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hcdragonwrites · 9 months

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Tangled Love

(A @semisolidmind Drabble)

Ok! I ran this by Semi before I posted just because I know absolutely nothing about LMK (except the animation can be so pretty!) just so I could get their characters down. I hope you all like it !

She just wanted to escape- both from this place and from her own mind tonight.

The ghosts of memories were walking and she had no distractions to chase them away.

Peaches walked the cool cavern halls of Water- Curtain Cave, her feet echoing in the depths. The sandals she wore and the ornamental clothing she had been thrown into made her scalp prickle and her skin itch. It was too much- but the attendants wouldn’t hear a thing about it.

She had to look the part of Queen.

Peaches, in the absence of the Lord of the mountain and his right hand and sword, was the remaining voice of authority.

To a point.

Finishing with courtly duties and listening in on behalf of her husbands wasn't a huge chore. The two of them rarely left at the same time however. If one was called away the other would remain. Or Peaches herself would be brought along.

This time however she hadn’t been.

It was the first time in ten years.

She had just this night- just this moment of reprieve and she would make the most of it. Or so she thought. Instead, she was fighting something that reared its head and struck her nerves like a asp.

However she wasn’t alone quite yet. As she rounded the corner and came to golden lacquered doors of her bedchamber - their bedchamber- she paused.

“Will that be all my queen?” One of the attending retinue of her guard asked. It was a guard her husbands insisted upon whenever both were away from home- a set of seven of the most battle scarred simians Peaches had ever seen.

They were tasked and sworn with following her everywhere - to the dining hall, to the throne room. If she wished to go and sit among the apple trees and listen to the wind play over the mountain grasses her guard would double in size. Peaches tried to not cause the denizens of Flower fruit mountain any more problems or stressors by going outside when both the King and his Brother in arms were away on a war path.

Her husbands.

It’s what they titled themselves now, after a decade of the terrible start they had on their relationship with her. When she had met the two, they had been just tiny monkeys. A sly looking ginger and gold monkey who had loved to cling to her arms and a dark black furred monkey that brought her fruits and almonds from the wild.

My sweet boys.

They had been her monkeys back then- the little prankster angels she had thought were just simple beasts, trying to survive out in the world.

She had been wrong.

The decision to upend her life, she guessed, had been floated around for months between the two disguised demons as they ate her fruit and enjoyed her touches. It was a mutual one that both had decided was the best option for her.

She took a steadying breath, coming back to the present. Peaches wanted a chance to be alone. Something so rare she craved it like a man in a desert craved water.

“Yes, general. I think I’ll retire early for the day.” She smiled at the monkey who dipped his body into a bow. The gleam of his armor set the flickers of a memory brewing. Fire in the trees, the smell of iron on the wind and a figure among the debris. She shook her head to dislodge it. The rest of them weren’t awful to her. Her husbands weren’t awful to her. They had just ….

Taken away her decisions.

“Very well Queen.” Peaches flinched, unable to quite stomach the title and what that truly meant. If I am queen then why am I without choices? “If you need us call us.”

She turned the handle in the door and slipped in side with as much grace as she could muster.

Peaches closed the ornamental doors to the bedroom, resting her head against the door. Steady. Deep breaths. In through her nose out through her mouth.

The illusion of a paradise that Wukong had built and Macaque helped facilitate always lost its color and believability when they were away. They couldn’t feed her the sugared lies and candied perceptions to tamp back the memories of that night.

It had been just another night on the small farm - a June night of heat and singing cicadas- of windows wide open and Peaches trying to escape that heat. There wasn’t much she could do to escape it. The moisture clung to her and made her bedding stick and clog her nose. So on these nights she stayed up, usually with a candle or the moon to illuminate her night, and read.

The knock on the door was not something typical.

The memory was rising and she couldn’t hold it back. I have to ride it out. Survive it.

Like she had survived that night. Getting visitors in the dead of the night had been unconventional- and she remembered the feeling of being perturbed. Don’t answer it, she told the memory. But this was the past and ghosts of the past didn’t change their course.

She had closed her book, had stepped down the hall to the door and had opened it.

I should have called through- told him to stay away! I should have never left my bed or my book.

It was a drunk man. A fellow farm hand called in for one of the families to help bring in a harvest that had proved too bountiful for the immediate family to handle. Peaches could see the man before her eyes, smell the reek of him.

A drunk.

“Well ain’t it the village spinster! Whaaa da pretty thing you are!” He was a cloud of bitter rice wine, of too much sake on his breath. The intensity of it had a physical effect on her memory and in the present, Peaches wrinkled her nose.

“You should go home Sir.” She had told him- tried to close the door.

His foot moved faster and his hands had caught the door.

A wild set of emotions swept through her. She had to sit her body down, thankful she had been able to get away from the other monkeys before the memory seized her like a vice. They would have been in a panic over her and she couldn’t let their little hearts worry so. There was nothing they could do to stop the remembering.

It was his fault this all happened. It was His. He didn’t have to be drunk and show up at my home- he didn’t have to shove his way into my house and try and grab me.

But he was just a single man. Did his actions warrant the destruction that happened next ?

“Get out!” Her memory self cried. The wooden table she danced behind as the drunk stumbled and moved towards her, was her only shield.

“The Boys Said you prefer the company of wild animals …” his speech was hard to hear. The wine had made him bold, stupid, and aroused it seemed. “I thought I would give you mtaste of what a real man was, since the villagers are al’ ‘fraid of your Witchery with monkeys.”

She had run- she had thrown her things at him. It was probably the commotion of her breaking a pitcher over his head that had alerted her monkeys. The loud clatter of the pottery across the floor had sounded so sharp and final. It had only made the man more determined.

The drunk when he did get his hands on her was furious. He swung a fist and sent stars into her eyes. Peaches had clung like a wildcat to her conscious, kicking out with legs and swinging with fists. Her nose was full of the sour smell of him- had felt his hands and fought them. A kick to his groin had sent him wheezing. Another fist to her head had Peaches crying. She had stared that drunk in his mean little eyes as he whispered the terrible things he wanted to do to her.

She had been staring in those eyes when he died.

He never got to touch more than her arms that night.

Peaches heard something step through the door that had been left open to the night. She had heard the creak of her house as something walked within it. And the sound of something- like a water skin being popped and a splash of warm liquid against her belly had shocked her.

The Drunks eyes went wide with confusion, rolling horselike in his head. His bruising grip on her wrist had let go. In the present, She rubbed those wrists, the phantom pains hard.

“..mah… belly.” The drunk had mumbled then belched a bucket of blood onto the floor. Peaches could see something protruding from his middle- something long and thin like a stick. Or a staff.

Clawed hands pulled the head back and twisted with a fury. The sound of bones breaking was loud, as if a fire was consuming dry wood. The drunk crumbled in those hands like a puppet cut free of its strings.

A new stranger stood in her home, his frame large and broad and most assuredly not human. He tossed the body like someone would toss a rag across the floor. The glowing eyes in the sudden dark were all she could see. Her mind, even in its heightened adrenaline drenched state, recognized the face pattern, saw a familiarity in the fur. There was, in fact, still a little flower tucked against this demonic creatures ear. The same flower she had interwoven in her forest friend's fur that afternoon.

“Your… your my…”

Nerves and the come down from the adrenaline high we’re making speech hard. The monkey demon before her, who’s eyes seemed to spit fire, softened. Just a bit.

“You are my Peaches.” Wukong said, touching her hair, her face, her hands. Taking stock. Then he had taken those limp hands and threaded them through his fur, trying to get them to grip. It would help his own rage and calm her fear. It was thick in the air, ruining the natural sweet smell she had. That and the slab of flesh on the floors own fetid death scent.

Wukong was not the best at this - this comfort thing. But he would rise to the occasion. He would try for her.

Fury and rage made his tail lash and the fur along his neck to stand on end.

At first she had just been a simple human that would leave little offerings to him and his brother in arms. An oddity here in the shadow of his mountain. Most humans around here feared the monkeys and kept away from all of them, having a legend that if one was harmed a great calamity would befall them.

Wukong didn’t mind being that calamity. These were his people, his subjects. So hearing the chatter from some of his kind that a women had begun to leave out gifts had of course spiked the Kings curiosity. The humans beneath Flower Fruit Mountain were his lesser subjects. So he had come down from the mountain, disguising himself as a smaller and more approachable sized monkey, to see the fuss his subjects had started gossiping about at groomings. Only to see his brother, Macaque, already being petted and tended and kissed on each of his six ears.

Of course first impressions had been terrible and Wukong, used to getting the first pick of everything, had come screeching into the clearing and demanding his own pets. It had set off a very small and very mock little battle between the two brothers in arms. One that had Peaches separating them and scolding them as she patched up the little scratches they had taken from eachother. They could have each resisted her pull but both decided that play acting a fight, even if it had started as a bit of one, was the best way to get attention divided between the both of them.

Wukong hadn’t expected to become infatuated. Her name didn’t matter to him- he had rebranded her almost the instant she came to him and offered a smile and held out a handful of sugar and dates. Peaches. After the Kings own favorite fruit, the sweetest thing the mountain produced.

His Peaches.

Of course also Macaques. He shared everything with his brother, the dark furred and six eared demon who had faced battles and won wars besides Wukong. While Wukong had been more leery, Peaches won him over faster than Flower Wine loosened his rigid posture. They had both fallen for this mortal women. And, in the traditional way she belonged to them. She just didn’t know it yet. They had touched and groomed and cuddled and tangled limbs and tails. They were practically married without the marriage bit.

Wukong rubbed small circles into Peaches back, trying to keep himself from bearing his teeth in rage.

I should have taken her home the moment she kissed me.

They had been kisses of the kind one gives to a friend or pet. It had left the warlord craving more burning with more.

Of wanting to feel her give him more than just a chaste kiss on the side of his face.

She wouldn’t have been hurt if he had just taken her home.

Wukong and Macaque had taken to one or both spending the night in Peaches trees, to keep an eye on her. Wukongs obsession had grown into a fascination and warm buttery love. A love that was becoming a wild inferno as he fought to stay still and not leap upon the corpse he had made and turn it into nothing but bits of flesh and gore the crows could carry away.

His Peaches fingers finally grasped his fur and shook. It brought Wukong back from his montage of rage to the present. If only Mac was here — but he wasn’t. He was back at home on Flower Fruit mountain , giving his brother the night to enjoy and keep lookout at Peaches den.

“That’s my girl.” The demon tried to soothe. He really wished he could set Peaches down and finish off what he had started. This place had been bad. This village terrible. He hated every thing and one here that had dared to let a drunken fool up to his Peaches doorstep and allowed this to happen. In reality Wukong was mad it had been Mac’s own sense of importance on taking it slow and letting a little thing like a life outside of Flower Fruit Mountain stop him from from revealing who he was and taking her home.

I am done trying to woo her over slowly. They could have lost her this night if Wukong hadn’t been in earshot, hadn’t heard the crash of something breaking. His clawed hands wrapped around her back and beneath her legs. Before he could realize it, Wukong had her up and in his arms, already stepping on and across the corpse and out into the June air. Mine.

“Let’s get you home, lovely.” Wukongs voice was thick with emotion. Relief to finally, finally, finally have an excuse to take his wife home, to see her sleep in a real bed and eat real food made his heart swell. No more pretending. No more longing. It was happening now. Simmering beneath that emotion was the sweet bubble, the red misting rage, of violence. Once he got her home, got her safe, got her tangled within some of his and Macaques blankets to where the sour smell of fear would be lost within the scent of them- he could come back. He would come back.

He would destroy the village for being the obstacle it was in his conquest for this mortal girls heart. It was in itself, a relief to know he was justified in its destruction.

Look what this place did to bruise my sweet fruit.

Peaches was shaking. Clinging to him. I would have her cling to me always. He pressed his nose into her neck, breathing in as he walked off. She smelled so good. He rubbed his face to hers, affectionately smothering her fear scent. Wukong felt a smile curl his face. Finally. We can go home and put the charade to bed. Finally you are mine.

Peaches' memory of that night was mostly of clinging to Wukong as they flew through the air, of his voice a rumble of soft words and comforts. He was holding her close, pressing her in. Smothering her in a sense. But she needed it. She clung to it in a way to stop herself from being sick from fright. It was strange but familiar to hold this fur, to cling. Then she briefly remembered another voice, another set of hands. When she looked up and saw that her sweet dark monkey was also here, had also been a demon in disguise, something broke in her. Maybe hysteria. Maybe disbelief. Or maybe she knew, somewhere in her mind, that no matter what she said now wouldn’t save the people- the innocents- in her village.

Peaches had been transferred into the dark arms and THATS where she finally began to cry. The shock was fading and leaving behind ragged holes of emotion.

“Safe, you're safe now.” She was reassured. Hands had lifted her chin, her sweet little monkey- now a demonic one- was gently beginning to sponge away the blood from the cuts on her face. Her cheek swelled, her eye with it.

“Please don’t kill them.” She begged. “He already took care of the one who hurt me don’t kill my village.”

“Hush love…”

“Please!”

Silence. Something cold pressed to her face- a bit of snow from far up the mountain wrapped in cloth. Macaques ears twitched like flower petals in the night air.

“It’s already done. The village is already gone.”

The memory rode itself out in the present and faded slowly.

Guilt washed over her and she cried all for a new reason. She had been the catalyst for Sun Wukongs fury. She had been the decider to his want of destruction. Peaches may not have killed them, may have had a decade to realize that what had happened wasn’t her fault, but Wukong had done it in her name. He had erased that village and all its people like a cartographer reshapes a map. To all the rest of the world, their had never been a village in the shadow of Flower fruit mountain. Not a foundation, not a brick, not even a spare hair, was left of humanity there. Instead it had been cleared as if a fire had swept through. Peaches had seen it on one occasion when Wukong had been persuaded to show her. She had needed closure. Needed the peace.

Once she had healed she had been told her village was gone. She had been given a sweet lie- that Wukong had gone back and the villagers related to the drunk had been ransacking her house to see where she kept the money or any spare wine.

When Wukong had shown up demanding they answer to the crime committed in her home, they had attacked. Wukong had enacted a king's justice as was his right. He had told the remaining villagers to leave- to never set foot upon his domain again for the lawlessness that had been enacted upon their neighbor.

It had taken two years for her to be able to relax whenever he came in smelling of fire and iron. It had taken a few years more for her to remember what Macaque had said when he had pressed snow to her face.

They were the same little monkeys they had been before. But now they had less innocence when they pressed into her face for kisses, when they asked to tangle and cuddle limbs. They insisted she stay in the bedchamber and not move to her own separate room.

It had taken getting used to movement beside her as a hand tugged her hair, or a tale twined her waist. Or a leg curled with hers or hands holding her face. Sometimes in the dark Mac would press his head to her back, using her as a pillow. Wukong would yank her in when he thought her too sleepy to remember and whisper all the things he loved about her.

It would have been sweet. It was touching in a way. If not for the way they revealed themselves. If not for that memory and what she knew now had come after.

It had not taken too long after that for her to start realizing that, though Wukong had saved her, neither of them had any regret of what happened. Neither of them was going to let her go.

When she asked about it or started talking of missing her home- the simple living, the ability to really on herself and choose for herself- Wukong would laugh and launch into one of his tales. He would brush her hair with his claws, run his face against hers and try and deflect her attention to new things.

Macaque, if Wukong was absent, would let her talk. Usually it happened when he asked her to brush his fur or he in turn asked to brush her hair. Peaches thought, just a bit, that the reason Mac was better at listening was for all the ears he had. Each time however, when she got to the part about how this had been her fault, he would stop mid way through a braid or pin and pull her in. Macaque would kiss the tears from her eyes, would press himself close to her chest.

“It was Never your fault Peaches.”

“I remember. I remember he went back- you said he—“

“Hush love you’ll grow hysterical. What Wukong did was justified- he defended you.”

“He killed.”

“I have killed.” He kissed her temple, gentle in his reprimands. He wouldn’t try and brush her words beneath a rug like Wukong. Instead he gave her a smile as wide as the crescent moon. “Let’s finish your hair and get you dressed. We can go see the baby’s, I know how you love the baby’s.” Baby monkeys were her weakness. They had been what led to her loving Mac before she had known he was a demonic warlord.

Peaches rubbed at her eyes and stood, the sorrow in her heart heavy still but the tears at least had stopped. Now she was just tired. Tired and cold and wanting to escape the feeling of it all. So she shed her courtly attire. All the clips and jewels and baubles and bits felt heavy. She placed them within the box at her armoire, then loosened her hair from its bindings. Jade pins, pearl necklaces, golden bracelets with bells of silver (Wukong loved this the best of all) all glimmered back in the firelight.

A pretty price.

She snapped the box closed.

On nights like this, she wanted to wear nothing but her smock, her simple clothing, and bury herself as far as she could go into the bed she shared with her husbands.

It was more of a pit set into the ground, circular in nature. Silken pillows, red sheets and a hoard of anything plush and furred had been thrown into the pit. It was also a snug place to bury herself within and one of the few things she didn’t feel resentment too right away. When the outside felt too bright and she couldn’t go about the mountain to her usual quiet places, she would retire here. To burrow, to bury, to hide.

Peach fell back into the pit of blankets and pillows and pulled herself beneath a fur of some striped monster Macaque had skinned and gifted to her. Tonight the bitter truth was hard to swallow and did circles in her head.

You did this. You caused this. You killed them. This is your fault.

She closed her eyes and hoped … hoped for what might be the worst thing yet. Her husband's return.

A time later she stirred. Something was in her room- was walking to the bed. Peaches felt a flutter of fear before hands reached into her hiding place and simply slid her out.

“Hello darling.” The silken voice belonged to none other than Macaque. His clawed hands entwined around her waist, his teeth nipping at her ear. “You are up late.”

“Does that mean it will be a late morning?” Wukongs voice came from the other side of the room. Peaches could see the ginger monkey removing armor from his shoulders and stretching. As the darker brother kept making a snack of her shoulder, Peaches noticed that the shine of Wukongs paldrom was dimmed. Something black coated the golden imprint of sunbursts across its armored surface. “I love late mornings! Means more time together.”

Blood?

“Peaches?” She turned her head, trying to see Mac. He had left off nipping her skin. A hand came away from her wrist and tipped her chin, forcing her to stare directly into his violet eyes. “What has upset you?”

Everything. Myself. Wukong. You. It was that simple question that set her sorrow to flowing again. She was confused, upset, and she wanted comfort. The only ones who could give her comfort were the very ones who caused her distress.

A vicious cycle.

The pillows behind her sagged. Wukongs hands were more aggressive in their touches, turning her about to stare into her face. He noted the tears, the bruising beneath her eyes. His lip curled in anger.

“Has someone upset you?” Wukong asked. He seemed ready to stand again, to grab his armor and step out into the night. “I will drag them here to give an apology. You name them and I will fetch them.”

Peaches shook her head.

“Just ….” You killing the villagers, Macaque telling me plainly that it was for the best, and my own head making me relive that night of events. Over and over and over.

“…. Myself.”

His face softened as he chirped a reassurance, pressing his nose to hers. Macaque peppered her in gentle and butterfly soft kisses to the back of her neck. The three fell back into the nest, limbs entwined and hands holding. Macaque had Peaches face buried in his chest as she sobbed silently. He cooed. He whispered how everything would be right as rain in the morning. His hands ran through her hair and messaged her scalp. Wukong held his Peaches, pressing her back to his chest in a solid wall against the world outside. He lavished her in praises and compliments, sometimes getting carried away and talking about himself until his brother would remind him with a flick to his forehead that it was their Peaches he should be reassuring.

And through it all, through this twisted and tangled weave of limbs and fur and warmth and sorrow, Peaches felt love. It grew in this dark place still, wanting to thrive. But how could it?

Still she fell asleep, lashes sparkled with tears and her heart lighter. One could only be sad so long in the wake of such waves of attention. Wukongs and Macaques love was the only solution to this ailment they had inflicted upon her, and she, the addict, swallowing the medicine that would give her release.

#hcwrites #writing stuff #twice as bad AU #semisolid #bad end wukong #ALRIGHT I DID IT.#yes I wrote this in a dayish between work and my other writing #I haven’t done this much work in a long time and I was so nervous I would get this pairing wrong #bad monkey boys #they made a whole tangled mess of this situation.#they sweet but stinky #sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #six eared macaque #I based this off a idea and answer Semi gave in one of their blog posts #was I lurking? yes. Because there stuff also has a vice grip on my mind #I Dont know much about LMK so getting this Macaque down right took a bit of work so I didn’t mess up the vibe.#i am so jelly of the nest pit pls I would dive into that like a child into a ball pit #jttw tag #lmk #it think I’m tagging that right ?#I have a weakness for big possessive grumps loving their sunshine wives #six eared macaque x reader #hcfanfics

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thatdeadaquarius · 8 months

Note

"all we really know about this one is it's some kind of insult" Alhaithem gestured to the stone in the case "The first words of the beginning line should translate to 'your parent', with the second one saying 'you take that'. We can only assume it to be of insulting nature, unless you say otherwise...?" He looks toward you, curiously.

"...buys you megablocks instead of legos" you mumble unconsciously, holding in laughter because he wasn't wrong.

"What?" He leaned in to hear you better.

"Nothing, you're right but it's not an insult that really makes sense here" You swiftly move along to the next showcase, after reading it things become clear that these are from about the 2010's. "Alhaithem we should probably move on, most of these are obscure references to... plays, and jokes. Like this one" you point at the case "is Fre shavaca do".

"Fre...shaca do?"

"It's um, a joke about someone mis-writing a sign"

10/10 i cant believe this has been sitting here like the gem it is ToT

im so glad im posting all these at the same time tho bc i love confusing/bullying Alhaitham, call me a Kaveh kinnie ig

ANYWAY SORRY FOR NOT SHARING UR GREAT WRITING WITH THE WORLD BEFORE NOW THIS IS HILARIOUS

this kinda reminds me of my most recent post abt, but 10x more frustrated Alhaitham LMAO

You, constantly: "nah u wouldnt get it bro, u had to be there"

Alhaitham: "But I AM here, I would "get it", ahem, honorable sibling Lord??"

btw here's my lowkey bullying Alhaitham post, hehe

☆

Safe Travels Anon,

💀♒

(not tagging beloveds bc i be harassing them this week with short posts rip)

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eldritch-nightmare · 1 month

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slashers with hanahaki.

a/n: icb this took me like 2 months to finish omg anyways hanahaki is not a trope i personally enjoy but i like writing angst and i think it's an interesting concept and this is. honestly just an excuse to write amanda angst, actually. uhm. first post about slashers :thumbs up: might take time for me to get used to writing them tbh, so this might be short but!! i hope you enjoy it all nonetheless. ignore how long ethan's is. amanda comes with her own special bot so <3 enjoy tht if u use it.

includes: amanda young, quinn bailey, tiffany valentine, billy loomis, bo sinclair, and ethan landry.

warnings: gn!reader, angst, many mentions of vomit and coughing, blood, implied unrequited love (esp in bo's), randomly assigned flowers plucked out of my flower book.

AMANDA YOUNG

If there's one thing about Amanda that isn't hard to miss, it's the fact that she gets very jealous, very easily. It was obvious in the way she almost constantly glared at Lynn whenever the woman was in her line of sight, the way she held no kindness in her voice whenever the two were forced to speak to each other.

Well... it was obvious to John, at least. Even in the state that he was in, the man was nothing if not observant, and he certainly didn't miss the way Amanda's gaze would linger on you and Lynn. He didn't miss the way she would come up with random things for you to do, things that involved you keeping a distance from Lynn.

What John isn't aware of, however, is the fact that each time Amanda goes off alone, it's to cough and vomit up the flowers blooming inside of her. She loves you so much that she can't even be angry when she stares down at the bloodied petals of lavender in her hand as she gasps for breath.

This is her punishment, she thinks. It's her curse, one she'll keep to herself. She loves you, but she doesn't deserve you. If you get too close to her, if she shows that she cares for you, you'll die. They always do, and you're the one person she can't stand to lose.

So she'll keep this to herself. She'll diligently wash the blood off the petals in her hand and she'll put them with the rest, tucked away safely for no one but her to see. She'll let her love be a secret, even if her jealousy boils over.

QUINN BAILEY

Romance isn't something Quinn cares for. She's not interested in falling in love since it doesn't align with her goals of wanting to get revenge for her brother's murder. And you, the best friend of Samantha Carpenter, were meant to be another victim. The plan was to kill you in front of Sam, just to inflict a little extra trauma on her.

But that's not how things were turning out. The more time she spent with you, pretending to be friends with people she planned on killing, the more attached she was starting to become. It was small at first, something she could push aside at any given moment. But you just had to be nice to her.

With everything going on, everyone was always worrying over Sam or Tara, but during it all, you had pulled her to the side to ask how she was handling everything, asking if she was okay. And suddenly, it became harder to push those feelings aside, and camellia petals started forcing their way out of her throat whenever she coughed.

This didn't go unnoticed either, by her family or her 'friends', but she always brushed their concerns off. It's just a little cough, no big deal. But it wasn't. Your time to die was coming up, and Quinn was the one who was supposed to kill you. But now she's hesitating, her mind working a mile a minute to come up with a way for you to get out of this alive without risking everything else.

She loves you, as much as she loathes to admit it. She doesn't want to be in love, especially knowing you'll never love her back once you find out who she truly is.

TIFFANY VALENTINE

Pretty much everyone who knows Tiffany knows about her feelings for you. It's not something she bothers to hide, and even she's surprised that you aren't aware of the love that she has for you. Or maybe you're just pretending like you're oblivious? She certainly hopes not.

Either way, the first time she coughs a flower up, she feels... well... she wasn't upset. In her eyes, it was further proof of how much she truly adored you. The petals of pansies that she coughed up were always tucked away in a jar. She probably has like... 4-5 jars full of petals by this point.

She doesn't blame you for any of this either. It's not your fault that she fell in love with you! How could she not? You're you. Anyone could love you. She'd kill them if they did, of course, but her point still stands.

Of course, she's not an idiot. She knows what this means. The constant pain in her throat and the feeling of vomiting up blood and flowers is nothing compared to the pain of knowing you more than likely don't love her back. But it's a pain she's willing to bear if it means having you in her life.

And Tiffany is just... fairly confident that given enough time and patience, you'll love her back, one day. She could (and probably should) give up on you, she knows that, but she doesn't want to. Not yet.

BILLY LOOMIS

Love is not something that comes easily for Billy. He's damn good at faking it, but he tends to disappear the moment he starts feeling like he actually might be growing to love someone. But loving you? It was as easy as breathing, he didn't even notice he had fallen until the roses started falling from his lips. How cliché.

He's really... torn, to be honest, for many reasons. This little illness of flowers could potentially get in the way of his plans, first and foremost. It makes it a lot harder pretending to love Sydney when he starts hacking up stupid fucking rose petals whenever he thinks about you. And god forbid if he has a coughing fit when he's doing Ghostface business.

It's a pain to hide, but Billy is nothing if not determined. Not even Stu knows, that's how badly he wants to keep this a secret. It's not something he plans on hiding forever, of course. Once he's killed Sydney, he'll... probably get around to doing something about the roses piling up in a random shoebox in his room.

The thought of killing you certainly crossed his mind, don't get him wrong. It would probably be much easier having you dead than leaving you alive and dealing with this, but the moment he even processed the thought, he was falling out of bed from the sheer force of the coughing fit that hit him. It's the most roses he's ever thrown up at once, so. He threw that thought out almost immediately.

But he'll definitely play it off and act as if he isn't painfully pining for you if you ever find out about this little predicament. He's too prideful, too hesitant to ever fully commit to a person. The roses bloodied roses in the beat-up box are the closest he'll ever get to confessing his love to you.

BO SINCLAIR

Bo knew letting you live would bite him in the ass one of these days, he just wasn't expecting it to be like this. He knew he had a bit of a soft spot for you, though he loathed to admit it, even when his brothers give him knowing looks.

You just looked so damn perfect, all scared with tears streaming down your face. How could he not want to keep you around a little longer? He just didn't actually expect himself to grow attached. It was supposed to be a sadistic game, a way for him to torture you. Instead, he was the one being tortured.

Tortured by these damn flowers he keeps coughing up. He had to ask Lester what they were, though he obviously didn't mention why. Nobody was going to know about this, not Lester, not Vincent, and certainly not you. This was going to stay between him, and the bloodied petals of honeysuckle that he keeps hidden in the gas station.

He knew well enough that this little problem wasn't just going to go away so easily. Don't get him wrong, if he could kill you, he would. The thought alone is enough to keep him locked in a room, throwing up flowers until he sees dots in his vision. So clearly, he can't. He's undeniably stuck with you now, whether he likes it or not.

What's worse is he'll never have your love. Why would he? You'd be a fool to ever fall in love with him after everything he has put you through. He'll only ever have your fear.

ETHAN LANDRY

He wholeheartedly did not expect to fall in love, especially with someone inside Tara and Sam's friend group. What's worse is that it wasn't a 'normal' way of falling in love either. No, you stole his heart the moment you stabbed him while he was under the mask, growling out a threat so cruel, so gruesome, he was definitely going to steal it in the future.

The wild look in your eyes was a stark contrast to how you usually behaved, and that excited him. Honestly, how could he not fall in love with you after that? With Ghostface, you were aggressive, almost animalistic in the way you would fight for your life. With Ethan, you were concerned for his safety, even if you did eye him with suspicion like everyone else.

The flowers were annoying though, he can't lie. It's not fun coughing up tulips, especially when he's under the mask. It also makes it harder to hide his identity. Ethan honestly doesn't seem like he'd hide his coughing fits from you because he'd probably thrive under your concern. That means that if he slips up and has one when assuming the Ghostface persona, his identity is basically revealed and it ruins everything he and his family have been working for.

He'll make up excuses as to why you can't be killed. You're not even that close to Tara or Sam. Honestly, he wouldn't consider you to be part of the friend group, so your death wouldn't have any impact on them. You've unintentionally helped them with their plans by being Ethan's alibi whenever it wasn't him under the mask, so killing you just wouldn't make sense. He's not exactly the best at hiding his feelings for you.

And Ethan is well aware that given his second identity, he'll never have a chance with you. The moment the inevitable unmasking happens, he'll lose any kindness you may hold for him. That thought alone is enough to make the tulips force their way out of his throat, but he won't lie... it's exciting to think about how you might react once it's revealed that he's Ghostface.

#alright new tags babyyyyy #amanda young x reader #quinn bailey x reader #tiffany valentine x reader #billy loomis x reader #bo sinclair x reader #ethan landry x reader #ghostface x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #that's it right #gonna assume so

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cerise-on-top · 2 months

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how long do you think it takes Kate and Valeria to day ‘I love you’ to their s/o’s? love ur stuff fyi!!! 💚

Hello! Thank you for liking my stuff, I hope this is enjoyable to you as well! I think it would take the both of them quite a while to say it!

When do Valeria and Laswell Finally Say “I Love You”?

Valeria: It would take her a while to say it. I mean, once she’s with you, she’s already smitten, but she says “I love you” in different ways that aren’t just saying those three words. Valeria courts you with lots of gifts, that much is true, but the closest thing you’ll ever hear from her that resembles a “You have my heart, I love you more than the sun loves the moon, than the ocean loves the land” would be her spending a day with you where she isn’t spending copious amounts of money on you. But that’s not what you asked. Valeria will tell you that she loves you when you’re feeling insecure since she never says it, but on her own accord? It would likely be a year or longer into your relationship, on one of those nights where the two of you are lying in bed together, just talking about your lives, what you’ve been through and how it’s shaped you as people. Just venting your worries, voicing your appreciation for each other and how you’ve helped one another. It’s during such a night, when you’ve gone quiet for a moment, that Valeria would hold you close and tell you, in a voice softer than what you’re used to normally from her, that she loves you.

Laswell: Like Valeria, she shows her love for you through different means. While she may be a gift giver as well, she also shows you how much she loves you by doing anything you may or may not ask of her. From chores, to walking your pet, to cooking you some stew when you’re sick. Laswell doesn’t say that she loves you from the get go either, it would take her several months to a year for her to say it. But when she does, it doesn’t seem like a special moment to anyone else. You’re probably hanging up your freshly washed clothes while she’s sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in hand. Laswell would get up, give you a kiss on your cheek, and tell you that she loves you so very dearly. She was overcome with adoration for you during that moment and needed to show you that she loves you. It’s afterwards that you get a lot more I love yous from her. Not on the daily still, but they would be more common. She will always, and I mean always, accompany her I love yous with some form of affectionate gesture, regardless of whether it be a kiss to your temple, a hug from behind, or a small lovely rose she found in a flower shop. You will always be taken care of and loved.

#cod #cod x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #neither of them are too vocal when it comes to showing they love you but that's alright too #because one of them would watch the world burn down to warm you up with its flames #and the other one would break the world apart just to find you again in one of its crevices #they're not the most romantic people verbally but they'll always make sure that you feel loved and cared for #writing about the girls really makes me yearn for a girlfriend again!! where is my gf!!! I want one!!!#it's so sad that I've never met another lesbian irl either 😔 that is so sad I deserve a cute girl to hug in return for that #the yearning has been especially strong again as of late. especially since I saw a commission again yesterday #now I wish Valeria was way taller than me so she would look hot while looking down at me. but alas she's probably the same height as me #no amount of cute gir's love manga could ever cure my yearning I feel as though it's terminal 😔#will I continue to be cringe in the tags? absolutely! I've got another request for one of the girls. a really fun one too #looking forward to writing that one!#I'm gonna post three times today so I can get out all the requests again and be left to me imagining giving a cute girl a hug

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ghouljams · 9 months

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Fae!Soap idea!

It's a life drawing session and, arrogant as he is, Soap's the model and his future Darling's a horror artist.

Although she doesn't have any sort of sight or magic she paints/draws him as the real him like she's picking up on it subconsciously? Maybe to make her immune to his life draining influence she's had health struggles before and so if she notices destructive patterns forming she's quick to correct them and uses routine and self care to pace herself?

Blurb number two! This Darling escapes Soap's clutches before he can get his hooks in them...

Figure drawing is one of your favorite classes. You can turn your brain off and let the charcoal scratching fill your thoughts. There's just something so satisfying about giving your process over to the process and shapes of the human form. You've always heard people complain about figure drawing classes and anatomy, but you find it fascinating. Especially since your professor gave you full permission to add your own spins on your art. As long as the anatomy and gesture is sound.

The guy today is easy on the eyes, easier on the inspiration. One look at his sea glass eyes and you know exactly what you're drawing. He sets himself up in pose, your professor arranges the fabric draping how they want and gives the go ahead.

The scratch of pencil and coal against drafting paper fills the room. The man in the middle, Soap you think is his name, seems in his element. He positively glows under the cold fluorescent lights, eyes darting around the room. You glance around your easel as you lay down the basic shapes of your sketch, tracing the lines of Soap's form to be sure you're getting the anatomy right.

You meet his eyes before you look back at your easel, and he smiles. You feel your heart race, blood pounding in your ears. Electricity sparks in his eyes, and you feel all the more confident in your inspiration.

You spend the next hour getting your sketch plot and shaded. Shying away from Soap's gaze when you meet it. It feels like he's staring at you the whole class. No, you're sure he's staring at you, because when your professor calls time his hand grabs your easel.

"What're you working on there, Bonnie?" Soap asks, smooth and seductive. You keep your eyes on his face and not the loose knot of his robe as he leans to check your work. He stills, his good natured smile falling.

Your paper is dark and smudged, your fingers having been dragged through the charcoal to add extra intrigue to the shadows. Soap's form fills only half the sketch, the rest of it filled with heavy shadow, eyes and spiderwebs. Each lacing thread spinning from Soap and tying the eyes together. You're quite proud of the delicate threads, the way you carved out negative space with your eraser. Your even more proud of the figure in the center of your canvas.

The anatomy is sound, and you haven't changed anything about Soap's look significantly, but there's something sort of sinister about him. Unnerving. It's the look in his eyes.

The same one he gives you now. You don't think anyone has ever looked at you like that, with absolute predatory loathing. It's gone in an instant, so quickly you think you imagined it.

"Spooky," He tells you with a fresh smile.

"Yeah I-" You try to shake yourself from what felt like a stare down with a mountain lion, "I mostly do horror."

"Mostly or only?" Soap hums tearing the sketch from your pad, you don't stop him.

"It's my favorite, uh, that's not-"

"You mind if I keep this?" He rolls up the charcoal drawing with practiced ease, cutting you off from protesting. You hesitate and give half a nod. He gives you a wink in thanks and goes to talk to one of the other students.

You don't see them or Soap in class again.

#Fae!Soap #john soap mactavish #soap modern warfare #johnny soap mactavish #I don't want to tag this as x reader since there's no romance or anything #this was a fun stretch of the old muscles tho #Soap loves the art but he can't have an artist showing the world what he is #that's no fun #he shows the 141 the drawing and they're like “huh yeah that's you alright”#this is why he doesn't like seers

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luckycharms1701 · 1 month

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Lucky I write down potential asks in my notes and literally just scribbled this today so the fact hur open now is a wild coincidence and also ily /p have a great night !!! Drink fluids !!

The set up premise might be.. different? so ignore if inspiration doesn't tickle ur scrote but I am a person who eats spicy food on a daily basis and if it's painful enough it can look like a damn sexual experience(panting, sweating, flushed face, gr/moaning(in pain), whines, milk spills, the works). I can see bay Mikey doing some kind of prank or dare without knowing what would stir within until suddenly ur being dragged off to his bedroom trading one heat for another-

I'd hoped this was just about blurbish length and that I make sense ;-; (I am so nervous about sending request asks in I am ill)

(-gornack but anon cuz if i sound nonsensical I don't want the embarrassment of having my account attached)

^ how i felt reading this ask

there is nothing to be embarrassed about here!!

sorry for the fade to black but hope you enjoy anyway!

It takes exactly three wings for you to realize that you’ve made a mistake. You pause when the heat hits your tongue, and that is another mistake. You swallow without tasting anything and look at Mikey’s expectant face with a shaky smile. “No problem!” You give him a thumbs up, hoping he’ll ignore the increasing redness you can feel in your face.

When Mikey came to you, begging to recreate those videos he was obsessed with where people eat progressively spicier food, you knew this would happen. You knew. But one look into those tearful puppy dog eyes and you folded faster than wet cardboard. Now you (and your relatively low spice tolerance) find yourself wishing that you weren’t head over heels for him.

“Yes!” Mikey cheers with his hands in the air, and all the pain you are about to endure is immediately worth it. Damn him. You look back down at the remainder of the wing in your hand and both dread and determination run through your veins. Well, mama didn’t raise no quitter. You bring the little bomb to your mouth and eat the rest of it, trying and failing to keep the sauce off your lips. Shit.

You nibble on some bread to help with the heat, saving the milk for later when you’re truly suffering. Your fingers tap along to the beat of the music Mikey put on as you look for the next spicy little enemy. Instead of offering you the next saucy wing, Mikey is staring. At your lips, specifically. You touch them hesitantly. They feel a little inflamed but dry. “Did I miss some sauce or something?” Mikey shakes his head with an unusually (even for him) loud “No! You’re fine.” You shrug and reach for the wing he offers you.

Sweat forms on your brow before the heat hits, and you brace yourself just in time. A breathy “oh” leaves your parted lips as the heat rolls through your mouth like thunder. You give in and reach for the milk as the heat crests, gulping a little too quickly and spilling some. When the teasing you expect from your best friend doesn’t manifest, you try to contain your panting and look up to find him once again staring at your mouth. “Okay, I know what’s up with me, but what’s up with you?” You reach up and swipe at the line of milk dribbling down your chin with your thumb, and Mikey visibly swallows.

“N-nothing, angel. Just wondering if you’re still up for this. You look… heated.” You groan loudly at what you assume is a very bad pun, holding out your hand for the next torture device. The heat in your mouth is now at an alarmingly high steady burn, but you are trying to ignore that in favor of getting through this ordeal.

“Hit me, Michelangelo.” He mutters something under his breath that you can’t hear over the music, and you study him as he hands you the next wing. He is twitchy, eyes dark as he watches your fingers wrap around the meat. Wondering why Mikey is acting so weird is a good distraction from the pain in your mouth, so you continue to observe him as you raise the fifth wing to your mouth.

It seems almost like Mikey is the one on the spot, you muse as you chew, with the way he can’t sit still. He’s looking everywhere except at you now, fingers tapping agitatedly on the can of Orange Crush in between his hands on the table. Then the heat hits you like a brick wall, and there is no room in your head for anything except the stinging pain. Tears fill your eyes as you whimper.

Mikey’s chair scraping across the floor startles you as you chug some milk, and you spill some again. Your whimper turns into a groan as more milk dribbles down your chin. How embarrassing. The milk pools in your hand as you try in vain to keep it from getting everywhere.

“Okay, that’s it!”

Before you can process what’s happening beyond the fire raging in your mouth, Mikey rounds the table and picks you up. You stutter his name, hands flailing, beyond bewildered. He ignores you and beelines for his room, squeezing you firmly against his plastron.The door closes with an ominous snick, and you brace yourself, still panting from the heat of the wings. The tension leaves you though, as Mikey tosses you on the bed and shows you exactly why he was acting so weird. Oh. Ohhhhh. OH.

~~~

head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic @writinandcrying @xnorthstar3x @morenovix218 @donniesgirlie @gornackeaterofworlds

#in case anyone is wondering #when mikey is muttering he says 'oh i'll /hit you/ alright. hit you with my dick'#you're welcome 😙#i had a lot of fun writing this! very tongue in cheek that's my favorite #also thank you for the well wishes i am happy to be back uvu #i've said it before and i'll say it again: i LOVE getting requests PLEASE send them to me #zero need to be anxious i get giddy whenever one comes in #talking tag #writing tag #bayverse mikey #bayverse mikey x reader #tmnt

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navyhyuck · 5 months

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let me go — 1.1k words, choi beomgyu

warnings: explicit and implied drug use (molly/ecstasy), vampire!gyu, pretty suggestive, reader hallucinates

a/n: DON’T DO DRUGS!!! this is purely fiction!!! and i am never encouraging drug use of any sort! this is actually outrageous and slightly dark, i sincerely and truly apologize. anyway, i wrote this around when dark blood came out (rip it’s been 7 months) and still.. it is my favorite concept from enha ever, dare i say their best..? anyway! enjoy and pls leave feedback <3

yeonjun warned you not to go too far tonight.

something about you ‘attracting attention’ when you’re entering a club you’ve never set foot in before, stumbling in your tracks with hands grasping at kai’s t-shirt, quiet giggles tumbling from your mouth as you’re led instead. everything’s spinning around you, blurring reds and greens, yet the bouncer seems the most unfazed, welcoming you in with a burning smile that should send red flags waving through your mind. but it doesn’t, no, of course not. that guy was just so nice to you.

and it doesn’t help when you’re leaning back shamelessly, over yeonjun’s chest on the small couch you were given, blinking teary-eyed at an unfamiliar, handsome boy above you, begging silently with your tongue outstretched, asking with your palm grazing over his shoulder–just to press that sweet little pill into your mouth. he obliges eventually, watching as you swallow intently, sighing deeply and collapsing against the other boy.

“fucking hell, y/n, what did we say—”

“relax,” you’re waving a hand in his direction, pulling yourself away to collect yourself, if that’s even possible. yeonjun’s eyes are sparkling–probably in anger or worry–but, ah, no. he’s doing just fine, you see, there’s a shining sound in the way he speaks to you. “that’s—my chem TA. his name’s soobin. i know him, he won’t kill me. i promise.” you smile widely, patting at his shoulder.

he knows you won’t lie to him, of course not, but when you’re already flushed from head to toe, slowly losing your senses as you speak to kai–who’s nodding politely at every word that falls from your mouth–it’ll be too much eventually. but your sweet chemistry TA being your plug? yeonjun wonders how much you’ve done to get him to behave like that.

but you’ve got that talent locked and loaded under your belt, waiting to leave its cage the moment you focus your eyes on the next target. yet now, as kai’s responding to you under his breath (or loudly. you can’t tell anyway.), there’s eyes on you already: the barrel of the gun pointed right at you, aiming just where it hits the best—you can almost taste it.

and it’s so sweet, even when you’re locking eyes with a familiar stranger who stands a few feet away, leaning against the bar counter in such an inviting position. his lips are so red, you think, oh, but you can’t see too well anyway. yeonjun’s wrapping a hand around your waist, just as he always does, so protective of you in your most vulnerable state but no–he doesn’t like that. you swear he’s come closer, barely in a millisecond that you feel as though you’re dreaming (but true hallucinations feel like reality).

before you can pull away, charm him on your own, such beauty stands right in front of you, outstretching a hand with a white smile. “your name, princess?” oh, yes, you’re hooked already.

“y/n,” you can’t tear your eyes away, it’s too tempting. and you place your hand in his, breath hitching easily when he presses his lips against your skin, peeking through eyelashes as he does so. a drug-like scent surrounds him, sweet and addicting, and everything muffles around you as you inhale.

you let him gather you away, barely registering yeonjun’s voice as he loses his grip on you. but no, you’ve never wanted anything so much before, you don’t think. even sober, red lips would catch your gaze from a mile away.

“who are you?” is the only thing you manage to ask—dizzily as you follow the stranger’s steps, dancing on the tips of your toes. his hand is ice-cold, sending shivers down your spine, and you don’t dare look away. it’s all too tempting.

he tells you his name is beomgyu. oh, beomgyu! he’s so pretty, so pretty, you can reach out and brush the gorgeous locks of brown hair away from his eyes, gazing into them as if there was no tomorrow. he’d look so close—he’s so close, eyelashes nearly tangling in yours (is that possible?) as he smiles at you. it may be sinister—who cares? you’d do anything for him.

beomgyu is so sweet, perching you on his lap, locking on you, purring “princess, you’d invite me inside your house, wouldn’t you?” yes! yes, oh yes you would. why not? he’s such a good guest, so good to you, you pull him past that stupid door and kiss him with every ounce of desire in your body. he’s caressing your face, admiring you, only you, all you.

you’re kissing him first, pressing impatiently against him, and it is so dreamy. like a dream! his locks of hair can tangle between your individual fingers—hell, you could braid it when you press insistently into his mouth. this is all you’ve ever wanted, and when he pulls back, glazing over you, he tells you he wants to bite.

“princess…” and you will never disagree. that fire in your body has you sweating, your body temperature shooting through the roof, and you’re baring your neck. your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, how encouraging, and the pain is replaced with an unadulterated pleasure—you’re nearly writhing.

you wish you had someone as sweet as beomgyu—so handsome, so pretty, so so sweet—dripping your blood on the dress you wore just for him. he’d lean back in towards you, gripping your waist, sinking fangs into you to tell you that you’re his, but there’s a falter in the way he fumbles with you. there’s a grip on your arm—what?

“y/n!” beomgyu isn’t speaking any longer (didn’t you invite him in?), what have you done? you…you don’t know, he doesn’t seem too happy. there are tears, he can’t hold you any longer—what have you done? “y/n! look—look at me!” what have you done?

the red doesn’t seem to return—you cannot find his lips anymore. yeonjun’s yanking your arm again, and you’re locked too deep in his embrace. he’s shouting—why is he shouting? what have you done? where is he? where … where is he? “where…?”

there’s a certain way the daze of it all gets your brain functioning, yeonjun knows this, he shouldn’t have let you walk away. it always ends up like this. the skirt you’re wearing is ripped now, in this secret room of no one, but he’s got you. he’s got you now, and you won’t let go. you won’t let go.

you won’t … let go.

#this would’ve been perfect for halloween but alas #txt scenarios #tomorrow x together scenarios #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu imagines #txt imagines #txt aus #beomgyu headcanons #txt fluff #txt angst #txt suggestive #alright i hope this shows up in tags good night

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animasola86 · 10 months

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Just another adventure, right?

My interpretation of the infamous Scriptorium scene:

2.2k words

Sebastian x gn!reader/mc (1st person POV)

hurt/comfort/fluff

(Original screenshot by @gamesscreens, this post here)

“Cast it on me,” I said and stared up at him in a determination I didn't know I still had in me.

“What?” Sebastian exclaimed. “No! You can't be serious!”

“What do you expect we do then?” I hissed, looking back to where Ominis was pacing up and down the dark corridor nervously. “Ominis refuses to have anything to do with this and I completely understand it. I don't see how I could ever cast the curse as well, but, since you know it, you should cast it. It's our only way out of this, Sebastian!”

He stared at me with his jaw clenched and his lips tight, his eyes dark and conflicted. Then he shook his head and turned away, staring at the door that kept us from leaving.

I walked up to him and placed a hand on his back, gently curling my fingertips against the fabric of his robes. He slightly stiffened at my touch, but then turned his head towards me.

“You can do this,” I whispered. “I trust you...”

He turned around fully, his height and dark demeanour towering over me like an even darker shadow in our grim surroundings.

“You trust me to hurt you?” He inhaled deeply. “I don't want to hurt you. I... can't do this... to you,” his voice was low, vibrating through my very core. “You realize I have to mean it... for it to work...” He shook his head and turned around again, his profile set. “And I certainly do not mean to hurt you...”

“Then pretend I'm somebody else!” I said with a sudden idea. I saw him frowning at that. “Here, I can even put up my hood and turn around!” I started grabbing my hood, but he quickly got a hold of my wrists. I stared up at him with my mouth open. “Sebastian, please!” I breathed. “I know it's a lot to ask, but... only you can do it.”

He looked at me with an intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribcage, that made my knees weak. A shiver ran down my spine as his fingers let go of my wrists and turned to the hood of my robes instead, as he very carefully pulled it over my head. His hands found my face and while his thumbs gently caressed my cheeks, he leaned down towards me. I could feel his breath on my lips as he brought his face even closer until he pressed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Just another adventure, right?” I heard him whisper, or rather I felt his voice humming deeply against my skin.

My hands found the front of his robes and I gingerly dug my fingers into them. “Yes,” I breathed.

He inhaled deeply, then leaned back up and pressed his lips quickly on my forehead. I looked up at him unable to say anything else. I couldn't imagine the turmoil (well, a little bit) raging inside of him. Perhaps if I had been forced to do this to him, I would have struggled in the same way, probably even more, considering I still found it hard to fight even the bad guys like goblins or Dark wizards. But to purposefully hurt someone you... loved...

I swallowed hard and turned around, facing the wall, showing him that I was ready (even though I clearly wasn't, I had no idea what to expect). I braced myself, but hearing his equally strained breaths behind me didn't really ease the knot that twisted my stomach. But it was nothing compared to what was to come.

His voice was almost cold, detached, when he shouted: “Crucio!”

The impact was immediate. Like a fiery hot breeze of the sharpest needles imaginable it rushed through me and then it spread. I heard my own screams echoing loudly off the walls as I staggered, sinking to my knees, my muscles tightening painfully. I grasped at my chest as my body convulsed in never ending spasms of agony, like tiny blades piercing my skin, penetrating deeply, twisting around mercilessly, through every fibre of my being. And it was lingering, sinking deeper, corrupting every nerve. I screamed and cried and my tears felt hot and raw on my hurting skin. All I felt was pain, there was nothing else.

Everything hurt.

And it took me the longest moment to realize that I was suddenly no longer alone on the floor. Two arms had wrapped themselves around my writhing form, holding me tightly pressed against a warm chest. And as the worst seemed to be over slowly, though I kept feeling the occasional twitch from my still highly stimulated nerves, I noticed the shaking of another body. Shuddering breaths that were not my own echoed in my ears. Then I felt his voice, puffed against the skin of my neck as he pressed his face against me.

“I'm so sorry,” Sebastian breathed barely audible, his voice shaking badly. “I... I didn't... want this...” He hugged me to his chest, held me as if I was slipping away, squeezed the pain away with every passing heartbeat. And I just lay in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder, trying to fight the urge to just let go and sleep... forever...

When I finally found the strength to move again, I raised my hands gingerly, snaking my arms around him, grabbing at the back of his robes. My movement caused him to hold me tighter, as he inhaled sharply. Then he leaned me back a little and our gazes met. His eyes were dark and clouded, the skin around them red, and his cheeks were wet. He looked at me with his eyebrows knitted and the saddest look I had ever seen on his freckled face. His lips were trembling. I swallowed hard, then winced at the still hurting sensation of it. His gaze immediately grew even darker and I heard him take an unsteady breath.

“Are you...” His voice broke before he could finish his question.

I slowly, weakly raised a hand to touch his face. My fingertips slid over his wet skin and when I did so, I saw a single tear leave the corner of his eye. He tried to blink it away, but I caught it with my thumb and gently caressed his cheek. I raised my other hand and grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull myself up a little. He helped me by pulling his arms tighter around my waist, lifting me onto his lap as he did so.

Now both my hands were holding his face and I held onto it as I pulled myself even closer to him, until his warm, shuddering breath ghosted my lips. “I'm fine,” I whispered, looking into his dark, conflicted eyes. “I'm fine,” I repeated as I caressed his face, my fingertips slipping between his dark, messy locks as my thumbs wiped at his heated skin. “It's alright...”

When he closed his eyes, a few more tears slipped from his lashes and the tension in his face eased a little. His hands clawed at the back of my robes, before they, too, relaxed and started rubbing my back gently. I breathed deeply against his slightly parted lips, my thumbs drawing circles on his cheekbones. The longest moment passed with my heart drumming against my ribs, as the last tremors of the curse slipped from my body.

I leaned in a little more, the tip of my nose nuzzling his skin, before I turned my head and pressed my cheek against his, merging the tears we had cried for and at the hand of each other. I felt him inhale sharply at that and his embrace became even tighter, to the point I had to push my elbows against his chest to not get completely smothered by the immense bear hug he was providing. “Sorry,” he breathed against me and loosened his grip with a tiny snivel.

I grabbed his face again and leaned back, and when he looked at me, his eyes were warm and intense. My thumbs found the corners of his mouth, my gaze wandering over the shape of his lips, and before I knew it, just when my body was finally relaxing again, I had closed my eyes and pressed my lips against his. It was just a short peck, out of instinct, but when I leaned back only the smallest bit, I felt his hand taking hold of my head, his fingers slipping into my hair as he held me close, and then it was him who pressed his lips against mine. It felt ten times more intense as he deepened the kiss, the warm feeling of his breath and the taste of his tears causing me to shiver against him.

His other hand found my face as my own hands wandered up and around his head to get lost in the thickness of his messy hair, my fingertips scraping over his scalp in a desperate attempt to hold onto anything to keep me from falling. But fall I did. Right into the warmth of his mouth, the safety of his embrace, the gentle caresses of his fingers. He tilted his head and adjusted his position beneath me, his lips closing around mine, gently sucking and pressing, tasting every inch of my mouth. I was utterly breathless when he eventually leaned back enough to allow my lips to part slightly, only to dive back in immediately at the sight of it.

I could feel his tongue gingerly pressing against my lower lip and I couldn't help but gasp as he pushed past it and slid into my mouth, my own tongue meeting his like a long awaited friend. (No. Lover.) I smiled at the thought, grabbing his hair tighter as I deepened the kiss by seemingly pressing my entire jaw against his. His hands grabbed my face, holding me in place as he circled his tongue around mine, now really tasting every inch of my mouth, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of my own.

I breathed loudly against him, completely forgetting everything around us, because there didn't seem to be anything else but the mouth and hands and taste and feel of the boy close to me, when a timid voice suddenly broke through the stupor of our kiss.

“Are... are you two alright? Can anyone say anything?” Ominis asked from the other side of the corridor, luckily completely oblivious to what was happening.

I felt Sebastian tense against me, the movement of his lips halted as he withdrew his tongue and leaned back only enough for us to lock eyes. I breathed against his lips, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. He smiled back feebly, his thumbs caressing my cheeks before he reluctantly let go and leaned back even more. I retrieved my hands from his hair, leaving it even messier than it was before. We looked at each other for another second, then I licked my lips and said, with my voice barely audible and slightly strained:

“I'm fine, Ominis, we're fine.”

“Did it work?” he asked and I heard his footsteps coming closer.

Sebastian quickly stood from our weird entanglement on the floor and helped me to my feet as well. I felt my knees shake, but I couldn't be sure if it was the curse or the kiss that had weakened them. While holding me with one arm, I saw him wipe at his eyes with the other, inhaling deeply as he did so. Then his gaze wandered past me towards the now open door and yet another room visible behind it.

“It did,” he said, his voice low and raspy.

I looked up at him, my hand finding his face. He met my gaze when my fingertips brushed his jaw. Before Ominis eventually reached us, Sebastian leaned down once more and gently pressed his lips against mine. I grabbed his face and kept him there just long enough, my lips desperate to feel his, until a deep sigh echoed through the corridor. We broke apart again and straightened up quickly.

“Could we please leave this place now?” Ominis said quietly, the glowing tip of his wand pulsing rhythmically in the air in front of him. For a moment I thought I saw a frown on his pale face and I blushed deeply when I wondered what he might have heard.

Yet as I saw the tiny smile on Sebastian's lips and the warmth inside his eyes, I knew I didn't care.

(Original screenshot by @deathlysallows, this post here)

Bonus:

Dear diary, today I had my first kiss with Sebastian. It was a wet one because we had both cried because, oh right, he had hit me with the Cruciatus Curse just before. I was in so much pain and he had been devastated about it and then it just happened. Hmm, yes, a moment I will never forget!

Bonus 2:

Ominis in the back, while the two of them are tongue deep inside the other's mouth: “You realize you're making out on top of the bones of my dead aunt, right?”

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lostarchivesoforpheus · 2 months

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`•- Rest Your Head

antonio paganini x gn reader

prompt: free space

warnings: physical touch, not proofread (yet), this is so rushed im sorry :,,)) might rewrite it later

a/n: i have literally been wanting to write for antonio for almost 2 months but i had so much requests to finish. i still have some requests but i wanna focus on the event and i am unbelievably happy that i finally get to write about him oml

"What are you doing out of bed?"

You jumped slightly as Antonio suddenly came up behind you, speaking softly as he places a warm blanket around your shoulders. He sighs quietly and hugs you from behind. "You're sick, you should be resting..."

You gently nudged him and shook your head, looking over at him with a slightly tired expression, though you try your best not to show it. You shrug. "I just wanted a snack."

He huffs and tightens his hold around you ever so slightly. "If you were hungry, you could've just told me, you know. I'll get something for you; You need to focus on getting enough rest. Let's get you back to bed." Carefully, he picks you up, carrying you back to your shared bedroom with ease. He gently sets you down on the soft mattress, covering you with the rest of the blankets in order to keep you warm and comfortable. He presses a light kiss to your forehead.

"Give me just a moment, I'll get some food for you. If there's anything else you need, let me know. You know I'd never hesitate if it means making you more comfortable." He exits the room for a few minutes before returning with a small tray of food. The aroma of fresh soup wafts into your nose as he carefully places the tray in front of you.

"I could've gotten it myself, you know... I just have a cold, it's nothing serious." You grumble, but you still pick up the spoon and begin eating the soup despite the complaints. He quietly sighs and sits down on a chair next to your bed with a small, worried frown. "You keep telling me that... I just want you to focus on resting, alright? I'll take care of everything for you. You need to focus on getting better." He places a hand on your forehead for a few moments, making sure you don't have a fever. When he feels nothing out of the ordinary, he gently pats your head and slowly returns his hand to his lap. "Just... Let me know if there's anything you need, alright? I want you to recover as quickly as possible."

"I know, I know. I just don't like being sick, is all..." You shrug as you swallow several more spoonfuls of soup. He flashes a small smile, chuckling quietly at your words. He shakes his head as he speaks in a gentle tone, "No one does, my dear, but if you just let me take care of you rather than being stubborn and getting out of bed every 25 minutes, then you'll start recovering faster. Now, rest up, alright? Let me handle everything else. I don't want you to remain ill for longer than you have to."

Playfully, you roll your eyes with a small grin, accepting your defeat. You scoop the last few spoonfuls of soup into your mouth, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before taking the empty bowl from you and moving to stand. "Fine, fine. I won't be stubborn and push myself, okay? You happy?" You banter a bit, and he nods and chuckles at your playfulness. As he walks to the door, he smiles as he flicks off the light. Just before he leaves, though, he whispers.

"Get some sleep now, darling, you need it if you don't want to be sick any longer. Rest your head, you deserve it."

a/n: im probably gonna refine this later but i just wanted to go ahead and get this out cuz im super behind on the event :,) i love antonio

thanks for reading, and remember to take care of yourself!

#`•- side hall in the archives: hurt/comfort #(not really hurt/comfort but im not about to make a seperate tag for sickfics okay. there wont be enough of them for a seperate tag alright)#`•- events in the archives: the philomena's propellente's countdown to valentines day #philomena's files #antonio paganini x reader #identity v x reader #idv x reader #fanfic #fanfic author #fanfiction #fanfiction author #x reader #identity v #idv #antonio paganini #identity v antonio #idv antonio #identity v violinist #idv violinist

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ickiess · 1 year

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price x gn!reader. 18+. smut. just a sexual blowjob between friends.

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"That's it, love, just like that." The praise goes straight to your head, making the blush on your face deepen. In between his legs, underneath his desk, your eyes close as your captain rolls his hips - softly fucking your throat in his office. The only sounds are the creak of his chair and the lewd noises coming from your own mouth. You can't help it when your hand moves between your own legs to try and relieve the pressure building there.

"Enjoying yourself?" Price teases but you hear his voice catch in his throat, feel his hands tighten in your hair as his hips buck just a bit deeper. As calm and collected he is trying to appear, he's falling closer to that edge because of you. The thought is enough to make you moan around him. There's a muffled curse under his breath as his hips buck again.

#uhm alright what even are the fandom tags lmfao #cod #call of duty #cod smut #call of duty smut #john price #price #john price x reader #price x reader #price smut #writing #my writing #gn!reader #im still scared to post writing in a fandom again lmaoooo so uh heres this and now i run and hide

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khalixvitae · 8 months

Text

★Under The Skin ★

Rook Hunt x Reader | ~3k words

Warnings: mentions of death and dying (not descriptive), a smattering of angst but we don’t have time to unpack all that; semi suggestive at points because I cannot seem to help myself; mentions of book 6 but nothing too descriptive! Reader is also implied to know Floyd. Vaguely canon compliant, takes place ambiguously after book 6

Info: I’ve been obsessed w the idea of Rook w an implied goth reader who collects bones and makes bone jewelry. Entirely self indulgent (i am goth and I collect bones and make jewelry Lmao). GN reader, no physical descriptors used other than that the reader wears jewelry.

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Rook Hunt was an odd duck, you’d always known that much for certain. He was hyper observant and yet seemingly unaware of social norms, constantly invading the personal space of those around him. Ever the chatterbox, he’d seamlessly suck any passersby into a whirlwind of a conversation, gleaning whatever information or entertainment he’d sought out before discarding his still confused target with a friendly adieu. He would regularly monologue, lyricize, and wax poetic about even the most mundane of things. Frankly it was difficult not to notice such glaring personality traits- he had a habit of making his eccentricities everyone’s business.

Even so, his outlandish tendencies and flowery language only further obscured what kind of person he was hiding beneath the surface (and beneath that bizarre hat). He was in Pomefiore, after all- and a Vice housewarden no less. It only made sense that his public persona, as bewildering as it may have seemed, was carefully crafted by his dexterous hands. Always guiding the conversation away from himself with a practiced ease, it was obvious he sought to keep any clear image of his character permanently out of focus. He was like a mirage- not quite tangible, his perimeter fuzzy and constructed only of contradictory statements or nearly mythological anecdotes. No matter how hard you tried to get a peek behind the veil, he was always just out of sight. You had always been certain that the trajectory of any arrow fired by those same hands would be far straighter, cleaner, than any conversation you could ever hope to have with the huntsman.

Which is what made your current situation all the more unexpected.

“And this one?” His eyes darted to another one of the many trinkets you’d scattered across your bed. Lithe fingers hesitated over the pendant he’d zeroed in on, an owlish gaze flickering up to meet your own. He wanted permission. How very unlike himself, you thought. Or perhaps it was more like him than he’d ever been in your presence- you had no way of knowing, of course. You pushed the thought away and instead nodded affirmatively. He plucked the necklace from the duvet, its weight remembered by an indentation in the plush down.

“Yeah, I found that amber while digging around on the beach with Ace and Deuce. I’d never seen inclusions like that before. It just needed a little polishing up and it made for a really nice piece. The other stones are tigers eye- I got those online.” He held the petrified resin up to the sunbeams streaming through your bedroom window, nodding affirmatively as you spoke.

“Magnifique! How lucky you are, mon Trickster.” He rolled the stones between his fingers, a musical lilt coloring his speech. “You have quite the collection- a proper Cabinet des Merveilles.”

You shrugged at that, glancing down at the innumerable treasures you’d accumulated. Well, treasures was a subjective title to say the least. Bones or teeth belonging to unknown animals, each fragment you’d found in the woods and painstakingly cleaned to later preserve. Carefully dried flowers from plants you’d never seen prior to your arrival in Twisted Wonderland, as well as some familiar varieties you’d taken comfort in coming across. Sea glass, petrified coral, and iridescent shells you’d collected on trips to the coast with your friends. A shadow box of butterfly specimens found around the school’s botanical gardens, each one you’d mounted with care. Evidence of your time there, proof of your experiences and your memories and your love for a foreign place you’d slowly made home.

When you managed to untangle yourself from your own sentimentality, you realized he was watching you. He was waiting. His vibrant green eyes were too green in the early evening light, shining like pools of opaque, still wet oil paint.

“I’m glad you like them,” you answered simply, your voice far more hoarse than you’d anticipated. The bizarre nature of your situation only hit you further when he shifted his weight, his attention now focused solely on you- as if you were a specimen in your own collection.

All of this because he’d inquired about your earrings in homeroom.

They were simple things, really. Pretty green glass beads strung together with tiny bones you’d unearthed on one of your many hikes. They had belonged to something small, and you were certain the delicate pieces were vertebrae. It was a wonder they were so intact- however despite their relatively pristine condition, you had no idea what creature they’d belonged to.

You figured they’d caught the light just right, or maybe you’d tilted your head just so- it didn’t take much to catch the hunter’s attention, after all. Whatever the case, halfway through the lesson you’d noticed his keen eyes on you. Your recognition did nothing to deter his blatant staring; in fact, he’d waved at you. As strange as it may have been, you didn’t pay it much mind. Rook was odd, sure, but he’d never done anything outright malicious. Well, not towards you. This kind of behavior was well within his usual repertoire and therefore easy enough to ignore.

In much the same way, it wasn’t totally unexpected for him to descend upon you as soon as the bell rang for dismissal. Rook wasn’t an especially large guy, at least not compared to some of your other classmates. He was broad shouldered and sturdily built, sure, but he wasn’t a notable giant like Jack Howl. And yet something about Rook made him loom, an imposing presence despite his cheerful cadence and charismatic smile. He always toed a fine line, giving the impression that he was all over you without ever once making physical contact. Your encounter that day had been no different; he’d spouted off a laundry list of greetings and praises, only half of which you’d managed to catch, before dipping in closer to view your handiwork.

“Oh! Beau savoir-faire! Did you make these yourself, Trickster?” The way he’d honed in on the dangling vertebrae made you keenly aware of how they framed the vulnerable column of your throat; the equivalent to a neon sign for any apex predator, Rook himself included. Feeling ever more exposed, the rest of the conversation passed with a quickness you had grown to expect from the hunter. Before you knew it, you’d invited him to come by Ramshackle so he could view the rest of your collection. After all, it wasn’t often that someone took vested interest in your little hobby. Ace thought it was outright creepy. Shells were fine, and he could almost (almost) give the butterfly thing a pass, but bones were where he drew the line and made a point to tell you so. And tell you he did. Frequently. Deuce was less outright rude about his discomfort- he wasn’t Ace, after all- but the squeamish look on his face was enough to deter you from showing him any unusual specimens.

When you’d arrived home from classes that day, Rook was already on your doorstep. He looked excited, nearly childlike in his enthusiasm. You’d resolved to yourself then that letting him into Ramshackle would do no harm- Rook was strange, yes, but he was only as dangerous as the rest of your peers. He’d never been remotely unkind to you; in fact, he’d been extraordinarily helpful on more than one occasion. Besides, he was already there, patiently waiting for you on your own stoop. Turning him away now would be just plain rude, not to mention he often made pleasant company.

And so there you were, settled across from Rook Hunt of all people. Alone, in your otherwise desolate dorm- the Great Seven only knew where Grim had slinked off to when your guest arrived. Even the ghosts had made themselves scarce since you’d guided Rook to your bedroom. That being several hours prior, you were astonished that not a solitary soul had intruded upon your peace. Normally something or someone would’ve stirred up trouble for you by then, but the dormitory was silent. He was still silently observing you, and that exposed feeling from earlier in the day seeped back into your bones.

“The ones you’re wearing. May I look at them again? The lighting here is much better, no?” As always he sounded so sublimely agreeable, and it would’ve felt even more revealing to tell him no. Not that you wanted to tell him no, necessarily. If anything, you didn’t mind the thought of him getting closer. That was a damning thought you forced down immediately as you gave him the go ahead. He removed his hat and placed it somewhere beside him- you didn’t keep track of where, far too focused on his reasoning for doing so. He leaned in closer, so close in fact that the brim of his trademark accessory would’ve prevented him from achieving the proximity.

“Snake vertebrae,” he murmured, as if identifying them didn’t take a moment’s thought. “And my, how wonderfully preserved! You’re quite talented, mon Trickster.” His breath grazed your cheek as he spoke, words ringing impossibly close to your ear. The sudden thought that he smelled nice passed over you, only serving to grow your list of absolutely damning thoughts about Rook Hunt. The subsequent realization that there was a list to begin with would have made your blood run cold had the heat of your embarrassment not warmed you down to your bones.

You briefly recalled one of Floyd Leech’s many complaints he’d voiced to you on your living room floor. He’d dropped in uninvited, if memory served you right, but you’d digress for the moment. You weren’t sure of the full context- you didn’t make point to pay that much attention when Floyd was in one of his moods- but what you did remember was a rather innocuous detail he’d given you about the hunter sitting on your bed. That he only wore perfumes when he wanted to be noticed. Of course Floyd’s delivery had been much more coarse and insulting, but nonetheless. And the herbal, nearly floral scent you’d caught was definitely cosmetic, you were sure of that. So he wanted to be noticed by you, then? Another idea to add to your ever growing list.

The soft shuffling of leather brought your senses back into sharp focus. He’d removed one of his gloves, brandishing his bare hand in your line of sight. “May I?”

You nodded silently, watching it for as long as you could. A gentle tug on your earring let you know he was turning the charms around, looking it over carefully with those unnerving eyes of his. Wheatgrass strands of his cropped hair tickled your skin, but you held as still as one of the courtyard statues.

When he finally sat back he looked more than pleased. “Your finds are most impressive,” he chittered, tapping his bare fingers against his gloved ones. You watched them for a moment, taking note of the practiced calluses on each exposed fingertip- marks of his upbringing that even Vil’s carefully coordinated skincare routines couldn’t fully erase.

“But why do you collect them?”

The question wasn’t entirely unexpected- it was quite common for people to be curious about what motivated such a strange hobby. What was unexpected though was the glint in his eye. Something hopeful and genuine brewed behind his placid expression, something you couldn’t quite place but intended to figure out.

“Because they’re beautiful,” you replied, far surer and more steadfast than you’d been moments before.

“Even though they’re dead?” He raised a manicured eyebrow at you expectantly, the shine of his eyes catching the sun’s last bright rays.

“Of course. I mean why wouldn’t they be? It’s not like death itself is innately ugly. And dead things aren’t either.” It was your turn to lean forward, soaking up his expression that wasn’t all that unlike surprise.

A quiet laugh bubbled up past his lips. “So you do not fear death, then?”

You shook your head, matching the soft smile he offered you in exchange for your thoughts. “Death, no. Dying? Absolutely. Dying has a sensation- well, probably, its not like I’ve done it before- and that’s what I’m afraid of. What it feels like. I’m way more impartial when it comes to death itself. Mostly because it’s also impartial. It just is. It’s not malicious, or calculating. It’s just there.”

You brushed a hand over your trinkets, choosing your next words carefully. “I guess the only scary part about death is that when you’re dead, you run the risk of being forgotten. I mean, that’s why stuff like ruins and run down cemeteries are a thing. It’s not that those things don’t matter anymore because they’re dead, but because they’ve been forgotten about. Bones are a lot like that. Just because they aren’t up and moving anymore doesn’t mean they just cease to exist. The thought of dead things being forgotten about… bothers me? I guess? Especially when they’re beautiful things. Because all beautiful things were loved at some point, even in passing.” Perhaps this was all getting a little too introspective. Part of you wondered if you were a forgotten thing back in your own world; what had your loved ones done? Sometimes you felt like a dead thing with no body, no grave for them to visit. Something that had truly ceased to exist outside the memory of those around you. You worried you were revealing far too much, however his wide eyes and parted lips were all the encouragement you’d needed to continue forward.

“So I like to find them and clean them up. Yeah they’re inanimate now, but they deserve to be remembered and loved, even if they’ve changed. And I do love them. They’re special to me, just like the times and places I found them.”

Rook was wound taut like a bowstring, his posture rigid and features affixed in an expression of unmistakable awe. And there he was. Suddenly his usual shifting demeanor was frozen in time. The smoke and mirrors he usually deployed were no longer in effect, and you were absolutely sure that you were getting an honest look at him. Staring at him like that, you could recall a few instances where you’d seen him in momentary clarity. When he’d jump to protect his juniors, or when he nearly took off alone during the STYX debacle, and when something would catch him so off guard he’d throw his head back in unpracticed laughter. This was that Rook. The prolonged sight made it hard to breathe.

The final fiery glows of the setting sun illuminated him, now uninterrupted by the wide brim of his hat that still lay discarded on your bed. In the warm evening light you could faintly see the ghosts of freckles along his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, faded but still a part of him. His soft woodsy perfumes, the bare hand laid flat against your duvet and the hopeful way he stared at you, as if begging you to accept some sort of invitation you’d never consciously received.

For the first time you could recall, he looked weak.

And just as quickly, he began to slip away. His long lashes fluttered and he forced a quiet laugh- he was beginning to recompose his facade piece by piece. He went to work slipping on his missing glove, beginning one of his typical monologues- he was running. Whatever silent offer he’d given you, you’d sorely missed your chance. If you didn’t think of something, anything to stop him, you were sure this wouldn’t happen again. “Magnifique! Another devoted to the pursuit of love, much like myself! How dreadful it is that the evening is drawing to a close-“

“You’re so beautiful.”

Whatever door he’d tried to close was promptly blown off its hinges. There was a heavy silence that settled over the two of you as his already wide eyes grew to the size of saucers. The sun had fully dipped below the horizon, and now the fluorescent street lamp by your window illuminated his visage in new shades of blue.

“Excusez-moi?” His honey colored lashes fluttered as he once again met your gaze. You may as well have punched him in the gut.

“I said you’re beautiful, Rook.” By lightly nudging his hand away from his hat you only further disarmed him. Something in his posture went lax; the bowstring had finally snapped, leaving him boneless, powerless beneath your intense gaze. He looked relieved. Being so exposed was exhausting, yet set a visible shiver down his spine.

All at once you placed that glint in his eyes from before, his silent request coming into vivid focus. An aching desire to be a part of your larger collection- something to be coveted, something to be loved regardless of form. You supposed one devoted to the pursuit of love would crave it the most. Had that been what this was from the start? His benevolent assistance, his endless compliments, his unwavering attention? You’d written it off as his usual eccentricities, but had he been subtly peacocking this whole time? The way he allowed you to ever so gently remove both gloves and press your skin against his gave you all the confirmation you needed. When you trailed your fingertips along his forearms before encircling his wrists, he all but pushed them into your grip. There was something else in his verdant gaze, something that told you he’d ask you to maim him and enthusiastically thank you after the fact. Not that you’d ever want to harm him at all; no, seeing him in such a state gave you an abrupt and thorough understanding of his desire to protect all things beautiful.

However, Rook would, in fact, leave shortly after. Your time had drawn to a close, and he did have duties to tend to at his own dormitory. Part of you worried he wouldn’t come back- that the moment of weakness the huntsman shared would be regretted as soon as he slipped away.

How foolish of you.

A few days afterward on your way to class, you noticed something glinting in the morning light. An arrow, cleanly wedged into the clapboard by your front door. A little bag of trinkets had been secured to it, along with a note.

“Pour le Cabinet des Merveilles de mon amour” - R.

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Tag list for those of y’all who were on the same wavelength over the last few days! Feel free to DM to be added! A Vil fic is probably gonna be next bc I have Pomefiore brainworms alsjdkdj (and dm if you wish to be removed ofc! <3)

@v-anrouge @vtoriacore @phoneymedic @gum-gum-time

#alright boys here it is #me being mentally unwell over rook hunt in the open #I’ve reformatted this so many times but i figured id just floor it while I had a moment !#twst #twisted wonderland #twst rook #rook hunt #x reader #khalix writes （＾＿＾）☆#rook hunt x reader #I am so nervous yikes #edit I FORGOT THE TAG LIST EEEK

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hcdragonwrites · 7 months

Text

Peach Flesh @jttw-monkeybusiness fic

Art by @jttw-monkeybusiness - characters by @jttw-monkeybusiness

TRIGGER WARNING. TRIGGER WARNING. THIS FIC IS 18+ THERE WILL BE GORE AND BLOOD, VIOLENCE AND SEX IN THIS. NON CON ELEMENTS TOO. PLS IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU READ ANY OF MY OTHER ITEMS. YOU HAVE BEEN FORWARNED.

Welcome to my fic! This is like a Filler between Kiris Wonderous comics of the Six eared monster and Wukongs eventual slaying of him. I had @celestialkiri help and brain to pick over as I asked them a slew of questions. They also proof read for me so I made sure i got their boy just right.

ALSO THIS IS A BAD MAN. A BAD MONKEY. I HAVE MAH SPRAY BOTTLE READY-HE WILL EAT YOU IN THE “DEAD FOREVER” KIND OF WAY.

(Though I may accidentally have tripped you all up with this one my bad friends.)

I am also just posting it to Ao3 so the tags can def warn people TWICE about whats in the fic.

ANYWAY ENJOY THE STINKY MAN HIMSELF. (Im sorry sophie i will write you happy i promise)

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year

Note

Sobbing and crying just saw your post of us sounding like a Sim, and I am DYING.

What if it went the other way? They can understand us, but we can't understand them!

Us : hey so what the fuck is happening why tf am I in genshin impact

Them : OMG ASKSKSKSKS FEDERRRALL MEERKK TREEESO! (Omg it's the divine God I'm shittinh myself oml) or whatever idk)

Us: excuse me what the fuck did you just say about my mother? (US mishearing or maybe the words are randomized? Who knows)

Everyone just being confused and frustrated on why you can't understand them. Is it because they aren't worshipping you enough? Maybe some friendship level BS where obly those who are lvl 10 can understand u or smth? Who knows, certainly not the Creator.

I highkey am thinking about writing smth for this now but having it be for like each archons reaction or smthin but who knows. I just wanna see a bunch of divine beings confused outta their mind in like whatever cities square and it turning into a "holy game of charades"

Also happy early birthday ajdjdjkdkdkdk

I”M SO LATE SO THANK YOU FOR THE BDAY WISHES LMAO SORRY KARMA MY BELOVED

AHHHHH U INSPIRED ME BY THE ARCHONS HOLY GAME OF CHARADES-

AND OH NO LVL 10 ONLY FRIENDSHIP UNDERSTANDING-

(づ￣ ³￣)づ here have a hug for your patience- sorry karma!! :')

LMAO this inuyasha gif- obviously everyone else guessing what ur doing and the 2 others r like ppl like Venti or Kaeya who r just fucking with ppl by joining you lol

OK BUT WHO DO U HAVE LVL 10 FRIENDSHIP?!

BC I GOT NOBODY 😭

ITS RLLY HARD TO DO OKAY-

I HAVE TO PUT ACTUAL EFFORT INTO THE FEW THAT ARE LEVEL 4-5

ID BE SO FUCKED-

Oh no.

Oh god (you??) no.

What if you had the highest friendship with little d**ks like Scaramouche.

noooOOOOOO

He’d be like, “Eh, I don’t feel like translating today.” 💀

Also I’m rolling with the idea that

perfect understanding = lvl 10,

Most words 7-9

Some words 5-6

Kinda ?? they get 2 words per sentence or smth 3-4

Basically nothing 1-2

◇

Anyway ornery bitches like Scara/Xiao/Alhaitham/Rosaria/Diluc (all for diff reasons like diluc/xiao would just be overwhelmed and dont like ppl that much lol, whereas haitham doesnt give a fuck lmao) would kinda suck to have as translators

OH NOT THE PEOPLE WHO WOULD JUST LIE ABOUT WHAT U SAID ON PURPOSE TO DECEIVE THE MASSES LIKE Heizou/Yae Miko/Kaeya/Venti

They pull something like “oh well the god of gods said I could have the last slice of cake/an extra glass of wine hehe”

For different reasons these people would also be ROUGH translators: FISCHL OH NO- , Zhongli, Albedo (he simply would omit “unnecessary details”, cyno, ITTO PLEASE, Raiden (puppet) bc shed take stuff too far/too literally u would never be able to communicate jokes, Razor (im sorry bbyboy), Shenhe

THE CHARADDEEESSS

THE CHARADES OF THE GODS

You may or may not get another title of a jokester god bc of these SILLY charades 💀

The people u have higher levels of friendship with giving hints LMAO

♤

“Uhhh….. Oh! Oh! Greatest Lord wishes to see a dance performance!”

Nahida’s sweet voice rings out in Yujing Terrace, her tiny hand waving in the air like an elementary student who’s really excited to answer. …Which isn’t that far off honestly.

“Hmm, I disagree Buer, I believe the Hundun Emperor is saying they wish to take a bath perhaps. I am also attempting to use context, as it has been a long day for them.” Zhongli is in his classic “majestic thinking gentleman” pose, and you’d admire it more if it weren’t for the fact that they don’t seem to be getting what you’re saying.

You hadn’t yet found someone with a higher friendship level than 2 or 3 (hey, don’t blame yourself, you really have to put effort into friendship levels to get them anywhere and you were still busy screwing around in Sumeru when you got spirited away).

So needless to say, most people were getting “the, me, I, you, etc.” rather than the actual important keywords you needed them to, hence the godly charade game now.

As you “hold” something, you throw your hands up in the air, still keeping your hands wrapped around nothing. You think if somebody told you last week that you’d be playing charades with the archons in Genshin Impact so you could actually communicate with them… well you don’t know what you would have done. Maybe just gave them a really awkward laugh.

“Oh! Are you asking for a weapon? Akitsu Mikami, my emperor, we or our nations will surely provide protection from any harm that might befall you. Hm, I suppose we should offer something anyway… I wouldn’t want to displease them…” Ei mutters to herself, having taken over her puppet once more for the occasion.

She and Buer, still retaining their authority status, had asked for the area to be cleared in order to try and get closer to communicating with the Divine First, or you.

“Ha! What idiot would try to hurt the All-Parent in their home, unless they wish to get thrown?” Venti cheekily says, as you don’t understand him, but judging by Zhongli’s clenched jaw, Ei’s sigh, and Nahida’s giggle, you can guess.

You give your own sad sigh… it’s already been 3 hours. 😭

How hard is charades for 4 archons??

Well… apparently very hard.

You put your face in your hands, and you hear the (retired) archons start to debate something, you can tell it’s getting a little passive-aggressive between Venti and Zhongli by their tone alone.

…Okay, now it’s just aggressive.

The archons eventually give their attention back to you so you can go back to your charades lol

You tried opening your mouth and closing it, very obvious, they can’t go wrong.

…Turns out they can.

Somehow you find yourself with a hot tea brewed by the geo archon.

(Venti attempted to offer you Dandelion Wine, or Osmanthus Wine even, and only god, well you now, knows where he pulled them from. Ei swatted his head, he looked so offended, and his cheeks were all puffed up, heh.)

Giving up, you just try to motion for them to stay still, your hands gesturing like trying to calm a wild animal.

They give you questioning looks, and you begin to walk off, they all seem to immediately start discussing something with each other. All of the gods look very conflicted, and after a minute of you getting further away (yes, you’re almost home free, Xiangling here you come! ) Nahida skips to catch up with you.

She gives you a beaming smile, and you can’t bring yourself to not return it. She's so much cuter in real life, even the official art didn't do her justice.

You make your way towards the restaurant, finally.

And apparently you’re happier than you thought to smell the savory scents flowing out of the kitchen because your stomach growls loudly.

You’re too hungry to even attempt to stop it, no one will care, except Nahida’s eyes go wide. She begins to sputter, and flail her hands desperately trying to charade an apology at you.

…you were just trying to tell them you were hungry. 💀

☆

Ask box open again! :] 🎊

Pspspspspssubliminalmessagingyouwillsendthatdeadaquariusanaskpssppspspspspssss

✨️Hope you guys got smth out of this rough draft✨️ ♡

:D hope u guys have had a good weekend!

My senior art exhibit is april 6th so wish me luck and prayers (from any religion im not picky pls)

Safe Travels,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist

#hope this was alright i felt like my scenario wasnt written the best :/ but i tried ig #i still def wanted to write abt the gods charades lmao #but idk if i did that funny idea justice #venti would literally just mimic whatever charade your doing hes useless #hope u arent a venti main lol #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin imagines #genshin sagau ideas #gender neutral reader #genshin isekai #genshin god reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact self aware #my asks #dammit why can tumblr memorize all my tags for me #genshin scenarios

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