remember a webcomic I used to read exists so I binge read the whole thing from start to finish in like. 2 days. Yumi and Paris it's been so longgggg
I'm trying to figure out how to draw these two and while Yumi was figured out pretty easily, Paris is a bit more complicated. I'm trying to make him a lil different from how I usually draw humans--mostly by trying to pull in some of the proportions from the comic's actual artsyle but it's a work in progress
Paris dealing with a clingy you. ❤️🔪
CW: Slight intimacy (deep and affectionate), mentions of Pinocchio syndrome from Paris, angst covered by the idea of fluff, deep vulnerability, and mentions of Ivan.
Note: Reader's pronouns will not be mentioned. Second POV will be used.
A/N: Why the fuck is teasing so hard to write. I'm going crazy.
word count: 2,162
The birds chirped to the sun hanging high above the afloat altostratus clouds in the sky. The sun greeted back with its rays gently wrapping the world in its warm blanket of light. A wonderful afternoon, a resolute answer from Paris, who sat in a leather seat nearby the window, blankly turning pages to a book he'd long since abandoned reading. Eyes skimming over the lines of delicate ink and characters but not actually reading it in the end. The warmth on his fleshy feel of skin, the feel of the hot sun on the skin that's always supposed to be cold, was always a rather weird feeling to the toy; to the dummy he has been all his life.
A wonderful, quiet afternoon, with no one but the sound of birds as his company... Until A familiar presence arrived: You. Sleepy, horribly endearing you that was forced to get up from your comfortable featherbed in the call of the afternoon. Barely thinking straight after getting up straight away after being woken up by the warm sunrays, you had immediately, instinctively, moved your legs to where you knew Paris often frequented when the two guardians of the Wright's household wasn't around. With a few tries of shuffling around the floorplan and trying your best not to crack your eyes fully open, you navigated your way to Paris' spot, his chair, where he seemed lost in thought. Of course, his daydream was quickly short-circuited when he spotted the familiar socks you regularly wore on a daily basis if it wasn't in need of the washing machine. And when he looked up, he saw a soggy version of the habitually upbeat you. The version he's grown used to, and secretly found quite silly (and cute); With your hands already outstretched and face pathetically twisted into a sleepy pout.
" Good morning to you too. " Paris starts, slightly deadpanning at the almost helpless display.
" Pariss. " You find yourself whining slightly, brows furrowing. This afternoon was unexpectedly hot. And you needed a little coldness to cool you back up. How clingy you were, truly unexpected, but not exactly rare. " Please let me hug you. "
Paris sat there for a moment, sharp crimson eyes closing on your clearly dozing stature, face unreadable as he sighed in exasperation.
" You... Goodness. "
Paris tried to protest, he really did. But he was already putting the closed book away, setting it on a table behind you and leaning back a little more in welcome. And once he does, you don't spare a moment to jump into the coldness of his arms. How useful he was on warmer occasions, to feel his ice-cold skin under burning hot, human flesh. To feel the urge to curl up against him, to perhaps even slide your arms under his garments and maybe trace the opening behind his back, to feel the fuzzy fabric connecting the stretchy feel of his epidermis and the hole where he keeps his precious knife, the urge to sigh against the crook of his neck and slowly melt into his touch when—
" Earth to your lethargic self. "
What a shame; Paris had stopped you too early.
You hum— barely in acknowledgement, tone coarse and dry, pretending not to listen to the small hitch of Paris' usually inactive "breathing". You bury your face further into the bare skin of his neck, finding it fairly comforting how close to a human he feels despite his whole person being a toy, perhaps if you push aside his unnatural body temperature, he'd make a really good cuddling partner.
if that isn't what you aren't doing by this point.
" You've gotten a little brazen today, haven't you? "
Paris murmurs in response, hands that were formerly in the air, now slowly make their descent to caress the small of your back. Skinny and nimble fingertips trail against the long mount of your spine, the other hand busying itself in brushing down your scalp the way you would a cat or a dog.
" How bold of you. Don't you know we'll get caught like this by the others? "
Paris purred into the small space of your ear. Yet even so, he refuses to lighten his firming grip. Human warmth, a thing he lacked, was something he unconsciously seeks on quiet times. The blooming feeling of warmth on his body, replacing the spot that was cold and taking all their warmth for himself was a desire no one else but him was aware about. Maybe it linked back to him and his infuriating pats on the head or his hands on the cold porcelain of his fabric-clad shoulder, feeling the warmth of it seep into Paris’ clothes, seeping deeper than it should’ve been in a way that kept him silent for a little while longer. Paris craved human warmth, their “normal” temperatures and how they can oh so selflessly give away their warmth to things that feel cold. Oh, how it reminded him of how reckless humans can be with giving, continuing to offer all of them until what's left is the biting cold and the burden of the person they helped.
There was a small, awkward pause of silence that was supposed to be the space for your embarrassed retort. But instead?
" Shut up... Please. " A trembling sigh. Spoken from the soft bumps of lips on your face, warm limbs clung to his figure like your last lifeline, as if he was the last thread you hung onto instead of a cold toy convenient to be free of service on hot days. " Just hug me. "
And he did so, the sharp smile he formerly had was stripped of all its feigned slyness. Sat only an uncomfortable expression from the switch of your tone. It was warm, but it had a growing coldness with how your body temp slowly declined from clinging onto the cold Paris. But even as your body grows colder and his grow warmer, you don't pull away. As if you were consuming every cold part of him, like you were fine with giving all of yourself, giving away the most important thing a frail human like you needs to survive through the span of weathers alike winter.
How the fuck do you comfort someone; the dummy ponders slowly.
Hands now on his waist when he called you out for trying to explore where you shouldn't be, slide from under the shirt he had on once more. Soft fingertips feeling the long span of Paris' torso, palms pressing on his hips, then sliding up to the deep curve of his waist, then sliding farther up to his artificial ribs, your eyes remained closed and hidden under his neck as you feel with your thumbs— the bumpy feel of his upper chest; Paris pretends he wasn't affected, tries to show that he didn't feel it at all, but truly, every reverent touch sends shocks of electricity from the bottom to the top of his being. Every feathery feel of your light fingers trailing the imitation of the human body he has makes him feel overwhelmed and cared for, and he feels that it's dangerous. Dangerous in the way your hands skillfully melt him, reduce him into something more warm, more delicate, more... Human instead of reducing him into the simple object he is and always will be deep down. The contrast of your soft, reverent touches and his cautious, masqueraded fondles makes Paris emotional; and he feels his heart swell with the guilt of allowing himself to feel so human-like.
Paris swallows roughly, feeling the grating feel of his saliva slide down the now rough material of his esophagus, he shouldn't be feeling like this. Not now, at least; even if he knows he's allowed to.
" Now now. Grumpy isn't exactly a good look on you. "
Paris finally speaks after what feels like an eternity of awkward, but intimate silence. Feeling the need to cover the sense of vulnerability with a harsh dismiss of his words, just like he always used to. Each syllable slowly drags itself out the soft curves of his lips, hesitant and cautious, like he isn't sure if he should even be speaking the way he was right now.
" I think it's better to fit a hug with smiles, don't you think? "
Paris adds, pulling a hand away from your head to slide a manicured index under your chin, tilting it up to connect your sleepy eyes to his own deep, clinical abysses. You scan the fair whites of his face, how the warm orange tint from the sun shines down on his fair skin, unblemished and smooth, giving an almost ethereal, breath-taking look on his usually pale face. Your eyes trailing down the slope of his lit cheek to the perfectly formed cupid's bow just above his chin, layered on with the usual lipstick that's stained on his lips; red and matching exactly with his vermillion eyes that always bore into you. It makes you slightly lean your weight on the finger lifting your chin, his manicured index and thumb digging softly into your cheeks as you lean into his hand. It's a cute sight, Paris would admit, it's like the feeling of cuteness aggression you get when seeing a cute animal; but instead, he's feeling this with the human he's forced to be around a lot for the sake of the albino child he cherishes just as much. You let his fingers fix a small smile on your sleep-deprived face.
" There. " Paris hums, a coy smile growing on his pretty features like he's made a masterpiece with the smallest adjustment on your face. " at least you'll look pretty begging for permission to be so clingy. "
You try not to react, your somnolent sentiment helping you act just a bit more nonchalant, but a blush creeps up your neck and blooms across the apples of your cheeks anyways. Your bottom lip tremble ever so slightly, a sense of embarrassment blooming inside of your lungs when you slowly process the situation through the foggy haze of your exhaustion, the feeling is tight and suffocating, it makes it hard to breathe in a way that's almost exhilarating.
You give a simple grunt, forcing your head downwards to hide the crimson tint on your face. Paris gives an amused chuckle, half parts teasing and the other endearment.
How easy it was for humans to feel; how easy it was for humans to accept how they felt and how they naturally let themselves feel emotions. How right it was for them to do so, to feel sad, to feel embarrassed, to feel joy, and much more emotions that dove into mental complexities humans can barely fit into physical, descriptive wording their dialect had. How normal their species came to be and how it overpopulated this world to the point of normalcy, the rhythmic pulses of their heartbreak, the compassionate nature most humans held, the lively nature they had both outside and inside of them, how deep their emotions can go, how past experiences help them shape into the person they are in the present and how easy it is to land a lasting impression on one.
How envious Paris felt for humans to be able to feel such emotions and not immediately be labeled a danger or a mess to society. Yumi had already shown him the truth— that he was allowed to be emotional and still be as human as the next person, but even so, instinct runs deeper than just the gears that function inside him, deeper than the artificial brain Ivan had planted inside his porcelain head— everything that made Paris himself was a deep reminder that he's a toy. And will be no more, no less.
It makes him wonder how it'd feel to experience a rapidly beating heart, how it'd feel for him to breathe, followed by the urge to slip under your skin and stay there to feel everything that makes a human: human. To feel the blood swim in your ears, to feel the way food travels down your esophagus, or the way food gets digested by the acid in your stomach, such a romantic idealization.
It makes him feel ugly with the way envy builds, all-consuming and quick like fire to a lively forest. And it makes him feel a sense of hunger with the way he wants to feel everything you feel, to be as human as you make him to be, and be with you with all the humanity you have for him.
Is this how complex emotions are felt? Is he feeling correctly? Are you proud of him for feeling so human for you?
Perhaps, you'll now. But for now... He'll supply you with the coldness he has for being a toy; he'll be your dummy for a little while longer.
Okay done. That was so fucking long. LMK if y'all like my kind of writing and if y'all wanna see more of my ridiculously long pieces of art that take months of motivation to do!!! Also I might do another version of this but IDK so I'm not gonna make any promises lowk, but stay tuned anyways. Amorette OUT!!!!!
i hope mochamura opens some kind of Q&A on tumblr or maybe someone can ask them on Twitter for me, because I've always been dying to know if paris has a french or a russian accent, and whether polakov has a russian accent or no ..?!?!???
