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gaitwae · 4 years ago

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Mistletoe •||• Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: @winterfrostsarmy @twhiddlestonsstuff @lucywrites02

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“Y/N, babe?” you hear your boyfriend, Jerry Allen, say. He had a sort of superpower that let him go to other realities. In his original reality, he was the quickest man alive. “Could you help me put up the Christmas lights?”

You smile and nod. “Of course! Just let me finish spiking some eggnog for Thor. Uncle Tony and Aunt Pepper will be here soon . . . I can’t believe all of the Avengers are coming.”

Jerry grins. “Well, the Avengers are practically family. After Tony basically adopted you, they totally count.” He zooms through the living room, putting up the rest of the other decorations.

“Jerry, I was fifteen when I met Tony. That was ten years ago, I don’t think that counts as adoption,” you laugh softly. You helped him string up the Christmas lights, secretly hoping that your favorite uncle’s friend, Thor, would bring someone else to the party. You mean, he was practically your best friend. He had to show up and play just a few holiday pranks.

Your quickster boyfriend shrugs. “Whatever. And, uh, put up some mistletoe. That will be interesting.”

Mistletoe? Pffft, no one was going to fall for that. You sigh, putting it up, anyway. The only person you could think of who was unfortunate enough to even accidentally stand under it would be Bruce. You giggle gently. You would bail him out if that happened.

But what if he came? Oh, goodness. You didn’t think he knew about mistletoe. Would you still kiss him, despite having a boyfriend? Despite your promise never to fulfill your secret desires?

There’s a knock at the door. Jerry speeds to open it as you finish tying up the plant to the ceiling. You hear a voice at the door, and your heart flutters against your will.

“(Y/N),” they sing. You groan, but quickly smile anyway. You loved him, and that was that.

“Tony!” you laugh, running into his arms and helping him with presents. You move to hug Pepper. She hugs back. You hug Nat and Steve and Bruce, even seeing that Clint and Bucky showed up. They did with simple handshakes — they never were ones for major affection.

When you let go, huge arms pull you into a hug. How could you have missed him? You smile widely. Thor.

“Sister Y/N! Thank you for inviting us!” Thor’s voice booms. You return the embrace, though you’re finding it hard to breath. Sister? Usually he called you ‘Lady’ or just Small One. Never ‘Sister.’ What was going on?

It seemed like Tony and Steve and Pepper noticed it, too. “Why the sudden name change?”

Thor was about to say something, but quickly shook his head. “Nothing,” he says, like you all couldn’t already tell it was a lie. The four of you glare. “I’m under oath,” he tells you, walking away into the living room.

You roll your eyes. You were seriously starting to wish Loki were here. You blush as some simple fantasies flew into your head at the mere mention of the God of Lies. Such things you’d never let Jerry find out about, much less experience with him. Things that made you melt like butter on a thousand degree knife.

You sat down, a light haze making your head spin and cracking a smile on your face. Man. When you described the trickster as a god, there really wasn’t much exaggeration. His long black hair and his bright green-blue eyes made him look so regal. His smile was dazzling. You completely agreed with his sense of humor. You rested your head on your fist.

His lips looked so soft. You almost wanted to taste them. His hair was begging to be braided. And, norns forbid, those arms of his would cuddle amazingly. You were practically dying to find out. You hummed softly and let out a lovesick sigh. I wish you were coming.

“Y/N. You okay? You’re zoning out, kiddo,” Tony chuckled. Your heart skipped and sat up, heart pounding in your chest. What if Tony found out about your more-than-a-crush crush on Loki?

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.” You cleared your throat. As smart as your “uncle” was, he would probably figure out soon. You didn’t think that would really end well. He arched an eyebrow at your statement, but didn’t press much about it. “You need something?”

“Thor spilled the beans — if you wanna hear it.” He smirks and rests his hand on his knee, getting ready to stand up. “But apparently he can’t say all of it without you.”

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“He didn’t say anything. You just wanted to find out what I was thinking about. Didn’t you?” Tony looked somewhat shocked, to say the least. You give him an exasperated glare. He smiled and shrugged.

“Caught me, kiddo. Is Pete coming?” He looked around. You could tell he was worried. You pointed to the door, which burst open with a Spider-Man in a Christmas hat.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS, AND HAVE A WEBBY NEW YEAR!” He set his hands at his hips and dropped the bag of presents he had. You laugh and run to hug your younger friend.

“Peter! You made it,” you smile. He takes off the mask, grinning. His eyes sparkle with his eagerness and excitement.

“Of course, I did. Had to do some last minute shopping for Mr. Stark, but all’s good.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “This Christmas is gonna be so sweet!”

You roll your eyes. “Go sit down,” you laugh. You look out the door and see snow gently falling, but no Loki. You didn’t know how much you really wished he would be here until you figured he wasn’t coming. I miss you.

You looked toward where Jerry was. Thor and Tony glared at him. Nat was giving her fake smile. Bruce was fiddling with something in his hands. You felt bad for Jerry. You knew that you were a distraction from his real love, Tulip, but she was dating one of his co-workers.

“Darling, why stay with that quickster? I know who you really want, and it isn’t him. It never was.” You knew that voice. Oh no. Within a fifty mile radius, you could hear people’s thoughts without physical contact, as long as they were directed toward you. You gulped as his thoughts and mind reading powers mixed with yours.

You weren’t invited, Loki, you think back. You could tell he was amused by that statement. He knew the truth. He was in his mind, just as you were now in his. You wanted him to come, and he knew it.

“Based off of your current train of thought, love, I would say I was. Tell me that book you wanted, again?” You light up immediately.

You can’t be serious! Really? You’re coming?

“Of course I am. Are you going to tell me the title or not?” You quickly tell him the correct name of the book, getting giddy just thinking about seeing him. Your face is hot and your hands are shaking. You can almost hear his snickering and your smile falters some. There was a knock on the window. You look. “Oh, good. Now. Open the door?” he calls, his voice muffled by the glass.

You were sure that you died. He played you. He waved through the window, and here you were, thinking that he was just on his way. You growl at him and stomp out to the door and open it. The air is cold and crisp and bites at your ears and makes your skin erupt with goosebumps. “Loki!” You shout so loud that he winces. So much for godly ears.

He turns around and grins at you. He opens his arms out for a hug, and to also take credit for such a cruel prank. You roll your eyes, punching his stomach lightly. He makes a face, but before he can truly say anything, you hug him tightly. “You’re so mean,” you whine into his shoulder, feeling him hug you back with just as much force.

He chuckled and sighs. “Am I?” he playfully mocks back. You groan, shutting your eyes. You breathe in his sweet scent. What was it? Peppermint? Ice? You didn’t care. It was Loki. “I knew you would start wondering where I was.” You play with the soft, silly strands of his raven hair. You longed to tangle your fingers in the locks.

He pulls back some. “Shall we go in? I assume you don’t quite like the cold.”

“Of course, you big silly!” You sigh and hop away. “Let’s go!” You gently take his hand and pull him. Then you stop and think: What if I get caught?

He interlaced your fingers. “Darling, I can tell you that only two people in that house know what’s really going on, and that’s Thor and Tony Stark.” He smiled. “Please. You know me better than anyone. Everybody will just think I’m playing another prank.”

You gulp and nod. Sure. Why not? You smile and gesture for him to take the lead. He starts running, not even giving you time to find footing. Before you know it, you’re sliding through the door, laughing and trying to get your hand back. “Loki! Oh, norns! Stop!” you scream with joy.

“What’s the magic word?” he dares, now picking you up. You let out a shout. He holds you like a knight would a princess, but you hope that the cold air from outside was enough of an excuse for your blush.

“Please?” That was your guess, but knowing him, it wasn’t it. He shakes his head. He thinks a sentence to you: In the end you’ll always . . . what? “Just let me go!” you beg, kicking your legs some. You’re holding on for dear life because oh my goodness he was tall!

“If you want me to just drop you—” he tries, loosening his grip as he says it. You yelp.

“Kneel! I’ll kneel!” you say, finally giving in. He gently sets you down. You try to punch his shoulder but he catches your fist. He smirks. You roll your eyes and get on your knees. He shakes his head and makes a dramatic sigh.

“Dearest brother, has our friend Jerry Allen been informed about, ah, the current situation?” He looks over to Thor, who’s smirking. You were so confused. You gulp.

“Shall I inform our most loveliest of hosts that she’s under mistle-tong?” You blush insanely. Loki . . . ! The dumb trickster! He takes your hands and swooshed you into his arms, moving under the mistletoe, too. He’s cupping your face and bringing you closer and closer to his. You’re resisting the urge to melt, and he hasn’t even kissed you, yet.

He looks lovingly at you. For a moment, you wonder if it’s really just a dream. “Admit that you love me,” he whispers, almost begging you to confirm this.

You pull back and rest your hands on his shoulders. His other hand is on your hip. “What am I supposed to say? I wanted everyone I love here with me tonight, if possible.”

“So you are in love with me?” He smirked widely and you leant in more than you meant to. He grins. “Finally.” You blush and try to push him away some. He looked almost overjoyed. He was right: You were in love with him. Deeply. But there were so many people you didn’t want to hurt.

“I-I don’t know what you mean!” you sputter, but your arms snake around his neck. “I love Jerry.” Dumb excuse, yes, but you were trapped. Loki had caught you, quite literally. Not to mention he was digging around in your mind.

“About as much as you love my brother. Could we stop this ridiculous cat and mouse?” Loki asked. You sigh.

“Jerry knows, right?” You bite your lip, feeling Loki hold you even closer. Your noses touched. He smirks, and you resist the urge to look behind you when you hear Jerry’s soft laugh.

“Well, if he didn’t, he does now. And he seems fine with it.” You sigh. You look up at Loki, cupping his face toward yours.

“Good. Now kiss me, before I go nuts.” He happily pressed his lips to yours, holding you close. You kissed back with relief and excitement and as much love as you knew how to.

#Happy birthday to me #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x y/n #mcu #mcu loki #marvel #gaitwae writes

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monpetithl · 3 years ago

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happiestttt new year del💟💟💟you've made my year soooo much better w your lovelyy art and i'm soo grateful for that!! i hope you have the loveliest year ahead🌸❤❤

MEHAR DEAR OMG IM GONNA CRY 😭😭😭💖💖💖thank you SO so much for this lovely message, it means the world & it made me very happy to receive it!!! i am always so grateful to see you around, u are the loveliest 🥺💖 ty for your support and the love, i wish you all the best for this year ;") <33

#ask #i am crying sparkling hearts as we speak KJKLGDF THANK U DARLING #i am so happy my art has helped you and made you feel better throughout the year that warms my heart a lot !!!#i always adore seeing your tags in my drawings whenever i saw them i was like OH HEY MEHAR IS HERE JKFLDG #so thank u so much for being here <3 #wonderful people

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demauryss · 4 years ago

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murphy’s law | 1/2

anything that can go wrong will go wrong. eliott just learns it the hardest way possible.

or, kind of an expansion of hold you here my loveliest friend

alt er love advent calender, day 18

(for my dearest mtea @bluronyourradar, this is the thing which i was writing for you. i tore my heart in half while writing this hehe hope you enjoy reading this. part two coming soon i promise :-))

The thing about giving your heart to your best friend is, you never actually see it happening. You don’t see it coming. It just happens. Maybe at the speed of tar moving over the road. Maybe at the way the sunlight fades behind the darkness of the night. Maybe in the blink of an eye. But it happens.

You see, they’re always there. You find their smile punctuated by the way they look at you, and their words sweet like honey and heart as warm as a stream of water on a hot day. The fluttering of their hands over your skin and in your stomach burning like the crackling fire you’d have stood in front of, smoke from the ashes mixing with the tears in your eyes as you’d have turned away. They’re always there, so you don’t see.

(Maybe sometimes you do. Amidst fleeting glances and stopping heartbeat and sometimes, concrete as the sky and bottomless as the ground beneath your feet. You don’t.)

And it’s the best thing, those short moments where you don’t have to worry about someone else having a hold of your heart, twisting it to their desires. It’s the best thing about giving your heart to your best friend. Because you’re as blissful as you can be around them. Because you’ve always felt this welcoming warmth radiating from them which envelops your bones and makes a home for you inside itself, stopping you from stepping out of it into the unbidden cold, which is sharp and sinks itself over you.

And when your best friend gives their heart to you, you take it without any questions asked. You hold it close to the space where yours used to be. You spend your nights dancing through the grass and your days lifting the feeling slowly settling in your head, blurring your thoughts and fading every sense of reality. You hold on to their heart tighter than your own, and maybe that’s the first mistake you make.

Because then your grip on your own heart starts to loosen. Till a time comes that it completely shifts away from you. Because your brain is busy protecting your best friend’s heart and forgets the part of itself which you have given away.

And because. Because you let yourself. So there comes a time when your best friend hands your heart back to you. They hand it back, warmed and loved and wrapped in a curtain which makes it to look like it hasn’t been used before. They hand it back, a delicate bundle of fibers and beats mixing into one.

And you’ve spent so much time in cutting all the nerves and vessels tying you to that beating flesh. You’ve spent so much of yourself living without that part of you. And when you get your heart back, despite of your wishes, you don’t know what to do with it. You place it beck inside your chest, behind that cage tightening against the walls, hoping it would find its place back. But it sits there, a foreign and estranged piece of you; a displaced swing finding its equilibrium again; a stretched elastic held against its wishes to recoil.

Because you know if you let it go it would return to them in a heartbeat.

And that’s another thing about giving your heart to your best friend. The first time it happens, you don’t realize it. But the second time, when your heart literally crawls out of your chest, and walks away from you and back to your best friend. It rips your skin in the way, leaves your hands frozen, unable to stop the process, as you watch it run away from you.

And you watch, realizing that it will never be yours if you stop it now. So you watch. And you let it go.

And with it comes the realization that the thing beating inside you was never meant to stay there and hide. That even after they return your heart to you under the guise of doubts and ache, it’s ready to turn away in a second. That no matter the layers you put over it and the pain you go through to cover the fierceness with which it is beginning to tear itself from you; it won’t work. And there comes a time where you’re left to collect the pieces of your skin and the fibers your heart has left in its trail.

And that’s the worst thing about giving your heart to your best friend, you see. The realization, the feeling, the fucking knife which keeps on twisting in your chest and you keep screaming for it to stop, just stop. But the blood seeps away and the wound gets deeper and you find yourself filling it with the dust in your lungs and the shivers in your hands. But it fills your mouth with iron and your legs become studded with lead when you realize – you realize that no matter what, your heart will never be yours to keep after that.

Lucas’s mother owns a candy shop. When he hugs Eliott his hair smells of butterscotch and banana, all combined into one. It’s peculiar, but the thought fades into the back of his head when Lucas nuzzles his face into his chest, and as his hands squeeze the space above Eliott’s hips in a frantic cry of help.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, muffling a laugh behind the wild mess on Lucas’s head which needs to be toned down desperately – but Eliott isn’t complaining. “What is it this time?”

Lucas separates himself from Eliott, his lips puffed in a pout and eyes filled with a look of great disgrace as he grimaces. “Blueberry and basil! Like would you believe that?” He shudders effectively, his eyes going wide as he looks at Eliott. “It tastes terrible.”

Eliott shakes his head, “Terrible as in sriracha and peanut butter or terrible as in terrible?”

“Terrible!” Lucas throws his hands up as he starts walking into the shop. Eliott follows him. “Like how you’d expect someone's locker to smell like after months of dirty clothes accumulating there.”

Eliott shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips, “That’s oddly specific, and besides, I don’t think it’s that bad. I mean, you said the same thing about orange and tarragon and it ended up tasting bloody amazing!”

“I knew you would say that,” The small rainbow embroidered at the left side of Lucas’s olive green sweater catches Eliott’s eyes when he turns around to frown at him. Eliott has half a mind to remove the piece of lint and fraying thread from it, like they used to do before. Pieces of wool caught on Lucas’s hair, eyelash on Eliott’s cheek. Dirt smeared on Lucas’s face, and charcoal on Eliott’s fingers.

He has half a mind to fall back into the circle he barely made out of alive, and blow away the lint for it to catch something somewhere else. But he stops himself.

They don’t do it anymore.

“What makes you think so?”

Eliott’s first memory of Lucas is from the same spot Eliott’s standing on with the two jars of Ali’s homemade orange marmalade. Lucas’s eyes are a shade of an orchestral blue which he finds tainting the memory, and there’s a troubled smile blooming over his features a minute later when he hears another pair of footsteps coming closer.

“Eliott, is that you, dear? Please help me in letting this devil know he’s wrong. You’re the only one who can help me right now.”

Lucas lets out a wounded groan, his eyes widening as he whispers, “That.” Eliott smothers his laugh when Lucas starts to rush in the opposite direction to the resounding footsteps.

“I don’t work here and you never saw me.”

Ali nears into Eliott’s view just as her son disappears behind a display of colorful candies wrapped in pretty ribbons. Eliott, even when he was stumbling about his footing around Lucas, had always been awed by the intricate knots and the curves Ali has placed in the ribbons. When she approaches him, her eyes soften into a blue much like Lucas’s, but still on a different side of the spectrum.

“Lucas’s being a diva again,” she tells him, holding out a wooden spoon dipped in a questionable mixture in a purple bowl. It smells strongly of sugar and home, an exact opposite of what Lucas had so graciously – and wrongly – described. Ali holds out the mixture for him to taste, and he does so, dipping in a figure in the velvety warmth gathered on the tip of the spoon and bringing it to his mouth.

“It…actually, it tastes so good.”

He knows Lucas is hiding behind the shelves somewhere. Before, when it used to be as simple as Eliott using his fingers to do the counting on, or the stars simply dotting the sky without meaning anything, Ali would have Eliott and Lucas spending hours in her little kitchen, having them as the testers of whatever she would have made. It started out as a rush of a breeze for Eliott quickly picking up space before transforming into this pleasant routine he hasn’t departed from yet.

(Despite letting go of the person it all started out with.)

Ali’s smile brings Eliott into a cocoon of familiarity, “Tell this brainless idiot hiding here somewhere. I swear God really messed up when he gave Lucas those taste buds.” She shakes her head and Eliott laughs.

“Please stop talking about me like I’m not here,” He hears a muffled voice, one coming from directly behind him. Lucas emerges, licking around an orange colored candy which Eliott is absolutely sure isn’t meant for eating by him at all. His suspicion is confirmed when Ali gives her son a disapproving look, which he absolutely dodges when his eyes start burning brighter.

“And you please stop stealing the stuff I made which you previously rejected with those abominable taste buds of yours.” Ali bites back and Lucas turns a faux-offended face towards her. It’s familiar. It’s warm. It burns.

“I’ll have you know my taste buds are anything but that; very high in demand too. Tell her Eliott!” Eliott is more shocked on the mention of his name than the suffocating feeling the simple request brings as his lungs almost collapse on themselves. Lucas is unaware of the weight his words had on Eliott, as he struggles to keep his breathing even and heart forcibly inside his chest. There’s something very primal about this feeling – the one of tightness in his lungs and restlessness in his legs – something which takes him back to the very first time he’d seen Lucas a decade ago – right here in this candy shop with butterscotch in his smile and sugar in his hair, gripping Eliott in a saccharine tanginess bound to hold him for the rest of his life.

Lucas says something, and Ali threatens to catapult the bowl of the gooey mixture over his head. Eliott watches, silent, when Lucas shakes his head – all faux annoyed – as his mother stands rolling her eyes at her bratty son.

“Anyways,” Lucas says, looping his arm through Eliott’s at a place where a familiar burn seeps through the material of his shirt. “Since all of your attempts of stealing Eliott from me have considerably failed, can you let us go now?”

Eliott makes a sound of indignation in his throat. As if –

“As if you need any permission from me.”

Ali hasn’t even completed the sentence, and Eliott is being forcefully dragged towards the door. He’s always been amazed by the strength Lucas holds, now even more so when he finds himself just near the door between shouting a goodbye to Ali and taking his next breath.

“Hey,” Eliott starts when they’re outside. He’s resisting the pull Eliott has on him. It’s somewhere around the sun beginning to set behind the clouds. “Slow down, will you?”

Lucas looks at him, eyes narrowed as if he’s seriously judging Eliott, “Yann will have my head on a plate if we do.”

And Eliott would like to know where that we in this conversation came from. But before he does…..”And we can’t have that now?”

Lucas grins, “You know we can’t.”

Lucas Lallemant is a tide –

He’s a force which keeps on moving forward, carving shorelines and curved shapes in places Eliott finds hard to keep up with. He’s high when the moon comes, rising on his toes to offer Eliott a hit of the blunt curled in his fingers, sometimes snug between his lips. Sometimes he rushes away. Sometimes he crashes against Eliott – but then he slips out of the gaps between Eliott’s fingers, through the cracks in his skin – and settles somewhere hidden, alien, and then Eliott has to crawl – follow the trajectory he would have carved, only to find him crashing against his walls with a rhythm impossible for Eliott to match, to get hold of.

He’s a force which keeps on giving – to shores, to coasts. To the moss gathered on stone wearing with time and tide – with him. He gives – he gives till Eliott finds himself surrounded in every pore, every grain that is Lucas. He comes like this: little ripples on the surface of Eliott’s skin setting in motion

And that’s when he takes. The sand which lines the edges and the plants covering the base, tearing away their roots, dissolving them into smithereens much like Eliott’s heart in his hands and the blood in his mouth from biting his tongue too hard as it escapes; his heart among the waves melting on the floor and rising upwards, higher, faster. Till the blue of him surrounds Eliott in a lightning contrast against the warmth of his hands, resting, curling in his chest and plunging him into once deep then hallow darkness as he rises.

And when the ebb comes – Eliott drowns in it.

Idriss takes him by the lapel of his jacket onto the balcony once they’ve reached Yann’s flat.

“Hey,” he says, his voice weighted by the bass which beats under his feet. Lucas gets swarmed into the crowd, one part of it taking him, another forming a barrier for Eliott to reach him.

“How have you been?”

It doesn’t register in his brain; the grave being which holds Idriss's words together for Eliott. He hums out a non-committal response, which does little wonders to ease Idriss off of his case.

“Eliott,” the end syllable of his name catches on a sigh as it comes out of Idriss’s mouth. But he wonders. It’s his name, isn’t it? Then why does it feel so foreign when Idriss says it; like the Eliott in his name and the Eliott that he is are two completely different beings.

Outside it’s cold, but still there is a feeling of warmth – all nebulous and out of place. Eliott doesn’t know what it means, just that he isn’t used to feeling this way.

“What is it?” His voice feels hollowed, and it must have been a trick of light, but he sees Idriss flinch.

“You stood up,” his voice sounds equally grave, “again.”

Eliott has to grasp behind the lines to understand what he means. “The date,” Idriss complies, when he sees the lost look on his face.

Eliott stills for a moment. He was supposed to go on a date. But, did he want to.

“Idriss,” Eliott sighs, turning around and putting all of his weight on the railing, hoping it would swallow the thing weighing him down like mercury. “I don’t want to be set up on dates. You know that.”

Idriss doesn’t speak for a moment. But then, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself Eliott,” He lands a hand on his shoulder, “you can’t.”

Eliott stays quiet, he doesn’t know what to say. What is it he’s doing, exactly? “Forget it-,” He says, at length, “- just leave me on my own. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eliott feels it, inside him, the feling holding him getting impregnated with lead and rust when Idriss replies, “But did you – with Lucas?”

What?

Idriss reads his confusion. “Did you talk with Lucas about the reason why he didn’t want to be with you anymore?” Eliott bites his tongue and something other than physical pain fills his senses at the soft reminder of what went down mere three weeks ago.

“No,” His voice sounds scratchy, like it has taken him a great strength to get the simple word out. “Lucas doesn’t owe me an explanation. Besides, you can stop feeling for someone you thought you liked, no?”

The air is still and Eliott feels desolate from the domain outside his mind. He almost doesn’t register Idriss and his quiet, “But can you?” Almost.

There, something burns in his eyes and his chest and his throat feels awfully familiar to a thorny stem Eliott has grasped in his hands. There, outside, as leaves begin to fall and Idriss lets out a small whisper of comfort, that Eliott feels overwhelmingly small and separate from the significant part of the universe holding Lucas and the currents of waves rising from his touch.

Just tell him, Idriss says and when he leaves Eliott chants a mantra of too late too late too late in the havoc of his mind. And then Lucas comes, like a tide. He looks up at Eliott with fire behind the blue in his eyes and water raising it up instead of dimming it out. He takes away Eliott’s heart, yet again, the space in his chest feeling like a hollow piece of log left to be accumulated as moss on stagnant water and dew on drooping leaves.

And when he leaves, he robs Eliott off of his breath like a flood does one of his belongings, leaving him wrecked and floating uncertainly in the sea of the world.

He makes a mistake one day.

They are on the roof of Eliott’s building. Lucas’s hands are covered in gold which glitters in his soul and the stars above. His tongue tastes of mulberry and wine when Eliott licks in his mouth. His lips bleed soft kisses into the place Eliott’s neck meets his jaw. His eyes are dusty asteroids which circle into Eliott’s orbit with a force which knocks him of gravity and his breath when they close with laughter as Eliott finds the particularly ticklish spot on his neck.

I’ve been waiting for this, Lucas says, his voice light and warm and so, so soft. Eliott feels a cloud of smoke in his lungs. Me too.

He makes a mistake that day. He falls.

But then he’s standing next to the fire which Idriss and Yann created using plastic wrappers and leaves they found lying around. Lucas is a comet, the, his cold hands gripping Eliott’s as the fire pricks his eyes and the smoke in his lungs becomes a relic from before.

I can’t do this Eliott, He chokes, his voice heavy and sad and laden with so much hurt that Eliott has to take a step back. We’re – we will be better as friends. I’m sorry I just can’t.

So Eliott swallows around the charred cage in his chest doing little to keep his heart still. Okay, he whispers. Lucas’s red-rimmed eyes curving into a sad, watery smile burn like a star in Eliott’s gut.

He makes a mistake one day. He doesn’t stop falling.

November comes, and Eliott finds himself shifting between cold winds ruffling his hair and tinging his cheeks with a cold he feels in his bones. It takes him skipping rocks among dirt and catching falling leaves in the palm of his hand. It takes him to Lucas, nestled between the shelves in his mother’s shop, eyes wide and engulfing warmth as sugar and syrup drips from his mouth and stains Eliott’s shirt in a stubborn red.

Eliott sees Lucas, sees him coming for his heart, and the pang which rises inside his chest feels sound in the void which grows around him. It becomes foreign, the security the pain brings him. But he drowns in the cold warmth encompassing him when Lucas smiles and asks him about another constellation, or when he brings Eliott’s coffee from the shop on the curb – when they talk, and their once, five month relationship becomes a fleeting whisper; a puddle after rain gone when the sun came up.

They don’t mention it, and neither their friends. Somewhere between that, Idriss takes the hint and stops trying to get Eliott to go on dates. His heart grows accustomed to having Lucas’s hold over it, and the thorns growing in his throat shrivel. They don’t fall like Eliott thought they would, and sometimes it happens that Eliott feels them digging into his windpipe, swallowing his voice when he sees Lucas from across the room. Or when his eyes glisten like gold and honey all combined into one.

He keeps taking Eliott apart, piece by piece, but Eliott grows familiar to the feeling making a home inside him. And when Lucas holds his hand and points to a falling star much like Eliott looking for a place in the universe, it doesn’t hurt.

Except when it does.

There’s a hole in his jacket.

Eliott finds it the noon he’s inside the video store he worked at. He must have gotten it when he’s jacket got stuck in his neighbor’s fence, and in his haste, he must have pulled it, hard.

Lucas finds it funny for whatever reason when Eliott delivers him the news with sadness. His laugh rings through the speaker of Eliott’s phone. “You and that jacket, I swear.”

“It’s my favorite,” Eliott says, hoping his tone would convey his feelings to Lucas, “It’s been with me through thick and thin.”

“Yeah I know,” Lucas sounds solemn, “We’ll make it right,” Eliott believes him.

“But listen,” Lucas pauses, then begins again, “the reason I called you – I wanted to ask you something.”

Eliott holds on the phone, “Yes?”

“Sarah let me off with two passes for this art exhibition tonight. I wanted to know if you – if you’d go with me?”

Eliott’s chest gives a resounding ache which travels like water through his body, chilling his fingertips so much he can barely feel the phone held in them. The thing is – they don’t do this anymore; this just Lucas and him alone thing. He hasn’t done anything like this in such a long time that he forgot what being with Lucas – just Lucas – is like.

And he can't wait to remember. So. “Yeah,” he breathes out, “of course I’ll go.” With you.

“Perfect,” Lucas’s voice hold quiet happiness, something Eliott is sure is so fragile he’d break it if he takes another breath.

So he holds it, deep inside his lungs when Lucas says, “I’ll be at the store at 6:30. We’ll walk together.”

And he holds in when he says goodbye, a promise tethering on the edge of something so strange yet so comforting at the same time. His lungs burn, and his chest caves in.

But Eliott gets to work.

Evening drags November to a cold, scruffy end. He can’t feel his hands when he accounts the last of the sales into the computer. It hits close to six when he finishes, and decides to spend the rest of the time till Lucas’s arrival sorting out the DVDs left on the counter.

It’s between that, one moment picking up the assortment and the other spent looking over his phone lying on the side as it lights up with a notification, that there’s the sound of someone closing the door behind them.

Eliott whips around, heart in his throat at the prospect of seeing Lucas, but the person standing in front of him takes him by surprise.

“Hi Eliott.”

Lucille’s smile is warmer; her hair is shorter, blonder. Eliott takes a hard minute to reply.

Lucille,” He’s sure his tone doesn’t do justice to the feeling she brings inside him. It’s been long – a long time since he last saw her. And that too ended on partial good terms.

But still he tries his best to smile.

“How have you been?” He asks, awkwardly placing the DVDs from where he picked them up. Lucille shrugs her shoulder, and a small laugh leaves her lips.

“Good, I’m good.” She says. Eliott nods, then, and tries to shake off the uncomfortable tension settling around him and over his shoulders. Lucille comes to his rescue, thankfully.

She points to the array of movies behind him, craning her neck to the side as she speaks, “I – I needed a recommendation, actually.”

Huh. “The movies. I – I kinda need one for uhm- this date night. My girlfriend- uh, Sophie is into screenwriting and stuff, so I want to do something to impress her.”

Eliott turns his neck sideways, “And I’m the only one you can come to for that?”

Lucille smiles sheepishly, “You know you are.”

He laughs, bright, and turns to sift through the movies he pretty much knows her girlfriend will surely appreciate. He’s always loved doing this, rec-ing stuff when asked – whether it be movies or artists or funny enough, dubstep artists to listen to.

(The credit for the last one goes mainly to Lucas, and Eliott feels proud to share that at least he’s helped him get into the kind of music he himself loves. Even when the insults Lucas throws after listening to the music are worth keeping in a jar and remembering for later.)

Lucille takes the movies he picks out.

“How are you and Lucas?”

Her tone carries an infinite amount of casualness which Eliott is sure she isn’t faking. But it makes him still – you and Lucas in a sentence together. They don’t go like that. Never have.

“We uh – we’re not together anymore.” He says, voice low and taut as he rings her up. “Uh- yeah. We broke up.”

Lucille is silent. Then, “Oh. I’m sorry.”

He stays silent. When he’s done with her items, she takes it from him without a word. I’m sorry. It’s funny how many times he’s heard that.

“Um- Thank you,” She’s quiet, soft. Eliott smiles, as terse as that may be. “I’m happy to see you, Eliott.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m happy too.” He admits, because he is. Because she’s familiar. Because he knows her.

Lucille smiles, as she clutches the items to her chest, “If – If you’re free some time, I’d like for you to Sophie. She uh - knows about us, and I’m sure you both will like each other.”

“You’re sure?” He teases, and she slaps him lightly on his arm; familiar. Rolling her eyes, she bites back, “Yeah, idiot.” Eliott laughs; it’s warm.

“I’d love to meet her,” is what he settles on, and it’s what which has Lucille brightening up further. “Great,” she says, and leaves Eliott not before rising up on her toes and giving him a half-awkward, full warm hug which Eliott gladly accepts.

When she leaves, it becomes a game of watching the hands on the clock move. It’s fifteen minutes over the time Lucas and him and decided. But still Eliott sees no sign of him. He’s worried. There’s no text or call from him either, and Eliott knows he could do so too, but it doesn’t guarantee him not sounding desperate.

Five minutes to seven and he gives up, closing the store and walking out into the clear night sky. He spots a couple of uncluttered, adrift stars he doesn’t know yet. Cold air nips at his skin, eyes search for the sign of the familiar boy walking towards him. But he finds nothing.

He sighs, then, and starts walking in the direction of his apartment. Maybe something came up. Maybe Lucas is okay. Maybe he forgot. Maybe maybe maybe.

It’s then that the phone in his holed jacket rings, bringing him back to the now. He hustles to take it out, and as Lucas’s name blinds his eyes, his heart returns with a hopeful tingle in his chest.

His breath fogs in the dark as he whispers, “Hello?”

“Eliott,” Lucas’s voice feels distant, like they’re the same poles of a magnet and the field between them is just pushing them away.

“Lucas, are you alright?” It hurts, that it’s the first thing which comes to his mind. That something happened to Lucas – with Lucas, and he wasn’t able to make it to him. He hates it. He hates it.

“Yeah uh – I got held up. I’m sorry I couldn’t- can’t make it. I just – I didn’t – couldn’t find time to call you sooner. I’m so sorry I -.”

Eliott cuts Lucas off, “It’s alright,” his heart beats on the floor. His legs remain frozen on the sidewalk. It’s not Lucas’s fault if he found something more important than Eliott. He doesn’t owe him anything, anyway.

Eliott doesn’t hear the rest which follows. There’s something – someone on the phone behind Lucas, someone who calls Lucas – “You’re coming back Lu?” Eliott hears the voice.

Then he hears Lucas, loud and clear, “Yeah, baby, you go ahead. I’ll be with you in a second.”

Baby. Lucas only ever called Eliott that. He feels something twist inside him as his lungs burn with a ferocity which leaves him aching all over. His fingers go numb, and his feet drag painfully on the gravel.

Lucas seems to be talking, and Eliott only catches the end through the static in his head.

“I gotta go. But I – I promise I’ll make it up to you, Eli. Okay?”

Eliott purses his lips, doesn’t fight his hear combusting as a layer of heavy rust settles over it, preventing it from moving back to Lucas as he lies motionless there, on the concrete, forging stars from its dying matter.

Okay. Eliott whispers when Lucas hangs up. Then he releases his breath and starts walking.

#skam france #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu fic #skam france fic #alteradventcalendar #penned #tuseralex #userdyamond #tusersunflower #tuserlivs #tusercaro

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kikyozoldyck · 4 years ago

Text

crappy birthday

PAIRING: hidan x reader SUMMARY: your soulmate is shit at birthdays WARNINGS: swearing, violence, descriptions of murder, shitty poetry courtesy of hidan

You wake up on your birthday and don’t feel any different. You go about your daily routine like you do every other day because, as far as you’re concerned, today is like every other day. You’re hardly expecting chocolates because you have no significant other or even friends who might give you sweets to snack on, and even before the incident, you were hardly one to celebrate yourself, although you vaguely remember your parents throwing some ridiculous party for you every year, in fact, your last real, clear memory of them is the three-tiered, casino-themed birthday cake your mother made for you (and proceeded to bleed out all over later that same evening.)

Oh, well. C’est la vie, and all that, right?

It’s a nice day, you notice once you’ve gotten dressed and wandered out into your kitchen. Not too cold, and certainly not too hot, with a nice breeze, perfect for enjoying a morning that cute little tea shop down the street, with some tea and scones and a book to keep you company.

It’d be nice to share it with someone, if you had anyone.

(You do have one person, your mind supplies unhelpfully, you’ll always have him.)

You ignore that one, disgusting, traitorous thought in favor of grabbing a worn paperback off your shelf, tying your coat around your waist, toeing on your shoes, and opening your front door.

And then you stop in your track and stare. At the body. On your doorstep

“What the fuck, Hidan?” You swear to yourself, though, you can’t say that you’d be too surprised if the creepy fuck just happened to be close enough to hear it.

And then Mrs. Sato from next door comes out, humming merrily under her breath as she locks the door behind her before turning to you.

“Good morning, dear. Such a lovely day, isn’t it?”

You smile back, just a little fixedly. “The loveliest.”

“Oh, well! Best enjoy it while it lasts!” Mrs. Sato bobs her grey head a few times and toddles past, stepping around the corpse, like it isn’t there. “Have a nice day, dear.”

“You too, Mrs. S.” You reply politely, finger tapping impatiently against the doorframe as you wait for her to disappear down the stairwell. Then you’re crouching down in the blink of an eye, every sense zeroing in on the body, and that’s when you realize, the body is still breathing.

And that means there’s definitely some weird, ancient, Jashinist ninjutsu involved because aside from the fact that your next-door neighbor didn’t so much as bat an eyelash as she passed, there’s also 1) a hole carved into the chest of the body, meticulously and precisely heart-shaped, just big enough for you to peer inside and watch the exposed organ beat, and 2) the body isn’t just anybody, it’s your childhood rival — Funai Yuka.

You stare for a moment longer, oddly mesmerized by the physical thump of the blood-red heart that you can both hear and see. It is so gorgeously delicate in this one moment, under your complete mercy.

Then, cautiously, you reach out and tug lightly at one tail of the intricately tied bow around Funai’s arms and torso, just below her breasts but above her bound wrists. It is also linked with a red ribbon.

And there’s a card tucked between Funai and the ribbon, one that you retrieve now. It isn’t anything fancy, note hastily scrawled on what looks to be the back of a soba shop receipt with a doodled version of Hidan, covered in Jashinist symbols and what looks like blood, handing a heart — the conventional symbol, not the organ — out to an equally crudely drawn version of yourself.

You flip it over, and in a slightly messy black scrawl, the card reads,

This dumb bitch thought she was better than you so I Killed her to prove that Nobody is as hot as you P.S. Happy Birthday

It isn’t signed, but you read it a second time, then a third. And then you laugh, bright and bold in the crisp winter morning, genuine and amused because you didn’t even know Hidan knew what a tanka was — let alone that he could write one.

You look down at Funai again, and it really is sobering to see her like that. Your mind travels back to your childhood, all those long days spent practicing your taijutsu in your parent’s yard in hopes of maybe surpassing her.

She’d been your worst enemy sure, but she’d been your best friend too. She was the first person you told when you turned twelve, and Hidan’s name appeared on your arm.

(“Just Hidan?” She’d sneered as you showed her, “hmph. Guess he’s not from any clan. Makes sense, an average soulmate for such an average —”

“—shut up, Bug Queen!” You’d interrupted, tackling her into the dirt, because the name on her hip was Torune Aburame, and everyone knows that the Aburame are total bug-fucking creeps.)

You realize that you’re still smiling when the memory fades. You can almost hear Funai in the back of your mind scolding you about how it’s bad practice for shinobi to show their emotions so freely.

So, first thing’s first then.

You seize Funai by the throat and haul her inside, slamming the door behind you. Not a drop of blood spills from the open wound as you drag your friend onto your kitchen floor. The tile might have to be sacrificed to the cause, but you’ll just have to deal.

You pull the bow loose, and just like that the genjutsu breaks, Funai’s eyes begin to flutter. She goes from unconscious to fully awake in about three seconds. It’s honestly a little impressive, her memories clearly unaffected if the terror and the fury bleeding into her golden irises are anything to go by, but it’s already too late.

You’re already rooting around your drawers for a knife clean and sharp enough to mercy-kill her with. She says something, but it’s muffled by the gag and all the blood in her mouth — though you know her well enough by now to know that it’s probably not happy birthday.

Whatever it is, it’s too late anyway, because you’ve already sunken your entire hand into her chest, palm and fingers wrapped snugly around the rapid-fire recoil of your rival’s heart, by the time she can do anything more than fail at squirming away.

You sigh, because you’re sympathetic, really.

“If it’s any consolation, Bug Queen, you make a great birthday present.”

Then you rip her heart out with one smooth twist of your arm. That weird, old-world soulmate magic floods your system, running along your veins and imprinting into the very essence of your being, with a single glowing soul bond pulsing at the back of your mind and anchoring you to reality so that you aren’t overwhelmed.

(And you weren’t always like this, okay?

You used to be a normal person, with normal friends, and normal hobbies, and normal parents that loved you.

But on your twentieth birthday, you received a letter in the mail — the envelope was big and red, and it had the words ‘to my soulmate’ stamped on the front. You were so ridiculously excited.

When you opened it, it went off and destroyed the entire house and killed everyone inside, everyone except, well — you.

You didn’t show the team of ANBU investigators the card that came a day later.

It was a stick-figure drawing of your home blowing up with your friends and family inside it. Their bodies are scattered to bits over the page in a bloody mess with the words:

‘Sorry I couldn’t be there in person. I hope you liked the gift! :) Love you. — xoxo your soulmate’ scrawled hastily at the bottom.)

(After that, you begin to mark the calendar. It is a simple red X on a single day out of the year. There is no indication of what it is for, but you know.)

— A year later, you get home from a few hours spent at the training grounds, only to find an innocuous-looking briefcase leaning against the door of your apartment.

Your heartbeat quickens, and you groan, stooping to pick it up, plucking up the card as well from where it’s slipped into the handle.

Another Hidan original, you note as you duck into your apartment and place the briefcase on the dinner table.

The drawing is surprisingly minimalist considering Hidan’s usual style, it’s an artlessly drawn picture of you, butt-naked holding miniature globe in your poorly proportioned hands.

Is he gonna blow the whole world up this time? You think with a sigh and flip the card open. In the same sloppy handwriting as before, you read,

Don’t be a pussy. This is not a bomb, okay? You will like this gift.

You thumb the dark lettering before turning to the briefcase and opening it. It actually takes you several long seconds to realize what it is exactly that you’re looking at.

There are files inside, sheaves of papers tucked surprisingly neatly into folders, and—

You reach inside, where two passports are shuffled into one corner.

One has your name, your personal information — all chillingly accurate.

One doesn’t.

Both have your face.

You set those aside, and with a sense of growing urgency, you fumble to open the folders and rifle through the papers.

They’re-

They’re identification papers. Two sets. One is fakes. But the other—

Hidan has restored your identity, you realize, and for a moment, you don’t even remember how to breathe.

(These days, you can get by. You have plenty of cash to use, so you don’t need a job, and so long as you’re not crossing country borders, you have no use for travel papers.)

But it also shackles you, the lack of an identity, walking around like a corpse.

Paying for Hidan's crimes, all these years, even now, as if almost burning alive and watching your entire family die and losing your goddamn mind weren’t enough to atone for the crime of simply having a soulmate.

And now…

You pick up another file with trembling fingers and flick that open. It’s a manuscript. It’s your manuscript, from when you were a writer, a really fucking good one—you might add, and despite having to always battle that hack Jiraiya for the spot on the best seller’s list, which honestly never made sense to you because your works were clearly better — but you suppose there's no accounting for taste, you enjoyed what you did, creating, building your stories.

And now you can do it again. A piece of what you’ve lost, returned.

And it isn’t even just that. The other set of papers – the fake ones – mean something too. It’s a way out, a new start if you ever want to leave. To walk away from this godforsaken country and begin anew. To not only lay your past to rest but also leave it behind so that it will never drag you down again. There’s one last file at the bottom, tissue-thin, and it only contains a single slip of paper.

It’s another note: “Sorry, I fucked up your life and shit. Won’t do it again. Happy birthday.”

— The next year, it’s another card, but only a card, with a classic birthday cake superimposed on a baby pink background. An invitation, with a time scribbled on the inside cover, but dead center on the right, a katauta,

I am running out of ways to show you that I love you lets fuck? (Couldn’t fit this in the katauta but I do oral.)

…The way that it makes your heart skip is ridiculous, and honestly, probably an indication of how fucking lonely you are. It’s not even remotely sophisticated, certainly no Henjo or Kisen. And yet…

Your face. Your face feels hot. God, you’re blushing. And your mouth is doing something funny. It takes a moment to realize you’re trying to pull a truly goofy smile. You’d probably never it live down if anyone else were there to witness it. You take a deep breath. Then you glance at the time one last time before pocketing the letter and heading for the bathroom.

You have a night to prepare for because, apparently, your soulmate is a closet romantic.

— The door swings open, and you’re already smiling as you drink Hidan in. The man has grey hair slicked back with enough grease to start a forest fire and distinctive purple eyes. Still, they suit him, and when he smiles back, it reaches all the way to his eyes – like sunlight reflecting off whiskey, like sunsets when they spark with magic.

Wordlessly, you step back and let Hidan in. He takes a second to toe his shoes off – because he may be a murderous freak, but he’s still your soulmate, and it pays to be polite – but when he rises, he promptly crowds you right up against the nearest wall and kisses you for the very first time, hard and hungry and thorough.

A possessive hand sinks into your hair. Another pulls you close by the waist, and then you’re arching up into him, a twist of his hips sending sparks of pleasure darting across your nerves even as you open your mouth and let Hidan devour you.

The air is heady with the heat of your combined arousal by the time you part for air. Hidan’s lips are swollen red, and you’re both more than a little breathless. You’re not dry humping anymore, but Hidan’s hands remain cradled around your hips, and you’re absently tangling Hidan’s hair around your fingers. Your faces remain close enough that your noses brush.

Hidan’s eyes gleam like firelight as he peers at you, smug and satisfied, warmed by something softer.

“So, like, did all those fucking poems pay off? Do you, like, love me and shit?”

“Yeah. They did.” You smile, and your own words spill over Hidan’s lips, “I love you and shit.”

Hidan smiles and you feel the soul bond glowing bright and solid right down to the atomic level.

A new bond stirs between you, tentative, and fresh but already luminous with potential. Before you can blink, you’re being shoved against the wall again as Hidan flings his arms around you, laughing, laughing, laughing, joyous delight and overwhelming relief.

#i wrote this while dying of mono so like keep that in mind if it's too feral #I FUCKIN HATE THIS #hidan imagines #hidan scenarios #hidan x reader

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lovemongerer · 5 years ago

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nsfw shadow weaver h/cs 👀

these are hella self-indulgent but I invite you to enjoy some nsfw h/cs ☺️

Sure, she may be rough but she is deceptively delicate with you. This is partially influenced by a minor case of body worship. She is very mindful of the fact that you are never physically harmed; while she may drag her claws along your body, she’ll never leave a lasting mark. It is intentional: she holds you in such high regard that your care is foremost in her mind. She is not, however, above inflicting bruises - an appreciative sort of fascination is reserved for the loveliest shades she can inflict upon you. There is also the fact that she most certainly enjoys hearing the way you keen whenever she sinks her teeth into your neck and shoulder.

Begging is only one of her turn ons, but it’s certainly up there. She is extremely touched by involuntary declarations of devotion, though she’ll be skeptical to believe any unwitting love confessions at first no matter how much she would like to believe them. Reassuring her that you quite believe in your own confessionals will encourage her to consider them, and she’ll come to hold your words quite dear. If you beg for her to ruin you however, you will get absolutely demolished by this woman’s sexual hunger, holy shit. Proceed with caution.

YOU ARE IN DANGER: the MOMENT this woman hears you at your most desperate and wanton, she won’t be able to focus on anything else except for what she has to do to make you repeat those sounds. Another big kink of hers is the unrestrained sounds of a lover reaching their peak. She won’t be particularly offended if you lean towards the more quiet end of the spectrum, but nothing gets her going than genuine sounds of pleasure.

She won’t actually admit it but she does have a bit of a size kink - or, she delights in making herself so much larger that she looms over you. Taunting, but not unkind; she’s almost playful like this. Her hands reach out to toy with you, chase you - lingering touches and pets that almost appear innocent if they didn’t feel so filthy. Treats the size comparison with wordless acknowledgement; she reminds you of her stature by crowding your space and the gentle manhandling of your form. More emboldened to use her mouth on you in this form, though you are unlikely to witness it - incredibly fascinated by the feeling of her tongue against yours.

Particularly due to the fact that it is, to say, a mouthful, and she delights in how much it thrills you. She absolutely adores having you sat in her lap, especially when your pressed flush against her, fists balling her robes while she can easily spread you open and work you with much larger, filling fingers.

The act of edging is primarily driven by the enjoyment she gets from thoroughly wearing you down before she has her way with you. While she tends to be overbearing and somewhat cruel, it’s only to make sure you’re left completely exhausted before she can tend to your spent form. Once you’re prone before her, she’ll truly begin to lavish you with affection and praise. Here she treats you gently, pressing kisses between each remark, smiling fondly as her hand caresses your own. A darker fascination surfaces when she truly begins to inflict her underlying desires upon you - you, left sobbing from over-stimulation you can’t quite retreat from.

Tying into this, orgasms as punishment is one of her most fondest go-tos. Although she’ll often put up a deceptive act, claiming that she’s doing this because you deserve it - she truly means it in the sense that you deserve to be spoiled. She’ll certainly use whatever excuse she can to take the opportunity to bring you to orgasm, forced or otherwise.

She has a particular fascination with deepthroating. More specifically, you’re the one who’s going to be deepthroating a fucking tentacle, bitch. She enjoys seeing you all tied up and stuffed full of her.. . magical essence, to say the least.

She is extremely possessive and won’t take kindly to the idea of anyone else touching you. However, she does enjoy watching you be dominated. To alleviate this, shadow selves have been utilized to execute this act. It gives her a different perspective to sit back with a glass of wine and watch you enjoy yourself. And if she’s feeling it, she just might participate enough to let you eat her out ;)

Ass or tiddies? The answer is thighs.

She is, however, into breast worship. Giving more than receiving, though she does enjoy it herself. This can also be tied to the reason why she enjoys having you sat in her lap so often - along with having you ride a shadow strap, it gives her ample opportunity to lavish you with affection.

There are nights where she will be tired and exhausted but still craving affection, which means she’ll turn into a big ol’ pillow princess. If she wants attention and lavishment she will drape herself all over you until you cave and give her what she wants. Isn’t particularly demanding, but she appreciates if you spend the time taking care of her and doing the type of things she’ll enjoy. This will range from soft body worship to playing with her hair and kissing every inch of her body.

OH, to dote on her while she enjoys a bath. Though she would simply enjoy basking in your company if you would only sit by the tub, she is endlessly appreciative if you go out of your way to do simple favours for her.

#light spinner #shadow weaver #shadow weaver thirst #headcanons #ship: you are the star that breaks to pour light on me

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magistralucis · 5 years ago

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-face barely concealed with groucho glasses- uh yeah can i get 1 with votez? ty 💟

01: “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you?”

—————

This is an account of an average morning at the set of Votez.

Scene 1: The President awakes on his bed. Blinding white greets his vision, and he winces away for a brief moment, burying his face on the pillow for approximately ten seconds before he musters the courage to face the light. After all, those bulbs have been on all night; nothing about his situation ever changes, only his moods from day to day and hour to hour. This will be the only sign of weakness, and therefore of humanity, that he will demonstrate for the next twenty hours.

He gets up. Looks around for a moment, then immediately pads his way to the screens on the other side of the room, showing off the view from a dozen surveillance cameras around the palace. He checks if any switches have been tripped, doors picked, or alarms raised during the night: none. Rewind and fast-forward the footage from one camera: nothing for the last eight hours.

He is satisfied. Pulls on the nearby headset, mussing his boyishly dark hair, and tugs the mic close. He speaks quietly, but the mic is set to amplify as much of his voice as possible, and the result echoes through every room in the palace with exceptional vigor: “GOOD MORNING, DISGUSTING RIVOIRE. AS YOU HAVE FAILED TO ESCAPE DURING THE NIGHT, YOU MUST SUFFER ANOTHER BRUNT OF MY EXCELLENT NARRATIVE PROWESS. AND DON’T FORGET, MY DEAR: WE’VE A SPECIAL EPISODE COMING UP IN THREE DAYS‘ TIME, JUST FOR YOU, TO CELEBRATE YOUR MONTH-LONG ESCAPADE! - DON’T DIE BEFORE THEN. GODSPEED.”

Then he shuts the mic off and heads for the bathroom. On his way he passes the towel rack, upon which two fresh towels are prepared: both are embroidered with a letter of the alphabet, each a different letter, his and his. He snatches up the former, S for Sebastian, and also a bathrobe with his bag of makeup spilling from the pocket. The owner of the other towel will come along to help him out soon, but for now: honey oats and vanilla, with bubbles to boot.

Thus begins his day.

—

Scene 2: Breakfast, as well as the makeup session. Sebastian has long since blurred the boundaries between the two.

Bacon and eggs today, cooked and served with much love by a murderous friend of his. They’re all right. Sebastian eats his eggs and monologues to the opposite wall as Vincent, his silent co-host, dusts white powder beneath his hairline:

“We have to figure out how to get a camera down there. That if, if either Rivoire or the artist don’t bolt from us first. They’re so sensitive to those things, aren’t they? They’re good. Really good. I confess maybe I underestimated how good they’d be, it’s not like we’ve had escapees on the set other than those two. Not a bunch of good hunters, we are. Did Xavier pepper these eggs? What do you think, Vinco, aren’t you curious about what those two get up to down there? Isn’t it the loveliest thing? The most heart-rending twist? - God knows how that Mike survived down there for so long, but it’s fine; it was God’s will, it was fate, it was my will that had them find each other. Love in the labyrinth. Special episode title! Jot that down for me.”

Vincent jots it down for him in eye pencil. Sebastian finishes off his eggs and dabs his mouth with a napkin. He knows what’s coming now. Only a minor inconvenience, but he’s still talking a million miles per second to get around it, eager to cram in as much content as he can think of in this precious time alone with his lover. “But let them do their best for now, was that the plan? I need them to be okay for the next three days, don’t I, maybe throw some Evian and a bag of animal crackers down there every now and then so they don’t starve, guess we need filler in the meanwhile how about-”

“If I may briefly interrupt the Monsieur.” Vincent cuts him off expressionlessly. Sebastian stares at him, one eyebrow twitching. In Vincent’s right hand is a mirror, and in his left, a glint of silvery steel under the light.

He gulps. Vincent brings the steel close to his face, then twists one end of it, popping out a fresh wand of cherry lipstick.

“It is time for the final touch.”

“Ah. Yes.”

For a second, Sebastian might possibly have wanted a touch elsewhere.But he forgets about it soon enough. There’s a time and place for everything, and such desires can not be permitted to impede on his art, no sir.

So he lets Vincent lather on the lipstick and is forced to keep quiet. While they’re at it their two friends enter, one wheeled in by the other; they’re active participants in Votez, and the hosts of the side segments, the contents of which vary day by day.

Scene 3. Sometimes they’re barefaced, and sometimes they’re dolled up. It’s the latter today. Sebastian has not seen this makeup before, so they appear to have come up with a new segment: nothing wrong with that, except today they appear to be flirting with copyright infringement. Gaspard’s is fine, it’s the one in the chair who’s in trouble; Xavier is made up like a ventriloquist’s dummy, the high-end sort with rosy cheeks and a suit and a monocle. He flashes Sebastian a brilliant smile and Sebastian is so enamoured that he wants to gouge his eyes out. Xavier’s, that is, not his own. Why would he do that. Seriously.

Oh, that magnificent fucking bastard. He wants nothing more to love his head under seltzer water until the bubbles stop, and given that it’s seltzer water, they’re going to be in there for a while.Xavier already gets to dress up however he wants. It’s not really fair that he also gets to copy off Sebastian’s makeup, and wear it more handsomely, at the same time. “How was the breakfast, Sebos?” He asks in an entirely normal way, not even in character.

“About what I expected.” Sebastian frees himself from Vincent’s motions long enough to answer. “The food was terrible, the service was shit, and I’m killing your boyfriend later.”

“I am sorry, Monsieur le Président. I will strive to do better next time.”

“I will send you the footage later. Of me. You know. Killing the boyfriend. It will replay on your bedroom TV every three hours.”

“I am sorry, Monsieur le Président. I will strive to do better next time.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you?”

“I am sorry, Monsieur le Prépffffffffffff-”

It is only then Sebastian realizes that Xavier hasn’t answered past the first question. He and Gaspard have been alternating voices, the latter speaking through the former like a dummy, completely indifferent to Sebastian’s building agitation. When they see the jig is up, they look at one another - and turn away, laughing hysterically, as they wheel down the corridor.Sebastian sighs and sinks into his chair. Vincent offers him a lollipop and he takes it, smearing cherry lipstick all over it. While it doesn’t help with his friends’ shenanigans, it sure leaves a taste in his mouth that isn’t, well, egg.

Such is life. It has only been this way for three thousand mornings.Well, barring the Rivoire. Closer to thirty, in that case. Over thirty, very soon.

Something to look forward to, Sebastian supposes.

There always has to be something.

#Anonymous #votez #tw unreality #tw death mention #tw mindfuck #drabble #fanfiction #there is no way i am inserting even just the common pairing tags for this kahgdhgsvdg #i may be out of date for votez settings but this is what i've conjured #nobody actually does the die this is not angsty (in case you're reading tags before clicking readmore)#it is what it is.#enjoy.#:3

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thedeadthree · 2 years ago

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hiii :D ❤💘🍰 for lilia & lucinde?

MIA HI DEAR ! i hope ur doing well hun! the infamous dears truly have a vice grip on me rn ty ty so much !!!!!!! 🌸✨💕

-`. DETAILS ABOUT OCS.

❤: what are three of your oc's positive traits?

the darling lila is a maverick (an unorthodox or independent-minded person), rather astute (having or showing an ability to accurately assess situations or people and turn this to one’s advantage), and alluring (powerfully and mysteriously attractive or fascinating; seductive.) !

💘: what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

lizzie lovelace a pop princess caliber face in music, and a former romantic partner of her fathers along with jazzy, together make the dynamic duo that keep lila centered and the first people who hear anything and everything before anyone else on her life. jazzy was actually the first person she met in middle school following her relocation to new york from new orleans (and before that ! paris! her parents loved to move places on whims sajnxka) and save for the BOTB have been inseparable ever since ! she was then introduced to rowan through jazzy and the trio with lizzie have been her anchor since as well! her partner in crime and the go to to cure her bad days! she can be a lot but they truly have her best interest at heart something she didnt have from her parents and for that they mean the world!

AND OF COURSE TEEHEE GRIFFIN REIGN BEFORE AND CERTAINLY WILL BE SOMEONE WHO AND THIS REALIZATION WILL HIT MISS LILIA LIKE A TRUCK WILL MEAN SOMETHING NONE SHORT OF THE WORLD TO HER TEEHEEHEHE *giggling kicking feet*

🍰: when is your oc's birthday? how old are they? what are their sun, moon, & rising signs (if known)? what about their tarot card, ruling planet, & ruling number (if known)? do they fit the typical traits of these sun, moon, & rising signs?

her birthday is april 19th, 1997 and she is 26! lilia is an aries sun, a libra moon and a leo rising! i would say the card i most align with her is the death card in reversal at her best and upright at her worst. mars would be her ruling planet and her ruling number would be 1! she veeery identifies closely with a very much amount of the traits belonging to her sun and moon and rising ! especially her moon and rising but also a lot of her sun sign as well!

❤: what are three of your oc's positive traits?

lucinde known by her stage name "lucy less" (formerly lucinde lawless to match sevens but she shortened it following their breakup :') ) is felicific (relating to or promoting increased happiness), captivating (capable of attracting and holding interest; charming.), and wistful (having or showing a feeling of vague or regretful longing) !!!!!

💘: what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

seven. seven always will be and still is in spite of the way things ended. she still carries a torch for him these years following and from a distance wishes him well. (if you hear sobbing its me!) the close second and she tells him he's the first would be her brother! he too has a band of his own and is the drummer for an experimental noise rock outfit. OF COURSE there's rowan the remedy to all her bad days wizard in making her smile the best thing since sliced bread and her best friend. and iris who shes been friends with since they were in pre-k, devyn, orion (she had a "secret" crush on him that he probably knew but didn't tell her to save her from the embarrasment that he knew kjsndak), and of course the fans of her band MALWARES (formerly error 404 i just thought it sounded cute!) !

lucys birthday is november 11th, 1997 and she is 26! shes a scorpio sun, sagittarius moon and aquarius rising! the world is the card in tarot that i think i love the most for her. and her ruling planet would be pluto and her ruling number would be 2! on stage she is the archetypal scorpio and off there is so much of her sign she relates to! along with her moon and rising as well that she closely relates!

#🎠: mia #alfheim-elves #i will for sure be making a piece to introduce the side characters for the dears ! they mean the world to me as well!#THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK DEAR YOUR A TREASURE! this was so cute to do!#astrology asks my favorite asks in the world on par with music ones AHH the astology nerd in me was SHRIEKING <3 #oc: lilia laurent #oc: lucinde lau #leg.txt #leg.asks #leg.ocs #there are a couple things with their signs that arent quite right but i wanted their signs to closely reflect them as people !#sjhdhncjh so this was almost done and then i went to undo something and the whole post was erased but ! we are good now <3 #technology smites leg AGAIN jjajsknak 🥀🥴#there is a fic i plan to write with lila realizing her feelings were real feelings for G and shes on the phone with liz and jaz and its AHH #like her having the thought she had been on a MISSION to be unlike her parents only to not be any different and the weight of her actions #liz BEE lines to lila its a whole thing and i am very looking forward to writing it <3 #leg says kjsnkjan manifesting that the writing gods are merciful and i can write it!#lucys brother is also VERY into astrology and is wholly convinced she and seven are cosmically meant to be ksjmskja #but is also very VERY bitter he broke her heart so in equal parts is rooting for them and like 🥀😠 adskmlskjasn #and of course i cant thank enough ash for the loveliest banners ever 🥀✨😭 TY !!!!!#changed my mind lizzie was a romantic partner of her dads before he met her mom and has been a friend of the family since <3 #they sort of dropped lilia on her because lilia ADORED liz and she became a mother figure soon after :)#they could go party with their friends and liz was like ?? but lilia needed SOMEONE to be there for her so she took that mantle ! 🥀❣️

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bartsugsy · 6 years ago

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DEAR KAT

this is a message for @kayceecruz for robron fandom compliments week. it’s actually like... multiple days late because good god @ life getting in the way of more important things rip, so i need to start this off by apologising 😂😂😫😫😫😫

hopefully you don’t mind too much and forgive me kat 💜💜

i got super excited when i saw that i had been given kat to compliment this week, bc she’s one of the loveliest people i’ve had the pleasure to talk to in fandom. i very fondly remember sitting up into the night talking to her about fic she wanted to write and hearing her amazing ideas and i love talking to her about robert and robron and i just generally enjoy her brain and reading what she has to say. i always always have time to read her opinions and see what she thinks because she’s logical and smart and she loves sweet evil demonchild rjs to the moon and back which is a #mood.

anyway, kat deserves only good things and love and i hope this goes a little way to making her feel a little more loved today bc frankly i think she’s a beaut and we’re lucky to have her 💕

ty for being you kat (and im so sorry this is late pls forgive me im trash)

#kayceecruz #robron fandom appreciation week #i may be late but im also sincere and ily <333

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saizoswifey · 7 years ago

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(How about that Shingen fic?) 😏😏😏 OR a little something from your beautiful prose for Inuchiyo! CONGRATULATIONS again. All my love.

Thank you so much, dear!! Alright, alright! Shingen fic it is! For the loveliest Jem ( ᵕ̤ ‧̫̮ ᵕ̤ )

What I Was, Once

{ShingenxReader}

Genre: Sadness, deathWord Count: 1,905 A/N: This is an AU of sorts, wherein Shingen passes away on his own time. My take on his thoughts and feelings, and how he would handle his passing and the aftermath.

Life doesn’t stop just because you’re dying.

In a period of constant war and turbulence you would be hard-pressed to find anyone who was not aware of this fact, but even so, Takeda Shingen perhaps understood this more than most. Knew there were still plenty of ups and even more downs. When he thought about his impending death and leaving this world it was not about the world itself as a whole; he wasn’t as selfish as all that, but instead the individual things that he would be abandoning. You, his retainers—that went without saying.

It was even smaller things he found to be the hardest to grasp letting go of. How could he come to terms with the fact that one day he would not have the feel of your small hands brushing his hair before breakfast, caressing his scalp before tying his hair up in just the perfect way.

Or the pleasant dreams of his younger days when his shoulders were not yet aware of the profound burden they would one day carry. Wind whistling through his ears and bringing a pleasant moisture to his eyes as he recklessly raced through the mountains with his brother. He’d look back, saying something boisterous and cocky and young though he could not remember exactly what, and laugh, though it was not as deep and hearty as it was today. He would miss the heaving power of the animal beneath him and the sound of hooves like the rhythm of freedom.

Of course, some things were easier to leave. The memories and hardships he had faced in his life; the regrets. Eyes of fear from those at the other end of his sword. The searing pain in his lungs, the feeling of cold sweats and the way the illness swept in waves and seemed to erode every muscle and tendon in his body until he felt as weak as a newborn, unable to dress or walk outside and take a proper piss without assistance. The pity.

Yes, these things he would not miss.

“Yukimura would make a fine partner to warm your bed once I pass,” Shingen said one night while you brushed his hair from behind him. The brush stopped halfway down his back. Abrupt. Inward he was smiling, but his face remained serious and stoic. He knew it was a terrible thing to say but he meant it.

“I told you not to talk like that.” The brush resumed its course.

Ah, you were upset. He would miss that. The same tone you used to scold him in the middle of the night when the morning light was approaching and he still had not come to bed. Behind his shield of books and maps and writing desk he would hear the shoji open and know for certain, it would only be a matter of seconds before you dragged him to bed while giving him an earful about his health, how he should care more, and rest. Did you know your voice was always too full of caring and love to ever be threatening? He hid a small smile at the thought.

“It’s true,” he continued. “He’s loyal and kind. Honest to a fault. He may not be as good a lover as I am-“

“No one is as good a lover as you are,” you cut him off.

He let a deep laugh trickle out through the pain it caused his lungs. Despite the hints of rasp, it was still very much Shingen. Not young Shingen or healthy Shingen, but Shingen. He never grew tired of the way you fueled his ego, even if it wasn’t the truth.

“I hope you won’t forget that…” It was quiet and doleful, uncharacteristically melancholy, but he smiled as he said it.

“There’s nothing for me to forget in the first place. You remind me every day. You’re still here.”

Shingen reached behind him and took hold of your hand, bringing the back of it to his cheek. He had to remind himself that you were not cold, he was simply warm.

“That’s right. I’m here.”

Though, not forever. Not even for long, he thought. In his heart, he truly hoped you would move on and find another man to love. Another man to protect you and live with you in the ways Shingen wished he could have. If he could, he would bring you and Yukimura together while he was still alive just so he could rest assured you would be taken care of. But conversely, it lit a jealous fire in his belly thinking of any–other than himself–getting to touch you and caress you, to claim you in the most intimate ways.

And when he turned to face you he tossed the brush from your hand and, fever be damned, latched his lips to your neck and lowered you underneath him.

He would miss this as well.

He wasn’t even gone and yet he missed eating. He missed having an appetite for anything at all, really. Before, the smell would at least draw a rumble from his belly but now…now even that was not enough to elicit a response from him. A grave sign. But he kept this to himself. He didn’t want to worry you. How could he? How could he steal the light from your eyes? You, who smiled and the bud of your lips opened up like a flower in bloom. And he was just so tired. So very tired. The sharpness of his features even more apparent with his thinning frame. The exhaustion would be easy to let go of.

Flowers sprung and snow fell.

While I gazed out,

barely conscious that I too

was growing old,

how many times have blossoms

scattered on the spring wind?

Helpless. He was a prisoner to the passing of time. While his body moved at an increasingly slow pace, the seasons passed as quickly as he ever remembered. Funny, how the years shortened the older your age. He’d say it was cruel but he knew that was not really true. The autumn breeze brought a chill straight to his bones and Shingen sat awake in the night, alone. Every shudder of breath sent a thick anxiety coursing through his veins, choking him. He had never felt so weak. His arm rested on his writing desk, propping him up with all the strength he had left. The light from the oil lamp was so dim that it wouldn’t matter if it had not been lit at all.

Despite his feverish shaking, the haori remained draped over his shoulders. He alternated dotting at the bit of sweat lingering on his brow and then his eyes as he wept softly in solitude, staring out into the moonlight. The moon, full and bright, reminded him of the rocks from the river he used to play in as a child. As if perhaps one day he had skipped one a bit too hard, and it flew into the sky to remain for the rest of his days. The thought was comforting in its nostalgia. He continued to bring brush to paper, shaky hands be damned.

When he finished, he lay next to your sleeping frame. He caressed a warm hand along your belly. Not enough to rouse you, but enough to feel connected to the life inside, stirring and responding against his flattened palm.

This. He would miss this the most, he thought. And the easiest to let go—the indescribable agony he felt with the knowledge that he would not be around long enough to see it’s face.

___

Although Shingen was gone, his spirit and love were left in traces all around you.

The first time you found a note, the tears welling from your eyes kept you from reading the words properly. This one tiny paper, gently nestled in a new hairpin inside your dark lacquered box.

‘Wear this today, my love. Go outside for a walk. And when you hear the birds song, know they will be singing only for you, and your beauty on this day.’

And you did. Though you didn’t make it very far before giving in to a heavy sob.

Two infant swaddles left on your bedding when you returned from the kitchens one evening. Saizo. One for a boy and one for a girl. And a note.

‘Forgive me, I wanted to give our child a gift but I was not sure which would end up being used… Though, I am sure you’ll make use of both when you start to have more children. At least, I hope you would.’

Little notes in curious places.

Married with bolts of fine cloth that were delivered after he was gone.

“There must be a mistake…I have not requested these,” you protested.

“Forgive me milady, but it is no mistake. Lord Shingen personally instructed us to make these and deliver them here at this time.”

They came with the seasons, patterns for spring, patterns for summer and thick cloth for winter, all beautiful.

Pieces of parchment under your bedding, anywhere he could think of to reach you even when he was not there. Some brought by those in his service he trusted most—when you needed them the most. Some for your child to read in the future.

You breathed in the sun-drenched air.

In front of you in the lush garden grass, plump, shaky legs brought your child closer to your feet.

“My lady, she’s escaped again,” a maid appeared from the veranda.

“Alright then,” you sighed.

You took off, heading in the only direction that made sense. The same place she always ended up. The sun was traveling towards the horizon and the chance breezes caught your hair and cooled your skin. Through trees and over rocky paths you made your way to high ground until you found her.

“Kurokumo,” you called in exasperation when you finally saw her, calm and grazing on the familiar hill overlooking Kai.

She looked back and flicked her tail in annoyance.

“You’ve got to stop doing this.” She ignored you and returned her face to the grass. You gave her a couple long strokes down her neck. “I know, I miss him too.”

She snorted in response.

Perhaps this shared feeling of loneliness was the closest thing bonding you two.

Inside a deep hollow of the tree, you retrieved a glass bottle, unrolling the parchment hidden inside.

‘Are you sad? Is that why you’ve come here? Whatever you are feeling, I am always with you in this spot. If you feel the warmth of the sun, close your eyes and look up to the sky, think of it is as my hands upon your cheeks. The wind moving through your hair is my fingers. Raindrops upon your skin are each a kiss from my lips. And when it’s cold, wrap your haori around yourself and it will be my warm embrace. Whatever your burden, I am there to share it. Look out upon the vastness in front of you and smile for me, and for all of the wonderful life around you.

And know I am smiling, too.’

Kurokumo nudged your shoulder with enough strength to knock you off balance and you wiped the newfound wetness from your cheek.

“Alright,” you gave her a smile and tucked the vial back into the tree. “We can stay. Just a little longer…”

#slbp #samurai love ballad party #slbp fic #shingen #takeda shingen #shingen fic #my writing #jemchew #k talks

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