#wait…how is my rendering….not awful?

[noctusmar]

lighting/rendering practice (ref from Pinterest)

closeup :)

[aria0fgold]

I forgot how I did my rendering style so I just spent the majority of my phone's battery going fuck all on it. Thankfully, it looks nice!

[misswynters]

Christmas Present

featuring. viktor x afab!reader

warnings. MDNI SMUT (18+), reader wearing lingerie, riding, praising, unprotected sex, blowjob, creampie, viktor being obsessed with hearing the bell you are wearing, soft sex, bondage (m. receiving), breeding, begging and whining, aftercare at the end

requested by anon (combined the christmas and the riding viktor requests)

a/n. got lazy at the end :(

The workshop was unusually quiet for the evening, a rare stillness settling over the room. The only sounds were the faint hum of machines idling in the background and the soft creak of Viktor’s cane as he approached the workbench. You could hear his measured steps echoing off the walls, the rhythm unhurried, likely lost in some grand idea. You smiled to yourself, anticipation bubbling as you sat in his chair, carefully positioning yourself for the reveal.

The lingerie you wore was festive yet bold, a delicate mix of red and green fabric that hugged your curves. A small, golden bow sat perfectly in the center of your sternum, just above a jingling bell that chimed softly with every shift of your body. You felt equal parts daring and nervous, unsure how Viktor might react to such an unconventional “gift.” But you knew him, beneath his composed exterior lay a man brimming with emotions he often kept restrained. Tonight, you intended to bring those emotions to the surface.

Viktor called your name, his voice carrying an affectionate cadence as it bounced through the workshop. “Are you here? I thought we agreed to meet for dinner, not…hide in my workshop.” His words were laced with amusement, though there was an edge of curiosity.

You waited until you heard the soft click of the door closing behind him before turning the chair around slowly. His amber eyes widened at the sight of you, his steps faltering as though he had forgotten how to walk. For a moment, he simply stared, his mouth parting slightly before snapping shut. His fingers gripped the handle of his cane tightly, and you could see the muscles in his jaw flex as he struggled to find words.

“Viktor,” you said softly, your voice laced with playful confidence. “Merry Christmas.”

He took a shaky breath, his eyes roaming over you. It was hesitant at first, as though he were unsure if he was allowed to look, but soon lingering on every detail. The red and green satin, the bow, the golden bell. It all seemed to render him completely speechless. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and when he finally managed to speak, his voice was a hushed whisper.

“Y-you look stunning,” he stammered, his accent thick, each word tinged with awe. “I did not expect this. You are…my present?”

You nodded, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “Do you like it?”

His steps were hesitant as he moved closer, his cane tapping lightly against the floor. When he reached the chair, he leaned down, his hands gripping the armrests tightly, knuckles white with the effort it took not to touch you. His breath was warm against your face, and his amber eyes, usually so focused and calculating, now shimmered with a mix of love and unspoken need.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. His gaze flickered to the golden bell resting against your sternum. A small, almost mischievous smile played at the corners of his lips as he reached out, his fingers brushing the bell lightly. The soft chime it produced sent a shiver down your spine, and Viktor’s eyes darkened at the sound. “Thought of everything,” he said, his tone warm yet trembling slightly. “Even this small detail…too much for me, my love.”

You reached up, your fingers curling around the edges of his vest and tugging him closer. His body stiffened for a moment before he gave in, leaning closer until your noses were nearly touching. His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, his internal battle written all over his face.

“Are you just going to stand there and admire me, or are you going to do something about it?” you teased, your voice a soft purr as your fingers trailed down from his shoulders to his chest. Lowering down to his stomach.

Viktor let out a shaky laugh, his lips twitching as though he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Taking my breathe away,” he said, his voice low and filled with a mix of reverence and amusement. “You know this, yes?”

“Of course,” you replied, your eyes locking with his as you leaned back slightly in the chair, giving him a better view of your figure. “Now, are you going to unwrap your present, or should I do it for you?”

Viktor’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he simply stared at you, as though trying to commit every detail to memory. Then, with a determination that sent a thrill through you, he straightened and moved his hands from the armrests to your thighs, his touch was light. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns against the satin fabric, his movements reverent.

“My pretty gift,” he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. “Not just tonight, but always. How did I ever deserve you?”

“You don’t have to deserve me, Viktor,” you replied, your voice equally soft as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. “You just have to love me.”

“I do,” he said, his voice firm now, his amber eyes locking with yours. “More than I can ever express.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. You tugged him closer again, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow at first but quickly deepened. Viktor’s hands gripped your thighs more firmly, his restraint slipping as he poured every ounce of his love and need into the kiss. The bell at your sternum chimed softly as you shifted, the sound blending with the faint hum of the workshop’s machines. Viktor pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “The sound… It is perfect. Just like you.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you smiled against his lips. “Merry Christmas, Viktor,” you murmured.

“And to you, my love,” he replied, his voice full of warmth and promise as he leaned in for another kiss, the workshop fading away as the two of you lost yourselves in each other.

Viktor's breath lingered against your lips as he leaned in again, his hand cupping your jaw delicately. His kiss was featherlight at first, as though he were savoring the taste of you, committing every moment to memory. The softness of his lips, the way his thumb brushed against your cheek. It was achingly tender, his care evident in every movement. Time seemed to stretch as the two of you stayed like that, exchanging gentle kisses that grew slower, deeper, more meaningful with each passing moment.

Viktor's free hand found its way to your shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of the delicate strap of your lingerie. His other hand remained steady on your jaw, holding you as if you might disappear at any moment. When he finally pulled back, it wasn't far. His forehead rested against yours, and his amber eyes gazed into yours. His breathing was uneven, each exhale mingling with yours as the two of you stayed in this shared bubble of intimacy.

"You are..." he started, his voice hushed but thick with emotion, "you are more than I could have ever dreamed of. Sometimes I wonder if this is all some invention of my mind."

You chuckled softly, your hand rising to brush a strand of hair away from his face. "This is very real," you murmured, your voice filled with affection. "And so am I."

His lips curved into a faint smile, but the look in his eyes was serious, filled with love and awe. He nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over your face as though he were memorizing every detail. Then, without another word, he leaned in again, this time closing the distance with a kiss that was anything but hesitant. It was as though a dam had broken. His lips moved against yours with a new passion, every kiss filled with a need that had been simmering under the surface. His hand left your shoulder to slide down to your waist, pulling you closer against him. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, and a soft hum of pleasure escaped you, which only seemed to spur him on.

Viktor pulled back briefly, just long enough to catch his breath, his eyes darkened with desire as they met yours. "You make it hard to think straight," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent, sending a thrill through you.

"Isn’t that the point?" you teased, your voice soft but breathless as you pulled him closer, your arms wrapping around his neck. "Seems like I’m doing something right."

His response was a soft laugh, but it quickly dissolved as he dove back into the kiss, this time with even more passion. His hands slid around your waist, holding you firmly yet gently, and with a surprising strength, he lifted you out of the chair. Your body pressed flush against his as his arms wrapped around you, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the world. You yelped his name, surprised by the sudden action.

He only smiled, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something deeper. "Sure, full of surprises tonight," he murmured, "but two can play that game."

He turned, carefully sitting back in the chair while positioning you to straddle his lap. The new position made your breath hitch as your knees settled on either side of him, your bodies impossibly close. His hands settled on your waist again, holding you steady as his gaze roamed over you, lingering on the golden bell nestled against your chest.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward, and he reached out to flick the bell lightly again. The soft chime it produced seemed to echo through the workshop, and his eyes flicked back to yours, filled with mischief. "I like this sound," he admitted, his voice a little rough. "I may want to hear it more."

Your cheeks heated at his words, and you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. "You'll have to work for that," you teased, your fingers slipping under the edge of his vest, brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

Viktor's breath faltered as your hand brushed against him, his fingers tightening around your waist with a quiet intensity. "Everything about you is a temptation," he said softly, his voice laced with both admiration and desire.

You smiled up at him, a hint of playfulness in your eyes. "I think you're just weak for me," you teased, your voice tender and full of warmth.

His only response was another kiss, this one searing in its intensity. Your hands wandered further, slipping under his shirt to trace the lines of his torso. His body tensed slightly under your touch, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up your back and pulling you even closer against him.

The golden bell jingled softly with every movement, a reminder of the festive occasion, but the two of you were far too lost in each other to notice much else. Viktor's lips left yours to trail down your jaw, his kisses soft but deliberate as he moved to your neck. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, and a soft sigh escaped you as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot. You whined slightly, your hands tangling in his hair as he continued his care.

"Yes, my love?" he replied, his voice a soft whisper against your skin.

"Keep going, please-" you begged, your voice barely audible but filled with need.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your neck. "I had no intention of doing so," he assured you, his lips trailing back up to capture yours again in another passionate kiss.

Viktor’s hands slid down to your waist, gripping you more firmly as he pressed you closer against him. The movement was slow but deliberate, and your body instinctively followed his lead, your hips shifting to meet his. The only thing separating the two of you was the thin layer of fabric you wore.

He smiled faintly, though the intensity in his gaze never wavered. One of his hands trailed upward, brushing against the small of your back before settling there, holding you steady as he encouraged your movements with a subtle shift of his hips. The friction elicited a soft moan from you, and Viktor’s grip tightened slightly in response.

The sound of the golden bell ringing faintly between you only heightened the moment, the delicate chime contrasting with the growing intensity of your shared passion. Viktor’s lips left yours to trail along your jawline, leaving a path of warm, lingering kisses. When he reached the curve of your neck, his lips hovered there for a moment, his breath hot against your skin.

“...so perfect,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of reverence and longing.

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head to the side, giving him better access. “That's sweet of you to say,” you replied, your voice soft but playful.

Viktor let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against your neck. “Sweet, hmm?” he said, his tone laced with a teasing edge. “You may find I am not so sweet after all.”

“Viktor,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as you leaned closer, your lips brushing against his ear.

His response was a shaky exhale, his head dipping forward to press a kiss to your shoulder. “It is you,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “You make everything, every moment, so much more.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, your hands moving from his shoulders to cup his face. You guided his gaze back to yours, your thumb brushing lightly against his cheek. Viktor didn’t need to be told twice. His lips found yours again, and the two of you lost yourselves in each other, the rest of the world fading away. The chair creaked softly beneath you, but neither of you paid it any mind. All that mattered was the shared warmth between you, the unspoken promises conveyed in every kiss, every touch, every whispered breath.

His hands began to roam your body, not leaving a single part untouched. You began reaching down to undo the buttons of his trousers, and when you finally undid all of them, Viktor stopped. Looking at you in the eyes with a soft and kind expression. “My love, do you want to continue?

Then you slowly began stroke his cock starting with the tip, your thumb pressing lightly. This earned a ragged groan from him as he leaned his head back against the back of the chair.

“Y-you have… experience in everything don’t you? he whispered against your ear as your hand moved down to the base, pumping him a few times. Now that you actually look at it, it’s longer than what you thought. It has been so long since you found time to do this. He would always be so busy with his inventions, meeting with the council, etc.

Taking his now hard cock into your hand, you hovered over his hips. Your arousal was sticky, the soft layer that separated the two of you, clinging to your body. Then Viktor looped it around his finger, moving it to the side. “Go on,” he whispered his amber eyes looking at your with such love and desire. He took your smaller hand into his, helping you align his cock between your folds. “Let me help you.”

Oh, how you loved the way he looked at you. Maintaining eye contact while intimate always made you blush inside. Viktor began to slide it between your slick folds a few times, collecting the wetness that lingered before setting the thin fabric aside again. He pushed his tip slowly and antagonizing, as the two of you moaned softly. Leaning forward you flushed your chest against his, resting you head of his shoulder. He got ahold of your hips with a firm grip, slipping the palm of his hands towards the bottom of your ass.

He looked at you as he leaned toward you, his head laid on yours. Kissing you temple, as his lips brushed against your ear, reassuringly. “Doing alright, my love?”

You didn’t want to respond. Well, more like you couldn’t the overwhelming pleasure was too much for you so you just nodded in agreement. With that he began to lower you down, his cock slowly filling you up to the hilt. His long length being wrapped tightly by your walls, he wanted to let out a moan. But all that came out was a shaky sigh.

He slowly pulled out and pushed back in, each thrust causing soft, wet squelching sounds as your bodies met. The sound of your skin slapping was a reminder of how deeply he was filling you, every thrust a testament to the care he took in making sure you felt each inch of him. His pace was measured, slow, but intense. He was lost in the way your body responded to him, how tight and warm you were around him.

Every time he thrusted upwards, the golden bell that laid on your chest rang more loudly. It was like it ignited something in his that make his go slower but harder. He wanted to hear that bell ring more. The harder you bounced on his cock, the louder the bell rang. His chair creaked at the hinges from each impact.

Viktor kissed you slowly starting from the edge of your shoulder towards the end of your collarbone. Leaving wet kisses as he traveled up your neck, and finally reaching your jawline. His hand moving up between the valley of your chest. When he reached the precious bell, he flickered it with his fingers. Ding Ding Ding.

You had an idea, very brilliant one. Slowly you lifted yourself up from his hips, his cock falling limp. He looked up at you with curiosity.

He cupped your gently, “Where are you going?” he said softly, that it make your heart flutter even though you were in a compromising position. You didn’t say anything yet, thinking about how you were going to put your idea into words. A few seconds had passed before you could get the courage to ask.

“Where’s the ribbons at?” you asked, looking away shyly, not making eye contact with him.

“The satin ribbons we used for wrapping some of the presents?-” he replied, pondering trying to reach the depths of his mind to see if he can remember where he last placed them, unaware of your intentions.

You nodded yes, as he pointed towards a wooden cabinet near the table the two of you sat by. Walking over, with your legs trembling and weak, you reached the doors opening them with a creak. It was an old cabinet for sure. There were the ribbons, in the center with its pink satin colors slightly glowing with the dim lights. You picked it up and walked towards Viktor who was still siting in his chair, with somewhat of exhaustion lingering in his face.

Trying your best as you maintained eye contact, you lightly tied the ribbons around your chest. Once it was softly secure against your body with a bow finishing it off, you sat on his lap again.

Viktor’s hands, still gentle yet trembling with restraint, hovered over your waist as his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. The soft golden glow of the workshop lamps illuminated his tousled hair, casting shadows on his face that only deepened the intensity in his eyes. His breaths were shallow, and though his posture remained collected, you could feel the weight of his emotions beneath the surface.

“I… cannot do this to you,” he murmured into your ear, his voice thick. Accent curling around every word like a warm embrace. His eyes darted toward the ribbon tied loosely around your chest, the bell at its center giving a soft chime as you shifted.

You tilted your head, confused by the sudden hesitation. “Why not?” you asked, voice teasing but with curiosity.

Viktor pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that took your breath away. “Because…” He hesitated, his lips parting as if searching for the right words. “You are no gift to be unwrapped and claimed. You are so much more than that. I cannot bear to treat you as though you are anything less than my equal.”

His confession caught you off guard, your heart squeezing at the sincerity in his tone. There was something achingly vulnerable in the way he spoke, as if the very idea of reducing you to a “present” was an slur to the depth of his feelings for you.

The playful grin on your face softened into something more tender. “Oh-,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair, your touch gentle. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

A flicker of a smile touched his lips, though his blush deepened. “I mean every word,” he said softly, his fingers brushing over the edge of the ribbon with reverence. “But…” His gaze turned quite mischievous, his golden eyes glinting with newfound confidence. “If it must be someone, then tie me up instead.”

Your eyebrows raised at his suggestion, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You?”

“Why not?” His tone was soft, but his words carried a daring edge. “If you are to tease me like this, then it is only fair I surrender myself to your whims. Let me be yours.” The image of Viktor, bound in ribbons and entirely at your mercy, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a featherlight kiss before pulling back, your smile playful.

“You’re serious?”

His gaze never wavered. “For you? Of course, I’m always serious.” The boldness in his reply sent warmth flooding through you, and without hesitation, you reached for the loose ribbon on your chest, pulling it free with a gentle tug. It slid from your skin, the bell giving one last soft chime before you wrapped it around your hands.

“Let’s see how you handle being my present,” you slightly teased, looping the ribbon around his arms. Strapping them to the arms rest of the chair. Once you finished tying him up (with the finishing touches being bows on each side), you went on your knees placing you hands on his thighs. Caressing them upwards until it reached his glistening length.

One of your hands eagerly ran from base to shaft, the other resting comfortably on his thigh as your lips eagerly sucked on the tip. Biting your lower lip, you pulled your eyes away just for a second to glance at how evident he was. His length had gained its strength. You just can’t help the smile that breaks over your face. You were staring up at him through your eyelashes as you work your hands and mouth. His breath is shaking, as you go to lick up his length he quickly brings a hand towards your hair to curl into your head.

“Fuck.” he whispered out, so much pleasure building already with the added height of fear of someone walking in at anytime. Bursting through the door, like someone would always do.

Removing yourself briefly you locked eyes with him. “You are sure enjoying yourself, huh?” you let out a small chuckle, lightly scraping your teeth while looking back up at him with am innocent smile.

“S-stop teasing-” he softly stuttered, his hand laced back into your hair pushing you back down on his length.

You pressed your lips against the head of his cock, tongue darting out to taste the precum there. You gave kitten licks, wrapping your hand around the base and giving his length gentle pumps.

You maintained the eye contact, looking up at him while kissing his sensitive skin. Your free hand massaged his leg, up and down his thigh to ease the pain there and earning you another pleased sigh from his lips as his eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, sagging back into his chair. As you continued, your hand found his, lacing your fingers together to ground himself. He let out soft moans, bucking his hips a bit as he muttered sweet nothings you couldn’t understand.

Taking his tip into your mouth, you began to lap and suck it before pushing yourself further. As you continued, he got louder without hesitation (though it wasn't loud enough it could be heard through the door) and more whinier.

He whined, moaning your name as softly. His muscles tensed as he gripped the arms of the chair, hard enough to make his knuckles go white. His chest moved upwards, voice breaking as he begged you to slow down between more broken begging of your name.

You ignored them, tears beginning to build and spill from your eyes as your own body demanded an end to the constant badgering at the back of your throat. He groaned loudly; your only warning before he was coming, thick, hot streams jetting into your mouth. You whimpered slightly.

His eyes are soft, almost shy. “Let me return the favor,” he says as he lifts up his head to look down at you, his voice low, warm. With careful movements, you stood up from your knees which were slightly red due to the hard floor as you straddled him once again.

You melted into him, feeling safe and loved. “Is there anything you want for Christmas?” Viktor asks, his voice hesitant, as though he’s unsure of what you’ll say.

You think for a moment, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "I want you to be a father," you say quietly, your heart full of warmth as you look into his eyes.

Viktor’s face flushes a deep red, his grip tightening gently around the chairs armrest. He looks at you as if processing your words, his expression both surprised and touched. Slowly, he adjusts you, making sure you’re comfortable as you straddle his lap once more. then you remembered that you hadn't came yet, so its a perfect opportunity.

Sinking down his sensitive length you let out a moan, your hands gripped the bottom of his vest. Viktor began to breath heavily, matching yours perfectly. Burying himself deep inside of you, wanting so badly to pull you into a hug. Sadly, his hands were still restrained. He whined against your lips, "C-can you untie the bows, Please-"

"Sorry Goldie, No can do," you said teasingly with a soft voice, wiggling your finger no towards his face.

He kept hitting the perfect spot, over and over again. It felt amazing. You leaned towards him, hands resting on his chest. Then you laid your head over his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He desperately wanted to hug you back that it was painfully noticeable. How he moved his head, caressing it against your arm. Smelling your scent of vanilla bean and coconut oil as he ran his big slightly curvy nose bumping on your forearm.

“Can you please untie me, my love” he begged once again, his hips bucking against yours delicately. The way he looked at you with the softness in his amber eyes. Oh, you couldn’t resist much. Barely lasting more than 5 minutes having his hands tied up, such a desperate man. Leaning back slightly with his cock still inside of you, you began to untie the bows. Luckily, you didn’t tie them tightly around his wrists so they easily came off in seconds.

Immediately, his hands went straight to your ass again, like earlier. This time however he spread them wider, the pleasure overwhelming his senses unable to fully control his grip on you. As he thrusted upwards, he set a slighter faster but nevertheless harder pace.

Viktor's hand slip up to the small on your back, pulling you towards his chest. All you could do was lay against him as he continued his pace. Occasionally you would bounce on him, nearly pulling out before going back down. But it was very difficult to keep up with him as he desperately tried to find his own release inside of you after a longing of teasing. This would also will be the first time tonight for you. The ringing of the bell intensified with every thrust.

Clutching at his black button-up shirt, now stained with your tears of pleasure and a bit of drool. As you finally started to find your own release, the lewd squelching sounds were present in the room. Moans and soft gasps were all that could be heard from the two of you alongside the whispered of encourage he would speak into your ear.

You’re doing so good.

Taking me so well.

With every second that passed by, the closer your climax was. It was a close call though seconds apart, but you were the first one. Squirting on his cock with some of it dripping down to his pants as it spilled out of you. Then he came inside of you, shooting his load deep inside. Filling you up to the brim, hoping that with this your Christmas wish would come true in the next 9 months.

He caressed your back as he pulled you off him, sitting you back on his lap. Soaked by your arousal, luckily his pants were black.

“Best gift ever.” he simply said as he smiled, looking at your face that rested on his shoulder in exhaustion. Ringing the bell on your chest with his slender fingers, once again.

You sat on his lap, your legs tucked to one side, cradled securely by his strong arm wrapped around your waist. His other hand rested lightly on your thigh, his thumb brushing idle patterns your soft skin. Your head rested against his shoulder, and his faint scent surrounded you into the present. Viktor’s heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, and the rise and fall of his chest matched your own.

"You’re quiet," he murmured, his voice soft and slightly raspy. "Are you alright, my love?"

You tilted your head to look up at him, his amber eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and adoration. "I’m fine," you whispered, your lips curving into a small smile. "Just...happy."

A rare, genuine smile tugged at Viktor’s lips, and his hand moved to cup your cheek, his fingers gentle and warm. "Good," he said simply, but the weight behind the word spoke volumes.

His eyes studied you, his gaze lingering on the faint flush of your cheeks and the way your lashes fluttered as you looked at him. "You take such good care of me," he continued, his tone tinged with both gratitude and guilt.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his expression softened further. Viktor’s hand slid from your cheek to your back, pulling you closer until your foreheads rested together. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, and you closed your eyes, letting the world outside the lab fade away.

"Stay like this a little longer," he whispered, his voice a gentle plea.

"I’m not going anywhere," you promised, your hand finding its way to his chest, where you felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

His lips brushed your temple in a featherlight kiss, and you felt him relax further beneath you, his body molding against yours as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle. For a man who often carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, you holding him close to your heart, was the best gift you could ask for.

taglist. @simsaelies @urboylys @nanamea @luneariaa @minagrayson @aliives @jinxsfavoritepookie @gxrextxgaidk @anna1-1 @bl-0-ndi-3

[veseartheneum]

pairing — tattoo artist!zayne x f!reader cw — fluff author note — my first headcannon post, and I honestly cannot stop thinking about him

tattoo artist!zayne who, when you’re feeling needy for his touch and he’s swamped with designs, will wordlessly pat his lap and help you straddle his thighs so he can hold you close while he works. although he prefers it when you sit sideways on his lap; he will steal glances at you while you either fidget with the hem of his shirt or sweater, or while you mindlessly play on his phone. 

tattoo artist!zayne has a quiet, thorough act of loving you that renders you speechless. have a busy day ahead of you at work? he’s packed a full lunch for you with a thermos of your favourite drink. planning on staying home and waiting for him to come home? he’s already overfilled a snack tray and loaded numerous streaming services to fulfil your binging needs. if your day goes longer than his and you arrive home after him in a state of exhaustion? never you worry, he’s already drawn a bath and prepared your favourite meal, and afterwards? you better be ready to be pampered to within an inch of your life — even if it meant he had to wear a face mask, too. 

tattoo artist!zayne who on the outside and to anyone unassuming appears cold, distant, and unkind. but as soon as you were around, the smile he only reserved for you could rival the blooming of rose fields for its beauty. 

tattoo artist!zayne who, of course, had the biggest sweet tooth, but nothing makes his heart melt faster than when you arrive at his shop, dressed in his clothes, and carrying a box of freshly baked macarons from his favourite patisserie.

tattoo artist!zayne would only pause momentarily while in the zone to stretch his arms where he sat — whether that be in his office at home or in his booth at his shop — you would watch the way his shoulders rolled and moved with each strain. his almost pained grunt when his shoulders popped made you shake your head with fondness; no matter how much he chided you for pushing your body, his own advice fell on deaf ears. the idea overtook you as though it was instinct — you rose from your place on the sofa and walked silently towards him, only stopping when his head, flexed backwards so he his closed eyes faced the ceiling, was resting against your body. he hummed in greeting, and your fingers brushed through strands of soft, black hair. Your movements parted his meticulously kept wolf cut to scratch gently at his scalp. “feels good, love,” he rasped, pushing into your touch while ignoring the way the high back of his chair dug into his back. “don’t stop.”

tattoo artist!zayne always fostered your creativity, whether it be budding and only beginning, or flourishing and wild in its passion — he only ever wanted to see you thrive and happy, so when you present him with a possible idea, a doodle on a sticky note — or heaven forbid, something made for him that you put your time and effort into? that man was on the floor, on his knees, and reverent in his praise. 

tattoo artist!zayne and the way he observed the world — calculating forest green eyes would sweep over you endlessly under the guise of inspiration. he would take the lines and curves of your body and recreate them into such a finely created masterpiece for only your eyes, in a heartbeat. 

tattoo artist!zayne would hide small drawings on variously shaped sticky notes around your home to find while he’s gone on work events. each and every single one would hold significance — the day you first laughed, truly laughed at one of his awful jokes while you lay sprawled in a flower field, would be conveyed by an intricate daisy, decorated with stars and hearts to replicate the glow of your smile.

tattoo artist!zayne texted you between clients about how he missed you and gently checked your water intake for the day. if it wasn’t satisfactory, he would encourage you in his own way to keep it up and maintain a healthy amount — you were his good girl, after all. 

tattoo artist!zayne always hugged you as though it would be the last time. they were all encompassing and wholly consuming, leaving nothing but a bursting warmth in your chest from just how loved each of his embraces make you feel from unspoken words conveyed by affection. he was a man of action, in the end.

[heartfullofleeches]

[TW: Cheating]

"W-wait! My partner could be home any minute! They can't see us like this!"

His words fall on deaf ears - Serpent's tongue grazing all the right places to leave him gasping, knuckles raking at the bedsheets for mercy. Your lips curl into a devilish grin, the pointed hook of your canines threatening to pierce the ever tender flesh of his neck as your body pins him to the mattress.

"Oh really? So worried about them finding out, yet it's me you crawl back every night."

Wicked laughter muffled by the heat of his skin - kiss upon kiss shaping the arch of his spine as his bare chest shutters against your own.

"Tell me... What do you love about them that prevents you from ditching them for good?"

The blank wall of his mind paint a vague picture - the ethereal figure of his one, true love. Where could he begin? How could he? His brain was a slurry of useless pulp between his ears, rendered defective from your onslaught of kisses, and bites, and licks that shook him down to his core.

"Fuck....I don't even know where to- I-I."

His eyes squeeze shut - harnessing what little cognitive function he had left behind the backs of his eyelids. Their smell. Their laughter. Even the little things like reminding him to drink water. It overwhelms him, swallowing him whole. He's trapped in their clutches with no means of escape. Not that he'd ever want to.

"T-they're.... They're everything to me. I wouldn't be in the place I am now if it weren't for them. Waking up by their side each morning, feeling their breath of my skin. I'd give anything for it. Even my own life."

He pants out, tears squeezing from his welded lids as he babbles on.

"People say I'm cute, but deep down I've never felt like I was. Not until them. When they look at me, I feel seen. How somebody so breathtaking can love a guy like me- I, I can't put it into words how much purpose it gives me."

He croaks - tears streaming down his cheeks like an overturned faucet. He cries, he sniffles, curling further into you - begging to be devoured by your light.

"I love you! I love you so fucking much it hurts! Don't leave me! Stay with me! I need you more than anything! I-"

...

".....Tuna casserole."

Bitter acidity rises to the roof of his mouth at the very mention of the dreaded dish from his childhood. Brie sticks out his tongue, nose scrunched as if he just bit into something sour.

Brie shoots up as you crawl off him - Reaching over to turn off the camera stationed on his nightstand without a word.

"Babe? Why'd you stop? Did I do something wrong?"

He feels naked- Shirtless, sure, but nude in the sense of vulnerability. He bites at his lower lip, braces scraping the inner walls of his mouth as you just stare at him. Unblinking.

Brie squeals as you tackle him into the mattress - cradling his head to your exposed chest.

"Are you okay?! Did you even hear yourself, Brie? You were crying!"

"Oh!" Brie dabs at the corner of his eye with his thumb, rolling the wetness between his fingertips.

"Guess I got a little too carried away."

He hugs onto your arm, whining as he buries his face into your skin.

"Wahhh! Why doesNTR have to be such a popular genre?! I've never agree to anything like this if you didn't agree to it and that chatter hadn't paid so much for it! You're my entire world, babe! I'd pluck my own eyes out before chasing after another tail!"

Kissing his forehead, you web your fingers through his hair - combing out the tangible threads. "Hey, hey- Like you said, I was the one who agreed to this in the first place. I know you're crazy about me. And I'm crazy about you. I'm not going to leave you, Brie."

Brie gazes up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes he can muster, watching you like you yourself crafted the heavens above.

"I love you so damn much! What do you want for dinner? I'll buy you whatever you want! You know I have the cash! Let's go shopping! I wanna spoil my babe so badly for putting up with me and those awful perverts who watch us!"

"Haha, let's finish recording first - if you're feeling up for it."

[stellaspectral]

Could I request headcannons on how the rise! and 2012turtles would react to artist reader, who draws them for fun, is embarassed to admit it though but they catch a glimps of a drawing of them which they made? :)

A/N: Sure! 💖

Rise & 2012 Turts React to Artist!Reader

💚 ROTTMNT & 2012 Turtles/Gender Neutral Reader 💚

CWs: None. All characters are aged-up.

Rise!Leo

He’d spot your art with a smirk. “Well, well, well, what artistic endeavor are we hiding here?”

Once he realizes the artwork is of them, and especially him (hopefully in a dynamic, cool pose): “Oh ho ho! You’ve captured my good side! And my other good side!”

Finds it immediately hilarious and endearing. Like, “Aw, you’ve been drawing my perfect face this whole time?” 100% teases you about it but never in a mean way.

He’d absolutely lap up the attention, even if it’s accidental. He’d tease you good-naturedly about your “secret fan art.”

“Don’t be embarrassed! Clearly, you have excellent taste in subjects. Especially this handsome devil.” *finger guns*

Might start posing more dramatically around you “just in case” you want to draw him again. “You know, I am your muse now. That’s canon.”

Like he’ll dramatically fling himself onto the couch, “Oh, woe is me, struck by the sudden urge to be artistically rendered in a moment of heroic contemplation!” He’ll then wink.

Lowkey keeps checking your sketchbook when you’re not looking. Not to snoop—just in case you drew him again.

Rise!Raph

At first, upon seeing your art, he’d be like, “Huh? Whatcha got there?”

Once he sees it, especially if it’s a cool action shot of him looking heroic: “WHOA! Is that ME?! That looks SO COOL!”

He’d be genuinely impressed and flattered, not really understanding why you’re embarrassed. “Why hide this? It’s awesome!”

Raph will pretend he’s not paying attention, but he’ll definitely be flexing a bit more or holding his “cool big brother” stance a little longer if he thinks you might be drawing him.

Raph wouldn’t request, but if you drew a really good action sequence of him protecting his brothers, he’d stare at it for a long time with a big smile.

Gets all flustered but proud. Keeps sneaking peeks at your sketchbook like he doesn’t want to be caught doing it.

Sometimes acts nonchalant, but if you show him a drawing you’re proud of, he gets super shy.

If you ever draw him looking soft or happy, he’ll stare at it longer than he means to. Those are the ones he secretly likes most.

Rise!Donnie

He’d approach your art with scientific curiosity. “An unauthorized artistic rendering? Intriguing.”

He’d analyze the style, the accuracy of his tech and the anatomical proportions. “Hmm, the depiction of my battle shell’s articulation is surprisingly accurate. Did you have reference material, or is this from memory?”

He’d be genuinely impressed by the skill, even if his compliments sound a bit clinical. He might subtly suggest improvements for “technical accuracy” next time.

Probably starts asking technical questions about your process before realizing you’re blushing like mad. “Wait, you’re embarrassed? But you … nailed my jaw structure.”

Donnie might “casually” start working on a particularly intricate piece of tech nearby, angling it so you get a “good view of its complex inner workings, should you choose to document it.”

Donnie might offer to 3D print little maquettes of them for you to use as reference. “It would improve anatomical accuracy by at least 15%, though your current observational skills are, frankly, quite impressive.” He’d also be fascinated if you drew their mystic powers, analyzing how you interpret non-physical energy.

Starts leaving small upgrades for your drawing supplies—new pens, sketchpads, even a custom-built stylus if you’re digital.

Might ask if he can scan your sketches into his files for “data preservation.” (It’s 100% just because he wants to look at them.)

Rise!Mikey

Pure, unadulterated excitement upon seeing your art. “O! M! G! Is that US?! You DREW us?!”

He’d be bouncing off the walls, absolutely thrilled. “This is the COOLEST THING EVER! Look at me, I look so dynamic! And the colors!”

He’d be the most understanding of your shyness but also the most enthusiastic about getting you to share. “Aww, don’t hide it! This is amazing!”

Would probably hug you and the drawing (if you let him).

Mikey is your hype-man. He’d also try to “collaborate” by adding his own doodles or stickers to your sketchbook page if you let him (and sometimes if you don’t).

Wants to see every single page. Will not drop it even if you’re begging him not to look.

Might tape one of the sketches to the wall in the lair, claiming it’s “museum-worthy.”

Starts calling himself your “muse supreme” or “artspiration.”

2012!Leo

Sees the sketch accidentally while helping you pick up something. His leader instincts would kick in. “What’s this?”

Once he sees it’s them: a moment of surprise, then a small, almost imperceptible smile. “You … you drew us?”

He’d be quite touched. “This is … very good. You’re very talented.”

He’d be gentle about your embarrassment. “There’s no need to be ashamed. It’s clear you put a lot of effort into this.”

He’d appreciate the gesture deeply, seeing it as a sign of your trust and friendship, but might subtly ask if you’ve shown anyone else.

Leo might “coincidentally” practice his katana forms where you have a good vantage point, holding poses slightly longer. If you look up and catch his eye, he’d offer a small, encouraging nod before resuming.

“You drew me … with my swords out. That’s … really cool. And kinda flattering.” He’s a little shy about it but tells you he likes it. Probably doesn’t mention it again unless you bring it up, but will treasure the mental image. Secretly hopes there’s more.

Also secretly keeps a folded version of your sketch in a book or drawer. Doesn’t talk about it much, but it clearly means a lot. He’ll defend your art fiercely if anyone downplays it.

2012!Raph

“Hey, what are you hidin’?” Gruff as usual when he spots your art, but still curious.

Sees the drawing. Eyebrow ridge raises. A beat of silence. “… Is that supposed to be me?”

At first, he might joke a little to hide how touched he is. “Could’ve made me buffer, but okay.” Gets a little red in the ears. “Thanks … for drawin’ me, I guess.”

If you made him look tough and cool, a tiny, almost invisible smirk might appear. He’d scoff at your embarrassment. “What, you think it’s bad or somethin’? It’s … not terrible.” (Which is high praise from him).

Might try to act like it’s not a big deal, but he keeps checking if you’ve drawn him again.

If you catch him staring at a drawing for too long, he’ll grumble, “It’s not like I asked you to draw me lookin’ cool …”

You notice he starts sticking around longer when you sketch, trying to act casual. And he might leave little “suggestions” like: “If you’re gonna draw me again, maybe this pose would be cool. Just sayin’.”

Once, after a hard mission, you gave him a sketch of him looking strong and protective. He kept that one.

2012!Donnie

His initial reaction is genuine curiosity. “Oh, what have you got there?”

His eyes would widen slightly upon seeing the drawing. “Fascinating! Is that … us? Your grasp of our unique physiology is quite impressive! Did you use references? This foreshortening is impressive.”

He’d be technically complimentary. But then he looks up and sees you looking like you’re about to evaporate and realizes—oh. You were keeping that private.

He’d be understanding of your embarrassment. “Oh, please don’t feel self-conscious! It’s a wonderful piece of art. Perhaps you could even help me design some new tech interfaces with your artistic eye?”

He’d probably ask if he could scan it to “analyze the artistic rendering techniques for his database.”

Donnie might start explaining the mechanics of his latest invention to you in more detail, “hoping you can visualize it.” A subtle hint for you to draw it.

Donnie would scan them at high resolution and keep them in a password-protected folder on his T-Phone, possibly analyzing your evolving style over time.

He’d love a drawing of you and him working on tech together. He might even frame it in his lab.

2012!Mikey

Upon seeing your art: “What’s that?! Ooh, a drawing!” Then his jaw would drop. “NO WAY! YOU DREW US?! THAT’S AWESOME-SAUCE!”

He’d be incredibly hyped, grabbing the drawing (gently!) to get a closer look.

You’re dying inside but he’s already flipping through your sketchbook. “Why didn’t you show me sooner?! We could’ve been an artist team! I model, you draw—BOOM.”

He’d be completely oblivious to why you’re embarrassed, or rather, he’d try to overwhelm your embarrassment with pure enthusiasm.

Would immediately start posing and asking you to draw him right now.

Mikey would have a “super-secret awesome art stash” hidden somewhere only he (and maybe Ice Cream Kitty) knows about.

Wants to hang the art in his room. Constantly asks when the next “issue” of “Mikey Art” is coming out.

If you ever get insecure about your art, he’ll hug you tight. “Dude. You made me look awesome. That’s, like, peak talent.”

[anantaru]

What do you think about “Mean Bodyguard Blade?” And this is my first send you a ask🥺

cw. mean bodyguard blade, reader wears a dress + bratty reader, fem! reader

bodyguard blade whose patience was always running thin whenever he had to put up with your sugarcoated "bullshit", as he referred to it— and you're wondering how long it will take tonight until he's losing his cool again.

keep in mind, he was in the right— because you can be such a little brat sometimes, with every intention hoping for an outcome like this, you're doing it on purpose and in your opinion there really was nothing better than seeing blade become terribly frustrated with you trying to see just how far you could push him until he snaps.

granted that he did like it, blade found himself downright mesmerized by the awful playfulness you made him go through on a daily.

bodyguard blade who can very well see the big droplets of tears slowly surface at the corners of your eyes when he presses you against the wall just after you managed to piss him off again— salty globules of crystallines boiling up and threatening to spill over until they'd end up slithering across your cheeks when he traps you against a cold wall, his muscular chest turning it impossible for you to find an escape route.

in all truth, how can he not entertain the lewd fantasy of punishing you for misbehaving?

when all you have done thus far was manage to turn him achingly hard, his dick wishing to just be inside of you that it burns him from the inside. it hurts so much, and blade knows you can take it, if you're doing your best and trying really hard.

would you be a little nicer to him as well? obviously after he forcibly turns you around and flips your dress up to expose your ass before smacking the flesh, feeling it jiggle underneath his palm, next to searching for your hole with his reddened tip so you could shut up for just a little while, yeah?

you're practically waiting for it, and the sudden stinging from his tip breaching through the soft patch of your hole shuts you up, only until he moves his hips forward with one single, deep snap— and you're arching your back and moaning his name unbearably filthy, focusing on the stretch of your tiny cunt.

you do not want to show him that you're enjoying it real good right now, also adore it when he's rendering you speechless with the size of his dick alone— because as natural as it was, you let your stubbornness kick in, "ahh— i don't feel anything.." you mumble under your breath, intentionally smug within your choice of tone.

you remind yourself that next time— you need to piss him off even more, because it's always a borderline delicious feeling when your bodyguard blade makes it his duty to remind you that, yes, he was employed by you and was supposed to be your protector— it still did not mean you were simply allowed to play violin with his nerves, nor turn him desperately hard when you're accidentally nudging your plush ass against his bulge or bite your bottom lip whenever he talks to you.

maybe even wear a skirt that was way too short for you, the fabric always exposing a slight outline of your behind.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[lulublack90]

Prompt 7 - Pepper-Up Potion

@wolfstarmicrofic April 7, word count 753

“You were so funny last time, you know. You kept nipping at my tail and when you finally got it I turned, and you had this cheeky grin on your face. I couldn’t even be mad at you,” Sirius babbled away as Remus carefully measured out the ingredients for their potion. There had been an outbreak of flu around the castle and Madam Pomfrey was running low on Pepper-Up Potion, so Slughorn had had the bright idea to get his fifth years to brew up a few batches in their lesson. 

“Sirius, please, you know I’m not as good at this as you are, and I need to concentrate,” Remus begged as he finished chopping and mashing the mandrake root. Sirius ignored him and continued describing their last run in the forest. 

While the mandrake root was absorbing into the cauldron water, Remus began grinding the Bicorn horn.

“Prongs hit a tree. Oh, Remus, I wish you could remember it. He got his antlers stuck on a low-hanging branch and you started licking him. He got even more tangled trying to get away from you,” 

“Sirius, please,” Remus groaned. He carefully added another cup of water to the cauldron and tipped in the Bicorn horn powder. He let it heat for a minute before lowering the flames and covering the cauldron. He had half an hour now. He looked over at Sirius’s potion. He was already ahead of Remus. He had no idea how. Sirius hadn’t stopped talking the entire time. 

Half an hour later, Remus was sporting a pounding headache. He was beginning to feel achy like he did in the days close to the full moon. But that was nowhere near. He shivered. The alarm he set went off, and he uncovered his cauldron and started the final few steps. 

He threw the thyme in and watched the sprigs swill around as he stirred the potion four times in a clockwise motion. Slowly he dripped in five drops of salamander blood. His nose began to run. He let out a little cough as he stirred the potion again, two times, this time anti-clockwise. He glared over and Sirius was stoppering his last vial of potion. 

Remus needed to concentrate now. He needed to be very precise on this next step. If he didn’t time it exactly right when he added each of the Fire seeds, the potion would be ruined. He dropped the first one in. Remus waited a minute, then dropped the next one in. He only had two left now. 

The next minute was nearly up when Sirius started talking again.  

“You were so tired once we got back. I’ve never seen you like that. I thought you were going to fall asleep on the floor as soon as you got inside, but Moony went upstairs and collapsed on the mattress. He curled up into this tiny little ball. I honestly have no idea how you managed to make yourself so small. You were so cute!” Sirius nudged him playfully and Remus accidentally dropped the last two seeds in at the same time. The potion began to bubble wildly and then, instead of turning a bright red, it turned dark and evaporated away, scorching the bottom of his cauldron and rendering it useless. An entire lesson's worth of effort was wasted. 

“Fuck sake,” he whined. He lowered his head to the desk. He felt awful. 

“Sorry Remus,” Sirius apologised profusely. He cleared up Remus’s ruined potion and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s only a potion, Remus, why are you so upset?” He kept his hand on Remus’s shoulder. “You’re feeling a bit warm, Moony,” and that’s when Remus threw up. “Ah. I think you might need one of these,” Sirius offered Remus one of his vials before vanishing the mess under their desk. Remus glared at him as he downed the potion. Steam erupted out of his ears and Sirius had to suck his lips into his mouth to stop himself from laughing. 

Thankfully, the lesson ended then and Remus decided to skip his final few classes and go get into bed. 

He woke up a few hours later to find a cup of tea, a plate of buttered toast, both magically kept warm for him, and a fresh vial of Pepper-Up potion. There was a note next to his tea. 

‘Get better soon, Moony,

Love Sirius,’

He smiled weakly and grabbed the vial of potion. He was going to need it. This flu made him feel terrible. 

[ision]

SKI TRIP MEET CUTE ( >﹏<;。)

ft snowboard instructor haechan

☆¸¸ .•*★.

“Oh God…” you muttered out, shakily, as you felt your body lean further and further forward. Helplessly, you waved your arms in the air as if that would somehow gain enough momentum to propel you into balance. It didn’t. And you had never hated the feeling of cold snow in your face more, served with stale utter humiliation in front of all the other 20-somethings at the snow slope.

“Oh my God, get up…” your friend said, pulling up your limp body as well as they could seeing as your board was still attached to you. As you were brushing off the snow that stuck onto you, the sound of someone racing past you caught your attention. The person glided effortlessly, a GoPro in their hand as they flew off the jumps and spun in the air. You didn’t need to have counted the twists and turns to know that the move was impressive, all their spins blurred into one.

“You like his moves?” your head snapped to your left, a foreign voice breaking you out of your reverie, enchanted by the performance. “Your stance is wrong.”

“Huh?” You replied. A man, with an olive-green jacket, appeared a few feet away from your side. “Your body isn’t low enough, bend your legs a bit more. But don’t be too stiff in the legs either.” You nodded, trying to make sense of the unsolicited advice, and also trying to push past the shame of someone witnessing your relentless, deplorable attempts at snowboarding. “Honestly, keep trying, the first hundred tries are always awful, but after that, they get a lot better,” the man said. You couldn’t really make out his face what with his helmet and visor blocking your way, but he seemed nice enough.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how I’d do that,” you said, thinking about his words. “I can show you?” You pondered for a few seconds, should you trust him? But, it’s not like he could snatch you away and hide you in the neighbouring wilderness, it’s near impossible to walk with your feet strapped in. “Sure,” you said, pulling up the collar of your turtleneck-ed fleece.

‘I’m Haechan,” he held his gloved hand out for you to shake. “Hold my hands,” Haechan said, “or hold onto my cuffs, if you don’t want to.” Smiling sheepishly at his remark, you placed both hands into his ones, and despite the layers of fabric between them, there was a warmth from the embrace, which felt wonderful to your frozen hands. Your cheap, rented gloves hadn’t been doing much to keep the cold out.

“Ok, now bend your knees… lower.. a bit more, there! Keep that level, and keep this stance” he talked you through your corrections. Eventually, he deemed your position sufficient enough and slowly started to drag you down, his back facing the net at the base of the slope as you glide on your board horizontally. It was a bit funny how here you were, struggling to perform a basic move let alone any tricks or turns, whilst Haechan effortlessly snowboarded backwards. Laughable, really.

You knew you looked awkward for sure, trying to maintain your position whilst fighting against the urge to lock your legs in place. But it was nice, the way you moved over the snow was satisfying, smooth, and so much better than before. You don’t think you said a word down that whole slope, the concentration and adrenaline made a deafening mix. “Ok, I’m letting go now,” his voice startled you, and you lost your balance and leaned forward, your hands clasping his tighter. “No Haechan, don’t you dare,” you pleaded, the panic rendering you desperate. If he left you now, you don’t think you’d be able to make it back in one piece, and you really did not want to embarrass yourself in front of him. He shook his head slightly. “Ok then, as you wish,” Haechan replied, a smile tugging at his lips, and continued to bring you down the slope.

“Lean back a bit more,” Haechan said. You were quite close to the end of the slope now. “Bit more… no the other way… wait-” you got a tad overexcited. Leaning too far forward when the person in front of you was riding backwards, and hence was also leaning backwards, wasn’t the best idea. “I’m so sorry!” You jumped up off of Haechan, who looked like the wind had been kicked out of him. “think… you just … killed me,” he gasped out between breaths, with a fist held to his chest dramatised. Rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you helped him up. “How was it? Did it feel easier?” You nodded with a smile on your face “Yes, it was amazing!”

“I’m glad,” he said. He leaned forward and lightly tugged on the strands of hair that had come out of your helmet, “it’s ok if you fall over though, you have these to anchor you when I’m not there to fall on.”

“Hey!” You pulled the hair away, not missing the teasing smile Haechan had on. “Sorry, sorry,” he lifted his hands to surrender, “I’m so sorry that I’ll buy you a drink.” You felt a little flushed. “Or I can Venmo you, if you’re not interested.” You let out a laugh at that, shaking your head. “I’d love a drink, but I should reward you for your help, instructor Haechan,” you smiled at how he tried to brush off his fluster from your words. Today was a success in all senses. It didn’t count if your only fall was at the end of the run, right?

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 8

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: You struggle to come to terms with your supposed death, everything you've had and everything you've lost, all the blood that stains your hands, a mating bond, and most importantly, finding your place in the world after all of it.

Warnings: Feelings of depression, suicide ideation, a hint of social anxiety and agoraphobia, awful self image, all around angst sorry, some depictions of violence

Word Count: 6860

Notes: I actually got a little too lost in my head writing this chapter but it ended up being somewhat cathartic writing my feelings through someone else's. It ended up taking me longer than expected to finish this part though, I'm sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy!

Part 7

You can feel him sitting by your door. Even if the deafening mating bond weren't screaming in elation at his proximity, the enhanced senses you've exhausted yourself training for in that Gods forsaken guild would have let you know. You don't deserve any of it. Not his worry, not his loyalty or his love, certainly not the bond. Maybe you had, a long time ago, but that female was ripped away from you, from him.

The shadowsinger probably paints a tragic picture. Sitting on the cold floor, back against the closed, heavy door, hunched over his own body, powerful wings laying by his sides, waiting for a selfish mate who will not open the door no matter how much he pleads or how long he waits, who can barely bring herself to get out of bed, let alone face the male whose life she brought nothing but ruin and heartache.

Ever since Rhys tore down the walls keeping your memories away, there has been a war raging inside you, one in which there will be no victors. It has been eating you away from the inside. You feel like two people have lived in this body before, led completely different lives, and have now abandoned it for you to deal with the scraps and somehow put the pieces back together.

It's almost impossible to keep up with the passing of time as you are. Weeks, maybe even months could have passed since that day. There was a sense of relief when the walls first came crumbling down, even happiness when you saw Azriel and recognized him as the male you loved beyond words, but everything else rushed into your mind the next moment and rendered you speechless.

One moment you had been sitting in Azriel's lap, and in the next the breath was knocked out of your lungs, and a deep ache spread over your body. It felt like your entire being was on fire and drowning at the same time as you saw numerous people die at your hands. It felt foreign, you felt foreign. You started clawing at your own skin, trying to get that hateful person out, ripping your flesh apart desperately. You don't remember what happened next, though you vaguely recall Azriel's anguished screams. Rhys had probably come and rendered you unconscious, effectively calming you down and giving you what must have been the last peaceful night of sleep since then.

You don't know who you are anymore. You can't be sure if you ever did. All those years ago, when you married Azriel, you thought you knew exactly who you were, what your values and aspirations were, how you'd spend your life. You had plans and dreams. It all feels like one giant, heartbreakingly realistic fantasy now, like that life in itself was an idealistic dream.

Looking back now, you know you had simply been sheltered. You had led a privileged life, protected by your parents when they were alive and then by Azriel. Because the person you so easily became when Norris took you had to be living under your skin all along, waiting for an opportunity to show her claws. Someone can't do even half of the things you've done if they had been truly good to begin with. Norris had simply coaxed this hateful, bloodthirsty monster out of you.

Perhaps you should have thanked him before you killed him, if it weren't for him you would have kept living that lie until your last breath. You would have tried tampering it down until you couldn't anymore, until that vile thing ripped open your skin, escaped its bounds and destroyed everything in its path. Would you have hurt Azriel if you had stayed? Killed his entire family in cold blood? The family who took you in like you were one of their own, who were there for you to show you love and happiness when you thought you had lost everything with your parents' deaths.

And what now? Which one were you now, if any at all? You know you're far from the starry eyed female who walked these halls a century ago, arm looped into her loving husband's, who was ready to face any challenge that was put in front of her so long as he stayed by her side. Who dreamt of buying a house and decorating it to both of their tastes, who planned a life by his side down to the last detail. In sickness and in health, in life and in death. What a joke.

The fearless killer was a stranger to you as well. She'd committed atrocities with this body, soaked your hands in blood, but she at least had a purpose, even if she hadn't been the one to find it for herself. The guild trained her, made her strong, and gave her missions. Her life had some sort of meaning, one even she wasn't proud of, no matter how many times she forced herself to emulate her handler, swallow down the guilt that threatened to eat her whole, but a meaning nonetheless. When she eventually snapped she would become one of the few who had been stupid enough to try and escape the guild, maybe even try to paint her blade with Norris' blood. That alone would have meant something, if only a whispered rumor across the guild's low ranks in between missions.

All you were now was a ghost. Slowly fading into the wallpaper, sinking into the bed. Spending your days staring into space, consumed by your own betraying thoughts, suffering through your nights as nightmares reigned free inside your brain. The worst part is they weren't simply nightmares. They were memories, your memories. You had lived through every single haunting image being shown to you. The blood coating your body, covering you in a sickenly metallic smell, had been spilled by your masterful blade, and you had walked away from every single one of those lifeless bodies, leaving them behind without a care as you searched for your handler once more, giving him news of yet another successful mission and awaiting a new one, a new life for you to take.

A sudden knock on the door brings you back to the present, somewhat. Your head turning to face the door, the first movement in a while judging by the ache that follows it. The knock had been soft, careful not to startle you - he's always so careful with you, even after everything, - but in the deafening silence of the room, it still echoed, making your headache worse.

Azriel calls your name, the way the syllables escape his lips sending a shiver down your spine. Even in this state the bond finds a way to make itself known, reminding you of the connection between the two of you, as if you could ever forget.

“I know you can hear me,” he murmurs. You can hear how defeated he is, how sad you've made him once again. It's all your fault, it's always your fault. “Like I told you yesterday, I'm here for you. I will help you through anything as long as you let me, as long as you want me by your side.”

He pauses for a moment, in case you'll give him a response for once. You envy his hope. If you had the courage to hope for even a second maybe you would have called out his name and invited him in, let him hold you in his warm embrace, and make it better, but hope had died along with you and you didn't know how to get it back, didn't know if you wanted to.

A pained sigh escapes him, resigning himself, for the night at least. “I'll come back tomorrow, and every day after that. I promise I will be here when you need me.” You hear him swallow, can feel him trying to steady his voice and keep strong for you in a time when you can't find any strength in yourself. “I love you, more than anything.”

His soft steps retreat, slowly dragging his body away from your door so he can go into his own room and lay in his own empty bed, far away from the wife who he thought he had just gotten back after a century but can't bring herself to even look at him.

The bond screams in your chest, a piercing sound that could make your ears bleed at its intensity. A tear escapes your unblinking eye, running down your skin until it loses its path as it reaches your ear, ultimately falling into the mattress. And still you don't move.

You study the lifeless body in front of you, inspecting the female's beautiful kohl lined brown eyes as they stare right at you unblinking. Listening for the sound of her breath or heartbeat, a sound you know will not come, never again. She had on an elegant silk dress, it was once a shade of green, now tainted with red. She was probably going to meet someone - her friends or her lover, maybe her family. Whoever it was wouldn't see her again, would only be left with bittersweet memories.

Reaching over her, you pull the blade still stuck in her chest out in one smooth, heartless movement. As you go to clean the blood off so you can put it away and escape, you take note of the knife in your hand, frowning down at it as you study the hilt, too intricate to belong to your standard knives. There was even a blue gem encrusted on it, you had never seen let alone owned anything like this.

Looking up, you find strangely familiar hazel eyes staring at you, unblinking as that female's had been. Your eyes travel to the knife in your hand once again as your brain races to keep up with the situation. It's coated in blood, you hadn't wiped it yet, so were your hands, there was so much blood. Your breath catches in your throat when you find a wedding ring around your finger, the blue gem shining under the moonlight.

The knife falls from your hands. Tears cloud your vision, a broken sob escaping you. Azriel. The corpse in front of you belonged to Azriel. You killed him. You killed your husband, your mate. It was all your fault.

You open your eyes with a gasping breath as if you'd been stuck under water. The image of your dead mate refusing to leave your mind as tears keep running down your cheeks, chest rising and falling as if you'd been physically running from this nightmare. It takes you quite a while to fully come to and realize where you were - sitting up in your bed, and not in an empty alley with a dead body at your feet.

It takes you even longer to notice you were not alone anymore. Wide eyes find teary, hazel ones searching your face frantically. As soon as you see him, it becomes impossible to ignore the way his rough hands hold you up, the soothing words he whispers even when he himself looks terrified

Unlike in that awful nightmare, Azriel stood before you breathing. He was blinking, and his heart was beating. Azriel was alive. He was right in front of you and he was alive. You hadn't killed him. The realization finally allows you to catch your breath, the weight at the base of your skull subsiding as you repeat the words over and over in your mind, counting the beats of his heart as you did.

The relief was short-lived though. The reminder that you had stabbed him in real life not so differently from how it happened in your dream making you reel back, back crashing into the headboard hard enough that it almost knocked the wind out of you, his hands dropping from their comforting grip on your head, the heartbroken expression on his face intensifying.

You're both frozen like that for a few seconds, your wide eyes watching his every movement as he stood kneeling down in front of you, hands stuck in the same place like you hadn't moved from under them. Even in the midst of all the chaos taking your mind hostage, you noticed the fear in his eyes. Was he afraid of you? He should be. Though you're not so sure that was the case since he tried reaching for you again as soon as he was pulled out of his stupor.

It makes you recoil even further into the headboard, a sob escaping you, recalling the image of his lifeless body playing in your dream and the way his blood stained your skin in the townhouse only a few weeks ago.

Tears flow down your cheeks with a new vigor when he calls out your name, an heartbreaking sound. You remember how much you loved to hear him whisper your name in that low, sweet timbre of his. It makes your chest tighten uncomfortably, until you can barely breathe now.

“Please leave,” you manage to push out.

“Wait.”

“You can't be here.”

Wrapping your arms around your legs, you hope he listens. You can't hurt him anymore than you already have, couldn't bear to live with yourself if you did, and for that you need him to go, need him to be out of your tainting reach.

“Please, my love. Let me take care of you,” he begs, his own tears escaping freely now.

My love. The way he says it so carefully, so sure of himself makes you sob harder. You don't deserve his love, his attention or care, you never did. And he doesn't deserve any of this pain, so you need him to go, you have to push him away.

“I can't…” Why are the words so hard to say? Why can't you just tell him to go and never come back? “Please,” you manage through a sob, an ugly sound in the back of your throat, hiding your face in your knees.

Azriel closes his eyes, salty tears running down his heartbroken face. He tightens his grip on the sheets for a moment, hard enough that his knuckles turn white. Telling himself to stay, or maybe forcing himself to accept your dismissal.

“I'll go,” he whispers out after a while, opening his eyes at last, defeated, “but if you need me just call out and I'll be back in a heartbeat, alright?”

You don't answer him, your entire concentration going into keeping your eyes off him. Trying desperately to push not only the haunting nightmare down, but also the mating bond, who demanded you seek comfort from your mate while you were trying so hard to push him away.

He gets up slowly, dragging his feet as he walks to the door, looking back at you multiple times as if he can't bear to leave you alone like this, as if begging you to call him back, but you've made your decision and you won't call out to him no matter how desperate you are.

“I was thinking it would be a good idea to bring you up to Rhys' cabin for a few days. You can stay in your room or go outside on your own, and I promise you won't even have to see me if you don't want to,” Azriel explains tentatively through the closed door. “It wouldn't be much different from being here except you could take in the fresh air of the mountain. You always used to love it up there, said it helped you think more clearly.”

This conversation hadn't come out of nowhere and it certainly wasn't entirely about a simple change of scenery - though you wouldn't be surprised if it doubled as a way of trying to get out of this room if nothing else. They were unsure about keeping you in this house, in Velaris even. You overheard part of their discussion on the subject, the tricks you've learned at the guild proving themselves useful at least as you approached the room without them noticing.

You had been curious when you felt most of the inner circle's presence in the house. For a moment, you had even panicked, thinking they would try to talk to you, maybe a form of intervention, but when it was clear they would all keep their distance, you couldn't stop yourself from eavesdropping on their conversation. You had already known it would be about you, or maybe the guild, for them to gather up in the House of Wind.

Given your current apathy and insistence on distancing yourself from everyone, they were worried about keeping you so high up in the mountain. No one had actually said the words, but the implication was clear, - if you so wished, all you had to do was open the window and let yourself fall through the wind, finding your sweet release as you crashed into the ground. And, even with some of their vehement denials, it was painfully obvious that they were all scared of it becoming a reality.

They had moved onto the topic of moving you off Velaris as well, almost at Azriel's insistence. They thought the city could be too suffocating for you since you seemed to want to be alone with your thoughts. And so the idea of moving you to the cabin for a while came up at Feyre's suggestion. You zoned out when they started trying to decide on the best way to bring it up to you, knowing you would refuse the offer no matter how it was brought up. The thought of making the trip there was exhausting on its own.

Azriel's shadows had definitely noticed you spying on the inner circle. You saw them swirling by your hiding spot in the hallway multiple times, lingering for a moment before moving closer to the door. You can't be sure if they had not alerted their singer out of their own volition, or if he had chosen to let you hear the conversation.

You knew he would be more than happy for you to step into the office and speak for yourself, but you barely had to give it any thought to decide against it. You didn't see the point in it. They were right about your lack of will to be alive. You genuinely couldn't bring yourself to care if you were in this house or the next, in Velaris or on the other side of the world, if they were the ones to decide it or not so long as they left you alone.

Truthfully, you didn't quite see the point in living either, and at the same time killing yourself felt like too much of a hassle. Not to mention that Azriel wouldn't survive your death this time, and hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do. Just the thought sent the bond into disarray, a weight growing in your chest and taking your breath away.

You hadn't spoken more than a few sentences to Azriel in all the weeks you've been here so you obviously haven't told him about the bond. The downside of that is that you don't know if he's felt it himself either. He has been devoted to you to say the least, but he always had, even before you died. Azriel always treated you like you were his entire world.

As if processing all your memories wasn't enough, the bond had somehow made things even more complicated. Every happy memory of the two of you together sent the bond almost vibrating with joy, pushing you to go and see him when all you wanted to do was disappear in this room. It makes you feel like you're not fully in charge of your body, just as it felt like watching back your memories at the guild.

“What do you think?”

His voice brings you back to the present once more. Your eyes finding the closed door, imagining him leaning against it on the other side, forehead leaning against the dark, carved wood, praying for an answer he knows won't come.

You consider saying something, to at least let him know you wanted to stay here just as you were, but your body wasn't agreeing with you, refusing to move or form out the words even if you were asking it to. You knew it would be better to refuse his offer, not only because you knew he wouldn't force you to leave if you told him you didn't want to, but also because hearing you speak after so long could lessen their worries, his worries. Still, you couldn't force yourself to even move your mouth.

Azriel lets out a sigh, that heartbreakingly defeated sound you've grown so used to, taking your silence as an answer. You hear him swallow, pushing back the tears and the heaviness you could almost feel in your own heart.

“It's alright,” he breathes out, “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Alright. You were starting to grow a distaste for the word. How could it be alright when you've done nothing but hurt him? You disappeared on him for decades on decades, making him think you were dead while you were off killing people for money. Only to come back and try to steal from Rhys, stab him and then ignore him after they helped you recover your memories. He has been sitting at your doorstep multiple hours a day for weeks without getting as much as an answer. How is any of this alright?

You wish he would just forget about you. Maybe then you wouldn't feel so guilty for all you've done.

If it weren't for the magic pumping through this house your bath would have been freezing cold by now. The perfectly warm, lavender scented water the House provided almost pissed you off, and so did the oils and balms it presented you, urging you to take care of yourself when it was the last thing on your mind.

You've spent hours in the ostentatious tub, scrubbing your skin raw. Desperately trying to get rid of the disgust you felt every time you looked down at your own hands, always finding them covered in blood no matter how many times you washed them. Some things can't be washed out with anything, and you can't undo the things you've done.

After wishing to recover your memories so fiercely, you can't believe you find yourself wishing you could forget everything all over again, the happy and awful ones alike. Every time you remember your short marriage with Azriel, you end up reminding yourself of all the things you've done, of how much you didn't deserve even a second of the happiness he brought you during those years.

You remember when Azriel confided in you about the guilt he felt for the things he's done. You'd always soothe him as best as you could, thinking you could understand how he feels, telling him you'd always love him no matter what. It makes you cringe just to think how naive you were.

Everything Azriel had done had been by the High Lord's orders - unfortunately including Rhysand's father - but, whether it was the best solution or not, it was all for the good of the Night Court and its people. And even then you couldn't have imagined what that burden felt like on his back. You had fought before, helped them keep the court safe, but had hardly ever killed anyone, only getting that far when it was strictly necessary.

Now you had lost count of how many people's lives had ended by your hand, or you wish you had at least. Your nightmares insist on showing you every single person, one after the other playing incessantly in your mind. Now you know what it felt like to be on the other end of the conversation.

Letting out a sigh, you submerge yourself underwater, hoping to drown out your thoughts for even a moment. You almost felt bored today, which shouldn't come as a surprise since you've done virtually nothing in weeks, but given your current disposition it certainly was something new. It almost makes you wish you had accepted Azriel's offer of taking you up to Rhys' cabin though you still weren't sure you could make the trip there. The only way to leave this house was by having someone fly you down, which is probably why they keep you here in the first place.

It could be completely unrelated to your mood, but Azriel hadn't come by today. He warned you there was something important he needed to do when he left the night before. He rarely leaves your side these days, always sitting by your door or in the room next to yours, keeping his promise of being a simple shout away, so you know it had to be about the guild or the general safety of Velaris for Rhys to actually manage to convince him to stay longer than a few hours away from you.

Curiosity got the best of you, asking the question out loud while he was informing you through the door before you could stop yourself. He didn't answer right away, probably too surprised at hearing your voice after weeks of silence, so you didn't even realize you had asked it out loud at first.

When the shock wore off, he told you there were some suspicious movements close to the Hewn City, the smile noticeable in his voice despite the safety threat he was describing. Routine checks like these never took him too long, and with the added situation you were in, he would likely be back by the early hours of the morning.

You couldn't call them conversations at all, but hearing Azriel talk to you, sometimes to tell you about his day, telling you old stories or even new ones, the important moments you've missed in recent years, helped you not feel so empty somehow. As much as you were desperately trying to distance yourself and lay forgotten alone in this room, the fact that he wouldn't allow you to do it brought you a sense of relief.

These feelings were too confusing, wanting complete opposite things like this. You needed to be alone, were always just shy of a panic attack when you so much as caught a glimpse of anyone or heard their voice, but it was starting to feel like you still wanted them to reach out a hand dispute it all.

Your lungs start to burn after being left with no air for so long. You consider just letting it run out, put yourself out of this misery, but your hands reach for the sides of the tub, pulling yourself out of the water, air filling your lungs once again, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Even this you couldn't do right.

Getting out of the tub and cleaning yourself off with a fluffy towel, you move to walk out into the bedroom, but hesitate for a moment, glancing at the calming oils the house left you on top of the counter. You've scrubbed at your skin so much it's irritated and slightly itchy, the oil could help soothe it so you didn't end up scratching at yourself all night.

One of the oils smelled like lavender too, so maybe with a little luck and nothing else disturbing you, it would help you relax enough for you to get at least a few hours of sleep without any unwanted nightmares waking you up right away. You felt exhausted down to the bone, and wanted nothing more than a little dreamless peace, so you picked up the oil for once.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, you search through the closet, finding it full of your old things. There was more than what Azriel had shown you before, when you still couldn't recognize any of them, a lot more in fact, it looked like he hardly got rid of anything. There were also things the rest of your friends must have saved from that time.

You hadn't stopped to think about what happened to everything you owned when you died, too consumed with every other thought. It seems everyone ended up keeping a piece of you for themselves, Azriel keeping as much as he could, desperately so.

Rummaging through the boxes, you pick up a necklace Cassian had bought for you as a Solstice present. It was simple in nature, but the blue stone hanging from it was absolutely gorgeous. He had been very proud of this find, and later that night Azriel had told you all about how he had begged Mor to help him get something special for you, since he wasn't too good at buying gifts for people but wanted your first Solstice with Azriel to go without a single misstep.

The necklace holds a nostalgic weight as you put it around your neck, letting it sit as you look through the rest of your things. There was a lot more jewelry in these boxes since you always had a love for shiny things, and Rhysand didn't have any sort of restraint when it came to his money. Once he had bought you an entire collection of gold, sapphire encrusted jewelry for Solstice, one that would have embarrassed you had you not given him an extremely rare cologne that same night. You even had to employ the help of Azriel's shadows to find it. Finding gifts for the High Lord was always an adventure.

Picking up one of the many decorated daggers the inner circle, including your mate, had gifted you over the years, you find it's the first dagger Amren gave you. It hadn't been a solstice or birthday gift, she had simply decided you needed it after an attack. You had more than enough daggers, even more if you went through Azriel's collection, but her giving it to you was a sign that she cared, in her own way. You had almost started crying in Azriel's arms when you realized the ancient, terrifying creature cared about you later that night.

Most of your expensive clothes seemed to be hanging in this closet as well, and almost all had either been gifted by Mor or you had bought them when you were shopping together. You wonder for a second if any of the old stores you used to visit were still open. You're also not entirely sure if you'd like any of the things you used to, dressing in color felt foreign to you now.

Even from your position on the ground, you knew the carefully wrapped dress hanging in the closet had to be your wedding dress, the thought making your mouth go dry. You thumb at your ring finger unconsciously, finding it empty. You had lost your wedding ring, Azriel couldn't have kept it since you had it on when you died. You find yourself wishing you still had it, as undeserving as you were of something so special.

Memories of the ceremony rush into your head, bringing tears to your eyes, it truly had been the happiest day of your life. You wonder if you would have still married him if you had known what was to come. Selfishly, you think you would.

You have to tear your eyes away from the garment, making your way through the boxes sitting at the bottom of the dresser once more to distract yourself. There were so many random things in here, even bookmarks and cookie cutters. He truly has kept anything that reminded him of you.

In the middle of it is sitting a dandelion preserved in resin. Azriel had given it to you when you told him you missed looking at the fields full of them as you sat under the trees when you were a child, finding the most comfortable looking one to take a nap. You used to keep it by your bedside, and looking over to the empty nightstand you think you might start doing it again.

At the bottom of the box were a few letters, a copy of your contract with Rhysand, letters your parents had written, and a few you wrote for Azriel. There was one in particular that came to mind. You search for it, knowing the inscription and date written on the envelope by heart. When you find it among the others, you open it slowly, hands shaking as you do.

You had written this letter for Azriel after he proposed to you, leaving it on his pillow for him to find one night. It had always been easier for you to write your feelings rather than saying them out loud, and so you had decided to do just that, pouring your heart out into the pages.

Reading through it brought tears to your eyes, sobbing silently at her precious feelings. No matter how naive or innocent she was, one thing you can't deny was that her love for Azriel was always real, your love for Azriel. You find yourself agreeing with every word you had written all those years ago, even when you felt unworthy of it. You still loved him as much as you did before, there's no point in denying that.

You don't know how many times you read the letter or for how long you sit on that floor, holding onto the dandelion Azriel immortalized for you, crying at everything you've lost, and everything you still have.

When Azriel comes by that night you find yourself opening the door, only wide enough for you to be able to reach your hand out, but it sets his heart beating dangerously fast nonetheless, the rush of happiness traveling through the bond somehow. You hand him the letter silently, and almost thank the gods when he carefully accepts it without touching you, without question, before closing the door back up.

You've never been good at explaining your feelings, much less when your head is as messy as it is now, but you hope he understands what you want to say with this gesture, you want him to know you still love him, that you always will. Judging by the way he starts audibly crying, much like you had been hours prior, you think he does, and, for the first time in weeks, those sounded like happy tears.

It's hard to say where the sudden courage came from, but your body moves before you have the chance to ignore it or talk yourself out of it. Getting out of bed and almost throwing yourself into the bath, letting the scented wash take away all the lingering cold sweats left behind by yet another nightmare.

Drying yourself off, and throwing on one of the dresses Mor had left for you quickly. She truly knew you well, even this warped version of you. The black dress was simple enough, although somehow too intricate for the dinner you were about to interrupt at the time, but it was beautiful.

She had come by your room not long ago, calling out your name softly, but unfortunately still scaring you in the process, unused to company as you were. The obvious panic shown by your heartbeat made her pause for a moment but it didn't completely deter her as she left a bag full of new clothes at your door, lingering only long enough to write out a note explaining she wanted you to have some updated clothes before going on her way, understanding you didn't wish to see or talk to anyone while holding out hope that you would one day.

You had waited for her to leave the house entirely before opening the door hesitatingly, and picking up the bag quickly, reading the note as well back in the comfort of your room. The kiss she left on the note, marked by her red lipstick, was so much like Mor that it made you cry.

That was the last time you had opened this door, and as your hand finds the doorknob you hesitate, heart beating so loud you think it might jump out of your chest. It takes you entirely too long to go through with it, but a loud, boisterous laugh coming from downstairs allows some of your courage to return.

Descending the stairs slowly, step by step, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, simultaneously trying to not make any noise and telling yourself you could do this. When you get closer to the dining room, close enough that you could hear them talking and find Azriel's shadows lazing around along the walls, you hesitate once more.

They sounded happy and you would only ruin the mood with your presence. Those thoughts quickly consume you, and almost make you turn around, but as one of his shadows suddenly passes you, sliding into the room to warn Azriel of your arrival, you round the corner and take the last few steps, walking into the room and facing the other three residents of this house.

Cassian stands up immediately at your presence, your name leaving his lips in surprise as he studies you with wide eyes. His familiar lack of subtlety almost brings a smile to your lips. You think it did at first, only to raise your hand and find your mouth set in the same line it had been stuck in for weeks, the muscles still unused, but you still stayed.

They were all frozen in place, as if scared that if they made any sudden movement it would send you back running to your room, and, truthfully, it probably would. Everyone's eyes are now on you, every single one of your instincts is telling you to turn back around, and you're still here. Maybe you can actually do this.

“I…” Your voice falters, you couldn't be sure when it was the last time you had used it. “I thought I could join you for dinner today.”

No one answers right away, still watching you as if they couldn't believe you were really standing there. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, closing your hands into fists, hard enough that your nails bite into the palms of your hands, the pain keeping you present in the moment. You wanted to approach the table, but felt entirely too exposed.

Nesta is the first to break out of the spell, grabbing onto Cassian's arm and pulling him back down into his chair, making you let out a sigh of relief. As soon as his butt finds the chair, Azriel also shakes himself out of his surprise, a blinding smile trying to fight its way into his lips while he attempts to act normally. His shadows all disperse to different corners of the room as he lets out a breath, one that seems to come from deep within him.

“Of course you can,” he answers at last. He comes up to your room and talks to you every day, but hearing it unmuffled by the door, his eyes locked on yours, makes goosebumps appear in your arms. It also sends you walking to the table, choosing the seat at the top instead of the empty one next to Azriel. One step at a time.

A bowl of soup appears in front of you as soon as you sit down. The worst part was over, you reminded yourself. Now you just have to sit and eat, let them get lost in their conversations and just push through. It takes them a moment to understand your feelings, but once again Nesta seems to read you like an open book, starting their conversation back up and forcing them to follow.

You hadn't eaten all day if you remembered correctly, but your appetite was the last thing on your mind, having to almost force yourself to finish the soup, as was the usual these days. It was also hard to keep track of their conversation as you kept repeating encouraging words in your head and ordered your limbs to keep moving, entirely too aware of your every movement.

They tried to be subtle, but every once in a while you could also feel their side glances at you. You never met their eyes though, staring into your soup as if it was the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life.

Azriel's shadows seemed to be your biggest supporters, lazing around under your feet as if reminding you that you weren't alone. They were easier to deal with that Azriel himself for now, but as an extension of him, it felt like having him close.

You hardly say another word during the whole ordeal, the air so awkward it almost made you want run away multiple times, but you stay until you finish your food, and when you go back to your room, excusing yourself quickly, you're incredibly proud of yourself. Azriel tells you as much when he visits one last time before sleep as well, a warmth spreading in your chest at the words. Maybe all wasn't completely lost yet.

[gyuwoncheol]

Cheol’s been prepping you to take his cock for weeks but you’re about to body slam him into the mattress if he doesn’t fuck you right now (which might have been what he wanted all along, corruption kink go brrrr) 😈 “you want it so bad? Then sit on it. Aww don’t be scared I know you’re ready” -⚡️

TW: afab! reader, dirty talk, use of pet names, piv sex, unprotected sex, mentions of creampie and oral sex, bratty & whiny reader, reader is described to be much smaller than Cheol. Not proofread. 18+ only (MDNI).

Note: changed it up a little bit, ⚡️ anon. Hope you enjoy!

Because this is blonde cheol with a bratty reader, I am compelled to tag Zeta my love @multi-kpop-fanfics . It’s simply how the world works 💞

“Nooo. Stop!” You whined and yanked on Seungcheol’s blonde locks, pulling him back up to face you.

Seungcheol was confused to say the least. His eyebrows quirking as he studies your facial expressions. “You okay?”

“Just fuck me, Cheol,” you blurt out, frustration clear in your voice and Seungcheol swears he heard the angels sing.

“What–“

“I said, fuck me. No more teasing, no more prepping. I’m done!” You glare at him. Not that you were ungrateful for your boyfriend’s expert oral skills, but when all you’ve gotten the past few days ever since his return from a 3-month tour is everything but his cock, you think it’s okay to sound ungrateful.

“Aw, impatient baby,” he mocks as he grinds his crotch on yours.

“Excuse me?! I’ve been patient! Way too patient! Three months and 18 days patient!!!!” Cheol laughs at your attention to detail, clearly amused at how needy you’ve been. Not that he wasn’t— he was, he’s been dreaming to have his way with you the moment he got home four days ago. But apparently, he could take a few more days of waiting, making sure you were well prepped and ready to take his huge cock again after so long. And maybe he just loved to tease you a little bit more, waiting to awaken the brat in you. “Cmon, Cheollie..” you switch up to a sweet tone, blinking with doe eyes and drawing his face to yours for a kiss, “it’s been too long, don’t you wanna feel my tight pussy around you?”

Seungcheol’s dick twitches in the confines of his briefs at your words but he tries to play it cool with a roll of his eyes.

“Better yet baby, don’t you miss cumming inside—“

Your sentence is cut off with a yelp as the large man who was once above you rolls you both around on the bed, effectively having him pinned between your legs, straddling him right where he wants you. Seungcheol grabs you harshly to connect your mouths in a hungry kiss, the clashing of your tongues and teeth rendering you to a moaning mess while you hurriedly remove his shorts and undergarments.

When Cheol’s hard member springs free and rests on his stomach, the blonde man leans back to examine your next move. He’s not disappointed when the first thing you do is run your wet folds along his shaft. The guttural groan he lets out makes you even more wet than you already are. But that’s a good thing because now you’re looking at Cheol’s thick and long cock, and perhaps he did make the right decision to prep you for it for days.

“Nervous, baby?” He asks with that stupid brow raise of his.

“No,” you answer without hesitation but even then, you didn’t sound so confident.

“Well be my guest, princess. What’re you waiting for? You wanted it so bad didn’t you? Ride me.”

You nodded at Seungcheol, swallowing thickly before wrapping your small hand around his heavy shaft. You aligned him at your entrance, carefully letting his bulbuous head breach your sopping hole. Cheol takes notice when you suck in a sharp breath and close your eyes. It happens the same time he feels the constricting push of your walls which has his hands flying to eitherside of your hips.

“Doing s’good for me, princess,” he encourages, mustering all self control not to just thrust up into you.

“S-so biiig,” you stammer, sinking down to ease another inch of him.

“Not so mad about my prep anymore, eh?”

You roll your eyes at the smug remark, “fuck you.”

“You already are, prin— shit!” Seungcheol curses when you suddenly seat yourself fully to shut him up.

Moans reverberate around the room from both of you after your little stunt. The stretch is painful at first but it slowly morphs into fiery pleasure with every soothing rub of Cheol’s thumb on your hip. You take a deep breath and plant your palms on his chest, circling your hips once.

“Fuuuuck,” you both drawl out, lust fully flowing through your veins.

“Missed this,” you pick up your pace, repeating the motions of lifting your hips then grinding down to stimulate your clit.

“Missed you,” your boyfriend replies. He reaches out one hand to squeeze on your breast before his fingers roll your nipple expertly, causing you to clench harshly on his cock.

“Fuck, princess. If you do that again, I might just cum now.”

You scoff at his remark, ready to tease him back, “aw, who’s the impatient one now?”

[delta-chan]

Thoughts about Dawntrail map six

Needless to say, very heavy spoilers beneath the read more!

I was initially a bit wary of Living Memory's telegraphed "reverse Ultima Thule" structure until I got the prompt that the scenery would be irreversibly altered at the first terminal. I panicked because like a lot of people I thought "oh nice, I'll come back here later for some nice gpose shots". That this beautiful place would have to be taken away for you to progress was almost incomprehensible to me and in that moment the genius of it clicked. It wasn't just a reverse spin on Ultima Thule's structure--it was a reverse spin that was going to back it up to an extreme.

The ephemerality of life is something FFXIV has touched on many times before, including as one of the chief themes of Endwalker. But while in Endwalker this was on a grand scale as a part of radical acceptance as a whole, Dawntrail's second half explores this idea in a more focused, intimate fashion. While the WoL has no one they are close to that they can engage with in an experience with like Erenville, Krile, and Wuk Lamat--they have the environment. And being that you're the person behind the WoL with an investment in that environment on some level the finality of moving forward hits you like a sack of bricks.

I spent a lot of time being kind of awed by this--it's a very, very solid gimmick. I sort of paused at the first prompt going "haha there's no way, right…?" before going "wait" and immediately setting out to take a bunch of quick shots. That place wasn't going to exist anymore, and I wanted a memory of it. That beautiful place--a painstakingly detailed and gorgeous bit of gpose bait if I've ever seen it--wasn't going to exist if I wanted to move on. It was… weird. I took so many nearly identical shots trying to get perfect ones because there was only ever going to be that moment. In the future there'll be new game plus. You might have alts. But in that moment, experiencing it for the first time... it's… really effective. Startlingly effective.

The fact that when I was watching the map introduction and thought about how Living Memory was an almost tailor-made gposing space (and let's face it probably is for exactly this reason) that I would have a lot of fun taking screenshots at later made me think about how many other people thought, are thinking, and will think the same thing not knowing that they're taking it for granted. Who would...? It's absurd. Why would the map be altered to such a degree that it'd be rendered gone all but in name...? It hasn't happened before. So why would it happen now? Why would it even come to mind?

And the thing is--even if someone warns you, even if you're spoiled, even if you have someone fly you from place to place--the terminals are still going to have to be shut down eventually if you want to move forward. You cannot keep it. Living memory is made to be seen once then destroyed by your own hand.

I mean--at the end of the MSQ I thought, perhaps naively, that Living Memory was going to be restored because the threat was resolved. I mean--everyone's gone. There's no need for the environment to stay gone as well, right...? I mean, they put so much loving detail into it!

Wrong.

In the immediacy of when I first finished Endwalker during its early access I wrote that I never wanted to return to Ultima Thule because it creeped me out. The map was emotionally fraught, and my first experience with it was being released into an incredibly dark map with a discordant soundtrack, jumping out of my seat at another player passing by. But returning to it for hunts and the Omicron quests I saw it for the vibrant, beautiful place that it was. It changed for the better and stayed that way.

In spite of how much I've talked up Living Memory's beauty and how much it inspires the drive to capture the moment before it leaves you, it's also far more disconcerting than Ultima Thule from the very beginning in an altogether different manner. Living Memory is something that you want to be that shouldn't be. Both in the context of the MSQ and as a map in general--you want to take screenshots, you want to linger, but the unchanging weather effect and languidly pleasant music begin to push against you if you stay too long.

When everything's said and done Living Memory becomes a featureless husk that now has natural changing weather. At night there are motes of light, golden remains of the once oppressive reminiscence. And in the background as if being piped from distant speakers, the languidly pleasant and slightly warped BGM echoing through the nothingness like an amusement park's PA system playing music for no one after closing for the last time.

It's something you didn't want that needs to be.

[lostwords-found]

Oh man, this is an *interesting* one.

"It was I who begged patience, certain as I was that my work on Micrographia might have rendered a remedy for that most awful plague. It was I who warned that to enact a Protocol against the great city of London itself was a step beyond the rights of our position, but you were, as is so oft the case, correct in your steadfastness and I confess purgation of all that most dangerous and unfit knowledge was both necessary and good." (bolding mine.)

In 1665 there was an outbreak of bubonic plague in London; during this time Robert Hooke was pioneering the study of life on a microscopic scale. In 1666 the Great Fire of London destroyed a major portion of the city; Hooke played a major role in helping the city to rebuild, and rose to wealth and respect as a result.

So:

1. The plague year had a supernatural cause (or Hooke and Boyle thought it did, at minimum.)

2. The Great Fire of London was probably a result of the Protocol being carried out. Yikes.

3. The Protocol, however, was not about fighting disease directly. It was about purging "dangerous and unfit knowledge." This lines up with the 1666 fire: along with everything else lost to it, some £150,000 worth of books were destroyed, which... that's in 1660s money. I'm not sure how many books that would have been but it had to be quite a few.

So if this universe had the equivalent of Leitners, this might be where a bunch of them went. Also seems increasingly likely that the Magnus Institute fire was an enactment of the Protocol.

Not even touching the whole apple thing right now other than to say I'm doubling down on my suspicion that ink5oul's tattoo is a reference to the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Got a lot of other thoughts but they're going to have to wait for after work.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: "My A-R-T"

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: who would have thought you'd be a centerpiece of someone's world

Tag: @elalfywhore 🫶🏾🩷

Based of the song ART by Tyla..

Morning sunlight filtered through the windows as I walked into our apartment, still buzzing with energy from an early cheer practice. My muscles ached slightly, but it was nothing a hot shower couldn’t fix. Tossing my duffel bag onto the couch, I noticed how quiet the place was. Jana must still be out—probably in class or at the gym.

I headed toward the kitchen, but something on the dining table stopped me in my tracks. A large canvas, carefully covered with a cloth, rested against the wall. A note lay next to it, written in Jana’s familiar, neat handwriting:

"For my muse. Come find me after you see it, habibti"

-xoxo

My heart skipped a beat as I reached for the cloth, my fingers trembling slightly. Jana always had a way of surprising me, but this was different. This felt… intimate.

Pulling back the cloth, I gasped softly. The painting beneath was breathtaking—a portrait of me, vibrant and alive, rendered in soft yet striking hues of caramel and gold. My figure was posed delicately, with one arm resting against my hip and my eyes gazing softly at something out of frame. It wasn’t just a painting; it was me through Jana’s eyes—bold, confident, beautiful.

The details were astonishing. The curve of my lips, the arch of my brow, even the faint shimmer in my hair—everything was captured with an artist’s precision. But what stood out the most was how she’d captured my essence, the warmth and softness that only she got to see.

I couldn’t stop staring. My lips parted as I traced the edges with my fingertips, completely in awe of the love and care that had gone into this.

“Do you like it?”

I turned to see Jana standing in the doorway, a shy but proud smile on her face. She was dressed casually in sweatpants and a UConn hoodie, her hair slightly messy from a morning workout.

“Like it?” I asked, shaking my head as I walked toward her. “Jana, this is… it’s incredible. You did this?”

She nodded, her cheeks tinting pink. “I didn’t paint it myself,” she admitted. “But I found an artist who could bring my vision to life. I told them exactly what I wanted—how I wanted you to look, the colors, everything. I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

I threw my arms around her neck, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re amazing, you know that?” I whispered, burying my face against her shoulder.

Jana chuckled, her hands settling on my waist. “I had to do something. You’ve been playing that Tyla song nonstop. I figured it was my turn to make you my ‘A-R-T.’”

I pulled back to look at her, a teasing smile on my lips. “So, you think I’m worthy of being someone’s centerpiece, huh?”

She brushed a strand of hair from my face, her eyes softening. “You’re worthy of being the centerpiece of my world. Always.”

Heat crept up my neck as I bit back a grin. “You’re so corny.”

“And you love it.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Later that morning, after I’d showered and changed into a cozy hoodie and leggings, we sat on the couch together, the painting propped up on the coffee table so we could admire it.

“Why didn’t you wait until my birthday or something?” I asked, leaning against her shoulder.

Jana shrugged, her arm draped over me. “I didn’t want to wait. You’ve been working so hard—between cheer, school, and everything else. I wanted to remind you how amazing you are. You’re my muse, you know.”

I turned to look at her, my chest tightening with emotion. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” she said, cupping my face with her hand. “Every time I look at you, I see something new to love. Something beautiful. I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I leaned into her touch. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’m just giving you what you deserve,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over my cheek.

As the day went on, I found myself unable to stop glancing at the painting. It felt surreal to see myself through someone else’s eyes, especially someone who loved me as much as Jana did.

By evening, we’d hung it up in the living room, right above the couch. Jana insisted on doing the heavy lifting while I stood back and gave her directions.

“Left a little… no, your other left,” I teased, earning an exaggerated eye roll from her.

“Keep talking, and I’ll hang it crooked just to spite you,” she shot back, but there was no bite to her words.

When it was finally in place, we stood back to admire it together.

“It’s perfect,” I said, slipping my hand into hers.

“You’re perfect,” Jana replied, squeezing my hand.

I glanced up at her, my heart swelling with love. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I think this is my favorite song now.”

She laughed, pulling me into a hug. “Good. Because it’s ours now.”

As the soft melody of “ART” played from my phone in the background, I couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world. Jana didn’t just see me—she celebrated me, and that was a love I’d treasure forever.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[tripleyeeet]

AND HER MIND WAS ON ME

SUMMARY: Yuki decides to let Choso come and play with her girlfriend. PAIRING: Choso Kamo/Yuki Tsukumo/Female Reader WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, voyeurism, penetrative sex, use of a strap, orgasm denial (if you squint), basically just Choso being a desperate mess wanting to fuck reader. A/N: Originally this was supposed to be for Kinktober but due to the insane schedule I just got from my work that's probably not happening anymore. So, I figured I'd post this so it doesn't go to waste. :') Title inspired by Voyeur by James Blake :) WC: 750

MASTERLIST

-

“You okay, Cho?”

The sound of your voice cuts through him like a knife. The soft coo of breathless lungs pulling him out of his own stupor as he pants. 

Laid before him are both you and Yuki. The image of bare chests and legs creating a heat throughout his body he can’t sweat out. The kind that already has him squirming on the edge of the bed; digits twitching to grip the sheets beneath him so tight he swears he hears the sound of them crack.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, but he does. The sound of his own voice muffling in his mind as his gaze shifts from body to body, eventually trailing up to see thick silicone pushing through your folds. Both of you are lying on your sides, back to front while Yuki’s arm —toned and heavy-handed—wraps around your neck as she nips at your ear and laughs. 

“You like when Choso watches, baby?” she asks, and truthfully, it takes everything Choso has not to slip in between and take his fill in that moment. The temptation nearly breaking him, especially when he watches your lips start to part slowly; the sensations you feel taking over your mind as you let out a hearty breath. 

It makes his chest ache, witnessing such a sudden pull of air mixed with the push of the strap entering your cunt —rendering you useless until you find it in yourself to nod. The vulgar sight causing Choso’s hands to start to fiddle with the fabric. Each of his fingers rubbing the texture of silk between each pad, pretending they’re you. Imagining that instead of Yuki gently fucking you with that god-awful piece of plastic it’s him instead; fingers and all providing you with the pleasure you need. The feel of your back pressed roughly against his chest filling him with an intense need for more. 

At which point, he hears you whimper from the impact. Each shift of the strap making you squirm beneath the blonde’s touch. Visions of arms and legs struggling to get away from the brutalizing pace she quickly sets appearing in Choso’s view. 

With a huff, it forces him to throw all caution to the wind and move one hand to cup his cock, gently rubbing it through his clothes. Allowing the tension you’ve built to ever so slightly subside when he feels that initial pressure release. The presence of something to grind against as he tries to remember to breathe.

Unfortunately, though, it’s not enough. Not when he can see Yuki violently snapping her hips while saying his name; reminding you to put on a good show for him. No, at that point he has to go a bit further and slip beneath his waistband to properly touch himself. The feel of his already hard cock twitching before he even has the chance to wrap himself around the base.

Which is an act that proves almost futile when he hears Yuki laugh, prompting his eyes to flicker up and see the arm that’s wrapped around her neck move to grip your jaw. The sheer force of her fingers jutting it over to catch his eye, making you whimper. 

“Look,” she says then, smirking as she watches your gazes line up. Both of you staring each other down as she fucks you while he fucks himself. Your respective pleasures building when he catches the rhythm of your breath and starts to match it. “Already so desperate for you. Can’t even wait until I’m finished.”

Swallowing hard, he feels his chest begin to gradually empty. Each pass of air within his lungs failing to return when he rubs his thumb over his head, already feeling the warm stick of pre-come collecting on the very flesh he wants to put inside you. 

“Cho?”

This time, Yuki addresses him. Unlike before though, he doesn’t look at her. Instead, he just stares at your face, memorizing each moment of tension that builds as he hums in response, hoping that’s enough. 

“Cho, sweetheart, I need you to wait, okay? You’ll get your turn, I promise.”

All he does is nod, keeping hold of himself but doing nothing else, knowing he can’t. Not when the promise of you all spread apart for him to fuck is waiting in the wings. Or when he can see that faint flicker of desire in your eye when you ultimately come, knowing you’re in for another round.

[finelythreadedsky]

Wait so not to sound stupid but how is a Greek chorus like a lawyer

that’s my tag for antigone (the character and the play)-- it’s a line from anne carson’s antigonick, at the beginning of her very loose rendering of the choral ode at lines 944-987 sophocles’ antigone, and the answer is that they’re both in the business of searching for a precedent. one of the many things that a greek chorus does is that, when confronted with something awful, they try to find a context and an explanation that make it make sense. in antigone, the chorus is a group of normal theban citizens trying to understand the absolute horror of antigone being buried alive, so they say, “it happened before, to danae and lycurgus and the sons of phineus” and then it’s not so terrifying to them because it’s not without precedent. and carson's version of this choral ode gets at how insufficient and futile of a gesture that is.