Think you’ll be alright for the rest of the night?”

At this he shifted a little. His fingers busied themselves, twisting in the bedsheets. He was obviously still shaken up somewhat. You could understand that, although it was a bit of a surprise to learn that someone so nearly indestructible could be afraid of the dark.

“Alright,” you sighed, lifting the sheets. “Get in here.”

P’s chin jutted forward and his brow furrowed at your offer. You just gestured to the space beside you with your head. “Go on, before I change my mind.” You teased. At this, Pinocchio clambered up into your bed and nuzzled his face into the pillow. As he got settled. You pulled the sheet over his shoulders and snaked your arm up around him from behind. Your nose pressed against the nape of his neck and you breathed in the smell of him, like fresh rain.

“Have no fear, my puppet.” You said sleepily against his skin. “Your trusty human won’t let anything steal you away from me in the night.” You heard him snicker at this, but you knew without a doubt he felt safer here with you and vice versa. It was sweet, really.

By the time the sun rose you were both still sound asleep, all tangled in each other’s limbs, looking like lovers in the warm morning light. The day could wait a little longer.

#originally this fic was called sing me to sleep bc I was listening to the suckerpunch soundtrack version of Asleep on loop #so if you want the full experience queue that song up while you read #lydia dropping art history refs like a fucking nerd #extremely soft pino #lies of p #lies of p fanfic #lop #lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader #lies of p fanart #fluff #my writing

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hellishjoel · 8 months

Text

playing hooky

9.2k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter l Next Chapter

summary: Frankie calls in sick for his shift. You simply must investigate.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), mentions of reader previously being on her period, smoking w33d, getting h!gh, swearing, pet names (angel, princess, etc.), handjob if you squint, oral (f! receiving), unprotected p in v, h!gh sex, aftercare, tangled feelings/messy emotions, sitcom vibes

A/N: tune in next time for a special halloween episode of Table for Two!

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

“We’re not at the diner right now, y’know? We can,” he pauses to find the right words, seeming to get lost in the beautiful hue of your eyes. “We can take things slow. Wanna take my time with you.”

You purse your lips as you scribble another drawing on your order pad. You’re sitting at one of the empty barstools at the counter, one leg lazily swinging back and forth while the other is brought up under you.

“You’re gonna get hip dysplasia.” Carla, your sarcastic manager, hums as she passes you. She playfully smacks you with her own order pad before she settles down beside you, a loud and tired sigh leaving her ruby-red lips. She rolls her swollen ankles, a side effect of being on her feet all day. A side effect of being alive.

Your eyes lightly screw together, eyebrows knitting in curiosity. “I thought only animals get hip dysplasia.” You trail off and watch her sit with slight confusion. She parts her lips and takes a breath before her face contorts in thought.

Finally, Carla reemerged with a new confidence. “No, baby, because my cousin- my second cousin,” she illustrates all of this with her hands. “They were born with it! I swear, look it up.”

You stifle a giggle before you both hover over your phone in search of the truth via Google. That’s when you clock the time.

Your head swivels to the wall clock and confirms it’s half an hour past five in the evening. “No Frankie tonight?” You ask, eyes still attentive to your phone as you attempt to try and hide any obvious interest or concern. Where the hell was he?

Carla eyed you up and down. Since when did you start caring if Frankie showed up for his shifts or not? She decides not to press it, clearing her throat as she moves off her barstool once she hears the doorbell chime, a new customer sauntering in.

“Just said he was under the weather. And we don’t need another sick line cook, that’s for damn sure. Everyone would be coughin’ and sneezin’ over their undercooked bacon and runny, nasty eggs.” She said with a little umph at the end for distaste.

You sigh and nibble on your thumbnail.

Frankie was a bit of an ass, but he made the shifts go by faster. Yes, even before you started fooling around, he was entertaining.

Let’s see, there was the night he tried to see how many coffee cups he could stack and if he could make a tower to the ceiling - he tried this multiple times, and each attempt left glazed ceramic shards everywhere, to which Carla made him sweep up.

There was another time the diner needed supplies, and Rudy, the owner’s son, sent you and Frankie on an errand run. He pushed you in the cart through nearly the entire store, in search of toilet paper and paper towels, dish soap, and other amenities. Frankie bought you a Redbull at the end of it.

Now, more recently, Frankie fucking pavloved you! Like a damn dog! Every time you worked a shift, you got ferociously horny. You had gotten so used to clocking in, working for a bit, then getting your needs met. And now that you had finished serving time being on your period, you were needy for what you missed while you were surfing the crimson wave.

Your foot, more anxiously now, taps against the metal stand of the barstool you were sitting on, huffing in annoyance hearing that Frankie was ill. The pit in your stomach was already coiling, searching for a release that just wouldn’t be satisfied tonight. Or would it?

You’re not in the back kitchen as much as everyone else, but as the end of your shift wound down and it was nearly ten o’clock, you decided to piece together a panini and a side of fries for Frankie. You thought about how he learned you weren’t feeling good just last week, and he knew how far a simple meal went to make you feel better. Maybe you could do the same for him. And that was it. You swear there were no ulterior motives. Just a nice coworker bringing a bite to eat.

You yank your phone from your uniform. Your fingerprints smear your phone screen with grease from the fries.

text me your address if you’re still up

frankie (work) Huh?

You have to will yourself not to roll your eyes.

read the first message again and ask me if you’re still confused

frankie (work) Okay sassy pants 194 Rivercrest Apartments #501

His stupid reply leaves a broken, twitchy smile on the right side of your mouth. Stupid asshole.

Once the restaurant closes, your clunky car takes you across town to Frankie’s apartment. Your gleamy, tired vision catches the streaks from passing cars and street lamps. You pull into a visitor parking spot and let out a disgruntled sigh as you sit in silence, waiting in your idling car.

A weird part of you is nervous. Overthinking. Was this taking it too far, helping him out while he’s sick?

You push aside any nerves and force yourself out of the car, a death grip on the doggy bag of food you had packed him. The evening Texas air tickles your bare legs, trying to adjust your uniform under your jacket after it got smushed around in the car. You buzz his number before you hear the entrance’s lock click, allowing you in.

Glancing around for an elevator is hopeless. The entrance leads you straight to a set of stairs, and you clench your jaw in annoyance. God dammit. You were not a woman who prayed to the cardio gods.

Your lungs feel strained, and your feet ache, desperate to sit down after your shift and the mild hike up to Frankie’s apartment. You rap your knuckles against his door in disdain, lips parted with a few light pants for breath as you wait. The door had a few random dents and marks, obvious trails of someone moving items in and out of the apartment over time. The numbers on his door were crooked, the paint chipped. Did he have to live in such a sketchy place? It looked like the birthplace of tetanus.

There were a few heavy footsteps on the other side before the door jangled open. And a very healthy, Frankie opened the door. Your face fell, and your eyebrows furrowed. A heavy whiff of weed smacked you in the face, and you swore it nearly gave you a contact high, even from the hallway.

Frankie was all too happy to see you here. You drove all the way to his apartment just to see him. His face was dripping in a smirky grin. He barely fit through the door frame, his large broad shoulders and tall stature filled the entire rectangular entrance. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against his door. He was perfectly fucking fine.

“Hey, princess. Surprised to see you-”

Your lips purse and your eyes screw tight as you smack him with his bag of food. “What the hell-” smack, “is wrong with you! Fuckin-” smack, “asshole!”

He’s slow to defend himself at first, letting you exhaust your hits as you fist the brown paper bag in annoyance. Finally on the last hit, he swipes the bag from your hand and sighs. He’s trying to dial down his stupid smirk, but it ends up turning into this stomach-twisting, sweet smile.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and chew on the inside of your cheek. “Carla told me you were sick.”

“I am sick.” Frankie playfully defended, standing straight and shrugging his shoulders with a half-innocent smile. “Sick.. and tired of working.” He laughs at his own joke, and you bite back a smile. Such a fucking dork.

You’re at a weird standoff outside of his apartment. It’s like he’s holding your invitation to enter over your head, and out of your reach. He wants you to ask. You want him to ask. You’re both so goddamn stubborn. You cross your arms and stand straight, eyeing him down.

Frankie rolls his eyes, his smile breaking into a larger one as he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. “So fuckin’ difficult.” You hide your smile as your face lightly glides against his chest, unintentionally inhaling his scent. By the looks of his hair, he was fresh from a shower.

Frankie closes the door behind you, and his front brushes against your back as you stand in the tiny entrance hallway to his apartment. Music was playing deeper inside.

His hands gently settle themselves on your arms, slowly coasting his warmth up and down your goosebump-covered skin. You inhale slowly, your back lightly resting back against his front. He was so easy to sink into. But then you remember how he bailed on work today, and you jut your elbow into his gut. He lets out a puff of air at the force you hit him with.

“You’re such an ass ditching work. Ditching Carla.” You say as you step away from him and invite yourself further in, exiting the dark hallway and working your way further into the apartment. “We had to make do-it-all Paul step into the kitchen. Do you know how terrifying that is? Such a dick, Frankie.”

“And you’re so sweet for bringin’ me food.” You hear him rifle through the paper bag, digging out his packaged food, and seeing him smile at the contents. “Thanks. You shouldn’t have.” He brushes past you and towards the kitchen while you stand in the living room.

You didn’t concern yourself much with Frankie up until recent events, it was odd to see his evil lair. Okay, he wasn’t evil, but you know what I mean. You take in as many important details as you can while you slowly peel off your jacket and toss it on his couch.

It’s quaint, really. He has no other furniture in the living room besides a couch, which you feel is by design. It sits perfectly opposite his mounted flatscreen. The walls are plain beige but are decorated with band and movie posters. You admire one that was purposely framed, unlike the others, with signatures. You didn’t recognize the band, but by their look, they seemed like an 80s rocker group.

Below his flatscreen was an impressive vinyl collection, a record spins, and you recognize it as the melody you initially heard upon entering. It was serene, jazzy almost.

“This is what you listen to when you’re alone?” You tease, kneeling down and flicking through a few album covers to see his taste. It was expansive, to say the least. There were only a fair few that you recognized. TOTO, ABBA, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Metallica, a little Van Halen, and a whole lot of The Beatles.

Frankie sucks the salt from the fries off his fingers, seeing he’s already munched on half his panini. “It’s something I listen to when I’m stoned.” He half-jokes, a slight smile on his face. So that’s what he’s been up to.

“You called in so you could lay around your apartment and get high all day?” Your tone is playfully judging, but he gives you a proud nod, not a care in the world behind those slightly glazed eyes.

“I didn’t really lay around all day.” His tone is softer since you’re both so close. He’s standing just to the right of where you’re kneeling down, your head could lay against his thigh if you wanted. “I was trying out some new recipes and shit.” He mutters as he points a thumb behind him and to the kitchen. You glance up and notice his pretty curls in the light. You don’t often see him without his hat or his bandana. Come to think of it, you don’t really see him outside of his yellow-stained apron.

Your eyes slowly took Frankie in, seeing him casually for the first time outside of work was startling. He was big. Tall and broad, with squishy thighs and a soft tummy, strong arms, and defined biceps. He was comfortably relaxing in a pair of black basketball shorts that landed just above his knees, eyeing a few tattoos by the hem. On his upper half was a tattered, well-loved Lakers shirt with a small tear at the shoulder, which has since been sewn closed. He had a little bracelet on, one of those leather brown ones that twisted around his wrist, accompanied by a spherical, multicolor beaded one.

Your eyes linger for a hair too long, and now he’s already smirking at you. “Like what you see, princess?” God, that stupid fucking nickname needed a break. Heat shoots up your spine nonetheless, and you have trouble staring daggers at him like you usually would.

You huff a breath through your nose and stand up on your feet, raising your eyebrow at him. “What do you mean you trying new recipes? You can actually cook?” It sounds rude and sarcastic, but you thought Frankie just goofed around at work and cooked for the cash, not as a hobby. You slowly make your way past him, eyeing his kitchen in the process.

There are recipe books, honest to god recipe books. Big ones, small ones. Different categories of food outlined on the covers and spines. And his kitchen was a chaotic mess, with multiple cutting boards of varying sizes across his already limited counter space. There were bright-colored vegetables cut up and diced, the scraps having been tossed in a spare plastic bag sitting on the sidelines. There was an open bottle of soy sauce and another for sesame oil, a little tin of cornstarch, and diced chicken sizzling in oil on a frying pan.

You take a few steps in further, your sneakers landing on linoleum as you really smell what’s simmering in a large skillet. Mushrooms, bell peppers, green onions, broccoli, and peas are cooking in a thick sauce, coating them amidst freshly minced garlic onion. Your lips part as you inhale, and you can’t believe it. You don’t even know what it is, but it smells heavenly.

You finally have to ask, because hunger is carving a hole in your stomach. “What are you making?”

Frankie parks his hands on his hips and looks at you with knitted eyebrows. “What? You’ve never had stir fry before?”

You purse your lips and reach for the spatula, looking to Frankie for reassurance, to which he nods his head. Go for it.

You smile as the vegetables sizzle once you push them around on the pan, relishing in the attention as you allow the other less glazed vegetables to catch some heat from the burner. Frankie hums, like he’s debating something, like he’s learned something from his little experimentation. He reaches past you, his front brushing against your shoulders as he reaches around you and adds a little brownish-amber liquid to the pan. It sizzles, splashes, and dances across the different vegetables, which makes you grin.

You were never big into cooking, especially since you started working at Tommy’s Diner. You’ve seen enough grease to last a lifetime. You were fine settling in on the couch with a bowl of cereal and a glass of cheap wine. You saved making extravagant dishes for when you had a date over, and even then, that was risky.

But there was something about Frankie actually knowing how to cook cuisine that you liked. “I didn’t know you knew how to make dishes besides burgers and fries.”

He sneers and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling the entire time and lets you continue slowly shifting the vegetables around, watching as the glaze sizzles. “I didn’t know you cared enough about me to visit me at my apartment. We’re both a bit surprised tonight.” This was your worst nightmare.

“I only came here under the impression that you were sick-”

“So you came to my aid?”

“Psh,” You huff, “You wish. But no.” You insist more forcefully, setting the spatula down and turning to face Frankie, who is all too close to you. You lose a lot of your angry traction as his hand finds your hip, feeling his fingers flip to the stovetop’s burner switch to a lower setting.

His hands navigate you away from the oven, your back flushed against his counter now. His eyes trail you, grazing over your body as his hips now plant you in one spot. You swallowed a lump in your throat, your still resisting hands planting against his chest. You can feel his cock twitch against your thigh.

You can’t explain why your fingers twitch and start to clutch his shirt, pulling him a little closer. Stupid Frankie with his goading smirk, bringing his forehead down against yours. It was so hot in his kitchen, in the middle of summer. You feel a bead of sweat sprout behind your ear and lightly glide down your neck as you flutter your eyes closed. It wasn’t often you felt your power to resist him rendered useless, but tonight you felt like he had a quite literal home-field advantage.

“You want me to stop?” He asks, voice low and lust-drenched. His leg parts purposely between yours, jutting them open and spreading what was his.

Your throat is closed off, the lack of air draining from your busy head. “I..” Your words fall off, distracted by something scampering through the living room.

“Do you have a cat?” Your eyes light up as you slink past Frankie. He found your stray of attention a bit adorable, despite being given a slight case of blue balls.

You carefully padded out of the kitchen and into the living room, using the excuse to slip off your sneakers at the entrance. The small orange cat had curled up onto Frankie’s couch by your tossed jacket from earlier, forming a perfect circle amongst all of its tangerine fluff. Its eyes were closed serenely, absent of a new presence. It was fucking adorable, in short.

Frankie was still flummoxed in the kitchen, adding the cooked chicken into the stir fry before turning the burner off and putting his masterpiece aside. “That’s Leo.” He announces, Frankie’s voice carrying annoyance that he lost a sure thing in the kitchen. Now you were cooing over his cat.

He settles two bowls on the counter and adds the stir fry to each, a few splashes of the sauce splattering around the rim of the bowl. With two forks randomly stabbed into the piles of food, he walks one of them out to you. “Could have eaten this whole thing by myself.”

You smile, taking the offering and humming as you flop on the couch, the orange tabby finally peeking its eyes open. “I don’t doubt that, so thanks for sharing.” You recognize how he had eaten the panini and fries, and he was still excited over the stir fry. Poor guy probably had the munchies like crazy.

With the kitty taking up one of Frankie’s couch cushions, he’s forced on the end with you in the middle. He sets his food aside on a spare side table and reaches for a small pipe, your breath pausing at the sight. “You want a hit?” He asks.

His face glows orange as he flicks on the lighter, spreading the flame over the green, now black, substance in the tiny bowl. He inhales, and you watch in mystification as he takes in the smoke filtering through. Your heart thumps harder in your chest, the right side of your mouth twitching up in a sly smirk.

Let’s smoke weed with Frankie Morales tonight.

He lets out a labored breath, the smoke flying loosely in the air and creating hazy grey circles that flood the ceiling before disappearing altogether. The stench fills the small apartment rather quickly.

“I get really weird dreams after I smoke.” You whisper, biting down on your lower lip as you glance down at the pipe he’s holding, a small glow still coming from the weed.

“It’s still lit if you want some.” His voice is low from smoking, and you have to clench your thighs closer together. Damn this stupid uniform, you wished you would have brought a change of clothes so you’d at least be comfy eating stir fry, petting his cat, and getting stoned with him.

He raises the piece in an offering, and you look to him for one last look of reassurance. It’s polite to be offered free weed, especially since he’s the one who paid for it. He gives you a nod and looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. Are you crazy? If you want it, take it.

So you do. And you smoke it. And you pat yourself on the back to do so without coughing. It’s a small hit, but you don’t need much, your brain already feels like it’s as light as a cloud, dancing in slow motion. You giggle by accident.

Frankie lets out a sputter of laughter, watching you get high with him is a bit comical. “Princess knows how to smoke. Kudos.”

You let out a puff of laughter through your nose and grab your warm bowl of stir fry, stabbing into a green pepper. “Shut up, Frankie.”

He ends up putting on a show you both agree on, something comical that makes you both laugh your high asses off. You eat the stir fry and almost forget Frankie is the one who made it. It was delicious, you ate everything down the the finely chopped green onions.

You both shared another hit, and you felt like you were loosening up. Any need to hold onto control slipped through your fingers. Any issues you had been dealing with drifted away. And you realized how stupidly happy you were to be beside Frankie. Trying to do anything of actual initiative went out the window after your second hit. You both found yourselves on the floor of Frankie's room, sat side by side, heads resting on the edge of his bed as you both stared up at the ceiling and spoke gibberish.

“Aliens?” He asks, your thighs brushing.

“Of course.” You hum, slowly blinking in a gentle haze. “Ghosts?”

He sighs and takes a long time to answer, which apparently offends you because you snap your head up and look at him in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious. If you believe in aliens, you have to believe in ghosts.” You argue as you stare at his fan.

He lets out a throaty groan, closes his eyes, and runs his hands down his face. His curls are pretty. They haven’t been run through a million times yet or smothered by a bandana or hat.

“I think… I do believe in ghosts. I just don’t want them to bother me.” He says, a weak smile on his face.

“What? Like you’re afraid to be haunted?” Your head lays back on the bed but rolls over, watching his profile while he continues to look up absentmindedly at the ceiling.

He’s silent for far too long. Finally, he rolls his head over to face you, your noses lightly brushing. He’s so close that looking at him feels a bit cross-eyed.

“Wait- what? Sorry.” He finally says with a broken, short laugh.

“Can you focus?” You ask teasingly, pushing your hand up against his cheek and making him stop staring at you.

You take the soft silence as an opportunity to rest your hand lightly on his thigh. He does the same, except he feels the warmth of your skin and the material of your uniform. Goosebumps form shortly after, and you smile shyly up at the ceiling.

“Have you…” You start to say but trailed off, bashfulness overcoming you.

“Have I what?” He asks. You both blink slowly as a car’s lights flash through his window only for a few seconds, lighting up the dim room before it is filled with darkness again. The moon and an orange lava lamp was the only source of glow.

You distractedly look away from him, admiring a tapestry on his wall and his soft comforter. “Have you had sex with someone high?”

He shrugs and slowly smiles before gently nodding his head against the edge of his bed. “Yeah. Have you?” His head rolls over to look at you again. You feel his warm gaze, but you just keep your eyes locked on his ceiling fan.

Warmth and a subtle shyness flush across your chest, your thighs nearly trembling in excitement. “No.” You whisper.

He doesn’t say anything, but he watches you for a few moments.

“Want to, though.” You finish, feeling a knot slowly grow in your stomach.

Frankie’s eyes flick to your long lashes, then down to warmth creeping up your neck. “Yeah?” He asks.

You gently nod, too, eyes still too shy to meet his own. “Yeah-”

He doesn’t let you get out one more syllable. His large hand comes up and meets your cheek, guiding your head to meet his gaze.

Frankie kisses you deeply but at a slow pace. And you’re feeling a desperate hunger to have him. You eagerly cup his cheeks in return and swing a leg over his lap, intensifying the kiss as your hands glide down the landscape of his clothed chest, bunching up his shirt in the process. You feel like a horny jackrabbit, but it’s really all his fault. You can feel his half-hard cock as you grind the center of your pelvis over his own, whimpering into his mouth desperately.

“Take care of me,” you whisper, and it ends up sounding a little more like a desperate, whiney plea.

Frankie’s lips part against your own, feeling the neediness of your touches. His hazy vision peers open, breaking your kiss for a moment.

“Hold on, baby,” He sits up a little bit against the bed, his eyes scanning yours with a certain deepness.

You pause, your chest heaving lightly as you regain your breath. “Frankie, come on, don’t make me beg.” You say as you lean in once more, but he catches your face and pauses your movements. You feel like a deer in headlights, static tingling in your ears as you feel a sudden rush for embarrassment. Why wasn’t he just as excited? Or eager? Or desperate? Were you the problem?

Suddenly, your eyes were dashing around for an escape. Then he speaks your name. Soft, gentle, careful. Hear him out. You swallow your pride and stay seated over his lap.

You can’t help but let an awkward chuckle escape between you, eyes having a hard time meeting his. You playfully scoff and smack his shoulder lightly to regain a sense of control. “Shut up, Frankie.”

His head cocks, and he looks at you with that stupid fucking smirk. “You don’t know how to take it slow, do you?”

His words antagonize you, and your eyes light with fire. A defensive fire, because he was right.

Slow meant feelings, slow meant experiencing, slow meant bonding. You weren’t slow. Sex was supposed to be fast, hot, desperate, counting down the seconds until a sweet escape, racing to an orgasm, chasing it like a fever dream. You weren’t good at slow.

You hate that Frankie has learned this about you. Giving up the upper hand wasn’t in your caliber. And you find yourself frowning as you look down at him once his smirk washes away. He’s looking at you like he cares. Even with you both stoned, brain’s hazy and light, he sees through all that and looks at you like he gives a damn.

He lightly shrugs his shoulders and softens the hold he has on your face, his thumb gently stroking along your cheekbone. “Can show you.”

Hesitancy screams across your blank face, but he reads you better than anyone else. He speaks your name, more genuinely explaining his offer. “Let me teach you.”

You let out a gentle sigh, slowly giving in to temptation. Because having him at all was better than not. So you take it slow. Frankie teaches you zen. Teaches you how to melt.

One of his hands falls from your cheek and lands on your waist, gently stroking your hip in a soothing slow circle. It feels like heaven.

His brown orbs dip close, and you let him take the lead. He kisses you tenderly, soft. His tongue lines your lower lip once he’s ready to lightly increase the intensity, begging your mouth for permission to part. If it was any other night, your tongue would be down his throat, and you’d be a grinding, sloppy mess in his lap. Let him teach you.

You take a deep breath in as your tongues tangle.

It almost makes you giggle again, because it feels stupid, but you sort of like it.

His stubble brushes your face, and you fight to release a moan. Frankie’s hand on your hip shuffles to your lower back, and you feel him add pressure. Your chest meets his, and you let yourself melt into him. His strong torso easily keeps you both up. Your heavy breaths hit the room, and you force yourself to pull away for air, despite how much you enjoy making out with him. He grins at the sight of satisfying you.

Frankie pushes a stray hair that’s fallen out from your loose ponytail behind your ear, smiling as his hands move to the back of your uniform. This will be the first time he actually undresses you properly, not just shoving the material up past your ass so he has access to your pussy.

“You know how to work the zipper?” You playfully ask as you settle your head on his shoulder, taking the slower moments to breathe and relax.

He stuffs down a chuckle and nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think so. Am I doing it right?” He asks as he guides the zipper down your back, feeling your flesh exposed to the rest of his room.

You purse your lips and slowly sit up in his lap, watching him take in a deep inhale as your centers brush lightly. You hide your coy smile as his eyes light with excitement, but he’s made a point to be slow with you. You guide the sleeves of your uniform down to your hips, exposing your breasts to him. Giggles leave your mouth as you wiggle out the last bit of your dress, Frankie is more than happy to help you.

“I’m feeling a little alone here.” Your voice is soft, tugging at his shirt before you push it up just past his pecs. Your high ass got a little distracted, staring at the hair sprinkled in dark trails across his torso, feeling him struggle in his shirt as he laughed.

“Focus, princess,” his arms tangle with his shirt before he tosses it off, especially since you started slacking. You shyly smile and flutter your eyes down to his warm body as your hands explore the landscape for the first time. You had yet to undress each other like this, you sort of liked it, especially with this whole slow and steady thing going for you both.

Frankie leans back against the bed, admiring the sight before him. You feel a little awkward, goosebumps rushing up your arms as you shyly smile and playfully push his face away. “Stop staring, perv. You’ve never seen a pair of tits before?”

He’s quick. “Not a pair that nice.”

You smile and crack out a laugh, knowing sex has never felt this casual before. No pressure. Good vibes. And it’s not just because of the weed. It’s because it’s Frankie. And he looks at you like you put the sun in the sky and you could do no wrong. But then he starts staring at your tits, and you realize he’s just another guy.

His hands caress your waist, thumbs dipping into the curves and appreciating the way they run up you like beautiful rivers. You decide to do the same. Your hands slip lower, letting his happy trail guide you to his black mesh basketball shorts. His rough and calloused hands cup your tits, taking them in his palms and giving you a tentative squeeze. He’s figuring you out, what you like, what makes you squirm and whine. As soon as he pinches your nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers, a broken gasp is elicited from your mouth.

“Shit,” you curse breathily. Everything was a bit heightened right now, including your sensitivity. It felt like a million little strums were being played, making your spine shiver and your head grow foggy. And you were determined to make him feel the same way.

You bite down on your lower lip, fishing your hand into his shorts and fisting a hand around his already hardening cock. A smirk tangles on your lips as he lets out an earthy grunt, low to the ground and heaven to your ears.

You start a bit fast, eager to please, wanting to see him tremble for your touch.

His lips meet yours in a distracting manner, rocking your steady pace. “Slow.” He murmurs against your lips, and you gently nod, a shy smile spreading from embarrassment.

“Slow.” You whisper, your lips brushing his. Your ego trips on the power you have over him, fisting him, his heavy length weighing in your hand. You couldn’t even fully wrap your fingers around him, he was all just… girth. Your body ached for him, needy for the feeling only he could satisfy by being inside of you. His tip trickles with precum, and a low moan drips off his tongue like honey. It fuels you.

“Spit on my cock, princess.” He grunts out, his face leaning in to capture one of your nipples in your mouth. You squeak lightly in excitement before doing just as he asks of you.

You angle your head over your centers, letting a long line of saliva puddle down onto him. It meets the strokes of your hand, and Frankie’s jaw twitches as he squeezes your breasts involuntarily harder. You let out a long whine as your nipples form peaks between his fingers, feeling your heart thrum against your chest.

Frankie likes how you look on top. Back arched, chest pushed up, messy hair falling loose, eyes lit with an eagerness and curiosity for him to teach you the method of going slow. Admiration mixed with respect. He feels like he’s dreaming.

All he can imagine is you like this, bodies in sync, riding his cock. Tight walls milking his cock for everything he has. His skin becomes riddled with goosebumps, thinking about your nails digging into his chest, your tits rocking up and down, how he would tumble out moans of your name and squeeze your hips with adoration. Yeah, he’d like to see that one day.

He’s not sure how much longer he can last with merely your hand on him.

“C’mere, baby.”

A gasp of surprise jumps from your throat before you can stop it, Frankie managing to stand up off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist for security. His strength, how easily he lifts you and shuffles you around like a ragdoll spurs white hot heat in your stomach. You were going to fuck him good if you ever got past the going slow part.

His smirky mouth meets yours in a hot kiss, one heavier than before. Like he’s needy for you. Your eyes melt closed as your fingers wind into the pretty curls that were formed at the nape of his neck. Your back meets his mattress and blankets, your fingers dance along the pattern, your high mind hypnotized seeing Frankie on top of you.

His body rests between your parted legs. You whimper into his mouth, feeling his hardened cock resting against your core.

“Take my fucking panties off,” you beg more than you mean to.

Frankie tries not to sneer. His teeth capture your lower lip, and you mewl out a moan before he lets you go.

“To hell with going slow.”

You hastily nod, feeling his fingers grip your panties at either side of your hips before he shuffles them down. You whine with how the sticky center stays latched to your core, he gently peels it loose with a hellish smirk.

Frankie’s heart thrums against his chest and echoes into his ears. Hearing you desperate for his touch was heaven, he felt undeserving to have such an angel vying for his attention. “So wet f’me, barely touched you, princess.”

He discards your panties to the side, off on the floor with the rest of the clothing you both have shed. You’re completely naked together, makes you a little nervous.

Frankie promised to speed up, but you’re finding harmony in the way his soft lips trail down your body, leaving wet prints between the valley of your breasts to the soft skin of your stomach. Your breaths come out heavier, thighs shaking as he drops back down to kneel at the edge of the bed. His hands grip your thighs and yank you impatiently closer to his eager mouth. You whimper as your body is shuffled closer, your fists that were clutching the sheets being torn away.

You giggle as your thighs shake around his head, feeling those perfect kisses move between the warmth of your legs.

“Fuck,” you finally let out, excitement seeping through your bones. Frankie’s stubble drags across the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and again, you feel that heightened sensitivity that makes your stomach roll.

Frankie decides that dragging out the teasing is enough. He wanted to taste you, every mile, every inch, every centimeter.

Your core glistens in his eyeline, begging to be touched, kissed, fucked. He can’t help but dive in. His dopey brown eyes meet yours as his face disappears lower and lower before he’s past the valley of your tits, and all you can see when you crane your neck are those mocha brown eyes.

His tongue tastes you, and divides your folds, as he laps up your juices.

The feeling is exhilarating, like the rise and fall of a roller coaster.

A gasp riddles its way up through your throat, concaves your chest, and your pupils blow wide in excitement. Frankie enjoys your taste but aims to pleasure. His mouth latches onto your sensitive clit and suckles, his tongue intervening every few swipes to flick across your clit. Rise.

His large hands grip the outside of your thighs, pinning your lower half to his mattress, and lapping over you in a heated race to the finish line. Your face contorts in pleasure, fingers drifting down your stomach before you wind them in Frankie’s hair. He growls against your pussy, you’ve never felt your blood pump faster. Fall.

“Fucking- Christ,” you push out, gripping his hair strands tighter and making him grunt hot heat against your core. “Feels so fucking good- oh my god,”

He pulls away for a breath and sucks a love bite into the sensitive flesh of your thigh until it swells pink and purple. One of his hands on your outer thighs wraps around the shell of your body, playing with your clit. He slowly shakes his head as he looks at you. You wonder if he shares your hazy vision. The pleasure makes you feel like you’re seeing double.

“Christ isn’t making you feel good,” his words make you whimper, “I am.”

You quickly nod, but you realize your body can’t move quickly under the influence. You’re just hazily bobbing your head, your hand in his hair dropping to his strong bicep.

“Frankie, I need you,” you plead as you gently sit up on your elbows and cup his cheek, wiping your glistening slick off his pretty bottom lip. “Need you inside of me.” You whisper, a desperate look splashed across your face.

You hated how much power he had over you. He almost just made you cum from playing with your clit. You need him biblically, fully, flesh and blood, blood to bone. It was carnal, primal.

He doesn’t need much further convincing. Frankie preferred to pull an orgasm from going down on you, but he listened to your needs and what you wanted.

His lips meet yours in a hungry kiss, working you further up the bed and letting you collapse into his pillows. Your eyes catch the sight of a dream catcher while his tongue tangles with yours. You flush at the taste of your own arousal. That’s when you realize his hand is still between your thighs and working soothing circles into your clit.

You whimper as he adds a tad bit more pressure, and you feel the white-hot heat of adrenaline making your stomach pool even more excitement into your tummy.

“Frankie,” you whisper softly, and his forehead rests over yours while he guides his shaft to your center.

He lines his tip up and down between your folds, your jaw dropping as he sickeningly uses your slick to lube himself. He lets his entire shaft rest against your sex, and he does slow thrusts back and forth, lining his entire cock with you. Holy fuck. A shiver was sent up your spine, goosebumps parading across your body.

Your chest swelled for him.

“What do you say?” He asks in a taunt, knowing how weak you are.

You huff and move your hands up his arms and hang them loosely around his shoulders. He complies in moving in closer.

“Please.” You finally admit between gritted teeth, which makes him grin.

“Alright, princess,” his forehead now rests against your temple, cocking his chin down to get a better angle of your centers. He guides his tip to your entrance, slow and patient, before he notches himself inside of you.

Your eyelashes flutter, and you watch as his eyes clench closed. He likes to act all tough like he wouldn’t fold for you, but you know he would time and time again without having to say more than a simple please.

Both of you share unsteady breaths. It feels like a dam is giving way inside your chest.

Frankie thinks how he has never been inside a tighter pussy, squeezing the last bits of air from his lungs.

Your walls pulsate around the intrusion, but your dripping core and his wet tongue from earlier allowed him to slowly push in, inch by inch.

You swallow a lump in your throat. You don’t realize your eyes are closed, and you're gripping him around the neck to keep him close until he sponges a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Alright?” He forces out. It’s like you’re choking him, and it makes you twitch up a smile.

“Mhm,” you muster up, feeling his chest rumble lightly with laughter.

“Baby,” he whispers, and your chest surges at the pet name. “Can’t breathe.” Oh, shit. You damn near had him in a headlock.

You loosen your grip around his neck, shyly smiling as your desperate hands look for something to ground you.

Frankie stays flushed inside you but shifts to be more centered over your body, gently resting his forehead just above yours.

“C’mere,” he whispers before he takes your hands. You decide not to question why he interlocks your fingers. But it feels safe, and you’re still high, so you’ll blame any poor decision-making on that.

“Fuck me,” you finally grit out, desperate for him to just fucking, “Move.”

Your whine is met by him reeling back his hips, only for him to plow right back into you at an unforgiving rate. A gasp ripples through your throat, and you feel like screaming. Your entire goddamn body was on fire with the way his girth parted your walls, splitting you open. You let out a string of whimpery moans, and your eyes glared desperate daggers into him.

“S’what you wanted, right?” He grunts out, jaw tight, pretty curls falling limply in front of his eyes and crowding his forehead. “You wanna be fucked hard, is that it?” He can barely speak authoritatively, you’re squeezing him like your last lifeline.

But he’s right. Tears cloud your vision, and you weakly nod as desperate puffs of air leave your pretty parted lips. “Yes,” you squeak out, relaxing your hips so Frankie falls into you more.

“Feels so fucking good, can’t-” An eager cry leaves your lips as he pulls himself out, just to thrust right back in and rocking you further up his bed. Your chin tips to the ceiling as you curse every god, man, woman, whoever the hell created Frankie Morales.

“Can’t what, princess?” His tone is lower, sinister even as your walls twitch around him but only gush out more arousal for his cock to slide in and out of you.

You find it hard to string together syllables. So he squeezes your hands that you’re holding for dear life. He stills inside of you until you answer.

“Shit,” you whimper.

“Can’t what, angel?” He probes again, cocky asshole waiting for his answer.

You whimper and peek open your eyes. The right side of his face is highlighted silver from the moon, your hazy vision thinks he looks like an angel. His hand wanders between your centers and finds your throbbing clit, making you cry out the answer. Your face crumbles as you own up to what you need to say.

“Fuck! Fuck, Frankie! Can’t go without your dick,” you pant out as he subtly rocks into you at a good pace upon your confession. “Can’t even go- can’t even go a week without it,” you admit in defeat.

That stupid, cocky smirk of his graces his parted lips. It’s crooked and perfect, and he’s fucking you like your life depends on it. Because it does, you think.

His thighs clap against your ass, pounding you into the bed, drilling you into place, suffocating the air from your lungs.

Your vision goes hazy, seeing white, then rainbow, then stars. They cloud your vision, and you’re not sure if you’re still high off the weed anymore. Or just high off Frankie.

You whimper strings of his name tangled with profanity, he’s still filling you to the brim. It once seethed hot with pain, but now your stomach is contorting in pleasure. It’s like he knows exactly how to crack your vault, penetrating your walls, unlocking something deep inside of you that no one else manages to know the code.

His messy fingers continue to circle your clit, and you know your end is coming.

Frankie’s grunting with every thrust, moaning a symphony of your name every chance he gets. He likes holding your hand, resting his sweaty forehead against your own, listening to you beg for his cock, for your finish. It’s the only thing he wants to give you. He’d be at your every beck and call if you let him. He wouldn’t mind if the only thing he ever got was a fraction of your praise.

Frankie’s thighs clap against your ass, the sound echoes around his bedroom. If his neighbors didn’t know his name, they did now.

“Fuck! Frankie!” You cry out, feeling every inch of his cock massage your insides. His tip kisses your cervix, and your jaw drops. Nothing more comes out of your mouth, so your blown-out eyes do all the talking.

I’m so fucking close.

“I know, baby, feels good, doesn’t it?” He grunts as his balls slap against you. “Feels good having my fat fucking cock inside you, huh?”

You shake under him, your thighs clench around his hips, and you pray to the gods for making Frankie. You take back what you thought before, you need him.

You don’t care that he’s a little older, that he’s an asshole, that he eggs you on.

Because in the shelter of his bedroom, locked in your embrace, he swallows your name and persuades you into pleasure, time and time again.

Your clit tingles, and your walls furiously clench around him. Finally, your mouth finds words to try and elaborate on what you’ve been holding inside.

“Fucking- shit! Fuck me harder, right there- fuck me, Frankie! God- I’m coming!” You cry out as his pants fill your space, fanning across your face. He fucks you harder and faster as you near your orgasm, wanting to help you reach it. And he gets you there.

Your back arches, and he groans lowly as he stills inside of you. It’s almost beautiful the way you cum in unison.

Your hands hold his tighter, and he reciprocates by squeezing gently. I’m right here, I’m here, baby.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, still. Your hips get a little achy. He feels you twitch and knows it's time to let you go.

A gentle whimper leaves you as he pulls out. You feel a bit empty, a little cold.

His sweet laughter makes you peek open your eyes. He’s trying to move out from around you, but you haven’t let go of his hands.

You shyly let go, and both of you squeeze your hands to flex the knotted muscles and stiff knuckles. You close your legs and lightly curl up. He doesn’t come to rest, he gently pats your outer thigh once or twice before he disappears to his bathroom.

You think he couldn’t have been gone for more than thirty seconds, but he comes back in a fresh pair of boxers and his basketball shorts, his tanned torso still exposed for your viewing.

“Frankie,” he pauses like a deer in headlights as he stands up from grabbing your panties. “I’m gonna… spill.” You finally pitch out, a bit embarrassed.

“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. He circles back to the bathroom and grabs a towel and a wet washcloth.

“Sorry, my brain is all-” he starts to say, but you quickly shake your head.

“I know me too. S’okay.” You whisper with a smile as you weakly sit up on your elbows. The record playing in the living room had stopped. He shimmies the towel under your hips before he aids you with a clean washcloth.

Feels too domestic, so you take over, much to his annoyance. You wrap yourself in the towel once you’re done, and sit up to retrieve your uniform. You dread putting it on.

“Can I take the towel for the way home? My underwear is still too..” you trail off. Soaking wet was the words you would have used.

Frankie’s face screws up in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together.

“You’re going home?”

Now your expressions match. “Yeah?” It sounds more like a guess than a statement. “What else would I do?”

Frankie shifts back and forth on his feet before he sits down beside you on the bed. “Dunno. Stay here.”

You take in a hesitant breath, and he feels it. “You shouldn’t drive home, you know. You’re stoned. And tired. Don’t need you falling asleep at the wheel or some shit.”

You frown. Staying here does sound nice. Thinking about going down those five flights of stairs with your jelly legs sounds like a walk to hell.

But there’s a certain rule about sleeping over. One you don’t want to cross. You and Frankie are just fooling around. Nothing more.

“I don’t know, Frankie.” You say with a small frown, tightening the towel around you even more. His sullen look deepens at your words. He doesn’t want to overly convince you. If you want to go, he doesn’t want to stand in your way.

You chew on your bottom lip and weigh your options. You don’t want to go down the stairs. You’re tired as fuck, and you don’t want to get pulled over or something else. And you really don’t want to put your uniform back on. And you want to stop trying to put issues in your own way when you really just want to stick around. But the decision is made for you.

“Stay.”

Your eyes meet his. He’s more certain now, going after what he wants.

“Stay the night, it won’t kill you. I’ll get you something more comfortable to wear, and you can just…” he trails off and shrugs.

“Stay?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. He nods.

You sigh loudly but inevitably smile as you point to his closet. “I need a shirt. Please.”

A big smile glides across his face, and you can’t believe you’re the one who put it there.

“Alright, princess, whatever you say.” He squeezes your thigh and stands up, his back to you as he fishes through his closet and smells a few shirts to see how clean they are.

You roll your eyes and sigh as you fall back into his pillows.

You change into something clean, you hope it’s clean, and end up curling into a protective ball under his covers.

His cat, Leo, circles up by your feet, and you coo, gently stroking the pretty fur along his back. Frankie retrieves two glasses filled with water and hands you one. You instantly take a few gulps before your hand gently strokes down the shirt he’s put you in. It swims a bit on you, but you like it. The hem hangs at your thighs.

“Can you get in here?” You ask impatiently. “M’getting chilly.” You whisper with a coy smile.

Frankie blows out a few candles in his living room and finishes putting away any leftover stir fry.

Your high has worn off, and now you’re just a sleepy little thing. A long shift plus getting railed would be your new nighttime sleep aid.

Now that the apartment is drenched in darkness, he pulls back the covers and moves in beside you. Cuddling was not an option. He spoons you, yanking you halfway across the bed and out of your little ball. His warm flesh meets your back, and you hum at the feeling. He was a furnace. His head settles above yours, you feel the stubble gently poke at your hair. Your eyes are already closed as his arm wraps around your waist, an affirming hand settling on your tummy. He must need skin-to-skin contact because his hand slips under the shirt he’s put on you and settles on the warm skin by your belly button.

You let out a short little laugh. “You do this with all the girls you sleep with?”

“No.” He quickly says, and your eyes peek open.

“No?” You ask curiously.

“No. Just all my coworkers I sleep with.” You roll your eyes and reach around to slap the back of your hand against his hip, forcing out a chuckle from him.

“M’kidding.” He somehow pulls you closer. Your head rests comfortably on his bicep, the cold tip of your nose warmed by his flesh.

Questions pour out of your stupid brain. Were you the only one he was sleeping with? If you weren’t, who else was there? Was this normal to him, cuddling after a friends-with-benefits situation? Did Frankie want something more?

You sigh and close your eyes, attempting to shut off your brain as your finger lazily draws shape on his forearm.

He murmurs a goodnight against the shell of your ear. You blame how happy and comfortable you are right now on his cat. And it somewhat makes you feel better. You never pictured falling asleep beside your coworker, let alone Frankie Morales.

Sleep eventually overcomes you. You dream of Frankie sitting in a bowl of stir fry like a hot tub.

---

here's my masterlist!

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales

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r3medialch8os · 3 months

Text

devastating trobed quotes (a list)

does thinking of troy and abed ever make you inexplicably upset? well, it's all in the text! aside from troy and abed serving as frequent comedic buffers, they are given some weighty emotional scenes throughout community's run. just look at the meat of these lines!

we just won't get masking tape (what a beautiful, simplistic way to portray how troy is able to think around abed's systematic manner of viewing their friendship in its beginning stages as well as an illustration of how he deals with conflict)

i love you (pure honesty in a moment of intense distress)

i know (both a reference, because it's easy, and the truth)

you don't like people who tell you what to do, and i don't wanna be one of those people (one of the more heartbreaking things said between the two of them, with troy knowing exactly abed's qualms and negative experiences with being controlled, not wanting to add to it, and still having to fall into the pattern for the sake of keeping him safe, fearing he's risking their friendship by doing so)

you weren't supposed to think those things (you of all people, the person i trust most in this whole world)

this is going to be the last thing we ever do together, we can't stop (what the actual fuck)

i know you hate when people do this in movies (whispered quietly to abed by troy, without anyone else hearing, one of the most romantic, intimate lines in the whole show, argue with the wall)

you're gonna have to trust that you're gonna have to trust me (said to someone with severe trust issues, and for good reasons, just an incredible invocation of the bond they have)

for the first time in my long history of being locked inside things, i knew someone would come (as someone who was bullied in high school, this line hits so fucking hard, aren't we all waiting on this moment?)

you were out there somewhere, and you weren't looking for me? (devastating in a way where i simply cannot believe they throw words like these around casually)

the floor can't be lava forever, the game's gotta end (troy, perpetually insistent on indulging abed, on letting him do his thing, on enjoying his imagination, has to be the one to bring him back to reality this time, and even if he tries to do it as gentle as possible, it will never not rip my fucking heart out)

it's not a game for me troy. i'm seeing real lava because you're leaving, it's embarrassing. i don't wanna be crazy but i am crazy so i made a game that made you and everyone else see what i see. i don't want it to be there either, i swear. i want you to be able to leave but i don't think the lava goes away until you stop leaving (fuck it, i'm putting the whole thing, not a lot makes me cry but abed so clearly experiencing disillusion and trying to assuage troy while also communicating to him how hard it is to accept him leaving all with an air of embarrassment and hopelessness and desperation will do it for me, thank you very much)

i'm not leaving, okay? i promise. the floor's not lava now, just give me your hand (all i can say is that i bet it tore abed to pieces hearing these words)

i think i might be able to let troy go now (the way he says it too)

when i cloned you i had to patch some missing parts of your dna with genes from a homing pigeon. you may notice side effects like a compulsion to come back (in other words, i am in love with you and i never found the right time to say it)

#this is lowkey silly i just like to talk lol #community #abed nadir #nbc community #troy barnes #trobed #abed community #troy and abed #troy community #trobed community #community analysis

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pursuitseternal · 3 months

Text

“Dark Kissing:” 🫦 nsfw, making a Vampire Bride in “Our Blood is Thicker:”

(Ascended) Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 2.6K of the Nsfw Dark Kiss

Art by co-creator and illustrator @marimosalad , NSFW version on X

Summary: Cordehelia rouses herself to feed, but the Dark Kiss is far more dangerous than merely awakening. She must be checked, subdued, brought under control by her love and creator by any means necessary

CW: Rough Sex turns Romantic, blood kink, hair pulling, Feral Vampires getting freaky, The Knee™️, (lovingly) Dom!Ascended Astarion, my interpretation of Van Richten’s “Guide to Vampires” 2e, heartbeat kink, nothing like feral sex followed by soft cuddling aftercare

Previous Ch | ao3 Link | Masterlist

Chapter 19: Dark Kissing…

🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦

“Astarion…” she purred, voice thickened with his blood, a bit strange on her tongue, as if she savored every letter in his name.

But that strangeness hardly registered, his body winding tight with lust as he looked into her own crimson eyes, as her lips drank him down for the first time. He could feel himself inside her, coursing in her veins, pumping in her whole body, not just that sweet, slick channel he longed to fuck into once more. Something deep inside him unlocked, robust and powerful and all consuming.

Blood ran down her chin, a sight that made his every breath race from his slack-mouthed, fang-licking grin. Her lips were cool on his wrist, warming hotter the more of him she drank. “Oh, my love,” he groaned, slinking to straddle her prone body between his thighs. “I could watch you swallow me down for hours…”

“You have, my love,” she chuckled, thick and deep in her chest as she hardly broke from his flesh.

A flash filled his mind, stronger than their tadpoles, their bodies and minds and souls as one. It was as if he relived every time she had sucked his cock, tasting himself on her tongue, feeling the way her throat closed with all the cum he spewed countless times over countless years. Instantly, his cock strained again against his leathers, that claustrophobic feeling of clothing suffocating his ever-growing desire.

His need to have her.

And yet she drank more. Until his skin began to tear, his head growing slightly light. “Enough, Cordehlia,” he whispered, a grind of his hips above her, his wrist freeing from her mouth.

Only to be ripped back by her fiercely strong grip once more. “But you taste so good, my love,” she crooned, “and I am just so hungry.”

Astarion recalled all that reading, gritting his teeth as he pulled against her, fought against the way both her hands clawed into his arm. “You will listen to me,” he ordered. Louder. “You must stop, or else you will die.”

Her voice made him shiver, unnatural and dark. “I think that’s already happened, hasn’t it?” One last musical laugh from her bloodstained lips, and she sank her newborn fangs into his forearm to feed all the more.

A growl on his lips, Astarion dug deep into whatever new well of power, of strength lay inside him. Never mind the way his heart actually began to rap harder in his chest, in lust and in fear. “You will listen to me, Cordehlia,” he hissed through clenched fangs. Wrestling his arm from her mouth, he felt every muscle in her body move to attack, ready to spring. Wanting more. “Ah, ah,” he smiled, darkly, determinedly. Catching her hands, he pinned them over her head, staying them with all the strength he could find, even as she thrashed and kicked and snapped her teeth. “Little Raven, I promised you I would save you, now you have to trust me just a little further. You are still being remade, turning into something so beautiful, so fierce I can hardly believe it. Why don’t we try a little something else to busy your lips and tongue with, hmm?”

A roar from her mouth, she bucked him off, sending him clean off the bed. Astarion braced himself against the wall, feeling less dizzy and stronger the less she drank. Somehow, his body knew what to do, more than that which was just between lovers. He knew he had to subdue her, keep her safe, lest she endanger herself.

A duck of his head, and he dove out of her tackle. Wild and crazed with bloodlust, she might be, but all that grace was yet to come back to her. He gripped her by the back of her shirt, his fingers easily tearing through that linen, baring her even paler flesh for him to see at last. “Come on, Cordehlia,” he laughed as she turned, eyes narrowed and breasts heaving with her pants, “you used to put up a better fight as a girl.”

Yes…. She took the bait, racing for him blindly, only to be shoved from behind and laid flat out on the floor at the foot of the bed. She froze for that moment, wind knocked out of her, even though her undead lungs required none of that now. He needed to finish this, needed to subdue her in more than one way. His hands ran down her back, lightly tracing over the bumps of her spine. “I’m going to strip you, my darling, going to take your mind off that pit in your stomach. You hunger, and I can sense how painful it is, my love. Let me ease that pain.”

“Want me… to say please?” She panted, breathless as she gasped for air.

“If you’d like, my darling…” he wasted no second of his advantage, shimmying down her trousers, ripping them like paper with such ease in his new and powerful hands.

“Fuck you, Astarion,” she grunted trying to get up, but he just covered her backside with his whole body and grabbed for her hands again to capture them against the floor.

“That is the idea, my love,” he tried to chuckle, the same jibe as they had made many times before. But never like this. Never with every instinct in his ascendant brain screaming at him to claim her and finish the task at hand. He settled heavily on her back, pushing her as hard as he could into the ground to keep her steady, her two cold hands in one of his, he tugged off his shirt and freeded the laces of his breeches.

But for all the pounding drumming in his head that could have blinded him, he looked down at her. Pinned, subdued, ready and panting and sweating.

He didn’t see some creation half-made. Didn’t see a servant or slave for his use.

It was her, addled and unsure and newborn. Lusty and scared. And he tried to slow that reborn and foreign beating in his chest.

“Cordehlia,” he leaned forward, tracing the pad of his tongue up her chilled, pointed ear. “My sweet, I’ve got you.”

Still she fought, twitching and jerking under his hold, but his hands rested on each of hers to slide them next to that mess of fiery red hair. He could see her breathing so hard as her skin pulled between her ribs. She needed calming, claiming… he suckled on that cool right ear, forcing the urge to bite into her flesh again back into his stomach. Something inside her purred, her voice maybe, her soul perhaps. But whatever it was, he did it again. And again. Suckling on the edges of her ear as it twitched. Feeling her flesh mildly warm now with his blood flooding her and her lust taking command.

Her breathing grew softer, steadier and less frantic, he sensed her rising heat, smelled the way slick began to gather between her folds. His cock jolted to feel her begin to buck beneath him, almost grinding against the floor as her hunger traveled below her belly to simmer lower and stronger. Shifting carefully if quickly, his knees spread her wider, his sharp ears hearing her arousal dripping to the wood beneath them.

The way she raised her hips ever so slightly as he slipped between her thighs drew some kind of noise from his throat. Feral. Hungry. He loved it, laying his whole length down to cover her head to toe. Her skin was cold, a strange shiver raced down his spine as he pressed her into the floor. As he pushed her apart, letting his cock slip in so naturally, so slowly, finding that wet and tight warmth he craved more than air.

A low purr seemed to sound from her, her back arching against his chest. She hissed, a little roll of her hips, pleading for more of him. raising herself against him, she wriggled his cock deeper, bracing for his thrusts to begin. “Please, Astarion,” she breathed, voice honey-thick in her throat, “you wouldn’t leave your Bride unsatisfied, would you?”

Bride. At the word, he groaned loudly, fangs wet as he smiled, shoving his cock deeper inside as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. “Never, my darling,” he rasped. Another guttural noise, and he released one hand from hers, wrapping that length of bright fiery hair around his hand once… twice, and yanking her head back slightly. “You are mine forever now, my love until the stars fall down.”

Warm lips pressed against the cool ivory of her neck, careful to keep his teeth covered, lest he stir awake her bloodlust again. But Cordehlia wasted no time, slamming and wriggling her cunt against his cock, easing forward to easy back again.

A hiss rushed from his mouth against her skin each time she dared to move. Finally, he rocked into her ever so slightly, letting his cock sink all the way into her, letting that aching, pulsing head brush against that edge of her channel. Curling, she snapped her hips hard against him, stealing his breath.

Another snap, and he groaned, that insatiable hunger for her growing unbearable. That reality of his freedom, his power starting to course in his veins as she bucked back against him with even more fervor. “You’re an eager little thing,” he sighed, running his tongue over the scars on her neck, taking her ear into the warm, wet of his mouth once more. “I like you this eager,” whispering, he savored the way she shuddered beneath him.

“Then give me some of your own eagerness back, won’t you? I would hate to do all the work for you… my lord…”

Enough of coyness and carefulness he decided as he grasped her head, pulling her mouth to his to assume control. He needed her on his tongue again, needed to devour and consume and dance with her lips as they had a thousand times. “I love you,” his words breathed between her lips as he sucked more of her with each kiss. “I never want to do this with anyone but you ever again.”

A wish he had made once, so long ago under the elven forest and stars.

He could almost smell the woods near their homes, almost hear that babbling stream and feel the moss beneath them as every sinew sought the release they both craved. Thrust after thrust, he could feel her pressure rising, the way her thighs began to shake, her mouth panting and sighing heavily against his open lips. He could taste himself on her tongue yet, that rich iron, that tingling sensation of power, the same that raced down his nerves… and just like that, he knew she was about to seek more of him.

Drink more of him.

A yank of her hair in that fist, and he pulled her off his flesh just as her own razor-fangs snapped shut. “Tch, naughty, my bride,” he teased. A trail of caresses down her spine, and he raised himself. One hand rested on her shoulders, hair tugged just tight enough, he slipped his warming touch around her hips. Her clit was hard, aching and easy to find, and it was so simple to circle it. To make her moan for him, to raise her ass up just that little bit higher and take him all the deeper. To angle himself as he slammed into that spot inside that he knew better than she did herself.

He chewed into his own lip, clenching hard but not to draw blood. No, he needed her sated. Pleasured. Flooded with the bliss they shared now.

Lord and Bride.

Maker and beautiful creation.

Her pleasure tore into him, every muscle that clenched around him pounded as if his own. Her voice cried his name, that she loved him… her sweet words panted over and over again as she crumbled to the floor, boneless, bloodless, hot, and writhing.

Slowly, he pulled out, turning her on her back, longing more than anything to see her smile. Radiant, breathtaking, her breasts heaved as she caught her wind, her hair streaked over her damp and sweating face, and most beautifully, she smiled at him through her bliss. Her little fangs peeked beneath her rosy lips, her tongue wetting her mouth as she pulled those fiery, loose strands from her cheeks and chin.

Reverently, his own hands helped to clear her forehead, strand by precious strand. Laying his body atop hers, a groan slipped from his lips as she raised her hips to slot his cock back into her seeping, wet folds. He breathed her name, believing for the first time that she was with him again, saved.

Now made of one flesh.

Sharing one blood.

A blood that ran hot and thick forever between them.

He couldn’t hold her close enough, couldn’t thrust into her smoothly or deeply enough. He couldn’t taste enough of her on his tongue or feel her slightly chilled breath sweep into his own lung in any amount that would satisfy. His fingers gripped against the back of her head, weaving tightly again into that mess of her locks, the other wrapped firmly around her breast, the hard, cool nipple pressing into his palm like stone as he gripped it, as it swayed in time with his taking of her.

That tether between their bodies, that bond between their minds, something within them snapped taut, his heart beating in her chest, his very essence hers too. Every sensation between their bodies doubled, coursing harder as he drove her to the edge of her climax, thrown there himself as her side. She clawed at his back of ancient scars, body arching and trembling as she groaned her love for him again.

And this time, he followed, pouring every last bit of himself into her, making and remaking her anew. His cock shuddered, jolt after jolt of pleasure bursting from his core into hers. Seed seeped, hot and slick and mixed into one as he lowered himself into her arms.

Nestled into that bloodied crook of her neck, he could do nothing but breathe, forcing his eyes to remain open, to assure himself that this was it. That it was done.

That every little bit of trust she had put in him was replaced tenfold. And would be repaid again for the rest of their immortal lives.

Touch ghosting up and down his back, she smiled against his forehead, lips pressing their strange, cool kiss just beneath the edge of his curls. “I love you…” she whispered, almost imperceptible. Almost inside her own mind.

With a grunt of effort, he slipped from inside her, a tender kiss on her lips before he reached up and over the top of the bed to grab for the blood red covers. The heavy fabric fluttered as he draped it over them both, as his hands tucked it around her shoulders, her back. “I love you, my darling…” he kissed her cheek, “my consort…” he kissed her forehead before staring softly into those searching, crimson eyes, “…my bride.”

Astarion pulled her into his chest, rolling her to rest against his warm flesh and racing heart. “Rest, my love, we have eternity to make up for lost time now.”

His hands traced through the softness of the blanket, and his warmth seeped into her skin. She wouldn’t let it out from her lips just yet, how strange it was now to be the one corpse-cold, to be the lover to seek the warmth of her love. But as she nuzzled closer into that perfect dip in the muscles of his chest, she smiled.

A tear leaked from her eye.

To hear that ancient pattern of his heart beating beneath her ear again.

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ectologia · 2 months

Text

BEAUTIFUL IS BORING

TOMURA SHIGARAKI, TŌYA TODOROKI (DABI), KEIGO TAKAMI X FEMALE READER

CONTENT ♱ COLLEGE AU, QUIRKLESS AU, PROFANITY, MISOGYNY, DRUGS, SEXUAL ASSAULT (DABI ON TOMURA), BULLYING, PUBLIC MASTURBATION, MALE MASTURBATION

THIS IS AN UNFINISHED PROJECT, AND PROBABLY WILL NEVER BE FINISHED but here it is anyway ;p

“Can I sit here?”

“I dunno’ can you?”

You draw back at his harsh tone and grating voice. He glares at you with the hint of a smile playing on his chapped lips. He was a peculiar looking fellow. His skin was pale enough to appear almost translucent like moonstone, while his hair sat a muted blue of kinked wave’s across his forehead and partly down his neck just reaching his shoulders, it would be easy to mistake him as albino if it weren’t for his leaden brows and eyelashes. His attire, bland, a black hoodie dusted in lint and white hair, his jeans sported the same but with ominous white stains sat flaking on the denim fibres.

You recollect yourself. “That’s my seat.” You gesture to the chair bowed beneath his tattered sneakers.

“You think?” He places his feet back on the ground with a simper, allowing you to settle down.

You catch how he scoffs at your colourfull stationery, murmuring something about “Women.”

“Why the fuck are you so close?” He hisses, scooting his chair to the left. You turn to him with your mouth agape, preparing to challenge his accusation with a remark of your own before the abrupt slam of a door has you both snapping your heads up to the front.

“Late again, Mr. Todoroki” Your teacher emits a long, audible breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose, turning to his computer.

“Traffic was bad.” He snickers feigning an apologetic pout as he greets a blond man sat at the front, grasping his fist in a tight hug and clapping him on the back while they laugh obnoxiously.

His hair, although dishevelled, glossed in a velvety palette of stygian, the thick locks dancing like silk ribbons against the light as he bounces. His skin is decorated in swirls of black, the tantalising illustrations streaming from his jaw, down to his neck and across his arms, sleeving him in a coat of ink. The contrast of the man’s overcast appearance pales in comparison to the bewitching cerulean of his eyes, placed amongst his pierced metal features.

You find yourself gazing at the man for an exceedingly long while as he saunters to his desk, slumping down into his chair with spread knees.

Shigaraki glowers at your shameless ogling, muttering complaints.

You ignore his mumbling, instead turning to him with a keen interest. “Who is he?”

He groans at your curiosity, turning back to face the front without responding.

“Hey, who is he?” You persist, leaning over the desk to garner his attention. From this angle, you’re able to behold every inch of his features. You notice the swathes of scarlet and flaking skin along the path of his neck and surprisingly angular jaw.

He glances to the side at your hovering form. From this angle, he notices just how your plush tits spill over the rim of the desk as you curl over it, the pliant flesh moulding and squashing as you stir.

His tongue writhes in his mouth, licking over his teeth before speaking. “Dabi.” He has to refrain from visibly recoiling, not only from how you beam at the information, but at the contemptibly stomach-churning taste of his name.

You turn back to the man in questionon, brilliant half-lidded sapphires hypnotising you. He licks his lips, the metal ball of his piercing clinking as he sends an intoxicating smirk your way. You watch as he leans over to his flaxen companion, the two conversing as their eyes flicker in your direction.

“Who’s the blond?” You ask, your eyes locked on the two.

“Keigo.”

The curt answer satisfies you. You take one last look before holding up your pen, a playful smile hidden beneath your hand. Shigaraki sees this, livid at your display before speaking once again. “I’de stay away from him, if I were you.” He trails of by the last few words.

“Who?”

“Both of ‘em.”

He takes his pen back up, turning away after his ominous declaration.

“Why?” You push, intrigued by his distinct contempt towards the two men.

He doesn’t answer. Collecting his belongings, he chucks his books haphazardly into his shoddy backpack before tossing it over his shoulder. “Just stay away from them.” He leaves you bewildered as you watch him filter through the crowded exit of the classroom, the group of students parting through the middle for him as if he were a disease ridden mongrel, his static waves flouncing against his face as he shoulders past the cluster of frowning pupils.

A cold sweat accumulates on the small of Tomura’s back. Travelling down across his taint and underneath his heavy ballsack as he pumps himself feverishly — stimulation his tip with his thumb and two forefingers, massaging the swollen glands as he humps the air. The subtle, wet fap of his cock echoes within the stall he had chosen to lock himself in. Chucking his head back, intoxicated by the pleasure. He braces himself, planting his feet on the tiled floor of the bathroom as his hips speed up, stuffing his chubby dick into his palm, fisting the overstimulated appendage to climax. “Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..” He was entranced, spell-bound by you. The image of your glossy doe-eyes curtained by your long black lashes set on him, how you leant over the desk — how your fat tits practically spilled over onto his paper as you spoke to him, how you smiled at Dabi. He wanted it all to himself.

If it wasn’t clear, Tomura was not exactly popular, let alone with the ladies. You were the first ever female in his life time at this shit-hole of a school to actually give him the time of day, and not just to glare and snicker at his appearance and disturbed demeanour. He wanted more. He wanted you, dangerously.

He pleads to nobody, the hem of his hoodie clamped between his teeth while his jeans are shimmied to his mid thigh. Normally when he’d choose to masturbate in public he’d only ever expose himself as much as necessary, pulling his hardened cock out from the slit of his zipper to pump himself.

He couldn’t risk blowing his load all over the place, but then again..

“Come on, come on. Cum. Cum.” He chants to himself in a frenzy as though he was motivating the arrival of his orgasm, one harsh stroke after another.

“Yo! Tomura!”

The harsh crash of a fist swinging against the flimsy door startles Tomura, the abrupt spike of adrenaline causing ropes of milky white shooting from his puckered slit across his lap, squirting onto the floor. He grasps onto the side of the toilet seat, hitting it for relief as he twitches in a disturbed state of orgasmic euphoria. Squeezing his eyes shut as he grinds his teeth into the cloth of his hoodie.

“Stop jerking off your little pencil maggot and get out here.” Tomura flinches at the husky voice of the man stood outside, no doubt with his vexing accomplice.

He quickly tucks his softening member into his boxers, zipping his jeans up over the pudgy bulge of his cock and balls while he clumsily slips and slides in his own semen, the rubber sole of his sneakers squeaking in the slippery mess.

“Tomur—aaaa.. come out, come out.” Keigo sing songs, joining Dabi in his endeavour to beat the bathroom door down before Tomura has a chance to open it.

“Fuck, just a wait a second you pricks, I’m coming!” Tomura growls, cringing at the milky sheen coating his fingers as he mops the floor clean with the cheap, school grade toilet paper hung from the wall.

Dabi and Keigo halt in their ministrations, turning to each other with equally foul grins as they chuckle to themselves at his miscommunication.

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Dabi sniggers.

Tomura groans, roughly swinging the bathroom door open, missing Keigo by an inch as he jumps back, curling his brows. He shoulders past the two, his nose wrinkled in discomfort after having his orgasm ruined. He makes no effort to acknowledge either of them as he looms over the sink, scrubbing at his hands beneath the tepid stream of water. His eyes flicker up to meet Dabi’s fiendish stare, flinching as he sees a tattooed hand raise from his side.

“So..”

“You got the stuff?”

A heavy arm slings itself around Tomura’s boney shoulders, jostling his frail body side to side. Keigo stalks nearer to the scene with an equally hedonistic smirk plastered across his handsome face.

“Yeah, yeah. Just gimme’ a second, fuck.” Dabi is shrugged off as Tomura rummages through the adjacent slot of his backpack, carefully pulling out a miniature zip-lock bag stuffed with a snowy white dust.

“Holy shit.” The plastic is swiped out of Tomura’s pinched fingers instantly. Keigo raises it in the air, squinting at the powder through the rays of artificial white light.

While Dabi leaves Keigo to his drug-addicted, junkie shenanigans, he saunters closer to Tomura’s hunched form, staring at him through slitted eyes.

Tomura shifts under his scrutinising gaze. “What?”

“Who’s your new girlfriend then, Shiggy?”

“What?”

He sounds like a broken record.

Dabi chuckles, popping the joints in his fingers. “Don’t play dumb with me, Shigs.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, I don’t even know the bitch.”

Keigo appears on the scene like clock work, weaselling himself in next to Dabi, still clutching the non licet packet in his fist. “Woah, Tomura finally got a girlfriend?” He claps him on the back, a little to roughly for his liking as he’s almost sent forward on his feet. “Congrats man! I always knew it’d happen one day.” Keigo grins. “Now you can stop fuckin’ your fist ev—”

“She’s not my fucking girlfriend!” A set of crooked fingers raise to claw at his slender neck.

“Ah, we’re just messing with ya’ Shigs.” Dabi exhales. “But she’s pretty cute, no? Nice tits.”

Tomura grumbles and huffs under his breath, slowly sinking into the cotton of his hoodie. “I don’t care..”

“Sure ya’ do.” Keigo hovers in-front of him like a pesky fly while Dabi shadows him from behind, hooking to thick forearms underneath his.

“Bet’cha dicks all hard just thinking about it.” The two howl with boyish laughter as a tattooed hand comes down to squeeze Tomura’s bulge, jiggling the sizeable package in his palm.

Tomura thrashes in his hold. “Fuck off!”

The moment Dabi retracts, he’s cupping his crotch defensively. “Prick.”

By time Tomura’s managed to cool himself down from the direct assault, both men are slinking out of the bathroom with a curt flick of Dabi’s wrist.

“See ya, Shigs.”

Dabi stops in his tracks, allowing Keigo to glide past. “And don’t go talkin’ to any bitches without my permission, yeah?”

The way his figure slumps into the seat with a zealous glide has you perking.

“How come you’re so hap—”

The mismatch of red to yellow has you frowning.

“Hey, there.” Keigo props an elbow onto the desk, and with that, a chin in his palm, sleazing a lop-sided smile.

“Oh. It’s you.” You twirl and twist your pen in between your fingers.

His tongue darts out to wet the rosy, plumpness of his lips. “Disappointed?” Golden eyes squint at you from the creases of his seemingly never-ending grin.

“No, I—”

He shifts closer with a chuckle. “Excited?”

The corners of your mouth quirk up into a curt smile at his incessancy. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

He cocks his head like a raptor.

“According to who?”

The way you drift, scanning your surroundings as you attempt to think up a valid answer has his brows slanting.

“Come on, I ain’t gonna’ bite ya.” He leans forward, spidering a hand across the spine of your chair. “Unless you’re into that kinda’ thing.”

Warmth prickles the surface of your cheeks at his bold innuendo and proximity.

You can’t help but admit it makes you feel hot under the collar, being practically cornered and squished and squeezed between the ridge of your desk and Keigo’s pumped, muscular arms snaking around your back.

You’re unaccustomed to the scent of heavy sandalwood and spice. You’ve been sat next to Tomura in this god-forsaken class room for so long. You forgot what it’s like to be in the space, in the company, of a real man. A handsome man, a good-looking, charming, athletic, lady’s kind of man.

You trace his sharp features, where an exotic, smooth tropical caramel replaces rough, pale milky-white skin. Where sunset streaks of thick, flaxen copper and wheat replace threaded, creeping white tresses of silver locks. And slitted, rusted golds of pooling honey over-shadow deep, blood-red crimson rubies.

He’s handsome, that’s a given. He probably has women of all ages fawning, falling, tripping all over him. Begging to be taken out on a date just to be seen with him, or at the very least, to suck on his cock, for that teensy bit of stardom.

But he’s definitely not him.

“Get out of my seat.”

Two sets of eyes snap up to address the raspy croak. Shifting to meet Tomura’s stoic gaze.

“Oh, hey there Shiggy.” Keigo’s still smiling with those pearly white teeth, even making a point to slouch back even further into Tomura’s chair. “How’ve you been? I was just talk to your g—”

“I don’t care. Move.”

Keigo’s expression is unwavering, despite the sudden gloom that creeps behind his eerie grin like a dark storm-cloud.

“Now.”

Keigo unravels his crossed legs and leaps from his position within two beats, tutting.

“Sure thing, buddy.” A lazy hand rests atop the frail bones of Tomura’s shoulder, gripping and digging into the delicate surface. His petalled lips move to whisper into Tomura’s ear with a hushed growl. “Was just keeping it warm for ya.”

Tomura rolls the balled joint, shaking Keigo’s clawed hand off of him before collapsing into the chair with an incoherent grumble

“Hi, Tomura.”

“What?”

You click your tongue at his shifty antics, opting to turn back to the front.

“Why were you talking to him?”

“I wasn’t, he came ov—”

He scoffs, not even sparing you a second glance. “I told you to stay away from him.”

“Yeah, but I—”

“Just don’t talk to him. Or Dabi, they’re bad.”

“Bad, how?”

“They’ll hurt you.”

“And how do you know?”

The way his boney fingers tangle themselves into the cotton of his hood has you frowning “I just do.”

You find it best to just leave it there, as is. “How come come you’re late?” The way you cock your head has him feeling queasy.

“None of your fuckin’ business.” He grunts, adjusting the pudge of his crotch before folding his arms against his stomach and sinking down into his seat, the length of his spread legs completely encompassing the space beneath the desk.

You’re addled by how large he really is in comparison. Were is thighs always that thick, or had his pants just shrunk? He never takes his hoodies off so you’re in the dark about what kind of big, bulging muscles he could have under there. All it takes is a quick glance to your right to notice those veiny bear paws gripping his pen for dear life. His fingers are lithe and crooked, like they’d been broken again and again, whereas his knuckles were bruised all the same. A wall puncher perhaps? You already knew he had a bit of a temper.

UNFINISHED.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha smut #dabi #hawks #keigo takami #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki smut

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