#like his wish is to travel somewhere by himself where no one knows him so he could just *relax* (and as he should)

[crystallizsch]

these valentines day cards for scarabia got me blushing, giggling, and kicking my feet fr (also featuring me unnecessarily analyzing them) (i really hope the cards are in the right order i think they are or else everything that i say here will look incredibly silly)

━━━━━━━━━━━━✦ kalim al-asim:

To my dear friend— Thanks for the present! What colorful and sparkly sweets. They look delicious! I just had an idea! How about we eat them together after school? Gifts like this taste better when shared, after all. I'll pick out a good tea to go with them. Can't wait to see you later! ━━━━━━━━━━━━✦

To my dear friend— Thanks for the gift! It's flattering to know you picked this out for me! I'll treat you to anything you like in return—food, live entertainment, an item you've been pining after... You just say the word. ...On second thought, no. I'll come up with something myself! Just like you came up with this gift to give me. ━━━━━━━━━━━━✦

Hey love, Thank you for that wonderful gift! Getting something like this from you just put a smile on my face! Let me throw you a feast to show my gratitude! After that, I'll take you on a magic carpet ride, it'll be really fun! ━━━━━━━━━━━━✦

SO LET ME TALK ABOUT THE PROGRESSION BETWEEN THE CARDS???

on kalim's first card, it's really cute but it also feels just like his usual demeanor where he treats everyone as a friend.

but on to the second card, it looks like he's definitely feeling more strongly enough about you to think "hey let me get you something too!! let me be your genie of the lamp!" at least right before realizing it would be more meaningful to give you a surprise gift as well like you did.

his "dear friend" on the second card is more real this time.

BUT OMG THE WHIPLASH TO THE THIRD CARD

"HEY LOVE" ???? KALIM WHAT WHEN I TELL YOU MY HEART JUST WENT HFDSNSFHDJFDK PLSS HE CANT DO THIS TO ME 💀💀💀 THE "MY DEAR FRIEND" -> "HEY LOVE" PROGRESSION YOUR HONOR HE IS IN LOVE(???) NO IT’S PROBABLY JUST A REALLY AFFECTIONATE TERM OF ENDEARMENT CONSIDERING THAT IT’S KALIM (*denial* *denial* *denial*)

the closest ones (that are available) to doing something similar is jade who goes from "my good friend" -> "my dearest" and vil who goes from "dearest friend" to "my dear"

anyways, the third card is kalim finally wanting to go ALL OUT as a way to show you how he feels about you and how thankful he is. he's literally all about having fun with the person he cares about. making every moment memorable.

kalim's love language is also very much extravagant gifts since he's raised in a wealthy family where everything has been handed to him. that's probably how he got the mindset that gifts are the way to show love and affection because that's how his family did it for him. so the bigger the gift the better he can show you how he feels.

━━━━━━━━━━━━✦ jamil viper:

Hello— I was surprised to see you gifted me sweets. At first I wondered if you were hinting for me to make you something similar... But when I pulled the gift out of the bag, I saw all the details you put into it, right down to the ribbon. It's clear this was a heartfelt gesture. I'll treasure these treats as I eat them. Thank you. ━━━━━━━━━━━━✦

Hello— I'll admit it. I'm beyond surprised. I suppose a heartfelt "thank you" is in order. In fact, why don't we meet at the school store after class tomorrow? Hopefully I'll be able to find you something to return the favor. ━━━━━━━━━━━━✦

Dear friend, Thank you for the gift. To think I would receive something from you... Well, it caught me off guard. I'd like to give you something in return. Hmm... What should it be? What might you like? Why don't you come down to Scarabia sometime and we'll discuss over a cup of tea. ━━━━━━━━━━━━✦

jamillll;;;

on the first card, he was suspicious of receiving a gift. at first he's like "are you just giving me something so i could give you something as well?" until he realized "oh this is legit" and that you’re not expecting anything back. and then he just enjoys it which is hella cute.

on the second card (unlike the last one) he's now like "let me get you something in return because i really appreciate the gesture". here i think he's still genuinely confused that you still decided to give him a gift. but at this point it feels like he's only offering to get you something in return because he feels like he has to just to show his gratitude. kinda like a fair transaction.

it seems that jamil is still like "why me". like, you cared enough to see and acknowledge him to even consider getting him a gift. which i believe is something he's not used to. so he just wants to "return the favor" by offering you to go find something you like :)

and the third card;;;

"DEAR FRIEND" GOT. MEEE. YOUR HONOR I LOVE HIMMMMM

i know for other people "friend" is not on the same level as the romantic "love" but i personally feel as strong with platonic relationships as with romantic ones (if not more) and this hit me HARD.

for the third one he's finally comfortable enough to consider you a friend. but he still sounds flabbergasted that you still even thought of him (and **you** specifically) (like he didn't imagine that you'd even give him a gift).

and now this is less of a transaction but more of like he *wants* to make sure that he gets you something that you'd really like. it's not simply just "hey let's go to the school store and see what's available as a thanks", this time it's "hey i really appreciate that you got me something so let's discuss what i can get you as well. i'll be your genie of the lamp, anything is possible (within reason)"

(original twitter thread with these cards)

#i might be reading too much into this tbh but #i am so obsessed with the progression of the relationship between character and the reader in between the cards #also another train of thought #i imagine jamil would be the type of who would not be focused on romantic relationships(?) #even if somehow the feels got to him #i mean the guy already seems to be iffy with who to consider a friend let alone a significant other #i wouldnt be surprised if he'd be more focused on being by himself than pursuing a partner #like his wish is to travel somewhere by himself where no one knows him so he could just *relax* (and as he should) #that's why the “dear friend” is making me lose it omg #hes showing affection your honor #[— #twisted wonderland #twst #scarabia #jamil viper #kalim al asim #★'-twst-rambles #—] #also ;;; please dont think that was an attack on romantic ships ;; #ship to your heart's content #that's the purpose of fanwork i do oc x canon myself 😭

[formulaforza]

💐 hi my wonderful birthday girl !! so i was thinking about a dress coded lewis blurb (because i was born a lewis and ts girl) where they just get drunk together and there’s teases flying and stuff. keep it as brief as u wish <333

—you can take it off

lewis hamilton x merc!reader summ. thank you stephy i love u bad <3 inspo from... ur never gonna believe it... this. hope it's up to your standards my love. 2.7k (kind of got out of hand)

You were half-asleep and half-drunk the night of the Belgium Grand Prix. The air was cool, recycled like all air seems to be in hotels, smelled of too-strong perfume and was filled with the dull noise of elevator jazz. What had begun as a before-we-go-to-bed night cap in the hotel bar with Bono had turned into a seemingly never ending addition of guests. 

Valtteri was first to join—never could pass up the opportunity to give you shit, to offer you job postings at Alfa Romeo that weren’t job postings at all—and with him around, there’s no casual drinking. You don’t try to keep up, not really, because you know you don’t stand a chance, but also because he would never let you. After all these years of being just a few months younger than him, he still calls you kiddo, still promises to call your parents when you’re out after dark, and always sends you a text after a race with some… questionable strategy decisions you’re catching flack for online. 

A brief appearance from Toto and Susie, just long enough for them to know they had no business trying to go drink for drink with Valtteri, and then they’re wishing all three of you a wonderful summer break and retreating to whatever room is considered prestige enough for Motorsport’s it-couple. 

And then there was Lewis, the last to arrive, who never called you kid, who never viewed you as one. He sits adjacent you in the red, high back leather booth and takes up a seat and a half, the toe of his shoe brushing against the side of yours, flashing you apologetic puppy dog eyes every time he bumps against yours. 

It’s somewhere between drink number five and six that Lewis gets his first, insists on a toast to the summer break that officially began… six hours and fifty-three minutes ago. For a long season this and a too-short summer break that, you lot had a mouthful of things to complain about, but a million more to be grateful for. “To not having work for a month,” Lewis proposes, clinking his glass against yours, offering a quick wink and holding it up properly over the table. 

“To no racing-talk for a few weeks,” Bono adds, clinking his glass against Lewis’. 

“To summer-fucking-break,” Valtteri chimes in, laughing at himself before the rest of you get the chance to match it. 

“To summer fucking break,” you repeat because you know there’s no better way to sum it all up. 

Unlike the other two, you slowed down when Lewis joined, wanted to give him time to catch up, to give yourself time to meet him somewhere in the middle. A glass of water and a virgin rum and coke and another water and the night is still young. 

“First summer break as the big boss, kiddo,” Valtteri remarks, and you have to squint to hear him through the alcohol-induced thickening of his accent. 

“That’s right!” Bono laughs. Your cheeks run hot at their mention of your title, of your promotion following James’ departure earlier in the season. Lewis smiles against the rim of his glass, bumps his foot against yours and doesn’t give you apologetic eyes. No, he raises his brows so slightly you think you’re the only one that notices, which is probably exactly the way he intended it to be. “Little miss queen of strategy is making the big money now, got any big travel plans?”

Lewis clears his throat, and your eyes dart over to his almost instinctively. “You’re staying in London, yeah?”

He’s right. Your summer-break plans consist of four weeks of trying to remember what it feels like to do nothing, failing at that task pathetically, and spending the rest of the time meticulously picking apart every call you’ve made all season and imagining the million and one things you could’ve done differently and their billion and two outcomes. 

You pick apart the drink napkin, tear it into tiny little pieces. “Yeah, yeah. Just staying home, catching up with friends and family,” you clarify, try not to sound as pathetic as you feel. It’s hard not to when you’re sitting next to the guy who spends his offseason snowboarding in Antarctica with his celebrity friends and his weeks off traveling to Paris fashion week for front row seats next to supermodels. Anything you say would sound pathetic to someone who makes thirty-five million a year. 

“I love it,” he nods, stares right through you and into your soul so you know he’s being genuine. “That’s awesome.”

You nod, swallow hard, purposely angle your body away from his, to the rest of the group. “What about you guys?”

Lewis laughs, soft, quiet, completely under his breath. The kind of laugh that deserves to be bottled into a jar and kept on a shelf for safe keeping. You know he’s always laughed like that, even before he knew you, but in the last few months it just feels different. Good different, like he’s laughing just for you now instead of everyone else too. 

You know you’re crazy, that he’s just Lewis being Lewis and you’re just single for the first time in a long time and also drunk. Not half drunk anymore, just drunk—even if you do think you’re meeting him in the middle, you’re not. He’s just chasing after. 

“Back home, too,” Bono concludes. “Take a breather, might head up to the country with the family.”

“You’ll take pictures, yeah?” Lewis asks, starts to pick up the pieces of your napkin tear pile and move them in front of him like a kid who isn’t patient enough to share or destructive enough to rip up his own. You watch in your peripheral, the way he fiddles with the wet paper, gets it stuck to his fingertips. You can’t laugh, so you don’t, but you want to. You think he knows you want to. 

Bono scoffs, nods while swallowing a sip of his drink—something dark, something pungent. Not what you would have pegged him for ordering, even after knowing him as long as you have. “So I can compare with the likes of you lot and,” he turns to Lewis, leers around you to emphasize the eyeline, “your million dollar vacations or,” and then the other way, back to Valtteri, “your olympic cycling events?”

Valtteri smiles, swirls his drink—gin, you think. Expensive. “Yes.”

“No chance.”

“I’ll be sure to send you a picture of me having a meltdown when I think about our side pods from the beginning of the year,” you chime in, because it’s not like they all don’t know you well enough to know exactly what you mean by spending time with friends and family at home.

 “What sidepods?” Lewis chuckles.

“Fucking exactly,” you add, mirror his mannerisms without even realizing it, all the way down to readjusting in your seat when you’ve had your laugh. 

“Could be worse,” Bono offers. “Could be last year.”

Lewis nods, holds his drink up in the direction of Valtteri across the table. “We never should have let you leave.”

He smiles, weak, lips  pursed. “I could have told you that.”

The night continues on, all drinks and laughs and yawns, occasional remarks that it’s about time I head up, followed by another round, another joke, another comment about this, that, or the other thing. 

You’ve always liked Lewis when he’s a little tipsy. He lightens up a bit, you can actually watch the stress drip from him like sweat, all the titles and the wins and the losses, they all just fall away when he’s relaxed like this. You’ve always liked him like this. Always. Before he was king of the world and before he was the prodigal son and every moment in between. 

After every joke he makes—or, after every comment he makes that he thinks could be considered a joke—you find yourself laughing, because it’s Lewis and you have a crush on him and of course you do. And, without fail, everytime you laugh, he winks, like you’re in on some inside joke even though he’s making it to the whole table, like there’s some double meaning to all of his words that are meant just for you, just for the two of you to understand. 

Somewhere in it all, it comes back to Lewis, because, well, it always does. “Is your back still bothering you?��� Bono asks, and you think you already know the answer. You think you know, because you can’t remember the last time you;d seen him take careful consideration of his posture when he sits. Not even now is he sitting up straight, with his legs perfectly spread a shoulder’s width apart and his feet flat on the floor. Instead, he’s taking up more room than he needs to, all relaxed and comfortable on the leather booth bench. 

He swipes his thumb over the  condensation of his glass, looking up from the action at you, and then to Bono. “No, no. All good there.”

“All good?” Bono prods, because he was on the receiving end of a year and a half of complaints from Lewis.

Lewis nods, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “No Paracetamol in a month.”

Across the table, Valterri chimes in. “None?” 

“None for my back,” Lewis says, and the whole table laughs. You just watch him, though, because who laughs better than he does? You could wax poetic about it without a second thought, the way that his lips upturn and his cheeks round and his eyes crinkle and go soft in a way that makes you feel like you’re the funniest person in the world even when you’re not making a joke. The way that his smile is brighter than anyone’s you’ve ever seen, and the way that if you look at it for too long, you think about how it would feel to run your finger along the gap in his teeth. 

“That’s what I thought,” Valtteri mutters off the end of his laugh. “You're getting old.”

“Not too old to make half a million.”

The entire table’s heads fly to him. You gasp, an embarrassingly wide smile on your face. “You didn’t!” You almost yell, smacking his upper arm with a weak hand. 

He mocks your gasp, makes it somehow more dramatic and over the top and laughs sweetly, shrugging your hand off his arm and letting his hand fall to your leg, bumping your foot with his again. “I didn’t.” The table chuckles, you pout, and then you realize that his hand is on your thigh, that it’s staying there quite comfortably, and that you mind it less than he does. 

“Don’t be a tease,” you sigh, take a swig of your drink. Your knees are suddenly weak, like you know you wouldn’t be able to stand up if you wanted to. It’s like he can sense your change but can’t quite read it, because then he’s moving his hand back to his own lap, interlocking it with the other and resting it there.

 He nods, suddenly shy, suddenly guilty. “It’s as good as done.”

Valtteri laughs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” You hear what he says, but you’re not listening, not really. Lewis stares into you like he wants to look anywhere else—apologetic eyes and a fear he’s taken a misstep. He hasn’t, you want to tell him. You haven’t, put your hand back, please. Silently, you try to convey what shouldn’t dare be spoken. “I’ll believe it when pen is on paper.”

He snaps his eyes away from you, back to Valtteri. You don’t follow suit, stay fixed on him, on trying— hard—to get your message across. “I’m telling you, they’re announcing it after the summer break.”

“Whatever you say, Mate.”

Bono nods around a mouthful of alcohol, sets his half-empty glass down with an incidental thud. “Who’s to say we still want your geriatric ass?”

Lewis raised his interlocked hands from his lap, to the tabletop, resting his elbows on the wood grain and rattling the empty glasses when he does it. He leans in towards the center of the table, even though the only person separating him and Bono is you. “Would you tell Schumacher ‘no?’”

“What was that?” You ask, your words a convenient excuse to lean in closer, to settle into a spot that much closer to him without raising any brows. To brace for the shift, you leave your hand on his thigh with less subtly than your original movement, but it’s okay. It’s okay—only Lewis knows where your hands are, and you don’t want it to be subtle, don’t want anything to be lost in translation. “I can’t hear you over your ego,” you smile, and your fingers dance up his leg just a few, careful inches. 

He drops back into his seat, drops his hands back into his lap. Under the table, he grabs yours and laughs, but it’s stifled, stunted, not quite relaxed. “Very funny,” he humors, and moves your hand back. His stays too, though, and he crosses one leg over the other under the table. His thumb moves over the fabric of your slacks in shudder-worthy circles. 

“Someone’s gotta check you,” you smile, nod in the direction of your tablemates without ever looking away from him. “These two won’t.”

Bono scoffs.“Are you kidding?”

Your smile grows. “How do you want me to answer that, Peter?”

“Damn,” Lewis laughs so hard he coughs. “She Peter-ed you. That’s cold.”

“You’re the one comparing yourself to Michael fucking Schumacher,” Bono scolds. 

“I didn’t say that, but,”

“But!” You interject. 

“But,” Lewis laughs, threatens to continue even though all at the table know he won’t, knows that no matter how often the media and the girlfriends and the friends and the family tell him he should put himself up there with the greatest, he’ll never quite see himself in the same light. “But it’s about time I head up, I think.”

“Ah, see,” Valtteri chuckles. “Old man Hamilton can’t hang.”

“No, he can not,” Lewis remarks, pulling his phone and his hotel keycard from his pocket, setting the latter on the table and if you were feeling a little crazier than you are, you’d swear he nudges it ever so slightly out of his bubble and into yours. He types away rapidly at his phone, and you try to pay attention to the jokes Bono and Valtteri throw around, the pokes at Lewis they make, but suddenly you’re feeling like it’s a good time to head up, too. You try to shake the crazy, to leave it with your backwash in the final sip of your drink, and you do. You do.

You do, but then he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s leaving his glass just beyond his keycard and telling you to feel free to finish it. He’s saying his goodbyes while he moves out of the booth and his hotel room key is still sat on the table next to you. It stares at you—the hard, thin plastic. Stares at you in its white paper pocket with the intricate printing of the hotel label and dares you to look at him when he walks away. 

You do, begrudgingly, subtly, and his eyes are already on yours. They’re expressionless, and yet, say so fucking much. You hold the remainder of his drink in his direction before downing it in a single gulp and then he winks at you. He looks at his keycard on the table, and then to you, and then he winks, and you’re sure you’re absolutely crazy. 

You swallow. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bono says, reaches over you to grab the keycard from the table. It’s like you were zoned out and he snapped in front of your face, the way it pulls you from Lewis to the table. “He forgot his key.”

“Oh,” you squeak, and then louder, “I can take it to him.”

“No, no, It’s okay,” Bono says, and he makes you stand up to get out of the booth. “I should be heading up anyway.”

“Really,” you half-insist, trying to convince him you can handle it without letting him in on why you’re convincing him. “It’s no problem.”

Bono pulls out his wallet, flips through the pockets of it and fiddles with his bills. “Our rooms are right by each other,” he insists, tosses his share onto the table. “I got it.”

“Okay,” you nod, accept your defeat. “Yeah, I should be heading up, too, I guess.”

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fluff #f1 fluff #lh44 #lh #mercedes #mercedes amg f1 #cameos from #toto wolff #susie wolff #peter bonnington #valtteri bottas

[eupheme]

— can’t get you out of my mind

joel miller x f!reader

rated e - 2k

tags: loose structure, flashbacks, jackson-era joel, joel pov, established relationship, light angst, slightly possessive!joel, floor unprotected piv, brief oral, praise kink, 1 ass smack, squirting, come marking

a/n: wip title was ‘reminiscing and railing’ - Joel railing reader while thinking back to their beginning.

The flannel you now wear around your waist bunches in his fist. Using it as leverage, the jerk of his hand as he pulls you back to meet his thrust.

His flannel.

Joel recognizes it. A relic from Lincoln, the green and reds fading with the trail long since traveled. Patched sewn over holes that match scars carved into his own flesh.

Sweat beads at the nape of his neck.

The days have started growing shorter, as the leaves have started to fade into shades of gold and copper.

But the weather still clings onto the last dregs of summer. A morning chill that melts under the heat of the afternoon sun, settling over your skin.

He used to like this time of year.

Barbecues and football. An evening spent in front of Tommy’s new big screen, splitting a six-pack of some cheap, shitty beer - something that would feel like a luxury now.

Back-to-school shopping, the twist in his heart as he pulled up to the old brick building on the first day of school. The smile and wave that he had always tried to match, though she was far braver than he was.

That was a long time ago. The memories have become blurry, ones he reaches for in his sleep. Slipping through his fingers.

Still trying desperately to forget what came after.

His birthday. The outbreak. Sarah.

A permanent stain, ink red. For years there had been a desire to just skip these months. To go to sleep in the heat of the summer and wake up in winter, instead.

But even that wish has started to fade, but only just. Though, it wasn’t time that did it.

Now, layers are shed as the early patrol comes to an end - a reprieve taken within the wall of an abandoned house you’ve come to know well.

The flannel you now wear around your waist bunches in his fist. Using it as leverage, the jerk of his hand as he pulls you back to meet his thrust.

His flannel.

Joel recognizes it. A relic from Lincoln, the green and reds fading with the trail long since traveled. Patched sewn over holes that match scars carved into his own flesh.

His fingers had fumbled, not more than a week ago. Flattening over the curve of his chest, as he peered at himself the in cracked mirror.

Where the fabric pulled a little too tightly over his back. The buttons straining across his stomach. Hard labor in Jackson had thickened his shoulders. The food you made with so much care had nourished him.

Finally a chance to breathe in twenty years - to not rely on ration cards, or his own skill with a gun to guarantee a hot meal.

You had found him like this, your soft smile reflected in the mirror.

He had forgotten all about it, by the time you stripped the shirt from him.

There’s something inside of him that burns, to see the fabric tied around you now. The strips of skin above and below - the catalyst that had kicked off this unexpected break.

Tempted by your bare legs, kicked up on the broken coffee table. A peek of your stomach, as you stretched - before knotting your stolen flannel around your waist.

A reprimand had been on his tongue since this morning. That only layers could prevent a bite, the scrapes and scratches of being in the woods. His own too-hot canvas jacket a sacrifice he was used to making.

Disappearing from his tongue somewhere between the look you had given him, and the floor you’re now pressed against.

That canvas jacket discarded, slipped beneath your knees. Your cheek pressed against the sleeve, the button like a brand against your jaw. A mark indenting your skin, as your eyes screw shut.

His own knees ache, where they knock against the wooden floor. The creak of his leather boot as he adjusts the angle - a leg rising, a heavy foot pressing firm and flat against the ground as he arcs over you.

Your lips part with moan beneath him, the sound strangled as the air is pushed from your lungs.

So deep. So warm - his breath coming in a rough rush as he leans into you. Nudging himself just a little bit deeper, a palm pressing between your shoulder blades for balance.

It had been barely winter, when he’d first found this place. Another month before he brought you here, sheltering from a storm.

Eyes still fixed out the bare windows, at the skeleton-fingers of trees as you had rode him. Your own head thrown back, chest heaving against the mouth that teased at your tits - too intent on your own movements to notice the way his eyes drifted.

Fixing out, into the forest. Unable to help the split attention, with wounds still fresh from Salt Lake City. Hands that had taken, too harsh in the way they had bit into your skin.

The rough slap of his thighs when the sliver of control had been wrenched from you - rolling you beneath him to finish the job.

Now, with the golden sun overhead, the gentle sway of the leaves in the breeze - he gives.

Eyes fixed only on you.

He’s spent too much time looking away. Almost realizing it when it was too late. All those weeks of looking anywhere but at you.

It had been easier, that way. Maybe a part of him had known, deep down. An instinctual inkling of what you’d become to him.

He hadn’t been ready.

Content to know the scuffs on your boots better than the color of your eyes, missing the way they crinkle when you smile at him.

The way they widen, flutter, squeeze shut - just for him. Only for him.

It’s always taken him a little time to come around.

It was winter when you had fallen together. But it had been earlier that spring when the seed had been planted, first taking root.

His first true spring in Jackson - getting to see the shoots push up in the community garden. The main road slowly waking after a cold winter, filling out with people and stalls and coming to life, again.

You were new, slipping in while the town had still slept.

Easily winning Ellie over with your baking, simple cakes made from what they had. Learned from those who had still remembered the before, passing down their memories.

He had been won over, later.

As the days had slowly grown longer, and then short again. Tentative smiles in the summer turning into excuses to stay just a couple minutes longer - when you showed up on his porch, something saccharine wrapped up in the wicker basket at your elbow.

The memory lingers on his tongue.

As sweet as the taste he had gotten between your thighs no more than a few minutes ago, your little gasp as he had groaned into you.

Unable to resist, as his thumbs had hooked around the elastic waistband of your shorts. Pushing them down your legs, letting them twist near your knees.

Seeing how you already arched for him, legs nudging wider for balance. Waiting for his fingers, but he had dipped - ignoring the dull stretch of his back as his lips had ghosted across yours.

His tongue following, where you’re plush and wet as the tip slipped against your slit. Pretty, he had thought, like he had a hundred times before.

You always were.

Under the sun, with the flash of your teeth, the cock of your head.

When your forehead wrinkled with worry, the urge always rising to press his thumb against them - wiping them away.

In sleep - with the flutter of your eyelashes and soft sigh, as you burrowed against his chest.

Your muscles had tensed - shoulders stiff and thighs trembling as you had taken him. A held breath hissing through teeth, turning into a sharp groan as the tip of his cock nudged its way inside.

As he enveloped himself in you, his own words near-stuttered with the way you immediately clenched down around him. Warm and wet and made for him.

“Come on, honey. You can take it.”

“That’s my good girl.”

That last one had you softening. Unable to hide the way his words affected you, your head lolling against your shoulder as his hips finally pressed flush to yours.

The sight will be one that he thinks of often. That twist of green and grey and red around your waist. The arch of your back, already a little shift of your hips as you encourage him to move.

All that soft skin, not nearly as marred as his. His palm flattened over the curve of your ass, a smack that is more sound than pressure.

Your groan filled the room, as he finally began to move. The soft snap of his hips turning sharp, as the memories had washed over him.

The shift of your arm brings him back, now. Eyes half-closed in bliss, the curl of your shoulder as your hand moves to slip between your legs.

Something pricks at him then, the bite of possession sinking its teeth into his skin. An ache to do this himself.

Though he might not need to - he can tell from the way you meet him, the bitten-back sounds you make, that the move was in desperation.

He should have been paying more attention.

No use thinking about the past, when he’s got you here now.

Joel catches your fingers, a broad hand curling around your wrist. Pinning it back against the floor as his knee drops to the ground again.

“Y’ don’t need it.” His chest presses into your back as he leans over you. Close enough for his stubble to scratch against your cheek, feel his weight as he cages you in, “Can come like this, can’t you?”

He says it like a question, but it’s not. Not really. An edge to his voice, your knees inching wider as they scrape against the floor. As his rhythm ticks up - sharper and faster than his lazy rhythm earlier.

Stroking against that spot inside you. Just a tease before, when his mind had wandered. Now he knows he has you there, right at the edge. Just needing a little more.

Something he’s sure he can give you, if you let him.

“Joel.” His name is broken, whined through your teeth. Laced with awe, as if he hadn’t done the same thing with his fingers - teased at your inner walls until you soaked them.

“I think I’m… oh my god-”

Breathless, as his nose ghosts against your neck. As he pins you further, arching your back more. Open-mouthed kisses pressed to your throat, as he feels you shiver beneath him.

“That’s it.” His teeth scrape skin, a ragged edge to his voice, “Know you are.”

Something that tips close to a plea, with the way he needs to feel it, with the way it punches from his lungs, “Lemme feel you come on my cock, sweetheart. Come on-”

Your fingers squeeze around his, clinging to him. A lifeline, as the feeling swells and then breaks - as he rips your orgasm from you. That warmth around him turning molten and wet as he feels that tight pulse, how you drip down his cock.

Down to where his balls grow tight, a sharp coiling in his belly. A feeling he tries to hold back, but you’re still moaning his name, eyes screwed shut as each pump of his cock draws your pleasure out.

Each thrust pushes the air from your lungs in a pretty gasp, too far gone to do anything but press your cheek to his coat. Hands trapped in his - one still pinned to the floor, the other biting into his wrist.

He’s too busy watching you to notice the way his thrusts have grown sloppy, off-rhythm in the way he’s racing to meet you.

“Fuck-” Joel’s jaw grits. There’s barely enough time for his hips to move - to pull his length from you, leaving you clenching.

Slick with your release as his fingers closes around his cock. Barely managing two pumps of his fist before he’s spilling over the swell of your ass, dripping down damp thighs.

His groan rough and broken in the empty house, panting breaths with the slick slide of his fist as he works himself empty.

Making a mess of you, your skin streaked with him, shining and glossy. It makes him he almost regret starting this here - that he can’t pull you into the shower, and then bed, after.

Instead, he hovers over you until his heart no longer races. Until he can push himself onto unsteady feet, finding an old rag in the kitchen.

Wiping your skin clean, as you sigh - boneless against the worn floor. Content as the sun streaks through the windows, warming patches of bare skin.

Sweat clings to his skin after, leaving him sticky. Heart still fluttering in his chest as you both finally move - backs pressing against the threadbare couch, clothes mostly fixed in place.

Your head presses against his shoulder, a loose little lean as your legs stretch out. Still just as bare as before, his hand curving around your thigh and squeezing.

Letting time pass, for just a little bit longer.

“Tommy said we would stop by for dinner,” You eventually break the silence - flashing a still-dazed smile, as your fingernails scratch into his forearm, “You wanna go? Ellie said she’d meet us there. Think she’s bringin’ a friend.”

So casual in the way you say it - as if they weren’t going to show up with bruised knees, still wearing his shirt. As if your skin wasn’t still stained with him, patches and still-drying streaks he might have missed.

Moving up to rub at the joints that grow sore with the heat and the cold. Such a small thing to remember, but you always do.

“Sounds good.” He sighs into your touch.

It ain’t a barbecue, but it’s close enough.

Joel used to hate this time of year.

But today… it doesn’t seem all that bad.

experimenting with different styles of writing - I thought of this as a sort-of sister fic to looking back! and thank you so much for reading, it is so appreciated 💖💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine

[lazyjellyfish300]

Love Across Dimensions

Miguel O'Hara x Reader s/o

TW: ANGST, LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP, READER IS MID 20S, MIGUEL'S IN HIS EARLY 30S, FLUFF. MINORS DNI AS THIS WORK IS CONNECTED TO ONE OF MY NSFW BLURBS.

Synopsis: You're from a different dimension than him. You didn't ask to fall in love with the protector of the multiverse, and it sure as hell isn't easy being in a long distance relationship with him. But what you have is special, and that's always worth waiting for. The Nicholas Sparks movie Dear John inspired this a little. (The moon quote 😫🫶🏾)

A/N: spinoff of my phone sex blurb, Long Distance. Here's some more insights into y'all's relationship. This one is mostly SFW, maybe a NSFW version coming soon? Headcanons/outline ish? Idk what it is but here you go. NSFW PART 2

-----

- He walks through his portal at HQ with your lip gloss shiny all over his neck and doesn't think to wipe it off. Clearly he's not a makeup expert and forgets that this stuff smears easily. Hobie and Pav snicker together, " well, wonder where he's been." (They already know)

"Shut it, you two!"

"Sureee, boss."

-You have him get you a trinket from every dimension, it's not up for debate. It's always a snow globe or a postcard. Your fridge and your shelf space are both running out of room by now to store them. The postcards are filled with sweet handwritten words from Miguel, telling you about his day and the location they're from.

-He won't take you across dimensions with him. He crafted you your own version of a gizmo to call him and summon Lyla whenever you need her, but you don't have the ability to travel across dimensions yet. Even Miguel can't bring himself to break his own rules, despite how much he wishes he could just bring you here and keep you here himself. The threat of canon disruption looms over his head. Losing Gabi destroyed him. A piece of his heart never recovered. Losing you could be the straw that breaks him. Not to mention, he can't protect you at all times if he took you along on his missions. He takes comfort in knowing you're tucked in, safe at home watching your favorite movies or with your best friends at a new restaurant getting drinks.

-You always save songs that you think he'd like and have all the reels you want to show him saved in a folder called "Memes for Miggy ❤️." His playlist on your Spotify is just titled "🖤" because you don't want anyone to know it's just songs for you two.

-You hardly see him. Dating someone like him is not for the weak. You can usually count on seeing him maybe once a month if you're lucky. And he'll usually stay for the weekend. And it's always the best weekend of your life.

-It took a while for him to get there, but he's super romantic/poetic when he's in love. He reassures you as you two stand outside one night, his arms wrapped around you from behind, resting his chin on your head.

"If you ever miss me, just look at the sky. It's my anchor to you. Know that when you look up at it, that I'm somewhere in it, not far away. The colors of the sky, the position of the stars, the shadow of the moon and the rays of the sun are the same in every universe, including this one where we end up together."

-His favorite gift from you is a bottle of your perfume. He'll take a sniff every now and then and close his eyes and imagine you're next to him. You do the same with his cologne. He's left a ton of hoodies and sweatpants at your house. You wear them to bed every night and give them a spritz whenever you feel like his scent is wearing off.

-The first night after he leaves is the hardest. But the night after that hurts a little less. As does the night after that, and after that, and so on. The stab wound of his departure healing itself as it has dozens of times before by now. Your heart steadily molds back to its original shape in your chest, no longer shattered. You immerse yourself in your work and your friends, trying to go out every now and then, imagining he's right there with you. Because even though he's light years away, he still is.

-But sometimes , the ache of his absence hits you like a wave crashing against a cliff it threatens to erode. When you accidentally play that song that you two belted in the car together, or when you see the carmelicious fudge ice cream in your freezer that you haven't touched since the last time you two ate it together, sharing the carton. It hurts when you realize you're spending another Christmas Eve without him, leaving you with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk that you have to enjoy all by yourself, staring at his stocking you bought and stuffed for him hanging untouched over your fireplace. Hearing your niece and nephew buzzing about their Valentine's cards they get to hand out at school, knowing that the one you bought for Miguel will stay forgotten in the grocery bag in your closet. Tiny needles that pierce you. A jarring reminder that your heart is split in two across a vast continuum of time and space, with Miguel holding the other half on the opposite side.

-You cry, a lot. And little do you know, he does too. The last time after you guys got home from a few days at a little beach house in San Diego, you just sobbed and sobbed into his arms while he held you in your pajamas as you slowly walked him to your apartment door. His expression was sorrowful as he tried to brush your tears away, lip trembling as he tried to ward off his own tears that threatened to release, a tight knot causing his voice to choke in his throat.

"I'll back for you. I promise, baby. Think of me, okay? Use your watch to call me whenever you want."

You look up at him, mucus running down your nose and your eyes puffy and red, but you don't care. You bathe in the ruby ocean of his eyes for one more moment, windows to his precious soul that now inevitably belongs to you. You touch his cheeks, the smooth pattern of his skin imprinting itself in your palms, his warmth transferring onto you a final time before your body eventually forgets.

He walks forward across the threshold with a deep breath as he lets go of your hand at last, slowly closing the door behind him. The door barely clicks before he's ripping it back open, pulling you back into his arms as you wail and sob some more while he just rocks you gently in his embrace, his face buried in your neck.

Trying to tattoo the scent and feel of your body into his memory one more time. As though the very essence of you were all the rations he'd need to hold him off until that moment when he could feast on your beautiful smile once again. He tries not to think about how this could be the last time. The reality of the dangers of the job he signed up for are a painful reminder. Being Spider-Man is a sacrifice.

He finally closes the door behind him, and walks slowly through the orange glowing tunnel, tears leaking down his face, gasping as though the wind got knocked out of him. He hates saying goodbye, praying and pleading to whatever deity is out there that it wouldn't be the last time he did.

Why did the universe plant you so far away from him? Why did the love of his life exist on a plane of existence separate from his? The laws of time, space, and the formidable, neverending, infinite weight of the multiverse barring you two from each other.

But you're his true love. Of course he'd find his way back to you. In any universe.

------

💖

#Spotify #miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o hara fluff #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o hara angst

[bbina]

“can someone please answer me on where we are actually going? cause why are we at the train station” you whined as you walk behind sungchan and eunseok who was busy typing on their phones

“it’s a secret” sungchan hums, turning around to give you a cheeky smile making you roll your eyes.

this has been the nth time throughout the bus ride to the train station that they’ve been acting secretive. what were the two idiotic twin towers hiding from you? why did they feel the need to keep the place you three were going as a secret?

before you can say anything, you see someone waving their hands like a madman by your peripheral vision. you turned your head to the side to see seunghan, sohee, anton and shotaro by a vending machine

“you guys!” you yelped, eyes wide as you run to anton who had his arms open. you instantly jump into his arms as you would usually do when you see him. anton stumbles a bit due to his clumsy nature but manages to keep you and himself stable

“what are you guys doing here?” you ask, letting go of anton before giving sohee, seunghan and shotaro a hug as well

eunseok and sungchan follow suit by dapping their friends. shotaro nudges eunseok as he secretly hands him your tickets.

“well we were heading out somewhere since shotaro hyung wanted to hang out..” seunghan trails off, eyeing shotaro to back him up. a little scared that he was saying too much

shotaro wraps his arm around your shoulders, “what about you, y/n? how are you feeling?”

giving him a small smile, you wave him off. “just peachy. i’m tired from rotting in bed all day and mopping around so i wanted to get some fresh air” you pause for a brief moment. “then all of a sudden these two behind me wanted to take me out somewhere and now we’re here” you throw your thumb back at eunseok and sungchan who was busy arguing about something. it was probably something idiotic that only the two of them could understand

shotaro laughs. “i know it’s been a rough week. use this time to unwind and relax.. right guys?” shotaro calls out to the rest of the guys who seem to be hiding something as well based from their weird reactions at the mention of you wanting to head out

before you can ask what was up, you were interrupted by the sound of the train announcement

“ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please. this is an important announcement for passengers traveling to Ulsan. we are pleased to inform you that it is now time to board the train departing for ulsan from platform 904.

passengers holding tickets for this journey are kindly requested to proceed to platform 904 immediately and begin boarding. we kindly ask that you have your tickets ready for inspection as you board the train.

once again, this is the last boarding call for the train to Ulsan from platform 904. we wish all passengers a pleasant journey. thank you.”

sohee, seunghan and anton suddenly grab their bags off from the floor as they start to walk towards the platform the announcement has said

“oh! that’s our train. c’mon” shotaro links your elbows with his as he drags you away with the rest of the guys

“wait a minute! we haven’t gotten our tickets yet” you sputtered, attempting to tug your arm away from shotaro

eunseok and sungchan suddenly grab each of your shoulders as they wave what seems to be your train tickets in front of your face

”we’re heading there too dummy” eunseok pokes his tongue out

that’s when it starts clicking. why the two idiots were being secretive, how anton, seunghan, sohee had a weird reaction from listening to your chat with shotaro. turns out these fools were taking you to ulsan

but that could only mean one thing, right?

you don’t want to get your hopes up but a tiny part of you believes that you all were on your way to see wonbin (if he even is in ulsan..)

between the lines ★ ulsan

⤷ from what started as a simple arrangement to hide your feelings for a certain someone by getting into in a fake relationship soon turns into a tangled mess. in which some things are hard to tell when you can’t read between the lines

 ˗ˏˋ prev | next  ˎˊ˗

★ notes .ᐟ as my promise to that one anon who asked for a double update.. here's a cliffhanger! backstreet boys in ulsan?!

★ taglist .ᐟ @callanton @annswwa @renjuneoo @pinkraindropsfell @lecheugo @ilovejungwonandhaechan @ahnneyong @haechansbbg @snowyseungs @sseastar-main @odxrilove @leeknowarchives @onlywonb @wonychu @leehanascent @jaeyunsb @au-ghosttype @revehosh @keilovr @kyusqult @dreamyyyz @ether-yeol @yangasm @qwonbani @starwonb1n @ffixtionista @daegale @scrumptiousloser @seunghancore @marksluvs @wonbinfiles @ohmykwonsoonyoung @reenfluffmarshmallow @bunni @artstaeh @yizhoutv @sie17136 @koeuh @07yujin @poollabug @vernonburger @dutifullyannoyingfox @000rpheus @wccycc @sunus-sun @highhjime @chweverni @toosspicy @heartlvrrss @s9nwoo @yoursyuno @stanriize01 @rosesfortaro @lampcults @alwayswook

#between the lines #riize imagines #riize x reader #riize scenarios #wonbin imagines #wonbin x reader #wonbin scenarios #riize social media au #riize fake texts #riize smau #wonbin fake texts #wonbin social media au #wonbin smau #park wonbin imagines #park wonbin x reader #park wonbin scenarios #park wonbin social media au #park wonbin fake texts #park wonbin smau #riize au #wonbin au #park wonbin au #riize wonbin #wonbin #park wonbin

[mothhball]

If There's No End

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warnings | DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DE*TH – Reader d*es! ANGST, HURT, NO COMFORT, CANN*BALISM, do NOT read if any of this feels too uncomfortable!! Jon is very, very delusional in this, drugging, lobotomy, established relationship, again - CANN*BALISM. (tumblr wants me to censor this :'] )

Summary | Jonathan reminisces about your shared life and the day you found out his secret.

Words | 2.7k

Notes | Don’t yell at me for this, you’ve been warned! Not proofread, please don’t beat me up.

@kiss-me-cill-me welp, this is the cannibalism fic lmao bon appetit

Jonathan never thought he’d know guilt. But now that he’s hunched over on his knees, digging through the mud with trembling hands, he suspects that this might be it. His vision is still blurry. Has been for the past few hours. The tears have turned his world into a faded, abstract mess, like a child’s chalk drawings that are in the middle of being washed away by the rain. If it had been anyone else, he would have settled for the large dump of hazardous waste behind ACE Chemicals. But not in this case. Never in this case.

Jonathan never thought he’d grow to respect another person, but you crashed into his life with an earth-shattering intensity that nearly made his knees give out as soon as you turned to greet him. Hi. Two letters, one syllable. And it affected him in such a profound way that his ears still burn at the memory. Even during that first fleeting conversation, he felt as if the edges of his person began to become cloudy. Desperate to merge with yours until there was no end and no beginning to the two of you as separate people. Until flesh and bone and viscera were a shared commodity between him and you. A fever dream with the appropriate symptoms. Some nights he woke from a beautiful dream, a fantasy in which the two of you were irrevocably merged into one being. And on those nights, hot tears of disappointment and anger burned so harshly on his cheeks that he expected his sheets to sizzle where the drops fell.

It was love. It had to be. And when the universe finally relented to the prayers and wishes he whispered until his throat became hoarse, his life exploded with color. Fleeting glances and coy small talk managed to bloom into something more, something deeper and more intimate than Jonathan’s analytical vocabulary could ever fully explain. You loved him in a way that was entirely foreign to him. Unconditional and patient. You just… got him. Without even trying to. Your gaze traveled past skin and ribs down to his very heart and soul, and you didn’t turn away. But you didn’t know everything back then. How could you? He was so secretive about everything involving his studies. Sometimes, he couldn’t resist the temptation of monologuing about fear and its shackles on humanity. But that was all he was willing to share with you. He granted you a microscopic detail of the true extend of his passion. A laughably small excerpt of his obsession.

Jonathan never thought he’d know love. But you proved him wrong with every smile, every whisper of praise, every tender touch upon his skin.

He knows how cliché it is to claim that settling down with someone never occurred to him before he met you, but it's the truth. In a life that was filled with hurt and contempt, you were the first to take a chance on him. Undeterred by his sometimes standoffish nature and cold attitude, you pressed onwards until he cracked, revealing the mush that you've managed to melt him into.

A future with you was worth everything he had endured up to that point. The plan was to graduate, find jobs and get hitched immediately. He wanted to put his last name on you, give you a part of himself that you would take wherever you went.

The first two steps were already completed with him getting a PhD and a professorship, that he quickly lost again, somewhere in the middle. Aside from a few mishaps and arguments about his attitude towards his patients at Arkham, all seemed right in paradise.

Often, the two of you would lie awake at night, talking about your future while you played with his fingers. "I'd like to get married in Spring," you said. And he just nodded, already imagining your bright smile when he'd put the ring on your finger. On those nights, the urge to become one often overtook him, and he rolled on top of you to devour you in a different way. In hindsight, he should've told you. Given you a chance to see the true extend of his rotten soul. You already knew so much about him, yet you still wanted a life with him. You often said how much you craved the mundane with him. Lazy Sunday mornings, standing in line to get groceries, gossiping about your neighbors in the quiet part in the outskirts Gotham City that you wanted to move to. He should've told you about the toxin he keeps stashed away in his office, no more than 15 feet behind the pillow you rested your pretty head on.

He didn't dare to think about what could've been. No, he made the right decision. Surely.

He still remembers your wide eyes. The way the color vanished from your complexion as you turned towards him with his mask in your hands. He remembers how wrong the burlap looked, crushed between your beautiful fingers. You asked him to explain, even though you were already tearing up just by looking at him. Jonathan was always convinced that he could read you like a book, but in that moment, he doubted himself. And he panicked. From one second to the next, he lunged at you, putting you into a headlock that constricted the blood flow to your brain, and you wheezed and wailed for him to stop, but he couldn’t. If he let go, you’d let yourself be ruled by secondary emotions. Emotions like betrayal and heartbreak that threatened to overshadow the deep, deep love you felt for him. It was an act of mercy for both of you. So, he held you until your struggling stopped, and your consciousness slipped away. It always takes longer in real life than in the movies. And he cried with you. God, did he cry, soaking your hair with his tears as he choked you into a blackout.  

You were out for ten minutes. Ten agonizing minutes which he used to prepare for what needed to be done. Your happiness was his happiness, so he had to do something to take your mind off of the situation. Or any situation for that matter. He has never done this before, but the thought of desperate measures during desperate times, didn’t give him the opportunity to hesitate. A local anesthetic and a muscle relaxant would suffice, he decided as he rushed to gather the equipment. By the time you came to, he was already straddling your torso, leaning over you with fresh tears in his eyes. As you began to silently panic, Jonathan was quick to try and shush you. Oh, how it hurt him more than it hurt you. The lobotomy set was a Christmas gift from you. A tongue-in-cheek nod to the history of the profession he chose. It was fate. It had to be.

The tip of the ice pick-like instrument felt cold against your eye socket, and he clenched his teeth at the shiver that ran down your spine. His hands were violently shaking already, and your involuntary movements didn’t make it any better.

“Shh… shh… don’t move, angel… It’ll… it’ll be so quick, I promise.”

Another sob wrecked through his body as he lifted the delicate metal hammer.

“You need to try and sing for me, okay? Or hum. Or anything. I need… I need to know when it’s deep enough. Just try, angel. Just try, okay?”

Jonathan’s voice was as shaky as the grip on the instruments. But by God, he had to do this. He had to keep you by his side. His other half, his future, his everything. The vessel of every passion and love he poured into you. You just stared up at him through watery eyes, unable to open your mouth anymore, so you settled for humming. It was a nonsensical melody, a mish-mash of several nursery rhymes without a title. The first strike of the hammer against the orbitoclast caused an incredible pressure to spread in your skull, and black spots settled in your vision as the tip of the instrument breached bone. The crack was nauseating, but you couldn’t even struggle. Jonathan’s breathing became heavy, and he wheezed out a sob that sounded like it came from a dying animal when he saw the blood that began to fill your eye. But he had to continue.

“Just like that. Just like that, angel.”

With trembling hands, he prepared himself for the second strike, but he underestimated the adrenaline that his blackened heart was pumping through his veins. Something went wrong, his sweaty hands slipped off the equipment, skewing the angle of the pick when he hit it. And he hit it hard. Immediately, your humming stopped and turned into stuttered noises. A bead of clear fluid dripped from your nose, rolling down over your lips. This wasn’t blood.

The crushing realization that he messed up caused Jonathan to freeze entirely. Cerebrospinal fluid was leaking out of your nose at a quick rate, sending him into a blind panic. He tried to pull the pick from your eye, causing even more damage to your precious brain. A brain that was meant to love, not hurt. But here you are, wasting away before his very eyes. You’re suffering beneath him like a bird that hit a window in a curious attempt to explore. And you did explore.

Back in his childhood, he once found an injured crow in the shade of the family house. The poor thing was twitching and bleeding, much like you are now. Jonathan remembered the crushing emotions that he felt when he looked at the animal. And he also remembered the feeling when his grandmother put it out of its misery by crushing the crow’s head under her shoe like it was nothing. Like it was nothing. You weren’t nothing, but you still deserved that brand of mercy.

He doesn’t remember how he did it. Whether he wrapped his hands around your throat or injected you with enough muscle relaxant to put you down. In fact, he doesn’t remember much of the first night of complete silence. When he emerged from the blur, his throat felt raw from sobbing, and his eyes were swollen and red. He had left the room that contained your body immediately, fearing that he’d catch fire from stepping into a place that had been consecrated by the death of an angel. Eventually, after he had bitten his lips bloody and used up every tear in his eyes, he dared to face you again. And God, were you still so beautiful. And as ashamed as he was for thinking this way, there was also a positive to this. A big one at that. You would always be his. No one else would ever get the privilege of seeing your eyes or hearing your voice again. You truly belonged to him in every way. And as he stepped over to kneel besides your body and take your hand in his, he actually smiled. It was just the two of you. Like you always planned.

It was a grueling process. To strip skin from flesh, and flesh from bone. But he was patient. Patient in the same way that you were with him. Patient in a tender, saccharine way that made his insides squirm as if he was infested by maggots. But the only parasite inside of him was love. That's how it works, right? You can never truly get rid of it.

Once the bones were clean, he had to step back for a while. The impending loneliness made him stumble into the bathroom to vomit into the toiled bowl. For a good 30 minutes, he sat there. Doubled over and white-knuckling the porcelain. There was no disgust involved. Just fear. God, he was terrified of being alone again. Terrified of truly losing the one thing he couldn't breathe without. And as he sat there, heaving like a dog, he found a solution.

He ate your heart first.

Every bite, every mashing of teeth against teeth was an act of love. He had to pause a few times, chuckling at himself for his choice. How cheesy it was to go for the heart first. But how could he not? Even Jonathan wasn't immune to symbolism. It wasn't about taste or texture. It was about the growing sensation of having his stomach filled. Of having his hunger satiated by forming an everlasting connection with you. You would never be wearing his wedding ring, but you'd be with him forever in a different way. You'd be his until the day that he died. And even then, he hoped, your spirits would be so entangled that there was no way of separating the two of you. Maybe you'll get reincarnated as one soul together.

Over the course of three weeks, he forced himself to consume as much of you as he possibly could, setting the table for two since you were there as well. It always started off tame. He tried to savor the feeling of becoming one, but at some point, his composure always cracked, and he ate your body like he was a starving animal trying to fill the never-ending pit inside of him. The part that hurt him more than anything, though, was crafting a story. In the process of keeping you to himself, he had to ruin your reputation.

It was easy for others to believe. Of course, you would leave Jonathan for someone else. Most people in your small circle secretly never believed that this relationship would last. It was easy to make them believe something they had already expected to happen at some point. In this crafted lie, you went off to live with someone else, far away from Gotham. But in reality, you were always here with him. Beneath his skin that now became your own.

Jonathan never thought he’d feel peace. But now, that he has finished digging this hole in Gotham Central Park, he thinks he’s gotten pretty close. It has started to rain a few minutes ago, but he’s not bothered. In his mind, it’s your doing. Your loving attempt to wash the sin and guilt from his body. Because you know the depths of his devotion, know the intend behind his actions. This isn’t the first hole he has dug since the two of you became one. But it’s the final one. Back when he was confronted with the reality of what to do with your bones, he decided to do what you would want. You always were the romantic in the relationship, so he decided to leave your remains in places that were significant to the both of you.

His hands aren’t shaking anymore, as he pulls the plastic bag that he brought closer to himself. The material shreds quickly as his fingers tear through it, and he pulls it open to reveal the last pieces of your previous body. A tender smile spreads over his face as he reaches into the bag to pull out the bones of your fingers and wrists, remembering how he tore off the flesh and skin with his teeth. Your loving touch would always be with him. Carefully, he lowers everything into the hole he dug before he turns to the final piece. Tears of relief well up in his eyes as he gazes upon the empty sockets of your lovely skull. With the caution and gentleness of a mother setting down her newborn, he places your skull into the earth, whispering promises of everlasting love under his breath. This isn’t the end. Far from it. Once he wipes his eyes with his sleeve, he notices something else. It takes a moment to dislodge one of your molars from your jawbone, but Jonathan eventually manages. The piece of ivory bone almost seems to glow in the dim light that’s being casted by a distant street lamp. It’s your tooth. You share his now, so there’s no need for it anymore. But it’s one last piece of your smile.

And in a final act of completion, he swallows it.

#jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x reader #the scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane #cillian murphy #.moth writes

[prythianpages]

'Cause Somewhere in the Crowd There's You | Lucien

summary: When Tamlin sends Lucien to the Night Court as his emisssary, he stumbles upon a nightclub and finds himself captivated by you. His sweet nightingale.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence (reader is trapped in a nightclub)

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: but also was inspired by Lana Del Rey's music and a hint of Oscar Wilde ♥️ This takes place roughly before Amarantha's rule. If I'm going to be honest, I find Lucien hard a bit hard to write for (but this song really gave me lucien vibes) so I hope this doesn't come off a bit out of character for him. also why is it so hard to find pics that match Lucien's vibe on pinterest.

Trapped in the ceaseless rhythm of melancholic blues, you can’t help but feel sick and tired of everything. Days blur into nights. All you do is eat and sleep and sing. The weight of routine presses down on you, suffocating the spark that once fueled your passion. 

You wish every show to be your last.

That is, until you see him.

He emerges from the crowd like a radiant sun breaking through the darkest night. His presence is tall and striking with skin kissed by the sun and a cascade of red hair. Despite the length of scars that run down the left side of his face, there is an undeniable elegance and beauty that surrounds him. His eye holds you captive, drawing you in like a moth to a flame and your voice falters for a brief note. 

**

Lucien knows he should leave. Hewn city is not a welcoming one and his meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court did not go well. But against the warning bells ringing in his head, he decides to linger and wander around the dark city. With no clear destination in mind, his feet guide him through the labyrinthine alleys until, almost as if compelled by an unseen force, he stands before the entrance of a mysterious nightclub. Bathed in an eerie red light, the sign above reads The Rose. 

As he approaches, the entrance, despite being small, appears almost ethereal. Shadows dance upon the towering stone walls. The air is thick with an alluring blend of magic, pleasure and something darker. Inside is just as mysterious and intoxicating. He should leave and he turns around to do so when he a mesmerizing sound stops him and holds him in place.

“In the land of gods and monsters.” 

A beautiful and heavenly voice. It beckons him forward like a siren’s call and he allows the fae lights embedded in the cavern to guide him further. The corners of the nightclub harbor hidden alcoves, draped in luxurious silks and velvet.  

“I was an angel living in the garden of evil.”

Some high fae engage in secretive exchanges and gambles. Some are lost in the enigmatic allure of drinks and colorful powders that shimmer with enchantments. Some are engrossed in the pretty fae females and males on their laps. Others, like him, are captured by the hauntingly beautiful song.

“You got that medicine I need. Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.”

Where ancient stone meets polished wood, Lucien finds himself at the bar and orders a drink. He turns to face the stage in the center of the club, leaning against the bar. His mechanical eye emits a soft whir as his gaze travels to the owner of the voice. 

“Put your hands on my waist, do it softly.”

A silent awe washes over him as he takes in the sheer beauty before him. Dressed in a white gown that drapes over you like moonlit silk, you stand on the stage like an angel amidst the monsters that lurk in every corner of the place. The fabric mirrors your every movement as you sway to the rhythm of the song in small billowing waves.

“Me and the Mother, we don’t get along. So now I sing.”

It’s as if you sense his gaze on you because your siren eyes are searching the crowd. Mirroring the depths of a fathomless ocean, your eyes are pools of sadness and longing, yet there's a vulnerability that softens in them as they lock with his. Your voice slightly falters and for a heartbeat, time seems to stretch.

A tremor courses through you, fingers tightening their grip onto the microphone. Your eyes darken again and then you’re tearing your gaze away from Lucien. He follows it, curious eyes landing on a male who stands on the balcony facing the stage. Even from where Lucien stands, he can tell the male radiates power and money.

“No one’s gonna take my soul away.”

“They call her the Nightingale.” The bartender says to Lucien as he hands him his drink. Lucien’s gaze returns to you. “She’s off limits. I suggest finding another female to warm you for the night. There’s plenty to choose from here.”

Lucien says nothing in return. Those hadn’t been his intentions upon seeing you. He simply found himself struck by your presence. And as the enchanting notes of your song continue to soar, there’s a rising desire to learn more about you. The thought of extending his stay begins to take root, a subtle whisper tempting him to linger a while longer. He’ll write to Tamlin to reassure him and continue to negotiate with Rhysand further.

**

The gamble Lucien took to stay in Hewn city is a winning one with each passing night yielding more promising signs of Rhysand's willingness to compromise. It brings him relief as it gives him an excuse to visit the nightclub again. He returns the next night and then the following, noticing something new about you every time. 

On the second night, he realizes the male you had glared at the first night he saw you was the owner of the nightclub. Lucien learns that he was right in his first impression of him. Benedict is a wealthy man, both in money and in connections, and is not subtle about the power he holds over this part of the city. Everyone in the nightclub bows down to him but not you. There’s a look of defiance in your eyes every time you look Benedict’s way.

On the third night, your usually hauntingly melancholic voice takes on a different, lighter tone. It’s still just as beautiful but now, harbors a sense of hope. And your eyes find Lucien’s with ease. You don’t break eye contact with him throughout the entirety of your performance that night, as though your song is a serenade meant solely for him.

It’s on the fourth night that he finally gets to talk to you. 

Breaking from your routine of disappearing behind the stage curtains after performances, tonight, you grace the bar with your presence, drawing stares from some of the high fae. His grip tightens on his glass when he recognizes a dark hunger in most of them but even so, none dare to approach you.

“What will it be, lovely?” Lucien hears the bartender address you.

Taking the empty spot beside Lucien, your presence and proximity captivate him. His heartbeat falters momentarily as you graciously flip your hair, surrounding him with the divine scent of the sweetest rose.

“Just a water,” you reply and he hears the rustle of your dress as you turn to face him. “You’re not from here.”

Lucien’s lips twitch upwards. “What gave it away?”

“You’re not a monster.”

He finally turns to look at you, a strange warmth spreading through him. Ever since he lost his eye, he had battled with the scars tainting his skin, internalizing a sense of monstrousity. Yet, as you regard him, it feels as though you see an angel where he sees only imperfections.

His eye drinks you in, the mechanical one on the left whirring along. The corner of his lips lift up into a smirk when he catches you doing the same. 

“How do you know I’m not a monster?”

“There’s something different about you. Something good,” your eyes study him carefully and then, with a soft sigh, you add, “It’d do you well not to dwell in places like this. They’ll only dim your light.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Lucien asks, "And what about you?"

Your eyes widen, as though the question catches you off guard. "What about me?"

Despite the myriad thoughts swirling within him, he restrains himself and settles for, "You, too, don't seem to fit into this place.”

You fall into a thoughtful silence and your brow slightly furrows. Lucien keenly observes the subtle shift in your gaze as you scan the room before settling back on him. Leaning in as though sharing a secret, he instinctively leans closer. However, as he anticipates your words, you’re turning your back to him. Just as he's poised to speak, you sweep your hair aside, rendering him speechless as you show him instead. 

A delicate tattoo is etched onto the skin between your shoulders—a bird confined within a cage.

“I can’t leave,” he hears your murmur and the ink on your skin appears to shimmer like stars in confirmation. A bargain permanently marked upon flesh. Your flesh and he swallows thickly at what your words imply. 

You’re that bird, the nightingale, trapped in the cage.

“I have to go,” you say suddenly and your hair falls back into place, cascading down your back and concealing the telling tattoo. “Will you come by tomorrow?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t dwell in places like this.”

“You shouldn’t,” you reply with a wistful smile and Lucien hates the way you drop your gaze.

“But I think I will.”

His words prompt your head to lift, eyes meeting his in surprise. A rush of excitement flushes your skin, transforming the wistful smile into one that is lighter, more promising. A fluttering sensation stirs in Lucien's stomach, and he can't help but return your smile.

A couple more days in Hewn City wouldn’t hurt.

**

Ten days ago, you were stuck in an endless loop of exhaustion and despair, where every night weighed heavily upon you. However, a welcome shift has occurred since then. Sleeping, eating and singing still consume most of your days but a newfound presence has entered the scene. Lucien.

And as the curtains are drawn back, revealing your presence to the awaiting audience, you embrace yourself for the blinding super trouper beams. Unlike nights past where a tinge of melancholy enveloped you, tonight is different. 

You won’t feel blue, like you always do, because somewhere in the crowd there’s him.

Lucien’s presence is like a burst of brilliance, akin to the beaming lights that find you on the stage every night. When your eyes find his amongst the crowd, your pulse quickens and heat rushes to your cheeks. It’s like the sight of him proves to you that you're still alive. 

In his wake, the shadows that linger in the club cower and hide away. He shines like the sun and you find his brightness infectious. It chases away the gloom that had settled over your own light, reigniting the flames of enthusiasm that had long dimmed within you.

Each note you sang resonated with newfound energy, and every performance became an opportunity to embrace the warmth and vitality he brought into your world. As the final notes of your song hang in the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of destiny. You were meant to meet Lucien.

After your performance, you sneak your way back to the bar where he waits for you.

“You came again,” you smile at him.

Lucien smiles back at you but it falters. “I’m afraid it’ll be the last time…for a while.”

The smile doesn’t waver off your face yet the glistening in your eyes reveals the threat of an emotional storm beginning to unfold. You refuse to dwell in it, not wanting to let the darkness that lingers over you like a gloomy cloud to consume you again.

“Okay,” you manage to breathe. You knew this day was coming. Lucien had to return back home, and you, regrettably, can’t go with him. “Let’s make the most of tonight, then. Dance with me?”

“Are you sure?” Lucien asks and you follow his gaze to where Benedict stands, a top of the balcony as always. You feel a rush of relief when you see a pretty female wrapped around him. A distraction. Perfect.

Lucien watches you, taking in every shift in your expression as he awaits for your answer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to dance with you. Gods, does he want to dance with you. Anything to be able to hold you close. To take you into his arms and hold you tight. 

Unfortunately, he’s well aware of the tight leash Benedict keeps you on. He doesn’t let you stray far from his sight. You’re not allowed anywhere near the private nooks lining the club or the rooms at the back where private exchanges occur. It’s for your own safety and Lucien can’t be mad at that. What unsettles him is the way Benedict regards you as his most prized object and Lucien doesn’t want you to face consequences over a dance.

“Yes,” you finally answer. 

There’s a strong certainty in your voice but also a subtle plea that tugs at his heartstrings. It brings forth a tightening in his chest. He suppresses the urge to frown. He plans to return to you but for now, it’s your last night together before he has to leave the Night Court. 

Lucien graces you with a smile instead. He offers his hand to you, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that mirrors the blood coursing through his veins. A delightful shiver travels up his spine as your hand wraps around his. Until now, you’d only share glances, lingering stares and the occasional brushing of skin. 

As the piano begins its enchanting melody, Lucien takes the lead, guiding you onto the dance floor. You’re so close you can feel the warmth of his body and all you want to do is melt into it. Melt into him. But you can’t.

So you bask in the warmth of his gaze instead. Up close, you can now appreciate the depth of his russet eye and you can’t help but marvel at the intricacies of the golden mechanical eye on the left. His gaze never strays from yours throughout the dance and the tender connection between you begins to rise under the brilliance of his gaze, pulling your heart with it.

As he holds you tight, you surrender to the intimate embrace, shedding all inhibitions. Neither of you speak, your eyes speaking for you. It feels as though the world has faded away, leaving just the two of you swaying in harmony. Smiling, having fun, where each step becomes a silent declaration of the unspoken feelings that have blossomed between you.

The passage of time remains elusive as you share the dance, the minutes slipping away unnoticed until the pianist gracefully bows to the audience. Your dance comes to a dreadful stop. Lucien's grasp on you tightens, a reluctant acknowledgment of the inevitable separation.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his promise carrying a tenderness that ignites a fervent flame within you. “I’ll find a way to help set you free, my sweet nightingale.”

He then pulls a pristine white rose, the same exact shade of white as the dress you wore when he first saw you, from the folds of his coat. He graces you with one last smile as he leans in, placing the rose carefully behind your ear. “Until then,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple and your eyes flutter shut.

“Until then,” you breathe and as Lucien walks away and the shadows inevitably return, you take delight in the way the darkness hesitates to claim you, leaving you untouched.

You can’t even bring yourself to care when Benedict corners you backstage, seething with anger. Of course, he noticed. You don’t even flinch when he throws his glass of whiskey toward the wall behind you, the shattered glass ricocheting. Some of them make their way to you, slicing your skin.

As you settle into the comfort of your small room, you retrieve the white rose from its perch behind your ear, cradling it delicately in your hand. A single drop of blood from one of your healing cuts taints the rose, painting one of the white petals red. Still, you cling onto the slender stem, gripping it as tightly as you grasp onto that fervent flame of hope burning within you. Your light will never dim again…

Because somewhere in Prythian, there’s him.

a/n: I'll admit this took an angstier turn than what I had intended but I hope you still enjoy this darker interpretation of ABBA's Super Trouper lol.

tagging: @scooobies

#lucien x reader #lucien x yn #lucien x you #acotar fanfiction #lucien fanfiction #lucien vanserra x you #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra fanfiction #lucien imagine #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n

[moronkombat]

Idk if you’ve done this before but can you do nsfw alphabet for Kenshi?🙏

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very affectionate, tender and caring with his partner after sex. Toned arms will wrap around you, holding you close while he kisses the top of your head. Once he has a comforting hold over you, do not expect to be getting up any time soon. Kenshi's aftercare is a very cuddly experience

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kenshi favorite part of himself are his hand. Fingers are slender and long. Ink patterns cover the entirety of it making it feel leathery but smooth. Though the tattoos were gained during his time with the Yakuza, he still marvels at just how delicate his hands look. They do not look like the hands of a killer or someone seeking vengeance. His hands are that of a pianist or someone who plays the violin. Perhaps in another lifetime he would be such an artist

With his sight lost to him, he mourns the entire visage of you. He uses his hands to feel you and etch out your features. His favorite place to trace is your face. The curve of you nose, the dip of your cheek, he loves being able to trace them over your skin

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Has no strong preference in terms of where he finishes. If he's looking for a mess then he'll cum on your stomach or ass. If he's wanting to be more romantic then he'll cum inside you

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kenshi's dirty secret is he almost wishes you'd tie him up or bind him to the bed. Typically you're the one tied up but he's always been curious how to feels but has not yet brought that up to you. He wants you to play with him, tease and taunt him so that he can break free of those bindings and punish you

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Kenshi had experience under his belt and knows what he is doing. He's had relationships in the past, both casual and long term so he knows his way around the bedroom. If he had a partner who wasn't experienced he would guide them

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

There many different positions Kenshi is partial too but he has two favorites. When you ride him and taking you from behind. Your hips grind and swirl against him and he groans. The sense of touch so heightened that he feels this ecstasy within his bones. Moaning whispers travel straight through his ears and to Kenshi your breathless wisp a booming thunder

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It can be a mix during sex. He can be very serious and concentrated. However, he also likes seeing your face twist and squirm when he plays a bit too much. Your reactions make him want to play with you more and more

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Kenshi is groomed but not shaven. He prefers it neat and tidy and will frequently trim it to keep it at an acceptable. Also has a bit of chest hair that he forgets to shave at times

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy and romance are one in the same for Kenshi. He expresses his love for you not only verbally but with his action. Really enjoys taking you out to eat somewhere nice and bringing you to impressive sights even if he cannot experience them to the fullest. Spending time with you is very important

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does but it's not as enjoyable as having sex with you. Therefore, he does it rarely, maybe every other week or so. Will typically masturbate to thoughts and pictures of his partner when he is away from them

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bondage and Restraints- Kenshi enjoys bondage because he loves your reactions . You make such pitiful whining noises when his hands roam you but you unable to touch him. You shutter under him as his tongue travels down your naval and you begin to writhe so beautifully. You are so exposed to him and he will consume all of you

Biting and Scratching- This is something he likes both ways. He likes when you dig your nails into his back. It truly makes him feel alive. At the same time he also loves leaving little love bites as small reminders of your bedroom tango

Discipline and Punishment- Just the idea of this is pure sex to Kenshi. He likes when you're naughty and misbehave so he can punish you. He's never too intense with it and doesn't leave bruises. His punishment is more teasing you for awhile, leaving you wanting him to touch you more but denying you this

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Prefers the bedroom because it feels much more private. He'll also light candles or dim the lights to create a more sensual feel

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He is turned on by your body and your words of affection. Simon is motivated by your words and affection. He also quite likes when you misbehave. He acts annoyed by it but he loves it. He loves when you're a bit mischievous with him so that way he can make it up to you later

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

While he enjoys your teasing, he does not like when it is constant or when his partner is unaffectionate. He likes a partner who can be lighthearted and funny but also caring and sensitive to his softer side

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Kenshi rather likes receiving oral over giving it. Not to say he won't, he will. But there is just something so devious with her head between his legs, mouth so stuffed full that Kenshi simply cannot go without

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He knows how to be slowly sensual and rough as an animal. The choice is heavily what his partner is seeking. His preference is a mix between the two. Something that can be ruthless one moment and then tender the next. Best of both worlds according to him

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Kenshi is a fan of quickies. He sees it as an exciting addition to sex and a way of letting off steam quickly. He doesn't engage in them frequently but will do so spontaneously to spice things up

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Definitely willing to experiment because he likes when it's fresh and exciting. Won't do anything that will cause himself or his partner too much pain and discomfort as that is something he is not interested in

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Typically can go for about 2-3 rounds. He doesn't necessarily become exhausted but prefers to engage in some tender aftercare with his partner instead of continuing to go multiple rounds

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has them and will use them on his partner if he finds himself in the mood for it. He'll typically have a few on standby and prepared for his partner

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Incredibly unfair and teasing. He will take his time tormenting you and sending so close to the edge of oblivion. He will let you finish eventually but not after having his fill of you

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

All of his senses much more reactive so what may seem so simple to someone else, can be earth shattering to Kenshi. This often leads him being very vocal in bed. He will try to keep them at bay but his partner feels too excellent around him. He'll moan and whimper, often right into your ear as he pulls you close to him. Kenshi, when in the right moment, finds dirty talk rather appealing. There's just something about taking you from behind that makes his mind twist. He'll call you names, vile and wretched names that have your gut coiling and flexing within itself

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Something he would like to try in the bedroom is some role play. Nothing too intense but something light and fun to change things up a bit

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Kenshi is a grower and has more length then he does width. Exceptionally sensitive when touched and caressed, especially the underside

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Above average sex drive. Nothing too demanding but enjoys the company of his partner multiple times throughout the week

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

While he isn't tired, he does enjoy cuddling with his partner after sex and falling asleep with them. He holds his partner tight and tells them sweet words before falling asleep

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat fanworks #mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut #kenshi takahashi #kenshi x reader

[esmiara]

As promised, let me introduce you my two beloved BSD OCs:

Who are they?

Basically, Lewis and Antoine are two friends traveling around the world to discover exciting places while avoiding various government forces (more on that later). Though not related to the main story of BSD, they do know about organisations like Port Mafia and the Agency, mainly from what they heard in the streets and read in the newspapers since they arrived in Yokohama. However, they do prefer to not get anyone involved in their issues, nor do they really want to get involved in anyone else’s.

Lewis Carroll

Based on the author of Alice in Wonderland, Lewis was a man in his thirties with a fancy mind. As a child, he once had a wild imagination feeding his ability Wonderland (again, more on that later) but due to social and family pressure, he got forced upon a path of logic and perfection, now making it hard for him to think outside the box. Thus crushing his past self involuntarily and putting chains on his own mind in order to protect himself from outside complaints. As an adult, he became a plain math teacher for children, with a quite boring life. That is, until he met one certain child in London.

Their meeting

“Draw me a sheep.” said the unknown child out of the blue.

Lewis was stunned. He didn’t knew what to respond at first to this child, which he thought was one of his students. But when he put more thought on it, he didn’t looked like any child he had at the time. Who might have been this strange blond kid with unkept clothes? He decided to learn more about him, worried he may have lost his parents somewhere. However, as they talked, he quickly understood he didn’t had any. He simply didn’t knew about any “parents”. Actually, he didn’t knew much about the world itself either.

“Draw me a sheep!” repeated the child after a while of interrogative discussion about who he was, where he came from etc....

Lewis gently asked why such a demand, as he didn’t want to offend this possible lost orphan.

The boy fell silent. Then spoke again, a sad emptiness darkening his young blue eyes.

“I want a warm friend to bring with me” he simply responded.

Their exchange may have been succinct up to this point, but it was clear to Lewis that he was no normal child. As the boy seemingly didn’t have a name, Lewis gave him the name of one of his most beloved book’s author. The character of that one book simply reminded him of the boy.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

More based on the Little Prince’s main character than the actual author, Antoine was an enigmatic individual with the physical appearance of a young boy. Nobody knows of his real age, not even himself. However, most may have theorized that he at least was around for at least a few decades, if not centuries perhaps. One day found and caught by the french government in his - supposedly - hometown, he had no memories of his time before then, except for some vague fragments. He mostly remembered about this laboratory he was brought in, with a lonely room where he would occasionnally meet strangers dressed in white. Despite the many uncertainties surrounding him, Antoine was still of great interest for scientists. He didn't seemed to physically age at all. Could he hold the secret of cells regeneration or even immortality? They soon found out he did age but at a very slow pace, thus looking unchanged for many years.

Curious about this plausible new ability, they decided to make him meet a young girl, who would share his room from now on. This one girl was quite arrogant at first. Antoine didn't really like her attitude but she was the only other person he could befriend. So they did. They soon became friends. Then they learned more about the truth, may it be this girl's past, snatched from her orphanage to become a lab rat as well, or the whole reason why she was here with him in the first place.

It was all because of the young girl's ability. One that would let her copy another one and make it her own. They apparently wished to make a copy of test subject B612′s power in order to "save it” somewhere and be able to experiment on it without having to risk the boy’s life. But things didn't turned out like they wanted as the girl began to crumble under some unknown sickness. Her body couldn't handle Antoine's ability, so it seemed, and she quickly became unable to move. So she made a promise with Antoine:

“Be my eyes and explore the outer world, okay dumby?” she said, with little breath she had left.

A promise reminiscent of the one where they would explore and see the world together. One where he would do so if she couldn't follow, to make her dream come true even when she became a star.

Their abilities

Little prince

No one really knows the details about Antoine's ability. Everything we know for sure is that his body has a very long lifetime, yet not immortal. He is destined to die of aging one day and is still weak to any wound like anyone else. However, we did notice Antoine's body starts to produce a faint glow whenever he gets sick or when his life is in danger in general. Not that it really helps at all though.

Wonderland

Lewis' ability is a bit complex and confusing, much like Alice in Wonderland's whole world.

In theory, Wonderland is quite simple: it allows its bearer to create anything he thinks to be a nonsense, something that is normally impossible. It could be seen as an area surrounding the user, in which he can create anything he wants, as long as it meets the proper requirements (being a "nonsense").

However, as the whole definition of "nonsense" depends on the user's mind, one could have a hard time creating anything. As such, what could be a nonsense to someone isn't necessarily one for Lewis. He is still quite a peculiar man after all.

A strange man, but with many restrictions on his mind and imagination. As he was forced to think with logic for the most part of his life now, he can't stop asking himself about the specifics of one’s question. Where a visible nonsense would occur, Lewis' mind would subconsciously ponder over what could make it truly real or impossible. If he can't get proper answers to those questions, then it can't happen either.

The beginning of their adventures

As they became much closer as people who somehow understood each other, Lewis began to be more friendly with the child, rather than looking like a mere adult talking to a little one. He saw himself in his struggles. He saw a young mind, much like his own a long time ago, slowly getting crushed by adult's expectations and limiting his own thoughts. He couldn't let the same thing happen twice when they still had a choice. So he encouraged him to get creative and let free of his imagination, with no worries about exterior opinions.

One day however, they suddenly got caught off guard by militaries sent by the french government as well as some members of the Order of the Clocktower, there to retrieve the unknown child for their own purpose instead. It was at that time that Lewis was finally able to make use of his ability once more after so many years. Inspired by Antoine’s naturally spoken nonsense, he unleashed Wonderland in order to escape. This also put a permanent stop to Lewis’ normal way of life, as he now was as searched for as Antoine was. It was time for a involuntary trip around the world, it seemed. But this time, Antoine wasn’t alone anymore.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd oc #bsd #bsd ocs #esmi ocs #bsd art #idk which tags to put at this point #long post #some angst #oc

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

"Time & the Trickster"   A Loki/Doctor Who crossover

by ijuststareatstuffhereok89

Prologue: The Stone

The Loom is breaking. The Timelines are in chaos at the TVA. Just as Loki realizes he may have to sacrifice himself, O.B. offers one last Hail Mary that may spare his rueful fate...until it shoots him across time and space instead, to the most Norn-forsaken place imaginable: Syracuse, New York.

CHAPTER WARNING: violence toward our poor Loki

MASTERLIST

Time Variance Authority Outside of Time and Space No Time and Every Time, AM and PM

It was as if Loki was gazing at a gallows, just waiting for him on the other side of the door. A gallows just for him. 

An abstract gallows, to be sure, one snarled and twisted by the fraying timelines. The Loom wasn’t going to hold them much longer. Victor Timely’s tens of repeated failures had yielded no progress. Loki had just finished spending centuries’ worth of time jumps learning everything he could about time, physics, and metaphysics. It all came to nothing but false hope. 

Zapping his way back to Point A one last time, he knew what was needed. Only a God could survive in the temporal void long enough to reach the branches and save them. That left one of two people in the room with the ability. 

Loki knew now that Sylvie would never see reason. The parts of ‘a Loki’ that were driven by self-preservation were too strong in her. Perhaps one day, after centuries behind that fast food counter, she’d have a moment of clarity. But reality couldn’t wait for that to happen. Even in the repeated attempts to calm her bloodlust in the Citadel there had been in no change in her resolve. Sylvie was lost, but pity would come later, after Loki took the glorious burden upon himself to save the universe. 

I can keep the timelines stable as long as I keep my hands on them…at all times. For all time. 

It was the single worst case of irony that reality had ever known, or at least that Loki in his thousands of years of travels had never known: that only now he would be getting a throne. The Throne of Time awaited him, only instead of eternal glory, it would bring him eternal imprisonment, forced to watch the eons pass by as if each were a vignette on a stage. He would have to watch Mobius die, as well as Sylvie and OB and everyone. Even Thor, for no creature was truly immortal. He would have to stand by as all of consciousness fell back into the void of death and rebirth at the end of it all. 

And indeed, at the End of Time, where would he be? 

After one final look around the room, everyone looking back at him with expectant apprehension, Loki took in one deep breath and began his march to the Loom. He felt a solid hand on his shoulder, and didn’t need to turn to know it was Mobius. 

“What the SHIT are you doing?” he whispered frantically. 

Looking into his worried eyes, Loki felt a stabbing pain in his chest. If only we’d met somewhere else, you brilliant man, I would’ve shown you the world. 

"I know what kind of God I need to be. For you. For all of us,” he said, his voice faltering in spite of his wish that he sounded more sure. 

“Wait!! I have one more idea! Look!” 

Loki looked back beyond Mobius and Sylvie. OB was running back from somewhere he’d slipped away to. No one had even noticed that he’d left the room. He carried two small pebbles in his hand that to the unknowing witness would look like two small pieces of emerald, or perhaps tinted glass. 

He was closer to Sylvie, so he pulled out her hand first, placing one of the dead Time Stones in it. It began to glow softly, a dull gray-ish green. The light was pulsing weakly, but it was clear that something in her skin was activating the time magic within the stone. 

“Loki! Catch!” OB said quickly, tossing the stone at Loki, whose godlike reflexes caught the dangerous relic with ease. It also glowed green upon touch, only a much brighter, indisputable forest green. 

“How is that possible?” asked Mobius. “How did we never think of that?”

The God of Tricks turned the stone over in his palm, as if doing so would give him some kind of clue. “Well, it’s quite lovely, OB, but I don’t understand--”

“Time Stones thrive off of the energy of the timelines and work by being linked to every single one, enabling the one who uses it to hop from time to time! Maybe if you throw one of those at the timelines while it’s active, it’ll act like a pill and regulate the streams again!” OB suggested enthusiastically. “But only if it’s active, and it looks like the only place they work in the TVA is…well, in the hands of a Loki variant.”

“Are you suggesting we give aspirin to the Temporal Loom?” Sylvie scoffed, the weakened stone in her hand blinking with every other syllable. 

“You sure that’ll work?” asked Mobius with skepticism. 

OB shook his head, “Oh no. It’s a long shot. Odds in the trillions, and that’s just a guess,” he admitted bluntly. He looked at Loki and twisted his lip into a hopeful smile. “But it’s worth a try, right?”

Loki looked down at the brilliant stone he held. Something within the stone felt like it was attuning itself to him. Small threads of green light were radiating from the stone and digging into his skin, illuminating it from underneath, as if his very veins were filling with the power of the Time Stone. 

Looking up one more time, Loki shrugged. “Indeed,” he said under his breath. “Well, here I go.”

“Loki!” Mobius shouted one more time. “Let her do it,” he said, pointing back at Sylvie. “She’s the one who caused all of this.”

“I don't know, her stone doesn’t look as strong as yours,” said OB, now at Sylvie’s side and watching the pathetic pebble in her hand barely flicker in tandem with her breath. “If we have one chance to do this, I think it has to be you, Loki.” 

The more Loki stared down his permanent imprisonment within the twisted vines of time, the more he realized that he’d been fooled the entire time…and by none other than himself! He’d assumed that every variant of himself would have every capacity to grow that he had. Perhaps Sylvie did, and Loki was only looking at a portrait of who he had been as a rash, physically-driven youth.

 It didn’t matter anyhow. If this worked, Sylvie would be going back to the counter at McDonald’s. If it didn’t, Sylvie’s mind would always be at that silly little place, unable to see the world past the end of her own nose no matter how many people suffered for her choices. 

“I’m sorry, Mobius, but I think we both know it must be my action,” Loki said softly, gently taking Mobius’ hand in his own. “Have an extra slice of pie for me.”

“Go throw it,” OB suggested. “Quickly! We’re out of time!”

Victor stood clueless behind everyone else. “This has been a remarkable day” he mumbled. 

Finally going beyond the door and into the temporal space, Loki felt the stone begin to burn in his hand, the sensation not only pressed against his flesh, but in his bloodstream. 

One last breath, and Loki reared back, pitching the Time Stone toward the Loom. 

As if the air were too thick, the stone’s speed was almost too slow to make sense, slowly floating toward the fraying, entangled timelines in an arc. It fell in a spiral toward the Loom, increasing speed as if it were being sucked directly into the messes of fibers. 

The God’s breaths slowed to a standstill, his veins still on fire with green energy from the stone. Loki suddenly felt as if he’d turned into a marionette as hundreds of points on his body were suddenly yanked, throwing him off of his feet and into the air behind the stone, flying at incredible speed toward the epicenter of energy.

As if the Time Stone was pulling him by invisible chains, Loki was dragged along until he reached the Loom, after which a strong updraft knocked him unconscious, the last thing to grace his open eye being Mobius’ frightened stare. 

Around his lifeless, floating form, the green clouds, rogue lightning, and whipping winds began to form a time vortex, shooting the helpless god through each and every reality, one by one…

Syracuse, New York, USA June 9 7:19pm EST

“Get off my shit!” 

Loki awoke with a start, his head roaring, his skin tingling, and his vision blurred. Hungover from the unexpected trip, he felt weakened and confused. The skinny man yelling in his face wasn’t helping him regain his bearings. 

He was splayed rather unflatteringly among a pile of garbage bags filled with clothes and cans. Frommhis view, he could begin to see that he was in some sort of alleyway surrounded on three sides by brick. The sky above was dim and overcast. 

“Oh, Norns, what is…?”

“I said, GET OFF MY--

“--my shit, yes, that much we’ve established…”

The angry skinny man was impatient to the point where he started shoving Loki to his feet, urging him away. “Find your own awning!” he called after him as he finally managed to throw Loki into the street. “And some clothes, too!” 

Loki looked down, realizing for the first time that he was stark naked. His clothes had been torn from his body in transit across the realities. Well, at least it wasn’t my skin. 

The street was full of potholes, the environment claustrophobic as it could be for being outdoors. The air smelled of sewage and tar. A sign hanging on the corner building nearby read S. Salina St.

Looking down into his palm, the stone remained aglow in his grip. 

Now, where in the Norns am I? Loki asked himself, keeping to a nearby shadow in hopes no one was nearby to see his nudity. 

It felt like dusk was at hand, though the thick greasy cloud cover did little to explain the actual position of the sun. The air was warm, humid, and unpleasant. Rain was inbound, as evidenced by a building darkness rolling in from the western horizon. 

“Damn,” Loki whispered. “I…”

He took off down the street and around the corner onto S. Salina, scurrying in such a manner that a mouse could beat him in a footrace. He used his godlike ability to absorb detail in order to learn as much as he could about this place. 

Wait a moment…I can control my time jumping! 

How simple! Loki rolled his eyes and chuckled. He sucked in his breath and clenched, just as he’d taught himself to do in order to control his phasing. 

Seconds went by. Perhaps a minute. Nothing happened when the reaction should have instantly drawn him back to the TVA. 

“Hey Di, look at the naked guy shitting himself across the street!” 

Two women were sitting on a porch across the way, a small white dog at their feet, staring directly at Loki as he squinted and attempted to force himself through space. He was suddenly the most self-conscious he’d ever been in his entire life. 

“Hey Mister, what’re you doing with no clothes?” shrieked the other. “How much’ve you had?”

“Yeah, he’s drunk,” agreed the first lady, trying hard to hold in a laugh.

“It’s gone! My time phasing!” Loki whispered aloud. He snapped his fingers, attempting to bring some cover to his body with seidr, only for the stone in his hand to dim its glow. “Magic…none of it works here.” 

The two gleeful ladies continued to mock Loki from across the street. “I’ll give him this, he’s hot.” 

Di raised an eyebrow. “Kinda looks like that guy from the movies, doesn’t he? Loki! He looks like Loki!”

“Holy shit, you’re right! He’s dead on for Loki!” 

“Of COURSE I look like Loki, blast you!” he swore, beginning to move towards them, not bothering to check and see if any vehicles were bearing down on him. “Because I--” 

“--dude, don't come any closer! Just because I don’t like the cops doesn’t mean I won’t call ‘em if you’re gonna…” the larger of the two women got up to reach for a cell phone perched on the railing. 

“What? No, ladies, I just need to know where I am and how to get to--”

“--dude, get out of here, and stop by the Salvation Army or something on the way because no one wants to see that!”

“Speak for yourself, Di.” 

“Where am I?” Loki asked, slower this time. 

“Yeah, he's drunk,” mumbled Di. “Dude, you’re on the south side! Near the park!”

“Did you say that I need to find an army?” Loki asked, backtrack, unsure about which way was up. 

“Mister,” continued Di, “head that way and you’ll be downtown in ten minutes. Someone’ll either help you or arrest you up there.” She pointed further up the road, which led to a bright district of flashing neon and nightlife about to get underway with the sunset. “Ain’t nothin’ down here for you except fentanyl.” 

The larger of the women quickly ran inside and came back a few seconds later with a small fleece blanket in a nasty shade of hot pink. “My daughter doesn’t use this anymore. Use it to cover your junk. I don’t want it back.” 

She threw it down to Loki, who gratefully wrapped it about his waist, tying it off at the hipbone. It hardly qualified for more than a belt, only covering him from below his navel to a few precious inches below his…other time stones. 

“Thank you, madam,” he mumbled. Without further awkward conversation, he left the two women to their excited giggles and whistles and headed in the direction he’d been given. 

He didn’t even have any shoes, as was quickly made evident by the painful tar gravel that burrowed between his toes and under the balls of his feet as he paced himself, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone as he fled from shadow to shadow, hoping to remain unseen despite at least being minimally covered now. 

“Hey buddy, nice skirt!” 

“The gay bar is on the west side!” 

Loki was still exposed to catcalls and insults nearly the entire way up the trashy, unwelcoming city. Even as he approached a larger, brightly-lit square accompanied by live music from several different outdoor patios, he could feel the eyes bearing down on him. 

This place is deplorable, Loki thought. No magic, no help…

“Ew, guy! At least put on a skirt that covers your crack all the way!” a woman called from behind him. 

“Hey, there are kids here, man!” a huge man with a shaved head stepped into Loki’s path, causing him to stop short. The man had about three inches on Loki, and even though his Asgardian density made him about the same weight as the sizable human before him, Loki wasn;t sure he wanted to risk an altercation in his present state. He smelled of beer. “Put your dick away, alright?”

“Let me pass,” Loki mumbled. “Please. I’m on my way to the army.” He tried to throw up a defensive arm, which the man caught with ease. 

The skinhead laughed. “Jesus, what I have to deal with…” 

Without warning, the asshole laid out a direct punch to Loki’s temple, sending him to the sidewalk. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. 

Regents Park, London, England June 10 12:19am GMT

“Oooh, talk to me! What did they do to you?!”

The Doctor, frustrated, removed the magnifying goggles from his face and squinted as he looked up into the undercarriage of the TARDIS console, trying desperately to find out what had stranded him here and how to fix it. 

Having barely made it out of yet another fray with the Cybermen, The Doctor’s beloved TARDIS had been hit, or perhaps bombed from within somehow (who could tell?). Barely landing safety in a place the TARDIS recognized as a ‘favorite’ location (London, England, early 21st century), The Doctor quickly learned that whatever had attacked him had destroyed what held the Time Vortex in place within the TARDIS’ core. 

The Doctor’s ship was nothing more than a wooden box, sitting in a public park on Earth in 2023. Nothing, not the screwdriver, not The Doctor’s own ingenuity, was yielding any hope. 

“Maybe Jack could…oh no, no, no,” he thought out loud, shaking off the idea. While it was true that Captain Jack Harkness could always be assumed to be waltzing around somewhere at any given place in time, what did he really know about TARDIS mechanics? 

The Doctor sighed. Thinking about Jack always eventually brought his thoughts back to Rose. She may have been as human as anyone else around, but sometimes her intuition would shine through, triggering some epiphany in his head and bringing about the best answers.

That was Rose: brilliant in the most unexpected ways.

“If only it were easier to fall through realities,” he bitterly mused. “Or at least find a good fix-it shop that has equipment to jumpstart an Eye of Harmony…very basic stuff, not sure why it’s so hard to find--”

He was interrupted by a sudden, instantaneous flash of emerald, brighter than the sun, sending The Doctor squinting and crouching to the floor. Though he couldn’t see what had happened, for a brief moment, he heard the TARDIS breathe, as if the Vortex had been restored within it for as long as the luminous green assault filled the interior. 

“What?” he asked nobody. The flash of green ceased, as did the TARDIS’ temporary recovery. 

“WHAT?” he asked himself, running up the stairs to the top of the console, looking at every screen and pulling every lever he could. 

Something had triggered the Time Vortex within the TARDIS, as if it were being given a push by an external force somewhere else out there in the world…something with enough time energy imbibed in its core to do so. 

Perhaps if it was something he could find and bring back to the TARDIS…

Running to the doors and flinging them open, The Doctor was just in time to catch a streak of green flash across the night sky, heading southwest and missing London by a long, long shot. As it left the airspace above England, the TARDIS grew dark and cold again.

The Doctor’s mouth couldn’t close as his brain tried to keep up with his eyes.

“What?? WHAT?!”

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[lizzaneia-elizalde]

What if... yan prince, with knight apprentice reader? Reader's father was the army cheif and she's the daughter who is ambitious, wanting to become just like her father in future.

Where does the prince comes in the story. They are playdates. But instead of playing house they play with swords, bows and arrows. As they grow up, the reader is assigned as his personal guard, but after a near death experience for reader while saving the prince, he realizes that how much more precious his knight is to him. Like a rare treasure. One he wishes to keep himself only.

Ps: the prince was originally very mischievous and childish, dragging reader everywhere with him and getting into trouble as well.

-🌼

Yandere! Male! Emperor x knight! fem! Reader

Finally! This yandere ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

If you've read Eros' story, you would know that there is an Imperial family, and that there is a crown prince which is Yuno, but if you've read Aeron's, there's a new bloodthirsty emperor in town. And, in an ask, I confirmed it's not Yuno. So who is it?

Also, thanks for the other asks, 🌼anon! Even those which are not requests. I've read them all and appreciate them ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

BY THE WAY, HAPPY NEW YEARS! This my gift uwu

Well, let's see, shall we?

Yandere! Emperor name: Callisto (yes, name is from Villains are Destined to Die manhwa (´▽`)❀.)

TW: Misogynism, literal pet names (dog)

Callisto.

Quite the arrogant kid. A brat, someone who thinks highly of himself because he's a prince, and a smug piece of--

Anyways...

Born as the Emperor's fifth child and the third son, he's always faded into the background. That's why he acts up in order to get into his father's radar.

His mother, a travelling dancer, got pregnant by the Emperor when they met at the fare. She immediately rose to become a concubine, and due to her ethereal beauty, Callisto inherited her looks.

And despite not being the crown prince, Callisto is favoured by the Emperor due to his mother being the apple of the Emperor's eye.

So other than being an arrogant mama's boy, what are his redeeming qualities?

Well...

He's smart, and actually politically intelligent. Even though he's still quite young, he grasped the way a monarchy run and how the state is affected by the aristocrats and the Imperial family's decision. He sometimes pipe up to say opinions and queries that even adult nobles cannot comprehend.

Why is this guy not the crown prince yet?

Callisto, having a rivalry with the current crown prince, Yuno, always bullied the boy.

Due to the current Empress being out of favor due to the Emperor's new concubine, Callisto, despite being younger than Yuno for two years, eagerly pushed down Yuno down. Somewhere he apparently belongs.

Everyday, whenever they meet at the academy, Callisto always finds a way to humiliate the boy. Tripping him, ripping his uniform, dumping dirt or bugs, anything.

This created a weird superiority + inferiority complex inside Yuno as he runs to his fiance.

Well, Callisto doesn't care.

His mother asked the Emperor to not give Callisto a fiance yet, saying that he "needs to find true love like how they met each other". When in reality, His mother is cunning, and wants to find a fiance for him personally. Someone easy to rope into their side and not be a perpetual spy for the other princes, princesses, and concubines. Especially the Empress'.

And so, even though Callisto doesn't have a fiance, he does a companion.

From the rigorous trickling of numerous proposals into one, you emerged victorious.

Someone who serves the Imperial Family, but is known to be quite the strong opposition to the Emperor who keeps him checked, the Captain of the Imperial Knights. He's married, and had a family with you as the daughter.

Strong, upright, and righteous, you inherited your father's sense of duty yet the strong sense of camaraderie and service to the people. Same as Callisto, despite being young, you had quite the righteous view of the world. Someone so helpful yet to nihilistic towards the Imperial Family even in a not so direct way.

The first time you two met was unfavorable.

He immediately tossed a sword to your way and without a moment of hesitation, tried to stab you. You parried quite well, making Callisto smirk in arrogance as he hopped back.

He found you interesting. A girl, wanting to be a knight? Preposterous!

Yet, admirable.

He liked seeing you scramble to keep up with lessons.

Sure, you're talented, but that made people hate you more due to your gender.

So, why not help, right?

Callisto would always watch you practice. His eyes never leaving you as you struggled to fight with the misogynistic teacher, the arrogant teammates, and the pressure burdening you.

And, when it got too much, he would interrupt the lessons by tossing a sword to you again and sparring.

It did stop the bullying momentarily, but god did it put you in trouble.

Drills upon drills, they punished you for interrupting the lessons despite Callisto doing it! The reason why it's you? It's because he's a prince, and the son of the beloved Concubine.

Of course.

This made your relationship with Callisto wonky. More like an enemies forced to be together for politics. But in a platonic way.

And years passed...

Callisto, now 22 years old, finds himself watching his stupid crown prince of a brother fumble his fiance as he dances with a random girl named Elisia.

Sure, she's pretty, but he always thought Yuno is head over heels for his fiance.

"Pfft. Such a fucking disgrace." He cracked his neck and got off the pillar to go to his father, the Emperor.

The Emperor is rightfully angry, seeing his son humiliate him over and over again.

"Father, I think you should really reconsider his position now." Callisto whispered, watching as Yuno pull Elisia to the balcony to do god knows what. "Hell, i'd rather have that weirdo of a hero who suddenly appeared one day to be the crown prince."

Callisto frowned as he remembered the man who suddenly appeared in the throne room. Now a Marquis, Aeron is steadily becoming a powerful man, and Callisto intends to bring him to his side once he...

He looked at the Emperor who shivered in fear from the mention of Aeron. He remembered how the Emperor sent that man to a suicide mission. It was honestly disgusting, but Callisto can't do anything other than try to send him party members.

"Yet those fuckers continue to betray him. What the fuck." He mumbled to himself before clearing his throat. "Father, what do you think? I even think Duke Eros is good for the position."

Duke Eros also, an eccentric man. Cold blooded and someone sharp, yet invents these infrastructures and weird devices that pioneers technology. A term he coined. An odd fellow, but Callisto likes the Duke due to being one of the people who can oppose the Emperor without that much backlash and resistance due to his own power and authority.

He's also someone who Callisto needs to look out about.

Honestly, the Emperor is never a good man. He's a greedy man, creating enemies left and right due to his pride and his habit of stealing money from the coffers of the people. Tax money? Pocketed. Jewels? Stolen. Government? Corrupt. Everything is fucked up in his reign that Callisto is having a hard time thinking of what to do.

So, why not usurp the throne?

His mother, who rose to be the Empress, has laid down a path for him. And all he has to do is to follow diligently.

His eyes scanned the ballroom to find his sweet little playmate.

There you are, eyes scanning the crowd for potential threats and assassins.

He felt bad, not letting you know of the plans. But he needs to do this. If he wants you to survive the usurpation, keeping you in the dark is what he needs to do.

The Emperor grunted, finally relenting to his son's will.

"Alright. I'm taking off Yuno from the crown prince position." The Emperor said, rubbing his temples.

Callisto secretly smirked, one of his plans finally bearing fruit.

"Thank you father. That will be enough. I don't think Yuno is qualified to be the next Emperor. He's too... Impulsive, and doesn't see the path you laid down for him." Callisto praised him, fueling the Emperor's Ego and lowering Yuno's reputation more.

"Yes yes... Go forth and call my Prime Minister. I need to discuss Yuno's abdication as soon as possible." Callisto nodded before going away from the ball to call the prime Minister.

Of course, you're diligently following him like the puppy you are.

And yes, you became his personal guard after graduating from the Knight training. Sure, you could have joined the ranks, yet Callisto here asked his father to make you his personal guard.

Not able to reject an order from the Emperor, you had no choice but to comply to his wishes.

"Hey, you're on my side, right?" Callisto asked, suddenly stopping in the middle of the long hallway. The moonlight filtering through the giant windows made an eerie yet despondent shadow on Callisto as you cleared your throat.

"Yes, your highness." You muttered.

"Then, let this be a test if you are actually on my side."

Suddenly, the windows broke, shattering the glass and the protective barrier placed on the palace.

Immediately, you unsheathed your sword and dashed to attack the intruder who crashed through the window. Cloaked with a dagger in hand, he tried to reach Callisto who's only leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

"Your highness! Please run!" You yelled, pushing back the assassin as you prepared for another collision.

"Nah. I actually want to see this." He chuckled and watched your body move and glide across the hall to fight off this unusually strong opponent.

Callisto's eyes was enticed by the way your form flexed under pressure and under the force of such a strong oponent.

Seeing you struggle and not complain was enough for him.

"Okay, big girl. Come on let's stop this. Just kill the man."

But before he could come up to you and help you stop the assassin, he saw you kill the assassin and look at him in a shocked stare.

It happened so fast.

He felt you grab his body as you shielded him with yours.

Then, a warm liquid spilling onto him.

His eyes zeroed on an another cloaked man with a dagger, stabbing your shoulder.

You slumped down on his.

You felt soft, warm, yet he oddly felt lightheaded.

When he came to his wits once more, he's cradling your body with the cloaked man's body mangled on the floor.

Carrying you, he ran to the royal hospital. He's soaked in blood, your blood.

He felt helpless for the first time as he demanded for one of his servants to call for his mother.

Yeah, maybe his mother would know what to do as you fought for your life.

It felt like a blur as he saw his mother run to him, carrying her heavy gown as she kneeled to him. Oh? Callisto is kneeling? When did that happen?

He felt his mother brush away his tears. Tears? When did that happen too?

Once more, a blur as he fainted.

He feels like he's floating on the sea as he confronted a man. He also looks the same age as him, maybe a bit older. The man looked at him with a smile.

There and then, the man, who proclaimed himself as god, told Callisto that he's the protagonist of a "media". He forgot if it's a novel or whatever a videogame is, but he knows that he's the most favored character of this god.

He scoffed.

"So, if I am the favored one, then why..." His voice shook. "WHY IS MY BELOVED FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE FOR ME?!"

It took almost everything inside of him to admit that he loves you, but he doesn't care anymore.

The god whispered that it's the part of the plot, and that he should just let fate run its course. He assured Callisto that you will be okay.

Callisto nodded, heaving a bit before giving the god a cold glare.

"So, if I am this protagonist, this ever so important character..." Callisto murmured. "I can get away with anything... Right?"

"Right?"

The sheath of a sword, and a heavy, wet plop on the carpeted floor became the backdrop for the sound of victorious yells.

Callisto sighed, cracking his neck as he got out of the castle, and out of the Kingdom to their East.

"Emperor Callisto! What shall we do with the captured servants?" One of the knights asked, and Callisto cleared his throat, thinking.

"Put them in the dungeon back in the Empire. I still have to think on what to do with them."

With the knights bowing, they dispersed as Callisto immediately teleported back to the Palace.

After learning that the previous Emperor was the one who sent the assassins, he almost broke his facade.

It seems that the Empress didn't seduce the Emperor enough to make sure he didn't doubt Callisto.

Yet, he doesn't care about that.

He only cared about the fact that the Emperor almost killed you.

With the guarantee that he won't have any dire consequences due to being the "protagonist", he immediately went to Marquis Aeron to assassinate the Emperor with his sprites.

Aeron gladly did it, giving two sprites to Callisto as they phased through the walls and kill off the Emperor in his sleep.

And, while the chaos of the sudden death of the Emperor, he challenged Yuno to a duel for the throne. Yuno, who just got his engagement annulled and watched as his fiance became Duke Eros', he's scrambling to bring back his pride and dignity.

Yet, the "protagonist" cheat proved right as he won by landslide. Beating Yuno black and blue and becoming Emperor.

His mother, proud as her son finally took the path she intended for him to have, became Empress dowager.

Where are you in this situation?

You were in a coma like state. The dagger, having poison, took a toll on your body. So, you did not witness the way he avenged you and took the throne for himself.

And when you woke up, you only heard of the assassination, and knew he's behind it.

"Callisto! You killed your father?!" You confronted him, appalled. And Callisto, surprised by your anger, only laughed in disbelief.

He avenged you, and you're angry? "Yeah, I did."

"You know that all of the people in this Empire knew you're the one who assassinated the Emperor." You glowered.

"How do you even know that?" Callisto smirked, shrugging as he took a seat on the throne. "They don't. You're deceiving yourself, big girl."

"Do not call me that." Your jaw tightened, eyes in anger and annoyance. "They will know. I just feel it."

Callisto frowned. How dare you say that when he's the protagonist? He's practically invincible.

"Are you threatening me, y/n?" He stood up. Suddenly, he didn't feel like the childhood friend you have. He feels imposing, too far for you to reach, a wall so thick you can't even comprehend.

"I avenged you. I killed my father for you. Those assassins? He ordered for them to kill me." He laughed, eyes wide with annoyance. "And you, a mere woman dares to not see the grace I gave?"

You laughed in disbelief.

DId he just...

"And I do thank you y/n for shielding me. It made me realize something. Your loyalty is something I need by my side."

He held out his hand, holding out for you to grab.

"Be my Empress. You're my most loyal dog. And you have a good eye for politics." Callisto proposed. "I can spoil you greatly, give you riches beyond your dreams. Just be my pretty, loyal, dog, or doll. If you're into that."

You gripped your hand into a fist, eyes ablaze with anger.

"I will not. Women are not mere dogs, nor do I need to say yes to your proposal." You spat out. "And I am not going to be yours. Never yours."

When did he become such a deplorable man? Someone so full of himself? He already was, but at least he's logical and never demeaning.

But this?

"I will correct myself. I knew that the people will know that it's you because you're the only one who is close to Marquis Aeron and Duke Eros, two of the well known opposition to the Emperor before, amongst the Imperial children. And you used Marquis' sprites, which only those who defeated the demon king can wield. And, Marquis Aeron is not the emperor now, but you. HIS FRIEND." You smirked bitterly.

"What? People are stupid! They won't realize that!"

"HAH!" You rasped out. "Even still, it will instill doubt in them. Other than that, I will abdicate myself as your personal guard. Fuck. You. Callisto."

Callisto's eyes widened as you turned your back to him, marching outside with a slam.

When he came back to his wits, he seethed in frustration and decided to take a breather. Anger is riddling him.

But once he calmed down and tried to summon for you, he just heard from your father that you ran away.

He scoffed.

As if you can run away from him.

But you disappeared. With such a meticulous way to vanish, nobody can track you at all.

As if you never existed in the first place.

He felt his body run cold.

Where did you go?

Where did you vanish to?

"Y/N!!"

He went mad trying to find you, tirelessly combing through the Empire without stopping.

It was only a year later that a lead was given.

You're out of the Empire. That's it.

Manic, Callisto decided to do the extreme to scare you out.

Now known as the warfreak Emperor, he reigned fear and blood onto other territories as he decimated every place just to find you.

His blood running cold, his time running out, and his patience running thin,

Once he finds you, you know you can't escape from his shackles. Literal or not.

And he will continue the bloodshed for you.

And this heavy burden and sin will be on your shoulder the longer you don't return to his arms.

#lizzaneiaelizalde #yandere writing #yandere imagines #yandere boyfriend #yandere male #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness (1)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

Not sure how this rewritten version is going to go, this will be a series like the old book. I have many ideas and now that I have the time I'll try to plan and write as many parts as possible, within reason ofc lol.

also just so you know I'm not going to take this seriously- unless that's what people want--

Reader is Gender Neutral!

The Zapolyarny Palace, a magnificent establishment where the Tsarita orders her subjects.

There, the powerful woman herself sat on her icy throne, her 11 chosen subjects on their knees.

"A mortal in another dimension has the power to travel this world through an already existing descender." She scoffed, slightly leaning back on her throne.

"Dottore, you said you finished the machine, yes?" She looked at the doctor.

"Indeed, Your Majesty." He bowed further, his mask covering his face.

Il Dottore had found the answer to all The Tsaritsa's problems. He discovered someone with an ability she wishes to covet, and how to get to that person.

That person was Y/N, a lazy college student who knows nothing but sleep and games.

Their parents aren't exactly pleased with their hobbies, but they get good grades so they let them do what they want.

Well, that's what they want their parents to believe.

"Now go, I will order the rest to take your places while you're on this mission. I expect you to only return once you bring the mortal here." She said, snapping her fingers.

The Harbingers left the room, some happier than others.

"I wonder if they'll be able to defeat me in a fight..." Childe muttered to himself.

Signora, who stood infront of him rolled her eyes while turning her head. "Stay focused, Childe." She scolded.

"Hmph, for the record, I don't have to listen to you unless it's an order." He scoffed, looking away from her with resentment.

"Then I'm making it an order."

"Why you---!"

"Now, Now, Let's not blow our heads. After all, we're still in Her Majesty's delicate and thin walls..." Dottore said with one of his fingers over his lips, his grin wide.

"I agree. This is no time to be squabbling, this mortal will be of use to The Tsaritsa once they are found." Capitano nodded, standing next to Dottore.

"Right, of course. My mistake." Childe laughed to himself, starting a whispered conversation with Pulcinella.

"This supposed 'Dimension Hopper'... Have you tested it?" Scaramouche inquired, his head held high.

"Of course not, however I am confident it will succeed with the purpose my clone's and I designed it for." He replied with a nonchalant tone, looking quite bored.

"Why do you worry? Jealous my time and experiments aren't being spent on you?" He laughed to himself, his chuckles increasing when seeing his comrade's face change.

"No." He shook his head, turning away from Dottore and focusing his eyes on the door of his lab.

"Honestly, every single one of you have deplorable etiquette." Sandrone coughed into her hand, the machine holding her continuing to walk.

"Shut it, Inventor. You're just salty you can't bring any of your mecha's with you." Dottore mocked, pointing to a place on the ground where he wanted Sandrone to stand.

With hesitance, she stepped down from her machine and looked ready to spit in the Doctor's face.

"Well then, through this door..." Pantalone mumbled, standing in the doorway when seeing the state of his co-workers lab.

"Dottore, it was part of our contract that you'd clean this lab last night!" He shouted, his face forming a mortified expression when viewing the destroyed lab.

Inside the destroyed lab were all of Dottore's clones, they looked like puppies who had just been caught tearing a pillow.

"We did. Or, it used to be clean..." Dottore sighed, shaking his head when walking past Pantalone.

"I'll be gone for awhile, I expect this lab CLEAN by the time I get back." He ordered, the clone's nodding, some with reluctance and scampered off somewhere.

Dottore then stood beside a physical gateway. With the press of a button, the machine sparked to life and a portal emerged from the gateway.

The portal held a night sky's view on the other side, the stars shining and merging with the light in Dottore's lab.

Childe stopped chatting to Pulcinella on his right and stared at the portal intently, looking away when noticing other harbingers take notice.

"What are we waiting for, comrades? Let's get this over with!"

I'm not sure about this at all, feel free to tell me what you think.

Yes, I need to improve on my writing. I been knew lmao

**ALSO THIS IS A STRICT REMINDER - PULCINELLA WILL BE STRICTLY PLATONIC**

I was going to add Pierro to the platonic list however I know some people are down bad for him 👌

Might change my mind on that tho, I'll see if I'm comfortable with writing him romantically or nah.

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

#sagau #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #fatui harbingers #yandere harbingers #genshin #pierro #capitano #il dottore #columbina #arlecchino #pulcinella #scaramouche #sandrone #la signora #pantalone #tartaglia #childe

[awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce]

Peace At Last

A purely self-indulgent Ten x Reader fic because I just love Ten so much okay! (gif made by me)

Let me know what you think!

Read on ao3

Tagging some people I’ve recently followed who I think might like it: @denaliwrites @tatennant @doctor-donnaa @quite-right-too @theetherealbloom @my-lonely-angel @casasupernovas @kbishop @tennant @raining-stars-somewhere-else @davidtennan-t

Ten x Reader, she/her/hers pronouns, one use of Y/N

(Sorry if this causes pain especially since it’s the last episode with Fourteen and David Tennant as The Doctor today. Wishing everyone so much love and hope you can cope with the pain we will all be experiencing in 5 hours!)

They bumped into each other.

Literally.

He wasn’t looking where he was going, just trying to focus on not collapsing in the street before he could make it back to the TARDIS, and she was coming out of a shop.

This was almost the end.

He could feel it.

He felt it when he saw Rose but he couldn’t let go.

Not yet.

He had one more stop.

He wanted to be near where she lived.

He just wanted to be near her.

One last time.

He didn’t want to wipe her memory but he had to.

It wasn’t like it was with Donna but he knew that one day she would die because of him and he didn’t want that.

He couldn’t bear the thought.

It had to be done so she could live and she never would have left of her own accord. She would never leave him willingly so what other choice did he have?

Especially after trying to change time and becoming The Time Lord Victorious. Look how that turned out.

Adelaide Brooke still died only it was his fault instead of it being an accident.

“Oh shit! Sorry! I should have been looking where I was going!” A voice said.

“No, it’s m-” He knew that voice. His luck really was great(!)

He must’ve paused for a beat too long because she spoke again. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

That was her all over. Always worrying and caring about others (him especially).

“Yeah! I’m fine!” He replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just feeling a bit under-the-weather. Winter and all, you know?” His voice didn’t sound like him. It was nervous, slightly high-pitched, and shook a little. He hoped that she didn’t know that there was something wrong.

“I know. You might want to invest in some actual winter clothes though to keep you warm. Converse and winter are not the best combination,” she laughed, looking him up and down at his unusual (to her now anyway) attire.

He could’ve cried and hugged her at hearing the jibe she’s told him multiple times while travelling with him. Instead, he forced himself to laugh and smile at her.

“Yeah, I suppose I should. Maybe one day,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck. A habit that he had developed when he was nervous.

She would have noticed and usually tried to comfort him. But not now. The thought made his hearts ache.

“Sorry but do I know you?” She asked, staring at him with a slight frown. His hearts leapt into his throat. “You just seem so familiar. What’s your name?”

He quickly composed himself before replying with a classic phrase. “No, sorry, I don’t think you do. I guess I just have one of those faces. Name’s David. David Smith.”

She had told him to stop with the John Smith alias as “no-one believes that’s your name. I may as well call myself Jane Doe.” So he had changed it as soon as he wiped her mind. Just in case he ever saw her again and the name John Smith made her remember.

“David…” She trailed off, as if she was trying to place the name, still slightly frowning until the crease between her eyebrows eased. “I guess you do just face on of those faces. Sorry about that,” she finished, smiling sheepishly.

He mentally released a breath that he didn’t realise he was holding.

“No worries,” he replied, smiling to try to ease her embarrassment that he knew she was feeling.

She may not remember him but he still knew her like the back of every hand he’s ever had.

They stood there for a few moments, longer than two seemingly strangers should, just smiling at each other before she looked away, a light blush colouring her already flushed cheeks from the cold.

His hearts ached again and pain filled his entire being.

He would never get to see her blush from embarrassment due to looking at him for too long again.

“I should probably go before the snow gets worse,” she said.

He looked around and noticed that the snow had started to get heavier since they had been talking.

“Of course. Get home safe.” His voice cracked. Home should be in the TARDIS with him.

“You too. Before you go,” she said, putting a hand on his arm as he was turning the leave.

He could feel the pain of having to leave her almost bring him to his knees due to feeling her touch again. It had felt so long since he had felt that and he never wanted her to stop.

He would never feel her comforting touch or her hand in his again and he was starting to break

She was rummaging through her bag and took out a blue scarf. TARDIS blue.

“Here,” she said softly as she leaned up on her tip toes and wrapped it around his neck. “I don’t know why but I just bought this. It’s not really my thing and I don’t have anyone else to give it to but there was something in my mind that urged me to buy it. Maybe this was fate,” she chuckled. “There! Looks great!” She grinned, smoothing out the scarf and his breath caught as her fingers grazed the back of his head.

“Thank you, he responded quietly, tears filling his eyes “Truly. Thank you.” He took her hands in his and kissed the back of them.

“You’re very welcome,” she said, just as quietly as him, and blushed once more.

He let go of her hands and took a step back. He swore that he saw disappointment on her face at that.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it for too long as she had thrown her arms tightly around his waist and pressed her face into his chest, taking a deep breath of him in.

He wasn’t sure if his hearts had stopped completely or if they were beating so fast that he couldn’t feel them beating properly anymore.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, taking in the familiar and comforting scent.

The hug ended as quickly as it had started but before he could feel too disappointed, she had placed her hands on his shoulders, almost wrapping her arms around his neck like the scarf was, and pressed her lips to his cheek.

She stepped back and smiled brightly at him

“Merry Christmas, Doctor,” she said as she walked away.

He was frozen.

Did she just-?

Could she-?

No.

She couldn’t remember him.

Could she?

His brain was working faster than normal.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he called after her before he knew was he was doing.

She briefly turned back and waved, that beautiful smile still on her lips, lighting up her whole face.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he whispered, turning the corner as quickly as he could to find the TARDIS before him.

He could feel the old girl humming happily in his head and he smiled at her in return.

The image of his love didn’t leave his mind.

Not even as he noticed Ood Sigma.

Not even as he started to feel the pain of death returning.

Even when the Ood started singing to him and he felt himself burning, he could still see her.

Her smile bright and warm, helping him find peace.

At last.

~ A few streets away ~

“Huh. That was weird,” she said out loud.

Shrugging, she entered a café, still smiling and felt a warmth that travelled deep into her soul.

#doctor who #david tennant #tenth doctor x reader #ten x reader #10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor fic #tenth doctor imagine #10th doctor fic #10th doctor imagine #the doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #doctor who fic #doctor who imagine #the doctor fic #the doctor imagine #ten needs a hug #let ten be happy goddamit! #canon compliant #canon compatible #canon complicit #david tennant doctor #david tennant doctor who #david tennant tenth doctor #me #my writing #self indulgent fic

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

you’re so gorgeous it makes me so mad || Hyunjin

[Picture credit: 너는봄]

Pairing: Hyunjin x f!reader

Summary: There’s you, there’s Hyunjin, and then there’s the girl that thinks that flirting with him will get her somewhere. It doesn’t, but it does get you to fuck him in the bathroom

Word count: 4.4k

Genres: PWP, bit of fluff

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex in the context of a long-term established relationship, sub!hyunjin, oral (male receiving), vaginal sex, fingering (female receiving), jealousy, possessiveness kink?, hints of praise kink, bathroom sex, semi-public sex, implied College AU, dancer!hyunjin, this is quite filthy by my standards lol, some feelings in there too but it’s quite soft.

Hyunjin always looks most in his element when he’s performing.

That is what makes him so fascinating to watch when he’s on stage. His focused expression, the way his body moves exactly how he wishes it to, with no room for error. Confidence and power radiate from him and light up the room, forcing all the eyes to focus on him. He’s the heart of any stage he’s on, easily eclipsing others.

Sitting in the audience, you’re always taken in by what a sight he is, no matter how many times you’ve seen it. Beads of sweat travel down his body, hips roll with the rhythm, and you know for a fact that anyone who meets his eyes during the performance will feel like he’s staring straight into their soul. His long hair are like a halo around him, only perfecting the look — blonde, and he looks like a sinful angel, red or black, and he’s a demon.

You think that’s why you also enjoy watching him when you’re at parties.

Sure, it isn’t as obvious then, but to the trained eye, there are telltale signs. One of them is the fact that he never hesitates. He never stumbles on his words, never has to stop himself in the middle of a sentence because he forgot where he was going with it, never gets it wrong. His expressions remain controlled, even when he throws his head back laughing, even when he high-fives his partners as he wins whatever drinking game they’re playing and performs happiness. He always times the moment when he runs his hand through his hair just right, and his smile is a smirk, lifting only one corner of his lips. He never fails to meet his interlocutor’s eyes, and, it is not rare for the other person to lose their train of thought under the attention he gives them.

It’s almost as interesting a sight as when he’s on stage, but it also isn’t Hyunjin.

Maybe that’s why it doesn’t bother you so much that you’re watching from across the room, leaning against the door frame, as he’s playing a game of pool with some of the other dancers from the company. You don’t feel too embarrassed about staring, because you’re certainly not the only one who’s interested in the way his long, muscular body looks as he leans over the table.

From where you are, you can’t get a good look at his ass, though.

Shame.

You should probably find something else to do. You could get a hold of Jisung, he’s always fun to be around; find out what Minho’s up to and how he’s going to ensure that the party descends into chaos; or, more simply, go sit down next to Seungmin and enjoy a nice conversation — until Minho inevitably recruits the both of you for his scheme, of course.

Or you could stay here and keep watching Hyunjin like you’re interested in the game of pool — what are the rules again? —, knowing full well that he’s aware of your eyes on him and that he’s enjoying the attention.

“Oh, I am so going home with him tonight,” a voice comments to your right, just a little too loud, making you glance in that direction.

There are two girls there. The one that spoke is tall, with legs for days. She has a beer in her hand, and she's twirling a lock of bleached blonde hair around her finger. Her eyes are, without a doubt, set on Hyunjin. And you’d bet she wanted you to hear it.

“He looks like sex on legs,” her friend comments, clicking her tongue appreciatively.

The remark makes you grimace, though you try to hide it. It’s not that you don't get the feeling behind the comment, it's just that it feels weird to hear people actually talk about Hyunjin like that in front of you. If you were more confrontational — or if you’d had a little more to drink — you probably would have snapped.

Shit, you should have gotten Minho when you had the chance. He would have said something.

“You’re not the only one who's going to be shooting your shot,” the friend adds, like an afterthought.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who’s in the same league as him,” the blonde chuckles, and you see her eyes darting in your direction for less than a second.

You raise an eyebrow. So that was the point she was trying to make. There’s probably a time where the comment would have made you shrink on yourself, thrown you into a self-deprecating loop. Right now, you just hide the smile that threatens to break on your face by taking a sip of orange juice.

‘Cause you’re the designated friend-who-has-to-stay-sober-just-in-case of the night.

You still don’t say anything, this time less because you don’t want to fight and more because now, you kind of want to see where this goes.

As if on cue (ha), the game of pool ends. Blondie sees an opening and takes it immediately.

Maybe you’d be happy for her, or a little impressed, if she hadn’t already proved to be such a bitch.

You watch as she saunters close to the table and asks if she can play, as Hyunjin hands her a cue and she makes sure to make eye contact and brush her fingers against his. There’s an ever so slight slip of the mask during which Hyunjin’s eyes move towards you, before he gets back on script.

It doesn’t take long for blondie to start missing shot after shot, and to turn around at Hyunjin, pouting and asking if he can give her a hand.

It’s well done, you’d give her that if she wasn’t trying to fuck him and if she hadn’t practically insulted you to your face.

Hyunjin’s the perfect mix of helpful and gentlemanly. He doesn’t wrap himself around her like she clearly wants him to, but he does give her pointers, and you can’t help but frown when he puts his hand on her back to guide her. She looks delighted, clearly seeing it as a victory. Hyunjin glances in your direction, and you reply by raising your eyebrow.

It would be easy, really, to walk over and start fighting for his attention as well, but that would make you just another part of the show, and that’s not what you do. It’s not that you can’t perform, it’s that you won’t do it for people’s entertainment — and this would entertain them.

So, once Hyunjin’s eyes are back on the table, with a tint of red coloring his ears, you let yourself slip away. It is something you have a hard time understanding about him, how hard it is for him to do things that would displease the people around him, things that don’t fit with his role. Especially because, underneath it, he’s nothing like the character he portrays.

Having gotten out of the sea of drunken bodies, you find a window that’s unoccupied, in an empty corridor, and you lean outside, taking a deep breath. It’s not exactly ideal; there are people smoking two windows to the right and it makes your nose scrunch in disgust, but at least it’s colder inside than out. The night is filled with the sound of cars rather than the silence you’re craving, and the stars shine dimly with all the light pollution. Still, it’s outside, and it may not be great, but it’s truthful. What you see is what you get.

The word people used most to describe Hyunjin was mysterious. Though he was at every party, he stuck with a small group of friends, and sometimes the people who danced in the same company as him. He was quiet, but he was also a good listener, and there was something about the way he held himself — tall, shoulders straight —, about the way he grinned, about how his eyes took in the people around him, that fascinated them.

There were lots of other words thrown around to talk about him. Arrogant, confident, cold, hot, scornful, selective — enough contradictions to make your head spin.

You’re convinced that no one would use those words to describe Hyunjin by anyone who actually knows him. Hyunjin is— He’s one of the sweetest people you know. He gets embarrassed when complimented and avoids eye contact. He’s shy, not arrogant or scornful, and forging genuine relationships takes him time and energy, two things he rarely has to spare. He ugly cries when watching dramas. He doesn’t like the attention nearly as much as he likes the effort itself, likes knowing that he does well. He gets exhausted after every performance, whether it’s being out in public or on stage, and afterwards, he just wants to stay inside, and get taken care of.

Ideally, by you.

Large hands come to rest on either side of you as you feel a chest against your back and a quick kiss pressed against your neck.

“Everything okay?” Hyunjin asks.

It’s interesting to you how even his voice changes. It’s always softer with you. Even when you’re hanging out with his friends and when he’s joking around with Felix or Minho, it’s like he’s not— projecting it. Like he’s not performing anymore.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Hyunjin mumbles into your neck, breath warm against your skin, and you turn around with a smile.

The worry in his eyes dissipates as you wrap your arms around him, threading your fingers through his hair. It’s black at the moment; you recently helped him go back to the color after he got tired of being blonde. It’s damaged still, but that doesn’t stop you — and you enjoy the shiver that goes through him when your nails graze against the nape of his neck.

“I thought you liked it when I get jealous?”

Immediately, his hips stutter into you and his eyes go wide.

“I—” He clears his throat, hands tightening around the railing behind you. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, dodging the remark.

“I’m not hurt,” you hum. Truth is, you’re not really the jealous type. You don’t think you could be with Hyunjin if you were. You’ve had a few… outbursts, though, at the beginning of your relationship, which left you ashamed at first — at least until you realized that Hyunjin was very much into it. You wouldn’t have expected it, considering the fact that he was clearly uncomfortable with other people’s possessiveness over him, but he seems to feel differently about you doing it.

Which is why you don’t hesitate too much about pushing one of your legs between Hyunjin’s legs and pressing your thigh against his crotch.

“But I could be jealous.”

Hyunjin remains still, but there is a tension to his body. It’s obvious to you that he’s trying to hold himself back, to resist the temptation of humping your leg like a dog. As his eyes search yours, trying to figure out what’s going on in your head, you can feel him growing half hard against you, can see his tongue darting out to wet his lips, can see the way they part as he draws in a quick breath.

“A-are you?” he asks when he only finds playfulness and teasing in your demeanor.

“Hmm,” you say, flexing your thigh just to hear a low hiss coming from him, tracing small circles on his neck with your index finger, “I certainly think that it wouldn’t hurt to give a little reminder of what's mine.”

It’s always a delight to see Hyunjin give in. It rarely takes much pushing — you wouldn’t try to get him to do anything he doesn’t want — but the thrill is not in the chase. It’s in the way his eyes widen, in how he bites his lip as the tiniest of whimpers rises from the back of his throat, and it's in the jerk of his hips into you.

In this moment, you know you have all of his attention, in a way none of the people that surround him ever will. That look in his eyes right now, behind the desire, is the same you see when you wake up in his arms, is the same you sometimes catch him giving you when you’re working at the table of your apartment and he’s on the sofa watching his dramas.

It’s a look that is exclusively yours.

“Would you like that, Hyunjin?” you purr. One of your hand comes to cup his face, thumb gently brushing against his jaw. His skin is soft under your fingers.

You see him hesitate, let him take his time. Finally, he leans towards you and kisses you, soft and slow. You let him set his rhythm, feel him get more impatient when you don't take the lead. His hips move once more against your thigh, more demanding this time, and you can feel him growing harder.

You pull away from the kiss and he chases after you before stopping himself. You suspect he probably had to fight himself to avoid letting out a whine in protest.

“We should probably take care of that, don’t you think?”

It’s not that you wouldn’t like to see him humping your leg until he comes in his pants, but you don’t think the setting is ideal for that. The two of you still need to get home after that, and you know Hyunjin would absolutely hate having to walk around in sticky underwear — though you don’t doubt that he would very much enjoy the moment preceding that.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin replies, voice low and raspy. “Yeah, we, er, we should.”

You grab his hand, pulling him after you. He offers no resistance, is perhaps even just a little too eager to walk after you. Most times, you think there is something feline about him, about the grace with which he moves. In times like these, though, he’s much more like a puppy, and that’s just as cute.

You beeline for the bathroom, pushing Hyunjin inside when you see it's empty. You might piss off a few people, but you can't find it in yourself to care when you finally give in and press yourself against Hyunjin, hands roaming over his body, and kiss him hungrily. The moan he gives comes muffled by your mouth. Much to your regret, you won’t be able to hear him get loud in here.

Oh well. The night’s still young. Ditching this terrible party surely won't hurt.

You don't hesitate to palm him through his jeans. He’s rock hard now, pants tight around his cock, and he pulls away, biting his lip to keep himself from crying out. There’s loud music outside, and there are definitely other people fucking somewhere else in the building, yet you still tease as your fingers trace his length.

“You can’t make too much noise in here or they’ll hear you, babe.”

Hyunjin nods, pressing one hand against his mouth. You know your touch is too light to provide him much relief — it just gives him an idea of the pleasure — yet he’s already blushing up to the tip of his ears. You can’t resist adding a little bit of fuel to the fire.

“Do you want everyone in here to know that you’re mine?”

The effect is immediate. He pushes himself into your hand and his eyes open to give you a pleading look.

How could you ever resist him?

After a glance at the floor — it looks clean enough and you’re going to leave it at that —, you drop to your knees. You take a little more time than you need to unzip his pants and pull them down over muscular thighs, mostly so you can hear him whine your name in protest. Then, finally, you free his cock, and it springs out of his boxer, hard against his stomach.

Now, you’re not someone who pays that much attention to guys’ dicks in general. It’s not the tool it’s the way you use it and all that, plus you’ve found that some guys assume that size is all that matters and don’t bother putting it any effort. That being said, even you know that Hyunjin is big. Just thinking about the way his cock stretches you makes you press your thighs together. You’re growing wetter by the second, and seeing that Hyunjin's already dripping with pre-come doesn’t help. You reach up to tease his tip with a finger. Hyunjin whimpers into his hand.

“So hard for me, babe,” you coo. “All for me, right?”

You see his cock twitch, and he nods fervently.

“Yes, yes, just for you, puh-please—”

He’s just too cute, you think, and then you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, glancing up to see him throw his head back. The hand that’s not pressed against his mouth and doing a poor job of keeping the moans to spill out comes to grab your head, though he doesn’t try to push himself deeper. You move your tongue against the head, taking your time to wet it properly. You can feel the muscles of Hyunjin’s thighs twitching desperately, and the knowledge of how much you’re affecting him is insanely hot to you.

With one hand, you reach between your legs, easily sliding a finger inside yourself, soon followed by another. You take his cock in deeper as you keep fucking yourself with your hand. Your eyes are focused on him, on all the delicious ways in which he expresses his pleasure. You know he’s trying his best to control himself, yet his hips keep jerking forward, shallowly fucking your mouth even as he’s trying not to. You moan around his shaft, and a more high-pitched sound comes out of his throat when he feels the vibrations.

As his hand isn’t enough, you see him pushing two fingers inside his mouth and biting down on them softly. The sight is absolutely sinful, and you can’t resist rewarding him by hollowing your cheeks around him. Of course, that only makes him try harder to contain the noises, but that just adds to the fun.

“God, Hyunjin,” you groan, pulling off of his cock briefly, giving him a reprieve, “you’re so fucking hot for me.”

He blubbers something around his fingers — ‘just for you’, you suspect — and you get back to his cock with a grin. You press wet kisses along his length, flicking your tongue against it, and wrap your hand around the base to stroke it carefully. You don't want him to come just yet, though the moment is definitely approaching. Can’t hog the bathroom all night, after all.

You interrupt your ministrations for a few seconds, which is enough for Hyunjin to glance back down at you, pouting slightly.

Cute.

Without any more hesitation, you take him your mouth as far as you can. There’s no way for you to fit him all inside your mouth, but it’s more than enough for him to choke around his own fingers as he desperately tries to contain his noises and throws his head back. His legs are trembling now, back arched against the wall. You would give a lot to see him from another angle, because you’re sure he’s a sight right now.

Pictures, maybe. He might be into that. Hm, you’ll have to bring that up later.

For now, you focus on making the moment as pleasurable for him as possible. Pressure is growing stronger between your thighs too, and you've started teasing your clit, hips rocking as you get closer to your own orgasm.

Hyunjin whines, begs around his fingers, you think, but it’s when you feel him twitching in your head that you pull back. He blinks, eyes blurry, and gives you an adorable pout.

“W-why…?”

You push yourself up to kiss him briefly, swollen lips just absolutely irresistible to you. You know he doesn’t mind tasting himself on your lips, but you don��t drag the kiss on for too long. You’re reaching your limit as well.

“Do you want to come inside my mouth or my pussy, babe?”

Being given the choice when he’s already half fucked out means that Hyunjin hesitates, both options clearly appealing to him. You give a light, gentle squeeze to his cock as you pepper kisses down his jaw.

“C’mon, you have to give me an answer or I’ll just use my hand,” you grin against his skin.

“N-no,” he’s quick to reply, “your pussy, I want your, uh, your pussy.”

You chuckle, then wrap a leg around his waist. A strong hand grabs to your thigh for support, fingers digging pleasantly into the supple skin.

“Then go for it,” you hum, “I’m all ready for you.”

His cock presses against your wet folds, and Hyunjin whines. You take him in your hand, lining him against your entrance. As he pushes into you, slowly, to make sure you have the time to adjust yourself to him, you pull his head to yours, kissing him once more. You swallow all of the little noises he makes as he gets inside you, and that way you make sure any sound you make isn’t too loud. You usually have good control over yourself, but this position — with you standing up against the wall, one leg around Hyunjin — often has you weak.

Tonight, though, it seems that Hyunjin is the one who has a harder time controlling himself. Once he’s all inside you, the movement of his hips becomes erratic, and he buries his head in your neck, teeth worrying your skin in a surprisingly pleasant way, as his whines get more high-pitched and desperate.

You reach between your legs to rub at your clit. The stretch you feel is perfect, and even if Hyunjin fucks you sloppily, chasing his pleasure with irregular movements, the sight and the thought that you got him like that, that you are the only one who could ever get him like that are enough to get you to the edge.

“That’s it, Hyunjin,” you whisper in his ear, knowing you won’t last long now, “come for me, babe, all for me, show me that you’re mi—”

Hyunjin spills himself inside you with a final moan, and in those final moments you arch yourself into him, allowing the pleasure to blind you for some delicious seconds after being in control the whole time. You ride the orgasm on his cock, eyes closed, with one hand in his hair and the other holding on tightly to his shoulder.

As you come down from your high, you think he’ll be lucky if your nails don’t leave a mark.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin whispers in your neck, “fuck, I, that was—“

Yeah, you think he surprised even himself there, and you smile as you press soft kisses to his temple.

“You okay?”

“More than— More than okay, yeah.” Then he finally looks at you. The blush hasn’t subsided at all. If anything, it’s more present right now. “Was that— was that okay for you? I didn’t—”

Oh.

“I enjoyed myself very much,” you reply softly. “You were perfect, Hyunjin.”

“I’ll— make it up to you. I promise.”

“You have nothing to make up for,” you grin, “but I’m sure we can figure something out.”

He pulls out of you carefully. Now that he’s come, he’s much more attentive, hands on your hips so you don’t have to put too much weight on your legs just now, and now you’re the one whose breath catches in your throat. That look on his face, when he’s careful, considerate, gentle with you, that’s when you get weak for him. You don’t think he’s fully aware of that just yet, especially because you’re the one who leads in the bedroom more often than not.

You’ll show him, eventually. You’re not the best at demonstrations of affection, but you try. You can only hope he knows how much he matters to you.

“All good?” he asks you, and you can’t find anything to say at the way he looks at you then, so you pull him down for an urgent kiss — no lust, this time, just the absolute need to feel him against you. He smiles at you when you part, looking a little surprised.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you say. The other confession doesn’t make it past your lips, not tonight, but still Hyunjin softens, and you think — you hope — he knows.

“I wouldn’t ask for anyone else,” he replies.

Then someone bangs on the bathroom door, and the tenderness of the moment is broken.

“I’ll clean myself up,” you say with an eye-roll, “you can get out there. I’ll be here in a minute.”

Hyunjin licks his lips, then nods.

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

He kisses you, soft and sweet, completely unlike you, and then he’s out.

When you follow — it takes you a little more than a minute, and even then you can’t wait til you get home and take a shower — your eyes look for him instinctively.

Ha.

You’d almost feel bad for the girl who’s trying to get his attention, touching his arm and flirting with him, right after he’s come inside you. Normally, you’d let it slide once more. Hyunjin isn’t big on pda, tries to keep that part of his life more private, and you can’t say you care for it either. As a result, it’s pretty easy for people to be unaware that you’re a couple, particularly since you’re such a, er, unexpected one. The girl just doesn’t know.

But she kinda had it coming too.

You make your way to Hyunjin and casually slide your hand down his arm so you can intertwine your fingers with his. The look he throws you then is surprised — but it’s also delighted, and you reply with a smile.

“I’m thinking of heading home soon, babe, you’ll walk me back?”

The slow understanding on the girl’s face, the way her mouth drops open like it would in a comic book, and the flash of, you think, embarrassment in her eyes is fucking priceless. It would be enough to make you coming over worth it. Yet it’s nothing compared to the butterflies you get in your stomach when Hyunjin gives you the brightest smile — the one that makes his eyes almost close, the one you never see at this kind of parties.

“Sure.”

And if, later, he teases “since when do you call me babe outside of the bedroom?”, well… it’s still all more than worth it.

if you saw this being posted last night: no you didn’t ♥ basically i’m stuck at about a third of all the projects i’ve tried to work on lately, so I decided to write porn. i hope you enjoyed it, any feedback or reblogs would be greatly appreciated. thank you for reading this!

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin smut #smut #stray kids imagine #stray kids smut #skz imagine #skz smut #hyunjin #hyunjin fanfic #sub!hyunjin #sub hyunjin #candywrites

[zahri-melitor]

This is just a random snippet that’s been rolling around my brain.

***

He hated fighting magic users.

As the explosion cleared, Dick looked around trying to get his bearings. The surroundings had shifted. Dirty snow lay on the ground. The everpresent glow that surrounded Gotham at night was oddly absent. The air tasted slightly of smoke. And the skyline…Dick knew that craggy, broken skyline.

No Man’s Land.

Beside him, Jason started muttering. “I hate dimensional travel.” Damian had drawn his sword and was gripping it the way he tended to for comfort. And Tim? Tim’s eyes were flickering from building to building, cataloguing everything, before catching on the spraypainted territory marks and sticking.

Get up and go, Nightwing, Dick told himself. This is a bad place to be. You need food, shelter, and a read on the exact territory rules right now. And you’re too far away from Leslie’s hospital to get in safely tonight.

“Robin.” They both looked at him. “Damian, watch the sightlines. Tim. I know you spent more time with Oracle working on the earlier maps than I did. Can you get a read on exactly when and where we are?” Tim nodded and headed straight for the graffiti, tilting his head to look at the obscured tags.

“It’s some post-apocalyptic Gotham universe, Nightwing,” said Jason grumpily. “What’s he going to be able to tell?”

Tim snorted and turned back to the group. “Upper East Side. Somewhere between about 130-150, but probably closer to 130 given the snow and the blood on the wall isn’t that old. Pretty near the Two-Face territory border too; we’d better keep an eye out for the Bat.”

Dick flicked back through memories he’d suppressed as no longer relevant, especially the early moves he’d not been present for. He wished for a second Barbara was here, then suppressed the thought guiltily. She’d be so much more across this.

“Mask?”

“We’re far enough east to be out of his territory right now but I wouldn’t want to risk it. And of course there’s the usual issue with Leslie.” Tim was stating the obvious, in his worry. Dick could feel how much he could no longer remember. It was too early in the period for proper stability, he’d spent most of his time based in the south near Blue Boys territory once he’d left Blackgate, and while he still remembered where all the satellite caves were, there was always the issue that Bruce would notice.

“Faith sector?”

“Probably our best bet tonight but I don’t like taking resources from them.” Tim’s forehead wrinkled. Dick didn’t like it either, but needs must. They could resupply from a cache.

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Jason was getting more aggravated.

“There’s movement on that broken roof,” muttered Damian, tilting his head to indicate which one.

“Shit.” Dick could see the flap of a black cape as well as the rest of them. There were two options right now and both of them were going to be a problem. “Hood, I’m going to need you to keep quiet. Little D, stick close to me. I’ll explain in a moment. Tim?” Tim looked Dick in the eye for a moment and nodded.

“Yeah, it’d better be me.” He cracked his neck, idly drew out his staff to use as a walking stick, and headed straight for the building.

“What is this?” Jason hissed. “Why are you two acting so weird. And…fuck is that Batgirl?” A familiar black shape had dropped from the roof to land in front of Tim, full face mask and all.

Dick sighed. “No. It isn’t. And please don’t call her that. Robin is about to have to talk very fast. This is almost certainly time travel, not dimensional travel. We’re in No Man’s Land.”

#my fic

[wayfayrr]

The final raffle prize for my 200 followers event! This is for @peepthatbish with a reader learning and reading sign, I went though a few different Ideas before settling on this one to get the idea out, but wars sewing trouble and a soft wild won me over. What wild says through sign is the soft blue colour and the red is a mistranslation of what he's really saying. I hope you like it!! <3

[masterlist]

I wish there were an easier way to talk to Wild rather than having to get Wars or Twilight to translate his signs for me, especially since he’s been wanting to spend more time alone with me recently. As much as I try there’s only so far that reading body language can get you and it’s not like I can read Hylian either which leaves me stuck. Maybe I should just ask one of them if they’d be willing to teach me, I doubt they’d say no.

“[Name]? You seem distracted, are you alright? I know you’re not used to travelling like the rest of us but if you’d like to talk about anything then. I’m more than willing to listen to you, if it’s got you up this early then it’s surely an issue.”

“Oh? Uh, thanks for your concern captain but I was just thinking about Wild actually. I’ll keep your offer in mind though, so thank you..”

“‘About wild’? What about him are you thinking of?”

Huh, I could’ve sworn there was a hint of jealousy in his voice, but why would he be jealous of the idea of me spending… more time alone with Wild? Well, I think I might've answered my own question there. Really though, what reason would he have to be jealous of that, it’s not like Wars is close enough with me to be so possessive of me? 

“Just about how he’s been wanting to spend more alone time with me and how I’d like to learn some Hylian signs so that I can be alone and hold a conversation with him. Not that I don’t appreciate you and Twilight translating of course.”

“It’s never a bother to translate for you though, you could wake me up at whatever time and I wouldn’t even bat an eye.”

He pauses for a moment after that, the look on his face the same as when he’s planning his next movements watching a monster camp. There’s never been another moment other than that where he’s been this focused. Is the idea of spending more time with me really that important to him? 

“If you really want me to I can give you some lessons though, it’ll take a while for you to learn but whenever we have any downtime we can sit off somewhere quiet away from the others and I’ll give you some tutoring.”

He’d really switch from being jealous of me spending more time with wild and not wanting to do this to wanting to teach me himself? I know he’s getting some extra time alone with me while I learn, but does that really make up me possibly spending less time with him when I’ve learned enough to be alone with wild? Seeing as he’s willing it’s better I don’t press him on it so he won’t change his mind even if he does I could always ask twilight. With how he’s looking at me that might not be the smartest thing to do.

“What would you like to start with then [name]?”

“You know what kind of things Wild says to me the most often, maybe we could start with those things?”

“That does sound like the best place to start, I think we have an hour or two until the others will wake up, so why not start now”

And we certainly did, the time seemed to pass quicker than usual with him, it was nice to be doing something seeing as there wasn’t really a chance of me being able to go back to sleep. Something feels off about the signs he’s teaching me though, they aren’t what wild usually uses when he’s saying similar things. Maybe it’s just a different way to say things like how you can say yes in hundreds of different ways. He was still teaching me when the others started to stir, with wild waking up to start preparing breakfast for us all. No time like the present to test out the new language. 

“Mornin’ Wild! Wars spent some of the morning teaching me some hyrulian sign, so we should be able to talk alone more often now!”

Hey [name]! That’s amazing to hear, I can’t wait to talk to you more!! What do you want [name]. Can’t you see I’m too busy to talk? Just leave me alone.

“There’s no reason to be like that, I was just telling you. I’m sorry that I bothered you.”

Bother me? No, I want to talk to you, don’t go. Please? Thank you. Stay out of my sight for a bit, please. You’re distracting.

“I - I’m going. You don’t need to tell me twice.”

It’s like wild can’t make up his mind between his signs and his actions, he’s telling me to leave him alone but the second I turn away he grabs my wrist? It’s not like he really wants me here unless - Wars could have taught me wrong on purpose. With how possessive he was it’s not impossible, but why do that rather than just not teach me? He knew you’d just go to Twillight if he didn’t, you left him out of options. Wild’s grip isn’t to be messed with though, it’ll bruise if it gets any tighter - if it isn’t already. The noise we’re making seems to have woken the others up, as Twi shocks the both of us by grabbing our shoulders. 

“Aight - what’s got you’s so riled up.”

[name] said wars told them sign and I don’t think he taught them right.

“Wars taught me some hylian sign, so I wanted to talk to wild and he was just … mean.”

“Ah. I think wars taught you very wrong darlin’, Wild could never be rude to you, he’s fallen too far for that.”

With a wink and a nudge from twi at that, well he’s certainly proved my earlier thoughts, as well as throwing a frew new ones into the mix. No wonder wars would be jealous of him trying to get closer to me. But.. Wild likes me? That - well it adds up but I really wish this wasn’t how I learned. His kicked puppy look is heart-wrenching; I don’t blame him of course if my crush was deliberately taught to misunderstand me and then told about my crush on them? I’d be just as upset. Where should I go from here though? There’s a couple of different options, with one making a lot more sense to me. 

“Would you be able to teach me properly then rancher? I really would like to get closer to Wild; this seems like the best way to do that.”

“If the champ wants me too, then I don’t see an issue cub.”

Only if I’m there to make sure they’re being taught right. 

“Course wild.”

That should clear up everything then and I’ll be able to do what I actually wanted too rather than the exact opposite, Wild sitting next to me a blushy mess only makes it better. Twi’s lessons feel a lot better from the ones Wars gave me from the get go, he’s more careful with explaining the meanings as well as more patient with me; Wild adding in occasionally with things he thinks are important to know. I know I’m not gonna pick up all that much today but it’s amazing to finally be able to really talk to wild, now I’ve got some of the basics like how to spell Wild’s planning to take over most of my lessons for me anyway. There’s one sign that Twi taught me that really stood out to me though, crossing both hands flat and pressed to his heart. Love. The very same sign that he’s been using in place of my name for a few weeks now. He’s been practically confessing right to my face and I never even knew. Even with all of that I can’t help but want to tease him a little, now that the issues earlier are all cleared.

“So then lover-boy, were you hoping that your mentor was going to translate your confession for you, or were you hoping that this would all happen sooner?”

Hoping that you wouldn’t catch on for a long while yet. 

“Awh, is the idea of me knowing and reciprocating all that bad to you?”

Reciprocating?

I didn’t mean to say that outloud. My face feels like it’s hot enough to cook with now, why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut! Wild seems to be glowing at that though, he’s not making a move to talk or anything, just staring at me with the sweetest love struck expression. I would love for him to look at me like that often, it’s so pure and loving that I can’t help but want more of it. 

Would you be against us being more serious then… if you really do love me too. I think I'd like to try. 

“...”

“I think I would like that, I’d like that a lot actually. To be able to call you mine? It sounds nice.”

#before anyone says I used the wrong thing for love #Its BSL that I used for refrence #botw link x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #linked universe x reader #link x reader #lu wild x reader #lu wild #lu twilight #lu warriors #moss✦writes