#SHE GOT HER DRAWING BACK!!! But.... for how long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sushirrrry · 2 days ago

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TRACE a harry styles x original character one-shot word count: 7,785 cw: this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written, but harry is very hot summary: a shy writer commissions a tattoo from an artist who is way too hot to handle; she can’t stop staring at his hands while he works. and, he notices quite quickly. tag list: @gotdrxnkonu @mads3502 @mellamolayla reply to this story if you would like to be added to the tag list in the future! enjoy, and let my know what you think <3 home - send me a message - masterlist

When something got into Lily’s head, it stayed there. It stayed there for a long while, and even though Lily had no intention of really ever getting a tattoo, something about the idea felt like a step forward. Lily had trouble with decision making; while that was a terrible quality for permanently inking skin, it had grossly taken over her brain that she just wanted to do something different.

All of her friends – the two that were the closest, really – had tattoos, a few actually. She didn’t want to just be like them, but she wanted to fit in, in a way. She wanted to be able to share experiences with people, even if it were in small ways that were her own decisions. While indecisive, she knew that she could at least say that she made the decision to walk through the front doors of a tattoo shop and ask for something that she wanted.

Or, at least, get their opinion on it first.

The bell above the door chimed, a soft, musical sound that echoed through the quiet shop. The décor caught her eye first – lots of art deco, prints on the walls, a leather couch that could have easily stepped out of 1970. Lily stepped inside, heart thudding hard enough she could hear it in her ears – she had been noticed by the girl at the front desk now, so she couldn’t just leave.

The air was thick with the scent of ink, leather, and something smoky-sweet that made the place feel untouchably cool. It was the kind of cool that lived in the margins of a life she didn’t know how to be part of, but she was trying her best.

Her fingers tightened around the crumpled piece of paper she carried; it had a few quotes that she’d picked weeks ago but hadn’t had the nerve to act on until now. They were all quotes from her favorite works, but she didn’t know where one would fit best, or where it would fit best.

The shop was dimly lit, but cozy. Exposed brick walls were plastered with art: flashes of color, delicate lines, portraits that seemed almost alive. A soft buzzing sound came from a back room, like a needle whispering against skin. It was sharp and delicate, and she appreciated the artistic value that these works of art held. Lily shuffled forward, swallowing hard as she approached the front desk.

Behind the front desk sat a woman with dark hair that sat on her shoulders, bangs higher on her forehead, and tattoos trailing up both arms like ivy. Her neck was inked with blues and oranges, delicate flower pieces that she could tell had beautiful delicacy. She looked up from her half-finished crossword puzzle, and her mouth pulled into a slow, warm smile — the kind that said, I see you, and it’s okay.

“Hi there,” She greeted, setting down her book. “Are you here for an appointment with someone?”

Lily swallowed, clearing her throat as she gave her best, confident smile back. “Oh – um, no I don’t have an appointment actually,” Her hands held the piece of her paper before she approached the desk, “Do I need an appointment?”

The woman shook her head with a smile, “You don’t need one, we do walk-ins. Do you have a design in mind?”

Lily raised her brows, “Um, yes. I do,” She placed the quotes on the desk for the woman to look at; she had chewed her gum a bit as she nodded.

“A quote is super easy – we can definitely get you in today. We only have one artist here today, so we’ll have to have him draw something up for you. Is this your first tattoo?" The woman asked, tapping her pen against the desk in rhythm with the low thump of music playing somewhere deeper in the shop.

Lily nodded, cheeks burning. She hated how obvious her nerves always were.

The woman leaned in a little, her voice lowering like they were sharing a secret. "No worries, love. You're in good hands here. Everyone has to do something for the first time every once in a while. I’m Kaila, by the way.” She stuck out her hand to help ease Lily’s nerves a bit.

“I’m Lily.” Lily answered, shaking Kaila’s hand before feeling a bit of relief from her prior anxiety. She still felt the rumbling of her heart against her chest, but it had started to ease.

“Well, Lily, I think,” Kaila checked behind herself, neck stretching to see behind the curtain where the sound of the tattoo gun was coming from. “I think we have our artist finishing up here in a minute. Let me check.”

Before Lily could even think to protest, the woman disappeared behind a beaded curtain that rattled softly in her wake. A few voices were heard – a deep, low voice came from that direction before Lily saw Kaila reappear from behind the curtain.

“He’s finishing up in a minute, so you’re welcome to have a seat. Here,” She handed Lily a large book, “Try and see if any fonts jump out at you while you wait.”

With a nod, Lily took the book in her hands before going to sit on the sofa. She had tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the drawings pinned to the wall — intricate vines curling around skeletal hands, bold quotes stitched into roses. She perused through the pages of the book, calligraphy of many sizes and curves. She bit her lip, feeling a bit overwhelmed with that decision. She was halfway through convincing herself to just leave when she heard a low, amused voice.

“Come back in a week or so, we’ll let that heal for a bit. Kaila will get you on my book,” Two men approached from behind the curtain; one had significantly shorter hair that had streaks of blue through bleach. It was so much more alternative than Lily could pull off, surely. His arms were coated in colorful ink and a bandage that coated the inside of his left arm.

The other man had shaggy brown hair, tortoiseshell glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose that held a small silver hoop. He was tall, had a short button-down shirt that held a checkered pattern, a tighter white t-shirt sat underneath it. The jeans sat on his hips with a baggie fashion, the Converse on his feet were filthy and worn to the point of unfathomability.

He was downright beautiful in a way that Lily should have run.

“It’s going to look so sick when it’s finished,” The brown-haired man told Kaila with a smirk. He joined Kaila behind the desk while she took the other man’s payment and got another appointment. Lily had been staring at the interactions, trying not to be obvious as she kept flipping through the book.

In a moment of staring, her eyes reached up to see that Kaila bumped the man with her shoulder, nodding her head towards Lily with a smirk. The man’s attention drew to her; Lily didn’t know what to do but smile back.

"You must be Lily."

She stood from her spot on the sofa, and the breath she'd been trying to catch abandoned her completely.

The man standing there looked like every fictional bad boy she'd ever secretly fallen in love with between the pages of her books. He was a vision of sorts. His messy, dark hair fell into his green eyes, which crinkled slightly at the corners like he laughed more than he should. The tattoos crawled up his forearms in swirling black ink, disappearing beneath the sleeves of the button down that covered muscles that flexed when he pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. And the way he looked at her — like he already knew she was nervous, and found it almost unbearably charming — made something in Lily's chest twist hard.

"I’m Harry," he said, his voice rough and lazy, the kind of voice made for midnight conversations and whispered secrets. He reached a hand out for a shake greeting, to which Lily reciprocated. The only thing she could do was smile back, barely able to form a word.

Lily swallowed, feeling her own pulse against her throat. She nodded, too flustered to trust her voice yet. Harry made his way back to the desk where Kaila stood, Lily followed.

“So, Lily,” Harry said, dragging his knuckles lightly across the counter as he leaned in; Lily took note of the way that his arms were coated with ink, each one telling a different story of a different time, she was sure. “Tell me about this tattoo, then.”

His mouth tugged into a slow, crooked grin, like he already knew she’d stammer her way through it.

Lily unfolded the paper with shaking fingers, offering it like a peace treaty as she slid it across the counter. Harry’s head turned slightly to be able to read some of the words on it.

“I… um, they’re quotes,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes, even though, in her mind, she was already completely in way over her head. “One’s from Jane Eyre - it’s, ‘Conventionality is not morality’, and then I have this Oscar Wilde quote, 'All art is quite useless’ which I just think is quite on-the-nose,” Her voice wobbled as she kept talking, making eye contact with him every so often to make sure that he was engaged.

“Oh, and then this one, from Anna Karenina, 'Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking’. I think it’s just beautiful. I’m just not sure where I want it yet - or which one I want, I guess. I only want one.”

Harry took the paper from her, his fingers brushing hers — warm, calloused. He had marks on his knuckles, some scrapes, she could tell. Lily’s stomach flipped at the interaction, but she took in a deep breath to try and even out her breath.

He scanned the quotes, his brow furrowing slightly in thought, then lifted his gaze back to hers, softer now, like he understood more than he let on.

“We can take our time figuring it out,” he said, voice low. “That’s the best part.”

He rounded the counter, moving with a lazy kind of grace that made her toes curl in her boots. He stood close, leaning against the front desk as he studied the paper closely. He was close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the tiny silver ring in his left ear.

“The decision on where to put it is mostly about if you want it somewhere only you can see, maybe,” Harry murmured, his voice dipping lower, sending a shiver down her spine as she thought of him seeing it. Of him painting it on her. “Or somewhere you can show it off, if you want the world to know you’re braver than you look.”

From behind the desk, Kaila watched the interaction and the way he spoke to her, a satisfied smirk tugging at her mouth as she picked up her crossword again.

Meanwhile, Lily felt her entire face heat, but her feet stayed planted. She couldn’t look away from Harry if she tried. “I-I’m down for whatever, really. I just – um.” She cleared her throat, fingers playing with her bottom lip as she tried to think about his suggestions. Harry tilted his head, studying her like she was something delicate and fascinating, like he didn’t want to rush and risk breaking the moment.

"Here’s what we’ll do," he said, voice almost a purr. "I'll draw up a sketch so you can see it on you. No ink yet, just a little marker. It'll help you picture it."

Lily opened her mouth to say something — to agree, to flee, she wasn’t sure — but the words caught somewhere behind the pounding of her heart. Harry smiled like he already had his answer. He took the piece of paper that she had crumbled and written on.

"Come on back," he said, jerking his head toward the beaded curtain, where a tall leather chair sat against the wall, His hand brushed lightly against the small of her back as he led her over — a barely-there touch that made her skin tingle under her sweater.

She perched on the edge of the seat, feeling like a statue — awkward and frozen, almost like she was at the doctor’s office— as Harry grabbed a very fine-tipped marker from a nearby tray. He popped the cap off with his teeth, tossing it aside with a lazy flick of his wrist.

“Do you have a kind of an idea of what you want it to look like?” He sat on a chair next to her, a notebook in his hand as he sat the piece of paper on the notebook for reference. Before she could answer he had already started a freehand sketch of the design.

“Um, I think just more of a pretty font,” She nodded, crossing her ankles. “Maybe more of a like,” She shrugged, “Softer?”

Harry nodded, which let a piece of his hair fall over his glasses. “Just letting you know that I actually like the Anna Karenina quote the best. Don’t make that decision based on me, though. It’s your body.”

“Any reason?” Lily found herself asking, feeling that it was a bit bold of her to even create an open conversation.

Harry shrugged, with a smirk that revealed a dimple in his right cheek. “Guess no reason. It would make a boyfriend happy to see his girl wearing a quote like that, I think. It would be a good nod to a good love.”

Lily felt her cheeks flush a heat that made her shake her head. “I-I don’t – uh, there’s no boyfriend.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep the smile from revealing on his face before he looked up from his notebook. “Good to know,” He shrugged then, “I think it’s the most poetic. Any reason you want a quote before a drawn art?”

Lily licked her lips, “I’m a writer, and I think having written works on me is like – I don’t know. It makes sense to me.”

With a nod, Harry understood it. “I get that, same with me and drawn art, I guess. Makes sense to me.”

Lily watched his continue to draw on the notebook for another moment before he seemed satisfied with how he had finished it. He sniffled, scrunching his nose before he lifted his head.

"Mind if I...?" he asked, gesturing vaguely to her arm. “Do you have anything on under the sweater? Or you can roll it up if it’s more comfortable.”

Lily took in a breath as she shook her head, as if it was stupid to wear the most clothes to a place where she needed to show skin. "Oh, yeah, of course.” Instead, she threw the sweater over her head, leaving her in a plain white t-shirt. A flush of her skin came back in a rush when she realized that she hadn’t put on a bra, leaving her a bit more intimate than she had intended.

She hadn’t thought this far – how stupid could she have been.

Instead of overthinking it now, she offered her forearm like it was some kind of ancient, sacred ritual.

“Just going to touch you,” He smirked, “Know that goes without saying, but I just want you to know that you can tell me to stop or let go whenever – sometimes people think they can’t do that, but just letting you know… you can.”

Harry’s fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, his touch firm but somehow careful, like he could feel the way her pulse raced under her skin, she was sure of it. Slowly, he pressed the tip of the marker to the inside of her forearm, right where the skin was soft and sensitive; Lily breathed out at the unfamiliar touch. His other hand steadied her, thumb brushing in slow, absent circles against her skin.

"Here’s one idea," he murmured, voice low and private. "Something you can glance at whenever you need it. Something just for you, but for everyone too."

Lily's breath caught as he sketched a delicate curve of letters along her skin, his hand feather-light, almost reverent.

Then, without warning, he lifted his hand to let his thumb touch her collarbone with a slight rub motion. The rest of his fingers grazed over her shoulder.

"Could go here too," he said, his knuckles grazing the edge of her shoulder. "Something that peeks out when you wear a wide neckline, if that you’re thing. A bit teasing."

The word teasing hung heavy between them, almost like he noticed the fact that her nipples were practically on display for the world. He didn’t make it known that he was catching glimpses, but maybe he was quite more of a gentleman than that.

Harry's eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the air between them snapped tight like a wire. His hand was still at her shoulder, his thumb now resting on her skin like he hadn’t had any reason to let go.

Lily's skin burned under his touch. She swore he could hear her heart pounding.

"And then there's always..." His voice dropped even lower, tougher, more dangerous. He let his fingers trace — just barely — along the outside of her ribs, not quite touching, more of a whisper of suggestion. "...somewhere a little more private, if that’s your thing.”

Her breath hitched audibly; she flinched just a bit even though he hadn’t touched her. The smirk on his face was bitten back as he shook his head.

Harry grinned, wicked and beautiful, then. "No pressure," He said, sitting back as he ran his fingers to push his hair back but slowly, like he wanted her to feel every second of the space he left behind. "Just giving you options."

She swallowed hard, trying to understand the understated feeling of tension that laid between them. It was almost like he had the charisma of a movie star, but she knew that she shouldn’t feel special. Men like Harry didn’t look at girls like Lily.

"Maybe...” She managed, her voice barely above a whisper as she felt the way that her own hand ran her thumb over the site of her ribcage. “Maybe here, I guess. Will it hurt?”

Harry took a sip of the water cup that sat on his station; it kept him from showing the overzealous smile that would appear on his lips at the way that she suggested the private site. He started to smile; it widened like the sun coming up over some dangerous horizon.

"Good call," he said, picking up his pen, "And hey," he added, voice a soft scrape near her ear as he leaned in, "First tattoos are supposed to hurt a little. And I’m pretty good at making sure you’ll like it enough to come back for more. It’s an addicting kind of pain.”

Harry had moved towards the notebook, before he went to go prep the transfer. “Did you like the font of that?” Harry asked, referencing the quick sketch in the middle of her arm that he had given her for reference. “Size too?”

Lily took in a breath, staring at it before she bit her lip, “I think I want it a bit more… rougher, I guess. Nothing too professionally written, I guess. More like regular, messy cursive handwriting. And the size is good. Can we do it in a stanza? Overlapping each comma. You know?”

Staring at the work on her arm, Harry nodded at her notes. Letting his own hand mimic the way that she wanted it – the notes had given him a bit of a warmth in his chest to know that she was asking for exactly what she wanted. On the paper, he turned to show her his interpretation of her thoughts before he pushed his glasses on his nose.

“Something like that?” He asked, Lily’s eyes looked over the design. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before she nodded and looked back at him.

Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.

“That’s perfect.” Lily told him in all honesty; her vision, while very biased on the fact that she was unable to really decide on her own what she liked, was definitely brought to happiness with the way that he sold his design and where she should have it.

“Awesome,” Harry said, pleased with the way that she agreed without any further remarks. This step always took much longer, as people wanted their design to be something in their head – Harry had to figure out how to bring their designs to life, but he was creative in that sense. He could usually try to understand them by their character, getting to know them a little bit before designing it.

He just knew that Lily would like this, without knowing her at all.

“So, I’m going to go trace this for you really quick so I can get a stencil. Grab a soda of something out of the fridge, make yourself comfortable. This shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes or so,” He told her, “It will take more to prep and clean you up than anything else. Also, assuming you want black ink?”

Lily let her hands fold in her lap before she nodded at his instruction, “Yes, black is good.”

With that, Harry stood from his own seat before taking his work over to trace it for stenciling. While they were apart, Lily took the moment to let out the largest breath that had been holding back in her lungs. She shut her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself.

Now, she lay back against the leather chair, her sweater discarded on her lap as she tried to play with a loose string. Her eyes shut in a few flutters before she laid her head back and stared at the ceiling. She turned her head for a moment to stare at the way that Harry’s back arched over the small desk that held the stencil he was carefully tracing.

She didn’t know what to do with her hands – she grabbed her purse, taking her phone out of her purse before she brought up her text messages with her best friend, Tess. She rolled her lips into her mouth before she snapped a quick photo of the set up where the ink and tattoo gun were held.

Lily: Going under the knife… or gun?

Lily: Also… the artist could not be cuter if he tried

“Okay, this is where you need to stand up so we can make sure it’s straight.” Harry’s voice took her out of her phone, startling her a moment before she nodded. She moved herself out of the leather chair, placing her feet on the floor, using her hands to make sure that her silk skirt was straight.

“Also, the cowboy boots are sick, by the way.” Harry complimented her with a bite of his own lip. Lily noticed their height difference when she looked from her boots up to him; the shine of his nose ring caught her eye before she blushed at the compliment.

“Thank you- I, uh, thrifted them in Shoreditch a few weeks ago,” The genuine brown leather hit against her calves as she showed them off a bit, “Thought they were fun. My first time wearing them.”

“You pull them off well.” Harry nodded. There was a slight tension as Lily cleared her throat; shaking her head, they found the moment of silence to be too much. Harry broke it.

Reaching over his station, Harry worked silently at the little rolling table nearby, snapping on a pair of black gloves with a crisp snap. The sound made her flinch — not from fear — but something deeper. Anticipation, maybe.

"Alright, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice so low and easy it crawled over her skin like smoke. "I’m gonna clean the area first, and then I’m gonna to lay the stencil where I think you’ll like it. If you don’t like it, we can do it again.”

Lily nodded, even though her throat had gone bone dry.

Taking a seat in his chair, Harry rolled closer, a small squeeze bottle and cloth in hand. She stood taller than him now, but she would have to admit the view from above may have been just as good – if not better.

“So, just lift your shirt up – which are we thinking, right or left?” He watched as Lily took the edge of her shirt in her hands before she looked between them, incredibly indecisive, but also without a care, so she just stated, “Left, I think will be better.”

Harry wheeled himself to her left ribcage, using his glove to push her hand up a bit to show more of her skin.

“You doing okay?” He asked; when he received the nod of her, he used his thumb to brush the latex over her skin before using the wipe to clean the area. Lily flinched at the chill of the cool wipe before Harry looked up at her – she had been staring straight ahead.

The antiseptic was cool against her overheated skin, making her jerk slightly when he swiped it along the curve of her ribcage. He steadied her with a gentle, gloved hand at her side.

"Sorry," Harry said, grinning, "It's always a shock at first."

Lily could barely breathe, acutely aware of everywhere he touched — even though he was professional, methodical, only exposing the small area he needed to work on.

Still, the intimacy of it — the way he had to tilt and maneuver her slightly toward him, the way his hands bracketed the sensitive space just beneath her breast — it felt like too much and not enough, all at once.

"There we go," he said, voice all concentration now. "Now stay real still for me, okay?"

She nodded again, uselessly, because the second the stencil met her skin, she swore she could feel him — the heat of his body, the careful drag of his focus on the straightness of the stencil. She could have sworn his face was close enough that a few strands of his messy brown hair brushed against her bare side.

"You're doing good," Harry murmured after a minute, his breath ghosting over her ribs. "Very good."

Lily squeezed her eyes shut. She was utterly doomed.

When he finished the stencil, he sat back just slightly to admire his work, pulling off one glove with a snap to smooth the tracing paper carefully against her skin. The backs of his fingers skimmed her ribs — feather-light, deliberate — and when he looked up, the green-gold of his eyes darkened.

"You sure you wanna stop at just one?" he asked, voice roughened with something almost tender. "Because, honestly, you wear ink way too well."

She swallowed hard, daring to glance down at the delicate tracing tucked along her ribcage, just under the swell of her breast. She drew in a breath, “Let’s see how much this one hurts first.” She let out a breath of a laugh.

Harry — still sitting beside her, still half-smiling like he knew every thought flying through her head — looked like pure, heart-wrecking trouble. Harry’s grin turned wicked. He peeled off the second glove and stood, flexing his fingers, muscles shifting under the ink that wrapped his own arms like stories written just for him.

"You never know," he said, voice a promise. “You might like a little pain.”

Turning to his station, Harry grabbed a bunch of unopen supplies that were sterile, and he turned to prep the needle and machine, leaving Lily alone on the chair — heart racing, skin burning, body already craving the sting of his touch.

The buzz of the tattoo machine filled the space again, a steady sound that somehow made Lily’s heart race even harder. Harry sniffled, looking over at her before he cleared his throat.

“I think we’re going to have you lay on your back,” Harry went to maneuver the chair to lay flat; Lily moved with it, laying down on her back before Harry shook his head. “Hold your arm over your head.”

Harry leaned in close, resting his newly gloved hand flat against her side to steady her. The spot was so sensitive — right under the curve of her breast — that when the needle first kissed her skin, she gasped and instinctively arched slightly away.

"Hey, hey," Harry murmured, his free hand held at the underside of her breast, right at her ribs– which gave him a bit of unease at first. "Easy, sweetheart. You're alright. Deep breath for me, yeah?"

Lily swallowed hard, her face burning, but she nodded. She focused on breathing through her nose, trying to ignore the feel of his palm anchoring her, the heat of his body so close it was dizzying. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, knowing that each moment felt more and more difficult.

"You’re doing great," he said, voice low and soothing. "First tattoo’s always the hardest. Especially a spot like this. Let me know if you need to stop.”

She let out a shaky laugh, the sound barely there. "Y-Yeah, I guess I don’t do things halfway."

Harry’s smile widened — not mocking, but warm. Proud, even. He adjusted the machine in his hand and carefully started again, the fine line of the quote beginning to take shape along her ribs.

Harry’s mouth curved into a slow, appreciative grin. "Figures. You’ve got that stubborn look about you."

The machine whirred as he carefully pressed the needle into her skin again, beginning the delicate line of the quote. "What's the quote from?" Harry asked after a minute, his voice soft and warm, keeping her distracted as he worked.

"Anna Karenina," Lily said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It’s about... someone seeing you. Even when you think you're invisible."

Harry’s hand paused for the briefest second before he resumed, wiping gently at her side with a cloth.

"Sounds like it means something to you," he said, glancing up at her with a flicker of something real in his gaze.

She shrugged, the movement small against his steady hand. "I just... sometimes it feels like... if you're quiet, people don't really notice you. But when they do..."Her voice trailed off.

Harry's smile softened, a little less cocky and a little more sincere. "They’d be bloody stupid not to notice you," he said, almost too low for her to hear.

Before she could say anything, he leaned back in to finish the script, his concentration fierce, brow furrowed. His hand was careful, stabilizing her, and even through the sting of the tattoo, all Lily could focus on was the way his touch felt: steady, grounding, almost reverent.

"You’re holding up better than most," he said after a few minutes, wiping away a smear of ink. "Some people swear and curse the whole time."

She gave a breathless laugh. "Maybe I'm just too shy to complain." She knew very well that it hurt – it hurt more than anything she had done, but she laughed at the idea that maybe she just needed to stay quiet.

Harry chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "I don’t mind a little shy," he said, his thumb rubbing slow circles into her waist without thinking. "Means you don't bullshit."

She swallowed, heat rushing to her cheeks. As he finished the final strokes, he leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against her skin.

"And it’s the quiet ones," he murmured like it was a secret, "who usually end up being the most unforgettable."

Lily's breath hitched, her entire body tense — not from the tattoo, but from him.

"I know you marched in here scared outta your mind," he said, carefully wiping away excess ink with a cloth. "And you still picked one of the hardest spots to get tattooed. You sat through it like a champ."

Lily didn’t know what to say to that, but the smile pulling at her mouth was uncontrollable.

Harry kept working, his touches careful, respectful — but God, she could feel him everywhere. His hand steady against her waist. The occasional brush of his knuckles against her ribs when he adjusted the angle. The warm breath from his mouth when he leaned closer to focus. It was overwhelming in the best, most terrifying way.

"You from around here?" he asked, glancing up again as he shifted slightly, bending lower to reach the final curve of the quote.

"Yeah," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "Grew up about fifteen minutes away. You?"

"Born here," Harry said, grinning as he dabbed gently at her side. "Escaped for a bit. Came back when I realized not everywhere has diners open 'til 3 a.m."

Lily laughed softly at his remark. It surprised them both— the way it slipped out of her so easily, warm and bright. Harry looked at her like he wanted to bottle the sound; she hadn’t showed as much emotion than from that little, stupid remark.

"You're loosening up," he said teasingly, switching out a cartridge on the machine to do the finer details. "Almost like you’re not terrified of me anymore."

"I was never terrified of you," she said quickly, eyes wide.

Harry just smirked. He leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially as he waited for the color to rise on her cheeks the color of fire. Somehow, he already knew the buttons he needed to press.

"Then why were you blushing so hard you looked ready to faint when I walked over?"

Lily opened her mouth — and then shut it, mortified. She knew that her cheeks could not have been redder than they were in this moment.

Harry's laughter — warm, deep, good — filled the studio space that they were sitting in.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, his knuckles brushing her side again in a way that felt far too deliberate to be accidental. "You’re not the first to get a little shy. You just wear it way cuter than most."

Her heart fluttered so violently she was sure he could feel it vibrating under her skin.

"You're... very confident," she muttered, staring at the ceiling like it might save her.

Harry tilted his head slightly, the machine buzzing softly again as he started on the delicate flourishes of the script, intricate details were needed as he stared deeper onto the inked skin.

"Suppose I have to be," he said, easy with a shrug to his shoulders. "People are trusting me to carve something into them forever. Can’t really be shaky about that." He pulled back for a second, wiping gently again, then leaned closer to blow softly on the ink to dry it.

The puff of air against her raw, sensitized skin made her shudder. Harry grinned like he noticed, like he was tucking it away somewhere private.

"Almost done," he said softly. "You’ve been a dream to work on, Lily."

The way he said her name with a slow, deliberate tone made her stomach flip. When he finally clicked the machine off and peeled his gloves away, the quiet that fell was almost deafening. It hadn’t been too long then, but Lily had missed the feeling already.

He sat back on his chair, running his hand through his messy hair, looking her over like he was committing the sight to memory.

"Alright," he said, voice a little rough, "moment of truth. Want a mirror?"

She nodded, and he passed it over carefully, brushing her fingers with his own in the exchange.

Lily angled it, looking down to be able to see where the writing sat on her skin. It was raw, her skin, red around the darkened ink that was now visible and permanent.

The quote curved perfectly under her breast, right on the ribcage, elegant and understated — exactly like she had imagined it in her head a hundred times. She knew that this would help her, this would connect her with her peers knowing she had gone through this experience.

"It's..." She swallowed hard. "It's really beautiful. Thank you."

Harry's smile softened, all the cocky teasing bleeding out of him until he looked almost bashful at her complimented admission.

"Hey," he said, reaching out instinctively to squeeze her hand that had been holding the mirror in place, fingers brushing along softly as he let go. "Thank you for trusting me. Let me bandage it up for you, and we can send you on your way.”

Lily nodded at that, biting her lip as she kept looking at the mirror while he grabbed the bandages. Harry wiped the ink again, giving it a sheen as he gave her instructions for aftercare. He handed her a small paper bag that included a lotion, a soap wash, and instructions for first time care of a tattoo.

"You mind if I grab a quick photo?" Harry asked, twirling the tattoo machine cable loosely between his fingers as he started to clean up his space; he was trying to act nonchalant about getting the photos, knowing she could possibly say no – but hoping she would just say yes. "For my portfolio. Only if you’re cool with it. I know it’s a spicy spot."

Lily blinked at him, heart still pounding. His smile was easy, but there was a gleam behind it, something playful, like he already knew she wouldn’t say no.

"Okay," she breathed, before she could overthink it. “Yeah, sure.”

Harry grinned a gleaming smile that allowed his dimples on display. He grabbed his film camera from under his station – of course it was a film camera, Lily thought.

"Stand up over here for me," he said, nodding toward a spot near the exposed brick wall where the late afternoon light pooled golden through the windows. “Better lighting.”

Lily slid off the chair, legs slightly unsteady, the fresh sting of the tattoo a thrilling reminder that this was real. Harry watched her cross the room, head tilted like he was studying a living piece of art. His gaze dragged over her with an intensity that made her toes curl inside her boots.

"Just... pull the shirt up a bit,” he said, his voice going rough at the edges. "Show it off."

Her fingers fumbled at the hem of her shirt, tugging it just enough to reveal the tattoo.

"There," he murmured, camera drawn up to his eye, voice a velvet scrape "Perfect. Hold still for me, pretty girl." he said, almost under his breath as he concentrated on getting the perfect shot.

The first snap of the camera echoed too loudly in the quiet shop. Lily's heart thudded against her ribs as Harry moved around her, finding angles, framing her tattoo, but it didn’t escape her that his eyes kept straying back to her face. Her mouth. Her flushed cheeks.

"One more," Harry said, voice low and rough now. “Chin up. Look at me."

Lily obeyed, realizing that her face would now be in the shot before she even thought about it, tilting her face toward him — and the look that passed between them nearly set the air itself on fire. For one breathless, infinite second, it didn’t matter that the camera was between them. It didn’t matter that she was shy, or new to this, or that her heart was beating out of control.

All that mattered was the way Harry was looking at her. It was almost like she was already his favorite work of art.

The camera clicked. Harry dropped it to his side without a second glance.

He stepped closer again, too close — the kind of close where all she could see was the glint in his hazel eyes and the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You killed it, Lily," he said softly, with the hint of humor coating his tone. “First tattoo... and you already look dangerous."

Her cheeks flamed, but this time, she didn’t look away.

"Guess I’ll have to find an excuse to see you again." He murmured, trying to keep it between them, even though Kaila was just at the desk behind the beaded curtain. “If you want to, I mean.”

Before Lily could even straighten up, a warm hand closed gently over hers.

She looked up — right into Harry’s eyes. Up close, they were even more devastating — a messy green-gold, framed by thick lashes, flecked with something reckless and soft all at once.

“Y-You want to see me again?” Lily asked, almost like the words coming from him weren’t real. They couldn’t have been; there was nothing intriguing enough about her that would allow a man like this to be interested in her. But the way that his eyes shone behind the glasses as he looked at her held a truth that she couldn’t deny.

"I’ve got about an hour before my next appointment," he continued, like he hadn't just tilted her whole world off its axis. "And I was thinking maybe instead of a payment, you could just... walk to get a coffee with me instead."

Breathless, Lily opened her mouth to speak, letting a breathless laugh escape her. “Oh, uh,” She shook her head, but watched Harry’s smile start to fade as if she was denying him, “Oh- I mean, yes. I would… I would like to do that. But you’re sure you don’t – I mean, I can pay you for your work.”

Harry smiled wider, clearly delighted by the reaction he was pulling from her.

"No, really," he added, even though they both knew there was nothing casual about the way he was looking at her right now. Harry reached over to the chair, handing her the sweater. "I wasn’t expecting this today, so I’ve kind of already been paid. In a way.”

Kaila snorted quietly behind her crossword, drawing Harry’s attention. This time his cheeks reddened at the reaction.

Lily hesitated for half a heartbeat, then found herself smiling, small but real. Maybe a little reckless as she pressed her tongue into her cheek.

"Okay," she said. "Coffee sounds... good. I like coffee."

Harry’s grin turned into something full of promise as he nodded, finding his cheeks hurting from the smile emitting from him.

"Yeah?" he said, stepping back just enough to snag his jacket from the hook by the door. "Good. I know a place.”

Lily pulled the sweater over her head, pulling it back over her frame as she looked up at him. “Do you mind if I freshen up really quick?”

Harry perked up, “Oh, sure. The restrooms over there.” He pointed towards the back, “I’ll meet you at the front.”

Lily moved her way towards the restroom, taking her small purse as Harry grabbed his jacket and sunglasses before going towards the counter where Kaila was sitting with her crosswords in front of her. Harry blew out a breath and raked a hand through his messy hair. The slow smirk on her face was overtaking her smile, Harry caught it immediately.

"You good, Casanova?" Kaila asked without looking up, flipping her pencil between her fingers. “I’m surprised you were able to keep your hand steady enough to get good ink out of it with how jacked up she made you.”

Harry leaned his elbows onto the counter, head dropping between his arms with a low, muffled groan. "I’m gonna marry her.”

Kaila snorted so hard she almost dropped her pencil. "You talked her into coffee, not a courthouse wedding."

He peeked up at her through his messy hair, a cocky but boyish grin tugging at his mouth. "Coffee first. Courthouse second. I’m a gentleman, of course. I do nothing without second thoughts."

Kaila rolled her eyes, laughing under her breath. "Well, just don’t scare her off with your strong puppy energy. She’s sweet. You don’t get a lot of that. You don’t usually throw yourself at girls, it’s a lot of the opposite, so I can tell she’s going to challenge you."

Harry straightened up a little, something serious flickering across his face for half a second. "I know," he said quietly, “That’s hot.”

Kaila softened, just a little, watching him. Then she shook her head and went back to her crossword, voice light again. "Go easy, Fabio. Try not to spill coffee on yourself this time."

Harry flipped her off good-naturedly just as the bathroom door opened, and he immediately turned around, smoothing his jacket down like he'd been standing there casually the whole time. Kaila bit her lip to stifle another laugh.

When Lily came back into view, cheeks still a little pink and hair a little mussed from the day but pulled back into a clip now, Harry couldn’t stop the wide, helpless grin that broke across his face.

“I’ll be back, Kai.” Harry walked in front of Lily, he held the door open for her, a little old-fashioned but somehow so natural it made Lily’s heart ache as she moved out in front of him.

The bell above the shop door jingled as they stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was still warm, the city humming around them. For a few seconds, they just walked, side by side, the silence between them not awkward, but tentative — fragile, like the first brushstroke of something beautiful about to begin.

Harry glanced sideways at her, his voice a little lighter now, teasing again. "So, Lily," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked. "Tell me something about you. Something I wouldn’t guess."

Lily looked down at the ground, shy, but the corner of her mouth twitched up. After a beat, she said softly, "I once won a spelling bee because I memorized an entire Russian novel in case they picked a word from it."

Harry laughed, a rich, warm sound that made her grab onto her sweater sleeves a bit tightly. "Let me guess," he said, grinning as he walked sideways to face her. "Was it Anna Karenina?"

She laughed too then — a real, bright thing that made her feel lighter than she had in months.

"Maybe," she said, pretending to be coy. "Maybe not."

He bumped his shoulder gently against hers, careful but playful. "Oof, you’re going to keep me guessing,” He bit his lip, “I like it.”

They rounded the corner together, the coffee shop coming into view — a cozy little place with fairy lights strung up in the windows.

And for the first time in a long time, Lily felt like maybe she wasn't invisible after all.

Maybe she was finally being seen.

240 notes · View notes

unholyhelbig · 2 days ago

Note

i beg of you to write more mary x f reader I BEEEGGGGGGGGGGG

Title: Who You Belong To [18+]

Ship: Female!Reader x Mary (Sinners 2025)

Read Part One Here | Main Masterlist

Summary: After Mary turns you, the two of you work on your dynamics as she ushers you through your new life without the sun, and with some odd cravings that bring out Mary's darker side.

Warnings: Blood, biting, cannon-typical violence, pet names (Darling, sweet girl, all the fun southern dialects), fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving), dom/sub tones, use of good girl, blood drinking, implied death, fire, reader is with a man BREIFLY, jealousy, and horrible grammar I don't proofread!

[A/n: Thank you all so, so, so much for the positive response to the first part. Seriously, I've been in a writing slump for awhile, and Sinners has changed that, let me tell you. Let me know if you want to see more!]

The deadbolt on the front door had been flipped with finality. It’s inner-workings clicking and settling into place was what ended up stirring you. The open sign settling against the front pane of glass as it was turned around stole the last promise of sleep away. Normal, simple actions that should have been nothing more than quiet day-to-day actions were grating. Annoying. Deafening.

The first inhale after death is painful. That’s what they don’t tell you. After decades of your lungs wetly manipulating air automatically, once it’s given a brief reprise, they don’t’ want to cooperate. Not gracefully, at least. The cough that tore through you was dizzying. The way you shot up, unsticking yourself from the green felt on the pool table was painful.

When your fingers first found the wound on your neck, two hollow puncture marks caked over with bullet-sized scars, firm and crusted over from time, you thought it was her hand. Mary’s. It was an instance of memory, a word that your brain supplied. Your fingers were too cold. Too dead to be yours. After all, you had only known warmth from yourself.

She turned from her place at the window, curiously lifting a brow at you trying to collect yourself teetering on the edge of the pool table. Your chest heaved and your eyes were feral. Darker than they had been before she’d ripped into you.

The strawberry pulp of your blood had dried against the curve of her chin, the perfect jut of her collar bone where you’d unbuttoned her shirt. The silk was ruined. Soaked through with you. None of that seemed to bother her. When she walked closer to you, she did so with the confidence of approaching a trained dog.

Her presence, you realized, was needed. Calmed you. Eased the tension in your shoulders and slowed your breathing if just by a second. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just let a beautiful woman rip out my jugular for a quick fuck.”

“There ain’t nothing quick about forever,” Mary purred. The words felt genuine as they slipped past her lips, smooth like velvet. She looked and acted like a predator, but was soft around the edges.

She reached out a hand, and when you took it, you were met with a warm familiarity. Not more electric coolness. You tightened your fingers around her own in an instinct of learned yearning for closeness. For comfort after a traumatic event. Mary helped you steadily off the pool table on unsteady legs, her other hand planted on your hip.

“Got anywhere to wash up in this place, darlin? A change of clothes?” she nudged your nose with her own, trying to draw your focus gently from the conflicting warning signs in your body. “You’re a vision covered in blood. It’s not comfortable though, is it?”

You breathed out, shook your head tentatively. Your neck was stiff and jaw was aching. There was a subtle burn at the back of your throat that reminded you much of longing. A longing so deep and primal that you were sure nothing would ever settle it.

Wordlessly you walked towards the door that rested just beyond the bar. Past a dingy plastic sink and cans of food that were unopened, dishes that needed to be done, was a stairwell up to your apartment.

It wasn’t anything special; a dingy room with a recliner in the corner, crowded yet cozy. Warm with the confines of the only place you’d lived in the past year. There was a bathroom and a dresser that held the few changes of clothes you owned.

You went through the motions as if you were cleaning yourself of silt that lined the swampy earth you’d played in as child. The blood would wash away much easier. You were fortunate enough to have heated water for the bar downstairs, the luxury extending to the tub.

While the steaming water filled the air with a rusted smell, and the floral soap tickled at your nose, you struggled to work at the button on your pants with clumsy fingers. Mary had been lingering in the doorway, but she stepped into your space then, moved your hands away and took over.

“I can feel how quickly your thoughts are moving.”

“Is that part of this? Being in my head.”

“No, no. Not all the time. But they’re loud right now. Hard to block out. You can ask me questions, babydoll. I know you’ve got em’. No reason to hold your tongue.”

A hum dislodged itself from your throat. She’d pulled your pants down and you used her shoulders to steady yourself as you stepped out of them. Mary’s eyes flashed with an admirative hunger at the sight of you. The full sight of you.

You couldn’t help the arousal that shot through you: Mary on her knees, ill-lit eyes peering up at you as if you were the only thing in the world. Her devotion was confusing, all-encapsulating. She was a terrifying enigma who had taken your life and given you a new, strange one, all in one breath.

She stood, dragging her nails up your sides and dipping her chin to maintain eye-contact. Mary peeled her own shirt off, letting the pile into the corner next to yours, much duller than the pop of color that she provided.

It didn’t startle, nor shock you, when she slid into the tub behind you. It wasn’t a big tub, arms wrapped around you and breasts right up against your back. You sighed into her, were oddly comforted by the way this near stranger scrubbed the blood from the slope of your neck.

“Why me?” You rasped.

Mary was silent for a moment. A long moment that was filled by the shift of the water and the way she dragged the pads of her fingers over your knuckles to move the red pigment away. The lavender that swirled around the both of you was nothing but soothing.

“You seemed lost.” She answered, dragging her hands over your arms to curve the cold. “Not in the way of wanderin’ but in the way of not knowing how to start. And I’ve been there. Trapped within the purgatory of wishing there was something more.”

You shifted, turned ever so slightly and looked at her, the tenderness in her eyes. “What changed?”

“A night in a juke joint in the Mississippi Delta, that’s what changed.” She chuckled dryly, as if it was an inside joke. “Things are put into perspective real quick. You learn that all the big things that seem big sometimes aren’t. Sometimes the small things are what counts. And sometimes… it’s okay to be selfish.”

“Selfish, huh?”

“Well, you’re bewitching and I’m weak.” Mary chuckled. You could feel the movement rush through her. “So, what if I’m selfish. I’ll never see the sun again, I’ll take the closest thing that I can get.” Her head dropped to your shoulder, almost out of guilt. “No family. No one to come looking for you.”

“Mm, fuck. I should have trusted Albuquerque.”

“Babygirl, no one should trust Albuquerque. The city or the person.”

You snorted at that, shaking your head. She’d shifted so her chin was resting in the small of your shoulder, tantalizingly close to where she’d bitten you hours before. “Mm, you just wanted a pet.”

“And what’s so wrong with that?” Mary nipped lightly at your shoulder, soothed it quickly with her tongue. “I take good care of my things, darlin”

It had become apparent over the following year that you’d spent with Mary, that she did take very good care of her things. Though, she was possessive of them. Keeping a firm hand against the small of your back at all times. An arm around your shoulders or your midsection to keep you in her lap.

“Oh, now, come on” Stack led the angry red end of the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. “I think that’s just criminal. Damn fuckin’ criminal. They should have you locked up.”

You snorted, digging into your pocket for your own rolled cigarette. Stack matched your move pound for pound, watching as you closed the end of your teeth around the tip. He leaned close to you, enveloping you in the scent of clove and the deep spice of his cologne. He used the lit edge to ignite your own cigarette.

“Stack, you best back away from my girl if you want to keep all ten of your fingers.”

“Come on now, Mary!” He shot back with a strike of quickness and a roll of his eyes regardless. “I didn’t mean a thing by it. You better school her about her taste in music, I’ll tell you that much. Your girl or not, she needs helpin’ along in the blues department.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t make good on her threat. She handed off a bottle of liquor to Stack before depositing another paper-wrapped one into your hands. The three of you occupied a picnic table under a streetlamp, far away enough from the public to stay conspicuous.

“You do have horrible taste in music, baby.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Stack defended.

“Yeah, well. Didn’t have to say it so close to her face, did you?”

Stack growled at her. Nothing threatening or primal, something you’d learned was easy to do if you put enough air behind it. You were used to them bickering like this. Like siblings. Like people who loved one another deeply at one point, and had realized that it wasn’t love necessarily like that. Like beings who owed it to one another to try, and had valiantly.

Right now, you were her passion project and you’d accept her attention for as long as she’d give it. Be it days, weeks, or years. It was diligent, and it filled you with the kind of warmth you were missing your entire life.

You hadn’t truly lived until you died, and Mary was guiding you.

“I knew you were jealous when you took a train from Chicago to chew me out on a platform.”

“Wasn’t jealous then,” Mary snapped back, slipping her hand around your waist. “You fucked me halfway to Tuesday and left by the next. That’s called anger, Stack.”

“Same thing.” He shrugged, waved her off as if you hadn’t heard them have this same argument ten times over.

The spiced tobacco curled around your lungs with a warmth similar to the kind that Mary sparked against your skin. She dragged her nose across your cheek, breathing in, watching you devilishly as you flicked the white ash from the end before closing your lips back around the cigarette. You knew damn well what you were doing, watching her swallow the excess saliva in her mouth.

The smash of hard-rimmed glass drew your attention to the bar that quite resembled the one you’d burnt down months before. It tugged at a dull ache in your chest and culminated behind your jaw, much like the first time you’d dug your teeth into something truly alive, with a pulse. The first time you’d felt that zeal drain away at your volition.

A liquor store with a welcome sign at it’s edge was attached to the actual establishment. Hence why you camped out here. Alcohol still went down smoothly and with a softness unrivaled, but there was always easy prey here. Those who got too inebriated, putty in your hands.

“It’s going to feel strange for a bit, Babygirl.”

Mary had told you as the two of you sat in the dull darkness of an apartment she commandeered from a foreclosure. It was above a bookstore, one that buzzed pleasantly during the day and cushioned out the rest of the world along with the layers of newspaper and cardboard she’d plastered the windows with to keep sun out.

Her head was in your lap, body sprawled over the cotton sheets of the bed. Your body ached with a familiar niceness, fingers carding through Mary’s hair, occasionally tracing over her features. So delicate and breath-taking.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t done as she instructed. She didn’t’ need to guide you much, Mary essentially ripped the seal on the person she’d cornered and then the sharp, tantalizing scent of blood made the vicious burn in your throat worsen until you were latched onto whatever skin was exposed to you.

“Do you have a… preference?”

She chuckled and it was warm, peering up at you with eyes that were more blue than black. “No such thing. You’ll find that some circumstances work better than others. When people are alone. When they’re angry. Reckless.”

“Vulnerable.”

“It does make it easier, yes.” She resituated herself until she was sitting across from you, your knees touching and her hair falling elegantly over her shoulders. You almost whined at the loss of contact, but swallowed it down when she grasped your hands in her own. “Killing is not something I enjoy, but it’s necessary.”

“You’re going to make me do it on my own, aren’t you?” You scoffed dejectedly.

“Mm, there’s a learning curve.”

Mary could see the worry behind your eyes. Silenced it by leaning forward and pushing her lips against your own in the most delicate version of a kiss she had to offer. It sent chills down your spine, electrifying your skin where it met her own.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” She growled so deeply you could feel it in your own chest as it pressed against yours. “Just let your instincts take over, angel. They’ll do the rest.”

They did so diligently now. You didn’t think twice before digging the pointed edges of your teeth into whatever salted skin you could bring yourself close to. When the hunger burned, it burned deeper than anything you’d ever felt before. Something Mary promised would wear off eventually, and she hadn’t steered you wrong yet.

Often times, your mind would zero in on people like they were playthings first and humans second. The man who had thrown his bottle into the nearest wall and bellowed out drunkenly was an easy catch. Though he was twice your size by the looks of it. Mary gave your arm a squeeze, drawing your attention back to herself and Stack.

“Don’t think that’s your speed yet, darlin”

“Oh, come on, Mary!” Stack took a long pull of his drink, holding the bottle by the neck and letting the foam froth down his bearded chin. “Don’t coddle her. Y/n has been in a fair share of bar fights and that’s before you ripped her throat out on a pool table, which I’m devastated you torched by the way. She can handle herself. Can’t ya?”

“Sure can.”

Stack laughed with his belly and clapped a hand on your shoulder giving you a playful nudge. You couldn’t help but laugh with him, something that had a nervous edge to it, even as you glanced back at the man who was swaying on his feet and grasping at another amber bottle of beer himself. He talked louder than the rest, crueler about his women.

“Oh, I believe you sweetie, I do.” Mary’s accent came out thicker when she in fact, didn’t believe you, and was getting anxious about the turn of events. “Just, with men like that…”

“With men like that, the trick is to flirt.”

Stack wiggled his eyebrows and earned a hearty hit to the shoulder, nearly destabilizing him on the edge of the picnic table. Mary’s fingers had moved from your arm to trail against the base of your spine. The darkness of the night shielding you from thinly veiled judgement.

With a rumbled snarl, her lips pressed against your temple, she conceded. “Fine, fine. Take your shot.”

“Don’t think I can do it?”

Mary clenched and unclenched her jaw, plucking the cigarette from your lips and placing it between her own. The glowing end buzzing angrily in an orange sunset of color. There was a glossy look to her eyes that was unreadable, but she settled herself onto the tabletop next to Stack, gesturing vaguely.

That sparked something determined in your chest as you shoved your own drink into her hands and straightened out your clothes. Mary’s clothes, really. You had packed what you wanted into a burlap duffel bag before tossing the match into the heart of your families bar. You wore duller colors, items that weren’t made of silk but cotton. Things that were worn in well.

They interchanged with Mary’s now. Most of your wardrobe was a rotating door, much too soiled with your hasty meals. You were glad that you chose today to wear one of her finger pieces. A black silk blouse that cut low and exposed skin to your advantage in the southern heat.

You pushed your chest out purposely, watched Mary’s eyes narrow and darken to the point of primal hunger. You turned on your heel and walked towards the group of men that were roughhousing in front of the bar.

Their conversations and bubbling laughter started to drain away as you stalked closer with a confidence unmatched. The largest man, one who looked more attractive up close, with a chiseled jaw and an easy smile on his face, let out a low whistle.

“Hi pretty lady, you alone out here?”

The boys around him hooped and hollered, sizing you up like you were a prize. You’d seen men like this. Known men like this. Even before Mary had sunk her teeth into your throat, you held a certain level of anger towards their indifference as they occupied spots at your bar.

You gave him your sweetest smile “I was just traveling and gosh, the heat in these parts. I thought it cooled off once the sun went down.”

“A northern little thing, aren’t you?” He put his foot up on the seat of the picnic table, leaning forward. “I could offer you a drink, but it won’t do much. There’s a swimming hole right round’ back. Some privacy. That’ll cool you off real quick.”

“Why not both?”

“Woo!” a skinny man with slicked back black hair clapped his calloused hands “I like this woman, Tommy.”

He did too. You could see it in his eyes. You lifted your brow at him in question, an invitation, really. And he fell right into it when he handed you his newly opened beer. It was cold, which was nice as you wrapped your lips around the lip and took deliberately slow swallows.

You let out a slow, tantalizing sigh, leaning over the picnic table that separated you and Tommy. He smelled sickeningly like sweat and cinnamon candy. “That hit the spot.” You lowered your voice to a simmering growl. “Why don’t we go to that lake so you can find mine?”

It was filthy enough to render him speechless, so when you offered your hand, he took it without hesitance. It was damp in your own, almost slimy. But You could hear the way that his heartrate picked up to a deafening pace.

You could feel the hunger building deep within your stomach. That horrid, wanting, primal need that drove you to do exactly what you were doing now. The triumphant and lude murmurs from Tommy’s friends were nothing short of deplorable but they were soon swallowed by the cacophony of sound the forest around you created.

There was a dirt trail that led from the bar to the water. Tommy had pulled you to the edge of the water, snagging you by the waist after he’d peeled his shirt away and tossed it at the base of a tree. His chest was slick with sweat, your hand splaying against the brawn of it.

“I thought we were going to cool off.” You purred.

“Right after things heat up a little.”

Tommy pressed his lips to yours, and you kissed back, tasting the alcohol and the smoke on his breath. He squeezed your hip and tried to drag you closer to him. He was sloppy and unkempt and not nearly as gentle with his movements as Mary. The stubble on his face scratched at your skin, but none of that seemed to matter because soon the only thing you could hear was the rapid beating of his heart. All the blood that pulsed through his body.

Your hand moved to the belt of his pants, fooling with the belt slowly, but not making any real effort to undo it. Instead, your lips found his throat. You nipped at it softly, breaking skin and drawing a hiss from him.

“Ha, you’re a little feisty thing aren’t you.”

You hummed in response, dragging your tongue over the pinprick of blood that started to weep from the small wounds.

“What if you put that mouth to better use?”

Alright. That was quite enough. He was getting too cocky, and while the fun of the chase was half the battle, you could feel the saliva fill your mouth like hot honey. There was a hot pressure in your chest and throat and behind your eyes, surely a milky black by now.

So, you bit down. His grunt was garbled within a second, the tinny, polished taste coating your tongue. You gulped down the heat that filled your mouth, hearing the choked gasps coming from Tommy did nothing to deter you. He started to claw at your back. Opening and closing his mouth with wet noises.

Blood dripped down your chin, slicked across your chest and dampened your fingers as you wretched his chin further to the side to give you better access to your meal. You figured you’d never been this starved before, and never would be again until your next encounter.

Tommy went limp against you, his breath shallow and then nothing. A delicate arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you from your haze. Forcing you to unlatch your teeth from sticky tendons and salted skin.

“I think you’ve proven your point.” Mary looked down with unfathomable disgust at the dead man.

You pressed your spine against the opposite tree, dragging your arm across your face to smear away some of the pulpy blood before it dried in the nighttime breeze. One of Mary’s sculpted brows lifted as she crossed her arms over her chest, darting her calculated stare between you and what was left of Tommy.

At this point, it was easy to tell when Mary was displeased. She got a crinkle between her brows and a downturn to her lip. And boy was she pissed at you right now. She took a step closer to you, glowered down with darkened eyes illuminated by the moon.

“I don’t like the way he touched you.”

“I was touching him.”

“I don’t like that either.”

Mary clenched her jaw and snarled deep in her throat, bringing her lips so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of her breath but wouldn’t dare surge forward to connect them. Not with the envy pulsing through her like a heartbeat.

“I wish you weren’t so stubborn.” Mary placed her knee between both of yours, ground it into your center until you were to swallow a moan.

You frowned in confusion, tried to lean forward and connect your lips but she moved back, just out of reach.

“I’m not stubborn.”

“Darlin’ you are. You are, and you know how I know that? Because anyone else would have been on their knees begging for my forgiveness, devouring me until the sun rose and threatened to destroy us both. But instead, you’re struggling with the buckle of another mans belt.”

You lilted your head to the side, watched her carefully. She’d guided you through meals before, and it had never been like this. This was the first time you’d exercised your ability to seduce in order to get what you wanted, and it was getting under her skin. It gave you an unexpected thrill. One that pulsed straight to your core.

Her voice was a velvet whisper. “I need you to know who you belong to.”

Oh, you knew. It was hard to deny when she was trailing her hot mouth along your jaw and then your throat. Her teeth sharp, biting and hot as she soothed it with her tongue moments later. You clawed at Mary’s shoulders, trying to pull her closer.

“I know,” You whined out, sounding much too desperate “I know, Mary, promise.”

“I’m not convinced, you were all over him. Your tongue was practically down his throat.”

She was licking away at the blood you had spilled, ripping at the fabric of her own shirt before focusing on the drips that had sloped down your breasts. A gasp escaped you, head thrown back against the tree.

You whimpered, hands coming up to her hair “I was just doing what you taught me.”

“So needy,” She tuts, “I just don’t know if you deserve my mouth when all you seem to do is run yours against a mans.”

Mary’s fingers move past your waistband and dip into you. “A little jealousy and you’re already this soaked for me?”

She pulls away and earns another noise from the back of your throat before presenting her fingers. They’re wet with your arousal and you’re suddenly flushed with embarrassment. Both of her eyebrows lifted and you knew exactly what she wanted.

“I know how loud you like to get. Suck.”

Without a second thought, you opened your mouth and did as you were told, humming around her. You could taste your own slick, the salt on her skin. She relished in the way you gagged when she pushed deeper into your mouth, an attractive glint in her eyes. “That’s a good girl. So obedient. So you can follow social cues?”

Soon she pulled her hand away, dragging it down her front as she dropped to her knees and dragged your pants down to your ankles. You dutifully stepped out of them when she tapped your ankle, knowing the drill.

Mary lifted one of your legs over her shoulder. Her breath was hot against your thigh, so close to where you needed her most but not quite touching. She bit and nipped at the soft skin there sending shivers down your spine.

“Mm, he’d never get to touch you here.” She breathed against you “no one but me ever will.”

“No, no one but you.”

“So fucking pretty like this. At my mercy.” Mary licked a stripe across your pussy, earning a guttural moan from you that moved through the simplicity of the forest. Again, her tongue dipped in and you found purchase and balance by resting your hands on her shoulders, panting hard, growling harder. “All mine.”

She shifted her attention to your clit, sucking it the way she would enjoy a meal, much gentler than you, with more practice. “M-Mary, please. Fuck. Please.”

“What was that, angel? Couldn’t hear you over all that desperate whining.”

At this, you whined harder, hoping it would appeal to her softer side. “Please, Mar, I need to come.”

She hummed against you and the vibration of the noise only brought you closer to the edge. But then she showed mercy on you and slipped the fingers you’d had in your mouth into you. The gasp that you would have produced got lodged in your throat.

“Good God, Darlin, you are close.” She started to pump into you, returning her ministrations to your bud. “Go ahead, come on my fingers.”

You let out a breath of relief in between the small whimpers she was pulling from you. But her movements stopped as quickly as they started, dark rimmed eyes peering up at you. “Ah-ah only if you know exactly who owns this pussy.”

She felt you tighten around her fingers, sneered at the feeling of ecstasy that shot to her own core. It made her throat dry. Seeing you come undone under herself like this. She didn’t know how much longer she could edge you like this without coming apart herself.

“You do,” You moaned “you, you, you. Only you, Mary. Please.”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

She returned to her ministrations and it didn’t take much to send you over the edge entirely. You felt yourself tense around Mary, breath panting and sweat coating your skin. Bliss exploded through you, fingers digging into her shoulders. You ground your teeth together to keep your noises of pleasure at bay, legs shaking, Mary coached you through your orgasm.

The woman that she was, pulled your pants back up and buttoned the fabric easily. She kissed your mouth, panting herself. “I might have a little problem with jealousy.”

“Little?”

“Medium sized.” She steadied you once more “You okay, angel?”

“Never better. You’re sexy when you’re pissed.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t make a habit of bringing it out in me.”

Mary smiled something shy then, reaching and plucking a leaf from your hair before flicking it to the side. Her breath was warm as it mingled with your own. Her scent clean and crisp despite the energy the both of you had just exerted under the pale moon.

You frowned, “You haven’t eaten tonight. Are you hungry?”

“I’ve eaten, Babygirl, don’t you worry.” She giggled, infectious. Beautiful and captivating.

The sun was due to come up in an hour, and Stack had wandered in search of his own meal. You were sticky with blood and the taste of yourself. Mary had a softer smile than before, one of admiration and affection. She took a small step back and held her hand out to you, a delicate gesture.

“Lets get you cleaned up. You’re a mess.”

“That’s not my fault.” You laughed, voice husky.

“Stubborn. Nothing but stubborn. You’re lucky you’re beautiful.”

#Mary Sinners #Mary Sinners x reader #Mary Sinners x female Reader #Sinners 2025 #Sinners movie #Sinners fanfiction #Sinners #hailee steinfeld #hailee steinfeld x reader

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27spoons · 1 day ago

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okay so someone said "nat backshots" and i said "say less" now you get a blurb of nat taking readers strap

nsfw blurb / smut / gn!afab!reader / porn no plot / strap-on used, referred to as cock / some ass smacking / nat cries at some point / size-kink nat agenda / blame the horny asses in the server / it's me I'm the horny ass / not proofread we die like coach ben at nat's hand/ wc: 1569 (nice)

she's already on her hands and knees by the time you pull the harness tight around your hips, her breath hot and uneven where her forehead presses into the mattress. a flush creeps down her spine, bright red that sharply contrasts the pale skin—it makes your mouth water. makes you wanna leave your fingerprints along the bony protrusions, so that she remembers who made her like this.

"last chance, nat," you murmur, voice low as your knees press into the bed behind her, letting the head of the strap brush against the inside of her thigh.

nat can only grunt in response—although it sounds more like a desperate whine than anything else—and her hips tilt back in a silent invitation. you know her well enough to know she isn't going to beg. no, natalie scatorccio doesn't beg. at least, not until she's fucked stupid and barely holding onto reality.

you let her stew in it a while longer. let her squirm. let her feel the size of it, how much you're giving her. when you finally take the translucent blue cock into your hands, you can't help but grin. nat can't fight the whole body shiver that rakes her as you start to run the tip through her folds. she's wet, but you knew that already, didn't you? she's always wet for you.

"oh, nat. look at you. you don't even know what you've gotten yourself into, huh?" you let your spit fall from your mouth onto the toy, lathering it across the ridged surface. "you think you can take all of it?"

"oh my god," nat groans, trying to shift her hips to get you in, "asshole, i've been with dudes before. just... c'mon..."

you chuckle and nudge your knee between her thighs, forcing them wider. she's dripping already, clear slick painting her inner thighs, but you don't let yourself get distracted. not yet. you've got a point to prove.

"yeah? how many of them made you shake like this?"

you let the tip of your cock catch on her entrance—just the tip—and push barely inside, enough to make her walls flutter around nothing, enough to make her hips jerk back instinctively, desperate to pull you deeper.

you hold her still with a firm hand on her hip, fingers digging into the soft skin. "feel that, baby?" your voice drops into a cruel taunt as you roll your hips in slow, maddening circles, just enough to tease the first inch past her entrance. "not even halfway in yet."

nat groans—long, low, and frustrated—and tries to rock back again, only to be met with your grip tightening, a silent order to behave.

she looks good like this. helpless. squirming. needy.

"squeezing me so fucking tight already," you murmur, dragging the words out as you pull back a fraction, letting the ridged head catch on her entrance on the way out. "gonna split you open real nice, huh?"

nat makes a sound of helplessness, and you can feel her walls fluttering, trying to pull you in deeper.

greedy.

you deliver a sharp slap to her ass for that, clicking your tongue. "i thought i made it clear that you're not to move? when did you decide you could?"

nat whimpers, fingers fisting in the comforter to keep from swatting at you, but she stays put. she doesn't push back again. she knows better. you both know that.

"thought you were supposed to be tough?" another inch. slow enough to be cruel. the stretch forces another broken noise out of her, muffled by the thick blanket. "c'mon, nat. take it. take it for me."

when she doesn't respond, you draw your hips back again, just enough to make her feel empty, then immediately push forward and bury yourself to the hilt.

the sound the leaves her is sinful.

it's one of those times where pleasure blurs with pain, a fire burning in her veins as her body attempts to accommodate the sudden, harsh intrusion. the stretch feels like something out of a horror film and like taking a shot of pure ecstasy, and she can't help the moan that rips itself from her throat when your hips start to wiggle.

"fuck," nat gasps, voice cracking as her face presses harder into the mattress. she's practically trembling under you, arms straining to keep her up, muscles in her thighs twitching from the effort.

you let her sit there for a moment. trembling. split wide open around you. letting her feel just how deep you are. letting it burn.

"mm, you feel that, baby?" you whisper against the shell of her ear, your chest pressing flush to her back. "you feel so fucking full, don't you? can't even move, can you?"

nat whines low in her throat. you smile harder.

you hook an arm around her waist and pull her up onto her knees properly, forcing her to arch for you, forcing her to feel every goddamn inch. she scrambles for purchase, a shaky hand reaching back to grip at your thigh, your hip, anything.

"'s too much…" she mumbles pathetically, but she doesn't make the effort to pull away. she doesn't tell you to stop. in fact, her cunt only flutters around you, greedy and overwhelmed and aching.

"nah," you murmur, brushing her hair to the side so you can kiss the back of her neck. "you're taking it. and you're doing so fucking good, nat. so good for me."

and then you rock your hips, just once, just enough for her whole body to jolt forward on the bed, a broken moan punching out of her lungs. she can feel every ridge on the surface—the saliva you spit on, her own juices, everything. it's all too much and not enough at once.

"jesus christ," nat hisses, squeezing her eyes shut like it would help. like it would make it easier to take you.

the grin that splits your face borders on feral as you start a slow, brutal rhythm. shallow thrusts that barely pull out before sinking right back to the hilt, giving her no time to think or even breathe.

no, she can't think when all she can feel is you. inside of her, stretching her out, wrecking her tight, fluttering cunt with each snap of your hips into hers.

nat collapses down onto her forearms with a strangled whimper, thighs shaking violently from the effort of staying upright. her hair sticks to the sweat-slicked skin of her back, panting so hard you can hear every wet breath she fights to take.

good.

you want her fucking ruined.

you fish a hand in her hair, tugging her head back enough to make her arch even deeper. making her take you even deeper.

nat sobs at the angle, but once again makes no effort to pull away.

she doesn't want to.

"shhhh, i know, baby," you mock, low and cooing in her ear, digging your hips back slow and snapping forward hard enough to make the bedframe creak. "doing so good for me. so good."

she nods frantically, barely even aware she's doing it, like her brain's short-circuited into pure instinct. like all she's ever wanted to was to be good for you, to take your praise down her throat and choke on it.

you slam your hips forward again, and nat actually yelps, the sound immediately breaking into a desperate moan as she lets you take.

"such a good girl," you whisper, breath hot against her ear. "taking my cock like this. fucking hell, nat. you're perfect. my perfect girl." you emphasize every word with a snap of your hips, never stopping to cease your relentless pace.

you can practically feeling her tightening, spasming around the strap like she's right on the edge of something, and the thought of her coming just from this? just from the fullness, the stretch, the weight of you inside her? well. it makes you slam your hips harder into her.

"gonna make you fucking come like this," you pant, voice ragged with exertion. "gonna make you fucking break—!"

if you could see nat's face, you would see the tears spilling from her eyes as ragged moans rip from her throat with every thrust you greet her with. what you see is how her body tenses under yours, all her muscles locking up like she's trying to fight it, trying to be 'strong' and not give in.

"don't fight it," you breathe, sweat running down your face in small rivets, "c'mon, nat. be a good girl. be a good girl and come for me. come all over my cock. show me you want it."

the permission was all she needed, and the moan that leaves her sounds like a sigh of relief. she falls apart for you with a raw, broken cry, walls clamping down so hard around your pistoning shaft that it makes your head spin. her whole body trembles and spasms through it, wrecked and ruined and perfect.

you don't stop moving. no, you fuck her through it. slow and deep, grinding your hips into her until her sobs turn into wails from the overstimulation, until she's clawing at the sheets and practically begging you to move faster—but never stop. no, she doesn't want that.

"good girl," you whisper again, brushing her sweaty hair back from her face as she gasps for air. "so fucking good for me, nat. always so good."

#“blurb” is used loosely #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio smut #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio smut #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets #ladles (fics/blurbs)#steak knives (nsfw)#from the cutlery drawer #q

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starlight-and-whiskey · 2 days ago

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Under Your Skin: Ch1

Prologue AO3

Never meaning to, you end up pregnant with Arthur Morgan's child. One child leads to a happiness you never thought you'd find, which in turn leads to a family Arthur never thought he deserved. Tags: @heron-feathers, @warmsideofthepillow03, @photo1030

You’d lost counts of the hours you'd laid there in the dead of night, rehearsing words that would only stick like molasses to the roof of your mouth once you finally caught Arthur's eye the following morning. There he'd be, fingers twitching as though he wanted to come over, blue eyes landing but never quite settling. Then, with a stubborn grit of his jaw, he'd turn away, busying restless hands with whatever chore he could find.

You’d pushed him away when he’d tried to reach out, and now you had no idea how to make it right again - no idea how to give voice to the thousand things you wanted to say to him, lodged and stuck in your throat. I miss you. I’m sorry. Anxiety bubbled through you at how much you’d missed the closeness of him these past few weeks. Not just the heart racing midnight trysts. Not just the tide of rolling hips and panted gasps and curling toes. No, you’d missed him. The sleep warmed groan of morning greetings, more breathed than spoken against the nape of your neck, just before dawn. How when he laughed, full-bodied and rich after a nip too much whiskey, his eyes would always find yours across the campfire. The comfort you’d unexpectedly found in the stillness of him beside you and the way it always made your stomach flutter more than it had any right to. You have etched yourself into my ribs. You have burrowed under my skin.

Oh…

And I’m carrying your child…

You wrapped your arms around your middle as if the secret might spill out without permission, shaking the unspoken words from your mind with a defeated sigh.

Arthur Morgan didn’t fall in love. Not anymore. Neither did you.

“You idiot”, you grumbled to yourself under your breath, drawing a shaking breath and grabbing the next load of laundry to be done.

"He's in such a foul mood lately." Abigail muttered absent mindedly as she dropped the last straggles of muddied laundry by the basin at your feet. “Reckon he’s no more pleased ‘bout this next move than the rest of us. Just when we were gettin’ settled…” Planting her hands on her hips and shaking her head, she cast a cursory glance over to where Arthur was hauling hay bales across camp with such force that one might think they’d personally offended him.

You didn’t turn to look. You didn’t need to. You could picture it in your mind’s eye, that way he always got when something was niggling at his gut. Instead, you just nodded, draping another shirt over the line, giving a tight-lipped hum.

"Heard you again at dawn this morning", she said quietly, eyes still turned towards the hustle and bustle of camp.

You felt the blood drain from your face, your spine stiffening.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

“I ain’t stupid,” Abigail said through a half-hearted chuckle, with all the warmth and familiarity of a woman who had walked this road before. "How long have you known?”

“It’s not… I’m not sure yet.”

Yet Abigail’s eyes didn’t waver.

“I know that look. I’ve had that look”, she said gently, laying a hand on your arm. "You're sure."

You thought about arguing. For half a second, your lips parted like they might shape a lie. But you hadn’t expected it to feel so good to finally tell someone, to finally share this burden.

"Yeah", you breathed.

“Hey”, Abigail smiled softly as you hung your head, gently coaxing your face back to look at her. “This is a good thing. Might not seem it right now, but it is.”

At the sight of tears welling in your eyes, she pulled you into her arms, giving you a gentle squeeze that made your throat tighten even more. “Oh, c’mere.”

Muscles stiff and breath catching in your throat, you hovered there in the space between awkwardness and need, unsure what to do with your hands, unsure of how to express that gut churning ache that had become as much a part of you as your own heartbeat.

"Who's the father?" She asked quietly when she finally pulled back.

“I don’t know”, you murmured with downcast eyes, shrugging half-heartedly. “Just… some guy.”

“You ain’t like that”, she said plainly, “I know girls like that, and that ain’t you.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled a metered breath, a small part of you wishing she would go away. A small part glad she hadn’t.

“And you ain't been anywhere except with...” Abigail trailed off, eyes widening and mouth dropping in surprise as her gaze drifted back across camp, landing once again on that sullen outlaw. Sullen more than usual. The penny dropped.

“Oh my God.”

“Abigail...”

Firm fingers gripped your arm, her voice lowering as she leaned closer.

“Arthur?”

The look in her eyes told you that she half-expected you to deny it. To tell her not to be so ridiculous.

“Don't say anything”, you pleaded through a trembling whisper, eyes wide and glistening.

"No. You and Arthur?" She giddily breathed through the ghost of a smile that played on her lips. "When?"

“Abigail”, you hissed, shaking your arm free of her grip as heat flooded your cheeks, “you can't... he doesn't know.”

With teeth biting at her bottom lip, Abigail briefly glanced again over to where Arthur was now leaning against the hitching post, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Arthur’s gonna be a father. You're gonna have a baby.” She whispered incredulously under her breath, pressing her fingers to her lips and shaking her head in almost disbelief before dragging her eyes back to yours, to your belly. “When you gonna tell him?”

You glanced around, biting out exasperated words through gritted teeth. “Will you keep your goddamn voice down. I... I don't know, alright?”

“Well, he's gonna figure it out eventually. He ain't the smartest, but when you start showin' he's gonna realise.”

“I know, I just... I don't know what to do.” The words came spilling out before you could stop them, the weight of everything you’d kept nestled in your chest finally surging free. “What if he don't want it? I mean, you of all people gotta understand that. What if he...”

Abigail’s eyes suddenly hardened a little and you allowed yourself to trail off, suddenly feeling intense guilt at words you’d never even meant to say out loud. At the hurt carved in soft lines in her brow, and the way her arm instinctively curled around a stomach that not four months ago had held the swell of Jack.

“What if he takes off like John did”, she finished anyway.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean-“

With glassy, soft eyes and a forced smile, Abigail simply waved the apology away.

“Even if he did, you'd be okay. Hell, look at me, I'm doin’ just fine without that useless lump. Both of us are, aren’t we?” But her voice cracked slightly at the edges in a way that told you she didn’t quite believe her own words.

“Arthur’s a better man than he wants folks to believe”, she continued, “He...” With a heavy sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, she gave a faint twitch of a smile tinged with a sadness you were terrified to know. “Well, he ain't John”.

“I'll tell him. Just… not yet. Please, you can't tell anyone.”

“Course not”, she whispered, gripping both of your hands in hers. “But… will you at least talk to Hosea? He helped me.”

You blinked, surprised. Hosea.

Your eyes drifted across the clearing, toward makeshift table set on an old tree stump where he sat languidly in a shaft of sunlight, boots crossed at the ankle, a book resting open on one knee. The thought of telling him should have felt daunting, but it didn’t. Why hadn’t you thought to talk to him before? In all those nights you’d laid there with your stomach in knots, your mind too preoccupied with the prospect of Arthur’s rejection of you, you’d never even considered the one dependable person who’d always been there. The person who brought you here in the first place. The person who fought for you to be allowed to go hunting and robbing. The person who always knew what to do and what to say, no matter how dire the circumstances.

“I’ll think about it.”

In an incessant run of bad luck that you wished would end, the camp had moved again, spurred on by the words Dutch tossed out like breadcrumbs. Opportunity. Fresh start. This time. You didn’t disagree with them in principle. Hell, if you hadn’t been so wrapped up the storm raging between your ribs, you might have even agreed with him. Yet, crammed in the back of a wagon like so much as cargo, you resented the move with every bone-jarring jolt of rock under the wagon’s wheels. On that arduous journey, your mind kept drifting from the mindless chatter around you, landing on that same niggling notion. Moving camp meant being busy – meant Arthur being busy. It meant more days of having to work up courage you could scarcely muster, only for someone to interrupt you before you could ever get chance to catch Arthur alone. Worse, the others had started to pick up on your lethargy. God, you felt bone tired. Even Davy, the first one to jab you in the ribs with a smirk and a sarcastic comment had taken to avoiding you like a bad smell, and all because you’d snapped over something as simple as your morning coffee.

You hadn’t said much, too exhausted to care whether the girls had picked up on your silence or the lingering, motherly gazes Abigail tossed you. Each time you caught her eyes, you couldn’t help but wander to the babe babbling contentedly as he nestled against her breast, your heart squeezing painfully. The weight of your own thoughts was enough to fill the wagon twice over. Forcing your misted eyes from lingering too long on Jack, you watched the trees change as the terrain grew smoother – valleys giving way to plains, rocky humps into cresting hills. On the final stretch, the path dipped low, deep into the trees, until finally it opened out into a small clearing by a river. Home. Until someone screwed up, at least.

You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your sleeve, the late afternoon sun clinging to you like a shroud. Your arms burned from hefting crates, but there was work to be done, and time waited for no man. Half erected tents littered the clearing, the grunting of men hammering in pegs carrying on the breeze.

With a groan, you stooped for another crate, only to have it wrenched from your hands by an exasperated Abigail.

“Let me.”

“I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t be lifting – “

But before either of you could say another word, the unmistakable click, click, click of pointed heels on dirt cut through the camp noise like a knife, announcing the bitter presence of Miss Grimshaw, and silencing you both.

“What in God’s name are you both playing at? These tents don’t pitch themselves, and we need a camp, don’t we?”

“We’re working!”, you gasped out, heaving in a breath.

“So it looks! I will not have shirkers in this camp, miss!”

“I’ll take it”, Abigail interjected, grabbing the crate.

“Getting others to do your chores?”, Susan scoffed at you. “You get that over to Pearson, right this minute.”

“But in her condition, she shouldn’t-“, Abigail bit back, immediately cutting herself short, eyes flicking to you, to Grimshaw, to the ground.

“Her condition?”

If looks could have killed, Abigail would have dropped down dead right there as your wide eyes bore into her. But it was too late. The cogs already turning in Susan's mind, her mouth curled into something disbelieving, then judgmental as her eyes flicked to your stomach and then back to your slack jawed, tear filled expression.

“Oh, for the love of-" Susan gasped with an edge, flapping her hands in exasperation. “You idiot. You stupid, stupid girl. What the hell were you thinkin’? Doin’ that here? Now?”

You flinched as if slapped, heat rushing to your cheeks, your throat tightening with the sting of tears not yet fallen, too busy trying to swallow down the shame burning at your collarbone to notice Hosea sidling up beside you.

“Hey now,” he said, raising a hand like he was able to ease the tension on mere presence alone. “What’s all the fuss?”

With a trembling breath, you let out a low and bitter groan. Great.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Susan snapped in a shrill voice, jabbing a finger at the air between the four of you. “This tearaway you boys are so fond of? Well, she ain’t as much like the men as she wants you to believe. Only gone and gotten herself knocked up!”

Hosea’s sympathetic eyes moved to you before flicking back to Miss Grimshaw, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Susan-”

“Oh, don’t Susan me,” she snapped. “You knew, didn’t you? Of course you did. Why am I always the last to hear about anything important in this godforsaken place?” She threw her arms out wide. “As though we can afford to have another mouth to feed!”

A slow and uncertain drawl from behind you stopped your heart.

“…You’re pregnant?”

Slow and wooden, you turned to find Arthur standing a few strides away, jaw hanging slack and eyes wide. You opened your mouth, desperate to say something, anything - but you couldn’t seem to conjure a sound. The camp blurred against the rising swell of hot tears as you stared at him for a long moment. At the way shuddering breath caught stark in his chest. At the way his arms hung limp at his sides. At the way he looked so damn lost.

No, Susan. You weren't the last to know.

With a ragged breath and the world dropping out from beneath your feet, you glanced back at Abigail with ferocious despair.

“Why couldn't you just keep your goddamn nose out", you bit out through broken gasps and a clenched jaw.

Sniffing hard, you dropped your head and trained your eyes on the ground, bumping Arthur’s shoulder as you stormed past without another word.

***

A torrent of emotions coursed through your veins as you sat beneath the shadow of gnarled oak by the babbling water’s edge. Guilt. Shame. Anger.

With knees pulled up to your chest, you absently plucked petals from wildflowers, watching them scatter in the wind until all you were left with was a wilted stem. And so, you grabbed another, caressing its fragile petals for a moment before ripping it apart slowly, petal by petal, until your boots were littered with soft, pastel confetti.

It wasn’t until you heard that familiar steady gait, catching the faint shadow in the corner of your eye that you closed your stinging eyes, flinching slightly without meaning to.

With his hat dangling from twitching fingertips, Arthur’s shadow enveloped you, tilting his head towards the river with a nervous intake of breath.

“Was that true? Are you… y’know?”

Your throat tightened, blinking down at the ruined flower in your lap, fingers curling tight around the crumpled stem.

“Yeah”, you whispered.

A sharp and brittle silence passed for a long moment, broken only by the scuffing of anxious boots in new dirt.

“I...”, Arthur paused, licking his bottom lip, chest heaving. “Is it...?”

He let the question hang there, unfinished, like he couldn’t quite get that final word from behind his teeth.

“It's yours.”

In the silence that followed, you held your breath, your eyes fixed on a singular blade of grass as it swayed gently in the breeze. Slowly - carefully - like he was approaching a wild mare that might bolt at any second, Arthur crossed the meagre distance between you and huffed out a soft groan as he gently lowered himself down beside you.

Close enough to feel the warmth of his arm beside yours, Arthur cleared his throat, nodding to no one in particular as he scratted absently at the scruff on his chin.

“That why you been avoiding me?”, he asked finally, his voice soft.

You shrugged, gritting your teeth to keep your lip from trembling.

In a soft, sad sigh, Arthur’s eyes caught the glint of the afternoon sun. “You could have told me, you know?”

“I thought...”, you started, trailing off when your chest twinged with the threatening onslaught of tears.

“What?”, he whispered. ”I’d be angry?”

Yes. I thought you wouldn’t want me no more. I thought I must have ruined whatever this was. Whatever this might have been.

Vision rapidly burring with tears, your shoulders tensed as you dragged in a ragged breath through quivering lips, biting your teeth down and forcing your muscles rigid.

“You really think that little of me?”

The softness of Arthur’s voice only spurred on the onslaught of tears and your brow crumpled as they spilled over, rolling hot and stinging and silent down your cheeks. At the sight of them, Arthur huffed a half chuckle, a calloused palm reaching out to cup your cheek, turning your face gently towards him. “Darlin’”, he muttered as the rough pad of his thumb traced a delicate path underneath your eye. “Course I ain’t mad.”

Your eyes flickered up to Arthur’s, and your chest heaved, rampant sobs hitching their way through your chest before you could stop them.

“You still want me?”, you gasped through ragged breaths.

With pinched, solemn brows, Arthur simply wrapped strong arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. A thumb rubbed slow circles across your back. Lips pressed tender kisses to your hairline. A broad palm moved to splay crooked fingers against your stomach. “Always”, he whispered against the shell of your ear.

#rdr2 #red dead fandom #arthur morgan #red dead fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fic #red dead redemption fic #arthur morgan angst #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #under my skin #starlightandwhiskey

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madscientistshowdown · 2 days ago

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PROPAGANDA

Fuuko/Andy (propaganda by @tokiro07)

Fuuko became the boss of a time-looping organization designed to fight and kill God, looped back to the 1800s and used visions she acquired from previous loops to become an oil baron. By the 1970s, she'd amassed enough wealth to outstrip most governments, re-founded said organization with incredibly advanced technology, and used all of her resources to avert the horrific tragedies of all of her loved ones. Along the way, she became skilled in several fields, such as language arts, surgery, cooking, kung fu, metallurgy, sharpshooting, singing, dancing, boxing, and drawing. In addition to being an oil-baron and effectively the CEO of a secret organization, she also became a ramen-themed cryptid, an astronaut, and a deadbeat dad

While Fuuko was gathering capital and recruits, Andy sat on the sun for an unspecified number of years, but likely the full 4.6 billion years since the creation of the Earth, to keep God's ten strongest soldiers sealed away within it and prevent them from interfering with Fuuko's preparations. For all intents and purposes, Andy acted as a stay-at-home wife while he waited for Fuuko to finish her work

They are canonically in a relationship, and they weaponize it. Fuuko's power, Unluck, is directly proportional to how much she likes whoever she touches x how long she touches them x how much surface area she touches, and Andy's power, Undead, allows him to tank whatever horrible thing Unluck sends his way while redirecting it at an enemy. A single, one-second high-five between the two was enough to summon a comet, specifically to cancel out a meteor she'd accidentally summoned on a close personal friend. She was able to think of the plan needed to facilitate this while fighting one of the aforementioned ten soldiers within 10 seconds while also performing major heart surgery, and then immediately infiltrated the sun alone to confront the other nine

Andy was originally a nameless amnesiac until Fuuko came up with the name as a pun on Undead. Since Andy got his first name from Fuuko, many fans have taken this to the logical conclusion that he would also take his last name from her, and thus refer to him as Andy Izumo

Morticia/Gomez

The OG relationships goals married couple

#girlboss malewife duos #undead unluck #the addams family #fuuko izumo #andy undead unluck #morticia addams #gomez addams

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4m0r1m · 1 day ago

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Closed Doors was delicious, write more for House one day and my life is yours, you absolute angel 🙏🙏

Til Death Do Us Part

SUMMARY: When House notices the subtle cracks in his wife's bright facade, he can't ignore them.

WORD COUNT: 2,439 words

PAIRING: greg house x wife!reader

WARNINGS: angsty angsty (sorry😭)

The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly as House leaned against the wall of his office, tossing a worn tennis ball into the air and catching it in one deft hand. Through the glass walls, he watched her—his wife—laughing with one of the interns. Her head thrown back, her entire frame animated with that familiar, infuriating energy that first made him fall for her.

But something wasn’t right.

He caught the ball mid-air, frowning. She was laughing too hard. Too brightly. A beat too long before she steadied herself, hand fluttering briefly to the side of her head. Not the first time he noticed it. Not the first time he chalked it up to exhaustion, or the hospital wearing her down. Yet, House had a nose for lies. Even unspoken ones.

Later, when she sat at their shared desk in the flat, a stack of children’s charts spread before her, he caught her blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear her vision. Her hand trembled when she reached for her tea.

House said nothing. Not yet.

He started running tests behind her back the very next day.

Nothing major at first—blood work, basic scans, subtle prodding during casual conversations masked as teasing. She laughed him off, told him he was getting soft in his old age, caring too much. He retorted with some snide comment about how British women probably enjoyed seeing their husbands panic. She threw a pillow at his head.

But deep down, House was gnawing on a bone he couldn’t put down.

Something was wrong.

Something he couldn’t diagnose by sarcasm alone.

It took him a week. A brutal, sleepless, Vicodin-laced week of cross-referencing every symptom she didn't even realise she was showing. When the preliminary results landed on his desk, he didn't even read them at first—just stared at the thick envelope like it was ticking.

Finally, he ripped it open.

Cancer.

The word punched the air from his lungs, even as his brain kicked into clinical overdrive. He scanned every line, every marker, but nowhere did it say where exactly the cancer was lodged. Just that it was there. Hiding. Growing.

He needed Wilson.

No—he needed answers.

He found her on the paediatrics floor, perched on the edge of a hospital bed, coaxing a giggle out of a pale, freckled boy with a toy stethoscope. She looked radiant. She looked fine.

House's stomach twisted.

He waited until she finished, then intercepted her outside the ward.

“Got a sec, Doc McCheery?”

She grinned, mock saluting. “Only if you’re here to hand-deliver my 'World’s Best Doctor' mug.”

“Something better.” His voice was light but his eyes were steel. “A mystery.”

She cocked her head, blonde hair catching the light. “Oh, go on then. Solve it, Sherlock.”

House stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re sick.”

Her smile faltered, barely, but it was enough for him to see it.

He pressed on. “I’ve run your blood work. You’re throwing off tumour markers. Something’s growing inside you.”

She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the flicker of panic. “Honestly, Greg, you’re worse than my mum.”

“We’ll have Wilson run some more scans,” he continued, relentless. “Get a full body PET. Find out where it’s hiding.”

“No.”

The word was sharp. Final.

House blinked. “No?”

She crossed her arms, forcing a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re overreacting. It’s probably a false positive. Stress, maybe. God knows I’m married to enough of it.”

House’s jaw clenched. “You’re lying.”

She stepped back, defensive, playful tone gone. “Drop it, House.”

“Like hell I will.” His voice rose, drawing a few glances from passing nurses. He didn’t care. “You think I’m just going to stand there while you—while you—”

“What? Die?” she snapped, suddenly furious. “Grow up.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

House stared at her, breathing hard. “You know.”

It wasn’t a question.

She looked away, blinking rapidly again. “Yeah,” she said hoarsely. “I know.”

House closed his eyes for a second, as if that could erase the moment. “Since when?”

“Few weeks.”

“WEEKS?” His cane thudded against the wall as he turned in frustration. “And you didn’t think to tell your husband?”

“What for?” she shot back. “So you could dissect me like one of your bloody puzzles? You think I wanted to become your latest case study?”

“You ARE my case study, dammit!” he barked. “You’re my wife!”

She swiped angrily at a tear threatening to spill. “I’m your wife, Greg, not your patient. I get to choose.”

House advanced on her, voice low and dangerous. “You’re choosing to die.”

She laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, not much of a choice, is it?”

House gritted his teeth. “Wilson can start treatment. There’s still time.”

“No.”

Her voice cracked.

“No chemo. No endless scans. No months of vomiting and losing my hair and becoming a ghost before your eyes. I’m not doing that.”

House stared at her, aghast. “You stubborn, infuriating—”

“It’s brain cancer, Greg.” She said it too fast, like tearing off a plaster. “It’s already spread. There’s nothing to treat.”

The words hung between them, thick and suffocating.

Brain cancer.

Terminal.

House swallowed hard, throat dry. For the first time in years, he felt utterly, completely helpless.

She stepped closer, softer now. “I don’t want to spend what’s left being prodded and poked and sick. I want to live.” Her fingers brushed his. “With you. As me.”

House stared at her hand on his, his mind reeling.

Live.

As her.

Not as some hollowed-out version.

He squeezed her fingers, just once.

And for once, House had no smart-ass reply. No sarcastic retort.

Just grief, raw and gnawing, wrapping its claws around his ribs.

They barely spoke on the drive home.

House gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles whitening with every mile. She sat curled against the window, cheek pressed to the cool glass, silent. Normally she filled car rides with chatter, teasing him about his music taste or criticising his driving.

Now, just silence.

He hated it.

When they reached their building, she moved ahead, keys jangling weakly in her hand. House limped after her, cane tapping the stairwell floor, every step heavier than the last.

Their flat smelled like old books and the faint citrus of her shampoo.

Home.

It was supposed to feel like safety. Tonight, it felt like a countdown.

She dropped her bag at the door and peeled off her jacket, moving sluggishly. House watched her, searching for something to anchor himself. Some way to fix this.

“Do you want tea?” she asked, voice too bright, brittle.

He barked a humourless laugh. “Yeah. That’ll cure the cancer.”

She flinched, barely, but recovered quickly. “Well, if not, at least it’ll shut you up for five minutes.”

House’s chest ached.

This—this—was how they coped. Sarcasm layered over fear like armour. They had built their marriage on it.

He let her make the tea.

Let her pretend.

She set his mug in front of him, hands trembling slightly, and sat opposite at the small kitchen table. Her sleeves were pushed up, revealing the delicate twist of her wrists, the veins he knew too well.

House stared at her.

So alive. So herself.

And yet.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

She traced the rim of her mug with one finger. “They gave me six months. Maybe a year, if I’m stubborn enough.”

He snorted, despite himself. “You? Stubborn? Shocking.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. “Said I could beat the record if I pissed off enough people.”

His throat closed up.

He set the mug down too hard, spilling tea across the table. Neither of them moved to wipe it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, softer now, almost pleading.

She shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t want you to look at me like—” she waved vaguely at the air between them, “—like that.”

“Like what?” he rasped.

“Like I’m already dead.”

House rubbed his face with one hand, feeling years older. “I’m a bastard, not a corpse sniffer.”

She laughed, a broken, beautiful sound. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The silence stretched, heavy, but not empty.

Finally, she spoke.

“I’ve made peace with it, Greg. I need you to.”

House shook his head, sharp and stubborn. “I don’t make peace. I make enemies. Death’s on the list.”

She reached across the table, curling her hand around his. “You can’t fix this.”

House’s fingers twitched.

Fixing things was what he did. Diagnosing, cutting, poisoning, healing—forcing the body to obey him through sheer willpower and spite.

But not this.

Not her.

Her hand was warm. Solid. Real.

He clung to it like a man clinging to a ledge.

“What do you want, then?” he asked hoarsely. “A world tour? Skydiving? Trip to Disneyland?”

She snorted. “You on a rollercoaster would definitely kill me quicker.”

House squeezed her hand, hard enough to make her wince.

“Just you,” she whispered. “Just time. Just... us.”

He bowed his head, forehead pressing against the back of her hand.

“Okay,” he said, voice breaking. “Okay.”

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

She dozed beside him, soft breaths against his shoulder, hair fanned across the pillow like a halo. He watched her for hours, memorising the slope of her nose, the way her lashes fluttered when she dreamed.

Every detail was a lifeline and a knife.

At some point, she stirred, finding him awake.

“Greg,” she murmured sleepily, “if you don’t stop brooding, I’ll die of boredom before the cancer gets me.”

He huffed a laugh, rough with unshed tears.

“Come here,” she ordered, tugging at his arm.

He shifted, wincing at the stiffness in his leg, and let her curl against him, head tucked under his chin. Her hand splayed across his chest, fingers idly tapping a rhythm only she knew.

“Love you, you miserable sod,” she mumbled into his shirt.

House closed his eyes.

He’d never been good at saying it back. Not easily. But tonight, he needed her to know.

“Love you too, you bossy Brit,” he said thickly.

She smiled against him, and for a moment, it was almost easy to believe that morning would come like any other. That time wasn’t slipping through their fingers like sand.

Weeks passed.

They didn’t talk about treatments again. Didn’t whisper about hope or miracles. She refused hospitals, refused sympathy. She worked as long as she could, still lighting up the children’s ward with her reckless, infectious energy.

But House saw the changes.

The headaches that left her pale and trembling. The slurred words. The moments where she stared at nothing, lost in the fog.

He fought every instinct to rush her to a hospital.

Because she asked him to let her live.

Because he loved her too much not to.

Some nights she was strong enough to mock him, to tease him about his cooking, his Vicodin stash, his permanent scowl. Other nights, she cried in his arms, scared and furious and small in a way she never let anyone else see.

He held her through it all.

And every day, House hated the universe a little more.

Hated how something so brilliant, so bright, could be snuffed out by something as stupid as rogue cells multiplying in her brain.

One evening, she sat on the battered old sofa, a woollen blanket draped over her lap, sipping hot chocolate. Her hair was thinner now, her skin papery, but her smile—God, her smile—still stopped his heart.

“Greg,” she said suddenly, serious.

He looked up from his medical journal.

“When I go,” she said, “I want you to do something.”

He closed the journal slowly. “If this involves taxidermy, I’m out.”

She laughed weakly. “No. I want you to be happy.”

House stared at her.

“You’re allowed,” she whispered. “After. You’re allowed to love again. To be alive.”

House’s mouth twisted. “There’s no after.”

She leaned forward, touching his knee. “Promise me.”

“I don’t make promises.”

She just smiled.

And somehow, House knew he would spend the rest of his life trying to keep that one.

A/N: I don't know if I'm an angel anymore😭😭I'm sorry guys I just had this idea but I'll do some fluff maybe tomorrow....

Hope you guys like it!💗

#fanfic #oneshots #reader insert #imagines #romance #greg house x reader #gregory house x reader #dr. house #house md #gregory house #james wilson #greg house x you #gregory house x you #writing #angst

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frozenartscapes · 14 hours ago

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The new Spy x Family chapter is still working in favour of my Shopkeeper headcanons. I always figured he had a soft spot for Yor, and on the surface their relationship seems about the same as it always has. However, I'm focusing on the code names. The two other new assassins are Hemlock and Gympie (both of which are dangerous plants - very subtle). They just have the one name they go by, but Yor's is a two parter: Thorn Princess. She could just be Thorn, which would fit the theme. But the added "Princess" part softens the name (not in a bad way, mind you - but rather than draw to mind a prickly thorn bush the "Princess" part makes one think of roses).

My theory is this: Shopkeeper is shown to have interest in the Imperial history of the area, right? So he's already influenced by ideas of royalty and holds that bygone era in high regard. When meets little, desperate child Yor and is trying to come up with a codename for her, he realizes he can't give this painfully innocent kid a harsh assassin name. So he adds "Princess" after "Thorn". Maybe once she becomes hardened and emotionless like the rest of them, he'll drop the "Princess" title. But she never does - she stays positive and warm and kind (just like a Princess from fairytales) and he just can't train it out of her. Her kindness never actually interferes with her work, so he leaves it.

And as a result, in his Garden full of poisonous and stinging plants, he's got one bright red rose.

(Side note about the other code names: Gympie Gympie bushes are some of the world's most venomous plants and hurt like a bitch to touch. Like, nettles on steroids. They cause severe, long-lasting pain if just lightly brushed against, which could imply that Gympie may have slightly different doctrine on allowing victims to suffer than Yor. Hemlock, on the other hand is incredibly toxic from roots to seeds and is known to grow in a variety of different environments. It doesn't hurt you to touch it, but it will kill you if you ingest it. Hemlock is famous for killing Socrates (as it was a method of execution used by ancient Greece). Hemlock - the agent - seems to be what Yor should be: a cold, calculating assassin with very little value for any life, regardless of how beneficial they may be. The choice of code name could suggest their complete lack of mercy (and - possibly - an anti-intellectualism viewpoint related back to the whole Socrates thing. They didn't understand the point of a ladybug in a garden, of all things. I know not everyone knows about ladybugs but with a boss who is obsessed with gardening you would think the agents would at least be aware).

#so much to unpack here #spy x family #spy x family spoilers #headcanons #this manga is nothing BUT symbolism so of course i'm going to analyze these new characters

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crimsonfireboltart · 11 hours ago

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CONTEXT ٩( ᐛ )و: this is going to be long brace yourselves.

Right now, currently, I'm pretty much into Lady Dimitrescu haha. I KNOW she's pretty much ooc in my drawings with my self insert character. I know she's this ruthless blood drinking vampire and all that. I just thought maybe she's a gentle giant to people she loves (her daughters). So why not draw my self insert and her together hihi.

I've always leaned onto fictional characters. My crushes were fictional characters. IRL crushes were rare. But when I do have them they were...intense. I've only have 2 crushes that I "loved" both of them were my friends. and both times I have confessed to them even though I know they don't like me that way. Rejected by both. IT ISN'T THEIR FAULT of course. I think it's mine? idk.

I appreciate that both didn't ignore me or something. They were good to me. Which made me like them more. It's frustrating. It hurts. But I've long since moved on from them.

I've also...never had any romantic partner/s. People tell me, "oh you'll find them someday" thank you for the advice but to be realistic, how? I'm a fucking introvert. I hate facing people/ strangers. I'm ugly AND overweight. "then do something about it" sure. maybe when i have some energy with me (i dont)

I drew up this comic because I saw one of these said former crush's story post. I got deeply disappointed at them recently. I got triggered and then spiraled down in despair again.

"what did I do wrong" (on why they don't seem want to connect again even after a mutual friend died)

"im so ugly i dont deserve to live" (self esteem who)

*unaliving thoughts surfacing*

"no one likes me" (romantically)

No one likes me. Well, I know my friends like me too. There was a time when I was trying to act cool and telling people "I don't need a romantic partner haha" But deep inside I keep asking: "how does it feel to have your someone" "how does it feel to be liked back?" "how does it feel to be loved (romantically)?"

Then a days later, I got with an argument with my mother. Admittedly, maybe my wording of the question I asked didn't sound too nice, but it was a genuine question. She got mad, and later talked to herself audibly, "This is why no one likes you!" (Kaya walang nagkakagusto sayo eh!) Of course I fucking heard that, and said "bitch!!" and ran off to my room. (see i'm not very nice. im evil. im not a good daughter or anything.)

My mother's generally nice, but she's a massive asshole. Thanks mom, I didn't want to be born. I wish that umbilical cord just choked me!

And of course, I got triggered again (still havent recovered from the earlier one.) got me deep in despair again.

So yah, no one likes me. But maybe Lady Dimitrescu will! ...she's not real.

sorry it's long.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil #resident evil 8 #lady dimitrescu x you #lady dimitrescu x reader #re8 lady dimitrescu

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happyfoxx-art · 2 days ago

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YOURE SPOILED? NO. ME. IM SPOILED. IM SPOILED ROTTEN. YOU!!!! Y OU!!!!!!!!!

im stuffing every thing you draw me into my pockets and keeping them like treasures. im living.

look at Manic. look at how stupid he is.

Farrell had been certain that after 17 years of being a parent, nothing could best him. He'd seen it all. He'd been barfed on too many times to count. He'd helped his kid pierce his ears with safety pins and a candle. He'd learned how to navigate hedgehog quills and help his kid style them how he liked.

Yes, he'd even dealt with quilling. It happened every few months, but it was just a little annoying. It wasn't a big deal.

It wasn't Manic appearing at his bedside at 6 AM with a fistful of quills and genuine fear on his face. Farrell stared blearily at his teenager, his teenager who was practically nocturnal and the clock that was blinking the cursed hour. "Wh... whassat?"

"I told you, my quills are falling out." Manic repeated.

Farrell yawned, dropping his head back on his pillow. "Quilling, kid. We've been over this plenty of times--"

"No, like. All of them, Dad," Manic interrupted, dropping the handful of green spikes he was holding on the bedside table and raking his fingers through his quills. Alarmingly, yes, he came away with a brand new clump of quills in each hand and the look in his eyes got wilder.

The stress was beginning to radiate off of Manic, and Farrell knew it wouldn't be long before his kid gave himself and him a stomach ache. So he groaned and started to sit up, rubbing his chin. "Alright, yeah, that's... weird," he admitted, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and getting up. "Let me call your doctor."

Manic nodded earnestly, following on Farrell's heels as he shuffled across the room and grabbed the phone that was good for calling Margo. He more felt than saw Manic hovering in his shadow as he dialed her up, praying she was already awake and that he wasn't disturbing the weasel at this hour.

She answered after the second ring and didn't immediately threaten Farrell, so she must have already been awake. "What's going on?"

Farrell heaved a sigh. "Manic's dropping like, an obscene amount of quills," he began. "Is that... alright? He's okay?"

There was a long pause. Then Margo started cackling. "Awwww! Baby green bean's all grown up!" she sang, and he could hear her moving around in whatever room she was in. "Hey hold still, I'm not done with those stitches-- That's normal, you dummies. Next time you grab a kid off the street, do us all a favor and read a book on the species, yeah?"

Farrell pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, normal?? Care to elaborate?"

"He's just quilling," Margo said. "It's the big drop, though. He'll lose 'em all over the next few days and grow in his adult set. Perfectly normal hedgehog thing. Maybe pick up some oatmeal bath, some benedryl. He's gonna be miserable."

"What?"

"Whatever experience you've had with quilling before, multiply it," Margo said. "Buckle up, big daddy, it's practically your last big parenting thing. If you want it to be. Anyways, I gotta go, I got a guy bleeding all over my table."

Farrell didn't get the chance to ask anything more before she hung up. He lowered the phone and turned to his cranky, mildly feral looking child, who was lurking behind him and scratching at his scalp with his claws. This resulted in a gentle shower of quills dropping to the carpet.

Farrell swallowed. "So that's normal," he began. "And uh... they're all gonna fall off before you get your new ones in."

Manic froze, his magenta eyes going wide. Slowly, his gaze moved up to meet Farrell's eyes.

"What?"

“Don't let him bite your head off, alright? He got me when I made him take a bath..” Farrell warned, knocking on the door.

“Farrell told me you bit him the first time he made you take a bath,” she (Amy) said flatly. Manic's face reddened guiltily. “He's dramatic,” he said immediately,

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64811068/chapters/166556407

________________________

IIIIIIIII am SPOILED ROTTEN and Happ gave me a wip of her first chapter a bit ago, and we ended up chatting about how much of a disaster menace quilling Manic would be. These were drawn awhile ago, I am not that fast, I was just waiting for her to post the chapter because I refuse to spoil o^o

(If you're wondering what quilling is, check here)

Poor boy is an uncomfy emotional wreck, but his dad is a champ

#kiss kiss have a gift #get rekt #manic the hedgehog #farrell the scarab #sonic underground #underground reunion tour #anyways i love these drawings #I love these morons #i lOVE!!! MANICS FERAL LITTLE FACE #oh the joys of parenting #save them both tbh

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yyaktayak · 1 day ago

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Heart& Soul -2🥢

tags ! : 🏷️ @uceyliyahh @charmed-dreamssss @amandairene88 @duhitzkay380 @prettypink-princesss @bluestrawberrypatch @mjonthetrack @christinabae @transparentphantomface 🏷️lmk if you’d like to be tagged ! I’ll add u!!🏷️.

Giannis's POV

The stream ended with a bang. Her viewers were hyped, and the comment section was filled with heart-eye emojis, shipping her and Jimmy like crazy. But now that the screen was dark, and she was left in the quiet of her bedroom, a strange feeling lingered in the air—like something had shifted. It wasn't just the usual flirty back-and-forth with a guest. No, there was something different about the way Jimmy had looked at her, the way his words had landed just right, pulling at something deeper.

She sat back in her chair, checking her phone to see the flood of notifications from her followers, but there was one message that stood out—an unread text from a number she didn't recognize.

| Unknown

| Yo, Giannis. It's Jimmy. Had a blast tonight. You keep it 100, and I gotta admit, I'm impressed. Hope we can keep this going outside of the stream. Hit me up if you're down.

Giannis stared at the message for a few moments, biting her lip. It was casual, but there was something in the words, something in the way he didn't push her but still made it clear he wanted to talk more. Keep this going outside of the stream—the way he phrased it felt different from just a regular collab.

| Giannis🤍

| For sure. Had fun too. But I warn you, I'm a lot more than just a stream personality. Hope you're ready for the real Giannis.

She didn't wait long before his reply came in.

| Jimmy💙

| Trust me, I'm built for it. But, real talk—after tonight, I'm starting to think I might need a little more than a stream to keep up with you.

Giannis felt a little thrill shoot through her at the casual but confident tone of his message. She smirked, knowing exactly how to respond.

| Giannis🤍

| Is that a challenge, honey?

The phone buzzed almost immediately.

| Jimmy💙|

I wouldn't say it's a challenge ma. More like a warning. you'll figure that out soon enough.

She laughed softly to herself, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. This wasn't just playful banter anymore—it was like the walls between them had lowered, leaving room for something a little more personal. She wasn't sure if it was the flirtation, or if it was something deeper—something in the way he spoke to her. It felt real, not forced. And that was rare for her. She wasn't used to people being so direct with her, so sure of themselves, but Jimmy's confidence didn't come off as cocky. It was... just him being himself.

| Giannis🤍

| You really think you're ready for this side of me? You'll be surprised.

Her phone pinged with his reply, and she felt her pulse pick up just a little.

Jimmy💙

I like surprises. Especially when I know I'm gonna be the one to pull them off. Trust, I'll keep up. You don't have to worry about me.

Giannis smiled, her heart racing for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on. There was something about his words, something about the way he didn't back down. He was drawing her in, piece by piece.

| Giannis🤍

| We'll see about that,"* she texted back. *"But I gotta ask... why the sudden interest in me? You've got your fans, your world... why take the time to talk to me?

She wasn't expecting an immediate response, but his reply came almost instantly.

| Jimmy💙

| Because you're different. You don't need to try hard. And honestly, I've been following your stuff for a while. I like how you move. You're real. People like that, especially in my world. Trust me, I know fake when I see it.

The words hit her like a wave, and for a moment, she found herself staring at the screen. *I know fake when I see it*—she appreciated that. It was hard to find genuine people, especially in the kind of industry she was in. But Jimmy's words felt like a validation. Not just about who she was online, but who she was beneath the surface.

| Giannis🤍

| You really think that? I mean, you don't know me like that yet.

His response was quick, and this time, his tone seemed a little softer.

| Jimmy💙

| I don't need to know everything to see what's real. You ain't putting on no show, Giannis. I can tell. And if you ever let someone close enough to see the real you, I think they'd be lucky to have that.

She felt a warm rush through her chest, her fingers typing quickly before she could stop herself.

| Giannis🤍

| Well, if you want to see the real me, you're gonna have to work for it.

Jimmy's response came with that familiar confidence, but this time it was laced with something else—something almost like sincerity.

| Jimmy💙

| I've never been one to shy away from putting in the work. You'll see. I'm not going anywhere.

Giannis couldn't help but smile at that. It was simple, but it felt like he was making a promise. And for some reason, she believed it. She had always kept her guard up, not letting anyone too close, especially guys who only saw her for the online persona she built. But Jimmy was different. He wasn't pushing, he wasn't trying too hard. He was just... there.

| Giannis🤍

|!Alright then. Guess we'll see what happens.

A few moments passed before he replied, and this time, his words hit a little harder.

| Jimmy💙

| Giannis, remember this: you don't have to be perfect. Just be real with me. That's all I need.

Her heart thudded against her chest. There was something so raw, so disarming in his message, that for a moment, she didn't know how to respond. It was the kind of honesty she wasn't used to receiving—especially not from someone she barely knew.

| Giannis🤍

I can do that

| Just don’t be surprised when you realize I’m not what you expected

The reply came in quick again, but there was something different in the way he phrased it. Like he was offering a challenge of his own.

|Jimmy💙

| I'm not looking for perfection, Giannis. I'm looking for you. And I've got a feeling you're exactly what I need right now. So don't worry about me being surprised.

The words lingered in her mind long after she set the phone down. For the first time in a while, she felt something deeper than just the thrill of flirting, of playful back-and-forth. It was like Jimmy saw her—*really* saw her—and she wasn't sure if she was ready for that. But somehow, she wasn't scared.

She didn't need to be perfect. She just needed to be herself.

And with Jimmy, she might just be able to do that.

---

Jimmy's POV

The night after the stream, Jimmy couldn't get Giannis off his mind. It wasn't just the way she looked on camera, the way she made every word sound like a challenge. It wasn't even the way she flirted with him, letting him think he had a shot. No, it was the honesty behind her eyes, the way she didn't play the game most people did.

And that was what had him hooked.

He didn't need her to be perfect. Hell, no one in his world was perfect. But with Giannis, he felt like he could be real—just *real* with her. That wasn't something he got often. And the more they texted, the more he realized he wasn't just looking for some casual thing. He was looking for something deeper.

He sat on his couch, staring at his phone. He'd been debating for a while, but finally, he typed out the message that felt right.

"Giannis, remember this: you don't have to be perfect. Just be real with me. That's all I need."

It wasn't just about her. It was about him too. He wasn't looking for someone to impress. He was just looking for someone to connect with. Someone who could understand what it was like to keep their guard up, to live in a world where everyone wore a mask.

And for the first time, Jimmy felt like he found someone who could see beyond his.

He sent the message and leaned back, waiting for her reply. Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure: Giannis was worth the wait.

Heart&Soul

A/N: aye how y’all feel

#wwe #yeet #black oc #black female oc #jimmy uso #wwelove #wweromance #black fanfiction #black reader

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sananaryon · 2 days ago

Text

The Journal of Luz Clawthorne Noceda, documenting the Frogvasion of the Boiling Isles.

I.e. I finally got around to making some art of my own for my edgy owlphibia au, specifically as told from Luz's very flawed and unreliable point of view. Feel free to ask me about details of the AU because I love talking!

Text and image description under the cut.

Image description: Four pictures of illustrated journal pages, each with one or two illustrations done in watercolour and ink.

The first page has watercolour and ink drawing of the Titan's skull from The Owl House, with the sky, clouds, and the moon in the background. The archive house, resembling a crown, is hanging aroudn the right side of the skull with a piece broken off. Above the skull, the castle from Amphibia is floating surrounded by smaller shapes too small to make out. Parts of the skull and land around it is smoking. On the right side of the page is a symbol resembling a frog's foot done in bronze ink, with the label "Empire's sigil?"

Text:

3 N.E.

36. abruary.

1 month after Frogvasion

Journal of Luz Clawthorne Noceda. It's been one month since the start of frogvasion (Bailey says that's a stupid name but she got her name from an old science-fiction book so she doesn't get a vote,) and I am writing this in our new resistance HQ (Hooty play Empire Strikes Back) at King's island.

I have decided to write this record of events [text is struck out]because auntie Lilith forced me [struck out text ends, next sentence is written in cursive] for the sake of future historians and to give the view of someone living through historical events. [cursive ends]

So, to recap: One month ago on the 3-year anniversary of Belos getting his ass kicked for good, a giant floating castle with an army of frog-shaped robots and warships popped out of thin air (or from a giant rainbow portal). Then a lady in a dress showed up in the middle of the party and gave an alien invasion speech about us joining the Empire of Calamity [frog foot symbol is drawn here]. So Raine (Lord High Prince) (that's witch prime minister) went to talk to her but then she did some mind control shit and we got them the heck out of there.

And now an army of frog robots (Frobots) are conquering the isles led by some crazy powerful fire god!!! I should probably explain her, huh?

Signed: Luz C. Noceda & Lilith Clawthorne.

[text ends]

The second page has a watercolour painting done entirely in blue and white, depicting a woman in silhouette with glowing white eyes. She has an afro and is wearing a dress and making a pose with one hand to her chest and one out to the side, and there is a halo above her head. Next to her is text saying "Looks human. Probably isn't."

Further down on the page is watercolour and ink drawing depicting an indistinct red figure kneeling to the blue figure from before, this time with her skin and hair coloured brown. Next to the red figure is the text "WTF?" with an arrow pointing to the figure, and next to the blue lady is text saying "Blue all over" "Glowy eyes" and "She's not that pretty."

Text:

The Blue Princess

(We don't know her name)

The first of the Empire of Calamity Leaders (???) who appeared.

She just appeared in the middle of the victory/anniversary feast and demanded we surrendered to her Emperor (we've had enough of that here, thank you). Lord Prince raine stepped up to talk to her, but it took like 5 seconds before they were kneeling. Sorry lady, we know what mind control looks like and we're not falling for it. [the "for it" is slightly smudged] woops.

Weirdly, Raine says they never felt a compulsion to kneel, and that it was more like the first time they met Belos - that this person is important and should be bowed to. I don't get how that's different but they say they also remember thinking she was the most beautiful person they've seen, so maybe it's a charm? Raine has snapped out of it, so it doesn't last long.

The princess hasn't appeared since then so she might not be a fighter, but Lilith is making potions of anti charm with B's moms, just in case.

signed: Luz C. Noceda.

Powers: Mind control

Weaknesses: Not a figher (???)

suspected

[text ends]

The third page has a watercolour painting of a dark silhouette with one arm raised surrounded by red flames. Above their head is an orb of white made up of lines curling in on themselves.

Next to the main painting is a watercolour and ink drawing of three figures. One is an indistinct man in purple with a topknot and cape, one is an indistinct green lady with palm-like hair, and one is the same figure from before. The former two are shooting abomination goop and vines towards the latter.

Text:

The Red General

(no name either)

The leader of the Empire's army. Since the start of Frogvasion, they've been leading that army of frogbots from city to city, ordering surrender and burning and pillaging when not met with compliance. They always wear that armor, so no idea what they look like. We just call them the Red General.

(Boscha wants me to write that she calls them "that red psycho." I said that's not very nice to people with psychosis and she said "eat my ass" so I said maybe later.)

They showed up first when we were evacuating the Council House (former Archive House) cuz a floating castle had started floating above it. And when I say "showed up" I mean cracked an entire wing while burning like a meteor.

Darius and Terra (she got out on probation) tried to hold them of while we evacuated, but...

I know plants can burn, I never thought I'd see abomination goop boil.

Darius is at the other base, recovering, but [text struck out and indistinct] He'll be fine. Bailey is just worried.

Red hasn't done anything like that again, but we'll be careful

Signed: Luz C. Noceda & Boscha

Boscha stop stop messing up the ink

-L

Make me

-B

I'm telling Lilith

-L

[text ends]

The fourth page is taken up by a watercolour painting depicting a pair of orange and yellow eyes with white pupils surrounded by darkness.

Text

The Emperor

Emperor of Numberless Worlds

The princess mentioned them. We know nothing

Boscha made dark chokelate and spilled all over this page.

-L

[text ends]

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lrayasostripes · 10 days ago

Text

Rayas at the RTV Tour, 2

Second week of the Puzzlevision Tour, hosted by @rtv-puzzlevision-studios

Note 1: Once again, writing this in first person. Had a lot of fun with it

Note 2: I did mentioned that my main Oc is in the spectrum. But as the Tour goes, she might slowly try to interact a little bit. Especially when either trying to make social interaction, or asking if anyone saw her missing drawing. And a little lore drop on her.

Note 3: Interactions to the inserts are all Bg and not always direct for bigger actions, and as to not break the rules. But now, interacting with the RTV AU characters and sonas happens.

Final Note: Same as last post. Rayas is a participant, and not the same for a future RTV version.

Story

"THANK YOU ALL FOR VOTING! LOOKS LIKE WE WILL GO TO THE ART DEPARTMENT FIRST!" Said Puzzles, the host of the Puzzlevision Tour, after the final vote is set.

After climbing the stairs (of Doom), so far, I'm glad no one tripped on it (I saw someone change to a dragon and skipped the stairs, wow! But is that allowed?) (Marie by @fenicearts420); but for some reason, why did I felt nervous anyways (?). It's not like someone tries to trip me, or someone is glaring at me from atop the staircase. Yet, I still cling to my umbrella that I brought; again, it makes me feel safe.

But alas, I think the whole tour won't be so eventful for the bad; though, some of the participants got a little keen such as how to address Puzzles. As Mr Puzzles... or RTV (Reality TV? well, I know that) said the host, but "Mr Puzzles" is okay (preferably).

(Well, I will out of politeness. I said before, this place/world is different, with its own rules. My Visitor arm band I subconsciously made is for a reason)

Now, walking through the halls of the second floor studio, Mr Puzzles explains that the Social Media Department is connected and just below the Art Department, Block B; and those two that close are just right. So far, all is fine; and hope everyone or some try to be polite. And still, I'm looking for the drawing that went up the second floor somewhere where the whole group is heading. For a moment, I thought I saw something thin go into a vent from above the ceiling; hope it's the drawing. But if it is... where did it go? Never mind, must stick to the tour.

Hm... wonder if I can try to make small talk while walking to the Art Department with the group. I can try to practice in case... I have to speak to Mr Puzzles if he addresses me first. I saw some participants who are TV Heads and slightly look like Mr Puzzles, or close (I've always been curious about them). I could start with the one with a Kuromi cap and purple teeth (Crystal by @kuromipuzzles2000), since she's the one nearest to me after climbing up the stairs in the back.

(Crystal, and Loyboo)

I subtly got a little close to her. I looked at her for a bit and didn't took long for her to notice... I slightly smiled with my second mouth (one to pronounce my emotions much more) as a silent Hello along with a small wave of my hand... Why is she giving me a straight frown...? Did I do something wrong? Did I interrupted something? Maybe- Oh, she slightly smiled back, albeit faintly with a raised eyebrow. Okay, she looks forward; I follow. I don't think it went bad, just neutral. Nothing verbal, but at least, I'm trying. Huh? It looks like someone also wanted to talk to her, the same ghost-like person (Loyboo by @alelathedragon) who loudly boasted to see the Art Department (I won't blame him for being too happy. Plus, for my ears getting hurt, all forgiven). But he seems to be hesitant before changing his mind. Hm... I'm... considering if to at least, make brief contact since he appears too shy; I don't want to overwhelm anyone. (Wonder if there's a unique way to interact with him, after seeing his Boo tie)

Anyways...

During the rest of the tour, I hope to gain enough courage ask for help from the three guards if they could look for my lost drawing. But um... I feel like it won't be easy. Swag seems to be a little too rude after his interaction with two participants (sorry). Chris seems like it, but it looks like he seemed a little stressed with Swag's antics; guess I rather not give him trouble with finding my lost drawing. Hm... Lucian, the third security guard who ushered me and a few others being the last ones, who knows. I hope that while I'm looking around, he could get the hint; but then again, what if... oh. Up ahead, we are close. I navigate very slowly into the crowd without interrupting anyone, and avoiding some that give me vibes they would immediately not like me for the smallest thing, but I think it's just my anxiety making me think things that have not happened yet. I have to admit, some of them scare me (sorry).

(If you look at my broken left side of my face, I'm doing my best not to think about it getting bigger, or a new one to show up. All I can say, it will never heal as it isn't a physical one)

I keep on to my umbrella.

Alright. Finally arriving to the Art Department.

Mr Puzzles stands and everyone stops as the main doors to the Art Department is. And then, a peculiar floating woman with a color picker for a head (and a paintbrush tail, that's interesting) appears past the door. She greets all of us, very excited in her tone. I even notice the color on her head and fingers change color based on her current mood.

“Colores, head of our Art department and funny enough the younger SISTER of Lucian over there.” said Mr Puzzles to everyone, introducing the head of the Art Department.

Colores, as in Colors; that's a nice name. (Hello Colores) (My name, Rayas, means Stripes in Spanish, I love stripes). And she's Lucian's sister, interesting. I couldn't help, or if anyone else did, look back and see Lucian wave at his sister... She didn't waved back. I wonder what is the reason for sibling rivarly or squabble going with them, but I'm not part of their story to learn more (I'm just a visitor); and not even thinking of leaving what I call, an Imprint. Direct or Indirect, I won't get into it.

“Well, as Mr. Puzzles has already told you, I’m in charge of this department. Ah- you know what? Just come into one of the studios!”

Colores lets everyone else into one of the offices of the Art Department. Many rows of seats, pin boards and screens on each row. This room is VERY big, big enough for at least... no more than 35 or so. There's posters around, sketches, concept art, and ideas of many sorts. I noticed that most, are for stuffed toy concepts. Why do I feel, we will all get a free plushie today? But alas, this place is nice. So... what else the Art Department can produce? (I wonder if blankets and tote bags are also made here, the concept for making them that is. If a tote bag, maybe I could use it to carry anything the tour offers for free)

Hm, while everyone is settling, I was just about to start make small interactions when Colores spoke again.

“The Art Department is responsible for all the designs you see around the studio from merchandise to websites, although the latter with the help of the Social Media Department! In general we always work closely together with other departments. For example also with the Film Department when it comes to ads!”

Not just the Social Media Department, even the Film Department works with the Art Department? Huh, well, that's a good strategy, even if have no experience with advanced marketing (only from what I heard).

“Among other things we also take care of the fanmail.” added Colores.

Um... what? Oh, right, Mr Puzzles here is very popular, so he has so many fans. But.... why is the topic of fanmail coming from? (and what does have to do with the Art Department?)

I noticed Mr Puzzles jump, and turn away from the window, as if the topic wasn't necessary to be mentioned- Oh!

The timing! (calm down Rayas) The nearest air vent that's just above and closest to the window, my drawing just flew out of it, and very quietly (how is it flying without sound?). It sticked to just behind Mr Puzzles, on the window as soon as he looked away (phew). Again, I cannot interrupt (the fanmail convo) since it'll be very rude of me; I don't want to rub people the wrong way, especially Mr Puzzles (from this world). Just, has anyone noticed it? Hopefully not. I don't want to hear someone indicating the drawing on the window, and give away it was mine (again, it has my watermark, and no way to deny the ownership). Sigh... I'll worry later.

At the moment, the convo changed to the story of someone, a fan, breaking in the studio to... propose to Mr Puzzles? (and with a ring?). While at the same time, glance back to the drawing in brief moments to not show my anxiety, and making sure it has not moved. But also couldn't help look that Mr Puzzles' smile was straining as the topic went, but still covering it by chuckling; I cannot imagine what is like to have many fans, going to lengths to see their idol, and someone reminding him of the incident. (In my mind, I want to be honest. In Colores' place, I would not mention any further if it makes Mr Puzzles uncomfortable)

I also am aware, what I imagine the rest of the tour participants are feeling right now as the topic went. But I rather not look around to see. I can hear them alright.

“Security was raised after THAT incident, mind you.” Mr Puzzles cleared his throat.

Well, that's a good thing.

Hold on... if security was raised, and while not looking around the ceiling, wonder if the cameras caught sight of my lost drawing flying around.

“These are filled with mail from Valentine’s day. We still have to go through the majority of them, but you won’t believe how much of those are fanfic-”

(I think that's enou-)

"AAAAAAAnyway-"

Mr Puzzles loudly interrupts (ouch my ears) and quickly jumps in front of Colores before she could say more about the Valentines' cards he received (and the fanfics). This sudden action makes enough for my drawing to fly above the window, and up to and around the ceiling... and somehow not landing (is it, taunting me?) on the ground or into the crowd, but onto a hanging lamp. (please don't move from there)

I wonder, wouldn't it be by sheer timing, the drawing passed by the cameras? And whoever saw it would compare the watermark to my head? But.... who knows.

Colores seems to get back to topic at the moment. I see there's a table with what look like.... stuffed toys?

“Ah, of course! My bad, I got sidetracked… Well, I mentioned before that our department is responsible for the merch designs, so I thought: Hey, why not give something to you guys? Let’s see…we have plushies of all the cast members and Mr. Puzzles, of course!

Oh, so I was right about the possibility of everyone getting a free stuffed toy. Sweet! Hah! The same ghost-like person is super happy to receive one (look at his tail go!) Looking at the plushies, they all look cute. To be honest, I find all stuffed toys cute (and comforting); cute enough that I would want to make a sort of playroom with many plushies I can fill it with. (Sometimes, it makes me feel like a kid again. But sadly, we don't live forever; only the memories)

...Huh, no Mario plushies? Oh, right... I prefer not to ask (how could he not known...? But again, I'm just a visitor; and this place/world is different)

I got slightly startled when Mr Puzzles tossed two plushies (Saiko and Bob) to some of the tour participants, one was close to me who grabbed the Bob plushie. Apparently, the Bob and Saiko plushies are limited, since the actual Bob and Saiko are no longer part of the crew. What happened? I don't know. Does anyone? Where their attitudes too much? (hope they are still out there doing fine)

Before bringing my attention back to the table of stuffed toys, I looked up where my lost drawing is sitting. It almost looks like is about to... to...! The drawing falls to one of the cubicles...

Rayas, it's okay I told myself. No one will notice it (if anyways). Relax. Remember the Tour rules, no wondering off. You'll eventually get the drawing back. You have not crossed the bridge... yet

Attention back to the table of plushies ranging from Mr Puzzles, SMG3, Tari, Meggy, Boopkins, and the limited Saiko and Bob plushies.

“So PLEASE, take one of your liking. Max is two.” Indicated Mr Puzzles as he moves away.

Well, guess I could get myself busy with receiving a free stuffed toy. Two per person. Well, looking that I'm holding my umbrella, I'm doubting if I'll receive two plushies max; my hands might be too busy. Looking that Colores is randomly giving them (is there or no choice to which plushies everyone gets?), I sort of though I saw from the corner of my eye, someone break from the group? (It's actually Astro by @the-masked-astro)Did they saw my drawing and went to look for it? If yes, then guess they'll bring it back to me. With my watermark of my head and name, it shouldn't be hard to know who owns it.

As I'm getting close to the table of plushies, I'm starting to think that maybe... I can ask Colores if she can allow me to get my drawing. But then I went against it, because after making things awkward with Mr Puzzles out loud, I feel like I don't trust telling her. What if she sees it and loudly praises it, and it gets Mr Puzzles' attention? Whether Mr Puzzles likes it or not (mostly), I don't think I'll want to have all attention on me (I cannot have that. Too many eyes). Not that I'm scared of Mr Puzzles rejecting it, and maybe toss it in the trash/tear in half, it's how I'll take it and have me to destroy it; anything I make from where I'm from and where it is made from, only I can unmake/destroy it.

(Note, this is the first time I meet a different Mr Puzzles. And... especially, too early to meet this special one. Maybe I should have abandoned the drawing...)

But... these are just thoughts of anxiety. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. It hasn't happened yet.

Now close enough, I focus back on the plushies. There's still more left, and deciding whether I just want one; considering I have my umbrella, one is enough. I wouldn't mind much which one, I'm between Tari and Mr Puzzles (from here). The former, because blue is my favorite color, and close to the color of my split hair; and because like her, I'm also shy, but I'm a slow-to-warmup. Mr Puzzles' plushie, a unique one; and it has the colorful cape-like coat. Hm... I could receive the latter as another thing to make me feel less nervous when around Mr Puzzles. (Or maybe, imagine if I get the fun idea that if by lucky chance, find other unique Puzzles Plushies from different places? And set them, like... a collection?)

I'm now very close to Colores now. What plushie do I get?...

Not the now rare Saiko (luck for the ghost participant) and Bob, or Tari,... but Mr Puzzles. (Guess I might start the Puzzles Plush quest, LOL). I smiled politely to Colores. And as I turn around to walk a couple of steps...

"Why, I like the creativity on the vest you put on." Colores complimented at me. "Especially the bow on the back. Oh and your blue puzzle piece tie clip."

I turn around and smile lightly.

'Thanks,' I thanked her.

(Colores by @4thwallbreakerdraws2)

I... I couldn't believe one of the heads of Puzzlevision Studios would talk to me; a compliment. Well, the uniform isn't the official uniform, but I crafted it as best as I could to follow the standards (and I hope I left the receipt back home). Besides, I saw some add their tastes to it, so I was right to add the stripes on the back, right shirt cuff and the mismatched striped socks (I love stripes). I... I almost forgot about my lost drawing there. Maybe things will go... fine?

"I cannot help but, notice, you seemed, worried?" asked Colores as she slowly keeps giving out plushies with her tail while facing me. (didn't know she could multitask as well) "Is everything okay?"

Was it very obvious? Or maybe she has a strong sense of empathy? Or maybe she noticed the meaning behind the blue puzzle piece tie clip? Sigh, guess I'll be honest with the issue of my lost drawing, but I'll be vague; and not point where the drawing is. I knew to always say the truth, but if anything else, prepare another truth for later.

Slightly fiddling with my new Mr Puzzles plushie and then my blue puzzle piece tie clip... As there's very few participants. And even though Colores doesn't have an actual face, I still get nervous when trying eye contact; a weakness I'm trying when meeting new people.

'Well, I... brought something (half true) that I made, ...but I lost it (half true). And I've been trying to see if I can find it... and... I'm too nervous to ask for someone if they seen it (still true), and to give it back if they find it. It has my watermark of my face in a corner... (true) I... I'm sorry, I didn't want to bother...'

I sigh in defeat as if sounding I'm giving up. I feel an hand on my shoulder. It was Colores, see appears to want to reassure me.

"Oh I see... Is it a drawing?"

I nod. I have to be honest.

"No worries, I'm sure what you lost will turn up. If anything, I'll try. For now, enjoy the tour." Her head and fingers change color to a pastel tone to it, what I assume was a calming and reassuring tone. And a pat on my back.

Walking to join the rest, this helped me calm down, as she hands out the plushies to the last people (some didn't get one, or some weren't interested). And... I'm considering if I should have told her that my drawing is just... Wait, I glanced just a little to the back before my focus was back on what next of the tour, Mr Puzzles and the same wandering participant (wearing blue and orange; complimentary colors) (and also in the drawing) were coming back... And the participant, doesn't seem to have noticed my drawing, nor have it as they came to join back the group empty-handed. (... crap. Pardon the expression)

Sigh... what now? (so much to have my hopes partially up)

While Mr Puzzles and Colores chatted a little away from the group, I'm mentally debating whether to go and recover my drawing. But... the rules are the rules. (I cannot be the second person to break away) Well, the least I can do before everyone settles, I can try to meet a few new faces then. While the TV head with the purple teeth and Kuromi cap was the first to interact, and even when she was polite enough to greet me her way, her straight frown... I sort of felt discouraged to speak to her again (unless her frown was just an act, maybe I can try again). There's still the other TV heads, but... I don't know; I'm still curious though. Looking around... There's a robot rabbit (Bunnybot by @selfshippinglover), but he appears to already be socializing with his own group (characters by @scimagic and @michaelscorneroftheinternet), a fish and human mix, and another person with glasses and Puzzlevision logo on their left lens; so no. How about... the ghost-like person with their limited Saiko plushie?

He seem very shy for some reason, like, he wanted to ask questions like he stated during his boast; or maybe they want to talk to someone. But he's hesitating. He's clinging to his notebook, writing stuff down. Hm... Okay, I can do this. Just a brief interaction. Um... hold on... I... I think I saw Mr Puzzles ending the convo from far away. But I thought I was very sure there was enough time to talk approach him. Sigh...

"Well, then...Since last time worked so well, how about I let you choose the next department AGAIN? (has his voice been loud before?)

Mr Puzzles has announced to start another vote. Everyone huddles over towards Mr Puzzles. Well, seeing that my drawing is still where it is, I think it's time for me to-

"...and don’t think about SNATCHING something that belongs to the studio, as great as some of the artist tools and merch look. Camera sees ALL and that jazz.~” Mr Puzzles added. And points to the cameras.

Well, I don't think anyone would (be bold) steal property from the studio. That's why security is there everywhere.

Wait... Oh, Oh no. I can't get my drawing! If I stray to do so, the cameras will see, and everyone would assume I stole something! I... I can't... Ugh, how unfortunate. Watermarked or not, I can't risk it.

While looking at the voting area, where everyone is gathering to cast, I pray a vote to the closest department if my drawing flies into a vent and goes there... (I voted after 5 participants did theirs)

Actually... while everyones wait for the results, I think I can do a last, very brief interaction with the ghost participant after voting after me.

I slowly approach him, but not too close as not to make him nervous. Hope he notice- oh okay, he is; and he's nervous, and confused. Now, after seeing his Boo tie earlier before reaching the Art Department, time to see if this approach works. I hold my Puzzles plushie and umbrella in arm, and cover my eyes with my other hand, but fingers slightly parted to see his reaction. (I hope he doesn't find this offensive, since if he's associated with Boos, Boos get shy if looked directly and would cover their faces. The least I want is to offend someone. I just want to at least, make just one friend, but at the same time making sure he isn't overwhelmed in his space)

"Hi," I greeted him, with one of my ears moving as if waving since my other arm was busy with my umbrella and plush Puzzles. "Rayas."

A small pause. Confusion... but then he smiles at last. (did my approach worked?)

(Also, I know Boos are known to play pranks, so please don't play a prank. Everyone is on tour, and no disruptions of any kind is tolerated)

(In addition, I'm sensitive...)

(And I also hope no one finds this strange, but hope some understand what it means)

"Hi." He finally said, sounding less nervous I think. "Loyboo."

(Hello Loyboo) (Phew)

Looking back at the votes...

Oh.... a majority seem to want to go to the Film Department, next.

Everyone is slowly leaving the art department one by one (hope it isn't going back down the stairs). One glance to my drawing... Still there.

...

Goodbye I guess...

Just... I just hope the cameras saw the drawing, and/or maybe someone sees it, looks at the watermark, and goes to give it to me... Sigh... I hug my Mr Puzzles plushie and umbrella for a semblance of comfort. I want this whole tour to go fine; and the drawing of mine, not ready to share it here, I just want it back.

(Or better yet, wish no one finds it)

I was walking at a slow pace, I might not realized I gotten behind the group, in the back, but close still. And after moment, the last one to leave the door, like 10 steps made, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It startled me since there wasn't any participants that could have been behind me. Let alone Loyboo (who seems to prefer being in the back), yet he's in front of me; but will he notice?

"Keep going," I looked up, and it was Lucian. The one with a neon sign head; and Colores' sister.

The group has slowed and then stopped for the final voting results (pretty sure the Film Department), but not yet the next instruction Mr Puzzles says, and Lucian's hand is still on my shoulder. Why...? I didn't do anything wrong...? I kept hugging my plushie and umbrella.

And not saying a word, Lucian lets go of my shoulder, and hands me a rolled paper in front of me. I was confused at first, but even if I didn't unrolled it, I pieced together what it was...! Lucian's head displayed the word "Alright"

"Don't lose it, Alright? He said, with the most relaxed tone in his voice.

All I answer, was closing my eyes and nodding, and whisper a thanks. And sounding relieved.

I don't know how Lucian found it, or what happened back at the Art Department since he's the last one, and Colores stayed where she's at, and after the group left. Plus, did he finally took notice, or was it his sister? (I don't know) But I'm glad that weight of self-consciousness and anxiety was off my shoulders. Thank you Lucian.

Sure enough, I unfurled it just a little, and it was the drawing. Phew. I tuck the drawing into my vest, and inner vest pocket. Feeling confident/calm now, I slowly went through the crowd; and carefully navigated the open spaces to go through the crowd.

What a relief to finally getting it back (I wouldn't mind if I didn't find it, as long as no one sees it; it can get lost in a place no one would see and know who did it. I can draw a replica, but polished). I think the Tour will go smoothly, and have less worries.

(hm... Patience is a virtue... Good things comes to those who wait. Yeah, good things have happened)

Well, I have crossed (part of) the bridge... but I think not until the Tour is over.

The Film Department is possibly next. Wonder where that is. If it's in a different indoor block, or a separate building. If the latter, pray that there's a use for my umbrella if the sun is harsh, or light rain is to happen.

(Why do I have a nagging feeling, that my drawing won't stay in my vest and might fly off again? It's probably nothing. And hope that even in my mind, I didn't jinx it)

_______________________

Author's note, I hope I didn't overdid it. But I was having fun writing this. And... couldn't render some of the the illustrations, but the actions are shown.

The lost drawing in Question Below

(Between The Star and AV Puzzles is Astro by @the-masked-astro , one of the participants on the tour) All Ocs/AUs belong to their owners and can be found here Puzzlevision Mass Attack

Note, interactions available, but comment/dm first. Plus, if anything, I might slightly change the story here.

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