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mandalhoerian · 1 year

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moth to a flame | leon kennedy x reader

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Break-ups are never easy. Thankfully, you've been preparing for yours for a long time. Leon doesn't let this revelation go for reasons you cannot fathom when he's the one who wants to leave.

word count: 9K

warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, p in v, kinda body worship, switch leon, he subs for like a moment and goes this better not awaken anything in me

notes: i winged this please don't judge me. also, "plot"-wise, this is an extension of my leon love language post. header template can be found here. enjoy the filth

🌀 read on ao3!

📍 continue to the BAD ENDING!

📍 continue to the GOOD ENDING!

In hindsight, you’ve seen this coming. Your face barely moves at your on and off situationship of two years forcing out, “I think we should break this off.”

So faint and unsure it’s barely above a whisper.

He looks so uncomfortable hunching over, forearms resting on the countertop, breakfast untouched, as if trying to make himself smaller than you, it’s absurd considering the nerves of steel you envy him for, and sure, he’s adorably awkward sometimes for a man of his looks, but not like this. Never vulnerable like this.

The kitchen is gloomy despite the bright winter sun seeping through the windows, almost suffocating because of his uncharacteristically transparent malaise. Leon isn’t one to openly squirm, and in turn, it’s making you all the more nervous — nothing about this is fair when you were thinking you got all the practice needed from imaginary scenarios and possibilities on all the directions the eventual separation would go.

He can’t look at you, shaking his head nervously, choked by the silence. “Say something.”

How funny it is that he’s the most fit man you’ve ever known, could lift you with one arm without breaking a sweat— one bicep literally the size of your head, yet looks like he’d cry if someone touched him right now. It’s a hard to swallow, unreal pill that you’re the one doing this to Leon, making him weak like this.

You’ve never known you had that kind of power over him until now, how he says he wants to break up but would throw up if you actually say yes.

You shift in your seat, the wood of the chair suddenly digs sharply into your skin with how hyperaware your body is of all the surroundings to deviate your attention from Leon, folding your hands on your lap.

The answer is at the tip of your tongue, it was stashed away there months ago. Of course you’ll let him go.

What makes it easier for you is having consented to how absent and private he warned half the things involving him was going to be, or it’s that you knew from the start your time with him would be limited. You just don’t question it; completely skipping the first four stages of grief and jumping readily to acceptance.

The lamb knew it would be slaughtered by the nurturing, kind humans, and yet it still got attached to them; Homer straight up told the readers how the story would end right at the start of Iliad, yet the fall of Patroclus and the rage of Achilles burned the same, if not worse — you knew Leon would inevitably fall apart and run away one day, yet chose to cherish your limited time with him all the same.

It can’t be called a tragedy if you agreed to how it would end in the first place.

Leon Kennedy is ephemeral in his nature, daydream-present and lucid-absent in your life all at once. You thought of him as an outdoors cat, never really yours in the first place, randomly shows up whenever he wants to, reluctantly leaves out of nowhere — a flighty, mysterious companion who’s happy and eager to be there but withdrawn when poked and prodded.

You accept him as such, love him all the same.

You’re not sure if he loves you just as much.

Fondness and like is there, enough for him to have stuck around for this long, but you figure it’s because you’re safe and constant. You’re happy to have provided him with at least that because you’re not sure what he saw in you, to be honest.

What’s happening is painless enough to go through exactly because of this, you hadn’t let yourself get too attached to Leon knowing he isn’t into you as much as you are into him. Maybe you are deluding yourself, maybe you are numb and not as apathetic like you thought you are, but you’re convinced this is how it should go — how it’s meant to go. What’s the point when you’re aware your name won’t be at the top of his list?

The insecurity surely is a small part of the ‘Leon Kennedy Breakup First-Aid Package’ you’ve been cultivating over time in preparation to cushion your own fall when the time would naturally come, but it doesn’t cover the shape Leon is in that even when he’s the one breaking your heart, he looks like he’s shouldering the pain you’re going through on top of his.

This is why you can’t ever be mad at him. You wanted to be with him knowing the way he is, after all.

Leon is a mess despite trying not to show it, his messy straw-blond hair doesn’t shine like it usually does, he hasn’t conditioned it, the golden sheen to it wilted almost. His bloodshot, red rimmed eyes are dim in their blue, laser-focused on the black coffee mug he’s tightly gripping, the skin underneath his lower lashes spread out in faded pink-purple half-rings and it only ever happens when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in more than a couple days’ time whenever he has to be away for an unprecedented amount of time, or gets buried too long in his paperwork. His thumbs are wiping at the place he puts his lips on and have a sip at the contents of it you’ve seen he fed some liquor to a few minutes prior. He’s awfully domestic in his black sweater and pants, not at all looking like he just asked for a breakup.

You take pity on him.

“I see. Alright.”

His head shoots up, eyes immediately finding yours, no longer blank. He doesn’t seem sure if he heard you right, expression disbelieving. “What?”

“How do you want to do this?” Mirroring Leon’s anxious movements, your own fingers trace the rim of your own teacup. “You could start gathering your things today, but if you want to call it a day, I don’t mind—”

“No—wait—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying okay, Leon.”

He winces at the name, gaze escaping from you again momentarily and he has to blink, the lack of your usual pet name for him must have hurt him, you presume. He has to swallow before talking. “This is it?”

You’re not sure if it’s directed at the end of your relationship or you letting him off easy. “I don’t understand. What else was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

This isn’t being hopeful, but you ask anyway. “What did you want me to say?”

He sighs in return, tearing away his gaze and hiding it with a hand that wipes at his forehead.

Yeah, it isn’t your hopes that were crushed. You adamantly tell yourself it isn’t. He’s being nice as he always is, of course he’d question how agreeable you’re being, it’s not like his resolve is going to change. “I’m just being cooperative so we can—”

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

That was the problem?

“I’m not, Leon.”

“How can you not be?”

“Well, I…” It’s because you love him, but bringing this up would only make it harder. “I’m not sure. You’ve been that good to me along the way, I guess. I don’t resent you for anything.”

He has that subtle sarcastic look on his face you would take as mocking if you were a total stranger, but you know better. He’s being self-deprecating. You could read it. But you should, he’s thinking. You should resent me.

You don’t.

The thing with Leon is he’s too good to be true that his only flaw is being a literal ghost. A well-meaning ghost who’d send presents upon presents and work his ass off to make extra time for what he had to give up on every time your plans falls through with unexpected shit that came up from his mystery job at the White House he never talks about that has him battered and bruised each time he turns up after prolonged leaves.

Which is an oxymoron considering how attentive and absent he is at the same time. Sometimes you wondered if he’d fix his habit of being a clam about everything concerning himself after you guys were through, but imagining him becoming more open and changing for someone else hurt too much.

“Don’t you want to know why? I mean—god, why are you just taking it?”

“What do you mean taking it? You’re not doing this to hurt me, look at you, Leon, when have you last slept? It’s hard on you too.”

“That really doesn’t have to do with anything right now,” he dismisses. “How are you this unaffected? I’ll take it if it’s to get back at me…”

“It’s not.” You stand up, appetite lost. You want to wrap your food up and put it in the fridge to eat later, and this way, you don’t have to look at him while saying the sentences you have rehearsed for so long. “If you want to break up, I can’t force you to stay—or into anything you don’t want to. It’s not fair for either of us. You’ll be stuck with someone who you don’t want, and I’ll have to live with the knowledge I’m with someone who doesn’t want me.”

You find him staring at you when you’re done, your hand stays wrapped around the handle of the fridge door at how tortured he is. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head, blond strands framing his face gently swishing in the air. He does the angry eyebrow scrunch whenever he disagrees with you strongly on something you’ve said, but decides not to at the last minute, and you find yourself the tiniest bit disappointed at him not refusing he doesn’t want you. “You always— you always do this... Be angry. You have to be angry at me.”

You find refuge in the kitchen sink, washing your hands. “Stop it. I don’t want to fight, please.”

“So you are angry.”

“I’m not!” You slam the water shut a bit too forceful and you breathe for a second before turning to him. “I’m not. Angry. I’m sad, yeah. An understatement. Who wouldn’t be?”

He just says, “I’m sorry,” at that, and hates it’s the only thing he can manage to give you, it’s blatant in his face.

You take a seat at the chair directly next to him, you both need the intimacy of good communication at the moment. “But I had a lot of time to mourn, alright? It’s not that I’m taking it or being passive or whatever—”

“Mourn?”

His eyes search yours for a second, and the realization leaves him breathless, the insides of his brows raise up, making him look younger and more innocent. “You were expecting this.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Your lips press together, and you chew the insides before hopelessly shrugging, a small smile doing its best to put itself together. “Look at us. It was never going to work out in the long term. Not really. I consider two years a miracle, to be honest. I don’t know how we got this far.”

“All this time we were together.” Leon’s voice is thick, on the verge of shaking, you weren’t expecting him to take this so badly. His pupils devour all the blue from his eyes, he has never looked at you this hostile before all the hair on your arms rise up. “You were just thinking about breaking up? Have I only ever made you insecure?”

“Not all the time—it’s just—” You swallow. ““Why are you angry at me now? What did I do? You are the one breaking up with me.”

“And here you are okay with this. You’re telling me you didn’t think we’d ever work out when I—” He huffs. “I didn’t even notice a thing. You weren’t happy at all. Ever? You were uneasy all this time?”

“No, Leon, you’re not listening to me. What I expected was that you would leave one day, eventually. Because that’s how you are. That’s how your life is.” He leans back when he gets what you are alluding at, rubbing his face with a hand, refusing to look at you — but out of anger this time around. “I know you wouldn’t be able to stand being in limbo about not letting yourself go and wanting to at the same time. I know you felt bad about everything. I guess it’s just not the right time?”

You don’t say, right person and wrong time, it’s wishful thinking on your part—Leon probably doesn’t think that, someone else seems to take that crown in his heart, you know that all too well.

The muscles on his arm closest to you flexes, he must be thinking about taking your hand in his, so you remove them off the table and nestle them between your thighs. Any physical contact from him might lead to you crying in the end.

“I’m sorry I made you go through all that,” he laments. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Your head tilts sideways. “It wasn’t about me, Leon. Suppose I sat you down and complained you weren’t open with me, you were distant. Especially when you weren’t ready for the conversation. I’ll tell you what would have happened. Two weeks of radio silence.”

“Ah, c’mon…”

“It’s not something you haven’t done before. You said it was work, but… You know. I get it.”

Leon exhales from his nose and lowers his head, broad chest puffing up with rapid breaths, his neck is getting redder by the second. You’ve never taken him for someone with an explosive anger, but it looks like that could change any second.

“I wish you wouldn’t take this to heart, I’m not saying this to hurt you when I say I knew this was always going to happen.” You’re talking like you’re trying to soothe a tiger, and he especially looks to hate it. “You can’t possibly have expected me to ignore it. And it wasn’t going to come from me either, I’m happy to be with you either way, but—”

“That’s the problem.” He has his head between his hands, like that could possibly hide him away from the conversation. “I treat you like this and you still say that.”

You wish he wouldn’t be this hard on himself.

“I signed up for this.” He tilts his head at that, accusatory, and you get more agitated in return. “I know your circumstances. You can’t help being absent most of the time, I understand. I understand more than you think.” His forearms hit the counter loudly, he looks about to spit fire any second, but you don’t let it happen. “However. It’s no way to continue a relationship, I know that too. My perspective is that it shouldn’t be guilt that comes to your mind whenever you think of me. I wish things could be different. I wish I could be a priority to you—”

Leon’s face sours, and you stop talking when you see it.

You didn’t mean for the words to hurt him as they did, explanations becoming distraught. “Look, I like you, you know this. Possibly too much. More than I should. You have to understand that’s why I’m being this amicable with you right now. Break-ups don’t always have to end in fights, sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t reach Leon. His gaze is faraway, defined jawline locked clenching and unclenching.

“If it makes you feel better, I was angry for a while.” His hand comes down from rubbing a circle in the middle of his brows, eyes shifting back to yours. “But it is what it is.”

“You’re not even gonna ask?” he says, defeated.

“Would you tell me anything different from what I know?”

He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a sigh, one of his legs shaking, and his head falls forward, curtains of dark blond hair covering your view of his face. For a moment, all you want is to slip your fingers into the silky strands and comb them back, take his heat away, the pads of your fingers on his smooth cheekbones, you know he’d melt into your touch straight away and his expression would lose weight of the strain he carries you can only imagine the root of most of the time, but you abstain.

He wouldn’t appreciate it on the brink of a break-up, you were about to become nothing but strangers.

That’s why it’s abrupt when he leans forward and captures your lips in an unfair, unfair kiss, the force of it makes his teeth clack against yours and you grimace, retreating to break it. His hand slips to the side of your neck to pull you back in, the drag of calluses and heat against the skin of your neck sends goosebumps all over your body, his thumb caresses your cheek in a loving way that hurts but his lips are frantic in their gentler search to open your mouth to his, and suddenly you can’t breathe from how much Leon keeps advancing.

Turning your face away to break the assertive, overwhelming liplock, you take in lungfuls of air as you look as away from him as you can, panicking at the way he presses his forehead to your temple and the way his nose nudges your burning cheek, he doesn’t budge when you attempt to push him off the second you realize you’re enjoying this. He’s built like a fucking tank. “Leon—”

“Say no if you don’t want it,” he breathes, right into your neck, the tickle is mixed with something dangerous that sears your skin along with the low rumble to his voice directly in your ear, and you have to stop yourself from squirming, a coil of incandescence binds its threads together in the depths of your stomach. “Say it and I’ll stop.” One muscular arm hooks around the back of your upper thigh and one around your waist, he quite literally snatches you off your chair and plops you down on his lap, each of your legs hang from the sides of his hips, and you yelp at how effortlessly Leon seems to arrange you to his liking.

He’s needlessly, uncharacteristically cruel. You would always want him. Leon knows this.

“You’re so—” Your breath hitches when his fingers bypass your shirt and sneak up the bare skin of your waist and his other arm readjusts you as he buries his forehead in your shoulder and you gaze at the top of his golden hair kissed by morning sunlight and take in the familiar scent of him and his shampoo. His body against yours leaves a festering sweet longing. “So unfair—you were just breaking up with me—”

He bites down at the meat of your clavicle and you draw in a short breath, the dig of his teeth sting, but he immediately soothes it with a lick and his tongue is hot, too hot. “Unfair?” he groans, you contain the shudder at the emotion he keeps at bay and at the path his blunt fingernails make above the clothing from your hips to the sides of your legs, he’s never been like this. “You already left me in your mind before this and I don’t even know exactly when.” The tip of his nose faintly traces the curve of where your neck meets the shoulder, the tickle is unbearable, aching, you wish he would have left marks instead. “You were always thinking of leaving— our time together didn’t matter to you. What do you think that makes me feel like?”

“That’s not—” You grip both of his biceps and feel the protruding veins and the flex of the muscle underneath the skin, intimidated as always by how both of your hands added together were too small to form a full hold around one. I work out a lot, was his excuse while you were first getting to know each other as acquaintances, and you’d thought how this man belonged with someone of his league. “You’re the one—”

“You dummy, I’m not leaving you because I want to.” Leon’s arms circle your waist and pulls your body flush against his in a crushing hug, his head finding home under your chin and against your chest. It’s innocent and you feel the helplessness, the desire to hold but not be seen, but you don’t know what to do in return, his words don’t quite register. “Why would I ever when I—“ He cuts himself off, breathing shaky as the rest of the sentence dies at his throat. “Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

You tentatively hold his shoulders, surprised at how taut they are. How winded he is like some wire. “I don’t understand.”

“You are just letting me leave like that. Like some business deal done and gone, you just…”

You can’t help the sound that escapes as he bites your earlobe. Why does he keep biting?

“Ow!—“ Leon starts sucking, the wet sounds and his breathing directly in your ear sending shivers down your spine, and you’ve had enough of his thought processes ending up being completed by his lips on your body.

He’s easily able to overpower you, but obeys when he feels you’re genuinely pushing him away, some strands of your hair get stuck on his face and the view of the detained obscenity of his expression —the half-closed eyes and the missing blue, the flush of his cheekbones, glistening of his pinked lips— sends a hot wave downstairs. “It’s you. You! You’re the one leaving, Leon, I don’t get it—“

Some clarity through the pinkish haze of want dawns back to him, and he gingerly combs the threads of hair away from your face, some of them behind your ear. “I don’t want to. That’s the thing. I thought it was clear as day.” Leon searches your eyes, looking down at the details of your face, your heart races as his stare gets stuck at your lips the longest, he isn’t even aware he’s doing it and you feel feverishly desired from his insatiable look, from the slow movement of his Adam’s apple. “But—“

“You can’t help it. Right?” Your thoughts are blurring together, and he’s a black hole pulling you in. “I understand—“

Leon kisses you again, and your stolen exhale turns into a pleased hum. “Stop saying that,” he whispers with inches between your lips, eyes closed, so close your breath is his.

“What do you want me to say?“

“Stay.” He takes your hand and brings it up, planting a singular kiss at the inside of your wrist, and then rests his cheek against your palm. You can only stare at the vulnerability he’s offering you on a silver platter, the tormenting softness is blinding. “Stay.”

Your heart soars. God, you’ve longed for him to give away that he wants to be with you all this time, the insecurity is a blanket you’ve hidden under, this is it, but he’s so torn and you don’t get his struggle, what he must be hiding for such a visceral reaction. He wants to, but he can’t, and you don’t know why, having accepted he wouldn’t tell you from the start anyway.

But you ask. You ask anyway. Hope is a flightless bird waiting for her wings to grow each day. “Will you?”

Something shifts, a delicate moment broken, and Leon draws back, his eyelashes flutter as if he’s shaking off some daydream — and then he’s upset, a pinch in his brow. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I can’t—“ You’re grabbed from the arms and scooted away from his lap, putting some distance between the two of you. Leon is physically pained, unable to meet your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m being like this.” He holds your hands between the two of you, and you get whiplash from the passion just mere seconds ago and the tenderness of this touch. ��I can’t keep doing this to you. I don’t know why I’m this unreasonable, it’s so childish— Shit. I’m sorry, I’ll just—“

“No.” You cup his face in both hands and he looks like an abused puppy tasting kindness for the first time. “Stay for a bit.” Your heartstrings are tugged by the way Leon’s eyes are lit up. “I want to have you. One last time. Is that alright?”

A beat passes.

“Yeah,” he says, blanking out at first, but then repeats stronger, his fingers sink into the plush of your thighs as he licks his lips. “Yeah.” He turns his head and kisses your palm, somber. “You can have me however you want.”

Leon doesn’t look like he’s particularly looking forward to it. “You sure?”

“I’ll always want you, any day, any time,” he says, and you’re flabbergasted at the burden of his meaning. But you force yourself to look past it, look past the unguarded and unarmed honesty, choosing to interpret it in the language of lust.

“Not here, though.” You get up from his lap and he doesn’t stop you. “It’s kinda cramped.”

“We can make it work if you’re up for it,” he half-teases, one corner of his lips curling up, his eyes are humorless.

You snort. Easy for him to say. He’s fit, you aren’t, that’s why being on top can’t last half the time without his assistance. “You can. I certainly can’t.”

“You keep saying I can’t to me, knowing I take it as a personal challenge.” Leon’s touch moves up your forearm and in one swift move, he pulls you in between his legs. He leaves a kiss at the lower valley between your clothed breasts. “Maybe you’re doing it on purpose?”

You’re heating up right away. “I’m not—”

Leon pats his right leg, pulling up the sleeve of his shorts all the way up to the hipbone, exposing the well-endowed, firm thigh. “Sit here.”

“Your leg’s gonna get a cramp,” you say, but it’s hardly a complaint, your crotch has begun to contract at the thought of feeling the flawless skin slipping against your slick folds and how he would mold the tendons to fit just right for your pleasure. Expectation was pulling you tight right from the start where he had you hanging from his every word.

Leon’s almost offended. “It won’t.” But his encouragement is gentle. “Come on, sweet girl.” Hooking one arm between the two layers of the bands of your underwear and pants, he lets them snap back against your skin after he pulls considerably. “And you’re taking off all that.”

You let it go. Immediately. “Fuck, okay.”

It’s morning. You’re in the middle of the kitchen. And you’ve forgotten all of that, head lost in the beginnings of a dull throb between your legs. Your dignity would have been trampled on if you were too enthusiastic, so you try to take your time, and he asks, “How do you want to go about this?”

“Huh?”

His hands ride up your knee and inch up, his thumbs in the line of your inner thighs, and your first instinct is to press them together to alleviate the ache, but Leon’s forcing them apart. “You can have my tongue or fingers first. To help the friction.” You swallow when the nail of his thumb scratches the material of your panties and feels the slight dampness, and he’s watching your reactions very closely. “Or you could just sit down.”

You don’t have strength left in your knees anymore, head spinning with the way his darkened, narrowed gaze is simultaneously bearing down on and looking up at you, and Leon helps you settle your weight on his leg after sliding your underwear down your legs, the warmth of his palms on your naked hips alone is vexing enough and it’s embarrassing that he feels the particularly strong pulse of your sex.

He angles his leg up and you slide forward with the gathered moisture, arms catching onto his neck in surprise from the sudden jolt of pleasure. “Eager, are we?”

You aren’t normally bold like this, would let him keep softly teasing rather than give the same energy back, but there’s a certain finality to this time, your brain is liquid smooth from the tantalizing delight of his touch, and you don’t hold back to inform just what he does to you breathily. “Always for you.”

The movement of his leg staggers and you look up to see him caught completely off guard. And the next thing you know, Leon has you in a bruising kiss, or you think it has the strength to bruise, he hasn’t been this rough before, and you certainly haven’t been craved to this extent in your entire life before him.

This time you accept his tongue willingly into the cavern of your mouth, his fervent licks and gasps rise the question of who’s really the more eager one here, but it doesn’t really occupy space in your mind, limbs stilling overall from how he steals away all bodily functions with just kisses that radiate desperation.

Leon ushers your hips to languidly move when you fail as a multitasker all the while the swirl of your tongues continue to tangle, and it proves difficult as your slide against him becomes smoother and wetter with him finding just how to pull the hood of your mound while you’re pulling back and drag against it in the correct angle, flexing his thigh accordingly.

He pecks your jaw. “Faster?”

Skin contact goes straight to the tightening spiral in your stomach like this. “I can’t—”

“Don’t say you can’t.” He does something that has you dropping down from heights by circling his leg, and completely out of your control, small noises emerge from the back of your throat and you can’t kiss him back anymore. “Do you want it faster or not?”

You try to hum in agreement, but he catches you in the middle of it and jerks you forward, the sharp zap electrifies all your nerves and grants him a startled moan, you can barely see the satisfaction in his face from the sudden tears. You were somehow in control of the pace previously, but once he knows you want it faster, it’s him that anchors your hips to the edge of the stars, a man on a mission.

Leon begins to leave open-mouthed, wet kisses on your neck that has you tilting your head to give him more room, and you’re glad his heavy gaze isn’t drinking in your bliss-stricken expression anymore. “You hear that?” His question is thick. “Listen.”

The noises your wetness make sliding across the muscles of his thigh in a rapid speed makes some of the blood rush up to your cheeks, and the knot is stretched so agonizingly beyond the point of no return that you’re hurling towards absolution, legs beginning to shake and your whines become sweeter. “Leon,” you pant, the fever to keep going as he is conveyed in one singular word reaches him. “Leon—ah, mmh— I’m— Leon!”

“Yeah, I got you.” Adoring kisses are peppered along your jawline and your fingers clutch to his blond hair, pulling him in, your stiffened, perked up nipples are smushed in the press of his chest against yours, and you arch into him like a cat, lost in the ascending ecstasy. “Just let go.” He bites down and your sore walls clench around nothing, the pulsating increasing in intensity. You’re on a thrill ride, shooting up, up, up— “Come for me, sweet girl, come on, give it to me.”

With a sharp, choked cry, and the throw of your head back, the coil explodes and unravels, white sparkles in your vision, and Leon holds you down when your body tries to fly off with the force of your orgasm, the sinking of his hands into your sensitive flesh only heightens and sends crashing waves as he helps you ride through it, rocking lazily with you back and forth.

“Oh god,” you shiver, clinging to him, upper body basically draped across his chest as the pleasure rolls into a stinging ache of pain with the overstimulation, bones jiggly from the floaty feeling to get away yourself. “Too much. Leon. Too much.”

His voice is croaky. “Yeah, we’re not done yet.”

He stands up with his arms supporting your legs around his waist, and you hold on for dear life. It scares every single time he does this. Leon makes it look so easy to carry you around from room to room without breaking a sweat.

The full meaning of his words only get to you when you’re thrown on the bed, wind knocked out of you. “Leon, wait, aren’t you going to Spain tomorrow, don’t you have to prepare—”

“I’m preparing,” he says, putting one knee on the bed and oh god, the shine on his thigh, the drench, that was all you—- “Need to get my fill of you to last for the whole trip, yeah?”

It’s more like he’s saying, ‘To last for the rest of my life’, the hunger and melancholy makes for a Frankenstein’s monster of ravenous, unquenchable yearning when you’re right in front of him and your flame is rekindled.

More than one round with him is uncommon most times because he’s simply busy and moves around a lot, you weren’t used to the practice, build wired to exhaustion taking over when he was finally done with you, either hot, heavy and fast or sweet and intense, each time leaving you with honeyed sore bones and the best sleep following right after.

Arousal pools in the pit of your belly thinking about what comes next.

Kneeling at your feet, he taps your tight-locked knees. “Open up for me.”

It’s morning. He could see every detail of imperfection in this light and uncertainty washes over you for a second before you do as he wishes, the sheets crinkling and rustling beneath your shifting, and he gets on his stomach and puts one of your legs to his shoulder when you thought he would be entering you already.

Flustered, you get up on your elbows. “Leon, you don’t have to.”

“Didn’t think you wanted to get it over with right away.” Sliding his hand up, he fans his fingers on your tummy, thumb pulling at the skin dipping into your vulva, and looks up at you from his eyelashes. Little sparks of pleasure light up at each stroke. The weight of his arm is wonderful. “Breaking my heart over here.”

“It’s not that, I…”

He scooches up, and the knowingly feather-light kiss he leaves on the inside of your thigh, close — right there but not there, makes your leg twitch. “Oh, you wanted something else?” The teasing view of Leon inches away from where you wanted him was a sight for sore eyes, but his sudden hot breath on your post-orgasmic sopping heat broke your daze, making your hips attempt to jump up, but his arm had you absolutely pinned on the mattress. “Well?”

It’s not something you’d planned, but his wanton beauty looking up at you shoves an image inside your brain unexpectedly, reminding you how you’d said you wanted to have him, not the other way around. This is going to be the last time Leon would be like this with you, and there were so many things left unexplored. What would it feel like to have this feline-gracious, strapping man underneath you, to run your lips through his unbelievably sturdy body all over and return the kindness on how good he’s been taking care of you? Leon was always perfect to you. Is perfect. Your wish to present him with how exactly on top of the world he has you feeling for your final time, to return the favor.

Leon has stopped moving and it’s because of your lack of reaction and the long look of contemplation regarding him. You lift his hair away from his eyes. “Can you lay down on your back?”

“You wanna get on top?” he asks, but doesn’t object to it, moving up on the bed and sitting up, getting the hint on taking off his clothes, enamored, you watch his abdomen flex and limbs stretch like a cat’s as he slips his shirt off and throws it away and shimmy off his briefs. Every single movement of his is a wonder.

“No, I want to touch you,” you say, stare not knowing where to focus on him and his half-hard dick jumps at your words. “Explore you.”

He meets your eyes, pupils blown, and swallows, nodding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I wanted to have you, remember?”

There’s a semblance of a laugh and Leon rolls on his back, one knee up and hands on his stomach, blond hair fanning around his head on the sheets. He looks like a sculpture. “And how will you have me?”

“Pleasured without thinking of pleasuring,” you explain, he’d be better at the dirty-talk in your position, perhaps say something like ‘Crying for me’, but you’re way too fascinated by him to think about what would have him helplessly turned on. “Vulnerable.”

You would be lucky if you are able to push him to the point of not even one thought behind those pretty blue eyes, but you just want to make him feel good, and with that in mind, reach a hand and trail the tips of your fingers through the prominent web of veins along his forearm, his fingers jump, and you continue through his upper arm, lingering on the sharp lines of lighter-colored small scars until you reach his shoulder, feeling the cluster of the goosebumps that rise in his skin.

“Seriously?” he says with an annoyed timbre and you see him having gone completely hard, eyebrows shooting up in shock. “You’re going this slow? Am I some package you’re unboxing?”

“You seem to be enjoying it,” you murmur in interest, and Leon sulks at how you run all five of your fingernails all the way down the lower of his belly button and how it’s hardly even a graze at all. His abs keep contracting. “I barely touched you.”

“You, haah,” he sighs at you straddling and hovering above him. “Don’t need to point that out.”

Leon tries to hold onto your thighs but you maneuver him away, and unsurprisingly, he isn’t pleased by that, groaning. “Oh we’re doing this?”

“I’m touching you. Stay still like a good boy.”

It’s your usual banter, but for some reason, he turns his face away and closes his eyes for a second, wetting his lips as if his mouth is dry. The line of his neck clenches and unclenches and you feel the brush of his dick lightly hit the inside of your leg. You’re fascinated again. He likes this more than you expected. “God, you really want to kill me.”

Leon could stop it if he wanted to. Switch it around. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. All the times you’ve attempted to ride him and your knees and calves failed you, he ended up sitting up and hugging you close, fucking up into you and kneading your insides from below and littering your shoulders with angry red marks, taking control of the pace, especially riled up from how endearing and sexy you were trying your best to pleasure him, in his words. He can do it again, but doesn’t. Just lies there, all for you, stuck between a rock and a hard place — which, in this case, is his discomfort and enjoyment. The lack of stimulation gets him going.

You lean down and nip at the corner of his mouth, and he responds immediately, turning back to you, chasing the kiss. His hands come up to your waist but you take them off, pinning them to his sides, and Leon complains through sharply breathing into your mouth. “I’ll only,” Kiss. “Hold you.” Kiss. “Please, just let me—” You lightly bite his tongue.

As if he couldn’t do it if he truly wanted to. He is letting you do this to him. Pleading. In that tone of voice, too. You’re in over your head, what is happening?

“No,” you say, kissing his jaw and caressing the hinge of his opposite jaw with your thumb, sounding stern but feeling silly inside, unsure if he’s amused by you deep down. But Leon huffs again like a spoiled brat not getting what he wants.

You’re shell-shocked, but continue your pursuit to find out what else he likes, settling on his ear, making a line through the outer rim of soft tissue with your tongue and sucking kisses until he’s shifting around, you can hear how he’s trying to level out his breathing, then you bite, and he hisses as you repeat it over and over again.

You’ve heard that some men enjoy getting their nipples played with, and you caress and massage, knead and fondle all over his torso with both hands as the switching of your gentle and silky mouth and the needling pleasure of teeth assault his ear, and you listen to his heavy breathing the occasional hitch of it until you circle around one nub, and flick it, rubbing down and pressing the pebbled nipple inwards, just like how he does it to you, and twist the other one. His face hides itself in your neck, and you let him have that, at least.

His exhale turns into sound and he shuts it down pretty quickly, opting to speak up instead. “Can you—” he begins, and then tuts, sounding nonchalant, but you hear it. You hear the thickness of contained arousal. “Can you move on already?”

“You want the other ear?”

His head jerks in your position at you saying that straight into his ear and breathing into it, you know the thin sheen of saliva coating it makes the sensation sharp and cool and warming at the same time. “No—” he says, but you ignore him, cutting the rejection off by taking his other earlobe between your teeth. “Jesus Christ, this isn’t necessary—”

“If it isn’t, why is this wet?” You ask, watching him closely, tapping the pearl of clear liquid gathered at the tip of his ramrod straight hardness. It’s scalding hot, throbbing at the contact. Leon hisses between his teeth, trying to contain it, and sighs as your index finger circles the tip to spread it around, another bead of precum swelling in the wake of your touch. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips thinning and returning to their usual plushness with him pushing them together, a dust of pink coloring his complexion, a weak glare is on you. “Just enjoy it.”

“I could if you actually did something already.”

You wrap a tight hand around Leon’s needy cock, heavy and thick, and he shouts, the cry turning into a high-pitched whine you would never dream of coming from him and he clamps a hand on his mouth right in the middle of it, hips bucking into you, head thrown back, blown eyes horrified at what he just did. His breaths are loud and shaky, face turning red in seconds, and you watch, utterly captivated. You’ve seen adorable sides of him before when he lets himself be light and his brow isn’t hanging close to his eyes in that grumpy mood, but what you have right here…

You’re drunk on this side of his, nibbling at his exposed throat. “You’ll take what I give you.”

“God,” he whispers behind his palm, with a subtle tremble when you squeeze once and let go. His hips stutter up before falling back. Leon’s embarrassed. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t retort back, all of the sass packed and left. You can’t believe this is working. That Leon’s obeying you like this. He’s leaked all over your hand. Oh my god.

And you’ve really barely even done anything to him.

You can’t help but wonder if this is you doing this to Leon or he’s just into being bossed around in general.

How further can you push?

“Look, you’ve wet my hand,” you say, bringing your glistening palm up and separating your fingers after circling the gathered precum around, a thin thread forming between the digits. Like a hawk, he watches you lap it all up and you don’t take your eyes off of his, hearing him grip the sheets. “Still gonna act like this isn’t doing anything for you?”

Leon’s voice is gravelly as he rasps, “Kiss me.” It’s something between a request and a demand that if you don’t do it, he will.

You oblige, pushing down on his chest to get him to lie down again when it’s apparently too slow and soft for him, and he avidly presses forward to make it rougher, intertwining his tongue with yours harsher to the point of your mixed drool sliding down his chin for more.

He’s yanking and pulling on his clasp on the dreadfully wrinkled covers in self-restraint as he bites and licks and pulls at your lips, butterflies light up the pit of your stomach and thrash against the liquefied rapture that throbs in your pussy and seeps out, the need for attention growing impatient by the minute.

You go down and focus on kissing his neck, alternating between openmouthed licks and bites, careful not to leave marks, insides doing a summersault at the small noise of disappointment he makes that transitions into husky gasps. Leon still is concerned with suppressing any kind of unbecoming sounds he’s appalled to come out of him, and you’re bothered by that. Pressing your palm on the head of his cock and twisting sure does the trick to vocalize him a bit, restoring your confidence.

“Ah… Can’t you just directly touch it,” he sighs gruffly. “This isn’t enough—”

“You aren’t asking nicely enough.”

His head snaps down, brows raised in disbelief, self-consciousness clouding the teased promise of bliss that edges him on, and you stare back at him pointedly — however, on the inside, you’re worried if he’d ever beg at all.

You twist your palm with added pressure enough to alleviate the pain, but not enough to carry him to the peak he wants to get to, and his shoulders jump up, “Ah!” Biting down on his momentarily trembling lower lip and shaking his head with closed eyes as if he doesn’t want to see you watch him be like this, he mutters, “I’m gonna get you for this…”

You grip the base of his cock so hard his hands fly up to your wrists and with a shuddering whimper, stop at the last second before he touches you and he drapes his forearms on his reddened face instead, his back rises from the bed involuntarily, Leon’s flat-on squirming and hating it.

“That’s not nice,” you tease, pressing your legs together in momentary relief and waves of pleasure that slip on your skin like silk, and narrowly stopping the moan. You breathily add, “What do we say?”

“Please,” so fast and quiet, humiliated. You understand, but don’t let him off.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Fuck, please, come on, please.” His hands ball into fists and his arm veins pop out and his right knee curls upwards. “You can’t keep doing this to me—AHH—mhhmh—!”

His sentence gets cut off into incomprehensible babbling once you start pumping your fist up and down his neglected erection, not even needing lotion for it, he’s drenched enough to make the slide beyond slippery. You add your other hand into the mix and begin teasing the tip, and his chest, having developed a thin layer of sweat and gleaming in the sunlight, is heaving, and he can’t swallow the gasps and noises anymore, fingernails digging into his palms. You can only see his puffed, rufescent lips from the way he’s covering his face.

“Wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’ll take it,” you say, and it’s genuine. This much alone was too much, way beyond what you thought could happen. Leon is always in control, he has it together so brilliantly that this is actually him falling apart, it’s an enthralling, spellbinding natural disaster so beautiful you can’t look away, want to touch yourself to the sight.

“I’ll show you what I have in mind,” Leon all but snarls, and he has you on your back and pulls you towards him by your legs harshly even before shivers can go down your spine. “Let’s see if you can take that.”

You pushed him past his limit it seems, and he darkly stares you down, eyebrows scrunched and beads of sweat rolling down his temples. sweat-dampened hair curtains his face from both sides. His hand slips behind both of your knees and scratches at the smooth skin of the crevice, shooting lightning directly into your core, and he hikes them up to hook over his shoulder and hugs one bulging arm around to hold them together, lining himself up with your slit with a trembling hand, dragging the cherry red, furious tip up and down, slipping it in for a bit, catching your insides in a tantalizing drag, and then taking it out next, making your toes curl in the air and drawing squeals out of you.

Leon would normally send you to the underground and back from how horribly he’d tease you for being this drenched for him, but he’s strained and silent now, snapping his hips against yours and burying himself to the hilt in the spasming cavern of your pussy in one go, with no resistance from how ready for him you were, ripping a fractured cry from you as your vision blacks and stars dance behind your eyes. He groans gutturally, cock pulsing inside, and you feel the sound in your body. You’re overly sensitive from head to toe, and even the sheets sliding against your burning skin makes your clit throb painfully, deliciously.

He doesn’t start slow or build to something, it’s quick and rough right off the bat as he’s ramming into you with no mercy, and he’s basically catapulting you into glorious completion, but you need more stimulation, more, something more—

He slaps your hand away when you try to reach down to your clit to slip two fingers between your tightly shut legs and falls on his forearms, “No way I’m letting you do that.” Leon arranges your legs to wrap around his waist, grinding against you.

His attention then shifts to something else and he pulls on the sleeve of your shirt that’s still on, a scheming shine comes to the blue of his eyes that worry you, and then he’s leaning in and forcing it up. It’s hard for you to move your back and slip it off with the way he’s pinning you down, and it dawns on you late after you make the mistake of raising your arms that it’s what he wants after all. After getting your head out, Leon turns it inside out around the entire length of your arms that act as a makeshift restraint and leaves it like that, you’re incapacitated with your hands over your head like this.

You whine, this is so about not letting him touch you, and he thrusts up sharply to shut you up, sucking blossoming reds into the crook of your neck, hands pulling and pinching at your nipples. It’s building up. It’s building up, but— “You’re going to come like this.”

The frantic slap of skin against skin is echoing in the room and you struggle against the bunched up shirt around your arms. “Can’t—”

“You’re doing it on purpose at this point.” He laces his fingers into your hair on top of your head, thumb on your forehead in little caresses, contrasting how he fucks you shallow and fast, his voice a couple octaves higher than it usually is as he angles your hips upwards to hit deeper, and your moans are a metronome in beat to his ruthless pace.

“Yeah, that’s right, take it!” Eyes glazed over, mouth agape, the muscles in his thighs jumping, body pulled taut, wrecked and somehow begging, Leon doesn’t leave a single spot unkissed on your face and throat and he’s hurling towards an uncontrolled craze, he’s so close himself. “More? You want more? Too bad, this is it—mmm—for what you just did to me, and you’re gonna take it!”

You’re clamping down on him and he hisses in your ear as you repeat it like a mantra, Leon is wrenching a merciless orgasm from you and you have no control over it, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, can’tcan’tcan’tcan’t—!”

Leon’s delectable weight pins you down as you shoot up with the detonation of the pleasure into a thousand pieces, rippling through your body in building waves, your pussy clenching down on him catches him off guard and he unceremoniously spills into you with a choked, staccato shout shuddering, the succulent warmth coating your insides and adding to the ecstasy, and it just keeps coming, his load is too heavy and too much. Your stiffened legs lock the shivering man in place and tremble around his waist as he languidly rides his bliss out, forehead sticky against your clavicle, the sheer strength with which he holds you against him is euphoric rather than suffocating.

“God, what the fuck was that,” he mumbles at some point, collapsing on top of you and turning you around with him so he won’t crush you, pulling you to his sweaty chest and putting his chin on top of your head. His scent has you in a fuzzy daze. “What did you do to me?”

You don’t respond, consciousness slipping from your fingers and pulling you deep into the sweet comfort of the dark.

You feel his hand on your cheek, lightly nudging. “Hey, you okay?”

“Mhm,” you manage to make out. “Wanna sleep…”

“Okay, sweet girl, I got you,” he says, soft and endeared, from far, far away.

And with that, you’re out like a light.

When you wake up, you find yourself thoroughly cleaned up, in comfortable, cotton pajamas, with no Leon in sight and a small note left on your nightstand with the keys to your apartment on top of it.

It reads: Had to go. I’m sorry about not staying until you woke up. Talk to you when I get back.

You plop back on your fluffy pillows and sigh, chest hurting. It was always going to end this way. In hindsight, you’ve seen it coming.

Your heart doesn’t agree, tears freely falling from your eyes. It’s really over. Leon really left like that. Just as he came into your life.

You don’t have the right to complain. You’d agreed to it in the first place.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy headcanons #leon s. kennedy headcanons #resident evil 4 #re4 remake

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navybrat817 · 11 months

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Navy, Navy, Navy! The most wonderful person to grace this app!🫶🏻

This totally gives off Florist Bucky&Petal vibes🥹🥹

https://www.facebook.com/reel/130668179932929?s=yWDuG2&fs=e

Most wonderful person to grace this app, nonnie? I'm not, but you are too kind and I appreciate that. Hope you enjoy this fun size fic.

Aroma

Pairing: Florist!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky adores domestic moments with you. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Sugary sweet fluff and love, established relationship, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?) Graphics talent and thanks: Divider by @firefly-graphics. Moodboard and header by yours truly. A/N: A little for something for my favorite florist for this sweet nonnie.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The second Bucky's alarm rang out in the bedroom, he reached over to shut it off. Not because he wasn't ready to get up, but because he didn't want to disturb your sleep. You still had time before you needed to get ready for the day and he wasn't going to wake you if he didn't have to. Even though he had to get up, he took a minute to hold you closer against his chest.

Breathing you in feels like home.

He hadn't expected to become such a cuddler, a bit afraid in the beginning because of his metal arm, but dating you changed that. More often than not he found excuses to hold you and you never seemed to mind. Feeling your soft frame against him, along with your sweet scent, constantly brought him a sense of peace. It reminded him of being in his shop surrounded by warmth, beauty, and brightness.

My beautiful Petal.

You let out a tiny moan when he rubbed his nose against your neck, smiling to himself when your heart raced faster in your sleep. As much as he wanted to keep you in his embrace, he had an early day at the shop and had to get moving. Placing a tender kiss over your pulse, he carefully tucked the blanket around you as he grudgingly slipped out of bed. He brought his clothes to the bathroom, too, so he wouldn't have to turn on the light and risk waking you.

He did his best to be a thoughtful boyfriend.

Brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower, he reflected on the domesticity of your relationship and how much he loved it. After you cooked dinner together the night before, the blend of spices and herbs lingering in the air, he suggested a documentary he wanted to catch up on. About halfway through, curled up against him under one of your soft blankets, you fell asleep. Instead of turning the television off when he noticed, he took a minute to watch the colors from the screen move along your beautiful face. Once he finally brought you to bed, in just his shirt, he swore he saw you smile sadly in the darkness as you snuggled against him once again.

"Did I miss it?" you asked, cracking an eye open.

"You made it halfway through," he replied, hoping you didn't feel bad for needing sleep.

"Sorry I crashed," you said with a slight pout, confirming his thoughts. "I know you wanted to watch it."

"It's okay," he assured you with a kiss to your forehead. "We can finish it another time."

It didn't matter that you didn't stay awake for it. What meant the most was that you wanted to watch it in the first place because of him. A normal night, seemingly insignificant, but the little things like that shined just as bright as the major moments.

After brushing out his hair and getting dressed, he smiled as he saw the half full bottle of cologne on his side of the sink. He needed to spritz a shirt for you before he left. Grabbing it, he expected you to still be in bed once he left the bathroom. What he found was an empty room and an open door. Frowning as he set the bottle on the nightstand, he heard light footsteps in the kitchen and wondered why you were awake. Did he wake you up? He tried not to make any noise.

The familiar aroma from his favorite coffee greeted him as he left the room and he had to stop to take in the sight of you. Still wearing his shirt and slippers on your feet, you set his to-go mug on the counter and poured him a drink with a yawn. You were likely still half asleep, if he had to guess from your slumped shoulders, and it took a lot of willpower not to drag you back to bed to tuck you in. Breathing a deep sigh, he wondered how you managed to always look so stunning.

“Morning,” you yawned again when you caught him staring.

"Morning," he smiled as he joined you, pulling you into his arms. "Did I wake you?"

"No. You were nice and quiet," you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder. "Made you coffee."

“I can see that and I appreciate that, but why aren’t you in bed?” he asked when you reached up to play with his hair.

“Just wanted to do something nice because I love you," you said, lifting your head to brush your lips against his. His heart swelled as he kissed you back and he wondered if you knew how much the moment meant to him. "Hope that's okay."

Tempted to drop down on one knee and propose then and there, he stopped himself. He had a plan and wanted to stick to it. “More than okay. Thank you."

I love you, too.

Taking your hand, he pulled you back to the bedroom. "We having a quickie?" you teased.

He chuckled as he grabbed the cologne and sprayed the air directly in front of you, watching your eyes briefly light up from the smell. "Just a spritz as much as you're tempting me. Back to bed."

Not having to be told twice, you ungracefully collapsed on the mattress with a huff.

Adorable and you're somehow mine.

"Have a good day, okay?" you murmured, resting your hand on his pillow.

Bucky fell in love all over again as he bent down to give you one more kiss. How long had he dreamt of finding someone like you? A caring partner who stopped by his shop to bring him food after a long day. Someone who supported his drive to continuously learn, like researching what it would be like to become a dad. And didn't mind getting up early just to see him off for the day.

"I'll have the best day now with the best cup of coffee from the best girl I know," he promised.

And he hoped you had the best day, too.

Our man is so in love! Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #florist!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #florist!bucky barnes #florist and petal #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #florist au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x female!reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan

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godbirdart · 6 months

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Do you have any specific process to get ideas for your backgrounds in your character pinup drawings how do you manage to make them all so awesome and cool

thank you so much! the way I like to tackle these is to think of them as if they're the character's splash art in a gacha game while also taking elements and rules from magazine covers.

now, I use the term "gacha game splash art" kinda loosely here, as that kind of art often depicts contained scenes or flourishes of elemental power. what I mainly focus on is how splash art showcases the character's personality within that contained art piece or scene.

I want everything in the piece I draw to reflect and correlate to the character itself. any accessories, text and elements are always taken into consideration. for this i'll often look closer to the character, their toyhouse page / bio, or sometimes even the client themselves if i'm familiar with them or have worked with them repeatedly before.

for example, archie here is an arcanine. I've utilized this for the background header, where you'll see arcanine's in-game category, pokedex number, type, body shape icon, as well as one of its abilities: flash fire. there's also a fire type icon.

another example is afol's piece. the client had specific ideas in mind for this art - particularly in the emotion and expression the art is meant to portray. I really wanted to incorporate this quote from afol's toyhouse profile as I felt it added to that raw, conflicted emotion the client was after.

as afol is a musician and a sky god, I also wanted to highlight it by adding "GODOFSKY - The Sky God's Solo Suite" as an artist / song title signature that again could tie into that emotional conflict.

the magazine aesthetic is something sort-of new to these pieces, with afol's piece having more of that distinct cover vibe than earlier ones; however I've been taking notes from magazine covers from the start.

I always have to make sure text and accents don't take away from the character, or cover them up or clutter the canvas too much. you'll see this a lot on magazines, how the title is always the largest text with everything else being much smaller or thinner. i follow similar composition rules when drawing. keep the model as the focus, and add things around them as needed to break up negative space and balance out the art. in my portraits, the character's name is always the largest text.

beyond these conscious choices - i dunno! my clients always come to me with fantastic prompts that mesh well with what I vibe with artistically.

i love being handed a few prompts and told to run free with them, and i love when clients come to me looking for a specific aesthetic or emotional piece. i absolutely adore drawin smug and confidently villainous gremlins, but some of my all-time favourite pieces to draw are the ones with a lot of raw emotion in em.

honestly i think a lot of the coolness comes down to my clients just havin cool characters to begin with lmao

#long post #wall of text

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areislol · 1 year

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are they an "okokokok" or "lalalala" type of person?

ft— all male characters

warning — just fluff ^^ gn! reader (don't mind the header w the girl)

a/n— i love this trend sm, this is just in my opinion so uhm, yea also this is my take on the "okokok" and "lalala" trend. wrote this in like 50 mins i think cuz i was scrolling through tiktok and all to get some info/ideas.

✧ they're an "okokokok" type of person. (slightly) introverted and calm. they don't mind listening to you rambling, if anything, they love it! if you ever stopped talking because you thought they weren't listening or anything, they would immediately pause what they were doing, their face softening. ✧ they would ask if everything is alright and/or tell you continue. if you don't, they would start with asking what happened after where you stopped and of course, your eyes light up and you continue telling your story, rambling about what happened that day, what you felt and etc.

✧ or, alternatively, you could be rambling about your day, something that happened significantly, and he would be staring lovingly at you, his eyes boring into yours, watching as you talked with your hands... he may or may not have been paying attention to your words, rather, your adorable face—you cheeks began to warm under his intense gaze. and so you stop talking because your brain can't literally function. and he may or may not have teased you about it <3

✧ just because they rather listen to you doesn't mean he doesn't chime in or add comments there and then. he also responds and might even talk more than you, but he still loves to listen to you.

✧ they're logical and serious. never the one to mess around in public (only with you privately). if you ever feel shy to ask for food or anything he's already asking it for you (ugh my heart)

✧ he's exceedingly chill. could care less about other people OR care about them but only thing for sure is that he cares about you more.

— AL HAITHAM, wanderer, thoma, gorou, XIAO, heizou, DAINSLEIF, tighnari, diluc, kazuha, kaeya.

✧ they're a "lalalala" type of person. they LOVE rambling everyday, there is not a day where they don't ramble to you. they're extroverted and have a bubbly personality. they can account many stories to you.. maybe even for a bedtime story!

✧ but being a "lalala" type of person, talking a lot, means that you don't have the time to kiss them </3 i see them as being indecisive and silly. he gets so anxious (or not/slightly) when he doesn't have anyone to talk to like he NEEDS you.

✧ he's your "lalala" to your "okokok"/"lalala", you two are like THE duo!!!! although they do speak more than listening, he will always be there to listen and help you through your hard times!!! their first thoughts is to make you laugh, of course.

✧ just like the "okokok" type of person, if you're too shy to ask for food or something that you really like he's already up and going to the counter AND getting what you want :))

✧ they overthink everything like!! 24/7!! and may be a hopeless romantic!!! i can see them being very caring and loving <33 rambles about anything you could possibly imagine.

— VENTI, aether, cyno (he be telling jokes n everything ALL DAY LONG), kaveh, ITTO, baizhu (?), childe

✧ they're both "okokok" and "lalala" they're serious yet can be silly as well. they love talking about their hobbies or just overall yet still listen to your rambling as well, with much attention.

✧ they can be logical, or not. they can choose what to be depending on the situation honestly. like he can be "okokok" to extroverted people and be "lalala" towards introverted people just to get them going you know?

✧ it can go both ways. him talking about whatever and you listening intensively OR you talking and him listening to YOU intensively. you two are two missing pieces in a puzzle piece <3

— ZHONGLI, ayato, albedo

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lightbarebunnies · 6 months

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Napping with Valkyrie

summary: some lil hcs about napping with valkyrie's members :) tags: fluff, gn!reader - you/your pronouns characters: mika kagehira, shu itsuki a/n: first actual post? first actual post. screams. I might resize my header images because they feel way too big, but I will wait and see how they look on mobile x_x

Mika, like any other black cat, loves to sleep in the warmth of the sun.

He's napped out on benches, beneath trees, once even on the floor of the handicrafts room while he was waiting for Shu to finish alterations on their costumes.

However, it was when he first moved into the dorms and Ritsu, that Mika learned the joy of napping with another.

There’s a closeness that he’s appreciated from those dear to him, even outside of a romantic context. He’s just a cuddler!

Once he started collecting plushies, he had at least one near by to hold onto. During his crushing stage, there definitely wasn’t one he named after you and would imagine was you, yearning to be able to hold you tight...

Once you started to date, however, he’s always been the clingy type of partner - pulling you close so that you’re leaning on his shoulder when you watch movies together, having you sit on his lap when the two of you are both just scrolling on your phones, and essentially attaching himself to your arm when you’re out shopping for fabric.

He adores the feeling of you. Your warmth, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, the pressure of you on top of him… Genuine, physical facts that you are there and with him in that moment.

As much as Mika likes to spoon, he actually prefers for you to be cuddled up beside him and resting your head on his chest.

In a perfect world, you’d just be directly on top of him without worrying about it being comfortable for him… He can handle it, even if you hear something crack or pop, he’s not that scrawny anymore! It’s just like a weighted blanket-

...That’s something he’ll try to convince you to do on another day.

Today, however, he just needs some time with you. You’ve both had a long day, and it wasn’t even dinnertime yet. So… like clockwork, he drags you off to the couch for a nap to recharge.

Mika’s essentially formed a nice little nest out of his spare blankets, with just enough space for the both of you to lie down and be snuggled up together.

He lies down first, then lets you get comfortable and find the right position before he’ll wrap his arms around you. He tends to have a hand wander and eventually find its way into your hair, playing with it until he dozes off.

Sometimes, Mika ends up waking up before you. That’s a real treat for him… he loves how peaceful you look when you sleep – just getting to watch you at rest with him makes him feel all fuzzy inside.

Shu Itsuki and naps do not usually come hand in hand.

Usually, he keeps a strict sleep schedule to ensure his own health and maintain the proper work balance between schoolwork and his idol activities.

Though, it's due to his stubbornness that he's wound up passed out in the snow when he still was attending Yumenosaki. While he hasn't worked himself to absolute exhaustion, he still is prone to pushing himself far to meet deadlines.

You're dear to Shu, and your presence is absolutely vital to his work when he's on a time crunch.

He trusts you enough, about as much as he trusts Mika at this point, to assist in simple sewing tasks.

So, as the sun rises and creeps through the curtains, you finish applying bias tape to the sleeves of Shu's most recent commission. You're wiped, but you can't seem to convince yourself to go to sleep if it means more work for Shu...

Shu looks at you sleepily rub your eyes, placing your pin cushion on the table, and his heart aches. There was still another day until the deadline... perhaps the two of you have done enough for now.

He quickly makes a baste stitch with the applique he had been fussing over, then stands. He walks to the couch and grabs a shawl he had knit months ago. You don't really think much of it, until you realize he's not by the couch anymore... and is in fact standing behind your chair.

"Come, mon Amour." he whispers in your ear, wrapping the shawl around your shoulders. "I've decided that I can't stand watching your constitution waste away, so we shall be going to bed."

It's an obvious excuse, a way for him to say he too is tired without admitting such weakness and instead using you as an excuse It was something you'd normally point out, until he gives your shoulder a gentle kiss - a silent apology for not deciding to rest sooner.

... Alright, you'll let him off easy this time.

Whisking you off to his bedroom, he first ensures your own comfort once he lays you down - fussing over your position and making sure that the sheets are adequate.

On one side, he tucks you in, before he gets in on the other side. He ensures you're still wrapped in the shawl as he holds you, so that if the two of you separate in your sleep, you'll still have a part of him holding you as you rest.

Shu watches you as you drift off, gently brushing his fingers through your hair and humming softly. He always makes sure you fall asleep first.

Feeling the knit lace pattern of the shawl between his fingers, a habit to keep him from fretting about the unfinished work, he finally drifts off to sleep with you in his arms.

In a few hours you'll both wake up and get back to work, likely with a cup of caffeinated tea to help. For now, however... he'll rest.

#enstars x reader #ensemble stars x reader #mika kagehira x reader #shu itsuki x reader #kagehira mika x reader #itsuki shu x reader #valkyrie x reader #.hyacinth writes #mika kagehira #shu itsuki #enstars #ensemble stars

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little-diable · 1 year

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Pen Pals - Tommy Shelby (smut)

Boy, do I adore working on fics with @zablife – thank you for adding your beautiful touch to this fic and for writing Tommy's letters. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tommy and the reader have been pen pals as teenagers, though ripped apart by the war. Now, as she is trapped in an abusive marriage, she finds Tommy's old letters again, and she can't help but wonder if he had made it home from war, and if so, could if he could be the helping hand she's desperate for?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, mentions an abusive husband and a gun, a very happy ending

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (5k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

(Y/n) could still remember the call she had found in the paper as she had been a young teen, asking children and teenagers from the United Kingdom to send in their addresses, to find pen pals they could practise writing with. She had been filled with excitement, and even though her father had told her to not follow the call, undoubtedly worrying about the mail they’d receive, she still had run all the way to her post station to send off a letter, asking them to pair her up with a pen pal.

It had taken weeks for the first letter to arrive, addressed to (y/n) in a slightly wonky handwriting, introducing himself as Tommy Shelby. Back then she hadn’t even dared to guess the kind of friendship that would form between her and Tommy, the young boy from Small Heath, a city she has never been to before.

Ever since Tommy had written that very first letter, (y/n) had started to share her deepest secrets with the boy, confiding in the one she’d eventually fall for, without ever meeting him. But life hadn’t been kind to the two, ripping them apart before they could have even tried to grasp the chance to meet, before she or he could board a train to finally cross the endless hours laying between their homes.

War had been cruel, to both their families, killing innocent lives before they could evolve into the people they were destined to be. (Y/n)’s heart had ached in her chest when Tommy’s very last letter had found its way to her, saying goodbye to the woman that had been by his side for the past years, at least on paper, one with the ink soaking through the expensive paper they’d steal from their family members close by.

She had collected every letter he had written, stored away in a box she hadn’t opened in years, long forgotten like the words she had once known by heart. Within the first few months of the war people would talk about for decades to come, she had found it too painful to think of Tommy, wondering if he was still alive, breathing in the smell of gunpowder, of dirt and blood. The mere thought of said vile mixture had brought tears to her eyes, clutching the fabric of her blankets when she was laying awake late at night.

The years had passed and with those years the memories of his letters had faded, allowing her heart to make peace with the ghost of old times she had run from. It was almost ironic how she had found the wooden box again, trying to hide the gun she had bought from a man down the street, needing to find something she could use to protect herself against the man she had married, one with the alcohol he’d pour down his throat, with the money he made from gambling, and the anger he’d unleash upon her in moments he’d call ‘moments of weakness’.

Her hands had trembled as she had grasped the first box she could find hidden in the back of her closet, freezing she felt the all too familiar wood beneath her fingertips. Tears had welled up in her eyes, fingers stroking along the outlines of the box before she slowly opened it. The gun had been long forgotten, placed on the ground next to her kneeling frame as she started reading the letters, mind racing, just like her heart.

With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) reached for the last letter she had received from him. She could still feel the pain his words had unleashed upon her, forcing the young woman to accept that he may never write to her again, buried with those that left their homes with hopeful hearts and strong minds, set on winning the war.

“Dearest Y/n,

I am writing to thank you for your last letter and the photograph you enclosed. It will surely bring me comfort when I am far from home. I must admit that I have been thinking of you often as I prepare to leave, knowing we will not be corresponding as frequently or perhaps at all. I never realised how much my happiness depended on you and the words we exchanged over the years. I know now that you’re the only girl who has ever mattered.

Take care of yourself whilst I’m away. I will do my best to return if only to see your lovely smile in person one day after this war has ended.

Yours, Tommy”

While her heart screamed at her, cursing (y/n) for forgetting about the man she had once planned to marry, crossing the country to make her way to him, her mind started questioning if there was even just a slight chance of Tommy being still alive. Perhaps it had been her own moment of weakness, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from searching for a piece of paper and some ink, starting scribbling down words she could barely read with the tears blurring her vision.

“Dear Tommy,

God, it’s been years, hasn’t it? And yet I can still remember the endless hours I’ve spent pressed against the window of my parent’s living room, waiting for your letters to arrive. How oblivious I’ve been, too naive to understand that life would rip you from me. For years I’ve tried to make my peace with the thought of you amongst other fallen soldiers, but it seems as if the pain has never quite subsided.

Sometimes I catch myself dreaming of the life we could have shared, the house we would have lived in and the children we could have had. An easy life that now seems more far away than ever before. Perhaps it’s foolish of me to rip open the wound that hasn’t properly healed, but just the slightest chance of you still being alive seems a price worth paying.

The naive child living inside of me is hoping for your reply, anxiously awaiting the darkening truth to be revealed. But if you’re receiving this, know that I’ve never stopped loving you.

Yours, (y/n)”

For a moment she had debated telling him about the situation she found herself trapped in, the loveless marriage she was a hostage of, but she didn’t have the heart to do so, scared that somebody besides Tommy would read the letter. And so she folded the paper, staring at it for a few moments before she rose from the floor of her walk-in closet, praying to whoever was listening, that the old address of his would still be the right one.

…

Weeks have passed since (y/n) had sent off the letter, using the address she still knew by heart, a shot in the dark that would probably never be returned to the light. It had been foolish of her to write the letter, forcing her further down memory lane, a path she couldn’t retreat from, stuck in the emotions her younger self had carried deep inside of herself, loving a man she hadn’t ever touched before, a man she hadn’t ever spoken to before, only knowing his handwriting and the thoughts plaguing him.

And while (y/n) had spent most of her past days trapped in her thoughts, her husband had found his way back home, drunk off his mind, smelling of places women like her wouldn’t be allowed to enter. Fear simmered deep inside of her, mixed with the slightest bit of hope, praying to God that Tommy would reply, or at least somebody who knew of Tommy Shelby.

It was early in the morning by the time her doorbell went off, forcing (y/n) out of bed with trembling limbs, arms slung around her waist to try and shield herself from the cold of the morning. Slowly she moved towards the door, opening it just enough for her to take in the body on the other side of the door, “Morning, (y/n), here I thought this may be of importance to you.”

A letter was pushed into her outstretched hand by the postman, sharing a slight smile before she murmured a “Thank you, Frank”, watching him move away. Her heart picked up its pace, eyes staring down onto the address of hers that had been written by a handwriting she didn't recognise. Slowly but surely the daunting realisation began to settle in, this hadn’t been written by Tommy. Times may have changed, but if there was one thing she was certain of it was Tommy’s handwriting. Was this what she had been fearing? Was he no longer human but bones and rotten flesh?

Tears welled up in her eyes, making it harder for her to see as (y/n) found her way back to her empty bed. She stared at the envelope for a few moments, trembling hand wiping away the falling tears. It felt worse than she had imagined, a pain so biting, she felt bile rise in her throat. A pain that was guided by her anger, anger addressed at those greedy men that have ripped millions of people from their families, greedy men whose decisions have forced Tommy to part from their evolving bond.

A deep breath was exhaled as (y/n) opened the envelope, careful not to destroy the parts that had the address of the sender written on them, an unfamiliar street she hadn’t heard of before. Her trembling fingers unfolded the letter, freezing as she read the first few words.

“Dear Miss Y/L/N,

I apologise for any delay in correspondence as my secretary is unfamiliar with this address.

Of course, I remember you and the years of our acquaintance before the war. As you say, much has changed with time. I’ve a business in Birmingham, Shelby Company Limited, as well as several race horses which occupy my time. I cannot give quite so accurate an account of my time in between as you have done. My memories of the war and the subsequent years are not pleasant ones. However, I confess I keep your photograph by my desk as a reminder of simpler times when the world was a better place.

It is my hope that you have found happiness in your life. I am told it is a choice one must make for themselves though I still seem to be deciding. Perhaps I should flip a coin as I would have done in the old days?

Sincerely, Thomas Shelby”

He was alive. Tommy Shelby was alive. A sob wrecked through her, followed by another. (Y/n) pressed the letter against her chest, holding it tight as if she was hugging Tommy. A man that had changed like the tide rolling in, a man who had left behind his happiness on a warfield, a man who no longer addressed her by her first name. Changes (y/n) didn’t care about, rising to her feet in a frenzy, this was her chance. A way out.

(Y/n) didn’t worry about the chances of Tommy pushing her away, didn’t even think twice about the what if’s, the chances of him not wanting to meet her. She had been desperate to find a place where she could hide away from her husband, and if Small Heath – the city she had been supposed to move to years ago – was her calling, she’d follow it blindly.

Clothes were thrown into her old suitcase, not caring what she was packing, too focused on the racing of her heart, the blood thumping through her veins like alcohol. A blind happiness that drowned out the sound of her bedroom door being pushed open, exposing her stumbling husband.

“What the hell are you doing?” (Y/n) froze, eyes squeezed shut for a moment before she slowly turned towards him. He was drunk off his face, could barely balance himself, God’s timing seemed to be perfect, he’d pass out soon, giving her a chance to blend in with the dark morning. “I asked you a question, woman.”

“I,” (y/n) stumbled over her words, fisting the fabric of her thin dress as she was wrecking her brain for a lie to distract him with. “My mam’s sick, I need to visit her for a few days, you know how she is, I can’t leave her alone.”

He stared at her for a few moments, either too drunk to notice the tremble of her voice, or too distracted by the tiredness clinging to him. With a nod thrown her way, he found his way to their shared bed, no longer paying attention to her movements. Relief flushed through her, guiding her through the next moments, closing her suitcase, and with one last glance thrown at her husband, (y/n) pulled her ring off her finger, placing it down on the small reading table placed next to their door.

The morning was cold, a sensation her busy mind paid no worries to, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. Slowly her doubts began to resurface, doubts that distracted her from the dark path to the train station, hoping that she wouldn’t have to wait long for the next train she could take, leaving this very life behind.

Her eyes found the dark ones of the ticket seller, smiling at the grim looking man, “I need a ticket to Birmingham, please.”

…

As a teen (y/n) had imagined the very first time she’d make it to Birmingham, to Small Heath. Back then she had been filled with excitement, a giddy feeling that had left her insides churning, wondering how it may feel to hug Tommy, wondering about the places he’d show her. Naive dreams that had evaporated into a cloud of anxiety, a cloud she was now trapped in.

It had taken her hours to find her way to the streets of Small Heath, but even though the day had turned into evening, (y/n) felt no tiredness clinging to her fleshcage, no exhaustion she was slowed down by. No, by now her confidence had passed, turning into worries that ate her from inside out. Would he even want to speak to her? Would he accept her, or force her to turn away?

With every further step (y/n) took, clinging to the address she had found on the back of his letter, the worries began to grow. A part of her screamed at (y/n) to turn around and leave, to forget about this trip and to tell her husband that her mother didn’t need her help. But her curiosity forced her to keep on moving, till she came to halt in front of the house the address had guided her to.

Trembling fingers were balled into fists, knocking on the heavy door with a deep breath exhaled. There was no turning back, no way out of this mess. She counted the seconds fading by, wondering who’d open the door. (Y/n) knocked again after a few moments, taking a step back as the sinking realisation began to broaden in her system. Only as she turned away from the door, shoulders slumped, legs suddenly feeling heavier than before, the door was ripped open.

“What do you want?” A man had opened the door, presumably younger than she was, and yet his eyes carried something that made (y/n) wonder what cruelties he had been forced to see.

“I’m looking for Tommy Shelby.” (Y/n)’s words were quiet, nothing more than a whisper, and yet he seemed to pick up on them perfectly fine.

“Why? What do you want from him?” Her eyes flickered down to the letter she was holding, wondering how to explain to the man that Tommy Shelby was the lifeline she was clinging to, needing to be pulled from the soaring waves before she’d drown.

“I’m an old friend of his.” While (y/n) was looking for more words to speak, trying to find a way to beg the man to guide her to him, he kept studying her, gaze focusing on the letter she was holding. It took him a few moments to reply, taking in her tired features before he stepped out into the evening, taking her suitcase from (y/n) before she could speak up.

“He’s down at the Garrison, I’ll bring you to him, ‘m John.”

…

“I can’t do this.” (Y/n) froze as they arrived at the Garrison, eyes set ahead on the entrance. Should she really do this? Was this the right decision? She didn’t even know what Tommy looked like, hadn’t ever received a picture of the man she had once planned to marry.

“What’s wrong? Thought you’re an old friend of Tommy’s?” John alighted another cigarette, curious eyes not wandering from her features. On the way to the Garrison they had exchanged a few words, getting to know one another, even though he hadn’t asked any questions about her relationship with Tommy, not one question had been wasted on the man’s name.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” (Y/n)’s eyes found John’s, sending him a sad smile that was frozen on her lips as his hand found the back of her shoulder, giving her a slight push forward.

“Don’t you worry, ‘m sure he’ll be happy to see a pretty face like yours.” Before she could even try to inhale another breath, (y/n) was pushed into the pub, taking in the smell of alcohol and cigarettes that lingered in the air. Her heart was pounding, not able to pay attention to the greetings thrown John’s way, wondering if Tommy was any of these men. Would her heart recognise him before her mind would?

“Look at that, John, did you finally find a woman interested in you?” A man with a prominent moustache spoke up, arm finding its way around John’s shoulder, pulling the man against his chest. Too many curious eyes were focused on (y/n)’s frame, making her feel rather uncomfortable. But while she tried to find comfort in her coat, hiding away from their gazes, John shook his head, murmuring something about Tommy to them.

“A friend of Tommy’s, eh? Alright, come, let’s bring you to him.” The older man took her by her wrist, a gentle touch (y/n) couldn’t focus on, realising that she was truly about to meet the man she had once known better than her friends and family members. No words threatened to leave her, lips pressed together as the man guided her through the pub, coming to halt in front of two smoking men.

Piercing blue eyes found hers, and something inside of her clicked. She tensed, unable to inhale any air her aching lungs were desperate for. Time seemed to stand still, earth had stopped rotating, no longer guiding her through the passing by seconds.

“You’ve got a visitor, Tommy, says she’s an old friend of yours.” It truly was him. The man with piercing blue eyes that reflected no emotions, a stoic glance that could freeze hell. The other man sitting in front of Tommy rose from his seat, nodding at him before he blended in with the other men, making room for (y/n).

Silence engulfed the three of them, seconds Tommy used to take in her frame. Did he recognise her? She had changed over the years, looked nothing like the girl in the picture Tommy had apparently kept close, but if he felt the same pull she was currently feeling, he must know it’s her, guided by the heart that had been broken one too many times.

“Leave us alone, Arthur.” The man squeezed her wrist before he parted from them, sending Tommy one last curious glance. Tommy reached for a cigarette, alighting it before he pointed his hand towards the empty chair. Her trembling limbs forced her to sit down, unable to speak up with her dry mouth. “Flipped a coin, you know, wasn’t sure what it was trying to tell me, but I guess I finally have my answer.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology bled from her lips, eyes not daring to move from Tommy, taking in the handsome face she’d never be able to forget again. “I’m sorry for just turning up like that, but I needed to take my chance, even though I’m a few years too late.”

“Does your husband know you’re here, (y/n)?” She froze, wondering how he knew of the man she had left behind, even though she wasn’t even wearing her ring.

“He’s no longer my husband, at least I no longer want to call him that. You know, I thought you were dead, no further letters have found their way to me, my mother told me to move on, to marry before I get too old. But ever since your last letter I’ve felt everything but happiness.” Tears welled up in her eyes, she fumbled with her fingers, feeling pathetic and yet overly relieved to finally be in Tommy’s presence.

“Small Heath is no place of happiness, and it’s certainly not safe for a woman like you.” (Y/n)’s throat began to tighten up, unable to bite down the anger simmering inside of her, not understanding what he meant by his words.

“I’m safer here than I’ll ever be around my husband.” It took Tommy a few moments to reply, finally realising why she was fleeing from her home. He stubbed out his cigarette, rose from his seat and stretched his hand out for (y/n) to take. Shudders ran down her spine, feeling his skin pressing against hers for the first time, an unfamiliar sensation Tommy also seemed to be distracted by for just a fraction of a moment.

“Let’s get you home then.”

…

“Drink?” (Y/n) could only nod her head, taking in Tommy’s office, the books her fingers ached to touch, the paintings her eyes couldn’t stop admiring. She felt awfully at peace, finally calm enough to exhale the built up pressure.

“I have to admit, I didn’t imagine that being at your place for the first time would play out like this.” Her chuckles left him smiling, staring down into his drink before Tommy took a sip, leaning against his desk.

“How did you imagine it?” Her eyes found his, hand tightening its grip on her glass as she took a step closer towards him, just close enough that she could easily touch him, if the alcohol would give her the confidence to do so.

“I don’t know, I guess young (y/n) didn’t worry about anything but finally being with you. God, I was ready to leave everything behind for you, and if I’m honest, I think this is one of the few things that has never changed over the past years.” His hand found her side, pulling (y/n) against his chest before she could begin to understand what Tommy was doing. He was holding her close, chin placed on top of her head, arms slung around her middle. Both deeply exhaled as if all weight had finally been lifted off their shoulders, no longer carrying the pain the past years had unleashed upon them.

(Y/n) lifted her head off his chest, eyes finding Tommy’s, wordlessly communicating the love that has never subsided, forever etched into her racing heart. His eyes flickered down to her lips, making her awfully aware of their closeness, a thought drowned out by the feeling of his lips meeting hers for the first time. For a moment both froze, minds unable to realise that they were finally kissing.

He tasted of alcohol and cigarettes, a taste she’d forever remember, a taste she’d take to grave, cherishing every part of Tommy, even on her deathbed. He was the darkness she’d walk through, rising with the shadows he had once sent to hell, calling him home once his time was running out.

Her gasps urged Tommy on to add more pressure to his touch, hand finding her chin to keep (y/n) in place. The kiss was unexpectedly sweet and soft, not rushed by the endless years they’ve spent wondering about this very moment. (Y/n)’s hands found the hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging on his roots in a desperate need to deepen the kiss.

“You have to be sure about this.” Tommy murmured the words against her lips, eyes even more piercing than before, finally giving away the whirlwind of emotions he was stuck in. His fingertips danced along her sides, gently caressing her skin through the thin fabric of the dress she was wearing, sticking to her limbs since this very morning.

“I’m more sure about this than about anything else, are you?” Her whispers left him chuckling, forehead pressed against hers to release a deep breath.

“I’ve waited for this moment for years, of course I’m sure about this, about you.” Another kiss was shared between them before Tommy interlaced their fingers, pulling (y/n) towards his bedroom. The giddy feeling she hadn’t felt for years began to fill her, an emotion so familiar and yet so new, making her blood grow warmer, filling every inch of her body.

They came to halt in front of his bed, eyes not daring to break contact as he pushed the straps of her dress down her arms, falling to the ground to expose her naked chest. He took his time admiring her, eyes wandering up and down her frame, not able to break down the small smile widening on his lips. Impatient as one can be, (y/n) pulled him closer, hands working on the buttons of his vest, finding its way to the ground with his shirt soon following.

“I want to take my time with you, love you properly like I should have done years ago.” His raspy words left her trembling, only able to nod her head. Slowly she sat down on the mattress, crawling up the bed with Tommy following her every move, lips finding back together as he towered over her. He kissed his way down her throat, sucking on her skin, leaving marks he’d renew with every rising of the sun. Cold hands explored her chest, tugging on her hardening nipples, wanting to coax every sinful sound from her swollen lips.

“Don’t ever stop touching me, Tommy, promise me.” Her whispers filled the room, words caught in her throat as his mouth replaced his fingers. (Y/n) arched her chest further against him, high on the feeling, not once had she been touched like this before, not used to being treated like a woman that deserved to feel pleasure.

“I promise, even if it may be the only promise I’ll ever keep.” Tommy’s mouth moved further down her body, hands tugging on her panties, exposing every inch of her body to his wandering eyes. He cupped her heat, felt her arousal dripping from her tightness, body begging for his touch, needing to feel his hands on every part of her. Her moans rumbled through her, guided by her pleasure, the unfamiliar desire she had to adjust to.

His mouth found her bundle of nerves, a touch that left her gasping in surprise. Not once had her husband wasted his time on pleasuring her, not once had he used his mouth on her, a sensation so intimate, (y/n) was grateful that she got to share her first time experiencing it with Tommy. His eyes found hers every now and then, as if he was checking in to see how she was feeling, if she was enjoying the way he was touching her. And great heavens, she was.

“Feels so good, fuck, never been touched like this.” Her confession left Tommy smirking in pride, grateful that he was the one to push her into the soaring waves of her orgasm. Two of his fingers teased her entrance, giving her a moment to stop him should she feel uncomfortable, but (y/n) didn’t dare speak up, too caught in the web of pleasure he had spun. He fucked her slow at first, fingers moving in a steady pace, before he began to build up the pressure, curling them against her swollen spot.

Her moans grew louder, walls clenching around him, not able to stop herself from giving in, calling out his name as her first orgasm of the night flushed through her system. Tommy gave her a few moments to cling to the feeling before he pulled away from her, watching her panting frame while he undressed, exposing his naked body to hers. He was gorgeous, a perfect man made for her only, a man she’d never willingly part from again.

Tommy interlaced his fingers with (y/n)’s, staring down on her as he pushed into her, a movement that coaxed a heavy moan out of the both lovers, needing to adjust before he could start fucking her. It felt like their bodies were made for one another, one with the love they’ve shared for a decade, the love so intense it had never managed to fully let go of them.

(Y/n) searched his lips, drowning out the sounds that left her, swallowed by the kiss that left both panting. Her eyes fluttered close and for a moment (y/n) felt like her teen self, remembering all those nights she had spent wondering how being with Tommy would feel like, how he’d touch and love her, but nothing would ever manage to describe what she was truly feeling in this very moment.

A moment filled with love and adoration, a moment so perfect no human mind would ever fully grasp it.

His fingers found their way back to her pulsing bundle, pushing her further into the darkness he had her trapped in, wanting to see the pleasure tugging on her features once again. (Y/n) choked on his name, eyes squeezed shut as her second orgasm rocked through her, robbing her of any strength lingering in her system.

Tommy kept moving, chasing his own high as his eyes watched his cock disappear inside her tightness, coated in her arousal. The sight left his cock twitching, about to release himself on her walls. He managed to pull out just before his orgasm would rock through him, jerking himself for a few moments before he painted her thighs white, letting go with a deep moan.

Both were panting, bodies searching one another, not fully realising that the past moments have truly just happened. They still had their fingers interlaced, not daring to let go just yet, not even as Tommy reached for a tissue to clean her skin, not even as he alighted a cigarette to fill the quiet bedroom with blue smoke.

“There were times where I thought I may have found love again, and yet it had never been the same love you’ve managed to make me feel with your letters. I’m not a good man, (y/n), I’ve done things worse than you’ll ever be able to imagine, but I’m selfish, I won’t let you leave again, not when I finally have you to myself.” She rose from her position, body fully turned towards Tommy, and with her lips kissing his once again, (y/n) murmured a soft “I won’t leave you, not now, not ever”.

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

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violetasteracademic · 5 days

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Master list here if you'd like to read the entire fic Golden Doe in a Valley of Shadow, or just enjoy this spicy scene that is perfect for this week's @elriel-month prompt! (there will be some spoilers and missing build up/context for the fic but live your life babes)

Thank you to @fauxdette a fellow Virgo who is unmatched at creating aesthetic vibes for graciously offering some guidance on how to make a stunning header!

If You Won't Touch Me

Chapter 4: Golden Doe in a Valley of Shadow

Word Count: 3,625

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Orgasm control, orgasm edging, light bondage

Elain

Elain knew Azriel was watching her the entire way home. The winged hound trotted alongside her, and it only made her even angrier how positively precious it was. His tail wiggled as he walked, adorably over-sized eyes peering up at her every so often. Jagged little shadow teeth ready to snap at so much as a bug that dared to fly too close to her. She half wanted to pet him.

I’m not going to touch you, Elain. Not with my hands. Not with my mouth. Not with my tongue or my teeth. Not until you decide that I am the only one who will have the privilege of doing so.

She began to shiver again, and it had nothing to do with the cold. Azriel knew exactly what he was doing. How he affected her. He had to know she was bluffing about calling for Lucien… He had to know he was the only one she wanted. And still he refused her until she could admit it. Until she could promise he’d be the last male to ever touch her. Prick. What an absolute prick.

She’d almost told him that was already the plan, that she could never think twice about another male after him. But he decided to play games, and she didn’t want to let him win. To give him the satisfaction of knowing she came running after him, ready to offer whatever he asked for. Once again, she had exposed herself. Presented her body to him like a damn cake platter and he still turned away.

She almost went down that dark road again, nearly losing herself to the madness of questioning her own sanity when it came to Azriel, but… he had exposed himself tonight too, hadn’t he? Even if you are not my mate, Elain Archeron, somehow I am yours. She tilted her head up to the stars and took a deep breath. Reminding herself of the things he said, and how she felt the truth of them deep in her bones. It was real. It was always real.

She was here. In Velaris. Walking home under the starlight with Azriel’s shadowhound at her feet. She had very little doubt that Azriel himself was trailing nearby, keeping to the shadows.

He thought he was her mate, even if she was someone else’s. She didn’t care about any of that. The mating bond meant nothing to her, less than nothing. She didn’t need such a bond to know she could want him forever. But… it seemed to mean something to him. It seemed to mean a great deal to everyone except her. She had been Fae for well over a year now, but she still struggled to make sense of how archaic it all was. The human lands weren’t that much better in how they valued women. It was clear to her now that Grayson likely only wanted her for her dowry. But if she wanted to say no to him, she could have. He’d have had no grounds to go to war or kill over it. It was always her choice.

She made it back to the townhouse and saw Nuala and Cerridwen waiting quietly in the shadows. Azriel must have sent for them. They each gave a slight tilt of their heads in question. Elain only shook her head and extended her arms, letting them shadow-walk her into her room undetected. Rhys and Feyre were blessedly only here for one more night before they were to return to the river house and resume their High Lord and High Lady duties full time after a long Solstice break. Longer than usual, due to Feyre’s pregnancy.

“We’ll be here if you need us,” Nuala offered before giving her arms a gentle squeeze. Elain nodded graciously, but did not request that they stay. She needed to be alone.

Her skin was still flushed after she removed her coat. In fact, she was burning up. Gods, had she come down with a fever from walking around in the cold? She didn’t feel sick, just… hot. Hot all over. Rage and frustration and need sunk so deep beneath her skin she thought she might lose her mind.

I won’t touch you.

Fine. That was just fine. He wanted to play games? Maybe it was time for Azriel to learn what it felt like for her to take back control. To make him putty in her hands for once. She walked over to the window and pulled the curtains open. She could see where Azriel’s cluster of shadows hid in the dark corners of the garden. Watching. Listening. There was no doubt in her mind he was there. That he’d stay until he saw the lights go out, and a long while after that to make sure she was safe. She unlatched the window and pushed it open. The shadows perked up at the motion and began slithering up the walls.

He had no idea what he was in for.

She kept the dim faelights glowing and waited until she could sense the presence of Azriel and his shadows at the window. She twisted her hair around her wrist, pinning it atop her head to expose her neck. She slowly pulled her nightgown over her head and dropped it to the floor, leaving nothing but sheer underthings and her thigh high stockings behind. She went to unclasp her bra when she felt hands made of shadow wrap around her wrists.

Elain. She heard the shadows whisper into her mind. Azriel. Talking to her in the way only she could hear. Not the daemati powers that Feyre and Rhys shared with each other. But… something else.

What? She sent back, shrugging innocently as the shadows swarmed around her.

Is there a reason you flung your window open to the freezing cold and started undressing for all to see?

My room is feeling a little too warm. I needed fresh air. And not everyone can see me, Azriel. She reached for the back of her bra again. She wasn’t stopped this time. Only you.

In an instant, her window slid closed and the curtains drew shut. Azriel, or the outline of his form wreathed in shadow, kept to the corner of the room.

“What are you doing,” Azriel asked. No amusement in his voice.

She lost no confidence. He had already shown his hand, coming into her room in the blink of an eye just knowing she was undressing. He could have stayed at the apartment. Kept his shadows quiet in the garden. But he was here.

“You won’t touch me. So I have to take care of it myself.” She dropped her bra to the floor. Azriel’s shadows guttered. “Is there a problem? I don’t recall that being against your rules.” She slid her panties down to her ankles and gingerly stepped out of them. She had to stop herself from grinning as Azriel finally stepped out of the shadows, his hands white knuckled at his side.

She reached to start rolling down her stockings when shadows shot for her hands again.

“Wait,” Azriel whispered, his voice thick and dark. “Don’t take those off.”

She looked down at herself, stripped completely naked save for the stockings. Clarity set her skin on fire.

“You like the way these look, shadowsinger?” She asked sweetly.

Azriel didn’t speak. He only nodded.

“Very well, then.” Elain turned her back to him, taking a slow stride to the bed and swishing her hips more generously than was entirely necessary.

She crawled onto the bed, exposing her entire backside to him. She heard him mutter a low stream of curses and she bit her lip before propping herself up against the pillows and letting her legs fall open.

She was already slick between her thighs. The sheer sight of Azriel hardening through his pants and clenching his fists so hard he was shaking nearly sent her over the edge. She had spent her entire life being made to feel like the only thing about her that was worth anything was her beauty. But no one, no one had ever looked at her the way Azriel looked at her. From that very first moment, she felt as if he saw past her skin and into her soul. And while Lucien occasionally looked at her like he wanted her, falling prey to the call of the mating bond, Azriel looked at her like he would die if he couldn’t have her. It scared her, how mutual that feeling was. But it also made her brave.

“Where would you start, shadowsinger? If touching me wasn’t against your rules.” She smiled coyly.

Her smugness evaporated when Azriel sent out a wisp of shadow to clasp around her wrist. Her mouth fell open, and he guided her bound hand up to her lips, pushing her fingers inside.

“Suck,” Azriel ordered.

Elain gushed as she obeyed.

One point to Azriel. Oh gods. That fast, she was going to lose this game tonight.

Her chest was already heaving as he used his shadows to slide her wet fingers down to her peaked nipples.

“I’d start here,” Azriel said. Calm. He was too calm. And Elain was already writhing as she flicked her fingers over the sensitive spot Azriel had guided her to, drawing tight circles around her nipples until they were sharp as cut diamonds.

“You’re breaking the rules,” she panted, but there was very little fight in it.

His expression didn’t change at all as he led her fingers down her sternum, her stomach.

“Am I?” His eyes glittered, full of filthy menace as he said, “I believe I said I wouldn’t touch you with my hands, my mouth, tongue, or teeth.” That damn half grin began to grace his wicked lips. “I don’t recall saying anything about my shadows.”

Elain nearly arced clean off the bed as he sent another tendril out for her free hand and pinned it over her head. He slid the hand on her stomach a little farther down, but not far enough. Elain’s hips bucked, and she desperately tried to push through the shadows. To press her fingers exactly where she needed them.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly, flicking his gaze to where he had her wrist pinned.

“Yes,” she whispered. She watched his cock almost rip the front seam of his pants when she said, “Harder.”

She loved the feeling of being restrained. Of him controlling every inch of her body. Her touch. It helped her to focus and simultaneously lose herself entirely. She didn’t want to be treated like a glass vase.

She had no idea how to express that a little pain sometimes felt so good, but she didn’t have to explain herself to Azriel. There was no judgment in his hungry gaze, only understanding. His eyes lit with unrestrained desire as the grip on her tightened, and her hips lifted in response. He dragged her fingers lower, right where she needed them. He only let her manage a few strokes before he pulled her hand away. Elain whined in frustration.

“Azriel,” she breathed. She tried to lower the hand he had pressed just above the apex of her thighs, but she couldn’t budge. “Please.”

He pushed himself off the wall and stalked to the edge of the bed.

“Please what?” Another tendril slid across her, this one pinning her hips down and stopping her writhing and thrusting. She tried to rub her thighs together, desperate for friction, only to feel her ankles yank apart. Her legs spread to each corner of the bed and held firm. Oh, she was gong to absolutely ruin him when she had the chance. He wasn’t the only one who had restraints at their disposal.

“Please, Azriel. I need to, I need…” she babbled, but couldn’t finish as more shadows swarmed, sliding over every inch of her. They ghosted over her nipples, swept along the curve of her nape. They slid into her hair and gave a sharp tug. Elain bit her lip to keep from crying out. “Please let me touch myself,” she begged.

“Can you be quiet?” Azriel’s eyes were roving over her. At the black threads keeping her restrained. It only made her wetter. His eyes glazed over as they traveled, drinking in the sight of her bare skin wreathed in his shadows. His gaze snagged at the swollen bud between her spread open legs. She was aching and throbbing and soaking the sheets. She couldn’t withstand it much longer.

“I’ll be quiet,” Elain nodded furiously.

As if he saw straight through the lie, he enveloped them in a brilliant cobalt shield. She felt the quiet settle over her, the blue glow casting her skin in a radiant hue and the world outside of their little bubble completely cut off. She loosed a sigh of relief.

Azriel got down on his knees at the edge of the bed, nostrils flaring as he came eye level with Elain’s slick and pulsing center. She pushed and pushed against her bonds, but he held her down tightly. Watching him drink in the sight and the scent of her only made her more needy. She was going to burst out of her skin.

He moved her fingers lower again, letting her just brush over her clit. So light and teasing she wanted to scream from the lack of friction.

“Please,” she cried. She was moments away from tears pricking her eyes, that’s how desperate she was for release.

“Since you asked so politely,” he slowly snaked a shadow clean up her center. She gasped as it continued a slow, torturous trail up her body. Over her breasts. Lightly gripping around her neck. With one final cool grin, Azriel released his hold on her. She didn’t even bother to consider what she looked like or if her body was displayed in a beautiful way as she plunged her fingers down between her thighs. She lost herself completely, riding harder than she ever had before and grabbing at her breasts with her free hand.

“Azriel,” she panted, too lost in the sensation to feel ashamed or embarrassed by him watching her. She dragged her fingers in and out, pressing her palm hard against her clit as she pumped. She had done this so many times. Had thought of no one but Azriel for over a year. But to feel the phantom touch of his shadows lingering on her skin, to breathe in his cedar and night chilled mist scent while she touched herself… it was beyond any fantasy she could have imagined.

She was close. She wasn’t sure how such a thing could be possible, but she felt as though she could have come just from the grip of Azriel’s shadows, the sight of him watching her, controlling where she could touch. She had never teased herself like that. Had never pushed herself to the limits of sanity, riding the edge of need and being denied what she wanted. She hated it. And she loved it. Her mouth fell open and she moaned, thrusting her hips harder into her hand. She cried out, panting as Azriel sent his shadows roving back over her, skating across every inch of her skin. Tracing the sensitive inside of her thigh, swirling around her nipples that were so hard now they could cut glass. They threaded through her hair, gently tugging at her scalp, and she shattered.

Stars blinked across her vision as her climax crashed over her in wave after wave. She kept riding, kept moving and losing herself to the feel of her orgasm and Azriel’s shadows until it hurt, until she she was too sensitive, and collapsed on the bed.

Sweat beaded across her skin. Her mind buzzed and her vision was foggy.

Azriel’s shadows began to massage her scalp in soothing strokes. Her eyes blinked open.

He was standing at the foot of the bed again, his pupils blown and chest visibly heaving. His cock was absolutely enormous in the outline of his pants, and Elain’s mouth went dry as she pushed herself onto her knees and took in how large he was. She reached for him.

“No,” Azriel stopped her with both hands on her wrists. “Not tonight.”

“Why?” She asked. They were still shielded. He had kept her screaming completely contained. If she knew he could do that, she might not have waited so long to strip naked in front of him.

“I won’t be able to cover my scent. I’ve already been here too long.” His face looked truly pained as his gaze slid down her body one last time. He shook his head, attempting to clear the fog of lust.

“Come here,” he said. His voice was gentle now. All signs of that commanding male holding her completely at his mercy disappeared. She crawled to the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling self conscious about her nakedness. As if he could sense her worry, his shadows whisked her nightgown off the floor.

“Arms up,” he said. She did as she was asked. “Good girl.”

She trembled as he replaced his shadows with his hands to tug the cool silk down her skin. Then, he pulled her in close for a tight hug. He enveloped her so completely, and she nuzzled into him. Into the strength of his body. His delicious scent.

It was so calming, so tender it left her breathless.

“I wish I could stay,” he said into her hair.

“I wish you could too.” she buried her face in his neck and he tightened his grip on her.

"Elain?" Azriel asked, softly gliding his mouth over her skin.

"Yes?" She breathed in reply.

“Don’t forget what happens when you try to tease me,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. She shuddered, her arousal stirring once again.

And then he was gone.

Elain waited for shame to wash over her, but it never did. That moment he had offered, brief as it was, to hold her afterwards… he hadn’t touched her apart from that. And somehow it was more caring and intimate than anything she had ever experienced with Grayson. Grayson had a tendency to focus on himself in bed. To grunt and heave over her until he was finished, then roll over and fall asleep. More often than not leaving her unsatisfied and sneaking quietly into the bathing chamber to tend to her own needs.

Yet Azriel…Azriel had kept his eyes on her, as if simply watching her find her pleasure was a dream. A gift. He had dragged it out, pushed her to the edge of near insanity. And he had wanted nothing in return but to hold her.

She trembled once again as she replayed those last words whispered into her ear.

Don’t forget what happens when you try to tease me.

She certainly wouldn’t. She didn’t think she would ever forget a single detail of this night. She wanted more of Azriel. She wanted to kiss him. To feel is skin. She wanted him inside her. But she also knew he crossed some boundaries tonight. For her. And it was enough. For now, it was more than enough.

She went to peek out through the curtains and saw the shadowhound keeping watch in the garden. He waggled his wispy tail and fluttered his wings at the sight of her. Elain brought her hand to her mouth to hold in her laug, and waved. He puffed out a breath of shadow in the shape of a heart, and Elain’s own heart clenched in her chest.

For the first night in such a long, long time, she slept deeply and without interruption. The nightmares never came.

She dreamed of a golden doe dancing through a valley of shadows. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

#elriel #pro elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #spicy elriel fanfic #elriel month 2024

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megachaoticstupid · 3 months

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Side-quests

Author's note: I was really down several years ago and wrote this. It is purely super-indulgent and I wrote it to get out of my bad headspace. I hope you will enjoy it! Also, huge thanks to @gothdaddyissues for the headers and to @her-satanic-wiles for, as always, being awesome

You are hyper fixating and your lover, Papa Emeritus II, takes care of you.

You were always preoccupied with your current obsessions, your interests varying from learning all you could do about a certain topic at hand, spending countless hours watching documentaries, reading books and articles or doing something crafty. Your room had boxes full of projects in different states of being finished laid there collecting dust and making you feel guilty. You always promised to yourself to get your inspiration back and finish them. Usually, you never did.

And now, you were sitting behind your desk, shoulders tense as you worked on your new ambitious project: crocheting a big blanket for Papa Primo. It sounded really easy and it looked really easy. And after spending hours watching videos where people were crocheting things and it took them only several days to finish, you were greatly inspired to do the same. Your mind latched onto the opportunity to get a new source of dopamine even though you didn’t know how to hold a hook.

You wanted to make Primo cozy, to help him relax on the chilly nights under a warm blanket. So, for you the only logical and easy way to help him, was making it yourself. How long can it take? Two days? A week? You wanted to make a big blanket for him, 2 meters long and 1.8 meter wide. You saw people on the internet making bigger projects in less than a week, so you were certain you could do it with ease.

Spending hours on YouTube and watching videos from amazing creators, you couldn’t help yourself but go down further and further this rabbit hole, learning a lot about the yarn, how to differentiate between them, which hooks and materials are the best, you watched hundreds of tutorials on how to do this or that stitch, somehow you even landed on the crocheting drama channels that gossiped about scandals in this online community. And you were surprised with a ferocity of it and all of the drama people in such a peaceful hobby. It was amusing, it was wonderful and your mind was vibrating from all of this new information which you generously spilled to everyone willing to listen. Mostly to your lover, Secondo.

At the beginning of your peculiar relationship, he was sometimes greatly surprised with the way your mind worked. All of your conversations jumped from one topic to another, losing the initial thought completely and then returning to it thirty minutes later, as you rambled to him about everything. And he loved it greatly, being a listener, rather than a talker, getting dragged into your spiraling stories with a smile on his face. Sometimes he had to repeat his questions to you, noticing that you zoned out of the conversation with him or other people. It was adorable and he just silently accepted that you needed several reminders and notification about chores or that sometimes you can take a side quest doing your task, or loose your things that were mere minutes ago in your hands. He never minded to help you.

And after entering your new phase together, he didn’t want to admit it, but he just loved all of the petty drama people would come up with. And to your amusement he sometimes stopped in his tracks when you once again listened to one of those crocheting drama videos, hands on his hips, completely absorbed in the story, making small huffs of bewilderment. If you teased him, he scoffed at you, calling it all a nonsense and returned to his chores. But you know well that his ears were still perked up with interest and he never left the room until the video ended.

He always showered you in his affections, giving you small gifts and taking you out on the fancy and deliberate dates, giving you all the spare time he had. Sometimes he even joined in on your new hobby, helping you paint or making pottery with you. Usually, on the quiet evenings he read you out loud a book he was interested in, while you laid beside him, working on your project. Or he would listen to podcasts with you, humming to the interesting parts, hands lazily stroking your side. He never imposed, never questioned your sudden bursts of energy and for that alone you loved him so much.

And now you were sitting at your ambitious big project which had been due months ago and still wasn’t finished. The guilt you felt was matching your frustration. You liked to crochet, you liked to do stuff in general, but you were inexperienced and sometimes needed to redo your work because you made stiches too tight or too loose and it drove you mad.

It was fun at the beginning, the colors you chose for the patched blanket were nice and soothing, the yarn was soft and squares for a patched blanket were fun with different stitch for every color. But you had miscalculated the amount of each square you had to do, and now you had to make more black squares and needed to redo blue ones because they were too big and loose compared to the others. And some of them were with uneven sides because you forgot to count your every row.

To you it was a complete disaster. Your fingers itched and ached as you hunched at your work, cursing at yourself and this stupid blanket. You wanted it to be perfect while it was everything but perfect. You wanted to cry, working on this blanket through sheer willpower and stubbornness, wanting nothing more than to throw it all away. You swore at yourself, tears prickling your eyes as your mind spiraled. Today was not the best day to work on your crocheting hobby, punishing yourself for being so slow with it. And on top of that, it was the middle of summer and the yarn which was warm and nice in February now was too warm to your liking, making you sweat and even air conditioner couldn’t help you.

All you needed to do is to make five more white squares and put them all together in a desired order and be done with it. But in your frustration, you couldn’t concentrate, drifting off to other tasks in your thoughts or sometimes just spacing out looking at the tv. You put on play some restoration videos not a while ago and now they looked more interesting and inviting than your task at hand.

The door behind you opened and gently closed, footsteps were quietening by the floor carpet, but you still recognized them: Secondo returned from his duties. He came closer to you, putting his hand on your shoulder. His cologne filled your nose relaxing you as Secondo leaned slightly to look in your eyes. When he saw tears in them, he frowned. His hand gently cupped your cheek and brushed it

“What is wrong, amore? Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head, ashamed of your emotions and bit on your bottom lip. His voice was tender and soft and it made you want to cry more. You placed your hand upon his, leaning your head to his touch and made a deep shaky breath. Secondo noticed the yarn on the floor and a wobbly white square on your lap. He sighed leaning closer and kissing your forehead.

“Did you eat today or even take a break, tesoro?”

You shook your head again and sighed looking guilty. He tugged you by your hands, making you stand up and rubbed them. His gaze was soft and tender as he kissed you briefly on your lips.

“I am hungry myself. Let’s eat together and then I will help you with your stuff, okay?”

“Thank you”

You said, hugging him close to you and hiding your face in his shoulder

“I am always so stupid and forget everything”

He kissed the top of your head and hugged you closer

“You are not stupid, tesoro, you are just really invested in everything you do. And I really love that about you”

He kissed you once again this time on the forehead and led you into the kitchen where he sat you down and started making dinner. You always loved the way he did it: the sleeves of his shirt rolled up revealing his forearms, the apron sat tight on his body and his strong hands worked on the table, preparing food. Sometimes you got too carried away with your thoughts and then the dinner was postponed, because your chef was too preoccupied with you rather than food. This time though, you just simply sat on the chair and let yourself relax, chatting with Secondo about his day and yours. The sound of the knife working on the cutting board was almost soothing.

After dinner, you helped him to wash the dishes and put them away, humming to the music from the radio. He pulled you into the dance in the middle of the chore and you giggled for the first time today, swaying to music and giving him all of the kisses you can give, his hands slid down your waist and rested on the hips, squeezing them tightly.

“So, what is with your blanket?”

He asked and your smile dropped as you remembered all of your failures. You shook your head

“It is a disaster, I hate it and I am already late for Primo’s birthday.”

“It is not that bad. I saw what you did and it looks really good, amore, you are too hard on yourself”

He tried to reassure you, kissing your cheek and smiling warmly at you. You smiled back weakly and stepped aside, hugging yourself.

“I really hate it already and hate that my mind just can’t focus on this, you know? And I feel stupid that I get distracted, loose count and ta-da I made it wrong and I need to redo this.”

You sighed exasperatedly, looking frustrated and he took you in his arms again

“Let’s do this then: we let it sit for some time, doing another hobby and then return to your blanket and finish it together, hm?”

The idea sounded tempting and you almost wanted to follow it, slightly relaxing in his embrace.

“I will forget about it if I put it away.”

“Good thing that I don’t forget about such things. We will relax together, maybe go to a party or on a date in a restaurant and later this week finish this present. Primo will be happy to receive it any time of the year.”

You hugged him tightly, whispering thanks to him. This week you went on dates and did his hobbies. Together you book binded the journals and had fun at his favourite club, baked pastries and went to a picnic. All of this helped you to let yourself go and when he suggested to help you crocheting, you didn’t argue, showing him how to make rows and basic stiches, needed for the white squares.

He learnt quickly, grumbling at the yarn when he pulled on it too tight or let it get looser than he wanted. You crocheted the blanket together, watching his favourite soap opera. You didn’t even notice when you finish all of your work and finally stitched together all of the squares, too preoccupied with the drama unfolding in the plot. Secondo was lying beside you on the bed, hook in his arm and eyes glued to the tv. He frowned and swore when the mother of one of the main heroes argued with his lover and splashed her face with water.

“Have you seen the audacity, amore? I hope Sarah will be with him out of spite.”

You chuckled at him, hugging him close and kissing him on the cheek. His arms circled around your waist and brought you closer to him. He made you feel so calm and at peace with his presence alone. Kissing him once again, you lay in his arms and sighed happily.

#secondo x reader #secondo #papa emeterius ii #papa emeterius ii x reader #papa emeterius fanfiction #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost bc #ghost band #ghost the band

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blissfullyapillow · 10 months

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┃An Endearing Conundrum

₊˚⊹♡Alhaitham x gn reader

₊˚⊹♡‎wc: 1,712~

₊˚⊹♡summary: Endearing scenarios of your relationship with Alhaitham as you keep him on his toes.

₊˚⊹♡warnings: A bit suggestive. Overall fluff.

₊˚⊹♡notes: A bit ooc Alhaitham (?), kinda but not really. Alhaitham header created by @lovnupe (n𔘓⁩pe) on pinterest. I wrote this listening to Why by Sabrina Carpenter so it was inspired by that. I just find the idea of Alhaitham being in a relationship with an s/o whose a tease/a handful to be really cute. Lowkey radiates crack fic energy. I’m L.I.V.I.N.G for this Alhaitham ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

₊˚⊹♡Main Masterlist

“Turn it back on.”

“It’s too bright.”

His disappointed sigh speaks volumes.

“You’re so…” He doesn’t say anything more. He simply turns on the lamp by his chair, illuminating the previously dim room.

“Nooo.. Alhaitham..” My whine goes ignored as he continues to read. “Why do you need the lights off?” He sounds uninterested in my response, but the way his eyes briefly lift from the pages of his book to glance at me says otherwise.

My heart flips in my chest; Alhaitham looked up from his book to talk to me. He stopped reading his book to talk to me.

What I feel right now surpasses elation.

“I’m tired. I want to sleep but the light is too bright.” I mumble. I sit up from my previous position of lying on my side. I blink, trying to will the drowsy feeling away.

He sighs once more, but he turns off the light. Instead, he turns on a dimmer lamp nearby. “Come here.” He commands. I waste no time in leaving the comforting warmth of the fluffy blankets. I make my way over to Alhaitham, stumbling a bit in the process.

He mutters “What am I going to do with you?” under his breath as I draw near. “What do you mean by that- oh!” As soon as I’m within arm’s reach, Alhaitham pulls me into him. His strong arms wrap around me, pulling me onto his lap.

I get comfortable. I rest my head on his chest, hearing his heart pound beneath my ear. He holds his book with one hand while the other tangles itself in the strands of my hair. I’m pleasantly surprised when he begins to read out loud, and I close my eyes to better immerse myself.

Being held like this, along with the sound of Alhaitham’s soothing voice, is enough to lull me to sleep.

It isn’t long before I start drifting off again. I snuggle further into Alhaitham’s arms, mumbling something incoherent to myself as he reads.

Alhaitham’s fingers slowly run through the strands of my hair, and my breathing evens out as I welcome the warm embrace of sleep.

I vaguely feel his soft lips press against the crown of my head.

♡⸝⸝

Oh how I love Sumeru at night time.

The stars shine down on the citizens of Teyvat, and the moon graces us with it’s beautiful alluring glow..

Too bad it’s daytime now, and Alhaitham insisted on bringing me along.

“Haitham, do you really need me to come with you? I’m sure a ‘feeble scholar’ such as yourself is more than capable of handling this situation on your own.” I groan when Alhaitham pays no mind to my words. His hand continues to drag me along gently by the wrist.

“This feeble scholar requires the emotional and moral support of his partner. You’d be wise to accompany me.” His explanation causes me to snort in amusement. “My love, you require my support to handle a few ruffians?” I adore the blush that appears on his cheeks when he hears my term of endearment for him.

“..Yes. If you stop complaining I promise to go on a late night stroll with you. You know, the one you keep pestering me about.” Alhaitham’s gruff words successfully serve to motivate me. My hand intertwines with his in silent compliance.

“You’re almost too easy to please.” He sounds smug, but I can hear the underlying appreciation in his voice that he always fails to mask. “Mhm. You know it. Actually, speaking of please.. I have some other ways you can please me. It involves me, you, a bed and-oomph!” Alhaitham’s hand covers my mouth as he pulls my body into his.

Woosh!

An arrow flies past where my head previously was.

My eyes widen in surprise. Alhaitham smirks. “After I handle this I’ll gladly take you up on that suggestion.”

Oh, my heart.

I lovingly admire Alhaitham as he verbally insults his assailants intelligence and very existence, down to the minute detail.

I swear I see physical hearts as Alhaitham effortlessly kicks one of them down in a flexible, suave move.

I hope he’ll show me just how flexible he can be later.

♡⸝⸝

“Can we please turn the air conditioner off?” Alhaitham’s monotone voice only serves to irritate me.

“No, sweetheart. I get too hot when it’s off. Although.. I admit I am a bit cold with it on.” Alhaitham’s currently lying on his side, facing me under the shared warmth of his fluffy blankets. His face is really close to mine, so the incredulous look he makes looks even funnier.

“Y/n, why would you want to keep the air conditioner on if you're cold? Logically, turning the air conditioner off would only serve to-” “Just cuddle me already you nerd.”

He sighs in dismay at my interruption, yet he indulges me anyway. I smile as his strong arms pull me into him, a pleasantly familiar feeling.

“You bring all sorts of ‘excitement’ into what should be an easy, simple life.” Alhaitham grumbles. His complaint is ignored; I opt to nuzzle my head against his chest in favor of responding.

“These are my favorite pillows. So soft.” I almost wish I could see his face as I squeeze his pectorals.

Actually, I can.

I look up. I’m blessed by the sight of flushed cheeks and parted lips as Alhaitham stares at me. He seems to be at a loss for words. “Y/n you actually… I.. Archon’s know you drive me crazy...” That last part leaves his lips in a breathless whisper that I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to hear. His following sigh conveys that he’s very flattered, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“I love you too Alhaitham.” I melt into him. He holds me tighter. “..I love you too.” “Hmm? Can you say that louder please~” “For the love of-“

My lips part to tease him some more, but he’s quick to capture my lips with his own.

…

Touché.

♡⸝⸝

“Alhaitham I’m HOTTTT.” I purposefully elongate my words as I trudge through the sand. “I know. You’ve told me five times already. Are you going to make it six?” His snarky reply makes me roll my eyes.

“Alhaiiiithhhaammm…” I whine. I stare at the back of his head, drilling holes into it. He shakes his head, choosing to remain silent. We continue our trek through the dessert. Alhaitham’s making me accompany him on another one of his academia related endeavors.

“I’m hoootttt-“ Alhaitham turns around so fast I jump, the quick movement startling me. “If you don’t shut that mouth I’ll shut it for you. Archons, come here.” Alhaitham’s words make me feel hotter than I already am, but in a pleasant way. He moves to stand in front of me before he swoops down to literally sweep me off my feet. I yelp in surprise.

Alhaitham begins to walk once more, except now I’m in his arms. “Do you have any water left? You’re burning up.” He asks. “I drank it alll..” Alhaitham tsks at me. He mutters “You’re my handful all right..” under his breath. The way he grumbles the words makes me shiver.

He maneuvers me to hold me with one arm. His free hand offers me his personal water container.

“Alhaitham.. but don’t you..” “Just drink from it. Please. We’re almost there. Promise.” His words are a bit terse, but the emotion in his eyes is one of concern. I smile softly as I graciously accept his water container. His other arm returns to its previous position. I happily drink from his water container.

“Honestly, you really are a handful. Here I thought I’d be able to live a quiet, peaceful life with minimal inconveniences. Instead I’m in the desert with the love of my life as they complain about being hot every two minutes.” Alhaitham’s words are as affectionate as much as they are chastising.

“Listen, ‘Haitham I… wait.. love of your life?” I inquire. My eyes desperately search his, and my heart pounds painfully in my chest. The air leaves my lungs at the implication of his words. I mean, it’s not like he hasn’t told me that he loves me before, but.. even with all of my whining and complaining.. he still..

His beautiful mesmerizing orbs meet mine head on. His gaze softens as he looks at me. He slowly stops moving forward, and my heart jolts once more as he leans into me. The way his soft lips mold with mine makes this entire trek through the desert worth it.

His lips curve into a delightful smile as we slowly part from each other. “Do you need me to repeat myself? I will do so as many times as you need me to. Although you’ll have to keep your mouth shut for me to do that.” My face feels warm, and a bead of sweat slowly runs down my face as I look at him.

His expression remains one of pure love as he returns my gaze. He uses his hand to wipe the sweat from my face. “You’re the love of my life. There’s no one else I want to spend my life with. You can try to be as annoying as you can possibly be, and I’ll continue to love and adore you through it all. ..Would you look at that. We’re here.” Alhaitham’s words are stated matter of factly, like they aren’t a heartfelt proclamation of his love for me.

He doesn’t set me down; he walks inside with me still in his arms

“This shouldn’t take long. I work fast. Use this time to cool off. We’ll make it back by twilight.” With that, Alhaitham sets me down on a chair. He pulls another one over to sit beside me. He wastes no time in getting to work.

I lean my head on his shoulder as my finger languidly traces shapes on his thigh. I blatantly stare at his face to admire his handsome features, including the small smile on his lips.

He lifts his free hand to reach down towards my hand on his thigh. My eyes curiously follow the course of his hand. As his fingers interlace with mine, euphoria welcomes me into its loving arms.

#genshin x reader #genshin x you #reader insert #genshin x y/n #genshin reader insert #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader fluff #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x gn reader #alhaitham reader insert #I love Alhaitham so much #Bro's simultaneously my husbando & comfort character #I just wanna annoy him so he'll shut me up in the most inappropriate way imaginable #HIS ARMS #HIS BUFF ARMS

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tyxoxo · 11 months

Text

Ylang Ylang - teaser.

teaser, find full fic here.

| pairing: fairyhunter!jeno x fairy!reader (afab) au w/ fairy!xiaojun x fairy!reader (if you squint)

| genre: suspense, angst, fantasy, multiple nct/wayv + aespa character inserts, jeno and hendery are brothers

| summary: while being close to you and your family’s extinction, a promise needs to be broken to save the lives of your people

| words: loading…

| (future) warnings: murder, blood, torture, cnc smut + suggestive scenes, blackmail, kidnapping, exhibitionism, caging/imprisonment, degrading, spitting, unprotected sex

(this is purely fiction, warnings in bold mean potentially triggering content)

a/n: @jenomov and i came up with this concept out of nowhere and we decided to start writing our own versions. BUT i did make a header for us to share while she typed up the summary (which is awesome cuz i suck at them). just thought i’d clarify so no one would think we’re stealing/plagiarizing each other's work. just think of this as a collab! :’)) also, jeno’s look in the header is essentially how i envisioned him to look for this story but imagine him however you want (can’t help that haechan takes great pictures ㅠㅠ)

playlist:

livv? - ylang ylang

weatherby - fleeting frozen heart

alex sloane - mine

datfootdive - stars

“C’mon Xiaojun, spit it out already!!”

You teased at your loving best friend, shoving him playfully with a single finger as you watched him struggle to speak lucid sentences.

The two of you were in your favorite and most “private” hang out spot—in the trees on the outskirts of your shared village. Far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the community, but close enough for comfort. Though you tried your best not to drift into the terminology of “safety”, “danger”, or “warnings.”

It was a sure way to initiate ill omens.

Both of your parents were aware of your shared infinity for exploring; venturing past the municipality limits. But as long as the two of you shrunk to “the size of a quail” outside of the village, they allowed you to bask in the wonders of blaring curiosity, to your heart’s content. Your species could never truly bring your guard down…

“Sorry…I just can’t form my words today.” He scratched the back of his head as peered down at his lap, rustling the Crane's-bill flower crown perched atop his mauve hair in the process.

“Since when do you ever really form your words?”

This time you gave a subtle laugh to pair with your smile, hoping to ease his obvious discombobulation.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

His eyes met yours, his wings even twitching, which always signified when your kind was flustered.

He continued again, pulling at his own thumb as he drifted his eyes up to the newly blossomed tree leaves; an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact.

You could try to deny it for as long as you lived, but there was something within you that adored him more than he probably ever knew.

It was his tenderness, his soothing voice, his patience, whether it was those nights you stormed out of your house in search of him, as a form of solace from the constant nightmares of your genocide, or the days that you wanted to rant about your parent’s overprotectiveness (though they’ve eased up in recent years).

Anything you needed, he was there. And you always tried your best to do the same, despite having the feeling that he bottled up some of his troubles to keep from feeling like a burden himself.

“Well…I w-wanted to tell you, that I really appreciate you.”

He gave up on his own finger trap, to tug at the bottom of his white flounce shirt, finally meeting your eyes again with another twitch of his translucent wings.

“I appreciate you too Xiaojun, always.”

You leaned forward, so light that you barely caused the branch underneath you to stir. He froze upon witnessing your close contact, only his brown irises lowering to watch as you took both of his hands into your own.

“Is everything okay?”

You didn’t mean for your voice to come out in a whisper, but his stuttering had become more frequent, and this only made your thoughts whirl just as loudly as his.

If only you knew that he was on his way to confess his true feelings to you, if only he could get his mouth to work as fast as his brain, maybe then he could finally pull the weight off his shoulders.

But you made all of this difficult without even trying. His love for everything that was you, was infinite.

Even your constant teasing.

And the glimmer in your eyes was no match for his composure, let alone the way you held his hands.

You scanned his face in search of an answer, that definitely took too long for him to spill.

“Yeah don’t worry, everything's fine.”

You tilted your head in confusion, wondering where this could possibly be going, knowing he was aware of your ever-so-obvious “what’s the deal” persona.

He cleared his throat, and geared himself up for the revelation of a lifetime,

“I’ve been m-meaning to tell you that I really like you…that I’ve always dreamed of what it would be like to have this moment with you.”

You felt your wings twitch, more noticeable than his own. And the warmth that flooded your entire body could’ve lit the entire forest in a swarming blaze.

“W-would it be crazy if I asked you to be mine—”

His lips seemed to come at a rest in slow motion, eyelashes fluttering in stark contrast as he heard your breath hitch in your throat.

Not even the sun’s rays that flashed through the white pine tree could’ve taken you out of your shock.

You used what seconds you had left, to replay his confession in your head,

“…I’ve always dreamed of what it would be like to have this moment with you”

Xiaojun, your best friend since childhood, had always dreamed of this.

But the thoughts of responding were ripped away, as blood-curdling screams roared from the direction of your home. They weren’t light hearted nor playful by any means, and with the ability to hear great distances, the agony that bestowed upon your ears caused you both to wince in fear.

Xiaojun turned his head to look through the leaves, skin turning pale upon hearing further destruction.

Most of the branches obscured your vision, but it didn’t take much longer for the despair to continue.

“They found us!”

That voice, sounded like Karina.

And her frenzied words gave the answer—after 10 years of hiding, the hunters were back.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach, the ability to breathe becoming a distant memory.

You squeezed Xiaojun’s hand as you crawled through the thick pine, your best friend eventually grabbing your waist to stop you from venturing out too far.

“Stay back!” His hushed tone was never this turbulent, bringing all the more truth to the chaos brewing just a mile away.

“This can’t be! We have to go help!”

“It’s too dangerous, I can’t risk you getting hurt!”

Your adrenaline was too much for Xiaojun, as you managed to fight through his tight embrace or rather his hold on your longing to see your family and friends for what could be the last time.

“Let me go! We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

You attempted to gear your wings for flight as you broke through his hold, hands raking through the leaves to get a clear view through the sea of green.

As you hovered past the pine tree, a familiar being appeared to be flying this way, the telltale sign being the blush colored wings that matched the embroidered dress swaying through the win at high speeds.

It was Giselle. And upon her getting a closer distance, you saw the blood spatter that painted her arms in fresh crimson.

She was her natural size, like what your kind all chose to be while in the comfort of your home, and the only guess as to why she didn’t choose to shrink was the amount of energy it took to do so. She seemed to grip at her side as the blood continued to stain her silk dress, not once looking up at which direction to fly. Her Dahlia flower crown was nowhere to be found, something that she cherished more than anything in the world.

You had to help her, get her to safety within the trees, whatever you could to secure a better fate. But the constant screams kept you too terrified to react, and being out in the open like this was indeed risky.

Before you could muster the strength to call her name, Xiaojun was behind you, the vibration of his wings filling your senses. He leaped at you once again, this time pulling you back towards the trees with labored breaths.

He couldn’t just do this to you…prevent you from saving a life, from saving not only your friend, but his friend too.

You managed a measly call of her name, knowing her advanced hearing would be enough. And successfully, she glanced up for the first time since her escape, to watch as you motioned for her to join together in the same tree.

Her face, lit up with hope, was the last sanguine expression to ever grace her face, as the all too familiar sound of a crossbow arrow being loosed from its quarrel sped towards her injured frame.

Your scream, one just as gut-wrenching as those that continued from your home, was muffled against Xiaojun’s palm as he pulled you back within the tree. You were forced away from any further intervention, forced away from burying your guilt.

Giselle flung forward from the sheer impact of the arrow as it shot through her heart, her umber strands flying through the air in the same intensity; entire body falling face forward onto the red speckled Bermuda grass.

You couldn’t look away, not while you witnessed her final moments—eyes drifting up to meet yours within her last breath, wings falling lifeless against her spine, and a faint smile from knowing you would be the last person she would ever see, instead of the hunters that were walking towards her.

Your entire body shook against Xiaojun, trembling in fear that her killers would surely discover the two of you here.

“Fuck! Hendery I had her!”

An unfamiliar voice, but one you would never forget, roared through the clearing that led to your dead friend.

You never felt so much anger from a person before, someone that you could only imagine was seething at the teeth.

Xiaojun finally took his hands away from your mouth, allowing you to inhale as much as you could before they got too close. But he still kept his arms wrapped around you, fighting through his own sobs that hit against the back of your neck.

“No Jeno! I’m not letting you fuck this up anymore! Remember what Johnny said?”

Yet another unfamiliar voice, but you were able to put the faces with the names right as the two humans approached just meters away, barely appearing disheveled despite the chaos they just unleashed. Thankfully their lack of enhanced senses worked in your favor, as you and Xiaojun remained undetected during their inspection of the area.

The one holding the crossbow was Hendery: he had to have been the one to take the kill. And the one to speak first was Jeno.

These had to have been the hunters your family warned about. For years since relocating to this new area, all of the last surviving elders made it their mission to describe these two, for if the day came that they scoured the land again, you would instantly know it was them.

—

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!!

#jeno smut #lee jeno smut #jeno x reader #nct dream smut #jeno hard hours #this is a REALLY long teaser but i couldn’t help myself

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pseudowho · 2 months

Note

hellooo Haitch, how are you ? Wanted to drop by and tell you that I enjoyed rereading some Nanami pieces from you now that you've been reblogging them with new headers Also wanted to ask you 2 things : 1. Tips for becoming a better writer ? As in how to improve flow, narration, description (without becoming overbearing), how to make characters more human and less unidimensional 2. Favourite books you've recently read and that you'd recommend ? i've been rereading old favourites like Lolita and the Catcher in the Rye and I desperately need something new :( Thanks a looot

Hiii! I'm having a hard week. It's my grandmother's funeral tomorrow, and I'm horribly afraid. I'm getting by, though. Thanks for asking 💕

TIPS FOR BECOMING A BETTER WRITER:

Read more, and read-- I cannot stress this enough-- challenging and variable material. Difficult books. Classics. Crappy chick-flicks. News articles. Thrillers, romances, murder mysteries, philosophy books, fantasy books. Research pieces. All of them add to the reference library in your mind than you can use to compare to. These all help with flow, narration, description, because they all give you styles of writing to imitate.

Onomatopoeia is your friend. Not just, in individual words (crash, plop, honk!) but in sentence structure. Someone who is angry but calm may sound staccato, crisp-- their words, their sentences, should snip accordingly. You're describing a slow-flowing river? Languid, lazy, loose and fluid rolling sounds bring it to mind.

Trust your reader. Show them, don't tell them. If your setting is a coffee shop, with bright yellow walls, sunflowers outside, and wonderful coffee that always wakes them up, at their favourite table by the window? Don't TELL them the coffee shop is that way. Show them through the way your character interacts with their environment. For example: "Kento's hands grazed those sunny petals, always reminding him, curiously, of a Van Gogh piece his grandmother displayed in his childhood. Stepping into the shop, blinded by the sunshine splashed on the walls and the earth-roast aroma, he spotted his regular table overlooking the street, still free; his barista seemed to have anticipated his arrival, sliding his drink to the front of the queue with a smile." See? The story is moved along AND the reader can picture the environment. Trust them to see the things you infer, without having to DIRECTLY SAY "the walls are yellow, there were sunflowers outside, and this was Kento's regular coffee shop". Capiche?

Some idiot once said to keep everything to the point. Whilst this is true, to some extent, your words choices should be luxurious, in that there is ALWAYS the perfect word for a mood, a smell, a taste, a touch, a feeling. Each word you choose being just so makes a story feel rich and flavoursome. The fact is, if you are struggling to describe something and you find yourself piling sentence after sentence of almost correct words...leave it. Come back when the correct word is there.

If you Selfship, SELFSHIP HARDER-- talk to these people in your head. Build scenarios with them. Savour their reactions and their responses, don't see them through rose-tinted lens either. Cross-reference them with people you know, people you HAVE KNOWN, find the perfect words to describe them to other people.

Empathise harder. Empathy is the core of understanding someone's character. Walk a mile in their shoes. It helps, trust me.

FAVOURITE STUFF I'VE READ LATELY:

I adore Natasha Pulley's "The Watchmaker of Filigree Street" and its sequel "The Lost Future of Pepperharrow". The Ben Aaronovitch "Rivers of London" series is also excellent. If you want a great atmospheric, beautifully perfect scene-setting ghost story, go for "The Haunting of Hill House" by Susan Hill. "Pachinko" (I can't recall the author and I'm away from my bookshelf) is another favourite of mine. "The Poppy War" is the first in a trilogy by R.F.Kuang, and although it was her debut novel and there are traces of immaturity there, she is blossoming and I genuinely threw the second book across the room at one point because the angst and plot-twists hit me so hard.

Phew.

I'm no professional writer, so these are just my thoughts.

Mr Haitch lectures in English Literature and Creative Writing, so the "trust your reader" is one that he offered.

Good luck, thanks for thinking I'm good enough to advise you on this.

-- Haitch xxx

#pseudowho #pseudowho answers you #writing tips #jjk #kento nanami

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agentmarcuspike · 1 year

Text

okay so as i’m getting back into writing fanfic i’ve also been getting back into reading it, and oh my god are there a lot of talented people out there. i’ve mainly been consuming joel miller and the last of us stories, and i wanted to share with you some that have really made an impression on me, or that i’ve thoroughly enjoyed. so here here are my march/april ficrecs!!

(dividers by @saradika) (header by me)

« ATROPHY » @yeyinde

joel miller x f!reader, written in 3rd person, 10k words, angst with a side of poetic smut

It's his own fault, he thinks, for stuffing his grief in the same place he keeps his worry.

She wears her fatigue like its armour, wielding the brunt of her exhaustion like a shield.

There is no future outside of the way he fits inside of her, and this is as permanent as the blemishes he leaves on her pretty skin.

Maybe, he expected something different. For her to call this thing what it was, and then demand more of him, yell and scream and beg for the things he wouldn't give her—if only so he could break her heart into pieces, and force her to let go. To stop.

His heart doesn't stop, but a piece of it breaks off and lodges itself in his throat. He can't swallow. Can't breathe.

i seriously read this twice in one day. what the hell.

« TENDER / AND WHAT’S LEFT » @moondirti

joel miller x f!reader, 4.3k, smut and angst and everything you could wish for

Joel is a man of blunt lines and frayed edges, and though he seems especially bronze at this time of day, you know you can't touch him to feel the sun.

But he looked tired, even in his sleep.

« MOMENTS » @charnelhouse

joel miller x f!reader, 2k, dangerous smut

You and your willingness to offer up your body because to have Joel at all feels akin to owning a panther.

You think you’d be happy being attached to him, growing out of him. Addicted to the way he feels in your cunt. You want him to infect you. You think that’s what your sex is like. Joel and you infect each other until the other burns away.

You can only allow him to take you, dragging you like a violent tide and hope he’ll bring you to shore.

honorable mentions, by the same author: «darlin’» and «teacups»

« adjustments » @softlyspector

joel miller x f!reader, 9.4k, fluff (and a lil smut as a treat)

i DEVOURED this, and thank GOD there’s a sequel: «settled»

« for the things they hold dear » @cruelfvkingsummer

joel miller x f!reader, age gap, smutty..., mean mean man

But everything that was ripped away from him had bloody, ragged claw marks on them.

“I found us a cabin up north.”

cruel summer (chapter 1-3) @proxima-writes

joel miller x f!reader, no outbreak, age gap

🔨🏡😒👙

« SPEAKEASY » @toxicanonymity

joel miller x f!reader, 1.5k, smut smutty smut smut

🤠🍻🗣🎯

« 2002 » @wheresarizona

joel miller x f!reader, pre-outbreak, 900 words, sexy AND adorable

💑💖🛋☔️

« what he didn’t do » @pedgeitopascal

joel miller x divorced!reader, pre-outbreak, 4.9k, SLOW BURN ♡

🔧👕🥃💋

« stay in bed » (chapters 1-8) @psychedelic-ink

joel miller x f!reader, tommy miller x unrequited reader, sloooow burn

👬💗💃🗽🖼

« one thing missing » (part 1-4) @joelscruff

joel miller x f!reader, 16k and counting, friends to... lovers?, ellie!!!

⛺️😴👨‍👩‍👧🐏

« a safe haven » (chapters 1-5) @pedgeitopascal

joel miller x f!reader, jackson era, ellie makes a friend

🐎👨‍👧🍻💃🕺🏻

« close your eyes » @lovers-liability

joel miller x f!reader, angst AND smut, all you need is love

🌲❤️👫🌲

i might be adding to this list, and also making another one once i have more! in the meantime check out my ficrec tag!

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thaliagracesgf · 1 month

Note

THALIA GRACE X READER HEAR ME OUT OKAY I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO PUT MY IDEAS INTO WORDS BC ENGLISH IS NOT FIRST LANGUAGE

Maybe reader were part of their group (luke annabeth and thalia when they werent in the camp) and they had a little thing back than (crushing basically) but maybe something happenned along the way and she couldn't gowith them to the way of chb. and maybe they found reader but she's on lukes side

happy ending pls

i'm finally posting again!!! and answering a request!! i hope you enjoy this (even though i lowkey hate it).

also yay finally adding headers!!!

thalia grace x hestia!reader

summary is basically the request!!

constant arguing. constant, constant, constant arguing. luke’s head was about to split open.

“i could have handled him just fine, thanks,” thalia shouted, storming ahead on the narrow path through the woods somewhere in pennsylvania.

‘guys, please,” he would have thrown his head back if he wasn’t carrying a sleeping annabeth on his back. you thought she was the most adorable thing, drooling a little on luke’s shoulder. even the knife she kept clutched in her small fist was cute, although luke looked a little terrified that if she jolted in her sleep she would slice his chest open. a few weeks ago, you had convinced luke and thalia to stop, let you brush out her matted curls, and put her hair in braids that wouldn’t get caught or tangled as you all continued along the road. of course, thalia sat there critiquing every knot and part you made (with a celestial bronze knife, mind you).

“it had you pinned to the ground,” you said, referring to the stymphalian bird that had been chasing you from philadelphia. “it would have bitten your head clean off if you hadn’t gotten involved.”

thalia rolled her eyes.

“can we try a little patience here? gratitude, maybe?” luke chimed in.

“shut up, luke,” you said in unison. you might be bickering all the time, but thalia was your best friend. you certainly didn’t need luke coming in the middle, acting like he ran the show because he was the oldest. you got enough of that from thalia, and she was only a year older than you.

“for gods’ sake,” he muttered.

you trudged along, summoning soft flames between your hands. you hadn’t been born to a goddess, necessarily, but your adopted mother, who had fallen for a kind librarian in your town, had found your doorstep one day, long after the librarian had disappeared from her life, with a note attached. you had accidentally incinerated it shortly after she took you in, but she gave you the gist, which was that hestia had found you through a fire in an orphanage, enthralled by the flames, and that she had decided you were in need of a mother. she had pulled you through the hearth, given you some strange blessing, and dropped you on your mother’s doorstep.

eight years later, when you were nine, your mother had died in a plane crash on her way back from visiting her father. the foster homes hadn’t loved taking in a nine year old who could summon fire, so that was when you ran away.

so far, you could tell that hestia was trying her best to help you along your travels, which was more than you could say for hermes (ironically) or athena, let alone zeus, who you were pretty sure was the one stopping the others from intervening. you got the impression that hestia didn’t answer to zeus as much as he would have liked.

the fire came in handy at nights, when you could warm yourselves around it. you had a way of making even a campground in the middle of the appalachian mountains that crawled with monsters feel like home. you would go to sleep around the fire, but manage to wake up curled within thalia’s arms. you could never place it, but it felt different than how luke held annabeth like her life depended on it: as in, you would always wake to them giggling over their breakfasts at you, but it didn’t hold any weight to laugh at them.

⭑

the fire came in handy when you were trapped, alone, in the cyclops’ cellar. you had screamed for your friends to leave you, that you would be okay. and it came in handy on the streets of new york for the next five years, and even at the candy shop you managed to get a job in (somewhat illegally: a nice woman named sally did sort of pay you under the table).

then sally went missing. you lost your job, and you made your way south again, staying in the demigod hideouts you had made with luke, thalia, and annabeth. flames trickled across your skin as you cried, wishing they were still with you. you hoped they were safe at camp, but you could help wondering why they hadn’t sent anyone to come find you. did annabeth even remember you?

⭑

luke found you just as you were about to starve to death. you’d been in an especial depression, hiding in the cave of the blue ridge mountains, over in tennessee. the cold of the winter was insane. you couldn’t remember it ever getting that bad in the city.

you broke when he told you she was dead.

“it’s his fault,” he said, false tears in his eyes. he had long forced away any emotion pertaining to camp half-blood.

and so you joined him, becoming his right-hand man. the monsters in kronos’ army feared you. the girl with the flames, they whispered. yet in the privacy of your cabin, you silently prayed to hestia, let her guide you as you fought her brother.

it was she who told you to follow luke to mount tam.

⭑

the mountaintop was impossibly windy. you were relying entirely on your sword if there was trouble—any flame would be immediately extinguished.

you hadn’t accounted for the bigger threat—the air leaving your lungs at the sight of your sister on the ground as artemis held the sky beside her.

he promised.

he had promised annabeth would never be hurt.

your stomach churned. she didn’t even see you, bent over in pain. you couldn’t speak. you turned to luke, suddenly terrified. what had he done? what were you a part of? your legs turned to lead. no. he was already practicing. the titan lord was already too far in his mind to turn it around. and he sensed your allegiance shifting.

when she came over the hill your heart stopped.

your vision blurred as you saw her face. as she came to your side, held your face in her hands, and helped you to the ground beside annabeth.

you watched through teary eyes as she fought luke. as he fell from the cliff, you couldn’t help but reach out.

and then your vision darkened.

⭑

your eyes opened to warmth. annabeth sat by your side, brushing hair from your face. thalia stood talking to a boy—about twelve or thirteen, you guessed—and a man who shared annabeth’s dark skin and deep-in-thought expression.

she rushed to your side when annabeth called.

as she knelt beside you, you adjusted yourself on the couch. your hair was probably a disgusting mess. she smiled softly, brushing her own short hair behind her ear.

“i thought you were a tree,” you croaked, and she laughed lightly.

“i was. i thought you were cyclops food.”

“i wasn’t.”

she lowered her head, and you pushed yourself up on your elbows. she pushed a pillow behind your head, but held it up with the hand that wasn’t resting on your thigh. as she kissed you, you saw the years of camping behind you and the years ahead of rushing to her tree as the hunters arrived at camp all at once.

and as she pulled back, you saw annabeth smile, hiding her face in the other kid’s chest.

#pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #percy jackson #thaliagracesgf #thalia grace x reader #thalia grace #pjo x reader #hestia #artemis #thalia grace x you #thalia grace pjo

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tavyliasin · 4 months

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The Abdirak Essay - Fandom, Pain, and Loviatar's Love

Another day, another Lia Essay - and if you're really really deliciously sinful my very dear darlings, I shall give you yet more when the sun rises again upon the morrow. So, today in Niche Fandom Adoration Hours, I give you:

For The Love of Loviatar: Why Discomfort Can Be Delightful, How Agony Alleviates Anguish, and All The Ways Abdirak Fans Are Also TavyliaSin's Very Favourite People (Who Also Probably Need A Hug) ((Do We Love The Long Titles?)) (((If No, Consider This Essay Title Part Of Your Penitance)))

The themes of this essay will discuss: BDSM, Kink, Chronic Pain, wounds/injury, Acute Pain, Mental Health, mentions of harmful behaviours, a discussion of psychological elements from someone with absolutely no formal training or experience, vague mentions of trauma, and the magic of friendship. So please make sure you are in a comfortable place within yourself if you feel any of the above might be difficult to read for any reason. It is ok to skip sections as each has a topic header, or you can leave at any time. Nobody is judging you for that at all. Additionally, NSFW discussion further through, so minors DNI as usual. Very little of my blog will ever be suitable for under 18s, for your safety and for mine. Editing in to add a link to the Abdirak fandom gift to chronic pain pals A Cameo from Declan (Abdirak's Performer) (Fully SFW)

All that said, the main theme of this piece is actually:

To truly understand suffering is to avoid being its cause.

So, let's understand what "Suffering" is first, shall we, Dear Ones?

The Difference between Pain and Suffering

Lia hasn't completely lost the plot darlings, the two words may seem almost interchangeable but they are not. At the very least, this is the interpretation I have and the discussion that follows will stick with it too~ Pain is the sensation itself, whether physical or mental, it is the hurt, the bruise pressed upon, the moment a heart breaks. That is pain. Suffering on the other hand, is the effect that the pain has. It is the anguish, the torment, the overwhelm and the exhaustion. So, whilst two people might have the same pain, let's say a stubbed toe for a simple example, their suffering might be very different. One might feel able to walk it off, maybe swear a little and move on. Another might need to sit immediately, feel tears in their eyes, or even become utterly overcome by misery from the intense sensation. This might sound like a difference in tolerance, but it can also be seen as taking the bigger picture into account. One brick might not feel so heavy to someone with empty hands, but added to a pile of bricks already carried it may feel as if it weighs a dozen times as much.

What about Abdirak? How does he relate to Pain and Suffering?

When I first heard Abdirak speak, I knew he understood this concept to its very core. His goddess wants pain, but in himself he does not seem to want actual suffering. He does draw a different line, with pain being physical and suffering being the mental aspect, however the principles are very close to my own. Some people might see Abdirak and judge him as cruel, as a torturer delighting in anguish, but that could not be further from the truth. When he speaks of delivering pain with a loving hand, that really is meant. When he was speaking to the player character, for a moment I felt so intensely seen when he speaks of seeing a greater suffering.

"Forgive me, but that look in your eyes - something terrible has happened to you. ...I see those same eyes when I look in the mirror, dear one."

This, to me, was such a moment. He recognises trauma easily, and we also have this chance here to either interpret this as "oh, right, the tadpole stuff, the things in the game" or we can allow our own feelings about a player character's backstory as the interpretation of what he has seen. Either way, he immediately offers to alleviate that suffering with pain, something he is familiar with, something he knows to help from personal experience. There's the important point. His motivation is not to cause hurt, but to relieve it.

How does pain make anything better?

Deep breaths loves we're getting to the heart of a few things here and it may get heavy. At the most basic broken down level, right at the bottom of everything, it's about distraction. Pain is instant, sharp, a sensation that draws our nerves tight and fires off that electricity directly into our brains. It takes our attention and focus away from whatever else is on our minds. Usually? This would be detrimental, to be unable to concentrate on something because pain is intruding. However, think back here, "delivered with a loving and measured hand." This is precise pain, sensation that is welcomed and applied with expert care in order to reach that point right between where pain is suffering and where it cuts out the thoughts. BDSM darlings will know this as similar to "subspace" which I will discuss later~ Whilst there is some short term benefit to using strong sensation to distract the mind and alleviate intense distress, if taken into real life scenarios there are a lot of things to consider, and it is far better to speak with a therapist. Though the most commonly suggested low-harm methods can be things like gripping an ice cube for a minute or two, or even something like exercise that can push the mind to focus on the body instead of the source of the distress. The element of penance is also there. Abdirak brings to the fore those thoughts of struggle and guilt, so those are the thoughts that are stripped back by the physical pain. It's intentional, careful, and taps at the other core of using pain to alleviate suffering.

Why we love Abdirak, and the importance of recognising the weight of unwarranted guilt.

Remember my little villain essay? Back then I spoke of how a love for villains can also come from the way we are prone to judge ourselves unfairly, to heap undeserved guilt at our own feet, and to believe every slight mistake to be a heinous sin. Sorry, darlings, the only heinous "sin" you are allowed to believe in is me. Name puns aside... Part of the draw is indeed right there, believing ourselves deserving of punishment it's appealing to want to submit to that and find absolution from everything we judge ourselves for. And yet, it isn't a horrific thing, it's coloured by love and affection. The Love of Loviatar from Abdirak does not ignore that first part. But I do encourage you, if you are feeling particularly called out right now, to stop seeking punishment for things that are objectively not your fault, and instead treat yourself with kindness and forgiveness. By all means continue to indulge in our beloved priest of Pain and the joy he brings, but do so without any negative self-assessment, alright? Good, I'm glad we agre- THAT MEANS ALL OF YOU. No exceptions.

And what of the Fandom?

Ahh Abdirak fandom. Small, loving, welcoming, and utterly devoted~ Similarly to villain fandom (Abdirak is obviously not a villain, but is arguably villain-coded), his fandom also draws a lot of kindness and understanding. Despite how we might see ourselves, we are remarkably free from judgement in how we treat each other. There's endless encouragement, genuine warmth, and alongside spicy takes that might make lava look like a suitable spot for ice fishing there's a profound amount of respect and consent. By which I mean, there's no shame. There's no allowance for "I hate that character you like", or "that kink is bad because I don't like it". Tags and CWs are applied to posts and works with care and nobody is treated poorly for enjoying what (or who) they enjoy in the fictional space. To go back to the quote at the start of this essay, "to truly understand suffering is to avoid being its cause." I feel the vast majority of us have that depth of insight and recognition for suffering and have the empathy required to wish to avoid it. And that is why I would perhaps feel safest in the company of Abdirak fans (and likewise Raphael fans), there's another level of connection in those tadpoles~ Which leads me neatly forwards to...

Endurance: Abdirak and Chronic Pain Sufferers

Here, loves, we're going to get a bit more personal. Those of us with chronic pain conditions may find an even deeper connection. So I'll go over a little for those who are fortunate enough to not have personal experience here: Chronic Pain - This applies to pain which is constant or frequently recurring, that lasts (and/or is expected to last) for more than 3 months. It's not like a broken bone that heals and has an end, it's not like a few headaches that come and go with little consequence, it is either always present or always on the edge of flaring up at any time. It's different to acute pain, because most conditions have no cure, many barely have any treatment so all one can do is try to endure the worst of it. The other side-symptoms can be reduction in physical ability, exhaustion, mental health difficulties (because for some odd reason constant pain is not a path to happiness), low self esteem, and of course carrying the guilt of feeling like a burden if you need help from others (you are not a burden, and anyone who says so can receive the blessing of forever feeling like there is a stone in their shoe that they cannot find). As an aside, this can apply to chronic mental health struggles too - it is still pain, only a different kind. Though I will be looking primarily at physical pain here, as that's where Abdirak's focus is. Now, where are we going with this? The difference here is in how pain is treated. Abdirak speaks of pain as a wonderful thing, as something that is sought after, that is a way of worshipping Loviatar. This is something that might feel strange to someone who is plagued by pain, but there's another quote I'd like us to remember.

"Pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn't you agree?"

Chronic pain has no purpose. It's there whether by illness or injury, or some other unseen cause. It was not a choice, it doesn't bring any relief, and often it drags us right down with it.

"Please let me alleviate this pain."

And there's another line, one we wish we could hear, one we wish so very deeply in the core of our being that we could believe. That there could be someone who could bring an end to the pain even if only for a brief time, a fleeting hope of relief.

How fanworks can be a means of coping with chronic pain.

So here's the next point... What in all the hells do I mean, how can fanworks help a single thing? Well, have some personal moments. I had a deeply unpleasant flare up the other night, so I put out a brief ask to writing groups for some comforting fiction shorts. In the past, I've written a few myself - like these: Abdirak - Migraine Comfort Yurgir - Migraine Comfort Tav - General Comfort, with Audio Multi-Character Comfort Drabbles (Including Abdirak) Full AO3 fic of Abdirak x Chronic Pain Reader (Spicy, NSFW)

These are the two I received from some writers very dear to my heart who have more talent and skill than I could ever hope to aspire to in their works. Elfvamp (who does not have tumblr) (image description is attached to the image)

and this one from @morb-untamed

Darlings, when I tell you there were tears in my eyes at these, I mean it. THIS is just an example of the understanding and compassion possible in the community, the care and consideration, and the emotion that words can carry through them that make things genuinely feel more bearable in the moment of distress. Both captured something that it took me too long to realise. Perhaps what follows might sound entirely unreasonable or unhinged, but for someone like myself who has not known a single second of what "0%" feels like in over 10 years, it's beginning to seem far more sane by the moment. What if, within the confines of my mind, I try to rewrite the understanding of pain as something different. Just tell myself each new pain is an offering to some vile deity who has decided my mortal vessel is worthy of enduring, rather than one that is being punished with suffering. Breathe through it and listen to those character voices, find my own purpose to the pain. Let it become inspiration, note it down, get that visceral and intimate knowledge to the page instead. Naturally, this probably isn't a healthy coping mechanism, nor one that is infallible, but there have been moments recently where thinking that has made the moderate levels less distressing, easier to tolerate for a time. Perhaps it could do the same for you, but perhaps not, either way - it is there. Please do read through the comfort pieces too, and if you would like to see more - even ones with more specific aims and pains, please do just ask and I will make them happen. Either through my ask box, or in comments/reblogs, or any other way you wish to contact me honestly.

Alright, Tavylia, we've covered personal pain, but you promised NSFW discussion!

Oh my very dear darlings I had not forgotten this part~ You may here people talk about "good pain" and "bad pain", and wonder how/why pain can ever be good. It's not just about a physical hurt sensation or using that as a distraction. Pain can cause a rush of adrenaline, and even endorphins - similar to how people enjoy extreme sports, horror films, or theme parks, it's a pleasant feeling from something that would usually be scary, because it's safe and controlled. Falling from a high place? That's terrifying, dangerous. Parachuting safely from that same high place? It's controlled, there's no real danger, but the feeling of danger brings that adrenaline rush. There's the key. In real life BDSM there is control in the safe signal, in knowing it can and will stop when needed, that although there is someone causing pain they will stop at a moment's notice. (Anyone who does not respect a safe word/signal is not someone you should be in that situation with, if you are engaging in or want to try BDSM with real partners please PLEASE do your research on safety, that's too long a lecture to add here) In the context of fiction, we can go a lot further. Could a real person easily withstand Abdirak hitting them with an axe in their back? Obviously not, that's far too much. But this is a world with magical healing, and our fantasy and fiction is quite safe to extend where we find is interesting. So when reading - and especially writing - with pain and pain play, I encourage you to remember these links to adrenaline, endorphins, and that it isn't about harm, it's far deeper, and finding an understanding of that (even if you never wish to experience it) might be of some benefit to understanding those around you who have this intimate relationship with pain.

A title for the End

I think I've covered a lot here, but I do just want to round us off now. If you have any questions about this topic (or any of my other essay posts), please do feel free to ask - that's why my box is there, for all kinds of discussions to open up. Not just for smut and creative writing, but for all the ways we connect with fiction and characters. There is so much more than a single story being told, each of us experiences it through the lens of our own experience, we all find our connections in different ways, and I will have more character essays on this later. There's so much more to see, to learn, from all the interpretations throughout the fandom. I'm very grateful to be here to witness it, and for you being here to share in these thoughts and explore them more with me. Pain can teach us many things, about ourselves and others. Empathy, kindness, compassion - when we know how much we need them ourselves, we begin to see how much others may need it too. Much like how Abdirak sees the pain behind the player character's eyes, and feels that strong desire to help in the ways he knows how.

A Final Note for the Pain Pals

To my Chronic Pain Pals, darlings you do not always have to be strong. It's alright. It will not break you entirely to let go of that incessant need to try and quietly endure. Find those places it is safe to let it out, look for those tricks you can use on your brain to make Loviatar's Favour just a little more bearable. You are worthy of kindness, support, and compassion. The same you are likely giving of yourself to everyone else. You are not a burden, these are pains you do not choose, and you deserve something more gentle without any guilt attached to it. You are also not alone, find community, find those who understand.

Pain without purpose...but have we given it one now?

So I hope this time the pain has had a purpose in teaching, in helping us connect in new ways, to find compassion and understanding. Until next time, Dear Ones, look after yourselves.

Oh hey look I know who made that gif that came up in the search~ What an absolutely wonderful coincidence ;) (And a final final footnote, hello Abdirak fan community, you are perfect and I wish you nothing but the best in all things)

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #abdirak #chronic pain #fandom essay #pain #pain and pleasure #comfort in fanfiction #comfort in fiction #coping with pain #the best fandom corners can be in the most unexpected places #the lessons pain can teach #to understand suffering is to avoid being its cause

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