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entitled-fangirl · 13 days

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A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict finds himself speechless at the model in his art class. The two later meet, and he realizes maybe she's what he wants.

A/N: Give my man Benedict some LOVEEEE

Masterlist

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Benedict sat down and readied his canvas for his art class to begin.

His new found friends leaned over leaned over as the Bridgerton sat down, "Teacher said we were studying dresses today."

"Dresses?" Benedict asked with his usual smirk.

"Yeah. Said something about capturing the flow of 'em. Whatever that means."

"The flow of-" Benedict paused as the door opened and out walked a small figure.

A beautiful model in a thin silk dress.

She scanned the room with nervous eyes. After all, the room was full of eager men who wished to picture her frame.

Benedict felt breath leave his lungs.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

The teacher took the model's hand gently and led her to the middle of the room. "Alright, gentlemen," he called loudly. "Today we shall be focusing on the flow of fabric. Really pay attention to the detail. I want to feel like I can reach out and touch the fabric in your sketches."

The teacher then turned to the girl, "Miss Hemmings, are you ready?"

The girl scanned the room one more time in nervousness, before it set on Benedict. Her nervous eyes relaxed for just a moment before moving away from him to look at the other men. Her voice was meek and quiet, "Yes. I… I believe I am."

The man nodded, "Alright. Pick a direction to look, and I'll situate you from there."

She took a deep breath and scanned the room once more. Once her gaze settled on Benedict, as it had done before, she stopped. "I believe here should suffice?"

Benedict gave a smirk and couldn't look away. She was captivating.

The teacher then reached down, fluffed out her dress just barely, and stood. He turned to face his eager students, "Begin."

And there she was, under a spotlight in a room full of men who were now beginning to sketch her.

And she had to stay still.

Now that all eyes were on her, she decided looking towards Benedict was a bad idea.

He was to always be looking at her. He was sketching her, after all.

And the wall above him was too dark to be anything enjoyable to watch for the next few hours. But she did so. For the first hour anyway.

Eventually, she couldn't help but let her gaze fall to the Bridgerton. He was deep in focus now.

So much so, that he didn't feel her gaze until the third time he had glanced up at her.

He paused involuntarily at the eye contact. He felt the smallest of smiles graze his face.

Her cheeks heated to a violent shade of red. And she couldn't hide it.

She broke the eye contact, looking back up at the wall to avoid accidentally moving and messing up all the other sketches.

But every now and then, she would allow herself to take in the sight of the Bridgerton earnest at work.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

…

The second the class was called to a close, Miss Hemmings completely disappeared.

It confused Benedict.

He had been comparing his finished portrait to her, and had looked up and she was gone.

No matter.

She's just a model.

That's what he told himself, at least.

…

Benedict Bridgerton was making his way downtown, eager to purchase more charcoal for his sketching endeavors.

He hardly heard the sound that was coming from the nearby alleyway.

But he did.

He paused in his step and turned his head in its direction.

Sounded like a woman's voice.

He began to cautiously walk down said alleyway with a low voice, "Hello? Anyone there?"

He rounded the corner and stopped at the sight.

A woman was practically pinned against the wall by a man much bigger than her.

His hand was wandering down her dress and began to lift the hem of it.

Tears filled her eyes as she tried to push him away with quiet pleads.

"Hey!" Benedict yelled. "What are you doing?"

The man turned his head in his direction and scoffed, "This Miss was being tempting to the gentlemen that walk these streets. But when I tried to take the temptation…" he grabbed at her jaw and growled in her ear, "… She refuses me."

Benedict took a few more steps closer with his hands out, "Leave the lady be, sir."

The man moved away from the woman and the wall, now interested in Benedict, "And tell me, what will you do about it?"

Benedict took a breath and courageously stepped forward, "I'm Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount you hear of so often. I suggest you step away from the woman and continue your day. Sir." He said through gritted teeth.

The man paused, "Bridgerton?"

Benedict nodded.

"Ah," the man feigned happiness. "Lord Bridgerton, of course. My apologies. I had no idea she was yours, my Lord."

"'Tis alright." Benedict said. "You may correct your mistake now."

The man nodded, "And so I shall. Good day, sir."

And with that, the man left.

Benedict watched him round the corner before immediately rushing to the woman, "Are you well?" He asked in a hushed tone.

The woman looked up.

Benedict let out a breath.

The model.

She looked down again to wipe the tears from her face, "Lord Bridgerton. I apologize. I… I did not… I didn't mean…"

Benedict felt himself smiling, "Please. Please calm yourself. It's alright. You owe me nothing."

She felt herself take a few steady breaths before she looked up again. Her eyes now focused on his and her face morphed into shock, "You?"

He actually let out a chuckle, "Me? Yes. I'm afraid so. Apparently, I just couldn't let you go, huh?"

She smiled and relaxed. "I suppose I truly owe you gratitude."

He shook his head, "No. Please."

"I do, my Lord." She insisted.

He looked off in thought and smiled. His gaze turned back to her, "Tell me your name."

She paused a moment at his request. "Y/N Hemmings, sir."

His smile grew as he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "A pleasure, truly. I'm afraid you have occupied all of my thoughts since the last time I saw you."

She smiled, "You're simply an artist who is immersed with his work, my Lord. That is all."

Benedict nodded, "Tell me what you were doing alone out here?"

She sighed, "I… I make runs here for the upper class who don't wish to be seen in such… slums. They pay me to do so."

He feels his jaw go slack just a bit, "You come to dangerous areas to make extra money?"

She nods, "I have a younger brother to take care of, my Lord. He is everything to me."

He shakes his head in disbelief, "You're a mysterious thing, aren't you?"

She lets out a laugh, "Not as mysterious as you, sir. A Viscount taking artistic classes? Don't you have higher duties? I don't imagine they have time for such… fulfilling things?"

He offers his arm to her, "Then perhaps I may tell you something?"

She took his arm with a curious grin, "You may."

He leans down to her ear, "I am not the Viscount."

She tried to pull away in shock, but he held her arm tightly. "You are not Lord Anthony Bridgerton?"

He laughed out, "No. Heavens no."

She cautiously leaned in, "Who are you, then?"

He smiled, "I am Benedict Bridgerton, the second son residing in Aubrey Hall. I didn't completely lie to you. I am indeed a Bridgerton."

She stepped with him down the alleyway now, "I see. I suppose that makes more sense."

Benedict stops walking as they near the road, "May I be frank with you, Miss Hemmings?"

She tilted her head, "Yes, sir."

"You are the most fascinating creature I've ever seen."

She felt her cheeks grow warm, "Oh. I… what a most welcome compliment, Sir."

He smiles, "I do hope there is no man I must fight for the right to your hand."

She felt her mouth dry. "What?"

"Your hand," he smiled. "Do you have a suitor?"

"Me?" She gasped out. "Me? No. I don't… I've never had suitors."

He nods and smiles wider, "Then may I be the first, Miss Hemmings?"

She considers his words. A Bridgerton. A high ranking family with wealth and charm.

But more importantly, a most dashing artist as a potential husband.

"Only if I may see the sketch you designed of me all those days ago."

He lets out a laugh, "Oh, darling, nothing I sketch would be even close enough to capturing your beauty onto the paper. Even the greatest artist can do no such task. It is meant to be enjoyed in the moment."

She nodded in thought, "Then you must call me Y/N. And you must continue to sketch me until you get it right."

He tilts his head, "But I've just claimed it's impossible to do."

She smiled, "Then we have no excuse to not be near each other, it seems."

Benedict grinned brightly and leaned in, "I suppose you're right. But you have to call me by my own name."

She let out a breath, "I shall do so."

"Excellent. Most excellent." Benedict said as they walked out onto the busy street.

A wife of his own? Benedict thought. That's something he always pictured as a boy.

And as he looked down at her, he realized it was a most beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

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sanctus-ingenium · 6 months

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Just wanted to ask, please forgive me if you've already answred this, what program do you use? Your art fucks HARD and like. I was looking at your art of the two moths over the city they die in and I was hit with the wave of "oh that looks really fucking fun actually." Like i know my art program can't do some of those effects and like, I'd love to try fucking about with them.

hi there, thank you! all my art is done in procreate and paint tool sai

because you mentioned that drawing in particular i thought it would be fun to break it down and show ppl what exactly went into each part of it so check this out

sketch & lineart - the brushes come from georgbrush.club and the urban sketcher is my most commonly used lineart brush, it has a nice irregular shape. the square brush is nice for big blocky sketches.

the cityscape was REALLY hard but basically I got a photo of the skyline of florence, traced some basic building shapes, then bullshitted the rest using the vertical symmetry/mirror tool to cut down on the amount of work (so i only had to sketch one half of the city). then for lineart I turned off vertical symmetry, turned on the two-point perspective tool, and got this:

the rose windows were made using the radial symmetry tool.

I didn't like it being so flat, so I used the liquify tool to make a kind of fish-eye effect (limited success tbh). I liked how it looked but the buildings in front needed something to cover them up to make the liquification less obvious...

first pass colours. I felt they were very washed out, aside from the sun which i loved. I use the spectra brush (default procreate) for skyscapes a lot, I love the texture. Although the clouds were filled in using the lasso selection tool, I softened the edges using the square pencil again and added texture using true grit sampler grainy brushes. The translucency effect comes from my setting the brush as an eraser. The sun rays come from the radial symmetry tool.

Blocking in the moths' colours was done with the urban sketcher again.

Something people may not have noticed is the labyrinth hidden in the sky! yeah I had a bunch of versions where it was more obvious but I found that it clashed a bit and was too busy, so I made it subtle. But yes. I searched for "royalty free labyrinth" and picked one.

The toner grit brush is one you've seen before if you've looked at any art on tumblr lately (this is such a popular brush) and it's from the true grit fast grit set. The pointillism brush is from the true grit free sampler pack, like my grain brushes.

I added shadows to the moths, increased saturation overall, and changed the clouds to a translucent blue (you can even see in the sun where I forgot to block in the sun itself because the clouds over it used to be opaque lol). Moon rays were drawn using the radial symmetry tool but this time with rotational symmetry off. I also moved the moon down closer to the moths because I felt that it was a bit far away, and this served to visually divide the drawing into three equal parts, so I chose to lean into that and divide the sky colours too, to show passing time, or an endless moment - morning, evening, night, etc.

And then the oroborous, I tried a few different effects on it because I wanted it to be very clearly separate from the main scene - I settled on a dot matrix newsprint texture, using procreate's onboard tool, and some heavy chromatic aberration. This is because the oroborous isn't real, it's purely symbolic and the moths' demise started when they became photographers so I liked the print media aspect there as well. The story itself is about grief without closure, cyclical violence, and sunk cost fallacy, while everyone explores an endless labyrinth, so an oroborous fits I think

what makes art fun to me is thinking up ways I can tell a story using just a single image. and sure a lot of it will be lost to an audience who isn't familiar with the characters or backstory but i want to leave enough in there that even complete strangers to my work will be able to construct a narrative about what's happening here, rather than it just being a cool image. that's my goal.

Finally I exported it to sai on my pc to give it a once-over. this is really important because the retina display on an ipad is oversaturated on purpose, to make everything look amazing and vibrant. but what this means is that on other screens, your work might look washed out. it's especially bad at displaying yellows! so i look at it in sai on my pc and i make minor adjustments, in this case I actually added another multiply layer on the moths and an overlay on their non-shadowed parts to increase the contrast there.

finally if you've read this far, I played a little trick with the caption of the drawing. yeah, THEY die... but only one of those moths is a theythem pronoun haver... the other has to survive. he isn't given a choice in the matter.

#fr you will never catch me trying to mystify my process i will explain literally everything #brushes

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abyssruler · 2 years

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breaking up, breaking down

pairing/s: albedo, childe, diluc, kazuha, scaramouche, xiao, venti, zhongli x gn!reader

summary: if there’s anything you can expect to be consistent in life, it’s that everything has an end. or — genshin men and how they are after you break up with them.

note: angsty in everyone’s part, but it got too lighthearted in childe’s bc i simply cannot take that ginger seriously (affectionate)

ALBEDO

There aren’t any notable changes to his routine. He’d still go about his day, working on his experiments and scribbling down notes, occasionally taking a break to sketch a pretty flower he saw or the wing pattern of a passing butterfly.

And then he finds himself drawing the outline of an eye, then a nose, then lips. Until he suddenly stops in the middle of drawing a strand of your hair blowing in the wind, your face frozen in a smile staring back at him through the canvas of his sketchbook.

It hits him then, the realization, the heart-wrenching clarity of what happened that leaves him sitting in his chair, staring at your face in paper and wondering where he went wrong.

He tries to distract himself by continuing his research, but his mind has a hard time focusing on what needs to be done. It’s agonizing, he doesn’t think he’s felt this way before, never even thought he’d ever feel such pain. In a way, he’s glad his master isn’t here to make a study of what emotional pain means to an artificial human like him.

He sees you two weeks after you broke up with him, laughing as you tried to haggle with a merchant for their wares, unaware of the charm you exude that draws people in like moths to a flame. But then your gaze moves, searching through the crowd—and Albedo should really leave now, avoid barging into your life because there simply isn’t a place for him there anymore—but he does none of that.

Your eyes meet. He doesn’t think he was imagining it when he saw yours dim for the briefest moment. (His heart hurts. Why are you looking at him like that?)

You make your way through the busy street to reach him. He tells himself he should leave, but for the first time in his life, he does what contradicts his logic and stays.

“You look good,” you tell him, something melancholic in the tone of your voice. Oh, if only you knew.

“You as well.” He wants to say more, wants to say how radiant you looked under the sun, the light hitting you in just the right way that has him itching to grab a pencil and immortalize the image in paper—but he holds his tongue. “I need to go.”

Your face falls. He wishes he wasn’t the cause of it. “Ah, right. You must be busy, as usual.” There isn’t a hint of bitterness to your voice, just resignation.

He leaves after bidding you goodbye, feeling the heat of your gaze at his back as he walked away.

CHILDE

He wants you and he will do everything in his power to have you back.

In the early days after you broke up, you won’t hear a word from him. Not a peep. You only hear passing news that dead monsters and hilichurl camps near the vicinity of your home have been utterly eradicated. Passing travelers claim how the areas were ‘strangely flooded’ even though it hasn’t rained in weeks.

Then come the gifts. From flowers to clothes to accessories to different delicacies that are all worth more than your entire life’s paycheck. And when that doesn’t work, Childe sets to work on his recruits.

You suddenly find yourself constantly being approached by a startling amount of Fatui recruits ranging from normal lackies to gunners to cicin mages, and even that one memorable time when a mirror maiden approached you in the middle of buying groceries and proceeded to buy everything in the store, saying all of it was for you.

The Fatui recruits had one thing in common: they all had nothing but praises to say for the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger.

“Master Childe defeated all the recruits in under ten seconds!” “Have you heard how Lord Harbinger killed twenty geovishaps and came out without a single scratch?” “I saw him buying that exact same shirt yesterday, it cost one million mora! He’s so rich!” “Lord Tartaglia has been so down lately. He keeps saying how much he misses his beloved.”

“Did you know? Even Lady Signora wept after she heard that you and Master Childe broke up.” That one, you’re certain never actually happened, and you made sure to tell that with an unimpressed look to the pyro agent who told you. As if Signora would ever cry, she’d probably throw a party for you for finally leaving Childe.

In the end, after cycling through so many recruits, he had no choice but to come to you directly.

…Which is how you woke up at six in the morning to the ground shaking and the sound of an eerily familiar laugh right outside your house.

You open your window to find Childe fighting a lawachurl right in front of your house, a ring of Fatuus surrounding and cheering him on. His smile brightens to an almost comical degree once he sees you and your bedhead squinting out from a window.

“You look so stunning today, beloved!” He steps back from an earth-shattering punch by the lawachurl. “I’ve brought you the biggest lawachurl I could find so I can show you how worthy I am of you!”

He then proceeds to—and you have to blink a few times to see if you’re not hallucinating—fist fight the lawachurl. And he’s actually winning. No vision, no weapon. Just his bare fists.

When the commotion wakes up your entire neighborhood, you have to go down there and yell at him to stop or take this fight somewhere that isn’t right in front of your house! He complies with a grin and a promise saying he’ll meet you later.

There’s something fond curling in your chest that you try and fail to smother. With an exasperated tone, you tell him that yes, you’ll find time in your busy schedule to meet him. He lights up like you just agreed to marry him and yells out rapid orders in Snezhnayan to his recruits.

“I’ll see you later!” He blows a kiss in your direction that you ignore. You turn away and walk back into your house, trying (and failing) to fight the growing smile on your face.

DILUC

It’s not evident to anyone who doesn’t know him well, but Diluc takes it close to heart and buries it among countless other regrets that have accumulated in his life. The turbulent feelings that threaten to overcome his mind at any hour of the day manifests itself in him becoming more withdrawn.

He’s gloomy, more brooding than usual, and the reason becomes apparent once the other patrons notice the lack of a certain person who usually sits by the bar during his shifts. Your usual laugh accompanied by teasing grins and playful swats at his long hair when you think no one is looking are nowhere to be seen.

One particularly drunk person had come up to him as he was wiping down the counters and asked why you weren’t there. Anyone who had been there to see the sight would tell you that he didn’t say anything, hadn’t been able to say anything. He just… stood there, hands frozen mid-motion and eyes drawn somewhere, lost in thought.

He slips up sometimes. Asks the maids to prepare a dinner for two only to stop in the middle of talking as he realizes what he just said. At breakfast, he pauses in the middle of reading his daily papers to turn his head to the right, a question on the tip of his tongue that dies when he sees the empty spot you usually occupied. It’s the pitying gazes that follow when he slips up that he hates the most.

He makes your favorite drink sometimes, on the days when he’s on shift and feeling particularly self-destructive. It stays hidden under the bar counter, hoping against hope that you’ll walk through the door and greet him with an upbeat ‘good evening!’ that makes his day all the more better. You never do.

It’s on a bright, sunny morning when he’s out overseeing the delivery of wine to the tavern that he sees you again. His heart soars for all but a second before it comes crashing down, because Diluc Ragnvindr does not deserve nice things.

You’re holding the hand of some nondescript man, grinning and laughing and emitting such a great sense of contentment that he can almost feel it from where he’s standing meters away from you.

You’re happy. It’s been months and he’s still wallowing in old hurts. You’re happy.

Did you ever smile like that when you were with him? He likes to think so, but the realistic, pessimistic thought is that you’re probably better off not being with him. You’re happy. Happier now than you were when you were with him.

Everything he’s ever loved has been hurt directly and indirectly by his hands. He turns away from the sight of you and pretends to be preoccupied with his task. Maybe it’s for the best that you left before it could happen.

KAZUHA

He tries not to take it to heart. He understands why you left, knows it before you even made the decision to leave. And in the aftermath, much like a leaf adrift in the wind, he roams about aimlessly, lost in thought.

Grief is not an emotion he’s unfamiliar with. As he sits by the cliffs overlooking the endless ocean, grief burrows its way to his chest like an old, unwelcome friend. He doesn’t fight it. He’s learned the hard way that fighting it is a losing battle, like picking at a scab, hoping that doing so will make it heal faster, yet only succeeding in worsening the wound.

Kazuha isn’t a stranger to loneliness, of letting the wind kiss his tears away as they dried on his cheeks. He is, however, unfamiliar with this new kind of ache in his chest. And only after much rumination does he conclude what it might be.

The loss of his family, the loss of his heritage, the loss of his friend, and now, the loss of his lover. A master of loss, he could almost call himself. His old friend would certainly find such a title amusing.

He finds himself writing letters to you, even with the knowledge that he’ll never be able to send them to you. It’s the thought that comforts him, the pretense that he still has someone to tell of his travels, someone to simply come home to, even when he knows he isn’t welcome anymore.

In his weakest moment, when he had too much to drink and too little self-restraint, he sends one of the letters to you. He’s forgotten whether it’s the one where he laments the loss of your presence, the one where he begs you to have him back, or the one where only three words are written, a small blot in the ink where a stray tear had fallen.

He waits, and waits, and waits a little more, staying for a whole month in the small village he’d addressed the letter from for the small, improbable event that you may have written back. He learns later on that the letter never made it to your hands. The ship it had been on had lost all its cargo to the sea, including his letter. When he heard the news, he hadn’t known whether to be relieved or lament on what could have been.

It isn’t unpleasant to see you again. Kazuha has had time to let go of his hurt, but still, the image of your nostalgia-inducing eyes leave in him a sense of loss he thought he had already settled. Your mirage smiles, “Kazuha.” Had he been a weaker man, he would have folded and swept you up in his arms.

Nobody asks why his eyes have a slight sheen to it after he forces himself to walk away from you. He stands atop the beach and lets the waves wash over his bare feet, closing his eyes and imagining what could have been had he let himself succumb to the desire of holding you one last time, even if you were merely a mirage from the past.

Truly, the golden apple archipelago is a place where dreams are made into reality.

SCARAMOUCHE

He tries to act above it all, feigning indifference as if the entire thing is just a mild inconvenience to him.

Oh, you’re leaving him? That’s fine, he doesn’t care. Do you know how many people would kill to share his bed? You were tolerable, a way to pass time. Don’t think you were anything special. You, a normal person? Don’t make him laugh. You were nothing more than a pet he kept because you entertained him. It’s good that you’re leaving, actually. It saves him the trouble of having to get rid of you.

He’s… not very kind about it all. Defensive and on guard, hackles raising with every word that comes out of his mouth. He hates every second of it, but he can’t stop because stopping is to admit defeat, it means having to acknowledge that you meant something to him after hundreds of years of loneliness. He let you in his carefully guarded walls, and now—now you’re leaving him? Abandoning him after he bared himself open to you?

You are just like her.

Scaramouche stops before he can say those last words. The red that had been threatening to overcome his vision slowly recedes, leaving a numbing sort of clarity that washes over him like the rising tides of Inazuma’s beaches. His mouth feels dry, throat closing up.

There are tears streaming down your face.

He wishes you’d do something. Hit him, yell at him, curse his name. Anything. Just… anything but this silence that hangs heavy in the air, cloying in it’s thickness and threatening to drown him with words that can never be taken back.

He doesn’t apologize, won’t ever apologize. He is a god, and not even you would make him say those damnable words. He sees the way your eyes dim in understanding as you realize the same thing, and that, perhaps, is why you turn your back to him and walk away.

He wishes he could say that he called out for you, that he grabbed your arm and made you stay, that he just… held you. Instead, he watches you leave him, face blank and a phantom ache resonating in his hollow chest. The silence after you leave feels like the night before his creator abandoned him.

He tells himself it’s fine, that you’ll come back. You always do. This is just one of many arguments that always get resolved after a day or so—except. Except, he doesn’t let himself think of any other possibility. You’ll come back. (You have to.)

The months following your absence is a blur, spikes of irritation mixed with hateful words and barbed insults directed towards anyone who so much as breathed the wrong way. His subordinates are half-contemplating desertion just to escape his wrath. They all wonder where you’ve gone. You’re usually the one who soothes the Balladeer when he’s in one of his moods, like the godsend that you are. Though none of them are brave enough to mention your name after what he did to the foolish recruit who asked of your whereabouts.

Years pass. You never did come back.

He still gets the occasional reports about you and your general wellbeing, still sends out his best soldiers to clear out any monsters who’ve settled near your home. You never find anyone else after him. It brings a strange sense of relief in him when his monthly reports on you end up without a hint of a new lover.

He tries to forget you, but even with a new heart and the ascendance to godhood, there is still a lingering sense of loss and past regrets.

XIAO

He lets you go without argument. He’s used to people leaving him, but this is… different.

The thought of you there, physically within reach yet unable to to cross the distance that separates you from him. It’s a different kind of agony from the ones that have afflicted him for millennia.

He sometimes finds himself standing by the balcony of Wangshu Inn, eyes roaming over the vast landscape of Dihua Marsh, looking for the slightest hint of your silhouette. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs always attracts his attention, anticipating your signature greeting and the smell of whatever mortal sustenance you’ve deigned to make for him to, as you once put it, let him experience the delicacies that this world has to offer.

You can’t call yourself ‘having lived a long life’ if you haven’t tried all the tasty food, Xiao!

…He misses you, though he will never admit it, perhaps not even to Rex Lapis himself.

His time—which once consisted of you, killing monsters, you again, roaming the lands for the remains of old gods, tasting whatever you cooked for him, and accompanying you so you can get home safely—is now comprised of nothing but endless slaughter. He tells himself it’s not a distraction, but it’s a thinly veiled excuse, weak even to his own ears. How low he has fallen to create such feeble excuses to justify the hurt that spreads from his chest to the tips of his fingers.

He used to pick up small things and trinkets in his time scouring the land for evil. A shiny pebble that reminded him of your eyes, a particularly large sweetflower that you would gape comically at once he showed you, qingxin flowers he plucked from the highest mountains just so he can see the way your face lights up in a smile. He still does all these things, only now, the objects are stored in a realm made in the likeness of your home, placing each one in a shelf or table that he thinks you would have arranged them in.

One time, he panics when he sees the flowers start to wilt, and in the heat of the moment, he placed adeptal power in them to ensure they will never die. To this day, he isn’t sure why he did so, only that he imagined at the time how upset you would be that they died in his care, even though he knows how unlikely it is that you will ever discover his hobby of collecting flowers and storing them in his realm.

Perhaps he hopes you’ll come back to him, so that when you do, he can see the way your eyes brighten up once he shows you everything he got for you while you were away.

It’s unlikely, he knows, but it’s nice to dream of it. He thinks his siblings would be proud to see him finally have a little hope for something.

VENTI

He spends the rest of the week in the tavern drinking as much as he can. For once, Diluc doesn’t try to reproach him for drinking what he can’t pay for.

He doesn’t exactly get drunk—can’t get drunk, more like. To a god like him, drinking a hundred barrels of Mondstadt’s finest wines won’t even be enough to get him tipsy. He is the god of freedom (and wine, he’d like to add), he can outdrink every single one of the archons and still have enough semblance to go to war. And yet…

You appear on the seventh day like a salvation, face contorted in worry when you see him slumped on the counter and one inch away from falling off the stool. It isn’t difficult to act the part of a drunken bard, pretending to sway on his feet and donning a fake intoxicated grin as he asked Charles for another glass.

The wind tells him of your arrival, but he ignores it just as he ignores the way his heart soars when the wind brings him the barest hint of your scent. He wishes you didn’t come here. He wishes he didn’t act so drunkenly. He wishes you were more heartless and ignored whoever must have tattled on him drinking Angel’s Share into bankruptcy.

You call his name. He pretends he’s asleep just so he doesn’t have to face his problems. Ha. How ironic. Will he wake up to Mondstadt destroyed by the remains of Khaenri’ah this time? He nearly did once.

He hears you sigh before he feels you bring his arm across your shoulders. You help him get off the stool, an arm around his waist to help keep him steady. The weight of Diluc’s disapproving gaze for deceiving you about his drunkenness is heavy, but he tells himself it’s alright. He just… wants to be selfish for once. If he has to act drunk to feel your arms around him again, he’ll suffer this humiliation as many times as he can.

“Venti,” you start as you walk him in the direction of your home. “I was worried, you know. Aether told me how much you’d been drinking since…” You trail off. He feels you shaking your head before continuing, “Just… don’t be so reckless with your health.” You laugh, mildly sardonic that’s directed more towards yourself than him. “Ah, what am I saying… you won’t even have any recollection of this tomorrow anyway.”

He wants to say something, but saying something means breaking this moment between you, it means revealing that he doesn’t actually need your help because once he starts speaking, the dam will break and everything will come spilling out. I’m sorry, I miss you, I love you.

The front door to your house opens. He’s gently placed down your couch, a blanket thrown over him as you thoughtfully take his shoes off for him. He feels you linger by his side, can practically hear the conflict in you.

He’s unprepared for the feeling of your warm breath on his skin, your lips hovering over his face before placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight, Venti.”

He leaves before the sun rises.

ZHONGLI

He only smiles, small and understanding with a hint of sorrow at the corner of his eyes.

He tells you he’ll respect your decision, but should you change your mind, he will always be here. You say it’s doubtful, he would’ve probably found someone else by then. Zhongli doesn’t correct you, only leans in and places his lips on the top of your head, as gentle as he’s always been with you, somehow managing to convey with a single gesture how high he holds you in regard.

And for the barest, infinitesimal moment, you half-contemplate the idea of staying. It’s a wishful thought. You end up leaving before you can change your mind.

He’s still as grounded as ever, but there’s a fragility to it, a certain brittleness that threatens to crumble from within him. He is the Lord of Geo, and yet he is so easily undone by you. The pain is temporary, he knows from past losses, but it doesn’t lessen the ache that resonates in his chest.

For the first time in his long life, he curses his golden memory that makes him incapable of forgetting, though that which he curses is also something he is grateful for. He can’t bear having to suffer losing the memories of your time together.

Your relationship is amiable, like that of old, awkward friends you had fallen out of touch with rather than that of old lovers. It’s what you wanted after all, this sense of normalcy. He has become such a vital part of your daily life that you simply couldn’t cut him off of your life entirely.

He doesn’t know which is worse; having to act as a mere friend when he wants nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and never let go, or to have no contact with you at all.

Morax is not one to ask for things, not one to plead his case to anyone. He was a selfish and proud god, a necessity that was shaped from him by the war. To love a mortal enough to leave his throne and fake his death would have been unthinkable. But that is why he is no longer Morax. He is Zhongli.

And Zhongli? He wants you. Desperately. Enough that he is willing to beg should you ask it of him.

His deceased enemies would laugh in mockery at what has become of the fearsome Morax. How low he has fallen—but it is a burden he is willing to bear. He will suffer as many humiliations as it takes to have you back.

The only issue is that you don’t want him anymore. But he is a man who finds gold where others would see stone. If he has to build his way up from friendship all over again, then it is a task he will do so gladly. As many times as it takes for you to want him back.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #xiao x reader #venti x reader #zhongli x reader #gn reader

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jarofstyles · 8 months

Text

Indigo- Cobalt

Hellooooo.. Here is part 3 to indigo! Hope you enjoy tattoorry.

Warnings- tattoos, mention of needles, blood, brief mention of vomit, anxiety, you're going to want to eat harry

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WC- 2.9k

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Y/N felt dizzy.

It wasn’t the prospect of getting a tattoo that was making her so nervous- it was the fact that Harry’s thigh was pressed right up against hers, his body angled towards her as he sketched on his ipad drawing program. He’d said he prefers pencil and paper but it was easier for this type of session to do it there. Faster. She had no input other than the fact that he smelled really fucking good and his leg was warm against her own.

She had indulged some information to him. First and foremost, she wanted a sunflower. A dainty little sunflower with a bit of shading and a longer stem that would go down a bit and twist near her wrist. Her plans for one day having a floral sleeve with her favorite flowers and the birth month flowers of her family had been shared, but she wanted to start off relatively simple with the first one. See how her body reacted, her healing time, all while leaving room if she liked it and wanted to continue with the sleeve.

Harry had been endeared and slightly impressed. It was rare that he got new clients anymore, as most were fairly covered by the time they got to him. However when he did do new clients back in the start, most didn’t have the extensive research she had done, nor the plan. He was all for going for what felt right, but Y/N had been specific and practical in her planning and it made him feel even more fond. She had taken the time to research not only the safety, but the importance of listening to artists suggestions and double checking the work.

It’d been a while since he had done a floral piece, but he was up for it. Truthfully, Y/N could have told him she wanted a rose skull with an infinity symbol in the eye socket and he would have done it for her, but he was relieved it was something that was relatively easy to perfect.

The man knew that he was a perfectionist when it came to his work. Harry didn’t do sloppy- at least not in his work. He kept clean, crisp lines and smooth shading, he did his best to keep any blowout from happening as much as he could on his own end, and he educated each client on the likelihood of the colors they chose longevity and when they’d probably need it touched up. His tattoos were for the clients, sure, but it was also a representation of his work. He was lucky enough now to have his choice on taking clients- there were plenty he turned away or handed off to other artists he thought could better suit them. His hard work had bled into the success he had wanted, leaving him the ability to be picky.

Normally he wouldn’t want to do a first time client because, well… he really didn’t like doing them. First timers didn’t know what to expect the majority of the time, they didn’t know how to sit still, they would wince and move and complain far too much for Harry to feel at his best. He wasn’t judging them, but now that he had a choice he chose to keep to people who had at least one.

Y/N was the exception to the rule.

He felt honored that she would like his art on her, a bit of that primal satisfaction that it would be his too. No one else would have touched her with the needle, no one else had a shot at marking up her pretty, soft skin. It was a privilege, especially considering their origin.

“What do we think?” He murmured, showing her the second sketch with some of her notes. She hadn’t liked the thickness of the stem originally, and Harry had agreed it had been a bit too leafy so he had taken some off. “S’a bit thinner in the stem and I did a curve at the bottom so it’ll fit with the movement of your arm.”

“Moment of my arm?” She asked curiously, hitting him with a curious gaze. Harry had been extremely patient with her thus far and it made her nervous to ask for corrections, but he had told her that it was going to be on her forever and he needed it to be exactly what she wanted.

“Mhm. Where you’re putting it… The skin moves when you rotate your arm. S’why we don't usually put straight lines there, at least I don’t unless in specific situations. We want it to run smoothly regardless of which way your arm is positioned. So adding a bit of a curve in the stem would make it look straighter when you move it.” He showed the motion on his own arm so she could have an example.

“Oh. I never would have thought of that.” She blinked, watching as his arm moved. He had quite a few tattoos, some she had never been truly able to make out. Now being up so close, she had a front row seat to the anchor on his wrist and the cross on his hand, some of the little doodles that she had been so curious about. He seemed to have different styles of work and she liked that each one seemed to differ just a bit. “How many tattoos do you think you’ve done in your career?”

The question popped into her head out of nowhere but it still remained there. She was increasingly curious as to how he had gotten started, what he did and didn’t like doing. Pure thirst for the knowledge of what went through his head. He’d been a silent shadow most of the time she’d known him, so it was interesting to purely listen to him talk.

“Erm.. I’d say a couple hundred? There are some days I only work on one, some I do none, some days I can do three to four.” He paused, placing his apple pencil down, turning slightly to look at her. Their thighs pressed further together. “When I first started, I did a lot of flash sheets of shit that wasn’t my own. Think of, like, the pinterest stuff. Little hearts and stars, stuff on my mates, myself. They had me practice a ton when I was apprenticing but it made me good.” He brushed the hair out of his face. He really needed to find his hair clip. “Was frustrated at first, because I knew I could draw and stuff, but they were making me do those tiny things for basically no money- but, y’know, It’s harder than you’d think. Especially on someone who’s moving or someone who’s giggling with a bunch of their friends that they brought.”

“Is that why there was that sign out there?” Her face broke into a little grin, remembering the hand lettered sign before you went back to the rooms. ‘No children, No drinking, No plus threes’. “I find it hard to believe that people want to bring three people into the room with them.” That was inconsiderate. One? She could understand. That made sense if you were nervous. But multiple people just made it more crowded and loud. She’d rather be alone and deal with the experience being potentially awkward rather than make herself an inconvenient client.

His scoff took her by surprise, head tipping back in amusement. “Oh, they do. They did. Now it’s limited to one person in the room and you’ve got t’be over 18. Special allowances are made sometimes, but some of the places I worked at before starting my own place had no one enforcing or making those sorts of rules. It’s just unsafe. You’d be surprised how many drunk people come in demanding ink.” It was one of his least favorite clients. Drunk people tended to squirm and vomit, you know, besides getting a permanent image inked into the skin. That’s one thing he would never do again.

“Hm. Well it seems like you’re running a great place. I saw your stuff on instagram.” Her praise made him flush slightly, feeling a tiny bit shy as she continued. “And then the articles and awards you’ve got up front. It’s massively impressive. I’m surprised you’re tattooing me if I’m honest. She said up front I had virgin skin?” A head tilt at the end of her words reminded him of a puppy.

“Well, like I said. Special occasion.” He knocked his knee against hers in a playful attempt. “Just means no ink. Nothing nasty. I usually don’t do people with no ink because they can be twitchy and I can choose the pieces I do now. Usually I do more long and involved ones but, I’m more than happy to be doing yours.” His smile was a reassurance that he was more than happy to do it.

“Are you sure?” Y/N frowned slightly, suddenly feeling a little guilty. She didn’t want him to do a tattoo he didn’t want to do, or even more so do it on her just because he felt bad about the times before. “If you don’t want to do it, I’m happy to go to another artist in your shop-”

“No, I want to do it.” His voice was fast, interrupting hers without meaning to. It had rushed out without his permission, but the ugly twisting inside his gut had started at the mention of someone else doing this. She had wanted him, had planned on him, and if he was being honest? He was a bit selfish. His art was meant to go on people like Y/N. People who appreciated the art, who appreciated the skill. Add in his big fat crush, and it was not something he was going to pass up.

“O-Okay.” Y/N smiled, looking back down at her lap. His jeans were against her leg, and she couldn't stop thinking about how warm he was. How happy she was that he had chosen to sit with her on here instead of the armchair. A giddiness bubbled in her stomach as she felt his eyes on her, a hand coming down into her field of vision and gripping her knee. Her face felt hot, looking down at the fingers that curled over. It felt like she had been shocked at first, but moved into a warm glow.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

If she was any less strong, she would have squeaked. The large hand rested there, giving her leg a squeeze before he continued to speak.

“You ready to get some ink, then?”

—-------------

“You’ve had somethin’ to eat today, right?” Harry’s voice spoke to her as she sat in the red leather seat. His back was turned to her as he opened up a few drawers, grabbing what looked to be some sort of tape, vaseline, ink caps, different wrapped needles maybe? A blue liner sat over the tray, keeping it sanitary as he placed the supplies down. There was no reason to doubt he would be, but it only furthered her comfort.

“Yeah, I had a croissant and a pastry. Coffee too.” She peeped, hoping that would be good enough in his eyes.

With the way he turned in his chair, it wasn’t. “C’mon, babe. You’ve gotta eat better than that… but I can say m’glad you didn’t have a heavy meal a few minutes ago.” That would be a nightmare if she felt the need to spew. “Nothing with protein.. If you feel like you’re getting lightheaded, like you’re going to faint? Tell me immediately. This shouldn’t be too bad, all things considered, but there's no shame in taking a break.” He really didn’t mind it. That was much preferred over someone passing out on him.

“Okay. I’ll tell you.” Her eyes widened slightly but she avoided his eyes again, instead choosing to look at his hair. He’d found his hair clip when they’d walked in, saying something about having been looking for it for ages before gathering hair at the front of his face and clipping it back out of the way. He looked fucking adorable.

Tattoos, piercings and all, he looked adorable. Y/N had always thought he was handsome, hot, even, but his little smiles and concern for her had made her feel a little floaty and giggly and she needed to contain herself.

“Good girl.” His hand squeezed her leg again before turning around on the stool to finish unwrapping supplies.

If he heard her squeak, he didn’t let her know it.

They sat in a comfortable silence, the music hooked to his phone playing at a comfortable level as he did his thing. Y/N looked at his back, admiring the broad nature, his strong shoulders and how it strained slightly against his shirt. At this point, she was nearly positive she was just being extremely thirsty over the man who had always been a faraway object of desire- even if she had thought he hated her.

“Alright.” Harry returned, voice making Y/N jump slightly. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve got the stencil.” Holding it up, he let her take a look and smiled to himself as her eyes rounded and she smiled widely. It did that weird thing to his chest as she squirmed, sitting straighter as he approached with it. “Good? We can put it on in a moment. Just got t’prep you.”

“It’s so beautiful, Harry.” Her wispy voice nearly made him fall off his chair. He wished he wasn’t so weak, wished he wasn’t such a soft heart for her, that he could be a bit more suave, but when she spoke like that, looked at him like that, said his name like that? All he wanted to do was scream.

“M’glad you think so.” He replied gently, taking his seat. “Is it okay if I touch you? I need to adjust your arm.” Touching bare skin was a limit a surprising amount of people had- himself included. He usually preferred his bed partners keeping their hands to themselves, no matter how much they wanted to trace his ink. His actual partners, he enjoyed, but people didn’t have much of a sense of boundary sometimes.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Dangerous fucking words, Harry thought. He couldn’t allow his thoughts to stray at the moment, so he decided to save that sweet tone and double meaning sentence to obsess over at a later time.

It didn’t take him too long, his fingers brushing over the skin as he shaved it to make sure the canvas was clear and prepped her for the stencil. Y/N was quiet, watching his concentration. He got a cute little thing between his brows as he focused on her, making sure the stencil was straight and where she wanted before laying it and pressing down.

When he peeled it away, she audibly gasped. “This is perfect.” Her voice went up in pitch. “It’s better than I imagined, H. Really. I love it.” Speaking like the ink was already in her skin, he flushed again as he placed the paper into the tray.

“You sure? Placement’s good?”

“Perfect. I like it right here.” She nodded, eyes not leaving the blue stain.

“Okay. We’re going to get started then, okay?” He pulled on a pair of fresh gloves, scooting himself and the station a bit closer to her. “We’re starting with the outlining, then we move to shading. It’s gonna be uncomfortable, mostly when I have to go over the lines again but we aren’t going to be too close to bone so It shouldn't be terrible.” He was doing his job now to mentally prepare her. “You can tell me if you need the bathroom or if you need to move at all. Everyone’s pain thresholds are different. Don’t feel embarrassed. I’m sure as hell not going to judge you.” His smile was reassuring as she looked a little nervous, but more so the excited type. It was easy to tell.

“I will tell you. Do you need me to stay quiet when you're tattooing? To keep focus? I don’t want to distract you.” Y/N questioned, big eyes looking at him with curiosity.

Anyone else? Anyone else in the entire world, he would tell them yes. He preferred a quiet environment to work, to get into the zone and truly concentrate. But there was no way in hell he was going to pass up an opportunity to hear her talk and babble. She had been so quiet around him before- rightfully so, considering she thought he would tell her to shut up- but he ached to just get a little bit closer. That yearning of his soft heart was pulsing, wishing to get to know her more. His brain was telling him to relax and be logical, but they both knew who would win out.

“Absolutely not, Sunflower. Chatter away.”

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lazyneonrabbitt · 8 months

Text

Inked

Tattoo artist!Carmen Berzatto x Reader

3.1K | The cute, blue eyed guy does your tattoo, then he does you as well.

Smut, Mikey lives AU, improper use of a tattoo station.

Carmy, who always stops his work to make sure you’re greeted properly when you deliver their lunch.

Who gets numerous complaints from the other artist in the shop when he suggests ordering sandwiches at The Beef during lunch for the third time that week.

“You just want to see he girl again.”

“we’ll agree this one time, but only if you ask her out.”

Carmy, who gets stupidly jealous when you’re getting a tattoo from the guy who does your preferred style of tattoos.

Carmy, who’s pretty sure you don’t even know his name.

So when you come into the shop that day with the ordered sandwiches, he’s gathering the courage to ask you but he never really gets the chance. When you drop the bag at the desk as you usually do, you’re immediately chatting with Layla, the lady at the front desk, about something he can’t hear from back at his station. He sees you take a piece of folded paper from your back pocket and hand it over. A moment later he sees Layla point at different flash sheets behind her on the wall, as if she’s having you choose a style. His observing is stopped by a sandwich being handed to him.

Eventually your serious conversation seems to have ended as all that’s heard over the now resumed buzzing of tattoo machines is cackling laughter from the front desk, which he was still happily watching between his appointments. Normally he’d been sketching in between his clients. Either refining his next appointment’s design or working on new flash designs, but today his mind wasn’t anywhere near a canvas.

He did catch the guy that did your previous two tattoos linger near the front, which Carmy was a asshole move since you clearly wanted something different than usual, otherwise you would have asked for him immediately.

He shrugged at his own thoughts and went back to enjoying his sandwich and watching the scene from a distance, hoping to catch the guy’s disappointment when you picked someone else.

And as if he had spoken it into existence he saw his eyes widen and immediately scrunch up in annoyance, huffing angrilly as he stomped past carmy’s station and glaring at his smile.

His small, mental victory cheer was short lived, though.

“Yo, Bear!” Layla’s voice bellowed through the shop. “Get your ass over here for a sec.”

With every step he took to the front he got more curious about what was on the piece of paper you had brought with you, but he was also feeling better with every glare he got from mister rude guy.

He stopped at the counter, leaning on it and awaiting his friend’s explanation for calling him over.

Layla scoots him the paper with a “She loved the coloring on these,” as she points at the open binder filled with colored pencil drawings. “You think you can work that into this design she brought?”

Carmy lets out a laugh as he picks up the paper and looks it over, already picturing what he’d do with it color-wise and looks back up to you. “So, you want this exact linework with this color palette," with a gesture that moves from your picture, to his open binder. "But with this type of coloring?" He looks at you with his fingers on a watercolor piece with soft pastel tones under smooth curves of a globe, a waterfall flowing from one ocean into the soft blue background. The design looked like an upgraded version of the small line only piece he had on his arm.

“If that’s possible, yeah.” You nodded excitedly before looking back at him. “It is possible, right? If not I’ll think up something else or whatever.” The disappointment your own thoughts were causing you was clear on your face, so much Layla almost felt bad for you.

A hand on your arm quickly made the thoughts disappear. “I’ll make it work, yeah. I got this.” He takes a pen and writes down the design details in he upper corner. “So, how soon do you wanna get this done? I got some open spots not too far out.”

“Really? I got this week left before we close the shop for renovations so I got all the time then.” You bounced on your heels from excitement as you worked out the appointment details and he handed you his card. “Thank you so much!” You put the card in your back pocket and looked around for a clock. When you spotted one you realized just how long you had been there. “Shit, I gotta go! If I walk fast I’ll make it back before my break is over. see you in two weeks!” You waved to them and called out a goodbye over your shoulder as you jogged out of the front door.

~~~

You kept the little appointment card in your phone case, getting more and more every day.

You got so giddy about it, the Beef staff teased you about it endlessly during the first week of renovation, up to the second you walked out of the door on your way to the appointment.

Arriving at the shop without your work attire or a bag of food felt strange but you were insanely excited. During your waiting time you had been stalking Carmen's artist instagram as well as the parlor's. You had initially picked Carmen as your artist for this piece because of his style, but after really taking a close look at his new posts your mind was already collecting more and more plans for him to cover your body with. But you would be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't been enjoying those tattoo hot take videos of theirs. Honestly you were glued to your phone whenever either page posted something new.

You arrived early so you quietly sat down at the front after saying hi to Layla. From your spot you could see Carmen busy getting his station ready for you, your quickly folded, printed design taped to an armrest.

After a couple of minutes he came up to you, offering you something to drink before walking you to his station.

"So, you nervous?" His sweet smile made all of your nerves disappear and smile back confidently. "Not anymore now that you're here." You couldn't help it, you were so much more excited for this piece than your first ones.

Maybe because this is the first big one, or maybe because of the intricate colors. Obviously because of the insanely cute guy being up close and personal with your thigh for hours.

It surprised you how much effort he had put into your piece. "We never discussed the size, only the placement so I printed the linework in different sizes." He looks at your leg, comparing the prints. "Look in the mirror for me? Which one do you prefer?" His eyes follow yours through the mirror as he moves the stencils onto your leg one by one. "The second one, but maybe a bit higher up?" You leaned in slightly to tap your leg up t where you want the design to be and Carmen follows your taps, holding the paper carefully for you to judge in the mirror. “Yeah, that’s perfect!” You smile at him, following his movements as he puts the sheet between the foils and transfer paper and runs it through the machine. After cutting the piece out again he grabs a sharpie and kneels down in front of you. “Alright, I’m gonna need you to stand perfectly straight for me.” He puts his hands on your hips to turn you all the way to the mirror and places the piece of transfer paper onto your leg. “Right there, yeah?” “Yeah.” You stare as he takes the sharpie and marks its position before taking it off again. He grabs a bottle of liquid and puts some on hi8s gloved fingers to rub it onto your skin. “Okay now stay still.” He steadily holds the paper between his fingers, his pinkies resting against your skin for stability as he carefully lines up the markings and smoothes out the design onto your leg. Giving it a few careful brushes to make sure it stuck everywhere, he gives it a once over and peels it off carefully, checking if it transferred fully.

You watched him work with his full attention on you, no chatting with the other guys or casual conversation. Only making sure you’re getting the best work. When the stencil was fully off your leg he got back up again. “While that dries, lets go over colors.” With a hand on your lower back he led you towards the small desk hidden behind the bar like wall that separated the stations from the front of the shop. “This is what you brought,” His hand splayed out on the desk. “And this is what you requested for the coloring.” carmen opens a leather binder and pulls out a couple of pieces of paper, turning them over and placing them down for you to check. “Holy shit.” It was all you could get out, honestly. You had imagined what the finished concept would look like, but this was so much better.

“This one has the original colors your print has too, and then these two have small edits that I personally thought would look better on skin.”

The first one was what you requested, but the other two had such a better palette. “That one.” You put your finger on the last one, it had the best balance of the original colors and Carmen’s additions. “Yeah, that’s gonna be the one.” The excitement in your voice and that little bounce when you announced your decision had his heart do a flip. He smiled back at you and went to grab and prep all the colors needed for his work. “Go lay down for me? Make sure you’re comfortable and don’t touch the stencil.” You stared and nodded, hands behind you as you backed up against the leather seat and hopped on. He followed your movements while shaking multiple ink bottles. “Or stay seated, I guess, if you want to watch me work.”He smiled at your shocked blush as he turned back to his toolbox table and started pouring colors into tiny tubs. You watched as he compared needles, holding them to the printed line work and placing every needed item neatly on his workbench.

A few buzzes from the machine indicated the end of his setup.

“Okay now you really gotta lay down.” With a gesture of his hand he rolls over with his seat and positioning your seat so he can easily work on your thigh. Once he had you comfortable and got ink on he needle he gave you one last word that he was gonna start. You gave him a thumbs up in response. He looks up at you, raise brows as he asks again. “I’m gonna start now, you good?” “Yeah. Yeah I’m good to go.”

With that said he rubbed vaseline over the bit of skin where he decided to start and carefully pulled the needle across your skin. The scraping burn felt painful at first, but with time it faded into a dull feeling as you stared up at the ceiling catching Carmen’s gaze from time to time whenever he asked if you were doing okay or needed a drink.

By the time the lines were finished the rest of the artists had left for the day. Even Layla came by to have a look at he progress before she called it a day. You sat up and accepted the glass of soda, looking around the empty shop. "We usually don't do tattoos today. Just bookings and designing." He spends a moment cleaning his machine, changing to a different needle for the colors. "I got lucky and have most of my scedule filled out for the upcoming time, so I could take you today." He finishes up prepping for color and cleans off your leg once more with a quick "sorry.". You swore the alcohol on the towel hurt more than the needle.

“You good to start on colors?” You gave a nod in response and laid back down. “Yeah, let’s go!” He gave you an approving smile, loving that you answered him immediately this time.

The colored reference you chose was taped to an armrest next to you. Carmen studied it for a bit, choosing the best order of colors. Again, the buzz of the machine notified you of the start of round two. You kept your breathing even through that first burning moment again and laid still, relaxed and content. The two of you made some stupid small talk, joking here and there. Whenever silence took over for too long he’d start narrating whatever part he was currently coloring, or you would ask tattoo trivia questions that he’s happily answer for you.

The hours passed way quicker than you expected and before you knew it your leg was being cleaned up for the last time and you were carefully helped off the leather seat to take a look in he mirror. With a hand on your back he led you closer to the wall. “Man, walking feels weird now.” You mention and get a laugh in response. “It’ll have faded by tomorrow morning.” He looked at you from his spot beside you, taking in the way you’re staring at your new art piece in awe. “so?” His hand slid a little lower, squeezing right at the hem of your shorts. “What do you think?” His eyes were still on yours as he asked. “It’s perfect, holy shit Carm you’re amazing.” Your thigh was now decorated with the bold, black cartoony linework of a carebear, colored with pinks and blues, beautifully blending into each other and its details done in such smooth thin lines you could stare at it forever.

Your gaze left your tattoo and turned to the side, staring right into his eyes. Your eyes flicked over to his lips for a second before you grabbed his curls at the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Your sudden move caught him off guard but he quickly returned the kiss, one hand slipping lower onto your ass and the other one holding your hip to make sure you wouldn't rub your freshly tattooed skin against his jeans.

“Lets get that leg wrapped up, shall we?” He guided you back to his station to wipe and wrap your thigh, securing the wrap with pieces of tape.

You were leaned against the large seat with Carmen kneeling in front of you, his eyes on yours. In a moment of confidence you put your hand in his hair, carding your fingers through his curls as his hands moved up to the hem of your shorts waiting for your permission.

A tug on his curls lets him know him he could go ahead, carefully pulling down your shorts and panties while making sure he's not dragging the fabric over your wrapped up skin.

Looking up through his lashes he hooks your leg over his shoulder and inches closer until he's right at your centre. "You got no idea how long I've wanted to do this." With that he closes the gap amd his mouth is on you, his tongue dragging over your slit in a broad, slow stripe.

"Fuck, Carm.." Your fingers curled into his hair and pulled him even closer. His nose brushed against your clit and his tounge easily slid into you, tasting all of you. His moans vibrated through you, having you buck your hips into him almost riding his face. He pulls away for a moment to breathe "Taste so good.. Bring this over for me next time you do a food run?" He jokes with his head against your good thigh, those bright blue eyes staring up at you.

You let out a breathy laugh. "Only on food runs?" The hand in his hair moved down to his jaw to guide him back up. His hands find your hips and in a moment his lips are back on yours. "Gotta thank my brother for always sending you over," He kissed along your jaw. "Got high, spilled about my little crush on the pretty one that brought our lunch that day." Moving your head your lips find his earlobe. "Chef may or may not have heard me talk about the cute artist with the blue eyes and pretty curls a couple of times.."

He smirks against your cheek and steals a kiss before grabbing you by the hips and turning you around.

One hand moves up to your back and presses forward so your upper body is laying against the cool leather of the tattoo chair, while the other kept your thighs at a small distance from the chair. With your head resting on your forearms you look back at him admiring you. When he caught you staring he gave you a quick look with raised eyebrows, looking down at where your ass was pressing against the front of his jeans before looking back into your eyes. A smile and a wiggle against him as response told him enough as he pulled his sweats and boxers down far enough to take out his cock ad rub it between your folds. “Don’t tease, Carmy.. Just put it in,” You press your hips into his again, practically begging him. “please..”

With a roll of his hips he pushes in slowly and leans down to kiss down your spine and softly bit your shoulder blade before setting a steady pace, holding your hips close to his so he won’t accidentally shove you into the chair. Your sighs and moans are sounding trough the parlor as he fucks into you with rhythmic thrusts. “You’re not charging me extra for the happy ending, are you?” Your smartass remark only got a pull on your hips and rougher thrusts as a response. He kept up his fast pace until you were seeing stars and his thrusts started getting sloppy. His forehead was pressed against your back as you clenched around him, taking a few more snaps of his hips before he stilled with a moan. “Shit, if you let me do this more often I might even let you walk out without paying at all."

You shifted so you could look back at him, sweat and curls stuck to his forehead, a tired amile on his face. "Fetch me something to clean up with and I will."

You both got cleaned up and laughed together, chatting about all kinds of stuff. Planning a small dinner date during opening night at the restaurant and betting on how each of your work teams would respond to the two of you dating.

You did end up not having to pay for the tattoo.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: lets all pretend Mikey runs the Beef and shit never went bad.

#sometimes i write #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear imagine #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut

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aajxs · 8 months

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always and forever , SATORU GOJO !

the one where you're gone and satoru is reminiscing.

pairings - satoru gojo x fem!reader

contents - angstttt!!! , hurt/little comfort , mentions of death , mentions of blood , satoru gojo is bad at feelings , maybe ooc gojo (??) , arguing , idk what else to add so lmk if I missed anything

w/c - ???

a/n - the highly requested part two to 'meant to be'. I didn't really know how to end this but I hope it turned out okay 😭

masterlist , part one .

SATORU WAS ASKED the same question a lot. 'Is there anything you don't have?' He'd laugh this question off, give the person a cocky smirk and continue with his day. If he could, he'd give an entire list of things he doesn't have. Your name would be at the top of the list every time.

Satoru couldn't stand the atmosphere around jujutsu high now that you were gone. He used to sleep well knowing you were only a few rooms down peacefully sleeping, bundled in blankets and hugging whatever stuffed animal you had chosen out of your large collection that night.

Satoru always teased you about it, but that never stopped you from buying new ones. You had given him one of your favorite stuffed animals awhile back, and even though Satoru let out a laugh when you handed him the bear, he treated it with the utmost care simply because it was yours.

Before your room was emptied, Yaga allowed Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko to go through your belongings and take something to remember you by. Even if it was probably against the rules, he knew the four of you were close. The distant look in Satorus eyes said everything, and Satoru Gojo was never distant.

"Try to make it quick," Yaga said, patting Satoru on the shoulder as he walked out of the room. Your walls were littered with posters and polaroids, your nightstand had a book on it, your bed wasn't made, and everything felt so natural. Satoru knew that Suguru and Shoko would probably want some of your polaroids, so he only took the ones that had the two of you in them.

Your closet was still full of clothes. Extra uniforms because you always somehow ruined yours on missions, comfy clothes for when you weren't in your uniform, and the occasional t-shirt or pair of sweatpants that you had stolen from Satoru (He let you have them, but he always swore you took it simply because he liked being petty).

A part of him didn't want to take any of his stuff back, but he knew that if he didn't it'd probably be thrown away. Satoru went through your closet and grabbed anything that belonged to him, throwing it over his shoulder. When he was done, he turned around and strode towards your nightstand.

Satoru squatted down and opened the drawer to your nightstand and rummaged through it for a moment. There were notebooks that were mostly empty, and then sketchbooks filled to the brim with drawings. Satoru always saw you doodling whenever you got ahold of paper, and couldn't help but get curious. He would peer over your shoulder when you weren't paying attention and look at your little drawings.

He always thought it was cute how you'd keep a small notepad and a pen on you at all times just so you could draw. Whenever you and him would walk together to meet up with the others, you would occasionally stop to sketch the scenery.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Satoru questioned as he loomed next you, peeking curiously at what you were drawing. "Doing what?" You ask, glancing up at him for a moment before returning to your sketch. "You keep stopping to draw or whatever, why?" He asks again, this time a bit closer to you. "Well," You started, "It's easier than waiting until later when I don't remember all the details." You quickly explain, not caring to go into depth.

Satoru hummed and continued to watch you sketch. "I try to sketch out the base when I first see it, then make a better drawing later." You add as you glimpse at Satoru again. "Well hurry it up, we're gonna be late again." Satoru commented with a small smile, making you grin at him.

Satoru put down the notebook he was once skimming through, and grabbed one of your sketchbooks. He skimmed through it, most were of scenery, but there were a select few that caught his eye. There were a few drawings of Shoko and Suguru, and enough drawings of him that he couldn't count it on two hands.

Satoru blinked and a few tears he didn't know were welling up in his eyes fell onto the page. It was a drawing of him, it wasn't clear what he was doing in the drawing, but his face wasn't fully visible but from what he could see he looked focused. It was as if somebody snapped a photo of him and slapped it onto the page.

He cursed under his breath before picking up the notebook that he had put down earlier and placed it back inside your nightstand. After wiping his eyes, he closed the sketchbook in his hand and stared at it for a moment.

It wouldn't hurt to keep it.

Satoru took a deep breath as he stood up, taking in your scent one last time before exiting the room. Yaga was leaned against the wall, patiently waiting for Satoru to finish up. "What's with the clothes?" The teacher asked without thinking, slightly raising a brow in the process. "What do you think is with the clothes?" Satoru snapped, giving Yaga a look before trudging off to his quarters.

"Are you alright Satoru? You've been avoiding me and Shoko all day," Suguru voiced as he sauntered over to Satoru, who was sat under a large tree that was somewhat close to the school. "I'm fine, jus' been thinking, that's all." Satoru chirped back, sliding something into his pocket.

Satorus jacket was laying next to him, leaving him in his white button up. Suguru soundlessly made his way over to Satoru and sat down next to him, "Seriously, Satoru, what's up with you?" He asked gently, giving his friend a concerned look.

"I'm fine, Suguru–" Satoru began before getting cut off by a scoff from his best friend. "No you're not, tell me what's been going on." Suguru said, his voice stern. "Don't push it!" Satoru snapped his head towards the man next to him, an evident scowl on his face. Suguru visibly flinched away from Satoru.

"Ever since Y/N, you've been an asshole to everyone." Suguru said as he stood up, "She wouldn't want this." Before Satoru knew it, he was on his feet and Sugurus collar was bunched in his hands.

"Don't you dare try to tell me what she would want! You don't know her like I do!" Satoru yelled, his grip on Sugurus collar tightening by the second. "You're right, I didn't know her like you did," Suguru says, somehow keeping his composure, "And maybe I don't know you like she knew you, but I do know that this isn't you." He says while gesturing to Satoru with his hands, making his grip loosen slightly.

"I know it must hurt, but you need to understand that the rest of us are grieving too. Don't be selfish." Suguru says, and Satoru hesitantly removes his grip on his collar. "Me? Selfish? It's like I'm the only one here who actually cares!" Satoru curses, throwing his arms into the air in frustration.

"Y/N died in my arms! I came back here covered in her blood! It's almost like I'm the only one who actually gives a shit around here! Ever since the news broke, you assholes have acted like everything's normal! Like everythings not fucking ruined now that she's gone!" Satoru yells, shoving Suguru away from him, "Don't you dare try to call me selfish, you weren't there, Suguru." Satoru breathes shakily before snatching his jacket off the ground and walking off, leaving his best friend stunned.

That was the first time since your death that Satoru openly admitted that you were gone. Out of touch, in a place where not even Satoru Gojo can reach you.

After the incident with Suguru, Satoru tries hard to make it seem like he's okay. Like he's slowly getting over you. Over your death. In truth? It felt like it was getting worse. Satoru didn't eat or sleep, and he didn't have the energy or stimulation that his cursed technique required to be at its full power.

To a stranger, you and Satoru were simply best friends. Two people that understood each other through and through, even if there were a lot of ups and downs. To people close to the two of you, you were the only people who didn't realize the feelings the other had, and it caused a lot of problems in your friendship.

To Satoru, you were like his emotional support person. Better yet, his person. You were there for him when Suguru or Shoko couldn't be, you witnessed (one too many) of his breakdowns, you knew Satoru like the back of your hand. You were his and he was yours, even if neither of you realized it. Losing you meant he had one less person to lean on when things went bad.

Maybe Satoru was a little selfish after all.

The more Satoru thought about it, the more he realized your death could have been prevented. They should've given you a partner, they should've sent him or Suguru with you. If he got there a little earlier, maybe he would have been able to save you.

Satoru knew he would have to learn death sometime in his life, but if he knew you would be the first lesson, he would've let himself die a long time ago if it meant he wouldn't have to suffer the loss of you.

Satoru stared blankly up at his ceiling, recalling moments that reminded him of you.

Him and Suguru were walking in town earlier that day, and he caught a whiff of the perfume you used to wear. He froze in place and turned to look at the woman who was wearing the familiar scent, images of you flashing quickly through his mind. After that small moment, it felt as if Satorus mood had deflated like a balloon for the rest of the day.

Then, Satoru had taken off his glasses for a few minutes while in a large crowd, and a splitting migraine quickly formed. He recalled that there were many times when you two would be on the subway together, and maybe he had forgotten his glasses that day. You would drape an arm over his shoulder and cover his eyes with your hand.

You knew that his six eyes became overwhelming at times, and when he forgot his glasses it was hard for him to not look like he was in pain. You would always remind him that he needed to keep them on him at all times, and even convinced him to buy an extra pair to keep inside the pockets of his uniform just in case.

"Satoru, you can't keep forgetting them," You'd say as you held your hand over his eyes. At first he'd flinch away, and you would apologize before taking your hand away from his face. Then it'd be Satoru apologizing and grabbing your hand to place it over his eyes again, his lips curving upwards slightly at your sweet gesture.

It would always be you, that was something Satoru embedded into his mind. Even when he's older and has students of his own. Even when he's the strongest jujustu sorcerer in the world and has many people after him. Even when he's beginning to forget your face and what it felt like to hold you.

It would always be you, whether he wanted it to be or not.

#( 📝 aajxs — written works . )#jjk gojo #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk satoru gojo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #Spotify

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bettyfrommars · 6 months

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The Nightmare Factory

an Eddie Munson x Reader series

The Fabric of Moonbeams

Masterlist

18+Only for mature themes, mention of sleep disorders and sleeping medication, longing, afab!reader, astral travel, horror icons. wc: 4.2.

a/n: there are some mind-bending moments in here, along with typical nightmare!eddie silliness. I initially thought I'd just write a very simple blurb series about the different ways Eddie appeared to reader to try and scare them. Now that this romance is starting to flesh out, I feel like we have much more to explore, so this will not end on Halloween, as I had originally planned. I have a very cool apocalyptic dream planned for the next chapter, where reader and Eddie spend a few days together (enemies to lovers because reader does not recognize him at first), but I wanted this to be something fun for spooky season.

Eddie got demoted to Ominous Thuds & Ghostly Whispers status after the whole Headless Horseman debacle. Not because Steve or Saul narced on him, but because the eye in the nightmare sky sees everything.

He tried tapping the morse code that Wayne taught him on your bedroom wall one night, but only succeeded in making you sleep upright in the chair in your living room with all of the lights on. You had dark circles under your eyes the next day, and almost dozed off at your keyboard.

You spent a lot of time looking at the sketch you had done of him, and the description of the headless horseman dream that you remembered with fascinating clarity. You could close your eyes and smell the soap and leather of his skin now, and you could see the way his mouth moved when he spoke to you. He knew your name, and you felt like you knew him.

You found a book at the library called, “My boyfriend, My Nightmare” about a woman who believed she was in a relationship with a man in her dreams for years. No one believed her, of course, and she was diagnosed with a particular type of rare disorder that had her on such heavy sleeping medication that it was impossible to remember her dreams, if she even had them at all.

You sank down on a soft chair and almost read the entire thing in one sitting. According to this woman, there is a place called The Nightmare Factory where your nightmares punch a clock and take lunch breaks together and collect a paycheck. Apparently, it sits on a separate plane of existence, and you go there when you sleep. Nightmares can exist during waking hours as well, the author said, and you sat up straight to read that paragraph.

“The membrane that keeps our worlds apart begins to dissolve when you are able to perceive the nightmares, when you begin to understand that there is no true distinction between reality and dreams.”

“If you can imagine it, it exists somewhere in possibility,” the author continued. “The Nightmare Factory workers are a form of entertainment to save us from the true horrors of human existence.”

What ever happened to the woman? Did she ever get to be with the man she fell in love with in her nightmares? You skipped to the last chapter, and skimmed a few pages until you found what you were looking for.

Her final words were very vague, but she admitted to going off of her prescribed sleeping medication, which made her have insomnia for a week, but then she started to dream again.

“I know that no one will believe me, and that’s fine, I did not write this to convince anyone. I’m having it published through a private company to help those who might find themselves in a similar situation.

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

The physical particles of my body have a hard time assimilating when I return from dreams now, and one day soon, I will stay there with him and not return through the secret door. I’m not sure if I will ever be able to get back to this astral plane as anything more than a visitor, so please, if you are able to cross over, find me.”

You checked the clock on the wall, knowing you should head home, and then you found a few more books to take with you. One was a manual on how to decipher your dreams, and the other was another memoir, though not as detailed, that someone had written about moving through the dream world with your physical body.

That’s impossible, you mused to yourself.

But still, some strange blossom of hope in your gut moved you to tuck it under your arm.

Meanwhile, Eddie flirted his way into the 7am Unexplained Voices & Creaking Stairs class by offering to service the teacher’s car for free. She was a ghostly apparition who wore glasses and a pair of gloves to give students a hint to her presence. She finally accepted after some hesitation, knowing full well that there was a waitlist.

Anyway, her ghostmobile was not only serviced, but detailed, and there Eddie was, in the front row, bouncing his knee, eager to learn anything and everything he could.

His band played a show at the Hideout that night. The Hideout in Eddie’s dimension was a place where a lot of Nightmare Factory workers went after their shifts, so it often looked like the bar scene from Star Wars, but with ghouls. The factory was the biggest employer for a thirty mile radius, and everyone who grew up in Hawkinsville had worked there at least once in their life.

It had been difficult when Eddie and Wayne first moved there when he was young. Eddie was what they called “a normie”, meaning he was not born into the nightmare life. He hadn’t been raised by evil clowns or wolves or demons who walked on goat legs. He’d picked up shapeshifting pretty fast though, and he’d learned to make his eyes go completely black whenever he wanted to by the time he was ten.

There were more than four drunks at the place that night, Eddie counted at least six, and then there were a few normies at a table, but he didn’t recognize them. The bartender had a beer ready for him and slid it to the end of the bar before giving him a “thumbs up” motion. Corroded Coffin did not get paid by the venue to play on Tuesday nights, so the beer was always on the house. They had a tip jar at the edge of the stage that usually only had a couple bucks in it by the end of the evening, or a sprinkle of loose change.

They were halfway through the set when Eddie looked out into the crowd and saw you.

He blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut for a beat, but when he opened them again, he saw that it was really you—standing there, staring back at him, plain as day.

Sure, the room was dark and filled with smoke, but there seemed to be some type of luminescence around you.

Eddie cleared his throat into the mic and wiped his hair off his sweaty forehead, waiting to make sure to make sure you weren’t a mirage for the thirsty man that he was. Some shrill feedback sounded through the speakers, and he mumbled an apology to the crowd.

You lifted your hand up slowly to wave at him, and you mouthed a little, “hi,” as a smile twitched across your lips.

But this time, it was Eddie who woke up.

He was back in his own bed, gasping for air, wanting to cry, wanting to return, needing to know how you had made it into his dream.

You were looking for him now. Somewhere, behind the scenes of time and space, an invisible membrane was getting thinner.

—------

“Are you coming or what?” Your friend Ellie turned to see that you had stopped short at the entrance to the Haunted House attraction you were about to enter. You’d already paid, and had your hand stamped, but all of a sudden you wanted to be back in your bed, reading.

You loved Halloween, but you weren’t a huge fan of jump scares, unless they were coming from that guy you kept dreaming about, the one named Eddie.

You wrote his name down in cursive and blocked letters all over the inside of your notebook, wanting to press it into the wrinkles of your brain. It had been weeks since you last saw him, and every night you hit the pillow, you were hopeful.

“I’m coming,” you jogged a bit to catch up, listening to the evil, mechanical cackling and high-pitched screams coming from inside.

You caught up to her and stayed close. There were strobe lights inside and menacing figures loomed in the narrow hallway before you turned a corner into a dining room full of people with decapitated heads. A few scare actors jumped out to lurch at you from dark corners while thunderous organ music played.

After the next room, there was a shuffle of people as one of the animatronic spiders dropped down from the ceiling, and one of the scare actors with a pig mask blocked your path right when the hallway split, so you lost Ellie, and all of a sudden, you were alone.

You spun in a circle and called Ellie’s name.

Surely you’d still be able to hear the sounds from the haunt? But everything was quiet, the crowd was gone, and the noises from earlier were muffled, as if coming from far away.

Panic rose in your throat as you felt along the wall for a light switch or a door. You stumbled around a black, velvet curtain and caught sight of the glowing EXIT sign with a rush of relief.

“Ellie? Anybody?” You eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the inky darkness, but the illumination from the sign gave you hope

This was fine, you’d wait for the other’s outside and tell them you had to duck out because you weren’t feeling well, which was not a complete lie.

Beyond the door were aged, wooden stairs that went down. A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling to offer a weak, ocre glow. You didn’t remember climbing stairs to get into the building, but you must’ve been mistaken.

You hurried down the steps, hearing the door slam shut behind you with unexpected force, enough to shake the walls.

Something didn’t feel right; the further you went down on the creaking steps, the darker and danker it seemed to get. There was a sudden heat emanating and you could make out some soft rattling and hissing sounds.

By the time you realized you’d gone down into a sealed basement, it was too late.

It wasn’t just a basement, though—it was a…boiler room?

There were metal tanks producing steam mounted with temperature gauges, and you couldn’t see to the other side of the space because they were massive.

“Hello?” You took a tentative step forward, looking around the concrete walls for some type of door to get out of the building. Your heart was in your throat, and your breathing was getting rapid as your eyes jerked from side to side like a scared rabbit.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “Can anyone hear me? I got turned around and I’d like to leave now.”

There came a high pitched scraping then, like nails on a chalkboard, and it was so shrill, you had to cover your ears.

“I can hear you just fine,” a deep, gravely voice chuckled from somewhere to your right.

Your attention snapped in that direction. Instinct was telling you to start backing up, to get further away, to go bolt up the stairs, but that’s not what you did—you just froze there.

It wasn’t long before you spotted a pair of glowing eyes peering at you from between two of the pipes, against the far wall.

There was a person standing there.

It had to be one of the scare actors, down there on their break, or maybe this was a part of the haunt? But where was everyone else? And why was there a huge, poorly lit boiler room in the basement of that old house?

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he spoke in an evil sneer, like a villain in a cartoon.

“This isn’t funny,” you shouted. “I just want to get out of here, please.”

He gave another diabolical cackle, and then there was the sound of nails on a chalkboard again.

The man in the basement with you stepped into view with a flourish, brandishing the long, metal daggers on his hand, flexing each finger for you to see each one individually; the tips were sharp and the blades caught the light. He had on an old, brown fedora, a green and red sweater, and his skin was covered in scar tissue from severe burns.

You were down in that boiler room with Freddy Krueger.

The scream you let out as he charged toward you might’ve cracked fissures in the concrete.

You spun on your heel—

—and landed face first into the body of the person that had been standing behind you. You felt the ragged, torn nature of a shirt under your cheek as whoever it was had enormous height, and then you pushed back and looked up in time to see a hockey mask with black eyes staring down at you, expressionless. His shoulders were broad and his body massive. Out to the side, he brandished a gleaming machete that was the length of your arm.

“Hi baby, get behind me!” The person in the Jason Voorhees mask said, sounding slightly echoed and muffled. The look he had was the same as in the movies, but this one had curly, almost frizzy dark hair that was long past his shoulders.

That voice…it was Eddie.

It was your Eddie.

You stammered a partial question, but then you were already moving, letting his arm guide you around so that his body acted as a shield from Freddy who was cackling and swiping his finger knives around; you could hear the sharp whistle of air against the metal.

You held on to the hips of Voorhees Eddie from behind and peeked under his raised arm to look at Freddy. This Eddie in front of you was tall and massive, much more so than you remembered from the last dream you had.

“What the hell are you doing here, maggot?” The Freddy Krueger guy growled, saliva dripping from his yellow teeth as his pocked skin stretched over his cheeks like curdled milk.

“Don’t worry about it, Jerry,” Eddie growled with disdain, throwing his machete into the other hand with deft precision. It twirled in the air and he caught it by the handle. “This one is mine.”

“Oh, really?” The guy who looked like Freddy suddenly had a normal voice again, and his shoulders relaxed, dropping his hands to his sides. “I didn’t know, wow man, I’m sorry. Did I get the schedules mixed up?”

Voorhees Eddie relaxed too, dropping his free hand down to hold your hip, making sure you were still there. “No, you’re good,” Eddie’s voice was light now, soft, even. “I’m just filling in for Alex, he’s on vacation for a few days.”

“Paid leave?” Freddy/Jerry asked. You were trying to match his face with the voice coming out, but it wasn’t working.

“I think so,” Eddie nodded once.

“Must be nice to have seniority,” Jerry put his knives hand on his hip and scratched under his hat with the other. “Okay well, I’m going to head over to the next job. See ya, Munson.”

And with that, a black space the size of a door opened behind Jerry and he stepped through it. The door disappeared, and so did he.

“Eddie?” You said his name over the hiss of the boilers as he turned to you. You could see the realistically gray, rotting flesh of his Voorhees skin under his mask. “What are you doing in a boiler room looking like Jason Voorhees?”

“Workin’,” he smiled and dropped the machete to the concrete with a clang to be able to snake his arms around you so that his fingers clasped at your lower back. “I’ve been missing you.”

His new height was throwing you off as you tilted your head back to look up at him.

“I recognized your voice this time,” you smiled, proud of yourself.

He lowered his head to touch the mask to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to disappear on you. It took me a while to be able to have physical form again, to be able to see you like this.”

“It’s okay, I know,” you slid your hands up the torn clothing over his broad chest.

“You know?” He pulled back, searching your face.

“I’ve been reading this book, about where you work,” you wet your lips. “That Nightmare Factory place. I’ve been trying to figure out…how to see you more often.”

Eddie’s heart jumped. He put his hand over yours on his chest and held it there, and you could see that even as Jason Voorhees, he still wore his signature metal rings. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” you got a bit bashful and looked down. “I want to…get to know you better.”

“I saw you the other night in my dream,” he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand.

You stared up into his eye sockets of his mask, and your face lit up. “That was cool, wasn’t it? I couldn’t believe I found you. There is a sort of meditation in the book that I did about a thousand times, and it was only for a second. I think it’s a type of astral projection. You looked really good on stage.”

Eddie tucked his chin almost bashfully, moving his hand to interlace his fingers with yours. “You thought I looked good?”

Eddie had been learning too. Learning new skills to come to you in your nightmares, but also learning about a rare case where a nightmare worker crossed into your dimension and stayed there. They were never heard from again, and some say they didn’t survive the crossover and their particles exploded into the ether, but Eddie chose to believe that was a lie to keep people from trying.

Suddenly, there was a banging sound, muffled and far away, but you could feel it thudding in your chest. You checked around the room, thinking it was noise from one of the pipes, but Eddie dropped your hand and squeezed your arm, checking his digital wrist watch with a sigh like he usually did when he was about to make his exit.

Back at the factory, someone was banging their fist against the transportation door, shouting for Eddie. He tightened the muscles in his jaw, frustrated that there never seemed to be enough time. It sounded a whole lot like Kevin.

He had to figure something out soon, before his heart exploded.

“Are you in trouble again?” Now that you knew a bit more about what he did, you feared he might get penalized, and you wouldn’t lay eyes on him for another month. The pounding continued intermittedly, and you faintly heard someone call out Eddie’s name.

“No, not this time, sweetheart,” Eddie stretched, puffing his chest out a bit, and then bent forward to put the mouth of the mask on your forehead. You could feel his warm breath on your skin there. “But my shift is over. I have to get back before my timer goes off.”

“Before your timer goes off? Sounds like you’re in a microwave.”

“Well,” he tipped his head to the side, thoughtfully. “The technology is similar, I suppose, but yeah, I hate to leave you like this.”

You hugged Eddie Voorhees as hard as you could and spoke into his chest. “Maybe next time, I’ll find you first.”

The distant banging got louder, more persistent.

He bent down to grab the machete, pushed a button on his watch, and the same square, black opening in the air appeared.

There was a second there when you considered just running and jumping through his door, but then you remembered a part in the book when it mentioned how that type of jarring dimensional travel could give Dreamers what scuba divers called “the bends” from the dramatic change in pressure.

You were about to tell him you’d miss him, or goodbye, or something else, but then, in a blink, you were jolted back to your senses—

—you were back in the hallway of the haunt right after the spider had dropped from the ceiling.

Wait a minute. How had that happened?

You were at a dead halt, stopping the flow of people traffic as you looked down at your hands and over at Ellie who had turned around to motion you to keep moving as another scare actor dressed like a deranged doctor covered in blood jumped from the corner.

When you got home, you rushed to your desk to open the book, and flipped to the chapter called “The fabric of moonbeams”. It talked about “dream pockets” that occurred like daydreams when you were linked to someone. The author didn’t know exactly how to explain it, but she suspected it had something to do with sudden surges of adrenaline that caused a dimensional shift, especially if you had a connection to someone at the factory.

You sketched out Eddie again that night, this time, it was what you remembered from when you’d visited him for a few seconds at The Hideout. Flanked by his bandmates, he was strumming the strings on his guitar, looking down with one knee bent out and his hair hanging down.

You wanted to recapture the scene as realistically as possible so that you could study it to prepare for the next time you tried to visit him. Next time, maybe you'd step into his world and not his dream.

Maybe next time, he’d kiss you again.

----

Happy Halloween weekend to all of you who are enjoying this series, thank you for reading 🧡

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #The Nightmare Factory #nightmare!eddie #Halloween fic #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie x afab reader #Eddie munson x reader

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kisskiss-slashslash · 1 year

Text

Slashers when you say “I love you” for the first time

Jason Voorhees

He freezes up and disappears for a while. But don’t interpret that as rejection, please. He is just utterly overwhelmed by the idea that anyone not blood-related to him could ever actually *love* him.

You, of course, are left confused and maybe a little heartbroken by that reaction. Did you do phrase it wrong? Was it too soon? Does he just not feel the same?

He returns a little while later, once he had a moment to process it, and immediately sweeps you up into a backbreaking hug. Good luck getting anything done for the rest of the day, because he won’t let go. Are you hallucinating or is there water dripping from under his mask?

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent knows just enough about love and romance by watching people getting caught in Bo’s charming web, so he sees the signs in the way you are acting around him. Still, when you finally gather all of your courage and confess your feelings to him, he pauses, surprised by how open you are about it.

When you want to start listing all the things you love about him, he takes your hand to stop you, and you see the expressionless mask shift as the mouth underneath curls into a gentle smile.

“So does that mean you feel the same?”, you ask softly.

In lieu of an answer, he gets out a sketchbook that has obviously been recently used, and hands it to you.

You flip through it and find it almost entirely filled with sketches of you, each sketch coming with little notes meant to draw attention to all the little things he loves about you; and there is a lot, from the way your eyes light up when you smile, to the shape of each of your facial features, to decidedly more intimate details.

“Aw man, that makes my confession look kinda lackluster in comparison”, you quip sheepishly and hand the sketchbook back to him.

Freddy Krueger

Be prepared for him to turn it into a joke. “Of course you love me. Look at me. I’m amazing.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m serious!”

“Hi Serious, I’m Freddy.”

“Really? A dad joke?”

“So why are you coming out with this now of all times?”

You open your mouth and close it again a few times. “I don’t know? I just felt like it was about time one of us say something like that?”

“Eh, talk is cheap. The fact that we’re putting up with each other is already enough of a love confession, don’t you think? And that’s way better than all that corny stuff about eternal love or whatever.”

You chuckle, despite being still sort of frustrated at him blowing you off like that. “If you say so.”

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba drops his chainsaw as soon as the words leave your mouth. He looks at you, nervously licking his lips, then clumsily tries to pick the saw up again. The sudden confession has his hands so jittery that he is really struggling though, so you eventually crouch down and pick it up for him.

“Sorry for just saying that out of the blue.” You hand his weapon back to him. “I guess I just… want you to know.”

Now *you* are the one dropping the chainsaw, mostly because you find yourself a foot or so in the air, held up by the vice-like grip of Bubba, who is pressing you against his chest and happily blubbering what you generously interpret as a reciprocation of the confession into your shoulder. Sometimes you really wished you could understand Bubba as well as Drayton did. But then again.. a loving gesture like this doesn’t really need words.

Brahms Heelshire

Self-absorbed as he is, he naturally assumes that you love him, so he doesn’t act too surprised when you tell him as much. Instead, he pulls you into a hug and replies:“And I love you.”

However, the fact that he expected it doesn’t mean that he takes it for granted. In his mind, the love confession is what actually begins a relationship. That’s how it works in stories, after all, and stories were the only real window to the outside world he has had since he was eight. Meaning that now, he views you officially as his significant other, rather than just a caretaker he just so happened to kiss and have the occasional fling with. Which also means that he at least tries to do a bit more for you instead of only ever taking.

The first results of his attempts at being helpful are disastrous, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?

#slasher x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #jason voorhees x reader #freddy krueger x reader

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talesofesther · 1 year

Text

serenity haze

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: You notice the changes in Jenna in the lines that you draw; the sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.

Requested by anon

A/N: First time writing for her so don't crucify me pls. I still feel a tad bit weird writing about real people, but I see my Jenna as a character in a story, that's all. Hope you can enjoy this one, let me know your thoughts. Requests are always open, though be aware that I go where my inspiration takes me, and be mindful of my guidelines.

Masterlist

You were naturally observant, it was a habit that came with a hobby.

You liked to draw things, and to be able to draw them, you had to observe.

Because you're observant, you tend to notice patterns, details, and moments that might go unnoticed by most.

Lately, you found yourself drawing one thing in particular — or better, one person.

Jenna Ortega captivated you, anyone who met her would probably say the same. She is captivating after all. Yet you know your feelings are different, because you see a side of her that few people do.

You had been offered a role in the new Wednesday show, it was a smaller one, but a privilege nonetheless. And this role gave you the opportunity to meet Jenna.

After the first month of working together, it was already known on set that; where you went, Jenna wasn't too far behind.

You'd catch yourself searching for her in the crowds most days, her favorite coffee order in hand. She'd greet you with a warm smile that never failed and a hug that lasted a little too long. Jenna was sunshine if sunshine could be a person, she was the most genuine girl you knew; beautiful inside and out.

It was inevitable that she became your muse.

Unbeknownst to you — and maybe even to herself — Jenna felt drawn to you too. You were quietness, you were calmness, you were the steadiness she craved in her hectic life.

Jenna had no obligations with you, no expectations to meet; she could be herself, on good or bad days, and you'd still be there. She didn't know how much she needed something like that until she finally got it.

In some ways, it felt like you were her breath of fresh air whenever she needed one. Which seems to be happening quite often nowadays.

Whilst everyone was running around on set, cameras on every corner of the room, and people talking incessantly in their intercoms, Jenna was speaking with Tim about an upcoming scene in the show. She leaned back on what was one of the booths in the Weathervane cafe, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding along to his words.

He spoke about the dance, and Jenna confirmed she had almost all the choreography done already. Except she didn't.

What she had, were sleepless nights weighing down on her shoulders.

She tried to take a deep breath to calm her nerves, but it didn't do much. Her gaze skimmed over the room against her own volition, finding you sitting in a corner of the set — on the floor no less — sketchbook in hands.

Jenna felt the overwhelming urge to escape to your world.

Dark lines steadily appeared on the paper along with the drag of your pencil. You bit into your lower lip, a habit of concentration, and glanced up at Jenna; only to notice her eyes already on you.

The heat that came to your cheeks was instant and you gave her a sheepish smile. She caught you red-handed. Hopefully, she wouldn't bring it up.

Because, how could you resist? When Jenna is standing there against the sun, golden rays highlighting all her features for you; from the curve of her lips, to the tip of her nose, to the shape of her eyebrows. Flawless.

You couldn't resist taking out your book and drawing a quick sketch of her. Sometimes for you, watching people from afar was much better than seeing them up close, you could capture their essence fully, notice each little quirk or mannerism.

Take Jenna for example; her thumbs brush the fabric of her Nevermore uniform as she speaks with Tim, she's nodding eagerly to everything he says, not able to stay still on her feet. She's a little nervous, a little anxious. You could tell from the other side of the room.

It's no secret that filming this series is taking a toll on Jenna — your pencil traces the outline of her jaw on your sketchbook before you move to her eyes, and around them, you see yourself being forced to add just a tad more shadow; it's been happening for a while — you see her exhaustion in the lines that you draw.

The rough image of her stared back at you from your sketchbook, and part of you wanted to take her hand and go away for a day or two.

There's a sudden presence beside you that makes you flinch back to reality. Jenna sat down on the floor with you; she rests her head back against the wall, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

She brought her knees closer to her chest, making herself look smaller than she already is. Turning to look at you, all she asked was; "what are you drawing?"

There's always a silent understanding between you both. You bumped her shoulder with yours, "that's confidential information."

And she actually pouts, lower lip jutted out and big doe eyes pleading at you; "even for me?"

"Especially for you," you mumbled, not sure if she heard or not.

Jenna doesn't inquire further, forever reciprocating the serenity you bring to her life. She slumped closer to you, allowing her head to fall on your shoulder, blindly trusting you to hold her weight if so needed.

You placed your sketchbook aside, focusing solemnly on her. Your cast and crew mates are still walking around, no one spares a glance at the two actresses who sit on the floor of Jericho's cafe; it feels like your own little bubble of peace for a precious minute.

"Were you and Tim discussing a new scene?" You asked eventually, gently leaning your head on top of hers.

Jenna hummed, "it's a dance that will happen at the school party, I'm creating Wednesday's choreography."

"That's exciting, do you have anything already?"

"Not really. I've got two weeks."

The turmoil of emotions was so evident in Jenna's tight voice that you almost pulled away so you could look her in the eyes and tell her… you're not sure what you'd say, but something to ease it.

Yet you held back, choosing instead to take her hand and whisper 'you got this' against her hair.

———

Things only got worse after your little moment.

Jenna has been on autopilot. You doubt she's sleeping, or resting at all. She's always the first one to arrive on set and the last one to leave.

The sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.

It was a Saturday night, you sat on the roof of your trailer, enjoying the starry sky above you, the cold breeze around you. With the flashlight of your cellphone on, you turned the pages of your sketchbook, reminiscing the drawings of last week; until a rather loud noise caught your attention.

You looked around you with a confused frown. The set's parking lot was empty, with only a few street lamps on, and no one in sight.

This could be a cliche horror movie scene. You could feel a chill running down your back; but then you caught sight of Jenna's trailer, the lights were on.

Checking your phone, you realized you had been sitting outside for longer than you thought. 1:37 AM.

Not giving yourself much room to chicken out, you hopped down from your trailer, stuffed your sketchbook in your pants pocket, and walked up to her door.

You hesitated, awkwardly hovering outside Jenna's trailer in the dead of night. Your stomach was twisting and turning unpleasantly. Coming from inside, you could hear the faint melody of 'Goo Goo Muck' playing.

Your worry got the best of you. Taking a deep breath, you raised your fist to the door, and knocked.

The music stopped abruptly, and you heard shuffling from inside her trailer. And then nothing, the silence stretched for a few good seconds, before her door finally swung open.

Jenna stood in front of you and got your heart shattering a little. She was a bit of a mess; hair up in a disheveled bun, only in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants yet you could see her forehead glistening with sweat, her lips quivered softly with each breath she took, and you could tell her eyes were red-rimmed if you looked closely.

"Hi Jenna," you started with a timid smile, "uh- I'm sorry to bother, it's just, I was out and I saw your lights on and just wanted to ask if everything's okay."

Jenna gulped down the lump in her throat, fidgeting with the sleeves of her hoodie; "yeah it's fine, I'm fine." She tried mimicking your smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Okay," you whispered sympathetically, seeing right through the lie.

"Um-" Jenna cleared her throat, but it sounded more like a soft sob. She avoided meeting your eyes then. "Would you- would you like to come in?"

It was a plea more than anything else. You didn't hesitate in saying yes.

You closed the door behind you and glanced around her trailer; she had her laptop on her bed, YouTube page opened to The Cramps' song; there was a stress ball rolling around on the floor, you figured that's where the loud noise from earlier came.

"I'm working on the dance," Jenna turned to you, threading her fingers through her fringe, restless.

"And how is it going?" You asked, though you had a feeling you knew the answer.

"I can't come up with anything," Jenna shrugged, chuckling humourlessly as her eyes welled up with tears.

Your heart was trying to escape your chest — Jenna's eyes were shining under the orange lights of the trailer, hands trembling as she tried to hold herself together — you took a step closer to her; "Jenna, I think you just need to let your mind rest for a while, have you-"

"I can't," she cut you off urgently, "the scene is one week away. One week. And I have nothing," tears started to roll down her cheeks, but you don't think she realized it.

Jenna started walking from one side to another of the small cramped space of her trailer, "I can't think of anything that would fit Wednesday, and we're shooting this scene next week. I told Tim I could handle it and yet I have nothing, what am I gonna tell him? That we're gonna have to postpone shooting because I can't come up with a fucking choreography?"

By the end of her rant, Jenna was panting heavily, borderline hyperventilating. Her tears came nonstop as sobs shook her body. She was hugging herself, chasing some type of comfort that wasn't there.

Your worry finally escaped you and you closed the distance between you both. You took her face in your hands, cupping her cheeks as your thumbs gingerly brushed away the wetness there; "Jen, look at me," you spoke softly, not missing the way her hands came to desperately grasp at your shirt, "breathe with me okay? Can you do that?"

A fresh batch of tears hit your thumbs and you felt your chest crack open; yet Jenna nodded, all reddish nose and glistening eyes.

You took a deep breath in, held it for a second, and then exhaled, watching closely for the way that she'd copy the motion. You did it a couple of times until her breathing was finally somewhat even.

"There you are," you mumbled, regarding her with a bittersweet smile when her eyes found yours, "you're okay," you promised, brushing away a few wisps of hair that clung to her skin.

A sob escaped Jenna's lips as soon as she heard the words, letting her forehead lean into yours in a silent request.

You gladly complied, raising your lips to place a kiss between her brows before guiding her head to rest on your shoulder. You embraced her body flush with yours, arms sliding around her back until you felt the curve of her spine. The thudding of her heart mingling with yours.

You could feel the gentle trembling of her body from time to time. It only made you hold her tighter.

Jenna had a death grip on you, your shirt bunched up on her fists as if you'd disappear if she let go. She buried her head on your shoulder, seeking a safe place, "I'm so tired," she spoke against you, words muffled.

"I know," you kissed her temple, "I know."

You're not sure if you held Jenna for five minutes or one hour, but you stood there for as long as she needed. And when she was ready to pull away, bright and puffy eyes timidly looking at you with nothing but gratitude, you didn't say anything; all you did was turn off her laptop and put it away for the night, dimming the lights on her trailer to give her body a much-needed break.

Then, you sat down beside her on her bed. There was a reasonable distance between you that she was quick to close, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you.

"Be honest with me now, have you been sleeping this past week, at all?" You raised a brow at her.

Jenna pursed her lips, in some ways resembling a child who'd been caught stealing from the cookie jar, "that obvious?" She asked, ducking her head to hide behind her fringe.

"Very," you smirked, "for me at least."

That got her looking up at you with tender curiosity, she was looking more like herself already.

With your heart in your mouth, you fished for your sketchbook in your pocket. You handed it to her without daring to breathe.

Jenna flipped through the pages as if they'd crumble between her fingers; carefully, reverently. You could hear the way her breath caught when she found herself between the sketches, once, twice, and then again and again. Different versions of her by your eyes; talking, thinking, walking, smiling, laughing, sometimes even scowling.

And Jenna has never seen herself look so beautiful, so enchanting. Is this how you see her?

Her vision got blurred again but she gulped it back this time, "it's so beautiful," was all she could whisper, smile tugging at her lips as her fingers traced one of the lines that formed her.

"You are," was your answer, in the same quiet tone, afraid to break the spell holding this moment.

Jenna's eyes turned up to you at last, big and vulnerable, almost completely black because of her pupils. She leaned in just a tad, your noses shy of brushing each other — gravity, magnetism, fate; whatever it might be, trying to push you together.

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip in a motion that she followed, "tomorrow, I'll help you with your dance," you took hold of her free hand, intertwining your fingers, "and it's gonna turn out amazing."

Jenna giggled, and you wanted to bottle up the sound and keep it forever.

"Tonight," you copied her smile, "we'll rest, okay?"

Bringing your hand up to her lips, Jenna planted a kiss on your knuckles, "okay."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Jenna’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @thenextdawn @alexkolax @aahdiieb @mindingmybidness12 @melthedwarf

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega #wednesday #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x you #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna x reader #my story

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kenphobia · 1 year

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THE APPLE OF MY EYE!

"my type of guy? it's wally's boyfriend."

summary. wally and howdy, a hilarious duo that you wouldn't expect to get together at first glance and no one expected them to bring the newest neighbor into their relationship too. (headcanons. read author's note at the end)

contents. fluff, slight hurt, mostly silly and sweet moments, reader is hinted to be a puppet. wally and howdy breaks the law kind of, these btches wanna be gay bowser so bad

✦ Howdy isn't even sure what got him attracted to Wally in the first place, not that he needed a reason in the first place. Wally was endearing, kind and truly lived up to his name— He was a darling. And god, Howdy fell hard for his charms.

✦ And it wasn't only Howdy who fell in love, Wally too but he'd rather stare at an apple pie than admit he fell first. Howdy was a good man, and Wally was far from that. The caterpillar only knew a small bit of the not-so-good things Wally had done, but he still accepted him wholly. That was enough to make the painter want him.

✦ Their dynamic didn't change much from back when they were just friends. Other than Wally aggressively flirting with Howdy and distracting the poor puppet from work (He had to bribe Wally with a bucket of apples just to let him work in peace), everything was still the same and they didn't care if it wasn't that romantic.

✦ Howdy isn't the biggest fan of PDA, but he lets Wally hold his hand. Wally understands so that's why he spoils Howdy a lot with cuddles, kisses and hugs behind closed doors. Both of them are highly affection deprived, so they'll cuddle for hours without end whilst they stare at the ceiling or talk about their favorite things.

✦ Wally has a special room in home where it's just painting after painting of Howdy. There were some unfinished ones tucked in the corner, a few were hung up in Wally's bedroom and the best ones were set up to display around the house. Whenever Howdy does come to his house, Wally would instantly hide it in the room because he's too embarrassed to show it.

✦ Howdy knows about it though, Home showed the room to him once and he didn't know whether to be concerned or be flustered about it. He doesn't tell Wally though, letting him run around and panic about hiding them is somewhat funny to watch.

✦ The painter gets discounts on most things from the bugdega, mostly it's apples and art supplies he gets from there. Although, Howdy can be a bit mischievous at times and would ask a cuddle session or a kiss in return for certain items. Wally is more than willing to comply, he'd do it in a heartbeat, no questions even asked.

Wally lounged around Howdy's little living space in the bugdega, humming as he waited for his boyfriend to finish his shift. He gripped his pencil firmly, sketching out the final details to his drawing.

The doors creaked open, catching Wally's attention as he turned his head up from his sketchbook. Howdy walked in with a tired-looking expression, his apron hung on the coat hanger while his nametag was discarded and left atop the drawer.

Though, when Howdy saw Wally sitting on the sofa, his exhaustion was immediately replaced by a relaxed joy. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Love."

Wally shook his head, closing up his sketchbook and putting it down on the coffee table. He offered Howdy an understanding smile, "It's alright, I wasn't waiting that long anyways."

As Wally was about to stand up, He felt something pulling his entire weight off the ground as two pairs of arms wrapped around him. Howdy sat down on the couch with a comfortable hum, putting Wally down on his lap as he sunk his entire back on the sofa.

Red spread across Wally's face fast like a fever, his body stiffing for a moment but sooner relaxed within his boyfriend's firm but gentle grip. He has never felt so safe and calm before in his entire life, and warm too. Are caterpillars naturally warmer than most puppets or was it just Wally?

The two of them sat there while Wally fiddled with Howdy's hands, silently comparing it to his own and loosing himself further into sleep. Truly, the many pros of getting yourself a tall lover who loves picking you up and cuddling you like a stuffed toy.

Howdy, then, got a sniff of Wally's hair, It smelled faintly of vanilla and green apples. Howdy had to take a few seconds before realizing it was the scent of his shampoo! His eyes widened at the sudden conclusion, "Wally, have you been using my shampoo?" He asked the tiny puppet in his arms.

"Why were you sniffing my hair in the first place?" Wally argued back, a chuckle vibrated from his chest.

"I— Fair point." Howdy gave up, sighing in defeat as he adjusted his position to make both of them comfortable. Seems like Wally won't be returning to Home tonight.

✦ Before getting romantically involved with each other, Howdy always found Wally's staring a bit off-putting in some situations but he later learned that Wally really loves staring and it's one of his many ways of communicating his affection towards someone. Howdy also got the staring habit so he does the same to Wally.

✦ Wally really, really loves Howdy's eyes. He loves it more when he knows it's on him.

WALLY X READER X HOWDY!

✦ Wally and Howdy found you too adorable to even able to stay single, so they pulled you in their little relationship. Both of them are strangely clingy, with Howdy being less obvious than Wally who you always have carrying your arms.

✦ Speaking of the little painter, he likes to draw you and Howdy together! He mostly draw you two in his little sketchbook when you guys are fast asleep and have no idea that Wally is just ... standing right over your bed, sketchbook in hand and taking in every and any detail.

✦ Sometimes, you'd end up finding Wally painting the very same sketch onto a canvas. He quickly shoo'ed you out because of his embarrassment, but it doesn't really help since Home legit lead them to the very same room with Howdy paintings but this timez there are also paintings of you!

✦ It's better not to tell him what you saw because he will cry ans crumble immediately at your feet. If you did tell him, I suggest having a phone nearby so you can call Howdy to calm him down. Home isn't going to do much and actually prepared popcorn for you to eat, it's not like it has a mouth to eat the snack so...

✦ Howdy does the same discount thing he does to Wally to you except that he asks for a little bit more and adds Wally into the mix. The latter doesn't mind and actually joins Howdy into luring you to another one of their 5+ hours long of cuddling.

✦ Wally gets the most forehead kisses from you and he could only do so much by kissing your jaw oe your bottom lip, it's funny whenever he tries jumping up and down just to kiss you. He's just pull you down by your shirt and smooch you hard, pushing you gently and down on a chair before walking away with an accomplished smile.

✦You can barely give Howdy forehead kisses due to how tall he is and how much a teaser he is too, but you manage to catch him off guard and plant many, many kisses on his face. He does strike back by doing the same, but he'll tear up a bit since you and Wally are the only ones by far who has spoiled him so much of affection.

✦ Dates happen usually on the weekends or holidays, so you guys set up a cute little picnic. But if the weather doesn't look good, you all stay at either Wally's or your place, cooking from a reciepe book Wally borrowed from Poppy with some levels of difficulty. (He had to make an oath that he must quit cooking if Poppy found out he injured himself, Wally never feared for his life as much as he did back then)

✦ Wally would ask you and Howdy to be his muses! Sometimes, it's just you as the muse since Howdy is drawing side by side with Wally. If it's on paper, you always put both of their drawings up on the fridge.

✦ Your mailbox is filled to the brim with love letters from the 12 apples high puppet, and he even got Howdy on board with it. Eddie has to put both of them on a mail timeout because of how his bag was filled with love letters for days.

✦ The two of them manages to give their love letters to you regardless. Howdy would slip little notes of affection into your bags after you visited his shop whilst Wally would just break into your house and scatter his letters around. You had the enjoyment of watching Wally getting scolded by Home for breaking in.

"Home, I'm sorry—"

Home creaked loudly, angrily even as Wally immediately shut his mouth. He had his head hanging low, hands clasped together in front as he had this pouting, almost puppy-like expression. It was sad, embarrassing but you couldn't care less after you had to clean your house for 5 hours. You had no idea this little shortstack of a puppet could write and draw that much.

Howdy appeared to your side, sneaking his hand into your bowl and quickly munched on a handful of popcorn. "Wow, Home's really going at it, huh?" His voice muffled a bit due to the food in his mouth.

"Howdy, don't speak with your mouth full." You scolded him, elbowing his lower left arm. "But, yeah. Home found out about Wally breaking into my house and well... You know, house rights and privacies. Something along those lines."

Your caterpillar lover nodded slowly, unsure and confused with the whole situation. He took in a hesitant breath, the popcorns falling from his mouth and onto his hands. "Wait a second— Wally broke into your house, Home found out and is lecturing Wally about ... respecting houses?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Huh." Howdy paused, staring down at his hand. "Wait, you can't even eat. Why do you have a bowl of popcorn?"

"Well, you can't eat either, but you still took a handful of popcorn." You argued back, furrowing your brows at him.

"I— Fair point, yeah."

author's notes. you ship your oc with howdy one time and now you also like howdy, smh. the duality of men does not exist unless it's for simping welcome home chharacters.

as always, requests and sugguestions are always open !! any support is appreciated, tyvm

#writing log!#welcome home x reader #wally darling x reader #howdy pillar x reader #if this post's layout is wonky‚ blame tumblr #/j

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lyomeii · 1 year

Text

✰ you recall how you met jinwoo ✰

⇾ spoiler alert for the side story ⇽

it’s look yesterday that you’ve met jinwoo.

he first approached you during lunch at school, saying that he needed to talk with you after classes and that easily made you blush.

sung jinwo, the prettiest and smart boy in the school, asked you to stay after classes ended to talk? you are living the dream that almost every girl and boy wishes to become reality, yet something feels so weirdly about him. definitely isn’t about him actually, but rather how familiar his touch is.

the gentleness when he holder your hand when speaking made you feel like part of royalty, the way his eyes shaped when looking at you was almost like he was staring into an immense treasure. those felt so familiar, but what did actually catch you in fully surprise during that little conversation in the hall is the fact he kissed you in front of anyone who was passing by.

everyone stared at both of you. whispering about how lucky you are to being dating the most desirable, coolest, smart and handsome guy of the entire school. the whole situation made you want to vanish of existence and yet, you went to met him after classes just like he asked that moment.

inside the teacher’s office, he spoken words that you never believed that would hear from someone. jinwoo said words that not only made you feel special for the first time, but also made your heart beat way faster than the normal and your cheeks become redder was he slowly approached you. he kissed you that afternoon, after you accepted his feelings and promised for stay together til the end of time.

that was years ago and now you are married to him, have a small baby boy with him and share a immense house together. still, you can’t believe that you marry jinwoo, of all of the people in the world, he choose you to be with him. what a story.

“ everything alright?” he look over the couch, catching you and suho drawing with crayon all over the floor. his gray eyes aren’t leave this view anytime soon.

you nodded to your husband, too busy playing with suho as he draws and explain all of his imaginary friends that father show him a few days ago. the little sketches resemble a gigantic ant and others creature that you can’t figure out, probably suho has a gray imagination for creating those.

when done with his art, suho showed you the final product as he smiles, showcasing that he recently lost his two front teeth from a small accident a few week earlier. he continued to talk about the world he visit with father and the many creatures living there who all are shadows that obey father and you.

“ If they obey you, then dad must be someone important!” even tired, you still excited to learn everything about the little world that suho created. you are going to invest this kid into art classes one day. “ right?”

suho nodded to your words, too busy to speak as he return to draw once again, leaving to his father to answer you.

“ You’re right.” a kiss is planted on your lips, gaining him a small smile on the face. “ I am someone important there, but so you are.”

he kissed you once again before making you resting your head on his shoulder, both of you watching suho drawing in silence, at least on your case. jinwoo and suho are listening to the shadows rumbling about you unstoppable.

“they are truly someone perfect for our monarch!”

“ our monarch would be lost without them in his life!”

“ we should take them for a surprise visit and show them the statue we made on their honor!”

jinwoo hopes for a day that you will have to hear the constant voices of his shadow along him and suho, he doesn’t know when do it so, but he hopes that you will enjoy having someone to talk with during his work hours.

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

#yandere headcanon #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere manhwa #manhwa x reader #sung jin woo imagine #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jin woo #yandere sung jin woo #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling headcanon #solo leveling imagine #yandere solo leveling #no beta #I just wrote it in less than one hour

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eddies-ashtray · 2 years

Text

i think eddie has drawings he’s done hung on his bedroom walls and i can’t stop thinking about bestfriend eddie doodling things for you. just absentmindedly during class or at restaurants or when you’re spending a lazy day at his trailer.

for years, you keep them in a little box under your bed. you cherish them like they’re wonderful gifts (and they are to you). secretly, you were harbouring a great crush on him and the drawings and sketches made your heart ache with affection whenever he’d slip them to you in class.

maybe he slips them through the slats in your locker between classes as well and when they float down to the ground when you open your locker they make you smile instantly; eager to add it to your collection at home.

eddie started out drawing whatever came to his mind. and then when he realized how much you loved them (noting how your face lit up whenever he slipped you one in class), he started drawing things he knew you’d love; your favourite flowers, or sketches of characters you like, your favourite animals, maybe he sketches your face (eddie thinks it’s his prettiest drawing yet) or your hands, his rings because he knows you like those too. he does them on scraps of paper and napkins and textbook pages, envelopes; anything that’s near him when an idea comes to him.

later on, after graduation and love confessions, you still have every drawing and sketch he’s done for you over the years. if you had to guess, there were over 100 little scraps of paper in the box. eddie didn’t know you still had them.

one day, you dig through all of them, fishing around for the perfect one—you’ve decided you want to get one tattooed. you finally find your favourite; probably one of the first ones he’d ever done.

for weeks, you hid it from him, carefully covering your wrist with long sleeved shirts and hoodies, planning to reveal it to him only once it’s healed more and looks nicer.

when you finally show him, he’s puzzled for a moment; the tattoo looks familiar to him, but he can’t quite place where he’s seen it before. then, you pull the box out from under your bed and show him the little slip of paper with his original drawing. he clues in then, realizing what you’ve done. his big brown eyes go wide (somehow becoming more large and owlish than they already were), snapping his gaze quickly to you.

“jesus christ! that’s my drawing?” eddie marvels, breathless as he pulls your wrist closer to him to inspect the ink closer. he thumbs over the tattoo softly. “it looks great.”

then, seemingly realizing something else, eddie’s eyes are drawn to the box full of drawings beside you. he picks it up, thumbs through the ones at the top.

“you kept them?” he whispers, dark eyes full of emotion.

“of course,” you say, “i only had like a massive crush on you for four freaking years!”

he laughs bashfully at that, and then, “yeah. and you know i felt the same way. kinda why i drew you about a thousand of these things,” eddie says, raising the box of drawings in his hand.

you kiss him on the cheek then and eddie kisses you on the mouth appreciatively, lovingly.

you spend the next little while combing through every drawing, reminiscing about each one; when he’d drawn them for you, why, which are your favourites.

and now, every time he has an excuse, eddie places a tender kiss to the tattoo on your wrist.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcanons

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thebestofoneshots · 20 days

Text

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.6 K Warnings: None Prompt: Time to wrap it all up, and perhaps receive one or two surprises. This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 42: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Wednesday, December 23rd

The art store was small, but filled with colours all around. Small little black cabinets with golden numbers on top behind the counter, and walls lined with different paint pots and colours, a wall with wooden frames and delicately separated boxes that held paint brushes of all different sizes and shapes and, by the bits you’d read, also materials.

At the top of the cabinets there was a small display of colourful markers and pens and other things that you knew muggles used but you weren’t too familiar with. Apparently, they used stick glue instead of sticking spells to adhere stuff. You wondered how much of this stuff Sirius actually knew about and vowed to bring him to this place with you one day.

And while you did appreciate art, thoroughly – you’d gone to multiple museums, both muggle and wizarding through your trips – you had no idea what the difference was between gouache and acrylic, or why the “Rembrandt” that claimed to be made out of oil, where much more expensive than the “Winsor & Newton” ones that claimed the same. It had to be because of the quality, right?

“Good evening, may I help you?” a young man, probably in his late twenties asked as he approached you. He was dressed in rather formal clothes and had a pair of thin-rimmed golden glasses. You would have probably considered him attractive if you hadn’t been accustomed to Sirius’ dashing looks or Remus’ lovely smile. You really were lucky to be surrounded by handsome and pretty humans, you thought, thinking of the rest of your friends.

You must have looked as lost as a Bowtruckle in the middle of New York since he looked like he would try to be overly polite.

“I’m looking for a gift, my boyfriend loves to draw, but I’m… not really good with all the supplies and stuff, I was thinking perhaps a nice set of pencils and a sketchbook. I’ve been looking through the paints as well, but I don’t think he’s the kind to do the whole canvas thing, at least not while we’re in school.”

“Well, does he colour his drawings?”

You thought about it for a moment, what he’d shown you were mostly sketches done in pencil, though there were some with an underlayer of red and or blue. “I think he uses some for the base of the drawings.”

“Does he overline them?” The expression you gave him when he asked made him clarify it. “After the pencil sketch is done, does he add a pen or marker to finish up the details?”

Sirius did not do that, but you also thought how complicated it would be to do such a thing with a quill instead of the pens and trinkets the muggles had invented so you nodded in response. “Yeah… not that often but I’m sure he’d like something to be able to do it.”

“All right, follow me,” he said as he motioned to one of the furthest walls. “This is where we keep all of our sketchbooks, the thicker the grammage the stronger pens and markers it will hold. Also, some can even hold watercolour, not sure if he’s into that too.”

“Do you have like – a book on the basics of watercoloring? I feel like he might actually be interested in that.”

“We do,” he said with a nod and moved to the other side of the store bringing you a few options. You picked one of them and then looked through the sketchbooks. There were different sizes and colours and the pages felt really different on most of them. Some were especially made for watercolours and some were for drawing. You took one with about 100 pages for watercolour and one with the same amount of pages but with a bit less grammage for sketches.

They both had a black cover with golden elegant trims that you thought would definitely go with Sirius’ look, although one opened from the side, making it more of a panoramic view while the other one stayed horizontal. You handed them in to the guy and he took them to the counter as you continued looking around. You leaned into the watercolour section and started to look at all the different options available.

“If this is the first time he’ll do watercolour, may I recommend you buy a set?” he asked politely as he showed you a small wooden case, when he opened it there were all sorts of small blocks with different colours on them. “These are my favourite brand, but really gentle with beginners, they also come with this interesting thing,” he added as he handed you a small brush with a clear section at the top. “It comes with water, you don’t have to dip your brush that often, really useful once you get the hang of it.”

“You have more of those?” you asked and he nodded, showing you the different sizes of brush ends. After a while, and with a lot of his help, you ended up selecting about 5 different brushes and the colours that you’d fill the small wooden box with as well, which you thought was fantastic since you could fill it up with whatever colours you chose and not a set palette.

“You’ll also take the marker set, the watercolour book and the sketchbooks, correct? Anything else?”

“Uhh… Am I missing anything that he might need?

“Does he draw portraits or landscapes?”

You thought back of the Remus drawing he’d shown you, and then of the one you had chosen not to see. “He draws portraits and anatomy studies. Though I’m sure I’ve seen him doodle other stuff too.”

“He might like this book then,” he told you as he handed over another book. It was about proportions and hand drawing and a lot of very advanced-looking stuff, you smiled.

“This one as well, please…” he was about to finish the bill when you stopped him, looking down through the glass display and pointing towards something, “Is that a penknife?”

“Well, yes,” he replied, “Although sharpeners are used more often nowadays, some people still prefer them.”

“I’d like one of those as well,” you added with a smile.

“Excellent.” The man gave you your total and then handed every single thing in a thick paper bag. “You said it was for a gift, right?”

“Yes,” you nodded and he walked to the back of the shop, pulling a very elegant and sturdy black box, he eyed the bag as if calculating if everything would fit and then handed it over to you along with a black and gold ribbon with the name of the store repeated over and over.

As he handed it over he pulled it back for a second and gave you a smile. “That young gentleman is very lucky to have you as a girlfriend.”

“I think I’m just as lucky as he is,” you responded with a small smirk as you took the box.

“Would you like me to call you a cab?”

You thought about it for a second. Your house wasn’t that far, and with a short levitating spell you wouldn’t have to carry much stuff either, but the Knight Bus did mention they’d be very busy and you had been walking all day. “Yes, thank you.”

The man called for one and you waited inside the store until the cabbie arrived. You gave him your address and he took you straight there. You took the lift of your building, using your wand to unlock the secret –magical- floor your parents had purchased in London and waited.

When the two, golden doors of the lift opened to your drawing room, you sighed. Leaning down to take off your shoes. “Mom? Dad?”

No answer. “What time is it?” you whispered to yourself as you looked at the clock, quarter past ten? That art store surely has late closing times, you thought as you leaned back down to pull your bags up and drag them to your room.

There was a note on the table along with what looked like a delightfully looking salad and steak.

We’ll be home late, serve yourself. See you tomorrow darling.

You sighed and after placing the bags on the table, and using a warming spell on the food, you ate. Once you were done, the plate disappeared from the table and instead, a chocolate cake showed up. You smiled, at least they knew you liked sweets. You took a few bites from that and took it, along with your gifts, to your room.

That’s when you remembered you had promised to tell your friends when you arrived here so you quickly scribbled a few notes. Sending your owl –Resse– back to the Potter’s and Barnaby –the family’s owl– to Beth. Then you took some Floo powder and leaned over the fire.

“Tom?” You asked as you peeked through his chimney.

“Sly sprite?” He asked as he leaned over. “I was starting to worry,” he said as he left a book on the side. “You got home, all right?”

“Yeah!” you said with a smile. “And I got a bunch of good stuff at the store too, it was worth it.”

“It better have been! Beth is home too, we stopped by hers first.”

You chatted with Tom for a little while more and ended the call when you started to yawn and he followed right after. With that, you went for a quick and warm shower and then back to bed.

Thursday, December 24th

There was a soft knock on the door, you stirred on your bed but didn’t wake and then there was another one. “Sweetheart? Breakfast’s ready, come eat.”

“On my way,” you said as you sat on your bed and rubbed your eyes a couple of times. The day was bright, you’d forgotten to shut your windows at night and now you had the perfect view of the Thames through your window. You thought back to Hogwarts and how all the splendour of it had been made by magic, while the splendour of London had mostly been made by muggles.

The high skyscrapers, the Ferris Wheel across the river, the towers, palaces and bridges, all muggle-made, and without magic, it was fascinating. You didn’t understand why wizards had so many prejudices against them –aside from the whole burning on steak part, muggles seemed to be quite incredible and determined people. Perhaps you should have taken that muggle studies optative.

“Sweetheart?” you heard your father’s voice, a bit more stern than your mother’s.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you said as you shook your covers off and grabbed your wand from the nightstand. “As if they hadn’t been home hours after I got here,” you mumbled as you fished for a pair of slippers under your bed.

By the time you got out of your room both your mom and dad were sitting on the living room table. Your mom was wearing a beautiful cocktail dress while your dad had a perfectly fitting black suit on with a small cape, draped elegantly behind his chair. You were still wearing a band shirt you had stolen from Sirius a while ago, and that you had been wearing under Remus’ jumper before the trip. “Lovely to see you,” you said with an awkward smile, “it’s been a while.”

Your father looked up from his newspaper with a cup of coffee in his hand only for a second, nodded and then went back to read. Your mom gave you a sympathetic look and nodded for you to sit down. After a couple of minutes, your dad bent the newspaper and placed it on the side of the table.

“We’ve heard plenty of your Hogwarts Adventures,” your father said looking at you. “You’ve been doing a masterful job at maintaining our house’s name relevant.”

You frowned at that, that had never been your intention.

“You were incredible in the broom race though you lost,” your father said. “And you’ve won two quidditch matches–”

“That was a team effort…” you said, your voice growing smaller as his hand dismissed you.

“You’ve kept your grades high and you’ve even entered the duelling club…”

“Not to mention her Theoretical Magic grades,” your mom added with a smile.

“And you’re dating one of the Black kids.”

You swallowed. You had mentioned in your letters that you and Sirius had gotten along now that you were in the same house, but you hadn’t specifically mentioned you were dating him.

“The disowned Black kid,” your father continued.

You straightened a little, you had discussed with your dad the things that happened back in your vacations with the Blacks. It hadn’t been particularly nice talk, but you weren’t going to back down, his political means could not be worth more than his morals. And things had been rather tense between the two since then.

When two people had such intense ideological differences and desires, they were bound to clash against each other, especially when those ideologies juxtaposed against the other often, being only furthered by the fact that you were –at least on breaks– living under the same roof.

Your priorities had been wildly different and you weren’t shy about letting him know, which caused your relationship to deteriorate quickly. Not to say you –or him– had been particularly rude to each other, but you were much colder. It was almost Christmas, and you didn’t want to start a fight with him, let alone over something that you were most definitely not going to yield on.

“I think it’s all right. He might have been disowned by his family but he still stays in contact with some of the other Blacks like Alphard and the other disowned child… whatever her name is…” Andromeda, you thought as you tried to process the fact that he had just said it was fine. “Just try to avoid mentioning him in tomorrow’s dinner. I’m sure Walburga wouldn’t be particularly pleased.”

“Tomorrow’s dinn– Walburga will be coming?”

“Of course not, they have invited us to their Christmas dinner,” he said. “It’ll be hosted in Rosier Manor, I believe.”

“Whose manor?” You asked, your breath going short along with your question.

“Mr. Rosier,” your mom repeated. “All important wizards will be there.”

“I’d rather skip Christmas altogether.”

“I’m sorry, darling. This isn’t a matter of preferences. You will go and then we’ll let you do whatever you please for the rest of the break. Visit muggle London as much as you want or dally with your friends, I really don’t care as long as you maintain your composure during tomorrow’s dinner.”

Your leg was bouncing slightly under the table. “I don’t believe I will be welcomed in that house.”

“You will be welcomed because you are my daughter and I’m me,” he said with an air of finality. “We need to present a strong family front, play your part and you’ll be rewarded.”

“Right, my part,” you said bitterly. You wondered if your mother was playing her part too, they were in love, that wasn’t questionable, but sometimes it felt like she became nothing more than an addition to his recollection of what a perfect life should look like. Did he marry her because of the love he felt for her or because she’d look like a delightful trophy wife by his side on political dinners? Had she not been as beautiful as she was, had she not been well educated, would he have married her either way?

You wondered, when had Silas become the man he is now? When did his greed for power become so intense he would sacrifice his morals to achieve it? When you were smaller, you thought they loved each other, even now, you saw when they looked at each other with those adoring eyes, but… there was a tale of sacrifice weaved in between their story, and with one party constantly bending to the other’s wishes, you weren’t sure you could still call it love.

When devotion became toxic, was it still something that came from love, or had it become something else altogether?

“Indeed darling, we ask for nothing more than one night. Then you will not be bothered, free to go wherever you want and with whomever you please. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

You sighed and nodded, “One dinner.”

Your mother smiled at that, letting out a nervous breath and then reached for your hand. “Your clothes for tomorrow are already in your closet, I also got you some nice potions and make-up.”

“Thanks, Mum,” you said with a short smile and looked at your food. It looked delicious, it was French toast with berries and fruit on top –probably there to appeal to your sweet tooth and convince you to go– but you didn’t feel hungry at all. Especially not at the thought of having to go to Rosier Manor. As if you didn’t see enough of Evan at school, now you had to go see him on the break as well, bIoody brilliant. “Breakfast was great,” you said as you stood up. Both of them decided to ignore your almost intact plate, “I’ll be in my room in case you need anything else, you know like me playing the role of the perfect child of the politician if your friends come around or whatever.”

Your mom gave you a reproachful look while your dad gave you an impassive one, you raised your eyebrows at the two of them, almost tauntingly before you turned around, walking back to your room and letting the door close behind you gently –it was not the inanimate objects fault that your parents were acting like pricks.

You sat on your bed and took a deep breath before you saw a small owl by one of your windows, you let him in and took the rolled parchment from his feet before feeding him some water.

Dear Vix, Hope this letter finds you all right, Sirius was moaning about you going along Beth and Tom and not inviting him to buy Christmas stuff it was draining! Now I was not going to write to you about it because he said he would punch me in the face but I had to write anyway since mum and dad wanted you to have our address so you could come here through floo anytime. Hope you’re having a great time, Sirius and I went flying with Pete today (he lives a few houses from us, did we tell you?), and while it was nice not having to worry about Sirius distracting himself from snogging you, we missed you still. Mum and Dad send greetings to your parents, hope you’re also having a blast. Your bestest friend, James P. PS. Mum sent this tea for you, she said she thinks you’d like it with how much sweet stuff you eat and stuff. PS 2. Love you, but I bet you’re missing me more <– That was Sirius.

James’ stupid letter made you chuckle, especially the last bit, as if it had been necessary to point out that Sirius had been the one to write it. You placed the letter into a small box in your bag and smiled as you walked to pick up some of the stuff you’d be giving your friends as their gifts.

You picked up some wrapping paper and started wrapping all of their gifts, the owls would have to do a couple of trips to take them all to their place, but you’d make sure to leave them plenty of food throughout the night, so they could continue their trips and the presents would be at your friend’s beds in the morning.

You had gone through most of the smaller gifts first, writing small, and neatly written Christmas cards on them. Then you went for the bigger ones, the books you’d gotten for Lily, some of the stuff for Mary and Marlene, James’ pack, and of course, Remus and Sirius’.

It wasn’t until then, that you realised how overboard you had gone with your gifts. You’d gotten Remus so many books, both magical and muggle, that you almost felt guilty you hadn’t gotten Lily and James more stuff. And then you tried telling yourself it was because Remus would spend Christmas alone and he deserved at least a bit of happiness, you weren’t deliberately playing favourites.

And then Sirius’ pile was clearly a mess, you had all the music you’d gotten, the shirts, the penknife that you wanted to engrave with his name (you were researching for the right spell to do it) and a bunch of other stuff for him. Besides, you still wanted to make the playlists, so before you finished packing the bigger boxes, you started testing the recorder. Now there wasn’t exactly a step by step guide on how to record music, but there was a small booklet that showed you how the thing worked and you spend the rest of the day figuring it out, listening to music and making a playlist for each of your friends. Using all the songs you thought they might like.

When you were done with that, you continued packing all the stuff. Deciding to send all the music back to the boys’ room at Hogwarts so they could leave it on Sirius’ stash. Well, all of them except for the David Bowie tape you had specifically gotten for Sirius and that would look great with his shirt and the rest of the gifts you’d gotten him.

You went out to get some food at some point during the day, and there was another note from your parents telling you they were off at an event. Well, good riddance, you thought as you went back to your room with a sandwich in your hands. You picked one of the books you’d gotten for yourself and you spent almost the rest of the day reading it while jamming to one of the playlists you’d made. A copy of the one you’d made for Remus since you thought it went well with the book you’d chosen to read.

You fell asleep before your parents got home, with the book still in your hands and the music playing softly in the background until the cassette ran out of tape and was softly ejected by the machine. The sound it made had been so soft it didn’t wake you at all.

Thankfully, you had remembered to leave enough water and food for the owls, since they had spent all night doing trips back and forth to your house and your friends’.

Friday, December 25th

You woke up by being pecked in the face by a very big and very angry owl.

“Oi!” you complained. “What’s wrong with you?” The owl chirped and picked you again, this time on the ear. “Bitch,” you mumbled as you pushed him back lightly, only for him to pick you in the finger again.

You gave him an upset look and he pulled back just a little, tilting his head towards the window, and the lack of food and refreshments.

“Oh, so that’s why you’ve been attacking me non-stop?” you asked as you stood up from the bed, failing to see the pile of wrapped gifts at the end of it. The owl chirped in response, a scowl that you weren’t sure was his natural face shape or an actual scowl directed towards you. “I’m sorry,” you added, “Barnaby and Reese must have eaten them all. They did many trips last night, you know?”

The owl chirped again, a little angry as he flew towards the window, as if saying «I too flew many trips last night» looking as indignant as a Towny Owl could. You added a few of the special snacks you kept for Reese just to keep him from biting you again. You looked at the name tag and realised who the owner of the owl had been.

Eun-ji, Minho had told you about her, she was his family’s owl and apparently, the name meant something like “kind”. So much for a kind owl, you thought as you looked at her, gobbling up Reese’s treats. You leaned over when you noticed there was a small letter attached to his feet and took it in your hands before the owl flapped his wings and left.

Merry Christmas Star Seeker, Hope you’re having a great time. Thought of giving you a special thanks for that one time you –quite literally– pushed me towards my crush and got us to start a conversation, that, well, you know how great it ended! Even for a Gryffindor, you’re really nice, so I thought of getting you something for you to get some more hate from your fellow Gryffindor, Eun-ji must have left the gift near your bed.

You turned to the side in the middle of reading and stood agape, there was not only a green and silver wrapped gift in what looked suspiciously like the shape of a snake, but there were also a bunch of other gifts wrapped in all sorts of colours.

Anyway thanks for everything, hope you have fun and all. I’m looking forward to beating you all next time we play, Love, The one and only, and your favourite Slytherin, Minho Cha.

You rolled your eyes at the last bit, it had been very Slytherin of him, but since you knew Minho, you also knew he was playing it off as a joke on his own house, which made a joke inside a joke and you thought it was actually kind of funny.

You took a deep breath and walked over to your bed. There were all sorts of gifts prompted there and you decided to unwrap Minho’s first. There was a small, green snake plushie with a bow on it that had a small pendant with something written on it: “From the snakes that love you dearly,” and then it had the names of all of your Slytherin friends: Minho, Comet, Nox, Reggie, and even some you weren’t expecting like Dorcas and Solacis. You thought it was an adorable little thing, even if –and you were certain of this– your friends would absolutely hate it. Well, not Lily, she’d also think it was adorable.

And thinking of her, was that you picked the next gift, wrapped in pink and yellow paper, and with her a small dedicatory on the corner, you instantly knew it was from her, her neat and perfect handwriting being the dеad giveaway. You smile as you read her small dedication. She wished you a very, merry Christmas and promised to tell you everything about the train with James as soon as you saw each other in person. She wrote something along the lines of not being able to put it on paper, which made you laugh.

When you opened the present you were thrilled, it was a small leather notebook, dark red with golden trims and your name on the cover. Not Vixen, not Starshine, or any of the other nicknames that you had come to own and love since you arrived at Hogwarts, but your name. You smiled as you traced your fingers over the letters. There was a pen on the side, golden and apparently of some interesting muggle technology that wasn’t that popular in the wizarding world. You thought it was fascinating. When you opened the notebook you realised there was something written, again in her handwriting.

You’ve had more adventures this year than I’ve had in my lifetime. I think it’s time for you to start writing down some of them, in case you ever want to revisit them. If journaling is not your thing (which I feel like it would be because I know you), you can just use this notebook however you want. You know grocery lists, songs for mixtapes, your favourite lyrics, poems, quotes, Sirius’ doodles, your doodles, dried flowers, stickers, whatever you want, it’s your space, and you may use it as you wish! Love, Lily

You thought the idea of having your own journal was brilliant, you always admired her for keeping hers so incredibly neat looking, and perhaps being able to let some of your feelings go on a blank page would be better than keeping them bottled up. You doubted you would be nearly as consistent as her, but you decided to add your first couple of words in there, detailing the gifts you’d gotten and the few you still had yet to open.

You’d gotten a box of your favourite candies from Mary and some incredible quidditch trading cards from Marlene, but she had also added some makeup to her gift because if not you and James would have gotten the exact same thing and you were her favourite between the two. You got a spellbook and a muggle prank book from Tom “to further your career” according to him. There was a large, embossed book from Nina, which you discovered was an annotated version of one of your favourite books and a small set of runes from Sybil. You had gotten her a deck of cards and a book about premonitions.

There were candies from Nox and a muggle book lantern from Neil Perry, you had both complained at some point about reading with your wand and you thought the solution he’d found was adorable. Peter had gotten you a book about canines, packed along with a small fox-themed bookmarker and a note that said “Thank you for not busting my make-out session and Merry Christmas.” He also added, “PS. maybe with this one you’ll be able to tame Pads.” Which had you wheezing with laughter for a while.

It took at least a minute to go for the next gift, it was a small box that said to be handled carefully. You opened it according to the instructions. “Shut the fuck up!” you said the moment you realized what was inside. A small Felix Felicis vial. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” you repeated over and over again. “How did he even get his hands on it?”

You picked up the paper from behind it, there was a small note.

Okay say it: aside from Sirius, I AM your favourite Marauder. You might be wondering, “How the hell did James get his hands on this?”. Well dear, I must say, I have contacts. AKA my parents are expert potioneers and I somehow convinced Mum to brew one and that’s how I got my hands on it. Now, I could have given it to any of my friends but I get the feeling you might be needing some of this soon enough. You know, from things I’ve seen and such (please don’t waste it on a quidditch match, though). Anyway, I know you’ll use it well, hope you have a very Merry Christmas! Your favourite marauder AND bestest friend, Prongs.

You chuckled when you finished reading and went back to look at the vial with incredulity. Brewing one of these potions was arduous work, and it took weeks, which meant James must have had convinced Effie to do it even before she’d met you. Never underestimate James Potter, you thought as you grabbed onto the vial and placed it around your neck with a chain, casting a disillusionment charm on it so it wouldn’t be so obvious you had it with you. You thought the gift was brilliant.

After that, there were only 2 gifts left. You picked the one with a silver bow first. It was a square box, about 12” wide, and had been wrapped in the same paper as James’, which made you guess who it might be from. There were chocolates and a small letter on top, neatly closed and with your name written on the back with Sirius’ almost perfect calligraphy. There was also a paper covering something, but you picked the letter up first.

You know, I tried writing a love letter, but James wouldn’t stop making ridiculous comments about it not being profound enough and I feared I’d end up writing something close to the painfully ridiculous letters he used to write to Lily so I had to stop myself. Who would have thought it would be that hard to put thoughts into words? I suppose if I were like Remus it would come out much easier but, unfortunately, you’re stuck with me. Actually no, fortunately you’re stuck with me, I’m delightful.

You laughed, he’s not wrong.

Anyway, I suppose what I wanted to express in those dreadful attempts of being a poet was that I’m incredibly thankful that you came to Hogwarts and that you came back to me. I’m grateful that you tolerate me and my moods and that you love me for who I am, flaws and all. I wasn’t sure I’d ever found that kind of love, one that I even doubted it existed, and yet you’re always there to tease and make me laugh and– I already sound like James, but you know what I mean. You always know what I mean. As you see, I am far from a poet, but there is something I like to do and I thought that perhaps, you’d enjoy it more than this terrible love letter. You know, you and Remus were the first to ever see a sketch from my book, and I was feeling all sorts of things after I offered, and yet, you were there, reassuring me and telling me I didn’t have to do it if I didn’t want to. You know Walburga, it wasn’t much of a choice for me, so it truly meant the world, and fed me the courage I needed to let you see that part of me. And when you two finally saw it and praised me for my skills, for what I did with my own hands… You make me so incredibly gleeful, it’s almost scary how much power you could hold over me. But frankly, I’ll let you hold it all you want. All right, enough of the sappy stuff, Merry Christmas Starshine, you know you shine brighter than my own star. Hope you like your gift. Love, Sirius

See the letter here

You read the letter a few more times, smiling at the little details and jokes Sirius had sprinkled all over. And then you pulled on the bit of tissue paper covering the very last thing in the box and when you finally saw its content you couldn’t help but swear again, “Son of a bitch!” you whispered.

There were still some small pieces of paper over the small portrait, and you carefully brushed them out to be able to lift it from the box. The image was a hand-drawn portrait of you. You had a big smile and were looking at what would be the camera if it were an image. It looked like it might have been from one of the pictures from Marlene’s party although Sirius had changed the outfit, you were wearing an oversized sweater and his leather jacket. You could tell it was his because it had one of the enamel pins you had gotten him as a gift on the lapel.

There were touches of colours in the strokes, not quite painting the drawing but rather giving it relatively bright edges that made it look special, unlike any other doodle. And of course, he had framed it, it was a simple yet elegant frame, dark oak and with small carved details on the sides. On the left bottom corner of the drawing, there was something written in French:

À l'étoile la plus brillante. Amour,

And then, instead of his name, he signed with a small and elegant star doodle. You smiled again, it was one of the loveliest things you’d ever gotten, even if it was a portrait of yourself, the fact that Sirius had been the one to draw it, made it the most special of things. There were portraits upon portraits of you in your house, with magic that allowed you to move and smile, and even talk sometimes, but none of them held as much value as the frozen drawing Sirius had given you.

Eventually, you placed it on your night table and picked up the last gift still sitting in your bed. His box was smaller than Sirius’, about the size of a book, which had you assumed he had gotten you something along the lines of that.

You opened the book and found a small, pocket-sized book. It was a Sreath Bàrdachd, according to the golden script at the top. You hadn’t quite realised as you pulled it from the box, but it was handmade. You looked at it in shock as you flipped to the 50+ pages, all in carefully and methodically written cursive, his handwriting.

Later you realised it was something between a book of poems and a compilation of quotes from different books. You admired the booklet for a few more minutes when you spotted that there was a small letter, still waiting for you inside the box. You pulled it off and broke the seal with a small sword letter opener Nox had given you as a gift.

As you did, a small chain fell from the letter and you picked it up. It was small and dainty, just long enough to wrap around your wrist, which made you wonder how he’d guessed the size. The chain was simple, and it broke off into two different sections, one with a small crescent moon and then another one with a small star. It also had one small gemstone in between the bigger charms. You looked at it with a smile and held it in your hand as you read the letter.

Hey there, Little Witch, Hope you’re having an incredible Christmas. By the time you read this, you’ve probably seen the Sreath Bàrdachd, and knowing how clever you are, you probably already know what that could mean. Yes, It’s a book of poems, but also a bit more than that. I knew Sirius was making you that incredible gift of his, and I didn’t want to fall behind. Prongs didn’t tell us what he got you but he seemed pretty confident he’d have the best gift of all. Did he? Never mind, don’t tell me, it’s a silly competition. Either way, I thought you might like having one of these. Mum used to have one, which is why I know they exist. She told me a good friend gave it to her and she has kept it ever since then. I remembered borrowing it from her once when I was little, and she taught me how to carefully flip through the pages as she read to me. She also mentioned it was a silly girl’s thing but I thought it was amazing, and went on to make my own. Although wonky and, with quotes from children’s books, she thought I was quite a mastermind for making it by myself. Of course, I put a lot more effort into the one you have with you now. Or perhaps the same effort but with better skills. If you’ve flipped through the pages, which I assume you have, since you’re incredibly curious, you’ve probably seen some familiar quotes. There’s stuff from books we’ve both read and stuff that only I have read but that I thought you might like. Some of my favourite poems too, and some quotes from movies that only you’d be able to get. There are even lyrics from songs, some that we really like, some that Sirius has heard so many times that I already knew them by memory, and since the two of you like similar music, I assumed you’d know them too. Also, there’s a small bracelet in the letter. I’ve cross-charmed it, in case you ever lose the Sreath Bàrdachd (I truly hope you never do), the gemstone will shine as you approach it. I’ve also added a few luck charms that, while they won’t keep you away from trouble –I don’t think anything could– they may give you some luck while navigating it. Don’t hit me for saying that, you know it’s true. Love, Moony. PS. Prongs told me about your little quarrel with Sirius on the platform, Sirius definitely misses you more.

See the letter here

By the time you finished Remus’ letter, you were smiling as brightly as you had when you read Sirius’. You were so lucky you had found such incredible people in Hogwarts. Your bedsheets filled with torn wrapping paper were a testament to that. You spend the rest of the afternoon listening to some more music and reading through the book Remus had made.

He had been especially careful with his handwriting which you thought was adorable, and there were a lot of quotes from Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Grey. He had written in pencil –so you could erase it if you wanted, not that you would– that it was your fault he was obsessed with his writing now. Taking poems and quotations from both, the book aforementioned and The Ghost of Canterville. You hadn’t read the latter yet, but you were almost counting the days to go back to school and ask him to lend you his copy.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and you had to leave the warm comfort of reading and listening to music in favour of changing into the clothes your mom had chosen for you. You sighed as the alarm clock you’d set earlier went off, and then went straight towards your closet. The dress she had picked was simple, yet elegant. It wasn’t a long dress like the one she’d probably wear, but a more youthful one with clever intricate details on the sleeves and a midi skirt.

“Thank god it has sleeves,” you whispered to yourself as you pulled the edge of the sleeve of Sirius’ shirt up. While your skin looked almost smooth, the lighter (almost silvery) shapes where the new skin was growing over the gush Moony had made were pretty evident. You supposed makeup and a spell could make them less visible, at least for a while, but that would have probably taken you a lot more time to achieve.

You plopped the black dress on, smoothing the sides as walking towards your vanity where your mum had left all the potions and make-up. You sighed, remembering how much more fun it had been to dress for the Gryffindor parties than it was to dress for this one. With the black dress and the pearls on your neck, you felt a lot more like you were about to walk into a funeral rather than a party. My own funeral, you thought with a laugh when you remembered whose house you’d actually be going to.

You grabbed a pair of red, not-too-high heels, put them on, and took another look in the large mirror by the window. You looked lovely, at least there would be no complaints from your parents on that aspect. What they might complain about was the fact that you took a bag with an undetectable extension charm and filled it with a few of the books you’d gotten as a Christmas gift. You also took the journal Lily had given you and Remus’ Sreath Bàrdachd. And you weren’t sure who’d be attending that party but you sure hoped you’d be able to sneak into a corner and read a book rather than having to interact with some of the most disagreeable friends of your parents.

“Sweetheart, are you ready?” your mom asked from the kitchen.

“Yeah, coming,” you said as you grabbed a few more trinkets and dumped them in your bag, just in case.

You were about to leave the room when you saw a small glistening thing in your bed and you went straight to grab it. It was the bracelet Remus had given you, and even if it took you a while to put it on, and you continued looking between your wrist and the door as you tried to get the clasp to do its job, you thought it was worth it. I could really use that extra luck. You thought. You accommodated the necklace Sirius had given you and that you never took off and then took off James’ potion and placed it on your bag since it might be safer there than around your neck.

One last look in the mirror to make sure everything was in order and you walked out towards the living room.

“You look delightful, darling,” your father said as he spotted you walking out of the room.

You gave him a half shrug in response and then managed to mutter a “thanks” that you hoped didn’t sound as bitter as it felt. After another moment of silence, your mom grabbed her bag and finished clipping on one of her earrings.

“We’ll take the floo?” you asked.

Your father shook his head, “They’ve sent over a Portkey,” your mom explained and motioned to the table, there was a small, fancy-looking invitation right in the middle.

“Nice,” you said as you used your wand to levitate the object and move it right in between your parents. Perhaps if it had been floo, you could have sneakily said James’ address instead of Evan’s and escaped the party altogether. Once there, your parents wouldn’t make a fuss about it in order to not make your insubordination evident. But of course, you weren’t that lucky, and you’d have to take the portkey and you’d have to go to the party.

“In three,” your father said as he moved his hand towards the invitation, “two… one… go.”

The three of you placed your hands on the invitation at the same time and you felt the very familiar pull on your lower back, in less than a second, the entire world distorted around you, and then, you weren’t in your house anymore.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Aww that was so cute wasn't it? Now it's time to strap on, we're about to dive head-first into the darkest side of the story, and it's going to be fun and sad and just a rollercoaster of emotions in general. Love, Lils xx