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alinatk · 9 months ago

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Breaking Down Holland (A Dark Shade of Magic Tickle Fanfic)

Fandom: A Dark Shade of Magic (V E Schwab) Characters: Kell Maresh | Holland Vosijk Summary: Red London is in chaos, everyone is fighting to purge evil, and more than ever the Antari are needed. Even though he doesn't trust Holland, Kell needs his power and will use a somewhat unusual means to convince him to help.

(The picture doesn't belong to me, It's just a reference)

"You told me once" Kell said "that you were either the master or the slave of magic. So which of the two is it now?"

"That's what you don't understand" said Holland "I was always just the slave".

"Holland" Kell sighed. "It's chaos outside, we're losing so all help is welcome. It's the least you can do after all, help us have a little hope"

"Hope for you and your London" Holland didn't change his tone but the harshness was clear. "I just want to stay here and sink into the void, now leave me"

"No" Kell came closer. "You will help, even if I have to make you"

"Go ahead" Holland leaned his head against the wall. "I've felt a lot of pain, I don't care anymore"

"As much as part of me really wants to hurt you, I won't" Kell controlled his chains, so that Holland went to the ground. "I thought of something else"

"And even?!" Holland didn't show it but he was a little surprised. He was sitting on the floor and felt the chains wrap around his wrists and ankles and anchor themselves to the floor. "Well, at least this way is more comfortable"

"Makes it easier for me too" Kell sat down in front of his feet and began to remove his boots and socks.

"What are you.." Holland couldn't hide the confusion in his expression.

"You are so used to painful touches, but what about softer ones? Have you felt them?" Kell asked, with an amused expression on his face.

"I don't know where you're going with this, I just..." He stopped talking and stiffened when he felt Kell's finger run over his sole.

"Oh, what was that?" Kell scoffed and repeated the movement, seeing Holland try to pull his foot back. "Looks like you're sensitive".

"Tickle me? You can't be serious" Holland tried but failed to hide the uneasiness in his voice. "I thought you had more urgent things to deal with"

"I really do, but I need your help and you don't want to collaborate" Kell ran his index finger up and down Holland's right sole. "So I'm going to convince him"

"S-Stop it" Holland's breathing became shorter as he tried to keep the smile away from his lips.

"I wasn't too sure this was going to work" Kell used all five fingers now, fingering him. "But it's really impressive how these light touches affect someone as serious and cold as you"

"L-Leave me alohohohone" Holland couldn't hold back his laughter any longer, feeling how Kell's fingers ran from the heel to the base of his fingers. "ahahahahahaha stop!"

"Of course, as soon as you decide to help me" Kell used both hands now, one on each sole, increasing the intensity of the touches. "I don't want to take you in chains or have to watch you all the time"

"Ahahahahahahahahahaha shit" Holland was caught completely off guard by this, he didn't even remember the last time he felt something like this. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO!" He reacted more abruptly when Kell focused on his arches and toes.

"Oh, what an interesting reaction, is that a good spot?" Kell dug harder into his arches, reaching the bottom of his fingers and diving between them.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA DAMN YOU" Holland exploded and despite his effort to keep his fingers suppressed, he couldn't stop Kell from having access to those sensitive areas. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA STOP THAT! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

"You know, you look so much better this way" Kell watched as a blush appeared on Holland's pale cheeks as his feet swayed and his body flexed in response to his movements.

Holland didn't know how to deal with it, he was supposed to be able to free himself but the tickling made him even weaker, it wasn't like he was going to win a fight with Kell in that state either. He kneaded his soles thinking it would help lessen the sensations but it just required more effort and feeling Kell's fingers traveling and exploring every sensitive spot on his feet was disconcerting, after all, he never realized how sensitive he was.

Kell continued like this for a few more moments before pausing. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, watching as Holland caught his breath and resumed his posture.

"Are you done with this nonsense?" Holland tried to face him but he was still recovering. His face had gained a little color, his hair was disheveled and his breathing was labored.

"No, but that seemed a little intense for you, I wanted to let you breathe before continuing, I'm not going to take it easy" Kell rummaged through his coat pockets and took out a long, stiff quill.

"Then that's it?" Holland said with disdain.

"Yeah, I'm curious to see how you'll react" And with that said, Kell began to stroke the feather along Holland's left sole.

"A-Ah!" Holland's breathing hitched the moment the feather made contact with his sole and as much as he tried to convince himself that it wasn't that bad, he quickly realized how wrong he was. "aaahahahahaha"

Kell was pleased that this method was also effective, noticing how Holland pursed his lips as he tried to contain his laughter. "Is a single feather enough to break you?! How curious"

"S-Shuhuhuhuhuht up" Holland bit his lip trying to stifle his laughter as he wriggled his foot away. "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOT THAT!" He screamed when Kell began to pass it between his toes.

"I told you I wouldn't take it easy" He smiled, satisfied. "You can end this whenever you want" Kell moved the feather along the base of Holland's toes, alternating between dipping between them and taking his time as he sawed each of the sensitive spaces.

"NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO KELL STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP" Holland closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head.

"Not yet? Let me be more convincing" And he used his free hand to scribble his fingers on Holland's other sole, combining the methods.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO NOAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEASE! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP" He wasn't going to last long.

"Begging won't help" Kell dug firmly into her arches with his fingers. "As much as I'm amazed to hear"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OK, OKAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAY" He screamed.

"Ok what?"

"I'LL HELP YOU, I'LL HELP HAHAHAHAHAHA PLEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAP THAHAHAHAT" Holland finally gave in and Kell stopped.

"You made this difficult, but I'm glad you agreed" Kell moved the chains to free him.

Holland stayed there for a few moments before retracting his legs and standing up. "And what makes you trust me?"

"I don't trust, but I could very well throw you here again and maybe tell the king about it and ask for a public "punishment" for you, with special participation from everyone who wants to have fun with you" Kell looked at him with a slight smile on the lips.

"Y-You wouldn't dare..."

"So we understand" Kell held his arm and led him out of the cell. "Let's go, we leave early tomorrow"

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imjustreadinglmao · 7 months ago

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BLUE

Paring: Azriel x Reader, Lucien x platonic!Reader

Summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when long kept secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

PART I

word count: 3k

A/N: this is part 1 of BLUE. I changed the beginning a bit to fit the storyline. Please be nice this is my first fic :)

Warnings: light angst, unrequited love, mention of childhood trauma/ mention of ãbuse (not described)

part 2

I stir my black tea as Rhysand files through the report I handed him just seconds ago.

The steam from the tea rises, curling in delicate tendrils, carrying with it a sense of fleeting warmth that I desperately cling to.

Rhysand’s office is both grand and simple.

Bookshelves line the walls, filled with volumes on history, strategy, and magic. A fireplace to the right. Above it, a large portrait of Velaris shows the city bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Feyre gifted it to him last starfall.

Heavy velvet drapes in shades of midnight blue frame the windows, ready to be drawn shut for privacy.

In the distance I can make out the mountains with their snow-capped peaks and the Sidra winding through the valley below.

“I have to say, I’m impressed you were able to convince Devlon so fast.”

I look up at Rhys and chuckle, the sound hollow to my own ears. “It does help if you threaten to cut his balls off and stake them to the wall for everyone to see.”

Rhys lifts a brow and barks out a laugh. “I see.”

I rarely go on missions anymore, choosing to work as an advisor for Rhysand.

Missions used to be exciting, but nowadays I prefer the comfort my room provides. The sense of security it brings is a balm to my soul, now more than ever.

I take this as a sign to stand up and lift my bag from the floor. I sling it over my shoulder and make my way to the door.

“Don’t forget tonight’s family dinner,” Rhysand calls after me. I don’t look back, just give him a thumbs-up and close his office door behind me.

As I make my way downstairs and through the foyer, I spot Lucien strapping on his sword. Presumably getting ready for training, he has always been an early riser.

“How did the mission go?” Lucien doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s me approaching.

I let out a sigh and rub my temples. “Good.” I stop beside him and flop onto the recamier right next to the front door. “Well, as good as paying the camps a visit can get.”

Lucien cracks a smile at that, his amber eyes twinkle with amusement. He knows exactly how difficult it is to convince Devlon of something he isn’t particularly fond of.

“Are you coming to the family dinner tonight?” I ask, my voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

Lucien sheaths his blade and nods. “Feyre will have my head if I don’t show up. I already missed the last one.”

I cringe at the mention of the last family dinner. The memory alone sends a sharp pang through my chest.

———————

I walk into the dining room, ready to face yet another family dinner. I spot Mor right away, radiant in her blood-red gown. The sight of her is always one of familiarity and comfort.

“Hey, got another one of those?” I point to the wine glass in her hand. She arches a brow and hands me one filled to the brim.

“Are we so exhausting that you need liquid encouragement to get through the night?” she muses. I just roll my eyes, trying to hide my amusement.

Right as she opens her mouth to say something, the back of my head begins to tickle. He is here.

I turn around to see Azriel walk through the door, and he is not alone. Elain is beside him, their hands intertwined.

Even though I was expecting it to happen soon, the sight still hits me like a physical blow. It was always just a matter of time till Azriel and Elain decided to go against Rhys‘s order and make their love official.

I‘m glad, Lucien isn’t here to witness this. I can’t imagine how it would be for him.

Since only my side of the bond snapped into place, seeing how in love they are, is somehow… manageable. For Lucien it would be almost deadly.

I look back at Mor, her expression as shocked as mine. “I didn’t know,” she whispers, her face now bearing a look of worry and pity.

To say the dinner is awkward would be an understatement. Nobody really knows what to say after Elain and Azriel walked in holding hands.

I just shove the potatoes on my plate around, too nauseous to eat anything. The lump in my throat makes swallowing impossible.

Cassian clears his throat and points to Azriel and Elain. “So how long has this been going on?” Nesta jabs her elbow into his ribs, which earns her an “oww”, and throws me an apologetic look.

Besides Mor, only Lucien and Nesta know about the bond between me and Azriel. Their concern a constant reminder of the bond I try so hard to ignore.

“Well…” Azriel coughs, noticeably uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “It all happened very quickly. We spent a lot of our nights up and talking and realized we didn’t want to hold back anymore.”

He gazes down at her, smiling. I recognize that look. The realization twists the knife in my heart.

That’s how I look at him.

—————————

“Are you even listening?” Lucien waves a hand in front of my face to snap me out of my haze. His voice pulls me back to the present, but the ache remains.

I rub my eyes. “Uh… sorry. What exactly were you saying?”

He crosses his arms and looks down at me. “I was asking if you wanted to go training with me. But it seems what you really need is some sleep.”

I roll my eyes and stand up. “You know me so well, Lu.” I pat his shoulder and walk out the door. “See you at dinner tonight.”

Velaris is most beautiful at night, but nothing can beat the quiet and peace of the early mornings.

I walk down the high street, greeting some of my favorite vendors with a smile, until I reach the familiar townhouse.

After I officially became part of Rhysand’s inner circle, he offered me to stay at his townhouse.

It had many perks: no rent, right in the heart of Velaris, and an endless wine supply thanks to Rhysand’s "secret" wine cellar.

There is really only one downside.

“I didn’t think you would be back so soon.” Azriel sits at the dinner table eating breakfast. He has his fighting leathers on, probably on his way to the House of Wind for Valkyrie training.

Cassian and Azriel still train the Valkyries every morning. Sometimes I join, but only when Nesta drags me up there.

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” I laugh awkwardly. “I’m going to head upstairs to rest. Say hello to Nesta for me.” The words taste bitter, a poor attempt to mask the hurt.

I turn around before he has the chance to say something else, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.

Yes, that is the downside. The constant reminder of what I had lost and could never have.

Him.

——————

The dining room buzzes with conversation as everyone settles in for dinner.

Azriel and Elain sit together, a vision of contentment that sends a pang through my heart.

Across the table, Lucien’s jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on his plate.

“Thank you all for coming,” Rhysand begins, standing at the head of the table. “I have an important announcement to make.”

He glances at Lucien and me, a hint of apology in his eyes. “We’ve decided to support Eris in overthrowing Beron.

Lucien and you,” he points at me, “will lead the mission to the Autumn Court.”

A murmur runs through the room. Lucien looks up, his eyes meet mine.

There is a mixture of determination and vulnerability in his gaze that makes my heart ache.

The Autumn Court doesn’t hold great memories for either of us.

But before I can fully process Rhysand’s words, Azriel stands abruptly, his expression dark and tense.

“Why them?” Azriel’s voice is sharp, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. “Why not send someone else?”

Rhysand frowns slightly, clearly not expecting this reaction.

“Both of them have a unique advantage given their history with Eris and the Autumn Court. It’s a strategic decision.”

Azriel’s eyes flicker to me, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous.”

I feel a surge of frustration. Azriel’s protectiveness, though touching, is misplaced and completely out of character.

“What’s your problem, Azriel?” I snap, unable to hold back.

“I’m more than capable of leading this mission. Or do you think I’m not good enough to do my job?”

His eyes narrow, the tension between us thickening. “That’s not what I meant,” he retorts, his voice lower but no less intense.

“I just don’t think it’s wise to send specifically you two into such a volatile situation. You can’t just throw yourself into danger like that.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re always in danger, always risking everything. How is that different from this mission?”

“It’s different because—” Azriel stops himself, glancing at Elain, who is watching us with wide eyes. He seems to struggle for a moment before finishing, “It doesn’t matter, just let someone else do the mission. You’re an important asset to this court.”

Before I could respond with something I’d surely regret, Elain’s voice cuts through the tension.

“Azriel, stop.” Her voice is calm but firm, a hint of desperation in her eyes. “This isn’t helping.”

Azriel turned to Elain, his expression softens slightly, but the tension remains. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry. I just… I worry.”

Lucien’s gaze hardens, “We’ve faced worse,” he says, a challenge in his tone. “We are capable enough to lead this mission, we don’t need your approval, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “It’s not about capability. It’s about safety. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“Anyone?” I echo, my voice rises. “Or just Elain’s mate?”

The words hang in the air, charged with emotion. Azriel flinches slightly.

“This has nothing to do with Lucien being Elain‘s mate,” he says, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.

“But it does, doesn’t it?” My words laced with venom. “If Lucien were to get hurt, it would cause Elain distress, that’s how a mating bond works. And we can’t have that, can we?”

Elain looks down, her face unreadable, while Lucien’s gaze flickers between Azriel and me.

“We all know the risks,” Lucien says more calmly this time, “And we’re prepared to face them.”

Rhysand interjects, his voice low but authoritative. “Enough. We’re all on the same side here. This is a mission we need to undertake for the greater good. Personal feelings need to be set aside.”

I take a deep breath and try to steady the storm of emotions within me. Rhysand is right, the last thing we need is Azriel and me fighting.

Rhysand sits down, his tone final. “This mission is vital. We need to trust each other and stay focused. We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. For now, let’s try to enjoy the evening.”

The atmosphere is strained as we resume our meal. I can feel Azriel’s gaze on me.

Lucien reaches over, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything in that moment.

I don’t say a word throughout the whole dinner. Choosing to stay quiet instead of lashing out.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would change everything.

---

The garden of the River House is a haven of tranquility. Blooming flowers and lush greenery everywhere Elain truly is a talented gardener.

I find Lucien leaning against a stone pillar, his gaze lost in the Sidra's gentle flow.

I approach him quietly, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. “Mind if I join you?” I ask softly.

Lucien looks up, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course not. I was just enjoying the peace before the storm.”

I halt beside him, the tension from the dinner still coils tightly in my chest. “Quite the announcement, wasn’t it?”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I knew something like this was coming, but hearing it confirmed… it’s different.

Eris must be desperate if he reached out to Rhysand.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yes, it’s a lot. I wish Rhys would have told us separately. This topic is already very emotional I really didn’t need Azriel’s… concern too.”

Lucien’s eyes darken at the mention of Azriel. “He’s protective, that’s clear. But he doesn’t have the right to undermine your abilities.”

“It’s not just that,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “His words, his actions… they confuse me. One moment he’s distant, the next he’s overly concerned. I don’t understand him.”

Lucien’s gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “He cares about you. He might not be aware of it but you’re his mate, bond snapping into place or not, it’s his priority to keep you safe. That can’t be changed, even if he’s in love with someone else.”

I look away, the garden blurring before my eyes. “It hurts, Lucien. Seeing him with Elain, pretending to be something they’re not. I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Lucien reaches out, his hand covering mine. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve all got our battles to fight, and sometimes the hardest ones are with our own hearts.”

A moment of silence stretches between us, the night air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.

“And what about you?” I ask, turning to look at him. “How are you handling all of this? Eris, the Autumn Court… it can’t be easy for you.”

Lucien’s expression grows somber. “It’s not. But I’ve come to terms with my past and everything my father did to me. I knew this was going to happen. Eris has the chance to change things, to make the Autumn Court a better place. I can’t turn my back on that.”

He smiles at that. “And maybe, when all of this is over, we’ll find some semblance of peace.”

As we stand there, the garden enveloping us in its quiet embrace, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I know we have each other’s backs.

—————————

The war room in the House of Wind is filled with dread as we gather around the large oak table.

Rhysand stands at the head, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a grave seriousness.

To his right, Amren sits with her usual enigmatic expression, while Cassian leans against the wall, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

Azriel is on my left, his gaze unreadable, and Lucien sits across from me, his eyes focused and determined.

Rhysand unfurls a detailed map of the Autumn Court, its forests and strongholds marked with meticulous detail.

“Eris has provided us with information about Beron’s movements and the layout of his court. Our objective is to infiltrate the main stronghold, gather intelligence, and support Eris in his efforts to dethrone Beron.”

Lucien nods, his jaw set. Rhys continues. “We’ll enter through the southern border. Eris has arranged for a distraction that will draw most of Beron’s guards away from the main stronghold. This will give us the opportunity to slip in and meet with Eris.”

Amren leans forward, her sharp eyes assessing the map. “And what about Koschei? He’s been a wild card in all of this. His alliance with Beron could complicate things.”

Rhysand nods in agreement. “Koschei is a concern. According to Eris, Koschei has been providing Beron with dark magic. We need to be prepared for any magical traps or barriers.”

Azriel’s voice cuts through the discussion. “I’ll handle the reconnaissance. I’ll fly ahead and ensure the path is clear before they move in.”

I glance at him, he hasn’t looked at me or said a single thing to me since yesterday. If I didn’t know better I would say he was sulking.

Rhysand continues, “Once inside, our main goal is to secure the throne room and neutralize Beron’s guards. Eris will confront Beron directly. You,” he gestures to Lucien and me, “need to be ready to support him.”

Lucien nods again, his eyes meeting mine across the table. “We’ll be ready.”

Rhysand’s gaze softens slightly as he looked at us. “This mission is dangerous, but it’s necessary. Any questions?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle on my shoulders. “What if things go wrong? Do we have an extraction plan?”

Amren smirks. “We have a plan. Azriel and I will be your backup. If things go south, we’ll get you out, girl.”

Azriel nods, his eyes meeting mine. “You won’t be alone out there. We’ll be watching.”

There is a moment of silence as everyone absorbs the gravity of this mission.

Finally, Rhysand speaks again, his voice resolute. “We leave at dawn. Get some rest and prepare yourselves.”

As we all stand to leave, Azriel catches my arm. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, following him to a quieter corner of the room. “What is it, Azriel?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I know you’re capable. But this mission… it’s dangerous, and I can’t shake the feeling that something might go wrong. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

His concern should touch me, but I can’t help and feel angry. “I know the risks, Azriel. And I’ll be careful. But you need to trust me to do my part.”

He sighs, running a scarred hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or your abilities. I just… I can’t lose you.”

Before I can respond, Lucien approaches.“Ready?” Lucien asks, his eyes flicker between Azriel and me. I nod, giving Azriel one last look.

“Ready.”

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rhysazriel · 3 months ago

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Kinktober Day 3: Toys

A/N: I was considering making it a Modern AU but I had an idea for this one and just went with it hehe. 18+ only!! Includes sexual themes and use of sex toys!!

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Strong arms snaked around your middle, disturbing your thoughts as you stirred the soup. A head rested atop you shoulder, a familiar sense of curls tickling the side of your face.

He brought his lips to your ear, soft and gentle as they caressed the skin in a ghost of a kiss. “I have a surprise for you.”

You tried to fight the fluttering of your lashes at the sound of his voice—deep and sultry—the voice he used too often in attempts to sway you to the bedroom.

“Oh?” You swallowed, resuming the stirring. “What’s the occasion?”

Azriel nipped at your earlobe, moving lower to flatten his tongue against the ridge of your jaw. “No occasion, I just have a gift for you...seeing as I’m being sent away on another mission at dawn.”

A discontented sigh slipped your lips at the reminder. It was becoming an issue; how often Rhys was sending your mate away. Az would be sent away for a week, return for a short thirty-six hours, before leaving again for another four to five days.

You understood his job, his duties. But nothing prepared you for these random spurts of hardly seeing your lover. During most of his missions, Azriel would have to close off the bond between you both. You’d be left alone, empty. Missing him and having no way to communicate.

It made you bitter. You wondered how Rhys and Feyre would cope if the roles were reversed for a month.

“So an apology gift?”

Azriel chuckled softly into the nape of your neck. “It’s a gift that benefits the both of us.” He reached a hand toward the stove, shutting off the flame and prying your fingers from the ladle.

He lifted you to sit on the counter, standing between your parted legs. You smiled at his frame still towering over you. He retrieved a slender box from within the shadows, lifting it between your bodies.

Hesitantly, you removed the lid, blue tissue paper now hiding your gift. Azriel held his breath as you moved it out of the way, watching as your eyes widened and pupils dilated.

"Azzy..." You took the toy in, fingers grazing down the feigned veins of the shaft.

Azriel hissed. "I had it magically made," he explained, his hand reaching for your face. "It's a replica of... well, mine. It's enchanted, too. Whatever you do to it... I will feel it."

Your eyes were glued to the toy–the toy that looked exactly like Azriel's cock. It's colouring the same shade, the veins in the same places. The length and width just as delicious as the real thing.

"So...you want me to use this on myself? When you're gone on missions?"

He nodded his head, his thumb stroking against your cheek. "We can talk through the bond... but on those long missions, I'll still be able to feel you and make you feel good."

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. "Can we try it?" You look up at him. "Can you use it on me now? Show me what to do."

The darkness in his eyes exploded, his grip on your neck tightening.

Azriel grabbed the cock from the gift box, his eyes closing a the sensation he could feel in his boxers. He lowered it between your thighs, slinking his hand up your dress.

"I can smell how soaked you are, sweetheart. Is this exciting you?"

You nodded pathetically, spreading your thighs wider. The cotton of your underwear clung to you like a second skin, the wetness seeping through the fabric.

One of Azriel's shadows darted to your cunt, tugging your ruined panties to the side to give its master access. Azriel ran the tip of the cock through your folds, a shaky breath leaving his lips as a whimper left yours.

"I can feel how soaked you are." He kept his eyes on you, but you understood. His cock was bloating in his pants, he could feel you there, enticing him in.

"I'm gonna fuck you with this toy and then I'll fuck you with the real thing."

#kinktober #azriel smut #acotar #acotar imagine #azriel #acotar smut #azriel imagine #azriel angst #azriel oneshot #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar x you #acotar x reader

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outfitqueer · 4 months ago

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My Trans summer outfit in London

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minkieater · 2 months ago

Text

spiderhead → yj

tattoo artist!yeonjun x fem!reader

smut mdni, cheating, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship wc. ~6k

the buzz from tattoo guns spread across the room as if there were a swarm of bees — the shop was busy today. yeonjun’s mouth tasted of tobacco and menthol, his favorite combination, his index and middle fingers stained with the scent from years of use. he rain a hand through his hair, feeling the ends tickle his neck, before burying both hands in the soft, fleece lined pocket of his hoodie.

he made his way over to his station, checking his tools, cleaning up the area so he could prepare for his next client. the steps whirled in his head as they always did when he fixed his area: wash his hands, put gloves on, sterilize his tools, cover his equipment, disinfect all surfaces. he loved this part, the organization, having everything accessible to make his art easier to complete.

god, yeonjun loved his fucking job. just the plain idea of him drawing and coloring on people’s bodies, having his art stay there forever, it was magical to him. yeonjun knew in high school that he wanted to be a tattoo artist — he bought a shitty tattoo gun online, spent his weekends drunk in beomgyu’s basement leaving wonky doodles on his friends in places no one would ever see. at parties, people would beg him to whip out the tattoo gun, implore him to etch small designs on their skin on the big leather couch in soobin’s parents’ house.

those nights turned into lonely ones spent in his bedroom, cross hatching lines into fake skin on his desk, shading with pointillism in designs he’d seen on pinterest, smoke from his lit joint dancing into the air of his bedroom. he had a year long apprenticeship at a tattoo shop in the middle of brooklyn when he turned nineteen, he tried college for a year when he graduated high school but quickly realized it just wasn’t for him. now, four years later, he was thriving: he was booked, he was busy, he was a real fucking tattoo artist and made real fucking money.

he grabbed his phone to check the time before he started disinfecting, only five more minutes before his client was supposed to show. he scrolled his lock screen, eyes thinning when he read the notifications.

v: did u turn the lights off before u left v: if my electric bill is high again just know you’re paying that shit

his lips pulled into a line, thumbs moving a mile a minute.

yj: yes i turned them off yj: u dont have to remind me every single day

he locked his phone and set it face down on the counter that ran along the back of the shop, packed cabinets filled with saran wrap, disinfectant and ink caps underneath. he shook his head, irritation flooding his thoughts, he’d left the lights on one time and now he’ll never hear the end of it.

well over a year now, together but still not quite official — on and off but pretty much living together, yeonjun has spent more time in your bushwick apartment than he has at his own downtown. granted the shop was closer to your apartment than his own, but he’s always liked your apartment more, anyway. tall ceilings, funky art, maps and concert posters on the walls, a unique touch to your living space with your red lacquered kitchen cabinets and dark wood accents where his own looked cheesy and cheap in comparison.

two bedrooms, one full bathroom and a separate room just for the television and couch, yeonjun thought you were fucking loaded when he first stepped foot in your apartment. it had to be your parents paying your bills, or maybe you were a nepo baby – this is new york, after all – but as your relationship grew and he learned more about your occupation, how much you truly made between high commission and tips, he’d never thought a hairstylist could make so much fucking money.

both of you in your careers, working full time with the public, both creative people that spend their days creating art that lives on people’s bodies. your canvases were humans, walking, breathing pieces of scrap paper that you drew on, painted on, poked, cut, shaded. the two of you related to one another too much in too many areas, on too many levels, so many conversations about people and their critiques, their wishes, their families, their stories. if you and yeonjun could do anything, it was talk.

you’d met on your twenty first birthday, a little over a month after yeonjun’s twenty second. you and your girl friends and coworkers he later learned circled up on the dance floor with you in the middle, rolling your hips to the beat of the song, head tipped back in a drunken haze and a cocktail in your hand. he eyed you from the bar, thinking nothing of it other than the fact that you were a drunk twenty one year old about to be obnoxiously loud in his ear all night. he sipped his glass of whiskey, neat, tattooed fingers wrapping around the glass that dripped sweat onto his palm.

the bar was hot, too hot for the outfit he had on — oversized black hoodie with the hood over his head, black pants, boots on his feet. he was dressed for early november in new york, layered to fight off the chill of brooklyn, not for whatever the hell was going on in his favorite bar.

you approached him first, slurring over your words, tucking your hair behind your ear which was already tucked. you batted your eyelashes, your eyes glossed over in intoxication — yeonjun was not biting, he wasn’t interested in the slightest. he gave you a tight lipped smile, clinked his glass with your own and turned his attention away from you, a small gesture to say what you’re looking for is not me, keep it moving.

but when you strolled into his shop two weeks later as a walk-in and yeonjun had a cancellation, only then was he taking the bait, the bait you had no idea you were dangling from a hook right in front of his own two eyes. you didn’t seem to recall your interaction on your birthday, you didn’t seem to recognize yeonjun at all and that only made him curious.

you asked for a ruler along your index finger, two lines to show the public what two inches really is. he laughed at that, a small puff of amusement leaving his perfect plump lips just as the words left yours.

“is that stupid?” you asked, head cocked to the side, eyebrows furrowed in question but your eyes wide and he swore he could see them shine as you looked up to him. he was taken then, from just that one look in your eyes – he knew he was in trouble.

“not at all,” he said as she shook his head, smile still dancing on his cheeks, “it’s funny, i’ll take you back.”

you sat down on the bench, yeonjun went searching for a ruler in the cabinets lining the back of the shop. you spoke mindlessly about your job as he searched, immediately telling him a story about a client you had a few days ago who wanted a balayage and not highlights but they couldn’t decipher between the two — they insisted on highlights when what they were describing was clearly a balayage. you spoke with such enthusiasm, your mouth running a mile a minute, words spilling from your lips just as fast as you thought them.

yeonjun had no idea what you were talking about but he knew you were adorable — much different from when you first tried to pick him up at that bar. your eyes are bright, words controlled, movements sharp and alert. what did stay the same was the confidence, your outward extrovertedness made it so yeonjun didn’t have to say much, just nodding and listening to your little story as he tried his best to keep his head on straight.

“finger tattoos don’t last as long as they do on other parts of the body,” he interrupted as your story ended, finally pulling a small red plastic ruler from the cabinet to his left.

you shrug, “i figured as much, my hands are in water a lot, too.”

yeonjun sucked a breath in through his teeth, “that makes it even worse.”

“so what, i have to come back and get it touched up, then? big deal,” your hands came up at your sides, shrugging altogether, “as long as you still work here when i have to get it touched up then it’s fine.”

“already commending my work when i haven’t even done the tattoo yet?” yeonjun wears a lazy, teasing smile as he sits down on his stool, grabbing the arm rest for you to lay your forearm on.

“who said i was talking about the tattoo?” yeonjun’s eyes shot up at you who was already wearing a smirk, his lips parted ever so slightly. he immediately cracked a smile, shaking his head as he looked back down to your hand.

“that’s crazy,” he mumbled under his breath as he put the ruler up to your finger, then grabbed his pen from his tray to mark the inches. maybe you did know — maybe you were purposely dangling the bait, or maybe the two of you just had the same amount of interest in each other. maybe there was no bait to begin with.

“i don’t think it's crazy,” he didn’t expect you to hear him or respond, but it seems you don’t have a filter of any kind as you keep going, “you’re hot, i’m hot, we have a lot in common already.”

“we have a lot in common?” he raised an eyebrow, looking up to you again after marking the second inch, he grabbed a different pen to mark the eighths.

“we’re both creative, both work with the public, we have picky people as clients, have to listen to unrealistic expectations, both work in careers that aren’t super common — not common, maybe abnormal? or maybe i’m trying to say we can be abnormal because our careers aren’t super judgemental? appearance wise, i guess, whatever, anyways, we also both know how to talk to people, i can keep going…”

“so all we have in common are our careers?” he’s still playing along as he finishes marking out the lines, “how does that look?”

“looks good to me,” you say after a quick glance, barely an inspection of your finger, “pretty much, but our careers teach us a lot about ourselves. oh! and we can do art trades, i’ll do your hair and you give me tattoos.”

“are you bribing me or pimping yourself out?” the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and the smile that paints itself on your face feigns innocence, he’d save that look for his sketchbook later tonight.

“maybe a little bit of both. are either of them working?” you cocked your head to the side again, swinging the feet that hung from the bench ever so slightly, careful not to kick anything in front of you. yeonjun had to reel himself in.

yeonjun had to be honest — with himself, and you — it started working the moment you stepped into the shop. you had no visible tattoos, a casual outfit on, sweatpants and a tee shirt that left just a sliver of skin between the hems of your clothes. your hair was done but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, you didn’t seem like anything special off first glance– in fact, you seemed the exact opposite of his type, the girls he usually went for. yeonjun was just as confused with himself as he was enamored by you.

“i don’t know, i think you might have to try a lil’ harder,” he faked a deciding face, eyebrows scrunched as he moved back in his stool, ushering for you to stand up. he looked at your finger from all angles, analyzing it as you stood to the side, lifting your hands, flexing your fingers as you stood. he was happy with his sketch, his outline, he was more then prepared to freehand a couple lines.

“you should let me try harder over some drinks if the tattoo comes out good,” your eyes were trained on your hand as you followed his instructions, moving your hands into every position he asked for.

yeonjun laughed at that, “if the tattoo comes out good? what, am i the one picking you up now?”

you shrugged as he ushered you to sit back down, “you might be, i’m trying to find out.”

he nodded with his lips pursed, folded into a frown that wasn’t exuding any sort of negative reaction, more impressed than anything. “fair game.”

your tattoo came out flawless, the lines he free handed onto your finger came out straight, perfect in thickness. as easy as it seemed, you knew the talent it took, the patience and a steady hand needed for such precision. after you paid, tipping him generously, your flirting returned with vengeance.

“i think we hit it off if i’m being honest,” you smiled, showing all of your teeth to the black haired man behind the counter, “do you have anyone else after me?”

he shook his head, “you’re my last, i had a cancellation.”

“oh my god– do you believe in fate? yeonjun, i think that’s what this is, i’m being so serious,” your eyes were wide, eyebrows shot up, smile wide. excitement bled from you, your veins, you were nothing but honest. so shameless, not a thought in your pretty little head that he’d reject you – he wasn’t sure if you’d care if he did.

he laughed, something he seemed to do too much during your entire service, his head hanging low in front of him before he picked it back up, looking at you who was already staring expectantly at him. “i don’t, but maybe if we go get drinks you can change my mind.”

you raised your fists, “i’ve won.”

the bar was halfway to your apartment, almost smack ass between the tattoo shop and your place. you’d been there before with your girlfriends, once or twice since your birthday – you could finally join in on the fun. yeonjun was dressed in all black, you’d soon come to find out he was always dressed in all black, and he never looked like he got enough sleep. you seemed so bright next to him, with your hair and your clothes and the plush keychains attached to your purse. you looked like total opposites, when you knew you had much more in common than what meets the eye.

that one night bled into the next year of your lives – something he was not expecting after your first interaction. it’s not like he’s never had a client try to bag him before, but something about you was different, it drove him insane that he couldn’t put a finger on it. he was used to playing games, always the winner, never the loser. he was used to confusion, being stuck in the inbetween, the gray area that sometimes came with relationships, or lack thereof. with you it was so straight forward, a slippery slope, not a hole he dug himself into but instead a well, one full of water, full of life. he never wanted to stop drinking from it, gulp after gulp, chugging until he was so full he thought he might spill over.

the spilling didn’t come until six and a half months in. your first two months were every man’s wet dream – he had every inch of you, every fistful of perpetually iron-curled hair, every corner of plush skin burned to memory – on every surface of your apartment and his.

in yeonjun’s past relationships, he never seemed to be the problem. if anything, he was the victim.

small fights to massive blown out arguments over petty shit, staying out too late with his coworkers at his favorite bar to beomgyu stealing him for a night out clubbing, missed texts and phone calls to going MIA for three days. yeonjun never seemed to understand what the issue was – petty arguments were never his thing, he’d rather stay silent than give into whatever the fuck his current plaything was yelling about this time. so what if he stayed out too late with his coworkers? he still came home. there’s no harm in a night out clubbing with his boys, she didn’t even know about the girl that was grinding against his dick all night, or the other one that had her lipstick smeared across his lips in the corner of the dark club. he went MIA for three days because his phone was dead, not because he had her number blocked. it was ridiculous, really, the things women would try and pin on him – yeonjun never seemed to think he was the issue at all.

the thought never crossed yeonjun’s brain that these behaviors were learned, or that he could teach them to anyone else. he never thought that his pretty, bright eyed new girlfriend would turn into a different version of himself – if she did, he’d be grateful, he thought himself pretty fucking cool – yeonjun never thought any of his behaviors were bad, but when yeonjun got a taste of his own medicine he knew he met his match.

he showed up at your apartment past midnight, drunk off his ass, clothes oozing whiskey, weed and burberry her. he let himself in with his key, the one you gave him after three months in, the one you told him to use whenever he wanted. he called out your name, searching from room to room, but you were nowhere to be found. he’d never shown up to an empty apartment, there’s never been a lack of you, cuddled up in a fuzzy robe, either under your duvet or sitting on the couch watching reruns of your favorite drama. yeonjun was confused, his dazed head couldn’t think up a proper reason for your absence, he decided to do what he absolutely fucking hated to be done to him.

he called you about thirty six times, texted you about forty two times. he also left four voicemails, not one of them nice.

he sat there on your couch – after a much needed shower, a bottle of water and a change of clothes you kept for him in your bottom drawer, he sobered up real quick. he felt more level headed, but he couldn’t ignore the anger that began to grow, a pit that sat heavy in his stomach: where the fuck were you? who were you with?

you damn near fell into the room an hour later, keys falling to the floor after you ripped them out of the door. you giggled to yourself, your heels in your hands, fingers curled into the heel of your black pumps. the strapless, sparkly scrap of fabric he could barely call a dress was crooked, your hair that was always purposely styled to perfection was a mess, your red lipstick was smudged down your chin. yeonjun’s seen this scene before, he’s done it, he’s lived it.

“who fucked you?” were the first words that left his mouth as he stood in the living room, oversized black clothes hanging off his frame like hade’s robes. the breath that left his nostrils was hot, burning his cupid’s bow, his jaw locked with his usually plump lips scrunched to a thin line.

you laughed – you fucking laughed. “you’re a fucking psychopath, junie. i just came back from a night with the girls!”

yeonjun was not buying it – he stepped closer. the stench of alcohol was masked by dior sauvage, a smell he knew too well, a smell that drifted past him as you nearly pushed him out of your way. yeonjun was dumbfounded and raging, his eyebrows furrowed together, his hands held out in front of him like he didn’t know what to do with them.

his girl, his only girl – well, other than the girl he made out with earlier – he couldn’t fathom the thought of someone else’s hands on you, being so close to you that you came home smelling like him. he followed you to the bathroom.

you were already stripped down bare – no bra and no panties to be seen on the pile on the floor with that thin scrap of fabric, yeonjun couldn’t collect his thoughts fast enough, his rage was creeping up his spine, sitting in his stomach like food poisoning, threatening to come out whether he wanted it to or not.

“you’re lying,” was all he could get out as you brushed through your hair, putting it in a tight knot atop your head, a small smile still sitting on your cheeks. he didn’t sound angry enough, his voice wasn’t stable, his feelings weren’t enough to give his voice ground to stand on.

“no i’m not,” you said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, like your words were the honest to god truth. you turned to him, your best innocent look paired with that award winning smile, “wanna shower with me? or did you already when you came home from the club?”

yeonjun had a full body reaction, his eyebrows furrowed and his face scrunched up in disbelief and shock, for just a moment there he thought he might be insane. did he make that up? was the dior he smelled just remnants from being with beomgyu earlier? no, no he showered, that was all you. he was not insane. he stepped closer.

the smell of a shower he’d taken just an hour ago filled the room, the body wash that you always used was the only scent he could decipher. he took a breath, “you fucked someone.”

“i think you might still be drunk, baby,” you wore a fake pout, raising your right hand to run your thumb across his bottom lip, “happy anniversary, by the way. six months!”

that was the start of everything – his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend was buried somewhere, six feet deep in wet soil, replaced with something akin to a fucking monster. when yeonjun first met you, you had told him you had so much in common, yeonjun didn’t believe it, didn’t see it. he thought the two of you were polar fucking opposites, yet he liked you anyway, liked that you introduced him to a new type of relationship. while yeonjun spent six months subconsciously teaching you his own behaviors, you spent the time purposely teaching him quite a few of your own.

goodmorning texts to goodnight texts to facetime – yeonjun never did any of that shit before. yeonjun has never bought a single person a bouquet of flowers in his entire life. yet here you stood, his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend, in the middle of your salon surrounded by a herd of your coworkers with a bouquet signed ‘your junie <3 love you baby!’

his friends called him whipped, a simp, a cuck, every name in the fucking book because yeonjun adored you, and it was painfully obvious. you’d come to beomgyu’s garage, parading around in a mini skirt and your tiny little purse that yeonjun was sure only had lip gloss inside, getting him beers from the fridge and cracking them open, handing them to him with a smile and sitting straight on your throne: his lap. his friends adored you too, they couldn’t figure out what you saw in yeonjun – with his dark clothes, heavy tattoos that covered his body, bags under his eyes, black hair and too much metal through holes in his face. his friends were constantly flirting with you, getting you whatever you needed, they were the ones cracking beers and serving them to you, yet you were doing it for yeonjun.

yeonjun was filled with pride, he loved it. a trophy they could look at but never touch. he’d never had this type of relationship before, someone so obsessed with him, someone willing to wait on him hand and foot, he slipped deeper and deeper into an emotion he’d never experienced before without even realizing it.

the day he did realize it, that was when the true fun began, because while he was unconsciously slipping, swimming deeper into that well, you stood at the top, holding the rope, pulling bucket by bucket out of the well with that award winning, innocent smile etched into your skin.

you weren’t kidding when you said you’d do art trades, even his coworkers knew your face by now, taehyun two stations down always offered his services when you sat down on yeonjun’s bench. you giggled and flipped your hair, saying why would i do that when my boyfriend’s a better artist than you?

god, yeonjun loved to hear those words leave your lips. it was a bit the two of you did, taehyun acted as if he was shot through the heart, a poisoned arrow slipping straight through his skin, and yeonjun could hear the sweet melody of your giggle through the shop. yeonjun has filled up one of your arms by now and half of the other– a garden, flowers, bees, butterflies, tattoos that were so undoubtedly you he couldn’t even make fun of you for them. he wouldn’t expect you to have anything else.

his favorite, though, was the YJ right above your hip. it was in yeonjun’s own handwriting, a doodle he marked on your skin for life, late at night after too many drinks – it was like he was in high school again. that was four months in.

that night, yeonjun felt the closest thing to his entire world caving in on him – he needed to go. he stared at the scribble on your hip while his face was buried between your thighs, you were writhing above him, hands buried in his hair, you always looked so fucking gorgeous like that. instead of being focused on you, determined to push you over the edge like usual, yeonjun’s head was clouded – hazy. he wondered how a person he’d met by chance just a few months ago could become so important, so detrimental to his life, he feared he would be a shell of himself if you ever chose to leave him.

it terrified him. he’d never felt this way about anyone before.

before that night, your relationship was golden – yeonjun was something out of a dream, a hero, the prince in your story, you were convinced you’d spend your life with him. he was honest, he was smart, he told you everything that he had wrapped up in his complex, dark brain, and you accepted every word that came from his mouth, every thought that popped into his head.

when he left that night, hours after shoving a twelve gauge needle in your skin with ink the color of his hair, you didn’t stress. you woke with a panic, of course, where the hell did your boyfriend go? but after twelve hours of no response, a trip to his shop, a night spent in his favorite bar, hours bent over your ikea bed frame, you knew what this was. you recognized this fear, you saw straight through him, yeonjun wasn’t as masked as he thought himself out to be. you’d shared too much, you knew too much about one another for yeonjun to be anything but transparent.

you paid attention. late nights, coming home smelling like another woman’s perfume, earrings that fell from his pocket when you did laundry, long and short pink and blonde and brown pieces of hair found around every inch of your apartment – you looked at the tattoo that sat above your hip, you knew there was no one else for you in the world. if yeonjun wanted to play the game, you’d play it too, you’d play it better.

the first three or four or twenty two times you did it – yeonjun didn’t notice. you even sent him home in one of yeonjun’s tees, one of his favorites, one that you successfully convinced yeonjun he left at his own apartment. when he couldn’t find it there, it wasn’t your issue anymore – with half of your wardrobe in two different places, you’re bound to lose a shirt or two.

it was only when you got sloppy, when you wanted him to notice, that he did. two months in, six and a half months after your relationship began, he’d caught you and you were so fucking close to convincing him that he didn’t.

“we’re fucking done,” he was seething as you stepped out of the shower, wrapping a plush beige towel around your torso, no effort needed to keep yourself calm.

“why’s that?” you continued to feign innocence, stepping in front of the mirror to start applying your skincare, not even glancing at the man who stood next to you, his hands balled into fists.

“i know you fucked someone tonight,” his voice was stern, it was hideous on him. you loved the cool, calm yeonjun better – you loved your yeonjun, the one you spent endless nights with, looking through his sketchbook, where he showed you all of his doodles, his drawings, when he let himself be the most vulnerable. “there’s no use in denying it, v.”

“and what have you been doing for the past two months, yeonjun?” your head snapped to look at him, your voice matching his, cadence slipping into something more harsh, laying yourself bare for him. you supposed your time was up. his mouth opened and closed.

“great,” his head dropped, low, sarcastic laughter slipping from his lips, “you fuck someone and blame it on me? project your cheating onto me?”

“there’s no use denying it, jun. have you talked to beomgyu? maybe you should ask him what he did after he dropped you off.”

you physically watched his face turn red – ears hot, crimson bubbling up from his chest to his throat to his face – you had to stop yourself from smiling. he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and you slept like a baby. freshly fucked, coming down from a solid drunk, you felt brand new.

it was a week before you saw him again – honestly, you were shocked it took that long. that gorgeous, long black hair that curled around his ears, peeked from the hem of his hoodie, you longed to touch it, feel it between your fingers. he looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time he saw you, his bags sat heavy, dark, in your entryway, key in hand. you wanted to take care of him, wanted him to get a good night’s rest – next to you.

you sat on your couch, not a muscle to be moved in his direction, the two of you just stared at each other from across the room. moments went by, you’re sure maybe a full minute, then he was pacing towards you.

“hello?” you asked in disbelief and concern before he was pulling you up by your wrists, smashing his lips against yours. his lips tasted of whiskey, neat, cigarette smoke, menthol. you thought maybe you were addicted to tobacco too from the way his mouth felt euphoric against yours, an old friend you’d missed. it’s only been a week but it could’ve been a year for all you knew.

“you’re mine, you know that?” he’d asked between kisses, his mouth swallowing yours, his tongue stealing the words you couldn’t begin to think let alone speak. instead you nodded into his lips, fingers tangling in his hair, body forcing itself into his, you missed him. you missed his smell, his touch, the feeling of him against you, you missed everything. you never wanted to part from him again.

he had you split open on the couch as he knelt on the floor, head between your thighs again, eyes trained on the YJ that sat on your hip. he hadn’t seen it in a week, his brand on you, his initials that were inked into your skin for the rest of your life – he missed being between your legs, missed tasting you, missed taking everything you had to fucking offer. he missed you, his other half, the monster he created, his comfort, his home.

yeonjun would be lying if he said he was willing to part ways with you, but he’d also be lying if he said he was willing to acknowledge to the full extent of what he felt for you. yeonjun felt betrayed, played, messed with, like you snuck into his brain and plucked every single thought out of his head and fucking warped it. god, he loved you. he was so scared.

he told you as he barreled into you, fucking you like he hated you, whispering those words in a choked breath over and over into the shell of your ear. he couldn’t believe he was admitting it, couldn’t believe he was saying those three little words – you’re different, you’re everything. he loved you.

the months to follow were dancing right on the edge, together, but not quite. apart, but were you ever really apart? every night, wrapped in your sheets or his sheets – always someone’s sheets, always together. you never discussed sleeping with beomgyu, yeonjun never brought it up again, he looked back at that moment in his head and all he saw was weakness, a time where he let you slip away – let you get away from him. you never spoke of it, but it was always there, between the two of you like a wall.

that wall that stood between you was tall and rock solid, unlike the glass doors to yeonjun’s head, yeonjun’s thoughts, that wall of his was unbreakable – even when he came home smelling like burberry her again no argument in the world could pry that night out of him again.

you knew better this time than to try with beomgyu again, he hadn’t reached out since the night yeonjun left your apartment, you knew better than to try with anyone. instead of fighting fire with fire, you got distant, you spoke less, you asked less, you tried less. you became the ghost of his pretty, bright eyed girlfriend, one that had been to hell and back, one that learned from her mistakes. you became a reflection of yeonjun.

yeonjun checked his phone after his client, only two hours had gone by, surprisingly enough. it was a solid first session for his client’s leg sleeve, but his bones were aching, his eyes sore from being focused for so long.

v: you left the fucking lights on

#choi yeonjun #yeonjun x y/n #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun #tomorrow x together #txt smut #txt x you #txt x reader #txt fanfic #txt #i have a crush on choi yeonjun

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blackleatherjacketz · 1 month ago

Text

Tell Me

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Notes: I've been stressed, I had a dream, don't judge me for this little drabble...

Warnings: Explicit Smut, 18+ Only!, Daddy Issues, Power Dynamics, Alcohol, Vaginal Fingering (Implied), Teasing, Talking You Through It

Word Count: 585

“Tell me what you want.” Desire melted his chestnut eyes to an inky black as they raked over your figure, that darkness finally reaching the very rims of his irises as he stepped closer to you. He held his breath as his palms carefully cupped your kneecaps as if they were coming into contact with something sacred, as if he’d been waiting ages just to touch you.

“Aaron…” You pleaded softly, still unable to believe that this was finally happening as he took a step further between your parting legs.

His hips were now flush against the kitchen counter as his thumbs tickled the skin of your inner thighs, his scent now flooding your senses. You’d caught hints of it before in mere passing… a hug here, a handshake there; that crisp, clean scent driving you absolutely wild as you often let your mind wander to places far too similar to where it is now. Only you never thought that you’d actually wind up here in person until the two of you finished that bottle of red tonight after work. Those fantasies you’d played out a dozen times were on the brink of coming true.

“Do you really need me to say it?” You felt your cheeks blush a brief yet scalding shade of pink, hoping that he wasn’t really expecting you to ask for it out loud.

“Yes.” That single syllable dripped with the authority he reserved only for his suspects, his whispered baritone cutting to your core as he spread your knees even farther apart. “I need to hear you say it.”

His command made you shiver as his fingertips began kneading the muscles in your thighs, forcing every inch of your skin to tingle with a twinge of prolonged anticipation that’s been building since the day you met. You could see the excitement growing beneath the black cloth of his dress pants as his hands traveled even further north, those well manicured fingertips of his already teasing the hem of your underwear as he ignored the evidence of his own growing arousal.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” His stoic tone faltered a bit as his fingers smoothed over the cloth that covered your swollen warmth, dampening a small spot on your panties.

“Yes,” you whispered back, his touch so electric it nearly sizzled up your spine.

“Then tell me.” He repeated, moving his fingers slowly up and down your length, rubbing over your clit just briefly enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want… I want you to keep touching me.” You admitted, eyelids fluttering as he spread your juices all the way across your underwear over and over again until they were completely soaked through, darkening their color.

“Like this?” He looked deep into your eyes as he slid two fingers beneath the saturated fabric, a hint of a grin curling at his lips as he touched your bare, sensitive skin. That grin turned into the first smile you’d ever seen on his face, your essence now coating his fingers down to the first knuckle as he spread it down your entrance, between your swollen lips and back up against your bud, tugging on it ever so slightly. “You want me to make you come?”

All you could do was nod as his magic fingers sent bursts of pleasure up through your skin and into your muscles, warming your entire body as your breath quickened.

“Good. Now say it out loud.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #thomas gibson #criminal minds #aaron hotchner smut #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fanfic

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zordanna · 8 months ago

Text

𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓮

A fluffy fic inspired from this old drawing I did🍃

English is not my first language and I hate writing so don’t expect too much. It’s just a small scene where Sebastian realises he’s in love with my MC, you can imagine yours there too of course! I ain’t stopping you🫡 enjoy I guess?

Sebastian yawned softly as he kept silently reading his history of magic notes while sitting on the carpet and resting his back on the couch, Eleonora was next to him laying fully on it while reading the chapter trying really hard to not fall asleep.

“Ugh I swear I’m failing this time”

She mumbled while flipping pages. Sebastian rolled his eyes and spoke back with annoyance.

“You literally have the highest grades of all the students in our class, shut up-”

Eleonora huffed and gave him a soft nudge with her knee in response.

“Just because the competition prefers wandering in the restricted section more than studying actual subjects. You know- instead of forbidden ones”

Sebastian groaned and rested his head on the couch seat cushion to look at her better.

“You are a pain in the ass.” He breathed out glancing back at his notes pretending to ignore her.

“The feeling is mutual”

She ruffled his brown curls gaining a soft laugh from him , the boy rested one cheek on the cushion and gazed at her while his notes ended up spread around the intricated embodied carpet of Russel living room. Sebastian glanced at the book and got an idea.

“I can read it for you, if you want, so we both learn something at least”

His proposal sounded quite nice to Eleonora, she gave him the book and set herself comfortable as he cleared his throat. He started reading and he could almost feel her gaze caressing his skin, Sebastian didn’t know how he managed to say the words correctly without fumbling while having that lovely pair of blue eyes staring at him, the warmth of her presence, her sweet scent of lavender and soap pervading his nostrils…Merlin help him!

On the other side Eleonora’s eyes were looking at his freckles, she always thought they looked like a starry sky , sometimes she would find full constellations in them while stealing glances at her friend’s features. She glanced at his lashes, was it even legal to have them so long and soft? The way they fluttered while he was reading, the way the sun was making them shine with a warm orange shade. She was mesmerised. That’s for sure. The words sounded like a sweet lullaby rather than an actual lecture on how their ancestors channeled magic trough the years, her eyes felt heavy and her body a little too relaxed.

Maybe if she closed her eyes just for a second…yeah that should do it.

Sebastian was reading the last paragraph when he heard soft snoring coming from his right side ,he turned his head a little to check on Eleonora and a warm smile formed on his lips as he realised she had fallen asleep. He closed the book putting it away before adjusting himself leaning closer to the sleeping girl. He rested his elbow on the couch cushion careful to not disturb her rest, as usual Eleonora needed her afternoon nap.

Memories of their third year flashed in his mind, rainy afternoons spent napping all together on the same couch down in the undercroft between a mess of books and unfinished candies. Anne was still…well Anne. No curse, no pain just Anne, sleeping peacefully while her tiny head would rest on Ominis shoulder as he was nestled up almost like a cat. Eleonora’s long blonde hair would tickle his nose as he often found himself using her soft curls as a pillow. They always smelled so good it wasn’t his fault they felt so comfy.

Instinctively Sebastian brushed off some of her blonde strands that were framing her face, very carefully as if she was made of porcelain. Her long blonde curls that once were left wild and free were now tied up in that blue ribbon he gifted her almost two years ago.

“You keep wearing it all the time mh?”

He mumbled softly more to himself than to her. The soft blue satin fabric was a bit smudged near the knot after years of wearing it every day, that’s what happens with the things you love most isn’t it? They change.

Sebastian always questioned why she would refuse to buy another one, a prettier one maybe made from the most expensive silk with embodied details but she always said that one was just perfect. She loved it.

And he loved how beautiful she looked with it. He loved the way it always made her eyes stand out matching their colour, he loved how it swayed like a swallowtail when she would rush around the hallways late for classes trying to not trip on other students. Swallows are a sign of hope and freedom, he was certain that if she had to be an animal she would be one of them. She was always there trying to see the good side of everything, which in his darker days was both infuriating and yet comforting. It was reassuring having her slapping some sense in his thick skull sometimes, he couldn’t deny it.

He also loved that, her scolding tone, her stubbornness and resolution whenever he was acting like a complete ass. He loved the way she would ruffle his hair to annoy him, he loved how her soft hands were making him feel butterflies flying around his stomach every damn time…

Sebastian’s chocolate brown eyes were fixed on Eleonora’s delicate face as the sudden realisation hit him like a whole bombarda in his chest.

He was falling in love. No. He was in love. Utterly. Undeniably in love.

He didn’t realise his face was few centimetres away from hers till now, his lips dangerously close to hers. Before doing something stupid and reckless he pulled away slightly and took a moment to gain his composure, his eyes wandered around the luxurious living room of her family’s manor, the paintings of the Russels were almost staring at him, judging him with their cold gaze.

Who was he trying to fool? He was nobody compared to her family, an orphan living in a cottage with his grumpy uncle, it would never be fair to her. Knowing her parents Eleonora had probably her life planned since day one, as her older sister Ofelia once told him they lived in a golden cage with all comforts but still a cage. It was all doomed from the start so- for now it was better to suppress those feelings. To pretend they never had been there.

For now having her friendship was more than he could hope for, Sebastian looked at the big wood carved clock and checked the time, it was getting pretty late, he sighed and with a soft spoken tone called for her.

“Hey…Birdie”

The world would never want them together, that’s what he was telling himself, yet when he saw those blue eyes and that warm sleepy smile greeting him Sebastian thought that the world could burn or destroy itself in that exact moment.

The world would know Lady Eleonora Russel but Birdie. Birdie was just for him and that was all he needed.

“Birdie? What am I a chicken?”

Eleonora said with a snort while sitting up and stretching a bit letting a yawn escape her lips.

“No more like a goose.”

Sebastian retorted with a cheeky grin. She had no idea of what passed by his mind all the short time she was asleep.

“Ouch- did I snore loud?”

“Terribly. I mistaken you for a troll or something at some point.”

Eleonora laughed at the statement and crossed her arms in a proud stance.

“Was I annoying you?”

“Terribly.” Sebastian said faking an exasperated sigh.

“Good. I can consider my mission accomplished then”

She added with a chuckle while they both got up to walk towards the kitchen for stealing a snack or two. Luckily her parents wouldn’t be back till next early morning considering their habit to attend balls and ceremonies maintaining their high social status connections. That was a relief for the two of them but also for the servitude. The house elves were quite fond of Eleonora, a true ray of sunshine in that toxic household.

The afternoon passed by with their usual playful bantering like any other. It was better pretending nothing happened for Sebastian, it was for the best really.

Was it? Only time would tell. For now they were just fifteen, sitting on the kitchen counter munching a stolen slice of lemon tart while yapping about how they were both convinced Professor Garlick was hiding “special plants” somewhere in the greenhouse.

It was a normal spring afternoon during the end of the 19th century.

Flowers were blooming , birds were chirping and the air smelled like clean laundry and soap.

Winter was just a distant thought, none of them could ever imagine how everything would irreversibly change in few months.

Moments like these would be soon turned into distant faded happy memories but for now…it was all that mattered.

#hogwarts legacy #art #hogwarts legacy art #hogwarts legacy mc #illustrators on tumblr #my ocs #oc art #artwork #illustration #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #fluff #oc x canon #sebastian sallow x reader

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archived-daydreams · 2 years ago

Text

— First love, late spring.

Summary: what does it feel like, to fall in love with them?

Characters: Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, Gepard, Kafka, Bronya, Serval, Asta x gender neutral reader.

Word count: 1.2 k.

Tags: fluff.

Author’s note: my debut writing for Honkai Star Rail ! I know Jing Yuan hasn’t been released yet, so his part is just personal interpretation; all in all, these are just some sort of little headcanons I wanted to try imagining and writing down, I hope you enjoy <3

Reblog to support your favorite authors ! It helps more than likes.

JING YUAN

Falling in love with the Cloud Knight general feels like returning to a home you still hadn’t realized how much you’d longed for.

His calm presence draws you in, a melodious and crackling hearth beckoning you forward in shades of gold and skies at sundown. To stand beside him could be compared to entering a secret forest, where the moon rises as she kisses the dipping sun on the cheek as they meet at dusk. Birds chirp happily, as if revealing the songs your heart likes to play when you are with Jing Yuan, the heat in your cheeks, a manifestation of the firework embers lighting up the starry twilight. The general puts his arm around your shoulders, bringing your form closer to his, fluffy argent hair tickling the side of your neck.

You lean into him, the sunset looks a little brighter when your lover’s lips graze your temple.

And when his big calloused hand intertwines its fingers with yours, you know with him, anywhere is paradise.

DAN HENG

Scarlet maple forests feel more magical underneath the stars.

In the same way, pieces of every story and memory that constitute the wielder of Cloud-Piercer take form before your eyes as you make your way starwards.

Not one for many words or idle conversation, Dan Heng shows you the emotions he conceals to the public in small actions, starlit fragments only the one who dares to rummage between the layers of crimson leaves will uncover. Shielding you from unexpected enemies, helping you up and down the platform of the express, throwing a blanket over your shoulders when you inevitably pass out on the couch after running around with March… And when, still halfway into your realm of dreams, you call his name, a keen eye may spot on the express gurad’s cheeks some of the carmine usually adrift in the breeze in the autumn months.

Then again, if could be just your sleepy imagination…

Perhaps. is the lingering “what if” echoing on your mind.

GEPARD

The steady rock amidst a tumultuous ocean, relentless waves colliding against its silvery surface, time and time again.

Yet the rock does not yield.

Much in the same way the captain of the Silvermane Guards is your white-hot anchor in the blizzard.

No matter how hurt you are, Gepard stays.

No matter how drained and wasted your last breakup left you, his strong arms embrace you, the biting gales futile against his hold.

And maybe, taking notice of your own (and his) feelings might take you a while.

But Gepard Landau’s heart only knows loyalty.

So he waits.

For you to realize, for the sun to finally shine, and mark the path from you to him.

Because argent tends to reflect the skies, and only when the morning star deigns to shine, can the cobblestones tying you together gleam.

You take a step, and you know Gepard Landau is your only destination.

KAFKA

Exhilarating and with “danger” spelled in boldened capitals, that is how romance with the Stellaron’s Hunter feels.

The rational part of you warned you this was a bad idea, yet, as they say, sometimes, the heart wants what it wants.

Freedom prevailed that night, and your lips met the Interastral Peace Corporation’s most wanted’s.

It could have been the drinks you had, against your better judgment, the sweet intoxication of the alcohol in your system and of the temptation of her, a ticking bomb combination.

But caution is thrown to the wind the moment Kafka wraps her priced coat around your shoulders, her lips sensually whispering in your ear, promises of a million idyllic tomorrows together already tangling in the messy yarn ball of your mind.

But who are you to refuse? Or how could anyone, for that matter? When her painted lips envelop yours under the infinity of the firmament?

BRONYA

Dignified, smart, and the picture perfect image of what a heir should be like.

However, what is hidden beyond that icy facade of flawless poise?

Your sweet lover, a girl who enjoys the sound of tranquil nights and hurried steps by morning, someone who lets herself daydream to the faint music coming from Golden Theater.

A beautiful and enchanting contradiction, a storm of opposites you can’t help but get lost in, from the pretty curls of her lucent hair, to her determined gunmetal gaze.

Who would have thought, you think with a tender smile, as your hands run through her steel moonlit tresses, that you’d get to win the heart of the Heir to the Supreme Guardian of Belebog?

Leaving a soft kiss to the crown of her head, you lay down beside her in bed. With a last look out the window at the slate sky, you close your eyes.

The lyrics to a ballad swirl in your mind, probably coming from Golden Theater.

In the dim light, you find your girlfriend’s hand.

That night, Bronya Rand would be the actress in your oneiric plane, her heart, yours alone.

SERVAL

Electrifying and magnetizing, akin to a violet horizon right before a storm. The thunder in the distance makes your every hair stand on end, yet you can’t help longing for something more.

Afternoons helping Serval out at Neverwinter Workshop always end with you sitting before her, wide smile aglow on your features as she picks up her electric guitar. You always loved the way her sapphire eyes sparkled when she talked about this or that new song she was composing, but actually getting to see her perform for you alone… that’s enough to get you giddy.

Her painted nails strum the cords with ease, each of them bending at the workshop owner’s will, as lightning seems to take command of your heart, its thundering pace and the melody she plays seamlessly dancing to the beat of a fervent tango.

As the sky throws its indigo shawl over the lovers, the blonde gazes at you, a pretty (and unusual) rosy tone on her cheeks, a silent inquire for your thoughts about her new piece.

After all, you’re always the first one to hear every new song she comes up with.

ASTA

The girl who used to dream of naming stars after herself finally found a star that will always orbit around the fiery sun she is.

Her crystalline eyes look up from the papers she was sorting out until moments ago, her lips curving up in a crescent not unlike the one she used to observe, when she spots you.

Two cups of coffee in hand, you sit beside her, your head leaning on her shoulder. Your hand catches hers over the table, prompting her to stop the frantic scribbling of her pen.

And the instant her opalescent gaze meets yours, she is breathless, a nebula the color of her hair spreading through her cheeks. Her pen falls out of her grasp, the words she never seems at a loss for, failing her.

As they do every time when it comes to you.

But who could blame her? When she’d trade every galaxy and celestial body in this universe and the next for a millisecond next to you?

The lead researcher of Herta Space Station closes her notepad.

For now, work can wait.

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cosmerelists · 10 months ago

Text

Ranking Various Cosmere Fantasy Swears

If there's one thing Brandon Sanderson likes, it's avoiding any real swear words in favor of Fantasy Swears. I am genuinely a huge fan of this technique. So here how I'd rank some of the ones I can remember! (And thanks to 17th Shard [here and here] and to Reddit for compiling some lists!).

#14: Colors (Warbreaker)

This one feels a little bit...lazy, I guess? Like yes, Warbreaker's magic is color-dependent, so colors are a big part of the world-building, so I guess it makes sense that people use it as a swear. But it feels like if, in fantasy USA, people swore by "eagles" all the time: "Eagles! I dropped my hamburger!"

#13: Moons (Tress of the Emerald Sea)

I mean same problem as with "colors"! Yes, the moons are a big aspect of the worldbuilding, but it just feels like a semi-boring swear. Although maybe that's just the swear that Tress tends to use.

#12: Shadows/Shades (Shadows for Silence/Sunlit Man)

Okay, maybe this one is a bit boring, but anything Threndy-related gets extra credit from me. So therefore I think this is one of the least boring of the "basically boring descriptors of world building elements" swears.

#11: By the Lord Ruler (Mistborn)

I mean...eh. This one is world specific, but it's basically like swearing by god only in this case the god is the Lord Ruler, right? It makes sense 'n' all but isn't as interesting as some of the later ones.

#10: By the Survivor's Scars (Mistborn)

This one is better because it's more specific--Kelsier's scars are rich with meaning, and swearing by them does feel like it carries cultural weight.

#9: By Harmony's Armbands (Mistborn)

Putting them all in a line like this...I just like how they get ever more specific. Now we're swearing by Harmony's feruchemical armlets? Okay!

#8: God Beyond (Shadows for Silence)

I mean, Threnody is, like, haunted by a god's corpse, so I think any of their god-related swears are more interesting as a result.

#7: Nights / Nights afire (Emperor's Soul)

I like this one because I just don't know what it refers to and it seems kinda creepy. What are nights on fire for??

#6: Rust and Ruin (Mistborn)

Frankly, the alliteration gets this one extra points. And "Rust and Ruin!" just feels like a good thing to shout when you've stubbed your toe.

#5: Storms/storming/Stormfather (Stormlight Archive)

I know this one SHOULD lose points for being exactly the sort of boring descriptive swear I maligned above...but I enjoy this one simply because it's such a clear linguistic stand-in for "fuck" and that leads to such amusing translations as "Kaladin Fuckblessed" or the "Fuckfather" and that just never stops being funny to me.

#4: Herald body parts (Stormlight Archive)

I didn't notice until looking at various compiled lists of Cosmere Fantasy Swears, but Rosharans really like to swear by specific Herald body parts, huh? From here: Kelek's breadth, Kelek's tongue, Ash's eyes, Ishar's soul, Nalan's hand, Pali's mind, Talat's hand...I'm a fan of this. It's interesting and feels culturally relevant.

#3: Glories Within (Stormlight Archive)

This one is just Szeth so far, but people speculate it's probably a Shin curse. That makes it interesting to me since we don't know a whole lot about the Shin. What inner glory are they using to swear?

#2: Starving (Stormlight Archive)

This one is pretty similar to "Storming," I suppose, in being a pretty clear linguistic stand-in for "fucking." But I just like that the food-obsessed Lift has her own personal swear relating to starvation.

#1: Lowly/Highly (Yumi and the Nightmare Painter)

I'm a big fan of the lowly/highly thing from Yumi & the Nightmare Painter, where words can be linguistically marked as meant in either a high way (complimentary) or a low way (insultingly). It's fun worldbuilding and leads to some comic beats in the novel. Plus, this post tickled me greatly: https://www.tumblr.com/cabinetcreature/722030379790401536?source=share. It's so true!

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Stormlight Archive #Warbreaker #Mistborn #Sunlit Man #Tress of the Emerald Sea #Yumi and the Nightmare Painter #Shadows for Silence #Emperor's Soul

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

Note

Could I get an interaction between Riddle and Gidel please?

I imagine that maybe Gidel sneaks off while Fellow is busy schmoozing the other students during a croquet match or something and finds the kitchens and proceeds to just devour the beautiful strawberry tart in the fridge with his hands. But then, poor Gidel gets caught red-handed (lol) and with stuffed cheeks by none other than Riddle himself? Thank you!

Riddle and Fellow duke it out in a passive aggressive croquet game :DD

So tell me, do you wanna go?

Gidel had never been to a party before. When Fellow told him that they’d been invited to one, his little heart vibrated with excitement. He had heard many stories about the dancing, the music, the chatter, the games, the food—and longed to live those tales.

“You don’t have to do anything, Giddie. Leave the schmoozin’ to me and just enjoy yourself,” Fellow had told him.

And so here they were now, in a lavish rose garden.

Gidel was seated toward the front--a guest of honor, according to the dorm leader--but he was too short to properly reach the table, so the students had stacked a few books to boost him higher. He kicked his feet back and forth, taking in the liveliness around him.

Gidel was used to crowds (they were where he and Fellow often found their victims), but there was a fresh energy to this one. The conversation was giddy and effervescent, like the sugary drinks that came in metal cans and tickled his nose when it went down.

Above his head were strings of little flags and lanterns, and the tablecloths were so clean and free of holes. Few of the chairs and silverware matched, like the patterns in his clothes and the few items he owned. Such a thing, he had learned, was a source of shame and ridicule. "People don't like things that stick out. They look at 'cha dirty if you are," Fellow would grumble. Yet no one here seemed to be bothered by it. They lounged casually in those chairs that didn't match and drank tea from cups that had completely different designs.

More food than Gidel had ever seen in his life appeared as if by magic. It was served on tiered stands and in fancy pots. Finger sandwiches, elaborate cookies, cupcakes, clotted cream, jams, scones, and tea in various shades. An older boy in a hat and glasses had even ferried in a massive upside down cake, wider at the top and tapering into a narrow bottom. It defied all laws of gravity and had live sparklers stuck into the top. The server caught the curious glint in Gidel's eyes and offered a crooked grin.

Not the look of someone seeking revenge for almost being turned into a puppet. but the look of a mischievous older brother.

"Haha, excited to dig in? I'll cut you an extra big slice then," Trey whispered, "but remember to brush your teeth well afterwards. We'll get started after they finish up the croquet game."

Gidel followed his gaze to the open lawn.

Several students had gathered there, each grasping a live flamingo. Fellow casually leaned on his, talking in an animated manner with a short redhead in a crown. Riddle was angling his mallet on a curled up hedgehog--the ball--to force it through a series of grounded hoops.

He swung. His ball rocketed, clearing five hoops. The other player's jaws dropped. Fellow’s, most of all.

Riddle smirked. "Naturally."

“What the heck, how are you that good?!” Fellow demanded. He looked again, just to make sure that he was seeing things correctly.

Yup, that ball had still cleared 5 hoops.

“These are the results of much studying and practice. I do not lose.” His cold stare cut right to two boys—one with a diamond painted on his face, and the other, a heart. “Unlike some people, I do not sneak off of campus on school nights to seek thrills at an amusement park.”

Ace coughed into a fist and refused to meet his dorm leader’s eyes.

“Ehhhh~ No way, Riddle-kun! Who would do that? Sooo irresponsible of them!”

“D-Diamond-senpai, upperclassmen shouldn’t blatantly dodge responsibility like this…” Deuce muttered.

Riddle rapped his mallet against an open palm like a gavel tapping patiently before a sentencing. "In any case, Fellow-san… Would you care to go next as one of our esteemed guests? And to be clear, I will be keeping a close eye on you. There will be no foul play on my watch.”

Fellow gulped, but kept his cool. "Sure thing. Let’s have an honest and fair game, gentlemen!”

"Go easy on the poor guy, Riddle," Trey called to him. He left the table and wandered onto the field, clapping his friend on the back.

“I don’t see why I should,” Riddle retorted. He sounded vaguely irritated, but there was the trace of a held back laugh in his words.

Gidel smiled to himself. It was nice, the two’s camaraderie.

The sky was clear, the sun was shining, and the birds were singing. The roses were in full bloom.

It was a lovely day.

Gidel practically melted in his seat. He could stay at this party forever.

Bright blue fluttered in his vision. A tickling sensation filled his nose, and he rubbed at it to dispel the feeling. Had a piece of the sky fallen onto him?

Flap, flap.

A butterfly lazily floated off of Gidel.

The boy sat up straighter.

It was mesmerizing, that butterfly. With the sunlight streaming through it's papery cerulean wings, it almost resembled stained glass.

Pretty...

Gidel extended his arms out toward it, attempting to cup the bug in his palms. It evaded, dipping in the air and heading toward the Heartslabyul dorm.

He hopped out of his seat and trailed after the butterfly, waving his arms in an attempt to coax it back. But no--it vanished inside, and Gidel, like a foolish child being lured to a candy house in the woods, followed.

Gidel didn't pay any mind to where the butterfly led him. He only knew that he wanted to catch it, and so he would tread wherever it went.

Soon enough, he had wandered into the kitchen, fumbling around for the butterfly in the dark. For a heartbeat, the creature landed on a handle and rested there. Gidel pounced--but missed, and the butterfly, startled, hurriedly flew away.

He tried to go after it, but his sleeves, ensnared in the handle, caught and tugged something open. Cold light spilled out from the inside of a box, and Gidel knew this was called a refrigerator.

He peered in, wondering if the older brother from before had stored more goodies inside. Indeed, there were more sweet treats stashed away. Tall trifles, wobbling jellies, and...

Gidel's eyes fixated on a beautiful strawberry tart. Its crust, golden and ruffled like intricate lace. The custard filling, thick and creamy. Glistening red fruit had been sliced thin and meticulously laid out, the strawberries shaping into a blossoming rose.

His mouth watered.

He reached for the tart.

Before Gidel realized what he was doing, he had plunged his fingers into the innards. Scooping out custard and strawberries by the handful, he deposited them in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then went back for more.

So sweet, so delicious. He wanted more and more.

He broke off a chunk of the shell and bit into it. It was tough and crumbly. Gidel decided that he liked it better after dunking it in custard and eating it with a slice of strawberry.

Right as he had assembled a piece, a person appeared from the hallway. They stood in the doorway to the kitchen, their figure shadowed. Gidel squinted.

Whoever it was, they were short and wore a crown on their head.

The kitchen lights flickered on.

Riddle Rosehearts came into view. He wore a stern expression as he approached, steps brisk and sharp. "So this is where you ran off to. You had your guardian so worried he dropped his flamingo to look for--"

He skidded to a stop, staring at the mess of juices and crumbs at the feet of the fridge. Gidel crouched nearby, hands and clothes sticky and red or covered in traces of his crime.

Rage hit him like truck--speedy and sudden. Rules, broken? Decorum, ignored? His entire face turned crimson, steam threatening to pour from his ears.

Riddle's voice came, low and menacing. "You ate the strawberry tart meant for the unbirthday party and you made this mess?"

He advanced on the boy, raising his scepter.

Gidel blanched. Trembling terribly, he shrank into his oversized clothes like a turtle retreating into its shell. Warm wetness prickled his eyes. He whimpered without a single sound.

Riddle's scepter froze, as did his resolve. The fire that was his anger came in and out like the flame of a candle exposed to wind.

A sad little child. Scolded for having eaten a forbidden tart. Apologizing, sobbing, begging to not be punished.

Now who does that remind you of?

A dull pain radiated from the recesses of his heart. The plant called Pity had germinated, its roots opening a home for itself in his chest.

You aren't in the right here.

Riddle sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Like his therapist had advised him to do, he started at 10 and slowly counted down from it. Slowly, slowly, his fury subsided, like air being released from a balloon. Anger management magic.

When he spoke again, he was softer, gentler.

“… You are forgiven."

He wasn't used to it.

Riddle awkwardly offered a hand. “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up in the washroom. We can’t have you returning to the unbirthday party in this state.”

Gidel stared inquisitively at it. At him. The stranger with the temper, the stranger now asking for his trust.

But he had tried, hadn’t he? Tried, and succeeded in controlling his anger.

A moment’s hesitation, and Gidel slipped his strawberry-stained sleeve into Riddle’s palm. He nodded to the dorm leader.

Let’s go.

To where everyone is waiting for us.

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lonewolfinthetardis · 8 months ago

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Wait what's that? Oh that's right, I'm also a Ghost blog!

My Ghoul headcanons! With a few I've picked up from other posts. Also, spot the Avatar (James Cameron) inspired hcs. Basic hcs

Ghouls are pack creatures. They love being together, whether it's laying around together in a Ghoul Pile, playing games, or just doing tasks around the ministry.

Packs seem like giant polycules to outsiders, but they're much more complicated than that.

The Ghouls love teasing the Siblings of Sin.

They're extremely loyal to their Papa.

When on tour, they will wear enchanted amulets that shift their appearance to appear human. This has been named "glamour".

Sometimes packs will sleep in "piles". This is usually to keep bonds strong or simply for comfort.

Ghouls mate for life, partners basically bond their life forces together.

Ghouls can mate and bond with more than one individual. This can include other ghouls and humans. Biology hcs

All Ghouls have varying shades of grey skin and spaded tails (although Water Ghouls normally have fins on their tails). They also have claws on both their hands and feet, toe pads, horns, rough forked tongues, and sharp teeth.

Their tails and ears are very expressive.

Their tails are prehensile.

Water Ghouls have "ripple" or "water like" markings, usually a shade of grey darker than their skin. They also have webbed hands and feet, finned ears, and gills.

Ghouls have a superb sense of smell, sight, and hearing. Each Ghoul has their own specific scent, that all other Ghouls can smell and recognise them by. They will also memorise smells from their favourite humans (this can include human mates).

Packmates are connected to each other via telepathy. They can tap into each other's emotions, and can talk to each other through this strong connection.

Their eyes glow in the dark. They usually have a slight glow normally, but at night they're pretty bright.

Each Ghoul can tap into the magic connected to their element, or elements.

All Ghouls have a thin layer of fur on their chest, back, biceps, and down their backs to their tail.

They all go through a type of cycle, no matter their gender.

During the colder months, the thin layer of fur they have will grow thicker. It's very soft and fluffy, but dense. Although Quintessence and Air Ghouls have a thicker coat of fur all year long. Air Ghouls have the softest fur, almost cloud like in a way. While Quintessence Ghouls have coarse, stiff fur. Ghoul Scents (Prequelle and Impera Ghouls, including my OC)

Dewdrop: Wood smoke

Aether: A soft, pleasant incense. One that doesn't tickle your nose or cause you to cough

Rain: Petrichor

Swiss: Crushed rosemary

Mountain: He smells like a greenhouse: That delicous wet warmth smell

Glacier (my OC): A warm, windy day with a hint of orange

Cirrus: Ozone

Cumulus: A cold morning wind

Sunshine: Eucalyptus

Aurora: A sea breeze

Phantom: Slightly like sweet beeswax

Teeth hcs (featuring art by me)

Water Ghouls have backwards facing serrations on their fangs, making it extremely difficult for prey to escape. This is also why they don't tend to bite their partners or pack mates.

Earth Ghoul teeth are the most similar to human teeth, the main difference being their overall strength and much longer fangs.

Fire Ghoul teeth have long fangs with sharp teeth on either side of them.

Air Ghoul teeth have a lupine appearance, with sharp incisors and sharp first molars.

Quintessence Ghouls have very sharp, strong teeth that have a sort of "classic monter" look.

Multi Ghoul teeth are a mix of the elements they are connected to (symbols are a mix of all their elemental symbols).

----------- So this is my Ghoul hc master post! I'll most likely create a post about my individual Ghoul headcanons at some point. I'll also be talking about my GhostxTF2 crossover at some point!

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roguesnezblog · 3 months ago

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Did a fic for a change, woo hoo! And some art. I been practicing some writing lately. 642 words. A very short fic. But Im just testing the waters right now.

As Demetrius, the storm giant, roamed through the ancient woods, the ground trembled beneath his feet. He moved with an imposing yet graceful presence, He was a force of nature, towering among the trees. The sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows across his massive form. As he walked, his foot struck a cluster of mushrooms nestled in the underbrush, the impact releasing a cloud of iridescent spores that shimmered in the light they swirling into the air, dancing around him like a glistening fog.

The impact sent a cloud of spores inhaling deeply, he took in the spores without a thought, only to be met with an overwhelming irritation in his enormous nasal passages. The moment they touched the sensitive membranes, an irritation flared to life within him. A deep, insistent buzzing ignited within, spreading like wildfire. The tickling quickly intensified, forcing him to fight for control as it built with every passing second. His nostrils flared wide as the sensation grew, a primal urge that took hold of him. A powerful tickle that made his breath hitch unexpectedly. Each breath became a long, torturous hitch, desperate and shaky, as the irritation twisted through him. "Hh-heh!" His nostrils expanded, the delicate skin turning a shade deeper as the sensation became almost unbearable.

His body responded violently to the building pressure; muscles in his massive frame spasmed and twitched, almost reeling with stimulation. The sensation was relentless, pulling rigid every fiber of his being. Each hitch drew in more air, filling his lungs as he fought against the onslaught that threatened to consume him.

“Hh…h-hEh...”

He felt his chest swell with the intensity of his hitches, a rhythm of longing mixed with frustration. He could feel the sting radiating throughout his sinuses, like static electricity crackling just beneath the surface. Each hitch of breath drew in more spores, further stoking the heat behind his eyes. His chest heaved with desperation, each inhale longer and more strained as he tried to stave off the inevitable.

“H…Hdh HhehHDh!”

The world around him blurred as he focused solely on the urge to sneeze coursing through his body. Demetrius could feel the tension coiling within him, and his eyes began to water from the overwhelming sensations.

“Hh…HEHdh!…”

His muscles tightened, rippling under his dark skin as he struggled to hold back the inevitable release. But it was futile. The pressure continued to roil threatening to explode. He clenched his jaw, resisting, but to no avail. His breath came in sharp, wavering gasps, each one a prelude to the monumental release that was incoming. The air crackled with energy and the longer he resisted, the more the torment clawed at him, pushing him to the brink.

“Hhuh…HhEH!…hHHedHH!”

The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, until at last, the dam broke. He could no longer contain it. With a final, involuntary, drawn-out intake of breath, The world erupted around him and Demetrius let out a tremendous sneeze:

“HhrEH'RSSHHUhHh!!!!”

The sound rolled through the forest like a cataclysmic roar, shaking the very ground beneath him, a force of nature that reverberated across the landscape. Lightning arced from his explosion in a brilliant flash that illuminated the forest in stark contrast, the magic of his release scorched the landscape, splintering wood and igniting foliage in a fierce blaze. The air crackled with energy, and the dirt cracked below his feet as the raw power of his sneeze surged forth.

In the aftermath, Demetrius stood panting, the echoes of his loud sneeze fading into the air and trees blackened, seared and plants around him smoking in a spectacular display of destruction. His body trembled with residual energy. His breath slowly returned to normal as he blinked at at the charred remnants of the forest a testament to the raw power he possessed—a storm unleashed by a single, desperate moment.

#snz #sneeze #sneezing #snez #snee #snzblr #sneeze kink #snez kink #snz art #demetrius

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lovelynim · 3 months ago

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TickleTober2024/Day 05 - (Un)tie

Genshin Impact - Lyney x Wriothesley

“Tada ~” Lyney hummed proudly before showing Wriothesley his wrists. His untied wrists, twirling the rope that was supposed to be bounding them between his fingers. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

Wriothesley didn’t seem to agree with that statement, however. In fact, if anything, he was annoyed. All he wanted was to try something new with his boyfriend, so how did he end up having an unrequited magic show?

The duke frowned. “Can you stop doing that?” Wriothesley sighed, snatching the rope from Lyney’s hands and starting to tie his hands together again.

“I can’t stop the magic, monsieur, maybe you should be the one trying out the bondage?” Lyney smirked, leaning back into the soft pillows as he watched Wriothesley pulling the rope before making a knot. “Oh please, did you get angry with a little jest?”

“No, not at all,” Wriothesley muttered, his eyes glued on Lyney’s hands, watching the little magician intertwine his fingers. There had to be a way to ‘stop the magic’, Wriothesley thought.

As the gears inside his head continued to turn, an idea popped up in the duke’s head. Wriothesley smirked, getting himself between Lyney’s legs - again - and starting to kiss his cheek. “Are you going to escape again?” He muttered.

“As… I say on stage, your grace, blink and you might m-mihihiss it- h-hey!” Lyney giggled, his elbows pressing down at his sides as he felt Wriothesley’s prodding against his lower ribs. “T-thahat tihihihickles! Stohohop it!”

“Hm? Can’t you stop me yourself?” Wriothesley cocked his head, a smug smile pulling on his lips as he continued to tickle Lyney’s sides, kneading at the spot in a way that made the magician squirm. “Just free yourself again.”

“I cahahan’t!” Lyney laughed, scrunching up his shoulders and trying to move his head away from Wriothesley’s. Lyney threw himself back, sinking deeper into the pillows and kicking his feet behind the duke - all to find out he was still cornered, in the end. “W-Wriothesley! AHahaha, t-thahahat’s not the tihihime for stuhuhupid games!”

The audacity, Wriothesley thought, chuckling out loud. “But is it for lame magic tricks?” He snapped back, pinching Lyney’s waist just hard enough to make him squeal like a dog’s toy. His toy. “Come on, I want to see the magic ~”

The teasing only added to Lyney’s embarrassment - or was it anger that was turning his face so red? Wriothesley shook his head, knowing it didn’t really matter.

“S-shuhut it, Wrihihiothesley!” Lyney groaned, trying to hit the other man’s face with his bound hands, hoping that this - out of all his attempts - would help him stop the tickling. “Thahat’s not hohohow it works!”

“Oh?” Wriothesley arched his eyebrow, grabbing the knot between Lyney’s hands and pulling it high above his head, pinning his partner’s hands above his head, “so, can I take this as the end of your little magic show?”

“H-hah…” Lyney sighed, rolling his eyes. His cheeks were flushed in a bright shade of red and some strands of hair were sticking to his forehead, “i-it seems it’s a crime to perform in Fontaine, after all.”

“Not all kinds of performances,” Wriothesley added, hitting his plans and leaning closer to kiss him, “but in any case, I’m taking you under custody for tonight.”

A/N: Believe it or not, this is one of the few pairings that keep me hooked to genshin, heheheh

so, it shouldn't be a surprise that they made to my list, right? ~ anyway, thanks for sticking by for another day! See you guys tomorrow!!

#lovelytickletober #tickletober 2024 #tickletober #genshin impact #genshin impact tickling #lyney #wriothesley #wrioney #lyney x wriothesley #ticklish!lyney #lee!lyney #ler!wriothesley #tickle fic

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outfitqueer · 4 months ago

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@outfitqueer 🏳️‍⚧️ Hand drawing

Back Then: Halfway Through My Transformation and Loving the Journey

Honestly, my whole transition journey has been a mix of highs and lows. Figuring out who I am and finally being able to live that truth out loud has been a total game-changer.

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I had to learn to embrace every part of myself, even the bits that scared me. It wasn’t always easy, but every step was worth it.

Now, I’m living my truth, and let me tell you, it feels incredible to finally be myself.

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chouxsardine · 11 months ago

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Warm Honey---Jake Kiszka x reader

A short blurb where me imagining getting high with Jake and listening to classical music ended up turning into some jake-playing-guitar worship and stream of consciousness smut. I just feel it's so sexy when your partner can feel the effect they have on you, and I'd like to think Jake loves that. 18+ content below cut. Enjoy!

Warning: 18+! Minors DNI, Drug use (marijuana), sexual content, body worship (kind of)

🎧: Scriabin Sonata No.4 in F sharp major, Op.30

--------------------------------

He is all that you can think of, all that you feel.

Whenever you smoke joint with Jake, you always like to describe your mind as being “in a stake of Jake”. He is not occupying the space as the subject. Instead, he wraps around it in an all-encompassing way. He exists as the warmth of a blanket, a scene from the rear view mirror, the tingling on your skin as the wetness from an open-mouthed kiss evaporates.

Jake is sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, you are lying down with your head on his lap. The air is damp, saturated with the earthy smell. Jake just lets out a puff of smoke. You look up and blink. The light of the floor lamp is hazy through the smoke like the moon halo. Rachmaninoff is playing at a low volume in the background. The title of the melody escapes you. It could be Symphony No.2 or something like that. You are too far gone to put any effort into trying to recall it. Life feels really good at this moment, and that’s all you want to focus on.

Jake’s hand is resting in your hair, occasionally scratching your scalp or swirling the soft strands near your hairline around his finger, sending buzzing shivers under your skin. You squirm a bit, reaching above to grab his hand in yours. The sensation of being in touch with human flesh clashes with your stupefying illusion. Suddenly, Jake’s hands become the most interesting thing in the world.

If Jake is sober enough to look down, he will find you staring at his hand intensely with dilated pupils. The skin around your eyes is tinted with a fluffy shade of pink. And you are staring with the fervent passion of a child looking into a kaleidoscope for the first time, stunned and in awe. His hands are warm. Nails always blunt and well-trimmed, receded tamely behind the finger tips. Veins visible under his skin, knuckles strong and sturdy. You hold up his hand higher to the ceiling, looking at the light seeping through the slits between his fingers as if he has magical powers.

His hands truly are magical. The way he makes his guitar whine and moan on stage. You close your eyes briefly, recalling the way his right hand firmly grasping the neck while the palm of his left hand resting on its rear body. Sometimes he does that devious thing where he pushes the guitar back and forth as if shaking someone’s shoulder, the intensity of it cushioned by their connection through the strap, thereby creating a tensile and magnetic stretch between them. Once, you asked him why he would do that; “it helps with the trills and echoes,” he said, flashing you a smirk. You don’t believe him for one bit. When his fingers slide across the fretboard in an elegantly frantic speed, you wonder why there aren’t sparks bursting out because it surely looks like swiftly striking the head of a match against the side of the box. And you love the way he does tremolo, oh, the dazzling movement of his fingers on the higher end of the fretboard, his ring finger and pinky curved, alternating so smoothly that it looks like he is tickling someone. Well, it surely tickles your heart. And your pussy, if you are being honest. That’s when you feel it. The wetness sneaks up on you slowly. Jake always turns you on at the flip of a switch, the blink of an eye. Normally, you are already soaked as your mind is preoccupied with the yearning for his mouth, his fingers, and his cock. However, the weed amplifies all senses. This time, you can almost feel the titillation trickling down your spine, like morning dew collected on rose petals.

Without much thought (not that you can form any coherent ones now anyway), you hold up his fingers, make them spider-walk across your belly before lowering them down into your panties.

Jake lets out an amusing humph. With all the sensory stimulation stealing his words, he’s not much of a talker when he’s high. Your communication during times like these are almost telepathic—you could tell from just a simple raise of his fingers that he wants another handful of chips, and he could tell just by the slightest turn of your head that you want another hit. He always jokes that you read each other between the lines. The reassuring silence weaves a velvet blanket that falls and lands on both of you in a floating manner.

You look up and find him looking down on you with a lopsided smile. So lackadaisical that it’s almost goofy but smug nonetheless. He quirks his eyebrows, and you put up a finger against your lips.

“Shh.”

You’ve always known that Jake loves to watch. He gets so hard just by watching you getting yourself off, using all of his willpower not to come in his pants while somehow managed to take mental notes of your preference. He always looks down the moment your bodies connect, whether that’s him entering you or you sinking down on him. His mind is always blown by the way he disappears into you bit by bit and your malleability to adjust him. It’s almost like you were made for each other. The combination of the visual image and the physical sensation short-circuits his brain. The sigh and moans that escape him drive you crazy. Jake loves the process as much as he enjoys the maddening pleasure. And this time, with the weed delaying the need to fuck each other, you would like to let him experience that.

At first, it’s just his dry and warm palm covering your lower belly, his finger slotted between your fold, with his finger pad resting against your hood and finger tip grazing your clit. You feel he move, instinctively wanting to rub it.

“Nuh uh,” you tightens your grip, “I want you to feel it, babe.”

You are certain you are getting there. You can almost picture it, like honey slowly descending down the wall of a glass tube. It’s an agonizingly slow process, like a golden snake with malicious intent, twisting and turning its body; its expected sweetness drawing out the moisture of the mouth, causing one to salivate.

Ah. Here it comes.

Without meeting his gaze, you know that Jake feels it too. His fingers have long familiarized themselves as the hierarch of the territory which is your pussy. He has learned, through time and experience, the prelude of your arousal. Every respond is picked up by the tactile receptors on his finger pad and his muscle memory. Much like with his guitars, Jake is always caught in an affectionate paradox when it comes to your pussy—he walks this ground with confidence and pride over the possessiveness he has over it, albeit constantly carrying a veneration for its beauty and the sincere humbleness to learn and explore.

The previous friction has now transformed into a gentle rise of temperature and the coated slickness provided by your discharge. Your clit presses more firmly against his finger tips now that it starts to swell and throb.

“Damn, love, can almost feel your heartbeat.” Jake grunts, his words a bit slurred.

“That’s the point,” you arch your back, feeling vainglorious about your little trick, “my tell-tale heart. Feel what you do to me by simply existing?”

“Gosh, you’re gonna end me one day,” Jake tilts his head backwards, his eyes rolling back too, “but I wouldn’t want it any other way. And the epitaph would say, ‘gone doing what he loves’.”

You laugh, knowing that the filter between his brain and mouth has melted away now. Meanwhile, you are getting silkier and warmer by the second. Jake feels like he dips his finger into a jar of honey, the snugness of your walls trapped him there. He’s an insect preserved in a sea of saccharin, captivated by the moment as the waves wash over him again and again, reminding him that he is the reason why his girl is so turned on, he is the reason why this body lying against him coordinates all its nerves and cells to produce such an amazing response to his touch.

You can hear the clarinet playing in the symphony. If your memory serves you right, it won’t be long until the allegro vivace of the last movement kicks in. You look up at Jake’s face again. He swallows, his Adam’s Apple trembles in a way that makes you want to take a bite. With his eyes closed, his eyebrows pulling together, and his lips pursed, that man looks like he could be having an orgasm right there. It’s almost whimsical, given that he is the one who has his hand in your pants. You let out a low chuckle.

“What?” He cracks open an eye.

“You know they said weed slows people’s movement?” You quip, tapping your fingers provocatively over his, a sultry tone in your voice.

“Oh,” Jake’s eyes darkens, the familiar devious smile shine through his relaxed features.

“Now, those are fighting words, doll. You wanna test them out?”

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#jake kiszka #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fanfiction #jake kiskza x reader #jakedown

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