#will i ever publish that oneshot? maybe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

edgeray · 9 months ago

Text

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

502 notes · View notes

mandukkul · 1 year ago

Text

TEENAGE ANGST — n. rk

synopsis: you’re suppose to spend yet another birthday alone wallowing in teenage angst, but someone steps in and breaks the cycle

tags: non!idol!riki x f!reader, comfort, angst (not too much i think), a bit of fluff, maybe coming of age

warnings: riki doesn’t appear until like 1/3 into the oneshot, NOT PROOFREAD!!! cursing, angst (i think), spelling and grammatical errors (i wrote tbis at 2am and finshed it at 3 leave me alone), lots and lots of mis-capitalisations, tense errors probably, teenage angst 😰 , let me know if there are any more

word count: 4.7k

published: 13 July

authors note: first writing piece on here, my birthday is on september 8th but i wrote this maybe back in may

You think as a teenager, the worst thing that could affect you was teenage angst. but for you, it would probably be the least of your problems. Instead wallowing like every other teenager before you, locked deep into their rooms never to see the sun until they were 20, you decide it’s better to fix your problem with a day out.

you’re going to be better than what the stereotype says. I mean who’s better at swimming in your own self pity than yourself of course. Even if your parents had decided that travelling abroad for months on end as a job was better than staying at home in the giant house they bought to live as a family, or leave a teenager alone instead of bringing her along, you won’t let it bother you like it did the previous years.

Although you couldn’t feel bad, your parents were dreaming big, even if you became merely a side thought in that dream. Any teenager would live blissfully with all the materials you had. It was truly a dream, but a dream can only become reality if you make it.

You’re not going to think so negatively and say that people around you would rather see you burn than to see you happy, even though that’s exactly what you’re saying.

You’re a kid with everything you want, but surrounded by other kids who are and have basically the same as you, only with parents in the picture, you’re at bare minimum on the grand scale of things.

To live your life with no one by your side, unless you count the people who dislike you at school, is harder than you think.

But you’ve lived your life like this far too long to complain, it’s been routine to be left alone. only now, the difference is that your birthday was today.

spending what most would say a precious day, in a house so hollow you’d think it was abandoned isn’t exactly ideal. Being alone could only add to your ever growing list of reasons to angst over. not even you, who seemed accustomed to this trend, would want to be reminded of how alone— lonely— you are.

so to attempt to turn a new leaf, you urge yourself to spend it differently, you told yourself. straying from your normally secretive emo self, you decide that traveling to the next suburb ,since you heard about a new promotion of the manga you liked being released in a cafe in said suburb, was a good way to ignore your ever piling problems of self-destructive tendencies.

but oh how the world is against you, even if it is your birthday.

The bus suddenly needs to take a detour to a different area you’re not too familiar with, then declares that the route must be canceled due to complications leaving you stranded in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. When checking your phone to find where you are, you see that you are not only an hour walk away from your house, but your phone is standing on its last legs with a messily 20%.

To test your limits further, the sky starts to cry the moment you’re just far enough from your house that running back would do more harm than good.

you quickly scope your area, finding that there are no parks in the vicinity to offer mercy from the rain, and the closest shelter is either 20 minutes forward to the bus stop or the array of trees planted along the side wall as decorations.

you way your options, and take the tree closest to you as refuge. you’re glad the area you’ve wandered to is littered with them, even better that they're thick enough to offer some kind of protection.

minutes passed and the rain hasn’t let up, going at the same harsh rate it has been going at for the past 10 minutes. your clothes, so obviously drenched, weighs you down causing your minimal moves to become sluggish (or maybe it’s the premonition of sickness approaching).

the trees hang low with despair, mimicking your very attitude. rain licks your face, and you can’t tell whether your tears finally made its greeting or it’s rain getting into your eyes.

you start to ponder whether running to the back home would be a better idea than your lovely tree, the idea of escaping your rain soaked clothes seeming like a dream as of right now, a dream escaping you the longer you wait.

you test your already bad luck, because god so obviously has a vendetta against you, deciding your next best option was to end your little escapade and head back home in the rain.

Barely ten minutes in, with wet sneakers splashing into deep puddles and your clothes glued to you like second skin, the rain starts to roar, angered by your decision apparently.

your vision can’t help but blur due to the heavy rain clouding your sight, and the hair that stubbornly sticks itself into your forehead and subsequently, your eyes. it’s hazy and you can barely make out the road in front of you, you’re glad the path ahead of you is empty and that you’ve arrived in a more familiar area.

I guess not even you can escape the clutches of teenage angst, slowing your strides and accepting your fate.

you think how stupid and cliche you look walking in the rain with a frown. Your feet dragging, now feeling the effects of almost an hour in the rain, and on your birthday of all days. The only thing to complete your look was loud sad emo music.

stopping in your tracks, letting the rain do what it wants, you begin to think back to what you must’ve done to anger god so much.

you shut your eyes for just a moment, to shield yourself from rain trying to attack your eyes, but the rain suddenly stops, or more accurately, something is blocking the rain from you. you begin to hear the pitter patter of rain against an umbrella and just for a moment, you think god has found pity in your wallow and granted you mercy. When opening your eyes, low and behold, a black umbrella meets your face.

oh and there’s Riki, or what he likes to be called, Niki, standing in front of you, holding the umbrella over your head acting as your current saviour.

so much for God's mercy.

If your day wasn’t already so bad, you’d say that seeing niki would be the worst part of your day. Unfortunately for you though, it was the best.

you and niki have never been on the same page, ever since he ‘accidentally’ bumped into you while you were in an empty hall. you had given him many chances to be nice to you, or atleast apologise, but as days passed from the first meeting, all you’ve received was strange stares you know all too well. When confronting him, all he could do is ignore you and or play dumb. This interaction had left a massive rift between the two of you, and being a not so popular kid in highschool compared to the ‘king of dance’ was not a good look.

“why are you trying to be a main character” is the last voice you want to hear from, especially on this joke of a birthday. you crane your neck slightly, meeting face to face with the face you hate (and hate to say is extremely easy on the eyes). “why are you trying to stop my main character moment” you shoot back with equally as much snark, but it comes off weak as you underestimated the sound of rain.

Niki looks down at you with the same glint in his eye you dislike, not because it was a judgmental one, but one of mystery because you can never guess what he’s thinking. “sorry sorry, should i let you get back to that” he removes the umbrella from above you but you make no attempt to stop him.

the rain embraces you once again, as harsh it was moments ago. you state a niki again, his dry figure under the comfort of his darken umbrella, staring at you who seemed to be physically separated from him.

talk about rift.

you’ve never noticed how far you were from niki, in a metaphorical sense. Niki had everything you had, and more. He had people to talk to, hang out with, care about and care for. He too, probably went through his fair share of teenage angst, but you think to yourself that this is the first (and only) win.

he sees this and halts his movement, examining your figure deeply. you seem tired. along with the wet suit you’re wearing, and unruly hair dripping at its tips, you look far different to how you present yourself at school. nonchalant and cool, an enigmatic girl who seems to always be out of everyone’s business but as of now, you look (in the nicest way possible) like a train wreck.

“Are you taking joy out of watching me wallow?” you scoff, staring at him with a distasteful eye, “i’m not a sadist” he jokes but he’s the only one who’s smiling.

he coughs to clear his throat, or maybe the awkward atmosphere, you’re too tired to care. you watch as he moves the umbrella back under you, “why are you standing in the rain anyways?” he questions.

“m trying to get home” you whisper loud enough to beat the rain, looking at Niki who’s features seem to fuzz up the more you blink.

“don’t you live 3 streets away?” he adds, you only nodding in response.

your movements are suddenly too sluggish to call lazy, the effects of an hour in the rain finally hitting you.

“aren’t your parents worried?”

probably

“my parents are overseas,” you mumble as he nods knowingly, having his fair shares of travelling parents, although he has his sisters to accompany him, “and i don’t feel like spending my day alone”

birthday

you think how this is the first real conversation you’ve had with niki, ever since your first encounter. Normally you’d stray away from him, so much as look in your direction, you’re off to avoid further conflict and instead plan a faux argument comeback for if the day ever arrives.

you rub your eye to rid the haze that had gotten worse, along with the bodily ache and pounding head.

niki notices, he always notices you. seeing you off in your own world from a distance.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone laced with concern, or at least that's what you think. He moves his hand to wipe some hair out of your face, attempting to help with your irritable eyes.

Despite the cold weather, you’re hot to the touch.

“oh shit, you’re burning up” he goes into mother mode as he touches your forehead, seeing as that’s what his sister and mother do when he has his own fever. you mumble an incoherent response, you’re not sure what you said either.

“I should get home then” you mumble, stepping away from safety and into the rain. He goes to stop you, but the moment you move you’re in shambles, collapsing into his arms like some damsel in distress.

oh fuck

…

sometimes you think to yourself, what did you do to end up here? and when i mean here, i don’t mean the literal sense, i mean the place you are in life, because for you, all you seem to do is piss of whoever’s writing your story, because why else would you be living such a shitty (but not enough to outwardly complain) life.

The second you wake up in bed was your first red flag. the sheets a bluish grey, far different from your own floral white ones. The bed is softer, and the quilt more warm, but that might just be from the sheer exhaustion you exhibited some time ago.

The next flag was the scary tall silhouette you see entering the room, holding what looks like a black plastic bag filled with various things.

riki looks much more intimidating when all you can make out is his outline.

the moment he turns around from shutting the door, he sees your eyes staring at him and the previous blank expression he wore changes into a face of concern.

“oh you’re awake” he scrambles words together as he stalks up to for bedside, placing the plastic bag beside him as he examines your condition like some kind of doctor.

“clearly” you croak, and you find out that your voice is extremely hoarse (and sore).

“try not to speak, i think you have a fever from standing under the rain” he deduces but you can’t help but scoff, “gee, who would’ve guessed”.

the sick you are even snarky than normal you.

Niki chuckles at your comment as he shuffles around the plastic bag for a bottle of water and what looks like painkillers.

you shift your head to watch him as he assorts the medicine and water onto the bedside table, pulling out a small mandarin to complete the collection.

“What's with the orange?” you whisper, trying to not use your voice too much, “vitamin c” he answers simply and you can’t help but laugh at him.

you manoeuvre into a sitting position to take what he’s giving you, ignoring the pain striking your head as you do so.

as you pop pills and chug water, you continue to scan the room. It's pretty boring, with a table with a few pieces of stationary, and a shelf with some personal touches.

Niki sees you’re so obviously inspecting the room, and coughs up an answer.

“oh umm- sorry. i didn’t know where you lived and you had passed out and i panicked and brought you to my house” he explains. that explains the strange surroundings. you’re in his room.

you think about how different his room is to what you originally assumed. no trophies, or obnoxious posters. a very standard and boring room for someone so rich.

his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, “i’ll leave you to rest” he starts to get up and you don’t know what has gotten over you, but the moment you see him shift away, you grasp his wrist urging his attention back on you.

he stares at you intently, as if he’d listen to the hours of silence you’d make if you chose to.

under his scrutinising gaze, you can’t help but avert your gaze. “I don't want to spend my birthday alone” you unconsciously mumble and you feel pathetic as you hear the words leave your mouth.

a raging silence fills the room, and your own anxiety gets the best of you as you loosen your grip around his wrist.

the moment he longer feels your fingers against him, he reaches for you back which surely catches your attention.

you never had a real interaction with the boy, especially due to the circumstances you (or him) were put through but your distaste for him wasn't baseless, even if your heart felt different.

Speaking about heart, it was pounding so loudly against your chest, you could’ve sworn Niki would dance to it.

“It's your birthday?” he’s grip on your hand is gentle, almost delicate as if you’d crack under the pressure of his touch. you nod softly, not facing him but you can tell what he’s thinking.

you probably seem more like a loser than you already are, you feel like that at least.

Riki nods his head, gently as to let your eyes follow enough not to be bothered by such movements. He repositions himself beside his own bed, hand still attached to yours.

you try everything in your power to ignore his riveting gaze, but the awkwardness is much louder than the silence itself.

you ponder to yourself, if this birthday was one of your best ones or the worse. you silently compare back to when you were six, and everyone and their friends were there. your parents seemed less concerned with otherworldly matters and you focused on nothing but the people around you.

That was the last time you felt noticed.

teenage angst must’ve hit you really early, huh?

then, back to just 14, where it was yet another year alone, with no one at school knowing who you are (yet because the moment you meet riki everything had a turn for the one worse), your parents at god knows where, living their best business lives, and this is your first time spending your birthday alone (first of a few).

you think how empty your house was, how dark and voided it felt, feeding into your ever growing reasons to angst.

and now you think of now, despite being ill with a rising fever, you don’t feel as bad as you did back then. you can’t tell if it’s just your delirious mind putting it’s fair share of delusional thoughts into you, or it’s just because you haven’t had company in so long. but the hand wrapped around yours, and the feeling of someone (even if it’s the ever so terrible niki) next you that made you smile.

“What are you smiling about? Are you going through shock?” niki’s voice is a mixture of playfulness and concern, because even if the chances of you suddenly falling into a seizure is low, it isn’t zero.

your eyes trail to him, but not to his eyes, you wouldn’t dare look straight at him.

“I thought it was going to be another bad birthday” you shrug, and you can’t for the life of you, wipe off your smile, not now because Riki finds it in himself to squeeze your hand.

you expect another remark, because that’s all your conversations seem to be (from the single one you’ve just had earlier) but nothing of the sort came, instead, from the corner of your eyes, you see him smile.

the nicest type of smile, with his boxy edges, and eyes squeezing softly.

if you weren’t looking at him before, you are now.

“I'm glad” that’s all he says, and your heart clenches at something that isn’t depression and anxiety.

The overwhelming feeling of awkwardness has long dissipated and has been replaced with something else.

something new.

you stare intently into his eyes, moreso, he does and you are compelled to look back. He's searching for something, in the darkness of the room it seems like.

you can barely make out his features, soft eyes, and sharp jaw. his hair perfectly framing his face, to much of your distaste, and is slightly damp probably from just getting back from wherever he went.

you wonder what’s going inside that head of his, while staring so intently at you, dissecting every little part of you. does he notice the droop of your eyes, how tired you look, how pale your skin has gotten from days locked in your room, how your cheeks never flushed with life yet was always plush to the touch (probably from all the instant food you’ve consumed)

does he notice the teenage angst you wallow in, him probably going through the same trivial problems as you.

“Sorry you have to spend your weekend with me” you whisper, thinking about all the other things the “king of dance” could be doing instead of nurturing you back to health.

He’d probably be out with heeseung or jake at the local gaming cafe, laughing and playing. He was probably on his way there if not for running into you.

you don’t break eye contact so you see how his eyes double in size, quick to shake his head, your own aching from following his movements. “hey don’t say that” he scolds you, taking his other hand to caress yours.

How intimate does he get?

your skin burns from his touch, and not because your fever is bordering on 39° C. Your eyes tear away, too much of your brains disliking because, even if you dislike him, he’s very nice to look at.

“no one deserves to spend their birthday alone” and he may be right, but your own angsty self could beg to differ.

because with the cards dealt to you, and the way you’ve treated the world (because how it treated you) there’s no doubt there’s a love hate (mostly hate) relationship going on between you and life.

“Even more, now that you’re sick” he adds on, rubbing circles to the back of your hand and you feel comfort for the first time in a while.

“i guess even someone who hates me can be nice, huh?” you didn't mean to say that out loud, but your quiet voice is too intertwined with your head voice, mixed with the fact that you’re terribly sick, couldn’t tell the difference.

he stares at you quizzingly, as if you’ve said something so utterly absurd it’s left him speechless.

“i don’t hate you”

those words catch you off guard. because the words “don't” and “hate” have never been uttered on the same line with “you” following after it.

you stay silent. it’s your birthday so of course he wouldn’t uprightly say it to your face.

“Do you hate me?”

he asks and you take a moment to ponder, about the strange stairs he’s given you, and the amount of times he’s ignored you piled with how everyone at school seems to stray away from you.

you only hate him because he hates you

“i only hated you because you hate me”

niki is left truly speechless (in a metaphorical sense), and his jaw is literally cracked wide.

“what?!? I don't hate you! god! i could never hate you”

like a cringey teenage cliche, you bite your lip holding back an unwanted grin.

“don’t say the lord's name in vain” you mutter to make light of the situation.

not having friends didn't mean you weren’t socially inept.

Your dry chuckle is the only sound left in the room, other than the pattering of rain. riki can’t help but frown at the news he just heard.

“i’ve never hated you, not for a second” he looks at you as if he’s trying to convince you, telling you that all your internalised monologues were for nothing, “i just thought… since you were so stand-off-ish, that you just didn't like me” you shrug, averting from his gaze.

words pour out of you like vomit and you can no longer keep up your enigmatic cool girl facade, not now that you’re sick.

“not many people like me, so i assume you hate me jusy as much, and well, if you hated me, i figured i should hate you back”

and you did, well you tried to at least. but in moments like these; where niki holds your hand as if you’re the only thing keeping him alive, where his eyes never leave your lips because he’s so set on remembering every little detail you say, afraid your words will be lost to tone. you can’t help but not hate him at all, noy one bit.

“how could i hate you when you’re just so perfect” he whispers, almost like a confession.

actually he did confess. to you. right now.

you owlishly blink, and suddenly think that your beating heart is more serious than your fever.

you try to snatch your hand away from him, in embarrassment of him feeling how hot you feel, with the tips of your ears flaming red.

with your averted gaze, it’s not like you can see that his neck has a creeping speck of hot red as well as his cheeks, ears, and everything on him.

He's so glad it’s dark right now.

“you can’t just say that, riki” it’s the first time you’ve said his name.

his name out of your mouth, your tongue, your lips.

He wants to hear it again.

“Why not?” he eggs, leaning closer despite the strange territory they’ve suddenly entered.

“Some people might get the wrong idea” and by some, you mean yourself because even with the minimal things you know about the boy next to you, your heart is fluttering like crazy it makes you want to vomit.

“But I'm not lying, you’re so perfect” Riki reiterates, “you’re so perfect, i’m afraid to even talk to you, or look at you, even be around you” he rambled at the amount of failed attempts to talk to you, caused by his shyness.

so… everytime you tried to talk to him, walked near him, caught him staring, it was all because of some silly crush?

and now you feel stupid, ontop of your crippling angst, you’ve failed at teenage romance.

letting out a frustrating sigh, so heavy you might even blow the poor boy away, you drop down ontop your back and whine.

he’s shocked for a moment, watching you wail with your hands covering your face.

he finds you so cute, his stomach might because an olympic gymnast at this point.

riki crawls closer to you, kneeling onto his knees as he gently pries your hand away from your face. “I feel so stupid” you can’t help but utter, eyes shut to avoid his eyes.

riki grins, leaning closer (not that you could see), “the smartest girl at school? Feeling stupid? That's a first” he jokes and you unintentionally snort out a laugh, “i’m not the smartest” you instantly shoot back, slowly opening your eyes.

“oh but you are, you’re smart, and beautiful, and mysterious and witty and-“ you rip your hand from his grip to cover his mouth, any more and your ego will start to inflate and be as big as Sunghoon’s. “aish, stop that

'' You laugh, and you can hear him giggling along.

“But why? can’t i tell the girl i like how amazingly perfect she is?”

the girl he likes…

the.

girl

likes

IS YOU?

“you like me…” you gape, maybe you are socially inept, or at least, romantically.

riki laughs, and a hearty one at that. the type of laugh that comes straight from the stomach. “how could anyone not?” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

like the teenage girl you are, you can’t help but feel bubbly and giddy, like the princess in some lame disney movie being swept off her feet by a guy who’s probably way too old for her (funny seeing that riki’s younger than you).

Then guilt hits you. as much as you want to revel in this blissful joy, you know nothing about riki, and you spent so long hating on him in your head to suddenly switch up.

“I know nothing about you though…” you break the news to him, “i mean, we technically just had our first real conversation”.

riki can’t help but smile, even if he’s just been indirectly rejected, your gentleness in letting him down makes him swoon even more.

“we can get to know each other then” he declares, smiling down at you.

“But are you willing to wait?” your eyes fill with anticipation, hoping for the best (it is your birthday after all), and wonder for the first time in forever, smiling from ear to ear.

“for you, i’d wait a thousand years”

if what he said before wasn't swoon worthy, this definitely was.

you feel like one of his silly fangirls that wait outside of class, giggling at his stupid smile but this time, you know you’re the cause of it.

“Are you going to start singing Christina Aguilera now?” you joke, giggling quietly to yourself. “I mean you should, since it’s my birthday after all” oh what a good birthday it was.

“anything for my birthday girl” Seeing your smile stretch for the first time, he hopes he’d be seeing that everyday in the near future.

Riki looks at you, for what feels like the millionth time. He really looks at you, like he did at school, like he did on the street in the rain, and like he does now.

and he thinks to himself:

yeah, I can definitely wait.

authors note pt.2: as you can see i write a lot for riki (my bias) mostly because i have so many wips that i s decided to release 🤭 might accept request who knows. also if you have any tips on how to write or do a layout please pm!!!!

529 notes · View notes

thetreefairy · 6 months ago

Text

Childhood friends go long back

Request by @princeasimdiya12

So for my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Toshinori and a male reader as childhood friends please? the story would focus on them being friends despite being alone for most of their childhood what do you think?

Because they are friends, I'll be calling Toshinori Yagi for most of this fic

male reader Tw: bullying, young Yagi was as reckless as midoriya for real, Reader is quirkless (stays quirkless even when Yagi get's his quirk) this isn't my best work but hope you enjoy it<3

Yagi never understood why people bullied him for his 'quirklessness', hell he didn't even understand it when he gained OFA.

But what he didn't understand was why Reader looked so betrayed when he told him about OFA and his mission to become the symbol of peace.

"...I had hoped you would achieve that quirkless." Reader had admitted to him. "But I am glad you have a way to achieve your goal. Just know, it's still going to be difficult, your body didn't have your whole childhood to get use to a quirk."

"I know." Yagi told Reader with a weak smile. "Maybe I can get Master to recommend you for the support course, you are a great inventor."

"They have a quirk rule even for support courses." Reader smiled at Yagi weakly. "Papa is going to teach me."

"...Wow him being nice?"

"I know right!"

In the end Yagi finally understood the difference between those who are quirkless and not. There is a power imbalance that can never be taken away or made smaller.

It was obvious that Reader had tried to make it seem like there wasn't this wall between the two the more he progressed in his hero training. But there was.

They both started to feel alone, more than they have ever had before.

When they were quirkless they at least had each other, and now?

Reader feels like he has no one, he knows that Yagi is trying. And he appreciates it, but Yagi was slowly forgetting how it was to be quirkless. That truth hit him hard when he saw the scrapbook the two made at the end of their first year of middle school.

It was full with memories, memories of them playing around. Memories of loving themselves and each other despite their quirklessness.

"Come on Reader!" younger Yagi shouted at him. "Or we'll miss the movies!"

"I got you, Yagi." Reader whispered, well he held his friend. "I got you. I'll protect you with everything I have."

"I can't believe they kicked you out!" Yagi shouted annoyed, his body trembling in rage. "It's not like it's your fault for not having a quirk!"

Reader missed Yagi, so much, but he didn't know how to reconnect with him--- not when they are walking such different paths in life.

All he can do is hope, that eventually, they'll walk the same path again.

I had to cut it short since I wanted to publish something at least, but my internship is draining me for real--

#treefairy🧚‍♂️🍁#male reader #x male reader #all might #yagi toshinori #toshinori yagi x reader #x reader #my hero academia #my hero acedamia #my hero acadamy #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero acedamia

76 notes · View notes

liberalk1tsch · 28 days ago

Note

💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft or 💛reunion kiss. Dealer’s choice.

bet you thought i forgot, but i didn’t! i just struggle not to make an entire story out of a tiny prompt

prompt from this ask game: 💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft

i suppose reunion in a way too, but primarily 💗

context: harvest festival, don’t ask me why it’s taken this long to get them to kiss (ok fine, it’s bc katniss is dumb and peeta’s stubbornly forcing her to make the first move), they’re sharing a private moment in the newly rebuilt bakery backyard bc katniss was getting ✨overwhelmed✨ in the crowd

note: this version is very abridged from what i wanted to do. might mess around and publish a full length oneshot if enough people are interested🫡

Peeta stands and offers me a hand, bowing down slightly in mock formality. “May I have this dance?”

I laugh lightly, pretending to consider his proposal. “Only if you promise to forgive me if I step on your toes,” I say.

“Deal.” He smiles widely as I take his hand and he tugs me up into his arms.

My breath catches as his hand slides down the curve of my waist, the other holding my own hand delicately aloft as he pulls me in close.

It’s not a difficult dance, just a simple box step, but I can’t for the life of me seem to go more than a few spins without messing it up somehow. My steps are mistimed, used to compensating for a shorter partner, and I’ve always been the one to lead, so everything is backwards now. It’s funny — he’s the one missing a limb and still somehow exudes infinitely more grace and confidence while dancing than I ever could. Whatever finesse he lacks in the forest seems to have all been channeled into this, whereas mine all but disappears without Prim as a partner.

“Sorry!” I cringe as Peeta winces from yet another mistimed step on my end.

He just brushes it off and offers me a small smile. “It’s fine, really.”

“No, it’s not,” I insist. I drop our hands, instead slinging both of my arms around his neck, pulling myself ever closer. His hand that had been in mine mirrors his other, finding its home on my waist in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. “There,” I say softly. We go back to our dance, gently swaying to the music rather than attempting actual dance steps, and for the first time, Peeta’s good foot is finally spared.

“Well,” he says, letting out a huffed laugh, “that’s one way to take away room for error — taking away any space at all.”

Normally it’s the kind of comment that would have me pushing him away, laughing off the sudden closeness, writing it off as unserious and unintentional. And I don’t know why, but instead I respond, “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

Peeta’s eyebrows flick upward in surprise. “I don’t,” he assures me, any hint of humor quickly draining from his voice. “I wasn’t sure if you did.”

We’re pressed against each other, chest to chest, so close that I can feel his thundering heartbeat. Or more likely it’s mine. Maybe it’s both.

“And what if I don’t?” I ask, staring up at him.

“You tell me,” he says. His eyes are sparkling pools of starlight in the moonbathed garden.

I open my mouth to say something, but immediately realize I have nothing left to say. He’s called my bluff. He knows as well as I do what I want, he’s just waiting to see what I do — if I flee and play it off like I always do, or if I actually let myself act on the feelings that have been eating away at me for months. Years, if I’m being completely honest with myself.

In the town square, only yards away, I can hear the slow song nearing its end, no doubt soon to be replaced by a fast-paced tune. I don’t have much time, so before I can think too much about it, I cup Peeta’s face in my hands and pull him in for a long, slow kiss.

I’d kissed Peeta probably thousands of times before, but never like this. Never unprompted, and so rarely initiated by me. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Here we are, a short distance from the crowd, yet none of this is for them — it’s for us, only us.

His lips are soft and gentle against mine as his hand snakes up my spine to knot in my hair at the nape of my neck, and I instinctively melt into his touch. I’d missed this. Oh, how I’d missed this. Craved it. I feel that familiar warmth only he can elicit in me beaming out from my chest and through my entire body as we kiss. I was a fool, I think, a damned fool for trying to convince myself I was content with his friendship and nothing more.

The hunger I felt on the beach returns too. It’s wild and ravenous for more, but I refrain, instead pulling away slightly and resting my brow against his, gazing at him softly. There would be another time to address that feeling, but this moment is different. It’s my irrevocable requital of the feelings he’d once proclaimed to an entire nation, the ones he’d fought so hard to recover, the ones I’d been so terrified to reciprocate. I wasn’t going to ruin things by pushing us somewhere we’re not yet comfortable, not while things are so new, when we’ve only just started to grow back together.

This would’ve happened anyways. In a way, it had always been Peeta. And I think it always will be.

#thanks for the ask!#i love them sm #autumn themed drabble!#the hunger games #everlark #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark fanfiction

33 notes · View notes

mintchoccy · 1 year ago

Text

THE GIRL WITH A BROKEN SPINE

NMIXX Lily Morrow

actually this is my first oneshot differently from my "Untitled" series. enjoy! (ps. inspired from this one heck of a piece. another version from that piece has been published by my friend @elryuse in their Wattpad. go check those two out!)

"get over here!"

Lily grabs the hem of your shirt, dragging you to the stockroom owned by the PE faculty. You don't expect this behavior to your senior, who was the smartest student in the school, as well as the school's singing champion.

For a quick rundown, Lily Morrow, is your senior. Right after you enter the campus on your second year of high school, you fall in love with her, but you can't express it directly. During your first school assembly, you were starstrucked on her beauty alongside her powerful voice as a member of a girl group named &Nixx.

As the school year came by, you and Lily had little or none interactions as you are focused on your studies, so does Lily. During school assembly, you always see her performing with her group and you could only just watch there, and admire. Only admire. As she goes to perform, you could shout for her attention.

“LILY-SUNBAENIM, YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!” “LILY, I LOVE YOU!”

The second one could only hit her hard, as she started to lose some focus as she tried to find the source of that voice. The voice that found her happiness, that kind of admiration. However, as they finished the performance, she could look for nothing. But until then, a guy came to her, who is coincidentally trying to find her as well.

“Lily Morrow, from Performing Arts?” you asked. “Y/N Lee, from International Studies.” she replied.

As you hand her some liquids and your handkerchief as her refresher, you had just shoot your shot for her. Sounds cheesy but it was your first time to make a move on a girl for a long time. You can see that she finds it funny, but you don’t mind because that’s the way of trying. Nothing seems to go wrong, right?

Wrong. Ever since that incident, you thought she found it annoying so you decided to stop approaching her during her breaks, or even eat with her for lunch. Oftentimes, you go the other way when you see her approaching you, making her mad at you. Lily would think to herself why she feels like you annoyed her at times but in reality, it just makes things even easier for her to love you.

It would get worse when Kim Jiwoo, or Chuu, your best friend's friend always hangs out with you, making the case more difficult with her and you on her goal to get your heart.

In the school comfort room, you are inside in one of the cubicles, fapping to porn. Lily, on the other hand, is currently on her not-so-normal activity of fishing you out where you could have go. This time, you are in the men's CR, and she quickly entered inside silently.

Confusingly, you immediately halted on what are you doing because maybe there's somethin entered, but unbeknownst to you, Lily silently locked the door, putting a sign saying "under repair" to avoid suspicion. After a few minutes, you return on what are you doing.

Playing the video again, you take out your cock, and gently stroking it, imagining it was Lily's hand stroking you. "Oh god, Lily, please stroke it more", you muttered. Lily, on the other hand, was turned on at what she's hearing. Yes, she always masturbated for you, but from your voice itself really hits right to the bone.

To your cubicle, Lily sneaks at the front of the cubicle door, silently hearing those moans. "Fuck! Oh yes, that's the spot! Keep sucking me with your tongue!" You moaned. Lily wasted no time and she pulls down her panties, putting her fingers quickly to her clit.

"Mfffff, ohhhhh" Lily moaned, but not as loudly as you moaned. She muffled her moans in order to not get any attention from you and caught her jerking off to you as well. Exchanging moans back and forth, uttering out each other's sexual pents to each other.

"Fuck, you're so good Lily-ah, please suck me more!" you moaned. "That's it baby, eat my cunt even more! Fuck, feels so good!" Lily moaned.

Both of you cum intensively, with Lily falling into her knees, dragging her down to the ground, behind a closed door where you are staying.

After the session, you immediately cleaned yourself, and put the soiled tissues on a bag you brought for later disposal. However, while leaving the cubicle, you found someone who is oddly familiar to you.

"Lily?", you asked, finding her half-passed out, her skirt wet and panties ruined. From that point, you know it's checkmate.

Lily on the other hand immediately woke up and instantly looked up to you. Shocked at your state, fully clothed and ready to leave, but yet puzzled face. She then pulled you in back to the cubicle, didn't care the puddle on her spot.

"Now, I heard you moaning for me?" Lily asked. You could only send a glare on her, speechless for her aggressiveness. "Well, if you won't talk, I'll drain you again", Lily added. She won't be kidding, as she unzip you down, fishing out the cock you've just been beaten for porn. She would care at all.

Starting to stroke it up and down, she started to lick her lips, admiring the size of your dick. For her perspective, she finally had the chance to submit. But for you, you are still clueless.

"W-why are you doing this? Is this some kind of a joke for you to do against me?" You started to spew out, as she kept her hands on your length.

"No baby, this is just my first step. Remember, you are finally mine. You get it?" Lily replied. She doesn't care if you call for a thousand saints.

Keeping the pace of her hands, she could only jerk your cock off. Looking at her face, she could be the biggest winner as she only looked up and down on her precious prize, and decided to gulp the meat, savoring the taste of it.

Looking back, you could only feel the pleasure, and the electricity jolted your body for the new sensation. Sure, Lily wasn't this type of girl but for you, it was surely the weakest point you've become. No people to call to, nothing at all.

Lily worshiped your cock like a toy. Playing with her saliva, she kept sliding your dick to her mouth, then jerking it at a fast pace.

"Will you cum for me baby? Will you cum, will you cum, will you cum? I know how much you love to cum for me baby. You are my toy. You are my precious, little toy. Now brace yourself, 'cause shit's gonna be in my favor ahihihihihi.....", and with that, with the help of her saliva, her hand, and her tongue. You came harder than a pitcher throwing a 120 mph fastball as streaks of cum splattered on your owner's face. Some of it splatters to her eyelashes, her nose, and her cheeks. She then cleans your cock with her tongue, sucking until it's squeaky clean.

"Thanks for the meal, baby. Please have your things packed, you're going home with me", Lily stood up and cleansed her face with her fingers. "Hmmmmm, delicious. can't wait to taste it more later", she added with a wink.

Since then, you were bounded to her. No asks, no reasons, just she took you to her home, only to be her so-called "boyfriend" in front of her friends and family.

However, behind all that, she could only make you go down for her, doing some kinky things for her. On a leash, licking her feet, and even eating her ass whenever she's stressed out during rehearsals.

But at the same time, she would prevent you from talking with your friends, even talking with her own circle. Even in class, she would tell your teacher that you should do your work alone than in groups. You would complain, but you would likely be punished by her afterwards.

It's been 6 months since that incident, and it's Valentine's Day. Sure, no one would likely give you something like chocolates or letters. But for Lily, she received a ton of them. Being the most popular member has perks, but you don't care because she deserves it all.

Walking down the hall, some run to you, and seem to want you to know her feelings.

"Oppa! Please accept my letter. I wrote it all night for you." she said, running away again.

"Odd," you could only reply. Opening the letter, you saw the name of the sender. “Chuu? As in Kim Jiwoo from the culinary arts? I’m too flushed”, you could only say. As you keep reading the contents of the letter, someone on your way just can’t wait to confront you, and decides to drag you out of the scene.

“WHAT’S INTO YOU? WAIT! DON’T DRAG ME SO HARD LIKE THAT!” You could only cry out as your clothes started to stain with the dirt from the shoes walking around the corridor. You then looked at her face, and you know she’s not happy when you talk to other girls.

"Get over here!" said Lily, dragging you to a stockroom. Looking around the room, this is where PE teachers used to stock all of their sports paraphernalia for future use and for the Intramurals.

“Now, look at me~ you said you will not look at other girls other than me, yeah?” you only nod. “Then why”, says with diction, “you”, with anger. “Disobey”, with madness, “my rules?”, with something lewd, something I heard from the ASMRs that I watched. What is it again? Yeah, yanderes.

“Hey, don’t look away, I’m still talking to you”, grabbing your chin to look at her. “Now, what should I do to you to obey me at once?”, she added.

“I don’t know Lily, I don’t know!” You replied. Even though your muscles are quite thick, you can’t still let go from the grasps of the Australian yandere.

Laughing, she then tears the buttons of your shirt down, revealing your body. Just for the record, you even had body fats, but slashing down the visceral fats worked due to months of cardio in the gym and football practices.

Smirking, she only added insult to injury by plucking down your belt, pulling down the pants and boxers altogether revealing your cock.

Looking at it, you can’t say if she’s just taking your attention to her. But in reality, she’s too focused on taking you and your virginity away to be hers and hers only.

“Look at you, dipshit. Didn’t you know I was the reason why I kept you out of all the classwork, I kept you all from interacting with others? It’s because I want you to focus on me. ON ME! But why suddenly, you refuse to accept my offer, huh? Right now, I’m going to take you, and your cock, and your life away from them. Don’t you see, I am the only person who only loves you?” She whispered to your ear. The eyes started to turn pink, as if she’s like a real-life yandere going wild for her senpai.

Nothing to say at all, she decided to sink her way into you by lining her now naked pussy, plunging it down inside her. Muffling your moans, she found it addicting that you are finally inside of her, and no one would stop her from doing so.

“Well baby, can’t you see? I am the only one who can make you feel like this. I am the only one who can make you happy. You are the only one who can make me happy. I am the only one who can marry you. I! AM! THE! ONLY! ONE! FOR! YOU!” she said in every pound she makes against you, she speaks as your brain starts to melt from her tightness.

In deep agony, you think that this torture is endless. Thinking about it, it was the worst dream that you can imagine. You wish to the gods that this would never happen, but they didn’t bother you to listen. Every slap of her thigh to you seems to be a torture, as Lily didn’t bother you to listen to your plead, still covering your mouth from moans or pleads of help you may mutter.

She kept going and going. Pleasuring herself on the human meat dildo on her lap, the person was immobilized by her hands making you stay still, her hand still on your mouth. So maybe you’ll ask, “how I can’t use my other hands to set myself free?” Well, my other hand was crushed on the back when I got thrown out earlier, and I can’t take it back. Well, tough luck.

As she rides you, the impending orgasm leaves you in a hallucination phase. You’ve become lightheaded as Lily kept riding your cock, her orgasm after orgasm. Strike one, her eyes start to glow more pink hearts. Strike two, your back and even chest are scratched by her nails. Strike three, all hell broke loose.

“Baby?” She asked, still your dick is inside her. “You know, I always dreamt of this moment. Don’t you worry. After this, we are bound forever. And no one would ever stand in our way”, she added. As if the clock strikes twelve, so as her. She slammed on you deep, a sign that you’ve cummed, a moaning mess all over her face as she clung on your neck.

Detaching herself from you, the overflow of cum all over her pussy was leaking. Scooping and eating the leak, you could only see her face turn into a deep obsession.

“You’re officially mine”

(notes: finally, after over a year, this piece will be finally out. the wattpad version will be out too after this piece goes live.)

#nmixx #nmixx smut #nmixx lily #lily morrow #yandere #kpop yandere

188 notes · View notes

eyelambspider · 2 months ago

Text

♰ 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 !

First of all, welcome! I will be doing my first ever 'kinktober' with one of my very good friends @lady-boketto. Here is the link to the list pf prompts we have both come up with: Kinktober 2024!

For the most part, I personally will be sticking to the 'horror' prompts of the list and will be writing for König, Ghost, Soap, Price & Gaz! So if you'd like to request or throw a suggestion at me for one of the days feel free to! I will mostly just going with the flow on this one, either publishing headcanons, oneshots, or maybe even the occasional character bot on my j.ai profile!

I will also be helping/contributing a few works to @lady-boketto's tumblr, probably writing smut for characters in dungeon meshi, jjk & demon slayer! (I will reblog these ones I'm apart of if you'd like to see!)

You will find everything I've written for Kinktober 2024 under the tag: #♰ Cam's Kinktober24 !

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐈 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞:

01: mer!Gaz (both prompts)

03: Price or Konig Apocalypse AU (smut)

04: ghost x reader (both prompts)

10: slasher!könig x reader (both prompts)

27: bloody prom!könig x reader (both prompts?)

28: ghost x reader (both prompts?) i just think a darkweb!ghost would be- ahgskgjgh

ofc if you have a character suggestion for any of the days I'd be happy to hear your ideas! thanks for reading this!

28 notes · View notes

fluffyzoey · 6 months ago

Text

a nischa oneshot i just never published???

here. *shoves a generic sickfic in your face* eat up

Mischa rolled over on his thin-as-paper mattress, feeling his sweat seep into his pillowcase. He groaned, staring at the cement wall beside his lousy excuse for a bed. His whole body felt hot, and not in the way that meant people swoon over you. Beads of sweat rolled down from his hairline, his skin blotchy and red. His stomach growled, but he didn’t even want to get up and eat.

He fished his phone out from the comforter beside him, flipping it over to check the time: 9:30. He’d slept in later than ever, as if his body knew it needed rest. However, it was Sunday, meaning the choir was getting together for their weekly outing.

Ever since the 6 of them had miraculously survived a roller coaster accident together, Ocean had been taking initiative to get the group together. Some weeks it was shopping and walking around downtown at whatever little shops remained, some weeks it was the mall, but today they’d planned a little hiking expedition.

Mischa was almost never the biggest fan of these get togethers. First of all, it meant being stuck in the same vicinity as Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg for at least three hours. Secondly, it meant listening to Ocean for at least three hours. And lastly and probably worst, it meant not complaining about the little ginger scumbag for the entire time, or all hell would break loose.

The real reason Mischa went at all was to spend time with his boyfriend, Noel. The two of them had grown close as they recovered from their accident, and Noel had been there for every step of Mischa’s growing musical career. Most of the time, Noel’s work schedule made it difficult for the boys to spend time together. Taco Bell execs didn’t really take “need time to make out with my boyfriend” as a valid excuse for missing shifts. However, “mandated outdoor socialization” was acceptable, apparently, so choir outings were fair game.

Mischa ran his hands through his greasy, matted hair, yawning. His eyelids felt like they were made of steel, weighing him down and just wanting to close, keel over, and sleep. Even the way he carried himself, usually with his chest puffed out like a lion on the hunt, was different; slouched over and painful to even move.

His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his sweatpants, evidence of a text message coming through.

Noel: babe where r u! u said u would pick me up @ 9:15

He winced. Shit…

Noel set his phone down on his desk, turning back to the mirror to look at his makeup: on point as usual. Slumping back in his chair, he wondered where Mischa was.

It’s not super unlike him to sleep through his alarm…he can sleep through my snoring after all. Maybe he stayed up late? Which is weird, because usually when he stays up late it’s because he and I are texting or something…Is he ignoring me? Shit, am I gonna have to ask Ocean for a ride? Damn it…

He picked up the phone again and dialed Mischa’s number, and to Noel’s delight and relief, Mischa picked up.

“Hey babe…You alright?”

Mischa, at that moment, let out just about the loudest cough Noel had ever heard, hacking into the phone.

“Sorry, I slept through my-” he paused to yawn, “-alarm. I will be there in ten minutes, Poet.”

Noel’s heart absolutely melted at the sound of his partner’s voice. He sounded hoarse and just all around awful.

“Sweetheart, no offense, but you sound like shit. Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Just fine, honey. You wait and I’ll- ACHOO”

The sneeze just about made Noel have a heart attack with the sheer volume of it. He wasn’t so sure he loved the idea of Mischa even leaving the house in this condition, but he also knew how much of a stubborn asshole his boyfriend could be. Talking Mischa into staying home was not going to be easy in the slightest.

“Mischa…are you sure it’s the best idea for you to come get me? I can ask Ocean for a ride if you’re sick, you need rest…” Initially, he was going to scold Mischa, but his ‘loving boyfriend’ mode took over in a heartbeat. “I don’t even have to go today! Just get back to bed, drink lots of-”

“No, no.” Mischa waved him off. “I am going to go get dressed, and then I will come get my special boy, okay? I love you, Noel.”

“I love you too, which is why I want you to-”

He hung up. He fucking hung up.

This was gonna be a long day.

Mischa had taken driver’s education. He knew that driving while sick could lead to accidents, because being sick made you drowsy, right? But Mischa wasn’t sick, he couldn’t be. Mischa didn’t get sick, at least that’s what he’d gaslit himself into believing. He got into the driver’s seat, rearing on the gas and speeding out of the driveway, almost slamming into his foster parents’ mailbox on his way out.

Noel’s house wasn’t too far away from his, nowhere in Uranium City was very far away from any other place, to be honest. That was just how small towns worked. He turned onto Noel’s street and pulled up in front of the house. He parked, slightly crooked in the driveway, and trudged to the front step.

“Noel!” He croaked out, his voice cracking. He rang the doorbell.

The shorter male opened the door and looked Mischa up and down with a satisfied smirk on his face. “As expected, you look like someone pushed you out of a car window and then ran you over with a pickup truck. Bed, now.”

“What? No! We have the hike-”

“I already texted Ocean and let her know that you’re sick and thus will not be attending. Now please go lay down, you know where my room is.”

“But…that just means I am going to get you sick! “So what? You’re the love of my life, I think I can handle your cooties.”

For once, it was Noel being the stubborn one. It was clear he wasn’t going to hear another word about it. Mischa allowed himself to be escorted (read: dragged by the collar of his shirt) upstairs to Noel’s bedroom.

“Get your ass under the covers.” Noel demanded playfully. “Mom’s working another late shift, but I don’t have to work again until Monday afternoon. We could spend all day and night right here if it would make you feel better.”

Mischa yawned and plopped down on Noel’s bed, having made the decision to be cooperative for once. “And do what? Talk about how shitty I feel? Because I feel like…big…bleh.”

“I know you do, darling.” Noel kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, giggling. “If you would lay down like I told you to and rest up, you might feel a little bit less bleh. Have you eaten today?”

“No.” He admitted. “I was not hungry.”

Noel sighed. “I’ll go get you some toast or something. You really gotta start taking care of yourself when you’re sick.”

“I am not sick.” Mischa protested. “Just a little tired.”

“Either way, you need rest.” Noel pressed his boyfriend down, hand splayed out over his chest. “Lay down, Mischa. Spare me my sanity.”

Mischa rolled his eyes. “I do not need to lay down, poet. Sleep is for the weak.”

“No, dumbfuck, sleep is for the idiot boyfriend who won’t admit that he feels like he was hit point blank with a sack of bricks!”

Mischa pondered Noel’s innate ability to know exactly how he felt, because the sack of bricks thing was fairly accurate. He felt like he was going to topple over onto the floor, but would his cocky ass admit that? When pigs fly.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He repeated instead, sitting back up. If he was going to get in bed he was not going to lay down and he was also going to make it everyone’s problem.

“Whatever you say, dickwad,” Noel sighed. He was ever so creative with the pet names. “Sit still and don’t, I don’t know, set the house on fire. What do you want to eat?”

“I told you I am not hun—” he started, but he knew there was no winning this argument. “I guess…toast?”

Noel went downstairs and fished a loaf of bread and the toaster out, tossed a slice in, and promised himself he would not scream when the toast popped up.

He broke the promise.

Anyway, he took out the golden brown bread and slathered it in butter, taking it back upstairs to Mischa.

In the time it took Noel to make a piece of toast, Mischa had flopped over and fallen asleep. Noel made a soft tsk tsk sound, setting the plate of toast on the nightstand. He gently climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over both Mischa and himself. Rolling onto his side, he came face to face with a peacefully dozing Mischa and a pool of drool already staining the pillow (not that Noel really minded). He brushed Mischa’s chestnut curls out of his eyes, giggling softly.

“Yeah, rest easy, tough guy.” He whispered. “My fucking idiot.” He snuck a quick kiss onto Mischa’s forehead. “I love you.”

#rtc #ride the cyclone #mischa bachinski #noel gruber #nischa #passionfruit #passionroses #honestly im not gonna tag the rest of their ship names there are TOO MANY

42 notes · View notes

kasagia · 10 months ago

Note

I just read 'the grudge' and OH MY GOD! I am impressed really. You did such a great job writing it. And the end? It was perfect.

I have a request with a similar dynamic like they were lovers and he cheated and she knows about it (i live for the angst really) then she confronts him and breaks up with him. He isn't very happy about it and wants her back he tries everything but she still refuses to give in to him. So he goes all dark! Coriolanus on her and threatens her with something (her family maybe) and she gives in to him (smutty scene maybe👀). I feel like i talked too much and i am sorry for that. I just want her to be with him against her will ( in public they are the perfect couple and when no one is looking she is miserable and gives him the cold shoulder)

Don't feel obligated to write it if you don't want to. And thank you for feeding us such a great Coriolanus content❤️

Thank you very much! I'm so glad you liked it! 😊🩵🖤🖤🩵 So, tomorrow I'm publishing an oneshot inspired by this request...

And this will be my first time ever writing a true, full-fledged smut scene. 🙈🙈🙈

You will either love it or hate it. 🫣😅 But since tomorrow marks a year since I started writing on Tumblr, I thought why not? There has to be a first time for everything.

BUT... I have an orienting question...

Thank you! 🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵

A fragment from "A powerful man" - which is comming tomorrow..

"If you want her to truly obey you, she must come to you herself. Like a pet. Like a snake. If she sees that your relationship will bring her further benefits, she will come back to you. She's not stupid enough to waste such an opportunity. At least I hope so. You should focus on your campaign."

"I'd like that too. But currently… something else is on my mind." He says, walking over to the tinted window that overlooks the lab. He puts his hands in his pockets and watches you carefully as you work.

"You're wasting your potential. Maybe your children will be wise enough to follow in my footsteps more. One is running for president, and the other is a military chemist. Such a waste."

"Don't worry. One of our children will definitely continue your legacy, you have my word." He assures her, while observing you.

You lean over the table, strands of your hair falling into your eyes behind your safety glasses, as you test another biological weapon on rats. You look hot in that scientist outfit. He grunts, feeling his pants getting a little too tight. He regrets that he never took the opportunity to visit you here...

"It better be that way. And for God's sake, don't stare at her like a love-struck puppy like you did with your tribute from 12. Patience. Or you will have to train her to make her obedient."

"You know I like a challenge, Dr. Gaul." He replies with a sly, cocky smirk and turns his head towards Doctor Gaul once he has calmed down a bit and composed himself.

"Go away now. Your last Hunger Games must be amazing and unforgettable, or I'll tell her what you have planned for her." He laughs at this, shaking his head.

"I appreciate your attempts to intimidate me, but you know I'll be happy with any outcome. Whether it's keeping her on a leash or reshaping her to meet my needs as my future First Lady."

"But we both know which one you would prefer more." They share a sinister smirk. Coriolanus owed her a lot. He's learned many things under her tutelage... things that he uses to make sure you know that your place is always with him.

"As I said, I love a challenge. I will be expecting you as an honoured guest at this year's Hunger Games and my wedding. Of course, right next to my fiancée."

"Don't scare her away, Mr. Snow." She reminds him when he receives a package from her with the latest biological weapon. He will test it at this year's tributes. He smiles, thinking that it must have come from your talented fingers.

"Snow lands on top, Dr. Gaul." He assures her and says goodbye, leaving through a secret passage.

He still had a lot of things to do.

62 notes · View notes

fushiglow · 4 months ago

Note

Hello glow!!! Thank you for another lovely satosugu work! :)

I absolutely love how real and tangible your writing is - seeing them start with different states of being turned on and building together really paints such a lovely picture of what intimacy is without the expectation of a perfect start-stop :) 3 cheers to realistic sexual dynamics!

Also, I think that your link at the end of your post goes to Violent Delights instead - but maybe that's just an issue on my end!

Thank you so much for this lovely feedback (and the heads up about the link), I can't tell you how much your words cheered me on Friday! They came at a time I really needed to hear them so, if you don't mind, I'm going to use this ask as an opportunity to say a few things about my writing and why I do what I do — no obligation to respond!

Quite honestly, I have been feeling a little anxious about how I'm perceived as a writer recently. When Over the Threshold started gathering some steam in January, I only had five published works on AO3 posted over the course of six months. By the end of August, I'll have 18 published works for Jujutsu Kaisen, 16 of which will be complete. I have never been this productive in a fandom before!

A lot of the reason for that is because I'm finally learning how to work with my AuDHD brain. I love writing, I really do, and I'm constantly excited by the possibilities that reside within my brain. I have more ideas than I have time or hands to write them, but I want to explore as many of those ideas as possible. In the past, I would have forced myself to stick to the thing that I was "supposed" to write, rather than following the burst of inspiration and writing the thing that I "wanted" to write. To no one's surprise, that usually meant I ended up writing nothing at all.

I'm someone who seeks out challenges, and all the fics I've published in 2024 have been experimental in some way. Come Get Your Honey was a challenge in extended metaphor. Balance was a challenge in seamlessly blending two very different universes. Mailman AU was a challenge in format. Violent Delights was a challenge in pushing myself to new and uncomfortable places. Thunder was a challenge in encapsulating an entire world and history within a single motif without ever actually seeing that world and history.

I'm really proud of every single one of those works, as well as the speed I've written them at. I've published 92k words on AO3 already this year and written far more, so I feel like I can no longer justifiably call myself a slow writer. However, all the works mentioned above have artistic merit in the more traditional sense — i.e. they're not smut.

At the time of writing this, three of my five most recent works contain sexual content with varying degrees of explicitness, and it's hard to escape that pervasive (and flawed) idea that smut is "less serious" as a form of writing. Even writing smut in the first place has been a slow process of overcoming some of my own biases. However, sex is part of the spectrum of human experiences, and it's also deeply political. Whenever I explore it in my writing, you can be sure that I always have that at the forefront of my mind. That's why these works, too, have represented something new and challenging and exciting for me.

Discreet Delivery was the first piece containing explicit sexual content that I ever shared publicly and, with how rife top/bottom discourse is in this fandom (most of which is based on heteronormative ideals that I vehemently disagree with), I really wanted to make a statement straight out of the gate. I'm very proud of how I managed to weave a switch/vers narrative into a oneshot, and the feedback on it was wonderful.

Headroom, however, presented a very different kind of challenge. It was extremely difficult to write, because it doesn't follow the beats of a traditional sex scene. There's no satisfaction for Satoru nor for the readers, and that made it tricky to keep it engaging. I was also very nervous about showing a different side of these beloved AU characters and establishing a new dynamic between them while incorporating some of the broader themes from Over the Threshold.

Finally, Tell Me I'm Pretty was pure subversion, writing Suguru in particular in a way I've never seen before to challenge expectations about "roles" in sex. It meant I had no blueprint to work from, but I'm not interested in reproducing the same dynamics I've read a thousand times. However, that also means that I felt very anxious about how people would receive this fic — especially on GeGo Day.

The truth is, everything I write I write for myself first and foremost, but it's hard to keep sight of that when you're blessed with an engaged audience. This is a huge reason why updates to Over the Threshold take time. This fic is deeply important and deeply personal to me, but its growing popularity adds a pressure that I don't want to influence my writing. I feel a constant underlying need to outdo myself with every new fic and chapter I post, but that's unrealistic and unachievable.

Obviously, I want readers to enjoy what I write, but I know the moment I start writing for other people is the moment my writing suffers. That's the main reason why I'm reluctant to put anything behind a paywall, even if I feel frustrated with the way fanfics are casually consumed on the internet. Readers occasionally make demands of me without any respect for my time and effort and creative vision, and sometimes I look at what I've written and think, "Am I really going to give that away for free?". However, asking for anything beyond tips would change the game for me. Enjoying my writing is far more valuable to me, at least at this point in time.

All of this is to say: I really loved writing Tell Me I'm Pretty. I had a blast with it — until it came time to post, at which point I suddenly felt full of self-doubt. For you to appear in my inbox and tell me that you appreciated the realism of the intimacy in this fic? I couldn't have asked for anything more, thank you so much ♥️

TL;DR, I write for myself, but god, it's the best feeling in the world when readers resonate with my writing. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you taking the time to let me know. I love you all to the moon and back!

23 notes · View notes

glitteredbubbles · 24 days ago

Note

Are you currently working on something?

OMG THAT PICTURE SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME 😭 but anyway yes I am working on multiple things right now, thank you for asking!!

My main priority is the oneshot (it might just end up being an actual fic at this point) where Neil gets sent away to military school and ends up becoming a doctor while Todd never sees him until way later and becomes a semi-famous poet in the meantime. It’s gonna be super angsty and sad and the story’s becoming a lot more than I intended, so it may be a while until I get the first chapter out but that’s what I’m mainly doing now (it’s already at 9k words and I’m not even halfway done I fear)!

I’m also playing around with the idea of writing an epilogue for my Let Me Wallow in Your Afterglow fic, but idk if I should since I think the ambiguity of the ending is kind of the point. If I ever did end up writing a sort of epilogue for it, I’m not sure if I would just add it as a new chapter to the fic or publish it as its own work and attach it through a series? Maybe I’d even just post a little blurb here on Tumblr? I don’t know, I have many thoughts and none are very coherent haha.

Anyway, sorry for the long-winded answer, but please let me know about whatever thoughts you have on the possibility of an epilogue!!

#I also have a secret third thing I’m working on but I wouldn’t be posting it on this account so it shall remain a secret #I’m also kind of working on something for Reddie and IT in general but it’s hard to focus when Anderperry is taking over my life #I also have an unfinished Harringrove fic but I fear that will remain that way #anderperry #dead poets society #dead poets fandom #anderperry fanfic #ask

19 notes · View notes

justawasteoftime1122 · 1 month ago

Text

Scars and Sores,

A Lucifer and Alastor (hh) oneshot

Not necessarily a ship. Could be a friendship, relationship ect.

WARNING! SELF HARM, DEPRESSION ECT.

DEAD DOVE! DO NOT EAT!

Probably not best for children lol

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

Lucifer held the knife to his grey wrist, thoughts endlessly swirling through the pool of his head, swimming. They were diving off the board, drowning, all of them, their screams left to echo in the void.

Heard but never understood.

He could barely hear any of the thoughts to tell him not to. To tell him it would get better.

To tell him that his life matters

He watched the knife, slowly pressing it harder, drawing a mere slither of blood.

Surely one cut won't be too bad...

He pressed it harder, grazing a vein. More blood swelled. He could feel the cold metal shallow in his skin. It felt odd, but by now he was used to it.

But before long what was shallow was deep, what was one was two...three... Many...Too many...and what was a small problem was growing... Getting worse.

He started breathing heavily, he had cut himself worse before, about a month after Lilith left, he left- Left himself with about seventeen cuts.

After a while he dropped the knife, falling to the ground. His shallow breaths were fast as he landed on the tiles of the bathroom. He couldn't bare to stare at himself in the mirror anymore.

Especially while doing things he knew Charlie would never approve of.

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. If only you had a better man as a father. If only I had stayed out of your life, maybe Lilith would've stayed to care for you.

He knew that wasn't true. She would've left anyway, and besides

He had been absent in her life.

He felt tears burning the back of his eyelids. Felt the pressure of a suffering, lonely daughter and the sad silence of a left wife. The sounds if muffled screams and tears rang in his ears.

Will I ever be free?

He reached around, feeling for the knife. Feeling for sticky blood or cold metal or anything sharp.

He had to publish himself. Had to force himself to suffer through a million times the pain of his wife and daughter.

He felt the wet metal clink on the tiles. A triggering feeling and sound. He yanked his hand away from the clink. Away from the feeling of wet metal. Away from the feeling lingering on his fingertips.

it instantly made him uncomfortable and want to cry. He hated the feel of blood on his fingertips.

But it was fine anywhere else?

He reached back over and was careful to grab the other end. The mostly bloodless, plastic end. The safe end.

He stared at the glittering golden blood on the dull grey knife. The colour contrast was magical. Maybe that why he kept on wanting to see his blood on the knife.

He didn't know how long he sat there, mesmerized by the simple shimmer of gold. It seemed to take any thoughts away from his head. It was magical, what a little blood loss and shiny objects could do to a person.

After hours he watched the gold harden. He instantly wanted to re paint it. Make it fresher and prettier.

But are my wounds really worth it for a shimmer show?

He forced himself up, the counter a nice stability tool as he pulled his body to its full hunched height.

No. That's enough for now. If I do any more, they won't heal when I visit Charlie tomorrow.

He didn't want to risk his only love left. He didn't want her to leave as well after seeing what a monster he was for doing this to himself.

But I'm not a monster if I'm only hurting myself.

He dropped the knife onto the counter and stumbled out the bathroom, leaning heavily on whatever was available. He fell into a pile of ducks, he let them swallow him.

Maybe they could take away his suffering.

--------•

Lucifer had to practically drag himself out the pile. The cuts on his arms were now deep scabs. He glared at them. They should be gone.

He slipped of his tracksuit pants and put on some proper dress pants.

He then glared at a pair of grey gloves on a cabnet. They were the same shade as his fingertips, and they went to his elbow to help hide his cuts and scars, not that he really cared who saw them. Not anymore.

He left them there, keeping a glare.

It's not like I'll be living long enough to care

He already had a loose date in his mind, he just had to figure out the perfect time. A time where Charlie would be to busy to call, where Lilith had no chance of returning and all of his servants are on holiday.

He slid on his dress-jacket and snapped his fingures, a glowing gold gate appearing,

Shit. The same colour as my blood. I hurt myself too much. Sera will be sent a warning.

At least it wasn't silver. Silver meant that she would immediately be forced to come to him. It meant he had hurt himself to the brink of death. He had done that before, harming himself. She was angry and confused. She didn't understand.

Nobody does.

He walked through the portal, ending up in the living room of he hotel.

The walls were a beautiful red, a shade of the freshest, ripest apples. The apples that are the perfect flavor.

He remembered slicing apples for Charlie when she was young. Ironic, isn't it. How the apples he sliced soon became The Apple slicing himself.

He looked around, and his gaze rested on a red demon, a similar yet so very different shade to the room. He looked more of a cherry red. The kind that makes you sick in the stomach.

"The fuck do you want" he spat at Alastor, anger rubbing through his recently sliced veins. If Charlie wanted him here why was Alastor here?

"Im-" he hissed, radio schreaching in the background "Here to send you to Charlie"

Lucifer skepticaly glared at Alastor, his gaze uncertain and visibly annoyed. "Why can't Charlie get me herself?"

It was Alastors turn to glare. "Because she ordered me to"

Lucifer lifted his arm and grabbed Alastors collar, anger blinding any sense of empathy in him. "If you had a mere shred of respect, you wouldn't dare glare at me, the king if hell!"

Alastor continued to glare, his smile forming a smirk, until his gaze lowered to the arm at his throat.

He peered down the sleeve, his eyes widening in horror. Alastor grabbed Lucifer by the Elbow and held him still, careful not to hurt the duckling.

"The fuck do you want!?" Lucifer asked angrily as he traced Alastors gaze. Down his sleeve. Onto his cut arm.

He tried to yank away, tried to free his arm but it was no use. Alastor had a right grip.

Slowly Alastor rolled up Lucifer's sleeve, revealing an grey and white arm covered in golden scars and cuts.

He audibly gasped, which was honestly enough to make Lucifer start to cry. He felt the tears begin to run down his face, but he didn't want the stupid deer to see them.

He tried to hide but Alastor didn't let him go. Instead, Alastor yelled out to Charlie.

It all happened in a blur, but before he knew it, Lucifer was surrounded by the hotel members and guests.

Angel dust, Husk, Niffty, Cherri, Vaggie, Alastor...

And Charlie.

Alastor grabbed Lucifer's arm and seemed to yell at Charlie, but Lucifer couldn't hear it.

Alastor showed Charlie the fresh cuts and scars, spitting about some 'Mental health' bullshit, but Lucifer couldn't hear it.

Then Alastor crouched down. He wasn't friendly, but he wasn't as cruel as normal. It was more of the kind of sympathy you give your sibling after they get yelled at by your mother.

"Lucifer, we're gonna get you some help, we promise"

-------•

Alastor hummed as he walked over to Lucifer's room.

Life was great, the hotel was thriving, his souls were crying and Lucifer was finally getting better

He landed at the door. It was a beautiful, red-brown door with a carving of ducks.

He traced them with his fingers, it felt kind of like rough rope.

He knocked on it, a gentle knock to make sure it was heard but wouldn't scare the poor apple.

No reply.

He knocked again, slightly louder.

No reply.

Come to think of it, last time he saw Lucifer was a few days ago. But that was pretty normal, he would often spend days loosing time, crafting little ducklings.

He knocked one last time, and after again no reply, he started to panic. What had happened to Lucifer? Why would he hide himself away?! Did he... Did he hurt himself?!

Alastor grabbed the door handle, slightly scared by what he might see.

He slowly parted it. The lights were off. Maybe Lucifer was out?

He quickly slammed the rest of the door opened and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark.

He gasped in horror, falling back and po ulling himself away.

He screamed for Charlie, his eyes burning. He wasn't used to feeling so much emotion. It wasn't good.

He forced himself up, and ran out, tears trailing behind him.

A glittering path of fallen dropplets leading to the hung body of Lucifer Morningstar.

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

How many Lucifer fans are gonna kill me for this?

Poor Alastor lost his frien :(

Story behind it, I was recently having SH thoughts and wanted to let it all out on a harm free way.

Or at least, physically harm free.

I've never actually committed SH but if I have those thoughts I'm gonna write sm angst srry

@speakofthedebbie hehe enjoy your luci angst

@oneofwaytoomanyfandoms hehe enjoy some writing that'll make you wanna write a fan fiction of killin me

@asherraccoon here's you're daily dose of Lucifer angst. This is pay back for the one where you burned him on the steak >:[

@luna-naoffcial srry I made the ending bad lol

18 notes · View notes