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babybearnation · 11 months ago

Text

old masterlist

anons: 🍑, 💙, 🐍, 🎩, 📞, ��, 🃏, 🦊, C, 🥡, 🐜, 🔒, 🍬, 🐨, 💘, 🥄, 💫, 🥔, くコ:彡, 🐥, ♉, 🏎🌷

the grid:

you got me feelin' butterflies, butterflies - asking you on a date

darling, you're the one i want - you wear a number that isn't theirs

your first and my last name would just sound better together - you call them by their full name

cause you make my heart race - they accidentally confess their feelings

i had the best day with you today - you surprise them with a pet

king of my heart, body and soul - they win a race

oh, dear, don't be discouraged - they find out you're crying

hey baby, welcome to my world - arthur, liam & mick's texts for the posts above

you drew stars around my scars - you're insecure about your surgery scars

you're the greatest thing we've lost - they confess after you get replaced mid season

you belong with me - they're jealous of your toxic ex

jealousy, jealousy - you get shipped with another driver & their jealous

silence finally in my head - you give them the silent treatment

you are in love, true love - you have a crush on their teammate

give me more than just some butterflies - you text them the lyrics to juno by sabrina carpenter

twenty stitches in a hospital room - you crash and don't tell them

this is the sound, it's our sound - you're a musician

so light me up and let me burn - you do a break up prank

on a wednesday in a cafe - you prank them with a fake date

come take a picture - you accidentally send them an explicit picture

you're everything i'm dreaming of - you accidentally confess to them

must be the good boy - you call them a good boy

you don't need no invitation - "he's gone, you can come over now"

i'm so sick (of lying) - you hide that you're sick

it was the very first night - you accidentally text them after a night together

cherish my love - you text them after your first date

hey baby, i think i wanna marry you - they overhear you call them your husband

when you lovingly call my name - you exchange contact names

just look at me baby, day and night - you ask them to come home and take care of you

you're wearing nothing but my t-shirt - you send them a spicy pic at an inconvenient time

runnin' home to your sweet nothings - cute, domestic texts

talk to you later, later - you call him bro after sex

but daddy, i love him - you call him daddy

so kiss me, kiss me, kiss me - you forget to kiss him before you go out

oh, i wonder who i'm looking for - "they're busy, bro"

i miss you, i'm sorry - they miss you when you're away

i've already lost control - you ask if you can take control in the bedroom

the pages of our relationship arc - you try and break up with them due to insecurities

i wanna know (what is love?) - you don't say i love you back

baby, so please, cheat on me - they pull the "i know you cheated" prank

good luck, baby, good luck to you - you don't wish them good luck before a race

am i still not good enough? - you ask them to save you from a bad date

i need ya focus on me - they accidentally send you an explicit picture

that pretty, pretty boy - you're dysphoric

uh oh, i'm falling in love - you share when you first fell for each other

money, money, money (must be funny) - your rent is ridiculously expensive

i'm coming out - you come out without telling them

i'm lying so i won't get caught - he hides that he's sick

can you see my feeling? (oopsy) - polyam!drivers accidentally message the wrong gc

i love it because i love you - he talks about you in his native language

privacy sign on the door - your relationship is about to be leaked

i want you to be happier - polyam!drivers - one of you isn't feeling the best

spice it up, up, up, roll up - drivers x genderfluid!reader

pull it to the side and get all up in it - "raw, next question"

you're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin' - you walk in on each other changing

i will give you all my love - polyam!drivers nearly/fully ruin their surprise

now i've read all of the books beside your bed - you're a bookworm

think i like you best when you're just with me - you're trying to quit smoking

act like an angel and dress like crazy - you show them your revealing outfit

alex albon:

nothing yet...

arthur leclerc:

baby, i don't wanna waste my time - your relationship isn't over already, is it?

charles leclerc:

ride on the highway to heaven - texts w/ biker reader

i love the light that i found in you - charles x reader x oscar

guess i'll just stumble on home to my cats - lestappen x reader - they argue over pets

take me out, and take me home - charles x reader x george - domestic texts

dino beganovic:

cause, oh, they make me feel alive - dino x reader x kimi x paul

george russell:

i'll give you the best years - george x reader x oscar (ft. bff!lando)

take me out, and take me home - george x reader x charles - domestic texts

zhou guanyu:

nothing yet...

kimi antonelli:

cause, oh, they make me feel alive - kimi x reader x dino x paul

i looked at you like the stars that shine - kimi x reader x ollie

you said "i'm a better driver" - kimi x f1 driver!reader x ollie

take me out, and take me home - kimi x reader x ollie - domestic texts

i feel so close to you right now - he's clingy, but you're not together

hey, cupid has shot my heart - ollie plays matchmaker

lance stroll:

boy, you got me drunk on a feeling - he accidentally drinks your drink

lando norris:

they don't know me like my baby - lando x reader x max

screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain - landoscar x reader - they argue due to papaya rules

he said "fuck me like i'm famous" - landoscar x reader - end of/post-season shenanigans

tell me what you want, tell me what you need - he's jealous (ft. max f, keegan & oscar)

liam lawson:

nothing yet...

logan sargeant:

long live the walls we crashed through - loscar x reader - you're the 2023 rookies

max verstappen:

they don't know me like my baby - max x reader x lando

guess i'll just stumble on home to my cats - lestappen x reader - they argue over pets

mick schumacher:

nothing yet...

ollie bearman:

i looked at you like the stars that shine - ollie x reader x kimi

you said "i'm a better driver" - ollie x f1 driver!reader x kimi

take me out, and take me home - ollie x reader x kimi - domestic texts

oscar piastri:

screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain - landoscar x reader - they argue due to papaya rules

i'll give you the best years - oscar x reader x george (ft. bff!lando)

i love the light that i found in you - oscar x reader x charles

driving home for christmas - you're spending christmas alone... or are you?

he said "fuck me like i'm famous" - landoscar x reader - end of/post-season shenanigans

long live the walls we crashed through - loscar x reader - you're the 2023 rookies

paul aron:

cause, oh, they make me feel alive - paul x reader x dino x kimi

seasons start to change, i've been daydreaming for days - you're oblivious to his feelings

the code is l-o-v-e - paul x reader

cause i've got a soft spot (i've got it for you) - you don't play favourites, but with paul...

pierre gasly:

nothing yet...

yuki tsunoda:

nothing yet...

formula e:

in the heat of your electric touch - it's his first formula e weekend (zm22)

miscellaneous:

three short hours (three long weeks) - you can't sleep without each other (fc43)

give you my love, mi corazón - josep maria martí x reader

#ᵔᴥᵔ navi

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oraclekleins · 1 year ago

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hello hello!! i discovered you a few hours ago and LOVE your content<3

could i request a joost klein x gn!reader where the reader is also competing in eurovision, representing {readers country} and basically they are already dating and joost kind of gets jealous because readers new make up artist got a little TOO touchy.. once they get back to their shared hotel room he expresses that jealousy by getting a bit more clingy?

when reader tried to ask about whats wrong he just kisses them or brushes it off as not important :3

thank you if you accept my request and have a great day <3

ill be 🩵anon if that’s okay!

Hii! Thanks for being so sweet, nonnie! Hope this is up to your liking. 💙 I changed the prompt a little iiif that's alright, so here's kind of an aftermath of that. ^^ I love any feedback.

You're Overcomplicating Things . . -> Jealous!Joost Klein x Reader

The buzzing of Joost's phone wakes him with a start.

His head turns a bit to the side, slowed from exhaustion. Joost's vision is still catching up with him, the living room gauzed in a radial blur; he feels like he’s wading through quicksand — dragging himself to sit up, before his arm catches another body. You're curled onto the left side of the bed, unmoving — the pillow your arm was wrapped around having ended up on the floor. There’s a spot of drool on your hoodie, plush lips tugged along the bold Eurovision logo of your sleeve.

“Morning,” Joost mumbles, patting the cushions for his phone. His voice is groggy, scratched dry from the shitty beers you two had downed the night before. He grimaces at the spit webbed on the top of his mouth, flicks at it with his tip of tongue in disgust. He moves to gently push at your leg; it’s hot, too hot for you to lounge this close; there’s a pool of sweat sinking into the crook of his chest — he feels gross, sticky, uncomfortable. There's a heavy silence in the air. It feels like you did something wrong, but you can't place your finger on it. You stir in response, a whine of annoyance rumbling from your throat. You blink over to see what Joost's all worked up about, who’s grabbing his phone from the nightstand, pinching at his forehead.

"Good morning — what's wrong?" You're still waking up, clearing the spit from your throat. Biting back a cough, you manage to sit up, pressing on the wrinkles from your shirt.

Joost offers you a tired smile, moving to kiss your forehead. "Long day ahead, right? Hop to it." A bit of enthusiasm pokes out of his voice as the words die out, his lips trailing to your jaw, pressing into it. It feels like he's hiding from you, even when he's slotted into your side like a puzzle piece, lazily tracing his fingers against your hip.

He's sulking, the boy-shape trying to disappear into your skin, upset and loathing.

Your fingers find his curls, gently raking your nails across his scalp. He makes a noise of satisfaction, face nestling closer to your collarbone.

You would know his envious touches through death. There were small, red marks around your waist where he had been pressing into it, marking you, yet.. gentle. Apologetically, he rubbed his thumb over them, turning his face from you.

"Joost," you sigh, "you think it's stupid," he perks up. "Right? That's why you won't tell me."

His bottom lip is caught between his teeth. "Your makeup, it looked good yesterday. The new artist. Good." Joost fixates on the blanket under you both, looking anywhere but at you. "Good connection."

"Good connection?" He's already kissing the words from your mouth, stealing them from you. If he took them, then he wouldn't have to hear you say them. Listen to you accuse him — be disappointed. "Joost, let me," you're tired of this game already, and he's holding you like he can't get enough, arms tightly wrapped around your waist. You can feel the tense of panic in him, cold throughout his veins, a tremble to his grip.

You're prying his fingers away — careful, soft, not like a punishment. A warning. "You need to talk to me."

Joost is quiet for a minute. He's thinking. His uncomfortable grin is full of teeth, ones that graze on your irritability, biting into you like a peach. He doesn’t wipe the juice from his mouth — instead lets it dry on his chin, picking at the stain. A rash of his own, festering nerves.

He sits up. Joost's tank hugs his figure. His hair is coiffed into loose, blonde strands of fray, kissing the back of his neck — bouncing when he tilts his head. He frowns. You wrap your arm around his shoulder, keeping him afloat.

"You do not rehearse today, yes?" Joost asks after a bit. You want to make a remark about how you have his schedule memorized, everything written down on your phones, laid out for him — it's a little mean. He doesn't need it right now.

Swinging your legs to the side of his bed, you nod. "Not today, yeah. You want me to come hang out with you?"

Joost nods, a little too fast.

You kiss the side of his head, pulling him back into your chest. "You need to tell me when you're upset. Even if you think I'm gonna get mad, or, I don't know — weirded out."

"I love you." You hum into shoulder. You're ghosting the pad of your thumb against his cheekbone. He looks satisfied, curling back into you.

Joost tangles your fingers. You know how this goes.

"I love you too."

Thanks for reading!

#my writing #joost klein x you #joost klein imagines #joost klein x reader #anon 🩵#this is so short im sorry

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xoxolaw · 22 days ago

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Congrats on the 500. Followers 🎊

1. Yeon Si-eun x fem reader

2. Song Kalam Einah by Sherine (it’s an Arabic song but the translation is just as good)

3. AU sieun broke up with her because he was afraid of hurting her because he wasn’t emotional and also afraid of her getting hurt from other people after him. Two years later or maybe they meet again when they are in college and old flame sparks again

I will be anon 🥹, thank you so much

+ I ALWAYS LOVED YOU

YEON SI-EUN X READER

500 followers special 💙

The lecture hall thrummed with the restless chatter of students, their voices blending into a dull roar as they shuffled papers and settled into seats. She sat near the back, her pen scratching absent circles in her notebook, her mind far from the syllabus before her. College was meant to be a fresh chapter, a place to bury the shadows of high school. But then he walked in, and the air seemed to still.

Yeon Si-eun.

Two years had passed since he’d severed their bond, his voice flat, his eyes avoiding hers, claiming she deserved better. She’d fought, her voice cracking with desperation, but he’d walked away, leaving her with only the echo of his retreating steps. Now, he slipped into a seat three rows ahead, his silhouette sharper, older, yet achingly familiar. His shoulders were broader, his posture tinged with a weariness that hadn’t been there before. Her heart clenched, a sharp, unwelcome ache stirring within her.

Si-eun stared out the window, rain streaking the glass, his face a mask of quiet resolve. But his eyes—those dark, guarded eyes—held a storm, a flicker of something raw, unspoken. She forced her gaze away, her fingers tightening around her pen, trembling. She wasn’t ready for this.

---

The library was oppressively silent, the air heavy with the weight of their shared past. A group project had conspired against them, forcing her and Si-eun to sit across from each other, a worn textbook between them. He flipped through pages, his pen moving in precise, controlled strokes, his scarred knuckles a stark reminder of the fights he never spoke of. Her eyes lingered on his hands, memories flooding back—those same hands brushing her hair back once, gentle despite their roughness.

“You’re quiet,” she said, her voice sharper than intended, cutting through the stillness. “Still allergic to words?”

Si-eun’s pen stilled. He looked up, his gaze striking her like a physical force—raw, unguarded for a fleeting moment before his walls snapped back into place. “I talk when it’s necessary,” he said, his tone even, restrained.

She leaned back, crossing her arms to shield the hurt clawing at her chest. “Same old Si-eun. Should’ve known.”

His jaw tightened, but his eyes held hers, steady and searching. “You’ve changed,” he said softly, as if testing the weight of the words.

“People change when you break their heart and vanish,” she replied, her voice raw, edged with pain. She braced for him to retreat, to shut her out as he always had. But he only stared, his gaze heavy with something unspoken, something that made her breath catch.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his fingers curling into fists on the table. “I thought… you’d be safer. Without me.”

Her breath hitched, anger and sorrow twisting together. “Safer?” she said, leaning forward, her voice trembling. “You decided that for me. You didn’t even ask.”

Si-eun didn’t respond, his silence louder than any words. She grabbed her bag, standing abruptly. “Let’s just finish this project,” she said, her voice tight, and walked away before he could see the tears threatening to spill.

---

Weeks slipped by, and Si-eun was everywhere—a shadow in the hallway, a presence in the lecture hall, his shoulder brushing hers in passing, sending sparks through her skin. He didn’t push, didn’t speak, but his actions spoke for him. A coffee cup appeared on her desk when she looked drained, steam curling from the lid. He held doors open a moment longer than needed, his presence lingering. Once, when a classmate’s drunken gaze lingered too long on her, Si-eun stepped closer, his quiet intensity sending the other boy scurrying. His eyes, always his eyes, burned with something fierce, something pleading.

One evening, She found him outside the library, rain pouring down, soaking his jacket, his hair plastered to his forehead. He stood alone, staring at the sky as if it held answers to questions he’d never voice. She should’ve kept walking, but her feet carried her to his side, her umbrella raised to shield him from the downpour.

“You’ll catch a cold,” she said softly, holding the umbrella over his head.

Si-eun turned, rain dripping from his lashes, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that stole her breath. “You always worried too much,” he said, his voice low, almost tender.

“And you never worried enough,” she shot back, her voice cracking, raw with the weight of years apart. The air crackled between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

He stepped closer, the umbrella tilting, rain grazing her cheek. “I worried,” he said, his voice rough, fraying at the edges. “I worried every day that I’d ruin you. That someone would hurt you because of me.”

Her heart pounded, tears stinging her eyes, blurring the rain. “You hurt me worse by leaving, Si-eun,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t want safe. I wanted you.”

His breath caught, and for the first time, his mask shattered—his eyes wide, vulnerable, brimming with a desperation she’d never seen. “I’m not… good at this,” he said, his voice barely holding together. “But I never stopped—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, tears spilling over, hot against the cold rain. “Don’t say it if you’ll run again.”

Si-eun didn’t speak. Instead, his hand lifted, trembling, brushing her cheek, his thumb catching a tear—or perhaps a raindrop. His touch was soft, hesitant, but his gaze was fierce, blazing with everything he’d buried for years. Y/N leaned into his hand, her eyes fluttering shut, his warmth anchoring her against the storm.

“Si-eun,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “what are we doing?”

He didn’t answer, but his forehead pressed against hers, rain falling around them, his breath warm against her skin. The silence wasn’t empty anymore—it was heavy, alive with promises neither knew how to voice.

---

The café glowed warmly, a soft haven against the rain drumming outside. She sat across from Si-eun, their hands intertwined on the table, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over her knuckles. He was still quiet, still guarded, but his eyes never left her—soft, steady, a home she thought she’d lost forever.

They weren’t whole, not yet. Perhaps they never would be. But in his touch, in the way he held on just a little tighter, she felt the stirrings of something new. Si-eun’s gaze softened as he watched her sip her coffee, a faint smile tugging at his lips when she caught him staring. She raised an eyebrow, teasing, and for the first time in years, he didn’t look away. Instead, he squeezed her hand, his calloused fingers warm against hers, grounding her in a way words never could.

Outside, the rain slowed to a drizzle, the world quieting around them. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, studying him—the faint scar above his brow, the way his hair fell into his eyes. “You’re staring again,” she murmured, her voice light but her heart racing.

Si-eun’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but close. “Can’t help it,” he said, his voice low, raw with a vulnerability that made her chest ache. He hesitated, then added, “I missed this.”

Her breath caught, and she squeezed his hand back, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Me too,” she whispered.

The café’s warmth wrapped around them. They weren’t fixed, and the shadows of their past still lingered—his fears, her hurts, the weight of all they’d left unsaid. But as Si-eun’s thumb brushed over her knuckles again, steady and sure, she felt a quiet certainty settle in her heart. They were here, now, and that was enough.

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

idk 😭 I feel I could've done better

TAGLIST

@itzcandy @yeon103 @hikaerys @mizxuqii @jihooneyluv @l5byrinth @inom17 @sunnyophelia @dna-black-and-blue @cayrelyra @maxinehufflepuffprincess @intoanothermind @mariii-0001 @eijizwrld @mishh2728 @coffee-ii

#fanfic #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #weak hero webtoon #yeon sieun x reader #yeon sieun

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sashi-ya · 4 months ago

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𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘆. barista! ulquiorra cifer x f! reader. nsfw

request: Ulquiorra and fem!Reader "discovering" each other, the way innocent creatures do. They're both completely inexperienced and try making their way around each other, at times she's too yielding, maybe he's somewhat forceful (in the "isn't this what I'm supposed to be doing?" kind of way), being completely mesmerised by her foreign to him self (maybe only half aware of that). Cute and a little bit dark ("you've forfeited your right to belong to another. you have given yourself to me, and must accept the consequences of your foolish action." or something emo like that lol). Bonus points for ONNA, but I'll understand if you skip it ;) Thank you for filling whichever one, or just for reading <3 a/n: hi anon! of course love!! it's a little long but I love to write for Ulqui so I hope you enjoy 💙 tw: +18 mdni. first time together. discovering each other. oral g/r. masturbating g/r. romantic (as romantic as ulquiorra can be) love making. rough in the end. open to interpretation wether you want them to be virgins or not. wc: 3.8k masterlist

While your lips suck on a paper straw, your eyes are only focused upon “an emerald mystery”.

Those smaragdine eyes, that pale skin that seems it’s never seen the sun, hair and nails as black as onyx. The barista always works alone, at the back, almost hidden, as if he forced himself not to talk, not to speak to any person around.

He is delicate, metodic; pouring coffee, milk and syrups, everyday he prepares the drink you pay for. But, at least from what you know, he has never once looked at you. It’s ok; you wouldn’t know how to begin a conversation with him either way; your knowledge regarding men is quite limited.

“What are you looking at?” that beautiful ginger woman asks with a tray of sweets in her hands.

“Uh! Nohting. Sorry, were you telling me something?” you ask her; she is the owner of that small bakery in Karakura town.

She smiles sweetly, and serves you a variety of sweet breads. There are buns filled with strawberry and cream, others with crème pâtissière and some others with jam.

“Ah! Are these new?” you ask, happy. Since it opened you have been visiting her bakery. However, just recently -at least a couple of months ago- she hired a barista. That handsome, pale and “emo” one you enjoy looking at.

“Yes! I’ve been craving a lot more of those recently, so I wanted to add them to the menu. Please try them, those are on the house ~” she says, tracing little circles on her lower belly.

Ah, she must be pregnant… How cute!

“Ulquiorra-kun!” she turns around, calling the -up until now unnamed- barista. “Please make our best client the new cappuccino! Add cinnamon to it, don’t forget! Ah… cinnamon…” she goes away, with her index on her cheek, thinking perhaps about a new recipe.

You flush, feeling your heart beat faster and your legs becoming bouncy from those two green eyes looking straight towards your table.

He is looking at me… he is looking at me!

Soon, maybe sooner than expected, he personally brings you a new cup. His pale hands, slender, handsome, arrange the beverage on the table. Perhaps he takes more time than what it would normally take someone to serve a customer.

“Here. “Little Bun Cappuccino” – or uh- something like that I don’t know” he comments; letting you know he indeed has a voice. A very low toned, but deadly voice.

“Thank you… Ulquiorra ~” you dare to mention his name, catching his attention for longer than a couple of seconds.

He nods, looking straight into the ground immediately after and as he goes back to his “cave”. You giggle; now you know what he actually reminds you of. A bat!

It took at least a couple of months for you two to finally share a somehow proper conversation; the boss, Orihime, left her bakery to Ulquiorra while her pregnancy made her stay at home more often. She still visited and worked there, but the closer it got to her due date, the less she attended…

“Good afternoon ~” you salute, happy to see his emerald big orbs gain a little shine when you cross the door.

“It is technically already night” Ulquiorra corrects you with a tint of reproach in his tone.

It is true, you weren’t able to make it earlier at the café. You had to stay at Uni for longer than expected today.

“Sorry; I have a lot to study… I might need the strongest, blackest coffee you could make me! Like a black hole!” you chime, letting your bag flop into the ground while you climb the stool. Those days when you sat back at a table belong in the past; now, you sit right at the counter, close to him.

Ulquiorra diligently prepares exactly what you’ve asked for; though you should be a little more careful with your requests as he can take things very literally.

He places a white cup filled up to the brim with indeed a liquid that looks like a pure void, closer to dark matter in it. He does by bending forward, enough for her nose to almost reach yours.

“女… Here. Drink. I’m closing soon, wait for me?” straight to the point, Ulquiorra asks you… even if he didn’t actually need to ask.

Pleased, you sip on your cup, and nod energetically while you do. It took time, but you have become very comfortable around him.

Amazingly, the coffee tastes good. And, as always, the temperature is just right for you. He has mastered his technique only and just to adjust to your likings, something he didn’t think was “the sweetest thing ever” but still was to you.

The “bat boy” prepares everything for the closing time, turning the machines off, making sure everything that belongs into the fridge is indeed inside of it. He then starts washing the last few cups and plates left, while he seems a little troubled, even fidgety. Something is on his mind, something he might need to ask.

“What is it?” you utter, fixed on the black matter slowly swirling inside the cup. “You seem uneasy, what is going on?”

Ulquiorra turns the tap off; still silent. He sighs and finally drops the bomb.

“Are you staying late at your uni because you have a romantic interest there?” he asks, seriously, without a single hint of emotion.

You look him in the eyes, confused. Slowly, as you let the cup over the counter, you turn your head to the side. A romantic interest he says? Your only romantic interest is actually him…

“Ulqui… I- you…” you are left speechless for some time. Thinking of the right choice of words -on a very innocent and inexperienced mental book- you scratch your head before talking. “Are you asking this because you wanna know or because you are jealous?”

You immediately wanna slap yourself; why would you ask something like that instead of telling him the evident truth; you two were silently dating, but none of you dared to acknowledge it.

“How can I be jealous if I don’t know if you have or not a romantic interest?” he asks, making a very good point.

You laugh, cutely. It only makes him blink a couple of times more than usual. And maybe, perhaps, his heart beat a lot faster than ever.

“I do have a romantic interest, but is not from uni” you comment, playing with a used paper napkin to avoid looking straight into his eyes.

“Ah…” he mutters, this time a little sad.

“Don’t you wanna know his name?” you ask, playfully. What an absolute cute dork he can be.

“No, it wouldn’t change a thing” he answers, right away. Ulquiorra turns around and keeps doing his work. Now he has become even more silent than ever; virtually, a mute.

You do as well; speechless for real this time. WHAT? HOW- AH!!

“You know what? I’m heading home now, I’m sorry… I’m tired” you murmur, with a lump in your throat. Apparently he doesn’t really care, nor is he jealous. He was simply… curious?

Ulquiorra keeps drying his hands with a white cloth, looking a little mad you are leaving but still without saying a single word.

You give him a “sad smile”, almost ironic, mad and hurt, and turn around without looking back. Yet, before you could cross the door, you stop.

“By the way, my “romantic interest” is called Ulquiorra” you spit, ready to disappear. After such a revelation, that shouldn’t even take him as a surprise, you need to escape such deadly silence that’s loud and also violent.

You get stopped by a cold hand wrapped around your wrist just before you leave.

“Wait, Onna” he says, pulling you to get back inside.

“What do you want?” you sigh, turning around with teary eyes.

The bat man takes a deep breath before talking. “You like me?” he asks, almost amazed by how someone could think about him that way.

You sigh; defeated. He didn’t tell by now?

“Of course I do ~” you murmur, shy, looking at his hand still tightly gripped from your wrist.

He takes some time to think; a little too much. It feels like an eternity, while you wait for him to say something, to do something. You swallow incipient tears, those that were about to fall right after you let him know about your feelings.

“Then you are not scared of me?” he says, making absolutely no sense. Why would you?

You shake your head, quickly, denying such stupid question.

Suddenly, then, Ulquiorra pulls you -in a rather violent swing- closer to him. So much closer, enough for your body to crash with his.

The tension in between you both can be compared with the strength of a lighting; for the very first time, your emo boy is finally holding you into his arms; the scent of his skin, so soft and fresh, hits you like the last spark necessary to light up the fire in your heart.

It is almost impossible to stop you from kissing or biting his pristine white skin; how can someone be that pale? Isn’t that an unspoken invitation to left marks on it?

You slither, just a little, for your nose to reach the small of his neck. Though you first aim for his right cheek; a subtle peck that paralyzes your lover. Then, the little protrusion of his jugular, of his muscles tensing become a deadly temptation you can’t dismiss…

Would it be so wrong for you to finally attack such a divine alluring place?

It’s fast; it’s subtle. It’s daring, as well, especially for him. However, in terms of delicacy, this kiss will be the last since Ulquiorra doesn’t really know how to be particularly…soft. As you, he is completely clueless, allowing his needs and instincts to guide him from now on.

“You have chosen me, then? No other person, but me? Are you sure you want me, Onna? ” he asks, passing his index underneath your chin to lift your head up and face him.

“No other, but you… It is you who I want…” you whisper back, becoming the epitome of devotion.

In a sudden rapt of desperation, his lips crash with yours. You can feel his front teeth against yours, but still, you don’t mind. Even if it’s a little too much, you are amazed to discover a hidden feral creature.

Many kisses, that clumsily evolve into passionate ones, make you slowly allow your body to relax. So much your arms surround his neck, you need support… maybe your legs are failing, maybe your body only wishes to be handled by his hands only.

During one of those little pauses you take to breathe in between brutal making out, you mention the need to definitely close the bakery; anyone could enter, anyone could see from the sidewalk such lewd spectacle.

Ulquiorra agrees and only separates from you to press the button to close the metallic curtains down. Those seconds feel eternal; come back, I need more of your kisses… please.

The emerald eyed man comes back right after; now, nothing can interfere in between you and him. He strikes you like a spear, back at your lips. His hands, welcome back the indentation of your waist, squeezing, palpating, enjoying how your flesh feels against his palm.

Tripping, you take little steps back. Enough you do, until your ass hits the table you used to seat at when you met him for the very first time. There, exactly there, is where Ulqui desires to take you.

Your back bends over, adopting the table’s form until you end up laying flat. His arms land one on each side, your legs spread open on their own to let his slim body fit in between.

The “bat” man takes a look at your body; he seems to be more than attracted, perhaps even more than curious; his façade shows an expression you’ve never seen before… lust.

He lusts for you, his body does, his eyes do, and his heart does.

Ulquiorra bends over your body; he doesn’t want to kiss you now, though. He only needs to uncover your anatomy, discovering what’s hiding underneath your clothing.

“You are going to show me your body; you won’t say anything but "yes", Onna” he says, scaring you just a little.

“That’s… a little harsh” you whisper; and despite your words, your hips buck up in a desperate attempt of your core to meet his.

Ulquiorra frowns, confused. Isn’t this what he is supposed to do with a woman that pleads for him?

“However, I want to say yes to you, to everything you wish and want… so, yes… Ulquiorra-kun~” you answer, meekly, obediently, wickedly.

He sighs; his brain getting completely taken over by a dark fog of sexual, obscene, pornographic imagery. So much it leads him to rip your blouse apart and expose your chest to him. His fingers act like claws, like a thirsty monster.

You whine in response; your back arching accompanies the blouse opening. You allow Ulquiorra to finally witness the blooming of your biteable breasts.

In fact, because of that, he pounces right to your chest; he needs more, he wants to see more. And more is what he gets, as he continues to undress you fully.

You want to do the same, although his energy is not easily surpassed. However, you rely on a special weapon; your lips, your voice, your smutty pleads…

“Take your shirt off, Ulqui-kun… please ~” you purr, pulling from one of his sleeves.

You would lie if you said you didn’t dream with this moment many times, but now that you can see the pale extents of his chest you can say it’s even better.

You also discover a round scar over where his heart is; your fingertips trace the bumpy traces of regenerated skin, wondering what could have caused such mark.

Ulquiorra grabs your hand to stop you from touching, you can tell. “I will explain later…” he lets you know, taking your hand to his lips, placing a sweet kiss on your fingers and pinning it back against the table.

You tremble; that warm peck, the feeling of pure connection… you are discovering what it feels to be praised, loved and devoured by a man you love.

But his kisses do not limit to your lips and fingers, and sooner you have him leaving wet traces on every inch of your neck, chest, breasts and belly. Down, down he goes until the cold metallic button of your skirt meets his chin.

“I will take this off” he comments; even with no experience and perhaps a violent approach, he asks for consent in his own ways. And you, of course, allow him to go as far as he wishes for.

“Yes, Ulquiorra…” you moan, while he continues to squeeze your breasts with his free hand.

Fast enough, he frees the button of your skirt and lifts it up until your waist. He takes some time to admire the wet patch in between your legs, and the way your knee-high socks squeeze enough the skin of your thighs.

Lost in temptation and dark thoughts, he bends over again; his tiny precious nose reach your core, he desires to watch, but also to smell and taste.

You squirm at his now delicate approach; “Your sex is wet…” he mutters, and he does it so close to it you can even feel the warmth of his breath. “Stay still…”

As if it were so easy, Ulquiorra Cifer!

He first enjoys your womanly perfume and then takes his tongue to trace little circles still over your panties. Your legs tend to close, but his hands squeeze them enough to keep them opened.

“Open, keep them opened” he continues, while his indexes curl on the hem of your lingerie to pull them down.

You can only nod, trying to see what his expressions look like while he discovers your sex for the very first time. It’s pointless, you can’t see his face when he finally buries his tongue in between the slit of your flower.

This time you spasm a lot harder, tensing, blind searching for something to grab. And soon, his hair ends up tangled around your fingers, while he blesses you with an oral delight.

Still a little clumsy, he manages to suck and relish every little drop of your honeys; to lick, to taste and stimulate every corner, every bump and hardness of your feminine anatomy. His fingers also become curious, playing with, sliding in and out of your entrance.

You contort in response, carving your heels on his waist, discovering that this could be the very start of ecstasy.

“Onna, your flavour… I like it, I like it so much” Ulquiorra grunts, emerging from your core and topping you back again. He crawls and slides his hands underneath your waist to pull your whole body down so that your core gets closer to his.

He kisses your lips with still salty traces of your heat. You try to lift your back from the table, but he won’t allow you. You are trapped underneath that slim man, showing you that despite his body build he is way stronger than you.

You shiver; squeezing both of his arms, with your nails chiselled into his skin. Sloppy eyelids covering prasine orbs look at you, while his fingers haven’t stopped playing with your sex. He learnt already that the more he hit your upper wall, the more you pant and gasp.

His black jeans fall to the ground of that bakery during some unknown moment you can’t quite recall; you don’t mind, though. You are amazed by the way his muscles create a perfect V, and in between the valley of his protruding hip bones down, his hardness shows itself.

Your hand, unable to stay still, squirms from Ulqui’s grab and tries to reach the bulge in between his legs. You can barely touch, but you can already tell it has become the warmest spot on his body; you can also tell it is throbbing, yearning to be engulfed and surrounded by either your palms, or most definitely your milking walls.

“What are you doing, woman?” he asks, while he keeps on masturbating you and biting every inch of your neck.

“I wanna touch you…” you moan, trying to sound logical while your brain has turned into a mush of pleasure and desire.

“You wanna touch me? Then do” he growls, with a voice that it is still soft and calmed but definitely soaked in lust.

You widen your eyes; in between his forearm showing some protruding veins, showing muscles tensed to keep fingering you with proficiency, you see his boxer briefs slide down his hips and legs.

Exposed, now, his shaft lays erect; so erect, it rests on his lower belly on an almost straight line. And it is pale as he is, even perhaps a little more. Also sprinkled by plumped veins, and a pinkish tip, it drips precum in a desperate attempt to honour its main purpose: seed.

He comes closer, standing by your side and never once letting your folds go and much less the tiny button you have proven him to be your perdition.

Clumsy and a little embarrassed you reach for his manhood, getting your palm coated of his transparent droplets. You know how to do it, you aren’t stupid; yet, when it comes to him, you feel like a virginal nymph.

Slowly, you begin to touch, amazed by the reaction of an impassable Ulquiorra turn into rapt. When you increase the rhythm of the pumps, you enjoy his sharp mandible tensing and the way he throws his head back… oh, his slightly long hair raining on his nape, his lips separating just enough to let manly moans escape in between his front teeth.

Such imagery impulses you to do more and more. Pulling him softly against you, the tip of your tongue catches the fine dripping thread of precum first, guiding his sex right into your wet mouth then.

Ulquiorra gasps; to feel your lips surrounding his sex, to feel the dampened warmth of your mouth trapping his hardness… weak, that man has found his kryptonite… while his hips beg for more and automatically begin ramming against your throat.

You don’t mind; in fact, the gagging that also blurs your eyes with little tears, makes it even hotter for you. But this is just the start, and while you enjoy him fucking your mouth, that lonely barista you once met needs to be buried deep, very deep inside of you.

It takes all of his inner strength to finally take his manhood out of your mouth; He manages to do so, keeping in mind how much better it will feel once he gets to dive inside your heat. And so, moved by such desire, he abandons your side to crawl right in between your legs once more.

This time, there is nothing he can say. He can’t ask, he can’t communicate he will indeed fuck you hard. He simply lets his eyes speak for him, fixed into yours, letting you know what his heart truly desires… he lusts for you, he lusts for your body, but most importantly, he lusts to become one in such sinful reunion of the flesh…

No need to move, your sex is conveniently placed by the limits of the table so that Ulquiorra can reach just right. You wonder what will be able to clean the surface but now is not the time to regret any of your actions.

He doesn’t really need to guide his shaft, as it reaches your entrance by simply crawling a little on top of you. You can feel his throbbing tip, clumsily but surely, sliding right in, giving you that first taste of heaven.

You hug him, palms wide open caressing his back. You can feel it on your touch, the way his spine and shoulder blades move when he begins to go in and out of you. At first, he does slow, matching the pace of the sloppy kisses you both share.

But then, as both become hungry, insatiable, addicted to the pleasure you want more… more, more… faster, harder, rougher…

Ulqui’s back arches, his hips turn into violent hammers, the ramming is almost too strong for you to tolerate. Both bite each other’s flesh, leaving marks and purple reminders of your pass.

Whines and moaning. Grunting, panting, desperately… in and out, slapping skins, wet noises…

Fingers intertwined with yours, plastered against the table, squeezing your hands in romantic, but still concupiscent reaction to an arriving climax…

“Onna… this is the first time I am able to see the colours of your eyes” he sighs, loudly, exhausted, still twitching as he finishes in and out of your core.

“The "colours" ?” you ask, relaxing your body after an intense orgasm.

“I can’t see colours… but your eyes, this is the very first time I’ve seen any colour at all…”

Who would have said he did not only looked and acted like a bat, he was also colourblind… colourblind, except for your eyes 💚 ~

#ulquiorra x reader #ulquiorra cifer x reader #bleach x reader #ulquiorra cifer x reader insert #bleach fanfiction #ulquiorra cifer x fem reader #ulquiorra x reader insert #ulquiorra x fem reader #bleach fanfic #bleach oneshot #anime #ulquiorra cifer #ulquiorra cifer x you #ulquiorra cifer x y/n #sashi ya

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whysoblue2 · 6 months ago

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You said your Kallamar is unlikely to have kids but how would he be as a father if it ever did end up happening? I feel like he'd be the type to spoil his kids rotten and think they're absolutely perfect

When I got this ask, I didn't think to answer with a completely new AU, but apparently, there is no restraint to my delirious ramblings so... Thank you Anon for the ask, and enjoy this journey with me.

In another Life

In the vast infinity of the Multiverse, there is one in which things turned quite differently from what we know. In this universe, Bishop Kallamar, upon listening to Shamura's plan to bind Narinder, grew a spine and refused outright to help the sibling in their horrid rituals. Seeing their brother standing against the plan so fiercely convinced Heket and Leshy to refuse so that Narinder would never be bound. Shamura upon witnessing the ultimate betrayal from his family, isolated themselves and refused to interact with Kallamar or the others for a thousand years. With no War infesting the world with their presence, Kallamar returned to being the Bishop of Healing and Health he was always meant to be, and his cult thrived and flourished as did his happiness.

The arrival of his children was the greatest celebration the lands had ever seen. They were sacred and spoiled, little gods in their own rights, they could never do wrong and it's been said that the only illness and pestilence ever seen after their birth would manifest only when they were unhappy. Then Kallamar made his first mistake. He loved his family with all his heart and while his brothers and sister were always by his side, he missed Shamura dearly. So much so that he decided that after 1000 years apart, it would be time to restore the bond lost in madness.

Dearest sibling, I write to you with love as my only guide, letting it drive the ink on this parchment in the hope of mending the bond we so tragically severed. The hands you once trained to wield weapons and slay gods now hold something far more precious: your nieces and nephews. They would be overjoyed to meet you, and though I know you’ve always disapproved of my lifestyle, I truly believe their smiles have the power to lighten even the heaviest heart. I long for you to share in this happiness. With this letter, I extend a bridge across the chasm between us and warmly invite you into my home. Yours always, Kallamar

Shamura did go to Anchordeep and met their nieces and nephews. But Kallamar couldn't fathom how deep his sibling's folly was rooted in their heart after the betrayal, as they spent so long in self-isolation, chained by hatred against his younger brother's defiance.

So they smiled and played with the children, they joked and laughed along with them and then slayed them all. Kallamar killed Shamura tearing their head off with his bare hands, and the world suddenly plunged into a dark age where pestilence wiped entire civilizations indiscriminately in a matter of weeks. Including his brothers' and sisters' cults. That's when Narinder, driven by despair, offered to bring the children back using the forbidden knowledge Shamura denied him. Of course, Kallamar accepted eagerly, whatever it took to bring them back.

That was the second mistake. The balance of Life and Death was broken forever, and the prophecy came to pass, in the end. But Kallamar protected the children until his very last breath, hiding them where Death could never find them.

The End

In a few words, Kallamar would literally break the world for his children. I hope this whole ass thing answers your ask, Anon! Thank you 💙 PS: This is the first attempt at Bishop Design, how does it look? Lemme know!

#cult of the lamb #cotl #blue answers #cotl kallamar #cotl fanart #bishop kallamar #kallamar fanart #cult of the lamb kallamar #cooking seafood #my artwrok #cotl bishops #cotl au #holy kallamar #seafood children #can I ever cook with no angst?#Doesn't look like it

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 8 months ago

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< masterlist > as of 2025-06-17

My AO3 (updates slower than Tumblr)

✨ Writing Progress ✨

📩 Ask Count: ~35 (Unanswered writing requests/prompts/asks in my inbox)

📖 WIPs/Drafts: ~10 (Prompts and personal ideas I'm working on)

Click here to see the current list of asks and WIPs as of 2025-06-17

Send a Request (Anon asks are currently off while I work to catch up on existing messages)

Read About Me/This Blog Below The Cut!

Hey there and welcome~!

I’m Liv! A 26-year-old Canadian, iced coffee enthusiast, em dash connoisseur, and work-from-home tech gremlin with a soft spot for books I’ll never have time to finish. I’m an Aquarius sun and a INTJ/INFJ flip-flopper depending on how much sleep I’ve had. This little corner of the internet is where I share my writing, fandom thoughts, and whatever else I’m obsessing over at the moment.

You’ll find a lot of mid and plus-sized female protagonists in my writing because, frankly, there aren’t enough of them in the romance space, and I’m here to fix that. I love crafting characters who feel real, because everyone deserves to see themselves in the stories they love.

My favorite activity is making fictional characters fall in love (and suffer a little first). I am open to requests and would love to help bring your ideas to life! If you like my writing and have a fic idea in mind, please feel free to drop a prompt my way.

Thanks for being here and happy reading! 💙

My work is personal and unique. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my works without explicit permission. My stories are not authorized for use in Artificial Intelligence or bots in any capacity. Thank you for respecting my boundaries and creativity, and for letting me share these stories with you.

How I Feel About AI Use in Creative Spaces: 1, 2, 3

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#ao3 author #ao3 link #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic

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lrithill · 5 days ago

Text

Pookie has a Cold (Art x gn!Reader)

Hi everyone!

Finally, I can offer you a new fic as tribute (I've been dying to share it).

I’ve been Missing In Action for over a month without giving you a single fanfic because I was drowning in university exams… so I’m sorry for abandoning you all. BUT my exams went really well (huge thanks to everyone who wished me luck—it seriously worked, the power was real), which means… the upcoming fics are gonna start dropping like hotcakes.

This fic came to life because an anonymous reader requested some domestic stuff with Art (you can read their request here). I know they also mentioned Pale Girl—I just couldn’t find a way to include her this time, because the dynamic with just Art and reader worked sooo well here for me. Buuuut… there might be a second part coming, and I definitely think Pale Girl would have a very interesting role there. 👀

Either way, I LOVE domestic stuff, so don’t worry, dear anon—you’re gonna get more than enough of that here, all delivered with love and clown kisses. 💋🤡

Okay, with that said, let’s get to the good stuff:

💙 Synopsis:

Art has a cold... POOR THING! HE’S A BABY… BABYGIRL HIM!😫

⚠️Warnings:

Excessive fluffiness, Art being the whiniest spoiled baby ever, you needing infinite patience (and possibly wanting to rip your hair out), consequences of sick Art: fever, snot, endless honks, pharmaceutical epic, soup, shower (it might get a little spicy in the shower, but it’s blink-and-you-miss-it).

📊Word count:

4,000 words.

With all that said… enjoy! 💌✨

1. Clinical interview

This is the last time you let Art leave the house without an umbrella.

The genius—he seems to have an actual phobia of those things—could be facing an Amazonian downpour and still wouldn’t think of putting one in his—more than spacious—trash bag.

And now, you have to pay the price of his anti-umbrella crusade: endless Kleenex, soup duty, and honks every five minutes.

Knock, knock, knock.

You tap gently on the door, the tray wobbling in your hands—you take a deep breath, steeling yourself… with Art, you just never know.

You open it—slowly—as if you’re about to unleash some ancient eldritch creature and… you were ready for anything—but definitely—, not this.

Art, wrapped in blankets like a Roman emperor watching his empire burn: vacant stare, horn pressed solemnly against his chest—the tragic flower atop his deathbed.

Drama level: Art.

“How’s my poor, little, sick, sick clown?” you greet him with a smile, approaching the bed to cheer him up.

He doesn’t even blink—deep in his Black Plague victim performance—life dramatically draining from his eyes… any minor effort might just finish him off.

“It’s just a cold, my love…” you murmur, sitting down next to him. “This is nothing to you,” you reassure him sweetly.

Art shakes his head. He raises a trembling hand and points at the nightstand; then lets it drop heavily and dramatically, as if the mere act might make his arm fall right off his body.

A piece of paper.

“Oh? Already signed your final will and testament? Let’s see what it says…” you tease, half-smiling.

You read:

“I regret nothing. I’d do it all again. (Except for the umbrella. Fuck that umbrella.) And as my final wish… I want to be taxidermied.”

You lower the paper.

“For obvious reasons, right?” you add, sarcastically.

Art nods, rolling his eyes, before wiggling his eyebrows—yes, for very obvious reasons.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, interrupting his… thoughts—taking his hand.

Honk!

He instantly snatches his hand back and presses it to his chest—as if your gentle touch had stabbed him through the heart.

He gives you the saddest puppy eyes ever.

“Oh! Your body hurts, doesn’t it? I guess I’ll have to give you a pill for that,” you whisper, a little bit worried.

Art swallows…hard. His expression changes in a split second—pills are not his thing.

“It’s not a big deal, honey. You’re going to survive this,” you soothe him gently, as if you were trying to calm a particularly dramatic toddler.

Art shakes his head, blank stare up at the ceiling—slowly, tragically—as if he were watching his entire life play in slow motion before his eyes.

I don’t deserve to die like this… The rain was my most worthy rival, he laments in his delirium, fully immersed in his fever dream.

Exaggerated. Yes—but your heart melts: clearly, he’s not used to being sick. Nothing serious, but for him… it’s the apocalypse.

You lean in and kiss his forehead, reminding him you’re here to take care of him.

“Oh, Art… you’re hot,” you notice. “I should check your temperature.”

Art winks—sick or not—he wasn’t going to let the joke slide…

You grab the thermometer from the nightstand and stick it in his ear.

50 degrees.

“ART!” you shout, convinced he’s about to die right there.

But he’s laughing.

Cheater…

You touch his ears: they’re burning hot.

“You were rubbing your ears, weren’t you? You almost gave me a heart attack,” you scold him, pointing accusingly with the thermometer. “Well then… drop your pants.”

Art turns pale—this caught him off guard. He slowly rolls over and starts unzipping the back of his suit like a scolded child...

“Hey, no! I was joking, my love. I can take it orally,” you reassure him quickly before he moons you.

He raises his eyebrows, finally understanding—relief flooding his face.

You place the thermometer in his mouth and wait for the beep.

37.5 degrees.

“Well… just a mild fever—”

You don’t even get to finish—Art launches himself into your arms, hugging you like it’s his last day on Earth—a lost soul desperately clinging to life.

Oh God… what am I going to do with you… what’s coming next? Let’s pray it’s just a 24-hour virus, because I am not surviving a full week of this, you think as you hold the sobbing clown against your chest.

“Shh, shh… it’s okay… it’s okay…” you whisper, gently stroking his head to calm hin down.

2. Lunch time!

You glance over at the tray still sitting on the nightstand. Maybe Art is hungry; maybe some food will distract him from his endless melodrama.

“Look, I brought you some food,” you say, proudly revealing a covered plate like you’re presenting a Michelin-star dish.

Art’s eyes light up—the first genuine smile of the day… and it vanishes just as quickly.

The smile dies the moment you lift the lid.

Soup.

He looks at you. Looks at the plate. Looks back at you. Then the plate again. His face drops to a level of seriousness usually reserved for kids birthday parties—dead serious.

“What is this, a joke? Because it’s not fucking funny. I’ve thrown up things that looked more appetizing.”

He doesn’t even need words—his eyes say it all—the sheer, soul-deep disgust is palpable. Maybe a death threat or two crossed his mind as well.

“I know you were expecting a big juicy steak, my love… but this will do you good, okay? You need nutrients.” You say it in your sweetest voice, silently praying he’ll cooperate.

Art stretches out his arm and points dramatically at a calendar on the wall, wearing the expression of a martyr about to be executed.

“Yes, I know it’s July, and yes, it’s hot… but it’s for your own good. It’ll just be a moment, and then you can have whatever dessert you want,” you promise, using your best hostage-negotiator training.

You scoop up a spoonful and bring it to him.

Art crosses his arms. He eyes the spoon warily, and as it gets closer, he leans back inch by inch—his frown deepening more and more.

“Here comes the plaaane…” you coo in a baby voice.

The spoon smacks into his firmly shut lips—you push, wiggle, search for a gap, try to sneak it in… nothing. Mouth on full lockdown—you end up tapping around his corners like you’re trying to find a secret entrance.

You pull the spoon back, disappointed but not giving up. You are patience incarnate.

“Okay… let’s try something else…” you think, a lightbulb flickering to life. “Here comes the angeeel…!” you sing out.

Silence.

His expression changes instantly. His eyes glaze over for a moment—clearly imagining Sienna entering his mouth.

The spoon slides in—no resistance. In fact, he almost seems to lunge for it—eager.

“Hey! Careful! Don’t break the spoon with your teeth,” you joke, laughing.

Art finishes the whole plate shockingly fast—far more obedient than expected.

You bring him a well-deserved reward: a nice cold ice cream (you didn’t even bother offering fruit—what’s the point?).

3. Medicine time!

“Well, now it’s time for your pill, sweetheart,” you say, handing him the pill and a glass of water, as if you’re about to deliver the final boss fight.

Art looks at the long white pill in his hand as if it were cyanide—with a fearful expression—like he’s doubting himself, like he’s mentally preparing for battle.

He looks up at you—shakes his head—defeated already.

“Art, it’s just a quick gulp, no fear,” you say, handing him the glass of water like a coach handing water to a rookie before a big game.

He nods—snorts—preparing for the worst, and raises the glass.

He starts to drink—

“No, no! Love, pill first, then water,” you stop him before the genius turns the whole operation into a splash zone disaster—making a mess and drenching everything.

He’s nervous—don’t judge him.

Art nods again—then spits the tiny bit of water he had already sipped back into the glass…

And now, finally—

He puts the pill in his mouth…

Drinks the water…

You wait for the magic moment: the gulp.

GULP

Eureka! It worked—!

Puagh…

The pill reemerges, perfectly intact, lying in his palm—his huge puppy eyes locked on you, the pill glistening pathetically in his hand.

I’m weak, his eyes confess.

“Darling… Don’t look at me like that… Come on, you can do it, I believe in you!” you encourage him once more, summoning all the patience in the universe for your spoiled, overdramatic clown.

He hesitates—then gestures with the pill, silently begging if you can cut it in half… because it’s way too big for his very delicate throat.

“Art… I’ve seen you shove things into that mouth that had no business fitting… unhinging your jaw like a damn snake,” you plead, exasperated.

He puffs up his chest, eyes laser-focused on the pill with a sudden burst of heroic determination.

Now this is it—

Pill.

Water.

GULP

…

He struggles—fighting an internal war—and then…

Puagh

Tragedy...

There’s no other way, you decide to end his suffering—you cut the pill.

That’s it. Mercy.

“What am I going to do with you…” you sigh. “You’re such a baby,” you add as he finally manages to swallow the second half.

He laughs.

At least he’s in a good mood (fingers crossed it lasts).

4. Check-up.

Once this pharmaceutical epic finally concludes, you start gathering the tray, the plate, the dessert, the thermometer, the pills…

And then you notice Art opening his mouth—way too wide.

Way. Too. Wide.

Oh no no no…

TAKE COVER.

As fast as a soldier diving into a trench, you grab the blanket and lift it over your head like a medieval shield.

ACHOO!!!

A ball of green, purulent snot splats against your blanket defense—with the force of a medieval catapult.

“Well, you sure store up a lot of snot in that big nose of yours,” you say, handing him a tissue, still hidden under the blanket—just in case there’s a second attack. “You could’ve aimed literally anywhere else but at me, you know…” You finally lower the blanket once you confirm the coast is clear.

Art blows his nose so loudly—a motorcycle sounds like a gentle purr in comparison.

Jesus, you can’t even stay mad at him; he’s too cute, too helpless. You can just feel sorry for him.

“It’s okay, my love,” you say, caressing his face, apologizing for scolding him. “But still… now I think I need to wash these slimy sheets,” you add, eyeing the mucus blob that nearly became a facial.

Art nods; even he thinks it’s pretty gross.

And speaking of gross things…

“Since I’m washing the sheets, I think I should also wash your suit…” you suggest, side-eyeing him.

Art gives an exaggerated shake of his head—almost personally offended—his suit is perfectly fine (totally not covered in a day’s worth of nose wiping, nope). He puts up his palms as if to say “That’s enough!” like he’s directing traffic.

“Let me smell—”

UGH…!

“God, Art, you smell like a broke nobleman’s jester! Not only do I have to wash the suit, but you need a shower… urgently…” you say, almost stumbling backward. “Luckily, I already filled the tub since I was about to shower myself,” you continue. “Anyone who came near you would think you’re a giant skunk sprawled here… Art the skunk,” you mock him.

Art hears this… and that’s it. He grabs a pillow and starts smothering himself with it—pretending to suffocate—he’d rather die dramatically than take a bath and hear this nonsense.

“Pookie! Listen to me!” you yank the pillow off his face. “I brought you a surprise…” you whisper, half-smiling—hooking his curiosity.

Art’s expression shifts immediately—suddenly focused, like a kid at a magic show.

“I brought you a bath bomb!” you reveal the legendary reddish object in your hand.

Art’s eyes light up instantly.

A BOMB?! Now that’s promising.

Art jumps out of bed instantly—like a kid on Christmas morning (apparently, he’s not sick anymore). His dirty clothes go flying—straight into your face, blinding you— and in the blink of an eye, he snatches the mysterious object from your hands—vanishes with it—as if you had never even held it in the first place.

He bolts out of the room, and you immediately chase after him to the bathroom—struggling to keep up with those ridiculously long clown legs.

Every heavy stomp… is a red flag. You start imagining every possible scenario of how this could ruin your plan.

“Art, wait!” you shout from behind. “You have to—”

PLOP

That unmistakable sound hits your ears just as you cross the doorway.

Art stands frozen like a statue, stuck in the exact pose he dropped the bomb in—an empty smile on his face, dead eyes, a single tear sliding down his cheek—as he watches the bomb dissolve into thousands of tiny bubbles.

No fire… no explosions… no glorious destruction…

At least it worked to get him up and into the bathroom, you tell yourself.

You lock the door—just in case…

5. Shower time!

“Stinky little baby…” you sing while wetting his head. “You need a shower…”

Art stares off into the abyss as the water runs down his face—the very picture of despair and betrayal.

“Stinky little baby… You smell real sour…” you keep going.

Art notices the bubbles still floating up from the now reddish water—and starts playing with them.

Pop pop pop

He pops them in the air, fully distracted—even tries to catch one with his mouth.

“See? It’s not so bad, right?” you say, watching him play. “Do you like the little bubbles?”

The moment he hears this, Art immediately crosses his arms, frowns—shoots you a look of pure, murderous disdain as the water flows down his face.

No.

Clear and absolute.

“Stinky little baby… You stink like pee and poo,” you finish the song, giving him a playful boop on the tip of his nose—and blow a handful of bubbles right into his face. “You’re a filthy baby,” you giggle.

He shuts his eyes and sticks out his tongue at you—full-on brat mode, like a sulky toddler.

You grab the shower gel and squeeze a generous blob onto the wash mitt.

Time to scrub the filth away.

You start scrubbing his arms, his chest, his neck, his ears—can’t forget the ears. You lift his legs out of the water to wash them too, the feet—absolutely crucial.

Art tries to yank his feet away the second he feels the mitt—turns out the Miles County Clown is ticklish, who would’ve thought?

“Hold still, love, I’m trying to wash your stinky feet,” you say struggling against the water, as if you were caught in the waves, as he flails around, kicking at the air like a dying insect.

Finally, you’re satisfied enough to release this squirming human cockroach.

Art is left gasping for breath—you reward him with a little kiss.

Truth is, he’s behaving better than you ever expected.

You keep scrubbing under the water—his stomach, his thighs. This time, instead of retreating... you feel Art pushing against your hand—actively searching for friction.

Especially every time your hand gets close to his… well, you know.

Suspicious.

“Art… You can’t be horny if you’re sick…” you scold, catching onto his little attempts.

Art rolls his eyes.

You’d be surprised, he thinks.

He smirks and splashes water at you playfully, soaking your shirt—it sticks to your skin immediately, outlining your figure.

Art licks his lips—eyes locked on your nipples poking through the wet fabric.

You see it in his eyes—you jump back quickly before he can grab you like a crocodile and drag you into the water with him.

His immediate reaction: Puppy eyes—big, glimmering, manipulative puppy eyes. Lower lip pout included.

Such a schemer...

He wants you to come back.

And the worst part… is that he’s absolutely going to win.

He grabs your hand and guides it right back underwater… urging you to keep going—a sly, dangerous smile spreading across his lips.

“Well… I guess I have to wash every part of you…” you say, giving in to his demands, biting your lip—seductively.

Let’s just say… maybe you washed those parts a bit more thoroughly than strictly necessary…

6. Getting cozy

“Look how nice my clown smells,” you say while helping him dry off. “You don’t smell like a sewer clown anymore—now you smell like a flower garden clown.”

You kiss him on the lips—he’s earned it.

It’s getting dark and a bit chilly—you don’t want Art running around naked too long, or he might actually get sicker. You decide to bring him back to your room.

You pull out his pajamas… the ones you made yourself, modeled after his original suit, since you discovered Art refuses to wear literally anything that isn’t his own clown-coded fashion.

It’s not exactly the same… but it works for moments like this, when his beloved suit needs a wash.

You help him put it on and tuck him into bed like a fussy mom.

You admire him.

“Ohhh, look at my handsome clown!”

Honk! —a playful honk.

“His pajamas look sooo good on him!”

Honk! —he covers his face with his hands, batting away your words shyly, blushing behind his palms.

“My cute little pookie baby!”

Honk! —he switches pose, now lying on his stomach, feet kicked up in the air, one finger on his lips—posing like a pretty, demure lady.

“He’s so tiny!”

Honk! —he immediately hides under the blanket, curling into a tight little ball.

Stop iiiit, he thinks—all flirty and bashful.

Now that you’re satisfied with your clown fashion show, you decide to finally go downstairs to grab the clean sheets—like you promised.

You turn around, head to the door, hand on the handle, open the door, and—

HONK

You spin around.

“What is it now, honey?” you ask.

You see Art gesturing toward his head.

“Does your head hurt? Do you want some ice, maybe?” you guess.

Art shakes his head… only to immediately nod after (he can't forget to keep playing the terminally ill patient role).

But then he points again, more precisely this time—to the left side of his head.

“Oh! You want a little hat? Is that it?” you finally get it, a lightbulb going off.

Art nods, rolling his eyes—like, finally, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.

His usual little hat is in the wash with the rest of his suit… so you rummage around for a regular sleeping cap you had stashed away somewhere.

You find it and hand it to him; Art snatches it and puts it on immediately—a king needs a crown.

“Better now?” you ask.

Art smiles proudly and gives you a thumbs-up.

“Great. I’m going downstairs to get the sheets, I’ll be right back,” you explain.

You turn around, head to the door, hand on the handle, open the door, and—

HONK

You sigh, forehead pressed dramatically against the door frame—he is absolutely doing this on purpose now.

You turn back again, with your best forced customer service smile.

“What now, honey?” you say as sweetly as humanly possible, trying to sound gentle, though your eye twitches... just slightly.

Thumb to his lips, pinky sticking out—water?

Palms together in front of his face—book?

Points to the TV—remote?

Forms a bowl with one hand, mimics shoveling imaginary food into his mouth—snacks?

Mimes pulling an invisible rope with one hand while the other stays outstretched—chainsaw? (Well, at least that part is normal.)

“Okay, okay… I think I got everything,” you say, absolutely overwhelmed but trying to keep it together. You get it—he’s planning to camp here for days and needs all his survival supplies.

Art claps enthusiastically, followed by rapid, impatient finger snaps.

"Hurry up!"

7. Bed time

You return with everything: a giant jug of water, a bowl of assorted snacks, a book you figured he might enjoy, his beloved chainsaw… and on top of it all, the sheets draped over your shoulders and head (you look like a giant, overgrown ghost).

You set the snacks on the nightstand along with the book, plop the jug on the floor next to the bed, and place the chainsaw right on the bed so he can cuddle it like a deadly teddy bear.

You hand him the TV remote, and tuck him in perfectly, like a pampered little, stuffed burrito—cozy, warm, and snug.

Art looks deeply satisfied with his royal treatment—he stares at you expectantly, waiting for your final words of praise—perhaps a kiss on His Majesty’s hand as well.

“Well, I think I’m done with you. You’ve been a very good clown today, my favorite patient,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed. “If you need anything, I’m just a honk away,” you add, doing the 'call me' hand sign—half-laughing, half-dying inside.

Art nods, solemnly.

You give him a sweet kiss on the lips before finally standing up.

“You’ll feel better tomorrow, sweetheart. Get some rest and close those beautiful, bloodthirsty, murderous eyes,” you say softly, completely exhausted.

You turn around, head to the door, grab the handle, open the door and—

Honk honk…

You turn back yet again, the patience in your body officially on life support.

You look at Art—he’s staring intently at the floor.

You look at the floor.

His horn.

It’s fallen.

Art lazily stretches out his arm toward it—it’s literally inches away. He could easily reach it himself… if he weren’t in full baby mode.

He looks back up at you now.

I can’t, his big, watery eyes plead.

Alright, you think, sighing internally.

You walk slowly toward the bed—you feel his eyes fixed on you, tracking your every step like a shark.

You bend down to pick up the horn, look up to hand it to him and—

IT’S A TRAP.

Art jumps on you with the blanket in front of him, trapping you like a sack—a makeshift straightjacket—you thrash and squirm against the fabric, but it’s useless. You can’t see a thing, and you’re trapped like a pig in a hunter’s net—wrapped like a holiday ham.

Art lifts you off the ground effortlessly and tosses you onto the bed, still wrapped in your silky prison—he immediately starts tickling you, leaving you zero chance to fight back or even guess where the attacks are coming from.

A little revenge for the shower tickles.

But eventually, he seems satisfied—the merciless tickling slowly turns into gentle kisses and tight, warm hugs…

Finally, he sets you free—you pop your head out, gasping for air, as he leans on you, still not letting you move—pinning you down like a heavy, overgrown cat.

“God, Art… you almost gave me a—”

He makes a “shhh” gesture with his finger, telling you to be quiet.

Not that complaining would make any difference.

Art slides off you, settling right by your side—resting his head on your chest, his entire body melting into yours.

And then it hits you.

The water, the snacks, the book… they weren’t really for him—they were for you—, he planned all of it just to trap you, to make sure you wouldn’t leave his side.

And you realize that—despite all the soup, pills, and pep talks—what he really needed most was just you… Your time, your patience, your love—that was the real medicine.

It wasn’t all the effort you put into taking care of him, but the time you spent with him—that was what really made him feel better.

You shift slightly to get comfortable, thinking for a second about turning on the TV… but honestly, all you want is to pass out right here.

“Sleep, honey… I love you,” you whisper, planting one last soft kiss on his forehead.

Sleep quickly takes over both of you, and you drift off in a warm, tangled embrace. Your final thought before slipping under:

I’m 100% catching this cold. Tomorrow, I’ll be the one whining in bed, and he’ll be my nurse.

Oh no…

✨ Thanks for reading all the way to the end! ✨

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did—I genuinely found it pretty funny to write (my psychiatrist probably won't find it as funny though, oops).

Honestly, I feel like this fic is perfectly wrapped up as it is, BUT—like I mentioned in the intro—if you guys want a second part where the roles are reversed (with the Pale Girl too, maybe), just say the word and I’ll make your wishes come true — I’d be more than happy to (even though I have a long list of requests waiting for me).

With all that said… I’m off for now! Don’t forget to leave a like or a comment—it’s literally the only way I can know if you want me to keep feeding you more of my delusions imagines.

Thanks for everything, and see you in the next Artventure. 🎪💛

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froggiewrites · 7 months ago

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Hi again, Froggie! Glad to see that your requests are still open ^^ (btw, I'm not caught up with OP yet, but your live reaction posts feel so relatable already sdhjhjdfg) That said, I did thought of something bittersweet... and yes, this is again for our beloved Ace. If you have the time, could you do a hurt/comfort piece that deals with GN!Reader dealing with Ace's death post-Marineford? One day, reader was visiting Ace's grave in Sphinx Island and was weeping, but then a stray calico cat comes up to them seemingly with the intent of grabbing reader's attention. Let's just say reader makes a new furry friend who awfully reminds them of Ace (look through pictures in google and you'll see what iI mean ;_;) and thinks the cat is a manifestation of him somehow... ~ 🍂 ace's widow ♠️

Ah ace's widow anon, nice to hear from you again!! This was very bittersweet, I hope you enjoy it 💙💙

Companion in Grief

Pairing: Ace x Reader

SFW

Summary: You're lost in your grief after losing Ace, but you think you might have finally found something to live for. Warnings: Marineford Spoilers, Major Character Desk (past), Angst, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 1.6k

You’re still waiting for it to get easier.

You’ve been given a lot of platitudes: that time heals all wounds, that he’s always with you, that he died a hero. Like the way he died somehow makes him any less dead.

You much preferred what an old woman had told you, once, when you had shared that you were both widows. You had asked her if it ever stopped hurting.

She smiled sadly. “No, it doesn’t. But it…dulls, sometimes. It’s like an old wound that never heals quite right; sometimes you can go days, weeks, even years without feeling it. But it always comes back. Sometimes it’s a small ache, sometimes it’s just like the day you lost them. But it always comes back.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better, honestly.”

“No, it doesn’t. But…one day, you’ll wake up, and realize it’s been a while since you broke down, and you can think of the happy times without feeling like your heart’s been torn from your chest. And maybe that doesn’t make it better, but it’s maybe a little easier, a little kinder, than what came before it.”

You’re still waiting for that realization.

You’ve tried not visiting him everyday, after a couple concerned friends told you they were worried you might be making things worse for yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. You know he’ll never be lonely with Pops nearby, but you don’t want him to think you’d abandoned him. You know he wouldn’t want you to wait for him, but he’d never really wanted you to love him, either, always convinced he was a burden, some horrible cross for you to bear. You’d spend the rest of your life sleeping next to his grave if you thought it’d bring you closer to him.

But you don’t feel him here, not really. You just feel the cold ground beneath your feet, the gentle heat of the sun against your cheeks. There isn’t anybody here with you, no matter how much you wish it were different.

So you talk to the air, pretending you can feel his warm hands holding yours, pretending you feel his spirit and warmth around you. “I still miss you.”

There’s no response.

“This morning I woke up, and for just a second, I forgot. I forgot what happened, and I reached out for you next to me.” Your throat tightens, but you force out the words anyway. “You weren’t there, obviously, and then I remembered, and I–”

You don’t know if the noise that escapes you is a laugh or a sob. “It’s so stupid, right? To forget? I know you’re gone, but some part of me is convinced that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll just…be there. And I’ll get to tell you about this awful nightmare I’ve been having, and you’ll tear up despite yourself because you’ve always been a lot softer than you like to let on. And you’ll tell me that it’s okay, because you’re here, and you would never leave me. And you’d be lying, and we’d both know it, but you’d say it anyway. For me.”

You lean your face down, pressing it into the dirt, inhaling the earthy scent, trying to ground yourself. “It's so strange. I feel so lucky to have known you, but I almost wish I hadn't. It's so cruel to have loved you and lost you.”

You think of his smile, so warm and bright. Once you’d thought looking at him was like staring at the sun. “It'd be easier if I didn't know how good life could be.”

You think about his hands on yours, his lips pressing gently against your skin. “It'd be easier if I didn't know how deeply I was capable of loving.”

You think of the way he had slid the ring on your finger, hands shaking. He had been so nervous, more frightened than you’d ever seen him. “I don't think I'll ever do it again.”

Your hands dig into the dirt, the small rocks and pebbles digging into your skin. “I hope you hold it against me if I see you sooner than you expected. I can’t do this without you. I never could.” The words pour out until they can’t anymore, the sobs finally overtaking you.

You want to sink into the ground, lay beside him, hold his hand one last time, no matter how cold. It’s just not fair. It isn’t right. This isn’t how things were supposed to be. You had a life you were supposed to live together, and he had so many things left to do, and now they’re just going to be left undone? How could that possibly be true?

Then something brushes against your hand.

Something soft and cold. A feeling other than pain, for the first time in months.

You manage to look up, and for a moment the big eyes staring at you seem almost familiar. The little cat, covered in dirt, is sniffing your hand, investigating you. He can’t be more than a year old, still in that awkward lanky state between kitten and cat. The sniffs continue for several seconds before he seemingly deems you worthy, and you feel the smallest hint of warmth as he licks your hand.

Before you realize it, you’ve moved your hand to scratch between his little ears, and his eyes close as you hear the sweet sound of his purrs. The corner of your lip twitches. What a sweet little thing.

“Hey, little guy,” you murmur, your throat still tight from your tears. “What are you doing here?”

He mewls in response, headbutting your hand, as though demanding you continue your affections. A small sound escapes your throat, sharp and foreign, and after a moment you realize it’s a laugh. How long has it been since you laughed?

He headbutts you again, letting out a noise of discontent. For a moment you’re reminded of a sleepy Ace, grabbing your hand and pathetically begging you to lay down with him, for you to run your hands through his hair, to give him anything you’re willing. You give in to the cat, reaching over to pick him up and hold him against your chest, to his delight. He curls in immediately, purring louder, and you can feel his warmth seep in through your shirt. He’s like a little furnace, instantly banishing the cold ache that had been plaguing you all morning.

“You’re friendly, huh?”

He lets out a little trill, snuggling further into you.

“You should probably be afraid of strangers, buddy.”

A gentle breeze brushes against your cheeks, carrying the faint smell of cedar and smoke, so familiar it makes your chest ache. You almost fall to your knees again, but the gentle rumble of the creature laying against you brings you back. You’d hate to hurt him if you fell.

Your eyes linger on the gravestone for a moment, before you nod and turn around. You want to get this baby home, maybe give him a bath and some food. Ace would understand.

You enter the little cabin you’ve been staying in, ready to fill the sink with warm water. Your new companion doesn’t seem terribly pleased at the sound of it, and is even less pleased by the feeling of it on his fur. You try to be as gentle and quick as you can, making sure to check him over for ticks or flea dirt as he lets out one long, uninterrupted cry.

He decides you’re the worst person alive after you dry him off.

He forgives you after half an hour.

You don’t have any cat food, or anything you think he could eat, so you’ll have to go to the market later, once he’s settled. You do find some stray blankets you throw over a chair to make a good hiding space for him, which he instantly throws himself into.

As you maneuver around, preparing to leave as your new friend demands sustenance, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You don’t look quite happy; there are bags under your eyes, and you look a little sickly. But you realize that at some point, something almost like a smile snuck its way onto your face.

You can’t help but recall a conversation you and Ace had, back when you had cried when he told you he was leaving for a long mission, wailing that you couldn’t stand life without him for that long.

“Aw, sweetheart, you don’t need me. You just need something to live for.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need a reason to wake up in the morning. A goal you’re working toward, something you want to achieve, or something you’re looking forward to. Something, anything, that makes you want to get up each day. Do you have that?”

You don’t remember what your answer was. You don’t remember who you used to be, before. But for the first time in recent memory, there’s a smile on your face, no matter how small, and the loud, demanding cries of a hungry cat make you think that perhaps you’ll have a reason to wake up tomorrow.

Maybe things don’t need to be good to be better. Maybe they can be just a little less bad. Maybe that can be enough, for now.

#ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #x reader #portgas ace x reader #ace x you #ace x y/n #op #marineford spoilers #marineford arc #one piece spoilers #op spoilers #one piece angst

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odileeclipse · 2 months ago

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i am a coward so i’m on anon. anyways. banana rana. (i don’t remember their tumblr user) they got me into reading your stuff and I don’t typically message authors about their fics unless I know them personally, but. duuudeeee

I did NOT care for the sage of truth or elder faerie before reading your writing. I’m reformed now I see the light

chapter 20 of in the presence of truth was insane. I was in shock reading that.

(also him rapid fire questioning the reader for the exam in 18/19 was absolutely flirting you cannot convince me otherwise—)

and NOW your stuff has got me writing short drabbles abt the— no— YOUR sage of truth. I fear it may be over for me i’m already thinking about making a fourth. I can see it already. I’ve probably already written part of it by the time you see this ask. it is most definitely over for me

if I ever draw anything for your fic too then. you’ll know. have a good day /night

Banter is the best form of flirting.

Banana Rana, lovely moot if you’re reading this thank you for spreading the gospel.

The fact that you're writing drabbles now?? That you're reformed?? I’m honored. If you ever draw something, I’ll cry on the spot. Truly. Thank you for this you made my whole day. 💙

PLEASE SHARE WITH THE CLASS I NEED TO READ

I also know that I really was not into smc before this, I just really liked his sage of truth fit, something about it spoke to me and now I've ran with it, with the little knowledge provided from crk.

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midnight1nk · 1 month ago

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⭐️

forever thinking about the time Mr Puzzles’ VA called the Mr Puzzles voice “My nonbinary voice”

to me… Puzzles… is like Gonzo from Muppets. Put that whatever in a dress NOW.

ah yeah, I heard about this going around. and if I'm remembering it correctly, it's from a stream, right? well, yall know me:

HELL YEAH PUT PUZZLES IN A DRESS

She's gotta look her best, after all ^^ It's why I absolutely love whenever there's fanart of it (and that includes from my moots *finger guns*), but we gotta have it be real. Somehow. MANIFEST IT, CHAT, WE CAN DO IT

(she wore a tutu last time, let's go all the way)

anyway, you gotta love how the Team shares their headcanons and we can take them as we please. Not that they're canon but that's the fun in being in the fandom :) plus, it reminded me of a similar thing but for ace attorney (<- what can I say? it'll always be my beloved 💙)

thanks for the ask, anon!

#smg4 #smg4 mr puzzles #ink answers #ink stuck in the void arc #give this tv head a full-on wardrobe #dresses for all occasions. everything #and y'know what? give her the fairy godmother red dress from shrek 2 idc

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azsazz · 1 year ago

Text

Comets

Lucien x Reader [Starfall Week Day 7]

Summary: @starfallweek Day 7 Prompt: Character A and B spend Starfall in a different court, learning all of the traditions.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,339

Notes: This one also goes out to the anon who was begging me for some Lulu action 💙

_________________________________________

The wind brushes his copper hair over his shoulders and the sun makes the freckles dusting his nose shine. You watch your mate spread his arms wide and throw his head back, drinking in a deep breath of the crisp, fresh Autumn Court air.

He never thought he would be back.

It has been a long many years since he was exiled from the Autumn Court on the happenstance of falling in love. Falling in love with someone that his father didn’t approve of. Falling in love with someone who wasn’t his mate.

Lucien had every intention of marrying Jesminda, lower fae or no. His young heart leaped happily in his chest whenever she was around. They were both blind to their problems as a couple, brushing off their arguments to roll around in the grassy fields, watching the leaves change color over their heads.

It had taken a long time to get over her. He never really did, honestly. Of course, the love that had been so fiery and new, scorched him when she died. But it was nothing like how it is with you, his true mate.

Lucien turns his head over his shoulder, tears lining his russet eye. The mechanical one whirs softly, and the smile on his lips shakes a little, making your heart ache in your chest. He holds a hand out to you, wanting to share this moment with you.

The moment he can freely cross back into Autumn Court territory without fearing for his life.

While your mate had found a new home in the Night Court, found you in the Night Court, this isn’t a moment he’d allowed himself to think about, no matter how many promises his older brother made in their passing moments at meetings or gatherings. Their father is finally dead and Eris crowned the new High King of Autumn.

He swears he can hear it, the joy across the lands carried on the winds blowing you closer to him. Lucien smiles sneakily at that look you give him. So he used a little mixture of his Autumn and Day Court powers to sweep the wind up. He wants you in his arms, how can you be upset at that?

You reach up with your free hand, caressing Lucien’s face, wiping at the lone tear rolling down his cheek.

“Are you ready?” you ask, with a soft smile.

His throat works around a swallow and he takes your hand, kissing your palm so sweetly. “With you? Of course.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

The Autumn Court is everything you thought it might be, but even more so because Lucien looks like he’s never left.

There’s something about being in the territory that has awoken something long lost in your mate. The air, fresher than the other courts, filling his lungs with the scents of pine and sap, cinnamon and pumpkin. The black you thought he looked striking in is nothing compared to the hues of the autumnal clothing he’d almost immediately switched them out for; the olive greens and deep navy’s, crimsons and nutty browns.

Your first pit stop had been the bakery his mother always took him to when he was young. He missed their sweets deeply, and you laughed at the amount of pastries he tried buying. Lucien had hand fed you a caramel treat and your eyes widened at the burst of flavor that hit your tastebuds. There was no stopping either of you from spending a pretty coin on the treats filling your arms sky high.

“This one, my love, is a Starfall tradition,” he explains, handing you a sample of the warmed treat. It looks something similar to a Night Court treat you remember your mother making. Popping it into your mouth you nearly melt at its deliciousness.

“Luc, we need to buy all of these,” you say in amazement, not waiting for his answer before you’re opening your mouth to speak to the worker. Lucein’s chuckle warms you to your very bones but you pout as he guides you away from the shop.

“There will be plenty more at the Woodland House tonight, my love,” he says with a grin. “My family hires a specific baker every year during the month of Starfall to make sure they never run out. Trust me, with seven boys running around, they were constantly in low supply.”

You laugh with your mate, enjoying the shining of his eyes at the fond memory. You want to hear more of the good times he’s had in his home court. It’s not something he often speaks about, because there are more bad than good, but when you do get to hear one of his favorite memories, it always makes you smile.

“So, what does tonight have in store for us?” you ask, popping some of the chocolate and caramel drizzled popcorn into your mouth. Another Autumn Court staple. Your mate is going to turn you into a sweet-tooth yet.

“First, we have a formal dinner with the family,” Lucien explains, and you can see how the joy melts into nervousness. He hasn’t seen the entirety of his family since the day he was chased out of the Court, where two of his brothers died at the hands of him and Tamlin. He’s not sure how the remaining brothers besides Eris feel about him. Pyrolas doesn’t care about anyone’s presence besides his own, but he is the son so much like his father. Conleth never wanted problems with anyone, and Oakland was ever the rational one. If any of his brothers might have missed him, he would put his coin on those two.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you offer softly. You would never make Lucien do something that he didn’t feel comfortable doing. You’re sure there’s a nice place the both of you can hide out until the party afterwards begins. Or perhaps you can check into an inn and celebrate Starfall in the streets with the rest of the peoples of the Autumn Court.

“No,” he shakes his head and rolls his shoulders, straightening his spine. “I’ve missed out on Starfall dinners for long enough. I’m ready.”

You nod, offering him the tin of popcorn. “Want some?”

“Thank you, my love,” Lucien smiles, taking a handful. “Besides, Eris mentioned that he was pulling out all of the stops this year. Told me that it is going to be the best Starfall this court has ever seen.”

You hum, wondering just what that sly, new High Lord might have planned.

“What happens after dinner?” you ask, trailing along a path leading up to the Woodland House. You’re not sure how far it is, but you don’t mind the walk with your mate, drinking in the scenes the court has to offer.

“Then, we’ll congregate on the outer porches and there will be drinks of all kinds,” Lucein explains, perking up again. “You’re going to have to try the cinnamon one, my love. It’s my favorite.” Your mate laughs at your grimace. Cinnamon in the form of alcohol is not your favorite. “There’s also one that tastes like Yulemas. You’ll love that one.”

“Don’t let me drink too much, Lucien Vanserra,” you tease, “Or I won’t be able to participate in the after Starfall activities.”

You squeal as Lucein drags you off the path and presses you against a nearby tree, dipping down to taste the taunt from your lips. His tongue brushes the seam of your lips and you part easily for him, moaning when he presses his quickly thickening cock into your hip.

You’re breathless when he straightens, feeling as giddy as ever, like the first time you and he ever kissed.

“How about some pre Starfall activities, my love?” he asks, licking the remnants of you from his lips. His russet eye glows bright and his mechanical one clicks softly.

You take his hand and pull him away from the tree, dragging him back up the path. “Come on then, Vanserra. Show me what you’ve got.”

#lucien x reader #lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra fluff #starfall week 2024 #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #lucien/reader #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra x you

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endless-ineffabilities · 10 months ago

Text

Chemical Override - Submission Board

Hello, my darlings! I've received a lot of ideas and requests and queries about Chem Ov, so I'm making this post as a way to keep track of all of them.

Feel free to share in the comments or in my ask!

Once an idea has been submitted, I will add it here, to avoid repetition and to make sure that I am able to incorporate it into the story if it fits the narrative 💙

*random pictures included above, added cause they amuse me :)

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Ewan and the reader thinking about living together - 🦜 anon

Reader adopting Benjicat who ends up preferring his mum, unlike Sansa - TheCatAnon

Ewan seeing an ad or film of the reader and sending her a picture along with a compliment - @seamaiden

Audience reactions to Ewan and Matt's game interview from Above The Gods Eye - ✨️ anon

Reader running to Ewan's aid when he gets injured on set, shoving past Matt - @ajantanijhum

Reader having a naughty dream about Ewan and Matt - anon

Ewan comforting reader when she's on her period - anon

Sansa sneaking into Reader's bag and ending up in HOTD set - TheCatAnon

Reader getting addicted to viral pastries from a Japanese bakery, influencing Ewan, who over-indulges his sweet tooth - @theintrovertedwriter868

Ewan watching (and adoring) Darling's interview on Hot Ones or another variety show - @just-fics-station

Ewan and Darling discussing marriage and babies - anon

Ewan and Darling do the Wired Autocomplete Interview / friendship test - @seamaiden

Matt or Ewan or both seeing Darling's lingerie campaign - anon

Ewan posting Darling's high fashion ad on his stories - 💌 anon

Hotd cast playing never have i ever, drunk edition, but prior to the game they all decided to target ewan and make all of the questions related to darling (e.g. "never have i ever made longing gazes at darling during interviews?") - anon

Darling gets cast for a music video. Matt visits her on set and he gets cast in an extra role as her lover - @just-fics-station

Darling is in a musical on the West End, playing a character who's dominant and confident (thinking of Heather Chandler) and Ewan goes to watch and is obsessed - Scottish anon

Darling meets Ewan's parents or vice versa - @clarkysblog

Ewan and the reader vacaying with the cast. Them sneaking off to make out. Ewan gawking at the reader behind his sunglasses - anon

Darling prank calls Ewan/Matt for Elle - anon

A famous celeb says that Darling is their celebrity crush and wants to work with her - anon

Darling wearing a 'revenge dress' for an event - anon

Darling taking the buzzfeed hotd character quiz and getting Aemond - @seamaiden

Ewan and darling sharing in each other's interests (eg. She wears one of his rock band shirts / she'll get him into horror movies, sci-fi, skincare) - anon

Darling doing an everything shower/extensive self-care routine and being so exhausted afterward that Matt or Ewan have to take care of her - 🦘

Darling posting a hot photo on Insta, attracting admirers and triggering boyfriend Ewan - @kammmy101

Ewan and the cast supporting Darling in her theatre debut - 💌 anon

Ewan having Darling as his lockscreen and she finds out - anon

An interview flirting with Darling, and Ewan trying not to get riled up - anon

Darling and Jenna becoming best friends - ✨️ anon

#chemical override #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell fanfic

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senseichaos · 1 year ago

Note

Howdy howdy! I ADORED "You Can't Run. Hell. You Can't Even Hide" The balance between absolute fear, dizzy hypnotic confusion, and wide eyed admiration that the reader character holds for Vox is immaculate! Also them calling him Mister Vox is just Chef's kiss (it is WAY too hard to find xReader fics or even just fics in general where the honorific is Mister (C/N) and I love every one I find). The clothing change moment was probably my favorite, I'll always be a sucker for the representation of being broken and rebuilt in someone's image combined with the gift of pretty clothes. I keep going back to reread the whole story.

I know it's a oneshot, but since your requests are open, I figured I'd shoot my shot and ask if you would make a part two where Mister Vox just wrecks us, preferably sexually. We did leave off on him finding us trying to run away, do we not deserve to be punished for such an offense after all he's done for us? I also would love to see if/how much Vox has to push us to slowly become happy to be his, if that's something he wants (I could imagine having a rowdy unwilling runaway as his possession would get frustrating after awhile and be terrible for his image). There's honestly so much potential for what could happen next, and even though I could stew in my imagination, I would very much love to be at the mercy of your interpretation of the funky TV man a little longer.

That said, take your time, I know you've gotten a huge influx of Hazbin requests, hell I wouldn't be surprised if someone else already requested something similar to what I requested. I also understand if you can't/don't want to fulfill this request for any reason, that's what makes it a request. No matter what, you're an amazing writer and I hope you have a wonderful day!

💙✨

AAAAAAH!! I love you sm! When I saw this request I knew I had to do it at some point! I'm giving you the name 💙 anon from now on so if you request again I know it's you!

_______

Forever and always

(part 2 to: You can't run. Hell, you can't hide either)

Summary: After that day you attempted to escape from Vox, you had become somewhat accustomed to this new life you are forced to be living. Or you were until Vox gives you your first day off, causing you to find something out that would change how you live forever.

Genre: Smut, Angst, Horror (?)

Warnings: Non-Con, Yandere behavior, Possessive behavior, Sadism, Masochism, Electric shocks, Mind control, Drugging, Love potion, Vox is an asshole, Hurtful language, forced, gilded cage, soul contracts, unprotected sex (DONT), Vox owns reader, dacryphilia, let me know if I missed any!!

(not proof read)

--------

That day you attempted to escape from your gilded cage you wished to escape again, though vox had managed to continue his control. Even when he tugged you back by your electric leash you felt that horrid sinking feeling. This was it. For the rest of eternity as you know it Vox has you. He owns you, your soul, your body, your life; or well, lack thereof. You couldn't run from him no matter what you did, he practically controls the pride ring, keeping you tethered there like a puppy on a leash is simple to him. He has eyes everywhere. You cannot hide anywhere.

Recently Mister Vox has become a lot more... Touchy. Those fleeting touches of his fingers against your back, poking against your chin, pressing into your neck, swiping against your bottom, touching against your bosom. There is an odd burning feeling to it, you don't want to enjoy Mister Vox touching you in such ways, you don't want to enjoy it when he sucks his teeth at you or licks his tongue against his gums. But you do. You can't quench that desire. Especially when he'd moved you into his room from your apartment building. He hadn't made you share a bed with him, thank Lucifer, but he had made you sleep near enough to him that you can tell when he's.. pleasuring himself. Almost as if he wants you to hear him.

You and Mister Vox have never been better, besides from such hurdles. You stay obedient no matter how badly you wish to escape his arms. To cut all of his tight bounds on your body and run away. You'd figure out how, one day, you would.

"Good morning my dear! Did you have a gratifying sleep?" This is how most mornings go, Mister Vox will wake you with a poke if your side and a coffee in hand, already fully dressed and done up. You've always considered yourself a light sleeper, so you never know how he manages to make you a coffee every morning without so much as stirring you awake. You smile, nodding softly as you pry your eyes from his two dimensional face.

"Thank you Mister Vox, uhm.. did you have a good sleep as well?" You ask, taking a sip of the perfectly made coffee. Vox smiles, nodding as he takes a seat on the side of your bed.

"Of course, my dear. So, I know you have been working very hard recently... So I've decided to give you the day off!" Mister Vox declares, outstretching his hands as he gives you a manic smile. A day off? Why? This has to be a test. he's just going to leave you.. alone? For a whole day? This has to be fake, a joke, a flook.

"Oh my dear don't look so surprised! You've been a very good girl recently so I thought you deserved a day off," Mister Vox pauses, looking up at the roof for a second before peering back at you. "Now don't think this means we don't have rules, you are to stay in here for the day. If you want to go shopping I have to accompany you, alright? But I do have an appointment in an hour so it won't be for long,"

"Remember, I have eyes everywhere.."

You laugh awkwardly, shrinking into your own figure.

"I know Mister Vox.. I wouldn't forget," You can't stop that sorrow from entering your voice, but quickly you put on that mask of a smile once again. Mister Vox clasps his hands together, that red dripping from his maw again. "Great! Now I'll see you soon, be a good girl for me, hm?" He says, ruffling your hair atop your head with a condescending gaze.

"Yes Mister Vox," you reply simply, watching as he disappears in Into a blue line of electricity, shooting into the camera.

Fuck. Now what?

You can't remember the last time you were given this type of freedom, even if it wasn't a lot of freedom. Often you were tethered to Vox's side. Everyone in the building knows that you belong to Vox. Everyone outside of the building probably knows this, too.

There's this odd feeling in your stomach, this odd feeling as if you were floating. It happened every time you drank your morning coffee, but you'd always assumed it was just that feeling of awakening from slumber. But today, oh today it is stronger than ever before. It's as if you can feel every nerve in your body be rewired, every single hair on your body stand on end. Every sensation is doubled.

What the fuck was in this coffee? What is this euphoria? What is this yearning.. this yearning for Vox? You suddenly wish he was here, with you, holding you, calling you his good girl.. m

Shaking your head to rid yourself of such thoughts, you stand from your bed, fixing the large blue shirt you wear (that vox often asks you to wear when you sleep) as you walk to the kitchen.

The kitchen in Mister Vox's room is a large area just off to the side of his desk space, lined with many kitchen appliances and red cabinets. You are determined to figure out what he's putting in your coffee, what's making you feel so emotional. Needy. Awful. You scan the room, finding the coffee machine in the corner of the room with a couple bags next to it. Coffee, sugar, creamer... Nothing suspicious yet, it seems. Crouching down, you look open the cabinets beneath the coffee machine. Looking through the half full area.

Then you saw it, a small vial hidden behind a spare bag of creamer labeled 'Valentino and Velvette: Love potion'.

Terror shoots through you, causing you to drop the vial to the floor. It shatters everywhere, leaving the pink liquid to seep into the tiles below. He's drugging you. All this time, you feeling this want for him, burning at his touch, listening to him as he jerks himself off late at night. You wanting him to do things to you. It's all part of his plan to make you his, completely. To make you want to be his.

Burning tears fall down your cheeks, humoring you as you stand on shaky legs from the tile. What do you do? Now more than ever you want an out, a loophole, a way to take your soul back from his greedy claws. Anxiety, terror, hurt, worry, pain.

You want to prevent yourself from doing anything drastic, you really do. But all you can feel is this pain, this pain as you run on your feet to the balcony door. Trying your hardest to pry open the doors as they rattle loudly, shaking them, pulling them, pushing them. This evil man can't keep you here for any longer. You'd do anything to leave, ruin yourself for him, do something awful, make yourself less attractive to him.

Nausea. Headache. Your knees buckle as an electric blue overtakes your vision. What is this? You can't breathe, Vox. Vox. Help. Your head clouds, words fill your brain and you feel yourself being wrapped up by sharp claws. You can't scream. Help me. Please.

"You really think it's that easy?" Mister Vox.

"I can't believe I trusted you alone, even for a minute. After all I've done for you, as well. After I gave you a life some would dream for. Stupid girl." He sounds mad, horridly mad. Regretful. Throbbing takes over your body as sound waves film your ears. You can feel him lift you into his arms, placing you down onto a soft surface harshly.

"How am I supposed to make you understand this? You're mine,"

Your vision slowly comes back, until all you can see is him as he stares at you from above. His eyes are dark, domineering, needing. He's ready to take. What is he doing? All you can feel is his claw as it travels up your middle, between the valley of your breasts, stopping at the middle of your neck.

"Now, my dear? Are you going to let me teach you a lesson? For being such a brat?" You gasp, feeling his hand as it circles around your neck, effectively taking some air from your lungs. You shake your head, attempting to move your heavy legs from him with wet teary eyes.

"Nonono! Get off, please, get off!" You cry, writhing in his grasp. He sighs, rolling his eyes as he clicks his fingers. Suddenly a pulse of electricity goes through you, causing a shock to blur your eyes and pull a scream from you.

"Every time you try anything I'm shocking you, Dove. Don't try to escape from me, it's not going to work," he grins, laughing at your frightened teary eyes. "I can do whatever I want to you, my dear! I fucking own you!!" He growls, using his hand that isn't around your neck to push your thighs to your chest, revealing your bare pussy from beneath your oversized shirt.

"No please.. I'll do anything..?"

"Oh I'm sorry dear, but this is what I want more than anything right now.. maybe you should have thought of this before making such a racket and alerting everyone in the building, hm?" He says, dragging his clawed finger through your building wetness. He finally takes his hand from your neck, instead using it to keep your thighs in place as he pinches your clit between his sharp claws.

"Ah! Mister Vox.. hurts..!" You wail, wiping your tears from your eyes as he continues to abuse your sensitive bud between his fingers. He chuckles looking up at you as you gasp in pain.

"Hah! Wail all you want, dear, no one can save you." Vox guffaws, finally taking his claws from your clit. Only to plunge them into your aching hole without warning. You moan out, feeling the sharpness of them inside of you as he curls his fingers into your g-spot.

Mister Vox revels in your wails of pain and pleasure, fucking you with his clawed fingers harsh and fast. His claws are surely are scratching you from the Inside, he can tell by the way your hands tremble and clasp over your lips.

You can't help but feel good. This masochism of yours that forces it's way into you. Every scratch of his fingers inside of you just makes you want to cum. You can't give him that satisfaction, you can't let him know that you are enjoying every second of his claws thrusting inside of you. This is awful. You hate it. You hate that you love it.

"Is my little dove enjoying this? Awe.. to scared to admit you fucking love this?" Vox laughs sadistically, giving you an extremely harsh thrust of his fingers into your g-spot. You squeal, vision going white for a moment as his fingers go at this manic speed. You feel your orgasm build, wishing to break through the walls and release. But you can't let it, you won't let him have that. You'll never let him have that feeling knowing he's won.

"If you don't cum I'll fucking ruin you, dove."

You gasp and choke on saliva, clawing on the bedsheets below as he forces you to orgasm. There's no getting out. He knows that you are trying not to cum. And he won't let it happen.

"Yes.. Mister Vox.." you say softly, hole clenching around his fingers as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Vox makes sure to drag it out, giving you slow rhythmic thrusts of his fingers to watch your body contract and writhe with pleasure.

"Good dove, listening to commands for me," He says softly, stroking the side of your cheek as he kneels between your legs. You want to pull away, but once again that burning and yearning feeling fills you. That stupid potion had an effect, and you can tell. From the way you feel a dizzy want when he looks at you to the wetness that continues to build between your thighs.

"Now, I'm going to fuck you so hard.." He laughs so himself, smiling crazily as he presses his hand to his face. "I'm gonna fuck you SO FUCKING hard, you won't even remember who I am anymore! How does that sound, my little slut?" Your lower lip wobbles as more tears threaten to fall from your eyes.

"Awful.." you whisper.

Another strong electric shock goes through you, causing you to scream out Mister Vox's name in pain as your body is left shaking and aching.

From the corner of your eye, you see Vox unzipping his fly.

"Wrong answer! Haha! Wrong fucking answer stupid slut," He growls, pressing the tip of his cock to your hole without a care. There something wrong with him, he's acting more crazy than ever before. He's getting off on your fear, getting off on your pain, getting off on knowing you can't do anything but be his.

With a loud slap, Vox sinks his entire length into you. You scream, clutching onto the bedsheets for dear life as he looms over you. He doesn't even give you a moment to let you rest, immediately setting a ruthless pace with his hips into yours. Every thrust causes your vision to go spotty with the pure force he drives his hips with, groaning with every thrust as he stares completely into your face as it scrunches in a pleasurable pain.

"S'too much! M-Mister vox It hurts!" You cry, reaching out to press your hands against his shoulders, clawing into his coat. You don't even care anymore, you want at least a small bit of comfort from these strong unforgiving thrusts. Vox chuckles at this, leaning down closer so he can capture your lips in a (forced) yet passionate kiss.

His long electric blue tongue immediately finds its way into your gob, passionately fornicating it against your own as his thrusts send you into a sort of floaty state. Vox maps the entirety of your mouth, tasting every crevice of you from your lips to the back of your throat. He thrusts almost ravenously like a dog, tip of his cock sometimes painfully pressing against your cervix.

Pulling away, Mister Vox looks Into your eyes, revelling in the way you claw at his back. You whimper and moan loudly, eyes fluttering closed as a tear falls down your cheek. He kisses it away, looking up at your closed eyes with a grin.

"Open your eyes, dove. Look at me while I fuck you." You cry out, opening your eyes for him so you can see him look at you with pleasure.

"Y-yes Mister- Ah! Vox.."

He chuckles, thrusting into you extremely hard. You can see the bulge of his cock in your stomach, poking against your skin in such a way you almost want to touch it.

"I'd fucking breed you if I could, fill your filthy cunt with all my little babies so then you can't even dream of leaving.. but I can imagine," Vox rambles, taking your cheek into his hand so he can look at you longingly- and almost affectionately. If it weren't for the position you're in you'd almost be enjoying this moment.

"Mister Vox!" You cry, back arching as your orgasm begins to prod at your stomach.

"Hm?" He asks, grunting as he thrusts into you.

"Can I cum? Please! Please please please.." You beg, legs quivering wildly. Vox chuckles, giving you an adoring look as you bite your lower lip.

"Awe look at you! Asking Mister Vox to cum and everything.." Vox begins, biting his lip as you sputter on a moan. "Of course you can, dove. Let go so I can fuck my cum into you.."

You scream his name when you cum, digging your nails so hard into his back you're sure his coat has tears in it.

You'd given up. Well and truly. You wouldn't admit it. But you've finally accepted it. You belong to Mister Vox. Forever and always.

Forever and Always.

Vox gives you one last thrust, emptying his cum into you with a moan from his own lips. Eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, Vox drags out his orgasm by serving you a few more small quick thrusts, making sure every last drop is inside of you.

But when he has, he doesn't pull out.

"Mister Vox.. pull out.." you whimper, wiggling your hips against him.

"Haha! As if. I said i'd fuck my cum into you, didn't I? I haven't done that yet.. okay?" He asks, stroking a hand through your hair.

"Yes Mister Vox."

#proship #senseichaos #antishippers dni #senseichaosdrabbles #proship fanfiction #hazbin hotel #lovely anon #senseichaosanons #💙 anon #vox #yandere vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #vox x reader #vox x reader smut #vox x reader angst #angst

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