#would you believe me if i said this was supposed to be just a sketch?

[ochibrochi]

they could never make me hate this dude 👹

[ashthefrogmonarch]

// I am tasting myself in the mouth of the sun.//

[satansdarlin]

Blue stained glass

While I work on the fourth chapter of a full deck of cards I also decided to write for another one of my boys! Welcoming Kurt Wagner to the stage! Apologies for any bad German, I'm still learning it and often forget that it is a gendered language so please forgive me.

MDNI

Rating: E

Word count: 8.3k

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x shy!artist!fem!reader

Warnings: reader being kinda stalkerish but not with bad intentions, implied that some of the students have harmless crushes on Kurt, Kurt being a flirt, smut! Because I missed writing it, Oral (fem receiving), PiV, mentions of Kurt's faith, you wife that man up!, pregnancy. Not beta read!

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

Golden light trickled in through the curtains as the sun set behind the school. The smell of dragon's blood incense wafted around the room in delicate wisps of smoke. The only sounds were the slight breeze outside and the dragging of bristles across canvas. You sat on the wooden stool, a slight hunch in your back you'd need to correct later with stretches. Your gaze followed along as you drew blue across the canvas. Blue had become a vital part of all your recent works, and you knew exactly why. Whenever you thought of art, flashes of blue fur, a spaded tail, the smell of sulfur, a silver cross, and a mischievous laugh filled your mind. You wouldn't call it obsession or infatuation. He was your muse. Not that he knew. How could you tell your teammate that he gave you such powerful inspiration? So the portfolio filled to the brim with artworks of just him remained hidden away under your bed.

Kurt Wagner. Everyone loved him. He was a friend worth keeping, made everything fun, always had the best ideas to keep the students entertained, and loved to chatter. Even Logan enjoyed his company from time to time. Kurt just had a way with people, with mutants. A few months back, you had a solo mission with him. It was awkward at first—the shy, quiet artist of the school and the impish chatterbox didn't know how to approach one another. In the end, the mission had concluded in giggles and soft-spoken words. Kurt was wonderful. That's why you couldn't understand why he kept insisting on spending time with you of all people. You were reserved, shy, introverted—the exact opposite of Kurt.

You had put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on your door before starting, hoping it would deter visitors. It did. Well, anyone who saw the sign didn't bother you; the same could not be said for the blue fuzzy imp. He didn't see it, to be fair. He had just gotten home from taking some students to the mall for shopping and wanted to show you the paints he had found, so he teleported. The smell of sulfur and the familiar BAMF sound filled your room, making your eyes widen comedically as you stared at the canvas. A painting of Kurt praying in a church with blue stained glass—one he was most certainly not supposed to see.

"Mein Freund, you would not believe the gift I have found for you— ah," his pleasant accent-tinted voice stalled as he gazed at your shape and then the painting before you. His eyes widened and filled with glee. "Oh mein Gott! Is that me? It's... it's—" he struggled to find the English word for a moment before settling on, "herrlich."

You stammered shyly as he walked up behind you, gazing at the painting with a smile that made your insides flutter like a thousand baby butterflies had hatched. "I... erm... yes, it's you, but it's not finished," you spoke hesitantly.

"Not finished?" Kurt moved closer, his tail swaying gently behind him in that way it did when he was truly excited about something. "But it's already so beautiful! The way you captured the light through the windows..." He leaned in, careful not to disturb your workspace, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I had no idea you were watching me pray."

Your cheeks burned hot. "I... I wasn't. Not really. I just... sometimes I sketch you when you're around the mansion, and I remembered how peaceful you looked that one time I passed by the chapel..." You trailed off, realizing you might be revealing too much.

Kurt's expression softened, and a knowing look crossed his features. "Then perhaps..." he said, reaching down to carefully take the brush from your trembling fingers, "you wouldn't mind showing me the other drawings?" His golden eyes flickered toward your bed, where your portfolio lay hidden.

Your heart nearly stopped. "You knew?"

A gentle laugh escaped him, musical and warm. "Mein Schatz, I may be a fool sometimes, but I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching." He paused, his tail curling slightly in what you had learned was nervousness. "The same way I look at you when you're lost in your art."

The confession hung in the air between you, as tangible as the wisps of incense smoke still dancing through the golden evening light. You sat frozen, brush dripping blue paint onto the dropcloth below, as Kurt Wagner—your muse, your teammate, your secret inspiration—waited for your response with bated breath.

"You... look at me?" You whispered in shock and a tinge of disbelief. He looked at you like you looked at him? That sounded impossible, yet the way his tail curled in nervousness and his foot tapped against the ground told a different story.

Kurt's hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture you'd seen countless times when he was trying to find the right words. "Ja, I do. More than I probably should." His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "When you're in the garden sketching, or during the art class with the students when you create those beautiful displays... The way your face lights up when you finally perfect a piece you've been working on..." He trailed off, a deeper blue tinting his cheeks.

Your heart thundered in your chest as he took a small step closer, his tail now swaying in a gentle, hypnotic pattern. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, but..." He gestured to himself with a self-deprecating smile. "Well, I wasn't sure someone who creates such beauty would want..."

"Kurt," you interrupted, finding courage you didn't know you had. Standing from your stool, you reached for his hand, feeling the unique texture of his fur against your palm. "You are beauty. Why do you think I can't stop painting you?"

His golden eyes widened, and that brilliant smile you'd captured in countless sketches spread across his face. "Then perhaps," he said, bringing your joined hands up between you, "we've both been a bit foolish, ja?"

A small laugh escaped you, breaking the tension. "More than a bit." Your eyes drifted to the painting on the easel, then back to him. "Would you... would you like to see the others? The real ones, not just the ones I do for art class?"

Kurt's tail perked up, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I would love nothing more, mein Schatz. But first..." He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small paper bag. "I really did bring you something from the art store."

Inside was a set of iridescent blue paints that shifted colors in the dying sunlight, almost the exact shade of Kurt's fur when he moved. Your breath caught at the thoughtfulness of the gift, and when you looked up at him, his expression was so tender it made your heart ache.

"I saw them and thought of you," he admitted quietly. "Though I suppose I'm always thinking of you these days."

The confession hung in the air like a prayer, and you found yourself moving closer, drawn into his orbit like you'd always been, only now there was no need to hide it. The golden light that had started this evening's painting session now painted Kurt in warm hues, making him look almost ethereal—your own personal angel, right here in your art-cluttered room.

"Kurt," you whispered, not quite sure what you wanted to say, but knowing you needed to say something. The way he looked at you now, like you were one of his precious religious paintings come to life, made you understand why he'd always insisted on spending time with you. He'd been drawn to you just as you'd been to him, both of you dancing around each other in an elaborate routine of stolen glances and hidden feelings.

His tail curled gently around your wrist, as if he couldn't bear to not touch you in some way, and you realized that maybe this was what inspiration truly felt like—not just the desire to capture beauty, but to be part of it. With trembling hands, you knelt beside your bed, aware of Kurt's presence behind you as you reached underneath to pull out the large black portfolio case. Your heart hammered against your ribs—no one had ever seen these pieces before. They were raw, honest, intimate in a way your public artwork never was.

"I, um," you started, clutching the portfolio to your chest as you stood, "some of these are just quick sketches, and others aren't very good—"

"Liebling," Kurt interrupted gently, his tail swaying with barely contained excitement, "everything you create is wunderbar. May I?" He gestured to your bed, and you nodded, watching as he settled cross-legged on the corner, patting the space beside him.

You sat down carefully, the portfolio balanced on your lap. Kurt's warmth beside you was both comforting and nerve-wracking. Taking a deep breath, you unzipped the case and pulled out the first few pieces.

"Oh!" Kurt's delighted gasp made you jump slightly. His tail curled in pleasure as he leaned forward to study a charcoal drawing of himself perched on the mansion's balcony railing, looking out over the grounds. "I remember this day. It was right after that terrible thunderstorm, ja? When the sun finally came out?"

You nodded, surprised he'd remembered such a small moment. "The light was hitting your fur just right, and I couldn't help but..." you trailed off, embarrassed at admitting how much you'd observed him.

But Kurt was already reaching for the next piece, his golden eyes bright with wonder. "And this one!" It was a series of quick gesture sketches of him during a training session, his body in various poses of acrobatic grace. "You've captured the movement so perfectly. I had no idea you were watching so closely."

Your cheeks burned. "I hope that doesn't sound creepy."

His laugh was warm and genuine. "Nein, not at all. Though it does explain why you always volunteered to help supervise training." His tail brushed against your back playfully, making you squeak in surprise.

As you went through more pieces, your initial nervousness began to fade, replaced by a warm glow at Kurt's genuine enthusiasm for each drawing. He had a comment for every piece—remembering the moments you'd captured, praising your technique, asking questions about your process. His tail never stopped moving, expressing his excitement in a way his controlled expressions couldn't quite hide.

"This one," he breathed, carefully lifting a watercolor painting, "this is..." It was one of your favorites—Kurt in the library late at night, reading by lamplight, his tail curled around a cup of tea. You'd painted it from memory after watching him there one evening, trying to capture the peaceful contentment he radiated in those quiet moments.

"The way you see me," he said softly, tracing the air above the painting as if afraid to touch it, "it's so..."

"Real," you finished quietly. "That's just... how you look to me."

Kurt turned to face you then, and the expression on his face made your breath catch. "All this time," he murmured, "I thought I was alone in feeling this way. In seeing such beauty in someone else."

You ducked your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, but his tail gently curved under your chin, lifting it back up. "No hiding," he said softly. "Not anymore, ja?"

The portfolio slid forgotten to the floor as Kurt's hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed this. In the fading golden light of your room, surrounded by scattered artwork that told the story of your hidden feelings, Kurt Wagner looked at you like you were the masterpiece—not the artist. Time seemed to slow as Kurt's hand remained gentle against your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. Your heart was doing acrobatics that could rival his best performances, and you wondered if he could feel how warm your face had become.

"Mein Schatz," he whispered, leaning closer, "may I...?"

You could only manage a tiny nod, and then his lips were on yours, soft and sweet. The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, and you could feel his smile against your mouth. His tail curled around your waist, drawing you closer as your hands tentatively came up to rest against his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt and the steady beating of his heart beneath.

When you finally parted, you immediately buried your burning face in his shoulder, earning a warm chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Hiding again so soon?" he teased, his accent thicker with emotion.

"Mmph," was all you could manage, which only made him laugh more.

"And here I thought artists were supposed to appreciate beautiful moments," he continued playfully, his tail squeezing your waist. "Perhaps I should pose for another painting? 'The First Kiss' would make a lovely addition to your collection, ja?"

You groaned and swatted his chest weakly. "Kurt!"

"Or maybe a series?" He was clearly enjoying himself now, his voice full of mischief. "We could call it 'The Evolution of Romance' or 'Love in Blue'—"

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face still flaming. "You're terrible."

His grin was radiant. "Terrible, but yours?" The hope in his voice made your heart flutter.

"Yeah," you whispered, managing a shy smile. "Mine."

"Wunderbar!" He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. "Though I must ask—do you have any paintings of our future together hidden away as well? Should I be prepared for more surprises?"

"Kurt Wagner!" You tried to sound scandalized, but you couldn't help laughing, especially when he waggled his eyebrows at you.

"What? It's a reasonable question! After all, you've been secretly documenting me for months. For all I know, you've already planned our wedding colors—blue and more blue, I assume?"

You grabbed a nearby pillow and tried to smack him with it, but he teleported across the room with a BAMF, leaving a cloud of sulfur and the echo of his laughter. He reappeared perched on your easel, careful not to disturb your painting, his tail swishing playfully.

"You know," he said, his golden eyes twinkling, "I think I prefer being your muse when I know about it. The poses can be much more interesting this way."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, falling back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. But you couldn't hide your smile, especially when you felt the familiar displacement of air and suddenly had a warm, fuzzy mutant curled around you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple.

"Don't worry, Liebling," he murmured against your skin, his tail finding your hand and twining with your fingers. "I promise to be the best muse you could ask for. Though..." He paused dramatically, "I do have one condition."

You peeked through your fingers at him. "What's that?"

His smile softened into something so tender it made your chest ache. "That next time you paint me praying in the chapel, you'll be there with me. Some masterpieces are better created together, don't you think?"

This time, when you pulled him down for another kiss, you didn't hide your face afterward. After all, how could you when he was looking at you like that—like you were both the artist and the masterpiece, the muse and the creator, the beginning and end of something beautiful?

Though you did blush furiously when he later insisted on signing all your portraits of him with "Kurt Wagner, Professional Muse and Master of Stealing Artists' Hearts.”

.

.

.

The chatter of students filled the air and the sweet smell of honeysuckle surrounded you and your students. Truth be told, you hadn't even offered to do this job; teaching the art class wasn't something that had ever been on your mind, but Charles had asked you to do so, saying it would be good for the students to have an outlet for their emotions. Though teaching a bunch of mutant teenagers wasn't particularly easy, especially when half of them wanted to be in the danger room training to be X-Men—you probably got more questions about that than actual art.

"Your piece should be about expression. There is no right or wrong, only your feelings about your art," you spoke gently as you walked by the students settled in the grass of the gardens behind the school. A hand rose up and you looked over and nodded at the boy, Damian you believed his name was.

"Excuse me, but how exactly is painting helping us prepare for anything?" You sighed at the boy's question as he got some chastising nudges from some of your more kind students. You got that question about every class.

Before you could answer, a familiar BAMF sound and the scent of sulfur announced Kurt's arrival. He appeared perched on the garden wall, his tail swaying as he grinned at the class. Several students brightened immediately—Kurt had always been a favorite among them.

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, mein junger Freund," Kurt said, gracefully flipping down to land beside you. His shoulder brushed yours in a subtle show of support that made your heart flutter, even after months of being together. "Art teaches us more than you might think. Strategy, patience, observation..." He winked at you before continuing, "How do you think I learned to move so efficiently in battle? By understanding space, movement, and perception—all things your talented teacher here helped me improve."

A few students giggled, well aware of your relationship with the blue mutant. It had become something of a school legend how you'd been caught with a portfolio full of Kurt drawings. Some of the older students even insisted they'd known all along, claiming they'd seen the way you both looked at each other during training sessions.

"Besides," Kurt continued, picking up one of the spare brushes from your supply kit and twirling it like one of his swords, "did you know that Leonardo da Vinci used his artistic skills to design defense systems? Or that camouflage patterns were created by artists? Even the maps we use for missions were drawn by artists."

Damian sat up straighter, suddenly looking more interested. "Really?"

You smiled, grateful for Kurt's intervention. "Really. And speaking of missions..." You shared a knowing look with Kurt before addressing the class. "Who wants to hear about the time my sketching skills helped us locate a hidden Sentinel facility?"

"Oh, tell them about the warehouse in Berlin!" Kurt added enthusiastically, his tail curling around your waist as he settled beside you. "When you noticed the architectural inconsistencies in my reconnaissance sketches?"

The students were all paying attention now, art supplies temporarily forgotten as they leaned in to hear the story. Even Damian had put down his phone, his previous skepticism replaced with curiosity.

"Well," you began, feeling Kurt's tail squeeze encouragingly, "it started when we noticed some unusual energy signatures in an old industrial district..."

As you recounted the mission, Kurt occasionally chimed in with his own colorful commentary, making the students laugh with his dramatic reenactments. You couldn't help but smile, watching him demonstrate his acrobatic moves while describing how your artistic knowledge had helped spot the hidden entrance.

"And that," Kurt concluded, landing gracefully beside you again, "is why we should never underestimate the power of art. Or artists." He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, making several students coo and others playfully groan at the display of affection.

"Mr. Wagner," one of the girls called out, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you going to model for our class like you do for the teacher?"

Your face immediately heated up as Kurt laughed delightedly. "Sadly, I'm needed in the danger room. Though..." He grinned at you, that familiar impish look in his golden eyes, "I do have a private session scheduled later."

"Kurt!" you hissed, mortified as the students erupted in giggles.

He merely winked, pressed another quick kiss to your cheek, and teleported away with a theatrical bow, leaving you to face your amused students with burning cheeks.

"Now then," you said, trying to regain some semblance of professional dignity despite your flushed face, "back to your projects. And no, Jenny, you cannot paint Mr. Wagner for your assignment—pick a different subject."

The disappointment on several faces told you that more than one student had been planning exactly that. You couldn't really blame them though. After all, you had an entire portfolio that proved just how inspiring a subject Kurt Wagner could be. After the lingering giggles from Kurt's dramatic exit finally subsided, you circled back through your students, the grass crunching softly beneath your feet. The afternoon sun warmed your shoulders as you paused to observe their work, offering gentle guidance where needed.

"Sarah," you said, stopping beside a girl whose hands were literally glowing as she painted, her mutation allowing her to create luminescent colors, "that's beautiful. The way you're using your powers to add depth to the sunset—very creative." Her beaming smile made your heart warm; it was moments like these that reminded you why Charles had been right about teaching.

Moving on, you found Marcus struggling with his brushstrokes, his extra set of arms getting in the way of each other. "Try coordinating them like we practiced," you suggested softly. "Remember, each hand can work on a different section. Think of it like... like when Kurt coordinates his tail with his movements during training."

The mention of Kurt made a few nearby students glance up with knowing smirks, but you ignored them, focusing on how Marcus's face lit up with understanding. Within minutes, all four of his hands were working in harmony, creating an intricate pattern that would have taken others four times as long to complete.

"Teacher?" A quiet voice drew your attention to Amy, a shy freshman whose scales tended to change color with her emotions—currently a nervous purple. "I... I don't know if this is good enough." She gestured to her canvas where she'd painted a self-portrait, her scales rendered in beautiful iridescent shades.

You knelt beside her, careful not to disturb her workspace. "What makes you think it's not good enough?"

"It's just..." she glanced around at her classmates' work, her scales shifting to a deeper purple. "Everyone else is painting normal things. Beautiful things. I painted... me."

"Amy," you said gently, thinking of all the times you'd doubted your own artwork, of all the paintings of Kurt you'd hidden away because you thought they were too revealing, too personal. "Do you remember what Kurt said in his last ethics class about beauty?"

Her scales flickered with hints of pink—she had a bit of a crush on Kurt, like half the school. "That it comes in all forms?"

"Exactly. And look—" you pointed to how the light caught her painting's scales, creating rainbow patterns across the canvas. "You've captured something uniquely beautiful. Something only you could create, because only you know exactly how those scales feel, how they shift and change. That's not just good art, that's powerful art."

The purple of her scales gradually shifted to a warm golden hue as she smiled, looking at her painting with new eyes. Around you, other students had paused to listen, and you saw several of them return to their work with renewed purpose.

"Damian," you called out, noticing he'd actually started painting instead of just complaining, "excellent use of perspective on that building. Been practicing your architectural sketches?"

He tried to look nonchalant, but you caught his pleased grin. "Yeah, well... after what you said about the Berlin mission... I figured it might be useful. You know, for future X-Men stuff."

"Hey, teacher?" Jenny piped up, paint smudged adorably across her cheek. "Since we can't paint Mr. Wagner, could you tell us more about how art helped on missions while we work? Please?"

A chorus of agreements rose from the class, and you couldn't help but smile. "Alright, but keep painting. There was this one time in Moscow when my knowledge of color theory helped us identify a shapeshifter..."

As you shared the story, moving between easels and offering guidance, you noticed how the students' work seemed to come alive. Even the most reluctant artists were engaged now, their creativity flowing as they listened to tales of how art and heroism could intertwine.

The smell of honeysuckle grew stronger as the afternoon wore on, mixing with paint and teenage enthusiasm. A flash of blue in your peripheral vision caught your attention—Kurt, watching proudly from a nearby window between his training sessions. He blew you a kiss before disappearing again, leaving you with paint-stained fingers and a garden full of budding artists who were finally beginning to understand that there was more than one way to be extraordinary.

"Teacher?" Amy called out, her scales now a confident shade of blue that reminded you of someone special. "I think I'd like to do another self-portrait. Maybe... maybe one of me in an X-Men uniform this time?"

You smiled, thinking of your own portfolio of Kurt, of how art had led you to love, and how that love had led you here, helping these young mutants find their own way to express their unique beauty. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Amy. Just remember—"

"We know, we know," the class chorused together, matching your grin, "there is no right or wrong, only our feelings about our art!”

.

.

.

Evening had settled over the mansion, the last rays of sunlight painting your studio in familiar golden hues. The day's classes were done, art supplies cleaned and stored away, and you'd finally managed to stop blushing from Kurt's teasing comments during your lesson. You were just setting up your easel when the familiar BAMF announced his arrival.

"Ah, mein Schatz," Kurt's voice was warm as he appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tail curling affectionately around your ankle. "Ready for our 'private session'?" You could hear the playful smirk in his voice.

"You," you turned in his arms to poke his chest accusingly, "are terrible. Do you know how many knowing looks I got from the students after you left?"

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I couldn't help myself. You're adorable when you blush. Speaking of which..." His tail reached over to your desk, picking up your sketchbook and flipping it open to reveal today's quick sketches of him during his brief visit to your class. "Someone was inspired during their teaching duties, ja?"

"Kurt!" You tried to snatch the sketchbook, but he teleported across the room, perching on the window seat as he continued flipping through pages.

"Oh, this one is new!" He held up a sketch of himself demonstrating acrobatic moves to your students. "You captured my best side."

"All your sides are your best side," you mumbled before you could stop yourself, then immediately covered your face with your hands as he teleported back to you, gathering you close.

"Is that so?" he murmured against your ear. "Then perhaps we should make sure you have proper reference material for all of them?" His tail gently pulled your hands away from your face, forcing you to meet his tender gaze. "Now then, how would you like me to pose, Liebling?"

You gestured weakly to the arrangement you'd set up—a comfortable chair positioned near the window, where the last of the sunset would cast those perfect shadows you loved to capture. "Just... sitting would be nice. Natural. Like when you're reading in the library."

Kurt's expression softened as he settled into the chair, understanding your desire to capture one of your favorite quiet moments. He pulled out a small book of poetry—Rilke, you noticed—and arranged himself comfortably, his tail draped over the armrest.

"Like this?" he asked, and you nodded, already reaching for your charcoal. This was familiar territory now, though no less special than those first secret sketches. If anything, it was more intimate—knowing he was here specifically for you, watching you create, sharing these peaceful moments together.

As you began to sketch, Kurt started reading aloud softly in German, his accent wrapping around the words like silk. You'd grown to love these evenings, the gentle cadence of his voice mixing with the scratch of charcoal on paper, the way his tail would occasionally twitch in response to a particular phrase or stanza.

"You know," he said during a pause between poems, his golden eyes meeting yours over the top of his book, "I used to wonder why you chose me as your subject so often. Now I think I understand."

You paused in your sketching, curious. "Oh?"

"Ja. It's the same reason I can't stop watching you when you create." He marked his place in the book and leaned forward slightly. "There's something magical about seeing someone doing what they love, being exactly who they are meant to be. You see me that way when I move, when I pray, when I simply exist. And I see you that way when you're lost in your art."

The charcoal trembled slightly in your fingers as he continued, "It's like seeing someone's soul, isn't it? Their truest self?"

You nodded, unable to find words for how perfectly he'd captured it. Kurt rose from the chair in one fluid movement, crossing to where you stood. His hand covered yours on the charcoal, bringing it to rest against the easel.

"Perhaps," he whispered, turning you to face him, his tail wrapping around your waist, "we could find other ways to capture this moment?"

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of poetry and promises. The charcoal slipped forgotten from your fingers as you wound your arms around his neck, letting yourself get lost in the overwhelming rightness of being held by him.

When you finally parted, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Though I do hope you'll finish the sketch later. I have a reputation as Professional Muse to maintain, after all."

You laughed, the sound mixing with his own quiet chuckle in the golden evening light of your studio, where art and love had become beautifully, perfectly intertwined.

"So how do you wish to capture this moment, hm?" You hummed up at him with a new sense of courage.

Kurt's yellow eyes sparkle with mischief and desire as he gazes down at you, his tail gently squeezing your waist. The sunset light casts a warm glow on your skin, highlighting the delicate curve of your neck and the soft fullness of your lips. He leans in, his breath ghosting over your skin as he speaks.

"There are so many ways, mein Schatz..." he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "We could start with a kiss..."

And he does, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a passion and tenderness that sets your heart racing. One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, while the other slides down your back, pressing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed and your eyes dark with desire. Kurt's tail tightens around you, keeping you anchored against him as he trails his lips along your jaw, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

"Or perhaps," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine, "you'd like to capture the way my hands feel on your skin?"

Without waiting for an answer, he begins to unbutton your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he reveals more and more of your body to his hungry gaze. Each touch sends sparks of electricity through you, igniting a fire that only seems to grow with each passing second.

As your shirt falls to the floor, Kurt takes a step back, his eyes roving hungrily over your newly exposed skin. His gaze is almost reverent, as if he's drinking in every inch of you like a man dying of thirst.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his voice filled with awe and desire. "You're absolutely perfect, Meine Liebe."

His hands come up to cup your breasts, thick fingers brushing over your hardening nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he begins to circle and tease, building the pleasure slowly but surely. Kurt's hands continue their sensual exploration of your body, tracing every curve and dip with a reverence that makes your skin tingle. He leans down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin.

"I want to worship every inch of you," he murmurs against your throat, his voice rough with desire. "To show you how much you mean to me."

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it and sliding the straps down your shoulders. The garment falls away, baring your breasts to his eager gaze. Kurt pauses for a moment, simply drinking in the sight of you, before cupping the weight of your breasts in his palms.

"Perfektion," he breathes, thumbing your nipples until they pebble beneath his touch. He lowers his head, taking one nipple into his mouth and suckling gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

You gasp at the sensation, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. Kurt continues his ministrations, alternating between your breasts, licking and sucking and nipping until you're writhing against him, desperate for more.

His hands drift lower, skimming over your stomach and hips before dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. He strokes you through the damp fabric of your underwear, his touch light and teasing.

"So wet already," he marvels, his voice thick with arousal. "You're so responsive, mein Schatz. So perfect."

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion. You kick them off impatiently, standing before him in nothing but your socks and shoes.

Kurt takes a step back, his eyes raking over your naked form with undisguised hunger. He licks his lips, his tail swishing behind him in anticipation.

"Lie down on the couch," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I want to taste you." You obey without hesitation, settling into the plush cushions immediately.

 Kurt follows you to the couch, his eyes never leaving your body as he crawls over you, settling between your spread thighs. He runs his hands up your legs, his touch light and teasing, until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, spreading your folds with his fingers and exposing your glistening flesh to his hungry gaze. "I can't wait to taste you."

He leans down, dragging his tongue along your slit in one long, slow lick. The sensation is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. You gasp, your hips lifting off the couch as you seek more of his touch.

Kurt chuckles, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. He looks up at you through his lashes, his yellow eyes gleaming with mischief and desire.

"Patience, mein Schatz," he teases, blowing a cool stream of air over your wet heat. "We have all the time in the world."

And then he's diving back in, his tongue delving deep into your core, lapping at your essence like a man starved. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over the sensitive bud again and again until you're writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he feasts on your flesh, his groans of pleasure muffled against your skin. The room fills with the obscene sounds of his licking and sucking, punctuated by your own breathy moans and gasps.

Kurt brings a hand up to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub as he continues to tongue-fuck your dripping cunt. The dual stimulation is too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

"That's it, Kleine," he encourages, his voice rough with arousal. "Let go. Come for me."

His words are all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cry out, your hands fisting in Kurt's hair as waves of pleasure crash over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity.

Kurt works you through it, his tongue and fingers never faltering as he prolongs your climax, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until you're boneless and spent, collapsing back against the couch in a sweaty, satisfied heap.

He presses one last kiss to your sensitive flesh before crawling up your body, settling his weight on top of you. His erection presses insistently against your thigh as he wiggles off his pants, hot and hard and ready for you.*

"I need you, meine Engel," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. "I need to be inside you."

He reaches down between your bodies, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. You can feel the heat of him, the pulsing need that throbs against your slick folds.

With one swift thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely. You cry out at the sudden stretch, your walls clenching around him like a vice.

"Fuck, you're tight," Kurt groans, his hips rocking against yours as he begins to move. "So perfect. So gut."

He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, his cock hitting depths you didn't even know you had. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you whole. Your heart flutters hearing him slur out German and English in a pleasure drunken haze. Kurt's tail wraps around your legs, holding them open wide as he pistons into you, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.

"So good," he pants, his face buried in your neck as he laves his tongue over your pulse point. "So perfekt. So mine."

His words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a possessive heat in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into your body with each thrust.

"Yours," you gasp, your nails digging into the fur of his back. "All yours, kurt"

Kurt growls, low and deep, his tail tightening around your legs as he pounds into you with abandon. The couch creaks beneath your combined weight, threatening to give way under the force of his thrusts.

"Ich liebe dich," he slurs, his words muffled against your skin. "Love you so much. Need you. Need to be inside you forever."

His confession sends you careening over the edge, your body seizing up as another orgasm rips through you. You clench around him, your walls fluttering and spasming as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

"Fuck, Prinzessin," Kurt groans, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. "Feel so good. So perfect. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up."

With a final, bruising thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your waiting womb. You can feel the heat of his seed, the way it paints your insides, marking you as his.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he pants against your neck. His tail unwinds from your legs, draping lazily over your thigh as he nuzzles into your hair.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "My perfect girl. Meine schöne Künstlerin."

You smile, your heart full to bursting with love and contentment.

.

.

.

Nearly a year later

The chapel was quiet save for the soft whisper of your pencil across paper. Early morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting familiar blue patterns across the wooden pews. Kurt knelt at the altar in prayer, his tail curved peacefully behind him, rosary beads wrapped gently around his three-fingered hands.

You'd grown comfortable here in these morning moments, sharing this sacred space with him. What had once felt like an intrusion now felt like belonging. Your sketchbook was filled with these quiet scenes—Kurt in prayer, Kurt reading his Bible, Kurt simply existing in this place that meant so much to him. But this morning was different. This morning, your hand trembled slightly as you drew, your mind wandering to the small box hidden in your art supplies.

It had taken weeks to create, working late into the night in your studio after Kurt had fallen asleep. A hand-carved wooden ring box, painted with delicate scenes from your relationship—the first time you'd been caught painting him, your first kiss, teaching art class together, quiet moments in the chapel. The ring inside was simple silver, engraved with tiny crosses and artist's brushes intertwined.

"You're thinking very loudly this morning, Liebling," Kurt's voice startled you from your thoughts. He hadn't moved from his position, but his tail swayed knowingly.

"Sorry," you mumbled, adding another shadow to your sketch. "Didn't mean to disturb your prayers."

"You never disturb me," he said softly, finally turning to face you with that gentle smile that still made your heart skip. "Though I am curious what has you so distracted. Usually you're much more focused when drawing in here."

You set down your sketchbook with trembling fingers. "Actually, I... I have something for you."

Kurt's eyebrows rose curiously as you reached into your art bag, pulling out the painted box. His golden eyes widened as you stood and walked to him, kneeling beside him at the altar.

"Kurt Wagner," you began, your voice shaky but determined, "you've been my muse, my inspiration, my best friend, and the love of my life. You've shown me that beauty exists in so many forms, that faith can be found in art just as much as prayer, and that love..." you had to pause, swallowing hard as his tail curled around your wrist encouragingly, "love can be both the masterpiece and the creation itself."

You opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. "Would you let me spend the rest of my life creating with you?"

Kurt's breath caught as he took in the painted scenes on the box, his fingers trailing reverently over the tiny details you'd spent so long perfecting. When he looked up, his eyes were shining with tears.

"Mein Gott," he whispered, "you've managed to surprise the teleporter." His tail tightened around your wrist as he pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours. "Did you really think there could be any answer but yes? You are the greatest masterpiece God has ever placed in my life."

Your laugh was watery as you slipped the ring onto his finger, a perfect fit just as you'd hoped. Kurt cradled your face in his hands, his touch infinitely gentle.

"Though I must say," he murmured, his accent thick with emotion, "you've rather stolen my thunder, Liebling." With his tail, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, making you gasp. "I was planning to ask you after morning mass."

Inside was a delicate gold ring with a blue sapphire that matched his fur perfectly. "Great minds think alike, ja?"

You couldn't speak through your tears as he slipped the ring onto your finger, but you didn't need to. The way you pulled him into a kiss said everything necessary, the morning light painting you both in shades of blue and gold through the stained glass windows.

"I can't wait to see how you'll paint this moment," Kurt whispered against your lips, making you laugh.

"Already planning it," you admitted. "Though I might need my muse to pose for several reference sketches."

His tail wrapped around your waist as he grinned. "I believe that can be arranged. After all..." he pressed another soft kiss to your lips, "we have the rest of our lives to perfect it."

Through the chapel windows, the morning light continued to paint you both in blues and golds, artist and muse, two hearts creating something beautiful together. And if anyone noticed that your afternoon art class was especially romantic that day, well... they were kind enough not to mention it. Though you did have to tell Jenny, once again, that no, she still couldn't paint Mr. Wagner for her assignment—even if he was now your fiancé.

.

.

.

You woke up to soft snores and looked over, unable to help but smile softly. Your husband's sleeping face was too cute to not smile at. After five years of being married, you'd never grow tired of waking up to this. Recently he had taken to growing out a goatee, saying it made him look more mature (you couldn't help but agree—after all, it made your mind wander a lot too). You carefully pulled out of his embrace without waking him; his tail was always a struggle to remove from its place around your leg without waking him, but you managed it. After a small silent dance of triumph, you moved out of your shared bedroom to the room across from it.

The room was halfway painted, though you had been working on it for the past six months. It had paintings of stories and family littered across it—scenes from Kurt's favorite fairy tales, the X-Men as loving aunts and uncles, even a small portrait of Professor Xavier smiling benevolently from above the planned crib space. You picked up a brush and were about to continue when you accidentally kicked a paint bucket. That's all it took, and with a sudden puff of smoke your husband had teleported in, his stance ready for action but relaxing when he saw it was just you up early.

"Mein Gott, woman, I thought you were a thief!" He exclaimed, holding his three-fingered hand over his chest before walking over with a soft tired smile and pecking your lips. "You're up early, I don't even hear the morning birds yet."

"Needed to stretch my legs," you hummed back, and he hummed softly in suspicion. His hand rested on your stomach.

"Are you sure it is not because of the Kleine?" He spoke in a teasing voice as he gently rubbed your stomach.

You leaned back against his chest, letting his warmth seep into you as you both gazed at the wall you'd been painting. His tail automatically wrapped around your waist, just above where your small baby bump was beginning to show. "Maybe," you admitted. "I just... I want it to be perfect before they arrive."

Kurt nuzzled against your neck, his goatee tickling your skin. "Liebling, with you as their mother, how could it be anything but perfect?" His hand joined yours on the brush. "Though perhaps we could add a few more acrobatic scenes? A future X-Man should know their father's best moves, ja?"

You laughed softly, mindful of the early hour. "Kurt, we don't even know if they'll be able to teleport yet."

"Ah, but they're already showing artistic talent!" He moved to stand beside you, gesturing dramatically at your stomach. "Look how perfectly they've rounded out your usually straight lines!"

"Did you just call me fat, Mr. Wagner?" you asked with mock offense.

His eyes widened comically. "Nein! Never! I merely meant to say you're more... sculptural these days?" His tail flicked nervously as he tried to backtrack, making you giggle.

"Saved it," you murmured, turning back to the wall. You'd been working on a particular scene—a small blue figure learning to teleport while protective arms waited to catch them. "Do you really think they'll like it? All of this?"

Kurt's arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he surveyed your work. "Mein Schatz, they will love it. Just as they will love you." His hand splayed protectively over your stomach. "Though perhaps we should add a small easel next to the training equipment? Best to be prepared for all possibilities."

You turned in his arms, brush still in hand, accidentally leaving a small blue streak across his chest. "Oops."

His grin turned mischievous. "Oh? Is that how we're playing this morning?" He reached for another brush. "You know, the wall isn't the only canvas in need of some color..."

"Kurt Wagner, don't you dare—" But it was too late. With a playful BAMF, he was behind you, painting a gentle heart on the back of your nightshirt.

What followed was a careful (mindful of your condition) but enthusiastic paint war, filling the nursery with quiet laughter and colorful streaks. By the time the sun began to rise, you were both covered in paint, sitting on the drop cloth and admiring your handiwork—both on the walls and each other.

"You know," Kurt mused, his tail drawing abstract patterns in a small paint puddle, "this might be your best work yet."

You looked around at the cheerful chaos you'd created together—the story-filled walls, the paint-splattered drop cloths, the mixing of your artistic vision with his playful additions. Your hand found his, fingers intertwining as they rested on your growing bump.

"No," you said softly, "I think our best work is still in progress."

His answering smile was brighter than the rising sun, and as he pulled you in for a paint-smudged kiss, you couldn't help but think that sometimes the most beautiful art came from life itself—messy, unexpected, and absolutely perfect.

Though you did make him clean up the paint footprints he'd teleported all over the mansion before the students woke up. Your gaze went over to the window which Kurt had helped you place the stain on. The blue hues glittered over the room and it filled you with a sense of love and happiness. Blue would always be apart of your life now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. 

[mc-lukanette]

Luka didn't consider himself particularly stupid, but he probably could've caught on earlier to what was going on. In his (weak) defense, Marinette had always been generous with her gifts.

Their friend group wasn't very large: it was him, Marinette, his sister Juleka, Ivan, and Rose. It was also common for them to give each other gifts even if it wasn't their birthday, just to show they cared.

Ivan, for example, gave him a CD one day. It was from a band he didn't recognize, but he was always open to hearing something new. Ivan had that exact thought, knowing he probably hadn't heard it but figuring he might like it. Luka appreciated it.

Then, only a couple days later, Marinette brought him a set of CDs, all from relatively new bands who'd yet to make a name for themselves. Perhaps that should've been suspicious to him, but they'd initially bonded over music in the first place and she was the designer for his band.

Still, he couldn't help commenting, "You didn't have to spend this much on me, Marinette."

"Oh, this?" She shook her head. "This is nothing! I had extra money from some commissions I did!"

There wasn't any sign of a lie. He smiled, thinking how it would be rude to reject the gift in that case. "Okay. Thanks for thinking about me."

She beamed with pride, and something else he couldn't quite place.

—————

The next gift was from Rose. She'd called his name in a sing-song voice and presented him with a thick, fluffy scarf. It was going to get cold soon and the insulation of the houseboat was only so-so.

She didn't hesitate to point out the absurd length either, which Luka had noticed but thought it polite not to comment on. Pointing at it from end to end when he held it stretched out, she didn't bother hiding the fact that it could be used as a "scarf for two."

Gently, he'd reminded her that he and Marinette were not together, nor was he interested in any sort of scheming to make it so. He was perfectly happy being friends and didn't want to push anything on her that she might not want.

It was that same train of logic making him believe that Marinette giving him a handmade scarf, less than a week later, was probably a coincidence.

Probably.

—————

Juleka made plushies of the five of them during art club: soft, carefully stitched together, and absurdly cute. She handed each friend's matching plush when they were all together and blushed when Rose insisted they trade because she wanted the Juleka plush. Luka, meanwhile, placed his atop the speaker next to his bed, impressed when it sat upright all by itself.

It felt like no time at all before Marinette brought along her own handmade plush to show him: himself in his Kitty Section costume.

"It's merchandise!" she explained excitedly, flipping the mask a few times and wiggling the guitar to show that they weren't stuck on the plush itself. "It's just a prototype, but I wanted you to have the first."

Using him as the prototype made sense. He was the oldest, even if only minutes older than his sister, and there was an unspoken agreement that he was the "leader." Decisions about the band tended to go through him as the final, most important voice, and he often spoke for all of them when in public.

The thing that tipped him off, however, was that Marinette was thorough. He would've expected her to drop a full set in front of him, a plan for how to market them, and a sketch of what the best place to sell them would be whenever they played somewhere, just for good measure.

Of course, he wasn't going to say any of that out loud and he loved it anyway, but something felt strange.

—————

"...Marinette," Luka said patiently.

She was all smiles and innocence, practically hopping in place as she held out the tiny jewelry box to him. "I just thought it'd be nice to have another set of earrings to wear!"

That sounded fine enough on its own. He supposed it'd be boring to play the same song over and over again, but this was her first attempt at making jewelry and she was giving it to him. There was something so obviously special about that, yet she was playing it off casually.

Taking the box and looking at the earrings themselves only made it more apparent. It wasn't just some jewelry she'd done up as a test and barely thought about the design of.

The earrings were simple, but clearly themed: a flower on each, but crotchet rests for leaves and a whole note as the center. There was no reasoning of merchandise or just trying something out this time; these were made with him in mind.

And, going off of the flower design, a little bit of herself too.

"This is a lot," he pointed out, and even that felt like an understatement.

She softened, sympathetic. Raising her hands up, she assured, "You don't have to wear them if you don't want to! I already thought that your earrings might mean something to you, so—"

"No," he cut in immediately, catching the misunderstanding. "I meant that you've been giving me so many gifts. You don't have to."

"Huh? But I do," she began as she straightened her back, glaring with determination and clenching her hands tightly into fists, "if I want to get that best friend spot!"

"What?"

He blinked at her, wide-eyed at the sudden declaration. Marinette herself only realized what she said a second later, her posture turning to a slump as she groaned into her hands.

Part of him thought about letting it go, but he was too invested in how important this was to her. He leaned in, asking softly, "Best friend spot?"

She lowered her hands just enough to look at him, then sighed and dropped them at her sides. "Juleka and Rose are already best friends, and Ivan has Mylene, so..." She flicked her wrist in his direction as if to say, 'well, you know.'

Luka did know now, but it hit him like a truck. He flashed back to times of the group playing video games together and the way Marinette's competitive spirit came out, quite literally, to play.

That expression he couldn't quite place all this time and her giving him so many gifts suddenly made sense: she'd been "competing" to take the role of his best friend. There wasn't even anyone to compete with, and she'd known that, yet something so basic held value to her to the point of seeing it as something to "win."

Luka turned his head away and covered his mouth with a hand. He wanted to laugh, but didn't want to give her the idea that he found her efforts something to laugh at. No, it was simply that it was the cutest thing he'd ever heard and it was taking actual effort not to say that out loud.

"A-ah? Luka!" Marinette called, leaning to try and catch a glimpse of his expression.

He went to speak, but remembered the hand covering his mouth and lowered it. Grinning at her, he replied, "You've already got the part."

"The part?" she repeated, then grew excited when what he meant hit her. "Really?"

Cute. So cute. The absolute cutest. How'd she been friendless for so long before meeting him and the others was beyond his understanding.

"What did it?" she pressed. "The CDs? The scarf? The plush? The earrings? It was the earrings, right?"

He shook his head, unable to stop smiling, and didn't elaborate beyond, "It's you." Then, staring down adoringly at the earrings in their little jewelry box, he added, "But I do want to wear these. Can you put them in for me?"

She was still in shock, but shook herself out of it to answer him. "O-oh, sure..."

She took the jewelry box back and he turned around to take out his earrings. He knew it wasn't like he was getting undressed in front of her or anything, but he was learning quickly that even he had limits for how long he could deal with her pretty face saying pretty things.

He removed both earrings, then heard a tiny pecking noise from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Marinette, turned away from him but not enough that he couldn't see the kiss she gave one of the earrings.

He could hear a pounding in his ears, clutching his earrings tight in his hands to feel them poking into his skin, just to make sure this was real.

—————

Luka honestly - perhaps foolishly - thought things would remain like that: with them being "officially" (whatever that meant) best friends and Marinette not feeling like she had to compete with it. She did take the hints that the gifts weren't necessary, and thus gift giving had returned to their usual back and forth.

He hadn't considered anything further than that.

One day, Juleka and Rose were preparing to go on a long walk together, off to a place they hadn't been before. Luka knew they'd be alright, but gave his sister a cheek kiss in a silent wish for luck and safety.

He felt a pair of eyes on him at that moment, but Rose was busy excitedly putting semi-random objects in her bag for the "trip." Also, what was the sudden sense of foreboding going up his spine?

Juleka and Rose waved goodbye and departed the Liberty, Ivan having already left a while ago to see Mylene. Knowing that left only one possibility, Luka glanced over his shoulder to see Marinette, sitting on an instrument case and looking his way.

Immediately, she dropped her gaze to her lap, pouting.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, walking over to her. "We're best friends. You can tell me anything if you want to."

"I-it's nothing," she insisted when it was clearly not nothing. "It makes sense. She's your sister, so it works differently."

Utterly lost, he merely blinked at her, mind racing to understand what had her sulking like she was. It was only when she brought a hand up, her fingertips idly skimming her cheek, that it registered.

"...You want me to kiss you on the cheek?" He sat down next to her, turning towards her as much as possible without their legs brushing.

She blushed, but answered noncommittally, "If you want?" Her voice lowered as she mumbled more to herself than him. "My skin probably isn't as nice anyway. I bet Juleka uses a lot of moisturizer."

Evasive as it was, her position was clear: he was doing something with Juleka that he wasn't doing with her, and thus she was "losing." She wanted him to do things with her that he'd do with anyone else, and maybe even more than that. In his personal opinion, that wasn't being best friends, but—

Well, point being, he was happy to "prove" that they were best friends if these were the standards to hold to.

He leaned over, pressing a light kiss to her cheek that was slightly longer than the one he'd given Juleka, just to be safe. Marinette still smelled faintly of strawberries and coconut, a scent he'd long grown fond of whenever she'd press herself against him in her eagerness to show him something.

He could also confirm that her skin was actually very nice.

She stiffened, mouth dropping open in surprise that he'd actually done it, then delight. A little giggle-hum came out of her as she rested her hands in her lap, looking absurdly pleased with herself.

Luka wasn't sure how she always did that. She was unpredictable, even when he felt he knew her, and was practically preening from a little kiss on the cheek. It was such an easy thing for him to do, but it meant something to her.

His role in the band as "leader" hadn't been self-designated, as he'd always been fine playing in the background if need be. He had no need for attention, fame, and the like. Marinette was different though, and not at all in a bad way.

She was making him center stage, showing him again how much impact his presence had. He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky.

"Ah," Marinette began even though that wasn't really a word, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She was trying to be "cool" about all this, but that was hard to do when she swayed from side to side, her prior pouting swallowed up in her bliss. "You don't have to worry about the earrings, by the way."

"Hm?"

She pointed at one of his earrings - the ones she made for him - and clarified, "I'll make you another pair if you ever get bored of them."

He'd done such a good job at not chuckling at how cute she was, but that finally made him snort. She raised a brow at the reaction and he grinned, pointing out, "That won't work."

"Why not?" She leaned in, genuinely curious.

He reached up to the earrings, affectionately stroking the delicate lines of the flower she designed. "I won't get bored of them. If you make me another pair, I'll just get my ears pierced again."

"Wh—" She shook her head in disbelief, having expected a more practical answer like 'you shouldn't be making me more earrings on a whim.' "You can't do that!"

He shrugged unapologetically, because he absolutely could do that, and he would. Maybe he could make an appointment sometime soon just to prove it.

Shoulders tense in her defiance, she challenged, "And if I get you another pair after that?"

As if it were obvious - and it was to him - he replied easily, "I'll get them pierced again."

"You'll run out of room eventually!"

"I have other places I could get pierced."

She was looking deadly, comically serious about all of this. She brought a fist up to her mouth, her eyes darting all over him like there might be a big sign hanging on him, saying that he didn't mean it.

He wasn't sure what she was actually looking for, but when she made eye contact again, there was something familiar; something blazing behind her gaze.

With her other hand, she reached out and snagged his sleeve. Her pull was strong, bringing him close enough to where he could feel her little huff against his skin. Then and there, she kissed his skin back, right next to his lips.

It was like a tiny lightning bolt hitting him, sparks spreading out all along his face and down his neck. He couldn't tell if the warmth was from her or his face heating up.

Her hand left his sleeve and pressed against his chest, putting him at arm's length to her. Her own cheeks were red, but that fire in her eyes was still there: her competitiveness.

Looking away from him, she stood up quickly and shouted, "W-we'll see!"

Then she ran off further into the Liberty, as if to flee from the bold move. It didn't serve the purpose of actually running away - he lived there - nor did it clarify on what they would "see" about, but it at least gave him a moment to think.

He'd thought before that she hadn't had any competition to be his best friend, which was still true. He couldn't have imagined anyone who could've taken that place but her, so the only obstacle after that was saying it out loud as far as he was concerned, and they'd done that.

But now there was a second competition he hadn't been aware of, whether that was being the best best friend or whatever else she was aiming for. Regardless, she did have an opponent - him - and he'd seen how merciless she could be when it came to competitions.

One thing was for sure: he was in so much trouble.

[tlou-reid]

Timeless ❆ Aaron Hotchner

☃︎ SUMMARY: a timeline of Aaron’s and his soulmates’ love life.

☃︎WARNINGS: random asshole character at the beginning, aaron and jack being cuties, death and mentions of an undisclosed illness, a funeral :(

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

“We would have been timeless, ‘cause I believe that we were supposed to find this. So, even in a different life, you still would've been mine. We would've been timeless.”

Day One

“Aaron!” the barista called into the busy cafe, setting down a carrier of four drinks. His name was quickly sketched across all four, signifying his loss to the team.

Aaron, Penelope, JJ and Luke had made a bet that Aaron would have a home cooked meal for five out of the seven days they were in town. He’d caved on day four, getting home late and craving the acidic burn of pizza sauce and greasiness of mozzarella cheese. He couldn’t help himself, forgetting all about the silly bet he’d made.

He remembered in the morning when he came eye to eye with the Italian man on the pizza place’s logo. Aaron figured it would be easier to just come in with their prize, coffees from Penelope’s favorite local place, and accept defeat than have to confront each of them.

So, he picks up his tray with a sigh and continues his way to his car, hoping to get to the BAU as soon as possible.

However, this would prove difficult. Aaron is shocked to see a big SUV blocking him in, and a lady jumping out of it. “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” She yelled into the open door, slamming it at the end of her sentence. Aaron could see the passenger side window roll down. He heard a man’s voice this time, with a much darker, violent tone, “YOU SHOULD’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT BEFORE YOU GOT IN THE CAR, BITCH!”

The law enforcement officer in Aaron kicked in when he heard the foul names being thrown towards this lady. She was gearing up to retaliate, but he stepped in front of her. Aaron used his free hand to quickly pull out his badge. It was a bit clumsily, due to the weight of the coffees in his other hand.

Once he was standing protectively in front of the lady and had his badge on full display, Aaron spoke, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave before you cause a further public disturbance.” His voice was low, the same way he talked to suspect. “Oh, fuck you.” The man said one last time, making eye contact with the lady, before pulling off.

“Are you okay?” Aaron turned around to face the lady. “Yeah, the guy’s just an asshole. Fucking offers me a ride and thinks that means he’s getting laid?” You’re rambling at this point, aggravated at the entire situation. “Where are you trying to go?” His entire plan of getting to work quickly went out the window when he saw how beautiful your eyes were.

“I work at the office around the block. I usually drive but someone hit my car yesterday and it’s in the shop today,” Aaron was growing more and more concerned with your wellbeing as you spoke, “I’m just gonna walk. Thanks for taking care of that asshole, I can’t believe I’m gonna have to see him later.”

Aaron knows he should probably walk away, but he can’t stop himself from asking, “See him later?” You nod, “He’s my fucking neighbor. Sorry, I don’t usually cuss this much, he just really pissed me off.” Aaron laughs at this, seeing as the first thing he heard you say was “fucking asshole”.

“You’re sure you don’t need a ride?” He asks one more time. “No, I could probably use the walk to cool off some. Thank you,” Your voice trailed off, not knowing what to call him. He stuck his hand out for you to shake, “Aaron.” He filled in the blank for you.

You told him your name, shook his hand, and bid him goodbye. You made it maybe six steps before you turned back around, “Aaron!” You hollered, walking quickly to catch up to him. “I know this is bold and I don’t even know if you’re single, but you were very kind and I think you’re very good looking. Could I get your number maybe?”

Aaron meets you with a laugh. You’re wary, not knowing that a laugh from Aaron was extremely rare, and something a lot of people would kill to hear. Your nerves are eased when he says, “I’d love to give you my number.”

Day 16

The night was going wonderfully. Aaron was proving that chivalry was, in fact, not dead. Just lost in older men. He was comfortable meeting you at the restaurant, he pulled out your chair for you, ordered a bottle of the fancy wine the restaurant carried, and was currently sliding his credit card into the check holder.

The conversation between you two flowed beautifully all night, making it seem like time flew by. He signed the bottom of the receipt, leaving a very generous cash tip, and turned his attention towards you. “Ready to go?” Aaron asked, not wanting to rush you away. You gave him a shy nod, trying to figure out a way to say you want to see him again soon without sounding obsessed.

Aaron stood and you followed, interlocking your arm with his. You two walked out of the restaurant, only letting each other go when he held the door for you. “Which one’s yours?” He asked, wanting to walk you to your car. You held out the key, clicking the lock button to get it to light up.

Aaron walked you over, opening the driver’s side door for you. “Look at her!” You squealed, excited for him to see your car, “Fresh out of the shop!” Aaron laughed at your excitement. Once you were comfortable in your seat and buckled up, Aaron went to speak again.

“I had fun,” He smiled at you. “I did, too.” You replied. “Would you like to do it again, sometime?” He asked, fumbling over his word a bit. You couldn’t help but find the way you made him nervous adorable.

“I would love to, whenever you’re free.” He’d told you about how hectic his work life could get, which you understood. “I’ll call you.” He promised, getting ready to close the door. “Goodnight, Aaron.” He gave you once last smile, repeated your sentiment, and closed the door for you.

Day 102

“Why’d you pick him?” Aaron’s son, Jack asked. “Jack!” Aaron laughed, loading up spaghetti noodles on his plate.

It’s your first time meeting Jack. You were both scared and excited, not knowing how he would react to Aaron bringing home a new girlfriend. “He protected me the first time I met him, I felt like I owed him.” You joked as Aaron passed you the pasta. You smiled when Jack let out a loud laugh.

Dinner continued like this, with teasing and laughter. You felt incredibly welcomed in the Hotchner household, loving the energy both of the boys created. You fit like a missing puzzle piece, being able to help Jack team up on his dad, and be there when Aaron was feigning sadness at one his jokes. Plus, both of them were happy to have a home cooked meal for the first time in about a week. Jack even said you could come over whenever you wanted, as long as you cooked.

“I think he likes you,” Aaron said as he climbed into bed next to you, later that night. “I think so, too. We laughed a lot.” Aaron nodded, moving over to press a kiss to the side of your head.

“Welcome to the family,” He muttered as he wiggled down into the blankets, falling asleep quickly.

Day 1534

“I do.” You said as you slid the ring onto Aaron’s finger, missing the first time due the tears welling up in your eyes.

Everyone seated for the ceremony cheered as the pastor said, “You may kiss the bride!” Aaron pulled you in by your waist, pressing himself as close as possible to you. The kiss was appropriate, considering there was a crowd watching, but full of love.

After you pulled away, you moved yourself behind Aaron, pulling his best man in for a big hug. Jack smiled against your neck, squeezing you tight. You grabbed one his hands, and one of Aaron, walking back down the aisle with both of them by your side.

“Mr., Mr., and Mrs. Hotchner,” Jessica smiled, introducing you three to the reception. You were ready to dance and celebrate with the people you loved most in the world. And you were so excited to share their last name.

Day 12152

You had always hoped it would be you to pass first. Something easy for Aaron, Jack, and his children to handle. Passing away in your sleep, peacefully and free of pain.

But, wishes are rarely granted. You were sat next to Aaron when he passed. As hard as his battle with illness had been, he fought as best he could. You knew he’d spent his whole life fighting, so you, as sad as you were, you relieved to know he was somewhere safe and relaxing. Somewhere where there was no fight to be had.

He would be surrounded by people he loved, more than he had around him in his old age now.

Jack held you tight at the funeral, knowing you were heartbroken. Part of him was relieved too. His father was no longer in pain. When he knelt at his dad’s casket, he made one last promise to look over you. To take care of you, to love you, and to protect you, just as Aaron had done since the day he met you.

You weren’t too worried about it, though. You knew you’d join him when the time was right, and he would be waiting for you. You two were meant to be, even if you’d met late in life. No matter how long it took, or where you guys were, you and Aaron would find each other.

[mandy-asimp]

Needed me

Emily Prentiss x fashion designer!reader (they/them)

Warnings: angst, fluff, happy ending

A/n: they dragging babygirl through hell this season 😔

"I'm sorry, but she is not my responsibility anymore. I can't be there to tell her it's going to be ok when she couldn't do that for me." They grumbled as they sat across from Rossi.

He sighed, "she's dealing with a lot."

"And I wasn't?" They didn't let him get further. "I get that you all are going to support her, she's your teammate. But you all didn't know her as your fiancé. The absolute love of your life who for the love of fucks, left you at your lowest."

The old man wasn't going to give up. He believed that there was still apart of them that would cave. "Y/n, you know I wouldn't have flown out here if I didn't think it was serious. She needs you."

It was them who sighed now. Standing up from the table. Leaning across to kiss the old man's cheek. "I'm sorry Dave. Unless she is at the point of tears and just giving up, I will not be roped back into it. Not again. I deserve better. I'll see you around."

And they were off. They never looked back to that table, knowing they were too close to facing...but they couldn't help but wonder what was so bad. Then there was what she did, how it flashed so quickly.

She came home that day to find her fiancé in tears. Body racking with sobs. "Babe? Baby what's wrong?" She was quick to drop her stuff and come crouch in front of her.

"Everything I've worked for it's gone." They got out between wiping away tears that seemed to never end.

Emily frowned, "what? Y/n, what happened?" She was trying to think of anything this bad. Had they been told bad news? Something someone said?

They picked up their phone and with shaky hands pulled up the news, a video of a burnt down building. "The studio...everything in it. All of it...this sets everything back..." they calmed their sobs to hiccups and a few more tears. "I'm absolutely ruined. This was supposed to be it. This was the break I was gonna get and then actually get to enter the real fashion world. I was going to go somewhere and I was going to make it," they spewed out so many worries. Mentions of how much time they'll need to restart, how this was the such an important thing.

Emily though, she froze up. There was so much happening she didn't know what to do. She's never witness them spiral out before. Within the four years, they knew how to keep themselves calm. Even if they couldn't, it's never been this intense. It scared her.

She knew it was a reasonable response to what had happened. Their entire future just went up into a crisp. Everything in her wanted to try and comfort them, truly she wanted to figure it out together.

Yet, the few bricks of the wall she'd built had more impact. She fell back behind it and regretted her next choice before it even happened. After that, Emily swore she blacked out because when she realized what happened, she was in a hotel room alone.

Y/n was just as shocked. The woman they were about to confess their undying love to just walked out. Not a single word said, but just gone. Even when they tried to ask questions, she gave them nothing.

For an entire week, Emily didn't try to reach out or fix anything. Instead she read every text that came through. Even the one that said all her shit would be on the curb for her. The one that set in what she did was calling off the wedding.

That was only a few years ago. The two had completely moved on, or at least Y/n tried to. Never wanting to look back on how much pain was caused, but apart of them wouldn't let themselves fall in love again.

But here they were. Sitting in the apartment, trying to sketch their next line, and only being able to think of Emily. Rossi came and he wouldn't have if it was serious. If they were to go to her, it would be unwrapping the bandages on a wound that hasn't been fully healed.

"No. You are stronger than this." They whispered to themselves. Staring at the sketchbook once again.

If they did...there would be a chance for closure. It would be nice to know why she ran. Why she couldn't just stick it out. They would've been the most badass couple. The FBI unit chief and a famous designer.

If they did...they would get the chance to finally express their anger. But it wouldn't be the right time if she's suffering. How is she suffering? What is going through her mind?

"Fuck." They shouted before getting up. Heading into their room to start packing a suitcase. Dialing Dave at the same time.

"Rossi"

"When are you flying back to Virginia?"

"I'll have the car there in ten. Thank you Y/n."

The call ended quickly, and Y/n was left to grumble. "Oh thank you Y/n! Thank you for having to be the damn adult once again. Thank you for willingly putting yourself through hell for her!" They had a nasty taste on their tongue as they spoke. It's honestly what silenced them.

Throwing a few outfits into a suitcase with the basic needs, they zipped it and began to pack a second bag. Grabbing everything needed to continue working on their summer line. This was done more carefully, with more precision on where everything went in.

Their eyes scanned over the packed bag, making sure everything was in there right. Right before Dave texted the car was out front.

One more sigh was let out before the apartment was locked up. The start of what might be either the biggest, or best choice made.

~

Emily was in her office. She was lost. She was loosing her mind over this case. Her wack-ass neighbor had hit a nerve she would've never expected.

It was just a mess now. Whoever was behind all this was winning and she couldn't figure it out. She was just fucked.

"Hey...how bad?" Rossi had popped into the room. Watching as the woman pulled out a box of cigarettes and lit one. "That bad?"

"Restricted duty until they see fit, so the BAU is yours." She tried to act calm, trying to keep it together infront of him.

Rossi huffed, "I don't want it. I'm not fit for it."

Emily pinched her nose. "None of us are! Hell! Me most of all. I need you to step up here Dave." She just needed him to make this easier.

"There has to be something?"

"This is happening." She shook her head and turned her back, her purse being a lame excuse for a distraction . The walls couldn't stay up as she felt herself begin to crumble.

A soft hand on her back made her gasp. She expected to turn and see Rossi, someone who she could only go so far with. Yet, her eyes were met with Y/n. She couldn't help it. Her legs gave out as she just sobbed into their chest on the floor.

It killed Y/n to see her like this. Emily was known for her tough demeanor and being able to keep it together at work. But that's what the team knew. Y/n knew her as their fiancé. They saw her breakdown at least once a month from the case build ups.

This however, Y/n could tell this was months on months of a build up. This was a low point, one that they would be there for.

It was half an hour before Emily could get out anything. Her brown eyes, wide and glassy, looked up to them. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was weak and defeated.

"I was told you needed me." Was all Y/n answered with. Naturally, their thumb wiped away the tears. "Why don't you sit on the couch and I'll make you some tea, hmm? Then you can tell me what's got you so...low."

The older got up and moved towards the couch. Y/n leaving the room to make the drink, remembering how Emily liked it like it was their own preferred. Within five minutes they were back and handing over the tea.

They stood, leaning against the desk. "Was it Brian again?"

"How did you...?" The question trailed off as Emily took her first sip. Trying to not let the warm feeling rush through her. They remembered her tea flawlessly.

Y/n glanced out the window, "I saw him lingering on the way in." Emily laughed a little at that. "But really....are you ok?"

"I've failed as a team leader. This job has corrupted me into breaking laws and lying to my team. I'm chasing with nothing but a conspiracy theory. I sounded crazy to the biggest conspiracy theorist in Virginia. I've been benched because of him. I just...I don't know what to do anymore." She so easily confessed. Her head falling into her hands for what felt like the millionth time today. "This can't be how I go out."

Internally, Y/n battled with going over there and holding her or keeping this distance. It put them back once again. They wouldn't be able to live with themselves if they did what she did, it just wouldn't make anything right. So they went over and held her again. This time placing an understanding kiss to her temple.

"It's not. I mean, it will be if you let it. And trust me when I tell you, you're going to want to let it. But that's not Emily Prentiss. She has been through so much worse than some theorist. This will be a fresh start. A chance to start anew. You will take it, and you will figure out this case. You will get your guy or whatever you call it, unsub? This is not your lowest. It's gonna feel like it, but it's just a low before the high. It's all going to be ok." They spoke from their heart. Even as it ached to be back in this position. Even as tears fell from their own eyes.

They were sharing her pain without wanting to, but needing to. Needing to let her know this wasn't it. Needing to let her know that someone was her to share her burdens again.

For the first time, both felt connected entirely. Beating with one heart. Thinking with one mind. Feeling with one body.

That night they had fallen asleep on the couch in her office. Holding onto one another like it would all go away as long as they were together.

Y/n had woken randomly, searching for any source of time. Rubbing their eyes as it was two in the morning. Emily didn't have to be back her till at least eight. They let their eyes fall to Emily. How she seemed so peaceful lying on top of them. She needed this more than Y/n had thought.

So, without much debate, Y/n was carrying the sleeping beauty and her bags out. Doing everything to prevent her from waking, which wasn't hard as she was out cold.

They drove in silence back to where they were staying. Knowing that if it came to it, they could drive to get her an outfit. The silence gave them time to really think. What were they doing? This is the exact opposite of what they were expecting.

Was Emily going to easily fit her way right back? It wouldn't be fair. She caused them the pain and yet they still love her. They would, without a doubt, let her as well. All she had to do was ask. It was just unfair, and they were going to live with it.

~

Emily stirred in the nice duvet. Confused as it wasn't hers and far too nice to be a hotel. She knew this duvet. She slept in it many times before.

"The coffee is being made. And breakfast is on the way." That voice she missed hearing in the morning.

She hummed while stretching, "how long have you been up?" She finally opened her eyes and seeing Y/n in sweats and a baby tee. Their casual lounge wear.

"Since maybe five. These sketches don't finish themselves unfortunately." They sat down at the desk that was perfectly illuminated by the sun at anytime of the day. "Oh, also your team is coming here tonight. You're taking the day according to Dave. He said it's his order and you should follow it."

"Why are they coming here?" She swung her feet out the bed. Her head turning to take in the room. "You kept your apartment here? What about living in New York?"

"My home in New York makes this look like a doll house. Smallest is the home in California. I move with the seasons." They simply explained. Frowning when Emily laughed.

"You're such a snob. Three houses? Really?" She got up and came to look at the sketches. Not saying anything as Y/n just began sketching again.

She couldn't help but stare at them. They made that concentration face still. Where the creativity would float in their eyes as the rest of their face was resting.

Y/n could feel her eyes on them. It wasn't anything out of their routine. Oh how they fell so easily into the routines.

"I'm a big fashion designer. I'm constantly doing something somewhere else. It's like you, Ms. FBI. Always away doing something," they hummed. Never once did they look up to her, they seemed to be battling the inevitable.

Emily didn't say anything, she just took in the sketches one more time and was off to the bathroom.

Both in their own thoughts and silence. Neither one knowing how to approach the situation of each other. Emily not knowing how to go about work. Y/n not knowing how to go about the designs. There were many thoughts floating in the air.

They let the silence stay around as they waited for breakfast to show up. Emily still clueless on why the team was coming. And she could've asked, but the thrill of a surprise put together by Y/n seemed to make her against it.

Y/n had been trying to sketch within the silence, but knowing Emily was only a few feet away made it hard.

"Babe! I'm home!" She called into the apartment. Noting how quiet it was. "Y/n? Are you even here?" A text saying 'study' came through, leading her through the quiet home.

When she pushed open the door, she found several mannequins with different outfits all lined up. "Isn't it beautiful?" Y/n hummed from the table of gems. They seemed to have been hand sewing each one on.

"Stunning. You didn't have all this done before I left?" Emily came to get a closer look. Being able to see the glimmer of proudness in Y/n's eyes. "What's it inspired by?"

Y/n didn't answer, instead just took int their work. Each outfit was inspired by their favorite memory with Emily. Between outfits they wore that night, or how they felt in the moment. The line was a collection of their love.

"Alrighty, leave me in the dark till it's released. Are you hungry? I imagine you've been to busy working to eat?" Emily left, getting comfortable.

Y/n looked over the sketches one more time. Sighing and dropping their head with a loud bump. They hadn't struggled this hard with sketches since when the two had first split.

They pushed up from their spot and headed into the kitchen. Rubbing their eyes to try and see anything clearly. They lost focus as they stared at the working coffee pot. This trip was already off on a different path than they wanted.

"If you want...I can leave." Emily's voice broke into the silent kitchen. Her head hung low and her hands picking at each other. She looked out the window briefly, bracing herself to meet the others stare.

Only, it wasn't on her. Instead Y/n moved around to get coffee, their back to the woman. "If you want to, I can drive you. But by no means are you gonna get kicked out." Two mugs got pulled down. They were matching ones Emily had gotten for them once upon a time ago.

They frowned to the memories of both mugs. There was a moment with a sigh. They forgot how much they avoided coming here and how they left everything almost the same.

The coffee was poured and the mug was handed over. Now they met each other's eyes. Emily wearing a frown as Y/n tried to keep their shit together.

"Unfortunately for me and fortunately for you, I couldn't kick you out even if you stabbed me. But I wouldn't try, we both have too much to loose for that." Y/n kept their distance still. Eyes either on Emily or anywhere else in the house. It was getting quiet again and it wasn't enjoyable. They rubbed their eyes again, "I need to get back to work. Feel free to make yourself comfortable but not too loud."

They were off and back in their study before Emily could even get anything out. "What about breakfast?" She called out and after, following herself.

Y/n flipped over their phone, "it's about ten minutes away." Their voice was cold and stale. Short of the comforting Emily had heard last night.

It confused her. "You are so confusing." She mumbled. Her head shaking just a bit at the cold demeanor.

"Funny coming from you." Y/n shot back almost instantly. A nasty taste washing over their tongue again. They sucked their tooth before turning around. Eyes immediately locking Emily in. "If this is confusing for you, let me tell you what's confusing for me. The fact that when my entire future burnt into literal crisps, the only thing you, my fiancé at the time, quite literally walked out and said nothing. For a week you then ghost me, mind you I was the one you were marrying in less than a month, and then after years of not looking back, David Rossi shows up. You know what THE David Rossi asked me? To come help you. And here I am, trying my absolute best to keep my shit together so you don't have to worry about another thing. Because you know what Emily? I care for you enough to be there for you." They spewed everything out, hands being thrown around in dramatics as their chest heaved.

Emily was too stunned to speak. What was she to say? Y/n was right. She left when they needed her the most and left without a word. And yet, here they were giving her nothing but what they always have, love.

"I'm sorry," was all that she could manage.

They only scoffed, "whatever. Breakfast is almost here." Y/n shook their head and sat back down at the desk. "You can put my food in the fridge."

"Y/n..." Emily sounded broken, even more than last night. It killed Y/n, but they deserved their reason, and she knew that.

Cautiously, she moved in closer. Coming to Y/n's left and sitting down on the floor. Her knees bent just enough to rest her arms on.

"I panicked...I had never seen you break down like that before..I didn't know how to respond and I just fell behind a wall and did what I always did..I ran from it instead of facing it. And it wasn't fair to you. I truly have no excuse for what I did, except I was a coward." She spoke quietly into the air. Feeling tears prick her eyes as the feeling of guilt and embarrassment kicked her hard. "I only can say sorry, and I say it knowing it will never be enough to make up for all of the pain I may have caused you."

Both had taken the next moment to sit in silence and process everything. Y/n had tears falling from the moment Emily had sat down next to them. Emily had let her tears fall once she finished.

A few beats had passed and Y/n had let their hand fall to Emily's head. Sliding to her cheek as she looked up. "You Emily Prentiss, have caused more pain than I can bring up again. And I hope you have learned from it. I hope you didn't do it to anyone else and you won't do it to anyone else." They had this frown she had never seen, one she knew she had caused.

"I'm so sorry Y/n.." she quietly cried leaning into the touch. Feeling the warmth of the designers hands. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," they hummed as tears fell down their rosy cheeks. "I know you are."

~

Hours had gone by. Filled with nothing but tears and sniffles. Emily had moved from the floor when she began sobbing, into Y/n's lap. Her face buried into their neck as they shushed her to asleep.

Y/n had tucked her back into bed and continued to work on the designs. Pulling out the old sketches from their scrapped line. Staring over each outfit that was designed after their love.

The mannequins were in the studio, locked in a specific room. They questioned if now was the right time to bring them all back out. If it was, they knew it was ready to be launched, giving them more time on the line that sat unfinished.

They picked up their phone, "Jackie? I need you and Joana to bring me Project L.E.P. The key is in my desk, bottom left drawer, hidden under her picture, tied with a red ribbon. It's hard to miss, the ribbon has L.E.P in gold on the end."

"Are we launching it?!" The assistant grew overly excited. "Oh! Y/n you have no idea how wonderful this is!"

"Is that Y/n?" The other assistant, Joana came into the room.

Y/n assumed Jackie nodded, "yes! They want us to bring L.E.P to their home."

"They're launching it? But then that would mean Em- Oh my God!" The phone was snatched and it was Joana now. "Did you guys talk?! I want to know everything! How did you lay it down?!"

"Joana." Y/n simply cut the assistant from bombarding with questions. "When I see you, I will answer your questions. I need that line, bring the truck with them all. We're going to review them."

"Yes boss!" They both said before hanging up. Y/n knew they were geeking out in the studio at this point.

They assumed it would be at least half an hour before the two got there. Giving enough time to finally take a well needed break and eat something.

While they warmed up the breakfast, Emily had stirred awake. She laid in the bed, taking in the familiar smell of Y/n's shampoo on the pillows. She began to think over everything they had said.

They said it was unfortunate that they couldn't kick her out even if they wanted to. What did that truly mean?

Emily realized, they've already gone through the hardest conversation, this one would be nothing. She swung the covers over and began to look for Y/n. Checking the study first.

Her curiosity for the better of her. She came close to the desk, looking over the designs. There were a few that had yet to be finished, and then there was one in red that really caught her eye. She picked it up, scanning over the paper and realizing she's seen it before. On the bottom had L.E.P written in gold. Emily couldn't place where she's seen it, but she knew for a fact she had.

Placing it down, she left to the kitchen next. Finding Y/n dancing slightly to their own tune. She watched as they prepared their food before acknowledging her entrance.

"Would you like yours as well? I can heat it up?" They offered without even looking over before grabbing the second meal. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good...I do have a question though," she came in closer. Leaning against the counter while staying out the way. Y/n looked over, showing she had their attention. "When you said..."

"I meant it." They knew her thoughts better than anyone. Emily swore in another life they were either a profiler, or a mind reader. "If you want to stay, I'm not going to stop you. If you want to leave, I will drive you. I'm here because you needed me, and I think....apart of me still needed you. If I wanted to be over you, I would've been. I know I would've been. I would've cleaned out everything that ties to you, but I didn't."

"When we ended...I thought that everything was going to go to shit. My career was caught in a fire, my relationship was ending, and I began to spiral. I began to just accept that this was how I was going out. Would never be a big fashion designer, never have a love life, nothing to live for....but I thought of it as letting you win without a fight. And that wasn't how I wanted you to win."

"I don't deserve you," she had whispered. Her head tilting and her silver waves fell to the side.

It was the first time Y/n had actually taken her in entirely. How she aged and yet was still the most beautiful woman they had ever come across. It made them want to just kiss her and tell her that she was welcomed home always.

"And yet...you have me." They sighed, hand coming to cup her cheek. "And maybe thats why I've been so confusing. Because I'm supposed to be mad at you, I really really want to..but anytime I try to, this nasty taste fills my mouth. Like I don't mean anything bad I try and say. And I don't."

"Y/n..." she furrowed her brows. This was more confessing than she had expected. "You don't have to tell me anything-"

"Damn it Emily," they groaned. "I'm not telling you this because I think you need it, I'm telling yo this because I need it. I'm being selfish. I'm loosing my shit with you just standing here. Do you know how easy it is for you to walk right back into my life? When I said I was going to love you forever, I meant it. I meant it with everything then. And I'm going to mean it with everything now." They had their own tears now. Finally caving into the painful feeling of being in love.

Emily was stunned, but she wasn't going to miss her second chance. She pulled Y/n in by the pockets of their sweats, standing on her tip-toes to meet their lips in a passionate kiss.

They both felt airy as they got lost in the feeling of home. Holding each other so impossibly close that it was undeniable they were staying together.

Once they pulled apart they just stared at the other. Both trying to find some answer to what they were feeling. Was there anything to say now?

Y/n came out the trance first, a smile gracing their lips. "Why don't we eat? Jackie and Joana are gonna be here soon and will probably want to question us."

"What are they bringing you?" She held Y/n there for a little longer. Enjoying the closeness and safeness. "Fabrics?"

"Project L.E.P." Was all they answered before heating up the other box of food. "I think I'll release it before the one I'm working on now."

Emily watched them move, "what does the L.E.P mean?"

Y/n was quick to shrug. "It's just the name that Jackie and Joana gave it." They dismissed the topic. Eyes trained to the microwave as it counted down the minute. But the small smirk they held told her they knew exactly what it meant. "I got you your usual."

They handed over the box and the two prepped before heading to the couch. Sitting knee to knee as they ate and watched whatever was on.

It was an enjoyable moment, and one Y/n would remember. And that's when the next line came to them. They tried to be subtle to finish up their food before rushing into the study. They grabbed a sticky note, it was red, and they scribbled on it before slapping it against the window.

Soon designs started to be taped up to the windows. The evening sun peaking through the papers. The ideas began to flow and make sense again. They felt relieved at the feeling.

The front door had opened, and the two assistance were quickly to make their presences known.

"Oh my! Y/n! You dog!" Jackie's voice filled the entire apartment at the sight of Emily. Her head snapped to Joana. "This is so not real!"

Y/n forgot how young her assistance were compared to them. They walked out shaking their head. "How many mannequins did you bring?"

"We figured you still had six here, we actually know you do because you never returned them. So we brought the other six. Then each piece is stored in its own bag and box." They stood tall and in line. "We just need to grab everything."

"Well let's get to it. Six mannequins and twelve boxes are not getting up here that easily. Em, you'll stay up here and make the trips from the elevator back. Joana you'll be on elevator duty. Jackie you're unloading and I'll carry everything to the elevator."

It was the perfect team work. And within no time they had everything upstairs and the three were working on setting them up facing the window. Emily, having no hand in sewing or fashion just watched the three move in harmony.

Joana and Jackie worked to just get the outfits on the mannequins as Y/n did touch ups. They worked until the night fell. And it was perfect.

"Y/n you've outdone yourself still. Are we really ready to release project L.E.P?" Joana walked around the designs and took in every seeming detail. "Truly a genius."

Y/n had a glimmer of pride in their eyes. "Yeah. I think it's time." They only broke away to look at Emily who sat on the couch. "What do you think?"

She had dropped her gaze to look at the twelve outfits. "They're absolutely beautiful. They have been since when you first had them all laid out." She stood to come next to them. "Are you ready to release them?"

Y/n inhaled with a smile, exhaling their worries. "Yeah." They grabbed Emily's hand. "I am ready." They were confident.

"So...what are you gonna call it?" Emily went closer to examine the detail as well. The room was silent as everyone thought of something.

Jackie hummed, "mmm what if we keep L.E.P?" She threw out. "It holds meaning, it's cute, it's secretive, secretive is sexy."

"L.E.P in gold writing, your writing. We tease it with close up pictures first. Then we host a big launch party and have them all come out on a runway." Joana began to plan everything out. Already seeing a vision.

"But what is L.E.P?" Emily butted in. Getting silence and all eyes on Y/n, who was looking down to Emily.

"Loving Emily Prentiss," they only could smile even kinder at the reveal. "It'll be the start of a collection. The E.P collection. It's bright, it's new, it's warm and giving. That's how it'll start."

The doorbell had rang. "That must be your team. You two are dismissed. Thank you for the help today. Start your magic and fill me in in the morning. Love you both," they bowed their head. Watching as the two assistants began to pack up.

"Um, Y/n? I have nothing to wear?" Emily glanced down at the big t-shirt and sleep shorts.

"Your outfit was laid out on the bed before we even started touch ups. You go change and I'll greet everyone." Y/n shooed as they moved to the door. Opening and being greeted first with Dave.

"How is she?" He placed a kiss to their cheek before leading everyone in. They all seemed worried at first.

"She's better today. And that's what matters." They hummed. Moving towards the kitchen to begin cooking for everyone.

Stopping at the instant gasp and whispers. The team had seen the designs lined up. "Wait..your the Y/n? Like designer Y/n?" Penelope stared in awe at the outfits.

"Guilty. That's the next line. I guess a sneak peak." They shrugged, smiling as Dave began to prep to help cook. "You can get close, everything is set in stone at this point."

Just then Emily had walked out in a one-of-one dress. Y/n had designed it and worked the first night to make it for her. Telling themselves that it was either a goodbye gift or a welcome home gift.

She looked stunning, and Y/n could take their eyes off of her. Their best model walked into and began to get wine glasses down.

"Emily, you never mentioned Y/n was a fashion designer?!" Penelope was still caught on the fact. Earning a laugh from Y/n.

"Ouch, four years and almost married and you didn't tell them about my job?" They came near Emily, crouching next to her to get out some seasonings.

Emily looked down to them, taking in the moment of being taller for once. "She would've flipped out. I also figured she would've down a background check on you without my knowing." Both glancing to the bubbly woman.

"I...I didn't because I wanted to respect her boundaries." She got out, looking to everyone else who seemed to have knowing looks. "Don't tell me..."

"We all...kinda knew." Tara broke the news, hugging the friend as the look of betrayal washed over her.

Y/n had shrugged from their spot. "I had no part in this." They cleared their name.

~

That night the team had laughed, eaten, drank a few bottles of wines, and enjoyed a nice round of desserts.

A few months has passed and Emily and Y/n began to work things out. She appreciated Y/n's efforts as well even with all the press and media.

There had been an article that really stood out.

And why did you name it L.E.P?

Well....when I had made it I was with this amazing woman. Each piece was meant to represent a moment of our relationship.

And why are you just now releasing it?

We had honestly gotten into a fight a month or so before our wedding. We ended up splitting and I just couldn't come to scrap it. So I locked it into a room until now.

And what made you choose now?

Because she needed me and I realized I would always need her. And this is my gift to her. A token of my love with what I was meant to be doing. Fashion. And what better way than to express love through fashion?

Emily had came over and smothered Y/n with all the love she could after reading that. It made her look at the entire line differently and hold it near to her heart just as well.

They laid next to each other in bed, just staring and having a wordless conversation. But Emily could see it written on Y/n's face. They loved her. And that made her see everything worth fighting for.

"I love you." She had whispered before realizing.

Y/n smiled. "I know." They switched to a cocky smile. Pulling her closer by the waist and bending her just slightly back. "And I love you too. Always will."

They shared one of their most passionate kisses that night. It sparked a new sense of love. Mature, mannered, and workable. As long as they had each other, it would always be workable.

[cosmerelists]

Cosmere Characters at Disneyland

As requested by @jellybeanzrock :)

Listen...I'm sure that SOMEONE on tumblr already did a post like this but I CANNOT find it. If anyone knows what I'm talking about, let me know so that I can link it! I think it was maybe about roller coasters...?

Anyway, here's my take!

1. Steris: Arrives with the perfect plan

Yes, it is in a binder.

Steris: Breakfast: acquired. Steris: We are all sunscreened, we have full water bottles, and we're already 8 minutes ahead of schedule. Steris: According to the plan, this is the optimal time to use our Fast Pass for Space Mountain. Wax: Space Mountain just closed for repairs! Steris: Tch. Turn to Plan C, everyone. I was ready for this.

2. Shallan: Mostly wants to sketch the wildlife

Shallan: Guys, stop! There's a new cat over there! Kaladin: Are you sure? It looks just like all the other cats. Adolin: Are you blind? That one's a tabby. The last one was gray, and the on before that was orange! Kaladin: ...Tabby and orange are different? Shallan: Both of you, hush! You're going to wake him!

3. Lightsong: Won't leave the Tiki Room

[Full disclosure: This is my wife's favorite "ride."]

Llarimar: Your Grace, are you sure you don't want to do...anything else today? Lightsong: This is the only part of the park that's empty and air-conditioned, Spook! Lightsong: Plus, I like the singing birds. Lightsong: They remind me of home.

4. Adolin: Gets too into the Mickey ears

He really should have brought an extra, empty suitcase.

Kaladin [eyes narrowed]: Those aren't the ears you were wearing yesterday. Adolin: Well, duh! These are my breakfast ears. The ears are sunnyside-up eggs! Shallan: He'll change into his midmorning ears after. Adolin: Plus, I have some fun ones for lunch! Not to mention my afternoon ears, my slightly fancy dinner ears... Kaladin: You have a problem. Adolin [waving a hand airily]: You just hate fun.

5. Kaladin: Just really likes the Soarin' Ride

[Full discloser: that is my favorite ride]

Syl: ...You know this is kinda an old man ride, right? Kaladin: I like it. It's peaceful. Syl: We're not even flying! We can fly for real! Kaladin: I like the part where they spray orange-blossom scent. Syl: I can't believe I bonded an 80-year-old man...

6. Syl: Really likes the characters

[Light spoilers for Wind and Truth -- just skip to #7 if you want to avoid!]

Syl: [full-size, now wearing a princess dress] Syl: Children keep asking for my photograph! Syl: I'm not sure who "Elsa" is, but I think I'm flattered!

7. Vin: Just really likes the Tower of Terror ride

It's the one that's just a huge vertical drop.

Vin: It's like jumping off a tall building, only there are more people around you, screaming. Elend: And nobody dies! Vin: And nobody dies.

8. Lift: Is mainly interested in eating every type of churro

She heard there were seven unique types, and she's determined to eat every one.

Wyndle: T-This is reminding me of you and the pancakes in Yeddaw. Wyndle: ...There isn't a dangerous Herald hunting us, is there? Lift: No, but I think that giant Mouse was lookin' at me funny.

9. Kelsier: Keeps ending up where he's not supposed to be

Kelsier: Why would they even HAVE a "forbidden" island clearly visible called Discovery Island if you're not supposed to sneak over to it? Kelsier: It's like they put up a big flashing sign that said "Secrets Here! Come and get 'em!" Dockson: I can't believe you got us kicked out of Disneyland. Kelsier: They started it.

10. Gavinor: Is the most serious child at Disneyland

Gavinor: [Gazing at the Haunted Mansion, unsmiling.] Dalinar: Do you want to go on that ride, Gavinor? Gavinor: Okay. Gavinor: Do you think one of the ghosts might be my dad? Dalinar: ... Dalinar: I don't think mouse ears can fix this.

[starbleye]

sculpted

Megumi has always been good with his hands, just not his emotions. Until now. (cw: smut; wc: 2200)

Megumi knew his hands like the back of, well, his hands. Art had always been a part of him from a very young age. Finger paints turned into oils on canvas, sidewalk chalk became charcoal sketches. Most importantly, mud pies turned into clay sculptures. If there was one form of art that Megumi was drawn to most, it was pottery. 

The minute he came into contact with those dollar store modeling clay kits, he knew he wanted to hold on to it for the rest of his life. He dedicated years of his life, starting with throwing together simple shapes and dishes manipulated by hand. As time went on, his hands became more dexterous in fashioning the clay to match his vision. Delicate yet firm touches to the clay allowed Megumi to craft his imagination into the tangible world. He dedicated himself to his art, he worshiped his talent.

Until you came along.

Unwavering, unshakeable Megumi was rocked when you first entered his life. For the longest time, he believed he was content with his solitude, abhorrent to unnecessary connections that could only bring him pain. He only trusted the porcelain of his heart to be held in his own hands, yet he craved for your soft arms to carry the weight of his fragility. 

You were always the source of light in a room from the way you carried yourself. You were sound with who you were and rooted in where you stood, drawing the energy towards yourself with a subtle hand. You lifted Megumi out of his self-induced confinement, but you never pushed or shoved him more than he could take. He could never understand how a person like you could even stand to be around a person like himself; cold, apathetic, protected. 

Yet you never looked at him in pity. Instead you saw Megumi as a young kid who was thrust into a life he wasn't ready for and commended his attempts to open up, as small as they were.

But Megumi knew he stood no chance at having you. His desire to have you all to himself was one sided, but he would rather wallow in his craving to have you in his arms rather than scare you away with his feelings.

"How long have you been throwing that?" you asked, shaking Megumi from his thoughts. He looked up at your curious eyes before looking back at the clay on his wheel, smooth as can be. Not as smooth as her skin, he thought to himself.

"Long enough, I guess," he replied, solemnly. The only reason Megumi was in the studio today was to get his mind off you and the date that you were supposed to be on. As fate would have it, your date stood you up and Megumi's studio was the first place you turned to in order to let it all out.

He sat in silence at the wheel, twisting and contorting some sort of vase that widened and narrowed to his heart's desire. All the while, you ranted about your latest trials in love, condemning each and every man Megumi knew wasn't good enough for you. "That's the last time I ever go on a blind date," you finally sighed, relaxing your weight against a table.

He continued to sit silently, overflowing with the urge to hold you tenderly and prove himself better than any other person who dared look in your direction. "Do you have anything to say?" you asked, fishing for any advice or consolation from your dear friend.

"I need to wash my hands," was all Megumi said as he slammed a fist into the misshapen vase out of frustration. Wordlessly, he got up and headed to the sink, tryin oh so hard not to focus on the perfect pout you gave him. How he wanted to run his fingers against your soft lips, to let his own lips memorize the feeling and taste of them. Shaking his head to rid himself of such thoughts, Megumi did his best to thoroughly scrub the clay out of his hands. All the while, a sudden fire lit inside his core, spreading through the rest of his body despite his attempts to quell it.

He turned back around to find you observing the sculptures on his shelf. One had caught your eye; the bust Megumi had created to resemble his mother. Lithely, he slipped behind your frame, maintaining a friendly distance but close enough for either you or himself to close it.

You sensed his presence behind you and, without turning around, said, "This is beautiful, is that your mother?" He nodded. "Makes sense, you have her eyes..." you trailed off, suddenly feeling Megumi become dangerously close. Risking it, you turned around to come face to face with those blue eyes, clouded with an emotion you had never seen before.

Megumi's throat dried up as he attempted to rasp out your name. "Please..." was the last thing he could muster before he closed the gap, hovering his lips inches from yours. He could feel the warmth radiating off your cheeks as he waited for you to reciprocate.

A second passed as you tried not to reel from the shock, but your body moved before your mind could understand as your hands intertwined into his obsidian hair. 

A noise escaped Megumi's mouth as years of pining escaped his body in that kiss. Tenderly, he felt your soft lips moving against his, tasting faintly of cherries. His own hands moved from his sides to the space between your hip and waist, fitting perfectly. 

Mindful of the delicate pottery behind you, Megumi began to guide your body towards the closest and cleanest table. Not once did he take his lips off yours, only opening his eyes briefly to make sure no one would get hurt. When your body hit the edge of the table, you let out a small gasp as Megumi's strong hands lifted you up effortlessly. 

Still, his eyes remained forcefully closed. "Megumi, look at me," you said, pulling away from the kiss.

"I can't, I'm dreaming," he murmured, tilting his head down to stop anything from breaking this fantasy come true.

A hearty giggle came from your chest as your hand cupped his chin, then his cheeks, before gently coaxing his eyes to open. "You aren't dreaming," you assured him, leaning in again and leaving a trail of kisses across his jaw to his neck. His core was close to yours and you both could tell the other was definitely real. 

Your own throat started to feel dry in a way you had never experienced before and your hands trailed to the hem of your shirt. "Is this okay?" you asked, starting to wrap your legs around Megumi's waist.

A look of desperation crossed Megumi's face as he let out a hastened "yes" and brought his hands under your shirt as you began to lift it up. Never had you heard a man moan as tenderly as he had when his eyes fell on your breasts.

And never had Megumi felt or seen skin as beautiful and real as yours. With a careful hand, his fingers traced the span of your abdomen, taking in the full sight of you. "Oh, god. I'm touching an angel," he breathed out. He continued his hands upward to your bra, unhooking it skillfully and immediately laying his hands on your nipples.

With skillful digits, he rolled the flesh of your breasts as if he were shaping clay. Megumi was already committing the feeling to memory so he could use it when he was alone. "More," you let out quietly, not entirely embarrassed but definitely flustered at being held so well by your best friend.

Abiding by your orders, Megumi tilted his head towards one of your nipples and used his tongue to stimulate them, causing a satisfied groan to release from your chest. You had already started moving yourself against him, so Megumi moved his hands to your hips to start a rhythm. He also began to roll his hips against yours to increase the feeling.

Still, he needed more. Looking at you with an approving gaze, you nodded as Megumi began to undo the button and zipper of your pants and quickly discarded them. "You're so wet," he said in almost a question, amazed that his touch caused you to react in such a way. His hand made a path to your core, pushing aside your panties and stopping at your clit to start rubbing it. 

Megumi seemed to know how these things worked as he applied firm pressure here and there, changing direction and movement depending on your reaction. He watched your chest heave as you breathed deeply to keep your grounding. Your hands were grasping for anything to keep your head tied to your body. Instinctively, your legs started to close from the attention, but Megumi's powerful hand held your thighs apart as he began to slip a finger into your cunt.

"Megumi!" you cried, the pleasure building. He looked up at you, the cloudy emotion from earlier finally being pinpointed as carnal desire. His finger stroked your insides as if he knew it by heart. Almost instantly, he found the place where you were most sensitive.

For every moan and groan and praise you let out, Megumi responded with the same if not more. You could feel yourself starting to approach your orgasm and you leaned up to hold onto his shoulders, digging your nails into the skin. Megumi could feel you tighten around his fingers and let out a moan, imagining how it would feel to have you tighten and come all over his cock. 

Without warning, he sped up his leisurely pace to bring you even closer. You started to cry out his name in warning when he suddenly pulled himself away. At first you were confused as to the abrupt distance, but your confusion was answered as Megumi began to strip himself of his own clothing. 

Quickly, you ran to your purse and grabbed the fresh condom you had put there earlier. Megumi hadn't fully taken off his pants or boxers before you pushed him into a nearby chair. He obliged to your taking of control, whimpering when your smooth hands came into contact with his searing cock. You pumped him a couple of times before slipping the condom on, earning a stuttered moan with each pull.

"I need you. So bad, please," Megumi murmured, eyes lilting in your direction. Wasting no time, you slowly began to sink onto his lap, your breath catching in your throat as you stretched around him. 

Megumi was not faring too well, hands flying to your hips the minute your cunt enveloped his tip. Trying to practice his self-restraint, he gripped your hips to stop himself from shoving his whole length into you. If he thought clay was his life, you had officially changed that. 

You continued to sink onto his length, Megumi noting that your pussy was more malleable than the clay that sat rejected. Finally, you had taken him to the hilt, both of you letting out euphoric moans. "You're so big," you sighed, looking down at where you two were connected.

Megumi couldn't take his eyes off the angel that was now seated on his lap. The sheen that had accumulated on your skin had you basking in an ethereal glow and he could've sworn you sprouted wings that fluttered so delicately. The moment you two connected, he knew he would worship you for eternity and more.

You started rolling your hips, coming off his lap slightly before taking all of him again. You held your bottom lip with your teeth as you started to speed up your pace, increasing the intensity of your rocks as well. "I need to hear you," Megumi said, in between moans. A slew of profanities slipped his lips as you released your bottom lip and a chorus of pleasure spilled from your mouth. 

His hands began to wander your body, trailing from your hips to your inner thighs, then up again to your breasts. He moved on to your graceful arms that were wrapped around his shoulders. His hands found their way to your neck and he loosely closed his fingers around your neck, causing you to roll your eyes back. 

Overwhelmed and nearing his own orgasm, Megumi wrapped his arms around your back and held you close, starting to thrust upward to meet your own rolls. A white fog began to seep into the back of Megumi's vision as he felt himself get close.

"I'm about to-" you started.

"Me, too," he finished, holding you impossibly tighter as both of your thrusts started to increase intensity. With an incoherent slur of your names, curses, and moans, you both finished simultaneously.

Megumi released broken whimpers as his own seed spilled into the condom and he felt your warmth trail down as well. He held you on his lap, keeping shallow ruts as you both rode out your highs. Your chest was rising intensely as you tried to catch your breath, not bothering to get off. "How long?" you asked.

"Since I met you."

(this is my first time writing in a LONG TIME, i really hope you enjoy and take care of yourselves !!)

[xerotiny]

The Lewd Rituals of a Typical Day // Our Precious #6

The Lewd Rituals of a Typical Day. (Our precious #6)

M.list | Previous | Next

Pairing: main - Park Seonghwa x Reader. Side - Reader x Jeong Yunho, Reader x Kang Yeosang

Warning (for all parts): smut, hardcore smut, soft dom!seonghwa, dom!yunho, dom master!yeosang, sub!reader/slave!reader, breast stimulation, teasing, biting and marking, DD/LG, seonghwa has a feeding kink (does not overlap with fat fetish), praise kink, food play, unprotected sex, fingering, cock warming, thigh riding, nipple play, bits of master-slave dynamic, rough sex, manhandling, cum play/cum shot, dirty talk/degradation (just know yunho has a filthy mouth), size training (vaginal), etc.

Note: do not proceed if you're uncomfortable or triggered by any aforementioned tags. Not proofread.

Gist: it's the weekend and you finally get the time to spend it with your so called "boyfriends".

Total Word Count: n/a

Taglist: @t3kandson @therealcuppicake @sebastianswhore13 @solisyeah

[a/n:] thank you so much for 190+ followers. really appreciate it.

Part Two [6.2]: Down on My Knees - Kang Yeosang x Reader

Warning: master/slave dynamic, slave!reader, master!yeosang, wax play, use of Ben wa balls/kegel balls, use of ropes, rope bondage (hojojutsu tie), deep-throat/throat fucking/blowjob, cunnilingus, etc.

Song rec: Drip by Black Atlass

Gist: Yeosang gives you a glimpse of his eccentric kink. Let’s say, he’s one intimidating man behind all the innocent facade he puts on.

Word Count: 11,122

           How did you end up in this position? Kneeling in front of him, arms bound with a thick rope and held behind your back, and the seemingly innocent ruse he paints on; in his make-believe world, you're supposed to be looked down upon, and he's supposed to have the higher ground to assert his dominance. He wasn't fooling anyone with his charming demeanor, and you indeed hadn't been fooled by his undisturbed personification. Who knew, Yeosang would be one of the wild ones, the kind who are quiet and gentle, who speak less and listen to others talk, the ones who make their opponent believe they know everything about them when in reality they know nothing about them.

The two of you were trapped in a trance of silence, both taking up the empty space adjacent to the bed. A little further into his room, you and Yeosang were both busy with your own things; he eyed you like a predator would eye his prey, and somehow, it seemed to arouse your worst tendencies. A strain in your forearm aches against your posture, making you curl your back into your stomach, and the hemp rope bites into your skin, creating irritated scratches; Yeosang's tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth the moment he hears you whimper. You hold onto a breath of yours, until it's forcing its way out to blend in with the dense air of this room. The dread follows you, lurking in your mind; you could sketch out a rough outline of Yeosang's mind, of his needs. He needs control. He likes it a little too much. Which would explain why you were kneeling in front of him, with your arms shackled in some rope to restrict any movement of your body.

"Did I tell you to stop?" he growls, sighing a minute later, "from the top, again."

You groan, voicing your frustration, "I promise, I'll be good next time. Just let me continue. We've been over this for the longest time, I'm tired."

"Rules are rules, kitten." He rasps, lowering his voice down a baritone, "now, from the start. As I said before."

Exasperated, you straighten up and stare up at him. There he sat on a metal chair, hungry eyes trained on every movement of your body. He sits poised and stoic, putting most of his weight to the side as his elbow which rests on knee. His legs are crossed over one another, and he subtly keeps brushing his fingers under his chin as if he were to be in some deep ponder about life. For a man to be this ethereal, was a crime. And you wouldn't base your judgment on the fact that he was a man, but rather on how meagre his efforts were to delineate his grace. How can a man wearing a simple tank top and jogger shorts, appear this elegant?

Yeosang's lips curve into a silken smirk, almost like a trace of smugness caressing his face before stranding his mien with an unbearable hint of thirst. His soft brown eyes yearn for a taste, for a quick nibble of your bare chest which was on a hankering display. When his silence murmurs louder in your ear, you take a deep breath and scatter your attention across the floor; there laid sheets of black print, words etched in a continuum. Back to the first page, to the very beginning. You had read through the first page ten minutes before. There goes your ten minutes of hard work and patience.

This was a tortuous nightmare which seems to be never ending, a situation having you kept astray in a void of fear and anticipation, tickling every being of your flesh and bones. It doesn't matter how dedicated you are to him, he will find a way for you to lose, for you to give in to your ailing state of mind. So far, he had succeeded in making you feel small, belittled your presence.

Time stands still in this room; all air is knocked from your lungs when proceed to enunciate the first few words on the first page.

"We the undersigned parties, recognise and accept the submission of Moon Angel, hereafter called the 'slave' to Kang Yeosang, hereafter referred to as the 'Master', in a relationship of," you trail away, almost losing your voice, "relationship of voluntary servitude hereafter called 'slavery'."

In this blighted state of affairs, you're in a constant dilemma, whether you should've read and signed the contract beforehand, or not. To your better understanding, it would have been hundred times better if you had just taken out the time to read and sign the contract before. All this humiliation would've been avoided.

"Go on," Yeosang nudges you with a husky undertone laced to his words, "we've got a lot to deal with here, kitten."

Shaking your head, you swallow thickly to wet your sore throat before continuing, "by this instrument, Master agrees to direct, train and dominate, the Slave for Master's pleasure and benefit." 

Why were you aroused by this? You'd hate to admit it, but you were soaking wet from reading this so-called contract, by picturing the words jumble up on a pretty risqué imagery in your mind. In an attempt to alleviate the strain in between your thighs, you squeeze them, quite tightly for your cunt to rub against your flesh. Yeosang doesn't let your venture go unnoticed by him; rather, his lips lilt into a haughty smirk, playing the descant game of tease in his head.

Regardless, you press your lips together and mumble, "the slave's tenure will begin on the day of signing this agreement and end on the last day of the twelfth month after the day of signing. A review will take place every three months."

"Do you have any doubts till now? Perhaps, some questions which have been troubling your mind?" he asks, relaxing back into the chair and spreading his legs wide.

"Not really." You respond; however you couldn't resist peeking at his cock when he spread out his legs like that.

You catch the glimpse of his erection protruding through the flimsy material of his shorts; gauging by the outline, you could tell he had an impressive size.  Which doesn't really seem to be one of your biggest concerns at the moment. You should be instead, worried about what the future holds for you. It was easy to shrug off every possible leeriness you faced, up until he had asked you to fetch the contract from your room and meet him in his own.

Things went south. Quite quickly. Everything was a blur of moment, seconds dragging to something lesser than them, seizing to nothingness as time paralleled to nix. You entered his room, the dimly lit abyss of ambiguity and confusion; a queen-sized bed in the centre, draped in red silk sheets, and the curtains to the window stayed drawn together to filter out any natural light seeping in. His room was dark, and devoid of any unnecessary things. Even more peculiar, his room did not allow any sounds from the outside to saunter in and vice versa.

The entire aesthetic of his room was an enigma, an elaborate conundrum which would put anyone in a bewildering position. A desk remained shrouded in the dark by a corner, and two separate closets were bound to a side of the wall; one of them was locked with a silver padlock, and it also harboured quite a few intricate pieces of cravings in the wood. The other closet was basic, laminated with a much basic plywood. There was a door situated to the left side of the bed, presumably the bathroom, and to the right of the bed, was where the closets, and desk were located.

After spending the first few hours of the morning with Seonghwa, you were dragged by Yeosang to his room; on the way to his room, by the stairs, you came across Wooyoung who had then groggily greeted you before turning a side eye toward Yeosang. That, somehow, itched Yeosang in a wrong way and awoken something feral in him. He wrapped his hand around your waist and pulled you with him, not caring if you fumbled in your steps or were even capable of keeping up with his pace. First, he pushed you in your room, asked you (in a growl) to get the contract he had given to you and then he dragged you into his room. When the locks behind you clicked, your heart dropped to your gut.

Yeosang's sheer strength was enough to turn you on, enough for your cunt to start dripping at the thought of the other things he was capable of doing to you. He could easily manhandle you, throw you around like a puppet and bend you to his words. Inspecting your body then, he walked around you in circles, until he got too riled up to contain himself. He had ripped your shirt off your body, technically speaking, Jongho's shirt, and now it laid strewn on the floor in tattered pieces.

Many more things unfolded after that, he asked you sink down on your knees, he got himself a red-coloured hemp rope to tie your arms behind your back, and then he dragged a spare chair over in front of you and slid himself onto it. He sprawled the contract papers on the floor, for you to read through them, loud and clear.

And so here you are. In a probable dehumanising position.

"Your restraints aren't too tight, are they?"

"No..." your lips quiver, arms struggling in the hold.

They weren't tight or as uncomfortable as you thought they'd be; though, the rope was biting into your skin and chafing it every time you moved only as to little. You were quite astounded by Yeosang's preferences, and how he dabbled in the art of Japanese bondage called shibari. There's something about him you couldn't place your finger on yet. Regardless, the moment he started looping the rope around your arms and your back, you were crumpled down to pieces.

To Yeosang's eyes, you were a treat. He pities you for not being able to see how luscious you looked with the red ties scattered on your back, and around your chest; the rope did in fact loop around your forearms and crossed at the back, it formed an intricate pattern of a star with how it was tied. And in the front, it ran parallel to your chest, the rope running under and over your tits. Nothing could've stopped him from drooling at the sight of you; you on your knees, half naked and body shuddering ever so lightly every time he glared at you.

"The slave must reveal all appropriate thoughts, feelings and desires relating to servitude without hesitation or embarrassment," he states, clear and firm, "I'm going to ask you again. Are your restraints uncomfortable?"

"No," you reply, confidently.

"As a slave, what must you refer to me as?" he poses another question, still sounding resolute somehow.

"Master."

"That's my girl," he praises you, a smile breaking out on his face before he leans over to whisper, "I did not tell you to stop reading. Please, carry on. My patience is running out."

You take a breath of relief, knowing he hadn't tormented half of your being by forcing you to read everything from the start. But you were also transfixed by his words, by his presence. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you clear your head and proceed to read further on.

"This voluntary servitude may be renewed at the Master's discretion with the slave's consent." you take another breath in, and continue, "It is agreed that this period of slavery will be under the Master's direction and control and will be subject to the following conditions."

Yeosang hums along with you, "let us keep those conditions to ourselves. Why don't you read them in your mind and let me know if you have any concerns regarding them."

You take his suggestion well, spanning your eyes across the printed letters and comprehending them in your mind. As the time passes, the restraints start tugging you down; it was overbearing to hold the straight posture for all this time. Your arms had started to ache as well, going sore from having no freedom to move them around. However, you still held it in, held on the very little of your patience and dedication to get through this.

Reading the conditions, you could tell he curated his preferences perfectly on the paper. The conditions stated were beneficial to both parties; most importantly, they took the slave's gratification into consideration.

"Is everything understood so far?" he murmurs, peeking at you.

You raise your head and nod, "yeah. I think I got the gist of it."

Yeosang hums again, but his jaw clenches slightly and your gut knots itself, "I meant, yes master."

He smirks, "good. You're getting the hang of it." Tracing his thumb under his lower lip, he pulls himself off the chair and takes a few steps closer to you. He crouches down, his aura buzzing around with a certain heaviness, "I want to punish you for not obeying me. I had asked you way well in advance to read through this contract, hadn't I?"

"I'm—I'm sorry, I know should've done it—"

"—don't waste your energy on apologies, kitten. The time's gone."

His fingers pinch your chin and tilt your head further up, forcing you to meet his eyes; the dark, sullen, dour eyes of his show no emotions, not until a spark of lust and carnality breaks out. You gulp, audibly, squirming your thighs together to ease the tension between them. Beyond hope, you knew you had soaked through your shorts, you were sure Seonghwa's cum had slicked out all the way through along with your own arousal.

Dense air in the room leaves you to suffocate on your spit, while his lips caress the tip of your nose and drag along your cupid's bow. He presses a soft kiss against your lips, mumbling them in a haze of sheer want and need. When he pulls back, he adorns a scornful smile on his face, tugging his cheeks softly into his eyes.

"Get on your feet for me." He drags his words to a whisper, "now."

The authoritative tone flips a switch in you, turning your rationality off and switching on your submissive mind. He straightens up and takes a step back, watching your helpless-self struggle to get on your feet. You stumble while trying to bring yourself up from your knees, and the way your arms were shackled behind you, it seemed almost impossible.

Yeosang extended no hand for help, he quite enjoyed the show you had put on for him; a belittling chuckle is trapped in his chest, while his arms are folded over. He waits a beat, for a second to cross the threshold of your clumsiness before he leaps in and helps you up; there it was, his warm hands bracing against your waist, pulling you up on your feet and stabling your wobbly stature.

"Come here," he holds one of your arms and guides you to the chair; the contract sheets lay untouched on the floor, starting to flutter to the winds brought in by the ceiling fan. "Stay still, hmm?" he murmurs from behind you, his warmth painting an untamed desire on your back.

You nod, whispering, "okay."

Before you could voice your other concerns, his presence dithers away. Listening to some shuffles around in the room, you turn your head to find him unlocking the closet which had intrigued you before, the same closet with a silver padlock and intricate carvings on its wooden panels. The doors creak softly at the hinges when he opens them. Amid the pointless dark and silence, you observe him, noticing a soft glint of something metallic in his hands. You were unaware of what he had retrieved from the closet; bewildered, you continue to stare at him as he grabs a couple more pieces from the closet. Stricken by a haze of wonder and despair, you whimper under your breath. Tremors brush your skin, trickling your flesh with an ecstatic desire.

You press your lips together, preventing your needy groans from slipping past your lips; his footsteps ascend to you, while an object rattling in his hand. He stands in front of you now, fixing himself behind the chair to dump the things he was holding in his hands. As he is steadying himself back, you catch a glimpse of his smirk fleeting on his plump lips. When he straightens himself, you notice the objects spread on the chair.

A candle. A pair of what seems like, silver balls, alongside a small capsule-shaped button or something. And a silver plated lighter having a butterfly engraved on it.

A quick flick of lighter turns the flame on, he proceeds to light the candle; the wick burns with vigour, providing to the subtle morning light which had already begun to fade in from the window regardless of the curtains being drawn together. He sets the lit candle on the small desk, located next to his bed, right behind him. You must've failed to notice this one before, not that it matters now because you're too fixated on him, on his actions and what he tends to do with you.

"Ever seen this?" he muses, picking up the silver balls in his fingers.

Letting them dangle from his forefinger, he shows it off to you. It was your first time coming across them. The two marble sized balls were a half an inch apart from each other connected with a fine chain link; they appeared small and delicate.

"No," you mumble, "what are those?"

"Rin-no-tama," he pronounces it in a perfect harmony, and shrugs, staring down at the shimmering spheres hanging from his finger, "or orgasm balls." His eyes meet yours, "don't worry, they only create subtle stimulation. It's more of a teasing device than anything intense."

He strings out his words so casually, lips quivering with a vague smile. Taking a long stride around the chair, he comes to stand behind you; the balls clatter gently against his hand when he holds them by the long tail of chain adhered to the one of them. Your mind is a complete mush at this point, overridden with enthusiasm and anticipation. One of Yeosang's arms comes to tangle around your waist, while the other sneaks up your back and comes into your view. Right in front of your face, he holds the two orbs, their chrome shade alluring and intriguing.

"Open up," he whispers, nudging the balls closer to your lips, and pushing them till you're willingly opening your mouth. "Good kitten."

You moan at the praise; however, it's muffled by the tiny little spheres in your mouth; he continues to push them, trying to settle them deeper, and as he does, the tip of his fingers too sink in your hot and wet mouth.

"Cover them up nice and warm," he suggests, "they'll be going inside you."

Another desperate groan tempts to slip past your lips, but you bite down on it and continue to suck on the balls in your mouth. Yeosang's fingers plunged a little deeper than before, forcing the orbs further down your throat; he hums in satisfaction once he thinks it's enough. Offering a subtle tug on the chain he held onto, he pulls the orbs out and lets them dangle in front of you. They're slick with your spit; a thin layer coats their surface and translucent saliva strings adhere to them in a perfect curve. You squeeze your thighs together, melting at the thought of him stuffing those balls inside you.

"You get really eager, don't you?" Yeosang teases, slipping his hand from your waist to in between your legs; he slaps your thighs apart, and then proceeds to tug on your shorts. "Since it's our first time, I will keep it...easy for you."

As the last bits of his words dither in your mind, you had failed to notice how in one swift motion he had torn your shorts off of your waist. First the shirt, and now your shorts. Both laid littered in pieces on the floor.

"What do you mean—nghhhh!" your voice clamours to a moan, a sudden gelid sensation urging you to close your eyes and revel in it.

"Oh, you know," Yeosang grins, "take things slow with you." He bites down on his lower lip, addressing to you in a mumble, "relax for me, will you. Deep breaths."

Listening to him, you take a deep breath in, your anticipation pulsating past its limit. A second ticks, and he nudges one of the spheres against your folds, eventually dragging them along your slit to slip it in your cum-filled hole; the first orb stretches only so much, burning the pit of your stomach in a momentary heat. He tugs further on the dainty chain holding both of the spheres to have them fit snug in you. The warmth of his fingertips disrupts the peace in your heart; nifty tremors spread across your spine when he pushes two of his fingers in, delving them deep and gently pressing the balls further inside. If you could be honest, the cold sensation of the balls and the drifting warmth of his finger was wrecking your mind, giving you the sensory stimulus you needed so bad.

"Fuck—it's cold," you moan, rolling your hips down on his hand to let his fingers plunge further.

He clicks his tongue, immediately pulling his fingers out and offering one of your asscheeks a light squeeze.  "You're not supposed to enjoy your punishment, kitten."

"I'm—I'm not," you stutter, knowing well you were lying to him.

"Really?" he emphasises, groping both of your asscheeks and spreading them apart, "the way you were grinding down on my fingers, it said otherwise."

"I just—I need something more to—need something more to feel..." you trail off, going speechless for the moment when the heaviness of the balls settles in your cunt.

"No, kitten," he slurs, "you don't need anything more."

Yeosang glances at his fingers, coated with your juices and Seonghwa's cum from before; he honestly has no problem with it, and speaking in all fairness, he's used to this kind of plight. Watching the translucent fluid coat his fingers, he lets his lips curve to a conceited smile before bringing his hand in front of your face. His other hand stays tangled with your waist.

He clicks his tongue and prompts you, "lick these off. It's yours and Seonghwa's...afters."

Eager, you open your mouth and let him stick his fingers in; a familiar salty and bitter taste coats your tongue, with tender underlying tones of sweet. Enjoying the warmth and the sloppy confines of your mouth, he thrusts his fingers in till he's knuckles deep. You lap your tongue along his fingers, nonetheless, sucking them clean. Offering a few kitten licks to you his rough fingers, you muffle a whine when he pulls them out with a vile 'pop' sound reverberating around you two.

"Such a good kitten," he muses, "cleaned my fingers with her tongue. She deserves a treat, she really does."

His absence leaves your back, which alerts you and prompts you to straighten up slightly. And with that subtle movement of your waist and your back, your walls to clench around the metal orbs. A curt whiplash of arousal crawls up your spine, making you hiss at the furor which spreads across your body, rather quite instantly. Yeosang's face comes into your view; a face worth admiring, a face you could never get tired off. His eyes nurture a sense of slumber, and his plump lips are seemingly too kissable to deny the urge. The gorgeous man in front of you, standing right behind the chair, which was stuck between you two, had dubious intentions inscribed in the brown specks of his eyes.

Leaning in close to you, he cups your face with both his hands and nudges the tip of his nose along yours; he traces it down to your lips, only for a hot second before ghosting his own on yours. In the next minute, his tongue darts out and swipes under your lower lip. A smile fleets on his face, his eyes glimmering with an untamed desire. The grasp of his hands surrounding your face tightens, holding your face in one place as he abates the distance between your lips. A brush. A delicate brush of his lips wanes you to a complete silence, and it soon blooms in your chest, slipping out of in you in the form on a whimper. Yeosang's lips start lapping up with yours, dwelling into a heated kiss which starts mellowing out every sane thought in your mind.

For the time being, struck with his lips and his hands, you forgot your hands were tied behind your back, you forgot about the rope nicking your skin and leaving red marks behind; you were immersed in the way his lips moved with yours, how he softly grumbled when you tilted your head and deepened the kiss. Breathless, you kept it going, you kept your lips on his while his tongue prodded past them. Yeosang pushes his thumb pads into your cheeks, forcing you to heave a gasp and allowing him to push his tongue in. The slickness of his tongue wraps around yours, tackling it in the further warmth of your mouth.

He moans, sounding it from his chest when you start sucking on his tongue. You push his sloppy muscle out of the way and shove yours down his throat. In the despair of your body, you're slithering beyond to caress the tip of your tongue against his uvula. When his gag reflex kicks in, he groans and pulls your face away from his.

Out of breath and panting softly, he smirks, "my kitten is so desperate." He pushes himself back, continuing in a mere whisper, "come on, we've still got five pages to read over."

Tugging you to the place where you were kneeling before, he forces you to get down; without much hesitation, you oblige to his demand and sink on your knees, the stray sheets of paper kissing your bare skin. The metallic spheres which were sheathed deep in your cunt, fidget with your walls and stroke your arousal. You gasp when the balls plunge in the steepest part, only for the time you were adjusting yourself on your knees.

Yeosang grins to himself, watching you squirm and struggle to keep your spine upright. Hunching over, you fail to notice him extending his hand to wind it around your throat; with a simple and steady jerk, he forces you to meet his eye, his lips encasing one of the most impish smirks ever. His fingers dig deep into your skin, denting it with his mere strength and painting it with little crescents of his nails. The more you stare at him, the tighter his grip becomes around your throat. You choke on your spit, mouth falling agape to the torrid desire of breathing. In all seriousness, his fingers and thumb were pressing against the right places on your throat.

"Eyes on me," he growls, "when you're with me, I want your eyes on me. At all times. Exceptions would be—" he trails off, "—when you're blindfolded, or in any position which makes it uncomfortable for you to look at me." Letting silence speak louder, he bites his lower lip and waits for you to answer. And upon getting none, he snickers, "what do we say, kitten?"

You couldn't really get your words out, not when his hand continued to clasp around your throat, tightening every second and causing your walls to convulse into each other. The worst part, however, was when you writhed to the enthusiasm of getting choked; every time your body shuddered against the floor, the balls inside you built your arousal to its brim.

Regardless of your throat turning dry, you croak, "yes master."

"That's what I like to hear," a smirk splays on his lips, while he loosens his grip on your throat. A sudden wave of concern washes over his tone, "you should let me know if I'm crossing any limits, Angel."

You shake your head, coughing, "it's—I'm fine—I'm fine, really."

"Are you sure?" he asks, a smile wavering on his face before it is replaced with a straight line, "next time we meet, we'll be setting our boundaries. You need to tell me what you're uncomfortable with and what you're okay with. Got it?"

Nodding your head, you weakly string out, "yes, master."

Yeosang seems satisfied with your answer and pulls himself back on his feet, letting go of your throat; he towers over your slouched shoulders, arms folded over his chest as he coaxes you with an encouraging jab of his head.

"Continue. From where we left off."

His footsteps descend down the meagre dark beside his bed; he grabs the candle from the desk adjoining it and carries himself back to you. For a minute, in your state of bemusement, you gawk at his veiny hand which wraps so delicately around the candle. And later when the minute of confusion passes you like a dream, you come to terms with what he has planned for you. Yeosang's lips curve slightly with every step he takes toward you, his eyes glinting with mischief and lust.

"I can't hear you, kitten." He teases, "I'm assuming you've had hefty breakfast in the morning. Gonna need you speak a little louder, kitten."

You shift on your legs, sitting with a comfortable posture, distributing your weight equally on your calves before his words lash on you and make you squirm, causing the balls to twist and turn around in your cunt. The budding tension in the pit of your stomach is too much to contain; if only there was something more to unravel you. Biting on a moan, you nod your head vigorously and swallow some of your spit down to wet your dry throat.

"The slave hands her," you read the next page in line, eyes tearing up gradually from the pleasurable ache pounding at the walls of your cunt, "the slave hands her training over to her Master."

"Hmm," Yeosang hums and displaces himself behind you, "go on."

You're too focused on the reading to notice anything out of order. "The Master may give his slave 'free periods', be it in the Master's presence, where the slave—the slave may express herself openly and freely."

"That's right," he hums, his presence warming up to your back when he leans over slightly, "hmm, carry on."

Heaving in a deep breath, till it convulses your lungs into each other, you proceed, "there will be no punishments applied during these free periods. However, it is understood that the slave will continue to address her master with respect—ah fuck you."

A hot sizzle crawls down your back, trickling further and farther on your skin; the hot sensation traces a mere inch, and it dissipates to a steady streak of coldness. Muffling a whimper, you give yourself a little time to comprehend what had happened.

Candle. Wax. Hot wax. Hot wax on your skin.

You draw your shoulders in, and then roll them out, focusing on reading. As if you could really concentrate on the task at hand, when he is fixated on pouring the melted wax on your flesh. The burn of the candle grows intense on the crook of your neck, while his other hand lingers up and down your spine, dipping down the curve and then pulling back up.

Yeosang clicks his tongue, "you know the rules, kitten. From the top. Again."

You despised hearing those words, those exact words which caused you so much torment and frustration; if you could, you would pick yourself up the floor and leave, but sadly the contract states the otherwise. The contract states a lot of things, all of the phrases are now ingrained in your brain. Of course they would be, you've read them countless times. Even so, with all that you've read and spent your time reading, you hadn't gotten to the end of it yet.

"Please," you whine, "you caught me off guard." Squirming on your feet, your knees itch with an urge to unfold yourself from your position. Though even when the thought of you doing that crosses your mind, the balls in your cunt move, and wreck your body with the soaring pleasure. "Let me read, let me continue. I can't go back and read it all over again. I'm tired."

Yeosang sucks on his teeth, "fine. Let's put a stop to this. Don't worry about the reading for now, just relax yourself and take deep breaths whenever I tell you to."

From the back, he pushes the contract papers aside and they scatter further away on the floor. You're steep in anticipation, partaking in the little games he was playing with you. And to your surprise, he loops one of his arms around your waist and pushes his chest into your back. His other hand, holding onto the candle, comes in your view for a meagre second before it drifts down your chest. Peeking over your shoulder, he directs the candle towards your collarbones, right by the centre. As the wax on it melts, a few drops trickle and trail between your tits; you hiss at the burn, throwing your head back onto his shoulder and closing your eyes shut.

"Does it hurt that bad?" he chuckles, "you're such a pathetic liar, kitten. I know my way around this, the wax isn't even that hot, is it...?"

You press your lips together and nod, whimpering, "but it—but it scares me to not know where and when you'd..."

As you trail off, he chimes in, "when I would drip hot wax onto your skin, hmm?" he stifles another chortle and presses his lips against the crook of your neck, "well kitten, that's the whole point of it, isn't it? You anticipate, live in the thrill—doesn't that get you all hot and bothered?"

His hand which had been around your waist, slides down your lower abdomen and belly to trace circles on your mound; you bite back another whimper because his cold fingertips urged to graze further down to rub your clit. Pressing in circles, his middle finger dips along your slit, the sensation making you mewl. When he presses a little harder, the walls of your cunt tighten around the ovoid device fit snug in the deepest part of you. Yeosang groans the moment he feels your juices and Seonghwa's cum coat his sleek- long finger. He rests his forehead against your shoulder, containing his very urge to shove two fingers into your puffy cunt and saw you out as you deserved to be.

"Yes—yes, it does." You squeak, catching up on your slipping tongue and the hitching breath.

Speaking of truth, you were certainly beyond bothered. This session was dragging on in a painfully slow pace, and you wondered if this is how it's going to be with him at all times. Though, you couldn't completely deny that you were enjoying yourself, just as much as he was by toying with you. Yeosang doesn't utter another word and his warmth strays off your back; the intensity of the candle grows stronger on one of your tits, and before you could react to it in anyway, a good and hot wad of wax trickles down your fleshy tit and taut nipple. Pressing your lips together, you prevent yourself from whimpering to the searing heat, but it soon cools off and hardens around your skin, moulding perfectly. 

"Yeo—" at the verge of spilling his name out, you catch your tongue but it's too late, the sweltering wax is already leaking down on your chest.

"I do not recall giving you the audacity to call me by my name." His chuckle is long lost in your ear, "you need to learn, kitten, that, bound in these four walls, I'm your master. Do you understand that, or I do need to fuck it in your brain?"

You swallow the prickly lumps forming in your throat, and nod with an eager look, "yeah, yeah—I understand, master."

"Such a good kitty, she deserves to be treated, doesn't she?"

The nods of your head grew softer but still remained eager; as your foreboding anticipation would crash over you, Yeosang trawls the candle across your chest and continues to do so until he's painted perfect rivulets of crimson wax on your skin. Alluring shade, intricate patterns branching outward on your skin, it was a piece of art how the melted wax framed your chest. You tilt your head to catch a glimpse of the red streaks, captivated by his work. Yeosang grumbles a string of incoherent words, sounding a little off in his satisfaction; you keep yourself from whimpering his name, and shift about on your folded legs. There it was a blinding spark of tightness roiling in the pit of your stomach.

"Please, please, please..." you chanted in your haze of desperation, wanting to be relieved of your misery.

The man leaning against your back, clicks his tongue; his presence starts to dither, the warmth cascading down to a cold breeze of nothingness. He's off and up, the candle disappears from your line of sight, and it fills up with tears. You may not like to admit it, but you were really close to letting go of all the tension in the pit of your stomach. A simple nudge would be enough for you to come undone. Though, in the darker side of your mind, you couldn't foretell any of Yeosang's further moves. Sullen in the state of stillness, you take a deep breath and let the nifty moments roll out. And to your surprise, you find Yeosang placing the candle back to its rightful place; he turns on his heels, the meagre light illuminating a haughty curve of his lips.

"If my memory serves me right," he drags his words into a whisper, "I remember Seonghwa boasting about the head you gave him."

"Is it true, Angel?" your brows scrunch together in bemusement. "I would need to know it for myself, how well your mouth takes me in."

You gulp. Audibly enough for his smirk to lilt on his lips, stretching into his cheeks. "Say ah, kitten."

He prompts you with a mocking tone, having stood in front of you now. You tilt your head up, raising it high to meet his ambiguous eyes, drifting further apart into the dark intentions of his words. Without hesitation, you slack your jaw and open your mouth; all sounds are stuffed back into your throat when two of his fingers push inside your mouth. Pressing the pads of his fingers against your tongue, he pushes them further into your throat. The calloused yet soft skin of his fingers leaves an eerie sensation on your tongue, but you gulp it down and begin sucking on them.

"So warm and soft. Can't wait to have this mouth around my cock," he grumbles, throwing his head back slightly, "you know what, kitten? Why don't you show me what you can do with your mouth. Fuck my fingers first and then I'll decide whether this mouth deserves to have my cock in it or not."

A part of you was extremely pushed into this corner of desires and arousals; it wasn't just a dream for you, and even if it was, you were living it. Did it happen every day that you'd stumble upon an innocent man, seemingly unbothered and unfazed by mere interactions around him, only to find out he's much filthy in his mind than he shows himself to be? No.

Yeosang's way of teasing and slurring his words was turning you on more than you had ever expected. You squeeze your thighs tightly for your cunt to detangle the tension it was sparked with it. Though, it only made matters much worse because your feeble actions had made the balls inside you to create tremors in the pit of your stomach. Contemplating his words, you start sucking harder on his fingers and hollow your cheeks to constrain them in your warmth.

"Fuck," yeosang grunts, peeking at you through his half-lidded eyes, "wonder why I made you—fuck, kitty—" you lap up your tongue around both his fingers, pushing the tip over and under, "—should've ruined this mouth instead of making you read a pathetic little contract."

You hum in response, the gentle vibrations stifling around his fingers. Noticing, he coos, "aww, you agree too, kitten?" his lips curl, menacing a thrill in your stomach, "hmm, I need to know if you deserve my cock, or not."

Taking that as a challenge, you become determined and suckle his fingers deep in your throat; he doesn't resist and pushes into you. There's spit leaking out of your mouth, trickling down your lips and staining your chins with perfect opulent rivulets. He's caught admiring how you had started to choke on his fingers, screwing your eyes shut to help you alleviate the discomfort. You weren't exactly put in a state of unease, but you knew you'd take some time to get used to it. Yeosang's fingers weren't as sleek or long as Yunho's. They were rather girthy and veiny, taking up the entirety of your wet mouth. He keeps scuffing them on your tongue, fingernails digging in your fleshy muscle as he drags his fingers out of your mouth. The moment he's gotten them out, you cough, urging it all from your lungs before lurching forward.

"I'm convinced," he states, licking the fingers which were just shoving down your throat a second ago, "your mouth was made to please a cock."

As the wispy tones of his words dissipate in the air, you hear the soft scuffling of his shorts being pulled down; you peek back up, ravenous gaze creeping up his feet, thighs and then to his exposed pelvis. His shorts and briefs pool around his ankles, and he takes only a meagre second to step out of them. The next thing you know, his silly little tank top is discarded next to the pile of his bottom wear. Honestly, you wondered why he even wore that nifty tank top when it covered almost nothing of his chest.

"Master..." you spluttered through your chest, scoffing up the bits of spit and drool strings coating your chin and lips. "...be a good kitten—suck you off."

At this point, your brain was a mush. A complete mess of carnality, oozing past every limit. You felt lightheaded, and it wasn't because you had been staring, or slobbering at the sight of his cock resting against his lower belly, but because of the two very prominent and pronounced balls moving on about in your cunt. Realisation hits you harder than you thought it would; the balls kept rolling and screwing you over inside, painfully edging you to your orgasm. But they never pushed you to the very end of it.

"Yes, kitty. Patience," Yeosang lulls his words, "I'm just as eager as you to ruin this pretty little thing."

You watch him, helplessly, as he uses one of his hands to wrap it around the base of his cock. He gives it a few pumps, dragging his palm along the shaft to the reddened tip. While his other hand eases up to cup your jaw and his thumb hooks into your lower lip. His fingers rest under your chin, and his thumb prods at your lower jaw; you willingly let your mouth widen.

"Be a good kitty, hmm?"

You nod, shifting yourself on your knees to crawl closer to him. The stinging ache of your bounded arms was starting to turn forgettable. It was all too sudden, easy even, to forget about the pain when you were focused on something else. Here, getting your throat wrecked by him and his cock. Yeosang's size was impressive, really impressive; you don't find any joy in comparing lengths, but he'd easily be two inches above average.

"And I heard from Jongho that you..." he trails off, tugging up at your jaw to force your eyes on him instead of his cock. "...you like staring at—is that true?"

You want to shake your head and deny his petty allegations, but his thumb hooked in your mouth keeps you from moving even an inch. He pumps his cock a few more times before aligning the tip against your mouth. Having propped it opened with his thumb, Yeosang slips into your sloppy warmth without any effort, sinking down on his hips and pulling his hand away from your mouth. You feel the stretch on your lips, not much, but it's still there to remind you how well he had stretched your mouth open with his cock.

A lowly growl peeps from his chest, and he bottoms out in your mouth; soaked in your wet and warm spit, he closes his eyes shut and bites down on his lower lip. "Let me—fuck, so—kitten's mouth is so fucking warm—fuck, kitten, let me know if I can move or not."

You don't really have any mode to indicate him you were ready; so, you push your tongue to the top of your mouth and lick up a stripe under his shaft.

"That's a good kitten," Yeosang smirks, tangling the fingers of his both hands into your hair and pulls you away. "Gonna take my cock deep in her throat, isn't she...?"

With only his tip in your mouth, you rub your tongue around it and he growls which rings out to a chuckle, "fucking hell. Seonghwa was right, this tight little thing can really take a cock in."

He starts pushing on his hips, and you willingly swallow his cock. Reaching deep enough, the tip of his cock brushes over the roof of your throat, triggering your reflex gag in an instant. You choke on your spit but continue to slug his cock further down in your throat. A moan strangles itself in his chest, his mind going numb to the tightness and the warmth of your throat. Yeosang hurls his head further back, his neck arching to a perfect curve while his eyes stay shut tight; you peek up at him, your own gaze shining with tears and innocence. A tiny fracture in time coaxes him to compose and turn his attention on you. You're stalked by his predator-like eyes, every movement, every blink of your eyes, every breath you hitched out of your nose; at a point, you were starting to suffocate on his cock.

"Good kitty," he praises, his voice startling you a bit as it turns softer and melodious. "Sucking my cock so well."

He lets his cock stay buried in your throat for a minute more before pulling back, not completely out, however. You moan in response and flatten your tongue under his shaft, keeping it unmoving for a while. Yeosang fists his hands in your hair, guiding your head down on his cock to let it plunge deep again. The pace of him toying with your head is, steady and slow, easing out every time you gagged or choked on his cock the moment it reached your throat. One of his hands disentangles from your hair and traces around your throat; his thumb pushes right under your jaw, feeling a faint bump of his cock through your skin.

"Can you feel it, kitten..." he growls under his breath, "can you feel my cock—ah fuck—can you feel my cock bulging around your tight little throat?"

You groan, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him in deeper. He gets the answer he was hoping to get; his other hand still twined in your hair, lowers your head on his cock till your nose is scrunched up against his pubic bone, his soft and tender skin tickling your lips and nose. He was well groomed.

"That's more like it," he whimpers, tightening his grip around your throat to exert an additional pressure; it constrained the walls of your throat around his cock, tensing up your muscles. "A pretty mouth for my use."

You really wished you could voice out your pleasure as well. Though, that becomes a lost possibility when he starts thrusting himself back and forth in your mouth. You keep your cheeks squeezed around his cock as the pace of his thrusts picks up. Yeosang's lips part when a hoarse moan slips past them and his eyes screw shut at the feeling. One of his thrusts falls out of rhythm and he slips out of your mouth; glancing down at you, he clicks his tongue, and you eagerly wrap your lips around the tip of his cock. You lower yourself, without needing to be pushed by him. Struck with passion, he rolls his hips into your face and his cock is back in your throat, snug and warm.

When the tip of his cock brushes on your tongue, you taste a slight hint of bitterness from his precum and swallow it down. Spit dribbles out of your lips when he pulls his cock back, slithering onto your chin and further below; he clenches his jaw, the pace of his thrusts surging and continuing to be more spontaneous. He kept plunging his cock deep into your throat, kept your head steady by intertwining both of his hands in your hair. Tears well up in the corner of your eyes; his ruthlessness and roughness were too much for you to handle. You push your conscience through it, squirming in your place when you are struck by the heaviness in your cunt; the balls, they shuffled along your puffy cunt and teased a knot in your gut. Yeosang's hips rattle against your face, every time he pushed you down, your nose would get rumpled by his pubic bone and that would leave you no chance to breathe. Your lungs burned with the need in your chest, your body slowly starting to convulse to his animalistic lechery. With his every thrust, your chest would heft out, and the puddling streaks of wax would fall off your skin and onto the floor. He would go harder, he can, and he was about to; you knew it well, tears stain your cheeks and drool drips down your chin, drop by drop, eventually falling onto the floor. Clinging onto the last breath you scoured to take, you shift on your knees and the orbs fitted snug in your cunt, give your gut a little nudge to make you cum.

You were close. So damn close. It was starting to turn into a painful endeavour than pleasurable; you were gagging on his cock, strangled by his relentless and aggressive thrusts, and forced to choke on your spit because he won't pull out. Your mouth was a paradise for him, the tightness, the warmth, the way your tongue slopped under and over his shaft, it was all driving him wild. Amid his thrusts, you feel his cock twitch, indicating you he was close to his edge too.

Puffing out a guttural moan, Yeosang heaves a sigh and pulls himself out of your mouth. Sweat covers his body in a thin coat, glimmering against his skin; his hair sticks to his forehead and face, cupping around his cheeks as he pants and becomes too breathless to form words. Aching suffocation makes you cough out the spit which had been trapped at the back of your throat; your body wants to collapse; you want to lay down on the floor and roll into a ball to compose yourself. Regardless of the lethargy and stinging strain on your lungs, you look at him with teary doe eyes, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out for him.

"Such a dirty little kitty, wants to make me cum, does she?" he mumbles, a smug smile curving his lips and his hands slipping off from your hair. "Then she better fucking swallow what I give her." A mild throb nicks at your neck from being angled in an uncomfortable position, though you could care less about it; slotting yourself in the similar position as before, you shudder when he rubs the tip of his cock along your lips, and cheeks. You were lost in the ecstasy of your lewd mind, your arousal only minutes away from coming undone; the connection between your rationality and tongue had been severed, you knew you were about to spew nonsense for him.

"Want to make my master cum—make him feel good," you voicelessly utter, your breath fanning over his cock, "kitty will...kitty will swallow what her master gives her." 

"Hmm, that's a good kitty," he grunts, nudging his thumb on your chin, "open wide now, kitten."

You do as he says, loosening your jaw and opening your mouth wide for his cock to slip right in. This time, he wastes no time in plunging his cock directly in your throat; his thrusts pick up the instant you start gagging on his cock, the tip submerging deep in your warmth. With his concise and sharp thrusts, your body rattles to his force and the rope shackled around your arms bites down into your skin. One of Yeosang's hands is back into your hair, though this time he collects every strand in a makeshift ponytail and guides your head on his cock by holding onto it. His other hand grabs your jaw, his fingers slamming tight across your cheeks; he presses them hard, compressing the space in your mouth to his cock.

"Ah, yes—fuck, kitten—a really good—ah, fuck, such a good fucking pocket pussy for my cock."

A few more rough and aggressive thrusts send you into a sensory overdrive, a nightmare breaking past the bounds of your mind and coming alive; you were aching with an intense urge to let go of the knot tautening in your stomach. You were on the verge of breaking down into tears and sobbing—hell, you had already started crying. Hot tears exude from your eyes, trailing perfectly down your cheeks and ending up on his fingers; your cheeks were still squished by the way. Yeosang was using your mouth quite adeptly, rutting his hips like an animal and pushing your head against his pelvis. You were so done, so tormented by the spheres clinking around in your tight cunt that you couldn't contain it anymore. You're the first one to fall apart, your body trembling to shambles and your mind fogging up with the aftermath. Your juices pool down on the floor, creating a splash with its sound resonating in the room filled with Yeosang's grunts and moans. Panting to the terrible weakness taking over you, your chest heaves up and down, erratically, your lungs screaming in need for air.

"My kitten made a mess on the floor," he grumbles, peering at the floor where your arousal, mixed in with Seonghwa's cum pooled, "such a bad kitty—fuck, such a bad kitty to relieve herself on the floor." biting back on his moans, he shudders as he continues in his raspy tone, "but my kitty did so good—pleased her master—fuck, so good—pleased her master so fucking well. She–she fucking deserves a treat."

Yeosang's cock twitches in your mouth; his eye had been fixed on your body all this while, learning every detail and habit about it. He admired your ability to gag on his cock, he liked the way your body convulsed in itself when you came, and he loves the fucked up look on your face. Sweat, tears, spit, covering every inch bit of your skin and giving it a shine; besides, your eyes, shrouded by darkness, a tinge of lust which shows how drunk you are on his cock.

"This face—ah, this fucking gorgeous face—next time, I'm taking a picture—fucking keeping it to myself to jerk off to." he's so breathless as he blabbers out.

That was the breaking point for him, your face, the stretch of your lips around his cock as he plunged in and out, and the eerie pleading in your eyes. As a sadist, he doesn't need anything else to feel him lose himself; he just needs your tears, your vulnerable moans and your tormented eyes. One more time his cock twitches in the deepest part of your throat, and suddenly warmth starts trickling down; his load floods your mouth in waves, spurting and gushing all over in your mouth.

He lets go of your cheeks and pinches your nose instead; his other hand still held you back in a ponytail, slowly and gently tugging on it to push you away so he can slip out from your mouth. When he pulls out, a few strings of spit and cum stay linked with your lips and the tip of his cock.

"Swallow." he sternly utters.

The clasp of his forefinger and thumb on your nose tightens, leaving you no choice but to breathe in through your mouth; eventually, you swallow down the entirety of his load. Bitterness of his cum makes you gag, but you still push through and once done, open your mouth wide to show him you had guzzled every last drop of him.

"Such a good little kitty," he whispers and let's go off your nose; he takes a step back and watches your body lurch into itself. You tired, catching up on every lost breath and it amused him how helpless you seemed, coughing, panting, face covered in bits of his cum and spit.

"This isn't over yet, kitten. Get on your feet." He commands in a stern voice, shaking up your body and getting you on your feet. "Sit here."

You find him standing behind the chair, his lips slightly curved. Finding his intense eyes swelter on yours, you somehow manage to stand on your wobbly legs and stumble to the chair. Instead of sitting like a normal person, your knees give in and slump down on the chair, earning an amused yet belittling chuckle from Yeosang.

"Seems like my kitty is tired." he muses with a pout on his lips, stepping around to kneel in front of you. "Don't worry, I'll take care of her."

Muttering almost incoherently, he lets a smile hook onto his face, his cheek fluffing up slightly at one side. Yeosang's eyes hold yours, keeping you arrested in the motion while you try to sit properly on the chair; the light caresses of his fingertips follow up your knees and eventually graze past your inner thighs. He spreads your legs apart, humming in satisfaction at the sight in front of him. You bloomed like a flower, your folds wet and slick; remnants of Seonghwa's cum still showed slight traces around your mound and slit. Yeosang drools, a wad of spit rolling out the corner of his lips.

"Such a pretty little cunt," he rasps, pushing himself closer to you, "a pretty pussy to devour."

The sheer waves of his warm breath ebb over your mound, shuddering your body and making you lose your mind. You throw your head back, arching your neck and lurching behind into the support of the chair. Yeosang whistles lowly, palming his hands further up your thighs and letting them rest too close to your cunt. He uses his thumbs to spread your folds apart, admiring the pretty pink flesh obscured by the limpid texture of Seonghwa's cum. Without any warning, Yeosang dips his head down, fluttering kisses on your abdomen and going lower to your belly. His lips graze your mound, and his tongue slides out, the tip pushing along your slit.

"Fuck—master, please—ah, Yeosang, feels good," you let his name slip past your lips, mentally cursing yourself at the fuck up.

Yeosang acknowledges your little mistake, by nibbling down on your clit with his teeth; it's a gentle nibble, but his teeth sink quite nicely to give you a whiplash. "Strike one, kitty."

"M'sorry," you mumble your head and close your eyes shut, focusing on the way your body had started melting under his breath and tongue.

Flattening his tongue, he laps up your slit and folds, his thumbs stretching you out and propping you open; he gives you soft licks, lapping up Seonghwa's cum. He swallows it down, whatever that he could scour from your pussy. And in a sudden rush, his tongue slithers to your hole, prodding and pushing inside. You tried to hold onto your own hands, your nails digging into the flesh of your forearms; the rope was nowhere near loosening, and that was awful already — but the urge to just tangle your hands in his hair and push his head down, was almost getting the worst of you.

"You'll have to get used to it, kitten," Yeosang huffs out, pulling away slightly only to bury his face back into your cunt; his tongue continues with the abuse, protruding into your hole and lapping up on your walls.

"I know," you breathe out, drawling on your spit and peeling your eyes open to peep down at him. "Oh, fuck," keeping your words to yourself, you stare at the man, absolutely turned on.

His head was between your thighs, his fingers pushing and stretching you out, while he devoured you like you were his last meal. You really did wish to push his head down against your cunt, help him reach to the deeper depths of your warmth. Yeosang's tongue thrusts in and out, toying with the metallic chain of the orbs which were fit inside you. The latter half of the chain dangled out; one of his hands disappears from your inner thigh and holds onto the little dangling chain, while his other hand rakes to your cunt. Giving you no time to comprehend, he slips two of his fingers inside, pushing and curling them to his pleasure and unravelling you.

The placid yet unruly thrusts of his tongue nudged the balls every time, and his fingers did too. You were already lightheaded from your prior release, but as he continued to plunge and shove, the tension for second release started building up in the pit of your stomach. To add to your arousal, Yeosang pokes the tip of his nose along your slit, pressing hard.

"Feels so good, Yeo—master," you quickly correct yourself, a heavy moan gliding across your tongue and making you bite down on your lips. "Hmmm—so fucking good." Your words are left to muffle by your clasped lips.

Yeosang takes it as a nod at encouragement and picks up the pace of his fingers, shoving them in deep and pulling them out painfully slow. His tongue curls inwards, pulsating against your g-spot.

You mewl, "yeah, fuck—right there."

Mumbling against your skin, Yeosang doesn't spare you any mercy. Finding a rhythm, he sticks to it, ruthlessly sawing his fingers through your cunt and his tongue surging deep to tighten the knot in your gut. Only a minute passes, and you clench around him; the metallic balls in you stimulate your release, alongside his fingers and tongue. This was too much, too much to bear; your body spasms one more time before relaxing and untying the knot. Easing out on the tension, your second release floods over you and forces a loud moan from you. All air is knocked out of your chest, sending pleasurable tremors down your spine and readying you for the aftermath.

You peek at Yeosang, who continued to lick and nibble on your cunt before pushing himself back; his skin shines under the limited light of the room, his nose, lips and chin are coated with a thin sheet of your juices.

"You taste phenomenal, kitten." He says, gathering himself together and composing himself on his feet. "Although next time, I'll be wrecking this sweet cunt with my cock."

Shuffling around, he drapes his tank top over his chest and pulls his briefs up; he looks around and clicks his tongue. "Ah, the part I despise the most. Cleaning."

"I don't think I'm in any shape to help you."

"Don't worry, I'll do it later. Let's get you a warm soak first."

"Seems bout right."

You're too fucked out of your mind to comprehend his words, but regardless, you heave a chuckle and close your eyes to let the silence and darkness flow through your mind. As time passes, Yeosang helps you with the aftercare; he prepares you a tub of warm water and pulls you in with him. Your back rests against his chest, while he rubs soothing circles on your thighs, lower belly and arms. Towards the end of the soak, he suggests brewing you a cup of hot tea, to relieve the soreness of your throat.

Once you were out of the tub, he pulls one of his sweatshirts over your head and offers to cuddle you. So, you spend most of your morning in the bed with him, his warm embrace sticking to you like a comforting blanket, while the two of you talk about useless things.

"So..." you trail off.

"So?" he squeaks, confused.

"Doesn't a master need to exaggerate his ownership over his slave?" you ask, biting your lip as you rest your head on his chest.

He snickers, his arms tightening around you and pulling you close, "he does. But what are you insinuating?"

"I've read it in books before, you know. How—how a master—"

"Do you mean collars and all that bullshit?" he instigates, gazing down at you. "Angel, I am not fond of the idea of showing off my possession over you. Besides, all of us here are sharing you with each other. I've always thought of it as unnecessary."

"Oh," you drawl on a breath, "I understand. It makes sense."

Reading the sulky pout on your face, Yeosang chuckles and shakes his head, "but if you want to wear my mark on your body, perhaps exhibit yourself as my slave with pride, then I can get you something."

"Really?" you peer at him, your eyes sparkling at the suggestion.

"Why not?" he muses.

"What are your thoughts on piercings?"

M.list | Previous | Next

[asherbakugou]

When You First Meet

Jiang Kai | Kai Kalama

Reader rushed around the room with the other designers, placing the models clothes in their respective dressing rooms as they prepared for them to arrive. They hadn't yet been informed of their models so the room was filled with a nervous energy.

"So, who do ya think you're gonna get?" Alyssa asked, wiggling her brows teasingly.

"How am I supposed to know?" Reader retorted, bumping their hips together. Alyssa looked around conspiratorially, leaning in closer as Reader continued organizing her models chosen clothes.

"Well, from what I've heard–"

"Overheard, you mean."

"Hush. From what I've heard one of the ninja are coming to model for the company, to help raise money for that Charity you like so much."

"The Charity for Rebuilding?"

"Yeah, that one."

Before Reader could ask if she'd heard anything else they were called together.

"Alright! Listen up! Here is the list of designers and who your model is," Directin Lin announced, holding up said sheet. Alyssa leanes forward eagerly as Reader snickered at her friends eagerness. As the youngest designers it was doubtful either of them would get the higher ranking models.

Everyone surged forward to look at the paper but Alyssa and Reader held back for a moment. They both noticed how people kept glaring back at them for some reason but . . .

Shrugging it off they finally got a chance to see the list. And right beside Readers name was Kai Kalama, the Fire Ninja.

Freezing, both her and Alyssa just stared at the name. "I knew I had an effect on the ladies, but I never realized just how bad it was."

Whirling around they found Kai standing behind behind them with a smug look. And that was all it took for Reader to know how the rest of the day was going to go.

The entire session was filled with flirts and compliments that made her cheeks darken even when they didn't give him an actual response. Kai was not one to give up, but they liked his charm and hoped she'd get to see him model again.

Zane Julien

Reader sat in the shade of one of the large trees of the park, leaning back against its trunk as she sketched a rough outline of the beautiful fountain just across the way. Humming to herself she finished up for the day before carefully putting her sketchbook in her bag.

Done for the day, Reader wondered if they should have brought the car since she needed to go grocery shopping soon. As her mind wandered, she did not realize someone was heading right for her until she was slammed into and her bag ripped from her hands.

"Hey!" Reader shrieked, stumbling for a second before taking off after him. "Get back here!"

The man outpaced her but she didn't stop, her sketchbook was far too expensive for her to stop. Ice suddenly formed on the grass, and the man lost his balance tripping over his own feet and faceplanting into the ground, much to Reader's delight and shock.

Stopping before the ice, she doubled over as a stitch tugged painfully at her ribs. Another man, her age wearing a sweatervest surprisingly, came and retrieved her bag to hand to her.

"Are you alright, miss?"

"Umm, yes, thank you . . ." Reader trailed off, unsure of his name. She recognized him as one of the ninja but she'd never had any reason to remember their names.

"Zane, the White Ninja."

"Oh, well then thank you, Mr. White Ninja," Reader thanked, swinging her bag up onto her shoulder.

"I shall take him into custody and inform the police of his attempted crime. I do not believe it shall require your attention," Zane stated, turning to do so. "I hope the rest of your day is well."

"Uhh, yeah, I hope you have a good day as well," Reader said, taking a step away as Zane went to sling the man over his shoulder.

'Damn, love to watch 'em walk away,' Reader thought, before shaking her head. 'Oh my dragon, what am I thinking? That is so rude of me!'

Reader rushed away before she could become even more mortified by her thoughts, quietly hoping to see the very handsome man again one day.

Cole Brookstone

Reader smiled at the group who had just walked into their store, nodding for Miya to take their orders. The new hire gave them an anxious look, but they were not deterred. The best way to learn was through experience and this was a good start for her.

"Hello, welcome to Fairy Tale's Cakes and Stories, how can I help you?" Miya chirped, smiling through her nerves.

The group of teens was a little rowdy, but they didn't cause any trouble even when they spoke over each other, causing Miya to falter. Once she had finished up their order, the group of seven dispersed and Miya hurried back over to Reader's side.

"How did I do?"

"Really well, Miya. By next week you should be able to man the register without any issue, I just want to make sure you know how to handle any problematic customers," Reader stated, having seen Miya's face drop a little.

"Okay, thank you for this!"

"Of course. Now, why don't you go clean up some of the tables, I'll take the register till you're done."

A customer had walked in while they spoke, a young man on his own who was eagerly looking at the cake display case.

"Hello, welcome to Fairy Tale's Cakes and Stories, how can I help you?"

"Oh, uhh, what's in the Grimm Cake?"

"Its a milk chocolate base, dark chocolate glaze, orange zest buttercream, and a book made of chocolate and filled with orange cream," Reader explained, watching as the man practically salivated at the thought.

"I'll take a whole one!"

"A whole cake?" Reader asked, surprised. Most people only wanted a slice.

"Yes, please!"

"Coming right up."

When he was still there, over an hour later, Miya wondered over to Readers side.

"Is he going to sit there and eat an entire cake?"

"If thats what he wants to do," Reader answered, focused on the grocery list they were working out. The man came up to the counter where Reader was working so they paused in their writing, offering a smile. "How can I help you?"

"I just wanted to come up and say that that was really good! I don't think I've ever had a cake so good! I'll definitely be coming back!" Waving, the man headed back out the door with a bounce in his step.

"Holy shit," Miya whispered, jaw on the floor.

"Miya," Reader warned.

"Did you not recognize him? That was Cole, the Earth Ninja. One of the saviors of Ninjago."

Reader paused in their writing. They had not recognized Cole but they knew of him and his team.

"So, I just had one of the ninja in my shop?"

"Yes!"

"Huh."

They hoped he visited again, and not just because a ninja buying their cakes would boost business.

Jay Walker

Reader was heavily focused on the project Nya had shared with her, working to rebuild this engine piece for one of the ninja's vehicles. She heard Aaron talking to someone, leading them through the garage, but she ignored them for the moment.

"And this is Reader, I believe she was the one you were looking for?" Aaron asked, stopping just before her station, making her pause.

"Yep, thank you!"

Nodding, Aaron left, leaving Reader and the strange man alone. "So, is there something you need me specifically for?"

"Oh, uh, well, heh, Nya actually sent me," He said, smiling awkwardly.

"Nya did? So then you're one of the ninja," Reader realized. He lit up, striking a pose.

"The Lightning Ninja, at your service!" Jay announced proudly, making Reader giggle though she tried to hide it.

"Well then Mr. Lightning Ninja, what did Ninja send you up here for?"

"Oh, she wanted me to check up on the engine for Lloyd's new bike."

"Oh, yeah. I told I'd probably have it done by today, but I ended up having to help with some rich guys car." Reader shook her head at the memory of the rich asshole.

"She said she gave you free reign?"

"Yep. All she wanted was a fast engine for a bike, my specialty." Reader winked making Jay giggle as he went a little red. A good hour passed with them discussing the different engine choices and Jay happily lending a hand.

When he left, Reader couldn't help but miss his presence already. Very few people shared her passion, work ethic, and sense of humor, so Jay was, in her mind, a godsend. She hoped he'd come back one day so they could continue their converaation.

Lloyd Garmadon

Reader was hiding behind one of the numerous sheleves of comics as they put the comics back in their place. She'd noticed Ryker walking in the door and had hurried away to stock the sholves with the new comics.

For the past two weeks Ryker had been stalking them at her job, waiting for her to get off with the excuse that he wanted to walk them home. It was creepy and gross, and Reader wanted nothing to do with him.

"Hey Reader," Ryker said, having found them while they sorted through the massive amount of Starfarers comics to place on the shelves.

"Ryker, I'm working."

"I just wanted to say hi. You've been ignoring me, and leaving at different times. I haven't been able to walk you home," Ryker complained, his greasy voice sending shivers down her spine.

"I don't need you to walk me home, I'm just fine on my own," Reader snapped, feeling a bit like a chihuahua barking at a rottweiler.

"Oh come on, Reader." Ryker stepped closer, boxing them in, and making her heart rate pick up. "Just give me a chance. Just one date."

"I already told you, no. I'm not going on a date with you," Reader said, trying to sound stronger than she felt.

Rykers face twisted into something ugly, hand reaching out to grab them by the waist. "Really, is that really how you're going to be? A nice guys asks you out and you're gonna be a bitch!"

"Hey!" Someone grabbed Rykers wrist, the one attached to the hand squeezing Readers hip uncomfortably tight, and easily pulled him off. Now, Ryker isn't a small man, nearly 5'11 and 200lbs but the one who'd tugged him off was easily the same height but seemingly thinner. "When someone tells you to back off, you back off."

"Who the fuck are you?!" Ryker demanded, trying to tug his wrist away.

"Lloyd Garmadon, the Green Ninja."

Reader couldn't help the hot flush that spread across her face at the realization of who this was. While her personal favorite ninja had always been Jay, she liked his jokes and attitude, she did admire the Green Ninja. Ryker, on the other hand, seemed to lose all his coloring.

"That-why-what?! Why would a ninja give two shits about some ugly bitch?!"

Reader immediatley lashed out, slapping Ryker with an open palm. She felt a bit more confident with the Green Ninja right there, because what could Ryker do to them with him here. "Don't you ever call me a bitch again!"

Lloyd was a little startled, but he forced himself to not smile at the red mark slreading across his face. "Beat it. If I see you hanging around again, I'll knock you on your ass."

Snarling, Ryker retreated, a coward down to his bones.

"Thank you, for the rescue."

"Oh uh, it was no problem. Always happy to help a pretty girl in need of help." Lloyd froze, mortified by what had just slipped from his mouth. "Oh, FSM! I'm so sorry, that was–"

Reader giggled, holding a hand over their mouth to hide her smile. "No, no. It's ok. A compliment from the powerful Green Ninja. Lucky me."

A shout from the door had Lloyd wincing.

"Sorry, um, my team needs me . . ."

Smiling, Reader stepped forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "Well then you best get going, my hero." Giggling to themself, Reader sauntered away with the box of comics in hand.

Lloyd watched them walk away, bright red, jaw nearly on the floor.

Morro

Reader trembled violently as she and the other workers were lined up in front of the customer by the robber. He had barged in less than five minutes ago, an hour before they opened, barking out orders as he aimed a gun at them, with four others coming in behind him.

While Jason, the baker, might have had a chance at fighting one of them off, the rest of the morning crew couldn't. Reader could feel the tears pooling in her eyes before there was the loud crash of glass shattering as three of the ninja dove inside.

The Black, Blue, and Red ninja had broken through the front window and were taking out the first three robbers while the other two robbers reached out for hostages. Reader cried out as she was violently grabbed by her hair, just like Anya was. Both girls cried out, trying to pull away until the cold steel was pressed against their jaws.

"Please, please," Anya begged, tears pouring down her face as she sobbed. She had only been hired a week ago as a cashier, and now she was being held hostage by robbers.

Two figures came out from the shadows, the Green and Grey ninja.

"Hey, let's talk this out," Green began, holding out his hands, palm up. "You don't have to do this. Just let the girls go, and put the guns down."

"Why the hell would I listen to you!" The robber holding Reader shouted, yanking violently and ripping out some of her hair, making her shriek in pain.

"Let us go!" Anya screamed, and in a moment of brilliant, stupid bravery, she slammed a heel down on her robbers foot, and an elbow into his nose.

"Hey, wait!" Green shouted, lurching forward as Grey tensed.

"You little bitch!!" A gunshot rang out and blood splattered across Readers face, making her scream in terror.

Green lunged for the killer as Grey went for Reader. In a practiced move, he seperated them knocking the gun from the robbers hand before kicking him into one of the other ninja grasp.

Reader collapsed, no longer held up by her hair, and too afraid to stay standing. While she hadn't known Anya very well, the girl had been friendly and Reader had hoped they could be good friends but now . . . Anya would never experience anything ever again.

Sobbing into her hands, she didn't notice when the Grey ninja crouched down at her side awkwardly. "Hey, are you injured?" His voice was gruff, sharp, but Reader didn't seem to hear him, too shocked to take anything in.

Scowling behind the mask, Grey leaned forward. "Hey." Without raising his voice he managed to grab her attention. "Are you injured?"

Reader gasped for breath, scrubbing her tears away as she tried to focus. "My-uhm, my scalp. It hurts."

"Okay. Any other pain?"

"N-no."

Nodding, Grey reached out and easily lifted her to feet, startling her. Unable to stand she just collapsed against him, making him go stiff. "The-the ambulance is gonna be here in a minute to get you taken care of, alright."

"Okay." Reader was thankful when Grey didn't move, simply keeping his hands on her shoulders so she didn't slump back down to the floor. "Thank you. For saving me."

"Its what ninja do."

Once the ambulance arrived, Reader was escorted by the Grey ninja to be checked out. Tugging off his mask, he spoke in low tones to the EMT, before helping get Reader onto the ambulance.

As she was laying back on the bed, a small part of her hoped to see the nice ninja again one day. Even if she didn't know his name.

A/n: Can you tell who my favorite charactors are?

[velvette-creations]

In a vision or in none

House of the Dragon: Helaena + fem!reader (platonic) 

Rating: Teen 

WC: 1.5 k 

Prompt: Art Therapy for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: Mentions of the death, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: You seek to assist your queen when she becomes burdened with her visions

The chalk leaves a powdery residue on Helaena’s fingertips as she silently moves through her chambers, caught in an invisible dance. Jaehaera sits beside you on the floor, both of you watching in awe as the queen brings the images only she can see in her mind to life. The wolf-headed figure, a source of unexplained fear, sends a chill down your spine. Helaena reaches for a piece of yellow-hued chalk and begins to sketch the shape of a dragon’s egg on the wall, a testament to her unique ability. One that many seem to ignore entirely.

“An egg!” Jaehaera squeaks, pointing at the image before giggling.

“Very good, princess,” you smile, smoothing a hand down her silvery hair. Today, she wears it braided neatly down her back, no longer wearing the style she oft shared with her twin, Jaehaerys. She was always such a shy young girl, seemingly trapped in her own mind, much like her mother. It breaks your heart to watch how they’ve adjusted to Jaehaerys’s death, but the ghost of the boy still looms in the castle—a tragedy to take one so young. You go to bed many nights with guilt gnawing in your stomach for trading the night shift with another maid, perhaps if you had been there…though there is no use pondering such thoughts. What’s done is done.

She trades the yellow chalk for a green one, creating a second egg, then makes a third of reddish hue before creating flames to surround them. The chalk falls from her hand, clattering to the floor as she steps away from the wall before slowly rocking back and forth on her feet.

“Ziry kivio dārilaros issa, se zȳhon suvio perzō vāedar issa. (He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire),” she murmurs, her voice dropping an octave, speaking as if caught in a trance. The words roll off her tongue expertly, and you realize this is the first time you’ve heard her speak in the ancient Valyrian tongue.

She steps back over to the wall and creates the form of a naked woman being consumed by flames. Your eyes widen, and you glance down at Jaehaera, whose attention is now occupied by a wooden toy. You did not wish to interrupt the queen, so you swallow down your inquiry. You can ask at a later time. Septa Alyane comes to collect the small girl for her lessons.

“Mama, Mama!” Jaehaera smiles, scurrying over to hug her mother’s legs before being taken away.

Helaena reaches her hand down, letting it rest gently on her daughter’s head before the small girl peels away from her. Helaena hums as she places the chalk down, walking over to the basin to clean her hands before dropping to her knees in front of the tiny wooden cages that house her crickets.

“Your Grace, may I ask what you said earlier?” you ask softly as you watch the insect crawl onto her finger.

“I do not always know what they mean. I only heard it in my head and felt compelled to utter them out loud,” she answers softly, her eyes flickering up to meet your gaze before quickly adverting them.

“Oh, I see,” you reply, looking down at the needlepoint in your hands.

“I wish I knew how to explain them better,” she admits.

“It seems a heavy burden to be cursed with a sight you cannot understand,” you say sympathetically.

“I suppose we all have our burdens.”

“There was a dreamer in your familiar line….Daenys, I believe. She is the one who saved the Targaryens from the Doom. Mayhaps your father’s books might hold some answers for you,” you suggest.

“Aegon had them removed.”

“Which means they must be somewhere. They did not just disappear,” you smile.

She returns the soft gesture before placing the chirping cricket back in the cage. “Would you help me…to find them?”

“I would like that very much, Your Grace.”

~~

The days proceed as thus: waking in the morning and breaking your fast before readying Queen Helaena and Princess Jaehaera for the day with the assistance of other handmaidens, playing the small princess on the floor until it is time for her lessons. Helaena marks her visions on the walls, and the afternoon is spent pouring over the histories in the library in the hope of answers. When Helaena reaches a certain level of frustration, moving her jaw and clenching her fists, you indicate that it’s time for a break and spend time walking through the gardens with her. It brings her peace as she points at the crawling bugs, informing you of their names and purposes.

“We all have a purpose in this world,” she hums.

“I suppose you are correct in that manner, Your Grace,” you smile.

“I fear I may never find answers to my visions,” she admits as an eight-legged spider crawls across her splayed palm.

“Do not give up hope just yet, Your Grace,” you encourage, though you fear much had been lost in the Doom and answers may never be found.

~~

You find her one morning, still in her night shift, hugging her knees to her chest as she rocks back and forth. Jaehaera peers out through the curtain surrounding her bed, purple eyes wide and worried as she watches her mother.

“It is alright, princess. Come to me,” you coo, opening your arms to the young girl. She hurries into them, and you hug her close, rubbing her back before placing her in another handmaiden’s arms. “Tend to her, and I will see to the queen. Please make sure no one disturbs us.”

She nods her understanding before leaving with Jaehaera. You sink to your knees behind Helaena, placing your hands on her shoulders. She digs the heels of her hands against her eyes.

“Make them stop, make them stop,” she wails, and it becomes clear she is overburdened with these visions she cannot figure out. You are unsure if they have grown more intense or if she has simply hit her limit with them.

“Shhh, take a deep breath,” you whisper.

She gulps for her air as she lifts her head, cheeks sticky with tears. You gently smooth your fingers through her mussy hair, tugging it away from her face. “I don’t want them anymore!” Her voice warbles through the air, and your heart breaks. Why have the Gods cursed her so? Why bestow a gift upon her that she can not comprehend? It seems unusually cruel, and you're reminded these are the same Gods who claimed the lives of two young princes. She clings to you, pressing her face into your chest. In the moment, she reminds you of a distraught child turning to their mother for comfort.

You hold her silently in your arms, stroking her hair and hoping you are providing her some relief. Her ragged breathing slows, and she glances up at you. “I am…better now.”

You give her a half smile. “Are you? You needn’t lie to me, Your Grace.”

Her lower lip wobbles. “I want them out of my head.”

You think momentarily, tucking a strand of silver hair behind her ear. “I may have an idea, Your Grace.”

“What is it?” Her voice is soft and curious.

“Come, you must stand with me,” you smile, helping her to stand before walking over to her desk and taking a piece of chalk into your hand before placing it in hers. She gives you a curious look, head tilting to the side. “Instead of drawing what you see in your head, draw what you wish to see. Not what plagues you, but what inspires you or what you wish to come true.”

Helaena moves over to a blank space before lifting her quivering hand. She begins to create, moving with dedication instead of a phantom force controlling her. You recognize the silhouette of Dreamfyre with Helaena and two other figures perched on her back.

“Who is with you?” you inquire.

“You and Jaehaera,” she smiles, turning to face you. Her cheeks are rosy, “We are flying across Blackwater Bay!” There is joy in her voice, and she turns to continue her drawing—a picnic in the Kingswood, the three of you holding hands while walking along the beaches of Dragonstone and climbing the Dragonmont in search of dragon eggs.

“Lovely ideas, Your Grace, and I know of one we can make come true.”

~~

The day proceeds as thus: waking in the morning and breaking your fast before readying Queen Helaena and Princess Jaehaera for the day before making way to the dragonpit with intertwined hands. The three of you easily fit on the large blue and silver dragon, with you behind Helaena and Jaehaera in front of her. The wind whips your cheeks, and laughter peels through the air. Jaehaera picks wildflowers while Helaena lays her head on your lap while you feed her fresh raspberries. She has come alive again and is no longer chained to her visions for now. You hold on to hope that this peace will last.

“You have set me free,” she smiles, her graceful voice carrying in the warm breeze.

[selene-19]

Katsuki Bakugo and Katsuki Gogo

Reminder that Katsuki is originally supposed to be a nice, cheery person and best friend with Izuku but Horikoshi HATES IT! I did think about it and I understand why Bakugo Katsuki is the best choice than Gogo Katsuki

Gogo Katsuki has it all a strong quirk, good looks, a natural genius and have a nice personality. He sounds lovable, right? He would be like:

Izuku: Kacchan you are amazing!

Katsuki: you are amazing too Izuku! I bet you could do it too.

If this is their relationship I wouldn't ship them. Why? Cause I would rather ship Izuocha because it has the same energy. Sunshine x Sunshine ☀️

Izuku with this Katsuki is not good on my opinion. Izuku is self sacrificial, so selfless and with this Katsuki who I bet would just encourage him. He would be the Deku who does his best and Gogo would just be happy for him like a good best friend 🙃

Unlike Katsuki Bakugo who knows Izuku's self-sacrificial and hate it. I'm saying this without shipping glasses but Katsuki Bakugo is perfect as he is imperfect. He has flaws, mistakes, weaknesses, and insecurities and Gogo doesn't have actual flaws except being an airhead. Gogo didn't need to have that character growth and development. I mean Gogo Katsuki could have grown to be a hero and I think that would only be his development and doesn't need to be with Izuku for that.

This video after Kacchan vs Deku 2 shows how Bakugo Katsuki makes Izuku strive to be a better hero, them being rivals. He wanted to catch up with Katsuki and vice versa. Izuku admires Katsuki's strength and Katsuki fears Izuku's heart, they are twin stars, like yin and yang and of course as All Might said "Win to Save, Save to Win". You can see All Might proud smile while looking at them.

Now, this sketch of Hori which is one of my fave shows how Izuku keeps chasing after Katsuki and wants to be the best hero with him. Look how he ran so hard with all of his might. He wants to catch up with Katsuki so bad, wants to be closer which he achieves eventually. Even with the bullying it never stops Izuku from dreaming of becoming a hero. I also like to add that Katsuki also chases after Izuku because both of them think one is ahead of the other shown in chp 362.

Let's go back to Gogo Katsuki. Gogo is a genius so obviously he is talented and good with everything and definitely supportive. So Izuku being quirkless is not an issue to Gogo cause he is nice so I think he would say that Izuku can still be a hero. And Izuku would be happy with that. He wouldn't push himself so hard or might push himself but either way, Gogo said he would be a hero and Izuku would believe it. Izuku doesn't need to do his very best to chase Katsuki cause he has his acceptance already so end of story 😟

There would be no "I keep chasing after you and What would Kacchan do" then no romantic rain, no heart issue, Katsuki apology would never happen, not Katsuki being Izuku's hero or vice versa, no Katsuki being sacrifice or him dying for Izuku cause why would he do that when he trust Izuku could do anything. They just don't bring the best out of each other. And we would never have Izuku looking at Katsuki with awe and wanted to be closer cause they are already close. They'll just be childhood friends and classmates. MHA would never be the same.

Just looking at this it pisses me off. I understand Horikoshi why it angers him. Katsuki has an explosion quirk and should have an explosive personality but Gogo is just a burst of sunshine and just perfect 😂

credits to the editor 💖

With Gogo Katsuki I don't think Izuku would see him as his image of victory (why would he when Katsuki G is nice and won't fight and I bet is friendly with everyone) but rather a supportive best friend, I can see them being rivals, has a friendly rivalry like Asta and Yuno. So I would never ship them and I would agree with people saying they are like brothers.

Katsuki Bakugo is a complex character and I love him for that. Katsuki Gogo would be a good character but he would never achieve as much popularity as Katsuki Bakugo who is always number one on popularity polls. Horikoshi is amazing on writing Katsuki Bakugo's character and personality. Also, Gogo Katsuki should be with prototype Izuku or Yamikumo cause they have contrast in their personality so they are good with each other, unlike Gogo and Izuku.

Lastly, I love Katsuki being a tsundere and I would never appreciate his genuine smile if he was Gogo who is a cheery person that always smiling 🥹

As I end this I would like to add, we won't have our Izuku Midoriya we know today without Katsuki Bakugo. They are who they are right now because of each other and their experiences 🧡💚

Found this on pinterest, credits to the artist

[thefaiao]

Hi, firstly I just wanted to say that I love your art, especially with the way you use dynamism and angles in character sketches. It's really beautiful and I always look forward to seeing more black and white pieces from you.

I just wanted to ask, as a beginner artist whose been drawing on and off from 2017 onwards and hasn't seen much improvement, are there any resources or books you would recommend for someone still trying to grasp form and shape? Especially in creating 3d forms with line? I'd love to be able to draw characters in a similar way that you do but my cubes and cones never seem to come out correctly and humanoid shapes are even tougher. Thanks again for sharing your art.

Hello! Thank you very much for the compliments. Up until somewhat recently the B&W pieces were my favorite things to draw, so I get you. I did fall in love with coloring eventually though.

Alright, there are lots of things that can be done. I have had some classical training, and done human figure studies live, but honestly not nearly as much as I probably should have. You definitely should still do figure study as much as possible, especially in person. I'm just prefacing to say it may not get you to draw the way I draw I suppose, as its only part of what I've done to improve my drawing ability.

There are a few good resources to start with, notably the Loomis method, which a lot of artists use as a base. That's how you should use it too, ideally. It's not about copying his work exactly, it's about understanding just how the human body is proportioned, and adapting it from there. It doesn't have to define your thinking, it's just a good guideline. It's possible to structure a body quite differently than Loomis (and there are many many books for that), but the truth, which is, the proportions of the human body, is still there in all mindsets. Once you understand that, you can understand the reason for each approach, and even forego them to express something more unique, abstract and visceral.

The biggest thing you should do though, is always be observing the world around you, both online and offline. Figure studies are nice but they remove one of the most important things, and that is context. I find that people who will use those large libraries from people who pose professionally with bows and swords and the like will often draw technically impressive images, but they still feel like a fake pose. It doesn't feel like the person is holding onto the weapon like their life depended on it, or like they have a relationship with the object, that they pose and move in a certain way that reflects their personality. Live study with strangers helps rectify this somewhat.

Online you should also be following lots and lots of different artists! Don't limit yourself, pay attention to how they construct their drawings, how they go about things. It's important you follow a lot of people, see how they evolve. They are not only a point in time, they are also learning and evolving just like you. It's especially good if you can have artists friends to draw and share stuff with. I have a deep-seated belief that we draw art for others, to express ourselves to them, so they need to see it.

It may sound weird for me to say if you want to draw like me try to draw unlike me, but I'm just saying what I've done. I follow a lot of people and draw from a lot of places. Ultimately the main appeal of my forms is their dynamism and volume as you've said, but it's good to be versatile so you can always explore new avenues!

Now, you've done all these things, you are practicing them constantly. Now is the most important part. Keep drawing!!! Just keep drawing no matter what, no matter how bad you think it looks. You have to believe you have something to say, to express, no matter what. You say you haven't improved, but I don't believe you! Maybe you are faster, maybe your technique is better, maybe you have better habits, maybe you are a little more patient. There are a million ways to improve which don't even appear in the image. You have to keep drawing, NO MATTER WHAT!!! You have to believe you were born to do this and you will do it well, don't worry about what others think.

I can only draw such dynamic forms because I have kept drawing and masticating and elaborating this idea that is called my style. When you are drawing you are developing your own little language, and only when you are fluent you can start writing good books with it. Being fluent will take many years, you must accept that. If you take breaks, take breaks so you can keep drawing later. Take care of your health so you can keep drawing. You will only get to see your drawings become beautiful if you live long. To live a long and healthy life is to keep drawing.

That is my ultimate advice really, let that frustration build up, but keep drawing anyway. You will force yourself to find solutions to release that frustration as you do so, and improve. Maybe it's simple, but it's the only thing that is true no matter what. Don't worry about AI or whatever, none of that matters. Just keep drawing!

[pinkthick]

A Nocturne in Melody

Pairing: Vampire Viktor x Fem!Reader

Summary: “Yes.” Viktor’s smile tightened a little as he met her gaze. “Of course I am. Or at least…they think our apartment is.” He watched her carefully, noticing the slight quirk in her eyebrow as she caught his wording.

Notes: I don’t even know how to feel about Arcane’s final episodes—but it made me finish this so a win is a win. The next chapter will be probably posted next week(?)—but I cannot believe I’ve written constantly these past days.🌝

Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed it💗

Warnings: none(?)

Masterlist: A Nocturne in Melody

Part 5

@renn-pumkin-head @impossiblytinytraveler

Jayce paced back and forth across the elegant sitting room of Caitlyn’s family estate, his steps heavy against the polished wood floor. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke, unable to keep his frustration contained. Caitlyn sat calmly in a high-backed chair, her fingers resting against the rim of her teacup, watching him with an arched brow. "I just think he's acting like a child," Jayce said, his voice tight with exasperation. "We're adults, for God’s sake."

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, her dark hair catching the faint glow of the chandelier above. "I would probably not talk to you either if you called me a ‘situation’ and talked behind my back," she said dryly, taking a deliberate sip of her tea.

Jayce stopped in his tracks, spinning to face her. "You're twisting my words," he said defensively, his arms crossing over his chest.

She set the teacup down on its saucer with a soft clink. "I'm just telling you what I got from everything you’ve told me," she replied, meeting his gaze evenly.

Jayce threw up his hands, his expression a mix of frustration and helplessness. "That's not what I meant! I was—ugh, I don’t even know anymore," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. He turned away from her and resumed pacing, his boots thudding against the floor.

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair, her lips pressing into a thin line as she studied him. "Look, Jayce," she said after a moment, her voice measured. "From what you’ve told me, Viktor's still doing his work, isn't he? Even if he’s only doing it at night?”

Jayce nodded begrudgingly. "Yes. He's been doing everything the council asks, everything I ask. He’s as efficient as ever—if not more so. But that’s not the point!" He stopped again, his hands resting on his hips as he faced her. "He’s doing it so we don’t run into each other. It’s ridiculous. How are we supposed to work together if we can’t even talk?”

Caitlyn shrugged lightly. "Well, it sounds like he’s still doing his part. You’re the one pacing my living room like a caged animal."

Jayce scowled, leaning against the back of a nearby chair. "I just—" He sighed heavily, his hands falling to his sides. "I don’t understand why he’s so angry. I’ve apologized. Multiple times. I’ve tried talking to him. I’ve left notes, for crying out loud."

"Notes," Caitlyn repeated, her tone bordering on incredulous. "What are you, schoolchildren? Jayce, if you want to fix this, maybe you need to stop leaving sketches in the margins of documents and actually have a conversation with him."

"I’ve tried!" Jayce insisted. "He won’t even look at me, Caitlyn. He brushes past me like I don’t exist. What am I supposed to do? Corner him in a hallway?"

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You could try talking to her," she suggested, her tone pointed.

Jayce blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Who?"

"His fiancée," Caitlyn said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She’s the one person he actually listens to, isn’t she?"

Jayce frowned, his arms crossing again. "I don’t know," he said slowly. "I mean, she’s always been the one who could talk him down, but… I don’t want to drag her into this."

"Well, it sounds like you’re out of other options," Caitlyn said bluntly. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Look, Jayce, I don’t know Viktor as well as you do. I don’t stay with him like you do. But it seems to me like you need to stop circling around this and just address it head-on. If you can’t talk to him, talk to her."

Jayce hesitated, his expression conflicted. "I don’t want to make her choose sides," he said quietly. "She’s already been through enough—especially after her injury. She doesn’t need me adding to it."

Caitlyn sighed, shaking her head. "This isn’t about making her choose sides, Jayce. It’s about finding a way to reach Viktor. If you can’t do it directly, maybe she can help you figure out how. But you can’t keep going like this—it’s eating you alive."

Jayce opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. He slumped into the chair opposite Caitlyn, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his frustration.

"You’re right," he admitted reluctantly, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just don’t know if she’ll even want to talk to me. She knows what happened, and she’s just as protective of Viktor as he is of her. She probably thinks I’m the villain in all this."

Caitlyn arched an eyebrow. "Have you considered that maybe she just wants you two to make up?"

Jayce looked down at his hands, the faint memory of those better days flashing through his mind. He and Viktor had been inseparable once, working side by side in perfect sync, dreaming of a better future for everyone. Now, that connection felt like a distant memory, replaced by walls he couldn’t seem to break through.

"I miss him," Jayce admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I miss what we had."

“Then go talk with him.”

Jayce sighed, leaning back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling. “But it’s not that easy..”

“Of course it isn’t easy” Caitlyn admitted, her tone softening. “But you care about him, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Jayce said quickly, his voice firm. “He’s… he’s one of the most important people in my life. He always has been.”

“Then stop pacing around my living room and do something about it,” Caitlyn said, her lips quirking into a faint smile. “Go talk to her. Or Viktor himself, if you can manage it. But sitting here and complaining isn’t going to solve anything.”

Jayce let out a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really don’t pull any punches, do you?”

Caitlyn smirked. “Would you expect anything less?”

For a moment, the tension in the room eased, the fire’s crackling filling the silence. Jayce’s gaze drifted back to Caitlyn, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I know I’m not exactly the easiest person to deal with when I’m like this.”

Caitlyn waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not so bad. Just… figure it out, Jayce. For both your sakes.”

Jayce nodded, a new determination settling over him as he stood. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better,” Caitlyn said, watching him with a faint smile “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to the case files I was working on before you started pacing holes in my floor.”

Jayce chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks, Caitlyn. I owe you one.”

“You owe me several,” she retorted with a smirk. “But who’s counting?” As the door clicked shut behind him, Caitlyn leaned back in her chair, letting out a long sigh. “Men.”

—

The night air in the Undercity was thick, weighed down by smog and the faint sting of chemicals that crept through every corner of Zaun. Even in the dead of night, the city buzzed with life, but tonight you and Viktor would be among the few daring to venture to where it was dark, quiet, and, with any luck, clear enough to catch a glimpse of the sky.

Viktor’s footsteps echoed beside you, hesitant but eager, his ‘cane’ tapping against the cobbled ground as he followed your lead through the dim alleyways. He was only a few inches taller than you, but his wiry frame and his already-visible limp made him look somehow smaller, more fragile in the shadows. The closer you got to your hidden spot, the more excited you felt, even as Viktor shot you a worried look.

“Madame Meredith will be so mad at us…” Viktor muttered, his voice barely audible under the low hum of the city around you.

Rolling your eyes, you nudged him lightly on the shoulder. “She won’t know,” you said with a grin, as if you both weren’t well aware of Madame Meredith’s seemingly supernatural sense for when anyone left the orphanage. “And besides, do you want to see the shooting stars or not?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight to one leg as he leaned on his cane. It was rare, even then, to see Viktor without a serious expression on his face, but tonight his eyes sparkled with that tiny bit of mischief you’d only see when you managed to pull him out of his cautious shell.

“Fine,” he whispered, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth told you that he was glad to be there. “But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” you replied, feeling a thrill of accomplishment in getting him to take even this small risk. You pointed up toward the old stairwell that led to the top of a decrepit building—a place you’d picked out weeks ago as the best spot for your star-gazing plan.

He looked up at it, then back at you. “That’s…a lot of stairs.”

“It’s only a few,” you said, trying to sound convincing. You knew it wasn’t true, not with Viktor’s limp and his unsteady balance. But the truth was, it was the only place high enough to see anything in Zaun’s murky skies. “I’ll help you up. Just…take it slow?”

He sighed, but you could see him steeling himself. He knew as well as you did that the stars tonight—if they were visible at all—would be a rare sight. Taking a breath, he gripped his cane tighter and started up the steps. You stayed close behind, your hand hovering near his arm in case he stumbled.

The first few steps went well enough, though Viktor’s breathing became a bit heavier as you climbed. About halfway up, he paused, leaning heavily on the railing, looking both annoyed and embarrassed.

“You could have chosen something…a little closer to the ground,” he muttered, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow.

You gave him a sympathetic smile, placing your hand on his shoulder for support. “It’ll be worth it, I promise,” you said, though you weren’t quite sure if it was true. All you had were hopeful whispers and second-hand stories about the shooting stars you might see tonight. But you needed to believe that something beautiful was waiting up there.

After what felt like an eternity, the two of you finally reached the top. Viktor slumped against the low wall of the rooftop, catching his breath, and you tried not to look too relieved that you’d made it without incident. The sky above was as dim as you expected, only a handful of stars peeking through the haze.

You slumped down beside him, pressing your shoulder against his. The two of you sat there in silence for a while, your heads tipped back as you searched the sky for any sign of movement.

“What if we missed it?” Viktor whispered eventually, his voice barely above a breath.

“No way,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “We would have seen it. Just give it a few more minutes.”

He nodded, though you could see the faint edge of doubt in his expression. Still, he stayed quiet, his eyes scanning the sky alongside yours.

After a few minutes, a silence fell between you both. This was how it often was with Viktor—you didn’t need to talk all the time to feel close. You could sit side by side, sharing the same small space in the world, and feel as if you were the only two people who understood each other.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Viktor’s hand twitch on his cane. He was anxious, but he didn’t voice it, just glanced over at you as if hoping you’d say something to fill the silence.

“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” you asked finally, voicing a question you’d both thought about countless times. “Out of Zaun, I mean.”

He hesitated, his gaze drifting over the dark outline of the city stretching out before you. “I…I don’t know. Maybe.” There was a wistful tone in his voice, one you rarely heard from him. “But…even if we did, we would have to come back, wouldn’t we? Who would take care of Madame Meredith? Or the little ones?”

You sighed, the weight of reality settling heavily on your chest. It was true, of course. Even if you managed to leave, you could never really escape Zaun. You glanced at Viktor, noting the look of longing in his eyes as he stared up at the sky.

“You’ll be a great inventor one day,” you told him, breaking the silence. “One that even the people in Piltover will know.”

You shrugged, nudging his shoulder. “It’s not a compliment. It’s a fact.”

He chuckled softly, but he seemed more at ease now, his shoulders relaxing a little as he leaned back against the wall. Another silence fell between you, but it was a comfortable one this time, one that made you feel as if you were floating together in the darkness, tethered only by each other.

Then a streak of light cut through the sky above, so fast and fleeting that you barely had time to react.

“There!” you whispered, pointing up, your heart pounding as you watched the shooting star leave a faint trail in its wake.

Viktor’s eyes widened, a rare, almost childlike wonder lighting up his face as he followed your gaze. Another shooting star appeared, then another, each one carving a brilliant path through the sky.

Neither of you said anything, caught in the quiet awe of the moment. All you could hear was the distant hum of Zaun below, drowned out by the strange, beautiful silence that hung between you .

Viktor moved carefully through the familiar streets of the Undercity, his steps confident yet light. He had gone to great lengths to avoid being tracked tonight; this was a rare visit, one he couldn’t afford to botch. After all, he had an old promise to keep.

As he approached the orphanage, Viktor felt a rush of memories he hadn’t indulged in for years. The building was more worn down than he remembered, its paint peeling and windows clouded with grime. But despite its aging walls, this place held something sacred—a sense of home, one of the few things he’d always carried with him. He’d sent money over the years, though never directly; it had been safer that way, better to keep his face away from the city and its troubles. Yet tonight, he wanted to be here himself, even if it was only a brief visit.

He knocked lightly, the sound barely a whisper against the door. It creaked open after a moment, revealing Madame Meredith’s familiar face, lined with age but unmistakably warm. Her expression, however, quickly turned to shock as her eyes adjusted to the dim light and took him in.

“Viktor?” she whispered, disbelief woven through her voice.

“Hello, Madame.” He stepped forward, giving her a gentle smile as he leaned against the doorway. “It’s good to see you again.”

Madame Meredith’s gaze flickered with a mixture of amazement and unease. She took in his changed appearance, lingering on his face—the pale, almost translucent skin, the piercing red of his eyes, the sharpness of his features. Her eyes widened further as she caught sight of the faint glint of his fangs when he spoke. Still, she didn’t recoil. Instead, she searched his expression, as if seeking the young Viktor she’d once known beneath this strange, altered form.

“Oh, Viktor,” she breathed, a mixture of worry and affection in her voice. “Please tell me you didn’t bring an enforcer with you. You know they’re constantly looking for reasons to—”

“Of course not.” He chuckled softly, a bit of his old self peeking through. “I may be watched, but I’m not reckless. They think I’m in my apartment—heavily guarded, of course.”

Her brow furrowed at that, a mixture of concern and disapproval crossing her face. “The newspaper said…well, they said you’re under high surveillance.”

“Yes.” Viktor’s smile tightened a little as he met her gaze. “Of course I am. Or at least…they think our apartment is.” He watched her carefully, noticing the slight quirk in her eyebrow as she caught his wording.

“Our?” she repeated, a note of surprise in her voice.

His smile softened as he nodded, the briefest flicker of warmth crossing his face. “Yes. She’s there too.”

“Oh.” Madame Meredith’s voice dropped to a murmur, and a faint smile touched her lips as she shook her head. “I’m glad. You two always were inseparable.”

A wave of nostalgia washed over Viktor, a memory of you both, hands intertwined and dreaming of a future that had once felt so far away. That dream had been fractured—reshaped into something neither of you could have anticipated—but here he was, with the future you’d once imagined together still alive in his heart.

He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope, thicker than the ones he’d usually had delivered. He handed it to her, and she took it with a grateful nod, though she gave him a curious look, as if trying to find something of the old Viktor in his gaze.

“This will help with repairs,” he said quietly. “And whatever else you need. I know the last few years have been difficult.”

Madame Meredith’s hands trembled as she held the envelope, and she blinked back the hint of tears that glistened in her eyes. “You always did find a way to look after us. Even when you were so far away… But I wish I’d known you’d be here tonight. I’d have baked something.”

Viktor laughed softly, surprised by the old, familiar warmth that rose in his chest at her words. He felt an ache, one he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “That would have been nice,” he replied, a bit wistful. “But it’s better this way. I need to keep a low profile.” His eyes softened as he looked around the room. “Though I do miss your cooking.”

Madame Meredith nodded, her smile bittersweet as she took a seat at the small kitchen table, gesturing for him to do the same. “I’ve missed seeing you. Sometimes I remember the little boy who used to fix toys, who always had that look of determination in his eyes.”

Viktor’s eyes softened as he remembered the countless hours he’d spent tinkering with broken dolls and rusted clockwork trinkets, making them into something whole and functional again. It had been his first taste of purpose, and it was something he’d never forgotten.

After a moment, Madame Meredith’s gaze grew somber. She hesitated, then asked, “How is she?”

At the mention of you, Viktor’s face lit up with a rare, genuine smile. “She’s…well, she’s better now,” he murmured. “It’s been difficult for both of us, but…” He paused, a distant look in his eyes as he remembered the night that had changed everything—the night he’d nearly lost you for good.

The memory still haunted him, despite the passing of months.

“She’s…still healing,” he said softly, his gaze drifting back to Madame Meredith. “But we’re together. We’re engaged now, actually.” The word felt foreign yet exhilarating on his tongue, and he couldn’t help the small, proud smile that crept across his face as he said it.

“Engaged?” Madame Meredith’s eyes widened with delight, her hands clasping together as she gave him a soft, delighted laugh. “Oh, Viktor! That’s wonderful. She always did love you. And you…well, I suppose you never did have eyes for anyone else.”

He chuckled, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. “How could I—besides I was lucky she felt the same, even after…everything.”

Madame Meredith’s gaze softened, and she reached across the table, placing a gentle hand on his. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy for her. But you two have always been each other’s strength. Whatever you face, I know you’ll do it together.”

Viktor’s chest tightened, a surge of gratitude filling him. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick. “That means…more than you know.”

Madame Meredith gave him a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with that old spark of mischief he remembered from his childhood. “I just hope she makes you happy. After all, you deserve that much, Viktor.”

“She does,” he replied, his gaze softening as he thought of you. “I won’t keep you long,” he said softly, pulling himself from his thoughts as he looked up at Madame Meredith. “There are things I need to take care of tonight. But I wanted to see you.”

Madame Meredith’s gaze was heavy with understanding. She nodded, her fingers brushing over the envelope in her hands. “Thank you, Viktor. For everything. I know you’re in Piltover now, but…you’ll always have a home here.”

Viktor rose from his seat, bowing his head in gratitude. “I know.”

He turned to leave, but as he reached the door, Madame Meredith’s voice stopped him.

“Take care of her,” she said softly, a hint of sadness in her voice. “And take care of yourself. Whatever you’re facing…don’t lose sight of who you are.”

He paused, letting her words sink in, then looked back at her, his expression serious yet full of quiet resolve. “I won’t,” he promised. “Thank you, Madame. For everything.”

With that, he slipped back into the Undercity.

—

The soft clatter of the garbage bag against your leg accompanied you as you stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. The building was quiet tonight, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. You adjusted your grip on the bag, mentally reminding yourself to grab new liners from the supply closet when you got back upstairs. As you rounded the corner toward the front door, you spotted Jake slouched on the worn leather couch near the lobby desk.

He looked like he was barely awake, one arm draped over the back of the couch and his phone glowing faintly in his other hand. His enforcer badge was clipped loosely to his jacket, the whole uniform giving him the appearance of a kid playing dress-up. He was young, early twenties at best, and the exhaustion in his posture was more boredom than actual fatigue.

“Jake,” you called out, breaking the quiet. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

Jake’s head snapped up, and he gave you a sheepish grin, shoving his phone into his pocket as he straightened. “I am working,” he said defensively, though his tone was light. “But there’s nothing exciting happening. The most dangerous thing I’ve seen all night is Mrs. Horowitz’s cat trying to claw through the front door.”

You smirked, shaking your head as you shifted your weight to lean on your cane. “You’re the one who agreed to stay in the apartment building of a vampire.”

“Yeah, but I thought it’d be more exciting,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not that I’m complaining! I mean, you guys are great. It’s just, you know…” He trailed off, shrugging.

“I’m glad it isn’t like that,” you said dryly. The last thing you wanted was for Viktor’s presence to lead to chaos. As much as you ‘appreciated’ the enforcers who volunteered to keep watch, their constant scrutiny could be suffocating.

Jake winced, sitting up a little straighter. “Sorry—I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” you said with a small wave of your hand. Jake, at least, wasn’t one of the enforcers who stationed themselves outside your door 24/7. He spent most of his time in the lobby or patrolling the building, which you appreciated more than you let on.

“But where’s Viktor?” Jake asked, tilting his head. “He’s usually with you when you come down.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the elevator for a moment before replying. “He’s in the shower,” you lied smoothly. “Besides, he barely lets me do anything alone when he’s with me. I can throw the trash out on my own, thank you very much.”

Jake grinned, though there was an apologetic tilt to it. “That sounds like him. Always watching out for you.”

You nodded, pushing down the faint pang of guilt at the lie. Viktor wasn’t even in the building tonight; he was in the Undercity, a risk you both tried to limit. But tonight, he wanted to see Madame Meredith and you understood. If Jake or any of the other enforcers found out, it would cause unnecessary complications.

Jake’s gaze drifted to the trash bag in your hand, then back to you. “You know, I like you two. You and Viktor. You’re not like some of the other people I’ve had to keep an eye on. I mean, you even make cake for me sometimes.”

You laughed softly at his earnestness. “You’re the only one who doesn’t breathe down our necks every second of the day,” you said. “You’ve earned a slice of cake for that.”

Jake flushed slightly, scratching at the back of his neck again. “Well, thanks. But, uh… I was actually wondering something.”

You tilted your head, curious. “What is it?”

“Could I, uh, come up? You know, just to see Willow,” he said quickly, his voice eager. “I know you said he’s a handful, but I think he likes me! And I don’t want to overstep or anything, but…”

Your chest tightened slightly at the request. Jake’s enthusiasm was harmless—endearing, even—but the timing couldn’t have been worse.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you said, keeping your tone light but firm. “Maybe your next shift? Tonight’s just… not a good time. We’d like a bit of privacy.”

Jake’s eyes widened, and he immediately waved his hands in front of him, his cheeks flushing deeper. “Oh! Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to—yeah, of course! Privacy! Totally get it.”

You bit back a smile at his flustered response. “Thanks for understanding.”

Jake nodded quickly, leaning back against the couch with a faintly embarrassed grin. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll just… stay here and keep watch.”

“Good plan,” you said, stepping toward the door. “And try not to die of boredom while I’m gone.”

Jake chuckled, giving you a mock salute as you pushed the door open and stepped into the cool night air. The trash bins weren’t far, just around the side of the building, but the weight of your cane and the ache in your leg made even short trips like this a deliberate process. You took your time, the rhythmic tap of your cane against the pavement grounding you as the faint hum of the city buzzed in the background.

As you reached the bins, you couldn’t help but glance up at the sky. The stars were faint here, swallowed by the city’s glow, but you could just make out a few scattered pinpricks of light. Beautiful.

You tossed the trash into the bin with a soft thud, then turned back toward the building. Jake was still in the lobby when you returned, his phone back in his hands but his posture more alert than before. He looked up as you entered, his expression brightening.

“Done already?” he asked.

“Quick and painless,” you replied, heading toward the elevator.

“Tell Viktor I said hi,” Jake called after you.

“I will.” You chuckled, shaking your head as you stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, and you leaned against the cool metal wall, your thoughts drifting back to Viktor. You hoped he’d come home soon and that he only went to Madame Meredith. You still didn’t ask about those vials of Shimmer—but you weren’t dumb.

After all—he had an old friend in the Undercity.

—

The stench of chemicals and machinery filled the air as Viktor stepped into Singed’s laboratory. The room was a dark, chaotic maze of vials, bubbling flasks, and unidentifiable machinery—familiar, yet disconcerting even to him. It was a place where desperation and ambition bled into every corner, and Viktor had come to know it well over the past weeks.

As Viktor entered, Singed barely looked up from his workbench, his wiry frame hunched over a bubbling flask. He had a glass cylinder in one hand, observing the way a viscous purple liquid—the Shimmer—reacted with a bright orange compound he had just added. He wore a faint smirk, as though he already knew what Viktor had come to ask.

“Back already?” Singed’s voice was calm, almost casual, but Viktor detected the flicker of amusement in it.

Viktor let out a frustrated sigh, taking a seat on a nearby stool. “The new prototype failed,” he admitted, his voice tinged with irritation. “It burned through all the synthetic nervous tissues within hours. And I’ve run out of Shimmer. Again.”

“Of course it did,” Singed replied without missing a beat, as though Viktor had simply confirmed a theory he’d already known. He set down the glass cylinder and looked at Viktor over his round glasses, his expression unreadable. “After all, synthetic nervous tissues can only imitate so much.”

Viktor clenched his jaw, folding his arms as he leaned against the cold metal table. “I know that,” he said quietly. “But the Hexcore…it’s supposed to be the binding agent. Yet Shimmer keeps overtaking it, destabilizing everything before I even have time to test its effects.”

“Mm.” Singed nodded, folding his hands together thoughtfully. “That’s because the Hexcore alone is too��sterile. It lacks the adaptability of real tissues. Real nerves. The synthetic ones break down because they can’t respond to the Shimmer’s inherent instability.”

Viktor’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table as he considered Singed’s words. He knew the risks, understood that synthetic materials would always be limited compared to actual human tissue. But the alternative... He let out a slow breath, forcing his voice to remain steady.

“I’m not ready to test on real tissues,” he said firmly. “It’s too early. I haven’t calculated the exact Shimmer intake required to prevent cellular rejection, and I’m nowhere near prepared to handle the side effects on a living subject. I need more time.”

Singed tilted his head, regarding Viktor with something close to pity, though his voice was as unfeeling as ever. “You need more time?” he repeated, his tone almost mocking. “That’s a luxury we both know is rapidly slipping from your grasp.”

Viktor felt a pulse of frustration, though he tried to temper it. “You know why I’m doing this. It’s for her.” His voice softened, even as his hands tightened around the table’s edges. “If I can perfect this…if I can make the Hexcore work with real tissue, then she won’t have to suffer. No one will. Disease, aging—all of it could be eradicated.”

Singed’s mouth quirked in a grim smile. “So noble, Viktor. Always thinking of others.” He moved closer, his gaze scrutinizing Viktor’s expression. “But if you really want her to be with you—forever, as you say, then you’re wasting precious time with synthetic materials and calculated doses. True experimentation can’t live in hypotheticals.”

Viktor frowned, his mind racing. He wanted to argue, to list all the ways his careful approach was necessary because of what happened to him, but he knew Singed’s point was more than a critique of his methods.

Singed’s gaze narrowed, and he leaned forward, his voice low and compelling. “You’re hesitating. Still clinging to the boundaries that once bound you—But Viktor,” he continued, his voice a whisper, “immortality demands sacrifice. Real sacrifice.”

Viktor felt a pang of anger at Singed’s words, his voice rising with a rare show of emotion. “And what would you know of sacrifice? You’ve chased power for its own sake, experimenting on countless lives just to prove your theories.”

Singed’s expression remained unchanging, his cold gaze unwavering. “I do know sacrifice, Viktor,” he replied calmly. “And I know it doesn’t yield to caution.” He straightened, turning back to his workbench. “If you want to keep her with you forever, if that’s truly what you desire, then you have to embrace the uncertainty. You can’t keep clinging to your humanity when it’s the very thing holding you back.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed, his mind torn. He had told himself he’d do anything for you, that he would give up whatever he had to if it meant you’d both be free of the limits of mortality. But real experimentation again…on live tissues, on something as unpredictable as Shimmer-infused nerves…

Singed’s voice softened, his words as unyielding as steel. “If you won’t push the limits, then perhaps you don’t truly want her with you.”

A surge of defiance flared in Viktor’s chest, his gaze growing sharp. “Don’t question my devotion to her,” he said, his voice as cold as the steel that glinted on Singed’s table. “You know nothing about what I’m willing to do.”

“Then prove it,” Singed replied, his expression unchanging. “Show me you’re not afraid to go beyond the boundaries of what’s ‘safe.’ Take what’s needed to make this work. Or resign yourself to watching her age and suffer as you remain unchanged.”

At his words, Viktor felt a pang, an ache that settled deep within his chest. He thought of you—of the nights you’d held each other, whispering promises of a future where nothing could tear you apart. He thought of the pain he’d seen in your eyes the night he’d proposed, the worry that you’d voiced, fearing he would outlive you, that he’d be forced to watch you fade away as he endured. But if he continued down this path, sticking to his calculations, his incremental steps…that future could slip through his grasp. He could lose you, his own fears and hesitation allowing time to claim you piece by piece, as it had claimed so many others in Zaun.

Singed leaned closer, his voice softening to a whisper. “Viktor. Are you truly willing to let her go?”

A red glow sparked in Viktor’s eyes, a low, feral intensity that Singed recognized instantly.

“No,” Viktor said, his voice firm and unwavering. His hands clenched at his sides, the resolve hardening within him like steel. “Of course not.”

Singed’s lips curled into a thin smile, satisfied. He picked up a vial of Shimmer from the table and held it out to Viktor. “Then here,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “This is the first step. Use it to test. On real tissue.”

As Viktor pocketed the vial and turned to leave, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of calm settle over him. His doubts had not disappeared; if anything, they thrummed more loudly than ever, a silent chorus of warnings urging him to reconsider. But he silenced them, focusing only on the single, guiding thought that burned through his mind.

You.

The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional scratching noise coming from beneath the couch. You knelt on the floor, your knees already aching from the prolonged crouch. Your cane was propped against the armrest behind you, but you tried not to think about how much harder it had become to move quickly these days.

“Willow,” you called, your voice soft but insistent. “Come on, little guy. You’re going to make me late.”

You shook the small toy Viktor had picked out—a feathered contraption that jingled when shaken. It was the kind of thing Viktor claimed he had only bought because it was on sale, though you’d caught him once or twice dangling it in front of Willow when he thought you weren’t looking. For someone who constantly grumbled about “your cat,” he had a suspiciously soft spot for the little creature.

“Willow,” you said again, your voice slipping into the sing-song tone you reserved for coaxing the kitten out of his hiding spots. “I know you can hear me.”

A tuft of orange fur peeked out from beneath the couch, followed by a pair of wide, curious eyes that glimmered in the dim light. You stifled a laugh, shaking the toy more vigorously. “That’s it,” you encouraged. “Come out so you can eat. I know you’re hungry.”

The kitten didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the toy but his body still tucked safely in the shadows. You sighed, shifting uncomfortably on your knees as a sharp pang shot through your injured leg. Crouching for so long was a mistake, but you didn’t want to give up just yet.

“Willow,” you muttered, your tone slipping into exasperation. “If you don’t come out right now, I swear I’ll—”

“What exactly are you swearing at the cat now?” came a familiar voice from behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder to find Viktor standing in the doorway, his coat draped over his arm and his expression a mixture of amusement and annoyance. He stepped into the room, the faint crimson glow in his eyes catching the light as he surveyed the scene.

“Your cat,” he continued, emphasizing the word with a pointed look, “seems to be ignoring you.”

You straightened up slightly, wincing as your leg protested. “Our cat,” you corrected, shaking the toy at him. “And I wouldn’t have to swear if you didn’t spoil him with hiding spots. He thinks the couch is his personal fortress.”

Viktor’s lips quirked into a faint smile as he set his coat down and crossed the room. “It is a fortress, technically. A highly defensible position for a creature his size.” He crouched beside you with a grace you could only envy, his hand reaching out to pluck the toy from your grasp.

“You’ve spoiled him,” you accused, watching as Viktor shook the toy lightly, the bell jingling faintly. “You pretend you don’t like him, but I know better.”

“I don’t like him,” Viktor said matter-of-factly, though his attention was entirely focused on the kitten. “He’s an inconvenience.”

You raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the toy in his hand. “And yet, here you are. Inconveniencing yourself.”

Viktor shot you a sideways glance but didn’t reply, his focus on Willow as he shook the toy with deliberate movements. The kitten’s head tilted slightly, his ears twitching as the jingling sound grew louder.

“There,” Viktor murmured. “See? He’s coming.”

Sure enough, Willow began to inch forward, his tiny body low to the ground as if he were stalking prey. Viktor moved the toy back and forth in slow, hypnotic arcs, his movements precise as ever. It was almost funny, watching him apply the same meticulous attention to this task as he did to his experiments.

“You’re scaring him into submission,” you teased, though you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Viktor ignored the comment, his eyes narrowing as the kitten crept closer. When Willow was finally within reach, Viktor darted forward with a swiftness that was almost startling, scooping the kitten up into his hands.

“There,” he said, holding the squirming ball of fur in front of him. “Problem solved.”

Willow let out a soft, indignant mewl, his little paws batting at Viktor’s fingers. You stifled a laugh, reaching out to stroke the kitten’s head. “He’s not a problem,” you said. “He’s just stubborn. Like someone else I know.”

Viktor gave you a sidelong look, but there was no real annoyance in his expression. Instead, he lowered Willow onto the floor near his food bowl, which you had filled earlier with the kitten’s favorite wet food.

“Eat,” Viktor commanded softly, nudging the bowl closer to Willow with his foot.

To your relief, the kitten finally began to nibble at the food, his tiny body vibrating with a contented purr as he ate. You let out a sigh of satisfaction, sitting back against the couch as you stretched out your aching leg.

“Thank you,” you said, glancing up at Viktor. “I didn’t think he’d listen to me.”

“He doesn’t listen to anyone,” Viktor replied, though his tone was surprisingly gentle as he watched the kitten eat. “He’s just easily distracted. A poor trait for a creature of his size.”

You chuckled, resting your head against the couch. “You talk about him like he’s a science project.”

“Everything is a science project,” Viktor replied, standing and brushing off his trousers. “Including this cat.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered on your lips. “Well, I’m glad he likes you. ”

Viktor didn’t respond, but you caught the faintest flicker of a smile as he turned away. He picked up his coat from the armrest and draped it over his arm once more, his movements slow and deliberate.

“You’re going to rehearsal, then?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly as he glanced over his shoulder.

You nodded, reaching for your cane and using it to push yourself upright. “Yes. I didn’t want to leave before making sure Willow ate, but now I really have to go.”

Viktor studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he moved closer, offering his arm. “Let me walk you,” he said simply.

You smiled slightly as you accepted his arm, and you leaned on him lightly as you made your way to the door.

As the two of you stepped into the hallway, you glanced up at him, a faint smile playing on your lips. “You know,” you said softly, “for someone who claims not to like the cat, you sure act like you do.”

Viktor’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed the elevator button with one hand, his other arm steady beneath yours as the two of you waited for the doors to open. As you entered, you leaned lightly on Viktor’s arm, the silence between you companionable but laced with something unspoken. As the elevator jolted slightly, signaling a stop at another floor, you glanced up at him.

“I thought you’d be going back to work in the mornings,” you said softly, testing the waters.

Viktor’s expression barely shifted, though you caught the faintest quirk of his lips. “I thought you liked having me home,” he replied, his tone light. “And besides, it’s not like I sleep anymore. It would be just wasted time.”

You narrowed your eyes, catching the deliberate deflection. “Interesting,” you said, tilting your head. “You’re deflecting.”

A low sigh escaped him, but he didn’t look at you, instead staring at the illuminated numbers above the elevator doors. “There’s nothing to deflect. I’m doing the work the council asks of me—and him,” Viktor added pointedly. “Am I not?”

You tightened your grip on your cane, shifting your weight slightly. “I just think you should talk with him.”

Finally, Viktor’s crimson eyes flicked to yours, their glow faint but piercing. “He can talk with Mel about anything. Especially about me, after all.”

“Viktor,” you said, your tone softening, but he only turned his gaze back to the doors.

It wasn’t rational, and you knew it. For all Viktor’s genius, for all his rationality, this feud between him and Jayce was steeped in emotion and pride—an irrational reaction to wounds inflicted in the heat of frustration. You had heard his side of the story, the argument that had unraveled so much between them. You knew how deeply Viktor felt the sting of betrayal, even if he tried to dismiss it with cold logic.

But you also knew Jayce. Knew how much he cared, how much he regretted the way things had unfolded. Viktor had told you what happened, yes—but he hadn’t seen the way Jayce had agonized over it. Hadn’t seen the way he begged the council to spare Viktor after the transformation, his voice breaking with emotion as he pleaded for them to understand. Viktor hadn’t seen how Jayce had come to you afterward, his hands trembling as he told you what happened at those meetings some months ago.

Not to mention the ring. You glanced down at your left hand, the band of hexsteel and crystalline filament catching the light. Jayce and Viktor had designed it together, their hands working in perfect unison to craft something uniquely yours. The memory brought a pang to your chest, a sharp contrast to the distance between them now.

“Jayce tried talking to you,” you said gently. “More than once. And he’s tried leaving you little notes on the documents you need to sign. You can’t just pretend he hasn’t been reaching out.”

Viktor huffed quietly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Reaching out?” he repeated. “Is that what you call it? Scribbling apologies in the margins of blueprints or sketching me when he should be focused on his work?”

You blinked, taken aback. “He sketched you?”

Viktor hesitated, then sighed again, this time more heavily. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice low. “On one of the schematics. A crude attempt, as if we were still in the workshop, pretending this was all simpler than it is.”

Your heart softened at his tone, the faint ache of nostalgia buried beneath his frustration. “It’s not pretending, Viktor,” you said softly. “It’s him trying. He doesn’t know how else to bridge the gap.”

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal the lobby. Viktor stepped out, his movements smooth and deliberate, and you followed, keeping pace with him as best you could.

“I don’t need him to bridge anything,” Viktor said finally, his voice tight. “I need him to accept the way things are now. To accept that we can’t go back to what we were.”

You stopped walking, forcing him to halt beside you. “What exactly is stopping you?” you asked, your voice firmer now. “He’s trying to fix things, and you’re shutting him out. Why?”

Viktor’s jaw tightened, his crimson eyes glinting in the light of the chandelier above. For a moment, he didn’t answer, and you thought he might deflect again. But then his shoulders sagged, a rare vulnerability seeping into his posture.

“Because he doesn’t understand,” Viktor said quietly. “He begged for me to be spared, yes. But even now, he looks at me and wonders if that was the right choice. I can see it in his eyes. I heared it in his voice when he talked to Mel. She called me dangerous once, and in the end he agreed. How am I supposed to forget that?”

You stared at him, your heart aching at the weight of his words. “Viktor,” you murmured, reaching out to touch his arm. “He doesn’t really think you’re dangerous.”

Viktor shook his head, his expression hardening again. “He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. And I can’t…I won’t allow myself to be seen as a liability. Not by him. Not by anyone.”

“He doesn’t see you as a liability,” you said firmly. “He sees you as his friend. His partner. And he’s trying to remind you of that, even if he’s clumsy about it.”

Viktor’s expression remained unreadable for a moment longer before he finally let out a low, reluctant sigh. “Perhaps,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t change the past.”

“No,” you agreed. “But I think you owe it to yourself—to both of you—to at least try.”

Viktor didn’t reply, but the faintest flicker of doubt crossed his features. You took it as a small victory, even if you knew it would take time for him to fully reconcile with Jayce.

[oliversrarebooks]

Fitz's Volunteer Part One: The Act

In which a vaudeville fan volunteers for Phantom Fitz's show, ready to play along with some fake hypnosis tricks. Because magic isn't real. Right?

Masterlist

November 1923

TW: mind control, hypnotic induction, mild humiliation, extremely self indulgent

You've always loved going to the vaudevillle. The songs and sketches, the dancers and acrobats, the comedians and the dramatic actors. It's such a good way to take your mind off your troubles -- of which you unfortunately have many -- for just a few hours and relax.

"...and that was the Astounding Flying Lloyd sisters! Give 'em a hand, folks!" said the announcer. "Up next is the mysterious and charming magician and mesmerist Phantom Fitz!"

You've seen this act before, and it was fun and very interesting. He calls up a volunteer from the audience and hypnotizes them into assisting his routine, teasing them and giving them mildly embarrassing bits of business to do. You know it's either a plant or someone told to play along, of course -- you're no gullible rube who believes in magic.

Still, it seems like it must be fun to be led around the stage, pretending to be in a hypnotic trance. It doesn't hurt that he's easy to look at, with a slightly wicked smile and a cheeky sparkle in his eye. What's the harm in being a bit of a fan of a vaudeville performer, after all?

"Now, I'm going to need a willing assistant from the audience to demonstrate my mesmeric power on!" he declares with a flourish of his cape. "Who would like to find themselves completely and helplessly under my power? Don't be shy. I promise I don't bite, unless you want me to." He gave a big wink to the audience.

Hands go up all over, and you briefly consider raising yours. But you'd be too shy to actually go up on stage and do those things, if you were even chosen to begin with. Fitz is scanning the crowd, probably looking for his plant.

But then his eyes stop right on you. He smiles.

Does he want you to volunteer? Why you?

You're curious now. Before you can think twice, your hand raises.

His smile gets much bigger. "You, there," he says, pointing. "Don't be shy, you're perfect for this. You're going to be a natural at following my instructions. I can tell." He beckons you forward, and with all eyes on you, you leave your seat and walk up the stairs onto the stage. As soon as you step up, he takes your hand. His own hand is freezing cold, but something about it feels oddly reassuring, putting you at ease, making it easier to block out the presence of the crowd.

"Thank you for volunteering," he says. That wicked grin is even brighter now that you're close to him. "What's your name?"

You tell him.

"That's a lovely name. Shame you won't be needing it for this performance," he says, leaving you wonder what that means. He reaches behind your ear. "Oh, you have something stuck in your ear, hang on." 

He's pretending to pull out colorful scarves, one after another, and you're pretty sure they must be coming out of his sleeves, but his fingers are so fast and nimble that you can't even quite tell when you're this close. "Not to embarrass you, but perhaps you should wash behind your ears better," he says, as a rainbow of scarves pools at your feet. The crowd is laughing.

You're not sure how to react, and before you can really say anything, he's pulled the scarves away and is leading you over to a chair center stage. "And now, if you don't mind having a seat, we can get down to the important business of molding you into the perfect assistant for me."

"All right," you say nervously, not sure what you're supposed to do. You had assumed this was a plant. Are you going to have to play-act being hypnotized? You've never been very good at acting, and you're worried you might spoil the act.

"Now don't you fret," he says, standing behind the chair and placing a soft hand on top of your head. "No one is able to resist my mesmeric powers for long. All you need to do is sit back and relax." He leans in closer, and you assume he's going to whisper instructions. Instead, he says, "Do you mind if I touch you like this? I need to keep your head steady in case you start to doze off."

"...No?" you say, surprised. Does he actually think you're going to fall asleep, that his hypnosis will work in truth?

"Good," he says, and produces a heavy brass pocketwatch, which he dangles in front of your face. It's finely made with a pretty face, and it ticks softly and rhythmically as he swings it back and forth before your eyes. "Now just watch the pretty pocketwatch, dear," he says. "Keep your eyes focused as it swings back and forth, back and forth. Focus on nothing else but the watch and my voice."

Wanting to do your best, you let your eyes follow the watch, and you feel something strange, starting at the top of your head where Fitz is holding his hand. It feels warm. Relaxing. Dizzying. Almost like sinking into a warm bath.

"Yes, that's right, you're doing so well," he encourages. "I knew you'd be so good at this. You're already starting to get sleepy, aren't you? So sleepy and drowsy. That's my mesmeric power starting to work on you, dear."

Of course, you're not actually going to start falling asleep on stage in front of an entire audience just because of a pocketwatch and a few honeyed words...

Of course you're not...

"That's it. Such a good assistant. Every swing of the watch making you sleepier and sleepier. So drowsy. So relaxed, so tired, such heavy eyelids..."

You shake yourself out of the daze you're falling into. What's happening? It has to be your imagination, but you actually do feel sleepy. You can't tear your eyes away from the watch, and it feels like Fitz's commands are sinking deep into your mind. This can't actually be working on you, can it?

"You're just so tired and drowsy, tired and sleepy. Your eyelids are so heavy, drifting shut, like they want to stay closed... getting sleepier and sleepier..." The hand on top of your head gently strokes your hair, and the drowsy daze intensifies, your head drooping forward before you catch yourself. "You're so drowsy that you're starting to fall asleep, dear."

It's hard to think through the haze. You can't see the audience very well past the heavy, swinging watch, but your mind is trying to alert you to the fact that you're being mesmerized in front of an entire crowd. It feels so real, so hard to keep yourself awake.

"You're getting so, so sleepy as I cast my magic spell on you," he says, and even though he's speaking loud enough for the audience to hear, he feels so close, like he's only talking to you. "Wouldn't it be nice to shut down those heavy eyes, to relax completely, and to listen sleepily to my voice speaking to you?"

You feel yourself nod. Yes, yes that sounds so nice. You're so drowsy and relaxed and everything feels so warm and good. It makes you feel especially nice to agree with what he's saying. Falling asleep and listening to Fitz just sounds perfect. But --

But -- !

Wait! You're actually falling asleep. You're actually following his commands. He's actually hypnotizing you. It's no trick, it's no act. He's putting you under his control up on a vaudeville stage, in front of a packed theater. Your cheeks flush, and you regain enough of yourself to flinch away from the pocketwatch. You should regain focus before it's too late and you fall completely under his mesmeric influence.

"Oh, dear," he whispers softly in your ear. "It's not the pocketwatch that's putting you under my spell. And I think it's a bit too late for you to resist."

A deep, irresistible drowsiness crashes through you. Your shoulders slump and your head tips forward as you struggle to keep your impossibly heavy eyes open. It's too late -- too late to resist -- you're being hypnotized --

"Shut your eyes, dear," he says, his hand petting you. "It's time to let your heavy, drowsy eyes shut, and remain shut, just like they want to, to relax and fall asleep and listen to me."

Any fight you had left in you has gone, replaced by a hazy feeling of bliss. Closing your eyes feels far too good to fight. Falling asleep and listening to Fitz's voice sounds so, so nice. Why even bother struggling against it? Why not just fall asleep...? 

"Good, good, you're such a natural at this," he says encouragingly. "Your sleepy little eyes want  to stay closed. They're far too heavy to open again. You might want to try, but if you do, you'll find that you can't. It's like they're glued shut. Can you try for me?"

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to open your eyes. Not only are they heavy, but they feel too relaxed to even respond to your commands. It's impossible.

"You can stop trying now and relax. You're doing so well. Such an ideal hypnotized assistant," he says, and you feel yourself practically glowing with the praise. "Now I'm going to have you imagine you're at the top of a staircase. Can you see it? There are ten stairs, and we're going to walk down each one of them, and with every step, you're going to go deeper asleep and deeper into hypnotic trance. Ten... nine..."

You can't believe how it feels to float in a comfortable cloud of sleep and relaxation, absorbing every word Fitz says. You could happily stay like this forever. 

"Five... your hypnotized mind is so obedient... four... it feels so good and natural to obey..."

You don't even need to stay aware of what's happening -- he tells you it's perfectly fine if you're deeply asleep, that you can still listen so carefully while you doze. He's so encouraging and kind and that hand on top of your head seems to just radiate delicious warmth.

"...and you're going to forget you name, dear. You're so deeply sleepy and hypnotized that you can't even remember your own name. It's hidden away in your mind, in a place where you can't reach, and it feels good to forget and sink more deeply into sleep..."

Mmm, yeah, it feels good to forget. Anything Fitz wants you to do is fine with you.

"...and when I count to three, you're going to open your eyes, slowly, so as not to disturb your relaxation. You're going to open your eyes, but you're going to remain deeply asleep and deeply hypnotized, and you're going to forget the audience and focus only on me. Three... remain deeply asleep... two... relaxed and hypnotized... and one... open your eyes."

Your eyes pop open so easily as if you weren't just in the deepest sleep of your life. Or maybe you still are? There's a fuzzy blur in front of you and you're not quite sure where you are until Fitz gets your attention. 

"How are you doing, my sweet little assistant?"

"Very good," you say, eager to please.

He grins, and you feel like a million bucks. "Can you sing a little song for us, just to prove to the audience that you're back in the land of the living?"

Well, of course you can. You can sing the song that's been trapped in your head ever since you heard it on the radio this afternoon. "Yes, we have no bananas," you sing out. "We have no bananas today!"

"That's perfect, dear," Fitz says, laughing. You hear other laughs in the distance, but they aren't important. "Now I seem to have dropped a penny. Would you mind getting on all fours and picking it up?"

You drop to your knees, carefully looking across the stage floor, but you don't see any sign of a penny.

"Never mind, I've already found it. You're very, very good at following instructions, though. I wonder why that is." He winks, and there's another loud laugh in the distance. 

Fitz offers a hand to pull you up, and you feel so wonderfully lovely as he does. "You've been such an excellent assistant so far, simply perfect," he says, letting you bask in the pleasure. "But I have to apologize, because I seem to have forgotten your name. Could you remind me?"

Of course you --

The word dies in your throat. It's at the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, you can't produce it. What is your name? You want to tell Fitz, but it's a complete blank. How could you forget your own name? Just as you feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, he smiles and cups your face so gently. "Shhh, it's okay. It's okay that you forgot your name. I don't mind at all. You can just relax and not worry about it."

What a relief! Another wave of sleepy, soothing calm washes through you.

"I'm just going to call you dear anyway, is that all right, dear?"

"Yes."

"So agreeable! Folks, you can't just find good help like this. You have to make it yourself." He releases you and steps back. "Now, just to prove what a hypnotized little thing you are, I would like you to do a trust fall. I'm going to stand here, and on the count of three, you're going to feel all your muscles give way, and you're going to fall backwards right into my arms."

"A trust fall...?" you say, a little apprehensive.

"You trust me, and you want to fall for me, don't you?" he says, with a wicked smile in your direction, and despite your overall relaxation, you can feel your heart flip. "Now then. Three... two... one."

It's so easy. On the count, your body just falls backwards entirely on its own, right into his strong, cold arms. He smells like fancy soap and floral cologne and stage makeup. Some part of you wouldn't mind staying pressed up against him longer. But he sets you upright to the sound of cheers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, my assistant is now utterly, helplessly at my command. Isn't that right, dear?"

"Yes, Phantom Fitz," you agree.

"I'm going to have you help me with a few magic tricks. You're such a good assistant that you won't need to think about any of them with your conscious mind. You can just relax and let me direct you, and with every command, you'll feel more deeply asleep and more deeply hypnotized."

You nod drowsily, and let him take you by the shoulders and direct you over to a card table. It feels good to be near him, to listen. He calls up a few more people on stage and you're shuffling and holding cards while he does some tricks you can't quite follow. It's so easy to follow his directions. So easy to focus and listen. 

"Can someone from the audience suggest a pose for my wonderful assistant?" he says. You hear shouts, but you can't take your attention from Fitz. "Oh, that's a good one. Yes, why don't you pose like you're a pretty ballerina?"

You stand on tiptoe and put your arms up in a circle over your head, doing your best to imitate a dancer. He looks you over, appraising you as if you're a statue, adjusting you here and there with a light touch. Finally, he laughs, picks up the line of scarves from the floor, and drapes it around you. "A brilliant work of art, don't you think?" he says to the crowd with a flourish. "This is the kind of statue that you can only see in the finest galleries of Paris, but I've brought it to you right here."

He bows, and then touches your arms so gently. "You can relax now, dear. You've made an excellent statue."

He then has you lay down on a table, his hands pushing your shoulders down gently, and you feel yourself being levitated in midair. There's some kind of platform underneath you and you stay absolutely still just as Fitz ordered. He waves a hoop around your body, and then gently brushes the hair from your face as you lay there, dazed and immobilized.

You look up into his gray-blue eyes. You're so helpless, entirely at his mercy. And that smile makes you feel weak.

You're lowered back onto the table, and he helps you to stand again, your knees feeling wobbly. He holds you up discreetly as he bows to the audience. "Please give a round of applause to my hopelessly mesmerized little helper!" he says, gesturing to you, and you can just see the crowd beyond your lidded eyes as they cheer.

Fitz takes you by the shoulders and is standing oh-so-close. "I'm going to wake you up now so you can go back to your seat, but you're still going to feel drowsy and hypnotized, and you won't quite know why," he whispers, barely audible over the noise of the audience. "Once the show is done, you're going to come find me backstage. You won't remember these commands, but you will act on them. Do you understand, dear?"

You nod. You feel so lovely that you really don't want to be woken up, but you like the idea of getting to see Fitz again. 

"And now you're going to wake up from my mesmeric power when I snap my fingers in one... two... three..."

He snaps his fingers near your ear, and the world snaps back into focus. A whole packed audience of people, men, women, and children, are laughing and cheering for you. You remember the things you did and said, how completely entranced you felt and how powerless you were to resist Fitz's commands. How you couldn't even remember your own name, and how you let him put his hands all over you...

"You feel fine after all of that, don't you?" he says with a smile.

Your momentary humiliation fades, but you're still so woozy, like it's hard to think straight. "Fine. Good, really. Like I've had a really good night's sleep," you say uncertainly.

He leans in to whisper in your ear. "You did an excellent job playing along."

"Playing along?" you can't help but blurt out. He can't possibly think that -- he must know what he did, what he's capable of --

"Here, let me help you off the stage."

You're not sure why, but you let him take your shoulders and guide you to the stairs as if you're a docile little lamb. You're so dazed, nearly tripping over your feet as you stumble back to your seat. 

"What was that like?" says the stranger in the seat next to yours. "It seemed so real. Did he actually have you under?"

You don't really want to admit to a perfect stranger that you were under an actual mesmeric spell. She'd think you're making it up. "No, it was just pretend," you say.

"I figured. You did a good job with it! I don't think I could pretend to do all those things if I were on stage."

You nod. You don't think you could, either, not if you actually were pretending.

Playing along...

You weren't, were you? It felt so real. You can hardly remember most of it, and you genuinely felt that you were in a deep, entranced sleep. You remember that all you wanted to do was agree with Fitz and obey his orders. Wasn't it actual hypnosis? Or are you just so weak-willed that you fell under the fake spell of a two-bit vaudeville performer...

Fitz has picked up his props and gone offstage, and a couple of comedians are doing a bit now. You watch without paying the slightest bit of attention. You're so tired after all of that excitement. So sleepy.

There's something you need to do after the show, but you can't quite remember what it is. You hope that you can remember when the show ends.

Masterlist >> Part Two

Thank you for volunteering for Phantom Fitz's show. Next time, we'll see what happens to our victim volunteer as they go to meet him backstage.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets - Extra Scene 3

Married.

He was married now.

Benedict hadn’t stopped pacing in the room ever since he and Charlie had got there in order to get away from the chaos of the hundreds of guests his family had apparently decided to invite to the wedding breakfast. Judging by the way his wife of two hours had walked away from him the moment they had reached the house-

His wife.

Jesus Christ.

He still couldn’t believe they were actually married. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on, and when he first saw her walk down the aisle, he was quite certain that this was a dream.

Now he understood how Paris felt in the presence of Helen.

Or how mere mortals felt in the presence of Venus, for that matter.

“She—she married me,” Benedict said and Charlotte absentmindedly turned a page in his sketch book, barely casting him a glance. If it were any other time, he would have asked her opinion on his latest sketches but now—

Now he couldn’t even bring himself to worry about whether his sketches looked good or not.

“I know Benny,” she said. “I was there, as the maid of honor.”

“I’m a married man now.”

“Yes you are.”

“To her.”

“Mm hm.”

Dear God, it felt as if the room was getting warmer by the second. His hand shot up to loosen his cravat a little and he took a deep breath.

“I don’t know the first thing about being a good husband, how did I—” he pointed at the door. “Goddamn Anthony was supposed to marry first, not me!”

Charlotte looked up from the sketchbook and thought for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders.

“He will when he falls in love,” she said, crossing her legs as she laid on her back, holding the sketchbook up so that she could see the pages while lying down on the sofa. “Why are you panicking?”

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are—aw Benny! You sketched her!”

Benedict pressed his palms on his eyes, then dropped his hands.

“Charlie.”

“Yes?”

“What if I turn out to be a terrible husband?”

Charlotte lowered the sketchbook to shoot him a glance.

“I don’t really know much about terrible husbands,” she said. “I haven’t seen or heard about what they do.”

“And you will not,” Benedict said. “Your future husband has to talk to me after your father.”

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders again. “I’ll make sure to let him know,” she said airily and smiled when she turned the page. “Has she seen these?”

Benedict swallowed thickly and shook his head. “No.”

“You should show her!”

“…Yeah maybe later.”

“I think she’d like it,” Charlotte said. “I mean look at all this, it’s like—"

“Charlie,” Benedict cut her off. “I mean it. What if I’m a terrible husband and she hates me?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes and sat up in the sofa. “She could never hate you Benny, you two are in love!”

Benedict’s heart skipped a beat as guilt washed over him just like it did every time he had to lie to Charlotte. He knew he had to, Anthony had given him an earful when he had figured out he hadn’t told Charlotte the story about his sudden engagement but…

He couldn’t find it in him to break Charlotte’s heart with it.

“Yeah,” he managed to say. “We are but— what if she wasn’t?”

“What if she wasn’t in love with you?” Charlotte scoffed a laugh. “Well then she wouldn’t have married you, easy as that.”

Right.

It was supposed to be as easy as that for sure.

“I honestly don’t understand why you’re so stressed about this,” Charlotte said. “You love her, do you not?”

“Of course I love her,” he said, without even a second of hesitation and Charlotte motioned at him.

“There you go.”

Truth to be told, Benedict could hardly believe there was a time when he wasn’t in love with her, when he had no idea of her existence. It was as if his whole life before her was a waste; or merely the waiting process until meeting her.

It felt absurd, really. All this time he had read about love, tried to paint it, tried to understand it while she was right there, hidden away from his gaze until just a couple of months ago.

And he still couldn’t tell whether she loved him, or whether she would love him. It was nearly torment as she told him it would be, yet he still couldn’t help but hope...

That she would love him.

He was no fool, he could see that the desire was there. Even before their kiss in the garden or their first dance; it had been there for a while. That fire he was feeling whenever he so much as looked at her or inhaled her scent or touched her hand, even in those stolen moments where her glare turned into a tentative softness—

But that wasn’t love.

And today something had changed.

At the chapel and even on the way back home, he could see that she was trembling and it had taken his all willpower not to hold her. She had more or less thrown herself out of the carriage as soon as it had stopped, and the message was clear as day. Benedict had a feeling that pushing her to talk would backfire terribly no matter how much he wanted otherwise, and he knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t going to tell him anything until she wanted to do so.

He had hoped she would at least start trusting him a little after saying their vows but so far, this whole day had proved him otherwise.

He ran his hand through his hair and let out a breath.

“Has she told you anything?” Benedict asked and Charlotte looked up from the sketches.

“Hm?”

“Has she told you anything today? Before the wedding or after?”

“Well I’ve barely had the chance to talk to her after the wedding because you dragged me here,” she reminded him. “And before…I don’t know, she was just nervous. Who wouldn’t be?”

“Right,” he said as he started pacing again. “I feel like I should’ve read books or something.”

“On what?”

“How to be a good husband, I’m sure some idiot somewhere wrote a manual about it.”

“I don’t think you need a manual.”

“It certainly feels like I need a manual,” Benedict said as he brushed a hand over his face. “Half of the time I can’t even tell what she’s thinking, and now we’re married and some day I will say the wrong thing or do something wrong on accident and will lose her forever—”

“Benny,” Charlotte cut him off. “Stop. Just answer me one thing.”

“What?”

“You’re in love with her, yes?”

“She’s the love of my life.”

“And you���d do anything for her?”

“Anything. I would die for her.”

Charlotte repressed a smile and tilted her head.

“And you want to make her happy?”

“There’s nothing I want more in life,” Benedict said and shook his head. “Everything else but her comes second.”

Charlotte thought for a moment and shrugged her shoulders.

“Sounds like something a good husband would say or think,” she stated. “I think you’ll do just fine, and you know how I’m always right about everything.”

Benedict felt a small smile pull at his lips. “Thanks Charlie.”

“Anytime,” she said with a grin and turned her head when someone knocked on the door.

“Ben?” Colin’s voice carried into the room before the door opened. “Lottie, hello. Ben you’re needed, come with me.”

Benedict heaved a sigh. “I greeted almost everyone downstairs—”

“It’s not the guests.”

Benedict pulled his brows together. “What? Who then?”

Colin cleared his throat and pointed back with his thumb. “Your wife just passed out.”

Benedict’s heart dropped, his breath getting caught in his throat and he stared at Colin for a moment before rushing past him out of the room with Charlotte following him suit.