#where did it come from… just appears in my sketchbook

[aeb-art]

i… i don't remember drawing this 😭

geo belongs to @8um8le

[sonotpattismith]

where I first saw you

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 10.3k content: fluff, grumpy+sunshine vibes, sukuna is low-key an asshole, reader is depicted as a bit naive, special guest starring choso my shnookums, almost loss of virginity, smut, 18+

Sukuna loved his job— no really, he did. He didn’t have to speak a certain way to garner respect, his marked up face helped his occupation rather than hindering it, and he was finally able to put to use what seemed like the one goddamn skill the universe graced him with. Anyone who walked into the shop and saw that look on his face though might assume he’d rather be anywhere else than holed up in the dimly lit tattoo parlor he worked at, but it truly was just his face. Luckily for him though, his resting bitch face seemed to match the vibe of the shop, so his boss let it slide.

So, yeah, there really wasn’t anywhere else the daunting man could see himself working in, but there was one qualm about his job— the people. God, how Sukuna fucking hated some of the half-wits that sat in his chair most of the time. Whether it be cuddled up inconvenietnly to their significant other with whom they would soon be matching ink with, or the awkwardly beefed up masculine types that were convinced that their decision to get a big ass tiger on their back was unique. 

Perhaps he should have started working on his judgemental nature long before he decided on a career that centered around servicing people, but he just couldn’t find it in him to feign interest in their drawn out stories about why they were sitting in his chair that day. At the end of the day, it was the art that kept his soul alive while having to work with so many idiots. He loved drawing, since he received his first sketchbook at the ripe age of ten so that he’d stop scribbling on the walls of his room. 

He often joked that it was his one redeeming feature, never having been the best academic student and failing to be as charming as his twin brother so easily managed— this was his one thing. 

That was why he seriously had to exercise restraint and put on his best poker face when a group of babbling college students stumbled into the shop just shy of an hour before closing. There were about five of them, all shouting over each other and giggling obnoxiously as if they could hear any of what the others were saying. 

Don’t lose your job over some sorority kids. He had to keep telling himself as he set his pencil down, looking up from his sketchbook with his lips set in a firm line. They were huddled around the stencil book now, shoving at each other for turns looking at the choices before them. The bickering grew louder and louder until his last thred of patience snapped. 

“Oi, if you shitheads are gonna come in here so close to closing, you better quiet the fuck down and pick which one of you is getting inked, cause I ain’t got time for all of you, and you’re givin’ me a fucking migraine.” 

The group was stunned to silence, blinking up at the aggravated man behind the counter who was shutting his book with a huff. It was silent for a moment before they broke into hushed, excited rambles about how he was perfect and how fucking funny this would be in the morning. Taking in a controlled breath, he watched them shove one of their members to the front.

“It’s her, she wants a tattoo.” They all guffawed, looking at each other with barely concealed smirks that appeared far too incriminating. 

You stumbled forward, bracing your hands on the counter as the room seemed to spin around you. The apples of your cheeks were flushed red, but he assumed it was your nerves, along with the fact that your gaze couldn’t seem to focus on the man before you. 

“It’s late, so if you want something it’s gotta be small.” Sukuna explained with poorly concealed annoyance as he stood up to begin prepping a chair. He heard you begin to speak, but you were quickly cut off by the boisterous group surrounding you. 

“It can be small!” One of the guys insisted desperately as he guided you by your shoulders to sit in the leather, reclining chair the tattoo artist was standing by. “She wants a…” His words trailed off as he glanced back at the giggling group, who were all giving him a thumbs up as they shouted various ideas at him. “A tramp stamp! She wants a tramp stamp.”

Sukuna felt his jaw tick at the outdated term, but he swiveled his head to face you nonetheless. 

“You fuckin’ mute or what?” He grumbled as he snatched the stencil book from the group. 

“N-No, I… they told me they’d pick something nice for me.” Your words slurred almost unintelligbly, and, upon closer inspection, he was taking note of the blearly look in your eyes. 

“You plastered right now?” 

“She’s only had a couple drinks!” One of the girls defended quickly, leaning the entire upper half of her body across the counter in anticipation. “But she’s been talking about this for like everrr.” 

Something about their eagerness to speak for you sounded off warning alarms in his mind, but he shook his head nonetheless. 

“You ever done this before?” The pink-haired man questioned as he donned a pair of gloves. 

“Umm…” You hummed nonsensically, head lolling to the side to watch him snap on the last glove. His deadpan expression made you flush with embarrassment, staring down self-consciously at your ink-free skin. “No.”

“This one! She wants this one!” Another degenerate spoke up, pointing excitedly to the stencil depicting various sized lipstick marks that would traverse the expanse of your lower back. When you leaned your head forward to look, he quickly snatched the book away from your line of sight. 

Sukuna watched the motion with narrowed eyes, irritation slowly creeping up each of his fingers with an urge to ring someone’s neck out. Glancing back at the way you were slumped back in the chair, eyes barely able to stay open, he gave a curt shake of his head. 

“Nah,” He finalized, ripping his gloves off before tossing them in the bin beside him. “I don’t know what it is you lowlives call a joke, but I ain’t the one. Take her home.”

The group quickly broke out into a string of protests, walking around the counter to level with the man, but he had already made up his mind. 

“C’mooon, man!” The guy pleaded with the stencil book still clutched in his grasp. “She’s fine! I’ll pay extra, c’mon!”

Sukuna stepped forward to snatch the book from his grasp, pointing it back at your figure still sat obliviously beside them. 

“She can barely fucking sit up straight. Take her home before you seriously piss me off.” He repeated once again. 

There was an encore of disappointed groans from the idiotic group that had brought you in. 

“Whatever man, there are like three artists on this block. We’ll go somewhere that actually wants to make money.” The ringleader quipped before grasping at your arm to pull you up.

All at once, his patience seemed to drain from him as his hand came forward to grip the man’s wrist in warning. Sukuna towered over him, his broad shoulders unknowingly blocking you from his view as he tilted his head at him. 

“Yeah? How ‘bout I call the fucking cops?” The shadows seemed to cast an impossibly more intimidating aura to his already less than welcoming expression. “Or do you wanna take this outside?” 

The group could be heard murmuring to each other, weighing their options out and deciding their cruel joke wasn’t worth whatever fate this man had in store for them should they continue. Upon acknowledging the fearfully complacent expression on the guy’s face, Sukuna leaned back, dragging his gaze across the group where not one of them stepped up to defend you in your inebriated state. 

As the idiot rushed to get you up so they could hightail it far away from this shop, the artist shook his head, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“She’s fine there.” Sukuna said simply, not trusting that any one of these lowlives had even the slightest intention of taking you home unscathed that night. 

Baffled eyes stared up at him, but he remained resolute in his decision. It didn’t take much convincing at all though, because soon enough the group was scrambling out of the shop without so much as a second look at their ‘friend’. 

With an aggravated growl, Sukuna finally turned to face you again, only to find you passed out against the leather chair. He pursed his lips in annoyance, carefully reaching out to jostle your shoulder. You groaned softly, your still flushed face falling against your shoulder. 

“C’mon, brat.” He grumbled, glancing at the clock on the wall and deciding he deserved to close the shop a little early tonight. His boss would just have to get an explanation the next day. Reaching up, he gently pinched your warm cheek between his knuckles in an attempt to rouse you from your comatose state. “Where does your sorry ass live?”

Your eyes opened blearily, and it almost appeared as though there were two of him. Trying desperately to focus your gaze, a dumb smile spread across your face as you reached up to poke at his cheekbones. He grimaced, trying to shift his head away from your reach. 

“Haha, ‘sup four eyes?” You giggled deleriously at your own joke. 

“Yeah, real funny,” Sukuna quipped with a huff as you tossed your head back against the chair to close your eyes again. “Hey, hey, no, wake up and tell me where the hell it is I need to drop you off at.”

You only hummed sleepily at his words, and it was clear that he’d already lost you once again. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly through his nose to calm his temper. When he opened them once again, your lips were parted ever-so-slightly as you slipped off into a drunken slumber. 

He tsked in frustration before giving you a once over. You didn’t have a bag on you, and he wondered if your ‘friends’ had taken it with them. Glancing down at your pockets, he carefully reached down to feel around for a phone or wallet that he could use to get you home. When your front pockets proved to be useless, he grimaced slightly as he slumped you forward to search your back ones, sighing in anguished relief when he procured a cell phone. 

“Fuck.” He growled out when the damned thing prompted him for a passcode. 

In a desperate attempt to get you the hell out of his shop, he began pounding in random variations of four digit codes. Typical ones, 1-2-3-4, 0-0-0-0, 9-9-9-9, anything that might get him out of the situation he’d put himself in. After countless attempts though, he nearly tossed the device across the room when it alerted him that he was locked out due to too many failed attempts. Opting to toss the wretched thing on the table beside him, he groaned up at the ceiling. 

This is what I get for not minding my own damn business for once in my god-forsaken life.

There was a light scratching noise that flooded your consciousness. With it, came the realization that your brain was absolutely pounding against your skull, and you were sure there was a knot in your back that no amount of stretches would be able to unfurrow for at least another week. Parting your lips to lick the desert-like dryness from them, you noted that your mouth was just as parched. 

It was cold— far colder than you ever dared to keep your dorm room set at, and the sensation manifested goosebumps that prickled at every inch of your exposed skin. Despite this, there was a sheen sweat that was lining the back of your neck as you attempted to stretch. The nearly forgotten scratching stopped abruptly at your movements, and you slowly pried your eyes open. 

“Oh my god.” Your rasped voice blurted out as you came to the gruelling realization that the ceiling you were staring up at was not that of your room. Sitting up with a start, you frantically took in your surroundings as your mind reeled with the feeble attempt to remember what had transpired the night before. 

There were a myriad of… unique posters lining the walls, and, from where you were sitting, you could see a counter filled with various body jewelery. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front were drawn, making it difficult for you to determine what time it was, though you could swear you saw a sliver of sunlight peeking out through the cracks. 

Your hands suddenly began feeling around your own body in search of your phone, but you came up short. 

“It’s on the table.” Came an unfamiliarly deep voice on your right. 

Whipping your head around so quickly that it nearly made you dizzy, you caught sight of the monstrous-sized man lounging on the leather seat on the opposite end of the room. His hair was disheveled, but you were still caught off guard by its soft pink hue as strands strew across his forehead. An intricate work of black tattoos lined his face, emphasizing the secondary set of eyes he had inked under his real ones. 

“Oh my god!” You repeated with a mortified expression. He set aside the notebook that was perched on his lap to stand from his seat, and you shrunk farther into yours as he stretched to his full height. “Did we… oh my god, did I get a tattoo?” You weren’t sure which outcome sounded scarier to you as you frantically began assessing your skin for any evidence. 

“Check your ass.” He quipped with an amused glint on his otherwise stoic expression, but it almost broke upon seeing the horrified look on your face. “I’m fucking with you. Nothing happened— no thanks to your dumbass choice of friends though.”

You slowly settled back against the leather seat, trying to calm your racing heart as his words sunk in. With a vague haze, you could recall going out with a few members from your class who you were paired with for a group project. They weren’t exactly your friends, but you were desperately trying to change that being new to the city where you had begun university. 

“What… what do you mean?”

“I mean, they brought you in here telling me to tat you. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open. I told ‘em to fuck off.” His explanation was nonchalant as he began organizing a few things behind the counter. “And your sorry ass wouldn’t wake up long enough to tell me where you lived.”

The hazy puzzle pieces slowly started to come together, and you felt yourself flush instantly. Glancing at the time on your phone that was waiting for you just beside your seat, you noted it was still far too early for a tattoo parlor to be open. 

“I’m so sorry, this is mortifying—” You babbled as you stood up, quickly trying to straighten your rustled clothes. “I’m not from around here, and I was just trying to make some friends, but I didn’t know that—”

“Woah, woah woah,” The man before you grimaced with a wave of his hand to halt your rant. The warmth in your cheeks grew that much hotter at the realization of your rambling. “I just spent the night on a damn tattoo chair. I am nowhere near awake enough for your sob story right now, doll.”

“Right, sorry. Um, I should really get out of your hair.” You stammered, glancing awkwardly down at your feet as you made a beeline for the front door. With a barely noticeable hesitance, you turned back toward him one more time. “Thank you, by the way. That was… really cool of you.”

Sukuna watched with a lazy gaze as you pulled at the door only to be met with stark resistance. With a quiet huff, you used both hands this time to try to wrestle it open, even attempting to push it just in case. His long legs slowly dragged toward the front of the store with a tired mischievousness. Reaching over you, he switched the door unlocked before leaning back again, watching as the heat creeped up your neck. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled once again in humiliation, unable to face him as you finally pulled the door open. In an instant though, his hand was reaching above your head to hold the door closed. Your heart leaped into your throat, a nervous sweat nearly breaking out onto your forehead as you hesitantly looked up at him. 

“No friends is better than shit ones, you hear me?” One of his brows was raised as he glowered down at you, and the breath slowly escaped your lungs. 

His broad figure made sure his shadow consumed you, and from this close your clouded mind was finally able to process how terrifyingly hot this man was. Not trusting your voice, you could only nod meekly at his solemn advice, nearly crying in relief when he finally pushed off the door and allowed you to slip through it. 

In the end, you, by the grace of a higher being, made it to practice only ten minutes late, though you were still scolded by your instructor since you cut into your warm-up time. It was arguably the hardest practice you’d yet to endure, what with the crink it your back from spending the night on a tattoo chair. 

The more you thought about the mortifying events that had transpired the night before, the more you wished you could take your brain right out of your skull and hose it down in hopes of forgetting all about it. It was humiliating to think of how naive you had been to keep accepting drinks from the group you were with, who were still essentially strangers to you. Still, you were desperate for some friends after having spent an entire semester holed up in your dorm with nothing to do and no one to see. 

You had moved to the city from a small town, the kind where everyone knew everyone, and the culture of hospitality was far different from the uppity vibes you had received from nearly every new person you had met here. It was never really in your plans to move so far from home, but the university you had been accepted into had one of the best ballet programs in the country, and it had been your dream to dance professionally since you were six years old and perfected your first pirouette.

Still, you hadn’t expected to sacrifice so much to make it happen. 

You were friendly with the other members of your ballet group, but they all seemed to have already known each other for so long. It was more difficult than anything— trying to fit yourself into friend groups that had already been solidifying for years before your appearance. So, when your group members invited you out with them that night, you were more than elated to go along with whatever they had planned. 

You groaned in frustration, gently hitting your head against the wall of your shower as you washed off the sweat that had built up from your questionable night as well as practice later that day. There were at least five minutes spent inspecting your naked body in the mirror to confirm that you did not in fact have any unexpected ink anywhere. 

Despite your being in the clear, you couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of what could have happened had the kind yet terrifying tattoo artist not been as decent of a human being as he was. The guilt and embarrassment gnawed away at you in the few days that followed at the thought of the complete stranger staying with you in the shop until your stupidly drunk self decided to wake up. You thought of his parting words as well, that made you feel even a tiny bit better about your less than fortunate social circumstances.

It was an impulsive urge spurred on by your incessant boredom just two days later that had you meticulously weighing out the ingredients for the easiest cookie recipe you could manage in your dorm’s tiny kitchen. You heard the timer ring in the next room as you tied your hair up in front of the mirror. After carefully packaging the baked goods in a leftover, holiday themed cookie tin with a neatly written ‘thank you for not tattooing me!’ note written on some pink stationary, you set off for the shop that had been haunting you for the past two days. 

The lit up, neon red ‘TATTOO’ sign that hung outside the front seemed to buzz ominously as you stared up at it. It was never the type of… establishment you ever frequented, but it was far from you to judge given your previous circumstances. 

With an anxious sigh, you pushed into the door, hearing the faint jingle of the bell attached to it. The shop was fairly busy, a stark difference from that morning you’d woken up in it prior to its opening. 

“Welcome in. You here for a tattoo or a piercing?” You were pulled from your thoughts as a man behind the counter greeted you. He definitely fit the part, you thought as you took in his tattooed nose and pierced lips. What appeared to be eyeliner was smudged haphazardly around his already ominous, dark orbs, and there were two spiked out buns at the top of his head. 

“Um, neither actually.” You flushed unnecessarily, your fingers curling tighter around your tin as he raised a curious brow at you. Mustering up a kind smile, you finally found the courage to look him in the eyes. “I’m looking for a guy that works here. Tall, pink hair, face tattoos— do you know who I’m talking about?”

“Sukuna? Yeah, he’s working on an appointment right now.” The man explained as he looked at the time. You opened your mouth to ask if he would be so kind as to just give him the tin whenever he got out, but he cut you off. “He should be finishing up soon if you wanna wait here for him.”

Abruptly shutting your mouth, you weren’t sure why you couldn’t bring yourself to decline his offer, far too self-conscious about your every breath in this place. Nodding in thanks, you slowly sat down on the low, leather black couch that was in the waiting area. You clacked your nails anxiously against the tin in your lap, hyperaware of the man’s eyes still on you. 

“So, what’s in the container?” He questioned with a curious glint in his eyes, jutting his chin toward your lap. Looking up at him in surprise, you offered a bashful smile.

“Oh, they’re just cookies.” You explained with a nonchalant wave of your hand. 

His intimidating expression seemed to melt right off of his face, darkly lined eyes lighting up in a way that gave him a child-like aura. Smiling knowingly, you stood to walk over to the counter and opened the tin to offer him one. The boyish smile he gave instantly fought off any fear you previously held toward him, and the tension in your shoulders slowly faded as he eagerly grabbed one. 

“‘Thank you for not tattooing me’?” The man read the card through cookie-filled cheeks, crumbs gathering around his lips as he looked up at you in question. “I’ve gotta hear this—”

“Choso, get him a tube of aftercare, will ya’?” That familiar, deep voice saved you from the embarrassment of having to explain yourself to the kind man at the front desk. Sukuna, as you had now learned his name was, was walking in from the back followed by a shorter man. His movements faltered upon seeing you in the shop again. 

His ruby eyes took in your soft appearance in contrast to the gothic decorations that adorned the shop. You stuck out like a sore thumb, with your baby pink cardigan and perfectly glossed lips, and he couldn’t for the life of him think of why you would step foot back in here. 

“Sorry, doll, bed and breakfast is closed.” He quipped as nodded at the customer who had stopped to thank him again before exiting the store. You flushed at his jab, wondering why you bothered humiliating yourself like this. 

“She made you cookies.” Choso announced excitedly, once again with his mouth stuffed.

“Yeah? Then why the hell are you eating them?” He grumbled, swatting the man on the back of the head as he raised his hands in mock defense. The pink haired man walked behind the counter, picking up your note and skimming it with a raised brow before casting his eyes to the side dismissively. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you had flustered him. “Don’t gotta thank me for not being an asshole.”

As he leaned over to distract himself with checking the computer for his next appointment, Choso stared incredulously between him and you.

“You can thank me, I’m not an asshole.” He gushed, leaning his forearms on the counter to smile invitingly at you. His eyes skimmed your face before a flush fell over his cheeks. “Won’t tat you either if it means a pretty girl brings me cookies, too.”

“Quit being such a freak.” Sukuna growled as he elbowed him, finally tearing his gaze away from the computer to close the tin back up before Choso could steal another, but he was far too focused on getting your attention to pay the grouch any mind.

“How ‘bout a piercing, hm? Bet you’d look reeeal cute with a septum ring.” 

“Oh, um…” You flushed at his words, subconsciously reaching up to touch your bare nose. “I’m actually in ballet, and they’re pretty strict about—”

“Ballet?” Choso guffawed, much to Sukuna’s dismay as he huffed at the energetic man. “That’s so tight. So you do like shows and cool shit like that?”

“Yeah! I… actually have a recital coming up next week.” You explained enthusiastically, eager to connect in any way you can to the first person who’s shown you any sort of kindness since moving here. Without stopping to think about how desperate you might appear, you fished out a spare handout from your bag. “You should come— y’know, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

The pierced man before you snatched up the paper eagerly, dark eyes skimming the contents before he slumped in disappointment. 

“No can do, I’m working that night.” He sighed before turning to Sukuna, who had been watching the exchange with a barely concealed glare. “You should totally go though— he can go, right?”

You were undeniably flustered as you looked up at the man you had come here for, who looked less than enthused about your sudden turning up to the shop again. God, were you totally out of your element inviting this insanely attractive, crushingly edgy man to your ballet? Gulping down your nerves, you nodded softly, offering a timid smile. 

“Y-Yeah! Of course—”

“What the fuck would possess you to think I look like a dude who goes to ballets?” 

Your words died in your throat, and you felt all the blood rush to your face so embarrassingly fast that the only possible solace would be if the ground opened up below you and swallowed you whole. Looking down at your pristinely manicured nails, you dug your top lip mercilessly between your teeth. 

“Well, I-I usually invite my friends, but… it’s my first show since moving here, and I don’t… really know anyone, so…” It was as if you were growing more pathetic by the second, and you willed yourself to just shut the fuck up.

Sukuna, on the other hand, felt his stone cold heart shrivel up in horror at your words. Even with all the terrified glances he’d get from passerbyers on the street, and all the children he’d scared to tears with just a sharp glance their way, he had never felt like more of a monster than he did in that very moment watching your lively face dim so abruptly. 

He remembered what you had said the other day about trying to make some friends, and apparently you were desperate enough to get yourself in the position he’d had to pull you out of himself to do so. Beside him, he could feel Choso stepping on his toes as if to tell him to take it easy on you, but he was already wallowing in a pool of his own guilt. 

With a guarded scowl, Sukuna snatched the paper from his half-brother’s hands, red eyes skimming it furiously as you began apologizing for disturbing him. As you turned to make a desperate speed-walk toward the door, he spoke up. 

“Better be fucking good, brat.” 

Pausing mid-step, a subtle warmth spread in your chest as you slowly turned back around with a tickled smile. He didn’t deserve it, he was sure of it— not with the way your eyes lit up the entire room as if he’d just found the cure to cancer or solved world hunger. No, he’d just stepped on your innocent offer with the sole of his heavy, black boot after you’d just brought him home-made cookies for not tattooing you while you were under the influence. He didn’t deserve the way you flashed your teeth at him. 

“Heading to practice right now, boss.” You beamed with a mock salute before making your way to the exit with more pep in your step than had been there previously. Just before the door shut behind you, you shouted over your shoulder. “I hope you like the cookies!” 

“Why doesn’t this type of shit happen to me?” Choso questioned rhetorically as he stared longingly at the door you just left through with a shake of his head. “You’re a real asshole, you know?” 

And, boy, did he know it. 

While you had been flattered at Sukuna’s implication that he’d be showing up to your recital, a larger part of you was coming to terms with the fact that there was no way in hell that dude was coming. You couldn’t blame him. After all, you were essentially strangers, and it truly didn’t seem like his scene. Still, it would have been nice to have one person coming in your support. 

Sighing wistfully, you sprayed the final touches of hairspray into your slicked back bun, turning your head to the side to assure there were no stray strands. The lights of the dressing room mirror reflected the subtle glitter on your eyelids as you watched your fellow dancers bustle around behind you as they also prepared. 

Resisting the urge to bite at your lip for fear of ruining your lipstick, you glanced down at the message on your phone. 

Mom: Please send me a recording! I hate that I can’t be there for you today :(

In all your years as a dancer, you had always had someone there for you in the audience to cheer you on. Whether it be your family or your hometown friends, someone was always waiting for you outside with flowers and a proud smile. Swallowing down your self-pity, you gave yourself one last once over before you heard your three minute warning. If you weren’t dancing for anyone, you determined, you would just have to do it for yourself. 

That was the notion that got you through both of your group numbers and your solo. With every pointed kick and turn, you reminded yourself that this was for the life you were working so hard to achieve. The stage lights were blinding, and the beautifully orchestrated music almost made you forget that you were so upset in the first place. It showed on your face though, you were sure. After all, every instructor you’d ever had always told you that your expression would tell the story of your number louder than any lyrics ever could.

With all the preparation that went into every recital, you still never failed to be shocked whenever it ended so suddenly. There was a strong sense of pride bubbling in your stomach as your team met up backstage for a few celebratory photos. That familiar buzz came to an end though as everyone began departing, all greeted by friends, families, or lovers. With a wistful smile, you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself as you stepped out into the frigid air. 

“There you are— jesus,” A man sighed in exasperation as you accidentally shouldered into him, his hand closing around your arm before you could walk away. “All you people look the damn same with your hair like that.”

Looking up in bewilderment, your jaw fell open in surprise upon seeing that familiar head of pink hair. He was scanning the area with an awkward tension in his shoulders, as though he felt out of place in the midst of all these ballerinas— he certainly looked out of place. 

There was a black, button down dress shirt clinging mercilessly to his sculpted form, the first few buttons undone and revealing a teasing amount of his chest. As if it was the only color that ever graced his closet, his slim-fitting dress pants were also black, emphasizing his slim waist as it contrasted against his broad shoulders. 

Your lips parted as you took in his appearance, and you could swear the air around you grew at least five degrees warmer. As if your face couldn’t get any hotter, your eyes finally landed on the arrangement of flowers clutched in his hands. He glanced down at them with what seemed like an annoyed expression before shoving them toward you. 

“My brother said you’re supposed to bring crap like this to these things…” He explained, still not looking you in the eyes as you slowly took the bouquet into your arms.

“You actually came.” You commented, still a bit shell shocked to see him here. 

“I said I was gonna, didn’t I?” It came out harsher than he would have liked, but he couldn’t help but feel so oddly out of place before you. 

“Right.” You muttered pathetically, looking down at your feet so he wouldn’t see the flush in your cheeks. After taking a moment to compose yourself, you offered a hopeful smile that struck him like lightning. “Did you like the show?”

“You were alright, brat.” Sukuna grumbled as he peered down at you. 

It was a gross understatement though, because the man was absolutely floored when he saw you on that stage. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before— so used to the heavy metal and the harsher things in life. As soon as that center light hit you though, reflecting the ardently despaired expression on your intricately done up face as you allowed the music to take hold of you, it was as though you had cast a spell on him. 

The flowers in his lap nearly dropped to the floor as he found himself subconsciously leaning forward in his seat, lips parted in disbelief. You were angelic, each of your calculated movements translating etherally into the overall story you were conveying through your choreography. Even the subtle positioning of your delicate fingers seemed intricately thought out, pulling him further into your orbit. It made him want to trap you in your own little snow globe to put you on his shelf, ready to twirl so breathtakingly each time he longed for it. 

Yeah, maybe alright was an understatement, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it to you. Even now, as you smiled up at the waiter taking your order, Sukuna pretended not to be enamoured by the way your stage makeup made your eyes glitter under the restaurant's dim lighting. He had insisted on taking you to dinner following the show, not exactly asking and certainly not taking no for an answer as he led you to his sleek, black car with an urging hand on the nape of your neck. 

And you— you were far too elated to be making a friend to care about his off-putting demeanor. You barely had the chance to be remotely nervous over the fact that this teetered very closely on the edge of being a date with a man you would have deemed far out of your league just days ago. 

“So, you own the tattoo shop?” Your soft voice pulled him from his haze once the waiter placed your plates in front of you. You leaned forward on the table, a curious smile tugging at your red painted lips.

“Hah— yeah, that’s fucking hilarious.” He scoffed with an amused grin, leaning back as he took a sip of his drink. Taking note of the barely concealed confusion on your face, he cleared his throat, trying to remind himself to be on his best behavior. “I mean, I just finished my apprenticeship— don’t got the kind of money it takes to own my own shop.”

“Oh,” You muttered with a shy smile, suddenly feeling stupid for asking in the first place. “Well, I’m sure you’re really talented. I could barely draw a stick figure without making him look deformed.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, amused by your attempt to smooth over his negativity. You nodded affirmatively as you took a sip of your wine. There was a subtle flush in your cheeks that told him your drink was starting to catch up to you, and he made a mental note to stop the waiter from refilling your glass again. “And what about you, huh? You’d let me come at you with some ink since you think I’m so talented?”

A mock hum bubbled in your throat as you pretended to think about it. 

“I don’t know, you’d have to come up with something real cool.” You teased, running your hands dramatically up and down your bare arms. “This is virgin skin you’re seeing here— not to be tainted with any of those boring designs, you know?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.” Sukuna assured with theatric sincerity, only spurring on your giggles as you played along. 

“It has to be something that’s me, you know?” You pursed your lips pensively before casting a sidelong glance his way. “Maybe like a pair of pointe shoes.”

“A pair of what?” 

 “Pointe shoes! You know, the shoes ballet dancers use?”

“That’s fucking lame.” Sukuna blew a raspberry at your idea.

“Oh yeah?” You quipped, biting down your embarrassment at his abrupt shut down of your suggestion. “What would you put on me then?”

The tattoo parlor was already closed by the time you and Sukuna stumbled inside, your excited giggle filling the deadly silent shop as he locked the door behind you and switched on the lights. He shrugged his jacket off, watching you carefully as you snooped around the store. 

“Why don’t you sit your ass down before you break something?” He grumbled, snatching a tattoo gun from your curious grasp before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs. You rolled your eyes playfully before sitting down across from him, swinging your dangling feet gently as you looked around. 

“So, what were you thinking then, boss?” You questioned, watching as he pulled out his sketchbook and flipped it open. Rummaging through the drawer for a pencil, he peered up at you with a raised brow. 

“I don’t know. Tell me something.” He murmured as he began a rough sketch. 

“Like what?”

“About you.” 

“Oh.” You looked down bashfully, toying with a run in your tights before shrugging at him. “I don’t know. Nothing to tell, I guess. I’m kind of boring.” 

“That’s bullshit.” He brushed off nonchalantly, not looking up from his book. You blinked owlishly at him a few times. Noting your silence, he continued. “I saw you dance— saw the look on your face. Can’t tell me there’s nothing to tell there.” 

You were taken aback by his astute observation, staring back at the way he concentrated so intently on his drawing. He didn’t look nearly as intimidating in this light. It was silent for a beat too long, and he glanced up at you, the sharp nature of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. 

“Well?” 

“Okay, well, um… I guess I just never know if I’m making the right decision? About anything ever?” You rationed with furrowed brows, trying to make sense of your own illogical feelings. “I moved here because of the dance program, because I thought that this was really what I wanted. Now I’m here though without all my friends and family, and I’m…”

“Lonely?” Sukuna finished for you as you trailed off. 

“I guess so. And, I mean, I know it’s supposed to be hard in the beginning, but I can’t help but feel like I made a massive mistake and my life is about to crumble around me?”

The sound of his pencil scratching against the paper filled the sudden silence that hung between you, but you knew he was listening. Taking advantage of his distraction, you stared unashamedly at his hunched over figure. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the black rings that were tattooed across both his arms. There was a subtle furrow in his brows, but for the first time since meeting him it wasn’t born out of anger or frustration, instead telling a story about his dedication to his craft.

You felt the breath get knocked out of you as you observed him. Frantically trying to veer back on topic before he noticed your creepy gawking, you cleared your throat before offering an enthusiastic smile. 

“Guess it’s just always been hard for me to commit to things.” You tried to wrap up your subtle sob story. “Maybe that’s why I’ve got no tattoos then, huh?”

He huffed out a breathy laugh, the corners of his lips curling up ever so slightly as he shook his head at your conclusion. 

“Is that what you want? You know, do this ballet shit for a living?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

“Then to hell with people. If they give a shit they’ll be there whenever you come back.” He scoffed as though the notion offended him personally. “You’re too talented to hold yourself back for that kind of crap.”  

His nonchalant compliment made your heart pound just a little bit harder.

“What about you?” You asked breathlessly, shaking off the butterflies waging war in your stomach. 

“What about me?”

“Why tattooing?”

“Wasn’t good at anything else.” He answered simply, and his dismissal made you roll your eyes. 

“Come on, I was just very honest with you.” 

“Yeah, well you’re probably better at all that sap shit anyway.” 

Sliding off the chair, you walked closer to him and leaned your elbows on the work table before him. Propping your chin on your fist, you grinned knowingly at him, though he still hadn’t looked up from his sketch. 

“Maybe that’s why then, huh?” You assumed. He hummed in question at your vague statement. “You draw cause you’re not good at all the… ‘sap shit’. If you don’t know how to say it, you draw it, right?” 

The careful maneuvering of his pencil slowed before pausing all together at your read. Of course, he’d always known that his drawings were an outlet for him, having learned through years of repressed feelings how to convey words through lines and swirls. No one had ever explained it so… simply to him before though. Taking note of his forlorn expression, your lips curled up empathetically. 

“I do it sometimes too, you know— when I feel too overwhelmed to put my thoughts into actual words. I put them into my choreographies instead.” 

“Yeah, it shows.” Sukuna finally spoke up,  suddenly uncomfortable with the serious energy that had invaded the space around them. Clearing his throat, he put his pencil down before handing you his sketchbook with an awkward scratch to his forehead. “That ‘you’ enough for ya?” 

Your pretty, pink nails clutched at the edge of his sketchbook, slowly bringing it toward you as you soaked in his creation with parted lips. Right in the middle of the page was a snow-globe, flowers that you recognized as the same type he’d brought you earlier decorating the base of it. Inside though, was a ballerina in the very costume you had donned just hours prior on stage, one leg curled up as her arms curved softly around her in the perfect pirouette position. 

“Sukuna, this is…” Your voice failed you as you gave each detail another weighted once over. Blinking back the haze that threatened to form over your eyes, you looked up at him with a besotted smile. There were stars in your eyes, and he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of them. “This is so beautiful. You’re incredible.” 

He tsked dismissively, trying desperately to conceal the softness in his gaze as he took in your reaction. 

“Why the snowglobe?” You questioned suddenly, glancing down at the sketch before flashing him with that eagerly curious grin. 

He opened his mouth only to shut it once again, not sure how to tell you of where his thoughts had taken him to while he watched you dance so gracefully across the stage. So, he simply huffed in feigned annoyance before snatching the book from you and jutting his chin toward the chair. 

“You questioning my artistic decisions now, brat?” He didn’t give you the chance to respond as you sat back against the leather chair. “So, where are we putting this thing?”

“Oh!” You quipped, suddenly coming to the realization that he was dead serious about giving you a tattoo. Anxiety creeped up in your stomach as you brought your hand up to chew apprehensively at your nails. “Um…”

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out on me now.” Sukuna teased with a mischievous smirk.

“No!” You quickly defended, much to his surprise. “I want to do this— get over my fear of commitment, right?”

He hummed thoughtfully, brushing your jacket from your shoulders to inspect your arms. Grasping at your hand, he turned the inner side of your arm out to face him, purposeful in the way he allowed his fingers to trace up the delicate skin of your forearm. It made your breath hitch, his proximity allowing for a generous waft of his cologne to flood your senses. You clenched your thighs together in a manner you prayed was subtle. 

“I think it’d look good right here.” He suggested, grazing his thumb over the expanse of skin just above where your elbow creased. 

Taking in a calculated breath to pull yourself together, you quickly shook your head. 

“Can’t be anywhere too visible.” You explained, staring down at where his hand still wrapped around your elbow. “I mean, it can, but I’ll have to worry about covering it up for every performance.” 

Sukuna’s dark eyes glanced up to meet yours at this statement. His brows were raised in suggestion, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. 

“So your friends were serious about you wantin’ a ‘tramp stamp’ then? That what I’m  hearing?”

“I don’t want a— a tramp stamp.” You scoffed with flushed cheeks, but he was just too elated at how easy it was to fluster you. “I don’t know, where else do you think that can be covered up easily?”

Sukuna sighed, eyes trailing over your body in thought. It made you squirm in your seat. After a moment, he leaned forward to pull the lever on your chair, sending it reeling backwards until you were nearly laying flat. You squeaked in surprise, quickly grasping his arm for support as he smirked at your reaction. 

You watched as his hands came up to hover over the hem of your sweater before glancing up at you in question. Despite the way your heart was beating up into your throat, you nodded softly at him. It had to have been deliberate— the way he dragged your sweater up so agonizingly slow, assuring his fingers brushed against each inch of skin that was exposed on the way. You gulped as he paused just under your bra, and he was once again looking up at you in search of approval, to which you nodded silently, far too convinced you’d embarrass yourself should you speak.

With your approval, he tugged your hem up to rest just under your chin, trying to appear professional as he took in the sight of your bra-clad chest. The truth was though, that his thoughts were so very far from the tattoo at the moment, reveling in the way your breasts strained against the confines of your cups with each ragged breath you took. Your breathing had been growing heavier since the second he laid his hands on you— and he noticed each time. 

He trailed his hands up your sides, thumbs grazing over the divets of your ribs in a manner far too sensual to just be chalked up to searching for a good placement. As his pointer fingers traced where the wire of your bra met your skin, he hummed affirmatively. 

“It would look nice right here.” His raspy voice was almost a whisper now as he tucked his finger underneath the area of your bra just between your breasts, right over your sternum. 

A breathless whimper threatened to escape you, but you swallowed it back and looked down at where he had placed his finger. 

“Y-You think so?” You whispered, and he quickly nodded, gradually leaning over you more and more with the illusion of getting a better look. 

“Might be a little painful, but…” His voice trailed, as did his hand, escaping from under your strap to dance up your chest and neck. “I’ll let ya’ hold onto me if you’re good.”

You were sure your soul had left you at that point, off to find a body whose nervous system wasn’t utterly short-circuiting. Your knees drew together as you fought to maintain your composure at his suggestive words. 

“Sukuna, are we… still talking about the tattoo?” You questioned doubtfully, and the smirk on his plush lips told you you weren’t wrong. 

“Do you want it to be about the tattoo?”

“Well, it’s just…” He thought the way you stammered over your words was endearing, and it was sending all the blood in his system rushing down south. Glancing up at him timidly, you chewed on your bottom lip. “Would it hurt more if it’s… my first? You know… tattoo, of course.”

For the third time since meeting you, Sukuna was struck by the startling realization that he seriously didn’t deserve any of this. The hand that had been slowly traversing up your neck grasped at your jaw. 

“Well, I’d make sure you were good and ready first, doll.” He assured, eyes drifting down to stare longingly at your parted lips before meeting your heated gaze once again. “But you should always be sure you chose the right artist first, you hear?” 

And you heard him loud and clear. With your heart beat reverberating mercilessly in your ears, you nodded breathlessly at him.

“I trust you.”  

And oh, how hard he worked to assure you didn’t regret those words. Something told him you didn’t though— maybe the way those pretty, manicured nails were digging into his scalp just as his jaw began to ache deliciously in tandem with his mouth’s relentless ravishing of your perfectly supple pussy.

You were dripping down his chin, evidence of you tickling down his neck as he desperately tried to drink up every last drop of you. His colossal hands had come up to hold your trashing hips down against the chair after one too many jolts away from his eager tongue. The sound of his grotesquely sloppy, open mouthed kissed against your core filled your ears as you stared up at the ceiling blearily. 

You were so grateful that you always wore waterproof makeup for your performances, because you were sure your mascara would have been smeared unattractively down your face with the sheer force of your overstimulated tears. The saccharine moans that were hurdling their way from your throat made him dig his black fingernails into your stomach as he sucked on your clit as if rewarding you for the melodies. 

He grunted when the sensation made you yank at the roots of his hair, and you quickly gasped apologetically before releasing your tight grip. 

“Oh! I-I’m— ah! I’m sorry.”

Your disappointed whine made him smirk as his face suddenly emerged from between your legs to leer at you menacingly. One of his hands left your stomach to catch yours as it departed from his scalp, guiding it back affirmatively. 

“Tear the shit out if ya’ want— quit fuckin’ apologizing.” 

His words had your eyes rolling back into your skull, more confident now as you dug your fingers through his soft locks once again. The hand that had abandoned its post on your stomach never returned, and you instead felt it gliding purposefully up the inside of your thigh. Two of his long fingers sweeped up your weeping slit, gathering some of your arousal as his lips remained focused on your bundle of nerves. 

With a thrust that seemed so uncharacteristically careful of him, he dipped his two fingers into your sopping entrance. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, the heels of your feet finding the edge of the chair to pull yourself away from the subtle sting. 

“Easy, easy,” Sukuna rasped, tearing his mouth away from your honied center in favor of talking you through your unease. The remaining hand on your stomach began tracing soft, sensual circles against your silken skin. It made you slowly release your hitched breath, apprehensively relaxing back against the leather. “Atta girl, relax for me, yeah?”

You nodded deleriously up at the ceiling, head lolling to the side to watch what he was doing, not expecting to find his ruby eyes already focused on you. A flush fell over your face, hoping your expression didn’t give away how utterly torn apart he had made you with his tongue alone. A smirk tickled his glistening lips as you met his gaze, and he turned his head to press comforting, open mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

After a few moments, his fingers began slowly pushing through the subtle resistance of your core. Casting a sidelong glance your way to catch your reaction, he gently curled his fingers up, digits massaging at the cusiony bundle of nerves at the roof of your walls, and god, how the blissed out popping open of your mouth failed to disappoint. 

Burning for a closer look, he rose from his knees to climb onto the tight space of the chair. It was by no means designed to hold two people— especially not when one of them is as abnormally overgrown as Sukuna, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t drink up those candied whimpers slipping past your lips. The steady pace of his fingers picked up as he hovered over you, taking a moment to soak in how beautifully debauched you looked just like this. 

“Sukuna—” You whined at the sensation of the steadily growing knot in your stomach, but he only offered a mockingly sympathetic nod. Your fingers dug into the soft fabric of his button down, clinging for dear life as he lowered himself closer to you until his lips brushed against your ear. 

“Call me Ryomen, doll.” 

And that was the very name that slipped from your lips in an almost strangled sob as you crumpled against him. His lips quickly found yours, though you were hardly able to reciprocate his kiss as moans continued spilling from you, falling into his awaiting mouth like a prayer. 

Much like the startled realization you had earlier that he was very serious about tattooing you that night, you were for some reason just as gobsmacked as you watched him rise with his knees trapping you in, purposefully unbuttoning his now wrinkled dress shirt as his hungry eyes stared down at you. He had pushed your sweater off of you just before burying his head between your thighs, and he was now reaping the reward of watching your breasts heave as you looked up at him. 

Your expression must have given you away, as it always seems to, as he stood up to work his belt off. The clinking of his buckle made your mind race, chest swelling with a feeling that you couldn’t decide was anticipation or anxiety. As he pulled the leather material through the loops of his dress pants and worked away at his button and zipper, he observed your horribly practiced poker face. 

He tilted his head to the side as his bottoms pooled at his feet, the outline of his erection now on full display for your already perturbed gaze. Maybe it was just because you’d never exactly seen one up close before, but, even through the straining fabric of his boxers, you were almost positive that thing wasn’t natural. Hiking yourself further up on the leather chair, you tried not to stare in a way that screamed fear. 

The motion made him pause, his thumbs slowly unhooking from their spot in the waistband of his boxers. A careful sigh escaped him, the tiniest of knowing smiles masking the subtle disappointment in his chest as he turned from you to pull up a stool. 

“W-What are you doing?” You questioned, watching with fluttering eyes as he leaned down to begin pulling supplies out from the drawer to place on the work table beside your chair. 

“I’m tattooing you— the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” 

Your mouth opened and closed much like a fish as you closed your legs self-consciously. His hair was still rustled from your fingers’ assault through it, and there was still a very prominent tent poking out through his boxers, though he still began prepping his station as though he hadn’t just been about to take your virginity in the middle of this tattoo parlor. 

“Well, um… what about you?” You stammered anxiously as he guided you by your shoulder to lay back. 

“What about me?” He murmured while pulling on a pair of gloves. 

“Didn’t you want to…” The words died on your throat, far too embarrassed to utter them aloud. Your eyes drifted to the side as you felt your face flush. “I mean you… helped me, so.”

Sukuna finally paused, tilting his head to look at you with a challenging raised brow. 

“I wouldn’t tattoo you in that chair cause you weren’t a hundred percent about it before. What makes you think I’ll fuck you in it when you clearly don’t want to?” His crude words only made your embarrassment grow that much deeper, but his fingers quickly came up to tilt your chin toward him before he winked teasingly at you. “Don’t worry— one commitment at a time, right?”

Your gaze softened at his consideration, even as he turned away from you to continue prepping his station. It made you forget how nervous you were that he was about to permanently mark you, but a small part of you already felt like he had. 

So, you allowed him to carefully pull your bra off when he asked, sighing wistfully as he pressed a longing kiss against each one before cleaning the area. Much like just minutes prior, he let you pull at his hair as the needle gradually began piercing your skin, laughing through your tears as he grumbled about how much of a wimp you were. His soft smile told a different story though as he sat still clad in his boxers and paused each time you needed to breathe, taking each opportunity to kiss and nip at your lips with the false pretense of taking your mind off the pain. 

You were sure the process was prolonged at least an hour longer than necessary with how long your breaks would last as he couldn’t bear to interrupt you as you nervously rambled about whatever came to your mind. As you began growing used to the subtle pain, you traced each of the black marks on his face as he worked with a fierce concentration. 

Pathetic tears of awe and shock spilled from your tired eyes as you stood in front of the mirror to observe his delicate handiwork. It was just as beautiful as it had been when he first showed you the rough sketch, though he would argue that your skin did it far more justice, chin hooked over your shoulder as he observed your reaction in the mirror. 

Sukuna scoffed at you when you tried to ask him the price, much to your mortification. He wouldn’t even look in your direction, busying himself with cleaning up the station as he pretended not to hear your countless protests. 

“You just spent like— hours doing this.” You gaped, through flushed cheeks as you jostled his arm. “Please, let me pay you.” 

“Wanna know how you can pay me?” He finally questioned gruffly, leaning back against the counter as he pulled you in closer to his bare chest. Breathlessly, you nodded, eyes unable to meet his as they were too focused on his curled lips. 

“Whenever you’re ready for your next big commitment,” He whispered, his warm lips brushing against the shell of your ear as you clung to his biceps. “Let it be me, yeah?”

part two

a/n: got the inspiration for this yesterday, blacked out, and suddenly it was finished the next day oops

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[the-odd-shu]

Sky regrets trying to play wingman

A continuation of lab shenanigans.

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Characters: Viktor, Jayce, Reader, Sky

(Pre-Jayce/Viktor/Reader) (POLYCULEEEE!)

Summary: A sketchbook goes missing, Viktor and Jayce feel soft about it and Sky is fighting for her life.

Note; this takes place during season 1, and the reader is gender neutral with they/them pronouns.

Lab Illustrator!Reader has a secret A5 sketchbook they don't use for assignments. It's a small thing, that they keep tucked beneath all of their other paperwork during the day, and take home with them every night.

It is as non-descript as sketchbooks come, with a plain, black cover and pages brimming with hundreds of sketches and stuck in sheets of paper.

But what makes it different from their professional sketchbook, you ask? And why does it need to be a secret?

Well, because it is a notebook solely dedicated to drawings and doodles of their co-workers. And neither of them know that Reader has been drawing them.

There are hundreds of stolen moments stuffed between these pages. Late night coffee breaks, where the pencil lines are thick and dark to accentuate the dimness of the lab against the stark light leaking out of the kitchenette, where backs are turned and coffee mugs steam, whilst eyes fall to half-mast from the sheer weight of the late hour.

There are a dozen or so slower, more carefully done doodles of Jayce sprawled out across the lab couch in various positions. Several cane studies, because Viktor had a habit of leaving it in more and more odd places when he has had a breakthrough, and sheer determination and spite keep him standing unaided before the whiteboard.

There are pages dedicated to Viktor reading. And pages brimming with Jayce's broad shoulders and winning smile.

There is a double page spread of Viktor stood before the chalkboard, cane in one hand, his other tucked under his chin with a piece of chalk tucked between two of his fingers, his lips pursed in thought as he tried to find a solution to the problem before him. The lines of this sketch are soft and gentle, almost dreamlike, as the image was teased out of the page.

The pages directly after it show a heavy handed pen drawing of Jayce bent over his desk, goggles over his eyes, his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he welds pieces of metal together. A single, loose curl of hair having broken free of its slicked back appearance, and is now sprawled cutely down his forehead.

And that's only the beginning.

Neither of them know that Reader draws them. As far as they know, Reader can't even draw people. And Reader wants to keep it that way. Because if EITHER of them found the sketchbook, they just KNOW they would not let them live it down. Jayce would be embarrassed, no doubt asking stupid questions like, 'is my nose really like that from that angle' or 'why didn't you tell me I had soot on my cheek', which, how dare he, you'd spent hours learning how to draw him and picking out imperfections was just an insult to your skills. Whilst Viktor would make fun of your subject choices, and then make it one hundred times harder to sketch him without him getting suspicious and catching on and deliberately moving around MORE to make it seventeen times more difficult.

Out of everyone in the lab, Sky was the only other person remotely artistically inclined. She'd shown an interest in your work one afternoon, and let slip that she liked to draw in her spare time. And although she insisted her work was nothing like your professional illustrations, they were good! And you told her as such.

Unofficially, the pair of you had begun taking your lunches outside in the academy gardens together to chat and draw. She did not look it, but Sky was a mean gossip, and seemed to know everything that was going on in the science department. Such as who in the academy was currently trying to court who, or the latest experiment that blew up (literally) in a freshman's face, or that Councillor Medarda herself dabbled in painting.

The last one certainly caught your attention more than the drama on campus, which of course Sky was more than happy to provide more details for. Apparently, the Councillor's paintings were bold and striking. Depicting scenes from her childhood lands, and figures dressed in traditional Noxian-style garbs.

"Gorgeous, simply gorgeous." Sky said, tone bordering on wistful. "And large too. Councillor Medarda works on such a large scale, that some of her pieces literally command your attention the moment you step into the room. I'm sure you can talk Jayce into getting you a glimpse of some of her works. He and the Councillor have been growing close lately."

You ignored the suggestive hint to her voice, in favour of humming noncommittally and finishing up your lastest sketch of Sky perched on the wall beside you, waving her sandwich around as she talked animatedly. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn't notice she was watching, when you flipped back towards the front of your sketchbook, only for her to choke on her next bite.

“Wait!" She blurted out between sharp coughing. "Is that Viktor!?” And then suddenly your sketchbook was no longer on your lap and the apprentice of the man you were always drawing was flipping through the pages. The pages that HEAVILY featured Viktor's face.

Your cheeks burned, and lunged for the sketchbook out of sheer panic, as Sky began discovering just how MANY sketches of Viktor you've been hoarding and that he's not the ONLY ONE you've been drawing.

"Jayce too I see." She mused, more to herself than you. And then she snorted. "Why are there so many?”

“Because I get bored sometimes, and they're always just there!" You defend yourself guiltily. "It's good anatomy practice.”

Which wasn't technically a lie. The lines never came as easily as they did when you’re sketching your co-workers. So much so, that now, it had almost become instinct to know when your pencil had drawn a line wrong, even before you glanced back to the reference themselves to check. The pair of them were just so effortlessly beautiful in their own ways. It would a a crime for you <i>not</i> to draw them, and focus solely on the things you're SUPPOSED to be illustrating instead.

Sky hummed along, having paused on a page with a rapid, barely recognisable pen sketch of Jayce ducking away with a cackling laugh as a furious Viktor swung his cane at his head. Her fingers idly slid down the sketchy lines, a fondness to her expression.

"Have you shown them these?" Sky asked, "they're really good. All loose and fun. I can practically hear Jayce laughing in this one with how you captured his expression."

“Of course not!" You were quick to deny as your cheeks heated. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to show someone you’ve drawn them? Jayce will pretend to be all impressed but subconsciously begin to pick out all the things I got wrong. Like the shape of his ears. And Viktor will tell me it's 'lovely' without looking up from his textbook."

You shuddered at the very thought, already seeing Viktor's disinterested frown and Jayce's tight grimace in your mind's eye.

Sky frowned, her eyes jumping between your down turned expression and the sketchbook in her hands. “I dunno about that."

“Can I have it back now?” She shook her head and went back to flipping through the pages, the other half of her sandwich forgotten in her lap. “You know, I think Viktor would be flattered if he knew you paid so much attention to him. And Jayce would probably try to steal a couple of these and frame them for his desk.” You scoffed.

Sky's frown deepened. "Why are you having such a hard time believing they might like these?"

“Because in the end it doesn’t matter how they'd react,” you decided sharply, “because they're not going to find out. Are they, Sky?”

“You’ve even drawn Viktor's canes!”

“Sky, focus!” “I am focused- IS THAT A JAYCE HAND STUDY-?!”

"OKAY ENOUGH OF THAT FROM YOU!" You tackled her, and she went down screeching, drawing the attention of several passing students as the pair of you fell cleaningly off of the wall and landed in the flowerbeds below.

Sky did not keep her promise.

After a week or two of waiting to give the impression she'd forgotten about the whole ordeal, she sprung into action.

It was obvious now that she knew just how much Reader paid attention to their co-workers. It seemed like they were constantly sketching the boys throughout the day, a private, fond smile on their stupidly love-struck expression, as their pencil flew across the page, documenting coffee breaks and break throughs, and verbal spats. Now Sky has noticed that they did it, she couldn't stop seeing it, and it is driving her crazy. All three of them are so oblivious, and watching her superiors pine for one another whilst doing nothing to move things forward, was NOT the working environment she'd been hoping for during this internship.

So she took matters into her own hands.

When the hour was late, and the lights were dim, Jayce passed out at his desk for a quick nap, Viktor's attention on his textbooks at the chalkboard, and Reader in the kitchen cracking open a can of energy, Sky sidled over to the latter's desk. Her eyes immediately clocked the little, black sketchbook, easily overlooked amongst the other papers and opened notebooks with half complete drawings scrawled all over the place. It was a testament to how much they trusted each other in the lab, that no one questioned why she was lingering so close to a desk that was not her own.

It almost made it too easy for her to simply pluck the sketchbook out of the pile, add it to her pile of library books already balanced in one hand, all before loudly calling "good night" to the room and leaving.

Sky planned to be the first person in the next morning to plant the sketchbook, but the lab doors were unlocked when she turned up, and all three of her superiors were already in the room, looking in various states of exhaustion. Did they even go home last night?

Not to mention, half of the lab looked like a hoard of dogs had come tearing through. Come to think of it, Reader's desk was especially messy, with papers strewn everywhere and the drawers hanging on just barely- oh fuck! They had already noticed, hadn't they?

"Ah Sky, good morning." Viktor acknowledged her from where he was calmly sorting through a stack of books. Picking one up, and shaking it out before placing it onto a second stack and picking up the next. "Right on time." "Good morning," Sky greeted calmly, "what's going on here?" She motioned to the war zone that was the lab. To Jayce balanced precariously on a chair, checking a high book shelf, and the frantic shuffling sounds of Reader under their desk. They were out of view, but somehow, Sky could just envision the frenzy in their expression from the sound of their searching alone.

"Ah, well, Y/n appears to have misplaced a rather important sketchbook."

There was a yelp as a skull collided with the underside of a desk, before Reader's head popped up over the edge. "Sky! I can't find it!"

"Oh no." Sky replied, trying to ignore the burning weight of the 'it' in question, currently hiding in her backpack. "Where did you see it last?"

"They insisted it was on their desk." Jayce interjected, hopping down from his chair with a shake of his head.

"But I'm assuming it's grown legs," Sky joked, "judging by that picked over, barely standing, mess of a desk."

"This isn't funny Sky."

"No, you're right." She put down her backpack and began to help in the search. After all, not doing so would immediately out her as guilty, and she'd already come this far, why stop now. "Come on, it can't have gone far."

Of course, Viktor discovered it amongst his books and papers a couple of days later.

It was during one of those rare hours in the lab when he was alone. The hour was late, but the curtains were not yet drawn despite the darkening sky.

He frowned when his fingers brushed the unfamiliar notebook, tucked behind a stack of textbooks and scrunched up balls of notes. Pulling it out of its hiding place, his brows furrowed as his eyes tracked the state it was in. How the edges of the hardback covers were creased from numerous journeys in bags, whilst pencils marks and scuffs from countless hours of being opened and used, marred the covers.

At first, he assumed it was one of Jayce’s notebook. The material was expensive enough. Definitely of high quality. The paper itself was thick when he rubbed his finger along a page. But when he opened it, he quickly realised the pages are not lined, and were once blank before they had been filled in with hundreds of drawings.

The first few pages were illustrations of everything under the sun. Still life drawings. Animals. People. Silhouettes. Isolated body parts with detailed annotations encircling them, such as the names of muscles and tiny corrective comments like ‘fingers too long’ or ‘that muscle doesn’t stretch that far’. 

Then he turned a page, and was met with himself. And then Jayce. And then more and more sketches of himself and Jayce. Sometimes together and interacting. Sometimes just existing.

The drawings were skilfully done, as all of Reader's illustrations tended to be. A little rough in the beginning, from rushed pen strokes. But then the artist seemed to understand something. A break through of sorts, and he recognised himself more and more. The sketches held his likeness. From the way he stood, to the slouch of him sitting at his desk, to the way his hand held something as simple as a stick of chalk.

They were always sketches from behind or a side profile. Never head on. And any that did depict him as facing the artist, were drawn when his attention was elsewhere; focused down at a textbook, or fixing something on the table. 

It was flattering really. He looked good in the drawings. Confident, with an authoritative aura. Seemingly engrossed in every task he sat down to complete.

And Jayce, Jayce looks good in his drawings too. His sunny personality shining through in drawings where he was animatedly talking or debating with sketched Viktor. There seems to be a whole double page spread trying to figure out the shape of his slicked back hair, and then even more drawings of the gel softening throughout the day, causing strands to fall down around his ears and frame his eyes.

But what really catches Viktor's attention was the way the artist had caught their interactions. The way they have depicted Jayce's softened eyes when looking at Viktor when his attention was elsewhere. The way they caught Viktor's private little smile when Jayce got lost in a muttering spell and stopped including Viktor in the debate. It left him feeling a little raw in truth, like this person had seen something no one else had taken the time to notice before.

No wonder Reader had been so adamant about finding this sketchbook. This must have been hours upon hours of careful work.

Carefully, Viktor closed the sketchbook and sat back in his chair. It felt heavy in his hands, and he almost didn't want to put it down.

The door to the lab swung open then, and Jayce called out a greeting.

"What you got there V?"

And of course, Viktor was contractually obligated to show him. It would simply be criminal if he didn't show his partner just how well their resident illustrator managed to capture his winning smile. A much more accurate depiction of it, compared to the 'man of progress' merchandise the academy sold nowadays.

The sketchbook continued to go unfound.

Reader was growing more and more distraught.

The guilt gnawed at Sky and she confessed.

All hell broke loose.

An hour later, Skye came SPRINTING into the lab, the double doors CRASHING into the walls in her haste to get into the room.

Both Viktor and Jayce jumped in their seats in the kitchenette. Viktor barely managing to keep from spilling his sweetmilk everywhere. And Jayce almost THREW the little black sketchbook across the room, where he had been admiring its pages.

“Woah there, where’s the fire?” Jayce tried to joke, but Sky looked GENUINELY scared. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I left something in here, and the owner is NOT happy with me.” Sky scrambled to explain, as she charged towards Viktor’s desk and began pulling apart stacks of paperwork. Sweat beading on her brow.

“Hey, calm down. What is it? Where did you see it last?” “It was a sketchbook. Um, uh, black, hard cover, it was practically bulging with how many pages it had stuck in it.” Sky explained, "I could've sworn I left it on Viktor's desk." Viktor’s brows jump up in realisation. His eyes dart over to the sketchbook in Jayce's hands, before leaping up to meet the man's wide, knowing eyes.

“I take it that Y/n found out you took it then.” Viktor spoke up. Sky winced. “I may have let it slip-” her voice began to backpedal, before the distant stomp of approaching footsteps made her pale. The gait the recognisable, the tempo just a touch faster than its normal pace. “DON’T THINK HIDING BEHIND VIKTOR OR JAYCE WILL SAVE YOU NOW!” A booming voice hollered from down the hallway. 

Sky became frantic again. She redoubled her efforts.

Jayce very slowly lowered the sketchbook down to his lap, where the table would conceal it from view if anyone peered into the kitchenette. And Viktor just sighed as he got comfortable.

Heavy footsteps approached the laboratory door, which was then promptly kicked open, so fast that the door smacked into the opposite wall for the second time today. Y/n, brandishing a broom of all things, visibly seethed in the doorway. 

“Do you know how much <i>work</i> has gone into that sketchbook?” They demanded, more furious than Viktor had ever seen them before. “How many hours I’ve spent amongst those pages.” Sky looks appropriately guilty. “I know! And I’m so sorry I lost it, I really thought I was doing you a favour!”

Reader’s lip curls up into a furious snarl, eyes narrowing. “And I thought I told you to leave it alone!” They snarled.

“But they’re just so good. I seriously don’t think you should be hiding your talent. What if the right person managed to find it, like Councillor Medarda, imagine the connections-” “And how, pray tell, is Councillor Medarda, supposed to come across my sketchbook in the laboratory of all places.” Skye’s voice lowers. “Well, she does stop by to see Jayce often enough.”

Reader sighed heavily. "Side-stepping that poor excuse, because we both know you were just trying to embarrass me-" "I was not! They're good drawings!"

“Where is it Skye? For the final time.”

They stepped menacingly into the room then, broom clutched tightly in both hands, only to pause when a single sheet of paper slipped out of their pocket and fluttered to the ground. The action clearly held significance, because Sky winced.

Meanwhile, Reader took a deep, steadying breath, before slowly, calmly leaning down to pluck the paper off of the floor. It was only for a second, but Viktor could have sworn he saw yet ANOTHER sketch of him and Jayce, which HOW? They'd been with the pair of them in the lab ALL DAY!

“Now look at me, I’m shedding paper left and right without my sketchbook to keep all my thoughts ORGANISED!” “I’m sorry! I’ll buy you a new one.”

A groan. “Skye, that is NOT the point-!”

“Okay, okay! Time out! Let us all take a breath.” Viktor interjected to which both apprentice and Illustrator startled. 

Reader visibly seethed in place, whilst Sky just winced and ducked her head.

It was the former who spoke up first. “Sorry for the interruption.” They said sharply, eyes cutting over to Viktor and Jayce. To which Viktor just inclined his head, whilst Jayce very poorly concealed his guilty wince. Reader was too preoccupied with Sky however to notice as they turned back to her. “May we continue this debate outside? Preferably away from the workshops?” Skye seemed to shrink in on herself more. Eyes darting over to Viktor, then jumping up to Jayce. 

“Sky!”

“Only if you promise to stop yelling.” She demanded. 

Reader breathed out forcefully through their nostrils. Expression thinning out, shoulders easing, although the tightness to their jaw remained stubbornly present. “Fine.”

"Leave the broom!" Viktor called after them, to which Reader audibly groaned but let the broom in the lab before stepping out into the hall with Sky. The door clicked shut behind them. 

Jayce and Viktor shared a look and held their breaths. Waiting. Listening. The conversation that inevitably started up once the door closes was fast paced, but in the promised quieter tone. 

"I'm just going to-" Jayce began to say before motioning to the desks out in the main lab. Viktor shrugged, and allowed his partner to stand, sketchbook in hand, only for both of them to freeze when a loose slip of paper fell out.

"Oh no." Jayce said aloud as Viktor quickly pinned the sheet to the floor with the toe of his shoe, before it could drift away. "This is going to be adorable, isn't it?"

Viktor did not reply, as he stooping to pick it up. He turned it over, and he and Jayce collectively sighed as they discovered yet another sketch of the pair of them.

They're stood in front of the chalkboard, which seemed to be Reader's favourite place to draw them without being discovered. And it was clear from the way the pair were facing each other that they were deep in one of their debates. But what really caught the pair's attention, was the way that their drawn selves were looking at one another.

Viktor's with a small, knowing smile and a visible twinkle in his eye - which should have been an impossible thing to capture with merely a pencil. And Jayce's who was staring down at Viktor with an intensity in his eye and a playful lift of his eyebrows that spoke of challenge. They looked happy together. Feeding off one another's energy.

And it was startling that an outside perspective had managed to capture such a moment without either of them noticing.

"We don't get that absorbed in our debates, do we?" Jayce asked tightly, a soft look in his eye now as he gazed down at the sketch with reverence.

Viktor did not bother to deny it, because they both knew that they did. Here was a sketchbook stuffed with the evidence right before them.

Jayce tucked the sketch back between the pages, his expression complicated and yet oh so fond for someone who was no longer in the room with them.

Jayce and Viktor put the sketchbook back on Reader's desk, who later comes back in, visibly more subdued, and Sky nowhere in sight.

Viktor cracks a joke about them having stuffed her in a supply closet somewhere.

To which they reassure him that, "no, she had a meeting," and he would still have an apprentice turning up to work tomorrow.

Jayce looks up from his work, as does Viktor, when they make a beeline for their desk. In time to watch Reader stiffen when they see the little, black sketchbook placed neatly on top of their larger, official lab sketchbook. Then they lunge forward, snatching it up and flipping through the pages, shoulders loosening when all seems to be in order.

"You found it!"

"Viktor found it." Jauce interjected.

To which Viktor just preens and makes another joke about Sky thinking twice about getting between Reader and their belongings. He also throws in a compliment on the penmanship, just to see how Reader reacts.

To both of their surprises, Reader locks up at the compliment. “Please tell me you didn’t look though it.”

“I liked them." He said truthfully, "you certainly captured my likeness.” They groan and drop eye contact. 

“Please don’t joke about it.” They plead, “it was just anatomy practice. But I completely understand if it makes you uncomfortable-”

“Uncomfortable?" Viktor parrots back, shooting Jayce a look. "Why would it make us uncomfortable?" "You might feel watched?" Reader offers.

Jayce shrugs. Viktor waves off their concern.

Jayce, "can we put some up on the pin board?" "No. None of these are remotely good enough to be hung up on display!" Reader is quick to deny.

By the end of the day, there are three new papers pinned to the pin board above Jayce's desk. One drawn by each of them in the lab. A chicken scratch drawing of Jayce, courtesy of Viktor. A carefully, but wonkily drawn Reader, courtesy of Jayce. And a recognisable and remarkably good drawing of Viktor done by Reader.

(Yes, they had a drawing competition and sat in a circle around someone's desk, simultaneously posing for and drawing each other. The boys had to do some major convincing so that Reader didn't assume they were being made fun of. And they all ended up having a great time).

Next part

[luveline]

𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you have to find new ways to communicate when a cold leaves you voiceless. miguel is less than happy —featuring grumpy miguel and his cheerful spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 2.3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel's hackles hike as you appear. You have an obsession with toying with him and he's in the middle of something more important than your whims and wants.

"Don't start," he warns, barely looking at you. 

You point at yourself as if to say, Who, me? Grinning, you pull your arms behind your torso tightly, your shoulders harsh slopes where they'd usually be lax with calm. Your spider suit strains against the movement, shining with a subtle shimmer as you twirl your way into his side. You blink up at him, mock-innocent. 

"What did I just say?" he asks. 

He's expecting a charming rebuttal he doesn't get. You're awfully charismatic; Miguel often thinks you've manufactured a devilish siren call that yanks him in like a fish on a line no matter how hard he tries to split his lip and flee.

You're pretty, sure, but it isn't your looks that endear you to him. You have this way of speaking that's effortlessly carefree, despite the frankly ridiculous depth of the well that is your fondness for the world. It shouldn't make sense, and it does: you're happy because you love the world. When you speak to him, annoy him, praise him and degrade him in the same breath, Miguel thinks you might love him, too. 

You're silent. Miguel takes it as a blessing and finishes analysing the footage playing in front of him. He finishes as quickly as he can, and he's not a dick, he says, "Thank you." Then, with an unimpressed eyebrow raise, "Where have you been?" 

You come to see him so often he kind of forgot you didn't have to. He's taken you for granted, he knows, and after three days of not seeing you he should be happier. He should've asked you about it as soon as you appeared. 

You shrug and point at his screen. He can practically see the question mark in your eyes. 

"That's nothing. What, you're not speaking to me now?" he asks. 

Paper creaks in your hand as you pull a sketchbook from your pocket. Small, lilac, you flip to the first page and show him the scrawled message there with a rueful smile. 

Miguel's expecting a cartoon version of himself, but instead you've written three words. 

I have laryngitis. 

Miguel's gaze flickers between you and your book, assessing the claim with scepticism. "Why would you have that? You're practically impervious to disease." 

You flip to the next page. 

Superbug from Earth-87222 defeated my enhanced healing.

One of your Peter Parker friends lives there. He isn't jealous (because he knows that particular Peter doesn't like girls). "And you can't talk?" he asks. 

The next page. I can't talk.

You tuck the book to your chest. Lips parted, you attempt to speak, but all that comes out is hot air and a cruel croaking scratch that makes his chest ache. 

"Don't hurt yourself," he says, softer than he'd been speaking beforehand. He can't decide whether to glare at you or pull you in for a hug. If he hugs you, you might attach yourself to him like that thing from Alien. He glares. "You could've told me." 

You gesture to your throat. I can't speak. 

"That you were sick, you know how to type. You bother me every day for weeks and then one day you stop showing up, and you don't answer your watch, what am I supposed to think?" 

You stare up at him dreamily. He swears you get off on being scolded half the time. 

Miguel takes your wrist into his hand and turns your wristband forward to showcase the screen. "You see this? You see when my prompt comes up? You could take ten seconds and hit me back." 

Again, you open your small sketchbook, turning to a fourth page. You've predicted him well.

I didn't want to worry you. Don't be mad, handsome, you'll get more wrinkles. 

"Tu sabes todo," he fumes. You know everything. "If you're so smart, you can help me recalibrate the pocket dimension storage." 

You flip a page. It's finally a drawing rather than a knowing line, your familiar artistry obvious in your weighted linework and rushed shading. It's Miguel, his expression one he isn't sure you would've actually seen to reference as well as you have, lovingly concerned with a speech bubble coming from beside his softly rendered hair. Get well soon, cariño. 

He scoffs. "You seem fine to me." 

In truth, you don't seem fine. Now he knows, he can see evidence of your days away. Your lips are chapped under the balm you've applied, your hair dishevelled (though it's often unruly, in line with your personality). You wince when you breathe too hard. Miguel lowers the platform and sets you up next to him on a workbench in the back of the laboratory beside him for purely professional purposes. He has to make sure you're doing the calibration correctly, that's all. 

He can't quite explain away the tea he gets for you from the cafeteria, nor the research he does on the way back to you, Lyla at his shoulder saying, "You're such a softie." 

You find you don't need the sketchbook to communicate. Miguel places your tea down and your smile alone is thanks enough. It's pure reverential delight. He doesn't really deserve it, so he pretends he doesn't see. 

When you need help with a recalibration, you take his wrist gently. You don't even need to point at the screen, the subtle uptilt of your brows enough clue.

"Here, you're almost there," he murmurs under his breath, distracted by the complicated code you've been editing in the corner of the screen. "Oh, is this what you do when I'm not looking?" 

You tug his elbow. 

"No? You're not messing around?" he asks, rolling his eyes. "You think I'm stupid." 

Your fingers tighten. Miguel clicks a couple of things to finish the calibration. He looks at you from over his shoulder. Your face is near. It radiates heat. He bites the tip of his gloved finger and yanks it off clean to press the back of his naked hand to your forehead. 

"You're warm," he says, patting carefully downward. Your skin is as hot as he'd worried. 

Miguel drops his hand without rush, the side of his pinky tracing down your cheek. "Maybe you shouldn't be here." 

You shake your head vehemently. There's something in it he doesn't understand, an uncharacteristic shyness. He supposes he'd feel the same if he were sick like this, but you have no reason to be ashamed of a bad cold.

"Enough calibration, then. Take it easy." 

You do not take it easy. Your first port of call is to request to share his screen. He grants you permission and rescinds it soon after, irked when the majority of his monitor becomes wallpapered by digital post it note drawings of him looking cranky and of you in a crown, a ship's captain's hat, standing on the moon. He sets them each back to the perimeter of his window and tries to work. Trust you to find ways to bother him without teasing aloud. 

He thinks that… but then, his hands falter over the keyboard. You aren't a bother. You irritate him but he kind of likes it, most of the time. He turns his head just enough to see your face, blue and white light kissing your skin. You glow. 

Miguel thinks about how he used to do this alone. Lyla on his shoulder when she felt like it but usually tinkering in the quiet, trying to stop the end of the world, the pressure akin to how Atlas himself must have felt, knees locked and arms braced above his head to stop the Earth falling into the black abyss. Miguel doesn't always know what he's being punished for (or, he didn't). He doesn't know why this ended up on his plate, but the panic of doing it alone ebbs every day. With you by his side, unshakeable if not unfailing, it feels less like a death sentence and more like a problem that needs solving. He can't save everyone, but he can try. He can't stomach the agony of his life if he thinks about the past; you make it easy to stay present. 

Who would he rather have here than you? Out of everyone living that he knows, you're the only person he could stand to sit with for this long. 

It's not the same without your voice. Your murmurings, your kind doting, your put upon and less-so confusion. He misses it more than he can say in that moment, worse when you feel his eyes and turn to face him with a soft smile. 

Everything okay? you ask without asking. 

You don't need to speak. He can see it on your face. 

Miguel gets up from his bench to tower over you. Without giving it too much thought, he bends down, wrapping his right arm behind your shoulders, the left loose over your front, and kisses your forehead with the barest of pressures. It's hardly a kiss at all, and it makes no noise. More like he's resting his lips there, his nose at your hairline, breathing in. His hand rubs an up and down of its own accord into your upper arm, the soft fat of it melding under his touch. 

Your head dips back invitingly. You're like butter in the sun at his touch, a slow melting. 

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll deny it," he says quietly. 

You snort. You give his arm a pat and reach over it to grab your sketchbook. Miguel straightens but doesn't remove his arms, watching as you flick to the right page. 

I can't talk, the page says. You beam at him.

"I see," Miguel says. "You think it's funny because you couldn't tell if you wanted to." 

Your answering hum comes with the feeling of your fingers latching onto his elbow. Exactly. 

Well, fuck it. If you can't tell anyone, Miguel might as well send it. He leans down to grab you up into his hold, a squeezing hug that says everything he wanted to tell you while you were gone, his worry for you and his annoyance at your lack of communication. You don't need audible words to tell him things, and Miguel doesn't need words either. Hopefully his arms around you and his nose digging too rough into your temple says how he feels plainly. 

"I figured you got sick of taking orders," he confesses. You got sick of me. "When you didn't come back." 

You refuse to act small —Miguel doesn't want you to—, standing despite the weight he'd been resting on you, turning in the circle of his arms to look up into his eyes. It's too much, Miguel doesn't want your face this close to his, not with the rawness of his feelings aching a trail up between each of his rib bones, one by one. He clenches his jaw. 

Your hand climbs to his ear. He stays very still. As the initiator he should be forgiving, but your fingers touch his ear and he contemplates sinking his teeth into your hand. You stroke hair away from his face with a dramatised expression that says it's in the way, pesky stuff, though the final fond tuck of it behind the shell of his ear is impossible to deny.

Your thumb rubs his earlobe. 

"Are you having fun?" he asks dryly.

Your nod is sincere. Enthusiastic, you start to ease your fingertips into the thick tresses of his hair. 

Miguel grabs your wrist in an iron grip. 

"Enough." 

He guesses more than knows what your pout means —that isn't fair. 

"Life isn't fair," he says, pressing your forearm to your chest, an action fraught with apology. It's ridiculous how much can be said without words. He'd like for you to get your voice back solely to end this confusing misery. Well, not solely… Miguel misses the sound of it, distinct as your lopsided smiles and unconventional hand movements. "You can file a complaint just as soon as you get your voice back, how's that?" 

You roll your eyes and sit back down on your bench. Miguel takes a lap around the laboratory to calm down, returning to a new program blinking on computer his taskbar to be opened. 

He doesn't give you the satisfaction of looking your way as he opens it. 

"Miguel!" The program chirps, in a voice jarringly close to yours but not nearly as sophisticated as the majority of language intelligence he uses in his own coding. "I was waiting for you, handsome! Where have you been? Now you're back, I have a very special song to sing for you. Sing along if you know this one! Alright… Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer! You take one down, pass it around, ninety nine bottles of beer…"

Miguel realises he can't mute or close the program shortly thereafter. Vocaloid you counts down to sixty one bottles of beer by the time he resigns to turning off his computer altogether, a headache twinging angrily behind his eyes. 

Maybe he could use a break from your voice after all. 

You giggle breathlessly at him as he drops his face into his hands. 

"Drink your tea," he orders, words muffled by his palms.

He doesn't look up. There's the sound of a big sip. Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He's kidding himself —the sooner you get your voice back, the better. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober Day 9: Body Worship

DBF!Jim Hopper x Artist!Fem!Reader

Summary: Hooper becomes your muse.

Warnings: age gap (Hopper 40s, Reader 20s), unethical relationship, cheating, c*ck worship, cum eating, cumming untouched, facef*cking, body worship, hopper has a big one (i know it), dacryphilia

You’re sitting at your dining room table sketching away when you felt a heavy hand on your head, tussling your hair. You quickly place your arms over your work, looking back at the unexpected guest with an anxious smile.

Hopper gives you a warm genuine smile. He’d come over for dinner by your father’s invitation with his girlfriend, Joyce Byers. When you learned of his relationship status, you were quite disappointed to say the least. You want to be happy for him as he appears to be a lot healthier and happier but because he’s not with you, it doesn’t settle right. Because of this you ignored him the entire night.

“Hey, kid,” He says with a soft chuckle at your startled look. His eyes squint at the way you hid your sketchbook. “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” You sigh, trying to feign indifference. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“No, I’m really curious,” He insists, sitting in a chair to face you. “I always care for your art.”

You clutched the book to your chest before slowly releasing it for him to take. It’s erotica art. The male vampire lover similar-looking to Hopper feeding from the breast of a woman similar-looking to you.

“That’s pretty good stuff.” He says, much to your surprise.

“I-it is.”

“Yeah,” He laughs. “Is this why you were afraid to show me?”

Your eyes bug out of your head. Did he catch on that the drawing looks similar to him? It’s so obvious! Of course, he knows.

“Because of a little nudity?” He continues. So he didn’t catch on, after all.

“Well, yeah,” You follow through with his observation. “People tend to get a bit uncomfortable with nudity so I didn’t want to do that to you.”

“I don’t mind nudity especially when it comes to incredible art like yours. The human body’s a natural thing.”

“Exactly! That’s actually the concept I’m going for with my art. Natural bodies, sexualities, and kinks. It’s about what makes humans find beauty and attraction or lack thereof beyond the human flesh.”

“I think it’s brilliant. Maybe a little above my intelligence level but I know you’ve got it.”

“Actually, I think you might be the only one who understands around here,” You admit. “My parents…they just think this whole art thing’s unsustainable. But I think with this art installation project coming up, I can prove them wrong. Do you…do you think you can help me, Sheriff Hopper?”

“How could I help?” He asks.

“Be my muse, pretty please.”

And when he agreed he’d no clue what he’d signed himself up for. For you to be so bold to ask your father’s best friend to be your muse when it meant seeing him in the nude, he couldn’t fathom you asking such a thing. And yet now here he was in your small studio contemplating on whether he should go through with removing the remainder of his clothing.

You place your pencil down onto the canvas’s utensil holder, approaching his tall frame. “What’s wrong? Do you need help taking off your pants?”

He swallows convulsively. “When I said I’d be your muse, I thought you just needed me to hold a quick pose…fully clothed.”

“My art concept’s about natural bodies, Sheriff,” You grab unto the waist band of his jeans that had been slightly undone to reveal his white boxers. You drag his pants down a little to where his rather sizable member rests above the open fly. He’s growing hard. “You knew that though. It’s exactly why you agreed to becoming my muse—so I can worship you.”

You palm him through his underwear and he groans, taking your hand away to place them over his hairy chest.

“I knew you as a teenager.” He protests.

“I was 19.” You roll your eyes, using your free hand to hook into his underwear and pull him closer.

“Your father wouldn’t approve.” He argues, a moan bubbling in his throat when you begin to kiss on his chest and swirl a tongue around his nipple. He squeezes your hand a little, releasing as if it is an expression of his diminishing restraint.

You pull away with a wet pop, a line of saliva connecting as you stare up at him with doe eyes. “When have I ever cared what my father approves of?”

“I have a girlfriend.” He counters.

You move your lips to his ear, hotly whispering, “So do I.”

Your lips find each other’s in a sloppy make out session of tongues and clashing teeth. Your hands roam his body, caressing his belly then slipping down his underwear to jerk him off. Even though, you can’t see it, you can tell that it’s not only deathly thick and long but super veiny, too, with a wicked curve. No wonder Joyce had been limping all throughout dinner that day.

You break away from his lips, peppering wet kisses all over his stomach and dipping your tongue in his bellybutton. When you’re finally on your knees, you rub the base of him through the fabric. You bite your lip in anticipation as you finally take initiative and pull him out of his confines, mouth dropping open at the look of him. Just as veiny as you thought with heavy, sagging balls to match. You’re drooling, licking your lips and staring up at him one last time before focusing your eyes on the leaking tip and enclosing your mouth around him.

He cradles the back of your head with one hand while the other pounds a fist against your not-so-high ceilings, a loud growl escaping his clenched teeth.

You bob your head quickly, dramatically gagging on him and its loud and messy but neither of you care. Soon, he’s fucking your mouth both hands interlocked on the back of your head while you do a mix of massaging his clothed thick thighs or raking your sharp nails down his pudgy tummy. Tears prick your eyes as you struggle to take him but you’ll take whatever he gives you even if it kills you.

You don’t even need to touch yourself as the juices flow out of you, streaming down your inner thighs. You’re humping the air, core contracting around nothing as his whines are the only thing fueling you to near your end.

“Fuuuck, I’m cumming.” He hisses, rapid final thrusts of his wide cock into your mouth. He holds you down, your nose embedded in his pubic hair and you taste his hot spunk shoot down your throat. Just from that, you cum untouched, the act of being used so filthily making it possible.

You’re limited in breathing as you inhale through your nose and your jaw hurts but it’s all worth it as your eyes roll back and you quiver as much as your body could under his hold.

He finally releases your head, pulling his cock out of your wet mouth with webs of saliva to follow as you gasp for air.

“Was I inspiring enough for you?” He asks cockily.

Your throat itches as you let out a low giggle. “You’re perfect.”

[bisexualbrainrots]

I remember oliver mentioning that lou had been nervous when they shot the first kiss scene and that got me thinking thoughts, trailer thoughts... this turned out a bit sweeter than what I'm used to with louliver. also, tagging @cjlouwho because she rotted my brain with louliver.

The knock on the door startled Lou. He had been really focused on his sketch, so much so that he tuned out the world around him for the time being.

He stood up, and a kind smile appeared on his lips when he opened the door of his trailer and saw Oliver Stark.

It hasn't been that bad to work with the kid, he was focused and serious about his craft, which he could respect, although he still wasn't used to the way his humor worked. Maybe it was the British thing.

“Hey”

“Hi, uh...” his eyes trailed off to the charcoal dust that had gotten his hands dirty, and looked at him curiously “Is this a bad time?”

Lou looked down and noticed his hands and chuckled “No! Not at all, come in!”

Oliver walked around, taking in the surroundings of the trailer that had been given to Lou, and noticed the open sketchbook on one of the tables “I didn't know you drew” his fingers brushed over the page and Lou just wanted to to take his wrist and pull him away from the drawing.

Lou tilted his head, shifting his body from side to side “I mostly paint actually, but you can't really bring paint and a canvas here, right?” he laughed nervously when he noticed Oliver had barely given him a half smile, but kept his gaze on him.

The younger took one last look around the room to turn his eyes back on Lou, and lifted what looked like the script up to the side of his face “Remember I asked if we could run some lines together?”

He nodded, finally walking towards Oliver instead of just staying there, standing on the closed door, “Right! Sorry about that, sometimes when I sketch I get into a sort of—”

“Trance? Yeah I figured” he chuckled and got closer to Lou, and pushed the script onto his chest “So, I was thinking we could practice the kiss scene, if you were okay with that”

Lou stiffened. It's not like he had problems kissing a man (nobody should know about it, he reminded himself), but the thought of his father getting to watch that sent shivers down his spine.

The thought of the world seeing the son of the Hulk kiss a man made him want to curl into a ball.

Oliver arched his brow, looking at him in confusion “You're... Not okay with it...?”

Lou quickly shook his head, shoving down the reasons deep inside his heart “It's not that! It's just I...” he sighed, looking at his sketchbook, the desire to create burning on his fingertips.

“You've never kissed a guy before?” Oliver looked at him a bit surprised, like the thought had crossed his mind more than once.

He was about to be honest, share a piece of his truth, but instead chose to go with a lie “Yeah, uh, it's not something I'm used to, if you know what I mean”

Oliver nodded, a sympathetic smile crossing his lips “Hey, it's not a big deal” he said stepping into Lou's space, their chests separated by the pages “If you close your eyes there's not really a difference, Lou”

Lou looked at him dumbfounded, he didn't know what to make of it.

Has Oliver kissed guys before? Had he like it? Would he be fine with kissing him?

He didn't know why that excited him, but his chest did that funny thing where he felt like it was about to explode, and tilted his head at the younger “Really? Wouldn't like... This make a difference?” he gestured at his stubble, and Oliver chuckled.

He liked the sound of that.

“Maybe, but in the end is just lips” he smiled, tilting his head at the older “I heard that you talked to Tim about changing this, the scene”

Lou nodded and took the script from Oliver's hands, looking for the kiss scene “Yeah, uh, I didn't think a make out scene would be appropriate for this kiss I mean... This is Buck's first kiss with a guy, it shouldn't be...”

“Too much?” Oliver finished, and Lou nodded, sort of grateful that he understood his predicament with the writing, “I get it Lou, you wanted to make it more intimate for them” Lou nodded, smiling at the younger “I really like change, did you have a plan on how to go over it?”

Lou's smile turned a bit playful, he had been thinking about all the little details he wanted to add to the kiss “I actually did, uh, I thought about this thing where I'd grab Buck's chin to guide him in? Would that be okay?”

They didn't have time for a chemistry read, so both actors took it upon themselves to practice their scenes the best they could alone, which helped in moments like this.

He noticed Oliver's eyes seemed to sparkle at the idea, and the blue in them slowly disappeared, covered by the darkness of his pupils.

“That... That would be good” Lou asked himself if he was seeing things, because there was no way Oliver Stark gulped and looked like he had lost all the air in his lungs.

Lou bit his lower lip and ducked his head to read the script “So... You wanna go about it now?” Oliver nodded frantically, and they got to it.

They stepped aside, ending on opposite ends of the trailer. As they ran their lines they got closer, just like their characters were supposed to, but Lou felt it was different somehow. Like it wasn't Buck and Tommy but them doing this.

The closeness of their bodies excited Lou, which he couldn't show because that's not how his character was like. He had to remind himself he is not Tommy Kinard, he's just an actor paid to do his job.

But it was hard not to go there when Oliver was giving him those heart eyes, when his energy pulled him in like a magnet, making him almost ditch the script and kiss him for real. Kiss him as Lou and not Tommy.

He focused back on the scene where Buck went about maiming his best friend, and when Oliver kept going like he was supposed to Lou took him by the chin and closed his eyes before joining their lips.

Oliver's body twitched and, oh my god was that sound a...? It took him less than a second but he returned the kiss, a kiss that ended very quickly for the liking of both men.

Lou's eyes were still closed, and he only opened them when his co star called his name. He wasn't ready for that sight though.

Oliver looked ecstatic, his eyes dazed like he was drunk on the kiss. There was a blush creeping up his cheeks and his lips, my god, Lou wanted to dive in and kiss those pink lips again.

But he had to contain himself. Even when he noticed the black smudge on Oliver's chin and it made him feel like his entire body was on fire.

“Uh... Sorry” he chuckled nervously, the younger's gaze still locked on him “W-was that okay Oliver?”

Oliver nodded slowly, his eyes now drifted towards Lou's mouth “Yeah, uh... That was really good Lou... The chin thing really works”

Lou's brain shortcircuited, and he thought fuck it, grabbing Oliver by the back of the neck and pulling him closer, lips brushing, “Yeah, the... The other idea I had was this, you know, grabbing Buck by the neck, do you... Do you think he'd like it?”

Lou knew he was playing with fire, this wasn't a rehearsal anymore this was just them.

Oliver nodded, beaming for the first time since he met him “Yeah, yeah, he really would, I mean who wouldn't–”

Like their characters in the show, Lou kissed Oliver to shut him up, which was funny given that in real life the older was much more like Buck in that sense, talking nonstop.

Oliver kissed him back quicker this time, and Lou relished on the feeling of younger's lips. He knew this wasn't in character anymore, but he didn't care, not when he wanted to play a bit with the younger.

Biting Oliver's lower lip got him a moan and the opportunity to slide his tongue in, which his co star took happily.

Lou's other hand found its way in the curve of Oliver's waist, holding onto it tightly. The younger, on the other hand, had his hands gripping on the older's hip, pulling him closer and closer until their bodies were flushed together.

None of them noticed they moved until Oliver made a sound because his lower back had been hit with the table. It didn't make it weird nonetheless, not when Lou's hand lowered from Oliver's waist to his thigh, grabbing and pulling it towards his hip.

Oliver groaned when he felt Lou grinding against him and returned the motion enthusiastically, with one of his hands supporting his weight on the table.

He started to slide his other hands inside Lou's shirt when they heard the door being knocked, forcing them out of their kiss.

“Lou?” a female voice the older still didn't recognize well called out his name, and made him look towards the closed door.

“Yeah? Who calls?” his hand was still gripping Oliver's thigh, now drawing circles on it with his thumb.

“It's Sarah from Hair and Makeup, we need you on the chair now” Oliver looked at him pleadingly, his eyes begging him not to leave right now as his hand played with the hem of his shirt.

But he needed to go.

He couldn't be a pain in the ass of the team, not when he was just a guest star.

So reluctantly he stepped aside, and the warmth that had built between them was met with the cool air of the AC, sending shivers down his spine.

“In a minute” he knew his voiced sounded wrecked, and he thanked the universe when the woman agreed and heard her stepping away from the trailer.

His eyes went back to Oliver who had a grim on his face “You really are leaving?” Lou closed his eyes for a second when he felt the younger's hands on his chest.

He really didn't want to go.

“Not everyone has the privilege of being a main Oliver” he chuckled and kissed his co star's cheek, making him smile “That's more like it”

Oliver rolled his eyes and hit him lightly on the chest, grabbing his pec “Okay, go, they don't like to wait” he leaned in and nuzzled their noses together “I think they're gonna get mad when they see your hands like that”

Lou laughed softly “Not as much as they're gonna hate to clean the smudge off your chin and neck Oli”

Oliver's eyes widened, a ‘what’ escaping his lips as he moved towards the closest mirror, laughing mischievously when he saw his face “Oh you are so gonna pay for this later Lou” he looked at him, a promise in those words.

Later.

He liked that.

“I'm counting on that, see ya Oliver” he laughed as he opened the door of his trailer, stepping out towards Hair and Makeup.

He didn't want to think about the implications of what just happened, not when he was feeling so giddy inside.

read on AO3

[leona-hawthorne]

I HATE IT HERE. mattheo riddle

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; in which mattheo is an artist in a businessman’s world… inspired by ‘i hate it here’ by taylor swift words ; 905 warning ; swearing

navigation mattheo riddle masterlist

Overhearing crunchy footsteps walking through the fallen autumn leaves, Mattheo snaps his sketchbook shut in fear that some random person would accidentally see his innermost thoughts. He’d been drawing by the Black Lake like he usually did when the voices in his head got too loud. Normally, no one else came out here to bother him, but it appeared that today was unlucky.

“Mattheo?” Oh, it was you who was coming to bother him. Guess his day wasn’t so unlucky, after all.

Taking a seat beside him with your back resting against the large tree behind you, you turn your head to look at him and place a kiss on his cheek.

“Did you just get bored or did something happen that made you feel the need to come out here?” You ask, looking down to watch as he mindlessly intertwines your fingers with his.

“How’d you even know I was here?”

“Answer my question.”

”Fine. Both.” He answers, his voice sounding strained as if he’d had the most tiring day of his life.

“You know I’m here to listen, right?” Trying to add to the reassurance, you give his hand a little squeeze. He sighs.

“I don’t wanna burden you. You’re always listening to my fucking problems.”

You can almost physically feel your heart clench at his words. Your sweet boy could never be a burden to you and frankly, it hurt to know that he thought of himself in that way.

“Talk to me.” Your tone is soft but there's something in your voice that makes it clear you aren’t leaving until he tells you everything.

“I just had a really fucking bad day.” He admits in a dismissive voice, as if it’s no big deal, like you shouldn’t worry about him. “And when I was in Potions, some people started talking about what they’re gonna do after they graduate.”

Your brows furrow and you nod in understanding as you let that sink in. It’s never been a secret that Mattheo didn’t exactly know what he was going to do after school ended, but you didn’t realize how badly that fact got to his head.

“That bothered you?” The answer to that question is obvious but still, there was an underlying need to ask it.

“Yes!” He snaps, his eyes burning with uncertainty and he takes a breath to calm himself before continuing. “It was all ‘I’m gonna be a Ministry worker,’ or ‘I’m gonna be an auror,’ or ‘teacher’ or whatever and I just… God, Y/n, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

You wanted nothing more than to help him, but you simply couldn’t. It’s not like anything you could say would miraculously make him realize what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

“Everything is so… dull and monochromatic. I don’t want to live in a world where I work 9 to 5 everyday in a cubicle. I just…. I hate it here.”

The mere possibility of living such a tight scheduled, boring, small life suffocated him every minute of everyday. He wanted more. He wanted to see the world, he wanted to be creative, he wanted to bring his dreams to fruition. He refused to become part of the system.

He was an artist at heart. Not many people knew that about him, but you did. He was lucky enough to be born with the ability to extract inspiration from anything in his sights. You, his friends, a song, an animal, architecture. Shit, even a random stranger he meets on the street could get the gears in his beautifully intricate mind to start turning.

Mattheo couldn't go ten minutes without feeling the urge to dump his thoughts onto a blank canvas. Talking wasn’t enough, he needed to create, he needed to use his hands.

His innovation is one of his best traits, one of your favorite things about him, and the idea of him ever giving it up was truly devastating. Taking a good while to think of what to say, you fidget around with his fingers in your hand.

“There’s so much out there, Mattheo. You don't need to conform to what the world wants you to do. I mean come on, you’ve never been one to follow the rules anyway.” You tell him.

“What am I gonna do?” He murmurs as he looks out at the lake, his voice filled with a deep sense of yearning.

“I don’t know. But I’ll be here to help you figure it out. I’ll be here with you for the rest of your life, if you’ll have me.” You whisper as he leans his head on your shoulder, his curls tickling the crook of your neck.

He scoffs, tightening his grip on your hand and snuggling his head deeper into your neck. “Are you stupid? Why would that even be a question? No dreams are worth living out if you’re not in them.”

“Good. ‘Cause you’re not getting rid of me.” You lean your head onto his. “I hate it here too but… It’s not so bad when you’re with me. Can I see what you were drawing?”

With an embarrassed blush flushing his cheeks, he hands you his sketchbook and you open up to the most recent page to find an extremely detailed illustration of… you.

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

the tortured poets department is really just on repeat 24/7. dare i say… her saddest album? anyways, i love the headcanon that mattheo loves to draw so i thought this would be sweet <3

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 29 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You dare not put it down on the big tablet on your easel where John will see, but you can’t stop yourself from drawing it out in your smaller sketchbook-journal that is easier to squirrel away under clutter, putting down marks like you mean to exorcise her from your memory. You draw her like a ghost in her field of happy white flowers, and write in the margins in your looping script, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make him forgive you. You want me to save him but I don’t know how. I don’t fucking know how.

Maybe she’ll actually hear your plea and do something useful about it, like haunt John’s dreams instead of yours.

Maybe you’re losing your damn mind. 

You find that either way, you’re not brave enough to mention her to your captor again.

She becomes an obsession, and you keep drawing her in your little sketchbook. You’ve only ever seen one picture of her. It was in the den, but has since disappeared. Still, you feel you know the lines of her face, the brightness of her eyes. You go back to your old fixation with the ladies of Mucha, sketching her out as the Lady of the Daisies with flowing auburn hair surrounded by her stylized flowers and flowing lines.

You strive to cover your true fixation by putting down anything as quickly as you can on the easel, knowing your captor will be by for inspection. You draw sunflowers, your favorite summer bloom, something fun but you can do with your eyes closed with colorful, juicy strokes of oil pastels. You hope to keep John off the scent of the book that holds your heartfelt neuroses that you bury under piles of all your new art supplies and anything else you can find.

It was stupid, of course, to think you could really hide anything from him.

One day you find him in the chair with his legs crossed, perusing your sketch journal with one of those magnificent thunderheads of a frown.

You are certain you are fucked, when he asks, “Is this your idea of a joke?”

Trembling as you imagine what he’s going to do to you for this infraction, you answer truthfully, “No.”

He closes the book with a snap, crossing the floor to stand before you, his powerful body moving deceptively slow, the way a tiger appears slothful in the jungle.

You know he can snap you up with one bite.

You cannot stop shaking, as he peers down that straight nose at you, pinning you with black eyes that somehow burn. He does not touch you, but God. He sees everything. You just know that he sees everything, and you find you are terrified of how he’ll react.  

“Have you been snooping through my things?”

“No.” The irony of him holding your sketch diary is not lost on you, but wisely you hold your tongue.

“How did you know what she looked like?”

“You had a picture out of her, ages ago.” At least, it felt like a like a lifetime ago.

“How did you know about the daisies?”

Now you know he’s going to flip his shit. It sounds fucking absurd, even to you. Your voice can barely rasp past what feels like dried twigs in your throat to whisper, “I saw them in a dream.”

You expect him to scoff and call you a liar. But he just searches your face, his eyes a little too wild for your liking. Here we go. He’d been damn near stable the past few days, but surely this will set him off.

You close your eyes, unable to watch the unfolding of your doom. This is it. He’s going to lock you up forever. You’ll never see the light of day again. The trembling in your frame kicks up to ten, and you hug yourself just to have something to hold on to.

When his next question comes, he could push you over with a feather.

“What does she say?”

You shake your head, realizing your cheeks are wet with tears.

“Nothing. She just…offers me the flower.” Going for broke you add, “She looks so sad.”

It is the sound of tearing paper that opens your eyes; with horror you find John making confetti of your art nouveau sketch that took hours to do. However, any protest dies on your lips—if destroying the drawing appeases him, maybe he won’t take it out on you.

Without another word, just a hard look, he stalks from the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall do you let out the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your knees quivering like leaves in a storm.

However, you are not foolish enough to believe you’re in the clear just yet.

-Later, there is no dinner. You find the kitchen cold and empty. Not sure what to make of this, you graze in the fridge, before returning to your bedroom. Not sure where John has gotten off to, you shower, then go to bed, finding yourself lying awake in the dark without him beside you, almost itchy without his steady presence in the evening at your side.

Part of it might be that you fear something is brewing, and you can’t stand the waiting…but part of it might simply be that you miss him, as fucked up as that is.

In the end, against your better judgement, you go looking.

You search the house, until the only room that is left is the garage. Silently you open the door, slipping through without a sound. You too are learning how to move quiet as a wraith. The smell of rubber and oil assaults your nostrils. Classic rock is playing low on the radio. In the far bay, the hood of the Mustang is open, and John is bent over inside, wrenching on something and muttering to himself. There is a partially empty bottle of Blanton’s Bourbon on the workbench behind him, and an empty glass.

Unable to stop yourself from committing what perhaps might prove to be suicide, you creep to the other side of the Land Rover, using it as cover as you eavesdrop on this man grumbling to the ghost of his deceased wife.  

“What do you want from me? I loved you. I loved you with every fucking fiber of my being, but you left me. I died with you the day you left me, and she is the only thing that makes me feel alive again. I need her, and she never would have come to me on her own. She never would have stayed. She never would have stayed.”

He says this to himself over and over, and it wrenches your heart, because you know it isn’t true.

You think you manage to creep back out again without him noticing, Led Zeppelin on the radio disguising the sound of the door.

When at last he comes to bed and wraps you in his arms, holding you too hard for comfort, you feign sleep, smelling the bourbon fumes on his breath. You can’t help but tense, wondering if he will forget his promise this deep in his cups.

But he just sighs into your hair, crushing you as he pulls you even closer, and you don’t know why it breaks your heart all over again.

[aventurineswife]

College AU

Reader, Kaveh and Alhaitham are roommates in the same apartment and reader sometimes has the moment where they just sit/stand across the room from Kaveh while he is busy with something and yknow stare at him with that lovestruck look cuz they pining hard on that beautiful, amazing, gorgeous bbg.

And Alhaitham had caught on the fact that reader had been crushing on Kaveh for months (a very massive crush) and he just bluntly tells them one day to just say it. And reader freaks out a bit like "Whaaa? Pffft noooo, I dont...dont see him like that, ahahahaha, pls dont spill the beans...."

The rest is up to you 🤭

“If Only You Knew” | Part 1

Summary: You share an apartment with Kaveh, the charming and passionate architect, and Alhaitham, his blunt and logical friend. You've developed a massive crush on Kaveh, and sometimes, you just can’t help but stare at him with lovestruck admiration. Alhaitham, having caught onto your feelings, encourages you to confess, but you brush it off, panicking at the thought of Kaveh finding out. Though you remain the quiet admirer for now, Alhaitham’s words linger, and maybe someday, you’ll gather the courage to reveal the truth.

Tags: College AU, Modern AU, Fluff, Unrequited (but Mutual) Pining, Roommates, Love Confessions (eventual), Slow Burn, Alhaitham Being Observant, Kaveh x Reader, Humor, Light Angst, Crushes

Warnings: Mild language, secondhand embarrassment, unrequited pining (for now), Alhaitham’s blunt honesty

A/N: OMG ITS MY BEAUTIFUL ARCHITECT WIFE KAVEHHH 😍🤭💖 and his roomate... 😐

Part 2

You sat on the edge of the couch, textbook open on your lap, but your attention was decidedly not on the words. Instead, your gaze was fixed on Kaveh, who was sitting at the dining table, his messy sketchbooks and architectural plans spread out around him like the aftermath of a storm. He was fully engrossed, his blond hair falling into his eyes as he leaned over a drawing with that intense, focused look you’d come to adore.

For a moment, you just watched him. His hand moved in practiced strokes, a small smile appearing every so often, as if he was admiring his own work. You didn’t blame him; everything he created was beautiful, a reflection of the way he saw the world. You loved watching his passion, how he became so absorbed in it. Maybe one day, you'd tell him how he looked like an artwork himself, surrounded by ideas that only he could bring to life. For now, though, you’d just stare across the room, hoping he wouldn’t notice the soft, lovesick expression you probably wore.

Unfortunately, someone did notice.

"You're staring again," came a low, matter-of-fact voice from beside you.

You jumped, realizing that Alhaitham had somehow materialized in the living room without you noticing. His usual unreadable expression was tinged with a faint smirk, like he was privy to some secret.

"I—uh—what?" you stammered, trying to act casual as you quickly turned back to your textbook. "I was just...thinking. About, uh, architecture! Yeah. Architecture is...fascinating."

Alhaitham didn’t look convinced. He simply raised an eyebrow, glanced over at Kaveh, who was still oblivious, and then back at you. "You know, you could just tell him," he said bluntly. "Your crush on him isn’t exactly subtle."

Heat flooded your face. "Whaaa? Pffft, nooo, I don’t...I don’t see him like that," you protested, sounding embarrassingly unconvincing even to yourself. "I just...he’s an inspiring person. A friend (okay Adrien-). I admire his...dedication and stuff."

Alhaitham stared at you, unimpressed. "I see," he replied, deadpan. "Admiration. Is that why you’ve been looking at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen for the past six months?"

You buried your face in your hands. "Alhaitham, please, don’t spill the beans..." you whispered, mortified. If Kaveh found out...you didn’t even want to think about it. You were sure he’d laugh it off or worse, get awkward about it. The thought alone was enough to make you want to disappear.

Alhaitham sighed, sitting down next to you. "You know, you might be surprised. Kaveh isn’t as dense as you think," he said, voice softening just a little. "You’re giving him too little credit. Besides, the worst he’ll do is make an emotional speech about unrequited love and how tragic it is."

You could almost imagine it. Kaveh, in all his dramatic glory, would probably get poetic about it, turn it into some grand tale of forbidden romance. You chuckled, even as the nerves twisted your stomach.

But then Kaveh’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Hey, what’s so funny?”

You looked up, startled to see him looking at you, curiosity lighting up his bright red eyes. The blush that had only barely started to fade returned with a vengeance. "Oh! Uh...just something silly." you mumbled, trying desperately to avoid Alhaitham’s knowing gaze.

Kaveh chuckled, his attention back on his sketches. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one around here with a sense of humor. Alhaitham is no fun.”

“Thank you.” Alhaitham said dryly, glancing at you with a small smile.

You spent the rest of the evening nervously trying to play it cool, but every so often, Alhaitham’s words would echo in your mind, making your heart beat just a little faster. Maybe one day, you’d find the courage to tell Kaveh how you really felt. For now, though, you were content to stay right here, as his silent, hopeless admirer.

Honestly this just reminded me of MLB 💀

I should really go study for my exams and finish my homeworks...😔😔

And now I want to write something suggestive but idk what 😪👁️👁️so send in your requests with what and who you want to do your fantasy with

[yourstruly9489]

Distortion Fanart (michael centered)

(saturated version on the left, og on right)

This is long, so a break before closeups start!

Closeups:

Text reads "The Distortion" (the o has a spiral inside of it)

More closeups but the doors on the left page are open, left to right, top to bottom:

Text reads: That was very stupid

Text reads: I am the throat of delusion incarnate

Text reads: There has never been a door there, Archivist

Text reads: How would a melody describe itself, when asked?

Text reads: "MICHAEL" That is a real name

Text reads: Does your hand in any way own your stomach?

Text reads: My very existence, tied to my pointlessness

Text reads: Did you notice which door she left through?

Text reads: I am not a "who," Archivist. I am a "what"

And that's the end of the closeups :D

All the text inside the doors are quotes from Michael Distortion btw. The only exception being "MICHAEL" bc Jon says that, but Michael does respond by saying "That is a real name" so I think it counts as a Michael quote. At least enough to be included.

I'd also like to thank a couple members of the "michael enjoyers" community for helping me come up with enough quotes. I do not remember your names, but thank you :D

The decision to make this spread was fairly impulsive. It started by me doodling spirals on a scrap piece of paper while trying to design a birthday card for a family member. While doing so, I thought, "why not fill a full page in my sketchbook with spirals?" And that turned into "I could make it into a Distortion spread."

And so, we have ended up here with a full Michael Distortion spread.

It was lots of fun to do, and has possibly gotten me out of artblock. Although, trying to come up with 9 unique doors that weren't yellow was quite the pain. Alongside the 9 different spiral patterns inside said doors. (although a couple of the spirals are copies of another)

And now a couple fun facts.

I am currently listening to "More Doors For Me" by elybeatmaker. I thought the song would be fitting.

I have only watched the first 14 episodes of TMA, and none of the TMAGP episodes. Everything I know about TMA is from my sister and Tumblr. For this reason I did only Michael, bc I know him far better than Helen. (she appears less in fanworks)

This spread took me five days. This is because I was either busy, or didn't have the motivation to work on it. The doors took the longest.

There is so much tape. The black background on the left page is black construction paper taped in, the spiral patterns underneath the doors were taped in, the doors themselves were taped on, the yellow door was also taped in, along with the hand and the wrist, both separately taped. It's a good thing I want a thick sketchbook.

My sketchbook's paper is a bit thin, so you can see the spiral behind the yellow door on the back of the next page. (I have since drawn over it, so I don't have a pic)

Each door has a separate color chosen to be the main color of said door. The colors include: Pink, Red, Orange, Yellow, Lime, Green, Light Blue, Blue, Purple, and Brown. The only one that is a normal door color (brown) has Michael inside it.

If you look closely at the right page, you can see where the lines start to get uneven in the background spiral.

I really like the idea of showing someone this spread and have them randomly open the doors, just to see a surprise Michael. :)

Materials used: generic pencil (for the initial sketch) 05 Micron pen random Prismacolors a cool multicolored lead pencil I don't know the brand of kingart twin-tipped brush pens Sipa fineliner pens scotch tape X-acto knife kid scissors black construction paper yellow cardstock A5 Fabriano sketchbook that I hate with a burning passion

Since you read this far, have some bonus Michael doodles!

^This one was variations of a scene from a dream.

^This one is from a doodle page I have laying on my desk, hence the scribbles nearby. I did not color in the lines (yes, that is nendou from TDLOSK to his left) This was also the first time I ever drew him.

I love giving him spiral cheeks :)

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Sketchbook Tour Part 8

Masterpost

Maybe I should've included these two in the last part, but oh well.

Edit - Part 8 decided to post before part 7, and I'm not really sure why.

Design notes under the cut, because I have reasons for the design choices I made.

I skipped some of my preliminary sketches where I tried a slightly more accurate snake face shape. I didn't like how it looked so I just reverted back to his canon face shape.

Overall, Pentious really just needed to be simplified. His canon design looked like a slug covered in eyes. So I took most of the eyes away and removed the long stripes. Then altered the body to flow more naturally into the snake tail. He doesn't actually have much in the way of shoulders, but he pads out his jacket to look like he does.

Snake fangs don't stick out of the mouth while the mouth is closed. So his fangs only appear when his mouth is opened. Instead his mouth is specially shaped for his tongue to stick out. Having him default to sticking his tongue out and holding his hands up like Trex arms felt necessary and I am committing to it.

I did a little research into hooded snakes, and the hood is literally just the snake flattening it's neck to look bigger. So I wanted to incorporate that. But I also liked how the animation of his hair/hood looked and wanted to keep that. So I had the hair be like fringes that come off the hood(which connects to his neck just before the collar of his shirt), then assured myself that he's not literally a snake, but a demon with features resembling a snake. It's close enough.

For his clothing, I wanted to stick to a late Victorian-esque style. But I was still committed to removing most of the bowties from everyone. But I also wanted more variety than just neckties. Cravats/Ascots were decently popular at the time, so I went with that. I gave him a pocket watch, which is in his vest pocket. If it's ever not there, then I probably forgot to draw it.

Top hats were, I believe, less common than styles like bowler hats, but the top hat just gives the steampunk vibe better. And a bowler hat looked wrong on Pentious, so he gets to keep the top hat. But the hat's eye had to go, it was too cluttered. Instead, his goggles get to express the emotions that the eye would have.

One day, I'll work on color palettes for everyone. I'm just busy right now.

[blu3-ja3]

Hello! So I want to establish O'Connor a bit more and how she views each member of the 141. All of these will be in first person not my typical 3rd person limited. We're going youngest to oldest so Soap up first.

!TRIGGER WARNING! Panic Attacks, Misguided Grief

1) Smart but Forgetful

Soap is a smart young man, in a way that's terrifying at time. I've watched MacTavish make a bomb from fertilizer, random metal scrap and a broken lighter. Ghost seemed turned on proud of his sergeant on that particular mission. It never fails to amaze me to watch MacTavish work out how much it would take for him to level a building. But he also has a nasty habit of not wearing proper protective gear when dealing with demolitions on and off the field. On the field I can let it slide but when we're on base it worries me to no end.

I've scolded him a great many times before I just started scolding Ghost as well. More often than not the two were together when Soap goes about his explosive work. Price found it hilarious that I've made it a rule that everyone has to carry a set of closed fingered gloves for Soap, that way if they're on field with the man and he starts his work they can give him the gloves so I don't have to treat chemical burns that could easily be prevented.

2) A Simple Gesture

The first time the young sergeant saw my scar he was kind and far more interested in my sleeve. It was late out. I couldn't sleep and figured working out until I was ready to collapse would be the best course of action. I was in a compression sports bra and sweats, I wasn't expecting anyone to be awake so I didn't bother wearing my typical long sleeve turtle neck. I was distracted and didn't notice Soap appearing in the door to the workout room.

"Who did your ink Cap?"

"JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH! MacTavish where the hell did you come from?" I practically jumped out of my skin as I turned around.

"My room? You okay Doc? You seem a bit jumpy." Soap tilted his head to the side with a concerned smile on his face. I suddenly felt very aware of the fact that the sergeant could see my discolored and scared arm and body.

"I'm fine, I'll just leave you to your work out sergeant." I made a move to grab my bag and leave

"Wait! Captain I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I can leave. I was just curious about your sleeve. I've seen some glimpses of it, I'd like a better look but it makes you uncomfortable then I'll leave." Soap offered with a shy smile

" My son, William, drew most of them." I relaxed a bit as Soap approached

"He's an incredible artist, would it be okay if I got a closer look?" Soap asked as he gestured to my arm.

"Would you like to help yourself to one of his sketchbooks? I have one in my office if you'd like to get a better look." I laughed as Soap took my left arm turning it staring intently at the pieces.

"If Will doesn't mind, I don't want to intrude."

I smiled "I'm fairly sure he wouldn't mind Suds"

3) A Mother's Grief

It hurts how similar Soap can be to William, both are incredible artist who are constantly doodling on any scrap of paper. But the similarities didn't seem to stop there, they're both terribly smart and passionate. They care deeply for those they've befriended and had a mischievous streak to them. I think often about what kinda of shenanigans the two would get up to with the other sergeants.

At times though it hurts to be around the young man. He makes me wonder what William would be like as he got older. I cried for hours the night Soap called me, mom. I felt guilty, so incredibly guilty. I thought I was replacing Will with the young sergeant and it killed me. I went to Price after another night of tears and guilt.

"Maevis you alright?"

"No, no I'm really not John."

"What's wrong? Did Oliver do something?"

" No, Jesus, it's about Sergeant MacTavish."

John tensed "What about him O'Connor?"

" He called me, mom last night, he was having a rough go of it. I found him and did what I could, I eventually took him back to his barracks. I tried to convince myself he just called me ma'am but Soap has never called me Ma'am. I feel like I'm being eaten alive by guilt! Like I've replaced William without me realizing. How could I? Will was... Is my baby, he's my boy. I love him! How could I do that to him?" Tears streamed down my face I couldn't stand to look at John.

"Oh Maevis, you muppet. You've done nothing wrong. You still love William, I know you do because you still have the charm made of his ashes. MacTavish called you mom because you did what you always do. You're a care taker Maeve, a mother by instinct and you treat everyone like your child. You haven't replaced your son, you would have done the same thing if Will was alive. You're being too hard on yourself Maevis." John had pulled me into a hug until I finally stopped shaking.

"We both know if Will was here he'd be instant friends with the boys. And he'd hold no ill will towards you being a mother to them."

"Yes you're right, you're always right John."

4) An Artistic Collaboration

Soap is constantly coloring in the tattoos on both mine and Ghost's arms. He was a very tactile person, constantly platonically touching everyone in the 141. MacTavish was quick to notice the missing piece on my sleeve, a decent sized spot above my wrist.

"So what's going there Doc?"

"Well it was ment to be another piece William was drawing specifically for me but he never got around to it. There are simple sketches in his last sketch book but nothing finished."

"Do you mean the horse?"

I nodded in confirmation as Soap turned my arm to start coloring another tattoo with the skin safe markers he was given by Roach.

"Yeah, I wanted to get a kelpie or an undead unicorn. William was enthralled by the idea and wanted to draw it for me. He uh... You know..."

"Yeah, if you'd like I could finish it for you. Why the clovers as filler? It makes coloring you so difficult!"

"I like clovers, used to call Will my lucky clover. Sergeant?"

Soap looked up from where he was focusing on my arm, his hand stilling as he removed the light green marker from my skin.

"If you'd like to, I'd be honored to have your artwork complete my sleeve." I watched as MacTavish's eye lit up with excitement.

"You're not joking Cap? You'd get my art tatted on you?" I nod smiling as the sergeant moved to grab his leather sketchbook.

" Id still like the undead unicorn or kelpie but you're free to do what you'd like with the concept... Are you going to finish coloring my arm or am I going to walk around with a half colored arm?" Soap waved his hand at me as he continued to draw. I chuckled before getting up to leave to go do my rounds.

5) Motherly Advice

I'm sitting in my office filling out paperwork and going through the medical bay inventory. I see my door open from the corner of my eye. I see the tall tale mohawk of one sergeant MacTavish

"How's she cuttin' Suds?"

"Um Mom? Can I ask you a question?" I smiled a bit at the name before calming myself. The boys only call me mom, outside of the usual teasing, if something was serious.

"What's wrong Johnny Boy?" I turned to face the man , setting down my pen as the scott sat across from me.

"You've been in a relationship before right Doc?"

"Um well yes but it wasn't the best example of a relationship..."

"I know but it was with a man, yeah?"

"... Yes? MacTavish can I ask what's this about? Because it may be better to ask Price, lad"

" How did you know you were gay?!" MacTavish seemed to be flustered as his cheeks were a bright pink.

"You were married to a man, yeah? And now you look at so of many of the nurses with such infatuation or at least you stare at any woman like she's the best view you've ever seen! I know what that means Doc.... So how did you know? Cause for most of my life I liked Bonnies but Gho- someone has made me question everything!"

"Tav my boy deep breaths yeah, do you want me to be honest?" Soap nodded furiously.

"I don't know, Oliver was my only partner for a very long time... I was only 16 when we started dating, got married just before I was deployed at 18 and I divorced him when I was 20. I didn't date while I was raising Will, I was so busy being a single mom while active duty, I was recovering from this," I gestured to my heavily scared body. " Then Will passed, I couldn't bring myself to go out let alone date... But you're right I taken a liking to many of the lassies I've seen. But I truly don't know if that makes me gay."

" Is it only ladies that catch your attention?"

"It seems so, yes... But why ask me John? Why not talk to Kyle or Price, the two who are in a very openly gay relationship. Both of them are most definitely more qualified in both regards..." I mumble the last bit.

" I don't know, you were the first person I thought of. "

" Let me ask you this then. This someone, does he make you happy?"

"Yes..."

"Do you trust him?"

"More than anyone I've ever met."

" Then what does it matter if you're gay, straight, bi, whatever?"

"What if he doesn't like me back?"

"You're talking about Ghost, right?"

Soap blushes furiously before replying "Yes I'm talking about Ghost... "

" I know he's not the most expressive or forthcoming but he's different with you John. You know that right?"

Soap nods before something seems to click, he stood up rapidly and rushed towards my office door.

"I'm sorry, I've just remembered something I've gotta go! THANK YOU FOR THE TALK DOC!" Soap's voice echoed down the hall.

A few days later, Ghost and Soap made an announcement that they are dating.

"Wait, you weren't before?" Roach asked

"No, what made you think that?" Soap asked

"Well you were constantly leaving the Lieutenant's room after some very... Loud activities..." Roach smirked "You two seem to forget who's barracks are next to Ghost's!"

It was evident even through Ghost's mask that the man was blushing.

"Oh quite your teasing Roach! Honestly we're happy for you boys, you two deserve happiness!" I smile sweetly at the two young men.

I'm happy that everyone has found someone, and while I'm happy to have helped the young sergeant he's helped me realize my neglect towards myself and my relationships.

COD Master List

[silkjade]

in the moment we’re lost & found

Featuring— albedo, kaveh, zhongli, dainsleif ⤀ gn!reader, reincarnation au but also a some soulmate au vibes (?), dark / light academia themed a/n: i picked charas i thought would suit the aesthetic cus my favorite flavor of reincarnation au has to do with art and museums / luv history + art + museums + galleries !

— 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐎

as an up-and-coming artist, albedo is a rising star in teyvat’s art world, but lately he’s been haunted by a face he sees only in his dreams. it’s unclear, and it drives him insane that he can’t quite make out all the details of this mysterious figure. albedo, whose artwork is notoriously lifelike, knows that something just isn't right; something is missing and he can't quite grasp it. countless times, he's tried to translate the idea of you onto paper, and countless times he's ripped out pages of his sketchbook, the abandoned drawings left crumpled in random corners of his studio, of his house, of his room. they say the mind is unable to create faces of its own so where did you come from? it consumes him— the way you replay in his head once he closes his eyes, as if he'd somehow stolen the memories of somebody else. perhaps this is what the tortured artists sing of when they descend to madness, haunted by an absent muse. at least… until the fateful day he sees you out on the cobbled streets of mondstadt. you pass by quickly, the moment as fleeting as a shooting star, and something in albedo clicks. he doesn’t have time to think, he just moves. his muse is here now within reach; how can he risk letting you slip away?

— 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

careless collision, staggering steps… you snap your eyes shut as you try to mentally prepare yourself for the utter humiliation of falling into the akademiya fountain. except it never comes. your eyes flutter open, and are instantly met with just about the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. however, his expression is one of shock, as if he’s just as surprised as you are of his own actions, and truth be told, he is. because he seemed to have been able to watch the scene unfold, even before the other party had bumped into you. because kaveh is sure something had come over him, with the way time appeared to have stopped and his legs moved of their own accord. like his body was suddenly able to predict the future, or that it was the work of some absurd sense of muscle memory. even so, the weight of you in his grasp feels uncannily familiar. in a good way. it feels right; it feels like he had waited his whole life for this moment.

and suddenly you're hyperaware of how close the two of you actually are— but also of how safe you feel with his arm wrapped around your waist, or of how his large doe eyes seem to peer into your very soul, the carmine hues dancing with renewed life. you really can't shake the overwhelming feeling that you've met before, that perhaps this isn't your first time around at all. and so you have to ask, “have we met before?”

"no, but I'd like to again."

— 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

you quite literally walk into zhongli, knocking his documents out of his hands and all across the marble floor of liyue’s national museum. zhongli sighs without looking up; he had spent the better half of a day organizing contracts and paperwork for a loan agreement to inazuma, though he supposes he should share in the blame for not watching where he was going. hundreds of years have passed since the immortal ex-archon worked as a funeral consultant; these days, zhongli opts to spend his time surrounded by artifacts of bygone times and bygone people. but when he looks up, his golden eyes widen and his blood runs cold at the sight of you in front of him. he freezes, as if time seems to have stopped for the both of you. his focus shifts back and forth between you and the painting across the room: a seemingly ordinary portrait, dated from around the time of the blonde traveler. still, whenever asked, he can confidently say that it’s his favorite piece, even in this house of invaluable artifacts and monuments to heroes, even among all the rich antiquities teyvat has to offer. and here you were in front of him, a perfect match to the painting's subject. the one whom he had once held so dear before being torn away by the hands of time, is now kneeling on the floor in front of him, frantically trying to gather the scattered documents, of which he had long deemed irrelevant. he feels his impenetrable stone heart flutter for the first time in what feels like a millennia because it’s you. he's sure of it. it's you, it's you, it's you.

— 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐈𝐅

ever since your move to mondstadt, you've started having satin dreams of knights and castles, false flowers and fictional faces; dreams that undoubtedly end in war and destruction because everything shifts. castles crumble, faces morph— it becomes a nightmare so vivid it feels more akin to a memory than a dream. but through it all only one thing remains constant in that, in every iteration, you always fall in love with the same blonde man.

wandering the tranquil halls of mondstadt's national gallery, you find yourself before The Destruction of Khaenri'ah, a painting tragically beautiful in it's depiction of the ancient nation's condemnation by the heavens. you feel your eyes threaten to water, the ache in your chest an indication that the same anguish you've felt in your nightmares, has now sunk its claws into your heart. it's the first time a piece of art has moved you like this. so much so that you’re rooted in a trance-like state until someone beside you clears his throat, snapping you back to reality. he himself also gazes at the painting although his arm is outstretched; a handkerchief in offering for your tears. it isn't until your fingers brush against his that the blonde man turns to meet your gaze. shades of cerulean, bluer than the depths of the seas, all a mere backdrop to the stars shining in his eyes. stars that match the ones sitting in your own eyes. your heart skips a beat at the revelation. it's him, the man from your dreams. he’s real.

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[roseofdarknessblog]

Where it all began (Postwar!Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Word count: 3 723

Disclaimer: english is not my first language, I apologize in advance for any mistakes

Summary: Ten years after the Rumbling, you and Levi return to Paradis, to show your daughter the land you fought so hard for.

This story can be read on its own or as a part of my little post-war series: Learn to live again

Where it all began

„Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,“ Levi said quietly as soon as you disembarked on Paradis. After almost ten years, you were back. On the island, where both your and Levi's life began, where you met, and where you never came back after the Rumbling.

„It's only for two days, darling. We'll be home tomorrow evening,“ you said and kissed the top of his head, looking around the port.

Many things changed since the day you left. You were barely able to recognize this place. Memories of your last battle against the Yeagerists made shivers run down your back. Everything that led up to it, everything that happened after. Falco's first transformation into the Jaw Titan, your arrival to Odiha, Hange's sacrifice, the final battle against Eren...

Coming back felt very strange. Both of you were anxious and full of doubts. Was this truly a good idea? Returning here after so much time? Maybe you should have stayed home, in the little seaside town where you settled down and opened Levi's tea shop. There it was safe. It felt like it. As years passed, that place truly started to feel like home to you.

But here...

„Ugh, finally. I almost puked myself on that stupid boat.“ Both you and Levi looked over at the six-year-old raven-haired girl by his side. Her blue-grey eyes scanned your surroundings quickly before she looked at Levi. „I thought you said sailing is going to be fun, dad.“

You smiled upon hearing her complaints and reached out to stroke her silky hair. It was just like Levi's, although his lately started to turn grey here and there. To him, it was annoying. To you, it became one of his most irresistible features.

„I said it because I didn't want you to worry,“ Levi explained and handed her the little yellow sketchbook she loved carrying around. Until now, he kept it on his lap to have it on hand anytime.

„Too bad, now I don't want to go home by boat.“

„Well, you can always swim,“ you joked.

Little Zoe, who you and Levi named after Hange, gave you an annoyed look and kept on walking. Sometimes, she truly was a carbon copy of her father in every way. From her appearance to her personality. Even if she was only six years old, she already had a huge personality of her own.

„Is it too late to turn back?“

„Levi... it will be fine. We promised her this trip.“ You got hold of his wheelchair once again and followed your daughter, who kept looking around, taking in all the little details.

It was mainly because of her, that you came back to Paradis for a short visit. Even if you and Levi didn't often talk about your past in front of her, other people did. Mainly Jean and Connie, who told her many stories about Paradis and how it once looked. But, of course, they always left out the most gruesome details. So in the end, little Zoe saw this place as an almost ordinary island. Like a place for a little family trip.

Queen Historia knew you and Levi were coming, you let her know in advance. But it didn't seem she wanted to meet you after so many years. And that was more than okay. It was her personal choice. After all, you didn't really come to reconnect with anyone.

„Mikasa!“ your daughter screamed excitedly when she saw her waiting for all of you. But as Zoe was running up to her, somebody suddenly leaped out from behind one of the buildings and grabbed her around the waist. Her little sketchbook fell to the ground as the blond man lifted her up and spun her around, while your daughter screamed out.

Both Zoe and Armin, who you truly didn't expect to be there, were laughing loudly while you and Levi came up to them. Mikasa picked up the girl's sketchbook and held it for her until she was hugging Armin.

„Captain, Y/N... so you really made it,“ Armin said, greeting you both.

You nodded, putting one of your hands on Levi's shoulder squeezing it reassuringly and reminding him, that you're here with him. „We did, yeah. But what are you doing here?“

„Mikasa told me you were coming so I took a little trip, too. But it's just me, Annie's home. She still doesn't like coming here.“

„Don't worry, we understand,“ you assured him with a warm smile.

After you all greeted each other, you followed Armin and Mikasa, talking and simply having a good time. You and Levi still felt a little uneasy, while you were walking through the streets of Shiganshina. The town felt more than foreign to you both. Almost nothing looked the same, not even the people. And for sure, not the military personnel you met here and there.

But there was a bright side to it all, too. Hearing people talk and children laugh, while they were running around, made you smile. Everything looked lively and colorful. You could actually feel all the life pulsing through the streets. Never before did this place make you feel this way. Almost as if nothing ever happened here.

While Zoe was walking between Mikasa and Armin, holding hands with both of them, you kept a few steps behind them. You could see how tensed up Levi's shoulders were. To be honest, you didn't see him like this for a very long time. It almost seemed as if he was expecting something to happen. Just like during old times.

„If I didn't know where we were, I would never say this is Paradis,“ you said after a while in a hushed voice, so only he was able to hear you. „A lot has changed during only ten years.“

Levi nodded without a word, keeping his eyes on your daughter's back. Even if he wasn't like his old self, like the people of this island used to know him, his instincts stayed just as sharp. If needed, he would give his absolute everything to protect his family – you and the little girl both of you loved more than life itself. She was the purest light in your lives and the biggest source of your happiness.

„It feels weirder than I thought it would.“

„In a good or in a bad way?“ you asked him, noticing a little shop you remembered from way back when you were still in the Survey Corps. It was a bakery where you loved getting many different sweet goods. Honestly, it was a miracle that it was still here. „Do you remember this place? I used to buy those little apple pies here. Those you loved eating with your afternoon tea.“

To your surprise, he chuckled. „I could never forget those. But now you make much better ones.“

„After so many years of trying...“ you laughed.

Learning how to cook and bake after the war was one of the hardest things you've ever done. For some reason, you simply couldn't get the hang of it. If it wasn't for Onyankopon and his patience, you would have given up a long time ago. Only thanks to him, you were now able to supply Levi's tea shop with many delicious sweet and savory treats.

You could see a couple of people who seemed to recognize you. Some of them nodded their heads to say a quiet hello, but that was it. Nobody came up to you to have a chat. Thankfully. Not you or Levi felt like talking to anyone. You didn't want them asking any questions. After all, you didn't owe anyone anything. The way you decided to live your life after the war was solely your own personal choice. And it seemed, that not coming back here was the right thing to do. Even if it felt very difficult at the beginning, settling down in the outside world was the wisest choice in the long run.

„Do you want to visit Erwin and Sasha's grave as well?“ Levi asked you, looking over his shoulder. At first, you didn't react. But then you gave a simple nod.

„I can go alone if you don't feel like coming along. You and Zoe can wait for me somewhere,“ you assured him, not wanting to pressure him into anything. Coming here was challenging enough. „I won't be long.“

He quietly shook his head, not voicing his thoughts out loud. So you let him think about it in silence, following Mikasa, Armin, and your daughter to your first and most important stop.

After a short while, you made it to a place, which truly scared you for some reason. It was the tree, under which Eren's remains were buried. A small simple tombstone was set into the ground just by the trunk. For whatever reason, it was suddenly way harder to breathe.

„Long time no see, Eren,“ Levi said, his voice way colder than just a few minutes before. You knew that even after so many years, he sometimes thought about all the things he and Eren never got the chance to discuss.

„I wish this meeting could have looked different,“ you got out with a heavy sigh, taking the small bouquet of white lilies from Levi's lap which you got from a flower shop along the way. But actually going up to the tombstone, reading his name carved into the cold stone... „I'm sorry it had to end like this.“ Closing your eyes to breathe through your emotions, you left the lilies resting against the stone and walked back to Levi and Zoe, who also came to stand next to her father. The little detail of them holding hands made you feel a little better.

A few tears pooled in your eyes when you looked over at Mikasa and Armin. Seeing just the two of them, without Eren by their side felt so strange and painful. Since you got to know them, they were always together. Always the three of them – Mikasa and Armin doing everything to protect Eren and help him, when he needed it the most. Your heart hurt for them in a way you weren't even able to express through words. It was a pain you tried to bury deep down in your heart and soul, for the past ten years. But now, it all came to the surface, threatening to suffocate you and make you break down in tears over how everything turned out.

„It's a shame we didn't get to meet,“ Zoe said suddenly shocking all four of you. Mikasa was probably the most surprised one. „Jean and Connie sometimes tell me funny stories about you.“ She was looking at the tombstone, almost as if she was talking directly to Eren.

To her, Eren wasn't a monster like the rest of the world saw him. You all spared her the horrible details that led up to his death. It was much better to do it like that. She was still too little and innocent to know the truth. Later, you'll slowly start explaining everything to her. But until then, it was much better to let her believe, that the world wasn't such an ugly place.

For a while, you all stayed quiet and just watched the white lilies. Nobody knew what to say, what or how to feel. Not even Mikasa and Armin, who surely spent a lot of time here. Zoe was the first one to break the grim atmosphere. She took her little sketchbook from Levi, sat down under the tree, and started sketching the view you had over the little town underneath the hill.

„How's it going? Do you like the view?“ you asked after a few minutes and sat down beside your daughter. Levi was talking with Mikasa and Armin, so you decided to let them be.

„Yeah, it's very nice here. I loved how the town looked, everything was so colorful. The people looked happy,“ she said excitedly, showing you her drawing proudly. It looked just like a creation of a six-year-old. „But those men from the military seemed scary.“

On your way up here, you met a group of men from the military. All they did, was patroling around the town, making sure everything was in order. However, they made you feel a bit uneasy. Their new uniforms, the way they carried a gun with them... It wasn't comparable to the times when you casually met members of the Garrison or the Military Police in the streets. Or maybe it was just because you were here as an ordinary civilian, not a member of the military like during old times.

„You don't have to fear them, darling. They're not going to hurt you.“

„Did you and dad wear uniforms like them?“

You shook your head, running your fingers along her braided hair. „Not entirely, but they were a little similar.“ Going into details wasn't necessary, so you simply smiled at her and stroked her cheek.

„I can't really imagine this whole place with those huge Walls you told me about. Didn't everything seem... uhm...“

„Suffocating? Cramped? Restricting?“ Zoe nodded, closing her sketchbook and leaving her pencil inside, to mark the page where she was drawing. „It did, but... we didn't know anything else. Not really. You see... when we as the Scouting Legion went out beyond the Walls, we had our duty. We had work to do, so we never really had time to just stop and admire how different everything seemed. How big and free the world there was.“

Zoe knew about the Titans – briefly, but she did. She knew they were the reason why you and Levi lived behind the Walls before the final war. For her, it was only natural to wonder, what a life like that must have felt like. She never had to experience such a thing. No, she was free to go wherever she wanted. Basically, there were no limits to her curiosity. No man-eating monsters, that would hunt her down if she wasn't careful enough.

„Me and your dad... we were more than grateful for what we had up here. The place where we grew up was much, much worse than living behind the Walls.“

She didn't know nearly anything about the Underground, where both you and Levi grew up. There was simply no way to explain it to her. So all she knew, was the bare minimum – about a poor city under the shiny new capital of Paradis. There wasn't anything nice to be said about that place.

While Zoe kept asking you more questions, you looked over your shoulder at Levi, Armin, and Mikasa. They were still quietly talking, not paying attention to you and Zoe. You wanted to grant them privacy, so you kept the little girl busy for as long as possible.

From time to time, you looked over at Eren's tombstone. For some reason, you kept wondering what would you say to Eren, if he was here. If the war ended differently and you had the chance to talk to him about everything that happened. Even after so many years, you wished that you could have done something more. Anything to bring him back from the darkness that took him away from his friends.

What got you away from your own memories, was when Mikasa and Armin called for Zoe. The little girl didn't hesitate, she jumped up and ran to them, excitedly asking what are they going to do. As you watched them, Levi slowly wheeled himself next to you.

With a tiny smile, you moved a bit closer and still sitting in the grass, you leaned your head against his leg. The fingers of his left hand slipped into your hair, rubbing your scalp just the way you liked it. And just the way Zoe used to like when she was a baby. Many times, when she was crying or fussing, Levi used to soothe her this way.

„Did she have many questions?“ Levi asked after a moment of silence between the two of you.

„Quite a few, yeah. I guess she couldn't really grasp the reality of our lives behind the Walls. She said it looks much prettier now, without them,“ you chuckled and looked up at Levi. Up here, where nobody was around, he seemed a bit calmer. And you did too. Being away from the prying eyes of the islanders felt liberating in the strangest way possible. „I'm not sure if coming here was the right call, but at least we did what we promised her.“

Levi nodded, still playing with your hair. „Let's hope that this one visit will be enough for her. Not that there are many places we could visit without seeing those fools in uniforms. I don't want to see them around you or Zoe, we had enough of that life. What's going on here, is not our business anymore.“

„It's not, we fought and sacrificed enough,“ you agreed, taking Levi's hand out of your hair and interlocking your fingers. To some, it may have sounded selfish. But to you, those were valid reasons. After everything that happened, you and Levi deserved to live out the rest of your lives in peace.

As the ship kept moving forward and Paradis was becoming smaller and smaller on the horizon, tears started to pool in your eyes. Leaving once again was heartbreaking. It made you feel so many different emotions all at once. While Mikasa and Armin stayed there, you, Levi, and Zoe were headed back home.

You stayed the night over at Mikasa's place and headed to the graveyard first thing in the morning. While she and Armin stayed with Zoe, you and Levi went to find the graves of your long-lost friends. Before that, you got more white lilies, because you didn't want to come empty-handed. For almost an hour, you just walked around in the company of your memories, looking for many familiar names.

„She's out cold.“ Levi smirked and kissed the top of Zoe's head, who was cuddled up in his lap. One of his arms was protectively wrapped around her, while she was resting her head against his chest. In her sleep, she was hugging the little yellow sketchbook as if it was he favorite stuffed animal. 

„Makes me wonder how she spent the night.“

„I heard her talking with Armin until early in the morning. About stars, marine life, and such nerdy things.“ With a smile, you took off your cardigan and covered your daughter with it, since the breeze was a little cold on the ship's deck. „He was telling her about how he imagined the world outside the Walls when he was her age.“

After all... maybe this trip wasn't such a horrible idea. Your daughter had a good time, she saw Mikasa and Armin, and she was finally able to see the land you and Levi fought so hard to protect. She got the chance to see where it all began. The big love story of her parents. And also all the tales and stories Jean, Connie, and the others kept telling her.

„She seemed happy,“ you said in a loving tone, stroking your daughter's hair. She looked so lovely when she was asleep. Just like her father, when he was peacefully resting in your arms during long nights.

„But I guess we didn't.“

„No, but... did you expect anything else? For us, this wasn't an exciting trip to a seemingly perfect island. It was more of a walk down the memory lane. With not-so-happy memories,“ you said, bending down to give Levi a kiss. „But in a way, we both needed this.“

„Yeah, to remember never to come here again,“ Levi scoffed.

„Why? I liked the island, it was very pretty,“ Zoe suddenly said in a sleepy voice, her eyes still half-closed. „Do you miss the way it looked in the past?“ she asked, blinking a few times and looking up at both you and Levi.

„Yes,“ Levi said. Your right hand came to rest on his shoulder, while you waited for what he was going to say to the little girl next. „I don't miss the Titans at all, but I sometimes do miss the old times, when we lived behind the Walls.“

„Why, dad?“

Stroking her hair, his lips pressed a loving kiss to Zoe's forehead, before he looked over at you. „Because I miss the people who lived there with us. Many of them are not here anymore, and seeing Paradis without the Walls just reminded me of how many years since their deaths passed.“ He said it more than perfectly, describing just what you felt as well.

„Life was hard back then, just like we've always told you when you asked about our past. But every day was a little brighter thanks to our friends and comrades,“ you said, kissing the top of Levi's head.

„But you always say they're looking after us from there,“ Zoe said and pointed at the sky, which was slowly starting to catch warm shades of yellow and orange from the setting sun. „Hange and Erwin, and Sasha, and Furlan with Isabel.“

„They are, of course, they are,“ you assured her in a loving tone and looked up at the sky with your daughter in a foolish attempt to spot your long-lost friends smiling down at your little family.

„We just sometimes wish they could be here with us in person,“ Levi added in a calm tone and also looked up, hugging Zoe a little tighter. „Look, you can see a couple of stars already.“ As he pointed to the sky to distract her, your little girl smiled excitedly and started telling him a bunch of new things about the night sky she probably heard from Armin last night.

While Levi was listening to her every word, he glanced over at you. Into your eyes, which were full of tears. Tears of happiness over the fact, that this was how your life turned out and that Levi with Zoe were your beloved family. Through all the pain you had to endure in the past, you were more than grateful, that in the end, you had everything you ever wanted and dreamed about – a happy family with the love of your life, living in a safe world.

[gretavanlace]

A few days ago, I received an ask that came bearing the gift of a smutty little josh/danny/reader number. Tumblr was being a dick (what a shocker) about the length, so I couldn’t just answer to post it. I then agreed to post it later on, annnnnnd then promptly forgot because that’s just the way I’m wired. I’ve been mildly senile since birth, it seems, but eventually, I always remember (mostly). Anyway, without further ado, here is said fic.

Thank you so much, anon, I hope you’ll forgive the wait. I just know they’re going to love it! I know I did 🥵 Josh & Danny lane, grab a spoon and settle in at the table, you’re about to be fed

18+ below the cut. Completely unedited as it is not my work and therefore not my place. Warnings: plenty of them

apologies for the REALLY long ask, just had this idea

premise: you’re with Danny, but occasionally, you catch him staring at Josh with hungry, horny eyes

Warnings: anal penetration (m receiving), oral (both receiving), penetration (f receiving), “daddy” and “mama”. I think that’s all!

“Daniel?” You ask. He hums contentedly in response, not looking up from his sketchbook. “I have a question for you, my sweet boy.”

“Yes, love?” Now his eyes are on you, deep brown and trusting. You sit down next to him, close enough that there’s barely a space between you.

“Be honest with me. How long have you been thinking about fucking Josh?” you ask. His eyes widen.

“What?” he asks, immediately on the defensive. “Baby, no, I—“

“Daniel,” you snap. “I said honestly. Are you my good boy?” You know that’ll get him. Danny has a submissive streak a mile wide.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

“And do good boys lie?” You ghost your hand over his rapidly hardening cock.

“Um,” he stammers, shifting away from your touch.

“Do they?” you push again, hand groping his dick through his pants. It betrays him and he curses it under his breath.

“No, good boys don’t lie.” Danny chooses his words carefully. “I’m sorry. I won’t lie. I want Josh. I have for months. Maybe even years. I’m sorry, my queen. Please punish me.”

You grin. So the truth comes out. “I won’t punish you, baby boy. Everyone deserves a second chance, and you made the right choice. That’s my good boy.” You kiss his cheek, then stand and walk away.

“Queen?” he calls after you. “What do I do with my pitiful dick?”

You hesitate — he’s supposed to be in some trouble, so you’re not sure he should be permitted to touch himself, but you have things to do, and you don’t need whiny Daniel all over you. And you certainly will not be doing it for him. “Play with yourself, go ahead.”

You walk to the bedroom, texting Josh. “Coffee & donuts?” you ask.

“Yes! I’ll meet you in 20.”

You smile deviously. Josh has no clue the proposition you’ll bring to your innocuous breakfast date. Stepping back into the hallway, you listen to Danny finish himself off. As soon as he cums, you appear next to him. “Lick it off,” you whisper into his ear. He doesn’t hesitate to bring his fist to his mouth, cleaning it off completely. “Good boy. I’ll be back.”

A short while later, you’re sitting in a cafe across from Josh, sharing donuts and coffee. He’s as pleasant as always, smiling and laughing.

“Where’s Danny, anyway?” he finally asks.

“He’s at home. But there’s a reason for that. I have… an idea for you, Josh.” Josh raises an eyebrow, chewing his donut, nodding for you to continue. “I know you’ve seen the way Danny’s eyes linger on you. On your lips, your crotch.” Josh doesn’t react to this. “I want to give him everything he wants, and he wants you. Will you have him, for just one night?”

Josh considers it. “Yeah, okay,” he says evenly. “But I do have a request.”

“Anything,” you say.

“I want you there too.” Josh smiles.

You grin. “That sounds perfect. Tonight?” Josh nods.

“Are you going to tell him?” You consider the question. He might back out if he has too much time to mull it over, you think.

“No.” He nods again. “Be there at 9:00. I’ll tell him then, and if you don’t get a text by 9:15, you can leave.”

“That sounds good” Josh agrees. He stands to hug you, kissing your cheek. “Love you,” he adds.

Later that evening, you’re preparing Daniel. It’s 8:45 or so, and you know Josh will be there soon.

“Danny?” you call from the bedroom. “Could you come here and fasten this for me?” You’re staring at yourself in the mirror, holding a strap from your favorite lingerie. Sure, you could do it yourself. But there’s no fun in that. You hear his footsteps in the hall, then the sharp intake of breath when he sees you.

“Baby,” he grins, walking to you. “What’s all this for?” he takes the strap from your hand and fastens it, then pulls you into him. You can feel his stiff cock through his jeans, poking you.

“I want you,” you answer simply. You turn toward him, cupping his face with one hand, and his dick with the other. Dropping to your knees, you take your sweet time undoing his belt, the button and zipper. You pull down his pants, eyeing his monster cock through the gray boxer briefs. You pull them down, cock springing free, and immediately take it into your mouth. He puts his hand in your hair, but knows better than to pull your head into him, or to thrust. He may be receiving the pleasure, but make no mistakes, you’re in charge.

“Thank you,” he says, like the good boy he is. You work down his shaft, taking it all in, drinking him down. “You make me feel so good.” You ignore his praise, focusing on making him feel even better. His fingers curl around your hair, tugging, and you smile, sucking him down, giving the sloppiest, most knee buckling head you can muster. “Oh, fuck,” he moans. “I’m close already.” You nod — you know. “Please, is it okay? Can I cum, please?” You nod around him, and in seconds, thick hot ropes of cum are shooting down your throat. You hold him there, close to you, grabbing his ass. “Mmm, fuck,” he says again. “Thank you.” You release him and swallow, and he offers his hand, helping you up. He kisses you, warm lips on yours soft as can be, brushing your hair back behind your ear.

“You’re so good for me,” you say into the kiss. “Aren’t you good for me? Tell me.”

“I’m good for you,” repeats Danny obediently.

“That’s right.” You kiss him again, eyeing the clock. 9:03. Okay. Go time. “Am I good for you, Danny?”

“Yes, yes, you’re so good for me!” he agrees. You smile.

“You wanna know how good I am?” you ask. He nods, looking at you expectantly. “Josh is waiting outside right now. You say the word, and he comes in here. We’ll both give you the time of your life.” Danny thinks it over, considering the possibility. He wants Josh. He does. Just once, really, he just wants to feel Josh, to see him and taste him. You can see him trying to decide, and judging by his cock growing between you, you think he wants it, but something is holding him back. “No tricks. No strings. I see the way you look at him.” You say. “I love you, and I want to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

“I want him,” Danny admits, breathing hard.

“Then let me tell him.” You slide your phone out of your pocket and send Josh a text, telling him to come up.

Danny looks at you. “Are there any rules?” he asks.

“No, baby. Your only rule is to feel good.” You kiss his neck, and Danny shivers.

It’s then that you hear Josh’s footsteps in the hallway, and pull back, letting Daniel see him as he steps into the room. Suddenly, he goes shy, burying his face into your neck.

“Hello Daniel” Josh smiles.

“Baby?” you ask. “You okay? What’s your color?”

“Green,” Danny confirms with a shaky breath. “May I… may I taste him?”

“You ask him that, baby.”

Before Danny even gets the chance to ask, Josh is answering. “Yes,” he says. He pulls Daniel close and kisses him, hands in his long curly hair. “She’s right,” Josh agrees. “You are such a good boy.” Daniel whines into his kiss, his hand reaching down to touch Josh’s crotch. He’s pleasantly surprised to find Josh already hard, palming him through his sweatpants.

“I want to taste it,” Danny says.

“Then do it,” answers Josh. “Go ahead. This is all for you, Daniel, you get everything you want tonight.” Danny is on his knees in a flash, pulling Josh’s pants down, straight to the ankles. He marvels at Josh’s cock for a minute, thicker than he could’ve imagined, long and hard. He hesitates, then opens his mouth, wrapping it around the head of Josh’s dick. The moment he feels Joshua’s warm skin in his mouth, the taste of him all around, he moans. You’re watching your boyfriend suck dick like he’s done it a thousand times, taking Josh’s whole length into his mouth. Josh thrusts into him once, gently, and Danny whines, nodding.

You lay back on the bed, watching, and reach to the nightstand for a little pleasure of your own.

“Good boy,” you tell Danny, who looks to you, moaning again, and returns to feasting on Josh’s cock like a starving man.

Josh smiles, petting Danny’s hair, letting him take it slow and enjoy himself. It was all for him, after all. Josh didn’t care if he didn’t even cum, though he knew he likely would, and soon, the way Danny was going. “You feel so good, Danny, you’re a natural,” praises Josh.

“Wanna make you feel good,” Danny pants.

“You’re doing so good,” Josh tells him.

Danny nods. “Wanna make you cum. Will you cum for me? Wanna taste it.” He’s whining, chest rising and falling dramatically.

“I’ll cum for you,” Josh says. “You feel so fucking good I won’t be able help it.” Danny nods, his warm mouth around Josh’s warm cock. “I’m gonna cum, Daniel, fuck. Do you want it in your mouth? On your chest?” Danny’s whining loudly, panting, taps his chest.

“Chest,” he pants. “Rain on me, please. My chest, my face, everywhere.” Danny goes back to his work on Josh’s dick, when it pulls out with a pop and Josh moans, cock spitting all over Daniel, on his face, dripping down his chin to his muscular pecs.

“FUCK,” Josh says. Danny’s licking his lips, searching for another drop of Josh’s perfect cum. “Mm, here baby,” Josh swipes up some from Danny’s chest, putting his fingers into Daniel’s mouth, feeding him the cum. “Here, good boy.”

You take it all in, pleasuring yourself all the time.

Danny turns his head to look at you. “No rules?” he asks again.

“No rules,” you confirm.

Danny looks at Josh, eyes wide and pleading. “Fuck me. Fuck my hole please and use me.”

Josh’s eyes widen, and he turns to you, seeking permission. You nod.

“Anything for you,” Josh answers.

“Baby?” Danny asks, looking at you.

“Yes, my sweet boy?”

“Will you come over here? I want you to take care of my cock while I take his, please.” There is a fire in his eyes, and you couldn’t so much as imagine saying no, not the way he looks.

Josh smiles at him. “God, you’re fucking filthy.” He puts a hand on Danny’s shoulder and guides him to the bed, where he gestures for him to lay down. Danny props himself up on all fours on top of you, hovering just above you with his ass ready to take Josh’s thick length.

Danny looks at you. His eyes are full of love, trust, and adoration. “Thank you, baby,” he says, leaning up to kiss you. You kiss him, amazed at all the beauty happening around you. It’s amazing to see Josh look after Danny the way he does, treating him gently, with gentle, intuitive touches of someone who’s done it a thousand times.

“Lube?” Josh asks. You reach over to the nightstand, fumbling around until you feel it, then handing it over. Josh pours a good amount onto Danny’s hole, coating his finger in it also. “We’ll start slow” he tells Danny, swirling his finger around the tight entrance. “You’re tight, baby, that’ll feel so nice.” He praises, and you watch Danny’s face light up, then immediately turn to a blissful, erotic expression that can only mean Josh has begun to ease his finger into Danny. “Aren’t you a good boy,” Josh hums.

You spit into your hand, eager to get in on the action, and wrap your fist around it, pumping slowly, from end to end just the way he likes. “Does that feel good, baby?” you ask, sitting up to whisper into his ear. He nods, whining with pleasure.

“You’re so eager,” Josh remarks. “Taking me in all the way, are you ready for more?”

Danny, eyes closed, cries back “yes sir, fuck, yes daddy.” His eyes shoot open a second, realizing what he’s said, looking at you for approval.

“No rules means no rules,” you assure him, trying not to reveal just how hot and bothered it got you, the way it sounded coming out of his mouth. Josh slips another finger in, sending Daniel rocketing forward into you. You keep a steady hand on his cock and move your hand from his back to offer your breast. He takes it gratefully, suckling and biting at your nipple with each stretching push from Josh. You put your hand back on Danny’s back, gently scratching. He thrusts his hips, asking for you to stroke his cock, and you happily oblige.

“You ready, baby doll?” asks Josh. Danny nods, and cries out, feeling so empty when Josh takes his fingers out. Just as quickly as he’d taken his fingers out, he replaces them with the tip of his cock, pushing in slowly, steadily. “If you need me to stop, just tell me” Josh reminds him.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please” Danny begs.

“Okay, darling, okay. Calm down. Daddy’s a good listener too, just like you.” Josh’s words, so reassuring, and yet, pure filth spewing from his mouth, make you smile.

Danny’s warm mouth finds your shoulder this time, and you slide down, giving your shoulder to him to bite while Josh stretches him further. He obliges, kissing it at first but wrapping his mouth around it and biting the closer Josh gets to bottoming out. You take your hand off of his cock to collect some of your dripping wetness, wrapping your sloppy soaked hand back around him. “You feel that, baby? That’s all from you two boys, such good boys, you did that.”

Danny nods, biting you again, moaning as you pump his cock. Josh bottoms out, and the tears in Danny’s eyes fall. “Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, this feels so fucking good.” His cock twitches in your hand, revealing how close he was. “Stop,” he said, and the room stilled.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I want to fuck you, please, can I?” he asks, eyes pleading. “Please, let me finish in you.” You smile, feeling around for a condom, rolling it onto his aching, impossibly hard cock. “Thank you, baby,” he breathes. You situate yourself underneath of him, sliding his dick into your soaking wet cunt, where it belongs. You feel yourself wrap around him immediately, taking him.

“Okay,” he says. “Go again.” Josh thrusts, slowly, but the force is enough to send Danny’s cock full force into you, not quite to the hilt but damn close. You moan, reaching for Danny’s back, scratching as the pleasure rides across you. As Josh picks up speed, so do Danny’s thrusts into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” he cries. “Please, fuck, can I cum?”

Before you can open your mouth, Josh says “no.” Danny hesitates. “Hold on just a little longer, please,” and it’s then that both of you realize how close Josh is too.

“Oh, fuck, yes sir, I want to feel you fill my hole with cum while I cum, please daddy,” Danny says. Josh nods, biting his lip, thrusting harder. You’re not quite there, but that’s alright — it was Danny’s night, after all.

“Okay,” Josh says, nodding, his voice more of a cry than anything. “I’m— I’m gonna—“

“Me too,” Danny says, and you feel him let go inside of you a second later. “FUCK,” he roars, grinding and gnashing through his orgasm. “Fuck, holy fucking, fuck, thank you, thank you Josh, thank you Daddy, fuck, thank you, baby thank you thank you thank you,” he whines, almost incoherent as he comes down from his orgasmic high. He’s collapsed on top of you, dick still buried deep inside.

“Okay, baby,” Josh soothes. “I’m gonna take it out now, are you ready?”

Danny nods, bracing himself against you. You feel him relax as Josh slides it out, takes the condom off and ties it, to be thrown away.

“You ready to take it out?” you ask. Daniel pouts.

“You didn’t finish,” he says.

Before you can remind him that this was his night, Josh pipes up. “Yet. She didn’t come yet. Josh lays down next to you on the bed. “Remember how I said I wanted you here, doll?” You shiver at the implication. “Daniel, darling, she was so good, wasn’t she?”

Danny nods. “The fucking best.”

“Don’t you think she deserves to cum?” Again, Daniel nods. Josh looks at you.

“How do you want to cum, baby? Tell us how we can please you.” You feel so warm, basking in the sunshine of Josh’s gentle, sexy ways. You think it over; Josh has had two orgasms, and so has Danny. You want to try Josh’s cock on for size, see how it feels, how it fills you up. “Stop thinking,” Josh snaps, and fuck, it’s even sexier than sweet, loving Josh. “You said no rules, and that applies to you too. No rules. Don’t worry about us. How do you want to cum?” You bite your lip.

“I want you to fuck me,” you finally answer. “And when you come inside me, I want Danny to lick our cum up off of my cunt.”

Josh smiles. “You heard the girl, Daniel.” He nods, finally pulling himself out of you, and kissing your forehead.

“I love you,” he says, getting up.

“Watch,” you speak suddenly, surprising even yourself. “I watched you blow him, and you fucked me while he fucked you. Now I want you to watch him fuck me.” Danny nods.

“Yes, my queen,” he answers. He kneels on the ground, staring at you as Josh lines himself up with you.

“You ready, mama?” asks Josh. Mama. Oh, fuck.

“Yes,” you answer. He slips in easily; you’re still soaked.

“Filthy girl,” he growls in your ear. “You’re dripping.”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly. He fills you up, but you want more. You want him to fuck you, the sensitive head of his cock crashing against your g spot. “Please,” you ask, snaking your legs around his small body. “Fuck me.”

Josh smiles. “You hear that, Daniel? Your lover is begging me to fuck her,” he says.

“Give her what she wants,” Danny says, his voice strained in a way that tells you he’d have been capable of finishing you himself. Instead, he’s toying with his own red, hard cock

Josh starts to thrust, and you’re taken immediately by it. It’s intoxicating, so big and thick, and you can’t believe how fucking good he feels.

“Feels good, doesn’t it mama?” asks Josh.

“Cocky son of a bitch you are,” you pant back.

“You can call me daddy too, if you want,” Josh offers with false innocence, that devilish grin showing back up. Fuck, your legs are shaking.

“Mama and daddy,” you chuckle. “My my.” Just as you’re about to make another smartass remark, he thrusts again, taking your breath away. “FUCK, Josh,” you cry out. “I’m… I’m close, Josh, please,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says, but his tone isn’t the cool and calm one he’d been going for; it betrays just how close he is too.

“Fuck me,” you say, shamelessly grinding into him. He listens, bucking into you erratically. “Oh, fuck,” you say. “I can’t wait, I’m cumming, fuck,” you tell him.

“I’m cumming,” he assures you, and you feel his heat fill you as you let go. He gives an animalistic growl at the way your pussy thumps wrapped around him. “Fuck,” he says.

A shadow looms above you. Danny.

“My turn,” he says. Josh rolls over and Danny grabs his hair. “Taste me,” he tells Josh, feeding him the cum from his fist.

“Thank you,” Josh says. He licks it off, swallowing it all.

Danny lays on the bed, spreading your legs. With the first warm embrace of his tongue, you already know you won’t last long. He feels so good, and the little moans he’s making as he tastes your cum and Josh’s drive you crazy.

“You taste so good,” he tells you.

“You feel even better,” you answer. “You’re such a good boy.” He’s sweating, licking and suckling at your cunt, your aching clit, like he’ll die without it. “Oh fuck,” you manage. “Right there, fuck. I want your fingers.” He slides them in, curling around your g-spot. “Fuck, oh god, Danny,” you’re all but screaming now. “I’m gonna squirt, fuck,” and this is all the encouragement he needs to get you there. You’re gushing around him in a minute, blinded by white hot orgasm. You feel your hands in his hair as you come down, and realize he’s licking the squirt off of you.

“Josh,” he says. “Come taste,” and Josh does, taking Danny’s place for a moment. His lips and tongue are cooler than Danny’s, and you squirm.

“He’s right, darling, you taste divine,” Josh says. “Would you like a taste?” You nod, so he comes up to give you a kiss. You taste yourself on his breath, just the way he said you would.

He situates himself next to you, not minding the wet spot for even a second.

“Thank you” Daniel says from the other side of you. “Both of you, thank you.”

“I love you,” you tell him, turning your head for a kiss.

“Let’s get cleaned up, loves” Josh soothes. He gets up and helps you to your feet first, shuffling the first few steps to the shower with you before going back for Danny. You wince, knowing Danny’s going to be sore, and start the water to clean you all up.

You spend the night between Josh and Danny, snuggling, safe and comfortable, and so fulfilled.

[dearmura]

through my eyes

☆ cw. some swearing, not beta read (horrible grammar)

☆ pairings. bf! Ni-Ki × gn! reader

☆ synopsis. Riki just finds you so stunning that he can't resist drawing you to capture your beauty

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Ki! The movie is set up! I made popcoorrn!" You stretch your last word out in an attempt to convince the boy to join you

Not even a second later, you hear the sound of shuffling growing closer to you, followed by the boy's tall figure appearing, rubbing his eyes adorably

"Did you say popc-?" His lit up face shifts as his jaw drops an awe, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Do I have something on my face?" You ask in a worried tone, opening your camera app

Titling your face side to side, you check for a bug or sauce stain to no avail

At this point, Ni-Ki is practically drooling, staring at you like you're the Mona Lisa herself

"No no, nothing. It's just...you're so stunning, f*ck, angel" He whispers his last words, almost as if you knocked the air out of his lungs

You chuckle softly, hiding your face in your hands

"Stop, I just did my nightly skincare. I'm barefaced and have my strawberry jammies on, Ki, and now is the time you decide to drool over me?" You deadpan with a giggle, still hiding you blush

He slowing approaches you, gently pulling your hands away from your face, cupping your cheek

"Please don't hide your pretty face, angel. And, for your information, I love your strawberry jammies" He whispers with a soft chuckle, his gaze never faltering

Your breath hitches, your face turning impossibly redder

Just as you're about to respond, he stands up

"Hold that thought, love. I'll be right back" He says before scurrying off into his room, leaving you in confusion

A few moments later, he comes back with a sketchbook and pencil, approaching you once more

"May I?" He asks, ghosting his hand under your chin, you nod with a gulp at his proximity

He gently tilts your chin upwards, softly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before stepping back, doing that artsy thumb thing 👍🏻👎🏻

You giggle at his antics, trying your best to hold your position

He couldn't help but crack a smile after seeing yours, placing a soft kiss on your nose before sitting across from your figure

"Now, hold still for me, darling. Let me know if you're getting tired, alright?" He asks softly before starting. You nod slightly, not wanting to mess up his angles

You soon hear him scribbling softly onto the paper, finding the sound of the pencil hitting the parchment soothing

You smile in content, the blush never leaving your cheeks

"You're doing so good for me, love. That's it" He reassures, checking in with you, knowing how uncomfortable it must be for you to sit there so still

A few more minutes pass by and you hear his strokes becoming less frequent, signaling he was almost done

Your muscles started to slightly ache at this point, so you slightly tilt your head to crack your neck

"Heeyy don't move baby, I promise it'll only take a bit" He cutely whines with a chuckle, you knew he wasn't seriously upset

You can't help but giggle, trying hard to stiffle your laugh but failing when glancing at his little tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration

Before he can say anything, you quickly apologize, going back to your previous position

You see him smiling to himself like an idiot as he adds the finishing touches

"Aaand...done!" He punctuates his last word with a tap of his pencil on the page, tucking the notebook to his chest sneakily, his eyes meeting yours

You sigh in relief, he admires you with a gleam in his eyes as you get up to stretch

You mirror is position on the couch, staring right at him in curiosity

"Can I see?" You ask, crawling toward him slowly with a stupid smile on our face

He grips the sketchbook tighter to his chest, shaking his head cutely

"Only if you give me a kiss right, here" He teases, tapping at his cheek

You roll your eyes, placing a soft kiss where his finger was, hearing him hum in content

"And here" He points to the other cheek

You sigh, placing a peck on his cheek once more

"And h-" He points to his lips, about to finish but you interpret him instead

"I'll be the judge of that" You tease, trying to sneak a peak at his sketch

He sighs, "fair"

Slowly handing the sketchbook to you, he looks away, curling into himself in embarrassment

As you look down as his work, a tear can't help but roll down your cheek

Around your face were little hearts, along with arrows pointing out little details of your face, you read them one by one

An arrow pointing to your birthmark reads 'my favorite little chocolate chip <3'

An arrow pointing to your eyes read 'the most gorgeous ones on Earth, could get lost in them for hours'

Every strand of hair, scar and birthmark had little notes pointing out his love for each and every one

Another tear rolls down your cheek

He hears you sniffling and quickly cups your cheeks with a worried look

"Are you alright, angel? Did I say something mean? I didn't mean to offend you. Do you not like th-" His rambling it's quickly shushed by your lips

Gently putting his sketchbook to the side, you straddle him, sitting on his lap, never breaking the kiss

Playing with the hair on his nape, you can't help but smile into the kiss

"I'm not upset, Ki. I'm just so happy to have you. Thank you, love" you whisper before colliding your lips onto his, addicted to the feeling

His hands gently find their way to your waist, he whispers

"You mean the world to me y/n, you have no idea. When I saw you just then, it's like the world stopped for a second. You're so *kiss* so *kiss* f*cking *kiss* gorgeous, angel *kiss*"

You giggle, burying your face into the crevice of his neck, placing a gentle kiss below his ear, whispering

"I love you so much, Ki"

He softly pulls you from his neck and holds your chin, leaning his head so your foreheads meet

"I love you too, angel" placing a soft kiss on your temple, holding you close with a hum

I'm delulu pls help😓