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[inkytypewriter]

An animation test I made.

I think Soshiro actually came out really well.

[inkytypewriter]

Admittedly, I was going to leave my account solely for writing. But oh well, things mever go as planned.

Just a lil' Soshiro kitsune holding a cup of coffee. A speedpaint below. This was a test for me to get used to Ibis.

[inkytypewriter]

Dreamscape

Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

A/N: Super short but super true. And formatting will come next time. Mobile formating sucks.

Every moment with him would be suffocating, filled with pure need and love. Every glance would be a distraction, every word a plea, every touch fodder for the liquid flame in your gut. He would build you up so you could touch the sky, and then have you melt all the way down and quake from a single brush of his fingers against your skin. He was your world, the center of your thoughts and fantasies.

In the heat of battle, he’d make his way to you, protecting you and slicing through each Kaiju with practiced grace and speed. Not a single wound would find its way onto your body, and that was just how he would like it. And if you’d end up on the civilians’ side of the mess, he’d be your guardian, never leaving your side until you are safe and sound.

He’d hold you close, your chest flush against his as his lips graze your earlobe, murmured words only fueling the heat in your heart. His hands would caress and roam your body, calloused fingertips from ages of wielding blades tracing and ghosting over every inch. His fangs, sharper than that of your average human’s, would tease and nip at the expanse of sensitive flesh where your neck met your shoulder, leaving blazing trails of heat from the bites. His lips would find yours in a heated lock, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for more as you squirm beneath him.

Or he’d drive you to an extravagant restaurant for dinner, his hand resting on your thigh as he expertly navigates the highways with his other hand. The dinner would be shared in a private booth, the only sound being the muffled live band playing in the main room and the warm chatter shared between the two of you. His crimson eyes would fix upon yours with a gaze so intense it’d take your very breath away, and his slender fingers would slide over the table, intertwining with yours. His fangs would glimmer in the low lighting as his rich chuckles fill your ears, a comforting sound you’d grown to adore.

And then the harsh rays of sunshine force your eyes open and drag you from your incredible slumber, shocking your system awake. You feel the remnants of the dream slip from you, the sensations leaving you in a wreck of devoid and yearning. His scarlet gaze is now only a fragment of your imagination, his kiss a fleeting graze lost in the depths of reality, his touch a ghostly whisper against your skin. Each time your bed feels emptier than the last, cold despite the warmth from under your duvet. Each time, you wake to feel the harrowing void in your soul and the weight of teary disappointment choking you. But each time, you are just foolish enough to lie down hours later to dream of him again, only to wake to the same nightmarish cycle of heaven and hell…

It will never be.

It can never be.

He is only fiction after all.