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hanlimz · 1 year

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synopsis: you always have room for yang jungwon. pairing: jungwon x gn!reader genre/warnings: best friends to lovers!!! / self-indulgent fluff! ig maybe angst if you squint, won compares himself to others, reader talks abt being in pain but it's not real (?), mayhaps this fic is a bit incoherent T_T i wrote this in one sitting that ended at 3am so quality may be a little iffy (sorry :,( , mayb i'll rewrite in the future!) wc: 1.4k a/n: cass write for someone that isn't yang jungwon challenge : FAILED ! nah but fr tho, this pic has a Grip on me n i was possessed to write. but in all srsness, i Am working on other non-won centric fics n they should be out.......soon (?)

[8:36PM] through the lens of your grandfather's old polaroid camera, the sun seems to cradle jungwon's face in her array of rich oranges and deep reds. she places her bright lips on the crown of his head and bathes him in a warm, summer light; her golden fingers reach down to smooth out a few stray strands of his hair while moving slowly to caress the sharp angles of his silhouette. however, the glow he radiates almost manages to outshine her as the peach hues of the sky only serve to accentuate his natural beauty. his cheeks are full and round after a (near) five course meal at your grandparents' cottage, his lips are a delicate pink that matches the swath of tulips outside of your old elementary school, and his eyes sparkle in a manner that mirrors the ocean behind him. and, in mere seconds, you decide that this vacation is one of the best ideas you've ever had.

two hearts healing together as one, each enveloping the other in blanket after blanket of pure, unadulterated adoration. with a gleeful flicker in his gaze that you weren't able to place, jungwon had agreed to accompany you—biking around your hometown while reliving old memories and chronicling stories of youthful grandeur. the tranquility had grown steadily, like the dawn of a new day or the promise of a new beginning, and the certainty of his presence came to be all-consuming and ever-existing.

perhaps, you dare to let yourself believe, jungwon had become your sun. since the fifth grade, he has been the one constant in your life. he was the young boy who led you on a tour of your new school after packing up and leaving the place you called home, and he was the kind stranger who helped you catch up on the topics you missed out on. jungwon was the hesitant acquaintance turned best friend, and he is the one person you want to be with after oblivion plagues the earth. but, drawing too close is dangerous—his heat could scorch your skin while his love turns you to ash. for a moment, you ponder that particular track of thought and allow the train to run its course. perhaps, you correct yourself, jungwon has always been your sun.

"[y/n]!" he calls, beckoning you forth from the daydream you found yourself trapped in, "did you get the picture?" no matter the timbre, his voice is melodic, hypnotizing—it is the perfect addition to the evening's quiet sonata. he sings alongside the croaking frogs and the chirping crickets, welcoming the moon as it takes its place in the night sky.

you reply, trying to push down the sudden panic rising in your throat, "not yet, won—stay just like that!"

the camera clicks as it snaps a photo of the masterpiece before your eyes. upon hearing the sound, jungwon leaps from his position on the rocks and bounds over to watch the film develop. with a gentle tug, he pulls the picture from your grasp; jungwon shakes it and blows on it before resigning himself to the painful reality of waiting. the nerves that were crashing like angry waves against the walls of your stomach become a tsunami as he settles with his shoulder brushing against yours. his touch hurts—his presence, though ineffably beautiful, singes the hairs on your arms and ignites a column of blue flame around your heart. a tumultuous contradiction begins to swell inside of you; the peace jungwon imbues in you fights tooth and nail with the doubt your brain conjures up.

don't get too close.

don't let his fire catch.

don't let yourself be caught.

as the colors turn vibrant and jungwon's form becomes clearer, you attempt to hold everything in—every thought, every feeling, every wish, every dream. but, the walls you've kept up for so long start to break and something is forced to give. unable to will your mouth shut any longer, words spill out before you can shove them back down. "you're gorgeous—i mean, it's gorgeous! the picture, that is. i really love you—no, wait. i really love the way you look in the photo ... the sun was really pretty, the sky was perfect, everything was—"

jungwon's laughter stuns you to silence; he clutches his belly while doubling over at your jumbled mess of a confession. his eyes are closed, and you're almost positive his voice will be hoarse tomorrow with the volume at which he's expressing his amusement. the blue flame has been reduced to embers, but another influx of agony washes over you, cutting deeper than before.

"jungwon ..." you say, voice thick with impending tears, "this isn't f—"

a soft hand is pressed to your cheek. the gesture is tender and loving, conveying more than words ever could. his expression is firm, and all traces of humor have dissipated in an attempt to communicate his true feelings with you. "i love you, too," jungwon replies, rubbing his thumb over the apex of your cheekbone. "i love you, too."

"you do?" you ask, fear prickling like thousands of tiny needles under your skin.

"of course, i do." his answer makes everything seem so simple.

"no—but, i'm saying that i love you, love you. i love you in the sense that i want to spend every waking minute next to you, but i don't want to fuck anything up or make anything weird. i love you so much that my future plans always include you—no matter the way, shape, or form. the house i want to live in always has a room for you—i always have room for you." raw emotion overtakes the usual tone of your voice as the reality of this beachside argument about love and clarity and blurred lines sets in. you want him to understand. you need him to understand.

jungwon pauses for a moment. he takes a step closer to your body; the sweet aromas of blood oranges and limes permeate the air shared between the two of you while hints of vanilla and spice mingle with the citrus. never in the eight years that you've known him has jungwon ever been this forward, but as he gazes at you with two umber oceans—you can't bring yourself to care. "i get it. i swear i get [y/n]—and, i'm saying that i love you, love you, too," he giggles, diffusing the tension in the blink of an eye. "i think i always have, [y/n], but deep down, i'm still just that little fifth grade scaredy cat.

our friendship is one of the most important things in the world to me. i honestly think losing you would kill me. and, i know, i'm not the greatest with words if i'm not reading them from a script. i'm nothing special. i'm not good at things right away like heeseung, and i'm not a romantic like jay or jake. i don't have sunghoon's allure or sunoo's charm or riki's magnetism. i'm just me—good enough to be your friend, but not good enough be anything more."

the anger and hurt have been washed away by the soothing rays of jungwon's light, and you speak softly, "isn't that for me to decide?"

he reluctantly agrees, shuffling his feet as though he wants to pull away. rocks clack against one another, and the cacophony of noise foretells a future in which you let him walk away. so, your body moves on its own, and your hand shoots out to grab jungwon's wrist. surprise is evident in his stare as his eyes flick between your face and where the two of you are connected. with a newfound sense of courage, you pull him infinitely closer to you while relishing in the way his frame seems to fit perfectly against yours.

"you're good enough for me, yang jungwon," you declare. "you've always been good enough for me, and you always will be."

as high tide begins to roll in with the moon, a gentle quietude falls upon the beach. the polaroid photo has long since been forgotten, lost to the rocky shore and the sands of time. the sun has disappeared and her palette of colors has faded along with her, but you are still warm. jungwon cards his fingers through your hair while you find solace in the constant beat of his heart; fire still licks at your skin, cinders still smolder in the pit of your stomach, but there is no room for pain in his arms.

jungwon is your sun, and this time—you let yourself burn.

#enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen reactions #jungwon fluff #jungwon headcanons #jungwon reactions #enhypen #enha fluff #enha headcanons #enha reactions #jungwon imagines #enhypen imagines #enha imagines #enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader #jungwon x y/n #enhypen jungwon

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spoonsock · 11 months

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Intruder

Gwen Stacy x Reader

Synopsis: You live a boring life, someone breaks into your house and you successfully convince yourself you are schizophrenic lmao

I don’t think I’ve specified reader’s gender anywhere so I guess this is gender neutral but I haven’t proofread it so I’m not sure srry

Warnings: Absolute shitty writing and mentions of an injury I guess. NOT PROOFREAD I WROTE THIS AT 3AM I SWEAR TO GOD THIS IS AWFUL!!!!!

“Best years of your life”, they would say. And you would listen. Daydreaming about adolescence and what it would be like. But no amount of daydreaming or storytelling could prepare you for what you were about to experience. Nobody told you you were going to have to face the inevitable, deadly boredom.

It’s summer, for God’s sake. You were supposed to be going out, having fun, getting drunk or high, partying or something of the sorts. And yet, here you are, laying on your bed and staring at the ceiling. It’s not late, the sun is just setting and still, you are in your pajamas. Just laying there, blankly staring at the big, white ceiling. You blink every so often. It’s pathetic. Frustrating. There’s so many things you wanna do, so many things you could do. You wonder, “what’s stopping me?”…. Oh yeah. You have no social life nor the social skills to be going out almost every night. Your best friend is your cat, the only people who text you are your parents, in school you barely talk to your roommate, even less to the people from your classes. You go to this prestigious school and study your ass off day and night to pass your classes, just like everyone else there. You doubt anyone from your school, even those with average grades, have a social life.

But all of that doesn’t matter now tho. It’s summer. No school, no pressure, no work. Just chilling all day. Having fun during the night. Not you though. You are once again starting at your goddamn ceiling, not moving an inch. Your parents aren’t at home, and won’t be back anytime soon. “I could throw a party”… you laugh at the thought. Tonight is just like any other night. You’ll listen to your music or draw or do whatever and then go to bed at 9 PM. How pathetic.

You close your eyes. Your chest is moving up and down while you breathe steadily. You slowly drift to sleep, thinking about how peaceful life is currently.

Fate is a funny thing. You say something along the lines “life is peaceful”, and the next moment, the window in the room next to yours, your sibling’s room, shatters into thousands of tiny pieces of glass everywhere across your room. Someone broke into your house. Your eyes are now wide open and breathing is fast and unsteady. You’re literally frozen and grasping at the sheets on your bed, scared to make sudden move or to let out a single noise. You can hear someone trashing around in the room, stumbling, stomping, kicking. You can even hear the person very silently curse a few times. The fuck are they doing? Some time passes by, the noises the person was making stopped. “Maybe they left? I need to check”.

You decide to muster up some courage to sit up, and grab a pair of scissors from your work table with shaky hands. You have no idea what you can do with those scissors, honestly, they are not even that sharp, but you do feel a little safer while holding them. Afraid to make a sound, you move on the very tips of your toes, one step at a time, carefully listening in case you hear something from the other room. You press your ear onto the door of it, trying to figure out if there’s someone there. Your hands are still shaking and sweaty from the nervousness. Nothing. Not a single sound. “They must have left”

You grip your scissors in one hand and put your palm over the door handle, before slowly pressing down and opening the door quietly. You peer inside the dark room, the only light is coming from your own through the crack between the door and the wall. The more you open the door, the more of the light comes in. Suddenly, you see something move in the dark.

“Who’s there?” You tried to sound confident, but it didn’t really work as your voice broke when you tried to speak.

No answer. Holding the scissors closer and tighter, you open the door fully to lighten the whole room. Someone is laying on the floor. Someone dressed up in a white costume or something like that. You come closer and squint your eyes trying to see who is that.

“Is that….? No, it can’t be”

Yeah, yes it can be. The spider-woman, or Ghost spider as some called her, in the flesh. In your house. Bleeding onto your floor.

“What the heelllll”

You sit on the floor next to her limp body. She’s obviously unconscious, not dead. There’s a small puddle of blood around her leg. She’s laying on her back directly under the window, surrounded by the glass. There’s a huge hole in her costume on her left leg, the one closer to you, from which she’s bleeding. All over your floor. You stare at her wondering what the actual fuck is going on. You’re stuck there for a few moments before pulling yourself back to reality. The Spider-woman is bleeding on your floor. You gotta do something bruh.

You quickly run out of the room and return with a first aid kit. Everything is moving in a blur, you can’t tell whether this is all some kind of a fucked up dream or reality, but whatever it is, the only thing you are sure of is that you gotta help her. You clean the cut on her leg with something from the kit, put something jelly on it, and then wrap her leg with a towel. You have no idea what you just did or will it help but it did stop the bleeding so you just move on and start wiping the blood off of the flor with a wet rag. After a while of cleaning the floor next to the unconscious body of Spider-woman while your mind is completely blank, you hear a few groans. The pit in your stomach grows and you wonder what the actual frick should you do when she wakes up, which will apparently be, any time now. You guess she opened up her eyes (you can’t tell bc, you know, the mask and all) as she slowly rose in a sitting position, holding her head in one of her hands, rubbing her temple. She looks around herself and, I shit you not, flinches so hard that she hits her head on the window frame behind her when she sees you. You let out a loud gasp when she does so, even more scared of her than she is of you.

“Ouch, damn it! Where am I? Who are you? What is going on? I-“ she starts frantically.

“Stop stop stop calm down please!” you wave your hands around her, not knowing what to do while she looks around in panic shaking her head. Her eyes land on her leg and widen even more.

“What happened to my leg??” She looks at you. Well, you don’t really know if she’s looking at you, you can’t see her eyes, but you suppose she is and attempt to answer to all of her questions.

“You had a cut on your leg so I did…something with it and now it’s not bleeding anymore” you *try to* explain.

“Oh”

It’s quiet for a moment before you narrow your eyes at her and decide it’s time for you to start asking questions about this weird situation.

“You broke into my house and then blacked out. What the hell was all that??”

“I-I don’t know, I don’t remember anything!” She raises her hands up in defense.

It’s quiet again. She’s intensely staring at you while you look at everything around the room but her. You don’t know what to do. The Spider-woman is in your house. Well, she broke into it but still. She’s there.

You always held some sort of admiration towards her, even though your parents disliked her. Said she was a vigilante, how she doesn’t really help the cops, how she wouldn’t wear a mask unless she had something to hide. You didn’t care why she wore a mask. You liked what she did and thought it was admirable. You thought about how cool it must be, to be a superhero, to save lives and have amazing powers and do amazing shit all day. How cool it must be to be special. To be somebody. To be somebody to someone.

She’s still looking at you. The fuck is her problem? “Okay” you sigh and get up. “Is your leg any better?”

She attempts to get up and slowly succeeds. She steps on her left leg and you can tell she made a sour face after doing so, but quickly hides the expression she thought you couldn’t even see. “Yeah I guess”

You made her tea. She sat on your couch and drank it. It was silent for a while. For a long while. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. More like a “we’re both too tired to talk, so it isn’t awkward, it’s just silent” silence, you know?

You would glance at her every now and then. Even in her costume, even under her mask, you thought she was pretty. You could just feel it. Something about her was so…inviting and…pretty.

More time passed and she had to go. Said something along the lines of having to run an errand. You nodded. She promised she’ll come back and fix your window ASAP. You let her know it was okay (even though the thought of attempting to explain how “you” broke the window in your sibling’s room to your parents AND to your sibling sent shivers down your spine) and escorted her out of the door this time. The absence of her presence kinda disturbed you.

“Whatever”, you thought and went back to your room, back to staring at the ceiling, waiting to fall asleep and hoping that when you wake up, the window will be magically fixed and your meeting with Spider-woman will turn out to be just a dream.

And magically enough, the window was fixed the next morning when you woke up. You asked your parents did they see anything unusual at home when they returned from wherever they were and the answer was a no. “Huh…weird. Maybe it was all a dream after all”

And that’s what you continued telling yourself. I mean, you didn’t have any proof that it wasn’t just a really really random dream. So you *tried to* believe it. And it kinda worked. But you couldn’t help but to hope you will dream of your intruder some time again.

Few weeks later, you met someone who goes to your school for the very first time. At your local grocery store, of all places. Her name was Gwen Stacy. She was really pretty and seemed nice, her dad was a cop and she lived actually really close to you. Surprisingly, you found yourself wanting to be friends with her. You, also, found yourself not being able to shake off a weird feeling that you recognized her voice from somewhere.

Once again I repeat, this was written at 3:11 AM and it has not been proofread, please do not come @ me☺️

#gwen stacy x reader #gwen stacy #spider gwen #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miles morales #ghost spider #spider woman

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motleyfam · 2 years

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hey! so its 4am and ive just finished my, um... fifth(?) reread of world's saddest breakfast club and like! aaahhhh!!!

do u got abything to tell us abt this story? like sbt the writing proccess or things u thought that did not make it in or hc or anything really. i dont have a question exactly, just wanted to hear you talk about it. im a bit. well. obssesed.

Oooh cool question! I definitely do!

World's Saddest Breakfast Club: Fun Facts

The opening line is a result of me angsting to @batmoniker about how I couldn't figure out how to start my fic, and her jokingly being like "I got you, bro. Ready? 'It was a dark and stormy night'" and then me just being stubborn and committing to the bit.

The story started with a vague idea of "everyone in the kitchen at 3am for different reasons and Jason channeling his inner short order cook." All I knew going in was the order I wanted people to appear, what was wrong with them (sick, hurt, insomnia, etc) and what food Jason would be making for them. Everything else I made up as I went.

If I could go back and change one thing about this fic, I'd reduce how long Jason was kidnapped to like, 6-8 days, max. 16 days seemed funny when I wrote it, but in hindsight, I feel like he'd be a little more fucked up in the story if he were really escaping from that many days of captivity lmao

I headcanon Dick as the kind of person who straight-up forgets to eat when he's preoccupied, and Jason as the kind of person who cannot FATHOM this concept. Jason absolutely will miss a meal if the situation calls for it, don't get me wrong, but he's aware the entire time he's doing it and it makes him super antsy. (This once turned into A Thing™ when Jason was like, 13 years old and staying with Dick for the weekend for some brotherly bonding and Dick forgot about lunch and by 5pm, Jason maybe sorta kinda had a minor panic attack about it. Dick was a lot more mindful of that moving forward)

Bruce's favorite food being lobster thermidor is a reference to the Lego Batman movie

I wrote this whole fic with Julia Child's recipe pulled up in one tab and my google doc in the other

At some point I realized that since I started with fresh lobsters, I was going to have to write Jason killing them, and it derailed me so hard that the fic nearly became about meatloaf instead. (Never mind the fact that Jason canonically kills human beings — that's totally fine. I just draw the line at him killing lobsters 😰)

(in the end I just kinda glossed over it and made sure they were already cooked before Damian appeared so I wouldn't have to address it 😬)

Dick's reoccurring shoulder injury is a reference to the DCAU where I swear that man has dislocated his shoulder/injured his arm at least 4x

The line about Tim being allergic/throwing up when he eats eggs was inspired by a line in chap 11 of @goldkirk's fic Hymn, which I've reread about 37x

Jason is correct— grits are fucking delicious and definitely not baby food.

My favorite line is "Okay there’s self-sacrificial bullshit, and then there’s whatever the fresh hell that is."

The idea for Cass being a big meat-eater comes from a comic panel where Steph offers her a plate of rice and beans and Cass says she needs meat and starts mischievously eying Steph's hamster. Can't find the panel to save my life, but I promise it's out there.

EDIT: finally found it!

Steph's nickname of "Zombie Boy" for Jason is borrowed from @audreycritter's Cor Et Cerebrum series (which is a fucking masterpiece, btw)

This fic was gonna be called "Creatures of the Night" until batmoniker said Steph's line made for a better title

Several people have asked me whether Jason was really cooking Bruce's lobster to spite him, or if he was actually intending to make it for him all along. The answer is... both? Like Jason's kind of an unreliable narrator in that he's trying to convince himself that he's just doing what he's doing to be a little shithead when deep down it's all stemming from his need to take care of his family, you know? Like he'll never admit it, but that's where his heart is at.

To everyone who's asked for a part 2 where the family finds out Jason was kidnapped, I'm gonna be honest: the main reason I don't think I'm ever going to write that scene is because I can't come up with a good enough joke for him to make to accidentally out himself 💀

#thank you so much for asking!#you're super sweet and I'm so glad you enjoyed the story

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itsseohannbin · 13 days

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soft changbin thoughts || cuddling

this was a completely self-indulgent idea i wrote at 3am after waking up from a dream of exactly this. I'm so down bad for this man it's insane. lowercase intended. not edited.

i truly believe this man loves (and i mean LOVES) to cuddle. absolutely adores it. specifically spooning tbh. i mean, look at him. he's just one big giant teddy bear practically begging to let him spoon you. when he comes home super late from working in the studio with chan and hannie to find you already passed out, snuggled deep into the soft mattress of your shared bed, nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and his favorite shirt hugging your body, he's an absolute goner... he'd come into the room, get one look at your sleeping figure, and his knees would buckle and he'd nearly fall to them because my god you're all his.

sure, he loves to have you spread across his chest, head tucked into the curve of where his shoulder and neck meet, hands splayed across his heart, legs thrown over his waist, pinning him to the mattress like an anxiety blanket, but there's something beautifully unique about holding you from behind and inhaling your scent as he drifts off to sleep.

he'd slip off his shirt and pants and slide under the covers behind your sleeping figure, wrapping his big arms around your soft body and pulling you tight against his plush chest, holding you close like he could protect you from everything bad in the world. and he'd be so warm. like, even if he trudged in through the snow, small droplets of water hanging off the ends of his curly hair, frost-bitten nose that's running slightly and hands as cold as ice, he'd be so SO warm against your back. so warm and intoxicating that, despite being dead to the world asleep, your body would automatically push against his when he pulls you closer, almost like you're trying to absorb him even in the deepest of sleeps. and he absolutely adores it. loves the way you bend and keen to his every touch, the slight frown that would spread across your lips when his cold hands first touch the bare skin of your stomach. man loves it.

and those nights when he comes home so incredibly stressed out about work, whether it be from the chords of the next song not quite sounding right, or the choreo he can't seem to nail, he's stressed, and when he climbs into bed, he doesn't immediately curl himself around your sleeping figure. instead, he hovers at the edge of the bed, back facing you, hands curled under his pillow, eyes squeezed shut to prevent the stress-induced tears from falling down his cheeks. but when he inevitably opens his eyes, they do. they fall silently and it makes him more frustrated. his shoulders shake slightly from the force of his distressed cries, and when he feels a shift in the bed behind him, he freezes, hoping to god you're just turning over and he didn't wake you up. and then, a second later, when your arm curls around his waist and you pull him closer to your small body, he falls apart. he loves to spoon you, but fuck, there's just something about being the little spoon that really makes him melt. his heart will flutter like he's sixteen years old again experiencing his first crush, his tears will stop abruptly, his frown will slowly curve upwards into the softest smile. because he's being engulfed by you. your scent, the feeling of your arm hanging loosely over his hip, the heat of your breath ticking the skin of his back. he adores being taken care of in moments like this, and it's the intimate moments like this that make him all the more aware of how much he utterly adores you. when your thumb starts to slowly draw circles just above his belly button in a soothing manner and your leg pushes to rest in between his intimately, signaling you're more awake than he initially thought, he can't help but murmur the softest "i love you" as you help bring him back down to the present. help lower his heart rate, help the stress leave his body enough to allow him to relax. he always seems to have the best of sleeps when you're laying next to him in bed, but when you're holding him this way, protecting him from all the worries of the world, he feels like he could sleep peacefully for eternity

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i just wanna hold him so bad it makes my heart ache :(

Taglist || @moonlightndaydreams @channieandhisgoonsquad @newhope8 @noellllslut @queenmea604 @bethanysnow @yxnjinsduality

#soft changbin hours #seo changbin #skz drabble #soft hannji thoughts #hannji loves binnie sm #hannji's drabbles #itshannjisung

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venusorbits · 11 months

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WATCHING NOW...

STUDIO SESSION

[ 18:05 HOUR, MARCH 11, 2010... ]

"I wrote down some lyrics." You flipped your phone towards the camera, "I just wrote the chorus."

You scratch your cheek humming to yourself chewing on your bottom lip.

"I haven't written the verse yet but I have no idea how the melody would go." You leaned back on your chair with a shrug, "I will play around with how it will sound on the guitar since I wanted a pop rock album."

You wave your hands towards the camera before ending it.

[ 20:30 HOUR, MARCH 11, 2010... ]

It cuts to you sitting on the floor with your beloved electric guitar on your lap, strumming lightly, nodding along with the rhythm you had just created. Seemingly satisfied, you pause and adjusted to prop it up on the table instead of it being on the floor.

"Here I am, I wanted a light strum of the guitar for the intro of the song." You struggle to put your thoughts into words, "Then transition to a more... Hm... I don't know how to describe it. But, just picture pop-rock, strum of the guitar."

You stare off into dead air that last lasted for a minute. Face contorting before bursting into a sneeze.

"Anyways-" You acted as if it was nothing, brushing it off your shoulder, sniffing lightly.

Your manager Mira pipes up from the behind the camera and laughing loudly.

"What was that?"

"What?"

"You're acting so nonchalantly. It made me laugh."

You stare at her.

"Nocha... What?" Your eyebrows draws together.

"Nonchalantly."

You eyes shift from side to side.

"I don't understand Korean." Scrunching your face at the camera.

[ cut ]

[ 08:46 HOUR, MARCH 12, 2010... ]

You set the camera on top of the closed lid of the smooth black piano, ensuring that you were in frame, clearing your throat and tossing your hair over shoulder. Sitting up straight. Fingers smoothly moving smoothly across the keys.

Humming lowly and mouthing the lyrics that you have written the night before.

"Good morning." Your producer, Alex Kim, who had about 6 years of experience under his belt in the music industry and music producing, enters through the door holding a steaming cup of coffee.

"Good morning."

"Do you want some coffee?"

You whipped your head around confused.

"What?" [ DITE misheard 커피 ( coffee ) to 코피 ( nosebleeds ) which sounded similar to her. ]

"Coffee."

"Why would I want a nosebleed?"

He smiles at you and an amused chuckle escapes his lips.

"Coffee. Not nosebleeds."

"Oh."

"Tell me, what you're working with." He sips on the hot liquid before setting it down on a small table. Leaning on a wall beside the piano.

"I was thinking for this song there should be light strums of the electric guitar." You told your producer who nods along, "I played it on the piano but it sounds a little different from what I envision. Somewhat a little too sad in my opinion."

"It will go somewhat like this-"

I used to miss your calls. Now, I sit around with 30 3AM missed calls Should have said I love you when you called me yours Now you're hoping I pick up.

"Something like that." You finish off.

"That was really good." He compliments

"Really? I stayed up till midnight to figure out the melody."

"Is this the chorus?"

"Yes."

"We should use for the beginning and then moves to a verse."

"Okay, I like that idea!"

"Have thought of how it should sound instead on the electric guitar?"

"Yeah, somewhat but, it's not as polished as I'd like it to be."

He grabs the electric guitar hands it to you.

"Play it." You proceed to demonstrate the melody to him.

"Okay, I get what you mean." He sat himself on the wheel office chair gliding across the wooden floor of the recording studio, " He grabs his own guitar planting on his lap. You take the camera and filmed him as he proceeds to strum the perfect melody.

"OH! That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Now, that we have that out of the way. We need to start working on the melody for the rest of the song."

[ cut ]

[ 09:55 HOUR, MARCH 12, 2010... ]

You were in the booth.

You slip on your headphones over your ear, slightly adjusting, with one of them off your ear. Slinging the straps of your guitar over your shoulder, Alex adjusted the microphone while you fine tune the guitar to perfection.

"Okay, we're recording the strumming first." Alex stood up straight, "Are you ready?"

"No... This one-" You turn one of the keys, playing a soft tune, "Yeah, this one is great."

"Good."

He left the padded room as he sat on the other side of the glass. There was a soft tap of the metronome echoed on your ear, fingers delicately strumming the strings of the electric guitar.

[ 17:29 HOUR, MARCH 12, 2010... ]

[ transition ]

You are curled up on the sofa heavily concentrated on the pink notebook in your hand, tapping the end of your pen on your lip, black lens glasses perched on your nose framing your eyes. Your legs brought up to your chest wrapped in a fluffy blanket.

The instrumental melody playing

Your eyes lights up as you came up with another line in mind.

[ 17:09 HOUR, MARCH 20, 2010... ]

[ cut ]

"Can we pause from here please?"

He presses the key to pause the music. You were standing in the middle of the isolated and padded recording room, headphones placed over your ear and piece of paper in your hand with doodles and scribbles scattered on it.

"There's something missing here." You look at Alex through the window of the recording studio, "Can we add like..."

You imitated the sound into the microphone.

"Oh... The synthesizer?"

You look around unsure.

"Uh... I guess."

[ 19:00 HOUR, MARCH 21, 2010... ]

[ zooms ]

Your fingers move across the keys.

[ 23:40 HOUR, MARCH 23, 2010... ]

[ cut ]

Your camera zooms into the equipment in front of you before panning over to the older man beside you,

"Do you feel tired of being around me for this long?"

Alex was focused on the computer in front of him. He was busy dragging and cutting things out of the song while you wait around, he was paying no mind to you.

"Yes."

[ 20:35 HOUR, MARCH 25, 2010... ]

"We're almost done!" You celebrate, "We just add the um... Um..."

You turn to Alex.

"What's it called again?"

"Backing vocals."

"Yes, that." You nod.

"For the outro, we should add the message you get when you get blocked, after the line 'I used to miss your calls'- Then, it cuts to 'You've reach a number that has been disconnected or no longer in service'."

CHECK OUT THE FINISHED SONG HERE OR PURCHASE MY ALBUM ON MY WEBSITE THROUGH THE LINK BELOW.

author's note; The lyrics are from Max Schneider but I just changed them up and imagine them pop-rock version. Just imagine they're Korean lyrics cause... Yeah, I don't speak Korean. I just want lyrics to fit with the title I put, ya know?

#x kpop idol reader #x idol reader #[ venusorbits 🪐. goddamn superstar series ]#kpop soloist reader #soloist reader

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iwtvdramacd18 · 1 year

Note

clouds , space & spirit

CLOUDS: How clearly do you picture a scene before you start writing it down?

I see it like a movie but also taking the places of the characters sometimes if that makes sense? Overlapping images/sensations/sounds as well as just the text itself. And then sometimes drawing parts too.

SPACE: Where's your favorite place to write?

Honestly it's probably my bed at like 3am in the notes app because that's where I get most of ideas.

SPIRIT: What's the best compliment you've ever received on your writing?

I don't think I can rank them really but back in college I think I had shared a short story (the only one I've ever finished) with a classmate and she wrote me a long email about how much she liked it, like her emotions feeling it and how she felt my emotions writing the piece came through in the prose and stuff. It was super touching.

elemental writer ask game here

#answered #ask game #thanks!!

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neo-shitty · 2 years

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toffeeeeee, i saw the book ask game and!! i had to shdjdk. sorry if there's too many, you can answer however many you like ;-;

17, 25, 28, 42, 50, 55, 60, 63, 80, 94 and 135 !! (´-﹏-`；) hehe <3

me when i saw how many numbers this ask had !! thank you so much ivy, i hope my recs deliver somehow ;n; (also this had me thinking harder than i did on an essay i just submitted HJSHA I LOVE IT)

book recs ask game!

#17 - a book with a yellow cover

men without women by haruki murakami, a short story collection about men with no bitches /j,, the stories aren't correlated to one another and i had no major takeaway but i enjoyed 1 story out of the 7 which was the independent organ (bc i related to the guy and it got pretty sad, i like that shit). this feels like a compilation of murakami's random thoughts, literal ideas out of nowhere and inherently hard to find any deeper meaning into it but maybe that's just my lack of analytical skill.

#25 - a book by your favourite author

unfortunately, i no longer have a favorite author but the last one i acknowledged was marie lu so... legend. prolly her most popular work but not my favorite. her writing has the ability to single-handedly bring me out of reading slumps and i think i read almost every book she wrote. got a few world-building, plot-twisting techniques from her too!!

#28 - a book you wish you could read as a beginner again

mentioned a thousand times atp, looking for alaska :'D by john green :'D the money i'd give just to reread that for the first time bc i have paragraphs of it memorized now HJSHA i think this sparked my love for angsty things

#42 - a book that made you want to scream by the time you got to the end

i had a different book for this at first until i remember this one read that was so bad i wanted to forget about it. never let this go by kazuo ishiguro. YES, the story had a serious topic in its undertone but i just couldn't appreciate it anymore with how much of a drag everything else was. it reads like one of those tiktok series vids that are like 'follow for part 2'. BITCH!! JUST GET ON WITH IT!! the number of times this book goes (not a spoiler, just a bad example) "i'll tell you why i burned the house down but first let me tell you about my friend's boyfriend" LIKE I CARE ABT THAT RN??? god just thinking abt it is making my blood boil

#50 - a book that made you cry a LOT

THERE IS ONLY ONE!!! HOUSE OF HADES BY RICK RIORDAN. i know, kinda hard to get to and i'm not even sure if this would make you cry. it had me bawling tho, tear-blurred vision as i waded to the last page. it was that bad. if you're looking for a tear-jerker that i know made others cry, a little life by hanya yanagihara.

#55 - a book with a satisfying ending

again, for me, it's a little life. there was something about how i finished that book that left me feeling relieved. not only bc it was one chonky ass book but bc i barely read things where the ending i want is the ending i actually get.

#60 - a book that you think about at 3am

things have gotten worse since we last spoke by eddie larocca. told in e-mail correspondence between two women, they have a 50 shades of grey-esque arrangement but it gets from 0 to 1000 so quick. i'm gonna step aside and let my review speak for itself.

#63 - a book that actually made you laugh out loud

the blood of olympus by rick riordan, last book of the hoo series. sorry my tearjerker and biggest laugh are from the same middle-grade series. adult fiction doesn't draw much emotions from me (except maybe frustration), they just leave me mortified.

#80 - a book that reminds you of a loved one

norwegian wood by haruki murakami. a close friend recommended this to me and because he said the book mirrored his life, it's forever tied with him now. while the story in itself didn't appeal to me that much, i had fun pointing out which parts of the book and his life overlapped.

#94 - a book about grieving

on earth we're briefly gorgeous by ocean vuong. while the book doesn't explicitly state that it's about grieving, it reads like it is. it's almost as if the main character is grieving for a life he cannot have and mourning for people who are still alive.

#135 - recommend any book you like!

i think i recommended this before when i mentioned your writing reads like a murakami book HAHA after dark !!

#can you tell i had so much fun doing this <3__<3 #thank you so much #i really had to think this through but it got my gears working #and i hope at least one of these books appeal to you :')#if any of them do so please feel free to tell me abt it <3 #chogiwow #toff.asks

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oncetherenowhere · 3 months

Text

This week's been another shit show. Every week has been a shit show. I woke up at 3am, couldn't sleep, and had the realization that, for the past four months, every single week has brought me a new scrap of bad news. People dying. People getting sick. Friends leaving. Family drama, revelations. Crisis, crisis, crisis! And...really none of it has been my fault. It's just life. Bad luck of the draw.

Still. No wonder I've been having the worst few months of my life. Every single week has been a jack-in-the-box of bullshit. This week's bullshit? Revelations about my job that have tarnished it for me. I'm looking for new work. Not quitting until I get a new job...I need money. All the fulfillment and satisfaction I felt in my position has left.

I feel completely trapped in my everyday life. H thinks I should consider starting a new career, but how? Baking is the only thing I'm good at. I'm a damn good baker. My job was, like...the thing I clung to. I don't even want to say what happened, because it's complicated, but I just don't think I can do it again.

I love baking, but the environment of professional kitchens...I can't handle them anymore. I used to be able to. People say you get used to things as you get older, but the opposite seems to be true for me. I feel more sensitive than ever. I feel raw, like anything that even slightly touches me will sting. I can't put up with raised voices anymore.

H tells me to show myself kindness. I was in a heap yesterday, and he was so sweet to me. I think he's right, about the career thing. Baking feels like the only thing I'm good at, but once upon a time, I wanted to do so much...I had such big dreams. I settled into baking because I'm good at it, and I like making people happy. When I bake for people and see their reactions, it fills my heart with joy. So, I thought, hey, why not make this my career? Nothing else has panned out for me, and I seem to work best in the service of others.

H went to school for computer science. He landed a great job that he feels fine about. It isn't his passion, but he likes what he does, and it gives him enough space to work on his actual passion projects in the meantime. You should see the things this man makes...his MIND, I swear to you, it's AMAZING. He's got this amazing mixture of creativity and practicality...he breathes life into the worlds he creates. It's one of the things I first loved about him, back when we were both eighteen. He told me stories that I thought were already published, they were so good and well-rounded.

I used to be a writer. It used to be my dream. When I was a kid, I wrote every single day. I filled notebooks with stories, world building, characters...my dream was to draw comics. Remember how I wrote about how I was being bullied? I left a notebook on my desk one day by accident. My bullies read it, and humiliated me. Even the teachers made fun of me. They tore out pages from it, and the teacher there at the time threw the rest out in the trash.

I still wrote, but only in secret. Only at home, and even then, I was careful, because my parents went through my things. I went through insane measures to hide everything. At some point, it became exhausting.

A few years ago, I started writing again...but I never show anything to anyone. Except H. Sometimes.

I still have this stupid dream of making comics. I've written out scripts, ideas, plots...my art skills aren't great. I used to practice.

I've thought about getting back into it. For real. Drawing every day. Practicing anatomy, perspective, shading. I just get so sad. I imagine hoards of people tearing my work to shreds.

I know, I know. I know how this sounds. Trust me, I've viewed these feelings from more angles than I'm writing down.

I just...need something.

I might do what H did. Get my certificate in something that lets me work remote...dedicate myself to my hobbies in my free time. It would take a while to accomplish, but the time will pass anyways, right? I just don't think what I'm doing is sustainable. I keep being scared I'm too old, but I'm only 27. That's so young, in the grand scheme of things. That's what my step-dad told me a while back.

"You feel like you're spinning your wheels in the mud, don't you?" He said to me. "I felt the same way at your age. Hell, I felt the same way in my 30s. You just gotta keep at it."

It's pretty encouraging. Comforting, I guess.

Fuck. It feels so good to write here. I have nobody else to talk to. I've got H, obviously, but it isn't healthy to dump everything on your spouse constantly. I've got a therapist, who...I'm still getting comfortable with. I've got my mom, now, too...she figured out something was wrong when I went silent again. I'm glad she reached out. The two of us used to have a pretty bad relationship, but she came a long way in my 20s, and put in a lot of work to repair things. I respect that. I appreciate it. There were so many times in my teen years and early 20s when I needed her...it's nice to have her now.

Hey, that's three people! Three people, and this blog. Maybe it isn't so bad. Ugh. I think it'll all be okay. I've just got a lot of big feelings.

#journal

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emeraldiis · 3 years

Text

Falling for a God

A/N: Forgot to properly post/format this fic, so here ya go ya filthy animals (ok but i wrote it so I’m filthier)

AO3 Link

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Summary: “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”You have a huge crush on Loki, there's lots of sexual tension, y'all fuck. That's the plot.

“Nat,” you whine. “I feel like you’re not even listening.” You prance to the front of her, spinning around to walk backwards.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Wow, are you sure you aren’t pyschic?” She keeps up her brisk pace, and you nearly trip over yourself trying to keep up.

“That’s so rude!” You exclaim, but can’t hold back a giggle. Despite her cold demeanor, you know that Nat is just messing with you. Shooting a quick glance backwards, you decide that your path is clear, and return your gaze to your friend. “You’ll tell me if I’m about to run into something, right?”

With a wry grin, Natasha gives you a thumbs up. You beam at her. “Anyway,” you continue. “I started watching this new TV show last night, and it is so, totally awesome. There’s this guy, and he has these badass powers, and he’s fighting this girl, and she has-”

Thump.

A small oof escapes from your mouth as your back collides with something solid. You pitch forward in surprise, and yelp as you try to stabilize yourself before you fall. Large, warm hands grab your waist, tightening around you to keep you from toppling over. You sigh in relief as your frantic heart slows to a normal rhythm. “Wow, thanks,” you say, and spin around to reveal the identity of your saviour.

Piercing blue eyes meet yours, and your breath catches in your throat. “Careful, pet,” Loki murmurs softly, a sly grin spreading across his lips. His hands slide off of your waist, making contact with the sliver of skin between your shorts and your top on the way. An involuntary shiver creeps up your spine, and you bite your lip.

The reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the ever-perceptive trickster, and his eyes flash with surprise. “Are my hands really that cold?” Loki teases. “Perhaps you could help me warm them up.” His tone is playful, but there’s something deeper underneath his banter that makes you think he’s actually flirting.

You can tell that your cheeks are red, and you choose not to respond to Loki’s question in fear of making an even bigger fool of yourself. A stammered apology tumbles from your lips, and you look back towards Natasha with a look of betrayal. She grins and shrugs. “I forgot to warn you. Oops.” Your mouth drops open. That scheming little devil. She knows about your crush on Loki, and she still allows you to make a fool out of yourself?

Your interactions with Loki were sparse, to say the least. Aside from a few casual conversations in a group, you had barely even talked to him. Still, he captivated you from the very first day he arrived at the compound. He was exactly your type; tall, dark, and brooding. Aside from Thor, most everyone gave Loki a wide berth, hesitant to forget the battle for New York. You, however, didn’t see a villain. You saw pain behind those blue eyes, and could empathize with Loki’s behavior. You knew all too well that it hurt to live in someone’s shadow, and sometimes acting out was a cry for help. Granted, Loki’s outbursts were far more drastic than yours had ever been, but it was more or less the same on a base level. And, the fact that he constantly had a witty remark on the tip of his tongue never ceased to entertain you. The man liked to hear himself talk, and damn, so did you.

It takes you a second to realize that you’ve been staring. You clear your throat awkwardly and look to the floor, eager to hide your discomfort. “Um, thank you for catching me,” you manage. When you look back up, Loki is wearing an odd expression. His pretty eyes are narrowed, searching your face. The scrutiny only embarasses you further. “Well, see you around!” WIth that, you dart around Loki and scurry off. Natasha follows you, snickering softly.

When you reach the common area, you plop yourself down on the couch and groan, throwing an arm over your face. Natasha sits down beside you. “Smooth,” she says, drawing out the word obnoxiously.

You remove your arm from over your eyes and give Natasha a withering look. “So not funny.”

Nat positively cackles at that. “Oh, come on,” she says. “He’d be an idiot to not at least have a thing for you, I mean, you’re smoking! ” She looks you up and down. “Nice rack, too.”

A giggle bursts from your lips. “Nat. Oh, my god. Stop objectifying me.”

Shaking her head, Natasha replies, “Me, objectify? I would never.”

That earns her an eye roll from you. “Sure. Anyway, can we please change the subject? I’m sick of talking about my embarrassing Loki crush.”

“What does ‘crush’ mean?”

You freeze. Now that was a distinct voice. “Thor,” you choke out. “When did you get here?”

Thor walks up behind the couch and swings himself over the back, making the poor piece of furniture creak in protest. He settles next to you, effectively sandwiching you between him and Natasha. “Just long enough to hear you discussing my brother. Now, will you please enlighten me on this strange Midgardian term?”

Before you can shut him down, Nat pipes up from the other end of the sofa. “It means she likes him. Romantically. Sexually. ”

The temptation to throw yourself onto the floor wailing is high. Instead, you opt to beg for your life. Still embarrassing, but slightly more productive than throwing a tantrum. “Nat!” You screech. You turn to Thor with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t say anything to him.”

Thor furrows his eyebrows. “What an odd expression. You’d think that the word “crush’ would be associated with something negative.” He places a big hand on your thigh. “If what Lady Natahsa says is true, then why would you not tell my brother? He is quite vain, you know. I’m sure he would be delighted to know that a beautiful woman is attracted to him!”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. These Asgardians will be the death of you. “It’s not that simple, Thor. What if he rejects me? I’d never be able to show my face around him again!”

There’s a pause, and then Thor asks you in a much gentler tone, “It seems as though you care for Loki a great deal more than you are letting on. Are you really afraid of embarrassment, or is it the heartbreak you fear?”

You’re glad that your hands are covering your face, because the way the color drains out of it at Thor’s question would have given you away. “No,” you mumble through your fingers. But he’s right, you do care for Loki more than you’d ever admit. His image ran through your head at night when you were trying to sleep, and his voice was what came to mind when your fingers were between your legs and you were pretending they were-

You rub at your eyes, then look up at Thor in desperation. “Please, if you really care about me as a friend, you’ll keep this secret.” You shoot a look at Natasha. “You, too. I may not be able to take Thor in a fight, but I could kick your ass.” You know you sound like a pathetic teenager, but you’re past the point of caring. You were perfectly happy admiring Loki from afar, and didn’t want to get your hopes up just to be met with shame.

Natasha scoffs. “As if.” Before she can continue. Thor holds up his hand.

“Lady Natasha, I believe we should stay out of this. I have done a great deal of meddling in my brother’s life, and I’ve learned that even the best intentions can cause disaster when Loki is involved.

“Thank you, Thor,” you say gratefully, relief evident in your voice. With a tired sigh, you hoist yourself up from the couch and turn to face your friends. “Well, I think I’ve had enough excitement for today. I’m going to hibernate, see you next spring.”

Natasha giggles and blows you a kiss goodbye while Thor scrunches up his face in confusion at your joke. Oh, well. Maybe he’d understand Midgardian humor one day.

Thunder rages outside your window while you toss and turn. You roll over to glance at your clock, and scowl when it flashes “3AM.” Giving up on the prospect of sleep, you opt for creeping to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Your bare feet pad down the carpet, and you shiver slightly at the cold air of the hall. Goosebumps rise on your bare legs and you start to regret your decision not to put on pants.

To get to the kitchen, you have to walk through the common area, and for a moment you linger just outside the entryway. There’s a soft glow coming from the corner of the room, and you mentally groan, hoping it’s one of the female inhabitants of the compound. You weren’t too excited at the idea of walking past one of the guys in just a sleep shirt and underwear. Still, your mission for food is not one you’re willing to give up on. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the hallway and into the room. And nearly pass out.

Across the room, perched in one of the loveseats, is Loki. He’s sitting with his legs curled underneath him, thumbing through a book. You consider darting back into the safety of the hall, but you’re too late. Loki has already noticed you, and is now staring far too intently for your liking. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you tug on the hem of your shirt, trying to pull it further down your legs. “Sorry to disturb you,” you whisper, afraid to break the deafening silence. Loki raises an eyebrow at you, then turns back to his book. You aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed when his gaze leaves you.

Not wanting to linger in the entryway any longer, you make your way across the room, keeping your eyes down. As you pass Loki, a loud clap of thunder booms outside, and already being on edge, you yelp. Startled from the deafening sound in an otherwise quiet room, you stagger, falling backwards onto the loveseat. Right next to Loki. The sofa is small, and in your splayed out position, you’re almost half on top of the god.

Loki flinches away, and you immediately begin to apologize. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I guess I just lost my footing. Did I hurt you?” As you talk, you push yourself off of Loki and cower into the other side of the loveseat. Some more rational part of your brain urges you to get up, give him some more space, but you don’t listen. As embarrassed as you are, you’re not quite ready to give up this closeness to the object of your affection.

With a huff, Loki straightens himself and gives you a cool look. “You did not hurt me, mortal. I was simply surprised.” Then, having composed himself, he smirks and sets his book on the end table beside him. “I suppose it is only natural to have weak knees in the presence of a god.”

The comment lightens the mood, and you find yourself relaxing next to him. “You’re right, Thor’s thunder does make me a tad unsteady.”

At that, Loki stiffens, obviously having not expected you to return his teasing. For a brief moment, you feel proud. Then, something changes in his expression, and he scoots closer to you. His hand finds your bare thigh, and the contact sends butterflies through your stomach. Loki senses your restlessness and gives you a predatory grin. “Is that so? Are you telling me that this,” he squeezes your thigh, and you gasp. “Doesn’t make you feel...faint?” His voice is low, and he almost purrs the last few words.

You fight hard to keep your breathing even, not wanting to give away just how flustered you are. The heavy weight of his hand feels heavenly, and you can feel your panties grow damp. God, you hope he can’t smell it.

This predatory tone is so much different than the playful teasing that you usually receive from Loki. You’ve never seen his blue eyes so dark, and the unfamiliarity of it all tightens your stomach.

Taking your silence as a challenge, Loki presses himself even closer to you. His fingers creep up your leg, closer to your underwear. “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”

Fuck. A full body shiver skates across your skin, and despite your best efforts, a small moan breaks free from your throat. Loki’s hand feels like a brand on your thigh, sending waves of heat up your body. The warmth pools between your legs, and you can’t help but shift a bit. Knowing that your panties are the only barrier between your soaking heat and the sofa, you arch your hips ever so slightly to keep from soiling the cushion.

Of course, your small movements don’t go unnoticed. Loki’s eyes are hooded as they rake across your bare legs, and you can hear his breathing get a bit heavier. He looks up at you, pupils dilated. “Oh, pet, look at you. Barely even touched, and already-”

He’s cut off by the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall, headed in your direction. Loki curses softly and reluctantly draws his hand away, then moves as far away as the small sofa allows. Your skin aches at the loss of contact.

The interrupting stranger’s footsteps approach the entrance to the common room, then carry on past. You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, thankful that you wouldn’t have to explain anything. Something tells you that, while there’s nothing going on now, sitting with Loki in the middle of the night might raise a few eyebrows.

You and Loki are alone again, but the moment has passed. Whatever spell that had overcome the two of you is gone, and all that’s left is a quiet room and a dim light. “I apologize, I believe I have overstepped,” Loki says, and for the first time, he sounds...unsure. His voice has lost that arrogant confidence that it normally carries, and he sounds like a child that has just been caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You bite your lip and risk a glance at Loki. He’s still pressed against the opposite arm of the loveseat, and is avoiding your eyes. Without the atmosphere of desire from before, now you just feel...awkward. Sighing softly, you rise to your feet and make your way to the hallway. You pause briefly in the entryway, and breathe out a “goodnight, Loki.” You don’t wait for a response, instead turning and trudging back towards your room.

As you flop back down in bed, you replay the night’s events over in your mind. It almost feels like a dream, and you’re having trouble believing that Loki, the God of Mischief, had actually come on to you. It didn’t seem plausible. You’re just a plain mortal, nothing special, no powers. Sure, your combat skills could rival Natasha’s, but besides that, you can’t find anything about yourself that would attract a god.

Eventually, you decide that maybe Loki was just horny, and you were in the right place at the right time. You did walk out without pants on, after all. No matter the reasoning, you know not to expect a repeat occurrence, given how regretful he had seemed afterwards. Tears brim in your eyes as the reality of the situation hits you; Loki regrets touching you. It seems that your crush was one-sided, and even though you weren’t surprised, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Things are tense around the compound. You creep around corners, terrified of accidentally finding yourself in the same room as Loki. And it seems that Loki is taking the same precautions, because you haven’t even seen a glimpse of him since that night. The ache in your heart from his rejection still keeps you up at night, and you still find yourself pining over him like a lovesick idiot.

Ever the observer, Natasha catches on quickly. “Are you really still embarrassed about bumping into Loki?” She asks after cornering you in the kitchen. “You’re not acting like yourself, and it is beyond obvious something is bothering you.”

You groan at her around a mouthful of a granola bar. “Are you really still thinking about it?” You counter.

Nat rolls her eyes. “Please, it’s hard to pretend it didn’t happen when you’re playing this stupid cat and mouse game. I see you check every room for him, I can’t believe you even care that much. He barely even touched you!”

A piece of your snack shoots down your throat with your gasp. You double over, wheezing and coughing. Natasha slaps a hand on your back, sighing. When you finally catch your breath, you glare at Nat. “Yeah, maybe that’s the issue.”

You immediately regret your words as a fire lights itself in Natasha’s eyes. “Want me to help?”

“Nat, hold on. No thanks-”

“Shush, trust me!” To your dismay, Natasha is already on her way out of the kitchen when she finishes hushing you. You whimper out a half-baked protest, but your friend is long gone by the time the words leave your mouth. Fuck, you’re so screwed.

LIfe was very quickly becoming a stressful game of hide and seek. You’d resorted to spending most of the day in your room, hoping to avoid Loki, and more importantly, Natasha. You’re not sure what she has planned, but it can’t be anything good. As weeks pass by with no incident, however, you begin to drop your guard. Maybe she’s taking pity on you.

It’s around noon when you get the text. It’s an all caps message from Nat, pleading with you to at least hear her out before saying no.

That’s a terrifying text. I’m listening.

Nat: I may have bragged my way into a drinking contest with Thor, and I need a teammate to make it fair.

You want to try and outdrink Thor????

Nat: I want US to outdrink him. I convinced him that it’d be more balanced if it was 2 to 1.

You owe me.

Nat: :)

It was a terrible idea, but maybe a nice night of getting hammered is just what you need to break you out of your funk. Despite your initial reluctance, you find yourself getting excited. You hadn’t really relaxed in ages, this would be a good thing.

As the hours pass, you start to get nervous. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten properly drunk, and you seriously doubt you’ll be able to keep up with even Natasha. Still, a promise is a promise, and you have far too much pride to chicken out now.

The clock reaches nine o’clock, and you sigh. Showtime. Before leaving your suite, you set several glasses of water and a bottle of Advil on your nightstand. If you’re going to fuck over your future self, you might as well try to ease her pain. You take a deep breath and spare a glance over at the mirror against your bedroom wall. You had opted for something comfy, but cute; an emerald green dress that stopped just above your mid-thigh, and fell off of one shoulder effortlessly.

Okay, so maybe you had wanted to get a tiny bit dressed up. You’re sure Nat will tease you for it, but sometimes a girl just wants to feel pretty.

A bit breathless from those pre-competition nerves--yes, a drinking contest was that serious--you make your way to the kitchen. As you round the corner, you stop dead in your tracks. Sitting at the bar Tony had insisted on installing, is Nat and Thor, of course. But next to them, perched delicately on one of the stools, is Loki. He wears a look of disdain, as if this entire competition is beneath him. You hope he can’t tell how badly you want to be beneath him.

Natasha gives you a wicked grin as Thor waves you over, his smile far more innocent-looking than Nat’s, though you’re sure he had a part in this. Cursing your terrible friends under your breath, and yourself for falling for it, you trudge over. Naturally, the only stool left is the one on the end, directly next to Loki. You gingerly hoist yourself up and slide onto the seat.

You stubbornly keep your eyes on the counter, not daring to even glance up at Loki. It’s obvious from the way he’s angling himself away from you and towards his brother that he’s regretting that night, and doesn’t want to be near you. You don’t blame him, humans must seem like animals compared to gods. The reality is that you were a mistake to him, and you just needed to accept that and move past.

Breaking the awkward silence, Thor produces a jug of what looks like beer from god knows where. He grins and gestures to it grandly. As he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off. “Hold up! I thought this was two against one? Loki being here makes it unfair.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at you. “Yeah, I may have bent the truth to get you to come out. It’s teams of two, but we have a handicap. Our drinks and shots count as twice the actual amount, and they’ll be drinking Asgardian mead. So,” She smirks. “No more complaints, let’s do this shit.”

You swallow nervously at the mention of shots. You could hold your liquor fairly well, but you and shots had...history. Nat knew how touchy you got when you were drunk, and how much of an oversharer you tended to be. Though you have to admit that her plan is almost flawless, you’re still unimpressed with her shenanigans. She’s pretty much set you up to embarrass yourself.

You twiddle your thumbs in your seat as Natasha grabs a bottle of Svedka from behind the bar and begins to pour the beginning drinks. Following her lead, Thor pops open his jug and splits it between two large glasses, then passes one to Loki, who sighs in apparent boredom. He shoots you an unreadable look, then grabs one of the shot glasses that Natasha filled and slides it your way.

With a mumbled “thanks,’ you gingerly take the glass, and look at Nat and Thor. Thor raises his glass. “May the better warriors win!” He announces, then tips back his glass. You roll your eyes at the word choice, but bring the shot glass to your lips and throw your head back. The liquor goes down rough, but you manage to keep your poker face and grit your teeth against any retches.

“The lady can drink!” Thor bellows, wiping at his face.

You shrug, wanting the spotlight off of you. “Um, I went to college?”

Before Thor can question you, Natasha cuts in. “Hello? I took it just as well, where’s my applause?”

“Natasha, you are not a lady,” Loki deadpans. Nat glares and pours herself another shot in response, throwing back the second one just as easily as she had the first. She then points at you. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. Despite everything, Loki was still Loki, and he still had your heart. It seems that the tension between you and Loki dissolves after you laugh at his quip, and he relaxes his stiff posture.

You sigh in relief and reach for the bottle to refill your own glass. This time, it goes down easier. That is, until the burns travels past your stomach, right down to between your legs. You squirm in place at the unexpected burst of arousal. Still, you should have been ready for it. Alcohol has always gotten you a little worked up. It was your mistake to believe you could fight it.

Despite the setback, you keep up with your teammate as the night goes on. Shot after shot, broken up by the easy conversation that emerges as the liquor continues to flow.

You’re not sure when the competition was forgotten, but you soon find yourself splayed on the couch next to Loki, laughing hysterically at some story he’s just finished telling about Thor in his youth. You look over at him, hazily trying to center your double vision to properly admire the god. His cheeks are flushed red from the alcohol, and he looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him.

Loki glances over, catching you staring, but you’re far too intoxicated to be embarrassed. Instead, you hold your gaze, waiting for a reaction. Loki smirks, then eyes his brother with annoyance.

“Brother,” he says, voice a lazy drawl. “I believe we’ve won this contest, wouldn’t you say?”

Thor cocks his head, then widens his eyes in understanding. “Oh, certainly! In fact, I think it would be necessary for me to walk you back to your quarters, Natasha.”

Natasha begins to protest, but it dies on her lips as her gaze flickers between you and Loki. “What a gentleman,” she purrs, only swaying slightly when she rises from her seat. “Lead the way.” Taking his outstretched hand, Natasha stumbles down the hall with Thor, giggling excitedly.

Now that it’s just the two of you, you expect things to get awkward, but find that you’re still just as comfortable. “Well, I guess I have to bow to the drinking champ,” you slur, sitting up to give a half hearted bow.

Loki throws his head back and laughs. “You,” he manages between snorts, “are far more fun to be around than most others on this planet.”

You scoff and wave your hand dismissively. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I bowed to you.” Chewing on your lip, you let your eyes drift back over to Loki. In your drunken haze, he just looks so...comfy. Before you realize what you’re doing, you slide over to lean up against him. Loki’s surprisingly warm, and you sigh contentedly, letting your mind wander back to how his hand felt running up your thigh.

The arousal from earlier that you had forgotten about rears its head, turning your sigh into a shaky exhale that is not at all subtle. The air feels thick, just like it had on that one stormy night, and you press yourself closer to Loki, unable to resist how good his body feels against yours.

Loki freezes for a moment, then seems to force himself to relax into you. His arm snakes around you until he’s holding you comfortably against his side. For one brief moment, you start to wonder if this is a good idea, given how things had ended in the past, but the intoxicated part of your brain tells the sober part to go fuck herself, and then you’re speaking without thinking. “Do you want to walk me to bed?”

Oh, shit. You can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. A wave of sobering panic hits you, and you untangle yourself from Loki and shoot up from the couch. Before you can flee, however, a pale hand grabs hold of your arm, stopping you in place.

Loki gets up, then moves his grip from your wrist to your hand. “I think that is a lovely idea. Allow me?” With the hand that isn’t holding yours, he gestures toward the hall. Well, that was unexpected. You try not to giggle in child-like excitement, and instead nod hurriedly.

Your heart speeds up at the feel of his hand in yours, and you start off down the hall, letting Loki pull you towards your suite. Caught up in trying to navigate the titling floor, you don’t notice that you’re being led the wrong way until the two of you come to a stop at a door that definitely does not belong to you. You look up at Loki in confusion. “This isn’t my room.”

“I know,” Loki growls, then opens the door and whirls you both inside. When you’ve recovered from the swift movement, you manage to pull away from Loki’s grip.

“What-what’s going on?” You say, attempting to sound stern. Loki stalks towards you. Instinctively, you back up, until you’re pressed against the wall with Loki boxing you in.

Loki presses his hands to the wall on either side of your head and sneers at you. “What’s going on?” He mocks. “I’ve craved your body under mine since long before our little nighttime meeting, and I have run out of patience for games.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, grazing you with his teeth. Just like before, his playfulness has given way to a domineering aura, but you’re not complaining one bit.

You barely suppress a full body shiver. “But,” you protest weakly. “I, I thought you regretted it. I mean, you never said anything about it, so I figured...oh…” you trail off into a soft moan as Loki roughly licks up the side of your neck, growling.

“And when would I have gotten the chance?” Loki pulls away from his assault on your skin to look you in the eyes. “You have been avoiding me for nearly a month.” Those blue eyes are staring daggers at you, and you realize that there’s hurt behind all that frustration.

Your mouth goes dry. He’s right, but the eye contact from his smoldering stare is making you forget how to speak. Fumbling with your words, you cast your gaze downwards. “Yeah, I guess I have. But with what you said after we were interrupted....I thought you were uncomfortable with what happened.”

A dark chuckle spills from Loki’s lips. “The only discomfort you have caused me is the nights I have spent spilling over my own hand because I could not have you. ”

You gasp softly as Loki’s words send a wave of heat through your overheated body. Loki takes that as encouragement, and presses himself closer until his lips are grazing yours. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” he mumbles, eyes hooded.

Your response is to surge forward, hands flying to the back of his head as you roughly pull him in to kiss you. You both groan at the contact. The kiss is anything but gentle; your fingers are tangled in Loki’s hair, tugging harshly, and you can feel his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. It was far better than you could have imagined, and the dizzying pleasure of it all has you feeling drunker and more sober at the same time.

Before long, the room spins as Loki lifts you and hoists your legs around his waist. He kisses you breathless as he walks slowly down the hall towards what you can only assume is his bedroom. There’s a giddy part inside of you that squeals with excitement at being carried like that, but it’s quickly overshadowed by lust as you and Loki reach his bedroom. He tosses you onto his king sized bed like a doll, then kneels on the floor and yanks your ankles until your bottom is almost hanging off the bed.

Loki slides your dress up and nuzzles the inside of your thigh. “I could smell your arousal the entire night,” he says, nearly purring. “May I taste?”

You sit up on your elbows and stare down at him, face flushed with mild embarrassment at his face so close to your soaked panties. Dumbly, you nod, words failing you. Loki growls his appreciation and hikes up your dress, taking a brief moment to admire the soft fabric. “You look absolutely ravishing in green, I’ve wanted to tear this off of you since the moment I laid eyes on it.” And then he’s sliding your panties down your legs and plunging his tongue into your heat.

A ragged gasp tears its way from your throat and you throw your head back. You feel the grin form on Loki’s lips against your skin, and a fresh gush of arousal flows down your thighs. Loki eats pussy like it’s an art form he’s been perfecting for ages. His lips tug at your pussy, worshipping every fold like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. You open your mouth to make some joke about his silvertongue, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper as Loki drags his teeth lightly across your clit.

It isn’t long before the pleasure reaches its peak.You fight hard to keep your legs from clamping around Loki’s head, but you can’t help it when you crest over the edge of orgasm. Your muscles lock up, your back arches, and you scream. White hot euphoria explodes from your core, spreading through your body like venom. Loki’s tongue works you through it, slowing to wide, long strokes as you begin to come down.

You’ve barely recovered when Loki rises from his knees and crawls up your body, coming to a stop when his face is inches from yours. His eyes are hooded, and his glistening lips are parted to allow frantic, heated pants to escape. “Pet,” he hisses, leaning down to nuzzle into your shoulder. “You taste sweeter than the fruits of Asgard.” He bites at your collarbone, making you shudder in your post-orgasmic haze.

Still out of it, you sluggishly fumble at Loki’s belt. “Wanna make you feel good, too,” you mumble and lick your lips. Loki bats your hand away, shushing you.

“Darling, there will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I need to feel you.” He grabs your shoulders and drags you up to the pillows, so that you’re lying comfortably on your back with him hovering above you.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of ‘later.’ So this wasn’t just a one-night stand? You don’t have time to process that, however, as Loki barely gives you a moment to breathe. He sits back on his knees, straddling your waist, and with a wave of his hand, you’re both stark naked. Your hands twitch, wanting to cover yourself. Being naked in front of an attractive man has always intimidated you, but the fact that Loki was a god made it worse. As if sensing your sudden shyness, Loki leans in to kiss at lick at your breasts, and brings his hands up to pin your wrists to the bed. You sigh in pleasure, insecurity fading with every hot swipe of his tongue, not even wanting to struggle against his hold.

Loki lowers himself to grind against you. His hard cock slides against your dripping folds as his narrow hips press into yours. Both of you shiver, and you arch your hips to bring him closer. Loki growls against your skin and sits up. He lets go of your wrists, roughly grabs your waist and angles it to meet his. “Ready, pet? I can’t wait, I need to have you.” he breathes, eyes locked on yours.

Like a deer in the headlights, you’re frozen, anticipation coiling tightly under your skin. Slowly, you nod. Loki wastes no time. He smirks, then slides himself into you, the stretch burning in the loveliest way. Your heated groan mingles with his, and when Loki’s hips come to rest against yours, he falls against your chest, panting. You appreciate the time he gives you to adjust; Loki’s cock is thick, and longer than anything you’ve ever taken, and you can feel it throbbing desperately within you. Now that he’s released your hands, you bring them up to thread through his soft, black hair. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, nearly purring.

“Tell me when, love,” Loki grits out, fighting to keep his voice steady. The shakiness in his usually smooth tone is arousing to no end, and you can feel yourself clench around him in approval. Loki’s hips twitch at the fluttering of your walls, and though you’re more than ready, you decide to torture him a bit longer.

You bring your legs up to wrap around Loki’s waist, pulling him closer. He shivers, but keeps his composure, remaining almost statue still. His concern for your comfort makes your heart swell, but you want to see him lose control. “You’re so big,” you whimper out, the alcohol in your system quelling the embarrassment you’d usually feel when talking dirty. You press your face into Loki’s neck, grazing your teeth along the pale skin there.

With a deep growl of barely kept composure, Loki rises up to rest on his elbows, desperate eyes searching yours. It seems that being the God of Lies gave Loki the ability to see through your cruel game, and his expression turns dark, though the neediness is still blatant. You shift nervously as he stares you down, already regretting your mischievousness. “Feeling playful, are we?” Loki asks.

Your mouth goes dry at being caught and your core tightens around him again, earning you a flutter of his eyelids. “I…” you trail off, eyes drifting to Loki’s parted lips. Watching you gaze, Loki grins at you.

“Oh, pet. I think you may be confused. You are mine to toy with, not the other way around.” With that, Loki leans down to crush his lips into yours. His tongue forces its way into your mouth and you whine around it. While his tongue’s distracting you, Loki takes his chance to begin pounding into you at a ruthless pace, and you break away from the kiss to throw your head back and shriek out a moan.

You feel utterly wrecked, stomach clenching and nerves alight with pleasure as Loki continues his assault on your body. Your eyes are squeezed shut, so his teeth nipping at your jaw come as a surprise, sending a whole new shockwave of sensation down your neck.

“You feel so fucking good, pet,” Loki moans, his voice quickly losing its characteristic steadyness. He sighs out something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper, and brings one of his hands down to toy with your clit. Your legs tighten around him involuntarily. “A-ah, fuck,” Loki grits out, increasing his pace.

The pleasure is overwhelming, and the unhuman speed at which Loki’s pounding into you leaves you no time to catch your breath. Moans and whines erupt from your mouth in a constant stream, and Loki keeps his mouth hovering above yours to drink them in. “I wanna cum,” you whimper as Loki’s assault on your senses continues.

“Then cum, pet,” Loki groans, hips stuttering. “ Cum for your god.”

You keen, writhing and chasing your high. As you climb up to your orgasm, you are met with a startling realization that Loki has already ruined you for anyone else. No human man could match the fire that he’s set upon your nerves, the blinding pleasure that mounts with every thrust and kiss. With that settling into your mind, you finally reach your second peak of the night.

Your eyes try to flutter shut, tears brimming at the corners as you wail Loki’s name again and again. Through the haze of your climax, you notice Loki’s muscles begin to tense as he nears his orgasm as well, and you force your eyes to stay open in order to watch him come apart.

Watching Loki cum is almost like a second climax. He speeds up impossibly, mouth hanging open and eyes barely able to stay focused on you. “You’re mine,” he growls out. Choked moans fall from his lips as he nears the edge, and you rake your nails down his back to encourage him.

“Cum in me, please, I need it, make me yours” you ramble breathlessly.

“Oh, fuck, I-I’m so close,” Loki manages, voice breaking. You continue to coo pleas and encouragements at him, and the way his eyes roll back at your wrecked voice gives you an intoxicating rush of pride. Finally, with a whimpering moan, Loki stills, cock pulsing within you and hips twitching as he pumps you full of his cum.

Loki slumps against you, still moving in aborted little thrusts, as if he can’t quite stop fucking you just yet. The weight of him on top of you is heavy, but not unwelcome, and you take the time to bask in the euphoria of having just slept with the god you’d pined after for so long.

“That was…” you start, words failing you.

“Divine,” Loki finishes for you. He slides his cock out of your pussy, and with it comes a gush of warm cum that you’re sure will stain the sheets. He rolls off of you, then guides you onto your side so that he can pull you up against him.

You weren’t expecting Loki to be the ‘cuddling after sex,’ type, so having him spoon you was surprising, to say the least. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, and you find yourself wanting to fall asleep like that; comfortable in his bed and safe in his strong arms.

Still, there’s a nagging question that won’t let you fully relax. Not wanting to expect too much, you brace yourself for the worst and open your mouth to speak. “Loki...what does this mean for us?”

Loki tenses behind you, and your heart breaks at the assumed rejection as he begins to pull away. “Are you...are you not mine? I thought this was-I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood. Forgive me.”

This time, your heart breaks for a different reason. Loki sounds so hurt, so unsure of everything, and you can hear a scared little boy behind that velvet voice. “No!” You nearly shout, turning around to pull him back to you. “I want to be yours, I promise,” you say as you tug Loki back into your arms, running a soothing hand down his back. “I just wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted.”

The relief in Loki is visible as he relaxes into you. “Love, I am yours as much as you are mine, do not doubt that.”

The pet name brings a smile to your lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you reply happily. Heart full, you roll back over so that Loki can snuggle into you again, and finally let your drowsiness overtake you. You catch a faint, ‘I love you,’ just before you drift off to sleep, and though it could just be your mind playing tricks on you, you know that you love him, too.

#loki x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #smut #fanfiction #the loki show

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jotunn-loki · 3 years

Text

my king

FANDOM: marvel, mcu, black panther PAIRING: erik killmonger x female!reader RATING: explicit, NS//FW!!! WARNINGS/KINKS: throne sex, praise kink, daddy kink, bj, power dynamics, blackmail? ish? a little at the end that’s implied ig

SUMMARY: An ally of the royal family, you were sent on a stealth mission to gather intel on the new Wakandan Empire with Nakia, but when she escapes without you, you are left behind and must...face the consequences.

NOTE: I just re-watched Black Panther last night and I couldn't stop thinking about erik stevens/killmonger, especially an au where he wins and holds power over well, everything??? so then i wrote this at 3am lmao. Reader is female and on the chubbier side:)

You are kneeled in front of your king, weight digging into the solid cold tile of the throne room’s floor, making you grimace in pain. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, even though it’s just a few minutes, and you know that it’s probably because of the way Killmonger’s hand is on the back of your neck, grip squeezing you gently, a wicked smirk on his face. “Looking pretty down there, princess.”

Of course, you are not a princess, but you appreciate the sentiment. And the pet name, which seems to be a favorite of his. You know only too well how Shuri would most likely destroy you on the spot right now for “stealing” her title—or at least get Okoye to do it for her—but right now, that doesn’t matter. Shuri’s fond annoyance can wait...or what would be fond annoyance if you were in anything but this situation. Fond annoyance would be reserved for you butting in to respond to someone addressing her, maybe teasing her in front of the Avengers. That’s what fond annoyance would be for.

Not for anything like this.

Because right now, you’re not sure that if Shuri, much less anyone else in the royal family, knew where you were, she would ever talk to you again. They ordered you on a stealth mission with Nakia to infiltrate Erik Killmonger’s tightly-secured nucleus of the Wakandan Empire, and yet, here you are on your knees before him, staring up at him as he imposes over you with heavily lidded eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

It’s not that your mission has...failed, per se. You managed to get Nakia to the vaults she needed to access in order to re-transmit the old intel from before Wakanda’s takeover, and she slipped by you with practiced ease, giving you a terse yet respectful nod of her head and slight smile. You had both been extremely stressed; you couldn’t blame her.

And now she has escaped. You hope. You were not so lucky, instead dragged to the throne room and unceremoniously dumped before Erik Killmonger like a discarded whore. Maybe that had been the point.

The chamber is empty now, and every harsh pant of your breath can be heard echoing across the tiles. It’s beautiful, and ironic, and you wish that in another life, you could be here under pleasanter circumstances.

“Know why I brought you here? ‘Stead of killing you on the spot?” Killmonger suddenly asks, and his grip on the back of your neck tightens. You groan in pain, but also because this is somehow extremely arousing, and for a third reason, too: you are ashamed of your own bodily reaction.

Gasping out a breath, you say, “No. Why did you, my king?” Another sharp intake of breath as Killmonger draws you in, free hand drifting to your ass and pinching it. You wince, shame flooding through you along with arousal, and you let out a small whine.

Killmonger’s smirk widens. His actions have told you answer enough.

You are practically on his lap now—well, just your head is, for your knees are still pressed stubbornly into the tile. And this lap… His legs are spread wide, even wider than usual to accommodate your head being pulled between them, chin tilted up to stare at him defiantly.

As if he can sense your thoughts, he shifts his hips, slouching lower in the throne so that his crotch is almost pressed in your face. “Huh, princess? This what you want? My fat cock in your mouth?”

You moan, practically salivating at his words, and you can already feel yourself growing wet. “M-My king—”

“Tell me what you want, princess.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you mumble.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear.”

“Fuck me, daddy!” you nearly scream, this time unable to stay quiet, as he has quietly slipped his fingers beneath the band of your underwear and is now ghosting over your clit in a tease. Fuck, you want him so badly, despite the ruin he’s brough to Wakanda and the whole world. It only makes you feel more ashamed, and that alone sends another burning spike through you.

With your admission, Killmonger grins. “That’s right, babygirl. Beg for your king.” You moan as his fingers begin to stretch you open, large and thick, preparing the way for his cock, for right now, you are nothing but a vessel for him to empty himself into, a fucktoy, a lost spy whose last chance at survival is to cum on the cock of the most powerful man in the world.

“Use me however you want me,” you beg, nearly a whisper.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aight then, if you say.” His reluctance is not nearly as convincing as he would have it seem, however, for the statement is followed by him pushing your head back to the ground so forcefully that it hurts, and then pulling his fingers out of you with a slick sliding sound, arms coming to rest on either armrest of the throne he sits in.

He looks down at you and spreads his legs just a little further. “How ‘bout if you can get me close to cumming, I’ll fuck you, how’s that, princess?”

Quicky, you nod. You’ll do whatever it takes to please him, even if that means taking him in a whole nother way.

His lips twist to the side as if to say, well get to it, then, and you do, hands flying to undo his pants and push away the sides of the long robe he’s wearing. Soon, his cock finally springs free, and you grasp in eagerly, giving it a few pumps before taking it into your mouth, tongue dancing along it skillfully.

It’s not long before Killmonger takes control, though, and it becomes less of you giving him a blowjob and more of him fucking your face, dick pumping against the back of your throat furiously and without mercy. He is always without mercy. You choke on his length and size, but that only empowers him further, and he grins as he takes your hand and presses it down onto himself, making you bob along at his pace.

That’s new, and you feel like you can’t breathe, but that only serves to make you even wetter, so you let him continue to fuck your mouth, and when a thick pulse courses through his cock, you can tell he’s close, so you tear your head away before he can cum.

“Fuck,” Killmonger curses, breathing heavily. The part in his robes reveals his chest, heaving with his near-orgasm, and cautiously, you run your hand across it, feeling each of the burn scars against the skin of your palm. It’s so different from anything you’ve ever felt, but it only intrigues you.

Finally, with wide, pleading eyes that you can only hope look bratty, you meet his gaze again. “Will you fuck me now, my king?”

“I did promise you, princess,” he admits, dabbing at his own precum and prodding your lips with his wet finger. You open your mouth to lip, cleaning his fingers with a skillful tongue. “But you better take those clothes off.”

Though feeling a little self-conscious, you do, unwrapping the basotho blanket from your neck and the tighter layers underneath. Finally, you slip off your undergarments, leaving you bare in front of him.

Erik Killmonger’s eyes travel slowly when he’s assessing a situation, and this time, it’s no different, his gaze appreciative as it lingers on the curves of your hanging breasts and the swell of your hips and ass. “Come over here, babygirl,” he says to you, nearly a whisper, and you do, about to kneel in front of him when he stops you with a soft kiss to your lips and a hand clenching a cheek of your thick ass. “None ‘a that, now. I didn’t kill you for a reason, right?”

“I, uh—” You break off in confusion, unsure of where he’s headed. Didn’t he just want someone to fuck the shit out of? And you were there, so willing, so eager?

He smirks as he realizes that you have no idea what he’s talking about. “We’ll worry about that later, princess. Right now, I’mma fuck you senseless.”

Your pussy clenches at his words, and he grins at that, grabbing you and pressing you onto his lap so that your legs are folded on either side of him. The throne is large enough that it’s still comfortable, even with his legs spread out as wide as they are.

Slowly, you begin to ride him, moving faster when your body becomes more impatient. Erik hisses, hands settling on either side of your hips and using the padding of flesh there to aide you in bouncing on top of him with ease. “That’s right, princess. You’re doing so good. Fuck yes.”

It’s heaven, right here, and it sends a rush of thrill through you to know that this man fucking your pussy is one who’s killed hundreds of people, who largely rules the entire world with a fist made of vibranium. Not literally—though you wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to replace one of his own fleshy limbs with a metal one.

“Oh, my king, I’m so close,” you moan then, feeling your body’s tide reach near its peak. “Please, daddy—”

“Cum on my dick, princess,” he hisses in your ear, allowing you to ride him through your orgasm as obscene sounds emit from your mouth and your hands grip his shoulders, serrated and roughened as they are.

When it’s over, you collapse onto him and the throne, curling onto your side, plushy skin such a contrast to his muscled frame. You almost could fall asleep, if there wasn’t that one pinprick of fear, and of course, the omnipresent hatred festering for him in your heart.

“What were you talking about for a moment?” you finally ask him, eyes closed and head resting on his shoulders. He is absentmindedly running a hand across the bare expanse of your body, tracing lazy circles across the curve of your stomach and down to squeeze your thighs in appreciation.

“You wanna stay?” he asks. It’s an almost answer, and you frown. “Why should I do that? You’ve destroyed everything that’s important to me.”

“Then let me be that new important thing,” he says in reply. “Rule with me. Be my queen.”

“For the sex?”

He shrugs, and the movement is massive. “For everything. Whatever my babygirl wants.”

You suck in a breath. It’s tempting, for sure. But it’s also a betrayal to everything you’ve worked so hard for. “I can’t,” you admit.

“Then I gotta kill you,” he whispers. “And that’d be a shame, yeah?”

You swallow. Look at him. Swallow again.

“Yeah.”

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

A/N: well, lmk what you think!! (imma just be hiding under a blanket embarrassed that i wrote something this smutty). this fic is also posted by the same name on ao3, but i’m not linking it because then tumblr will hide this post lol.

TAGS: let me know if you want me to make a taglist!

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zet-sway · 3 years

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@the-wip-project day 35:

I don't know what today's question is but I gotta write a wall of text about what happened last night because holy shit

I was on the verge of falling asleep and, like I usually do, I decided to hunt for some spicy fanfics to read on my phone. I found one.

All my posts are long but this one is real fucking long. CW for touching on dub-con and injury mentioned in the type of context it probably shouldn't be.

It's time for me to admit that not only am I a oneshot writer, I'm also a oneshot reader. I am drawn to short fanfics. If I click on a chaptered fic, it's (usually) because it's rated E for smut and I'll go in with every intention of skimming it for the spicy bits. I'm not proud of this. I've avoided saying this for years because I don't want to disappoint people who work hard on their very long and well thought out chaptered stories. I have a short attention span, and I know what I want.

But anyway, last night I clicked on a fic with 5 chapters and some amount of words, around 30k? Long, by my standards, but I was tired and I just wanted something to read while I dozed off.

This particular fic hooked me in, though. I still skimmed it, but the writing was so unique in a way that made me writhe with writer's envy and admiration. Whoever wrote this had their own language - nothing borrowed - their own vision.

I guess I should tell the good people who read my posts (ya'll, seriously, thank you) that the fic in topic is called Fault Lines by Recidiva on AO3. I would link to it but uhhhh I may be using my work PC for "extracurricular purposes" right this moment ^^; so maybe when I get home I'll remember to add it.

I skimmed it - like I said above - for the spicy parts. It generally follows the plot of Bioware's canon. Thane begins as possessive and manipulative, likely uncomfortably close to dub-con for a lot of people. He kisses her and knows full well that his kiss will make her willing but intoxicated, and how he will use that to fulfil himself. But as the story progresses, he falls in love. Their relationship is what I'll call "edgy." Both of them are renegades. There's a scene where they get down in the shuttle after a fight and they're both still injured and it borders on downright unrealistic but fuck it, it's fanfic and I bought it. However their relationship develops a certain heart-wrenching tenderness. She asks him what Siha means over and over again, and eventually tells him she thinks "bitch" when he says it. But in that moment they have a playful banter, he knows full well she's probably already looked it up on the extranet, and they fall into bed together. The smut is mind-boggling.

By the time it gets to Shepard's arrest, he's taken up a place on Earth and visits her, breaks into her house arrest. There's a scene where they see each other for the first time in a while, she tells him how much she's missed his mouth and how it's not right how bad she wants him, and wants him bad enough to smother him with affection. She says something to the effect of "if you're looking to die, I'd volunteer to be the cause," implying that her lust is powerful enough to endanger his life. And it was at this moment I realized I fucked up.

It's established that I live in my own headcanon and I'm not burdened with considering the end of Thane's life as part of my fics. And the suspension of disbelief was such that I forgot he doesn't make it. So at this moment in the fic, chapter 4 out of 5, I realized "Oh shit this isn't going to have a happy ending." I skipped to the end right away, I wanted to confirm my fears.

In their final exchange, she asks him to lie to her - something that's repeated in other chapters of the story. I forget what he says, I was reading desperately, but he asks her in return to tell him something true. She kisses him and tells him she loves him, and he breathes his last breath with the lingering tingle of their kiss to carry him to the other side.

I was so entrenched in the depth of their relationship up to that point. The level of fathomless love the author conveyed, unlike anything I've ever managed to write before, but more realistic to my own understanding of love as I've experienced it. Not because they're renegades, but just the selflessness with which they feel, communicate, banter, and make love.

When I read that last paragraph, something inside me broke. That sounds dramatic but that's honestly how I would describe it. It felt like waking up from a night terror, when you bolt up in bed from a dream so bad you immediately get up even if it's 4am because nothing feels real and you're so terrified you have to get up and do something - literally anything to take your mind off it, to ease you back into reality. I put my phone down and stared into the darkness of my bedroom and told myself "it's just a fanfic, no need to get upset." And then I started to cry and I didn't stop for 30 minutes.

My husband was downstairs watching Bohemian Rhapsody and I went down there and wrapped myself around him so tight and cried. Bless this man, from the bottom of my heart - bless him - for his unfathomable kindness. I felt like a fucking fool because I was crying over fanfiction but he paused his movie and just listened while I tried to articulate how it wasn't exactly about the character death, or the characters at all, it was just the writing and how it wormed into my brain so convincingly. I felt the loss like it was my own loss. I am terrified of losing my husband. So many feelings coalesced and I realized one day I may be in that situation, kissing the man I love goodbye for the last time, never to hold him again. I'm at work right now and I'm tearing up because it's so hard.

I tip my hat to the author, but I genuinely wished I hadn't read that fanfic. And isn't it kind of funny after that grandstand I took yesterday about not wanting to write the pain of loss and grief, that I ended up reading it instead and probably fucking myself up just as badly, if not worse, than if I had tried to write it myself?

It gets worse, too. Because it got me thinking about my own writing, and how I could never hope to achieve what that author did. So I sat there crying out my painfeelings while simultaneously feeling like a shit writer and like nothing I put out matters. I got up from the couch, sat down at my PC and picked up where I left off in the Omega DLC in ME3 because video games are great for taking the mind off things. It didn't exactly help with the intensity I'd hoped for, but I managed to fall asleep, by 3am.

Fast forward to this morning. I dragged my sorry ass out of bed 4 hours later and drove to work. By some fucking miracle, no one is here right now except our field director. And I'm stewing in how this one fic really fucked me up bad, reconsidering everything. I feel like I've been put in my place.

So what changed?

Yesterday I posted about how I'm struggling to write a plotline. I know what happens, but I'm not interested in the little bits that tie it together. I want to write the romance. I think there's a way to write the plot and the romance at the same time, but it's damn hard.

I started doing this because I wanted to grow my skills as a writer, and I knew it might be more than I could chew. I'm at that moment now where I'm about ready to give up.

Even if I felt like a shit writer last night (and still kinda do this morning), I know that the stuff I've put out has value. We can't all write these epically tragic smut-romance-renegades-to-lovers tales, we'd all be sad all the damn time. There's a time and a place and - I would argue - even a need for lighterhearted fic out there. There are really no rules. I'm confident in what I know how to do.

But the plot. Fuck it, man. I think maybe I'm trying too hard to be something I'm not. I'm trying really hard to write like other people. I may have mentioned before that I saw a post about how many artists spend their time pining for the skills of others, thinking "wow, when I can draw like that, I'll have made it as an artist." That same post cautioned against this, basically saying you already have your own unique style, it's just harder to see through the lens of your own eyeballs. It's fine to challenge yourself but try to acknowledge what you do that sets you apart already. I feel like I have that something - maybe not to the extent that I wish, but I have something.

So what's the point of the plot? Why do I need to tell my readers how I cured Keprals? I'm asking myself important questions here. I like to think I've come up with ideas that no one else has, but as I said above, I don't read a lot of chaptered fics. I very well may have come to the same ideas as other writers and I'm not even aware of it. I don't know if my ideas are unique but I still arrived at them all by myself.

The challenge here - the thing I'm struggling so much with - is how to put them together with the same elegance of my fellow writers. I'm looking at you, shrios fam (yeah I'm calling you that, yall know who you are). I know I can write words, but it's like I have a bunch of pieces from completely different jigsaw puzzles and I'm struggling to make a new picture out of them. I struggle with the transitions between them.

The point here is I have to find my own way. And I have to stop taking myself so seriously. In fact this level of "seriousness" is one of the things that got me into so much angst over World of Warcraft over the last two years. At least I know how to recognize it.

I have to find my own way. I have my own things that are worth sharing. The author I read last night had a language all their own, and I have a language all my own too. Their wordplay was actually more choppy than I would ever write. I've talked before about how I'm scared of starting too many sentences with pronouns, how I maybe write too many run-on sentences, whatever. This author did that with reckless abandon. It worked for them. So if they can make that shit work, I can make my own shit work.

I have to find my own way.

My most current WIP is Thane and Shepard's first time. I've been working on it pretty nonchalantly because I hadn't intended to publish it until I built up to it. It takes place further into my timeline, and it would probably ruin the point of a slow burn if I put it out there now. There are some really memorably moments in this WIP, and there are other moments that need to be smoothed over as well. I never knew what I'd really imagined for their first time but I think I've mostly developed something that's unique in its own right, and I think will be fun for people to read.

I'm just so fucking torn over what to do with it. I feel guilty for working on it. I should be writing "other shit" leading up to it but I don't fucking want to. I actually wrote probably 2-3k words this weekend, which is a pretty staggering amount by my standards. Some of it was for this smutty WIP and some was for something I just threw together, Thane observing Shepard on Horizon and the emotional toll it takes on her. He's seeing her humanity. I don't know if it's worth it to continue but I wrote a lot of it and the words are more precise than usual for a draft, I don't know. I have so much fucking insecurity. Fuck dude. I want to write this longfic, but I don't want to write it. I want to skim to the spicy bits like I always do.

I am wracked with insecurity, of my own making. I know what I can do but I feel compelled to see this idea through. Somehow I have to find my own way.

TLDR I feel like if I don't publish something soon I'm going to burst and I don't even know what the fuck to work on first and fjslfjsojoiejrj

I would be really down for, like, a bunch of hugs and a bowl of ice cream shared over memes and fanservice.

#this post is EXTREMELY fucking long send help #ITT: i read something that probably changed my brain chemistry for a few hours and it's painful #zet vs 100days #i'm just glad to get this off my chest good lord #anyway if people want to send me links to their favorite shrios fluff i would welcome it

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tim-burton-bitch · 3 years

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Tw: pre-romantic prinxiety, breakdowns, crying, semi-shitty writing, I think cursing this has been sitting in google for a while I wrote this back in like early November at 3 am let me know if there's any others oh and FWSA spoilers

This was written at like 3am and follows a headcanon of Roman having synesthesia in which he paints and describes sounds as imagery and an idea from a comic (unsure who wrote it) where Janus never actually told the dark sides his name this is hurt/comfort right after SvS Redux this also follows the fact Virgil is CENTER BRAIN FIGHT OR FLIGHT IS THE AMYGDALA GUYS CAN SOMEONE ELSE PLEASE DO CENTER BRAIN VIRGIL CONTENT I'M STARVED OF IT anyways and my headcanon that he is also in charge of things that either trigger anxiety or are triggered by anxiety such as depression and neuro-diversity my take on the purple eyeshadow and semi-soft side of Virgil my second oneshot takes place in this same timeline and can be found here

Word count: 2,485 words

Virgil was in his room listening to his music. He had his sketchbook across his lap, his art case was open beside him. Currently he was half way through Soft Shock. He wasn't particularly listening, it was more for background noise than anything. He was humming along absent mindedly drawing as his mind wandered.

Suddenly he snapped back to reality as he felt the bed beneath him sink down with sudden weight. He looked up startled instinctively covering his art, which he now realized was a profile of Roman. He looked to see said prince he had just been drawing in front of him. Roman was looking down at his hands. It was quiet for a moment, Virgil was just about to ask what the hell Roman was doing there when the Prince began to shake. Virgil was speechless as the small shakes quickly turned into jerky sobs. Virgil stared at Roman for a second before closing his sketchpad and reaching a hand towards to crying prince.

"Princey, hey Princey what's... what's wrong?" Virgil didn't understand. He had chosen to stay in his room and calm down instead of taking part in the video. The wedding hadn't gone well and Thomas wasn't the only one thoroughly upset about it. Virgil hadn't thought anything of his decision figuring Thomas could vent about it all on his own to the others. The anxious side needed some down time to calm both his and Thomas' nerves. Now. He was beginning to question the decision.

At first Roman gave no response. He just continued to shake letting tears slip out. Virgil's hand never moved from his shoulder. Being the side in charge of Thomas' amygdala meant he knew how sometimes you just needed to cry a moment with company. With no judgment, no constant pushing to know what's wrong. Just a shoulder to cry on as you gather your thoughts.

Roman looked up. His eyes met Virgil's and he took a shaky breath. "I-" He felt another wave of tears hit him. He paused trying not to cry anymore than he already had. He felt embarrassed. He had meant to come here and invite Virgil to another Disney marathon. Take his mind off of what had happened. Instead he broke down. An how was that fair on Virgil?

"Shhh it's ok take your time. There's no rush to tell me what happened. If you don't want to tell me that's fine too. Sometimes you just nee company, a shoulder to cry on. Believe me I understand. Tell me when you're ready and only if you want okay?" Virgil's voice was soft and understanding. And yet. He didn't sound condescending in the slightest. Roman had never heard Virgil use this tone of voice. It was calming. He felt.... safe and... listened to. He nodded his head realizing Virgil was still waiting for a response of some kind. Virgil gave him his small sweet smile that never failed to melt Roman's heart.

Roman took a deep breath before saying, "I-I do wanna tell you Virge... I do. I just..." He swallowed back another lump of emotion. He couldn't even explain the problem. What was WRONG with him? And yet, despite Roman never finding the words to explain... Virgil's eyes were understanding. Soft and warm, looking at Roman so invitingly. Roman hesitated before leaning in and clinging onto the anxious side in front of him and sobbing. Virgil was startled and Roman clung to his body. He was used to being the one breaking down and he wasn't sure how he could help much. Then again, he WAS the one to break down usually. What helped him? Or what did he wish people would do to help?

Virgil slowly wrapped his arms around Roman's head. Pulling him down into his lap. Letting the fanciful side bury his face into Virgil's shoulder. He softly began to run a hand through Roman's hair, hoping this didn't upset the prince more. He began quietly calming the man in his arms whispering into his ear that he was here. And he wasn't going anywhere, no matter what happened he was there as Roman needed him.

Roman pulled back swiping at his eyes sniffling quietly. He looked down at his lap sniffling once more before murmuring "I-I'm sorry." Despite having pulled back he was still directly in front of Virgil, who was still leaning against the headboard now giving him a questioning look. "For... for this. For... whatever THIS is...." Roman trailed off looking back down at his shaking hands. "It's- it's stupid... I don't know why I'm crying really, I-" he trailed off again.

Virgil leaned forward placing his hands over Roman's to calm him. "Roman it isn't stupid. Whatever this is about clearly bothered you a lot and your feelings are entirely valid no maatter-”

"NO! Virgil it isn't fair on you I'm just bothering you with my problems and you had nothing to do with any of what happened. It isn't fair on you for me to drag you into my problems!" Roman cut Virgil off tears beginning to well up in his eyes again. Virgil stared at him. He was stunned and the look on Roman's face hurt Virgil's heart more than anything ever had.

Virgil sat up properly, taking his hands back to do so. He brought one hand back forward to grab one of Roman's the other reaching out and cupping the prince's face. "Hey, shhh.... it's okay, I promise," Virgil's whisper was soft and comforting as he slowly wiped away a few more stray tears from Roman's face. His other hand rubbing circles comfortingly on the back of Roman's, "Roman whatever bothered you really is valid. And I'm not upset you came here. In fact it's the opposite. I'm glad you trust me enough to come to me with this." He paused, "Roman. You can come to me whenever you need to, whenever you feel like this. I'll listen when you need to vent and I'll be here when you break down. I am HAPPY to help you in anyway I can so please, PLEASE don't invalidate your feelings or think in anyway this inconveniences me. Or bothers me or anything, okay? Can you promise me that?"

Roman was quiet, he stared into VIrgil's dark warm welcoming orbs. Slowly he nodded. Virgil smiled, "So, did you want to tell me what happened or just sit and watch something or whatever?"

Roman laughed, his heart was still heavy and felt weighted down but he couldn't help it. The laughter was short lived though, he let out a sigh as he rubbed a hand down the side of his face. Taking a deep breath in he turned to Virgil and asked, "Do you think lying has it's place?"

Virgil looked at him questioningly as he shifted suddenly a tad uncomfortable. "Well..." he started. Thinking on his answer. He hummed thoughtfully, "Is this about lying as a concept or about Deciet?" he asked suddenly.

Roman looked down and sighed again, "Both I guess...." he turned towards Virgil, "Janus stopped by today during the video. And things got a little complicated, and now I'm confused and don't know what is right or wrong. Everything is upside down and Patton Logan and Thomas are agreeing with Janus and- a-a-and I feel... useless. And I don't know...." He sighed tears streaking down his face again, "I was meant to be Thomas' hero. But lately... I feel more and more like I'm steering him wrong. I-"

Virgil cut Roman off suddenly, "Okay great that we're making headway and all, but... I'm going to have to ask you to backtrack a second before we dive into the angst." Roman looked puzzlingly at Virgil who was quiet a second before asking, "Er... Who- who's Janus?"

Roman stared at VIrgil unsure if he was joking. But Virgil's face was purely confused, his head cocked to the side just slightly, eyebrows knit together one slightly raised his left eye the slightest bit closed and a small pout on his lips. Roman's heart stuttered as he continued to stare at Virgil in astonishment. "Has... has Deceit never told you his name is Janus?"

It was Virgil's turn to stare at Roman, "No???? He hasn't???"

Roman laughed, "I could HEAR the multiple question marks in your voice! Oh my God!" Virgil continued to stare before bursting into a fit of laughter himself.

Tears formed in Virgil's eyes as the shadows beneath his eyes became a brilliant purple. He brought his hand up to rub the mirth from his eyes. "Oh my God! I mean we ARE gay!" he laughed. His laughter cut short when he noticed Roman was staring at him.

Suddenly realizing he didn't have his usual foundation and concealer on with his black eyeshadow to cover those awful freakish markings beneath his eyes he quickly stopped laughing. Romans eyes were still on him and Virgil began to panic.

While Virgil had this realization Roman was having two entirely different realizations. One being that he never heard Virgil TRULY laugh before. He had yet to even fully redgistered the purple shadow that was suddenly black again, far to caught up in the sound of Virgil's laughter ringing in his ears. God, he could listen to that sound until he died and never grow annoyed of it.

"Virgil- You- your laugh! I've never heard it before! I mean I've heard you chuckle and snort sometimes but... WOW...." Virgil stared at the man in front of him. The tone used by the fanciful side before him describing his laugh made his heart skip a beat. He could feel the shadow beneath his eyes going purple and his face going pink.

"I- I guess... I don't know... it's not like it's anything special.... kinda... loud and annoyin really..."

"NONSENSE!! Virgil your laugh! I- I don't even know how to describe it! It's like... like the sound of waves crashing against the cliffside, with the wistling of wind as you walk along a cliff overlooking the sea, JUST before a storm, that breathtaking sound which breaks the ear clogging silence caused by the overhanging clouds. And yet, it IS the ear clogging silence that you enjoy with the sound of the crashing waves and wistling wind." As the words flew from Roman's mouth Virgil's blush deepend his shadow growing all the more purple. Until it was so vibrant there was no missing it even in the darkly lit room. "Virgil... your eyeshadow. Wasn't it black when I came in? Surely I would have noticed by now if it was such a wonderous purple as what lies beneath your eyes now," Roman's calling attention to the shadow caused Virgil to panic once again and the shadow to go a deep black, confusing Roman all the more. "Virgil what? How?"

"I- well- um..." Virgil's voice was small as his heart rate increased.

"Virgil it's okay, you can tell me whatever it is. I promise!"

Virgil took a deep breath turning away and hiding in his hoodie pulling up the hood. He glanced to Roman's awaiting confused face hands fidgeting with the hoodie's strings, "I-" he sighed, "The shadows under my eyes aren't eyeshadow... at least, not right now. They're a part of me, and tied to my emotions they go purple when I'm happy... the happier I am the more vibrant the purple.... When I'm anxious start panicking over overthinking something... they go black, the more panicked I get... the darker they are." Virgil nervously glanced up at Roman who looked shocked. "Normally... I but on foundation and concealer to hide them, and then some black eyeshadow so if I forget to put makeup on or can't be bothered or someone comes across me when I don't expect someone to... they won't question why I suddenly have 'eyeshadow' beneath my eyes. I don't worry about it going purple because honestly... I never expect to be happy. I know it's- it's weird and I'm a fre-"

"VIRGIL THAT'S AMAZING!"

"Wha-"

"I mean not the part that you don't expect to be happy because that's just.... NO! But the rest of it? It's amaing! I love it! Not only does it look cool (in both black and purple) but then I can tell when you're truly really happy! And when you need a good Disneython! I'm assuming that when you're more happy than paniced it's still purple and wheen you're more panicked than happy black?" Virgil nodded. "And what about other emotions? Is it black or purple then?"

Virgil smiled, he always thought they wer freakish that the shadows were just more reminders that he was a freak, but Roman... Roman LIKED them. Virgil couldn't understand why he did, they were weird, but the way Roman's eyes lit with excitment, so starkly different from the dampened ocean filled eyes he had arrived with. "They tend to then settle for whatever I feel closer to then."

"Well I don't see why you cover them up, I love them. I think you should go out without makeup more often," Roman smiled at Virgil before letting out a laugh. "I just remembered I was going to tell you what happened with the video! But I think it can wait till later I wanna try to keep that purple there as long as possible! How does a nice Disneython in my room sound?"

Virgil grinned back at Roman, "That sounds great. And maybe... maybe I will! Go out without makeup that is." Roman laughed, "Oh and... thank you, Roman. For... making me feel less alone, and less like a freak." Virgil gave Roman a small sweet smile before standing and heading to the door. "BET I CAN BEAT YOU TO YOUR RO-" Virgil paused his shouting as he flung open the door and almost ran into Patton.

"WOAH!" Patton cried out, "Slow down there kiddo! Have you seen Roman? He left the video upset and I've been looking for him since and it's been- oh... hey Roman! Are you..."

"Yeah I'm fine Patton," Roman said from behind Virgil with a small smile of his own, "Thanks to Virgil here!"

"Well I'm glad though I wouldn't mind talking to you and apologi-"

"Maybe later? Patton? Virgil and I were about to go have another Disney marathon in my room!"

"Alright kiddos you two have a PatTON of fun then! Would you like me to bring food up to you or will you two be down for dinner?"

"We'll see Popstar, text you the answer later?" Virgil asked grinning feeling the shadow which had gone black when Patton startled him slowly but surely fading to a purple.

"Alright kiddos as long as you two actually eat this time! And not just popcorn!"

"Alright Patton! See you later!" And Roman and Virgil walked away heading to the prince's Disney covered room laughing and teasing the whole way.

Tag list:

@on-fic-writing-spree

#prinxiety #tss virgil #tss roman #tss patton #sander sides virgil #sander sides roman #sander sides patton #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #sander sides #my writing #my oneshot

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