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blindmagdalena · 1 year

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Eat Your Ego, Honey (CH4)

homelander x oc 18+ escort services, sex work, masturbation, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

Homelander’s session was a disaster. Layla sits in the aftermath of it, still collecting herself a good twenty minutes after Homelander has departed. Perched on the couch, she buries her face in her hands and takes several deep breaths. Now that she’s alone, she can finally process everything that happened. She can feel the furious beat of her heart in her throat, and her legs ache. Shifting sideways, she leans down to slip off the shoes. In doing so, she catches a glimpse of her calves, where she can already see distinct hand-shaped bruises forming. Her stomach flips. Delicately, she traces the outline of blossoming purple along her skin.

He’s replaced the bruise on her neck that had only just faded.

With a sharp inhale, Layla stands up. She needs to change her clothes, and get herself out of this mindset. Tears well up in her eyes in the wake of her adrenaline fading, burning as she blinks them away. She’s hyper-aware of the feel of the bruises as she walks barefoot to her closet, slipping out of her dress with practiced ease. She hangs it up, and reaches for a linen sweater and a soft pair of pants.

Over and over, Layla replays the session in her mind as she dresses, pinpointing the moment everything changed. She’s established and enforced boundaries with him before, but never has his response to them been so visceral. Something different happened today, but try as she might, Layla can’t figure out what it was. There must have been an internal trigger. “I’m not like lots of people,” he had snarled. “Do you understand that? I’m a god, and I don’t need your fucking pity.”

She had tried to humanize him, to allow him space for this vulnerability, but today she’s learned that John is so lost to the mantle of Homelander, to the weight of his powers, that he is convinced he is above such things. It doesn’t matter that he wept against her. The second it was over, he wanted her to forget it ever happened. Layla can’t forget. Looking at the dress now, it’s still spotted wet with his tears. This doesn’t feel like a man in love with his delusions. This feels like a man trapped by them. Who told you that you have to be a god? Who won’t let you be a man?

That was the moment Layla knew she needed to see the suit stripped away. The bruises on her legs were unintended, that much she is certain of. It was as if with the flip of a switch, he went from present to wholly gone, not hearing a word she said. When he did come back to himself, he let go of her immediately, and apologized in a voice so small, she barely heard it. He wore his shame clearly, self-hatred wet in his eyes. She remembers bringing him into her arms before she could reconsider. Layla knows herself better than to think of that act of comfort as an entirely altruistic one. The truth of the matter is that she enjoys both his vulnerability and his unpredictability. More and more, taming a man like Homelander is proving to be a power trip like none other. One moment he’s utterly wrapped around her finger, and the next it’s as though she’s freefalling.

Homelander is rekindling a fire in Layla that she thought long since safely fed and satiated by her line of work, and she can't bring herself to smother the embers. Distantly, the logical side of her brain screams at her that this is madness. The dull ache in her calves calls for a restraining order, not a date. Homelander is a literal walking red flag; he wears it proudly as a cape. Yet Layla’s mind is left buzzing, drowning out that shrill cry of reason.

Lying down on the couch, she wonders what he’ll wear instead of the suit.

Layla spends most of the following week talking herself in and out of the date. Up until this point, she hasn’t needed to consider the scope of John as a whole, or her actual compatibility with him. He was a client, and all that mattered was that she treated him as such. Whoever they were in the world outside of that relationship didn’t matter. Suddenly, it could very much matter. He isn’t just John, he’s America’s Homelander. Her grandmother must be rolling in her urn. They were never a particularly patriotic family, to put it lightly. She calls Jason, who’s no help at all.

“If you want to go, then go. If you don’t want to go, don’t go.” He doesn’t know what to do with her mix of exasperation and stubbornness any more than she does. She knew even as she was speaking to him that she was being irrational. She feels like she’s going insane over the whole situation. A significant part of her agony is knowing that if she could just tell Jason who it was, the details of their relationship, or if he could see the faded bruises on her legs, she’s certain that he would tell her no, absolutely not. What she cannot figure out about herself is why she’s looking for someone else to tell her “no.” She’s lived her entire life on her own terms, but there’s something about Homelander that makes her question her capacity to make rational decisions. He’s enthralling even in her thoughts, and he’s slipping into her fantasies more and more each night.

Every time she convinces herself it’s a terrible idea spurred on by mindless infatuation, Layla picks up her phone. Every single time, she hesitates, and ultimately sets it back down. Tomorrow, she tells herself. I’ll sleep on it, and I’ll know by tomorrow. Soon enough, too many tomorrows have come and gone. It’s Friday evening, and Layla is in the back of a polished black car sent to her apartment. She’s out of time, and on her way to Vought International. It’s a chilly night, so she’s opted for a coat and pantyhose, but otherwise she’s dressed precisely the way Homelander last saw her. She drums her fingers on her thighs, once more wondering if and how he’ll uphold his end of the bargain. Layla leans closer to the window, peering up at Vought Tower. The top of the tower disappears into the haze of the night sky, too tall for her to see. She’s always considered all one hundred floors of the tower to be something of an eyesore, an out of place advertisement thrust into the skyline of the city. But up close she can at least admit it’s an impressive feat of architecture. Ugly all the same, but impressive.

The car pulls around a side road that curves into a courtyard, stopping at a security check. The headquarters of a multibillion dollar corporation hardly screamed date night romance, but John had been insistent it would offer them a spectacular view, and the privacy he required in order to meet her demands. He assured her that the food would be good, promising the best steak that New York has to offer. Once they make it through security, the drive up the courtyard is slow. The pace allows her to admire what little greenery they have tucked behind the building, which is admittedly more than she expected. The finely trimmed hedges and manicured flower beds are unfortunately broken up by gaudy bronze statues of Vought’s golden age heroes: imposing metallic faces with meticulously carved eyes that seem to follow her as she passes them, lit only by the harsh white spotlights below them. It gives the whole place an eerie, artificial atmosphere, particularly in the dark of the evening. It feels more like a graveyard than a garden.

However, much of that falls away when the car pulls up to the private entrance, and Layla sees a sleek silhouette cut out against the fluorescent hall lights. There stands Homelander not in his star-spangled usual, but in a well fitted suit. At first she thinks it black, but as he approaches the vehicle the light catches it in such a way that she realizes it’s a deep navy with black accents. The black bowtie at his neck reminds her of old Hollywood, a look that would have given even Cary Grant a run for his money. I’ll be damned, she thinks, smiling broadly. The car door swings open, and Homelander extends a rare ungloved hand to her. Slipping her hand into his, she allows him to effortlessly draw her up out of the vehicle. Though Homelander returns her smile, she can see the tension at the corners of his mouth. It reminds her of the tight way he’s been smiling for the cameras for the last several weeks, and not at all of their usual comfortable exchanges during sessions.

“You look very handsome,” she tells him, reaching up to smooth her fingers along one of the lapels of his jacket. He’s a good deal more slender than the supe suit makes him appear. His shoulders are less broad without the protruding pauldrons. His torso is ridiculously bulging. Still, he is by no means a slight man. Truth be told, she finds the figure he cuts in a formal suit far more appealing. His hair is also styled more softly, looser, as if no longer needing to compensate for the bulk of the suit. Where normally she would expect him to preen under the compliment, Homelander rolls his shoulders subtly, clearing his throat. She wonders how long it’s been since anyone new (or anyone at all) saw him in anything other than his Homelander suit.

He gives her hand a subtle squeeze, and suit or no suit, there is no doubt that the power that thrums in his body is wholly his. “Thank you,” he says, closing the car door behind her. He signals the driver off with a flick of his wrist. “And you look… radiant,” he says, regaining some of his usual composure once he’s able to shift the focus onto her. His smile thins slyly as he draws her nearer. “Looks like I’ll have to warm you up again,” he said, giving her jacket a playful little tug. “Surely it won’t be as cold inside,” Layla responds, glancing over to the double doorway. “We won’t be eating inside tonight. Still, you won’t be needing it,” he responds, slipping a hand beneath her coat, settling it on her hip. Even against the night air, the press of his hand is warm as ever. The heat of him seeping through the fabric of her dress.

Layla looks up at him, expression pinching incredulously. “It’s freezing out.” “Relax,” he purrs, closing the slight gap between them with a small step. “You trust me?” She hums with a purse of her lips, wrinkling her nose at him. “Tentatively. The ice is thin.” Homelander’s smile broadens. “Good enough for me.” With that, he scoops Layla up into his arms, startling a soft noise from her. Before she can ask what would necessitate him carrying her to dinner, her stomach flips the way it does when going down a hill in a car; a sudden shift in her gravity. Looking down, she sees the pavement she was just standing on, growing more and more distant, along with the flowerbeds and statues. Inhaling sharply, Layla grabs a tight hold of his jacket, the other arm curling around his neck. Her heart leaps in her chest, pumping a surge of adrenaline through her as the ground grows more distant, and the sickly thrill of danger climbs higher. “W-wait, hold on–”

“Relax,” Homelander says again, a laugh bubbling up beneath it. “I’m not gonna drop you, alright? I’m a professional. Just breathe,” he tells her, which she’s sure is easy for him to say. The higher they climb, the more the world below them looks surreal, like the most realistic toy city she’s ever seen. “Not long to floor eighty-eight.” “Eighty-eight?” Layla echoes incredulously, her heart skipping a beat. “Look at me,” Homelander murmurs, his voice warm in her ear. She turns sharper than she means to, staring up at him with wide eyes. Once again, unbalancing her helps him recover much of his confidence. He may not have a suit to scream superhero! but flying her to the top of a one hundred storey building is certainly one way to do it. “Atta girl, see? Safer than a plane,” he says, throwing in a little wink. He chuckles at that, and she feels as though he’s making another one of those jokes she’s not privy to.

“I would have been just as impressed if you had carried me up a hundred flights of stairs instead, you know,” Layla says, flexing her grip around his neck, her stomach flipping wildly. The ground is still fading away, and when she chances a glance up, she sees they still have a long way to go. Homelander is moving slowly enough that the breeze is gentle, but the air is only growing colder and thinner as they climb. Homelander scoffs a little laugh. “I don’t believe that.” Taking in a slow breath, Layla looks out across the city. While it had been dark on the ground, from here she can see the remnants of the sunset creeping across the edges of the horizon. Above the haze and light pollution, she can even make out stars twinkling in the night sky. Not even her high rise apartment allowed her enough altitude to stargaze in the city. It’s beautiful. A tapestry of rich blues and purples dotted with constellations stretching in every direction. She can’t remember the last time she really saw the sky.

“Okay,” she relents, resting her head on his chest, gaze lazily flitting over the star-dusted sky. “Maybe not as impressed.” He hums at that, his own stare focused solely on her, smirking his satisfaction. Layla looks up at him, and the way he waggles his brows at her makes her laugh. ”But you don’t need to look so pleased with yourself,” she says, tentatively releasing her grip on his jacket to poke the corner of his mouth, where that smirk of his sits proud. “I’m drifting freely above the finest city in the greatest country in the world, holding a beautiful woman in my arms. What’s not to be pleased about?” Homelander counters, leaning into her touch. Layla opens her palm to allow for the way he pushes into it, turning a playful little gesture into something more intimate, her hand cupped to the side of his face. His words would make her roll her eyes if he didn’t speak them with such earnestness. There is so much about him that would fall flatter than roadkill on paper, if it wasn’t for the specific kind of charisma he carries. It has captured her more than she cares to admit. When she expects to hear irony in his voice, oftentimes she is met with a sincerity that she rarely sees in men of his age and status.

The air has grown thin. Layla feels light and fuzzy in this moment, warm in his arms despite the chill of the night. Their breaths mingle visibly in the cold. The impulse to kiss him strikes her, and she follows it without a thought, her thumb stroking his cheek. The edges of his smirk soften against her lips as he kisses her back slowly, unhurried, but with no less passion. Just the way she taught him. What she had initially intended to be a brief press of her lips stretches into coaxing movements, deepening with each passing second. Layla pushes her hand up into his hair, cupping the back of his head, encouraging him with a pleased little noise. Homelander’s hand tightens at her waist, under her legs. Despite the fact he’s currently flying her nearly a hundred feet directly into the air, the eager way he follows her lead as she kisses him gives her a sense of control over him that eases the drumming of her heart.

Layla falls so deeply into the kiss that she nearly misses the gentle jostle of their landing. When she opens her eyes, she’s met with a row of hanging lights, dangling prettily from a white fabric tent set up over a patio. It’s upheld by sturdy wooden beams, with a single dining table between them. Truth be told, it’s far from what Layla had expected. The singular square table is rather small, making for a much more intimate setting than she had anticipated. “It’s warm,” she says, more thinking aloud than speaking to Homelander, who hums approvingly. “State of the art outdoor conditioning. Four regulators, one in each corner. They circulate warm air, and keep the cold out. Something about creating pressure,” he says dismissively, setting Layla down on her feet. Placing his hands on her shoulders and giving a slight squeeze, he asks slyly, “May I take your coat?”

Smiling over her shoulder at him, Layla lifts her hands to unbutton her jacket, allowing him to slide it off her arms. She feels the tips of his fingers graze her bare arms, his own hands pleasantly ungloved. “Thank you,” she says, watching him fold the garment over his forearm. He offers her his other arm, and she takes it for the walk to the table. “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?” She asks, taking note of the bouquet of roses set at the table, and the smattering of tealights lit all around it. Instead of being set across the table from each other, the chairs were set opposite one another at the same corner. Homelander looks pleased at that, following her eye to the table setting. “Ahh, well, maybe a little.” In addition to the flowers, there are two dishes sitting under silver cloches, though only one of the two is paired with a glass of red wine, the bottle not far away. She sits down, and Homelander drapes her coat on the back of her chair, sliding it in under her. He moves to take the seat next to her, unbuttoning the bottom of his jacket as he sits.

“Hope it’s all to your liking. Prepared fresh from the kitchens,” he says, reaching out to the silver cloche set over her plate. Lifting it off, he reveals a gorgeously plated beef filet. It’s sat atop potato puree and asparagus, with what looks to be roasted fennel on top. Layla can smell the butter and thyme immediately. She smiles, closing her eyes as she inhales it. “Smells incredible,” she says, unfolding the cloth napkin to place on her lap. She had assumed as much when he had inquired about her preference between well done, medium and rare, but this was an admittedly more delicate presentation than she expected. “You don’t drink?” She asks, reaching for the wine glass next to her plate. “No, no. Not for me. Never really acquired the taste for it. Plus, it, uhh, doesn’t do much for me. I’d have to drink the whole winery for a good buzz,” Homelander explains, absently rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. When was the last time he wore a pair of pants that weren’t made of padded material with an NIJ protection level? “Touché,” Layla responds, bringing the glass to her lips. She inhales first, and then takes a sip. It’s delicious, rich and subtly fruity, but not enough to overpower the meal. Glancing at the bottle, she recognizes the label: it’s a vintage Saint Émilion, easily worth a couple hundred dollars. She gives an approving hum. “More for me, I suppose,” she says playfully, setting the glass down. “All yours,” he agrees. His smile is gradually becoming less tight, though his posture is not. He’s sitting straight with his hands on his thighs, nervous in a way she hasn’t seen him before. “Not trying to get me drunk, are you?” She asks, quirking her brow.

He huffs a laugh, leaning back in his chair, seemingly eased by the banter. “You an easy drunk?” “Not in the least. It’ll take more than one bottle,” she shoots back, smiling as she takes a sip. “Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” he says, interlacing his hands in his lap.

“Careful, I can become quite an expensive date,” she says slyly, cutting herself a bite of the filet. Clearly he was one to splurge. “And an even more expensive fuck,” Homelander adds without missing a beat, his tone a touch lower. The two of them sit in a dense silence while Layla chews her bite, taken aback. Homelander takes in her expression, and as he does, she can see the gears turning in his head. Some of that tension creeps back into the line of his shoulders as he realizes he may have spoken something that should have been kept a thought. He sits up straight. “Which… is to say–” he begins, trying to recover, but stops himself when Layla starts to laugh. “It’s okay,” she says, finishing her glass in a final sip. “You’re right. I’m a very expensive fuck,” she says, licking her lips. His gaze drops to her lips, following the movement with the precision of a stalking predator. He swallows visibly, eventually smiling in return. “That’s the lifestyle I chose for myself. You’re doing well in keeping up,” she says, giving her empty glass a pointed little tap. He takes the hint and picks up the bottle to refill her glass. “Why did you choose it?” He asks, setting the bottle back down. “Your lifestyle. Your… occupation.”

An inevitable question, but one that remains no less complicated to answer, regardless of how many times it comes up.

Layla gives a contemplative hum. “I’m good at it,” she says, absently running her fingers up and down the stem of her glass. “Better than I ever was in an office. Happier, too. I work when I want, I charge what I want, and I love who I want.” Homelander makes a skeptical little noise. “You don’t love those other guys, though.” Other guys. He’s specific about that, she notes. She decides not to address it for now, nor the fact that not all of her clients are even ‘guys.’ Layla takes a slow breath, and then a sip of her drink, formulating her answer. “I started escorting because I knew I would meet people like me. People who felt incapable of finding intimate connection the way everyone around them did.” She may not be drunk, but the wine has certainly helped loosen her lips. ”I have total control of who can enjoy my time, my affection, for how long, and in exchange they show me the parts of themselves they don’t want the world to see. There is true intimacy in that.” She tilts her head slightly, gauging his response. He, after all, is one such person. His posture has changed completely: he’s leaning in now, with his forearm braced on the table. She continues, “Just because it’s paid for doesn’t mean it isn’t real. I build relationships with the people I want to build relationships with.” “Don’t you think that’s dangerous?” He asks, a lilt to his voice that Layla has difficulty parsing. “Selling people on the idea that you really do love them?” “I don’t say these things to my clients. You’re my date,” she counters, taking a bite of her meal. He straightens up slightly at that, as if he’s been praised. “But no, I don’t. I do my job, and I do it well. I take precautions.”

“Precautions,” Homelander echoes. “Because it’s dangerous.” “You’re not going to tell me anything about my profession I don’t already know,” she says, amused. “I’ve been doing this for years.” “What do your parents think of it?” Layla considers him a moment. “They died when I was young,” she says. No sense in dragging that out any more than it needs to be. “My grandparents raised me, but they passed, oh… About eleven years ago.”

“How did they die?” He asks immediately, brows slightly furrowed.

She could almost laugh. While on the one hand it’s a tactless approach, it’s also refreshing. Oftentimes, that answer means a handful of empty condolences for a bunch of people the person never knew, people who died decades ago, and Layla comforting them through the discomfort associated with death and grief. Homelander didn’t even blink.

“My grandparents passed peacefully within a year of each other,” she says, swirling her wine. “She went first, and I think he just… didn’t want to be here without her,” she says, pursing her lips slightly. “My parents, on the other hand, they had a–let’s say it was a flare for the dramatic,” she says, her smile turning a little wry. “They were junkies.” Homelander’s brows lift. “Drugs?” “No, no. They were addicts, but it wasn’t for drugs. They were adrenaline junkies. It’s how they met. Skydiving,” she says, finishing off her second glass. This time, Homelander refills it without prompt. The gesture makes her smile, and she tips her glass in thanks. “They slowed down for a bit after they had me, but not for long. Eventually they started performing for crowds. You know, stunts. Motorcycles, jumps, demolition derbies. Whatever thrilled them.” “So, what… Blew up in a freak accident?” He asks, shifting to rest his hand on his thigh. This time, Layla does laugh. There’s something liberating about his irreverence. He’s not treating the subject with the kid gloves that everyone else does, and it’s clear he doesn’t expect her to, either. “More or less. They planned this… insane jump. Fitted my dad’s Pontiac with a homemade rocket. They were supposed to clear a jump over a building set for demolition, but the rocket malfunctioned. It didn’t engage until they were nearly off the ramp, and ended up just… flying them straight into the side of the building.” Looking over at Homelander, Layla cocks her head. She half expects him to laugh, crack a joke or make some reference, but he’s just watching her. She sips her drink. “You tell that story pretty straight,” he says at last. She gives a small shrug. “It’s been a long time.” He nods, tapping his middle finger on the table. “Real Thelma and Louise of them.” There it is, Layla muses. “I never knew two people more in love than my parents. They were happiest when they were risking their lives together. Can’t think of a more fitting way for two people to go out,” she says, and though she means it, even she can hear the emptiness sinking into the tone of her voice. She takes a long final drink from her wine, setting the empty glass aside. “How old were you?” He asks. He moves to refill her glass, but she lifts a hand to stop him, shaking her head subtly. He sets the bottle back down. “Twelve.” She chooses not to elaborate, despite the flood of memories that come with the answer. Homelander hums. “Really took after ‘em, huh?” Layla blinks, immediately disarmed. “I–excuse me?”

He looks surprised by her surprise. “I mean… C’mon. Sure, you’re not strapping rockets to your car or throwing yourself out of planes, but you’re not working a desk job, either. You said it yourself. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know,” he says, echoing her word for word. “You work a dangerous job, and you like it.” She can say with confidence that the last thing she expected to happen tonight was for him to start psychoanalyzing her. She huffs an incredulous little laugh, suddenly wishing she hadn’t stopped him from refilling her glass.

“That’s not the same thing,” she dismisses, smiling despite the nagging unease it dredges up somewhere in the back of her mind. “Besides, you’re hardly one to talk about occupational hazards. What made you choose to become a hero?” It’s not her most skillful conversational redirect, but she’s also three glasses deep in a very good wine. “I didn’t,” he answers plainly, his demeanor shifting alongside the direction of the conversation. Layla’s smile falters. “What?” “I didn’t choose it,” he says, voice duller yet. “It was chosen for me. I mean, c’mon. What else was I gonna be? A desk jockey? Hahah, nope.” He sucks a pitchy noise through his teeth. “Like Jesus on the cross… It was written in stone,” he says, tapping his fingers on a roll atop the table. “But do you like it?” She leans towards him, brows pinched. “Being a hero. Do you like it?” He pulls a strange face, looking as if no one’s ever asked him that before. He clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable with the direction her question threatens to take them. “What’s not to like? America loves me.” The words sound stale from his mouth. Layla can’t fault him for them, though. She’s seen glimpses of how important Homelander is to John’s identity, seen firsthand the way praise and adoration can undo him behind closed doors. It comes as no surprise that it’s something he needs to believe. It makes something in her ache for him. Layla shifts closer yet, and gently settles her hand atop his on the table, bringing the percussive tapping of his fingers to a halt. He looks at her sharply, though the set of his gaze softens. His eyes look wider, more vulnerable. Perhaps he forgot he was without his gloves, or he just wasn’t expecting the contact. Either way, it brings him back to her. She squeezes his hand. “It’s okay,” she says, her thumb stroking back and forth. “It’s okay. It’s just us. You don’t need to do that.” You don’t need to pretend. Homelander now wears the kind of surprise Layla might expect to see if she’d slapped him. He stares with his lips parted, a thought half-formed on them. He lifts his other hand over hers, fingertips brushing along the back of her hand, skating up to her wrist, light as a feather as he holds her gaze. Then next thing Layla knows, his grip on her wrist tightens and he’s pulling her body up against his. With a gentle effortlessness that only his strength could allow for, he brings them both to their feet, his other hand moving to the small of her back. The sudden rise is disorienting, but the kiss is so warm and fervent that she can’t help the little moan that escapes her. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between her lips, letting go of her wrist in favor of cupping both sides of her face. He always kisses her with such urgency, holding tight, like she may disappear if he doesn’t.

It feels incredible to match his pace, to kiss him as hungrily as he kisses her without the nagging call to slow him down, to maintain his expectations. She falls into it without reserve, free of the rigid pretense of their sessions. She can’t blame it on the wine, she’s been thinking about this for weeks. He pushes his hands further back into her hair, still kissing her like he expects her to stop him at any second, desperate to taste what he can before it’s gone.

He moves against her with such a force, it causes her back to arch, head tipping all the way back. He takes one hand from her hair to slip around her waist instead, bringing her body back against his. She puts her own hands on his shoulders, gripping him tight and pulling him in turn. He makes sweet, starved noises against her lips when she slips her hand up into his hair, cupping the back of his head. Homelander is the first to pull away, though he doesn’t go far. He kisses the corner of her mouth, her jaw, down the line of her throat. He moves his hands to her hips to hold her steady while he takes full advantage of the plunging neckline of the dress he chose for her. “Come home with me,” he says between kisses, voice thin, ravenous. Her heart skips a beat. Say no. “Yes.” Chapter Five.

#homelander x oc #homelander fanfiction #eat your ego #my writing #absolutely busted my ass to finally finish this!!!#the good news is that ch5 is already half done and i'll be posting that at the end of the week #i know my ask box is busted right now lol i'm gonna try to get to that this week too #but i really wanted to get some wips done and writing has been h a r d lately #so apologies all around

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artificer-dice · 11 months

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Guess who gets to move two states away within the next month?

Like I know I've been pretty spotty with posting but I'm hoping once we're out of this waiting mode we seem to be in, and at the latest settled in, I'll hopefully have more motivation to keep y'all updated.

#mj talks #my partner got a nice job in northern indiana and this will mean we'll finally be living on our own together #we scoped out a nice apartment and i found a job to apply to that I'm excited about #i really hope it works out #but it'll be a bit of an adventure and it'll be a huge change of scenery #at least with the timing of it we'll be missing the hottest of southwest Missouri's weather #not dice #if everything works out how we hope we should have space for me to continue making dice #it just might take a bit to get that set up #I'm excited though #at the very least i have some WIPs to finish so at least i have that for now

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ghostiezone · 1 year

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ohhh art reqs!! hm... perhaps a hornfreak pleaes... 🙏OR. any of the beta kids!!!! >:3

you can visibly see where i started to get tired with these LMAO. i do want to finish both of them tho.... happy almost 413

#FINALLY SOME SERIOUS HORNFREAK ART.... HELLYEAH #see guys i can draw him in non joke scenarios i promise i love him #im not maintagging either of these bc they're HUGE WIPS but like. cute :]#ooough i am going to lineart and color so many things tomorrow.............#i have GOT to finish that beta kids one at least. for the holiday.#asks #sketch requests #its . honestly kind of therapeutic doing these. I'm not spending a whole lot of time on making them look Nice I'm just. getting Something #bad art is still art!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and these are good!!!! they're just sketches they don't have to be pretty!!!!!!#wah...#dancingrevolver #sorry i went on a bit of a tag ramble there LMAO. its bc I'm not maintagging these. I'm allowed. as a treat.#ghostiezone #stuck-in-the-ghost-zone

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nyaitsu-writes · 1 year

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we're celebrating together (❁´◡`❁)💖 undead nuis on the other side of the office too!

birthday pull in music sucked SO much but!! look what i got in basic i'm so !!!! yuta beloved <33 did you know that is my fav e!! yuta card?

birthdays are usually a really lonely day for me and i don't really have anyone to celebrate with irl so birthday campaigns in games make me happy <3

#nyaitsu talks #really excited to get that yuta omg #i own some of my fav cards EVER in my basic account #anyways in (checks clock) less than 2 hours i'll be one year older #this is supposed to be a really big year for me (finally graduating!!) but right now i'm just veeeery exhausted aaaa #as you can probably tell for the lack of activity oops the wips are there i promise #i just can't seem to finish them </3 #i hope my parents buy a cake tomorrow at least. that'd be nice #i think they're going to forget again but welp it's okay #getting izumi's birthday message was nice ehehe

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woulddieforloki · 2 years

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my level of dumbassery is getting 821 words into the final chapter of one of my fanfics and then deciding the chapter before would be the perfect ending and ditching the 3+ hours of work I've spent on this not-finale in favor of the chapter before

#i put the /11 on the fic like six hours ago and now here i am changing it to /10 lmao #luckily i only posted chapter nine today so it's not like i posted the final chapter and made it look like there was more coming #anyways sorry wanda you dont get your 'welcome to asgard' chapter and sorry sif you don't get your cameo #it's for the best tho idk how to make this a decent chapter lmao #anyways that's one more fic done! now maybe onto my loki/wandavision crossover to finish that one up?#except theres soooo much left of that one it's gonna be so much more work than this endgame fic or my frostwidow one ughhh #i just wanna finisH MY WIPS #my poor google drive is full of folders for fics i haven't touched in months #i really should call it quits on some like I'm never gonna finish second chances but like what if i want to go back to it one day yknow #i know how mobius and loki would get together but it's so far awayyyyy #and i gotta write more sylki and frigga to get there too which is also soooo much work #the moral of the story is that I'm too lazy to be a fic writer thank you for coming to my ted talk

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bettyfrommars · 3 months

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Whole Lotta Love

Eddie x fem!Reader

18+MDNI, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, pet names like baby and sweetheart, both Eddie and reader are over 20.

I received a request for a fic where, no matter how hard he tries, Eddie can't make you cum, and I was happy to do it because it's a much more common situation than how it's represented in most media. I'm not sure this is exactly what they were looking for, but it was a very fun thing to write. This Eddie had me giggling.

a/n: I wasn't sure I would finish this wip after I wrote the first two lines, but then I was in the mood yesterday and smashed it out. It was a very quick write, definitely not my opus, but a true joy, all the same. I hope you like.

wc: 3.1k

Eddie flopped onto his back, huffing out a satisfied breath. “That was so good,” he hummed.

The fingers of one hand drew a lazy circle on his bare chest as it rose and fell, while his other hand scrambled over to capture yours.

Shifting his gaze, he caught you staring at the ceiling, unblinking. “Was that…did you…?”

“Um,” you paused. It wasn’t that you were afraid to be truthful with him, but the fact that orgasms weren’t flying out of you at the same rate made you feel inadequate, like maybe you were the problem.

He propped up on his forearm, searching your face, brow creased with concern. “Did I hurt you or…?”

“No, no,” you rolled over, pulling the sheet up over your hips. “It felt great.”

At that, he gave an actual sigh of relief.

“But, I didn’t cum. Or at least, I don’t think I did.”

“You’re not sure?”

You chewed at your top lip. “No, I am sure. I didn’t.”

He traced a few hearts on your shoulder with the tip of his calloused finger. “Have you ever? With me?”

Your silence spoke volumes, and Eddie’s mind raced to all of the times you’d been intimate in the past few weeks since you’d been together. He blamed himself for being too eager and sloppy, and shit—he was so crazy about you, it made him dizzy. He couldn’t believe you let him touch you, let alone cum inside.

His head snapped up. “But what about that time I went down on you in the closet at Robin’s party? I swear I felt you—”

“I was close that time,” you admitted, remembering how your legs shook and that heat began to build, in the same way it did when you pleasured yourself. “But then Gareth was shouting, looking for you and it went away.”

“Fucking Gareth,” he mumbled. “You were close then, okay. Can I try that again? Now?”

He was already moving down the bed, palming the crook of your knee to slide your leg open.

You put your hand on his head, glancing over at the digital alarm clock. “Not now, silly, I have to get ready for work.”

You wrapped the sheet around you and got to your feet, leaving Eddie to stare into space, alone with his tortured thoughts. “Come over tonight?” He yelled while you were in the bathroom. “Wayne leaves for work at 6, we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

“I’ll come over,” you said with your mouth around a toothbrush. You spat into the sink and then, “But I might be too tired for…other stuff,” your words were met with nothing but silence from the next room. “We can watch a movie or something?”

Eddie appeared sullen in the doorway next to you in his checkered blue and white boxers. “Do you not want to have sex with me anymore?”

“No, baby I do!” You assured him, eyebrows high on your forehead. You cupped some water into your mouth and spat it out while he ran his knuckle down your arm. “I really really want to, I just don’t want us to force this. It’s okay if I don’t have an orgasm every single time.”

“Yeah but it’s not okay with me,” he muttered.

You turned and planted kisses down his throat, dotting smooches along his collarbone, and then the final peck was on his pouty mouth. You rubbed the tip of your nose against his, “I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

—------

You parked on the other side of Eddie's van at the trailer that night and assessed the windows curiously. At a glance, it looked like the living room had caught fire from the amount of candles that were lit. The song Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin poured out into the soft yellow light of the porch, and you knocked.

A few raps of your knuckles were met with a loud curse and something like a metal pot crashed to the floor in the kitchen. No one came to the door, so you entered with caution, and your senses were greeted with the smell of something burning in the oven.

Eddie was by the sink and he spun around with a startled look, wiping his hands down his jeans. He wore a Slayer shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and his feet were bare, letting you see the black toe nail polish you’d delicately painted on a few days earlier.

“What’s with all this?” You blinked a few times, marveling at how tidy it was. But also, there were at least 15 mismatched candles ablaze on the side table, the top of the tv, and the counter.

He wiped his mouth and went over to greet you. “I just wanted to set the mood,” he grinned, grabbing onto your hips to pull you close. “I read somewhere that the atmosphere can help with, you know.”

“You read somewhere?”

“Just one of those magazines at the grocery checkout.”

“I missed you,” he smiled against your mouth as you said it. His warm skin smelled spicy and sweet, like he’d recently showered and put on cologne. The yearning you felt for him was all-consuming. A few hours apart weighed on you like an eternity. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, and already your loins were giving you the nod like, “yep, we need to have him inside of us.” You absolutely craved him on a sexual level, so why was it so hard to find your climax? It seemed to come easy for everyone else in the world: everybody at the party was cumming but you.

Eddie was nervous. He hadn’t felt that out of his mind since the day he confessed he had feelings for you, but if you didn’t feel the same that would be cool, because he didn’t want to fuck up the friendship: you were too precious to him. Your presence in his life made him feel sane and loved and seen in a way he’d rarely experienced in his life, if ever. A miracle happened that day, and you’d flown into his arms, asking him what took him so long.

But what kind of boyfriend would he be if he couldn’t please you? In every way?

You watched a sitcom while you ate dinner on TV trays, and when you came back from using the restroom, he had everything put away, dishes thrown in the sink, and he was sitting very propper at the end of the couch, watching you expectantly.

“Are you, um,” he cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

This was weird, he thought. He was making it weird. He needed to loosen up and not be so hyper focused on his mission. Maybe you were tired, maybe you needed to let your spaghetti and burnt french bread settle.

You straddled his lap, brushing hair away so that you could kiss his forehead.

“I think I’m ready to try again,” you whispered, and then you ducked down to nibble his earlobe. “Unless you’d rather stay here and—”

Before you could finish the thought, he was up and the two of you were moving out of the room and down the hall, kissing and fumbling with clothes as you went.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he nipped your jaw and side of your neck, banging the bedroom door open with the side of his fist. “I hate being away from you.”

There were a few candles around the bed too; on his nightstand, and a red one dripped wax from the window sill down the wall.

You stopped abruptly, staring at the bed. “Are those…rose petals?”

“Tulips, actually,” he rushed to the scene and swiped the soft pink curls away with his arm. “That was stupid, I just thought it would be—”

You caught his mouth with yours, tongues lashing at each other in such an erotic way that a small moan escaped him.

He wondered if that night would be the night he came in his jeans.

He wasn’t going to let himself cum before you, that was the plan. He’d jerked off shortly before you’d arrived, but that didn’t mean shit because he was absolutely ready again.

Suck it up, Munson.

All was off but for your underwear and while Eddie licked greedily at one of your nipples, you reached down to undo his button fly. “Release the beast,” you cooed.

He caught your wrist. “Not just yet, I can’t, I mean, I want this to be about you.”

“I need an even playing field if I’m going to be relaxed enough to…you know.”

He couldn’t get his pants off fast enough at the urging of your hand that was quick to breach the waistband of his boxers to stroke him. He was rock hard and the tip was already weeping, needy for you.

“Is this all for me?” You ran your thumb in circles over the tip.

Eddie tensed and huffed out a breath that fanned the hair away from his face. “Fuck, baby, every inch.”

If he wasn’t sharp, he’d cum right there on the spot.

You bounced when your body hit the bed, and Eddie dropped to his knees between your legs. The visible wetness on your panties were taking a toll on his already fragile state. He wasn’t patient enough to take them off of you, he just put his mouth right on the material, nuzzling at your pussy through the fabric in a way that pulled a few sharp gasps out of you.

“I missed her so much,” he pulled back the final barrier with one finger, licking a few times on your swollen lips, and then cursed. “You’re so wet already.”

“Well, that’s what you do to me,” you propped up on your elbows to look down at him, sucking in your bottom lip at the sensation of his breath on you.

He slid your underwear off the rest of the way, trying to recall what he’d read in that Playboy article he read a while back? Something about writing out the alphabet, and the woman you are with won’t make it to “x” without cumming.

“How does this feel?” His tongue rolled along your folds in a way that made you wonder what he was doing. He lost track of the letters at around “M”, hips bucking into the side of the bed, cock pulsing so hard, he had to reach down and take some of the pressure off.

“G-good,” you gasped. “Just like that but then, up a bit higher.”

You weren’t exactly an expert when it came to your own pleasure, either, you only knew what felt good when you touched yourself. If Eddie made you cum, it would be the first time you ever experienced that with another person. You wondered if you should tell him that.

He followed your instructions, swallowing while he consumed you, until he found the tiny pearl treasure at the top and your grip tightened on him.

“Hmm I think I found it. Hey there pretty baby,” he murmured into your cunt rolling his tongue around the spot.

“Yesyesyes, right thereeeee Eddieeee.”

The pressure and the speed was perfect and your hand went to his head for encouragement, but then he slowed down and moved locations, licking up the arousal that dripped down your slit.

“Baby? Could you go back to that thing you were doing a second ago?”

He compiled without a word, trying to find the same pacing again, but the moment was gone.

“Eddie—” you spread your legs wider as an invitation. “I really need you inside of me now.”

Well, he wanted that more than anything. But one pump and it would be all over for his dignity. His eyes were rolling back, seeing cartoon stars just thinking about it.

Truth? He wasn’t going to make it.

You noticed his hesitation. “We can keep trying…after. But I need to feel you. It’s lonely up here.”

“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he crawled up onto the bed, kissing along your stomach, up between your breasts as he went, and then nuzzled at your neck. “My dick can wait until—”

But he choked on his last words when you took hold of him and rubbed the tip of his length along your wetness.

“Sssshittt,” his whole body trembled.

Sliding himself in, becoming one with you, made him emotional in a way he’d be embarrassed to share with anyone else.

“I love you so much,” your voice came out as a cry when he sank halfway in, locking eyes with you. The stretch made you squeeze around him, eliciting a whimper from so far back in his throat that he wondered if it came from somewhere else, some far off place.

Once he started to move, he thought about that sweet little pearl and lifted up enough to put his thumb there and move it around. Your head went back and you exposed your throat to him.

Eddie grimaced at how close he was, fuck that—he had to slow down. The way he was touching you, it was making you stiffen like you had when he was on his knees, and he was taking note of everything.

But then you started telling him how bad you needed him to cum, to fill you up, to make you his. He tried to hold out but then his eyes locked onto yours when you told him you loved him again and he couldn’t stop the wave once it started, no matter how hard he clenched his jaw and his buttcheeks.

One long babble came out of him as his thrusts got sloppy. “Oh fuck I love you so much I’m cumming so hard, I’m…I’m…holy shit I love you.”

He didn’t ask if you had come that time, because he knew better.

After he caught his breath, he pulled you with him, twisting onto his side, slipping two fingers where his cock had been. “What if I push all of this cum back inside so it will stay there? Hmm?”

You moaned against his mouth, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “That feels good, keep doing that.”

“You like that?” He asked, just to be certain.

You nodded, and then, your hand slotted down between your bodies and his arousal spiked when he realized you were touching yourself.

He curled his fingers to feel that soft, spongy spot, asking how fast you wanted it.

You couldn’t speak, your concentration was intense, eyes screwed shut.

Oh sure, he was getting hard again. The feel of his warm spend in your tight hole was doing nothing for his resolve.

You clenched around him, and then he was whispering, “let me try again,” as he kept his digits buried and made his way down between your thighs.

His mouth had no trouble finding the treasure that time; it practically peeked up at him, begging for a resolution. He relaxed his shoulders, breathed in the musk of your arousal, and took you into his mouth with a vibrating groan.

“Right there!” You hadn’t meant to scream it, but it was an actual eureka moment. “Oh fuck Eddie, don’t stop…keep doing…keep doing that.”

He hadn’t moved his fingers in a while, but when he tried to incorporate that into the mix, you stopped him. “Keep them still,” you held his head, locking him in place—not that there was anywhere else he wanted to be. “Don’t move your hand just…Ahh yes yes…”

Your jaw went slack in a silent scream, but then his pace quickened, and before you knew what was happening, the blinding white wave crashed through you, rolling through your limbs like satin electricity, making you whine an extended, “cummingcummingcumming,” while you clung to his hair so you wouldn’t fall off the earth.

Eddie was astonished to learn that could feel it happening. The juicy walls around his fingers spasmed, fluttering like tight ripples, and he drove his tongue in eager circles, wondering if he could make you cum twice in one go. Was that even possible? His heart all but flew out of his chest, it was beating so fast, and he moaned long and hard.

But after a bit, you were trying to push his mouth away. “Wait wait, now it’s sensitive,” but he was so determined, he didn’t pull off until you physically lifted his head.

He stared up at you, licking his wet, swollen lips.

You were breathless, letting the final bits of glitter swim through your veins. “That was—”

He kissed your cunt one two three times. “That was what?”

He was grinning now, feeling like he’d just won the lottery, or at least a new car. The sense of satisfaction was officially unmatched.

He made his way up the bed to hold you, but you surprised him by taking his fingers into your mouth to suck them clean, dragging teeth along his flesh.

“I’ve never cum that way with anyone else before,” you said in a whisper, but when he finally registered the weight of the words, his eyes widened.

“My sweetheart,” he pulled you flush against him, giddy, holding your face to brush his lips over yours. “I’m really your first?”

You gave his shoulder a teasing love bite. “And my last.”

“Oh nowww you’re in trouble,” he rolled on top of you, interlacing his fingers with yours to brace your hands above your head, and then he went to work munching at the side of your throat, growling as he did so.

You screamed and giggled, realizing he was hard again as it nudged at your hip. “I see you’re ready for battle again.”

“I was born ready, baby,” he straightened to see your face. “You want to try a new position? I was reading this—”

The front door to the trailer burst open.

“What the hell? Edward? You tryin’ to burn the place down?”

It was Wayne.

Shit shit shit shit it was Wayne!

Home hours early from work, for whatever reason.

The door to the bedroom was wide open and his heavy footfalls were rapidly approaching from the hall.

Eddie threw the sheet up over you, and a few tulip petals fluttered to your face. “I’ll be right there!” He shouted, trying to jump into his jeans. He missed a leg hole and stumbled back onto the mattress, making you snort out a laugh.

He got to the door just in time to greet his Uncle, blocking any view of the room, buttoning his pants as he stood there.

You could hear Wayne’s voice change. “Is, ah, is your girlfriend here? Sorry, I didn’t see her car.”

“No that’s cool, we were just—” and then he maneuvered him out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

You lifted up to listen to their murmuring voices, and then Wayne asked, “why is there wax all over the carpet? Blow these fuckers out before the curtains catch fire.”

You had to bury your face in the pillow to muffle your laughter.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #Stranger Things fanfic #smut

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dustofthedailylife · 9 months

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It Must Be Love

-> Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Blade, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Gepard, Welt x (gn!) Reader

Summary: When they realized they had feelings for you...

Tags: Fluff, SFW, mention of injuries (Blade), just them realizing they're completely smitten

A/N: My last fic before my Japan vacation! I got a lot more in my WIP stash that I'll get to after. Excited to get to that when I'm back, or maybe I can finish one or the other fic in the evening on my vacation when I'm in bed. We'll see. Stay amazing until then! <3

BLADE

When you joined the Stellaron Hunters he shot down your every attempt of trying to get to know him and stayed clear of you. He was curt and only ever spoke with you if it was necessary. In his opinion, there was no need for you two to be acquainted. And it would be for your own good anyway.

It wasn’t until you came back gravely injured from a mission and were passed out for days, that he wouldn’t leave your side.

He sat on the armchair in your room most of the time, and was either sleeping or meditating with his eyes closed. He occasionally switched your bandages and cleaned your wounds while insisting he’d be the only one to do it. After all, he involuntarily had quite the expertise with injuries himself.

And when the day you began to stir awake again finally came, and he heard the quiet plea for water come over your parched lips, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

He told himself over and over again that he didn’t care about anyone and wouldn’t dare to allow himself to care anymore. In fact, he may have even thought he wasn’t capable of it anymore. But feelings are often beyond one's control or rational explanation. And deep down he had always known that he cared deeply about you.

He had only steered clear of you because it had been evident to him, that if he allowed himself to care, there would be no going back. Alas, it now was too late for that as well. Yet it did not matter any longer. All he cared about was that you were still alive.

“Never get hurt like this again.” He scolded with a voice seemingly devoid of any emotion, as he lifted a bottle of water to your lips so you could drink.

But despite the underlying sharp tone in his voice, there was sincere concern in his eyes only a few people ever got to see. And he knew he was no longer able to hide it.

DAN HENG

Himeko brought you along one day and introduced you to the Astral Express Crew as their newest member, a bundle of energy much like March. And everyone seems ecstatic to welcome you aboard. Everyone but Dan Heng. He curtly introduced himself without shaking your outstretched hand, before vanishing back to his room again without another word.

It would be a lie if he said he didn’t find you attractive, but Alas, he couldn’t allow himself to get closer. One more person on the Express only meant there were more people he had to keep secrets from. Besides, you seemed just as lively and energetic as March was, and if he was sure of one thing it’s that one March was already enough. So that was even more reason to steer clear of you for his own peace of mind.

So in turn he tried keeping you at an arm's length. The only problem however was, that you apparently weren’t deterred by his cold demeanor and practically threw yourself at him at every chance you got.

You would often knock on his door to bring him some freshly brewed tea, rummage through the archive or call him quirky nicknames you came up with. He could only roll his eyes at them, but secretly he began to like them and caught himself smiling whenever he thought of them.

At first, he managed to remain distanced and only spoke to you when it was strictly necessary, but he soon began to warm up more and more. Until he would eventually find himself beginning to crave your presence every day.

And it was when he found himself looking at the empty chair you used to sit on almost every evening now, that he became aware of his feelings for you. The naggings and nicknames that used to bother him, now made his heart beat quicker and a tingly feeling made itself known in his stomach.

The simple image of your smile made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. The sound of your voice always managed to soothe his nerves. And your absence made him feel incomplete.

It was then he had to admit to himself that there was no longer any point in denying it. He had inevitably fallen for you.

JING YUAN

When there was more administrative work to do on the Luofu due to the recent happenings, Qingzu, who was assisting Jing Yuan with the additional workload, proposed to hire someone else to help as well. To be precise, help with caring for the general’s lion, since it was usually Qingzu’s task. But since she was preoccupied with other matters right now, there was a distinct lack of time.

And that’s when you were hired.

You were tasked to care for Mimi in Qingzu’s stead from hereon out and seemed to immediately get along with the animal quite well, too. It certainly put Jing Yuan’s mind at ease to know that his lion was adequately cared for.

One day, when Jing Yuan returned earlier than usual from his duties he found you peacefully asleep on the sofa, your head comfortably nestled in the fur of the equally asleep lion. But he didn’t dare to disturb your slumber and returned to his desk with a smile on his face since he too felt the weight of sleep oftentimes throughout the day.

Once you awoke you practically jumped up when you saw him sitting at his desk already, ushering a shy “Oh, General. I didn’t expect you to be back home at such a time already. Forgive me.”

He just let out a soft chuckle in reply, assuring you that there was no need to worry and that it actually put his mind at ease that you got along so well with Mimi.

After this, he made a conscious effort to come back home earlier more often. And every time, without fail, he would find you sleeping together with his lion in the afternoon sun. Your peaceful expression and the quiet purr of his lion truly was a sight for sore eyes

And if his lion loved you, what was he supposed to feel if not the same?

GEPARD

Gepard saw you for the first time when he stopped by his sister's workshop. He caught a quick glimpse of you before you vanished into the side room of the workshop again.

Of course, his sister immediately caught him staring. Because he stood there stunned and only stared holes into the door you vanished through.

If Serval was good at one thing, it was reading Gepard like a book. And she only needed one look at his face to know exactly what he was thinking. Of course, she took the opportunity to tease him about it with a big grin across her face, much to the embarrassment of Gepard who only cleared his throat and diverted the topic, unable to hide the red blooming across his cheeks.

He soon found out that you were a singer and songwriter and that you and Serval sometimes performed together in a local club. And he found himself venturing there on his off days to watch your show.

Serval introduced you to him and eventually, you began to become closer. Asking him if he would come to your next gig as well. And of course, he did. In fact, he did so often that he had all your songs memorized down to a T now and often found himself humming them absentmindedly throughout the day.

And suddenly, as one of his subordinates asked him which song he keeps humming all the time now, he became aware of the feelings he harbored for you.

The warm, prickly feeling within his chest. The way his heartbeat quickened, or the corners of his mouth turned upwards involuntarily whenever he saw you, talked to you, or thought of you.

It was undeniable. He had fallen in love in love with you.

WELT

Welt and you were just colleagues. At least that's what he was trying to convince himself of at first.

Research and worries about your mission often woke you up at night recently, so you often got up to brew a fresh pot of coffee. And Welt found you sitting in an armchair in the parlor car one night when he, too, got up in the middle of the night because his thoughts had kept him awake.

You offered him a cup of coffee as well before you sat back down. Each just sipped their coffee in silence. You gazed at the stars outside of the window of the Express while he tried to read some book to keep his mind off the thoughts that had kept him awake.

Yet, he found himself unable to concentrate on it and instead stole glances at you while rattling his brain about what he could talk about with you.

Eventually, you were the first one to break the silence. Initiating a conversation about the vastness of the universe and the thing that are yet beyond any human comprehension. Asking questions no man knew an answer to yet. And he was more than happy to indulge in the conversation.

You ended up talking until the morning hours that night without the conversation ever dying down. He enjoyed the talk you had so much, he found himself thinking about it for weeks after.

Long deep talks over a fresh pot of coffee in the middle of the night should soon become a habit for both of you.

And he came to crave them so much that he even started setting an alarm at night and went to check if you were there again as well. And most of the time you were.

One night, when he looked at you and saw the light of the stars reflect in your eyes once again, he too had to admit he was looking straight at a star himself.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about HSR or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #blade x reader #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #gepard x reader #welt x reader #hsr fluff #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #hsr drabbles #hsr imagines #🍁 dust writes #🍁彡 hsr

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the-real-victorias-secret · 12 days

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finally jumping on this trend lol. deadline for giving this notes: MAY 10, 2024. (my birthday!)

100 NOTES: i'll finish my current read (The Great Gatsby)

200 NOTES: i'll work on my current writing WIPs every day and i might start doing WIP wednesday?

300 NOTES: i'll actually learn to draw anatomy...

400 NOTES: i'll make an art blog/give my current art blog a makeover & actually post on it

500 NOTES: I'LL DRAW JULIUS CAESAR BIG NATURALS!

and finally, however many notes this ends up with, i'll write that many more words of one of my WIPS (i'll have y'all vote when this is done.) (edit: here's the poll.)

i don't expect this to get that many notes lol but yeah :) (if this doesn't get that many notes, i'll lower the numbers.)

@real-sephora what have i done

EDIT: this got wayyy more notes than i could've imagined. i'm changing the deadline to April 17, 2024 & adding some new goals for y'all.

700 NOTES: i'll start practicing korean everyday! (i'm korean american but i never learned the language nor did i get in the habit of practicing. so. i need this.)

750 NOTES: i'll make a poll of random references i should add to the winning WIP! (the winner from the linked poll above.)

800 NOTES: i'll learn how to do animation!

#gimmick blog #corp blog #victoria's secret

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complete-clownery · 4 months

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Hahaha okay rant about this amazing fanfic (you probably heard of this one already but still)

So whenever it comes to explaining and writing under my posts I just get lazy but I need to push through this cuz I need to talk

So the fanarts were made for the lmk fanfiction sunbreak, that a lot of you (probably mostly shadowpeach shippers) had read, and it is amazing, I read trough it as fast as my brain let me and as you can see it has pleasantly scratched my brain so much so that I even (attempted) to make fanart for it

Ngl if I wasn't a major pussy I would try to illustrate the whole thing or make covers for each chapter but Im unable to work on something more than 2 hours and I would want those to look good, but good looking art (if I don't mess up) takes 6 hours ughh--- annoying much---

Anyways I'm not good with literature but man is this fix a masterpiece *chefs kiss* its everything its amazing, I was unable to put it down once I started it

Okay i dont think I have the brain capacity to explain how much I worship the writer of this masterpiece @ladygreenfrisbee , so i'm just going to talk about the drawings a tad

So first picture with Red Son and MK its sort of like an au in the fic where the whole lbd plot is somehow nonexistent and after Macaque gets to his sisters domain they settle down and raise the kids together without much of an issue aside from assassinations keep happening and trying not to get in trouble with the heavens

Id like to think that Gongzhu still wouldn't let the court tailors to put any form of red or gold on MKs outfits and only allowed the yellow after when MK was old enough to declare that yellow was his favorite color, but even now she would insist on some form of purple and shadow motives to let others know who the mother is

We also got baby MK and toddler Red Son and sassy LIF and Mac

Third pic with the lion: I don't know what it was or why but I just love general Song so much--- he's a major dickhead but sgvshshsevkdididhr (actually I kinda love all the original characters in this one, from the generals to the old lady in the beginning of the book, (gosh I also wanna draw some scenes from those chapters I loved how Mac and she interacted hshsjsj))

so chapter 34 was probably my favorite so far I re read it about two more times cuz it was amazing to see Macaque being the schemer he is and try to piss of Song lol

Last picture: its a sketch/a wip or whatever (probably not going to finish it but im still putting it there cuz its somewhat decent looking)

Its the part where Wukong remembered of Macaque finally finding him and asking for him to come back to flower fruit mountain.

I tried to make Macaque look more unhinged on this one but since I didn't finish it I dont think its that noticable so fuck that but I also gave him a halo like the saints to symbolise his suffering and what not (thought it looked cool and fitting think whatever you want about it lol)

And that all ((((hollly mother))))

If you read this trough, thank you and congrats👏👏

#clown does art #lego monkey kid #lmk sunbreak #sunbreak #shadowpeach #lmk macaque #six eared macaque #lmk mk #lmk red son #fanfiction #lmk #lmk pif #princess iron fan

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zarla-s · 5 months

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We move forward, 'cause we can't go back...

It's the EIGHTH anniversary of Handplates, and the first one after I finished the comic back in July! I decided to dig up a very old wip that I never finished and finally do it. I've always loved WeMoveForward by The Midnight, and I think it applies not only to the comic itself but also this period after it... there's no way to go back to when I was doing it, only moving forward after it's done.

Even more appropriately, since I did this wip, these characters all moved forward even further... even as this sat in my files, they moved forward, in a sense. I don't know, the song gives me a sort of plaintive, longing, bittersweet feeling... it's hard to explain.

I had a very insistent voice in my head that always made me do a Handplates page over the years I was working on it, no matter what happened. I wasn't sure if that voice would ever stop, even when it's done, but it has! It's gotten quieter now, mostly only nagging me about other projects I should be working on (Defrag, the Ace Attorney/Frozen fic, web design, fic ideas, art ideas...) whenever I'm doing something, much like it did before I started the comic.

How I feel about Handplates finishing though is strange. At times it doesn't feel like it's over, even if I don't feel like I need to do another page. At other times I get sad thinking about it and I miss it, and other times I look back on it with amazement that I was able to do it. Sometimes I look back on it and think about what was happening in my life at that time, and sometimes when I look at it it's unreal and it's hard to believe I even did it, like someone else did the whole thing. It's like it's there but it's not, it's present but it isn't. It's a very strange feeling, it's hard to describe or pin down. I know it'll always be with me in some way, but it is strange to be able to focus so much attention on other things without that feeling of having to set aside a few days to do a page every two weeks... not bad or anything, but I'm not used to it still.

I don't know! When I read the comments on the last page a lot of them made me cry, especially those talking about how the comic had been their childhood, and now their childhood is over. It was sad to think that I had a part in something like that ending... but it ends for everyone, no matter what you do. We, you and me, everyone... we move forward, 'cause we can't go back. That line was so evocative for me that I even used it as a chapter title for the penultimate chapter on Comicfury.

I don't know, just nostalgic thoughts! I don't know if that's the right word for it... but thank you to all of you who read it and enjoyed it. Even now I hear from new people coming to it and reading through it again now that it's done. Even if it's finished, it's still new to people just finding it. It's still "living" in a sense. And thanks to those of you who stuck around even though it's done, I appreciate it. |D

(As a note, the Gaster ukagaka has a surprise if you boot him on the anniversary after seeing the brothers, if you haven't done that)

[index] [patreon]

#undertale #handplates #asgore #gaster #sans #papyrus #asriel #z art #man i like never draw asriel #i always feel guilty when i move on to something different than what brought people to me #but my interests never really die they just fall asleep for a little while #they always come back eventually

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bamsara · 1 year

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Finally finished this wip that I actually started last year. I'm not entirely happy with how it came out, but I kept getting frustrated with it. The plan was also to make the Y/N customizable too which I sorta did even though I ran out of energy/motivation to do all the parts planned

But yeah! The Y/N here is (somewhat) customizable, and I plan on fixing stuff and adding more options later like glasses, body types, ect. Patrons can download the Photoshop file to make Y/N combinations. That being said, this is not a piccrew. Please don't repost it and only use for personal use.

Some Y/N combos. They're very basic but they are a start.

#patreons get the file because i fear art theft #its got more options for hte yn than what im showing but im not gonna make a combo of every hair and mask and what not #Solar Lunacy #fnaf sb #fnaf the daycare attendant #fnaf sun #sundrop #oc stitch #sun x reader #self insert #doodles

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risuola · 4 months

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INFINITY — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

When was the last time you slept? You couldn't tell, but Satoru was determined to get you to rest.

cw: slightly angsty if you squint, just idiots in love unable to communicate properly, death mentioned (the usual jjk content) — 1,3k words

a/n: i'm going through my wips, finishing them finally and posting, don't mind me ❥

“When was the last time you slept?”

Satoru’s soft voice entered your mind and brought it back to reality. You were exhausted, having no sleep for few days already. Your eyes felt heavy, your mind was foggy and as you tried to push through the fatigue, you struggled to concentrate on even the simplest tasks. Everything felt like it’s taking twice as much effort as usual and more and more often you were catching yourself at making silly mistakes that you wouldn’t normally do. It was probably the fact you were standing at the little kitchen unit in the hotel room you share with Gojo for the mission, and the cup you were trying to fill with water overflown already.

“Shit,” you cussed quietly, putting down the kettle and grabbing the roll of paper towels, knocking a bottle while you reached next to it. Of course it was open and another portion of liquid spilled all over the counter and the floor.

“Hey, whoa, I’ll deal with it,” the strongest was quick to take everything from your hands, smiling in amusement at the soft groan that escaped your mouth. “So? When did you sleep last time?”

“I don’t remember,” you grumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose. The job you had been assigned was taking everything from you and it wasn’t because it was hard. It really wasn’t much above the ordinary and your partner turns every task into a child’s play, but it was the unpredictability of the curses you were targeting that made you go without sleep for a week already. You had at most four hours of rest, broken into short naps when you just passed out and now, you were awake for 43 hours straight. It was taking a toll on your mind and body, the fatigue was like a weight on your shoulders, making your movements sluggish and your thoughts slow.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes aggressively, a desperate attempt to wipe away the foggy haze from your sight. It’s been some time since you don’t see clearly anymore, your brain was pulling tricks on you and though you couldn’t blame it for that, you also wished it to keep up for just a little longer

“Go to sleep,” Gojo told you, wiping away the water that you spilled all over the kitchen area. “I’ll deal with anything that might pop up,” he reassured, though his tone was everything but caring. He was teasing you, his playful nature and smugness fronting in his behavior as always. He wasn’t bothered by the mission, he was doing his job flawlessly and frankly, you were sent with him only to make sure people around are safe because Satoru has a habit of not caring too much about casualties.

“You know I can’t do that,” a groan from you only made the man chuckle. You were in the middle of war – it felt like it, at least – there was a plague of curses, most of them reaching first grade, day after day appearing in bigger quantities and it was straight up way too dangerous to let yourself to drift away. Last time you managed to close your eyes for a little longer than an hour, one of the demons broke into the hotel you were staying in and nearly killed you. It seemed like they were just waiting for the right moment to attack, when your guard is down and you’re vulnerable and you knew that once you fall asleep, you’re not going to wake up on time. Even if Gojo was volunteering to fight, you were convinced the moment he’d step away from you, you’d be dead. And that was the last position on your wishlist.

“I told you I’ll take care of the curses while you’re sleeping, don’t be so dense,” the strongest just shrugged, seemingly unbothered but the grin was ghosting over his lips, making you wish you could wipe it off his stupid handsome face. While you were suffering, Satoru was sleeping just fine, not caring about a thing because he didn’t need to care about being in danger when he always had a nice, protective layer of damn infinity around himself. The world could be burning and not a single spark would reach his sleeping form. Rest was a luxury he was able to afford during this mission and sadly, you couldn’t because once you’re not awake and ready to protect yourself, you’ll be swiped off the board.

“Why would you even bother, huh?” You snapped, not sparing him a look while you approached the window. The streets seemed oddly calm, now as dark as the sky above them, and you wished it would stay normal for the next hours so you would have one less thing to deal with during the night time.

Truth is, the very fact of sharing a job with Gojo is a curse in itself, one impossible to exorcise and it was taking every bit of professionalism that you had in you to just push through it. Your relation with the honored one is difficult. It’s complicated and straight up unpleasant, it seemed like you were stuck in an endless cycle of bickering. Every conversation seemed to turn into an argument, and every disagreement seemed to escalate into a full-blown fight. It was exhausting, emotionally and mentally, it was straining but no matter how many times you tried, you couldn’t manage to break the pattern and instead, you just kept going around in circles. The words you spoke to each other were getting increasingly cutting and the anger was growing with each passing day. Even when you did manage to reach a solution, it was always a matter of time before another conflict would arise and you’d be back to square one. It was as if you were trapped in a maze, with no clear path to a peaceful co-existence and that was enough reason for you to be convinced that Gojo would be the last person on earth worrying about your well-being.

“I don’t want you to die on me because of the lack of sleep, come one,” he shrugged, throwing away the wet paper towels and joining you near the window. “Rest, I’ll stay awake.”

“I’ll get myself a coffee,” you said, not convinced at all. Truth is, only few times you allowed yourself to pass out was when Satoru was awake, because you wouldn’t dare to close your eyes when he was sleeping himself, but you couldn’t trust him. And you’d feel horrible if you made him stay awake just so you can sleep.

“No, seriously, no coffee for you,” he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled towards the bed.

“Gojo, do you not understand—”

“Shhh,” he hushed, manhandling you onto the mattress, forcing your shoes off and gathering the covers to tuck you in as if you were a child.

“I hate you…” Was all you could mumble. It was a torture. The soft pillows underneath your head and warm comforter were so perfect, so inviting for you to just let yourself drift off. You wished to let the heavy eyelids down, to give your eyes the rest they need and allow your brain to reset and clear. You felt like your body was betraying you, the exhaustion was seeping into your bones, making it impossible to move.

“Yeah, yeah,” to your surprise, Gojo pushed his own boots off as well and in a moment he was in bed with you, sharing sheets and pulling you towards himself. “Now, here. You are now inside my infinity. You’re safe, sleep.”

Infinity. It felt safe, suddenly, but was it because of infinity or the man that now had his arms wrapped around you? You couldn’t tell and frankly, you couldn’t speak either, so you just hummed something in response as the sleep has taken you away.

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choochooboss · 1 month

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"It's a game night on Pasio! Watch the UNOvan big shots take on each other in the card game number one!" Turn up the fancy factor with some delightful electro swing music~ Would you like to join them for a round or a dozen? Drew these both in August 2022, only finished rendering the 2nd piece today ahah! Relieved to finally get this WIP out of my system!! It's been sitting there since August 2022; it was difficult to juggle the composition, colors & a zillion effects again but I'm happy enough with the result now! Epic UNO videos for inspiration below the cut!

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kentopedia · 8 months

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nightly rituals

ft. dazai, chuuya, sigma, ranpo, fyodor

summary — little things you do together before going to sleep

contents — very sweet, domestic moments !! sfw.

notes — another subpar short piece from me while i finish up some wips. i wrote this kind of quickly so pls forgive any errors !! :(

₊˚⊹♡ DAZAI + reading

“osamu.” you glanced up at him from under his book, drawing his name out as you rested your head on his lap.

until that point, you’d been scrolling through your phone, hoping he'd be annoyed by the lack of your attention. instead, dazai picked up the book you'd been reading together, and started from where you left off.

your ridiculous ploy for his affection had turned on you, and now, you were the one that was desperate to hear his voice.

dazai looked down at you, his eyes playful as he smiled. “what?”

you stared back at him, disgruntled by the fact that he’d so quickly figured out your silly little game and made it his own. "nothing."

dazai twisted a piece of your hair on his finger, patient, and shrugged, returning to the novel, looking far too interested in the pages.

you groaned, poking him in the stomach. “you’re just going to read ahead without me?”

“you didn’t seem to mind when you were on your phone instead.” he frowned, though most of his disappointment was feigned, and amusement lingered at the edges of his expression.

“you were in the shower!" you scoffed.

dazai laughed, and shifted the book to his other hand, and leaned over to kiss you softly. “i'm not anymore.”

though you usually indulged him in his antics, you were tired, and just wanted to close out the night with another chapter of the story you'd been so invested in. it was much better when it came straight from his lips.

“i can see that.” you rolled your eyes, frowning. “are you going to read to me now, osamu?”

dazai brightened, proud of himself for finally getting you to admit what you wanted. "well, you could've asked a little nicer, but since i love you..."

he flipped to the previous page, the one you'd both been at the night before, and you realized he hadn't even been reading at all.

you huffed out a laugh, burying your head further into his thighs, but dazai didn't start reading. he remained staring at you with a pointed expression.

"what's the matter now?"

"you didn't say it back." dazai's lips drew down theatrically.

you sighed, and pulled at the collar of his shirt, stretching your waist to kiss him, lazily, missing his lips by a mile. "you already know i love you too, osamu. that's the only reason you get away with annoying me all the time."

dazai, finally satisfied, let you fall back against him, and began reading the next chapter to you.

though you'd wanted to stay awake for a while longer, the minute he began, you were already dozing off, so warm in his arms.

“your voice is so nice,” you said sleepily, closing your eyes as he read. “like a lullaby.”

dazai laughed quietly, but he softened, smiling as he read. he held the book in one hand, and massaged your scalp with the other, delicate fingers threading through your hair until you fell asleep.

₊˚⊹♡ CHUUYA + skincare

“let me do it this time, chuuya," you said, staring him down with the sweet eyes of yours that you knew he could never resist.

chuuya could have easily stolen the tub of moisturizer away from you, but he let you hold it far out of his reach, his smile soft. “but i like doing it.”

“yeah, well, you do it every night. i want a turn.”

chuuya said nothing for a moment, his gaze sharp. then, he relented and sighed. “fine.” he leaned against the counter, resting his weight on it. “think you can ask me for whatever you want, and i'll just give it you, huh?”

you laughed, smiling as you unscrewed the lid. “i think we both know the answer to that.”

though you were only teasing him, chuuya softened, kissing your forehead. he placed his hands on your hips, drawing you closer and closer.

“you’re right,” he said, his eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks as you slathered the moisturizer over his smooth skin. “i can’t say no to you, baby.”

you shook your head, amused, and massaged his cheeks lightly. chuuya relaxed into your touch, the tightness in his jaw alleviating.

"don't fall asleep," you teased, running your thumb over his full bottom lip.

"'m not," he said, letting out a small breath. but his eyes were glazed when he opened them again, far too tender for such a powerful man. "your hands just feel so soft."

"i can't carry you to bed," you warned. "you'll have to sleep on the cold counter."

"you wouldn't let me stay here all night long." he slid his hands over your hips, down your back, grinning. "you hate sleeping in that bed without me."

₊˚⊹♡ SIGMA + making tea

“do you want honey in it, love?”

you hummed a yes, squeezing your arms around his waist, hugging him tighter from behind. his hair was soft against your cheek as you rested your head on his back.

sigma poured the water, letting the tea steep.

you leaned your weight on him, yawning. “how was your day?”

he craned his neck to see you, but didn’t move otherwise, letting you get comfortable as you waited for the tea to finish. “it was alright.” he laced his free hand with yours, shifting. “a little stressful. better, now that i get to see you.”

you smiled, kissing a notch in his spine, too lazy to move any further. “why'd you leave before i could say goodbye this morning?”

though you didn't really mind, sigma seemed genuinely apologetic, and squeezed your hand. “sorry. i had to be in early today. did you see my note?”

you smiled, and nodded, listening to the rhythmic beat of his blood pumping, the very sign that he was just as human as the rest of you.

"i did. it was sweet." with a sigh, you straightened your back to look at him completely. for the first time since you’d gotten home, you realized how tired he was, how drained he’d been this entire week. you ran your fingers through his hair gently, your voice like a purr. “you need to get some rest. i've barely seen you this week.”

“i have work to do.” he frowned. “they need me there.”

“i know." you watched as sigma took out the tea bags, throwing them into the trash. “i need you too, though.”

sigma paused, momentarily, as he stirred the honey in, before shaking his thoughts and blinking back at you. “i didn’t realize—”

you stopped him before he could spiral into another apology, the tension in his brow obvious. "i'm not upset." when the small tangles had been brushed out, you began braiding a small section of his hair, the strands silky in your palm. “just promise me you’ll take care of yourself too.”

sigma stared from over his shoulder for a moment more before acquiescing. he handed a steaming mug to you, turning around to surprise you with a gentle kiss. "okay," he said against your lips, the touch so tender. "i promise."

₊˚⊹♡ RANPO + video games

“you’re so bad at this.” ranpo threw another handful of candy into his mouth, watching your avatar on the screen as you continued to fail.

frowning, you pressed another button vigorously, not quite sure if it was the right one to achieve your goal.

of course, nothing seemed to happen, and instead, you’re barraged by the enemy, your health going down to a level that seemed almost irrecoverable.

you leaned back into ranpo’s chest, pinching your eyebrows together. “i don’t play this as much as you do.” you said from where sat between his thighs, still trying to figure out how to win his favorite game. “cut me some slack.”

ranpo laughed, his breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he leaned forward. he slid your thumb to a different button, brushing your skin lightly. “try that, sweets.”

it seemed to be the obvious solution, and you made a face at him, momentarily distracted. "your genius never fails to amaze me."

though, when you glanced back at the screen, you’ were back to where you started, all your progress lost. “ranpo,” you said, his name coming out on the edge of a whine. “what happened?”

he took the controller from you, not even giving you a moment to try again. quickly, he moved towards the next checkpoint, knowing exactly where to go, a seasoned professional. “you got killed. too busy staring at me.”

you sighed, reaching for the controller, but he held it out of your reach, grinning at you mockingly.

“let me try again, ranpo!”

“i’ll get you to the next part. you’ve tried this three times already.”

it wasn’t as fun watching as it was playing, but you sighed, and let him take over. as he went through the remaining quests, you rested your head back onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

ranpo made it through the rest of that level in mere minutes.

“here, it should be easier now.” though when he went to hand the game over to you, you’d fallen asleep in his lap, your breathing even and light.

₊˚⊹♡ FYODOR + playing the cello

“you play so beautifully.”

fyodor opened his eyes, watching you from under dark lashes. though his hands didn’t stop moving, the beginnings of a smile formed on his lips.

“i wish i could play an instrument,” you continued mindlessly, stretched over the couch. your head rested on the throw pillows, side aching from how long you'd been laying there, listening to the cello.

fyodor was across the room, relaxed completely in the chair he always played in. beside him, he was surrounded by evidence of his hobby. sheet music, scribbled and messy, rested on the table, stained with coffee rings. candle light flickered through the room.

he hesitated, the bow softly coming to a stop across the strings. “i can teach you.” fyodor's pause was brief, and he began playing once more, slower this time, like a serenade. a piece of hair fell over his face, between his eyebrows, distracting you.

you shivered, mind filled with thoughts of him standing behind you, directing your hands towards the right movements, whispering instructions in your ears.

but you shook your head, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. “maybe,” you said, your smile wistful. “but i won’t be as good as you. i’d rather listen.”

“alright.” he let out a short laugh, blinking his eyes shut again to return his attention to the piece. he came to the last few measures, approaching the conclusion. “is there any piece you’d like to hear?” fyodor said, his voice softer than usual, almost like he didn’t want to disturb his own playing.

you thought back on everything you’d heard him play before. he’d told you the names, but it was hard to remember. so many of them sounded the same, titled by numbers and words you didn't understand.

it didn't matter, though. you thought everything he played sounded beautiful. often, he was even better than any recordings you’d ever heard.

“something that makes you think of me,” you said in a hushed whisper, placing your chin on your arms to see him better. "if that's alright."

fyodor, then, smiled more fully, his eyes full of an affection that eclipsed his otherwise gloomy features. “there are many things that make me think of you,” he said, slowing once more to transition into a richer, smoother melody. one that would, inevitably, put you into a deep, peaceful sleep. “but, perhaps this one fits the moment best.”

i haven't written for fyodor, sigma or ranpo before, so i hope this is okay !! im trying to get over my fear of making sure every single action & dialogue is perfectly in character :,)

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