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donatellawritings · 3 months

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would rafe ever actually hurt the reader or does he always say empty promises when he’s upset? would you write that? love your work xx

ugh so basically, this is the first and only time that rafe and sweetheart actually break up :(

there was only one instance where rafe had hurt you — and it was one of, if not, the only regret that will continue to haunt him, whenever you shed even a single tear. it was pretty early on in your relationship, he was still struggling to navigate how to handle someone as pure as you, while you were still finding your footing when it came to having such a volatile lover in rafe cameron. you’d been warned by your cousin, kiara — she was firm in maintaining her stance on being against you and rafe being in a relationship … you were her family, you had a heart of genuine gold, while rafe only displayed the facade of being a blood and money hungry man with incessant skeletons in his closet.

“don’t fuckin’ walk away from me, when i’m talkin’ to you,” rafe shouted, hot on your trail as you tearfully made your way into your shared bedroom. mascara-stained tears painted your once blushed cheeks with dark and watery streaks, your lip poked out in a wobbly pout as you turned to face your angered boyfriend, “of course, the baby is fuckin’ crying — i should be the one that’s fuckin’ crying after the way you walked around like a dumb slut,” he scoffed, completely unfazed by your genuine tears of sorrowful frustration. now focusing your gaze at your kitten-heel clad feet, your shoulders slumped as a choked out sob sipped from between your swollen lips.

rafe was completely coked-out, blaming his over-indulgence on the fact that it had been months since he’d been able to enjoy a night out. his usually cold, yet enticing bright blue glaze was taken over by blown pupils and bloodshot eyes that stared at you with nothing, but disdain, “y’fuckin’ look at me when i’m talking to you,” he spoke lowly, a squeaky yelp coming out of you as he gripped your jaw, forcing your head up to make direct eye contact with him. your hand gently held onto his wrist, fat tears cascading down your waterline as rafe painfully pinched your cheeks together, “i want you to get the fuck out of my house — y’wanna fuckin’ talk to other guys while m’making us money? then fucking leave,” he spat through gritted teeth, pushing your face away as you let out a throaty cry.

that was far from the case — rafe had simply caught you making conversation with some random kook who’d failed to take the hint that not only you were uninterested, but you were rafe’s girl. but, rafe was too far gone to see anything aside from what his intoxicated mind wrongfully conjured up.

with a heaving chest, you let out a cry as you reached to grab rafe’s arm, “no, papi, i don’t want to go — please ju-just listen to me,” the second your hand touched rafe’s flexed arm, your head whipped to the side as rafe’s ring-clad hand slapped you right across your pretty face. your cheek pulsed with an aching sting as you blinked, your swollen lips parted in disbelief.

the sharp sound of rafe’s hand connecting with your face instantly caused your boyfriend to sober up, just enough for his eyes to widen in realization as he immediately approached you, “fuck, baby i didn’t mean to fuckin’—” he began, reaching an arm out to pull you into his chest, his heart sinking to his stomach as you backed away from him, bone-chilling cries leaving your mouth as you made a run for the bedroom door. “no-no, mama, please just fuckin’ listen!” he shouted, his arms successfully wrapping around you from behind as he pulled you flush against his tense chest.

“i fucking hate you, let me go!” you screamed, kicking your heeled feet as rafe tightened his hold on you, your eyes burning with reddening tears as you let out a choked sob. your cheek still pulsed as you began to sink to the floor, rafe lowering himself with his arms secured around you as you weakly clawed at his strained forearms, “please, i just want to go home,” you squeaked out, rafe’s eyes glazing over — this was supposed to be your home. you’d given up on kicking at the floor and scratching rafe’s arms, your heaving cries making you a bit sleepy as rafe wordlessly held you against him, waiting until you were calm, before he’d speak again.

tears silently rolled down rafe’s structured face as he hopelessly clung to you. you had every right to hate him and he accepted that, but the possibility of you leaving him for good was really starting to bite at him. with a shaky sigh, rafe leaned his forehead against your shoulder, “baby, pl-please let’s just, let’s just go to sleep,” he whispered, his voice wobbly as he swallowed down a pathetic cry. you remained quiet as you stared at the hardwood floor that had been scuffed by your heels, your doe eyes puffy and red from all of the crying you’d done, your eyelids heavy. “m’so fuckin’ sorry,” rafe cried, feverishly pressing his lips into the back of your shoulder, over and over again, his wet eyelashes now prominent against your exposed skin.

you were completely numb, once rafe slowly rose to his feet, keeping you in his arms as he carefully removed your clothes, replacing them with one of his t-shirts, tears rolling down his face as you remained limp, your eyes blank of any recognizable emotion as you refused to look directly into his eyes. you didn’t even move when rafe softly cradled the back of your head, pressing a kiss into your forehead as you simply blinked, your wispy lashes clumped together from your warm tears. carefully leading you to your shared bed, rafe remained fully clothed in his button-up and slacks, silently thankful that you were able to fall asleep with your bruised cheek finding comfort against his cheek. he couldn’t find it in himself to sleep, once he was completely sober and of a sound mind, rafe knew that he’d completely fucked up.

this wasn’t supposed to happen, not with you. he was supposed to be different, he was supposed to be a man of dignity, yet here he was slipping into his old ways.

so, rafe was awake when you finally woke up, his heart beating just a bit quicker as you raised your head from his chest, your cheekbone a light reddish-purple shade. it wasn’t until your exhausted and strained eyes met his, that rafe wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and beg you for your forgiveness. but, he knew he’d be selfish to expect you to forgive him, only mere hours since he’d put his hands on you. biting back tears, rafe stood from the bed, “i want to take you somewhere, baby — y’don’t have to change your clothes, just come with me to the car, yeah?” rafe held out his hand, a slight warmth fluttering in his chest as you lightly held onto his hand with a small nod.

౨ৎ

rafe was thankful that you’d fallen asleep, about five minutes into the drive. he’d been wracking over his mistake over and over again, to the point where he couldn’t even bring himself to turn the car around and drive back home with you. slowly bringing the car to a stop, rafe gently parked the car, running a hand over his shaven face with a low and shaky sigh. his tired eyes looked over your peaceful state, your puffy lips slight parted as you fell into a deep sleep. rafe’s heart ached as he gently laid a hand on your thigh, lightly nudging you out of your sleep, a sad and knowing smile tugging on his lips as you opened your eyes.

“rafe, why are we here?” you asked, your voice raspy and hoarse as your eyes glazed.

rafe had driven you home.

unbuckling his seatbelt, rafe shifted to give you his full attention, his hand bringing yours to his lips as you looked at him with tearful eyes, “i want you to listen to me, a’ight? i need to be a better man for you,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, before swallowing thickly as you held in a cry, “m’gonna get my shit together, princess—” he continued, watching as you furiously shook your head. you were stubborn, but this was the one time where he needed you to listen to him.

“no, i wanna be with you — i don’t hate you, i—” you panicked, tears streaming down your face as you softly pulled your hand away from rafe’s, using both of your small hands to cover your face.

“m’gonna come and get you when i get better, okay mama? but right now, you need to go home, a’ight?” he sighed, keeping his eyes focused on the steering wheel. if he even looked at you for a second, he knew that he’d be back on the road, with you in the passenger seat, riding off into the sunset.

sniffling back a sob, you glanced at your boyfriend through cloudy eyes, “you’re breaking my heart, papi,” you cried, your puffy lips now dry as you licked over them. you wanted so bad to crawl into his lap and fall asleep, forget this all happened. unfortunately, rafe had already made up his mind.

“baby, please go home, this isn’t easy for me,” rafe spoke sternly, maintaining his gaze on the steering wheel, tears burning at his waterline as you nodded weakly, before stepping out of the car, gently closing the passenger door as you walked towards your house.

neither you nor rafe had the strength to look at each other as you made your way into your house, leaving rafe a tearful mess as he aimlessly made his way back on the road. every few minutes, he’d glance at the passenger seat, hoping that you’d magically appear next to him and be your usually smiley self, but he knew that couldn’t happen, not for a while.

rafe meant it when he said that he’d come get you, once he got better and he looked to make good on that promise. you were his sweet girl and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, if he managed to lose you for good. he just hoped that you’d still love him, when he returned.

#anon #asks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #obx imagine #obx #sweetheart!reader

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historianthesecond · 1 year

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Familiar Melody

Hi! It’s my first time writing about Nikolai, so I apologize if it isn’t that good. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it ^^

Nikolai Lantsov x Fem!Reader-----1.3K-----SFW

Summary: As the daughter of the music teacher, you’ve known the Second Prince since a long time ago. You both thought you’d never see each other again, and yet, here you are, face-to-face. Have the feelings between you two changed?

Tags: Fluff| Childhood Friends/Childhood Sweethearts| Lil bit of Longing| I think that’s all

A piano melody echoed from under the doors of the music room when Nikolai passed by on his way toward the bedroom. He frowned, the leather of his boots creaking over the muffled sound of the growing storm raging outside. The metal handles felt cold against his warm hands, leaving the gold slightly stained with oil from his repairing the Hummingbird that had kept them up much later than he imagined.

Just like however was practicing piano at this hour, too.

The music room seemed frozen in time, with the same paintings decorating the walls, and string instruments tucked in the glass doors of the closets aligned to the far end of the space. A piano settled in the middle of it, a lonely stool in front of the massive instrument where a figure sat in front.

Dressed in a simple dress that pooled in light violet waves across the wooden floor, hair swinging in gentle movements as the fingers flew across the keys. A familiar, yet foreign picture of the music teacher’s daughter Nikolai met more than ten years ago.

He knew it was you, but it was the way only a hunch could determine. It was impressive that he remembered the color of your hair, the posture you glazed over the piano that looked so comfortable and easy to mimic, only to discover that his legs started to irk too much when he tried to stay still for a whole two hours.

Nikolai called your name as if it were a bet, half-expecting it would have been a mistake. That you were gone with your family and that the person in front of him was just too eerily similar to your physique—or how he imagined you would look now, better put.

Your left hand hovered over the keys, frozen in a mid-finished tune.

The lamps flanked the piano alone and leaving the rest of the room in semi-darkness made your eyes twinkle when you looked back at him, a smile slowly appearing as you recognized him.

Turning, you incorporated to bow. “Moi Tsarevich,” you said. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Nikolai,” he corrected. “I would like to believe we’re still friends so perhaps you can teach me piano again?”

When he was a child, his Mother tried to morph him into a noble, just like Vasily. He had a dozen of teachers for each subject imaginable; economics, language, law, fencing… of course, he must also have a former music teacher, your father. And as with any other teacher—except with those lucky ones of fencing and dancing—Nikolai was a troublesome kid. Incapable of sitting during the lessons in front of a desk, distracted while doodling his inventions in the margins of his books.

You leaned against the instrument. “Oh? Why is that? Have your attention span gotten better?”

He winced. So that’s how you remembered him. Not a very fond memory, but it could still work.

Nikolai didn’t pay attention to the piano lessons either, so your father thought it would be a good idea to bring you along, so Nikolai could at least try to imitate you, or that somehow his competitive nature would get prickled by your almost natural skill in front of the piano.

Instead, the prince found you boring. Sitting on the uncomfortable stool repeating the same part of the song again and again until you memorized it, only to go after the next part and the next. It was oh so dull. And why would you not pay attention to him?

You didn’t care he was a prince, that he could get you in trouble if he wanted to. Nikolai had tried to poke you, to call you, first, with simple ‘psst’ noises, until a couple of days later he caught your father calling your name.

It was the first time you stopped, half-turning to him careful not to touch him as you both shared the same piano. A realization hit Nikolai, considering that perhaps he had to play your ways if he wanted to prove his inner theory, the one that said that perhaps it would be easier for him to have friends outside the snob kids of the courtesans that would do anything to be in Vasily’s good book, including ignoring him and other crueler things that he preferred to shrug off from his memory.

“Perhaps it would get better if I can get a dedicated teacher,” he commented, eyeing the clock hung nearby. “One that plays well into midnight would do.”

You sat at the stool, facing him, with your fingers interlaced at your lap. “I’m afraid I don’t teach, Moi Tsarevich, my duties as a court musician absorb too much of my time.”

He walked closer, looking at the sheet music. “I assume you’re practicing for my birthday celebration?”

“A somewhat conceited assumption, but yes. I am.”

Nikolai couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Would it count as conceited if I ask you to dance with me at the party?”

You slid back down the piano’s cover, turning your head at him with a smile. “I don’t think I can play the piano and dance at the same time.”

“A shame, truly. And here I thought you were a prodigy.”

The dimmed room wouldn’t hide Nikolai’s clothes stained with ash and oil, and it was easy to connect the dots while remembering all the drawings of his inventions back in the day when he showed them to you after class.

“Not as much as you, that is clear.” Even if you used to talk to him ironically to counterbalance his never-ending witty jokes, you were saying the truth. He had always been very bright for things a noble wouldn’t expect to master unless strictly necessary.

Thunder disrupting into silver flashes over the gigantic window overlooking the Queen’s Garden, the place Nikolai plucked flowers to sneak them into your backpack when you weren’t looking, even when he knew it was a better idea to give them to you face-to-face.

"I missed you," he said then because it was true and it didn’t make sense to pretend otherwise. Nikolai had tried to keep track of your family when he enlisted in his military service, but when the notice arrived of your father resigning his place as a court musician and renowned teacher to move out of Os Alta, he thought you’d left with him.

Being Sturmhoud had put his mind at bay from the overflowing memories of the people that cared for him when he was still Nikolai, the Second Prince nobody minded. He thought of you gone, just like he did with Dominik. And now that he had you in front of him, a striking wish swept over him, wanting to hug you. When was the last time he did so?

Years ago, the last afternoon he spent in this room, sitting next to you on the stool even though it had become too small for both of you. It was just as improper as the way the hugged you, rubbing your back with his hand as you had your fists filled with the soft fabric of his dress shirt. When he kissed you, for the first and last time.

He’d wished the moment could have lasted longer—for an eternity, even.

“I missed you too, Nikolai,” you said softly, hoping that your hair could hide your flushed state, the way your eyes avoided his.

The prince stood there, unsure of what to do. The clock chimed past midnight.

“I shall go,” he said. “I need to have my beauty sleep.” Before turning, he added: “You don’t need it, but you should rest, too.”

“Is that a compliment I hear?” You pretended to be shocked, ignoring that your heart was hammering against your ribcage.

Nikolai winked, strolling toward the door. "I'll see you at my birthday celebration, then. With my gift, of course.”

“Goodnight, Moi Tsarevich,” you waved. “Sweet dreams.”

“I’ll dream of you,” he replied, his tone nonchalant as he opened the double doors, stepping out.

Before he could close the door, he heard your laugh. “That’ll be more a nightmare, but suit yourself.”

As Nikolai walked away, he heard the soft melody of the piano flowing out from under the door, a smile slowly making its way into the corners of his lips. He did miss you. So much more than he thought.

Perhaps he could resume where you two left off last time?

#nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lanstov x you #nikolai x you #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lanstov #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone x you

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pinejayy · 1 year

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Doll (Wally Darling x Reader) part 3

Part 1 // Part 2

Thank for the support guys! I really appreciate you guys !! uwu

Trigger Warnings: Anxiety/Panic attack, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Cannibalism (Puppetlism??)

Once you were back at your place you couldn’t help but think about your date. You honestly had a great time, Wally seemed like a nice guy. But you still couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling about Home. As you walked into your bedroom, you place the painting that Wally made you down. You couldn’t help but admire the painting, he was really great at painting. The colors were so lovely especially the red, hmm you wonder what kind of red paint he uses.

As you were getting ready to head to bed you couldn’t get your mind off of Sally. It was odd that you haven't seen her all morning. And she hasn't answered the phone all day. You were getting worried, she was your best friend! You at least had to go over to her place and check on her. So you did that, you walked to your door and open it but before you could step outside a chill ran throughout your whole body. Stopping dead in your tracks, you look up. Seeing Home’s eyes on you. Does this house always have to look at you? You couldn’t move, your body froze, yes Home’s glaze is very uneasy and the way their eyes follow you makes you uneasy and nervous, but something about their stare right is wrong. Deeply wrong...something more evil.

“Dammit! Move Y/N!” Thinking to yourself, your breathing got heavier. As you started to shake. What’s this? You've never felt like this? A new emotion?

Home’s eyes never left your frozen body. Feeling dread, you kept shaking as tears rolled down your cheeks. It was harder to breath. “Come on move Y/N!” You kept thinking to yourself. Why were acting like this? After awhile you snapped out of your thoughts and slammed the door closed. Leaning your back against the door and sliding onto the floor. You couldn’t stop shaking, it was getting harder to breath. Your head was hurting. God....you hated this feeling. Breathing heavily you started to cry...then soon after crying yourself to sleep on the floor.

On to Wally’s House

“Hmm, aren't they great Home? I really love them.” Wally said walking around, he was so love struck. Wally giggled to himself, he walked into a room. It was his special room where he painted.

*Creek Creek Creek Knock Knock”

“What's that Home? Oh? Hmm how interesting?” He said, Home was telling Wally that you tried to look for Sally but for someone reason you didn’t. Wally was bit upset, why would you look for Sally. Why do you need her when you have him. “Thank you Home, let me know if anything else happens.” Wally said, smirking to himself as he patted on one of the walls as if he was thanking Home.

Wally isn’t too worried about you finding you so called Best Friend. Wally then opened a closet where he kept spare paintbrushes and canvas. But Wally didn’t pay attention to that stuff his eyes laid on the body he had. Sally’s body. Wally had no shame of going after your best friend. But he had to be the center of your attention, no one else and he definitely had no shame of putting that “Special Ingredient” into the pie.

Smirking to himself he enjoyed watching you eat that apple pie, eat a part of your best friend. He also loved watching your reaction to the lovely painting he made you...the red he used. Sally’s Blood... Wally looked at the body, she sure did put a fight that’s for sure. But she won’t be a problem for you, for the both of you.

The Apple Pie and the painting was your first punishment, well more like unknown punishment. And Wally will give you more if he's not the center of your attention.

The Next Morning

You woke up feeling in pain, sleeping on the floor isn't for the best. But you don’t know what came over you. This new feeling, you didn’t like it. Why couldn’t you move? Or breath? But you were glad it was over with, maybe you could look for Sally now. As you quickly do your morning routine and managed to everything within an hour. And once you were done you started to walk towards your front door and as you reached the door nob, freezing for a second but snapped out of it. You were about to walk out until you saw Home’s eyes on you once again. Quickly slamming the door and stepping away.

“Stupid House…” You say to yourself. Maybe the back door is a better option. As you made your way there and once you were outside you try your best to stay away from Home’s eyes.

You walked around. Greeting the neighbors, as you walked towards Sally’s house you smiled to yourself. As you got closer someone stopped you, feeling a hand on your shoulders. Turning around and seeing Wally. “Hello Doll! How did you sleep last night!” Wally said in his cheerful tone voice. As he intertwines his arm with yours. And started to walk to the other direction. Moving you away from Sally’s house.

You were completely distracted as you didn’t notice him moving you away from Sally’s house. “I slept okay I guess...” You tell him as you didn’t want to tell him about last night. Wally looked at you, and he knew you were lying since Home told him about you last night. But he smiled. “Hmm. But what are you up too?” He asked you.

“Well I was going to check on Sally...” You say and look around and didn’t see her house. Wally was walking you in a different direction. But before you could say anything else Wally spoke up.

“Home was talking about you last night. You breathing hitched for a bit, making Wally smirk. “Home was telling me that they miss you, and would love to have you as a guest again.”

“Oh, how nice of them!” You say softly. And before you know it you were in front of Wally’s house. “How did we get here?” You thought to yourself.

“Now come in Doll, I have left over Apple Pie! And I thought of a cute way we can spend our day.” He said, grabbing your hand. “Home would you be a pal and open the door for our guest.”

Home then opens the door. Wally smiled at you and started to lead you inside. You just kept on smiling as you didn’t want to be rude to him. Once you guys were inside Home closes the door.

*creek creek knock knock creek knock*

“Thank you Home and it seems like Home likes you Doll!” Wally said, looking at you he smiled. “So Doll...would you like more Apple Pie?”

You just nodded at Wally, “How very sweet of Home.” You look around and smile slightly. “Sure, that would be lovely!” You say and still thought about your friend. “Hey Wally, could I use your pho-” You said as you look up and saw that Wally was gone. Just leaving you alone. Hmm great.

“Doll? Aren't you coming?” He said from the kitchen.

Heading to the kitchen, you saw that Wally already had a plate for you. He was sitting at the table. He had a chair ready for you. You smile at him and walk over to him and took your seat. “Thank you Wally.” You say.

Wally watched you so intensely as you ate the pie. He smirks to himself. “Is it still good Doll~” He said, as he crossed his arms. You nodded which made him grin even more.

“You gotta tell me your secret.” You say, as you finished up the pie. It was so sweet, and it had a bitter taste to it but it went so well together.

Wally chuckled and shook his head. “It's a secrets ingredient Doll, if I tell you it won’t be so secret right?” He chuckled. Which made you roll your eyes at him, playfully.

“Hm I guess you're right, but hey Wally. You don’t mind if I use your phone again.”

Wally looked at you. “How come Doll...” He said. Don’t tell me you’re asking for Sally again.

“I just wanna make sure Sally is okay..” You say softly. Wally looked at you and thought of something. “Oh about that Doll! Your dear friend Sally is resting at the moment. I went to go check on her and it seems like she caught a very bad cold.”

You look at him, is that why she hasn’t been answering you. You felt slightly relieved that she’s home. “Oh? I didn’t know that. Maybe i’ll bring her some soup.” You say but Wally stopped you from saying anything else.

“NO!!” He yelled out. Which made you jump slightly. Wally quickly apologized “Sorry about that Doll, it’s just that Sally doesn’t want anyone to see her. Not at the moment...you know she doesn't want anyone catching her cold.”

To which you just nodded. “Okay, well at least she's home resting.”

Wally smiled, and stood up. “Come on Doll I have an idea.” he said, taking your hand and walking you to his room where he paints. “I was wondering if we could paint each other?”

You just smile and nodded, that sounded like a great idea. “Hmm. Sounds interesting.” You said, and saw that he had everything set up.

As a few hours passed by and Wally and you were still painting. Wally kept on going to the closet to keep getting paint, well specifically red paint. He said it was his special paint. You tried to help him but he didn’t allow you near the closet what’s so ever. He kept on saying it was a mess and he didn’t want you seeing the mess.

You were curious honestly. But you couldn't disrespect him by looking. But you wanted to know..

“Hey Wally. I’m tried of painting how about we do something else.” You whine. Wally looked at you and chuckled. “Well if you say so Doll~ How about we play a game of hide and seek.” He said, placing his paint brush down.

You smirk and nodded “How about you count and I hide.”

Wally loved that idea he walked up to you and placed a small kiss on your lips. And pulled away. “This game is just between Y/N and I. Okay Home.” He said loudly.

*knock knock creek*

“Hey, Home. I said it’s just for Y/N and I, the three of us can play some other time.” Wally said loudly once again, his voice firm. “Sorry about Home Doll, they just wanna play too.”

You just chuckle nervously and just nod at Wally. Both of you made your way to the living room, and Wally smirked as he closed his eyes. And started to count. One...Two...Three..

Quickly you made a run for it, looking for somewhere to hide. You didn’t where to hide. You could always hide in that closet. As you look for a hiding space you ran into his painting room, where that closet was. Four....Five...Six...

He was close to Ten, as you reached for the door nob of the closet it seemed to be locked. “God dammit Home.” You whisper to yourself. Seven...Eight...Nine...

You still try to open it but it wouldn’t budge. Ten....

Still trying to open it, and by some miracle the door opened. Gasping to yourself...

Wow a other part guys!! Comment on what should happen next uwu

Taglist: @lovingyeet @tiredly101 @funnehsrobuxxx @simpitsu @justyuki1st @elegantkidfansoul @n1body @dd71128 @all-things-fandomstuck @mb1614 @detective-kenji

#wally darling #wally darling x reader #yandere wally darling x reader #weclome home

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enuniu · 4 days

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katsuki hates everything (except he does not)

| one

Katsuki hates red.

He hates the way it burned against his skin, the way it dragged its color and painted him pretty shades of pink and magenta and everything in between; he hates the way it tasted against the tip of his tongue, his buds begging for more of that sickly sweet flavor.

Out of all the colors on the color wheel, his mind hesitated and hovered over a strip of stained blood and painted nails—of cheap hair dye and tattered clothing and anything that remotely let the damn pigmentation bleed into itself.

Katsuki hates red—

He hates how much he loves it.

| two

Katsuki hates crocs.

Who the fuck wears crocs these days?

Katsuki will never understand the ideal shoe would be having holes across the expanse of it and enjoying the curved, sturdy platform that wouldn’t do no good in a hazy game of soccer or a walk around the park underneath the blazing sun.

They were the embodiment of impulsive decisions and shark teeth and crimson eyes and the smell of axe body spray; they were nothing but the habit of scratching the nape of a neck or averting eyes every time they were directly looked at—they were pretty and beautiful and manly and all things good—

And maybe Katsuki hated it. He didn’t like the way those piercing grins and pushy hands accompanied with a pair of bright red crocs that were so distracting that he himself couldn’t look away without the utter disgust of a frown forming on his mouth.

Those shoes needed to be burned to a crisp; no love needed by wearing them every chance they got.

But—

They were his and if he loved them and cherished them like a goddamn trophy wife then possibly, Katsuki did too.

| three

Katsuki hates being a tutor.

Katsuki wanted to rip these damn calculations up and explode them into a dust of ashes, hoping to wash away his traveling thoughts of pencil sketches and doodles that littered the borders of the white stationary.

He had no patience to teach such intricate and complicated equations to someone who won’t even bother to pay attention to his hard-headed lectures.

Once in awhile Katsuki felt the urge to roll up pages of homework and bang them along stupid red spikes that shot high up and never faltered after every hit. But no sound of resistance came out, no whine of complaints, no smoothing over the points at the top of a head; there was nothing but the outburst of giggles and counters of insults that were directed Katsuki’s way.

If Katsuki wasn’t in middle school anymore, he would’ve blasted them through the thin walls of their dorm rooms, hoping to leave a human shaped hole after.

But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t admit to himself, but—

Katsuki quite liked the way that laugh echoed against the shells over his ears and the way it sent unexpected shivers up his arms and had his stomach twisted uncomfortably, but in a good way.

Because even if those funny comments didn’t know how to work a single problem in their textbook—he didn’t not like it.

No—Katsuki didn’t mind.

| four

Katsuki hates when he’s not smiling anymore.

His smile falters.

His enthusiastic, blinding, beautiful smile—hesitates.

Katsuki has never been so livid in his entire life. He can’t remember exactly why he’s angry or why the sudden feeling of igniting bombs in the palms of his hand was his go-to course of action because, because, because —

The boy full of cheerful grins and pumped up fists was no longer smiling and Katsuki will be damned if he lets it continue. He no longer held the world in his hands and his red eyes no longer glazed with the small excitement of a child and he no longer spoke those soft words reserved only for Katsuki.

So, Katsuki brought anything that could comfort him. He brought a heavy amount of sugary snacks, discs of shitty movies, and the worn out sweatshirt of Crimson Riot that he may or may have not stolen from his closet some time ago.

And when he sees them huddled into Katsuki’s folded arms, he finally smiles.

He smiles small and low, but it’s genuine and it’s there and Katsuki hopes to never fail at bringing it up again.

Because Katsuki hates when he isn’t showing those sharp teeth he likes so much.

| five

“Bakugou,”

Katsuki grunts.

The other takes it as his cue to continue. “Do you like me?”

Katsuki has to take a full double turn at the question—because what the fuck was that. He tried to form any sentence that could possibly respond to that absurd and stupid inquiry, but seeing those eyes drop low at his silence has him reeling back to reality and forgetting anything else he was thinking about.

“What kind of fucking question is that?”

Silence.

Katsuki thinks and he thinks and he thinks—

“What do you think Shitty Hair,”

He opens his mouth,

“Yes?”

Katsuki snorts at the confusion. But, he couldn’t leave him in the dark. Not anymore. He spent too long fantasizing about pink cheeks and sharp edges of skin; thought way too hard at the idea that maybe those chapped lips that were constantly tugged and pulled from pointed teeth were actually soft and sweet.

Maybe he tasted like orange soda he bought at the convenience store he so rightfully argued was the best beverage out there or maybe he tasted like late night snacks of graham crackers he hid underneath the cabinets from the rest of their classmates (stingy, might he add).

Whatever it was—he did. He really did.

So, Katsuki took one more glance at him , a glance of everything red, of everything matching with those damn crocs he liked, of his inability to figure out how exactly a math equation should be solved, of sad tears on sad evenings and—

“Yes,”

Katsuki breathed one last time.

“I do like you,”

One more sigh—

“Eijirou.”

#fluff #drabble #alternate universe #angry bakugou katsuki #soft bakugou #soft kirishima #kirishima and bakugou #bnha #bnha fanfictions #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #mha #kiribaku #my hero academia

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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 1 year

Text

Stupid man

Word count: 1900

Pairing: Batman x fem!reader

Summary: Bruce uses 'code 4' while encountering the Scarecrow resulting in defining the next moments that would shake up his family and his future

Warning: brief depiction of the fight and sad Alfred and sad Dick

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

"..."

"Batman."

"..."

"Batman!!!"

"...Code 4..."

"Bruce! Bruce, stay with me! Dick, Bruce needs help!"

"On it, Y/n."

Y/n examines the live cam seeing the infinite black ground covering it. Her hands quiver over the control, hoping her man will live to witness another day. Steps crumble toward Batman Y/n, sighing a breath of relief and sitting on the closet chair.

"Thank god you are here, Dick."

"What?! No, Batcomputer... I am 3 minutes ETA."

Fear poisons her veins as Y/n listens closely.

"What's wrong, Batman!? Scared?"

Y/n's eyes glaze on the computer screen, her voice letting out the villans name, her voice matching with Bruce's

"Scarecrow"

"Do not worry, Batman. You will not die...Not yet, but your veins will pollute themself with my fear of toxins. I cannot wait to see if this will break you or make you into my Scarecrow. "

Another pair of feet grumble down, rushing in while grunts cascade from Scarecrow.

"Move away from him, buttface!" Dick roared, smashing the straw-filled enemy, managing to cuff him down in 4 agonizing minutes for Y/n. The police sirens howled into the Gotham sky, taking the Scarecrow away.

"Batcomputer, we are coming back."

"Copy."

The Batmobile drove in as Y/n observed anxiously, already preparing an operating table for Bruce. The door opens with a swift movement, Y/n placing herself under Bruce's weight and Dick helping out. Placing the wounded brute on the table, Alfred comprehended what he had to do. His stoic face examined the patient's body, witnessing his sweating going faster, his face painting itself in a heartbreaking expression, eyebrows stitched together, mouth emitting pained groans and vocal no's, eyes rolling back the white canvas painted with tiny green veins.

To her, it all collided in her mind, he was wounded deeply, and he could die. He is human. He isn't indestructible like he vowed to her when she uncovered his secret. She could wake up tomorrow and find him 6 feet under. His hands could not hug her or console her. His smooth voice could not comfort or call her when she lost her way in the manor.

She was mad to think that there would be this his end. Dying of old age for the Batman?! She was mad to think that... and more so to believe that he would survive this so easily.

Her expression zoned out, looking at Bruce's hands. With an "I could have done what I could, now we wait for it to pass" from Alfred, Y/n walked over to Burce, clutching his hand and sitting next to him, her face blank as ever.

Alfred gave Dick a comforting hug wishing his son would survive this live nightmare. Alfred walked to Y/n as Dick stood at Bruce's other side while Alfred spoke softly to Y/n.

"Mistress Y/n, rest. I will mind him."

With no glance adverting towards the lovely father figure, Y/n spoke, "No. I will stay with him. You two go rest and...and I don't know."

Alfred and Dick exchanged glances between themself, knowing fully well there was no room for discussion, the ambiance feeling incredibly heavy by the moments that let up until now. Moving away from the couple, they let the bat calls echo on the stone walls, encapsulating the worst moment in their lives.

~~~~~

Trying to stay awake after almost 40 hours of torturous silence and stillness, Alfred put his foot down at the utterly tired woman.

"All right, Mistress Y/n. Sleep now...IN the Master Bedroom."

Y/n responds in a burb of words, "No... He...Wake...Want to see... Blue eyes... no sleep...coffee..."

"You already had your 10th cup, and I pledge that you now have coffee running through your veins. Go rest. Now!"

Alfred pulled her away, dragging her to the much-needed rest letting involuntary Alfred watch over his adoptive son.

~~~~~

Time passes as it does while Bruce feels the cold ambiance of the Batcave. His eyes open, noticing Alfred's dead pained gaze. Alfred spluttered some words that were more so sounds with no context as he looked at Bruce sitting on the table. Alfred steps in front of his family, hugging him, not feeling the weight that passed his heart, the deadly weight he would drag into the ground with him. Bruce jerks in the hug his cold skin touching against the warm cotton-laced fabric of his butler.

"How long was I out?"

Alfred brokenly whispers, "Too long. We already thought the worst, Master Bruce. Don't do that again."

Pulling back, Alfred sighed a breath of relief. His brain rolled back all of the fondest memories he had with Bruce, and it was most of his life, but now seeing his blue eyes blinking, his mouth moving with words but Alfred hearing not one, just feeling the alleviation in his heart.

"...Y/n?" The voices blur seemed to die down for Alfred, bringing him back, hearing Y/n's name.

"She is resting. She needs it. Mistress Y/n was by your side while you were at your most alarming. No sleep, food, just coffee, so many cups of coffee."

Alfred expressed in a tranquil tone seeing Bruce stand up on frail legs. Alfred stood in his spot, judging whether or not to speak and stop Bruce from walking, knowing full well where he was going. But Bruce was stubborn, not more than Y/n but more so than Alfred, leaving Alfred with a slight chuckle leave his lips.

"My goodness."

Bruce staggered step and step up the manor towards his master bedroom, not seeing much around himself, seeing solely stairs, his feet, and his left hand grabbing the rail for dear life. Bruce felt weak, he felt lost and shaken up, his mind filled with the remainder of nightmares, and he felt broken with all this unwanted movement in his body, mind, and soul. Bruce needed help, but he didn't want to ask. Bruce was ashamed to ask; he was a protector, yet there was no protector in him. One step more, he felt stronger, lighter, and more capable. As if...

"Need help, B-man?" Dick asked with a glint in his blue eye. The evident relief shows on the boy's face as he places himself under braces shoulder and puts Bruce's arm over his broad shoulders. Bruce let the grip of the handrail and leans on his son, letting him guide him up, feeling a tiny bit better now.

"You gave everyone a great scare. Don't do that again. Lost a lot of sleep."

Bruce croaked with a laugh. "And I'm guessing you replaced it with coffee."

"How did you know?" Dick questioned as they reached the top of the steps, a few efforts away from the bedroom.

"Had a hunch." Bruce responds. Standing tall, Bruce hugs Dick, with the utmost emotion in his heart, towards Dick, a young boy who he gave shelter when he lost his parents, finding a few golden threads that connected them. Giving Bruce a new way to look at life, a moment that told him he wasn't the only one in this position. There were always other people to help, and this small boy, now a proud man, was standing in front of him, proud of helping him grow up in a safe home and letting him define a new generation of justice.

Dick froze in this moment. He felt Bruce's arms around his body, noticing the familial warmth radiating from his father. Hugs weren't rare, and yet they weren't often as well. Well, they were starting to get more often lately, thanks to Y/n influence.

Communication is complex for Bruce, his primary source of love and communication was cut off a long time ago when he was eight, left only with his butler, who was also mourning, attempting to be a family figure for the boy. Life resumed, and Bruce continued to keep himself and others around him at arm's length, not comprehending what he was doing wrong. Only when he met Y/n. Who told him that communication would build him into a better person and father figure to Dick. Bruce preserved it in his mind, not acting much upon it until this moment, a moment where he felt that the right move would be a hug and the words...

"I love you..son." Bruce spoke clearly enough for Dick to pull back and look a second of puzzled look on his face before taking a chuckle out of it

"You still have a concussion."

Dick stepped away from him down the stairs, his steps seemingly crammed with joy, hearing the words he had heard from Bruce maybe a handful of times. Bruce limped gradually towards his bedroom, opening the heavy door with a slow swoosh, not wishing to wake up his girl. There she was. Sleeping on her side, her back facing him. Her curves were covered by the thick duvet cover that was dubbed an 'expensive heating blanket that could swallow me whole, and I wouldn't mind' by Y/n. His muscular weight dipped the bed slightly as he sat down, looking at Y/n shift towards him, her eyes still shut, laced with sleep.

"Poor thing... Why didn't you eat anything? Why didn't you drink water like you always tell me to? I feel so stupid to have to put you through this to know how much I love and need you. When I had nightmares, one of my nightmares was seeing you walk past me, not knowing me, not kissing my cheek or holding my hand—just passing me, not even looking at me. And when I wanted to reach your hand, you looked at me with disgust and kept moving. Only for me to yell for you and watch you walk...away. I would never have thought I would see another day where you are in my life, our house, and our future."

Bruce's hand reaches for Y/n kissing her knuckle lightly just enough to stir her awake. Her eyelashes fluttered open, her eyes catching Bruce's figure concealed in the night sky's color. Standing up slowly, Y/n looked at his hand holding hers, examining his hand carefully, caressing her palm, drawing little shapes, tiny invisible hearts, and stars. Y/n looks up into his blue eyes, expressing uncertainty.

"Please, tell me this is real."

Leaning down to her, Bruce kisses her lips softly, answering in a hushed tone.

"I am here, sweetheart."

Y/n eyes twinkle and shake with tears brimming over the edge of her waterline as they begin to cascade down her cheeks. Bruce kisses her cheeks, dabbing away her tears. Y/n drew Bruce to herself, hugging him for dear life, hearing his strong heartbeat beating in a serene rhythm.

"Don't do that ever again, stupid man. Stupid, stupid man." Y/n cried out to her man, feeling herself ache with the reality of his job and life purpose.

"I won't, darling. I will never leave you again.'" Bruce promised, caressing her back gently, soothing her as she cried out. Bruce knew what happened to him was life-changing in more ways than one, and it nearly broke his family apart. Bruce was definitely in his peak physical shape, but mentally, he still had to shape himself into a man worthy of being a good son, a great father, and a one-of-a-kind future husband.

But that will, for now wait, and so will the ring that was hidden in Bruce's drawer for another day.

Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think ❤️

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kiraixi · 11 months

Note

“We cant do this, not here” but make it harringrove or mungrove 🤭🤭

ahah anon right when i’m feeling it too, its kinda long sorry ;w;

nsfw harringrove: ao3

“Steve, we cant do this. Not here—”

“But Baby,” He purrs into blonde curls, “No-ones home, won’t be for another few hours.”

Billy huffs, adorable freckles standing out against his blush. “Yeah we’re not fucking on Susan’s kitchen counter.”

Steve slides his hands down from Billy’s shoulders to his ass, grabbing at a fistful of skin to hoist him up and onto the worktop. He receives and startled gasp and half hearted swat to his hair. He kisses the Billy’s nose in apology.

Billy sighs “Fine, but don’t make a mess.”

“So only inside? How could I resist.”

The other grunts. A hand snakes into his hair yanking him forward, smushing their lips together. It’s uncoordinated and messy but thats always been Billy’s style. A free and sprawling mass ever since they collided, a giggle escapes Steve’s lips, just like the coast he came from.

Billy pulls away, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raising in query.

He stares back with what he know now is the ‘dork face loser smile’ Billy so tenderly named.

“I adore you”

God and the way his boyfriends face blooms.

“Shut up you,” Billy mumbles, resuming their make-out, tongue lapping at his lower lip desperate yet demure. Steve pretends he doesn’t feel the other’s face flame hot and pink against his cheek, he’s being a considerate boyfriend after all.

They’ve done this before, together in unconventional places. Steve is insatiable and Billy is a thrill seeker. The broom closet at school, Steve’s childhood treehouse and Nancy Wheeler’s bedroom are a few honourable mentions. A match made in heaven.

His fingers trail the seam of Billy’s shorts, red tight ones he wears to work that don’t leave anything to the imagination. Makes it real hard for Steve keeping his cool at the pool.

Crawling under the fabric, he massages bountiful flesh, pulling quiet moans and huffs against his spit slicked mouth. Billy growls in retaliation urging him closer, quicker.

He yanks down his jeans and underwear, Billy kicks off his pants and goes to tear of the matching crop.

They embrace again but not before Billy snorts “If we traumatise Max, thats on you.”

“Whatever, I’ll take the blame.” Time is of the essence they say. “Shut up and let me make feel good B,”

The rest is pretty fast, he send a thanking prayer to whatever god made Susan splurge on one of those forward extended counters, gives them a lot more space than usual to manoeuvre. Billy lays back enough to grip the counter and Steve grips both of Billy’s ankles in one hand to hold over his shoulders, the other interlocking with his boyfriend’s palm. It’s the kinda stuff Billy would call sappy shit after.

Steve slides home easy, Billy’s all loose from their messing around earlier on. Still feels like paradise every time he clenches around him, all encompassing like a snake with prey.

The small noises that accompany his every thrust is really what brings Steve over the edge, at first it used to really embarrass Billy to the point he’d always have a hand over his mouth or bite into Steve’s shoulder in hopes of muffling himself. But so far into their relationship he now lets it free.

Quiet pants and whines caress his ears, Steve locks their lips together again mouths moving back and forth with each thrust. He sees Billy’s eyes open, glazed and overwhelmed. Straight out of a painting he looks.

“Steve, please—”

“What is it baby?” Steve whispers soft, breathe tickling Billy’s neck.

“Need it, need you.”

Steve furrows his brow in confused “You have me B, right here.”

He gets a quiet whimper in response, small shake of the head and a tightening of tanned thighs around him.

“Need your cum” Baby blue eyes look up at him, pleading.

And does that not set Steve insides alight. A fire burning within. He slams in with renewed force, feeling Billy slide back at every motion, knuckles desperately clinging at the cabinets, scrambling for purchase. The sounds they make echo around the kitchen, loud and amplified over the cold surfaces.

Steve knows he wont last long, not with the way his boyfriend eyes line with unshed tears, face and shoulders blushed from overexertion. He takes a hand and fondles Billy’s pecs, knowing it’s sensitive enough to throw him over the edge.

He feels the other tightening around him, hears the escaping gasp that leaves Billy’s lips. Then the blonde is spilling over, white streaks across his stomach and chest. The image will forever remain in Steve’s mind, burned into his retinas. He releases into the other, sees the look of content cross Billy’s face once he does.

They kiss for another few minutes, happy to just be. It isn’t until Billy spots Max skating up to the front door that they jump apart, righting themselves to look as inconspicuous as possible.

Steve smirks over at Billy retying his pants, “No where is safe from us Baby.”

And Billy had to agree.

lmao hit me up if you want something in Nancy’s room >:3

edit: someone did hit me up so here’s pt2 !!

#billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington #anon asks #kiraixi #lemon #bottom billy hargrove

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vampireterzo · 10 months

Text

Rain enjoys pottery, but not painting it. It’s never been his thing. He likes to shape the clay, watching something form from nothing, but the glazing has never set right with him. Until he comes across Aeon watching him, thinking he’s being sneaky. Hiding in an empty closet in Rain’s workroom.

He offers to teach him, sits him in his lap and holds his cool hands over Aeon’s. But he never gets it right. It all just falls into a wet, drab blob on the spinning table. The glazing however, Aeon can master. They make it teamwork, Rain sculpts and creates; Aeon paints his once grey world colorful.

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #rain ghoul #aeon ghoul #phantom ghoul #rain/phantom #rain/aeon #ky’s writing #ky’s chatter #ky’s ghoulposting

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coolranch121121 · 29 days

Text

A little OC? Maybe just one or maybe I’ll make her a roommate 😏

i did this in procreate bc i think i'm starting to figure out the brushes and basic stuff. here is some more about her:

she loves to paint

on stressful days she will rework and save scrap clay so she doesn't break anything

still very strong due to always helping out with smithing and metal working

loves trying out new glazes even though she never gets to sell her nicer products

usually has to produce basic brown, white, and grey cups and plates for bars and restaurants

due to stigma, many won't buy her nicer pieces because this is something dwarfs aren't know for doing

she has a closet full of cups, plates, and bowls that she wants to give her mom back home but can't bring herself to go back

keeps unread letters from home in a corner in the "un sellable" closet.

doesn't interact with local dwarves other then sales due to past experiences

isn't very social, usually only talks to store owners and anyone who is interested in buying something

little bit of a drinking problem but has been sober for six months now

#oc #character #character design #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #anime and manga #original character #dnd character #character sheet #fantasy dwarf #Orla bc it sounds like ore line if you squint #I think the last name is irish #idk I liked how it sounded #coolranchart #delicious in dungeon oc

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eggcompany · 3 months

Text

A lovely man

Tauriel said SHE wanted to paint Kili nude. She never mentioned six other she elves. Or that it would end in a heart stopping orgasm. Kili is just such a good boy, he deserves a reward.

(No actual sex only fingering.)

“Tauriel! You didn’t say other girls were gonna be here! I can’t let them see-“ Kili said as he slammed the door shut behind him. He was only wearing a pair of boxers and a hoodie… he didn’t even want them to see him in THAT!

Tauriel had asked him to come by the drawing studio and model for her. He’s done it before when she needed a visual for something, the motion in clothing AKA. Kili twirling in a floofy skirt for two hours, or the way a hand looks holding an apple or other fruits and items. But never had she ever asked to draw him in the studio. Sure he’d seen the sketch she’d done of him she’d based off an old photo but she’d never drawn him like this.

Sure he trusts the elf with his entire life. Trusts her with his emotions and physical needs and all his deep dark secrets.

However he doesn’t trust the six other she-elves sitting around with their charcoal and brushes and paint and their stupidly intricate carved easels.

“Sweetheart, they want to draw you so much! We’re working on the movement and direction of body hair. You’ve got a nice hairy face and your chest and your legs. You’re just the perfect subject, my fuzzy little dumpling. It’ll be okay.” Tauriel tried to persuade.

She’d shared all the sketches in her sketch book of the dwarf to her friends and they thought he was amazing. Beautiful, they called him, and they were curious to see a dwarf in the buff. She’d shown them the sketches she’d done of him working and coming back from the jewelry shop and of course the sketches she’d done of him pleasuring himself. She had a wonderful memory and got to see him do each motion nearly everyday, they were rather wonderful drawings.

They already knew what they were going to be painting.

Kili was blushing darker than cherries.

“But I don’t want the pretty girls to see my… my stuff.” Kili whispered and flashed his eyes back to the solid door. He didn’t want someone to walk in and see him. See his parts.

He’d met some of Tauriel’s friends before. They were nice and tall and really really pretty to him. All milky soft skin and quick wit and charm. He likes the elf girls, who could blame him?

“Your stuff?” Tauriel asked, acting dumbly, she tilted her head and batted her eyelashes. Acting dumb always made Kili realize when he was being illogical. Having to explain why usually got her, her way.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about! What if they laugh?” Kili said self consciously and wrapped an arm around himself to cover his chest. It took so long to even let Tauriel see him shirtless...

Tauriel shrugged, nudging Kili to stand in the hallway. She pulled the door open and stood between the room and Kili.

“Hey guys, will you laugh at Kili’s genitals or breasts?” Tauriel asked loudly, the question almost echoed down the thankfully empty hallway. Kili looked shocked for a second before turning red from his forehead to his collarbones.

“Um no” “Nope!” “Never!” They answered scatteredly. Their sing-song voices sounded so sincere, so true and caring just as Tauriel always sounded when she spoke to him. He couldn’t help but let his heart melt a bit, agreement already glazing over his tongue.

“See they won’t. Now up on the table, my sweet little bean sprout!” Tauriel said as she walked into the windowless room. The walls were solid and a dark brown color, the ceiling had bright lights and each girl had a lamp clipped to her esel. Tauriel motioned toward the table covered with a white sheet in the middle of the room.

Kili glared at the table for a long minute before staring at his lover intently. He knew that she would never put him in a situation that was dangerous or that would embarrass him or put him between a rock and the closet doors.

“You owe me big time.” Kili said and put on his best angry face. He swallowed thickly before walking to the middle of the room. His hoodie hung down past the edge of his boxer shorts, giving a small sense of security. ‘ Nude painting’ She had said. Nude… Kili felt his nerves scratch at his throat.

The girls smiled kindly and waved at him. Tauriel sat down at her spot and watched him. Something dominant and fiery and loving flashes in her eyes. The way the emeralds she stored away in her eyes caught the bright lights of the studio made Kili feel something safe and warm deep in his stomach. It was okay. Tauriel was here and all these girls, these girls are his friends. They know him, they know Tauriel, they wanted to see him, to appreciate him.

Kili turned toward the wall and pulled off his hoodie and breathed. He took big deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He looked down at himself.

Sure he didn’t have big breasts, they looked more like fat on his pecs but his nipples were big and they jiggled and he didn't like it but he swallowed and turned around, keeping his eyes down. It was hard to look at so many perfect people, as he thought almost all elves he’s ever seen are perfectly perfect, when his most embarrassing part was exposed. He was just about to hop up on the table when Tauriel spoke and walked toward him.

She walked elegantly over to him and leaned her hip on the tabletop a few feet from him. She thought he looked too cute for his own good. All blush pink and fluffed up like a surprised kitten.

“Shuck trou too honey. I’ll help you get in the right position.” She said like it was nothing. Her voice was calm and quiet, soothing the nervous itch that was crawling around his throat.

Kili cleared his throat. And nodded. This… wasn’t photography. They… weren’t there to see him as a toy or something that is disposable. They all know how much Tauriel loves him and how protective and… possessive she is of him.

Kili put his hands on the waist of his boxers, took a deep breath and pushed them over his hips and let them fall to the floor.

Bare.

They were seeing him bare.

Bare feet, bare chest, bare groin.

He felt the cold air hit his soft tender flesh that mounded between his thick hairy thighs and he shivered.

Kili felt dazed until a feather light hand touched his lower back.

He knew it immediately.

Tauriel his rock, his anchor, his safest place.

“Up now Kili and I’ll position you. I’ll make sure to give a good reward, my dumpling boy.” Tauriel teased as she patted Kili’s stomach. He’d been gradually putting on pounds over the past few years since he started dating Tauriel and being engaged to her.

It made him smile and relax. The anxiety flowing away from him. She always said he looked so cute, so soft and wonderful.

Kili put his back to the table and lifted his butt up to sit on the edge. He felt very self conscious at that moment. He felt his butt squish against the hard surface. He heard whispering and instantly thoughts of ‘ Am I too fat? Are they laughing at me? Do they think I’m ugly? Are they talking about my freckles? Do they think I’m too dense? Am I too hairy? Do I look gross? ’ flowed into his mind like a tidal wave.

But as soon as Tauriel’s hand covered his shoulder, he let out a breath and relaxed. He rolled his shoulder under her warm hand and she rubbed and massaged gently.

“Okay now we agreed on like number six right? Was it six or two?” Tauriel asked the others. She looked at the chart they had made of ten different positions.

Two was laying on his back with his arms stretched above his head with his knees bent and feet flat on the floor with his legs spread wide. Six was laying on his side with his head resting on his fist with one leg straight and the other bent up.

Both were very embarrassing but Kili had a feeling there would be no rest from the embarrassment.

“Two. Since it’s easier to hold and he hasn’t posed for long periods yet.” One of the girls said as they all got ready. Tauriel nodded and waited for Kili to scoot to the center of the table. She shoved and pulled at his thigh and ankle as he maneuvered to sit long ways on the oblong table.

“On your back, feet flat, arms up.” Tauriel said and Kili tried to do what he was told. Tauriel's hands guided him into position. His arms were laying flat on the table above his head, slightly bent, and his feet were flat and spread wide and his knees were up in the air. He felt a bit strange having his breasts balanced on his chest just out in the open.

“This is embarrassing.” Kili mumbled and looked away from the girls now studying him. Their eyes danced and flashed around his body, head to toe. Tauriel hummed and sat down after patting his hip.

“I’ll let you sit in my lap and eat ice cream while I do budgeting all next week.” Tauriel said.

Kili felt a spark in his chest. That was the best. Sitting in Tauriel's lap when she works is always good. She always lets him sit on her strap while she works from home. And ice cream??? Hell yes .

“Deal. I’m just gonna pretend I have clothes on and no ones looking at me.” Kili said and closed his eyes.

He was almost dozing when he started hearing the chit chat.

“Does he comb only his face? His chest hair looks so… tamed.” A deeper voice said in a quiet whisper.

“That’s just how it all lies.” Tauriel said back with a pitch of pride to her explanation.

“The textures are so different from place to place.” One said and Kili thought she sat toward the center. Near his ribcage.

“See, it's like radial.”An elf sitting on the end near his feet said.

“I think it’s more random.” The girl next to her countered.

“Oh no, there on his genitals, it’s radial.” Said the first girl.

“I don’t see it” said the second in confusion and intrigue.

“Do you mind if I get a closer look? I want to explain.” The first asked. She didn’t direct it toward Kili, who still had his eyes closed.

“No go ahead.” Tauriel answered.

It made Kili blush and take a quick breath in. They spoke about him as if he was a marble statue. Her marble statue.

“No but, look, see right there, oh come on. Right here, see it moves out here but down here. Like a radial pattern ya know.” A girl’s voice rang out closer and closer with each word. Soon there was shifting air between his spread thighs.

“Ohhh yeah, I see that. And it gets thicker toward the centers. Like the armpit and the mouth.” Said the girl who was still at her easel.

“It’s corser too. Thicker hairs.” He heard and felt a breath on his knee.

Kili opens his eyes to see one of the darker haired elves standing between his knees pointing at his vagina with the end of her pencil. He stared at her for a moment before she looked up and smiled at him, before looking back down in concentration.

“It is similar to how it’s thicker around his mouth. But that’s not radial this is.” She said before walking back to her seat. Kili was blushing heavily then and was very aware of how cold his skin was down there and how exposed he felt. But when he saw Tauriel’s soft smirk he relaxed again. It’s okay .

Eventually he got drowsy again and let his eyes close again.

He only woke up when his stomach growled. The girls giggled at that.

“Tauriel, I'm hungry.” He whined out and pouted dramatically, well as dramatically as he could without moving.

“Do you want me to feed you a few nutter butters?” The redhead asked and looked at the snacks that piled on the extra desk. Kili was fond of peanut butter. Well he was fond of licking and sucking it off her strap, on special occasions.

“… yes.” He said as his mind went to the same place. His cheeks pinked back up and he wanted to close his knees.

Tauriel fed him a few before he sighed and closed his eyes again. She dusted the crumbs from his stubble and booped his nose before sitting back down.

“Taurielllll I’m bored~” Kili whined and flexed his toes and hands. He’d napped for nearly half an hour, he’d been laying here for who knows how long!

“Here. Put in my headphones. What do you wanna, don’t move, what do you wanna listen too?” Tauriel said as she pulled out her wireless earbuds and put them in Kili’s ears. He blew out a breath as she recovered his ears with his fluffy clean hair.

“Ugh just out in some music. I'm ‘bout ready to fall asleep again anyway.” Kili mumbled and yawned largely. A few girls giggled at him and he closed his eyes.

“Okay darling, take a nice nap.” Tauriel whispered and bent down to press a small, quick kiss to his forehead. That of course incited a few little ‘aw’s.

Tauriel soon placed a thin slip of fabric over his eyes, it was her scarf, when Kili complained the lights were too bright.

“Uh ah oh t-Tauriel? Is everyone gone? Oh oh was I good? Was I a good boy? Is this my reward? Oh I like when you touch my legs!” Kili panted and whimpered, questioning as Tauriel ran her thin hands up and down his inner thighs. She scratched lightly, saying yes darling you were good without breathing a word to him.

Her hands felt so warm and soft and lovely against his sensitive skin. She loved to pet and tease his thick strong hairy legs. His legs jiggled and shook as his hole clenched over and over again. There was a warm flood stirring deep in his gut, slowly dampening his most inner flesh, his labia turning a lovely darker shade and plumping up.

Kili wiggled and bucked as she continued to rub her hands around his hips and thighs. He had slept a bit heavily and her hands made his brain feel all jelly and stress free. The calm instrumental music was still playing in his ears.

Tauriel was smiling widely as she ran her pointer finger nails down the crease of his thigh slowly. Kili gasped and moaned. A shiver crept down his body and a shine of his slick peaked from his exposed hole. His tender flesh growing beautiful, rosy and damp.

“See he’s so vocal and watch how his hips lift.” One of the girls said with an aw to her voice. She thought Kili looked so cute.

Kili grabbed onto his own hair, Tauriel never let him touch himself when she decided to tease him.

“Ohhhh! Pet me pet me pet me!” Kili cried as Tauriel ran a single finger over one side of his labia. His hole visibly throbbed and opened greedily, trying to pull something in, trying to pull her in deep.

“Aw he’s trying to get closer but also get away.” Another girl said as she watched the small man whimper and push his hips toward his love.

“Tauriel! Tauriel! Please please please! Touch my insides! Touch me inside!” Kili begged. His brain was so fogged.

He wasn’t anywhere, there was nothing happening around him, there was only Tauriel. The song flowing in his head was focused and had low bass, the thin light green cloth of her scarf around his eyes let in light and shadows but he couldn’t make out her shape. His heart thrummed quickly in his chest and his palms felt sweaty and when Tauriel simply placed her hand over, covering his pussy completely from prying eyes, Kili felt a gush of his own slick dribbled down between his hot folds.

“Tauriel, please hold me.” Kili whimpered quietly and sincerely. He reached out his arms, toward where he could feel the heat rolling off her body.

Tauriel smiled and sat down, criss-cross, on the table and pulled Kili so he was kneeling over her lap. The scarf fell from his eyes but as he blinked away the spots he was only met with the wall.

He nuzzled into her chest and collarbones. The smell of her skin, lightly spattered with fumes of charcoal and paint, calmed him and made him bring his hands to sit clasped together on the small of her back.

Tauriel petted down from the back of his head down to his bottom. She squeezed the tender soft cheeks for a moment before moving her hands to rest on his hips.

The comments coasted around her. “Aw, so obedient.”, “What a polite little thing!”, “So how it’s dripping down from him…” , “Look how perky his nipples are! Tauriel aren’t you going to give him some attention?” , “Does he always ask like that?”.

“Yes, he’s always my sweet, obedient, little dumpling boy. He’ll get what he needs soon enough. I think he’s too wired up for much, sorry girls.” Tauriel responds as she runs her hands up and down his thighs a few times.

“Please? Please Tauriel! It feels so heavy inside. You said I would get a reward, I wanna cum please.” Kili whimpered and begged out. He wiggled and gyrated his hips down when Tauriel placed her open palm across his vulva.

She used one hand to guide his to her hips, and the other to press on his mound.

He held on as tight as he could onto her green painter's apron, knuckles turning white as he let out little huffs and “ah”s and quiet moans.

She moved so two of her fingers rubbed around his entrance. The wetness coated her fingertips and he relaxed onto her. All his weight rested on her chest.

He rather enjoyed this position. He liked the way her breasts squished onto his collarbones. Her neck was right there for him to kiss and mouth at gently, which he did lazily. The way she slowly breached him on her fingers was all too familiar, and all too wonderful.

“Please, please, please, please just touch me. Rub it, please rub it!” Kili cried out as Tauriel crooked her fingers, rubbing at Kili’s small G-spot. She could do this blindfolded, she knew his body better than anyone else. She knew what he wanted.

Tauriel moved her hand from where it was rubbing between his shoulder blades down to his front. She used her thumb to pull up the small hood that covered his hard little ‘prick’.

Kili let out a loud moan and rutted his hips forward and Tauriel giggled.

“He likes this part. Watch, it won’t take him anything till he starts shaking. He’ll shake,” Tauriel said, a smile wide on her face as she gently rubbed around Kili’s hard red clit.

Kili of course screamed and clung impossibly closer to his love’s body. His thighs started to shake and he ground down on the fingers that were easily sliding in and out of his shallow little hole.

Tauriel rubbed a little fast on his prick before kissing the top of his head. That was all Kili needed.

“Oh? Usually it takes him at least three fingers to cum but he’s already clenching down.” Tauriel said in amusement. They must be itching at a new kink.

Kili was crying big wet tears down his face onto Tauriel’s dress and skin as she rubbed quickly at his prick and stimulated that special place in his hole.

“Please, please, please, please-” Kili begged feverishly and rutted and wiggled. He never knew how to handle himself when Tauriel fingered him. He shook and thrashed and in an instant his orgasm was hitting him.

Kili let out a deep howl and shook. Every muscle was pulled like a bowstring in his body as thick cum washed down Tauriel’s hand.

As the shaking lessened and the death grip on her fingers loosened she slipped them out and rubbed his hip with her more dry hand.

Unknown to him, Tauriel showed off her drenched fingers to the group. Soon a moist towel was handed to her. One girl came and took his headphones out and another girl picked up his discarded clothing and set it on the table edge for him.

Kili laid like a puddle of puddy against Tauriel's chest as she wiped him down. Nothing mattered, nothing was real.

“So precious my little dumpling, you were so precious. You should see our works when you decide to come back to earth.” Tauriel whispered to him. Everyone else picked up their supplies, leaving their works on their easels to dry. They soon all left, leaving Kili panting and nearly asleep.

“Do ‘still get ice cream?” Kili said as he peeled his head away from the soft skin of Tauriel’s collar bones.

“Yes my dove, you get all the rewards.” She told him, a goofy smile splashing onto his face.

#fanfic #egg_company #smut tag #the hobbit #lord of the rings #trans kili #kili x tauriel #kili #tauriel #hobbit smut #the hobbit fanfic

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noellerain · 11 months

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• Always Remember Him That Way [Luca Kaneshiro x fem!reader]

Hate is not the word you're looking for. Certainly not. It is a strong, four-letter word that holds all the resentment that a person can have towards something, or someone. You don't hate him, yet you'd rather jump off a cliff than to admit that somehow, there is a small space deep within you where a sliver of admiration resides.

Your peripheral view caught his obnoxiously blonde hair all the way from the other side of the room. The little hairs on your nape stood, and like a built-in alarm, it tingled your spine, and sent a message to your brain immediately. He's here.

It's not like you need that reminder anyway. See, he is the kind of person who walks through a door and announces his arrival, like a tyrannical king; commanding everyone's attention, basking in people's cheers or songs of praises... except, you don't think that he sounds as arrogant or as smug like those pop culture depicted kings. Or how he doesn't even look a bit like those men painted on hundred years of age canvases who either have deep frown embedded on their faces or look like they don't have any fucks to give. On the contrary, every single day he walks in, his eyes are always bright, a toothy grin plastered on his face. Ah, forget it. He isn't a tyrannical king at all. What he really is, is a giant, fluffy, golden retriever.

You turned your head to the side the moment the whole class turned into a festival fiasco. The boys howled his name and tapped their desks madly. Some of the girls huddled together and sang songs about him through soft whispers and hums. You... you should be rolling your eyes right now. You should be sighing and muttering how stupid the whole thing looks.

But the wind blew, entering through the crevices of the jalousies. It swept the curtain off its feet and they waltzed in the air, lost to the song of nature. You closed your eyes, felt the wind caress your hands, arms, neck, all the way to your face, its fingertips icy. It reminded you of last week's fluttering moment, in the middle of the night, under those watchful gaze of the stars, inside the small car on a convenience store's parking lot.

There had been a small party in one of your classmate's house. You remember sitting down on a sofa, munching on a glazed donut and washing it down with a carbonated drink that made your chest and throat burn so good, aware yet could hardly care of the consequences. You were chatting with the others, having fun... until you found yourself getting dragged out by a sly fox, pushed inside a small car and sat next to the blonde and his rowdy friends, on the way to the convenience store to get more snacks.

You don't hate them. Again, it's a strong word. You actually admire their friendship: always got each other's backs. It's just that, they're notorious for being chaotic and noisy. To you, serenity is as precious as Prince Rupert's drops, its properties can conquer even the fastest triggered bullet. When the arguments over bland dinners and kitchen bills get a little louder, the stillness of your small closet holds you against its chest. When the classroom was filled with incomprehensible, dizzying noises, the crisp sound of billowing air on the school's rooftop drowns it all.

Dread filled your being when you tried fishing your earphones out of your jeans, only to realize halfway that you left them at home. Instead, you pressed your arms against your chest, glued the side of your body against the car's window, careful not to brush your shoulder against his.

They're their usual selves throughout the whole drive to the store, yet years and years of solitude made your eyes sharper and your gut wiser. You noticed how the sly fox kept accidentally pushing him to you. Thank the heavens for his strength, otherwise his body would have definitely crashed against yours from all that stunt. Moreover, the demon in the driver's seat kept braking carelessly, supporting whatever agenda the fox had in mind. You kept your tongue pressed firmly against the roof of your mouth, the remaining two are laughing, shaking their heads.

When the car stopped, they swiftly got out. He was also just about to go, but then, the novelist (whom you bothered so many times to ask for help in your literature class) shut the door on his face then they all ran away like giddyuped horses, leaving you two alone. You didn't know what to make out of the situation, really.

You decided to let things go and stay on your seat when he didn't follow the others outside. You wanted to go out and inhale some fresh air but that would risk telling him to move so you have enough space to crouch your way out. You pressed your side even harder against the window, pretending you're all alone inside the car... except you couldn't because you can feel his jet-black eyes drilling holes into your skull.

"What?" You snapped.

"Nothing. I didn't expect you to come. The party's kinda pog, isn't it?"

You would never understand his way with words. You let them hang in the air, as you sank deeper into your vibrating seat, the smell of lavender permeating in the car. You look up at the sky through the tinted window, wishing on (possibly) dead stars for the others to hurry up and save you from this situation.

"Hey... you... you know, you should smile more."

He's always like this, you thought to yourself. He's always picking on you, and feels great satisfaction whenever your face contorts to a deep frown. Your mind then goes into overload, trying to think of many, many ways to retaliate, counter his remarks faster. But you never win. You know that you will never do. Because in every single one of your banters, like a cherry on top, he always says something that smooths out your furrowed brows, and relaxes the tense muscles on your face.

He always says something that could mean something, if you didn't know any better. You inhaled sharply and kept all the air in your lungs until you heard the erratic beats of your heart. Slowly, you turned your head towards his direction and held his eyes with yours.

"Stop doing that," you whisper, a spasm of embarrassment and displeasure shoot up from your chest. You swallowed the thick saliva that coated your tongue and licked your glossy lips that tasted of strawberries, wanting to claw your chest. "Stop saying things you don't mean."

"What? I mean it, though. I mean it." He was quick to say. "You definitely should smile more because it suits you."

"Then maybe get off my back so I can smile more? You annoy me too much, I barely remember how to smile and be happy anymore." You retaliate, teeth gritted, words were spat with the intention to make him stop talking and ruin your night that's been going well so far.

When those words left your mouth, his eyes were quick to reflect how much those words weighed on him. You stare in horror, suddenly wanting to take them back and swallow them whole. Four years of being classmates, and you have never seen his eyes look the way they did that night. Although there were no lights inside the car, the neon light from the convenience store made his eyes shine yet lost their brightness at the same time.

It baffled you. A humongous question mark appeared, begging to be recognized and answered.

"Lu—"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... I didn't know it was that bad..." he trailed off, voice raspy and low- almost inaudible. You had only felt relief before when he turned his back on you. Because that used to mean that he's done for the day and you could go back to your own little bubble.

But that day, it was different. Like something important, something new and different just slipped from your grasp before you could even hold it. Your fingers itched to grab the hem of his shirt, yank it, pull him back. But they remained against your chest, unmoving, unsure and trembling.

"Don't worry! I'll get off your back, okay?"

You watched while he opened the car door and followed his friends inside. You looked down on your cold, shivering fingertips. Your eyes shifted and blurred so you blinked to clear your vision. In a matter of a heartbeat, you're not in the parking lot anymore, alone inside that small car. You held your gaze up and looked around, realizing that you're also not inside the classroom anymore. The familiarity is gone and replaced by poker faces, eyes glued and unmoving on their screens. The school uniform was long gone also, people now donned in corporate attires. The air is cold and crisp but felt inauthentic, coming from the large air conditioner that stood next to the glass doors.

Glass doors. Outside, you can see vehicles skipping towns, and people walking steadfast toward their destinations. Sands of time never falters, and everyone's stuck on its palm, running away, buying more just to stay a little longer. Oh, the things you're willing to sacrifice just to stay in that car for a little longer.

You realized that his jests were annoying but never hurtful. He pinched your cheeks whenever he caught you dozing off, he wrapped his arms around your shoulder and dragged you to the cafeteria to grab food. Whenever there were groupings for a project, he followed and joined you. He teased you about your messy hair when you forget to brush it before coming to school, but he never made you the butt of his jokes. Your classmates probably saw and knew. But you didn't.

You took his playfulness to heart. You disliked his loudness, you disliked his long blonde hair that he used to tie in a messy, tangled bun. You disliked how he hyped you up during individual reporting, or how he cheered for you in school-based competitions thinking he's only embarrassing and distracting you so you'll fail. To you, he was this sharp needle that pierced your bubble, forcing you to deal with numerous situations.

Your mind was wired to think that way since day one. So you never really noticed and understood why he'd insist on walking you home, even if your house was farther than his. Why he'd slip chocolate bars on your desk during exams, because you once shared to one of your classmates that you eat chocolate because it improves focus and memory. How he looked at you after cracking a joke, waiting to see how you'd react and how he pumped his fists every single time when he saw a shadow of a smile creeping across your lips. How you're the first person he'd approach whenever he needs help, not because he wants to give you a hard time but because he knows he can rely on you.

You never really noticed those things before.

You did, however, finally notice when he started doing those things to someone else.

The clock shows 12:00 PM. You stand from your seat and go straight for the mess. You forgot to make your bento this morning because you woke up late. Your clothes are also wrinkled, after forgetting to steam them last night. As if those things weren't enough, you have a raging headache that feels like your head is being split in half and your eyes look like they're bitten by large bugs.

You sat down on a table, alone with your sandwich and soda. Years and years of solitude trained you for situations like this. But as you look up and stare at the empty chair, you wonder what could have been if you said something, did something that night, or for the rest of your last year in high school.

But you remained on your seat, both in the car and on your desk. You only looked away or detoured when you saw him, pushed down your wise gut that kept telling you to go and talk to him. To take a leap of faith and risk something. Yet you didn't... and now you feel like you lost everything.

You opened your phone and went directly to the gallery, where a screenshot of his Facebook post sat unsolicited. In the photo, he looks grown, taller and muscular. Strokes of experience painted his face, yet he still has the same old toothy grin you last saw in person lifetimes ago. His blonde hair, now a little bit shorter than the last time, his jet-black eyes now brighter compared that night. You also noticed maps of tattoos on his arms and hands that held someone else's. You never took him as a guy who likes needles and tattoos but you remember that the image of him in your mind was the guy in high school, not the man he is today.

In your mind, you held on to that high school boy, you held on to that adorable golden retriever, and told him every now and then that you were sorry. An answer never came but you knew he would definitely understand if only things weren't a little too late.

You stared at the photo a little bit longer... and God, you thought that the amount of crying you did last night was enough... but turns out, it wasn't. Even when his image went out of focus, and you saw teardrops fall on your screen, you just can't look away.

Because even if he is a completely different person now, in your mind, he was still the same boy who made your high school memorable. And even if the sands of time and your hesitation pulled you two apart, ripped your chest in half and broke your heart into little shards, you can't help but hope and pray that in the next lifetime, or maybe in a parallel universe, he'll be here in the cafeteria, sitting in front of you.

And if the chance was given, you promise not to hesitate.

But tomorrow is not promised... and all you have are memories. So you close your eyes and play them like a film in your mind. And that even if things changed, you will always remember a certain Luca Kaneshiro, the blonde high school boy with a toothy grin and hearty laugh, whom you so foolishly relinquished.

And even if you find someone else, have a family of your own, even if the sun explodes into billions of stars, and even if your body and soul or even the whole world falls into oblivion, you will always remember him that way. You will always remember Luca Kaneshiro that way.

•••

Noelle: published this in AO3 first more than a year ago so if you read this somewhere in that holy place, yes. I wrote it. :))

My first ever Luxiem fanfic starring my kamioshi, Luca. Hope you enjoyed. (obv inspired by Always Remember Us This Way by Lady Gaga)

©noellerain

#[noelle's works (⁠◕⁠દ⁠◕⁠)]#luxiem x fem!reader #luxiem x reader #luca kaneshiro #luca kaneshiro x fem!reader #luca kaneshiro x reader #nijisanji en

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squishablesunbeam · 2 years

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TW: dehumanization, human furniture/furniture whump (well, a painting palette so we'll call it that), knives, restraints, blood, not cool wound cleaning

Inspired by @whumpsday's post about the lack of human furniture tropes! I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for forever so figured now's the time. I hope I did it some justice!

The Palette

Next.

Whumpee's eyes glazed over, their vision pulsating between sharp focus and a hazy softness that blurred out the edges. They dropped their head, mindlessly watching as two little beads of sweat raced down the planes of their stomach, over the curve of their hip before marrying into one larger bead and trailing down their leg.

Whumpee's vision sharpened into focus at the sight of the drain, a few inches beneath their toes. Stained with old paints; yellows and blues and purples. Their body shivered and allowed a small twitch of muscle at seeing the red mixed in.

Red and brown.

Whumpee's blood.

Their vision went blurry again and they let their eyelids drop closed. Instantly sticking together, begging Whumpee to just sleep.

It had been so long.

Sometimes Master was inspired. He'd finish his paintings with such a flare in mere hours and Whumpee would be wiped clean and left to rest in the supply closet until Master was ready to paint another masterpiece.

But sometimes, sometimes Master was tortured. He'd be so close to finishing and Whumpee would feel that little spark of hope that they would finally get to sleep, when suddenly, Master would let out that godawful anguished sound and grab up the big brush. Whumpee couldn't help but tense at the feel of the large bristles pressing firm and dragging across their shoulder, where they assumed globs of white paint must be placed.

Master would cover all the beautiful work he'd just completed with new layers of thick paint and start again. And Whumpee would wait. They'd wait for the new layer of paint to dry, new colors to be mixed. Hanging by their arms, feet stretched beneath them and chained to the floor, pulled as taut as the canvas that stretched across the frame.

They would wait.

Because Master still needed them.

Master's living palette.

Whumpee could never see what their back must look like; covered in all the primary colors and swirls of new creations mixed in-between. Master said it was beautiful once. The words seeped a warmth into Whumpee's empty stomach and filled them to almost satisfaction. When Master was pleased, Whumpee was fulfilling their purpose and that was enough.

It had to be.

It was all they had.

A shiver rolled over Whumpee's body before they were even consciously aware of the small, cool edge of the palette knife again dragging across different colors splayed across their back, scraping and mixing, Master's hot breath ghosting across their neck as he worked. He'd work endlessly, seeking out just the right mix of color and adding it to a clean piece of flesh, wiping the excess paint off the palette knife onto Whumpee's thigh. Whumpee didn't like that. The paint always sat heavy on their thigh and was left long enough to dry and crack against their skin. It itched and made them feel off balance. None of that mattered.

The medium brush was next, dabbing almost gently into the paint on their back and making that little scratchy sound against the canvas. Whumpee liked that one. It tickled when they weren't too tired to notice.

Their jaw clicked shut at the feel of a blade, the one unique tool in Master's collection, reopening one of Whumpee's wounds. They sucked in a shallow breath as their entire body coiled up tight. Their master scrapped away the dried browns that had attempted to seal the wounds shut in order to get to the fresh, bright red he coveted so much. He dug deep into Whumpee's flesh, coaxing forth enough red for whatever vision he was trying to bring to life. Whumpee let their head drop, breathing out slowly and swallowing down the whimpers they new were not needed in this place. Sounds from Whumpee would only distract from Master's work. They must remain useful or be discarded.

Their hands trembled in their ropes, fingers curling into fists as Master cut a few new, fresh lines of red, dragging the palette knife over and into the wounds to gather enough up to mix in with the paint. Whumpee tried to picture what colors Master was making with the blood.

Was he adding deep blues, or brilliant yellow? Was he painting a sunset maybe, with vibrant purples and oranges sprawled across a darkening sky? Or was he simply splaying their blood in bold dashes across the canvas.

They hoped it was beautiful.

It had to be beautiful.

_______

At least a day must have gone by. Maybe two. Various meals had been consumed, whiskey was thick on their master's breath, the feeling in Whumpee's hands and feet, their legs and arms, all was a riot of pain and numbness.

It must have been days.

Master's friends had come to inquire about Master's progress and shared jokes and gossip from the town. They stood near Whumpee's back and admired the Master's work, giving what seemed like genuine compliments and statements of awe.

Whumpee felt the rushing heat of pride color their neck at the praise. They knew it wasn't for them. Of course it wasn't. But it was for a piece of them. Their blood. Their sweat. They would always have that. They may just be a painter's palette, but they were the paint too. The customers never knew of course, but Whumpee knew.

They would always be a part of something beautiful.

--------

Whumpee's mind was washed awake by a wave of terror and relief at the sigh Master finally made. He only made that sound when the piece was finished, complete. Whumpee tried to flex their fingers and toes, taking stalk of the damage that will need to be healed before Master picked up his palette again. They could use at least a week of rest this time.

"Cliff!"

Whumpee shivered violently at their Master's voice calling in the servant. It was almost over and Whumpee's body knew what was coming. This happened every single time and Whumpee could never control it. It was as if their body lost all ability to be still the moment stillness was no longer required and they'd shake apart if left hanging there a second longer.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get this thing washed up. I want it prepared in two days time."

Two days. Whumpee barely contained the gasp that threated to spill out of their mouth. That wasn't enough time.

"Of course, sir."

The painting was placed somewhere off to the side and Cliff bustled around, picking up brushes and cups of dirty water, washing them out in the sink.

He turned towards Whumpee, never making eye contact, and opened the can of turpentine. The smell hit them like a lightening bolt, waking up all of their senses, adrenaline pouring itself into their veins, warning them of the danger.

There was nothing to do.

They needed to be cleaned.

Whumpee sucked in breath after shallow breath through clenched teeth as Cliff mindlessly grabbed up a rag and walked back behind the palette, thick layers of paint needing to be removed.

The turpentine was poured over their back without the slightest pause and Whumpee screamed. For the first time in who knows how long. It felt good in a way. A release. They knew it was allowed now that Master was gone and off to bed. The rough rag was dragged across Whumpee's torn flesh, making the drying, itchy layers of paint wet again, mixing thick and seeping like acid into the open wounds on their back.

They jerked in their bindings, arching their back as their body tried to escape when there was nowhere else to go as Cliff continued his work. He scrubbed and poured and scrubbed again, until the palette was wiped clean of all but their own sweat and weeping blood, all the beautiful colors dripping down Whumpee's twitching legs and circling that damn drain.

Whumpee couldn't even scream anymore as they were let down from the ceiling and their ropes and chains removed. They were dragged to the supply closet and dropped to the floor.

Food and water was placed in the corner.

As the light was lost with the closing of the door, Whumpee wished, just like every time that came before, that they could see the finished painting.

Just this once.

#dehumanization #whump #human furniture #whumpee is a palette!#such a good little palette!#blood tw #knives tw #alcohol poured over wounds #squishy scribbles

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decidentia · 5 months

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◈ @massensterben said: ❛ mistletoe for Annie ! ❜ // send “🌿🍒”

Snow fell grey, forming an ugly slurry. It was a reminder that they were rooted close to the front line, where the air was polluted with smoke and fumes. The rat runs scattered between the hastily built military cabins were carpeted with grimy tarps, or occasionally by wooden boardwalks. Anything to keep the shine of their boots from the half-frozen mulch of muck and blood.

Two figures huddled on a porch, their only light coming second-hand, spilling from single-glazed windows. They were swaddled in dowdy brown, the muted shade of mice and wrens. Bertholdt’s coat hung open, fingers of frigid air stroking him through his shirt. At his side, Annie was heaped in fastened layers, her pale and impassive face haloed by a hood trimmed with fox fur. More than the uniform, it was Bertholdt that kept her warm, his body heat washing over her, soaking through her clothes. He was a furnace of a man, while she was all the colours of winter. Annie imagined she could make a nest in his embers, paint her nacreous flesh with soot, and never feel the cold again.

They were winning the war, but too many men were being eaten up by hypothermia and frostbite, the crater-stippled no-man’s-land littered with frozen corpses. That had afforded them extra rations, and had seen captains pry open casks of confiscated liquor. Even the winter solstice was being marked, with a few scant garlands and wreaths thrust into a handful of highly trafficked areas.

As with all things, Annie observed tradition from a distance. Still, even one as removed and stilted as she knew the significance of the sprig pinned to the slats above them, with its berries like beads of bleached bone. Bertholdt loomed over her unaware, swaying almost imperceptibly. Along with his heat came the choking stink of liquor. He had earned his pleasure, his poison. After all, these missions weighed heaviest on him. If not in grief and guilt, then in responsibility. Bertholdt was the weapon that trumped all others, one built for immediate, indiscriminate slaughter. A paper cut or pin prick could mean a death sentence for tens of thousands, incinerated to dust in a solitary heartbeat. If Annie hadn’t abstained, that thought might have chilled her into sobriety.

She could pinpoint the moment his gaze drifted after hers, towards the mistletoe. His pinched fingers tightened on the stub of his cigarette – truly, she was spoiling him with her leniency tonight. Until she wasn’t. Her mouth was a grave, the site of unspeakable horror, unkissable and filthy and quiet. Even now, she was wordless, their shared silence a language all its own. With movements fluid and firm, she reached for him, made a fist in his shirt, pulling him down while rolling onto the balls of her booted feet. Bertholdt, for his part, did not resist. The lapels of his coat opened like sparrow wings, falling in a curtain around her, momentarily hiding her from the world. Thoughtfully, he held his roll-up away from them both, its smouldering tip glowing like an orange eye.

Her close-mouthed kiss landed in a punch to his lips. Feeling them part for her, Annie opened in return, sliding her tongue against his. He tasted arid and burning and ruinous, and she imagined tobacco and liquor furring his tongue. Face scrunching in disgust, she pushed him away.

“You taste like an ashtray.”

Her voice arrived low and flat, carried on pale plumes of wasted breath, double-edged with derision and disappointment. Greedy girl, wanting more than a frantic mostly-clothed fuck in some stale closet or unmanned supply shed. They knew the flavour and pitch of one another’s screams, had seen each other taken apart and put back together. What was sex, next to that? For once, she wanted to kiss him all night, kiss him through all the sets of teeth that would ever crowd his jaws. Red tongues remade, and remade, and remade, both figures cast from the same sense of resignation, each recognising themselves in the other. They might meld then, at both wet ends, scorched in the intimacy of their almost-love, their misshapen devotion.

Or he could simply bend her like a birch sapling, grasp her hips and mount her.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere.”

#as festive as can be managed in a warzone ahgdsd #◈ — answered #◈ — ic; annie #massensterben #annie and bertholdt tbt

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pinniped-medibots · 3 months

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[ Almost immediately after he got home from visiting Esmé at her garden, he rushed to his room and closed the door behind him before hiding under the covers of his bed. Knowing that his siblings and dad were in the house with him made him feel just a bit safer, and after decompressing in his bed for a little while, Otto fell asleep. ]

[ … ]

[ They felt like they woke up not even ten minutes later, the workshop now deathly silent. Usually there would be some kind of background noise; floorboards creaking as the residents walked, the quiet whirring and revving of his sibling’s fans and engine, the sound of his dad’s voice speaking over the phone, but there was nothing. Only the ambience of his own internals. ]

[ That was the case until Otto heard the squeaking of his closet door opening, and out of the corner of their eye, Otto saw it. The RED, headless medibot. ]

[ However, as soon as he turned to face it, it was gone. As if it had just disappeared from existence entirely. ]

[ Otto clenched their jaw in a fear-induced rage before opening both doors of his closet, rummaging around until he found his vita-saw. He hated the way it felt in his hands, the way he handle wrapped around his fingers, the way the glass jar added that slight amount of weight to it. Everything about it was awful, the complete opposite of his quick-fix that he treasured so much. But he couldn’t linger on that thought for too long, he had to hunt that thing down. ]

[ And almost immediately he saw it out of the corner of their eye again, leaning over the railing of the stairs, the wires of its severed neck crackling and sparking as it hummed to itself in a glazed, static voice. Otto held the vita-saw with both hands as he lunged himself at the headless medibot, but again, as soon as it had Otto’s full attention, it disappeared, making him come crashing down the stairs, scratching his paint and denting his hull. ]

[ Otto laid there flat on the floor, taking a moment to let his fans whirr before seeing it again. He forced himself off of the ground, almost falling over backwards on his wheel before wheeling full force to wherever it was, slashing and jabbing blindly with his vita-saw. ]

[ Every time they caught a glimpse of the headless medibot, it would disappear whenever Otto gave it their full attention. Over and over they rampaged throughout the workshop, making a wreck out of the place as he tried to chase down the thing that kept haunting his dreams. The walls were slashed and scratched, furniture was upturned, the floorboards had track marks on them from how much Otto overexerted himself. But he wouldn’t stop until that thing was dead. ]

[ Finally, he saw the headless medibot enter his sibling’s room, closing the door behind itself. Otto yelled out at it as they clawed their way up the stairs, their fingertips scratching and splintering the wood of the ramp that was made specifically for them. ]

[ The door to the spybot system’s room was flung open so hard that the hinges may have broken, but Otto didn’t care. He saw it just standing there, observing its surroundings, staying in place despite it having Otto’s full attention. It’s movements were like that of a leech in shallow pond scum, and it only served to fuel Otto’s rage. ]

[ He grabbed onto the headless medibot’s arm, throwing it around the room as bits of its outer plating became bent and peeled back through brute force alone. It just let Otto continue his merciless assault on it, like it were just some kind of ragdoll. ]

[ Otto finally had it pinned beneath him as he raised his vita-saw high above his head, squeezing his eyes shut, ready to finish it off as he plunged the needle right into the medibot’s chest. And he impaled and punctured it over, and over, and over, and over again, spraying and leaking oil everywhere. ]

[ Until he heard four simultaneous screams of agony. ]

[ Otto opened his eyes, and looked down in horror at the body of his siblings. Their hull ripped away and peeled back in some placed, their head barely attached to their body, hanging on by only a few wires. ]

[ Otto threw himself off of them, his hands covering his mouth in horror as he saw their oil-stained hats scattered across the room, those little accessories that made them so distinct from one another. Now their body laid there, bleeding with no identity to its name. ]

[ Otto backed himself against the wall. God, oh god, what has he done?? Their head reeled back as the taste of oil invaded their sensors, and they looked down at their hands to realized they were completely stained, dropping the vita-saw in the process. ]

[ They blinked again, and it was back. Kneeling over the spybot’s body, holding up its arm before letting it drop lifelessly back onto the floor in morbid curiosity. It sat up straight, turning its attention to Otto before standing up straight and getting uncomfortably close, speaking into his ear in that static, oozing voice that made his wires feel like they were coated with a thick and slick layer of slime. ]

DO YOU REALIZE WHO YOU’RE HURTING?

[ Otto turned around, opening the door to see the mangled bodies of everyone he considered friends, filled with puncture marks from his vita-saw. ]

[ Otto then woke up screaming. ]

[ It was pitch black outside, the digital clock on his nightstand reading 4:05 AM. The sun wasn’t even setting when he got home- how long had he been asleep for?? ]

#tf2 rp #beep boop #physically xyz mercs #physically robotic medic

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yuichi-ro · 2 years

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𝘿𝙖𝙯𝙖𝙞 𝙊𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙪 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 summary: Osamu never wanted to stop the bleeding this bad (vent piece)

cw: fem!Reader, third perosn POV, self harm, blood, manic state, angst, unedited word count: 1.9k

ᴅɴɪ ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ/ʙʟᴀɴᴋ/ᴀɢᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ʙʟᴏɢꜱ

What should he do? What could he do? The blood kept coming and Osamu couldn’t shut his eyes.

Violent red painted over his vision in that very instance. Not because the wounds were deep. No in fact they were extremely shallow in comparison to some he’d even had himself. But the mere fact there was so many of them. Criss crossed lines of red in such a density on each place over her skin. Wrists, thighs, breasts, stomach; there wasn’t a place he could look and not see the aftermath. Overlapping cuts made repetitively until the flesh curled up under the edges of each cut and looked raw and jagged as though torn at by bare hands instead of sliced with such a sharp razor.

An itch or an ache that could never be scratched no matter how far one dug in was how it’d been explained to him once and only once. Osamu couldn’t understand what she was doing until he saw once more the dirtied edge of the scalpel dive into the flesh of her own body. Unflinching even as he himself felt his skin turn clammy and cold at the sight. She drug the knife like it was hungry for more even after all it’d done to her. New fresh blood bubbling up in it’s wake until he found he himself shaking his head utterly wordless but the rush of panic.

“Stop- Stop!” His voice hoarse and thick in his throat like he hadn’t spoken in ages, it didn’t even sound like himself when he heard it. Osamu tried to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to be louder but couldn’t find it in him to scream any harder the second the scalpel came out of the wound just for it to go back into an untouched inch of skin now being tainted and ruined like the other patches had been, “Stop! I said stop!”

Like she was spun out a trance Osamu succeeded in meeting her eyes. Only to find them glazed over with a stare that looked right past him. She’d heard his voice and yet, couldn’t see him.

Before he knew it she pressed the tip of the sharp blade to the exposed part of her breast again as it was the closet thing to the blade. Already from the damaged done the seam of her bra was soaked. Blood sponged up in the fabric as it drooled down from the lacerations. Smears of it from where she’d accidentally and mindlessly drug her wrists over her own body in the gruesome process to quench a need. If an inch of her hadn’t been cut away at, then it was more than likely smeared with another body part tacky and damp with blood.

Voiceless Osamu reacted before thinking anything through. Grabbing her wrist just as the tip slid across the surface of her skin like a butterfly’s kiss. Without care how hard he’d yanked her arm away. Only dead set on keeping the scalpel away from any part of her skin now that he was here.

“Stop!” Osamu’s voice waivered in his throat just as he kept shaking his head unable to process what he was seeing, “What are you- What are you doing to yourself?!”

Again she looked up at him. Or more or less in his general direction. With a stare that was neither here or where he was. Osamu felt the vomit rush up his throat when their eyes met like this, “I-” Her lips stuck together as though she’d been sleeping, tacky and damp from spit. The need to throw up clung in his throat but his stomach dropped ten stories when her voice cracked with the tears running without regret down her cheeks, “I want to die.”

“W-What?” Osamu’s words trembled as they fell from his lips with a wide stare in her direction.

“I said I want to die!” Latching onto his wrist that held her offending hand, she tried to pry herself out of his touch with the blade still tight in her grasp. Thrashing and pushing at him with so much anger leeched into her tone that Osamu didn’t understand where this was all coming from or who it was he was speaking too, “Let go of me! I- I want to die! Let me do this- Let me do what I want Osamu!”

“No!” He ignored the blood getting wiped all over him in the struggle. The stagnant stench of metallic in the air choking to smell like this. Enough to turn even a pig’s appetite sour. Wrestling the sharp item away from her was all he could think to do in the moment. If not for her own sake than his. With the flashes of her dragging the scalpel through her skin again like he’d stumbled upon felt worse than a thousand deaths. Osamu couldn’t see that again no matter what she said or did.

“I just- I want it gone-” Even fatter tears now bubbled in the corner of her eyes and dribbled down her cheek to drip off onto his clothing. Each passing second the resistance he was met with faded little by little. Left with nothing more than a tired tug at her own arm with his death grip sure to leave bruises on the arm holding the knife. Unable to face him she went limp all at once with a loud sob, “I want to die Osamu.” In turn when she’d stop fighting it. Just to finally look up at him with watery eyes that reflected every bit of light in the room. There was a slight glimmer of the person he’d always seen behind those eyes. Masked with something he knew but could not understand even as she spoke, “...why won’t you leave me alone?”

The loud clink when she’d finally released the knife. Metal hitting the ground next to them. Osamu quickly and without a second thought kicked it as far across the room as he could sitting down like this while gripping her bloodied arm. Like it was a loaded gun, he wanted it gone forever. But with the bloodied tool out of reach he still did not release her wrist. Loosening the grip but not once thinking to let go like she might go for it again.

“...Because,” He croaked with that same lump in his throat when he stared back at the face he was more familiar with now, “I love beautiful women too much.”

Out came the pour of tears. One’s so violent that she drew her hands to her face to cover herself and forcing him to let go finally. Choking tears causing her body to shake and tremble as they escalated. Osamu still high on his fight or flight response at seeing her blood went to reach out and touch her. Just to receive a swat away from her and even louder sobs.

“Stop lying!” Her voice hoarse from the crying that seemed never ending, “Stop lying to me! Stop- Just-” For a second their intensity died down and she looked up from her blood and tear stained hands at the man across from her staring, “Stop treating me like a person.”

He figured if it came down to it, who could get to the scalpel first might have end in a draw. Still he told himself with confidence that he’d reach it first no matter what. With that in mind and fighting the words she just spat on him, Osamu looked down at his bloodied hands and the skiff of blood stains on his bandaged arms as well as his trench coat. Wordless he untucked the edge of his bandages to slowly begin unraveling them. Exposing the mostly untouched pale skin of his arms. Methodic as he undid them all so he had a neat little roll in his possession. Not as nice as when he’d bought them of course as he only had his fingers to roll them up on. It was enough that when Osamu reached out to grab her hand. Ignoring the slight with drawling yank she gave when he touched her. Osamu studiously looked down at the gnarled section of skin lacerated to a bloodied pulp by her own hands. It churned his stomach and made his hair stand up on end. But with persistence his expression remained neutral and Osamu began wrapping his own bandage around her wrist without a word spoken.

The two upper extremities were easy. Like wrapping his own arms but just at a kind of funky angle since he was sitting across from her. Osamu did his best to ignore the spots where perhaps the cuts were particularly deep. As they seeped up into his bandages even through a few good layers he applied. They’d only reach that last layer of bandage though and seem to clot and stop. So Osamu continued his silent work without meeting her eyes. Without making a single comment or anything. Wrapping her thighs up as well as her arms in the same similar fashion. Until the only thing left where the oozing scratches across the top of her breasts.

With her bra soaking up most of what had been bled from the wounds. Osamu sat there utterly unbandaged and bare skinned now with only a few scrapes of his bandages left. Nowhere near enough to loop around her once yet alone the few half a dozen times he’d need to match the way he did her wrists and thighs. It was at that moment Osamu realized he himself ironically didn’t have enough bandages.

“It’s funny.” He finally said. Though dead flat in tone, the welling tears in his eyes that soon rushed past his lashes and down his cheek did not match with how he spoke so softly and calmly, “I’d probably have more of these at my place. I- I always have bandages on me. For emergencies- I- I always have so many of them I buy them on sale you know? I...” Osamu struggled to swallow the lump in his throat to no avail as it clung to him making it hard to breath even. Fatter tears cascading down his cheeks now. Washing away what ever stray streaks of her blood he might have gotten when struggling for the scalpel. Osamu sat there unable to take his watery brown eyes off the scrapes of bandages left in his possession, “I buy these on sale...I have so many of them I just-”

“....Osamu.” She spoke in just a mere whisper between the two of them as the silence was deafening, “I..”

“I’ve got more alright?” He finally broke the stare to tilt his head up. Beaming smile nowhere matching the glaze of tears over his wide brown eyes. Looking lost for words he kept smiling even as the tears rolled down his cheek, “I buy them on sale I’ve got all the bandages in the world and I’d love to share them with you.”

That same deafening silence crept back between the two of them after that. Both humans looking at the other as though through frosted glass able to make out the person in front of them but not really the true details of the individual. He’d seen so much blood and yet this rotten metallic filled stench would never leave his nose for as long as he lived. And even with how far away he’d kicked the knife, Osamu never wanted to see bleeding like this again.

#tw self harm

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