#what do you mean oil on canvas? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

athenamikaelson · 4 months ago

Text

Klaus Mikaelson x Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Pt. 19

Word Count- 6.4k

Warnings- UNEDITED- I’m tired, and this chapter kicked my ass, swearing, violence, VOMIT- A LOT OF IT, liquor, underage drinking, Theo, Klaus, Stefan

I’m losing it. Or at least I’m about to.

“C’mon, Y/n, it’s not that hard…just paint, for Christ's sake.”

I lift up my paintbrush, which I’ve been holding for the past 15 minutes, and dip it into the dark blue oil paint sitting next to my easel. The easel is currently holding a sickly white and blank canvas. The whiteness practically mocks me as I lift up the paintbrush and keep it a millimeter away from the canvas.

I furrow my eyebrows and continue to hold the paintbrush for so long that some of the paint on the brush is about to slip off.

“UGH!”

I throw the paintbrush back into the water cup next to me and stand up, running a hand through my hair. This is how it’s been for the past week. I sit down in front of this stupid easel and stare at it for fucking hours, and yet nothing comes to me. No inspiration, no sense of creativity, nothing. When I was younger, painting and drawing were things that would ease my soul, but as of now, it’s something that is just pissing me off. Technically it’s not the painting that’s pissing me off, I guess. It’s my creativity or lack of it.

A buzzing in my pocket has me grabbing my phone and answering it, “What?!”

“Pukey, we’ve really got to work on how you answer calls,” Demon laughs from his end of the call.

“What do you want, Toad,” I huff as I rip off the painter’s apron covering my jeans and place it on the seat I was just inhabiting.

“That’s a new one,” He says, and I can pretty much see the smirk on his face as he says it, “Anyways, I have something to tell you. It’s kind of big, so you might want to sit down.”

I scrunch up my face at his words, “Did someone die…other than Ric?”

“What? No. No one died.”

I release a breath, put Damon on speaker, and then walk over to my closet to find a different shirt to wear.

“Are you sitting down?”

I roll my eyes, “Ya…sure.”

“Okay…”

At Damon’s dramatics, I groan, “Demon, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to hang up. And then you’re going to have to talk to one of your other friends…well, if you had any.”

“So you’re admitting we’re friends,” Damon sasses back.

“Damon! Speak!”

“Damn, woman, fine! Elena and I kissed…well, technically, I kissed her. And I think she kissed me back. I mean, I hope she did. Do I hope she did? Ya, I do.”

At Damon’s confession, I glance at the floor-length mirror on my closet door and watch myself blink rapidly, my face contorting from shock to anger.

“Damon…”

“Ya?”

“I’m going to stick my foot up your ass.”

“Please don’t.”

I quickly grab a light blue sweater off its hanger and then throw it over my head and shoulders, “Too late. I’m coming to your house now, and then when I get there, I’m going to beat you up.”

“I’m actually leaving now, so we’re going to have to postpone this little meetup.”

I huff as I grab my phone and take it off speaker, “Damon, you did something again without thinking.”

Damon is quiet for a moment, and then I hear him sigh, “I did think about it though, Y/n. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“She’s your little brother’s girlfriend, Damon. The little brother that spent a summer in hell with the devil himself to save your life.”

“I know… But for once, I just… nothing. Never mind,” Damon softly says, and my heart clenches when I hear his tone.

“Damon…”

“Don’t tell anyone, ok? I don’t think Elena wants anyone to know.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me, “Ya, sure, Damon. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks.”

Before I can say anything else, Damon ends the call, and I sigh. Can things in this town get any more fucking complicated?

“Y/N!”

I quickly go into alert mode as Theo bursts through my bedroom door with tears in his eyes.

“Theo! What’s wrong?! What happened?! Are you hurt?!”

I quickly run over to my brother and grab his shoulder, trying to asses him for any injuries. Thankfully, I see nothing externally wrong with him.

“He’s gone!”

Theo practically wails like a banshee as he throws himself dramatically into my arms, putting all of his weight onto me.

“Jesus, Theo! Words give me more words! Who is gone?!”

Theo leans back to look down at me, “My precious baby boy!”

I shake my head frantically, “Jeremy! What happened to Jeremy? Is he hurt?”

Theo pushes off of me, resulting in me almost falling backward. I turn and watch my brother as he throws his tall body onto my bed, grabs one of my pillows, clutches it, and then positions himself in a fetal position.

“Theo, explain!”

Theo throws his head back, and with one more wail, he looks up at me, “He’s leaving town! For some weird ass state like Ohio or some shit! Can you believe this horror, Y/n!? He’s LEAVING ME!”

I take a deep sigh of relief and then rub my temple with my index finger, “So he’s not dead?”

“He might as well be! He is to me, at least! That hoe just dropped the bomb on me that he’s leaving me… leaving US…and I’m supposed to be okay with this?!”

I watch my teenage brother go through his tantrum with a bored face.

“Theo…”

“WHAT WOMAN!? Can’t you see that I’m going through something here?!”

“Theo… never mind,” I stare down at my brother and then just sigh. I walk over to him, grab my blanket, and throw it over him, “I’m guessing you’re not going to school?”

Theo peers his head out from the blanket and glares at me, “In this condition?! How do you expect me to live?!”

I blink at my brother and then cover his head back up. “As much as I’d like to stay here and work you through…whatever this is,” I grab my backpack and keys from my desk. But it’s Caroline’s birthday, so I’ve got to go to school.”

Theo doesn’t say anything, and I stand there for a moment, watching the blanketed lump on my bed. “Don’t forget to drink something.”

“Like what!? BLEACH?!”

“I’m too young for this,” I say to myself as I close my door.

—-

“Hey, Y/n,” Elena smiles sheepishly as I meet her at Caroline’s locker.

I stare blankly at my friend as she tapes up a pink streamer to our friend’s locker, “From the look on your face, I’m guessing you heard.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard this morning, Elena Gilbert.”

“Jeremy needs to leave Y/n; it’s not safe for him here. As an older sister, too, you should know what I’m doing is only in his best interest.” Elena turns to me and looks at me hopefully. I want to argue with her, but if I were in her position and Theo’s life was in danger, I’d make him leave town, too.

“How’d you convince him to leave? Theo’s having a mental breakdown in my bed at this moment, so I don’t know how Jeremy could just leave so soon.”

Elena turns away from me and then quietly tapes another streamer onto the locker.

“Elena Gilbert… what the hell did you do?!”

Elena turns to me quickly, and her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow at me, “I did what I had to do to keep my brother safe, Y/n. I had Damon come over last night and compel him to leave town. Jenna is going too.”

I stare blankly at my friend and breathe in and out, trying to stop myself from overreacting.

“Did Damon do that before or after you guys kissed?”

Elena’s brown eyes widen in shock as she closes the small space between us.

“How did you know,” She whisper-yells to me.

“How do you think?! Elena, seriously!”

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late. I, uh, got held up,” Elena and I separate and look over to our witch friend, who frowns at the two of us.

“Is everything ok?”

I turn to Elena and tilt my head, “I don’t know…is it Elena?”

Elena looks at me and then brightly smiles at our friend, “Yep! We just got here to decorate…. Can you help with the balloons?”

Bonnie frowns slightly at me and then leans down to grab the balloons by my feet. She hands them to Elena who thanks her.

“What got you running late?”

Bonnie looks at Elena and then back to me before answering, “I, uh, was working on some spells. You guys?”

Bonnie’s lying.

I’m glancing at her as she fiddles with her fingers. Hmm, it seems like everyone is hiding something nowadays.

“Working out with Alaric,” Elena says. I glance up and notice Bonnie looking at me, waiting for me to answer.

“Talking Theo off the ledge,” I say casually as I lean down to grab a streamer.

“Wait, what?!”

Bonnie’s frightened voice has me turning back toward her, “Nothing new.”

I smile at Bonnie, who stares at me wide-eyed but still nods her head. I gesture to the sign in her hands and she hands it to me. I tape the sign onto Care’s locker.

“So, uh, I have something I need to tell you. And you’re not going to like it.”

At Elena’s words, I let out a low whistle and then backed away from the two, saying, “This is a perfect time for me to go…away.”

Without waiting, I quickly bolt down the hall so I don’t have to be around for Elena telling Bonnie that she had her ex-boyfriend compelled to leave town. No, thank you.

I find comfort by a water fountain until I see Jeremy walk to his locker.

“Jeremy Gilbert, turn around.”

I watch as Jeremy’s shoulders hunch together, and he slowly turns around to face me.

“Hey, Y/n…”

“Don’t; hey, me. Do you know that my brother is at home right now…in my bed, wailing because his best friend is leaving him? After telling him over a phone call!”

Jeremy frowns and looks down, ashamed, “It was something that I found out I was doing just last night.”

I inwardly cringe at that because it’s honestly not this boy’s fault his sister had her not-love compel him.

“I know, Buddy. But telling Theo over the phone and not saying goodbye to him in person? Low blow,” I stare at him for another moment before glaring at the kid, “ALSO! Why the hell did you tell Theo about the supernatural!?”

Jeremy cringes and shrugs his shoulders, “He told you?”

I answer him by glaring.

“I’m going to take that as a yes. Well, he deserved to know. I went through the same thing with being in the dark.”

“But that wasn’t your call to make, Jeremy! You’re his friend. Not his sister!”

“Jeremy?”

At the sound of Bonnie’s voice, I let out a sigh and rubbed my temple. “Just go talk to him in person,” I said, pointing at him.

Jeremy nods, and I roll my eyes before pulling the younger boy in for a hug, “Be safe in Ohio.”

“I’m going to Delaware,” Jeremy says, confused, and I roll my eyes.

“Please tell my brother that. I’m pretty sure he’s planning on flying to Ohio to be with you.”

Jeremy lets out a laugh and smiles, “You be careful too, okay?”

I nod, “Careful as I can be.”

—

“Matt move your fat ass,” I hiss to Matt Donovan as we squeeze in together behind the corner of Caroline’s living room. The birthday girl didn’t show up to see the masterpiece we made of her locker, so we decided to move the party to her house.

“Sorry, Y/n,” The blond boy says as he moves back a step.

“Shhhh! She’s coming,” Elena whispers to us as she and Bonnie stand directly across from us.

The sound of a door opening and closing alerts us, and we jump out, yelling.

“Suprise!”

Caroline’s wide eyes look at the four of us, and she smiles, but it doesn’t seem to meet her eyes.

“Happy Birthday!”

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Well, you uh blew off school and missed our, uh work of birthday art,” Elena explains as Care walks over to us, inspecting our poster and birthday crowns we’re all wearing,

“Change into warmer clothes; we’re going to the falls. S’mores, campfire,” Bonnie tells her, and I nod excitedly.

“Cake,” Elena chimes in, “Like when we were little.”

“Except with tequila,” Matt says, and I roll my eyes.

“I also brought my speaker and my iPod, so I’m going to be DJing us alllll night,” I jump up and down.

Caroline laughs and smiles at us, “Ah, thanks, guys, really. Um… I’m just not really feeling my birthday this year.”

“I’m sorry, what? You’ve already claimed your birthday as everyone’s favorite day of the year.”

I nod along to what Bonnie just said, “Gurl, be so for real. I haven’t been up for my birthday in years, and yet you threw me a great party. It’s your turn to experience the love,” I say and give her a stern look.

“Ya, well, it’s just a reminder now technically I’m dead,” Caroline retorts.

Oh.

“Look, I didn’t even like 17. And the only point was to get to 18. It’s a filler year. I’m stuck in a filler year.”

Elena shakes her head at Caroline’s words, “You’re not stuck, Caroline.”

“Ya, I am. But it’s okay. You know it’s all good. I will be fine. But I just need some time to wallow in it.”

I awkwardly play with my fingers at the tension in the room.

“Okay,” Elena says, “Well, I think I have another idea.”

—

“Oh god,” I look at the cemetery we’re walking into. You guys realize that this is a horror movie, stupid, right?!”

I turn to Matt, Caroline, Bonnie, and Elena, who all laugh at me, thinking I’m joking. I’m not.

“Guys, I’m being serious! You know when you’re watching a horror movie, and the dumb blonde makes some dumbass decision that puts her right into the hands of the maniac killer? Ya, that’s us right now! We’re the dumb blondes!”

They all laugh but keep walking towards the crypt.

“This is going to end so badly! I’m calling it now. So when something bad happens, don’t be pissed off when I say I told you so! You hear me,” I watch as they all walk into the small building while I stand alone in the dark cemetery, “Guys!?”

I stand by myself, debating on going in. A snapping branch from behind me makes me pretty much shit myself.

“Oh fuck this,” I quickly run to the crypt, throw open the door, and shut it behind me.

“I hate you all.”

“We love you, too,” All four of them say together like some weird ass cult.

Elena walks over to me, throws her hand over my shoulder, and pulls me into her, “As I was saying… Technically, Caroline’s dead. Sorry, but you don’t need a birthday. You need a funeral. You need to say goodbye to your old life so that you can move on with your new one.”

I whip my head over to my best friend and gawk at her. Then, I think for a moment and realize for once that her plan wasn’t completely horrible.

Caroline seems to think so, too, as she laughs.

“Okay,” The birthday girl takes off her purple tiara and places it down, “Here lies Caroline Forbes.”

“Cheerleader, Miss Mystic Falls,” Elena moves us to Caroline’s cake and starts putting candles on it. “Third-grade hopscotch champion.”

“Friend… daughter,” Bonnie adds as she walks over to the blonde, “Overachiever.”

“Mean girl, sometimes,” Matt takes his turn, “No offense.”

“Ah, none taken.”

“Best party thrower in the history of Mystic Falls and the most scandalous friend I’ve ever had,” I smile at the blonde, and she smiles back at me.

“You bet your ass I am.”

“She was 17, and she had a really good life,” Elena finishes putting the candles on the cake, and we walk it over to Caroline, “So rest in peace so that you can move forward. That’s what you really need. It’s what we all really need. Amen, or cheers or whatever.”

I laugh as Matt raises the bottle of Tequila in the air.

“Uh, Bonnie,” Elena gestures to the unlit cake, and Bonnie smiles. We all watch as our witch friend closes her eyes, and a moment later, the dark crypt is lit up by the orange glow of the birthday candles.

I jump up and down, “Huzzah! Make a wish!”

—

“I love this song!”

I dance around the crypt nursing my root beer as my friends all pass around the bottle of tequila. They offered me my first dibs, but I turned them down.

I dance by Bonnie and grab her arms. Her laugh echoes off the stone walls as we sway back and forth to “Jessie’s Girl.”

“Uh oh, I need it more than you. Trust me…” Elena says to Matt over the music, “Caroline, what are you doing?”

Bonnie and I swing to look at the blonde, who is currently hunched over her phone.

“Huh? Hmmm? Nothing.”

Bonnie and I share a look at the blatant lie.

“Okay,” Elena says, “You’re a bad sober liar. You’re an even worse drunk liar.”

Caroline cringes, “I might’ve texted Tyler.”

I blow out a low breath, and Elena presses pause on my iPod, shutting off the music.

“Until next time, my love,” I lean down and kiss Bonnie’s hand, and she giggles.

“Caroline…”

“What,” Caroline whines, “I’m delicate.”

Bonnie sits down on the stone floor, “Okay, give her a break. You can’t control what everyone does all the time.”

“Oh shit,” Matt and I shoot an awkward look at each other.

“Wow,” Elena says to the witch.

“I’m sorry; I know it’s Caroline's birthday funeral or whatever, but I just feel it’s really wrong that you compelled Jeremy to leave town.”

And this is one of the many reasons I don’t drink.

Elena frowns, “I’m doing it to protect him, Bonnie. I wanna give him a chance at a halfway normal life.”

“He should be able to choose how he wants to live it. You’re taking his choices away.”

Elena shakes her head, “Bonnie, you can’t tell him.”

“Why? Are you going to compel me not to?”

“You know, you guys are ruining a perfectly good funeral,” Matt interrupts…thankfully.

“I’m sorry,” Bonnie stands up. I’m just going to go sleep it off or something. Happy Birthday.”

I watch with raised eyebrows as Bonnie leaves.

—

I stare down at Matt’s lips and then back up to his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I can’t!”

I throw myself back, and Caroline, Elena, and Matt all laugh.

“My first kiss is not going to be with my work husband. I’m a chicken, and I fault on my dare,” I say and raise my hands in surrender.

“Wait! First kiss?!?! You’ve never had your first kiss? What the hell, Y/n,” The drunk blonde vampire throws herself into my lap so she’s straddling me, and I let out a loud laugh.

“Ya, nope. I have no game. No kissing for me,” I say casually.

“I bet Elijah thinks otherwise,” Caroline says seductively, and I shove her off my laugh.

“Shut up!” I try to act cool, but I can feel myself warming up.

“I’m serious,” Caroline stands up, or at least tries to, “We’re going to go find Stefan, get him to wake Elijah up, and then that hunky suited Original is going to lay one big slobbery kiss on those pink lips of yours!”

Caroline nods to herself as if this is the best idea she has ever come up with.

“Elijah does not want to kiss me,” I deny.

“Yes, he does,” all three of them say, and I whip my head over to Matt, who is sitting next to me.

“How the hell do you even know that? You’ve never met the guy… neither have you, Caroline!”

Matt shrugs and takes another sip of the tequila, “I saw him that day when you, Damon, Ric, and Jenna were at the Grill. And I also saw the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking, Y/n, and that man defiantly wanted to kiss you. Maybe even more.”

My mouth drops open, and I hear Elena and Caroline laughing beside us. “Shut up!”

“It’s true,” Matt raises three fingers, “Scouts Honor! I’m a guy, Y/n. Trust me when I say I know what a guy looks like when he wants a girl.”

I shake my head defiantly, “You’re all drunk and out of your minds.”

The door behind me opens, and I jump. “Holy hell! It’s the maniac killer! I told you all!”

I whip around and then sigh when it’s only Tyler: “False alarm. It's just the dog.”

Matt stands up and glares at the intruder.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to crash the party.”

“So don’t.”

At Matt’s words, I let out a little “oop.”

Caroline quickly sits up, “No, uh, it’s okay. Hi.”

Tyler turns his attention to the birthday girl, “Can I talk to you for a second? It’s kind of important.”

Caroline sighs and then nods her head. She begins to walk out, but I grab her hand, stopping her, “If he does anything, just scream, and I’ll be there to kick his ass for you.”

Caroline smiles softly and nods her head. She walks past Tyler, and I shoot him one last glare and then swipe a finger over my throat threateningly.

After they exit, Matt and I sit back down.

“Are you okay,” Elena asks Matt.

“Yeah, I want her to be happy, you know?”

I smile softly as I stare at the blonde boy. Not many people give him props, but I think he’s a pretty cool guy. If my best friend started dating my ex-boyfriend, I’d lose my shit.

“That’s what I want for all of you guys in the middle of this crazy life you got stuck living.”

Elena frowns, “Is that how you see it? That we’re stuck?”

“I don’t think that’s what he means, E,’’ I shake my head.

“No, I’d say it’s attached itself to all of you pretty tight, yeah,” Matt says and I just lean back.

“Bonnie’s right, you know I have no business messing in Jeremy’s head. I just don’t know what else to do. He's in danger here. I can’t lose anyone else that I love.”

Well, this night just got melodramatic.

—

“Great. We’ve been abandoned. We’re going on a search party. I don’t trust she won’t get back together with him,” Elena says as we step outside, trying to find Caroline.

Matt stands in front of us with a flashlight. I’m currently clutching onto Elena’s arm as I look wearily around the graveyard.

“Matt, you go first,” I nod ahead at the boy and then lean over to whisper to Elena, “He’s a guy, so the killer will take him first. Horror movie logic,” I nod, and she rolls her eyes at me and pulls me closer, “I’ll protect you.”

“Let’s hope those training sessions with Alaric have been working, or else we’re both dead.”

“Caroline!”

“Come on, Caroline! We don’t have anymore drinks, and Matt’s being haunted by the fell ghosts,” Elena walks us over to Matt.

I whip my head to Elena, “Hoe, don’t say that,” I look behind us quickly, “You’ll wake them up!”

When I turn back around, though, a scream escapes my throat as Matt is being thrown against the crypt wall.

“It’s the killer!! Run, Elena,” I tug on Elena’s hand, but everything goes black before I can take another step.

—

“Ugh,” I groan in pain at the fire coming from my temple.

“Y/n! Wake up,” Elena’s voice calls from somewhere around me.

“I got kidnapped again, didn’t I,” I groan as I slowly open my eyes and frown when I realize I’m in the backseat of Stefan’s car.

“That’s on me,” The vampire says as he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Ya, no shit, Sherlock.”

Stefan pulls out his phone and dials a number before setting it up on the dash.

“Stefan, you are no longer my favorite Salvatore. And that really fucking sucks because the only other choice I have is Damon, and that’s a low bar.”

Stefan ignores me.

“Stefan, how nice to hear your voice,” I freeze up when a familiar British accent fills my ears.

“Tell your hybrids to get out of town, Klaus,” Stefan replies.

“Well, that’s not gonna happen until I get my coffins back.”

Stefan laughs, and a lousy feeling washes over me, “Okay, well, then I’m gonna drive your blood source and your obsession off Wickery Bridge.”

Tears instantly fill my eyes, “Stefan, what are you talking about?!”

“Y/n,” Klaus says my name sternly, “Stefan, I don’t believe you. You won’t kill them.”

I let out a gasp as Stefan harshly bites into his wrist and shoves it into Elena’s mouth. I scream when the car starts to swerve as Stefan no longer has his hands on the wheel.

“Y/n! What’s going on,” Klaus almost frantically yells into the phone.

Stefan sits back and grabs the wheel, “I just fed her my blood. No more hybrids if she’s a vampire.”

“You won’t do it,” Klaus says, and I want to cry because I know he will not relent.

“Really? Try me because your coffins are next to go. After, of course, I kill your pretty little mate, who is currently crying in my back seat. I didn’t figure it out at first, Klaus, but after some time, I did. Tell me, what happens to a hybrid after their human mate is killed?”

Mate? What the fuck is Stefan talking about?!

“She’s nothing to me, Stefan. I don’t know what delusions you’ve cooked up in that head of yours, but you're being delusional. Kill her, see if I care.”

Tears explode out of my eyes when I hear Klaus tell Stefan that.

“Stefan,” I sob, “Please don’t! Theo…Theo needs me, okay? I can’t leave him! Please don’t make me leave him!”

Elena quickly reaches behind her and grabs my shaking hand.

My breathing comes out erratic as I see the bridge come closer to us.

“Say goodbye to your family, Klaus,” Stefan growls as he floors it, and I let out a scream.

“Stefan, slow down!”

“Stefan, please stop!”

“Fine. I’ll send them away. You win,” Klaus relents, but Stefan doesn’t slow down.

“Stefan, please stop!!! Klaus, do something,” I yell hopelessly.

“Stop the car, Stefan! Or I swear to god,” Klaus yells into the phone. A moment later, I’m thrown forward as the car comes to a screeching halt.

I don’t think I’m breathing as I stare ahead wordlessly. My vision is blurred by the thousands of tears flowing down my face.

“Y/n! Come on,” I feel a tug on my shoulders, and I move on autopilot as I’m being forced out of Stefan’s car.

“Elena, Y/n, get in the car,” Stefan’s voice calls from behind us.

I don’t say anything as I stare blankly at the dark forest ahead of me. I can hear Elena and Stefan arguing, but I can’t focus on anything they say. All I can really hear is the loud beating of my heart.

A weight around my shoulders shocks me as I feel Elena weep into the corner of my neck.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry.”

—

“Come on, Pukey. Let’s go home.”

I look away from the dark pavement I have been staring at for the past 15 minutes and stare up at the blue-eyed vampire who is staring down at me. When I don’t say anything, Damon kneels to my sitting position.

“Shit,” Damon winces and reaches his hand up to softly touch my forehead, “He got you good, didn’t he?”

Damon brings his wrist to his mouth, and I quickly flinch away.

“Please, don’t,” I say, and more tears fall from my eyes.

Damon’s face drops, and he quickly puts his wrist down, “Ya, okay.”

Damon stares at me for a long moment as if thinking of what to do. With a sigh, I feel his hands go under my arms and legs, and I’m being picked up.

“I can walk,” I softly say.

“I highly doubt that,” Damon says back.

—

An hour later I’m sitting on my bathroom floor clutching the toilet. I’ve been throwing up for the past 15 minutes, and I don’t see any signs of stopping anytime soon.

My phone ringing catches my attention and I go to ignore it until I see Matt calling. Shit.

I pick up the phone and answer it, “We’re fine, Matt,” I try to get out even though my throat burns.

“Tyler bit Caroline.”

—

“Y/n? I didn’t think I’d hear from you,” Alastair sounds happy as he answers my call.

“Alastair,” I stop and take a sip of my water, trying to keep down more vomit.

“Y/n? What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve had a long night,” I am able to get out, “I need a favor.”

“I’ll be right over.”

—

Alastair rushes up the steps of my porch, and he growls when he sees the condition I’m in.

“What the fuck happened? Who did this to you? I’ll kill them,” Alastair kneels in front of me and takes my face into his hands, accessing my face.

“I don’t matter. That's not why I called you,” I try to push him away, but I’m so dehydrated and tired that I really have no strength.

“Of course, you matter,” Alastair harshly says, “You matter more than practically anything.”

“Alastair, please. I don’t want to fight…I don’t think I can.”

At my weak words, Alastair nods, “Okay, let’s go inside and talk.”

I shake my head, “Elena’s asleep in my room. I don’t want to wake her. Besides, I need you to take me to Klaus.”

At the mention of the Original, Alastair freezes.

“What? Why?”

“Caroline,” I swallow, a sob building in my throat, “Tyler bit her. I need…Klaus needs to..”

Harsh breaths escape me, and Alastair doesn’t waste any time pulling me into him.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’ve got you, babe.”

“Please, Alastair. I need to see him!”

Alastair doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I’m about to get on my knees and start begging, but I release a heavy sigh of relief once I feel him nod.

“Ya, okay. I’ll take you to him.”

—

“He lives here?”

I look up at the mansion, which looks like it’s in construction, and frown.

“We both do,” Alastair comes up from behind me and guides me up a massive staircase to the front door.

“I’m too exhausted to ask you about that right now,” I say weakly, and I hear him laugh.

I take a deep breath as Alastair steps in front of me and pushes open the enormous front door. He moves out of the way so I can enter, and even though the house/mansion is still being built, it’s still stunning.

“What is she doing here?”

Klaus seems to trigger my waterworks because as soon as I turn around and see him walking over to Alastair and me, the floodgates open.

“I hate you,” I try to say, but it comes out mostly in sobs.

I feel Alastair place a hand on my shoulder comfortingly, but I don’t take my eyes off of the Original.

Klaus watches me and then turns to Alastair, “Leave us.”

I feel my lip quiver as I wait for Alastair to follow his orders, but I feel Alastair’s hand tighten on my shoulder.

“No.”

Klaus narrows his eyes at the younger vampire, “What do you mean no?”

“I mean…no. I’m not leaving her. Not in the state.”

I watch Klaus glare at Alastair, and in fear of Klaus hurting another one of my friends, I turn to Alastair.

“Go, I’ll be okay.”

Alastair looks down at me and shakes his head.

“Go, Alastair, please.”

At my pleading, Alastair sighs profoundly and then nods his head, “I’ll be in the other room.”

I stare at my hands as I feel the door shut behind Alastair, leaving Klaus and me alone.

“Can I sit down, please,” I look up to Klaus with teary eyes.

The hybrid stares at me with furrowed brows before slowly nodding his head and gesturing to a bench in the corner of the room.

I place myself slowly on the bench and stare up at the man in front of me.

Klaus stands about 8 feet away, and for the first time, he almost seems uncomfortable. He has an odd expression on his face, his hands are shoved in his jeans, and he keeps switching his body weight from one foot to the other.

“Why did you do it?”

Klaus looks at me, “I do a lot of things, love. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

The entryway light flickers for a moment, and I let out a groan of pain as I clutch my head. The migraine I’ve been sporting all night is kicking my ass.

“Y/n,” Klaus’ voice calls to me, “What’s wrong?”

I don’t say anything, to focused on my pain, but I freeze when I feel a warm hand run its way through my messed-up hair. I release a quivering breath, and for some reason, I find myself leaning into the touch. Into his touch.

“Breathe, Astin Min,” Klaus’ voice seems to push through my pain, and I’m able to register his words, “Tell me what’s happening.”

I open my eyes and realize that Klaus is quite literally standing over me. His hand is still soothingly running itself up and down my hair. I also realize his body is quite literally touching mine. He’s standing between my knees, and in horror, I know I was resting my head on his lower abdomen. I fight back the horror and look up to see him already staring down at me, and I feel my breathing stop altogether. The look on his face has my bottom lip quivering. He’s looking down at me with this…softness. His eyebrows are squished together but not in the usual annoyed way. His eyes were once harsh and dark and light and filled with something so…human.

“I think…,” Klaus nods, waiting for me to continue, “I think I’m going to puke again.”

I quickly lean over and throw up into a potted plant.

Interestingly, though, Klaus’ hand doesn’t move from my head. It’s now holding back my hair as I defile this plant.

After I think I’ve finally thrown up everything I’ve ever consumed, I lean back. Klaus steps back a tiny step as well. And if I were a stronger woman, I’d say that I didn’t miss the feeling of him. But right now, I’m not a strong woman.

“You hurt my friend.”

I look up to Klaus, who stares down at me. I want to sob as I no longer see the once-soft look in his eyes. If it was even there at all. Maybe I imagined the whole fucking thing.

“I know.”

“Please heal her,” I softly ask.

Klaus stares down at me and shakes his head, “I can’t do that, Y/n.”

I bite down on my lip as it starts to quiver, “But you can. All you have to do is give me some of your blood, and then it’ll heal her. And everything will be ok,” I let out a small sob, “I need it to be all okay. Okay?”

Klaus continues to stare down at me, and I let out a loud sob when I see no change in his face.

I stand up on shaking legs and walk towards him.

“Please, Klaus. I know you hate me. Trust me, you’re not the only one; I’m not a likable person,” I let out a pathetic laugh, “And I’m nothing special, no witch, werewolf, doppelganger, or anything like that. I am not rich, so I can’t give you any money or anything worth value, but…I’m asking you,” I shake my head, “No, I’m begging you, please. Please help my friend. I’ll do anything you ask. Caroline…Caroline’s a good person, and she has a bright future. A bright future that she deserves. She’s my friend, and I don’t have many friends. Not that it matters to you, but…if there’s something I can give you. Please… please tell me.”

I stand there, pathetically crying, in front of the Original Hybrid.

With blurry vision, I watch his hand rise, and I close my eyes, accepting my fate, but once I feel his warm palm resting against my cheek and his thumb brushing away my tears, I let out yet another sob.

“I can do practically anything on this Earth, Astin Min. But, hating you? That is something I could never do. Even if I wanted to…even if I tried.”

I release a shaky breath, and maybe it’s because I’m fighting a nasty head injury, dehydration, and a severe lack of sleep, but I find myself leaning back into the man. And maybe because I’m a weeping teenage girl…or maybe not, but he lets me.

We stand there for what seems like forever, Klaus’ arms wrapped around my shaking body. But then I remembered why I had come there, and finding comfort in the man who was responsible made me pull away.

I don’t look back up to him, but I can feel his eyes on me.

“Alastair.”

Klaus’ voice calls, and within a split second, Alastair bursts into the room and looks at me—or really checks me over—almost like a worried mother.

Klaus moves away from me and over to a table in the other room. I watch silently as he grabs a glass, raises his hand to his mouth, and bites into it. He then lets his blood fill the glass.

“Take this to her friend,” Klaus says, walking back over to us and handing the glass to Alastair.

I release a relieved sigh.

Alastair nods and then gestures for me to follow, “Come on, Y/n.”

“No,” Klaus’s voice stops both of us. I’ll take her home. You bring that to her friend.”

481 notes · View notes

marcsburnerphone · 1 year ago

Text

And they were roommates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: that captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: some awkward moments but nothing crazy.

part 1 - Part two!!! - part 3 - part 4

—————-

You indeed did not see John price the next morning but what you did see was a handwritten note stuck to the fridge beneath a magnet.

“Good morning, as I mentioned my job is demanding. I’m not sure how long I'll be gone for but I can estimate at least a month. If you need me, my phone number is below along with my check for this month's rent and the next. - John price”

You reach for the envelope that is attached behind the note and pull it open and what the fuck. You knew he had to have money but in what world would someone pay this much rent for a house with a roommate? You immediately grab your own checkbook and write him for the amount that’s overpaid, making a mental note to make sure you give it to him.

————

Weeks pass slowly and life goes on as it did before. The only difference is you're no longer struggling to make ends meet. So to celebrate your success you order that 6 foot canvas you’d been wanting for ages and a new oil paint.

When you got the notification that it had arrived, thank god for two day shipping, you squealed and ran to grab it before the mailman even walked away. He offered to help you as he watched you give it a bear hug and waddle it through your door yelling out a meek ‘no Thankyou’. You dragged it down the hallway and into the sunroom resting it up against the wall. Ripping the clear plastic film off of new canvases comes in third place to the best things in life.

Sitting in the sun that evening you stroke deep blue oil paints that try their best to replicate ocean waters, and white specks that wish they could induce the same feelings stars do.

You’ve been at this same painting for 3 weeks, coming home and straight to it. Now that it’s finally done it sits sunbathing till it dries. You still visit it and admire its larger than life beauty.

John’s been gone for 1 month and 3 weeks now and in that time some problems have arisen, 1. The faucet in the kitchen leaks and below it the pipe also leaks and the only plumber that’s willing to drive out to your house and inspect it says he won’t be available for another week which means the water bill will sky rocketing till then. And 2. you have no idea where the huge painting will go.

You walk around wondering where to place it. You thought maybe the living room, or even in your room but after testing both those places it still didn’t look right. You can only think of one other place which is the hallway to John’s room. Of course that spot is perfect, maybe he wouldn’t notice since he only spent one night here. You grabbed the drill and got to work mounting it immediately. Once all was said and done you gave it a once over, smiled, snapped a picture of it to send to your sister and walked away.

———

John arrived back exactly at the two month mark early in the AM. He opened the house door as quietly as possible and removed his boots by the door to avoid the creaking wood of the floor and continued sluggishly hauling his bag to his room. Being the man he is, he notices everything, those watchful eyes of his never miss a detail so he does indeed notice and take a second to admire the newly found painting hung in front of his bedroom door before unlocking it to set his stuff down.

After a much needed and appreciated shower he reads the clock at 7AM thinking he can sleep for a little, that is of course until he hears a knock at the door. Making his way down the hall he peeps through the window and sees a handyman?

“Good morning sir, how can I help you?” He says opening the door.

“Good morning, your wife called for a leaking pipe, told her I’d come by sometime today.” He looks down the hall towards your room and confirms the fact that you're definitely still very well asleep.

“My wife? Oh yes my wife, that lady I could’ve sworn I told her to cancel this appointment we actually got it all sorted out.” He lies like it's second nature.

“I actually charge a late cancellation fee that must be paid upfront.” He inquires slightly annoyed.

“How much?” John replies feeling sorry for this man that drove out here and is now being sent away.

“100$ flat.” John shuts the door and quickly fetches his wallet from the pocket of his cargo pants and returns with two bills one for the inconvenience and sends the man on his way.

Sleep can wait.

—————

You wake up to the sound of clanking in the kitchen and as a woman that technically lives alone in the middle of the forest you're terrified.

Grabbing the bat beside your bed still fully dressed in the least threatening attire, you tiptoe to the source of the noise and breathe out the strongest sigh of relief ever known to man.

“Jesus Christ John you scared me, what’re you doing?” You loudly admit startling him in return.

“Fixing this pipe that you called an overpriced handyman for.” You stare at him subconsciously admiring the way he looks, slightly disheveled, face screwed in concentration and strong hands twisting the wrench in his hand and let’s not mention the rise of his shirt.

“You okay?” He says removing himself from under the sink leaning back on his knees to stare up at you.

“Yeah, yes I’m so sorry, um so where did the handy man go?” He stands with a grunt and leans his back against the counter.

“On his merry way.” He replies, turning around to turn the faucet on checking if it leaks, then off to see if it still drips and as he expects, it does neither.

“How much do I owe you for the late cancellation fee?” That man has handled your plumbing issues before and you’ve definitely canceled late more than once.

“Technically you didn’t cancel on him, I did so don’t worry.” He says picking his tools up off the ground placing them messily into the tool box.

“Well Thank You.” You say awkwardly.

“Of course.” He smiles making the dimples beneath his beard awfully noticeable.

“Oh and by the way your rent is only two thousand five hundred a month.” You say walking to the kitchen drawer beside him and pulling out a check that’s already filled out and handing it to him.

“Utilities included?” He asks, grabbing the check written out for three thousand and also taking in notice that same scent that clung to those sheets you made his bed with weeks ago as you sweep by.

“Yeah I don’t mind paying more cause I mean look around, this place has my style written all over it which makes it feel more like mine than yours.” He looks baffled at your reasoning.

“I actually like the decorations, not sure I’d change a thing about it.” You laugh at what has to be a lie.

“I doubt it.” You chuckle and slightly blush at his kindness.

“No I'm serious, I especially love that painting in the hallway, where’d you get it?” You seem surprised at the mention of it and even more flattered at the compliment.

“I actually painted it.” He gives you a surprised look.

“See you’re even hand painting the art, please I can afford much more than twenty five hundred.” You act like you're considering it for a moment.

“As much as I’d appreciate it, I'm already grateful for what you pay.” You say truthfully.

“Also, welcome home.” You quip before turning around walking back towards your room to get ready for the day

—————

John’s been home for nearly two weeks now and he’s slightly growing on you and you on him. You co-exist in harmony most times. That doesn’t mean the two of you still don’t clash from time to time.

“Good morning.” He says scrambling eggs in a pan as you walk into the kitchen reaching in the cabinet for a coffee mug.

“Morning to you too.” You say groggily, setting your feet flat on the ground and placing the cup on the counter, reaching for the pot to pour some coffee.

“If I can just- oh I’m so sorry.” He says accidentally bumping into you making the coffee spill on the counter.

“Oh no don’t worry about it, I can just clean it.” You say turning around quickly to go grab paper towels and end up accidentally running into his chest.

He grabs your shoulders to hold you in place and let your brain catch up with the speed of events.

“We will learn to both be in the kitchen together someday.” You affirm with a laugh that makes you feel alive.

“Hey the first week this happened almost everyday. If anything this is a huge improvement.” He jokingly abides.

“True.” You say as he turns around handing you the kitchen towel to clean it up. He watches you with amused eyes and a smile that still hasn’t left either of your faces and for a second something alights in John something that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear a thing you’re saying.

“John, I said did you sleep well?” You speak a bit louder, snapping him out of it.

“Yeah darling sorry I’m just going to take this to my office. I've got some work to cover.” He says hurriedly plating his food and scurrying off.

“Okay well I’ll be heading to work soon.” He doesn’t even let you finish before closing the door leaving you to stand there a little stumped.

“So I’ll assume he didn’t sleep well.” You say to yourself before pouring another cup and heading to your room to get changed.

——————

Comments and reposts are appreciated <3

@beebeechaos

@ttsbaby01

@arminarlertssword

@quakeroaksguy

@waves-against-a-cliff

@depressed-but-make-it-cute

#captain price x female reader #john price #angst #barry sloane #captain john price #john price x reader #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod x reader

2K notes · View notes

melancholyhigh · 2 years ago

Text

ARTWORK

ft. leon x artist!reader

synopsis. you're an artist, and leon's your muse.

content. 1.5k words. fluff, smut. nude painting, leon's pov, needy leon, praise kink, masturbation, handjob.

note. this was j supposed to be fluff but i got ahead of myself.

masterlist. i love your guy's feedback :3

“Paint me like one of your French girls.”

You laugh at Leon’s statement. He’s perched on the small, green couch in your home art studio, wearing nothing but his pink, fluffy robe as you prepare your oil paints.

“You’re my first French girl, Leon.”

–-

You had suggested painting him nude while you were both in bed, lazing around. You’re in each other’s hold, Leon’s arms around your waist and face on your chest when he asks about any new projects you had in mind.

He loves hearing about what art piece you were doing or planned to do. It was how you expressed yourself, whether there was a deeper meaning or none at all. He found it beautiful. Every work you do it had a bit of your personality in it. He could tell your work from thousands by the intricate details they carry.

When you told Leon you wanted to paint him, he wasn’t too surprised. You mentioned he was your favourite thing to draw or think of when you had art block. The admission had left him sputtering, his face red as he tried to get his words out.

On the third date, you showed him your sketchbook, pages littered with drawings and portraits of him. Some were quick sketches, while other’s looked like you took time to get every detail of him.

You’re always on my mind, Leon. You had confessed. Was it a little creepy? At that moment, flipping through the drawings of him, the attention to detail they held, he’d say it was romantic.

People have always said he was pretty as a picture, yet you’re the only one that makes his heart beat faster and his tummy fill with butterflies when you say he’s the type of gorgeous you’d find in a painting.

“A nude painting,” you specify. It was as if you told Leon he was the object of your affection for the first time again. His head buries into your chest, trying to hide his flushed face. You smile at his sudden bashfulness.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, baby.” You run your fingers through his soft hair. “I want to try something new, but it’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“‘S fine, angel. But can’t you use a picture?”

“Where’s the fun in that, pretty boy.”

He groans, muffled by your shirt, and you giggle.

He loves to please you — in more ways than one — and nothing compares to the smile that graces your face, so he agrees. It’s not like Leon’s uncomfortable with you looking at him bare and vulnerable. There were other problems he was worried would interrupt your craftwork.

–-

Leon leans back into the couch, doing just as you instructed. His bare back hits the soft cushioning, and it’s surprisingly comfortable.

His robe is off, on the floor next to your easel. He rests his chin on his hand, supported on the arm of the couch.

He’s nervous. You said it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but this almost feels more intimate than being intertwined with you in bed.

Maybe it’s the gaze you hold when you’re analysing him, grasping the compositions and layering basic shapes onto the canvas.

He can’t help but think of when you told him he’s your favourite canvas to mark up. Sucking the reddish marks into his skin which turn the prettiest shade of purple, as you like to put it. Or when you said the colour on his cheek was your favourite shade of pink.

You always did like to rile him up, muttering the filthiest things to him in the most mundane setting, just like right now.

“Spread your legs wider, Leon.” You mumble in a casual tone as if you don’t know the implications of your own words. You’re so engrossed with getting your work right you probably don’t.

It’s so fucking sexy seeing you in your element. Your brows pinched together, and your face serious with concentration.

He obediently listens to you, parting his legs wide, and the problem he wishes wouldn’t happen is currently hardening between his thighs. You don’t notice, mixing paints to ensure it's the correct shade.

You’re probably 30 minutes into painting, and he’s already hard. You said you’d take a while to finish, and he could tap out whenever he wants to, but he doesn’t want to disappoint.

Finally, you’re looking up from the canvas and towards Leon. Your brows quirked up in surprise when trying to examine his features, studying the curve of his nose and the sharpness of his jawline to imitate on the canvas. His face is pink, the shade you know and adore so much.

Your eyes trail down his body, his dick fully erect, slapping against his stomach. Your gaze is on his face again with a smirk on your lips.

He knows, you know, he’s rock-hard simply from the glances you take at him and the words you mutter. His lashes flutter, and he moves his hand to cover his face while the other is shamefully obscuring his cock.

“Be a good boy, and don’t move, Leon. I want to make sure everything looks good.” You say, and he thinks you aren’t going to acknowledge his 7-inch problem.

“Oh, and make sure your pretty dick is hard for me, okay, baby?” You go back to your painting, trying to hide your smug expression.

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his nerves, but he relents, going into position, not before giving his cock a firm squeeze.

“Don’t cum too, okay? I want to be the one making you cry.”

A few hours pass, and Leon is on the verge of tears. He listened to what you said, only providing himself with enough stimulation to keep his cock hard but not enough to tip him over the edge into bliss.

Precum leaks from the head down to the shaft. His dick is red and spent. He wants nothing more than for you to stop painting and make him cum.

“I’m almost done. You’ve been such a good boy for me, baby.”

Your words are almost enough to make him spill his cum over the expensive fabric of your eccentric couch.

You’re adding the finishing touches to the painting with each stroke, making sure you get the placement of each mole or freckle correct and each vein of his cock following to the tip right.

You swear he belongs in a museum. No art can replicate how beautiful he truly is.

“I’m done.” You sigh, moving to get up to rid your skin of paint.

After rinsing yourself off the paint, you make your way to Leon. You get comfortable in a seat on the couch right next to him. He’s breathing heavily in anticipation, looking up at you through his long lashes. Pretty, pink lips parted as pretty gasps left him.

You cup his face, pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft as you move your lips slowly in unison. He breathes out your name when you pull away. One of your hands moves to his throat, softly squeezing. Leon whimpers, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“Good job, baby. You didn’t cum once. I know it hurts, but I'm going to make you feel better,” you whisper, softly kissing his flushed forehead.

Your hand moves to his pulsing cock, and gives it a soft squeeze, relishing the whine Leon lets out. Your touch sends goosebumps along his skin, and he plants his head into the crook of your neck.

His hips eagerly buck into your hold. He’s practically sobbing into your neck, his soft hair tickling the underside of your jaw. You rest your chin on top of his head, smelling the fragrance of his shampoo.

You thumb the slit on the tip of his cock, using his precum as a lubricant to start moving your hand back and forth on his shaft.

You start at a slow pace. You don’t want Leon cumming quickly, wanting to enjoy every cry and whimper.

The soft shlick noise of you jerking Leon’s cock fills the room with his desperate cries. He pulls back away from the crook of your neck, tears flowing down his blushing face.

“Please, please, please, g– go faster, angel. I’ve been such a good boy for you. Let me cum, please.” He pleads, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. His hips rutted frantically into your palm. How could you deny your boy?

“Okay, pretty baby. Cum for me.” You say softly, picking up the pace of jerking him off.

He whimpers loudly, thighs quivering lightly as his orgasm crashes and hot spurts of his cum spill onto your hand. He’s panting, dazed with lust and staring at you with what seems like hearts in his eyes.

“T- thank you, thank you, s’much.” Leon gasps like a broken record, and you think he’s fucked himself dumb with your hand.

You peck his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up so I can show you my favourite artwork yet.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil smut #reader insert #smut #re4 smut #re4 #✩‧₊˚ fics

5K notes · View notes

biolumien · 8 months ago

Note

Hi Hi! first time requesting like this and I just recently finished watching the latest episode of Kaiju number 8. I was wondering if your could write something for Vice Captain Hoshina.

I was thinking something along the lines of a reincarnation storyline? Maybe Reader is a renowned painter or something. And one day they come across a dream of Hoshina in their past life and they paint his face. And Hoshina is suddenly bombarded by a few officers/cadets a few days later about a sudden article blowing up online with a painting that had extremely similar structure to his face. And maybe they'd end up meeting because of it?

I love your writing. Particularly the one with the glasses reader that I read a few days back. You're free to change things as you see fit. And I'm sure whatever you come up with will be very nice. Sorry if my words are confusing. I don't speak english language that well. 😊👌 Thank you if you decide to write for this ask.

notes: ok the way i am. actually obsessed with this i hope you enjoy!!

every 'one line' drawn.

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no warnings, i think wc: 1768

in your dreams, you always see the same face. red eyes watching your face, purple hair framed over his face and the feeling of a callused hand on your hand, on your cheek. and every time he leans into kiss you, you find yourself pressing your face closer to his, as if desperate, and then you wake up.

and when you wake up, you always feel the telltale trickle of a tear down your face, the feeling of salt on your tongue.

there’s no time to wonder what the dreams ever mean, what with your job as a painter. you lived commission to commission—and while your customers were always high brow and paid generously, still meant that you couldn’t be lost in daydreams forever.

and in your studio, with the pungent smell of turpentine and linseed oil, with your hands inevitably smeared with oil paints, it was easy to forget the stranger whose hands felt rough and weary, and yet held your face with measured gentleness. it was easy to forget him—up until you went back to bed, and you’d always be back in the same dream.

“i keep seeing you,” you murmur in your dream. “who are you?”

the man laughs.

he seems sad, for a second.

“a dear friend,” he responds. you see it on his face, the way his lips twist at his words, that it’s not quite true. and he leans in again, watching your face. “it’s okay if you don’t remember me.”

“but i do,” you say in protest. you think you remember this face. “i want to.”

you must remember this face, surely—this face that, upon your words, looks sadder. and then you wonder if he’s even real—or if this is simply your subconscious, saddened that you can’t remember. saddened that your mind replays this moment, again and again, a repeated brushstroke pulling open the blank canvas underneath.

“we all want things we can’t have, sometimes,” the man says.

he leans into kiss you,

and you jolt up out of bed, awakening to a phone call from your manager.

“hello…?” you mumble into your phone, pressing it against your cheek as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “it’s rare you call me randomly like this…”

“tis no random call,” your manager responds. “you’ve received a request to exhibit some of your works from a museum. will you do it? i hear the pay’s pretty good.”

“mmm… any specific theme?” you ask.

“not really. they said to let your imagination go wild.”

“hm.”

you touch your lips, and when you close your eyes, you see a hint of those crimson eyes again.

“alright. i think i’ve got a pretty good muse this time,” you say.

[…]

hoshina wasn’t exactly someone who was very in the know about art. his job, for one, meant that it’s not like he would exactly be interested in art in general, and it’s not like he was even spending his days off on art museum trips or admiring the local art scene.

so why was it that everyone seemed all abuzz about art today?

and why did it seem like there were more eyes on him than before? not that he particularly abhorred attention or anything, but the eyes seemed to be looking at his face specifically.

his eyes flit to some of the new officer recruits—iharu, reno, kafka… fuck, even haruichi and aoi? what the hell was going on—huddled around a laptop. haruichi’s brow furrows as he stares at the illuminated screen, and then flits up to look at hoshina. when hoshina stares back, harder, haruichi’s gaze immediately ducks back to the laptop.

okay.

well, something was definitely up.

hoshina strolls over to the recruits, who immediately seem to start panicking—the panic is written across kafka’s face more obviously than the others, and reno elbows kafka in the side.

“what’s all this about? if you’ve got time to huddle you’ve got time to run laps—” hoshina starts, leaning over at the screen before—

“about that, vice captain,” iharu says.

hoshina’s in stunned silence staring at the screen, because… isn’t that—

“holy shit,” hoshina says.

“holy shit indeed,” haruichi says grimly.

on haruichi’s laptop screen is a painting of— him. hoshina’s damned face, brows gentle and a softened smile on his face. it was a beautiful painting, and yet—there was something sad about the smile, the brows belying deep sorrow.

“this painter’s pretty well-known, too, aren’t they?” kafka asks. “for like… the psychedelic stuff.”

“no,” reno says. “they’re like our modern-day monet or something. impressionist paintings.”

“impressi-what? how do you know this much about art, reno?” iharu asks, wrapping his arm around reno’s neck in a headlock. reno coughs, slapping iharu’s arm.

“shut up,” reno chokes out, but even as the bickering picks up, hoshina’s gaze is still transfixed on the painting.

it’s him. no doubt about it.

“i’ve never talked to them before,” hoshina says after a moment. at once the arguments rattle to a halt, but in the empty relief of silence is the carved truth—that the painting is definitely of him, and its painter was a person who he’d never talked to before in his life.

“the artist is going to be doing a panel about their exhibition soon,” haruichi says, glancing up at hoshina. “i think they can get me a ticket if i ask.”

“… just don’t expect me to lighten your laps around the training course,” hoshina says with a chuckle.

[…]

you hated speaking in front of an audience. cliche, of course, the introverted artist that squirrels away in in their studio—but that was often your reality. you liked to say you wanted your work to ‘speak for itself��, as it were, so you didn’t often make public appearances.

but your most recent exhibition, featuring the painting of your mysterious dream visitor, created far more buzz than you could have asked for. suddenly everyone and anyone wanted an answer as for who your muse was, why he had a very striking resemblance to soshiro hoshina of the japan anti-kaiju defense force’s third division, and had you gotten permission from hoshina to do it? did you have a specific message surrounding your work?

“just stick to the script,” your manager says to you. “i talked it through with some of the reporters and i wrote some answers for you if you’re scared.” he hands you a slip of paper, and your eyes scan the page, and you swallow the lump in forming in your throat.

“i shouldn’t have done the painting after all,” you say.

it was strange. in the days and weeks you’d worked on the painting, you hadn’t seen your muse in your dreams at all. you’d been forced to rely on only the memory of the dream–which only seemed to get fuzzier and fuzzier until it became barely a wisp. and now, in those ensuing weeks that the painting has been on exhibition, you almost felt embarrassed of the painting–its vague subject matter might have been charming and a little kitsch, but charming and a little kitsch wasn’t supposed to garner this much attention.

“nonsense,” your manager says. “it’s a wonderful painting.” he pushes you by the back, gently urging you forward. “they’re ready for you.”

you push past the door separating you from the reporters–and then are immediately flashbanged with cameras and lights, and jumbling, layered voices creating a discordant symphony that made you wince.

“um. thank you… for…” you wince as your grip fumbles on your microphone, nearly dropping it, the feedback screeching across speakers. “um. sorry. i’m not exactly the best public speaker–my repertoire of events… like this, isn’t many. but thank you for attending this panel… surrounding my exhibition of my latest work. i’ll answer… a few questions.”

the reporters looked like a jumbled blob for the most part–a thrumming organism of similar faces that melted together into one homogenous mess, a splotch of badly-mixed paint on the palette that you’d scrape away with a knife and discard.

reciting your manager’s written responses wasn’t the hard part. as you continued to banter, your eyes swept across the crowd.

what were you even doing here?

you wanted to crawl back to your studio, already, and go back to painting. at least then the idea that you’d dreamed up some man who bore a striking resemblance to someone who already existed would fade away with time. and then your eyes found that telltale shade of crimson and purple–for just a moment. and you think his eyes meet yours, too–crimson eyes the exact shade as the one in your dreams.

his eyes widen.

“... as you were saying?” a reporter’s words float back to your ears, ephemeral, and you pause.

“can we… no more questions.” you shake your head, finding your vision swimming, blurring, and you raise a hand wiping tears from your face. “sorry. something just… came up–”

and you push into the crowd, trying to find the face from your dreams.

that had to be him, right? his face? it was like as soon as you saw him, the underpainting of your memories flowed back to you–a heartaching loss pounding in your chest. something was wrong. something was missing, because you’d forgotten–and now that you’d remembered it, it hurt.

“i’m sorry,” you say.

“you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” the man says to you, and leans in to kiss you. “i’ll find you again in the next life.”

“i’ll remember you,” you say.

the man watches you, a somewhat sad look on his face.

you press your thumb to the corner of his lip.

“and when i do, i’ll do something big. to capture your attention. and then your eyes will be on me forever.”

you finally manage to catch the man in the crowd, and you realize you’ve seen him before. only once or twice, though–on a small poster or on television. soshiro hoshina, of the third division. you did know this man–but just barely.

he lets out a surprised noise as soon as you collide with him, and you gasp breathlessly.

“i’m sorry,” you say, looking up at hoshina. “i just… have we…”

“met?” hoshina answers your question, cocking his head, blinking down at you.

“yes,” you say. “i think… i think so. maybe. we… you look familiar.”

hoshina blinks, and then smiles.

it’s so different than the way he smiled at you in your dream. the corners of his lips quirk up, his eyebrows relax almost as he watches you.

“i thought so too,” hoshina says, and you hear relief in his voice. “so… um. hi.”

“hi,” you respond, and he laughs.

#kaiju no 8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader

543 notes · View notes

moonriverrise · 2 years ago

Text

Steve has a secret, well “secret” may not be the correct way to describe it. He has something for himself, thats what. Ever since he stopped playing basketball and doing swim competitions once he graduated he's had way more free time, which at first he filled with shifts at Family Video, or bothering Robin.

Then, when she started school he started doing art more. Which, may come a surprise to many, as he never really talked about his interest in paintings and old art.

Greek sculptures that are able to show life in a still ethereal way, while still being able to twist it at their will. Renaissance oil paintings, capturing tragedy yet still being able to portray it as beautiful, in their own terrible twisted ways.

He likes sketching on paper, painting on canvas. His paintings aren't usually too different from the things he sees around him. Honestly thats the only things he paints, people, his friends, places he goes, things he sees that stick with him, dreams, moments that play on repeat in his head.

Around his Junior year, after the Demogorgon, Steve had turned the sad basement in his sad empty house, into his own space. A place where he can go and do his art, hang it, play music on his walkman, or using the record player he got from a pawn shop a few months prior. Somehow the basement is the only space that actually feels like his in his house, not even his bedroom.

Steve’s art was not very consistent to be honest, mostly the kids and Robin, landscapes that he liked, the Demogorgon/dogs, the Mindflayer (he needs some way of getting those out of his head, and somehow drawing them down feels freeing.) He does have a few paintings of Nancy from when they were together, she’s become less of a model for his work after everything though.

The last time he painted her in a painting alone, was one of that bathroom in a girl he barely knows’ house, a spilled drink on Nancy’s dress, and red solo cups littering the counter.

Steve’s art shifts though, after a moment that will never leave his mind. He knows who Eddie Munson is, obviously. How could he not? Honestly Steve isn't that surprised Henderson and the others befriended the guy, he does run a DnD club.

But then, Henderson needs a ride home after their club meetings because his mom is working late, and then Lucas and Mike’s parents are also asking Steve to pick them up too. Babysitting duty, as per usual.

Steve arrives a bit earlier than he planned. He didn't have any project to consume himself into, hitting an art block begrudgingly. But then, Steve sees Eddie Munson, sitting on a fake throne, watching the kids and other club members argue, he has his chin rested on his fist, and he's wearing a white tank top, showing off his shoulders, given the fact it’s still September.

The lighting of the small theater room captures Steve’s interest like a moth to the flame, and he is regretting having left his sketchbook at home, even though he never draws around the kids or anyone he knows.

Eddie Munson’s face and curly locks fill up the pages of Steve’s journal and some canvases for months after, and Steve rarely genuinely complains about coming to pick the kids up.

Afterwords, months later from that day. Chrissy Cunningham dies, and Eddie Munson almost goes with her. God, or whatever deity that was looking down upon him, was on Steve’s side in that moment, when he was able to revive Eddie and then drag him out of the Upside Down.

Steve gets closer with Eddie after that, they become actual friends. Steve was so used to witnessing his muse from afar, it was so…exciting, to see Eddie in all his glory, just a few feet away, and his smile being directed at him.

“Do you even have any hobbies, Harrington?” Steve blinks. Him, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and the party, are all hanging out by the pool. Steve is lounging on one of the chairs, sunglasses over his eyes as Eddie talks beside him.

“What?” Steve responds.

“I mean…I like barely ever see you do anything besides sort Movies at Family Video, or boss around the kids. Like, what do you do when we're not all together?” Eddie asks, moving his hand a little as he talks. Steve thinks for a moment.

“Funny,” Steve answers instead. Eddie scoffs.

“I'm being serious, man! What do you do?” Eddie laughs a little, most likely at the ridiculousness of it all. What would Steve know, Eddie is like a puzzle, and Steve has to take every minute slowly, deciphering everything he lays out for him, via tongue or action.

“I don't know, what do you do?” Steve says, almost carefully.

“Band stuff, DnD, Writing,” Eddie lists. “And I guess saving the world now, but thats a bit of a side hussle.” Steve scoffs.

“Whatever, man.” And thats that, they don't talk about it again. But it sticks with Steve, because his friends really do think he doesn't do anything with his life. It's not like he has college classes to study for, so what does he do?

Later, maybe two or three weeks after, Steve decides he wants to show Eddie his space. The two of them are alone, Robin is in Nevada, visiting her grandparents, so the trio’s usual movie night is cut down to a duo’s movie night.

Although Steve finds himself mostly focusing on Eddie and his beautiful hair sitting next to him, than watching ET. The little alien scares him a bit anyway. Eddie notices him staring though, his eyes flickering to meet Steves, then a smirk spreading across his lips.

“We are watching a movie, lover boy.” Eddie says. Steve goes red, his gaze shifting to his lap. Steve furrows his eyebrows then stands and shuts the TV off. “Woah! Hey!”

“I want to show you something.” Steve says, it's a bit quieter than he meant it to be, but his tone indicates something to Eddie, which has him staring at Steve, starstruck.

Steve walks out the room and hears Eddie follow him. He gets to the basement door and opens it, flicks on the stair light.

“Basement- woah- okay, guess I'm getting murdered. Thought I’d go out in a more metal way than this.” Eddie says as they walk down. Steve laughs a little and shakes his head.

“I just think you should see this.” Steve says. “Nothing life threatening, I promise.”

“Alright, I trust you, Stevie.”

“Good.”

Steve turns and flicks on the light as they step onto the concrete. The lights flicker on, revealing the paintings on the walls and art supplies on the tables and counters.

“Woah-” Eddie says. “Is this, all your stuff?” Steve sighs, he folds his arms and faces Eddie. He looks shellshocked.

“Yeah.” Steve says. “You said I don't have any hobbies, I do, actually.” Eddie looks around, walking slowly.

“Is that Henderson? Why is he wearing yellow gloves?” Eddie asks. Steve walks over to a painting of Dustin from Steve’s angle while they were walking on the train tracks, a bucket of raw meat is in one hand and he's wearing the headphones for his radio.

“D’Art,” Steve says. “That was when we were leading him away. I made that one after everything happened. I was trying not to think about the Demogorgon stuff and everything, so I just drew him. I have one of Max from that day I never finished painting in a stack I think too.” Eddie doesn't say anything for a minute after Steve is done explaining.

“You can paint.” Eddie says, though not like a question. “These are beautiful…” Eddie looks around and walks to another one he sees. It's one of the Byers and Hopper’s, all hugging while laughing. El looks the happiest. Steve had painted that after they had all gotten together after everything. “Why…didn't you tell anyone?”

“About what?” Steve asks, folding his arms as Eddie brings up a hand to touch the painting.

“This- Steve, you're amazing at this. These are…” Eddie trails off as something catches his eye, he slowly starts to walk towards a big painting propped up behind one of the tables laid out in the middle of the room. Steve walks to him to see which one he's looking at.

An angel, knelt over a puddle, crying as it stares at his reflection, which is blurred and dark. He stands in a forest, his wings are long and huge, sprawling out above him.

It’s one of Steve’s bigger ones, the inspiration came from a dream he had after they had read about Icarus in his english class back in Highschool.

“It’s… magnificent.” Eddie whispers. Steve smiles gently at Eddie’s reaction. Eddie backs up a bit and looks away from the painting. “Is that me?” Steve follows his eye, to the painting. Eddie walks towards it, Steve stays behind him. It’s the first one Steve ever made of Eddie, the one of him on the throne.

“Yeah, it is.” Steve says. “I made that the first night I came to pick up the kids.” He says. “The first time I met you, actually met you.” They share a look.

“You are incredible, Steve Harrington.”

#this was way longer than i meant it to be #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steddie ficlet #sock meister drabbles #hope yall liked this cuz it got kinda stuck in my head after i had a whole class on art and the renaissance so

5K notes · View notes

semiweirdshipper · 11 months ago

Text

Slashers as fathers with a (teenage) reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is a young teenager (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART TWO. Hurt/comfort addition.

Folks who wanted to be tagged. @hope4rain19, @minaxcarter, @brooke-stinson, @urminebutidontwantyou, @gaipplrhot, @gyarukitti, @raphydude, @thelxapeia, @ant1d3pre55ant5add1ct, @decentsoupperson, @kawaistrawberry21.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy sighed as he stomped to your room in search of his laptop. You had been in such a rush this morning to get to school that you had accidentally left it in there. And while he always respected your wishes for him to never enter your room, he really needed his laptop. Sacrifices need be made some times.

However, as Freddy wandered into your room, he was met with a sight that literally stole his breath. Your bed was completely littered with folders and painted canvas boards. There was a large portfolio bag laying on the ground with its contents scattered everywhere. Painting and drawing utensils alike sat scattered over a table with a still wet painting taped atop.

Eyes ridiculously wide, Freddy looked around and deeply observed the area. He didn't know you owned any of this stuff. Paintings, oil canvases, drawings and sketches, and all of them were yours. And each piece looked really, really good. Freddy couldn't believe what was happening right now.

He thought you gave up on art.

Delicately picking up multiple art pieces, a happiness and sense of pride rushed through Freddy's heart, and he found himself grinning big in a mixture of relief and utter joy. You still loved art, and you were so good at it. He hadn't destroyed your passion after all. That being said though... Why would you hide this from him?

Later that day when you came home, Freddy asked you to go to the kitchen. When you went inside, you froze right on the spot. There, scattered all across the kitchen table, were multiple art projects of yours.

"Dad..." You choked, your heart racing in fear, your words stolen from you, "I..."

"I needed my laptop and uh... Accidentally found these," Freddy explained, a happy smile covering his face as he went to grab your shoulders, "Sweetie, why would you hide this from-"

"I told you not to go in there." You almost shouted, tears blurring your eyes as you pulled away from him.

"Sweetie," Freddy took a step back, hurt by your defensive attitude.

You went to the table and quickly began to gather up your art work. Freddy chased after you to try and get you to stop, "No, stop it. Don't do that- just-just wait a sec, I-"

"I get it, dad, you hate it. You've always hated my art. You-just... J-just leave me alone. Don't touch it, ok," You avoided eye contact while scurrying to protect your work, "I'll put it away."

"No, that's not what I want. (y/n). (y/n), will you please look at me. Hey," Freddy placed a hand on your shoulder and kept you from stomping off, "(y/n), look at me."

With a tense body and watery eyes, you looked at him, art work clutched to your chest and a glare covering your face.

Freddy sighed and said in earnest, "That's not what I want. Your art, I love it. I think it's beautiful an-and amazing! I-I mean, all this time? Really? I thought you gave up on it, I... I thought that I..."

Relaxing, you lowered your arms and looked him straight in the eyes. It felt like your heart had just done a summersault in your chest. "You... You mean it? You... You really like my art?"

"I love it!" Freddy exclaimed almost too quickly, "I love it so much, you have no idea. You have no idea how happy this makes me, (y/n). I thought that I ruined art for you. I... I never stopped feeling guilty about what I did. And I always hoped that one day you would start again, but..."

"Dad," You bit your lip hard in an attempt not to cry. He cared. He actually cared, and he loved your art. He was happy for you.

"Here," Freddy went to grab an old folder off the table.

Suspicious, you set down your art and went to take the folder. When you opened it, you saw dozens of old, un-crumpled papers with very distinct, familiar drawings on them. It took a minute, but you soon realized that these were the very drawings you had thrown away when you were little.

"You... Kept them?" You gaped at your dad, your heart aching in a happy/sad way.

"Of course I did," Freddy's smile wobbled a bit, "I love you and I love everything you do, and I'm so, so sorry for making you feel bad, f-for making you feel like you had to hide this from me."

Lowering the folder, you felt your lips wobble as your heart clenched in great happiness and relief. All this time you believed your dad hated your passion. He had hurt you so badly, but he regretted it. He had always regretted it, and he loved your work.

In a desperate attempt to hide your tears, you rush up to your dad and give him a big hug. Freddy held you as tightly as he could, his arms fierce and protective as he said, "Don't ever give up on your art, (y/n). No matter what, please. I love you so much."

Michael Myers

Michael had wandered out of the garage a few minutes after your friend's dad dropped you off. "Me and (friend's name) are gonna grab a snack real quick, k dad?" You had hollered while rushing into the house.

Rolling his eyes a bit, Michael approached the other man who casually got out of the car. He was grinning big at you and his own kid, seemingly proud and full of joy. "My god, man," He said mindlessly, smiling at Michael, "I tell ya, that was one hell of a game today. Whoo, and (y/n)? My god, they were great."

Puzzled and confused, Michael could only tilt his head in wonder. Game? What game?

The man shook his head and gave Michael an even more puzzled look than he himself sported, "Hey, how come I never see you at any of their games? Rough job or something?"

Michael's silence and confused expression urged the man to explain more.

"You know, the (sport) game? Just had one today- what a show I tell ya. But, I just- I never see you there, you know?"

At that, Michael's eyes went unspeakably wide. (sport)? You were playing (sport)? What? For how long? Why didn't he know about this? He thought you quit playing that when you were little. What was going on?

A week later and Michael was sitting amongst the crowd that was watching your (sport) game. You didn't know he was there. You didn't even know that he knew all your secrets like the fact that you had been playing (sport) for years, how you had won two trophies, the fact that this is where you spent most of your time at, and so on and so forth.

While watching the game, Michael couldn't help but to feel a deep sense of pride, relief and great joy at seeing how passionately you played and how much fun you were having. And you were so talented at it. The other team didn't stand a chance. You had grown so much since you were little. To this day his own actions still haunted him.

He hurt you. He 'scarred' you. And, although you continued doing what you loved, you had still felt the need to hide it from him, for years. He did that. He had made you feel so anxious and insecure that you felt the need to hide your greatest passion from him.

What kind of father does that to their child?

Unsurprisingly, your team won the game, and Michael couldn't be more proud or excited. Once the crowd and commotion calmed down, he patiently waited on you to exit the changing rooms. The way you hid yourself...

Michael gazed around at all the happy families congratulating and/or comforting their kids. It crushed his heart thinking about the sheer loneliness you expressed after the game ended and you had no one to celebrate with aside from your team mates.

When you came out of the changing room, Michael straightened his posture and faced you. It took you a minute, but eventually you looked up, saw him, and froze. A gasp escaped your mouth while your backpack fell from your shoulder to your shaken hand.

Michael's chest ached at the sight of your frightened, horrified face as you frantically looked around as if for an escape. Quickly he approached you and said in sign language, "That was a good game."

"Dad," You stepped away from him, panicked, "I-it's not what you think-I... I-I was just-I'm..."

You were scared, Michael realized, guilt beating on him like a hundred hammers. He waved his hand at you to get your attention, "Why didn't you tell me you were playing (sport)?"

"I..." You stare at him in great panic that melted into sadness and fear. You dropped your backpack and covered your face, saying brokenly, "I'm sorry, dad. I... I didn't mean to. Don't be mad, please, I-I... I'll stop playing it."

What? Micheal rushed to you and went to gently pull your hands away from your flushed face. What had he done? "No, I'm not mad. Please stop panicking. I'm not mad. Not at all."

Confused, you look at him through tear colored vision.

"I just found out you were playing (sport). You even have trophies. (y/n), why did you keep this from me?"

"Because," You winced, "You said I wasn't good at it. You... You hate me for it. I... I just wanted to be happy. I... I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't believe how upset you were, and all because he found out that you were doing what you loved. Marching up to you, Michael pulled you into a big hug that lasted for several minutes. When he noticed you calm down, he moved back a bit and explained.

"I was an idiot back then. I never should have said those things to you, (y/n). I've always felt bad for how I made you feel. You're not bad at (sport) and I never wanted you to stop playing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way."

You were shocked speechless, so Michael pulled you into another hug. You hugged back, relieved. He wasn't mad at you. He apologized. Everything was going to be alright.

Bo Sinclair

Bo lived in a very, very small town. Everyone knew each other and every piece of information that existed on the surface. Rumors spread and gossip filled the air like pollen. So it didn't take very long for Bo to learn that you had been practicing engineering with the car shop just down the road.

At first Bo had been ecstatic. You were still interested in engineering? He thought you didn't want to do that anymore; you said so yourself. Ever since the incident when you were little, you hadn't helped him with anything physically constructive- not even stuff as simple as hanging a picture on the wall.

Pretty much everyone praised you and said that you were doing a tremendous job. Your skill towards fixing vehicles was a natural, golden talent. You were an impressive, fast learner and everyone loved and appreciated you.

But when Bo tried to approach you about this exciting news, he was confused to hear you deny all of it. You shut his exclamations off and said that the towns people were lying. You claimed to have nothing to do with engineering. Yes, you hung around the car shop, but nothing was going on, you were just bored.

Bo didn't understand it. Why would you lie to him about this? He knew that the towns people weren't making this up- just ask the guy who took a picture of you and your buddies covered in grease while working on a truck engine. You looked so happy. Why was that something to lie about?

For the life of him, Bo could not figure out what was going on with you. Obviously you were lying to him, but he couldn't get you to explain why. It was as if you were completely and utterly avoiding him now, and it was driving him crazy.

So Bo reached out for help.

"Well," Your engineering teacher said in a tense tone, "I talked to em an' they said it's 'cause they don't wanna make ya mad."

"Huh?" Bo shook his head in exaggeration. What did that even mean?

Your teacher gave him a wearisome look, "I think they're afraid you're gonna blow a gasket on em if they do somethin' wrong. I take it that... you got a short temp?"

At that question, Bo was immediately rushed with memories of the past, and he found himself feeling overwhelmed with guilt and dread. That time he got mad at you when you were little, you didn't just give up on engineering. You gave up on everything that had to do with him. Was this why? Because you were afraid that he would get mad at you if you messed up or made a mistake?

You were afraid of his temper.

Coming to realization, Bo spent quite a while trying to figure out how he should approach you. He wasn't the best at emotions or having deep conversations. If he tried to explain himself he feared he would just say something stupid and cause you to be more upset with him.

So he waited for the perfect moment.

A couple weeks later, Bo dragged you to his shop to show you something that caused your mouth to fall open in awe. "Ram 3500, 2018. An' look at'er license plate."

Gasping the name of the state the enormous truck was from, you faced your dad with absolute excitement and disbelief, "Why's it here?"

"Ah, a little transmission trouble on the road," Bo smiled and slung an arm around your shoulder, "Nice huh? She's a beauty. Needs lotta' work, fast, an' I want 'you' to help me."

"What?" Your behavior changed drastically, "Dad-"

"Look, I've already heard all the gossip. I've seen ya work at the shop. I know you know what you're doin', (y/n)," Bo went to stand in front of you. "But what I don't understand is why ya don't wanna work with me."

"It's not... I just..." You sighed and looked at the ground, lost on what to say. A pain filled your chest as you admitted quietly, "I ain't perfect, dad, I... I make mistakes."

"And?" Bo pushed for a better answer.

His impatience and lack of understanding made you snap, "An' you can't handle that. Every time I mess up even the tiniest bit, you get mad at me. What do you expect me to do, huh? I'm only (age)."

Going silent, Bo relaxed upon learning what exactly your insecurity was. You were avoiding him because you were afraid of him getting mad at you for making mistakes. He did this. He put this fear in you, made you this way. And because of that, you were both teetering on the edge of complete life separation.

"(y/n)," Bo reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Your entire body froze.

"I... never meant to make ya feel this way. I know ya ain't perfect. You're still learnin' an' you've got a long ways to go, but... I wanna be there for you, (y/n). I wanna help you. I wanna watch ya grow, an' I can't do that if ya ain't around... I'm better than I used to be. So if you mess up, I ain't gettin' mad. I'm helping you, because that's what fathers do."

Shot by your dad's moving words, you find yourself staring at him for a long moment before a large smile bloomed across your face. "Right dad," You say, "Let's take a look at her."

With his heart skipping over the moon, Bo grinned and thanked the very stars themselves for this moment, and he lead you to your first shared project since you were a mere, little kid.

Hannibal Lecter

One night Hannibal got bored and lonely and decided to go to Will's house which was where you liked to spend lots of time at. He didn't mind you staying with Will, but some times he himself felt a little bit left out.

When he arrived at Will's house, he quietly made way up the stairs of the porch and temporarily paused just outside of the window. Casually peeking in, Hannibal spotted Will sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper while you stood in front of the stove in the kitchen. Your sleeves were clumsily rolled up and you had a apron on.

The motions of your arms and the state of the kitchen did not lie. You were cooking. You were quite literally cooking food right in front of him. Hannibal couldn't help but to release a small shudder of mixed emotions. It had been years since he last saw you cook- years since he demolished your feelings and forced you away from the passion you both once shared.

To see you cooking now? It made Hannibal erupt with questions and emotions. How long had this been going on? What were you cooking? Why were you cooking? How come he didn't know? Were you happy? Was this why you always spent so much time with Will?

Speaking oh whom, Hannibal watched as you handed out a spoon to which Will stood up to receive. Taking a taste of the spoon, Will made a bright face and reached out for a container of spice. You smiled, laughed and nodded, happily going to add some of the recommended spice to your dish.

Grinning, Hannibal couldn't help but to feel great pride. So, you could handle personal opinions and constructive criticism? What an astounding chef you turned out to be, and you looked so happy too.

Regaining his composure, Hannibal straightened his hair and went to knock on the door.

It took over five minutes for Will to answer.

By that time, things had grown to be rather chaotic. Now only did Will claim that you had gone to bed, but that he also was the one responsible for the late night meal.

Hannibal knew better though.

Whilst you pretended to sleep in the guest bedroom, Will and Hannibal stood in the kitchen gazing around at all your hard work.

"They told me what happened when they were little," Will said, a disappointed look on his face, "How could you say that to them, doc?"

Hannibal stared down at your unfinished dish, his heart clenching in memory of the past. "I spoke out of impulse. I didn't mean to cause them this much insecurity." To think you would go out of your way to lie to him. "How long has this affair been going on?"

"I don't know. Few years?" Will shrugged, "I was cooking macaroni one day, they asked to help and... The ship set sail, I guess."

"You reignited their flame," Hannibal huffed and smiled, "I'm grateful."

"Ever thought about apologizing?" Will asked.

"I have," Hannibal said softly, "However, they refuse to have anything to do with cooking."

"You told them that they were a horrible cook and a waste of time in the kitchen. What did you expect would happen?"

Hannibal bowed his head in shame. He hurt you, more than he had ever imagined. After all these years he believed that you had moved on and found different passions, but instead you clung to cooking and desperately sought hiding it from him because of fear. What kind of father was he to do that to you?

The next morning after the drive home, Hannibal kept you in the car to say, "(y/n). I know it was you who cooked at Wills the other night. I saw."

Having been dreading this exact conversation, you flushed darkly and turned your head away in great shame, sadness and fear. "I'm sorry."

"Please do not apologize," Hannibal cursed at himself for how anxious he made you feel, "I am more grateful than you could ever know."

That stirred a confused reaction from you.

"(y/n), you do not have to accept my apology, but I want you to promise me that you will continue to do what you enjoy, especially if it is cooking." Hannibal looked to you hopefully. "Seeing how happy you were... You have no idea how much joy it brought me. I thought I had destroyed your passion, but..."

Now completely facing your dad, your mouth was agape and your heart pounding furiously with emotions.

"I've always regretted what I said to you that day. It was rude and improper, and most certainly untrue. You are an astounding cook and I'm proud of you. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but, even if you do not wish to forgive me, I hope that you will always continue to do what you love."

Looking at your dad with watery eyes, you blinked and fought for the right words to respond with. All these years you had been terrified of your dad's wrath and disapproval when it came to cooking. He was right, he did hurt you, and the pain was still lingering inside you.

Even though what he said now brought you some form of relief and comfort, you couldn't help but to still feel a little bit of lingering hurt. "I... I need time." You reply quietly.

Hannibal nodded in understanding, "And time you shall have. I will always be here to support you."

If I made a part three, it could be about the reader still suffering some anxiety while doing their passion around their dad. And the slasher dads' will be nothing but happy, supportive and proud. You know, just casual comfort and fluff.

#slashers #dead by daylight #fanfiction #reader insert #father and child relationship #Teenage reader #platonic love only #slashers as dads #freddy krueger x reader #michael myers x reader #bo sinclair x reader #reader x hannibal lecter #lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #father figure

496 notes · View notes

hitomisuzuya · 1 year ago

Text

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Aftercare. Fluff. Not smut but tagged as such for a few sentences here and there. Soft Scara

@notyashiro128 requested some Scaramouche aftercare from me via my inbox awhile ago. Bear with me, everyone. I am running on about 3 hours of sleep while I write this. I think quite a few of you guys wanted me to write something like this.

Scaramouche is quite unforgiving in bed. He really lays into you. He is a very aggressively passionate man. And the results would very often show themselves on your body.

However, don't think there weren't those nights where sex with him was soft. You always got such a unique balance between rough sex and soft sex with him.

His aftercare is surprisingly quite tender. This man will go to the moon and back taking care of you.

He will offer to run you a warm bath with salts, soothing oils, and scented bubbles. He was a fan of lavender. Plus, the scent would help you sleep. It why he primarily liked to use it. (Shhh, sometimes it helps him sleep to.)

He would get in the tub with you, put his arms around you from behind and hold you against his chest. He would rub the soothing compounds in the essential oils the heat of the bath water released into your sore muscles.

His kisses would be soft, and doting, his tongue soothing against any inflamed skin from his bite marks. More often than not, it would led to soft, equally as passionate sex. You would be trembling almost breathless in his lap.

Scaramouche is something of a king of massages. I mean, look at his beautiful, gorgeous hands and those drool worthy fingers. You would be on your stomach, pillows propped around you carefully positioned by him. His fingers would knead into your sore muscles. You would melt like butter, sighing in relief as he tended to your sore muscles. Let's just say you would be drooling, practically asleep when he was finished. He was very thorough with his massages.

If you wanted something to eat or drink, he got it for you. It didn't matter what it was, even if he had to go out to get it. And he always came back with some kind of treat, like chocolate. He always grumbled about that, though.

One of his favorite things to do while he waited for you to fall asleep (he always made sure you fell asleep first<3) was to run his fingers tenderly over the bruises and bite marks he'd made. You are a beautiful canvas to be decorated by paints of passion by him.

This man is and always be a cuddler. A clingy little octopus in fact. Prefers to generally be the big spoon. It makes him feel like he is protecting you while you were in a vulnerable state position like sleep. Basically, Fort Knox level protection.

If you wanted to talk, Scaramouche would talk about anything, even if he said he thought the topic was stupid. Please talk to this boy, he loves the sound of your voice. He will indulge you on any topic, even if it was something simple as you seeing a cat today.

He had a feeling he was going to hear the words, "Hunny, can we?" followed by the words cat and keep him soon. And he would relent because you called him Hunny.

Count on Scaramouche stroking your hair if you are resting your head against his chest. It may look like an absentminded gesture while you talked, but it was something enjoyed doing. He loved to hear the soft, content sigh from you as you curled into him more.

Essentially, you are the center of this man's world. He is rude, arrogant, egotistical, self centered, obnoxious. An experience to deal with. And Scaramouche knows this. But damn it, he loves you. And he more than shows it.

His aftercare is further extended into the next morning. If he had to get out of bed before you, and leave your side before you woke up (which he HATED probably more than sweet things), he would leave a little note next to you. Usually, it was a song lyric or maybe a line from a poem that reminded him of you.

You kept every one of them.

Before you fall asleep, you are guaranteed hear him say, "I love you," as he kissed the top of your head.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #aftercare #scaramouche #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader

770 notes · View notes

thefandomsfervent · 12 days ago

Text

JayVik x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 24) - Raw Umber

Gala chapter coming soooon <3

Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

not that I'm losing steam with this fic, but it has inpsired so many other things that i want to write too. Would y'all want other fics? I have other fics. Not written but they're up there. floating in my mind. This fic may enter a hiatus after a few more chapters so I can start other projects. Stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3 These aren't beta read, didn't really edit this one. May fix it up later this upcoming week <3

╔═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╗

You had shocked yourself saying you’d go, the heat of the moment and your own thoughts getting to you. Even more shocked when it seemed like Viktor had changed his mind on going a couple days after. A few days have passed since then.

Piltover lived for its socialite opportunities. Parties, dinners, galas, events, parades, and even luncheons were ever present in the calendar year. You were well aware of the expectations set for each occasion, and of how lacking your wardrobe was for it. Now you have around two weeks to find suitable attire. That itself wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t just placed a supply order. Whatever funds you may have had for a new dress or jewelry would be shipped in the form of oil paints and new brushes. You had dresses from gallery showings at the Institute, some old faithfuls hung in the back of your closet. “One of them would have to do.” With that you try to push all the wandering thoughts away.

You take in the empty lab. Jayce was gone today, helping out with the forge. And it was still early enough in the day that Viktor was still recovering from whatever late night musings kept him up. No time to waste then. Despite it feeling like Spring had just started, Summer was looming above. And that meant that Autumn and Winter would follow suit. Your paints were drying fairly quickly in the heat but on humid rainy days it would set you back days, and the winter cold would mean that it may take a week for layers to dry. Today was a perfect day, the air was still and warm. Your washes of color didn’t take long at all to settle on the canvas. Purple, yellow, green, pink. Thin layers to color skin, thicker strokes of pale and tan flesh, blocking out arms and hands. Their faces were still unpainted, focusing on their hands and their clothes.

When it came time to finally realize their faces on the canvas, you wanted to make sure you’d be uninterrupted. You were considering even taking the whole painting back to your studio to work on it then. That would be then, and this was now.

Right now you were in your element, breaking it all down into colors and shapes. Hands were easiest to deal with when you weren’t stuck on making them be hands, but connected shapes. Shapes can be shaded for depth, definition given with the context of what was around them. Long fingers were broken down into rectangles and rounded corners, diagonal angles and warm tones. Shifting between tinges of blue and green, purple and yellow. Red and Pink on knuckles, knuckles were just cut circles. The meat of a hand was an oval, a trapezoid, barely there veins were carefully lined to curve into wrists. Shapes and colors could be attributed to many things. To create form. An image. To build something from the ground up whether that was two or three-dimensional. And it could show temperature. States of matter. Emotion.

Warmth was soft, it could be an orange glow from a candle flame, it could be the plush lining of a jacket. It could be the way hands held their tools, held each other. It could be shown in the richness of all hues of the Academy outfits that needed detailing next. Trading a flat wash brush for a thin liner, switching gears to focus on the details of shirt cuffs.

“Wow.” You jump, the paintbrush dropping to the ground with a clatter. It rolls away from your station and you turn to follow its trail. When it stops at a pair of black boots your eyes shift to the source of your startling. A familiar face and that gap toothed grin greeting you with a small wave.

“Oh gods, Jayce” You turn back to the painting. You’d gotten one hand done for each of them, where they were in a neutral light between the night and day sides of the work.

“You’re easy to scare. Have you ever noticed that?” He says it with a laugh, he sounds tired. His steps are slow and heavy behind you.

“Maybe I’m too busy getting scared to see the pattern.” The words come out in a huff, but you smile in thanks when he hands you the paintbrush over your shoulder. Now that you’ve settled you’re able to focus. Oh, well now your heart was beating too fast for an entirely different reason. You’d seen him come back before, sweaty brow and his clothes covered in soot. But this was… different. “I thought you were working at the Forge today?” The paintbrush in your hand gestures to his attire, and lack thereof.

Same black boots being the only familiar attire to you. Brown pants that were similar to the Academy uniform. A brace-like toolbelt hugging his waist tightly. And then, nothing. No shirt. Just soot-splotches on skin and those elbow high gloves. His hair is tousled in a way you haven’t seen before, sticky to his forehead. You weren’t sure how far the forge was, but you were wondering how far he had to walk to get here. Run even, if he was as tired as you thought.

“I was! But then I had an idea for Hextech and-” His eyes look around the lab. “Viktor isn’t in yet?” You don’t miss the slump in his shoulders, despite how small it was. A shake of the head is all you can give him, trying to catch your words, and make your eyes stay on his face. Having drawn him for as long as you had, you knew his proportions were insane. But this was just rude. The difference between his shoulders and his waist, especially with that belt on, was insane. You could probably pass off any lingering stares with that excuse. If it weren’t for the blush that you felt warming your cheeks.

“You wouldn’t want to lose track of it. He’ll be here eventually.” You try to keep your voice even while gesturing to the chalkboard behind them, Viktor had cleared it sometime last night after copying down notes. A whole space for Jayce to work on. He smiles before clapping a gloved hand on your shoulder. It was heavier than usual, the insulated leather a thick press. The smell of oil and charcoal was not foreign to you, but they looked different here. Smelt different on him. He’s already going to the board, taking the gloves off to reveal a stark line of dirt and skin.

“This cannot be fair.” A reward and a punishment dangling in front of you. Self indulgent stares at his broad back or returning to the bliss of full force work. Jayce seemed to be doing the latter, books propped open on the ledge for reference. The soft scraping of chalk on the board and excited mutterings, circles and lines, runes and words, arrows and numbers. In the span of maybe 10 minutes he had filled half the board with words you couldn’t quite decipher. As he reached across to scribble his theories the skin of his back was pulled taut, the muscles there were defined. Visible. A part of you wonders how they would feel under your fingertips, the movement and the power. Another part of you wishes you were bold enough to ask to draw him. Not that you couldn’t now, but for a real figure study. His physique was an anatomical study dream.

Enough ogling. Jayce was working, deeply and with vigor. You should be doing the same. The cuffs needed some detailing, even if it was not nearly as entertaining.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Admittedly, Jayce did want to go to the gala. There were many days that he wanted to be at the lab or the forge or his bed more than anything else, but when you first came here Heimerdinger mentioned something that Jayce couldn’t let go. “You boys will be doing more dinners and speeches and galas and the like. It comes with the territory.” Anxiety was a feeling he wasn’t unfamiliar with. The thought of having to watch every interaction he makes? Every decision? It filled him with dread. This may be one of the last times he and Viktor could go out, and now as a couple, without too many prying eyes. The idea only became more enticing when you said that you’d like to go. Imagining you in some delicious draping gown, or would you prefer a tighter dress that revealed your thighs and arms? The sight of you and Viktor both in finery that daily wear didn’t require might make his heart beat out of his chest. An energy he would gladly redirect to more physical work.

There was something about the Forge that relaxed him. A completely different process from the equations of the lab. Helping out in the Forge was easy because the team there knew he was skilled enough to handle almost anything that they could throw at him. It was especially helpful during Holiday seasons. Things were slow at the Academy and he would grow restless with nothing to do. Making gifts and construction orders was an easy way to stay busy. Today Jayce started out on a bulk order, early enough in the day that there weren’t many people there. It quickly devolved into new prototypes for the lab, and that turned into thinking about the lab. About Hextech. In his own station there was no paper to write down on. He was able to stave off some of the racing thoughts by stealing the back of old order papers, but eventually there was no more room in the margins. And before he knew it he was running across Piltover desperate to cling onto the ideas in his head before he lost them.

Practically bursting into the lab, eyes wide, holding on to several quickly loosening mental threads. The chalkboard was empty. Good! Great! An empty base, more movement, no need to turn pages that filled too quickly and then having to flip back for references. In the lab there was also you, working on your painting. The morning light filtering through the window, you were hunched in a position that could not be comfortable. He walks closer. Eyes laser-focused onto the canvas in front of you, hand slowly moving across the hands you were bringing to life. You looked intense and gentle, a soft smile on your lips. Humming some tune he didn’t recognize. He didn’t mean to speak, but the moment was so unique. Often there was not an opportunity to admire you without your noticing, without flustering you.

Suddenly you whorl around, your paintbrush on the ground. All the stillness is catching up to Jayce, he’s tired. Having pushed himself at the Forge, pushed himself to run, and now? Now he needed to work. Viktor may not be there to bounce ideas off of but he could work without his partner for now. Still, he catches your eyes and blush. He is no stranger to being stared at. It fluffs up his ego for a minute, and if he wasn’t so ready to get to work he would have gladly pushed the moment. Seen if he could get you to admit what you were looking at. If you were looking for anything. Now is not the time for distractions, as delicious as they may be.

Jayce moves his attention to the board.

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

--.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 23.-Next Part will be linked here.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .--

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

#personal pigments #jayce talis in the forge #boomshakala yess gawwd #arcane #viktor arcane #fanfiction #viktor league of legends #fanfic #viktor lol #x reader #jayvik #jayce talis #jayvikmel #mel medarda

63 notes · View notes

hertas-funger-blog · 3 months ago

Text

Is so... omfg. Like what do you mean you've been searching for a family your whole life to feel a sense of belonging cus you were abandoned as a child and robbed of that feeling. What do you mean you're trying to make your own family with your pregnant wife by risking your life in a murder dungeon. What do you mean you've found a small child that's like a daughter to you and are using that as a way to fill that void prematurely.

Dadhara is killing me I'm dying currently I'm bleeding out in an alleyway

#WHAT DO YOU MEAN that child will ascend into a god and kill you #fuck me i'm sorry #I love Cahara sm #he's such a beautiful character and he deserves so much more #he deserves to be painted on oil on canvas not used in “haha sex” jokes

16 notes · View notes

keikikait · 9 months ago

Note

i saw a one shot of geto impregnating the reader bc he wants an heir and honestly i just knew you would eat this prompt up. please? for me? 🫶🏻

ꜱᴀᴠᴇᴅ! (ɢᴇᴛᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader (not au, reader is early to mid 20's)

word count: 1.9k

summary: if you want to be saved, you must bear geto a child

warnings: SMUT 18+, dark content, dead dove do not eat, read at your own risk, forced pregnancy, dubcon/coercion, mean geto, slapping (once), voices in head(?), use of 'cock' and 'cunt', blood mentioned towards the end, not proofread

a note: check out my other geto fic here

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

AGAIN TW: SMUT 18+ DARK CONTENT. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You were one of the chosen few, a sorcerer Geto decided to spare during his cull. Your cursed technique wasn't anything special, but it had potential. He tried to train and mold you into the picture he painted of you in his mind. You trained and trained, spending countless hours alone with him as he tried to make you worthy and useful, but to no avail. You had ruined the canvas in his mind and splashed oil on it in a selfish act of disobedience.

Geto had spent the last few months cleaning out the weak from the group he saved, training them, analysing their every move to see if they were worth his time and effort. If they were worth saving. Weeks had gone by and your group of thirty is now down to twelve, and now it was your turn.

He pushes you over, tackling you to the light green tatami mat underneath you. “You're too slow. You keep letting your guard down.”

You swallow hard, panting. Your lungs and throat ache, a growing burning sensation in your chest. “Geto, I’m sorry--”

“You're sorry? Do you think I want apologies? You think I want your self-pity?” his voice carries a coldness that would've made your spine chill even under normal circumstances. He presses his lips thin, staring down at you. “I want you to do better. I want you to be better.”

You gulp, shifting on the mat, trying to move away from him to stand back up. “Geto--”

“Don't interrupt me,” he cuts you off, his voice still cold despite the sudden increase in volume. “You're too slow. You always have been. And the only reason you've improved this much is because you're terrified of me. Don't you think that's pathetic?”

You try to stand up and he pulls you back down again, holding both of your wrists together with one hand above your head, pressing you into the mat. He settles all of his weight on your hips, smirking at the pathetic, stupid look on your face. You squirm, your lower back starting to ache. “I know, I know I've failed you...but I'm getting better every day! Please, just let me try again!” Your voice is so strained and desperate, slightly hoarse.

“Is that an attempt at begging?” he says in a taunting tone, a cruel smile spreading on his face. “It's almost cute, really, but pathetic all the same.” He reaches up, brushing some hair out of your face. It makes your heart skip a beat, just for a moment, before he roughly grabs your chin and squeezes.

You instinctively close your eyes, your breath hitching as you try to jerk your head away. “Open your eyes,” he says, squeezing harder. You know in the back of your mind that disobeying him will only make you angrier, so you give in, meeting his gaze. “You want me to help you get better?” he raises his eyebrows, the teasing smile still on his face. He leans closer, his breath brushing over your face, his voice a low murmur. “Do you want to be saved?”

You nod, desperate for his help, for him.

“Saved,” he repeats, running his thumb across your cheek. “So you want to be…” he lets his touch linger there, a moment too long to be unintentional, before tightening his grip on your chin again. “Mine?”

“Yes,” You say, your voice soft.

“There is a way I can help you,” He says, stroking the underside of your jaw. “Make you better. Make you good.”

You nod desperately, willing to do anything for him. “Yes. I’ll do it. Please!” You sound so desperate, so cute.

“Good,” he says, his tone still light but his hands tightening on you even more. Then, it fades into a cruel, sadistic grin, his fingers squeezing and digging into your soft flesh. “I just need you to do one thing for me.”

You nod again, waiting for him to get his teasing over with and tell you. Is it more training? More work with your cursed technique? Maybe he can find a way to get you a new ability-

“I want you to give me an heir.”

Your throat dries and your heart drops to your feet. You stiffen in his grasp, feeling goosebumps lick up and down your arms. “Huh?”

“An heir,” he repeats, his fingers pinching the soft flesh of your neck, leaving a small red mark. “I want you to give me an heir. A baby. Only the strongest sorcerer can come from my genes…no one else is good enough. Just me…and you, I guess.”

You shake slightly, a thin coat of sweat covering your body.

He smiles, his eyes wandering down to your chest. His hands push your shirt up, his hands rubbing your stomach as he speaks, “Don’t tell me you're scared of having a baby, of giving me one…right?”

You don’t respond, trying hard to find your voice but it’s lost, capsized in a sea of anxiety.

He squeezes your neck hard. “Do you think I'm kidding?” an edge to his tone tells you he's getting irritated, his teasing smile gone. “I'm not joking. You're going to have my child, and I will not accept no for an answer.”

You speak, “Geto, I’m not ready for a child…can we wait? Please?”

He growls, picking you up effortlessly by the throat and throwing you over his shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re ready when I say you’re ready.”

You squirm, planting your hands on his back as you try to push yourself out of his grip. “Geto, please-”

He ignores you, smacking your ass as he pushes open the door to his private quarters. “Shut up. I need a child, I need to mold someone into carrying on my legacy since you were such a letdown.” He shuts the sliding door, securing it before walking across the room and tossing you onto the tatami bed on the floor in the middle of the room. You land with a loud thump and it knocks the wind out of you completely. He slips off his haori before climbing on top of you, pinning you down with his hips once again.

“Now,” he continues speaking, holding your wrists down, his fingernails digging into your skin. “Let me try this again. You’re going to be a good girl and spread your legs for me. You’re going to take my cum like a good bitch, and you’re going to give me an heir. Do I make myself clear?”

You take a shaky breath, “Geto--” Your words are cut off by a squeak as Geto smacks you across the face, his palm flat. Your ear starts to ring and your vision goes slightly blurry. You look over at him, feeling the right side of your face start to heat up.

Geto stares at you before leaning down, his face almost touching yours. His voice is hushed, almost a whisper, “Don’t you want to be saved?”

You nod.

“Don’t you want to be good?” He asks. “Be useful?”

You nod.

“Then take my fucking cum,” He grips your jaw. “And shut the fuck up.”

You lay still on his bed as he stands, carefully taking off his nagagi. He hangs it up, along with the haori, watching you with a satisfied, sadistic smirk on his face.

He looks so handsome walking over to you.

Geto climbs onto the bed, pushing your thighs apart with his big hands. He rips your underwear, white and lacy; his favourite, right in half, pushing your thighs to your chest. He leans down and spits directly on your clit, rubbing it around with his thumb. You shiver from his touch, squirming on the bed, gripping the bedsheets.

Maybe you should just let him, a small voice in your head says, although you do not recognise it, don’t you want to be good?

Geto kneels in front of you, pulling his cock out, spitting into his hand, and rubbing it over the tip before tapping it on your clit. He pushes in, frowning at the slight resistance. “Loosen up. Relax. It’s just a baby.” You try your hardest to relax, your palms going flat. He slides in a little bit more, groaning at the way your cunt hugs his cock, and at the light streaks of blood that have started to coat his shaft. He leans his weight on you, his mouth against your ear. He starts to whisper to you, sweet lil nothings to try to relax you, distract you as he pushes his cock into you.

You’re happier here, the voice in your head says, because he told you you should be.

Geto starts to get annoyed at the constant resistance from your little cunt. He clamps his hand over your mouth and fully pushes his cock into you. It stings, your lower half aching as he starts to rock his hips, pounding into you. Blood pools around the base, swiping across your thighs like an aurora on a cold winter night.

“Geto, please, slow down.” You say, your voice muffled against his palm. He ignores you, pressing his hand down harder, bumping into your teeth. It makes you feel weird, your entire body filling with nausea.

“Take my fucking cock,” he grumbles, more to himself than you. He looks down, pulling out all the way before sinking back in. “Fuck. You’re fucking made for me, aren’t you? Made to take my cock and my cum and carry my fucking babies. Maybe I’ll give you some more after this one is born. You can give me a little army of powerful sorcerers.”

Tears sting your eyes and you squirm on the bed. “Geto--”

“Shut up,” he growls, pressing onto your mouth and teeth again. “Just shut the fuck up.” He pulls your shirt up over your chest, exposing your tits to his hungry eyes. “I can’t wait for these to get all swollen. And your belly too. Fuck. You’re going to look so pretty all round and pregnant and waddling everywhere…”

Just be good, the voice in your head says, don’t you want to be his?

Your eyes screw shut as his hips move faster, pounding into you. He groans and grunts in your ear, biting down on the lobe gently. You shiver, and your cunt clenches.

He cums hard, wrapping his arms around your head as he fills you up with his cum. He grabs your hair and tugs your head back, looking into your eyes, starting to chuckle as he sees the fear start to set in.

He pulls out, watching his thick cum ooze out of you, tinged red with your blood. He smirks, picking some up with his fingers and rubbing it over your clit. “Look at that. You finally did something right.” Geto steps off the bed, heading towards his restroom to clean himself up, your ripped underwear in his hand. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, the nausea starting to creep in.

You don’t know how long you’re lying there once Geto finally returns, wiping you down with the other half of your ripped underwear. He tucks it away for safekeeping, climbing into the bed next to you.

He turns your face towards him, scowling. “Are you crying?”

You didn’t even notice the tears. “Just from the adrenaline. I promise.” You’re lying, of course, but he doesn’t have to know that.

“Better be,” he hisses. “You’re making me feel sick.” He turns away from you, completely ignoring you.

Your hand falls to your belly, cupping it slightly. You didn’t want this to happen, especially not like this. You weren’t ready to be a mother, and Geto knew this.

But at least you’re saved.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

this was just supposed to be a blurb, oops.

#keikiwrites #f!reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #geto smut #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #jjk suguru #suguru geto smut #getou suguru x reader #tw: dark content #dead dove do not eat #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent #jujutsu kaisen suguru

156 notes · View notes

waynes-multiverse · 11 months ago

Note

hello ! hope your having a great day, wanted to ask your thoughts (maybe a dirty drabble??) on Soldier Boy or Beau having an s/o that is artistic or draws/paints a lot? 👀 Currently working on pieces for my uni and in dire need of motivation to get it done😭 anyways i love all your work !!!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

A/N: What a fun idea! Couldn't resist to write both of 'em, so I hope those two idiots bring you enough motivation 🎨💪😂

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Artist!Reader // Soldier Boy x Artist!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSFW, super light smut, tons of fluff, SB typical behavior, crack

Word Count: 1.1k

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles Masterlist

French Boys

Beau Arlen:

As his car stopped in front of your house, Beau could see the lights still burning brightly in the garage, knowing you were still hard at work.

“Hey,” he greeted you as he stood by the door, watching you with a warm smile.

Your gaze drifted from your canvas to him with a smile before spying the brown paper bag in his hand.

“Brought you something. Figured you were gonna burn the midnight oil and needed some fuel,” he said with a knowing smile.

“You’re a godsend,” you said with a happy sigh and took the bag from him, inhaling the smell of its delicious contents. “I’m sorry I’ve been locked up here so much. It’s just… I’m really nervous about the gallery opening this weekend, and it’s stressing me the fuck out and–,” you rambled before you were stopped by his large palms on your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed you, chuckling, and pecked your hairline sweetly. “I get it. You’re gonna do great, alright? Amazing, in fact.”

You let out a deep, calming breath and smiled up at him. How did you deserve such a good man? And where the hell have you found him?

“I love you,” you said and draped your arms around him, crashing your lips against his and entangling him in a searing kiss that showed your gratitude. But as you pulled back, your eyes widened in shock. You clasped your mouth.

“What?” Beau looked at you confused before he caught your gaze locked on his shoulders and saw the red-painted handprints on his jeans jacket.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasped, embarrassed. You’d been working with paint everywhere all day. Of course it was all over you at this point.

To your surprise, though, Beau broke into loud laughter and shook his head at you. “Honey, it’s okay,” he told you before his freckled face was overtaken by a mischievous look. “In fact…”

He leaned over to one of your paint cans and dipped his finger inside a white one before booping your nose. You could feel a wet, cold blob on your tip as you gaped at him.

“You did not just do that.” You were speechless, but his playful laugh was contagious and intoxicating.

“Oh, it’s so on,” you announced and dunked your hand in a shade of blue, splattering it graciously on him.

“Oh yeah? Hope you’re ready ‘cause this means war, darlin’,” he countered with a wide grin, his hands finding green and yellow.

He chased you through the garage until he caged you in his arms, your mouth erupting with giggles until he filled it with kisses. Paint was everywhere, your clothes soaked and his beard and hair sprinkled like a cupcake.

“We’re never gonna get clean again,” you noted through giggles, looking at the beautiful mess in front of you as you brushed your fingers through his locks.

Beau lifted you up on your workbench, your legs locking around his waist. He kissed you deeply, feeling his excitement growing between your thighs.

“Guess we’ll just have to stay dirty then,” he said with a smirk and claimed your lips.

Soldier Boy:

You were curled up on the couch in your apartment, your eyes flickering between the bowl of fruit on the coffee table and your sketch pad in your hands.

Your concentration, however, was broken when a loud thud echoed off the walls and almost shattered the coffee table in a thousand pieces, sending the bowl of fruit flying across the room.

Your eyes lifted from your sketch pad and to your boyfriend in front of you, propped up with one muscular leg on the small table, elbow resting on his thigh with a bulging biceps and a painfully hard cock.

Annoyed, you huffed a sigh but weren’t surprised. You had been working on your assignment all day and wondered when your needy-ass, attention-seeking supe boyfriend would get bored with watching TV and smoking weed in your room.

“Ben, what the hell are you doing?” You looked up at him and saw the broad and proud smirk on his freckled face.

Cocksure didn’t even do him justice.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Figured I’d give you something better to draw than a fucking boring-ass banana.”

“Uhm… that is so sweet and considerate of you. But I really need to draw fruit this week. That’s the assignment,” you said wryly before pushing him out of the way.

Well, as best as you could. He was a supe after all, but he budged and bent to your movement.

Pursing his lips, he threw his arms up in upset. “Oh, really? And what the fuck is all this shit, huh?”

Dramatically, he tossed one of your art maps on the table and crossed his arms over his broad chest, waiting for an explanation. As you peeked at the scattered sketches of naked men (and women), you knew what this was about.

You rolled your eyes back with a deep sigh. Of course he snooped through your stuff when you left him unsupervised in your room. “Ben, I told you already. We were drawing human models last month.”

“You never fucking said they were naked!” he argued, his deep voice trembling with jealousy and fury. “So, what? You’re just off, drawing cocks all day at that art school of yours?! I won’t fucking allow it, Y/N!”

You stifled a snort and tried to remain calm. He was honestly cute when he was greener than his suit. “Honey, you don’t have to be jealous. You know I love you... and your giant-ass dick.”

Biting the insides of his cheeks, he blushed slightly as he calmed down. “Yeah, well, you fucking better. ‘Sides, I’m not jealous. My cock’s way better than whatever those crooked-ass dicks are. Can’t even see them without a fucking magnifying glass…”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” you feigned your agreement and hid your amused smile, nodding heavily. You stood up from the couch and locked your arms around his broad shoulders. You pulled his lips to yours, kissing him passionately until all his worries faded. His dick twitched between your legs. “You know, sometimes I’m surprised how you don’t explode with that giant ego of yours, welling from every pore.”

“Oh, you want me to explode?” Ben looked challengingly at you, smirking. “I can arrange that. In fact, how about I make you my fucking canvas and splatter my paint all over you, huh?”

“Ben, what–…” You burst into laughter, which was swiftly turned into a giggling shriek of protest as he grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you to the bedroom.

What do you guys think? Which mess was harder to clean in the aftermath? 😂💚

TAGS:

Everything Jensen:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @imsapphine @globetrotter28

#dirty drabbles #beau arlen #soldier boy #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #beau arlen smut #soldier boy smut #big sky #the boys

284 notes · View notes