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parkerslatte · 2 months

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Overlooked | Part Four

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut at the beginning. 18+

Summary: Y/N and Eris’s wedding day is approaching fast and Y/N has some final preparations to make.

A/N: There will be a fifth and final part that I cannot wait to write!

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The morning was peaceful and quiet, birds chirped happily outside the window. A light breeze shook the branches of the tree looming near the window. Everything was peaceful and content. Save for the moans and slapping skin that filled the grandest bedroom in the Autumn Palace.

Y/N clutched onto Eris tightly, shameless moans slipping past her lips. Her whole body was alight, everywhere Eris touched burned so beautifully. Their skin was glistening with a thin layer of sweat that soaked into the sheets they were tangled in. Ever since the two had woken that morning, they had been lost in the pleasure they provided for one another. Not once did Y/N wish she were anywhere else. If she was told that she was banished from stepping out from the bounds of the large ornate bed, she wouldn’t complain.

Eris kissed the corner of her mouth and trailed his lips down her neck. Y/N only arched her body into his. While one of his hands was planted on the bed next to her head, the other was inked with hers. An action that made Y/N turn into a puddle the moment he did it. Still, fingers were intertwined.

From the way his thrusts seemed to be getting sloppy, Y/N could tell Eris was close. And so was she. For too long she had been on that edge, wanting nothing more than to tip over the edge. But she wanted to go over that edge with Eris.

Digging her nails into Eris’s shoulder’s, Y/N threw her head back. “Eris…keep…keep doing that.”

The pleasure was almost too much. Y/N had never been with anyone before that made her feel the way Eris did. He always knew where to touch her and how to touch her. On the days where all she needed was comfort, he made sure that he was gentle with her and made her feel so loved. And on the days where all she wanted to be was fucked hard, Eris obliged. Even on the days where she wanted to take control, Eris let her and happily took whatever she gave him.

“Y/N,” Eris panted, lips now hovering above hers. “I am close, my love.”

“Me too,” Y/N said breathlessly. She wanted nothing more than to come.

Eris crashed his lips to hers as his thrusts increased as he chased his release. With only a few more thrusts, Eris came, biting down on Y/N’s lip. As soon as she felt that first spurt within her, Y/N moaned loudly as she came, thrusting her own hips up. Eris’s thrusts slowed as he slowly came down from his high. Y/N opened her eyes and looked into Eris’s. The pleasure on his face still remained and she was sure that she shared a similar expression.

They breath mixed together as the pleasure in their bodies gradually subsided. As Eris pulled out of her, Y/N moaned softly before sighing in contentment. Eris pulled Y/N into his side and brushed her hair away from her face.

Y/N watched his movements with loving eyes. She wasn’t ever sure her heart was capable enough for one person. But here she was laying in the arms of her mate and soon to be husband.

“What are you thinking about?” Eris questioned, his hold tightening on her body as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Just about how much I love you,” Y/N said, pressing a kiss to his chest. “And how beautiful you are.”

Y/N didn’t miss the way his cheeks tinted the lightest shade of red. No matter how many times Y/N tenderly told Eris how beautiful he was, he would always get flustered. She loved it.

“I was thinking that we have a bath,” Eris asked. “As much as I loved our adventures in this bed this morning, I would like to clean the sweat from my body.”

“I agree,” Y/N said. “We have a wedding to finish planning.”

Eris groaned. “Why couldn’t we have a small-scale wedding again? If one more person comes up to me to ask what colour I want the tablecloths, I am going to set the whole hall on fire.”

“Because, my love, you are the one who insisted on having a grand wedding,” Y/N said.

Eris lifted himself from the bed, gently dragging Y/N with him. “It is only because it is what you wanted.”

“It was,” Y/N replied. “But I would be happy to marry you in a shack.”

Eris rolled his eyes and climbed out of the bed. “You should have said something. We would have been married weeks ago.”

Y/N stood up and placed her hands on Eris’s firm chest. “In all seriousness, Eris. Thank you. Having a beautiful wedding was all I ever wanted when I was a child and now you are making my dream come true.”

Eris tenderly cupped her cheeks. “Sweetheart, if it were possible, I would make all of your dreams come true.”

Y/N leaned into his touch. “You already have, my darling.”

A smile bloomed on Eris’s face and he leaned down to press his lips against Y/N’s. He could feel the bond between them fill with the love the two of them shared and it only made Eris feel lighter on his feet. Just that feeling alone could put him in a good mood for the rest of the day.

“Let’s go and have that bath now,” Y/N said. “I don’t know about you, but my legs ache quite a lot.”

Eris laughed and linked their fingers together, pulling her along to their bathroom.

***

Y/N lay in between Eris’s legs and her back rested against his chest as the two simply relaxed in the hot water. If she was being completely honest with herself, she was fighting the urge to go to sleep. The feeling of Eris’s fingers gently massaging the shampoo into her hair was the best feeling she was sure she would ever feel.

“I managed to control my fire,” Eris whispered into her ear.

“I noticed,” Y/N answered, shuffling a little causing the water to splash.

“That means you are beginning to control your own powers,” Eris stated. “I’m proud of you.”

Over the past few weeks, Y/N had managed to put a name to her powers, or even a description of what they can do. They amplify others. Originally, Y/N only thought that Eris magic only reacted to her because of the bond, but once they tested it out on Eris’s mother, fire roared to life with just a simple touch of her hand against his mother.

Eris was sure that there was more to her power but Y/N didn’t want to focus on that at the moment. Of course she was happy to have powers, when her family never thought she did, Y/N had proved them all wrong. But her focus was on Eris and the wedding that was coming closer and closer, only a few days away.

“When the wedding is over and our honeymoon, can we return to practicing with my powers,” Y/N asked. “You mentioned that there might be more to them.”

“We can do whatever you wish,” Eris said. “And it will get me out of those boring meetings I am forced to attend.”

Despite Y/N being High Lady of Autumn, there were still some officials that didn’t respect her title and treated her like filth on the bottom of their shoe. Eris had slolwy been flitering them out as he still needed to make sure he wouldn’t accidently cause an internal war within the Autumn Court. But Eris had asked that Y/N not attend the meetings until he had gotten rid of the officials that always opposed her and were disrespectful of her.

Y/N reluctantly agreed but would always send Eris a whole page of notes of things she wanted to be brought up in the meeting. Eris always complied with that request.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, tilting her head to look at her mate. “I’m glad that I’m nothing more than an excuse to you.”

Eris chuckled and brushed his lips across her shoulder. “You are so much more than a reason, love. You are the entire reason this court is running as smoothly as it is. All of those ideas you write out for me to bring up at meetings make a large difference in the court.”

“You are also to thank for that,” Y/N responded.

“Oh please,” Eris said, “it’s definitely more you than me. You’ve been High Lady for a little two months and you have already changed this court for the better. There are children, females and males who look up to you.”

“They look up to you too,” Y/N argued.

Eris shook his head. “They still see me as the spiteful, cruel, insufferable male I was when my father was alive. That’s probably what they will always see me as.”

Y/N frowned, turning around in the bathtub, causing the water to splash around them. “But you are the furthest thing from that.”

Eris avoided eye contact. “I’m being completely honest when I say this, Y/N, but it is not far from the truth. I was cruel and horrible for centuries. People never looked me in the eye in fear for what I would do.”

Y/N cupped his cheeks, his stubble rough against her palms. “Eris, listen to me when I say that you are the most incredible male I have ever met. You are not cruel. You are not spiteful. You are not insufferable. You are the furthest thing from those things. Sure, you put up that facade but you did that to protect your family, and that speaks volumes. You endured so much torture at the hands of your father just to keep the ones you love safe. My love, your heart is so large and it is honestly a shame not everyone gets to experience it.”

Eris closed his eyes and leaned into Y/N’s touch. “I only wish for you to see the amount of love in my heart. It is all reserved for you, every single drop of it.”

Y/N surged forward and pressed her lips against Eris’s. There was a sense of reassurance within the kiss and it was these types of kisses that made Y/N fall in love with Eris all over again. However, Y/N pulled away, a smile toying her lips.

“You are perfect, Eris Vanserra,” Y/N muttered, lips ghosting over his.

“As are you, my love,” Eris whispered before firmly pressing his lips against hers.

The two stayed in the bath until the water was cold.

***

A small gasp left Y/N’s mouth as he stared at her dress in the mirror. It was everything she had ever imagined it would be. The golden fabric seemed to glow as she moved. The dress flattered her immensely, extenuating every part of her body which she loved. She could only imagine Eris’s reaction to it. It made her want to move the wedding a day forward.

“Do you like it, High Lady?” the seamstress asked.

“Please, call me Y/N. There is no need for formalities,” Y/N said, offering the seamstress a smile. “Your work is incredible…”

“Aliana, High- Y/N,” Aliana replied.

“Aliana, your work is truly remarkable,” Y/N said, admiring the gown in the mirror.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Aliana said.

“Where did you learn to make dresses like this?” Y/N asked.

“My mother,” Aliana replied. “Though she was miles better than me. Her work shadows mine.”

“If they were anything better than this they must be something of legend,” Y/N exclaimed. “I would love to see them.”

Aliana’s gaze saddened. “They were all destroyed. By the previous High Lord. He- he was angry that my mother could not create a suit in time for him. He broke her hand and banished her from this court fifty years ago.”

Y/N frowned and gently took Aliana’s hand in hers. Aliana flinched but quickly relaxed. “I am so sorry, Aliana. Do you know where your mother is now?”

“She’s in the Winter Court. The High Lord has been kind to her there,” Aliana answered.

“Have you seen her since she was banished?” Y/N asked.

Aliana shook her head. “I haven’t. I can’t afford to leave the court and the previous High Lord always kept me busy. I have had some free time since his passing though.”

Y/N lost herself in thought for a moment. “Would you mind helping me out of this dress, Aliana?”

Aliana’s eyes widened. “Don’t you like it?”

Y/N’s eyes softened. “I don’t like it, I absolutely adore it. I just need to deal with some matters with the High Lord.”

Aliana nodded. “Of course.”

“And Aliana?” Y/N said as she began to help Y/N out of the dress.

“Yes?”

“Come to the wedding tomorrow,” Y/N said. “I don’t have a formal invitation to give you, but just mention at the door that I allowed you to be there. I will set a seat for you.”

“I couldn’t possibly attend!” Aliana said, her curls bounced wildly as she shook her head.

“You could, you are the one who made this dress after all,” Y/N said. “It would be a crime if you weren’t there.”

“I don’t know,” Aliana said, fiddling with her fingers. “It wouldn’t be right. I am simply a seamstress, I don’t belong in court. Especially a wedding as high class as yours.”

“Aliana, listen to me, I do not care about class or what you do for a living. This night is not only a celebration for Eris and I, it can be a celebration for everyone. It gives everyone a chance to see how the changes taking place in court are for the better,” Y/N explained. “I want you to be there. Not even as a seamstress who made my amazing dress, I wish you to be there as my friend.”

Aliana stilled for a moment before smiling shyly. “It would be an honour.”

Y/N smiled and squeezed her hand gently. “It will be an honour to have you there.”

Aliana helped Y/N out of her dress without a fuss, Y/N didn’t mention the fact that she had seen Aliana wipe away the few stray tears that fell down her cheeks. Once the dress was off and back upon the mannequin, Y/N bid Aliana goodbye, not before making her promise that she would attend the wedding.

***

The moment she was home, Y/N found herself walking to Eris’s office. He would only be there or in their bedroom, he was not preparing any last minute wedding preparations until Y/N was by his side.

“Eris,” Y/N said, a hint of urgency to her voice.

“Yes, my love?” Eris said, looking up from the papers on his desk.

“I need you to contact Kallias immediately,” Y/N stated.

Eris’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is okay with me, but my seamstress, Aliana, told me that her mother was banished from the court fifty years ago,” Y/N explained. “She hasn’t had the chance to see her mother and I wish to bring them together again.”

“Why was she banished?” Eris questioned.

“She could not create a suit in time for your father,” Y/N said.

At the mention of his father, Eris gripped the pen in his hand a little tighter. Y/N hurried over to him and draped herself across the back of his chair, hugging him close. Eris immediately dropped the pen and caressed Y/N’s skin, leaning back into her touch.

“She made her way to the Winter Court and I wish to lift her ban and invite her to the wedding,” Y/N said, pressing a kiss against Eris’s cheek.

“I will write to Kallias at once,” Eris said.

“Thank you, my love,” Y/N said. “I would do it but I am not sure if other High Lord’s will take me seriously yet.”

“Of course they do,” Eris said. “They probably take you more seriously than me.”

Y/N chuckled slightly before pulling away from Eris. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Eris replied, pushing his chair back.

Y/N felt the gentle caress of his hand against hers before she felt Eris tugging her until she was situated in his lap. Her arms immediately wrapped around his neck.

“I get to call you my wife,” Eris whispered softly. “My mate and my wife, the love of my life, the most incredible female in the world, how am I ever going to introduce you to people?”

Y/N smiled. “You could always list all of them. And possibly add a few more.”

“Your head is going to be too big to walk through that door,” Eris teased. He looked at Y/N before his face suddenly became serious. “But thank you, Y/N. For giving me the love I never thought I deserved.”

Y/N gently pressed her lips against his and felt the way Eris melted into her body. “Thank you, Eris. For not only helping me get out of the Night Court, but for making me realise that I deserved more.”

Eris’s only response was to surge forward and press his lips against hers, harder than before. All of the love and emotion, Y/N felt it all and it was the most amazing feeling.

As Eris’s lips left hers and began to pepper them down her neck, Y/N pulled away and Eris groaned. With a chuckle, Y/N climbed off his lap. “We can finish that later. Now I need you to write to Kallias and make sure Aliana’s mother gets her by tomorrow. I have some other things I need to attend to.”

“And what would those be?” Eris asked.

“I have some more invitations to give out.”

#acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #high lord eris

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nightdiary · 1 year

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last night's story (jake) – preview

word count: estimated 15-20k genre: surfer!jake, friends to enemies to lovers, angst, attempt at humor, fluff, eventual smut author's note: the odysseus concept demon got my ass. i cannot get surfer jake out of my mind so this was born .. whew! let me know if you'd like to be added to a tag list for when this is released <3 FULL STORY HAS BEEN POSTED!

summary: lured by the prospect of earning a couple extra bucks for the summer, you head north to man your aunt's surf shop on australia's sunshine coast. it's a visit that reacquaints you with everything you've been running from– old friends, abandoned memories, and one unforgettable jake sim.

“You should come watch me at the state titles next week,” Jake leans over the counter, propping himself up on his elbows and fixing you with an impish look. The movement sends a few droplets from his fringe landing by your hands, and he sheepishly apologizes before reaching out to wipe them away.

Instinctively, you want to reach out and shove his forehead with your fingers, but you have to remind yourself that this isn’t the same Jake you’d grown up with. Whatever you’d once had was left decaying in the past.

“Sure,” you say, ignoring the nagging warmth in your chest. Feigning nonchalance, you busy yourself with tapping on the checkout screen of the iPad, if only to give your hands something to do other than to fidget with your shirt. “Me and how many other chicks?”

Jake laughs good-naturedly, but the momentary lapse of insecurity in his voice isn’t lost on you. You feel guilty for just a moment, but don’t allow yourself to dwell on it. As you finalize his order on the screen, you look up to find Jake already looking back at you, almost expectantly.

“Your total’s $270.59.”

Jake’s face falters the slightest bit, but you don’t think it’s because of the ridiculously high price. “Does that factor in the ‘good friend discount’?”

The phrase makes something sour flood in your mouth, and you resist the urge to scowl. The receipt machine prints out his total, and you rip the paper out with more force than admitted necessarily. You nearly slam it down on the counter in front of Jake, peering up at his shocked face through your lashes. “Yea? What’s my favorite color, Jake?”

Noticeably taken aback, Jake’s confident demeanor slips away as easily as a receding wave. He stutters around his next sentence, and you try not to let your satisfaction show as you open the register. Jake looks down as he counts through the bills in his wallet, pulling out several and passing them timidly across the surface. “Uh–, well, hmm. Something… blue? Wasn’t it blue?”

“I hate blue,” you spit the lie out a bit too quickly, and hope Jake can’t see right through you. You accept the bills you’re handed with pursed lips, slipping them into your register and handing back the few cents you owe him.

“You don’t,” Jake answers immediately, not bothering to reach out and pocket the change. “You love blue. That light seafoam shade you see on the shore. Used to say it reminded you of summer.”

Despite how much you want to disagree, your throat feels all dry and your eyes are stinging and you don’t think you can bear to look at Jake much longer without saying something regretful. But something about letting him think he still knows you makes your fists clench and gut boil.

“People change,” you say with an air of finality. “I changed. You changed.”

Jake takes his bag and steps back from the counter with the expression of a kicked puppy. He looks back at you like he wants to say something, something long left untouched, and you resist the urge to hide behind your counter and stuff your ears with cotton.

You feel naked and vulnerable– like Jake has carefully stripped away every last layer of your defenses and he can see the rotting remains of everything you didn’t say. You hate how he looks at you, like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind and the inner monologue you’ve been fighting since you first met him. Like he still knows you in and out, despite moving away and changing every last bit of yourself that reminded you of him.

“Thanks for shopping with us,” the smile you give him is anything but warm, and you shut the register with a bang that echoes around the shop. “Have a good rest of your day, Jake.”

likes and reblogs greatly appreciated ♥

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

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By The Fractured Altar.

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency dialed up to the MAX setting, and Dottore shows up for a second so sorry about that in advance. Word count: 4.6k.

The first time the Wanderer thinks he’s lost you, he learns that every moment of fear he ever experienced before paled in comparison.

He awakes with a start. Lying beneath a blanket of gleaming stars, his eyes are slow to adjust to the low lighting, the once roaring campfire calmed to a hush. Its surviving embers nearly rival the magnificence of the welkin above in their glow. An empty pail sits beside the concaving wood that once stood so proudly. From this, he assumes he fell asleep before you. You always made it a point to put out the campfire before you both turned in for the night. In the warmer seasons, the Wanderer didn’t mind; it wasn’t until autumn’s chill nipped at his cheeks that he questioned your reasoning.

“The forest provides blessings for us,” you had told him. “Clean water from the stream, plentiful fruits that’ll always grow back no matter how many we pluck, and shade to protect us by day. In return for the forest’s generosity, we must keep it safe. Ours is a mutual relationship. All it takes is a single gust of wind to disturb this balance. Still… it’s not good to be cold either. I know! Come, lay down next to me, and we’ll keep each other warm.”

So he did — and continues to, religiously at that, regardless of if the cicadas thrum their wings to a deafening hymn in the scorching summer, or if all is silent in a desolate winter. For the warmth you provided was unlike anything else he’d ever experienced.

The Wanderer takes note of your absence with frenzied glances and wide, doe-like eyes. It was here that a few hours ago you lulled him to sleep, his head resting on your lap, and your magical fingers threading through his fine hair. You whispered stories that, while intriguing, were not the primary subject of his adoration. He was far more preoccupied with savoring the sound of your voice to pay much mind to the rabbit who apparently takes residence on the moon. Hmph, what a silly notion! He hopes you don’t think he believes in such childish drivel. He only stilled his insolent tongue so that you might speak uninterrupted.

Still, he couldn’t help but draw a comparison between you and the rabbit this story centers around. Have you not, in your own way, offered yourself to him, a God? This is the last sentiment he focused on while drifting in and out of consciousness. How lovely it’d be if you both could reenact the tale. He, too, would like to take you someplace far away, where no one else could dare reach.

Whether it be the moon or anywhere else.

He calls out your name, gently at first, so as not to betray his inner panic. If you happened to be around the corner and overheard him crying out for you as a baby bird stuck in a nest would, you’d torment him for days with your teasing. He quiets himself and awaits your reply. Every second that follows stretches out for an abject eternity.

The Wanderer resolves himself to find you, standing on shaking legs, so absorbed with his mission that he forgets to don his hat woven of straw. His garments catch on low-hanging branches, tearing the fabric and scratching at his skin, yet he pays it no mind. He uses the sparse moonlight that sneaks past layers of thick leaves overhead as his guide. Navigating the verdure feels different compared to when you’re present, he no longer cares to behold its beauty. How could he, when his mind is in such disarray?

He searches and searches, longing to quiet the still little voice in his head that seeks to smother the fledgling hope you’ve nurtured in him.

The rest betrayed and abandoned you, it gleefully reminds. Why should she be any different?

The Wanderer shakes his head. That can’t be true. You’ve been with him the longest, contented yourself in his company, and welcomed him to do the same with you. Wherever you went, he went. Wherever he went, you went. It was a simple yet effective dichotomy that he derived great pleasure from. For all his suffering, all his humiliation, you have what it takes to be an antidote to his many woes. What patient diagnosed with a terminal illness would let such a panacea slip through their fingers?

Humans are not to be trusted, the sinister voice reiterates. You said so yourself. Now, you’ve gone back on your word, and look at the consequence: you’ve been tossed aside like dross yet again. When will you ever learn?

Up ahead lies a clearing in the woods. The Wanderer hasn’t stilled for a minute, though his construct of a body longs for rest and respite. It will receive nothing until his current mission draws to a close. You couldn’t have made it far, he’s sure of it. The past few days entailed traveling from dawn to dusk for reasons unbeknownst to him. You said the destination behind your journey would remain a secret until you both arrived. As always, he was inclined to snuff his curiosity out if it meant entertaining your many whims, he had hardly cared for the end result anyhow. So long as he had you, he cared little about anything else to the point of negligence.

She was hinting at her treachery, the voice hisses once more. It sounds more like his own with every passing word. You were willfully blinded by sentimentality, is it any surprise your creator foresaw this weakness and chose another to fulfill your purpose?

Upon emerging from the forest’s treeline, he is nearly blinded by how bright the moonlight shines when unobscured.

Burn the forest down as you did the child’s home. Let flames consume all and incinerate her with it. Level the world until nothing remains, for if there is no one left, never can another being leave you behind again.

When his eyes finally adjust to the bright assault, what he sees nearly has him dropping to his knees in relief. You sit on the ground a few paces ahead, your back to him, gazing up at the night sky. Silvery hues surround your person, bathing you in an iridescent glow that both hypnotizes and lures him in. A branch crackling beneath his feet warns you of his oncoming approach. You turn your head in his direction, your countenance melting from uncertainty to recognition. Gentle lines form beneath your eyes as you smile, beckoning him closer.

“It’s a full moon tonight. The view from here makes all the walking we did worth it. I thought about waking you so you could join me, but you looked so peaceful,” you tell him. The shaky sigh he lets out is one of unparalleled relief. There was no nefarious scheme at play here — you were just being yourself. The damning voice echoing in his head falls silent. “What is it you were dreaming about for that infamous scowl of yours to depart, Wanderer?”

You. He never dreams about anything else. If he did, he’d consider it a nightmare.

“Wake me up next time,” he grumbles, despising how pouty he sounds. You must think so too, because you laugh, your voice light and airy. What he intends to be an order comes out more like a plea.

“Okay, okay, I will, don’t look at me like that.”

You then tilt your head, your eyes narrowing so that you can see him better. “Hm…? Wait, Wanderer, are you…?”

He freezes in place upon feeling deplorable wetness slide down his cheeks. Cruel, mocking. A testament to his shortcomings. For an instant, all is still, aside from the trembling of his hands and lower lip. He longs to hide the unsightly expression with the brim of his hat. The emotions that flicker over your face are unidentifiable, or rather, he’s too afraid to try and decipher them. Despondency latches itself around him like heavy chains. No, no, no, you weren’t supposed to see him like this, you can’t ever see him like this, weak and vulnerable and undivine.

His mother cast him off for his tears; it’s only safe to assume you would do the same.

He’s so lost in the twisting labyrinth of his decaying mind that he doesn’t register your footsteps padding his way. Soft hands press against his damp cheeks, gently wiping his tears away, your face mere inches from his. He observes with awe and wonder as you treat him with the utmost tenderness. There’s no furrow of your brow that hints at irritation or impatience behind your touch. When he finally finds the strength to make eye contact with you, he witnesses depths of benevolence unlike anything he’s ever witnessed before. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. No bottomless bottle of sake could delight or inebriate him more than the look you’re giving him now.

“Hey, do you want to tell me about what’s wr— mmph!”

He covers your lips with his own, inexperienced and hasty, driven by nothing but a desire to permanently connect your bodies together. Throughout his travels, he learned that humans did this to express fondness for one another. Following this reasoning, there was nothing that felt more appropriate to him at that moment, when his mind and soul and whatever false mockery of a heart he has yearned for you to the point he aches. This hot, searing pain you inflict is a paradox of extremes. He should detest it, run from it, yet he cannot imagine a life without it. You make him feel. Undoubtedly, it could be a curse at times. And still, the potential blessings urged him to persevere through all the muck and mire.

The Wanderer tastes the saltiness of his tears on your lips. For once, he is too absorbed to pay it any mind. Your initial confusion fades into gentle reciprocation, pleasing him greatly. He barely knows what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, but it seems right. As if everything was falling into place. You taught him the importance of balance, didn’t you? He thinks the two of you could encompass the belief perfectly. For all the bitterness that festered in his being, your sweetness could envelop and drown it out.

When he begrudgingly parts from you, sensing you need air to sate your mortal body, he presents you with a sacred covenant.

“Promise me that I’ll always have you,” he implores. Even he is almost embarrassed by the unexpected boldness, his fair skin turning red. “You have to promise. I’ll do anything, agree to any condition… so long as I have your word.”

You consider him, weighing his words on your mind’s youthful scale. He gnaws impatiently on his lower lip while you contemplate your response. You have to accept, don’t you? You must enjoy traveling with him, or else you wouldn’t do it. There’s a home tucked away in a little village for you to return to if that were the case. The insecurity he must often fight when considering this reality is nowhere to be seen. The Wanderer feels as if a fog has been lifted from his mind, a clearer path lying ahead. You’ve sung him to sleep, wiped away his tears, and returned his kiss; that has to mean something. He knows it.

“I want to see the world past this archipelago. If I can do that with you, then you have my word. I promise to always be with you.”

He smiles at you. Such a pure expression, devoid of any underlying scheme, hasn’t graced his face in some time. You return the gesture in kind. His hands fall so that they might intertwine with yours. He swings his arms ever so slightly, basking in your ethereal presence, content that he’ll never have to know loneliness again. Those painful days and boring emotions could be put behind him, never to be spared another glance.

“We don’t have to stop at just seeing the world,” he hums, something akin to pride swelling in his chest. His eyes radiate a violet hue. “I could give it to you in its entirety, should you ask.”

You giggle at what you presume to be a joke and shake your head. “Always aiming for the stars, are we, my Wanderer? I’m not nearly as ambitious as you. Seeing it is enough to satisfy me.”

“Then it’s a promise.”

ii.

The second time Kunikuzushi thinks he’s lost you, he learns madness will be his companion until you return to your rightful place by his side.

Presently, you lay down on a crude examination table. Your vibrant gaze is hidden beneath closed eyelids, your lips downcast in a permanent frown, and your hair loose beside your stationary form. The blankness of your physiognomy is unbecoming of one as lively as you. Kunikuzushi considers running his fingers over the softness of your cheeks, but ultimately decides against it. With that charlatan lurking about, he can’t risk displaying his affection so blatantly. He stands by your side, faithful as a bridegroom, never quitting the room for an instant. The absence of sound torments him.

“It won’t be much longer,” he whispers, unsure if the reassurance is for you or himself. The latter is more likely. “I’ll see those pretty eyes staring back at me again soon enough.”

Every trace of delicacy on his features evaporates the instant the door opens. Kunikuzushi meets his new colleague with a look of barely suppressed impatience, whereas The Doctor presents himself in an amicable fashion. He extends his hand for Kunikuzushi to shake, a gesture which has the latter scoffing and rolling his eyes. The Doctor plays off the blatant disrespect without a care, choosing instead to focus on the main reason for his being here today. Kunikuzushi tenses when his fellow Harbinger strides past him, toward your vulnerable form, an inquisitive air encouraging the bold act.

Under normal circumstances, Kunikuzushi would obliterate anyone who dared approach you without his express permission. Fortunately for this copy of The Doctor, his potential benefits override Kunikuzushi’s proprietorial behavior. He is the one who called upon the heretic, after all.

“So this must be my patient,” The Doctor gives you a perfunctory glance, which Kunikuzushi assumes is more for show than anything else. Your condition had been painstakingly relayed through numerous written correspondences. “What an interesting solution you’ve arrived at, temporary as it may be. To prevent the spread of madness associated with prolonged tatarigami exposure, you’ve placed her into a stasis-like slumber. Would I be correct in assuming the knowledge of this technique is owed to your unique background?”

“Is my answer necessary in aiding you with your job?”

“No,” The Doctor replies, his tone facetious. He examines the sheen of arcane energy that engulfs your form closer, then gives an off-putting smile. “It’s for curiosity’s sake that I ask, since I am a researcher, first and foremost. And this level of perfection transcends human capability.”

It is immaculately applied, as The Doctor surmised — (naturally, since Kunikuzushi is the one who applied it) — the very same technique his creator used on him once he was deemed worthless. In recognizing your rapidly deteriorating state, he didn’t know what else to do. He fed you his divine energy to keep your life force from succumbing entirely to tatarigami’s malaise; it just wasn’t enough. Your feeble human constitution could only handle so much, you weren’t made to withstand such extremes.

One night, he promised in a cryptic manner to fix this malady, no matter what. You have yet to regain consciousness after hearing his solemn vow. With Kunikuzushi’s newfound Fatui connections, he came to hear of a certain madman capable of performing feats that spat in the face of Teyvat’s ‘laws’. It was desperation that drove him to swallow his pride and ask The Doctor for help.

“Then I’ll leave my answer to your twisted imagination.”

The Doctor chuckles at that, his chest rumbling. “You’re as temperamental as they say.”

Kunikuzushi’s face almost splits in two from how wide he grins. “And you’re every bit as insufferable, wasting my time with all this idle chit-chat. I held up my end of the bargain and procured the materials you need for your heretical ends. Now do your part.”

“Gladly! It isn’t every day I get to tinker with assistance from the divine. I hope to learn much from your tutelage. Although…”

The Doctor places a hand on his chin. “While I can guarantee her physical condition’s improvement, her mental state is beyond my purview. Forgive me, if it isn’t my place to say this, but… waking to the news she’s now immortal will serve as quite the shock. What contingencies have you set into place for this?”

It takes all of Kunikuzushi’s self-restraint to prevent himself from calling down lightning from the heavens to smite this audacious quack. The Doctor might be feigning compassion, yet given his bloody track record, Kunikuzushi doubts he cares in the slightest. He’s trying to wring reactions out to delight his sadistic machinations. There’s an underlying malignant current to The Doctor’s inquiry that threatens to spark electricity in Kunikuzushi’s clenched fists, a test of sorts. The Doctor must be wondering how far his care for you extends. Kunikuzushi would rather no one knew about this exploitable weakness of his.

It’s for your sake — and your sake alone — that he manages to reel himself in. He won’t jeopardize your well-being due to some provocative statements. He would endure anything, do anything, so long as he could have you to himself again. The wait is almost over. A few low blows to his ego is the least he could sustain for your recovery.

“Whoever said anything about telling her?” Kunikuzushi returns The Doctor’s question with a question of his own. This should serve to put the dog off his trail, Kunikuzushi isn’t technically lying, yet the callous delivery belies his inner feelings. The less The Doctor knew about his attachment toward you, the better.

At this, the reprobate breaks into a fit of laughter, as if he’d been graced with the funniest joke ever told. His fangs gleam beneath the sparse lighting in the room, bemusement radiating from his being. “So that’s how you intend to handle things. Very good, very good.”

The Doctor straightens out the recently sterilized tools on a nearby table. “I’ll delay the procedure no longer. Shall we get to work, Balladeer?”

It won’t be much longer, [First], he thinks, the desperate thirst for your presence soon to be quenched. I’ve seen to it that you could keep your promise.

“Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“With pleasure.”

Kunikuzushi is so caught up in his own designs, he fails to notice a single tear that drips down the expanse of your otherwise serene face.

iii.

The third time Scaramouche thinks he’s lost you, he learns that his patience is not what it used to be.

There were certain parameters you were to adhere to — he’s remiss to call them rules, but he supposes the word fits — all for your safety and his peace of mind. The Fatui lackeys that trail after him like a dog are useless in everything besides your surveillance. They hide in the shadows, observing you from afar, dutifully reporting every change down to the slightest fluctuation in mood. From his vantage point, you’ve adapted well. He’s gently guided you, covering your eyes when necessary and encouraging you to look at what he thinks you should see.

Still, you had your rowdy bouts. This particular episode just happened to necessitate his involvement.

“Not intending to come back in for the night, [First]?”

Your legs dangle over the edge of the dilapidated castle the Fatui happened to be inhabiting for the moment. You keep your back to him, despite undoubtedly hearing his approach, your gaze locked on the heavens hidden behind a curtain of thick clouds. Your hair billows in the unforgiving Schenzayan breeze, some strands occasionally getting caught on the fluffy fur of your winter coat. He bends over to free what got caught on your collar. Your prolonged silence is unusual and unwelcome, he hoped that the open-ended question would serve to stoke the flames of conversation, even if it meant getting burnt. He’d rather you incinerated him to the bone than leave him to waste away in bitter-cold silence.

When he moves to pull away, only for you to stop him, twisting your torso around and catching his hand in yours. His breath lodges itself in his throat the moment your eyes finally meet. Though it appears to be the same hue as always, when the light hits it a certain way, there’s the faintest trace of violet. A testimony to the deep connection that binds you to him forevermore. Your beauty is so awe-inspiring, that at that instant, if you asked him to lay down his life for you, he wouldn’t hesitate to concede.

You whisper a name he forgot he ever went by, the very first of the identities he assumed when traversing this world. After gaining his devout attention, you go on to say, “I need to ask you something. May I?”

He breaks himself from his reverie long enough to reply in the affirmative.

“What… what am I, exactly?”

He is quick to school his expression, ensuring that his countenance gives away nothing just yet. “What do you mean by that?”

You pause as if you weren’t entirely sure yourself.

“Ever since I’ve woken up, something… no, everything… feels slightly… off. As if every piece of furniture in my home that I’d been familiar with my entire life was moved an inch to the side. The change is so subtle, so elusive from my understanding, that I can’t tell if it’s real or a product of my overactive imagination.”

Your grip on his hand tightens. “I think I should’ve died, but I didn't. I've seen the tall stone peaks of Liyue, traversed the vineyards of Mondstadt, and slept beneath the canopies of Sumeru’s rainforests. You’ve held your promise to me and mine to you. So why does my existence feel so wrong? So unnatural? I know you must’ve done something to me. Please, tell me what it is. I don’t think I can know peace until I know why it feels wrong to live.”

“It isn’t wrong,” he’s quick to interject, too quick, likely far from the placating comfort he intended it to be. You’re gracious enough to allow him time to recollect himself, precious being that you are. “If any tongue dared to claim otherwise, I’d cut it out and throw it at the dirt by your feet, where it belongs.”

“Even if it’s mine?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs, made incredulous by the notion. “Similar to myself, you have surpassed god and man alike. You are above them both. If the false heavens look down on you, I’ll gouge out their eyes; and if man voices complaints, I’ll slit their throats. There is no one who can judge us. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

What he intends to be a plea comes out more like an order.

You heave a heavy sigh. “Thinking that way must make you awfully lonely.”

His fingers twitch against your skin. “... Not anymore.”

Your arms fall limp by your side and your body relaxes. Much to his chagrin, you turn back around, facing any direction but his own. A frown carves itself onto his face. From this vantage point, he is a hawk, and you, his little mouse who tires from trying to scurry away in vain. He thinks to sit beside you or pull you up to his level yet decides against it. He rests his hands on your shoulders, giving them a squeeze, reminding you of his presence.

As if you could ever forget.

“I thought I’d hate you when you confirmed what I already knew, deep inside,” if you feel how his body goes tense at the word hate, you don’t mention it. “For some reason, that doesn’t feel right either. If what you said is true… and I am like you now… then I think it might be for the best.”

“You do?”

He is unable to mask his surprise by how easily you acquiesce. He anticipated a myriad of issues upon the day you learned the truth, everything from shrieking to denouncement and even violence. His mind kicks into overdrive, raking through every word that left your lips for inconsistencies or potential falsehoods. Deception was never your strong suit, you wore your heart and your sleeve. He was dutiful in studying it and committing the various nuances to memory. Even the slightest hint of falsehood wouldn’t slip past his radar undetected.

A sliver of the moon peeks out past the tightly knit together clouds, encasing you both in its glory.

“Though you speak of your loathing for the gods, you’re set on becoming one yourself.”

This comes out as more of a state than a fact.

“No matter the outcome of this goal, I have a premonition that many will be hurt in your path to glory,” your voice is firm, albeit tinged with melancholy. “I will stay by your side, as promised. I will love you more dutifully than a wife would her husband. You will love me back, and in doing so…”

Finally, you rise to meet his astonished stare, pressing your forehead against his. His lips are slightly agape, eyes as wide as saucers. He thinks you might be more of a deity than him, and for that, he deems it sacrilegious not to worship you. Your warmth has never failed to pacify him. His rage born from innumerable betrayals burns hotter than the sun, yet your willingness to reach out and become ash eclipses it all. You lightly press your palm over the left side of his chest, where nothing beats.

“I will never let you forget that you have a heart, no matter how hard you try to scrub the knowledge away. I’ll write it down over and over, carving it into your skin if that’s what it takes to immortalize the truth.”

He’d gladly hand you the blade if it meant prolonging the ecstasy of experiencing your touch.

“You’re sacrificing yourself to me, then? Your happiness, your dreams, your future… if you make such a tempting offering, I’ll have no choice but to accept. I’ll take them all and demand more. I won’t be a merciful god, not even for you. Knowing how bitter it’ll taste, you’ll still accept my love without spitting it out?”

“I’ve always found it to be bitter,” you confess. An expression of wistful nostalgia settles on your face. “When you were a nameless traveler, the Wanderer, Kunikuzushi, and now, the iteration others refer to as ‘Scaramouche’. I’ve tasted the bitterness so frequently that my tongue is now numb to its flavor. If anything… having subsisted on it for so long… I might not have an appetite for anything else.”

The puppet of many names smiles at that from ear to ear. How lovely, that a millennia of wretchedness could be mended so easily when you held the needle?

All along, he thought that whenever you were lost, departing from the path he so meticulously laid out for you, he’d need to redirect your course. What an unnecessary overexertion! He sees it now, a reality that he thought was too good to be true. An oasis in the desert is not always a mirage — this serves as proof.

For no matter how far from the main road you deviated, you’d inevitably always return to him.

#scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #yandere wanderer x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #scaramouche brainrot #my stuff

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gore-geousrem-ains · 2 months

Text

I didn’t anticipate my quick fic on 21 to gain traction. I just spat it out while I was bored at work.

If I do choose to continue writing mini fics, I’ll probably be catering more to my own tastes. If anyone wants I’ll consider suggestions.

nsfw - 18+ - 21 x reader - fem. reader - creampie - my story structure is all over the place so 🤷‍♀️i'm also too tired to proof read

It had become nearly impossible to meet with Henchman 21 these days. The Monarch had him working overtime to get more dirt on Venture, even if it was something as petty as littering. All the more reason to hate was all the Monarch needed.

Besides hunting down trivial facts 21 was put in charge of getting a new cocoon up and running. Which was an improbable task for one man alone. No matter how they argued over the absurdity of the situation the Monarch made it clear that 21 was a “henchman” and needed to get to work “lest the might of the cocoon come down upon him and crush him like that of many caterpillars” or whatever the Hell that meant. 21 promised he’d work on something which was enough to get the Monarch off his ass for a while.

With the promise of needing to get something done, 21 found a sly opportunity to reach for his burner phone. He hadn’t been able to text you back for a few days due to his busy schedule but now that his boss was sated he could finally make time to meet you.

You’d had the misfortune of being stuck on the Venture compound. With Dean away at school, Hank off doing whatever it is Hank does in his spare time, you had the displeasure of sitting at the front desk all day as a “trainee bodyguard” when really it was just an excuse for Rusty to bitch and moan at someone other than his usual gaggle of misfits. Messing around on your phone all day had it perks but you missed him, 21. He was the only sane one in the batch of eccentric nobodies.

21 was also sweet, kind, dreamy in his own charming dorky way. Your daydreaming came to an abrupt end when you felt the vibration in your pocket, your own burner phone with a very simple message, coordinates on where to meet.

You nearly flew to your meeting point, a partially destroyed hangar on the Venture Compound.

“21?” You whispered, peeking around corners, “21?” you tried again.

That’s when you heard his very familiar huffing and puffing when he ran into the hangar to find you. “Babe!” He greeted you with a smile, all while desperately trying to catch his breath.

“21!” You were elated to see him, throwing your arms around him and kissing his cheeks a dozen times.

“Hey, hey,” he chuckled, returning your hug, “Glad I was able to make it.”

In the cool shade of the hangar you two were able to catch up after so much lost time. “I’ve missed you so much…” you sighed, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you too, it’s just the Monarch is…a lot sometimes. I want my schedule to clear up so I can have more time,” he paused, lacing his fingers into yours, “more time with you.”

There was sadness between the two of you; both of you tangled up in lives that were as meaningful as they were meaningless. You had each other though and that’s what counted.

Your eyes met, past the longing within them there was also love.

You both managed a weak smile, which quickly melted away into bright, happy smiles. Your smiles turned into laughter, your laughter into messy kisses, and those kisses into desperate, hot panting.

You’d been away from each other so long it was almost like discovering each other anew. As each layer of clothing was removed the flesh beneath burned hot with desire. The need to be caressed, squeezed, bitten, kissed. ignited the both of you.

Skin against skin, your needs were met wordlessly. 21 peppered kisses across your neck and shoulders. His rough hands softly massaged your breasts, careful to tease you with pinches and pulls to your sensitive nipples.You’d taken the initiative to palm his cock and remove it from his pants, you weren’t surprised to find that he was already perfectly erect. If anything it excited you more to know that he desired you so desperately. You pulled him in for rough kisses, biting his lower lip, teasing the line of his lips with just your tongue only enticed him further into your body. It took little effort guiding you downwards with him carefully positioned between your legs.

“Babe…” was all he managed to pant, running his hands across your thighs, quietly asking for permission to continue. You nodded your head in agreement.

21 didn’t waste too much time pulling your pants down, what did puzzle you though is that he stopped. Your panties and pants were just at the mid of your thighs. 21 kneeled over you, silently taking in your beauty, your heat, your desire. It was almost too intense.

Wordlessly he guided your legs upwards so your knees were against your chest, leaving your lower body completely exposed and bare.

“21?” His name left your mouth nervously, as if you’d done something wrong. He answered your nervous words quickly when he finally continued to move.

He’d taken his cock and slowly grinded against your wetness, not daring to enter you yet. You could feel his stiffness throb against you, how he teased your entrance, how he was positioning himself to enter you at the perfect angle. When he finally dared to press into your body, he audibly cussed, “Fuck. Fuck! Your pussy is still perfect for me.”

You gasped at how full you were, it was perfectly thick and stretched your body in such a magnificent way it made your entire core brim with pleasure.

21 waited for the two of you to adjust to each other before continuing.When finally given the “okay” to move, he did. His initial thrusts were shallow, just enough to keep you two connected. Each soft thrust made you gasp. How could someone so strong be so gentle? “More.” You croaked, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts.

21 groaned above you. Something changed in his demeanor entirely. As much as he wanted to hold you and cherish you, the burdens he carried grew too many and he needed a strong release. Gripping your legs tightly, he pushed them as far forward as he could, realigned himself with you, and began to rut deeply into you. Each crash of his hips into you forced lengthy cries and moans from you. The pleasure he provided you was immense. With every single thrust he grinded himself deeper into you. Pulling the pleasure out of you with each rhythmic thrust.

Looking above you, he was so determined. Was this what he was like on his missions? Thorough, calculated, controlled? All of this was such a far cry from the 21 you loved. This roughness though, his new passion in which he was giving you was by no means unwanted in fact you wanted more of this. He’d always been good to let you vent and cry, perhaps this is what he needed right now? To feel in control and to feel like he was useful.

His strong thrusts guided the two of you towards your orgasm. Your voice was hoarse from calling out to him, and his hips were beginning to falter.

“I’m gonna cum. 21, I’m so fucking close, please.”

Hearing you and heeding to your needs his fingers dove between your legs to softly toy with your clit when your orgasm took over your body. You were as rigid as you were limp, the intensity within you ebbing and overflowing. You were everything and nothing all at once. Your body settled just slightly, when a new sensation overcame you. 21 was still in you, pressed deep into your core. You felt his cock stiffen and suddenly your walls were coated in his cum. This was the first time 21 had ever cum inside of you. The sensation alone was overwhelming. Did you trust 21 this much to let him finish in you? When he withdrew from your sensitive body he realized what he’d done and apologized all over himself. He wasn’t thinking, this isn’t what he wanted, he didn’t mean to do this to you, he would fix everything if anything should happen.

Taking in all you felt his words felt like an afterthought, “Actually,” you sighed, “It was kinda hot.”

#Henchman 21 #gary fischer #venture bros #henchman 21 x reader #21 x reader

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narsh-poptarts · 4 months

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15 and/or 27 for the artist asks?

(artist asks)

15. how long does an average piece take you to complete?

oohh that's a tough one, if only for the fact that im very bad with time blindness and also i can't check reliably on my files for how long they've been in existence because i also don't SAVE sometimes until the piece is DONE!!!!!!

Ok. hmm... typical everyday piece (on the more sketchy side) can sometimes take 3-6 hours, depends on how into it I am and how complex it is. hmm i would say bigger pieces (more finished or finalized or more complex) can take a couple days* total to complete? tho stuff for school is usually spread out over like. 3 weeks because i really only ever work on those pieces like. once or twice a week honestly aksjfdh <<;; don't do what i do, do your homework early. i would say average bigger pieces** take a couple days* and smaller pieces really only take a couple hours***!!!

*i draw in 6-8 hour, sometimes 12 hour sessions sometimes because i hyperfixate and am a lunatic <3 hope this helps <33

**BIGGER PIECE like mmmmmaybe a comic?? or like a full illustration with backgrounds and shit??? and/or one that needs a lot of process???? or just im struggling with or something. those take longer

***by "couple" hours i mean blacking out and coming to with 7 hours having past. was i drawing that entire time? fuck no, there was definitely an hour long dinner break in there and another lost hour or two to doing fuck all

DISCLAIMER: IM A BIG FUCKIN LIAR!!!! i apparently just looked it up because what happens when you stream your art is that you have RECEIPTS from when you STARTED a stream

all of this took 4 hours apparently. it's. not very much honestly? like. it is. but like. . .. . ya know what i don't know what im saying. i draw a bit slow, this took 4 hours.

27. For digital artists: how many layers does a typical piece require?

hmm. see. that's a tough one because my drawing program keeps track of layers but also it lies terribly and actually can't count at all. let's see...

sketch (0-4, depends), lines (1-3, depends on what im doin)(sometimes this is the sketch), colors (sometimes one layer, sometimes i split it up, usually 2-5), shading (2-3), highlights/other lighting (3-5), test layers/reference (where i try something out and then scrap it but keep it around because im a lunatic or it's a ref, 2-6)

i just looked at two separate pieces and they were both at 10-13 range, tho im sure i deleted/merged a layer here and there.

more complex pieces can get to the 50+ layer range, tho i think those are mostly cuz i put like. 70 billion comic pages into one file. i think my record is 250+ layers

average around 10-20 tho!!!

#asks #lazuliquetzal #this got long and very rambly my b

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artistfingers · 1 year

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Everything Everyone else hasn't asked yet ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

ᕕ( ᐕ )ᕗ

[Weirdly Specific Artist Ask Game]

3. What ideas come from when you were little

rather than saying any specific ideas came from when i was a kid, i think,... there are tropes that i still love and draw on and can credit to some of the things i read and watched as a kid. one big example is hidden identities - my most trope ever - all has a big basis on some of my earliest Media Memories, like detective conan, danny phantom, ouran high school host club, alex rider, and so on ahsdg

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

i do not know my own subconscious mind well enough to say 💀

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

i had a really big mob pscyho fic i wrote 30k on in 2019... don't know if i'll ever circle back to write the rest. there's been countless comic projects that i started and dropped over the years as well...

as for illustrations i have a number of half-started DP illustrations that may or may not ever be finished 🤷‍♂️

9. What are your file name conventions

either things languish in the land of Untitled Document, or they get ... passable attempts at descriptive names like "project title ch2 v1 inks"

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

i always like drawing shirts! clothing folds in general are a big area i'd love to sink some more practice into, tho

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

Oh Always. i rotate between music (shuffling my spotify likes or going start-to-end on an album), podcasts (dungeons & daddies or dimension 20 mostly), youtube (IE, gamegrumps, izzzyzzz) and/or reality shows my friends put on :>

12. Easiest part of body to draw

faces/heads? i feel like i put most of my practice there because i love to draw expressions. hands might be what i practice second most

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

another one i say, i dunno. if i follow artists on social media that i admire, i'd count their work as "my thing" even if it's outside the range of what i might create myself 🤔

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

at my desk, on the couch, or in bed mostly! i've been trying to get myself out to draw at the park more

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

i have a really bad habit of eating 10,0000 LifeSaver mints while i draw if i am not being careful 💀

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

sooooooo many pencils. 20+? in highschool and most of uni i was really picky about using fancy HB, 2H and 4H pencils for all my sketchbook work but at a certain point i started preferring mechanical pencils

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

i don't know about Everyone, but comics/sequential art, maybe? pacing can be quite difficult but it's a challenge i really enjoy conveying on the page.

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

anything creepy crawly horror EHehehehe also anything papercraft, multi-media-y.... or like, super solid pen-and-ink. fine lines, black and white, that sort of thing

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

if i remember i try to stretch my wrists 💀

23. Do you use different layer modes

ye!! whatever's needed at the time. i'm fond of multiply layers with purple ink for shading.

24. Do your references include stock images

oh, yep, stock images are actually one of my favorite sources for references outside of pose-specific reference resources like line-of-action, adorkaStock, etc. but stock photos (specifically sites like Pexels) are great for locations, perspective, animals, inanimate objects, or if i don't know exactly what i'm looking for

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

i'm not sure this has happened to me to that degree? like there's definitely been minor differences in interpretations when it comes to my comics (dialogue doesn't always land or imply what i intended) but i don't think i've ever had something taken wildly differently

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

i don't normally, but if i do, it's usually standard sketchbook randomness - heads, hands, shapes, squiggles, objects around the room. the cats...

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

i've contributed to a number of zines and things over the years :>

Welcome to Hell - 2014 & 2015

Sakana - Catch of the Day 2017 (I don't think I ever posted the full piece online, actually...?)

one for Danny Phantom coming up in December 👀

i also wrote for the WtH big bang in 2018, beta'd for the Fullmetal Alchemist Big Bang in 2021, and this year illustrated for the Danny Phantom Invisobang!

there will probably be more in the future. Love Me A Project

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

maybe podcasts? i've definitely drawn for podcasts before (gorgug from d20, some TAZ stuff way back in the day...) but i'd say it's rare and that the lack of a visual component separates it from media that inspires me artistically, or at least, does so directly

#ask game #ask #mirrorfalls #THAT'S ALL OF EM I THINK jkhagsdjh ty mirror 💗

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togamzee · 8 months

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Amidst the tapestry of starlit skies,

A darling's absence leaves an empty space,

Longing heartaches, unanswered questions rise,

In search of solace, memories retrace.

Once intertwined, our spirits danced as one,

Two souls converging in a symphony,

But fate's cruel hand undid what was spun,

Leaving me yearning for what used to be.

The echo of your laughter lingers still,

In whispers of the wind and gentle rain,

A void within, a yearning to fulfill,

To hold you close, to feel your love again.

Lost treasure, though you're gone from sight's embrace,

In dreams, your presence I forever chase.

“Sir, you’re bleeding.”

A soft, unnecessary utterance. Nozaki meant well. She always meant well. The singular drop spattered at the edge of his paper, leaving him to sigh and brush at the red that would forever stain his work. Most every draft endured the same bloody fate. Before he could so much as raise an arm to wipe at the nosebleed, Nozaki had found her place at his side; gentle dabbing at his face as doting as ever. He wouldn’t complain. This time. She seemed satisfied in his complacency for the evening, a pleased exhale escaping from her nostrils. “Up.”

His brow nearly twitched in annoyance, complying still as her fingers met the back of his head. He tilted his chin up, soulful blue eyes meeting the all too plain shade of brown belonging to his nurse. His nurse. The thought was met with a certain layer of fruitless scorn, regardless of whether the title belonged to Nozaki, or Hamura, or Takase…

Each and every one served as a constant, suffocating reminder of his own pathetic nature. After 28 years, surely, surely…he would have found a way to grow accustomed. In some ways, he had–the doctor’s appointments. The hospitalizations. The shock that his body, in spite of the blatantly apparent death wish, managed to defy his trepid string of prognosis as the years spanned on. He’d defied the reaper’s calling since tragically premature birth, after all. The congenital defects causing Wakatoshi Izumo’s chronic illnesses be damned–it was the looming 2-4% chance of rupture in his brain each year that scared him. Instant death.

No amount of fatuous patting at nosebleeds would ease that horror. Should all of it fall short of its well intentioned mark and remain wholly in vain; he’d still die restless. Pathetic and restless. He could count the number of outings he’d had in the past year on one hand. The amount of outings alone, on the other hand, remained to be some figment of his imagination. If it wasn’t a nurse, it was family, or some family adjacent company who’d become his shadow for whatever venture the poet planned. Not that he was often given the opportunity. Even his benevolent manager remained at the mercy of his head of house, opting to make visits to the estate as opposed to Wakatoshi stepping off the premises to make the trip on his own. Fuck, he’d have taken the company, as long as it meant he’d be able to leave his perch.

Caged wings long for skies,

Trapped melody seeks the breeze,

Freedom's song denied.

Not denied for long. He had the signing, a small event that brought him to his knees in pleading. The publishing of his third collection warranted it, regardless of his use of pseudonym. A bitter tug at the corner of his lips brought Nozaki to pause. “How are you feeling tonight, Wakatoshi?”

“As ever.”

“Will you let me take you to your bedroom? You need to rest, if you’re still to make the trip–”

“I am aware.” The bitterness slipped. Nozaki did not falter, though many had before.

“I am devoted to your health, sir.”

“I am aware of that, too.”

He could oblige this much. The clock approached midnight, and whether he’d find the will to admit it or not, his eyes had become impossibly heavy. Rising from his desk, he took one look back at the paper, blinking at the final words he’d put in ink. He had a sketch in mind for it, too. Something akin to the Creation of Adam, maybe. More starlight. Laced fingers. He wouldn’t allow himself to dwell, knowing the lingering thoughts would only give way to further bleeding; prompting Nozaki’s presence to overstay its expired welcome.

Still, it was impossible for the thoughts to completely stray. They plagued him. His never ending longing that spanned into a third stack of renowned poems under the Enoshima name. The thought of a gathering of fans was frightening in its own regard–masks would be a requirement, yes, but would it be enough? Would this be the cataclysmic event his doctors warned of, that his family dreaded? It couldn’t be. He’d release a fourth, a fifth, sixth, seventh–as many as it took til his invisible pull found its home. He could die then.

That resolve had kept him this long, hadn’t it?

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 years

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We walk in loud silence

I count your steps.

Where did we begin,

to where do we head?

I know the way,

It is not the end that plagues my head;

The steps I can count,

Only I do not wish to count how many times

I felt lost on this very path.

Alone, I always seem to find my way.

Together?

I know where you'd rather be --

Different town, different country.

Not here, not with me.

So I watch the shadows curving around the corners,

Keep my gaze away from the sight you avoid.

I think of all the ways I cannot make

These quiet seconds matter.

And I wonder, I truly wonder,

Is it disgust that makes you turn your head?

Disappointment, perhaps;

Past casts over me the greatest of shades.

The ghosts hiding in every troubled inhale

Scream louder than words we cannot dare say.

I search for meaning in poems;

You remind me of all the wrong things I have said.

Things I couldn't have meant.

I cross over lines that have already left my hands.

I cross them over yet

They do not make you halt your steps.

I want to ask you to stay.

I know you'd rather not, not this time,

Or any time-

It is what it is, I whisper to myself.

It is what it is,

As convincing as a chapped layer of paint

Peeling from the walls I have built

Out of regret and pain.

One more grave to dig in my deserted mind,

In it I let this dream lay.

One more to the list,

One more grief,

I will carry it for as long as I may.

Why,

Why again?

Maybe there has been a mistake.

Is it justice's fault

Things always seem to turn out this way?

Life never promised to be just,

To be kind.

Was faith a leap simply too far to take?

Tonight I put you to rest.

Even if I will lay awake.

Grieving has become a pattern I might never break.

It's okay.

It's-

Just last another day.

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victeux · 2 years

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LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE.

name: “Rachel Kuchen.”

eye color: “Yellow.”

hair style/color: “Grey hair with some colored extensions. I don’t know the style, I suppose it’s a bob.”

height: “4′11″.”

clothing style: “I like black.”

best physical feature: “My.. nose?”

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE.

your fears: “Any body of water.. Needles. Guns.”

your guilty pleasure: “I don’t feel guilty about doing anything I like. I guess eating frosting out of the jar can count?”

your ambitions for the future: “I would like to move out of my apartment.. To a bigger, nicer apartment.”

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS.

your first thoughts waking up: “Where am I?”

what you think about most: “What I’ll be having for each meal. I have so many options, I need to think about it a lot.”

what you think about before bed: “If I have work in the morning.”

what you think your best quality is: “My determination to get things done.. As long as I want to.”

WHAT’S BETTER?

single or group dates: “I would think single.”

to be loved or respected: “Love is nice and long-lasting, I think.. Respect seems to vary day by day.”

beauty or brains: “Smarts are more important in the long run, aren’t they?”

dogs or cats: “I like both, but I would go with dogs.”

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU…

lie: “Of course. Not often, but yes.”

believe in yourself: “Yes.”

believe in love: “Absolutely.”

LAYER SIX: EVER BEEN…

been on stage: “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that.”

done drugs: “Not yet.. Desiree is trying to have me try, though.”

changed who you were to fit in: “I like to think I haven’t, but I probably have.”

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES.

favorite color: “Blue! I’m not sure which shade.”

favorite animal: “Lions. Big, fierce cats. They look cool.”

favorite movie: “The Notebook.”

favorite game: “I don’t play many games.”

LAYER EIGHT: AGE.

day your next birthday will be: “November 13th! Almost there.”

how old will you be: “I will be 25.” (Her age does not change on this blog lmfao)

age you lost your virginity: “I’ll have to answer that later, I think. When it happens. If it happens.”

does age matter: “Yes.”

LAYER NINE: IN A PERSON.

best personality: “Oh, I don’t know.. I don’t think about that much. I don’t like being judged, so maybe someone who’s not very judgmental?”

best eye color: “Hm.. Green.”

best hair color: “Darker. Black, dark brown.”

best thing to do with a partner: “.. I’m not sure, I haven’t had one yet. Maybe go out to eat?”

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE.

i love: “My friends.”

i feel: “A little tired. Maybe on edge. That’s normal, though.”

i hide: “My pet snails. My apartment doesn’t allow pets.”

i miss: “My dad.”

i wish: “I had some dessert.”

Tagged by: @thecircusfreaks

Tagging: whoever wants it, they’re fun to do

#about;rachel #;ooc

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

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definition of a good boy | a.a.

summary: literally you just peg the FUCK out of armin arlert. that’s it. and he looks real fucking pretty taking it.

WARNINGS: smut (18+), switch!reader (but majority femdom), switch!armin (majority sub <3), PEGGING, edging, anal fingering ahgnfkld, safe word (not used), oral (fem-receiving), overstim, praise kink, minor dacryphilia bc that shit HITS pairing: armin arlert x fem!reader word count: 3.7k

a/n: if armin no like peg, why he look like THAT last episode? ANYWAY this is who i represent now. just,,, pegging men and making them cry

crossposted on ao3

You wonder how many times Armin’s thought about this before. Or even, the first time at least.

Was it when you rode him until he was crying for relief, your hands around his throat and your lips ravaging his own? Or maybe that time you had riled him up until he had you pinned in an alleyway just outside a fucking embassy, panties swept aside by the crook of his fingers and cock sheathed inside your wet folds as you cried out into his shoulder.

Which in itself was a feat. It’s probably the most difficult thing in the world to irritate Armin Arlert to the point where he wants to fuck the attitude out of you, and it had started with a dress that had a slit up to your thigh, and you tugging at his tie in the middle of his conversations, and ended with bruised collarbones, jelly legs, and fucking Connie texting you, WOW GOOD JOB!!!!! SASHA OWES ME TWENTY.

But you digress. You could probably pinpoint a million times he’s thought about it, a million times more when you have. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Armin Arlert is laid out right in front of you, flushed, sweating, eyes closed shut and mouth shamelessly open as you jack him off. His cheeks are red, the blush spreading down his neck and chest, but nothing compares to the shade of his lips as you swallow down his moan, tongue dipping into his mouth. Your other hand pins down his shoulder as he lets out a soft whine, and you smile, drawing back just as quickly as you came.

“You look so pretty, baby,” you whisper, brushing the hair fanning across his forehead back. The golden strands glimmer in the warm light of their room as Armin lets out another strangled noise when you squeeze the tip of his cock, the precum warm underneath your palm. “You think you’re ready?”

“Yeah.” His hands are on your back, fingers scratching the skin and sending shivers down your spine, yet now, one travels to the back of your neck and pulls you down for another deep kiss. Their mouths meet messily and his other hand trails down to your hips, your thighs by his waist, and squeezes. “I’m ready. I trust you.”

Pulling back, your gut clenches and you wish you’d taken up his offer to ride the edge off on his thigh, but you’d been so excited that you had refused. Now, nervous energy mixes with the heady arousal surrounding them you pull off of him, fingers giving one last pump to his hard cock. Sitting aside with the lube, you watch as Armin rolls over, revealing a muscled back ripe with tension and you immediately crawl over to him.

“Tense?”

“Nervous, yeah.” His fingers dig into the bedsheets as you place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. His blond hair tickles the apple of your cheek and you situate yourself right over him. Squeezing a sizeable amount of lube onto your pointer and third finger, you smear it down to your base knuckles and glance at Armin again. His cheek is pressed against the mattress, his sedated face betraying the hunger in those blue eyes. His hips twitch against the blankets almost imperceptibly but you let it slide—they both need a moment to just…

“Safe word?” you ask.

“Conch,” he replies dutifully. “Don’t worry so much or I’ll start to worry.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you or for you to hate this.”

“The most important thing is that we tried it, alright?” He reaches back to grab your hand, and you look down at his fingers wrapping around your wrist. Twisting to hold onto him, you kiss his fingers before he lets go, resumes the slow grind against the mattress and you watch, transfixed at the rolls of his hips. Reminded of the slick glistening down your thighs, you clench your legs together as a soft moan is muffled by Armin’s face buried in the sheets. His knuckles are white as his thrusts grow frantic, but they both know that nothing on this bed is enough friction for what they both want.

Too many nights with disappointing outcomes have taught them better—silk is good for hair and skin only, it seems.

“On your knees,” you murmur, and he freezes, face turning slowly to reveal blissed out face and a panting mouth. Stomach fluttering at how obedient he is, you situate yourself right behind him as he rises to his knees and elbows and you spot the wet stain where his precum had soaked into the sheets. Smiling, you rise up on your knees, lean over, and kiss his spine, settling a hand on the small of his back. “Relax, baby.”

Your fingers slip between his cheeks and rub along the hole, the heat emanating from his skin incinerating. Gently, you sink your fingers in and he lets out a choked noise at the stretching as you scissor slowly to give him time to get used to the burning. His fingers sink into the mattress, claw-like, and his back tenses up but you lean forward, running a soothing hand between his shoulder blades.

“Are you okay, baby?” you whisper, the resistance making you pause so he can get used to it. He lifts his head, gasping before nodding to the wall.

“I’m okay.” Forehead to the sheets again. “Keep going.”

Kissing his hip, you nod and push forward as your hand on his back spreads out, and you feel the moment he relaxes because something inside him eases, too. Your fingers sink in despite how tight it is, near-choking as his legs twitch against your thighs. You watch the back of his head keenly, catch the speedy rise and fall of his shoulders as you slowly draw your fingers in and out, getting him used to the sensation.

Tiny sounds escape his mouth as he rests his cheek against the bed, his sharp gasps whenever you push in deeper than before music to your ears and to the growing drip of arousal between your legs.

It’s when Armin’s legs shoot out from underneath him, his whole body collapsing and a loud moan comes out of him that you really snap awake. Your hand ripped out from between his asscheeks, you jump back, eyes widening in fear and you crawl up so you can spot his face. His eyes are wide enough that you can see a ring of white around his blue, blue eyes, and he’s coated in a fine layer of sweat over his pink cheeks. A hand is slapped over his mouth and you hear his raspy pants through his nose, desperate and rapid as you lower yourself to his eye level.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” you ask but he lifts a wet hand from his mouth, and you watch slowly as he grabs your wrist tightly. Lube from your fingers drips onto your hand as he yanks you close.

“Why’d you stop?” he groans. “If that’s how it feels every time I hit your g-spot, I wish we started this sooner.”

Electricity zaps through your chest and your lips pull into an incredulous smile as he lets go of your wrist and cups your neck, pulling you down into an open-mouthed kiss and you moan into his mouth as he pushes himself up onto an arm, tongue exploring your cheeks, his hand sliding down your back. It’s decidedly slow, unpretentious, intimate, and you remind yourself that there’s still a task at hand, no matter how persuading Armin can be with his eyes, hands, tongue, or otherwise.

Parting, your heart pounds like a damned drum as he squeezes your ass but you pluck his hand off of you, pushing him back down onto all fours.

“Elbows and knees, Arlert. I’m not finished with you yet,” you murmur and you see the shiver in his body at the idea. He does as he’s told, lowering himself until his face is against the mattress and his ass is up in the air, and you migrate to his end again, through the molasses air until you’re where you were before.

A hand on the small of his back, you ease your fingers in again, and this time, when he lets out a sharp whine, you know not to give up but to give in, push against the spongey flesh at your fingers that sends his hips jolting back into your palm. Peering at a pretty blond head, you frown when you see his palm has found its place over his mouth again and without thinking, your hand on his back trails to his ass, giving it a light slap before squeezing the flesh.

“Let me hear you, pretty boy,” you croon as his back arches with a choked ah! that fills your stomach with butterflies. Pushing down on his spine, with every whine, moan, desperate more, every pleading deeper, baby, you reward him with another thrust of your fingers that makes Armin writhe with pleasure you can feel everywhere in his body. Heat licking at your own face, you get so lost in the rocking of his hips, the sheets twisting under Armin’s fists as he tries to chase his own high, that you nearly miss the signs of his coming orgasm.

Classic: he starts swearing like a sailor.

“Fuck—hngh!—C’mon, baby. Come on. I’m so close.”

And the panting that’s so noticeably heavy and fast that it’s a wonder he can even breathe with how much he’s begging and squirming by the pressure of your fingers alone.

Those two things echo in your head as you pull your fingers out just as he stands on the brink of his eyes rolling back from the black-out euphoria he must’ve been on the edge on because when you stop, he lets out the loudest fucking curse you’ve ever heard in your life.

No, fuck! Baby!” His whines are music to your ear as he buries his face in the silk. “Baby, I was so fucking close! You, you—“

“I? I?” you tease, a thrill igniting underneath your heart at how he sweats and arches underneath your hand. “You’re just so pretty for me all needy, Armin. Not every night I get to edge you.”

“It could be,” he pleads, his hips lowering to the mattress again as he reaches forward for a pillow to shove between his legs but you smack the hand away as you stretch for the nightstand. “Baby, just let me cum. Let me cum and I’ll let you edge me every night. Please, please, please—“

“Armin,” you censure, although the words are enticing and you know if you brought it up to him outside the bedroom tomorrow morning, he’d blush and have to accept his own vow. But you’re not that cruel. “When have you ever given in to my pleading?”

Maybe you’re worse. You don’t mind that at all.

“Sometimes, I do. When you’ve been a good girl.” His hips begin to rub against the silk sheets as you grab the strap-on and buckle it up comfortably around your hips. Armin’s oblivious to it all and you let him have his moment of faux relief, pretending you don’t notice. He’s going to need the breather after you’re done with him. “And I’ve been good. I swear it.”

“Really?” Grabbing the lube bottle that’s been lost in the sheets, you squirt a hefty amount all over the silicone and run your hand up and down the shaft, warming it up. “I don’t think trying to fuck yourself on silk sheets like you’re a prince without a whore is going to help you much now is it, hm?”

His hips freeze and you chuckle to yourself, the power trip making you dizzy as you hum appreciatively and lean over him, the tip of the strap leaving a wet trail from between his cheeks down his spine. Your lips find the knob of his spine, mouthing at it warmly as his entire body goes taut and you reach blond hair, nosing it away and sucking a mark onto his neck. He lets out a soft moan, lifting his head and reaching up a hand to wrap around the back of your neck.

Bracing yourself, you smile and find the sensitive spot right underneath his jaw, biting gently.

“Armin,” you whisper huskily against the shell of his ear, nose drawing along his temple. “What’s that again about being a good boy?” You return your mouth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, grinning wickedly when his back arches and he lets out a helpless whine. Inhaling the smell of clean soap, you crane your head to look down between your bodies. He’s laid out bare in front of you, and you wiggle your hips, nestling the strap back between his ass cheeks, just to get him used to the sensation.

Tearing yourself away and back up, you cup his thighs and pull him back up to his knees.

“Anyway,” you continue, as if remarking on the weather, “I don’t know if you do deserve this anymore. Seeing as if every time I stopped touching you, you’ve gone to rutting the bed like I wouldn’t notice.” The tip presses against his hole and you feel his shiver. You tilt your head. “Nothing to say now, huh.”

“No, no, please. Fuck! I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I really promise, baby.”

“Right.” You don’t believe him, but nonetheless, you smile. “Why don’t you prove it and relax?” A soft noise keening from his mouth, he nods and lowers himself deeper. Counting silently to yourself, you wait until he gets comfortable.

When he does, you set a hand on his hip, another on his back, and slowly push in.

“Ah!” His head snaps up, knuckles blanching as he grasps the sheets. Breathing quickening, he stiffens but you hush him quietly, stroking soothing shapes into his skin. You slowly ease out again and he exhales. A heat sears through your chest and the urge to slip your fingers in, to push against the spongey part again until he’s begging, not for you to stop or for you to continue, but just crying begging for you, causes you to groan to yourself.

“You don’t know how pretty you look all like this, Armin,” you murmur as he shifts back and you laugh gently. “You really want this, hm?” You push back in gently, and it goes easier this time. Your hips nearly press flush against his skin as he lets out a choked noise. “Lemme hear you, yeah? God, I wanna hear you so bad, baby.”

“Hngh! Ah—“ You draw back only to sink back in again, bottoming out and you know you hit it when his elbows slide out from under him, cheek against the bed. You pause, tip pressing against the prostate until he’s blabbering, voice going raw with desperation. “Baby! Baby, baby, baby, oh God—“

Guts tightening, you bite your lip, trying to hold back your own moan as he tries to jerk back.

“You want me to move, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, please. Please, please, please.” His hand claws at his face, caging his mouth but doing nothing to muffle any of his noise as you push harder. His eyes roll back and you smirk, pulling back. “Baby!”

“Alright, alright. Since you asked so nicely.” And you sink into him, faster this time, hitting your mark so easily that when his moans arise, it’s only incentive for you to continue thrusting, your movements sloppy but quick. Hips against his ass, your fingers dig into his hips as he begins to rock back against you, settling into an unsteady rhythm only they can begin to understand.

You watch in delicious satisfaction as Armin falls apart, raising his ass higher, sinking deeper into his chest. A soft whine rises with every movement as he gasps out, “Harder,” and you nearly fucking lose yourself in the high-pitched rasp in his voice. His voice begins to thicken when you listen, and you catch sight of his cheek, glistening with tears.

“You close, baby?” you pant at the sight. Fuck, he’s so fucking pretty; it’s otherwordly. Your hips beginning to tire, the smack and slide of their skin the only other thing you can feel besides how hard and tight he is as he nods, red lip trapped between teeth. “Yeah? You’re doing so well, you know? God, I’m so proud of you.” He lets out a whiny mhm! A harsh throbbing between your legs, you squeeze his hips. “C’mon, baby. C’mon. You’re so pretty. Pretty boy crying for me.”

“God, I love you,” he cries out, body beginning to shake as his breath hitches in his throat sharply like a ragged gasp after nearly drowning. “I love you so much. Please, let me cum. I wanna be good. Lemme be good for you.”

Lurching forward, you plunge as deep as you can into him and he lets out a hoarse wail as you sink your teeth into his side, at his ribs. Your arms wrap around his waist, holding him flush against yourself and he shudders, head raised as he claws at the sheets, riding off his own orgasm on your strap, shamelessly, with reckless abandon and you press your face into his shoulder blade, rocking with his moves.

Soft, airy moans fill the silence as he stubbornly tries to keep going as he falls back on his knees, in some yoga pose you can’t remember the name of, and you draw yourself back up, shallowly rolling your hips against his until he’s crying into his arm, ears red, cheeks red, everything red and warm and slick.

Sighing, you finally pull out and he lets out a whimper at the loss. Sitting back on your ankles, you begin to unbuckle the strap, climbing over his shaking leg to grab the towel on their nightstand. Wiping off the lube and juices from the silicone, you glance over your shoulder at your dazed boyfriend, and a soft smile pulls at your mouth as he tries to catch his breath. Back rising and falling, he wipes at his face and you chuckle, abandoning your cleaning efforts to crawl over to his face. Leaning down to kiss his cheek, you hum.

“Pretty baby,” you murmur as his blue eyes rake over your face, down your body covered in a fine layer of sweat. You lay down beside him, mirroring his position so you’re on your stomach, chest resting on your forearm. Your other hand lifts, fingers brushing through hair that falls over his eyes lazily. His irises are still blown out with lust, the residual pleasure still occupying his face in how lax his face is, how he barely keeps his eyes open. “You okay?”

“More than okay.” His voice is nothing more than a mumble as he turns to plug his eyes with his forearm and you laugh, scooting closer to kiss his ear. “I dunno if I can walk tomorrow, though.”

“I did go a bit hard on you, didn’t I?”

“’S okay. I asked for it.” He lifts his head with a cold breath, and he looks at you again. “I wanted it. So badly. You did so good, baby.”

“A-Armin—“ His name is swallowed up by his lips and you let out a noise of surprise as he cups the back of your neck. Pushing you onto your back, he deepens the kiss and their legs tangle up as his other hand runs down your side. A soft moan spills out of your mouth into his as he trails inward, exploring the slick pooling down your legs. Without a second to waste, he sinks a finger in easily to the first knuckle, curling sinfully and your legs spasm against his.

“Maybe you liked it more than me,” he hums, lifting his mouth from yours. Before you can refute that claim, he’s travelling down your body, free hand adoring every single curve and line. You let out a small protest as he slips his finger out but it’s almost instantly replaced by his mouth suctioning onto your cunt. Heat splinters through your body and your legs wrap around his head immediately.

“Fuck, Armin,” you sigh, hands buried under the pillow above your head as he laps at your slit and when you raise your head to see him peering back, you groan at the sheen covering his chin and lips. His eyes are still blown out, darkened with lust, and he dips his mouth again as the coil inside you tightens and just seeing him beneath you again has your eyes rolling back. His hand squeezes your thigh as your breath hitches and you feel it coming, harsh, white, and hot.

Chest blistering tight, your eyes flutter shut and your fingers scrape at silk as your hips rut against his face. You’re so fucking close—fuck, fuck, fuck—

“Armin!” You let out a hoarse scream as he slams a hand over your mouth and your back arches as his other hand presses your hips down. Eyes rolling back, your hands wrap around his wrist as he sucks on your clit, massages you through the crashing waves that run through your body. Legs trembling, you try to move away but he only huffs a laugh, kissing your slit before licking a stripe up. The overstimulation makes you whine, shaking as he continues to tease you out, drinking you, eating you as if you’re his last meal on death row.

His name spills out of your mouth in shameless babbles, praises about how good he is for you coming out raw as you try to catch your breath but he won’t let you. Not even for a second.

Armin only breathes you in—hums against your soaked thighs, biting gently on the flesh, and your hands fly to your face, one over your mouth, another over your eyes as a helpless, incoherent plea spills out of you. You feel the smirk in his cheeks as he pushes himself closer and your hips nearly lift but he pulls you back down to the bed, chuckling.

“Am I good boy now?” he asks huskily against your cunt. Shivers shoot up your spine and he inhales deeply, squeezing your thighs like he’s never seen something so fuckable. “Or do I need to prove it to you again?”

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tenelkadjowrites · 3 years

Text

What Happens in a Blackout... - Hongjoong x Reader (NSFW)

This is an Ateez fic.

Summary: Stuck in an elevator with Hongjoong, the person you hate the most, you aren’t ready for when things take an unexpected turn.

Genre and warnings: basically no plot. enemies to lovers. fem pronouns for reader. hate sex. unprotected sex. biting, choking, slapping, name calling. dirty talk.

Word count: 4,220.

Tag list: @thewonderofkpop - @lilhwahwa - @btsreader12 - @obligatoryidolblog - @iusrene - @billboard-singer - @yunhofingers - @foggyinternetchaos - @passionloveindividualityempathy - @multistan-net

this fic is not meant to represent hongjoong in any way, shape or form.

Balancing the box on your knee, you fumble for the keys, slipping them into the lock and successfully closing the door. You are ready to get home. Helping your friend move is a duty thrust upon any in a close circle but that didn’t mean it was ever fun.

You had offered to lock up so your friend didn’t have to drive back and finish up some loose ends. The apartment was painful for them due to their break-up, and you didn’t mind lingering to make sure the place was cleaned out. It took longer than you anticipated, however, and now it is past ten.

You walk down the hallway, holding the final box of items that your friend told you to toss in the dumpster; it appears to be mementos of the dead relationship. As you turn the corner, lost in your own thoughts, you see someone waiting for the elevator. Your heart drops, an eye roll instinctively occurring at the sight of the person you dislike the most – Hongjoong.

“Why are you still here?” You complain immediately.

He looks up from his phone, over his shoulder, “Why are you still here?”

“Nice comeback. I’m actually helping.” You hold the box out towards him as evidence, “Unlike you.”

Your friend is close to Wooyoung, who offered to help them move. Unfortunately, Wooyoung is close friends with Hongjoong – literally the most annoying person on the entire planet. He is cocky, spoiled and picky about everything. You disliked each other immediately.

The dislike is on a molecular level – as soon as you locked eyes with him the first night Wooyoung brought him out to the bar a couple years ago, the two of you circled around each other like animals ready for a kill. No matter how many times people tried to tell you that Hongjoong had layers and was a nice guy, you never saw that for yourself. He was always making snide remarks to you and it took about two seconds for you guys to start fighting if there was no buffer.

Today you had attempted to be on your best behavior. Your friend is going through a lot and you didn’t want to add to it. But wow, Hongjoong is annoying. His idea of helping to move was bringing coffee at the start (he “accidentally” forgot yours) and then sit on the windowsill and boss people around.

“I helped.” Hongjoong retorts.

You roll your eyes again, “Did you press the button for the elevator?”

“No. I thought I’d sit here and see what happens.” He replies dryly.

“Shut up, Hongjoong.”

“You first.” He replies like a child.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. Hongjoong is wearing a button up shirt with tiny sunflowers on it, a denim jacket over it, blue jeans and yellow sneakers. His hair is a bright blueberry shade because he likes to change the colour depending on the season which would be a cute concept on literally anyone but him. He is looking at his phone, one nail painted yellow, probably to match his shirt. You avert your gaze back to the elevator doors.

“What is taking so long?” You grumble.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be standing next to you either.” Hongjoong remarks, smiling at you brightly which only annoys you more.

The elevator doors finally open. Quickly, you step inside, anxious to get away from him and get out of here. Hongjoong follows, presses the lobby button, and the doors protest as they close. The apartment building is run down, and your friend lived on the ninth floor.

You stand on the opposite side of Hongjoong, staring steadfastly at the doors. Neither of you speak. The elevator passes the seventh floor, moving to the sixth –

And stops so hard that you drop the box, the contents spilling across the elevator floor. The grinding noise from the elevator is loud enough that you wince, the lights flicker off leaving you in complete darkness. A few seconds later, the emergency lights go on, casting a strange hue across the small space.

“What the hell?” Hongjoong mumbles, “The elevator has stopped.”

“Wow, really?” You remark as anxiety blooms in your chest, “I couldn’t tell. Thank God you’re here to explain it.”

He scowls, pressing some of the buttons on the board but the elevator remains firmly in place. The emergency button also does nothing. “I think power is off in the entire building.”

Crouching, you shove everything back in the box as Hongjoong pulls out his phone, typing away. Just wonderful, you think. This is so typical of your life.

He is silent for what feels like ages before speaking, “News is saying there is a city-wide blackout. We’re probably gonna end up waiting it out. How’s the battery life on your phone? Mine is almost dead.”

“Probably because you were on it all day,” You mumble, fumbling for your own phone.

“I wouldn’t want to use my phone either if I knew no one would be contacting me,” Hongjoong insults you, voice dripping with honey to hide the sting.

“I’m at fifty percent. I can text some people and let them know we are here and put it in power saver mode,” You say, typing quickly to the group chat.

After that is finished, the two of you just stand there. Part of you wants to scream, the other part of you just wants to start whining like a baby. Being stuck in an elevator is one thing – being stuck in here with Hongjoong of all people is quite another. There is no point in trying to open the elevator doors either because it got stuck in between floors. You wonder if you’re going to run out of oxygen. Did that happen? Or was that just a thing in movies?

Neither of you speak for what feels like ages. The elevator starts to get warm, but you try to ignore it. You sit down on the floor at one point and Hongjoong follows, leaning his head back against the elevator wall, closing his eyes. Time seems to stretch on, the temperature rising the longer you sit there.

At one point, Hongjoong shrugs out of his jacket, putting it next to him, rolling up the sleeves of his button up. You have noticed before how in shape he is and try to avert your gaze now as you see his muscles against the fabric of his shirt, the way the shirt sits across his chest. You’re suffering from heat exhaustion, you tell yourself, otherwise you wouldn’t be staring at him.

“Did you have plans tonight?” Hongjoong asks suddenly.

“Please do not try to make small talk.” You mumble.

“Never mind, forgot who I was asking,” He says, “Probably were going to spend the rest of the night on Youtube.”

“God, shut up, Hongjoong. Do you really have to start shit now?” You retort, closing your eyes as if doing so would make him disappear.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Be quiet, maybe.”

“Then I just think about how fucking hot it is getting in here.”

He isn’t wrong. The temperature is steadily rising, your clothes sticking to you uncomfortably. Sitting here in silence does make it worse, somehow, as if the only thing you can think about is just how your body is breaking out in a sweat.

“I don’t understand what your problem with me is,” You hear yourself say, “You were on my ass from the moment we first met.”

“What? You started it,” Hongjoong sounds affronted, “That first night we met, you looked at me as if I were shit on your shoe.”

Your eyes open, narrowing to look at him, “What the hell are you talking about? The reason we don’t get along is your fault. You’re the one who looked me up and down and made a snide remark about my shoes.”

“It was not a snide remark.”

“You literally looked at my shoes and went ‘oh, I think I saw those on the clearance rack downtown’. How is that not an insult?”

“It was an observation.”

“No, it was you being an asshole. Because apparently I looked at you wrong. Do you hear yourself?” You snap.

“Do you hear yourself?” He hisses.

“I don’t know why you think a witty insult is just repeating what I said in an obnoxious tone but you’re an idiot so what do I expect?”

His lips press in a thin line, “You know, maybe you were right. I’d rather sit here and think about how I’m cooking to death than talk to you.”

“Wow, your braincells are finally working.” You cross your arms, closing your eyes once more.

The silence descends on the elevator like a suffocating blanket. Your time with Hongjoong is minimal – this is probably the longest you have spent around him alone. In social settings, you both avoided each other. You know when you have a conversation with him, you sound like a child. So does Hongjoong. No one else makes you speak so unkindly or act so immaturely. He really brings out the worst in you.

You hear Hongjoong huff after twenty minutes, and crack open one eye a little. He is undoing two of the buttons on the top of his shirt, fanning himself. You can see beads of sweat forming on the top of his chest and close your eyes again. Being stuck in an elevator during a city-wide summer black out with Hongjoong is far down on the list of things you ever wanted to experience.

He stands up then and begins to pace the small space. Annoyed, you open your eyes again, “Do you have to do that?”

“What?” He snaps.

“Pace around like that.”

“Just close your eyes, sweetheart and it won’t annoy you,” His voice drips with sarcasm, “It’s too hot to think straight.”

You tug on your own shirt, trying to get some air to move through it. The minutes feel endless and the more time that passes, the less you can begrudge Hongjoong for removing his jacket and undoing the buttons on his shirt. You wish you could do something similar but all you are wearing are jeans and a simple shirt.

He runs his fingers through his hair and you see the muscles in his arms. Irritation flashes through you, “You know, if you’re so in shape why didn’t you help more today?”

Hongjoong raises one eyebrow, “Admiring me?”

“Fuck off. I’m just saying you did nothing today and you’re clearly in shape. You could have helped with the heavy lifting.”

“Listen, I only showed up cause Wooyoung said he was gonna buy me food afterwards. But then he ran off early because he had an unexpected hook up appear.”

“You could’ve helped me finish up.” You stand up now, irrationally annoyed.

“Unsure what part of me only showing up for free food you aren’t understanding. I didn’t show up to move things.” Hongjoong replies, undoing another button on his shirt.

“Oh my god, enough with the striptease.” You snap.

“There is no striptease, God – you are just…you are so fucking annoying, please tell me you know that. Please tell me you are at least somewhat aware of how obnoxious you are.”

“I’m the obnoxious one? You’re the one stripping down in the elevator.”

“It’s like 1000 degrees in here!” He exclaims, his fingers suddenly working the buttons on his shirt quickly, “That wasn’t a striptease, this is a striptease.” His shirt hangs off his shoulders now, completely open in the front.

Jesus, you think and then immediately think, no, stop, don’t even follow wherever your brain is trying to lead you – this is Hongjoong for fucks sakes. But Hongjoong is in amazing shape – way better shape than you previously thought. His stomach is toned, he has abs, and every part of him is so well defined that it is difficult to stop gawking.

And you must not hide the gawking very well because a smug expression crosses Hongjoong’s face and he bites his bottom lip a little as he takes a step towards you, “Oh, I’ve seen that look before. When you don’t think I am looking. Maybe the reason you hate me so much is because you look at me like that and hate yourself for it.”

The words hit a nerve and before you can stop yourself, you slap Hongjoong across the face. He makes a small noise as your hand strikes his cheek, the skin flushing dark red. The next second, he pushes you by your shoulders against the elevator wall, taking you by surprise. His body is against yours and even though you hate yourself for it, you can feel every nerve respond to being this close to him.

Hongjoong is looking at you as if he is going to devour you whole, a demon possessed, as he goes, “If you hit me again, sweetheart, I’m going to stop being nice.”

You don’t even hesitate, bringing your hand down against his other cheek as hard as you can. Hongjoong makes a tiny noise of pleasure, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before his hands grab your hair painfully, giving it a sharp tug and then his lips crush yours.

There is nothing sweet about this kiss. You are biting on his bottom lip hard, tugging on it with your teeth until he hisses in pain. Your hands pull off his shirt, it hits the elevator floor, your fingers dragging up along his muscles, feeling the sweat underneath your fingertips. Hongjoong is unzipping your jeans quickly, trying to tug them off you.

You know that you shouldn’t be doing this. You have lost your mind. You blame the heat, the stuck elevator, the close proximity of Hongjoong.

The kiss breaks, he growls, “Get your stupid jeans off already.”

You fumble with them, finally pulling them off your warm body, wearing just your shirt now. Hongjoong grabs your underwear, ripping them off you as if they are made of paper, hoisting you against the wall of the elevator. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms around his neck as he pulls his cock out from his jeans and underwear, pressing them against your hole.

“You wet enough for me?” He asks, one hand slipping down to feel, “God, already this soaked? Whore.”

You tug his hair hard, yanking his head back. Before you can stop yourself, you spit directly against his mouth, eyes blazing, “Don’t call me that.”

He groans when you spit on him, clearly getting off on it, “What are you gonna do if I say it again?”

“I’ll spit in your fucking mouth.”

“Whore.” Hongjoong says immediately.

Your hand grabs his cheeks, squeezing them together, his mouth opening. You spit in his mouth and Hongjoong says muffled, “Again.” and you do it again, spitting even more this time –

With a groan, Hongjoong enters you with no warning. Your wet pussy takes him easily, the sensation of being filled up makes you moan, your hands slipping from his cheeks to hold onto his neck again. You want him so bad it is disgusting, you don’t even understand it, all you know is that you want him to fuck you into oblivion.

Buried inside your cunt, Hongjoong starts to pump his hips. The angle in which he is fucking you is insane. He is hitting your sweet spot directly from it, sliding all the way out of you before ramming back in. Smooshed between the wall of the elevator and Hongjoong, all you can do is take his cock, strangled gasps toppling from your mouth as he rails you.

“Oh, I like you much better like this,” Hongjoong says through clenched teeth, “You’re way less annoying when you’re just moaning.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You growl and your lips find each other, kissing hungrily.

Hongjoong doesn’t slow his pace and you know that you’re already going to cum. Gasping, fingernails digging into his back, bouncing on his cock, you grit your teeth, moaning louder than you would have liked, hating that Hongjoong can hear how much pleasure he is giving you.

“Fuck, you gonna cum already?” He asks but doesn’t stop, “I bet I’ve made you cum faster than anyone else, right, sweetheart?”

You hate him being correct. But before you can reply, he rams his cock deep and it pushes you over the edge. Gasping, you start to climax, moaning Hongjoong’s name as your pussy tightens around his cock, squeezing tightly, making him groan. You bury your face in his neck, panting, grinding against him desperately.

As you rock against him, riding out your orgasm, Hongjoong grips your ass hard, turning suddenly so his back is against the elevator wall, sinking to the floor so that you are straddling him in his lap now. His cock is still rock hard and buried deep in your cunt.

“Bounce on my dick,” He orders.

“No.” You mumble into his neck.

His hand pulls your hair so hard that it forces your face back to look into his eyes. His blueberry hair is a mess, sticking to his forehead from sweat, eyes blazing. “Bounce on my dick, whore.”

You go to spit again but Hongjoong slaps you. It stings, head going utterly blank at the impact, body buzzing pleasantly. It shouldn’t feel so good for him to hit you, but it seems to awaken something dormant inside you.

“Fuck,” You exhale, “You get off on hitting women? Asshole.”

His hand shifts to your neck, wrapping around it, giving it a small squeeze, “No, I get off on hitting just you.”

“What else you gonna do?” You tease, wanting more, hoping he knows this is your way of begging for it.

Something flashes past Hongjoong’s eyes and his hand squeezes hard against your neck. He brings his other hand up and he begins to choke you. You can’t even stop yourself – you immediately begin to bounce on his cock. The t-shirt you are wearing is covered in sweat, sticking to your skin uncomfortably as Hongjoong chokes you so hard that your head begins to get very light.

“Open your eyes, look at me,” Hongjoong’s voice is tense, and you force your eyes open, looking at him dazed, which makes him sneer, “Head blank now, sweetheart? Nothing going on up there, just you being choked and fucked like this?”

He releases his hold on your neck, allowing you to gasp for air. Hongjoong grabs your shirt, pulling it off over your head, yanking your bra down to expose your tits. You are bouncing on his cock, urgently trying to ride him as fast as you can. Even though you have came once already, you want to cum again and want his load in you.

“I hate you so much,” You whine as your bodies, slick with sweat, grind against each other.

“Don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.” Hongjoong replies as he tugs hard on your nipples, drawing another moan from you.

He pulls you in for another kiss as you bounce on his cock, kissing you messily, practically drooling in your mouth as you try to fuck him as hard and deep as you can. Both of you are panting, overheated, the sound of skin smacking together and moans filling the elevator.

The kiss breaks, foreheads pressing together before Hongjoong drags his tongue down your cheek, along your neck, tasting your sweat, yanking on your hair as he bites down on your neck hard enough to leave a mark. The pain feels so good that you buck your hips hard, feeling his thighs shiver underneath you.

“Bite me again,” You urge.

Hongjoong doesn’t hesitate to bring his teeth to the other side of your neck, biting down on your skin to break it, driving another gasp of pleasure from you. You have never had sex this rough before – something about fucking Hongjoong makes you want it, makes you want to be as aggressive as possible with him.

You bring your fingers to his lips, pushing them past into his open mouth, ramming them so hard down his throat that Hongjoong gags suddenly around them. His head is back against the elevator wall and all he can do is take your fingers as you keep them in his mouth. His teeth graze the top, his eyes watering but he doesn’t protest. Instead, his tongue circles around them as if they are a cock, sucking on your fingers urgently.

“Oh, I like you much better like this,” You drawl, “You’re way less annoying when you are gagging on my fingers.”

Hongjoong bucks his hips then, driving his cock suddenly hard inside you, pushing your fingers out of his mouth. His hand is back on your neck, fingers digging in so hard that you hope they’ll leave a mark but instead he forces you off his cock.

Panting, splayed out on the floor of the elevator, completely naked, glaring at Hongjoong, you wonder if he is going to stop fucking you just to be an asshole. But he finishes undressing, jeans landing in the pile of clothes, climbing on top of you, hiking your legs around his waist and entering you without any hesitation. Your pussy takes his cock easily with a wet sucking noise and he begins to pound into you.

It is so hot in the elevator now from the lack of power and the fact you have been fucking Hongjoong’s brains out. The two of you are completely entwined, grinding against each other, your hips trying to match his pace, bodies drenched in sweat. It is as if you both needed to do this – to take out your dislike of each other in such a manner – and the catalyst was being stuck in the elevator. It doesn’t even feel like sex, it feels more like a power struggle for control and neither one of you are going to give in.

“You gonna make me cum again?” Your voice doesn’t even sound like it belongs to you.

Hongjoong’s hands are in your hair, using it as something to hold onto, as he slams into your cunt. There isn’t a single inch between your bodies. Your fingernails are leaving long scratches along his back which he arches so you can do it deeper.

“Milk my cock so I can fill it up,” He demands before kissing you again messily.

You moan loudly in his mouth and before you know it, you are climaxing again. Your pussy tightens around his girth, Hongjoong gasps, and he is cumming as well. You can feel his balls emptying in you, his hot load coating your walls. Both of you are moaning with reckless abandon, rocking against each other, riding out your respective orgasms.

When you crash back down to earth, you cannot believe what the fuck you just did. Hongjoong is trying to catch his breath, body on top of you.

“Get off me.” You mumble, wondering why the hell you just lost your mind – did you really just fuck the most annoying person on the planet on the floor of a grimy elevator?

Hongjoong rolls off you, still trying to catch his breath. You grab your shirt, tugging it on quickly even though you are covered in so much sweat that it is difficult to pull your jeans back on. You toss Hongjoong’s clothes at him.

“Get dressed. I don’t care if it’s sweltering in here.”

He glowers, propping himself up but you turn away so you don’t look at his body anymore. You can hear him manage to get dressed. You have no idea what to say. What did you say after fucking someone like that? His cum is leaking out across your thighs and you are anxious to get to your car and shower, covered in sweat, body sore from being slapped, choked, bitten – although it horrifies you to admit that you like the pain.

Before Hongjoong can say anything, the power suddenly comes back on. The elevator comes to life, shaking violently as it begins to lower, the emergency lights flickering off.

“Perfect timing,” You hear Hongjoong mumble to himself.

The elevator comes to a stop at the lobby. As soon as the doors open, you dart through them, completely forgetting the box you originally had with you.

“Hey, slow down, you forgot this,” Hongjoong says, jogging to catch up as you spill out into the sidewalk, the city coming back to life from the blackout.

You turn around as he thrusts the box towards you. Hongjoong’s hair is a total mess, his shirt isn’t even buttoned up properly. You can only imagine what you must look like. You snatch the box out of his hands.

“That didn’t mean anything,” You snap, “You know that, right? I still hate you.”

He holds his hands up innocently, “As far as I am concerned, what happens in a blackout stays in a blackout. I still hate you just as much as I did prior to that.”

“Great, glad we got that sorted.” You take one last look at him before turning sharply and taking off towards your car.

To your horror, Hongjoong loudly shouts, “Your pussy is great, though!”

“Fuck off!” You yell back, scurrying faster to your car.

Yeah, you definitely still hate him.

#hongjoong x reader #ateez smut #hongjoong fics #kpop fic #what happens in a blackout #ateez fics #100 notes #200 notes #500 notes

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im-a-gaymess · 3 years

Text

How do I tell him?

Young!Tom Riddle x Male Reader.

7th Year.

Angsty Fluff? Contains suggestive/smut scenes.

Slight mention of violence (Just Tom wanting to punch the stupid out of people).

Summary: You and Tom are in love with each other, always were, though you only realize it after ending a pretty toxic relationship.

Word Count: 1786

A/N: I thought of this while listening to Strawberries & Cigarettes thought I'd share

[1:42 AM]

"Look, I'm not saying that I want their attention 24/7, it's just that, well, they don't ever try to make time for me. Even when I need them, they're never here. But I'm expected to be there for them at all times. I'm just so tired of it. I don't know what to do anymore." You sighed, lowering your head as your eyes wander around the ground.

You've lost sense of time, place even. Only once you stopped to take a breath did you note how late it became. As you raised your head you saw how dark it really was there. The clouds over the stars making their light nearly non existent, and the moon half hidden behind some trees.

And as your eyes travel all over the quiet, dark yet beautiful sky, Tom's attention is strictly fixed on you.

If only you knew how much that man felt at the moment. Really, he was almost overwhelmed with the amount of different emotions.

For one, how badly he wanted to punch your partner for how deeply they hurt you. He knew, from your previous vents, that there was so much more than them just having no time that bothered you. He wanted to make them cry out apologies with regret guilt for how they made you feel.

But also, he couldn't help but feel the need to hold you, keep you close to him, tell you how everything's going to be alright. How all he wants to do is protect you from all of the world's evil, to keep you from anything that could cause you harm.

Without you even noticing, Tom gently put his hand over yours, rubbing circles with his thumb on your hand. How can someone be so,, so endearing,, so loveable and be treated this way? How could someone ever look at him and want to use him? he thought, not brave enough to bring himself to tell you what he truly thinks of you.

"You know you deserve better, right, my love?" he asked, and you, all too familiar with the pet name reply with a little smile. "Would you be surprised if I said yes?" you chuckled, turning to face him, the sight of the boy in front of you making your smile grow a little bigger, causing the other to look at you with loving eyes.

"I still love them, though, I don't even know why, but I do. I still hope they're going to change, even when I know they won't" you continued, a short, awkward laugh leaving your lips.

"Believe me, sweetheart, I know exactly how that feels." he smiled at you, gently stroking your face with his free hand as the two of you continued to talk about everything, and anything, enjoying the company you gave each other.

[Following day, 4:27 PM]

Who knew that drawing in the library's restricted section would be so relaxing? Sketching animals, book covers, objects and even some random fellow housemates. It wasn't so bad, right?

But let's be honest, you were only using it as a means of distraction, trying to get yourself to forget about the fact that you're going to break up with your s/o. You don't even know how Tom managed to convince you.

Of course, it's for the best, you know that. Doesn't change the fact that you feel so damn guilty about it. I mean, why do you even? It's not like they value you, it's not like they won't have other people lined up to take their bullshit right the moment you decide to leave.

Okay, that's it. You're doing it, you're definitely doing it. You mumbled to yourself. After, of course, another art session in your little distraction place.

[5:54 PM]

What's the worst that can happen if I confess? I mean, it's not like the world would end, not like the world would explode and I'd be buried underneath layers of rock and lava.

You had him feeling something he's never even imagined he'd feel; he was nervous. His forehead full of sweat, causing his hair to stick on to him. What are you putting him through?

Friendship...That's all I am to him. I'm just a friend to [Y/N]. He only sees me as a friend. Nothing more than that. Maybe I shouldn't. I probably shouldn't.

[6:11 PM]

To his surprise, Tom heard a knock on his door. He most definitely wasn't in the mood to see, yet even talk to anyone.

"Tommy? My love, are you in there?" You questioned quite loudly, making sure to be heard from across the wall.

That petname, you have no idea what it made him want to do. Did he want to have you underneath him, touch every little bit of your body? Did he want to show you that you're his? Hear you whine and beg for him to kiss you; and so, so much more than you could imagine.

It's not the time to get lost in such sinister thoughts, Tom, he mumbled to himself, finally walking over the room to let you in.

"Hello, darli―" before he could finish, you rushed into his arms. Wrapping your hands around your friend's waist as your head rested under his own. "I missed you all day, dummie" you spoke quietly, finally happy to spend time with him.

He was quite surprised to say the least, you weren't the type to enjoy going for any type of physical affection of any type, unless it was under certain circumstances. Especially the hug being so long.

He wasn't complaining, he adored it, but he couldn't help but worry. Was something wrong? Were you hurt?

"Love, as much as I enjoy moments like this, is there anything you need to tell me? Should I kick anyone's arse?" he raised his brow, looking down at you.

You shook your head, never letting go of the taller man, a smile appearing on your face. How cute he is when he's worried, you thought.

That's pretty much how the rest of the day night went. The two of you in each other's embrace, spending it in utter silence, just glad to be in your own little world together.

You told him, before going back to your dorm, about how you finally broke up with that douchebag, and was your man proud.

The couple next days, weeks even, went by quickly. You and Tom would hang by the library after classes to complete and give help with what the other might have been stuck on.

Tom walks towards you, so dangerously close, you can practically feel his lips on yours. A hand's glued on the wall next to you, right above your head. Your body pressed against a door, his knee right in between your legs, brushing against your crotch. His other hand pulling you closer by your waist, soon planting kisses all over your jaw and neck. You can't help but melt into his touch, his lips- you just want more, more of him.

You gasp, practically jumping up your bed. It was only a dream, wasn't it you thought, sighed in slight disappointment. You wouldn't like to admit it to yourself, but you've been thinking about Tom in a certain way lately.

That only made things worse for you. Because according to you, he would never see you that way. Because the way you saw it, Tom only ever thought of you as a friend.

And so thought he. He was just as disappointed every time he'd dream of the two of you being intimate, romantically, sexually, it didn't matter. He was just as devastated when he woke up. Always went back to sleep hoping those wonderful dreams would go on.

Both of you had a few dreams like those. Some were a whole lot sweeter. Dates together, just the two of you softly making out with the sound of classical music in the background. All of this causing the two of you a bittersweet feeling, thinking that all of this was just hopeless dreams, impossible to come true.

════════════════════

Starry night, you and him, the lake, the full moon shining bright. There's nothing that could ruin this delightful night. It feels like a dream, so much that you even question the reality of what's going on.

"Is this...real?" you ask Tom, not taking your eyes off the sky you so dearly loved. He raised a brow at you, looking at you in a clearly confused expression.

"If it wasn't, we'd be doing more than just stargazing, love" he chuckled, really hoping you'd take it as a joke.

"What would we be doing then, darling?" you question once again, mocking the way he calls you petnames while at it, a visibly evil smile painted on your face.

Tom takes his bottom lip in between his teeth, turning to face his pretty boy. "Do you really want to know, [Y/N]?"

The usage of your name kind of, just a little bit, frightened you. Not in a necessarily bad way, more like in a 'I have no idea what to expect next' way.

"What would you do if I kissed you?" he smirked at you, feeling oddly confident, though your silence and shocked face slowly faded. He was about to mutter apologies 'till you let out a mumble. "I'd like that" you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What was that, my prince? Would you kindly repeat that for me?" he told you with a straight face, making you wonder if he truly didn't hear you. If only you knew the amount of pride he felt at that moment, barely four words and his mind wandering to so, so many things he knew the both of you would like.

The shade of your cheeks changed a bit, was it from embarrassment? Or from the idea that he may actually like you back. Either way, you did repeat what you had told him, blushing even harder as there was an ever-growing smile on your face.

Soon enough, Tom sat up, leaned against a tree nearby. Motioning on his lap, he asked you to sit there, and happily you did.

You've never seen him smile like that. He looked at you like you're the only person in the world. His hands firmly on your cheeks, slowly pulling you in.

Your arms instinctively went around his neck, tilting your head to the side in order to deepen the kiss.

Once you pulled away to take a breath, his hands rested on your lower waist, his eyes staring at you lovingly as they always did.

"You know I'm no good with words." you looked at him exactly the way he was looking at you; you were truly each other's everything. "I know, my prince" his hand wandered around his loverboy's hair, soon pulling him in yet another kiss.

He knew he loved you, and now he was sure you loved him too. Only thing is, he wasn't sure how to ask you to take over the world with him, but for now, he was happy with what you had, and so were you.

#i loved the process of writing this #I feel like Tom would really treasure the person hes in love with #harry potter x gender neutral reader #harry potter x male reader #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle x gendernatural reader #tom marvolo riddle #writing #scenarios #tom riddle headcanon #harry potter #hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction

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live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years

Text

By the Light of the Moon

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Ghostly Stroll

Walking through a graveyard on Halloween, what a cliché. Happy Spooktober

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

Warning: Potential Crying, Mentions of Death

1358 words

*******

The moonlight shown through the cloudy sky, reflecting in the small puddles left on the paved, damp road.

Aelin liked stepping in those puddles.

She would huff a laugh every time her boot fell in the shallow water, creating rippling distortions to the light before it calmed and mirrored the moon once more. She liked the feeling of the stray droplets of water splashing against her foot.

Rowan didn’t comment, simply shook his head fondly and rolled his eyes with each passing puddle.

There was a chill in the air as a soft, crisp breeze blew through the trees. Aelin listened to the rustling of leaves—the ones that were left anyway, seeing as most had already turned shades of crimson, ochre, and toffee, before blanketing the ground.

As a particularly strong gust of wind lifted strands of Aelin’s blonde hair, now shimmering in the moonlight, Rowan reached across with the arm not entwined with hers and gently tucked it behind her ear.

She smiled at the gesture and leaned closer to her husband, savoring the feeling of her shoulder pressing into his and smiling again as he turned his head to kiss the top of her head.

“This is nice.” She said quietly, “don’t you think?”

“Which part?” he asked, facing her and meeting her blue and gold gaze.

Aelin didn’t answer him right away, instead enjoying their peaceful stroll along the empty road. She pushed a stray silver lock back from his face. “The breeze.” She smiled as sounds filtered from houses out towards the road. “The echoes of strangers telling stories. The smell of a fire and roasting marshmallows.” Aelin caught and held Rowan’s gaze. “Walking this beautiful night with you.”

They kept walking, not in a hurry to get anywhere but just enjoying each other’s company. “It is nice, Fireheart. It’s the best time of year.”

Aelin smiled again as she caught the faint sounds of children giggling as the last, straggling trick-or-treaters collected their candy before returning home. She squeezed Rowan’s arm, keeping pace with him as they strolled farther down the road, enjoying the fresh October air.

“My favorite.” She agreed.

They walked along the familiar road for a while more before the houses disappeared and gave way to a large plot of land housing graves, tombstones, and mausoleums.

Aelin turned to grin at Rowan, and he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“It’s Halloween.” She said as if that was question and answer enough. He supposed it was, but Rowan raised a brow, and she rolled her eyes before amending, “Halloween, All Hallows Eve, Samhain—the sentiment’s the same. But we’re here,” she looked toward the graveyard for a long moment before insisting, “we can’t not go in.”

“Walking through a graveyard on Halloween,” he muttered dryly, but followed her lead as they passed through the creaky metal gate. Its not like he would say no to this, or to her. “What a cliché.”

Aelin snorted and met his amused stare with her own. “You say that like we don’t do this every year.”

The front of the graveyard mostly held newer burials, all polished headstones and fresh flowers. The farther back they walked, the older the dates on the stone became. The organization also became more haphazard the further back they roamed. Near the gate the plaques and stones had been lined up in neat rows, but as asphalt turned into cobblestone turned into grass-covered paths, the headstones were placed at odd angles and spaced at random.

“Hmm” Aelin contemplated, halting in front of a new-looking stone and glancing at the dates.

“No, not again, Fireheart.” Rowan groaned, knowing his wife too well.

“I’m going to say that this woman died at the ripe old age of eighty-seven while posing for a tastefully nude portrait.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a little vulgar to make up outrageous stories about the dead?” Then he snorted. “And how would that even kill her?”

Aelin raised a brow at him even as his lips quirked up. She steered them down another aisle. “Are you saying that because you actually think that?” Her tone made it obvious she didn’t believe it. “Or are you upset because you know you couldn’t come up with anything more interesting?”

He scoffed as they landed in front of a stone with slightly older dates. He glanced down at Aelin who was watching him expectantly as if to say show me what you’ve got. He glanced around, making sure one no one else was within earshot.

Occasionally, Aelin and Rowan would spot another person or sometimes a small group of people walking through the graves or staring solemnly at a particular headstone. They would nod in acknowledgment and share a brief, understanding look.

Not seeing anyone, he begrudgingly focused on the plaque and said, “Let’s say that this fellow lived his life in the circus and had an unfortunate fire-breathing accident.”

Aelin laughed, her eyes sparkling as they continued to make up stories.

They kept walking. Every now and then they would hear a bird flying across the grounds or the wind whistling through the trees.

“Ooh here’s an older one.” Aelin glanced at Rowan before nodding, “this one accidentally shot himself with a cannon.”

Rowan snorted, “how does one shoot themselves with a canon?”

“I don’t know,” she rolled her eyes, “maybe it failed to fire, and he went to check on it and suddenly boom.”

They meandered through the aisles and slowly watched as the stones became rougher and covered in moss, the words etched into them barely legible.

The clouds had cleared and now the sky was filled with the light of the fading moon.

This far back into the graveyard, neither Aelin nor Rowan could make out the entrance from which they came.

But that didn’t matter. Not as Aelin kept her arm hooked through her husband’s while they turned down another row of ancient, long-forgotten tombstones.

Rowan stopped walking and felt Aelin press herself closer towards him.

“What do you think about these?” he whispered; voice barely audible above the low wind.

Aelin squeezed his arm. “I think,” she whispered just as quietly, “they lived a long, happy life and forever thanked the stars that they found each other.”

The stones were old. Rounded corners from age and layers of moss were identical on the pair of faded headstones. And even though the letters had long since faded, the inscription was something neither of them would forget.

Go Rattle The Stars. Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius & Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius. To Whatever End.

They stood quietly for a long moment. Their humor replaced with a calm serenity.

“How long has it been, Buzzard?” She whispered. “I lost count ages ago.”

A lie. Aelin knew exactly how many years had passed—how many anniversaries, how many holidays, how many celebrations; how many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren; how many Halloween nights she and Rowan had made this same trek through the graveyard.

“Too long, Fireheart.” he murmured.

She held his hand even tighter. They didn’t speak again, relishing in their companionable silence and the comfort of simply being with one another, until the moon had almost fully dipped beneath the horizon.

Aelin faced him, a fond smile growing as she placed a hand on his cheek. He still looked as handsome and young as the day she’d met him, despite them having grown old together long, long, ago.

“Until next All Hallows Eve,” She promised.

It wasn’t a thing to feel sad about, nor angry or frustrated. It simply was.

She wasn’t sure how it happened or why, but she and Rowan found each other every year on this night, and she would thank the universe for letting it be so.

“Until next year.” He held her waist as she wound her arms around his neck. Rowan leaned down to press his forehead against hers. “To whatever end, Aelin.”

“To whatever end, Rowan” she raised herself on her toes to kiss him.

As the last glimmers of moonlight disappeared, Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn faded away once more in a ghostly whisper.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @themoonthestarsthesuriel @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @angelic-voice-1997 @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash @annejulianneh111

#rowaelin #aelin #rowan #aelin and rowan #rowan and aelin #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius x rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fluff #rowaelin fic #rowaelin au #halloween #ghosts #graveyards #throne of glass #tog

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rosalineandrosemary · 3 years

Text

he reached for the sun, and the sun took his hand.

Ao3

There are benches both inside and outside of their school, even without counting the cafeteria, but they’re all encompassed by the hustle and bustle of their school. And so, when Marinette starts walking away from the school after the lunch bells ring, Felix follows like a moth to a flame. She walks past her house, waving at her maman through the windows of the bakery, and he waves too, stiffly. Her maman smiles at them, and points to the display cases to ask if they want anything. Marinette shakes her head and raises the bag she’s holding, to which Mme. Cheng nods, and they keep walking.

Marinette stops them at one of the benches in the park, and sits down in the shade. He sits down without prompting, and Marinette beams at him, a smile that could challenge the sun. He freezes and looks away, trying to hide the warmth growing in his cheeks, and pulls his lunch out of his bag.

“Did you hear what Lila was saying in class today? Talking about her latest trips to far off places but all the images she showed you can find online with five minutes of searching. Like, it’s nice to sit by you during class, but sometimes I wish I could still sit by Alya in the seat we earned, you know?”

He hummed in agreement, perfectly content to let her talk while he ate his lunch, but she instead let the statement hang in the air before pulling out her own lunch.

The silence was companionable, broken only by remnants of conversation from other small student groups and the laughter of some of the playing children. Around halfway through their allotted lunch time, Marinette puts away her containers with a content noise and a full body wiggle before pulling her sketchbook from the confines of her backpack. “Do you mind if I sketch? I have a couple ideas for some outfits that I really want to get down!”

“Feel free.”

“Thanks, Fe!” She smiles again and he’s lost in it, left staring even after she’s turned away. It’s as if her smile is burned into his eyes, an entoptic phenomenon that steals his breath from his lungs. By the time he pries his eyes away, Marinette is already immersed in her designs, her tongue poking out from between her lips. He reaches into his bag to pull out his book, but none of the words stick in his mind, eyes trailing back to stare at Marinette’s quiet joy.

Eventually he gives up, placing his book back in his bag and sitting there, staring into his own personal sun, sitting right next to him. The ice in his chest is melting into a pooling ocean and it feels like he’s about to overflow with it, surface tension being the only thing keeping his feelings from spilling out and he can’t bear to stare at her for any longer.

He tears his eyes away, trying to turn the water back into ice, to freeze the feelings back in his chest and keep it contained, but there’s too much water and too many feelings and even if he can turn some of them into icebergs it doesn’t change the amount of water and finally everything comes spilling out.

“It hurts to look at you sometimes, Marinette.” His words, soft as they may be, break the silence between them. She turns to look at him, endlessly blue eyes piercing into his skin, eyebrows furrowing with worry, an expression he’s seen time and time again: when he gets too close to akuma fights, when the bags under his eyes are darker and he forgoes his usual coffee order for something with more caffeine, or when she’s worrying about other people and he gets to watch the all-consuming flames of her care.

“Felix?” Her voice is soft and confused, and it takes everything within him to not turn to look at her, to not let the words freeze on his tongue, to not shove everything he’s feeling back underneath his infamous “ice prince” persona that she so carefully took apart.

He watches her out of his periphery, continuing to stare ahead and try to figure out how to melt the ice in his chest that he had tried so hard to freeze. He can’t take this back now. He can’t leave her with just that phrase, not with the twists and turns and dark corners all throughout her brain. “You’re incandescent, a sun of your own volition, and I fear that I am forever just going to be orbiting you at a distance.” He tightens his grip around the strap of his bag, white knuckled and shaking softly, before releasing it and stretching out his fingers. Felix sees her move, place her hands down on the bench, moving to get up, to stare him in the eyes. Her mouth is opening, an indignant cry of his name on her lips, and he feels like he’s going to burn from the inside out.

“Please,” he croaks, voice unsteady. “Please, let me finish, Marinette.” His tone is worrying her even further, and so are his words. It’s written plain on her face, a book she never chose to lock. Her emotions are her strength and it’s awe-inspiring to see from inside his several layers of ice, carefully frozen to keep everything locked inside. She continues to melt it with ease, leaving him scrambling, but he needs to tell her.

“Try as I might, I can’t keep this in any longer. I feel as though I am bursting at the seams, combusting. You melted the walls and pillars of ice I formed for years, nosing your way into every nook and cranny of my being, and I believe I have fallen for you.” Marinette lets out a soft gasp and he turns away, lacing his fingers around the strap of his bag once again.

He can’t bear to see the look on her face when she rejects him. Disgust? Horror? Her quiet kind of upset, where her eyes fill with tears and she tries to stifle it, to push away her own feelings over and over again?

He keeps talking, a desperate bid to keep himself away from the truth for as long as he can. “I apologize for the hastiness of my confession, and I hope I didn’t upset you too much. I’m sorry if I did, I truly had no intention to, but I understand if you reject me and I’d even understand if you never wished to see me again, I just wished to--”

“Felix.” Her voice stops him in his tracks, body tensing. “Felix, do you mind if I touch you?” Her voice is soft and her words kind but he flinches regardless, giving a jerky nod. He didn’t expect her to want to touch him, not after he ruined their friendship, but he tensed further as he thought of all the power contained in her body and prepared for backlash. He knew, intrinsically, that someone as kind as Marinette could never hurt someone maliciously, but that knowledge fell into the chasm of fear in his chest, and all he could hope was that she would choose to spare him, even a little.

One of her hands enters his line of sight and he flinches, closing his eyes, before her warm hand is placed softly on his cheek, slowly turning his head to face in her direction. “Felix, I could never be upset with you for that.” Her tone is impossibly tender, her hand is still cupping his cheek, and he exhales slowly before opening his eyes.

There are tears dripping down her cheeks, rolling down to the beaming smile stretched across her lips, and she raises her other hand to hold his face like he’s something precious. “I adore you, did you know that?” She smiles even brighter, looking him in the eyes before continuing.

“Each pen has a specific place in your pencil case, and you change which pen you use each school period. You take your coffee with cream and sugar even though you say it’s black when anyone asks. You pretend you’re made of ice because it’s everything you’ve known, but you still care even if it’s not in your best interests. Everything about you is something to love, and I do. And you’re here. Despite everything, you’re here, not orbiting some foreign sun or wasting away in a cavern of ice. You’re right here, with me, and I am holding your face in my hands and you are beautiful.” She’s still crying, tears catching the sunlight, and she presses her forehead to his but it’s just warm. Nothing burns and she is so close and she’s not a sun, she’s simply Marinette, and he loves her more than anything he’s ever known.

“Thank you, Marinette.” Those words, choked out his throat, try to compact everything he’s feeling into one simple statement. The love, the awe, the feeling of reaching something he never thought he would be able to reach, the pure joy filling in every gap where fear laid just moments before, like the sun rising over Paris. But instead of being that sun, Marinette is here and she is right in front of him and she is watching the sky turn pink and the darkness retreat and it may be noon but he thinks this is the prettiest sunrise he has ever seen.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, Felix.” He smiles at her, leaning against one of her hands, placing his own on top of hers. He feels ridiculous holding his own face but she brightens impossibly more and there is blush flaring on his cheeks and he tries to look away but she’s still right there.

“Well then, how about saying I love you instead?” He tries to put confidence in his voice, but he is putty in her hands and she can tell, her smile turning from something big and beaming to something small but so fond it almost makes his chest ache.

“I love you too, Felix.” And she locks eyes with him and looks down and he tries to nod but forgets that she’s that close and bumps heads with her instead.

Marinette laughs and it’s joyful and he just stares at her and hopes that she can see the fondness building in his chest when he looks at her. She stops laughing and her cheeks flush to a pink color that he thinks could be his favorite color. Every part of her is his favorite color. The blue color of her hair in the light, the blue color of her eyes, the color of the faint freckles on her cheeks and the pink of her blush and he’s staring again, he knows he is, but she just smiles and places her forehead back against his.

“Can I kiss you?” She whispers it, like they’re in their own little world, and he presses forward and kisses her first. Her lips are soft and she tastes like a fruit flavor he can’t quite recall, not with her hands on his face and her lips on his.

There aren’t fireworks, or sparks. There’s no burning or fire or hurting. There’s just him and there’s Marinette and a feeling of home and rightness like everything he’s ever wanted.

He breaks away first, offers another whispered “I love you” against her lips before she pulls away too, far enough away that he can actually see things beyond her eyes and her cheeks and her hair.

She moves one of her hands and he lifts his so she can take it back, and she puts on a mock-serious face that can’t hide the joy in her eyes.

“If you ever talk about yourself that way again I’m going to fight you.” She waggles one finger at him, lips curling to conceal her laughter, and he raises his eyebrows even as he melts further into her remaining hand.

“You’re going to fight me?”

“Yes! With love and affection and pets.” He doesn't get a chance to ask what she means by pets before her nails are scratching through his hair, and he wished he could deny the way that his eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“You make a formidable opponent, my dear.” She giggles, moving to scratch behind his ear before the alarm goes off, telling them that they have to make their way back to school if they don’t want to be late.

She reaches her hand out to him and he takes it, lacing his fingers between hers.

#felinette #this is the wip i was ignoring!! i finished it!!#thank you notte and nebula for beta-ing!!!!#marinette dupain cheng #pv felix #miraculous ladybug #rosaline writes

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anayaahwrites · 3 years

Text

KOT ficlet #6 (Kudou Chika/Houzuki Satowa)

(Events based after the most recent update that had me screaming into oblivion.)

Needle in a thread

His first thought is, not them.

He recalls his horror when they took away the one person who had loved him, the one that lit fireworks in his darkness.

But before he had time to mourn, the torch had been passed—like some sort of metaphorical relay race—into fresh, affectionate, and welcoming hands. They cared, nurtured, and gave purpose to his existence.

The child hated by a parent, the child of calamity.

Of disaster.

And now that he’s built a home, a hideaway to rush back to whenever things seemed too rough, like hell he’d let the demons of his past have it their way.

He drops down carefully, one knee after another, placing folded hands in front of the head tucked in between his legs.

Because Chika is desperate and he has no pride to protect to begin with, so pleading before them to let him just live outweighed any sense of shame he’d feel.

But he’s naive to think Uzuki cares.

There was something bizzare about the boy since he’d met him, how he changed based on what the situation called for—like a snake shedding layers of its skin.

The light at the end of the tunnel vanishes, but Chika pushes on, pouring the deepest parts of his soul in front of the people that ruined him once before.

Because Chika refused to let his torch dim, the flame protected by so many, he couldn’t be any more grateful.

Uzuki snickers, instructing Abiko and taking a blow to the face.

“I’ll tell everyone you did this to me.” He smiles.

Chika’s light is bright.

But his darkness is all-consuming. It wraps him like a blanket of thorns, clawing to tear chunks of his soul away. In the end, who could he save?

Who could save him?

“I’m tired of all of this!”

He snaps his head, facing the voice, breathing life into his own.

Houzuki stands with her back to him, confronting the men with such ferocity, they stutter for a second.

“To hell with your ‘ruin his life’ nonsense,” she huffs, swinging her hair like a whip. “I’m taking him home!”

He had so many questions.

Houzuki grumbles under her breath all the way out, twisting and turning from one street to the other, tugging him behind her like a four-year-old.

Why was she here to begin with?

Usually, he’d shrug her away. He’d tease the ever loving crap out of her and watch Houzuki turn a brighter shade of crimson every time while subtly keeping his distance from the intense urge to hold her close.

But today, when he looks at her, Chika sees more than just Satowa.

He sees a woman with the will of a stallion, dulling her blade in front of no one, however intimidating they might be.

He sees the hand of a woman he could not help but admire.

Couldn’t help but love.

He stops walking, looking at the fingers wrapped delicately around his wrist as if Chika realised for the first time that he was holding the hand of the woman he fell in love with a long time ago.

“Are you tired?” comes her tender voice filled with concern, as she looks around, “Do you want to sit for a while?”

He looks into her worried eyes and quickly drops his gaze, to the hand she wouldn’t leave. On any normal day, by now Satowa would let go, a shade of bright pink spreading down her arm to her toes.

Today she holds his hand, firm and gentle, both at once, neither shaking nor blushing at the contact that was progressively setting his nerves on fire.

And admitting his feelings was easy. It was easy for him to look at every minute he’d spent with her—in sorrow, in joy—that Chika was irrevocably in love with her.

He’d give the Sun if she demanded it, the moon adorned as an elegant crescent ring around her finger. He’s so in love that he forgets his past, that he could endanger Houzuki and her entire family.

But it looms around him like a constant-present shadow. So he sharpens his facade to protect her.

“You shouldn’t follow me to places like this,” he swallows, maintaining his composure as best as he can. “It’s dangerous. Are you stupid? Don't pull a stunt like this again.”

He steals a glimpse at her, pushing strands of loose hair behind her ear with not an ounce of regret or fear of her actions.

“If anything, you’re the stupid one,” she replies, ebony eyes staring straight into his as he raises an eyebrow in question.

“For thinking you’d need to face this alone.”

He stills, feeling her thumb stroke his bruised knuckles, eyes steadily turning a shade lighter.

“I understand,” she says, “I understand you’ve been fighting your battles by yourself all these years. You feel responsible for everything—like you deserve divine punishment for sins you didn’t commit to begin with,”

“But for once, point the blame to those that deserve it.” her grip tightens. “Tell them to,” she sucks in a sharp breath.

“Eat shit for all I care.”

Her gaze softens as he peers into her eyes; for solace, for the comfort he’s never had. That he’s never asked for.

“You’re only human, Kudou, and humans make mistakes. We all do. Does that mean we need to be crucified for it?”

He shakes his head from one side to another in an unspoken response.

“The past won’t change, no matter how hard we try. But the future.....” she grimaces, “Our circumstances are different now. No one helped you then—no one stood for you,”

Satowa’s smile is melancholy, like rain and snow at once, as she cups his cheek with her free hand.

“But you have me now,” she whispers, lacing her fingers into the groove between his. He peers into those abysmal eyes and sees a promise.

“The only day I’ll let go of this hand will be the day I die.”

In a flash, Chika breaks.

He shatters like smashed glass, scattering across the ground in shards of built up agony. He feels the tears forming in his eyes as he looks into hers, chin wobbling uncontrollably. His heart squeezes in his chest as everything sinks in—Dad, Mom, Grandpa, everyone he’s loved and lost.

And she stays there throughout, rubbing warm circles into his much bigger palm, a distant sorrow in her eyes.

This woman, this beautiful, wonderful woman, had saved him on more occasions than he could count.

She was the white to his black, yin to his yang painting his life with every colour in the spectrum between them.

The Sun sets not far behind, fiery orange encircling her like a golden halo. And that’s all it takes—the gleaming sky behind her, the tears in her eyes, the ones in his.

He pulls her forward gently, letting Satowa fall against him as every type of warmth rushes through his veins.

She stills for a moment, leaning against him, not a hair on her head moving. Chika gives her time, space enough to let go if this isn’t what she wants. God knows he doesn’t want to force her.

When she leaves his hand, Chika thinks it’s all over. And that’s okay.

He’s okay with that.

Instead, Satowa throws her arms around his neck, face sinking into the groove of his chest, nuzzling the space where his heart beats erratically.

He takes a moment to register, but when realisation sets in, Chika pulls her tighter to himself, fingers working through the strands of her hair, chin resting comfortably above her head.

In those small arms, Chika feels the affection she holds radiating with every fibre of her being. She stands on her toes, reaching higher to lay her head on his shoulder. He draws her up by the waist, anchoring her safely to his chest.

“You’re not alone,” she whispers into his collarbone, the touch of her lips, a second of pure bliss for him. He shivers at the contact, holding his breath to stop his thoughts from escalating.

“You’re not alone,” Satowa repeats, chin resting against his chest as she stares into his eyes, lowering one hand to trace his jaw in short, quiet strokes.

“You have me forever.”

When Chika kisses Satowa, he feels everything all at once. The rustling of the leaves dull, his heartbeat overpowering every sound in existence.

When she kisses him back, realisation sinks in that this woman, this beautiful wonderful woman, would give him the world too.

Chika stands in the centre of their universe, two supernovae colliding against the speed of the world, her breath against his skin like warm sunlight streaming in through a window.

When Chika looks into her eyes, he sees himself in them, trapped in a circle of warm ebony. He watches her smile brighten when she raises herself just enough to wipe the tears he doesn’t remember crying.

Today, when he looks at Satowa, Chika sees salvation. He sees his world.

“Forever,” he sighs as they walk back side by side, fingers intertwined, like needle and thread. She gazes at him, instinctively moving closer.

For once, Chika would let himself be protected. Because Satowa was a force to reckon with. She’s fierce and brave and he’s safe in her arms.

Chika really smiles then, one so wide his eyes crinkle and vision narrows to the one person who matters more than any other.

The world has to allow him this one moment of greed.

“Forever isn’t long enough.”

Yay! I wanted to write something for so long! This idea came to me after randomly listening to "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift.

Thank you for reading, and being patient with me. I love y'all so much <<3

#kono oto tomare!#kotedit #kudou chika #houzuki satowa #kot #dailykot #ao3 #fanfic #kono oto #kot fanart

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