#Ohm x reader

[fox-buried-in-maple-leaves]

Ohm x transmasc!reader hcs

taglist: @cerasus--flores

-First things first, if you want to, Ohm would be so down to make you a binder. He made his brother’s first one, after all. He knows what he’s doing. And he’s really good at sewing too. He’d probably offer if he noticed you having a particularly difficult time with it. He doesn’t want to overstep, but he does want his partner to be comfortable.

-Ohm is a bit of a protective man. He’s not afraid to correct people’s incorrect assumptions. While he can definitely tell when it is and isn’t an appropriate time(see: safety reasons for whatever reason). He can still be a bit overbearing with it, either that’s a great thing for you or you just gotta tell him to chill a bit and he will.

-Because he’s a doctor, Ohm will sometimes use more crass medical language. If it bothers you, you just need to tell him and he’ll apologise immediately. He means no harm by it, he’s just developed the habit of using the more formal medical terms for certain things. He learns with time.

-He has a habit of using non-english pet names. German ones like “Mein Süßer” or French ones like “Ma Lune”. If he uses English ones it tends to be some form of “Pretty Boy”, but he’ll mix it up from time to time. He is especially heavy handed on the masculine rather than neutral terms though. <3

-Getting back to him being protective, Ohm hates to see his boyfriend sad. He’ll do anything to ease your pain to the best of his abilities. Whether it's praise and reassurance, or buying you things to help you feel better, or making you your favourite snacks. He’ll do all of it and anything of it. 

-He’s not a very violent man, he has hit people over unnecessary comments. He’d do it again too tf.

-While Ohm might prefer being the big spoon, oftentimes he’ll let you be the big spoon. He’ll curl up in your arms, body tucked against yours. He might be relatively tall, he can curl up pretty well into a little ball. Alternatively, he’ll sleep facing you, his head tucked under your chin, arms wrapped around your waist.

-All in all, Ohm is a very supportive lover. And he is so so into you.

[ikkosu]

Imagine Prowl having a piss poor day (as per usual) and taking it out on his little human. Growling and grumbling as he eats them out. Complaining about his day and ranting with a mouth full of pusspuss 🫣

Prowl is ramming his digits into them telling them how good they’re being: “finally someone around here knows how to listen. Be a good pet and get on your knees.” The massive bruising from him manhandling his little pet human. After everything he feels so much better, relaxed even (if thats possible). Prowl is just so happy to have such a good and well behaved pet

AUGHHHH ANON PELASE HAVE MERCY ON MY POOR SOUL 🛐🛐

god, Im so down bad at human being prowl's little spike-sleeve stress reliever. oh the thought of them squirming whiles he's just effortlessly blasting his digit into the hu-pussay😔✊ and the vibrations from grumbling against their core doesn't alleviate the squirming one bit. When they're spent on the bed, drenched and tired — prowl drags them by their knees, because he's got a whole night before he goes back to the hell, that is his work

[spiiiiiral]

i need me a man that can kill but look like a pretty princess when shocked (/▿＼ )

[shimmeringpinksunflowers]

The Spot: Hey, what's your favourite thing to eat?

Y/N: Spotted Dick

The Spot: Oh, you mean the dessert, right?

Y/N: ......

The Spot: right?

[s-coquette]

hiii i liked your end of the world au fic!! I want to see an expansion on the readers attempt of escaping and the punishment maybe?

possibly the reader escapes from the cabin (window) and johnny was going to give her food but found the room empty with a shattered window. Johnny called for simon and since you mentioned johnny hunting like a dog, simon gave him the green light to hunt for reader in the woods and bring them back for a punishment? u asked for scenarios in ur last post and i wanted to give an idea

AHHH omg this is going to turn into a drabble hold on

warnings: some graphic descriptions, not very much gore but it could still trigger someone, spanking, and idk what else

•

It’s open, the window. It stood there as if it was taunting you, letting the cold breeze hit your warm cheeks.

“Hold on, hen! Simon went out to get some things. I’m in charge of the kitchen now.”

That made a shiver run down your spine. For a man at his grown age he could probably burn cereal. As his tall frame went behind the wall that separated the kitchen and living room, you saw your opportunity to run. You limbs had grown weak from the months of no activity, only laying around and ‘looking pretty’ as they’d say.

Latching your arms on the windowsill, you pushed and pushed your whole body weight up, clumsily pushing your legs up before jumping.

The fall wasn’t really scary, you were on the first floor at least.

Without thinking you just ran, the first direction being the fence that lead to the woods. Everything else around the house had those annoying white picket fences, your only mistake was climbing them in the first place.

Clumsily falling at your first attempt from the mud sliding beneath your bare feet, scraping your legs with twigs and tiny rocks. The cold air sticking to your skin like water, making you shiver while the freezing mud forced your legs to buckle.

With shivering teeth you continued, running as far as you could in to the thick forest behind the neighbourhood. Your legs felt like they were burning, feet muddy and spread with tiny scratches.

You were confident that you’d made it far, that’s until you heard it.

“Bonnie!”

You cursed yourself for whimpering in fear. Last time when you even tried to escape he almost broke your ankle. Would he break both of your legs as a punishment now?

Your forced yourself, pushed and pushed your tired body, the adrenaline making you warm in the freezing autumn cold.

That’s until a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around your stomach.

Your scream was cut off when you got thrown on to your back.

“Simon isn’t gonna like this, hen.”

The dark look in his eyes made fear run through your veins. He looked worried, he had been chewing on his busted lip, his eyebrows scrunched.

“Let me go! Let me g-“

Your pleads were cut off with a sharp slap to your face, tears stinging in your eyes in response.

“You shut up, you don’ have the right to use your words anymore, if you wanna talk, bark.”

Your sobs were stifled with a whimper when he pushed you on to your knees, grabbing your roughly by the collar and dragged you with him home.

“I know these woods better than y’ ever will, hen.”

“Why do you want to escape? We’re the only people here, isn’t it better if you stayed with us instead of being alone the rest of your life?”

He tried to reason with you as he hauled you back home, but you weren’t listening through your sobs.

You were forcefully pushed in through the back door, locking it behind himself. You just crumpled into the floor with a defeated whimper at ever escaping again.

“Look at what I found, Simon!”

The happy tone of his voice made you want to scream.

The thought that no one was out here to help you was even worse.

“Good boy, Johnny.”

Simon’s rough, deep voice cut through you and made you shiver. Lifting your head up to face him, he looked angrier than you’ve ever seen him.

Your tears continued to fall as you begged him to spare you.

“I’m- Sorry! Pleas- I won’t- I won’t do it again!”

Your pleading was cut off with a rough hand to the back of your neck, forcing you off the ground and on to your feet for the first time since Johnny got to you.

“Don’t worry, y’ won’t be able to.”

The stinging feeling all over your body from the small cuts were agonising, it made you sob.

You were hauled off to the bedroom, thrown onto the bed with Johnny watching from the sidelines.

Your dread expanded when you heard the distinct sound of Simon’s belt coming out of its loops.

Without warning, he slammed it down on your behind, the first crack being the worst he’s even given you. The thought that every single one was going to be like this made you sob into the clean sheets you were dirtying and try to crawl away.

Johnny only appeared to hold down your shoulders so you couldn’t move from your punishment.

You counted each one, the only thing you could focus on. 30 lashes, 30 lashes with his whole strength behind them. You were sure your ass was bleeding from it, it stung and felt like it was radiating heat.

Simon scooped you up quietly after, gathering your sobbing form in his arms and heading to the bathroom.

You pushed at him and whined when he brought over the bucket of fresh water they’d bathe with since the water had been cut off.

The stings on your whole body hurt like hell and water was just going to irritate them more.

He only shushed you with a pet to the head, placing your shaking form in the tub before slowly pouring water over your muddied body and matted hair.

The sting from the water hitting your wounds making your jump, whimpering, not knowing where to go with your kidnapper blocking your escape.

“Shh, shhh, is’ okay, pup. You took your punishment. It’s time you get cleaned up, okay? I’m not mad at you anymore.”

You only continued to sob as he washed you off, gently cleaning off all of your scratches and putting small bandaids on them, drying your hair with a towel and pushing his giant hoodie on to your form to cease your shivering.

He gathered you up again and laid you down on the bed, next to Johnny who was already out like a light from the run you just made him do.

You whimpered and tried to squirm away when you felt his arm wrap around you, trying to come up and spoon you.

“Shh, it’s okay. Im not going to hurt you.”

He talked to you as if he was talking to a wild dog on the street. You gave up struggling and let him warm you up with his body heat and fell asleep with tears leaking out of your eyes, in between the only people left on earth.

[lovelykil]

「 Come to Terms 」

butters x male reader older ver.

cw; angst (I am so bad at writing it LMAO)

note; I wanna start writing more butters content tbh if anyone has some butters requests plslslspls tell me ty 🤭

The fragile blonde male watched as you carelessly threw yourself onto your female friends, laughing at their jokes. Putting a hand on their shoulder occasionally and glancing at them in a flirt. Butter's heart ached, even though this was pretty normal for him he still didn't understand why you did that.

He messed with his hands, fidgeting to calm him. Why did you always make him feel so unwanted? Like he was just a experiment toy. Lying to his face with your feelings?

All he wanted was to feel loved by you, but you just couldn't come to terms with your sexuality.

"Y/n, why do you flirt with other girls when you're supposed to be with me?" Butters pulled away from you, his hand laying on your chest. You pulled away from him in a grumble, feeling your eyes roll inside your eye sockets from the ruined intimacy moment.

You let go of Butters to stick your hands in your pockets "You're such a buzz kill, let me live will you? And I don't flirt with them they do it with me first." You crossed your arms, not seeing a problem with what your boyfriend was trying to tell. Though you couldn't care less all he was to you was a mere experiment trying to see if you actually liked guys or not.

But you wouldn't be caught dead kissing him in public.

Butters looked at you, his face conflicted.

His hands rolled up in a tight fist ready to speak his mind, hopefully to get you to get a grasp of what he felt. His chest tightened, and a rush of heat washed over him, causing his face to turn a deep shade of red. The surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins, electrifying his senses.

It felt like he was going to explode, but.. a tear rolled down his pasty white cheek.

Soon more tears streamed down his face, his fist were no longer digging into his flesh they were loose and dangling from the sides of his pants.

Your eyes wandered towards the weeping small male his head was low and his pride crushed, you mentally cursed to yourself, clicking your tounge slightly.

"Butters I-"

"I don't want to hear it okay? I'm so done and tired of you throwing me to the side because you can't make up your mind about your sexuality!"

"You're reaching too far Stotch." You stepped closer to him, obviously offended by what he said. You couldn't help but feel suddenly uncomfortable your eye twitched as you stared at the blonde male.

Butters let out a faint laugh, his head slowly rising up you rose your brow from his change of emotion. He looked into your eyes, wiping his with his hands. Once he was finished he took in a deep breath and shook his head in disappointment.

"We can't be together anymore, I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm not your experimental toy, when you come to terms with yourself then this can work." Butters moved close to where you were standing he was only inches away from your face, you leaned back slightly in hesitation but moved in shortly after, feeling his hand on your face.

"I love you Y/n." He whispered, his voice low and downhearted but still managed to sound genuine with a soft look in his light blue eyes. His words hit deep in your heart almost like a knife plunged deep into a wound, it hurt like fucking hell and you didn't know what to do.

"I-.."

"Bye Y/n." Butters hand returned to his sides, he took one long glance at you, his eyes fixed on your stunned expression before leaving with a sad small.

He closed the door behind him as he left.

You stood in your room looking at your floor in disbelief, guilt, and shame.

"What the fuck is happening to me?"

[wonustars]

IM SCRAPING MY TEETH AGAINST DRYWALL RN

FUCKKKKKK

HIGH FIDELITY, PT 1. -c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking one very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

pair ; vernon x fem!reader.  content ; strangers to lovers.  up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader.   fluff, angst, parts two and three will contain suggestive themes and smut. (MINORS DNI).  warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a big theme pretty much throughout. mentions of past relationship breakdowns. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt, reflected in self sabotage.  wc ; 13.5k ( ~35k total. ) disclaimer ; this fic was inspired by rob + liam in the series high fidelity and is therefore pretty influenced by the show. if you’ve watched it, you’ll probably see a lot of similarities! i just felt so drawn to vernon in this kind of role that i really wanted to try and put a spin on it. i do not claim that every idea behind this is original. notes ; been working on this one for a while. hope you enjoy it.<3

“What do you mean, no?”

Your best friend and longest standing employee Seungkwan turns his head away from the customer he’s serving to look at you with filth in his eyes. Unsurprisingly, his features don’t soften when you double down on your response to him.

“I mean, no,” you laugh. “I’m running on fumes, dude. I’m not going. No way.”

“But…” he whines, putting down the record in his hands. “No, come on. I told you about this weeks ago. You’re really gonna make me go on my own?”

“You won’t be on your own. Chan’s still going.”

Your younger friend, upon hearing his own name, whirls around from where he’s been rearranging the wall of cassettes and lifts an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“You’re still going to that guy’s show tonight, right?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am. Why?” Chan eyeballs your guilt-adjacent expression for a second before his face falls and he looks at Seungkwan with a curled lip. “What did you do? Why’s she not coming anymore?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Seungkwan barks. The customer he’s still not finished ringing up flinches at the lift in his voice, but he doesn’t notice. “Why is that always your first–”

“Shut up, don’t start this right n–”

“I’m not starting anything! You started–”

“Guys!” You interrupt, looking between the two of them and doing your best to smile apologetically at the poor lady fumbling through the cash in her fingers like it’s an Olympic sport. “Can we park this one? For five minutes? Please?”

The bickering pair fall quickly into silence and Chan sends one last glare at Seungkwan before he turns back to the cassettes, grumbling something under his breath. 

With a clearing of his throat the only giveaway, Seungkwan drops seamlessly back into his customer service voice and plasters a charming smile onto his lips. He checks the register and warmly tells the young woman her total, holding out his palm for her to place the money into. Even knowing him as well as you do, the switch-up gives you a little bit of whiplash.

The customer passes over her cash and accepts her change from Seungkwan’s hands before making perhaps the swiftest exit you’ve ever seen anyone make. No sooner has the bell above the entry to OFF BEAT Vinyl rung and the door has clicked shut, the two men turn once again.

But not on each other.

On you. And it’s the more gentle of them that pipes up first.

“Why aren’t you coming?” Chan asks, abandoning his little project and hurrying over to the desk with a frown. You’re sure it’s supposed to look sympathetic to whatever issue it is that’s changed your mind, supposed to fool you into believing that this has nothing to do with him still blaming Seungkwan entirely. But… you know him better than that. You know them both better. If Chan and Seungkwan weren’t both employed by you, you don’t doubt that they would have ripped each other to shreds within the first hour of meeting. Their dynamic is fascinating to watch — one minute, the best of friends, the next just seconds away from throwing fists; you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve had to send them to different rooms to avoid having to clean blood and tears off your shop (and sometimes your apartment) floor. 

“I didn’t sleep so well last night, I just want to go to bed early. Is that… okay?” 

(This is an embellishment of the truth, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them.)

“No,” they both exclaim at the same time, but Seungkwan goes one step further and slams his hands down on the counter for good measure. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him, but he keeps his palms flat and doesn’t give any indication that he’s about to apologise, so…

“Okay — God.” You turn away from them, heading towards the little office out the back of the store to try and get a few minutes’ respite. “Whatever. Fight with the wall, you guys – I’m not going. Check in with me before you head out, okay?”

Behind you, Seungkwan dramatically calls you a traitor and says he’ll never forgive you for this, but you just shake your head and continue on your way. The world falls into silence as you shut the door after yourself and you lean back against it, letting out a deep exhale and pinching the bridge of your nose. 

Now, you did have an awful night’s sleep last night, and after how on-and-off busy the store has been all day today, the headache you woke up with this morning has only slowly gotten worse. But there are reasons for those things outside of what you’re going to admit to out in the main storefront. As close as the three of you are, there are some things that you’ve always thought it wise to keep… a little bit hushed. Especially at work. 

When Chan and Seungkwan start an inquisition into your private life, it feels like it may never end. And so sue you, you’d actually like to make it home at a reasonable time, today. 

True to your parting request, the two men close down the store for you while you sit out the back in your ‘office’, lights dimmed, pouring over both a new store playlist you’re trying to compile and a few less exciting — but actually important — tasks. Chan heads out first, all puppy-dog eyed when he pokes his head through the door and asking if you’re really not coming out. You shake your head, telling him to have fun and tell you all about it on Monday when he’s next penned in.

Seungkwan is slightly less easily brushed away. A few minutes after Chan says his final goodbye, your other employee slides into your office and shuts the door, sitting down in the armchair opposite you with his eyebrows scrunched together.

He doesn’t speak for almost a full thirty seconds, at which point, you look up at him from the small mountain of receipts you’re trying to organise and click your tongue.

“What?” you ask, leaning back in your own chair and crossing your arms. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You know why.” Seungkwan shifts forward on the cushion until he’s sat almost entirely on the edge of the seat. “You might think you’re really good at hiding your shit, okay? But you’re not. Not from me.”

“Please,” you sigh. “It’s nothing. I’m telling you, I’m just tired today.”

“And I’m telling you that I know you better than that. Come on, talk to me.”

This is, unfortunately, something you can’t deny. It also seems to be his unfailing last line of defence every single time you’re stubborn over discussing your problems. One of these days, you’ll be ready for it — you’ll have a response sitting on the tip of your tongue ready to shut the conversation down, and he’ll be the one on the spot, and you’ll treat yourself to a pint of ice cream or something when you get home as a victory snack. But today? Isn’t that day; Seungkwan stumps you, once again, so you groan in defeat, cradling your head in your hands.

“I went on a date last night,” you say under your breath.

“What?”

Clearing your throat, you look up at him. You say, louder, “I went on a date last night.”

His eyes blow wide and if he could get any closer to you without actually sitting on top of your coffee-stained worktop, you think he would. Which is strange, if you really let yourself think about it, because Seungkwan is sort of an ex-thing, and talking so openly to someone who has quite literally been inside you about going out with other people… shouldn’t come as easily as it does.

But that was quite some time ago, and for three long months, you drove each other nuts. The two of you are way better off as friends. (Whether you’re better as colleagues is still up for review.)

“You what?” he whisper-shouts. It feels almost like he’s hinting to an invisible audience that this piece of information is extremely scandalous: all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Which would be fine, except it’s not really that scandalous at all, and neither should it be a surprise: you’re single, you have been for a while, and you have an entire sub-folder in your phone dedicated solely to dating apps — you’re at perfect liberty to go out with whoever you like. You just continue to stare at him, refusing to repeat yourself for a third time. 

“You haven’t even been home, have you?” Seungkwan asks after letting the dust settle, the silence just on the brink of uncomfortable. “Oh my God. Tell me everything.”

“Shut up,” you groan. “His name’s Wonwoo. I met him on Hinge. And fuck you – yes, I went back to my own place.”

You pause for a second, taking a breath when his features cloud with the question he’s about to ask. 

“It’s just-... so did he.”

Seungkwan leaps to his feet and claps loud enough that your already tender eardrums feel assaulted, adding an ‘I knew it!’ for good measure. You cringe at his volume, rubbing your temples – you should’ve known telling him this wouldn’t calm him down, but a small part of you was still hoping. This time, he actually does circle around the desk, carelessly shoving a few bits of paper out of his way before sitting on the newly cleared wood. 

“Had you up all night, didn’t he?” Seungkwan asks. You shove his thigh, looking away from him, embarrassed. “What was the date?”

You just wish it was the kind of embarrassment that he thinks you’re feeling. Flustered, shy, giddy even. But it’s not any of those things.

“If I tell you, will you please turn it down a notch?” You ask, and Seungkwan nods, giddily kicking his legs over the side of the desk. With a sigh, you continue. “We just went for a drink. It wasn’t special, okay? It was bad. We had nothing to talk about, he was awkward, I didn’t even wanna be there – I took a bathroom break after like… a half hour, and I tried to bail but I’d left my phone on the table so I had to go back.”

“And how did that end up with him in your panties?” Seungkwan asks, thankfully a little quieter when he speaks this time. 

“Do not talk about my panties out loud ever again,” you grunt, drumming your fingertips on the arm of your office chair. You give a dejected sigh as you answer him properly. “I guess… It felt like a sign that I was trying to give up too early. So I stayed a little longer, told him the truth about how I was feeling. I don’t know, maybe it took the pressure off or something? But we got talking a little more, we found some stuff we had in common… It just got easier and he started cracking a few jokes, so…”

“So… he laughed his way into your—?”

“He doesn’t drink alcohol,” you interject slowly, narrowing your eyes. “I asked him if he minded driving me home.”

“You devil,” Seungkwan grins, lightly prodding your calf with the side of his foot. “Was he good? Was it big?”

“Seungkwan!”

“Did he make you–”

“He was gone this morning when I woke up.”

Your friend doesn’t say ‘oh, shit’ out loud, but he doesn’t have to. The silence he suddenly falls into speaks for itself, his newly adopted slack-jawed expression the exclamation mark at the end of his unspoken sentence. 

“Always the fucking ‘nice’ guys.” You push up from your desk and start to gather your things, shutting off your computer and grabbing your phone off the desk. You’re over it – you can deal with all this tomorrow.

Seungkwan hops down, biting the inside of his cheek as you pull your keys out of the pocket of your jeans. “Come with us tonight,” he tries one more time, laying a hand on your shoulder and sounding the kind of gentle that makes your skin itch. You swerve out from beneath his palm, shaking your head at him again. “Maybe it’ll take your mind off it.”

“I don’t need my mind taking off anything,” you insist softly. “I’m fine, I just don’t feel like going out. Gonna order in some food and get my ass to bed. Okay?”

Knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, your best friend finally stops pressing. He circles around you and flicks on the overnight alarm, letting you lead your way out of the office and then through the front of the store. He helps you pull the shutter down and tests the lock for you, as he so often does, before he holds both of his arms out in front of him. With a resigned roll of your eyes, you walk into his embrace for a couple of seconds.

“I’m okay, Seungkwan. Go without me. Have fun and let me know if this Vernon guy is any good, okay?”

“We’ll miss you,” he says as you pull away, and you clap him on the upper arm once before turning away, slipping your headphones on over your ears. 

What you neglected to inform Seungkwan, even after allowing yourself those rare few moments of vulnerability, is who you bumped into on your way to the bar where you met Wonwoo last night. The encounter that set the tone in the first place. The reason you were so cold with the stranger who sat across from you in the booth, the reason you tried to bail, and two-thirds of the reason you’ve felt so damn out of it all day. That’s a story for another time, you tell yourself on your walk home. Maybe. 

But… then again. Maybe not.

You’ve been marinating on your couch in a pair of sweatpants and a crisis hoodie for at least two hours and are currently on your second bowl of evening cereal when you hear a knock on your apartment door. You purse your lips and set the spoon back down inside the milky sludge, but you don’t set your ‘dinner’ to one side just yet. It’s probably just the old lady next door, asking if you’ve seen her cat, Houdini (you can’t help but feel like she was asking for trouble giving him a name like that) (in any case — no, you haven’t), or the middle-aged couple opposite asking you to turn your music down (you won’t) (it’s not even that loud).

You’re not getting up. All you have to do is wait for them to give up and away. 

Knock, knock, knock.

They’ll leave. 

Knock knock. 

Any second, now.

…

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

You groan loudly as you haul yourself to your feet and skid over to the door, crossing your arms tighter over your chest to try and shield you from the chill that always lingers in the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Mrs P,  I haven’t seen H—” you start on exasperated autopilot, falling quiet the moment your eyes land first on Chan’s beaming smile, and second on Seungkwan’s guilty eyes. “How… the fuck did you guys get in here?”

“We followed someone in,” Chan tells you as he slides past, inviting himself into your haven and heading through to the living room where your favourite album is spinning on your record player. “That really tall guy – I think he lives on the second floor? Crazy hairline. Like, right back h—?”

“Cool,” you interrupt, except it’s actually everything but cool. Seungkwan steps through the door too, following behind you as you stalk after your younger friend. “Next question. Why are you guys in here?”

“You’ve been in a funk all day,” Chan says, tossing himself down onto your couch and nearly tipping your cereal all over the cushions. He eyes the glass you have on the side-table, raises a brow and looks back at you. “And you can’t deny that. You’re drinking rosè and eating fruit loops at 9pm on a Saturday. You need to get out of this apartment.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” you tell him, sitting down on the armchair to Chan’s left that only ever gets used when these two idiots show up at the same time. 

“One hour?” Seungkwan tries again, crouching down in front of you and taking hold of your hand. “You don’t have to be out late. And – and I’ll open tomorrow. You can stay in bed as long as you want.”

“Do you guys ever stop?” You ask them, and in tandem, the two men shake their heads at you. “I’m staying here. You’ve gotta go, or you’re gonna be late.”

Chan whines your name loudly, stomping like an upset toddler. “You know it won’t be as fun without you.”

“It’s gonna have to be,” you shrug, picking your feet up off the floor and resting them on the coffee table. “Come on. I’m serious. Get out of here.”

Seungkwan watches you for a moment longer but when you eye him sternly, he stands up again, giving your hand a squeeze and sending a nod to tell Chan to get up and follow him. First taking a long sip from your wine glass, the younger man does as he’s instructed, concern etching a frown onto his lips as he walks towards the door.

“If you change your mind, you know where we are, okay?” Seungkwan says and you nod at him. “See you in the morning.”

The door clicks shut behind them and you feel your shoulders droop, a long sigh leaving your lungs now you’re finally back on your own again. You roll your head side-to-side, relieving a tiny bit of the tension that you’ve been holding up in your neck all day, before relaxing back against the cushions behind you.

I’m not going out tonight, you tell yourself as you try to time your breaths to the beat of your music, letting it drown out the fact that the young couple who live two doors down have started arguing just outside your front door. It’s not gonna happen. 

There’s no way. 

The chill of an ice-cold glass meets your palm not even an hour later.

Chan and Seungkwan had been sitting on the stairs outside your apartment building, giving you fifteen more minutes just in case you happened to change your mind. To your credit, neither man had expected you to get out of your quarter-life-crisis outfit. Each gave a whistle of approval as you stepped outside into the air in a nice pair of jeans and a cute, long-sleeved shirt.

You all set off in the direction to the Arrowhead (so-called thanks to the venue’s unconventional triangular room shape) and both of your friends managed to successfully paint a few smiles on your face along the way. Once inside, Seungkwan dragged you by the wrist up towards the main bar space. Before you even had time to process the blurred faces that you walked by and the fuzzy neon signs all the way up the stairwell, enthused cheers and applause from the room ahead and the melodic strumming of a guitar drowned out the dread you’d been feeling ever since you woke up.

“This guy is not covering U2,” Chan says almost incredulously as he thrusts the drink he paid for into your hand. You manage to work your way through the crowd a little: it’s busier in here than you’ve ever seen it before, and certainly way more full than you would have really expected, but there’s still just enough movement room.

“Yeah, he is,” you say as you weave your way into a decent spot, where you can actually see the musician whose logo has been plastered on every notice board around town for the past month and a half. You even end up with a bit of breathing space, which is a rare, but welcome, treat.

But whatever you were about to say next – about how you don’t like U2, and how you’ve never really forgiven them for putting their entire new album onto everybody’s iTunes back in 2014 – dies a magnificent death on your tongue. You pause with your drink halfway to your lips as your eyes land on the main attraction, the man up on the stage; he has a small band up there, too, but all the lights draw your focus to him. His eyes are sparkly. Both his hands are wrapped around the microphone like he’s caressing it, his rosy lips brush over the metal as they move with each word that comes out of his mouth. Watching him quickly becomes almost hypnotic.

So. This is Vernon.

Long, dark hair sits low over his temples, perfectly parted and shaped in the middle to frame his brows. The top few buttons of his emerald satin shirt are popped open, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, the hem half tucked into his black jeans. He has rings on almost every finger. A silver chain around his neck. He looks good, but his voice?

I think I hated this song ten minutes ago, you think to yourself, but there’s something about Vernon’s deep, rough-edged tone that has you considering never listening to anything else. If you could stand to look away from the way he cradles his mic, and the way one of his eyes squeezes tighter closed as he lifts up into a higher note, and the way he moves on the stage like he was born to be on one, you might notice your friends (and everyone else around you) equally entranced by this gorgeous rendition of Beautiful Day as yourself. You can’t, though, so you don’t. 

You keep your attention locked on the singer and instead start to wonder just what he injected the air with when he stepped out from behind that curtain. 

Vernon’s eyes flutter back open right as he hits the final line of the song, a smile spreading over his lips. You realise only now that you’re hardly breathing, nor blinking — your body doesn’t remember to function in the ways it needs to survive, too caught up being immersed all the way to the last beat. You think he looks right at you from up on the stage, you swear one of his eyebrows lifts and his features twist into a satisfied smirk. You’re certain, because for half a second it feels like the world tumbles into slow motion and it’s like he’s reading every single one of your secrets, scouring every corner of your mind. 

And then… he looks away. He looks across the crowd applauding and cheering and whistling for him, before crouching low and taking a sip from the water bottle sitting on the floor beside his mic-stand. Only then does he speak. 

“Risky opener, I know,” he chuckles, his speaking-voice deep and smooth and wholly entrancing. The room erupts into soft laughter, a series of whoops coming from the crowd, everyone disarmed by his slightly awkward charm; the singer’s cheeks turn rosy and a gummy smile lights up his face before he continues. “Thank you guys for giving it a chance, though. If you didn’t know… I’m Vernon—…”

You’re hooked on his every word as he starts to introduce himself and the band behind him — everyone is, but you don’t care about the people around you. Despite being shoulder-to-shoulder with your two best friends and with every breath inhaling the overpowering cologne of the guy standing right behind you, it feels, in a way, like you and the singer could be the only two people in the entire room. 

The set lasts just over ninety minutes and is a carefully put-together mixture of mostly original songs and a couple of crowd-pleasing covers, a few slower ballad-types to offset the higher energy rock songs that he beams the whole way through. In-between, Vernon wins over the crowd with his dry sense of humour and a natural charisma that has you feeling mortifyingly warm, despite the fact that you know he isn’t speaking directly to you when he breaks to talk. You’ve been to more than your fair share of gigs in this venue over the years, but few performers have ever made one of their shows feel so genuinely intimate; by the time he says goodnight and heads off the stage, bidding everyone a safe journey home, it feels, in a weird way, like… you know him.

Most of the more local artists who play in the Arrowhead tend to hang around after their sets – sometimes they’ll have copies of EPs, others come with pins and badges showing off their logos, various cute freebies for people to take home. A few even just stand around in the bar and talk for a while, thanking people personally for coming, sharing information about their upcoming releases and future gig schedules. Unless you’ve been really blown away, this isn’t something the three of you often stick around for, though.

It’s therefore a bit of a surprise that when Vernon re-emerges some fifteen minutes later, you don’t even have to convince your friends to work your way into the crowd already starting to form. If anything, the look exchanged between you all establishes that wanting to praise this guy and say hello is very much mutual; the time that ticks by before you’re face-to-face with him really feels like no time at all.

The people in front of you move off to the side and you catch your first actual, unobstructed glimpse of him. He takes a sip from his glass and wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand before greeting you kindly. Somehow, he’s even more handsome up close. You really didn’t think it was possible. 

“Amazing set, man,” Chan says brightly, doing little by way of snapping you out of your trance. “Super fresh.”

“Seriously. So, so good,” Seungkwan gushes.

Vernon pushes away from where he’s leaned against the bar, pulling his other hand out of his pocket and extending it to your friends in turn. 

“Thank you so much,” he says. “Glad you guys liked it.” Another one of those easy, bright smiles spreads over his face. Maybe you entertain, for a second, that it grows a little more when he holds his hand out to you, too. 

You’re still stunned into silence by how breathtaking he is, but you put your drink in the other hand and wipe the condensation off your palm on the side of your jeans before shaking his hand, as well. He’s really warm, maybe even a little clammy, but when he squeezes with his fingers and looks straight into your eyes, this becomes a very negligible detail.

“Your vibe really reminds me of someone… God, what was his name-...” Chan starts to babble, clicking his fingers at lightning speed as if it’ll help him remember. “He was on that survival show-...”

“We’re sorry about him,” Seungkwan interjects after a few more seconds of nonsense and half-spoken, incorrect names, lifting a hand and covering Chan’s mouth. “He gets a little… it’s just when he’s excited.”

“No I don’t,” Chan huffs, swatting Seungkwan’s hand away. You inhale deeply, trying not to cringe as you watch Vernon’s amused eyes bounce between your two friends like he’s watching a tennis match. 

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Case in point—” Seungkwan starts, at which stage you lay one palm on each of their shoulders to try and get them to stop talking.

By some miracle, it works. At least, their mouths stop moving; there’s definitely a silent conversation ongoing in the filthy looks they continue to exchange, but they stop bickering aloud and that’s good enough for you, for now.

“Come on, let’s leave the poor guy alone,” you say, and Chan shoots Seungkwan a filthy look before he nods and takes a small step back from the altercation. 

Vernon’s eyes glitter under the venue’s neon lighting, wide and focused on you while you do your best to mediate. You only notice this when you look back at him, by which point it’s far, far too late to stop the eruption of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re really good,” you compliment finally, a smile tugging your mouth up on one side. 

“Thank you.” Vernon grins, briefly dipping his head in your direction, but looking for a second as if he’s about to say something else. His chest rises with a breath, his lips push forward like they’re about to separate again, but before he can, Chan finds one more thing to come out with. Of course. (Seungkwan, regretfully, was right — he does get a little…)

“Do you like records?” he asks, pulling Vernon’s gaze away from you. The singer tilts his head, questioning. “Records. Vinyl – albums? Records.”

“Shit – yeah.” Vernon nods then. “Yeah, sorry. I um-... Sure. Yeah. Totally.”

“She owns a record store,” Chan says, jerking his head towards you. You feel your eyes blow wide and you’re tapping harshly at his back in an instant, begging him to stop. “OFF BEAT Vinyl. Not too far from here – it’s a cool spot.”

“No kidding?” Vernon says, glancing back in your direction, but you’re too busy silently pleading at Chan to shut up to realise.

“Mm. You should swing by, some time,” Seungkwan agrees, and all of a sudden, you’re overcome with the urge to fight him, too. “We all work there.”

“All right, let’s go,” you cough eventually, grabbing both men by the wrist and tugging. Vernon chuckles softly at the interruption; it’s almost as sweet a sound as his singing.

“OFF BEAT Vinyl,” he repeats, tasting the store’s name on his tongue, swirling it around his mouth like a wine he’s trying to savour. “For real. I’ll look it up.”

Chan grins proudly, finally letting himself be pulled away from the singer, and you manage to make exactly two paces before Vernon’s voice rings through your eardrums one more time.

“Hey, uh – what was your name?” he asks. It’s unmistakable who the question is aimed at (your friends don’t even entertain for a moment that he could be asking them), but regardless, it takes you a moment to let yourself believe he really wants to know. Vernon doesn’t push, though – he knows you heard him and he waits for your answer, leaning a little forward. 

So, you look over your shoulder and you tell him. You see his lips move silently as he repeats it to himself, just like he did with the name of the store. He tastes it. Plays with it on his tongue, remembers the way it feels. As if it’s something he really intends to remember.

“Cool,” he breathes, pushing his hair back and off his forehead and making it very difficult to feel in any way rational. “Well – it’s great to meet you guys. Thanks for coming out, again.”

Finally, you manage to get your friends away. One of them, at least – Seungkwan decides that he actually wants to grab a few copies of his EP (‘one for me, a few for the store’) and rushes back towards the singer; you tell him to just meet you back at the bar.

Then, with another round of drinks on order, you turn to Chan and land a gentle thump on his bicep.

“Dude,” you groan, and he looks at you incredulously, rubbing his upper arm with a pout. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Chan asks. 

“Tell him about the store!”

“I mean – I didn’t think it was classified?” he says. “Shit’s slow right now, and he seems like the kind of guy to have a record collection. What’s the damage?”

Seungkwan appears behind you with his hands full of CDs, badges and a scrap of something that you’re reasonably sure is firstly, a napkin, and secondly, has been signed. So you rest your elbows on the bar and place your head in your hands, grumbling quietly about how you don’t know you’ve managed to survive this long knowing these two losers.

“Because you love us,” Seungkwan says, fastening a button to your t-shirt. “Stop trying to deny it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, accepting the drink from the bartender and taking a long sip. “God, you better have been serious about opening up for me, tomorrow.”

(Well. You have to give it to him: he was.)

“It’s just my opinion!” 

From your perch on top of the store’s counter, you raise both of your palms in a display of your innocence. Chan stands in the middle of the R&B aisle, looking personally offended, fingers curled around the top of one of the wooden crates holding your stock. 

“Me saying ‘I don’t think Welcome to the Black Parade is the best track on that album�� is not me saying that it’s a bad song.”

“But how can you say that?” Chan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who’s hearing the opening note to Famous Last Words and feeling the same way as they do with the Black Parade?”

“Most iconic doesn’t mean the best,” you counter. “Besides – I never said you weren’t allowed to have it as your favourite. It’d be a boring game if we all had the same answer.”

“I cannot cope with you anymore,” Chan whines. “You know what? No. I don’t even believe you. You’re just being a contrarian.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask. 

“Because it’s the best song on the goddamn albu–”

The bell above the door chimes loud and clear through the store and both of your squabbling voices fall silent. Your head turns in the direction of the entrance, an autopilot greeting already forming on your lips, but you feel them fall slack the moment you realise who it is that’s just walked in.

It’s been five days. Though it would be a mistruth to claim you hadn’t thought about the singer since the night of his gig, it’s not one to say you didn’t think he would ever actually come into your place of work. 

Much less at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. On a Thursday.

He pops his wrists as he walks a little further into the store, glancing around. Barring one of your regulars who walks about with his earphones in all the time, the store is completely empty; an adrenaline spike prickles the hairs on your arms, all the tiny muscles beneath your skin pulling them to stand upright. 

“Hi,” he says once he deems himself to be close enough, stopping in his tracks and kicking the toe of his shoe against the floor.

“Hey,” you greet him in return. 

“I’m-... Vernon. We met at the show, the other night?” 

“Yeah — yeah, I remember you,” you smile. “I’m-... well. I’m still y/n.”

“Still y/n,” he says on a relieved exhale, grinning and glancing away from you. “I uh… I just had some free time. Thought I’d swing by and see what you guys had going on here.” Vernon adjusts the collar of his t-shirt, the silver of his rings glinting under the flickering yellow light overhead.

(It was definitely somewhere on your list of things to get fixed. Honest.)

“Sure, yeah,” you nod, swallowing hard and trying your best not to stare at him. It’s hard, though – in broad daylight, the way the flannel tied around his waist floats down over his hips and the way his jeans hug at his thighs is… you don't even have the words. “Let me know if you need help finding anything, okay?” 

“I will.” He starts to thumb through one of the wooden boxes, offering a small smile your way. “Thank you.”

You’re holding your breath a little as he pulls a few 80’s rock albums out, his lips downturned in surprised approval at some of the records you carry. He holds onto a couple as he moves around the store and the entire time, you can feel Chan and Seungkwan staring at you. If there wasn’t a very real danger of Vernon looking your way again at a moment’s notice, you know you would be showing them your middle finger.

Really, they come away lucky.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been trying to find some of these,” Vernon says after a few minutes, sauntering toward the desk – you’re still sitting on top of it, your legs swinging in the air beneath you. “Might have to make this my new stop.”

And displayed beside you on the counter – right by the cash register – are a few of his albums. The ones Seungkwan picked up after the show; until about two seconds ago, you had forgotten they were even there.

Vernon’s face lights up when he notices, turning to Seungkwan. “Come on, no way. I thought you were kidding about that.”

“Deadly serious,” Seungkwan laughs. Out of the corner of his eye, he must see you start to freeze up: he keeps talking instead of letting the silence settle. “It was on the speakers yesterday. Four people asked us about you.”

“For real?” Vernon asks. When all three of you nod your heads, you see the beginnings of a blush start to creep up his neck. “Wow. Thank you – um. That’s really cool of you guys.”

“It’s good music,” Chan shrugs. “You’re super talented.”

You’re not sure what it is about the onslaught of passive praise that gets so deep into Vernon’s head, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself other than repeatedly saying ‘thank you’. Relief comes in the form of another customer jingling the bell above the door and drawing the attention away from him for a few moments.

“I’ll take these,” he says breathlessly as he turns to face you again. You find yourself a tiny bit lost in the warmth of his eyes and it takes you a second to remember to swivel around and slip off the other side of the countertop. You do, though. Eventually. 

“Nice,” you say softly as you shuffle through them, ringing each one through. He’s got pretty decent taste, even if less than a week ago you were actively cringing at his choice of cover song. (It’s okay. That was before you knew better.) “Do you– need sleeves, or…?”

“I’m good. Thank you, though.” Vernon rests his hands against the edge of the counter and drums a quiet rhythm out with his thumbs as you tap away at the register. “Are-... you guys busy tonight, by the way?”

You look up from placing the records into a paper bag, glancing over to your colleagues who both rush to shake their heads. Vernon looks from them, to you, and you mirror their action. Even if I was, you start to think wistfully. I’d make time.

“I’m playing at the Orchid? Uh— it starts at eight thirty; I could get you guys on the list, if-... um…”

“That’d be awesome,” Chan says, nodding so hard you’re surprised his head doesn’t roll off his shoulders and start bouncing across the floor. 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Seungkwan adds. 

Vernon grins at them both, humming softly, before turning back to you and fumbling with his wallet to take out his card to pay for his purchases. You turn the machine around to face him; he hovers with his hand just above it. 

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” He says.

You can’t help the delight that rises inside you, as if it’s been injected straight into your bloodstream. It’s everywhere, all of a sudden. In your brain and your heart and your bones and in your lungs.

Yet, you somehow manage to keep your composure when you say, “yeah. Maybe you will.”

The payment goes through and you slide the bag over towards Vernon, your eyes never leaving his and his eyes never leaving yours. His fingers brush over yours as he takes it from you, the bite of the cold ring on his index finger a shocking contrast to the warmth the rest of his hand radiates. You hope your little gasp isn’t too audible, but… the way Chan whirls around to face away from the scene in front of him (presumably to poorly conceal his laughter), you know you haven’t gotten away with it.

“Cool,” he says, hesitating another second before finally pulling himself away. He bows his head in the direction of your friends, sending another of those irresistibly sweet smiles at you, and then he starts off towards the door. “See you, then.”

You feel your heart finally start to slow down as you grip the counter for dear life, setting out a long, drawn-out breath. What just happened? Why do you feel all… fuzzy?

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” Chan asks in the deepest voice he can muster, snapping you out of your own head none too pleasantly. You turn in their direction as your other favourite moron feigns tucking hair behind his ear and flutters his eyelashes across at Chan.

“Yeah… Maybe you will.” And Seungkwan’s imitation of you is a little too accurate. Creepily so, and you want to curse him out for it. Instead, you scrunch up a bag to throw towards the pair of them, grinning despite yourself as they both swerve to dodge it.

“Oh my God, shut up,” you chastise them. You don’t have any bite, though, your brain still tingly and positively reeling and seeing Vernon’s dazzling smile every time you so much as blink. And when Seungkwan takes a running start and launches himself, full-force, into Chan’s unsuspecting arms? When Chan lifts him up and spins him around, and when they start making kissy-noises at each other between unearthly cackles? 

You know that the next few hours are going to be the longest of your entire life.

The rest of the afternoon goes by without much disturbance and with evening plans now in place, you make the executive decision to send the boys home half an hour early. The three of you agree to meet outside The Orchid at just after eight o’clock, giving you all a chance to eat, wash up and change before the show; your friends separate and head in the different directions to the places they call home, making a promise to text your group chat before you leave to coordinate the link-up time. You head back into the office to finish tying up your loose ends and manage to depart just an hour later. 

On your way to your apartment, you plan everything out to the minute in your head. You even allocate yourself twenty minutes to sit on the couch and decompress from your working day. So, when you settle down a little further into the cushions and put your head back, resting your eyes… when you tell yourself you’ll get up in just a minute and hop into the shower…

You certainly don’t expect to be woken up two and a half hours later as your phone vibrates on the floor of your living room.

With one eye still closed, you pick it up, yawning and stretching the lingering wisps of slumber from your body. Seungkwan’s contact name shows on your screen and you swipe to answer the call; on the other end of the line, a song you’ve never heard before is audible, but it’s accompanied by a voice you most definitely do know.

Everything snaps into place at once; in an instant, you’re wide awake, and you feel physically sick.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss into the speaker, scrabbling upright, tugging the phone away from your face to see the time. How is it already past 9pm?

“Oh, hello to you, too!” Seungkwan has to half-shout to be anywhere near audible over the music. You can almost perfectly visualise the way he’ll have sandwiched himself in a corner of the venue, pinching the bridge of his nose, head resting against the wall to try and block out enough sound to hear you. “Good to know you’re actually still alive!”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” you say, rushing through to your bathroom to check if you can get away with leaving the house as you are. (Jury’s out, but you don’t have much of a choice.) “I… don’t know what happened. I fell asleep – I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Seungkwan chides you again, this time reminding you that he’s been on your ass about going to a doctor to get your iron levels checked for months, that your timekeeping is terrible and that you really better hurry. You promise you’re on your way and hang up the call, pocketing your (horrifically under-charged) phone and slipping into a pair of sneakers you keep by the door before you head out. You told him you’d be here. Seungkwan’s voice rings loud and clear in your ears as you lock up your apartment.

But of course, bad things never happen in isolation. Waiting on the street outside your apartment block, you find yourself being cancelled on by not one, but two uber drivers: by the time the third reaches you, and has to follow the world’s most inconvenient diversion to get past some construction work, it’s 9:35. You know it doesn’t matter how quickly you run down the last stretch of the street and get up the seemingly never-ending staircase: it’s going to be too late.

You only manage to catch the literal last two songs of Vernon’s set. You’re not sure he even knows you’ve arrived, and in a way, you hope he doesn’t. Maybe having him believe you were a no-show is better than him knowing you’re about as low-functioning as a grown adult can be. You just slip in through the door as discreetly as you can and hover at the very back of the room as he rounds up for the night; Chan slips an arm around your shoulders as you turn to the bar and order yourself a drink, but it doesn’t do much to reduce the guilt that weighs heavy in your chest. 

Which… is odd, really, you suppose. Seeing as you hardly know the singer much beyond his name and, now, a fraction of his record collection. Seeing as you certainly don’t owe him your presence at any of his performances. But there’s something in the way he made sure to ask you personally if you’d be able to make it, too, and you can’t shake it off, and… yeah, screw it, maybe you did want to be here. Maybe you did want him to notice. Maybe you do care what he thinks of you. 

Maybe… you hope he feels the same about you.

Your drink hasn’t even arrived yet by the time you hear a chain of ‘excuse me – sorry, can I just? Yeah, thanks – sorry, excuse me’ -s behind you. Your eyes fly wide and you almost choke on your own spit at the sound, growing closer and closer, somehow audible over the background music floating through the speakers, over the other chattering voices and shrieks of laughter in every direction. Part of your breathlessness, admittedly, is to do with how immediately you just knew who that voice belonged to.

“Excuse m–” it sounds again.

And then, softer: “Hey.”

You turn around on your bar stool, barely managing to bite back a smile. “Hi.”

Vernon grins at you from a few feet away, a dark singlet hanging loose on his frame, showing off his long, lean arms, displaying the few bracelets he wears on one of his slender wrists. You’re staring – you know you are; you don’t even notice the fact that Chan takes several steps away from you, or how he throws a side-along glance toward Seungkwan, nor the fact that your two best friends start talking quietly among themselves, leaving you and Vernon almost alone.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how I managed to…” But Vernon’s already shaking his head, coming up beside you at the bar, settling into the seat on your left. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, glancing over at you where you’re sitting. “I’m just glad you’re here, now.”

Chan stumbles over to you somewhere around midnight and claps his hand down on your shoulder, interrupting Vernon’s very enthusiastic explanation as to why flying is totally a better superpower to want to have than invisibility. Your giggles fall silent and Vernon stops mid-flow, waiting to hear what your friend wants to speak to you about. Unfortunately, Chan’s words are barely intelligible; it’s only when a marginally-better-for-wear Seungkwan appears too a moment later that you’re able to make any sense of him.

“We’re gonna–” Seungkwan hiccups, covering his mouth with his hand and wincing, no doubt at the burn of everything he’s had to drink now sitting high in his throat. “Gonna head out. Are you coming? We’ll split a taxi with you.”

You find yourself glancing over to where Vernon is standing, propped against the pool table that you’re now leaning on the edge of. He just smiles back at you, lifting his shoulders.

“I think… I’m gonna stay here a little longer,” you say after chewing it over. “You guys go ahead.”

Seungkwan looks between the two of you and frowns slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Vernon gently pipes up from your side, sliding over a little so that his palm rests flat on the felt of the table, his forearm supporting your hips from behind. But it isn’t you he addresses, despite this butterfly-inducing contact. All deep and serious, he says, “I promise, she’s safe with me.” 

He takes his time to show it on his face, but ultimately this satisfies Seungkwan, who (despite being just about able to support both his and Chan’s weight in his current condition) has before, and still will, ignore his body’s demands in the name of ensuring your safety. But maybe he sees a trustworthiness in Vernon, or maybe he knows that you can and do handle yourself quite well. Whatever it is, he’s happy with this development, and your two friends bundle you in a hug so tight that it squeezes the air out of your lungs before they make their way towards the exit.

Once they’re out of view, you turn back to Vernon again, raising both brows at the man now closer to you than he’s ever been. But it’s far from claustrophobic – not as these things can so often be. No. No.

It’s addictive.

“Oh you promise, huh?” The tease comes out before you can do anything about it. You even end up batting your lashes at him for good measure. 

“Cross my heart,” he says with a small shrug of his shoulders. His eyes dip from where they’re boring into your own, glancing down a fraction, just for a moment, and you’re sure you see him start to lean. Drawn to you like an opposing magnet, like a moth to a flame — his breaths feel hotter as they fan against your skin, his cologne starts to smell a little stronger… then, his fingers on the other hand curl around the pool cue he’s been balancing on his side and he drags himself away from you. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kick your ass one more time.”

One more game of pool quickly turns to two, and it even threatens to become a third as you tease, again, that Vernon just got lucky and he flashes you another one of those looks that says ‘oh? Try me’. But as tempting as it is, you don’t think your pride can withstand any more losses. You resign yourself from the table with a huff when he rests his palms flat on the velvet covering, leaning towards you in that mouth-watering way he’s been doing for hours. The thing is, for the size of his pool-playing-ego, Vernon isn’t even that good. Not if you consider the number of completely missed shots, questionable connections and pocketed cues. But, because your own skill level leaves plenty to be desired, he doesn’t have to be up there with the big leagues. 

He just needs to be a tiny bit better than you.

Asshole.

An announcement for last orders from behind the bar tells you that it’s nearing one in the morning as he starts to circle around the table and makes his way towards you. The bar has emptied considerably since you arrived, the music has steadily started getting more and more cheesy, people in all four corners of the room have started draping themselves over one another like well-dressed blankets, having already chosen the individuals they’ve decided to take home tonight. By all accounts, it’s the perfect time to leave. If you head out now, you’ll miss the rush of people flooding into the street and, if you’re lucky, the surge in taxi prices. The really good takeout place around the corner doesn’t close for another half hour, too. 

There’s just one problem. You don’t want this night to end just yet.

“I think I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you say to Vernon, trying to stretch out a burning knot in your shoulder. “It’s like, a thousand degrees in here.”

Vernon nods. “Yeah – cool. I’ll come with you.”

And with your bag slung over the arm not causing you an ache, you start off down the stairwell. The doors are already open and the late night breeze has you feeling like you’re walking through the gates of heaven as you head outside. You inhale deeply, making the most of this very rare occasion of the city’s air not feeling thick with car fuel and cigarettes. Your eyes fall closed.

“I always liked being out at this time,” Vernon says as he joins you, leaning one shoulder against the brickwork of the outside of the bar. “Feels peaceful.”

“Sure,” you nod, craning your neck to look at him. His face is half-illuminated in the neon red of the bar’s sign above you. The harsh lighting and the shadows cast by his angular features have him looking… sort of sinful, in a weird artsy way that you can’t explain thanks to the pleasant buzzing in your brain. Straight out of an arthouse, indie movie. I bet he likes those, you think absently. 

He looks straight into your eyes, intense and focussed as if he’s trying to search them, though for what you’re not sure. Honestly, you think if he gave a few more flutters of those beautiful lashes, you’d bend in-half-and-half-again to give him anything he wanted, so in a way you’re interested to ask what he’s thinking about. You don’t end up saying anything, though. There’s something wonderful in these little unspoken moments with Vernon. Something raw. 

Something… unexplainable. 

Sitting at the bar and stealing tickled glances as the waitress fumbles and drops a tray full of glasses on the floor. Subtle winks of his right eye (always, you’re discovering, the right?) from across a pool table when he succeeds in making a shot he has absolutely no business pulling off. Standing opposite you in the store you own, waiting to find out when – not if – he’s going to see you, again –

“You know,” he starts, the tiniest edge of nervousness in his voice for the first time tonight. Is the performance adrenaline finally wearing off? Is he… maybe starting to feel a little shy? Whatever it is, your last train of thought melts away into the drain just to his right, and you focus on him as he continues down this new path instead. “I got a new coffee machine in my apartment last weekend and I haven’t had the chance to use it for anyone yet.”

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah.” He nods, swallowing. “I uh…” He bounces one fist in the palm of his other hand, searching for the right order to put the words into. “I mean, it’s not like, one of those super fancy ones, or anything… but it’s sorta retro looking? Which is cool, and—”

“Vernon?”

“Yeah?”

“You‘re a little out of practice, huh?”

He chuckles on an outward breath, bowing his head, a grin that threatens to split his pretty face in two taking residence on his lips. “That obvious?”

“A tiny bit,” you say. “It’s cute though.”

He glances up at you, head a little tilted. “Yeah?”

“Mm… getting less-so by the second,” you tease him. “You can just ask me to come with you.”

“I-…” he starts, but he takes a deep breath instead and corrects his posture, as if it’ll prepare him somehow. “Okay. Okay — do you… maybe wanna come back to my place, with me?”

Not without flashing him a look first that says ‘now, was that so hard?’, you find yourself nodding up at him. 

“I’d love to,” you say.

He pushes away from the wall and when you do the same, he falls into step, heading in the direction of his apartment. You try to discreetly roll your shoulder out again but it’s obviously not discrete enough; it draws his attention down to your arm, and he frowns slightly.

“Is that giving you trouble?” He asks. 

“It’s fine.” You wave him off, stretching the muscle as best as you can by tilting your head as you walk. “It’s been like this for years.”

He scrunches his brows. “Here — can I?” He asks, his fingertip looping beneath the strap of your bag. You look down at your shoulder, then back up at him, before raising one brow, dropping the other. 

“I mean — I don’t know if it’s your colour?” 

Vernon barks out a ‘ha’, easily slipping your bag down your arm, the tips of his warm fingers brushing against your comparatively cool skin. You make no effort to stop him. He positions it on his own shoulder instead, the one furthest away from you so he can still walk right against your side. 

“There’s a reason I wear all black, okay?” He says. “It makes everything my colour.”

His fingers smoothly slip between yours as he says it. It was quite the move, and for a second you’re impressed. At least, until it turns out that this simple action seems to jolt him back to his factory settings, because—

“I’m so serious about this coffee machine, by the way.”

“I know you are,” you laugh, bumping your weight against him and squeezing his hand. “I’m counting on it.”

“Okay, so,” you start, settling into Vernon’s couch and tucking one of your legs up beneath you. You cradle the mug of coffee he’s made you — admittedly, the retro-style machine was pretty cool — between both of your hands, a thumb brushing over the raised pattern on the ceramic. The fresh air from the walk here seems to have decently sobered you; barring a pleasant buzz, you feel almost like you haven’t drunk a thing. “How did you get into music?”

Vernon matches your posture play-for-play, biting the inside of his cheek before he answers. He drank less than you in the first place, but he seems steadier now, as well.

“Uh… a couple things, I guess,” he starts. “I mean, my parents are big into music. Sometimes they'd take me with them to shows and stuff, had a bunch of CD’s all over the house — all that. You know? I really grew up on it, so…"

You nod, tilting your head to gesture for him to continue. 

“Then… I don’t know. There’s- okay, I was kind of a loser in high school,” he goes on. You roll your eyes; Vernon nudges your thigh with his knee playfully, shaking his head. 

“I just mean, I didn’t have a lot of friends.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “So…, I mean, that’s— that’s whatever. The point is that I spent a lot of time on my own and I basically had an earphone in any time I thought I could get away with it, and–... and sometimes even if I couldn’t.” He chuckles. “Weird. Most of my teachers didn’t like me much either.”

You laugh too now, and Vernon bows his head a little; every single one of his handsome features brightens up and you don’t really know where to look. His never-ending lashes are so long they cast shadows down onto his cheeks, and the ambient lighting reflects off his eyes so beautifully that they look like they’re glimmering. 

He goes on, “there was one, though. My bio teacher? She was really cool. She had a lot more time for me than the others did. And uh, she called me into her office after school one day and just said… basically, my options were to start giving a shit about… cells, and mitochon– whatever, or start really working for this great big thing that I spent all my time daydreaming about. And it’s been a little up and down, but…”

He trails off, shrugging on one side.

“I think you’re doing pretty okay,” you chime in, leaning one arm against the back of the couch and resting your head in your palm. “I bet those kids would lose their minds if they could see you now.”

“Oh?” Vernon asks, setting his coffee down on the side-table. You click your tongue at him.

“Don’t– come on.”

“No, seriously,” he laughs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean-…” you start, shaking your head. “Okay. People go out of their way to listen to you. Everyone who comes to one of your shows… that’s an hour, two hours, whatever – of making people feel exactly the way you want them to feel. They... all want to understand you. Right?”

Vernon just looks at you, forehead a tiny bit creased — the cogs in your brain tick away trying to find a better way to explain what you mean, but he finally speaks. (You’re glad, because you were struggling to come up with anything else.) 

“Shit, I thought that was just an in to say you thought I was hot, or something.”

You push at his chest lightly, your palm lingering on his vest a moment longer than is, perhaps, strictly necessary. 

“Shut up,” you groan. But a second later… “I guess there’s that, too.”

He sits back a little, pushing his hair off his forehead with a chuckle. “I dunno, I mean — I sort of… is it weird if I don’t really think about it that way?”

“Of course not,” you tell him.

He gets that look back on his face again; the pensive one, where he appears like he’s seconds away from saying something else, something important. But he falters, and when he glances back at you, his engine stalls. 

Then, with a shake of his head, he says, “wow, okay, enough about me. I’m so sorry. Can I ask you a question?”

You take another sip of your coffee and set it down, too, nodding ‘yes’. To be honest, you were quite enjoying talking about him; at the same time, you know what it is to feel a little too perceived sometimes, so you let him move on without argument. 

“How do you just… own a record store?”

You laugh. It’s been a while since you’ve had to explain this one. (When was the last time one of your dates was interested enough to ask?)

“I’m not as good a storyteller as you are,” you preface, mirroring him when he rolls his eyes, pretending not to notice that he shuffles even closer. You launch into it easily enough — the old store owner was a friend of the family, he let you work there while you were in college, took you on full-time after you dropped out. When his eyesight started deteriorating, he chose to retire and told you it was yours, if you wanted it. 

“Place would’ve closed down, otherwise,” you shrug. “But I couldn’t do it on my own, so I brought the guys in to help. Two years later... yeah. I guess that's how.”

The whole time as you talk, his eyes don’t leave you. He’s quite expressive, you find — whether he’s lifting a perfectly shaped brow, nodding along to what you’re saying, smiling at you… you feel listened to. When he’s sat across from you, you feel heard; you feel known.

“Well, first — take it back. You’re a great storyteller,” he says. You feel your face grow warm and you nudge him with your knee, but you don’t argue — you aren’t convinced he’d let you win, anyway. “But that’s… really cool? Actually.”

“Oh yeah, I heard nine-to-five retail is the coolest thing you can do, these days,” you laugh.

Vernon scoffs at you. “You close at six thirty.”

(How on Earth does he remember that?)

To avoid thinking about it too much, and so you don’t have to try to navigate asking, you roll your eyes.

“You’re right,” you say to him. “That’s way better.”

“Do you like what you do?” He asks, and you tilt your head at him. “Well — okay. If you ignore the… boring, back-office stuff.”

“Yeah,” you say after a pause. “I guess I do.”

“Then it’s cool.”

Your coffees both go cold as you talk more, and more, and more — he asks about your life, and growing up, your friends, and he answers all of your questions in turn when you ask them. He has an interesting way of talking about himself outside of his job; it’s not so much that you have to pry for information, but he’s not super forthcoming. It’s as if he’s taking all of your questions at face value, like he doesn’t know how to go about expanding on them. 

Maybe he’s just more of a listener, you contemplate once he turns yet another of your questions back on you and you teasingly pull him up on it. It flusters him, which you can’t help but find very endearing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I just… you have such a pretty… voice?” he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck, ears burning pink. 

“Oh?” You ask, stumped for a moment as your heart lurches in your chest. When he nods, you find the gall from somewhere to say, “takes one to know one.” 

(You’re not sure how.)

And on it goes. On, and on, and on. More questions, more answers, more lighthearted shoves and lingering touches and shy glances away from each others’ scorching gazes as heat rushes to your cheeks. He even shows you his record collection and puts on one of his favourite albums for background noise before you settle back into the couch. It’s so natural, even when the vinyl runs to the end and the only noise from the player is a distant crackle. Being in his space and having mindless conversation after mindless conversation feels almost as comfortable as being in your own home. 

You notice something, as you’re rounding off a monologue about why your highschool math teacher was the worst person you’d ever met. A tiny hair on the apple of his cheek. One of those lashes you envy so much. Even as you try to focus back on your closing remarks, your eyes keep dropping to it and you trail off into silence a few words short.

“I’m sorry, you’ve-… got an eyelash,” you say, tapping roughly the same spot on your own cheek. 

“Mm. I have a few of them,” Vernon counters, wiping the heel of his thumb against his skin. He misses, though, and drops his arm back down with the lash still stuck to his face. 

You move before you can stop yourself, hand lifting up to his face and hovering just a few centimetres away.

“Can I?” you ask. 

Vernon nods, wordlessly. He goes cross-eyed and his lids twitch in a flutter as he watches you get closer; you brush the lash onto your thumb and he only breathes again when you rebalance it on the tip of your finger.  You hold it up to him, settling back into your own part of the couch; he just stares back at you. 

“Make a wish,” you prompt. 

His confusion is poorly concealed, head cocked to one side as he looks from the lash to you and back again. “Huh?”

“Don’t you…?”

He shakes his head. 

“Okay, wow,” you laugh, glancing down at your finger too. “You have to make a wish on your eyelashes when they fall out.”

“No, I got that part,” Vernon snickers. “I just mean — why?”

“I—” you start to explain, but you fall short of an explanation and frown instead, biting the inside of your cheek. “… I don’t know. It’s just what you’re supposed to do. I’ve always done it.”

The downturn of your lips doesn’t last very long, though. 

“Well, what if it’s not an eyelash? What if it’s like… one of my eyebrows, or something?” He asks. 

It's such a simple but off-the-wall response that you can't help but laugh, except it comes on so suddenly you start to choke on your own saliva. One of his hands circles around you and rubs soothingly between your shoulder blades as you cough, succeeding in bringing him even closer and failing to lower the fever you’re starting to feel creep up on you. By some miracle, you don’t drop the lash, even as you hack pathetically into the crook of your elbow; Vernon waits for it to subside, a weirdly fond look on his face all the while.

Now, when you turn your head, he’s right there. In your space. His arm still around your back, the glint of the bar pierced through his brow drawing your attention up away from those smiling lips. 

“I guess it just doesn’t come true? I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve never tried wishing on an eyebrow before.”

“I’m just saying,” he starts, falling back against the cushions now he knows you’re not suffocating. His arm doesn’t move, though. If anything, he sort of pulls you with him. “What if it ends up like a reverse wish. Whatever I ask for, the opposite comes true, or something.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” you say, starting to bring your finger closer to yourself. 

Quicker than you can blink, he reaches to you and lightly lays his fingers around your wrist, stopping you in your path.

“Wait,” he says, pouting a little. “I didn’t say that.”

Both of you glance down to this new point of contact. Two sets of lips stay parted but two identical breaths remain held, burning in both your lungs and in Vernon’s. His gaze shifts back up to your face, eyes wide and wholly serious and unblinking. 

“What do I do?” He asks on the eventual exhale. It reminds you to breathe again, too.

“Close your eyes.”

It takes him a second to obey, but he does. His eyes flutter closed and you clear your throat, lifting your finger until it’s just in front of his face. 

“Make a wish.”

A few seconds later, his brows relax and he nods. 

“Then… blow.”

His lips purse and he pushes a breath through them, lifting the stray lash off your skin and sending it out into the room. He opens his eyes, then, smiling in a manner that you can tell is absolutely despite himself. 

He doesn’t move away, and his cologne, fresh and citrusy, mixes tantalisingly with the sandalwood candle he lit on your way back to the couch a little while ago, both accented by the chewing gum he popped to get rid of the mocha aftertaste still lingering on his breath.

“What did you wish for?” You ask, dropping your hand back down to your side.

He frowns. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” he says. “Pretty sure that’s against like… wish laws, or something.”

“Boring,” you chide, slumping your shoulders, but he just grins at you, darting his tongue out over his lips.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his Adam’s apple bob in a thick swallow and you can feel the gentle brushing of his thumb. The slow movements, up and down over the exposed area on your hip where your shirt has started to ride up, make you shiver, and you know your chest stutters when his fingers move to press wholly against your bare skin. You know he notices, because he does it again. And again, and again. 

It's maddening. You end up stuck in this never-ending feeling of falling head-first into his arms.

“Where do you think the laws stand on showing you, though?” He asks, inching a little closer.

You hold your breath, little more than anticipatory static flooding your brain. 

“I think they’re okay with it.”

You mirror, slowly, hooked in the gaze that has adrenaline dripping down the length of your spine like honey, and you can’t bring yourself to look away until you can practically taste him. He closes the space between you in half speed, but gently, like you’re both made of tissue, he brings his thumb and forefinger to your chin and touches his lips to yours. His nose presses against your cheek. 

It’s comfortable. It’s warm. It’s easy, it’s exhilarating, it’s perfect. You feel like your heart just might burst clean out of your chest—

But… you can’t.  

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp, tugging yourself away and clamping your hands over your mouth. “Shit — I’m-… I’m sorry.”

Out of nowhere, you’re fighting to catch a breath, head spinning in circles, and no longer in the good way. Have those beers finally come back to bite you in the ass? Or, deeper down, do you know your sudden intoxication isn’t alcohol related at all? Vernon shoots back from you like you’ve gone up in flames and he might catch, too — his eyes search your face as you scramble to get to your feet, and he looks… scared. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. You don’t respond right away, already looking around the apartment for where you left your shoes, already trying to locate your bag too. (As you try to swim towards the surface, you forget that it wasn’t you who still had hold of it when you came through the door and placed it on the loveseat back in the living room.) “Hey… is everything-…?”

“I’m fine,” you interrupt. You’re not. “I just-… I remembered-… I have to go.” 

You catch sight of your shoes, hidden behind the ones Vernon kicked off just after you, and you hurry across the apartment to get to them. 

No bag. Where’s your bag? Where did you leave it? But… ah, your keys are in one back pocket and your phone is in the other and maybe it’s not the end of the world if you never see that lipstick again—

“It’s really late,” Vernon says as you bend down to re-tie one of your laces, hovering just a few steps behind you. “Are you gonna be okay to get home?”

“I’ll be fine,” you rush. “I’ll get a cab.”

“Well, at least let me wait with you until it—”

“I said I’m fine,” you insist, you snap, only now looking up at him again. He tenses, but his eyes stay soft. It’s not in the same way you’ve seen them all night, though. Not in a nice way. Not glittering and full of intrigue. No. He’s hurt. And like a wounded animal, he takes several stiff, unsure steps back away from you, swallowing hard and looking anywhere, everywhere else. 

“I’m fine,” you say again, trying to sound a little quieter, a little calmer.  Even if that is miles away from the truth. 

“Okay,” he says, unconvinced and wringing his hands in front of his stomach. “If-… I’m sorry if that was-… I didn’t mean to make you-…”

You shake your head, standing back up to your full height, but you don’t close the gap between you. You don’t reach out to him, even though you want to. You just have to blindly hope he can read your mind somehow — there’s no way to explain it quickly enough without leaving you both in a mess, and right now... 

“Hey,” you say, forcing him to look at you once more. “It’s not-… it isn’t you. I just have to go, okay?”

He doesn’t seem overly reassured by this, but he nods anyway. “Can-… you text me when you get home?” He asks. Then, hurried: “Just so I know you’re back safe. That’s all.” 

You swallow hard. 

“Yeah,” you say on an outward breath, cringing at how exasperated it sounds. You don’t mean it to — you’re really not mad at him. “I will. I’ll message you.”

Biting the inside of his bottom lip, Vernon takes another step back. He doesn’t say anything else, just shoves his hands as far into the pockets of his jeans as he can and watches you. 

“I’ll message you,” you repeat, opening the door, speaking more to yourself than to him. “I promise.” 

Then, you’re stumbling out into his hallway. Hurrying down the too-narrow staircase. Leaning your back against the brickwork outside, a light drizzle of rain splashing all over your bare arms. The stone prickles through your t-shirt as you slide down, as you feebly try to suck thick, damp air into your lungs, as your head starts to ache, as a dull throb starts to reside behind your eyes. 

It takes ten minutes of staring into the empty road in front of you before you feel steady enough to attempt to wrestle your phone out of your pocket. No matter how many buttons you press, no matter how many times you tap it, the screen refuses to come to life and you only now manage to recall the ‘low battery’ notification that came through several hours ago. Briefly, it crosses your mind to go back upstairs and ask if you can request a ride on Vernon’s phone. You know he’d say yes. Hell, he’d probably throw a blanket over your shivering shoulders and fix you another cup of coffee while you waited, too. But you can’t. The look on his face as you slid out his front door is burned into your memory like a brand and there surely couldn’t be anything worse than having to go back in there and face him like this.

Five more minutes pass before you find the energy to stand, to stretch out your bunched up muscles, and start on the walk home. Another thirty until you’re trudging, sodden and blurry eyed and heavy-hearted, through your apartment door. Three and a half after that before you finally manage to text Vernon to say your phone died, but you’re back, you’re safe. That you’re sorry. 

Barely ten seconds tick by before it pops up that he reads your message. (Followed by ninety seconds of staring down at the bubble that says he’s typing, waiting for a reply that ultimately doesn’t come.)

And four hours later, you’re still wide awake, lying under your covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling. You think you ought to be giddy, squirming, hiding your smile in your pillow — that’s how first kisses are supposed to make you feel. Isn’t it? Alas, you’re flooded instead with visions of the last time a first kiss felt like it made this much sense; in place of all the endorphins you’re sure should be ricocheting off every inner surface of your brain, all you know is heartache and dread. 

So you stare, and you stare, and you keep on staring; even when your eyes start to burn, you stare a little more. 

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated. parts 2 and 3 are very nearly finished, as well, so stay tuned.<3

[sleep-0-deprived]

dimitriii i have an ideia !!

could u write a dom!toji x bunny! younger reader smut? where the bunny boy its just so cute and toji wants to fuck him silly and breed him all the time

Cuffing season~

A/n I like the way you think! Cause some bunny boy breeding is exactly what Toji needs so I hope I did your fantasy justice and enjoy ;]

Female aligned and mdni this is an 18+ blog with nsfw below the cut

Mating season, the bunny version of cuffing season was here for you and here you were needy desperate with your bunny ears laying flat as you hump toji’s pillow all hard leaking pre cum all over it while he’s gone.

“Someone’s in a mood isn’t he?” Toji asks as he stands in the doorway raising a brow watching you try to please your self with his pillow as your purr with your bunny tail wiggling above your ass cheeks “y-out back early!” You quickly stop rutting into his pillow pulling away flushed “no no, don’t stop cause I’m here baby?”

Shutting the bedroom door he walks closer pulling his shirt off showing his muscular chest as he grips your hips pulling you closer as he places one hand on your bunny tail rubbing at it as he lifts you up with ease pushing you up on the bed further gripping your bunny ears shoving your face into the pillows flipping you on your stomach “Toji please~”

“Does bunny boy need a cock in em that bad?” Toji grunts out pulling his sweat pants off then pulling off his boxers as you lay face down ass up wiggling your ass back and forth trying to get him to fuck you but instead only reviving a harsh slap to your right ass cheek “o ow hurts!”

You yelp out “cmon stop actin like a slut or ill treat ya like one bunny~” he groans smacking your other cheek as he massages them pulling your cheeks apart and spiting on your ass hole.

“Mhm Toji~” you moan reaching your hand back when he pulls his boxers down as you grab his cock while laying face down ass up, your hand guiding his tip to your rim pressing him to it rubbing around his spit as he holds your hips up “fuck, boy” he moans as he snaps his hips forward without warning filling you up “o-Oh hah~!”

Your eyes going wide pulling at the bed sheets your jaw slack as you feel his whole girth stretching you out just like your body craves as you lay in heat turning dumb off his cock with your fluffy bunny ears flicking letting your head droop down “see that all ya needed bunny? A cock to stuff ya wide open”

Toji speaks lewdly one hand gripping your hip tightly as your rim stretches out wide around his cock and your gummy walls clenching sucking his cock back in as you picked around him.

“Fwuah! To—ah” you arch you back as your body heats up feeling his tip rutting right against your prostate making your breaths rigid feeling his pressure inside you “such a sloppy bunny look at ya!”

Grinning as he fucks you with you as dripping and creating your own slick from being in heat, your juices coating his shaft while he slaps your ass cheek hard then pulls on your cotton tail “nhg~ so full~”

“Just like that boy” leaning down into your ear as he pulls you back on his cock further taking a mounting position with him on your back shoving your face into his pillow as he harshly pulls on your bunny ears “m mhm!”

Screaming into your pillow and crying out gripping the sheets feeling his muscle mass on top of you pinning you into the bed fucking you harshly making your ass hole start to burn for being stretched so long but your too cock drunk to care.

“Always so tight aren’t cha?” Grunting in your ear being condescending as his tongue licks over his scar while snapping his hips forward making his groin slap your ass cheeks hard enough for them to turn red while you lay in a daze blabbering incoherently lost in the feeling of getting your heat handled by him “ofhm ohm T-o-Ji~”

drooling and pressing your face in the pillow all fucked out and fisting your sheets as the bed rocks back and forth with toji’s force and weight on top of you.

“Aww already close? And here I thought my bunny could last longer, tsk” Toji says with disdain as he keeps fucking you making your cock jump all hard and neglected as your tip drips needs of pre cum into the sheets before your stomach tightens up shooting cum all over yourself as you gasp loudly drooling into the pillows arching your back like a cat crying out as your hole convulses around him milking him.

“O-ahh Toji~!” Crying out as his cock twitches one last time slamming into you hitting up agaisnt your prostate making your bunny ears droop down on your head lewdly and your bunny tail stop twitching as his cock throbs.

Toji keeps shooting his load deep inside you shooting white ropes painting your insides in a thick coating making your heat feel satisfied as you start relaxing your fists no longer gripping harshly,

“Good bunny, just needed to be bred didn’t cha?” Toji hums in your ears as he gives them a few rough pets kissing on your neck slowly pumping his hips back and forth making sure his load goes deep putting pressure on your prostate as your heat starts to rise back up again

But oh well you were a bunny and bunny’s have high stamina right! Looks like you and Toji are in for a long night of breeding.

[melrodrigo]

baby - w.a. drabble

Reader x Wednesday Addams

Summary: Wednesday helps you study

Word Count: 600+

“Wednesdayyy,” You whine, dragging out her name as long as you can, “I’m dying here!”

You’re sat cris-crossed, sheets and papers everywhere; bag of cheetos lying discarded on the floor.

Your girlfriend of a year turns towards you, movements sharp and still. Her eyes narrow, the slightest bit more than normal, and you can tell she’s annoyed with you.

“No, you are not. Do not be dramatic Y/N, I’m starting to think Enid’s rubbed off on you too much. You asked me to watch you study, so here I am. I could be doing more productive things right now, YN.”

That was true. You had gone up to Wednesday after class and gently touched her knee, away from everybody else’s eye, and asked her over to “help you study” for a physics exam the next day.

You hoped Wednesday would take the hint and figure out that you weren’t really inviting her to study.

As always, your girlfriend isn’t very good with your hints. It’s almost funny how oblivious she is, contrasted to her intelligence and speediness in almost anything else.

You huff, then mumble lowly under your breath. “Yeah, you could be doing me.”

If Wednesday hears you, she doesn’t do much about it. Only a slight perk of an eyebrow and a roll of her eyes, before she makes her way towards you.

She sits on the floor beside you, grabbing the papers you’d previously thrown when you were complaining.

You stare at her as she does it, marvel in the beauty of your girlfriend. It’ll never get old, you think.

The sudden urge to ask her a question overwhelms you before you can stop yourself.

“Can I touch you?” You ask, with no lust but pure affection. It’s become a habit of yours to ask Wednesday if she’s comfortable with whenever you want to touch her, whether it be a hug or a kiss on the cheek. And right now, you really want to feel her, even if it just be the interlocking of pinkies.

Wednesday cocks her head, gives you a semi-stern look, almost as to say she won’t allow it until you study.

“I’m so tired Wednesday, please?” You plead, probably looking very pathetic to the black haired girl.

Her eyes soften, only the slightest, and obvious to no one but you. It’s a sign she lets you, you’re sure of it. You beam, taking the opportunity to snuggle yourself into her side.

Her touch is so comforting you feel your eyelids fluttering closed within the next few minutes. She was like magic, propelling you towards a dream state you can only reach when you’re with her.

“Come on, baby.” You hear her speak softly, a long pause between ‘on’ and ‘baby’ as if she’s not sure if she should be saying it.

You think it’s the cutest thing; her aversion to pet names. Or more so, her shyness in doing it. She only really ever does it when she’s at her most vulnerable. The last time you got a pet name was when she was literally bleeding out in your arms, many months ago.

You open your eyes, groggily, and feel them focus on Wednesday’s hands rather than her face.

She doesn’t miss it, and smiles just the tiniest bit, before she grabs your attention with a tut.

“I’ll help you, come on.” She urges, lightly touching your thighs to bring you to face her and looking somewhat bashful of the very action.

“Okay. Let’s do it.” You smile and squeeze her sides delicately. The effort she’s putting towards you melts your heart. Sitting up, fueled by Wednesday’s compassion; ready to take on the world if you have to. But first, you’ll deal with Ohm’s Law.

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄.

💞 — in which your selflessness makes kalim fall in love all over again.

💞 — kalim al-asim x reader

💞 — warnings: just sweet fluff. mentions of poisoning. me reminding everyone that kalim is not a complete idiot. working on requests soon!

💞 — 757 words.

Kalim was not an idiot. He knew the kind of burden he was to Jamil. Sure, he was bubbly and careless at times, but he was not an idiot. He knew about the target that his wealth put on his back, and while he could be careless about the assignments for Professor Trein, he could not do the same with his life. He still remembered the first time his father sat him down and told him about the kinds of people out there—the ones who would want to hurt him because just a drop of his blood was as priceless as ichor. That night, he had collected a few of his siblings and made them sleep with him, hoping that if slithering snakes came through the windows, he would be able to protect them. Now, he looks down at the plate of food in front of him, his father’s warnings echoing in his ears and filling his lungs unpleasantly. Kalim had taken you out on a date, and he forced Jamil back so that the two of you could have a moment alone, mostly because he wanted the chance to kiss you, and he respected Jamil too much to force him to sit through that.

But shit, did he forget about how Jamil had to be there to taste the food first? Kalim knew he did it because the life of a Viper was deemed more expendable than the life of a member of the Asim family. Still, he would have felt much more comfortable if Jamil could have at least been around to sneak into the kitchen of this restaurant. Kalim Al-Asim was not an idiot. He knew that he was valued more than others. He knew it was unfair. “Kalim?” you asked. The sound of your voice pulled him out of his stupor, and he blinked his round red eyes before smiling. It was that usual bright smile of his, the one that rivaled the bright sparkles the sun would create when glaring down at the ocean, “Are you enjoying yourself?” You just nodded, but then glanced at his plate before backing up into his eyes. You could easily call bullshit when it came to Kalim. He shared everything with you, even the bad stuff that you pried out of him so that he would feel better. You frowned before speaking, “Yeah—is something wrong? Did they put pork in it? I told them not to,” you said, and you were about to stand, but he grabbed your arm. Kalim shook his head. “No, no... It's just—never mind,” he said, sticking his fork into the food and letting go of your arm, “Let’s eat. I still want us to go to that park,” he began to ramble, trying to ignore the shovel which was digging a pit in his stomach. Glancing down at his hand, you sat back down. There was a soft tremble in his fingers, and that was when it hit you. In a sudden burst, you grabbed his hand and shoved his fork into your mouth, biting off the food. You chewed, swallowed, and blushed in embarrassment. That must have made you look impulsive and crazed, “Not poison.” By the sevens, he fell in love again. Part of him wanted to scold you and tell you never to do that again, but another part just wanted to drown you in enough gold to cover the entire desert. For a moment, you did not seem real, and all he could think about was how there was nothing he could give that would ever repay you. When his lip quivered, he bit the inside of his cheek to stop it. “You didn’t need to...” “I wanted to, Kalim.” A pause. Even if he did tell you how risky it was and how he could have lost you if it was poisoned, he knew it would go nowhere. He just nodded in agreement with your words and took a bite out of his food, much less reluctant now. When the silence continued for too long, you pushed your plate towards Kalim and reached your fork over into his. “Taste the sandwich—I think you’ll like it,” you said. Kalim smiled again and picked up your sandwich and bit into it. “Ohm, that's really goof," he said. His words were all muffled by the food in his mouth. You sent him a half-hearted glare before handing him your drink. “Chew and then talk.” Perhaps he should be more worried about choking on his food rather than being poisoned.

[agustdiv1ne]

dom!tutor!yn x sub!stoner!cocky!beomgyu who doesn't even care abt college, only wants to get in yns pants

ada. you just kinda got a lil fic out of me with this one so i made it pretty n aesthetic (might have to make this an actual fic, like. a Long one bc this concept is doing smth to me....) honestly, this turned into more of a switch!beomgyu x femdom!reader thing so i apologize for that,, HOWEVER, he is submissive for most of this <3

wc: 1.8k

(MDNI!!!!!!! and please stop asking for a part 2)

beomgyu couldn’t give less of a shit about college. his parents are rich — they could buy his degree if he asked them to — so what the fuck is he doing? why is he not in his dorm right now getting high off his ass? why is he here, sitting in this musty study room in the library? for him, that’s easy to answer: it’s all because of you, the pretty thing that he’s roped into being his physics tutor.

you’re currently trying to explain a law made by some dude named ohm and all he can really think about is how nice your lips would look around his cock, how your pretty fingers that are playing with your pencil would press so perfectly into his thighs as he thrusts into your mouth, tears welling in your eyes as he uses you to his heart’s content. you’re a cute little thing, aren’t you? a bit quiet in class, kinda submissive as far as he can tell — and all he wants to do is bend you over this desk and fuck you ‘til you’re crying for him to stop.

with half-hazy eyes from the joint he snuck a couple huffs from before this study session started and a stupid smirk, he places a hand on your thigh and watches you pause, brows furrowing as he trails it up a bit higher and squeezes the soft flesh under the hem of your shorts. your nose scrunches up as you move your attention from your notebook to him. with a scalding glare, you hiss, “the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

woah. did that just come out of your mouth? for some reason, the words only make his shit-eating grin grow wider, and he squeezes your thigh again. “nothin’. something wrong, sweetheart?”

you stare at him for a moment, gaze cold and calculating, nothing like the wide-eyed look you wear on a normal basis. all he can think about is how fucked he is as soon as he feels you wrench his hand from your thigh and slam it onto the table. he yelps at the pain that radiates through his fingers, rubbing them as he looks at you like a wounded puppy. your lips purse. “i know your stupid game, beomgyu. either let me tutor you, or get the fuck out.”

“jesus,” he sighs, hands shooting up defensively. “fine, whatever. do your worst, i guess.”

beomgyu can’t deny the twitch in his cock at your cruel words. you’re more feisty than he thought; maybe he’d let you take the lead, if you even let him get in your pants in the first place. he was wrong, you seem like the type who’d want control. of course you did. you’ve never fallen at his feet like some of the other girls in your class, the ones who know he’s rich and good in bed and friends with the best plugs on this godforsaken campus. you’ve never wanted anything to do with him; your sore lack of interest just made him want you more, so to let you shut down his attempts to fuck you right here, right now? nah, not fucking happening.

so after a bit of actual studying to appease you, his hand sneaks onto your thigh once again—

oh, he’s hit the jackpot.

you’re standing up now, hand gripping his chin so hard that it hurts. the tick in your jaw is enough to indicate that he’s really pissed you off, a fire surging behind your irises as you glower down at him. he’s leaned back into his seat because you’ve leaned in so close, caging him in — and fuck, does he like it. he’s never had someone be so mean to him. they’ve always let him take the lead, let him use them, but you? you have different plans, it seems.

“what did i say?” your tone is sharp, dangerous. the air around him suffocates his lungs, yet he smiles. he likes this game.

“to let you tutor me, and i was, so what’s your problem?” he shrugs as if you don’t look like you’re about to incinerate him with your gaze right now. your head tilts as soon as you glance down at the hard-on in his lap, that unimpressed, calculating glint returning to your eyes. suddenly, you let him go, shoving him backwards into his seat as you resume your own. you look down at his lap again.

“y’know what? fine. i’ll make you a deal: i’m gonna jerk you off as you do this problem set. if you complete it, i’ll let you cum.”

oh. oh wow. did he hear that properly? you’re gonna jerk him off? he feels a little dizzy because honestly, this is just the first step to getting you to give in to him, to lose control and ride him until he’s a drooling mess for you, ‘cause god, you’d love to him like that, wouldn’t you? he can tell that you would. so—

he gives you another one of his trademark cocky smirks, and says, “yeah, sure. i’ll get it done in no time.”

and beomgyu tries. he tries so hard to focus, but he does not, in the end, get it done in no time. it’s been thirty minutes, and all he’s gotten done is two out of the ten problems that you’ve been assigned to complete by tomorrow. how can he with your hand stroking up and down his cock so slow that he wants to cry? whenever he stops working to try and thrust into your hand, gain any semblance of pleasure, you remove it. he can’t fucking win.

“do the problem,” you command, leaning against the desk with the most bored expression ever painted on your face, as if you’re not jerking him off beneath the desk right now. as if you don’t even want to be here. “you have an hour to finish these, y’know. i can’t stay here all night with your dumbass. i have better shit to do.”

his hips twitch up. fuck. fuck. he needs you to degrade him more. you sound so pretty doing it.

“c’mon,” he whines. “can’t you just let me cum? i’m never gonna get this shit in an hour.”

“sounds like a you problem.” and you go back to stroking him, thumb teasing the flushed red tip and spreading his precum all over, further lubricating your hand to make your movements smoother. he gets back to work, trying his best to ignore how fucking good it feels to be edged like this. to get so close, only for it to be torn away from him. by problem seven, he’s sniffling and whimpering for you to let him cum, “please let me cum. please? wanna fuck you so bad. wanna feel you pussy around me, fuck.”

all you do is give him a mean-spirited laugh. “you really think i’m gonna give in and let you fuck me? y’probably thought i was some submissive little bitch at first, didn’t you? well, you thought wrong — so either solve these fucking problems, or else i’m not letting you cum. and you’re sure as hell not getting to fuck me. you’re more stupid than i thought. how pathetic.”

he could cum right now, but he thinks you might kill him if he did. so he struggles through problem eight. and nine. and ten — and finally, finally he’s finished. finally, you start to pump him as fast you can, whispering mean little names in his ear, calling him a stupid little bitch for thinking you’d be that easy, a fucking idiot for even trying. twisting your wrist, you lean over with your other hand to squeeze his balls, manicured nails biting into the sensitive flesh and—

he spills all over your hand with a pathetic whine, his whimpers loud enough for you to slap a hand over his mouth and whispering to keep fucking quiet, or do you want to be caught? he doesn’t care though, it feels too good to let go after being tortured for so long, his cum spurting all over his shirt and jeans and all over your hand.

when he’s finally done, he feels you wipe your hand on his shirt, mumbling how disgusting he is as you grab some hand sanitizer, apply it, and start to pack up. wait, you’re leaving now? he doesn’t get to fuck you?

“where are you going?” he questions, watching as you slip your calculator into your bag, not even sparing a glance at his ruined state.

“home,” you bluntly reply. “like i said, there’s no way in hell i’m letting you fuck me. and i’m not tutoring you anymore. find someone else.”

okay, that’s enough to get him panicked. “what? but you’re the only one who agreed to do it!”

“you think i care? go to the professor, then.”

“wait,” he says. grabbing the sleeve of your jacket before you can walk out. you turn, judgment apparent in the way you scan over his cum-covered clothes. despite that, he pushes on, “aren’t you at least a little turned on? why don’t you let me help you?”

“as if,” you scoff, even though yes, you’re really fucking turned on and wanna ride him until he’s an overstimulated mess right now. you’ve never had a boy bow to you as easily as him, and you enjoyed it more than you’d like to admit, but at the same time, this is beomgyu you’re talking about. he’s terrible news, and wouldn’t be a good influence on your academics. you try to pull away and head towards the door. “i’m out of here.”

“liar,” he accuses, pulling you backwards. “you have to be a least a little turned on. c’mon, i know you want to fuck me, wanna see me all stupid for you. you seem like the type to like that.”

he’s stupid and cocky and infuriating, but he’s also right. you want to tie him up and use him for hours. you want to watch his pretty rich boy face twist up and turn red as he starts to sob and whine for you to stop. you want to see him brainless and pliant and willing to do anything you ask. staring at him, your mind feeds you scenarios of his fucked-out face, sweat rolling down his temple and mixing with his tears. with a deep breath, you wrench your wrist from his grip and fully turn towards him.

you’ve made your decision.

“fine,” you say. “i’ll make you another deal: get a 90 on the exam next week, and maybe i’ll let you.”

there’s no way he can do that, can he? it sounds impossible in his mind given his track record of 20s and a 15 percent on the last exam — but he finds himself nodding anyway. he has to do this, he's desperate enough.

“you have a deal.”

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[fox-buried-in-maple-leaves]

"I just want to sleep…"

He whispered and you wondered if he was addressing you, despite your mostly asleep state. But as he sat up with an agitated sigh. Moved to fluff his pillow, laid back down on his back. You knew he was staring upwards, another, more defeated sigh escaped him.

"Please."

The request came like a prayer. And you knew it wasn't you he was bargaining with. Instead some force unseen to you, maybe even unseen to him. But it was a plea nonetheless and you wished to comfort him, wished to turn around and sling your arm over his waist.

But you felt heavy, still, or maybe even frozen. He sat up again, his long hair brushed against your arm and you held your breath as he got out of bed. He was careful, quiet. If you weren't already awake, you'd have never known. He pulled the blanket back over you properly.

You licked your lips as you continued to face the wall away from him. He seemed to linger, as if waiting to see if you'd move. But you stayed still, chest rising and falling with soft breaths. As much as you wished to comfort him, you knew better. He was always like that, the more somebody cared, the worst he'd end up feeling.

So you stayed still.

Waited for him to leave the room.

And when he did you turned in the bed, pulling his pillow into your arms. You inhaled his scent, felt comforted by the lingering cold he left. You pressed your face against the soft fabric, exhaled into it. Eventually, he'd return, and eventually he'd need his pillow back.

At least you told yourself that, that he might come back to bed. But he rarely ever did, and that was the thought you fell asleep with.

(Pretend there's a banner here)

Taglist: @cerasus--flores

[thegnomelord]

Ohm nom - 🦈 (I have some news, I was doing some research on DnD species and found a humanoid shark species called Sharkin. I though yo! Thats fin-flipin awesome but um there is one paragraph that made me take a backturn. I highlighted the main bits "Sharkin fought with and hunted any sort of creature that looked either powerful or threatening to them, including dinosaurs and dragons, making them top predators inside and outside of water. They are hated by most if not all surface dwelling races, making them enemy number one to almost everyone. They are even hated and despised by dragons, since the first time they killed an adult red dragon. This was not a one time problem, and has caused a bitter rivalry between the Dragons and Sharkins. They favored the taste of dragon flesh, from that day onward it became the largest badge of honor available for a Sharkin to hunt and kill a dragon. This then henceforth became a great and mighty challenge, for a member of the Sharkin royal family to hunt and bag a dragon, the bigger the better. The royal family loved the taste of dragons so much they made it their most favored treat among all other delicacies of their people. They often form hunting parties specifically to hunt and bag a dragon for any special occasion or festival. This made any and all dragon absolutely despise Sharkin, for they looked at them as prey and dragons being the vain creatures they are hate them. A dragon that sees a Sharkin will immediate become enraged and will do whatever it can to kill and devour it." NOW reasonably i was quite frazzled and immedietly though about our lil Shark captain of our lil marine team, thats partnered, HAND in HAND with a Dragon Captain. But then another idea came to me, this Sharkin species, (despite how cool they are and i still love) are built on the sterotype that Shark are horrendous terrifying vicous, agreesive creature. When in reality Sharks are just fish puppies that could murder you if you pissed them off enough. So that got me thinking, what if due to rumours, shark hybrids were thought to be Dangerous and Hazordous species, due to horrendous strerotypes, and a movie, most were meant to be cool, but were misinterpited so badly that people started getting afriad of them and in turn, aggressive towards. This is mainly based on a real thing, Both the author of Jaws, Peter Benchley, and the director, Steven Spielberg, regret the negative impact the film had on shark populations and the perpetuation of shark stereotypes. So people think that the captains would naturally butt heads, due to sterotypes and rumours that nearly brought the two species to war. (Which was luckily debunked way before anything got violent and now both species are currently fighting against anything harmful towards the other. Creating the oddest but oddly wholesome cross-species relationships. ) Only to find out the two are bound by the hip. waz your take? *Administer Foreheads Kisses*)

Oh yeah, I know the jaws effect lol It's fascinating how fiction can influence reality and reality can influence fiction, sorry this took so long and is so rough, but I got hit with the InspirationTM in the middle of the night lol.

CW:SFW, Price x male reader, monster au,

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

At first sight, the feelings you and the good captain had for each other could be considered tense professionalism at best and disdain at worst. It isn't a surprise why that is; the hate and suspicion running between your species is old and deep like the trenches. Dragons hardly want to be a shark's dinner, and a shark would rather not become soup.

Still, the peace between your species held, and so did the tense relationship between you two. To the others it looked like you never agreed; they've lost count how many times you and Price had spent hours arguing over battle plans. How you two would release all the anger you had in the ring, so much so you had to spar outside because the military didn't have the funds to fix the ring after every match. How you would bare your teeth and Price would snarl and growl at you at every little argument, thinly veiled insults flying like bullets out of your mouths.

What they didn't know was how softly Price would purr when you two laid in bed, how gently his claws traced your shark hide along your torso. Sprawled out over your chest like you're his mountain of golden coins, more a cat than a dragon really, Price is the picture perfect example of bliss.

"Comfortable huh?" You hum, carding your clawed fingers through his hair, taking the time to scratch around the base of his horns.

"Mhm," He hums, content blue eyes closing as he leans into your touch. "Finally a moment to ourselves." Price chuckles, nuzzling his head into your neck. He breathes in your scent with a happy sigh, sharp fangs nibbling on your throat, the comforting scent calming his mind.

"Uhuh," You chuckle in turn, "The boys sure know how to keep us on our toes." You grin and your hand slides down from his head to his back, even gentler there as you trace the scar where his wing used to be. His remaining wing stretches out, weakly shaking as if trying to stretch, before it falls back down to lay on the bed and hang off it.

Price shivers, a low sound rumbling from his chest. "Can't leave those muppets alone for a moment." He huffs. "Did you see MacTavish? The lad nearly lost his tail because of his toy." A soft growl slips past his lips, neither of you had been pleased when Soap's tail got caught on fire thanks to his explosive he swore was 'safe'. Price's tail curls around yours, and though your tail is too rigid to do the same, he can still feel you reciprocate in the way your tail tip wags like a dog's.

"He's your problem in the morning." Your words earn you a sharp nip at your throat, more of an admonishment than an actual threat. "Ow." You say, in revenge pinching his pudgy side.

"You deserve it." Price laughs, forked tongue licking up the stray drops of blood that leak down from where his teeth had cut your skin. Placing a hand on your chest Price rises just enough to catch your lips in a slow kiss. You can taste your blood on his tongue, along with cigar smoke and something inherently draconic that makes your mouth water for a bite of his flesh.

But his kisses are enough to quench your hunger, gun calloused hands holding your head still so he can pepper kisses along your brows and down your nose, on each cheek and down your jaw. There's no need to rush when the night is dark and the sun isn't ready to rise yet.

It's peaceful.

The door slams open, light and voices flooding in "Captains we need-" Johnny's voice pitters off as he takes in the sight, bright eyes glowing in the darkness "-you..."

Not so peaceful.

[braxlrose]

can you do the headcanons of Tokio Hotel and fem!reader whose main priority is to take care of them? in the sense that she puts their feelings before her own? like lacing their shoes, giving them flowers, making them happy, etc. 😭 literally bro overwhelms them with this tenderness.. fuck..in my head how they randomly walk along the sidewalk and suddenly she crouches and she ties their untied shoe 😭😭 or out of nowhere she gives them a flower because it reminds her of him😭 FUCK OR HOW SHE GIVES THEM DRINK FROM HER DRINK OHM🫡

me with a flower for Bill:

a/n: sorry that this took me so long to get too, but I hope you enjoy this and I hope you feel better!

tokio hotel x f!reader who takes care of them

• the whole band is so grateful for you. you're so sweet to them and are always helping them with stuff even when they didn't ask for it. they don't know what they'd do without you.

• whenever it's cold out, you're basically their mother. you buy them gloves/mittens, hats, jackets, scarves, everything. and you won't let them leave until you know they're warm.

• you will literally stand in the bathroom door and won't let them leave until they've finished brushing their teeth 💀 they complain about it, but at the end of the day, they all have pearly white.

• when they get sick, which isn't often because of you, but you won't leave their sides. you make them soup, and get them medicine, read to them. just sit with them and make sure they get rest.

• bringing them waterbottles after concerts so they aren't dehydrated after being on stage for so long.

• when you guys go on walks you're constantly bending down to tie their shoes because apparently they just lack the ability to do that 💀 they've told you like a million times you don't need to, but the last time you didn't, tom almost fell flat on his face

• you always stop and get them coffees in the morning. and you have their coffee orders memorized down to the last detail.

• sometimes you tire yourself out taking care of them but you can't seem to stop. it just helps you and makes you happy knowing you can take care of someone else and that you can make them feel safe and happy. and it helps you feel needed.

• the guys always thank you for everything you do. they want you to know that they would be nowhere without you helping them.

• because you were taking care of them so much, you forgot to eat all day and ended up passing out. they got so fucking scared. tom, bill and gustav were all freaking out while georg was the only one using common sense 💀 they eventually got you to wake up and they were all apologizing like crazy for taking advantage of everything you do (even though they werent) . and they treated you like a princess for the rest of the week.

• they literally get so happy whenever you cook for them. and bill and tom are really happy whenever you cook them vegetarian meals because he knows you cook other stuff for georg and gustav, so it means a lot to them whenever you go out of your way to make them food.

• they all seem to just suck at packing their bags for when they have to go on flights so they always ask you to help them with packing. you're really good at folding their clothes into their bags and making everything neat and tidy.

• whenever you're at a hotel room, you will make sure their rooms are clean. and by that I mean you will glare at them to death if they leave a plate or food on the floor because you know you'd eventually be picking it up if they didn't. after a while, they learned how to be clean because they felt really bad you were always doing stuff for them.

• you're always comforting bill whenever an interviewer says something about his appearance. or you'll say something to the interviewer.

• "so bill, we've noticed that you're the only one that dresses likethat? Isn't it kind of weird, why don't you just dress like normal?"

• and bill just kind of sits there awkwardly laughing until you're like, "oh you know it's just this crazy thing called he likes his style." in a sarcastic and mocking voice which shuts the interviewer up pretty quick.

• if you're ever out walking and you see a flower you really like you'll always pick some and bring them back to the band

• buying clothes for the band if you see something in a shop they'd really like.

• if they're super tired after a concert, and you guys haven't gone to a party, you'll tuck them all into bed and give them a kiss on the forehead before saying good night.

• you're always making sure to keep an eye on them at parties, making sure they don't drink too much or get into any fights. you usually only have a couple drinks or less because you're the designated driver, but sometimes they can loosen you up and get you to have some more fun if you guys plan on taking an uber.

taglist: @hearts4kaulitz @burntb4bydoll @spelaelamela @bored0writer @fishinaband @billsleftnutt @tokiiohot @bluepoptartwithsprinkles @saumspam @5hyslv7 @killed-kiss @memog1rl @80s-tingz @billybabeskaulitz

[cloned-eyes]

reading this while actually having breakfast. Good way to start the day

*SLAMS DOWN PROMPT LIST * 15 with Wrecker. 15 WITH WRECKER!!! PLEASE *falls down on my knees* PLEASE!!

Also hi there^^ super awesome and congratulating for this follower milestone. You're pretty cool and I'm looking towards seing your future stuff. Much love and have a lovely day:)

I am HERE for this kind of energy. And wrote this after a wee bit o’the old THC, so I hope it matches the energy, because I was cracking up writing it.. ;) This was SO FUN, because I think Wrecker and I relate on this point, LOL. And it’s just the perfect line for him. Alrighty, here goes!

Wrecker x GN!Reader - “I'm awful at pillow talk… so uhh… can I get you some food?"

Word Count: 700ish (I’m sorry, you can return it for a replacement within 30 days) 

Content: Minors prolly DNI; pretty clear reference to just-finished sex, sensual eating, kissin… 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You collapsed onto Wrecker’s chest, bodies slick with sweat from some supreme lovemaking, and slowly rolled off to the side as you both got rearranged. Flopping onto your back and pushing your hair out of your face, you let out a low whistle, earning a throaty chuckle from the massively beaming man next to you. How you got here, you couldn’t even fathom, but the path leading to your tryst had been full of joy, laughter, delight, and connection. Yet it still held that sheepishness of novelty, the precarious early stages where everything was yet to be discovered, and was slowly revealed as intimacy grew. 

ANYWAY.

You basked in the glow of your evening together, smirking after a quick glance at the chrono revealed it was still fairly early. You’d only made it through the first part of your date -- dinner but no dessert -- before you found yourselves eagerly and delightedly tearing off each other’s clothes, barely making it back to your apartment before diving into the tumultuous ocean of desire you’d built up toward each other. And now, reveling in the descent, you watched him sit up onto an elbow, leaning to face you. He regarded you for a moment, with those large puppy dog eyes that made your knees weak, and studied your face with the seeming intent of saying something profound. You lost yourself in his gaze, so taken in by the softness within such an intimidating specimen, and wondered what could be so meaningful for him to put such thought into. 

“I'm awful at pillow talk… so uhh… can I get you some food?"

You laughed, simultaneously surprised and yet not at all surprised, as if there were nothing else in the world he could have replied with that would be as perfect as that. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and gave your cheek a gentle pinch, rolling to get out of bed. “I knew you had good taste!” he called as he snapped the waistband of his boxers and trundled for the kitchen. 

Wrecker’s return, after a bit of banging and beeping in the kitchen (not that kind, you ol devil you), heralded the fruits of his labor: two large plates heaping with the most luscious warm cinnamon roll you’d ever laid eyes on. He flopped onto the bed next to you, keeping the plates perfectly stable, and nestled up against you, sitting tall against the headrest. One plate was passed into your hands, and you stared down at the gooey piles of cream cheese frosting nestled amongst the folds of warm, fluffy cinnamon bread. The smell was intoxicating, making your mouth water, and you watched with surprise as Wrecker dove into his with a bare hand, going right for the center. Talk about a zest for life. He scooped it out with a few fingers (hot), and you watched him slowly raise it to your mouth, which you weren’t expecting. With a boyish face of gleeful anticipation, he watched you bite it out of his hand. You made sure to drag your lips along a few fingers, further brightening his expression, and felt like this day could absolutely not get any better. 

The two of you slowly fed each other cinnamon rolls, breaking off chunks to scoop up some icing and gently place in each other’s mouths. It felt wildly intimate, yet also as comfortable, fun, and natural as could be. The delicious bites were punctuated with quiet conversation, and when your plates were both cleared, Wrecker pushed them off to the side, one going too far and falling to the ground with a loud clatter. He grinned and shrugged, rolling back to take you in his arms and press a sweet kiss against your lips that tasted of frosting. He was so warm and musky, so broad and soft, you wanted to drown yourself in your senses and never forget the feeling of the moment. Nestling your face against his chest, which radiated heat and serenaded you with his steady heartbeat, you took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh of deep contentment.

Would you like more information on becoming a certified Wrecker Girlie (tm)? Look no further than this convenient PSA by @wreckers-wife

[bokutosbiceps]

don't overthink it

tokita ohma x gn!reader | fluff | 1.3k words

prompt: ohma + “since when do you blush around me?”

warnings: some suggestive/18+ themes but nothing explicit

a/n: the more i write for ohms the more i fucking love him 🥺 it’s so pathetic. ALSO, AGAIN, OHMS IS NOT A TYPO. IT’S MY CUTE NICKNAME FOR HIM THAT NO ONE CAN TAKE AWAY FROM ME. also i’m p sure i made this gn, but please let me know if there are any gender specific identifiers so I can fix that 😉

18+ MINORS DNI

You scrunched your nose at a tickling sensation that woke you up. Willing your eyes to creak open, you squinted at the bright afternoon sunlight flooding into your window. Not really bothering to find out the source of the tickling, you made an effort to turn around in bed but a sturdy hold on your waist forbade you from doing this. You figured you had just wrapped yourself too tight in your blankets again and made a pushing movement to whatever was around your waist.

The feeling of your fingertips coming into contact with skin made you jolt from your stupor and you fully opened your eyes to see a mess of wavy, brown hair just below you. You knew exactly who this unruly head of hair belonged to. Looking down, you saw Ohma holding on to you tightly, his face nestled in your bosom. You felt your face heat up at the intimacy of the situation and wondered when you ever got this close. Then you remembered.

You had been invited by Ohma to come watch the Kengan tournament, and weeks of watching him train and watching him win matches had ensued, and you were always there after the matches to keep him company. You were one of the few people that Ohma could stand for more than a few minutes; he liked your personality and he liked your face. He really couldn’t complain. But he especially liked how you doted on him after his matches, always worrying over his bruises and scrapes or gaping in awe at his strength despite his injuries.

The events of last night flooded back to you as your brain sprinted to catch up with your thoughts. Ohma had showed up to your hotel room at two in the morning, completely unannounced. You quickly allowed him inside after seeing an unusual look on his face. You had only seen him like this once, and that was after meeting Setsuna for the first time after many years. He looked like he could’ve killed a god in that moment.

After an hour of him silently laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, you coaxed him into speaking. He started to talk about his childhood, his past. You were worried, he was not a sentimental person. You asked him about the future, since it seemed like he was specifically avoiding that topic.

“I don’t think about the future much.” Ohma blinked at the ceiling before turning his gaze to you.

“How can you say that? You’re always thinking about your next meal.” You teased, reaching over to flick him from where you sat cross legged on the bed with him.

“True.” He sat up and propped himself on his elbows still looking at you. “Thinking about the future is pointless, though. I don’t know what will happen and thinking about it won’t change anything.” His gaze was unusually soft.

“Ohms, what’s going on with you? You’re scaring me.” You scooted closer to him and placed your hand on his knee, almost pleading with him. “We’re friends. You can talk to me about anything.”

With speed that only Ohma could muster, he grabbed your hand from his knee and used it to pull you forward into his lap, keeping his eyes trained on yours. Before you could ask what he was doing, he moved your hand to the back of his neck and you gripped it, allowing Ohma to pull you to his lips.

He kissed you roughly, but with a slow sensuality that seemed almost like he was savoring it, drinking in every second. He laid back down on the bed, pulling you on top of him and continuing to move his lips with yours.

You placed your hands on his chest and pressed, effectively pulling your lips from his, only a thin string of saliva connecting you.

“What are you doing?” You panted, somewhat shocked that Ohma had just crossed that bridge with you but also somewhat pleasantly surprised.

“Kissing you.” Ohma smirked up at you, letting his head rest back on the bed, your face still in his large hands.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been wanting to do it for a long time.” Ohma traced your lips with his thumb, still looking up at you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” You muttered, and before you knew it, your head was dipping back down to connect your lips again. Ohma rolled over so that you were under him and separated his lips from yours to pull off his shirt before making quick work of yours.

You and Ohma had crossed the bridge that you never dreamed that you would cross, but you had always hoped you would. And you didn’t know it, but he had been hoping, too.

And now, here he was, cuddled up to you and snoozing peacefully.

You felt your eyelids begin to feel heavy once again and cast aside all of your frantic thoughts to welcome a short nap. You would deal with this later.

Two hours later, you woke up to an empty bed. You assumed you must have been dreaming about the romp you had shared with Ohma last night, or that you woke up in his arms, and turned over on your back to stare at the ceiling. You thought back to how nice it felt to be held by him, kissed by him, touched by him…

Once again, you were jolted from your thoughts by the bathroom door opening and shutting, producing a very naked Ohma.

You sat up quickly, blushing deeply once you realized this was real and you were also very naked, and gathered the sheets to cover your chest.

“Since when do you blush around me?” Ohma cocked an eyebrow as he approached you, standing next to the bed. You averted your eyes from his body, trying your hardest not to stare.

“Since you came in here last night and fucked me?”

“Was it that surprising to you?”

“Yes! I thought we were just friends! You never seemed interested in me, or anyone, for that matter!”

Ohma let out a dry laugh. “You didn’t know I was into you?”

“No, Ohma, I didn’t!”

“Well, now you know.”

Silence ensued for a couple of seconds, both of you wondering how this would continue. You were the first to speak up.

“So, what are we?”

Ohma frowned.

“Labels are stupid, you know? Isn’t it enough to know that I love you?”

Your mind was thrown into a frenzy. He loved you? You had barely ever seen emotions come from this man, but here he was, telling you he loved you?

“Ohma…love? What do you mean by love? As in, like, a friend or a girlfriend, because, we just had sex and—” Ohma shut you up with a kiss and a sigh, a small smile playing on his lips as they met yours. He held your face by your chin once he pulled away. You relaxed a little bit.

“You remember when you asked me what I think about the future?”

You nodded slowly.

“I think about you.” Ohma let go of your chin and gazed down at you. You tried extremely hard to avoid looking at his tanned and toned body before you, since the guy had just confessed to you, but you found yourself really struggling. He spoke again, snapping you out of your lustful daze. “Does that answer your question?”

You thought about it. Ohma was the type of man to mean what he said and say what he meant. If he was telling you he loved you, it must have been because he truly meant it. You stood up and placed your hands on either side of his face, watching your thumbs as they lightly skimmed over his cheekbones. You felt him staring at you as you took your time admiring his features, likely awaiting your response. You placed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Yes.”