#these ideas both came to me during art class | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugarwarachan · 20 days ago

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driving you crazy

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader

summary: being in the same phd program as tsukishima kei was already the worst, and that was before you and the snarky bastard were tasked to teach the same class together. during a late-night run-in at the library, will things finally come to a head?

(note: reader writes smut on the side to make some extra money, since phd students barely make shit *sobs*)

content warnings: tsukki being a degrading lil shit *barks*, like so much sexual tension, slight exhibitionism (gettin' nasty in a library), slight angst, dry humping

word count: 2.1k (an anon ask turned into this, whoops!)

art credit: @Freaka_LoonyZ on x

You shouldn’t have kissed him.

Not even as a joke in the back of that shitty dive bar you’d taken him to because grading papers was making both of your eyes cross. But he’d looked so fucking handsome underneath the neon lights, sipping coolly at his beer, that you couldn't help dragging him by the collar into that alley and sucking his soul out through his mouth.

Fuck.

Staring down at the battered copy of Macbeth and your scattered pile of notes, you’re no closer to chasing him away from your thoughts than you had been the night before, achy and desperate in your bed.

Ever since you began your PhD program, Tsukishima Kei has been an ever-present pain in your ass. Sarcastic, flippant, and irresistibly intelligent in a way that makes your heart speed up every time you spar with him.

You hate him, perhaps just as much as you want him.

It's cowardly to hope he won't find you here, but you need to get work done, and the library feels like a good spot to avoid him in. He hates being around people, even when they're confined to calm spaces like this.

“You’re not hiding from me, are you?”

Of fucking course.

When you look up, he’s smirking, all self-assured arrogance while he leans against the library stacks. You want to strangle him and straddle him in equal parts.

“Why?" you snort, turning back to your notes. "Because of one kiss? You’re not that good, Tsukishima.”

(He is, though. You’ll be thinking about that kiss until you die.)

Maddeningly, he says nothing, only pulls out a chair and settles in across from you.

You really wish you could read him better, but the best course of action seems to be to shut your mouth and pretend you’re not affected. For a guy as detached as him, you think that’s the right choice.

“Have you eaten anything today?”

The fuck?

Looking up from the notebook you’re scribbling non-notes into, you see what appears to be concern on his face.

“Umm. Yeah.” You’re pretty sure you’re looking at him like lobsters sprouted out of his ears. He's never once asked about your well-being like this.

He nods. “Good. We did stay up late talking about Kantian ethics.”

That's certainly one way to boil down last night.

“And to think it came to blows only once,” you shoot back.

A small smile curves his lips before he takes out a book and some notes, seemingly content to start working on something.

Fine.

If he won’t bring up the kiss, neither will you.

Silence lapses, the only sound the scratching of pens on paper. You’re not sure how much time passes; it’s hard to be around Tsukishima for very long because of how much he seems to slow time for you.

You sneak a look and immediately wish you hadn’t, because you notice the edge of a sheet of folded paper and recognize notes you lost two weeks before.

Your entire body flashes cold.

You write down ideas all the time as they come to you. What can you say, you’ve got an actively flourishing sexual mind, which has helped tremendously in your choice of second income. Smut doesn’t just write itself.

But the last thing you want anyone to see, let alone Tsukishima, is a scene where you couldn’t stop picturing him as one of the participants…

You try not to let your thoughts race away from you. You can only imagine how much he’d tease you for it, how actively humiliating it would be to admit to Tsukishima fucking Kei that your fantasies more than often than not star him.

“You can’t be alright.”

“Excuse me?”

Golden-brown eyes confront you. He’s frowning.

Why the fuck can’t you lust over someone normal?

“You heard me.”

“There’s a book on Shakespeare and gender in the stacks I need to find,” you say, ignoring him and ignoring the fact that you already have that book sitting to your left.

He regards you carefully. Each second that ticks by, you know he’s weighing what to say. The hush of the library does nothing to calm the din in your chest, the awful racket of your heart furiously pounding behind your ribcage.

He smirks and waves a hand at the stacks. “By all means. “

Surrounded by a wall of books, you take a deep breath. It’s just as likely he hadn’t even seen the notes he’d accidentally snagged from you. All you have to do is get them back, right?

“You always deflect when you’re uncomfortable.”

Whirling around, you see Tsukishima leaning against the stacks like a Lothario in a Victorian play, and fuck, you must have it bad, because he actually looks good doing it.

“Might it have something to do with this?” He pulls out that folded-up sheet of paper, and you watch in horror as your notes literally unfold in front of you.

You know exactly what’s written there.

His eyes pin you in place and you feel like a bug wriggling on a cork board, helpless under his gaze.

“This is what’s bothering you.” He shakes the paper a little, like a master shaking a treat in front of a dog. “You didn’t want me to read it.”

Anger sparks in your chest. “Brilliant fucking solve, Sherlock.”

He glosses over the sarcasm and takes a step forward. You retreat one step back.

“Why didn’t you want me to read this?”

You stare at him, incredulous.

“Because it’s private, asshole.”

The look he gives you screams, Try again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s a smut scene, Tsukishima. Do I really have to spell out why that would be awkward for you to read?”

“Why? Because you imagined me while you wrote it?” Condescension drips from his words. Below your navel, your insides pull taut.

“What makes you think that? Because I deigned to kiss you last night?” You’re flirting with fire and you know it. You lean in, and so does he. “Come on, Tsukishima, you’re gonna have to do better than that. Where’s your hard evidence that I think about you like that at all?”

His eyes flash, and a near-feral smile splits his face.

He taps the side of the paper.

“Because you wrote this.”

And there, in small, nearly-smudged writing, are the words: Stop picturing Tsukki.

Blood pools in your cheeks. There’s no way he’s going to let you live this down, not ever.

You finally notice the red ink in the margins, his own annotations littering the page underneath your imaginings.

“Did you make fucking critiques?”

His laugh is so immediate it startles you. “I think you might call them suggestions.”

He’s close now, his hip nudging yours back along the books. Spines dig into your shoulder blades.

“If you’re fucking with me right now—"

One hand settles next to your head.

“One word, y/n,” his breath ghosts over your temple. “One word, and this stops.”

The rational part of your brain considers the consequences of messing around with someone in the same program, let alone someone like Tsukishima.

The rational part of your brain doesn’t answer.

“I don’t want this to stop.”

Exhaling sharply, he takes a step forward, his body now completely aligned with yours. You suppress the small moan climbing up your throat.

You were right, damn it to hell. This already feels better than most things you’ve ever done: your back curved against the books, the musty smell of paper, Tsukishima’s shirt shifting with yours.

One hand possessively cups your jaw.

“In that scene you wrote, were you picturing yourself?”

“Does it matter?”

His eyebrows rise. “Does it matter? How do you ground yourself in the scene if you don’t picture the characters?”

It’s an obvious taunt, but as you stare at the hollow of his throat, all you can think about is the fact that he smells warm and spicy, and you want to lick the column of his neck and wipe that fucking smirk off his dumb, handsome face.

You want him to be as affected by this situation as you are.

“If you tell me why you wrote all over the scene, I’ll tell you.”

He exhales. “You drive a hard bargain.”

��The hardest.”

He presses a knee between your thighs, spreading your legs apart. Without thinking, you grind your core down onto him, brain firing as soon as the pressure on your clit increases.

His hand grips down hard on your hip as he pulls you close, whispering furiously in your ear. "I read over this scene a hundred fucking times and I added what I would do. That’s what those notes are.”

Pleasure spreads over your chest; you barely remember your promise.

“I pictured myself. In that scene. I pictured you watching another man fuck me until you stepped in and showed him how it’s done.”

Tsukishima makes a noise like a whimper and a groan in his throat. His head falls forward on the stack, right next to yours. “Goddamnit, y/n.”

He presses his thigh more insistently against you, hand near to bruising on your hip.

“Did that not figure in your notes?” you ask, fisting your hands in his shirt, greedy for him to touch you more.

With strength that makes your pussy clench, he picks you up by the waist and drags your core along his leg. You can feel how wet you are, the slide of your cunt slippery in your underwear.

And we’ve barely done anything, a giddy part of your brain whispers.

“If it was real, no one else would be able to make you cum like I could," he's saying, voice low. "But I bet you’d love to see them try, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Fuck them in front of me until your sloppy pussy needs me to step in and fuck you like the little whore you are.”

His words travel from your ear down to your clit, and a low ache twists in your gut. You fall forward onto his chest, hands twisting around his shirt collar.

You're already climbing toward release with each slide of your core against his thigh.

“Please, Tsukki.” A whine erupts in your throat. “Please. Fuck, I’m so close.”

He doesn't even entertain your implied suggestion. “You’ll come on my thigh, y/n, I know you can. I can feel how much of a mess you’re making through your jeans. How wet would you be if I pulled those off?”

“Take them off and find out," you pant into his skin.

His hands deftly shuck your jeans down your legs, just enough to expose your underwear. You should feel ridiculous riding a man’s thigh in the back of a library stack with your pants around your knees, but you can’t be damned to care.

Fingertips trace over your pussy, outlining the lips through the cotton of your underwear. He skims a thumb over your clit.

“You’ve ruined these.” He sounds delighted.

“Fucking take them off, Tsukishima, for fuck’s sake.” You’re begging, and you hate it, but at this point, you’d do anything to feel his touch on your bare skin.

“No,” he says softly, tempering the denial with a kiss to your temple. “You’ll finish like this.”

You’re glad your face is pressed against him. This way he can't see how affected you are, how every time he drags you against his thigh, you practically drown in pleasure.

Little gasps and pleas fall from your lips, muffled against his chest. One more drag and you cum violently, your hips chasing after your orgasm with such intensity you feel like you’re floating.

You come down slowly, ears ringing. You're pretty sure you hear Tsukishima talking to you, but the only thing drifting through your mind is that you haven’t cum like that in years, and of course it’s with the man you can’t stop thinking about, for better or for worse.

You look down and take in your soaked underwear, the damp stain on his trousers.

He hands you back the notes and helps you right yourself on shaky legs.

Somehow, this feels more intimate than anything you've done with him so far. His hands are calloused and strong, and you want to hold onto him a little longer.

The thought jolts you, and before you can stop it, the words are out.

"This was a mistake."

And what takes you aback is not that Tsukishima agrees with you, but that he looks almost sad when he does.

masterlist here. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3

#GAHHHH he drives me insane #tsukishima kei #tsukki #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukki x reader #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #kei tsukishima #kei tsukishima x reader #sugarwarachanwrites

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freelancelobotomy · 10 days ago

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౨ৎ˚₊𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 [𝐒.𝐑]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

𐙚⋆.˚Summary: Spencer is smitten for the T.A. at Penelope’s art class. And he just might have a chance with her. ⋆˙��♡WC: 2.3k

⊹܀˙CW: Suggestive language, Derek is half neked (for plot reasons of course), Spencer wants y/n so baddddd, Reader is described to have hips (the pic is to show the maxi skirt that I imagined), Reader has long hair.

♪‧₊˚A/N: hiiiiii I love this song + it came on my shuffle yesterday and it gave me an idea so yk I had to get to WORK. I hope u like. If this gets over 100 notes ill write Gravity pt 3. Okay bye bye

Spencer had agreed to take both Derek and Penelope to Penelope’s art class that night since her car wouldn’t start and Derek’s had gotten towed for being parked on the street too long while they were in Florida for a case. Derek wasn’t taking the class with Penelope—he was the model for it.

“It’s a life drawing class,” she had explained, giddily. “They saw Derek pick me up last week and the professor asked him to model for us today. And to bring baby oil.”

The art room was bright and beautifully decorated, with an abundance of ferns and vines and all sorts of greenery adorned onto the walls.

The professor had smiled as the three of them approached the stool that Derek was supposed to perch on during class.

“Penelope! Derek! Happy that you could make it. You can change in the supply closet on the left,” Professor Andi had gasped. “Did you bring some oil? I have linseed oil from my oil painting class earlier today that you can use if you didn’t.”

“I got some, don’t worry, Doc,” Derek had said with a wink before making his way to the supply closet and shutting the door behind him.

“Who is this? Are you here for the class?” Professor Andi had beamed.

“Oh… no. I’m Spencer. I was just dropping off—”

You had walked into the room, your hips swishing in your maxi skirt as you balanced a tower of sketchbooks in your arms.

“Y/N! Hi!” Penelope had smiled. “Do you need help?”

Spencer’s legs had started moving on their own toward you, taking four of the sketchbooks from your stack.

You had smiled politely at the tall man. “Thank you.” The both of you placed the sketchbooks on the table..

“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face. Beautiful, he had thought, a warmth spreading through him. The first thing he had truly noticed were your lips—the way they curved into a smile as you spoke, their delicate movements as you formed each word. You wrapped Penelope in a hug.

“Oh,” you sighed, a faint blush gracing your cheeks. “How rude of me. I’m Y/N. Professor Andi’s TA. You must be Derek,” you had said, offering your hand.

Spencer, despite a fleeting thought about germs, had found himself wanting to hold it. Your touch was light, and your nails were a pretty pale pink. What would it feel like to have those hands explore…?

Spencer had cleared his throat, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I’m not Derek. I’m, uh… Doctor Spencer Reid—well, just Spencer. Please.” He had fumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to reach for you again. “I’m Penelope and Derek’s ride.”

“My mistake, Spencer,” you had said, your eyes meeting his with a playful tilt of your head. “Will you be joining us today?”

Did you know the effect you had? It had felt almost cruel. He glanced at Penelope, who was practically begging with her eyes.

A subtle smile had played on his lips. “Looks like I will be,” he nodded, his attention already drawn back to you.

“Great! Come with me. Let’s get you a sketchbook,” you grinned, gesturing for him to follow, and he had found himself eagerly complying.

Your backside was just as pretty as your face. He watched you switch on the light in the supply room, the movement causing a soft sway of your hips that he couldn’t tear his gaze from.

You crouched down to the floor, rummaging through bins of pencils. The way your brow had furrowed in concentration was endearing.

“Have you ever taken art class before? Or just been creating independently?” you asked him, your voice a melodic murmur that had sent a shiver down his spine. Gravity had pulled your hair toward your face, showcasing the delicate slope of your neck—a sight that made his breath catch. He wanted to reach out, to feel the softness of those strands against his fingers.

“Neither. This is all sort of new to me,” he admitted, his chuckle betraying a hint of nervousness—a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. Especially not to someone who already held his attention so tightly.

“I see,” you said, picking up a large sketchbook and a brand new case of pencils and blending stubs. “Well, what do you like to do in your free time?” Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, his stomach fluttering.

He had taken the supplies from you, his fingers brushing against yours—a brief touch that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He wished the exchange could have lasted longer, wanted to linger in that delicate contact. He spent too long just looking at you, memorizing the curve of your smile, the way your eyes sparkled. Words, he had reminded himself. He needed to say something meaningful, something that would capture your attention as completely as you had captured his.

“I like reading,” he managed, his voice slightly rougher than intended.

You waltzed past him to re-enter the art room, your perfume drifting toward his senses. Hmm… Fresh. Pear maybe? The scent was intoxicating—a promise of sweetness that he desperately wanted to explore. He would’ve followed that fragrance anywhere, even into the deepest ocean.

“Me too. Um… what’s your favorite book?” you asked.

He paused. You wanted to talk to him. The realization sent a thrill through him. What timeline was he in right now? This had felt like a dream.

“I enjoy everything that I read,” he replied. He had known it was a terrible answer, a deflection, but his mind was still reeling from your nearness.

“Okay, but there’s got to be a standout,” you chuckled, raising a brow. Cute. The simple gesture had made him swallow hard.

“Well, recently I’ve been re-reading Orwellian literature, so something of that nature. As of the moment I’ve been particularly enjoying 1984.” He wanted to impress you with his intellect, hoping to find some common ground, some way to bridge the distance between you.

“Ooh,” you sighed, “That’s a good one. Mine right now is probably…” You trailed off, thinking as you opened a fresh kneaded eraser for him. “Lord of the Flies,” you had decided. “Works that ask the question if evil is ingrained into our morality are some of my favorites. I find them the most stimulating,” you said, your eyes holding a captivating intensity.

It hadn’t been suggestive in the slightest the way you had said it, yet it had stirred something within him—a deep need to know you. To know where you came from and the places you'd been. He had managed a curt nod, his usual eloquence deserting him as he had found a seat next to Penelope, his gaze still drawn to your every movement.

After Professor Andi gave a quick review (or introduction, for Spencer) of value and shape, Derek had stepped out of the supply closet, glistening like a glazed donut. The women in the class had turned to each other, giddy and excited. He had taken his place on the stool in the middle of the circle of chairs. Derek smiled at Spencer and Penelope before striking a pose.

Spencer didn’t give a shit, though. He had been staring at you as you peeled a clementine at your desk, the delicate way your fingers manipulated the fruit utterly mesmerizing. You popped a slice into your mouth before wiping the residue from your hands and taking your sketchbook in hand. He imagined the sweetness lingering on your lips—a dangerous thought that made his chest ache. He’s never wanted someone so badly before.

Professor Andi had put on her Bossa Nova playlist. How fitting. Your hoop earrings, the faint flush on your cheeks—you had looked like how Bossa Nova sounded: pleasant and dreamy, an ethereal vision that he had felt he could only admire from afar.

You had begun sketching furiously, a small pout forming on your lips in concentration, your brow furrowed. The intensity of your focus had been incredibly alluring. He had found himself wanting to be the subject of that fierce gaze, to have you study him with such intent. He envied the loose leaf paper of your sketchbook and your 6B pencil that had the privilege of feeling your touch uninterrupted.

“Why haven’t you started yet?” Penelope whispered—not so subtly. It snapped Spencer from his haze, the spell you had cast momentarily broken.

“Huh—what?”

“Your page. It’s empty. Why?”

“Just thinking of how to approach this, is all,” he lied, his mind still replaying the way your hair had fallen across your neck. Penelope had narrowed her eyes but had chosen to let it go.

He had desperately wanted to impress you, to create something worthy of your attention. The thought of your opinion consumed him.

Spencer had somehow managed to find the control to start drawing a half-naked, oiled-up Derek, but his values had gotten a little muddy. He had needed to block out the highlights like Professor Andi had said in her brief lecture. But his kneaded eraser was stiff and wouldn’t warm up in his hands, no matter how long he had pressed it between his palms.

“Do you need help?”

“Uh, yeah, my eraser won’t soften.”

“Y/N,” Penelope said, calling you over with a smile. You peered up from your sketchbook and smiled as you got up to approach her.

“How can I help?” you asked, bending over slightly with your palms on your thighs to be within earshot of Penelope.

“Spence needs help getting his kneaded eraser to knead,” she whispered, biting back a smile.

“No problem,” you smiled, dragging a stool next to him and sitting down. You had leaned in close to get a glance at the eraser. Pears, he had thought.

“Is it hard?” you asked. Ironic, he had thought.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how to.”

“You’re totally fine. It happens to me all the time. Here. I’ll help,” you had said, taking his hands into yours. “See this part of your thumb?”

Your long, delicate fingers had softly rubbed the joint below the pad of his thumb. Spencer had nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

“You’re going to press it against this joint,” you had said, your fingertips now tracing the second joint of his index finger. “And rub the eraser between your fingers to warm it up.” You had placed the square, unkneaded eraser in the described position and guided Spencer’s hands to repeat that motion over and over until his fingerprint had appeared in the softened eraser. Spencer had hoped you wouldn’t notice how badly his hands were shaking as you held them.

“Okay, good job,” you had said, a soft warmth in your voice. Jesus. “Now stretch it with two hands like putty, then roll it into a ball.”

Your molasses gaze had flickered over his fingers, briefly meeting his. He had your complete attention in that moment and he literally had no idea what to do with himself. He had rolled the now-soft eraser into a ball.

“Perfect. Now you can use it.” You smiled at him—a genuine, captivating smile that had sent a jolt through him—before moving your stool away.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a little rough. You nodded politely before returning to your sketchbook.

Spencer had made the decision that he was going to try his absolute hardest to impress you. He had known it was probably stupid, but it hadn’t seemed impossible, and he had thought he had a good shot at making it work.

By the end of the class, everyone had given their sketches to Derek for him to keep. Spencer had handed his to Derek. Derek’s brows had risen.

“You did this?”

“Yeah,” Spencer croaked dryly, his mind elsewhere. He had been watching you through the mirror near the door. You had ripped out two pages and then gotten up from your seat.

“It looks good, actually. Nice work, pretty boy,” Derek had said, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

“Hi Derek, nice to meet you,” you said nicely, smiling. You had handed him your portrait, which—of course—had put everyone else’s to shame, Spencer’s included. You made polite small talk with Penelope until they had eventually needed to leave.

Spencer lingered in the doorway. Ask for her number. Stop being awkward and aloof for five seconds of your life and ask her. But what if you never called him? Should he ask you to coffee instead? Or lunch? You seemed like a brunch type of girl—

“Doctor,” you whispered.

Spencer had turned around, his heart leaping. “I have something for you,” you had said, walking toward him.

“For me?” he asked, a hopeful tremor in his voice.

You handed him something—it was a portrait. Of him.

“I did it after I finished Derek’s.”

It was beautiful. He looked beautiful. The delicate lines of the shadows sketched by your hands, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips… it had been him, and it had been wonderful. And it had been by you. You had observed his face and felt the need to put pencil to paper.

“Would you like, um—Y/N… Do you want to get coffee with me sometime next week?” he stammered, the question tumbling out in a rush. A slow, knowing smile had crept onto your lips, and you had nodded. Unbelievable.

“Yeah, I’d love to, Spencer,” you chuckled breathily, the sound like a melody to his ears.

“Really? Could I… get your number?” he had asked, his gaze fixed on yours.

“Flip it over,” you said, brushing past him, your scent lingering in the air again.

He had followed your directions. Your number had been scribbled on the back of the portrait. “Bye, Spencer.”

He watched you get into your car as Penelope and Derek laughed about something.

Your car had pulled out of the driveway, and you had honked the horn.

Penelope had smirked at Spencer. “Someone made a friend.”

“I saw her helping you ‘knead your eraser.’ I can tell she likes you.”

“You think?” Spencer had asked, biting back a grin.

He sure had hoped so—because he was already obsessed with you.

borders from: @muffiinss

I love jeff buckley

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certifiedcodbabygirl · 1 year ago

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Simon Riley who realizes how much he fucked up and that maybe therapy isn't such a bad idea

AN: Lil bit longer than usual, but it's been on my mind

Art credit to SubsurfaceChaos on Twitter

Something was off with him all day. It wasn't too noticeable until he began distancing himself, getting irritated at being around anyone. You confronted him, simply trying to see if you could help or maybe provide comfort, and fuck did that backfire.

He was sitting in the living room watching whatever was on the channel, but it's not like he was paying attention to it. Thoughts and feelings of the deployment he just came back from a few days ago build up, irritation filling him like water in a bathtub. He doesn't usually have flashbacks or anything like that, the military would discharge him if he had PTSD, but some days he thinks too much.

He didn't even notice you coming in until you were sitting next to him. He snaps out of his thoughts just to meet your soft eyes. You sat on the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd him too much while he's like this.

"What." He deadpans, voice devoid of all emotion.

Yeah something's definitely up.

"What's wrong, Si? Somethin' been messing with you today?" You ask gently, not wanting to come off as if you're accusing him.

He gives you and irritated look, suggesting you drop it, "Nothin', 'm fine"

You're not stupid. He tends to need a little push in order to open up.

"I know you're not", tone still soft, "I'm not trying to irritate you or anything, I ju-"

"Well you certainly got an affinity for it" He snaps, "Drop it"

You inhale, trying to not take his words personally, "Si, I'm your girlfriend, it's kinda my job to check in with you"

The bathtub overflows.

"You can't listen, can you? I said drop it, fuckin' 'ell" He stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, trying to create distance.

"Simon I'm just trying to help, I'm not here to make things harder for you" You try to reason with him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You follow him into the kitchen but still give him space. He doesn't say anything back, a small part of him knowing you're right but the larger part won't connect to that. Pouring a class of orange juice, he keeps his back to you.

"Si-"

"Can you shut up for once?! Can you? I said bloody drop it. It's not up for discussion!" He sets the cup on the counter with a thud and snaps at you, "You're always fuckin' naggin' at me, clearly not takin' a bloody hint. Jesus Christ"

That shuts you up. The lump in your throat intensifies, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's never yelled at you like that before. Sure, he's had bursts of irritation during arguments, but he's worked hard to make sure he never treats you how you don't deserve.

"Why are you yelling at me? All I'm doing is trying to be there for you" You ask quietly, voice not really allowing you to speak louder. a couple tears fall down your face, and your nose begins to get stuffed up. You try to quietly sniffle but he still hears it. He hangs his head down and groans quietly.

"Now you're fuckin' cryin'. Great."

Not wanting to be around him much longer, you turn to leave, "Come find me when you're calmer", Your voice betrays you and cracks a little.

You walk away and go upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once you close the door, the crying begins. His words cut through you like a knife, a deep pressure-like hurt seeping through your chest. Sobs rack your body yet you still try to be quiet, not wanting him to hear. You know he's gonna snap out of it and fuckin hate himself for what he did. You know he loves you, and if he were in his right mind he would have never uttered a single degrading word to you.

You slip into bed and lay there, crying. You guessed he would be up anytime soon and the smell of him on the pillows was both comforting and hurtful.

Downstairs though, Simon was fucking fuming. Seeing you go up the stairs, lip quivering, evaporated every bit of him anger. He groans loudly and throws an arm over his eyes.

'How fuckin' stupid can you be? How the fuck can you speak to her like that?'

He removes his arm and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. You've stuck through with him since the moment you meet. Never once judged his off stand-ish behavior and learned to find ways to work with him. He cherished you so wholly, feeling what he thought he never would. You came into his life and slowly broke down his walls, allowing you to see him apart from his exterior.

He thought he was going to lose you. Sure, you had arguments before, but he had never purposefully tried to hurt you. Knowing that he did made his stomach churn, nausea kicking in. 2 years of the best relationship (not that there were very many before you) all to be broken down, at least what he thought, because he was pissed off.

'Maybe I should fuckin' go to therapy.'

Let's be honest, he could use it. He tried to go through it before but just quit due to how uncomfortable it made him. He figured he was on his own, all before you, and there was no one to deal with his bullshit besides him. Now he has someone who he cares about so much that it doesn't matter if he's uncomfortable. He'd rather be uncomfortable than never be with you again.

He gathers the balls to go upstairs and carefully opens the door. He's met with the sight of you curled up, your sniffles being the only sound in the room.

"Go away" You call out, although not too loudly. Your voice is wobbly and stuffy.

He'd think it was adorable, had he not been the one to cause it. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and gets in, spooning you. He kisses your hair so gently it would give you butterflies if you weren't so upset.

"I'm so sorry, love. I haven't a clue why I did that to you and you didn't deserve a single lick of it." He feels the small burn in his nose as he starts tearing up a little, "I promise it'll never happen again"

You sniffle as more tears fall, the pain sticking to you despite his words.

"I wasn't trying to piss you off" You whisper.

"I know baby, it wasn't you. I promise it wasn't. Could never be that mad at you" He says softly, a tear falling. He grips you a little bit tighter and kisses the back of your neck, trying to bring comfort to both of you.

"Then why did you yell at me? I've never heard you like that before."

He sighs, "Been thinkin' 'bout what happened while I was gone and it came out at you. 'M gonna go back to therapy 'n try to fix what ever the hell is wrong with me" He kisses your neck again, " 'M gonna do better, gonna be better"

He's not stupid, he knows his words aren't gonna go away overnight. He knows how much you love him, even if he doesn't understand it, and knows hearing that from him hurts more than it would anyone else. He knows you're gonna be affected by them for a bit and he's prepared to fix it. Anything for his love.

You turn around so you're both still on your sides but you're cuddled into his chest. Wasting no time, not even hesitating, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing this is your way of accepting his apology. He softly kisses your forehead and cheek, whispering how much he loves you and how it's gonna be better.

He knows he can't run from his issues anymore and for once he's ready to face them.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #cod simon riley #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader hurt/ comfort #cod hurt/comfort #ghost x reader hurt/ comfort #cod angst #simon riley x reader angst #ghost cod angst

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neil-gaiman · 1 year ago

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Hello Neil, my name is Zalean. If you have a few minutes, I wanted to tell you a little story. Not really a question and I’m not sure how to use tumblr but I wanted to say thanks so much for coming to Florida a few months back and talking with Art Spiegelman. It was my first time ever figuring out how to buy tickets for something. I lived in, middle of nowhere, Vermont for most my life and had no idea what I was doing, I had never been to anything before, nothing had made me excited enough to do the 5 hour drive. And then you just appeared 20 minutes away from where I am living now.

See, I was just starting to get to know your books and work because I fell in love with Good Omens so deeply when I discovered it during season twos release. Funny thing is, I knew of you all along without even realizing it, Stardust has been my favorite book and movie since I was a kid because it was my dad’s favorite story. Finding out my two favorite things were actually connected, I started trying to get hands on as many of your books as I could. I hadn’t read in years before finding your books. It was eye opening.

The talk event at the Dr.Phillips Center was sold out by the time I knew about it, someone had asked me if I knew of the event when they saw my Good Omens keychains my mom had made me. I called the box office because there is no harm in asking. I explained how I’m an art student at UCF and desperately wanted to be inspired and learn from you both. The customer service people were amazing and ended up calling me back to get me a seat in the orchestra pit before they were released to the public. I drove alone, I walked there alone, I sat alone, and it was worth it. I was so thankful to get a seat and grateful to my professor who was a bit jealous he didn’t know about it but let me leave class early to go because of course the art professor would be understanding for any learning opportunities in the arts. And it was truly wonderful, it seemed real and that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want a show. I just wanted to hear, in some sense, that you were like everybody else. I brought a notebook and pen for any information or story’s that I thought made a difference to my little life. The other people around were wonderful, you inspire kind people.

Like I said, I had never been to anything like this and I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know you would have signed books and I only found out because the people next to me came in late. I asked them why they brought the books after it was over and the lights turned on. They did look at me like I had three heads for a moment until they realized I didn’t know there were books to buy, they looked kinda sorry for me but they were so nice. I had never really thought about the importance of someone’s scribble before this but it’s something that proves you were there. It says “Remember when this person made you happy? Remember when they changed your life? Remember when they gave you hope? Look at this and remember.” I hope to see David Tennant and Michael Sheen to get an autograph now that I understand the meaning behind it a bit more but honestly I just love diving into everyone’s projects, the wonder you all create. Oh what fun it is to live a life full of stories!

The people that were sitting next to me let me look at their signed books and hold them. I flipped through some of the big ones, handed them back and expressed my gratitude just to be in the theater. I showed them all my little quotes I wrote down, I never want to forget why I create things and you say so much about never stopping, always creating. Then the women handed me a different book, a smaller book, but when I tried to hand it back, a bit confused, she softly placed it back in my open hands and said “I want you to have it, we have plenty and I want you to love these stories just as much as we do. It’s just starting for you, I want you to remember who started it”. The book she handed me being“The Ocean at the End of the Lane”. The first book I decided to read by you and had just finished a week before. The women had no idea she given me a signed copy of the book that made me want to read again. Your books make the world better. For such a big theater and such a big stage, I just wanted to tell you my little point of view.

The story you told about wishing you enjoyed the past more than you did, I hope you get to enjoy it now, and I hope you want to. And thank you, to you and to Terry Pratchett for creating something special. I convinced my dad to watch Good Omens with me over December break, he loved it.

I forget sometimes that everything is someone's first time, and then I read something like this and feel like I need to remember that better. I'm glad the people beside you were kind.

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callahanisms · 1 year ago

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body talk

seeing challengers was a mistake guys because all i can think about is challengers and how much i love challengers and how cinema is back after people declared the death of cinema like three years ago and how much i wanna go see challengers again—

anyways uhhhh did challengers make me hop onto the mike faist train? yes. because i love a man that clearly worships his wife and kisses boys.

character: art donaldson

for vibes: "physical" by olivia newton-john

context: stanford university. 2007.

if you had a choice, you wouldn't be working as a receptionist in the gym. instead, you'd work in the infirmary. it was more in line with your desire to pursue sports medicine.

your father himself was an athlete who sustained a career ending injury and went into sports medicine. you wanted to follow in his footsteps.

but for now, you were working as a receptionist at the gym for your federal work study. college wasn't going to pay for itself unfortunately and your parents could only provide so much support.

art donaldson recognized you while you guys were at a party. "you're the person at the desk in the gym!" he sounded so excited. almost like a puppy.

"yeah..." you look down at your red solo cup. "you're like a regular. with tashi duncan."

"you know her?"

"well, i've talked to her a few times. she's great." who wouldn't like her honestly? you weren't the biggest fan of tennis but whenever tashi duncan played, she always managed to make it magical.

"you're also in my bio class, right?"

"you're in my bio class?"

"oh don't tell me you didn't notice."

you shrug. "i didn't. you're not very...noticeable, i guess."

art took personal offense to that statement.

okay not entirely. because to some extent, you were right. he wasn't as noticeable as some of the other people in class, like the lacrosse player on the guys team or the girl from the basketball team, both of whom you seem to be close with.

growing closer to art was just a matter of being in a lot of classes together, something you didn't realize during the first month of college.

to be fair, it was a lot.

but the good thing about having a lot of classes with him was that it meant you always had a go to person for group projects. and god were professors adamant about assigning group work.

at the very least, you had a workout buddy when you guys were free. sometimes, you were even joined by tashi duncan. so it was cool to be able to work out with a famous tennis player.

perhaps the gym is where you started to notice art's...physicality.

he wasn't entirely imposing, aside from being quite tall. but he had a surprising amount of muscle. perhaps the tank tops he wore didn't help much. it left little to the imagination.

because of your familiarity with the body and your desire to go into sports medicine, art called you when he was feeling a bit sore.

he opens the door with a smile, seeing you with your bag and clementines. "what's the fruit for?"

"just in case you get hungry." you step in and remove your shoes. "just lay down."

"bed or floor?"

"whichever you prefer. the bed might be more comfy. we'd have to move stuff around if you were on the floor. oh and take off your shirt."

"what?" he could feel his cheeks beginning to heat up.

"take off your shirt. a massage won't be that effective with your shirt on."

"alright. umm..." art just does what you ask of him, taking his shirt off and setting it aside on his desk chair. he gets on the bed and lays down, front side down.

you pull out a bottle of lotion and crawl onto the bed, straddling him at his waist. you are unaware of how red he is feeling you against him.

you feel around his back for bit, asking him where in particular is tight. once you got a good idea, you squirt some lotion onto your hands, rub it a bit, then begin to massage.

art would be embarrassed from the sounds that came out of him. but he was craving for the relief from his overworked and tired muscles. he could feel just how deep your hands went in, twisting and rubbing. your hands felt so good. they glided smoothly and your touch soothed him greatly.

"damn dude. when was the last time you massaged yourself?"

"don't know." he mutters, burying his lower face into his own pillow. he could feel himself growing warmer all over his body.

your palm pressing into him, dragging itself through his muscles, rubbing baby lotion into his skin so he's soft.

your hand reaches a part of his lower back, your palm rubbing through the muscle. and he moans.

you stop for a moment. "something wrong?"

"no...nothing's wrong..." he mutters.

"you sure?"

"yes. keep going."

he enjoys the way your hands move lower, and lower. he wants them to sneak to the front. massage him a different way.

your hands linger on a particular spot of his back though, feeling the defined muscle. there's something particularly...satisfying, about running your hands over his body. you were tempted to feel more. especially his arms.

art's arms were utterly gorgeous, as if sculpted out of marble by a renaissance artist themselves.

"i think you're all good."

"all done already?" he smelled like baby lotion. whatever that mean.

"unless you want me to massage elsewhere." you get off of him and he turns on his side to look at you.

the tank top you were wearing was a little bit tight.

art gently grabs your wrist. "magical hands you know."

"it's beneficial to learn how to massage. for your own betterment and health. though i will happily help you with the spots you can't reach."

he rubs circles into your wrists. "are they tired?"

"a little. it was because i took an exam yesterday. writing in those blue booklets is absolute torture."

"that's fair." his eyes flicker up to yours. the room was warm, the atmosphere right. "do you...like my body?"

"it's nice. you're very beautiful." you smile.

art pulls you forward, your legs hitting the wooden bedframe of the shitty college provided furniture.

"do you want to feel it?"

you bite your lip. "i think i do."

#gender neutral reader #female reader #male reader #x reader #challengers #challengers 2024 #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader

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petersasteria · 3 months ago

Text

Little Matchmakers - Park Sung-hoon

Pairing: Teacher!Park Sung-hoon x Teacher!Reader Summary: AU in which both of you are teachers to little kids who happen to be really good matchmakers

A/N: Not many people write abt him and he's such a great actor! so, here's my first PSH fic <3 big thanks to @thisisntmyrightera for inspiring me!!

Running around, combing someone's hair, and packing yourself some extra snacks isn't what you expected when you became a teacher. It was tiring (and difficult) to teach little ones who are only learning how to be... well-functioning humans, but you were immensely grateful that you'd be a part of shaping who they are.

You absolutely adored children and being a pediatrician didn't pique your interest as much as being a teacher. You couldn't bare sharing bad news, especially if you were a doctor. So, being a teacher made sense to you.

You loved the school you were working at and you loved your co-workers. It's a very pleasant place to start your career. As for your personal life, you didn't feel the need to have a relationship because you were too immersed in your work to care about going on dates.

However, your little ones had other ideas. It didn't take long for you to catch on to what they're doing. It all started when you had a family emergency and asked the other teacher, Park Sung-hoon, to watch your class for a while.

Thankfully, he said yes and went in your classroom right after you left.

"Where's Ms. Y/N going?" one student asked.

"Oh, she had to go out for a while, but she'll be back in an hour or so." Sung-hoon smiled as he took a seat on your chair. Before you left, you told him that it was arts & crafts time and you'll be back by recess. "Ms. Y/N will be back at recess to join you." He said sweetly.

One of your students, Jae, raised his hand. Sung-hoon smiled and motioned for him to speak. "Yes?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Jae asked with an innocent look on his face.

Sung-hoon chuckled at the question and shook his head. "No, I don't. I don't have time for a girlfriend because I'm too busy with work."

"But do you want to have a girlfriend?" Jae asked.

"Sure, why not?" Sung-hoon smiled before standing up to walk around and look at their artworks.

Jae looked at his friends whom he shared a table with and whispered, "Ms. Y/N doesn't have a boyfriend."

"Yeah, and he doesn't have a girlfriend. Maybe they could be together." Hana said in a hushed voice and everyone agreed.

During recess, all your kids gathered in one spot to discuss their little plan and by the time you got back, they all dispersed in the playground.

After that, your kids did everything they could to get you and Mr. Sung-hoon together. They even made sure you and him sat next to each other at the school's foundation day event.

After weeks of your kids trying, you began to understand what they were doing. You were at the grocery store when you realized this and you smiled to yourself thinking about how your kids came up with their crazy plan. Your wondering stopped when your cart bumped into someone else's cart. You looked up and saw Sung-hoon.

He laughed and looked around, causing you to do the same. "Your kids didn't set you up to do grocery shopping too, right?" He joked.

You laughed. "No, they didn't. Thank god you noticed it too! This is so insane."

"Right? It's crazy what kids can come up with." Sung-hoon shook his head, chuckling.

"That's true."

"Hey, do you want to get some coffee later? I mean, if you're free... later.... after doing groceries." Sung-hoon cleared his throat.

"Oh, sure! I mean, we can accompany each other now, then we can pay, and we can go to the coffee shop nearby." You suggested.

"That sounds like a plan!" He grinned and motioned for you to walk first. Maybe your kids' plan wasn't such a bad idea after all.

---------

A/N: lmao sorry if it sucked

#park sung-hoon #park sunghoon #park sung-hoon x reader #park sung hoon actor #jeon jae jun #jeon jae joon #the glory #k's works #squid game 2

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dustofthedailylife · 2 years ago

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The Art Of Desire

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Alhaitham x (gn!) Reader

Summary: You are in need of a model for your anatomy class assignment. However, the last thing you expected was that your crush would volunteer to help you and that he would end up standing in front of you without a shirt.

Tags: Fluff, Suggestive (but still completely SFW)!, shy reader, partial nud*ty I guess? (Alhaitham is shirtless at some point), flirting, kissing

A/N: *throws fic into the room and leaves*

Being an artist while also being a scholar in Sumeru had always been somewhat difficult for you. The arts had never been something most people in Sumeru City appreciated or even actively looked down upon. It was a city of scholars after all, and the arts were too abstract to properly grasp for most of them.

Things had begun to become better after the old Grand Sage had been replaced and the new Archon had been freed but a lot of scholars still didn’t show much interest in the arts.

But due to that an assignment for one of your classes proved difficult. Anatomy.

You had no idea how learning human anatomy would help you as an architect later, but you did what you had to do. And it would surely help you with your personal art projects later on as well.

The only thing you had to find now was someone who could pose for you. Surely Kaveh would be able to help you right? He was your best friend and was once in the same situation.

You sought him out where he hung around the most - the Tavern.

As you walked through the Tavern door, warm air that smelled like wine and spices wafted your way and filled all your senses. You loved how homely it always felt here.

You scanned the tables to find Kaveh. Unfortunately for you though, he wasn’t alone. As you feared, Alhaitham was with him. You already considered turning around to leave again but Kaveh had already spotted you and was enthusiastically waving for you to come over to their table.

And that was precisely the reason you rarely ever came here nowadays. Kaveh often met up with Alhaitham here for lunch. And your crush on the latter had slowly but surely turned you into a nonsense-blabbering mess during conversations with him. At this point, he probably thought you were stupid.

You hesitantly tiptoed over to their table and greeted them while your heart pounded heavily inside your chest. You sat down on the bench next to Kaveh who was already a bit tipsy. It wasn’t much of a surprise, since he was such a lightweight and practically got drunk as soon as he looked at wine the wrong way.

“Kaveh, I need your help!” You pleaded, trying to avoid eye contact with Alhaitham as much as possible once again.

“And that would be, my dear friend?” Kaveh replied in a singsong voice.

“Alright so… I need someone to pose for me. I need to draw a couple of detailed torso drawings for the anatomy course I’ve been taking, and since you also took that once I thought you could help me. I mean, you could also give me some tips. Right?”

“Oh.” His smile faltered for a brief moment and his facial expression told you everything you needed to know. There was apparently a reason he couldn’t help but he didn’t outright want to turn you down. You knew how he is, he simply couldn’t say no and would inconvenience himself any time for his friends. And you definitely didn’t want him to do that for you. You’d be able to find someone else somehow.

“It’s okay if you can’t do it. Just say no.” You reassured him.

“I have an appointment in the desert with a client, but I’m sure I could make some ti–”

“I’ll help you.” Alhaitham cut Kaveh off.

Both of you snapped your heads in his direction in disbelief.

“Are you sick?! Why would you volunteer to help anyone but yourself?” Kaveh gasped and looked at the Scribe as if he’d lost his mind.

“It’s not much work, is it? They could just come to my office and draw me while I just sit there doing my work. Isn’t that correct?” Alhaitham inquired, boring his turquoise eyes into you. You simply nodded in reply and could feel your breath hitch in your throat. You were sure that if you would be standing right now your knees would’ve probably given in by now since they felt like jello. On top of that, your nervousness skyrocketed so badly that you were able to feel your heartbeat in your throat.

The thought of being alone with Alhaitham for a prolonged period of time while ogling him as closely as you never dared before, made your heart flutter. You probably wouldn’t be able to concentrate on drawing properly but if he was already offering it, you couldn’t possibly refuse. Especially since he usually didn’t do anyone any favors to begin with.

“Besides,” Alhaitham continued. “It gives me an excuse to decline every other meeting for the rest of the day.”

“Tch, typical. Of course, there’d be an egoistic reason for your volunteering.” Kaveh scoffed.

“I don’t see any issue with that. I help them with their assignment while also helping myself. It’s a beneficial endeavor for both of us.” Alhaitham reasoned, twirling his own wine cup between his fingers before turning to you again. "Wouldn't you agree, too?"

You slowly nodded before quickly averting your eyes again since you couldn't bear to look at Alhaitham for longer than a few seconds without getting flustered. You had no idea how you were supposed to look at him for a prolonged period of time to draw him if you were already reduced to a flustered mess by talking to him. The thought alone made your heart almost jump out of your chest.

Kaveh shook his head in annoyance and turned to you once more. “Just say the word and I’ll take a day off to help you. Rest assured, it would be no problem for me.”

“No, Kaveh. I couldn’t possibly ask you to neglect your own responsibilities for my projects. Just keep your focus on yourself. If Alhaitham is so kind to offer his help I’ll take him up on that.” You reassured him while trying to hide how nervous you actually were about the situation.

“Well, shall we get going then? My lunch break is almost over.” Alhaitham interrupts, immediately getting up from the table.

You somewhat hesitantly got up as well since you didn’t expect he meant you could draw him right now. You had no time to mentally prepare for it so this would be interesting.

“Oh, so now you suddenly care about getting back to work on time after your lunch break,” was the last thing you heard Kaveh yell before the door of the Tavern fell shut behind both of you.

As you quietly tailed behind Alhaitham back to his office the realization that you’d actually be drawing him now suddenly began to dawn on you.

Oh, just what did you agree to here? And how in the world should you avoid making this awkward now?

Once you arrived at his officeAlhaitham unlocked the door and motioned you inside.

“You can sit down at the table over there. Do you need anything?”

“No. I should be fine.” You replied with a shy smile.

You were in fact everything but that.

While you were trying not to have a meltdown as you unpacked your stuff, Alhaitham was brewing some coffee and handed you a cup as well.

“Do you need me to do anything?” He asked.

“Hm?”

“In terms of posing.”

“Oh. Uh– no actually not. Just sit on your chair and read or whatever?”

“Nothing easier than that.” He replied with a faint smile, grabbing a book from the bookshelf beside you and walking back to his desk.

You busied yourself by scanning the books on the shelves that littered his office while sipping on your coffee before you turned around again and had to stop yourself from immediately spitting your coffee out again. Although as soon as you did you wished you had never done so.

Alhaitham had unclasped his cape and had loosely thrown it over his desk and was just about to pull his shirt over his head. You were trying to process what was happening before your eyes but your mind was racing so fast that you failed to fully grasp the scene before you.

“W-what are you doing?!” You stammered.

“Didn’t you say this was for your anatomy assignment?” He inquired, seeming entirely unbothered before ultimately removing his shirt completely.

Well, yeah you did. And for that bare skin was sort of a requirement. You knew that full well, too. It just sort of slipped your mind that taking Alhaitham up on his offer would actually entail seeing him without a shirt as well.

“Y-yes.” You replied, moving your eyes over his now exposed abdominal muscles. His usual shirt already left little to the imagination, but actually seeing his trained body without the thin piece of fabric covering it was a sight for sore eyes.

He claimed to only be a feeble scholar but that notion couldn’t be any further from the truth.

“Then there you have the answer to your question.” He stated matter-of-factly before sitting down and opening his book to read. His face still looked as unbothered as it did before and he immediately lost himself in his book.

In the meantime, you tried your hardest to get yourself together again. Not only did you need to keep your eyes from wandering but also your mind.

You traced every well-toned muscle of his upper body. How light and shadow formed their contours and how his pectorals moved whenever he flipped another page. You took note of every detail and etched it into your memory while suppressing the urge to brush over his defined muscles.

You sat down at the table and held onto your pen for dear life as you continued to analyze every little detail of his body. The embedded gem between his collarbones and hot it beautifully shimmered in the light of his office. The sharp V-Line that started right above his hips. The symmetric curve of his collarbones leading up to his shoulders. And his turquoise eyes that were boring into yours once again.

"Is anything the matter?" He inquired, lifting an eyebrow.

"N-no. I'm just trying to find a starting point." You stammered your poor attempt at an excuse.

After all 'Sorry, I was too distracted by staring at your body' wasn't something you could just say either.

“T-tell me if you’re getting too cold and we can take a break.”

“It’s 40 degrees outside, I’ll be fine.” He chuckled seemingly amused about your concern.

“Ri-right. Yeah. Okay.” You awkwardly bit your lip. For Archon's sake, why couldn’t you just behave normally around him?

After overcoming the first awkwardness you eventually started sketching. But the more the shapes on your paper resembled the beautiful man in front of you, the more flustered you became again and the more aware you became of the fact of how closely you were actually looking at him. Your attention to detail for this sketch was even more on point than it had ever been before. Upon realizing that it was because you were enjoying what you were seeing your cheeks started to burn in embarrassment.

You spent about an hour immersed in sketching, carefully studying every contour of his upper body. It felt so intimate that you couldn't help but wonder if anyone had ever looked at him this way before. And even though you kept telling yourself that this was just a regular art study session to avoid getting flustered further, the endeavor proved completely unsuccessful.

Eventually, you finished your piece and dropped your pen on the table. You lifted your sketchbook up to evaluate the page and the final result.

The once-blank page was now filled with an intricate pencil sketch of the handsome man with a dreamlike physique. You had to admit, he truly was the perfect subject for anatomy studies. And while you wouldn’t mind seeing him shirtless more often you doubt your heart could handle it another time. Because despite sitting the entire time you felt like you had just run a marathon.

“Your talent is quite impressive.” Alhaitham’s voice rang right next to your ear and made you flinch. You didn’t notice how he had approached you. And what made things worse is that he was still shirtless while standing next to you so closely you could feel the heat that emanated from his skin and smell his after-shave.

You gulped and got up from your chair avoiding looking into his eyes as much as possible because you feared that if you did your heart would burst out of your chest.

“Thank you. That means a lot. I-I mean… it was quite easy to see the muscle definition on you.”

Facepalm. Why did you say that? You internally cringed at your choice of words and continued to avoid looking at him while you hastily started packing your bag again.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” He remarked with a smirk and lifted your chin up with your sketchbook, forcing you to look into his eyes.

You opened your mouth in order to say something but everything you could’ve said died in your throat. So instead, you simply continue to stare at him while your heart felt like it was about to combust and you wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground in shame.

He huffed in amusement at your evident flustered state and closed the gap between your bodies, placing his arm next to your head on the wall, towering over you.

“Do you have any idea how obvious you are?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I see the way you look at me, or rather how you always avoid doing so now. And Kaveh happened to slip up and revealed your secret when he got drunk. And that’s why I can tell you that I feel the exact same way about you. And I’ve longed for a moment to tell you. You didn’t make it easy since you kept avoiding me lately.”

You didn’t know whether what was happening was wishful imagination or a fever dream because it felt surreal.

He put your sketchbook back on the table and lifted your chin with his free hand now. He took hold of one of your hands and placed it on his abs.

“This is what you wanted to do the entire time, am I right?” He whispered while the bud of his thumb brushed past your lower lip. You slowly nodded as your traced along his toned stomach with a featherlight touch, feeling how the muscles moved below your fingertips.

“May I kiss you?” He whispered in a low tone when you looked up into his eyes.

He had barely even finished asking when you leaned into him more and took the initiative to place your lips on his for a shy kiss. But it was so fleeting it had you longing for more and it seems that the feeling was mutual.

He quickly snaked his arms around your waist and pressed you against him with fervor while he hungrily crashed his lips into yours once more. You slung your arms around his neck and entangled your fingers in his soft gray locks while pushing his face even closer to yours than it already was.

You could feel him smiling into the kiss, as you did so. His lips continued to gently caress yours like a tender whisper of affection shared only between you two. It made you feel lightheaded while also leaving you longing for more. It was an intoxicating feeling like no other. One you certainly could get addicted to - and maybe you already were.

At some point, you had no idea for how long you had been standing there kissing but it felt like an eternity yet not long enough at the same time.

You were sure of one thing though – You needed more of it.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #genshin fluff #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin alhaitham #genshin x female reader #genshin x y/n #genshin impact fanfic #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin brainrot #genshin headcanons #cw: suggestive #🍁 dust writes

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denwritesandcries · 2 years ago

Text

Work of Art – H.C

Pairing: loser!hazel x artist!reader

Summary: You join a fight club just to spend more time with your pretty friend, Hazel Callahan. The fact that you're running out of time to finish an art project is just a detail.

Word count: 3,5k.

Content: loser!hazel trying to be smooth, sylvie being a chaotic ala, cursing, flirting, mutual pining, friends to lovers, my questionable comedy, a little blood at the start, reader is a SIMP.

Note: This came up to me after the ‘these girls are ugly’ scene and I had to make a dramatic story about it. I'm so soft for this character, I just wanna hold her and tell her how beautiful she is.

English is not my first language.

There's a sketchbook opened on your lap, a coal pencil on your hand and a fight happening in front of you.

Technically, that's what you were supposed to be doing too – fighting with someone – it was fight club, after all. Instead, you were sitting against a wall, hastily trying to finish a sketch for your art club project.

In your defense, you weren't even going to join this self-defense club in the first place, having been quite happy just occupying yourself with your art club after school, but your friend Sylvie came up to you one day completely excited about the idea, saying that she really wanted to participate, but that to keep going they needed more members and there enters you.

You said no right away, claiming that you would end up getting overwhelmed trying to balance both clubs with all the meetings, but Sylvie could be so convincing – more like insistent – with her methods, even shouting "PLEASE COME!" in a hallway full of people during classes, that you ended up giving in to when it became too embarrassing. Therefore, you agreed to go to a meeting without the promise of staying.

You regretted that decision and swore to burn Sylvie’s stupid beanie in the first punch that hitted you. You were terrible at fighting.

After being beaten up by a girl you didn't even know the name of, you ended up with a split lip and a bruise forming on your cheek and were ready to go find your friend and gently let her down by telling her that this really wasn't your thing, that is until Hazel Callahan approaches you.

Hazel. The same Hazel who sat three seats away from you in history class for four years, with whom you usually paired up during assignments but didn't talk much. The same Hazel who is standing in front of you with a weird smile and a washcloth in her hand.

“Uh…” you start, not quite sure what to say, “Do you need anything?”

"Oh!" She seems to realize that she's been silent and staring at you for too long, shaking her head, "No, not really, but you looked like you needed it," Hazel holds out the washcloth to you.

You notice that she's doing her best to look casual, shrugging her shoulders with fake indifference and pointing to your bleeding lip with the hand holding the cloth while the other is stuffed into the pocket of her baggy, ripped jeans. The sight is so captivating that it makes you smile even when you don’t want to, with the sudden feeling that you two should interact more.

“Oh, what a gentleman," you joke when you accept and take the cloth from her hand and are happy with the fact that the fabric is dark when your blood stains it, "You came to comfort me after spending all this time watching my ass being kicked?"

Her eyes widened in panic and Hazel squealed like an alarmed puppy, "No!" She exclaims, "I didn't mean that, really. It's just that you seemed upset and I—"

“Haze, it’s okay." You interrupt and reassure her with a gentle hand on her arm, “I’m just messing with you.”

She shakes her head, still in denial, her face red: "But you weren't that bad."

You snort, any trace of upset seeming to leave your body, “But it was bad.”

Hazel looks away from you while playing with the rings on one of her hands, she seems to want to tell you something, so you wait in silence until she has the courage.

"So…" she starts, "Are you staying? At the club, I mean."

No, you want to say. This place is completely chaotic, I have other things I'd like to do and I bet I'll get my ass kicked every time I go up against someone here. But Hazel is looking at you with her head cocked to the side and bright, hopeful blue eyes and what kind of monster would you be to deny something and wipe that look off her face?

“Maybe," you answer instead, an uncertain smile on your face, “I’m still thinking about it.”

That seems to be enough to satisfy her and you quickly turn around, putting the bloodstained cloth inside your backpack and packing your things to leave when you realize that you two were the only ones left in the place.

"Walk with me?" You nod towards the exit for Hazel to follow you and she does so shyly.

As you walk around the school grounds your bodies are close enough that your shoulders touch as you walk and the interaction brings you a surprising amount of comfort.

"You know," Hazel starts again, her voice at a high pitch, she clears her throat with a fist against her mouth before continuing, "You don't have to if you don't want to, but uh—" Hazel stutters, face red again, "It would be really nice if you stayed.”

You turn your head to look at her side face, her nervous attitude warming your heart in a jarring way and you suddenly wonder why you and Hazel have never been closer before, even though you've technically known each other for so many years. It seemed almost unfair to be deprived of her company for so long.

“This fighting thing really isn’t for me,” you shrugged and continued before a look of disappointment could wash over her, “But I think people make it worth coming back for.”

You hoped she would notice the flirting tone in your words; Hazel could be terrible at reading between the lines.

"Oh, you're right!" She replied with an excited smile, "I managed to make a lot of friends there since it started, maybe you can too!”

You raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for Hazel to realize what she said just to tease her, and she did, panicking.

"I didn't mean that you don't have friends!" She shouted with a wave of her arms, "I just— I just—"

Hazel's calm facade falls completely and you feel a laugh grow in your chest as you laugh openly. She takes a moment to compose herself before relaxing a little when she sees that you're not bothered.

"Okay, got it." you say with a final giggle, "Don't worry, I'll show up since it would be so nice if I stayed."

Sure, she may not have understood your flirting the first time, but her red face up to her ears and shy gaze stuck on the floor could only be an indication that she had now caught on.

When you reach the point where your paths part, you can't resist talking to Hazel one last time:

"Haze," You call in a relaxed tone as she heads to her car, "Is that really a women's empowerment club?"

Hazel smiles as she opens the door, without any nervousness this time, "I have no idea, but I like it."

You think you might like it too if you were going to see her like this more often.

When you get home that day, with your untouched art supplies weighing down your backpack, there's a message on your phone left from Sylvie. That little bastard had left without you even noticing.

slaygirl:

hey what u throught about the club

*thouth

sHIT

*thought

runned right home when I saw your mad face lol

You snorted with a roll of eyes. You had already made the decision anyway, there was no point in actually being mad at her.

you:

well I guess is not THAT bad

I'll make the sacrifice and participate

slaygirl:

HELL YEAH LET'S GOOO

told u would like it

You ask yourself one last time if you should really do this or not; the times between the fight club and art club meetings were so close together, it could easily turn into a mess. Then you think about Hazel and the way she seemed enchanted by the idea of you being there.

Fuck it, you thought. You can handle both.

You couldn't handle both. That was why you found yourself against that wall now, running out of time and without the proper sketches you were supposed to present later.

It was a relatively simple exercise that you had to do: draw everyday landscapes in charcoal pencil by sight. The problem is that you didn't have time to draw the requested amount and you haven't had much inspiration other than classrooms and parts of the school lately.

Luckily, no one really minded when you decided to opt to just be a spectator today; PJ and Josie being too busy flirting with Brittany and Isabel and Sylvie being just excited about getting into a fight with someone.

"And what are you doing there?" Hazel's voice scares you as she sits down next to you with a curious look and a small smile at the sound of your surprised squeak.

You had no idea where she had come from, having quickly talked to her as soon as you arrived and then gone straight to your task, but you were very happy to have her there now. You've been getting closer over the last few weeks since joining the club, just as you wanted, which has made all of your juggling between tasks totally worth it.

"Shouldn't you be beating up someone?" You dodged the question, giving her a look of fake reprimand.

She scoffed with a hand gesture, "I'll be right there, I just passed by to check on you." She pointed with her chin to the notebook with you, "So?”

You shrug, "Just trying to finish this project, but nothing seems to make me want to draw." You turn the sketchbook so Hazel can see the simple outline of the open area in which you practice defense, your hands are stained with coal pencil and the sheet is messy with outlines of bodies overlapping the paper.

For the confused look on her face and the slight tilt of her head, you can tell Hazel doesn't quite understand what you mean, but she gives you a reassuring smile anyway.

"You're talented, I'm sure you'll figure that out soon."

You feel a stupid smile growing on your face and you can't help the way your voice softens, "Thanks, Haze."

She returns your smile for a moment, but quickly looks away, seeming to want to break off the interaction.

Hazel breaks the silence that suddenly settles in: “Will you teach me?”, she asks.

You look at her confused, “What? Drawing?”

“Hm-hm,” She nods with a pout, “I always see you drawing during class and I'm terrible at it.”

You find her extremely captivating.

“Okay,” you snort. “I’ll give you drawing lessons if you give me fighting lessons. You’re better at this than me. Than everyone here, actually.”

And then she gets nervous again, cheeks colored a soft red, stammering, “Oh. I— hm, alright.”

You think maybe she's going to say something more, but Hazel gets up and shakes her head like a puppy and your heart warms, before saying goodbye, giving you an awkward pat on the shoulder and running off to find a partner for the day's exercises.

A sigh leaves your chest as your gaze follows her as she walks, deciding to watch a little until you get the courage to finish your work.

Hazel is paired with a girl you had never spoken to but who you were sure was in your English class. A very pretty girl, by the way. It annoyed you how close they were and the way Hazel touched the girl so she could fix her position before they started fighting, the same way she did to you when you asked for help with your movements the other day; and it annoyed you even more the way the girl seemed to lean into her touch, exactly like you did on the few occasions when Hazel touched you for more than a few seconds.

Damn, you wish you knew the girl's name so you could actually get mad.

Your stomach turned uncomfortably the more you watched the duo, didn't that girl know that Hazel is... what? Your girlfriend? Your friend who you flirt with? This was practically the same as nothing. You had nothing. You couldn't be mad.

But man, you are annoyed.

With a shake of your head, you look away from the scene and open your sketchbook again, this time to a clean page. Better get back to work.

When you look up again, Hazel has the girl trapped in her arms. The way her best features are marked is unfairly hot, your silly jealousy ends up forgotten in favor of admiring how beautiful she is.

Unconsciously, you begin to trace the outline of her strong jaw onto the paper, letting the simple body outline you had begun take shape.

To you, Hazel was a work of art in every sense of the word, from her appearance to her most unusual mannerisms. Everything about her seemed to scream art and drawing her was an extremely satisfying action. It wasn't even the first time you had portrayed her, having made small sketches during the times you worked together in class and given them all to her – you wish you had kept at least one now –, maybe that's why she asked you for lessons anyway.

Either way, anything involving Hazel is more interesting than your original project.

You notice the way her hair falls over her face, the dark color contrasting with her big blue eyes, and you think it's a shame you didn't bring any supplies you could use to color them. There is a small cut where a yellowish bruise is on her cheek; Hazel seemed to always be recovering from some injury, even though she was the one who won most of the fights, not that you would count – liar, you did.

You draw the outline of her nose and lips with the practiced precision of someone who has done this many times before; she's wearing a dark green button-down shirt, one of your favorites on her, along with baggy black jeans and an old pair of vans; her hands are missing their usual rings and there are little green dinosaurs in her socks.

You won't add all of it, of course, it's not a full body drawing, but you can't help but notice every little detail about her.

Time passes without you noticing, your project remains completely forgotten while you draw Hazel from memory, no longer needing to turn to the annoying vision of her and the other girl. When the meeting is almost finished, Sylvie approaches you smiling and looks over your shoulder.

"Dude!" She exclaims in a knowing tone, “So that’s why you actually agreed to join the club!”

“Shush girl, do you want everyone here to know!?” You whisper-shouting and quickly pull the beanie she was wearing over her nose tightly, ignoring the chocked ‘fucking rude’ that Sylvie lets out.

“You should tell her." Sylvie declares, because of course she would understand right away that you have a crush.

“What?" You ask, alarmed, “Like right now?”

"Yeah!" She pushes your shoulder in encouragement, “The day is almost over, it’s not like we have anything else to do anyway.” Sylvie shrugged, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“I can’t just go there and tell.” You mumble, “And I have things to do.”

“Oh, come on! I’m sure she likes you back!”

“And how can you know that?” You asked.

“How come you don’t know that?” Sylvie replied, “It’s kinda obvious.”

“Okay, whatever you say, but I’m not going to tell her anything now.” You insist stubbornly.

Sylvie looks like she's about to say something else, but a tricksy smile forms on her face when she sees someone approaching.

"Tell what?" Hazel's voice coming from nearby startles you and when you turn your face to find her, she's alone, no sign of the other girl in sight.

You were about to stutter something in response – and most likely make a fool of yourself – but Sylvie was quicker.

“Oh!” Your friend exclaims in false innocence, “I was trying to convince her to show you her drawing, but she’s such a perfectionist.”

You elbow her in panic and Sylvie lightly tugs at your hair as she stands up; you don't notice the dirty look Hazel gives to the interaction, wringing her hands in her pockets.

Sylvie walks away arching her eyebrows in a suggestive expression at you and your cheeks burn at the implication as Hazel takes her place beside you.

“So…” she begins, her voice strangely tense, “Did you finish what you were drawing? Can I see it?"

“Well…” You feel nervous, there’s no way to get out of this without making her sad and that’s the last thing you would want to do. Taking a deep breath, you decide to go ahead: “Inspiration came to and I drew something, but it’s not for my project, I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

"Yes, I will!" Hazel adjusts herself excitedly, your knees touching, “Can I see it?” she repeats.

You gulp and nod, turning the sketchbook towards her. Hazel lens even closer to you to see the result, her chin brushing your shoulder and a hand running up your back and resting there, surprising you, you feel the coldness of her hand and the outline of her rings – when she did put them back? – through the fabric of your t-shirt.

You feel the moment Hazel registers the drawing on the sheet and her breath hitches, the action sending a shiver up your spine.

"Then?" You ask nervously, “What do you think?”

But Hazel remains silent. When you turn to look at her, her jaw is dropped in complete disbelief and a deep blush covers her face from her cheeks to her ears.

“Haze?” You call, unsure.

“That’s— it’s beautiful.” She stutters, one hand delicately touches the paper, coal staining her fingers, “It’s me. It’s me… beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” you correct without hesitation and Hazel’s gaze turns to you, “That’s nothing compared to you.”

She hesitates for a moment, “Why did you do that?”

"Why?" You echo, “You know why.”

And Hazel knows. You know she knows. There hasn't been a single day that the two of you haven't flirted, that there hasn't been this tension between you. There's no way she doesn't know, but someone needs to admit it.

She looks at you expectantly, the same lovely hope as before is back in her eyes, and again, who are you to take that look off her face?

You sigh, “I have a crush on you, Haze.”

She snorts, voice shaking in a confident attempt of a joke: “I know.”

You raise an eyebrow and give her an unimpressed look and Hazel immediately backtracks.

"Sorry! Sorry!" She exclaims, “I just— I like you too, a lot.”

You feel a smile tugging at your lips when you put the notebook and pencil aside to look at her fully and your faces are so close that you would only have to lean in for your lips to touch. God, you've never wanted something so much before.

You notice every little detail of her face; a fallen eyelash on her cheek, the faint marks of dark circles over her eyes, freckles over her nose that you had never gotten close enough before to see.

Hazel looks at you like she can't believe what's happening and honestly, neither can you.

“Please,” she whispers, eyes locked on your lips.

Hazel Callahan was the most beautiful work of art you had ever seen and as an artist, you know you should never touch artworks, but Hazel asks you and you could never deny her anything.

Your lips meet and it's softer than you thought it could be – even though you've thought about it many times then – and your hands rest on her cheeks like they belong there, she lets out a sigh of contentment that warms your heart.

When you pull away, there's a coal stain on Hazel's face from where your hand was before and her pupils are dilated like dark pits, it's unfair the way it makes your heart skip a beat.

She kisses you again, shorter this time and you would have chased her lips if it weren't for someone's voice scaring you:

“ATTA GIRL, I TOLD YOU YOU COULD DO IT!” Sylvie is on the other side of the gym, cheering and pointing at you.

You had completely forgotten that the meeting wasn't over yet.

“Dude." PJ starts on the other side, “When did this happend?”

“You know this is a public space right?” Josie asks with a hand on her hip, “Don’t make out here, man.”

You shake your head in amusement and start to gather your things, “Okay, okay,” you say. “Let’s make out somewhere else then. Come on Haze.”

Hazel seems too flustreaded to speak and doesn't argue as you take her hand and pull her along as you leave to the sounds of your friends cheering and joking.

“Where are we going?” She asks, you’re still holding hands.

You shrug innocently, “I promised you drawing lessons, didn’t I?”

In the end you don't show up at the art club that day, too busy spending time with your newest girlfriend and it's totally worth it.

#hazel callahan #bottoms movie #bottoms 2023 #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan imagine #denwrites

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boulevardofpizzadreams · 1 year ago

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the lads boys as your high school classmates

A/n: not sure if anyone else has posted this idea already but it just came to me before i went to bed. also i mainly focus on rafayel in the game but i've seen enough of both xavier & zayn & hope i do them justice. c:

these are literally just late night thoughts and observations and such that i've had while playing. (cannot WAIT until chapter 9 is released omg)

please be nice - let me know your thoughts ^^

XAVIER

• always want to eat lunch with you

• sometimes falls asleep during class. you know that he doesn't want to ask anyone for their notes so you usually send them via e-mail.

• offers to be your study buddy. you two had been paired up for a lab and ever since, he assumes that you'll be his study partner from now on.

• doesn't like being called on but always has an intelligent response

• only considers joining a club if you join too

RAFAYEL

• always wants to see your sketches and projects for art class

• rarely worries about deadlines

• is usually seen eating an apple or sucking on a lollipop. sometimes, he'll ask you to peel the apple for him but he'll tease you for your "technique".

• tries to avoid school events at all costs, way too crowded. he likes the attention and has always been used to receiving it since he was a child. but he'd rather stay at home or hang out with you instead.

• always steals your pen but gives it back if you say "please."

ZAYN

• always make sure you're studying, turning in your assignments on time and asks how you do on your exams

• can be found in the library often

• worries about your sleep schedule and eating habits. sometimes he will pack extra food and a water bottle because he knows that you forgot.

• ignore basically everyone but you. he doesn't really initiate a conversation with anyone in the halls or in class, but always gives you the time of day without hesitation.

• will offer to walk you home/give you a ride

#love and deepspace #headcanons #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #zayn love and deepspace #otome #otome game #love and deepspace x reader

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toonsmakingart · 4 months ago

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Facts about Sherlock Hound

Originally The Hound of Baskervilles was intended to be an episode in the series and be the first in production. The episode was dropped after issues popped up for the writers. Both Hayao Miyazaki and Marco Pagot gave up and abandoned the idea, deciding to write an original story to replace it.

A Small Client was the original story they wrote to replace The Hound of Baskervilles, this ended up being first in production.

Before the episode was dropped, the crew had multiple discussions on how to depict the Hound of Baskervilles. A final conclusion was made and there were plans to use the idea, the idea was that the Hound would be a robot dog.

As quoted by Marco Pagot, “It’s very difficult to pick a single best of the six episodes. Each was an important step in our collaboration. “Little Martha”s Big Case!!” is probably the closest thing to the spirit of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work.”

The reason for the show’s creation was because “The purpose was to make Sherlock Holmes more accessible to young people.” As stated by Marco Pagot

Based on the image boards, interviews, and the art book, the crew had originally intended for the series to be more grim and darker than what the final product ended being. This was due to the crew realizing that they might’ve needed to tone it down a bit so as not to be too graphic.

During the production, Marco Pagot had noticed an issue with Holmes himself, “The Holmes character was initially graphic with a square feel. But by softening it, I was able to increase the appeal.” Because of this decision, Sherlock in the series is a much more gentle figure though still with some his original traits.

Originally Hound would’ve had some of his traits when it came to smoking and other substances, such as coc&1ne being injected into his arm as seen in an image board. The idea of Holmes and his substances were dropped in favor to him purely smoking just tobacco. “For example, since it was a story aimed at young people, it was necessary to keep the main character’s trademark pipe, but to make the scene where he smoked it less conspicuous than necessary.” As stated by Marco Pagot.

Hayao Miyazaki had drawn and intended for Hound to have a tail. He also planned for Hound to be a Basset Hound. He ended up being changed into a corgi like fox due to unexpected…. Issues.

In the art book, it describes the ages of characters, though we have no confirmed age, Hound and Hudson are close in age. It is confirmed for Hound to be in his 20’s. This can be found in clues given. Watson is middle aged as confirmed in the book. Hound is described in the book as being “the youth class” which with extra context in the text implies about his age status more. It is very heavily stated multiple times that he is in fact way younger than other depictions at the time to the point of even saying that Holmes would have probably done most of these things if he had been much younger.

If any of you want another post about hound facts let me know. There is still a lot more to cover, especially with other characters and unused concepts. See you later 👋

#sherlock hound #sherlock holmes #animation #anime #animation facts #facts #fun facts #hayao miyazaki #ghibli #ghibli films

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neims-skeleton-obsession · 2 months ago

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Do you have anymore thoughts or ideas for medieval sorcerer society? :3 I really enjoyed your previous posts abt it

HI YES. IM FULL OF IDEAS. I love talking about this lmao ajdbajdbsjd. Also apologies for the delay work couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be busy or dry as fuck 😔😔

Obligatory disclaimer for whenever I post about this I’m talkin bout medieval England specifically! Because to be completely honest I know. Not much at all about other places.

Just gonna quick fire some ideas if y’all want elaborations on any let me know!!!

- I think exploring the differences between working class sorcerers and sorcerers in the nobility could be really interesting. As well as how those groups interact, seeing as how for much of the medieval period wealthier sorcerers would have pretty direct power over smaller communities (think feudalism)

- Speaking of feudalism. I really like the idea of sorcerer knights (vassals) providing military service etc for a mortal lord. I feel like it could be funny, just this one mortal guy that keeps unknowingly making fealty oaths with and giving land to sorcerers + supporting magical communities.

- Around the 12th century I think? You got people moving to towns to seek opportunities outside of farming. And I wonder if sorcerers also did this? We know magical communities were essentially an escape from mortal society, but I’d be interested to know if around this time you got sorcerers and mortals mingling more, n their communities starting to merge again? Or did sorcerers stick together and establish urban settlements that remained separate? Much to consider.

- Considering trades were generally passed down through generations, do we think some that died out in mortal society were kept alive by sorcerers? Given they were living much longer, I’d assume they’d also continue doing what they’d been taught and were used to for longer- so maybe techniques for making clothes that were lost to time for mortals due to technological advancement stuck around within magical communities.

- Similar to above, do we think sorcerers maybe stuck to the same fashion for longer? I think it’d be funny if magical communities just looked suspiciously outdated or out of time.

- I choose to believe the practice of tattooing sigils is Old As Fuck- and tattoos weren’t by any means unheard of over the Middle Ages (as broad as that time period is), and they had. Quite a few purposes. What I’m saying is I want to see medieval sorcerers with a combination of period typical (yes I’m aware how broad the period is) tattoos/body art plus sigils. It would be fun I think.

- So fun fact the term “dark ages” came from renaissance writers and scholars that were essentially being snobby lil assholes (the medieval period was by no means lacking in innovation, art, etc. there just wasn’t as much surviving documentation). And I headcanon sorcerers that lived during both periods would’ve been salty as fuck about it.

feel free to add shit or correct me if I’ve fumbled as always :] <3

#SORRY there was more to this originally but I kept forgetting to save the post and tumblr deleted some of it #but have what I salvaged :]#these are mostly very silly. and I may add more who knows #skulduggery pleasant #asks and answers #I should post about my Anglo Saxon blorbos.#I saw Anglo Saxon. they’re not just Anglo Saxon but that’s the era ive focused on so far

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blankwashed · 1 year ago

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Content Warnings: 18+ stuff here, ddlg (daddy dom, little girl), broken family, pretty rough sex, Toji himself should be a warning-

You let out a big sigh. It was probably the hardest or easiest essay you have ever gotten academically. It was an easy question for the rest of your classmates as they were happily writing away about their parents or guardians, thinking about the happy holidays and birthdays that they have received throughout their life.

15 minutes have passed and your paper was still blank, without even a paragraph structure. What could you write about your father? Sure, he wasn’t your actual father per se but your mother married him ever since you were a child so that counts, right?

At the age of 6, your mom kept going out on Friday nights, leaving you to be taken care of by your aunts and uncles. She would leave until it was Sunday night when she picks you up and brings you home. In the mind of a little child, you figured she went out for work purposes but in reality, she was going on dates with a special man whom you would eventually call dad.

Sometimes, she leaves you at home with food already prepared and brings him over. Of course, she would place your toys around the television and goes into the bedroom with the man. As you were innocent, you thought that they were both talking about business as your mother always looks pleased whenever she comes out of the room. A little tired, but a smile on her face.

This went on for 2 years until she came to you saying that you’ll finally have a father figure in your life. Of course, he was your father. The striking, muscular, tall man built like a soldier. Sometimes he made your heart beat faster and louder when he was around the home minding his own business. He watched you grow up into the gorgeous and pretty girl you are now. Attending teacher-parent meetings when necessary, signing documents and being your personal chauffeur whenever you and your friends wanted to go for outings to malls.

Behind all of that, you kept a deep and dark secret from everyone. Something you would not even tell your best friend or even a fly.

“Nyah! Daddy, sore from P.E. class yesterday! My teacher asked us to run laps and I think I overdid myself-“

He thrusted himself deeper into your dry pussy while his fingers were forming quick circles around your clitoris.

Sure, he filled the gap in your mom’s life when your actual dad left. But that wasn’t the only thing he was filling. Toji isn’t blind or stupid. Maybe a little out of his mind but as a man, he watched you grow up. Breasts forming, hips enlarging. It would be a lie if you say you didn’t secretly touched yourself thinking about him.

“No buts, bitch. Today was a hard day at work and the only thing that could make my day is your tight pussy. Mmm, thankfully it’s still tight,,,,,” He pushed himself deeper multiple times while playing with your clit. You were in pain due to the lack of foreplay and you remembered an idea you had in school during Arts class.

It was always something you’ve wanted to try. Running towards your school bag, rummaging through all your utensils.

Found it. A thick flowy strip of red ribbon.

“C‘mere daddy, let me decorate you before I feast on you,” smirking while tying a beautiful ribbon around his leaking hard cock. “Look daddy! It’s giving me a reward for making it look so appealing~” you said, referring to the trickles of pre-cum dripping.

Toji was about x years older than you. This wasn’t the first time he saw a chick gawking (no pun intended) at his length. Obviously that was also the way your own mother knew that he was the man for her.

“Getting creative, are we? Let daddy reward you for giving our play-time a little more effort,” he says lowly while playing with your left nipple with his tongue. His big hands always perform wonders on the rest of your body while his prize winning cock was busy elsewhere on your body.

Your moans were and are melodies to his ears. You weren’t big on being able to form sentences while getting fucked silly, however…

“Please daddy! I-I’m your little dirty slut, make me come daddy! I need it, I NEED you! Daddy…” you tried to touch your clit with your fingers but they were swatted away by his hand.

“When has it ever been about what you want, toy?” he spit on your pussy, and started to rub vigorously. It was in no way pleasurable and it hurt.

You knew he was doing this on purpose and knew that it wouldn’t get better if you kept disobeying his commands. With both your mom and Megumi away, he made you sit on the family’s dining table. Pushing away everything that could be in the way of him and you.

He pushed you down, readying himself to slurp on his wet, awaiting treasure. You were still a mess, moaning and screaming his name. “Daddy please, don’t make me wait any longer, please daddy,,,” your toes start curling and you could feel the long awaited climax reaching.

“Cumming daddy!!! Shit, I fucking love you-“ you screamed as you came while holding onto his broad shoulders. Your mind was as if it was in a different world, a world where Toji, your step-dad was yours. Where you didn’t have to hide your feelings towards him and you could touch him romantically and sexually in public.

so fucking horny for toji, are we???? (we as in me)

#toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jjk smut #fics #help #im having semester break but i just want toji to help me ace my classes #daddy toji #smut #toji x reader

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iwait · 2 months ago

Text

LOST IN TRANSLATION, FOUND IN OBSESSION

Pairing: Yandere!Mark Lee x reader

Apart of the Ncity university series

Warning: Reader is African American in this one, mention of needles, drugging, kidnapping, mark is delulu in the end, usage of the N-word (it’s only used like once)

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The bright lights of Ncity University hummed, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy Y/n carried as she walked through the bustling hallway. Her knotless braids bounced with each step, their dark brown hue a striking complement to her warm, brown skin. A bright smile played on her lips, a constant fixture that radiated resilience and a genuine zest for life, even when navigating the labyrinthine world of Korean language classes. As a foreign exchange student from America, pursuing her Computer Science degree, Y/n was determined to immerse herself in the culture, even if the language barrier felt like an impenetrable wall sometimes.

That's where Mark Lee came in.

Mark was a beacon of fluency in a sea of bewildering characters. Tall and lean with a mop of perpetually tousled hair, he possessed an easy charm that put people at ease. He was a biochemistry major, a detail that would later send chills down Y/n’s spine, but for now, he was simply her indispensable translator. He had approached her during her first week, sensing her apprehension and offering his assistance with a kind smile and perfectly accented English. Soon, they were inseparable, studying together, navigating the complexities of Korean social cues, and sharing laughter that bridged the cultural divide.

But Mark saw Y/n differently. He saw her as a splash of sunshine in his otherwise meticulously ordered world. Her confidence, even when she stumbled over pronunciation, was captivating. Her genuine curiosity was endearing. Her laughter was intoxicating. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, a dangerous, all-consuming infatuation that festered beneath the surface of his friendly demeanor. He was a yandere, and Y/n, oblivious to the darkness lurking within, had unknowingly become his obsession.

Their study sessions were a carefully orchestrated performance on Mark's part. He would meet her at the university library, strategically positioned to catch the best light, ensuring that his eyes could drink in every detail of her face as she focused on her textbook. He reveled in the way her brow would furrow in concentration, the gentle curve of her lips as she practiced new words, the way her fingers would tap nervously against the table when she felt overwhelmed.

One day, Y/n approached him with a request that sent a jolt of icy possessiveness through his veins disguised as a friendly smile.

"Mark, can you help me with something completely ridiculous?" she asked, her cheeks flushed a quiet shade of pink.

"Anything for you, Y/n," he replied, his voice a little too eager, a little too intense. He quickly reined it in, forcing a casual tone. "What's up?"

"Well," she hesitated, fiddling with the pen in her hand. "There's this guy... Jungwoo. He's in my Korean Literature class, and I think he's really cute. But I have no idea how to even begin flirting in Korean!"

Mark's smile tightened imperceptibly. The name "Jungwoo" felt like a physical blow. He wanted to scream, to tell her that she was perfect just the way she was, that she didn't need to impress anyone, especially not him. But he couldn't. He wouldn't risk scaring her away.

"Of course, I can help," he said, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging inside. "Flirting is an art, Y/n. And I'm no master but I got you." He chuckled, a hollow sound that masked the burning jealousy in his heart.

And so began the charade. Mark meticulously crafted phrases, meticulously choosing words that were both flirty and playful. He listened, with a tightening in his chest, as Y/n repeated them, her pronunciation slowly improving under his guidance.

"Oppa, naui maeumeul humchyeosseoyo," she said, her voice tinged with self-consciousness. "Did I say that right? Did I steal your heart?"

The words were meant for Jungwoo, but they pierced Mark like a poisoned arrow. The idea of her using those words, those intimate words, on another man was unbearable. His fingers tightened around his pen, snapping it in two.

"Perfect," he managed to say, his voice strained. "Absolutely perfect."

He taught her more phrases, each one a fresh stab to his heart. He watched her confidence grow, her eyes sparkling with anticipation at the thought of charming Jungwoo. He meticulously cataloged every detail of their sessions, every nuance of her expression, every inflection in her voice. He was building a fortress of obsession, brick by painstaking brick.

As the days turned into weeks, Mark's obsession spiraled. He started spending hours researching Y/n online, scouring her social media for any mention of her romantic interest in Jungwoo. He learned her schedule, her favorite coffee shop, the park where she liked to take walks. He was always just a little too close, a shadow lurking at the edges of her awareness.

He knew he couldn’t share Y/n with anyone. He knew that he was willing to do anything to keep her by his side. The thought of her with Jungwoo, laughing and sharing secrets, was a nightmare he couldn't escape. He had to ensure that Y/n saw him as the only person she could ever need.

He spent hours researching the most effective pick-up lines, the most charming compliments. He watched Korean dramas, dissecting the romantic interactions between the characters, noting the subtle gestures and expressions.

He was meticulous, obsessive.

The more he helped her, the more his feelings intensified. He was drowning in his own desires, his own possessiveness. The seed that had been planted had blossomed into a thorny vine, choking the life out of his reason and logic.

He started collecting things of hers: a stray bobby pin from her braid, a crumpled tissue she'd used to wipe her tears after a particularly difficult language lesson, the empty coffee cup she'd left behind at the library. He kept them in a locked box under his bed, his secret shrine to the woman he was convinced was destined to be his.

He justified his actions to himself. He was simply protecting her, keeping her safe. She was too naive, too trusting. She didn't understand the dangers of this world, the people who would try to take advantage of her. He needed to be her shield, her protector, her everything.

His biochemistry background proved disturbingly useful. He began researching sedatives, substances that could render a person unconscious without causing lasting harm. He rationalized it as simple security. He needed to be prepared, just in case.

Propofol, a powerful anesthetic, caught his attention. It was fast-acting, easily administered, and left no trace behind. Obtaining it was the tricky part. But Mark was resourceful. A few well-placed inquiries, a fabricated research project, and a forged prescription later, he had secured a vial of the milky white fluid. He felt a thrill course through him. He was ready. He justified it to himself as a temporary measure, a way to protect her, to keep her safe.

The day Y/n finally decided to put her newfound flirting skills to the test, Mark's anxiety reached a fever pitch. He offered to walk her to her Korean Literature class, his hand brushing against hers as they walked.

"Wish me luck," she said, her smile radiant.

Mark's heart clenched. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't let Jungwoo have her.

The next day, Y/n stormed into the library, her braids whipping around her face, her eyes blazing with anger. Mark was already there, waiting for her, pretending to be engrossed in a textbook.

"Mark!" she said, her voice shaking with rage. "What the hell did you do?"

Mark looked up, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me! I asked Jungwoo out yesterday, and he said... he said he thought we were a couple! He said you told him we were together and that I was only asking him out to make you jealous!"

The words hung in the air, heavy with betrayal. Mark’s carefully constructed facade of friendship crumbled. He knew he was caught. He knew he had shattered her trust.

He stood up, his expression shifting from feigned innocence to something darker, something that made Y/n’s blood run cold. "I did it for you, Y/n," he said, his voice low and intense. "I did it because I love you. I couldn't stand the thought of you with him."

"Love? This isn't love, Mark! This is insane! You lied to him, you manipulated me, you completely ruined any chance I had with Jungwoo! How could you do this?"

"Because you belong with me," he said, taking a step closer. "Don't you see? We're perfect together. We understand each other. We belong together. No language barrier holding us back from communicating our feelings for one another."

Y/n recoiled, her hand flying up to ward him off. "Stay away from me, Mark. I don't want anything to do with you."

She turned and fled, leaving Mark standing alone in the library, consumed by a rage so potent it threatened to consume him. He had messed up. He had pushed too hard, too fast. But he wouldn't give up. He would find a way to fix this. He would find a way to make her understand.

In the following days, Y/n did everything she could to avoid Mark. She changed her study habits, taking refuge in the computer lab, working late into the night. She altered her route to classes, taking different paths, always looking over her shoulder. She told her friends about Mark's behavior, warning them to be careful.

Mark, however, was relentless. He tried to contact her, leaving countless voicemails and text messages, all filled with apologies and promises of change. When those went unanswered, he started showing up at her classes, lurking in the hallways, his eyes following her every move.

His frustration quickly spiraled into anger. He asked her friends where she was, and when they lied to him, he lashed out, his anger bubbling over. He shoved one student against a locker, his eyes blazing with fury. He cornered another in the cafeteria, his voice a menacing whisper.

"Tell me where she is," he demanded. "Tell me, or you'll regret it."

His behavior was becoming increasingly erratic, his obsession consuming him entirely. He was losing control, and he knew it.

He needed to be closer to Y/n. He needed to protect her. He needed to ensure that no one else could come between them.

After a week of relentless stalking, he discovered Y/n's new routine. He learned that she was taking a late-night cybersecurity class and that she walked home alone after it ended, a route that took her through a secluded part of campus.

That night, Mark waited in the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. He clutched a syringe filled with propofol in his hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He knew what he was about to do was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. He convinced himself that he was doing it out of love, out of a desperate need to protect her.

He watched as Y/n emerged from the classroom, her figure illuminated by the dim streetlights. She was beautiful, even exhausted. His resolve hardened.

He knew he couldn’t win in a fair fight. Y/n was trained in martial arts; he had seen her practice at the university gym. So, the injection was the only way.

As she walked past him, he lunged forward, grabbing her from behind. He quickly administered the injection into her arm, his hand covering her mouth to stifle her scream.

Y/n struggled, her eyes wide with terror, her body fighting against the drug taking hold. She tried to kick, to punch, but her movements were becoming sluggish, her vision blurring.

Within moments, she went limp, her body slumping against him. Mark caught her, cradling her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "But this is the only way. I love you too much to let you go."

He carried her to his car parked nearby, his heart pounding in his chest. He laid her gently in the backseat, covering her with a blanket.

As he drove away from the university, leaving behind the life she knew, Mark felt a surge of exhilaration mixed with fear. He had crossed a line, a point of no return. He had kidnapped her, and she was totally dependent on him now.

He was finally, totally, and irrevocably hers.

Y/n woke up in a strange room, her head throbbing, her body heavy and disoriented. The room was lavishly decorated, with plush carpets, velvet curtains, and antique furniture. It looked like something out of a magazine, but it was unfamiliar, alien.

Panic seized her. Where was she? How did she get here?

She sat up, her head swimming. The last thing she remembered was walking home from class, a sudden prick in her arm, and then… nothing.

She looked down at her arm, and a wave of nausea washed over her. There was a small bandage on her skin, a clear indicator of the injection.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Someone had drugged her and brought her here. But who? And why?

Then, the door opened, and Mark walked in, his face etched with a mixture of guilt and adoration.

"Y/n! You're awake!" he exclaimed, rushing to her side. "Are you okay? I was so worried."

Y/n stared at him, her eyes wide with horror. "Mark? What… what the hell is this place? What did you do to me?"

Mark took her hand, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "I brought you here, Y/n. This is our home now. We're going to be together, forever."

"Our home? Forever? Nigga are you out of your mind? You kidnapped me! You drugged me! This is not love, Mark. This is a crime!"

"I know, I know," he said, his voice pleading. "But I had no choice, Y/n. You wouldn't listen to me. You wouldn't see that we belong together. This was the only way."

"The only way? You think drugging me and kidnapping me is the only way? You're delusional, Mark! I hate you!"

The word hit Mark like a physical blow. His face crumpled, his eyes filling with tears. "Don't say that, Y/n. Please don't say that. I love you more than anything in the world. I would do anything for you."

"Then let me go," she pleaded. "If you love me, let me go back to my life. Let me go back to my friends, my family, my studies."

Mark shook his head, his grip on her hand tightening. "I can't do that, Y/n. I can't let you leave me. I need you. You're my everything."

He pulled her closer, trying to embrace her, but Y/n pushed him away with all her strength.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed. "Get away from me!"

Mark stepped back, his expression hardening. "You're not going anywhere, Y/n. You're mine now. You're safe here. I'll take care of you. You won't have to worry about anything ever again."

He forced a smile, his eyes glinting with madness. "I've even taken care of your university. I’ve told them that your grandmother died, and you had to return to America unexpectedly. No one is looking for you, Y/n. You belong here now, just with me."

He left the room, locking the door behind him. Y/n was alone, trapped in her gilded cage, her heart filled with despair.

She looked around the room, her mind racing. She had to escape. She had to find a way to get out of this nightmare.

She tried the door, but it was locked, as expected. She looked out the window, but it was high above the ground, with no way to climb down.

She was trapped, at least for now. But she wouldn't give up. She would find a way to escape, even if it meant playing along with Mark's delusion.

She knew she had to be cautious. She had to observe him, study him, learn his patterns, his weaknesses. She had to bide her time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Her training in martial arts could prove to be helpful, but she knew that she couldn't openly fight him, her body weak and tired. She needed to regain her strength, to sharpen her mind, to prepare for the battle ahead.

As the days turned into weeks, Y/n played the role of the captive, docile and compliant. She pretended to be grateful for Mark's attention, for his gifts, for his constant presence. She listened to his stories, she laughed at his jokes, she even pretended to reciprocate his affection.

It was a difficult act, one that required every ounce of her strength and willpower. But she knew it was necessary if she wanted to survive.

Mark, emboldened by her apparent acceptance, became even more possessive, even more controlling. He monitored her every move, restricting her access to the outside world. He took her phone away, telling her that it was bad for her health. He controlled her diet, her sleep schedule, her every waking moment.

But beneath the surface of her feigned compliance, Y/n was plotting her escape. She memorized the layout of the house, noting every door, every window, every possible exit. She studied Mark's schedule, learning when he was most vulnerable, when he was most distracted. She began to subtly reassert herself, testing his boundaries, probing for weaknesses in his control. Even going as far as slipping crushed up antidepressants in her meals and drinks to keep her weak and unable to attack him.

She knew that her escape would be risky, dangerous. But she was determined to reclaim her life, to break free from Mark's obsession, to return to the world she knew.

She was no longer just a victim. She was a survivor, and she was ready to fight.

#vin’sdiamondlife #Yandere mark lee #mark lee x reader #yandere nct x reader #yandere nct #nct x black reader #nct 127 x reader #nct x reader

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vibratingskull · 11 months ago

Note

Hiiii I love your fics so much that I'm genuinely suffering from Yandere Thrawn Brainrot 😭 can I pretty please request Yandere Thrawn x fem reader where the reader is just accepting of his behaviour? like maybe she's a rebel who has been just abandoned by her friends so she just gives in because actually the attention he gives is really nice when she behaves or maybe she's one of the emperors daughters who is always kind of forgotten about in comparison to her sisters so Thrawns attitude isn't a red flag for her because he treats her so nice and has never once sidelined her or forgotten anything about her! I just think it's an interesting idea to play with like I'm sure Yandere Thrawn would be ecstatic to have a partner who doesn't bat an eye to his behaviour and soaks it up desperately, even the brothel fic you made could fit with Yandere Thrawn (look at how bad the brainrot is LMAOOOOO) ofc I'd have to request some smut in it like maybe he eats her out on his command chair 🤭 (that's all I can think about since the last Yandere thrawn AU you just posted haha make it as crazy as you want it to be tbh I love giving you full reign over this your smut is like high quality wine for me at this point!) Anyways! Before I get completely off track and send you a whole essay of ideas I just wanna say that I cheered when I saw your requests open and you don't have to write this idea or if you prefer to tweak it then that's absolutely fine! I hope you're doing amazing and I'm looking forward to your beautiful creations!!!

Yandere Thrawn is best boy, you cannot change my mind! He can be a murderous psycho or a complete puppy if you play your cards well. Aaaaaaaw thank you dear ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I'm really happy you like my silly stuffs, even the smutty ones (i'm so not confident about those), it will be a 2 parters !

ThrawnxF!reader

Tags: Yandere behavior (duh), possessive, painting, meet cute

You sigh, sitting alone at the table. You make your drinks twirl in your glass, silently observing the ballroom. Your hand supporting your chin you look at the couples dancing, the lively discussions around the room, the laughs and smiles, the kisses exchanged behind closed doors, and the champagne flowing freely.

You catch one of your sisters dancing with a suitor, a metal and gaz magnate infinitely rich, they have been glued to one another during the entire party. You turn your head to see another one leading a political discussion with her natural charm, they all laugh at her witty comebacks and believe every word she speaks like gospel. You turn again to see your third sister on the stage, singing softly a beautiful melody, admired by the rest of the audience.

And then there is you...

The fourth.

The last one.

You do not have the charisma, the talent, or the political gene to rival any of your sisters. No one knows what to do with you. Everyone planned a beautiful future for all your three sisters to make the Empire shine brighter but you? Nobody has any idea. All your professors searched for a secret talent, a hidden jewel, hoping you are simply a late bloomer.

But nothing came.

Oh, you tried. You tried so hard! Spending sleepless nights working on your studies to at least hope for a well-made brain. But you are so average, both in looks and intellect. Nothing shines about you, nothing is worth noting.

You sigh and finish your drink.

Your only little quirk is your paintings. That’s the only thing distinguishing you from your sisters, you not failing art class. It is quite fondly regarded when you’re five but when you’re an adult princess of the Empire you need other qualities and skills than a good brush move.

You just wanted to go to art school and live simply, not that overdramatic life wrapped in politics and secrecy. You wish not for the power and the riches, they bring you too much headaches. You want to leave the Palace, find a small apartment, get a cat, and for everyone to forget your existence and leave you in peace.

But no... Not a chance.

This very party is a shining example. It is officially a diplomatic meeting between high political top hats but the true goal of your father is to show off his daughters in the hope you find a future husband, wealthy and powerful, and then marry you off.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You are a prop to your father’s politics. Good to lure a man and his funds into the imperial bank.

And right now you are failing spectacularly. Now that you mind per se, but the man you call father and emperor will inevitably learn about that and you don’t want to anger him. You still value your life.

You sigh again mentally preparing yourself to stand up and try to “seduce” men, feeling a headache rising, when-

“Will you allow me to join you?” A rich deep voice makes you turn your head.

Grand Admiral Thrawn, a hand on the back of the other chair of your table, is looking at you with a small grin and sparkling eyes.

“Oh...” You can only say, surprised for him to spawn out of nowhere, “I mean yes! Of course Grand Admiral.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” He bows his head.

He elegantly sits down next to you. Even his manners are impeccable, full of grace and dexterity. You feel so slow and clumsy next to him. You see his long, delicate fingers hovering over the canapes before choosing one and lifting it to his mouth to bite into it.

Maker, even Military officers are more dignified than you... You subconsciously straighten your back to at least match the energy he brings to the table, trying not to appear too sluggish.

You know this man for being the first and only alien to have reached the Grand Admiral rank, which is really impressive, you will give him that. He always struck you as a balanced and polite man. He revealed himself as an art enjoyer on your first meeting and very nicely proposed himself as a model for male anatomy. You accepted and you meet every other month when he comes back from his campaigns. He lets you draw and paint his body in silence for long hours before coming to take a look and give you advice from time to time.

And then he leaves. And that’s the end of that.

Or it is the end of your relationship because he seems to roam around the residency aisle of the palace a lot. Numerous times you caught the back of his head disappearing behind a corner when you left your studio after a long painting session. You have no idea what he comes here for in the residency wing of the Palace, nothing interesting for a Grand Admiral around here.

As a matter of fact, you do have an idea why he comes to this part of the Palace, you suspect he comes to visit one of your sisters regularly. And he must be seriously enamored for risking the wrath of the Emperor! You don’t even want to imagine his reaction if he discovered the Alien got access to one of his dear eldest!

You just hope the sister in question takes her precautions to not get caught.

That would also be a huge waste for the Grand Admiral, if an alien such as him managed to reach this rank it means he must be terribly good at what he does! Not that the Emperor shares any tactical info with you, his daughters, it is a simple observation. And he looks rather dashing too... Your vain side would be devastated to learn such a handsome man would be executed, that would be such a loss for the Galaxy you nod to yourself.

You remain silent, observing the guests and your sisters shining in their dresses and jewelry. They are so radiant, you think with envy. Typically the type of women a man as handsome as the Grand Admiral would pursue, they are in the same league.

Contrary to you.

You start feeling a tingle at the back of your neck and you turn your head to discover Grand Admiral Thrawn silently looking in your direction smiling softly. You spin your head again to see what he might be watching with such tenderness in his red gaze, only to see...

Nothing?

You frown.

“It is you I am looking at.” Thrawn’s deep voice rises again, with a touch of controlled amusement.

You turn back to him with an embarrassed smile.

“Oh, I just thought you saw... Nothing.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“What did you think I saw?”

“I don’t know, something interesting.” You take your glass to your lips to sip, feeling your throat going dry.

“But I am looking at something interesting. The most interesting person in this room.”

Oh okay.

You know where this is going, you know that sweet sugary tone.

“What do you want Grand Admiral?” You put your glass back with a clank, “What demand do you want me to ask my father?”

He cocks his head again, squinting like he didn’t understand your question.

“I have no demand to ask your father.”

“Of course you don’t.” You snort.

They always do that. Come with a sweet voice and a compliment and then beg you to interfere with your father in their favor.

You are no political genius but you recognize a freeloader when you meet one!

"I assure you, Your Majesty, I did not come to ask any political favors of any kind.” He reiterates softly, “I simply saw you, so beautifully dressed and dolled up and could not help but come to you.”

“You always come to me! You think I am the weakest and easiest to manipulate for your benefit, you come with doe eyes and then ask outrageous demands, in the hope of gaining political powers. Well, I am sorry, go knock on another door!" You speak irritated but low to not start any drama.

Grand Admiral Thrawn blinks at you. He shakes his head, trying to disarm the situation.

You sniff with disdain. Lies. If he doesn’t want political favors from your father then he wants access again to one of your sister's beds, another classic you had to deal with!

“I am sorry Grand Admiral.” You say coldly, “I have nothing to give you.”

His smile widens and you hear a low chuckle.

“But on the contrary, it is me who wants to give you something, Your Majesty.”

You look at him suspiciously as he takes something from his pocket. He puts a little box hermetically sealed in front of you. You tentatively take it and open the lid to discover a colorful powder in a tangerine shade.

You look at him mouth agape and mute with surprise.

“I heard you needed this shade to finish your latest painting.” He says softly, “I traveled the galaxy and found this powder made from local seashells in an isolated world. I saw it and knew I needed to get it for you.”

This shade...

Is the exact one you need, down to a t.

“How... How did you...?”

“That is not important, Your Majesty I know how much you care about this painting and wanted to help you.”

This painting, you saw it in your dreams.

It was a flash of a faded memory of your dead mother, smiling at you before the sunset. Long, long ago...

This powder is the perfect shade for her eyes...

“Oh dear Maker...” You start sobbing, hiding your mouth behind your hand.

“Your Majesty?” Grand Admiral Thrawn asks, “Are you all right?”

You nod, wiping any tear that might have rolled down your cheek, getting back control over your sobs.

“Yes... Yes. Thank you Grand Admiral, this is a very thoughtful gift.” You smile at him.

Now you feel dumb to have given him the cold shoulder.

But how did he know about that painting? You don’t remember talking about it to anyone? You specifically hid it behind a sheet.

“You are welcome, Your Majesty. It is my pleasure.”

His hand furtively reaches yours and caresses your finger with the tips of his own. You let him do it. You don’t know why. It is simply not unpleasant...

“I just thought... I’m going to sound stupid, bear with me, I thought you wanted to use me to get close to my sisters.” You chuckle embarrassed, “It is a bit stupid...”

“Why would I want to get close to your sisters when you are here?” He asks.

“Because... I am just me.” You shrug like it is evident, “Nobody knows what to do with me.”

“I have plenty of ideas of what we could do together.” He whispers, taking your hand gently to kiss it, his red eyes looking brazenly at you.

You feel heat spreading on your cheeks.

“Grand Admiral!” You choke “How dare... We are in the middle of a ballroom!” You chastise him.

“We can leave anytime you desire...” He licks your knuckles with the tip of his warm tongue, looking insolently at you.

You feel yourself melting into a puddle at that gaze on you. So many unchaste images cross his red shining eyes while devoring you. You feel stripped naked before him. You gulp and turn your head away, you cannot hold his gaze, you feel like you’re about to combust.

He chuckles and kisses your hand again.

“I am merely joking, Your Majesty. I know you cannot simply fool around with any man. But maybe you will allow me this dance?” He stands up, still holding your hand but awaits your response.

You gingerly look at him. Dear Maker, he is so tall...

He looks at you with a small smile, gently squeezing your hand.

“I... Can allow one dance.” You concede.

“You are so generous with me, Your Majesty. I thank you.”

He helps you stand and guides you to the dancefloor, his warm hand on your lower back. He spins toward you and grabs your hand, pressing your two bodies together.

“Hold on to me, Your Majesty.” He says sensually.

And he makes you spin and twirl on the dancefloor, holding you so close you can feel his high body warmth through your clothes. He is a very, very good dancer you realize.

The dance starts normal and modest as it should be but it slowly dissolves into... something else.

You can feel his large hands roaming your entire body, playing with the straps of your dress, raising the hem of your dress to touch your naked thigh, he grabs the pin and frees your hair in your back, he grabs your hips to press them against his in a sultry move, almost grabbing your butt...

It feels like he is making love to you, fully clothed and in public. You fail to put a stop to it and protect your modesty, he is just so good at it that you blindly follow him, losing track of time.

You gulp, losing your breath as he makes your head spin dangerously. He never once stops looking at you, devouring you with his shiny rubies, hunger lying deep in them.

You are breathless, straps down your shoulders, your skirt high on your thighs and your legs trembling terribly, threatening to give out under you if Grand Admiral Thrawn wasn't holding you firmly against his tall body.

“Gra.. Grand Admiral...” You can only say.

“Is there a problem, Your Majesty? We are simply dancing, like I promised we would only do.”

“This is not a dance! This is...” You try to get angry at him but your beating heart only pumps blood to your cheeks even more.

“You did not stop me once.” He tilts his head, “If you said no I would have stopped immediately.”

“Someone could see us! Someone-”

“There are a lot of people around us. They hide you perfectly, no one will ever know. You can let go entirely, let me guide you...” He whispers sultrily in your ear.

His hand on your back slowly caresses his way down towards your butt and his hand on your leg slowly brushes his way up towards your crotch.

This... This is so indecent!

So scandalous!

So obscene!

So...

You should slap him across the face and ditch him there but you want more of it. You feel fire starts in your loin, slowly spreading in your veins, coursing through your entire body.

Quite unexpectedly he lets you go. You look at him without understanding, he grins and kisses your hand gallantly again.

“Have a nice evening, Your Majesty. Thank you for this... Delicious moment. I will see you for our next modeling session.” He rolls his ‘R’ like a purr and leaves.

Did he...

Is he the one who ditched you? At the height of the tension? When you were about to say ‘yes’ to him? You remain standing still in the middle of the dancefloor, mouth agape, breathless, hair and dress in a mess. You walk back to your seat, your legs wobbly at every step.

You feel played.

How dares he come around to set you on fire and just leave you, arms dangling, craving for so much more?! Such a ... Tease! You readjust your dress modestly, making sure none of your sisters saw anything of this... Outrageous display. None of them are looking in your direction, they are fully focused on their friends or songs.

You sigh, feeling like an idiot. Typically a thing that wouldn’t have happened to your sisters, they would have either put a stop to it or enchanted him so much that he would have dropped to his knees, begging for more of them.

You're the only one dunce enough to get played like that.

But... You cannot help but like it. It felt good to be someone’s center of the universe, even for two fleeting minutes, feeling his daring hands exploring your body so... immodestly. No man ever treated you like that, even less a man so handsome...

You shake your head. Stop that! It is blind lust speaking.

Your eyes lay down on the little box. You reopen it, to be sure of its content. Exactly the pigment you needed, the exact shade and vibrance...

How did he know?

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

The first time he saw you was during an Imperial ceremony, from far away. The youngest of all the daughters, dressed in gold, pearls, and Orichalc. He was still a simple commodore back then, without as much power to himself. He was from very far away, not able to discern the features of your face, but it was clear from your body language and posture you didn’t want to be here.

Like himself.

Pryce was unavailable, a rarity for a shark like her to miss a political event like that, but she pressed him to go, to form alliances with as many senators as possible. How on the Warrior’s Blue Csilla was he supposed to do that? He is surrounded by sharks and snakes ready to eat each other for their selfish benefits, something so beyond him he simply forgets this is actually a thing people do instead of worrying for the good of the many...

Saying he was terrified would be false, but saying he was comfortable would be a lie.

It takes a lot to make him uncomfortable, but politicians always do the trick.

So in a weird way, he felt kinship towards you. He knew nothing about you, he was not even sure of your rank at that very moment, but like him, you wished you weren't there at that moment.

The massive difference was that he was anonymously sitting in the grandstand while you were on the big stage, to be looked at and admired like a pretty doll by everyone else. How uncomfortable it must feel... He felt sorry for you.

Despite your discomfort, you accomplished your duties with grace, obeying your role. It was commendable of you.

“Who are those young ladies on the side of the stage?” He leaned towards his sit neighbor.

“Do you live under a rock? They are the Emperor’s daughters, the Imperial princesses.” He got chastised.

He nodded thankfully and returned to his silent observation of the ceremony.

It was not so long in retrospect, but isolated on this stage it must have felt like an eternity for you.

After the ceremony was the real challenge for him, for two hours he had to remain comfortably seated in silence to observe a stage, now he was truly meant to go out of his way and meet politicians.

He had to take refuge to the buffet or the corners of the room more than one time. Why can’t he read and anticipate politicians’ maneuvers? Why was he so blind to this type of warfare? After a new uncomfortable discussion that ended up with him pissing off his interlocutor because they couldn’t meet eyes to eye he caught a cozy area, almost hidden behind heavy curtains with sofas and a fountain, isolated from the rest of the busy party. He entered, hoping to find some peace and quiet but he found a young woman here, dressed in gold, pearl, and Orichalc.

“Your Majesty.”Thrawn bowed respectfully, “I did not want to disturb your peace, I will leave.” He immediately excused himself and turned to go away

When...

“You may stay, sir.” You simply responded, not even looking up from your drink twirling in your glass. “I do not mind...”

“I thank you, Your Majesty.” He bowed again and took a seat.

Not on the same sofa as you, it would be terribly improper to impose his presence on a woman like that. He chose one a little removed from you to leave you in peace.

He was gathering his thoughts, but you kept catching his eyes, something about you was...interesting him. And he didn’t know what, nor the true nature of his interest in you.

“What?” You asked out of the blue, “You keep giving me side glance, you never saw a woman before?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty. It was impolite of me”

“Yes, it is. My father killed men for less than that.” You added acidic.

Something in your tone and demeanor... Like a heavy lassitude, like you were crushed by something. But what?

“I will keep it in mind, then. Thank you for the warning, Your Majesty.”

You sniffed with disdain before looking back down to your drink.

“So it’s you....” You finally added after several minutes of silence, “the Navy’s favorite pet.”

He turned back his gaze to you, squinting.

“The Navy’s pet?” He repeated politely.

“The only alien in the Navy, and a Commodore at that. You pissed off a lot of people, my congratulations.”

He was not able to judge if you were sincere or sarcastic.

“I do my best to do my job. But some people never seem satisfied, I cannot do anything more to content them, I am afraid.” He humbly admits.

“Like me.” You let out with a little voice.

You did not say more and he did not pryied.

“Why are you not enjoying the party, Your Majesty?” He asked, curious, “Your sisters are getting their fill.”

You snarled in response.

“If you came here to flaunt my dear sisters in my face you can leave, sir.”

“My apologies, Princess. I was simply curious why a young adult would not enjoy such a party.” He explained.

You turned your head and for the first time your gazes crossed.

“What about you? You do not seem the type to enjoy parties either.”

“My young years are behind me.”

You frowned.

“Are they?”

Well technically he is still considered rather young for Chiss standards with their longer lifespan but for humans, he is middle-aged. But you don’t know that.

“I am over 45.” He informed you.

The way your beautiful human eyes rounded up in surprise was quite delectable.

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not.”

“You barely look 35.” You responded astonished.

He came to understand it was a compliment on his physical appearance. Something he was not used to.

“I thank you, your Majesty. You look ravishing yourself.”

He stopped dead. Was ‘ravishing’ too much? How do you respond politely to a woman appreciating your physical appearance, and what is the proper and polite response when that woman is an Imperial Princess?

You gauged him up and down before exploding laughing.

Not one of those overly musical and false laughs of politicians and freeloaders, a true, pure, and sincere fit of laughter. Something coming directly from the heart.

Something fresh.

He remained still, not knowing how to react. Your laugh was quite pleasant to hear, and the smile you tried to hide behind your hand enhanced your features gracefully.

“Oh Maker.” You breathe to calm down, “You are quite funny, sir!”

He failed to see what was funny in his response but he was not starting to question a Princess. You sighed deeply, still shaken by the remnants of your laugh. At least you were smiling now, that heavy sentiment hovering over you seemed to have disappeared. At least for now.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” He diplomatically responded.

“So tell me truly, why did you come hiding here?” You asked, a bit more lively.

This time he was the one looking down at his drink for a fleeting moment.

“Politics... Evade me entirely.” He finally reveals.

“Same.”

He looked at you curiously.

“But you are a Princess of the Empire.”

“That doesn’t mean I can lead. I dislike politics. I prefer my studio.”

A studio? The type he is hoping for?

“What type of studio?”

“Oh ... Just.” You gave him a side glance and lowered your gaze, embarrassed “No. You will find it stupid.”

“I will not judge, Your Majesty.” He solemnly declared.

“I ... Paint. A little...”You revealed, fidgeting your fingers.

His heart jumped and all of his social anxiety and restraints lifted up like a cloud. You paint? It’s marvelous news! He loves paintings, why not tell him sooner?

“This is not stupid, Your Majesty. Art is a very noble and respectable hobby, I am a humble art enjoyer myself.” He explained calmly, keeping his growing enthusiasm on a leash. “Would you have pictures of your work to show me by any chance?” He daringly asked

You looked at him absolutely horrified.

Please, do not look at him like that...It displeases him, even though he doesn’t quite know why.

He likes it when women are comfortable with him, it is gratifying to be perceived as a protector. He wants you to feel relaxed around him.

Especially you

For some unknown reasons...

“I... No!” You hurriedly responded.

He tilted his head. He wanted to see some of your work. It is so important for artists to be seen and perceived for them to flourish in their talents.

He just wanted to give you a positive boost... But you denied him.

“I understand.” He responded, a bit disappointed to have lost this opportunity to speak about art.

You looked at him, embarrassed before rising on your feet to close the curtain entirely, giving the little salon a cozy and very intimate atmosphere. You took out your imager of your little purse and approached him shyly, suddenly self-conscious.

He looked at you approaching with an impassible expression, but hope constricted his heart.

“Do you promise to not mock me?” You asked like you weren't an Imperial Princess with significant powers.

No. At this very instant you were a shy, but hopeful young artist, ready to expose herself intimately to a fellow art enjoyed, pressing your imager against your chest.

You were taking a leap of faith...

And he was ready to catch you in his arms.

“I never mock an artist, Your Majesty.” He declared with all the serious in the world.

You gulped and sat down next to him, handing him the imager with a slightly trembling hand.

“This is not very good...” You warned him.

Who cares? If you are a beginning artist with a low level he will be more than happy to give you references and art currents to study to help you in your art journey.

But you were actually really good with a brush. No need to get all shy about it, you should be proud of your paintings!

You studied a lot of subjects and tried a lot of different techniques and materials, your style could be soft and appeasing with pastel colors, bold and brash with vibrant brush strokes, or gloomy and eerie, creating a haunting atmosphere.

But no matter how different your paintings might be there was one very clear constant for him.

Your innate good and soft nature.

Not in a fragile or virginal way, no. But something bright, shining like a real sun, luminous, warm, inescapable, and unstoppable...

How could you be Emperor Palpatine’s daughter?

How was that possible?

He silently observed your work under your worried gaze, awaiting his judgment. It is clear you hid this part of yourself from everyone else, and maybe he was the very first person who took interest in your hobby, the very first one you let gaze upon yourself so intimately like that...

Because it was very intimate, he knew it. He stripped your soul naked before him and he ogled without any shame, taking as many details as he could.

And he very much liked what he saw.

Where were gentle souls like yours in the galaxy? They appeared so rare and he would very much appreciate one in his life. A friend honest and deeply good by nature...

That sounds terribly enticing to him.

He knew nobody on Coruscant, spending his entire leaves in art galleries. But maybe now he could visit them with a nice company at his arm? Simple rendezvous filled with passionate discussions about art, speaking and debating a subject until you both lose your voices and only look into each other eyes to continue the discussion.

That sounds terribly nice...

But you are a Princess and him a Commodore. How would that work? He was not even sure he had the right to be in the same room as you.

But the idea was just so nice... An art partner, being friends with an actual artist, getting to witness the intricate process of creating a masterpiece.

That is just so alluring to him...

“So?” you asked with a short breath.

“This is high-quality work, Princess. You have an undeniable talent and obviously worked really hard to get to this level.” He praised, “I can only encourage you to continue.”

“You think... I could live on my brush one day?” You inquired, hope lying in your voice.

“It is a real possibility, I can see it happening.” He nodded with a tight encouraging smile.

“... Thank you.” You let him knew, “I...”

You seemed to be about to say something else but suddenly jumped on your feet, the heat signals of your face through the roof.

“I need to go! Good evening Sir!” And like that you left him, speechless, still holding your precious imager.

Maybe the tension of showing your art to someone else for the first time was too much for you. This was quite endearing and he let out a little chuckle amused.

He resumed his art exploration on your imager, he will find a way to send it back to you.

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

He didn’t sent it back.

He kept it, he has it every day in his inner pocket, close to his heart. He rummages through it when he can, seeing you through the pictures, getting to know you through each paint stroke.

He innocently thought about you two becoming art friends to satisfy his knowledge cravings, but instead, he developed an... interesting bound with you.

Without your knowledge.

He tried several times to come to see you at your art studio to give it back, only to remain at the door, silently spying on you painting through the cracked door.

He wished not to disturb the holy inspiration flow so precious to artists. He would break your entire rhythm if he knocked at the door and stopped you.

How could he dare disturb the process of art? Especially yours? So he remained at the door for long hours until you decided to exit the room or he heard someone come by.

When you weren’t here he forced the door open to tidy up the place and look at your last pieces.

But one day you were simply preparing yourself to paint so he entered. Unannounced, unwanted he walked in like he owned the place. You didn’t see him at first, focusing on your flimsy sheets when you raised back on your feet to discover him observing your latest piece with attention, his hand holding his chin, appreciating every detail.

“Oh dear Maker!” You jumped back.

He turned his head to you with a tight smile.

“My apologies, Princess.” He said not at all sorry.

“What are you doing here?!” You asked in some sort of panick.

“Your father requested my presence today, and I had hoped to be able to catch you paint.” He mundanely explained it like it was evidence.

“And why is that?” You asked suspiciously, hiding some sketches behind you.

“My apologies Princess, I got ahead of myself. I have something belonging to you and wanted to give back.”

He took out the small imager of his pocket to hand it to you. He already has several copies and backups of all your art.

“My imager!” You shouted, relieved. “Where did you get it?”

“You actually gave it to me years ago when I was still a Commodore.” He explains gently.

You took the imager back and looked in the gallery, with an elated smile.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name, Mister.” You raise back your clear gaze at him.

Of course, you knew his name, he was the only alien of the fleet, surely his name traveled the corridors of the Palace and he knew it. But Politeness and etiquette demanded you asked.

And you are a very polite woman.

He put his right hand on his heart and bowed to you.

“I am Vice Admiral Thrawn. I am delighted to meet you again, Your Majesty.”

You elegantly bowed back.

“I am (Y/n) (L/n).”

“Are you not a Palpatine?” Thrawn tilted his head.

You bite your lower lips, like you spoke too much.

“I... Prefer to identify with my mother’s name.” You explain.

“It is a very beautiful name, it suits you marvelously.” He reassured you, “Do you mind if I remain for your next session? I long to observe an artist in their element.”

“Oh well...” You spin your head towards the holo clock on the wall and all of your glee seems to melt, your smile disappearing, “I am afraid there won’t be a session today... Yet again.”

Thrawn squinted.

“Is there a problem, your Majesty?”

“No its...” You sighed deeply, “Another model ditched me apparently. He should have been here an hour ago...”

“If you allow me, your Majesty, I can replace him if you wish.” Thrawn proposed immediately.

“I...” You purse your lips, thinking “I usually book models for three to four hours, are you sure you have that time?”

“I do today.” He answered politely, hiding his enthusiasm, “By a splendid hasard I have nothing booked for the rest of the day. I can model for you as long as you need.”

He very carefully planned today’s agenda to have his afternoon and evening free after his visit to the Emperor. It will postpone some operations on the Chimaera, but nothing he cannot catch up on, he made sure of it.

You hesitated, your gaze traveling from Thrawn’s stern face to your flimsy sheets.

It is the fifth model ditching you.

The fifth Thrawn got rid off.

Cleanly.

Discreetly.

When he entered your studio in your absence he got the occasion to detail your work and picked up on your... attraction, towards those young men.

Something that infuriated him greatly, even though he wasn’t sure why. He never felt like that before, longing for your presence, to get to know you better and well. This is a very new sentiment to him, he desires to be with you, to listen to you talk, to help you, to just be here in the same room as you. You could be silent and still, sitting on a pedestal and he would sit and look at you with all his attention, trying to pierce your secrets.

Why are you doing that to him? Where does this deep sentiment of covetousness come from? Right now he just wants to grab your hand and flee away from the Imperial Palace with you, take the first shuttle and take off for the never-ending universe, take you far away from that man you call father and Emperor for you both to live free.

He always feels so cold all day long, but in your vicinity, everything warms up, the ice melts, and the sun dares from its rays on his flesh, bringing him back to life and waking him up from a long coma. Laying his gaze on you he feels like opening his eyes for the first time and taking his first breath.

Is that... Love?

Did Cupid finally hit him with an arrow after ignoring him all his life?

He quite likes how that sounds.

He wants more. So, so much more...

But for now, he looked at you hesitating, patient, with a tight polite smile of someone only desiring to help.

“Well... If it isn’t too much trouble for you, I would appreciate it. What about a portrait to start?”

“But of course, Your Majesty. I am here to serve.” He bowed his head again deeply pleased that his plan worked.

He cannot help but wonder, how do you see him? Is he handsome or repulsive to your eyes? Is he powerful or weak?

He will soon know it through your primary sketches...

-------

“What are you thinking about Grand Admiral Thrawn?” You call him back to reality

Thrawn blinks, realizing he is posing for you once again in your studio. It is quite rare that he lets his memories take the forefront of his mind but his mind drifted off observing you painting him like that.

You took great care to not look at him in the eyes since that party and he is greatly pleased by the turmoil he stirred within you. Today again you cannot look in his direction without your face’s heat signals rising.

How delectable...

You draped a long fabric on him and gave him a staff to hold, ordering his pose, and started to paint. Holding the pose is hard but that only pushes him to appreciate art even more. He feels your focused gaze skimming his skin, detailing his muscles, observing the crooks and crannies of his flesh, taking in the different shades of blue of his skin.

He feels his heart accelerating with your eyes traveling his naked form.

He never exposed himself in such a way to anybody before.

It is so intimate.

So erotic...

He feels great under your gaze, he feels... Empowered. Like he could become what he was always meant to be under your brush, that through your gaze he truly could realize himself. He feels his chest puffing up with pride and satisfaction. That surge of warmth spreading in his chest and heart when your eyes skim his skin feels so soft and right...

“You truly have mesmerizing eyes, I hope I will be able to do them justice...” You say almost to yourself, fully focused on your sketch.

“We could do a series of portraits after, you could study them in detail.” He proposes.

“Thank you Grand Admiral.” You smile.

“Please, call me Thrawn, Your Majesty. I am a simple man at your art service in this room.”

“Then call me (Y/n).” You decide, “Let’s just be a man and a woman for this afternoon.”

“I simply cannot, Your Majesty. You are an Imperial Princess, I cannot address you with such familiarity.” He counters.

Who is he to address you so casually? He will not strip you down of your titles and grandeur.

You pout, visibly displeased by his response.

“All right...” You say very disappointed.

He clenches his jaw, conscious of his misstep.

“If you truly desire it, I will address you as you wish (Y/n).” He responds softly.

But in his mind he will keep using your titles, they suit you so well.

You nodd enthusiastically, relieved by his new response.

“Do you want to take a look?” You ask.

He descends from the pedestal and passes on a gown to modestly cover himself, but he doesn’t close it, coming to admire your genius on the canvas, discovering himself through your own eyes.

You take a picture with your imager that he gave back, adding it to your collection. His heart sprints at the view of the imager in a very Pavlovian response.

He had... other uses for your imager.

He will never admit it, not even under torture, but... He furiously masturbated several times using your art collection on the imager. He has no rational explanation for it. One day he was terribly bothered, to his utmost inconvenience, and hoped that some nice paintings could distract him.

But instead

He just got such a clear picture of you, of your good nature, of your amazingly sweet personality that he became hard like wood, worsening the situation. He found a self-portrait of yourself, looking straight back at him with such a clear and assured gaze... And he just lost it.

He fisted himself, entranced by those expressive eyes looking brazenly at him.

He never came so hard before, his entire body struck by lightning, setting fire to his very soul. He was left breathless and disoriented, his large chest rising up and down rapidly, your impudent gaze fixing him intently.

The high was so high the descent was devastating, leaving him craving more of you, by any means necessary...

That’s when he decided to enter your studio for the first time.

Thrawn discovers the canvas.

He discovers himself slouching regally on a throne like he is presiding over a tedious political case and is about to give his royal judgment.

You remain a step behind, fidgeting your fingers.

“What do you think?” You ask a bit worried.

An idea flashes in his mind, a bad idea, but oh so delicious...

“Technically very interesting and avant-garde. But there is something...” He teases sadistically.

“Something? What? What is wrong? What did I do wrong?” You immediately panick.

“Are you familiar with male anatomy?” He asks, falsely investigating.

Of course, you are familiar with it, he saw you paint it plenty of times.

“Yes! I am!” You protest.

“Let’s see...” He gently takes your hands to place them on his large pecs.

Your eyes round up in surprise and your breath is caught in your throat.

“Feel the muscles, how they are built in the body.” He casually instructs while he takes your hands for a jaunt on his body, caressing himself with your soft palms.

“Hum... Grand Admiral?” You try.

“Feel where they start and end, where they cross paths and attach to the bones.” He slowly pushes your hands down his abdominals.

You audibly gasp as he directs your hands on his naked body. While your body heat skyrockets in your embarrassment and confusion, he revels in the softness of your touch and the freshness of your hands on his thick skin.

Your touch is delightful. Delicate and tender. He has all the pain in the world to not moan in bliss...

He presses your palms on his abdominals, pushing them farther and farther south.

“It is very important you understand how the muscles twist and bend.” He lectures you like you didn’t already know that.

“Grand Admiral...” You press him more and more embarassed.

He takes a step forward and you take a step back.

He takes another one and you do the same.

He finally blocks you against the desk where you keep all your colors and pigments. You jolt when your back hits the wooden table, caged between his half-naked body and the furniture. He stops your hands on his groin region, right above his cock.

He looks at your flustered face intently, how you evade his gaze and your heat signals are the worst he ever saw. He refrains from licking your face as he so desperately wants to.

Your sex is irradiating a warm light to his infrared vision, well awake and demanding attention. He takes great pride in the reaction of your body to his daring advances, but you also appear tense.

“Feel how my male body is different from your female body, feel it deeply... within you...” He whispers, looming forward to press his forehead against yours to look at your eluding gaze. He pulls your hands to wrap your arms around his waist as his own hands come to seize your hips, slightly slipping them under your corseted top to caress your smooth human skin.

You cannot help the gasp escaping you, shocked to your core but indubitably... interested. Curious and craving for more.

Still, the uneasy feeling remains in the pearl of your eyes.

He presses your hips together and rolls his pelvis, delighting himself in your hot and bothered reaction. Your hands are trembling and sweaty but they hold on his lower back. You slowly and timidly raise your gaze to meet his, mouth agape and with a short breath.

You gulp as he smiles, satisfied.

Are you a virgin? Will he be your first?

His heart pumps harder!

You first... But more importantly your last!

He lowers himself with a satisfied grin, but right before he is about to kiss you, he suddenly grabs your ass to lift you up and put you on the table, making you yelp in surprise. His hands lift your skirt to caress your round thighs, dividing them open to slide between them swiftly.

His blood is beating furiously, his hands caressing and exploring your gorgeous body eagerly, mentally pesting against those useless clothes hiding your naked perfection to his burning rubies. You let out a weak moan between precocious fear and irrefutable excitement.

Your hands circle his shoulders and you dig your nails into his blue flesh, to his utmost pleasure, pulling you tighter towards you.

Everything comes to a halt as you look into each other eyes with heavy breathing.

He wants you.

He craves you.

And he will have you!

In one way or another, you will be his and his alone.

He will rip you out of your father’s claws and build you a life of comfort and love. He will hold you close and tight, showering you with adoration every day, worshipping at your feet.

Thrawn taunts you with his lips, hovering them over your parted mouth, making your throat go dry with anticipation. He teases you with a kiss on the tip of your nose, before letting out a low growl as your gazes meet, you cannot help but moisten your plump lips with your tongue with a short breath.

Thrawn hand seizes your lower back to pull you close and tight against him, his second hand embracing the back of your skull to pull you ever so slightly closer to his tempting grin.

You look at each other in a suspended moment, listening to each other heavy heartbeat, feeling the sheer tension in the room before Thrawn lowers himself with the intent to kiss you.

“Please... Do not hurt me...” You ask with a voice so low and feeble he barely hears you, tears in your eyes.

He stops his motion.

Why would-

“Sorry for my late arrival Princess, I-”

A man enters the studio unannounced, absolutely ruining the moment. You yelp in surprise, pulling on your skirt to cover your bare legs while Thrawn merely turns his upper body towards the intruder to shoot him with his glare, making no effort to cover his modesty.

The man is clearly embarrassed to have walked in during an intimate moment, but Thrawn wants him more than embarrassed. He wants him repentant and desperate.

“I am sorry, Sir.” You jump off the table, flustered, pushing your hair behind your ear to put up a front, “Thrawn, I present you Sir Hatway, a curator of an art gallery I invited to judge my art.” You gesture towards the impudent.

The man clearly doesn't know what to do with himself in front of a naked Chiss.

“Sir Hatway, this is Vice Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Navy and one of my favorite model.”

Thrawn heart speeds up at the compliment, but outside he is still shooting down Hatway, frowning, displeased.

“Should I... Wait outside, Princess?” The impolite man asks.

‘Yes he should!’ Thrawn thinks, clasping his hands behind his back.

“No! No...” You hurriedly respond, “It is all right, you didn’t interrupt anything. We can look at my paintings now.”

Thrawn gaze slides to you.

What do you mean ‘didn’t interrupt anything’? He wants to ask impudently.

He chastises himself. You are an imperial Princess. You cannot just fool around with anyone like that without consequences from your father, you must preserve your reputation.

The insolent nods unsure, still uneasy, before turning towards Thrawn with a smile he surely hoped to be affable, but honestly is just pathetic. He takes a step forward with his hand extended.

“Please to meet you Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

Thrawn consciously takes his time to gauge him up and down from all his height, straightening his back to look at him with all the smugness his rank conferred him. He finally took the man’s hand to shake it.

“The pleasure is mine, Sir Hatway.” Thrawn tightens his grip until the man winces in pain, “You will obviously not say a word of what you saw.” He asks, deadly cold.

“N-no, sir. I saw nothing and know nothing...” He pitifully responds

“Good...” The Chiss nods, venomous.

“You can go, Grand Admiral.” You say, fidgeting your fingers, still visibly agitated, “We are done for today.”

“If you allow me, Your Majesty. I am interested to witness your audition.”

“I...” You bite your lower lips again, thinking, “All right.” You concede.

When Thrawn exits the changing room in his pristine white uniform, Sir Hatway is no longer the pitiful man who entered the studio. He stands proudly before your paintings, detailing them and judging them imperially.

You remain a bit behind, full of apprehension and hope. Like the day you showed Thrawn your imager.

“This is not very good to be honest with you, Your Majesty. This is amateurish at best, and I am being generous.”

Thrawn stops dead in his tracks. Did he hear right?

“But I...” You try.

“It will not be possible I am afraid. You should abandon painting entirely, this is not a world for a fragile flower like you...”

Thrawn takes a single glance at the painting you are presenting right now.

Your dear mother’s portrait.

You spend long hours on this one, pouring your tears and blood in the paint to bring it to life and honor that woman.

And that... Uncultured fool rejects it?! Calls it amateurish?! Thrawn never saw such passion in a portrait in a long long time!

He heard enough.

He walks to the man with three long strides, catching both of your attention.

“Sir. I will invite you to take back your words immediately.” He said very coldly, camping in front of the fool, towering over him with all his height.

“Who do you think you are to teach my job?!” The impudent retorted, any traces of the former shy man long gone.

“Who do you think YOU are?! Is your heart so dry to be so blind before such a shining jewel, before such explicit talent, before such an evident masterpiece? I can not let you say such things.”

The man looks at Thrawn afraid and confused but sticks to his guns.

“No! It is my job to evaluate artists that wish to enter our art gallery and she doesn’t have the level expected.”

“Can you not see she is ahead of her time? That she is avant-garde in so many aspects? I pity your gallery Sir, we must only find mediocrity inside.”

“Are you insulting me?!”

“You insulted her first.”

“Grand admiral please...” You try to calm them both

Thrawn raises his hand to sush you.

“She has no talents, and no future in the art world. I am doing her a favor by telling her early.” He bites.

Thrawn feels about to punch this man.

Instead, he takes a step back and takes out his pair of gloves from his pocket, and throws them at the impudent’s face.

“I will protect her honor, I challenge you sir.”

“What?! No! This is getting ridiculous, stop-” You try to interject again.

“Fine! Whenever you damn please Alien!” The fool retorts.

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#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull

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