ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Ruby-red curtains flapped, almost shuddering around a white marble figurine.
On the ground level, just outside the building, Fakir burrowed his eyebrows frustrated at the sight of his eccentric roommate once again with his tiptoes on the ledge of their full-sized window doors. He stared up displeased as the flirtatious hem of his giant nightshirt rippled teasingly against his lean bare legs. The boy clearly had no regards for public decency.
'Disobedient wretch...that's why I can never leave you alone...'
Then again, if Fakir had his way, he would have locked the boy up by now.
After climbing up the staircase to their shared bedroom, the darker-haired let his textbooks slid out of his arms onto the coffee table between their beds. He snapped harshly at the scantly-clad figure still hovering by the window, "What is this nonsense? I thought I told you to get dressed."
"Is this not clothing...?" Mytho slowly blinked though his damp blonde bangs, absently running a hand over the front of his button-up before lingering thoughtfully over the space above his stomach.
Where his skin made contact with the fabric, it darkened with water. The smell of peppermint bath oil floated all around the bedroom, invading Fakir's senses unmercifully. Reminding him of faint dreams he might have had, ones of contented feelings, with dutiful smiles. Cold green eyes floated over the other boy who looked back unresponsively, taking note of the fact that he obviously didn't care about drying himself off, a moment before breaking eye contact.
"What you need to do is put on a pair of pants. You’re soaking wet and it is cold outside, as if you could tell—” Fakir sneered, gesturing to the open window. As if on cue, a chilly breeze rushing in, “—so if you get sick, don’t think I’m taking care of your sorry ass—”
His malicious concentration froze at the sight of his charge graying in the face, slender chest heaving rapidly as a string of noisy coughs seized his small frame. Fakir came forward at the same time Mytho wavered, one of his hands frantically flying out in hopes of grasping something steady. They found the soft material of a royal blue uniform as his best friend gently—almost too gently for his fierce nature— cupped his face with both of his palms, sinking with him onto their knees in the plush carpeting.
"You feel warm." The elder muttered, brushing careful fingers over a moist burning forehead in confirmation of this statement, "Probably a fever."
Bulging golden-copper closed as the violent coughs calmed, his body sagging upon his companion's who neatly swept him up bridal-style onto his cot. Mytho released a breathy gasp at the quick motion, head weakly spinning, but remained still as Fakir reached across the sheet to retreive a glass of water. He raised it to the boy's lips, coaxing the liquid down his throat by massaging the ball of his Adam's apple; Mytho didn't put up a struggle and swallowed in compliance.
It was ritual to them. Fakir was very sure that the sleep medication he had been sneaking into his prince's drinks were harmless—that they wouldn't pain him in the long run— and he had to do his duty. He had to protect him.
Half-lidded dark amber gazed up at him, silent mouth parting slightly, still wet from the drink. He swore internally at that evil look, the stupid prince didn't know how to be seductive, so why the hell did he gets so good suddenly?
He tried not to stare at the milky white skin beneath the gaping V-neck collar, exposing the column of his neck. . .at the same enchanting color hardly covered up by the tails of that accursed nightshirt, the muscles of his inner thighs peeking out shyly. . . just begging to be bruised by lustful fingertips and nails. . .
"Fakir?"
Thanking the gods for the interruption from his increasingly horrifying and forbidden thoughts, he drew his attention back up to an accustomed solemn expression. His silvery-haired prince placed the back of his hand on a tanned cheek above him, his ordinarily serene voice hoarse.
"Why do you not want me to regain my heart?"
Somewhere between reddening with fury and desire—a dangerous combination— Fakir clenched his teeth together, crawling up over the form limp on the pillows to trap a pair of white wrists above them.
He leaned in closely, growling heatedly mostly at the truth that the boy straddled beneath him would have no reaction, "Every time you ask me that question, I will always have the same answer for you. You are better off without useless emotions. Is that what you want, stupid child, do you want to be like everyone else who cries over broken hearts? Suffers? Allowed to become slaves to their pathetic desires? They are weak, you are not! Do you want to be like that?
No emotion came into copper-gold.
"Yes."
"You are worthless," Fakir lied, freeing him, sitting on the opposite end of the mattress as Mytho gradually rose up from his defenseless lying position. He fixed his eyes on the pink tender skin of his wrists, whispering dimly, "...I feel this."
He clutched an arm to himself as if injured, bowing his head, "I know I feel this. So..."
"So why can't I find the words for it?!”
At the unexpected roar coming from behind him, the knight jerked around. To scorn him, the image of two perfect lines of tears rolling down Mytho's face. His roommate's breathing was starting to pick up again, the drugs coursing through his system reducing speed against the natural rush of adrenaline. He still had energy to stare pleadingly with red-rimmed eyes, “Why am I not allowed to have a heart for these feelings, Fakir?”
Though the tears had struck him somewhere cruelly deep in his gut, Fakir's practice at keeping pity or remorse for this creature at bay paid off as he pushed his hands down on small trembling shoulders. He touched his lips to the blonde's ear warmly, murmuring as if he were a distraught toddler, "You just need rest is all. You shouldn't let your body strain like this."
Finally succumbing to medicine and his own defeat, too tired to fight, too meek to hate, the other boy fell back and curled up on his side, sobbing onto the silk sheets.
Purposely turning his back to him, Fakir walked away to shut the window doors and draw the blood-red curtains close, leaving only lamplight to induce the shadows. He ran his fingers carelessly through his ponytail, glancing uncomfortably at his semi-conscious companion.
When he leaned over to sweep the stray strands of white out of fluttering heavy eyelashes, he was surprised to find his nerve foolishly daring as his own callused lips stroked the velvet space between two brows.
Surprised that—Mytho responded, flushing in his sleep.
End.
On the ground level, just outside the building, Fakir burrowed his eyebrows frustrated at the sight of his eccentric roommate once again with his tiptoes on the ledge of their full-sized window doors. He stared up displeased as the flirtatious hem of his giant nightshirt rippled teasingly against his lean bare legs. The boy clearly had no regards for public decency.
'Disobedient wretch...that's why I can never leave you alone...'
Then again, if Fakir had his way, he would have locked the boy up by now.
After climbing up the staircase to their shared bedroom, the darker-haired let his textbooks slid out of his arms onto the coffee table between their beds. He snapped harshly at the scantly-clad figure still hovering by the window, "What is this nonsense? I thought I told you to get dressed."
"Is this not clothing...?" Mytho slowly blinked though his damp blonde bangs, absently running a hand over the front of his button-up before lingering thoughtfully over the space above his stomach.
Where his skin made contact with the fabric, it darkened with water. The smell of peppermint bath oil floated all around the bedroom, invading Fakir's senses unmercifully. Reminding him of faint dreams he might have had, ones of contented feelings, with dutiful smiles. Cold green eyes floated over the other boy who looked back unresponsively, taking note of the fact that he obviously didn't care about drying himself off, a moment before breaking eye contact.
"What you need to do is put on a pair of pants. You’re soaking wet and it is cold outside, as if you could tell—” Fakir sneered, gesturing to the open window. As if on cue, a chilly breeze rushing in, “—so if you get sick, don’t think I’m taking care of your sorry ass—”
His malicious concentration froze at the sight of his charge graying in the face, slender chest heaving rapidly as a string of noisy coughs seized his small frame. Fakir came forward at the same time Mytho wavered, one of his hands frantically flying out in hopes of grasping something steady. They found the soft material of a royal blue uniform as his best friend gently—almost too gently for his fierce nature— cupped his face with both of his palms, sinking with him onto their knees in the plush carpeting.
"You feel warm." The elder muttered, brushing careful fingers over a moist burning forehead in confirmation of this statement, "Probably a fever."
Bulging golden-copper closed as the violent coughs calmed, his body sagging upon his companion's who neatly swept him up bridal-style onto his cot. Mytho released a breathy gasp at the quick motion, head weakly spinning, but remained still as Fakir reached across the sheet to retreive a glass of water. He raised it to the boy's lips, coaxing the liquid down his throat by massaging the ball of his Adam's apple; Mytho didn't put up a struggle and swallowed in compliance.
It was ritual to them. Fakir was very sure that the sleep medication he had been sneaking into his prince's drinks were harmless—that they wouldn't pain him in the long run— and he had to do his duty. He had to protect him.
Half-lidded dark amber gazed up at him, silent mouth parting slightly, still wet from the drink. He swore internally at that evil look, the stupid prince didn't know how to be seductive, so why the hell did he gets so good suddenly?
He tried not to stare at the milky white skin beneath the gaping V-neck collar, exposing the column of his neck. . .at the same enchanting color hardly covered up by the tails of that accursed nightshirt, the muscles of his inner thighs peeking out shyly. . . just begging to be bruised by lustful fingertips and nails. . .
"Fakir?"
Thanking the gods for the interruption from his increasingly horrifying and forbidden thoughts, he drew his attention back up to an accustomed solemn expression. His silvery-haired prince placed the back of his hand on a tanned cheek above him, his ordinarily serene voice hoarse.
"Why do you not want me to regain my heart?"
Somewhere between reddening with fury and desire—a dangerous combination— Fakir clenched his teeth together, crawling up over the form limp on the pillows to trap a pair of white wrists above them.
He leaned in closely, growling heatedly mostly at the truth that the boy straddled beneath him would have no reaction, "Every time you ask me that question, I will always have the same answer for you. You are better off without useless emotions. Is that what you want, stupid child, do you want to be like everyone else who cries over broken hearts? Suffers? Allowed to become slaves to their pathetic desires? They are weak, you are not! Do you want to be like that?
No emotion came into copper-gold.
"Yes."
"You are worthless," Fakir lied, freeing him, sitting on the opposite end of the mattress as Mytho gradually rose up from his defenseless lying position. He fixed his eyes on the pink tender skin of his wrists, whispering dimly, "...I feel this."
He clutched an arm to himself as if injured, bowing his head, "I know I feel this. So..."
"So why can't I find the words for it?!”
At the unexpected roar coming from behind him, the knight jerked around. To scorn him, the image of two perfect lines of tears rolling down Mytho's face. His roommate's breathing was starting to pick up again, the drugs coursing through his system reducing speed against the natural rush of adrenaline. He still had energy to stare pleadingly with red-rimmed eyes, “Why am I not allowed to have a heart for these feelings, Fakir?”
Though the tears had struck him somewhere cruelly deep in his gut, Fakir's practice at keeping pity or remorse for this creature at bay paid off as he pushed his hands down on small trembling shoulders. He touched his lips to the blonde's ear warmly, murmuring as if he were a distraught toddler, "You just need rest is all. You shouldn't let your body strain like this."
Finally succumbing to medicine and his own defeat, too tired to fight, too meek to hate, the other boy fell back and curled up on his side, sobbing onto the silk sheets.
Purposely turning his back to him, Fakir walked away to shut the window doors and draw the blood-red curtains close, leaving only lamplight to induce the shadows. He ran his fingers carelessly through his ponytail, glancing uncomfortably at his semi-conscious companion.
When he leaned over to sweep the stray strands of white out of fluttering heavy eyelashes, he was surprised to find his nerve foolishly daring as his own callused lips stroked the velvet space between two brows.
Surprised that—Mytho responded, flushing in his sleep.
End.
Literature
All I Need +Kyo x Yuki x Haru+
Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket.
.....................
I first noticed it in the fall of my first year in high school. He had been staring across the table, just watching his rival's mouth move, listening to his words as if they were sacred.
Things really began to get strange a month later, when he had given up on an argument that he easily could have won.
Two weeks after, he raised his voice to the girl for the first time because it was raining and leeks had been prepared for dinner.
Finally, when he nearly lost a fight because of his own lack of effort, I reached this conclusion:
Yuki was in love.
With Kyo.
It was impossible,
Literature
Gravitation: Cheater Failure
**contain spoilers from Gravitation EX**
Shuichi Shindou has his lips pressed softly against the lips of his long time idol, Ryuichi Sakuma.
Oh no, I really done it this time, he thought nervously as he kissed.
However, his eyes became wide as he saw his boyfriend, Eiri Yuki, the romance novelist, stood a few meters behind both of the boys.
Oh crap! Yuki!
Shuichi became totally frozen when he saw the look on his lover's face. Ryuichi opened his eyes, stopping the kiss, and looked over his shoulder. Shuichi became double horrified as he saw Ryuichi smirking, sticking his tongue out at Yuki, wearing an expression that says, "in your face!"
Literature
Moments (Loveless)
The window was open even though it was a chilly night. Perhaps it was Ritsuka being forgetful. Or maybe, Ritsuka was actually waiting for him to show up. Hoping that he would show.
Soubi hated to disappoint.
But he did hesitate before going in, when he saw Ritsuka's condition. Three new bandages on his cheek, and a set of vibrant bruises around his slender neck. Those injuries hadn't been there last night. And Soubi remembered that Ritsuka had broken curfew last night. Because Ritsuka had been worried about him.
"Ritsuka," Soubi said quietly, breezing in through the window. Hearing him, the boy rolled out of his bed and began shaking his h
Suggested Collections
++++READ THIS BEFORE THE STORY++++I COMMANDETH++++
A Princess Tutu fanfic. Hints of Fakir/Mytho. Don't like, leave now. 13+ language and situations.
Not quite sure where in the timeline this takes place, Mytho's got some of his emotions....
I hope you enjoy this Princess Tutu lovers and fans of this pairing (I KNOW you are alive out there)!
Princess Tutu belongs to its respected creators Ito Ikuko and Shinonome Mizuo!
A Princess Tutu fanfic. Hints of Fakir/Mytho. Don't like, leave now. 13+ language and situations.
Not quite sure where in the timeline this takes place, Mytho's got some of his emotions....
I hope you enjoy this Princess Tutu lovers and fans of this pairing (I KNOW you are alive out there)!
Princess Tutu belongs to its respected creators Ito Ikuko and Shinonome Mizuo!
© 2007 - 2024 QuatreLaugh
Comments26
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Did you say during the story thank the gods?Dont you mean thank God?