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vipetas · 1 month

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i. the radio's revival

The worst possible scenario just unfolded before Alastor's eyes—his beloved antique radio broke.

He stood in stunned silence, his usual jovial expression replaced by one of utter disbelief as the once-majestic device now lay in pieces, its intricate components scattered across the floor. With a heavy heart, he knelt beside the shattered remnants, his gloved fingers tracing the familiar contours with a sense of mourning.

It was a futile gesture, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss for the part of himself that had been taken away with it. For Alastor, the radio was more than just a mere object; it was a piece of his identity. Each scratch, each dent held a story, a memory of a bygone era that now lay at ruins at his feet.

In that moment, he felt more vulnerable than ever before, stripped of the facade of invincibility he had carefully cultivated over decades. However, as he surveyed the damage, the vulnerability was quickly replaced by a flood of other emotions–anger, frustration, disappointment. How could something so precious, so irreplaceable, be lost in an instant?

The faint sound of shuffling feet then drew his attention. As he gazed up, one of the egg boys—those bumbling, loyal lackeys of Sir Pentious—timidly stepped forward with a sheepish expression.

“Uh, sorry about that, mister Radio Demon, sir. It was an accident,” the egg boy mumbled, his voice tinged with guilt.

Alastor's eye twitched in annoyance at the feeble excuse. Accidents were one thing, but this? This was inexcusable. His patience, already stretched thin, threatened to snap as he struggled to contain his frustration.

“Sorry?” Alastor repeated through gritted teeth. “Sorry won’t fix what’s been broken, now will it?”

The egg boys exchanged nervous glances, their carefree demeanor faltering under Alastor's withering gaze. “We didn't mean to, Mr. Alastor,” another one of them stammered.

Yet it was far too late for apologies. Alastor's frustration bubbled over like a pot ready to boil, and with a growl of irritation, his form began to shift. With each passing second, his horns extended, his body swelled in size, and his once elegant silhouette towered over the trembling egg boys like a vengeful deity.

The egg boys recoiled in terror, their eyes wide with horror as they watched Alastor's transformation unfold before them. In their panicked mind, they could only imagine the worst—that Alastor, in his fury, would devour them whole.

Just as their fear reached its peak, Sir Pentious burst onto the scene. Positioning himself between the egg boys and the Radio Demon, his voice rang out in a chorus of apologies.

“Mr. Alastor, sir, I must beg for your forgiveness on behalf of my hapless egg boys,” he pleaded desperately. “They meant no harm, I assure you. It was a mere accident, a foolish mistake!”

Alastor's gaze narrowed as he observed Sir Pentious. As the snake demon continued to shower him with apologies, Alastor suddenly remembered the reason they were all gathered here in the first place—a party, of all things. With a wry smile, he glanced around at the other residents of the hotel, noting the fear etched onto their faces. The sight of their unease might've amused him under different circumstances, but the loss of something so precious to him soured his mood.

With a shake of his head, he allowed his form to shrink back to its normal size. As his horns receded and his imposing presence diminished, he felt the tension ebb from his body, the anger gradually fading away.

But that didn’t mean that all was forgiven.

“What, pray tell, am I supposed to do with my broken radio now?” Alastor's voice dripped with barely contained frustration as he shot a piercing gaze at Sir Pentious.

Sir Pentious, visibly sweating under the weight of Alastor's glare, scrambled to offer a solution. “Ah, well, fear not,” he stuttered, his words coming out in a nervous rush. “I happen to know a mechanic—a fixer, if you will. Someone who can repair anything, no matter how... delicate.”

Alastor's eyebrow arched in skepticism, though a faint flicker of interest danced in his eyes. "Is that so?" he mused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He had his doubts about Sir Pentious' ability to deliver on such a promise, but at this point, he was willing to entertain any possibility.

“And where can I find this mechanic of yours?”

Following the instructions scribbled hastily on the back of a crumpled receipt, Alastor eventually found himself in the slums of Pentagram City. The narrow alleyways led him to what appeared to be a workshop, its exterior bearing the signs of neglect and decay. The windows were grimy, patches of paint flaked off the weathered walls, and the sign above the entrance barely hung on by a single rusty nail.

It was a far cry from the elegance he was accustomed to, and he couldn't help but feel a familiar surge of anger rising within him. This was the place that was supposed to hold the solution to his problem? The Radio Demon scoffed inwardly, doubting that anyone within these walls possessed the skill or expertise to repair something as delicate as his beloved radio.

Still, he pressed on. Pushing open the creaking door, he was met with a gust of stale air, tinged with the scent of oil and metal. Inside, the workshop was a scene of disarray. Tools lay scattered across workbenches, and half-finished projects cluttered every available surface. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with spare parts, some of which appeared to be salvaged from long-forgotten machinery.

Alastor's lips curled into a disdainful sneer as he absorbed the surroundings. Then, his gaze fell upon the lone figure, hunched over a nearby table—you.

As he drew closer, you finally looked up, and to Alastor's surprise, you greeted him with a wide smile.

“Hi there! What can I do for you?”

Alastor's sneer deepened at the sight of the chipper mechanic, a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere of the workshop. He had half-expected to find someone as worn down and weathered as the building itself, yet here stood this bright-eyed individual, seemingly unfazed by the chaos around them.

Suppressing a sigh, Alastor straightened up, the edges of his grin faltering ever so slightly. “Good evening,” he began. “My name is Alastor, and I'm here because I was told you might be able to fix something for me.”

Your smile widened at his words, and you nodded eagerly. “Of course! What seems to be the problem?”

Alastor hesitated for a moment, eyeing you warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that entrusting his precious radio to you was a mistake. Yet, he had little choice in the matter.

“My antique radio is in need of repair,” Alastor explained, his tone guarded. “It's a delicate piece of machinery, and I require someone with the utmost skill to handle it.”

You listened intently as Alastor detailed the intricacies of his radio, nodding along with each word. Despite his cautious demeanor, you could sense the underlying concern in his voice. It was clear that this radio held great significance to him.

As he finished speaking, you gave him another nod. “I understand, Mr. Alastor,” you reassured him. “You won't be disappointed, I promise. Now, let's take a look at what you've got there.”

With that, you gestured for Alastor to follow you to your workbench, where he finally presented the fragmented piece of machinery. As you laid eyes on the broken radio, it became immediately apparent to you just how extensively damaged it was. Fractured casings, tangled wires, missing components–it was a daunting sight, yet you refrained from revealing the true severity of the damage to Alastor, not wanting to add to his distress. Instead, you maintained a composed demeanor as you turned to look at him with a confident grin.

“We'll get this sorted out, Mr. Alastor,” you assured him once more. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor felt a flicker of hope stir in his blackened heart at the prospect of having his radio fixed. Though a hint of doubt still lingered at the back of his mind, he nodded begrudgingly.

“Very well," he muttered. "Just... be careful with it.”

As Alastor stepped back, allowing you the space to work your magic, his eyes remained fixed on you with keen interest. He observed the fluidity of your movements, the subtle shifts in your expression. Whenever you encountered a challenge, your brows furrowed in concentration, and with each successful repair, a hint of satisfaction graced your lips. Alastor found himself unconsciously mirroring your expressions as he watched your steady hands diligently work to bring his beloved radio back to life.

And as time passed, so too did his initial skepticism begin to wane, replaced by a growing sense of admiration for your skill and expertise. There was something captivating about the way you worked, a sense of determination and passion that shone through with every meticulous movement.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, you made the final adjustment. With bated breath, you flicked the switch and awaited the outcome. The room fell into a tense silence, thick with anticipation. Then, suddenly, a burst of static erupted, followed by the unmistakable sound of music emanating from the speakers.

Alastor's eyes widened in disbelief as the once-silent device surged back to life. Your face lit up with a triumphant smile as you savored his reaction, a sense of pride swelling within you.

“There you go, Mr. Alastor,” you declared, extending the repaired radio toward him. “Good as new!”

As Alastor reached out to accept the radio from you, his fingers inadvertently brushed against yours in a fleeting moment of contact. In that instant, a jolt of electricity seemed to course through him, sending a distinct shiver down his spine.

It was a curious sensation, one that he couldn't quite place, yet it stirred something deep within him.

Even after withdrawing his hand, the feeling lingered, leaving Alastor perplexed. His gaze shifted from the repaired radio to your face, searching for any indication that you too had felt the same inexplicable energy pulse between you. However, your smile remained unchanged, oblivious to the tumult of emotions swirling within him.

“Thank you,” he finally murmured, his voice softer than usual, betraying a hint of sincerity that caught even him off guard. “You did a remarkable job.”

You beamed in response, your eyes alight with satisfaction at Alastor's words. “You're welcome,” you replied gently. “I'm glad I could be of help. And remember, if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me.”

Alastor offered a subtle nod of gratitude, though inwardly, he found himself oddly reluctant to leave. Nevertheless, he tucked the repaired radio under his arm and turned on his heel, heading towards the door. Stepping out into the dimly-lit street, he walked with deliberate steps. His thoughts drifted back to the moment his fingers brushed against yours, and despite his attempts to push the memory aside, his free hand instinctively flexed, fingers curling into a tight fist before relaxing once more.

This was going to be a problem.

part i / part ii

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed<3

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor/reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel fluff #part 2?

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daysvm · 2 years

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gentle breeze ...

You feel miserable if you have inadvertently found your soul mate one day, and the gentle breeze blew him away from you, without making it clear why. You can miss even what never happened if the company was the best. You can love even what you never loved if you wake up one day to understand that what really made you fall in love was not within the reach of what your eyes could see.

Te sientes miserable si un día encontraste inadvertidamente a tu alma gemela, y la suave brisa la alejó de ti, sin dejar claro por qué. Puedes echar de menos incluso lo que nunca pasó si la compañía fue la mejor. Puedes amar incluso lo que nunca amaste si un día te despiertas para comprender que lo que realmente te enamoró no estaba al alcance de lo que tus ojos podían ver.

#relationship #fall in love #amor imposible #mister impossible #feeling #painful #poetry #love him #long distance couple #admiration #passion #lovers

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aether-starlight · 19 days

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Gymnopédie - Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, innuendos.

Summary: You confuse Zayne’s number with your trusted ride back home. When he insists on picking you up himself, how could you refuse?

Word Count: 1.7 K

The world was spinning, but in a pleasant way, as if gravity no longer affected you. You felt close to floating instead of walking, weightless as the cherry blossom petals that drifted through the air.

You were so light, in fact, that your fingers struggled to exert any pressure on the numbers in your screen, phone nearly slipping out of your hands and crashing into the pavement.

You leaned against Tara, both of you giggling about nothing in particular as you sat by the sidewalk. Her arm was wrapped around your shoulders, the sides of your heads pressed together.

Mojitos had been flowing like water tonight, a celebratory dinner after a mission completed with no casualties, hunter or civilian.

For a moment, you had been able to let go, put down the weight of grief, fear and uncertainty in favor of comradery, cheers and funny anecdotes from Captain Jenna and the eldest members of UNICORN.

Surrounded by your peers, you knew for sure someone had your back, and they wouldn’t let you fall without falling themselves first.

Pressing your phone to your ear—and almost dropping it again—, you impatiently waited for the other end to pick up.

Absentmindedly, you drew a strand of Tara’s silky hair between your tingling fingers.

“Your hair is soooo pretty,” you hiccuped.

“Oooooo. Thank you!” Tara pouted, close to tears, redder than ever. You probably looked no better.

“You’re welcome! I need you to give me some tips because ever since that wanderer burnt half of my freaking scalp—“

“Hello?”

You had forgotten you were on the phone.

“Ah, sorry Mister Song, hi~ I don’t see you.”

There were a few seconds of silence, and you almost pulled down your phone to check if Mister Song hadn’t hung up on you.

“It’s Zayne.”

The smile fell off your face, and like a fool, you double checked the contact name, as well as the time.

It was 3 am.

“Goddess, I’m so sorry. I thought—“

He cut you off, voice thick with sleep, not missing an inch of its imposing nature.

“Are you drunk?”

You winced—that was his admonishment voice, the one he used when your bood tests weren’t within standards, or you had circles under your eyes.

Like a huge cosmic joke, Tara giggled, leaning closer to slur:

“Is that your Doctor? He does sound as grumpy as you s—” You pressed your free hand to her lips, her whole face burning like a furnace.

The silence was deafening. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne had grimaced on the other side of the line, a half amused twist of his lips.

“I’m good,” you lied through your teeth.

“Sure,” he replied goodnaturedly. “Send me your location.”

Defeated, you hid behind a curtain of your hair. A terrible decision, considering how the world began to spin, even as you closed your eyes.

“Okay.”

By the time Zayne arrived, Tara was snoring, head resting on your shoulder. Meanwhile, you had been sipping on a bottle of water Captain Jenna had kindly given you before leaving.

“Hi,” you greeted once he lowered the passenger’s window, mortified.

His gaze met yours, inscrutable. He looked as awake as ever, had it not been for the slight ruffle of his hair, not quite as perfect as he was used to wearing it.

“Oh, you’re here!” Tara slurred, suddenly awake. “This one wouldn’t shut up about you, you know?”

You shut your eyes tightly. Maybe this was all an alcohol induced fantasy.

A swift pinch to your elbow let you know that sadly, it was not the case.

“I’ll assist you.” Was Zayne’s only reply, door slamming it his wake as he approached to hold onto Jenna’s arm.

If there was the ghost of a smile curling at the edges of his mouth, you preferred not to acknowledge it.

“Perhaps your friend could share more details on your opinion of me,” he teased over Tara’s head, hematite eyes full of mirth.

Now it was your face burning up. You were going to kill her when she was sober.

“Of course!” Tara hicupped happily. “She said she missed you,” she sing songed, extending the last word to an unnatural degree.

Tara —thank the Goddess— became dead weight as soon as her head hit the inside of Zayne’s ridiculously expensive car.

Which left you in a somewhat awkward silence. You said somewhat because Zayne seemed as comfortable as ever.

A low melody played from the stereo, something calm and melancholic. He had told you the name once: Gymnopédie No. 1.

Only once Tara was safely back to her parent’s house—her mother hugged you in thanks for taking care of her, making a tight knot grow at the back of your throat— was that Zayne dared to speak.

“This Mister Song, who is he?” He inquired, something flickering through his features much too quick for your dizzy mind to comprehend. His knuckles became pronounced, hands tightening against the wheel.

“My driver?” You replied, confused.

He hummed, eyes on the road.

“A close…friend of yours?”

“Does it matter?”

He shrugged, but it was far too stiff to be genuine.

“It always matters who you place your trust in.”

Silence reigned after that, nothing but your breathing breaking it.

What he said made sense, but the depth of his frown didn’t. He was driving you crazy. Hot and cold, hot and cold.

It was only once you had replayed the conversation in your head, that realization crashed over you. Something somersaulted in your stomach, filled you with an indescribable emotion.

“Zayne…are you jealous?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling, but it was a lost cause, mirth had permeated into your every word.

This was the closest you had seen him to bashful, pale pink blooming on his cheeks, Adam’s apple bobbing as he cleared his throat.

He loosened his hold on the wheel, letting the car come to a stop, as you were now at his place.

Your smile withered a bit at his lack of response, and took the brief silence as an opportunity to admire him. Zayne’s mouth had tilted down in a now sullen mien.

There wasn’t anything precisely pointing to it, but you could tell he had built a wall, frozen distance even within the warmth of his car.

“You are right. It is none of my concern,” he said, voice icy and impersonal.

Gripping his chin between your fingers, you guided his gaze back to you.

“Mister Song is a seventy year old man. I met him when his taxi was totaled by a Wanderer attack. He’s been my trusted driver ever since.”

He let the information sink in, the jealousy brimming inside him simmering.

A jealousy he knew he had no right to, which only served to upset him further.

You were not his.

But he was yours.

And yet, something in the way you looked at him begged to differ. You weren’t his because he couldn’t bring himself to ask, because he was a fool.

“What’s that look for?” You whispered, fingers trailing down his shoulder, basking in the soft fabric of his black shirt.

“What look?”

You tried to replicate his gesture, brows pulling together, almost making you go cross eyed.

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.

“Hey, I’m trying,” you complained, raising your hand to intertwine with the other at the nape of his neck.

“I didn’t comment on it.”

“You didn’t have to.” Your words still had a slurred edge to them.

“There is no winning with you.”

You laughed back.

“Just admit it, you’re obsessed with me.”

“Who said that?”

It was only then that a question that had been begging to be asked rose from the back of your mind.

“Why are we at your place?” You tilted your head to the side.

The petal spots in Zayne’s cheeks deepened in color.

“I would like to keep you under my observation, as you are still intoxicated.” He hesitated for a second, a low exhale escaping him. “If I have your permission.”

Your smile tempered into something different. Not upset, but serious.

As you regarded Zayne, something tightened in your chest. It hurt, but left you wanting.

Goddess, you wanted, you wanted, you wanted. It was a prayer your body hummed whenever he was close.

“I’d love to, Zayne,” you whispered. brushing a thumb to the edge of his jaw before letting go.

A light dinner, anc copious amounts of water afterwards, you were lying side by side with Zayne, wearing one of his shirts, and joggers that were definitely much to big for you.

The lamps on each side of his bed were on, as you were having a light conversation. He was resting against the headboard, while you had your face shamelessly pressed to the pillow on your side.

The scent of it soothed you, of lavender and soap.

“I have sent you letters,” he denied, voice rough with sleep.

“If only I could have managed to read them.”

He frowned deeper at your poke at his chicken scratch. Some things were just inescapable in the medical field, you supposed.

You leaned closer, finding his gaze even as he purposefully avoided it, suddenly brimming with affection.

“Aw, was that too mean?” You cupped his face between your hands, and much like the black stray cat you liked to feed, he reluctantly leaned into your touch.

Boldened by it, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I did read them, you know?” Your hands cradled the sides of his neck, thumbs resting below his earlobe. “I kept them all.”

Zayne’s lips twitched, but he managed to remain serious, gray eyes boring into yours.

“I kept your replies too,” he murmured, turning to lay a kiss on your wrist. “Though I was tempted to correct some grammar mistakes.”

You huffed, dropping your hands.

“Rude! For your information, my writing is impeccable.”

“You said perchance an unacceptable amount.” He chided, seeming to mull it over. “I don’t think that word means what you think it does.”

He was probably right.

“Whatever,” you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back against the head of his bed, setting your eyes forward.

The mattress dipped beside you, hinting at Zayne’s closeness.

“Are you upset?” He asked with an undertone of mirth to his faux concern.

You felt yourself flush deeper, forcing out a sarcastic reply.

“What makes you think that?”

He pressed his mouth to the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“As you so eloquently put into words, I’m obsessed with you.”

When you turned your head, your noses brushed.

“Yeah?” You breathed out. “How much?”

“A ridiculous amount,” he admitted, fixated on your lips, minty breaths mingling.

You smiled, pressing closer until your mouth brushed his.

“Good.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #zayne x reader #love and deep space zayne

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hwaightme · 4 months

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Page me

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🩺 pairing: paediatrician!bf!seonghwa x neurosurgeon!gn!reader 🩺 genre: fluff, doctor au, established long-term relationship, festive fic 🩺 summary: in the early hours of a shared night shift right before christmas, the present turns into a gift, and seonghwa can't be happier and more in love 🩺 wordcount: 7.8k total 🩺 warnings/tags: slightly edited, the fluff is strong, simpery is real, two doctors with heart eyes, marriage, proposals, family, hwa is yearing, woo cameo, woo+hwa banter, yeo+yunho mention, mom+kid side ocs, needles/syringes, injections, hospitals, night shifts, unconventional marshmallow toasting, a lot of love and sharing life <3 🩺 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩺 a/n: happy holidays and merry christmas~ the idea for this was in the drafts for ages, reignited hardcore by @starrysvn(...the cameos hehet), and it feels right for the festive season~ much love! comments, reblogs, notes all appreciated

Clean and comforting. The poster-room of an office, personalised, and yet retaining all the professional qualities necessary. The gentle swaying of the tulle that transformed the twinkling of a myriad of skyscrapers outside and a magnificent deep navy and inky black star-filled sky into a soothing haze, the ticking of a clock adorned with illustrations from the doctor’s favourite franchise. There was a unity even in the multicoloured shelves and cupboards. Stickers, kindly left behind by particularly pleased, proud and excited patients turned into permanent decorations on the sides of the otherwise strictly uniform desk, bringing relief and encouragement to its occupant. The newest additions - a small desk Christmas tree that was decorated on theme with the rest of the space, and a couple of garlands elegantly hung on the top cupboards and above the tulle served as reminders that it was, in fact, the festive season, and celebrations were only a day away. Even so, healthcare could not take a holiday, and the hospital was busier than ever.

“Hey… do you like… Lego?”

It had been long enough since the beginning of the appointment, as Doctor Park Seonghwa had noted, but the little patient sitting in front of him was still refusing to succumb to the wrath of a ‘spooky scary needle that makes him go ouchy’. Seonghwa could not blame the boy though - if there was something he never did, it was to project a child’s behaviour outwards into adult societal expectations. As a matter of fact, he rarely did that for adults too. He never saw the point, nor did he wish to impose some alternative spin on reality onto anyone who he had the pleasure of meeting, especially his patients or their relatives. As L/N Junseo crossed his arms in disapproval, Seonghwa could not help but spin a tiny fraction on his stool that he used during appointments such as this, and sneak another piece of sporadic scrutiny towards the mother. As he had assumed, there was little comfort to be offered from her side - she was sitting in a corner across the room, fanning herself and sending worried glances in the approximate direction of both the doctor and her son.

So, he had no choice left. He had to pull the most powerful weapons out of his arsenal - inspired by the many pieces that served as baubles on his desktop tree. Seonghwa was grateful that he had the foresight to not unpack the disposable syringe before checking the kid’s tolerance. Judging by the smile that spread across the boy’s face, and the confused expression gracing his mother’s, Seonghwa knew he hit the jackpot and there was potential for him to catch a break if the appointment did not run over, and if he was lucky enough, perhaps the main reason behind his rush would be free too. The simple thought inadvertently crawled into Seonghwa’s mind, and he lowered his gaze to suppress a shy smile and return to being the amiable paediatrician that he needed to be.

“Now, mister Junseo, will you wait a couple of seconds for me?” After receiving his patient’s enthusiastic nods of approval, he spun around on his stool, and rolled towards the cabinet that occupied the majority of the right wall of his office.

Stopping himself from crashing into his desk with a fast hand, he opened one of the lower doors to reveal a series of colour coded and labelled trays, each one filled to the brim with even more vibrant hues, but maintaining a strict order. Pulling the first and then the second tray from the top, the doctor inspected the contents, and decided to give the final decision to Junseo, turning to him with a grin on his face.

“Dinosaurs or spaceships?”

“Spaceships!” just as Seonghwa had thought, this question broke through the storm clouds of doubt and fear, cutting right down to Junseo’s primary interests, some of which the young doctor just so happened to share – the only difference was that the latter had to also remember that he had a job to do, and that job involved convincing, or cleverly deceiving with good intentions, a little kid into a routine shot. It was hard not to wonder what your, his life partner’s, reaction would be if you were in this room with him, considering that this environment was probably the furthest a space from your natural habitat - the operating room, could be.

“A man of good taste I see. I mean, dinosaurs are cool too, but I will let you in on a little secret… I have matching spaceship band aids,” As he pulled out the tray that contained some pre-built spaceships, with the bricks being from a younger-child-friendly set, along with stray pieces that turned the set into the perfect cognitive and sensory exercise, Seonghwa took time to explain his actions to the boy. In a way this was not too dissimilar from the preparation of instruments for surgery, so perhaps you would find joy in this interaction to the same extent as him. He shook his head lightly, reeling himself back to the matter at hand.

Sometimes, Seonghwa pondered whether too much of his budget, and, on occasion, personal finances, went towards making his office be more of a playground than what one would imagine ‘a doctor’s lair’ to be – in his mind, that was your office, one that he visited enough times to memorise. An ode to modernity, with books and documents, diagrams and an anatomically accurate model of a brain with various labels - just what one would expect of a real doctor. But both fortunately and unfortunately, this was a style that Seonghwa would not attempt to achieve in his own office. There was a mat on the floor made out of foam puzzle pieces, there was every form of toy transport he could find, animals, dolls… he swore he appeared in toy stores more regularly than in the pharmacy at this point. But the joy with which his patients’ faces lit up was more than encouraging, reminding him that he was on the right path, he was doing well, and that everything was worth it.

“NO WAY!” Junseo yelled out, excitedly kicking his feet. The paper towels that lined the bench rustled slightly, the link between the sheets being stress tested – much like the mother, who appeared to be speechless, but at least no longer faint.

Seonghwa imagined that his present conclusions and responsive actions were not too distant from how teachers felt when they saw a certain type of action be executed by a child, and then saw its origins during parent teacher conferences. The conclusion had come to his mind on its own accord but resounded loudly enough for him to send a reassuring gleam to Missus in the corner, and observe her delayed reactions as she, evidently, was battling the instinct to throttle him to the ground and save her child from danger. How wild and fascinating the generational sharing of fears and burdens was. Seonghwa turned his attention back to the star of the show, who was eagerly waiting for the eloquently advertised, and much anticipated, spaceships.

“Yes way! And I can show them to you later.” Seonghwa responded with a chuckle, setting the tray next to the boy, making him turn to the side and better expose the arm that was to receive the intramuscular injection. Even though Junseo was now fully immersed in the toy provided, he still expressed his gratitude, forcing the man to use every ounce of strength in him to not melt.

“Thank you so much Doctor Park!”

"No, thank you! Lego is my favourite, you know, but if you picked dinosaurs, you could have heard my tyrannosaurus rex impression." He could hear some shuffling outside of the room, turning into a thud as he introduced his ‘special ability’ when it came to distraction tactics. It was straining, conducting all his appointments without a nurse, since quite a number had arranged to go on holiday for Christmas, including his favourite in the form of a tall man with the brightest smile and enough energy to power the whole building - Jeong Yunho. Was it a challenge for Seonghwa? Perhaps, but he was coping. Besides, would he really want anyone here with him except a certain someone who was not even in this specialisation?

"Awh... no... but that sounds so fun I wanna hear, I wanna hear!!!" The cute boy was practically begging, giving Seonghwa his best puppy dog eyes with a turn of his head – that would not do for the doctor’s mission, however, Junseo needed to be practically in a different realm for it to work.

"Could you attach this jet engine please?" In the softest voice he could muster, Seonghwa guided attention back to the spaceships, commenting on how well Junseo was assembling them. He infinitely admired the ability that children had to disregard common practices, ignore rules and simply create. As Junseo would get older, he would undoubtedly have to succumb to standardisation, but in the meantime, he could enjoy picking a wild palette of coloured bricks, not think about astrophysics when constructing the ships, and be perfectly satisfied with what he was crafting.

"Mhm..."

Using the moment of distraction, Seonghwa turned and reached for the hand sanitiser pump on his desk, cleaning his hands. With practised motions, as he returned to his seat in front of the kid, the doctor took out the prefilled syringe out of the pocket of his white coat, peeling the decontamination seal to fish the item out. He had a small window of opportunity and needed to act fast to seize it. From the other pocket, he produced a packet with an alcohol swab, carefully tearing it, as far away from Junseo as possible so that he would not be shocked by the smell.

"Now, Junseo, could you sit a little closer to me, so... oh thank you!" The child obediently shuffled, not taking his eyes off the Lego pieces. "You might feel a little cold on your arm, but don't worry I will roar that away, okay, you with me? Ah wait, how do we make that ship the strongest in the galaxy?" breath in, breath out. Watching the child’s movements so that he would not accidentally hurt himself. Lifting the sleeve of the t-shirt the Junseo was wearing ever so slightly, Seonghwa crept towards the bench on his wheeled stool, praying to every higher power that he would be done with this appointment soon, but retaining his professionalism. It was now or never.

"Imma show you-"

"Nyaaaaaaah~"

As soon as Seonghwa started, he was done, and the syringe was long hidden behind his back as he pressed a cotton ball to the area, though Junseo could not care less, having broken into a fit of giggles over the interesting interpretation of a t-rex. No matter how exhausted he was, this was one of the things the doctor lived for – having the ability to make medicine, doctor’s visits, and hospitals just a little bit less miserable for the little ones, something of a game or an adventure, him being of the opinion that these pocket-sized humans did not deserve to be exposed to the struggles quite yet. If it was in his power, he would have changed the ‘quite yet’ to never, but that was far too utopian, and something wiped out of him in first year of medical school. So, Doctor Park simply tried his best.

"DOCTOR PARK THAT WAS NOT A ROAR!!!" Junseo proclaimed, still giggling as he clutched onto a bright green brick. Seonghwa chuckled, sliding to the left to dispose of the syringe in a biohazard bin, stretching himself out so that he could still keep holding the cotton ball. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the mother beginning to come to her senses, the ‘high alert’ mode dropping to a more manageable, generally healthy parental worry.

"Then come on, show me what you've got. I bet you have a-"

"ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAR!!!" With him being startled by what he should have expected, he could not help but throw a glance at the other adult in the room, finding her surprised. Hands clasped together, she whispered ‘goodness gracious’, and upon finding out that she had a one-man audience, gave a sheepish grin and looked down. Seonghwa was calming down from his ‘performance’, the doctor, actor, caregiver and child-friendly comedian in him began to leave his body, giving way to a straightforward happiness of a man who could see that he helped out people in need.

"Wow now that is IMPRESSIVE Mister Junseo! Ah wait, could you hold this for me?” he gestured towards the cotton ball, and once the boy complied, backed away to get some more hand sanitiser. “We are done!"

"Huh? Wait... no ouchy?" genuinely confused, the toddler asked, dropping the Lego pieces entirely and blinking in slow motion.

"We scared the ouchy away with spaceships and your awesome roar, didn't we?"

"WE DID!! WE DID!!" With the cotton forgotten, Junseo was about to hop off the bench, his hands pressed into the dark grey material he had been sitting on, but before he could Seonghwa caught him, easily picking the boy up in his arms despite the weight that it put on him. After all, patients came first, and this was always a clear sign that he was trusted – besides, the kid did not have any other ailments, so a little hug would not hurt anyone, especially not Seonghwa’s soul.

"We did! I promised you a cool band aid too so... ah hold on let me... watch your head please." With Junseo still in his arms, Doctor Park ambled towards the other side of the office, closer to where the mother was now standing, to reach into one of the shelves and retrieve the packet of what he considered to be something akin to achievement stamps. A final well done from him to the patient, for being so courageous and letting Seonghwa poke them with a needle.

The rest of the appointment went by in a blur. The boy was safely back in his mother’s arms, sporting a colourful bandaid, babbling away about spaceships, quietly repeating Seonghwa’s dinosaur impression, and emphasising for the umpteenth time that ‘the injection actually did not hurt at all’, much to the mother’s delight. She looked to be on cloud nine as she held her bundle of joy, and even though he was bouncing on her lap to the point where the doctor would assume that she was in discomfort, the woman showed no sign, and instead gleamed at him, expressing genuine gratitude.

"So sorry for all the trouble and that I could not help in any way, please accept my-"

"No need no need! Junseo is such a sweet boy, and it was all his bravery in the end. I am just doing my job." He tried to assure her, flipping through the vaccination booklet she had provided and filling out the details of the shot. While checking the date just in case, despite him having a mental countdown to Christmas with the precision down to an hour practically built into his brain, he still noted the clock on his computer, memorising the time in order to figure out when approximately you would be done with the surgery you had arranged for this evening. Maybe he would have enough time to stop by your department, and manage to catch you there to ask about what plans for celebration you two would dare have in between busy schedules. His attention was guided back to the jovial duo on the armchair, as the mother spoke once more.

"You perform miracles, Doctor Park. Really. You are truly one of a kind! Before today I was convinced that he was wired to cry at every appointment..." she lowered her voice a little, just as Junseo turned away to pick at one of his trouser pockets.

"If you are worried about him developing any phobias and the like, I can recommend some amazing medical experts who can work with you and him?" Whenever anyone voiced a concern, he took it as part of his responsibility to respond wholeheartedly, and as such, once he completed the record, offered assistance. Perhaps this was also a safe zone for him, a removal from what otherwise would inevitably make his heart melt or ache. But to no avail.

"Oh no, no, I think I found the cure right here. Really, my husband will be so impressed about this!”

Husband. Happy family. There it was. Seonghwa felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he lifted himself off his chair, shut the booklet and returned it to the mother, and wife. It was difficult to convince himself that this was not jealousy tugging at his nerves and heartstrings, as the more he pondered the image of what had to be a perfect union, the dinners, the days out in the park, the little meet ups for lunch if either partner was otherwise busy… the domesticity got to him and made him want to slam the table in frustration. So, he did the next best thing, and clasped his hands behind his back so that he would not dare act out of line.

“Is that so?” he forced out, remaining composed as he returned the mother’s bows while she ushered her son forward and stood up to head for the door. He could not help but imagine the duo walking under the lights that adorned every shop, every street and coming home to their own tree, coming together as a small family in a cosy atmosphere. Similar routines, similar time off, the space to love and to live and to enjoy being ‘one’ to the fullest.

“I think he will want to come with us next time, to meet you, really… of course if you don't mind us scheduling check-ups with you from now on?" meet him… so Seonghwa could see the whole assembly… Really, right in the moment when his head was filled with thoughts of you, he had to be reminded of just how adorable some aspects of paediatrics could be, to the degree of malicious irritation.

He bet that the reason why you were so relaxed about your relationship was because you were not in direct contact with families and cute kids, for the most part. The closest you came to communicating with patients was in briefing, de-briefing and maintenance of their condition pre- and post- operation. He had to see the bad and good, the downs and ups, the rollercoasters and the memorable highs over long periods of time. Some of his patients he had known for so long, they were basically his relatives, and the personifications of sunshine that would rush to greet him, nearly stumbling over tiny shoes and sometimes barely reaching his waist, or even mid-thigh, restored his faith in the universe. It was exactly because he was aware of the downsides, and still desired this closeness and this next step with you, that he was cursing time itself for not allowing him to express this hope properly. Sure, you had discussed marriage, and both of you were more than committed to one another, but no words had been said about the part where someone popped the question. Was there ever going to be ‘the right time’? Especially when both of you were at the early stages of your medical careers, and were caught adrift in the chaotic shifts, training, exams and had to sacrifice yourselves for thousands who came through the doors of the hospital.

"Ah, whatever you would prefer, Missus Hwang. It would be an honour.” He squashed his nerves for the remainder of the appointment, and peacefully parted with the two visitors to KQ Hospital, wishing them the happiest holidays and for a stable recovery from the vaccination.

Seonghwa remained standing in the corridor, his back propping the door to the office. Closing his eyes, he listened to the opening of the elevator, and let out a breath he did not know he had been holding once Junseo’s excited, shrill voice was muted by the doors. Gears moved into action as the machine carried the mother and son away from the paediatric ward. The doctor rolled his head in an attempt to relieve at least some of the tension that had built up from the back-to-back out-patient care, the abominable late nights, and the vexatious haze that plagued him in his own life.

It was going to be a long night. And he was barely a quarter of the way through his night shift; perhaps the winter cold and the shorter days were to blame for the melancholy mood. As he straightened himself up once more, Seonghwa instinctively reached for the phone that was hidden in the pocket of his black trousers, hoping for any kind of distraction. Checking the time, messages, whether you had even seen his text about the maintenance people coming to check the plumbing next week… any sign that there was a world beyond his job. But the communication flatlined, and he resorted to simply staring at his lockscreen: a picture of the two of you during that one vacation that you had managed to book together. The one where, three days in, both of you had severe work withdrawal, but thankfully laughed it off and soothed the pain by falling asleep in each other’s arms. That was what he missed. The simple things. If there was one thing he wished for this Christmas, it was for you and him to spend it together - no one else, no pagers going off incessantly, no family members intruding on your time, not even friends. He missed you, even though you were right there. Of course, he still felt blessed to be able to embrace you almost every time you two would be floating into dreamland - be it in the morning or in the evening, aside from when shifts did not align, but he craved more, always. Maybe he was being greedy, wanting for even more of your time. Nonetheless, he hoped that his readiness to sacrifice all of his for you would, at some point, result in his most romantic dreams, akin to castles in the sky, coming true. He wished to well and truly build a life with you. Seonghwa had never thought that he would pay so much attention to labels, but something about settling down officially, being together ‘in sickness and in health’, as he had heard in the vows at his friends’ weddings, was leaving him in a state of longing, constantly, until it was a permanent buzzing in his head.

"So... Doctor Seong-nyah-" rudely tearing through his daydreams, a familiar voice startled the doctor, causing him to gasp and shove his mobile phone into his pocket with panicked haste.

"Wooyoung, don't test me, you are not my patient." Seonghwa gasped, and retorted with sudden venom, spinning to face the man who, evidently, had been loitering around in the corridor behind him for a lot longer than he would ever accept.

"But I want a sticker or a bandaid please~"

But the action only resulted in a stupor, as right there, hands in pockets, the ghost of a mischievous smile on perfectly tinted lips, was his favourite person. Doctor L/N Y/N, neurosurgeon, and definitely the one who had changed his brain wiring to short circuit every time he saw you. Before Wooyoung got any cheekier due to the lack of a response and the less than discreet gawking from Seonghwa’s end, he forced out a random commentary; anything to keep himself from going into cardiac arrest.

"You keep stealing my Disney princess ones anyways!?"

"Can't help it. Besides I've seen you snatch the toy sword so consider us even."

A light blush was threatening to coat his cheeks as he gazed at you, mesmerised by your cheerful reaction. Without a doubt you were imagining the scene, and had you been alone, would coo at ‘just how endearing’ it was. This was not the kind of ‘break between appointments’ that he was imagining, and while you were here, before him, very obviously free, Seonghwa was questioning whether this was a manifestation of luck or a curse.

"That was for safety… and… uh… hello my love.” he mumbled, while you smiled at him, and gave him a gentle wave, already anticipating that even if you were to speak, you would crack and reveal what you had been planning - a major step forward that had been plaguing your mind at almost all hours, even in rare snippets of quiet. Technically, what you had said to Seonghwa was true - it had been an operation, just of a different kind. Careful to not let the mandatory Santa hat you had tugged on your head as part of your department’s senior residents’ effort to ‘keep the spirits up’ slip, you adjusted it to be more snug, and rapidly returned your attention to your boyfriend, who was intently studying you, admiring every detail as though he had not seen each one a million times over.

"Y/N here found the dinosaur impression cute, just so you know." Stuck in a limbo between locking himself in his office and throttling Wooyoung to the ground, Seonghwa chose neither and was simply amazed at how you could remain so nonchalant.

"Were both of you… listening to the… but that is not-”

You and Wooyoung exchanged a knowing look, causing suspicion to rise in Seonghwa. He was not fond of it. Not in the slightest. There was something brewing, and that glint in your eyes was less than reassuring. What were you hiding from him? A million questions a second ran through his mind as he subjected you to scrutiny. First off, you had said that the surgery could be challenging. And yet he could not detect the slight furrowing in your brows, the slouch, the pursed lips that you normally had if you were monitoring a patient in critical condition.

"They were around the department, and I just so happen to know that you are a certified clown so..." Wooyoung began, purposefully winding the taller man up until he was ready to break the Hippocratic oath and cause harm.

"Says the person who can literally replace the fire alarm with his-"

“This is why you should follow my methods and do the whole ‘energy drink and coffee” cocktail before those ghostly long shifts, I tell you-” crossing his arms, Wooyoung appeared to be enjoying every moment he spent teasing his fellow colleague, ignoring how you were starting to get impatient, glancing down the corridor and back to the bickering friends.

“How even-”

"Well, I would more than like to consult the lovely, charming clown please, because I have a whole circus on my hands and need some help.”

That was all that was needed to regain all attention back. Seonghwa gave Wooyoung one last sidelong stare before focusing on you, attempting to figure out just what you were scheming. He knew better than to pry, however, if there was anyone in your relationship who was an expert in dissecting, be it literally or metaphorically, it would be you. That was exactly why he stood and waited with bated breath, fingertips dancing on his upper thigh. In trepidation, the young man’s mind replayed every shared moment with unfathomable clarity, leading him to wonder if this mischievous glint in your stunning orbs was further foreshadowing, much like your sudden announcement that you would be working the same hours as him today, and upon questioning passed it off as “a bit of Christmas luck”.

“Right…” Wooyoung’s voice appeared distant, barely audible against the thrum of nervousness and lighthearted suspicion. Running a hand through his wavy, neatly parted long hair Seonghwa gave you a lopsided grin before following you down the corridor and giving his colleague an amiable wave, along with a cheerful call of “see you later”. His friend had the whole night ahead of them - much like you and Seonghwa. Except, unfortunately, you and your partner were floors, departments away. Not that far in the grand scheme of things, but far enough for Seonghwa’s heart to start hurting when he least expected it.

Just like now, despite you being within arm’s reach, the proximity reminded him of just how much of a luxury such moments were, and how, should anything go wrong, you would metaphorically evaporate. The beeping of a pager would be enough to make you or him leave, that damned device having to be strapped on and prioritised above everything else. As less and less time remained until Christmas, the probability of it going off climbed higher and higher, so every step was a risk, and every scheduled consultation or out-patient care call when Seonghwa was mandated to hand off his monitoring duties to another resident - a temporary salvation.

You were in your scrubs, and were sporting a standard issue doctor’s coat, ever so professional. Though your back was facing him, Seonghwa could easily imagine the identity card clipped to the pocket above your heart, along with the embroidered hospital name and emblem, and your department. Neurosurgery. The top of the top, an art and a science so complex that Seonghwa was in awe of you eternally. How you dedicated your life to the mystery behind a person’s eyes, and how you could heal the terrifyingly enigmatic organ with astounding success. Determined, passionate in all ways, that was what had drawn the enamoured man to you, and what had made him fall deeper and deeper and vow to stay for as long as you would allow him. Would you be fine with him tagging along, just like this? Would you be willing to walk in the same stride?

“Hwa,” turning your head, you exclaimed your boyfriend’s nickname and then turned back to scan your pass to let you both through to another corridor, “how has your day been so far, lovely?”

“It’s been good, not too bothersome. Last appointment was a vaccination - not sure how or why the literal holidays were chosen for this, but who am I to judge,” looking around, Seonghwa responded. Quickly, he caught up to you, and in a matter of moments you felt how his fingers intertwined with yours, and his palm was pressed against you, as though a mirror image. Jigsaw pieces falling into a perfect union, your hands, stilled in harmony.

“Maybe not everyone wants to skip school,” you mused, poking fun at the times when your boyfriend did just that - at least before university and him choosing to major in medicine hit like a truck; in the blissful middle and high school days, so easy in retrospect - a fever dream.

“I’d love to hear what the little patient would think about that one… but really, Christmas? Why would you run the risk of having side effects over Christmas?”

“That’s true… but I bet you made the appointment a really good time. In fact, from what I have heard I am sure you did,” you teased, making Seonghwa squeeze your hand and click his tongue in pretend annoyance.

“Hey, I’m trying my best here-”

“-and you are making the world a better place,” you cut him off, squeezing back and urging him on, closer and closer to your final destination.

Seonghwa shook his head, bewildered at the sudden outburst of affection. You were normally not the kind to get too sappy at work - if anyone, it was him who would gush about the simplest things to you during a brief lunch break, while you would be nodding along with a grin on your face. You were excited about something, without a doubt. What it was, however, was beyond him, so he let you lead, while playfully questioning your behaviour.

“What’s gotten into you? Did you forget to put the plates back in the cupboard at home?” he squinted, slightly relieved when you chuckled but still left without a concrete answer:

“Can’t I praise the love of my life every once in a while?”

“You can, but-”

“-Besides, Yeosang, you know, my friend from paediatric neurosurgery, he said kids who you had treated talk about you non-stop. Maybe you should pay some of them a visit. If their treating doctors allow it, of course.”

Eyes widening, Seonghwa barely noticed you slipping away from him to grab a large bag you had stationed by a heavy exit door, and in bewilderment was concerned if he should believe your overwhelmingly kind message. All those little lives he had the honour of getting to know and trying his best to help… remembering him? It was at times like these, even the hardest days were worth it. For the present and for the future. He returned to reality only when he felt a gust of freezing cold air hit his form and goosebumps ran over his skin. Your proud, loving smile greeted him and encouraged him to walk on. When Seonghwa attempted to query your spontaneous adventurism, you waved it off - forward, only forward. Making a note of something fluffy in texture peeking out of the bag, he hoped for it to be at least a scarf; a doctor should know to not expose themselves to the risk of colds.

You led Seonghwa to one of the many secluded areas of the hospital - forgotten by most staff, this portion of the roof was the prettiest at night, when the lights of surrounding high rises and the rest of the metropolis stretching out as far as the eye could see all glimmered like a blanket of stars laid down on the precious planet. The city, forever awake, bustling with activity. A hand brushed against his upper arm, and he turned his head to see you holding his coat that he swore he had left in the call room. Gingerly, the article was in his grasp, and yet another question was travelling for you to tackle:

“Now when did you get this? I know I did not just leave it lying around.”

“Mhm, call room. Coat hanger. By the door. I am very aware. I picked it up on the way.”

“Sounds like someone had a lot of time…” trailing off, Seonghwa put on the coat, watching as you did the same. Apparently, that was not all that was in the bag, and with each item that was revealed, his surprise grew and grew.

“Just enough to prepare a little something,” in one swift movement, you caught your boyfriend off guard with sudden Santa hat attack - nearly covering his eyes with the white fluff, previously styled hair shooting out in different directions from under the accessory, you still deemed the mission successful, and giggled, elaborating: “now, we match.”

He could not not love you. Much like the nights in December were dark and his exhales turned to steam that was to be whisked away by the wind, he was confident in the fact that he was born to love you, and only you. It was funny to think that years ago he thought of other kinds of forever, only for them to fall apart in months. Seonghwa mused about different realities, but was never afraid of losing them until inevitably happened; not because he did not care at all, but because his heart was never in the right place. Now that his heart was home, it was clear. Most of all, the clearest sign of the truth that belonged to your relationship, was the subconscious fear, continuous and blended into every note of adoration. It was in his love for you that he found what it meant to be afraid to lose.

The young man did not want to lose these priceless moments - how you would make an elaborate plan and surprise him with it. How out of nowhere, before his very eyes was a blanket that you laid down on the roof, a portable heater that emitted a glow akin to that of a campfire, and a large wool throw that he assumed you wished to use to keep you both warm. That shine that he swore was coming from something heavenly within you as you dragged him to take a seat, your adorable cooing over him as you wrapped the two of you tight with the throw, and scooched until your body was pressed against his. On instinct, Seonghwa’s arm was around you, and he leaned in until he could smell the faint, comforting aroma of your strawberry shampoo. Staring into the heater, he imagined a gentle flame, falling into a beautiful daydream - a world where there was just you and him.

This was a long-standing fantasy of his, a picture of which he had painted for you many times while you counted stars on the ceiling of your bedroom, drifting off to sleep just before the chirping of the birds, the dawn bidding you farewell and wishing a good rest. Somewhere nowhere, in a place with no name, surrounded by no one and nothing, you two could stay for a little while and indulge in simplicity. An escape from the daily stresses, a dive into the daily bliss of being enamoured and having found one’s soulmate. In a little cottage that you two could rent out, with a little spot outside so you could pretend like you were properly camping, Seonghwa prayed for time in an earthly utopia.

“I couldn’t find sticks, So I hope you are fireproof,” a marshmallow was held between two delicate fingers right before his eyes. A large, white cloud and a hint that you might have been listening a lot more intently than you had let on.

“I- are we- are we about to be toasting marshmallows?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” the doctor followed your lead, stretching out his hand to the heater, imagining the marshmallow roast away; if Seonghwa were to squint hard enough, he could almost see the colour change.

A giggle escaped you, and you huddled into him, at peace due to the safety which you always said he naturally oozed. Without fail you told him how he was a walking spring day, a blessing, a shining star. The more you said it, the more confident he became in accepting the words as truth, and then, one day when he caught you admiring him from afar while waiting for him to finish rounds, acceptance turned into a fact. By loving you, and by letting you love him, Seonghwa learned to love himself. Thoughts of fond memories prompted him to give you a gentle poke, making you lift your head in perplexion. This, however, was quickly dispelled by a the sweetest kiss, deepened by a gentle hand that found purchase on the nape of your neck.

Lips so familiar, so addicting; each time they met was the kindling of a miniature paradise. A journey through time, to end only in the future, the present turned into a miracle in which he could immerse himself, all of his senses attuned to you. The touch of your lips was the rays of a sun in May, kind and soothing, blossoming into the finest beauty and the most satisfying serenity on verdant green leaves and gorgeous flowers. The only thing he could hear was the breeze creeping across the not quite as picturesque cement and metal, and the ghost of a mumble of “I love you” as you parted for air, still close enough to share it.

Lost in your eyes, Seonghwa wished he could never be found. He was willing to endlessly draw the maze that trapped him in them, adapting it to formulate a personal infinity. Eyelashes, eyebrows, nose, cheeks, lips, every blemish and freckle and scar were all priceless to him. You, in all your personal divinity, a universe that so intently studied him, loved every part unconditionally and invited him in to do the same. A symbiosis, a system of two stars orbiting one another - a gorgeous celestial waltz was how he saw you and him. Under the night sky full of constellations, you two were still the brightest. Seonghwa’s heart was full. He ever so softly let his hand slide to the side of your face, thumb gliding slowly over the skin of your cheek. Once, twice - perpetual motion, each one marking another second in which love grew stronger, and the yearning for his dream more intense. If only he could put it into words. And yet, courage only allowed him to muster a mere two which were far too general, ambiguous:

“Thank you.”

“I am glad we could do this,” you answered, sharing in his delight. You did not need anything else, seeing past the mellow, pleasant triviality.

“I think the only downside is that now I want to do this all the time,” his hand guided your head into the crook of his neck, so you could sit side by side, looking out into the urban expanse. Silence weighed on you, until a long-awaited suggestion reached Seonghwa’s ears.

“Well… we could. At least for Christmas.”

“As if we will be taking days off, yeah.”

“Who says we won’t?”

“I- huh?”

You took his hands in yours, and shuffled for you to be face to face. Much to your astonishment, when it came down to the critical moment when you would start being blatantly obvious in your intentions, you were not as anxious anymore. Everything felt more than right, and the comfortable quietude resembled the globe holding its breath for you.

“I have an idea,” your boyfriend was intrigued, but doubtful. He had hopes, sure, but he knew better than to keep them up, “so… ahem, well, for us it is standard practice to not schedule anything major on holidays, just in case, and thankfully I could… reschedule some things…”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded along, raising his eyebrow. Your hands held his more tightly on their own accord, shaking a little as you spoke.

“Well, so, yeah, you know how the head of… the head of paediatrics is a big family person right?”

“Yeah, comes with the job I suppose, and?” tongue darting over his lips, Seonghwa began to sense what you were getting at, and he swore there was not enough oxygen to sustain him, and a dizziness settled over his mind, clouding it, leaving behind only you, you, you-

“Hm… well… I think they would be more than happy to let a new family celebrate together… yeah?”

“...Yeah…yeah?”

“So what I’m saying is-”

“Will you marry me?”

“Beat me to it,” gleaming, you pulled him in, stopping a mere few millimetres away, seeking approval.

Hints of tears welling in his deep brown eyes induced your own. Pressed forehead to forehead, you memorised every tiny detail, how you felt, how Seonghwa felt, how you were both fondly mumbling ‘yes's and ‘always’s and ‘I love you’s over and over again; vows uttered at the beginning of a new chapter of a miraculous life, in perfect harmony.

“I’m sorry for the ‘no ring’ situation-”

“I’d marry you with paper rings,” Seonghwa responded at the speed of light, quoting one of the many songs that both of you loved to listen to, and would blast in the living room many times over, “how did you even plan this-”

“Don’t bash me, but Wooyoung was an accomplice-”

“Of course he was,” he flicked your nose with his and guided you into another kiss, your hat sliding away and almost falling to the ground, saved only by Seonghwa’s reflexes. Smiling against your lips, he only deepened the sensual expression of devotion, parting simply to confess,

“To think we were rehearsing the same thing but I was too scared to say it.”

“You are too precious. And I’m sorry if I’m too scary, angel,” you winked, earning an amused, airy laugh.

This could not be the furthest from how Seonghwa felt; the notion of you terrifying him was hilarious. Everything but you was the issue. You were his safe haven, his clarity. The one to whom he had already given away all his hours, be it in closeness or in his dreams both in the day and night. You were his and he was yours, and now that the one change he had been begging all the goodness in the galaxy for finally happened, he wanted to shout this from every rooftop, starting from this fated, isolated spot that must have been made for just you two.

“No, I am just more certain that you can read minds,” he gestured to the heater, the untouched marshmallows, the stars, and finally stopped at you, alluding to what was to be your proposal, turned mutual.

“Just because I poke around brains-” you began, only to be stopped by unparalleled cuteness in the form of a scrunched up face and a tiny smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, you aren’t even a cardiologist and you stole my heart-”

“Park Seonghwa, cease the flirting, we are getting married-” playfully, you slap his shoulder.

“Oh, you only saw the beginning,” a wiggle of the eyebrows. Your very soul fluttered at the sight of his megawatt grin, and the innocent peck left on your cheek.

“...I hope so,” your wish. To cherish the many sides, colours, shades, edges, angles of your spectacular Seonghwa.

“It’s decided. I’ll hit you with all the festive pick up lines starting tomorrow.”

As you settled back into an embrace, regarding the golden glow of your inner oasis that transposed onto all, previously dark, surroundings, you unwillingly played the role of the realist.

“Ask your department head first.”

“For a blessing?”

“No, silly, to confirm your freedom.”

“Yes, Doc’,” in jest, your fiance saluted you, and you wrapped your arms tighter around his waist, brushing your jaw against his shoulder.

“Page me after."

“I will page myself across the hospital to tell you.”

“Awh, my Seonghwa Claus and my present in one,” absent-mindedly, you reached for a stubborn strand of his hair to push away, and twirled it around your digits, careful to not ruin the perfect balance of the themed hat beneath which they tried to establish their own order, threatening to disturb your elated angel.

“My future spouse- oh I’ll be saying this so often.”

From one day to the next, under the sun and moon, with many seasons passing by, you became the time that you seeked and previously fought against. As you looked to one another for more and more in your lives, it was destined that eventually, the idea of any other path would be simply impossible. At the end of a year came a new beginning, witnessed by the observant stars and by the long winter night.

“Me too, my love, until I can call you my husband.”

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 2]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 2: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Mr. Rogerson has awesome dalmatians and his wife makes even better cookies. Meanwhile, Crewel continues to be an emotionally constipated mess, and Crowley is... himself.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

You were met at the door by a pair of over enthusiastic dalmatians—the chaotically cute duo sending you ass-first to the office floor in a merry greeting that was more of a graceless tackle than anything else.

“You brought Poe and Perdy!” you exclaimed, laughing past the face kisses.

“Well, they’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” Mister Rogerson huffed good naturedly. “Do you know how much this little nutter cried when I came home the other day and he realized you’d been by? Ages, I’m telling you. Thought he was going to pout me into an early grave.”

You squished both of them affectionately and showered the lovely, spotted, beasts with every compliment under the sun.

“Oh! Before I forget…” the professor rustled around in his leather messenger bag and retrieved a neatly packaged pastry box all bundled up in a colorful, twine, bow. You accepted the treats happily and removed yourself from the dog-pile to take your usual place on the well-worn piano bench. “Annie made you some more cookies, seeing as you liked the last ones so much.”

“Did you help?” you asked.

“Hmm? What makes you say that?”

You held up the first treat from the pile—half-singed on one side and squishy with raw dough on the other.

“You caught me!” he laughed, and retrieved a second box. “These are from Annie. Those are my failures.”

“Such horrible lies,” you tutted, dramatic. “Trying to trick an innocent victim into ingesting poison just so that you can keep all the good ones for yourself.”

“Hey, they’re not that bad!” he defended, taking a large chomp out of one of the less charred looking of his creations. Immediately his cheeks went nearly green. “Or… maybe they are.”

You pushed a water bottle in his direction which he accepted gratefully. There was always a stash of them just to the left of his composer’s stand, and another hoard in a conspicuous looking storage cube closer to the piano at which you’d perched yourself. There were more sweets hidden in his desk drawers too, for when something stronger than water was needed to wash away whatever awful thing he’d tried to ingest. You knew where a lot of ‘secret’ things were in this room. It felt nice, to be so privy to all its little treasures.

“You know,” he smiled, finishing the last of his water with a final gulp. “Annie keeps pestering me to have you come by for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you hesitated, looking around the room where so many of your little odds and ends had already started to accumulate. Empty mugs, the patch that had fallen off your jacket, the thread which you’d intended to use to fix said patch. Just… little footprints showing you’d been by. “Well, any more at least.”

“Nonsense,” Mister Rogerson laughed. “You’re more than welcome! But we don’t mean to pressure you, of course! Especially if you’re busy! Just something to think about if you’d like. Anyways, how has your day been?”

And thus began your afternoon ritual. You would sit and split Annie’s delicious cookies as you rambled about your various grievances. Mister Rogerson would inevitably come and take a seat beside you on the piano bench and start playing some gentle strains of this or that—‘just little things he was working on,’ he’d said. Occasionally you’d accidentally lean on the keys, throwing the whole thing into a cacophonous mess. But he would just chuckle and replay whatever the piano had just screeched, calling it a ‘fascinating addition’ and merrily jotting bits of it into his notes. It was nice. Better than nice. And you didn’t realize just how comfortable you’d become in your daily chitchats until you’d become perhaps a bit too comfortable.

“It’s just been so exhausting. And on top of all the other ridiculous things, I’m so sick of that fact that it’s like my job to be their personal punching bags or whatever when they’re Overblotting all over the place, and—”

The piano cut off abruptly.

Mister Rogerson’s hazel eyes had gone wide, as if he was spooked. Immediately you realized that you’d said something that you should not have.

“There are students at Night Raven College who have Overblotted?” he asked, slow, like he couldn’t even believe the words were coming out of his mouth.

“What? No. Of course not!” you lied, like a liar.

“Kiddo,” he frowned, stern. “You just said—"

“—I mean, no one’s actually Overblotted, Overblotted,” you spluttered hastily, rifling frantically through your brain for every plausible excuse you could cough up. “It’s more that I’ve heard a lot about Blot, and how it becomes a—you know—Overblot. Which sounds really scary, and like something that I never, ever, want to actually see! And it’s just that everyone there is a mess, so I guess I should I have said that I’m more just worried about Overblotting.”

A pause.

“Which, again, I’ve never, ever, actually seen.”

More silence.

“…Ever.”

Mister Rogerson sighed, apparently relieved by your bullshitting, and slumped forward over the piano keys.

“That’s… That’s good. You really scared me there for a moment, kiddo. Overblots are no small matter. They have to be reported to the proper authorities and dealt with accordingly. It’s a whole fiasco, and paperwork and legal proceedings aside, it’s dangerous.” He laid a gentle hand across your shoulder. “I’m just glad you haven’t been anywhere near something like that.”

You swallowed a chunk of wayward cookie, hoping you didn’t look horrifically guilty. But then some other part of what he’d just rattled off stuck in your head and that shame was wiped away by panic.

“They’d be taken away?” you whispered, something unpleasant and nervous curling in your gut.

Mister Rogerson looked down at you with a sympathetic wrinkle to his brow. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can. Does that make sense?”

You thought of Riddle, crying into his hands after years of emotional neglect—and then of the pair of you sitting in the Heartslabyul gardens after all was said and done, eating strawberry tarts with your fingers like little children. You thought of Leona, miserable and bitter as he was, finally breaking after an entire lifetime of feeling like nothing but a failure who slunk about in his brother’s shadow—and then how just last week the beastman had been lounging in the sun with his head in your lap, grouchily demanding your leftovers. You thought of Azul, and his bullies, and his stupid desire to take on the world just to prove he could. You thought of all the friends you’d made, and of just how many of them really needed a goddamn therapist. You thought about them being taken away to who-even-knew-where. Where you’d probably never see any of them again. And where you wouldn’t even know what was happening to them.

General grumpiness with the lot of them aside, your friends were the one, genuine, beacon of warmth in this miserable, cold, new world. Sure, they were all assholes. Mega assholes. But you knew that they’d stand by you through anything—do anything, if you needed the help.

And the idea of giving up on them? Just like that? Because it was protocol?

Your stomach roiled and you set the cookies off to the side.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Mister Rogerson frowned, taking in whatever unpleasant expression was no doubt twisting your face into knots. “We shouldn’t talk about it anymore. It’s not a fun topic.” He slid a new page of sheet music across the piano’s sleek, black, shelf. “Here. I started writing this the other day. What do you think?”

Strains of upbeat jazz threaded through the room and Perdy and Poe came over to mouth playfully at your ankles—no doubt begging for crumbs. Soon enough you were laughing along, clapping off beat and making jokes at the expense of his nonsense lyrics. You still liked Mister Rogerson. You liked him a lot. And you didn’t doubt that he was a genuinely kind person.

You’d just… maybe have to be a bit more careful about what you let slip.

“It’s kinda like being in therapy,” you explained to a very frustrated looking Deuce. “Like, how you want to say just enough to get help but not enough for them to throw you into an asylum. You feel?”

“What in the fuck are you on,” Ace gaped.

“See, if any of you actually even knew what therapy was, you’d get it.”

“I still can’t believe that’s where you’ve been every afternoon,” Deuce frowned, poking at his lunch with a consternated sort of look on his face. “Don’t you—I don’t know…”

“What?” you asked.

“Feel horrifically guilty and maybe like you should be burnt at the stake?” Ace complained, reaching over to swipe a fry from your plate. Grim hissed and swatted at his fingers—his little mouth stuffed too full of your half-eaten burger to yell much of anything else. “You’re a traitor, that’s what you are. Prancing around with those goody-two-shoes in their stupid, shiny, building every damn day like a—like a—”

“A frog?” Deuce suggested.

“What, no. Dude—”

“Frogs prance!”

“Frogs fucking jump, you ingrate—”

A heavy box landed on the table with a THUD, sending the quarrelling duo into silence. A mountain of homemade chocolate chip cookies stared back at them, nearly sparkling in their brilliance.

“Yes,” you intoned, stern. “It’s worth it.”

“It’s worth it,” Grim and Ace agreed heartily, already busy swapping their lunches for sweets.

Deuce sighed and reached for his own cookie. “If you’re sure...”

Being called into the Headmaster’s Office was not something with which you were unfamiliar. In fact, Crowley not having summoned you into his gloomy chamber over the past few weeks was more of an anomaly than not. Normally he was hurling new jobs at you left and right—organize this event, Prefect. Pick up my groceries, Prefect. The main hall is looking a little dirty, Prefect. Go stop my students from committing mass murder, Prefect. Maybe your wave of insults had rattled him enough to leave you alone for that little while. Or maybe he’d just been biding his time until he could think of something equally as nasty to say back.

Of all the things you were expecting upon trudging back into that office, a scowling Professor Crewel was not one of them.

You blinked owlishly, taken aback.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

His lip curled, sour, and you fought the intense and suicidal urge to ask him just who’d pissed in his cornflakes that morning because damn. You hadn’t even done anything. That you could remember. Maybe. And besides, if either of you had any right to be acting all bitter and pissy it was you. Not Mister ‘I Have No Intention of Playing Parent to Anyone.’ The memory had your eyes stinging and your blood boiling all over again. When neither of the men deigned to greet you, you cleared you throat irritably and crossed your arms.

“Can I help you with something, Professor? Headmaster?”

“It has come to our attention that you’ve been sneaking off campus in the evenings,” Professor Crewel declared, with all the civility of an off-grid hermit. “Which I’m certain that you are fully aware is against school policy.”

Crowley just nodded, stiff lipped and robotic, and his silence immediately had you suspicious.

“Well?” Crewel snipped. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Then another.

You smiled, icy. “Then I’m sure this is just another infraction to add to my file. Which I’m very sure totally exists. Right, Headmaster?”

Crewel’s dark glower swiveled in Crowley’s direction, and you watched the Old Crow audibly gulp.

“Because of course, you keep proper records on all your students here,” you continued, happy to push your luck. “Especially the ones in special circumstances, and whose documentation is therefore not automatically forwarded to you by their previous schools. Right, Headmaster?”

You’d never seen a more apt demonstration of the expression ‘sweating bullets.’ It was intensely satisfying. Professor Crewel looked like he was heavily debating turning Crowley into a feather boa. After a too-long moment where you were pretty sure you were about to witness a murder, the two-toned professor sighed and turned back to you with a stiff sneer.

“It’s not safe,” he said, and you gaped at him.

“What?”

“It’s not safe,” he repeated, practically grinding his teeth. “What were you even thinking? Leaving Night Raven when you know full that you have no other connections in this entire world! Running off with a complete stranger on top of that.”

“Mister Rogerson isn’t a stranger!” you defended, resentment bubbling beneath your skin. How dare he? Now he cared? Now you weren’t just a leech, or a brat, or—or—No. It wasn’t fair. “And it’s not like I ran off into the woods or something! I’m at another school!”

Crowley slammed his clawed hands down onto his desk with a metallic BANG!

“AH-HAH! YOU ADMIT IT!” he howled. “YOU’VE BEEN GOING TO THE ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY BEHIND OUR BACKS!”

“I left you a note telling you that was exactly where I was!”

“YOU’VE BEEN CONSORTING WITH OUR ENEMY! AND AFTER I’VE WORKED SO HARD TO RAISE YOU AS MY OWN!” He wailed, inconsolable. “ARE YOU TRADING OFF MY GRIMOIRE TO AMBROSE, TOO? WOULD YOU STOP AT NOTHING TO SHATTER MY POOR HEART?!”

“I don’t even know what that means, but I wish I was!”

“Enough!” Crewel snarled, cracking his pointer across the desktop. “Both of you!”

“But he—!” you defended.

“Detention!” he barked.

“What?! That’s no fair!—”

“Detention!” he snapped again. “Three weeks!”

“Are you joking?! I didn’t even do anything!—”

“Four weeks,” he growled.

You pressed your lips shut, feeling your mouth wobble and your eyes warm with frustrated tears.

“Yes, sir,” you finally managed to grit out, and then turned without another word and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind you.

‘That may have been too much,’ Crowley had the gall to say to him, after Crewel had just watched the man have an entire meltdown in his desk chair and accuse you of outright subterfuge.

‘That may have been too much.’

The alchemist had watched, carefully stone faced, as your eyes had welled and you’d glared him down with a look that was a step or two past betrayed. Something tightened uncomfortably in his chest, and he refused to put a name to it. Naming things gave them power, allowed them to grow and spread. Like a tumor. This was all your own doing, and the subsequent punishment was clearly for your own good. So, what? He steps a bit too far and says something that’s perhaps just a bit too cold, and you go running off to—to Cliff Rogerson of all people? Pettiness is not an excuse for making poor, stupid, unsafe, decisions. And he would have certainly responded to any other student in exactly the same fashion.

‘That may have been too much.’

Crewel grit his teeth and fought the urge to run his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally he could use Badun as a stress ball, but he’d stopped bringing the dogs to campus when you’d continued to refuse to show up to his office. It had stressed them terribly, and it was unfair to force them to sit through the same, dull, solitude that he had to endure just on the off chance that you may change your mind and come wandering in. Jasper hardly acknowledged him at all anymore—only grumbled at him miserably when he returned in the evenings before curling up by the fireplace for the rest of the night.

‘That may have been too much.’

It… It really, probably, was. And he really should… apologize, shouldn’t he?

Divus Crewel could deny it all he liked, but he knew well and good that he wouldn’t have treated your classmates in such a manner. That unnamed twinge behind his ribs may have influenced his reaction a bit more than it should have, especially when he himself had so clearly relegated your place in his life to ‘by professional association only.’

So he forced himself to straighten his fur coat and start the trek to Ramshackle. It was a grueling walk, with broken pathways and rivers of mud. No wonder you were always running late to things. Perhaps he should bring this up to Crowley, and—

A familiar face stopped him in his tracks, and a wave of red-hot irritation worked its way through his veins as efficiently and viciously as one of the poisons he was so keen to brew.

“Oh,” Cliff Rogerson blinked back at him, “Divus! Good to see you.” It was not. It didn’t sound like Cliff thought it was either.“No need to call campus security or anything. I’m just here to pick up the Prefect for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Crewel repeated. It sounded bitter in his mouth.

“Annie’s making lasagna,” Cliff stage-whispered, like a secret.

“Can we get going?” you called and Crewel startled, noticing you off to the side for the first time. You looked so… small, for some reason. Hunched, maybe. Just, not your usual larger-than-life self—the Otherworldly Hero who showed up swinging to every fight, always armed to the teeth and ready to duel any monster, every horror. It made something in his gut twist unpleasantly. “I’m starving.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Cliff laughed and tossed an arm across your shoulders.

“How lovely,” Crewel interrupted, trying and failing to force the steel from his voice, “But I think that maybe you should reexamine your professional priorities. That hardly seems appropriate.”

“Oh, come now,” Cliff smiled. It wasn’t friendly. “It’s only dinner. And besides,” he chuckled, and gave your arm a fond squeeze, “Annie and I have always wanted kids.”

‘I have no intention of playing parent to anyone.’

A deep, cold, sort of dread rattled through Divus Crewel’s bones and settled all the way in the pit of his stomach. It was similar to the sensation that had been slowly clawing its way through him these past few weeks—the very same unpleasantness that he had refused to name.

‘You know,’ Crowley’s grating voice swam through his head once more. ‘That really may have been too much.’

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #My Writing #NRC Staff #NRC Staff x Reader #Divus Crewel x Reader #Dire Crowley x Reader #The NRC Staff's Horrible Parenting #Heroes vs. Villains #Crewel x Reader #twisted wonderland OCs #twst ocs #Divus Crewel #Dire Crowley #Heroes vs Villains The NRC Staff Part 2

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19burstraat · 1 month

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Ok we all know guild me, build me exists due to my artistic abilities being very lacking in the visual arts, so rather than drawing the crows in the komedie brute, I had to write kaz in. however I had ideas for the others that I couldn't get into a fic, so I've put em down here

Kaz: (description ripped from guild me, build me):

a heavy black cape, sewn with stolen chains and jewels so that it jingled upon every movement (...) It was marked up and slit here and there, on the edges and at the collar, to give the impression of crow’s feathers, and it was made of some kind of shiny, velvety fabric that had the oily shine of crow’s plumage. The gloves were the same material, thinner and more embroidered than Kaz would have ever entertained, and the cane was a plain, inaccurate copy– (...) the mask; a silver crow’s head (...) crooked over the eyes and nose, almost like a Kaelish plague mask. But it left the mouth unblocked; of course it did. Dirtyhands needed to talk.

Inej:

Light and flimsy dark (doesn't have to be black; could be blue or grey) fabric for the veil and cloak. Has an element of spiderwebby fraying to it which is a nod to her being... Well, a spider lmao. But also meant to look ghostly and insubstantial, can sometimes see a metal shiny suggestion of knives underneath it. The veil can be parted just down the side of her face, so you can occasionally see a bit of her face, but never the whole thing. Would not be a practical costume to climb or spy in; too long and bothersome, the same way Kaz's Dirtyhands cloak would not be practical to pickpocket in. Sometimes productions get her a few cheap sheath knives.

Jesper:

Rabbit head mask, short cloak in some batshit colour like green or pink, lined w rabbit's fur and threaded with gambling chips, 'lucky' rabbits feet, coins, and stray bullets. Adornments tied on loosely so they swing everywhere when he moves. This way there's also a real risk of the Kaz and Jesper actors getting tangled together if they interact, which is not symbolic, just funny. This is our get-along Komedie Brute costume :) (we are stuck)

Wylan:

A once-fine red cloak with a high ruffly collar-- now tattered and singed and gone to seed. Little bits of wiring or string or pouches of powders etc sewn into it; sneakily embroidered with the Van Eck laurel around the edges. Mask, while elaborate and matching with the cloak, only covers the top half of his face, as if he's not quite as all-in as the others. For similar reasons, the cloak is half-length.

Matthias:

Wolf's head mask ofc, white fur cape a lot longer and more substantial than Jesper's, with heavy furring around the neck (made to bulk out the actor if they're not the right stature, which most will not be). Likely they also weight his boots to make his tread sound more imposing. Possibly a wig if they can afford one, since Druskelle are known for the long hair.

Nina:

Porcelain-doll Venetian style mask (you know the ones!) with a single black tear-- referential both to that bit in CK when they identified themselves that way in the crowd of Mister Crimsons, and the Queen of Mourning thing. Mask is covered with a very light veil, and she wears a long heavy silk cloak with a bit of a hint of a kefta, but not enough to get the Komedie Brute in shit from Ravkan Grisha lmao. Entrance usually heralded with a blue corpselight.

I imagine dependent on the production and the costumier they could look great and beautifully elaborate, or they could look cheap and shit lmao.

Bonus: I got bored and made a mock-up of a page of a Komedie play. I edited over the first folio for this, yes. Sorry to the Big W.S.

#right I think this is all right now. finally #fuckass blue site so glitchy it posts my shit early.#six of crows #soc duology #my fics #my post #grishaverse

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 9 all chapters

Thank you @treedaddymcpuffpuff for curating this beautiful pic!!!! 🖤🖤🖤

TW: sexual harassment, (not john!)

-The next day, you find that diabolical pain in your shoulder is actually gone. You’ve lived with it for a good six months at least. He actually fixed you. It’s such a relief you could cry. You take his advice, and start doing stretches in the morning and after work, so as not to squander his gift. Though, the thought of receiving another massage from those oh-so-capable hands keeps you up at night sometimes.

You wonder if something will change between you at the shop after your little birthday adventure together, but Mr. Wick doesn’t press his advantage, or act overly familiar. In fact, it’s almost like it never happened at all, and you are torn between relief at maintaining the comfortable status quo, or disappointment because…well.

And just what would that look like? you chide yourself. He’s at least twenty years your elder, capable, interesting, handsome as the devil and rich to boot. Do you think he would just sweep you off your feet and let you live in that beautiful cabin of his up on the mountain with him, away from it all?

What would you have to offer a man like that?

The answer, at least in your estimation, is not much, so you concentrate on not pining for him like a lovesick little fool.

Besides, you tell yourself. You’re going to Italy soon. Maybe you’ll meet someone on your travels to take your mind off the Byronically-broody older man who occupies the corner in your shop, and an unfair amount of space in your thoughts.

It doesn’t seem likely, but a girl can hope.

-You start to have a problem at work with your new shift manager. He just can’t seem to fucking restrain himself from making lewd comments at you. He says them jokingly, but it’s not funny, at all. You made the mistake of laughing along awkwardly the first time because you were so shocked and didn’t know what to do. Now he thinks he has carte blanche with you, or worse, that you’re flirting back.

Unfortunately, he’s the owner’s ne’er do well son. It was totally a pity hire, even though you’ve been there longer and are way more qualified for his job. You guess your habit of disappearing for a month to travel probably knocked you out of the running.

Since you’ll be leaving soon for Italy anyway, you feel emboldened to sit down for a second across from Mister Wick when he comes in. He looks at you inquisitively, but not like he’s annoyed you’re intruding.

“I don’t think I’m coming back after my trip,” you feel obligated to tell him, for some reason.

“You can’t leave.” He says it so quickly, and maybe there’s even a note of panic in it. There’s something a little fragile about this imposing man. You feel like maybe only you see it, and it pulls at your heartstrings.

“I just don’t think I can do this anymore. My boss is a creep.” You used to look forward to your job, but now you’ve started dreading coming into work when he’s on the schedule with you. You’re filled with anxiety all the time now, and it’s cut into your sleep because you keep having nightmares about it too.

Mr. Wick’s eyes narrow, and suddenly you are reminded of a wolf. “Is he bothering you?”

You make a face. “He just says gross stuff all the time. It’s wearing. But he’s the owner’s son, so I’m kinda fucked.” The fact that you’re cursing in front of a customer shows how worn down you are.

You’d tried to talk to the owner, Mark, and had been completely blown off about it with the usual tired excuses. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just joking.

Well, ha ha fucking ha.

It was a small indie shop, there was no HR. Your only real recourse, as far as you could tell, was to quit, but you wouldn’t have time to find another job before your trip, and you were counting on your next few paychecks to make ends meet.

“That shouldn’t matter,” Mr. Wick insists.

You sigh, because that is the world a Tall White Male occupies, versus your own situation.

The next day after the morning rush you are cleaning up your station when Kyle creeps up, making a gross comment about how he’s jealous of the way you’re “jacking off” the steamer wand as you wipe it down.

“Could you not say stuff like that to me?” you finally snap, exasperated.

“Come on, I was just joking,” he says with a leer, like it’s your fault that you’re uncomfortable.

“You will never speak to her like that again.”

The voice from behind the two of you is cold as Siberian winter. Neither of you heard Mr. Wick approach. In fact, you didn’t even know he was in the shop. The look he is giving Kyle is pure murder. It’s not even directed at you, and you feel the chill to the marrow of your bones.

“S—sorry, sir. I was just—”

“No, you weren’t. Stop it.”

“Yeah. Ok, sorry.”

Kyle flees for the back, mumbling about having some paperwork to do. You breathe a sigh of relief, and there is some annoying moisture welling in the corner of your eyes.

“Thanks,” you sigh, and you are sorely tempted to leap over the counter and hug this man. He just nods sharply, and goes back to his table. Once again, you can’t help but feel like you have a guardian angel watching over you from the corner. If Kyle is smart enough to take the hint, it will all be fine.

But then you start to think about what just happened a little more.

You start to get an uneasy feeling, and you get Cassie to cover the register while you dare to seek out your dark savior outside as he’s making to leave in his Range Rover. “Mr. Wick?” you ask in hushed tones as he opens his door.

He cants his head in answer, turning to you.

“Please, don’t…light his car on fire or anything?”

He steps in close enough to you that you feel you are engulfed amidst the breadth of his chest and his downturned head. You can smell the warm, masculine spice of his cologne, and maybe you are a little idiot, knowing what you’re pretty sure you know about this man…but it takes every iota of your self-control not to lean into him.

“I don’t know what you mean?” he says pointedly in a low voice.

“Just…” You make a fist of all the words you want to say, but can’t. You don’t know where you get the cheek to pound his chest with it in your frustration, even if very lightly. It’s like a stone wall beneath your hand, and for some reason that ties something low in your abdomen up in knots.

Maybe you wouldn’t be mad if Kyle lost his dick in an unfortunate petting zoo accident, but...you don’t want him dead. You feel a responsibility in this matter you didn’t with the predators in the van. “Please?”

He engulfs your small hand with his, holding it over his heart.

“I'm just going to go talk to the owner,” he assures you.

“That’s Kyle’s dad,” you inform him, again.

“I’m aware. I’ve dealt with situations like this before.” He smirks a little, and you don’t understand the joke. “If you don't push back on assholes like that, they think they run the world.”

Wasn’t that the truth.

“Ok.” Then you realize, he might mean he’s going now. “Wait, it's his day off. He hates being disturbed at home.”

The owner is kind of a big deal in your small town. His own father has been a local business owner and the mayor off and on for a long as you can remember. Their family is connected. You guess that’s why Kyle feels so free to act the way he does.

Must be nice.

“That's too bad,” says John with a lift of eyebrow like he absolutely doesn't give a shit.

“Wait…how do you know where he lives?”

This seems to amuse him. “This isn't exactly a big place. And...that's kind of what I do. Or used to, anyway.”

It's the most he's outright told you about his past. It gives you a little chill, and you wonder how much longer you’ll let yourself play dumb. He’s the kind of man who isn’t afraid to take the law into his own hands. He’s missing a finger, and though they’re long healed, you’ve noticed the faint scars on his gorgeous face. He’s gruff and forbidding with a body that could be chiseled from some kind of physicalwork, and eyes that are sharp as a falcon’s, and oh god you hope he doesn’t do anything drastic to persuade Mark to see things his way.

For you, a little voice in the back of your head reminds you. You are half afraid of what’s to come, and half…in love, maybe, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“I'm so getting fired,” you sing-song under your breath.

“Then…you’ll just have to come work for me.”

There is a breathtaking sparkle in his dark eyes he says this. It sends a delicious thrill shooting through you, and in a ditch effort to hide how thirsty you are for this man you narrow your eyes at him.

“There better not be an ulterior motive to this caper,” you grouse with no real venom. Then, curiosity gets the better of you. “What would I even do?”

“I’ve been thinking…I might need a governess for Dog. All he does is eat and lay around all day. He needs some culture.”

You roll your eyes at this.

“Oh, and pray what does the position of Governess to Master Dog pull?” you play along.

“What sounds fair? 50 thousand per annum?”

If you were really committed to the bit, you would have swooned into his arms. It was all too tempting. The thought of going to Mr. Wick's beautiful home to play with Dog, as a job that paid a livable wage, sounds like a dream. With the added bonus of...him, at home, all to yourself. Just the thought makes a red-hot flush bloom from your neck to your cheeks.

John smirks down at you, but is kind enough not to call you out on it.

You can’t help but notice he is still holding your hand.

It dawns on you that this is the first time he's ever been this playful with you. Does the thought of going into a confrontation excite him? It probably does, you realize. If he’d done the kind of work you expect he might have…life in Clear Forks must seem pretty boring, after a while.

You probably seem pretty boring too.

“Very funny, Mr. Wick. And a little mean, dangling that in front of me.”

“Who's being funny?”

But he says it with such a devilish smile, and you just can’t chance taking him seriously. It’s too…much.

You try to disguise your shuddering sigh, and fail, badly. You try to take back your hand, but he holds on, and you are unable to budge him. You can feel his heart beating against your fist. Steady, but fast.

He’s enjoying this as much as you are.

“I'm probably not supposed to ask you this, but...were you a spy?”

This question sobers him a little, and he levels you with that look. You know it’s meant to be stern, but god. All it does is make you ache.

“You'd better get back inside, Miss y/n. But if fuckhead bothers you again, you tell me. Immediately.”

He says the words, but it still takes him a few seconds more to release you, those dark eyes boring down into yours.

“Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

He nods before getting in his Rover.

You’re sorrier than usual to see him go.

As the day goes on and you remain unmolested, most of the tension in your shoulders lifts, and you almost feel normal again. You believe that everything will be fine, one way or another.

Of course, later, Fuckhead makes a point to tell you, as you're leaving at the end of your shift, that he's not scared of your old man.

Easy to say, once Mr. Wick is far out of ear shot.

However, in a week's time, Kyle is a no show. Suddenly he's decided to leave town—on a day he was supposed to open the shop, leaving his dad high and dry. Mark is livid and swears Kyle is disowned, and you get your little life back at the Clear Forks Coffee Co.

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #john wick fic #john wick imagine #bittersweet john wick imagine

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Text

The clockmaker, the crow and the mantis

[contains vulgar language]

SUMMARY: When an infamous assassin breaks into his office, Kaz Brekker is offered a part in a strange scheme. Despite their mutual dislike, the two might yet have a common goal.

(enemies to lovers I guess?)

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.2k

A feeling of a cold breeze brushing against his clothes makes Kaz stop immediately - he hasn't opened the window in weeks. The barely noticeable gust of wind tugs gently at the paperwork in front of him. Flames dance ever so slightly on their wicks. The darkness pooling in the corners of the room, where the candlelight can’t quite reach, seems deeper, more imposing, as though it wasn't the lack of light creating it but something much more alive, much more sinister.

Something moves out of the corner of his eye, bordering realism and phantasm. He gets up quickly, hand gripping the decorative cane that had seen its fair share of blood. Calculated, careful steps lead him to the centre of the room as Kaz studies the shapeless shadows encircling him like an ominous vignette.

His heart picks up its pace. A muffled sound of chatter and laughter reaches his ears from behind the heavy door. Horse hooves clatter against cobblestone, a wooden carriage quietly creeks as it rolls through the streets somewhere outside the building. But not a sound, except his own laboured breathing, comes from inside his office. The air doesn’t smell differently and even his eyes can’t quite discern between malicious darkness and the shadows he’s so used to being surrounded by.

By all accounts, Kaz is alone in his office that couldn’t have been tainted by an intruder. Despite his senses not earning him any useful information, he knows his privacy has been breached. It’s unclear what to call this sensation but it appears only in certain kinds of people - those who have been tried by particular ways of life. Their consciousness as if expands, almost miraculously sensing long knives in the dead of night.

Kaz swings his cane at a rather formless shadow by his side. Just as he expected, the staff comes into contact with something. Right there, where light meets darkness and safety of visibility becomes an impenetrable abyss, tips of gloved fingers appear, holding his cane mid-air. The grip is strong, textbook as if. Foreseen.

"Maybe listen to me first, you knucklehead,” resounds from the darkness.

He has to take a step back as the stranger emerges from the veil of the night, both of them still tightly gripping either side of the cane. The deep hood covers their eyes, making the lower half of their face easily visible. Kaz immediately notices a characteristic, pinkish scar ending about an inch below their right eye. The first button of their long, dark double-breasted coat is left open, revealing a grey shirt with moth-shaped collar pins. There’s so many pouches and pockets attached to their clothes - he couldn’t count them if he tried. Even more, Kaz can’t even begin to guess what they hide. A golden chain of their pocket watch glistens in the dim candlelight as they move forward, pushing Kaz farther back.

There’s only one wraith haunting Ketterdam that fits this description:

"Mantis,” he spits out.

"You know Krolmeister, the old clockmaker?" she asks calmly. Despite their less-than-friendly meeting, the assassin appears hardly bothered. One can only assume she has, in fact, been greeted in much worse ways and if one was to believe the wild legends people tell about her, even after applying a generous grain of salt, she can compete for the Dirtyhands title with him.

"I don't see how he has anything to do with you breaking into my office."

"He's the direct, well, indirect, reason why I'm here but we'll get to this in a moment. Mister Krolmeister has offered me a contract. A contract for you, to be precise.” She pauses for a moment, no doubt studying his demeanour, the reaction for such news. Her own face, however, remains just as unmoved making it impossible to say what she makes of his behaviour. Kaz clenches his jaw, already preparing for a fight with someone he can never measure up to. Part of him isn’t surprised in the slightest - after all, in what other way could the Bastard of the Barrell possibly pass away? Mantis leans offhandedly close to his face and continues in a voice barely above a whisper: “Now, you and I both have heads with more use than just wearing hats, so you're probably wondering what you had done to poor Bernard Krolmeister for him to have you killed. The short answer is nothing but the long answer is a lot more interesting. Care to listen?"

The woman lets go of the cane, giving Kaz a chance to strike her but he only lowers the staff to lean on it once again. He may be proud but he’s not stupid - if she had indeed come to kill him, he would have already been long dead, before his mind could even compute the final blow.

"Do not waste my time. Speak."

If he was trying to appear menacing, he has failed. Mantis casually strolls past him, towards a chair by the desk. She sits down, crosses her legs and only then gives Kaz an explanation: "My expertise on the matter tells me that Krolmesiter is nothing but a proxy, a dummy middle-man to blame if something goes south. Blackmail, probably, but that doesn't matter for now. That scenario suggests that there's someone above him, a puppet master if you will. And that puppet master, whoever they are, has good business in having you gone. Considering those two elements, the proxy and the determination, I'm certain you could accurately guess who's truly behind that contract.”

Kaz can’t help the scowl on his face. Her perplexing audacity, a clear and yet indirect disregard for him, makes the man grip the model crow atop his cane ever tighter. His teeth clatter against one another while Kaz contemplates the nature of a violent act that is bound to take her down a peg. Even after his list reaches double digits in just a few seconds, he knows better than to try anything - not yet, at least.

"You’re just a murder, Mantis, no matter how expensive.”

His words don’t bother the woman as she continues to play with a paperweight on the desk. Her fingers make him wonder for a moment - even when gloved, they’re clearly thin and long, without a sign of heavy labour on them. They move swiftly and elegantly across the figurine, feeling its dips and rises as though she’s trying to remember them. Those are hands of a pianist or a prestidigitator, someone who’s precision borders on a miracle.

She’s not even looking at him. Kaz feels his patience running thin. One can still work as an assassin without a finger or two, no? Without a whole hand, perhaps?

“Why should I believe even a single word of this fairytale built on hypotheticals?" he grits through his teeth.

The gentle movement of her fingers stops abruptly. Finally, Mantis looks away from the brass paperweight. Kaz still can’t see her eyes but he can feel them - there’s something primal about her gaze like a predator studying its prey for any sign of hesitation. Heavy paperweight or not, if he turns his back to her, it might just be the last thing he does.

“True, I am but a humble murderer.” Mantis mockingly puts a hand on her chest and bows her head. “But I’m really fucking good at it, too. I’m not asking for belief. Just trust my reputation.”

Kaz doesn’t answer for a longer while. His eyes bore into the hooded figure sitting in front of him. Disillusioned, he knows she’s doing exactly the same thing. The observation makes him even angrier but for an entirely different reason - perhaps, they are, after all, similar in some way. The restless urge sitting under his skin gets only more urgent. Kaz needs to hit something. Now.

“Why are you telling me all of this? Want me to pay you for telling me someone wants me dead?”

The man scoffs. It’s no news to him - everyday someone tries to get under his skin. Some figuratively, others literally.

"I need you to play dead for the next two days,” she states candidly. “You're silent, so I'm guessing you're interested. If I'm correct, and there's hardly any possibility I'm not, after I tell Bernard that the mighty Kaz Brekker had been dealt with, he's sure to inform a direct messenger between him and the possible blackmailer. I follow him, learn a thing or two and get back to you. And you'll get half of the reward. How's that?"

In slow limps, Kaz narrows the space between them. Mantis is still sitting, making the man tower over her but he knows it’s not much of an advantage. He leans further on his cane moving his face obscenely close to hers. An aroma of rainwater and grease fills his nostrils as he takes in a ragged breath:

"What do you get out of this deal?"

"Aside from like a hundred thousand Kruge? Peace,” she says with a shrug. Mantis looks away for a moment. She puckers her lips, sighs and turns back to him. “I don't like you, Kaz Brekker.” The way her words pierce the tension between them leaves no doubts about their honesty. “Damn, I'd probably open champagne if your head rolled into the gutter.” A light shake of head before she continues. “But you are, I'm afraid, a necessary evil. Say, if you do die, who will take your place on this throne of filth called the Barrel? You're a shitstain but you're tolerable."

To his own surprise, Kaz is speechless. Out of all the things she could ask in return for the information, Mantis only wants the Barrel to not get more problematic than it already is. As strangely kindhearted as it may sound, he continues to have a hard time tolerating her condescending attitude. Kaz Brekker is the king of this steaming pile of shit and to her, he appears to be nothing beyond an over glorified guard dog. Not even an imposing one, it seems.

"Those are some big words for someone who kills to make a living, don't you think?” He tilts his head in a futile attempt to see more of her face. “I suppose it takes a shitstain to know a shitstain."

"As much as both of us hate to admit it, a day has come when we need each other. Anyway, I won't take any more of your time. Places to go, people to kill, you know how it goes.”

Mantis throws her legs over the armrest of the chair and in swift strides makes her way towards the window. Considering her line of business, doors of any kind were prohibited. In a clearly experienced motion, she places a flat metal bar between the window frame and the windowsill, opening her exit in a smooth act. Before she climbs through his window only to disappear like a dream at the break of dawn, Kaz stops her one last time:

"You should be wary. Birds tend to eat praying mantis."

He watches as her lips curve into a cocky smile. "Only if he can catch her."

And with those words, she dives through the window, dissolving into the black night as though it was his fantasy that brought her to life. Kaz stands alone in his office. Nothing about the room has changed, even the brass paperweight is placed exactly as it was before Mantis put her hand on it. In some way, the assassin was never there. Despite her elusive nature, the smell of grease and rain will linger in his nose for a few more days, haunting him like the wraith of Ketterdam she is.

Jesper knows something is wrong the moment he notices Kaz’s bitter expression. Although his boss appears to wear a grimace most of the time, the wrinkle between his eyebrows seems slightly deeper than it did just a few hours ago. He’s clenching his jaw, looking at the people in his club with a patronizing scowl.

"You alright, boss?" he asks when Kaz reaches the bar counter.

But Brekker isn’t fast to answer. He downs the drink Jesper got for himself. Gripping the edge of the counter like his life depends on it, he begins to explain:

"I'm dead, Jesper."

Kaz isn’t funny. Truth be told, he doesn’t seem to have even a speck of a sense of humour. Despite that, Jesper dismisses the notion that his boss could be serious. It sounds ridiculous.

"You look pretty alive to me,” he says in a slow, reluctant tone. Maybe he missed something obvious?

An accusatory index finger makes Jesper unknowingly lean back slightly. "Tell everyone I'm dead, stabbed in my own office. And do it now."

"Hold on, what?” He shakes his head. “Why would you be dead?"

"Just do it, Jesper.” Kaz lets out a defeated sigh. The smart choice just so happens to be the one he hates. “You'll know in due time. All we can do now is wait."

Jesper watches Kaz’s back as he walks back up the stairs into his office. A familiar anxiety blooms in his chest - something big is about to happen and he might just have the front-row seat.

#kaz brekker #shadow and bone #six of crows #kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #the crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfic #six of crows x reader #six of crows fanfic #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows imagine

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twola · 1 year

Note

you mentioned wanting some smutty prompts; how about the opposite of Seven Deadly Sins?

what about Seven Heavenly Virtues with a high honor!Arthur and an F!reader getting into all kinds of NSFW shenanigans, except filled with turmoil and drama as i imagine a high honor Arthur wouldn't want to impose at first... 👀

Oh! I have thought about this in the past - this isn’t going to be anywhere near as ambitious as that, but here is a drabble post with the seven capital virtues.

Virtuous

High-honor Arthur Morgan x Younger F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

At least with you, he will try to be a good man. It doesn't come naturally, of course.

Chastity: the state or practice of refraining from extramarital, or especially from all, sexual intercourse.

You’re drunk. Rip-roaring drunk. Stumbling drunk. But on a night like tonight, you blend in. Tonight liquor is flowing and the mood is jovial: little Jack is back in his mother’s arms and for once in the past several months, everything seems like it’s going to be okay.

You aren’t as drunk as Karen, god, that’s a good thing, her drinking is getting a bit out of control. But you’re drunk enough to be troublesome.

You’re drunk enough to sneak away and climb into Arthur Morgan’s bed. He’s important enough that he’s gotten his own room, and as Javier belts out another refrain in Spanish, you sneak away and creep upstairs in the old plantation house, into Arthur’s room. The oil lantern casts shadows in the room, over shelves of ammunition, knives, and a map stretched out on a table.

You sway slightly, moving toward the bed. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this drunk before.

What you do know is how you’ve been watching him for months, probably since you joined this gang, nursing an infatuation for Dutch’s top gun. You know he’s older - you’re not much past twenty yourself, but it is him you see when you shut your eyes and touch yourself on lonely nights.

Kicking off your shoes, you crawl into his bed, pulling the sheet over yourself. Somehow, the whiskey in your belly burns in a smoldering frustration - you want him, you want him, and damnit, you’re going to do something about it.

Arthur returns to his room much later in the night, smelling like cigars and whiskey. He pauses, for a moment, seeing a huddled form in his bed, but quickly relaxes, taking his hat from his head and placing it on the shelf atop a box of rifle cartridges.

“What are you doin’ up here, little lady?” He asks in a patient tone, unwinding his gunbelt from his hips, spreading it over the map on the table.

“Waitin’ fer you, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, “What could you possibly be waitin’ for me for?”

You push yourself to sit up on your elbows. “How come you don’t have a lady, Arthur?”

He snorts, smirking slightly and shaking his head while pulling one of his boots off, “None would have me, Miss.”

“I would.”

Arthur stops, turning around and looking at you.

“Little lady, you’ve had quite a bit to drink tonight. Talkin’ all sorts of silliness.”

You shake your head, your hair falling out of its messy braid, you reach over toward his arm, placing your small hand upon it, “I- I know I’m young, Arthur, but I could make y’so happy- ‘nd -”

A hiccup interrupts your confession. Arthur’s confidence is not inspired, as he turns back toward his other boot, sliding it off as it tumbles to the floor.

“ -’ nd, - and I know I could keep y’satisfied.” You punctuate the last word by running your hand from his forearm up his bicep to his shoulder, gently rubbing at it.

The liquor in your system has removed any sense of propriety from your mind. Every tawdry fantasy of Arthur Morgan you’ve had in the past months runs through your head, and now here you are, in his bed, practically propositioning him.

“Darlin’, this ain’t a good idea.”

You pull your hand back like you’ve touched a hot stove. “D’ya… d’ya not want me?”

He turns again, moving one of his legs onto the bed, and faces you fully as he takes a deep breath. “Sweetheart - I…that’s not…”

“I can go, I’m sorry, I’ll not bother-” You stumble over your words, trying to crawl out of bed.

His large hand on your thigh stops your forward motion. It also stops all coherent thought in your head.

“I ain’t gonna take advantage of you with you near fallin’ over drunk, little lady. But ‘course, course I want you - I don’t know why a pretty young thing like you would want an old man like me for.”

“Arthur-” You whine, and he blinks as seemingly all of his blood rushes to his groin at the needy sound of your voice.

“Y’need to get some sleep, then we can talk about this.”

“In the morning?” You ask, and he gently takes both of your shoulders and guides you down to lie in his bed.

“We can talk about it in the mornin’. After you’ve slept this off, alrigh’?”

“Promise?”

“Yes, darlin’. I promise.”

You take that to be enough and settle down in his bed to sleep. Arthur sighs, watching as you quickly drift off, and stands up, pulling an old chair next to the bed and sitting down in it. He runs his hand down his beard and stares at the cracked and stained ceiling of the room.

Christ, the girl in his bed was close to fifteen years younger than him. He shouldn’t be entertaining this at all, for her sake. Dirty old man…

But still, he did have a soft spot for the smiles you give him. The sway of your narrow hips as you walk in camp, the shine of your long hair, the freckles that have developed on your face, and decolletage under the Lemoyne sun…

And here you were, in his bed, pleading with him to sleep together.

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair, knowing that for your sake, he had to be a better man.

Temperance: the quality of moderation or self-restraint.

The sunlight on your eyelids makes you scrounge your nose, and your eyes slowly flutter open. Your head pounds, but you blink yourself into self-awareness, realizing everything you said and did last night was not, indeed, a dream.

Arthur is sleeping in the chair next to the bed and nods awake when he hears you moving.

“How’re you feeling, little lady? Seems like you had quite a bit to drink last night.”

You rub your forehead, avoiding eye contact with him, a vibrant blush settling on your cheeks as you sit up.

“I c’n go get you some coffee.” Arthur stands up, moving toward the bed to put his boots on. At that moment, you decide to go for broke, reaching out to grab his arm.

“Mm?” Arthur hums, turning toward you. Your eyes flit from his, down to his lips, and you unconsciously lick your own. With the newfound courage of a woman with nothing to lose, you surge forward and press your lips against his. He is surprised and doesn’t respond for a moment, but after recollecting his wits, he turns fully toward you and wraps one of his arms around you.

You pull back, your eyes still looking downward. “I think we agreed that we was gonna talk.”

“We did,” Arthur says, but he leans in to press his lips against yours, his tongue brushing along the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You sigh, leaning into him and allowing him so. His lips are chapped, but still soft, as his large arm winds around you.

It’s several moments like this, mouths moving against each other, until you maneuver yourself nearly into his lap, clutching at him desperately.

You pant into his mouth, reaching toward the button on his trousers. His hand catches yours, however, and a groan rumbles from deep in his chest.

“Arthur -” You whine, you feel your bloomers wet against your skin, and you’re sure that he’s hard in his trousers.

“C’mon now, sweetheart.” He grits out, pressing you away from him in the bed.

You pout, “You said we would talk about this in the morning.”

“I reckon we better start talkin’ then. Don’t think we were doin’ much talkin’ there.”

Patience: the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.

Arthur was a busy man. As the lead enforcer of the gang, he was one of the men who brought in the most money - he could be very convincing at the end of a shotgun.

You knew Arthur did what he had to do: it kept you fed, clothed, cared for.

You were also annoyed that you’d barely seen him for a week: frankly, since that morning after Jack’s return, he’s been in and out of camp at Dutch’s beck and call. Only around to give you sweet kisses behind crumbling columns or trees draped with Spanish moss.

When you do get the chance, you clutch at him as if you could make him stay, pressing your tongue into his mouth, trying to pull him downward. It is really somewhat laughable, as he could toss you over his shoulder one-handed should he choose.

But he doesn’t choose.

He does pull you away after several moments, usually after the soft moan has escaped your mouth and you’ve pressed yourself against him.

“Patience, little lady. Ain’t no one ever tell you the best things come to those who wait?”

You pout back at him, deciding not to tell him how you’ve snuck into his room and touched yourself in his bed at night.

Diligence: having or showing care and conscientiousness in one's work or duties.

The afternoon heat hung low, sweat breaking out on the back of your neck as you rushed toward the back of the old plantation house, hiking up your skirts as you bound down the stairs of the back porch while no one is around. Bolting toward the old dockhouse, you grin as you see Arthur’s horse grazing in the fields at the back of the property.

He’s standing there, whisps of smoke drifting upward from the cigarette hanging from his lips. Leaning against a cypress tree eyes out on the horizon over the waters of the Lanaheechee.

He hears you coming, why wouldn’t he, you’re bowling through like a bull in a china shop. Arthur turns right as you come up to him, nearly launching yourself at him in delight.

“Whoa there, gonna run straight into the water now.” Arthur smiles, his hands on your shoulders.

You press forward into his embrace. “I knew you’d catch me.”

He snorts lightly, his arms moving to wrap around your small waist.

“Y’ready to get away for a bit?”

You look up at him, a head and a half taller than you, beaming, “Really?”

“Reckon I’ve done enough jobs to earn an afternoon off. C’mon, let's get out of here.”

He winds his arm around your shoulder and starts walking the two of you toward his horse.

“Where we goin’?” You ask as you reach the mare, and Arthur swings you up to sit on the horse’s rump. He taps your leg lightly.

“You’ll see, little lady.”

Charity: aid given to those in need

The picnic in the meadow outside Bolger Glade did not last long. A few canned peaches were consumed before you crawled into Arthur’s lap and drew him into a kiss.

This time, finally, he does not push you away as you press against him. Indeed, he does the exact opposite. He rolls you beneath him, flat out on the blanket, and moves his lips from yours down your neck, suckling gently at the skin there, before his hand ducks downward to gather your skirts up, fingers trailing up your legs underneath the cotton.

“Y’want this?” He pants in your ear as his rough fingers press against your bloomers, and all you can do is whine needily in acquiescence.

He pulls your bloomers down, down your thighs, down past your knees, and tosses them to the side before sliding his hand up your skirts again. You cling to his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as a high moan as he touches your skin.

Arthur rubs in gentle circles against your folds, and your breath loudly hitches as one of his fingers pauses near your opening for but a moment before sliding inside.

Hopefully, you’re far enough from the road not to bring attention to the two of you, because you’re having an increasingly hard time keeping quiet, thrusting your face against his shoulder to muffle your sounds, especially when he slides another finger into your wet warmth.

It's only a few moments more before you keen, mewling into the linen of his shirt as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear: good girl, that’s it.

“Let me… let me make you feel good,” You pant, reaching for the buckle of his pants as you regain some of your wherewithal.

He gently swats your hand away.

“Hush, I ain’t done with you yet.”

You want to scream aloud when his head disappears under your skirts and you feel his tongue press against your cunt.

Humility: a modest or low view of one's own importance; humbleness.

You moan into his neck as you roll your hips in his lap, his hands spread wide over the globes of your rear and he pants in return, grinding you against the hardness in his pants.

“Fuck,” he swears, and lays you down on the blanket, looming over you, hands reaching to undo the buttons of his trousers. “Y’ready?”

“Y-yes.” You shiver, opening your legs for him and starting to pull your skirts up, uncovering inch by inch of your inner thighs up to the thatch of dark hair shrouding your cunt.

Your breath hitches as he fully opens his pants, about to pull his length from them.

Arthur stops, looking at you, studying your eyes, your face, before frowning. “You’ve never done this before.”

He leans back up onto his knees, shaking his head. You rocket up in concern, afraid he’s going to leave, god, that would break your damn heart.

“Tell me the truth.” He asks, his tone firm.

You shake your head and Arthur sighs, staring down at his hands in his lap, the swollen tenting of his half-opened trousers, his cock still steel hard.

“I - I ain’t worthy of this honor, darlin’. Y- you should have a far better person than me bein’ your first.” Arthur says, one hand moving to redo the buttons of his pants.

“No,” You cry out forcefully, grabbing his hand, “I want it to be you, Arthur.”

“Little lady-”

You interrupt, grasping his hand in your own and interlacing your fingers. “You’re kind, and you’re wonderful, and I know you ain’t gonna hurt me.”

You lay back on the blanket, your hair fanning out, and still holding his hand, you pull him toward you. Arthur closes his eyes, visibly struggling with himself.

“I-”

He trails off, and after several moments, his eyes flutter open again. You’re spread out beneath him, his knees framed by your open legs, your face flushed, your cunt wet and needy and ready for him.

“Arthur. I want it to be you.” You say, with more force behind your voice.

He breaks.

“Alright, sweetheart… Alright.”

Kindness: the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.

Arthur pulls his cock from his pants, stroking himself several times, and as you watch him, your hand moves down between your legs, touching your glistening folds as he grunts in approval. After several moments, he looks back at you, a serious heaviness in his eyes.

“You tell me if it hurts - you hear that?” “Yes,” you whine, gasping as he moves over you, placing his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips as he presses his length against your core, parting your folds, gently jutting his hips back and forth, covering himself with your slick.

The head of his cock hits that bundle of nerves and you moan loudly into his mouth, and he jolts against you, pressing his length even harder against the seam of your body.

He curses against your lips, pressing himself up with one arm, balancing on his other forearm, as he reaches down between you to grasp the base of his cock. He slowly pulls it down, down the seam of you until the head catches at your weeping opening. He presses in slightly, enough so that he can move his hand, and immediately moves up to cradle your cheek. His thumb traces your jawline for a moment, his blue eyes flutter as he begins to press forward.

Your breath escapes you as you throw your arms around his neck, his flesh splitting you open - it does hurt, but god, if he were to stop, your heart might hurt even more. He’s about halfway in when he starts peppering kisses over your brow, his thumb drawing gentle circles over your cheek.

“Y’okay?” He asks, his voice not more than a whisper.

“Yes, please… please.” You plead, unable to articulate any further.

Arthur groans, pressing completely inside you, his girthy cock fully seated, and he remains still as your fingers dig into his shoulders, his work shirt saving his skin from your nails.

After a few moments, you unclench your hands, one moving up his neck to grasp the ends of his short hair. “Arthur,” you moan, in a high, flighty voice that gives him permission to move.

He slowly, gently, retracts his hips from yours, and then presses back forward, intently watching your face for any twinge of pain. When he sees none, he repeats the process a little faster. And again, a little faster.

You gasp and whine in tune with his thrusts, and finally, he lets out a groaning whimper after he’s sure you’re enjoying it. “God, you’re so tight, squeezin’ me like this-”

You mewl as he lowers himself completely over you, your ankles crossing over his lower back. The sounds coming from your mouth edge on obscene, as Arthur thrusts into your accepting body over and over again.

“That’s it, that’s it, c’mon, darlin’, let go.” He grunts into your ear, nuzzling against the side of your head.

You cry out, your back arching up as you convulse around him, crying his name in absolute adoration.

Arthur presses his forehead against yours, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut as he thrusts a handful of more times before pulling himself from you, reaching down and stroking his cock as he finishes, his spend coating his fingers and dripping to the blanket beneath you.

He pants, leaning on his side as he lowers his hip to lay beside you, your legs falling open. He kisses your forehead, one of his large hands pulling your skirts down over your knees and thighs as you catch your own breath.

“Good for ya?” He rumbles, his hand finding purchase on your soft belly.

You open your eyes, smiling up at him. The sunlight pours through the tree you rest under on the warm afternoon.

“You’re so good for me, Arthur.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #twolafic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead smut #tumblr prompt #voluptatem

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writingoddess1125 · 7 months

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Hi, I've been reading your One Piece stuff and was wondering if you'd ever consider writing for Kuro, no pressure or anything just wondering

Yeah! I actually do have a story already made for Kuro!

Hope you enjoy ;3

Kuro x FemReader

Angst and Spicy Themes

Cat Got Your Tongue?

"Lady Kaya, I have your tea ready" you say softly, setting down the delicate cup of warm milk tea with honey. She stared at it silently, her eyes still red from crying. It had been only a week since the passing of the Lord and Lady of the house- She was all you had left of them.. You had been their friend for years, your home having been raided by pirates in your youth leaving you penniless. It was those two who had taken you in, giving you a Job as the Nanny and Wetnurse of their only daughter Kaya. Who you saw as a daughter of your own.

"I miss them Nanny..." Her little voice trembled, Your own eyes filling with tears at hearing this. Kissing the top of her head.

"I miss them too Kaya..." You hugged her and felt her start crying in your arms. A loud knock on the door snapped both of you from your grief. Getting up you take Kaya with you tk the front door, Opening it cautiously as you spot the sheed headed man.

"Oh, Mister Merry. Please come inside" You say calmly opening the door fully for him.

Merry smiled proudly at you and Kaya, Stepping to the side as you took his wet coat to hang up.

"Ah! Miss (Y/N), I am happy to see you are still here" You nod gently at him as you return to Kaya side.

"Of course Sir Merry, I will never leave Kaya" you say softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"You have always been great with Kaya Miss (Y/N) But I worry for you managing such a large estate on your own. So I while out I met a Perfect Butler for the Home along with a maid and Chef he had with him!" Merry exclaimed proudly. Kaya looking up at you in question of this, you however feeling something odd about the convince of such a thing.

There a Man stepped inside, his black suit dampened with the rain as he adjusted his Glasses. He was tall, thin and imposing- Something not sitting right with you at seeing him.

"Good evening My Lady, I am Klahadore. I am humbly at your service" He bowed deeply, Kaya giving a kind smile at this as well.

"It's lovely to meet you Mr. Klahadore, I am Kaya" you heard your ward say sweetly. Also too kind to others who were ment to service her.

"Now Miss (Y/N) the house will be handed over to Klahadore for now, so that you may focus on Miss Kaya and her well being" Merry said cheerfully, Clearly proud of himself.

"...I see-" You whisper softly, while something in your gut told you there was something wrong with this man you gave a polite curtsey.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Klahadore. I place the home in your care as its Head Butler" You said calmly, But those words felt like a death sentence for you.

You felt his eyes watching your every move, it was like a cat watching a unexpecting Mouse.

"Now, Let us have a dinner to celebrate" Merry said cheerfully, Klahadore nodding to the larger man to his left who bowed.

"The kitchen is down the hall to the left Sir" You say calmly, the Chef giving you a curt smile and following the directions you offered.

"Yes.. let us" You say. Taking Kaya with you to change for dinner and get away from the new Butler's gaze.

At dinner you sat next to Kaya, talking and enjoying each others company as Merry joined along. Till Klahadore and the Maid came forth setting the table and the dishes for the evening.

"What is this?" You questioned, raising a brow at the plate presented by Klahadore.

"It is a braised giant shrimp in cream blue sauce" Klahadore said calmly, something didn't sit right about the dish. So you smiled at Kaya.

"Kaya, I'd like to taste the dish to know it is to your liking" You tell her, which she agrees.

"I do not think thay is necessary Miss (Y/N)" Klahadore starts but you give him a polite smile.

"Of course it is. You are still new" You point out making him narrow his eyes at you. Tasting the broth you furrow your brows, it tasted... odd. It wasn't bad per say but odd non the less.

"It should be fine..." You say softly, making Merry laugh heartily as his own plate was set down.

"Miss (Y/N) has always been so protective of Lady Kaya. But it's fine I swear Miss (Y/N) Miss Kaya is in good hands" You nod and continue on with the meal- You starting to feel a bit fatigued and tired. However after dinner you did your normal duties of bathing Kaya and getting her to bed.

That night you couldn't rest well, the dish and its odd smell making you feel unwell. You had tasted it and while you didn't care for it personally it just made you feel- Off. Getting up from your bed you decide a glass of water is needed, Grabbing a candle you start to head down to the kitchens.

Barefoot and silent as you try not to make any noise, still in your own thoughts about that evening.

Walking down to the kitchen area you hear whispering, Crouching down slowly so you not cast a shadow toj blow out your candle and listen.

"That damn Nanny is going to cause us more trouble! She has to go-" You hear Bachi hiss clearly angry with your presence.

"Yeah- She actually tasted that damn poison. If she starts to fall ill like Kaya then our whole plan will be busted- That and she's already suspicious of Captian Kuro" you felt your heart drop to your stomach. Captian Kuro? Of the Black Cat Pirates!? You start to shake and slowly crawl backwards from your crouched position, trying to create distance from the kitchen. You had to alert the village of this and sneak Kaya out!

"Well well well, I see a mouse has found its way to the kitchens-" You hear a deep voice rumble behind you. Before you can even begin to react you felt a hand grab your hair and yanked you to your feet, the wind being knocked from your lungs as you were slammed hard against the near by wall.

He had his arm raised and Blades ready to puncture your throat at a given moment. You stare at him, your eyes wide as fresh tears filled your gaze. Those sharp blades touching delicately on your throat, his gaze locked onto you.

You heard the shuffling of the other two rushing to see what the noise is and finding Kuro holding you against the wall.

"Sir did she-" Buchi started but got a glare from the Captian.

"Of course you fool- This is why I told you to not speak about this until we got her out!-" He growled making both Bachi and Sham flinch. His gaze turning back to you once more, those cold blades tapping the collar of your nightslip taking in disappointment.

"Such a shame... I do find you quite attractive-"

He hummed, In a flick of his wrist his blades Slicing through the front of your slip. You flinched as your bare chest hit the cold night air, Tears running down your cheeks as you sob. Sham looking away from you even at this-

"Such a shame indeed..." He hummed, tapping the tip of his blade against the dip between your breast causing light scratches to appear with small droplets of blood. Kuro was surprised by how much this aroused him, was it the tears running down your face? How your breast moved with every sob thay managed to squeeze from you? Or your nipples responding to the cold air- Whatever it was it sure was affective.

"I hate to be wasteful at times.. so your services will be changing- You will no longer be Serving Ms. Kaya, But me instead" He smirked at this, pride bubbling in his chest as he saw your face shift to shock and fear. "Besides- I'll need some for of stress relief if I'm going to be playing out this Con-" He smirked, pulling his blades away from your chest.

"Buchi- Grab her and take her to my quarters. Make sure not a peep leaves her and tie her wrist to the bedframe. Id hate for her to escape" He orders as the Chef quickly snatches you and shoves a cloth in your mouth, muffling your screams as you were hauled away. Kuro standing there with a grin as he adjusted his Glasses once more and hid his blades. It seems things would be more fun then he thought.

#x reader #one peice x reader #one peice live action #one piece #black cat pirates #Captian Kuro x Reader #klahadore #Captian Kuro #op Klahadore

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rachiecrown · 6 months

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RAHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS PROMPT (screaming loudly) THANK YOUUU

----

"I'm pretty sure it's alive." Grian stated, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. Mumbo fidgeted nervously as he stood next to Grian. Scar stared upwards, squinting as a cloud moved away from covering the sun.

The Entity stood tall over the trio, mossy and imposing. It looked like a rock. A rock with insect-like legs, that is. Why Grian was so incredibly obsessed with it, Mumbo and Scar didn't know. The two were beginning to worry, actually. Grian had poured his all into researching The Entity and its properties as of recent, and hadn't been taking proper care of himself as of late.

Mumbo could probably see Grian's eyebags from several chunks away if he squinted enough, he was sure. Scar thought he heard Grian's stomach rumble at one point.

"That does it, he's gone mad with lack of sleep and food." Mumbo spoke. Grian's wings twitched. His wings didn't look all that good, Mumbo thought. "What?" Grian asked, his head turning to face Mumbo.

"I wholeheartedly agree!" Scar chirped. He linked his right arm with Grian's left, and Mumbo copied, his left arm with Grian's right. Grian in turn flared his wings. "Hey, wait- Wait where are we going!?" The avian exclaimed as he was led away from The Entity.

He was dragged into his own home, to a chair, and was sat on it as Scar went to make some food and Mumbo pulled out a fence and trapdoor to act as a table. Grian stood. "I- You two can cook and nap in my house all you want, I need to get back to my research." He claimed.

As Grian turned to leave, however, Scar grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "Oh no you don't, mister!" Scar chirped, turning and pushing him back down on the chair. "You need a good meal and a nap!" Scar turned back to cooking. Mumbo then added, "And the state of your wings.. They're in desperate need of preening."

"My wings are perfectly fine!" Grian claimed. He tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in them that suddenly made itself present as he flared them out. Mumbo tsked.

Scar then brought a dinner of baked potatoes, steak, and carrots to the table, balancing two plates on one arm as he sat down a third in front of Grian. "Dinner is served!"

"Don't expect me to eat all this now-" Grian began to say, but Scar tutted an set the other two plates down as Mumbo retrieved two stair blocks from his inventory to act as chairs. "You, sir, are going to eat as much as your stomach will let you."

Grian slumped and stared at the food in front of him. His servings were much bigger than Mumbo's and Scar's, and really, he wasn't very hungry for the mountainous pile of a delicious looking meal.

Well, maybe he could have another bite. He could feel himself salivating at the aroma of the seasoned potatoes, and his stomach grumbled at the sight of the juicy steak. His hand moved on its own and just grabbed the fork, stabbing into the potatoes and moving towards his mouth.

Well, there's nothing I can do about my hand moving on it's own... Grian thought, and before long, the plate was empty. He hadn't even realized how hungry he was.

"My, that went down quick." Mumbo commented, and Grian felt his face flush. "Listen here, it was good food, okay?"

"Aww, that means I'm a good cook!" Scar cooed. Grian shook his head fondly. "Thanks for the food and all, I'm getting back to resear-" Grian was cut off as Scar stood and grabbed him, lifting him over his shoulder. Grian shouted and flared his wings in surprise. "Not before you rest those sleepy birdie bones of yours!" Scar declared, heading towards Grian's room.

Grian kicked and squirmed. "Noo, I don't want to!" He complained as Scar brought him up the ladder. Mumbo was quick to follow, leaving his still half-finished meal on the table.

Grian was dropped onto his bed and Scar dusted off his hands in a showy way. Mumbo reached the second floor and put his hands on his hips as Grian sat up. "Guys, I'm not tired!" He complained, but was practically forced to lay back down as his friends kicked off their shoes and clambered into the blankets and sheets with him.

Surely not, they weren't- Were they babysitting him!? Grian flopped around and ended up on his stomach, Scar clinging to his arm and Mumbo sitting in the pillows. Grian turned his head to the side and huffed out, noticing Mumbo looking at him.

Reluctantly, Grian spread his wings out over the sheets and Scar, stuffing his face back into the blankets. "There's our birdie!" Scar cooed, and Grian reached over and put a hand in Scar's face. "Ohhoho! Noo!" He cried and sat up, his face out of Grian's reach. "You won't be stealing my nose this time!"

Mumbo chuckled. "He almost got it." He teased, only for Scar to reach and squeeze Mumbo's nose. "Heehee, got your nose!" Scar's voice went up an octave in playfulness and Mumbo rolled his eyes before grabbing Grian and pulling him over.

Together, Scar and Mumbo worked through Grian's feathers, gently tugging the loose ones out and straightening out the crooked ones. Leaves and twigs and moss were pulled out from the wings, and if Grian were to say he didn't enjoy the feeling of being handled so carefully, he'd be liar.

Grian let out a warble of contentment, forgetting about The Entity and his research with closing eyes. It could wait a few hours, alive or not. All that mattered to the pesky bird in his brain were Mumbo and Scar at this moment.

"I love it when he makes those bird noises, it's adorable." Scar whispered as if Grian couldn't hear. Grian's wings twitched when Mumbo promptly agreed.

Mumbo was soon finished with Grian's left wing, and Scar finished with Grian's right shortly. Gently, Mumbo pulled one last loose feather from one of the two smaller wings on the sides of Grian's head which sent Grian into a shudder. His feathers ruffled and he cooed loudly.

"Oho, what a mighty call!" Scar praised, grabbing Grian's face and pinching his cheeks. "Stoooop!" Grian half-mumbled and stuffed his face back into the sheets. Scar and Mumbo giggled.

Mumbo shifted and put himself under Grian's wing, one arm going over his back. Scar laid down and ran a hand through Grian's hair.

Distantly, Grian wondered how he got so lucky, warbling softly as his friends drew closer and embraced him. He tucked his head under Mumbo's chin, with Scar wrapping his arms around both.

Grian closed his eyes in comfort. He would rest, for now.

#buttercup trio #mumscarian #grian #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #the buttercups #scarian #grumbo #redscape #hermitshipping #creative writing #avian grian #preening

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matchamiko · 15 days

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oh my god what you said about dabi fucking you in the bar bathroom like you’re strangers, but you’re actually in love!!! THE IDEA OF IT is making me crazy 😵‍💫 he’s soooo touchy throughout it too

I wanna write somefink long for it too !!! The idea is just so ૮꒰/ฅ//ฅ//꒱ა cause he would be kinda dismissive about it first? You’re embarrassed about bringing it up and he’s kinda like “that’s a little weird, why can’t I just fuck u in the bathroom like normally?” But he indulges and has this little script in his head but finds that he falls into character sooooo easily because it’s who he was for years before you came along. And you’re late which makes him able to forget for a little bit, and then suddenly spot you as if he wasn’t even meaning to.

At first he thinks you’re sooooo cute with your little glances and coy fluttery lashes, extra shy and nervous because he seems so imposing and extra handsome tonight. The lust he feels for you is so so loud and so hot in his veins, he’s hard before he even orders you a drink, thinking about the bar, the music, the people watching nd thinking bout the two beautiful strangers flirting over a cosmopolitan. Thrill nicks his lower back and he lets you lead him to the bathroom without asking your name and it’s so dingy and kinda sticky but he’s fucking you rougher and clingier than ever before. You’re positively leaking down his arm when he plays with you, throbbing and calling him “mister” cause you don’t know his name.

It goes to his head too, the power trip and the debauchery, following you home and stopping at a 7/11 to get you an after snack and drink because he still loves you, too much, so much and he can see you wobbling on your heels a little ahead outside of your apartment block.

He gets you four snacks because he couldn’t decide which milk bun ti get you so he got all three that you like, and an extra one is a bribe to maybe do this fun new thing again sometime yknow? Soon?

#goin in the wip folder !!!!#he’s soooooo hot #I knew I’d get someone with those tags u saw my vision !!!!#miko.chats #dabi x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut

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frxxxncx · 8 months

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teach me, please - w. junhui

»roommate!¡Wen Junhui x fem¡!reader.

»Summary: While trying to masturbate your roommate tries to give you a hand.

»Tags: smut (MDNI), oral (f. receiving), cunnilingus, pet names, fingering, squirting, hair pulling, no plot just porn, guided masturbation, roommates to lovers(idk)

»Words: 2.9k

Note: Any typo or incoherence that you might find was completely intentional, it’s for the sake of learning about my mistakes.

You have always thought of yourself as a reserved person, and you thought of it as something good, but right now, when you are with your legs wide open in front of your roommate, you wish you had been more open to ask your girlfriend how to finger yourself, but you lived five hours far from each other and ask her to go for a coffee just so you can interrogate her about something so private as masturbating, was out of the question.

As embarrassing as it was, in your twenty-three years of life you've never masturbated, you like to think that it's because when you were young your best friend at the time say that when she tried, it didn't feel good, and that she just ended up with her fingers covered in blood, and obviously as a fourteen-year-old, that scared the shit out of you, blood? You didn't want to bleed from there for anything other than your period.

But now you know that probably she just tore her hymen, and that's why she bled at the time. So why didn't you try to get off?, Well, you didn't know how to do it, and to ask anyone how to do it was imposible, it's not like you could come to someone, and say "hey, I don't know how to masturbate, can you teach me?".

But now you want to know how is that you ended up with Jun sitting in the armchair in front of you while you tried to masturbate.

———————————————————————— Your level of stress has been building up throughout the day, leaving your essay that was due by tomorrow for last was the worst decision you have had in years, your muscles were stiff, and your back was killing you, sitting 8 hours straight was a method of torture you were not expecting to go through. Your head was pounding but you were scared to take another pill since you took one less than two hours ago.

When you finally finished the essay and stretched your back it cracked so deliciously that a quiet and satisfied moan left your lips, but you still had an awful headache, you thought about what could help you relive the pain and you remembered something your friend told you "When my head hurts I usually masturbate, swallow the pills it's too scary", the thought of it was scandalous for you, you even hit her in the arm, and she laughed at your chicks that were bright red.

After several minutes of thinking, you gave up and decided that masturbating was the answer to all of your problems.

You didn't even bother to close the door since Jun told you that he would be late. Your shorts and panties were long forgotten on the floor of your room, your fingers trying to make you feel good in some way by getting in and out of your poor cunt, it felt weird, uncomfy and the fact that you had to spit in your hand every now and then to use it as lube exasperated you, it wasn't like what your friend told you that happened when his boyfriend finger fucked her.

Your fingers were just jamming inside of you, and frustrated by it you were about to give up when the sound of your door closing sent shivers down your body.

"Hello, Mister DJ Downstairs" the raspy yet velvety voice scared you, You weren't sure if it was a product of your imagination, but still your hand stopped working as if it was doing anything at all, and your head snapped to your bedroom door.

"J-jun, what are you doing here? You said you were coming home late" Your hand looked for something to cover up but your pillows were on the other side of the bed too far to reach them without flashing your roommate even more.

"Baby, it is fucking late already, it's like three in the morning" Jun say in a chuckle while getting closer to you.

Your legs were close shut and your arms between your thighs, you were just thankful that you didn't take off your -his- black shirt.

"By the way what are you even doing, you lost something down there?" the comment made you giggle but at the same time offended you, you were trying your best and all, just for him to make fun of you?.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm tryna masturbate here, now get the hell out" Your tone was upset, and by all means, you wished he didn't notice the hope in your voice.

"Well, darling, you look like you're trying to get something from inside there, Why are you being so harsh with your poor kitty?" He was being serious about the fact that you completely sucked at whatever you were doing and that -even though it was the truth- hurt your ego, and when you feel attacked you tend to blast out the first thing that goes through your mind.

"Jesus, Wen Junhui, if you are such an expert, why don't you help me then?" Just as the words left your mouth, you didn't even have time to think about what you just said, when he answered.

"My pleasure, but first let me help you there, you need to know how to make yourself feel good" He got his phone from his back pocket and started to type something quickly.

His face went from his phone to you, and the soft smile he gave you, warmed your heart even in the given situation.

"I'll guide you," He said, putting one hand on your knee. The tact felt so hot you thought it would burn your skin.

"Ah?" His hand left a tingling sensation on your flesh making your tummy feel weird. You saw him sit in the armchair that was located just in front of you and felt small, his long legs were wide open and his elbows were over his knees, with phone in hand.

Your arms were still in between your thighs but this time they were looking for some kind of relief.

"Have you ever had sex?" he asked while scrolling through his phone again, interested in whatever he was reading " I'm sure you haven't, tho" he whispered so low that you were very sure he was saying that to himself.

"Jun, what the actu-"You couldn't even finish talking when he interrupted you to ask again "Have you ever had sex or not?" Behind his blank tone, you could sense he was starting to get annoyed and that sent a "funny" feeling to your cunt.

"No" You were not so close to him, but you still could see the flickering flame of lewdness that started in his eyes, and you didn't say a word about it.

"Perfect" he whispered to himself, locking his eyes in the place your hands were so desperate to hide from him.

"So what?" you were impatient and that was revealed through your tone making you feel embarrassed.

"I need you to do as I say, don't do more nor less than what I'm asking you" his voice sounded guttural, a small hint of desire making you whimper softly.

You nodded, waiting for him to start guiding you as soon as possible. "I need words, doll, say it, loud and clear." There was something about how he said that, and the way his eyes darkened while watching you open your legs again, that made you have shivers running down your spine.

"Yes, I'll do whatever you tell me to do, Teach me, please" your legs were wide open for him, you saw him but his lower lip while his eyes were locked in your cunt.

"Okey, baby, first relax, take a deep breath and lay down" his voice was soft, it was like every word slipped into your ears like honey, your nipples starting to harden.

You laid down, with your knees flexed, hands gripping your shirt tightly at the feeling of the cool air of the room brush in your cunt, you heard him move in the armchair, maybe fixing his posture, but that made you wish that he got up and touched you.

"I need you to know your body, touch your tits, fondle them, grope them, stroke your nipples, get yourself worked up before you start down in your pussy" you did as he said, you hands went under your shirt and you started to caress softly your breasts, outlining them, gently touching, massaging your nipples carefully with the palm of your hand, pinching them making your body quaver.

"That's it, sweetie, just like that '' his honeyed voice praised and you shuddered in your place, "You're doing so good, just as I say" a subtle whine escaped your lips making the man in front of you groan.

"Lift your shirt, let me see you completely" the tone was demanding, making your toes curl, your cunt pulsating desperately.

The shirt was over your breasts, the cold air making the sensitive buds perkier, the tips of your fingers drew delicate lines over your torso, on your ribs getting closer and closer to your waist.

The heavy gaze of Jun encourages you to continue "Cup your cunt and look how wet you are now, feel how drench your pussy is" hesitantly you hand touched over your cunt, fingers pressed lightly to your entrance, palm over your hard clit.

The feeling of the sticky wetness made you look over to your friend that was watching you with a crooked smile while gripping tightly the armrest making his knuckles look extremely white, eyes glowing in lust at your sopping core.

"Press your middle finger into your entrance, but don't go inside just yet" your finger pressed lightly, your hips trembling looking for something that could relieve the sting on your clit.

"Now, stroke your clit, do it slow, make circles" as instructed your now slick finger got to the bud of nerves, the circles were small, slow, at a timid pace but it still felt good "Do it faster, baby, harder" the tempo started to speed up, not doing circles any more but rubbing harder.

"One finger, love, get one finger in" your middle finger slid from your folds getting to your entrance, and this time when your finger thrust inside a loud and embarrassing moan left your mouth.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty" Jun was having view of his life, if he could, he would burn this memory to look at it every time he wanted to whack off.

"Get another finger inside" your ring finger slipped easily making your hips stumble, "Go in and out, seek for your pleasure, make yourself feel good" your body jerked toward you hand fingers going in and out at a violent pace, a delectable burn making your gummy walls clench tightly on your fingers.

"J-Jun" your voice came out in a pornographic moan of his name, making him smile knowing what you wanted.

"What is it, doll?" he cooed watching your fingers jamming in and out, the wet noises filling the room

"Do you want something from me?" the condescending tone mask with a sweet and velvety trill, made you whine making your hand move faster, your palm colliding with you clit deliciously.

"J-jun, touch me, pleh- please, need you"you said, stuttering, the last bit of consciousness leaving your body.

The man didn't need to be asked twice, he was hovering over you, hand in each side of your head, looking into your eyes, finding a sparkle of desire mixed with excitement. His left hand stroking one of you many loose hairs behind your ear, meanwhile his unoccupied hand joined your own down your cunt.

His hand was hot, and you could feel the calloused skin over the back of your hand, making you wonder, how would it feel on your clit.

Jun stopped your hand —witch now had gotten into a sloppy pace because your fingers were starting to cramp—, and brought your whacked fingers to his mouth, he sucked the arousal in them, making you moan at the feeling of his hot tongue playing with your digits, leaving them fully "cleaned".

"So sweet" he says, getting your fingers out of his mouth, cunt pulsating and drooling with your slick even more. His voice sounded hoarse and guttural, it was evident in his tone that he wanted more, so much more.

He decided to strip you from the last piece of clothing you had, his shirt now was being used to keep both you hands over your head, he bit his lower lip looking how your body was at his disposal, your wreck expression, drunk in pleasure, desperate to release the coil that has been building up in your tummy since he set a foot in the room.

You watch him thrilled, going down on you, now feeling his hot breath against your puffy and glistened folds, awaiting for what was about to happen.

His tongue nuzzled into your hardened clit, a whiny plea escaping your lips, giving him a green flag to do as he pleased, this time sucking gently the sensitive dot making you scream.

If you knew that getting head from Jun would feel like heaven you would have tried to ask him to teach you before.

Your fingers grabbed his brunette and fluffy locks, pulling his strands of hair every time he would nimble carefully on your clit.

He was drinking from your pussy like a starved man, enjoying every bit of your arousal in his mouth. His pointer and ring fingers slipped easily inside of you, an extremely lewd sound coming out of your mouth and the pleasurable sting of his much thicker fingers inside of you made you self conscious, the coil that has been forming in your tummy about to burst, making you feel somehow "weird", it was an urge to relief that scared you.

“J-Jun, Junnie stop, wa- i need to—go t- bathroom” you said, stuttering, pulling his hair, trying to get him to stop sucking at your clit, deed that was making you feel that way even more.

He lifted his face, chin soaked in your juices, lips red and glossy, the view making you want a kiss, but other than that his expression was one from someone who just heard a joke.

With his unoccupied hand he wiped his mouth, and proceeded to hover over you, his right hand still jamming into you at a brutal pace, making the wet noises fill the room with your loud whimpers.

"You sure you want me to stop?" He asked while his thumb started to press and move over the perk bud.

You were amused, you just said that you were about to pee, you felt like you were about to pee, and that was extremely embarrassing, that was the last thing you wanted to do infront of him, or in this case, the last thing you wanted to do in his hand.

And like he could read your mind he said "You are not going to pee, you are about to cum" he licked his lips and watched your with a burning need "just cum for me, doll, cum all you want in my fingers"

Your stomach tightened and the coil released when his fingers curled just in the right place, that spongy and special spot. You came wetting his whole hand, squirting on your first time masturbating.

He helped you through your high making sure to not overstimulate you, it was still your first time masturbating. You were left trembling in his arms, astonished for what just happened.

"You don't know how many times I have wanked off by the thought of you coming undone in my fingers" he said breathlessly, looking at the masterpiece he just made of you, pussy coated in your own arousal and his spit, his drench fingers left your core slowly stealing a small moan from you.

"Pussy so tight, I could cum only by sticking my cock inside of you" his face was so close to you that his lips were brushing yours, his breath felt so hot it was burning you "I want to fuck you so bad, right now" the neediness in his voice made you clench around noting, you core starting to leak again.

"Why don't you teach me?" you said so low he almost didn't hear you.

"What do you want me to teach you now?" He said with a cocky smile on his pretty face.

"Teach me how to fuck"

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