#he's a sweet walking paradox
Text
I'm writing yet another elf PC's sheet and I write him like a cryptid. My DM stole something and now he turned from being a softie softie to being a gremlins.
#hnk plays dnd#now here's the gremlins#he's a sweet walking paradox#he's still very unwise but at least he's smart. too bad that i the player am wise and i am not smart.#in this house we like to suffer for roleplay#at least he and i ain't charismaric so it's ok
1 note
·
View note
Note
One thing I can't help but feel a Sub!Vox would unexpectedly enjoy is getting reminded/teased about the fact he has a safe word he can use.
Like, beyond just the safe, practical etiquette of double checking and making sure everything's still okay, in the scenario that he absolutely is still okay: You got him so worked up, overstimulated, repeatedly sobbing out "I can't"s, only to have you sweetly cut in with a sweet "Do you need to use the safe word~?" (Or any other possible non-verbal "STOP" sign that got agreed upon), and having that answer be "No."
Him getting faced with the fact that he can so, so, so easily have anything that's happening to him stop, should he so wish it, and yet, despite all his whining and begging and crying, he's actively choosing not to have it stop.
Him just getting so flustered by that paradox of him being reminded that he's in complete control over having no control~
YESSSSSS AUGHGHH I NEED TO PAMPER HIM‼️
🥀Cw: smut, sub!vox, safeword mentioned, overstim, not proofread bc i am both sick and tired im so sorry
🥀minors dni
once vox is in subspace, he really is a mess- drooling, moaning, whimpering, clawing at the sheets, and most obviously, crying
to most people this would give the impression that he wants to stop, but in reality, vox very very rarely uses the safeword but fuuuck it is SUCH a turn on for him that the opportunity is there
we all know he has a power kink, and he's so obviously in a submissive position during sex, but the fact that you're the one allowing him to stop if he needs to? it gets to his head
it also opens the door to his humiliation kink, bc nothing turns him on more than being humiliated. the fact that he could so, so easily quit, just walk out and be out of the embarrassing, submissive position he's in but instead he finds himself wanting to be wrecked- more than wrecked, downright ruined by you when he could so easily walk away. the entire situation is exhilarating and arousing to him
he also adores it when you use it mockingly, if you start cooing "aww, poor baby, do y'need to tap out already? gonna use the safeword sweetie?" he's already babbling, pleading with you to keep going, how he's being suuuuch a good boy! and then? well, he's rambling on and on about how he can't stop yet, how he needs to cum! how could you deny him?
vox takes punishments well, but will brat out the whole time, whimpering and whining about how he can't take it. however, the second you threaten to stop, or offer the safeword? he's putty in your hands, drooling and clawing at the sheets, practically begging you to keep going. its the quickest way to get him to completely submit to you without even another word!
vox isn't used to relinquishing control in general, so the power dynamics proposed by the safeword honestly make him trust you even more. even outside of the bedroom, it flusters him when you ask before touching him or when you ask about sex instead of just initiating.
when it comes to softer sex, vox also likes to be reminded of the safeword! sometimes he's just so stressed out that he just wants to be pampered, but he reaches a point where his mind gets so fuzzy he just can't stop :( he's mewling and whining as you ride him, tears streaming down his screen as you praise him, and he doesn't realize how far gone he is until you gently remind him he can tap out whenever he needs to. vox will nod, eyes watery and face flushed, and soon he becomes more aware of just how sleepy he is. he always makes sure you both cum one more time before tapping out, but i can also see him having a bit of a somnophilia kink, so he would probably consent to letting you fuck him in his sleep, with the promise of the safeword still being valid
i mentioned this before in the dry humping hcs, but sometimes, vox will get so needy and horny that he just can't stop, so the reminder of the safeword is often very useful when he's too far gone to communicate but is like 2 seconds away from passing out. but sometimes he likes to be pushed to the edge too, so he won't always use the safeword but gets off on the fact that the option is there
also tiny additional hc, i think he would like to use a meaningful word for a safeword. maybe something related to technology, like radio or something, or possibly electric. like if he started saying electric, it would mean he wanted to stop. or i think he would use a color system, you would ask him what color and he'd say red green or yellow depending on how into it he is or how he's feeling etc etc. either way he wants it to be meaningful and not just some random word- like he wants a sentimental reasoning behind whatever word you choose (feel free to comment safeword ideas so i can use them in future fics 👹)
vox lets out a wanton moan, glitching and panting as he humps your thigh like a dog in heat. he's writhing under your touch, unsure of where to put his hands when all he can focus on is the pressure against his painfully hard cock. its sinful the way he drags his hips, mewling deliriously as he creams in his pants for what feels like the hundreth time, and yet his pace doesn't falter as he ruts against you. he's a panting mess and barely coherent and he babbles, whimpering your name over and over. "fuc- zzz -k, 'm so- ple-zzz-" vox gasps, thighs shaking as you wrap your arms around his neck. his cock throbs when you make eye contact with him and his thighs squeeze around yours. a stain darkens the front of his pants, leftover from his previous release in his dazed rut. "vox," you coo, rubbing the ports on the back of his screen as he struggles to remain coherent enough to focus on your words. "vox, baby, do you need the safeword?" your voice is sickeningly sweet, laced with concern and lust.
vox paused at the thought, dread seeping into his body as he let out a pathetic whine. "nno, 'm fine," he slurred, rolling his hips against your thigh. "m not even tired," he mewls deliriously, and you nod, taking notice of his drooping eyelids and slowing movements. "okay sweetie, only one more round though, okay?" vox nods, tears streaming down his screen as his claws dig into the plush of your hips. you steady him, and you move your leg, assisting him in grinding against you as you shake your thigh. vox whimpers, static lacing his voice as he glitches out entirely. repeating your name like a prayer, his body tenses as he cums fast and hard, soaking his pants yet again. vox collapses against you, breathing ragged as he struggled to keep his eyelids from drooping. "you okay, baby?" you purr, and he nods, slumping deeper into your touch. "lets get you cleaned up, hm?"
UWRGJREHHEHEHEHE I AM ALWAYS IN THE MOOD FOR SUB VOX!!!!!!!!!! i love the idea of being soft w him sm- i genuinely have not written enough sfw stuff for vox so if anyone has anything fluffy to say ab him PLEASE come into my inbox. ALSO IF ANYONE HAS ANYTHING LUTE RELATED TO SAY ESPECIALLY/INCLUDING SMUT ALSO PLS COME INTO MY INVOX BC RUEGRHRGRHGR THEYRE BOTH MY FAVS RN
#vox x reader#vox x you#vox x y/n#vox x oc#vox smut#vox x reader smut#hazbin hotel vox x reader#sub!vox#sub vox#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel x y/n#hazbin hotel x oc#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel headcanon#sub hazbin hotel#sub vox smut#hazbin vox#dom reader#dom!reader#sub vox x reader#sub character
649 notes
·
View notes
Text
THE SMITHS | Adam x fem!angel!Reader
SECOND PART
plot. in which Adam, after bumping into you listening to music in the elevator, gives you unsolicited music recommendations.
tags. first meetings, Adam being Adam, flirting, concerts, music, getting to know each other, rockstar Adam (still takes place in canon).
taglist. @call-me-nyxx
a/n. Adam is my muse at this point, he's directing all my creative energy lmao. This came up to me as an idea last night, kinda different from my usual Adam content! Might do a part 2, we'll see about that, enjoy!
«Take me out tonight, where there's music and there's people who are young and alive»
The elevator doors slide close, the few heavenly beings have exited, leaving you alone inside the cubic space. Absentmindedly, your foot starts tapping on the floor. A faint melody can be heard from outside your earbuds, the volume of the music set on max. You bumped music in your ears every chance you got, including when you were on bureaucratic duty for the Seraphim's.
«Driving in your car, I never ever want to go home».
As the elevator stops at the upper floor, the doors slide open and reveal who called it. Immediately, you adjust your pose, clutching your paperwork against your chest with arms crossed. Adam, the First Man, just entered the elevator.
He's loudly sipping what seems to be a sugary beverage from a large cup, positioning himself next to you. You've seen him many times, from a distance. At meetings, where you worked as an assistant, walking around Heaven, on posters advertising his band, in court. But you never interacted, there was no reason to. He was one of the big heads of Heaven, while you just hoped that nobody would yell at you for not adding enough milk to their coffee. Of course, this is what makes you nervous. But when the doors close again, you take a deep breath and let the music envelope you again.
«And if a double decker bus, crashes into us»
You relax, forgetting that Adam is next to you. You just stare at the elevator doors, unbothered. You just let yourself get lost in the sad, indie rock tunes that paradoxically raised your spirits. That's until, with the corner of your eye, you see Adam turning towards you. He's saying something, but music muffles your hearing.
«Ihatethasmiths»
You remove one of your earbuds, and you turn around with a gentle, sweet smile.
«Mh? Sorry?» you ask, the corner of your lips curling upwards.
«I said I fuckin' hate The Smiths!».
Your smile fades out immediately, your eyes go wide and your eyebrows shoot upwards. Adam goes back to look straight in front of him.
«tO dIe By YoUr SIdE iS SucH a HeaVenLy wAY to DiE! Ugh, fuckin' hate 'em » he mocks.
Dumbfounded, you just stare at the First Man in shock. Your mouth is slightly open, and your earbud is still pressed between your thumb and index as you can still hear There Is a Light That Never Goes Out playing. Then, the elevator doors slide open with a ding! and Adam just exits, slurping loudly his drink as if nothing happened. You follow him with your gaze, still in shock. The doors start closing again.
«Holy shit» that's all you can say, before disappearing behind them.
—
Next week, you're still in the elevator, a cup of hot coffee in your hand and your earbuds religiously plugged in your ears. Today you're in a good mood. The Heaven Headquarters offices weren't too packed with work and you were rising to the highest floor of the palace to spend time with your co-workers. That's until the elevator stops and the First Man Adam comes in. Again. You stiffen, your wings twitch and, hoping to not be noticed, you roll your eyes. Now that you think about it, it's the same day and hour you two met last week. When he, not-so-kindly, expressed his disappointment in your music taste. Suddenly, you realize something else. That you're...
«You still listenin' to that crap?» Adam says, pointing a finger towards your earbuds.
You sigh, resigned. You're still listening to The Smiths. This time around you heard Adam loud and clear, but you turn the volume down anyways. And, not caring about being all dignified and reverential in front of him, you roll your eyes in front of him.
«Yeah, I'm still listening to The Smiths. Heaven knows I'm Miserable Now».
Adam, scoffing, symbolically brings two fingers towards his mask and pretends to throw up.
«The Smiths are the bane of rock, I swear! Who wants to listen to a man being all whiny about love, vegetarianism and shit. Rock 'n roll is something else, I tell you»
«I disagree on that»
How did you even end up in this situation? Discussing music in an elevator with the First Man on Earth, one of the most important authorities of Heaven. It's just unreal, so much that going on doesn't bother you that much.
«You're into rock music?» Adam asks, shaking his usual drink in his hand, ice making a crisp sound inside the cup.
«Safe to say yes» you say, a collected but confident smile on your face.
«Okay, okay» Adam smirks, mischievous «and who are you rocking out to?»
«Oasis» you reply.
«Ugh»
«Radiohead»
«Nahh»
«Arctic Monkeys»
«Ew»
«Joy Division»
«For fucks sake woman, are you gonna give me a real rock band or keep naming your emo fest-»
«Guns 'n Roses»
Adam's breath stops for a second. You stare at him with a challenging look. His LED eyes digitally burned on his mask squint.
«Okayy miss...?»
«(Y/N)»
«(Y/N). Name 3 Guns 'n Roses songs»
You raise a finger in front of him, your eyes wide in a sort of prohibitive look.
«Nuh uh, don't you try to pull that move on me, I'm not gonna name anything».
«Tch, as I thought» Adam says, before sipping on his cup of icy soda.
You emit an annoyed groan, before sipping on your coffee yourself. As you're about to press start again on your phone to replay the music and metaphorically cancel Adam's presence from the elevator, he speaks again.
«Listen, girlie, if you wanna listen to some real rock music you should, first of all, give up on that sentimental bullshit that people call rock nowadays. Second, you can start by coming to one of my concerts. I'm-»
«Adam, The First Man. I know who you are» you interrupt.
You move your weight from one leg to the other, as Adam playfully smirks at you.
«Of course you know who I am, you probably heard of me from my band»
«Actually, I work as an assistant for the Seraphims meetings» you say.
«Oh, nah I never noticed you. You sure you don't know me from my band? We're pretty sick»
It's not like you expected him to know you from meetings. You mostly worked behind closed doors, preparing paperwork and only handling it to Seraphims last minute. And Adam wasn't really a necessary presence at meetings. He was important, an authority holding a great power for sure, but you don't really understand of what kind.
«I heard that you got a band but sorry, Christian rock is not my genre» you reply, nonchalantly.
Adam jumps a little in surprise, an appalled sound escaping his lips.
«Oh no sweetie, you got it all wrong. Didn't you listen to me when I said that we're a real rock band? We sing about all things rock» he says, theatrically.
«For example?»
«Sex, drugs and bitches of course».
You let out an ironic chuckle, not thoroughly convinced.
«I heard your venues are like, really crowded. I don't know if I feel like tip-toeing all night long to see anything»
«You can always tell security that you're with me»
His statement surprises you, so much that you turn around with a frowned forehead. The scrunch in your face says it all about your uncertainty. Adam looks chill, confidently leaning on the elevator's mirror and looking at you. How long have you been riding this thing?
«You think they'll believe me? Not even in a 100 years»
«Listen sweet cheeks, I'll meet you at the queue between sound check and the start of the show and I'll directly tell em that you're with me».
«You want me to play groupie?»
«Aren't you already?» Adam grins with a wiggle of his eyebrows. A very shit-eating grin.
You let out a playful and sarcastic chuckle «No, but I accept your offer, Mr. Real Rockstar»
«More of a real rockstar than Morissey»
The elevator doors open, it feels like you've been there for an eternity but not necessarily in a bad way. It's Adam's floor, the one just beneath yours, and he waves at you goodbye with a hand.
«See you Saturday, you'll be my number one fan».
«You wish»
How was that one of the most annoying, yet weirdly entertaining conversations you ever had?
—
You've never been to an Adam's concert, because you never had the chance to get into his music even if he was really known all around Heaven. But it was true that his gigs were packed. The line is infinite, and the venue probably won't even be enough for all these people. Suddenly you start to regret your decision. Damn, you even dressed up for this! You nervously start shifting your weight from one side to the other of your body. Security is already telling some people to just go home because it's likely that tickets just ran out. One titanic of a bodyguard goes up to you, arms crossed.
«I'm sorry miss, but we're out of tickets»
«Oh it's fi-»
You can't finish the phrase, distracted by the feeling of a stranger arm wrapping around your shoulders. You straighten yourself, and turn around alarmed. Adam had appeared from behind a portal, which immediately closed behind him. All the people left in the queue turn around, shocked to see the frontman appear right there.
«Don't worry dude, she's with me» he says, confidently.
How can someone be such a loser and so charismatic at the same time? This is what you ask yourself while wrapped around Adam's arm. The security guard nods, and Adam opens the portal back with a snap of fingers. Soon, you find yourself in the front row. Did he just transport you there? Adam has already let go of your shoulders, standing behind the barrier. Fans in the front row start going crazy at the unexpected sight of the frontman. As they scream incoherent, adoring gibberish to him, Adam stays focused on you.
«I'm happy you're here. Trust me, your ears will thank me for blessing them with some real rock» he says, his playful smirk permanently printed on his mask.
You roll your eyes, but you're betrayed by your own smile «We'll see»
«Trust me, you won't be disappointed» Adam replied.
Then, he winks at you before turning around and heading towards the backstage.
When the concert is over, you can confidently say that no, you aren't disappointed. As much as you hate to admit it, Adam can get it. He knows how to play guitar, he's vocally a beast in every good sense possible, and he's a stage animal. He's an idiot for sure, an arrogant one, but he quite literally fucking rocks. It's the way he plays guitar solos, his finger picking technique flawless and effortless. And how he knew how to talk to the crowd, how to move on stage. And you also saw him for the first time without a mask. You didn't know what to expect, but you have no complaints whatsoever. Brown, messy hair, dark but charming circles under his eyes, a fierce grin on his face. You felt your stomach fluttering when he obviously looked at you during Stick It To The Man. As people are leaving the venue, you're about to do the same. Maybe you and Adam will talk about it on your next random encounter on the elevator. But, before you can turn around, you see a security guard gesturing you to come close. He opens the barrier for you, and, confused, you shuffle your way through it.
«Yeah?» you ask.
«Adam wants to see you» the bodyguard says, moving his head to invite you to follow him.
Your heart skips a beat. This is some groupie shit. But you don't mind. You follow the security guard to the backstage, hugging yourself slightly out of nervousness. Adam, who was talking to the drummer, immediately stops the conversation when he sees you approaching behind the security guard. A wide smile extends on his face.
«So, (Y/N)! Did you change your mind about The Smiths?» he asks, opening his arms.
You place your hands on your hips «No, but...you weren't half-bad»
«Not half-bad?» he says, almost offended.
You decide to give up the tough girl act «Okay, I'll admit it, you know how to rock. You were really good».
«HA! Told you! Ladies love my band and you're no exception. And THIS is real rock»
«I'll still bump the shit out of The Smiths next time we meet on the elevator» you protest with a smirk, crossing your arms on your chest.
Adam drags a hand between his messy hair «Instead of meeting in the elevator, me and the rest of the band are going to the after party. It's in a club near the venue. Why don't you come? I still have to recommend you some real music»
Oh this is bad. Adam's teasing smile, the way he got closer to you and is now staring down at you without a shade of awkwardness. And the fact that one of his skilled hands is now placed on your waist, again, without any form of hesitation. Is he hitting on you? You feel your face burning, pressing your lips together. Would accepting make you a groupie? And soon, you realize that you don't care.
«Okay, First Man, I'll come with you. But only if you don't ask me to name 3 songs of a band»
«Deal»
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel adam#writers on tumblr#hazbin hotel fanfiction#adam x reader#adam x y/n#adam#hazbin hotel x reader#adam x you#hazbin hotel adam x reader#hazbin hotel adam fanfiction#adam hazbin hotel#first man adam#adam fanfiction#vivziepop
468 notes
·
View notes
Text
so this is love, clarisse la rue
summary: based on this request.
warnings: a tiny bit of angst, happy ending.
wc: 1.7k
a/n: it’s been a long time coming… this was supposed to come out on valentine’s day!!!
you and clarisse la rue couldn't be more different. you're the embodiment of affection, always wearing your heart on your sleeve, while clarisse is as closed off as a fortress, her emotions locked away behind thick stone walls. it's a paradoxical pairing, one that has left your friends and acquaintances scratching their heads in confusion, unable to comprehend why someone as warm and open as you would be drawn to someone as cold and distant as clarisse.
but for you, it's not about logic or reason—it's about the inexplicable pull of attraction, the magnetic force that drew you to clarisse from the moment you met. maybe it was her piercing gaze, her wit, or the way she carried herself with an air of unapproachable confidence. whatever it was, you found yourself falling for her, despite the warnings from those around you.
your relationship with clarisse is a constant push and pull, a delicate dance between your affectionate nature and her guarded demeanor. you shower her with love and attention, hoping to chip away at the walls she's built around herself, while she remains stoic and aloof, seemingly unaffected by your displays of affection.
it's a source of frustration for you, constantly trying to break through to clarisse, to show her that your love is genuine and unwavering. you write her love letters, leave little surprises for her, and whisper sweet nothings in her ear, hoping that one day she'll let you in and share her innermost thoughts and feelings with you.
but clarisse remains elusive, her walls seemingly impenetrable. she deflects your advances with a sharp wit and a sly smile, keeping you at arm's length even as you long to hold her close. it's a cycle of longing and rejection, of hope and disappointment, that threatens to tear you apart.
your friends don't understand why you continue to pursue clarisse, unable to see past the surface to the complex, multi-faceted person she truly is. they question her motives, doubt the sincerity of her feelings, and wonder aloud why you bother with someone who seems so indifferent to your affections.
but you know the truth. you see glimpses of vulnerability in clarisse, moments of tenderness that she tries so hard to conceal. you sense the turmoil beneath her cool exterior, the inner struggle between the walls she's built and the desire to let someone in.
and so you persevere, refusing to give up on clarisse despite the obstacles that stand in your way. you believe in the power of love to conquer all, to bridge the divide between two seemingly incompatible souls. and as you continue to walk this tumultuous path with clarisse by your side, you hold onto hope that one day, she'll let down her guard and open her heart to you completely, allowing you to finally understand the enigma that is clarisse la rue.
the atmosphere in the mess hall of camp half-blood was unusually quiet as you and jamie, your best friend, sat alone at one of the tables, the sounds of clattering dishes and distant chatter fading into the background. you stirred your food absently, lost in thought, while jamie fidgeted nervously across from you, his brow furrowed with concern.
"y/n, can i ask you something?" jamie finally spoke up, breaking the silence that had settled between you.
you looked up, meeting his gaze with a wary expression. "sure, jamie. what's on your mind?"
he hesitated for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts before speaking. "i've been meaning to ask you about clarisse," he began, his tone cautious. "i don't mean to pry, but i can't help but wonder... why are you two even dating?"
the question hit you like a ton of bricks, catching you off guard and leaving you momentarily speechless. you felt a surge of insecurity rising within you, the familiar doubts and fears bubbling to the surface.
"i mean, no offense," jamie continued, his voice gentle but probing. "but you're so affectionate and open, and clarisse... well, she's not exactly the warmest person around. it just doesn't seem like a good, healthy match, you know?"
his words struck a nerve, dredging up all the doubts and insecurities you'd been trying to push aside. you knew jamie meant well, but hearing him of all people voice your innermost fears only made them feel more real, more insurmountable.
you opened your mouth to respond, to defend your relationship and explain why you and clarisse were meant to be together, but the words caught in your throat. how could you explain something you barely understood yourself? how could you justify your love for someone who seemed so fundamentally different from you in every way?
instead, you fell silent, staring off into the distance as if searching for answers in the swirling depths of your own mind. you felt exposed, vulnerable, as if jamie had peeled back the layers of your carefully constructed facade and laid bare the truth for all to see.
"i... i don't know," you finally admitted, your voice barely a whisper as you struggled to find the words. "i guess i just... care about her, you know? despite everything."
“does she care about you?” he asked, making you flinch at his tone. jamie's expression softened, his earlier intensity replaced by a pang of remorse as he realized the impact of his words. "i'm sorry, y/n," he said, his tone sincere. "i didn't mean to upset you. i just... worry about you, that's all."
you managed a weak smile, grateful for jamie's concern even as the doubts continued to gnaw at your insides. "it's okay, jamie," you reassured him, though the words felt hollow on your lips. "i appreciate you looking out for me."
and with that, the moment passed, the tension dissipating like a wisp of smoke in the air. but as you sat there in the quiet of the mess hall, the questions lingered, echoing in the recesses of your mind like a haunting refrain. and though you tried to push them away, to bury them beneath the facade of contentment, you knew that jamie's words had struck a chord, igniting a spark of doubt that refused to be extinguished.
-
the next day dawned with a clarity that mirrored the turmoil swirling within you. as you sat across from clarisse in the mess hall, the events of the previous evening weighed heavily on your mind, casting a shadow over the once familiar surroundings.
you watched clarisse, her expression unreadable as she picked at her breakfast, lost in her own thoughts. the silence between you stretched on, thick and suffocating, until you couldn't bear it any longer.
"i love you, clarisse," you finally blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.
the whole hall went silent.
clarisse looked up, her eyes meeting yours with a guarded intensity. for a moment, you held your breath, waiting for her response, but all she did was nod, her expression betraying nothing.
you felt a surge of frustration welling up within you, a desperate need for validation, for reassurance that your love was reciprocated. but as clarisse remained silent, her stoic facade unyielding, you realized with a sinking heart that your words had fallen on deaf ears.
with a heavy sigh, you pushed back your chair and stood up, the sound echoing through the cavernous hall like a thunderclap. clarisse watched you, her brow furrowed in confusion, as you made your way towards the exit.
"where are you going?" she called after you, her voice tinged with concern.
you stopped in your tracks, the weight of her question hanging in the air between you. you turned to face her, your heart heavy with resignation.
"away," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. "i don't want to be with someone who won't tell me they love me back."
and with that, you turned on your heel and left, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the empty hall as you disappeared into the morning light. behind you, you could feel clarisse's eyes on your retreating figure, a frown marring her usually impassive features, but you didn't look back.
and though your heart ached with the pain of loss, you knew that sometimes, the hardest decisions were the ones that set you free.
the sun had began to dip low in the sky by the time you found yourself by the archery range, the familiar twang of bowstrings and the thud of arrows hitting their targets providing a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. you were lost in contemplation, the events of the morning replaying in your mind like a broken record, when you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.
turning around, you saw clarisse striding towards you, her expression a mixture of determination and apprehension. you braced yourself for what was to come, unsure of what to expect as she drew nearer.
"did you break up with me?" clarisse blurted out, her voice tinged with disbelief.
you shrugged, unable to meet her gaze as you wrestled with your own conflicting emotions. "i don't know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "maybe."
clarisse's eyes widened in shock, her features contorted with a mixture of confusion and hurt. without a word, she reached out and grabbed your arm, dragging you away from the archery range and towards a secluded spot by the edge of the woods.
once you were alone, she turned to face you, her eyes searching yours for answers. "y/n, i'm sorry," she began, her voice tinged with regret. "i know i haven't been the most... open person, and i understand if that's been hard for you. but please, don't leave me. i may not say it often, but i do love you. more than anything."
her words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of years of unspoken emotions. you felt a surge of warmth spreading through you, a sense of relief and longing that you couldn't ignore.
with a grin, you closed the distance between you and clarisse, cupping her face in your hands as you leaned in to kiss her. it was a tender, passionate kiss, fueled by the unspoken words and unspoken emotions that had hung between you for so long.
and as you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that despite the challenges and uncertainties that lay ahead, you were exactly where you were meant to be—with the person you loved, by your side.
#clarisse la rue#clarisse la rue x y/n#clarisse my beloved#clarisse x reader#clarisse la rue x reader#clarisse x you#clarisse pjo#elijah writes
451 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Beast and the Mouse
Info: fem/reader x Kid, 1st meetings, cussing and rude language, Kid in denial, Kid gets a crush, implied sexual yearning, future mature content planned.
Context: Kid develops a crush on a girl he thinks is not his type.
Part 1.
Eustass Kid was in a foul mood, and he didn't care who knew it. He stumped through the ship with his fist clutched, looking for Killer. It was rare for him to be pissed off at his best friend and first mate, but dammit, he screwed up!
Killer happened to be in the same room with his fucked-up choice of a new crew member, making Kid paused at the doorway to glared at the man's back. Killer sensed the hostility and glanced over his shoulder. The movement gave Kid a better view of the girl's eyes. Those damn beautiful, doleful eyes that made Kid go still nearly every time he saw them.
“Need something, Captain?”
Kid snapped out of his daze and glared at Killer.
“I need to speak with you in private,” Kid said through gritted teeth then walked away.
Killer tilted his head at Kid, then shrugged and followed him. It was odd that Kid wanted to talk somewhere else.
Normally, Kid would tell whoever was in the room to get out if he wanted to talk with him privately. When Killer walked into Kid’s messy quarters and closed the door, Kid rounded on him and bellowed, “What the hell, Killer! What were you thinking, letting her join the crew without asking me!”
Killer threw up his hands in defense, and he wore a surprised expression behind his mask.
“What are you talking about, Kid?! You asked her to join! Remember!”
“I did not! I-”
But then Kid remembered that he did offer her a chance to join his crew. It had been after a battle with some weaker crew. They celebrated the win at a bar on a nearby island, and she was one of the barmaids there serving drinks.
That is, she was supposed to be serving, but she saw the wounds on some of the men drinking and started treating with her meager medical kit.
Kid had some woman straddle across his lap and happened to see the girl recleaning a wound on Killer. At the time, it was amusing to see this small mouse of a girl patching up rowdy pirates as they drank. How she concentrated on the Killer’s wounds while being aware of her environment made her a paradox of perfection.
“Hey,” Kid called over to her as the woman on his lap kissed and nipped at his neck. “You got a name?”
The girl looked up at him, and Kid, for some reason, froze. There was something about how her eyes shone as she stared directly at him. Her lips were pressed together in a sweet pout, and her hair fell in soft-looking waves around her shoulders.
Kid didn't know if it was the booze, but he felt a desire to shove the busty woman off his lap and carry the girl off. Considering how small she looked, he could even tuck her into his furred cape for safekeeping and have her for later.
The woman stopped kissing Kid, looking peeved that he wasn't paying attention to her.
She then saw who he was looking at and whispered in his ear, “That’s Y/n, but we all call her ‘Mouse’ because of how quiet she is.”
Kid blinked and then laughed at the name, and the harlot laughed with him. “Mouse, huh? How would you like to join my crew?”
“Kid.” Killer said his name to bring some sense to him, but Kid plowed through.
“You’ll see the world beyond this dump ‘little mouse’! See things you never thought possible! Enjoy pleasures you never thought to desire! You would be one of us! The infamous Kid Pirates!”
His voice carried through the bar, and the rest of his crew got swept up in their drunken state and cheered their captain. The girl just sat and stared at Kid as the crew gulped their drinks.
“Think about and talk to Killer when you make up your mind, ‘little mouse.' We set sail tomorrow at noon.”
Kid forced his attention back to the woman on his lap and began biting at her shoulder, making the woman gasp and laugh with pleasure.
After that, well, he ended the night with a good fuck in one of the bedrooms upstairs and walked back to the ship with a massive hangover early the following day.
He didn't see the girl nicknamed Mouse till they were already out at sea. She was helping to scrub the floors in the mess hall when Kid tripped over her, spilling the bucket of soapy water. He was about to yell at whoever tripped him when Kid recognized her from the bar.
“YOU!”
"Oh! Captain, I'm so sorry; let me help." She said softly as she took out a clean cloth and dried his face. Her hand touched his leg as she leaned in to press the fabric to his skin.
Kid went from anger to pure lust. He wanted to grab her and roll her under him without caring who was watching. The sudden carnal desire he suddenly felt overwhelmed him, and he quickly shoved her off him and stood up over her.
She made a surprised sound and glanced up at him with a wounded look that made his knees weak.
“How long have you been here?” Kid growled at her.
“Three days.”
“Who let you on my ship?”
“Killer, but you-”
Kid had left to find his first mate as he cursed himself.
Dammit! How could she have already been here for three days without me noticing?
Which led to the present problem of what to do with her now she's on the ship.
"I tried talking to you the day we set sail, but you were still hungover.” Killer explained as Kid rage grew.
“So you just let her on the ship!”
“The girl insisted on joining the crew. I was there when you asked her, and she didn't care that you were drunk when you asked her." Killer continued to explain.
"So this is my fault?!"
Well, yeah, duh, Killer thought but knew better and instead said, "Look, she may be useful. Heat looked over her bandaging skills. She's not bad and has enough medical knowledge for him to show her more."
"For what!? A nurse!" Kid roared. “We don't need another nurse!”
"She'll be a field medic." Killer clarified.
Kid's mind just stopped as he stared dumbfounded at his first mate. Her? A field medic? Her? Why not just shoot her now? It would be kinder and faster. Or if they wanted to make it slow, tie her up and drop her overbroad.
"You got to be kidding," Kid laughed as he started to pace the room.
"You want that small girl to go onto a battlefield and treat our crewmates! I might as well kill her right now! It would be the one good deed tied to my name!"
Kid then ran a hand through his red hair as he stopped pacing and shook his head. "No! No way! I want her off the ship!"
"But Kid, you-"
"I don't care what I said to her! No way am I keeping some weak pissant around to hold back our crew back!"
Killer's shoulder heaved as he sighed and said, "Okay, I'll see that she's off the ship at the next port. In the meantime, I'll have her do some odd jobs so she can earn her keep."
"Why wait?! Just put her on a rowboat and-"
"Captain."
Kid froze and snapped his gaze toward the doorway. Mouse, that is, Y/N, stood there looking at him with a firm expression on her sweet face.
It was unsettling how quiet she was as she moved. The door to Kid's cabin always creaked, yet she opened the door without a sound. She took a breath and walked into the room. Kid watched her and, for some absurd reason, felt nervous.
"Captain," she said again, "I want to stay and prove you wrong. I won't hold the crew back."
Killer watched as Kid had to visibly shake himself out of whatever sinkhole his mind had just dived into. He readies himself as Kid squares his shoulders and glares down at the girl. The girl didn't appear intimidated and even clasped her hands in front of her as her chin tilted up.
"You want to prove me wrong. Are you saying that you aren't a weak little-"
"I have experience treating the wounded, and I'm not afraid to go into a battle to help." She said quickly as her eyes softened at him.
Her voice was not raised, and her tone didn't sound desperate. It was like she was offering Kid a favor. A kind, healthful favor that made Kid's insides go all mushy.
"Please, Captain." She added gently as her lashes blinked at him. "Let me stay."
Killer glanced at Kid and was surprised to see him deflating. And if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, Kid was... blushing? Yes, yes, he was. Kid was actually blushing over this tiny, sincere girl who looked out of place on their ship.
Kid gritted his teeth and slapped his hand over his nose and cheeks to hide part of the redness spreading on his face.
“Captain?” She asked again, now looking worried.
Kid growled and turned his head away as he shouted, "Fine! You can stay! But if you screw up, I will personally end you! Now go find something useful to do before I toss you off the side!"
Y/N smiled widely and didn't appear offended by Kid's shouting or threats. "Yes, Captain! Right away! I'll start by cleaning your room!"
"Wait, what?!" Kid had barely enough time to respond when both he and Killer were shoved out of the room and had the door slam closed on their backs.
"What the-how?"
He turned and stared at the closed door and back at Kid. How was a tiny girl able to shove him and Killer out in the blink of an eye.
"She ate the scurry-scurry fruit," Killer explained with a shrug as Kid looked to him for an answer. "It's the other reason she was known as Mouse at the bar. She can move around quickly without making sound and lift five times her weight for a short time. It's also why I gave her the field medic job."
"She can't turn into a mouse, right?" Kid asked as he shivered at the thought of a human transfiguring into a rodent. "Cause that would be gross."
"And less cute," Killer commented with a slight grin behind his mask.
The way Kid snapped his head around at him was enough to prove his sudden discovery. His friend's face was even beginning to redden again. Killer held back a chuckle and cleared his throat.
"I'm going to get a drink; want to join?"
Kid grumbled and walked in the other direction away from Killer. There was no fucking way he thought that the girl was cute. Weak wasn't cute; it was annoying and a pain. She wouldn't last a week with his crew.
If she died on the job, it would be her fault, not his! What was she thinking taking his drunken offer?! Didn't she know she was too delicate for this kind of life?! Didn't she know how small, soft-looking she was? How cute-
"NO! NOT CUTE!" Kid roared as he raked his fingers into his hair and nearly ripped off his goggles.
Nearby onlookers wisely glanced away and didn't bother their Captain. Kid growled and turned to stomp back to his room to throw the girl out.
When he got there, she was already gone, leaving behind a tidy room. Kid glanced around, huffed, and muttered, "I guess she can stay."
He then flopped onto his clean bed face first and sighed. He'll worry about his 'Mouse' problem later. All this raging was making him tired.
As he closed his eyes, he could smell the scent she had left behind while making his bed. Thoughts of her being in his bed, being under him, squirming and wriggling as she whimpered and moaned, seeped into his mind. Kid groaned and growled as he punched his fist into the blankets.
She was going to be a pain, and not just in the ass; Kid mused as his groin throbbed.
A big pain for such a little creature.
Part 2.
#eustass kid x y/n#eustass kid x you#eustass kid x reader#eustass x reader#op eustass kid#eustass kidd#eustasscaptainkid#eustass captain kidd#eustass kid#op fanfic#one piece#op killer#kid x reader#captain kid x reader#one piece x reader#one piece fanfiction#op x reader
478 notes
·
View notes
Text
🏷️ dom!felix, unprotected sex, choking, pussy spanking, mentions of subspace, oral (f), cum eating
“look at me, love,” felix’s low voice purrs into your ear. “look me in the eye while i ruin you.”
he grabs your face roughly, squeezing your cheeks with the fingers of his free hand. the other is wrapped around your throat. it serves as an anchor for him to hold onto.
as if you’d ever drift away without him.
your eyes find his, heavy-lidded and pupils blown so wide the black nearly swallows his honeyed irises. he’s fucking into you with such torturous slow strokes it leaves your head spinning. the tender drag of his cock forms a sharp contrast with his filthy words. everything about felix is a contradiction, it seems. angelic face and deep voice. bright smile and cruel grin. gentle boyfriend and sadistic lover.
he’s a walking paradox and it’s addicting.
“wish the others could see us like this. see how you beg me to fuck you. how you love it when i give it to you rough.” felix tightens his grip around your throat and your cunt clenches in response, earning a low chuckle from him. “you’d like them to watch, don't you? i knew it. my filthy little kitten. always so predictable.”
he kisses the tip of your nose. there it is again, that juxtaposition. and as much as you love it when he’s sweet to you, nothing makes you feel quite as light and floaty as when he’s treating you roughly.
“lix, harder, please…” you’re not sure if you mean the way he’s grinding against you, or his hand squeezing your neck, or his vulgar words. you want everything all at once.
when he pulls out you pout at the sudden emptiness. “turn around, kitten. ass up,” he instructs and you flip yourself onto your stomach, back arching for him. ready and eager.
“such a pretty pussy.” felix admires the way your juices coat your thighs. he’ll never tire of the sight. with the flat of his hand he lands a quick spank on your clit and you cry out at the sting. the sharp pain bleeds into pleasure, settling deep in your core.
“look at you, baby. always dripping for me. want me to give you some more?”
his hands knead your ass, spreading your cheeks so he can spit in your hole. you wiggle your hips a little to encourage him.
“use your words, kitten. tell me what you want.” felix smears his saliva all over your glistening cunt. he gives your clit a soft tap with his fingers and you jolt. even the smallest of touches feels so fucking good, but it’s not enough to snap the thread coiling in your tummy. “you like it when i hurt you?”
“yes, m-more, please—ahh,” you gasp when he immediately complies, spanking your clit harshly in rapid succession.
you’re whimpering and moaning, hands clawing at the sheets while felix lands slap after slap on your swollen cunt. “‘s good, lixie, don’t stop… ‘m gonna cum…”
there’s drool on his sheets but you don’t care, too fucked out to focus on anything else but the pleasure he’s granting you. felix alternates his harsh slaps with merciful brushes of his fingers, circling your entrance before spanking your engorged clit again.
“let go, kitten. gonna fuck you through it… fill you up with my cum, stuff your pretty pussy until you’re so full of me you cannot think of anything else,” felix growls, voice dropping even lower than usual. there’s a sliver of desperation in the grittiness, his cock no doubt weeping and aching for you.
you cum with his name on your lips and your face buried into the mattress. bliss spreads through your body while your cunt twitches around nothing until felix pushes into you with one smooth stroke, your walls clamping down around him. “fuck, you feel so good, i’m not gonna last long—”
you feel so full, cunt still sensitive from his rough treatment. before you know it another orgasm washes over you as the head of his cock kisses your gummy spot. it’s nearly too much this time, your body already going slack before the convulsions have stopped. “that’s my good girl, take it, take my cum,” felix grits out before emptying himself deep inside of you.
he pulls out and massages your legs, gently lowering you down onto the bed. “you did so well, kitten,” he smiles at your spent form. “let me get you cleaned up.”
in your fuzzy daze you miss his devious smirk when he lowers himself to the bed, pushing your thighs apart and licking a long stripe from your clit to your ass. he laps at the mixture of cum spilling from your hole, chuckling when you sob in oversensitivity as he sucks on your clit. “stay still, love,” felix warns you. “i need to get every drop.”
it doesn’t take long for the familiar pleasure to build in your core again and you spread your legs wider, arching your hips against his face. no matter how much pain and pleasure he inflicts on you, it’s never enough. “there she is again,” felix murmurs in amusement and presses a soft kiss to your pussy. “my needy little kitten.”
#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids hard hours#skz hard hours#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#felix smut#lee felix smut#felix x reader#lee felix x reader#dom!idol#sub!reader#;skz blurbs
4K notes
·
View notes
Note
I can order a yandere cute (kawaii), who maybe because of his cute and innocent appearance managed to get close to his beloved, but maybe this boy is not only cute and has a very disturbing past...
When you described a cute yandere with a messed up past, all I could think of was Kanato from Diabolik Lovers. This one's less of an asshole though. Hopefully. I also wasn't sure what you had in mind for 'disturbing past', I may have gone overboard.
Cute!Twisted! Yandere x Reader
Children will say the strangest things. Such as the marriage promise you’ve received from the little boy you befriended a long time ago, when you were rather young yourself. Yet sometimes the words aren’t entirely devoid of meaning. He definitely hasn’t forgotten his intentions, and your current fiancé is a mere delay to his plans.
TW: mentions of abuse, obsessive behavior, violence, small age gap, death
He still remembers the day you met, so clearly and vividly. His most cherished memory.
It was particularly cold despite the sun and his feet were hurting. He didn't have the time to put any shoes on, he ran out the moment he'd heard the sound of glass breaking.
Mother was so scary when she'd get upset. The bulging eyes, the screaming mouth, the wild hair scattered over her face, darkening her features.
What if she were to follow him outside? No, she was never mean in front of others. Then again, the street was empty...He bit apart the skin on his fingers in panic.
"Isn't it a bit late for pajamas?"
His eyes darted up and met hers. A girl somewhat taller and older, holding a basketball under her arm and staring intently, visibly confused. He was, after all, shivering outside by himself, barefoot and in sleeping garments in bright daylight. He blushed in embarrassment.
"I snuck out for some fresh air."
"Rebellious already, huh?" She smirked and walked over, dropping herself on the sidewalk next to him. "I'm (Y/N). Do you live in the area? We could hang out when you feel like it. No need to sit by yourself."
She pointed to a house unexpectedly close. Has she always been nearby? Then again, he was never allowed outside. Besides the spontaneous escapades in order to avoid the burning rage, he didn't see other people much. It had always been him and Mother.
For his own good, really. At least that's what Mother used to say. When she wasn't angry, she'd cry and hold him tight, telling him how much she pities him between hiccups and candid sobs. A vile creature like him would surely be mocked by the rest of the world. Not his fault, the poor little angel. Alas, his miserable fate still had a glimpse of hope, because Mother would never abandon him. He would always find acceptance from her all-forgiving heart.
And yet, there was always the seed of suspicion in the depths of his mind. Her sweet, soothing words felt like a hot slap over the blooming wounds already adorning his body, shaping a paradox.
Then he met you. You didn't seem to be disturbed by his presence. The following days, whenever he approached you, you'd welcome him with the same warm smile. Just like you promised. He couldn't find the ridicule he'd so often been warned about.
The puzzle pieces didn't fit together, and it became painfully obvious once Mother confronted him about his secret outings. Somehow her wrath had faded. Her shouts were mere waves echoing from somewhere distant, only grazing by his ears. She must've noticed his indifference, too, because she began rummaging her pockets for the basement key. Perhaps an old fashioned discipline would have helped him regain his voice. But the dark, cramped walls of the basement no longer frightened him. During his time spent outside, he had discovered a fact of stunning novelty:
He didn't have to listen to her. Staring into her ferocious, bottomless pits, he only found the reflection of (Y/N)'s face. Her peaceful, loving expression, devoid of pain, or fury, or punishment.
His little hands reached for the box cutter.
"It's you that has to go downstairs, Mother. You're a liar. I hate liars."
Was it the right choice? His small outburst had ultimately cost him your company. That evening he politely called emergency to let them know his Mother had gone mad. And so they dispatched a couple of officers to investigate the gruesome cadaver, sprawled along the stairs with too many gashes to count. They shyly investigated the basement, and a social worker carefully inspected the little boy's abundant markings. This couldn't have been a suicide, but the tearful, frightened eyes of the child kept them from pressing further. Whoever had stepped foot into their home that day most likely did him a favor. Nonetheless, he was now essentially orphaned, requiring an adult, and was swiftly shipped to the first available relative.
He didn't have the time to meet you one last time. A shameful departure given his final meeting: completely inebriated with ardent affection, he dared to present to you his innermost wish. One day he'd marry you, he was certain of it. You chuckled and extended your pinky finger reassuringly. A sealed deal.
All he had was your name and your promise and God, how dearly he clung to them every night, every passing year. His true glimmer of hope.
You're scrolling through your emails, waiting for the bus to arrive, when a gentle tap on the shoulder startles you. Behind you is a young man, although the soft, feminine features give him more of an androgynous appearance.
"May I help you?"
"You're (Y/N), aren't you?" he bats his eyelashes expectantly.
"I am, but how do you-"
You gaze at the stranger intently. The big, innocent eyes, the childish demeanor, there's a certain familiarity to it. Who could it be? Suddenly you're overwhelmed by nostalgia.
"It's you! How many years...? And you haven't changed one bit!" You laugh merrily at the sight of your shy, quiet friend, all grown up.
"H-hey now, surely I look more mature this time." He tries to emulate a somber frown as a way to prove his adulthood. "Do you have time? I'd love to catch up."
He missed you so much.
"Right now is a little difficult, but I'll tell you what. Why don't you come over to our place in the near future?"
Huh?
"This way I can introduce you to my fiancé!" You flash him your phone in order to exchange numbers, enthusiastic about the surprise reunion.
He vacantly stares at the lockscreen depicting an unknown man holding you close to him. When he searched for your name online, he didn't find anything regarding a relationship. He didn't expect this. He shouldn't have expected this. His fingers tighten around the small velvet box in his pocket.
Did you forget your promise to him? Or was everything a lie? No, you wouldn't...you couldn't...He fucking hates liars. But you're not one of them, are you? You're not like Mother. No, no, no, no. Breathe. It's his fault. Of course, naturally. He vanished without a word and you must've thought he abandoned you. How careless of him. How terribly rude to blame you for his mistakes. It's okay, it's alright. He'll make it up to you. Sweet, darling (Y/N).
"Are you okay?"
He looks up and notices your worried face.
"Me? Yes, definitely. I was just a little surprised. Hehe. Who would've thought?" He grins and winks at you. "I have an even better idea! Why don't you two come to my apartment instead? I never got the chance to congratulate you for your engagement."
"Gosh, haha, don't worry about i-"
"Please. Pretty please?" He pouts dramatically, holding onto your coat, and you blush slightly at the adorable display. "It's my way of thanking you for the nice childhood memories."
"You really have your way to convince people, huh?" You ruffle his hair and he lowers his head, enjoying the touch. "I'll let my fiancé know."
"Such a cozy place you got yourself!" You beam at the lovely atmosphere of the room. Everything is bright and inviting.
"Uh huh. The ladies must love you." Your fiancé follows up in agreement, snacking on the fancy appetizers.
The young man places a tray on the table and hands you both a glass of sparkling wine.
"Do you live alone? I refuse to believe you don't have a girlfriend." You joke and turn to your partner. "He was a real loner back then. Never saw him around other kids."
"Don't out me like that, (Y/N)!" He pinches your cheek humorously. "As a matter of fact, I do have a girlfriend."
Your fiancé raises his eyebrows, encouraging the boy to continue with details, while he gulps down the pleasantly aromatic drink. Must be expensive.
"Then why didn't you bring her here? I want to meet her!" You whine.
The man fiddles with his glass, observing the air bubbles that rush to the surface.
"You already know her."
"Oh?"
Distracted by this knowledge, you stretch for your own glass and accidentally grab the one belonging to your fiancé. Before you can bring it to your lips, your head swings to the side and you can instantly feel your cheek throb, numb from the abrupt impact of someone's hand.
"Don't fucking touch it!"
Your childhood friend is standing before you, equally shocked by his act. He stares at his reddening palm and his face twists in terror.
"I-I'm...Oh God...I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I just, I didn't know what else to do. You have to understand, please. I'd never-"
As you listen to his erratic apology, you hear the wheezing coughs of your fiancé. His breathing is irregular and he scratches his throat, unable to verbalize his struggle to you. A white foam begins to form in the corners of his mouth. You try to get up, but the man's fingers dig into your face, forcing you back on the chair.
"Shhh shhh, it sounds uglier than it actually is. Trust me. Do you see now? I had to be a little rough, otherwise you would've gotten hurt. Hey! Look at me." He cups your cheeks with both of his hands, squatting in front of you. "Let him settle down. It won't be long."
Your vision becomes blurry.
"He needs an ambulance. Please. What did you do with the drinks?" You manage to blurt out.
"Won't make a difference."
He rests his gaze on your features for a few moments, admiring them dreamily.
"It breaks my heart when you're sad like this. Didn't I say this is an engagement celebration?"
Without breaking eye contact, he pulls out his treasured box and opens it in your lap, revealing a ring.
"I know I disappeared without a word, but I truly had no choice. This is my way of begging for your forgiveness. Not a day went by without thinking of you, (Y/N). I, heh...I actually got this many years ago. Just carried it in my pocket in case I ever found you again."
He giggles awkwardly, stroking your cheek protectively.
"So don't cry. I've kept my promise after all, didn't I? Aren't you proud of me~?"
By the time his little speech ends, the room has filled with silence. Your fiancé is slouching on the chair, still and quiet. The young boy picks up your limp body, humming cheerfully.
"You'll be the prettiest bride in the world.
Mine and mine only."
#female reader#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x darling#male yandere x reader#yandere imagine#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere original character#yandere childhood friend#tw yandere
501 notes
·
View notes
Text
A/N: Better late than never! Not a request, just my imagining what these lovely suitors would be like with an infant that wakes up crying 💜
CW: babies, breastfeeding
Suitors x female reader
WC: 2045
A cry rings out through a peaceful summer night at the palace.
It is small, but powerful.
And very, very insistent.
Leon
A light sleeper by nature, he gets up, murmuring for you to try and keep sleeping when he notices you stirring too. "I'll see what I can do for the little peanut." He crosses the room to the white bassinet with its pale pink ruffles, a gift from Uncle Yves. Inside his infant daughter is fussing. Tiny fists are clenching and unclenching as her small head turns fitfully left and right.
“Ah, c’mere sweetheart,” he says, voice still rough with sleep as he lifts her gently, laying her against his bare shoulder. One large hand rubs her back as he walks the length of the room, her tiny cheek warm as a spot of sunshine against his shoulder.
“I can take her–” you start to say as you push yourself upright in the bed, but he shakes his head, holding up a finger.
“I think we’ve got this handled, love. Take a look.” He walks over to your side of the bed, his hand still gently stroking the baby’s back. Her tiny head with its halo of black hair rests against him and is still. Not able to see her face, he turns sideways, giving you the sweetest view of your handsome, bare-chested husband holding your daughter close, her small face now relaxed again in sleep. Her father’s warmth was enough to solve whatever problem had woken her and she's drifted back off to the soft, hazy world of baby dreams.
You smile, feeling the way your heart expands, a paradox: never has it been so full of love and yet so very, very light.
Clavis
He wakes up immediately at his son’s first cry and is out of bed before the sound can even penetrate your deep sleep. He knows how often you get up, how often you are the only one who can satisfy your son’s voracious demands for food but Clavis has told himself that the little tyrant's demands that don't require milk, he will take care of himself. You, his dearest of dears, need as much sleep as you can get.
He bends down over the baby’s cradle, brushing back the boy’s angel-soft hair, the same twilight shade as his. “So noisy at such a late hour. My my. This won’t do.” Carefully he scoops up his son, adjusting his pajamas and then his hand freezes.
“Oh dear. I think I see why you’re so upset, little Lelouch.” The baby continues to whimper, little cries that, although Clavis knows they are harmless, still feel like they are stabbing right into the center of his tender heart. He never wants to hear his child in distress.
Reaching up, he turns the small knob on the lamp above the dresser where you have all of the baby’s changing things neatly laid out. His son squeaks out little sounds of agitation. “I’ve got you, don't worry. Papa's got you, always and--my goodness, how does such a tiny body produce this much liquid?” He talks, his words soft and almost sing-song as he changes his son’s pajamas and diaper with practiced hands. The baby, now removed of his damp clothing, stops whimpering, instead blinking up at his father with wide golden eyes.
“There has got to be a better solution to this than soaking all those linen diapers,” he mutters as he carefully slides chubby legs into fresh little stockings. “I bet I could invent something that might absorb all your perfectly healthy but still oh so stinky messes much better.” The baby kicks his legs and waves his arms, as if cheering in agreement and Clavis laughs softly, lifting his son back into his arms. “You agree with Papa? You think I can do that? Of course you do.”
He walks back to the cradle, turning his head to place a gentle kiss to the apple of his son’s plump cheek. He could hold him in his arms forever, never tiring of that infant smell, that the feel of his warm little body so trusting and sweet against him.
He pauses in front of the cradle. “Hmm….I know. Let’s go on a little nocturnal journey down the hall while talking through some chemicals and their rates of absorption. I bet you’ll be a perfectly delightful assistant.”
Jin
Both you and Jin yawn, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as your daughter’s cries fill the bedroom. One glance at the time and he sighs, reaching over to tenderly touch your cheek with the back of his hand. “She’s on time, our little one,” he murmurs in his deep voice even as you are pushing yourself up with one hand and already unbuttoning your nightgown with the other.
He gets up, walking over to the crib where the infant is crying, her shock of brownish hair standing up in every direction. “Mommy’s already getting ready for you, princess,” he says as he reaches down and lifts her. She’s so small in his large hands. He walks back to bed, murmuring soft little shushing noises, and then carefully hands her over to you. You help her find the right position and then sigh when she begins to nurse, her cries immediately quieted. Glancing up, you find Jin sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you both with a curiously thoughtful expression.
“What is it?”
He watches you a moment, then shakes his head, a sheepish grin on his handsome face. “It’s just….I’ve always liked that particular body part.” You snort, running your fingers over your baby’s fine chestnut hair. “That’s an understatement.” He chuckles, shrugging before continuing his thought. “Yeah well…it’s just…I think….now that I see ‘em being used to feed our little girl….I think….I think I actually like them MORE now.”
You can’t help it. You start giggling, a burst of yellow happiness that colors the gray exhaustion of new parenthood. “God, I love you.” You crook a finger at him and he matches your smile as he climbs back into bed and leans close to you. You place a kiss on his chiseled cheekbone, warm and affectionate. A sigh born of tender happiness is his answer, along with the words, “I love you too.”
Silvio
“Stay in bed. I’ll go.” He’s up, striding across the bedroom to the bassinet before you can even finish rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Aye, piccolino, sono qui.” He reaches down, running a hand over the restless infant's back. But no soothing words or pets seem to be enough. He lifts the baby carefully, still in that new stage of fatherhood where a baby feels like the most fragile thing in the world.
You watch your two pale-haired men, frowning slightly as the littlest one continues to fuss. "He can't be hungry again, can he?" You have just finished feeding him until he fell into a milk-drunk state of blissful sleep, his body heavy and warm, not thirty minutes ago. He had been sleeping so soundly that hope for more than an hour of sleep at one time had risen in your heart.
Silvio lays the baby against his shoulder. His hands are bare, with only his simple gold wedding band left on his elegant fingers. Every other piece of jewelry has been removed for the sake of his child. Necklaces would get in the way of his son sleeping on his bare chest. Earrings might hinder his ability to press his cheek against his fine, moonlight-spun hair.
"Ain't no baby in the world that could eat again after all that milk." He inclines his head towards his son. "Listen to you, cucciolo. All that growling." He rubs his small back in soothing circles. And then the most extraordinary thing happens: the tiny prince lets out the most raucous of burps. The kind that sends a quake through his little body.
"Dio mio," his father mutters, blue eyes wide as he looks down at his son. You grin through your sleepiness. "Here I thought only his grumbling was like his father."
Gilbert
His daughter's cry shatters the night's peace in an instant. Both you and Gilbert wake up immediately, but he's quicker than you, throwing back the covers and crossing the room to the cradle carved from darkest walnut.
He spots the problem immediately. At some point during the night she had kicked her blanket to the end of her cradle where it lies bunched up and useless. Her socks are nowhere to be seen, a display of her magician-like talent for making them disappear. He reaches down and sure enough, her tiny feet are like ice blocks.
"Always the same thing with you, oder Mäuschen? What have socks ever done to you?” He lifts her from her cradle, tucking her securely into the crook of his arm as he makes his way over to the dresser that has been designated hers. You reach across the bed, turning on the lamp that sits on his nightstand and he glances at you over his shoulder, eyes bright with appreciation. “Thank you, Häschen.” Now he can see better, his fingers trailing over the tiny rolled up socks and tights. When the baby makes a small cooing sound, he stops. “These?” He pulls out a pair of soft black tights embroidered with mini red roses. “Ahh a good choice.”
He hums as he walks over to the changing table, the sound soft and soothing, the gentle rush of a river through the night. As he carefully changes her diaper and then works her plump little legs into the tights, humming gives way to him singing. "Der Mond ist aufgegangen…"
She is curious, all thoughts of crying gone, watchful crimson eyes blinking as she keeps her gaze on the source of the calming sound. “Fertig,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the soles of her now covered feet. "All done." Then he lifts her, carrying her not to her cradle but back to the bed. He slides in, leaning back against the support of the many bed pillows, settling in. Her eyes are already closing as she snuggles in close against his chest.
You watch them both with a smile as tender as the moon’s joy in the stars.
Chevalier
The man who took an army to wake up is on his feet in an instant. He is silent as he crosses the room, leaning down to check on his crying daughter, her pale head of blond hair gleaming silver in the moonlight. He carefully lifts her from the bassinet, marveling in the back of his mind at how very small she is.
He glances back to the bed where you are still deeply asleep. “Your mother is exhausted from all your demands.” He wouldn’t usually condone speaking to a baby as they are incapable of understanding but he’s found that she calms down when she hears his voice. Even now her whimpering stops, her tiny cheek resting on the soft linen of his shirt. She’s gone very still, as if truly listening to his words. “You’ve eaten twenty minutes ago. We can eliminate hunger. Your bottom is….” He pats it gently, checking. “...perfectly dry. The room is neither too hot nor too cold.” He wraps his hands around her feet. She’s still wearing her white socks trimmed with yellow lace. “Your feet are adequately covered.” He tips his head back to look down at her. Her perfect, tiny fingers are curled into his shirt and her body feels heavy, drowsy with sleep.
She attempts to turn her head, burying her face in his shoulder and he reaches up, helping her, running his strong fingers over her downy hair when she has found a position that is comfortable. Chevalier walks over to the white wooden rocking chair you have positioned by the window and lowers himself into it.
“You simply wanted to be held, didn’t you?” A heavy, stuttering sigh leaves her small body, almost as if in answer to her father’s line of questioning. He cups her head with his hand, tilting his face down to place a soft kiss on her hair. “I’ll comply, little one.” He settles into the chair and begins rocking gently back and forth, father and daughter, bathed in loving, silvery moonlight.
Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart
#ikemen series#ikemen prince#ikepri#ikepri chevalier#chevalier michel#ikepri gilbert#gilbert von obsidian#ikepri silvio#silvio ricci#ikepri jin#jin grandet#ikepri clavis#clavis lelouch#ikepri leon#leon dompteur#ikemen headcanons#ikemen fanfiction#ikemen fanfic#otome fanfic#happy belated fathers day!!#cw babies#cw breastfeeding#violettwrites
729 notes
·
View notes
Text
Butterfly Nocturne.
⊹ ࣪ ˖༊·˚ Makoto Yuki/ Minato Arisato x GN reader
All you knew, is that you could stand no longer.
In the heights of Tartarus, your inner voice screamed in defiance. One enemy, but terribly imposing. The very air seemed to thicken around you, laden with ancient malevolence.
Your body became a paradox—heavy yet weightless, burning yet freezing. You teetered on the precipice of collapse, too weary, too pained to carry out a coherent thought. Your eyes glazed over, akin to a black veil enshrouding your vision. The cacophony of battle faded, replaced by the ringing of your ears. Sweat clung to your skin, cold and slick, as the shadow’s dark hand bore down upon you. Inescapable.
And then, a flash of pain seized you. You crumbled to the ground, your weapon clattering loudly before darkness stole you away.
Amidst the chaos, your name echoed—a chorus of fear. All but one voice. Makoto remained silent, dread pooling within him like ink. A quiet panic gripped his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
His palms slick with sweat, grip on his sword unyielding, Makoto delivered a swift, decisive strike, obliterating the shadow. The blade sang through the air, severing the malevolence that threatened to consume you once and for all.
Discarding his sword, he rushed to your side, kneeling. The others quickly stepped aside, their gazes filled with shock and concern. To witness Makoto—usually stoic, detached and with a tendency for apathy—act with such fervor was rare. His fingers found your pulse, and the relief that washed over him was almost blinding. Your vitality thrummed against his skin, a fragile lifeline.
His voice, steady and commanding, ordered healing for you. Cradling you in his arms, he held one of your icy hands. His racing heartbeat slowed as he felt the faint tremors of your breath normalize. His fingers brushed your forehead tenderly, whispering your name. He hadn’t lost you, after all. Around you, a collective sigh of relief echoed. They all cared, but none as deeply as Makoto.
That night’s exploration came to an abrupt end.
When your eyes finally fluttered open, your mind was a tempest—a whirlwind of half-formed thoughts and fragmented memories. It felt surreal, like a dream mistaken for reality. As the fog lifted, details emerged—a rhythmic swaying, gravel crunching underfoot, distant voices. You were no longer in Tartarus. In fact, the dark hour itself seems to have ended. All there was to see was your typical moon, in its dark canvas. No neon green cast to be seen.
Despite the healing, your body still bore the marks of battle: a throbbing shoulder, a swollen lip, bruises like morbid freckles. You felt icy, your head crafted from lead.
Painfully, your head shifted slightly. Blue eyes. Long, blue hair. Makoto. His footsteps rocked you, cradling you against his chest as if you were a fragile secret. He was....carrying you.
“Makoto,” you murmured, and his gaze met yours. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice unwavering as usual.
The journey back to the dorm unfolded in silence. The others walked ahead, granting Makoto a solitary moment with you. The comfort of his arms—the sheer luxury of it—was something you might never experience again. So you nestled closer, inhaling the sweet, warm scent clinging to his clothes. Everything from his silk hair, his soft-spoken tone and his honeyed scent had you folding.
Your mind wandered further—the warmth of his hands cupping your face, his lips gently claiming yours. When you were this close, how could you not allow such thoughts?
Your gaze lifted, fingers brushing back his unruly bangs. The soft sound that escaped him sent a flutter through your heart. “Makoto…?” His eyes met yours, and your affectionate gesture painted your cheeks with a delicate blush. “Mh?” His voice was a low murmur, and you took a deep breath.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “For looking out for me. I really do appreciate it.” The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw.
“It’s nothing,” Makoto replied, his tone matter-of-fact. He wasn’t unkind—just blunt, with a disinclination to flower his words. But there was something in his eyes, a vulnerability he couldn’t mask. You smiled to yourself.
Driven by an unknown force, your fingertips traced his jawline. You cupped half of his face, your touch gentle yet insistent. You held it there for a second, and his eyes once more wandered to yours. And then, before you could overthink, you pressed your lips to his cheek—the kiss tender and fleeting.
His expression remained mostly unchanged, save for slightly parted lips, and the pink blush staining his face. You became timid as the impulse faded, a mix of regret and anticipation taking hold.
Needless to say…
You weren't disappointed when you received a soft kiss on your lips in return.
#makoto yuki x reader#minato arisato x reader#p3 x reader#p3 protagonist x reader#p3 reload#p3#persona 3 reload#persona 3#persona 3 x reader
132 notes
·
View notes
Text
Supercorptober 2023 Day 4: Money
Read here on AO3
"Isn't that romantic?"
"What is?" Kara asked, so focused on her article that she didn’t look up from her computer until Nia gave her a little nudge on her shoulder.
"That," Nia said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. She pointed surreptitiously to the man who had just stepped out of the elevator holding a modest bouquet of both white and red roses. He walked with purpose towards the desk cluster reserved for CatCo's revolving door of interns, his sights trained on the brunette whom Kara had seen earlier in the day being taught the ins and outs of the copier with a look of deep concentration on her face.
He did his best to hide the flowers behind his back before he approached for all the good that it did him because it seemed that she had caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye before he could surprise her.
She goggled at him, clearly not expecting the visit but when he produced the flowers from behind his back a little shyly, she beamed at him and leaped out of her chair with enough force to nearly bowl him over.
“That is sweet,” Kara said. She smiled, feeling happy for them even though she didn’t know them. “And who knows," Kara said and glanced towards Andrea's office. "If she snags the junior reporter job he might be delivering flowers to her very own office someday."
Maybe,” Nia said, but Kara could tell from her voice that she believed such an outcome was a long shot. A fair assessment considering how picky Andrea could be. And with only one open junior reporter position up for grabs it meant that competition would be nothing short of intense. “He’d probably want to spring for a bigger bouquet for just such an occasion. Nia smiled and snuck one more look at the happy couple before she glanced back towards Andrea’s office. “I should get back to work before Andrea comes out and makes an example out of me in front of the interns.” She rapped her knuckles on the side of Kara’s desk and set off back to her own
“He could always fill her office with flowers,” Kara suggested before Nia got too far away that she had to raise her voice. She did so almost absentmindedly, her focus had already shifted back to her article.
"Now that would be romantic,” Nia said as she kept walking. “But I don’t want to even think about how expensive that would be,” she called over her shoulder.
Would it be romantic? The answer seemed obvious but still, Kara found herself pondering the question intently while she tried to return to work. As if she didn't like the very obvious answer staring her in the face. Of course, it would be romantic.
So my office is overflowing with flowers…
That much was obvious. If a single bouquet was romantic, surely several dozen more than even that would be considered romantic. Looking at it in such an overly logical (and paradoxically illogical) way, Kara couldn't help but think of Brainy, believing he might try and break down the problem in a similar fashion.
But as distracting as the question was, it was Nia’s last comment that Kara found herself dwelling on long after she had left work. How expensive was it to fill an office with flowers? It sounded like the kind of esoteric problem you might see crop up on a particularly finicky math test. Because it wasn’t just the sheer quantity of flowers that would factor in, as well. There was also the unusualness of the request to consider. Not many flower shops would even be able to fulfill such a request, no matter how much they might like to.
She puzzled over the question while she ate dinner alone. Leftover takeout from her favorite Chinese place. As she chewed she made a couple of rough estimates. Tried to recall just how many flowers there had been in her office that day… She remembered that stepping into her office had momentarily taken her breath away. It had been like stepping into a fairytale and how she had never even tried to count them. It would have felt too much like trying to figure out how a magic trick was done. It would rob it of something essential, something beautiful.
Had she really never asked herself that before? It felt strange to think that it had only just now occurred to her. Both the enormity of the gesture and how much something like that must have cost. Maybe because she hadn’t wanted to?
She speared a potsticker on the end of her chopsticks and chewed it without really tasting it. It wasn’t just the flowers though. There was the little matter of CatCo itself… What did it mean when your best friend bought you a company? But she already knew what it meant. A part of her had always known. It might have been the utter shock she had felt upon first hearing the news that had kept her from realizing it. Maybe it was Lena’s insistence that her buying CatCo was merely a business decision that she fully intended to make the most of even when Kara could see in her eyes it was so much more than that. Or maybe it was the simple fact that she was too afraid of what it might mean.
She had come within a hair's breadth of finally admitting it when Lena had sold CatCo to Andrea. When Lena had freely confessed just why she had bought the company. But then things hadn’t gone crashing down around them soon after that and the truth staring her in the face had been all too easy to ignore.
But what was stopping her now? When things between them had never been better? The answer came to Kara at once. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Save for however long it would take her to fly to Lena's penthouse and maybe a few stops along the way…
Kara shouldn't have been surprised that Lena's penthouse was empty when she flew past. Not when Lena spent most of her nights working well into the night. Usually that would have bothered her. But not tonight. Tonight it felt right. It offered a kind of harmony that they might look back on fondly…
She touched down on the balcony and realized that she was already smiling when she saw Lena sitting at her desk. Whatever she was working on had her full attention and it allowed Kara to cross the balcony without Lena noticing. She knocked twice and when Lena looked up from her work she did so with a knowing smile on her face.
"How did you know it was me?" Kara asked when Lena opened the balcony door.
"I had a feeling," Lena said, stepping aside to let Kara inside. "And the list of people I know that can enter through my balcony starts and ends with you. Is everything okay?"
"Everything's great. I just hope I'm not interrupting you."
Lena shook her head and it was only then that Kara realized she had taken off her heels, the difference in their heights a little more noticeable. "I was just about ready to call it a night." She waved a hand at her computer. "I could work through the morning and I'd still have plenty of work left to do. Might as well get a few hours of sleep before I do it all over again." she joked.
"You shouldn't work so late," Kara insisted.
"Look who's talking," Lena said but nodded a bit apologetically. "I'll take a day off soon," she promised. "We can do brunch," she suggested with a smile. "My treat."
"It's always your treat," Kara said and knew that there would be no better opening than now. "And even when it's not you always know how to distract me when the waiter comes by with our bill so that you can grab it first. How do you do that?"
Lena grinned. "You're not the only one with superpowers," she joked.
"You spend too much on me," Kara said softly.
"Well, you do eat a lot," Lena said, still grinning although it started to fade when she saw that Kara hadn't joined her.
"You filled my office with flowers," Kara said. "I have no idea how much that must have cost you. I still remember how magical it looked. It was like stepping into the Land of Oz. So much color. It's one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, Lena."
"Kara..." Lena said, starting to blush. "You already thanked me for that ages ago. You don't have to do it again."
"I want to. You... You bought CatCo for me." She pursed her lips, feeling a tightness in her throat. "I never... I never really thanked you properly for that. How could I ever thank you for something like that?"
"Kara," Lena said, a little sternly, her cheeks now aflame. "It was n—"
"Don't say it was nothing," Kara pleaded. She shook her head and brushed at her eyes. Please don't say that. Don't try and diminish it when it means the world to me."
Lena nodded slowly and Kara could hear her heart beating a little faster, nearly keeping time with her own. "CatCo was important to you," Lena explained. "And I..." She took a breath and let it out slowly, looking everywhere but back at Kara. "I just like when you're happy," she said softly.
"I know," Kara murmured. "I feel the same way."
"Is that what you came all the over here to talk to me about?" Lena asked, and Kara could feel her trying to inject a little levity back into their conversation.
"Not exactly. Can you close your eyes for a second? Just one," Kara said, holding up her index finger to hammer home the point.
For a moment, Kara saw the polite curiosity on Lena's face and wondered if she might try and ask what for but when their eyes met, a small smile pulled at Lena's mouth and she shut her eyes.
"You can open them now," Kara said, looking the tiniest bit windswept.
"Oh my God..." There was a sharp intake of breath and Lena reached for Kara's arm as if she suddenly needed it to keep her balance. But when she clasped her wrist it was with a featherlight touch. "Kara, how did you?" she began to say but fell silent before she could finish her question. "It's beautiful," she said a little while later after she had taken in every inch of her office as if trying to commit it to memory, and for all Kara knew she was. "Like magic," she said and looked at Kara sideways and even that was enough to make Kara blush a little.
I bet it does look like magic, Kara thought. When Lena had closed her eyes her office had looked as it almost always did, fastidiously neat, the kind of mental image one might think up when imagining an office in a sprawling high-rise. When she opened them again her office was bursting with plumerias. Sprays of color in delicate shades of pink and white, vibrant yellow and blue as well as deep red and orange. And she still had one last trick up her sleeve... She reached behind her back in an obvious way to draw Lena's eye and pulled a bouquet from behind her back that she offered to Lena a bit timidly considering she had just filled her office with flowers.
237 notes
·
View notes
Text
IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS OF THE MORNING
(not my gif!)
gerard way x gn!reader
summary: he's your roommate...but maybe he's more than that.
warnings: unedited writing, fluff, no use of [y/n]
note: so sorry i haven't posted in forever! i have a few requests and a few more half-complete drafts, so hopefully those should be up soon <3
you supposed there were worse roommates out there. actually, thinking about it, you realized how lucky you were.
you got along really well with your roommate, gerard. he’d been sharing an apartment for nearly two years now, and you were sure you knew him better than you knew yourself.
you know he forgets to take the coffee pods out of the keurig, and sometimes he leaves the heater running for too long.
you don’t think you’ve ever seen him sleep. sometimes you wonder if he’s a vampire or something, what with the scribbling coming from his room at all hours of the night.
to be fair… you’re hardly any better. you sleep little more than he does, when you do fall asleep it’s usually on the couch, and you leave the television on all the time.
you’re incredibly lucky, you realize. lucky that he’s as sweet as he is, bringing you coffee in the mornings, and stopping by your job on his commute. he’s even slipped a few drawings your way. some are drawings of you, others are silly little doodles he gives you when you’re having a bad day. sometimes, he’ll show you characters for the comics he’s working on, asking for your input.
you realize that you’re lucky that he’s so helpful, that he’s not a creep, that you both get along so well. you’re lucky that you’ve found a friend who will sit and watch television reruns with you when neither of you can fall asleep.
that’s why you slip a record under his door one night. you don’t know if he even likes sinatra, but you give it to him anyway. there’s no special occasion really, you just thought of him when you found in the wee small hours in the record store you visited. you don’t sign your name on the post it you stuck to it. all you write is “from one insomniac to another”. you feel embarrassed for some reason you can’t place, and something slithers in your stomach. maybe you shouldn’t have given it to him…maybe he doesn’t like sinatra. it’s too late now though, it’s already done.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
it’s late one night…or early, depending on how you look at it. you’re tired, whatever movie you were watching forgotten and on mute. you can hear gerard milling around in the kitchen, you can smell the coffee he’s brewing. you’re tired, but you can’t fall asleep.
“thanks for the record” gerard called from the kitchen. “i really liked it”
you smile, one of those hazy tired smiles, the kind you do when you’re between being awake and asleep. “i didn’t know if you liked sinatra, i hope it’s ok”
you miss the way he grins at you, too busy yawning.
“it’s great i actually…” he walked off in the middle of his sentence, a habit you’d noticed he had, only to come back with the disk in his hands. “do you mind?”
it didn’t matter if you said no, he already turned to put it on, smiling back at you as he dropped the needle to the record.
“what are we watching?” he asked, sitting next to you on the couch. close enough to be touching you, but still far enough to give you space. it’s like a paradox, you think, but then you tell yourself to shut up. you’re too tired to know what you’re talking about.
“i dunno, i stopped paying attention.” your eyes flit to the movie playing on the television, watching the car chase for a moment before turning your attention back to him. “you’re going to keep yourself up all night drinking coffee this late.” you might have frowned at him if you weren’t too busy beaming.
he knew you were teasing, you could tell by the glint in his eye. “i just need a few finishing touches on my project and then i’m done.”
you didn’t say anything more for a while, taking a moment to take everything in. the record playing softly in the background as you curled closer to gerard. his head resting on yours as you listened to his breathing, memorizing the pace of his heart.
it’s quiet…intimate, and you’re tired. tired and happy.
“you tired?” he questions softly.
“a little,” you don’t know why you’re whispering.
“do you work tomorrow?”
“yeah, i open,” you groan, rubbing your eyes. you think you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.
it’s quiet again, though this time it’s too quiet. you’re left with thoughts of gerard running through your head, and you wish that one of you would say something. you should be ashamed, you scold yourself, thinking of him the way you do when he’s sitting right next to you.
“what are you thinking about?” he prods gently. he’s soft with you, the way he always is, careful not to overstep with his questions.
“nothing really,” you lie, because you’d rather not risk what comfort you have now. “what are you thinking about?”
it seems like he didn’t expect the question to be turned back on him. he hesitates, and the silence is thick…too thick. his face is illuminated by the light from the tv, and he looks nervous. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look quite as terrified as he does now. the lighting shifts, and he’s blanketed in darkness again, but you notice something change in his eyes.
“i think i love you” he whispers against your ear.
you feel like you can’t breathe. you think you heard him wrong. you’re worried this is all a dream, a good dream, the kind that would leave you reeling when you wake up.
you want to hear him say it again.
you lean your head back against his shoulder, and he breathes out with a shudder. you watch the explosions on tv as your hand finds his. “i love you too.”
that’s it then, everything is out in the open. maybe you’re tired, but you sigh gently as he cups your face in his hands. thinking back, you can’t exactly pinpoint when your feelings for him changed, but you suppose it doesn’t matter now. he loves you and you love him. it’s surprisingly simple.
“can i…?” he doesn’t need to finish his question as you lean in closer to him. his breath is warm, and he smells like coffee and sleepless nights, and you’re waiting for him. your eyes are closed as you breathe him in, and they stay that way as he kisses you softly.
he’s…soft, softer than you imagine, and you can’t help but smile.
in the wee small hours of the morning, he is yours, and you are his.
#gerard way x reader#gerard way#reader insert#x reader#my chemical romance#my chem#mcr#mcr fanfiction#mcr fanfic#fanfic#sfw#prtygoth
279 notes
·
View notes
Note
❝ you don’t have to pretend to be fine, if you need me to stay i will. ❞ (fix saying this to ghost?)
I fucking love Fix and Ghost and how they deal with hurt/comfort with the other. Fuck it's so good.
“He’s smoking.” Soap says as you walk past him after your shower. The Scot is still inventorying his kit under the faulty light of the safe house, steady hands appraising the contents beside his vest. He pauses to throw you the barest glance over his shoulder, brow scrunched with something akin to worry before he goes back to his task.
“On the fire escape.” He adds, and there’s meaning in the scarce words he offers you, meaning that has you quietly slip away in the direction he’s offered you.
Soap doesn’t question the thing between you and his lieutenant, if it can be called that. You’re not sure if he knows the full scope of your relationship with Simon and is strangely quiet on it, or if you both have managed to keep him as carefully in the dark as you intended. Either way, Soap knows Ghost well enough to recognize his mannerisms just as you do, and you both know that Simon slinking off for a cig means something is weighing heavy on his mind.
You knock on the pane of the window that leads to the fire escape, making out Ghost’s looming figure just beside it, concealed carefully in the shadows. The only indication he’s there at all is the slant from the light inside catching across his boot, the glow of the cigarette in his hand as he lifts it to his lips.
When you knock you see him make room for you to climb out, and even though he doesn’t welcome you, it’s a clear indication that he at least tolerates your presence. You lean on the wall beside him, catching the light where he sidles further into darkness, boots scraping the metal mesh of the platform under you. The wisp of nicotine curls around you both, an acrid smell to fill the silence.
You don’t press him. You know better than that. You learned long ago that saccharine sweet words to Simon will only throw his guard up just as it does yours, make him bristle and bare his fangs in a paradoxical effort to protect himself.
❝ You don’t have to pretend to be fine, if you need me to stay I will.❞ You told him once, remembering how Simon’s head had snapped in your direction hard enough to make his neck crack.
“I don’t need anything.” He told you flatly, scarcely hiding his hostility. It had startled you then, this whiplash of emotion from him. Yet when you looked at him, saw the look in his eyes, you understood.
You’re both feral, untamed creatures. There’s beauty in the wildness of you, an understanding of the untouchable spirit that resides in the other. You wander the wilderness in search of someone just the same as you, something more fit for savagery than gentleness. Like a beast howling at the sacrosanct moon, you hear the other's lonely call and dare to challenge it with your own.
Yet wounded, injured, the proximity of others summons flashing fangs and snarling gazes even as you desperately want to be anything but alone.
So you only stand beside him, cross your arms and brace on the wall until you gesture at him for a cigarette, smiling to yourself when he simply offers his. His lighter flicks as he lights a new one for him, and the orange of the flame reveals the grim set of his jaw in the shadows.
You try and think back on the day, try and discern the things that could have gone wrong to warrant this sudden heaviness and withdrawal of him. Ghost had been set up in a sniper nest all day, navigating you and Soap through the city in your plain clothes, tailing a contact. You’d been waiting for him to make an exchange, information hidden in his briefcase. Yet the person he had handed it off to was not another gangster.
Instead, it was a boy.
Blonde. Brown eyes, looking up at his father and smiling as the man had cupped the child’s face when he spoke.
Ghost didn’t take the shot.
You take a long drag of your cigarette, wincing at the taste. You never had a penchant for smoking, picked it up only to find excuses to linger beside the man next to you. Simon is silent, ruminating, and you tumble the image of the boy in your mind, trying to find the tether that connected him to Simon’s heart.
It hits you all at once. A kid, roughly the same age, blonde, brown eyed, rosy cheeked, looking up at his father with stars in his eyes.
Joseph.
You close your eyes, pained realization rippling through your chest. Joseph, the smallest one lost to that deadly night that took Simon’s family. The one he had spoken of only once and then never again. A secret locked in the deepest parts of his heart, something he trusted scarcely few people with.
Including you.
The gift and responsibility of Simon’s trust of you isn’t wasted in its meaning. You know how difficult it is for him to allow even the smallest sliver of someone that deep inside, and you tread carefully, knowing that there’s things that you haven’t told Simon either about your own family.
You fight him tooth and nail for every meager scrap he gives you, and it’s enough. It’s always enough- because every single truth you unspool from him ties its threads into your own stitches atop your fractured heart.
You both stand in the long silence of the night air, letting the curl of smoke wind between your two forms before you deign to speak.
“He looked nothing like him.” You lie.
Simon goes still beside you, coiling a telltale inch as you finally speak the truth of it into existence. You think maybe he’ll go back inside without another word, and will leave you out here in the aftermath of your feigned declaration.
“No.” He replies flatly, not moving from where he stands, voice firm in a way that tells of what he is trying to hide underneath- something you know you’ll see eventually when he comes to you with desperate touches and hushed words, trying to escape the weight of the world in the feral familiarity of you.
“He didn’t.”
#simon ghost riley x oc#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x oc#ghost x oc#simon riley x reader#oc: fix#stay the night writing prompts#drabbles#They're both so!!!!#They're the same person they're the mirror of each other they hate the things in each other that remind them of themselves#they're the only one who know what it's like to be them they're the only ones that can trust the other with their secrets#crying yelling screaming
268 notes
·
View notes
Text
Happilyfeatherafter’s ficrec Fridays
Good friday y'all. Welcome back to a new fortnight of fics that I’ve read and loved recently. I took my first holiday of the year and IMMEDIATELY caught a cold that knocked me out for the week but at least it meant I got reading done. Save me, destiel, save me.
If you want to find more you can see my previous rec lists here!
29 March 2024
virga(e) by @shineforthee (art by @neversleepuntilfive) has gone straight to the top of the favourite fics ever pile, oh my god you guys, please read it immediately and admire the art that inspired it as part of @deancasreversebang. This fic is a thing of beauty from start to finish. In one version of the story of Dean and Cas, we find Castiel perpetually waiting in the desert, when a 26 year old Dean stumbles upon him drawn to the location mid-hunt. They must learn to trust each other, to figure out what's causing the push and pull that bonds them. The poetry of this fic, run through with this yearning devastating emotion on their journey together, coupled with the incredibly evocatively descriptions and research into the setting, come together to make the most gorgeous picture, the desert a place that seems desolate but is teeming with life. Much like the slowburn romance that flourishes between them. It also links back to post-canon in a way that is seeded so carefully and cleverly, and made my heart explode. It's funny, romantic, devastating, emotional, moving....I can't do justice to this fic with such a short snapshot, please read it for yourselves and come yell at me about it. It's so beautiful. shineforthee also has a great 9x06 fanfic gap one shot and an ongoing wip now too and I can't wait to read that! (Somehow need any more convincing? Check out @bloodydeanwinchester's Virga(e) liveblog).
It's all very complex by artichokeflower okay that was all very serious, so let's turn to a short and sweet smut fic that had me giggling gleefully throughout. 'After walking in on Dean's private time, Cas decides to do a little research and experimentation of his own and gets magically trapped in a book about sexual fantasies. And if that means Dean has to go in after him, well what are buddies for, right?' The thing that is just GOLDEN about this fic aside from the hot smut is the dry sense of humour, borderline French Mistake parody level porn and dialogue between Dean and especially Cas which just gets them so well...the cowboy scenes in particular. Glorious: “I’m sorry, Dean. That’s the end of the erotic violence. Are you hurt?” “Is there going to be any sex in your sexy fantasies?” Dean wheezed. “Not that the whole shoot out wasn’t fun. I just wasn’t expecting as much plot is all.” He coughed. That had probably sounded too eager.
Just Being and Just Having by Englandwouldfall I have recced before but is now complete!! This the post-canon fic series delves so incredibly beautifully into Dean and Cas’ history of miscommunication and gives them the chance to truly talk things out, finding themselves falling more deeply in love as they do so and understand their own mistakes but also what makes them work so well together when they’re no longer under Chuck’s thumb. Each chapter feels like therapy and a brain and heart massage! It sticks the landing so well and I just love these boys so much.
Something Happening Somewhen by allthismusic (@folkbloodbaths, art by @eggchef) aaaahhh time travel young Dean brought to the future to meet older Dean and Cas fic trope my beloved. A @deancaspinefest fic, Allthismusic is a fan of the trope too and this fic is a gorgeous tribute to it and the fics that came before. Cas saves 24yo Dean from an accident and brings him to the future when he witnesses what his life will be. Will Cas have to remove his memories to stop a paradox? Sweet and heartfelt, a joy to read.
Books, Pies, and Roommates by @seidenapfel (art by @kitshay) is a @deancaspinefest two-person love hexagon, with some excellently farcical misdirection. Cas moves in to the spare room of Dean's house, but he doesn't meet him, he meets Sam, as Dean is busy working. Cas is professor but helps his cousin out as a barista and his favourite customer is Deano. Dean's intrigued by the barista but he's not his online penpal and best friend Angel. Lines blur, connections are made, and hearts are gonna get broken...or are they?
Tag list under the cut, let me know if you'd like to be added! Please reblog <3
@dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
Heat
Helloo!! this is my first writing. I got desperate that there were not many Tsu'tey fics yk.
This is kinda OC Tsu'tey and real? 'cause we haven't seen much and he looks caring for his clan in some movie scenes. Alsoo I'm sorry if I have any gramatical error in the fic, english it's not my first language. I tried to put my best in it tho, I'd love feedback, thankss!! <3
WC: 1,4+K
Pairing: Tsu'tey x Avatar!AFAB Reader.
Warnings: NSWF/SMUT; dry humping, seasonal heat, OC!Tsu'tey.
Perhaps the fact of being surrounded by all the dangerous flora and fauna of Pandora was a sign to end the walk. The imminent calling of dead at your doorstep, knocking some sense into you, but it was an empty call for you in this state of mind.
Running to the usual spot, a known path, crossed many times before. Feet moving just by themselves, no indication to stopping till the specified place to make the melting warm consuming your brain cease. The enigmatic heat that you have yet to ask your dear teacher, Jake or Neitiry; still they all seem like the last resource. Paradoxically this could still be associated to a seasonal heat of some animals. You know the answer. However, if the situation needs it, is there someone willing to be the one to melt with you, to love you even?
The glowing nature of this world so blinding in this state, merely enough to keep your foggy brain away of those familiar piercing eyes watching you run, aroused and alone. Every step you take slowing down enough to now be kneeling in the cold leaf bed, the one only thing awaiting at the end of the path. Said space enclosed by the ethereal nature of Pandora’s forest, tall trees, branches and a nearby river hiding sounds and doing the best to shield you from the exterior. You have found and kept this place as a secret just for this exact time. You know there´s also a unique view from the trees, the best for the burning alien eyes on you, giving a full access to every part of your anatomy, every luminescent dot and your dampened loincloth as well.
You have known who they were from the start, playing dumb it´s a better choice than just clearing thing out for an uncomfortable conversation and maybe an ending to it all. It's also easy to recognize him, more when you´re both glued to each other in a daily basis; as student and teacher, risking to say friends now. A handsome, strong and noble na'vi warrior. The magnificent hunter. The number one fantasy running through your mind in your current state, Tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan.
He knows that the possessive embrace he has on your schedule is just an excuse to keep you under him, know everywhere you go to and who you talk to. Even your seasonal heat weaving in front of everyone now, he sometimes wishes you've not accomplished the rite of passage. Every weak male trying to get to his mate, it's an ice bucket thrown to his face. Deceiving all of them was the right answer, keeping all away from his breathtaking and bewitching lover.
This is going to smash his sanity, every season, even everyday it´s hell for him. Can't touch you, court you and claim you before everyone, his duty weighing on him. And this moment watching you touch yourself in your softest places, trying to fulfill his role as your mate. Relief so far away from your delicate fingers, frustration painting your beautiful tearful face. He should just bring himself to aid you, then he heard you, his name coming from your soft lips. "Tsu'tey, please! I-I know you're there," you cried for him. The young na'vi's body went rigid, his presence being known by you was not something expected.
Creeping closer to you, scent burning his nose. Pupils blowing as wide as they can be, feet walking faster taking him to you; the need to touch you, be your only satisfaction feeding his reason. Shameful scenes replaying through his mind, while he fall to his knees before you. Being this close, between your sublime body. Watching you from this close range, sweet face looking lose in translation and pure bliss; gasp's escaping your mouth as he fondles your doughy thighs, passionate touches interrupted by your pleasing voice, "I want you to be honest with m-me, Tsu'tey. W-What do you feel about me?”
His breathing getting heavier, warrior's hands trembling, creeping closer to your jaw softly caressing your skin to memory. Face inching closer, leaning into you with every word, "I have been foolish, my love. I-I should've been more open about my feelings for you," he whispered against your lips. Mouth in a feather like manner touching his, shyly turning into a desperate need to feel each other.
Kisses broke by his confession, "I see you, my little dream. You have tempted me for too long. I can't wait anymore," Almost hissing he admits, "I'm jealous of the men that look at you, scared they might take you away from me." His scowl breaking, your fascinating laugh taking all the attention, it's impressive how distracting his mate can be.
The young man's hands capturing your waist, a corner of his mouth lifted "You're not supposed to be laughing, my love," Your face getting hotter with the changing position, being on top of his lap is rather shameful.
Arms going around his neck for support, face hiding there too. "Umm, I don’t like anyone else. Maybe a handsome warrior, I think you may know him!" you chuckle at the same time your face jumped out of your hiding spot. Soft pecks quickly deliver in your face distracting you, while his hand little by little traveled to your mount, heavy patting you over your loincloth; a sharp intake of air making you light-headed.
Rutting over his calloused digits, you mumble dizzy, "Hmm, don't play, s-skxawng.” Your smaller hand wrapped around his wrist, hurrying his motion.
Words bubbling cut short by your warrior making direct contact with your wet pussy folds as he moved your loincloth to the side, fingers playfully brushing your clit. Hips following his caress on you, aching for the so called release. Your desire does not go unnoticed by him, the tent forming in his cloth is a sign of it, grinding heavily against your ass.
Resting your forehead softly in his, breath fanning his lips, “I need to feel you more, Tsu'tey.” you spoke in a whisper. Placing your hand in his chest, traveling unhurriedly to his pelvis. Fingers sprawl against his loincloth, helping free himself, and slowly brushing your thumb over his cock-head; starting a torturing circular motion, pre-cum dripping on your hand. Mimicking your movements, he pushed two fingers easily inside your soaked cunt; your breath getting quicker with every matching pump. His lips ghosting your pulsing point, lapping your salty skin, “Can't mate you yet. We’ve to do it before Eywa, my dream. Even so I still want to feel you more,” his voice sounding needier and fucked out.
“I know what to do, just let m-me," you babbled, trying to pick yourself up. Strong hands nestle under the weight of your thighs and helped you do so, "Thank you. I'm not weak, you know. I-I can't do much when I'm like this.” you said shyly, ears flattened against your scalp.
Still with his arms embracing you, subtle thumps of his tail echoing as your palms rest flat on his chest. The comfort filling your system, relaxing your bodies into each other. You felt him move, kissing the crown of your head. "I'm watching, I don't want to just feel you," he murmured against your hair, hands reaching to untie your loincloth.
You just went for it, accommodating your thighs at each side of his hips. Feeling the heavy weight of his cock over your drenched pussy, rutting languidly against you. Thighs flexing with every torn movement, hands holding harshly on his shoulders.
Gaze fixed on him, consume by desire; softening scowl tainting his face as his ears folded and his eyes closed. Partially open mouth groaning with every improper grind of your hips, such a strong warrior weak before you, grazing the clouds of pleasure with his fingertips.
Embracing him closer, breathing him in; trying to forget the crawling need to fuck him, while the pooling heat at the pit of your stomach numbed your mind. Grinding slowly over his glistening cock, mewling at every catch of your nub. The tender pace stopped by his rougher hands on your hips, “Don’t tease me anymore, my dream," he hissed angrily at you.
Thrust getting faster, possessive grip on your hips heavier with every move. Pussy dripping, ready to fall over the edge at any minute. You know his release is not that far either, his shaft twitching against your wet folds. His calloused hand went directly to cup your face, mouths smashing together and tongues tangling exploring the other.
Hips stuttering on their look for release, moans quiet down by the fervent kiss. "I'm c-close, Tsu'tey," broken words stuttered in-between desperate kisses and moans. Sopping wet pussy pulsing him in as he creamed over the inside of your supple thighs, hot cum dribbling slowly.
Resting on his muscular chest as you played lazily with his hands, "We should rest, yawntu. We'll have to do this all over again later," he mumble.
#avatar fanfiction#tsu'tey x reader#tsu'tey x you#tsu’tey smut#tsu’tey#avatar fic#na'vi x reader#na'vi smut#avatar x reader#avatar imagine#avatar smut#tsu'tey fanfiction#tsu'tey fic#tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan x reader#tsu'tey avatar#tsu'tey#tsu'tey x y/n
528 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐄 (gojo satoru x reader)
inspired from this list of prompts | wc: 0.8k+
Satoru looks so handsome, it’s borderline annoying.
He’s dressed up all nice—not that he doesn't usually carry himself well, but it’s a safe bet that the tailored suit currently hugging his broad shoulders does more for him than his usual navy uniform.
The gala he’ll be attending shortly is an annual Jujutsu event—one of high level sorcerers and prestigious clans and people with far more money that you can fathom. It only makes sense for the strongest sorcerer to be in attendance.
Satoru had begged you to come by his side, let him show you off like a trophy on his hip, but you declined his offer. Not wanting to insert yourself into the center of Jujutsu society, you assured your boyfriend that you’d be waiting up for him back home, with a warm bed and maybe even a few kisses—if he behaves.
Just as you’re about to send him off for the night, you teasingly remind him once more of his behavior.
“Be good out there,” you taunt him, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. He instantly heats up at the feeling of your lips dancing on his skin.
“Course,” he beams with a mischievous smile, “aren’t I always?”
You answer his rhetorical question with a roll of your eyes, which only makes his smile grow wider and the love in his eyes all the more fond.
You step away from him, taking once last look at your handsome lover before ultimately shipping him away, but something catches your attention—a soft hue of red blush decorating the bulb of his cheek. Not from his flustered expression, no, but from the lipstick you’d forgotten you were wearing.
“Wait! Come here,” you beckon a finger that Satoru instinctually follows without realizing.
He saunters your way, perhaps thinking he’s getting another kiss, before he watches you lick the pad of your thumb and signal for his cheek.
“You can’t go out there like that,” you mumble, stepping closer to him. Satoru shimmies out of your hold and makes a beeline for the nearest mirror in your hallway.
Noticing the outline gracing his cheek, he glows. “Huh, oh—wait! Keep it!”
“No, Satoru,” you scold him, walking towards him once more before finally getting your hands on him.
He pouts childishly when you lick your thumb a second time, “Why not, angel?”
He raises an entertained brow at your face of confusion, “Think of it as you marking your territory. What if someone thinks I’m single and tries to steal me away?”
With a scoff, your thumb begins to rub the blushing mark from his pale cheek.
“They’ll return you once you open your mouth.”
Satoru writhes in your hold, which is comical given his giant stature, “Baby, nooooooo!”
As if the removal causes him physical pain, he whimpers and wails as your thumb further dissolves the sweet pigmentation on his pale skin.
He’s back to pouting as he grumbles, “You’re supposed to say ‘you wouldn’t let that happen, ‘Toru, you love me too much!’ or something similar.”
As you shoot another glare his way, something about Satoru’s expression softens the sarcasm threatening to spill over your lips. Maybe it’s his glossy eyes carefully watching your own, or the corners of his plush lips slightly turning upwards as he fights off a smirk. Whatever it may be, the lovesick look on your lover’s face has you rethinking his request.
You lean in once more, and a part of Satoru thinks you’re going to kiss his cheek again. But fool him once, shame on him. Fool him twice...
Your mouth lands lower than he expects it to, and he doesn’t feel your lips on his skin as you fool around by his neck. It’s moments like these where Gojo thinks of the irony of his technique. The cruel and contrasting paradox of his infinity when all he wants to do it touch you, be held by you, feel your lips flutter against his skin.
It takes him a moment to realize the effect of your sly actions. Right there, against the stark white polyester of his collar, is your blushing lip stain embroidered into the material, practically glistening for all to see.
“Like I said,” you hum into the crook of his neck before meeting his eyes once more, “be good out there.”
Filled with butterflies and an odd sense of pride, Satoru stands up a little taller.
He tips his head to you, ‘Yes, boss.”
He attends the event with ugrency, wanting it to be over as quicky as it can begin, for he now has places to be that are far more important than here.
He knows you’ll be in bed once the dinner party is over. He’ll just have to wait.
After all, they do say patience is a virtue—and for the first time in his life, Satoru is willing to find out if there’s any truth to that statement.
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
A beautifully written article!
[I managed to translate a bit of it]
Crazy and ecstatic
In the formula of popular music, completing good music and performance is only half the success. What fills the other half is the artist’s capabilities. Stars have the power to make audiences dream. So their stage has a dreamlike sparkle and excitement. However, the icons of popular music who transcend borders and command the times have one additional ability. They make you want to. His first solo album FACE, created with Jimin's breath and heat, answers the question of how much fans want him. Like crazy. David Bowie once quoted Nietzsche's concept of 'God is dead' and asked, "If we cannot replace God, how will we fill the space he has created within us?" Jimin fills the empty space in his soul that only the highest value of sanctity can take over with his crazy feelings for him.
Jimin is ecstatic. Ecstasy is paradoxical. He simultaneously embraces despair as much as joy, danger as heavy as an anchor, and fire in ice. [FACE] expresses the paradox that only an ecstatic and upright being can show. The title , which topped the Billboard Hot 100 chart upon its debut, depicts Jimin's solitude amidst cheers and the direct gaze of floating through Jimin's alluring vocals and elegant moves, making you feel him with all your senses and gaze. The double title depicts Jimin's narrative of freeing himself from transparent chaos and oppression through primitive gestures. Jimin's dance, which has the softness and agility of a feather and the powerful vibration and intensity of a storm, causes catharsis and allows us to be swept away by his extremely personal truth. [FACE] amplifies the paradox of ecstasy through the dimension of Jimin and brings it into the inner self of the audience. It is no exaggeration to say that that sweet and hot experience is a joy that only Jimin can provide.
In his book , which created the 'Stendhal Syndrome', which refers to the shock and excitement felt when viewing an outstanding work of art, Stendhal defined it as "the degree of ecstasy is the only measure of beauty in music." [FACE] is as ecstatic as Jimin. This is why we can discover a high level of aesthetics in [FACE], an album that Jimin created with his breath and soul, and in which Jimin reborn himself.
Crazy fantastic
In [FACE], Jimin becomes the moon. The plot of the moon tattooed on his body, the presence of Jimin, who has a coldly shining gaze on stage, a mythical dynamism, and a subtle and mysterious aura that dispels the darkness, are represented by the moon and expanded into the entire world view of the album. The sacred fate of the waxing and waning of the moon has been the inspiration for numerous works of art throughout history. [FACE] creates a new grammar of K-pop by organically shaping the ecstasy, chaos, and vitality created by the moon with Jimin's music, dance, language, and images. Jimin elegantly grasps and holds these huge chunks of metaphysics with the power of existence, and at the same time overturns them with a sincerity that cannot be approached through interpretation.
The most dominant symbol of the moon in [FACE] is vitality. No matter how dark the moon goes through, it rises brightly again. This album sequentially deals with Jimin's journey to face and find freedom by confessing the betrayal, anger, wandering, and emptiness he experienced during the night of the pandemic. It starts with , where you look back with an angry face at the reality you want to escape from, , where you suddenly wake up from a dream to a loud knock on the door and face the present, and , where you walk alone in a room with the lights off. After passing the lonely peak of 'Set Me Free Pt.2', the last track, he declares to himself "Finally free". Through [FACE], Jimin learns how to coexist with the night and is reborn in a new light as a solo artist with his own narrative and sensitivity.
This narrative of recovery and regeneration is again visualized as waves originating from the moon, adding a layer to [FACE] as an artistic text. The concept trailer that announced the birth of the album is the basis of [FACE]'s visual worldview and depicts the passion of water created by the moon's gravity. This wave, created by light and darkness, above and below, water droplets and the sea, facing each other and reversing, spreads to all visible places, including [FACE]'s music video, artwork, and styling, condensing and resonating the lunar world view. The music video for the title literary depicts the highs and lows of Jimin's anxiety and isolation as he struggles in the waters of drunkenness and emptiness by comparing it to the dynamics of the tide. And with this rhetoric, we are submerged in the sorrowful joy of . The music video for focuses on the shape of the moon. On the stage of a circular prison, the poem from Rilke's “The Widening Circle” is engraved on the body and the bondage of life is expressed.
[FACE]’s moon world view is excellent and clever. It overwhelmingly satisfies the demands of ‘What should we tell?’ and ‘What should we show?’ that are particularly harsh to K-pop artists, and presents a new philosophy of popular art. As you explore the world of [FACE], which has been elaborately built with new imagination and grammar, you will fall into a daydream as if you are previewing Jimin dancing and singing dreamily under a pale light as bright as moonlight at a solo concert he will one day hold. The sense of synesthetic unity provided by this worldview that extends and is complete from Jimin also extends to the driving force and possibility of Jimin's success as he takes his first steps as a soloist. [FACE] The musical foundation Jimin has laid with just one album is so broad and strong.
Crazy violent
Jimin is a person who smiles at moments when he needs to grit his teeth and creates a rhythm at the breaking point. Jimin's beautiful and intense sense of rhythm, which simultaneously pierces and surpasses the anchor, and even leisurely looks back, bends even the universe to flow through his stage.
[FACE] was created with the impetus of that rhythm. [FACE] is an unexpected album. Even Jimin himself thought that he would be promoting conceptual music like an idol. Jimin in BTS music, who embodies his charm, lyricism, and performance ability in the best image, is powerful and brilliant. Even if he had released a solo album to follow up that appearance, the outcome of his predestined success would not have changed. However, Jimin quit street dancing and started modern dance, starting again from square one like in the past when he chose to become an idol trainee again. Among Jimin's many talents, his ability to judge when it is time to start over and push forward is the most crucial. He believes in himself that he will eventually do it.
[FACE] is bold like Jimin. At a time when the world, and perhaps even Jimin himself, were most urging him to show something right away ahead of his enlistment, he produced an album using a self-producing method that required a long time and pains. It would not have been easy for an idol loved by everyone to express through music the futility of a drunken night and the distress of human relationships. However, Jimin recorded the process in a documentary and even included a lyric note as an appendix, which included words that would make fans' hearts ache, such as "Even if you stab me." Jimin, who has always shown himself to be optimistic and cautious, must have had a lot of thoughts and concerns before making this decision. Nevertheless, the reason Jimin made this choice was probably because he had to.
Jimin created the album in-house for 10 months, writing lyrics while facing head on the ego he wanted to liberate through music, counting countless nights and dawns, and composing the melody with every note and breath. I tried to find the essence of Jimin's music by re-recording it countless times. Because they faced and jumped into the process so fiercely, there is no core in [FACE], even though it talks about sharp emotions that cannot be refined. Jimin's calm and elegant vocals as he sings the song convey the calm and contemplation unique to a creation that has been rethought and reworked countless times.
This album does not only contain the fierceness and sincerity of facing internal wounds. The title , created by adding sweet imagination to Jimin's sensitivity and narrative, may be the most honest song in [FACE]. This song, which is dizzyingly intertwined with Jee Man's deep and elastic vocals that pull at the depths of your heart and a climactic groove that makes you unable to take your eyes off, is a very bold display of Jimin's special charm, which has been expressed passively as 'knowing something'. Implement. The reason why that temptation is so powerful is because music and performance mix and explode violently within Jimin's mood. Because he started his career in music through dance, for Jimin, performance is not an afterthought to music, but a companion to it. Because Jimin created the title, wrote the melody and lyrics, and suggested the choreography, is filled with Jimin's own aesthetic rhyme from the origin to the lingering sound. is a song that only Jimin can express accurately. There aren't many artists who have songs that only they can complete.
Jimin was reborn as a solo artist with a new history and dreams as his story and inspiration matured and his album was created. He must have spent time working with thoughtful producers who understood what it was like to be Jimin, as if embracing each other, and realizing anew how joyful and great music is. So Jimin says that even if he could turn back time, he would work on the album the same way. Creation is painful, but only through that pain can an artist gain life. Being harsh on oneself is an artist's instinct and destiny. And Jimin has always faced that fate.
There is this phrase in Rilke’s poem “The Widening Circle,” which Jimin tattoos on his body in the music video for . “I live in a wide circle / The circle is getting wider and wider in the world / I probably won’t complete the last circle / But I give my whole being to the cause.” [FACE] is a song about Jimin giving his whole being. It is a ‘wide circle’ created. As if there were no limits to moonlight, the beautiful and true wave of circles created by Jimin will spread wider and farther.
#FACE#FACE_AnniversaryMonth#jimin#bts#park jimin#bts jimin#pjm#jiminie#bangtan#Isak Choi#Rolling Stones Kor#Like Crazy#Set Me Free Pt.2#1YearWithLikeCrazy#1YearWithFACE
48 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
longliveblackness
Long Live Blackness by Shaneyra Thompson
zamnoir
ZamNoir
tallpiggy
A tall piggy
f10werfae
.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡flower+..｡*ﾟ+
