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animeniacss · 4 months

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Memories in Ink - Seungcheol x Reader One-Shot

Synopsis: When you and Seungcheol talk about getting matching tattoos, you decide the only way to truly decide what you want is with a pen, a few beers, and your canvas-like skin.

Genre: Non-idol!Cheol, Tatted!Cheol, Established Relationship, Romance, Fluff, One-shot, Alcohol Consumption, Sexual Implication (Nothing explicit but be mindful), Humor

Length: approx. 3092 words

Memories in Ink - Seungcheol x Reader One-shot

Seungcheol’s head was fuzzy after a few drinks of alcohol. It only felt fuzzier when you approached him. His eyes took in the sight of you, wearing one of his large band tee shirts and – based on his quick inventory of your frame – nothing else. It made him grin, the dopey kind that offered his dimples to poke out. When you approached him, waving two drinks in his direction, Seungcheol silently welcomed you by pressing his palms behind him into the floor, denim-clad legs spread to offer you a spot in between them.

You nestled into the spot happily, handing Seungcheol a beer bottle. He took it into one hand, the other wrapping around your waist. His chin nestled in your neck, finding comfort in its warmth as he watched you take a long sip of your drink. When you set it on the coffee table, your hand replaced it with his arm. You examined it after picking it up from your waist. Seungcheol’s eyes studied you as your fingers traced along his arm muscles, along the few tattoos he had. “Having fun?” he asked in a low, amused hum. You nodded, and that only made Seungcheol nestle your neck a bit more, peppering a few butterfly kisses into the crook of your neck to make you giggle.

“Did they hurt?” he asked. Seungcheol shook his head. Your fingers continued tracking his arm, brushing along every tattoo. There weren’t too many, but they were beautiful and detailed. When you reached his hand, you propped it up. Seungcheol allowed his fingers to spread as you ran your hand along it. Your finger pressed against the small 95 written right under his pinkie finger. “Is this for your birthday? 1995?” you asked.

Seungcheol nodded. “Yeah. The three of us all have it.” Seungcheol’s hand turned enveloping yours into his own, encompassing it in a warm bubble of affection. “It was my idea. Jeonghan didn’t want to, but Jisoo and I convinced him after a bit of time.”

“That’s nice. I want to get one too.”

“Let’s get a matching one.” He suggested, but maybe it was the alcohol. When your head whipped around to finally stare at him, Seungcheol’s eyes widened at how stunned your reaction was. “What?” he asked.

“Really?” you grinned. Seungcheol laughed a bit at your sudden eagerness to the idea.

“Sure.” He said. He felt you release his arm, crawling from your spot in his lap and towards his desk drawer. As he watched you, he caught a peek of the shorts you had thrown on, hidden under the long tee shirt. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. You sat up on your knees, rummaging through the little drawer until you pulled out a pen. His eyebrow arched, silently observing you as you crawled back over to him. Nestling yourself back into his lap, you held up the pen.

“I have the best idea.” You said. Seungcheol sipped his drink as you took hold of his free arm. You held the pen in your hand, pressing it onto his skin. The sensation, the pressure tickled at first, but he remained still as you doodled on his arm, right beside his tattoo of a quote from one of his group's first albums. He couldn’t get a great look with your body acting as a barrier. He tilted his head to the side. “Come on, what are you making? I’m not good at this ‘Ghost Drawing’ game. I can’t guess.” A laugh escaped your lips.

“Here.” Seungcheol took his arm, admiring the little work of art you added to his growing collection. He saw a picture of a heart with a very ridiculous smiley face, each eye pupil facing in a different direction and its tongue sticking out. You smiled when he shot you a confused look.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“You don’t like it?” you asked curiously.

“What made you think of this?” he asked. Your laugh continued a bit, and Seungcheol’s arm wrapped around you, pulling you playfully to his chest. “You’re much drunker than you look, hm?” he asked.

“No,” you said, reaching for your half-empty bottle to prove your point. “Now I am.” You tossed the rest of the drink back. Seungcheol took the pen from the floor, reaching out and taking your arm. You turned your body, finally fully facing him. He gently rubbed along your skin, untouched up until this point. He glanced up at you, watching as you settled into your new position, before lifting your arm and pressing a playful kiss to your skin. Your head lolled to one side, grinning. That sound got Seungcheol’s Pavlov going, and he pressed another. Then one more, before he finally pulled back. In place of his lips, he pressed the pen to your skin. You squirmed for a second, Seungcheol’s grip only tightening to keep you steady.

“Don’t be such a baby.” He mumbled behind a smile. You leaned forward, using his forehead as a resting place to see. His tongue was sticking out from his mouth as he doodled away, and similar to him, you couldn’t get the best view with his head in the way. You simply took the moment to close your eyes, taking in the pressure on your skin as the warmth that enveloped you in a blanket. “Done.” Seungcheol finally said, and your eyes fluttered open. When you looked down, you grinned a bit.

“…What the hell is that?” you asked, lifting your arm for a better look. Upon closer inspection, it looked like…a face. A crudely drawn one, with an attempt at defined features that fell flat even on untouched, flat skin. Your response of an amused snort caused Seungcheol to pout.

“What?!” he asked. “It’s me!”

“How the hell do our tattoos match?” you asked, holding the two side by side. Seungcheol scanned the two for a minute, a grin forming on his face.

“Oh yeah. We were doing that.” You tossed your head back, another laugh ripping your body as you shoved him playfully, finally giving him the sign to laugh as well.

“Well, let me draw me on you so then we can match.” You reached for the pen, Seungcheol’s hand extending up and away from your grasp in playful response. When you stretched as far as you could, you groaned. “Cheol…” you murmured.

That pet name made the back of his neck burn, and he became putty in your hands, putting the pen in your grasp once again. He watched as you took another part of his arm, resting your head against his chest once again as you began your next work of art. Seungcheol looked down at you without another word as you worked. His head lolled to the side, resting his cheek onto the top of your head as you continued. His free hand snaked to your hip, snaking up the band tee and drawing gentle circles along your hip bone. You shivered a bit, but it didn’t stop you from your work.

“I’m thinking a big statement piece. Right here.” You laughed a bit, pressing your entire hang right on his forearm. Seungcheol snickered a bit, his cheek still finding a comfortable resting spot on your head.

His curiosity was piqued. “Of?”

“I’m thinking flowers and skulls and blood and-.” Seungcheol’s laughter caused you to look up, a grin on your face as you watched him cover his mouth. He leaned back a bit, shaking his head. “Am I really that funny?” you asked, hand raising to his hair and stroking it a bit. Seungcheol looked at you, shaking his head in amusement. When he snorted, the sound that came from his nose made both of your drunken brains begin cackling in amusement.

“Are you kidding? I’m not getting blood on my arm.” He finally managed to get out after a fit of laughter. Despite this, you took his arm back into your grasp, the pen getting to work on designing this ‘statement piece’. “You’re wasting your time.”

“But think of how cool it’ll be!”

“I don’t want to.” Seungcheol smiled. His free hand rubbed gently along your side, finally giving in and allowing you to doodle. This one seemed to take the longest, and Seungcheol hummed. “This is taking forever. Imagine how long a professional will take.”

“Are you saying I’m not a professional?!” You didn’t look up, but your voice was very offended.

“No. You’re not. Also-.” He watched as your hand shook a bit, causing a line to curve and squiggle, the sight alone sending you into a fit of giggles. “You’re drunk.”

“Okay. You got me there.” You snorted. Halfway through, you seemed to get bored, because you picked the pen up and immediately turned towards Seungcheol, taking his other hand in your grasp. “Wha- Hey.”

“I already don’t like it.” You said, and Seungcheol smiled. He watched you brush against his skin a few times, along the already inked doodles, and finally settle the pen onto one untouched piece. “There. This one won’t take long at all.” Seungcheol nodded, watching as you got to work. This hand remained trapped at your side, his fingers tickling your skin right where he could touch. You gasped in surprise. “Hey!” You looked up at him only to be met with a grin. “Do you want me to do this nice, or not?”

“Alright, I’m sorry.” He said. You finally pulled your pen away, and Seungcheol was left face to face with a music staff. The staff had 2 little whole music notes on either side. In the middle were two other non-music note symbols. Both were hearts, interlocked together as they supported one another on the lines of the staff. He chuckled.

“Oh, this one looks like one I’d get.” He admitted. “Very nice.” You nodded, before leaning down and pressing a kiss on the skin right beside the music note. “Hm?” His eyebrow cocked, though an amused smile sat on his lips. You glanced up at him, taking another beer in your hand and sipping.

“I couldn’t help it…” you murmured shyly behind the rim of the bottle. In response, Seungcheol reached out when you were distracted by your beer, taking the pen back into his grasp. “I’ve got a few more. Your arm, please.” He hummed playfully, to which you reluctantly obliged. Seungcheol pulled you back into his chest, holding you there comfortably as he extended your arm out. The pen pressed against the skin right above your inner elbow, the sensation causing you to immediately retract.

“Aaaah, that tickles.” You squirmed.

“But it’ll look really cool. I’m thinking vines and flowers.” His reasoning in no way swayed you fully, but he still extended your arm and got to work.

The both of you sat like that for a little while longer, exchanging the pen and doodling the first thing that came to your mind on each other’s skin. You were one another’s canvases at that point, open to endless possibilities. Each time a new doodle was added, as you had been, you both ended it by planting a little kiss right beside it. Your author’s mark, it seemed. Before you knew it, a few beers and a few pens later, your arms were covered in decorative doodles. As you admired them, Seungcheol finished his last beer, a deep sigh escaping his lips. You looked over at him.

“I hope this comes off.” You said. He grinned.

“You’re worried about that now?” he asked. Leaning forward, he pulled you closer onto his lap, arms snaking around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck. Your hands loosely fell along his neck, toying with the hair on the back of his head and neck. “I think I drank too much.” He grumbled under his breath.

“Yeah?” you laughed a bit, and he only nodded in confirmation. Looking down, you took Seungcheol’s arm into your grasp one last time.

“You have more?” he asked, looking up at you. You nodded, pressing the back of the pen against his cheek.

“Get a tattoo of your dimples.” You said. He grinned into the pen, his dimples poking out. “Perfect.” As if that somehow answered his question, you looked down at his arm, snaking down to his wrist. Taking the pen, you pressed the tip between the doodle of a drawn penguin and an even worse attempt – well more like four attempts – at drawing a perfect star. You began doodling. Seungcheol watched you, pulling away just a bit to give you the space you needed to sit comfortably as you drew. His wrist sat loosely in your hands, fingers wiggling each time the tip pressed against the sensitive parts of his wrist. “Almost done. Don’t be such a baby.”

Seungcheol pouted at his earlier comment being thrown back at him. “I am not.” He argued, but you only laughed at him. Upon further inspection, Seungcheol noticed what looked to be a steam being formed on his wrist, each line laying over where one of his veins might one day pop up. Once the lines were in place, your pen pressed back in again. Your view was upside down, so when your head tilted a bit to see better, Seungcheol had to laugh. Finally, you pulled the pen back. Seungcheol went to pull the picture to his face for a better view, but you stopped him quickly. “What?” he asked, eyebrow arched. You turned his wrist towards you one last time, pressing a kiss just above it, on the palm of his hand. He smiled a bit unable to control the trickle of red on his cheeks. “Oh.” He muttered sheepishly. Finally ready, he turned it towards himself. The fruit, he noticed.

“I like that one.” You said softly. Pressing your own wrist beside his, which was a bit smaller, you pointed. “I’ll get the same thing. We can get them colored in, maybe each cherry is a different shade of red. Something to tie them both together.” The fact that it was already planned out was amusing, if not touching, to Seungcheol. His finger brushed against the ink, a light smudge brushing against the steam and leaf portion.

“Where’d you think of this one?” he asked curiously.

“Cherry sounds like Cheolie.” You admitted, the verbalization of your thoughts only made your cheeks match the intended color of the fruit in question. “I don’t know. You don’t think it’s cheesy?”

“Well, I didn’t say that.” He laughed when his comment was rewarded with a playful shove. “It’s cute. I like it.”

“Okay. Good.” You seemed to remember at that moment that these were all drawn in pen, not professional tattoo ink. “Oh. Let me get my phone.” You got up from Seungcheol’s lap one more time, making him look over and follow your steps to the kitchen counter, where you had left your phone in exchange for the first few rounds of drinks. Scrambling back over, you knelt down and positioned Seungcheol’s wrist. “Hold still.” You said.

“Okay.” He watched as you snapped a few pictures of his wrist for the future. “If we did get there, we’d absolutely have to pick a different spot. Maybe my forearm.” You looked up at Seungcheol put his hands over his head, allowing his forearms to bulge out just a bit. He traced the place he was thinking with his other hand, your eyes following the stunning muscle very carefully. Very carefully. Seungcheol immediately noticed how quiet you went, and it made him grin. “Deal?” he asked.

“Uh. Okay.”

“You have no idea what I said.” He smirked.

“Yes, I do!” You gasped, cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I could have just had you agree to get a tattoo of me on your forehead and you would have said yes. You were so focused.” Seungcheol, cockiness starting to return, flexed his forearms once again. You groaned, covering your face in your hands as Seungcheol laughed. “You’re too funny.” He said. Two fingers spread apart, allowing your eyes to appear enough to look up at Seungcheol, who was still grinning like an idiot at how flustered he had made you. Finally setting his arms down, he reached forward and pressed a little kiss to your head. You pouted, but the kind gesture made you melt into his touch a bit more, nestling closer. He chuckled in amusement. For the first time since the both of you made your home on the floor, silence filled the area, both of you just taking a second to enjoy each other’s company.

Seungcheol’s lips pulled from your forehead, just barely, as you could still feel the breath tickle your forehead. Your eyes darted up just as you heard him mumble: “I think I really love you.”

“Cheol…” you breathed softly, looking up at him. “Come on.” Those words tugged at your heartstrings.

“I’m serious.” He said. “Dead serious.”

“Heh…” You smiled a bit as Cheol’s hands gripped your waist, fear in his touch that you would get up and leave. However, you only scooted closer, brushing hair from his face. Seungcheol looked down at you, his glazed and slightly drunk eyes shaking as they studied your face. “I love you too.” You breathed. “Just promise you’ll tell me again when you’re sober, okay?”

A deep chuckle, followed by: “Okay.” And a swift dip of his neck to offer you a kiss. You immediately returned it, both of your bodies melting together. Your hands snaked up to his neck, gripping it in an attempt to pull your closer to you so that you could never forget this moment even after your mind sobered up a bit. Seungcheol seemed to have the same idea, pulling you close to him by clinging to your waist.

When your hands slipped down to his chest, thumbs rubbing light circles right under his collarbones, Seungcheol pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. He took a second, both of you catching your breath before he spoke. “Want to see which of these things washes off first?” he asked. You nodded, smiling. Seungcheol grinned, standing up. Just as you got to your feet, Seungcheol pulled you close. His arms wrapped just under your butt, and you shrieked as he hoisted you up. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist for support. It didn’t help much, as he staggered a bit in hopes of steadying himself. “Are you sure you’re sober enough for this?” you asked, looking down at him. “Uh, no.” he hummed, before spinning around and making his way into the bathroom.

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blueberrybladelemonade · 9 months

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Colors of Chance

Pepperman x Reader

(Inspired by another lovely comic by @pervertedindividual this is for you, fren🫂💜)

Comic by them:

Takes place after Y/N's first meeting with Pepperman from Colors of Expression but diverges from that fic completely after that! You don't need to read that fic for this one!

Contains: The anthropomorphic pepper makes fun of you. Again. A very tiny amount of angst. Fluff ending.

"Oh! It's that Y/N girl again." How fortunate that Pepperman had the chance to see you again. It had been weeks since he seen you last at the studio. He cringed inwardly as he recalled your (deserved) tirade at him. You had come into the studio one other time since that day. What happened instead was that you had opened the door, locked eyes with his, and simply turned around and left.

"Hmm." You click your tongue, startled at the sudden voice nearby.

"Hello there".

"Oh. It's you." You scoff and wipe your hand with a dry rag. "Don't worry I'll be taking my ugly art elsewhere".

"No need I want you to stay." Pepperman stepped towards you and pat you on the shoulder. He wants me to...stay? You give him a silent look to continue as your heart fluttered just a tiny bit.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot last time so how about we start over on good terms"?

You pause for a moment, before giving him a small smile. "Okay".

"Splendid!" He replies, giving you a smile of his own. "So what are you creating?" He asked, glancing over your shoulder at your latest work.

"Well, I'm doing a finger painting of this-" he stifled a laugh. "Wha-Hey! What's so funny?! You snap, feeling heat rise at the back of your neck.

"Finger painting on a big canvas? Quite bohemian don't you think?" He lets out a laugh.

You snort. "So?"

"Wouldn't it be better and more efficient to use brushes instead"?

What a jerk. you felt your eye twitch. So much for getting off on the wrong foot. At some point you tuned out his voice as he continued mocking your art. Your nostrils flared.

"To be honest I think it's cute-"

An exasperated yell torn from your throat, drowning out what ever other critique this overgrown vegetable was spewing. Pepperman's mouth dropped taken aback by the shift in your demeanor.

"Must you judge everything! Where do you get off from criticizing others, huh"?! You snarl.

"I-"

"No! Forget it! This was a mistake." You felt a burning prickle in the corner of your eyes and spun around before tears threatened to spill over.

"And to think I looked up to you." You choked out, barely audible to even yourself.

* * * * *

As you grumbled to yourself as you sunk into the couch. Meeting your idols is a mistake. You huff and cross your arms, glaring into the empty space.

Many months ago there had been a local art convention that caught your attention. You remembered reading the article and the hosted events and grew curious. You had never been to something like this and on a whim decided to make that your plan for the week.

There had been a variety of talents that day. Light and airy melodies echoed throughout the hallways as you took in the drawings around you. Some were vivid hues, some all done in black in white. More still were all of the different styles, all as unique as the artists.

As the day progressed you claimed a seat in the auditorium. You settled yourself in the middle of the row, not too close and not too far away from the podium and waited. That's when you had met him.

You couldn't remember much, if anything, about the other speakers that had come and gone. The individual that stuck out to you that day was a massive pepper that had taken the podium. He had introduced himself as Phil Pepperman and you very clearly recalled how eloquent he spoke. Even his euphemisms were almost poetic as he discussed his art and what he was passionate about.

From what you had learned was that he was rising in fame in your town. He was very strict in his art techniques, refusing to diverge and add any elements not matching what ever style he was emulating.

While you disagreed with the notion of never adding your own twist to your art, you had respect Pepperman for it. His strict adherence to each style was something you could admire. As he displayed some of his illustrations on the projector - side by side with other works in those specific styles - you almost couldn't tell the creators apart.

That was his talent and Pepperman almost had it down to a science. He could mimic most styles he studied and depict what ever he had wanted in it. The downside, however, was that unconventional methods were something he looked down on.

A small scowl formed on your face as you took another sip of your drink. That didn't give him an excuse to be such an asshole though.

Truth be told, you had begun looking up art Pepperman had created and sometimes you'd see his creations on display at festivals. His art was always something you could recognize but maybe that had more to do with the fact he drew himself in various styles. A lot.

Pompous jerk. He only- you jolt up with a start, the sudden screaming from your phone almost causing you to drop it.

"Hello"?

"Hi is this Y/N?" The caller asked.

"Uh, yes"?

"Hi Y/N It's Dave from the studio. I was cleaning out the racks today and noticed you left one of your paintings here. Did you want to collect it or should we throw it out"?

"O-oh," "Thank you, I didn't know I left something there. I'll come get it tomorrow".

You exchange a few more pleasantries before coming up with the excuse that you needed to go.

* * * * *

You arrive at the studio and weave through the random people to make your way to the wall. Most times you didn't mind lingering and making small talk but you weren't in the mood today. There were paintings, clay, and brushes were set to dry or to return to another day.

As you locate your name labelled above one of the slots, you the pull out the canvas and your eyes widen. It was the painting you had been working on last week that you abandoned. A few places had smeared paint, another few had grass and dirt clung and dried into it. That aside though, it was intact. But why was it here?

You quirk a brow as you see a bright green paper folded and taped to the side. The note comes off easily enough and you pull it open.

Y/N if able, could you meet me at the rooftop of Tirizia's this Sunday?

~PP

You let out a huff as you eyes lock onto the all too familiar signature.

Seriously? Why? What did he want? Wasn't Tirizia's that restaurant with the fancy rooftop garden?

* * * * *

It was.

Ivy grew along the stone walls with an occasional pop of color from a flower. As you looked further inside, a large stone and marble structure was in the center of the restaurant. Glass from overhead had filtered light directly onto it as water tumbled down from the peak. From the base there was a small pond surrounded by tables where you could sit and feel the light mist.

Your eyes settled on the stairwell in the distant corner. A trail of flowers lined the railing all the way up and at the top you could see a faint arch illuminated softly. Very briefly you argued with yourself if you should just turn and walk out. Why did you want to meet Pepperman, anyway? He turned out to be insufferable and hated your art. Yet he went out of his way to take your painting to the studio.

Despite wanting to leave, you found your legs carrying you up each step to the rooftop.

"Ah, there you are Y/N." You glance to the side and see Pepperman sitting at a table with a canvas in front of him. There was an empty space beside him with an equally blank canvas, unoccupied.

You eye Pepperman suspiciously as he gestures for you to sit next to him. You shake your head and only take a few steps towards him. This probably wouldn't take long, the minute he started to say anything critiquing you, you were leaving.

"Thank you for saving my terrible painting and taking it to the studio, but you didn't have to".

Pepperman gives you a small frown, "Why do you think it's terrible"?

Your stare at him in disbelief. "Well let's see. The first time you seen my art, you called it a "tragic amalgam" and THEN last week you made fun of me for finger painting on a large canvas. Like who does that? Why do you think..."

"Y/N".

You can't even hear him, instead you continue your rant. "I mean seriously, just because its 'bohemian' at least I CAN add my-"

"Y/N"! Pepperman shouts over you, losing his composure for a moment.

You stop and purse your lips, a scowl flashing across your face. Why did you think you should try talking with Pepperman a THIRD time? You should've left like you were going to. Instead you flinch as he strode over to you and clasps a hand on your shoulder.

He looks away, lowering his eyes to the restaurant below. "I said your art was cute".

"Wha-"?

"I think your finger painting was cute. It was unorthodox and yet you were quite content. Despite the huge mess." He chuckled to himself.

"I...huh"? You couldn't but remain rooted in place. Pepperman actually...thought your art was cute?

"So why didn't you just say that instead of making fun of me?" You glared but your eyes shone with a mix of curiosity.

"Because it's unorthodox. You're an eccentric one, Y/N. I can't make sense of your methods or techniques." His eyes returned your gaze, "You don't follow any rules to what you create, you simply do what you like. It's both whimsical and confusing for one who always follows guidelines and tradition".

As Pepperman finished speaking silence spread between you both. You remained speechless as you tried to process what he had said, only the echo of water and voices from below were heard.

After what felt like minutes Pepperman slowly returned to his seat, as he sat down he looked back at you expectantly.

You clicked your tongue and sat in front of the other canvas. The objects in front of you weren't food, you realized, it was assorted paints.

Pepperman gives you a nervous smile, "I was hoping you would allow me the honor of finger painting with you..."

You crack a wide smile, "With no brushes".

"With no brushes." He repeats and nods, "On a large canvas overlooking this splendid balcony".

You shift and get comfortable in the chair and look over the colors you had. A small groan is heard and you cast a sideways glance at Pepperman. You stifle a laugh as he tentatively picks up a container of bright blue paint. He looked uncomfortable, as he dipped a finger into the thick mixture, but that was a small price to pay as you let out a laugh.

#pizza tower #pepperman x reader #pepperman #pizza tower x reader #🫐bladezfics #pizza tower fanfic

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pain-is-too-tired · 1 year

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Revived Moth!Jon au info!

OK kinda based off my rambling in a discord I'm in. And art I recently posted.

But au where Jon doesn't make it out of his kidnapping by Nikola and ends up "dieing" some shape or form.

Even with everything of course the ritual doesn't work.

Jon however is taken and somewhat brought back by the web, he's got not much of a memory but what he does remember is

1. Not trusting the web in general

2. Dislike to hatred for avatars of the stranger.

3. Martin and Tim even if not much

Due to him so being distrusting of The Web they end up keeping him in one place until they can get him tamed.

He's made to be very moth like, especially as parts of him still are built back.

His rebuilt skin does seem to be still flesh, but you can notice it looks as if weaved about him.

His haired even longer, like a mane laid over his shoulders no longer tied up.

Since he had been touched by The eye pretty strongly (probably still technically an avatar) his eyes glow green, though the web shields him from being known by Elias.

His moth like wings covered in eye looking marks.

The place he's kept in is covered in webs, living him trapped like a spiders prey. Though stranger avatars/not!them have come by since its close to their headquarters of function. Often they end up being attacked if they cross into his threshold at all.

Thinking of as a way to try tame him in some way the web kidnaps Martin and gets him close to the threshold Jon's bonded in.

Jon's immediate reaction it to protect Martin.

Of course the others come to save Martin, unable to recognize Jon due to how different he looks.

Also think it's important the not that after Jon's "death" there is a lot of chaos in the archives.

1. They lose what little cooperation they have with Elias, especially since it was well over a month before they learned Jon had been kidnapped and later killed.

2. Martin just freaking looses it on everyone, he's no longer putting up his harmless facade anymore. He matches the tone everyone else had given Jon and if that isn't a wake up call idk what is.

3. It's much easier to put blame onto Jon for their situation when you can argue he's having it easier in your mind. Being skinned to death however is a problem you can't just brush off. Elias no longer has someone to take on the blame of his actions in the view of the others.

You can't distrust anymore someone who is dead, especially when the one you know is all seeing had refused to act on it.

All in all Elias might try make a new Archivist (most likely Martin since getting a new new Archivist in that climate would not be wise)

But since he underestimated Martin it's a lot harder to try set him up then with Jon.

So already before they go into trying to save Martin tensions are high. Basira, Melanie and Daisy are bit thrown off by the sudden change, especially given Martin's change in attitude towards all of them.

Tim however becomes very protective of Martin, trying his best to keep their sanity. Afterall, all they have left is eachother.

So he's of course the one to lead on the plan to get Martin back.

Think only Basira and Melanie maybe come with him, Daisy probably still be made to run errands for Elias just to keep her from trying to strangle him frxrf

Jon's gonna only recognize Tim however, immediately trying to protect him. He'll precieve the others as a threat especially when a gun's aimed at him.

Tim will be jumpy with Jon at first, but when he makes a move that's a bit too simular to Jon I think it might click for him.

Also another side note that Melanie must likely is gonna have to break Jon's "death" to Georgie which could make their relationship rocky for a bit or just draw them closer depending on Georgie's reaction(Jon still was her friend even if no romantic feelings were left)

I just think that's important to note in the idea of Jon being precieved dead early on.

#mine #revived moth!jon au #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #tma au #moth!jon au #moth!jon #my au #sorry for the rambling gfrfr #pain randoms #tma season 3 spoilers

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camping-with-monsters · 11 months

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Genuinely speaking, what was up with people (on Twitter, mostly) spreading around screenshots of random artists posting their art improvements and people getting upset that their art had a “downgrade” and that they actually went backwards on improvement with their art. I remember there being an underlying issue that was the cause of this sudden thing, frankly I don’t 100% remember what it was. Now I don’t know too much about the people they usually did this with, if I had to be honest. Maybe the people/screenshots they always referenced were not great people. Regardless of whatever, here’s my two cents on that action as a whole, completely disregarding whatever that original issue was, cause I’m not opposed to believing that this still happens to unassuming artists trying to mind their own business.

I guess y’all have never once considered that improvement is a versatile thing with art. Maybe people’s art styles seem to change to, what you consider as, “for the worst” because you look at it with a blind eye based on a scale of “high quality art” vs “low/lower quality art”. That’s black and white. Whatever happened to considering the art process? Maybe for some artists, the style changes you consider “downgrades” are easier on the artist to work with. More efficient for them, even. The efficiency of making the process easier for them plus having a style to correlate with the tweaking of their process is improvement on it’s own. Sure, maybe their art looks different than it did some time back, but that’s because art is ever changing for everyone.

People draw what they want however they want, and if they want to switch up the process on how they make art, that’s not for you, the person who did not draw their art, to judge. I promise you that the artist probably doesn’t actually care if you miss their old style. Maybe they don’t miss it. And maybe they don’t miss it for a number of reasons other than quality. Maybe they didn’t like a certain thing they did with their shading, or didn’t like that they were spending 5 hours on perfecting the linework (I’ve been there before, it’s tedious.). Maybe that artist wanted to add steps to their process or rid of unnecessary ones. Improvement with art is not specific just to the changes of quality of their art. Drawing is a process— it’s not easy without practice and can sometimes be stressful and strain you. Your body hurts from arching your neck so low into a sketchbook or your fingers hurt from using a pen for so long. Your eyes and head hurt from staring into a digital screen for so long, and often you forget about your own physical needs because you just have to get this one detail right first.

Everyone who doesn’t draw will digress. “Art is easy”. No. It’s. Not. It’s only easy for you because all you have to do is look at it.

You do not get to decide if or how an artist has improved or whether or not they have improved at all. You will never be able to see a piece the same way as the artist who put time and effort into their craft as if nursing their own young. It’s not your job to make comments or even critiques unless the artist has opened up to the idea, whether or not you mean it with lighthearted or helpful intentions. Your job, as the viewer of the art, is to view and to share the art. That’s literally it. You are not, and never will be, entitled to tell an artist that they have somehow not improved. You didn’t make their art. You don’t know why they made these changes. You don’t get to question that. Their art improvement does not lie just within whatever’s on the canvas. You love the art, but often forget that there is a person behind said canvas who meticulously plans every stroke of their brush, what colors to use, and like Atlas with the world on his back, they carry with them years worth of practicing how to draw eyes, hands, backgrounds, perspectives, this thing, that thing, you name it. You forget about the fact that people (the same kind that you are criticizing) are the only things that can create the things you love with their love. By insulting what you deem as “bad improvement” by your standards, you insult the entire process; not just what you see firsthand. Think whatever you want to think in your head— but you best trap it if your words could offend, lest you find yourself taking just one organism off of a food web, throwing the entire course on its side.

Honest to god, what happened to being happy for someone making a positive change for themselves that they are happy with themselves?

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comfysofti · 2 months

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(something i wrote based on my headcanons)

I like having random rushes of inspiration, so here we are :33

Also, artist Sanford, and guitarist Deimos>>>

(Please tell me y'all see this)

Drawing was something he did often. In the past before madness began

It was a nice way, to portray feelings, emotions, ideas. Lots of things

His colour pallet, used to he colourful. Filled with varieties of shades. Cool, warm, dull and bright, and what not. It was nice experience. Feeling the brush move over the canvas. One stroke after another, makes a nice picture

But now, the palate is dull, filled with greys, and occasional reds. Not that he's paintings were really "normal" but now they were just feeling truly off, with this lack of colour. Already strange figures, and bodies, shapes on the drawings and sketches looked weird. Wrong. Like something that shouldn't exist

This definitely reflects how Nevada feels nowadays

A place where nothing belongs. Where everything is weird. Wrong

Even today, he was sitting, scribbling something in his sketchbook. Thick, grey lines, of the pen, were filling the empty paper. There's not much room in the noise, besides the pen scribbling over the paper. The only noise in the room was Deimos checking the new strings on his guitar. "Its hard to find good strings here these days" he would say often, so he would hold to every string he had, until they broke on their own

But with the new strings, the guitar sounded brand new. Clear sounds. Nice melody

Sounds were like colourful bubbles in Sanford's head. Different shades and shapes. that's probably the only thing that hadn't dulled in his head over the years of this madness and murders all over

"...am i distracting you?"

Deimos asks, the question feels somewhat sudden. Or rather just unexpected. He never did to be honest. Sanford just shook his head, nor really tearing away his attention from the sketching. Not often you have time to draw like that. In peace. So, better not waste it

"alright. Just checking"

Smoker replies, with a shrug, returning the attention to guitar. Now, with the new strings, he can actually play properly for once. Although, no new strings will heal his ruined fingertips...

But, now, it's time for a proper test

His fingers, move over the strings, pressing where needed, moving somewhere fast, somewhere slow. Whatever the song requires. That's one good thing about having good sound memory. Replicating soundtracks or songs is much easier this way

And that's exactly what he's doing

That's a nice mix of noise from two, artistic people. Although both are murderers, who said that broken mind can't create beautiful things?

One creates through art

Another through music

One inspires the other

That's a nice harmony, amongst the chaos that Nevada is. A short moment of peace

#madness combat #writing #madness combat sanford #madness combat deimos #idk what else to add #i just wanted to write something with them #so i did #idk how much sense all this makes #i wrote this in like 10 minutes #anyways #here we are

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ferallymine · 7 months

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Act 2 - Confessions of a Lost Boy

a/n: yeah i romanced Astarion what of it? Kaledia is my super-graphic-ultra-modern girl bard Durge and Rhododendron (Rho) is my you-dumb-bastards druid Tav. more to come because i'm obsessed.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Kaledia walked along the shoreline at the edge of the moonlight barrier. The Last Light Inn provided enough space for one to walk quietly, lost in thought. Away from the noise of panic and battle tactics.

Water graced her feet, drawing her to take a step. Kaledia obeyed its beckoning, shedding her shoes and armor. She undid her braids- Rho will have a fit about that later- and walked into the water just enough to cover her ankles. The hem of her pants just barely skimmed the surface. A gentle breeze toyed with her hair, making it flow like a cape behind her.

Kill the cleric. Imagine the beauty in the bloodshed that will descend!

The bard shuddered, crossing her arms. The violent thoughts still plagued her mind. As if she needed more unwanted presences. She shook her head, forcing the Urge from her mind.

Set every building in this cursed place ablaze. Rhododendron will never lift that curse- might as well make these abandoned places artful masterpieces of ash and bone.

With a scrunch of her nose, she shook her head again. Kaledia began quietly humming, tracing her feet in the water. Composing songs and ballads always managed to calm her down- this time being no different.

Tiny wisps of purple and pink escaped her fingertips and Kaledia conducted the air. If a bystander listened close enough, they could make out a faint tune. The bard’s eyes glazed over, feet dancing in steps to match the rhythm of her new piece. One arm stayed close to her chest while the other continued its maestro guidance.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The suddenness of the voice shocked her out of her daze. Whatever music one could hear was gone in an instant- joining the wind brushing past. Her eyes met Astarion’s- his shoes and armor discarded beside hers in the sand. His feet joined hers in the water.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone out here. Aren’t you cold?”

He chuckled, “I’m always cold, darling.”

“Cute, but what brings you by? I thought you were reading.”

“There’s too much chatter among the others. I can’t think with all that racket up there.” Astarion’s face softened as he continued, “But now I’m down here with you... and… I think we need to talk.”

He hates you.

“What’s wrong?” She turned to face him, hoping to any divine that her face wouldn’t betray her fear. Another gust of wind picked her hair up, flowing it delicately behind her.

“Listen, I… had a plan." A puzzled look, but he continued, " A nice, simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me.” His smile attempted to make light of his words, but his eyes betrayed his sorrows, “All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was… not fall for you. Which is where my nice, simple plan… fell apart.”

Kaledia kept silent, taking in what he was confessing. See? None of it was real.

“It was… instinctive. 200 years a slave, using my body to bring targets back to him… old habits die hard in the face of uncertain survival.” His breath was shaky- was that a tear in his eye?, “I just… feel awful. You’re incredible. You’ve done amazing things since the crash, bringing me along for the ride. You’ve fallen for a façade and I… I want this… I want us to be real.” His hands were trembling ever so slightly.

There was heartbeats of silence. Had he fucked this up? Astarion held his breath unconsciously, mind racing and waiting for any response. A slap. A scream. Hells, even if she drove a spike through his chest he wouldn’t blame her rage. All he’d done was use her since the tadpole invaded his body. Was that what he’d become- an invasion to her body?

Her next words surprised him.

“Starlight, I’ve always cared for you.” His nickname on her tongue always sounded like honey. Kaledia took a step, closing the distance between them.

Tears brimmed in his eyes, a quiet whisper breathed out, “Really?”

She closed her eyes. A psionic pulse encapsulated their small space on the beach. Astarion felt their adventures up to this point rush to the forefront of his memory. Their first meeting at the crash site, grabbing arms so they didn’t fall into the hole in the spider’s cave, the entirety of the temple of Selune, the tiefling kids in the Grove, the tiefling party… their first time as they snuck away from camp. In each wave of memory, all he could feel was wonder and love. From her perspective, he’s always been Astarion- not just a spawn.

“It’s always you, my love.” Kaledia opened her eyes, the psionic wave dissipating. “It’s never been about looks or what you can do for me.”

Astarion’s voice caught in his throat, unable to shake the anxiety he now found himself in. This was all new territory… was such love able to be given to someone like him? He gingerly held out his hand, waiting to see what she would do.

Please take it.

She grasped his hand, brining it up to her lips. A gentle kiss grazed his fingers before she rested his palm on her cheek. Kaledia visibly relaxed at his touch, leaning into his palm.

“May I hug you?” Her amethyst eyes looked up. He knew he could say no and she wouldn’t think less of him for it.

He nodded silently in response, a tear escaping down his cheek.

“You don’t have to lick love off of knives, Astarion.” A gentle whisper in his ear, “Love can be freely given, without anything expected in return.”

His breath hitched, arms delicately holding her close. She could pull away if she wanted- could still escape and save herself from the burden of loving such a lost boy. Who are you without Cazador? Are you worthy of love in this void of lost identity? Who is Astarion, and does he deserve what others are willing to give? After everything you’ve done? After who you’ve done?

A sudden wave from the lake lurched on the couple. The water was so cold, Kaledia shrieked and lost her balance. Astarion tried to catch her, but fell beside her into the water. They were soaked, head to toe.

Kaledia’s breath gasped, sitting up in the frigid water. She wiped algae from her eyes and pulled her hair back from her face. Astarion sat up beside her, spitting more water from his mouth.

The absurdity of it all… she couldn’t help but laugh. He joined in, realizing she wasn’t laughing at him. After helping each other stand up, she brought his face close. Their soaked foreheads touched in another tender moment.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Hand in dripping wet hand, they began their walk back up the hill to the Inn.

——

Shadowheart elbowed Rho in the ribs, “What was that for?”

The drow winced before ducking back under cover. She snuck another peek at the shore before responding, “I got tired of waiting.”

“They’ve been fucking for weeks!” A harsh whisper.

“Yeah, but they just now fell in love.” Rho massaged her ribs, “Sometimes a good cold shower snaps people out of their anxiety spirals.”

#kaledia myst #rho avri #bg3 oc #bg3 #astarion #shadowheart #i love them okay #act 2 #they're my BABIES and i LOVE THEM #theyre so STUPID and DUMBASSES and theyre all IN LOVE

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stolenwetfloorsign · 1 year

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are you alive 😟

Nah man I'm a college student

Here's a compilation of everything I've written for Seongjun x 244 and will not finish.

My, Jinho teaches Seongjun to drive, HC:

Exhaustion and tired feet can make any beat up honda civic look like a golden chariot. That's a world 244 probably never experienced, not when he can throw the keys of his brand new Maserati at Seongjun without a second thought.

“I can’t drive.” Seongjun says at the steering wheel, one hand awkwardly balanced on the stick shift, the other ghosting over the wheel. 244 kicks back in his passenger seat, a ghoulish smile contorts his tattooed face as he closes his eyes.

“I know.” He sighs, then points to the shifter. “Reverse, wheel to the left.”

Seongjun follows blindly, watching the cars around him with an eye of frauded confidence.

“Drive.” 244 says, ever unhelpful. It takes Seongjun a moment to figure out what he means, sitting halfway out of a parking spot he drags the stick shift to match with different letters on the screen. R for reverse, N for… he doesn’t know, D for drive.

Foot off the break, the car creeps forward.

Anngst:

What happens when the cameras turn off and the lights go dim? With nothing but his own self consciousness to keep him in check. There are probably enough knives in this room to split open every lens, and more for the light fixtures. Seongjun contemplates it for a moment, the room dark and nothing but shattered glass falling from the ceiling.

Omakase June's door chime rings followed by the familiar sound of loafer clad footsteps. His presence does nothing to alleviate the darkness of the room, drawing a thunderous cloud with him as he walks. A bright smile that pulls Seongjun back to the state of his restaurant, dirty knives and food made simply for a camera.

Beach Episode:

Jinho smiles up at the woman who refills his martini through thick Dior shades. He thanks her with a wave of his hand and takes another first sip, relaxing into the smell of sea water and his lounge chair by the beach. A gentle breeze ruffles the open collar of his Hawaiian shirt, and politely chills the sweat forming on his brow.

My personal favorite that I really wish I had the energy to write the rest of:

When your body has been trained to fight every casual touch becomes an act of violence. Electrified skin and a burst of adrenaline that tear through quiet moments like a rabid animal. The eyeliner pen that works on Seongjun’s throat is an awful reminder, exposure therapy of some sort. With 244’s weight keeping him in place, the felt tipped pen teases his arteries, asking to be snapped.

“You’re moving too much.” 244 sighs, pausing to adjust.

“You’re practically on top of me, how is that possible?”

“Not your body, your head, it has a mind of its own.”

“Well,” Seongjun laughs, 244 drags a hand through his hair and pulls at the roots.

“Keep still and it will be over sooner.” He says and resumes the delicate line work.

When your body has been trained to kill it can feel everything. The pressure points in someone’s neck that beg to be throttled, and the pulsing of a heartbeat waiting to stop. 244 trains his focus to his art, easy curved lines of ocean waves over Seongjun’s jawline that frame the gaping mouth of a shark.

He handles Seongjun harder than he needs to. Rough hand pressed into the back of his neck and all of his weight spread across his thighs. Seongjun takes it with a sense of urgency. He handles 244 gentler than he needs to. Both hands placed softly on his thighs, as if a sudden movement may have him flapping away.

“How old were you, Seongjun?” 244 asks, capping his pen and reaching around him for a pallet of sorts.

“When?” Seongjun prompts him, naturally fitting a hand around 244’s back as he leans over.

“When they gave you all these.” 244 drags a finger over Seongjun’s shoulder, stopping at the edge of red.

“17,” he sighs, “maybe 18.”

“Impressive.” 244 dabs a new brush into the watercolor pallet now situated between their stomachs. He begins filling in the shark on Seongjun’s neck with a dark gray. “You were well loved.”

“Well loved.” Seongjun echos, straying from the moment. He cringes as the paint brush ghosts over his Adam's apple, and unwillingly grips 244 harder.

Daddy Issues(TM):

That kicked puppy expression looks good on him, 244 thought as he watched Seongjun’s first stream. A presence that made him seem docile, and hands viewers could lose themselves in. 244 was not above it, he groomed those nails so they looked camera ready. Seongjun was still just a boy without a father, taught how to take care of himself by yakuza runts and juvie staff. A nice tailored suit and shoes that actually fit were nearly enough to have him on his knees.

That kicked puppy expression looks good on him, 244 thinks as he looks down on it. He always had a talent for putting strong willed men to their knees.

That's it boys. I shall now Rest In Peace.

#sushibird #how to fight #baek seongjun #244 #viral hit

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somethingsupwithdrac · 2 years

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No letters from Jonathan, Mina, or Lucy today. :(

Poe Daily number three is here, though, and it’s another of my favourites!

The Oval Portrait is short but decidedly not sweet, although quite effective. It’s another of Poe’s “death of a beautiful woman” themed works, which pops up a lot because he thought that it was the most poetical topic in the world. We stan a gothic king.

This one inspired elements of Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray (if you have not read it, go read it, please I love it), but they’re used in a different way. You have the supernatural portrait there, but it reveals something about the subject and not the artist. Buuut I’m not here to talk about Dorian Gray, so.

I like how this is framed as an unnamed narrator who, having been injured in some way (fun fact: there was originally a slightly longer version of this story that explains exactly how but it got cut for relevance after the initial publication), holes up in an abandoned mansion in Italy with his valet. Honestly, exploring creepy old mansions and finding dark secrets therein is such a classic and fun horror trope. My favourite versions are ones like this, where the people telling the story break in, find it apparently very recently abandoned, and still go “hm, yeah, this looks like a great place to bed down/explore. Surely there is no horrifying reason it looks like the owners ran for their lives in the middle of the night.”

So we have our narrator, a bit delirious with blood loss, and his valet, making themselves at home in this great abandoned mansion, and finding himself transfixed by the paintings on the walls and the conveniently placed guidebook to them. He spends hours looking at them and reading about each one and then...one he hasn’t seen before catches his eye, almost like it’s calling to him and specifically drawing his attention to it. And of course, it’s a portrait of a beautiful young woman, so radiant and lovely as to almost seem alive, and it’s this strange lifelike quality that soon disturbs our narrator enough to go looking for its explanation in the book, and oh, boy, what an explanation it is.

She was the artist’s wife, to her own eventual misfortune, and from the very beginning of her marriage had a rival for his affections in art. There’s something very sad about all of it, truly. This: “hating only the Art which was her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover” is such a great expression of her grief and frustration at always coming second to her husband’s first, greatest love, art. (I was going to say “paints such a picture” but that felt a bit on the nose.) His desire to paint a portrait of her should be an expression of his love for her, that he wants to capture her forever, but she’s still coming in second for his love, as he ends up obsessively painting day after, oblivious to the way that his single-minded fixation is sucking the life out of her, figuratively and literally. She says nothing because she loves him, despite growing weaker and more despondent with each passing day, and yet he doesn’t even notice her suffering until it’s too late because he’s too fixated on the art and not the human, and in the end she pays the price for his obsession, much to his sudden horror.

And that’s where it ends, our unnamed artist staring aghast at his painting and the corpse of his wife, with the implication that he has only realized, after that last brushstroke, that his painting Life itself into the portrait has literally drained the life from the real woman he loved. (We don’t get any further reaction from out narrator, but I think it’s safe to assume he didn’t get much sleep that night.)

There’s something to be said here about the view of the relationship between art and death and art and life, and how Poe though of poetry as the rhythmical creation of beauty in words, and the ways that idea translates into other art forms. Mostly though, there’s something to be said about the effectiveness of such a short story at creating an intensely creepy atmosphere and a shocking ending that packs a punch.

( Also, apropos of nothing I’m just gonna say right now: Fuck Rufus Griswold, the miserable envious bastard. All my homies hate Rufus Griswold.)

#Poe Daily #not dracula daily #dracula daily #more rambling about 19th century gothic lit #edgar allan poe #the oval portrait #getting indignant on behalf of a man who's been dead since 1849 #but seriously fuck rufus griswold #i don't set out to write long posts they just keep happening

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rottingcorps3s · 2 years

Text

"Muse" - A.M.

Arthur Morgan x Original female character

Nude model for Charles Chatenay has a run-in with a familiar, quiet cowboy.

Rating: 18+

Inspiration: "The Artist's Way"

Warnings: ** Spoilers for one of the rdr2 stranger missions **, nudity (obvi), heated make out sesh, the word 'vagina' is used, descriptions of the naked human body, sexual tension, Arthur is a little bit of a perv, 'titty' is used once in a humorous way, not really any smut because it used to (sometimes still does) make me cringe to write it, the word cunt is used, swearing, little bit of tension between character and Charles (kinda not really), nipple play

Word count: little over 4k

A/N: This has been sitting half finished in my drafts for a MINUTE (almost an entire year). My writing style since then has just baaarrely changed but being myself, I notice the difference. As ALWAYS, this is not proof read because...WHO HAS THE TIME?

My Ao3 account: rottingcorps3s

“You are looking quite magnificent Miss,” Charles's thick accent coated his words as his brush moved across the canvas applying the finishing touches. The pose they decided upon this time was one that was a little more risqué than what she was normally used to. Her breasts which were usually covered by a thin material of sorts were now completely exposed to the man that was standing no more than 10 feet away from her. Her midriff and legs were like her chest area as they were exposed to the humid air of Lemoyne. She was able to save herself some embarrassment as her pelvis area was covered by a silk scarf and had yet to be exposed to anyone in this fashion. She had modeled for Charles a few times before, but the embarrassment of being butt naked in front of someone who’s not there to have sex with you can create odd feelings of anxiety.

“Ah ha!” He exclaimed in excitement and took one last look over her body and mentally compared it to what he had just created. A small breeze blew through the air causing her to get goosebumps; her nipples perked up from the sudden gust of air. Charles took a mental note of her body's reaction and saved it for his own personal dirty thoughts that were shoved deep in the back of his mind.

“May I see it?” Her tone was soft as a small smile spread across her face. The smile only grew larger as Charles spun the canvas around and revealed the final product to her.

“I love it, Charles,” she said with a fond look on her face as she studied the way he had painted certain parts of her, “I think this is my favorite one so far.” She complimented. He nodded in silent agreement as they both took in the painting once more. The session came to an end not long after the reveal, with a few sly and questionable comments from Charles and an awkward moment of redressing herself and they went their separate ways whilst planning to meet soon.

“You know, Arthur…” Charles started. “Don’t believe in art, it’s all lies…” He paused for a moment. “Believe in women…” ”Art is lies, but the vagina! That is truth.”

Charles continued his rambling for another minute or so before he decided that he was most likely bothering his new acquaintance, “So, I must be boring you, but here.” Charles said and pulled out a piece of paper from his bag and set it face down on the counter in front of Arthur.

“Oh, eh, it’s just a little doddle. As a thank you for the drinks.”

Arthur eyed the piece of paper before picking it up and revealing the graphic doodle that was scribbled in black ink across the paper. The drawing was a draft from Charles's most recent painting of a woman sitting with her legs together and her breasts exposed. Arthur left with few words said and looked down at the piece of paper as he exited the saloon. He admired the messy scribbles that were very obviously rushed, but still somehow detailed in the way they were able to show off the gentle curves of her body. Arthur let out a deep sigh and folded up the note and slid it into his satchel.

The air was just as hot and muggy as it had always been in Saint-Denis as she raced her way up the steps of the gallery. She let out a deep breath as she reached the top, both in the anxiety of the show that Charles was putting on and from climbing up the stairs.

“Oh, miss!” Charles exclaimed as she approached him where he stood in the corner of the room. She embraced him in a hug and let out a small greeting in response. She pulled herself away from him and finally noticed the man who was standing next to him, which was odd considering how tall he stood above them both.

“Oh,” she let out a small noise of surprise as she got a look at his face for the first time, and it left her feeling a moment of breathlessness.

“Ah, yes,” Charles clapped his hands together, “this is Arthur,” he introduced, and she offered a small smile in retaliation as he tipped the brim of his hat towards her. “And Arthur, this is my beautiful model.” He said whilst putting extra emphasis on the word beautiful.

Arthur felt his chest tighten as the young woman approached. She had her hair tied back with a light-blue silk ribbon but left a few strands of hair to hang in front of her face. The blouse she wore was an off-white cream color with ruffles up the front where the buttons connected and made their way to the bottoms of the sleeves which only reached about halfway up her biceps. The skirt she had on reached the top of her ankles and was a tighter and more modern-looking style than what he was used to seeing other women wear, and it just so happened to match the color with her hair ribbon. He drew his eyes back to her face once more and felt a pit form in his stomach as he felt a sense of familiarity with her but couldn’t pinpoint it exactly.

”Excuse me, Mr. Chatenay…” A clearly angry-looking woman approached the small group, “couldn’t you have painted some drawers on her?” She spat as she pointed to the painting that said on the opposite side of the room and just so happened to be the painting from a few weeks prior to her and Charles's last session. Charles argued his point as the woman shook her head in disapproval.

Her eyes watched the scene unfold in front of her and felt a small wave of embarrassment as they approached the nude painting of herself. She diverted her eyes away from Charles to look to the left of her where Arthur stood. He must’ve had the same idea as her as they made eye contact and spoke many words with just a small look.

Arthur watched as they approached the painting and secretly admired Charles's bravery to put out such uncensored paintings to the public. The face of the woman in the painting looked familiar as if he had seen the woman before and choked it off as to just being someone with a common-looking face.

“I will not have you coming into my art gallery and disrespecting my art,” Charles continued to argue with the lady, “especially not in front of the beautiful model herself.” He gestured to over where Arthur was standing. His head whipped to the side of him where she was standing, and it finally made sense. From the doodle he was carrying in his satchel, to the familiar sight of her face and the painting that stood in the same room as them, he was so oblivious to the fact that maybe when Charles had introduced her as the model he meant for one of the paintings. The lady looked at her with a disapproving gaze which she awkwardly smiled in response as most of the attention of the room had been brought to her and where she is standing.

“Hey, you got a picture of my wife here…in her delicates!”

The room erupted into a mass of disapproving comments and chaos, and once the man laid his fist into the face of another, all hell broke loose. The women scattered as multiple blows took place in front of them.

“You filthy little man!” The woman from earlier exclaimed at Charles as she swung her purse back and struck him across the shoulder. The scene made some great entertainment for her and Arthur as they both let out bouts of laughter as the woman struck him again and left with her husband. He stumbled his way to his feet and looked towards herself and Arthur and she took this as a sign to get going.

”Aye! I’m coming after you, Frenchy!”

She quickly grabbed onto Charles's arm at this statement from a man in the room and they made their quick escape to the other room. She attempted to hide the smile on her face as she and Charles hid from the action that was going on in the other room. Arthur appeared a few moments later rubbing his bright red knuckles and with a new bruise forming on his right cheek.

“This show is well and truly over!” Charles cried out as the trio made their way down the stairs of the gallery. Their conversation continued as they made their way to one of Charles's many…friends’ houses. She was oblivious to most of what they were talking about and tuned out both until Charles had called to her. Her head whipped up and met the gaze of the two men.

“Until we meet again, miss.” Charles offered his hand out to her which she took, bowing her head in response to the kiss he placed on top of her hand.

“My angel, my little bird, it’s me!” Charles called out and the door quickly opened and shut just as fast, leaving Arthur and herself in each other’s company. It was silent for a moment before she turned to face the tall man.

“Well, this has been quite a day,” she said, a small smile on her face as she spoke. Arthur silently nodded in agreement, not fully trusting himself to speak to her. “It’s been lovely meeting you, as chaotic as it’s been.” She took in a deep breath as she stood there awkwardly, attempting to make some sort of conversation with the quiet man.

Arthur watched as she fidgeted in place, she held her hands behind her back, and he could only imagine that she was picking her nails apart. His eyes trailed down the soft features of her face and down to her neck and chest where a small amount of cleavage was poking out the top of her shirt. His mind wondered for a moment as he remembered the sketch that was placed between the pages of his journal – to keep it from being crumpled. Her legs were crossed over each other as she toed the ground with the tip of her shoe, and he remembered the painting of herself that he had seen no less than 20 minutes prior and how it exposed her thighs to everyone who had laid eyes on it. Arthur realized that he had been staring a lot longer than he would have liked to and brought his hand to scratch the back of his neck out of embarrassment. She was the first to speak up after their awkward silence.

“I should, um, get going.” She stuttered, and Arthur knew she noticed how long he had been staring. Arthur silently nodded in response, once again leaving her to wonder if he was just shy or had no interest in speaking to her in any manner. She turned on her heel without another word and disappeared around the corner of the stone building.

Arthur mentally beat himself half to death as he rubbed his face with his hands and let out a deep sigh. Why was he not able to speak to her? He had met many beautiful women before, but what was it about her that left him completely speechless?

“Goddamn it…” he cursed himself out as he himself decided that it was time to return to his home.

It had been weeks since Arthur’s last encounter with Charles and he had expected that it would most likely be his last as he had aided him in making his great escape to the South Pacific islands. Arthur decided to take some time for himself and propped up against a tree that was in a small clearing near Rhodes. His mind wandered once he had pulled out his journal and begun sketching. He was not sure at what point his mind had wandered to her, but before his mind caught up with his hand he had begun drawing a fairly lewd rendition of her. He made sure that he drew every detail of her that he could remember and used a fair amount of his imagination as well.

Arthur’s unsure if maybe it was fate or the Gods themselves that brought this moment together, but he almost didn’t believe his eyes at first and thought he was hallucinating. She offered a hesitant wave and slowly made her way over to where he was sitting – he knew she wasn’t just a mirage. He froze in his spot as she approached and slapped his journal shut out of pure embarrassment, hoping, and praying that she wouldn’t question it.

“Hello, Arthur!” She chirped in excitement at his presence. “I hope I’m not bothering you,” she said, suddenly feeling nervous that she was invading his personal time, “it’s been a little while.”

Arthur shook his head no in response to her doubt, “Not at all, miss.” He took a moment to admire what she was wearing as she had on something a lot more casual since their last meeting. She wore a simple button-down blouse that was a pale-yellow color and the skirt she was wearing was fully black and in the same style as her light-blue one. He smiled to himself as she compared her colors to that of a bumble bee.

“Do you mind if I join you for a moment?” He was quick to nod his head and mentally cursed himself out for coming off a little too eager. He scooted over slightly to offer her some space next to him where they were both able to lean against the tree that sat behind him. He offered his hand out to her which she shyly took ahold of and used to help herself sit down next to him.

“It’s been quite boring without Charles around,” she said.

Arthur smiled to himself as he mentally replayed his and Charles's last encounter, “Somethin’ like that.”

“He even wrote me a letter!” She exclaimed and brought her own bag to her lap and rummaged through it, pulling out a piece of paper. She cleared her throat as she opened it and began reading it aloud.

“Dear Miss,” she said, making sure to mock Charles's accent as she read. Arthur laughed as she wrapped up her dramatic reading of the letter.

It was quiet for a moment as she folded the letter back up and put it back. She gently set her hands on her lap and looked up into the sky and admired the cirrus clouds that moved above them. Arthur took the moment to also admire something and studied her side profile whilst taking mental notes for future drawings.

“Is that yours?” She questioned, turning her head to make eye contact with him. He froze, confused at what she was asking until she gestured towards the leather-clad journal in his lap.

“Uhh,” he stuttered, his face feeling hot at her question as he instantly regretted this entire encounter at that moment, “yeah, it is mine.”

“Do you draw? Or are you more of a writer?” The image of his last drawing flashed before his eyes as she questioned him.

“Little bit of both, I suppose.”

“Would you mind showing me?”

His mouth went dry.

She went over what she had just asked of him and instantly backtracked. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to invade your privacy. I was just curio-“

“No,” he said, finally able to compose himself, “you’re alright. I’d be more than happy to show you.”

He slowly reopened the journal that he had once so abruptly closed and began to slowly flip through the pages. She repositioned herself slightly so that she was just barely pressed against his arm and looking over his shoulder. A large smile spread across her face as he began showing the many doodles and told small backstories to a few of them. She admired his writing and how beautiful it looked but avoided reading anything so as to not intrude on his private thoughts. Arthur flipped a few more pages and she craned her neck slightly to get better looks at some of the pages; her body pressing against the back of his arm, the action making his body feel hot in response.

A piece of paper sliding out from between the pages caught the attention of both as it landed in her lap. Arthur paid little mind to it and what might be scribbled on it until she picked up the piece of paper between her fingers and flipped it around to see what was on the other side. His eyes grew wide as the other side was exposed and she let out a small gasp.

“Did Charles give this to you?!” She asked in a shocked tone.

Arthur was at a loss for words, he wasn’t sure if he should grab his shit and run and never look back or snatch it from her hands and act like it never existed, to begin with.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized which caught him off guard, “I told him to not give out any of my drawings!” She scoffed and covered her face with her hands.

“If anyone should be sayin’ sorry it’s me,” Arthur said, “I was the perv who decided to keep it.” He quietly laughed to himself.

“I’m actually quite flattered if we’re being honest.” Her comment once again caught him off guard.

“I sort of miss being painted by Charles.” She awkwardly admitted.

Arthur took this as his chance to strike. He quickly picked his journal back up and flipped through the pages until it landed on a fresh-looking page that displayed a nude woman on it. He handed her the book to take a closer look at and her eyes went wide.

“You…drew…me?” She hesitantly questioned whilst running her fingers over the lines of the drawing.

Arthur simply nodded.

She was quiet as she studied the way he had drawn her body without a reference.

“Is this how you see me?” She asked, and finally made eye contact with him once again, but this time there was something new behind her eyes, something more lustful.

Arthur picked up on the new look instantaneously. He studied the way her body language changed, the way her eyes seemed more hooded, the way she seemed to press her body ever so slightly more into his arm, and the way her legs shifted against her skirt, showing a small sign of her being nervous. He was at a loss for words at her question and was only able to mutter a mash of jumbled words.

“Arthur?” Her voice pulled him out of his own mind as he briefly forgot the situation he was in. Her hand gently setting itself upon his knee caused a shiver to go up his spine and goosebumps formed on his skin. The small smirk she had on her face told him that she knew what she was doing to him.

“With all due respect, miss,” Arthur’s voice faltered, “I’m one of the most respectful men you’ll ever meet, but I’m about to be a whole other kind of disrespectful.” She was excited.

“With all due respect, Mr. Morgan,” she mocked, “who’s one to say I don’t want you to be.” She said whilst bringing her other hand, which wasn’t on his knee, to trace the buttons on his shirt.

Up, and down. And back up - her knuckles gently tracing his jawline. And then back down, and just barely hitting the top of his belt, before tracing all the way back up. Arthur reached out to catch her wrists and stop her from doing anything else, a surprised look on her face. He used his grip on her to tug her arms downwards and pull her face towards his own, their breath fanning against each other’s lips, neither one of them taking the initiative to lean forward the rest of the way.

Arthur was the one who caved first, keeping his grip on her wrists in one of his hands while the other one reached to the back of her head and pulled her face towards his, closing the gap with a wet, breathy kiss. Time was moving a mile a minute the second their lips touched. The assault on her lips caused her to let out a small whimper, and the tightened grip on her wrists made it apparent that Arthur heard it.

A feeling of bravery washed over her, and she took her chance to push him by changing the position she was in so that she was directly in front of him and not to his side. She folded her legs underneath herself and positioned herself on his thighs, the rough material of his jeans brushing against her clothed cunt. She studied his face for a moment to see if he was having any doubt, his lips were swollen and red, his chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath, his cheeks were scattered with a light pink color. She let out a small hum of satisfaction and reached out and started unbuttoning his shirt, running her hand over every new inch of exposed skin.

Arthur used the moment to grab onto her waist and pull her down into him, pushing his ever-growing bulge into her. He ran his hands down her hips and rubbed them up and down her thighs, her body twitching in response.

“Oh, yer sensitive…” Arthur smirked, eyeing up and down her torso until deciding upon her cleavage, his body reacting before his mind was able to catch up and reached one of his hands out to gently grope her. She met his hand with her own and set it on top of his, encouraging him - and boy was he encouraged. Arthur slide his hands down her body once more, resting his hands on her thighs while he plotted.

Butterflies assaulted her stomach as his gaze burned into her skin; the look of utter lust and, I-can’t-wait-to-fuck-you-ness. Her throat became dryer by the second, and she swears she could see the gears turning in his head as the adrenaline coursing through his limbs. A loud gasp pushed itself from her lungs as her blouse was ripped open, buttons flying every which way and a gust of air hit her skin like ice; the action left her stunned. More goosebumps covered her skin, but this time it was for a different reason, as Arthur's hands ran up and down her sides. He made quick work to expose more of her skin as he slide his fingers under the fabric of her bra and pushed the garment up to her collarbones. His hands quickly returned to her breasts, the pads of his thumbs gently caressing her perked-up nipples. Arthur let out a deep sigh as he let himself relax against the tree behind him. His hands stayed in place as he admired the way her body was reacting to the attention. He made mental notes of the way her body reacted, looked, and…tasted…God he was dying to taste her. His head craned forward slightly to come face-to-titty with her but stopped himself before doing anything.

Arthur looked up at her as if he was asking for permission, the sight of him looking up at her with puppy dog eyes, and a slightly agape mouth made her weak in the knees. She eagerly nodded her head, wanting nothing more at this exact moment. His mouth was warm and hot against her perked-up nipple, the euphoric feeling causing her to let out a breathy moan and only egged him on. Her hands ran up and down his biceps, her nails gently scratching and leaving white marks in their trail.

“Oh my god!” She yelped loudly, the sudden noise making Arthur pull himself away from her. She was fumbling around with urgency, attempting to put herself together. She was now holding his pocket watch which must’ve fallen out of his pants pocket. She gently tapped the watch as if you make sure she was seeing the time displayed correctly. “I’m late!” She threw herself off him, standing to her feet and absentmindedly gathering her things. “I’m so sorry Mr. Morgan,” she rushed, “I completely lost track of time, I was meant to be back in Rhodes by now. I hate to cut this short and hope we can pick up another time.” She rambled, almost too fast for him to understand what she was saying, but he got the general gist of it. “I hope to see you soon!” She exclaimed loudly as she took off quickly in the direction of Rhodes. She was gone and out of his sight over the hill just as quickly as she had appeared, but unbeknownst to her at the time; she had accidentally taken his gold pocket watch with her. The item now gave her more than enough of a reason to find him again and return the item. Nothing more, nothing less.

Only to return it…obviously.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fic

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l-r-christian · 3 years

Note

One-Shot: Male Reader Is Hope's Fraternal Twin Brother, And Is Ignored By The Mikaelsons. Because He Is Born Human( He Isn't But His True Nature Didn't Awake Yet).

It Left Him Filled Wit Loneliness, And Anger At His Family, And Twin. One Day, While Walking In The Woods Getting Home He Gets Attacked By A Vampire, And It Causes Him To Awake His True Nature As A Hellhound.

He Kills The Vampire, And It Leaves Him With Shock That He Isn't Human, And Is Happy He's Not Vulnerable.

So Y/n Gets Home, And The Mikealsons Aren't Home, Y/n Decides To Leave And Train Himself To His Full Potential.

Freya And Hope Can't Track Him Down Due To Y/n Being Immune To Anything Witch Related.

Yo dudes Imma make this so sad just angst though and though. I also did a bit of mixing of Teen Wolf's Hellhound and some of my own ideas.

Warnings: Heavy angst

Human was what Y/N was unlike his younger twin Hope who was in all sense all powerful. Ever since their birth Y/N was over shadowed by Hope as he didn't understand when it happen but his family began to ignore him and favor Hope. As the once proud Klaus showing off his first born son was now ignored his son and all his attention was on Hope.

"Not now Y/N, Hope needs my help." Was what Y/N heard over the years as he got older, now while Hope took after Hayley. Y/N was more like their father than anyone care to notice as the boy loved art like his father, had mostly Klaus's features but more dangerously Y/N inherited Klaus's temper something Marcel learned the hard.

"Y/N is only human Marcel. He can't harm you." Rebekah told the vampire after Marcel had told her that the boy had stabbed him the throat with a butter knife. At age seventeen now Y/N was used to being alone and having anger for his family how they seemly pretend he wasn't a Mikaelson.

"Where ya going kiddo?" Marcel asked seeing the teen putting on his shoes and had his backpack with him. Y/N looked at the vampire with a glare as Marcel was used to the anger in the boys eyes and mentally cursed the Mikaelsons for not keeping an eye on boy as there was nothing more dangerous than an angry Mikaelson with nothing to lose.

"Why would you care? Do yourself a favor and stop caring for the useless Mikaelson." Y/N tells Marcel anger bleeding though his words as he left the compound and headed for the woods. The woods was where Y/N spent most of his time to draw or to let his anger out but like his father he still held onto it. Y/N sat drawing weird circles that he had been seeing in his dreams lately then got up seeing it was getting dark and as he walked home he was attacked by two vampires.

"Man Klaus is going to pay. And what better way than to drain his kid and leaving the body on his door step."

"Yeah I guess he should have kept a better eye on the weakling." The vampire holding Y/N said and a flood of anger filled Y/N just as the vampire sank his fangs into the boy's neck when there was a sudden burning. The vampire let the boy go pushing roughly as he screamed and Y/N watch the vampire burst into flames.

"What do you do to my friend brat." Vampire two growled grabbing Y/N by his throat and the boy growled deeply as his eyes flashed red. The anger of years being ignored and loneliness was let loose as Y/N tore the heart from the vampire's chest. As things calmed down Y/N was surprised and stared as his hands as happiness bubbled in his chest as he realized he wasn't useless and maybe his family would care for him again.

"Dad! Mom!" Y/N shouted running into the compound with a grin that fell as he noticed he could hear everything but his family. Y/N found they left him so he made up his mind grabbing a bigger backpack his packed his things and didn't bother to leave a note.

"Fine I'll leave and get stronger without them if they don't want me then fine." Y/N growled as he left his childhood home not looking back. Two months, it took two months for someone in the family to notice that Y/N wasn't around but they brushed it off as the human boy was with Marcel but no he was in the mountains of Montana with an older man that Y/N ran into his week away from home. The man whose name was Alias, was an Hellhound that was almost as old as the boy's family and Alias took the boy in trained him to control his hound form and hellfire which when Y/N learned he could do that the boy was excited.

"Calm yourself pup." Alias told him as he had the boy sit in front of a fire the first day of training. At first Alias was annoyed with Y/N at first but the boy grew on him and the older Hellhound became a father figure to Y/N.

"Hey Al why are in the mountains?" Y/N asked following the man.

"Going to train you in the cold so you could control molten lava veins. From there we are going to wake your full potential, pup."

"Why the cold?"

"Can't risk you burning yourself until you get control." Alias tells Y/N as they came up to a cabin. While in New Orleans Hope and Freya was trying to find the older twin with a locater spell but so far they came up with nothing.

"Where could he be Elijah?" Klaus growled pacing angry that his first born was gone. Elijah watched Klaus closely while Kol called Davina to come help.

"I understand you are upset Niklaus but we will find the boy." Elijah said as Hayley came in crossing her arms.

"The wolves lost his scent just out of the city." Hayley said getting everyone's attention as they hoped they could find the boy soon. A year passed and Y/N had unlocked his full potential and had bested Alias many times in training. But sadly the boy's father figure had passed and Alias had passed his family Crest to the boy asking him to spead his ashes in New Orleans.

"Don't worry about me, pup. You'll fine as you are strong." Alias told Y/N the night he passed as their foreheads touched and in his honor Y/N howled and swore he hear othe Hellhounds howled too. Y/N walked though the streets of New Orleans carrying the urn holding Alias's ashes while on his way home Y/N had ran into other Hellhounds apologize for his lost and if he needed anything they were happy to help.

"Y/N?" Y/N heard Hope's voice and he turned saw his sister who shocked to see him. Y/N was no long thin and kinda scrawny, he was now lean with muscles with five a clock shadow on his nice jaw line.

"Hope." Y/N said his tone not welcoming surprising Hope as she eyes looked at the urn in his arms. Someone called out for Hope making her turn to see who it was then looked back to find Y/N gone and pulled out her phone calling Hayley.

"Mom, I found Y/N."

"May you find peace dad." Y/N said speading Alias's ashes in the bayou at a cabin the old hound had and left to Y/N.

"Here I thought I was your father?" Klaus said smirking stepping out from the tree line and Y/N looked over his shoulder seeing his father.

"You stopped being my father when I turned six." Y/N said looking back out at the lake as Klaus frowned watching his son. There was something was different about his son and Klaus couldn't put his finger on it but he was going to find out. Y/N was annoyed that suddenly his family would come out to see him while just shut them out and they still didn't know he was a Hellhound.

"How you have fallen hybrid. Your son hates you and now your dau ......." the vampire was cut off by a huge black hound jumped on his chest growling as it tore his thoat out. The hound had glowing orange eyes as it growled killing the rest of the vampires saving Hope and Klaus.

"Is it a wolf, dad?" Hope asked watching the hound look back at them as something about it was haunting.

"No. It is bigger than a wolf." Klaus said as it ran off and both followed it to find it was Y/N come morning.

"Fuck." Y/N muttered rolling his sore shoulders as he still wasn't used to shifting at night going inside to take a cold shower to cool down. Y/N sat down studying a few old books he gotten on his travels as his door opened and Klaus walked in with Elijah and Hayley following.

"Yes please come in Klaus." Y/N said annoyed not looking up from his book.

"You have failed to me you are a Hellhound."

"Because it was none of your business. I made it clear I want nothing to do with any of you."

"Then why come home?"

"If you must know Hayley, I am carrying after my father as protector." Y/N told Hayley there was anger in his voice as Elijah saw the anger in the young Hellhound's eyes that reminded the older Original of Klaus.

"Protector?"

"Yeah, now If you excuse me I got work to do." Y/N said walking out leaving them as they realize they had years of anger and loneliness to undo from the young man unsure if Y/N will ever forgive the family.

#the originals x reader #Mikaelsons x male!reader #Klaus mikaelson x son!reader #Hope Mikaelson x brother!Reader

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cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Text

little mystery

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: tattoos, alcohol consumption, gambling/betting money, mild swearing (i actually don't think there is any but just in case), baby spence!!, no smut/or implied smut but it reads a little dirty (so i’m gonna rate this 18+ anyway) Word Count: 1.8k Summary: Bets are placed to see who can be the first to figure out the secret location of your tattoo, and what the tattoo is.

A/N: i was browsing pinterest for my next ink inspiration (the whole country is currently in lockdown, but a girl can dream), when i stumbled across a particular tattoo, featured in this fic, and this idea just came to me ah i hope you ENJOY!

“A recent study concluded that people with tattoos are more likely to be so called experience seekers, and they tend to lean more towards rebellious, non-conforming lifestyles.” Spencer stated glancing between the group. His eyes lingering a little longer on you. “Research also shows, people who choose to get tattooed feel a stronger need to claim their identity and stand out from the crowd.”

Derek chuckled while taking a sip of his drink. “Kid, not everyone that has a tattoo is an attention seeker or a criminal. Many who get inked lead perfectly normal and stable lives.”

“It’s a form of self expression.” Morgan continued. “It doesn't necessarily mean people with multiple tattoos are wildings. I mean look at Y/N, she’s got like ten and she's far from a non-conformist.”

All heads turned in your direction.

“Ten is an over exaggeration Morgan.” You replied with a light giggle before looking directly at Spencer. “It’s eight. I have eight tattoos.” You said shooting him a smile. A mix of intrigue quickly spread across his features.

Of course, he was aware you had a couple of tattoos. Like the tiny heart on your left index finger. The crescent moon just above your right elbow. Or the rose on the inside of your left bicep. Given that the two of you were similar in age, the young doctor didn't think you would have that many.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s a huge difference.” He teased, granting Penelope to nudge him in the arm. The bubble blonde then turned to you. “You have eight tattoos?” She asked with a raised brow. “How come I didn't know this about you? I know everything.”

“Because you never asked me and eight really isn't that much. Plus they’re all pretty simple and dainty. Well... actually... all apart from the snake slithering between my boobs.” You responded nonchalantly causing the males at the table to simultaneously choke on their drinks.

The girls all whistled before erupting into laughter at the suddenly red faces of the three boys. Hotch stared silently at the half-empty class in his hands, Derek nervously cleared his throat, while Spencer gaped at you completely wide-eyed.

The image you just painted circulating in his mind.

“Don’t be shy, tell us, any other risqué body art?” Emily chimed once the laughter died down.

“Uhm, there is one but I really don't think it’s appropriate to share.” You answered, a sly smile circling your lips. JJ and Emily both groaned at your response. “Now you have too!” The blonde exclaimed, but you just shook your head.

“Only a handful of people know what it is, and where it is.” Your eyes locked briefly with the brunette doctor sat across from you. Not enough time for anyone at the table to notice, but enough to get him a tiny bit flustered.

“What if we guessed?” Emily enquired, her eyes sparkling mischievously. You giggled. “If one of you manages to guess both what and where it is, I will tell you whether you’re correct.”

“I want in on this little bet.” Derek chimed confidently. “I can get you talkin’ hot stuff.” He shot you a playful wink and took another sip of his drink. Hotch snickered next to him. “I wouldn't be so certain Morgan.” “Oh, and you think you can?” Derek asked sarcastically. “Maybe.” Hotch poised, shrugging his shoulders.

“Right.” JJ clapped her hands. “Let’s make this interesting. Everyone that wants to take part place a ten dollar bet on themselves, and the winner will take the pot.” She turned to you. “We’ll give you the money for safekeeping and once one of us guesses correctly, you can rightfully pass the cash onto that person.”

“Sounds good to me.” You replied with a grin. “But what if none of you guess? Who keeps the money then?” “Do you forget who you work with? We’re FBI agents, profilers, one of us is bound to figure it out.” Morgan stated making you giggle.

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Oh! And whoever wins gets to see this mysterious ink of yours.” Emily added teasingly.

Just like that a pile of cash formed in the middle of the table. You reached out to grab it when a hand slowly slid across with a neatly folded ten dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes snapped up to meet the determined gaze of none other than the resident genius.

“I want to take part too.” He said, trying his best not to appear jittery. The grin currently embellishing your features swelled, and Spencer took note of the devilish sparkle in your eyes. “Well all right.” You responded, fingers brushing lightly against his as you retrieved the money. An instant spark tingled through both you and Spencer.

The night carried on. You were bombarded with questions that would give the team any sort of clue as to what the tattoo could be, but you didn't budge. It was a lot more fun seeing your friends struggle. The only person that didn't say anything further on the matter was the young doctor sat across from you. In true Spencer Reid fashion, he simply listened and observed.

About an hour later, he accompanied you to the bar for another round of drinks. After ordering for everyone, you quickly glanced at him. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” You asked causing him to break away from his thoughts and turn his attention to you. He lightly scrunched his nose.

“I’m just wondering when is the most appropriate time to tell everyone what your secret tattoo is.”

Your mouth parted ever in shock, eyes widened. “There is no way you know.”

“Actually, I not only know what and where it is. I also know when you got it and why.” He stated confidently.

“Alright then, tell me.” You challenged taking a step towards him. Spencer stiffened for a brief moment. Your sudden closeness caused the heat to rush to his face and his heart to skip a beat. All he could do was hope you didn't notice; which of course you did.

With a raised brow and your fingers tapping lightly on the wooden bar, you waited for Spencer to respond. You were about to say something like, ‘See, I knew you were bluffing.’, but he cleared his throat. Regaining his confidence.

“It’s the word ‘bite’ written in cursive on your ehm, on your left b-buttcheek. And you got it your freshmen year of university as a result of a drunken game of truth or dare with your friends. I believe it was either getting the tattoo or shaving your head.” He was, of course, correct. Every word.

You stared at him in disbelief. This you definitely did not expect. Spencer on the other hand seemed quite pleased with himself. It’s not often he’s the one to rattle you.

“H-how, how did you-” You shook your head. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know.” Your lips twirled into a smile. “Congratulations doctor.” Without really thinking, you leaned in closer and placed a soft kiss on his cheek causing once again for the blood to rush to his face. Once you pulled away, his hand immediately travelled to the spot.

“What, uhm, what was that for?” He asked and you shrugged. “An extra prize considering it didn't even take you ninety minutes to win. I hope that was okay?” He quickly nodded his head. “Ye-a, yes.” “Good.” And with that you kissed his cheek again.

He couldn't help but grin proudly as the two of you ambled back to the table, each holding a tray of drinks.

“What’s got you so happy, kid?” Morgan asked, drawing attention to Spencer’s expression.

“Spencer just won your little bet.” You replied, placing the tray down and reaching into your purse for the money. Although his win was definitely part of the reason for his increased good mood, it had more to do with the spot on his cheek that was still tingling from your kiss. But he’d never say that out loud.

Gasps of shock echoed through the team. “What?! There is no way he’s won already!” JJ exclaimed. “He cheated. Did you give him extra hints because you have a soft spot for him?” Emily accused, narrowing her eyes.

“Nope.” Your mouth popped. “He definitely won fair and square.” You stated before shifting your body weight to look the young doctor. Smiling, you handed him his winnings. He didn't hesitate to take them, eyes never leaving yours.

“Well pretty boy, what is it?!” Derek enquired eagerly. Spencer waited for you to nod your head before turning to address the team. He revealed the design and location of your secret tattoo in one breath as you watched, finding their reactions amusing.

“How did you figure that out?” Penelope asked.

“A little mystery never hurt.” You chimed before Spencer got a chance to respond, and proceeded to intertwine your fingers with his. His head snapped first down at your glued hands, and then up at your face. He wanted to ask what was happening, completely forgetting what else the winning prize entailed, as you were leading him away from the table.

Morgan and Emily whistled after the two of you, the rest of the group laughing.

It wasn't until you were walking into the bathroom, locking the door behind, that the realisation hit Spencer. He swallowed his breath and opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

You quickly noticed the nervous look on his face. “We don't have to do this if you don't want to. If you’re uncomfortable.” You said in your usual kind and caring tone.

“No, uhm, it’s okay. B-but if you don't want to?” He mumbled. “I don’t have to see it if you don’t want to show me, or anyone for that matter. We can just pretend.”

You smiled at him, your hands travelling to the zipper of your jeans. “A bet’s a bet, and like I said, you won fair and square.”

“Y-you, are you sure you don't want to know how I figured it out?” Spencer asked, voice breaking. The palms of his hands began to sweat. He wasn't sure where to look. Did you want him looking directly at you? Or was he supposed to keep his attention on something else until you were ready to show the tattoo?

“A little mystery never hurt.” You repeated what you said earlier to the group and pulled your pants down, just low enough to display the tattoo in question.

Spencer’s gaze landed on the writing. At this point his heart was hammering inside of his chest, and he was sure it would explode any second. His eyes widened as he slowly licked his lips. He was sure this was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“Do you like it?” A seemingly innocent question, although the intention behind it was anything but.

Spencer nodded his head. “I-I...y-es, I do.” His eyes gradually moved up your body until they once again locked with your gaze. His pupils now flared.

A mischievous smirk escaped your mouth. “I always knew you had a naughty side, doctor.”

spencer reid taglist: spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd, @averyhotchner

masterlist

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #little mystery fic

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wasabito · 3 years

Text

➽ corruption collab masterlist — hosted by @ultimate-astridwriting and @bummie ♥️

➽ note: definitely gonna come back and edit this a bit more because threesomes are hard as fuck, no pun intended lmao happy v-day everyone!

➽ word count: 3.2k

➽ cw/tags: polyamory + body worship + threesome + praise kink + public sex + choking + handjobs/fingering + vaginal sex + squirting + established relationship

➽ pairing: akaashi x fem!reader x bokuto

💿 1. nasty — ariana grande || 2. come on — jhene aiko

With Valentine's Day fast approaching, it becomes rather apparent that love and romance are in the air. Storefronts are decorated in bubblegum pinks and reds. Flower shops promote their special bouquet arrangements at discounted prices. Even your favorite hole in the wall coffee shop has fallen prey to the spirit of cupid as they announce their new strawberry shortcake dessert and heart-shaped scones.

In lieu of staying home for the third night this week, your boyfriends escort you to dinner at an upscale restaurant in the city. They treat you to a five-course meal and a bottle of wine even pricier than the dinner itself. One would think, after three years of dating, you would no longer be caught unawares by their spontaneity. And yet, here they are, once again pulling the rug from underneath your four-inch heels.

Your gaze flickers from Akaashi's tranquil smile to Bokuto's wide grin.

Adjusting the napkin in your lap, you open your mouth to speak, then pause as the right words fail it come. Brain short-circuiting instead, you let out a confused, "Huh?!"

"We're taking you to Italy!" Bokuto repeats, about ready to hop out of his seat with excitement. He looks to Akaashi, "Three nights in Venice, right 'Kaashi?"

"Yes, we decided on Venice after you told us you'd always wanted to visit. Remember Koutarou's birthday last year?"

"But that was like months ago! Did you two honestly hold onto that drunk little confession this entire time?"

"Of course."

"Yup!!"

It's in moments like these when you are reminded of their history together, first as teammates playing volleyball, and eventually close friends. Not much longer after that, you'd met and fallen for Akaashi, then Bokuto, and thus began the relationship of today. While you find it a little ridiculous, it seems neither of them has any qualms about this trip.

After all, you are their lovely girlfriend. Why wouldn't they want to make your wishes come true?

Bokuto claps his hands, eyes sparkling. "Everything's already planned out, babe, so don't worry your pretty little head, okay?"

You can't argue with that. Reaching over, you take Bokuto's hand in your right and Akaashi's in your left. "Alright, since you two went to all this trouble for me, I guess I'll just sit back and enjoy it."

♥️

Venice is just as beautiful as you imagined.

It looks as if it's floating upon blue-green waters with lots of sunshine, beautiful architecture, and a vibrancy that makes it feel like the city has a life of its own. You are grateful you didn't come by yourself. There is no way you would've enjoyed it without Akaashi and Bokuto at your side.

"We're about a ten-minute walk from Piazza San Marco," Akaashi says as he taps his glasses. His sharp gaze is locked on the map in his hands, likely committing most landmarks and details to memory. "Would you like to check it out?"

"Yeah! Let's do it."

"Off we go, go, go!"

Thus, a majority of your first day in Venice is spent sightseeing.

The three of you take a gondola ride through Canale Grande, then have a peek into the Gallerie Dell'Accademia at Akaashi's insistence, though naturally, you wouldn't have come all the way to Italy and not visited at least one art museum. Afterward, the three of you go to the Le Mercerie shopping district and buy gifts for your friends before finally taking a pit stop for the most delicious gelato in the city.

The sunsets sooner than expected, casting the entire block in deep red hues. Bokuto's mood is greatly influenced by it, and the jetlag certainly doesn't help. He props himself against you, nuzzling you in a way that says he's itching for a kiss.

"Tired, Kou?"

Bokuto hums. "A little... More hungry than anything."

He leans in and pecks your lips with a sated smile. "Maybe I should eat you. I mean, how is it my girl's so damn cute? Not fair, I can't resist."

You snort at Bo's silliness but can't help shivering a little at the tiny implication of his words. He always did like to lay his head on your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites where he could.

So, the thought of him eating you out made you squeeze your thighs together.

Akaashi approaches with your frozen treats held between his long fingers; having overheard Bokuto earlier, he tucks his wallet back into his pocket.

"We'll get some dinner after we drop off these shopping bags. How does that sound?"

You eagerly take your gelato from him with a smile.

"Sounds like a plan."

Akaashi nods, standing at your other side, close enough to brush elbows though not as close as Bokuto, who was nearly hovering.

The three of you are in one of the narrow, maze-like streetways, basking in the warm, early evening glow. The sweet taste of fruit and cream on your tongue fills you with so much contentment, especially while being with your favorite people. You aren't sure if anything could top the way you currently felt, and the trip has just barely started.

Upon arriving at your temporary place of residence, a quaint little villa on the waterfront just along the shore of Punta Sabbioni Beach, Bokuto immediately kicks off his sandals, dumps the bags, and promptly falls asleep on the couch.

"It's so weird seeing Kou like this." You remark. "On any normal day, he's brimming with almost too much energy, but now he's all tired."

"Well, he did stay up an entire twelve hours on the plane. It was only a matter of time before fatigue caught up to him." Akaashi picks up Bokuto's shoes with practiced ease and places them by the others.

There is a fond smile running along the edges of his mouth as he tucks a throw around the man's larger frame. You help him adjust a spare pillow under Bo's head and then set off to explore the rest of the area.

It seemed like everything about Venice was taken straight out of a romance film, with its cobblestone paths, gothic cathedral architecture, crisp ocean waters, and authentic Italian cuisine. It is no wonder the city's known to draw hapless souls together in romance. Even you fell subject to it, and by each passing moment, you crave to be with your boyfriends.

You are standing at the balcony overlooking the beach, satisfied with your inspection of the villa when Akaashi comes to stand behind you. He holds onto the railings, caging you in his arms, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

"He was right, you know." He murmurs. "You do look good enough to eat."

Blunt as ever. Apparently, something's never change.

Though one might say that Akaashi is as he's always been after high school and college, there is no denying his boost in confidence. After all, he had landed not one but two rather attractive partners.

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, before latching onto your neck.

The sun's scenic view on the horizon, reflecting upon the beach sands of gold and shimmering orange waves, makes for an excellent backdrop.

You turn to face Akaashi and pull him into a heated kiss. His lips convey a sense of devotion to you, and with each press of them against yours, you can feel just how bad he's yearning for more.

"Kei," you whisper. "Let's go inside."

In a moment, Akaashi whisks you off your feet quite similar to how Bokuto would, though you both don't even make it to the bedroom.

Your other partner had sat up on the sofa, hair flat on one side, scrubbing his eyelids.

"Guys, I'm freaking starving!" Bokuto groans. "Let's get some food or something."

He doesn't even notice how you and Akaashi are breathing heavy or how your clothes are sporting wrinkles that were not previously there. Regardless, Akaashi has food delivered while you went ahead to shower the day's journey away. There are still two days left. You'd get your chance with them at some point.

♥️

Sadly, the entirety of day two is spent indoors. Heavy sheets of rain continue to fall, muddying the shoreline. The three of you huddle on the sofa wrapped in blankets with subtitled movies playing in the background.

Even though you would've much rather been out exploring in the city, just sharing in your boyfriend's warmth would suffice for now. Akaashi hands you a steaming cup of something rich in both color and smell.

"What's this?"

"Just espresso." He takes the empty seat beside you.

You savor the taste while leaning against his shoulder. "Mm, nice."

Bokuto keeps his head on your lap, loving how you thread your fingers into his hair.

It is a tranquil kind of peace that soon lulls you to sleep.

Later, when you finally wake up, it's dark, and you're alone. A blanket had been tucked around your shoulders to shield you from the sudden chill. At some point, the television had been shut off along with every light in the room. You might've been a little scared if not for the voices coming from the second floor. Slowly, you creep up the winding staircase, dragging along the blanket around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto chuckles. "You're finally up!"

His hair is down, wet from his shower, and he holds a thin towel together around his waist. In his hand is a cellphone, and he doesn't hesitate to shove the screen into your face. "Say hi, Tetsu!"

"Hi Y/N, how's it going?"

You blink slowly, still trying to wake yourself up.

"Kuroo, hey… I'm well. How are you?"

"Great, just about to head out for a late lunch. I hear it's almost ten pm over there."

"Yeah, it's an eight-hour time difference."

You and Kuroo continue to chat while Bokuto towels off his hair and puts on clothes. Afterward, you let Bokuto resume his conversation and join Akaashi on the bed. The man had gone full editor-mode with his glasses propped up in his hair as he read through some work documents.

When you approach, he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. "You look well-rested."

"Is that your way of telling me I have drool on my cheek, Keiji?"

He cracks a tiny smile, eyes taking in your features, then he pokes your cheek with his index finger. "Perhaps."

You scrub the corners of your mouth with your sleeve and drape yourself over Akaashi, work be damned. This was supposed to be a special weekend for relaxing.

"I really wanted to go to the beach today." You pout.

Akaashi interlocks his fingers with yours. "Maybe we still can. It stopped raining a few hours ago."

"Really?!"

You hop off the bed and head for the window. He's right, the rain had long stopped, and the beach lay bare, lit by only the moonlight.

Maybe a short walk to the beach would do you some good.

♥️

The grains of sand feel cold against your feet without the sun to beat down on them, but you don't complain. The air is humid enough on its own that you forgo wearing actual clothes and instead wear a swimsuit along with Bokuto's old Fukurōdani windbreaker.

You walk along the shore, toes digging into the sand, letting the ocean waves lap at your feet to wash them clean again.

At first, it's so eerily quiet without a soul around except you, but even that doesn't last long. You hear Bokuto's voice bellow into the night as he jogs towards you in nothing but swim trunks. Behind him, Akaashi trails slowly after with a blanket in hand.

"We thought you might want some company." He says and spreads the cover on the sand several feet away from the water, content with just watching.

Bokuto grabs your hand and you go running to the water with him, but a second later, you both come sprinting back.

"It's freezing!"

"S-So co-co-cold!"

You collapse on top of him, fingers splayed across his bare chest. However, when you try to sit up, Bokuto has other plans. He keeps you pressed to his chest with both arms around your waist.

"Let me keep you warm, baby!"

You know he meant it in the most innocent way, but you can't help but think other thoughts. Your nerves fray at the image that blooms in your head and spreads like wildfire.

And as Akaashi strokes your back, you know he's probably read your mind.

It's the way your eyes seem to glitter with want that gives it away. Akaashi has always been rather observant, and so your silent cues are something he's always been privy to.

His nimble fingers curve around the nape of your neck, and he tilts his head to capture your lips in a kiss. This one is unlike the one from yesterday. There is no rush, no desire to quicken his haste; instead, he savors the taste of you like it's something to be thoroughly enjoyed.

Underneath you, Bokuto stirs, growing aroused at the sight of his two lovers' kiss. He can't decide whether he wants to join in or sit back and watch. But his large hand comes down to stroke your ass, resulting in a moan you breathe directly into Akaashi's mouth.

"You're not usually so forthcoming, Keiji," you whisper against his lips. "Eager, are we?"

Akaashi pulls away just enough to pepper your face in feathery kisses. "Can you blame me? When I have such a lovely girlfriend here."

As if confirming his words, he slips a hand under your jacket and cups your breast. The pads of his thumb brush along the seams of your bathing suit, caressing your nipple.

"Kou, let's show Y/N just how much we love her, yes?"

Bokuto didn't need to be told twice. He had been in entranced by you and Akaashi, completely taken by the way your lips danced upon one another. But now, he wanted more than anything to touch you, kiss you, hold you.

Bokuto cradles you in his lap, propping your legs open with his knees so Akaashi can kneel in front of you. It didn't take much for him to relieve you of your clothing, namely your swimming bottoms. But the second the air hits your bare cunt, you feel tense.

You aren't sure what it was, but the atmosphere is different. Both Akaashi and Bokuto are so focused on you, it feels like you're under a spotlight.

"You're so pretty, so beautiful," Bokuto says while squeezing your thighs. His warm breath tickles your ear as he presses his nose into your neck. Next, his lips follow suit. "Wanna fuck you, so bad baby. You'd like that, right?"

His words earn him a chuckle from Akaashi, who merely licks two of his fingers, wetting them and sliding into you. Your mouth parts, shaky breaths barely expelled from your lungs. You're hyper-aware of the fact that you're literally being fingered on a beach in the middle of the night, and you can't bring yourself to care. It feels good to be pampered by the two men you love.

For every moan, Akaashi gives you double for your efforts, thrusting his fingers just right, curving them in such a way that has your back arching off Bokuto, who has also taken to fondling your nipples. With every roll of his hips, you feel his cock against your ass, and it pushes you further into Akaashi's fingers.

Your impending orgasm sweeps by so close and yet so far away. All you can do is rock yourself faster.

"Please," you whimper. "W-Wanna come."

Akaashi crooks his fingers, pressing into the perfect spot that sends you hurtling over the edge. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching in intervals you have no control over until his hand is coated with your wet, slick juices that keep coming the more you squirt all over him.

"She's so wet 'Kaashi. Look at our pretty girl."

Akaashi places a chaste kiss on your forehead with a smile.

"She's doing well, so far. Let's see if she can keep going."

Bokuto shimmies his shorts off enough to free his hard cock. He had been uncharacteristically patient until now, but that was soon to change as he lines himself up with your cunt, teasing you with just the tip.

Your whining is unintelligible, but both men understand you more or less.

"Give the pretty girl what she wants," Akaashi says. He strokes his own hard-on at the sight of Bokuto's pushing past your wet folds. "I know she can take more than that."

Bokuto has always been girthy, and it takes you more than a few seconds to adjust to his size, but when you finally do, it feels like heaven.

The position you're in gives Bokuto all the power to thrust into you like a ragdoll. But it's only when you make eye contact with Akaashi that you realize that it's, in fact, the other way around for him in particular. From where he sits, stroking his cock with flushed cheeks and choked moans, you see just how much control you have over him.

"Kiss me." You moan.

Akaashi doesn't let you repeat yourself. He kisses you long and hard even as you grip his throat with one hand and his hair with the other. He kisses you until his lips are red and bruised.

"Good boy. Both of y-you."

Bokuto groans loudly. "Say it again. Keep saying it!"

"Y-You're both so good. I-" your hips stutter against Akaashi's fingers that are rubbing circles into your clit. "Good, so good-"

That's all it takes to take Bokuto over the edge, blowing his load. "Perfect, so fucking perfect."

You can feel another orgasm swelling up inside your belly. You try to tell them but can't, too overcome by the feeling of your body tingling with desire. It's too much, overwhelmingly so; your vision blurs with unshed tears as Bokuto continues to pound into sopping pussy. Pleasure floods every fiber of your being until you're limp and every nerve in your body is set alight.

Bokuto slips out of you easily, a string of his semen following.

You can only look on in a drowsy haze as Bokuto leans over and kisses you and then Akaashi, working him over with a tight fist.

♥️

The following morning, you’re the first to wake, but only because there’s a limb jammed into your back and a heavy weight on your chest. It takes you a moment to realize, but it’s Bokuto’s elbow poking you and Akaashi’s head resting on you.

All three of you are a tangle of limbs in bed, but you aren’t sure how you’d gotten there.

“G’mornin’” Bokuto breathes. His lips caress the column of your neck.

“Morning.”

You shift into a more comfortable position. Though doing so presses Akaashi’s morning wood against your thigh.

“Keiji, you awake yet?”

“Mmm barely.” Akaashi looks up at you through his lashes, then smiles and nuzzles closer into your chest.

Bokuto, content with being your big spoon, reaches over to touch Akaashi, hands cupping his cheek. “It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“That’s true, should we do something special.”

Thinking about the previous night, you feel desire stirring in your gut. “Could we just... do it again?”

Both men look to each other then back at you, sporting matching smiles.

“Why not?”

#bokuaka x reader #bokuto x reader #koutarou bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu smut

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peachywrite · 3 years

Text

Before I Let You Go

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader & Protective Brother!Josuke

Trigger Warning: violence, inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Josuke doesn't understand why his sister has been spending even more time with Morioh's Famous Mangaka.

Josuke sat himself down beside Koichi, the pair of friends awaiting the next delicious plate of specialty pasta Tonio was whipping up for them.

“You know, your sister has been hanging around Rohan quite a bit recently.” Koichi’s concern was evident in his tone of voice and the way he avoided eye contact with Josuke.

“What are you talking about? She just likes his art, is all. She’s always been into drawing and stuff since she was little.” Josuke tried to brush Koichi’s worries away, but he too was a bit suspicious of their sudden closeness.

Tonio returned with two heaping plates of authentic Italian pasta, smiling down as he placed each on the table. He gave a small bow and returned to the kitchen. Koichi poked at the new food with his fork, spinning it around as he began to speak.

“I mean, they’ve been hanging out with each other for a while now, but just recently it feels like something’s changed.” The two paused for a quick bite of their dishes and thought quietly to themselves, both suddenly coming to the same conclusion.

“Hey, Josuke. You don’t think your sister would ever date Rohan, right? What am I thinking, that’s a stupid question. It would never happen.” The shorter boy scratched his cheek nervously, staring down at his plate.

“I-I don’t know. She’s never had a boyfriend before. Rohan’s also too proud to date anyone, so we shouldn’t worry our heads over this, Koichi.” Josuke smiled at him, patting the gray-haired boy on the back to reassure him.

“I don’t know, it’s just… The other day, when I went over to return some photos to Rohan, I saw the two of them through the window. I couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, but it kinda looked like he was holding her hand? And placing a kiss on it? I don’t know though, the window was so high up, so I probably didn’t see anything.” Koichi’s voice wavered, the overwhelming silence from his friend concerning him.

He didn’t have the heart to look Josuke in the eyes at the moment, too afraid he may have let the young man down by not sharing this memory sooner. The dread in his heart outweighed his fears quickly, and Koichi looked up to see a Josuke imbued in the darkest aura imaginable. It reminded him of those terribly frightening spirits in the alley that tried to steal him that one day.

“Uh-Josuke? Is everything a-alright? I know I should have told you sooner, but I wanted to be a hundred percent sure about it before you could go off and beat up Rohan again.” Josuke silently nodded, pulling out his wallet and dropping enough to pay for both meals on the table as he scooted his chair in and began to leave.

“Josuke! We aren’t sure if they even are dating yet!” Koichi shouted.

Josuke turned around, a chilling smile spread across his face as he waved.

“No worries, Koichi. I’m off to find out. Sorry about leaving you, I’ll call Okuyasu to take my place while I’m out. I’ll see you later and tell you what I found out.”

All Koichi could do was stutter in surprise at Josuke’s changed demeanor.

Was he putting on a show to calm his nerves? Or was he actually thinking about how it would affect his sister if Rohan was dating her?

The boy returned to his meal, lost in thought, until a tired Okuyasu joined him at the table.

Josuke’s heart was conflicted. If y/n was really dating Rohan, that would mean she was probably in love with the mangaka. He knew his sister wore her emotions on her sleeve and would never fake a romance, but was that true for Rohan? Could he have used Heaven’s Door to make her love him?

He didn’t trust Rohan after what happened with the others, but he did save his life when they fought against Highway Star.

This is what conflicted him. Rohan had a good soul, but was he doing this because he truly loved y/n, or was this another trick to get back at him for the lost dice game or the partial burning of his mansion? Rohan was the kind of person to hold grudges for as long as he saw fit, so this frightened Josuke.

“You can tease and mess with me all you want, but as soon as you bring my sister into this, you’ve crossed the line.” He muttered under his breath, jogging to the café he knew the artist would probably be sitting at.

As he finally spotted the mangaka, enjoying a sip of tea between his quick sketches, he rushed past the hostess and right up to the table. Rohan was caught off guard, a bit frightened and prepared to use his stand until he saw the steak shaped head of hair.

“Josuke? You idiot, I almost attacked you. Why are you rushing me like an enemy?” He blew out his held breath and took another sip of tea.

Josuke pulled up a seat across from the artist, his hands neatly folded in front of him, eyes staring down as he tried to formulate the proper words without working himself up.

“Rohan, I heard from someone that you may be dating my sister. I just want to know if the rumor is true.” Rohan nearly spit out his cup of tea, the shock of the question taking him completely off guard.

After composing himself, the Great Rohan Kishibe began to sweat as he tried to decide whether he should divulge the truth. Y/n would want him to be honest, but he feared the beating Josuke would surely give him if he found out the two of you were dating.

“Your hesitation to answer is making me nervous, Rohan. You better speak up soon, or I’m gonna lose my patience.” The young delinquent spoke through gritted teeth.

“Fine. Yes, we are. We have been for at least a week now. I love her. It’s simple. Why are you asking me? You could have easily just gotten the same information from her.” Rohan took another sip of tea, hiding his face behind the cup as he tried to figure out how the young man would react.

Josuke’s hands reached out from across the table, grabbing Rohan by the collar and dragging him off to the side, so he could pull him in closer. The smashing of glass on the quiet block alerted the hostesses as they worriedly watched.

“Rohan-sensei! Do you need us to call the police?!” Shouted one of the waitresses, who had reached for her cellphone behind the counter.

“No, everything's alright. I can handle this.” Rohan waved her off, Josuke still dangling the man in the air.

“You better not be doing this to get back at me. I can take the teasing and the jabs at my intelligence, but I won’t let you make a mockery of my sister and her feelings.” Josuke lowered the man down, taking a breath to relax himself, then began to drag the manga artist off the café patio.

“Hey! Release me, you brute! Where are you taking me?!” Rohan struggled in his hold, trying to call Heaven’s Door out to control Josuke.

“We’re going to see y/n.” Rohan stopped fighting and instead calmly placed his hand on Josuke’s shoulder.

The boy stopped, turning around to meet Rohan’s stern face.

“I’ll go with you, just stop manhandling me.” Josuke stared into him, debating with himself, then let the manga artist go.

Rohan stumbled back to his feet, dusting himself off as he grumbled under his breath about how rude Josuke was being to him.

The two walked side by side towards the Higashikata residence. When they were nearly a block away, Josuke spotted you being dropped off by Jotaro. You waved goodbye to the older man, but turned around to face them after.

“Good grief.” Jotaro rolled his eyes with a sigh, leaning against the car as you spotted your brother and your boyfriend angrily walking toward you.

“What do you think is up with them?” You asked, curious as to why both seemed to be in foul moods.

“Looks like your brother found out who your boyfriend is. I’m only staying because I don’t want an unnecessary stand fight.” The marine biologist pouted to himself, annoyed.

You looked back at the pair, shaking your head in annoyance as well.

“I should have just told him from the start. I knew Rohan couldn’t keep quiet about this.” You motioned to the two of them to speed up, so you could talk.

As they reached you, Josuke grabbed onto Rohan again, dragging him by his collar with one hand.

“Why must you fling me around like a rag doll!? I already agreed to come with you!” Rohan shouted, squirming in Josuke’s death grip.

“Use Heaven’s Door on her.” Josuke mumbled to the mangaka.

All he could do was shake his head in response, his eyes wide at the order given to him by the delinquent. Suddenly, a second hand came up to grip the other side of Rohan’s collar, both now shaking him violently.

“I said use Heaven’s Door! I want to be sure you aren’t messing with her!” The tears that welled up in Josuke’s eyes shocked you.

You’d seen Josuke cry before, but these tears were different. He looked scared.

“Josuke, stop it! There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You placed a hand on Josuke’s back, your touch pausing his tirade and causing him to drop his hold on the artist. Helping him up, you touch Rohan’s cheek and nod to him.

“Rohan, I give you permission to use Heaven’s Door on me right now.” He shook his head again, adamant about his refusal.

“I won’t use it on you. Not for that bastard or for you. It’s not right.” You could tell how upset this was making Rohan. He turned his head away from you, not allowing you to meet his gaze.

“Rohan, please. He’s just scared. Just this once. I’ll never ask for you to do this again.” He finally meets your eyes and sighs.

His hands carefully touch your cheek as he whispers Heaven’s Door. The pages on your face open up and prevent you from moving, but you happily look up at the man, reassuring him that you felt safe and accepted this. Josuke came from behind the artist, flipping through all your pages quickly, searching for any scribblings Rohan could have made.

A few minutes pass and Josuke is finally content with his search. He closes the book on your face and your movement returns to you.

“See. Everything was fine. I really do like him. A lot, actually.” You pinch Josuke’s cheek.

Josuke pulls you into a tight hug as you feel his stress melt away. The mangaka crosses his arms, an angry pout on his face. All you can do is sigh and return the hug.

“I just wanted to be sure. If you were to get hurt because of me, I don’t know how I’d live with that.” He squeezes you tighter, your breath leaving your body quickly from his sheer strength.

“Josuke, it’s fine! Trust me! Now let go, you're crushing me.” You squirm, but your brother refuses to budge.

“I don’t think I will. If I let go, you’re gonna go give Rohan a hug, and I don’t want to see that.” The boy then lifts you with little effort and attempts to run, but his plan is foiled when your stand manifests and wraps around his legs, keeping him from moving.

“I see how it is, y/n. Fine, go be with your boyfriend, but no lovey-dovey stuff.” Your vines unwrap his legs as he sets you down.

You give your brother one last hug and a smile, running into Rohan’s arms. He still looks upset, but when you nuzzle into his chest, his anger melts away.

“I’m sorry you had to do that. It had to happen, though, so don’t be too mad at me. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” You look up at him, still in his arms, he leaves a quick peck on your cheek followed by a hefty sigh.

“You’re lucky I’m such a forgiving man.”

#rohan kishibe x reader #kishibe rohan x reader #rohan kishibe #kishibe rohan #jjba reader insert #jjba part 4 #jjba x reader #jjba #platonic josuke

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gothhisoka · 3 years

Text

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕 (𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖝 𝕱𝖊𝖒𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

Title: Worship

Pairing: Chrollo x Femreader

Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, 18+, explicit content

Word Count: 3116 (I promise it is worth it. Oh god is it worth it)

Note: This is from my cross-published fanfic called Hunter University! It is available if you click here on Wattpad and AO3. My fanfic is x OC, but I upload x Reader versions of some chapters here on Tumblr. In short, it is a dark academia college AU with Chrollo as the main love interest.

Background: You are an artist in college and Chrollo is your fellow classmate. You just returned from a night out at a ball, drunk. Chrollo appeared at the door to your dorm room as he promised he would after you danced with one another at the ball.

Chrollo was surprised you looked so intact. He was sure you would come waddling to the door in pajamas as you did the last time he visited your room. Although it had been an hour since the ball ended, your makeup hadn't smudged a bit. Sure, it was faded, and your hair was significantly messier, but overall you looked as remarkable as you did at the start of the ball.

Your tired eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him. He was just as unimpaired as you were. Though now he was missing his suit jacket. His hair had become slightly disheveled, losing its styled waves. He still had on those signature silver rings and little cross earrings.

You attempt to soak in his sight with your intoxicated brain. He looked even more captivating in this particular state.

“Hi…” was all you could utter.

“Can I come in?”

You realized he was waiting for your permission. He didn’t need it.

You stepped aside to let him in and shut the door. Your room was the same as the last time he saw it, with your drawings hung on the walls and lights strung above the desk. Their small bulbs reflected against the night-stained window.

Upon shutting the door, the tension noticeably rose. It was dark in the small space and you were alone. Chrollo took his black dress shoes off near the door, placing them neatly side by side.

So he plans on staying. You tried to hide a smile. The hour of his visit was surely suspicious. There could be only one thing on his mind.

"So what're you doing here?" you spoke nonchalantly, acting like you didn't just fantasize about what could happen in the next few minutes.

Chrollo opened and shut his mouth, his response escaping him. He turned back to you and used his eyes to convey a craving far deeper than any words could admit.

"I said I would come to find you, didn't I?" He said lowly.

He had begun to walk around the room, absentmindedly stopping at a piece of art from time to time. You were too tired to care. The collection included nature scenes, portraits of people he didn't recognize, anatomy studies, and...

He paused, noticing a drawing on the wall behind the place where the door would otherwise be covering.

It was a full-body anatomy study of yourself. To be specific, it would fit further in the category of a glorified nude. It was on a miniature piece of parchment sketched in charcoal. It was obviously you: the woman had your (hair color) hair and distinct mouth and nose. The paper was hardly noticeable amongst the scatter of papers. You wouldn't see it unless you had a careful eye such as that of Chrollo.

You hardly noticed when he reached the particular spot on your wall. Your tiredness had waned significantly with Chrollo's entrance, but it still fogged your mind.

Additionally, you had long forgotten about your secret behind-the-door location for your drawings that were not meant to be seen by a single soul.

Chrollo attempted to hide a mysterious smile. He turned to you, “You draw wonderfully.”

“Thanks?” you reply, with more question in your tone than you hoped to show.

The heat in the room shot through the roof. You were sure if you checked the temperature it would be well above its normal chilly state. Perhaps it was the heat in your cheeks that was causing such a change.

“So…” he began.

“So,” you replied, trying to avoid eye contact. Please, just let it happen already.

You thought you had a good idea of why he had come to your room at one o'clock in the morning after a night of drinking and questionably close dancing. You couldn't be certain, though, because that was just how he was: unpredictable and exceedingly complicated.

You didn’t think him so complicated as to not be able to admit why he was at your room, though.

You waited as he thought about what to say next. This is taking too damn long.

Luckily, you prepared an excuse. You never failed to come ready for something you could expect. And this, the direction in which your encounter is headed, is inevitable. You had been rehearsing the line in your head for the duration of their conversation like reviewing terms for a test.

This was the only way to test if your assumptions are correct.

Blame it on the champagne if I am wrong. But I really hope I'm right.

You look directly at him. Time to be daring.

You took a breath and did your best to look directly at him, "Well, I actually do need some help. You see, this dress is quite difficult to take off by myself..."

Walking towards him, you place a hand at the hem of your dress. Your delicate fingers wrap around its lacy fabric.

Chrollo looked amused. He sizes you up, looking from your hand holding the hem of your dress to your unfazed expression. Unfazed, yet your cheeks were slowly turning a shade of scarlet. Nice try, Chrollo thought.

He gestured, "Turn around."

You obeyed. You desired something far more than the unzipping of your dress, but you were not presumptuous enough to say it. The expression on Chrollo's face told you that he was hoping for the same thing. He hid many emotions well, but being turned on wasn't one of them.

Chrollo brushed your hair away from the zipper, delicately placing it over your shoulder. His fingers purposefully grazed your back as he did this, causing your breath to hitch slightly.

His hands moved to the zipper, carefully pulling it down. It went past the clasp of your bra to your lower back. There was complete silence. Both of you were still. Are we still hesitating?

Chrollo was the first to move. He pulled you close to him so that your back was touching him. His left arm wrapped across your chest possessively, holding you in a tight embrace. With his other hand, he brushed your hair back from your ear. He smelt of sweet alcohol. Clearly, he was slightly drunk as well, for the next words he said couldn't be uttered by a sober man.

His whispered breath tickled your neck, husky with the threat of sleep, "I want you so bad right now."

You tensed with a sudden surge of desire. Your impression had been right. He let his strong arm remain around you, patiently waiting for a response.

You choked out your reply, "The feelings' mutual."

Under his touch, your streak of audacity from earlier dissolved into compliance. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to submit to his words.

With complete control, Chrollo took your shoulder and turned you around. Your dress was now loose on your shoulders. He placed his hands around your hips firmly. He looked at you under his thick eyelashes and slowly leaned in. The pressure was growing to an unbearable level, but he still wouldn't go all the way.

Then his lips crashed against yours with the force of weeks of pent-up desire. This kiss didn't speak of courtesy, of patience. This was raw passion. It was furious and messy. you preferred this to sensitive steps around the intensity they both craved.

"You must still be drunk," you said playfully as you both pulled away to catch your breath. You held your hand to Chrollo's chest. His heart was beating surprisingly fast.

"If I'm drunk, then what are you?" Chrollo said with a lazy smirk.

"I'm drunk as well."

Chrollo threaded his hands through your hair, pulling the long strands through his fingers. He pulled you in close again with his hand at the back of your head.

You opened your mouth to allow for Chrollo's tongue to slip in. He lessened the intensity and slowly moved his tongue against your own tongue and lips. You couldn't help but let out soft moans that made Chrollo weak at the knees.

He pushed you against the wall to deepen your kiss. Drawings fluttered down, becoming detached with the sudden movement. Including that drawing.

Chrollo pulled away, much to your shock. You were left panting with reddened cheeks. Please don't let this end now.

He displayed a shit-eating grin. Even with his ego, in the current moment, his expression made you melt. His face was inches from yours, looking down into your (eye color) eyes.

He shifted his gaze down to the floor and said, "Nice drawing you have there."

You finally noticed what he had been so smug about. Shit. Your face flushed ten different shades of scarlet.

Chrollo leaned in as he did before and murmured in your ear, "I wish I could see the real thing."

You failed to not show your excitement. The way your eyes lit up exposed you. "I can arrange that."

At that, Chrollo leaned in again, this time moving to your neck. His lips fluttered down your throat to your collarbone. You leaned your head back and tried to control your uneven breath.

His lips reached the edge of the neckline on your dress. He raised his eyes to meet yours, asking for permission to go further.

You let out a breathy, "Yes. Please."

What you wanted to say was, Please, take me now.

It could be too soon for him. But based on how this was going, you expected it was leading to something more. Whatever that was, you wished you could know right now. The growing tension between your thighs began to ache.

Chrollo slipped his hand across your skin to the hemline of your dress, moving it completely off of your shoulder and down your arms. Your black see-through bra was now in full view. Your nipples grew hard at the sudden exposure.

At least I went with my fancy bra. You suddenly grew very shy. The last time you went even this far was years ago.

He evidently liked the lingerie for his hands immediately traveled to your breast to caress it as he continued to kiss you.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your neck. Your heart fluttered at his words.

Chrollo then moved his lips progressively further down as he slipped your dress off of your body. Soon your underwear came into view, then your feet. He helped your step out of the dress.

"Your turn," you said, unbuttoning his shirt. All the while he continued to distractingly leave lazy kisses upon your face, one on your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

After an agonizingly long time, you pulled off his shirt. Fuck.

You knew he would be defined. But him, this boy standing in front of you, resembled more of a greek statue than an actual human. It looked like his body had been sculpted by the finest stone on earth. He had a six-pack, defined pectoral muscles, and prominent collarbones. His biceps flexed as he leaned his hand against the wall, bracing himself. It was you who needed to brace yourself. Your breath hitched again at the sight of him.

You ran a hand up his firm body as you planted your lips upon his once again. This time Chrollo put his hands beneath your thighs, his fingers pressing into your soft skin. He picked you up easily.

You wrapped your legs around him as he brought you to the bed, kissing him all the while.

He dropped you down gently, releasing his grip off of your thighs. You took this time to look up at him and admire the beauty of his aroused state. He had a dangerous and wild look, with tousled hair and a constant smile playing at his lips. His heavy-lidded eyes were lazily focused upon you.

You continued to make out on the bed, its white silk sheets creating an angelic halo around you. Chrollo couldn't stand looking at you like this, underneath him. It was far too much power for one man to hold.

You reached to your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You threw it to the ground. Chrollo immediately began to touch your naked tits in a way that made you want to dissolve. He moved in circles around your nipples first, watching as they grew harder under his expert touch. Then he moved his mouth to the sensitive area, playing with you and biting slightly. You audibly moaned at the gesture. Damn the neighbors.

Chrollo sensed your desire to take it further. He looked up, grey eyes filled with lust, "Y/n...let me pleasure you."

It wasn't the suggestion you were expecting, but you were satisfied nonetheless. You didn't care about anything in the world besides what he could do to you at this moment, whatever it may be.

"If you say my name like that you can do anything you want to me," you said breathily. It was exactly what he needed to hear.

Chrollo smirked and moved to take off your soaking underwear. Under his pants, his dick grew visibly harder. He threw the underwear onto the floor.

Gently placing his finger at your throbbing core, he began to stroke. Upon receiving his touch your back arched involuntarily. You were beyond eager.

"Fuck... Chrollo..."

This served as encouragement for him to insert his finger deeper into you, curling it slightly. It hit your g-spot repeatedly, eliciting ungodly sounds from you.

As he was doing this, he slowly positioned himself on top of you, grabbing onto the bed frame with his spare hand. He just wanted to look at your face as you opened your mouth in delight.

He inserted one more finger which caused your arousal to heighten. God, he really knows how to do this.

Just as you felt the heat in your core escalating, he slid his finger out. You whimpered in protest.

Chrollo looked down at you with a wicked smile. "Beg for it."

Oh fuck.

You gladly would. It was more your instincts speaking than any coherent thought.

"Please... Chrollo..." you said between breaths.

You wanted to not only plead for him, you wanted to worship him.

"More."

This is what you had been missing out on all those weeks. And oh god, did you eat it up.

"FUCK please do that again," you exclaimed.

It was enough to convince him. Chrollo moved his face towards your slickened pussy.

Is he about to...

He pushed his hair back out of his face with his clean hand, his forehead tattoo revealed. For only a second, he raised his eyes to gaze into yours. You fell for him all over again at that simple glance.

Then he entered you. His tongue made you want to weep. He devoured your insides, soaking up the salty juices. You couldn't help but hold his head, pulling it closer to your body. You ran your hand through his soft black hair. There was so much heat between them that you were both perspiring.

You began to shudder." I'm going to... oh... fuck," you gasped.

You felt the sweet release of cum spread below you onto the sheets and Chrollo himself. You felt self-conscious for a moment. That is until Chrollo began to lick up your juices. He ran his tongue up your soft thighs.

"You taste so fucking good, darling."

Chrollo looked at you like he had fallen all over again as well. You grinned back at him. Your cheeks grew even redder, if possible. Your heart screamed to continue but you were too physically exhausted to move. Still, wouldn't Chrollo want his turn?

You laid there, naked and panting on the silk sheets. Chrollo flopped next to you, unaffected beside his flushed cheeks and a wide grin.

The lights were still low in the little room. Looking out the window, you saw that the sun had yet to rise. This was a positive fact because the only thing you needed to do now was to sleep. And preferably, cuddling with the boy next to you. You hoped he would stay. It was more than hope, really. Your body couldn't spend any more time away from him after that.

Damn. He was good. He was really, really fucking good.

He knew his way with words, to begin with. He said exactly what needed to be said to escalate your arousal. You wanted to worship those fingers, the way he so expertly felt around you like he had memorized a map. And his tongue was even more worthy of revere.

You flipped over to your elbows. Your breasts brushed against the bedding, noticeably making Chrollo gulp. You boldly reached to touch the front of his pants.

"You don't want a turn?" you smirked.

"This was more than enough for me."

He stared into your eyes as if he was calculating a complex math problem rather than looking at the person who just received the best head of their life.

You yawned, despite yourself. Your body ached with all the action of the night.

"Go to bed, sweetheart. I'll be here."

Those were the last words you heard before your eyes drifted shut. Exhaustion stilled your naked body. Chrollo reached over you to turn off the bedside lamp.

He wasn't nearly as tired. He could've gone for a couple more rounds, perhaps take it a step further if you so desired. But he knew you needed the sleep. Most of your makeup had rubbed off, displaying the dark circles under your eyes.

He slipped off his pants and threw them onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. He found the soft sheets and pulled them across you and himself. The bed was small but cozy. His strong chest was flush against your back.

Your (hair color) hair smelt of a summer day, like sunlight and wildflowers. He took this opportunity to feel up the rest of your glorious body. He ran his hand lightly from your shoulder to your hips, to your thighs. All of it was angelic to him.

He moved you closer with his arm, protectively wrapping it across your front. Somehow holding you like this felt far more intimate than any sexual activity. The way the moonlight graced your skin was majestic.

How had he fallen so hard, so fast? It was unlike him to act with such recklessness.

Through it all, he still had his mind. you had no way to tell the extent of his feelings. He made sure of this. His libido could act one way, that was clear from tonight. But he was an expert at controlling his outward emotions. You would never know. If you did, it would be over for him. All the planning will be for naught.

He closed his eyes before he could fall upon any more worries. He had already pondered the issue for many sleepless nights.

He fell into a dreamless slumber with you safe in his arms. You both slept soundly until the sun peeked through the window.

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