#I'll add proper tags later | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

feyhunter78 · 1 year ago

Note

the way your jon snow fic has the most VICOUS hold on me. like i love it so much you have no idea. please please add me to that tag list! also whens the next part coming out i beg to know.

I can do that, and I'll do ya one better and drop the next chapter right here!!!!!

Chapter Eleven - Another marriage, and now a few moons later Queen Margaery has settled into her throne and it is time to celebrate her nameday with yet another feast, this time in Highgarden.

Ch 12

When your Uncle Jamie—really your only uncle now, as your Uncle Robert is long dead—slips back inside your aunt’s solar, he seems different, withdrawn, and pensive. You blame it on the death of his eldest child, wishing to not worry about whatever he and Jon spoke of. Though you know he is not so broken up about Joffrey’s death, he never truly liked the boy.

Your aunt is calm now, only a few stray tears and sniffles, Tommen curled in her lap. Your grandsire sitting in a chair his back ramrod straight, your father standing by your side as you lean against the table, your eyes on the large windows overlooking the Keep.

“We must uncover the assassins and hold a proper funeral for the king.” Your aunt says, her arms wrapped tightly around Tommen.

“We must write to Myrcella first; she needs to know of Joffrey’s death from us, not strangers.” You argue.

“No, we must secure the safety of all members of the royal family.” Your uncle says, his arms folded across his chest.

Your grandsire sighs. “You are all wrong, first we must arrange for Lady Margaery to marry Tommen and place Tommen on the throne, we cannot waste time, every second he does not sit on the Iron Throne more schemes to take it from him are hatched.”

“He is barely half her age.” Cersei protests.

You look at your father, this must be part of the plan, though you do not understand how, it must be. Besides, Tommen is a sweet boy, he will not harm her, nor will Margaery harm him.

“Grandsire is right, we cannot allow the Tyrells to slip from our fingers.” You say, earning a look of approval from your grandsire, one you so rarely get.

So now you stand in the crowd once more, dressed less lavishly than you were for Joffrey’s wedding, watching as Tommen and Margaery say their vows. The affair is duller, quieter, Margaery of course looks beautiful, but you cannot find it in yourself to be joyous. Your father has not explained how this is part of the plan. The wedding has happened, the vows were said, how is she to marry Robb while Tommen still lives? Perhaps an annulment? It would make sense; Tommen is far too young; no bedding will happen until he is of age. But it does not make sense in terms of succession.

You wring your hands, trying to piece together some way Robb can take the throne while Tommen still lives. Then the ceremony is over, the feasting and dancing commences, and Tommen seems…happy. That is truly all you want for him, happiness, but there is a cloud hanging over you that you cannot shake.

As you disperse with the rest of the crowd, a tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned man steps into your view, his fine clothing colorful and cut in a distinct fashion.

“Lady y/n, may I have this dance?” Lord Oberyn Martell extends his hand, and you take it, giving him a gracious smile.

Myrcella has written of Oberyn, of his quick wit, of the way he dotes on his daughters, how he cares greatly for nieces and nephews, and though he still holds her at a distance he is not unkind to her. Despite all that she still warns you to be wary of him, that he earned the name Red Viper for a reason.

The song is familiar, the steps easy, and you fall in line with the other dancers, gliding and turning on beat, the melodious strings accompanied by clear toned woodwinds invoking the image of young lovers enjoying a spring day.

“Your cousin speaks highly of you.” Lord Oberyn says, his words far more accented than Jon’s, but still clear as day.

“I do miss her.” You twirl then return within his arm’s reach.

“Trystane takes good care of her I can assure you; I have never seen a young man more smitten than him” There is a look on his face, one of mischief, and he gracefully inclines his head towards Jon. “Though your White Wolf could put up a fair fight.”

“He is devoted, as a sworn sword should be.” You say nonchalantly, before attempting to turn the conversation back to Myrcella.

Oberyn stops you, dipping you low, a devilish smile on his handsome face directed towards someone you cannot see, though you imagine it is Jon. “If that is the case, then perhaps, I shall take your aunt up on her offer of further betrothals in Dorne.”

You stumble, catching the Dornish prince’s foot with the edge of your heel. “My apologies, My Lord.”

“No harm done; I expected such a reaction.”

“I think it would be best to speak with my father, not my aunt, if you wish to marry me to one of your nephews or cousins.” You say primly, curtsying to him once the dance has finished.

He presses your hand to his lips. “And if I wished to marry you myself? Would I still need to speak with your father.”

Your face burns and you snatch your hand away. “You have daughters younger than me, Prince Oberyn, and I do not think their mother would take kindly to another woman attempting to take her place. Nor would I want to. I mean no offense, but I cannot enter a marriage where I must share my husband, especially not when the other woman has had him first.”

He laughs, the sound warm, banishing the tension from the air around you, lifting the weight from your shoulders. It reminds you a little of how Jon laughs, the comfort it brings. Is this how all Dornish men laugh? If so, you can understand why Lyanna and Myrcella did not find it hard to fall for their own Dornish lovers.

“She would not, but she will appreciate your words.” He takes your hand gently, kissing it once more, then releasing you.

You give him a smile and gracefully take the arm of your next partner, then the next one then the next one, until finally Jon is able to steal you away, leading you back to your father.

“I have just turned down Oberyn Martell’s proposal, Father, I wished to let you know.” You say, a weary smile on your face as you slump in the chair next to him.

“Oh, did you? How bold these Dornish are, asking a girl for her hand without first consulting with her father.” Your father says, a ghost of a grin on his lips.

Jon stiffens from his place behind you.

“I reminded him he has daughters younger than me. Also, that I would not share my husband, it is too…unsavory for me, though of course I did not phrase it so.”

Your father snorts. “You told the Red Viper that you will not play the whore in your own marriage?”

You can hear Jon shifting his weight, and he hates when others use what he deems foul language in your presence. Though, you always remind him that Theon had given you quite the course in how to speak as a proper sailor does.

“No, I said I would not like to take the place of another woman.” You take a cube of cheese from his plate and pop it in your mouth. “Though perhaps I should have said lions are far too possessive to ever share their mates.” You catch sight of Jon in your peripheral and flash him a teasing smile.

He clears his throat and looks away, his arms clasped behind his back.

Jon has been oddly distant since the night of Joffrey’s death, and you fear it has more to do with whatever your uncle said to him than the death of the so-called king.

“Do you not think I spoke right, Ser Jon?” You ask, unable to resist drawing him into the conversation, though you know he would rather not participate.

“I think it is dishonorable to take more than one wife, or to have a mistress. It sullies not only the marital bed, but the house itself.” He says, his posture stiff, his words stilted.

You frown and your father shrugs before handing you another cheese cube.

The Roseroad toward Highgarden is well-kept, guards and small towns scattered along the winding road, the countryside lush and brimming with life. The air is cleaner here, sweet smelling compared to the unwashed filth that permeates the air of King’s Landing, and you are once again thankful that no one allowed your Aunt Cersei to take her gargantuan wheelhouse on this trip.

You are divided into smaller groups, within smaller wheelhouses, with windows that allow air to flow through. Your aunt is in one with her ladies, your father, uncle, and Tommen ride their horses alongside the guards, while you and Margaery were able to snag a wheelhouse to yourselves. Margaery claims she needs the extra space to prepare for her nameday festivities, and no one could deny their queen.

“We are a few hours out from my home, I cannot wait to show you the grounds, they are especially beautiful this time of year.” Margaery says, looking out the window, her face lit with a radiant smile.

It has been a few moons since her wedding to Tommen, and you have grown closer to the older girl, you and she are in fact Tommen’s favorite people and in turn spend much time together with or without him.

“I have heard tales, but I am sure words cannot compare.” You say, joining her at the window as she points out places she used to ride to with her brothers.

After a while of you two quietly enjoying the countryside, Margaery clears her throat delicately. “Speaking of words.” She draws back from the window and pulls the curtain closed. “Have you heard anything from our dear redheaded friend?”

You scoot closer to her, lowering your voice to a whisper. “She writes to say that all is well, her home has fallen back into routine and regrets she is unable to attend the celebrations but holds out hope she will see us soon.”

“And what about…” Robb, she means Robb, she wishes to know if he thinks of her.

You reach into your satchel and dig out a letter, “I had been hoping to save it as a nameday present, but I guess I could give it to you now.”

After her and Tommen’s wedding your father roped you into secreting letters between Margaery and Robb, the seals were Hawthorne coming in, and Lannister going out. In truth, it made you feel part of a romantic story, playing the kind maid that helps the young lovers sneak away to be together.

Margaery rips open the letter and devours it, a soft smile on her face, her hand coming to cover her lips as her eyes begin to water.

“What, what did he say?” You ask, suddenly alarmed by the tears in your friend’s eyes.

She hands the letter to you, “he—he is so sweet.”

My dearest Lady Margaery,

I cannot tell you how delighted I still am each time your letters arrive, though I must admit my joy is dimmed by the continued reminder that you are wed to another. That I cannot speak freely of my affections for you. I know it is in name only, and that I should not be envious of a child no more than eight nearly nine namedays, but I am. To think that I, a man grown, is envious of a child for the mere fact that he is allowed to hold your hand. That he is allowed to call your name, to dance with you, it is shameful, but I would bear this shame and many others for you. There will come a day soon that we will be united, that I will take your hand and let all the realm know that you are not only my queen, but my heart’s desire.

I shall not drag on with sentiment lest I embarrass myself, so I will get to the meat of this letter. Sansa informed me it is to be your nameday soon, and that you will be traveling to Highgarden to celebrate. Part of me wished to set out for Highgarden the moment she said so, surely, I would be able to disguise myself well enough, but Sansa squashed that scheme quite quickly. Nevertheless, I am hopeful that Lady y/n will be able to present you with my gift. And if it is not too forward, I would ask that you wear it during the celebrations, and know that I am with you, that you carry my heart in your hands.

I have had your latest portrait replicated, made smaller, and set within a locket so that I might carry it around wherever I go. Theon teases me quite mercilessly about it, but I care not. While we are parted, I wish to do all I can to keep your visage beside me. The curve of your smile, the light in your eyes, and the soft blush that adorns your cheeks, they give me strength, and I will draw on them until we meet, and I no longer need drawn or painted images.

The Gods smiled upon the realm the day you were born, and I swear to you, when we are finally together, I will spend every moment I can making up for our time apart, especially your namedays.

- Ever yours, Robb

“This is quite sweet; he has a way with words I would not expect.” You say, handing her the letter back.

“Why would he not? Even the way Jon spoke to you when he helped you into the wheelhouse was full of passion.” She bristles, holding the letter close to her chest.

You need only call for me, I will not be far. Perhaps have Ghost stay with you, it would ease my mind. He had said, before trying to force a very resistant Ghost into the wheelhouse. You thanked him but told him to let Ghost run free, knowing the direwolf would grow bored on the long journey.

You reach out and squeeze her hand. “I meant no offense, it is only that Jon has spent much time here, and Robb has not. I imagined they would speak differently, but it seems there is a hidden romantic streak in House Stark.”

She smiles, a pretty blush decorating her face, then she smooths out her expression and holds out her hand with the air of a queen. “My gift please?”

“Of course, My Queen.” You say, bowing your head ridiculously far as you hand her the small velvet bag.

She pulls the drawstrings open, gasping as she carefully pulls out the gift. It is a necklace made of gold and citrine, arranged in an elegant yet sturdy way, the gems draping down, the gold perfect and glowing against Margaery’s skin. “It is as he has described Grey Wind’s eyes.”

“Is there anything else?” You ask curiously, smiling as she holds it up to her chest once more.

She digs in the bag and finds a golden ring, engraved with the letters M and R in curling script, hidden within the rose emblem.

You hold out your hand for it, and she gives it to you. You fiddle with the edge of it until it pops open. Inside reveals a small, detailed portrait of a bright blue eye. “I wondered if he would go through with it.”

“Is that his?” Margaery asks, tracing the edges of the ring longingly.

“From what I remember it is, and Tommen also has blue eyes, so if anyone discovers it, they will be none the wiser.

She carefully replaces the gifts in their bag, and you feel a pang of sadness. You cannot imagine what she must feel like, married to a child, in love with a man she must keep secret, unable to even pretend they are merely friends, unable to freely send him letters.

A knock on the wheelhouse door pulls you from your thoughts. “My Queen, My Lady, we have nearly arrived.”

Highgarden is beyond beautiful, set upon a hill overlooking the Mander, built with clean white stone, and narrow towers that seem to scrape the clouds. Rows and rows of briar hedges, fields of flowers, and works of art tastefully scattered about the halls and grounds, complete the fairy tale look of the Tyrell’s castle, and you cannot wait to see more.

“And you must see the Three Singers, our Godswood is known throughout the realm for its beauty.” Margaery says, as the wheelhouse finally grinds to a halt and the door is pulled open.

“Sister,” Loras says, holding out his hand to her. “Welcome home.”

Margaery takes his hand, gracefully exiting the wheelhouse, her excitement radiating from her like rays of the sun. Then Loras goes to help you, but Jon’s hand is already there.

“My Lady, the Dowager Queen requires a word with you.” Jon says, his face unreadable, his eyes never lingering on you for too long.

“Thank you, Ser Jon, I will go to her once we have settled into our chambers.”

You sit and wait for your aunt, fiddling with your sleeves, birdsong, and the sound of harps playing floats in through the open window.

She sweeps in, head held high, and closes the window, plunging the room into dead quiet. “I know your father has been lenient with you since your poor mother died, but as your aunt, the only motherly figure in your life, I can no longer stand by and watch you waste away your future.”

“Beg pardon?”

She takes your hands, her expression soft, caring, one you have not seen since you were a little girl. “Y/N, we must find you a husband, a good man, who will provide for you, for your children.”

“Father said—”

“I know your father has filled your head with stories of freedom, and true love, but that is for children, and you have not been a child for some time now.” She takes the seat across from you, her ruby gown looking harsh and garish among the soft colors and fabrics of the guest chamber she has been given.

“You are right, I am no longer a child.” You agree, trying to give her an answer that betrays nothing of true value.

She brushes your cheek with her knuckles, her eyes looking for something, in your own. “Your mother was a great beauty, with a kind heart, far too kind. I do not want you making the same mistake she did. Not that you are a mistake, my darling girl, you are the only worthwhile thing that has ever come from my brother, but your mother did not examine her prospects wisely enough.”

“I do not have any prospects.” You tell her, torn between feeling comforted and wounded by her words.

“At tomorrow night’s feast there will be many lords from all across the realm, and you will dance with them, you will talk and flatter, and laugh at their jests even if they are not humorous.”

“But if I dance with so many, how will I know who is good?”

She gives you a smile and smooths down your hair. “Allow me to take care of that, I want you to enjoy yourself, and show the realm how delightful you are.”

“I will try.” You say, giving her a weak smile, hoping she believes it is born of nerves and not a complete lack of interest.

“You will do more than try, you will succeed.”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film

#meg's writing #jon snow imagine #jon snow x reader #jon snow x y/n #jon snow x you #jon snow imagines #lannister!reader #robb stark x margaery tyrell

264 notes · View notes

seethesin · 2 years ago

Text

rotaries and roses

pairing: Tattoo Artist!Corky x Florist!F!Reader

tags/warnings: modern au, tattoo artist/florist trope, first time tattoos, suggestive themes, cursing, teasing

a/n: requested by anonymous here. this was my biggest challenge yet because... this is smut free and i don't have tattoos 😭 i hope you guys don't mind how many liberties i took with this! as there are no gif hunts of gina as corky, this will have a gifless format. enjoy! 🥰

You found yourself at Corky's by the recommendation of a close friend. Every time you mentioned your desire for a tattoo, they would practically beg you to give the tattoo shop a chance before pulling up their Instagram page. The first thing you noticed was the address. The tattoo shop was on the same street as your flower shop; how you hadn't noticed it sooner was beyond you.

Your friend was right. You needed to take your ass over there. And now, there was no excuse not to.

Out of all the artists featured, the owner, Corky, had your favorite designs. Her Neo-Traditional style blew you away, and it was the post featuring a canvas with an array of roses that sealed the deal. They had always been your favorite flower, regardless of the stereotypical label they held. Every bouquet of roses that leaves your shop always receives your special attention. They never fail to bring a smile to your face, regardless of the color, quantity, or occasion. To have them on your body felt right to you and you wanted them in Corky's signature style.

You spent the rest of that evening mulling over what you wanted. It took you a few more days, but finally, you came to a decision. You wanted a ram surrounded by Corky's roses. A ribbon would wind around the portrait of the ram with the phrase: My will is sturdy inscribed on it. The design was perfect and you knew Corky would do your vision justice.

Your consultation was the first time you meant Corky outside of emailing her. A studded leather jacket was haphazardly thrown over her white tank top. You couldn't tell what brand of jeans she wore, but they did wonders for her legs. Her steel-toed boots clicked on the hardwood floor as she came to greet you. You accepted her offered hand into a shake and couldn't stop yourself from memorizing the callouses on her palm within those few, fleeting seconds. Her brown hair was perfectly unkempt and a permanent, knowing smirk was glued onto her face.

"I'm Corky."

She was hot. You were fucked.

After your initial greetings, she brought you to the back where her desk was so you both could work through your design. You found as many references as possible, including the same array of roses you saw on her shop's Instagram page. Corky chuckled fondly as she examined the canvas, lips quirking into a genuine smile.

"This is some of my older work," she mused as if she was warning you. Her gaze flickered through her lashes, brow quirked inquisitively at you.

"It's one of my favorites," you admit and Corky's smile only grows at your confession.

The close proximity allows you to catch onto her scent: fresh smoke and citrus. You want her to tattoo it into your lungs.

"Give me an hour and I'll have something nice for you. I'll call you when I'm finished."

One phone call later and you were back in her shop. Unsure of proper etiquette in the tattooing world, you had brought back coffee for both yourself and Corky. You needed a pick me up and it felt strange not to share with her. Shyly, you offered her a cup which she graciously accepted. Your guess of Corky taking her coffee black was right; you swallow a smile at the thought. She leads you back to her desk so she can present you her work.

It's overwhelming how beautiful Corky's art is. Everything about it is perfect and truly, you can't think of anything else to add, remove, or change. The roses woven through the ram's horns, the brilliant blue outline, and the delicate font she chose for the banner were small details you would have never considered on your own.

Your lack of a verbal response makes Corky laugh, leaning in closer.

"Stunned ya speechless, huh?" she teased and you can't help but laugh with her.

"It's gorgeous, Corky."

There's something on Corky's tongue as she pauses. Silently, you watch her shake whatever thought it was away before refocusing on you.

"Where do you want this?"

You pause to think.

"I think my thigh would be the best. I've read that it's one of the better places to get your first tattoo."

This information slaps a smile back on her face.

"You read right. That works for me."

Soon after, you discuss the rest of the housekeeping tasks regarding your tattoo. Once you put an initial deposit down, you decide on a date a month later. You bid Corky goodbye and return to your flower shop to close up for the night. Before you retire to bed, you start working on a custom rose bouquet for one of your clients.

The roses are beautifully crimson, just like the ones Corky drew for you.

"I'll be with ya in a moment!" A disembodied voice calls from the next room over at the sound of the doorbell. You nod—more to yourself—before shutting the door behind you.

A month blew by quicker than you anticipated. Tonight, you found yourself awkwardly stationed at the front door of Corky’s tattoo shop with a cup of coffee in each hand. On her recommendation, you came well-fed, hydrated, and with eight hours of sleep under your belt. You donned a loose, simple dress, figuring it would make Corky's job tonight easier.

What you didn't realize was that she booked you as her closer tonight. The shop was empty and immediately, you felt yourself sweating. Silently, you asked whatever higher powers existed to refrain from making you out into a fool tonight.

Shifting on your heels, you visibly brighten at the sound of Corky's boots thundering towards you. She appears from the backroom, grinning ear to ear as she walks towards you. She's clad in another plain white tank top and dark jeans, revealing the complex sleeves her leather jacket hid. The most notable tattoo is of a labrys on her upper arm.

"Hey stranger," she greets, raising her brows as you offer her a coffee cup. "You spoil me; thank you."

You don't miss the way her eyes drag down your frame.

Corky's fingers slide against yours as she takes the coffee from you. Her touch is electric and you hold back from shivering. If something so innocuous got to you, you don't know how you'll last tonight.

"My pleasure." You don't mean to sound so breathless, but you were currently recovering from her touch. Corky merely smiles and beckons you to follow her. You do so wordlessly, stepping up and over to her workstation.

She sifts through her desk before pulling out the stencil of your tattoo. Turning on her heel, she presents it to you and you nearly choke on your coffee.

It’s perfect.

Every detail from her initial artwork has been transcribed onto the stencil. You find yourself hypnotized as you lean in closer. It needs to be on your body now.

"Corky," you start and she laughs, gesturing for you to sit in the chair. You do so quickly, placing your belongings on an empty side table out of the way.

"Don't go worshipping me yet," she teases, easily picking up on the dreaminess laced in your voice.

She drags over a small, wheeled cart, completely set up for your session. You're unfamiliar with everything on it, but you watch carefully as she sets up her rotary machine. After checking to make sure you didn't have a latex allergy, Corky puts on a pair of black, single-use gloves.

"I still gotta tattoo it."

Pulling her stool over, her gloved hand goes to your thigh. The edge of her thumb grazes the hem of your dress and tenderly—so tenderly you might faint—she pushes the skirt up. You meet her in the middle, pulling it the rest of the way so it settles just over your hips. Cool air immediately rushes between your thighs and you've never felt more exposed. Corky guides your leg towards her and the thought of her face buried in your cunt flashes in your mind. Swiftly, you shake it away.

You allow her to position you as she sees fit while she preps your skin. Once satisfied, she presses the stencil to your skin to transfer the design. It takes all of your restraint to stay still and on the chair. How were you going to make it through a two hour session?

"Go check it out in the mirror." Corky points her thumb behind her and her voice sucks you back from your reverie.

Holding your dress skirt up, you walk to the wall mirror and examine the design. Turning to her, you hold a thumb up as she stares intensely at the exposed flesh. She hums in approval and you hurry back onto the chair. You get comfortable and again, Corky's hands are on your thigh. She's readjusting you and your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning.

"Are you ready?"

You nod.

"Let's begin."

The first ten minutes are relatively quiet. The buzz of the rotary is the only thing distracting you from the dull pain in your thigh. Well, that and the fact that her other hand is gripping your thigh in a way that makes your head spin. Corky pipes up first over the noise.

"What do you do?"

You beam; you adore answering this question.

"I'm a florist!" You watch as Corky's brows raise in interest, her gaze intensely fixed on your leg as she works. "I actually own the flower shop just up the street."

The buzzing stops completely and her eyes are glued to your face, lips parted in surprise.

"You own Fern & Flora?"

You nod proudly, practically glowing from the recognition.

"No shit; one of my girls, Sue, is there every two weeks buying flowers for her girlfriend."

Corky's machine whirs back to life and the prickly pain on your thigh returns. You hum to yourself, going over a mental list of your regulars and who could fit the profile Corky described.

"She's always going on about how her girlfriend likes the—"

"Violets." You finish thoughtfully, unable to stop the genuine smile growing across your face. "Margaret's favorite flowers are violets and Sue never lets me forget it."

You watch the way Corky's face softens as you speak. Her thumb presses against your inner thigh and your breath hitches quietly in your throat.

"What's your favorite flower?"

Staring down at her in disbelief, a chuckle pushes from your throat. You gesture to the tattoo she was currently working on, hoping to highlight the array of roses she was getting ready to outline.

"Do you even have to ask?"

Corky's shoulders raise into a shrug, glancing up at you quickly before refocusing on your thigh.

"Hey, forgive me for making small talk." The smile in her voice is evident and you find yourself grinning along with her.

"What's your favorite flower?" You toss the question back to Corky, ready to take her answer and brand it into the back of your mind.

She takes a moment to think about your question. If it wasn't obvious already, you could tell that this was something Corky hadn't previously thought about.

"I think I'm going to have to swing by your shop at some point to answer that question."

You can't help but blush. Was she flirting with you?

"I'd like that," you admit, fiddling with your fingernails.

Corky doesn't respond, instead reabsorbing herself back into her work. But a sly smirk plays on her lips and you have to stare up at the ceiling to keep your thoughts at bay.

"I think you'd like cornflowers." You finally state after a minute of silence. The cool colors and perky petals reminded you of Corky's persona. The bouquets that you crafted with them were some of your favorites so far.

"I think I'd like anything you recommend."

Okay, she's definitely flirting with you. Brazenly, you reply with: "Then I recommend you visit me sooner rather than later."

"Oh yeah?" There's a teasing edge in Corky's voice and you feel the warmth rise to your cheeks. Her voice drops an octave lower and you've completely disregarded the pain in your thigh. "And why's that?"

In that moment, you’ve forgotten everything about yourself. The only things you could comprehend were Corky’s hands groping your flesh and the irritating whizzing of the rotary. You suddenly feel hot and the idea of stripping your dress off grows more attractive with each passing second.

“I want to make a bouquet for you.” The sentence is rushed from your own nervousness, but you mean every word. “The sooner you stop by, the better of a selection I’ll still have for the season.”

Caught off guard, Corky sputters out a cough. However, she doesn’t stop working. The machine is still on as she finishes the outline of your tattoo without issue. You glance down curiously and witness her face flush crimson. A delighted giggle squeezes from your throat and you swear Corky blushes deeper than before.

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Your laughter is replaced with a kind smile. “Promise?”

She nods.

The rest of your session goes swiftly. Corky works like a machine: detailed, efficient, and insanely accurate. Your small talk comes and goes in waves, more so that she can focus on her work above all else. With a final wipe of her towel, your tattoo is finished two hours later. She grins eagerly before looking up at you.

"Wanna check it out?"

You don't miss a beat: "Uh, of course!"

You practically spring off the chair, stretching your legs as you scurry over to the mirror. The hem of your dress is still bawled in your fists as you stare at your thigh. You can hear Corky snickering at you while you fawn over her work.

"Holy shit..." You are awestruck and you turn to her, gaping before turning back to the mirror.

"It looks incredible," she agrees, discarding her gloves before pulling the rolling cart over to the side and out of the way. She goes to her workstation, pulls a few documents out, and scribbles something down as you continue to gape and stare at your new tattoo.

You return to Corky's workstation, gathering your belongings as you ready your wallet. She turns to face you again, handing you paperwork and guidance on how to maintain your new tattoo. You listen to her instructions carefully, unable to stop yourself from staring at her chapped lips every few moments.

"Do you have any questions?" You shake your head, averting your gaze to the papers she gave you. It essentially regurgitated what she said aloud, but you were thankful to have something written to refer to. Corky had also included her business card that you examined, noting the handwritten number just below her professional contact information.

"Actually, I do have a question," you start, not looking up from the papers in your hands. "Do you give all of your clients your personal number?"

Turning the documents to Corky, you point at the handwritten digits just below her work email. She flushes briefly before clearing her throat.

"Well no," she starts and a grin is already curling on your lips, watching as she gathers her thoughts. "But I figured it would make sense to give it to you. For tomorrow."

You hum thoughtfully, glancing over at her workstation before looking at her.

"Can I borrow that?" You gesture at a Sharpie marker on the side and she snatches it up before handing it to you.

"Give me your arm."

Corky stares at you, bewildered by your demand, but obediently offers her right arm to you. Your fingers clasp her wrist, outstretching it so that her fingertips just barely graze the top of your chest.

You miss the sharp inhale Corky takes.

Carefully, you jot your phone number down, making sure to avoid writing over the pinup girl tattoo facing you. Once finished, you push the cap back on and place the marker in her open palm.

"For tomorrow," you parrot, giddily watching the flustered look wash over Corky's face. She nods quickly, clutching the marker before stammering for you to follow her so she can take the rest of your payment. You trail behind her, already working out flower combinations in your mind for Corky's bouquet.

Out of all the ones you can think of, cornflowers and roses are the most fitting.

🦇 tag list: @crvptidsmain, @astroph1les, @uraesthete

#corky bound #corky #corky x reader #x reader #x you #lesbian #wlw #lgbtq #bound #bound 1996 #bound movie

566 notes · View notes

siconetribal · 7 days ago

Text

Beyond the Bookshelves (12)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Workplace drama

Summary: You’re a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You’ve been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N:

Life really hit me with major events back to back since mid May. The dust has finally settled though, and I've got a better handle on my schedule. I'll try to update more routinely.

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! (If I missed any tags, please let me know, I’ll add you right away!) I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

“Good afternoon agents, Avengers, and the one probationary member,” Agent Pruyn greeted the team cheerily until his gaze landed finally on Loki. There was a subtle snarl to his lips, a look that amused the trickster god instead of offending him. The lack of reaction at the obvious jab only further troubled Pruyn and Loki lavished in his irritation.

“How magnanimous of you to greet me in particular. You are too kind, agent.” Loki flashed him a charismatic politician smile that had some female agents in present company dazzled.

“Loki,” Black Widow’s voice was stern, but it held a tinge of exasperation. Something he thought was misdirected at him, since the one who started all this was Pruyn. The prince said nothing, he merely shrugged his shoulders and turned his palms upwards.

“Why are we here?” Hawkeye redirected the attention back to the question that was on most of their minds.

“It's about the changes to the mission. There’s too much risk.” Agent Pruyn cut to the chase. “We’re going to be behind and will most lose valuable time wasted in running unnecessary logistics, scenarios, and covenant countermeasures. We've already mapped out everything, and all plans rehearsed to perfection. Going back to start from scratch is pointless and a promised failure.”

“Is it truly such a waste when we minimize the chances of failure through the redistribution of tasks and placing the proper soldiers in optimal positions in which they will excel?” Loki raised one of his eyebrows, sitting back against his chair, hands steepled, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He was completely unbothered by the remarks made intentionally to hurt him. “The spider and bird are perfect for infiltration and retrieval of the data we aim to possess. Though I’m capable of doing so as well, there’s no point in arguing the point because you don't trust me with that intel. You will question me forever, and if anything were to happen later on, it will automatically fall upon me as the reason for failure. I rather that that time and energy be spent more wisely. A prime example of wasting time is this highly unnecessary meeting. Instead of the team adjusting what is needed based on the last meeting and reconvening after all research has been completed, you are here feeling jilted because my adjustments make more sense. Am I wrong, Agent?”

Pruyn grit his teeth to swallow the anger rising from the humiliation he just experienced. Each word of that vitriol was a razor sharp blade cutting into his pride and reputation, exposing his hatred towards the second prince, which he did his best to mask with neutrality and false kindness. “You misunderstand me,” he plastered a pressed smile on his face. Don’t let him get to you.

“Oh? What did I misunderstand? The part that the team as a whole agreed the change in plan was best between the two plans, or the fact that you wish to set us up with an increased risk of failure? Or did you think I misunderstood the fact that you intend to have me in a position of scrutiny and be used as a scapegoat if things were to not go as we anticipated?” Though he was seated and Pruyn was standing, the verbal undressing easily told the room that it was Loki looking down on Pruyn.

“Agent Pruyn, we all agreed to these changes, did we not?” Natasha cut in, breaking the tension building between the two.

“Yes, but afterwards some of us reconsidered due to doubts.” He softened, humbling himself before the famous Black Widow.

“What doubts? Let’s clear the air now and move in. We're wasting time with all these side conversations.” Clint looked around the room at everyone. Small mumbles of ‘well’s and ‘it’s’ rose up and quickly died down as no one could really pinpoint the reasons for the hesitation.

It’s because none of you wish to accept the fact that I came up with this plan, and I was supported by both of your ‘precious’ Avengers. Loki withheld himself from rolling his eyes in response to the idiocy. “It seems I’ve managed to dispel whatever concerns there were.”

“Right, so if there’s nothing, get this done as soon as possible. You already got Fury’s approval, so why second guess?” Clint reminded them, an awkward silence instantly fell over them. “You did get Fury’s approval, right?” He frowned.

“Is it pending approval? We can talk to Fury to expedite the review process.” Natasha assured them, but the silence only grew heavier, and Loki felt his irritation at such incompetence rise up. He did not care for their approval or expect any kindness without earned merit, but to stall and cause unnecessary delays and under his name was an insult. “We told you to submit this change for approval weeks ago. Get it done so we can move on.” She sighed in exasperation.

“This is the waste of time you were so set on avoiding.” Clint stood from his seat. “The next time we meet better be a proper strategy meeting, or we might need to hand this off to another team if you can't manage it.” He looked at Pruyn who was the lead agent on this.

“Of course, an oversight like this won’t happen again. I hadn’t realized it wasn’t already submitted and pending.” He bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck, the other agents lowering their heads as well. That arrogant asshole, who the hell does he think he is coming in and changing my mission plan? I've been doing this for years, I’m one of the best! He should be locked away in the Raft!

“There better not be.” Natasha stood from her seat. “We can end this meeting here. Get to work.” Loki silently stood from his seat and was the first to leave the room.

Peace and quiet, that is how he preferred his days as a whole. Sadly, in a tower filled with chattering Midgardians and his own energetic brother, finding such solace was a Herculean task. Even the sanctity of the library was marred with noise from time to time. It was hardly as loud, but it was always so much more vexing; especially after a meeting earlier in the week with the insufferable Agent Pruyn trying to create holes that he could not find in Loki’s proposed plan that was supposed to be enacted.

What a farce this all is, strutting around like swans, when they are nothing but frogs. Trying to deceive me, the god of deception? He scoffed. The pitiful Midgardian, picking a fight with someone who has fought battles and strategized far before he was even a thought for conception. He flipped the page of the book in his hands, looking up at the sound of footsteps coming his way. The employees jumped and scurried away quickly, and he frowned. This was the tenth time he has looked up at the sound of steps. Each time it broke his concentration on the page. He was on edge and there was no logical reason as to why, which only irritated him further. The next set of steps had him looking up, again, only to see someone unknown to him, again. “Dammit,” he snapped the book shut and slammed it down on the table. The person let out some high-pitched sound and fled from the scene like some field mouse, but that did not matter to the prince. “Why, in all the Nine Realms, am I unable to concentrate? That imbecilic agent is hardly worth ruining my precious reading time!” He muttered to himself, glaring at the cover of the book. Something was amiss, and it was not of his doing. Could it be, no! That’s utterly preposterous! What do I have to do with that? He dismissed the fleeting though before it could fully form. “Idiocy is a plague that will vex me for eternity. My talents and insight were wasted because of them.” He reasoned, standing from his seat. With the flick of his hand, the book jumped into the air and slid back into its place on the shelf. Training will help me release this nagging. With his mind set, he made his way out of the library without even glancing at the Librarian’s desk.

The famous city was quickly coming to life as people and critters began their morning routines. Among the moving parts stood Y/N, looking up at the towering building she called work. The one day of rest had quickly unraveled into a week. When was the last time she took a day off? Even when she felt like a radioactive snotty sludge monster, she made sure to look alive enough to make it in.

But there was no star-spangled hero rushing to the infirmary for attention those times. The rumor reels should've died down enough by now, right? She tightened her grip on her bag and stood as tall as she could. There was only one way to find out. Bracing herself, she walked in through the main entrance and greeted the receptionists warmly. The reply back was a robotic one, but it was promising. No funny looks or asking too many questions, that's good! That means things have settled. Obviously, they’ve realized that it's nothing more than him doing his duty helping a coworker. She sighed with relief and made her way through the employee entrance to head to her post.

When she finally got to her office, she sat in her chair and stared at the black computer screen, her darkened reflection staring back at her. No one seemed to care about her presence, one way or another. It’s great that no one in particular is asking about that day and Captain Rogers, but they aren’t asking anything? I was out for a whole week. She frowned at the monitor. “Did no one even notice? I know I’m not that important that my absence would cause all hell to break loose, but someone had to have noticed, right?” She thought to herself aloud, as if her reflection would respond and help soothe the sting of expendability. It was the chime of the door opening that dragged her from the self-pity as she turned on the desktop. “Good morning, welcome to the library. Do you need me to assist you in finding anything?"

“Y/N, is that you?” The voice had her standing up from her seat as she looked up.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss @softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl @rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @jainaeatsstars @msdjsg7 @tom-hlover @kneelingformyloki @gruftiela @gigglingtiggerv2 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @evalynanne @wolfsmom1

41 notes · View notes

princechaikka · 28 days ago

Text

I've never done a proper character lineup before but I recently got super into the magnus archives (it was recommended to me by a friend!), so I gave a lineup a shot with fan designs of the series! The original file was higher resolution but it was too large to upload unfortunately OTL. I'll put smaller bits of the lineup at full resolution below the cut (and maybe some design notes too). I also made a few secondary versions of the characters below the cut, but they do contain spoilers.

There will be more detailed ALT image descriptions below the cut as well since i have a character limit that's probably too small to fit all the characters in this image.

(honestly this took me like two months to do (I did a lot of it WHILE listening to tma and then also tmp lmao), and I've been sitting on the finished product for a few months thereafter because I wasn't certain if I would still like it after I left it alone for awhile... but I'm tired of keepin it in my files)

Check ALT text for details on the individual designs including specific clothing item names or facial inspirations. Overall notes for the design layout would be that: these are meant to be a "base" of the characters. I intended to draw everyone in an appearance that would suit them at their normal job whenever we first meet them, which means the characters who join the institute later are not dressed in institute attire. For those who were, however, I incorporated a name tag with an official magnus institute symbol (eye-shaped) and a bar code (for access to storage and whatnot). They're also dressed in professional wear, though I tried to differentiate what they'd wear from person to person to help incorporate their personality.

(Edit I forgot to add some details to this section cause I'm sleepy)

Some other general stuff:

As a neat little detail, I tried to keep all the people who made it to the eyepocalypse have an exposed middle forehead. I thought a visible "third eye" position would be a neat visual indicator. I also have some color-coding at play where Green represents The Eye, Purple represents The Web, Blue represents The Lonely.... And I actually had it more fleshed-out but then I accidentally saved over the document where I noted this all down (exploding on the inside). Either way it's why Martin has a periwinkle sweater since it's a delightful color but also a nice recognizable form of blue x purple 👍

What's this? Bonus doodles? Bonus doodles! (as a heads up there's a spider in the third batch down)

#tma fanart #tma spoilers #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #just a teeny bit tho #tma is all about facing your fears and when i say i am horrified at the prospect of drawing SHOES BUT THEN I DID IT ANYWAY #MANY TIMES OVER #i'm so brave #spider #fan design #fan designs #I don't know why I drew peter 1 billion times i stg he's not my favorite character #he just haunts me #my fave is martin actually tho in tmp im lovin alice and gwen so much #may horror podcast yuri prevail

28 notes · View notes

vulpixisananimal · 10 months ago

Text

(You run down the stairs two at a time, taking the lead as usual. What WAS that sadness anyawy?!? The Sadness that appeared because of The King were more intelligent, had plans, but the King was gone, and so sadness you'd find now would just be, normal, animalistic. But this one was smart, AND it could freeze time!)

<Doesn't matter, we have a job to do.>

(You get to the main room. It's a mess. Tables were overturned, Odile was frozen in time, Bonnie was against the far wall and Nille was protecting them. The door was ripped from the wall, and Isabeau was nowhere to be seen.)

(The sadness loomed over Pétronille, who, seeing you walk down, got distracted, looking right at you. The sadness took the chance, and flung her across the room.)

"S-SIS!!" (Bonnie screamed, looking over, Nille wasn't moving.)

"I-I'll unfreeze madame-" (Mirabelle starts.)

"Don't!" <You interrupt.> "She'll likely fight us, we can't risk it."

"'Frin!!" <Bonnie calls to you. They're trying to slip away from the sadness while it was distracted.>

(I. . . Alright, don't go crazy with looping, please.)

<Alright. You reach down out of habit and take those singing stones and place them in your ear. You hear music.>

"Siffrin?" <Ramos looks over to you.> "What are. ."

(You want to know, too.)

<. . . Habit, you think. That's what you would do in the play, right? Place stones in your ears before each grand battle- >

(Alright alright, just focus.)

"Ready?" <You ask, drawing your dagger. Mirabelle draws her sword, and you see Ramos take a ready stance.>

"H-huh?!?" <Ramos exclaims.> "What blinding type IS it anyways!"

"I don't know, b-but. . ." <Mirabelle clapped her hands together, you feel a warmth wash over you. Good.> "We'll figure it out!"

(Don't you know combat crafts?!?)

(Blinding- tag in please now THANK you!!)

(The wave of nausea passes as you jump back. You snap your fingers, feeling your feet get lighter in an instant. What do you MEAN you don't know combat crafts!!)

(The sadness screamed, it's sharp, needle arms formed into hands and they clapped together- wait. Paper sign, scissors sign, two crafts?)

(Mirabelle rushed forward with her rapier, striking at the sadness. The blow bounced off, harmless.)

<Something's wrong.>

(Huh?)

(From the side, Bonnie rushed in with their pan, bonking the sadness before running past you and behind you.) "F-frin!!! 'Frin there's, there's something wrong with Nille!"

(Be nice!) "What happened?"

"S-she was, acting really weird, and, a-and looking for you and, tried to grab me when I said no and-"

"Eyes up Sif!!" (Ramos yells, throwing up a scissors sign and slowing down the sadness.) "Talk after!"

"There might not be an after!!" (Stars, should have phrased that better for Bonnie.)

(Siffrin time. Okay, so if it's scissors and paper, then you should. . . You make a first and strike! There we go! Damage!! Proper damage!! The sadness roared in anger.)

"FINALLY, progress!!" (Ramos cheered.)

"Careful though!! I-it might change it's typing but I know we can do it!!!" (Mira adds. She looks focused, cheering you on. You feel stronger.)

(What makes you say that?)

(Ramos time, they strike at the sadness with a fist sign, just like yours, it hit a weakness. You were getting back in the groove. You could win this!)

(The sadness stumbled to a knee. It looked at you with loathing. It stood up and struck a needle like arm into the earth.)

(+80% recovered.)

"WHAT?!?"

"Oh that is SO unfair!!"

"STUPID CRABBING SADNESS!!"

(You didn't- UGH! FINE!!) "Hey!! Over here, crabface!!" (The sadness turned to look at you. You gave a wink to Ramos, who took the chance and strikes at the sadness while its back was turned.)

(The sadness screamed, turned, and slapped Ramos away with a powerful paper craft. K.O.ed.)

"Ramos!!" (Mirabelle yells. She looks to the sadness, then to the collapsed ally, then to you. She doesn't know what to do.)

"Just, just focus on-" (You start to respond, Mirabelle shrieks, alerting you. You look back and the sadness was right in your face. It stares at you. It's eyes, those eyes.)

(It looks at you with, disgust, with, betrayal. In anger, confusion, and, and. . .)

(You can't move.)

<Siffrin- >

(Your mind is freezing up. Your body. You're. You. Can't. You, you. . .)

<. . .>

<. . . We're dead.>

<. . . . You can still hear me.>

<. . . . .>

<. . . . . . . . . . .>

<. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Try again.>

#this is no normal sadness #isat #in stars and time #art #isat art #isat fanart #isat spoilers #siffrin system au #isat au #sifstem #isat siffrin #isat fanfic #isat ramos #isat bonnie #isat mirabelle #isat null

78 notes · View notes

drawloverlala · 6 months ago

Text

January status update

(˶ˆᗜˆ˵) So I'm back from my break! and I'm ready to start the year proper!

🌼Regarding commission info

I've been trying to update my carrd site, which is where my commission info is and also I've been trying to update some prices and such, but I haven't yet finished with that

I'm hoping to be able to do that and announce next commission date on Sunday at most though!

just really hoping the new layout of my card will be easy to navigate in general lol

though there's something I'd like to ask, I've been wondering which option is better should i take chibi and sketch page commissions on Ko-fi or do I take them on my email?

it's fine either way but I wonder which option would be easier for people to order 😅

🌼New listings?

and well besides that I'll be offering ink/black and white commissions! that is to say an ink drawing, I currently don't have too much examples though but I'm hoping to get some after I open commissions

and I want to add background options to the chibis! and I haven't made yet some examples but I'll probably be doing that later this week and I'll be also be making the line art a bit smoother!

I'm also thinking on adding some variations to the sketch pages

🌼Ko-fi shop

It may still not be open but I want to work on some new items for it! and I also gotta get some new supplies, this year I want to focus more on stickers but I won't stop with some stationary stuff like notebooks and bookmarks.

And well last year I really wanted to go sell to an art market here in my region, I applied to one but I didn't get chosen for it, which honestly was a good thing because I was very much unprepared and busy with commissions lol 😅

I'd like to try again this year so I'm hoping to set a better balance when it comes to the time I spend on making products and working on commissions.

so yeah that's all for now, really looking forward to giving my best this year!

I'll comment more on the things I did on my break on another blog post later this week, I'll also start using a different tag for these kind of status updates, so any info regarding commissions and shop isn't mixed up with personal or unrelated stuff 👍

I'll be also posting some commission work I did last year here! so yeah! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

#my ramblings #Status update #jan21_2025

33 notes · View notes

synamartia · 1 year ago

Text

GUYS I SWEAR I'M TRYING TO FINISH SMUTMUS. I just can't stop myself from adding new things each time I try to enter the final editing stage 😭 I keep telling myself to save some bits for future stories, but fuck! It's getting too good for me to stop~ 😉 and then I get on here and get inspired to add something else, which throws me back a couple steps cause I'm trying to make sure it flows properly. SOMEONE TAKE AWAY MY PHONE- *gets smacked down*

Btdubs I've used the word "tongue" WAY too many times so if anyone could help me with synonyms or alternative ways to describe the tongue that'd be great 🥲

Be prepared though, once it's done and posted, I'mma take some time to respond to messages/comments/reblogs, catch up on some reading *looks at Hazel, Mink, & Danny* and write ESSAYS on every little detail! Yall might wanna put me on mute when that happens 🤣

I'll come back and add proper CW tags to all the teasers I release later, but for now (and just as a general rule of thumb with anything I post): MDNI! And jsyk, it WILL BE WORTH IT. I've doubled my word count from the original nine parts, and it's still growing. So. Y'know.

GET 👏 READY 👏 FOR 👏 10K+ 👏 WORDS 👏 OF 👏 ABSOLUTE 👏 FILTH 👏👏👏👏

Quickly, you turned your head and pushed yourself up. “No! No, I can…” you paused for a moment to stifle a yawn. The incident that led to all of this occurred near the end of your work day, so you were already fairly tired when this started. The unexpectedly hard orgasm wasn't helping any, but the promise of even more kept you going. Besides, you couldn't be the only one having fun here. That wouldn't be fair. “... I can keep going. I wanna keep going,” you insisted, lowering your leg as you pushed yourself up straight, turning to face him fully now. “For you.” You added, staring up at him with an amorous look that made his breath hitch in his throat for a moment. Cautiously, you raised your hands to gently cradle his face, standing on your tip toes so you could place a soft peck on his smiling lips.

Lowering yourself to stand proper now, you began to trace your hands down his neck and chest, not missing the way his muscles still tensed at your touch. It was going to take some time, you realized, to get him to a point where he welcomes your touch rather than shies away from it. You hoped that he would give you that time; outside of this incident that you so clumsily caused, of course. When your hands reached the waistband of his pants, you looked up at him and waited for his permission to continue - something small and near insignificant but nevertheless something he still appreciated. He would have to reward you for that later. Nodding his head, Alastor watched you as you slowly pushed both his trousers and briefs down past his hips, his aching cock springing from its prison and slapping lightly against his lower abdomen. He looked away for a moment, unable to hide his growing discomfort with being so bare in front of another person. Gently, you pressed on his jaw with your left hand to bring his narrowed eyes back to your face. “Hey,” you called. “You can trust me, Alastor,” you assured him, knowing full well that was only part of the problem. Mouth twitching, Alastor stared at you as you leaned in to place tender kisses to his chest, your eyes never once leaving his face as you lowered yourself to your knees before him. “I promise,” you spoke softly, hands tracing the defined muscles of his abs and gliding along the dips of his pelvic v. Bringing one hand down to rest on his thigh, your other gently wrapped around the base of his cock. Humming softly as you smiled up at him, you rubbed your cheek against his length, then grazed your lips over his leaking tip. “I just want to make you feel good,” you continued to assure him, not missing the shaky sigh he gave in response to your touches. Experimentally, you let the tip of your tongue dart past your lips and against his crying slit, his entire body tensing as one of his hands moved to tangle within your tresses while you continued to deliver kitten licks to his sensitive tip. You stared up at Alastor with such innocence in your big doe eyes; he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from forcing his cock as far down your throat as it could go. “Is that okay?” You asked after a couple more licks to his slit. “Will you let me make you feel good, Alastor?” You asked him so sweetly, voice dripping with honey as his name rolled off your devilish tongue. You really knew how to push his buttons. With a drawn out moan vibrating through his chest, you barely had time to fully open your mouth as he pushed his hips forward and guided your head down until your nose brushed against the carmine strands at his base, his head tilting back at the long anticipated sensation finally washing over him as he breathed out a singular, “Yes!”

#smutmus #smutmus teaser #synamartia #alastor smut #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #syn speaks #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel smut

93 notes · View notes

purefandomonium · 7 days ago

Text

The Call

I'm posting this here before I put it on AO3. I honestly don't know why I felt compelled to write this, but it's grown so much from the few lines of dialogue it started as. 3,564 words!!! Summary still pending, but here's the basic version:

At 3 AM, what else is there to do other than call your bitter rival to tell him of your epiphany? It's certainly more important than sleeping.

In other words, this fic exists because of my headcanon that Ryosuke and Kyoichi are exes. I mean come on! Neither of them are normal and I could make a whole rambling post about this but I won't. Maybe later though. I'll just add some thoughts in the tags. Anyway, I hope y'all like this. I just needed to get it out of my drafts so I stop adding to it.

The unexpected shrillness of his phone startled Ryosuke from his muddled thoughts. After fumbling it and having to retrieve it from the floor, he silenced the grating sound. A courtesy that was lost on Keisuke, corpse he tended to be when sleeping. It was the thought that counted, at least.

"Hello?" He winced at the grogginess coating his voice and cleared his throat.

There was a lingering silence broken only by the soft shuffle of clothing before, "…You were right."

He hadn't bothered to check the caller ID and was surprised to hear Kyoichi Sudo of all people on the other end. He blinked several times until his eyes adjusted to being open while his brain processed the words. "I beg your pardon?"

"About your stupid charisma or whatever." Kyoichi kicked a stray pebble and watched it bounce across the lot. The team had long since left, leaving him alone in the darkness. He'd assured Seiji he wouldn't linger on the pass for too much longer, and yet that seemed to have gone out the window thanks to Ryosuke's ever-present habit of disrupting another's carefully constructed plans. He let out a short grunt of annoyance. "I hate to admit it but… you were right about that all along." The late night spent practicing had given him time to reflect. About a lot more than just his technique. The half finished can of coffee crinkled as the cheap aluminum lost its battle to his grip.

Ah, so that was what this was about. That point was well-known from the very start, but even he wasn't immune to an opportunity to be childish. These days gave him less of a chance for that, though he was quite proud of Keisuke's increased maturity. Ryosuke's mental facilities were slowly warming up as he stretched the stiffness out of his legs. "And? I see no reason why a phone call at this hour was needed for that revelation. One would think such a divisive loss would've made it more than obvious."

A short burst of static tickled Ryosuke's eardrum, the sound forceful but not quite harsh enough to be considered a scoff. It cut itself off abruptly before an unintelligible grumble broke through the reception.

Ryosuke knew better than to push his luck and call out the sad attempt at hiding a laugh. Instead, "Am I right in assuming there's something more to this unexpected chat?" Now that he'd escaped some of his fatigue, the strangeness of the situation hit him. Sudo wouldn't have called him for no reason, and admitting defeat over something that had already been said and done didn't amount to one.

Kyoichi hummed, lost in thought. "I'm still not entirely sure, to be completely honest with you."

That raised a brow. He sat up straighter as his brain worked on unraveling this bizarre mystery. "It's not like you to call me, least of all like this," he offered, hoping his tone would persuade the other man to open up. It was odd enough for Sudo to reach out to him at all these days; but out of the blue in the middle of the night? He'd never done that even when Ryosuke considered him a proper rival.

He didn't know the exact time, as his computer was currently doing what he should have been at this hour, but the darkness behind the curtains told him it was quite late. The dim glow of his desk lamp was ample lighting for him to read the clock, and there was always the option of checking the phone he kept cradled to his ear, but he refrained from acknowledging exactly how poor his sleep schedule was. He got enough flak from Fumihiro and Keisuke about it as is.

Kyoichi listened to the leaves rustle around him as he pondered what to say, the cool night breeze helping to keep him awake. He knew how uncharacteristic this was for him, and he still couldn't pinpoint what had possessed him to dial the number burned into his memory. He let out a soft snort at the thought that it might be the only thing he'd still remember if he lived long enough to become old and senile. It was both morbid and amusing.

Eventually, his thoughts gathered themselves together enough to create an answer to Ryosuke's inquiry, as well his own confusing motivation. "I thought I was over this whole complex I had about you," he began, running a hand through short hair. His bandana was tucked away in his back pocket, having little need to be worn in the empty presence of the mountain. "I lost to you once already; you would think the second time would sting a little less. And yet…"

The chair creaked as Ryosuke shifted into a more relaxed position, brows knitting together in rare befuddlement. "And yet."

"Heh. You know it's funny. I was convinced that I was the only one who could take you down. So when you told me that Eight-Six beat you before I could, I was livid. I thought maybe you had lost your edge, man."

"Well, I'm happy to report I'm still just as sharp as ever, as you're well aware." This conversation was throwing him off. Maybe it was the odd tone in Sudo's voice, or perhaps it was just the fatigue catching up to him. He willed himself to bring the computer to life and, after his eyes adjusted to the artificial glow, it revealed it to be half past three in the morning. He wasn't superstitious by any means, but he couldn't help but wonder if the mysterious witching hour wasn't the cause of his discomfort, if not the first two possibilities.

He should really go to bed.

"…It's clear to me I still have a long way to go," Kyoichi said to the silence on the other end. A hum was the only response he received, the exact meaning smothered beneath the static of the reception. He took a sip of lukewarm coffee as his mind wandered. "That Eight-Six kid…" he trailed off, grasping at his thoughts to figure out where he was going with this. Eventually, "He really is something else if he can give you a run for your money."

Ryosuke chuckled dryly at that, internally bristling at the thought of Sudo considering Fujiwara a rival. As much as he calmly told Keisuke otherwise, he wasn't any more thrilled at the possibility of someone else beating him in a race than he was. The blown engine didn't count as a loss no matter what others said. They didn't understand the difference between losing a battle due to lesser skill and being mechanically outmatched.

Which made Sudo's comment quite odd. "You don't seem to consider your battle against him a victory."

Kyoichi snorted. "Come on. We all knew that wasn't a battle. It was a lesson, and one the kid needed to learn if he has any interest in truly making a name for himself."

"It's a good thing you aren't a teacher." While he wasn't wrong, the means didn't justify the end. That well-intentioned harshness was just a part of the EVO driver, he supposed. He couldn't say he missed it.

"Touge or circuit, the racing world's tough and full of unfairness. No point in sugar coating it. Besides, I think I got through to him. I wouldn't be shocked if he came back to finish the battle before winter," he said with a smirk.

Ryosuke rested his eyes for a moment as he waited for the drawn out point of this conversation. There was a smugness to Sudo's voice that said he was satisfied with the outcome of his impromptu race with Fujiwara, but little else to suggest this was going somewhere. Perhaps there was no point at all. It was a likely possibility that Sudo was just as exhausted as he and had no idea what he was rambling about.

"Y'know, there is a point to this call," he said suddenly, startling Ryosuke awake.

"Please, enlighten me," he replied as he forced his eyes to stay open a bit longer. He massaged his temples with his free hand.

"Racing that Eight-Six and then losing to you again showed me something." Kyoichi could hear the fatigue in Ryosuke's voice and, as childish as it was, he couldn't resist pestering him by drawing things out as much as possible. Two-and-a-half cans of vending machine coffee and the adrenaline of a very late night on the pass would do that to a person.

"Kyoichi, it's nearing four in the morning. If you don't get to the point I'm hanging up and blocking you."

Ah. He hadn't heard that casual sharpness in a long time. Part of him missed the banter they used to share. That part had shrunken in recent days, however, and it would soon shrivel into nothing with Kyoichi's next words.

"When you beat me, I realized I hadn't actually gotten any better at all," he began. Coffee sloshed as he gently twirled the can. "The only thing that grew this past year was my ego." His eyes roamed over to the EVO III parked beneath the light across the lot, glossy black shimmering against the darkness of the slopes. "I spent so long focusing on how to beat you that I wasn't paying attention to how I could hone my skills. I wasn't thinking about how I could improve as a whole. I should've gotten over it ages ago and I didn't."

Ryosuke remained still and silent as he listened. There was a hint of finality in Sudo's tone that made his spine tingle. He had a hunch where this was going, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Kyoichi shifted his gaze to the inky expanse beyond, silhouetted by the whispering trees and a few stray clouds. He took another sip to combat the sudden dryness in his throat. "Losing to you on the final stretch hurt," he continued. "But it opened my eyes. Not just about my shitty right-handers, but everything I thought I ever knew. You included."

"…I see." Ryosuke released the breath he'd been holding through his nose and closed his eyes once more, though it had nothing to do with fatigue this time. Their rivalry had always been more than a little one-sided—Sudo was notoriously stubborn and loathed being wrong, so it made sense he'd become laser-focused on proving himself the better racer. Ryosuke couldn't say he disliked that about the EVO driver, however, it wasn't exactly one of his finer qualities. Hearing that Sudo was apparently done with their rivalry and willing to move on…

Well, it left a bitter taste in his mouth that he'd be the one to let things go.

"It sounds like you've had an epiphany." Ryosuke was surprised by the steadiness in his voice despite the odd turmoil roiling in the pit of his stomach.

Kyoichi grunted and took a large swig of coffee to hide his loss for words.

"I appreciate you calling me to let me know."

"Do you now?"

"Yes, actually."

"At nearly four in the morning?"

Ryosuke could hear the grin and mirrored it with a small one of his own. "Well, perhaps a more reasonable time would've been better."

"You know I'm a get-it-done kind of guy." The can was finished off before he crumpled it in his hand. After some hesitation, "Thank you, Ryosuke. For… everything, I guess." Everything was far too much to be put into mere words, but if there was anyone who could pick up on the subtle meaning, it was Ryosuke Takahashi.

"I hardly feel deserving of any thanks, but you're welcome nonetheless." The chair creaked again as he reclined a bit farther. He was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of stress-induced dream because he was struggling to recall a time when Sudo had ever been so unguarded, so open to his own emotions. Or maybe that was part of the improvement he mentioned.

Kyoichi let out a short hum at his tone, an unexpected bit of satisfaction and relief forming at Ryosuke's handling of the situation. He didn't have it in him to work out any more weird feelings, however. "That's odd. I've never known you to be humble."

It seemed Sudo's newfound growth was faltering if his sudden redirect was anything to go by. Put-off-by-his-own-emotions Sudo was what he was most experienced in handling. It worked just fine for Ryosuke; he wasn't certain what to do with the emotions bubbling up either. He'd happily take the bait if it meant moving on from this and finally being allowed rest. "Well, you used to be one of the most myopic people I've ever met, and look at you now. People change."

"That they do," he replied as he trekked towards his car, boots crunching against gravel and stray leaves. "Well, since you're getting snippy, I guess I'll let you get some sleep." Ryosuke sounded so exhausted he feared he might catch some of it through the phone. He couldn't help the stray thought that questioned if he'd even remember this conversation by morning. Both possibilities tied for worst.

"How courteous," said Ryosuke as he rubbed his tired eyes. "You should really do the same, it's not wise to stay out so late. Exhaustion catches up far quicker than any opponent." What better time to fight back a yawn?

"That's what coffee's for," Kyoichi responded as he shut the door with a thunk. He stuck the key into the ignition and almost gave his goodbyes when a thought struck him. "Hey."

"Yes, Kyoichi?" He couldn't hide the exasperation anymore; he just wanted to collapse into bed already, wrinkled clothes be damned.

"Keep an eye on that Eight-Six kid. He's gonna go far, more than you or me ever could." He fired up the EVO III.

Ryosuke could hear the pops of the exhaust even with Kyoichi being sealed away in the interior of the car. The finality felt less frightening this time and something like calmness flooded his nerves. "I intend to," he said as he stood, stretching and gaining a few satisfying pops from his joints. "I'll see you around. Maybe we'll race again someday."

"Hey, bro," Keisuke said by way of greeting as he knocked twice. He didn't wait for a response as he let himself in like usual. "If you're not busy later, I was thinking that maybe we could hit Akagi tonight so you could help me practice my-" he cut himself off at the sight before him.

"Maybe," came the responded before the line clicked dead. Ryosuke let out an almighty sigh. Bedtime would have to wait a bit longer until he went to the bathroom and took the time to unpack whatever the hell just happened.

*****

Ryosuke lay mostly face-down on the bed, his head turned just enough to keep his airway clear. Yesterday's clothes were a wrinkled mess against his slim frame. The comforter and sheets had been kicked aside and were half on the floor and half tangled up in his legs. Soft snores broke the silence as he lay oblivious to the world, curtains still drawn and desk covered in whatever notes and books he'd been studying last night.

Biting back his worry, Keisuke took silent steps towards the bed and brought a hand to his brother's forehead. He wasn't running a fever and he knew for a fact he wasn't drunk, which meant he was simply just that exhausted. He spared a glance at the desk full of medical jargon and diagrams he couldn't hope to understand. Still, he stepped closer and read over some of them, gaining a small headache just from the attempt at deciphering them. No wonder bro was dead, he'd be too if he had to spend his free time poring over this.

With a resolute sigh, he turned back to Ryosuke with his hands on his hips. Seeing as how he hadn't stirred since his arrival and due to the lack of alarms going off—and hell would sooner freeze over before Ryosuke would ever allow himself to be late for anything—Keisuke didn't see the harm in letting his older brother sleep in for once. He clearly needed it.

Despite Sudo's confident finality, there was something about their unexpected early morning chat that just didn't sit right. Ryosuke tried not to let it bother him, it was more than obvious anyway, but even with all his willpower he still found himself questioning if any of it was real. He'd been so tired, perhaps he'd completely misread Sudo's tone and hidden meaning. He ran on certainty, yet he couldn't bring himself to reach out to Sudo just to confirm. Which left him to fester in his own internal doubt and confusion.

Turning on his heel, he padded out of the room and gently shut the door after sparing a final glance to make sure he still hadn't awoken. It seemed he'd be eating breakfast alone today, which was fine. He'd save Ryosuke a plate and give him until late afternoon. If he wasn't up by then, well, then he'd be worried.

*****

When Fujiwara called him shortly after his invitation to the expeditionary team he was building, asking how he could get in touch with Sudo for a rematch, he was beyond grateful for the excuse to contact him. By the end of the call with Emperor's leader, that gratefulness had soured into frustration after he somehow avoided bringing it up at all. It felt stupid to contact him again after he'd hung up, so he didn't. He pushed his feelings on the matter aside in favor of focusing on both his studies and the sure-to-be spectacular battle between the newly revived Eight-Six and Sudo's devastating EVO III.

He wasn't disappointed. Though it was technically a tie, Sudo's honor prevented him from claiming it as any sort of win solely because Fujiwara was able to keep up with him—a veteran local—on his home course. The 4A-GE was, on its own, a marvelous display of automotive engineering. With Fujiwara in control, it became an absolute beast, the potential of it both astonishing and terrifying to behold. If only he could've been there to witness it, uncomfortable emotions aside.

Not long after gave him the perfect excuse to both observe Fujiwara's increasing mastery of his new engine and finally lay his troubled worries to rest. If Keisuke thought he was a bit too eager to head out to watch the battle, he kept it to himself. Ryosuke appreciated it beyond measure.

The drive to the Iroha slopes was devoid of issues, and they soon found themselves slicing through the hairpins at an average pace, Ryosuke being mindful of his laptop resting on the passenger seat. He knew this was stupid, but he felt too unsatisfied with how the conversation had ended. He wasn't used to such a role-reversal, least of all with Sudo, and he was exhausted at the time. He wanted closure. Something more defined than a caffeine-fueled ramble that could hardly pass as a confession.

As they rolled into the lot, they spotted Emperor's various members dotted about, no doubt just as eager for the battle as he and Keisuke. The air buzzed with talk about who would win, most of them favoring Kogashiwa given he had the home court advantage. Ryosuke rolled the window up, shutting out the noise. Finding Sudo among the crowd was easy enough, as he tended to command a decent amount of attention just by existing. That, and his number two chattering about beside him, ever present despite Sudo's apparent indifference, lured his gaze that much quicker. Time to get this over with.

His laptop felt heavy as he swiped it from the seat and began striding over, Keisuke in tow. It took all of twelve seconds and fifteen steps for Sudo to turn his attention from the pony-tailed driver to the approaching Takahashis.

"Hey, Ryosuke," he called out, turning to face them fully. He noted the brief flash of discomfort that nudged Ryosuke's features from his neutral expression. He crossed his arms and waited.

"I hope you don't mind us coming to watch," Ryosuke offered by way of greeting, meeting the other man's eyes long enough to establish the hidden meaning he was trying to convey.

Kyoichi observed Ryosuke's expression with a faint smile just below what could be considered a grin. He knew something seemed off when he'd called to tell him of the Eight-Six kid's want for a race. With a shrug, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned the look out at the gallery. "You can do whatever you want." A quick glance back confirmed that, as always, Ryosuke figured it out in an instant.

Ryosuke's eyes widened for the briefest moment before a gust of wind made its way through the lot, sending leaves flitting about as the trees shook. Among the crisp air and heavy breeze, he'd gotten the only answer he needed. "It sure is windy tonight," he commented, moving both his gaze and the secret conversation to the sky as he watched it be carried away with the leaves. He was ever thankful when Sudo began offering up observations and facts about the battle, sparing them both from uncomfortable silence and difficult emotions.

#initial d #fanfic #my writing #kyoichi sudo #ryosuke takahashi #nothing like a 3am unofficial one-sided breakup call amirite #because rivalry is just another way of saying relationship lmao #genuinely tho kyoichi is way too obsessed with proving himself to ryosuke and thinks about him consistently for a wholeass year #whereas ryosuke is just off doing his own thing #which leads me to believe ryo just wasn't in as deep as kyo hence the bitter breakup that neither really acknowledged was one #so even tho it was kinda done for a while neither had made any official statements until the phone call #which left ryosuke like “wait what” at the fact it was now officially official and HE wasn't the one to do it #I'll stop rambling now this whole thing is probably hella OOC #I'm still reading thru the manga but in the anime I feel like the signs are there #especially w/3rd stage because a lot of that dialogue and interactions were super sus #and not just with those two. look at takumi when ryosuke asks him to join the team #I really enjoyed writing exhausted ryosuke too #in the comfort of his own home I feel like he definitely stops keeping up appearances #as he should! man's running on two hours sleep caffeine and determination AT BEST

14 notes · View notes

vxlenst3in · 5 months ago

Text

Guess who's stuck | Kuroo x Reader

If there's someone you can't stand, it's your co-worker Kuroo Tetsuro. So, what could be any more inconvenient than getting stuck with him in an elevator?

tags/warnings: fem!reader, timeskip!kuroo obv, getting stuck in an elevator, you're a kenma fan, you cannot stand kuroos guts, groping sorta, but reader likes it?? a teeny tiny bit dub-con before it gets established, kuroo is as charming as ever, he’s also an annoying tease, it's only suggestive really, there's no actual smut, only the build up sorry ^_^

wc: 1.3k ish

a/n: hi! i will add the proper colors and actual design of the post sometime tomorrow, i'll also update the master list then..like i said tho there's no actual smut in this, only like dirty talk and stuff so. i'll maybe write a part 2 with the actual smut based off of feedback.

Your eyes shot up from your phone when the elevator abruptly stopped. Luckily, you were leaning against the wall of the elevator already, otherwise you might‘ve tripped. Your rooster head co-worker was already groaning.

„Ah…Again? Guess that’s another meeting I'm not attending” He mumbled to himself. Not that he seemed primarily upset about it. His eyes just lingering on his wrist, where his expensive watch could be found.

You frankly ignored him to the best of your abilities. Something inside you was praying that the elevator would start moving again soon, so you wouldn��t be stuck with this tease of a man.

„Heyyy?? Aren‘t you bothered at all?“ Kuroo addressed you, his hands waving in front of his face to get your attention.

„The only bother right now is you.“ You responded nonchalantly. He was aware that you weren‘t the biggest fan of his. Not that he’d ever understand how you could not find him utterly charming.

The two of you started working at this company around the same time. Later you found out, you guys even went to the same high school - It was only because he looked through the yearbook from the 3rd year and eventually found you in one of the rows. It made sense, the timelines matched up, from graduation, the years in uni, till you two started to work at the same company. Ever since then he‘s been constantly talking about old teachers and students, who you had no idea of, and especially about his volleyball skills and achievements. He even made it to the nationals, Wowww.. You didn‘t really know anything about volleyball, despite working for one as of right now, you were only an accountant in this company and it paid well - nonetheless he decided to tell you all about it, which eventually made you dislike him.

But your opinion about him never mattered to him, you thought, if he had something to say, he‘d say it. Even if it meant having to make up excuses to stay in your office all day, only to wait for the right moment to tease or lecture you about something. That was just the way he was. Always making things up and all sorts of excuses just flowing out of his mouth.

„Some girls would kill to be stuck with me in an elevator, y’know.” He remarked, with a cheesy grin decorating his face. His arms crossed in front of his chest, while leaning against the elevator wall.

„Good for them.“

His expression dropped, as he just watched you swipe on your phone. What could you be possibly doing on your phone at this moment? Shouldn’t you be worried to death, what if you never make it out again? Kuroo raised his arm to check the time on his watch. There was no way he’d make it to the meeting on time, at least he’d have a good excuse.

It did annoy him that you were just ignoring him all the time, that you were so seemingly calm about whatever happened. You were the first woman to actually make him question if his pick-up lines were too cheesy, or if his hair actually looked like a mess. It was the first time he ever had to worry about what to say and what to do, he so desperately tried to just land a singular hit on you, just to get you flustered for a blink of a second. But all of it just seemed to go straight past you. Hit some other girl who wasn’t supposed to get hit at all. But even all of that, you didn’t notice.

Of course you thought he was attractive, everyone who didn’t, would be a fool, but there were plenty of other attractive men out there - that aren’t your co-workers. So you just tried your best to ignore his cheesy remarks and terrible attempts at flirting. Sometimes it felt like you were talking to a high-schooler. You wondered if he matured ever since he left high school really.

“Wowwww…” He groaned, “How utterly boringggg~ Whatchu you doing over there?” Kuroo said before snatching your phone. His eyes lit up when he saw a post of Kenma Kozume on your phone screen. A million thoughts suddenly consuming his mind, how he could possibly tease you about this for the rest of his life, but also to this advantage.

“Give that back, Kuroo!” You yelled, trying to get your phone back, but he was already gasping in shock and laughing in amusement at the same time. His hand coming up to cover his eyes, while his hair rhythmically bounced, while his other hand held the phone out of your reach.

“Kenma, huh? Whatchu doing on his instagram profile?” Kuroo grinned at you. “Me and him used to be best friends when we were younger, y’know. He was in the year below us. You watch his streams now or what?” Oh, how you wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face.

Kenma was a big celebrity now. He was a very well known streamer, for especially his skill but also his non-chalant act during it. Many people admired him.

“What’s it to you? Now give me my phone back”

“Nuh-uh, answer my question first - do you watch him? Are you a fan?”

“I watch him sometimes, after work, when I'm bored. But I’m not a fan! His post popping up on my homepage was a pure coincidence.”

“I mean if you like him, I could prolly arrange some-“

“Absolutely not.”

“Awhh, why not? Doesn’t sound like that much of a coincidence to me. Come onnnn~”

This absolute asshole. Can’t he just let it go? Another pathetic reach for your phone followed his words. Geez, this damn man was built like a street lamp.

“Are you gonna give my phone back, or nah?”

“Tell me that you’re a fan first. Like I said, I could probably arrange something - for something in exchange of course.” He looked down at you half lidded, he flashed his teeth, mimicking a mischievous grin, before wrapping a hand around your waist to pull you closer.

“Something in exchange?” You gulped, trying to writhe yourself out of his grip. Beads of sweat already forming on your forehead.

“Yeahh~ I mean, if we are already locked in this little elevator for at least a couple more hours, then we should make use of it, don’t you think?” Kuroo swiftly shoved your phone into one of his pockets, before his hand, which was placed on your waist, moved further down to gently grope your ass. “We could start with something like this..Hmmm?”

A quiet squeal fell from your lips, as his big hand cupped your ass. Kuroo thought that the tight pencil skirt, you always wore, made it look so perfect. He had no idea how much longer he would’ve been able to hold back, when your ass was always just smiling at him so enticingly.

A bead of sweat rolled down your face, when Kuroo gently pushed you further against the elevator wall. He was now towering over you. “Tell me you want this too, Kitty.” Kuroo’s knee wandered in between your legs, pressing against the puffy and sensitive area of yours. “Tell me how badly you want me.”

It felt like he just flipped around your entire world with two actions, your entire view on him with just such simple words. A gasp sounded, when his knee pressed against your weak spot.

You never agreed to this deal, did you? Yet, why couldn’t you push him away? He was quite literally asking, if you wanted it, so if you pushed him away he’d- No, you did want this. All of your internal conflicts with him slowly lose their importance, as you mindlessly gave in.

His sharp cat eyes were staring down at you, a waiting look on his face, while he waited for your approval. All of Kuroo’s movements were still.

“Do your worst.”

“Mhmm~” Kuroo hummed. “Now that’s what I like to hear kitty~”

#x reader #✎ᴠᴀʟ #drabble #tetsuro kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu kuroo #hq kuroo #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq #suggestive #kuroo x reader #what am i doing #kenma mentioned

34 notes · View notes