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flowerandblood · 1 year

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Glass Cuts Deepest (3)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, trauma, mention of sexual harassment, violence, swearing, self-destructive behavior ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

What she had done echoed hugely throughout the university. Some looked at her in awe, some in horror wondering why she had done it, whether she really thought he was so good to put up with his awful behaviour.

"What if he keeps humiliating you? Or if he hits you?" Lysa asked as they walked together to their joint Renaissance art history class. She shrugged her shoulders, feeling light and happy.

"I'm only there for a trial, for a month. If I find I don't like it there, I'll go to another workshop. And if he does something to me, I'll report it to the police straight away." She replied briefly, taking it for granted.

If he violated her personal space in such a way she wasn't going to stand idly by, but for some reason she felt that if she respected his boundaries he wouldn't do anything to her.

She hopped up on her bed with joy when she saw an email on her inbox from Cregan informing her of a task for everyone to complete, covered by the competition Professor Targaryen had mentioned at their first meeting.

Good morning, congratulations to you once again and I am sending below the details of the project you need to complete. The first overview sketches are to be made at a scale of 1:5, only the one selected will be made at a scale of 1:1. The project includes 3 windows, each with 8 rectangular quarters. The dimension of the entire window is 10x2 m, the gaps between the quarters are 10 cm on each side. The Bishop would like these three quarters to include a representation of the Mother of God with the Child with a white dove above her, surrounded by the Twelve Aspotols. If you have any questions, I remain at your disposal Cregan

She immediately got to work, calculating the size of each of the quarters on A3 sheets of paper, thinking about how she would like to arrange it, how to show it.

She first thought of a baroque representation, with figures in motion, Our Lady in the centre, the apostles surrounding her as if they were floating towards the sky in clouds together with her.

When she had refined this design sufficiently she decided to take the opportunity that her professor was working on the other side of the room, standing, as always, with his back to her.

She approached him, stopping at an appropriate distance, and grunted quietly, wanting to let him know of her presence.

He glanced at her coolly out of the corner of his eye without ceasing his work, cutting a piece of glass in a confident, fluid motion with the loud swish of a diamond blade.

He picked it up and tapped the back of the handle with the special rounded end against the part of the glass he didn't need, and it broke at the point of cut to form exactly the shape he wanted.

"Lay it down here." He said indifferently, pointing with his chin to an empty spot on the illuminated table next to the glass he was working on.

She placed the piece of paper in front of him and stepped back, waiting anxiously for his opinion, feeling her heart pounding fast as she saw her year mate glance in their direction.

Professor Targaryen cast a quick look at what she had been preparing for the past two days, his face expressing absolutely nothing.

"Overdone and tacky. This is not a competition for the most pompous baroque stained glass. Don't show me things like that again." He said briefly, turning back to his work, and she nodded, tightening her lips and returned to her table, trying to swallow his words and not cry.

She looked at her project again and thought with regret that he was probably right.

It was contrived, as if she wanted to prove to everyone that she could create the most surprising and complicated design.

And after all, it was supposed to be simply the best.

She started to look through more classical stained glass representations from France, Germany, Spain and the UK at home. She noticed with interest that static figures depicted with just the right cuts of glass were suddenly gaining a lot of expression and she thought this was the way out.

She took inspiration for her pose of the Mother of God with the Child from Raphael's Sistine Madonna, but gave her face and hands a softer, more slender expression, her robes arranged in a Gothic manner, with strong creases and folds.

Our Lady stood in the rays of the colour of the setting sun, as if emerging from among the clouds, from the left, through the bottom of the composition, to the right the apostles emerged from behind the window frames, looking at her in silent awe, the whole thing seemed to her calm and solemn, warm.

She made another attempt to approach him. She settled on the opposite side of his table, looking at him expectantly, and he lifted his impatient gaze to her, his lips tightening.

"Are you sure you want to show me this?" He asked warningly, as if he wanted to make sure that if he saw something similar to what he had seen last time again, he would lose patience with her.

She nodded, swallowing quietly.

She really liked this project.

She laid it in front of him − the lead outline and the linear layer were painted with a pen using black ink, the colours of the glass painted with watercolours.

He stopped in mid-motion, looking at what she had drawn − she could see that he was thinking strenuously, his gaze roaming over the entire composition.

"Were you inspired by someone?" He asked coolly, and she nodded quickly.

"Yes, Raphael's Sistine Madonna." She said quickly, and he hummed under his breath, his hand involuntarily escaping to his mouth and chin, looking intensely at her drawing.

"On the left and right the composition is too filled in. You need to leave those four apostles lower, give more space to the background. Let them form an arc under the figure of Our Lady, not half a circle." He began to speak quickly, pointing his finger at the areas of the work he had in mind, and she nodded, visualising his changes, recognising with joy that, indeed, with his corrections it would look much better.

"Yes. You're right, Professor, I will." She said excitedly, looking at him with her eyes wide open, she had the feeling that happiness was literally beaming from her.

He liked it.

He looked at her for a moment, biting his bottom lip, and then lowered his gaze, returning to his work.

"That's all." He said dryly, and she nodded quickly, took her sheet of paper and applied all the corrections he had mentioned, painting and drawing the whole thing again.

Thus approved and prepared, she handed her design to Cregan, who smiled warmly at her.

"Congratulations." He said calmly, and she reciprocated his smile.

Seeing the impatient gaze of their professor looking at them from across the table she moved away from him, picked up her things and left, saying a polite goodbye, wanting to go get something to eat.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she changed into her usual clothes in the toilet − it was getting warmer outside and she was sitting in her workshop in a black t-shirt tucked into long black trousers and dying of heat.

Being already in her summer dress and trainers, she left putting her backpack on her back, heading to the canteen to buy something warm to eat and go to her wall painting class in a completely different building.

She stopped in mid-step and started to take a step back when she saw her professor standing by the coffee machine right in front of her, but she didn't make it − he took his coffee cup and bumped into her, his gaze quickly going from her top to bottom, as if he didn't recognise her for a moment.

She swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze, wanting to disappear, to hide, though she didn't actually know why.

There was something awkward about the situation, as if he had caught her in the act.

He merely hummed under his breath, taking a sip from his cup, and walked past her without a word. She looked back over her shoulder at him, swallowing loudly, wondering if he was frustrated by what he had seen, or if he would be more judgmental and unpleasant to her than usual.

He, however, remained just as indifferent to her presence, acting exactly the same as before. She figured he wasn't cruel enough to expect her to dress that way all the time in case she ran into him.

When it was time for the results of the competition to be announced, everyone gathered in the room he read out the attendance list for the first time. She took her seat at the very end, just as she had done then, waiting impatiently to hear what their professor would say.

"I presented the bishop with the projects which, in my opinion, were the best of those you gave me. He made his choice, announcing that he wanted our workshop to prepare Miss Wright's design for him. I made no objection to that decision." He said dryly, standing in front of them with his hands folded behind him, looking to the side, his voice expressing some kind of weariness, as did his gaze.

They were all silent for a moment and then her colleagues began to congratulate her loudly, Royce sitting next to her embraced her and said that she deserved it.

She looked into her professor's eyes and somehow saw a kind of discomfort and frustration at the sight of such familiarity, so she pulled away politely, covering her mouth in disbelief, unable to believe that he hadn't objected, that he had allowed her to win.

She heard him grunt loudly, shifting from foot to foot, everyone turned their gazes towards him again.

"As I mentioned, the whole workshop will split the work on this big project. Myself and Cregan will take care of the faces and hands, the third year and fourth year students will take care of the robes. The second year students will take care of the backgrounds." He said coolly and she felt a squeeze in her heart, even the other students looked at him surprised, though no one dared to speak up.

Despite the fact that her project had won, she was only supposed to deal with the background?

She lowered her gaze, feeling a squeeze in her throat, Cregan moved restlessly.

"I think if Miss Wright won, let her stay more involved and help cut the robes." He said lightly, intending to sound casual, but Professor Targaryen did not even look at him.

"No. Everyone will perform the work according to their skills. Miss Wright will prepare a 1:1 design in colour and line within a week, numbering each of the templates, and then cut them out herself. That's all, get back to work." He said lowly and left, leaving them alone.

Although she tried to keep a smile, she felt tear after tear run down her face, wiping them away quickly with her hands as her colleagues approached her, trying to comfort her.

"Don't worry. The fact that the professor wants to paint faces for your project means that he really likes it. He doesn't get involved in work that doesn't interest him." Said one of the fourth year boys.

"It's true, be happy that you won and will have an input. It will be our collective success, of the whole workshop, but remember it's your composition and your idea." Said Ned, her yearmate, and she smiled with gratitude.

Despite how their professor behaved, her colleagues showed her great support and understanding, for which she was grateful.

She decided to go along with her professor's decision and spent the next week creating a huge design, cutting a template for each piece of glass with special double-blade scissors that reduced the volume of the card by the thickness of the lead surrounds into which the glass would be embedded.

One day they were even visited by Professor Lannister himself, and hearing of her success and taking advantage of the fact that she was alone in the room, he approached her, smiling in a way she didn't know what to think of.

He was a tall man, with light hair pulled back and an elegantly trimmed beard in a pressed light-coloured shirt and smart trousers − he looked at her large project hanging on the wall behind her with a form of admiration, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't know what you did to Professor Targaryen, but apparently it works. You certainly must have made a great effort." He said and looked at her curiously − she blinked, swallowing loudly, feeling subconsciously uncomfortable at the thought that he was trying to imply something.

"Please don't measure everyone by your standards, Professor." She said lightly so that for a moment he didn't understand what she meant. He glanced at her frowning his eyebrows as soon as the meaning of her words reached him, outraged.

"Are you insinuating something?" He asked roughly and she glared at him, cutting out the template with two intense, firm cuts of her scissors.

"And you, Professor?" She asked, raising her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, seeing that he swallowed loudly, embarrassed.

She looked away and saw her professor standing in the entrance, measuring Lannister with an anxious, watchful gaze. When the man saw him he became tense, as if caught in the act, and grunted.

"In any case, congratulations again and I wish you well in your future work." He said, forcing a smile, and she reciprocated his gesture, beaming with satisfaction and contentment.

When Professor Lannister left she immediately returned to her work.

She looked up surprised when she saw that for the first time her professor had approached her of his own free will, standing on the opposite side of her table, looking at the templates she had cut so far.

"What did he want?" He asked drily, and she sighed quietly, cutting open the next sheets of paper, numbering them one by one.

"To learn the secret of my success." She replied softly and glanced up at him, his intense gaze fixed on her. She swallowed loudly, feeling shivers from the way he looked at her.

"What did you tell him?" He asked expectantly, coolly, menacingly, clasping his hands on the edge of the table.

She grabbed another piece of paper, unimpressed.

"That he shouldn't measure everyone by his standards. His attitude towards his female students was one of the reasons I didn't want him to teach me." She said quietly, truthfully, wondering if she was crossing the line by saying such things about one professor to another.

She felt that he was still looking at her, although he had always avoided any eye contact, now she felt that his gaze was burning her.

"And you came to ask for a place with a professor who hit his student?" He asked seriously, lowly, and she lifted her gaze to him, feeling her heart pounding hard, sensing that this was her chance to find out what had happened.

"And did you hit her, Professor?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling that her hands were shaking and she had to concentrate very hard to cut straight.

He was silent for a long moment.

"Yes." He said emotionlessly, indifferently, with a kind of weariness.

She pressed her lips together and swallowed loudly, for some reason afraid to look at him.

"Why did you do that?" She asked quietly, and he chuckled under his breath.

"Does it matter?" He asked, as if the answer was obvious.

"It matters if you did it for no reason or if you were trying to defend yourself against her, sir." She replied wearily, still not looking at him, feeling the atmosphere between them becoming increasingly tense. She heard him snort at her words, surprised.

"In what way could she harm me? Hit me?" He asked mockingly, but there was something in his voice that troubled her, some kind of frustration through which she knew she had hit the target, that something more had really happened there.

"Women can hurt men in all sorts of ways. It's just that they are hardly believed." She whispered and heard him swallow loudly, his chest rising and falling in anxious breaths. She looked at him uncertainly, his healthy eye was wide open.

He was silent for a long moment, she could feel that something was happening to him, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"You prefer to defend the abuser instead of the victim?" He asked in disbelief at last, the corner of his mouth twitching in what she might have called a smile if not for the look in his eyes.

"No. I just know her version of events. I wanted to hear yours before I decided what I thought of you, Professor. I thought it was only fair." She said in a trembling voice, feeling that at that moment she was truly afraid of him.

He did not answer anything for a while, looking at her with a clenched jaw and licked his lips.

"There is no excuse for me. But I don't regret what I did. What do you think about it, Miss Wright?" He asked tauntingly and she looked at him in pain, tightening her lips.

"That I feel sorry for you, Professor. Just like I feel sorry for that girl. I hope you find the decency to apologise to her one day. Excuse me, but I would like to focus on my work." She said quietly, swallowing loudly, feeling regret and disappointment.

She wanted to believe that he wasn't such a bad person, that something had happened that would give him a reason to behave like that.

However, she now knew that she could only count on him in artistic matters, and that in others he could be no authority for her.

She lowered her gaze, returning to her cutting, her hands trembling, feeling that he was still standing in the same place, that he was looking at her, she could hear his accelerated breathing.

After a moment he was gone, she heard him take his leather jacket from the back of his chair and just leave.

From then on it was she who didn't look at him and avoided him even though she saw that he glanced at her occasionally. She knew he was working on detailed sketches for the figure's faces; he was sitting at one of the desks with a sketchbook and pencil, absorbed in his thoughts.

Their gazes met suddenly and she turned away quickly, swallowing loudly.

She knew there was only one day left until the end of the month, after which he was to decide what to do next, whether he would let her stay or kick her out.

She had lost any remnants of a good opinion of him privately, however, he organised their work well and was very dedicated to it − she felt that with him and her colleagues she had learnt more about the subject of stained glass in these few weeks than she had in her entire life so far.

When the day came, however, he was sitting locked in the second room, reserved for him to paint his already-cut glass. This required a lot of concentration and it was easy to make a mistake, so no one disturbed him.

She reasoned that if he had wanted to tell her he was throwing her out, he would have done so immediately.

On her way out of class and walking down the corridor, she saw that the door to the room he was working in was ajar and she looked inside uncertainly. Whatever she thought of him, he was an outstanding painter and she was dying of curiosity as to how he depicted her figures.

Noticing that he had to leave for a moment and that the room was empty, she walked slowly inside, leaning over the illuminated table on which lay the cut, painted and patinated faces of various saints.

Looking at the faces of the apostles, she involuntarily marvelled, noticing the incredible accuracy in the proportions and the lightness with which he had given their faces expression; they seemed both emotional and calm, their faces showing excited anticipation.

Around the glasses were sketches made with pencil that he had prepared beforehand, which accurately represented what he wanted to portray.

She moved on to the face of the Virgin Mary and froze, feeling her heart pounding hard. She looked at the sketch next to it to be sure and swallowed loudly.

Mother of God had her facial features.

Then, when their gazes met, he didn't glance at her casually.

He was portraying her.

She didn't know what to make of it, at once horrified, excited, concerned, shocked. She shuddered when she heard someone's voice behind her.

"Get out." He said lowly, coldly, his gaze menacing, dark, warning. He stood in the entrance with his hands clenched into fists and she wondered how long he had been watching her.

"I'm sorry. I −"

"Get. Out." He repeated in a tone that suggested he wasn't going to say it a third time.

She lowered her head, swallowing loudly, and moved to leave on trembling legs, he, however, caught her firmly by her shoulder as she passed him and stopped her without looking at her.

"Don't ever come in here again without permission. Your painting room is next door. This is my private studio. Do you understand?" He asked in a razor-sharp tone, and she nodded quickly, unable to get anything out.

He let her go and she almost ran out, only drawing in a loud breath in the corridor, she felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest.

His Virgin Mary, the central figure of the whole composition, would have her face.

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

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pointdotiozao · 2 months

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⭐️Wait list open! Slots available starting at late September ⭐️

You can see more of my art in my tags #myart and #art2024

DM me if you’re interested! Rbs are appreciated!

More info under the cut ↓

Process and general info

DM or email me ([email protected])* your inquiry so we can discuss the quotes and book you a slot if none are available at the moment. *I might take I little longer to reply emails.

Payments are made via PayPal invoices, I’ll need your PayPal email.

All prices are USD.

I start working after receiving half the payment upfront.

IMPORTANT: Give me a heads up if you change your url after getting a slot with me, so that later I can still find you!!

It’s alright if you need to reschedule your comm for another time, or even just cancel it, just let me know. No cancellations once I have started working though, and no refunds.

References are appreciated but not required, and well detailed descriptions work just fine, but please try to have all information necessary for the commission ready. (References and/or descriptions for the characters appearances, facial expressions, clothes, poses; background, if any; lighting/type of coloring.)

I won’t charge for tattoos of which you provide transparent pngs.

Additionally:

My wait list is just a rough estimation, the possibility I will be a bit late or a bit earlier than expected exists.

I reserve the right to refuse a commission.

I reserve the right to post my artwork and use it on my portfolio, but I’ll keep a commission private if so requested.

The commissions are for personal use only.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Will Do

OCs, fanart, ship art;

NSFW and fetish art;

Gore and body horror;

Humanoids and furries.

I’ll give almost anything a confident try! 👍

Won’t Do

Mecha;

Hateful imagery;

IRL shipping (doesn’t apply to actors interpreting characters);

Create new designs (characters, clothes, etc.);

And I will no longer be accepting irl face claims for painting style commissions (this doesn’t apply to realistic looking video-game characters).

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The styles:

Sketch- just the early stage of the drawing, rough forms and somewhat messy lines. May include 1 rough color for emphasis;

Lineart- clean lineart with the brush of your choice (I have 3);

Flat colors- includes lineart and simple coloring, no shadows/source of light;

Shaded- includes lineart, more detailed coloring compared to flat colors, simple lighting/one source of light;

Painting- either pieces with no lineart (regardless of type of lighting), or those which have lineart + complex lighting/two or more sources of light.

〃く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡 ₊ ˚ ⊹ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

And finally, seen below are my other contact info. Most of these accounts are still empty and I honestly don’t plan on leaving tumblr, after all the real “tumblr is shutting down” is the friends we made along the way yadda yadda, but seriously my heart can’t take it anymore. I’ll rather be safe than sorry.

#art commissions #commission sheet #commission info #commissions #comm sheet #open commissions #artists on tumblr #digital artist #myart

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htchnr · 4 months

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♰ interstate love ༻ ASH WILLIAMS.*ೃ˚

✮ꜜmasterlist. ✮ꜜbuy me a coffee!

content warning Ash's scheme to get you in his lap ⋆ drinking ⋆ Ash's obsession with beer ⋆ 9 million pet names ⋆ he's kinda insufferable and awful ⋆ but he's awfully cute and we love this old man anyway ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

summary requested by a lovely anon ; may I please request something along the lines of older ash being soft with a younger s/o who is an painter. Maybe the reader paints him and he teases her...? wordcount 1,2k.

authors note i went with drawing instead of painting for this, as i thought it fit better — but UHG i love how this turned out 🫠😩 y'all PLEASE flood my inbox with Ash requests, i'm gonna single hand-idly revive the Ash fandom 🤠

the trailer was quiet, Ash had gone out for a beer run and you were left in silence. you didn't mind, cause that gave you some time alone to draw.

your pencil sketched mindlessly across the paper of your sketch book, and in a few minutes you realised you were drawing Ash. he did have such nice features, his sharp nose and those sweet brown eyes. and since you see him daily, it was easy to draw from memory.

✮ꜜ : ❛

time flew while you drew, sketching his various features onto the paper as you hummed a song to yourself. you hadn't realised how long it had been until the trailer door swung open, Ash coming through with a few cases of beer in his arms. " heya sweet cheeks, " he calls out, setting the beer aside and grabbing two cans.

he looks up from the cases, having not heard your response. he looks around, finding you tucked comfortably into the couch, sketching away. he huffs with a smile, he always wonders what you're drawing whenever he notices it.

he cracks open one can, taking a large chug before walking over to you. you were so into the drawing that you barely noticed him coming in, let alone standing so close — a surprised sound leaving your lips as he sits down next to you with a grunt, an arm swung behind you over the back of the couch.

" oh hey, didn't notice you were back, " you breathe, closing your sketch book and holding your hand out to accept the beer. you set your sketch book aside as you crack the can open, closing your eyes as you take a large swig. it's so warm outside of and in the trailer, the cold beer is very welcome.

you open your eyes once you swallowed, finding Ash's eyes on you with that damn look on his face — like he's either up to something or literally dying to ask something. " what? " you squint your eyes at the older man beside you, taking a sip of your beer. you did not like this look.

he throws back what appears to be half his beer in one go, eyes remaining on you. " nothin', just wondering what's got you so hooked on that book, didn't even hum when i came in, " he responds, and that confirms your suspicion.

you shrug, trying to scoot your thigh over the book beside you on the couch. " just drawing, you know how concentrated i can get. " you take another sip.

now it's his turn to squint his eyes at you, " what's got your panties in a twist, dollface? " his face is mere inches from yours. an exaggerated 'thinking' look on his face. " you drawing me naked? " his smirk splits into that damn sleazy grin of his.

you shove against his shoulder and huff, " pff, you wish old man. " as you throw the remainder of your beer back, chucking the empty can into the trashcan beside the couch.

he pouts, throwing his beer back too, and missing the trashcan as he chucks the can. " damnit Ash, what did we talk about? you've got shit aim stop chucking things around. " you grumble, standing up from the couch to pick up the can and throw it in the trash.

for a moment you're expecting him to whistle or make a lame comment as you bend over to grab the can, but the moment you look back up from the floor you see why he's not — he's nabbed your sketchbook and is flitting through it.

your eyes widen, moving back to the couch. " hey! give that back! " you huff, kneeling beside him on the couch, but he merely grins, holding the book out of reach. " oh come on, " you swat his chest, one hand on his shoulder and the other trying to grab the book from him.

but his arms are longer, the book is out of reach. you let out a yelp as his right arm wraps around your waist, easily pulling you to straddle his lap from your position. " come on baby, let me see what's in it, " he pouts, his right arm tightening around your waist as he looks up at you.

you sigh, one hand resting on his chest. " if you wanted me in your lap you could've just said so, " you grumble, contemplating if you want him to look through the book or not. though, you know despite his teasing and occasionally slightly insufferable personality he'd comply if you said you really didn't want him looking through it. his hips buck up teasingly into yours.

he chuckles, chest moving beneath your hand. " oh peach, i always want you in my lap, " while that stupid grin stretches across his lips, his eyes are looking for any signs that he's overstepping. you've always liked that about him, he's very observant of the people he pesters — you especially.

you give him another second, watching those horrible sweet brown eyes before sighing, leaning forward to lay your head on his shoulder. " fine, you can look through it. " you just know his grin increased in size, his left hand coming down in front of him so he can actually see the book.

you watch from your comfortable position as he flits through the sketchbook, occasionally looking at some drawings longer than others, surprised and appreciative hums coming from him. " wow, these are amazing! " he exclaims, the arm around your waist adjusting so he can use his right hand as well, the metal hand holding the book carefully.

you just bury your face into the crook of his neck, the overpowering smell of his aftershave washing over you. you could never react properly when people complimented your work, it just felt strange to you.

he flicks through the last few pages, before stopping at the page you had just been working on. you felt his whole body tense beneath you. oh god, he hates them doesn't he? he's uncharacteristically quiet for a few minutes, and your mind is racing.

you look up from his neck, eyes meeting the side of his face, his eyes wide and this strange look between shock and amazement on his face. " Ash ..? " you poke his chest, is he malfunctioning?

he blinks when you poke him, as if you poked him back into motion. " you drew me? " and for the first time in a while you can place the tone in his voice. you think it's positive?

you swallow, " yeah, i was bored while you were out and just kinda came from my pen by itself, " you explain, watching his features slowly change. " you've got pretty memorable features, " you let out a breathy laugh.

you look between him and the paper, now that you had them side by side, even you were shocked at how well you had captured him. the drawing were nearly identical to him. " do you, like them? " you ask hesitantly.

he blinks, setting the sketchbook down and looking up at you. " do i like them? " he repeats. you swallow again and nod. " are you kidding me? " you blink, your heart starting to sink a little. " they're incredible, dollface! " he hugs you tightly, both arms around your waist.

you let out a relieved sigh that turned into a laugh, " yeah? you really like them? " you pull away, a sparkle in his pretty eyes.

he nods, pressing a firm kiss to your lips. " when they're done, can i hang them up? " his face looks childishly hopeful. you're always amazed at how young he can look in moments like these despite his age.

you shrug, " sure, if you want to, " his eyes light up. " you really wanna stare at your own mug on paper all day? " you squint your eyes, and his grin returns at your playfulness.

he pulls you in closer, his breath fanning across your lips. " you draw me so flatteringly, how could i not? " he presses a peck against your lips. " besides, it looks like i dropped a few pounds, " he laughs, causing your body to move along with his as the fit of laughter reverberates through him.

you swat his chest, a reluctant smile on your lips. " you're awful, " a breathy laugh leaving you as you shake your head.

Ash's hands move to your hips, teasingly pushing his up into yours, " ah, but you love that about me baby, " he grins, that awful, shit eating grin on his face.

you shake your head with a smile, leaning in to press your lips against his, " i guess i do, huh? "

#⋆୨🩷©2024 htchnr #⋆୨⭐️ash williams #ash williams oneshot #ashley williams imagine #ashley williams x reader #ash vs evil dead x reader #ash williams imagine #ash vs evil dead #ash williams x reader #ash williams #ashley williams #older!ash williams #older!ash williams x reader

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rosanna-writer · 9 months

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (17/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~6k

It's brief (one sentence each), but please note this chapter contains mentions of suicide and animal slaughter.

The last line of dialogue is lifted directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the seventeenth chapter below the readmore.

The townhouse was empty when I got back. At the realization I was alone, I reached for my thigh instinctively, where my hunting knife would be if I still carried one. Perhaps I should have still carried one.

My heart leapt to my throat at the sight of a note sitting out for me, even though I recognized Rhys's handwriting now. I forced myself to breathe before my mind spiraled down a path of panic about kidnappers and attackers.

I was safe. No one could winnow in besides Rhys and Mor. No one would touch me here. I was safe.

Even so, my fingers shook as I picked up the note to read. It was still slow going, but at least this time, I recognized every word, though not always on the first try.

Feyre darling,

I'm at the library and will be back this evening.

The contraceptive tea is still where you left it, but if it gives you peace of mind, you should know that the tonic I was taking Under the Mountain won't wear off for another week.

With all my love,

Rhys

I stood there for a long moment and waited for the sensation of the bottom dropping out of my stomach to pass. Rhys could have told me all of this before he left or said it through the bond—but he'd written a note instead, even though he knew reading still wasn't easy for me.

Once my head cleared of panic, I understood. His side of the bond had been quiet, and I'd assumed there just hadn't been anything to say or any strong emotions he was feeling. But his shields were up and reinforced. Either Amarantha had forced him to take the tonic or he'd been doing it without her knowledge, and…that was something he was only telling me because it might give me some measure of reassurance. And even then, he'd only managed it because he'd insulated himself from my reaction first.

Rhys knew I wouldn't be upset and that none of this was his fault—or at least, I hoped he did—but apparently that didn't stop him from feeling ashamed anyway.

Something about the note made my fingers twitch for a pen. There wasn't one, probably because he didn't want a reply, and I assumed the paper wasn't enchanted to send one anyway. But still, I had the urge to flip the paper over and sketch something beautiful, as if that could beat back the ugliness that had necessitated the contraceptive tonic in the first place.

Even though I knew where the pens were, I didn't go find one. I wasn't entirely sure I could make something beautiful anymore.

I tugged a blanket off the sofa and pulled it around my shoulders instead. The townhouse was warm, but I'd never once felt too hot Under the Mountain. The extra layers and soft blanket against the exposed skin of my arms seemed to ground me, to remind me that I was in the Night Court and not there.

I hadn't meant to fall asleep, but I'd spent half the night on the bathroom floor, shaking like a leaf while Rhys held me. Even though it was barely mid-afternoon, once my heart stopped racing, I drifted off and didn't wake until Rhys winnowed in as the sun began to set. And somehow, even though I was worried and groggy, I found myself appreciating the way his blue-black hair shone in the golden hour light.

Cauldron, the mating bond was relentless.

Rhys didn't move from the the spot where he'd winnowed, right in the center of the living room. He was watching me carefully, and as I sat up, I glanced over him and was relieved he looked fine. Even if he wasn't getting closer to me.

After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," I said.

I wasn't quite sure what he wanted, so I moved to one side of the sofa and extended my arm in a wordless invitation to share the blanket. To my immense relief, he hid his wings and joined me, snaking an arm around my waist as I tucked my legs under me and curled up against him. We loosed a breath at the same time.

A talon rapped politely against my shields, and I dropped them for him. The beast he usually kept hidden, all wings and feathers and talons and elongated canines, entered the antechamber of my mind. Then it turned around once and lay down, like a dog that had come in from the cold to curl up in front of the hearth. I closed my eyes and let my head fall against his chest.

His breath tickled my ear, making me shiver as he scented me, even with the glamour still in place."You smell like safety," he murmured, "and your mind is a more peaceful place than mine has been lately."

If I hadn't felt the change in both of us just now, I would have pointed out that was a patently ridiculous thing to say when I was a human who could barely manage to sleep through the night, let alone protect myself. But maybe…I was safe to admit the worst to.

And maybe even if I had the heightened senses of a faerie, I couldn't distinguish safety from danger anyway, smell or otherwise. Tamlin had certainly exploited that.

I couldn't hold back a small noise of protest as Rhys pulled away for a moment, nearly taking the entire blanket with him, then relaxed again when I felt his fingers in my hair. My braid had come loose in my sleep. Once he'd slipped the tie off the end, Rhys started gingerly untangling the strands.

Perhaps it was reckless to dive straight into it, but we needed to talk, so I said, "Was this morning—"

"This morning was everything," he said, answering the question before I could finish asking, "but I didn't anticipate how it would feel to go straight from that to an in-depth discussion with the healer regarding how weak my wings were. I needed time. The library helped."

"And now?" I would have turned my head to look at him if that wouldn't have pulled roughly on my hair.

"I'll be fine." It wasn't harsh or unkind, but there was a distinct note of finality there. A bit more softly, he added, "And for you, was—"

"I want more mornings like that." It was all that needed to be said.

He let the lock of my hair fall from his hand, and I turned my head to kiss his cheek before he carded his fingers back through my hair again. This close, I caught sight of a bite mark I'd left, peeking out from under his collar. A mark like that, shaped like my mouth and visible to anyone who got close…it filled me with a sense of feral pride. Rhys looked good wearing it.

The beast that had been resting inside my mind stirred. And preened.

"There's no need to wait until morning if you want more," Rhys said, suddenly all dark promise.

But as much I ached to go down that road, there were questions I wouldn't get to if we did. "What did the healer say?" I asked, a little too quickly, even as I pressed myself closer.

Rhys explained—apparently, the process wouldn't be too different from when his wings had been injured during the War. The best method would be to winnow up high and drop back down slowly to the ground and do the same with repeated takeoffs, all while carrying increasingly heavy weights. Progress might be slow, but steady if he kept at it.

An idea stuck me. "How heavy of a weight would you use?"

"It depends," Rhys said slowly, suspicion creeping into his voice. He pulled away to study my face, and I clamped my hand back down on the blanket to keep it around my shoulders.

"I don't weigh very much. Might be more fun than using a sack of potatoes or whatever you were thinking of instead," I said, smiling.

He didn't smile back. "You could get hurt if I'm not careful."

"Hell will freeze over long before I ever get hurt while you're around."

I raised my brows, daring him to argue—I was right, and we both knew it. He shook his head and sighed. "You don't have to be so eager to test that theory."

"It's a certainty, not a theory," I said, pulling him close again. I took advantage of his wings being hidden, resting my chest against his broad, muscled back and my chin on his shoulder.

The wings, the flying…I knew what it meant to him. And maybe selfishly, I wanted him to hold me tight against him while we were high above the ground, just for the joy of being in the air. Cassian and Azriel might have flown me to the House of Wind, but that would never be the same.

Rhys told me about the sleeping draught next; the healer had said to halve the dose for a human if I took it, too. Apparently it was strong enough that we'd sleep through damn near anything—even each other's nightmares. It took some prodding, but we agreed to take it together or not at all, lest someone be left to face bad dreams and vomiting alone.

Over the next few days, things began to feel…a bit more settled. As much as I hated how fuzzy my head felt on mornings after taking the sleeping draught, I couldn't deny that the rest helped. And though I wasn't quite ready to see them yet, Azriel reported that my family was still safe and cared for. I went to dinner with Mor and managed to ignore the obvious stares in my direction and awed whispers behind my back. Even reading lessons had become less of a slog, full of chitchat about books as Evelyn found ones that would be an appropriate challenge—she'd even collected a few picture-filled volumes on art that I spent an afternoon flipping through.

Sex helped, too. There were far worse things I could have thrown myself into with singleminded focus than making Rhys climax, and I think he needed to hear someone tell him his pleasure mattered and insist he sit back and enjoy it. He responded in kind of course, and somehow his hands and mouth quieted the restlessness that plagued me, enough to stop feeling on the lookout for another threat, at least for a while.

We were coping. And it was strange, but not unpleasant, to find myself slipping into a life I'd ached for but hadn't really known I'd wanted until a few weeks ago.

Illyria, however, was becoming a problem. And so was the Hewn City. I hardly saw much of Cassian; Azriel took over training me so his brother could stay in Windhaven. Mor was more than capable of overseeing the Court of Nightmares herself, but it wasn't enough to completely stave off the question of why the High Lord hadn't shown his face since returning home.

And it all came to a head during the next meeting of the Inner Circle.

The six of us had gathered in a meeting room in the House of Wind. I'd trained with the Illyrians beforehand—Cassian had wanted to see my progress—and though I was still flushed and sweaty from exertion, the leathers and sword strapped to Rhys's back were the only signs he'd been sparring. Perfect and polished as always. If he weren't mine, I would have hated him for it.

But there was work to be done, so I forced myself not to stare. Cassian spoke first, and the picture he painted was bleak—not only rampant disregard of laws Rhys had put into place centuries ago, but rogue war-bands. The groups that had been loyal to Amarantha had splintered, and the situation was delicate and unpredictable.

"I won't have any opportunists in Hybern or the Continent catching us flat-footed," Rhys said, slipping into that clipped tone he only used when he was working. "Take whatever measures are necessary to bring the army back in line. You have my full support, whatever it takes."

To his credit, Cassian didn't hesitate as he said, "Does full support mean I can call you in to make an appearance if needed?" Not a challenge, but it put an unpleasant truth out in the open.

I knew what he meant, and though Azriel's grimace only lasted a moment, that was enough to tell me that he did, too. Rhys's wings were still an issue. If he arrived in Illyria unable to fly properly and word got out, he might only make more of a mess. It didn't matter why his wings were so weak—the Illyrians would see it as shameful regardless.

"It's vital to the security of the Night Court. When I said whatever it takes, I meant it," Rhys said, his voice going colder. Darkness made the faelights flicker for a moment.

The tension that had been simmering between them was back. There was a forced lightness to Mor's voice as she said, "You should make an appearance in the Hewn City first, anyway. They're under control, but it would do some good to flex your muscles before they start getting ideas."

It made sense—I'd heard Mor's updates to Rhys, her concern about Keir becoming too bold without Amarantha making him cower—and releasing the damper on Rhys's power to make a point was simple enough. Or it would be, if that didn't mean sending him straight to the place that Amarantha had modeled her court after. If it were me, I wouldn't be ready yet.

The least I could do was make sure he wouldn't be facing it alone.

"I'll go with you," I said, the words out of my mouth before I'd thought them through. "It might be easier on you with me there."

I hadn't been to the Hewn City, but I knew enough to understand what sort of role I'd have to play there. If it helped Rhys, I'd do it without hesitation. It might even feel good, just to have something to do that made me feel useful. Even though it was underground, I'd manage.

"No," Rhys said, and the word came out as something that wasn't quite an order but sounded uncomfortably close.

He'd never spoken to me like that before. I hated it.

His regret crossed the bond immediately, but that didn't matter. I knew it wasn't the same, not even close, but the harshness in his voice reminded me just a bit of how Tamlin had sounded when I'd overheard him speaking with Lucien, an inkling of how much was really being hidden to manipulate me in Spring. And that was enough to set my temper ablaze.

"What's in the Hewn City that you don't want me to see?" I snapped. Aloud, so everyone could hear.

Rhys's voice was softer, almost pained, when he spoke again. I half-expected darkness to ripple off him, but he kept the leash on his power. "There's nothing in the Hewn City that you didn't already see Under the Mountain."

"Then why not bring me?" I said, just as a horrible thought dawned on me. He'd been so angry that I'd gone Under the Mountain. Before I knew what I was doing, the words were tumbling out. "Is this about keeping me in Velaris, like you did to the rest of the Inner Circle?"

Rhys flinched. And the air in the room seemed to go very, very still.

"For what it's worth, I'm not proud of that," he said, not looking at any of us, "but I can't bring myself to regret it, either. You're alive."

Cassian ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I know it wasn't an easy call to make. You chose the least shit option out of a bunch of shit choices."

"That still doesn't mean we had to like it," Azriel muttered darkly, tucking his wings in tight.

"No, we didn't," Mor agreed, shooting a warning look at Azriel before turning to Rhys, "and it's hard not to be resentful. We were trapped. But…we all know it's not your fault for having to make that decision, and I hope you know that, too."

Rhys closed his eyes, and I watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took in a breath and let it out. He started to say something, but Amren cut him off. "And Velaris is by far the most pleasant of all the places I've been confined. Let's move on," she said briskly.

I didn't want to think about what other places she could possibly have been imprisoned. Or how many there had been. But somehow, Amren of all people had cut through the tension in the room. Mor caught my eye, hiding a smile behind the back of her hand.

"I'd put that on tourism brochures if Velaris had any," Rhys said drily, then turned his attention back to me. "After sending Mor in my stead for so long, I'll get the point across most clearly if I go alone, Feyre. It isn't dangerous. But with the attention the Cursebreaker will draw…you'll be most effective as an ace up our sleeve for now. Is that alright with you?"

I considered that. It seemed like an honest question, not just something intended to mollify me enough to move on. And the word effective clanged in my head like a bell. It took a certain measure of confidence in someone to make a calculation like that. I felt…a little less useless.

"That's fine," I said, giving a gentle tug on the bond to indicate all was well. Rhys answered with a feather-light brush of his fingers against mine under the table.

The rest of the meeting was long, if uneventful. I followed more of it than before—while he'd been catching up on the state of the Night Court, Rhys had answered every single one of my questions about it. There were decisions to be made about resuming trade agreements that had been in place before Amarantha and intelligence to be gathered about the extent of the damage in other courts. Our agenda that day was full.

I wasn't used to sitting still for so long, and it seemed like an eternity had passed by the time Cassian finally flew me down to the street. He took off for Illyria just as Rhys winnowed next to me, shifting out of his leathers and into his usual black jacket and pants.

"Take a walk with me?" he said, offering his arm. I hesitated, not quite sure if he merely did just want to walk with me, or if this was about what had happened earlier. Catching the look on my face, he added,"It's a beautiful day, and it would be a shame to let that go to waste."

That, at least, was the truth. Though it was the middle of summer, the Night Court was too far north to get uncomfortably hot. I suspected that wasn't everything—it might also have been one of those days he needed to feel the breeze on his face, but there was no use in pointing that out.

Instead, I just nodded my agreement and took his arm. My hand felt snug and comfortable in the crook of his elbow, but I was shameless about twisting it to the side so I could feel the hard muscle of his bicep through his shirt. Rhys smirked, curling a wing around me in a gesture I was beginning to suspect looked equally as possessive as my fingers around his arm.

"You know the city best. Lead the way," I said.

We walked in companionable silence towards the Sidra. If we'd wanted to, we probably could have stayed quiet the entire evening without it feeling awkward or uncomfortable. But…I wanted to clear the air anyway. After a little while, I added, "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

"They were valid questions that you had every right to ask," he said evenly. I couldn't quite read his face—Rhys seemed unbothered, but I didn't know how to tell if he was pretending or not.

"I could have phrased them better."

Rhys shrugged. "It's better than if you hadn't said anything at all. You should question me, call me out. And if being comfortable doing that means you're a bit harsh about it on occasion….well, it's not as if I haven't survived worse."

He pulled gently on the bond again, and I took that to mean there truly had been no harm done. It made me feel oddly reassured, as if I'd pushed on something that looked delicate and found it to be much sturdier than I'd thought.

We followed a path along the Sidra, and on a day like this, we were far from the only ones out and about. It seemed silly not to have realized it, considering he'd been High Lord for centuries, but everyone in Velaris seemed to know Rhys. People smiled warmly and nodded at him, a few even greeting him by name and taking his hand to welcome him back. Even after fifty years away, he knew them too, sounding earnest when he asked about how their families were faring.

It still came as a shock that they knew who I was, too.

The first time a faerie, one with horns and horizontal pupils like a goat's, called me Cursebreaker and thanked me for challenging Amarantha, I'd nearly blurted out then and there that anyone with a mate would have done the same thing. Instead, I stammered my way through my reply about how it was good to see Rhys home, which wasn't even a lie.

The people of Velaris were respectful, genuinely warm but never attempting to drag him into a long conversation. For me, the attention was still strange. Rhys must have been handling it since birth, but I'd spent so much of my life alone in the woods, doing my best to blend in with the trees as I hunted.

We were arm in arm, but still in my fighting leathers at his side….I don't think I seemed much like an emissary. And certainly not like a lady, either.

If anything, I looked like Rhys's knight.

But it was…nice, to just walk and be together like this. Velaris was beautiful, rows and rows of pretty, well-kept townhouses in bright colors and the flowers along the river in full bloom for the summer. Peaceful and untouched—and protected with the utmost ruthlessness.

I was so caught up in drinking it in—and in truth, watching Rhys drink it in—that it was a while before I realized we were still walking away from the townhouse. Not that I minded, but I still asked, "Are we going anywhere in particular?"

"Yes. I have something to show you," he said, violet eyes bright.

"What is it?"

"My favorite view in the city."

I'd half-expected him to answer that it was a surprise or with some other teasing, flirting response. But maybe by then he knew it was important to me that my questions didn't go unanswered.

When the sun had nearly set, we stopped at one of the benches that lined the path, facing the river. It didn't seem different from any of the other places we'd passed, save a row of low buildings right on the riverbank across from us. Rhys sat, letting his wings hang over the back of the bench, and I followed suit.

We were in public, so I left a careful few inches of distance between us. I ached to be closer, but I wasn't sure it would be welcome out here. "Can I—"

"I was just going to tell you that you were too far away."

I couldn't press myself to his side fast enough. As Rhys wrapped an arm around my waist, the bond seemed to uncoil in my chest, and I was struck again by that sense of rightness, the feeling that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I doubted I'd ever get used to it—not just the mating bond and all the instincts and urges that accompanied it, but being wanted like this.

But that was too much to talk about on what was proving to be something close to a normal evening. I just said, "Why is it your favorite?"

"You'll see in a few minutes, once night falls properly," he said softly, "but it's not just that. Before Amarantha, nearly everyone in Velaris came to watch the boat races down the Sidra on midsummer. It's been a tradition since my ancestors founded the city, and this is where the races always finished."

"Did you…row?" I wasn't entirely sure if faerie boat races were anything like human ones, though I was fairly certain the line of buildings across from us were boathouses.

"Cauldron, no. Training in Illyria was exhausting enough. This is where I came to drink and cheer on my sister."

I had no idea what to say to the mix of quiet sorrow and warm nostalgia in his voice. Telling him I was sorry seemed insufficient. But…I could practically feel the weight of whatever was on his mind pressing down on us both.

"I'll trade you a thought for a thought," I said after a long moment. "Tell me one thing on your mind, and I'll do the same for you."

I half-expected Rhys to balk, or at least, to be irritated with my prying. Perhaps I'd pushed too hard. But he played along.

"The boathouse on the end was green last time I saw it. But at some point in the last fifty years, it was repainted blue, and now I'm thinking about how strange it is to notice all the ways Velaris is different now. Everything is different now, really."

As I watched the last rays of the setting sun dance on the water, I felt Rhys's gaze slide towards me. I took a moment to consider my words. "I'm thinking about how every summer I used to hunt and hunt while the game was plentiful. If I didn't do enough then, we'd starve during the winter. And now it's summer again, and I feel like I need to find a way to hoard days like this because nothing ever stays easy."

"For what it's worth, I'm not stupid enough to think I can pacify you with pretty lies about how you have nothing to worry about ever again."

I snorted. "Have I mentioned how much I love your pragmatism?" It was true, though. His willingness to make difficult choices, no matter how unpleasant, was one reason I'd choose Rhys to be my partner in everything.

Rhys leaned in close, his nose brushing my temple. "Was that an attempt at pouring honey in my ear, Feyre darling?" he purred.

"With you? I don't need to bother."

He nipped at my earlobe, drawing a surprised laugh from me. "Cruel, beautiful thing."

The first few stars appeared in the sky, and suddenly I understood why this was Rhys's favorite view in city. Lines of lights flickered on outside the boathouses, so many that that the buildings themselves seemed to be fashioned out of stars. The sky and the city were reflected on the surface of the Sidra, and in the distance, the colorful buildings of the Rainbow glowed warm, bright, and inviting.

City of Starlight, indeed.

But the sight of it was more than just beautiful. Something about the stars and the city lights on the water brought a buried memory rushing back. I almost couldn't believe I'd forgotten.

"Rhys," I hissed, sitting up straight. My hand curled tightly around his arm.

"Feyre?" he said, suddenly all concern. "Are you—"

"I've seen this view before. In a dream. This exact view. The boathouse on the end was blue, just like it is now."

I wrenched my gaze away from the boathouses to find Rhys staring at me with naked shock. "You were dreaming of Velaris?"

"It happened the day I'd first killed a rabbit. I was eleven. We'd been starving, and the Mother knows where else we would have gotten dinner from if I hadn't done it. But I— I'd never killed something before, and even though it was an animal, I lost a piece of myself that day. I'd cried and cried, and whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was the blood from its throat leaking onto my hands. It took a long time to fall asleep that night, but when I finally did…this is the view I saw in my dreams. And I felt at peace with what I'd done."

Rhys's eyes didn't leave my face, but something in his expression shifted. I could see the wheels turning in his head. "If you were eleven," he said slowly, "then I wouldn't have known about you yet. I didn't start having dreams of you until three years ago. And if you saw the boathouse as blue…then we can be certain I didn't send that image of Velaris down the bond, even unwittingly."

"Then where did it come from?"

"You have a connection to the Night Court's magic, and it's clearly protective of you. A dream like that, on what must have been the worst day of your life….perhaps Velaris kept you from breaking, too."

If Rhys hadn't needed to protect this city and the people it, he would have killed himself Under the Mountain, probably long before I was born. He'd never said as much, but I knew. And perhaps that was the real magic of Velaris—not the wards shielding it, but the magic of art and dreams and peace. If that had sustained my mate for decade after lonely, hopeless decade, then…perhaps after one of my darkest days, Velaris had reached for me as I slept.

After all, it was called the Court of Dreams for a reason.

We watched the lights on the water for a long time, together but both lost in thought. But eventually, my inability to sit still reared its head, and we found ourselves walking through the city again, talking quietly about the places we passed.

Rhys was trying to be subtle about it, but I could tell he was attempting to nudge me towards the Rainbow. I understood; he knew what painting meant to me, and he'd had probably looked forward to showing me the artists' quarter. Last time I'd been in a gallery, though, I'd been falling for Tamlin's manipulations, and now that I knew that…I wasn't sure how I'd react next time I entered one. If I panicked or ran like a coward, I didn't want Rhys to see.

I certainly wasn't brave enough to admit that, either. Instead, I murmured something about it being time to start heading back, and when the worry didn't quite leave Rhys's face, I changed the subject. "Why is your house on the other side of the river anyway?"

But it must have been the wrong thing to say because Rhys suddenly went still. "You don't feel at home here," he said, so softly I almost didn't hear it. Even if I hadn't caught the words, the hurt in his voice would have been unmistakable.

That was ridiculous—I'd never felt such a sense of belonging in my life. "Of course I feel at home here."

"You called the townhouse mine just now. Not ours."

"It's where I live, and I'm comfortable there, but…it's still yours. I don't feel unwelcome, but there's no point in pretending you wouldn't be upset if I just started redecorating or painting all over the walls." That first morning after we'd gotten back, he'd said it was mine too, but in truth, I'd assumed that was just an empty platitude.

Rhys took a step towards me, and the intensity of the way he was looking at me was so strong I wasn't sure I was breathing. "Everything that's mine is shared with you. Because you're my"—a tug on the bond to avoid saying the word aloud where there was a chance of being overheard—"and because I love you. Even if that weren't true, the first dream I had of you was your hand painting flowers on a table. It meant more than I can say, and as far as I'm concerned, you should paint any surface in this world you wish."

"I love you, too." The only words I could manage in the face of…everything.

Then before I knew it, Rhys was kissing me in the middle of the sidewalk. For a moment, all the thoughts flew from my mind, and I looped an arm around his waist to press him against me. But before he had a chance to sweep his tongue into my mouth in front of any passersby, I stepped back to catch my breath.

"What you said before, about the townhouse being mine, too…I thought you were just being nice to spare my feelings," I said.

Rhys huffed a bitter laugh. "I've been accused of a great many things over the centuries, but mincing words to be nice isn't one of them."

I'd take it over being lied to day in and day out, I supposed.

He slid his hands into his pockets and tipped his head to the side. The wind ruffled his hair, and for a moment, that instinctive irrational jealousy struck again—I didn't even want the wind touching his hair instead of me. It nearly distracted me enough to miss the too-casual way he was studying me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're planning something, aren't you?"

He flashed me another one of those feline smiles—the smirking, put-together High Lord was back. "I was just thinking that if I'm not mistaken, there's a set of half-opened paints in storage. Amren attempted to learn one summer, got bored, and gave up. No one will take an open can as a donation, and she's certainly not going to use them. It would be a shame to let them go to waste."

My mate knew me too well. Even though I could tell what he was doing, it was working—I'd struggle to accept a gift, but I hated waste. Just the thought of an empty canvas made my chest tighten uncomfortably, but if it meant something to Rhys, I could manage a simple, repetitive design of flowers on the edge of a table. I'd done far more dangerous, difficult things for him.

"What's your favorite flower?" I said with a sigh.

"Snowdrops," he said without having to think about it. "There isn't much else about winter in Illyria that's pretty, and the blue ones only grow in the Night Court. They're the same color as your eyes."

Elain had planted snowdrop bulbs one fall, and when I'm asked her about it, she'd said that in the language of flowers, they meant hope. I'd thought it seemed pointless then. Now, I wasn't quite sure.

Rhys said something about being back with the paints, kissed my cheek, and winnowed away. As I stood there for a moment alone, I realized…he'd called my eyes pretty. I willed myself to stop blushing so furiously by the time he got back.

Not long after that, we made it back home, and I sat on kitchen floor, mixing Amren's half-used paint while Rhys watched. He hadn't told me where he'd gone to get them, but he'd come back smelling faintly of pine.

It took a few tries to mix the blue to match the shade in the image Rhys sent down the bond, a blue flower pushing its way through a heavy snowbank, on a mountain that must have been somewhere in Illyria. And perhaps finding the right color would have gone faster if he hadn't been leaning in to kiss me so often.

When I began to form the first petal on the edge of the table, the feeling of a wound healing over was so acute that I nearly dropped the paintbrush.

I was safe in the Night Court. I was painting. A mate I loved was sitting beside me. We were clawing back, slowly but surely, the sense of security that had been ripped away when Rhys had been trapped Under the Mountain and I'd been dragged across the Wall.

I painted a few more petals and managed to finish the first flower before the tears pricking at my eyes made me stop. Rhys kissed them away gently. And that was all I needed to dip the brush back into the paint and keep going.

There was a line of flowers extending along one side of the table when something made Rhys stand up. The movement was too fast for me to follow—one moment, he'd been sitting, then the next he was halfway across the room. I turned to see what it was and found that Mor had just winnowed into the kitchen.

I'd never seen her look so grave.

"It's too late to save anyone now," she said, "but there was an attack on a temple in Cesere. Almost every priestess slain, the trove looted."

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home #this chapter was a doozy but the magic of canned soup got me through it

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days-until-burnout · 2 months

Note

Chicken. Do with that what you will.

🐥🐥🐥

📧 Day 45 -

Characters - Cleo/Pearl Words - 880 Time - 30 mins Content - Hermicraft

“What is that thing?” Cleo asked, looking between the feathery thing in Pearl’s hands. White feathers, a yellow beak, a red wattle, and two black beady eyes. Pearl held it between them, like she was waiting for them to grab it as if this was an exchange. However, Cleo simply looked at it, then her, taking a not so subtle step back.

“It’s a chicken,” Pearl said, all smiles and giddiness. Cleo raised a hand to cover her eyes from the sun beaming behind Pearl’s head, though she had no doubt Pearl could probably create light or something like that. In the back of her mind, they remembered their meeting with the Emperors all that time ago, the oddness from that Sausage guy and everything else. For now, she waved it off as Pearl continued speaking. “For you! I brought you a chicken, Cleo. Please accept this token of my friendship.”

Cleo was no stranger to shenanigans, hijinks and bits—and a random gift like this, even if live, was too suspicious.

“What’s this? You don’t want my friendship? Cleo! You hurt my feelings.”

Despite knowing her, despite knowing this situation, Cleo refused to accept the chicken. Instead, she took another step back, shaking her head as her copper curls swished in front of her shoulders. They sighed, hearing Pearl whispering reassurances to the chicken, and walked back into her base. She raised her arms to tie her hair into a messy bun, strands falling to frame her face, a very quiet wolf whistle behind her. Any other day, they would have turned and maybe gave a wink, a flirty smile, or maybe a simple look, but one thing stopped them. That damn chicken that continued to peck at her thoughts, piece by piece bringing them into a state of paranoia.

She settled back in her chair, all her armor-stand bits sprawled out on her table in front of her. Not long after, casual footsteps entered her work-area, circling the room slowly as she grabbed their plans. As best as they could, they tried to focus on the plans, comparing the sketches against the models, the bases with wires, fingers grazing on wooden pieces that had not been sanded. Splinters grazed their fingertips, unconsciously repeating the motion, left to right, left to right, following the curvature of the wire-wrapping. Her mind pinned elsewhere, the occasional footsteps behind their chair, the quiet clucking alongside it.

“What am I supposed to do with this chicken now?” Pearl asked suddenly, snapping Cleo out of their thoughts and finally putting the small stand down. There was no use working under these conditions, her mind so quick to distract. But it was Pearl, so of course she would be distracted, what even was the point pretending to work anyways?

“Oh, I am certain someone else would love your gift, Pearl. Have you tried that, hm?”

Pearl pouted, “But I wanted you to have it!”

With a deep sigh, Cleo pushed themselves from the chair, hands on the edge of the table as they stood up. Before she could even turn around, Pearl was already behind them, her long legs covering so much space so quickly. And when they finally turned, her momentary surprise broke with a chuckle, almost smitten as they let their guard down for a moment.

Pearl smiled, raising the chicken a little but not offering it again, “Thought this might entice you! Sweeten the deal, you know.”

Cleo raised their brow, “Alright, alright, I’ll bite. What’s the catch, huh? Are you giving away someone’s pet? Is this one of Iskall’s Mission Possible tasks? Gift someone a pet? Or what? A prank? Are you gifting me one of my own chickens?”

Her smile was warm, Cleo thought, too earnest with sparkly eyes. And she was right too, because the room seemed to lighten up with Pearl in it despite being indoors. They sighed, hands on hips, giving her a warning look that had no effect on her. That, too, Cleo appreciated. Pearl was reckless as she was fearless, sometimes very empty-headed but definitely not someone to ignore.

Pearl was unpredictable, Cleo decided, and they liked that.

“Nope! Just a chicken, for you from me, a token of my honest friendship. Please accept it!” Pearl extended the bird again, and it clucked. Almost a greeting, maybe a plea. It did not matter, because Cleo finally accepted the gift with an air of defeat. Pearl only beamed, tilting her head slightly, her long brown hair sliding to one side. “Take care of it, okay? I haven’t named it, thought you would get attached to it better if you named it.”

“Mhm-huh.”

“Okay! I will stop interrupting you then! Bye Cleo!”

Before Cleo could reply, Pearl leaped forward and leaned down to press a kiss on their cheek, fleeting, before jumping back and practically skipping out of their base. It took a second to comprehend what happened, but by then, Pearl was long gone, only the echoes of fireworks in the distance. Cleo sighed again, looked at the door then the chicken.

“Now, what should I name you, huh?”

They shook their head, carefully taking the flower from its beak to place on her ear. The armor stands could wait, she had a chicken coop to set-up.

🐥🐥🐥

pfft. okay. so like, idk. i have approval so i win at life. no one can hurt me

#hermitshipping #moonrot #zombiecleo #pearlescentmoon

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violetflowerswrites · 1 year

Text

My Love

Catherine the Great x Leo Voronsky

Summary: Catherine vents out her frustrations about the Russian nobility on her lover, Leo. Pure smut, very little plot, no spoilers. Season 1 of The Great.

Disclaimer: gratuitous swearing, many many F bombs, very crude sexual humor, cannon jokes about beastiality, excessive drinking, consensual oral sex (male and female receiving), p in v sex

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note: I’m a huge fan of historical fiction—the satire and sarcasm in this show is totally my vibe. But I also love how intimate it can get! I love Leo and Catherine and literally cried after I finished season one. Enjoy!

…

“Fucking idiots!”

Catherine the (not yet) Great storms into Leo’s apartment. The light blue fabric of her heavy skirts almost snags the corner of an armchair as she angrily sweeps by.

Leo leans back on a lounge chaise, sketchbook in hand. He wordlessly lifts up a clear glass of vodka that Catherine immediately snatches out of his hand in her tirade about the room.

She gulps the drink in one go and blindly throws the glass in the direction of the tree in the corner of Leo’s quarters. It shatters with a delicate crackle of broken glass.

“I am not a pretty, empty headed jewel for them to jape at as they please. I am a force to be reckoned with!” Catherine shouts, her cheeks and eyes alike inflamed with indignation.

“Shall I propose a toast?” Leo has already produced another glass to replace the one she destroyed.

“You may.” Catherine flops down with an audible exhale of air, still seething in frustration.

“Fuck the court.”

“HAH! Fuck the court indeed.”

They raise their glasses and clink them before unceremoniously shooting back the hard liquor.

“Huzzah!” Catherine shouts sarcastically.

Leo continues sketching a cartoon of Catherine with a large speech bubble that says “Fuck the court!” A quiet giggle escapes his soft lips.

“And what, pray tell, amuses my dear lover?” She settles into the soft cushions of her armchair, the drink and the exertion from her rant relaxing her long, graceful limbs.

“I was just thinking about how you used to be terrified of swearing, thinking us Russians a crude and improper people—which we are, mind you—and yet…”

“And yet here I am, a true Russian, swearing in every sentence I utter.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”

Leo then shows Catherine his cartoon and they dissolve in a fit of giggles.

“You get it now, my love. The world we live in is absolutely fucked so why not laugh a little. I don’t like to see you so upset. Although I have to admit, it does make me wonder…”

“About what?”

“I wonder if you would like to take your frustration out on me? Sexually?” Leo grins at Catherine, eyes twinkling through his mess of dark curls.

“You’re a naughty boy!” She gasps, blushing. The rosyness of her cheeks contrasts prettily with her ivory skin.

“Ooo do tell me more,” Leo winks and offers a hand.

Catherine takes it, and kisses his olive-skinned knuckles.

“My Lord.”

“Empress.”

“Are you inviting me to your bed?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I am inviting you to fuck me, Empress.”

Catherine barks out an unladylike laugh and covers her mouth in surprise at the ugly sound. It makes Leo look at her in amusement all the more.

She clears her throat to recover. “I accept your invitation.” Catherine bends down in a formal curtsy. “Undress me.”

Leo proceeds to undo the laces of the empress’ dress, gently pulling apart the ribbons at the back. He presses his soft lips to the back of her neck, sending a slight shiver down her spine, before turning Catherine around to unbutton the frock. Her breath quickens as Leo’s mere proximity to her milky white bosom makes her skin flush an aroused pink, a phenomenon that does not go unnoticed.

“Empress?” Leo whispers against her chest, his eyes glued to his lover’s beautiful body.

“Yes?” She responds breathlessly.

“Do I have permission to touch you?”

“If you do not touch me this instant, I may have to go to the stables and fuck a horse like all those fools think I did.”

“Then I shall be quite jealous of the noble steed you deem worthy of your pussy.”

The two of them share a wry smile at the ridiculousness of their conversation. But, the moment Leo’s lips press hot, tender kisses to her chest, Catherine’s expression morphs into a pleased moan of desire.

His affections continue across her supple skin as he pulls apart her clothing, revealing her gorgeous feminine form to him once again. Somehow, Catherine’s hands have already removed his tunic and they are now exploring every inch of his handsome chest. She runs her fingers down his curly chest hair, leaving behind the slightest of tingles everywhere she moves. Leo’s breath quickly comes in pants as her touch alights his skin, and his heart, and of course, his cock, on fire.

“Shall we try something?” Leo suggests, an amused smirk barely hiding just how aroused he is.

“What’s that?”

“Come here,” Leo gestures for Catherine to get on top of him as he lies on the bed, and she does, quickly pressing kisses to his soft lips. “Now, turn around.”

“What?”

“Let me taste your pussy, and you can lick my cock. A win-win, don’t you think?”

“Leo, that's quite—oh!” Her sentence is cut off with a gasp, followed by a pleasured groan. Her lover's mouth is now planted firmly inside her pink folds. His chin glistens with her slickness in seconds.

“You were saying, my love?” Leo lifts his head out of her cunt with a wet noise. Catherine slowly loosens her hold on the sheets that she didn’t even know she was gripping with white knuckles.

“Never mind. You may continue.” She acquiesces quickly, her gaze now locked onto the bouncing cock before her. She has only sucked him a few times, thinking it not much to look at, much less taste, but she felt it is only fair that he gets what he’s giving.

So, Catherine widens her jaw and attempts to swallow the thick log down her gullet.

And proceeds to gag immediately.

Leo pauses at once and calls out, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, do not worry!” Her voice betrays some embarrassment.

Leo realizes that she’s trying so hard to please him and it makes his heart melt in love for her all the more. “You don’t have to—“

“Stop. I want to. Just let me try at my own pace.”

Catherine ducks her head down, lips pressing kisses to the pink tip of his cock, the engorged shaft and its criss cross of veins, the heavy ballsack dangling underneath.

Men are truly an odd creature, what with this uncomfortable thing dangling about in their trousers.

Another moan rips her out of her musings, her mind forgetting for a moment that Leo is eating out her pussy as if it is a delicious piece of fruit, perhaps his favorite peaches.

So she relaxes herself and tries again, slowly accepting his length into her mouth, her tongue lapping up the underside of the shaft. A strong, salty smell fills her nostrils as she inhales, trying to suppress her gag reflex.

She hears a guttural groan escape her lover's lips, somewhat muffled by her soft core, but clearly a sound of pleasure nonetheless. Encouraged, she proceeds to suck his cock in more, her cheeks hollowing out as she adds pressure on his member.

Leo gasps and groans underneath her, his hips thrusting upward automatically, chasing his high. In response, Catherine spreads her thighs and settles on top of Leo’s face even more, letting his hot breath tickle her most intimate regions, and his tongue appreciatively pries apart the petals of her pussy.

And then, he finds her pearl.

In seconds, Catherine releases his cock and comes with a scream, her eyes screwed shut and her hands clawing at the bedspread. Her breath comes in messy gasps as her body shudders with the aftershocks of orgasm.

Leo calmly sits up as she crumples into a spent heap on the mattress.

“Well, that was nice.” He quips nonchalantly.

“More.” The word barely audible through her heady pants.

“What was that?” Leo smiles, his own breath unsteady, betraying how aroused he is behind his causal grin.

“I need more.” Catherine locks eyes with him fiercely, like a lioness staring down her prey.

“Of course.”

Catherine climbs atop his lap, his still erect cock pressed against her soft belly, and she devours her lover’s mouth ferociously. They exchange tongue and saliva and breath in a duel of passion, their lips interlocking as if they could never kiss each other again.

Catherine breaks for air first, her tender breasts rising and falling rapidly. Leo seizes the opportunity to suck her sensitive pink nipples into his hot mouth, eliciting a shout from her lips.

“Oh god—!”

“God should probably turn his eyes away right now, don’t you think?”

“Leo—mmph!— you never stop joking, do you?”

“I’m just here for the ride,” he laughs and Catherine joins him, her voice ringing across the room.

“Shall I, then?”

“With what?”

“Ride you.”

“If it pleases you, Empress.”

Catherine squeals with unbridled enthusiasm and quickly aims Leo’s cock straight for her pussy. She smiles into another kiss at the same time she sinks onto his length.

“Mmph!”

Leo’s moan is swallowed by her lips, just as her cunt swallows his cock. Her sunlight blonde hair cascades in waves around their faces, as if a private curtain hides the two of them from the harsh reality of the world around them. Her warm, wet inner walls squeeze him as he grips the flesh of her hips in ecstasy. In response, Catherine locks her hands behind his neck and into his dark curls and starts to bounce her plush ass onto his lap.

“Oh! Oh! Yes!” Her voice comes out in high-pitched yelps that can surely be heard by the guards standing outside their doors.

To his credit, Leo is no quiet lover either. His relentless groans reveal just how much he enjoys being ridden by the Empress of Russia.

She pauses to catch her breath, rolling so that her clit rubs against his hard body. Leo marvels at her shameless chase of carnal joy, and quickly sucks his fingers wet and finds her sensitive nub between their connected bodies.

“Leo!” Catherine grits out his name and catches his hand, her fingernails digging into his wrist. His mind goes wild with equal parts pleasure and pain and he doubles down, rubbing even faster.

He thrusts upward to match her eager rhythm, which only serves to make Catherine scream louder.

“Fuck!”

“Yes, my love! Give it to me!” Leo encourages, his girth stretching her deliciously. She can feel him bottoming out, his length completely disappearing inside her with every bounce.

“Ohhhhh!” A particularly violent push elicits a long moan from the empress, her orgasm apparent to her lover underneath her. He can feel the throbbing of her cunt squeezing his cock, and he cums inside with an equally long exclamation.

Completely spent, they both roll onto their sides, facing one another with silken sheets covering their sweat-soaked, heat-driven bodies.

She sighs contentedly, her face adoringly searching his.

“I do love it when you call me that.”

“Hmm?”

“Empress.”

“That is who you are, is it not?”

“Indeed. But perhaps I like it more when you call me something else.”

“And what’s that?”

“ ‘my love’ “

Leo melts instantly and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

“My love. I’ll follow you forever.”

“Even if I make a fool of myself?”

“Oh, especially then.” Leo smiles with good humor, and quickly adds on, “my love.”

“I love you.” Catherine whispers, her gaze soft and pure with emotion.

Leo simply kisses her forehead and holds her tightly to the warmth of his beating heart. A heart that beats only for his love.

…

#the great #Catherine the Great #Catherine x Leo #the great fic #the great smut #the great imagines #Catherine the Great fic #Catherine the Great smut #Leo #Leo Voronsky

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v4lky-ri3 · 2 days

Text

The Artist

⁺˚⋆｡ °✩₊𖦹 ⋆° ✮🎨

Notes: Please accept this old short story for my lack updates/posts. I originally wrote this for an english assessment. I put my heart and soul into writing this but got an awful mark out of it. Anyways, hope you enjoy it, would love to hear you thoughts.

TW: lowkey abusive and manipulative behaviour, implied kidnapping, and imposter syndrome

Word Count: 806 words

I stared at the blank canvas hoping, wishing even, that it could magically paint itself.

“You’ll never be able to compare to the greats.”

I cradled my head in between my hands, releasing a heavy sigh of exasperation. “Shut up!” I yelled in frustration as I threw a paintbrush at the tauntingly empty canvas. “You’re useless, utterly useless.” That damn voice won’t stop degrading me and my skill. It will not go away.

“You’re a coward hiding behind someone else’s shadow.”

You’ve probably heard of my name Julian Blanc. I am a great artist, well was a great artist. That was years ago, back when I first came out onto the scene. I awed people with my skills of being able to bring inanimate objects to life with one stroke of the brush. Critics described my works as pure perfection, I was a master at the craft. Until it stopped completely.

“You’ve failed.”

I couldn’t create masterpieces like I once could. I didn’t possess the passion that a master should carry with himself at all times. I fell from grace much like Lucifer did. Then the voice appeared. It started to endlessly whisper to me.

“You’re a fraud.”

“You are nothing.”

I tried to make it stop but it didn’t. Eventually, the critics said I was nothing but a ‘fallen prodigy’. They were right and so was that little voice. I have failed. I am a fraud.

I stood up from the stool and started rummaging through the studio for supplies, grabbing paints, brushes, and materials off the shelves carelessly. For I was to create my magnum opus. This would put me where I deserved to be. Back into the spotlight, earning praises for my genius and being worshipped for my talent. This is what I desired, this is what I craved. Validation from the world and to gain its admiration, again. No matter what it cost me. I spilled all my materials onto the table near the canvas.

“You can’t do this.”

I grabbed a pencil to begin sketching and… nothing. My mind was blank as the canvas in front of me. Daunting. This can’t be happening to me! No, no, no, no, no. I need to do this to prove the voice wrong. I need to do this to prove everyone wrong.

“You’ll never be able to prove them or me wrong.”

I heard the clattering of the pencil hitting the ground, it echoed throughout the studio. I looked down at my trembling hand. I took a step back, as I vigorously shook my head from side to side in protest. The voice became muffled as I cupped my ears, but it grew louder and louder. Falling to my knees, as I felt the walls closing in, slowly suffocating me. Heavy breaths rang inside my ears. Then silence. It was quiet, too quiet. I shakily stood up from the concrete floor. I picked up the fallen pencil and placed it back on the table.

Walking through the studio admiring the walls filled with my artworks. Each one was more exquisite than the last. Until I came across the first one I ever created. It was of a woman in distress, hands covering her face, revealing no hint of her true expression. It was painted a singular color, red. Everything was red. It baffled anyone who came across it. She made people wonder. Why was she in distress? What caused her to feel this way? She meant much more to me. She was the one who made me a master. People came far and wide to catch just a glimpse of her. She was the Mona Lisa of our time. Compared to my latest creation. It was desperate and rushed with splatters of paint slashed across the canvas. It didn’t evoke any emotion, it was bland. It was a complete mess of colour which clashed with one another. Funny how they both complement each other and don’t at the same time.

“You’ll never be able to create again.”

That damn voice! How it irritates me. It simply will not go away.

“You’ll never rid of me”

I will get rid of you one day! You’ll be a whisper in the wind once I’m done with you. Gathering my thoughts, I strode down the stairs to the basement to go shift through previous works to gain inspiration. Opening the door as it swung vexatiously slow, the hinges wailed with age. The light barely illuminated the narrow stairway, I placed my foot on the step as they squeaked underneath my weight. Reaching the bottom of the steps, the light flickered as it caught the curve of a lone woman hunched over a canvas.

“What do you want?” She hissed out.

“I want you to show me what you’ve created,” I demanded “And to shut up.”

#sofia's stories #short story #short stories #ocs #original character #original story #yandere #writing #creative writing #writers on tumblr #female writers #writeblr #writer

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xcaptain-winterx · 1 year

Note

Babes 🖤 can I request something super fluffy and cuddly and loving with Jimmy? Maybe like reader or OC is overworked (job or uni), feels anxious about the still remaining amount of work and is touch deprived? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Love you 🥰

I love you too, sweetheart🥰💛

Cuddle To Go

summary: above

warnings: fluff, stress, mentioning of smut, mentioning of men’s wieners

a/n: English is not my first language, meaning you will probably find a lot of misspelling etc.

Masterlist 2 Jim Pace Masterlist

You hate people more than anything, ok, not hate hate, but hate. Since June, you’ve been working on your new collection for the Berlin fashion week, and it was going great until it wasn’t. Apparently you forgot some designs. Not one, not two, or three, but twenty-one! Now you have to come up with twenty-one more looks, then order the fabrics, book more models, and more. All this needs to be done in three weeks, in which you will not get any sleep. To that comes the fact that you’re currently uninspired. The looks you already designed are inspired by the 18th century and took you months to design.

You let out a scream of frustration as you throw another sketch in the trash. The bin is already full of failed designs. Either they don’t match the rest of the collection, don’t follow the theme, or are just straight-up bad.

You are close to crying at this point; everything is going wrong. How could you be so stupid and forget about it? You should’ve focused more on work and not on anything else. Or anyone.

The table moves as your phone starts to vibrate, making you let out an annoyed growl. You ignore it and continue trying to design something good. A few seconds later, the phone stops vibrating, and the only sound throughout your apartment is the ticking of the clock, which is formally telling you that your time is running out.

You try to think of something that would be runway acceptable.

Something

Anything

God

One thing

Think

Think, Goddammit!

Why can’t you just do one thing right in your life! First you forgot about the designs, and now you can’t even think about some new designs! You should’ve never gotten distracted in the first place.

“Babe, where are you?”

Oh great. There’s the distraction. The reason you forgot about the show. The reason you couldn’t walk.

“Babe!” Jim screams again, confused as to why you’re not answering. Normally, you greet him at the door and give him a kiss. He’s often gone for some weeks because of his job, and with you, traveling for fashion shows, it happens that you don’t see each other for a month. You both always make sure to make up for the missed time. You spend hours showing each other how much you missed them.

Jim quickly walks through the whole apartment, a slight panic setting within him. The panic vanishes though, when he finds you in his office, the office you claimed as your office. A smile spreads on his face when he finally sees you, hunched over the table, wearing one of his dress shirts and women boxer shorts. Jim ignores the urge to take you from behind and empty his load inside you as he walks over to you and wraps his arms around your waist.

“Hey, babe. Are you ok? You didn’t answer me”, he asks, rubbing soft circles on your stomach. It surprises him when you suddenly trash in his arms until you break yourself free from his embrace. “Hey!”

“God, stop that, Pace!” you hiss, not even trying to hide the frustration in your face or the annoyed face you make.

Jim looks at you confused as to why you are frustrated right now. Did he do something? Is he the reason you are acting like how women are portrayed on TV when they are having their periods. God, he hates male directors.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with patience and a soft voice, knowing that if he shows any irritation, it will get worse. He reaches for your hand only for you to slap it away, “Y/n”

“Can you please stop that, I don’t have time for that” you say, turning around and grabbing your pen again, ready to sketch something that will probably end up in the trash.

Jim puts his hands on his hips, this is not how he imagined his welcome home would be. Instead of ruining the carpet with some well deserved and passionate sex or even brutal fucking or at least some making out, he comes home to find his girlfriend in a bad mood. He doesn’t like that. Not because he doesn’t get to have some adult playtime with you, but rather because he hates seeing you unhappy.

“Babe” he tries again, “what going on?”. You give him no reaction, which makes Jim let out a groan. You roll your eyes as you hear his groan, but unknown to you, he has seen your eye roll in the reflection of the window.

Stupid Sierras

“Y/n” he goes for what feels like the hundredth time, “tell me what happened”.

“YOU HAPPENED!” you scream, turning around and facing him.

Jim stands there shocked; he didn’t expect you to have an outburst like that. He doesn’t remember that he did anything that could’ve led to you being this mad. He’s sure that he didn’t leave the toilet seat open when he left. He frowns, “What do you mean?”

“YOUR DICK HAPPENED!” you scream out, while pointing towards his crotch.

His eyes follow to where you’re pointing before looking back at you “my dick happened?”. He’s fucking confused.

“Yes, your fucking dick happened, you dick”

Jim tries to think of any outcome that could lead to you being like this because of his dick that has been in you weeks ago.

“Are you pregnant?”

Wrong

“WHAT!” you say, suddenly feeling more insecure than frustrated because of work, “do I look fat?!”

Taking your reaction into account, his assumption was wrong and brought him into a deadly situation. “No, no no no, I just thought that your emotional- no uh-just expression your emotions like that because of hormones- the intense feeling of uhm- growing life inside you”. Jim would like to shoot himself right now for sounding so stupid. “You look beautiful as always”, he shoots you a smile, hoping that at least that can make you feel more ‘comfortable’.

A exhausted sigh leaves your mouth, and you grab the half sketched design, “I need to have twenty-one looks, and I only have a maximum of three weeks for that.”

“I thought you already had all the looks?”

“I thought so too, but no, I didn’t” you say, slamming the sketch down, “and everything I sketch looks like shit-”.

Before you can say another word, Jim pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his strong arms around you, “shh, it’s ok”.

You sink into his chest, face completely smooshed in his shirt, hiding from the world. He strokes your hair, kissing your head every other second and swaying a bit. When you finally decide to leave your hiding place, you see that you left a fat mascara stain on his white shirt. You didn’t even realize you were crying. “Sorry about your shirt, baby” you whisper, feeling embarrassed by the whole situation.

“It’s ok, love” he whips your tears away before giving each cheek a kiss and finally kissing your lips, “maybe you should take a break. How long have you been working?”

You look at the clock on the wall and see it’s 10:43 p.m., “about 16 hours, but-“.

The moment Jim hears how many hours you’ve been working, he picks you up, ignoring your gasp, and carries you to the living room. When he gets there, he lays you on the couch before squeezing in next to you and pulling you on top of him.

You desperately fight the urge to just relax, but the warmth of his body, his rich cologne, and the touch of his fingers drawing circles on your back makes it hard.

“You’re done with work for today, babe”

You can only give a small ‘ok’ due to the exhaustion that is just starting to show right now. Maybe it was stupid of you to work that long, knowing that you can’t come up with good ideas when you’re stressed and tired.

“Do you want me to call the concierge to get us some food, or something else?”, he ask.

“Later”, you move so your head is in the crouch of his neck, “I only need this right now”.

He chuckles, “ok, love”. He feels your eyes closing, your lashes tickling his neck.

It’s silent until Jim decides that he needs to ask you something before you fall sleep.

“So, my dick is such a huge problem that you forgot about your passion for designing and half of your collection”.

He yelps as you pinch his side. This man doesn’t care if he gets shot, but he yelps when he feels a pinch.

“Shh, Jim. We can talk about it later”, you say amused, with still closed eyes.

“Whatever you say, love”, he goes before closing his eyes too, smiling when you give him a soft kiss on his adam’s apple before drifting off into a soft slumber.

#callan mulvey characters #callan mulvey #callan mulvey x y/n #callan mulvey x reader #the gray man sierra four #sierra four #sierra four x reader #sierra four x y/n #sierra four x you #jim pace x you #jim pace #jim pace x y/n #jim pace x reader #💛

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vilithshaven · 3 years

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Hi, if it's not too much to ask, can I please request the dumbass god reader but with zhongli, venti, and ei? I just have a very special place for 'no thoughts, head empty' and 'dumb of ass, pure of heart' character tropes in my heart, Thank you very much!!

THE ARCHONS WITH HIMBO GOD

This also fits with another ask about himbo god wondering if they could fly lol. I'm seriously loving these, it's too funny to imagine all the possibilities. Anyways hope you enjoy!

-Vin

Zhongli

The Geo Archon loved his God, he truly did. He worshipped the ground they walked on and appreciated being able to breathe the same air as them.

..But sometimes he doesn't understand what goes on through his God's beautiful mind, he didn't even know if they even thought things through.

Such as today where he was leading them towards Azdaha's cave, after begging on both sides about going and not going, Zhongli had ultimately caved in to his god's desires.

"I want to see the puppy." The statement startled the Geo Archon as he gazed upon his God, their face was stern as if they were talking about serious war matters.

"Puppy?" Zhongli questioned not knowing there was a puppy, did they want a puppy or did someone have a puppy around here? He was confused.

"Yes, the puppy! The rocky shiny one! It lives underground!" they exclaimed with their face set in a pout, now Zhongli was even more confused. There was a rocky shiny puppy? Underground? is that even safe for a dog?

"Your Grace..I am not aware of this..puppy." His God suddenly turned around to grab a spare piece of paper and a pen, they began sketching what Zhongli could only assume would be a dog.

"It's YOUR puppy, and I want to see it." The Geo Archon's face blanked at the horrible drawing of Azdaha.

"My what?" He spluttered in surprise, Azdaha was a dangerous creature and to call it a puppy of all things! Zhongli shut his eyes feeling the headache come on before sighing. "Your grace I do not think that is wise, Azdaha is very dangerous and has been in rest for hundreds of years. He would not like to be woken up by this." He tried to reason with them but they would not budge on the matter. Zhongli accepted his fate of having to deal with an angry Azdaha trying to kill him and accepted his god's wishes.

As they walked along the grassy fields towards Azdaha's dwelling, Zhongli only grew more anxious. He knew his God would most likely run up to the dragon without any sense of caution, only angering Azdaha further after seeing Zhongli.

He could hear his God singing right next to him, he didn't know the song personally but he still enjoyed the serene moment before disaster.

"Your grace..I advise not to call Azdaha a puppy to his face" he warned but they either didn't care or didn't hear him as they kept going along looking at all the flowers and nearly bumping into everything if it wasn't for Zhongli grabbing their arm and pulling them to him every time they did. Zhongli could already feel himself aging by a hundred years as they entered Azdaha's cave, the stress was already building up as well as his anxiety for their safety, all of this just to see his God's beautiful smile.

The Geo Archon breathed out a heavy sigh before going under the frozen tree and into the entrance of the cave, he gave one look to the wonderful being by his side only to see them lost in thought.

"Is something on your mind, Your Grace?" he asked snapping them out of their own world and back into reality. They shook their head in response and looked up at the seal waiting for Zhongli to open it.

Zhongli gave a hum before unsealing the entrance, taking his god's hand they entered together into Azdaha's dwelling. A deep rumble could be heard once they stepped in, the ground shaking almost knocking the both of them off balance.

Trying to catch up to them proved to be difficult as the rocks kept falling directly in his path, his shield barely able to take the force of the impact. Miraculously his God seemed to be unharmed as of now, even when rocks came crashing down right next to them, only missing by an inch, they seemed perfectly fine and continued heading towards Azdaha in their excitement.

Azdaha suddenly got up and roared, sending a chill down Zhongli's spine as he knew what to expect next. Hurrying in, he grabbed his god and threw them over his shoulder making them shout in surprise, he headed back towards the entrance as fast as he could while rocks were being thrown at him. seemed perfectly fine and continued heading towards Azdaha in their excitement.

"You dare...to step in here.." A deep voice suddenly spoke, the large figure of Azdaha now starting to wake, cracking one eye open the dragon saw someone standing right infront of his face.

A hand suddenly reached out to touch his head and stroke it, the dragon recognized this being as this world's true god and respected them as such. But the sudden and rude awakening just to have a pet made him slightly angry.

Zhongli could feel the air shift as a low rumble came from Azdaha, the ground shaking as well from the sound.

"Look! It's purring!" his god exclaimed. Zhongli looked at them in astonishment, the absurd notion of Azdaha purring almost made him laugh if it wasn't for this life or death situation right now.

Azdaha suddenly got up and roared, sending a chill down Zhongli's spine as he know what to expect next. Hurrying in, he grabbed his god and threw them over his shoulder making them shout in surprise, he headed back towards the entrance as fast as he could while rocks were being thrown at him.

"Bye puppy!" was all that was heard before they left and the seal was closed back up.

VENTI

Venti wholeheartedly encouraged his god's actions, everything they did he supported them, every question they asked he answered, every little thing they did was seen as gospel in his eyes.

Though the duo was a headache for everyone else involved.

Even though the Anemo Archon gave in to whatever his god wanted to do, he would still make sure they did it safely. He's noticed their miraculous luck that nearly made them never get hurt, but he couldn't help but worry about that luck running out one day.

The winds blew a gentle breeze across Mondstadt, the sky clear and the sun bright, all aspects of a good day ahead. Venti breathed in the fresh air as he walked along the paths with his god, their hands intertwined much to his delight. His god had a smile on their face as they looked up into the sky, it made Venti happy that they seemed to appreciate this land.

"Hey Venti?" his god suddenly spoke, he hummed in response for them to continue.

"So..if I'm a god...can I fly?" they asked. Venti blinked and stayed silent for a moment before giving a light giggle.

"Well...I don't know, but if you'd like, I can take you flying!" he exclaimed. His god brightened up at the notion and nodded happily. Venti tugged their hand to walk faster towards a nearby cliff, his excitement clearly shown through the grin on his face.

When they both reached the cliff Venti let go of their hand and faced towards them, his god seemingly admiring the sight of Mondstat from so high above.

"Okay! This might be scary at first but trust me! You'll feel like a kite hehe." His eyes closed to exaggerate his smile, when he didn't hear an immediate response he looked back at them only to find them gone. He quickly panicked and scanned the area before noticing them at the edge of the cliff with their arms out.

"Let's find out if I can fly!" their words shocked him to his core, then they suddenly jumped off the edge causing him to scream in fear and surprise. He quickly jumped after them and used his anemo abilities to bring them in his arms and back up to the cliff.

"You..let's not do that.." he panted out, his heart nearly burst out of his chest from their bravado. Venti made sure to keep a tight grip onto the arm as he calmed down, in order to make sure they won't do that again.

"I told you..if you want to fly, let's do it together!" He smiled at them before circling his arms around their waist from behind. The winds started to circle around them lifting them up into the air. His god gasped as their feet left the ground and looked down in amazement.

The anemo archon felt pride in making his god astonished, the winds brought them higher and higher till they could see the city in the distance. His chin rested on their shoulder as his braids glowed, their legs intertwined as he clung onto them.

"Thanks for the height boost!" the sudden movement startled him, his god was trying to flop out of his arms and into the air. Their shoulder hit his chin causing him to bite his tongue, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth.

"Wha-" he tried to spit out, the kicking was putting him off balance as his god leaned all of their forward out of his arms. The winds holding the two of them became unstable and they both started crashing to the ground.

Venti could only cushion their fall with a sudden gust to bed them before they hit the ground, both of them landing in a heap on the ground with a thump.

He spit out the blood in his mouth before looking at his god who was just staring at him in confusion, Venti sighed tilting his head back to the ground and shook it.

He will make sure none of what just happened gets out to the other acolytes, they might just kill him.

It was the deep glowing purple of Ei's hair that caught her god's attention. Their eyes transfixed on it when it had first appeared, the gently sway of Ei's hair almost made them swoon.

So they began to seek out Ei more often, for the sole reason to touch her soft silky hair. The Raiden Shogun, of course, did not mind this, and instead basked in their presence and touch.

Her god seemingly popped out of nowhere, at completely random times. No matter what she was doing, who she was talking to, if she was awake or not, it did not matter to them, as long as Ei's hair glowed a beautiful deep purple, her god will always come to her.

One time Ei was sitting in a hot spring, taking her time to relax and unwind from the daily stresses in life. Her hair was tied up in a bun as she soaked in the hot water, eyes closed and head tilted back, enjoying the steam against her face.

Everything was silent besides the ripples of the water, nothing could bother her in this moment. Peace and tranquility washed over the archon.

Till she felt her hair come undone. Violet eyes snapped open before looking back at the intruder who undid her bun, only to see her god sitting their on their knees, a thick hair tie in their hands as they smiled at her and reached forward.

"W-what are you doing?!" Ei shouted out in surprise, their hands grabbed the top of her head before bringing it forward towards their chest. Fingers started stroking the end of her hair that were now wet from the hot spring.

A purple hue started glowing from the tips of the archon's hair and slowly travelled upwards to the back of her neck. She could feel her god's intense stare at her locks causing her to blush slightly, she brought a hand up to her chest to remind herself to breathe.

Ei was slightly embarrassed to be seen bathing by her god but she couldn't say she hates it, even though she was nearly naked with only a towel covering her body. She leaned into their touch as they started braiding her hair, humming contently at their actions, she put her back towards them to give them better access.

"I've already seen you naked, you know?" their sudden statement caused Ei to jump up in shock, her face flushed while her mind raced around multiple questions.

'When? where?? how???' she couldn't think of a single instance, for she usually notices her god's presence even miles away. Her embarrassment soon dimmed down, leaving her with shock and irritation. Eyebrows furrowing at the innocent look on her god's face, tilting their head like a puppy who did nothing wrong.

A pout came across their futures as they reached out for Ei's hair again but she took a step back away from them, obviously her god didn't understand the morality of what they just admitted. The archon humphed and kept backing away from them, as if to teach them a lesson.

Unfortunately, her god doesn't really learn, instead they kept leaning forward on the edge of the hot spring, falling right in with a splash. The water waved over Ei causing her to gasp, her god's head popping up out the water as they flailed like a fish, trying not to drown.

Ei looked down at their pathetic attempts before sighing, grabbing their arm and standing them up. They blinked and looked around before smiling and splashing in the water with their legs jumping up and down.

Ei pinched the bridge of her nose while holding her towel up, the once relaxing hot spring turned into another random drop by from her god. She loves them but she can only take so much from them sometimes.

#sagau #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact hc #genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin #zhongli x reader #venti x reader #ei x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin cult au

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babybluebex · 3 years

Text

good doctor kreizler ch. 2: book of revelations

summary ↠ sequel to good doctor kreizler // the case of the murdered boys continues, and you're suddenly overcome with terrible emotions for seemingly no reason. but laszlo knows why. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 3.3k warnings ↠ explicit language, mentions of menstruation, nausea, and pregnancy, descriptions of violence against children (yknow how the alienist works lmao) a/n ↠ enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

You sighed heavily and pressed your palm to your diaphragm. Your corset was causing more discomfort than usual, but you could look past it. There were deeds that needed to be done. You stood up from your chair and moved to the telephone on the wall, and you caught the side-long glance that an officer gave you. Perhaps it was some sort of confidence that being with Laszlo gave you, but you found yourself saying, “Can I help you, sir?”

“D’ya need help with that telephone?” the man asked, puffing at a cigarette. The smell of it made you feel ill, especially the way he blew it nearly directly at you. “It can be awfully difficult for a lady.”

You gave him a plantative smile, and you said, “I can manage. Thank you, though.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Because I’d be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Really,” you said, taking up the end of the telephone. “I can do it.”

The man took a step closer, and he placed a hand on your waist. “You think, because you work for the police, you can be a bitch?” he hissed. “If a gentleman offers you help, you take it.”

The door to the room swung open, and you turned to see your lover there, wearing your favorite emerald-green suit and black coat. Laszlo was a gift from the gods, for sure. He made sure you knew that you were worthy of what you were given in the world, and he strived to give you more. Every time he presented you with a new dress or necklace, you always kissed him to show your gratitude, but reminded him that such gifts were not necessary. “You’re the only thing I ask for,” you would remind him. You knew that the thought of it troubled the good doctor, that he was worried that he wasn’t enough, but, every night, you kissed his shoulder and arm and assured him that he was more than what you deserved. You trusted Laszlo with your body, soul, mind, and heart, and he did the same of you.

Which is why you were thankful for the little fibs he would tell every so often to save face. “I would greatly appreciate it if you removed your hand from my wife,” Laszlo said firmly, his accent stronger than usual; his German gravel was intimidating to those who only knew him from stories in the newspaper. “New York’s finest and all…”

The officer took a step back from you, and Laszlo moved closer to you. “What do I owe this visit, sweetheart?” you asked, pressing your hands to his chest. Laszlo bent down and swiped his lips along your cheek, and you felt yourself grow warm at his unusual display of public affection.

“You left a file at home,” Laszlo said. “I remember you talking about transcribing it.”

You cooed softly, and Laszlo reached into his coat and extracted the file folder for you. “You’re so good,” you told him. “What can I do to repay you? I’m sure I’m making you late to the Institute.”

Laszlo tilted his head as he thought, and he put his hand on your waist, right where the officer had put his. Laszlo was hardly a jealous man, but the moments where his mood matched his suit made you giggle. He was a world-renowned alienist, but he was truly just a teenage boy in mind and matter. “Let me take you to dinner tonight,” Laszlo said, and you groaned. “And the opera. Please, my beloved, just one night.”

“Las, I told you, I don’t like when you spend your money on me,” you grumbled. “Just, please. I’m perfectly happy taking dinner at home. In fact, I prefer it more!”

“More than Delmonico’s?” Laszlo asked. “What if I invited John and Sara and the Isaacsons?”

“No, Laszlo,” you giggled, and you pressed your thumb into the little dimple in his chin. “The problem certainly will not be solved by adding more people. Can we just stay home tonight and listen to an opera on the gramophone? We’ve both been working very hard lately, I’d just like a simple night with you.”

“A simple night,” Laszlo said softly, pulling the words around in his mouth. “My beloved, I am not a simple man.”

“Boy, that’s the truth,” you chuckled, and you moved from his grip to return to your desk. “Maybe next week, we can go to the opera. Alright?”

Laszlo chuckled lightly, and he tugged you close and laid a kiss on your forehead. “Whatever you’d like, my beloved,” he told you. “When can I expect you at the Institute?”

You pulled Laszlo’s left arm up to your face and looked at his watch, ticking away at half noon, and you said, “Around three or so. Would you mind having some tea ready for when I get there? I’m feeling plain awful today.”

“What’s wrong?” Laszlo asked, and you smiled at the sudden emergence of Dr. Kreizler. While his degree wasn’t exactly in physical medicine, he always liked to be the first to examine you for maladies if they arose.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed, waving your hand dismissively. “Just a bit of a stomach ache. I assume it’s nearing that time of the month for me, Las, you know how I get.”

“Of course,” Laszlo said softly. “You know, you could have just told me that’s why you didn’t want to eat at Delmonico’s tonight.”

You looked around quickly, finding the small space empty void for you and your lover, and you carefully took the furred lapel of Laszlo’s coat between your fingers and tugged him close, close enough for you to smell the lavender pastile that he liked so much. “Truly, my reason was more than that,” you whispered. “I wanted you to ravage me tonight, for as long as we both can bear.”

You almost missed the way that Laszlo’s breath hitched in his throat, but you were glad you noticed it. “It is getting to be that time, isn’t it?” he said carefully. “Increase in libido is a common side effect of menstruation.”

You hummed softly and pressed your fingers to his cheek. “I love it when you talk like that,” you said. “You’re so wonderfully smart, Las, I wish you wouldn’t be ashamed to show it.”

“I’m not,” Laszlo said. “You just choose to ignore my intelligence.”

“Now, why in the world would I do that?” you laughed. “You ought to be getting to the Institute. I’ll see you shortly.”

Laszlo gave you a warm smile and kissed your cheek, and you felt yourself shiver at his lips. God, you could hardly believe how much you loved him. You felt your stomach flutter, and you heaved a sigh. “I love you,” Laszlo said softly, and he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you soon, my beloved.”

You fixed your jaw and swallowed down the ungodly feeling in your throat. Something was wrong, you could tell. The usual air of the parlor was not there, the cheerful if slightly remorseful lightness. Instead, the parlor was overtaken with a heady sadness that completely outweighed the macabre curiosity.

“Laslzo,” you said quickly, dropping your briefcase by the table, and you joined your lover at the window. He was smoking his pipe, something you had only ever seen him do a handful of times before, and you immediately ran your hand soothingly down his back. “What’s happened?”

“Another body,” Laszlo mumbled. “Another child.”

You bristled. “But-But I thought we had figured it out? The murderer followed Catholic holy days?”

“That was a suitable theory at the time,” Laszlo said. His gaze was fixed to the outside world through the murky glass, and you looked around the room. John was sitting at the long table, absently sketching something, and Sara was studying the chalkboard that was covered in Laszlo’s neat script. “But he’s gone off schedule, and we might as well be back where we started.”

“Not really,” you said softly. “I mean, so he jumped ahead a few days. If the body bears the same marks, if the victim is the same as the others, I don’t see why a change in date--”

“Of course you don’t,” Laszlo scoffed, and he stepped away from you.

You were stunned silent, and you watched Laszlo move back to the table with the heaps of paperwork. “What does that mean?” you asked.

“You’re not looking at the entire picture,” Laszlo said sharply. “You’re only focused on the way he changed the date, not the why. Why did he change his schedule, why is there another body weeks ahead of the next holy day? Now we have to be concerned if it’s even the same murderer. Is it a copycat murderer that hasn’t pinned down the schedule as we have? There are many moving parts to this that you don’t seem to comprehend.”

“Las, I do see that,” you countered. The way he doubted you stung your chest, but that was Laszlo. When he was angry, he lashed out. You had come to accept him, even if the words he said truly hurt. You saw Sara turn to look at you, a hint of pity in her blue eyes, and you sighed. “Look, do we have records of the new victim’s body? Perhaps that will give us insight.”

“Yes,” John said quickly, not even giving Laslzo a chance to answer and cut your feelings even deeper. Why had his admonitions hurt so much more than usual? You were afraid that, if he spoke to you like that again, you would start crying. And then they would be right, everybody would be right: a woman was too delicate to handle crimes like this. “I visited the morgue as soon as I heard. I sketched what I could manage, and took notes of everything else.”

You moved around to join John at the other side of the table, choosing to ignore Laszlo. You could feel his eyes follow you as you bent towards John to look at his sketches, and your eyes followed the charcoal lines of a young boy. Like the others, his eyes were plucked out, his throat slit, and his hand cut off, but a few errant marks on the boy’s stomach made you tilt your head. “What’s this?” you asked, gently tracing the lines with your finger. Soot of the charcoal came off on your fingertip, but you paid little attention to it.

“Our murderer made gashes in the boy’s stomach,” John said. “This one--” he pointed to a particular line, “Was deep enough to view the intestines. Four in total, but they don’t seem to follow a pattern.”

“Everything follows a pattern, John,” Laszlo said quickly. “We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Four…” you mumbled. “And this sketch is accurate to scale?” John nodded, and your eyes studied it for a moment longer. Four of them, two of them a bit shorter than the others. Those two were situated at the bottom of the boy’s belly, right where the V of his hip bones would be, and the one of them was at the top, just under his breastbone. The fourth, the biggest, longest, deepest, was straight down the middle, bisecting the boy’s navel.

Your vision became blurred. Your breath came in gasps, and you felt dizzy. A terrible sickness crawled up your throat, and you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to stop the flow of vomit. Vomit. You never vomited, not even when you had viewed past victims’ bodies in person. The smell of corpses wasn’t even enough to make you ill, but your heart quickened when you cast another glance to the sketch.

You fell into a chair besides John, and you gasped, “I think I’m gonna be sick--”

Sara came to clutch your hand in an instant, and John hurried to hide the sketch. “Las,” you mumbled. “Can you get me some water, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Laszlo said quickly. Your other hand was filled by his, and you cast a glance upwards at him. Now, instead of the tepid malice that he had had in his eyes, he had complete worry.

“I’ll get you some water,” John said. “Laszlo, watch over her. I’ll be back.”

“What happened?” Sara asked. “You started to sway and turned a ghostly pale. Did you see something?”

“J-Just those gashes,” you mumbled. “They-They looked like scars my mother had.”

“Scars?” Laszlo asked. “What do you mean?”

You sniffled, and took your hands from both grasps to wring in your lap. “I was born via Cesarean section,” you said. “M-My mother had been sick and fragile since before she was pregnant with me, and her doctor advised against natural childbirth. She had a scar right down the middle of her stomach in the same fashion as the body… A-And, when I was still in school, a doctor found a series of tumors in her ovaries. It had spread through the rest of her, but the doctor tried to combat it by removing the original tumors, and… The scars on his waist match the ones my mother had. I-I just-- Why would the murderer give this poor boy a woman’s scars?”

Laszlo bristled at this. You hardly ever mentioned your family, or him his, and he knelt down in front of you. “There’s something more than that,” he said softly. “My beloved, please speak to me. What’s troubling you?”

You chewed your bottom lip, and you gave a gasp as you tried to steady your breathing. “Sara,” you mumbled. “Can you give us a moment?”

Sara squeezed your hand and nodded, and she quickly excused herself. You waited until the door closed fully before sobbing and leaning forward to rest your head against your knees. “I’m sorry, Las,” you mumbled. “I-I just-- I can’t bear the sight of that today. I’ve felt ill all day, and now all of this, it’s far too much for me right now.”

You had nearly forgotten that you had requested tea earlier in the day, and you watched Laszlo rise from his knee and retrieve the tea cup. He quickly took note of your quivering hands, and he lifted the porcelain tea cup to your mouth. You sipped at it, hoping that it might soothe you, and you wiped your tears from your cheeks. “Laszlo, what’s wrong with me?” you sniffled. “I-I’ve never done this before, why now?”

“You already said that you feel ill,” Laszlo said carefully. “Maybe the sight of the body and the state of it was a shock to your system. Has the nausea passed?”

You shook your head quickly. The ugly feeling of it still sat in the very back of your throat, and you reached out for him. Laszlo set the tea cup aside and came to you, and you buried your face in his stomach from where you sat. Your arms circled his waist and you held him tightly, and you keened up into his hand as he began to stroke your hair.

Suddenly, Laszlo began to move with quickness, pulling you to your feet. You hardly had time to ask what he was doing before his fingers began to undo the back of your blouse. “Laszlo!” you cried. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Trust me, my beloved,” Laszlo said quickly. With his one arm tight to his body, he pulled your blouse off of you, then started at your corset. That sick feeling back came, and you reached forward and braced yourself against the table. Your head hung as you tried to control your nausea, and you whimpered, “Laszlo, what is this?”

Your lover gave a growl, one of deep frustration, and he grabbed your corset by the bottom hem and shoved it down your body, past your waist, to expose your breasts and stomach. You couldn’t help but sigh at the release of pressure on your middle, and Laszlo turned you around to see your bare skin. He knelt down in front of you and pressed his forehead against your stomach, and you watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. You hardly understood what he was doing, but, if the half year courting him was any indication, he knew what was best. “When was the last time you menstruated?” Laszlo asked, next pressing his cheek to your bare stomach.

Your hand instinctively went to cradle his cheek, and you shrugged. “Several months ago,” you said. “I… They come and go, I suppose. Is that normal?”

“And your breasts?” Laszlo asked next, and you grimaced.

“What’re you getting at?” you asked.

“My beloved,” Laszlo said carefully, and he looked up at you from his place on the floor. His dark eyes were glistening with tears, and your heart sank and adrenaline rushed bitterly into your mouth.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Laszlo, no, I-I’m not-- I can’t be--”

“I think you are, beloved,” Laszlo said. He stood up and shucked off his suit jacket, and he laid it across your shoulders to hide your body from the cold room. “I think that you’re pregnant, my beloved. That would explain every malady you have: the aches, the irritability, the nausea, the delicateness, the increase in libido. Pregnancy offers an explanation for all of these.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, but a smile came with them. “You…” you started, and you sent a weak punch to Laszlo’s firm chest. “You absolute bastard!”

Laszlo laughed and tugged you into him, and you hugged him tightly. Laszlo, your wonderful Las, the father of your child. “Oh, my beloved,” he sighed, kissing the side of your head. “How did I not see it before?”

“Men can tend to be blind to such things,” you said. “But I feel as if a special blockade is up for you when it concerns me.”

“I agree,” Laszlo said. His hand came up to rest against your face, and you leaned into his touch. “My dearest girl…” he hummed, and he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours. You pressed back, letting a smile grace your lips. “Marry me, my beloved.”

It was hardly even a question. “Of course, Las,” you said softly. “How could I say no to you? It would ruin your reputation, having a child out of wedlock.”

“Thta's true,” Laszlo shrugged. “But I think you would want to marry me regardless.”

“How dare you act as if you know what I want,” you said, but you kissed the tip of his nose anyway. “But, yes, Laszlo. I would love to marry you. Mrs. Kreizler… Is that something you ever thought you’d hear?”

“Not from you,” Laszlo chuckled. “I never thought that you would want the burdens of marriage. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that upon our first meeting.”

“How could you manage any thought during that interaction?” you giggled. “If what you told me was true, you were quite distracted that day.”

Laszlo gave a soft little grunt, and he snuffled his face into your neck. “Yes, well, a man has to learn to multitask,” he said. “Oh my God, I cannot begin--”

The door to the parlor banged open, and you hurried to cover yourself. “Marcus,” Laszlo said firmly. “Give us a moment, will you?”

“Doc, this is pretty important--”

“I am having a private conversation with my fiancée, Mr. Isaacson,” Laszlo said, his voice rising just a bit. “You can tell me whatever you wish as soon as I finish this conversation.”

You looked over your shoulder to the younger Isaacson twin, and your face grew hot when your shoulder slipped from the jacket. Marcus’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he put his hands up in a plantation gesture. “Right,” he said quickly. “Um, sorry, Doc. I’ll be--”

“Do hurry it up, Marcus,” you said, pulling your fiancé’s jacket tight around you. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”

You watched Marcus leave the room and shut the heavy door behind him, and you scoffed and dissolved into giggles. You buried your face into Laslzo’s warm chest and kissed just over his heart, and you sighed. “I’d love to speak more about this at home,” you said. “I love you to absolute death, Laszlo.”

“And I love you more,” Laszlo said softly.

#laszlo kreizler #the alienist #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x reader angst #the alienist fanfiction #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #daniel brühl fanfiction #daniel bruhl fanfiction #daniel brühl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader angst #daniel brühl x reader angst #laszlo kreizler angst #daniel brühl angst #tfatws #zemo

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sakasakiii · 3 years

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Hello there! I just wanted to say I love your art, I especially love the art and comics about Finwëan wives because Eärwen's swans destroying Nerdanel's sculpture is peak comedy. I also love your OCs especially Marildë because holy moly a Vanya marrying into Fëanor's family?

*Fëanor puts on his 'father-in-law from Utumno' jacket*

Also my heart just breaks at the thought of Maglor never meeting his baby, I was wondering if you could share what happened to Marildë and the child when Maglor left Valinor?

Thank you <3

sjsjHAH HELLOOOO thank you so much ahhhh!!! First off, I'm really really stoked you like my stuff about the wife squad! I love them too ahhh I wish we knew more about them in canon... but oh well, that's why headcanons exist eh!! 💕

Onto Marildë! GAAAH i was so tickled to hear you liked her! I honestly wasn't expecting to hear anything on her after that one post, but i am weEPING because you are!! absolutely right!! Maglor marrying a Vanya would have not pleased Feanor I think (brings back his memories of the whole Finwe-Indis spiel), so even though he did accept it I think the apprehension would stay... leading to the whole them living separately thing 🤷‍♀️ 'Father-in-law from Utumno' thoOOO.... omg you are a GENIUS 😂 I am getting that printed onto a mug ASAP and no one can stop me!!!

Hehe so I did some thinking per your prompt, and honestly I am a big fan of Marildë moving in to stay with her mother-in-law. Although she does have Vanyar family living on the slopes of Taniquetil, I like to think Nerdanel would be one of the first (after Maglor) that she tells of her pregnancy to, leading to Nerdanel assuming her maternal side and inviting her to stay with her so she take care of her.

I enjoy adding on to the narrative of Maglor's track record with pairs of twins lmao, so what's the irony of him having biological twins of his own without ever knowing? Admittedly, I ended up going on a whole other tangent with the concepts of Maglor's non-canonical kids when I was dong these sketches for stress-relief... so bear with me lololol

I think they'd be raised primarily by their mother and grandmother in Valinor, staying primarily with Nerdanel and Mahtan or their maternal Vanyar relatives interchangeably. I suppose there's not much Marildë would do except try to be a good mother, though her kids would form opinions of their own of their absent father as they grow older (with Lindion growing more disdainful, and Laurelotë more curious). When Arafinwë leads his host to Beleriand for the War of Wrath, they'd both follow along to fight and ultimately return empty-handed to their mother and grandmother without their father... Though what happens if Elrond returns with Maglor in the 4th age is a story for another day!

Thank you for this amazing prompt ahh!! I had so so much fun with it and I'm very flattered that you were interested in my OC hbjdsd 🙈🙈 Thanks again, you lovely person, and have a wonderful rest of your week! 💓

#rin replies #shiroandblack #lindion is basically daddy issues personified #and laurelote's just an alien off in her own world #disaster duo smh #i need more grandma nerdanel content!!!#i am too invested in these non-canonical kids LMAO #apologies for this divergence in content!!#i have one more oc post coming tomorrow perhaps then hopefully back to answering asks lolol #silm oc #maglor's wife #maglor's children #nerdanel #silmarillion #my art

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just-a-dumb-gay · 4 years

Text

Why Are Humans Like This - Lady Dimirescu X Reader - 1623 Words

5 Times you try to scare Alcina + the time she gets you back

Prompt from Anon-R: Reader tries to keep scaring Alcina and Alcina just plays along cause it’s so cute that her partner who is barely half her height tries to scare her after all she’s the one who scares others

Tags: Reader gender is not specified, it's just soft, Daniela shows up twice and twice is bored of you, but Alcina admires your effort

1 .

You're wandering the halls of the Castle Dimitrescu, bored out your mind. Alcina had some business to attend to in the village down the mountain but with it being the middle of winter you could not go with her because she was afraid you would be too cold. Her daughters are who knows where, so you don't have anyone around to keep you company.

You're down an almost hidden corridor near the front door, and get blasted with a cold draft indicating Alcina is finally home. You decide to try and make the day more interesting to break up the boredom. Peeking around a wall you see that it's definitely Alcina who opened the door, and lucky for you she's not looking in your direction.

As quietly as you can you tiptoe behind her as she is hanging her jacket up neatly. Once you're behind her you shout "Boo" as loud as you can. But she doesn't flinch, but she does start laughing and turns around to face you, her pail skin glowing with happiness.

"You knew I was there didn't you?" You ask, a little disappointed.

"My dear Y/N, your socks squeak ever so slightly on this floor," She continues laughing. "It was a good attempt though." She says leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You sigh but can't help but smile whenever she's so gentle with you. You decide to make it your mission from then on to scare Alcina at least once.

2 .

Another day in the middle of winter and Alcina once again went into town without you to gather some food for you along with some extra supplies.

When she arrives home you take a few bags through to the kitchen and realize this might be the perfect opportunity to try and scare Alcina again.

You look around for a hiding spot but your thinking is cut short by her footsteps echoing nearer the kitchen. You dive into a cupboard that is currently empty, there's probably better places you could have hidden but this was the closest.

The door opens and her footsteps pause for a moment.

"Y/N? Where have you gotten yourself to?" It takes everything in you not to laugh.

She begins walking closer to your hiding spot, a second later you hear bags being placed on the counter above you.

You realize you didn't have a plan for how to scare her, but that doesn't matter because the cupboard door opens to reveal Alcina kneeling in front of it, smiling from ear to ear.

"Really?!" You say with a sigh.

"You were not exactly quiet when closing this," she says tapping the door before offering a hand to help you out,

You sigh again before accepting her help.

"If it's any comfort, Daniela would have fallen for that." She laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

A loud "Hey! I heard that!" comes from somewhere nearby, followed by many meaningless threats when you both burst out laughing.

3 .

Spring finally rolls around and Alcina celebrates by taking you out into the garden and woods behind the castle for a picnic. But as soon as you both get comfortable on the plaid blanket she brought out she notices she forgot the most important part of lunch. The wine. She asks you to stay put and rushes back inside.

You pick at the grass for a moment before deciding to try and scare Alcina again. And this time you're confident it will work.

You make your way up a tree, all the practice you had as a kid exploring the forest around your home coming in handy. And there you wait.

She returns with two bottles of what looks to be some fancy and quite old wine, but stops once she sees you've disappeared. She places the wine on the blanket and begins looking around nearby for you.

After staying quiet for a few moments she finally walks under the tree you're in allowing you the perfect opportunity.

You jump down and land on her back with your arms around her neck.

"Should I start calling you a monkey from now on?" She teases.

You let yourself down from her back, confused as to how that didn't work. Alcina sits down and interrupts your thoughts by pulling you down into her lap and peppering you with kisses anywhere she can reach. Something that never fails to make you laugh.

“You will scare me one day, Y/N, I'm sure of it." She encourages, squeezing her arms gently around your waist.

4 .

A month or so passes with you struggling to find the chance to have another attempt at scaring Alcina. But finally on this fine morning another opportunity shows itself.

You wake up to Alcina having already left the bed and in the shower. Not seconds after having your idea you're sneaking through the corridors down to the kitchen. Once you have the required item, a bucket of cold water, you sneak back to your room and into the bathroom. You're relieved to see she left the squeaky door open, less chance for you to get caught.

Carefully balancing on the toilet, you attempt to pour the cold water over her. But you miss. Completely. She steps out the way of it the second you tip the bucket over.

"Seriously?!" You sigh, getting frustrated that nothing you try is working.

You step off the toilet as Alcina pulls back the shower curtain watching you with a fond smile.

"That was a good try, I'll give you that." She takes your hand and places a soft kiss on the back of it, before yanking you into the shower with her. While you're still fully clothed.

You scream slightly at the sudden shock as Alcina has her arms around your waist keeping you trapped with her. Although you can't protest much, you will never get bored of hearing seeing her so full of joy.

5 .

It's a normal quiet night in the castle, raining is pouring outside making it the perfect time to curl up and watch a movie.

You're thinking over your past failed attempts at scaring Alcina when one final idea comes to mind, something an old friend you had used to do to you all the time.

You wait for a quiet bit in the movie and glance over to Alcina to make sure she's focused on the movie. You take a second to mentally prepare yourself, before screaming loudly.

Alcina jumps beside you and turns around with wide eyes worried you're hurt. But your scream quickly turns to laughter.

Not 10 seconds after you scream Daniela barges in the room expecting danger but is only met by you doubled over laughing and Alcina looking incredibly confused and still shocked.

You take a moment to compose yourself knowing they're both waiting on an explanation. But all you can get out is "Finally!". You throw your hands in the air in celebration and that's when it clicks for them both.

Daniela rolls her eyes and leaves while mumbling "Why are humans like this?", she's never exactly been a fan of your antics. Alcina on the other hand sits patiently waiting for you to calm down but no matter how hard you try you can't stop laughing.

"Y/N please remember that you need to breathe." Alcina says with a hint of concern. Upon hearing that you have to try extra hard to calm down.

It takes a few moments of deep breathing for you to finally stop laughing. But when you do you turn to Alcina with a victorious smile.

"I had faith you would manage one day, although I will admit that is not how I expected you do to it." She says, sounding genuinely proud of your success.

+1 .

It's a horrible day outside, heavy rain and thunder. You're in your room working on a sketch of the castle you started a few days prior when it was sunny out. Alcina had sat behind you in the courtyard with her head resting atop yours watching you draw.

You've never been a fan of thunder, so you have your headphones on up as loud as they'll go. You don't know exactly where Alcina is, you assume she's somewhere around the castle perhaps checking to make sure the rain isn't getting in anywhere.

You lean back in your chair to think for a moment, you can't figure out what but something is missing from your drawing. You wind up deep in thought trying to understand what's wrong or what's missing when a strong pair of hands grab your shoulders.

You get such a freight you fall off your chair and as soon as your headphones fall around your neck you're met with the magical sound of Alcina's laugh echoing through the room.

You mumble "Holy shit" as you're trying to get your breath back.

When Alcina hears your laboured breathing she worries she may have been a little too rough with you. She helps you off the ground and over to the much more comfortable bed.

"I hope that was not too harsh, my love." She says, worry flooding her voice. She gently rubs your back, waiting for you to say anything.

It takes a few minutes but once you're sure you can trust your voice all you say is "I definitely deserved that."

Alcina is relieved at your humor and begins laughing with you.

Daniela comes into the room again, but not as rushed as last time. She sees you both laughing and figures out her guess of there being no real danger was correct. Rolling her eyes once more she silently leaves you both to your painfully cute ways.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil

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pointdotiozao · 2 months

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The wait list for the second semester of 2024 is open!

DM me if you’re interested! Rbs are appreciated!

More info under the cut ↓

Process and general info

DM or email me ([email protected])* your inquiry so we can discuss the quotes and book you a slot if none are available at the moment. *I might take I little longer to reply emails.

Payments are made via PayPal invoices, so I’ll need your PayPal email.

All prices are USD.

My wait list is just a rough estimation. The time I take on each work varies and sometimes there are cancellations, as well as other external factors, so even though I’m mostly on time, the possibility I will be a bit late or a bit earlier than expected exists.

IMPORTANT: If you change your url after getting a spot on my wait list please remember to give me a heads up so that later I can still find you!!

It’s alright if you need to reschedule your comm for another time, or even just cancel it, just let me know. No cancellations once I have started working though, and no refunds.

I start working after receiving half the payment upfront.

I won’t charge for tattoos of which you provide transparent pngs.

I reserve the right to refuse a commission.

I reserve the right to post my artwork and use it on my portfolio, but I’ll keep a commission private if so requested.

The commissions are for personal use only.

Will Do

OCs, fanart, ship art;

Suggestive themes, NSFW, and even fetish art (with only a few exceptions I highly doubt I will encounter here, but who knows);

Gore and body horror;

Animals, humanoids and furries.

In doubt just ask, I’ll give almost anything a confident try.

Won’t Do

Mecha;

Hateful imagery;

IRL shipping (doesn’t apply to actors interpreting characters);

Create new designs (characters, clothes, etc.);

And I will no longer be accepting irl face claims/painting real people on painting style commissions (this doesn’t apply to realistic looking video-game characters).

The styles:

Sketch- just the early stage of the drawing, rough forms and somewhat messy lines. May include 1 rough color for emphasis;

Lineart- clean lineart with the brush of your choice (I have 3);

Flat colors- includes lineart and simple coloring, no shadows/source of light;

Shaded- includes lineart, more detailed coloring compared to flat colors, simple lighting/one source of light;

Painting- either pieces with no lineart (regardless of type of lighting), or those which have lineart + complex lighting/two or more sources of light.

You can see more of my art on my blog tagged as #myart. If you find a style you like but is not sure of which category it fits in, just ask me!

〃く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡 ₊ ˚ ⊹ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

#commissions #commissions open #commission sheet #digital art

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latenightdecaf · 3 years

Text

Entry 7 - Summer of Vulnerability

part of let the pile of good things grow series - series masterlist

previous entry here

Yoongi x reader

Ft. nonidol!bts (glimpse of ex-boyfriend!namjoon)

Producer!yoongi, roommate!yoongi, soft!yoongi

slow burn romance, friendship, slice of life

series of drabbles/one shots

warnings: alcohol consumption

a/n: okay so here goes y/n remembering his ex!joon also will never get over of in the soop yoongi! can’t wait for the new season. Thank you guys for reading! 🙈

word count: 2,546

Went home from the grocery and some of their wines are on sale so you got carried away and bought 8 bottles and to your surprise, Yoongi’s cooking steak. “oh my God!” You exclaimed as soon as you saw him cooking in the kitchen with paperbag of wines in your arms. Yoongi looked at you with a confused face.

“Did you just read my mind or what??! There’s a sale on the corner deli and…” raising both of your hands as if surrendering, “okay don’t judge me yet but i got a little carried away.”

“A little carried away? You looked like the world’s going to run out of wine tomorrow.”

He smiled on your disclaimer and shaking his head as he paid his attention back to his steak.

“No.” You sighed. “Nothing went my way today, not at all—but i dont want to think about it. I’m psyching myself out of it you see, or better yet i’m drowning myself on these babies.” As you drank your first glass empty. “My eternal companion, the love of my life…”

He turned to your direction, only to see you hugging the bottles of wine that you bought.

“Come on clear the tables, your babies are not going anywhere.” He declared as he puts down 3 steaks and some aglio olio with honestly way too much garlic because it’s Yoongi.

“I didn’t saw you made pasta also. I am so happy now.” You happily exclaimed as you took a bite of your new favorite steak. “But why the 3 steaks? You hungry?”

He sat in front of you, filling your glass with wine and his too.

“You need food before you chug them all up. I’m not gonna clean up your mess. So you better get it together today. I tell you.” He scolded you.

“Sure sure.” As you immediately devour the pasta he made.

One bottle of wine down. He let you listened to a ‘sketch’ he’s been working on lately. Carefully studying your already flushed face for any reaction. He does this sometimes, ask for your opinion even though you have zero idea about music and producing or anything related to that for that matter.

All he considers is whether you winced at the melody of it, or you nod and eventually smile as it goes. But this time you’re just staring blankly in your wine glass, circling it repeatedly as the sketch ended at exactly 2 mins and 19 secs. And when it ended you looked straight at him.

“This looks like it’s almost done right?” You commented. “Yeah.” As he gulps on his wine, emptying another glass.

“And you wrote the lyrics also?” He nodded.

You looked away and sighed. “It’s too beautiful—Sad and in pain, feels tormented also but beautiful.”

He blinked several times at your words. You’ve heard several of his sketches before and you’d just always say, ‘it sounds good, but Yoongi—i have no idea about music. Zero.’ But he’d let you hear it anyway for couple more times and he’d smile at your ignorant reactions.

This time however, doesn’t seem like a laughing matter. Something about your words got his heart beating faster and he has no idea if its just the amount of alcohol he has consumed by now or just you.

You clinked on his empty glass. And asked, “You want more?” He nodded. And you poured him another. “Remember the girl, I introduced to you before?” You stopped and think for a second and it dawned to you. “Hell yeah, I remember.”

“She’s actually my ex-girlfriend.” He declared.

“Well that I did not expected. The ex part. I can tell though she looks really special.”

“Well, we’re together for a while. But now we’re just co-workers for this debut song of a girl I told you about before. That’s why she was here also the last time, we were looking through old sketches that I have after the meeting. We actually finished that quite early. ”

He never really talked that much about himself. He’s good at talking about work, which for you is already more than enough. You know that despite your living situation, he’s not really obligated to get personal if he doesnt want to. And besides, you also don’t want to. Your end of the rope for sure is scared of any form of vulnerability anyway—so you’re not expecting or demanding that from anybody else.

“So you’re just co-workers now?”

“Yeah, I think so. I really don’t know what I feel.”

“Well, relationships are messy my friend.” Raising your glass of wine as if to cheers and chugging it in one go.

Not sure of what to say next but he looks like he’s in mood to talk but the topic looks too sensitive to even crack a joke so you continued drinking despite the eerie atmosphere.

“If you dont mind me asking, what happened?” Yes, despite your immense effort to hold yourself back. Like any other novel you read, you have this eager feeling to know how it ends. Your mind is literally shouting, ‘But I gots to know!!’

And so you asked. Half fearing for your life for being too nosy and half expecting that you might be up for a good story. Elbows resting on the table, with your chin at the palm of your hand looking eager to hear the story.

“We’ve been together for a while”

“Yeah, you said that already.. and that she’s a song writer. I figured.” Unconsciously saying your thoughts out loud.

“You wanna tell the story instead?” He teasingly reacted in a straight face.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud… I literally said that in my mind and my mouth just burst it open. They both can’t coordinate that well. I’m sorry. You may continue…sir. Please don’t cut my head off.” You love teasing him.

“You’re drunk.” He was pointing out the obvious by that time, after two bottles of wine.

“Yes she’s a songwriter. They said before thay she’s the words to my melody. Well… before.”

Something about those words just made your heart ache. Frowning in his words you continue to listen.

“We’re together for about 2 years? And then on and off after…. She cheated on me, slept with another producer from another company. I really thought that was the end but after that i still accepted her. I don’t know why.”

“Aigoo you dumbass solider of love. And then??” Continuously frowning in frustration led you to keep on drinking.

He has no plans of actually telling this story tonight, it just poured out. You’re just one of those people that actually listens. He has seen you before, how intensely you focus on a movie or in a book that it bothers you for day. You love hearing stories and your willingness felt like a safe space for his unspoken scars.

“She keeps coming back to me and I keep accepting her. That’s it.”

With a confused look on your face, “I don’t get it.”

“Like you said, relationships are messy.” He’s obviously trying to close the topic already but that’s not going to stop you—you never stop midway of the story. This is not how it ends.

“Messy is one thing, toxic is another. And since when are you a coward? You don’t strike me as one. Really.” ‘Yeah i was.’ Yoongi thought in his head. Words are just literally pouring out of your mouth by now, drowning yet another glass. Yoongi opening your forth bottle.

“Boy, I bought the wrong alcohol tonight, tequila would’ve been perfect.” You declared as he pours you a refill. He laughed at this comment, he kept wondering sometimes how easy it is for you to make him laugh.

“No but all kidding aside… Hard question coming in, Min Yoongi. Do you still love her?” Looking right at his eyes and him staring back at you as he answered. “No, we broke up a month before I moved in here.”

‘That’s quite a while, at least 9 or 10 months now…’ you thought to yourself

“Yeah but having been broken up doesn’t mean that love is gone. It’s not a switch you know.”

“I know. And I wish it was, she’s was a big part of my life I’m not denying that and maybe she always will be. But I’ve changed, she has changed—we’re no longer the same people that we were in the same relationship where I keep questioning my self worth. That’s done now, over. Love took a turn, and it doesn’t look the same anymore. We’re just co-workers now that’s all.”

You like the way he said it. Being no longer the same people that they were. You nodded in his statement not sure what to say next and also feeling a little dizzy.

“I gotta pee.” You suddenly declared and stood up, ran in small steps to the bathroom with Yoongi smiling at you and shaking his head.

And when you got back, he got you a warm water on your favorite mug.

Your thoughts are all over the place when you’re drunk, like you said—your mouth just spills it all out.

“You know what, this is all very brave of you. Being friends with your ex, I can’t imagine.”

“Why? Can’t you?” Staring blankly and holding onto your mug, eyes blinking fast in this question.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never really done it before, I’ll let you know if I can.”

You’ve been staring hard on your mug contemplating on his question. He gently touched your hand that’s been holding your mug and said, “Just drink your water.” And pulled it away as soon as you looked like your soul has comeback to earth.

“Can’t I…?” You repeated the question again, and this time out loud.

Hands underneath your chin and resting your elbows on the table. Yoongi is just staring at you, hands in his cheeks—thumb underneath his chin, not even sure if you can even see him. “I hate your question.” You looked at his eyes this time and said that and he just smiled and when he did, you narrowed your eyes. “I hate your smile too.” And this time, he gave you an even bigger one, those gummy smile. And whenever he smiles at you like that you just can’t help but grin in return.

You chugged the water and showed him your empty mug.

He got up and put the rest of the unopened bottle of wine back to the fridge just to prevent you from opening yet another. With his back facing you, arranging the couple of bottles left unto your fridge.

“Yoongi-ah, I know and I love how we respect each other’s privacy and all but just in case things get too heavy. I’m always here, you know. I mean, I’m really glad about today.”

He looked back at you, hands underneath your chin again and eyelids looking all heavy.

“Same goes for you, I’m always here…” And he turned his back again, “fixing you some food and light bulbs.”

And that statement made you smile. “Indeed, my friend. Indeed.”

He went back to the table and grabbed your wine glass and emptying it for you.

“So you wanna talk about how nothing went right today?” You sighed with your eyes closed.

“Maybe next time, my friend.” You stood up from the dinning table, offered to clean the rest of the dishes but Yoongi insisted that he’d do it instead. So you just nodded and slowly creep back into your room.

“Thanks for today, Yoongi.” You thanked him before you go, peeking behind the wall near the counter and he just smiled at you, cleaning gloves on and started washing the dishes.

Minutes later, you shouted from inside of your room.

“Hey i’ll be in the bathroom for a while. Hope you’re already done using it.”

Yoongi didnt answer. He’s already in his room.

You sat in the tub filled with water that is too hot for anyone else but not for you. Head all dizzy and pounding. It’s 2 am and nothing is more comforting than the silence of it all. Alcohol keeps you awake, more than coffee ever does. The dizziness, the feeling that is drilling in your head, makes it hard for you to sleep. Despite the fact that you always drink. You always drink on an empty stomach though, just so you’re sure you would pass out and not have a hard time sleeping.

But tonight you can’t say no—Yoongi made dinner and as much as you hate how you’re having a hard time now you don’t regret it. The question he said, still lingers. And you know your answer to this, you can’t.

Along with the headache, comes the memories you rarely remember—there are just some special days where somehow the guilt and regret still comes to you in waves, together with conversations you long to let go.

“You can’t be serious?” Joon said, voice cracking with hand on his hair in frustration. “But I am.” With a straight face you answered, “I can’t marry you, Joon. I don’t want to have kids and I know how much you want to have children.” Feeling the desperation in his face and actions, he held your hands close and hugged you. “I love you, I want to marry you. We don’t need to have kids immediately, that’s years away. We don’t have to even worry about that now.” It hurts you to seem him this way, yes both of you may be young—maybe you will change your mind but there’s no guarantee to it. You held onto his shoulder to see his face, tears kept rolling down his face and you keep wiping it off one by one. You’ve thought about this even just a year into the relationship, with all the dad jokes and tiny little shoes he kept in his room. He’s going to be a wonderful dad you thought—maybe not just to your kids because you don’t want one.

The most wonderful man in the world just asked you to marry him a few minutes ago, and now he’s crying on your shoulder in defeat. While you can’t even bring yourself to cry, everything about this just made you numb. You just know you’re doing the right thing. Keeping him by your side with a promise of a future you can’t guarantee is not what love is. You loved him—even much so that you could ever admit.

With the knock on the door, you went back to reality.

“Hey you in there?” His voice echoing at 2 in the morning.

“Yeah, I’ll be here still for a while. You need it?”

“No, it’s okay.” He quietly said, as you heard his footsteps getting farther away.

moodboard sr: x

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