#So this was kind of inevitable ig | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanillawurld · 16 days

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༊*·˚Sensación del Bloque

✧.* Pair - Joost Klein x Fem! Reader

✧.* Tags & Warnings - fluff and cussing ig

✧.* Summary - Joost finds out about his friend's new neighbor and doesn't act upon introductions until he sees her in all of her beauty.

✧.* Extra- a couple things... reader is implied to be latina, implied to have a more tanner/browner/darker complex, and reader is going to have acrylic nails and gold jewelry cuz those are my favorite things in the world rn… also i dont speak dutch so the highlighted parts are the ppl speaking dutch. ALSOO reader has a place holder smell (vanilla) but yall can change it if you want ALSOOO reader doesn’t speak dutch okay im done now

✧.* Word Count - 1,319

Joost always enjoyed meeting new people. It always allows him to share his work with others. He can be shy about his work but it's inevitable for people to know about him and his art. People never know when they are going to meet someone new unless it's planned.

Just like any other day for an artist, Joost was working with his friend, Antu, on the production of some beats for a new song in his friend’s apartment. “Man, I'm kind of hungry I'm not going to lie,” Antu randomly said, taking his eyes off his computer to look at Joost. They’ve been working on beats since the morning and being too focused on work, they forgot about the basic essentials a human body needs. Food.

“Well, what do you want to get? I don’t feel like driving so pick a place near here,” Joost replied.

Joost felt like it was an eternity letting Antu pick a fast food place. When he finally decided where to get food, they placed an order through the phone for pick up and waited. It was a quiet couple of minutes of waiting until Antu broke the silence, “I got a new neighbor”

“Seriously?”

“Yup. I’ve been trying to talk to her but she kind of ignores me. Like she’s playing hard to get,” Antu shared.

Joist gave him a confused look, “I thought you were talking to Sofie. Did you guys stop talking or something?”

Antu looked at Joost, “No… Im still talking to Sofie but that doesn’t mean im taken,” he said, making Joost roll his eyes.

“Do you know where she moved from?” Joost asked

Antu shrugged, “I heard some of the other neighbors say she’s not from Europe though. Probably somewhere in the Americas.”

A couple of minutes rolled by and Joost decided to start making his way to the place to pick up the food they ordered. He walked out of the apartment and checked his phone to see if the order was complete. While he was checking, he heard the next door open and was met by the most gorgeous looking woman he has ever seen. that must’ve been the new neighbor Antu was talking about.

She was gorgeous. everything about her screamed “goddess”. Her hair, her makeup, her jewelry, her nails everything. Joost didn’t wanna stare, but it was hard not to. The way her hair hugged the frame of her face. The way her flawless makeup sat. The way her gold jewelry reflected on her skin. The way her acrylic nails made her hands look pretty. He was able to smell her sweet vanilla scent from where he was at. something about her, made him intrigued to know her, even though this was the first time he was seeing her.

The woman was trying to look for something in her purse and seemed like she was struggling. She ended up giving up and started walking towards the elevator past him, but what she didn’t notice was that she dropped a euro. Joost saw this and thought that God was giving him a huge opportunity to talk to her. He picked up the euro and prepared himself.

“Excuse me ma’am” she ignored him “Ma’am, excuse me” she ignored him again. He got closer to her and thats when she turned around to face him. She felt his presence. Joost was even more nervous than he was. He was up close to her and felt his body go weak. “You dropped this, ma’am” he said to her.

She gave him a confused look at first and looked at his hand that had the euro note. “Is this… mine?” she said in a confused tone. From that short moment, Joost figured out why Antu couldn’t talk to her. She didn't speak Dutch. Joost didn’t know how Antu didn’t know since he said himself that she wasn’t from Europe.

“Oh, sorry! Yes this is yours. You dropped it.” Joost said in English.

He handed her the euro and gave her a nervous chuckle. She smiled back and gently took it from him. “Thank you so much,” she said to him. Her voice was heaven to Joost’s ears.

“No, problem,” he said. She started walking away, but Joost didn’t want her to. He didn’t want to stop talking to her. He wanted more from her. “Um, ma’am” he grabbed her attention again, “did you just move here?”

“I did. 2 months ago.” she replied, “im still trying to figure out where places are and stuff. Im trying to find a good clothing store near by.”

More opportunities were coming to the Dutch artist and he didn’t want them to go to waste. “Oh, I know a bunch of stores around here. I was actually about to head out to pick up some food from a place that’s around a lot of good clothing stores. If you want we can walk together around that place,” he exclaimed.

The woman gave him a smile and a smooth giggle, “You’re sweet, but im going to pass. I want to learn on my own.”

Joost was slightly disappointed but he couldn’t complain. “W-Well if you ever need any help, im always at my friends place working, stop by anytime,” he suggested.

She nodded and continued walking, but Joost called her out again. “Uh, ma’am?” she turned around to look at him, “Can I get your name? My name is Joost” he held out his hand for her to shake.

She looked down at his hand and back at him. “Everyone here is so nice,” she commented, “My name is (Y/N),” she said while taking out her hand to shake his. Joost was analyzing every detail about her. The way she talked, the way she dressed, her smooth hand, everything. As she walked away, she turned around one last time to tell him, “I like your outfit by the way.”

He watched the way her hips swayed as she walked and was enamored. Joost smiled almost like a dork. He felt extremely giddy inside like he could jump up high like they would in those corny musicals about high school. His moment was cut short though, when Antu opened the door. “Dude, where’s the food?” he said.

“Shit, sorry. I’ll go get it right now,” Joost said while taking out his wallet.

Antu looked to his side and saw his new neighbor walking towards the elevator. He immediately connected the dots. “Bro, don’t tell me you managed to talk to her,” he questioned, but by the way Joost was smiling, he already got his answer. “Please tell me your secret, i’m being dead ass,” Antu said.

From the moment that left Antu’s mouth, Joost wanted to gate keep. He didn’t want to tell him that (Y/N) doesn’t speak Dutch she he bullshitted, “You just got to have personality to pull someone like her.”

Anti rolled his eye, “Alright calm down, buddy. I will say you are lucky though. i’ve seen men basically line up outside to see her go out because she’s always going out. Didn’t think she’d talk to a boy white as you.”

“Okay, fuck you.” Joost replied. He was shocked by what Antu said though. Having men line up for a woman who is new to the country is crazy.

“Dude, she’s basically the street sensation. You are extremely lucky to even talk to her. I’ve seen her ignore so many people. Don’t know how you did it,” Antu commented before closing the door to his apartment.

Whatever spell (Y/N) put on Joost, it was working hard. he wanted to know more about her. Where she was from, who she was, but he needed to wait. He would wait until his death to know about her. He couldn’t wait to see more of her. This was the first woman to ever make him desperate for more and it wasn’t driven by lust.

˖◛. *. ⋆ Vanilla Speaks

this was a little something... where my Latina Joost Klein bitches at

#joost klein #joost x reader #joost klein x reader #joost oneshot

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miraclewoozi · 1 year

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ODE TO A CONVERSATION (STUCK IN YOUR THROAT) - c.sc

Everything with Seungcheol has always been easy. Easier than with anyone else, anyway. (and it hits me — i don’t want anybody else touching you like i do, like i do, like me. is it okay? that i don’t want anybody else touching you like i do.)

pairing; choi seungcheol x fem!reader. genre; smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) with a little bit of plot. friends-ish to lovers to (healthy) exes to fwb to -- warnings; writing early parts of this felt low-key pretentious but it was kinda on purpose because i was trying something stylistic and outside my normal?? so??? but on a real: swearing. alcohol consumption (they aren’t drunk at the time of having sex). reader is written to be wearing makeup. it's kinda just filth. proof read but all the words just melted together eventually (if i missed a typo, no i didn't <3) smut warnings under the cut! w/c; 6k. a/n; del water gap’s ode to a conversation stuck in your throat was my most listened to song last year. i now can’t listen to it without thinking about s.coups (i also just point blank can't stop thinking about s.coups) -- enjoy x

smut warnings: big! dick! seungcheol!, making out, fingering, oral (f rec), unprotected p-in-v sex (make good choices), lil bit of edging if u squint, overstimulation if u tilt ur head like 82º to the left, manhandling, soft-ish dom!cheol, lotta praise, use of pet names (babe, baby good girl, my girl, sweetheart), kinda possessive!cheol, jealous!cheol, biting and marking (hickeys, digging nails in), light light light light light crying/dacryphilia (not really, like there are Some tears in eyes but just to be safe ig)

Everything with Seungcheol has always been easy.

Easier than with anyone else, anyway.

You’d known him in passing for a long time before anything happened. A friend of a friend — someone you always smiled at and chatted with at social events, because he was easy to smile at, and so very easy to chat to. You can’t even remember which birthday or New Year’s party or Halloween bash or Saturday night jamboree was the first: they’ve since all just dissolved into one pleasantly foggy memory, and every time you saw him thereafter he made you feel so comfortable, so at home that it felt like the hundredth.

And it continued that way for a few years. Pleasantries exchanged in friends' kitchens, conversations across beer-garden tables. Catching up on each other's lives in a hallway outside the bathroom for handfuls of minutes at a time before one of you inevitably got tugged away by the friend you were waiting for. You were comfortable with him, around him: he just had that kind of energy. So on a big group night out one evening, when you found yourself feeling a little uncomfortable being flirted with by someone you had never met, you instinctively flashed Seungcheol a look from across the bar. He came straight over and immediately to your rescue; with him slipping all too naturally into the fake role of your unimpressed significant other, you realised that it was easy to be whisked away under his arm, easy to let him buy you your next drink, easy to let him kiss you breathless just to really drive the pretend point home.

Staring up at him after, feeling his drink-chilled hands cupping your cheeks, watching his gaze flicker between your lips and your eyes, you realised that igniting a spark had never felt so…

And it was easy to kiss him again later that night under the influence of a little too much wine and blanketed by a couple of lowered inhibitions. It was easy to giggle into the crook of his neck as he leaned against a stone wall, trailing his fingers up and down your arms, rambling about how he wanted to kiss you again and again and again and forever, maybe, because he thought your smile was beautiful and your lips were so soft and you tasted like cherries, and he liked cherries, and if you could kiss him every day he’d never have a reason to be unhappy ever again. It was so fucking easy to fumble in your purse for your phone, to let him put in his number, and when he asked you if he could take you out for dinner, when he messily typed a text message out begging the same question and sent it to you (‘so we both remember, tomorrow’), it was so, so easy to say yes.

Then, the first date? It was beyond easy. You talked and talked and laughed and laughed, each of you having a few cocktails with your food, never running short of conversation, never not finding little ways to touch each other both under and over the table. Arranging the second, and then the third, and inviting him up for a coffee after date number five was easy, and falling into bed with him was easy. Holding him close, your sweat-slicked bodies moving as one entity in the dark: it was easy, and the pillow-talk after about what this growing thing between you was, came so damn…

So you introduced him to your parents, and your other friends, and in turn he did the same with you. Two and a half years breezed by, then, and even the hard parts… Even the arguing and time spent away from one-another, whether he was sleeping out on your couch following an emotionally charged spat or trips taken as part of his job demanded he spend weeks at a time without you. The hard parts? By comparison to everyone before him, they were easy. Anniversaries and birthdays and Valentine’s days: he spoiled you, and you doted on him, and being together was just so–…

Even the day you decided to end your romantic pursuit, while impassioned, wasn’t hard. In part, maybe it was because it was a long time coming: you still loved each other deeply but your lives were so chaotic and different, and it wasn’t fair to keep waiting around for each other when it just clearly wasn’t your time. And in part, because he was so calm in how he held your hand tightly in his (even when he dried your tears), how he kissed your forehead, in how he told you that you deserved more than the life he could give you. And at the end of it all, when he promised to always be there for you, naturally you promised the same back.

Keeping that promise? Well. It was easy.

So what if it took a few weeks for things to feel sort of normal? If you had to remember how to greet him without offering your lips for a kiss or your arms for a hug? If you had to get used to sleeping alone, and waking up alone, all over again? The thing that mattered was that he was still in your life, and you were still in his: your relationship wasn’t broken, it was just different, and once the little transition period was over, once you were both used to your new normal… Being ‘just friends’ was kind of easy.

(Kind of, being the operative phrase.)

Six months post split, you mentioned to him in passing that you were going on a date the following day. As soon as you realised what you’d said, you regretted bringing it up, but without missing a beat Seungcheol lowered his drink and raised an eyebrow at you, excitedly asking you to tell him everything. The person’s name, what they were like, how you met them, where you were going. He didn’t feel like your ex-boyfriend, then and there: he felt like a best friend. So you told him every detail, and he listened intently, following up by requesting you text him when you got to the date and again when you got home so he knew you were safe. Of course, you said that you would. First, because it was sensible. Second, his requests were easy enough.

And the date went okay, all things considered: the guy was nice, if a little bit awkward, and you had a good time bowling with him and playing some games in the old arcade, but there just wasn’t a spark. Everything felt difficult. Forced. So when he was the one to say to you after that he’d had a nice evening but felt that maybe you should just be friends, you couldn’t help but feel relieved. Letting out a breath and giving a genuine smile, you agreed, thanking him for his refreshing candour, before bidding him good night and making your way back to your car.

You held your phone between your fingertips for a while as the engine ran and the heating started to kick in, slowly warming you from the outside, in. As you thawed, you bit the inside of your cheek absentmindedly, a potentially questionable decision planting itself in your mind. Your body didn’t mind how good of an idea your brain thought it was, though. Your fingers moved entirely of their own accord; finding and pressing Seungcheol’s contact name was so starkly different to everything else had been, all damn night. It was easy. His sleep-roughened voice drifting down the phone sounded so easy. Asking if he minded you swinging by his place for a coffee and a debrief felt easy.

Two hours later, writhing on his mattress, two orgasms deep with his head still buried between your thighs and one of his hands groping at your tit as if his life depended on it?

Fucking. Easy.

So then, started the pattern. Waking up the next morning absolutely swimming in one of his oversized t-shirts should’ve felt like guilt and a betrayal of all your self-growth, of your moving on, of your friendship. It should’ve felt uncomfortable and gross and maybe a little panic-inducing, but it never did. It was warm and cosy, it was familiar and comforting, and when he greeted you ‘good morning’ with a pillow to the face, you knew that nothing was ruined; rather, this was just another new difference to your ever-changing relationship with him. Waking up this way… Well, it felt—

Look, you’re only human. You both have needs. After spending two and a half years learning each other's bodies, being together in that way again came so, so…

After every date gone wrong, after every stressful week at work, in the midst of every family drama and friendship breakdown, you found yourself seeking respite in his apartment, between his bedsheets. In his tongue lapping at your pussy; in the head of his cock bruising the back of your throat until he spilled his release into your mouth; in the slow, deep, precise thrusts of his hips as he buried himself inside you over and over and over and over, taking your mind off the stress and concentrating only on making you feel good, on helping you forget everyone and everything else–…

And now?

Well, now, you’re on your way back from yet another miserable date.

About three months ago, you stopped even considering giving the taxi drivers directions to your own place. Now, when you slide into the backseat, you automatically reel off the address you always end up at after a night like this. When your dates only talk about themselves, or say something so wildly out of pocket that it makes your toes curl (and not in a good way), or exclusively go on and on and on about their ‘crazy’ ex partner, you’ve grown all too used to showing up pouting at your friend’s front door.

What?

Being greeted by his knowing smirk and him inviting you inside is familiar; stepping across the threshold and kicking off your shoes in the hallway feels just so… easy.

Flopping down on the couch is easy, and waiting for Seungcheol to come back into the living room with two gleaming glasses and a bottle of wine is easy. Shuffling closer until you have your head resting against his shoulder is easy. Sipping at a chilled glass of rosé with his arm around you, the tip of his finger rubbing tiny circles against the point of your shoulder, eyes fluttering at this perfectly normal, totally platonic, absolutely-not-leading-anywhere-this-time contact is…

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks a few seconds after you set your now half-empty glass down. Your lips curl a little into a grimace on one side and a soft laugh rumbles deep in his chest.

You swear you can feel it vibrate all the way down to your bones.

“What is there to even talk about?” you sigh. “He wouldn’t stop comparing me to his mother, strike one. Spent twenty minutes explaining the plot of my favourite movie back to me, strike two. And then, after all that, threw a tantrum when I swerved his kiss goodbye after he’d eaten basically a whole loaf of garlic bread. Strike three. You’re out.”

He laughs again, and you adjust your head to peer up at him but he isn’t looking at you. He’s staring off at the opposite wall, not even glancing down when his arm tightens to pull you even closer. On cue, you nuzzle your head down into the muscle beneath his t-shirt, and you sigh.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says breezily. “Just… You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“I don’t deliberately go out with people one screw short of a toolbox, Cheol,” you grumble, lightly slapping his chest. “They always seem fine when we start talking.”

“Mhm,” he hums. You feel him move slightly and then his lips are being pressed to the part of your hair. You’re sure it’s supposed to be a little condescending, but it kind of tingles instead. But that’s just because of the way his breaths play over your roots. Isn’t it? “I know.”

“Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to find someone who—”

“Hey, I know, y/n,” he says again, still softly but just a little firmer this time. “It’s not your fault all these guys are dicks. But-…”

He trails off, tongue pressed lightly against his top teeth, and decides that maybe finishing this sentence isn’t the smart way to proceed. You wait a few seconds, just in case he changes his mind, and poke at his chest again when he doesn’t.

“But what?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It was a stupid joke. Don’t worry about it.”

“Tell me,” you whine. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

It’s his turn to sigh, now. “But…” he starts, pausing for a mixture of allowing his nerves to settle and for dramatic effect. “I’m not complaining: the worse your date goes, the better sex we have after.”

It momentarily stuns you into silence and you suck your teeth at the remark, shaking your head. But you don’t sit up, you don’t shove him away, you don’t argue the point he’s just made whether it was a joke or not. Because…

“I hate that you’re right.”

His hand slides down behind you until it’s wrapped around your waist, his bicep strong against your back and his fingers light as they fiddle with the fabric of your blouse.

“No you don’t,” he tells you, lips tweaking up on one side.

You sigh, burrowing closer into his chest. He’s wearing the cologne he knows you like most and it smells faint, worn, as if he’s had it on for hours, all despite being only dressed in basketball shorts and a white vest. His plans tonight started and ended with you, and showing up here wasn’t promised until you were on his doorstep. Something about knowing he wore it just in case triggers an all too familiar ache between your legs.

Giving in to it?

Ha.

It’s too fucking easy.

“Shut up,” you grumble. Your hand uncurls and your fingers splay over his chest, confessing your agreement and laying the foundations for you even if you deny what you want out loud. “Yes, I do.”

“Oh?” He asks at the exact moment you can feel his nails graze at your skin beneath your shirt. “Do you really?”

“Yeah.” You shift slightly, searching for just a crumb of relief from the press of your thighs, but it never comes.

“I see.” He flattens his palm against your side, the other hand tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes not quite meeting yours as they fixate on the strands already sliding back to their former place against your cheek.

He gently clears his throat, tongue darting out over his lips for the most fleeting of moments, and when he speaks again, it’s lower, quieter, softer. “But if you hate it sooo much…” he ducks his head, close enough that his lips brush the corner of your mouth as he moves them. “Why are you here?”

He bumps the tip of his nose against your cheek, subtly turning your face so if you so much as shuffle, hiccup, breathe in too deeply, your smiles would meet. But they don’t. A hair’s breadth apart, you linger, eyes meeting his in a scorching challenge. One he doesn’t back down from. One he holds, and holds, and holds – waiting, for you, for his answer.

“Because,” you croak. Your throat feels dry, your eyelids suddenly heavy, lashes fluttering.

“Because?” he taunts, his chuckled exhale tickling the tiny hairs all over your skin.

You maintain his gaze still, and he chuckles, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. when you don’t speak for a few seconds more, he takes it upon himself to finish the sentence for you.

“Because you know,” he drawls, gravelly but still somehow heaven-sent and honey-sweet. “That no-one else does it for you the same way I do. Do they?”

You shake your head, the muscles in your neck tight as you wrestle with them not to surge forward and topple against him in a kiss. Seungcheol is an easily pleased man, but you know he loves a bit of a chase and it would be a little rude not to reward his hospitality by giving him one.

“Say it,” he urges. You’re acutely aware of how his breaths stop fanning against your face once the words are out of his mouth, but you don’t give him anything yet. “Come on. You could have any one of those idiots if you wanted them, but you don’t.” A pause. “Do you?”

You swallow hard, cheeks growing hot. You shake your head again, “No.”

“Because…”

And after one, two, three, four, five thundering beats of your heart—

“Because I want you.”

Seungcheol smirks as he pulls your chin up, finally bringing his plush lips down against your own. It’s soft. almost tender. Barely moving — just a press, but it sends waves of energy through you anyway.

“You’ve got me,” he says, pulling back an inch, studying your desperate eyes with his own. “Always gonna have me.”

And suddenly, it’s like his entire world might stop if he lets you go.

Both of his hands cup your cheeks as you shift up onto your knees, your own fingers grasping for dear life at his vest. He kisses you as if he could swallow you whole: hard and deep, breathing hot through his nose as his tongue works its way into your mouth and finds your own. You groan, and hearing the sound draws one out of him, too. There’s just something about kissing Seungcheol, and being kissed by him: you don’t even have to think. He just does. You just do. It’s easy.

His hands find the bottom of your shirt and he pulls upwards, separating from your lips to pull it over your head and toss it haphazardly towards the floor. He reconnects with you almost immediately, hands sliding down from your face to your exposed neck, to your shoulders, toying with the strap of your bra.

“You wear this for me, or him?” he asks, breathing heavily as he looks down at your covered tits, the red and white garment sitting pretty against your skin.

“Who d’you think?” you ask, equally fighting to gasp air into your lungs.

“Better not have been for fuckin’... Captain mommy issues,” he mutters, kissing you hard one more time before his lips attach to the side of your neck. “Never liked the sound of that guy. Thought you were too good for him.”

“S’that right?” You ask, tilting your head back and stuttering out a sigh, lacing it with wisps of a laugh. “You never said so.”

He sucks your skin into his mouth and you swear you can feel every capillary beneath the surface burst one by one, your body-heat climbing to almost unbearable territory. “You were excited,” he says. “Just ‘cause I don't agree with your choices, doesn’t mean I’m gonna be an ass about it.”

And for someone trying their best to cover your throat in as many bruises as possible (no doubt so that if you bump into the asshole from HR who took you out tonight when you’re back at work on Monday, he’ll see that you had a plenty good time without him), it… feels kind of sweet that he’d hold himself back in the name of your theoretical happiness.

“Too good to me,” you chuckle. You’ve long since released your hold on his vest and are now threading your fingers through his hair. He kisses and sucks down over your collarbone, grinning against your skin all the while.

“So?” he asks, tugging the top of your bra in between his teeth.

You glance down at him, biting your bottom lip at the sight. His pupils are blown-out, drowning his familiar warm, chocolatey eyes in black pools of desire. No lies, that’s always been your agreement. No lies. So you tell him the truth, pushing your chest up towards him and pressing his head down slightly so his top lip brushes against your tit.

“Wore it for you, Cheol.”

“Mhm. That’s my girl.”

He sits up straight and pulls you down to him, smashing his lips against yours again as his hands slide around your back, fingertips making quick work of your bra clasp. He pulls the straps down your arms, grunting at the feeling of your breasts relaxing against his own chest; the bra joins your shirt on the floor, and soon after follows his vest, your hands clawing at it to get it off him as fast as you can.

“Up,” he says as your hands trail over his stomach, fingers dipping into every groove of muscle, feeling how they ripple as he reflexively tenses them under your touch. “Now.”

You oblige, climbing off the couch and standing upright. His hand finds the back of your shoulder and he guides you around to the side of the sofa, promptly pushing you down over the arm-rest so your face meets the cushions you were both just sitting on. He pulls your pants down your legs and helps you step out of them, dropping down to his knees and kneading at your thighs with a guttural moan.

“Gonna make you forget all about him, y/n,” he says. “Make you feel so good you won’t even remember his name.”

“Please,” you gasp, feeling his teeth sink into your ass. “So-... fucking good to me…”

He adjusts the position of your legs, bumping them apart until he can settle on his knees between them. His nose drags against the crease between the top of your thigh and the bottom of your ass, his lips trailing kisses all the way from the outside of your leg to where your pussy is throbbing for him. He skips over it, though, nipping and licking at the back of your other thigh, until you’re rocking your hips back to try and push him into your core.

“Be a good girl,” he chuckles, thumbing over the wet-patch in your panties. “I’m gonna look after you. I promise.”

His tongue meets your wetness just a moment after, dragging over the fabric and making you whimper. Your hands scramble to clutch onto something, one grabbing the edge of the seat cushion and the other balling into a fist.

“Fuck, Cheol,” you hiss, feeling the heat from his mouth all over you. “Please – I need it. I need you.”

“Shh,” he says. You can feel his lips twist into a smile. God, you wish you could see him right now. “I’ve got you.”

When exactly his fingers tucked themselves under the waistband of your underwear, you’re not sure: all you know is that one minute, he’s breathing in your scent through the seat of your panties, and the next he’s yanking them down your legs and diving into your cunt like it’s his last meal on death-row. The sheer force of his hands gripping your thighs and his head burying itself between them makes you stumble forwards, the couch groaning as it shifts against the laminate flooring, and you cry out a wet sob of his name.

Who were you kidding, before, when you thought that this wasn’t going to go anywhere tonight?

The build-up to this started the second you told him about the date a week and a half ago.

But you can’t think about the mediocre pasta dish you ate this evening, or the moron who sat across from you at the table who kept checking his phone and glancing over your shoulder. You can’t think about how many times he went to the bathroom after receiving a text, or how he came back grinning cockily before he sat back down.

All you can think about is how deep Seungcheol’s tongue fucks into you. How he fucking slurps all the wetness your pussy can give him, how he groans and moans and chuckles every time he shifts his head forward and flicks the muscle over your clit. Your head is spinning and your eyes begin smarting at the corners when his nails on one hand dig harshly into the fat at the top of your thigh. It stings, but it feels so fucking good. Your knees are weak, you’re about to bite clean through your lip in an attempt to be respectful to Seungcheol’s neighbours, and your knuckles are sore from the force with which your fist is clenched.

Lord, he’s good.

“Don’t hold back,” he gasps, pulling away from you, a string of his own spit and your arousal still connecting him to your pussy. “C’mon, babe. I can feel you’re close.”

The loss of his mouth genuinely feels like the end of the world and you could buckle, in this moment. But he’s done this on purpose: he always does. He knows you. He knows the sounds you make and the way your body moves when you’re tantalisingly on the edge of your climax. His thumbs rub circles into your thighs and you just know he’s got the most obnoxious, insufferable grin on his face behind you while he does it: you can picture it, so perfectly. So easily.

The orgasm you didn’t quite reach starts to ebb away from you and you give a grumble of frustration, pushing up onto your palms to turn around and look at him.

“You’re such a bastard, Cheol,” you hiss, and he grins back at you, his lips swollen and shiny as he licks over them.

“Get that pretty face back down, baby. I’m not done.”

It feels like a delightful punch in the gut, so you do. You drop back down onto your elbows, feeling him shift his position but you can’t see to what; his body heat never leaves yours even when his hands aren’t on you anymore, so you know he hasn’t stood up or gone far. It’s only when you clear your throat that you feel him again. Sat down with his back to the couch, between your thighs, nosing at your clit to get you worked up all over again: his fingers trail over your folds, collecting your arousal, spreading your lips and tonguing between them. You whine for him, keening and confused but overwhelmed at the stark shift from before. How he touches your pussy like it’s the first time, like it’s the last.

He presses one long finger inside you, free hand pushing your hips into just the right position that he can suck your clit into his mouth. You feel yourself grinding down against his hand, begging him for more without having the words to ask for it, but Seungcheol doesn’t need to be asked. It’s intuitive to him. Eating you out could well be his day job. Another finger joins the first and he pumps them in and out of you at a pace you adore, his tongue flicking precisely over the bud in his mouth.

Your disappointingly lost orgasm from before starts to creep up on you again, and you know he knows it too. But this time, he doesn’t slow. This time, he doesn’t stop. He hums in the back of his throat: it’s permission, you realise, to come undone; burying your face further into the cushions, you let out a muffled series of expletives, sobs, moans of his name. You tumble over the edge with a broken cry, fingers curling into the couch cushions, and he only pulls away when your knees actually give out.

His strong frame is the only thing still holding you up by the time you’ve stopped twitching through the aftershocks, remembering how it feels to have full lungs and a working pair of eyes. You roll your head to the side as he slips out from beneath you, immediately sliding his arm around your waist and leaning over you to keep you steady. Through the material of his shorts, you can feel his hard-on poking at your ass: the fact that you’re this fucked and he hasn’t put his cock inside you yet makes your eyes water.

“Okay?” he asks, pressing tender kisses down the length of your spine. You just breathe, nodding with difficulty owed to your current position and the way all your muscles suddenly feel a hundred times heavier than normal. “Talk to me, sweetheart. You okay?”

“M’okay,” you say. “Just… gimme a sec…”

He keeps pressing his lips all over your back, hands rubbing soothing circles on your hips as you fully recover. You nod again when you’re a little more communicative, pushing up onto your elbows once more.

“Said I’d look after you,” he says. “And you were so good for me.”

“Yeah?” you ask, swallowing hard as you twist your spine uncomfortably to look back at him. Fuck it, maybe he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. Is that some great secret? Is it such a crime?

“You always are, baby.”

He looks down at you again: at the shape of your body, bent so crudely over the arm of his couch. At your messed-up hair, your smeared makeup, your soft, dewy eyes. He bites his bottom lip, swallowing hard, running a finger from between your shoulder-blades all the way down towards your ass.

“Can I?” he asks, pushing his hips against you again, your still-soaked pussy smearing arousal all over the front of his shorts where it meets them.

“Please,” you nod, shifting your legs slightly to try and get more comfortable. He drops his shorts in a matter of seconds, cock springing free from their confines. It’s thick and veiny, leaking in his palm as he strokes it, one hand coming back to rest on your hip.

“Fuck, babe,” he sighs. “You’re doing so good.”

The head feels delicious against your swollen cunt and you gasp at the pressure of him sliding through your folds, leisurely lubing himself up with your arousal. It glides over your clit and you can’t contain the slight hiss that escapes you. He starts to say something, his voice just audible to you where you’re propped, but for some reason he stops short, and you don’t quite hear him anyway. There’s not enough time to dwell on it though: your eyelashes flutter closed when he prods at your entrance, pushing into you with hardly any resistance at all, and his unstarted, unfinished sentence is forgotten.

It’s still a stretch to take him and he eases himself deeper until his hips are pressed fully against your ass. He rests there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting your body mould to the shape of his own, and it’s only when you reach back with one hand to gently nudge against his wrist to give an okay that he starts to move.

“Good girl,” he says, quieter this time. Like he’s distracted. Like he’s contemplating. But you don’t ask, because you don’t really want to know: every drag of his cock against your walls feels like fireworks bursting over every inch of your skin, like being engulfed in flame, and nothing could take you out of how electric you feel. “Taking me so, so well.”

His hips start to thrust against you quicker, snapping so his cock buries itself deep but mercilessly quickly into your pussy. It’s only a matter of minutes until you’re clenching around him and when you do, Seungcheol – who you noticed early on into your relationship was one of the most vocal men you’d ever had in the bedroom – stops holding back the sounds you think back to when it’s just you and your trusty vibrator against the world. You swear that half the reason your sexual chemistry with him is so unrivalled is because of how loud you can both get.

You don’t know how long he’s fucking you for, sweat beading over both of your bodies and leaving you slick all over. What you do know, though, is that when he bends down over you, supported by one hand bracing his weight against the cushion by our head, he’s close.

He isn’t groaning and grunting anymore. He’s whining. So agonisingly hard and so painfully wound up that he could snap. His voice is little more than a whimper in your ear when his lips ghost over the shell of it, thrusts slowing as he tries to stave off his high just a little bit longer.

“Wanna drown in this pussy,” he says, eyes squeezed shut, jaw falling slack as you spasm around his length again. “Shit – I love y-... love this… love this so much-...”

And this time, you fucking notice.

This time, you hear him. You know what he said before, now. When you didn’t care, when you just wanted him to fill you up, when you just wanted to have him pound into you until your brain disconnected from failed romances and shitty dating apps and people who weren’t him. Because he started to say it then, too – started to say I love y–

And this time… you say it, back.

“I love you too, Cheol.”

Jesus, fuck.

Loving Choi Seungcheol is the easiest thing in the world.

He freezes, buried inside you all the way to the hilt, a bead of sweat running down the bridge of his nose and hanging onto the tip for dear life. His eyes shoot open, his head turns, and you meet his gaze by turning your own. He’s feeling everything. All at once. So are you. Arousal and need and fear – God, so much fucking fear – but love. Adoration, affection, endearment, devotion – shit, he feels it all, and it’s written in every line of his face, and when his lips move into a smile, when the corners of his eyes crease, when he lets it wash over him, it feels better than any orgasm he’ll have for the rest of his life.

Even the one that explodes through him when you start to grind yourself back on his cock and he lets go, fingers scrabbling to hold your hand, lips finding home on the back of your shoulder. He paints your insides with his cum, fucks it into you for as long as he can physically withstand. You don’t even have it in you to chase another climax of your own, too blissed out in the relief of your own feelings to feel inclined to try.

So, maybe there’s a reason you kept accepting dates with men you knew you weren’t compatible with.

Maybe there’s a reason you didn’t give those other people a real chance.

Maybe there’s a reason you always found yourself looking forward to the end of every night having dinner with a stranger.

Because all the roads lead you here. Because it’s easy being here – it’s where you belong.

He stays sheathed inside you for a little while longer, pressing kisses everywhere his lips can reach before he has to pull his softening cock from its home between your legs. You lament at the feeling of emptiness, even as his strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you upright for the first time in so long that your legs feel like jelly. It’s okay, though. He holds you against his chest, burying his head into your neck – there’s no way you’re going to fall.

(At least, no more than you already have.)

“I’ll give you everything,” he whispers to you, moving your hair out the way so he can press small, doting kisses to the line of your jaw. “I can give it to you. I was a fucking idiot before – I’ll give you everything I have. I don’t know if I can be perfect but anything you want–...”

“I just want you, Cheol,” you tell him. “Everything – screw all that. I just want you.”

“Be with me?” he asks. You nod, feeling him light up in a smile for the hundredth time tonight. Even though you can’t see it, you’re sure it’s as blindingly beautiful as the first smile he sent your way, all those years ago. (It was Joshua’s birthday. You remember that, now.) And the second. And every damn time since. “Forever, this time.”

“Forever, this time,” you agree.

Because spending forever with the man who lifts you into his arms and carries you towards his shower, so you can clean down and get ready for bed? Right now, it sounds so –

But everything with Seungcheol has always been easy. Easier than with anyone else.

thank u so much for reading! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always so appreciated<3

#s.coups smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #choi seungcheol smut #seungcheol smut #s.coups x reader #j writes.#*#i am running into the woods and never coming back. i don't know who i became while writing this. it wasn't me it was patricia.#send help. i had one singular marble left. seungcheol has fucking FLOWN away with it. i have gone fully fucking insane.#good BY E

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nataliasquote · 3 months

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Is It All For Nothing? | n romanoff

Summary: You just want a friend. Is that so bad? How is it fair that everyone else gets one but you. What did you do that was so wrong?

Warnings: idk. just depressing stuff ig

Pairings: none. a small bit of Nat x reader but all platonic

wc: 1.3k

notes: I wrote this in 45 mins in one sitting. It’s written in a different pov than usual and idk if it even makes sense. I just typed and didn’t stop until I was done 🤷‍♀️ the idea just came to me and yeah :)

-⧗-

Frankly, being on the sidelines sucked. Everyone knew it yet no matter how many times someone engaged in small talk to be polite or proclaimed they were there to talk to everyone, somehow you were always left out.

It didn’t matter where you were, loneliness followed like a dormant disease. High school sucked, you were a nobody, but thankfully those years were in the past. But your fifteen year old self didn’t realise that your isolation would carry right on over into your adult life.

And sure, it wasn’t all bad. The nights spent chatting with new friends you’d made that day left you on an all time high, but that just made the fall that much harder. And when the low inevitably came, you could only laugh at yourself at your naivety, because why would things suddenly change? You weren’t someone people stuck around for.

Unfortunately, Shield agents were no different. Those in your cohort were nice enough to say hi in the hallway or invite you into group conversations. A couple even chatted with you over lunch. But you knew they only did it because they felt bad. You saw the difference in their demeanor; you were a spy for god’s sake. They were so much happier with their friends, and that didn’t include you, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself it did.

There was one agent who’s attention toyed with you that little bit more. Natasha Romanoff was a couple of ranks higher, both in social and training status. But she was always kind, no matter what. You conversed whilst waiting for your training session, mainly her listening as you talked. She was sweet, despite her intimidating facade and before long she had you completely wrapped around your little finger.

For a month, you both chatted any chance you got. If you saw her in the cafeteria, you’d make a beeline for her table, smiling at the other agents as you sat down. She responded to you, her eyes holding yours as you spoke, seeming actually interested in what you had to say. She would joke with you, calling you out with a laugh which sent a flush to your cheeks. You didn’t care what she said, she was talking to you. That’s all that mattered. Maybe this was where your life changed for the better. Evenings that followed those days would be blissful and you would fall asleep with a smile on your face, feeling on top of the world all because of the redheaded Russian.

However, as the weeks went on, days would go by with no contact. At first you just thought she was going on more missions; that was her job after all. But then you’d see that flash of red hair in a meeting room or one of the agents talking about something Natasha had said earlier and it hit you sharply in the throat.

Was she just like everyone else? Playing the pity card, building you up only to leave you hanging once she got bored? Natasha didn’t seem like that kind of person, but had essentially placed her on a pedestal, so of course she could do no wrong. That was your downfall.

Emerging from a debrief with Maria Hill, you tucked a stack of files under your arm and stepped out into the hallway. And there she was, a soft smile on her lips. You reciprocated it and made eye contact, opening your mouth to speak. You hadn't spoken in a few days and you hated to admit it, but you missed her.

But Natasha clearly didn’t feel the same. Her eyes caught yours and then darted to the floor, her feet picking up the pace as she walked past. “I’m sorry Y/n, I’m busy today. We’ll talk later.”

Except she wasn’t busy. Because there she was, standing at the end of the hall laughing with another agent in your cohort. It shouldn’t have been, but it was like a punch to the stomach and you quickly turned around, retreating back into the room you’d left to avoid her seeing you watching her.

You knew that agent. They were friends, everyone saw it. And she was nice enough to you too, but jealousy coursed through your veins and turned you into a green eyed monster.

What did she have that you didn’t? Besides the ability to win Natasha over, obviously. Every single interaction you’d had with the redhead suddenly started replaying in your mind, frantically scanning to see what went wrong. Did you overstep? Were you too pushy? Too clingy? You just wanted a friend, was that so hard to understand? Was it so bad to want?

You thought about texting her, but decided against it. You didn’t want to know the answer. What if your worst fears were confirmed? That she only spoke to you out of pity, and quite frankly didn’t want anything to do with you.

It hurt. It really did. Countless times you wished that she was the one that would change your bad history of making friends. Because when you were around Natasha, nothing else mattered. The days of no contact slipped out of your mind. You’d forgive her for anything in a heartbeat… maybe that was the problem.

You thought the world of her. And she saw that. ‘Never meet your heroes’ that’s what they say, isn’t it? And maybe she wasn’t quite at hero status for you, but you looked up to her. Praising her work when she returned from a successful mission, commenting on the ingenious moves she made to lead her team to victory. She was everything you wanted to be as an agent, with one seriously important factor.

Everyone loved her.

Everyone loved her, and nobody knew you. She was the prize rose and you were behind, stuck in her shadow. They didn’t see you as anyone but the agent who sucked up to Natasha. They didn’t see how hard you worked, how many hours you trained, how much effort you put in. And they never would. Because it was too much. You were a try hard.

A try hard in a room full of effortless people.

Effortless just like that other agent was. She’d been rumoured to move up into Natasha’s ranks and onto her mission team, leaving you struggling in the lower levels. It felt almost childish, yearning after the attention of one single person. But no matter how hard you tried, or how casual you tried to be, Natasha would never see you as anything other than a fan girl.

You knew she was capable of giving you what you desired, you saw it with that other agent. The way they laughed together, developed inside jokes and anecdotal phrases that they brought up in group discussions. You saw the way Natasha’s eyes lit up at the mention of her name, how she gushed over her but also teased her at the same time. Their effortless banter had you choking back tears as you sat one table over, watching with blurry eyes.

You wanted that so badly it hurt.

But if you stopped trying, stopped reaching out, stopped lusting after the perfect friendship you so badly craved with her, would she notice? Or would you fade into the background, silently, without a word. Maybe she would be happy, now that you’re no longer bugging her.

Maybe it’s for the best.

#natasha romanoff #marvel #fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff imagine #friendship angst #marvel angst #black widow #natasha romanoff fanfic #scarlett johansson

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angrylesbianstereotype · 2 years

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With the way Walt wasted no time to start abusing Jesse as soon as they partnered up, and considering Walt treats Jesse like he's his son AND his wife... Do you think this means Walt had been bursting at the seams to abuse his real son and real wife this whole time, and only with Jesse did he have a chance to do so?

*Pushes glasses up on nose as though I am a respected scholar in a legitimate field of study* Ok so I hate to answer a compelling question with a kind of roundabout, not at all concrete answer but here goes: Walter wants to do whatever Walter wants to do, in the moment, without having to concern himself with that pesky, pedestrian little irritant known as ye olde consequences. He’s your basic old white fart who, because he grew up with the oxymoron of the white man as a vehicle for both exceptionalism and the Everyman, believes that consequences should not apply to him, and feels that he has been hard done by because, shocker, his stagnancy prior to the beginning of the series hasn’t resulted in everything he ever wanted falling into his lap! He does abuse both Skyler and Flynn over the course of the series, the assault on Skyler in season two being the most overtly violent of these instances, though it is heavily implied in season five that this isn’t even a one time occurrence; “I can’t even keep you out of my bed!” It’s also in season two that he peer pressures his teenage son into drinking to excess to gain the upper hand in his one-sided pissing contest with Hank, and this mirrors the ways in which he flexes his control over Jesse in front of Gus and Mike. Walter is dangerous precisely because he doesn’t view himself as an abuser, it’s not like he wistfully daydreams about slouching around the house in a wifebeater, terrorizing his wife and kids until they walk on eggshells around him. In fact, he’s shown throughout the series to act like a little pissbaby throwing a little pissbaby tantrum whenever he’s treated by his family like the monster he is. He wants to be able to act on his anger, to rape his wife and bully his son, without being subject to any of the organic repercussions these actions would inevitably induce. He doesn’t want to play the part of the mild-mannered family man anymore, or put in any of the work required to keep up that front, but he still wants to be seen as the provider and benevolent patriarch. He wants to have his fucking cake and eat it to.

That’s where Jesse comes in.

Walter loves Jesse, he does. The problem was never that he didn’t love Jesse, it was why he loved Jesse. Walter loves Jesse more than Flynn, that much was confirmed by Vince in a quote I can’t find anymore for the fucking life of me so you’ll just have to take my word for it ig. Walter might even love Jesse more than Skyler. But he doesn’t love Jesse as a person so much as a conduit, as an indispensable resource. It’s pretty vital, actually, that the person Walter projects all his shit onto isn’t a part of his immediate family, because then Jesse can be whatever he wants him to be. It’s great for Walter that Jesse’s a junkie, because then, according to societal norms, he doesn’t have to see Jesse as human when he’s taking out all of his anger on him. When Jesse isn’t being malleable enough for his liking, or even if Walt’s mad about something else entirely, then Jesse’s just a junkie, a nobody, an ungrateful, petulant fuck-up. When Walter is being rightfully shut out by his family or needs Jesse for some material task, then Jesse is practically family to him. They’re partners. It’s a terrible burden to put on an impressionable 24-year-old, a pretty fucking shitty thing to do to someone who trusts you, more than they should, and an impossible exception to live up to, to be someone’s everything.

So when Jesse inevitably fails at it, inevitably falls short of this perfectly imperfect idealization of himself, he is punished, horribly.

Walter never would have done the things he did to Jesse to Flynn, or to Skyler.

He doesn’t love them as much.

#i love being dramatic being dramatic is my jesse #i could literally go on but i just wrote a whole academic thesis so #breaking bad #brba #jesse pinkman #skyler white #flynn white #anti walter white #walter white hate blog #fun fact this is edited bc i mistakenly put jesse’s age as 23 not 24 #bc I’M 23 #i kin him so bad it makes me look stupid #tw sa mention

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eternallyhyucks · 2 months

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first love | choi yeonjun, wc: 2.5k

— unrequited love, angst

— this is my first long fic pls bare w me😭

𖤐 ྀ

your crush on yeonjun wasn’t like the rest of the crushes you’ve had in your life. this time you were actually friends and you spent a lot of time together. but after a while, you felt like maybe your crush was more than just that.

the first time you met yeonjun was on his first day at your job. you had only started about 2 weeks before and he walked up to the register saying it was his first day. even before he walked up you had noticed how cute he was when he stood in the line, so when he said he was working there, you felt a little flustered.

so his first day began, and you had to start training him. unfortunately for him, you were also still a trainee yourself. about an hour into the shift, while you were showing him how to make a drink, your other coworker came up behind the two of you to see how you were doing and noticed the color of the drink was a little off. he took the cup in his hand, smelled the tea, and that’s when you realized your mistake: you used to wrong tea. you and yeonjun giggled about it but you still couldn’t help but feel a little embarassed.

before your shift ended, you built up the courage to ask yeonjun for his instagram. he agreed and you started looking for a sticky note for him to write on. after looking for a minute, you realized the store probably ran out so you just grabbed a sharpie and told him to write it on your hand. the moment he took your hand to write his username, you felt your breath hitch.

as soon as you got home, you went to follow him and as you were scrolling through his highlights, you noticed he had a girlfriend. you laughed a little because it made sense.

so you moved on. at least it wasn’t an actual crush. you just thought he was cute.

—

so the two of your continued working together and became pretty close, along with the rest of your coworkers.

and any thought of having a crush on yeonjun was gone.

.. until a couple months later.

after a long closing shift together, you felt kind of giddy on the drive home. weird.

two days later you had another shift together, and afterwards everyone was going to get dinner together.

you felt the same weird, slightly giddy feeling again during the shift.

during the dinner, you two didn’t sit at the same table, so you weren’t thinking about him, but when you were near him you felt something in your stomach.

a couple days went by and you had a shift with him again. this time you went home and realized you might like him. you had to remind yourself that you can’t, he has a girlfriend. and yet, your brain wouldn’t listen to you.

a week went by and he randomly texted you saying he had to tell you something.

what’s up?

i feel like you should know since we’re pretty close but my girlfriend and i broke up

oh.

omg i’m sorry

it’s okay, ig it was inevitable

of all the times they could’ve broken up, it had to be when you realized you had a crush on him. of course.

unfortunately for you, the two of you started texting each other way more than usual, which made your crush grow even more.

—

after a couple weeks of silently crushing, you decided to tell your best friend about it. for some reason, she said she saw it from a mile away. as in, ever since your first interaction with him.

you also chose to tell your closest coworker about “someone you have a crush on” without revealing anything about who it is and she kept feeding into your delusions saying he definitely liked you back. but there was no way he did. he had just gotten out of a pretty long relationship. even if he did, you didn’t want to be a rebound.

a month went by and your crush on yeonjun had only gotten worse. the two of you texted everyday. he told you random details about his day and he texted you good morning and goodnight and he even told you to have sweet dreams?? what kind of friend does that? everytime he was around you, you felt a weird tension.

one day, you and a small group of your coworkers planned to hang out together, yeonjun included. he came a little later than everyone else because he was stuck in traffic, but the moment he walked in, you felt awkward. not because of him but because you wanted to make sure he didn’t feel the same tension you did.

the whole time you were hanging out, it felt like he was always lingering around you. either you’re walking next to each other or hes simply just standing by you. maybe it was just you, but whenever you’d walk next to each other, your hands kept brushing against each other.

you kept avoiding him, but somehow he appeared anyway. after a while, everyone wanted to get drinks, so you walked to your cars. you needed to fill up your gas, so you said you’d meet everyone there. in your head it felt smart since that way you could sit somewhere away from him.

after filling the gas in your car, you drove up to the drink shop and saw that there was one seat open next to your friend. smiling, you sat there and felt a sense of relief since there was a person between you and yeonjun.

unfortunately things will never go your way because 10 minutes later, one of your friend’s boyfriend came in and since yeonjun was sitting next to her, he got up to give the seat up for her boyfriend and instead pulled up a chair next to you.

you avoided eye contact and focused on talking to everyone else because you couldn’t stand looking at him in case your face heated up.

he was always so close to you. always touching shoulders, touching arms, barely any space between you.

you always wondered if it meant anything to him. did his heart race like yours did?

—

2 months into your crazy infatuation of yeonjun, he was the same as always. touchy, flirty and knowing exactly how to make you feel flustered. even if he didn’t actually know that he was doing it. that is, until your birthday.

he had decided on his college of choice for the upcoming school year and got posted on the school’s introduction instagram page, so of course you and your other friends reposted it on your stories.

you spent the day with some of your friends who came back home for break and the night with your family. after a night full of celebration of you, you went to bed with a full heart and checked your messages. there you saw yeonjun talking about a girl that slid up on his friend’s story asking about him and calling him cute and how he’s been texting her all day.

you felt sick to your stomach. of course he didn’t feel the same way you did. of course he didn’t. but why was he acting the way he was? why did he do that with you?

you had planned to hang out with yeonjun and your other friends the weekend of your birthday and now you didn’t really want to see him at all, but you couldn’t cancel now so you thought you might as well make the most of it.

—

the day started out nice, the six of you met up at the mall you worked at and made your way to the friend group’s designated driver’s car.

you made a mental note not to sit next to yeonjun, so as he got in first, you made sure to get in last. you wanted today to be fun.

as the day went on, you noticed yeonjun was on his phone a lot and everytime you glanced at what he could be doing, it was always instagram dms. figures.

you weren’t disappointed about him texting the girl anymore, it was the fact that he was on his phone so much when you all took the time to plan a group hangout and spend time together. and of course it hurt that he was also on his phone because he was talking to someone else. the worst part was that everyone else in the car noticed it too. they also noticed how much it hurt you, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. but it seemed like yeonjun was the only one that didn’t seem to notice it.

you realized after a while that there was no point in sulking the whole day so you decided to just ignore him completely. wherever he went, you went somewhere else. when you all went to eat, you sat at a table of six with three seats on each side. he put his stuff down on the left side and went to the restroom, so you sat on the right side.

but when he came back, he moved his stuff to the seat next to yours and gave you a reassuring look. why was he doing that?

the entire time you ate, you didn’t really talk to him and after a while you could tell that he realized what you were doing.. which made you feel bad because he became quiet.

since you were out for your birthday you wanted to take polaroids with everyone individually. you knew that it would have been strange for you to get a picture with everyone but yeonjun and you didn’t want to ruin the air for anyone, so you decided to push your feelings down and ignore it for the rest of the day.

as you posed for the picture with him, you both leaned into each other and put up two thumbs up. an awkward pose the two of you always did. you smiled at him to pretend like you were okay and he smiled back.

when you all went back to the car, you had one person between the two of you. after a couple minutes of the ride you got a call from your mom asking when you’d be home and got a little panicked since you didn’t want to get in trouble. throughout the ride, you didn’t talk much, not only because you were nervous about getting in trouble with your parents, but also the whole situation with yeonjun.

he noticed your silence and as you were looking out the window, you felt a hand on your back. he was trying to reassure you that it’d be okay. that gesture in itself make you want to cry.

why did he keep caring about you like that? were you just overreacting?

—

the day after you all hung out for your birthday was his last shift at the shop you worked at. you opened the store and he came in an hour after. you couldn’t just ignore him, so you tried your best to act normal.

the shift was pretty quiet since you didn’t really know what to say but you chose to push your feelings down again because it wouldn’t be his last day ever again.

at the end of the shift, he was cleaning up in the back when you went to go put something away. as you walked away, he called you back.

“wait come back here” he pulled at your sleeve.

you stood in front of him, confused.

he took two steps forward and gave you a hug. “thank you”

you pulled away and looked at him with a sad look on your face. “for what?”

“i dont know, you’re a really good friend. you know that?”

you smiled, “of course i know that” and as you turned away, your smile faded.

—

you realized that you had to get over yeonjun, but it was harder than you thought.

when you first started liking him, the two of you had made plans to get your ears pierced together for his birthday. though you thought the plan would fall through, it didn’t, and suddenly there you were in his car on the way get food before the appointment.

you bought him two gifts for his birthday: matching bracelets that he said he wanted, and keychains with his favorite artists albums on them.

before eating, you gave them to him and he started unwrapping them in the car. he opened the bracelets and immediately said,

“i knew you’d get these.”

“literally how”

“because when i mentioned it the other day you told me not to buy them”

you laughed as he opened the keychains.

he gasped when he saw them, “THIS IS SO COOL,, wait is this why you asked everyone for their favorite albums?”

“yes and i got lucky since you were the only one that replied”

he started putting them on his keys and looked over at you.

“you know when i’m in college and i’m walking around campus, i could probably pick up girls with these”

you rolled your eyes, “i’ll take them back right now”

—

the same week you had gotten your ears pierced, you also got a new job! which happened to be the same place yeonjun was again…

but it wasn’t him that got the job for you, it was your other old coworker since she knew you were looking to leave your old job.

before you were scheduled, your new manager was debating whether to put you earlier or later in the month, but yeonjun made sure they made it earlier so that you could work with him on your first shift.

usually something like that would have made your head spin, but you were finally getting the hang of your insane crush on the boy, so you brushed it off.

your first day also happened to be his last before he left for college, and although you still hadn’t gotten over him, you knew that once yeonjun left for college, things would be really different. you just hoped you’d still talk to each other.

so when you were parting ways, he gave you a long hug. one of those hugs where you can feel the love from the other person.

you pulled away first and put out your pinky.

“don’t be a stranger, yeonjun”

he interlocked his pinky with yours.

“never in a million years”

—

about a month after yeonjun left for college, he texted the group chat with just a picture of him and a girl holding hands.

that’s when you remembered him telling you about a girl he met at his college’s orientation when you had went to get your ears pierced together.

instead of feeling sad, you really just felt like it was time to get over him.

so with time, you did. he was really happy with her and that was all that mattered to you.

your friend’s happiness.

—

epilogue

y/n really did get over yeonjun. they didn’t feel sick when they saw him. they could talk to him and not feel tension, and with time they even talked to each other about the people they both liked together.

but deep down, a part of y/n really felt like maybe they were in love with him.

maybe yeonjun was their first love.

and do people ever really get over their first love?

©eternallyhyucks

taglist!

@izchone , @baekswoons , @jiwon-44 , @junityy , @pr0dbeomgyu , @neos127 , @fiantomartell , @wccycc , @koishua , @changminurheart , @rainbowglitteramythyst , @baekhyunstruly , @soobin-chois , @yjwfav , @fairybinie , @sleepingisweak

!! unable to tag bolded

—send an ask if you would like to be a part of my taglist!!

#unfortunately this is a hashtag true story #i hope this made sense😭😭#yeonjun #choi yeonjun #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun angst #yeonjun fluff #txt #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt angst #txt fluff #eternallyhyucks

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freckles-a-constellation · 5 months

Text

The Doctor is a tragic character in the best Greek tragedy tradition.

So y'all know how the most common driving factor for intelligence to develop in species is if they're social? (Octopi aren't very social but let's ignore that real quick, the Doctor's a vertebrate anyway so invertebrate intelligence can probably be dismissed as irrelevant) Because after a point, more intelligence isn't really needed to avoid danger or gather food. But more intelligence does make it possible to communicate more efficiently, form more complex social bonds, eventually develop culture. Cue why social species tend to be more intelligent than solitary ones of otherwise comparable lifestyle. And cue why humanity is the way it is.

Now look at Gallifreyans. (I am purposefully ignoring the Timeless Child thing bc I don't rlly believe it and besides, even assuming it's true, The Doctor is similar enough to Gallifreyans to have flawlessly believed himself/themselves/herself to be one for 13+ regenerations, so anything that can be concluded to be true from analysis of Gallifreyans has good basis to be presumed true about the Doctor, whatever the fuck semantics you wanna use) So, Gallifreyans. A species much more advanced than according to DW canon humanity will ever be. More intelligent than humanity. High levels of education and not on the basis of private tutoring. Lives in cities. Has complex language and technology capable of instantly translating pretty much any language of any other species to be understandable to them. (Hell the TARDIS consistently still translates shit to English for the companions while they're outside it.) Complex social structure. That's one fucking social species.

And it gets better. The TARDIS is meant to be operated by a team of six. And even if River was joking about six, it's still clear that it should at least be more than one. Compare the Doctor steering the TARDIS alone to when he was with Susan. I mean, even those two looked like they could use an extra hand. Have you ever seen a human private use vehicle designed with 2+ pilots in mind? Definitely a species more social than humanity.

And the telepathy thing? Hello? Insanely, mind-boggingly social species.

Now take a being this fundamentally social and do something to them so that they see no recourse other than to take one (1) same-species (as far as he was aware disclaimer ig) companion, steal a ship they have little to no clue how to pilot, leave everything and everyone they've ever known and run without ever stopping for breath, no matter how much they miss home, no matter if it hurts. (And I do believe something must have happened to make him run like that, since the beggining, way before the Time War) Have them be scorned, judged, punished, mistreated and rejected by their species, again and again, for ages. Have them love, again and again, only to always lose everyone they've cared about, through abandonment or death. Have them essentially be forced to exterminate their whole species and believe themselves to be the last of their kind, only to be proven wrong by the whole Master situation, which alright is better, but also in some ways is worse. Have them, once again, form deep bonds with companions and once again lose all of them in various varyingly tragic ways until they have no hope left that anyone can ever truly stay for any amount of time even close to satisfactory, that love can for them end in anything but loss and pain. And they can't even avoid love altogether in an effort to spare themselves the inevitable agony of losing loved ones, because they're incapable of not growing to care for those around them. And they can't be without company either, because their sanity goes straight to hell in a handbasket within like,, 5 minutes of being alone.

Let me remind you this is not a human we're talking about. It's a member of a species much more inherently social than humanity. My point?

The Doctor is literally more lonely than the human brain can comprehend.

#*shoves this at any and all unfortunate people*#doctor who #the doctor #classic who #nuwho #doctor who meta #or at least i think it is?#first doctor #war doctor #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thoughts tm

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ikkosu · 5 months

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MY DARLING MEDIC

(fem.human.medic.reader x pharma)

summary : tarn strikes up a deal with pharma. but when he refuses, the tank takes up a more personal measure to confront him.

warning : angst. fluff (if you look real close💀). blood. this is the DJD what'd you exoect. bro I fucking died writing this. wanted to cut this in like several parts but decided to merge it together. wanted to write this into a multi-chaptered fic but my commitment could never. could be a series ig. lovely headers by @cafekitsune

One moment he's caught Ambulon at gunpoint, then the next he’s scampering down the halls, clutching the vials close to his chassis as he tears through for an exit. The game is up. He should've known better than to nab the easy path. Responsibility purges itself a mile away when confronted at the baseline of his problems. Now, it's got him cornered and Ratchet — who barged into the room — his friend, his oh-so-dear friend, pulls up a blaster.

PHARMA doesn’t know what to say.

Points it at his face.

His own mirth were flaked with rust, crinkled into a grimace, where along the crevices, the miniscule cracks, oozed spatter of crimson. The gun was unsteady; he’s shaking. He's infected. The uncomfortable feeling of your insides twisting punched him back. It gutted him more than he could realize and he’s got no guts, just thrumming circuits struggling, and failing, to prevent the inevitable.

So he does just that— prevent the inevitable.

A, one, two, three BANG of bullets barrage the other side of the room. Disregarding the startled shout of surprise, he stepped round the corner, making a beeline for the shaft. Storms of remorse whirled around his processors as he pulls himself up the ladder. It jostled and creak, much like how his jitter palms does when he's drunk on andrenaline.

He’s made that mistake again. He should’ve known better. He should’ve. Impulse stumps logic and now, he's outside. In the cold. Digits clinched the edge, close to slipping. Close to falling. Ratchet is aboven and where his optics catch below, he can see the fall, the descending vertigo of ire before his eyes.

“Pharma, buddy — what the hell happened to you?”

YOU scroll aimlessly through the datapad.

He doesn’t know; he might never will.

Propped against the armchair, legs crossed and ankle bobbing, the screen flared your face with a soft blue-ish glow as the lines of words blurred together the more you strained to stare.

You're bored. Tired, too. But mostly bored. You were able to rest in your office after a tough match with several unruly patients. They were mechs. Pretty big mechs. And, they were a little, ah, how do you put this, organicophobes?

One of them had a more dire diagnosis : a t-cog malfunction. A type 3 kind. One that involved the t-cog overheating from too much usage, causing it to, in a way if you were to explain in human terms, like an organ, rot. It was deteriorating quick and the metal shards, miniscule ones, had already infected the internal circuitry.

A kind of job that required smaller, steady hands.

In short, they required humans.

You can handle a bit of discrimination — resentment against Organics was normal here despite the rules ensured to prevent so — but it still gutted you, knowing these mechs can do better than to hate another race from their own.

Especially when the said race tried to save their life.

A little bit of acknowledgment doesn't hurt from time to time.

You hope they were doing well, though.

The silence of the room was broken by footsteps approaching your office. The sliding doors opened with a swish and there you could discern the wide Cheshire grin of smugness amidst the slight darkness of the room. You should really stop shutting the lights, its begging to hurt your eyes. His teeth were practically glowing and was obvious he's quite in a good mood today.

You tucked the datapad inside the cabinet and caved against the cushion of the armchair, tipping your chin up into a smile, brimming with curiosity. One much as a 'whats he gonna pull this time?' type of curiosity.

“Working hard, I presume?” He croons, slinking across the room to your cubicle with several strides.

You quirk a brow; he's got something behind his back but you don’t press.

“Depends on which report you’re haggling me about,” You reply back, a playful smile. “Though, I can’t say for sure which region I am currently hard in, doctor. Would you like a scan?"

It catches him off gaurd for a moment — a simple one, two, three blink of his optics and your smile prods wider upon the not so subtle twitch of his wings. It sags in frustration.

“And here I thought I might have, for once, an appropriate greeting from my darling. I can never grasp your vulgar little mind, no less the entire mapping of your organic, squishy little brain,” His optics twitches as he vents. "But I’m not here to lecture you on prudence, no. I’ve got you a little, ah, herbal gift from my trip off world. The one you adore so much.” Then he adds with a mumble. "So much more than me, apparently.”

You perk up, and if you’re anything like a bunny, those ears would straghten right up to the brim. "What, like tea?”

"Even better, dear."

A ceramic mug is quickly perched onto your desk with a clink. You can't help but to coo in adoration at the utterly adorable little thing. It’s those tiny little teacups with teal blue flowers pasted across. A petite like holder, round and smooth, accommodated the curl of your finger. Nostalgia wrings you nto its clutches, back to teatime with your stuffed animals. You'd always be the princess.

You inhale the drink, warm steam wisps from tea, the color is an emerald-like-ore cadence under the stark white light.

"Since when did they have green tea in Nexus?"

"Earth, apparently. Globalization this, Space-localization that. Ignore the specifics. I'm sure you're better off without another lesson in economy?"

"I'd rather keep my thinking intact."

“Hm, that's a lot less fun. Anywho, I've taken some of my time to make it myself.” He pronounced, optics closed, regarding the cup with a theatrical wave proudly. "In fact, I have purchased the finest, well-endowed tea packet from the best of the best merchants. Never mind the cost, it's a splendid little thing, no?”

You’re still a little stunned admiring the cup but you blurt the first thing to mind.

“Smells fruity, for sure.”

He snaps one optic open, then entire look falls into offense. “Fruity is not what I had in mind.”

Ah, fuck.

"....nice?”

"Not that, either.”

“Ah, er, well — Great....?"

“Try again, dear.”

“C'mon docbot, what do you want me to say?”

”I’ve bought a tea packet that costs more than what this entire hospital is worth and you're describing it as 'nice?'”

You scrambled for words, fishing for the right one until— “Fragrant!" You snap your finger. "Right, fragrance.”

He stares.

You stare.

His rigidness loosens a little.

“One of these days I should really lecture you on the essence of compliments. See there? The mug is a ceramic. I’ve taken much care to handle it. It's from a lovely old organic. Her little shop in Nexus are a must to visit again."

You lean against your palm, eyes crinkled, cheeks round with warmth. “Is this a compensation?"

"For breaking your bed, yes—" you choke a little at that "—Now, go on, taste it.” He bends over to rest his elbows on the table, perching his chin on his two servos like a girl would, kicking their little feet during a sleepover.

“Don’t you have to buy me a new bed to compensate for that?”

He huffs, “ I already did. This is a bonus. Now, stop stalling. I have a patient to tend in a few hours and unless you've not taken a sip, I'm not going anywhere."

"Right, right. No pressure, doc."

"Very much."

You pinch the cup between your index and thumb. A pinkie is jutted out the for dramatics where you caught his lethargic look of disdain to it. And the final act concludes when the rim kisses your lips and you take a sip.

"Well?"

You stare at the ceiling for a moment.

"s'good...woah, real good." You blink in surprise, licking your lips to process the taste. "It's like my mother's! How'd you make this?"

“I was hoping you’d ask that.” He takes it upon himself to sit on your desk, inching close. "It's a, well, how do I put this — an obscure ingredient I am not willing to disclose."

"...You didn't lace this with laxatives didn't you?" You challenge.

"Laxatives?" He almost balks. "No, of course not. Why would I ever do such a thing? Think again."

You squint like that'll help you think. "Vanilla extract?"

"No."

"Oh, come on! Sugar?"

"Not a chance, dear."

"Milk."

"Far from close."

"Salt?"

"Are you serious?"

"What is this, 20 questions? I'll die by the time I cover the whole list of ingredients." You stand up with a huff.

All he does return, however, is a bemused crinkle of mirth from his eyes.He says nothing, only curling out a digit where it prods the area just above your chest. He taps it. Once. Then twice. It took a moment before the cogs turned on its own, and when it does, your cheeks flared up much to your chagrin.Oh. Oh. Your heart. The secret ingredient is—

—love?

You slumped to your chair, clutching your face to fight away the embarrassment at his audacity. You wanted to say it was the lamest, cheap, heart grabbing compliment of all time but you can't.

You just can't.

It's too....sweet.

"I swear Pharma...." If anything, you're reduced to a sputtering mess.

"Pharma? Not so much. I think 'God' would be the latter end. I swear to God, no?"

"Okay smartass."

"I know my rear-end is quite fine. Though, reduce your compliments to the bedroom, please."

"Pharma!"

There was something innately fond with how he’s fixated upon your scrunched up faces and agitated eyes.

Your eyes, they were always so expressive, so bright, much like stars when they flicker amidst the darkest night. A miniscule notion yet so wide in prominence. A haven he could dwell in when plagued upon with sullen days.

He couldn’t resist, and with his digits squishing your cheeks, he pulls you close. The agitation melts the moment you feel his lips against your temple, cheek, nose then your lips.

You glare at him when he pulls away."

"...You’re really making it hard for me to focus my angry molecules into an explosive blast, you know."

“Blast? Please, the least you can do is wield a knife and you're horrible at combat.Also, that's scientifically inaccurate.”

“Oh, shut up.” You look away, faltering at the sight of the door. “....You know what I meant.”

“How about you, as the humans would say, shut me up for a change?" His eyes became playful, tone borderline seductive. You're still fixated on the door. “On the topic of something explosive. Since we’re getting off our shift early today, I was wondering if you’re willing to test the new coils on our bed—“

“….Pharma?” But your eyes on fixed on somewhere else, or someone behind him.

"Doctor."

That isn't your voice.

Pharma’s sensor flares much as his wings did when he whirled around. His spark churned at the sight of the engraved decepticon insignia on his chassis and the gruesome signature mask upholstered on the mech’s face. A mask intended to revel fear, douse the flames of sanity.

Instantly the atmosphere shifted.

It dawns upon him how vulnerable he currently is. How close youre in proximity to the tank. How easily he could tear through the room and kill you. Lodge a knife through your chest. Leave you there on the floor. Skull, cracked. Brains, spooling. Blood agash. A simple red stain on the rag.

Pharma is terrified — he’s terrified of his unpredictability. Whatever thoughts are churning in his head are reduced to a blank slate as his shadow looms over, dwarfing his frame. He's not even moving. Just lingering there by the door. Any second now he could lose his temper and any second later you could be dead. Reduced to atoms. When crimson eyes flickered over, leaning to the side to get a better look, Pharma steps aside to shield you from his gaze.

“I’ll be there, Tarn.” He says stiffly.

The mech regards you for a moment before striding off. Away. The doors swished closed. How'd he knows where he was?

“Who’s that?” You ask, an innocent question he wished he could answer but Pharma pulls you up to your feet, his optics locked on the door.

“No one important, darling .” He replies yet he's already packing your stuff, pulling and shoving everything from your desk. His servos are jittery, wings twitching, brows furrowed.

You follow him around, wringing your hands. "Pharma? I thought you said—“

“Go home without me, dear.” He whirls around after tucking in your jacket into the last slot of your pouch and slips the bag over your shoulder. "It’s late and you have an early shift tommorow, no?"

You deflate, defeated. "Yeah, but i—"

"I have a meeting to attend. It'll be be fine. I won't stay up too late, I promise."

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s composed but you know he’s not. You know from the twitch of his digits he’s hiding something. He's a cunning deceptive man amidst all the layers but he's never a good liar. You wonder if it’s a reasonable time to press but in the end he’ll just figure out another lie to deceive you.

It'll hurt to leave.

You give him a wry grin. “Don’t stay up too late then or she’ll hog the covers.”

“Fortify the bed for me.” He pulls you for a kiss. "Get home safe."

PHARMA doesn’t want to open the door.

"Will do, doc bot."

Instead, he's pacing the front, wringing his servos, muttering to himself. He knows he should. But the temptation to stride in, get it over with, then walk back out was inviting. An in and out kind of ordeal wasn't the kind Tarn tolerates, much rather, he's mech hiding behind the facade of patience.

He's the worst to impatient.

Steeling himself, Pharma juts his chin up, bearing his usual haughty demeanor and barges through the door. Tarn's imposing presence was enough to halt his circuity but he pulls on the act, pedes an impatient thunk against the floor he rounds the desk, slumping on the chair. Unbothered.

“Make it quick. I have my duties to attend. Another influx of patients up from the east were admitted today. My schedules are full."

Tarn says nothing, regards him for a moment before tossing a deception insignia onto the table. It skidded across, bumping his elbow. By the scrapped off sheen of metal surrounding the symbol, it appears to be ripped out. There’s still energon on it. Barely dry. Pharma pulls away with a grimace. He needed air.

"One of your patients that I've taken care of."

By taken : unruly, unethical forms of torture.

“You ruined a nicely done table in favor of your dramatics.”

“Dramatics to which I prefer not to be taken ever so loosely, doctor." He flicks off a chip fron his talons. It plinks on his desk.

“You’re hiding them here.” He grits, a smooth croon of his voice. So deep, relaxing if not for the fact that he's close enough to snap his neck broken.

“No, I do not,”

“You know better than to lie to me, Pharma. You see, I know everything and it doesn’t take long for me to wrench that truth out of you, I assure you. So, answer me : are you hiding them here?"

“What does it matter to you?"

"A whole lot if you're anywhere close to the ranks of a deception warrior. But, for this circumstance, I will turn a blind eye to it and leave you alone."

Pharma straightens up, surprise. "Impossible. There should be a catch."

He can imagine how smug the smile behind the mask is. A crinkle of his eyes, a gentle prod of his lips — a facade so deceiving it was hard to believe this mech was the cause for all the sufferings they've imposed upon those traitors.

"Yes. And I'll get to the point. I accepted your rejection to your proposal last week because I understood your hesitance. I gave you time to think about it and right now it is dire I require more stocks of the T-cogs. Refuse me and I'll have to take up a more, personal counteractive measure to persuade you."

Pharma stiffens. He tries not to glance at your framed picture on his desk.

"You wouldn't want that would you?"

He narrows his optics. “I don’t know what you mean,"

Tarn shoots out an arm, wide digits curled around his neck cables before he yanks him close, clamping down, choking him. The doctor struggles, clawing at his chest.

“You’re meddling with an organic, Pharma—"Tarn croons, squeezing tighter with every disgust that laced his word. "—That is what I mean and while I prefer not to cut out the pleasantries, she will suffer from the consequences of your actions if you’re not going to concede. So, I’m going to make myself clear. Do you accept that deal or do you not?’’

Pharma tugs on his wrist to loosen the grip

“Please, anything, please, I—“ He holds up his hands placatingly, choking down his last grip of pride. "I'll do it. I'll do it! Just don't..."

Please, don’t hurt her.

"....Just don't. She's innocent. Don't bring her into this, Tarn. She's a remarkable doctor, please—"

Tarn releases his hold. Pharma drops to the ground, clutching his neck.

"I'll send you the list of requirements and a few donors willing to concede. You know where to find me when a problem arises."

Pharma is still on the ground, shaking, pressing his helm against the cold, metal floor. The footsteps disappear much like the diminishing hope in his chassis.He shouldn’t have listened, he shouldn’t have. Tarn and his sweet, sweet lies that’ were always so alluring, drawing him into the abyss.

You're in front of him. Behind was Tarn. He's got a blaster. And from the core were wisps of smoke,

THE tea cup, the one with the flowers painted across were discarded shards on the floor. Fragmented much like the reality he denies as he's wrangled behind. Arms tied. Wrists bounded. He stares, distraught.

”Ph..Pharma…” You’re confused as your palm hover overs the stain, the hole on your torso, the white a crimson red. You look down then up, expression contorted like you're asking him why. “I- I don’t understand…” You ramble and three frantic steps back you collapse, stumbling to the floor.

"What have you done....." Pharma tries to wrench away from Helex's grasp, voice rising to octaves. "Organic internal structures are weaker than a Cybertronians! This blow is fatal, do you not realize she'll die?!

Tarn steps over your body, and marches over to the jet, grabbing his face with a forceful shove. "Think again before you lecture me about those flesh-like scum. Why do you think I've chosen this method of action to condemn your actions with?"

"I couldn't get hold of the corpses in time!" He's frantic, shuffling, leaning aside to peer over the wide shoulders of Tarn. " They're not easy to get when you're a doctor every hour. I couldn't possibly kill the patients, cant I? Please, she needs medical attention, Tarn."

"And it's delayed, much like how you delayed my commodities."

"A deal is a deal. You should know better than to disrupt it."

He should've known better.

Pharma shoots out an arm, he clutches the white jacket, the sleeve, pulling the body. He ignores how heavy, how limp and lifeless you were, compared to the motning when you were just laughing, rolling around on the bed that smelt like lavender, smiling about some pointless joke you scoured from the net.

With each pull, crimson stained and scraped the concrete floor, grime collecting at the base of your body. He doesn't seem to mind. He's too tired. Much too lethargic. When he's got you in his arms, he cradles you, holding you. His digits pinch your cheeks, You’re not warm anymore. You’re cold. Just like his armour, just like the air, just like your eyes. Much like a star, it's doused. The brightness — it's gone. No longer flickering. A mass, the singular speck, gone.

“Pharma, buddy —what the hell happened?”

“Everything. Everything did.”

He cups your jaw, presses a kiss to your temple, your nose, then one last lingering kiss to your lips.

#maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers #ikkosuwrites #pharma #pharma x reader #idw pharma #angst #Tarn x reader #mtmte tarn #mtmte #idw #canon divergent #transformers idw #mtmte pharma x reader #mtmte pharma #mtmte tarn x reader

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