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xxx-wounded-angel-xxx · 10 months ago

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Tear you appart - Felix Volturi x reader

Felix Volturi x fem! reader - contains smut

3456 words

content warning : swearing, darker and wilder than my usual Felix, possessive Felix, size difference (both him and reader like it) - Smut ahead ! please no judgment, this is the first time I'm writing some I tried my best I feel so embarrassed 😅 Stop at the divider if you don't want the smutty part that contains : dirty talk, voice kink, size kink, penetration, virgin reader (she's an adult in her 20's !), praise kink

Taglist : @agirllovespancakes <3

At first, you weren’t sure what to make of your mate. First, Felix was big. Like…two meters tall and really muscular. Like wow. And second, he… was busy. Like very busy, which you could comprehend since he was one of the highest ranked guards of the Volturi Coven. And the executioner… that's it you had said it. His job was to brutally kill people, and you did not fully know what to make of him because of that.

He was kind to you of course. But you could barely see him. He had a very important place in the coven after all, it would be mean to hold it against him, he couldn’t help it after all. But it was making it harder for you to understand him, how could you get to know him better if he wasn’t there with you?

Ever since you were staying with the Volturi after finding out that you were Felix’s soulmate, your existence had gotten kind of lonely. The current secretary would go shopping with you if you needed something but you were mostly staying in your quarters that were adjacent to Felix’s. So, you decided to spend the time by decorating as much as you could your quarters to your own taste.

As a goth, you took advantage of the Halloween season to buy home decor. Artificial black roses, deep red and purple ones, black lace curtains, gothic prints you paired with vintage looking frames Heidi found for you in an abandoned room… You kept the walls white but painted the furniture black. Lots of bookshelves were acquired to hold your book collection, CDs and DVDs, Felix had made sure you had a good TV and even better stereo when you said you basically lived with music. Anne Stokes and Victoria Frances’ art hung all over your walls, nemesis now dark fairy figures and cult cuties shelved neatly above your desk, nightmare before Christmas plushies and figures scattered all around your quarters with the occasional Hello Kitty and Kuromi: it was starting to look like home.

When December came by you bought red velvet curtains, and red crystal beads. A lot of them. Surprisingly, you were now finding every week rose bouquet, that you would put to dry and keep in elegant vases. You were sure they were from Felix, even if he never mentioned it the few times the two of you had met in November.

You were working on the canopy of the bed, after installing the black lace curtains and strings of white pearls that were easy to find as Christmas tree ornament, you were making garlands of red crystal beads that would reflect the light all around your bed canopy. Attaching bead after bead, you were disrupted by Felix. You looked at him, surprised as you saw him sit beside you on the black silk sheets of your bed.

“Good evening my darling mate”

This evening, you finally got to spend time with your mate. He apologized for his lack of presence beside you, the coven had been exceptionally busy and he had not been able to give you the time you deserved. But now, he was here, and could finally take care of you, his mate, properly.

You talked for hours that night, She Wants Revenge playing low in the background as you finally got to know each other.

But no matter how interesting this all was, you were getting tired. Felix noticed your yawn, and with a smile put you to bed, tucking you in and gently kissed your forehead goodnight.

Your Felix held his promise. Week after week you got to know the other better. Going from strangers to friends… to more. After a few months you realized that Felix wasn’t a friend anymore. No, he was more. You wanted him to be more. But it wasn’t easy. He was your soulmate! It was supposed to be easy! But it wasn’t. At all.

Spring came and left, and so did summer. It was the middle of autumn, and you still did not know how to tell your soulmate you liked him. How could you? How could a simple human compare to a vampire? He had not turned you yet, it seemed that he quite enjoyed your human habits for now. Maybe he liked your softness, the warmth of your skin or the color of your eyes? But that did not resolve your problem. How could you tell him when you had never done this before? You were in your twenties and not had your fist kiss yet!

You had started a diary to keep your memories, express your feelings and your thoughts. And the most recent entries were all about him. About Felix, the gleam in his eyes, the way his skin shone brightly under the sunlight, how hot you had found the glimpses of his toned and muscular body you had been able to see, the way his thunderous laugh made your heart smile… How… You love him. That’s it, you had admitted it fully: you loved him. It was written black on white in your diary. Your heart was in his hands. You did not need a prayer when you had his name.

That was the last line you wrote, leaving your diary on your bed as you left your bedroom to take a relaxing bath before going to bed in your favorite attire.

You came out of the bathroom, all clean and fresh, humming some She Wants Revenge song, when you froze. Felix. Felix was sitting on your bed. Felix was sitting on your bed holding your diary. Felix was reading your diary where you very explicitly wrote how much you loved him. Fuck.

When Felix looked at you, you felt like you could die from embarrassment. You tried to leave, but in the blink of an eye you found yourself your back against a wall, Felix’s body pressed against yours preventing you from running away. Anyway, where would you have gone? This was your room, for fuck’s sake! You shivered as he used his big hand to raise your head so he could look you in the eyes.

“You meant it?”

“What”

“What you wrote in your diary about me. You mean it?”

You had never seen Felix that serious before, his husky voice had lost all humor.

“It… It is… Yes, it is true. I … I really mean it.”

You blurted out the last words, anxious. What if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear? What if he hated you now? What if… Wait, why was he smiling?

“You have no idea how long I’ve longed for this. May I?”

You nodded, not sure what he was asking for. He cupped your cheek, and to your surprise he kissed you. You closed your eyes.

It was better than what you had read in your books, much better. His lips were soft against yours, his kiss tender but quite possessive at the same time. You returned it, quite clumsily due to your inexperience, but still with enthusiasm. He was the one to break it so you could breathe again. You were only human after all. Your body needed it.

“Damn, that was…”

He laughed at your reaction.

“Can you do it again?”

Smirking, he eagerly accepted your request.

Later, when you were too tired to stay awake, Felix accepted to stay under the covers and hold you. The feeling of his strong and much bigger body wrapped around your much smaller frame brought unholy thoughts to your mind, that you quickly shook away, but it still let you the time to show slight embarrassment. You thought for a moment that Felix would take advantage of it, but he didn’t, only kissing the top of your head and bringing you closer to his body.

“Does that mean that we are together now?” “You could say that dolcezza.” “So you’re my boyfriend?” “Absolutely not. I’m your mate. If you want a more human term, just say that I’m your husband.”

You looked at him, shocked, and that little shit that was your mate had the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

“I… I think mate is an appropriate term.” “As you wish.”

Your heart was beating so fast he couldn’t not hear it, and his bright smile was the confirmation. Luckily for you, Felix had decided to go easy on you for tonight. But you feared what his teasing would be like…

You fell asleep with these thoughts in mind, Felix’s arms holding you tight against him. “Buonanotte tesoro mio, ti amo…”

When you woke up the next day, Felix was still here, holding you.

“Hi” “Hi. Slept well?” “Yes” “Good”

Bringing you closer to him, Felix buried his face in your neck. You froze as it felt like he was smelling you, and he left a kiss where he could feel your pulse. Being this close to him felt nice, really nice. He smelled good, too. Something musky, homey.

“Are you sniffing me?” “You did a few moments ago” “Touché.” A pause. “So?” “You smell nice. Like home.” “Ah, that’s a mate thing, you know? I smell good like that to you only.” “And me? What do I smell like?” “The tastiest thing I’ve ever met.” “Felix!” “What?! You should take this as a compliment! You smell delicious!”

He had that cocky look that looked so good on him. You couldn't wait to spend forever with him.

It was near Christmas now. More than one year since you met Felix, a few months since you realized you loved him, and a few weeks since the two of you were fully mated. Well fully… There was something the two of you had not done yet. It was… sex. For fuck’s sake, you were an adult, you could say the word sex! But… that did not erase the fact that you had basically no experience in dating. Felix was your first kiss… and would be your first lover. The thing was that he was not aware of it. How could you tell him! This man was cocky enough, if you told him, it would sign you way to a never-ending teasing! Fuck. Wait, that was the point! This man – or vampire – was going to be the death of you.

Your thoughts were a complete mess. You were sure than even Aro couldn’t understand a single shit if he were to read your mind. Which was why it was a good thing that he hadn’t asked for a while. But maybe it could actually help? Wait no! You couldn’t let him know you were desperately trying to get in the pants of his executioner. All of it was driving you crazy.

You tried to keep up with appearances with Felix, behaving as normal as you could with him, but you couldn’t help but let some touches linger more than necessary, brush against him every time you were close with him, dragging the kisses as long as you could without accidentally killing yourself from the lack of oxygen… All of it you thought Felix didn’t notice. But that was forgetting something: your mate was very much a predator. And as a human, you were very much prey for him, even as his mate.

Your heartbeat running faster when he was close, the way his low voice would send shivers down your spine, or how some kisses and touches could get you clenching your thighs… Felix noticed everything, and your asshole of a mate was reveling in it, your love like the thrill of the hunt. He took great pleasure in it, day after day, trying to drive you crazy until you would be your back against a wall, forced to tell him exactly what you wanted. And he would make sure you beg for it, dragging the thrill of the hunt as long as he could. But lucky for you, he loved you more than it. He would try to not make you beg, not too much at least.

Your Felix had become great at reading you, your expressions, your desires. And being as old as he was, it had not been hard for him to put two and two together: the way you returned his affection, always eager but also quite clumsily, always holding back afraid of going too far or doing wrong… That darker, possessive side off him was extremely satisfied of it, no one had touched you like that before, no one but him, you were forever his.

After a few weeks, your struggles were not funny anymore, he wanted you to feel desired, to not see your inexperience as a bad thing. You were so damn beautiful and desirable; he would show you how much he wanted you.

He would be off duty for the next few days, it was perfect. The next time he would get in your bed, you would not be sleeping for a good while.

For the past few days, it seemed like Felix was toying with you, always managing to get you where and how he wanted. He was slowly taking you out of your comfort zone, it was like he had something in mind as he would hold you close, soft breath in the crook of your neck sending shivers down your spine. He would let you back up if you were too uncomfortable, of course, but the bastard knew what he was doing, always taking you further and further of your comfort zone without crossing your boundaries, teaching you a few things about you in the meantime. Damn, did you always have that size and voice kink or was it of his doing? Fuck, you had no idea but did not care much, it was too good for the reasons why to matter anymore.

All of this led you to that very moment, your Felix towering over you, your back against the wall of your room. Voice low, whispering in your ear, driving you crazy.

“Aren’t you pretty like that, all flustered? Your blood smell so good I might just eat you…”

Of course, this led you to grow even more flustered, your blood rushing and tempting him even more. He took another step, and lowered his head even more, leaving cold kisses on your neck, his cool breath driving you crazy. You move your head to give him a better access, and let out a soft moan as his teeth scrap your neck.

“You like that don’t you? To be all helpless as soon as I touch you. My beautiful darling…”

He lifts you, claiming your lips and you can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist. He bites your lower lip, and you let out a soft gasp, your Felix taking advantage of it, his tongue meeting yours to explore your mouth. After a while the two of you part, soft panting can be heard from you. At this moment, you realize you left your stereo on, and as your notice what song is playing you send to hell every hesitation and kiss him passionately.

“I want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight

Lie still, close your eyes, girl, so lovely, it feels so right

I want to hold you close, soft breast, beating heart

As I whisper in your ear, "I wanna fucking tear you apart"

It drives the both of you crazy, leaving you only wanting more, more than everything you had already done. So when Felix carries you to the bed, you continue to kiss him. When he lays you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you drag him close and deepen the kiss. When he takes off your shirt, you unbutton his, hands roaming everywhere on the other’s body in a frenzy haze, kisses left everywhere.

“I want you” you pause. “No, I need you.” You let out a moan as he rips your bra and leave kisses on your breast, a smile oh so smug brightening his face as he finds your sensitive spot. You writhe underneath him, clenching your thighs together, left wanting more, needing more of him.

“Felix…” His name leaves your mouth as a soft moan, and he can’t help but chuckle at your neediness, he’s finally got you where he wants you to be, he’s going to drag on this teasing as much as he can.

“That’s my name darling, say it again…”

He’s so smug but you can’t help but do as he say, especially when his pants and yours disappear, and his hand slip in your silky panties. As he brushes against your clit, you can’t help but buckle your hips, trying to get more friction where you need him the most.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Always that smug expression, he knows he is driving you crazy and he revels in it: you’re his and he is the only one able to get these reactions from you. He leans over you, pressing his body against yours, claiming your lips once again. You whimper as you can feel his hard bulge against you, increasing your arousal to an extent you didn’t know was possible. But you weren’t the only one left craving for more.

“Please Felix…” “I need you to use your words tesorina. Tell me, what you want?” “You. I want you I need you!” “So greedy my darling… Is that what you want?”

You can’t answer him as he rips your panties, throwing away what’s left of them before making his own underwear meet the same fate. He’s bigger than you anticipated, yet the only thing you can focus on is how much you want him inside of you.

Not breaking eye contact with you, he strokes his penis a few times, making sure it’s slick with his precum and your arousal, and get on top of you, teasing your wet folds with his hard length.

“Are you sure you want this?” He looks at you with such seriousness, trying to read your face and be sure this is what you want, that he’s not going further than you’re comfortable with. “Yes Felix please” “You only have one word to say and I’ll stop if it’s too much for you”

You nod, and satisfied with your approval Felix thrust into you. You moan at the feeling; you feel so full of him. You expected it to hurt, being your first time, but it doesn’t, your love prepared you enough.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it my darling? My cock filling you up, bringing you more pleasure than you’ve ever had.”

You can only whine and moan, too lost in the pleasure you’re experiencing for the first time. Felix eats up every of your reactions, satisfied that only him get to make you feel this good.

“You’re so responsive to my touch” Felix praises you, and his words do something to you you weren’t aware of it being possible. Something good. Really good. Felix, attentive to all of your reactions, notice and whispers sweet praises in your ear, driving you wild. He thrusts faster, eliciting more moans from you. It feels so good, you can only focus on him and the pleasure he gives you, moaning his name.

“I love hearing you cry out my name, tesoro. It’s music to my ears.”

He finally finds an especially sensitive spot of yours, hitting it relentlessly, eliciting moan after moan from you. He growls in pleasure, getting you closer and closer. You feel something ready to snap inside of you.

“Please Felix I’m close so close!” “That’s it darling, come for me.” He kisses your shoulder. “Come for me, let me feel how much you love me. I’ll be right behind you, filling you with everything I have.”

The pad of this finger brushes against your clit, and with his dirty words it’s enough to make you snap, riding the first climax of your life. Your Felix follows quickly, his cool cum filling your cunt as he moans your name, “you’re mine all mine my [Y/N] forever mine never letting you go my sweet and beautiful [Y/N]”

You fall back on the bed, trembling with pleasure and exhaustion. Sliding out of you, Felix admires for a moment your mixed release dripping down your inner thighs, before laying down beside you and holding you close, whispering sweet praises in your ear. He kisses your forehead tenderly, and you snuggle closer to him.

“I love you” “I love you too tesorina”

Exhausted, you fall asleep, safe and spent in your mate’s arms, Felix never letting you go for a second, holding you tight against him the whole time. This is what eternity should feel like, and he will make sure it always is that way for you.

#volturi #felix volturi #felix volturi x reader #fem reader

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freelancearsonist · 8 months ago

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in shades of gray and candlelight

➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k

➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

➔ Rated MA for artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]

➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)

You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.

He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.

It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.

His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.

The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.

Until he finds your exhibit.

There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.

He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.

He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.

But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.

Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought.

“Hi.”

The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.

And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.

“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable.

“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”

“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.

And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.

“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”

“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.

But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.

“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”

It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.

“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.

“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.

He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”

You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.

And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”

There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”

“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”

“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”

There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.

The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.

And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.

“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”

The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”

“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”

He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”

Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”

“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.

“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”

Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.

“Gimme just a minute.”

He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.

He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.

Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.

Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.

He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.

“You’re still here.”

There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”

You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.

He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.

“Do you have someone to go home to?”

There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“No. No, I don’t.”

This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.

All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you.

He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You… you don’t have to–”

But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.

“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.

And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.

Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.

And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.

You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.

And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.

“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.

“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.

Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.

He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.

“Hey, we don’t have to–”

Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.

Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.

Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.

No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.

Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.

He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.

He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.

You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.

“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to.

He’s never felt so alive.

“I would love a nightcap.”

Your senses wake up slower than normal.

First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.

You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.

Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.

He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.

It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.

He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.

“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.

Something dangerous.

You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.

You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.

There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.

And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.

“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.

If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.

There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”

You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.

Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.

One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.

It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him.

He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.

He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.

The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.

He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.

“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.

Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.

“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”

He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”

You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.

It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”

God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.

You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.

You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him.

“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”

And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.

Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.

He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.

”M-Marcus—”

”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”

There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.

He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.

”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”

”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”

He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.

There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.

The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.

”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”

”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.

He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”

And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.

You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”

”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.

He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.

It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.

You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.

He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.

”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.

”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.

He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”

The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”

”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.

”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.

You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”

”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.

You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”

You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.

He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too.

He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.

You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.

He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant.

He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.

If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.

“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”

It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.

You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.

The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.

Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”

You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”

“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”

And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.

The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.

Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.

He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.

He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.

“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”

His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.

He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.

I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.

But you don’t.

The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.

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bullet-prooflove · 27 days ago

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5000 Follower Celebration: Field of Daisies - Mitch Ripley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @spaghettificationandpretzels @mini-bee-bee @mandy426 @jareaulamontagnes

Companion piece to:

Seperation!Series:

Marley 2.0 - Mitch doesn't realise your hiding a secret from him.

Not Your Problem - Mitch feels you pulling away from him.

Pill Popping - Mitch confronts LJ about what happened in St Clair.

Not Enough - Mitch realises he won't ever be enough for you after you reveal what happened in St Clair.

Therapy Sessions - Mitch talks through his issues with his counsellor.

Hollow - Mitch returns home to an empty house.

Swings - Mitch steps up when you recieve some life changing news.

Don't Hold Back - You struggle after spending the night with Mitch.

It’s two days later that Mitch turns up on your parent’s doorstep. You answer the door half asleep because you got off shift twelve hours ago and there’s a deep set exhaustion inside of you that has nothing to do with physicality and everything to do with the mess inside your head.

“Put on some sneakers.” He says, tucking his hands into the light blue windbreaker you’re wearing. “We’re going running.”

“You gave up the right to tell me what to do when you served me with separation paperwork.” You remind him, your temple coming to rest on the door and his jaw tenses as he looks down the street for a second.

“I deserved that.” He says before he tilts his head towards you. “But I’ve been where you are right now Marley and it’s a really dark fucking place. Trust me this helps.”

He doesn’t flinch when he meets your gaze and you sigh before you retreat into the house and step into your running shoes before snatching up your jacket, headphones and phone.

“Fine but I’m listening to my Yellowstone playlist.” You tell him as you place the earbuds in your ears.

“Sure.” He says as he takes out his own matching set.

It takes the two of you a second to sync your phones to the Bluetooth before Mitch takes off, leaving you to follow his lead. It’s a new route, one you don’t recognise until you end up running along the lake with Mitch by your side. He’s slowed his step to keep pace with you, his skin is flushed from the exertion and the cold as he draws to a halt underneath the railway bridge.

“I wanted to show you this.” He says as he gestures at the graffiti art sprayed onto the wall.

It’s a Brenda Barnum piece, a mural of white daisies painted onto the concrete amidst yellow and green hues and it makes something inside of you light up the way it always does when you see something of hers.

You’d always been a weird kid, perfect on the surface but with an oddness underneath. You didn’t like the same things as other kids, you liked quirky things, vivid colours and shit that challenged your thinking. There was always a battle to conform and you had because it made life easy but you never really felt like you fit. You’d lived with that feeling for years, thinking there was something wrong with you until you saw one of Brenda Barnum’s paintings and in that moment you realised that you didn’t have to hide yourself, you could be exactly who you wanted to be.

You’d told this to Mitch when you’d taken him to an exhibition in the early stages of the relationship, you’d explained how each painting made you feel like you’d been seen, like someone had taken the thoughts out of your head and committed them to canvas.

When he’d finished renovating the house, he’d put a framed museum print of ‘Purple Firecracker’ on the wall above your bed because he knew how much you loved the piece.

“I know you feel displaced right now.” He tells you as he leans back against the concrete pillar. “That you don’t know which way is up but I thought this could be your anchor point, a reminder of who you are underneath the rest of the shit that’s going on in your head.”

Your chest grows tight as you stare at the colours, the vividness, the complexity and in that moment everything just quietens.

“Thank you.” You say finally because you’ve been on the edge ever since you got your diagnosis and this is the first time you’ve actually allowed yourself to take a breath, to step back from the abyss that threatens to swallow you up.

“I mean it.” You say as you tilt your head towards him and his cheeks start to colour. “Thank you Mitch, for bringing me here, for reminding me I’m stronger than this.”

“You’re the toughest person I know Marley.” He tells you as he pushes off the pillar. “You just needed to find yourself again.”

“Yea.” You say, your gaze straying back to the artwork in front of you. “Yea I did.”

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originalartblog · 6 months ago

Note

Hey me and my friends have a small discord server between like five of us. Could we possibly use your art of goosamu holding fyodor's arm as a sticker? With creds of course <3.

Public use (large amounts of people, impossible to control or even know who does what with what you show them): please don't without at least credit in closed circles (discord, etc.) and don't at all in open places (social media, etc). please.

Personal use (yourself and/or small group of friends): go crazy go stupid enjoy art and life!!! Yes that also includes phone backgrounds, printing something at the library to put on your wall, making a little craft out of it, and all of that. I've given my ok for avatars and headers in the past too, though I specify I do think in that case it's always better to have a little credit somewhere as I'm one to look for who made that art when I like it.

I do not think you need anyone's permission ever for personal, non-commercial use of art that respects the original artist's integrity. AI use is not personal use in this sense.

#ask answered #not art

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bby-blu-swirll · 1 year ago

Text

hairdressing | hawks x reader

little short where a long term customer recommends her stylist (you) to a coworker of hers <3

(HELP IDK WHERE THIS CAME FROM LOL)

soft rock filled the small space as you swept across the salon floor, making a small pile of your last client's blue hair. you smiled to nobody in particular, taking a deep breath. you really did love your job. it was an art to you, and every person who passed under your hands for a cut or dye felt like a small masterpiece.

you worked out of a small salon in downtown kyushu, on the cutest street corner across from a bakery. it had three stylist chairs in their respective stations, each decorated to their owners' liking. yours had small (f/c) prints along the wall, little butterflies scattered around, and your mirror was lined with some miscellaneous polaroids and string lights. at first they were just for the vibes, but you quickly noticed the majority of your clients finding a significant amount of joy in taking their instagram photos with it.

the other stations had been filled with personality of their own, belonging to your salon co-owners, two lovely people you became quick friends with in cosmetology school. however, one had clocked out for the day hours earlier and the other had no appointments, so the shop was yours to enjoy while you waited out the clock. of the three of you, you were the only one who didn't leave after the last client. you hardly made appointments before 10 am, so if you had some extra time before 6 pm, you would tidy the salon and see if you got any walk ins. if not, you closed at your 8 hour mark. every once in a while though, someone would wander in asking for a quick cut and you were always more than happy to comply.

so now was one of those evenings. your last client, coming in for a fresh trim, had walked out at 5:20. and here you were, just humming along with the music and bobbing your head.

a soft buzzing from the counter tore your attention away from the pile of blue hair you were sweeping and brought it to your phone, with an incoming call. you smiled softly at the icon, a picture of you and rumi from the last time you two had been able to go out together. at this point, it must have been months ago. she was always so busy with hero work now, which you completely understood, it just made you miss the days before she was number 5.

you had gone to the same middle school and stayed connected since. of course she went to a high school to get her hero license, (before you, too, since you met in her last year, and your first) but you wouldn't let that stop you from seeing her on weekends, or stop her from forcing you to help with the classes she didn't understand. in exchange, she let you practice on her hair to help your chances of getting into a better cosmetology school. hell, she even let you dye it once or twice. ever since, you were the only person who's cut her hair, ever.

you put the phone to your ear with a smile. "heyy, hunny bun! what's goin on?"

you heard her playfully scoff through the phone, as if you haven't been calling her that since you were 15.

"hey babes, just had a question for ya." her cheerful tone was unwavering as usual, you could practically hear her confident smile through the phone.

"mkay, shoot."

"are you with a client right now?"

you tucked your phone under your ear with your shoulder, picking up your broom and starting to sweep the pile towards the automatic vacuum in the corner. "mmm, no, my last one left just a few minutes ago, actually." you heard her say something you didn't quite catch, like she was talking to someone she was with. "why? what's up?"

"do you still take walk-ins until 6??" her tone was more eager now. you smiled a bit, wondering what for.

"yyeeaaahh?"

"oooo! okay perfect, then i have someone who desperately needs your help." you could hear annoyed and offended protests come from her line and you couldn't help but stifle a laugh. "oh shut up, you've let it grow too long and you know it! stop acting like a stubborn child." she chuckled slightly before turning her attention back to you. "think you've got time for a quick trim for my friend?"

with a small smile, you turned to the clock on the wall. "yeah, plenty actually. how far away are you guys? should i put up the closed sign in the window in case someone else comes in?"

"nah, don't worry about that. we just got off patrol like four blocks from you. should be five minutes, tops."

you stopped your sweeping and froze, just a bit. "patrol? you mean i'm doing one of your pro hero friends' hair?"

"well you've been doing mine since we were 13, i figured it wouldn't be a big deal." she sounded so casual, which was in character for her, yet still astonishing to you, considering the circumstances.

"i mean yeah, but i know how to do your iconic haircut because i've been doing it for, i don't know, almost 10 years?? not to brag, but i'm probably the only one who can do it just the way you like. but if you bring me some big shot hero and i screw up his 'do, then it's all my fault." you chuckled slightly.

"ahh, don't sweat it y/n. i know you'll do a great job. besides, it's not like i'm bringing you chris hemsworth or something, it's just someone i work with every once in a while. feel free to screw up his 'do as much as you like." her end of the call was suddenly filled with miscellaneous protests and insistent "NO, DON'T DO THAT-"'s, followed by her cackling furiously.

you couldn't help but laugh yourself. "alright, well i'm gonna finish cleaning up from my last appointment. i'll see you in a few, yeah?"

"alright see you then babes."

"buh-bye hunny bun." you hung up, smiling softly, a bit excited for whatever was coming your way.

when the golden bell above your door rang just a few minutes earlier, you were reorganizing your hair colors. as soon as you turned around, you smiled and threw yourself at rumi in a big hug, laughing as she scooped you up and spun you around. it's a habit she'd picked up way back when she first started heavy lifting.

she squealed as she squeezed you, finally setting you down. "agh, i feel like it's been so long since i've seen you!"

you chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of your neck. "yeah, it's almost like that's because it has."

your smile changed into a curious look as you remembered why she was here, looking behind her at the eye-catching scarlet pair of wings on her friend. realization dawned upon you as your eyes met his, golden and piercing, even through his tinted glasses. you huffed a laugh and smirked, cocking your head to the side. he held out a gloved hand for a shake before stopping.

"oh-" he chuckled and bit the middle finger, pulling out his hand and offering it again, flesh and bone this time, for a friendly shake. "hey, i'm-"

"hawks. i'm familiar." you smiled and laughed softly. "call me y/n."

"pleasure to meet you, y/n." the way your name rolled off his tongue made you hesitate for just a moment, biting the inside of your cheek in thought.

"likewise... hey rumi?"

"mhmm?"

"remember when you called me earlier?"

she smiled playfully. "yeah, i think so."

"yeah, and you said, 'iT's nOt LiKe i'M bRiNgiNg ChRiS hEmSwOrTh'?"

"mhm mhm i think i remember that."

"so.. wanna tell me what the number two hero is doing in my salon, oh my God?"

she laughed loudly and patted you on the back. "y/n don't worry, i promise you have nothing to stress about. now i'm gonna pop into the bakey across the street and see if i can get anything before they close, why don't you go ahead and get started?" without waiting for an answer, she was already back in your doorway. "screw him up, yeah?" she winked playfully before closing the door and making her way to the crosswalk outside.

a moment of silence passed as you watched her make her way across the street before hawks spoke up.

"sooo.... please don't screw me up, too badly."

you laughed as you prepped the rinse station for him. "oh no don't worry, you're in perfectly adequate hands."

he let out an amused hum. "i don't know, adequate has to be an understatement, if you're the one doing rumi's hair. she told me you were the one who did her hair and makeup for that magazine she was in a few months back, said you style her for every event too." he shrugged off his jacket and slipped off his glasses, dropping them in one of your lounge chairs.

his easy going tone and relaxed smile had already made you feel more at ease. "yeah... well i mean, i guess i just know her, what looks good and what she likes, you know? we go pretty far back." you chuckled, motioning for him to come take a seat.

"well whatever you end up doing to me, i'm sure it'll look great." his relaxed, almost cocky smirk rested on his face comfortably. though you thought you saw it falter for just a moment when you pressed a hand to his chest to guide him back, neck resting on the edge of the bowl, head leaning into the sink.

"well let's hope so..." you smiled softly as you lowered your voice just a bit. "let me know if the water's too hot..."

he hummed as the warm water poured over his scalp, visibly relaxing. as easy going as he always seemed, it must have been exhausting to always be on guard, looking for trouble. "mm... 's perfect."

you bit the inside of your cheek again, smiling still. he exhaled softly as you massaged the shampoo into his scalp, looking like he was sinking into the chair even more.

"hawks..?"

he opened one eye, looking up at you. "hm?"

"you okay?"

"oh, yeah... sorry," he chuckles faintly. "just, feels good... sorry if that's weird."

"oh! no, ha, not at all."

as you go along with the rest of the wash, conditioning and rinsing, you couldn't help but wonder if he ever got attention like this. as far as the media could tell, he didn't have many personal relationships, and he reacted so easily to your touch, it was like he hadn't relaxed, had personal attention like this in a while.

you moved him to the chair without many words. as you comb through his hair, you look up for just a moment and catch his eyes on yours in the mirror. you continued what you were doing, holding his gaze.

"...what?"

his smile returned with an amused exhale. "nothing, just watching you work."

you returned the expression before turning your attention back to his hair. "okay.. so rumi said you needed a trim, how much exactly am i lopping off?"

"ah, probably an inch, hardly more. it's been getting in my eyes when i'm fighting, which is like skating on thin ice, so..."

you nodded, picking up your sheers. "okay, i get you."

"i usually get it cut every few weeks to keep it manageable, but the guy who was doing that before quit on me."

you tilted your head curiously as you began trimming around his neck. "really? why's that?"

"ah, i ended up having to see him pretty often, guess he kinda got fed up." he laughed lightly.

"every few weeks is already pretty often, why would you need to see him more often than that?"

"i solve issues before they can happen. but i also assist other heroes pretty often, walking into battles that have already started. and sometimes my own situations can still get out of hand. if i get banged up, chances are so does my hair. it's been burnt, ripped out, shaved around head injuries, pretty much anything you can think of."

as he talked, you pulled strands of hair to snip. every once in a while, you would notice small-ish scars buried under his overlapping layers.

"yeah, i think i see what you mean..." you gently run your fingers over one of them, watching carefully as his eyebrows quirk up slightly.

"yeah... anyway, guess the old stylist got tired of fixing me, and ended up quitting a few weeks ago. of course, i'm basically the commission's 'golden boy'," you didn't even have to look up to know his eyes were rolling. "so i guess he was the best in the area. that's why they're looking for someone new now, and why i've been looking just a bit overgrown." he chuckled lightly.

his eyes followed as you picked out your sheers and comb, making your way in front of him. his classic smirk stayed on his face as you leaned in closer.

your voice was low as you bent over just slightly, raising his chair. "sorry, just need to do your front parts quickly..."

"no worries..."

"so... if your image is such an important part of the job, why'd they higherups trust you to someone like me?" you smiled faintly. his eyes fluttered closed as you began to trim the hair falling around them.

"actually, that was mirko's idea. she speaks pretty highly of you, ya know. besides, she thought maybe, if you did a good job, she could convince the commission to hire you to take care of me." he winked playfully. though it was perfectly in line with his personality and was likely a regular habit for him, it still made your stomach drop for a moment. "if you're interested that is. she thought you might be. no pressure, of course."

you moved back behind him as you felt your cheeks heat up, putting down your tools before facing away. "uh huh..."

"wooow, i can see why she's got so much faith in you." his smile was obvious in his voice. when you turned back to face the mirror, you saw him admiring his reflection, hair still slightly damp and falling into his eyes. "i look sexy~"

you laughed and put your hands on his shoulders. "yeah yeah, i haven't even styled it yet."

he chuckled softly turning his head from side to side with a sly grin. "i'm not even sure you need to, sweetheart. you do know best, though."

it was hard to miss the flirty tone in his voice, and harder to ignore now that he was throwing in nicknames, but you were sure it was just his personality. he was a reputation charmer, after all. his ever-lingering smile made you grip your hairdryer just a bit tighter every time you caught his gaze on yours in the mirror.

as you were adjusting his fluffy hair, you noticed the texture was slightly lacking. "hey, your hair is kinda dry..."

he quirked up an eyebrow. "really? that's weird, i take great care of my hair."

"i mean it's not too strange, high winds will definitely do that." you looked around your shelf for a moment before picking up a few products. "i can fix it though."

he watched curiously as you pumped some leave-in conditioner into your palm, rubbing your hands together. as your fingers found their way into his hair, you first saw him relax before you felt him slightly lean into your touch. he sighed contently as you took your time massaging the product into his scalp, not wanting to interrupt how relaxed he looked.

"okay..." you spoke softly, voice low. "you're all done."

you smiled and unbuttoned the cape, watching as his smile grew. "honestly? bang up job, princess. i see why you get such glowing reviews."

you laughed lightly and shrugged. "thank you, but it's really not a big deal." you turned your attention to the shelf of product again. "oh, before i forget-" you picked up a small pink tub and handed it to him. "just use this in place of your conditioner and leave it for like 5 minutes, whenever you shower. should help with the dryness a ton."

he picked up his coat and took the container from you, his fingers lingering on top of yours for just a moment. "thanks... i owe you one." he winked again, and again you felt your stomach drop.

in a matter of perfect timing, rumi finally pushed open the door of your salon again, three little bags and a coffee in hand. "hey, sorry i took so long! i ended up getting something for both of you though!"

she handed you a small bag with your favorite pastry inside, still warm. you thanked her with a warm smile, turning to hawks, who looked less amused.

"poppy seed muffin?" he scoffed, his playful smirk returning. "you're hilarious."

"ahh, i know i am." rumi laughed lightly and threw her arm around you, still looking at hawks. "nice cut, by the way. told you she could restore your sight." the three of you shared a laugh as she took a swig of her coffee. "anyway, why don't you get out of here? i'll walk y/n home and catch you later, yeah?"

he nodded. "sounds good. hey, y/n, what do i owe you for the fresh cut?"

"oh, don't worry about it. it was just a trim and last month you totally saved my block from getting blown sky high, so we'll call it even." you smiled softly as he pulled out his phone.

"aww c'mon, at lease let me tip you."

you rolled your eyes playfully, deciding to not fight him. "i have a venmo qr code on my mirror if you really feel so inclined, but really, don't worry about it."

he sauntered over to your mirror and scanned it, tapping on his phone as he made his way to your door. "thanks again! i'll get your number from rumi so i can call you up next time i need your help." his flashed his pearly whites one last time as he closed the door behind him.

you turned back to rumi, who had begun to tell you all about everything that's happened since you last sat down together, when a knock sounded from your front window. you looked out to see hawks motioning to his phone and winking one last time before he finally took off.

you smiled and knit your brows in playful confusion until you felt your phone buzz. it was a venmo from hawks, with nothing but a small heart as the note. rumi almost spit out her coffee when she saw it, and your jaw was already on the floor.

this man had just tipped you $200.

***

as it turns out, the next time hawks would "need your help" was sooner rather than later. it was hardly 5 days later when you were walking from the coffee shop across the street to your own salon when your phone rang with an unknown number. you picked it up, expecting one of your clients maybe calling to reschedule or cancel. instead, you were met with the whistling of wind and a familiar smooth talking voice.

"heyyy y/n! it's hawks, i went ahead and got your number from rumi."

"oh-" you almost stopped in the middle of the crosswalk due to your surprise. "hey, what's up? did something come up?"

"nothing bad, no. are you at work yet?"

you smirked as you pulled out the keys from your pocket, trying to find the right one as you got to your door. "just arrived, actually. why?" no response. "hawks?"

as you slipped the key into the slot, you looked down at your phone and saw the call had disconnected. "okay.."

when a sudden rush of scarlet filled your vision, you yelped and almost dropped your coffee. hawks had practically fallen from the sky and landed right next to you, standing close, his cocky grin unwavering.

"oh my God, you scared the hell out of me!" you clutched your chest, laughing and waiting for your soul to come back to your body at the same time.

he chuckled and pulled something from under his coat. "sorry 'bout that sweetheart... would these make up for it?"

he held out a small bouquet of flowers in your favorite color.

"wh- what? why..."

"when you did my hair, i noticed the ones you had on your front counter were dying. i saw these on my way in this morning and they reminded me of you and your shop, thought they would look nice in the place." he smiled as you took them gingerly. "consider it a thank you!"

you opened the salon door with an exasperated smile, feeling it grow wider when he followed you in. "well they're beautiful and i appreciate them, but believe me, the VERY generous tip was more than enough."

you put the flowers in the now empty vase, adjusting them when he got close behind you. your eyes widened as his hand found your lower back, pressing slightly, his breath close to your neck.

"c'mon princess, just let me express my gratitude~"

you didn't realize you were holding your breath until he stepped back and you suddenly let it go. when you turned to face him again, his playful fun smile was back and he looked so casual, you almost wondered if you had imagined whatever the hell that just was.

"anyway, i've gotta be in soon, and i imagine you've gotta get your shop opened up, yeah?"

"ah...yeah.."

"then i'll catch you later. have a good one!" he left with a signature wink before taking off.

whatever that morning was, became a regular thing. every few days he would drop by for a visit for whatever reason- replacing your flowers, bringing you a pastry in the morning, offering to walk you home after work, even though you only lived a half a dozen blocks away.

and with every little reason to see you, came some "harmless" flirting that made your stomach do somersaults.

finally after almost three weeks he had actually come to you for the smallest clean up. while you lightly snipped his ends, he asked if you had considered the position of being his personal groomer. you told him you wanted to think about it more and he told you not to worry about it, but he did have a favor to ask.

in a few days time, he needed to be at an important event. just a hero dinner of sorts, it was meant to be all over the media though, so he needed to dress to impress. after seeing your work with rumi, the commission approved of you making hawks camera ready (upon his request, of course). it just standard hair and makeup, but it was an important job nonetheless.

against the better judgement you'd gained over the last few weeks of dealing with him, you agreed swiftly.

so here you were, outside his door with your cosmetology bag, ready to make up him and rumi.

rumi would take longer for both hair and makeup, so you decided to start with hawks. so she would be coming over later, which left just you. and him. alone. in his penthouse apartment. what could possibly go wrong.

aside front that he answered the door shirtless in sweatpants, nothing. so far.

he stood with one hand on the doorframe, the other on the door itself, towering over you with a sly grin. you had to force your eyes to stay on his face instead of wandering down to his incredibly cut core. you felt your stomach flood with butterflies as the softest flush covered your face, and he didn't take long to notice.

"you've got some good eye contact, sweetheart, i'll give you that."

his smile relaxed a bit as he stepped out of your way, opening the doorway of his apartment to you. you stepped in without mentioning any of whatever the hell just happened, biting the inside of your cheek with a soft smile.

you held up your bag, looking around. "where should i..?"

"ah," he began to move towards his living area, just a couple couches with a chair gathered around a coffee table. he plopped himself down on the soft rug of all places, in front of the table. "figured this might be a good place since, you know, you've got plenty of natural light to work with."

he was right, the entire wall across from his front door was basically made entirely of glass. it left a beautiful view of kyushu outside, with a terrace you imagined would be perfect to watch the sunrise from.

you smiled as you sat across from him, both of you cross-legged. "yeah, it's perfect actually..."

"perfect..." he mumbled to himself. his gaze lingered on you as you pulled out your makeup bag.

"so." you turned to him and scooted a bit closer, reaching a hand towards his face. "do you mind if i..." you hesitated, halting your hand just before your fingers grazed his skin.

he gulped and nodded, confident smirk faded as his pulse picked up. you lightly cradled his jaw and carefully turned his head from side to side.

"well you've got great skin... smooth, not oily, i doubt i'll have to do any base..." your voice was low as you spoke, talking more to yourself than him. he just hardly nodded as you inspected him closely. "i'll give you some highlight and contour though, just for the camera... your eyelashes are stunning..."

he cracked a small smile. "thanks.."

you returned the look and met his eyes. "you're welcome..."

time seemed to still between you for a moment. his eyes flicked to your lips for the shortest instant, you almost missed it. he inhaled deeply before clearing his throat and looking to the side. you sucked in a quick breath as you turned your attention back to your makeup bag, digging out a brush and a couple of small product bottles. you handed him a headband, still not looking at him.

"ah, so..." you took a deep breath before finally facing him. "here, i'll just go in with a thin base just in case. flash photography isn't the most flattering lighting,"

he chuckled softly, deep in his chest, and your heart skipped a beat.

the next few minutes went by with minimal conversation, mostly just you letting him know what you were doing now, and him nodding along or making small sounds of approval. silence otherwise filled the room as you tried to focus on your work, though his eyes constantly wandering over all of you made it slightly difficult.

when you finally made it to his classic eyeliner, you accidentally let your gaze wander to his lips. you pushed aside all your thoughts and impulses and channeled your inner makeup artist.

"hey hawks..."

he opened his eyes as you moved the eyeliner pen away. "hmm?"

"your lips are kinda pale, would it be okay if i put a little stain on them?"

"oh," he bit his lip and furrowed his brow. "yeah for sure, i'm probably a bit dehydrated." his smirk was back, resting on his lips comfortably.

"yeah.." you took another deep breath, trying to keep your face from getting too pink. "the lipstick i've got now should actually work fine, its somewhere in my purse..." you picked up your highlight stick and put your fingers under his chin to turn his head to the side. "i'll get it in a second..."

he hums softly in response. you carefully applied the highlights to all the right places, emphasizing his cheekbones and the tip of his already curved nose. you heard his breath falter, just slightly, when you cupped his face in your hand, using your thumb to blend it out on his cheek. to your surprise, he closed his eyes and leaning into your touch. it was your turn to have trouble breathing, even more so when he placed his hand over your own and looked at you with a piercing gaze. you stopped what you had been doing all together, frozen as he turned his head. he pressed a small kiss to your wrist, then another, his lips lingering for just a second longer this time.

at this point your heart was in your throat trying to process what was happening. when he turned his gaze back to you, everything stopped. his friendly smile was gone, replaced with a fierce look, demanding and intense. neither of you moved for a moment, just stared. your stomach jumped as his eyes moved to take a long look at your lips. the second his gaze met yours again, he pulled on your wrist, practically yanking you into his lap. his hands moved quickly, one pressing against your lower back (a touch you'd actually grown used to form him) and the other cradling the base of your neck.

you could feel his breath on your lips. all you had to do was tilt your chin and you would feel them against yours. his hand on your neck moved up into your hair, looking at you through half lidded eyes.

"can i kiss you?" he practically breathed out his words, softer than a whisper.

you took a deep inhale and closed your eyes. "yes."

you'd hardly gotten the word out before he pressed his lips against yours forcefully, hungrily. his kiss was demanding, like he had been waiting for the longest time to finally get this from you. you tangled your hands in his hair, smirking just a bit. it was soft.

he finally pulled away, keeping close to you. both your faces were flushed deeply, and yours only got worse when you remembered he wasn't wearing a top.

"y/n..." the way your name rolled off his tongue made you shiver. or maybe it was his hand on your back, creeping beneath your shirt.

"hawks-"

"kiego."

your eyes widened as he pressed his lips to your jaw, feathering kisses all the way down towards your neck.

"you... i want you call me kiego."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lil extra <3

rumi showed up just after you had finally started on kiego's hair. as expected, her makeover ended up taking significantly longer, but the three of you didn't mind. by the time you finished curling her gorgeous (but VERY long) hair, it was time for them to go. they both looked spectacular in their dresswear, and you had to struggle to keep your composure helping kiego with his tie. his sly little grin never left his face as you messed with the fabric, trying to remember how, instead of thinking about his lips.

when you had packed up all your stuff and started to get ready to leave, kiego stopped you.

"its already dark out! why don't you just kick back and stay here for a while, yeah? i'll only be gone a few hours. make yourself at home." he had leaned close to your ear, his breath tickling your neck. "besides, we've gotta... talk more, when i get back~"

you agreed quickly, not wanting to seem suspicious in front of rumi. as much as you wanted to tell her, and knew you would soon, you needed to get a few things settled first.

so here you were, sitting in his apartment. even though he was insistent on you making yourself at home, the most you had really done was play some music, use one of his water glasses, and kick back on his couch.

you checked the time again. as far as you could tell, the event had ended just a bit ago. you had checked a few news outlets, seeing some clips already uploaded from the beginning of the evening. almost every one of hawks was him refusing to shut up about the new stylist who had gotten him looking so nice, and furthermore insisting whoever it was, was a secret (for now).

those were your favorites.

in the middle of a clip you were watching of rumi going over her latest fight, you heard keys in the door. you sat up on the couch and watched hawks walk in, a tired smile decorating his face. his jacket was thrown over his arm and his tie was undone, hanging around his neck loosely. the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up his forearms, exposing a few cord bracelets.

"hey, sweetheart." he kept his gaze on yours as he tossed his jacket to the side, along with his tie. he slowly sauntered towards the couch, unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt. "glad you stuck around~"

his tone was flirty, but tired, and it was so attractive.

he settled on the couch almost on top of you, one of his legs between yours as a hand on your chest guided you to lie back.

"hey kiego..." you blushed and smiled as one of his hands found your waist. "how was the dinner?"

he pressed his body against yours, sighing as he relaxed into you. "exhausting... let's talk about it tomorrow."

you chuckled and tangled your hand in his hair, playing with it and massaging his scalp. he pressed lazy kisses to your neck, making you blush harder.

"be my girlfriend... stay over tonight... stay forever..." he said between kisses.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, melting into his gentle touch.

"okay.. <3"

DAMN BRO THAT ENDED UP BEING A LOT LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO BE- "little short" YEAH OKAY SHORTY,

5619 words, which is almost 13 full pages in google docs omg-

sorry and you're welcome <33

idk if any of my future writing will be this long but ig we'll see ! at least i can say i'm starting out strong lol

i haven't the foggiest where this idea came from and as of rn i have scarcely any others, so if anybody wants me to write something short or long or whatever to any specific idea my inbox is open for requests !!

sm love 💗💗

#bnha #bnha hawks #my hero academia #my hero fanfic #kiego takami #keigo x reader #hawks x reader #hawks mha #hawks fluff #bnha x reader #takami keigo #x reader #my hero #hawks fic #rumi #mirko #bnha mirko

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galactiquest · 1 year ago

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I just adore your blog! Something about it and your imagines are just so sweet and homey 🥺 Could I please request some headcanons for Vash, Woowoo and Knives with a reader who loves to draw and is really passionate about it? I mostly have general sketching/figure studies in mind but you can do whatever is easiest for you! I hope that you have a good day and your blog continues to prosper <3

Thank you for the compliment 🥺!!! I'm so glad it feels homey. I try to make things like a home here... after all I LIVE HERE... thank you I hope to keep this blog going for a while after trying to revive it like twice before!

I think this request is so cute, I'm an artist too (have been for like, over a decade ^_^) so I've got lots of ideas in that aspect. I tried to keep to general sketching/traditional stylings of art but I think a lot of these can be applied to other art areas too!!

Vash, Wolfwood, and Knives x Reader: Artistry

Content Warnings: None! Reader doesn't have a specified gender, and some parts of the imagines are a little romance-oriented but this could also be interpreted as a strong friendship. Also this is my first mutli x reader so I hope the formatting's alright. No version was in mind for any of these so take them as you will!

Vash

Oh, he is definitely excited about this.

Vash is a bit of an artist, himself. He can do those super-complex technical drawings, and he really likes making art of machinery and stuff like that. There's a lot of diagrams of his arm lost in a notebook somewhere.

He loves to see your style and interpretation of the things around you. Seeing the world through your eyes, even for just a moment, is like heaven to him.

If you ever give him some of your art as a gift, he keeps it hung up on a wall or wherever he can stay for a while. (If he's in a more permanent place, his walls are covered in your art. He just loves it that much.)

The ones that are most special to him, he likes to keep in his pockets, so he can look at them whenever he needs a morale boost. Like, this is what he's fighting for: a world full of love and peace, a world that's able to keep creating beautiful art like this for years to come.

One day, the two of you get to draw each other as a sort of practice. Seeing each other through the others' eyes... again, it feels like a dream. Vash draws all the parts of you that you weren't always confident about with such care that you feel truly loved by him in that moment.

Wolfwood

"Oh, yer an artist? ... Can ya draw me?"

Yes he will absolutely pull that stunt at least once or twice, if only to get a hilarious dirty glare out of you. If you do actually take him up on this, he might let out a nervous "Haha... I mean, ya didn't have ta' do it, but..." He'll be really charmed.

Though his hands are strong and nimble from doing all those flippant tricks with the Punisher, he's entranced with the way you're able to use yours to create, to draw.

He's always sneaking you extra supplies, like pens, pencils, and paper, whenever you least expect it. You never have to ask for any of those things anymore, or even shop for them--they just happen upon your desk whenever you think you're running low.

One day, he takes a piece of your paper and a pen and doesn't let you see what he's doing until he's all done. He's a little dodgy about showing you, eventually he does. It's a crude scribble of the two of you, though you can tell he really put his all into it.

It's your most prized possession, and you give him a big hug for it.

Knives

Much like Vash, he's actually an artist himself--but doesn't really call himself one, rather saying that he's... capable of copying something he's seen part-for-part. So, his drawings are more like pictures or prints. They're exact. Eerily so.

The art that you make gets a half-hearted snort of approval from Knives, which is basically one of the highest praises he can offer in his own sort of language.

Though normally he'd want to give some sort of unwarranted criticism for a drawing looking wonky or off, he saves you from it. He doesn't want to break your passion--but he's not going to admit that outright.

If you do ask for criticism, though, he's very thorough while keeping you on the road to improvement. If you're studying a specific style, he's reading up on it. If you're trying new materials, he's making sure you have all the tools necessary for it.

And speaking of materials, he's able to secure uncommon colors and rare tools for you to use for art. He's making sure that everything you create is of the highest quality.

One day, you drew a portrait of him and presented it to him as a gift. He gave out that little snort of approval and maybe even a a tiny "Thanks..." as he wandered off. He secretly keeps it close to look at it in his private time, tracing his fingers over the ink marks and recalling your movements.

#vash x reader #wolfwood x reader #knives x reader #vash the stampede x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #millions knives x reader #trigun x reader #galactifics #love mail #Anonymous

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lavenderek · 1 year ago

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hey guys. so something happened to me last month called "finding this image" where i found this image.

it changed me on a molecular level.

first of all, ever since, i basically want to replace everything in my apartment to adhere to this color palette. (i will not do this. i'm just speaking from the heart and baring my soul.)

second of all, ever since, i want things with zebras on them. not zebra print. i want things with zebraS on them. realistically proportioned, peaceful, expressionless zebras. look at these stupid cabinet pulls.

your eyes do not deceive you. they do have X's for eyes.

but something even weirder happened to me today called "realizing there's a bizarre subgenre of wall art that's just zebras taking baths." instead of explaining what that means, i will just show you.

this made me laugh at first: what were the odds? but they kept showing up in the related items section on amazon dot edu.

a lot of them are photographical in nature. they're photoshopped in there - zebras don't actually take bubble baths.

you'll find that a lot of them straight-up just rip each other off. which seems expected for the platform, but perplexing for the subject. how are pictures of bathing zebras so popular that it's lucrative to have such a product for sale yourself?

you'll also find that when you trace an image of an animal with no actual understanding of the animal's anatomy, you end up with something very off putting. i wouldn't even call it the uncanny valley. it's more like the disturbance gulch.

i decided these were the most creative. i liked the first two's use of color. i liked that the first looked like the cover of a romance novel. and i liked that in the last one, the zebra bought a bathtub that is striped, to match his stripes.

and finally, these are the only ones i'd actually buy, if i were to make this a whole thing i do.

the artist clearly did a good job with the line art and the proportions on the first. in the second, his little feets are hanging out of the tub. in the third, he's got some buds there. number four, i love the colors and i love that he's neither in nor standing next to the bath. he is somehow standing on the water.

and the last one is my favorite of all of them. he's brushing his teeth, not taking a bath, but look at it. i shouldn't have to explain myself.

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robins-egg-bindery · 2 years ago

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ever in your favor by @iron--spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him.

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

fic by @iron--spider

art by @angel-gidget

624 pages / 153,984 words

Title Font: PP Hatton, Rustic Printed

Body Fonts: Californian FB, Moonglade, Bebas Neue, War Is Over, Architects Daughter