#At least make em a little smaller

[doodle17]

Many things about the Ink Demons deisgn bothers me, but I think the number one thing is his "smile". Because it isn't really a smile, it just looks like a regular exposed jaw. I honestly think if they kept the beta smile it'd be infinitely better

So I made an edit of what I thought it should look like. I had to stretch and mesh it a bit to get it to look right, bit I think I achieved what I was going for (I know I suck at editing but at LEAST you can picture what I mean)

Left is the original, right is my edit

I honestly think the right would be way creepier. The demonic goat legs, the big ass hands, I would ignore ALL of those if they changed his smile

[mydear-corinthian]

old man

synopsis - after a mission, you and Bucky were forced to stay in a cabin until Steve and the others arrived. In the middle of a small argument, you said something you regretted… or did you?

pairing - bucky barnes x avenger! reader

warnings - SMUT +18, enemies to ..?, small argument, one bed trope, dom!bucky, overstimulation, creampie, squirting, dirty talk, p in v, (y/n) mentioned once

notes - inspired by that one fic of duncan vizla i read here ^_^ divider by enchanthings-a

main masterlist | marvel masterlist

For how many months was the Avengers' primary mission to locate the small Hydra bases around the world? It's not exactly a new task for you. You and Bucky were assigned to this mission, which involved searching Romanian woods for a batch of super-soldier serum.

It painted the white, cold snow, and the bodies of the Hydra soldiers covered in blood adorned the area outside the small base.

“We got ‘em, Cap,” you said as you touched your earpiece, breathing hard after you just fought the last Hydra men. 

“Good. You two must stay put first while the others continue to locate bases in the area. There is a bunker in that location. You and Bucky can stop by there until everyone is done with their mission and then we’ll pick you up.” Steve replied on the comms. 

A frown replaced your smile. What do you mean stay on put? With Bucky? 

It's not really the kind of person you get along with, Bucky Barnes. He’s mysterious, cold, distant– everything. You don’t exactly have a good relationship with him. The both of you often argue with the smallest things– from a box of cereal, when training, just every single interaction you had with him. 

It felt more like divine retribution than an assignment when Steve revealed that you and Bucky would be working together on the mission. Like the universe had looked you dead in the eye and said, “Yeah, suffer.”

Out of all the people they could’ve assigned, they gave him Bucky. The one person you swore you’d never work with. 

What a wonderful day right!

"Aw, come on! We retrieved the serums already. Can we just go home and call it a day?” you groaned.

“Yeah, Steve. I’d rather go home. Or into a coma. Whichever gets me out of this faster,” Bucky muttered.

You didn’t bother hiding your annoyance, eyes rolling before Bucky even finished his sentence. It was exhausting to be around him, as if seven years of your life were being chipped away by every second. But he’s right, you’d rather get out of this mess immediately. 

The both of you heard Steve chuckled from the comms, “I’m sorry, lovebirds. You guys really gotta wait. Make this a perfect moment to stop fighting each other and offer peace.”

Lovebirds

Fuck that.

“Whatever. Just send us the coordinates.”

“Sending now.”

~

It took almost an hour to find the bunker. Every step felt slow and heavy, and the entire trail was blanketed in thick snow that was at least a foot deep. The cold wind blew through the trees, and everything was quiet except for the sound of your boots crunching the snow.

When you finally saw it, the bunker looked small — way smaller than you expected. It was hidden at the edge of the clearing, almost buried under snow. The walls were old and rusty, and the roof looked like it might cave in if it snowed any harder.

“What a nice AirBnB huh,” you sarcastically commented as soon as you saw it. 

Bucky didn’t mutter a single word and went inside right away. You hurriedly followed him, not wanting to get locked outside. As soon as he opened the door, your mouth hung open.

One bed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You put your go-bag on the little table in front of the bed, exhausted and defeated, while Bucky locked the door firmly and looked for items the S.H.I.E.L.D. had left behind. You removed your black parka jacket and folded it beside your bag. On the other hand, Bucky found two guns covered in a plastic zip-lock that was placed under the bed. 

“You gonna shower?” you asked, looking up at him. “You can go first. I’m still arranging my stuffs.”

Bucky simply nodded, not having the strength to argue anymore. He grabbed his whole bag and brought it with him to the bathroom. You sighed, getting up and grabbed the guns. Ripping the plastic open, you inspected them carefully before putting the bullets in then placed both on the nightstand. One for you, one for Bucky.

The mattress was supringsly soft but still small for the both of you. Your head was clouded with thoughts as soon as you sat on the bed. The both of you fight. A lot. Practically every time the both of you talk. And yet… sometimes, you wish we could just sit down and have a real conversation. Just talk. But you know it’s not that easy—especially not with someone like him. He’s so quiet, so withdrawn, like he’s always trying to disappear into the background. You get it. They broke him and made him into something he never wanted to be, and you know what Hydra did to him. Everyone talks about the Winter Soldier as if he were just that. But you don’t care about that. I want to know James. Bucky. The man. Not the myth, not the weapon. Just… him

Your thoughts were interrupted as soon as you heard the knob twisted from the bathroom. Bucky got out of the shower with some new clothes on. The sight was.. something for you to feel things.

The tight active dry shirt was hugging his biceps so much. He was also wearing a plain shirt and his hair.. oh god his hair. It was still a bit wet but god he looks good.

“You can go next,” Bucky said while he wiped his hair with a white towel that was sitting on his shoulders. 

You instantly grabbed your clothes and towel to cover up the blush that had appeared on your cheek. Closing the bag, you walked past him and went inside the bathroom.

It was small but it’ll do. It was a miracle that it has a heater— definitely can’t find that in a cabin like this. As you started rubbing soap all over your body, you can’t help but thought of Bucky again. Are you actually having a crush on him? 

He’s smart, tall, strong.. and definitely handsome. He might be cold and harsh but there are some times that he’ll ask you if you're okay after debfreifing and he never doubted your skills– which is a big thing for you. 

After you finished taking a shower, you found Bucky reading his own copy of The Hobbit. His face looked calm, collected, and.. hot?

"What is up with you and that book?" you asked.

"Huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "That's the 1937 book, right? The one that you've been bragging and literal is old like you."

"I'm not that old," he sighed, putting the book on top of the night stand.

"You're like 120 yea—"

"107."

"Same thing! You even got that old man's attitude."

"Oh really now?"

“You’re so old I bet it won’t even stand up anymore,” you bit. 

Oh shit.

You definitely did not dodge a damn missile on that one.

Bucky paused for a bit. He looked at your eyes and god you were terrified. You thought that maybe you slipped through the line with that joke. You were mentally punching yourself. You were waiting for a slap on your face or even a gun but nothing. Why the fuck did you even say that?

It wasn’t nothing.

But his lips on yours.

Bucky’s hands suddenly grabbed your face, firm and desperate, and before you could breathe—he kissed you. Hard. Your heart slammed against your chest, wild and thunderous, like it was trying to answer him.

"You really need to shut that mouth of yours, huh?" he murmured.

Your mouth parted when his tongue brushed your lips, asking for an entrance— wait asking? He didn't need to. He did it right away. Bucky's rough palms guided towards your neck, titling it to taste you more.

"Mmm—" you moaned.

He didn't hesitate to slide his fingers down to your stomach then to your shorts, toying with the garter as he continued playing his lips with your mouth. He swiftly removed your black shorts, together with your panties— soaking wet—, and tossed them somewhere the room.

You whimpered when you felt his fingers brushed your pussy, making a slick of wetness sound. You arched your back and clenched your fists around the bed linens.

"Jesus— you're soaking," he teased.

Bucky's vibranium arm left your face and started to unzip his pants swiftly. His cock sprung free. Hard. And definitely big. Pre-cum leaking out from his swollen tip.

Aligning himself, he began to slide it in— swiftly. Bucky smirked at the sight.

"Oh my god. Fuck— my dick fits perfectly inside you, huh?"

"Bucky! Wa-it—!" you choked.

Bucky was stretching your hole so much that it hurt. You didn't expect for him to be big— THAT big. You can feel his veins kissing your walls, his tip meeting your pelvis aggressively. Your eyes rolled so much you felt like your eyes were facing backwards now.

"You take me so well, doll. You're squeezing me like your pussy knows me, so don't even pretend you don't like this."

As he sank farther, your legs locked with his. You whimpered, groaned, and repeatedly chanted his name as if it were a damned prayer. You never imagined for this to feel good and to be doing this with.. Bucky. Someone who gives you a cold glare. Someone who doesn't even talk to you. Someone you never thought you'd fall for.

Bucky looked at you. Your eyes.

Not with lust.

But a hint of love.

It was wrong, and he knew it. It was wrong for someone like him to fall to a woman like you. He's a murderer. A criminal. A monster. But he shook his head mentally, ignore all the negative thoughts for now.

"F-feels good, Bucky.. aah—"

Bucky's arms were beside you, holding himself as he thrusted in and out. The silver dog tags on his neck moved crazily. His biceps were flexed at his pace. He leaned forward to you until his face was just half a inch apart from you. You can feel his hot breath whenever he groans. You can see how his eyebrows furrowed everytime you clench on him.

You broke the distance; kissing him up. It was sloppy. Wet. Lusful. An action that speaks to continue and pace up. Both of your lips were glossy. You heard him groan again as he went inside deeper. Bucky was hitting the spots that your fingers cannot even reach— and damn he is good at it.

He looked at you with that dumb smirk of his and broke the kiss, leaving a trail of saliva between your lips and his.

"Didn't know that a damn insult is all that you need for me to fuck you like this, hm?"

"Mmp—! F-fuck you, Barnes."

"I am, doll."

Bucky straightened his posture. His metal arm grabbed your left leg and then placed it on his shoulder, allowing himself to push himself even further. You let out a loud moan when you felt him fucking the spongy spot. His head rolled back and eyes were closed from the pleasure.

"Please.. Bucky," you beg as a knot forms in your stomach.

"Please what, doll?"

"'m so close— I think I'm gonna cum.. Oh god!" you writhed.

He let out a chuckle. His pace going faster, harder. More desperate. More power. More possessive.

"Yeah? My girl's gonna come? Go on, doll."

After a few more thrusts, the knot on your lower stomach finally ripped off. You clenched on him as you came hard. You were a moaning mess.

But Bucky didn't pulled out just yet. You felt a cold touch on your clit; his finger circling figure of eights with his thumb. You whined and whined from the continuous pleasure until you felt like it was too much. Too hard to handle. Too good.

"No— wait! Too much, Bucky! I can't!" you whimpered.

"Shh.. I know, doll. But I can't just stop especially when you're still squeezing me."

You curled up your toes, arching your back, and gripped the pillows tightly as the pleasure became too much. You were overstimulated and overwhelmed. The sound of your bodies slamming into each other echoed all over the small cabin. His finger flicking your clit so fast and well until you felt another wave of orgasm incoming.

"Aah!— Too much.. too much! Mmp—"

You finally squirted. Your juices were all over his cock as he continued pumping inside you. A wet puddle started to soak on the white bedsheets.

"Jesus Christ, doll— So good for me. Look at you so vulnerable, so addicted."

Your eyes closed again from the overstimulation. Your legs were trembling. Bucky's pace slowly slowed down and turned sloppy. His moans and grunts were getting louder and louder.

"You were talking shit about me earlier and now I'm cumming inside you," he teased.

With one final deep thrust, he spurted all of his cum inside you— rope after rope after rope, filling you. His head rested on your shoulder for a bit, waiting every drop to store inside your fucked pussy.

Your legs collapsed. Your chest violently heaved up and down. Bucky then pulled out slowly and when he did, his cum dripped down on your ached hole. Letting out a choked moan, you clench on nothing; suffering from the phantom cock.

"All you need is pissing me off so I can fuck you? Very smart idea, doll."

~

The next morning came. The both of you finished packing. After a few more minutes, the sound of the Quinjet rang into both of your ears. The door opened, revealing Steve and Natasha.

Bucky walked first, holding his black backpack that was hanging on his left shoulder. He greeted Steve and looked at you. You grabbed your go-bag and wobbled to Natasha.

"Woah, (y/n). Are you injured?" the red hair woman asked as she offered her hand to you. "What happened? We'll bring you to the Medbay as soon as we ar–"

"Oh trust me, she's fine. She just did cardio last night," Bucky replied with a smirk forming on his lips before going to the Quinjet.

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "How can she do cardio in the middle of the ni— OH."

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: NSFW, implied noncon, yandere, bondage, abuse, punishment, intense spanking/whipping-ish

♡ GN reader

“Please- plea- m’so- sorry-” you sob, voice cracking on its own blubbering. Chest full of panic—heaving for a fix but achieving little less than spurring even more hysteria.

“Haah…” he sighs. Casually fixing your bonds tighter around your wrists, hoisting them a little higher above your head until you were properly stretched up on your tippy-toes.

Shivering in just your undies in anxious wait of his anger.

Stroking your back while holding your belly in a steady hand, he thinks he’s never felt fear quite like it, but unfortunately, “Y’broke the rules, Sunshine… and now yer’ gettin’ punished.”

He unbuckles his belt. Your eardrums burn at the crisp sound, so much spiked blood rushing about, making you go dizzy. 

You think you might pass out.

“What did I say the rules were, hm? ‘You remember ‘em?” he mumbles in a steady tone, speaking awfully softly with his lips pressed against your temple. Waiting for your answer.

You give a sob and a pitiful nod, and he hums in return, rubbing calm circles into your shivering, goose-fleshed skin.

“Recite them for me,” he requests, nose rubbing your hairline as you shiver from his touch.

Voice unsteady, filtered through tears and a hopeless sense of terror—chin tipped up, needing to gasp for breaths, “N-no fighting, no- no arguing, no run- running-”

“Mh…” he hums, taking in the scent of your shampoo with a sniff of your crown, placing a kiss there as though in kudos—or as a small mercy before getting started. “And you managed to do all three in one night. ‘You feel proud, hm? ‘You feel accomplished? Hm? Was it worth it?”

You whimper under the interrogation, feeling smaller and smaller by the second—so exposed where you are, practically hanging from the ceiling like dead meat. Stripped of everything that might’ve protected you—or that would have at least cushioned the coming onslaught of pain you knew to dread.

“Nah… it’s written all over your body. Goosebumps and cold sweat, shaking from tits to toes. You regret it, don’t you?” he murmured, winding his belt around his fist once, then twice, leaving a looped tail. “Mh, maybe you’ll think twice about it next time... or maybe you’ll finally learn your place.”

He finished with a soft bite to the chub of your cheek, then grabbed your chin just as gently, holding your face up to look at him as he sidestepped to your front. Leaning his forehead against yours, he stroked your jaw with his thumb—lips hovering just short of yours.

“I'm gonna hurt you, Sweetie,” he purred, stroking your asscheek with the cool leather in his grip—in such gross contrast to what you knew he planned on using it for. “I promised I would, and now I will…”

He kissed your lips then—slowly, sweetly, suffocatingly so as you cried—tasting your tears and doing a terrible job at withholding his grin as you felt it pull giddily at the corner of his mouth.

He licked his lips once he pulled away, walking a circle around you like a shark.

“How many hits do you deserve?” he mused. “I guess one for each rule you broke is fair, but it seems a little scant…”

He stopped behind you, placing a chaste kiss on your arm before nuzzling around it.

“Should we say thirty?” he offered, and your eyes immediately widened.

Shaking your head furiously, prayers already coming out in splutters, “No- please-”

“No? Too many?” he pouted, not bothering to mask his glee now. “Okay, okay, calm down, baby. Breathe,” he soothed with no effort. “I think…”

There was a pause—a hum of thought as he wrapped his arms around your front and swayed you back against his chest in a hug.

“Ugh fuck, I'm no good makin’ rules on the fly…” he feigned—sinking his jaw into the grove of your armpit before cuddling the soft flesh with his chin-stubble.

He sucked his teeth in a further display of thought before releasing an exasperated sigh.

“I really didn’t think you’d break ‘em, y’know? I thought you’d be a good pet…”

You trembled, eyes looking down at the belt held between his big hands—whimpering at the sight of him simply playing with it—psyching you out like a true sadist.

“But you just had to disappoint me, didn’t you?”

You bit your lip to stop a sob.

“Had to be difficult… and now I gotta make difficult decisions…”

He slinked off you, leaving you to wobble—toes barely grazing the cold basement floor.

You try your best to prepare yourself for the next events, but the more you brace yourself, the more tense you get and the harder you cry, “Please- I’ll be good- promise- m’real- really sorry-” 

“I know, baby. I know~ I am, too,” he coos, kissing your spine while rubbing circles into your sides—feeling your ribs rattle with sniffles, struggling for air through your panic. “I wanna make sure we never have to be sorry again.”

He wraps an arm around the front of your hips, steadying you while stroking the loop of his belt over the plump of your cheeks—tentatively teasing the soft flesh with what was soon to come.

He licked his lips at the promise—already imagining the flawless flesh blooming with his marks.

“I think thirty is fair.”

“No- no please- please, don’t-” You thrash—but do so little more than in place.

“Don’t squirm,” he interrupts, his hand curling into your hip with blunt nails denting the fine skin, keeping you still, pushing your side snugly against his front—holding you intimately while gruffing out eerie murmurs still much too softly for what he was saying, “Remember, it’s another ten hits if you fight me and another ten if you argue.”

At least he doesn’t make you count....

You wouldn’t have been able to even under threat—too busy wailing.

Each hit like the lash of a whip, smacking you fast, one on top of the other. It’s enough to make you throw up after half of it—though it's mostly just water and acid.

He takes pity enough to allow you a small break. Wringing off his wife-beater and wiping your mouth with it—also brushing some of the sweat off your brow before kissing your forehead. 

“Halfway there, Sweetie- you’re doing so good~”  he whispered soothingly, holding your cheeks to pick your face up from hanging—looking into the hopeless look of your opium-blown eyes—so lost he didn’t know if you could even hear him.

He acts as though he’s sorry after, but the boner he’s got nudged against you doesn’t lie—desperately dry-humping your thigh for some sort of relief.

His breaths are tight and hot, puffed against your arm where he now mouths wet kisses. “Good-” he swallows thickly, brows tight-knit, voice thick with lust, “Good pet.”

You hadn’t noticed he was done. And the relief doesn’t register either. There isn’t much comfort in it to grasp, not with the pain still so numbingly intense that you can’t feel anything but the raw sting. 

He drops the belt to the floor and struggles his fly open, shoving the trousers down along with his boxers, stepping out of the heap in a rush—all the while sucking sloppy kisses on your shoulder and nape, mumbling praise, “Y’were so good- so good fo’me- gonna reward yah- my good fuckin’ baby- gonna make yah feel so fuckin’ good now-”

The flesh of your ass burns with welts and split skin, ugly marks already lining the once-pretty color with horrid shades of bruise-dark. Your throat’s ripped raw from all the wailing—only weeping harder when he takes your hips and sways you back to meet his fat erection.

He shamelessly rubs himself between your cheeks—frenzied with his mouth gaping, releasing a filthy shuddering moan while leering at the beautiful sight of his handiwork—feeling so proud he was blushing just from sheer sadistic enjoyment—even letting slip a breathy laugh now.

He hung his tongue out and let his drool drip onto the shaft, then placed another kiss between your shoulder blades. Gliding his tip down and, with the help of a hand, pushed it between your cheeks until it caught your entrance. 

A rugged groan blew hotly down your spine, and another cry was ripped from your chest as he sunk inside without a single spare second to waste.

He laid his face to rest against your back, nudging up inside you slowly with both arms wrapping around you like before—holding you snugly before he began the intimate pace, fucking only the deepest coziest parts of you.

“I love you, Sunshine- you’re mine- only one I give two shits about- rest can just fuck off for all I care- as long as I have you- right here… forever.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Sakusa, Miya twins, Iwaizumi ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Kunigami, Baro, Shido, Karasu, Aiku ♡ DS – Doma, Sanemi ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ HxH – Feitan, Uvogin ♡ WB – Suo, Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[honeekyuu]

casual. [miya atsumu x f!reader] chapter one.

>> being best friends with a frat boy can be a real pain in the ass sometimes

or

there's no one who knows you quite like miya atsumu <<

series status: [ongoing]

masterlist. || next.

a/n: somebody lmk if atsuyn know they have feelings for each other bc i havent figured it out yet

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

---------------------------------------

Miya Atsumu has attachment issues.

Even at five years old, you can see it – the difference between him and the boy who shares his face. 

Osamu is quiet, with a gentle expression and disinterested eyes. Whenever he spots you on the other side of the fence, playing by yourself in your backyard, he waves and says your name in way that flies away with the wind. Sometimes he just peers over at you until you notice him, asks what you’re playing when you finally do. But he tends to leave you be, more interested in escaping the whirlwind that is his brother.

Atsumu is a different story – the same face, but a voice that makes your ears hurt and your heart pound. He makes you mad, makes you want to yell at him. But when you do raise your voice, you think he might like you more because of it. He only ever calls into his house, asking his mother if he can come play in your yard. Laughing when you yell that he can’t. Appearing at your side, taking your toys and forcing you into a game you didn’t come up with.

“Go away,” you say, every day without fail. “You’re annoying!” 

His response is always the same, loud and grating and marked by Osamu just behind him, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, but ya like me!” Smile so wide that his eyes disappear, gap in the space where he’s just lost a tooth.

You don’t tell him that he’s wrong.

– 

He follows you around in school. You’re smaller than him at that age, and he makes it known that he’s aware of it. 

“Gimme, I’ll do it,” he says, taking your books from your arms and carrying them to your cubbyhole.

“Watch where yer goin’!” he yells when older kids bump into you in the hall, caring less than you about manners and politeness and getting himself into trouble with them more often than not.

“Can ya see alright, shortie?” he asks when you crane your neck to see the board, pointing to his own seat as if offering it to you. Grinning playfully when you just roll your eyes and squint harder at the teacher’s handwriting. 

“Samu and I are thinkin’ of tryin’ out fer the volleyball team,” he tells you one day, shoveling food into his mouth and only smiling when you look him over in disgust. “You gonna be okay on your own?”

You huff at him, eating much more carefully. “I’m not a kid, Tsumu – I don’t need you to keep an eye on me all the time.” You gesture at the cafeteria around you. You’re the only one sitting with him at lunch – you’re the only one who ever sits with him at lunch. Osamu sits somewhere else, with Aran, and occasionally drifts over to talk to you. “You sure you don’t need someone to keep an eye on you? You’d be all alone without me.”

He just shrugs and shoves more food in his mouth. You’re not quite sure where he puts it all. “Ain’t you enough?”

“What about Samu?”

“Samu’s a given.”

“What about the volleyball team?”

“What about ‘em?”

“You have to at least try to get along with them, Tsumu.”

“Sure, I guess,” he starts, lifting the lip of his rice bowl to his mouth and scooping the last few grains in. His voice echoes against the metal while he talks. “But what’do I need them for? I got you.”

You warm, wondering if he knows how that sounds to anyone passing by. A quick glance tells you that no one’s even close enough to hear. 

You’re on an island alone with Miya Atsumu. Sometimes you wish you had a way off, a lifeboat or a rescue ship to come get you.

He meets your eyes when he’s done eating, his expression genuine – always a little too intense, but genuine all the same. “I heard the team needs a manager.” When you only lift your brows in response, he shrugs. “You wouldn’t have’ta walk home alone, at least.”

Most days, you don’t mind the island so much. 

–

Your first crush hits you like a truck in junior high. A boy with a sweet face but a wicked sense of humor – you’re drawn to the way his eyes twinkle, the way he’s a little too playful. He jokes a little too much, but his smile when he’s scolded is too pretty for you to care. And you have the wonderful privilege of being his seatmate, the closest you’ll ever get to him.

There’s a point in time when you think you might actually have a chance with him. He finds you funny, and he always asks how your weekend was. You fantasize that maybe there’s a world where he likes your company.

The issue, however, is that he’s popular. He’s popular and he knows it.

And you’ve grown into a girl who acts like a boy because you were raised with twin boys who act like animals. 

You’re not the kind of girl he’d look twice at, not when the other girls in your class smell like flowers and giggle to each other quietly. You think you smell fine, but there’s certainly no giggling happening in your life. 

No, you tend to be surrounded more by screaming and fighting and swearing, courtesy of Miya Atsumu.

It makes the twins popular, too – they have that mischievous energy, the kind that makes girls fall for them more whenever they fight in the hall. 

Girls want to be near that type of boy, but boys don’t want to be near that type of girl.

“Sorry,” your seatmate says when you corner him behind the school one day and nervously hold out a box of chocolates, hoping for a single chance with him. “You’re really cool, but I’m not that interested…” 

He doesn’t make fun of you, you’ll give him that. He’s sympathetic, and seems genuinely sorry to hurt your feelings. Even now, during a rejection, your crush on him grows.

“Besides,” he adds, uncertainly and with a nervous smile. “Aren’t you and Miya a thing?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever felt your brain stop working.

“N-No,” you mumble, shaking your head forcefully after a moment. “Not even a little bit – why? Did he say that?”

You can’t imagine that he ever would; Atsumu may be attached, but he’s never gone too far.

“No, no! Sorry, I must have misunderstood…” He scratches the back of his head. “It’s just that… you two seem really close. You’re always together.”

He leaves you there after a moment of silence, whispering another awkward ‘sorry’ that you never hear. You just crouch in place, box of chocolate on the ground and confusion numbing your limbs. You pull your phone from your jacket hollowly, dialing the most frequently called number and listening to it ring.

“Y/n? Where are you? I didn’t see yer stuff in the locker.” 

Atsumu’s voice is the same as always. Unassuming, unapologetic. Attached.

“Have you been telling people that we’re dating?” You whisper it, too afraid that you’ll speak something horrible into reality.

“What’re you talkin’ about?” He laughs, a bark of confused amusement. “Why the hell would I be doin’ that?”

“So… you haven’t, right?”

He makes a noise of derision. “‘Course not, don’t be insane.” There’s a silence between you that you find disquieting. He seems to feel it, too. “Why?”

You consider it a moment longer. He really must not be behind this. “Nothing. No reason.”

“Yer lyin’. ”

“Forget it.”

“Don’t wanna-”

“Well, I do,” you snap. 

He pauses for a moment – just a moment, pointed enough for your anger to become embarrassing. 

His response is quiet. “Yer shit at hiding things, you know.”

He’s crude when he talks to you, all honesty and no humility.

But Miya Atsumu has always been that way.

–

Atsumu’s attachment to you continues well into high school.

It’s a running joke now, one that comes in shared looks between Osamu and Suna Rintarou, who had asked only a week into first year if the two of you were dating. To this day, you’re convinced that he’d only asked at all because Atsumu had made a very loud point about needing to be your seatmate when the teacher had placed you across the room. Suna had cracked the joked under his breath – ‘it’s giving obsessed boyfriend’ – but everyone heard, and everyone laughed. Only Atsumu had looked confused, and that was because you were fixing him with a glare that could melt metal.

Suna had made an instant friend in the quieter twin and an instant enemy in you. It had been a struggle for the rest of junior high to be rid of that impression, and you couldn’t allow it to continue into high school, not when the boys in your class are finally starting to notice you.

Suna had made up for it with a semester’s worth of vending machine snacks – half of which were eaten by Atsumu, anyway.

“You know,” Osamu says one day in second year, approaching you during a break in Inarizaki’s practice time. You’re folding towels on the floor, having been roped into the Manager position again. You glance up at him warily, knowing better than to think Osamu’s innocent just because he’s quiet. “Suna thinks Aran has a crush on you.”

You blink in surprise, craning your neck to look around Osamu and observe the older boy. He’s on the floor at the edge of the court, wiping his forehead and stretching next to Kita. 

Aran’s sweet, and you’ve known him a long time. You’ve always been fond of him – a little shy because he’s older, but fond all the same. In junior high, he would help you with your homework and was always willing to help you study. He would buy you snacks and ruffle your hair when you would get too riled up by Atsumu’s antics. You’d always liked him, always felt lighter when he was around.

But could you see yourself dating him?

His eyes find yours across the court. You watch as his face warms, and he’s sending you a kind smile. You warm, too, imagining a different kind of relationship with Aran.

There’s a yellow-blond head in your line of sight before that thought can go anywhere meaningful.

“Whatcha lookin’ at!”

You could kill him.

“Nothing,” you say, returning to the towels. Atsumu crouches beside you, leaning into your face.

“Yer definitely starin’ at somethin’.” He tracks where you’d been looking before, tracks it all the way to Aran Ojiro. You glance up through your eyelashes – Aran’s looked away, lips pursed in disappointment.

A spike of annoyance flies down your spine, and the towel in your hand suffers the sudden grip of your tightened fist. When you meet Atsumu’s eyes, you see it. 

Surprise.

“You like Aran?” he whispers. Osamu uses the oh-so-convenient distraction to take his leave.

“No,” you mutter, glaring at the younger twin as he sidles away. “Wouldn’t matter if I did, anyway.”

Atsumu tilts his head like he has no clue what you’re saying. “Why not?”

“You know exactly why not.” You stand with the stack of towels, walking away from him quickly – angrily, hoping he doesn’t follow you.

He starts to, but a whistle rings across the gym, so he’s forced to walk away.

You fill water bottles in the sink, wondering why your hands are shaking so bad – why you feel just a little disappointed that the conversation’s over.

–

He follows you home that day. Ignores Osamu the entire walk home, poking and prodding at your anger while he looks for answers. You ignore him in turn, purposely only talking to Osamu, who looks like he wants to melt through the asphalt.

When you finally make it home, you speed past their house and through the gate of your own, looking forward to being alone.

Atsumu would never let that happen.

“Y/n,” he calls, chasing after you and stopping the front door just as you’re slamming it shut. He slips through, following you into your house and only pausing momentarily to greet your mother, who’s less than surprised that Miya Atsumu is in her kitchen.

He still manages to get to your bedroom door before you can close it, leaning into the wood and grunting when you throw your bodyweight against it on the other side.

“Let-me-in,” he huffs, pushing with his shoulder. You plant both hands on the door and lean with all your might.

“Go away, Miya!”

“No! I don’t jus’ go away, and you know that!”

“I’m tired of seeing you!”

“No yer not-” You want to be angrier at him than you are, more stubborn than you’re capable of. “I’m yer best friend!”

“No you’re not!” you yell back. Another lie, one meant to catch him just off guard enough that you can get the door shut. 

It doesn’t work. How obvious is it if even he can tell?

“Well, yer my best friend, so I’m not goin’!” 

You groan and drop your hands, letting the door fly open and watching as he lands flat on his face. “What do you want? Why are you being annoying?”

He mumbles, face buried in your rug. “Tell me why it wouldn’t matter if ya liked Aran.”

“You know why.”

“Nuh-uh. Got no clue.”

“Because-” You sigh, heated as you sit on your bed. “It never matters if boys like me or if I like boys. You always get in the way.”

“How?!” He lifts his head, clearly affronted and completely ignoring the red spot on his face from hitting the ground.

“You’re everywhere!” you yell, throwing your arms out. “Boys don’t wanna go out with a girl who always has a boy at her side!”

His jaw falls. “That don’t make sense! Just ‘cause I’m a boy, it doesn’t mean anything! We’re friends!”

“Tell that to every boy that’s ever rejected me because they ‘don’t wanna get on Miya’s bad side’.” You quote them directly, the same excuse given over and over again since middle school.

“What the hell have I got to do with anythin’?!” He looks utterly baffled and a little bit annoyed, like it’s your fault that he’s not understanding. “You sure it ain’t ‘cause you dress like a teenage boy and sit like a gangster?”

“Please just fuck off, Tsumu.” You flop onto your back and shut your eyes. “I’m tired of guys backing away and asking ‘What about Miya?’ when I confess to them. You got a whole fanclub of girls wanting your attention, and I can’t get a boy within ten feet of me? How’s that fair?”

You hear Atsumu sit up, so you tilt your head and peer down at him. He stares up at you with wide eyes. Quiet, for the first time in his life.

“I didn’t know that.”

You blink. He blinks back.

He really hadn’t known.

You look away, swallowing hard. “Well, now you do.”

There’s silence between you, one that doesn’t feel quite right.

“Is that what happened before? That day ya called me?”

He remembers. He remembers, but he hadn’t been able to put it together.

What an idiot.

“Yeah,” you mumble, shutting your eyes and throwing an arm over your face. “I thought maybe you were saying something around school.”

“I wouldn’t do that t’you,” he says right away. “Why would I do that? We’re not together.”

You laugh to yourself. “And yet, we’re always together.”

“So?”

You glance down at him from under your arm. “You don’t realize how possessive you are… do you?”

His brow furrows, and he stares down at nothing.

“I’m not-”

“If I started dating Aran, how would you feel?”

You watch him very carefully.

You watch as his jaw clenches, as he struggles to maintain a neutral expression, even though he doesn’t realize you’re looking at him.

“You can date who you want,” he whispers. You keep your eyes on him and drive the point home.

“If I spent more time with him? Walked home with him after practice? Ate lunch with him? Saw him on the weekend?”

Atsumu has no idea that he’s pouting right now. “‘s not like I like you er anything. Yer Y/n.”

You smile to yourself and look away, finally, eyes closing again. “You don’t need to like me to be possessive of me.”

You don’t bother asking if he understands. His silence says enough.

“Ya want me to back off?” he eventually asks, voice soft.

Cut the attachment.

A knife-slice separation of you and Miya Atsumu.

The voice in your head – the one that’s always angriest with Miya Atsumu’s intrusive nature – says no. Whispers it, acknowledges that saying yes means hurting him and hurting you. 

Wonders what saying no might mean.

“I mean it,” Atsumu says, his voice a little hollow, like it’s trapped in his throat. “If ya wanna date Aran – or anyone, I guess – and we’re too… If I’m too…”

The word no rings in your head, but the little voice changes its tune – this would be the only time you’re given the choice to change your friendship with him. If you say no, you’d have to be okay with him being like this forever, unapologetic and unmoving.

If you say yes, you’d have some breathing room. A little bit of space, a little bit of a chance to become your own person – a chance to be known as you, not as you and Miya Atsumu.

He’s giving you a chance.

You close your eyes again, fiddling with a loose string in your sleeve. Wondering why you’d started this conversation in the first place.

“It’s fine, Tsumu. You don’t need to back off.”

You’re not sure when you’d grown attached to him, too.

–

Nothing happens with Aran – he tells you later that it’s better this way, and there’s an inexplicable relief in the pit of your stomach when he does.

Your attachment to Miya Atsumu grows when you’re too careless to keep an eye on it.

–

“Me and the boys’re thinkin’ about joinin’ Lambda.”

You tug another part through Atsumu’s hair, making sure not to get any bleach on the undercut. “You and the boys, huh? Samu’s not much of a frat guy.”

“Said somethin’ about not trustin’ me and Suna to survive a hazing.”

You just hum, completely understanding Osamu’s point of view. “You do have bad impulse control.”

“Do not!” he complains, tilting his head back to look up at you. All he accomplishes is a smear of bleach on your bare thighs and a smack of your gloved hand against the side of his head.

“Watch it,” you snap, hurrying to wipe the bleach off your skin. You’ve got him sitting on the floor in front of your bed, in the cramped little dorm room that the twins and Suna had helped you move into at the end of the summer. Your thighs sit firmly on either side of him, both to balance the bleach mix on your leg and to keep him from squirming. “I’ll let you walk around with piss yellow hair like you did in high school.”

“No, don’t…” he whines, straightening and letting you work. “You always do it the best. And it’s free.”

You laugh wholeheartedly. “You think this is free? I have your credit card number memorized and a lot of online shopping to do.”

He scoffs, mumbling ‘what the fuck’ to himself before making a noise of confusion. “What’re you shoppin’ for? You got all your shit already.”

“Need new clothes.” He points at your open closet, stuffed full of clothes and shoes. “Do ya?”

“Those clothes aren’t flattering on me.”

“Yeah, because you dress like a fucking twelve-year-old-”

“I’ll leave you like this, I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “But seriously, what’do you need new clothes for?”

You shrug even though he can’t see it. “I wanna change my style a bit… be more girly, maybe?”

He shakes his head slightly. “What for? You’re fine.”

“I mean, if I’m gonna be partying at Lambda a lot, I’m gonna want a roster of Lambda boys, don’t you think?”

Atsumu scoffs so hard that he chokes on his saliva. He turns to look up at you, disbelief scribbled all over his face. There’s bleach dripping down from his hairline. You can’t help but wipe at it carefully.

“The fuck are you talking about? A roster-”

“Am I not allowed to?” You level him with a challenging look, but he just rolls his eyes.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He turns in place to face you, and then his hands are hooked around the tops of your thighs. “Just surprised… that’s all.”

The intensity of his gaze when he searches your face makes you warm and turn away, clearing your throat.

“I’m trying to rebrand a little, I guess.”

He blinks, chews on his lip a moment. Looks away from you. 

You can see that he wants to ask – ‘need me to rebrand, too?’ – but he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask if you need him to change, because he already asked once and you already said no.

You wonder if he’s worried you’ll change your mind. 

You wonder if maybe he doesn’t want you to.

Instead, he just nods.

“Probably a good thing – us seeing people.” When you just blink in surprise, he shrugs, more to himself than to you. “If people see us dating around, they’ll stop making assumptions.”

Assumptions that you’re mine.

Your heart does a confusing little flip at the thought. You ignore it, chalk it up to the nerves that come with difficult conversations. 

“Turn around,” you mumble weakly. “Your hair’s gonna be different colors if you don’t let me finish.”

The next hour of your life is completely silent, but so unbearably loud.

–

The twins and Suna rush Lambda and instantly become boys that every girl wants.

Despite the shopping spree in your first year, you struggle to mature as quickly as they do – talk of hookups and weekly flings become a regular occurrence, both with them and with the girls in your year. You’re unable to contribute over the years, dating here and there but never managing to take the next step.

Despite everything, that age-old rumor you’d been so desperate to be rid of – the one that links you to Atsumu – sticks to you like the summer heat of that moment in your dorm room. 

But that’s not what gets under your skin. It’s not that people associate you two in a way that makes it difficult for you to date. It’s that Atsumu is not held to the same assumption. He’s not held to the same curse, unfair and unjust. 

No… Miya Atsumu seems to have no problem finding girls to warm his bed, even if those girls still fix you with looks of jealousy. You wonder what the difference is – why no guy is willing to toe the line of Atsumu’s temper, while the line of yours is crossed with every pointed giggle and weighted shut of his bedroom door.

The only girl who seems to understand your near-constant state of confusion is Tanaka Saeko.

“They just want to fuck him because he and his brother are hot,” she’d said to you one day in first year, after finding a group of girls in the dorm lounge whispering about Atsumu. She’d come out of nowhere, startling you while you were seething at the microwave. She’d leaned against the fridge, staring sympathetically at you with her arms crossed. “But to be so real with you, their friend is hotter. The one that looks like a fish.”

Your irritation had been broken by that, a snort bursting out of you unexpectedly. “Suna? He doesn’t look like a fish-”

“Then how’d you know I meant him?” She’d raised her eyebrows at you at that, a grin stretching across her face. “But anyway, it doesn’t matter. None of them are as hot as you – trust me.”

You’d found yourself instantly fond of her. “Yeah? Then why doesn’t it feel that way?” 

“Because guys are douchebags and really only care about other guys.” She’d hummed to herself, thinking for a moment. “Maybe they’re all secretly gay… That’s how I get about other girls…”

Your laugh had scared the group of girls in the corner, all of their phones open to Atsumu’s Instagram page. Their glares told you that they could recognize you from the number of posts you occupy on their screens, but the mysterious blonde next to you just pointed at your chest and nodded at them.

“Great tits, amirite?”

You hadn’t laughed like that in a long, long time.

Tanaka Saeko had brought you out of your shell, pulled you out of the orbit that is Miya Atsumu. She’d set you up with friends she thought were good enough, cancelled your Tinder dates when she wholeheartedly disapproved of them. She’d cleansed your closet of anything she couldn’t style into what she’d called ‘frat girl chic’, and had only done so after realizing just how often you find yourself at the Lambda house.

She’d started finding herself there, too – joining you in the group of exclusive few that were allowed upstairs, flirting harmlessly with Suna, dunking Atsumu’s head in a bowl of jungle juice when he was voted President.

Having her around almost made it possible to forget about everything else over the next three years.

Almost. 

–

The breakups always come in text messages. They’re never brave enough to do it in person, not when there’s a chance he’ll be with you.

It happens again now, in the late afternoon of a typical Monday, just as you’re lifting a coffee cup to your lips and peering out the window to people-watch. The buzz from the table draws your attention. You glance down, and the eye roll that comes when you see the preview is involuntary.

“Of course,” you mutter, letting the phone drop. It’s a shame, really. You’d actually liked this one. He’d been cute, and he’d always treated you so sweetly.

Suna looks up from his laptop, gaze curious as he tries to read the text upside down. “Boyfriend?”

“Ex, now.” You swipe the notification away and try to get back to your homework, but the stupid discussion board doesn’t hold your attention long enough to stop the annoyance from creeping in. 

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing.” It’s true. The sweet junior with the puppy-dog eyes hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d practically worshipped the ground you walk on. He’d been sweet and gentle, so much so that he hadn’t wanted to step on anyone’s toes.

Suna leans over and takes your phone, typing in your password and reading the message in full.

hey, i really like you… but i don’t think this is gonna work. i get the feeling there are some things we both need to figure out first.

The tattooed man scoffs, a hand going to his mouth to cover the laugh that’s slipping through. “Some things you need to figure out, huh?”

“That’s what they all say,” you grumble, typing away at the prompt your TA had posted last week. “Maybe they need to figure out how to assert themselves in a relationship.”

“You gotta admit,” he breathes, locking your phone and setting it down between you. The lockscreen lights up, a photo of you from high school. There’s someone else in the photo with you.

He gives you a pointed look, brows raised. “It doesn’t look great from an outside perspective.”

You turn the phone over so it’s face-down. “I’m not in the habit of feeding fragile male insecurity.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugs. “But no guy – even the right guy – is gonna love that your lockscreen and all of the photos in your apartment have Miya in them.”

“I’m not looking for the right guy,” you bite out, rolling your eyes. “I’m looking for a guy that’ll stick around long enough to hook up with.”

Your friend laughs, surprised. “Oh, wow. Very direct.” When you don’t answer, he blinks. “You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately,” you sigh.

“Are you a virgin or just ovulating?”

“You wanna say it for the whole cafe to hear?”

He purses his lips, looking around. “I dunno, the barista might be down. I’m increasing your chances here.” He barely flinches when your sneaker makes contact with his shin.

“I’m a twenty-two-year-old virgin, Rin.” You shut your laptop with more force than necessary. “I graduate in three months. I’m not looking for a husband – I’m looking to get laid.”

He follows suit, his laptop closing gently. He leans back in his chair, sighing and examining you with the eye of someone who’s known you a very long time. “You always seemed decently invested in the guys you date.”

“Maybe the first few,” you admit, shrugging. “But they all had some weird hangup whenever it was time to take the next step. They skirt around the issue, but I swear they all think Miya has the final say in my sex life.” The bell above the door rings, and your eyes fly to the couple that enters, the girl giggling and clinging to the man’s arm. Your eyes roll against your will, and you gesture vaguely at them. “Clearly, that’s not the case for him.”

Suna turns to the door, watching as Atsumu orders coffee with his girl of the week. “Oh. I see what you mean.” He breathes a laugh of disbelief and cuts a glance at you. “I didn’t realize things were still bad-”

“Oh!” The voice comes from the bar, and then there’s a blond standing over your table. “I didn’t know you two’d be here.”

Suna opens his laptop, but you just smile politely up at the girl on Atsumu’s arm. She’s in your major, you think. No harm in being nice.

She doesn’t smile back.

Bitch.

“Just getting some work done,” you mumble, starting to pack up. “But I’m done, so I’m gonna head home.”

“Want me to walk you?” 

You groan internally, already feeling the heat of the girl’s glare.

“No, thanks. Suna’s gonna walk me.”

The man in question blinks up at you, green eyes confused. “I am?”

“Oh, are they dating?” It comes from the girl who’s got her fresh manicure on Atsumu’s bicep, her whisper directed to his ear but her voice purposely audible. He snorts in response, pointing between you and Suna. 

“These two? No way in hell.”

There’s something about it that irks you, the way he dismisses the idea of you dating. You know rationally that it’s truly absurd to think about you and Rintarou together – especially because Atsumu thinks you’re still dating that junior – but that flash of annoyance, often appearing when he does, strikes you. 

“We could be, you never know,” you say, smiling pettily. And then you turn to Suna, tossing your bag over your shoulder. “Wanna hook up, Rinnie?”

“Leave me out of it, please,” he says right away, attention already back on his screen. Atsumu laughs good-naturedly, and you can’t help but be fond of it. Still, you play the game.

“How ‘bout a date? Me, you, some Netflix? Maybe some chill?” 

Suna’s sharp eyes are playful and scolding at the same time – telling you to let it go, because he knows what you’re doing. “You couldn’t handle my chill, princess.”

You roll your eyes and stand, getting in one more dig that makes his smile peek out. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind, player.”

The moment – joking, innocent – is broken when you glance up at Atsumu.

His expression is unplaceable, eyebrows furrowed and eyes tracking your smile like its source means something to him.

You lift your eyebrows in surprise – you’ve never seen that look before – but grin innocently at him and his companion. “If you’ll excuse me – I gotta get ready for my hot date tonight.”

“Got you on speed dial, baby,” Suna mumbles. Atsumu’s nostrils flare in response, and you say nothing to calm him down, only whispering ‘nice to meet you’ to the girl you’ll never see again.

–

“Damn!” Saeko yells, kicking at some gravel on the sidewalk. “It’s always the sweet ones with the chocolatey eyes.”

You laugh, wrapping your leather jacket tighter around yourself. “It’s fine.” Your breath comes out in little puffs. “He was a good guy – I guess he just couldn’t cut it.”

“They never can.” It comes from Osamu, who’s sitting at the top of the Lambda house stairs, snuggled tight in his coat. “You come with a lot of baggage.”

You scoff and turn away from him, waiting until he finishes taking the cover charge from a group of freshman guys that walk up. One of them looks you over, eyes lingering on your thighs and chest appreciatively. You shift uncomfortably – the freshmen this year are so bold.

“Oi-” Osamu says, snapping rudely at him and then holding his hand out expectantly. “Eyes off, money out.”

The guy blinks at him, confused, and then points at his friend at the front. “He just paid it.”

“You get to pay extra,” Osamu says, smiling sweetly. “For not respecting women.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a plastic jug labeled RESPECT WOMEN JAR.

You and Saeko both laugh, and you shake your head. “Cut it out, Samu, it’s fine.”

Osamu just shakes the jug at the poor freshman. “Ten in the jar, kid.”

The boys all groan, and the target of Osamu’s sharp edge – the embarrassed one that’s pink around the ears – scowls. “Who’s your President? Phi Delt doesn’t do shit like this.”

Osamu laughs in his face, shaking the jar. The coins inside rattle louder than before. “I look like fuckin’ Google to you?”

Only when the ten dollar bill flutters into the jug does Osamu answer him.

“You can take your grievances to my brother.”

The boys are quiet as they trudge inside, finally realizing who they’re dealing with.

You give Osamu a knowing look when they’re gone. “Respect Women Jar?”

He smiles innocently. “Bettering fraternity culture or something.” He points the jar at you before setting it down. “Anyway, what I said stands. You got too much baggage.” 

You roll your eyes. “Go ahead.”

“You’ve been walkin’ around with Tsumu glued to your back your whole life. No one’s gonna stick around for that shit, sorry.” 

“Tsumu’s off with little-miss-sorority-girl-of-the-night,” you argue, gesturing in irritation at the door behind him. “And it’s not like I’m looking for Prince fuckin’ Charming—“ 

“She kinda sounds like a little gangster when she gets like this, dont’cha think?” Osamu says, completely ignoring you. 

Saeko chortles. “She sounds like your brother-“

“Alright, fuck you guys,” you snap, talking over Osamu’s wholehearted laughter. Stomping up the stairs, you smack his hand away when he reaches for you in apology. “I’m going to find someone to fuck.”

“Well, ain’t you demure,” Osamu jokes. 

You let the door hit him in the back on your way in.

—

It’s not working.

It never works, anyway, but for some reason, it stings particularly hard tonight. 

Even when you shed your leather jacket, revealing a tiny little halter top and far too much skin, no one will stay more than five minutes in your vicinity. 

Why? you wonder, watching yet another guy make yet another excuse.

‘Gotta find the bathroom, I’ll be back-‘

‘I think my friend is calling-‘

‘Aren’t you Miya’s girl?’

There’s a part of you that’s starting to think Atsumu’s doing it on purpose. It’s irrational, you know — he wouldn’t. He hasn’t before, and he never would. 

He wouldn’t do that to you.

But every rejection comes with another shot thrown back carelessly, and you’re starting to feel paranoid. You’re going insane. 

If it’s not him — if you can’t blame him — then it’s you. 

You’re unwantable, then. 

Is that what it is? Maybe it’s you-

“You’re spiraling,” a voice says behind you, close to your ear. A comforting hand on your waist, the other reaching to take the shot glass from you. “Don’t be the drunkest girl at the party. It’s a bad look.”

Suna.

You turn, glaring up at him hazily. He’s not exactly sober himself, but he does look better off than you. “Is Tsumu goin’ around tellin’ people we’re together?”

When he levels you with a knowing stare, you retrieve the shot from his hand and knock it back.

“So,” you say, wincing after the swallow. “If it’s not him, then it’s me.”

“You know it’s not that,” your friend whispers, tattooed fingers plucking the empty glass from your grip and depositing it on the bar. “It’s not him or you.”

“Why won’t anyone go home with me?” you whine carelessly. “What’do I gotta do? I’m already throwing myself at any guy that’ll give me the time of day.”

You can hear it – how desperate you sound. How pathetic you feel.

Why does this matter so much? Why do you care so much about whether or not you’re wanted for your body? 

You have so much more than this to offer the world. 

You’re smart, you’re sensible. You do well in school and already have a job lined up for after graduation. You have good friends – really good friends. You don’t have terrible taste in men – your exes always respected you and supported you. You have a good life and don’t cause trouble. Don’t find trouble.

Why does this feel so important?

Why does it feel like you’re getting left behind?

“Stop it,” Suna says quietly, somehow audible over the deep bass that shakes the room and the screaming and yelling of all the partygoers in his house. “It’s not gonna happen tonight. You’re too drunk.”

“I can do whatever I want, with whoever I want,” you bite. It loses its edge when your words slur together.

He leans down, looking you in the eye. “You want your first time to be some drunken, messy, fucked up five minutes that you won’t remember in the morning?”

“I don’t care!” Your eyes are starting to burn. “I just want it to be over – I’m tired of having this over my head!”

“You’re the one putting it over your head,” he reasons. “Just let it happen when it happens.”

You sniff, scrubbing at your face sloppily. “I’m gonna die a virgin at this rate-”

“What’s going on?” Another voice in your ear, much louder and much more familiar.

You glare up at its source.

Atsumu’s face is pink with intoxication, but his eyes are clear and concerned as he stares down at you. “You cryin’?”

“No,” you say, the edge in your voice sharp. “But I am going home.”

“What happened?” Atsumu’s got a hand on your elbow, tugging you close to him.

You snatch your arm away. “Don’t you have some sorority girl to take to bed?”

He blinks, taken aback. Suna just sighs, squeezing your shoulder.

“You know he’s not doing this.”

You smack him away, too. “Doesn’t matter,” you slur, swaying slightly. “‘m goin’ home.”

“What’s happening-” Atsumu says, looking between you and Suna, but the other man just shakes his head and stops you from pushing past him.

“You can’t,” he says. “He’s just gonna follow me around and pout all night if you leave like this.”

Atsumu’s already pouting, looking more and more upset the more you try to walk away from him.

You can’t leave like this.

You can’t leave him feeling this way, no matter how you might be feeling yourself.

“Ugh,” you groan, pushing past them both in the direction of the stairs to the second floor. Suna’s close behind, and you can hear Atsumu stumbling through the crowd, trying to keep up.

The freshman brother guarding the staircase rises when he sees you, letting you pass without even a hint of resistance. You just stomp past him, thanking him grumpily, and shoulder your way into Atsumu’s bedroom.

You pace the floor while you wait, pressing your hands to your eyes and trying to clear your head of the alcohol. Suna flops down onto the bed with a groan, yawning loudly. 

“Go easy on him,” he says lazily. “He doesn’t know.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, wiping at your face. Your eyes are burning again, and you can feel the knot in your throat.

Atsumu crashes into the room a second later, shutting the door and locking it.

“What’s happening?” he asks, looking between you. “Why d’you look so damn mad? What’d I do?”

You point a finger at him, watching it shake. “I’m going to ask you this exactly once–”

“He’s not doin’ it, Y/n,” Suna interrupts. “You know he’s not.”

You ignore him. “Are you telling people I’m off limits?”

Atsumu blinks, processing. “No…?”

You grit your teeth. “Miya, I swear to god–”

“I’m not!” he argues, throwing his hands up defensively. “I haven’t said shit! Why?!”

You sigh, dropping your hand. You know – you know that it was never him – but hearing him say it is both a relief and a frustration.

“Nothing,” you say, your temper waning. You feel tired. Tired and sad and unsure what to do. “It’s nothing.”

Atsumu steps toward you. “It’s not nothin’.”

There’s a silence – that cursed, heavy silence that sits between you, time and time again.

Suna breaks it.

“She’s upset that she’s still a virgin,” he says easily, as though listing off the weather forecast. “And it’s definitely your fault, even though you haven’t done anything.”

You can only turn to stare down at him, mind emptying of everything all at once.

“What-” you whisper, just blinking lamely at him. “-the fuck, Rin.”

He just yawns again, lazy as ever. “Just clearin’ the air.”

Atsumu stares down at you, eyes wide. “You’re a virgin?”

You want to crawl into a hole and die. 

“‘Kay. Now I’m leaving,” you say, turning on your heel toward the door. Atsumu grabs you again, harder this time in case you try to escape.

“What’s the problem with that?” he asks, shaking his head. “So what? Who cares?”

“You cared a second ago,” you point out.

He flushes. “I was surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think…” When you raise your brows, he clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“It matters to me,” you say, your voice coming out in a whine. You can already feel yourself pouting just a bit, that petulant side of you emerging – the way it always does with him. “It matters to me that no one else is. That no matter how hard I try, no one wants me enough to go through with it.”

He frowns, growing upset as he realizes how you’ve been seeing yourself this whole time. “But– it’ll happen eventually…” He turns to Suna, thinking. “And why is this my fault?”

Suna stares up at Atsumu, deadpan. “Isn’t it always your fault?”

You watch in real time as Atsumu puts the pieces together.

He really had nothing to do with this.

He looks too upset to have had anything to do with this.

Your arm slips from his hand while he processes. He looks down at you, swallowing. “Still? This whole time?”

You just shrug, feeling a strange sense of shame seep into your skin. “I tried dating around,” you mumble, hugging yourself. “Guess some assumptions don’t go away.”

Whatever pain you feel about it is reflected in Atsumu’s expression. “That’s not fair. We’ve never been more to each other than this.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But it doesn’t seem to matter what we are or aren’t.”

He looks torn – he recognizes that he hasn’t been held to the same standard. That this has only ever impacted you.

“Is there anything I can do?” he whispers, almost begging for you to let him fix this.

You just laugh, shaking your head. Wishing you’d never started this conversation, because you hate seeing him like this.

“What can you do to help, Tsumu?” You try to ease the way he’s feeling. “You gonna sleep with me yourself?” you joke, laughing. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

The silence that comes doesn’t feel like all the silences before this.

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s dissociating, looking right through you. Suna doesn’t look much different, as though he’s realized whatever it is that you’re still missing.

“I mean,” Atsumu starts, swallowing hard. Still not looking at you. “I could…?”

You don’t process what he’s saying. “What?”

He flicks his gaze to Suna, who looks like he’s starting to agree. “I could… sleep… with you…?”

You just blink. It finally clicks.

“Fuck you,” is all you say.

Atsumu scrambles to stop you from walking out. “I’m serious!”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, leaning up into his face. “I’m not some fucking charity case. Fuck you.”

“Y/n, please,” he says, holding your arms tight. “It makes sense-”

“It makes no fucking sense at all!” you yell, tearing out of his grip. “I’m trying to get away from this whole impression that we’re together! And I want someone to want to sleep with me – I don’t need a pity fuck!”

Atsumu approaches, hands out to try to calm you. “You want to get laid. I’m the thing keeping you from that, right? Friends sleep together all the time–”

“Yeah, and that never works,” you argue, seething.

He just points at Suna. “It works for him and Saeko!”

Suna’s mouth drops open. “Dude, what the fuck?” 

You feel like you don’t have it in you to process more news tonight. “You-” You point stupidly at Suna. “-and Saeko are fuck buddies?”

Suna smiles sheepishly up at you. “I prefer the term ‘friends-with-benefits’...” And then he glares at Atsumu. “Thanks for outing us, you stupid fuck.”

You throw your hands up. “You outed me, you stupid fuck!”

He just smiles. “And now we’re seeing progress!”

“What progress?” you laugh, pointing at Atsumu. “All he did was come up with a stupid idea!”

Suna nods, looking sympathetically at Atsumu. “It is a stupid idea.”

Atsumu scoffs, affronted, and points back at you. “I’m offering her a solution!”

Suna nods, looking sympathetically at you. “It is a solution.”

Both of you glare down at him. “Fuck off,” you say.

“Please fuck off,” Atsumu repeats.

Suna just shrugs, standing and stretching like a cat. “Well, now that I’ve been outed, I’m off to find Saeko.”

Things spoken and unspoken sit between you and Atsumu after Suna is gone.

You try to leave before Atsumu can speak anything else into existence.

His fingers wrap around your bicep with ease. “Y/n, please.”

You stare up at him, incredulous. “Tsumu, this is a terrible idea. You can’t be serious.”

“There’s nothing else I can do,” he pleads. “I can’t say anythin’ to anyone, because that makes it worse. And not doin’ anythin’ is how we ended up here – you’re still upset, you’re still left hanging, you’re still frustrated.” He looks nervous – nervous and drunk, his voice dropping to a whisper, like this is something he’d never say sober. “I can do something about that. You know I can.”

You swallow, shoving down all the feelings that conflict with one another, and get in his face. “I’m better than a pity fuck, Atsumu,” you whisper back. “I might be desperate and frustrated and angry, but I’m still me.”

He just looks at you hollowly. “I never offered you a pity fuck.”

Your lips part in a quiet gasp. Your ears fill with the painful thudding of your heart.

“What?” 

You can barely hear yourself over the rush of your heartbeat.

Atsumu looks to be in a similar situation. His chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyelashes fluttering.

“Just consider it,” he whispers. “Please.”

His grip on your arm loosens, and you’re gone from the room before you can even realize you’d pulled away from him.

[taglist]

@onlytendoguesses @nectardaddy @hhoneyhan @bookskeepers @choerry-picking @siheez @introvertsince2003 @eggyrocks @atrashsith 

@beckixwsm @kakeru-eem @bakingcuriosity @dondoncool @corvid007 @asthmaticcchoeee @softpia @dailyakira @sephglowspink @shortcakebaby @kuroosfavkitten @moucheslove @sarahspam12 @dreamgardener @yoshit-he-dinosaur @miliondollagirl

@wordskeeper @kattiscrying @winniethepooh-lover @lmornly @alexithemiyatic @rntrsuna @whenanafallsinlove @punkhazardlaw @minyoungieee @makki0s @hoe4sunarin @nobodybutnnoorr @dambxtch @kittycasie @kameyyy @1uvicide @general-dumbass @deadfish714 @rory-cakes @crypt-0rchid @hanniesdegree @reyyy000001 @snail-squasher

[minranghae]

Taste | 18+

》 pairing: c.san x f!reader

》 genre: fluff, smut, angst if you squint really hard

》 warnings: friend’s brother!san, female reader, general silliness, stubborn reader, san loves to tease, hes a sweetie too ofc, smut, piv, oral (f. receiving), fingering, pet names (angel, baby, etc.), coworkers, san bites reader one (1) time, barely proofread, unprotected, lmk if i missed any

》 wc: 5.2k

》 hello! i am back from the dead with my second fic and second installment in the senses series. i do apologize that this took so long, but i do plan on releasing more stuff soon-ish. i'm working on a longer series, so who knows what'll hapen lol. finally, i just want to say thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy this!

 “God, I really can’t stand you, San! Stop following me, pervert!”

“Yeah, whatever, just get in so we can talk,” he yells to you with his arm hanging out the window of his car, an annoyed, yet amused smirk covering his face.

“No way!” You yell over your shoulder, too embarrassed to face him both physically and figuratively. 

Really, how could you? Not after you found him with your diary in his hands, reading it like it was his favorite novel. At first, you tried to convince yourself that he didn’t see those pages, but the blush on his cheeks told you otherwise. 

And that’s why you’re here: running away from San in the middle of the night.

“I’ll make you a milkshake,” San coos from the car, causing you to turn your head in interest, “You know you love ‘em,” he offers, as if you’re a dog and he’s holding a treat in front of your face. 

And god damn it, it works.

“Fine, but I’m not talking to you until I get one,” you say, opening the car door and climbing in.

“You’re talking to me now,” he quips, earning a look from you that he thinks would’ve killed him if it had the ability.

“Alright, tough crowd,” he murmurs to himself with a dry laugh, hoping to earn a giggle- or at least a smile- from you, but to no avail.

The whole situation was so embarrassing. And degrading, and stupid, and embarrassing-

“Stop thinking so much,” he swats at your arm playfully, noticing the clear look of discomfort and sheer, unabashed embarrassment on your face, “you don’t even know what I have to say yet.” 

You answer him with a small hum, deciding against giving him a verbal response, because no matter how much you’d like to curl up in a hole and die, you’re still as stubborn as the day San met you. 

You officially met him the first day you worked at the diner. Your best friend’s family had owned it since the old owners left, leaving the significantly smaller family of four looking for new employees. College debt had already begun sneaking its way into the back of your mind, and Eunbi needed to work with someone other than her nagging parents or annoying older brother. It was the perfect opportunity for you.

“C’mon! Just try it!” The boy working with you begged.

“I already told you, I have trauma with milkshakes!”

San laughed to himself, trying to hide the amusement evident on his face.

“Look, I’m sorry you found a hair in your milkshake however long ago, but I can assure you that my milkshake is hairless,” he held his little finger up to you, “pinky promise.”

Rolling your eyes, you locked your pinky with his. Your hands lingered together for a moment too long, until San pulled his away to push the drink closer to you.

“San, you know, I’m not really a huge fan of chocolate-” 

“Didn’t you and Eunbi make chocolate cupcakes for your birthday though?”

You freeze, cheeks heating up at his question, unsure if it was the fact that he’d caught you in a lie or that he knew and remembered what you and Eunbi had done for your birthday bringing the blush to your face. Attempting to hide your embarrassment, you shot him a small smirk, gently pursing your lips.

“‘Gotcha there, honey.”

Ever since that day, San always had a milkshake waiting for you at the end of each shift. And maybe it was that kindness that made you blush, or maybe it was the fact that his eyes smiled along with his lips every time he greeted you. It could’ve been the way he always knew how to make you giggle, but whatever it was, it was clear that you’d fallen for San.

Which is weird. Weird because he’s older than you, he’s your coworker, he’s out of your league, and worst of all: he’s Eunbi’s brother.

Really? How cliche is that? It’s not even like you could tell Eunbi about it. That would’ve made everything so much worse. It’s embarrassing enough to be so head over heels for a guy who just sees you as his little sister’s best friend, but to have people know about it too? There’d be no coming back from that.

And that’s exactly why you decided to start keeping a diary, or mindful journaling as you called it. That sounded better than keeping a diary.

You originally started it to confess some of your feelings about San. You wrote how embarrassed you were to have a crush on him. You wrote about the milkshakes he made you and the times he defended you against angry customers. You wrote about how stressed you felt about life in general. Your worries, your fears, the moments of your days that you wanted to forget, but your mind wouldn’t let you. You wrote about anything you couldn’t confess to another person. 

On particularly late nights full of hopeless pining and horny desperation, you’d write about your fantasies, some involving random celebrities or TV characters, but most involving San. 

It was nothing too in depth, it was more about how much you wanted just a taste of him. You knew you could never have him for good, but if you could just feel his strong arms around you or his lips on your skin just once, maybe that’d be good enough. Just a little taste. It felt dirty thinking about him in that sort of way, but who would see it anyways? 

Little did you know, San himself would.

It had slipped out of your bag. And being the kind, and relatively organized coworker he is, San picked it up to put it back in your bag for you. The way it landed on the floor, though, left it open on its spine with its pages just begging to be read. 

He wasn’t going to read it. That would be an invasion of privacy, and San wasn’t that kind of guy. He wouldn’t do that.

But when he picked it up, he couldn’t help but notice his name on the page. And unfortunately, as it does most of us, curiosity got the best of him. 

San tried to stop himself, he really did. But, knowing just how eager you were for him put his head in a spin. He just couldn't help but picture you underneath him, with that adorable blush and shy smile that only appears when he starts teasing you. He wanted so badly to hear how you whimper, to feel how warm you are, to see how sweet you taste. He had a feeling you liked him, but he never would've guessed you reciprocated the feeling so strongly.

He saw this as more of an opportunity for you two. He wasn’t going to tell you what he’d seen; he’d just confess to you one night. And maybe it’d have to be secret for a bit, but eventually you could be his, and he wanted nothing more than that.

No big deal.

But, as soon as he heard a small gasp from the doorway and looked up to see your eyes welling with tears, he knew that plan was well fucked. 

San always thought you were pretty. From the moment Eunbi first brought you over, he couldn’t help but notice your expressive eyes and beautiful hair. But what he liked most was that shining smile you had. And seeing that he’d wiped it from your face as soon as you walked in, he just had to chase you.

And so, as you sat across from him in a booth in the dimly lit diner, he studied your face: the embarrassed blush and sweaty gleam sheening your forehead, your pouty lips wrapped around the straw of a chocolate milkshake as your eyebrows furrowed.

Even your beauty was stubborn.

He began softly, so as not to scare you, his fingers drumming against the table in a gentle rhythm, “So… do you like the milkshake?”

You looked up at him, an eyebrow quirked, “Yeah, it’s good.”

San pushed out a sigh at your icy reply, settling back in his seat as he let his palm fall flat against the table. He knew what he wanted to say, he just couldn’t find the words. You broke the silence a moment later.

“Look, we can both pretend like you saw absolutely nothing at all and I’ll ask to work different times of the day so we won’t even have to see each other. I’m not weird, I promise, I just-”

“Shh,” he cooed, grabbing one of your hands, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of it, “you didn’t even let me talk yet.”

San’s gaze scanned your pretty face for a moment, falling onto those eyes and lips he adored. His heart pounded against the back of his ribs, and yet, you seemed so nervous. Had he read it wrong?

“Did you mean it? What you wrote?” he asked, his voice holding a subtle tone of insecurity. His gaze fell to the table where your hands met, his grip tightening just slightly.

You looked up at him, your wide eyes sweeping over his strong face and your breath picking up. Of course you meant it, but did he want you to mean it? 

“Why are you asking that?” you mumble, pulling your hand from his shyly. Your entire face was tinged pink from embarrassment and guilt, so anxious. San couldn’t stand it.

He made an effort to grab your hand again, his other hand lifting your chin gently so you’d look at him. He shook your head a little, trying to bring out a tiny smile again. 

“You said you needed my face between your thighs…”

Your body went rigid. Out of all the entries, he just had to read that one? You remember writing it after watching him open something with his teeth one day, his jaw flexing as he used his teeth to rip open the plastic packet. Unfortunately, your mind was clouded by unsavory thoughts later that night, and so, into the journal those fantasies went. 

“I’m just saying, I’ve needed a taste for a while now, too. Just give me a chance. Don’t run, please,” he pleaded softly, his grip tightening on your hand ever so slightly. He gave you that look, the one where his eyebrows would furrow so gently and his eyes gleamed softly, a desperation hidden in them. San wasn’t one to beg, but he couldn’t let you think he didn’t like you.

To his surprise, the confession didn’t make you smile. Instead, you felt your eyes well up with tears and a heavy weight lift off your shoulders. Slowly, you snaked around the table to San’s side of the booth, immediately wrapping your arms around one of his as you cried into his shoulder. He received you warmly, his free hand coming up to pat your head softly with sweet coos leaving his mouth, calming and affectionate.

“I thought you were gonna hate me forever, Sannie. I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, hiccuping softly, no even noticing your snot blotting San’s shirt. Such a mess.

San let out a breathy laugh, guiding your face up and off of his shoulder. He grabbed a napkin from the holder at the end of the table and wiped your nose with it gently, an affectionate air about him. He’d never seen you so emotional, and though his heart constricted seeing your tears, he was just happy to be the one taking care of you: his precious one. In a way, seeing you so worked up over something he saw as no big deal was endearing. Then again, almost everything about you was endearing to San. 

He smiled down at you after wiping your nose, mumbling, “Pretty girl.” You could feel your cheeks go red instantly, feeling like it was your first time having a crush all over again. 

He continued, his deep voice soft and sweet suddenly, “I could never hate you. Never, never,” he shook his head a bit, leaning in so that your foreheads were pressed together, “what I read only surprised me, but it would never make me hate you. So, don’t apologize for liking me. I like you, too.”

You swore your heart skipped a beat as he said that. In fact, it seemed like cardiac arrest would be the next step if he didn’t stop looking at you with those soft eyes.

“Never knew you had such a dirty mind,” he teased, rubbing your arm with his free hand gently.

And just like that, your eyebrows furrowed again and you hit his arm gently, too embarrassed to be sappy for long.

“Stop that! It’s not good to hold in all your thoughts, you know. You should write your feelings down,” you scolded, face bright red and lips pouting. San took the scolding at first, but it wasn’t much use. He was too focused on how cute your face looked all scrunched up. 

And, he couldn’t deny it. Being scolded was pretty hot.

“There you go again,” San interrupted, sighing playfully. He couldn’t help but tease. You stopped mid-sentence, unsure of what you were even scolding him about now.

“Hm? What?” you asked softly, a little pout remaining on your lips.

San giggled a little, his eyes squeezing shut as he threw his head back. It was just too much fun for him. He leaned in closer to your face, close enough that your noses nearly met in the middle, whispering, “You’re too busy being angry to let me give you a taste of me.”

That cocky bastard. Cocky, and teasing, and sexy…

Your eyebrows quirked up and your cheeks burned even hotter as he leaned in closer, his mouth just next to your ear. 

“That’s what you wanted, right? What you wrote in your diary… ahem, journal,” he whispered, need dripping from his words. 

And yet, you were too embarrassed to speak. Or, maybe flustered was the right word. Either way, your brain didn’t quite work when San teased you normally, and especially not when his hands traveled to your waist, thumbs pressing into you gently.

“W-well, yes, but it was just a fantasy! I was just imagining! If you read more, you’d see I wrote about celebrities also…” you stammered, your hands searching for a place to rest along with your eyes. 

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m not special?” San asked, biting his lip to hold back a cocky smile.

You gasped a little, hands instinctively finding San’s firm chest, “No, no! I just meant, just,” you panicked a bit, somehow losing your words yet again as San put his hands over yours.

“So, I am special? Am I special enough to have a taste of you?” San asked softly, still teasing, though there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his voice, something like an invitation.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Sannie… What would Eunbi think?” You ask softly, eyes round and full of worry. Unintentionally, you leaned further into San’s chest, prompting him to pull you into a hug. He cradled the back of your head, petting your hair softly.

“She doesn’t have to know yet. And you can always say no, baby. I know I tease you a lot, but it’s just because you’re so cute when you’re worked up. We can take things slow if you want. It’s just that journal entry… it made me…” San trailed off towards the end, his own cheeks getting pink now.

Softly, you reached up and ran your fingers through San’s hair, finally offering him a big smile, “Look at you blushing now.”

San blew a bit of air out of his nose, suppressing a shy laugh. “How couldn’t I blush? The thought of you wanting me that way…” He trailed off again, voice high and squeaky now that he was being teased. He pulled you close and buried his face in your neck, letting his lips place a soft kiss before he continued.

“I want to hear you say it, angel. Tell me I’m special and it’s more than just a fantasy. Tell me how you want me,” he mumbled into your neck, using every ounce of self restraint to stop himself from kissing it again.

And, in that moment, months of yearning for, pining over, and wanting San in every way came back to you. Your heart ached a bit, and so did the space between your legs. Everything you had imagined and told yourself was just a dream was coming true. It was true that it would be difficult to hide this whole thing considering Eunbi could read you like a book, but you couldn’t let this opportunity go.

“God, San, I want you in every way possible,” you breathed out, tilting your head back to give him better access to your neck. As soon as you did, he latched on to it, sucking a small bruise into it. You trembled a little, involuntarily letting a tiny whimper cross your lips as you whispered, “But I really need you to fuck me right now.”

“That’s all I need to hear, baby. Here,” he murmured, detaching himself from you quickly. He swiftly switched spots with you, leaving the booth seat and pulling you to the edge of it. He kneeled in front of you, one hand on your thigh and the other gripping the table still. Pushing the table towards the other side of the booth, San ran his hands up and down your thighs, eyes pleading and lust filled. “It’s alright if I taste you?”

“Please, need it so bad, Sannie,” you pleaded as he slowly undid your jeans, pulling them off your legs along with your panties in one fatal swoop. You were already dripping onto the seat and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

San pressed gentle kisses up your bare thighs, using a thumb to rub gentle circles into your clit. You gripped the top of the seat, already feeling a pulsing need in your heat as San’s mouth inched closer to it. His breath tickled the area, making your squirm, but what was worse was the look in his eyes. He stopped just in front of your cunt and looked up at you with dark, lustful eyes. In that moment, you understood San wanted this just as much as you did.

It was true. San couldn’t even recount the amount of times he pumped his fist in bed or in the shower thinking about you and your sweet pussy. And as much as it made him blush just thinking about it, he wanted nothing more in life than to bury his face in between your thighs some days, making you squirm and hearing what noises he could pull out of you. He wanted to have you, to know you on a deeper level. And what was more intimate than knowing the way a person tastes?

“Pretty,” he murmured into his direct line to heaven, his nose nudging your clit 

gently. A long, hot stripe was licked up your pussy, making you twitch expectantly. Instantly, your mind began to grow foggy and your hips bucked, San whispering, “It’s alright, just relax, baby.”

And so, you did. You let your torso fall all the way back against the booth seat and your fingers tangle in his hair, a soft grunt leaving him as he dove in deeper. His tongue swirled around your entrance, dipping inside every once in a while as a quiet hum vibrated against you. He kept up his agonizingly slow pace on your clit with his thumb, savoring that way you tasted on his tongue.

Soon, though, San needed more of you. He needed to see you squirm more, hear you moan just for him. He pulled you even closer to the edge of the booth, another grunt leaving him as he had to pull his face away for a moment. He hoisted your legs up onto his broad shoulders, instantly attaching his lips to your clit, kissing it softly before sucking it. 

A thick finger found its way inside of you, knuckle deep and wriggling. You squirmed, unable to hold back your noises. Even with just one finger, he filled you up better than you’d ever been before. He added a second finger a moment later, getting familiar with your body inside and out. Scissoring his fingers, he stretched your pussy out, mumbling something about how perfect it was.

“Fuck, San, even your fingers are big,” you slurred, back arching up in the air. San answered with another hum against your pussy, one you could tell was a shy giggle. He curled his fingers, letting his lips pulse around your clit now that he could tell you would finish soon. He slowed his pace down for a second, lifting his head to look up at you.

“You wanna cum? Want Sannie to make you cum?” He asked with a condescending pout, mirroring the one on your own lips. You nodded fervently, but it wasn’t enough for San.

“Gotta hear you say it, angel,” He furthered, eyes darkening as he held back another sly smile. You whined, kicking your legs gently. San tutted, swatting your thigh gently, “Don’t be so stubborn. Just tell Sannie.”

“Please, San, make me cum. Wanna cum all over your tongue,” you relented, hips bucking back up towards San’s face, nudging his chin against your clit. San cooed gently before diving back in. Lapping at your hole, he circled your clit relentlessly with his thumb. He wasn’t going to let you cum anywhere but his tongue.

It didn’t take long for you to do just what you’d asked for. Suddenly, your entire body began to tingle, radiating from the place between your thighs. Your toes curled and your knees tried to squeeze together, locking San’s head in place so that he could lap up every last bit of your essence that was flowing out of you. He made sure he got every last bit, taking his time to lick and kiss every last part of your slick, throbbing cunt.

Eventually, he pried your legs open and helped you sit up, smiling hard at your flushed out face. He swiped his chin with his thumb, bringing it up to his lips before licking off that last bit of you. He sighed, “Could live in that little hole forever, baby.”

You blushed gently, turning away from him shyly, prompting him to sit next to you. He grabbed you by your waist, pulling you onto his lap so your back was flush against his chest. “Hey, you can’t get all shy on me now. Where’s the feisty girl I know, hm?”

“How could I be mean after you just did that to me,” you pouted, making San laugh. 

“You’re always mean to me,” he told you dramatically, grabbing your chin and turning your face towards his. Carefully, he grinded his hips up so that you could feel how hard he was. And he was. Just the taste of you had San throbbing, and the only reason he let you cum so quickly was so that he didn’t cum in his own pants. 

You gasped softly, feeling San’s cock pulsing against your ass, then again when his thick fingers began circling your clit again. He rested his chin on your shoulder, speaking so softly into your ear, “And what’s really mean is how you made me so hard, I almost came from how good you tasted. You wouldn’t leave me like this, right, baby?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and turning around in San’s lap. His hands went straight to your ass, cupping it and pulling you down to grind against the tent in his pants. Your eyebrows furrowed gently as your hips moved back and forth on him, concentrated huffs falling from your tongue.

“Greedy girl,” he teased, nudging your jaw with the side of his head gently, “you want my cock in you?”

You nodded, pouting at him, “Please, San. Need you in me bad.”

San just laughed, guiding your hands to unzip his pants. He lowered his voice, looking down at where your crotches met, “Alright, you can have it. But, you gotta do the work now. You really tired me out there before.”

You whined again, this time out of pure exhilaration. Wasting no time, you unzipped San’s fly, yanking down his pants and boxers as best as you could. His cock sprung out, hard and red, begging you to take it.

But first, you giggled mischievously as you gave it a few pumps, enjoying its weight in your hand. San groaned, throwing his head back and cursing under his breath. It didn’t take long for him to grow impatient. He grabbed your waist and guided you to sit up better, right above his manhood.

You moved your hips around just to antagonize San as he’d done to you so many times. He let out a frustrated groan, burying his face against your neck yet again, kissing it softly as he pleaded, “Cmon, baby, don’t make me crazy here.”

“Wanted this for so long, Sannie,” you breathed out as you finally sunk down on him, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. San chuckled, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I know, baby, read all about it,” he smirked, that smug look on his face melting into a lovesick smile as you swatted at his chest. He couldn’t help but suck another bruise into the side of your neck before chiding, “Just teasing you, been thinkin’ about this for a while, too.”

He rutted up into you, hungry and needy, filling your slick heat completely. Your body twitched with each thrust, languid and deep, San’s silent confession. He was savoring his meal, taking it slowly and enjoying it wholly.

The only sound in the room was that of skin on skin, San’s hips snapping up into yours. He knew just the spot to hit inside of you. You cried out in pleasure, prompting San to speed up. The two of you, hungry and desperate to cum, moved together in a near perfect harmony. 

“Fuck, this pussy was made for me,” San stuttered, trying to keep himself inside you, but it was hard with your bouncing and his thrusts, not to mention the wetness you spilled each time he left your body for a moment. San grunted in your ear, biting down on your shoulder a moment later. He was close. It didn’t help that everytime he thrusted up into you, you let out the sweetest sounds. San wanted to listen to them all the time, but even the thought of doing this again with you made him harder. 

Honestly, his cock kept getting harder with each second it spent inside you. You were so warm, so tight. San was normally a patient man, but it was hard to take his time with you.

You couldn’t be helped either. As soon as he sunk his teeth into you, you came all over him. Wetness poured out of your cunt, coating San as you cried out his name. He followed suit soon afterwards, pulling out and cumming on your thigh. Quickly, San pulled you into a hug, still heaving as a big hand came up to cradle your head. 

For a few minutes, the two of you sat together, your form still tucked into San’s warm embrace as he rocked you back and forth. You both tried to regain your breath, but every little touch made either one of you gasp softly before you turned your head the other way, embarrassingly lovesick. 

San was warm, physically and figuratively. Sweat dripped off his forehead and fell onto yours, but you couldn’t care less if it meant being held by him. It was strong, secure, surreal… it was everything you had written about before. There were days when all you needed was a firm hug, to be held without the fear of falling, somewhere warm and safe. San was all of that, and you could feel it now. It wasn’t just something you wrote about anymore. It was real.

San noticed the face you made when you were thinking and his heart rate picked up. Was it not good? Did he disappoint you? He nudged your head with his shoulder, pouting, “What’s wrong? Was it not good?”

“What? No! It was amazing, I just… I like you a lot. And I like that I don’t have to imagine things anymore… Well, that is if you want to continue this,” you trailed off, blabbering embarrassedly. Maybe all he wanted was a hookup. Uneasiness settled into your features while amusement settled into San’s.

“Silly girl,” he scoffed, enamored by everything you were, “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

Your eyebrows shot up and your heart fluttered. You were never one to get so worked up so easily, but San had a way of making it happen. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you mirrored, acting coy now. San cupped your face, dimples on full display as he smiled at you, meeting your gaze. He leaned in and gave you his first real kiss of the night. Your lips molded together perfectly, San’s tongue swiping across your lower lip occasionally. You felt his warm cheeks against yours, which made you giggle sweetly. San’s heart melted.

The boy pulled away a moment later, letting his forehead rest against yours, “Does that answer your question, baby?”

You snorted in response, shaking your head bashfully. You wanted to hear him say it. San rolled his eyes in response, his hands moving down your back to rest on either side of your ass. Still, he smiled and whispered, “Yes, I want to be your boyfriend.”

You sighed sweetly, unable to hold back the big smile on your face. San delivered a little spank to your ass, playful and teasing, “Happy now?”

You nodded, allowing a little squeal of excitement to leave you. “Very happy, Sannie. Very happy,” you whispered back, laying your head on his shoulder to look around the dark diner. 

Just then, your eyes spotted a little red light up in the corner of the diner, seemingly connected to a security camera. You jumped, whisper yelling at San, “Fuck! Fuck, the cameras, San!”

San jumped as soon as you did, following your gaze up to the security camera. He mirrored your panic for just a moment before pulling you further into the booth, pulling his jacket off to cover up your still bare bottom half. 

And just as you thought you were going to have a heart attack, San laughed, and somehow, the uneasiness melted away. He ruffled your hair playfully, moving you off his lap and onto the seat before zipping his pants back up. He stood up, leaning down to your level, “I'll go take care of it, honey. Just clean up and get dressed. And finish your shake,” he told you, motioning to the table where your half empty, half melted chocolate shake sat.

But as soon as he turned around, he turned back and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before scurrying off to the office, ready to delete the footage. You couldn’t help but smile knowing San would take care of it. What a dream boy.

[rafeslvbug]

introducing…floridakilos!reader (+ dealer!rafe)

“white lines, pretty baby, tattoos”

“come on down to florida, i got somethin’ for ya”

“you believe me, don’t you baby?”

floridakilos!reader…who has had a rough upbringing. her dad was a drunkie and she had an absent mother. self-raised, no education, learnt from her dad’s bad habits and turned to white lines for help.

floridakilos!reader…who partnered with barry for some money. he’d give her little baggies if she’d help bring in customers, sit on their laps while he tried to make a sell, tell ‘em how good his shit was. she got to keep the tips they always tucked into her bra or panties, and she got at least twenty percent of whatever barry got.

floridakilos!reader…who gets into a bad relationship. some buyer of barry’s, all sweet hands until they turn rough, fists of metal leading to her showing up to barry’s trailer with more and more bruises, no makeup to cover the marks.

floridakilos!reader…who suffers in silence. she doesn’t tell anyone, she doesn’t tell barry even when he swears he’s gonna beat her boyfriend’s ass. she just lies. falling down the stairs, or accidents. she’s terrified.

floridakilos!reader…who’s never been religious, but starts to pray to God. in the quiet of her room, knelt by the mattress she pretends is a bed, hands clasped together as she prays begs for Him to take away her pain.

floridakilos!reader…who isn’t feeling her best when she’s got bruises lining her body, yet pushes on through, sitting on the lap of some new partner barry’s about to take on.

floridakilos!reader…who feels a hot spike of shame when rafe gently moves her off his lap, he’s careful with her in a way no one has been before. he’s no better than anyone else, he’s still a dick, but he handles her so delicately like she’s porcelain on the brink of shattering.

floridakilos!reader…who is about to shatter. she goes home each night, to an empty house, stacked in bills she can’t even settle because they’re not hers, about to be evicted and she sobs. she sobs until she runs out of tears, and her body goes limp.

floridakilos!reader…who gets used to just sitting next to rafe whenever he comes around, getting closer to him and laughing at his words. a sound so foreign even to herself - laughter. but she likes how he gives her tips just for her company, not for her lack of clothes or whispers. just the opinions she didn’t know she had.

floridakilos!reader…whose boyfriend finds out about rafe, and stops her from going to barry’s trailer. when she shows up two weeks later, it’s only to say she’s not coming back, and she’s got bruises on her face, up her arms and around her neck.

floridakilos!reader…who can’t even scream when rafe’s beating up her boyfriend, bruises alike her own blossoming on his skin. who doesn’t stop rafe when he wraps her in his arms, guiding her out the house and into his car. when he promises to keep her safe.

floridakilos!reader…who feels safest when she’s with him. socked feet on his dashboard, short white dress but still wearing layers of clothing, him shoving hoodie after hoodie over her head so she knows he isn’t reducing her to her looks like all those other men. she feels safe when he’s weaning her off the drugs, letting her cry to him, giving her proper meals and a place to stay - together.

best paired with…dealer!rafe

dealer!rafe…who’s issues with ward fuels his addiction. he’s always making bad choices when he got white powder up his nose, but it’s a relief from the crippling pressure thats forced on him.

dealer!rafe…who thinks floridakilos!reader is a sorry little thing when he first meets her. she looks smaller than she is, malnourished in a way he’s never experienced, and the poor girl is sitting on his lap when she evidently looks uncomfortable.

dealer!rafe…who enjoys the way her dull eyes sparkle when he asks her opinion on some mundane thing, like if his clothes match, or if she likes music. who feels a pang of sympathy when she hasn’t heard much music, but that means he gets to show her, bringing her Sarah’s CDs the next time he comes over.

dealer!rafe…who asks barry for check ups on the day he notices a tiny bruise on her wrist. who gets anxious when barry only shakes his head, saying her boyfriend’s some fucked up guy she won’t let him get involved with.

dealer!rafe…who doesn’t hesitate to break down her boyfriend’s door when he gets the update from barry. she’s his girl, even if he hasn’t said it, she’s his.

dealer!rafe…who lets her stay with him in figure eight, letting her sleep in his bed while he sleeps in the spare room. he won’t make her uncomfortable, not until she’s ready.

dealer!rafe…who lets floridakilos!reader cry in his arms at night, holding her until her sobs subside, until she’s telling him all her burdens and he can kiss them away.

dealer!rafe…who takes her everywhere with him for safety. when he visits barry he makes her stay in the car, he’s worked too hard to get her off her addiction and doesn’t need any temptations. he’s even gotten clean himself, only finding buyers for barry and refusing to handle a baggy himself. and if barry wants to see her? he’s gotta clean himself up and come out to the car. she’s never stepping foot inside that place again.

dealer!rafe…who swears up and down she’s his angel. he never would have gotten clean if not for her, and everyone sees a different side to rafe when she’s with him. an awkward and thin-boned girl, who rafe dotes on, wrapped all over him, and he only has eyes for her.

[smallestapplin]

getting obsessed with swerve thanks to your fic, could i request a swerve x human reader where he accidentally overstimulates the reader to the point where they squirt?? (it’s both the reader and swerve’s first time and they’re both so messy and affectionate)

at the end swerve is like absolutely flabbergasted at the reader squirting and he’s like “soooo… how’d i do?”

happy new year also!!!

-favicon anon 🩵🩵

I like the way you think! (Also sorry if there re any errors, my autocorrect hates me.)

Warnings : enby afab reader, squirting, swerve being a pussy fiend. Oral fem receiving

🔞Minors do NOT interact! Adults only!🔞

Word count : 2,212😔 I went a tad overboard.

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You both are a little awkward, and who can blame you when Swerve is over twice your size, and who can blame him when you are so much smaller than him? Despite being a minibot he’s still at least four or five feet taller than you, not to mention how much thicker he is than you.

The size difference between you two is made more apparent as he leans over you, his cheeks flushed blue with energon realizing he’s finally going to get to taste you, to please you and finally make his claim. But you look so cute under him like this, removing any of your coverings, letting him fully see your soft body.

He’s never been with a human before, especially never interfaced with one! Primus, what if he messes up? What if he hurts you on accident? Oh, he’d never be able to live with himself if anything happened to you-

“Swerve, you’re overthinking it.”

The bot snaps for his thoughts by your voice, followed by a soft chuckle as you grab his right servo gently moving it to your face to kiss his palm. His cheeks burn with color, frame trembling slightly from the affection.

“I just don’t wanna hurt you, Doll.”

What a sweet bot you have.

“You aren’t doing to hurt me, I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much, okay?”

How can he answer when you look so pretty under him, it’s a chore keeping his optics from wandering down your naked body, how your chest slightly moves with each breath, how he can smell your arsoual even feel it in your weak EM field, beckoning him further, silently asking him to take you to have you.

He nods dumbly readily agreeing with easy before he could find his voice, stopping you just as you started to sit up.

“Can…can I prep you first? I-I wanna make you feel good and make sure you’re wet enough for me.”

Swerve knows you want to please him too, suck off his spike, and while his spike twitches and valve clenches at the thought, he knows your body is going to need a lot more prep with just how much bigger he is than you, he doesn’t even know if your human valve will be able to take all of his.

“Are you sure? I want to make you feel good too.” You sit up from his berth, wrapping your arms best you could around his neck and resting your forehead against his.

“I finally get to have you like this, I want to learn your body, see what brings you the most pleasure, see how I can make you tick-“

You’re cut off as he slams his dermas against your lips, effectively silencing you. Had you spoken anymore he might’ve just overloaded right then and there, and he can’t do that so soon when he hasn’t even gotten to touch you yet!

Swerve pulls off your lips and hangs his helm down on your chest.

“Don’t talk like that.” It’s cute how his vocie cracks and waivers just from a few dirty words.

“Ok, ok, use me how you wish then.”

His optics widen under his visor, watching you lay back in your pervious spot and spreading your legs just enough to give him a teasing view of your leaking slit, all the kissing and heavy petting earlier had gotten you going, you don’t want to stop now.

Swerve let’s out a strangled whimper at the mere sight, struggling to remain up right and now take you or devour you right then.

“Frag, you’re so pretty.”

You smile at him, a teasing laugh muffled by your hand.

“Not bad yourself, handsome-mm!” You’re cut off with a whine, dropping your head back against his berth as his tongue licks up your wet slit.

Swerve groans, ex-venting loudly at just the taste of you. The mech is quick to lose himself, his glossa lapping messily and wildly at your pussy, as if trying to devour you, drink up every drop of slick you have to offer him.

He's a fast learner, growing more and more confident and comfortable with setting a pace. He moans, groaning so loud against you, the vibrations making your thighs squeeze around his helm.

Fuck, the taste is even better

It's like a switch flipped inside him, going from hesitant and gentle, to a thirsty deprived man the second he tasted you and knew what made you tick.

What he lacks in true technique he makes up with pure, raw enthusiasm.

"H-hey I’m not- oh, haaa…so…so good..!”

You try to plead, try to reason with him, this is his first time going down on you he doesn't need to rush, but it's like he doesn't hear you, he can’t hear you. Shakily, you look down trying to meet the bright gleam of his visor, if only you could see his optics rolling back as he shoves his glossa into your clenching hole, messily slurping up all your dripping slick.

Stars above he can't believe he deprived himself of such a pretty valve! All this time such a fragging meal has been in front of him, and he had no idea! He has to make up for it, he needs as much as he can get, he needs more and then some.

You place a hand on his helm, trying to push him away to slow him down a bit, but yet it doesn't work. Swerve’s servos clamp down on your thighs, shoving his face plate impossibly closer to your pussy and making sure your thighs are tight around his helm.

There is no reasoning with a bot gone mad.

His grunts and feverish moans increase, making you look passed his helm to see his hips sloppily moving, humping the berth subconsciously, as if he has no idea he's doing it, merely fueled by his need for you.

You don't get time to think about it more before you're rocking your hips against his face plate, your eyes fluttering and crossing as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

Swerve is drooling, sounding more beast than machine as his body trembles. He had no idea giving pleasure would feel so good, it's like every sound, every twitch, every clench you make just sends a zap of ecstasy through him, making his heavy spike twitch and leak transfluid.

He can't get enough!

Swerve pulls his glossa out from you, licking along your hole to your clit, messily kissing your pulsing nub before wrapping his lips around it with a light suction. His valve clenches at how your thrash, near shrieking with him continuing to make you feel good after cumming not moments ago.

You dig your heels into his upper back strut, but the mild pain doesn't even phase him.

"Oh fuck, fuck, please, I can't!!" You can feel drool leaking down your chin, chilling your hot skin with the cold room air.

If he could just give you a moment, catch your breath-

Your back arches off the bed, a loud cry of yours echoes in the habsuite. Swerve kisses your clit once more, only pulling away to spit on your messy hole before moving one of his hands down and slicking up his middle and ring finger in the mixture of his spit and your juices.

His thick digits easily slide in, stretching you open around them.

"Swerve…you’re so…oh god.” you whine his name, missing the warmth of his intake but looking down you see him not even glancing up at you, clearly staring at your pussy, watching his digits disappear into you.

He's mesmerized, learning more and more about your body just makes him want to overload so badly.

You open your mouth once more, fully intending to talk him through fingering you, though you're swiftly cut off by a squeak ripping itself from your lips.

He's already moving his fingers, gently pushing them in and out, slightly curling his fingers, trying to find anything that makes you scream.

But he can't keep his intake off you too long, already licking and nipping at your throbbing nub, desperate to make you cum again, wanting to taste more of you. Your chest is heaving, panting and mewling as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.

He's a fast learner, much faster than you expected, but that’s just the vicious need he has for you, it's like he's tuned to your body, watching and picking up the smallest cues you give and make.

You didn't expect him to find your g-spot so quickly.

"Ohhh fuck!...haaa..! Right there, please please right there!!" your voice breaks, whining for him to curl his fingers again.

And he happily does. His hazy optics finally glance up to your sweaty trembling body, watching in a daze as your hands grip his helm so tightly

Tossing your head back with a sob of his name, your cunt squeezing down on his fingers with your cum gushing around them. Swiftly, he moves from your clit to your hole, taking his digits out and licking up your mess.

His spike throbs, spruting his hot transfluid onto the berth below him, yet he can't stop rutting against the now soiled bed, no matter how sensitive his spike gets he can't help himself.

Now two for two, but his greed and thirst only grow.

Swerve wants more, to keep eating you out until you’re nothing but a sobbing mess beneath him, he needs it so much, pussy whipped for his little human. But he’s so desperate to shove his spike into you, your cute little valve is all spread open, taunting him, tempting him, clenching down on nothing to lure him into fragging you.

“Fuck me…please just fuck me already, I can take it.” You’re near tears, just needing his fat spike inside you.

Your pitiful expression sends him scrambling up, moving his helm from between your legs and finally placing your legs on either side of his hips. Your eyes widen at the sight of just realizing how much bigger he is than you, his dick especially resting over your pussy, as he grinds his fluid covered spike against your slit, mixing your juices together.

You doubt he’s going to fit, could he even fit all of that inside you?

“Is this okay? I don’t want to move without you sayin so.”

Before he could ramble on a moment further you’ve made up your mind, seeing the large bot above you shaking, his cheeks flushed blue with energon, and that dorky smile of his wavering.

You reach up grabbing his cheeks and yank his face down, slamming your lips against his muffling his choked sounds. You barely pull away from him to speak.

“Don’t make me beg. I wanna feel you inside me, fucking me, please?”

Swerve makes a dumb sound, exventing loudly as he weakly mutters a rushed out ‘yeah okay’ as he scrambles to carefully line up the tip of his spike to your needy hole and slowly pushes in. Swerve chokes at the feeling, you’re so tight around him even after all that prep! It’s like you’re trying to milk him of all his transfluid, make him overload again and again.

Drool drips down his chin from his open intake, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as he tries so hard not to blow his load early. You are fighting to take every inch of him, he’s so big! His chubby cock fills out your cunt so much, too much even.

Every push just makes his shaft drag across your sweet spot, putting pressure on them the more of his spike he makes you take, your eyes flutter, slowly rolling back into your head.

“O-ohh! Don’t, don’t clench like that—!!” Swerve squeals, his voice cracking as your pussy clenches down on his spike. The bot nearly overloads at the sight of your human valve gushing around him.

A cry leaving your lips as you cum again, though it’s swiftly morphed into a loud sob as Swerve’s hips buck into you, shoving more and more of his spike into your stuffed pussy.

His hips moving on their own, he can’t stop it! Feels so good so good, he’s losing his mind! He hunches over you, folding you in half to make it easier to rut into you, fucking you, intending to make his claim, fill you.

You’ve lost track of how many times he’s med you cum, even how long it’s been since he managed to push his spike inside you, molding your pussy to his shape within hours.

“Just one more, pleasepleaseplease one more, overload for me, take my transfluid-“

He keeps rambling, muttering and crying out words your muddled mind can barely comprehend.

You weakly whine, feeling yet another gush of hot transfluid filling your already stuffed pussy. Swerve barely stops himself from collapsing ontop of you, his body trembling at the effort to hold himself up, but he wants so much more.

He leans back with a heavy sigh, his fans working overtime to cool him down.

“So…um…did I do good?” He looks hopeful, like a dog waiting for praise.

As if he hasn’t just fucked you stupid for hours on end, your pussy still leaking his spent.

[safflowerisyes]

Okay, so I was looking at @keferon's mecha pilot Jazz au, and I just had to write abt it because oml the angst

Also, keep in mind I haven written anything in a very long time

Prowl was still having a hard time wrapping his processor around it. His emotions were a hurricane of confusion, rage, and betrayal. As he stared down at the organic infront of him, he couldn’t help the deep frown that formed on his faceplates.

“I guess this is a lot for you, huh Prowler?”

The organic stared back up at him with an apologetic smile. It rubbed the back of its neck awkwardly. Jazz was never awkward. At least, not that Prowl could tell. Though, it wasn’t like Jazz had an EM field to show that.

“A human, you said?”

Prowl needed to hear it again to believe it. There was no way this tiny little bag of flesh had been controlling Jazz. No way it had been Jazz.

The organic nodded. “Yeah. I know it’s probably very confusing, but imagine my confusion when I found out you were all actually sentient mechs, not pilots in mecha suits.”

This was indeed all very confusing, and yet it also made a little too much sense. It explained why Jazz had always felt so… hollow.

Prowl scoffed at the organic’s words. The implication that he was just some lifeless suit to be worn was insulting in the very least.

The organic seemed to recognize Prowl’s disdain, quickly revising his previous statement, “But that makes so much sense now! It makes sense why you’re so expressive, and how you have all these little ticks and habits. Like whenever you’re flustered your wings turn forwards a little.”

It noticed? The organic took notice of his mannerisms. That would imply that it cared enough to pay attention to those things. Well… Prowl knew Jazz cared enough to notice those things, but this organic, this human…

It made Prowl think. Think of something other than the fact that his crush friend had just opened up, and a small organic crawled out of said friend’s chassis.

“Prowl. It’s still me. It’s still Jazz. I’m just… smaller.”

The organic was giving him a hopeful smile, its voice soft as if comforting a close friend. It made Prowl’s spark melt. A part of him wanted to take the small organic and hold it in his embrace for all eternity. He just wanted Jazz back.

But the other part of him wanted to squeeze the organic till it popped. He just wanted Jazz back.

Prowl glared at the organic, and its smile faltered. This sent a pang of hurt through Prowl, but he ignored the aching in his spark.

He turned to walk away. Being there talking to it wouldn’t make things go back to how they were. Things would never go back to how they were.

“Prowl, wait!”

Prowl turns to see the organic running after him. It gets to the edge of the table and tries to stop, but it’s going too fast. It stumbles, loses balance, and falls.

But Prowl is quick, and catches the tiny being in his servos. His expression is that of fear. He felt like he was about to lose Jazz. Again.

The organic smiles. “So you do care about me.”

Prowl’s expression swiftly turns to annoyance. But… the organic did have a point, he had to admit.

Prowl began to look at the organic differently. Instead of being the parasite that crawled out of Jazz’s chassis, it was now what remained of said mech.

And maybe… just maybe… Prowl could get used to him.

[revelboo]

Trying to figure out how road head would work within the alt mode. What do you think our honeys reactions would be?

🤣 I’m assuming you don’t mean playing with their uncanny valley avatars. In bayverse they had quite a bit of control over their bodies and alt modes, so I’m carrying that over to G1/IDW. Also @drabbletron writes altmode spice, so check ‘em out. 🔞 🌶️

Altmode

Hound x Reader

• “Babe, you’re killing me right now,” he growls, watching you stretch lazily, feet hanging out his open window while the fingers of one hand play with the tooling on his seat, the other soft hand curling around his gear shift. Stroking like it’s his spike. Knows you know exactly what you’re doing. “We’re almost there, promise.” And your thumb slides over the top of his gear shift to make him shudder.

• “Give me something else to play with then,” you tease as his wheels hum on the empty stretch of road. Because so what if you pull over for a bit to play? You’ll get to the park sooner or later. Hear and feel his engine rumbling as you lay your head back against his seat. “Hound, please?” And he growls, the guttural rasps and whirs not even remotely human. Probably alien swearing if you have to guess.

• “You want my avatar, sweetspark?” Venting at your quick and disgusted sounding ‘ew, no,’ he rocks on his shocks slightly. Doesn’t know what your issue is with the thing, but you won’t touch it. Insist it’s creepy even if it looks perfectly human. Maybe he can shock you into behaving then? It takes quite a bit of concentration to shift his interior around and stay rolling on the road, but it might be worth it to get you to stop teasing him. And you lean closer to his door when his interior shifts around, wind tearing at your hair. But it is worth the effort when you make a little choking noise and start laughing. “Happy?”

• Well. That is definitely not what you expected. Laughing so hard you’re crying, you stare at his damn spike just jutting up between the seats where the center console should be. And you hear him chuckle like he thinks he’s just won. There’s no wrapping a hand around him like this, you’re pretty sure it’s smaller than it would be in his full size bot mode, but the thing’s still intimidatingly big. No amount of prepwork is making that thing fit. “That’s just mean,” you mutter hearing him laugh.

• You’re not whining about being bored at least. Or touching everything- and he’s nearly swerving off the road when you shift, little fingers tracing his biolights and the ridges of his spike before you brush your mouth against the head. “What are doing?” He groans, struggling to stay in the lane as you stroke him. Apparently not caring if he runs into a ditch as your mouth slides down the underside of his spike, tongue sliding against him. And he’s swearing, hearing you startled gasp when he turns onto a rutted out gravel road.

• Laughing as he slings open a door and immediately transforms and mass shifts as soon as you’re clear, his spike bobs between his thighs as he stalks your way and you back away, grinning. “Is that for me?” Completely unrepentant, you shimmy out of your pants and underwear. Know he’s annoyed, but you both needed a break. Chance to stretch your legs. Fuck like bunnies out in nature, since it’s his favorite thing.

• You’re still grinning up at him as he curls his servos around your waist and lifts you to pin against a tree. “You’re such a brat sometimes, sweetspark,” he growls affectionately, head of his spike sliding against you as he lines himself up and sinks inside your wet heat. Your legs wrapping around his waist as he begins to move against you, thrusting deep. Listening to those little moans and gasps as he gives you exactly what you want and he desperately needs. Maybe he can frag you so good you’ll be too exhausted to misbehave the rest of the trip? Or maybe he’ll need to make more of these little rest stops to keep you happy.

[anasten27]

Furrified the fam! Look at these cuties! They're based on @ack-cough 's vision in this post!!! I took Loop's design from @gardensnakie !! Such a cutie! I love dragons. Extra thoughts on each piece and a few extra sketches under the cut:

I know Bonnie's wok ain't technically that big, but I thought it looked fun cause it made em look smaller haha! And I like the thought of em making a Big Meal just for Frin! He's always so hungry. I remember the scene with the Beauty Alliance sticked to my brain like "they're so silly, I wonder what cool poses they made". So take these as one of the possibilities! Can you imagine if they posed differently every few loops? That would've been cute. Last, but not least! Been thinking about that potential Loopdile (platonic or romantic) dinamic some folks have talked about. That like soft moment of "Maybe you are a lil bit weird now, but you're absolutely fascinating. You may have changed a lot, but you're still part of the family." Just like, that little reassurance. I feel like Loop needs a bit of that.

Here's some extra art that I didn't do lineart for, so they look awful crunchy cause of how much I edited them so they'd be visible (they were made in red pencil originally)

Mirabelle looks a lil more like a chinchilla here I think. Cause of the angle on the final drawing I think she lost some of that longer snout. She looks cute in both versions tho <3

I gave Odile shorts for her silly swan legs. I didn't wanna cover em up completely. I like silly legs.

I really struggled to get the angle right for the Loop and Odile drawing, so I tried a bunch of different compositions! You can sorta see em all around Odile. The other two near Mira are the thumbnails for the Beauty Alliance!

[edawgz]

ᝰ.ᐟ saturdays in september

| pre-outbreak! joel miller x reader. ~1k words. fluff, domestic.

masterlist. | oneshot masterlist.

You don’t wake up to an alarm for once, at least not today. You woke up to just the warm sunlight that was peeking through the blinds, painting faint golden lines across the cotton sheets tangled around your legs. The clock says 8:47, and for once, it feels like permission instead of guilt. No errands, no calls, no school lunch to pack, and no bosses to answer to.

Just a Saturday still in early September, when Texas is trying to remember what fall feels like.

And Joel -- still here.

You feel him before you open your eyes. One heavy arm flung over your waist, his chest warm and pressed against your back, with his breath soft and steady at your shoulder. You shift a little and hear a half-asleep grumble in your ear, gravelly and low, and then his hand flexes at your stomach, pulling you closer like you’re some part of a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“Mornin’,” he rasps, his voice thick with sleep.

“Barely,” you mumble, eyes still closed, cheek buried in your pillow.

“You movin’ already?” he asks, not accusatory, it was more like he’s genuinely wondering why you’d ever get up when this exists.

“Not really,” you say, “Just thinking.”

He kisses the back of your neck, barely a brush of lips, but it makes your whole body go still for a moment. Joel doesn’t say a lot in the morning (he’s not a man of many words anyway), but that kiss says I’m here. Says You’re safe. Says I ain’t goin’ anywhere.

You sigh, finally turning toward him, and he adjusts easily to let you bury your face in the crook of his neck, one hand smoothing over your back like muscle memory.

“How long until Sarah wakes up?” you ask, voice muffled.

He huffs a small laugh into your hair, “She’ll probably smell the coffee before we even make it.”

You smile, and for a while you just lie there like that. The house was quiet except for the ceiling fan and the occasional creak of settling wood. Joel’s fingers drew lazy shapes on your back as your breath synced to his without meaning to.

This life is… simple, but good. Built one brick at a time.

It didn’t start with fireworks. Joel wasn’t the kind of man who exploded into your life with charm and grandeur. He was quieter. Showed up to help you fix a broken door, then he made sure he brought you extra screws and said “Keep ’em” like it wasn’t a big deal, only to come back the next day to check if it was still holding.

You didn’t even realize you were falling for him until you were sitting across from him on the floor of your living room, eating takeout from plastic containers, watching him listen so carefully to the things you said, it was like none of it bored him, like you made his world a little bigger instead of smaller.

And now he’s in your place for every weekend and every quiet morning. Folding himself into your life like he’s always been meant to be here. Sarah too. You adore the girl, hence why you set up a space for her in your small house so it felt more like a home. This was exactly why she insisted on coming over with her dad last night -- that, and the fact that free food was offered.

Eventually, you shift again. “C’mon. We should make breakfast.”

He groans like you’ve just asked him to chop wood in the middle of July. “Thought you said we weren’t movin’.”

“I said I wasn’t moving. You’re the one who keeps squirming.”

He smirks, eyes still half-lidded, and you regret that immediately because now he’s fully awake, pulling you back down as you try to sit up.

“You gonna make me pancakes again?” he murmurs, one hand finding your hip.

“Only if you make coffee.”

“I always make coffee.”

“That’s because you’re better at it than I am.”

“And you’re better at pancakes.”

There’s a short beat where you just stare at each other, both smiling now, and you realize that.. God, this is it. This is the dream, the thing you thought only lived in other people’s stories. Not just love, but ease, trust, and a morning where no part of you is braced for the fall.

You tap his chest with a finger. “Up, Miller.”

He groans again, but sits up with his hair mussed, voice scratchy, and shirt wrinkled. Regardless, he follows you into the kitchen with the kind of quiet devotion that doesn’t need to be named.

Joel’s hands are steady as he works the coffee maker, moving around your little kitchen like he’s memorized it, which he has. One cupboard creaks and he fixes it without being asked, muttering something about hinges and oil. You’re at the stove, making a mess of flour and eggs, pretending you know what you’re doing while he sneaks chocolate chips into the pancake batter behind your back.

“Don’t think I don’t see that,” you call over your shoulder.

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

By the time Sarah shuffles in, hair a mess and eyes still squinty, the table’s already halfway set. She climbs into a chair with a yawn and mumbles something that sounds like “Is that bacon?”

Joel ruffles her hair and kisses the top of her head. “Sure is, kiddo.”

And something about watching him move around your kitchen with his daughter, watching the way he fills this space, not like a guest, but like someone who wants to make it better? Well, it does something to your chest. Something warm and deep and certain.

Later, after breakfast, when Sarah’s settled in front of the TV and the dishes are done, Joel leans against the counter beside you, arms folded. He looks at you like he’s thinking something he isn’t quite ready to say out loud.

You nudge him with your hip. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes on the window. “Nothin’. Just… like this. All of it. It’s good.”

You reach for his hand, fingers slipping between his easily. “Yeah. It is.”

And you stand there like that for a long while, simply watching the sunlight stretch across the floor, listening to Sarah’s laughter from the next room, and holding on to the kind of peace you didn’t know was possible.

[indigo-flowers09]

I absolutely love these designs! and was just wondering what inspired them? I'm curious of what the plot's about, since everyone's species swapped

why not answer this question with another ref sheet(?) :3

I’d like to say, first and foremost, thank you very much for the love 🫶 i love getting asks and requests, these sillies live in my brain and drawing them is their rent

Second, i’m probably gonna keep plot talk on the DL unless i decide not to make a comic! Sorry :,3

Last but not least, inspirations. hooo boy this is a doozy

Firstly i wanna say i was inspired to make a comic specifically because of older ut comic dubs (Christmas party, handplates, Aftertale, etc) along with Scott Pilgrim and @akanemnon’s Twin Runes comic! (check them out i love twin runes a lot!!!)

The idea for the au is really just “What if the humans were monsters and the monsters were humans?” or, also “what if the (former) monsters were on the surface and the (former) humans were underground?” Classic Overtale plot!

Going in order, starting with AXIS, he’s actually one of the newest designs! i made him in my german class last week („•v•„U ) I wanted Axis to have a design change but remain a robot, maybe being more humanoid due to being made by a human! Changed his pipes and light bulb into what resembles hair and his wheel into roller blades!

Next up, Ceroba! i’ll be honest, i really don’t like Cerobas canon design that much. Love the colors but the short skirt and boots are not it, especially if she’s intended to be a more traditional japanese character. Like she’s not a magical girl, she’s in her 30’s?? Anywho, i made her prominently orange instead of pink (again, magical girl) along with lightening natural hair due to age and stress!

Clover. Clover Clover Clover!!! what do i even say about this precious little pup?! :3

I guess i could start with them being a Kitsune, of course, being switched with the Ketsukanes. Seeing as Ceroba is a mother and is often portrayed as taking a motherly role to clover, i figured a kitsune would fit them nicely! Along with being a cute, fun to draw, and curious troublemaker! I always like to remind myself that Clover’s just a kid.

Next up, Star! or, in this au, Stanley Sterling, the performative sheriff of a humble little town! i decided to switch up his poncho a little, for the sake of changing his design, gave him chaps (i like to call em pantaloons hoohoo!) and teal tassels for days! He’d prolly know more about cowboys than canon Starlo because, yknow, he lives on the surface!

Ah Martlet, or now, Marlette! but most just call her Marley. She has ~4 different outfits planned, a cozy, aviator style one for “Snowdin”, a sleeveless shirt with her flannel round her waist and a bandana for “the Dunes” and that flannel over her shoulders for “New Home”! along with a tee and pj’s for the epilogue. Her outfit is easy to manipulate so it only stays the same so often. Also, talon boots! ;]

And Dalv! Poor fella stayed a monster for the plot 😿 but i changed his design so he’s got a jacket similar to the one he has in Snowdin in uty but a whole lot smaller lol, along with a Batty pendant, a red vest and shoes and carved down horns! poor fella :(

Feel free to ask questions about these guys i am more than pleased to talk about them

[cayleeuhithinknott]

valentine’s day with mean!chris.

heart divider: @bernardsbendystraws

pairing: mean!chris & sensitive!brat!reader

you should’ve known better.

you really should have.

chris isn’t the type to gush over sweet things. he doesn’t like romance movies, refuses to slow dance, and rolls his eyes when you send him sappy texts. but here you are, standing in your kitchen, covered in flour and sugar, meticulously decorating a batch of heart-shaped cookies just for him.

valentine’s day is today, and you want to do something nice. something thoughtful. something that makes him smile, even if it’s just for a second before he calls you annoying and messes up your hair.

so you spent hours mixing the dough, rolling it out, cutting perfect little hearts. some bigger, some smaller—because you know chris will complain if they’re too extra but also scoff if you give him just one. you even made the frosting from scratch, a soft pink color with tiny red sprinkles.

i mean, honestly, get gordon ramsay up in this hoe!!!

now, the cookies are done, arranged neatly on a plate. you glance at the time. chris should be coming over any minute.

the thought makes your stomach flutter.

you don’t know why you get so nervous over him. he’a your boyfriend. maybe because he’s unpredictable. sometimes he’s soft in his own way, pulling you into his chest with an exhausted sigh after a long day. other times, he’s a menace, teasing you until you’re whining for him to stop being so mean.

you hear the front door creak open.

“angel?” chris’s voice carries through the house.

your heart skips. “kitchen!”

he appears in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, his usual half-bored, half-annoyed expression on his face. “why does it smell like sugar exploded in here?”

you huff. “it’s supposed to smell good.”

he steps closer, eyeing the cookies on the counter. “…you baked?”

you nod, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “yeah..for you.”

his brows raise slightly, but he doesn’t say anything right away. he just stares at them.

“they’re heart-shaped,” he finally points out, deadpan.

your face warms. “yeah, i know. it’s for valentine’s day.”

he picks one up, turning it over like he’s inspecting it for poison. then, he takes a slow bite.

you wait, watching every microexpression.

he chews. swallows. licks a crumb off his lip.

you can’t take the silence. “well???”

chris shrugs. “it’s alright.”

seriously?

your shoulders drop. “alright?”

“a little too sweet,” he adds, but he takes another bite anyway.

your stomach twists. you wanted him to love them. to tell you they’re the best cookies he’s ever had. to—

“you’re pouting.”

your head snaps up. “i am not.”

he smirks, reaching for another cookie. “you totally are.”

you cross your arms, mumbling, “you could at least pretend to like them…”

he sighs like he’s dealing with a particularly difficult child, then grabs your wrist, pulling you closer until your hip bumps the counter.

“angel.”

you blink up at him.

he leans in, voice dropping lower. “don’t be stupid. i’d like to think you’re not that dumb. if i didn’t like ‘em, would i be eating a second one?”

you glance at the plate—he’s already halfway through the second cookie.

your lips part and you almost want to let out a soft relieved giggle, but before you can say anything, he brushes a crumb off your chin with his thumb. the gesture is fleeting, but it sends heat rushing up your neck.

“besides,” he mutters, mouth quirking up slightly, “you didn’t have to do all this. you know that, right?”

your heart squeezes at his unusually soft demeanor.

“i wanted to,” you whisper.

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’re ridiculous. but then, in a voice so soft you barely catch it, he says—

“you’re sweet enough without all this.”

your breath catches.

this is not something chris would usually say.

he immediately ruins the moment by shoving the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “but, like, seriously, cut back on the sugar next time. i can feel my teeth rotting.”

you groan, shoving his shoulder. “you’re impossible.”

he snickers, catching your wrist before you can hit him again.

but he doesn’t let go. chris’s grip on your wrist tightens just a little, enough to make you still. his eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, something sharp and knowing lurking behind his usual amusement.

“i’ll make it up to you tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, his thumb grazing the inside of your wrist. “and i promise, angel—by the time i’m done with you, you won’t have a single thought about these damn cookies.”

your breath catches. his smirk deepens.

valentine’s day just got a whole lot sweeter. even sweeter than those stupid fucking sugar-filled cookies.

a/n: he’s an asshole sometimes but we love when his soft spot shows 😌

tags: @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @slctsblogana @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams

[earthnashes]

Melon didn't stand a chance.

One moment he's staring the end of their journey over the horizon, and the next he's sent plummeting into the awaiting maw of the trench he stood over by a hearty smack of a claw.

He yelps as he tumbles, twisting in the air for a heartstopping moment before his back meets a crag. Mario's cries are muted by rushing wind as he slips again, falling falling falling--

A heavy thud echoes as he collides--bounces-- off another rock face. His ears rings with the rattling in his skull---

A sharp thwack of his head hitting a jutting ledge, and suddenly Melon doesn't hear-- or feel-- much of anything the rest of the way down.

A metal tang coats his tongue red, and the sting of the air bites against his bruises.

 No weight on his back anymore-- 

Everything hurts. 

--the boy...Mario. Where's Mario? D-did he fall too--

Can't move.

--he needs to get up. His human cub, he could be hurt o-or--- get up--

Stay down.

--get up get up GET UP-- 

Melon stays down, can't muster the strength to listen to the mantra in his head. Instead, all he hears is the desperate wails of Mario, and it's enough to force his eyes open just a sliver. He blearily looks up.

At the edge of the cliff he tumbled from stands the silhouettes he can only barely make out; three huge, three smaller, all laughing and pointing and grinning toothily at the heap of him. The leader- and he must be, with how he leers cockily over the ledge-- sneers down at him.

"Thank ye for the delivery, lad! We've been lookin' all over for this little bastard," he says, and without a care he swings a hollering Mario over the ledge by the scruff. The boy twists precariously in his grip --one slip from falling-- and reaches out for Melon with terrified tears in his eyes. He wails some semblance of his name, and Melon feels his gut twist.

no

"Come now, lad, I see that long face from here; ye nothin' to worry about! Brat may've been a pain in the arse to get, but it'll be worth it in the end. Pirate's Honor: we'll take real good care of 'em," The leader gloats, ugly grin stretching wider as he flicks the boy's nose with a sharp claw. "Just like we have his snivellin' flake of a brother. They'll fetch a fine cut yet."

No no no give him back

"I reckon ye wanna say g'bye at least, aye? I could grant that much, bein' a frog of honor and wot-not." The captain holds Mario high above his head, like an angler would his prized catch, and grins down at Melon from his spot above.

"Go on then. Tell 'em 'afore I change me mind."

Something twisted and ugly clogs Melon's throat with bile and copper. He bares his teeth and tries tries tries to bark, to roar, anything to demand his human cub back to him.

GIVE HIM BACK, his mind screetches. But all that crawls out of his mouth is a rattling, broken whimper. It drags his strength with it by the scruff, spilling in a tiny puddle of spittle and grime and blood as his vision begins to waver. His eyes glaze over and fall closed against his will.

And within the canopy of booming laughs and grating cackles, the last thing Melon hear is Mario's cries.

--------------------------------------------

AND HERE IT IS.

Part 10 of Melon's Adventure, FINALLY COMPLETE, and with it Arc 1 of this story has come to a close!

I'm glad I managed to finish this arc even with it being forced into a hiatus alongside my burnout months back; I had an absolute blast revisiting my childhood and telling the story in a way I've always imagined it as a kid.

Now, given that it's been a while since the last part, I've taken the liberty to compile all of Melon's Adventure into the #melon's adventure tag for ease of access if you'd like to read it back from the beginning!

Despite this marking the end of Arc 1, I'm hoping to make this the start of me delving back into my Super Mario AU, albeit in a slightly different way. There's still plenty of stories there I'd love to share with ya'll. :>

In fact, in related news: I'm actually planning on opening an online store, and my first planned launch will be themed on Melon's Adventure! More information to come on that relatively soon as more work is done.

At any rate, I hope ya'll enjoyed this story! More to come soon! owo

[just-an-enby-lemon]

"The kid seems scared.

Tip had always been a little nervous. Or at least that was the reality when the two had met.

It was fairly obvious for everyone that met them that the child had not been treated well by their formar guardian and in a way that Elphaba sadly recognized still seemed to afraid of facing the same pain and rejection again.

Still lately the kid seemed more relaxed and open, treating her with the same easiness and earnest they did Jack. More determined to learn than eager to please. Following her around with questions and vibrating with excitement as she turned wooden sticks into dolls and toy swords alike. It made her think of Nessa in a very bittersweet way.

She failed her sister and she would not allow herself to fail another young person she became responsable for.

That's to say Tip's strange turn to the same scared kid she met soon after leaving her behind and being declared and enemy of Oz scared her.

"Miss Elphaba, I have something very serius to tell you."

Maybe they want to leave. They are not in fact different in the same way Elphaba is. Tip is a normal if deeply magical child who just ended up in the care of a horrible woman. Being her aprenticce is actually the only thing turning them into a dangerous and hated figure.

"I understand."

The kid takes a deep breath. Elphaba tries to think on the best words to explain that of course they can leave if they want to and that they can take as many provisions as they need. Tip will never again be a prisioner.

"I don't think I am a boy? Wait no. I know I'm not a boy. Like the idea of it is still a bit scary because it seems like it will be a big deal but I'm fairly sure I'm a girl actually. I just never though about it before but Jack called me she accidentaly and it just makes sense. I am still the same Tip and please let me keep being your aprentice." She says in a single breath.

"What?"

The girl looked scared. "I'm a girl." She says. Than in a smaller voice. "I can try to be a boy if you want?" It does not appear to be something she wants and the fact she still sugests it breaks Elphaba's heart a little.

"Oh! Oh. No, no, that's fine. Do you want to be called something else?"

Her eyes go huge and she stops deep in thought before answring.

"Uh. I guess so, but I'm still thinking on it. I don't mind Tip for now."

"Okay, tell me when it changes?"

"Will do."

"Anything else?"

Tip looks a bit shy for half a second before a excited smile covers her face. "Could you let me borrow a dress?"

Elphaba laughts.

"You are too tiny for my dresses, kid. But I can help you magic one for yourself. "

Her eyes shine. "Cool!"

[...]

"Morrible says you'll marry some prince soon." Dorothy says making a face.

"I don't see why you are soo distraught, my dear, I'm pretty sure she'll find me a great prince." Glinda says with false cheer.

"I doubt it. Princes are all very dull."

"Met many princes did you?" She jokes lightly, trying to find a way to change the subject. She loves the kid dearly and for all it's bleak consequences will always be glad the tornado ended up bringing the girl into her life but she would preffer not to discuss those subjects. Specially not in her own bedroom in a rare moment of relaxation.

"Well no." The girl pouts. "But most boys are dull and I can't imagine liking to marry even the ones that aren't. I guess I just thought you were the same? I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. And I sure hope marriage is unimaginable for you, you are way to young for it."

The girl smiles a tiny bit before frowning.

"I can imagine myself marrying a girl one day."

"Oh!" Is all Glinda says.

"I told Aunt Em once she told me to never say it again, she told me I was too young. But I'm ten now and I feel the same. " Dorothy rarely talks about home, sometimes Glinda tricks herself into beliving it is because her the kid just loves Oz better, that she forgot all about it, but she knows deep down that Dorothy will always miss Kansas, always miss her uncle and aunt and Toto, she just accepted home as a place she'll never return to. In the good days Glinda knows Dorothy would also miss Oz, would miss her munchkin friends and mostly would miss being Glinda's apprentice. In the better days she thinks about bringing Dorothy's family here. After all Kansas always seems sad and hungry. "Girls don't marry each other in Kansas." She continues. "But I though maybe they did here. "

"I think they do everywhere, Dorothy, is just some people pretend they don't because the different scares them."

"Like the Wizard and the animals?"

Glinda had only recently convinced Dorothy to only speak her very dangerous beliefs on the Wizard in private and even there she sometimes corrected the kid. But right now it felt too much like liying to Elphaba she couldn't do it, not when she knew Dorothy to be right.

"Yeah. Just like that."

And after a second she adds.

"Between us, I would also like to marry a woman".

Dorothy smiles, just a little bit.

[...]

She knows she should not be here.

But it's fun, she likes the dancing and the food and the small chance of going back home with something that can actually help Elphie. Maybe a magical item or even just some usefull information.

Besides the girl she is talking to is very pretty and fun and smart and she is not open about it but she's definitivaly not the biggest fan of the Wizard either. Oh and a great dancer.

"I'm sorry" the girl says "but I think I did not catch your name?"

Now it's the moment to say something clever like 'i never gave it to you' or maybe just invent some fake name. She can't say her name. It's too easy of a conection to make. But she doesn't need to lie. After all it was never really her name. And she has a name now. Has had it for days and just keept it a secret in some weird form of fear. But it felt like time. She would tell it to Elphie and Jack when she went back.

"Ozma. I'm Ozma. What's yours?"

[...]

Dorothy had never had so much fun at a party before. Her new friend was the most beutifull girl she ever met and the funniest and cleverest and it had never felt so easy to talk to someone before. In fact the only thing Ozma didn't appear to be was a good dancer but Glinda had teached Dorothy well and she found herself leading the other girl steps into the best dance she ever had.

She noticed Ozma did not gave any surname but it was not her place to pry. She just hoped to mert the girl again.

"Dorothy." She says and takes the hand. For a second she considers continuing in the way she was instructed to (Dorothy Upland at your pleasure and a kiss to the hand) but while she loves Glinda that's not really her. And she somehow trusts Ozma enough to be honest. "Dorothy Gale." She shakes the hand just like Uncle Henry used to.

[otakusheep15]

Flufftober Day 11 - Leaves

Content includes: Floyd x reader, written as romantic but can be read as platonic, Floyd being Floyd, Crowley being Crowley

Fall at NRC is truly a beautiful experience. It’s cold but not overly chilly, the surrounding animals are preparing for the coming winter, and the trees have turned the most wonderful shades of red, orange, and yellow. 

Many of the leaves have already begun to fall to the ground, creating piles and piles all over campus. 

Piles you, of course, were put in charge of cleaning up. 

Once again, Crowley had decided that it was now your responsibility to rake up as many leaves as possible. Despite your many, many complaints, he turned a blind eye, reminding you of how fortunate you are to even have housing on campus and how generous he is, etc. etc. 

So, here you are, early in the morning, raking all of the pretty leaves. 

Grim had opted out of coming with you, but you didn’t mind. You knew he would only get in the way, so you didn’t push the issue at all. 

Surprisingly, this chore isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. The air is cool, no one is around since it’s still early, and the scenery is so pretty. In a strange way, it’s almost relaxing. 

That is, until you hear a very familiar voice shouting a very familiar nickname. 

“Shrimpy!” Floyd comes barreling up to you, and before you have time to stop him, he immediately flops into the giant piles of leaves you worked so hard on sweeping up. 

Bursts of red, orange, and yellow fly in every direction as you stare in a mixture of annoyance and horror. All of your hard work, down the drain in an instant. 

Floyd reammerges from the remainder of the pile, laughing like he has no worries in the world. You doubt he does, based on how carefree he usually is. 

You scold him as he stands up, but that doesn’t seem to spoil his mood for even a minute. Instead, he grabs you by the arm and drags you over the (now much smaller) pile, tossing you in before jumping down next to you. 

He continues to giggle with joy as you lie there, already dreading how much extra work you’re gonna have to do to make up for the mess he made. 

“Little Shrimpy, you work too much. You should relax for once.” He looks over to you, grinning like he didn’t just throw you into a pile of leaves. 

You stare back at him, deadpanned, reminding him that you don’t want to work this much. It’s not your fault Crowley constantly forces his work on you. 

Floyd stares back, his grin widening, fully showing off his razor sharp teeth. “I could always go squeeze ‘em if you want.” 

That manages to get a laugh out of you at least, and you gently nudge Floyd in the shoulder. You tell him that, no, he can’t go and squeeze the principal. That would only cause more problems for you in the long run, you’re sure. 

The two of you lay there for a moment, and you can feel yourself start to relax a bit. You can feel Floyd shift beside you, then an arm wrapping around your waist. When you look at him again, Floyd is resting on his side, looking at you with the most affection you’ve ever seen from him. 

You shift closer to him, enjoying the extra warmth his figure provides you. 

Maybe the leaves can wait just a bit longer.