#spool desk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silverskye13 · 2 months ago

Text

He lost time again. He knows it, because he wakes up on the floor of his room, instead of somewhere sensible like his bed, or even the chair at his work desk. There are a few disorienting moments where he wonders how he got here. Why he's here.

He was having a beautiful dream. It was a dream of cool waters, and fields of endless grass, and someone, distant and smiling, and happy to see him.

He's in hels. He's... supposed to be in hels. No fields of endless grass here, only hot and heat. The world smells faintly of brimstone and ash, even when the windows are closed -- but who would keep the windows closed when without the windows open there would be now breeze.

The wind in hels is hot and unforgiving.

He thinks he used to like it here once. He remembers feeling... happy.

Right now the only feeling he has, is that he's uncomfortable on the floor. He stretches out his hand across the crimson stem planks, splaying black fingernails against the boards and listening to the soft shff of noise. The wood grain isn't like the wood grain on trees. There are no odd concentric circles spooling and unspooling endlessly across the bark. Instead, hard, compact fibers from the long stem press against each other like sheets of cardboard, varying in color where nutrients collected.

Well. He thinks that's why the colors are like that anyway. He used to be an expert on things like that. He has hazy memories of talking excitedly to his best friend about why hels was the way it was. The abnormalities, how different it was from a standard nether. Why there were birds, where they came from, how they lived here, of all places, tenacious against the heat and smog.

He has... memories of knowing things. They're soft and bright around the edges, less clear than his dreams. He remembers talking to people, and knowing things, but he can no longer remember what those things are.

"Moment of clarity," he says out loud to himself, to no one. He used to have those. He used to have them so often, they were normal. Not moments of clarity, living in clarity. Now those moments were so rare he wasn't sure they really happened, until he lost them again.

This was not a moment of clarity. This was, at best, a waking dream.

He was still laying on the floor.

His shoulder hurt. He thinks, maybe, he fell on it when he... left. Faded. Passed out. Slept. Dreamed. There's a bruise there. Or maybe he's been laying here for that long. He's heard of that happening to people -- laying still so long their bodies bruise. Their friends have to pick them up, turn them over, move them so they don't hurt themselves while the Universe slowly drags them away. He remembers doing that for someone once. Not his best friend. Someone else. Someone who used to live up the street. He remembers washing their hair for them while they slept, and wishing they would wake up.

There is no one here to wash his hair. His best friend... might have already forgotten about him. That happens sometimes too. People so far gone, they spend their last moments alone because... because...

There is an ache in his chest. It hurts. The pain is intense, and he cannot tell if it really hurts that much, or if its just the first thing he's felt in a long, long time. The novelty takes his breath away. It isn't fear. The fear wore off... oh... a long time ago. Back when he still thought he had something worth living for. Back when he still had hope he had a chance. When fear actually gave him something -- adrenaline, fight or flight. Back when there was still enough of him left to feel things like spite, or hate. He'd torn apart his workshop once, in that fit of anger. He never cleaned it again. Couldn't bring himself to climb the ladder. Besides, if he passed out again, he didn't want to wake on a bed of broken glass.

Still on the floor. It aches. He should move.

There's a book beside him. His sketchbook. He fell asleep, faded, passed out, left, dreamed, while he was in the middle of reading it. Old drawings. Grand plans. Notes to self. He held a hope once that, maybe, if he memorized the pages well enough, he wouldn't forget who he was. Trying to grip those pages through memory now, though, they slipped through his thoughts like water. With an effort, he musters the strength to pull the book towards himself. Doodles of sheet pattern the page its open to, and he smiles.

A beautiful, soft dream. Walking through fields of grass towards someone who was so, so happy to see him. His smile was radiant as the sun, his voice embroidered with enthusiasm, like it was a part of the fabric of his being. He'd called him by name. Taken him by the hands. "Hello hello! Finally we meet again my friend! You've been hiding for so long. But now, what's gotten into you. You look tired. Wouldn't you like to rest?"

Oh. Rest. He was always tired now. No voice to speak. No thoughts to think, save the ones that rolled past like clouds on a summer day, formless and inconsequential. He was holding a book in his hands. Oh. His sketchbook. Right. For remembering himself, and not the dream.

He has, a moment of clarity. Brief, and colorful, and formed and whole. It breaks through the formless dark of his mind and says, boldly and unapologetically, the thought of yourself as you are now once terrified you.

He lays on the floor and turns that thought over like a stone in a river. Like a bright star caught in tissue paper clouds it glares at him, pins itself on the horizon line of his thoughts. Thoughts like that are so beautiful and rare now. Moments of clarity.

Yes. When he was whole and strong and... imperfect, but alive because of that imperfection, he was terrified of this. The slow fade. The loss of will. The loss of life. He was dying. He had been dying for a very long time. The Universe wanted him, because while he lived, his Hermit wasn't whole. And his Hermit, out there somewhere, was trying so hard to be whole. And... he was never meant to exist.

No helsmet was ever meant to exist.

The ache in his chest gets deeper, bottoms out into something that leaves him breathless again. Mourning. No one else would mourn him so... surely he was allowed, while he still had thoughts to think, to mourn himself. He was crying. The soft patter of his teardrops marred the straight, compact lines of the crimson floorboards with freckles. He clutched the little sketchbook to his chest and curled up on the floor, and he was wracked, briefly, with the fear and mourning and loss he rarely was able to feel. And he reveled in it. In the fact that, for just a few moments, he cared.

Stand up, please. You're thirsty. You're hungry. You want to live.

No. No. He wanted to go back to that dream. It had been so much kinder.

Someone was out there, standing in an endless field of green, beneath an endless sky of blue. He had a labcoat folded over his arms, tightly curled horns blooming from his head, and a smile that could light up the sun. And the wind blew, and set wildflowers dancing. And they stumbled towards each other, inexorable as two stars colliding. And he was a small thing dying, searching for a moment's warmth and softness, and his Hermit took him by the hands and said, "I lost you there for a minute. Are you coming back to stay yet? You'll like it here, I promise. We'll have adventures together, you and me. There's so many questions to ask, an entire Universe to explore! And you'll be here with me, won't you?"

And he could not say he had no choice.

And he could not say he wanted to live.

Because it was all just a dream, and only the few lucky, for a moment, controlled what their dreams gave them. All he could do was hold onto his Hermit's hands and pray this one didn't turn to nightmare.

"I should... leave a note," he whispered to the empty room. "He'll... remember he's missing something... eventually. He'll... want to know."

"You're right, a note would be kind! Here, I'll help you. Dear Evil Beesuma, don't worry, I've gone to meet my new friend Z--"

There was a pencil stuck between the pages at the end of the sketchbook. On that page was a drawing of someone he no longer recognized. That face hadn't looked back at him from a mirror in... well. In a very long time. He blinked at the little self portrait, watching the stranger there for... too long. Too long.

He'd been doing something. What was it?

That ache in his chest drilled itself through his ribs. He grimaced, and buried his face in his sketchbook.

"Hey, don't cry again it's alright. It's a little confusing isn't it? I said I would help you. Will you let me help you?"

He shook his head.

"I am sorry. Truly. I'm not trying to be mean. It's just. You seem so much happier here. And you feel so tired there. You don't want to be that person anymore, do you?"

"No," he whispered. "No I don't."

"Would you still like to write something? Or would you like to come here?"

"He'll remember something's missing," he insisted quietly.

"Yeah he will. But that's what the stone was for, right?"

Oh. Yes. Yes his remembrance stone. He'd carved his name. So people would remember. But he'd never taken it to a wall. He'd thought. He'd thought. Time. He was supposed to have more time. Time to place his stone. Time to visit his friend one last time. Time to tell his neighbors, the nice ones who kept bringing him dinner twice a week, because they were worried he would be so busy in his workshop he'd forget to eat. And the shopkeep he bought his spare parts from, who always told him about his life, and the man he was seeing, and how they were living together now. And they all had someone who cared, who would remember them. Who would take care of them when they lost time. Who would pick them off the floor when they fainted. Who would help them clean up broken glass when they couldn't bare to see what they were becoming. People who cared. People who cared. People who cared.

"I'm going to be forgotten," he said quietly. "I'm going to be forgotten, and no one will care."

He was still on the floor.

He was still on the floor, and he was tired. He thought he might fall asleep again. Here. On the floor. Where he'd fallen asleep the first time, and lay until his shoulder bruised, with no one to turn him over, or carry him someplace soft and warm.

He had been dreaming of someplace soft and warm.

"Dear EB," he whispered to his dark room, as the breeze rattled the shudders upstairs, and outside someone shouted on the street, and the world turned and forgot him. "I'm sorry I didn't come to visit. I didn't want you to worry. D-don't worry. I've gone to meet a friend. Signed..."

He blinked at his sketchbook, vision unfocusing. He was tired. He wanted to sleep. The ache in his chest was fading, replaced with quiet ambivalence.

"Signed..."

"Oh deary me. Do you remember your name?"

His eyes fluttered closed. He buried his face in his hands. He thought he could see, in the distant dark in the back of his eyelids, shapes of grass. Light seeping in. Hels was hot, dry, scorching. This place wasn't. It was soft and warm, and there was sun on his skin.

"It's alright," he said, and he laughed like the sun. "That's what the stone is for, isn't it?"

Yes. Yes that's what the stone was for.

He couldn't say that out loud. He wasn't one of the rare, happy few who could control their dreams.

"So how about it?" Zedaph asked, taking him by the hands. "Will we go on an adventure together?"

He had friends back home. He had a life he had enjoyed living once.

He was never meant to exist.

He couldn't talk in dreams.

"Don't be scared," Zedaph grinned, pulling him along. "We'll go together, yeah?"

He couldn't talk in his dreams.

He closed his eyes.

He stopped feeling the grass beneath his feet.

He stopped feeling the sun on his skin.

There was only Zedaph, radiant as the sun, and perfect and whole.

In hels, there was an empty room.

#the barking writer #rns ficlets #hels!zedaph #zedaph #hermitcraft #rns worldbuilding #hels worldbuilding #uhhhh #tw the sads #tw major character death #blaming the discord for this one /silly

109 notes · View notes

mclennonhater · 1 month ago

Text

can we please talk about The Long and Winding Road cuz oh my god

Okay first of all, Paul was found writing it late one night (possibly at 3am? September 19th, 1968) by Alistar Taylor at Apple. Here's the quote below, but TLDR: Taylor found the song beautiful and said his wife would love it, which prompted Paul to give the recording to Taylor and cut up the only remaining tape right in front of him. So only Alistor Taylor and his wife have the demo. Or whatever.

Exerpt from Hello Goodbye: The Story Of 'Mr. Fixit' by George Gunby from "The Long and Winding Road History" (where I'm getting all this information btw, its a great site)

"The finest example of Paul's songwriting turned out just as Alistair [Taylor] had hoped. It was the end of a particularly difficult week at [EMI Studios] and Apple during which he had been working twenty-hour days. He was feeling the effects of being, virtually, Paul's personal assistant and keeping an eye on things at the office. He was very, very tired and looking forward to spending Saturday and Sunday at home with [his wife] Lesley [Taylor]. As the Friday night session wound down he went in search of Paul to say goodnight. John, George and Ringo had no idea where McCartney was and when he could not be found in the canteen or any of the offices Alistair [Taylor] pretty much gave up. As he passed the cavernous Studio One he noticed a faint light. Stepping quietly inside, he stood in the shadows and listened as the figure hunched over the grand piano picked out a melody and began adding lyrics. The voice was unmistakably McCartney's. Alistair [Taylor] listened intently as the tune developed. More lyrics were added. 'This is sensational,' Alistair [Taylor] thought. Spellbound, he walked over to the piano when Paul stopped playing. 'That is a beautiful, beautiful melody and fabulous words,' he said. 'Lesley [Taylor] would love that.' Paul smiled. 'It's just an idea at this stage,' he said. 'For “just an idea” it's sensational.' Paul looked up to the control room. 'Have you got any tape left?' he asked the engineer who nodded. 'Roll it, please,' McCartney said. Alistair [Taylor] stood by the piano as Paul ran through the song again. Although not the finished article, the fundamental outline and character were clear and distinct. It was, Alistair [Taylor] felt, destined to be a classic. When the song ended he applauded quietly. Paul looked up from the keyboard. 'Glad you like it,' he said. 'Now go home. You look shattered.' Monday morning came round far too quickly for Alistair [Taylor]. He was in the office early and had cleared most things by the time Paul appeared in mid afternoon. He sat down and asked how Lesley [Taylor] was. 'Fine,' Alistair [Taylor] replied. 'Did you tell her about the song?' 'No. I couldn't do it justice.' 'Well you can now,' McCartney said with a broad grin. From inside his coat he pulled out an acetate record and placed it on the desk in front of Alistair [Taylor]. 'That's the recording from Friday...It's for Lesley [Taylor].' 'You shouldn't have. Thank you very much.' 'Give me your waste bin and a pair of scissors,' Paul said. As Alistair [Taylor] handed them to him, McCartney pulled a spool of recording tape from his pocket. 'That's the tape from Friday,' he said as he picked up the scissors and proceeded to cut it into small pieces that fell into the waste bin. 'Now you have the only copy of that recording in the world,' he said with a broad smile. 'Thank you very much,' Alistair [Taylor] said. 'It's my way of saying “thank you,”' Paul said as he stood to leave the office. 'Just one thing, what's it called?' '”The Long And Winding Road,”' McCartney replied."

As you can probably surmise, this song is also about mclennon (like every beatles song if you really think about it). Let's take a look at the lyrics......

This specific road is the one Paul can see from his bedroom at his farmhouse with LINDA. (Excerpt from The Lyrics):

+ his quotes about the song........so........yeah............. (Excerpts from The Lyrics and Many Years From Now)

(Small side note, "Mull of Kintyre" is a Wings song, with these lyrics):

(I don't know man. I really don't know.) (anyway.)

+ John's quote from All We Are Saying

And then what really gets me is when they're recording it in the studio and Paul pissing John off like, 'nonono you have to play bass the way I would play bass on the song about you abandoning me and how I will never find anyone else like you' + George (Get Back, Ep.3, 13:04-16:00)

One more thing, Cynthia Lennon chose The Long and Winding Road as the Beatles song that described her life best (which oh my god. oh my god. can anyone hear me. oh my god)

youtube

#mclennon #feel free to add anything btw!!!

84 notes · View notes

westanleovaldito · 5 months ago

Note

ooo ok what about leo valdez x apollo! Reader where she’s really artsy and she makes this rlly pretty suncatcher and repair boy is like😍

Im answering my favourite of the inbox because im having a DAY yall. Anyway!! Please enjoy :>

"Any specific reason you're rootin' through my drawers?" Leo asks, leaning as far back as his chair will let him. His brown eyes shone amber in the light of the cabin.

"Nuh uh" the odd, hunched over creature replied, still crouched down with it's head in the desk.

Leo hummed, nodding as if that clearded everything up. "Any... specific thing you're looking for?"

The thing hummed before poking it's head up to reveal Leo's favourite Apollo kid. "Either some wire, or something shiny?"

Leo nodded again. "That's pretty on brand for you," he said, holding back a chuckle before shifting foreward once more. You couldn't see him, since he was behind the wall, but you heard the familiar rustle.

"Tadaaa!!" He beamed, excitedly rolling his chair back, holding a roll of copper wire up like some priceless tiara. He moved foreward, rolling the chair closer on his feet to hand it to your crouched form. "Anything else mi amor?" He hummed, cupping your jaw to kiss your forehead as he held the spool out to you.

You leaned into his warm, gentle touch. Pressing a kiss to his palm as you think. "Ive got some glass i need to cut and buff. Could i borrow your dremel tool?"

Leo paused, blinking at you a few times.

"What the fuck are you making?!"

"I DON'T QUESTION YOU!"

Leo sighed, running a greasy hand through his already greasy hair. it had been only a day and a half since you left the bunker. Leo had been alone for longer, but after he had grown accustomed to your happy presence bursting through the door, he quite missed you.

You weren't really known for vanishing like he was, but he knew you were working on something. He assumed it was for him, based off how little you told him, but this just... wasn't you. The worry was beginning to eat him alive when-

"LEOLEOLEO!" you called, pushing through the door with your shoulder.

He jumped, but quickly processed your cheery voice. "WHAT WHAT WHAT?!"

It was about 10pm, and you seemed to be fairly hyper. It was cute though, the way you bounced on your heels, beaming at him as you held a vertical box behind your back.

You took a breath, still beaming as you set the box on his desk, "Ok- so i started to feel really really bad that you always make me stuff, but I never make you stuff so-" you gently waved his hand away, now holding the box again to keep him off it. "-so I got thinking and I remembered the iddy biddy lil window in that room in the back and-" "ok baby," Leo stood, chuckling as he put his hands on your shoulder (getting black oil on your favourite hoodie) "Normally, I'd never interrupt your rants, but I think if you don't take a breath, you'll pass out"

He watched you take a deep breath, giggling as you made excessive eye contact, to emphasize how stupid you decided breathing was. Eventually, you gave up on the rant, and handed him the box with a smile.

He opened the box, cocking a faux-skeptical brow, before the gift was revealed.

It was a few scrap beads, red and orange and yellow, dangling below a stick Leo thought was cool. You found it on a walk, and he deemed it cool enough to stay in your cabin. There were a few bits of broken glass you managed to safely sand down and polish, even adding more and more sides to the reflective bits and bobs, he noticed some screws and bolts that had been through some evident scrubbing. He had never gotten a gift like this... with as much care and effort as he always put in.

The sun catcher was amateur, and it certainly wasn't professional, but it was from you. It had his favourite colours, a cool looking stick, and overall, love.

He looked up again, not realizing just how many tears he had in his eyes, "Th- thAnK yoU..." he sniffled, mentally kicking himself for the voice crack.

"Of course mi amor" you mutter softly, nodding as you move closer. You didn't really understand just how hard the nickname hit him. Way to kick him when he was down.

He moved forward to hug you, the hanging wire still dangling from the hand that now clutched at your shirt, shoving his face into the crook of your neck.

ok sorry yall, I know it took long!!! im working on the other things in my in box I SWEARR

#leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez headcanons #heroes of olympus x reader #leo valdez x reader smut

116 notes · View notes

norixseaweed · 2 months ago

Text

Between Rooms: Chapter 2 - Seunghwa

Title: Between RoomsRating: 18+ NSFW (MDNI) Characters: Seunghwa , Female Reader/You Contains: sensory play, blind folding, hand tying Masterlist Previous Chapter - Next Chapter Synopsis: Eight men. One house. And you, right in the middle of it. What started as a lucky break, an affordable room in a cozy mansion, quickly turned into something else entirely. You didn’t expect to bond with them so easily. You definitely didn’t expect the tension. Or the teasing glances. Or the way they touched you when no one else was around. this is a roommate AU A/N: PLEASE make sure to read the introduction on the masterlist first!!! Feel free to let me know what you think. Also I realized my Jongho chapter was too short so I tried to make this one longer! A/n 2: Let me know if I should do a tag list for one when I post a new chapter!

It was nearing 11PM when you padded softly through the dimly lit hallway, headed toward the kitchen for a late-night snack. As you passed by the familiar stretch of rooms, a soft glow caught your eye, the thin line of warm light leaking out from beneath Seonghwa’s office door.

Working late again.

It wasn’t unusual. In fact, it was routine. When Seonghwa was locked into a creative flow, he often lost track of time and almost always forgot to eat.

You grabbed a tray and began assembling something quick. A few frozen corn dogs went into the microwave, followed by a couple snack packs and two glasses of juice. You didn’t overthink it. This had become its own quiet ritual, checking in on him when the house was still and everyone else was winding down.

Tray in hand, you made your way back down the hall and gently knocked on the door with your foot.

“Come in!” came his voice steady, composed, but just a touch distracted.

“My hands are full,” you called back. “Can you get the door?”

A moment later, the handle turned and the door creaked open. Seonghwa greeted you with a faint smile and stepped aside to let you in.

“What’s all that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Late-night snack,” you said simply, moving to place the tray on the small coffee table in the corner of the room.

His office had a distinct Seonghwa air to it. Clean, curated, and stylish. On one side sat his dark wood desk, neatly arranged with sketchbooks, fabric swatches, and a softly glowing task lamp. Behind it, a tall shelf lined with books, design journals, and carefully labeled boxes. Across from the desk, a low leather sofa and the coffee table made the space feel warmer, more lived in.

The other side of the room was more chaotic, but still precise. Mannequins dressed in works-in-progress, a standing mirror with pins still stuck into the fabric, spools of thread organized by color on the wall. His designer’s corner. Creative energy hummed in the air.

“You didn’t have to bring all this,” he said gently, though his eyes flicked over the tray with clear appreciation.

“I figured you wouldn’t remember to eat otherwise.”

He exhaled softly through his nose. Half laugh, half surrender.

“You’re probably right.”

He sat down beside you on the sofa, reaching for a corn dog and taking a bite without hesitation.

You leaned back against the cushions, watching him chew. “Already working on something new? What happened to the last project?”

“Tossed it,” he said flatly, like it didn’t matter. Another bite followed.

Your brows pulled together. “Seriously? Why? I liked that one, it was beautiful.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It was fine. But fine isn’t enough.”

You huffed. “You say that about everything you make. At this rate, you’re going to have a closet full of ‘not enough’.”

He glanced at you, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But I’d rather trash something than send it out into the world half-satisfied.”

You shook your head, picking up a juice glass. “Perfectionist.”

“I prefer detail-oriented.”

You chuckled under your breath. “Sure. Let me know when you start sleeping regularly again.”

He leaned back against the sofa, the angle of his body just slightly tilted toward you now. “I don’t need sleep when I have snacks hand-delivered to me.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “You’re lucky I like feeding people who forget to eat.”

His gaze lingered on your face a second too long, long enough to make you pause.

You caught it, just barely, the way his eyes flicked down. From your lips…to your neck…then back up.

It was subtle. So quick it could’ve meant nothing. But it left something warm curling low in your stomach.

You didn’t say anything. And neither did he.

Instead, he turned back to the tray and reached for another snack, calm as ever, like he hadn’t just looked at you like that.

Like you hadn’t noticed.

But you had.

“Actually,” he said, setting the snack down, “I’m glad you stopped by. I think I need to see this one on an actual person.”

He turned his attention back to you. “Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

You gave a small nod, not needing much convincing. “Sure.”

Seonghwa’s smile was soft, but there was something else behind it, something unreadable. He rose from the couch and moved to the mannequin, carefully unfastening the garment with practiced ease. You stood and walked over as he held it out for you, the fabric draping elegantly over his arms.

You took the dress from him, and without another word, he quietly stepped out of the room to give you privacy.

The fabric felt cool and silky against your skin as you slipped it on. The dress was short, ending mid-thigh, with a flowing, asymmetrical hem that moved softly when you shifted your weight. One side clung slightly more to your curves, while the other dipped lower and hung freer.

What made it striking, though, was the open panel that ran along your left side. From just under your arm down to your hip, the dress was cut away, revealing the soft curve of your waist and a teasing glimpse of skin. A single delicate strap held the fabric together near the top, leaving the rest exposed in a sleek, elegant line.

You adjusted the fit, smoothing your hands down your hips as you turned slightly in front of the mirror.

The dress looked beautiful. It hugged your body in all the right places, but it was a little loose. The open side, while intentional, gaped more than expected when you moved. The top strap shifted slightly, not quite sitting the way it was meant to. Elegant, but unfinished.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Can I come in?” Seonghwa asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “Yeah.”

He stepped in and paused. His gaze moved over you slowly, studying the dress with that familiar critical eye. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he walked over, thoughtful.

“It’s too loose around the waist,” he said.

“I thought so too.”

He circled behind you, adjusting the fabric at your hip. His fingers brushed along your side, then moved up to test the tension at the strap near your shoulder. You felt the weight of each movement, measured, focused, but still so close to your skin.

“It’s the open cut,” he murmured. “It works when you’re standing still, but as soon as you move, the balance shifts.”

He didn’t sound frustrated, just analytical. His hands moved with practiced ease, tugging slightly, smoothing out a fold, then pressing the fabric more snugly against your waist. His fingers lingered where the fabric ended and skin began.

“I can pin it,” he said, glancing toward the table. “Just want to test how it’s meant to fall.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He returned with a pin cushion, then stepped in even closer. You felt his breath at your shoulder as he worked. The space between you had grown impossibly small.

He gathered the loose edge, folding it gently as his knuckles grazed your ribs. Every touch was focused on the dress, but you could feel something else under the surface. The way he held his breath. The way he looked at the place where skin met fabric.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath at your neck.

You didn’t.

His fingers worked slowly, pinning the fabric with care, but the focus had shifted. He wasn’t just adjusting the dress anymore. The pads of his fingers dragged lightly over your bare side, lingering longer than they needed to. His touch dipped just a little lower, grazing the dip of your waist.

He didn’t look at what he was doing. He was looking at you.

You felt it, his stare trailing over your cheek, then your lips, then lower. His gaze burned where it landed, and suddenly the silence between you felt like a held breath, waiting to snap.

His hand settled flat against your side.

Still.

Intentional.

“If I touch you again…” his voice dropped, darker now. “I won’t stop.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t pull away. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, barely there, but enough to make your knees tighten.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You’d always felt like there was something unspoken between the two of you.

Over time, you started to notice the little things, subtle details that never felt accidental. The way Seonghwa’s hand would linger just a beat too long when he adjusted a necklace or smoothed a wrinkle in your sleeve. How his fingers would graze your skin under the guise of fixing something, precise yet gentle. The way his eyes would drop to your lips mid-conversation, not in an obvious, hungry way, but with quiet curiosity. Like he was thinking about something he’d never say out loud.

You caught him watching you more than once. Not in any blatant or inappropriate way. Just...observing. Like he was studying something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And you weren’t innocent in it either.

There were moments when you caught yourself staring, a little too long, at his hands as he worked, how precise and careful they were. Or when he was dressed a little too well, sleeves rolled up, collar loose, skin at his neck soft and distracting. You’d bitten your lip and looked away more times than you cared to admit.

Worse were the nights you’d fantasized about him, quietly, guiltily. Thoughts that slipped into your head when you were alone in bed, half-asleep and craving something...more. You’d picture the way his voice might sound in your ear, the way his hands might feel if he stopped holding back. You never let yourself linger too long on those thoughts. But they were there.

You’d always kept it controlled. Silent. Respectful. Just like he had.

But then came that night.

The two of you had watched Fifty Shades of Grey on a whim. A bored evening turned conversation starter. What followed had been surprisingly open, an honest and mature discussion about BDSM, limits, preferences. What intrigued you. What didn’t. What you hadn’t yet tried.

There were no smirks. No teasing. Just quiet, thoughtful words in dim lighting. Like neither of you wanted to risk breaking the stillness between you.

But something shifted that night.

After that, the space between you felt charged. His glances felt heavier. Your awareness of him sharpened. And the tension… the tension became constant.

A pull. A silence that waited.

And tonight, in the warmth of his studio, as his hand settled on your waist and his voice dropped lower...

You realized it had never just been in your head.

You looked up at him, and this time, you didn’t look away.

His gaze met yours. Steady. Searching.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt too still, too thick, like something about to tip over.

His hand didn’t leave your waist. If anything, it pressed a little more firmly against your skin.

His eyes stayed locked on yours.

He was waiting for an answer, but truthfully? He couldn't resist anymore. Not with the way you were looking at him, wide-eyed, breath caught somewhere in your throat, pupils blown with need.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his right hand slid upward, fingers gliding slowly along your neck. The warmth of his touch made you shiver, and when his hand cupped your jaw, you felt your knees threaten to give way.

Then his lips met yours.

It was slow at first, soft, tentative. Like he didn’t want to scare the moment away. You kissed him back, breath catching as if you’d been holding it for far too long. His grip on your waist tightened, anchoring you in place as the kiss deepened. What started gentle became something more, a quiet unraveling between you both.

Your fingers curled into the collar of his crisp white dress shirt, pulling him closer, trying to close what little space remained. The fabric shifted under your touch, warm from his body heat.

Seonghwa pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering close enough that you could still taste him. His breath was steady but deliberate, eyes heavy-lidded as he studied your face.

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. Not right away. The silence said enough, but you still gave him more.

You leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his. “What if I don’t?”

Your voice came out low, almost a whisper. It wasn’t really a question. It was a challenge.

His expression shifted instantly. His gaze darkened. The grip on your jaw tightened.

He kissed you again, harder this time. Like he was claiming something he’d waited too long to touch. Your mouths moved in sync, your body responding instinctively. When his tongue pushed past your lips, you welcomed it, meeting him with equal need. A soft moan escaped your throat as you rose onto your toes, desperate to stay connected.

Again, he pulled away, but not far. His forehead pressed against yours, and his thumb brushed gently over your cheek.

“I’ve been wanting to make you my toy for a while now.”

The words sent a pulse between your legs, and you bit your bottom lip, your gaze glassy with lust.

“Of course,” he added, voice softer now, “only if you’re okay with that. Do you want that?”

You nodded quickly.

“I need to hear you say it, love.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I want you to make me your toy.”

It came out more eager than you intended. He smiled.

“Good.”

He reached for the hem of your dress. “Let’s get you out of this.”

With gentle hands, he helped you undress, peeling the garment from your body and letting it fall aside. You stood in nothing but your underwear, bare-chested, though that wasn’t unusual for you at home.

Seonghwa walked the dress over to the mannequin, smoothing it neatly into place. Then he reached for something on the table. A silk scarf.

You watched as he folded it carefully, his expression calm, focused.

He stepped toward you and brought the scarf to your eyes. His hands moved slowly as he tied it around your head and secured the knot behind.

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I use the traffic light system,” you replied, steady despite the way your heartbeat picked up. “Red, yellow, green.”

Seonghwa hummed in approval.

You felt his hands glide down your arms, soft and unhurried, until his fingers laced with yours. He guided you gently across the room, and you followed without hesitation. You trusted him. You always had. He’d never given you a reason not to.

When he stopped, so did you.

You heard the faint sound of papers being moved. Then drawers opening and closing. His presence disappeared briefly, then returned just as suddenly. His hands were at your hips again, warm and firm, guiding you back until the backs of your thighs hit a flat surface.

The edge of his desk.

You let out a soft breath just before he lifted you effortlessly onto it.

Then came the warmth of his breath against your neck. The heat of it made you shiver again, skin prickling as anticipation danced down your spine. His lips hovered there, brushing lightly, teasing without touching. You squirmed, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

His hands slid up your thighs, bare, sensitive, his fingers tracing your shape with practiced slowness. Like he was outlining something precious.

You felt his tongue press hot and wet against your neck, dragging slowly upward until it reached your earlobe. The breath that followed was warm. Then his teeth grazed the delicate skin, nibbling gently, enough to send a shiver straight down your spine.

“Can I leave marks on you?” he murmured, voice husky and low, vibrating against your skin.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Good.”

He moved back down, lips finding your neck again, kissing with purpose this time. He took his time, dragging his mouth along your skin as if searching for something. The moment your breath hitched, he paused, lips hovering.

Then he latched on.

The suction sent a moan slipping past your lips, and you felt his smirk against your throat. His fingers slid along your ribs, slow and sure, before cupping your breasts in both hands. He kneaded gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as his mouth stayed busy on your neck.

When he was satisfied with the mark he left there, he trailed kisses downward, past your collarbone. He paused again, lips sealing over your skin, drawing another bruise just beneath your collar. You gasped softly, back arching just enough for your chest to meet his hands.

Your fingers moved without thinking, tangling in his hair.

“Hands down,” he growled against your skin, his voice firm and unyielding. “No touching.”

You obeyed immediately, hands releasing, dropping back to your sides.

“Yes, Sir.”

He pulled back. You could feel the shift in his energy, though you couldn’t see it, not with the blindfold still tied over your eyes. The darkness sharpened every sound, every movement, every pause. Your breath quickened.

The anticipation made you ache.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, his voice lower now, smoother. “Just like a doll.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but before you could respond, you felt his fingers again, this time pinching your already sensitive nipples.

“And this doll is all mine to play with, isn’t that right?”

He pinched harder.

You gasped, a sharp yelp escaping before you could stop it. The sting caught you off guard after all the delicate touches. But it wasn’t unwelcome. You squirmed, your thighs pressing together involuntarily, hands gripping the edge of the desk for grounding.

“Y-yes, Sir.”

He smirked. You couldn’t see it, but you felt it in the way his fingers lingered.

“Good girl.”

He released your nipples slowly, then placed one hand on your shoulder, the other at your waist. His touch guided you backward.

“Lie back.”

You did as told, allowing him to ease you down until your back met the cool surface of the desk. The shift left you fully exposed, breath quick and chest rising, your body laid out and waiting.

You couldn’t see him.

But you could feel the weight of his stare.

And it made you tremble.

You lay there across his desk, chest rising and falling, body humming from his last touch. The blindfold kept everything hidden, but your other senses were on high alert, every sound, every shift in the air sharpened.

You felt him step closer again. His hands found yours, fingers curling gently around your wrists.

“Give them to me,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking the command.

You offered your arms without hesitation.

He lifted them slowly above your head, and then you heard the sound, the faint metallic clink of something being unhooked. A moment later, your wrists were brought together and secured with rope. It wasn’t rough or tight, but it was firm. Purposeful. You could feel the tension in the knot as he tested it with a gentle tug.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

You swallowed, skin tingling.

He leaned close, lips brushing your temple as he whispered, “You look so good like this.”

Then, without warning, his presence disappeared. His warmth vanished from your skin, and you were left alone, blindfolded, bound, laid out across his desk in silence.

The air felt cooler without him.

You heard movement. A few soft footfalls. A cabinet opening. Then nothing.

The stillness made your heart beat louder in your chest. You shifted slightly, testing the rope. It held. The wait was driving you crazy, but it was thrilling all the same.

You didn’t know how long he was gone. Ten seconds? Thirty? A minute? It was hard to tell with your pulse pounding in your ears.

Then you felt it.

A faint breeze. His return.

He moved silently, but you could hear the slight clink of something being set down. Then—

Something cold touched your skin.

You gasped.

A small cube of ice dragged slowly across your sternum, trailing a line of chill in its path. Your back arched instinctively, wrists tugging at the restraint above your head.

He said nothing.

Just let the silence work with the sensation as he continued tracing down to your navel, the contrast of cold ice on warm skin making you squirm.

“You feel that?” he finally asked, voice low and calm again.

You nodded, lips parting around a soft moan.

“Good. Let’s see how much you can take.”

The first cube melted slowly under his touch, trailing drops of cold water down your stomach. Each drag sent a new jolt of sensation through your body, sweet and sharp, your skin responding with goosebumps wherever the ice kissed it.

You whimpered softly, hips shifting against the desk, but he offered no mercy. No words. Only that slow, relentless path.

When the last bit of the cube melted between his fingers, he stepped away again.

You heard it this time, ice clinking in a glass, the low sound of him picking another piece up. But when he returned, you didn’t feel anything immediately. You felt him hovering close, his breath warm near your shoulder. You waited.

Then something impossibly cold grazed your collarbone.

But it wasn’t his hand.

Your breath caught.

His mouth.

You felt the smooth curve of ice, pressed between his lips, being dragged slowly across your skin. The sensation was overwhelming, heat from his breath, chill from the melting cube, the softness of his lips ghosting over you all at once.

A gasp escaped you, sharp and involuntary.

“Oh?” he murmured softly against your skin, lips curling slightly around the melting ice. “Sensitive here?”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He slid the ice lower, moving to the swell of your breast, circling just beneath it, letting the water trail downward. The contrast made you tremble, your nipples already tight and aching from earlier. When he pulled away and blew lightly across the wet path he’d just traced, your entire body jolted.

“Such beautiful reactions,” he muttered. “I could do this all night.”

The cube slipped from his mouth into his hand, and a moment later he brought it directly to your nipple. He rolled it slowly over the stiff peak, then pinched it lightly with his chilled fingers.

You cried out, thighs pressing together again, bound hands clenching the rope.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice quiet but edged with control.

“Yes,” you gasped.

His lips brushed your ear.

“Good girl.”

His hand drifted lower, fingers dragging cool water trails down your stomach. The shift in temperature had your whole body on edge, twitching with every pass. Then his touch paused at your hip.

“Let’s get these off,” he said, fingers curling around the sides of your panties.

You lifted your hips instinctively as he slid the fabric down your thighs and off your legs. The air felt colder now against your bare skin, amplified by the slow melt of ice still clinging to your body.

You heard the soft clink again, another cube taken from the glass.

Then a drop of cold water landed just above your slit.

You gasped, spine arching slightly off the desk.

A moment later, you felt his fingers part you and then something cold pressed directly against your entrance. Not ice. His finger. Wet, chilled, and unhurried as it stroked over your folds, circling your clit without touching it directly.

The sharp chill made your hips jerk, your body desperate for more. But he took his time.

“So sensitive,” he murmured. “You’re already dripping.”

His cold fingertip slipped lower, collecting your arousal before teasing your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Just circled lazily, letting you squirm beneath his touch.

You let out a soft, desperate sound. He smirked.

“Patience.”

Then finally, finally, his finger sank into you, slow and deep. You gasped again, the contrast of his chilled skin inside your heat making your thighs tremble. He moved at a steady pace, curling just enough to make you whimper, then pulling back again.

He added a second finger, this one warmer, letting the cold fade as he stretched you just right. The mix of temperatures, his steady rhythm, the sound of your own slickness filling the room, it was overwhelming.

He pressed his thumb gently against your clit, still avoiding full pressure, just letting it hover and tease.

You tugged at the rope instinctively, breath coming in ragged waves.

“Please,” you whispered.

His voice came close, lips brushing your ear again.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Please… touch me more. Don’t stop,” you gasped.

“Good girl.”

Then he started to move with purpose.

His fingers thrust deeper, firmer, curling just right while his thumb finally applied pressure to your clit. Your breath hitched, body tightening, your thighs pressing in toward his wrist.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Look at how you take it, like you were made for this.”

Your body trembled beneath his touch. His fingers worked you open with slow precision, and his thumb circled your clit in just the right way, just the right rhythm. You could feel it rising, the sharp, coiling heat in your belly about to break.

So close.

“Seonghwa–” you gasped, your voice cracking. “I’m gonna–”

His fingers stopped instantly.

You let out a broken cry, hips bucking for friction that didn’t come. Your body pulsed helplessly around nothing.

“Not yet,” he said softly.

You whimpered, the ache between your legs now unbearable.

“I didn’t say you could come.”

He pulled his fingers out of you, dragging them slow and wet over your inner thigh as if to mock how ready you were. Then he leaned forward and kissed your stomach once, a deceptively sweet gesture after what he’d just taken away.

Your wrists tugged at the rope above you, your body twitching with frustration.

Seonghwa reached up and loosened the knot just enough to lower your arms. Still restrained, but flexible now. His hands returned to your waist and guided you toward the edge of the desk, your back shifting across the surface until your ass met the edge, thighs parted slightly for him.

You could hear the soft metallic slide of his belt.

The slow unzipping of his pants.

Then his voice, low and close again.

“Let me show you what good girls get.”

You felt the heat of his cock brush against your inner thigh first, then slide through your folds, hot, heavy, and teasing. He rocked his hips slowly, coating himself in your slick without pushing in.

“You want it?” he asked, nudging the head of his cock right at your entrance.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you gasped, thighs trying to push forward. “Please.”

He pressed in slowly, stretching you inch by inch until he was fully inside you.

Your breath hitched. It was deep, overwhelming, the fullness making your body freeze before you melted into it.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

He stayed still for a moment, just letting you adjust. Then he pulled back, slow and deliberate, before thrusting in again with more force.

Your hands clenched in the loosened rope above you, moaning as the desk creaked beneath you from the movement.

His pace built, first steady and deep, then faster. Rougher.

“You were made for this,” he growled, one hand gripping your hip tight while the other slid up your ribs, holding you in place as he fucked you harder. “You’re mine.”

His thrusts deepened, rhythm growing rougher, sharper. The desk creaked beneath you with every snap of his hips, but all you could focus on was the way he filled you, how he hit every spot like he knew your body better than you did.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. You weren’t even thinking anymore, just reacting, letting the sensations drag you closer and closer to the edge he’d denied you before.

“Please,” you panted, head falling back. “Please, can I come?”

Seonghwa didn’t answer with words. He angled his hips, his next thrust hitting deeper, right there, and his hand dropped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit. This time, there was no teasing. Just pressure and rhythm and raw, desperate friction.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice low and breathless. “Now.”

You shattered.

Your body tensed around him, thighs shaking, the orgasm ripping through you fast and hard after everything he’d built up. You cried out, fingers twisting in the rope, mouth falling open as your muscles clenched around him again and again.

Seonghwa groaned, his rhythm stuttering as you pulsed around him.

“Fuck– you’re perfect.”

He thrust a few more times, sharp and deep, chasing his own release. You felt his breath catch before he pressed in one last time, his body going rigid. He came with a low, guttural sound, buried deep inside you, one hand gripping your hip so tight you knew you’d feel it tomorrow.

You both stayed still for a moment, just breathing. Skin flushed. Hearts pounding.

Then, slowly, he eased out of you. You let out a soft whimper at the loss.

His hands were warm again when they reached for the scarf, gently untying the blindfold first. You blinked up at him, eyes adjusting to the light, to his gaze now soft instead of dark.

He brushed your hair from your face with one hand, then moved to untie your wrists. Once your arms were free, he brought both your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle now.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “More than okay.”

He smiled faintly and helped guide you upright, hands never leaving your body. One at your back, the other steady at your waist.

“I’ll clean you up,” he said. “Just stay here.”

You didn’t argue. You let him move around you, let him wipe your thighs and skin with soft, warm cloths. Every touch was tender. No rush, no expectation. Just him taking care of you, just as thoroughly as he’d undone you.

When he was done, he grabbed a throw blanket from the nearby chair and draped it around your shoulders, then leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“You did so well for me,” he murmured, pulling you gently into his arms.

You rested your head against his chest, breath finally slowing, and let the silence settle around you, this time soft and full.

Next Chapter

#seunghwa smut #seunghwa fanfic #seunghwa fic #seunghwa #park seunghwa #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez x reader #seunghwa x reader #seunghwa x you #ateez x you #between rooms #my fic #my story

93 notes · View notes

kandlewick · 1 year ago

Text

In the Queendom of Roses, where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes. gn reader x rook, a howl's moving castle au pt. 1 2

You, being born the eldest of three, always knew you wouldn't make it far in life. It was to be expected after all. You were fated to fail first and worst out of your siblings. When your siblings both were able to conjure magic from a young age, you could hardly blow a breeze. It would have been embarrassing if you hadn't already humbled yourself as a child. Of course you weren't anything special. The world needed normal, ordinary people too after all. So what if you weren't able to attend fancy colleges and gain the attention of the headmage Ambrose like your sibling had. There was nothing for you to be jealous of because you never aimed higher then what you could reach.

And so, here you were, employed — stuck — at your family's prized hat shop, sitting alone in your little alcove with only your hats as company. It was quiet, some might think too quiet, but it was where you were most comfortable. No expectations, no commentary, just you, your utensils, and your craftsmanship.

You handled your hats with care, quietly whispering blessings with each stitch. They were your creations after all. You might not amount to much but your hats would. They would settled themselves on to the heads of the busy housewives, the men of the army, and the young lovers, each with their own story to tell. You would flatter the hats, just as you would your customers.

"You," handling a small cap adorned with a veil and knot, "will surely be given to someone of glamor and beauty. They won't be able to keep their eyes off of you" You set it out amongst your most prized hats, quietly adjusting it atop the display. This one was made using expensive but durable material. It wouldn't do to have it placed sloppily. It deserved the best.

"And you," you smiled with a small chuckle, picking up a white fedora with a gaudy ribbon tied around it, "will go to a wonderfully handsome man with a good heart, I'm sure of it." It was a rather silly hat, made last minute with some left over materials, but it was sturdy all the same. The colors were also popular in the Queendom of Roses, especially amongst the card soldiers employed at the castle. Maybe one of them might stumble upon your little hat shop and spy this hat in the window.

You talked to your hats more and more as the weeks went by. You were good at selling them so it wasn't hard keeping yourself afloat. Just the other day, one of the Queen's card soldiers had come in to your shop, a man with hair the color of clovers, and sheepishly asked if he could see that one white fedora in the window. He claimed that for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about it when he had gone off shift and needed to know if it was still available. It was a good sale and you're glad your hat went off to a good owner.

But then one day, on a particularly strenuous and busy day, you found yourself stuck wit horrible artist block. No matter how much you tried, you couldn't find any sort of inspiration for a new hat. Hours were wasted while you wiled away at your desk. Nothing worked and you found yourself teary eyed, sniffling loudly as you rubbed at your burning eyes, spools of ribbon and fabric lying all around you.

"Truly," you sobbed, heart aching, "being the oldest child is the worst curse you can be given."

What good were you if you couldn't even do the one thing you had some modicum of talent for? So what if your shop was popular?Surely this is where you peaked, alone with only the company of your hats. While your siblings were off making their fortune, surrounded by friends and loved ones, you sat here alone in an empty shop. You had no friends to speak of, the only time you ever talked was when your customers gossiped at you and finally it seemed the dam you had tried so hard to ignore had finally broke. The waves of your bottled up emotions drained out of you in waves and you could hardly stand it. What was the point of youth? Compared to others your age, you felt so old, so decrepit. Your bones ached from your poor posture, your hair thinning from the stress, and your eyes were circled with what could be mistaken for charcoal. You have never felt more unfit of your young age in your life.

In your sorrow, you spotted a purple hunter's hat — an incredibly gaudy thing you had made in an attempt to create something, anything of worth — and for the first time in your life, you cursed one of your creations.

"Surely only someone who finds beauty in anything will find any use of you!"

But the days go on whether you liked them to or not. You opened your store once again and quietly pushed down your feelings. You sat in your little alcove again today, quietly and mindlessly stitching something on to another, when you heard the tall tale sign of someone entering your shop. A small jingle followed the stranger as they ducked in almost silently. You inwardly sighed, slouching against your seat, but got up all the same. It wouldn't do not to be polite. You didn't have the fortune to afford it.

"Good evening," You plastered on a small smile at the stranger, a man, before you stopped and actually got a good look of him. He was quite tall, casting a lovely slender figure with his elaborate blonde hair, and was garbed in a bright and obviously expensive purple. His sleeves trailed longer than any you've seen before, all delicate trim and golden weaves. He even wore perfume too. The subtle smell of hyacinths followed him as he turned and smiled, his bright emerald eyes crinkling with delight.

"Bonne soirée!" He eagerly returned your greeting, with a bob of his head, his hand to his chest. You blinked up at him, mildly surprised at his mannerisms but chose not to acknowledge it, instead choosing to respond in kind.

"I've never seen you before," You admitted softly, watching as he slowly turned to admire your work. It wasn't too uncommon for customers to want to see everything but there was something different about this man. The way his eyes never glazed over as he looked, almost as if he was inspecting each one in great detail, almost made you embarrassed. Most people would just mindlessly look for something to catch their fancy but this man seemed almost entranced, as if each piece was a work of art. You both stood there in silence until the strange man seemed to snap out of his trance, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Were those tears in his eyes?!

"Ah, forgive me," He apologized, "I was simply admiring them. Is this all your work?" He appeared almost eager for a response, his head bobbed to the side.

You nodded sheepishly, "Yes, these are all my work. It's my job. When I'm not up front with the customers, I'm in my workshop creating them."

His smile, once subdued and quiet, widened. He took your calloused hands in his own and squeezed them. You flushed and scrambled away but his grip was too tight, not uncomfortably so, but enough that it felt too rude to rip your hands away...

"You're incredibly talented, mon ami!" He spoke with such reverence, "All of these hats, each more enchanting then the next, were obviously created from the hands of an artist!" The strange man spoke with such conviction, he almost had you believing him. You could smell the hyacinth even clearer now from your close proximity to him and it nearly made your head spin. What a courtly person!

The stranger, his hands still firmly clasped around your own, turned back to admire your hats. "Each stitch is full of magic, I've never seen anything quiet like it before."

"I - sir, I appreciate your words but I fear they're wasted on me," You let out a nervous laugh as your heart thumped in your chest, its excited beating feeling like it was about to jump straight out or your chest, "They're just hats."

The blonde man was quick to deny this, his hair rolling down his shoulders in waves, "I beg to differ, mon petite souris! Even someone such as I can see all the hard work you've put in to these! There's no need to be so humble!"

Humble! Hardly! If only he knew how you've been the past few days, stuck in your artist block, unable to dig your way out of it. He was wrong! So, so so wrong! You were nothing! This wasn't talent, this was just you using up all the luck left that had been given to you. With an almost annoyed huff, you were quick to free your hands from the strangers embrace and hid them away in your aprons front pocket. Your fingers were shaking.

"I... appreciate your kind words but I do have a business to run," You put on your best customer service voice you could muster and looked away from the man, not seeing the soft crestfallen expression forming on his face. His eyes narrowed but he made no move to reach back out and instead, his voice lowered in to an apologetic tone.

"You're right, mon petite souris. Perhaps in my admiration, I got a bit too excited." The blonde man's gloved hand came to rest against his chest and he gave a small nod of his head towards you, trying to catch your eye, "My apologies."

Well, now on top of your horrible mood, you felt bad. You let out an equally remorseful sigh, and turned back to him but he wasn't looking at you anymore. Instead, his gaze was over your shoulder, looking past you to the lone purple hunter's cap hidden away in the back. The very hat you had cursed.

"If I may be forward," He began slowly while his eyes reluctantly looked away to meet your own, "As an apology, I'd like to purchase that hat from you. Name your price."

You gave him a look but turned to grab it. The feather tucked inside of the red around the brim bobbed as you picked it up.

"This thing?" You asked, "I don't think it's any good. I made it on a whim and —"

Rook slowly plucked it from your hand and admired it for himself, turning it this way and that. His smile was sad but he accepted it all the same, "I think it is a lovely hat," he lowered his head and slid in on top of his blonde hair. It was strange, the hat seemed to... belong with him. While the hat itself was hardly anything to look at on its own, it matched his whole ensemble, like it was a piece of the puzzle that had been missing the whole time.

"How much?" He asked, utterly enamored by his reflection.

You watched from beside him, eyes avoiding your own form, but you offered his reflection a small smile and a shake of your head, "It's free. I couldn't charge you after I was so rude to you."

The stranger's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, his bright green eyes meeting your own, but they were quick to narrow in delight. His lips curled into a smile.

"Thank you, mon petite souris, I will treasure it."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" As much as you wanted to get back to your work, you couldn't help but silently wish for a few more moments with this stranger. He was so oddly charming.

"Non, non, you've done more then enough for me today." He bowed his head, the feather on his hat bobbing with the movement, and quietly made his way to the door. His steps were silent all the way. "I have much I need to do an I have left two others waiting for my company long enough." And with a final wave of his hand, the strange man exited the shop.

You stood there longer then you should've, staring at the door, his words quietly echoing in your mind.

"All of these hats, each more enchanting then the next, were obviously created from the hands of an artist!"

You scoffed but smiled all the same. Courtly men like that just say things to gain favors. He must've been just trying to butter you up. You shook your head. It was almost a shame you'd never see the man again.

The quiet was soon shattered by a bustle of women worriedly entering the shop, each one calling out for you in worried tones. One of your regulars, an elderly woman was quick to push past the others and hurry her way to you. Her arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders and pulled you down to her height, "Oh, you poor thing!"

"Huh?" You blinked as she pulled away to look you over. Why was everyone so worried about you? "Whats gotten in to you all?"

"Whats gotten in to us?" She shrieked, her feet stomping into your worn floor, "What's gotten in to you! Do you know just who that man was?"

The man? The blonde, courtly man?

"Yes! That man!" She hollered, "That's the wizard Rook! Rook Hunt! The man who eats the hearts of those he sets his sights on! The one with the moving castle!!"

Oh? Oh! Oh.

You just gave the great wizard Rook Hunt an ugly hat.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #reader insert #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader

250 notes · View notes

ratcatcher0325 · 7 months ago

Text

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #35)

Chapter #35. SURPRISE!!!🎄 🎁 Merry Christmas! 🎁🎄 I couldn't leave us on that big of a cliffhanger! Not on Christmas! Anyway, here is a little holiday gift from me to you. I want to sincerely thank everyone in this community who takes the time to read this story. I am so grateful for each and every one of you! Where is Natalie taking Alexander? Is he going to love it or hate it? It's usually 50/50 with him.

Previous: Chapter #34

Next: Chapter #36

Word Count: 8,756 Read Time: Approx. 90 mins

CW: Physical intimacy. SO much physical intimacy.

Btw, DM me if you wanna be added to the tag list!

___________________________________

A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #35: La Petite Aiguille

[Alexander’s POV]

Rows upon rows of bolts of fabric in every color, shade and pattern I could fathom, lined the walls. Custom racks accommodated spools of thread all arranged in the gradient of the rainbow, while tungsten sconces bathed the room in an orange, electric glow. The solid wood beams of the ceiling gave the room an old-fashioned gravitas, while the smell of polished wood and starched linen ignited my olfactory senses.

Everything was immaculately organized, each thread having its place.

There was a break in the floor-to-ceiling shelves on the left, where a maroon curtain separated us from whatever lay on the opposite side.

On display on the tables in front of us and on the counters of the classical oak desk that served as the register, were mannequins sporting all kinds of clothing, from impressive gowns fit for a runway stage, to elaborate, themed costumes, to, yes, even beautifully crafted suits in every cut.

But the best part?

Every single article of clothing on display, from the dresses, to the outfits, the hats and shoes, were perfectly proportioned to my dimensions. This entire, wonderful place accommodated people like me.

I stared, slack jawed, unable to believe this wasn’t some sort of very realistic dream, when I felt Natalie’s gaze on me, “What do you think? This is supposed to be the best place in all of Massachusetts…” She hummed softly, the fingers of her left hand stroking the outside of the pocket, about level with my chest.

Unable to tear my eyes away, I swallowed, gripping the fabric to keep from showing her any pathetic emotions, “I—“

Before I had a chance to complete, or even begin, that thought, the sharp clink of metal rings sliding across a curtain rod hit my ears, as someone crossed the threshold.

My heart jumped. Another human. What was this one going to be like?

My hands itched for something to defend myself with. Whether she could feel my body stiffen, or just guessed by instinct, Natalie gently pressed her fingers over my heart, caressing my forearm with her thumb. I looked up to catch her gaze. Her eyes seemed calm, reassuring. I did my level best to relax.

As the figure crossed behind the main desk, I endeavored to take in all of her details, reading her for any signs, positive or negative.

Her hair was cut short, tight pin curls looping and twisting in a gravity defying mop of pure white. Her keen, bright eyes shone beyond the rim of her, golden reading glasses, perched low on her nose. Her vintage jewelry, including an elegant gold watch, sparkled in the light of the lamp beside her. Her outfit was clearly custom made, a beautiful matching vest and skirt in warm earth tones, with white dress sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hands were lithe, yet possessed a certain air of intentionality with every move she made. She held a leather bound tome under her arm.

“Apologies for the wait, we’re at the peak of our holiday orders at the moment. How can I help you?” She locked eyes with Natalie, seemingly not noticing me quite yet. Her voice was soft and clear as a bell. She set down her book, cracking it open and scribbled something along its many columns and rows. Natalie stepped up to the counter as she spoke. I leaned forward, enjoying the swooping, artistic motions of her calligraphic script as she wrote in incredibly ornate cursive.

“Oh, hello, there.” She’d stopped writing. I looked up to find her gaze, dulled with age but not without a keen spark, was fixed on me.

I clenched my jaw as I hardly dared to breathe… I waited for the condescending comment to come next. She leaned down to address me again, “Sir? What can I do for you today?” A smile played about her lips, but it was far from anything like a sneer. It was warm, friendly.

I breathed a sigh of relief. She was waiting for my reply. She was addressing me directly. I cleared my throat. “I, uh, I believe I’m here to purchase a suit.” I raised my voice to cover the distance, trying to sound like I did this sort of thing all the time.

“More than just one. He’d like to be fitted today, please.” I whipped over my shoulder to look up at Natalie. Was she serious? When I met her eyes, she nodded and winked at me.

“So you want the full custom package?” The woman looked at me, I looked to Natalie, Natalie nodded in the affirmative. The human across from us checked her wrist, nodding with an exact precision I couldn’t help but admire, “Perfect timing. I believe I can squeeze you in between our other standing consultations. Right this way.” She motioned for us to follow her into the curtained room.

We entered the back area and were greeted by two tables with ornate lion’s paw legs. The one on the left was piled with fabric, neatly folded, with tools of the trade including rulers, pushpins, scissors and measuring tape. On the right, the surface of the table was bare, save a series of pristine white boxes, each sitting side by side, along its center. I wondered what those were.

Instead, we curved toward the left. I supposed I’d just have to wait to find out more.

We came to a stop in front of the table with its neatly organized tools. I was beginning to deeply appreciate the pristine organization of this place. It was far more comforting than Natalie’s rat’s nest approach to every inch of her living space, though I'd managed to train her out of her most egregious lifestyle habits.

I was torn from my musing when fingers descended all around me, the pad of Natalie’s thumb resting over my chest while two fingers hooked under my arms as she applied light pressure.

I met her eyes to see her arched brow, as she sought permission to pick me up and set me down. With a curt nod from me, she lifted me up and out, placing me on my own two feet in the center of the table. As she fished for my crutch, the other woman approached the table, setting a clipboard and red ink pen down on the surface beside me.

She adjusted her glasses as she pulled the chain to a lamp behind me, bathing my surroundings in a soft glow. I couldn’t help but notice the way my jaw involuntarily clenched and I held my breath as her arm loomed overhead.

I realized with a sharp pang the indignity that was about to commence.

Natalie was finally granting me the opportunity to dress like the gentleman I was, a wonderful thing indeed, but… no tailored suit, big or small, was possible without acquiring that gentleman’s measurements.

I felt a twist in my stomach, as I pictured being pinched, grabbed, and puppeted about like a doll, as string was cinched too tightly around my arm or leg to quantify the size of limbs. This strange woman’s hands who I’d admired from a distance for their precision and poise, now intimidated me in the lamplight, seeming too aged, bony and frighteningly precise in their movements to be anything but painful when they seized me.

The liver spots that dotted her arm, the thin and almost papery nature of her skin that displayed the blue veins snaking beneath and the pronounced knuckles on her arthritic, littlest fingers all reminded me of a particular set of hands I’d fought very hard to forget.

“… Alexander?” The present circumstance came back into crystal clear focus at the sound of my name from Natalie’s lips. I blinked hard and looked up at where the sound had come from. Her finger and thumb held my crutch between them, as she bent at the waist to address me, her brow slightly furrowed with worry, she gently brushed my arm with the side of her curled fingers, nudging me back into reality, “… Here you go.” She offered me my walking aide, and I cleared my throat, taking it from her while staring at the floor.

“Ah, is that your name? I don’t think we got properly introduced.” This time it was that voice that tinkled like a bell in my ears. I’d admit, it had a pleasant ring, despite my trepidations, “Hello, Alexander, I’m Marianne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She offered a finger to shake. I admit, I was taken aback. Why was she so courteous? She was smiling at me.

It put me on edge.

When was she going to burst into laughter? Was it when I gave in to her invitation to shake, like equals, only for her to pull her hand away? Or would it be the moment I turned over my shoulder where she’d take the opportunity to snatch me up by the collar? I refused to believe this wasn’t an act.

She was still offering her finger.

I was taking too long, if I waited much more I’d be questioned.

I took a few steps forward and stiffly shook the pad of her finger with my hand. Immediately retreating the few steps back when it was over. Good. No funny business. Not yet. I decided as long as she continued this charade of being polite, I’d do the same. An eye for an eye and all that.

“Well, we’re delighted to have you here. And what’s your name, young lady?” Natalie introduced herself and shook hands with the older woman with a warmth I found reassuring. “Welcome to La Petite Aiguille.” I suppose she thought that name was terribly clever. How gouche. Of course, she probably assumed I couldn’t understand French, which would be a false assumption.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, as she addressed us again, “May I interest either of you in any refreshments?” She had my attention, now, as she acquainted us with our options. I ordered herbal tea, Natalie chose coffee. The woman, Marianne, excused herself to prepare them both.

After the clack of the woman’s shoes on the hardwood faded, Natalie leaned down, resting her chin on her forearm, setting down her free hand close to where I stood, “So? Whaddya think?” Her eyes gleamed. Always so excitable, wasn’t she?

“It…” I felt heat rise in my face. I mustn’t come across like some giddy child let loose in a toy store, “It seems like a professional and respectable establishment.”

Her face fell, she was clearly hoping for more enthusiasm from me, but I was far too embarrassed to show her just how excited I was. Before she could form a response, Marianne returned with a tray, including a steaming mug of coffee I could’ve taken a dip in if I so chose, as well as a teapot, mug and saucer balanced on an embossed tray, all sized to me. But that was not all. In hand, she also clutched a proportional end table and chair which she gingerly placed beside me. I served myself the tea as she continued.

“As you can see we specialize in custom clothing for those of nimbler proportions than our own.” Nimbler, eh? I quite liked that. “So what’re we getting outfitted for today? A holiday party? Gala? Wedding?” Me? At a human wedding? I nearly spit a mouthful of tea back into the cup.

“No, nothing like that.” Natalie swooped in to save the conversation, “He just likes to be sharply dressed. Personally, I love lounging at home in sweats and a t-shirt but this one wants cufflinks and starched collars.” Her index finger brushed the toe of my shoe, “He’s suffered for way too long in casual clothes. Now that he’s more healed up, he deserves to dress to the nines every day if he wants to.” She winked at me. My heart knocked at my ribs. Stupid, impressionable, laughable idiot! Just drink your tea and stop with the flushed face already! I swallowed everything in the cup in one go.

“A true mondain, I see. Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Let’s see what we can do.” What was this woman’s deal with sprinkling French into every other sentence? Was she trying to show off? She grabbed her pen and started to jot things down on the form before her.

I poured myself another cup of tea, and directed my words to the ceramic vessel, “Vous pensez que vous êtes si intelligent, n'est-ce pas? Je peux aussi parler français, tu sais.” The woman, I supposed I could start thinking of her by her name, Marianne, never paused in her writing. The line came and went without her understanding. I pursed my lips and couldn’t help the smug smirk that crossed my face. It seemed she didn’t know the language nearly as well as she’d put on. I continued to revel in my superiority, until I heard the human to my right clearing her throat theatrically.

I looked up to see Natalie’s eyebrows raised as she scowled at me disapprovingly. “Be nice!” She mouthed. I opened my hands and shrugged as if to say “What?”. She didn’t get a chance to retaliate, however, as Marianne raised her eyes from the page and addressed us.

“Now, first thing’s first, we’ll need your measurements.” Damn. I came down from my temporary high and felt my heart in my throat again.

Evidently I wasn’t as skilled at masking my feelings on the matter as I’d thought, because she reassured me while preparing her tools, “Not to worry, Alexander, there will be no rough treatment here. I’ll be as gentle with you as Natalie would.” I snuck a glance up at the woman she’d mentioned, only to find, much to my embarrassment, that she was already looking me over.

We both instantly turned our attention back to our drinks.

Marianne carried on unperturbed. I was beginning to wonder if this woman was one of the least observant people on the planet, or if she was just exceedingly polite. She scribbled things on her paper, before organizing her rulers and measuring tapes before her. She addressed me as she prepped, “So, you’re fond of gentleman’s wear, hm? Not many young men care about keeping up appearances anymore. I’m glad you’re an exception to the rule. My Henri was fond of his pinstripes and pocket squares. A perfect pairing for a seamstress, you can imagine!” Her eyes sparkled with memories long past.

“I… I’m sorry for your loss…” Natalie’s voice was kind and genuine.

“Oh, that’s alright, honey. We had many wonderful years together.” She turned to me, “I think he would’ve quite liked you, Alexander.”

Me? I couldn’t imagine how much I and an older human man could possibly have in common, besides our manner of dress. And in any case, this woman had only just met me, how could she possibly make such a rapid assessment?

I nodded politely in agreement anyway, hoping to move past this rather somber moment and return to the exciting part of getting me into a beautiful suit.

Of course, Natalie couldn’t help but ask follow up questions. Annoying, the way humans always politely placated each other with niceties and small talk, “Did he help you run this place?”

Marianne cracked a smile, “Oh, yes! The whole thing was his idea. Down to the name. I was perfectly happy to stitch away on my little creations at home, but he encouraged me to share my skills with others. He was always the gregarious one…” you don’t seem to have any problem talking at length, as far as I can see. “… and much better at putting our clients at ease, though, I try my very best. I know the constant invasion of personal space can be unwelcome.”

Finally someone acknowledges this well-known truth!

“Now, Mr. Alexander, if you’ll take a few steps forward, I’ll get your height to start.”

The flattery of being addressed so formally was quickly counteracted by an unwelcome reality that the aforementioned invasion of personal space was about to begin.

I looked about myself to set down the cup in my hand. The side table was just out of reach from where I stood. I shifted my weight, about to turn over my shoulder to cross closer to the surface when a finger brushed the length of my forearm, warm and soft. I stopped in my tracks and looked up.

Natalie was offering to take the cup from me. Her lips curled into a soft smile as my gaze locked with hers, “Don’t worry, I won’t accidentally drop this one. I promise.” She winked.

I couldn’t help but crack a smile, and shake my head before balancing the cup on the pad of her index finger. She pinched it between finger and thumb and carried it to its proper place for me.

*****

As Alexander stepped forward, away from the tiny furniture, the experienced hands of the craftswoman carefully slid a polished wooden ruler behind his back. I found myself balancing my chin over my crossed arms to get a closer look at what the measurement tool showed.

He stood very still, his posture perfect, and his chest puffed. I could tell he was stretching his spine to stand as tall as he possibly could. As I squinted to discern the tiny lines that Alexander could easily trace with his fingers, I saw his exact height for the first time.

Five and half inches, exactly.

My heart melted.

As the ruler was removed, I searched his face for signs of unease. I wouldn’t blame him for being nervous. He was already grumpy enough being handled by me, I knew having a stranger’s hands all over him wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park.

“You okay?” I mouthed, unable to resist brushing the toe of his shoe with a fingertip. He nodded, sucking in a sharp breath. I could see he was steeling himself.

I trusted Marianne, she seemed extremely kind and respectful. Still, her fingers, though aged and thin, were each over half the length of his entire little body.

She prepared a length of bright crimson thread, tying it off in a knot in one graceful pull.

“First, I’ll ask you to let your arms rest at your sides…” he shuffled his weight, unsure what to do with the crutch in his hand.

“You okay to stand without it for a few? I can hold it for you.” I offered. He nodded, clearly disinterested in needing any help, but having no choice.

“…And then I’m going to measure the width of your shoulders, will you turn to face Natalie?” I liked that she walked him through every single step she was taking. I could see he was starting to relax a bit as he shuffled his feet to face me. Marianne used the bit of string to measure along his shoulder blades, from point to point. The scribble of her pen on paper and the hum of the heater somewhere behind us, were the only sounds in the room.

Until…

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

I think I jumped more than he did. Someone was knocking on what I assumed must’ve been the back door of the shop.

Marianne had a different reaction, “Oh!” She dropped the thread and checked her watch, “They’re early! I apologize, someone is here to drop off a bulk order. You’ll have to excuse me. This is the trouble of running things all by myself!” She looked flustered and embarrassed for having to pause, “I should only be a minute!”

She stepped through the curtain and after a few moments I could hear the sounds of a door opening and the low rumble of male voices mixing with hers. The activity faded into the background as I took in the little life before me.

“You wanna sit down? Rest your leg?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” I wasn’t convinced but it didn’t seem worth it to argue over. I found myself reaching for the bit of string that had served as his measuring tape. Threading it in and out from between my fingers.

That’s when we heard Marianne’s voice cut through, far more flustered than we’d heard before, “No! No, this is all wrong. You have half of my satin and georgette mixed in with someone else’s bolts of polyester! How difficult is it to keep your orders straight?” I could hear the clack of her shoes on hardwood growing louder as she suddenly thrust aside the curtain, “I’m so sorry for this little hiccup. I’ll just be a bit longer… Oh—“

Her eyes cast down to the crimson thread pinched between my finger and thumb. “Were you measuring him yourself?”

Alexander and I both exchanged flustered glances before I tried my best to respond, “Well, I—“

I heard the low voices of men and the shuffling of heavy feet beyond the curtain. As Marianne checked over her shoulder, her eyes widened, “Be careful with that! You almost knocked it over!” Her head of curly white hair, popped back in to address us, “No, no. Please. Go ahead! It’ll save us time! You’ll have to excuse me!” She gestured at the thread between my fingers before dashing off, footsteps fading even as I could hear her shout in exasperation about some other mishap those workers were creating in her shop.

And suddenly it was just he and I.

He cleared his throat, pulling at his collar.

“So…” I finally mumbled, breaking the silence. His blue eyes met mine when I spoke. My face felt warm.

“So.” He shifted his weight, his face splashed with pink, while he craned his neck to stare up at me.

“I guess, I’m gonna— I mean, if you’re okay with… me??”

He thrust his hands in his pockets, nodding his head, while his blonde bangs hung in his eyes, “Right, no. I mean. We must… Musn’t we? For the sake of-of the time. Like she said.”

“Yeah. Totally. Uh. Okay. So…” I twirled the piece of thread around my finger, while I glanced at the sheet of paper, “It looks like I’m supposed to measure your chest next…” My hands inched toward him. I could feel my pulse in the tip of every finger, I had to concentrate to keep them steady. Alexander watched my encroaching hands like a hawk, his spine stiff, his lips taught.

“Wait!” He threw up his own little palm. I stopped, confused. His brow furrowed as he addressed me, “You’re practically towering over me, standing like that. Do you know how exhausting it is to practically break my neck just to be able to address you? Go find a chair.” I raised my brows, he rolled his eyes, “Please.”

I pulled it up before the table and sat down, “There, better?” I was so much closer to eye level with him now, and yet, he still seemed so far away, standing in the shadow I cast.

He won’t seem so far once I’m physically touching him. I felt a thrill rush through me at the thought.

I took the knotted end and gently held it against his sternum. He rocked back on his heel from the pressure, nevertheless. His little heart was pounding against his ribs. I melted again.

After a moment, “Ahem, Natalie?” I was frozen in place, just mesmerized by the thrumming of life beneath my fingers.

“Right, right! Sorry!” I shook my head. “Okay hold that for me, please…” his lithe little fingers took over for my gigantic one, as I wrapped the string around his chest and arms. I pinched the string where it met the knotted end and pulled it away from his body. Finally, I laid it flat to the tape measure before jotting down the number. We proceeded to do this with the length of his arms, the circumference of his tiny little wrists, even his neck, which I tried to be painstakingly delicate with.

With his chin thrust in the air, I could feel him gazing up at me as he held the knot against the hollow of his throat. He opened his mouth to speak and I bit the inside of my lip, worried he might snap at me out of discomfort, but instead he spoke so softly it was almost too quiet to hear, “You’re not too bad at this, Ms. Marquez…”

As he spoke, I could feel the tiny vibrations in his neck as I very delicately brought the string around. What a mesmerizing feeling. I swelled with pride, “Oh really? Approval from the Little Nightmare? Not a single criticism yet? It’s my lucky day. What’d I do to deserve this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head… it’s big enough as it is!”

“Hey! Rude!” I released the string, pretending to be offended. To my delight, his little face broke out into that lovely crooked smile I adored so much.

“You’re awfully pleased with yourself, aren’t ya?”

“As I ought to be! It was a shining example of my cracking wit, and you ought to be more impressed.”

“You ready for the next part, Mr. Chuckles?”

“Oh! Come on!” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, “That was terrible. Was that the best you could come up with? I’ll take Xandy over that, any day!”

“What’s that? I can call you Xandy now??”

“No!!! No that’s not what I said! Don’t you dare– Hey! What’re you doing?!”

**********

As I spoke, her fingers and thumbs rushed up from behind and landed on either side of my waist. The warmth was intoxicating, her grip all encompassing, and intimate. My face flushed with color and heat.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s the next thing on the list!” She was defensive. I twisted and squirmed feeling the tension in the thread as it rested at the small of my back.

She had to be playing coy with me! Couldn’t she see how flustered she was making me? It’d been hard enough to keep my composure when she rested her fingertip over my heart, or gently guided my arms where she wanted them, or leaned down so close while she regarded me with such care and gentleness that her fingertips left electrical pulses where they brushed against my skin. But now this?

I was finding it hard to breathe.

“You could at least warn a man before you trap him in your colossal grip! Have you learned nothing?”

“I’m not– Look, we don’t have to do this. Especially if you’re gonna get all pissy about it.” She looked crestfallen. That soft warmth dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared when she pulled her hands away, the thread dragging limply along the table’s surface, pinched between her finger and thumb.

No, no, no! This isn’t what I wanted at all. Couldn’t she see I was addicted to it now? That warmth, that soft touch? This was all her fault.

“Wait!” I stepped forward, snatching up the opposite end of the thread before it snaked away from my reach. She looked at me with curiosity, waiting to see what I’d do next, “If you’re going to hold me by the waist, have the courtesy to let me participate.” Her golden green irises dilated as her mouth parted slightly. I had her complete attention.

A tremor ran down the nape of my neck to the curve of my lumbar as I pulled the string toward me. She let this tension in the thread move her hand forward with no resistance. My heart skipped a beat. She was letting me control her.

I guided her fingertips to the soft flesh just above my hipbone, where my obliques flared and rippled as I fought to keep my composure. I transferred the thread to my right hand and fed it behind my back, allowing the tension to hold my weight as I leaned back, feeding it around to my right side. I could count each and every quaking beat of my heart as I held the crimson thread in my fist, offering it to her. She slid the tip of her index along the inside of my forearm, making me suck in a sharp breath, before uncurling my fist and taking the string from me.

“Now what?” she whispered, two pairs of a finger and thumb resting on either side of my body, waiting for my instruction.

I’d never felt so big in all my life.

I guided one set of fingers to rest on my navel. Could she feel how my breath shook when she touched me?

I grounded myself and brought the other side to meet, letting the string cross itself at the proper place. She pinched the spot with her thumbnail and slowly, gently, retreated to measure and write down her findings.

“Okay, now hips,” She held the length of string in front of me, waiting to be guided once more. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from beaming.

I performed the same little ritual with her, and this time her fingertips landed over a much more intimate part of myself. I flushed bright, hissing between clenched teeth, “Careful!”

I expected her to scoff at me, but the eyes that met my upward gaze were soft, “I’m only going where you put me. You’re in control.”

I don’t know what came over me, but suddenly my legs buckled and gave way beneath me. She was quick to act, wrapping a finger around my hips and pinning me between finger and thumb.

Dear god, what was she doing to me?!

Before I could take another breath, the clattering of human footsteps and the scrape of metal met my ears and made me jump.

Marianne’s voice cut through our built up tension like a razorblade, as she seemed completely unaware of our situation, “Okay! So sorry about that, you two!” Natalie quickly let go, as I rushed to tidy myself and readjust my crooked clothing. The seamstress rounded the corner of the table and entered my periphery, glancing over the measurement sheet “Looks like you got the vast majority completed. That’s perfect, we’ve got a great place to start.” She clapped her hands with a sharp crack, a smile warming her aged features as she leaned down to address me, “Now, Mister Alexander. What’re we in the market for?”

My head spun as I tried to engage my brain, lips and tongue again, “W-what am I—? Uh, um…” It was a truly foreign sensation for words to elude me. I shook my head trying to clear my mind, “A, uh, A classical cut is always best, single breasted, three piece, wool, tweed or cotton, with a notch lapel and double vent.” The words flowed with an easy familiarity, and I found it easier to breathe for the first time since she had left Natalie and I to our own devices.

“You were right,” She addressed the woman before me, “He really knows his stuff!” Natalie nodded vigorously and smiled, as if to say “You have no idea”.

“Ah— And no pinstripes. I hate pinstripes.” I added in haste.

“Duly noted! I think I have quite a few pieces you’ll be interested in.” She gathered the paper with my measurements, Natalaie’s chicken scratch contrasting sharply with the older woman’s elegant script. As she crossed the room, opening a cabinet and searching for something, she spoke over her shoulder, “Please, feel free to come to this other table here…” She gestured to the table with those mysterious boxes on them.

Natalie and I exchanged a glance, before she slid her palm beside me, hooking her thumb beneath my left arm. She gathered me in her hand, her other fingers supporting my weight before she lifted me off the table.

She crossed with me to the opposite side, her free thumb gently stroking my cheek. It wasn’t all that long ago I would’ve recoiled at such a caress. Now I melted beneath it.

What has gotten into me??

Soon, I was being lowered to my feet, before one of those mystery boxes. I could see now that the front was obscured by a curtain.

“Go ahead,” Marianne had just placed a polished wooden case of some kind on the table just to my right, as she seemed to register my curiosity. I took a step forward, only to feel a warmth and pressure on my shoulder. I turned to see Natalie offering me my crutch, balanced on a fingertip. I acquiesced and took it, before thrusting the curtain aside.

I’m not sure what I’d expected but it wasn’t this.

Beyond the veil of the fabric, and just a small step up, was what I imagined a dressing room to look like. I’d never been in one myself, human-sized or otherwise, but it fit my expectations and then exceeded them. On the wall opposite me was a full length mirror, held in a gilded, golden frame. A beautiful Persian rug softened the faux wooden floor. There were hooks along the wall to hang clothing, as well as a vanity complete with a mirror and chair. Along the walls were framed prints of famous art pieces. I admit, the Lady with an Ermine was the only one I recognized. Everything felt… authentic. Real. Human. Is this what rooms looked like to them all the time? There was a wide variety of plants that looked… were they real? Not just plastic bastardizations of the typical human houseplant?

I stepped into the ‘room’ and as I marveled, heard a breathy “Wow, fancy…” from up high. I craned my neck to find that this room, for all its proportional realism, lacked a ceiling, and, therefore, Nat was easily able to peer down, her arms crossed, and smile at me from above.

But there was one area in the corner, also sectioned off by a curtain, which, when I peered into it, I realized was actually fully enclosed, complete with an electric wall sconce to brighten the space.

Oh. What a relief. I wouldn’t have to change in front of these two women. I never expected humans to think of these things. This was a nice surprise.

“Is it suitable to your tastes?” Marianne appeared beyond the edge of the far wall, “My Henri designed every detail. We had such fun putting them together. Oh speaking of… try these on for size…”

A wrinkled finger and thumb descended into the space, shattering the illusion that I was in anything other than a highly detailed doll house. Pinched between her digits, was a suit jacket, vest, and matching slacks, each hanging on their own seemingly custom wooden hangers. She carefully placed each of these on one of the wall hooks. Her hand disappeared and then returned with another set and another and another.

I admit, I felt my heart race at just the sight of them. I’d missed the familiar fit of a suit so very much. My grip on the walking aide was becoming clammy as I absentmindedly bounced on the ball of my good foot in anticipation.

She also laid down a folded under shirt on the vanity (the folds were crisp and tidy. Impressive for fingers that big) and several different collared shirts on the remaining hangers.

“I’ll work on ties, belts and shoes while you start with these. How’s that sound?” I nodded in agreement, already making a beeline for the undershirt, a white collared dress shirt and the first vest and pair of slacks on the rack before she’d finished speaking.

I was just about to disappear into the changing room when a finger on my shoulder stopped me.

My mouth twisted into an instinctive grimace as Natalie halted me. What?? What did she want?? I was moments away from shedding this baggy loungewear for something sophisticated and elegant. What could possibly be so important that she needed to interrupt me at this very moment?

I turned to face her, only to realize precisely what. Offered up between her fingers was that pair of tweezers. The same ones I’d used to help myself change since I’d blessedly escaped that god awful tie dye shirt. She’d brought them from home for me.

“Just in case,” she winked at me. Oh. Now, I felt like an ass.

I breathed out from my nostrils, releasing the tension in my shoulders, “Thank you.” I even briefly patted the side of her finger as a show of appreciation as I took the object from her. I figured she’d like that, what with her love of touching me all the time.

The sudden thought of her touch and heat and softness completely overwhelming me just moments ago on that other table top made my face flush with shame.

I hurried inside the changing room, where, luckily, no one could see my changed complexion.

**********

I drummed my fingers on the table, just dying for him to throw that tiny curtain aside and reveal himself. Marianne flitted about the room, opening drawers, cabinets and boxes, finding just what she was looking for, all while peering over the rim of her glasses with the keen eye of a master at work.

Soon she had a lineup of tiny accessories displayed on the vanity table for him to peruse.

I caught her gaze and mouthed “Thank you”, she nodded warmly and winked, before catching something out of the corner of her eye and gesturing for me to look too.

That little curtain fluttered with movement, and before I knew it, there emerged one tiny socked foot, then another, with a metal and rubber crutch complimenting their rise and fall.

Then, my heart skipped.

Hello there, Alexander.

He looked absolutely incredible, and he wasn’t even fully dressed yet. The slacks sported a flattering pleat down the length of his leg, settling perfectly about his waist. The vest fit beautifully, cinched slightly in the back, the white dress shirt contrasted nicely and the sleeves fit him just right.

I immediately dropped my chin to the surface of the table to get a closer look.

He emerged with his head ducked as he gracefully threaded the final button on the vest, the royal blue wool lacing through his lithe little fingers.

Suddenly, two icy blue irises like crystals of frozen flame were trained on me and I had to bite my lip to keep from embarrassing myself. The blue of the suit made his eyes shine even more brightly than before.

“It looks like a perfect fit. How does it feel?” He craned his neck to listen to the voice looming above him. He adjusted his shoulders, made sure the vest was perfectly centered, and he toyed with his shirt sleeves until they were just right, before he turned to the full length mirror.

With my head balanced on my hand, I could just make out a sliver of my face reflected in the tiny mirror over his shoulder.

Seeing his entire body against the backdrop of one small part of mine reminded me of that first day, when I’d forced him into that ugly little doll shirt and held him up to my bathroom vanity admiring our size difference. That truly felt like a lifetime ago.

Marianne passed him a silky rust colored tie, and I watched with flustered amazement how his fingers expertly worked the flimsy material into a pinprick of a complicated knot, even and perfect. I felt like I was glimpsing into a whole other world of his, a past I only faintly understood.

With each infinitesimal adjustment of his collar, sweep of his hair, and threading of his tie beneath his vest, I felt myself staring slack jawed at this new version of the little man I thought I’d known so well.

Now for the jacket. She handed it to him, and he spread the lapels to admire the inner lining (a gorgeous, patterned silk with flowers of purple and blue) when his eyes stopped at something sewn into the collar just as the nape of the neck.

*****

I stared at the inside of the jacket, almost in disbelief.

Sewn with expert precision, were a handful of stitches that unmistakably spelled out “For My Henri”.

I was flabbergasted.

Marianne had said he was the love of her life, that they’d built this business together, that he’d encouraged her to use her talents to help others, and this man had been… like me?

“I-I can’t possibly accept this…” I shook my head, thrusting the beautifully crafted garment away from my body and offering it back up to this kind hearted woman who peered down at me.

She simply smiled, “Just try it on, at least.”

She couldn’t be serious. But it would be nice just to try it on for size. She could use it as a reference. I was determined to refuse her offer if she brought it up again, but I saw no harm in at least donning the final piece of the suit, just to see it all together.

I took a deep breath and easily twirled the garmet over my shoulder, sliding my arms along the silken lining and letting it fall around my body, gazing into the mirror once more.

Oh, hello there, Alexander. It’s good to see you again, old friend. How I’ve missed you.

It was beyond perfect. It was the most beautifully crafted suit I’d ever had the pleasure to wear. I looked wonderfully smart. My chest swelled as a small smirk creeped onto my features, threatening to boil over into a boyish grin if I wasn’t careful.

I refocused the lenses of my eyes to take in Natalie’s gaze, dominating the landscape behind me. Her pupils were dilated, her expression dreamy. I turned to face her, leaving my crutch behind for now.

I thrust a hand in a pocket, unbuttoning the jacket to show the vest underneath and spun on my heel, feeling altogether like a million bucks.

“You look… incredible” She practically breathed. The way her eyes shone when she gazed at me… Why did my knees suddenly feel weak at hearing her sigh at me like that? Perhaps I needed my crutch after all.

“She’s right, you know. It suits you. I suppose I can’t convince you to try on the rest of them can I?” The older woman issued me this challenge with a twinkle in her eye.

Natalie furrowed her brow and cocked her head. As if to say “What could possibly be the problem with that?”

Of course. She didn’t understand what Marianne and I already did.

I slid off the jacket and held up its stitching to her. She leaned in so close I could feel the heat of her exhale as she finally managed to squint enough to read the name sewn there.

“Oh, oh my god. So…your… he was…?” Natalie stuttered.

Marianne nodded, a smile sparkling with decades of memory igniting in her eyes. Eventually, she busied herself with handing me the next suit, this one a beautiful gray, continuing to address Natalie, “He was the best thing to ever come into my life. We found each other when I spent a summer in Paris, a whole lifetime ago. I couldn’t bear to return home without him. Luckily, he agreed to travel halfway across the world to be by my side. It took us a while to come to terms with our feelings, believe me, most people couldn’t possibly understand… especially not in those days. I hope you two don’t let your fear get in the way.”

My face burned and my mouth felt so dry, my voice cracked as I spoke, “Oh, no, we’re not… we-we—“

Suddenly Natalie’s louder voice tumbled atop mine, cutting me off, as she spoke through a strained smile, “Thank you.”

I sensed that I’d committed some sort of social faux pas, though I couldn’t understand what. Natalie and I weren’t… that is to say we didn’t have that sort of dynamic. Despite this, I decided to bite my tongue out of a desire to spare Natalie any unnecessary embarrassment. Judging by her bright pink complexion, she was already suffering enough from my attempt to set the record straight.

I put that interaction out of my mind, though, as I returned to the garments in my hands. I admit, I allowed myself the small pleasure of trying all four of Henri’s suits, each one as beautifully crafted as the last and still in such incredible condition for their age.

I tried on various loafers, belts, ties and even, to my utter delight, tie clips and cufflinks!

As a boy coming of age, I’d been repeatedly reprimanded after asking for cufflinks to match my larger counterpart, being told they’d be “much too small to be worth any effort to make them in the first place”.

Once I’d enjoyed everything those suits had to offer, she asked me to describe what I’d like to have custom made, letting me touch various fabric swatches and color options to help me make my decisions.

This was all a dream, right? Some sort of beautiful, wonderful dream that I never wanted to wake from? It had to be. Well, if it was all make believe, I supposed asking for what I really wanted wouldn’t hurt any.

She took notes as Natalie watched on. Why was it every time I turned over my shoulder, she seemed to be looking at me?

I sat in the chair, pulled beside the vanity, palming the perfectly proportionate cufflinks, and rolling them between finger and thumb. They were so detailed and well crafted I wondered if Henri had made them himself.

What is wrong with me? These things aren’t mine to take. No matter how wonderful they were.

I deposited the little metal pieces on the counter beside me, folding my hands in my lap, determined not to fidget anymore.

As if reading my mind, Marianne travelled around to the side of the table to face me.

“Well, you’ve been quite the model today.” I nodded in agreement, “I think we’ve put you through more than enough. Now, your custom orders will be shipped to you in approximately ten to twelve weeks. If you need any alterations at all, feel free to come back to the store.”

What a lovely dream this was.

She continued, gesturing to those beautiful suits hung along the dressing room the wall, “Which one was your favorite?”

“Oh, well… I couldn’t possibly— they’re all equally wonderful. You possess incredible skill…”

“I want you to have them.”

Both Natalie and I let out an incredulous exclamation, in sync with one another:

“No, no you’re being far too kind—”

“We couldn’t take them, they belong with you!”

She shook her head smiling warmly first at Natalie, then to me, “He would’ve wanted them to go to a fine young gentleman who can appreciate every stitch, rather than gathering dust in some box. I’d be honored if you’d take them. Think of it as Christmas coming early!”

I was completely taken aback, a rush of emotion making my chest swell and my throat tighten as my vision suddenly blurred, “I— I’m at a complete loss for words… T-thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Alexander. Thank you for coming to visit today.” She leaned down to offer me her finger to shake. With a trembling hand, and biting back tears, I shook her finger tip, squeezing it much harder than was called for, and yet I didn’t imagine it was enough to hurt her, “I’m delighted you like them so much. Why don’t you wear the blue one home? It was always my favorite. Now I’ll finish packing the rest and will wait for you to check out in the other room.”

And suddenly, it was just the girl with the wild hair and warm eyes, and me. She caught my gaze, a smile playing on her lips “Surprise!” She chuckled.

The swell of deep gratitude, delight, overwhelm and pure joy flooded through me once again and I was perilous to keep it at bay. I rushed forward, my leg aching from the effort, as I crashed into her hand, squeezing myself into the hollow of her palm, as I clutched the base of her thumb and wept, mumbling my thanks between tears of joy.

“Oh, Alexander…” she breathed, gently enclosing her fingers around me, embracing me back. Her index finger on her free hand gently caressed my hair, neck and shoulders as I wiped the tears from my eyes. I couldn’t stop smiling, no matter how hard I tried. She held my chin with her fingertip, wiping tears with her thumb, “I’m so happy you’re happy. You deserve this. I’m sorry it took so long… but I’m so glad you finally got what you wanted.” She beamed at me. I bit back more tears. She arched her brow and jutted her chin in that mischievous way she always did, “Now pull yourself together and go be all dapper and shit.” She nudged my arm with her thumb. I couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

Before long, I found myself perched on the countertop of Marianne’s desk in the front of the shop, dressed to the nines from head to foot. I wore the blue suit, of course, with brown leather shoes, and belt, a silken ochre tie with matching pocket square, cufflinks, and a tie clip. I stood tall as the women above me exchanged money for goods.

I felt a lightness in my body and mind that I hadn’t felt in… well, had I ever felt it? I couldn’t be sure. I had to keep biting the inside of my cheek to stop from grinning ear to ear like some stupid little boy. I’d never been spoiled like this. I’d never been treated like this. I had no idea what to do with myself.

As we were about to leave, Marianne turned to me, her lips curled into a smile. She gazed at me over the rim of her glasses, giving me a clear view of her keen eyes. “Alexander? N'ayez pas peur de lui dire ce que vous ressentez. Il est clair qu'elle t'aime de tout son cœur. Vous méritez le bonheur autant que nous tous.”

*******

I had no clue what she’d said to him, but whatever it was, he looked like he’d been shot through with an arrow, after hearing it. His little eyes went wide and his face burned bright red.

“Hey…” I rubbed his little shoulder, and he seemed to snap out of it. I smiled apologetically at the woman on the other side of the desk, “Sorry, I think he’s just really excited and overwhelmed about everything that happened. Thank you again, for all you did for him.” As I spoke to her, I coaxed the little man into my hand, his movements suddenly sluggish and distracted.

“It was truly such a wonderful thing to meet a pair like you. You give me hope for a better future. Thank you for coming in today. You’re always welcome back at any time.”

“Thank you so much, Marianne!” I echoed her warmth. When Alexander stayed silent, I nudged him a little with my thumb and he seemed to come to.

“Y-yes! Thank you. V-very much!”

What had gotten into him? Maybe the thrill of the whole thing had worn off and he was just exhausted. Because of his dogged determination to push himself to the limits all the time, it was easy to forget how much more effort it took someone of his size to just interact with people so much bigger than him. He was also standing and walking on his injured leg without his crutch for much longer than normal. I wondered if he was in pain and trying to fight through it.

Whatever the case, I was looking forward to getting him home with me, and giving him a chance to relax.

I took in the wonderful sight of him lounging in my palm, his head resting on the pad of my index finger, his calves and ankles hanging off the far edge of my palm, his little hands spread against my skin, keeping himself steady. He stared at his tiny leather shoes, and seemed disinterested in looking in my direction. How funny he was. I wondered what on earth was on his brilliant little mind.

Strange little nightmare, let’s get you home.

___________________________________________

Tag List

@littlescaryinternetguy @lucentbliss @jae-from-discord @kitn-underfoot @secretly-small

@writing-forever @iinogongju @itsgothgirlthyme @make-me-giant @reborrowing

@patrocolus3 @beautifulunknowntrash @themarlo @cup-o-chai @raccoontoaster

@tolsizedlove @thegodmother007 @honey-olive @bittykimmy13 @aceouttatime

@liminaldaze @joxter-coded @rosella35 @narrans @rubeau-art

@whatthisfemsheplikes @soapysoap69 @tinystrawberryshifter @thetinylittlespider @gatlily @certainwizardlady @theo-l-ogeneus @windshield-patent @vivianuales @might-be-tiny-gt

@certainwizardguy @closetedgtaccount @spoodoodles

#I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do #a fraction of justice #g/t fluff #size difference #g/t related #g/t writing #gt community #gt #giant/tiny #g/t community #g/t

84 notes · View notes

wisteriaiswriting · 6 months ago

Text

Failing To Fluster Their S/O

Words: 592

Request: Hi! can you do omen, chamber, cypher, reyna in a situation where they were trying to be flirty and fluster their SO but get flustered instead? Requested by: @socks-drawer

“Sage, can you pass me the ribbon?” She pointed at the different colours until she found the one you wanted, handing over the spool. Luckily you had just finished your craft, a bouquet of flowers. And just at that time the door slid open, turning around to see it was Omen.

“Omen!” Only when he was standing right infront of you did you notice what he was carrying, a small bonsai tree. He silently handed it over, his hands brushing over your own as you took it. “Thank you! Wait–”

Gently placing it down on the table to grab your bouquet, “I made these for you.” Holding it out for him, only for him to just look at it. Fingers twitching as if he wanted to grab it but didn’t, you know him though.

His eyes brightened and widened just before taking it from you, a quiet “Thank you…” as he turned and left. Unaware of the care he uses for the fake flowers.

“Oh, hello there Mon cher!” Turning in his chair to face the door, watching you enter the room. Standing from his desk to pull you into a hug, “Are you here to see me or my newest project?” “I would say both.”

“Of course.” He picked up the gun, handing it over to you. “I just need to add the final touches, but it should be finished by today.” Watching you flip it over and get a closer look, eventually holding it up as if to shoot.

“Zis one is a little different, let me help you dear.” Standing right behind you, his hands covering your own. “Just like zat, perfect.” Feeling his warmth seep into you as he moves just a bit closer, pressing himself against you.

“Now’s not the time to talk about yourself.” “You know what I meant love~” His head leaned over your shoulder, “I don’t think I do, want to show me?” “Of course.”

Oh how he looked watching you flush and look away in a panic whenever he caught you staring. No matter how long you two have been together, some things never change. (Apparently that was a lie.)

This time was during a small meeting, you two seated next to each other. Out of the corner of his mask he could see you staring at him, eyes full of admiration and love just for him. Making sure Brimstone and the others were distracted, or rather actually focusing before making his move.

Leaning in a little closer towards you, “Focus, my star.” “Oh I’m focusing alright~” “Really, and what would that be?” Throughout the conversation he was slowly leaning closer, that was until his name was called. “Cypher,” The masked man shooting back up, now noticing the many pairs of eyes on him, “What was I just saying?” “Uh, it was…” Seeing your smug grin, you brat.

Even as Raze and Phoenix were chatting, pretty loudly, you could hear the familiar sound of heels hitting the floor. When the person came into view the others quietened down, “Mi amor,”

Making her way over to you, showing off a clear limp, now leaning over the couch while placing a hand on your shoulder. “Look what you did to me, I couldn’t work at my best today~ ” Slowly tilting your head towards her.

“Don’t complain now, you definitely weren’t last night.” “Oh Estimado, ¿preparado para más?” “Reyna!” Seeing Gekko turn away while shielding his eyes, “Get a room you two!” Your only response was to laugh, giving him some relief by leaving the room.

#valorant x reader #valorant omen #valorant omen x reader #omen x reader #valorant chamber #valorant chamber x reader #chamber x reader #valorant cypher #valorant cypher x reader #cypher x reader #valorant reyna #valorant reyna x reader #reyna x reader #wisteria♥

145 notes · View notes

ssongsboo · 7 months ago

Text

─────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────

⟢ 부드럽고 달콤한 숨결이 .ᐟ

the room smelled faintly of leather and fresh fabric, the soft glow of the overhead light catching on spools of thread and scattered sketches. jay sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his fingers flying over a sketchpad as he designed with single-minded focus. you stood nearby, feeling out of place but oddly flattered by his insistence that you had to be the one to help him finish this piece.

“alright,” he finally said, spinning his chair toward you with a small smirk. “come here. let’s see if this works.”

you hesitated before stepping closer, and jay’s eyes swept over you critically- not unkindly, but intensely, like you were something precious he needed to perfect. he held up a pastel pink fabric, the sheen of it catching the light, and then reached for you, draping it across your shoulders. his fingers brushed your skin as he adjusted the fabric, and the simple touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“hold still.” he murmured, standing to his full height. you could feel his breath ghosting over your ear as he moved around you, pinning the fabric in place. “this color looks so pretty on you. i knew it would.”

his tone was casual, but the way his fingers lingered at your collarbone betrayed him. you swallowed hard, heat blooming in your chest as he stepped back, tilting his head to survey his work.

“it’s…good,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended.

jay chuckled, low and deep, his dark eyes meeting yours. “good? it’s perfect.” he reached out again, this time brushing your hair aside to get a better look at your neck. “but something’s missing.”

his fingers slid over the fabric, smoothing it down your shoulder, and you couldn’t help the sharp inhale that escaped. jay paused, his lips twitching into a sly grin. “am i making you nervous?”

“no….” you stammered, but the way your body betrayed you was impossible to hide.

“hmm.” he moved closer, his voice dropping an octave. “you’re not a very good liar.”

your heart raced as he leaned in, his hands still on your shoulders, the fabric forgotten. “jay,” you started, but his name came out shaky, a plea rather than a protest.

he tilted his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “you’ve been staring at me all night. did you think i wouldn’t notice?”

you opened your mouth to deny it, but his fingers trailed down your arms, leaving a burning trail in their wake. “i wasn’t-”

“don’t.” he interrupted, turning you to face him fully. his eyes were dark, full of something you couldn’t name, and when his hands settled firmly on your waist, you stopped breathing altogether.

“i’ve been trying to focus, but you’re making it impossible.” he purred, his voice husky and thick with something more than frustration. “do you even know what you do to me?”

the tension snapped like a thread pulled too tight, and before you could think, jay closed the distance, his lips crashing into yours. the kiss was desperate, messy, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.

you melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as the fabric slipped from your shoulders and pooled onto the floor. whatever he’d been working on no longer mattered- at least not tonight.

#fashion designer!jay is sooo real to me tbh 😞😞#☆ ; brr brr sierra on the phone ?#park jay #park jongseong #jay enhypen #enhypen #enhypen imagine #jay imagine #enhypen x reader #jay x reader #park jongseong x reader #enhypen hard hours #?#enhypen hard thoughts #??#does this actually count as hard thoughts?#i dont think so?

71 notes · View notes

gildedsilk · 6 months ago

Text

Handmade Comfort ❀

• Takashi Mitsuya x Reader | Wc: 800+ | Fluff | PG-13 ༻

༺ Masterlist

The rain had started earlier that afternoon, a steady drizzle at first that quickly turned into a downpour. By the time evening rolled around, the apartment was surrounded by the sound of raindrops pounding against the windows and the occasional whistle of the wind. Inside, the world felt small, quiet, and warm—a stark contrast to the storm outside.

Mitsuya was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by spools of thread and small fabric scraps, his sewing machine humming softly in the background. His lavender eyes were focused, the glow of the desk lamp casting a halo of light over his concentrated expression. The sight of him working always had a calming effect on you.

You, on the other hand, were cocooned in a blanket on the couch, a steaming mug of tea nestled in your hands. The heat seeped through your fingers, and you sighed contentedly as you watched him work.

“I swear you haven’t moved from that spot all day,” you teased, breaking the comfortable silence.

Mitsuya glanced up, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I could say the same about you,” he replied, his voice light. “At least I’m being productive.”

You gasped, feigning offense as you tightened the blanket around your shoulders. “I’m keeping you company. That’s productive.”

His laugh was soft, barely louder than the rain outside, but it filled the room with warmth. “Fair enough,” he conceded, leaning back to stretch. As he did, you caught a glimpse of the project he’d been working on—a sweater in a soft, earthy tone, the yarn thick and warm-looking.

“Is that… for me?” you asked, setting your mug down and leaning forward.

Mitsuya shrugged, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “Maybe. You’ve been complaining about how cold it’s been, so I figured I’d make something that suits you. No big deal.”

Your heart swelled, and you slid off the couch to sit beside him. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “It’s nothing,” he said, his voice softer now. “I just like taking care of you.”

You leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder as he picked up the sweater again, his hands moving deftly as he threaded the fabric through the machine. The steady hum of the sewing machine mixed with the rain, creating a soothing backdrop to your quiet moment together.

“What about you?” he asked after a while, his voice breaking the silence. “Are you warm enough?”

You nodded, but the small shiver that passed through you betrayed the truth. Mitsuya noticed immediately, pausing his work to drape the unfinished sweater over your shoulders. The fabric was soft and warm, smelling faintly of him.

“Better?” he asked, his eyes meeting yours.

You nodded again, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Much.”

Mitsuya leaned back, resting his weight on his hands as he watched you. The corners of his mouth lifted into a fond smile, and his gaze softened in that way that always made your heart skip a beat.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and thoughtful, “I never really liked rainy days. They always felt… heavy. But with you here, they’re kind of nice.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you turned to face him fully, wrapping the blanket around the both of you. “Rainy days aren’t so bad when you’re with someone who makes you feel warm,” you said softly.

His hand found yours beneath the blanket, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Exactly,” he murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The storm outside raged on, but inside, the world was soft and still. Mitsuya eventually picked up his sewing again, working with one hand while the other remained laced with yours.

By the time the sweater was finished, the rain had lessened to a gentle drizzle, and the clock had crept well past midnight. Mitsuya helped you slip the sweater on, his hands brushing against your skin as he adjusted the fabric.

“Perfect,” he said, stepping back to admire his work.

You laughed, spinning slowly to show off the sweater. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice full of affection. “I’m never taking this off.”

“Good,” he replied, pulling you close again. “That was the point.”

As the rain continued to fall softly outside, you nestled into Mitsuya’s arms, the weight of the world melting away in the warmth of his quiet love.

#fluff #mini fic #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #mitsuya takashi #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya x reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #mitsuya takashi x reader #takashi mitsuya x reader #gildedsilk

98 notes · View notes

scary-grace · 7 months ago

Text

(secret) santa, baby - part 8 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii part ix

part viii (gift-wrapping)

You don’t know what the last-minute staff meeting is for, but the email looked important, so you show up outside the building’s biggest conference room on the hour, as ordered. As soon as you set foot inside, though, you know this was one you could have skipped. There are piles of gift bags and rolls of wrapping paper on every table, as well as packets of tissue paper and spools of ribbon and actual jars of confetti with scoops in them. On the whiteboard at the front of the room, someone’s written REMEDIAL GIFT-WRAPPING.

You didn’t think your gifts were wrapped that badly. Tomura hasn’t complained. Then again, Tomura doesn’t know you’re the one leaving his gifts, so he wouldn’t know who to complain to if he had a problem. In spite of showing up on time, everybody else somehow got here before you, so you hesitate just inside the doorway, looking for an empty seat. Before you can find one, something moves in your peripheral vision, and you glance over to find Twice beckoning to you. He’s sitting with Spinner, Dabi, and Tomura, and they’ve got an empty seat nearby.

A few weeks ago, you’d have found somewhere else, but you’re much more comfortable with Tomura and his friends than you were before. Seeing them outside of work at Toga’s party probably helped. Seeing them the next morning, waking up with bedhead and low-grade hangovers that could only be cured with diner food, moved them firmly from the category of scary coworkers to people you could call friends. And waking up at one end of Toga’s couch to realize that you’d spent the entire night sharing it and a blanket with Tomura moved him from Secret Santa recipient to something else.

You’re not sure what else, exactly. You’ve been keeping a close eye on him since the Secret Santa thing started, just so you could figure out good times to sneak down to the basement and leave things on his desk, but for the past few days you’ve felt different about seeing him out and about. Instead of being relieved, and using your next free second to race downstairs and plant a gift, you’ve gone to talk to him. Or you’ve stayed put wherever you were and hoped he’d come talk to you. He’s different at work than he is out of it, but now that you’ve seen him the other way, you can’t fail to see that the person who slept on the couch with you is there when he’s here, too.

Work doesn’t bring out the best in him, and work-related holiday festivities are even worse. You can hear him complaining as you make your way over. “I don’t need to learn gift-wrapping. The stuff I leave is fine.”

“No. Spinner’s gifts are fine. Yours look like you’re dropping off a sperm sample,” Dabi says. He’s organizing the pile of gift-wrapping supplies and ignoring the way Tomura swears at him. “It’s not going to kill you.”

“With everybody else here, Toga’s probably not just picking on us,” Spinner says. He spots you coming over and waves. “Hey. You got an invite, too?”

“My gift-wrapping must be worse than I thought,” you say. You drop down into the chair between Twice and Tomura. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Tomura glances quickly at you, then goes back to screwing around with a mostly-empty roll of ribbon. “You have a gift in your mailbox. I saw it when I checked mine.”

You didn’t put a gift in his mailbox today – it’s on his desk again, waiting for him whenever he gets back. You dropped it off after you saw him walk back on the way to the conference room. “I’ll look after we’re done with this. Does this happen every year?”

“No. It’s new.” Tomura scowls. “It sucks.”

“Hi everybody!” Toga’s standing on a chair at the front of the room, waving to catch the room’s attention. “Thanks for stopping by. It’s come to my attention that some of you guys don’t know how to wrap a gift to save your lives, and even though it’s the gift that counts, the way it’s presented matters, too! So for the sake of your Secret Santa recipients, we’re going to go over the basics of gift-wrapping –”

“And we’re going to practice on these,” Midoriya announces, holding up a clear plastic bin that’s full to the brim. “The gifts from the toy drive. Which we need to wrap anyway.”

“I told you we weren’t in trouble,” Spinner says to the group at large.

“No, we’re just free labor.” Tomura’s scowling worse than before. “I can’t wait to count my papercuts afterwards.”

“To help with this,” Toga continues loudly, “every table has at least one person who knows what they’re doing. Compress and Yaoyorozu will go over the basics, and then your group’s expert will help you get going.”

Where’s your table’s expert? You glance around, only to find everyone else looking at you. “We need to work quickly,” Iida announces, even louder than Toga. “It’s imperative that we get these gifts mailed this afternoon. If they’re delayed by the storm, they won’t reach their recipients in time. Do you want to be the reason why needy children go without presents this year?”

“Hey! Iida! That’s kind of harsh,” Midoriya says hastily. Dabi is snickering. “Just do your best, everybody!”

There’s a bin of toys under the table. Compress and Yaoyorozu order everybody to start with something in a box, since they’re easier to work with, but you have a bad feeling you’re the expert, and the things that are weirdly shaped are going to take longer. You take out a plastic dinosaur toy and get to work, listening with half an ear to the instructions. You don’t want to contradict anything they’re saying. It’ll slow things down, and based on the size of the toy bin, you can’t afford that.

You overhear the other supposed experts at the other table, and they seem pretty comfortable giving instructions, but you decide to keep quiet unless somebody asks you something. And somebody does. “Are girls born knowing how to gift-wrap or something?” Spinner asks, staring at the dinosaur toy you’ve successfully mummified in candy-cane wrapping paper. “How did you do that?”

“Practice, I guess?” You don’t really remember somebody teaching you. “It was probably just watching my mom.”

“Maybe you should handle all the weird-shaped shit,” Dabi says. He abandons the box he’s wrapping and starts sorting the toys in the bin. “I want to get out of here sometime this year and that’s not going to happen if you put me in charge of that.”

You nod and pick up the grotesque-looking nutcracker at the top of the pile. To your surprise, everybody else settles down to work quickly – even Tomura, who’s still scowling, and handling the wrapping paper like it might take a bite out of him. The other tables are chattering, but everybody at yours is quiet. Focused. When Midoriya swings by to pick up any wrapped gifts, he has to make two trips to collect all of them from you.

It’s not until you’re starting on the second round of presents that Tomura speaks up. “This isn’t so bad,” he says, and you almost amputate your finger in shock. “I thought it was going to be like that movie.”

“Which –” Dabi interrupts himself, then makes a weird noise. “The one where the guy’s cheating on his wife?”

“And he’s trying to get the clerk to gift-wrap that ugly necklace he bought for his mistress before his wife gets back?” That scene made you cringe. There are lots of scenes in Love Actually that make you cringe, but that one stands out. “Did he actually cheat on his wife or was he just trying to cheat?”

“He’s cheating.” Dabi measures out a huge scoop of glitter and drops it on top of the present he’s wrapping before he tapes the wrapping paper down. “My dad pulls shit exactly like that. Except he was fucking my boyfriend, not his secretary.”

You almost choke on thin air. “He – what?”

“That was ages ago,” Twice says. “They didn’t talk for like – five years. Then Dabi’s sister made them go to family therapy and now Enji makes up for it by giving Dabi money whenever he asks.”

“And when he doesn’t,” Spinner says. Dabi is making a face. “You’re better off, dude.”

“You know how Shigaraki hates Christmas? That’s how Dabi feels about Valentine’s Day,” Twice says. You probably would, too, if your dad had hooked up with your boyfriend. “If you’re still around by then, you can hang out with us. We always celebrate by maxing Enji’s credit card.”

If you’re still around by then. What does that mean? “Sounds fun,” you say, watching as Dabi adds two scoops of glitter to his next present. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“It’s there. We’re supposed to use it,” Dabi says. “The kids will get a kick out of this shit.”

“Yeah, but their parents will hate it.”

Tomura takes a scoop of glitter and pours it in the gift bag he’s been screwing around with. “It’s not about them.”

You remember who the gifts are for all at once. Kids in foster care, whose parents probably suck as a rule. They deserve to have some fun, and you’ve never met a kid who wouldn’t go crazy over a glitter bomb. When you start wrapping your next present, you add some glitter to it, too.

At some point the department heads come looking for all their employees, which is how you find out that Toga didn’t clear the meeting with anybody before she called it. Most of your table takes the opportunity to flee – Dabi first, then Twice, and Spinner after a second’s hesitation. Tomura stops halfway out of his chair when he realizes you’re not getting up. “Aren’t you leaving?”

“My supervisor hasn’t come looking for me yet,” you say. “And there’s still a lot to do.”

You know there’s work waiting for you back at your desk, but it shouldn’t take too long, and Iida’s guilt-trip about the presents definitely got to you. You empty the rest of the toy bin onto the table and grab a box with a model train printed on the front. A chair scrapes next to you as Tomura sits back down, and he lifts the train box out of your hands. “Give me that. I can’t wrap the weird ones.”

You stare at him. You can’t help it. “What are you doing?”

“My supervisor hasn’t come looking for me, either.” Tomura shrugs. “It’ll be faster if I help.”

“You hate this stuff,” you say.

“I’m not going to be the reason needy kids don’t get presents this year.” Tomura’s Iida impersonation is pretty on point, especially when he adds in Iida’s trademark hand gestures. You laugh. “And I haven’t gotten a paper cut yet. Nobody will put up with my bitching next year if I don’t get at least one.”

He says that, and it sounds like him – but somehow you don’t buy it. He’s not making eye contact, and his ears are turning sort of red, and your heart kicks up a weird, fluttery jolt. “If you want to hang out, you can just say that,” you say. “You don’t have to do – I know you hate doing this.”

“This is what you’re doing,” Tomura interrupts you. “That’s the important part.”

That one’s hard for you to parse, so hard that Tomura manages to wrap the train and start on the next gift before you can get even sort of a handle on it. And once you do, you’re not sure you want one. Tomura hates Christmas. Every Christmas thing you’ve seen him do has been done under pressure or threat, and he just got a golden opportunity to escape. Why would he give it up to hang out with you?

There’s one answer. An obvious answer. One you’d believe if it was coming from anybody but him. “I can use the help,” you admit. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Yeah.” Tomura reaches for the wrapping paper at the same time as you do, and your hands collide. You thought he’d flinch. You thought you’d flinch. But your hands stay still, poised against one another, for a long moment before Tomura draws away, his fingertips skimming the back of your hand as he goes. “Any time.”

<- part vii part ix ->

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #secret santa au

121 notes · View notes

greentrickster · 5 months ago

Text

DIY Pride Flag Craft!

In this (waves at the entire USA) time, I know a lot of people are wanting to show LGBTQ+ pride or support for members of this community.

However, Rainbow Capitalism being out of vogue at the moment, ethical sources of pride wear often being expensive (because that's part of the package), and some flags just being straight-up harder to find than others, just gonna toss up my personal favorite work-around to this situation:

[Image ID: eight strands of ribbon lying on a messy white sheet, with the ribbons arranged from left to right in the colours black, medium grey, white, lime green, forest green, pale green, dark emerald green, and a translucent grass green.]

Pretty much every craft or fabric store I've ever visited has a decent selection of ribbons in a decent selection of colours, and they generally go on sale every now and then. This makes it easy not only to get the colours of your flag[s] specifically, but to add a little custom flair to them if you want. I personally grabbed the colours for the Aromantic flag ('cause I couldn't afford seven rolls of ribbon and I like the aro flag better than the bi one). (I already had a number of spools of green ribbon, I like the shiny flap-flap streamers) I now posses enough ribbon for seven feet/six point four meters of Aromantic pride flag material. Things than can now be done with that include:

Cut a length of each colour, stack them in order, tie them to a hair tie. This can now be put on anything you can feasibly put a hair tie on, naturally, or, if you put a reasonable number of ribbons on it of a decent length, looks and feels great to wave around in the air at a parade. Or as a stim toy. (Completely serious on the stim toy bit, can confirm a trial run made the ADHD brain go brrrrrrrrr!)

Tie bows from individual lengths of ribbon along something straight in the appropriate order for your flag - a desk leg, a suitcase handle, your own arm, whatever. (Also works with knots if you don't want to do bows.)

For a larger project, get a long dowel (technical name for a round wooden rod) or spare broom handle from a hardware store, and probably a hot glue gun or some gorilla glue. Cut nice long stripes of ribbon, tie them along your wooden rod at the intervals you deem appropriate, and put a dab of glue on each of them to help keep it all in place. Congrats, you just made a big, waveable pride flag entirely out of ribbons!

For a smaller version of the ribbon flag (aka, a ribbon wand), by using a smaller, wand-sized dowel (or a really nice stick you find somewhere or happen to have handy) and either doing a small version of the flag down the top, or tying all the colours at the top so they dance around together when you shake it. Again, use a bit of glue to hold them all in place. Alternatively, use the ribbon hair-tie from the top of this list, and put that on top of your wand instead (rubber bands can be substituted for hair ties for this use, and will probably cling better to the wood to boot.)

Braid the ribbons together, then use them as bracelets/anklets. (This will be easiest with the three/four coloured flags, but I remember the friendship bracelets girls used to weave in the 90s, and I believe in your ability to replicate that with ribbon, should this be the direction your heart leads you.)

Literally anything you can think of, go crazy!

My final pro tip for all this: cutting the end of a ribbon at an angle not only looks nice, it makes it much, much harder for the fabric of the ribbon to unravel or get all ratty and unpleasant/likely to tangle.

Beyond that, if this seems like a you thing to do and you are able, then get some ribbons and go be proud!

#lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbtq+#pride flag #craft project #yes I know all this and these ideas are very simple #but hey. they're fun and I cannot guarantee that everyone has thought to do this #so I am spreading the crafting fun

49 notes · View notes

timidgirl · 3 days ago

Note

i’ve always loved the idea of a teacher keeping his student after class for “detention”, but as soon as the other students filter out of the class, i lock the door behind them and call you over to my desk. i open a drawer and suddenly start laying spools of rope on the desk. before you can realize what’s going on, i grab you and bend you over the desk, your little legs barely reaching the floor as you struggle and squirm. i pull your hands behind your back and tie them together. you try to cry out, but i took off your stockings from your feet, balled one up and stuffed it in your mouth and used the other to tie around your head and gag you. just a few more ropes tied around your ankles and knees and now i’m ready to lift up your skirt, tear off your panties and explore your little holes in peace…

ughh thats so hot 😵‍💫😵‍💫 someone please do this to me i swear i wont tell anyone!

#m@pswelcome #m@pluvr #@am #m@plov3r #m@pba1t #m@pb@it #m@pbalt #pr3dlov3r #pr3db41t #p3d0luvr #pro para #ja1lb@1t #ja1lb@it #irl kiddo #🗺️bait #🗺️ interact #🗺️lover #🗺️ safe

22 notes · View notes

noctunis · 1 year ago

Note

I love your doc reader x Dante drabble! Can I ask for a reader Dante x seamstress? He wants to fix the coat and the bum! accidentally in love ^^

bursting at the seams 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

ughhhgghfh!!! this request was soossosso cuteeehhxjdxidjsj

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

some cuss words, intended lowercase, mentions of blood and dirt but only bc dantes doin his job as a devil hunter lol, lmk if i missed anything!!

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

988 words, 5278 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“shit, dante, what did you do to this thing?”

“yeah, yeah—i know my ass is fat, thank you very much.” he paused as your eyes roamed around the tear, especially with your hand attempting to get a feel of how bad the cut was. how could he focus when your hand was so close to his ass?

“do you think you can fix it?” he finally said, tone a bit quieter than usual.

“‘course i can, who do you take me for?” you say, sauntering back over to your desk to grab some materials, eager for a new job on fixing dante’s coat.

you gripped the tattered leather of his clothing, not even wincing as the grime and blood transferred from his coat to your hands. this was a common occurrence with dante as he often came to you in times where he needed some spare clothes due to the fact that demons kept tearing his up. as you kneeled back down to assess the rips, you couldn’t help but think of how much these demons had it out for dante to be messing with his clothes this bad.

at your quip, dante merely shrugs and waits for you to be done with your work as his eyes trail across your office. it’s filled with posters of your biggest idols and numerous mannequins in the corners of the room. intricate designs scrawled onto pages littered the countertops as he eyed some especially brightly colored spools of thread. he could barely think as he got a whiff of your perfume when you had walked by him, and it definitely didn’t help as you had him take off his coat and start measuring his waist.

“you better be paying me for this, it’s a major rip.” you muttered as you walked away, dante’s eyes tracking you while you placed the coat on your desk and gazed down at it.

“‘course i will, what do ya take me for?” he mocked your earlier words, leaning against the small sink underneath some cabinets, making sure he didn’t prick himself with one of the thin needles scattered near it.

you threw him a playful glare before holding up the measuring tape and walking back up to him. your eyes stayed trained on him as you just said, “hips?”

dante cocked his head before taking a small sigh and stopped leaning on the counter, now standing up straight. he tried to act calm and unbothered, even going so far as to practically check his nails and yawn. in reality, having you at such a close proximity caused him to stiffen, your scent abundant in his nostrils as it made him dizzy while you wrapped the tape around his hips. it fit snuggly around him, the bright color a deep contrast compared to his dark shirt. maybe he really did have a fat ass, you thought.

“so, how’s the weather?” he joked, eager to get his mind off the fact that you were touching him. touching him, your hands wrapped around his waist ensuring that the tape was secure and accurate. your hands, touching him.

but oh, when you giggled at his joke. his stupid joke. it was like butterflies erupted inside of him, a sudden swell of pride rushing in his chest as he let out a small chuckle alongside you too.

your eyes flickered back up at him, soft smile still evident as you scoffed amusedly, “you’re funny, dante.”

and that was the real cherry on top. him? funny? you thought he was funny? dante obviously knew he was funny, but hearing you admit it never failed to redden the tips of his ears. he beamed at you, watching as you spun around and wrote his measurements down.

you tucked your hair behind your ear, eyes finding their way back to dante who stood there with that stupid smirk on his face, as per usual. your soft grin never faltered as you tilted your head at him. “anything else i can do for you?” was all you said, tone honeyed as the words fell from your lips.

“nah, ‘m good but let me know if you need anything, okay?“ he paused, smiling at you once more as he gathered his things and headed for the door. “it’s the least i could do as a thanks for your fine work.”

your attention focused back on the coat in your hands, already beginning your patchwork as your tongue poked out between your lips in concentration. “it’ll take a little while ‘til your coats done, i hope that’s okay.”

“as long as it gets fixed, i’m okay with waiting.” dante’s tone became uncharacteristic, almost holding a sweeter tone rather than his usual cocky demeanor.

“i’ll see you later, dante.” you paused your work, looking back up at the man standing in the doorway as he gave you a two-finger salute and closed the door behind him.

his steps echoed in the hallway, shoes tapping against the tile as he made his way outside into the bright sunlight. as he saw the light shine through the windows, he couldn’t help but think back to you. you were standing right in front of the window, the golden rays shone on you like no other as it illuminated your figure, almost making you out to be a divine figure.

dante subconsciously licked his lips as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to get you out of his head before his hand felt something in his pocket. his eyebrows furrowed as he fished what seemed to be a small piece of paper out, unfolding the crinkled mess. he squinted as his eyes read over a slew of numbers scrawled on the ripped corner, smirk reappearing on his face when he read the tiny, “call me!” underneath the numbers, a small ‘xoxo’ written under it in red pen.

maybe he’d give you a call, he thought, just once more.

187 notes · View notes

hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform · 9 months ago

Text

Kinktober 2024 Day Twenty One

Aphrodisiac

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Gaz… Gaz!” Soap burst the door to Gaz’s room open without even knocking.

Gaz straightened up from stacking his bags away, the annoyance quickly fading as he took in Soap’s manic appearance. He must have run in straight from the tarmac. His gear was still on, helmet hanging from his hand, eye black streaked across his face, streaking with sweat as he wiped his face on his gloves, breathing heavily.

“What happened?” Gaz dropped the bag he was holding.

“It’s… It’s bad. You have to come.” Soap beckoned.

“What?” Gaz shoved his feet into his trainers, bending the backs beneath his heels as he hurried out of the room after Soap. The undone laces flapped with each pace, making it hard for Gaz to keep as Soap lead him across the base, into the officer’s barracks with nary a greeting to the guard on the door.

Gaz started to get an idea of why Soap was so anxious when he pulled Gaz to a stop outside of Ghost’s door, raising his hand to knock. “Ghost? I got Gaz, he’s out here. Let him in, yeah?”

“Once you’re gone.” Simon’s strained voice came from the other side of the door. It was close, like he was hovering just on the other side of the wood, even with the audible anxiety in his voice. What was really weird, thought, was that Ghost was sending Soap away. Ghost would never do that.

“What the hell is going on?” Gaz glanced at Soap for answers, only to see Soap speedwalking away from him down the hallway.

Soap stopped at the corner, visible fatigue settling onto his shoulders as he called back to Gaz. “Just, go and see if he’s okay. He asked for you, wouldn’t see me, or Price. Go, see. If there’s time, call one of us, tell us what’s happening.”

Gaz watched Soap disappear around the corner, mouth still hanging open from his unanswered questions. He closed it, shook his head, and turned back to Ghost’s door. “He’s gone, Simon. It’s just me out here.”

Simon cracked the door open, enough that Gaz could see one of his eyes. “Is he really gone?”

“Yeah.” Gaz nodded. “I can take him, keep him away if he comes back, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.” Ghost sighed, and widened the door to reveal more of his appearance. His face was flushed pink, his hair askew, the eye black smudged around his eyes, running from sweat that was beading on his skin.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Gaz glanced down to Ghost’s gear. It was half removed, and had been done haphazardly, out of order, like he was in a desperate rush.

“Inside.” Ghost widened the door a little more, stepping back to let Gaz slip into the room.

Gaz looked around the room as Ghost locked the door behind him. Usually, the place was sparsely decorated, containing the standard bed, cupboard, desk and chair, with the only sign it was occupied at all being the sheets on the bed, and a book on the desk. While none of them used their barracks frequently, with how often they were away, travelling, Ghost went out of his way to avoid using this space, instead preferring to weasel his way into one of Gaz, Soap or Price’s rooms instead.

That’s what made it so unusual for Gaz to see pieces of Ghost’s gear strewn about on the floor. There was his helmet, torn away, separated from his mask; his boots were overturned against the wall; there were his spare mags, one there, another here, pressed under the toe of Gaz’s shoe; Ghost’s phone, with a fresh new crack across the screen; some flares carelessly tossed aside to roll where they please; his radio pack, with the cables spooling across the floor to its receiver.

Gaz turned back to face him. “Simon? Really, what’s going on with you?”

“I need your help. Please.” Simon spoke in a small voice, his hands swaying anxiously at his sides, before his fingers twitched, and they snapped up, fiddling with the straps on his vest. “The op went a bit… sideways. I got… sprayed with something, some kind of drug.”

“Okay. How am I helping?” Gaz reached out and took over the job of undoing what was left of Ghost’s gear, making quicker progress with his steady hands compared to Ghost’s shaking ones.

“Fuck…” Ghost swallowed. “Dunno. Price said, the file said, it was supposed to be some kind of sex drug. I’m so… horny.”

Ghost grimaced at the word, like he couldn’t believe he would say something that sounded so juvenile, but he couldn’t think of a better way to describe his predicament. Gaz managed to get the straps on the vest undone and tugged it off over Simon’s head, glancing down as he laid the vest on the floor, his eyebrows raising when he saw the bulge threatening to burst out of Ghost’s jeans.

“I see that now. Hurts there, then?”

Simon nodded.

“Okay. I’ll get you sorted. Let’s get you out of these, too.” Gaz gently stripped Ghost out of his shirt and jeans, pulling him over to his own bed and sitting him down as Gaz helped him push his boxers off. Gaz leant back, frowning when he saw Ghost’s cock. It was… bigger than he remembered it, flushed red and almost visibly throbbing. Ghost shivered when it was exposed to the air, letting out what could only be described as a whimper.

“It’s okay, Simon. I’m here.” Gaz caught his hands against Ghost’s thighs, trying to settle him, starting at the moan Ghost let out, his hands flying to land on top of Gaz’s, keeping them there against his skin.

“Feels… That feels better.”

“Better when I touch you, yeah?” Gaz slowly shifted up, careful to not move his hands too much. “Want more skin?”

Ghost nodded and reluctantly let Gaz’s hands go, compromising to himself by reaching up to try and help Gaz strip. He unfortunately hindered more than he helped, tugging on clothes like they would tear away at the seams and reveal Gaz’s skin to him, but Gaz managed to chuck his long sleeve shirt and joggers aside still intact, his trainers long abandoned somewhere in the mess of Ghost’s gear.

Gaz didn’t have time to get his boxers off as Ghost finally grabbed his hips and dragged Gaz down to the bed, half cuddling him and half trying to climb into Gaz’s lap, only managing to get one leg up over Gaz’s as he pressed their chests together.

Gaz moved his hands to either side of Simon’s face, concerned about how hot Ghost’s skin felt under his touch. “How you doing, Simon?”

“Bit better.” Ghost kept Gaz close to him, holding him tight as Gaz ran his hand down Ghost’s side and landed on his thigh again.

“What’re we wanting to do?”

“Need… Need to come so bad.” Ghost’s voice edged into a whine, his brow creasing as he struggled to produce an idea that would fix his predicament.

“How about I jerk you off? Nice and gentle.” Gaz looped his other hand under Simon’s arm and rubbed his back, letting Ghost curl into him. He clutched Gaz’s body tight, radiating heat off his skin as he tucked his head into Gaz’s neck. “See if that clears your head a bit.”

“Yes. Good.” Ghost kept one hand on Gaz’s shoulder, moving the other to grab Gaz’s knees to ensure the leg slung over Gaz’s lap stayed there, as Gaz raised his hand to Ghost’s cock.

Simon sobbed when Gaz touched it, curling even tighter against him. Gaz shook his head, trying to stay focused, as concern about how hot Ghost’s skin was feeling flooded his head. Simon only seemed to be getting warmer as Gaz wrapped his hand around his cock.

Ghost was normally big when he was hard, but this was something else. Gaz curled his hand around as much as he could, swallowing when he realised that his thumb only just met the tips of his fingers. He didn’t want to even imagine how painful this must be for Ghost. He immediately started to jerk him off, gasping as he felt Ghost’s cock twitch under his fingers, somehow still getting hotter, as Ghost shook against him, heaving in each of his breaths.

Gaz set a rhythm as best he could while keeping his eyes trained on the little bit of Ghost’s face he could see, trying to monitor him, to make sure he was okay, and that this was in fact helping, and not making it worse.

Gaz only looked away when he felt his hand getting noticeably wet, his eyes widening when he saw that Ghost had come, and come a lot. More than was humanly possible, a lot. It was still gushing out of Ghost’s cock, running over Gaz’s hand to spill down onto Ghost’s thighs and again to the sheets below.

Ghost was still hard through it all, too. He was running less hot though, and had stopped shaking. After a moment, Ghost took a concentrated deep breath and slowly lifted his head, letting Gaz see his face again.

“Better?” Gaz asked.

“Much.” Ghost answered, and kissed him. “Thanks.”

Gaz kept his hand on Ghost’s cock, slowly moving it as he cradled the man in his arms and tried to work out what to do next. “Still horny?”

Ghost nodded. “Less… but yeah.”

“Keep going, then? Get you up against those pillows.” Gaz nodded up the bed.

“Sure.” Ghost allowed the pair of them to shuffle up over the sheets, propping their heads against the pillows as they stretched out. Gaz was even allowed to get into a more comfortable position, lying out at Ghost’s side, slowly rutting his dick against Ghost’s thigh through his boxers as he continued stroking Ghost’s cock.

“Thanks.” Ghost said again, gently rubbing the back of Gaz’s neck.

“No worries.”

“No, I mean it. For taking me seriously. Not teasing me, or…”

“Of course not.” Gaz glanced up at him. “You couldn’t have taken that.”

“Yeah. That’s why I asked for you.” Ghost swallowed. “You have this instinct, where you can keep your head in any situation. You immediately know when it’s time to square up and be serious.”

“Soap knew it was serious.” Gaz mumbled.

“Only because I told him to go away.” Ghost sighed. “It’s not that he, or Price, wouldn’t have helped with it…”

“But they wouldn’t do it as caringly as me?”

“Yeah. Caring king over here.” Ghost mumbled, then groaned, more cum leaking down over Gaz’s fingers. “Fuck, this drug’s a mad number.”

“Sure is.” Gaz gently kissed Ghost’s arm, the only skin he could reach. “I got you though.”

“I know.” Ghost shifted, catching his thigh against Gaz’s covered dick. “Let me know when you come?”

“I’m not cumming until you’re all worked out.”

“Don’t.” Ghost stiffened up. “Don’t do yourself like that. Edging like that is cruel.”

“Okay… Okay.” Gaz gently rubbed Simon’s shoulder. “I won’t. Just, let me take care of you.”

Ghost nodded, settlimwng down with his eyes half closed. “But you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gaz squeezed the dick in his hand. “Yeah.”

57 notes · View notes