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I won't be posting separate articles to another blog anymore

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Actually, I want to redo the translations for most of the articles from the middle of last year, but that's just way too much work...

Azure（fsk） x reader

Summary :

Isn't physical contact with a lover a form of feeding, too?

ᐅThis was written last year!The concept of food is merely a stylistic device; there are no other metaphors involved.

Greedy.

Like a beast that never eats its fill,

coiled in its stomach, a void that can never be filled.

"Please, become just as unhealthy as I am, Reader. That way I won't seem so filthy, will I?" How he wishes he could swallow the whole of you down into himself, so that he alone might savor your taste. Would you be willing to cut yourself open, willing to show me only what lies inside? I'm sorry. I hope you never see this side of me.

A hunger long pent up in the depths of his soul reaches toward you.

From the moment he realized he liked you, every contact with you became an act of feeding. He was glad to learn his beloved's preferences, their habits, so that the future might be lived in comfort; everything you loved and everything you hated was all swallowed down into him.

His ritual before feeding was meticulous.

An empty stomach, and he circles around you. You might suddenly find him rather talkative, in that soft, murmuring tone, leaning in to draw things out of you. Every answer you give, every glance you cast toward him, falls into his eyes and becomes food on his plate, waiting to be savored.

Your eyes are so beautiful. I love how every word of mine finds its answer in you.

With words he skins you. With his gaze he cures you in brine. With a smile he chews you. Tasting you, one can hardly even sense the hunger in his soul. That stare is wrapped in something soothing, like being gently gathered into someone's arms, until you're willing to be eaten by him inch by inch, unable to make even a single sound of resistance.

He cares deeply about your reactions, those sensitive feelings tinged with displeasure. Even when that was never your intention, he will still take them apart and plate them. Sweet, and threaded through with the taste of poison, and yet even so he will devoutly swallow them down all the same. Does his stomach ache? Probably. But he never wants to bring it back up, never wants to complain to you about it. As a chef, he feels he ought to honor the food first, as if your very existence were flawless in itself; if there is any discomfort, it must be from something else he ate before, or some fault in his own body, that he simply hasn't digested you correctly yet, that he must learn to accept that food was never going to be perfect in the first place.

He pores over books, researching every possibility of you, polishing himself down like a puzzle piece until he fits your shape without a single seam, until you love him so much your gaze can no longer bear to wander elsewhere, until even when you turn away you find yourself thinking of him still. But the thought that if you knew this, if you condemned him for it, he might genuinely wish himself dead. And so, better to keep it all hidden. Who, after all, would be generous enough to lay open their own perfect recipe?

He needs to go looking for the one and only painkiller.

He will confide his troubles to you too, take your hand, hold you close enough to feel the warmth beneath each other's skin, twine himself with you in dreams, then wake with a start from nightmares born of you. Whenever anxiety takes hold of him, this is always how it goes. Is it so that he can rightfully, guiltlessly, ask for your comfort, that his mind conjures these nightmares in the first place?

You hold each other close.

I think the food itself has to fit the one who eats it.

You're glad to cut yourself open and offer yourself to him, to that person in the garden, bathed in sunlight, the flower he holds out to you with a smile, the wreath woven together petal by petal, the care behind it, these are the finest spices, scattered here and there across you, making the flavor richer and richer, making him all the more unable to stop, while you, too, find there's no way to break free from this perfect chef.

I say, if he were the vampire of legend, I would let his fangs pierce my skin without a moment's hesitation, let him drink deep of my blood, sweet and coppery with love, and fill his hungry stomach with it.

#azure x reader

My biggest regret is that I’m not skilled enough and too lazy to cook delicious meals to stuff into the “itrap x you” tag

Then I’m going to hide all works except those containing "iTrapped" and articles.

Mistletoe

itrapped (fsk) x reader

Ah, long time no see* A narcissist like me wasn’t quite satisfied with the full text, so I just posted the excerpts I liked better——

（So it feels a bit abrupt (wipes forehead)）

——

That thought always lingers in your mind: when could that hand‑kiss, a gesture of etiquette, be used to express affection and land upon your lips? Or perhaps, between the two of you, there is no longer any need for such a kiss to prove anything, and that is why it has never happened?

　　A tangle of branches dotted with lustrous white berries, their stems bound by a white ribbon into a bow, hung upon the cream‑coloured wall. From the moment you stepped through the door, your gaze had been fixed upon it.

　　Yet iTrapped seemed not to notice that touch of green. You guided him, “This mistletoe, who hung it here?” prompting his glance to sweep over it, though it stirred no curiosity in him. Oh? Had he truly not heard a word of the girls chattering just now about the legends of kissing and love?

　　“I think they are preparing for Christmas,” he said flatly.

　You had thought that the two of you, still in the thick of adolescence, might share at least a little of that same bashfulness, after all, you had long outgrown the childhood need to spy on adults' behavior just to make sense of that small flutter in your chest. Besides, iTrapped was much more mature than you. That gap of two or three years meant that growing up always filled you with endless novelty toward him.

　Mixed in slowly, too, was a possessiveness you yourself had not even noticed, and you were coming to understand, gradually, why he always stood behind you, sizing up with that disdainful gaze anyone who spoke to you. Because, without knowing when it started, you too had begun silently calling those of the opposite sex who got close to iTrapped fools.

　　The needle dropped, the record began to turn, and the music flowed out like water. You were to dance a waltz.

　　Come to think of it, how long have you known each other? So long that you cannot remember when he started calling you “little rascal.” His golden hair had grown long from the short cut of childhood, and now it could lift and float with every turn. Just as before, you placed four fingers into his palm, and he could lead you through the entire dance.

　　A secret crush, after all, is merely a wisp of fantasy hidden beneath perfectly open gestures. So all those years of hand‑holding taken for granted, that accustomed closeness, could all be called the embryonic form of love. For, you see, it is in ballroom dancing that some people finally get to dance close to the one they adore; perhaps you had simply, unwittingly, imagined yourself as one of them, and thus came to feel such sentiments.

　　But the two of you had started spinning so close together since an age when your steps had not even learned to match.

　　Skillfully you set each falling note into your steps, though your palm, for some reason, felt warmer than usual against his. The tip of your nose came just level with his throat, and you could not help marveling, again, at how quickly he had grown. That palm, which could now fully enclose the back of your hand, and the height that had shot up so suddenly, both had become almost unfamiliar to you.

　　Ah… you truly wished your eyes could be like those sentences in books that lay emotions bare, letting the reader grasp the protagonist’s heart at a glance. You wanted iTrapped to understand that, at this moment, you wanted to kiss him. But could he read your eyes? Or would he skim past it lightly, the way he'd skimmed past those girls' thoughts? You supposed the two of you could just kiss on the cheek, the way you had as children, a kiss neither of you would ever have taken seriously.

　　Spin, and separation.

　　But he simply would not meet your eyes, as though he feared that if your gazes met, you would stumble onto his footing and throw off his perfect rhythm. That very focus of his only made your imagination leap more fiercely. Perhaps you could be a little braver? What if, what if he were the one to kiss you first? No, if that happened, you doubted you could accept the kiss with any composure at all.

　Your tangled thoughts finally dissolved into wave after wave of heartbeat, and you were drawn in close against his chest, waist pressed to waist. Seizing that moment, you said, “iTrapped, are you afraid I’ll step on your well‑polished leather shoes?”

　　“Then you’ll have to ask the toes of my old pair,” he replied.

　　"And besides, I'd guess you've been distracted this whole time, which means the moment you actually step on me can't be far off." he lips curved into a small smile, as though you were already certain of that future. Before you could properly feel whether his heart was pounding as hard as yours, your fingertips briefly left his palm.

　　“I suppose you know the legend of the mistletoe.”

　　And after three more steps, they landed back in his waiting hand.

　　He merely said the two names, Baldr and Frigg, and the Norse myth took shape. But the answer you wanted was the version your peers preferred to tell.

　　You stated with certainty, “Then you must know the other one too.

the first to tell him yourself.

　　After a long silence, he finally spoke. “That tale is rather dull.”

　　Wonderful. Even though he had just given the right answer, you insisted on tossing out a hook of your own, the way he always did. "How do you know what I was going to say?"

　"I've never once guessed your thoughts wrong, reader." Something like open amusement finally rose in those blue eyes of his. "Would you like to bet on it?" Only then did you notice that his gaze had settled on you at some point without your realizing, and in the next instant it took on a faint trace of smugness.

　"No," you refused at once, "every time you say that, I lose. It's boring." As a child, that line of his had always forced many secrets out of you. Those sharp blue eyes of his, you had never been able to evade.

　　“Is that so? You should be past the age of fearing that sort of curse.”

　　"Can't you just go easy on me…?"

　　The final movement.

　The lights blurred into a warm haze of gold as you turned, your body drawn along and tilted upward against the violin's slowing phrases. He held you steadily in the curve of his arm, and you gave your whole weight over to him without reserve, the small of your back suspended in air.

　　“Well then…” His voice softened. “Do you know what I’m going to do next?”

　　"Kiss me?" You didn't know why, but the words simply slipped from your mouth. Though you felt what deserved more wonder in that moment was his directness, not your own boldness.

　　The green mistletoe behind you was blocked out together with the light, casting you into shadow. He was about to imitate the kiss that had disturbed his heart. The hand that had been supporting your back slid upward and came to rest on the nape of your neck.

　The music at your ear thinned away in that warm hue until nothing remained but your heartbeat striking against your eardrums, again and again, and even the ground beneath your feet grew unsteady, as though the moment his hand left your waist you would lose your footing entirely.

　　After waking from a dream, he would always do exactly this—kiss the bow of your lips, then kiss the corner, and pause. The scent that had never existed in dreams and the incomparably real sensation lingered in his nostrils, making him greedily want to trace the lines of your lips all over again. But iTrapped ultimately did not indulge that greed. He had already drawn his head back, glancing at you, still lost in the fleeting bliss. After a moment of bewilderment, your body had already acted on its own and chased his lips for one last kiss. Oh, heavens. When you remove your makeup later, the blush will certainly take ages to come off.

　You said, tell him to wait for you just a little longer. The two of you still had to go get the dessert fresh out of the oven. Your feet kicked at the hem of your skirt as you ran a short way before remembering to lift it, then ducked into a secluded restroom, patting both cheeks in front of the mirror, trying to press down that scalding warmth. only to find that the person in the mirror had eyes full of irrepressible delight.

But in the end, the mistletoe was your scheme. You had to thank your girls, who had decorated everything in such a short time.

What a pity, though, that your own secret fantasies had been built on that manmade tradition surrounding the mistletoe. You had imagined it would go the way it did in romance novels: first each side revealing their feelings on the surface, exchanging some tempting, enticing words, drawing each other closer, before finally sealing that stolen joy with a kiss.

　　Thinking of it this way, you seemed to have tricked him into that kiss.

　　As you left the room, you stood by the door and asked him, “Can I take this kiss as real?”

　　“We don’t need to pluck the berries from the mistletoe.”

#itrapped x reader

Jane Doe （fsk）x reader

A friend wanted to see it, so I wrote it.

*I know people who wear makeup basically have common sense... I just wanted to write this 😤😤*

Maybe it was some late-night impulse, because by the time the package arrived, you realized only in hindsight that you'd bought an entire blind box of cosmetics. Jane Doe reminded you to clean up once you'd opened it, since the cardboard box rattled loudly with just the slightest shake.

You were patient enough while unwrapping it, looking over each piece before setting it aside, but eventually you just grabbed a handful and dumped it all onto the vanity with a clatter. Calling it a blind box was generous, it was really more like clearance stock, hiding all sorts of shades you'd never buy for everyday wear. But since you were home anyway, you grabbed a clear tube at random, one whose label warned it would turn green on your lips, and moved to swipe it straight onto your mouth.

Behind you, a curious Jane Doe leaned in. "Hey, don't put that straight on your face," she said, idly sorting through a few of the products. "And these brands don't look too trustworthy either..."

"If I wipe it off right after, it should be fine, right?"

"Still, you could test it on paper first. Besides, who knows if you'll be allergic." Looking into your eager eyes, she understood that lecturing you further would be pointless. "Once I sort out my schedule... we can go pick some out together." But she said it with noticeably less conviction than when she'd been scolding you.

Of course you understood how busy her work kept her. Really, you just wanted to try out those strange lipstick shades, and tease her a little while you were at it.

You'd lost count of how many tubes you'd gone through by now.

You tore off a slightly sticky tissue, stained wine red. "This one transfers way too much." You smeared it with the pad of your finger and the color bled further, if you kissed someone a few times wearing this, marks would end up everywhere. It was pretty, sure, but transferring like that was absolutely unacceptable. Next.

But just as you twisted up a vivid red one, you glanced down and found the back of Jane's hand already covered in stroke after stroke, glitter mixed in with plain color, and even the clear formulas had begun to show their true shade from the warmth of her skin.

A little guilty, you looked at her. "There's no room left on your hand."

She let out a soft "mm" and turned her hand over, revealing the relatively clean skin of her wrist. But you caught her wrist and stopped her. Her arm was so long, when would it ever reach that spot you actually had in mind?

She quickly realized which bare patch of skin you had your eye on, and said flatly, "My face? Hm... sorry, that one's off limits." No matter how much she indulged you, this was one thing she wouldn't allow.

"Oh, come on..." You drew the words out, fingers restlessly grazing her jaw. "I'll wipe it clean right after. I'll just try one color, I promise it'll suit you."

The one thing she understood most clearly was that it wasn't so much that she couldn't out-argue her lover, as that she simply couldn't refuse at all, not when she still owed you so much of the time that should have gone to talking with you. How could she possibly withstand those bright, glistening eyes?

But she also knew that the moment she agreed, she'd regret it for a few seconds after.

Having gotten her agreement, you laid out your plan. "You know how lipsticks that transfer easily always end up smudged on collars, right?" As you spoke, you picked up that wine red lipstick from earlier and swept it neatly over your lips in front of the mirror. "I know of another spot that would show up just as obviously as a collar."

Your gaze drifted over the lips you'd just painted, and the worry that had already taken root in her mind came to pass all the same. She only looked at you in silence for a second before she spoke. "Could you bring the makeup remover pads first?"

After all, you knew she'd say yes.

You cupped her face in both hands. Faint shadows of dark circles ringed the woman's eyelids, the same eyes that held nothing but paperwork when she was buried in work now reflected a look of earnest patience, waiting to see where her mischievous lover would leave the mark. But if you left too many marks all at once, how troublesome it would be to clean them all off.

You leaned in close and pressed that vivid red onto the fine lines of her lips, tracing over them a few more times in secret before finally pulling away. The color didn't look out of place at all, if anything it made her look even more confident. Once she got her promotion, you'd have to buy her a well-known brand as a gift.

Your face pressed against hers in front of the wide mirror, but your gaze stayed fixed only on her face. "You suit this shade better than I do." As you said it, you turned your cheek away with a mischievous little smirk, only for the red already smeared on your cheek to have blended right into your skin tone.

"Alright, alright, I just finished taking my makeup off." What else could she do but call you out on it?

#jane doe x reader

▼Rain

▷Azure x reader rob fsk

▷so I'm reposting it to Tumblr as well 🤤Anyway, I've re-uploaded it plenty of times.I don't care.

Your lover is always feeling uneasy.

Plants love a moist environment; proper moisture makes them grow better and more beautiful. So your lover buried a seed in his garden, and his tears fell into the soil, taking root in the parched land. Those fine, tangled roots threaded through his memories, absorbing any nourishment they could find, and finally bloomed into a flower of dampness.

The glass was covered with a thin layer of water vapor due to the temperature difference, and the blurry outlines of trees were visible outside the window. They swayed gently with the wind. You worried if your lover might feel cold, so you deliberately brought a cup of hot water to the room.

Azure was sitting by the window. His silhouette looked lonely in the dim light, as if he might melt into this damp air at any moment. You didn’t disturb him; you just watched the raindrops outside the window quietly.

You approached, placed the warm cup in his hand, and then sat down close to him, your arm naturally wrapping around his waist, your palm touching his shirt. Little by little, you drew him into your embrace. You thought he might be thinking about the past.

Azure followed your movements obediently, like a vine relying on guidance. You sat down beside him on the bed, holding hands. He was a little stunned at first, but then naturally rested his head on your shoulder. At first, he was a bit stiff, but then slowly and trustingly leaned his weight onto you. His breath brushed against your collarbone, warm and moist.

It occurs to me that you know some scattered things about their parents’ unhappy divorce. The custodial parent, in order to support them and themselves, couldn’t focus on them. They moved around in different rental houses as the parent worked hard to make a living. The frequent moves brought restlessness. The once happy family turned into what it is now. The distant yet present family ties, the room that was only theirs, the noisy TV, the hungry stomach, even though there was steaming hot food in front of them, they said they didn’t want to eat.

At such times, they would feel agitated. The suppressed emotions couldn’t be expressed, and could only attack their body, struggling to escape from their mouth. But who could they confide in? What could they get in return?

So they started keeping a diary, with messy handwriting full of emotions. The lack of care and companionship in the early days, those days were like the green moss, covering their growth path, always leaving a dampness in their heart that couldn’t be dried. They hated separation and were afraid of it.

So they became obsessed with the growth of plants, the kind that could be seen growing because of their care. They gave them water, sunlight and nutrients, and they would repay with silent growth and blooming on schedule. This stable relationship became their spiritual nourishment. Sometimes they would talk to the plants, and they even worried that their complaints might cause the plants to grow poorly.

To get what they wanted in social interactions, they began to suppress their emotions, presenting only the good side to others. Even though they could be very irritable at times and suddenly not want to talk to anyone, if you set aside these moments, the people they had met, including you, all thought they would be a great friend, treating you with care and tenderness, often taking on many tasks. Later, you thought that perhaps this was the way they wanted to be treated by others.

“I don’t think about the past as often as I used to.”

This sentence reminds you of the day that changed your relationship with them.

It was the most ambiguous thing you did before confirming your relationship.

You were both soaked to the bone, your hair sticking to your forehead, clothes clinging tightly to your skin, constantly dripping water, looking disheveled.

You were pouring out your emotions in the heavy rain, venting your past, hiding in a shed. You leaned against the cold wall, listening to the raindrops fall one after another, heavy raindrops hitting the shed and your heart. Your heartbeats resonated with each other. The cool air couldn’t dispel the heat in your bodies. The hot breath you and they exhaled was like materialized fog, making the figures of each other in your eyes, as well as your beautiful past, somewhat blurry.

When you looked into those beautiful eyes, it was as if you were looking into a mirror. The crying in the mirror was like the other’s crying. You thought, you hoped those eyes could always be as beautiful as that day, holding beautiful flowers in the sunlight. Perhaps that was the moment closest to their ideal self.

So you started to approach them.

The distance between you two unconsciously narrowed. The close contact of your skin transmitted your and their body heat, as if you were closer than blood relatives, inseparable. Maybe your hearts were really as close as they seemed. At that time, all you could see in each other’s eyes was the broken self, or the self in the other’s eyes. The two from similar backgrounds were guided, with yearning and the desire for happiness.

All the tests, all the resonances, all the unclassifiable emotions, were eventually squeezed into the same embrace in that small shed.

“I shouldn’t have trusted you so much,” they said. All the secrets, all the vulnerabilities and pains are held in your palm. You are the one who can decide my life and death, and also the only one who can fill the void in my heart. You are both a sweet dream and a nightmare. Of course, we are accomplices.

As we grow older, you start to learn to mask your emotions with indifference, always wearing an expression that suggests you don’t care about anything, in an attempt to escape negative feelings. Maybe it’s for yourself, or perhaps to accept Azure, to prevent any cracks in our relationship. But I know Azure is just like me. I know our hearts are constantly filled with unease.

Many people say that people like us don’t need love, or perhaps a special kind of ‘love’. There have been arguments between you and Azure. It’s hard to talk about love to someone who lacks security. Every word might be misinterpreted. The suspicion when alone, even though the sun is shining on you, you still feel cold.

The unease in the past was the fear of exposing your vulnerable side. Now, it’s the fear of the other’s departure. Words are too weak. You hold his hand like that day, rubbing it against your own.

“I think I am too,” your voice blends with the rain. “Would you regret it?”

Azure looks at you. “I’ve regretted many things, but I’ve never regretted getting close to you.” His fingers slowly turn, interlocking with yours. “One of those things was exposing myself to you. I was afraid that if I wasn’t such a perfect person, would you still get close to me?”

He says he spent so many years learning to be considerate, gentle, and reliable, like the trimmed plants in the green belt, hiding all the dead branches and leaves. But that rain soaked everything, and all the disguises became transparent.

“At that time, I was surprised that you were the same kind of person as me, and I felt a bit of hateful relief because you must understand me like this, and wouldn’t misunderstand me because of these past events. I understand this is a path with no turning back.”

“I think I always need to rely on something to live, so I studied botany then. The life and death of the plants in the greenhouse were almost in my control. But now, I’ve completely entrusted myself to another person, but I don’t regret it.”

“So now I’m thinking about the future.” He straightens up and looks at you. “I said, I’ve always been longing for the day you would appear. I’ve been waiting for such a day, so I’ve persisted until now, right? So I want a future that can settle us down.”

His fingers apply a little more pressure, getting closer to your skin.

You are slightly stunned.

“I want a future that can settle us down.” Like a stone thrown into a heart lake, the ripples gently reverberate in your heart. Although the words at the moment seem so ethereal, you raise your eyes to look at him again, but his eyes suddenly blink, and his eyelashes cover his eyes. Then he turns his face away, and a faint blush creeps up his earlobe.

You can’t help but let out a soft hum, and your body seems to have a mind of its own, following their evasive movement and leaning in, cupping their face with both hands, not allowing them to escape.

Until they no longer try to escape your gaze, you lower your hands. “I will be with you. This is our promise.”

They don’t immediately respond to your words, but just deeply look at you, as if trying to engrave your appearance and the determination in your eyes into their soul. How did you do it? What kind of magic do you possess…

It was you who approached me first, not the other way around.

They call your name very softly, and before you can hear it clearly, they kiss you.

#azure x reader

Drawn by a friend🤤As for the others, I don't want to apply FSK labels.

#itrapped x reader

hi hi hi

If you're interested, you can download it from my DC channel. Feel free to leave afterward or do whatever，it's just a distribution channel.I don't have chat access either

DC ᐅ𓅜𓅜𓅜𓅜𓅜

1. No shipping with any characters other than your own OC or self-insert.

2. No re-uploading or sharing elsewhere; sharing with friends is fine, and thanks for the appreciation.

#itrapped x reader

A rambling mess with barely any x reader elements.

Elliot.....

How much suffering must I still endure? Elliot wondered blankly, a question he had asked himself countless times over.

To trace back to the moment he first fell into this deathly silent place, one would have to dig that calendar out from a pile of waste paper. He had once made a calendar for himself, even marking his family's birthdays on it, his lover's included, and with each stroke crossing off a date, he had also wiped away his sense of reason and of time.

Elliot wanted to return to his lover's side. He missed his adorable little sister, missed his father who always worried over how he was getting on, he worried whether the pizzeria would manage without him, he worried... he worried.....

There's no longer any need for that, is there?

He had lost the seasons entirely, spring, summer, autumn, winter; when he opened his eyes, it was to a damp wooden cabin sunk in endless night. In his ears rang the sounds of every manner of weapon driving into flesh, of bone splintering; blood choked at his throat. Back in the rest room they would complain of pain long since carved into their very bones, if only to confirm to themselves that some sense of being alive still remained. And you, held in his arms, were nothing more than a shapeless, illusory shadow.

The craft he had once excelled at could now only produce pizzas utterly devoid of flavor. Even though they looked as inviting as ever, once in the mouth they tasted like chewing on a rag soaked in slime. But, but, he had clearly laid out the seasonings exactly as the process required, had even spread on more sauce than before, thicker than before. Why was it, then, that they had no taste at all?

At least he could still let others live a little longer. That was perhaps the only comfort he had left.

At least it was him, wasn't it?

None of his family had ever been the ones to come here.

But seeing his family again still stirred up some small, unworthy trace of joy in his heart, didn't it? The two of you huddled close together, speaking softly of things past, and you couldn't help but ask why everyone else avoided you.

What place could this hell possibly have for such color.

Until, for no reason, the bedtime story you had once asked Elliot to read aloud began echoing in your ears, each soft murmured line drawing out a heavy, meaningful drowsiness, until your eyelids fell uncontrollably over your eyes, and in your hazy consciousness you could no longer take in any words at all, only let your body slide down into the depths of chaos.

You remembered the last birthday he had been part of, rainbow colored glitter scattered everywhere. The two of you had once held a knife together, cutting into a red velvet cake, the blade slicing down through the pure white cream, downward, downward, the cake unable to cry out in pain. You had even been smiling as you drew the knife back out, the cold gleam that had reflected your lover's face now swallowed up by the red jam within. Only once you saw clearly did you realize that what you had cut open was your lover's flesh.

Fear stripped you of the freedom to make a sound, leaving only your body behind to bear witness to everything you had done. Look, you did it, didn't you? What? No... none of this was me... This is exactly who you are. Shut up. This is precisely why you came here, you are a murderer, do you hear me clearly, damn it?

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, all right? This isn't your fault, reader." Elliot's voice, lovely as windchimes, now sounded like a guiding bell that shattered the will, your skin stained with your lover's blood, that mocking tone gnawing like maggots at what little reason you had left.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.... I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, words that had still formed sentences a moment ago shattered instantly into senseless repetition. What could you possibly offer to make up for the pain your lover had suffered?

His hands closed over yours, trying to warm you with the body heat draining out of him, blood binding your palms together. It made you think of a certain rainy night back during that ambiguous, not yet together stage of yours, how you had longed for that downpour to wash away the filth of this place. The feel of the blood soaking into the dark red carpet reminded you of the aisle runner the two of you had once prepared together for your wedding. Every breath in and out was thick with the heavy smell of blood, and looking now at Elliot's face, its color draining away before you, you found yourself thinking, is this the kind of days you've been living all along? A wave of nausea rose up in your stomach.

Your throat convulsed. You bent low as stomach acid surged up, burning, bringing every word up along with it. You retched, what came up splattering onto the dark red carpet. Elliot had already lost his life to the blood loss. You wanted to hold onto him, wanted to say something, even if it were only to call out his name, but your vision had already begun to blur.

Glaring red letters surfaced before your eyes: you lost.

How much suffering must we still endure?

#forsaken x reader #Writing this kind of mindless stuff is the most fun...

▼Take a walk

▷Azure x reader

▷I wrote this without overthinking it; it’s just a casual piece I jotted down because it’s been raining lately.

The city was nothing like his wooden cabin; it sprawled wide, pedestrians weaving through the misty threads of rain. In the past, Azure would have simply followed his shopping list and returned home without delay, with no other reason to linger here. But today he carried a thin slip of paper tucked against him, and on his wrist the slender second hand ticked forward little by little, seeming to run a few minutes behind the appointed time, which couldn't help but stir a worry that he'd be held to account, until his hurried footsteps struck the thin puddles on the ground with a clattering sound, quickly followed by the pleasant chime of the apartment doorbell.

It was a good while before the doorknob finally turned; he guessed you must have been getting ready to see him.

Standing at the door, he still held the dripping long handled umbrella. Just as with yesterday's sudden invitation, you had come running the same way, sheltering the envelope inside your coat, facing Azure's half real, half teasing reproach.

He said, we could have just texted each other, you shouldn't have come out in such heavy rain. As you spoke, the fresh air carried faint threads of tea fragrance, and your cold palm was folded into his, his hand slowly rubbing warmth into yours.

"Don't you like it when I come find you?"

"That's not it... please, I just don't want anything to happen to you on your way to me. I'd blame myself terribly if it did."

"Then why don't you come find me tomorrow instead?"

That letter had stated only your apartment address, which he already knew, and the time of the date; those few short lines were enough to send Azure into a mild fluster. In front of the mirror he'd groomed himself more carefully than usual, the gloom the rainy season had settled over him crowded out by anticipation. He took a deep blue plaid umbrella, then went out to the garden to cut a flower still heavy with dew, to go meet the lover carrying the same feeling as he did.

The gray sky flickered now and then with dark silhouettes passing overhead. You ducked under Azure's umbrella too, the two of you needing to press close together to keep the rain off, and in adjusting your positions you caught sight of a bright color hiding in the inner pocket of his coat.

Only then did he let the delicate petals he'd been hiding come into view before you.

"Mm... I hope our dates can be like this flower's scent, light and subtle, yet lingering for a long while."

"Hiding a flower in your clothes like this, isn't that a bit of an old trick?" You leaned in to breathe in that faint fragrance. "Still, it's a whole bouquet at least." Though you couldn't quite tell whether it was the scent of Azure himself or the flower's own.

"You know I've never lacked for flowers. If I gave you a whole bouquet every time we met, that would really be the old trick. Each time I see you, I'll give you just one, so you can remember this day, until you'd like to have collected ninety nine of them or something like that..."

"I suppose that trick works on me every time. Still, wanting ninety nine bouquets shouldn't be so hard to manage, should it?" You adjusted the angle of your hand, slotting it perfectly into his fingers. "If I wanted it, would you give me your whole garden?"

Raindrops pattered against the umbrella, stirring up the soap scented warmth clinging to him, and Azure's voice came from above your head. "All of it? Hey, aren't you being a little greedy? Do I get anything out of this?"

Your head slid down from his shoulder, and you bent to peer up at his grayish brown eyes. "Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?"

"I want to be your gardener." You paused a long moment under the honesty of his gaze, and finally, facing into the strengthening rain, said, "Then I suppose I'll have to be a good master to you." The two of you both laughed softly at this conversation probing the future.

"Alright, alright, come closer." Azure took your hand, pulling you back into the close distance you'd had before, and the two of you walked shoulder to shoulder toward the shopping street, blending into the crowd heading home for the evening. The streetlamps that had just switched on made up for the swallowed dusk, and a thin, cool breeze carried the scent of coffee from somewhere in the distance. Your eyes swept over the delicate pastries arranged on enamel painted porcelain plates, but soon the fragrance of the shopping street receded, replaced instead by the fresh scent of earth.

The stone paved path was scattered with fallen leaves, and you suddenly remembered a romance film you'd watched nestled against him, and just like the leads in it, the two of you ducked into a park that shut out the noise, and began talking about this endless rainy season.

"Rainy days are troublesome, of course, but I like how they wash the forest into that emerald green. Sometimes I curl up by the window to write in my journal, and time always seems to pass quickly, though on days like this, it's hard not to feel a little low."

You had once complained to him in a letter about how poorly things were going in your life, but words of comfort couldn't soothe that changeable, moody weather, and this only deepened your longing to see Azure.

You watched as Azure's hand brushed over the leaves of grass along the ground, the raindrops gathered on them sliding down his fingers and into his palm, while the wind carried its damp, cold mist across the ends of your hair, and the park's trees listened quietly to the complaints passing between you.

"Still, too much rain isn't really a good thing either, I have to keep checking on the plants' condition often, and wandering around in the rain is dangerous too. A few years back the temporary plastic sheeting I'd put up got smashed down by a heavy storm, and back then I absolutely hated this weather." As he spoke, the leaves bent low again under the weight of gathering rainwater. "Back then all I could do was sulk alone, thinking about things like knocking over the steel frame I'd just put up..."

"Hey, then all your work would have really gone to waste."

"You're right, at least it still had a frame left standing. I figured I'd get back to it once the rain let up a little." He laughed softly after saying this. "But now, I'd definitely fill your ears with complaints, reader, this damned rain ruined my shed, I've had enough of this injustice. I'd write you letter after letter on rainy days, filling them with everything going wrong in my life, quietly leading you into comforting me... mm, I know that's a bit annoying, but I just want to tell you about it."

"Then wouldn't I have to brave the rain every single day just to fetch your letters?"

"Whoever told you to promise you'd be my good master?" He said with a smile, handing you a white paper bag printed with the dessert shop's logo. "A gardener always has to run a few extra errands for his master, and I'm more than happy to."

A rich fragrance filled your mouth at once. "Ah... but I trust you won't give up on this just because of a little difficulty like that, will you?"

"Of course not, because I'm quite competent at my job."

You were amused by his sheer, matter of fact confidence, and the gloom you'd been feeling quickly melted away in the exchange of words. You picked out a small shop with a view of greenery, and Azure stepped forward to pull open the wooden door hung with wind chimes for you; the chimes jingled, thin mist clung to the glass windows, through which you could faintly make out the lively bustle of everyday life outside, warm light, the crisp clink of porcelain, a quiet sort of waiting. The flower he'd given you was set in a glass vase, and Azure quickly ordered the dishes you loved, delighting you, and you simply propped your chin on your hand and watched him.

Sitting face to face, the face before you had long since seeped into your memory like roots taking hold. You'd looked at each other just like this in other restaurants before, held hands and talked, and you thought back to the early days of your young, awkward romance, all the way to the promises about the future that now came so easily from his lips. He had been part of so many stages of your life, and the seed planted back when love first blossomed in your heart was finally about to bear fruit.

Your attention drifted through your mind, and you lowered your head, suddenly recalling something, and as if compelled by some unseen force, you spoke.

"I'll cling to you like a vine... that's a line I love from a book I read recently. If I were the vine growing high above, I'd follow you downward, and if I were the one growing low, I'd climb upward toward you. I've always wanted to show you that book."

"Mm... but I don't think either of us needs to be just one end of the vine. To me, we're more like interlacing branches." He said this while turning his head slightly to look at the blurred green shadows outside the window. "We're the veins of the sky, each able to grow our own leaves, and yet never apart from one another."

"That's so like you. If I said I wanted to hug you right now, what would that make me?"

But you were seated across from each other in individual chairs, and suddenly standing up to embrace one another might have looked strange, so you quickly stopped him there. There would be time enough for that later anyway. After the meal, you would go on walking with him under the umbrella, still talking about that book, and return together to your apartment, where you'd drink a cup of hot water, and hold him as he drifted off to sleep.

ᐅ————

Oh... I mean, I only realized after I finished writing that it had basically reached the point of living together!! But there's no way to walk it back now...?!

#forsaken x reader #azure x reader

Playing games, so lazy,They're all... drafts...

#itrapped x reader

I like... like... glasses......

iTrapped（fsk） x reader

I did write a little bit of workplace AU content, though (maybe).but，I'm sorry... I can't go on writing... I feel nauseous whenever I try to write.

He sat by the window, head bent over a book, a large potted plant with sprawling leaves and branches beside him on the floor.

He wore a cream-colored turtleneck sweater, a long brown overcoat draped over his shoulders, his long hair tied low at the back, a pair of thin black-framed glasses lending him an air of bookish refinement. The scent that clung to him was something like iris, nothing like the brisk, cool figure you remembered from the office; he looked more like a gentle, artistically-inclined student from university.

The shoes made a soft clicking sound when they stepped on the wooden floor.. The blond man noticed you approaching almost at once, lifting a hand to gesture toward the seat beside him, and closed the chat window between you in the same motion.

"I don't think I'm late, am I?" you said carefully, not wanting to be picked apart on a date.

"That depends on whether the wait was worth it." He pushed up his glasses with a knuckle, his gaze drifting over you. "Seeing you is always something of a surprise to me." Then he drew a flattened kraft-paper bag from beside him and slid it across to you. "So I need something in return, call it icing on the cake."

Inside the bag was a small velvet jewelry box with a magnetic clasp. Nestled on the velvet lining lay a slender silver chain, set with a blue gemstone at its center. That shade of blue was no stranger to you; it had hung near you ever since you'd known him, and now it had simply found a new home.

You raised your eyes, and that blue was watching you back. Behind his lenses, his eyes narrowed into a pleasant curve, waiting for your reaction.

"Wait, hold on... you didn't need to give me something this expensive." You pushed the box back toward him without thinking.

"No, no, no," he shook his head lightly, his tone easy. "I think it's worth the price. And being this polite with me at this point, don't you think that's a bit much?" The teasing note hadn't even faded from his voice.

"So, what about my gift in return?" He said it as if in passing, but to your ears it sounded like if you couldn't produce something decent, he'd swallow you whole the next second.

You began mentally running through your empty hands.

After all, this date itself had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. You'd managed, under your boss's urging, to prepare a gift for a client meeting in just two or three hours, but you'd never had to do the same for your own exacting colleague.

Rushing past a flower shop on the way, you'd thought about buying a bouquet, but that felt too clichéd. You'd also considered good coffee beans; you'd seen at the office how particular he was about coffee, and you weren't sure your own judgment was up to it. Catching sight of him at the casino once had brought to mind the things kept behind glass display cases, extravagant perfume, or expensive liquor, but luxury goods demanded even more discernment, and as an amateur you'd probably only make a fool of yourself.

"Maybe," you said, unsure of your own tone, "I could take you to a nice restaurant? I promise it'll be just like in the movies."

He curled his lips into a faint smile and, before you could finish, gave one light shake of his index finger, catching your gaze. "No need for anything that formal." iTrapped's fingers closed around the slender chain, his voice dropping a note lower. That thread of blue caught the light and flickered gently before you, his scent drifting toward you with the motion, warm breath grazing the shell of your ear.

The coolness of the metal touched your collarbone first, his hands circling behind your neck to adjust the clasp with practiced ease. Slowly the chill warmed against your skin, and the iris scent clinging to him grew heavier, pleasant enough to leave you a little dazed.

He drew back a little, his gaze lingering on your collarbone, clearly pleased at how it looked adorning you. "Let's run a tab," he said softly.

"A tab?"

"The gift," he said lightly, stepping back further. "Hm... surely this isn't going to be our last date, is it?"

"Of course not!" The words nearly burst out of you before you could stop them, and realizing at once how eager you sounded, you gave a short cough. "I mean, I will absolutely give you a gift worthy of you."

"I would think so, seeing as you still come find me several times a day just to talk about work."

His words caught you off guard, a note of complaint buried in and around them. "I promise it'll satisfy you..." You'd lost count of how many times you'd intruded on his time off work, and you nearly had to grit your teeth to get the words out.

Sure enough, he arched an eyebrow. He propped his elbows on the table, leaned in a little, relaxed, his eyes fixed straight into yours from behind his lenses. "Mm, look at you, so serious." He gave a short hum of amusement. "Did you really think I was the type to keep score over something like this? Seems like I ought to charge a little interest, just to live up to the image you have odrifted away from his. "Absolutely not."

"Besides," he cut in, his tone softening, "I was the one who asked you out so suddenly. Isn't it only natural you weren't prepared for anything? So it's only right that you ask me out next."

You turned the words over, weighing what lay beneath them, and answered half-jokingly, "Is that a punishment or a reward?"

"Both," he said without hesitation, closing the book in front of him and smiling with an air of perfect innocence. "So, how far along is that task I gave you yesterday?"

The thought of the project deadline sent a jolt of panic through you, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, "I promise I'll turn it in on time...!"

It wasn't until you saw the amused look on his face that it hit you. "Hey, wait a second, you're not even my team lead!"

#itrapped x reader

......Anyway, I'll just add a tag.

#itrapped x reader

Such a fat rabbit🗿

#itrapped x reader

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