#and this was one i recognized from browsing

[littleeyesofpallas]

COMIC VALKYRIE[コミックヴァルキリー]

Isekai Majutsushi wa Mahou o Tonaena[異世界魔術師は魔法を唱えない] The another world's wizard does not chant.

GAMER ga Isekai Konten shite HAREM Jinsei e CONTINUE suru sou desu[ゲーマーが異世界魂転してハーレム人生へコンティニューするそうです] It seems GAMER in Anotherworld (must) turn (his) soul around to CONTINUE to HAREM life

Suterare Saikyou Ouji wa Jitsuryoku de Donna Onna mo Daki Makuru[捨てられ最強王子は実力でどんな女も抱きまくる]: Thrown Away Strongest Prince, with real ability, gets any kind of woman

Saikyo Majutsushi no Ijou naru Toubou Seikatsu[最凶魔術師の異常なる逃亡生活]: The Most Sinister Magician's Life on the Run becomes Abnormal

Ziggurat

Hajimari no Mahoutsukai[始まりの魔法使い] Primitive Wizard

Ochikobore Taimashi wa Isekai Kaeri de Saikyou to naru[落ちこぼれ退魔師は異世界帰りで最強となる] Dropout Exorcist becomes the Strongest by Returning from Anotherworld

Hitozuma to JK[人妻とJK ] Married Woman & High Schooler

HimeKishi ga Classmate![姫騎士���クラスメート！ ]: PrincessKnight is CLASSMATE

Bijo to Kenja to Majin no Ken[美女と賢者と魔人の剣] Beauty Sage and the Devil's Sword

Yuri Love Slave[百合ラブスレイブ]

Maoujou DATE Taisakusen![魔王城デート大作戦！] Demon King Castle DATE Strategy

isekaigaeri no arafour riiman, 17sai no koro ni modotte musou suru[異世界帰りのアラフォーリーマン、１７歳の頃に戻って無双する] (an) Around 40 Salaryman Returns (from) Another World, Comes back as (an) Unmatched 17 Year old

Mietemasu yo! Aizawa-san[見えてますよ！　愛沢さん]: I can see! Aizawa-san

NEET dakedo HELLOWO(RK) ni Ittara Isekai ni Tsuretekareta[ニートだけどハロワにいっ��ら異世界につれてかれた] I'm a NEET but when I went to HELLOWORK I got taken to another world

Shinmai Renkinjutsushi no Tenpo Keiei[新米錬金術師の店舗経営] Mangement of Novice Alchemist

Maou no Hajime-kata[魔王の始め方 THE COMIC]: Demon King's How to Get Started

Isekai Kuimetsu no SAME[異世界喰滅のサメ] "KILLER SHARK IN ANOTHER WORLD"

Umibe no Byouin de Kanojo to Hanashita ikutsuka no koto[海辺の病院で彼女と話した幾つかのこと] Several things I talked to her at the beach hospital

Yuusha-sama no Oshisho-sama[勇者様のお師匠様] The Master of The Brave

DRAWING Saikyou Mangaka wa Oekaki SKILL de Isekai Musou suru![ドローイング 最強漫画家はお絵描きスキルで異世界無双する!]: DRAWING The Strongest Mangaka, Drawing SKILL in Another World is Unmatched!

Isekai AV Satsuei-tai REMASTER[異世界AV撮影隊 リマスター]: Another World A(dult)V(ideo) Film-Unit REMASTER

Saikyou no Youhei Shoujo no GakuenSeikatsu[最強の傭兵少女の学園生活] SCHOOL LIFE OF A MERCENARY GIRL

UCHI no Ojou-sama no Hanashi o Kiite kure[ウチのお嬢様の話を聞いてくれ] LISTEN TO ME LADY'S STORY

Machigai Yuusha no Sentaku[間違い勇者の選択] CHOICE OF ERROR HERO

JK kara yarinaosu SILVER PLAN[JKからやり直すシルバープラン]: Do-over from High School Girl Silver Plan

EDEN's GIRL[エデンズガール]

Hitogui DUNGEON e youkoso![人食いダンジョンへようこそ！ THE COMIC]: Welcome to (the) Man-eating Dungeon

Kuchidome No Gohoubi Wa Dansou Otome To Icha Ero Desu![口止めのご褒美は男装乙女とイチャエロです！] THE REWARD FOR KEEPING QUIET WAS SEX WITH GIRLS DRESSED AS MEN

ASTRO KING[アストロキング]

Rengogu-jima Kyokuchi Renai[恋獄島 極地恋愛]: Love Prison Island Ends-of-the-Earth Romance

YANKII Akuyaku Reijou[ヤンキー悪役令嬢] Delinquent Villain Young Lady

Suteishi Yuusha, Maou no Shita de RESTART捨て石勇者、魔王の下でリスタート]: The Another wodl demon king's successor RESTART

Seidon no Ryuu[世呑の竜]: World Swallowing Dragon

VR EROGE Yattetara Isekai ni Tensei Shita node, Bishoujo Maou o Doreika Suru[VRエロゲーやってたら異世界に転生したので、美少女魔王を奴隷化する] If I Reincarnate into a VR ERO(tic)GA(me) Other World, I'd Enslave a Beautiful Girl Devil King

YANDERE Imouto ni Aisaresugite Kozukuri Kankin Seikatsu[ヤンデレ妹に愛されすぎて子作り監禁生活] YANDERE Little Sister (who) Loves Making babies too much Confinement life

Teisou Gyakuten Sekai[貞操逆転世界]: Chastity Reverse World

DUNGEON Kurashi No Moto Yuusha[ダンジョン暮らしの元勇者]A former brave resident in the dungeon

Seijo-sama wa Zangyou Teate wo Goshomou desu[聖女様は残業手当をご所望です] HolyWoman-sama Wants OvertimePay

GANG OF YUSHA[ギャング・オブ・ユウシャ]

HORE SHO NO HALF ELF SAN[惚れ症のハーフエルフさん] Half elves of Fall in Love

MARY-chan no Osunaba DUNGEON[マリーちゃんのおすなばダンジョン]Mary's Sandbox Dungeon

FREEZING[フリージング]

Kagaminochou no Kaguya[鏡野町のカグヤ]: Kaguya of Kagamino Village

[beatcroc]

hi. vore on main. no that's it that's the post this is straight up genuinely and unironically voreposting on main. mostly just a lot of cutsey dumb goofy shit, but monsterfucker brain did get ahold of me for a bit there so there's also a handful that are uhhhh Spicy. nothing explicit, but like, It's Vore Dude, so if you look under the cut that is YOUR problem ok? ok.

ok listen before i move on i have to put it out there look i KNOW i drew the funny rat skeleton comic with this guy but that was ONLY because it was funny. thats not my real belief, he doesn't have any organs at all he is just a sack of gunk. he is harmless. it's basically just the same inside as on the outside but slightly more damp since it's not exposed to air to give him that drier 'skin' layer.

also i already typed this out in my friendserver so im pasting it here now too. my stance on fp re: horniness is i really can't see him as a 'sexual' being, per se, especially with how non-biological he is, but also he really really really likes physical intimacy so if you are giving him permission to be weird and touchy on you in any context, let alone one both parties would enjoy, i mean. he's not gonna say no. this Could be about sex or w/e if someone wanted to fuck him but more relevantly here yeah it's about vore. i think that's categorically about the Most you can be touchy/in contact on a guy so yeah thats always what he's going to go for. tangentially he just thinks it's fun to make peppino* flustered so since pep does not particularly Enjoy being vored, fp has other options to Get Up In There for something else pep might enjoy *spoken generally for whatever theoretical partner, just peppino is the one that's readily available here and fun to use

also while im here id like to say. no peppino is not a monsterfucker are you kidding me. he is not going to ever go out of his way for weirdness. weirdness really has a way of finding him though, and he's shockingly tolerant of it as long as he doesn't clock it as a threat. anyway what im saying is if you got a big clingy beast around and al up in your business all the time shits just gonna kinda Happen sometimes. he's certainly not going to Encourage it but if hes already in that situation, might as well at that point.

[maraschinotopped]

felt myself going insane in real time so to counteract it i decided to doodle reclusa from the oneshot(?) i said i was writing. on a chromebook instead of using the very functional tablet i have lying right next to me.

[waugh-bao]

The Rolling Stones at No. 9 Carnaby Street (2023)

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: single dad

Bruce admits that he is unsure of the seriousness of his relationship with Daniel Fenton. He had never meant to run into the man after the parent-teacher conference. Yes, his introduction had a breath of fresh air, but Bruce was not naive.

It may have all been a trick, and Fentong was merely waiting to try to get closer to him or his money later on. He has always been optimistic about the good in man's hearts, but Bruce is also familiar with the equal darkness there.

That's why spotting the man in a busy cafe was such a shock. Bruce had gone on a walk between meetings, wanting something sweet to tie him over for the follow-up one.

He walked into a random family-owned place with a spicy smell. Bruce had been browsing the menu when he heard the soft melody for Fairy Tale Ending by Dumpty Humpty. Looking around a pillar, he found Daniel Fenton bobbing his head to the music while tapping away on his old beat-up laptop.

The cashier sees him staring and smiles apologetically. "We don't usually have people here, so we let him play his music. If it bothers you, I can ask him to get his headphones on."

"Oh no. I actually like the band." He assures her, paying for his drink and dropping a ten in her tip jar. He glances at Fenton again, then points, "What is he drinking?"

"Gingerbread Latte and a chocolate croissant," She responds easily, and at that moment, Bruce knows she hasn't recognized him. Not that he expects everyone on the street to point him out in a crowd, but it does mean she won't take pictures of him.

She doesn't know the photos could get her some money from down-on-their-luck gossip rags. He considers Fenton a little longer before nodding at her. "Can I have a gingerbread Latte? The exact same as his."

"You got it."

Bruce doesn't know what urges him to approach Fenton with the two drinks- though the cashier giving him a wink might have clued him in and clears his throat just as Fenton gets to the chorus. Blue eyes blink up at him. "Oh, Mr. Wayne. Hi."

"Good afternoon," Bruce starts, which causes Fenton to snort. With good-natured humor, he grins up at Bruce, and Bruce feels his intrigue rise just a few notches higher.

"Good afternoon to you as well, milord." The man says, one hand over his chest, bending his neck a little in a mock bow. "Has thy golden carriage brought to thy to me?"

"Having a golden carriage is a privilege for only the Roayl family. My carriage is made of silver, I assure you." Bruce laughs, stepping closer. This is different from the cashier. Fenton knows who he is, but he simply doesn't care.

Bruce is merely Bruce to him instead of the wealthiest man in the city and the country. It's....well, it's liberating, like being reminded that there are good and wonderful things still left in life. If this is how Fenton makes him feel only after the second meeting, what else could Bruce experience if he formed a bond with him?

Fenton's eyes catch the extra drink Bruce holds, lighting up when the other man offers it to him. He accepts the cup, offering the chair opposite from him. When Brue sits down, he asks about what he was writing where. Fenton admits to being a fantasy novelist and moves the conversation to what they enjoy reading.

Bruce arrived late to his next meeting but felt lighter, and a phone number scribbled on the back of his hand just like when he was a teenager and traveling states away to attend Dumpty Humpty Concerts.

The rest, like they say, is history.

Danny had quickly become a part of his life. It was odd how giggly the other man made him feel. Danny was a good balance to Bruce's brooding. Ironically, while Bruce believed the best in humans, keeping a calm center persona, Danny was cynical and bubbly. He assumed people were terrible, but there was no reason to give them any mind, and he was unapologetic for being himself.

After their third date, Bruce has worked up the nerve to ask Danny to be his boyfriend, only to have the other man laugh. "I thought we were boyfriends?"

"I didn't want to assume."

"Well, aren't you a gentleman? Look at those soft hands. You've never seen a day of work. Gentle-handed man," Danny teased while watching the people around them. Bruce knew there wasn't any real danger, but Danny had a habit of watching their surroundings in public places.

He didn't like being caught unaware. Bruce thinks he's in love. The thing is, Bruce has thought that before, and every single time, his relationship had fallen through.

He had a hand in it, but that didn't mean his partners never broke his heart one way or another.

But this time, things would be different.

Dick had pointed it out when he ran into the two at the grocery store. Danny had invited him to help pick out dinner while Dani had been on an overnight field trip at the planetarium. His eldest had cornered him when he returned the next day, smiling widely.

"Danny seems excellent. He's like an undercover goth dating an undercover prep. You both are literally the opposite of each other and seem to like spending time around each other."

Bruce wasn't entirely sure whether it was a bad or good thing, but he was happy that his kids approved of him dating again. He did get a little nervous about Damian, only to find out his youngest had come to idolize Dani, and that only made him hope the relationship would work out even more.

He could see it now, Danny tapping away on his laptop while Dani painted next to him in the Wayne Manor yard- Both preferred to be in nature- on cozy weekends. His children crowding the breakfast table while Danny sang songs from bands he'd never heard.

Birthday candles are being blown out with the cheering family. Christmas mornings followed the candle lighting of Hanukkah on the previous eight nights. Graduation ceremonies that will bring Bruce to tears despite claiming he has trained too hard to do so. Boyfriends and girlfriends, the two could tag team into scaring while their children regretted ever bringing them over for an introduction.

Danny would be the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes before bed and the first thing he saw in the morning light.

Bruce wasn't sure how their relationship was going, but he hoped, oh, he hoped.

[local-dragon-haunt]

hey! i’m an artist and i was wondering what about the httyd crossover art made it obviously AI. i’m trying to get better at recognizing AI versus real art and i totally would have just not clocked that.

Hey! This is TOTALLY okay to not have recognized it, because I DIDN'T AT FIRST, EITHER. Unfortunately there’s no real foolproof way to distinguish real art from the fake stuff. However I have noticed a general rule of thumb while browsing these last few months.

So this is the AI generated image I used as inspiration. I will not be tagging the account that posted it because I do not condone bullying of any type, but it’s important to mention that this was part of a set of images:

This is important because one of the BIGGEST things you can use to your advantage is context clues. This is the thing that clued me in: right off the bat we can see that there is NO consistency between these three images. The art style and outfits change with every generated image. They're vaguely related (I.E. characters that resemble the Big Four are on some sort of adventure?) and that's about it. Going to the account in question proved that all they posted were AI generated images. All of which have many red flags, but for clarity's sake we'll stick with the one that I used.

The first thing that caught my eye was this???? Amorphous Blob in the background. Which is obviously supposed to be knights or a dragon or something.

Again, context clues come into play here. Artists will draw everything With A Purpose. And if what they're drawing is fanart, you are going to recognize most of what you see in the image. Even if there are mistakes.

In the context of this image, it looks like the Four are supposed to be running from these people. The thing that drew my attention to it was the fact that I Didn't Recognize The Villains, and this is because there is nothing to recognize. These shapes aren't Drago, or Grimmel, or Pitch, or any other villain we usually associate with ROTBTD. They're just Amorphous Blobs that are vaguely villain shaped.

Which brings me to my second point:

Do you see the way they're standing? There is no purpose to this. It throws the entire image off. Your eye is drawn to the Amorphous Villain Blobs in the background, and these characters are not reacting to them one bit.

Now I'm not saying that all images have to have a story behind them, but if this were created by a person, it clearly would have had one. Our group here is not telling a story, they are posing.

This is because the AI does not see the image as a whole, but as two separate components: the setting, and the description of the characters that the prompter dictates. I.E. "Merida from Brave, Jack Frost from ROTG, Rapunzel from Tangled, and Hiccup from HTTYD standing next to each other"

Now obviously the most pressing part of this prompt are the characters themselves. So the AI prioritizes that and tries to spit out something that WE recognize as "Merida from Brave, Jack Frost from ROTG, Rapunzel from Tangled, and Hiccup from HTTYD standing next to each other".

This, more times than not, is going to end up with this stagnant posing. Because AI cannot create, it can only emulate. And even then, it still can't do it right. Case in point:

This is not Hiccup. The AI totally thinks this is Eugene Fitzherbert. Look at the pose. The facial structure. The goatee. The smirk. The outfits. He's always next to Raps. Why does he have a quiver? Where's Toothless? His braids? His scar??

HE HAS BOTH OF HIS LEGS.

The AI. Cannot even get the most important part of it's prompt correct.

And that's just the beginning. Here:

More amorphous shapes.

So these are obviously supposed to be utility belts, but I mean. Look at them. The perspective is all off. There are useless straps. I don't even know what that cluster behind Jack's left arm is supposed to be.

This is a prime example of AI emulating without understanding structure.

You can see this particularly in Jack, between his hands, the "tassels" of his tunic, and the odd wrinkles of his boots. There's just not any structure here whatsoever.

Lastly, AI CANNOT CREATE PATTERNS.

Here are the side-by-sides of the shit I had to deal with when redesigning their outfits. Please someone acknowledge this. This killed me inside. THIS is most recognizable to me, and usually what I look for first if I'm wary about an art piece. These clusterfuck bunches of color. I hate them. I hate them so. much.

Anyways here's some other miscellaneous things I've noticed:

Danny Phantom Eyes

???? Thumb? (and random sword sheath)

Collarbone Necklace (corset from hell)

No Staff :( No Bow :(

What is that.

So yeah. Truly the best thing to do is to just. study it. A lot of times you aren't gonna notice anything just looking at the big picture, you need to zoom in and focus on the little details. Obviously I'm not like an expert in AI or anything, but I do have a degree in animation practices and I'm. You know. A human being. So.

In conclusion:

(Y'all should totally reblog my redesign of this btw)

[10thmusemoon]

I think a lot about yqy, who had no specific attachment to gender, feeling dysphoria the first time he realizes that the women in SJ’s bed at the WRP were delicate with elegant soft features. He spends a night turning a copper mirror every which way, struggling to apply cosmetics with shaking hands when something finally clicks and he thinks to himself “I could never look like that, I could never be what Xiao Jiu wants.”

Maybe the thought lingers long enough to drive yqy to action, to bring him down the mountain and into a brothel where the women look eager to eat up this soft spoken man and show him the ways of the world. Unfortunately that’s not what he wants, instead of seeking the delicate touch of a woman he wants to emulate it. It’s hardly unheard of, they manage all sorts of requests at brothels, and this one is simple enough.

The first time YQY sees himself properly done up, his breath catches in his throat. That is, of course, still his face beneath the white powder and red dots, those are his eyes behind the kohl liner, and yet it’s…softer. In a certain light he could almost be called delicate.

The older woman must recognize something in his expression, the hand at his shoulder gently squeezing and apologizing that they don’t have anything in his size, but if he were to return with enough notice, perhaps something could be arranged.

Yue Qingyuan returns.

Again and again and again.

Each time the spells sinks its hooks into him, a fantasy of a different life where he was a different person, one that Shen Qingqiu could bring himself to touch. Maybe even to love. The feelings that inspires cling to him like the last remnants of summer’s warmth, sparking a small joy that lasts throughout the following days until it flickers out, signaling his return.

It’s a noticeable change in Yue Qingyuan. Disciples and peak lords alike notice his improved mood, an errant An Ding disciple sees him browsing hair pins, the fine silk of women’s robes in a market place and a rumor spreads like wild fire.

The sect leader has lover!

It’s not the first time such a thing has been said, Shen Qingqiu tracks these rumors like a farmer tracks the seasons. Each and every time the claims come up unfounded, and yet…when the recent whispers from chatty hall masters reach his ears he listens. This time around, there’s a marked change in Yue Qingyuan.

An improved mood, yes, but not only that there’s…a distraction.

The sect leader’s visits to Qing Jing Peak grow further and further apart, and when he does dare to show his face it’s always followed by a visit cut short, a distant air to his demeanor. Bile turns in Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, a familiar ache in his chest pounds against his rib cage, begging to be freed. It’s the same jagged toothed creature that would bare its fangs when the likes of Shi Wu would dare call out for Qi-ge’s attention.

Shen Qingqiu did not cut Yue Qingyuan out of his heart just for someone to pick up what he discarded.

This bears investigation.

In the dark recesses of Shen Qingqiu’s mind, he’s conjured up an image of what Yue Qingyuan’s lover would be like. A soft spoken woman from a noble family or humble shopkeeper, a shy thing that inspires love from all the meet her, a paragon of purity and morality that stokes Yue Qingyuan’s bumbling courtship. He would go through the proper channels of course, through her family if she had one, or simply jump straight to providing for her if she did not. Shen Qingqiu can just imagine it, Yue Qingyuan’s sweet little lover hidden away in house that he visits under the cover of night, bringing to her the gifts Shen Qingqiu has been offered but had turned away.

It just riles him up!

That the righteous YQY would sneak around everyone’s backs to defile a hapless woman that doesn’t know better! That he could be hunched over her, rippling muscles over bearing as he whispers confessions of love under the moon light.

The idea of it makes Shen Qingqiu’s heart race and fists clench. It’s simply unacceptable!! That should be-

Yue Qingyuan shouldn’t!

He doesn’t keep his promises!

It is only for the sake of the woman that YQY has duped into being his doe she lover that Shen Qingqiu follows him.

Shen Qingqiu was convinced it would take several attempts to find Yue Qingyuan’s secret abode. Surely his wife would be protected by the strongest talismans and spells available to a sect leader. So when his tracking leads Shen Qingqiu to the red light district of another town, it’s as if the world was turned on its heels.

That righteous bastard!

Yue Qingyuan is no better than any other man!!

White eyes with fury, Shen Qingqiu bursts into the brothel, accusations of hypocrisy on the tip of his tongue. But Instead of finding YQY rutting against a woman like the swine he is he is…

He’s…

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know what he’s looking at.

There’s women screaming and filtering out the door, his sword is brandished but SQQ’s hands have gone numb from the pressure.

Yue Qingyuan is-

He is-

…beautiful.

-

And that’s where I stop!! Happy 9/7 day YQY definitely uses his new found confidence to put the moves on SQQ, with a shakey voice he ask if he likes YQY better like this and SQQ is already stepping close to cup YQY’s face in his hands.

“Explain”

So he does and everything about how wrong SQQ was shakes him to his core because yqy would do this…found this part of himself… in order to be appealing to Shen Qingqiu…

Shen Qingqiu never tells YQY about the lover he had invented (and grown to loathe) in his jealousy, but as he’s giving him the first and most thorough fuck of his life, SQQ makes plans to buy his own secret cabin in the woods.

Just in case.

[luvashli]

PRIVATE SHOPPING

Synopsis -> When Chrome Hearts employee Y/N meets global idol Ni-ki, a professional encounter turns into forbidden tension. Despite the rules, their undeniable connection pushes them to risk everything for a chance at something real.

PAIRING: idol!ni-ki x fem!chromeheartsemployee!reader

GENRE: oneshot, romance, forbidden love, Celebrity/Non-Celebrity Relationship, Workplace Drama

STARTED: 1/26/2025

STATUS: complete

WC: 2.9k

Note: haha i just wrote this for fun, after seeing all those videos of ni-ki in the chrome hearts store on tiktok. Enjoy :)

The quiet hum of the air conditioner filled the otherwise silent Chrome Hearts shop. You were used to the serene atmosphere, where the only sounds were the clinks of jewelry and the murmurs of clients admiring the pieces.

Today, however, the shop wasn’t open to the public. A private appointment had been scheduled for someone important—so important that the entire store had been rented out for the occasion.

You adjusted a display of necklaces for the third time that morning, your hands steady but your thoughts racing. Your manager had emphasized the importance of professionalism today, which you found slightly redundant. Being professional was second nature to you.

When the glass door finally swung open, the sound startled you out of your thoughts. You straightened instinctively, your gaze falling on the figure walking in.

He was taller than you’d expected, his dark hair slightly tousled and his oversized hoodie making him look effortlessly casual. You recognized him immediately—Ni-ki, the youngest member of one of the most famous idol groups in the world.

His fame wasn’t something you actively followed, but even you couldn’t avoid hearing his name. It was everywhere—on billboards, in magazines, and in playlists.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted politely, bowing slightly as he stepped further into the shop.

He looked at you, his eyes curious but guarded. “Afternoon,” he replied, his voice quieter than you’d imagined it would be. He pulled down his mask slightly, revealing a polite smile.

“Feel free to let me know if you need assistance,” you added, keeping your tone neutral.

He nodded, his attention already wandering to the displays around him.

For a while, you let him browse in peace, watching discreetly as he moved from one case to another. Despite his casual demeanor, there was a sharpness to the way he observed each piece of jewelry, as if he were studying it.

Finally, he paused by a display of rings. You stepped forward, maintaining a respectful distance. “Are you looking for something specific today?”

“What would you recommend for someone who already owns a lot of Chrome Hearts?”

The question caught you slightly off guard. “That depends on what you’re looking for,” you replied smoothly. “Are you interested in adding to your collection, or are you looking for something unique?”

“Both,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “I’ve been collecting Chrome Hearts for years. It’s kind of an obsession at this point.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “An obsession?”

He smiled, sensing your interest. “Yeah. I think I was fifteen when I got my first piece—a ring. It was a gift from a stylist on one of our first shoots. Ever since then, I’ve been hooked. I love the craftsmanship, the designs... everything about it feels timeless.”

You nodded, genuinely impressed. “You don’t hear that often. Most clients are more interested in trends.”

“I’m not really into trends,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “I like things that have meaning, things that last. That’s why I keep coming back to Chrome Hearts. Every piece feels like it has a story.”

You considered his words for a moment, then reached into a nearby display case. “If that’s the case, you might like this.”

You handed him a silver chain with an intricately designed cross pendant. “This piece is part of a limited collection. The design is inspired by vintage Chrome Hearts from the early 2000s. It’s subtle, but the detail makes it stand out.”

Ni-ki examined the necklace closely, his fingers brushing over the pendant. “This is perfect,” he said after a moment.

“I’m glad you like it,” you replied, stepping back slightly.

As he continued to look at the piece, he glanced up at you. “You know a lot about this brand,” he remarked.

“It’s part of the job,” you said simply.

He smirked. “Yeah, but you sound like you actually care. That’s rare.”

You didn’t respond immediately, unsure how to take the compliment. Instead, you focused on returning the other pieces to their proper places.

“So, what about you?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What about me?”

“Do you have a favorite piece from the collection?”

You hesitated, not used to being the one answering questions. “I don’t own any Chrome Hearts,” you admitted.

“Really?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“It’s not exactly in my budget,” you said with a small shrug.

He chuckled softly. “Fair enough. But if you could pick one piece, what would it be?”

You thought for a moment before pointing to a sleek silver cuff bracelet in one of the displays. “That one. It’s simple but versatile.”

Ni-ki followed your gaze, nodding in approval. “Good choice. Maybe one day I’ll see you wearing it.”

You glanced at him, unsure how to respond. Before you could say anything, he placed the necklace and a few other items on the counter.

He looked up at you then, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “How long have you been working here?”

“Long enough to know what fits our clients,” you answered, deflecting the question slightly.

He chuckled softly, slipping the ring onto his finger. “You’re good at this.”

“Thank you.”

There was a brief silence as he admired the fit of the ring, and you took the opportunity to step back, giving him space.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

You hesitated. “It’s Y/N,” you said eventually, keeping your tone polite.

“Y/N,” he repeated, as if testing how it sounded. “I like it.”

You offered a polite smile but didn’t respond, returning to rearranging a nearby display.

Ni-ki continued browsing, occasionally asking for your opinion on a piece. As the minutes turned into an hour, you found yourself impressed by his genuine interest in the craftsmanship. He wasn’t just buying for the sake of it—he seemed to truly appreciate the designs.

Still, you kept a professional distance, even as he grew more conversational.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?” he said at one point, leaning against the counter as you placed a necklace back into its case.

“It’s my job,” you replied simply.

“And you’re good at it,” he said again, his tone sincere this time. “I mean it.”

“Thank you,” you said again, not letting his compliment fluster you.

He smiled at your calm demeanor, clearly amused by your lack of reaction. “You don’t get nervous around clients, do you?”

“Why would I?” you asked, meeting his gaze evenly.

His smile widened. “Most people do.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He laughed at that, the sound warm and genuine. “I can see that.”

The rest of the appointment went smoothly, though Ni-ki’s subtle attempts at small talk didn’t go unnoticed. By the time he’d chosen a ring and a necklace, the tension between professionalism and casual conversation hung in the air.

As he approached the door to leave, he turned back to you. “Thanks for your help, Y/N.”

“Of course,” you replied, bowing slightly.

“Have a good day, Mr. Nishimura,” you replied, your tone as professional as ever.

He paused by the door, looking back at you one last time. “See you around, Y/N.”

You didn’t respond, watching as the door closed behind him. Shaking your head, you returned to organizing the displays, telling yourself it was just another workday.

But deep down, you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see him.

The Chrome Hearts event was in full swing, a buzzing culmination of celebrities, designers, and photographers mingling under the warm glow of chandeliers. You stood off to the side of the bustling fitting area, adjusting racks of jackets and accessories while trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

This wasn’t your first time working an event like this, but it was your first time with stakes this high. Chrome Hearts had pulled out all the stops, and ENHYPEN, one of the biggest names in the industry, was headlining the night.

You’d been assigned to assist with styling, specifically to help dress Riki Nishimura.

Your mind flashed back to your first encounter with him at the store. Despite his playful demeanor, he’d left an impression that was hard to shake. And now, here you were, preparing to see him again, knowing full well that professionalism was non-negotiable.

“Y/N, they’re here,” your manager said, motioning toward the private fitting area.

You turned just in time to see the group of seven walk in, their presence commanding the room instantly. Cameras flashed as they greeted the event organizers, each member exuding confidence in their own way.

Ni-ki trailed at the back, dressed casually in ripped jeans and a hoodie, but his sharp gaze scanned the room until it landed on you. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, followed by a small, knowing smirk.

You quickly looked away, busying yourself with the clothes rack in front of you.

“Y/N, you’ll be with Mr. Nishimura,” your manager reminded you, handing you the clipboard with his outfit details.

“Understood,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.

When Ni-ki stepped into the fitting area, you greeted him with a polite nod. “Good evening, Mr. Nishimura.”

“Y/N,” he said smoothly, his tone teasing. “Nice to see you again.”

You kept your expression neutral. “Let’s get started. Your outfit is over here.”

He followed you to the rack, where a carefully curated ensemble awaited—a tailored leather jacket, silver accessories, and sleek black boots. As you began arranging the pieces for him, he leaned against the wall, watching you with an intensity that made your skin tingle.

“You’re really good at this,” he said after a moment.

“Thank you,” you replied without looking up, focusing instead on adjusting the jacket’s cuffs.

“Have you been doing this for long?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

“Long enough,” you said curtly, stepping back to give him space to change.

He chuckled softly, after hearing nearly the same answers to his questions like the last time. “Still keeping it professional, huh?”

“It’s my job,” you reminded him, crossing your arms.

As he slipped into the jacket, his movements deliberate, you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly the pieces fit him. He had a natural presence that made even the simplest outfits look like high fashion.

When he turned to face you, fully dressed, you adjusted the silver chain around his neck, your fingers brushing against his skin for the briefest moment. The contact sent a jolt through you, but you quickly pulled back, masking your reaction.

“Looks perfect,” you said, stepping away.

“Thanks to you,” he said, his voice quieter now. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken.

You turned away quickly, busying yourself with the clipboard. “You’re ready for the photos.”

As he joined the rest of the group, the atmosphere shifted. The other members greeted you briefly—Jay’s charismatic smile, Sunghoon’s quiet nod, Sunoo’s cheerful wave—but your focus remained on keeping everything running smoothly.

It wasn’t until the group dispersed for a break that Ni-ki found a moment to approach you again, this time in a quieter corner of the venue.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his tone different now—less playful, more serious.

You glanced up from the accessory case you were organizing. “Yes, Mr. Nishimura?”

“Drop the ‘Mr.,’” he said with a small smirk. “It’s just Ni-ki.”

You hesitated, your professionalism warring with the tension that seemed to grow every time he was near. “How can I help you, Mr. Nishimura?” You emphasize his last Name.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was wondering if you’d let me have your number.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “That’s against the rules,” you said firmly, though your resolve wavered under his gaze.

He tilted his head, a sly smile playing on his lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

You stared at him, torn between the strict boundaries of your job and the undeniable pull of his presence. Finally, with a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, you reached for a notepad on the counter.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you muttered, scribbling your number down and tearing off the piece of paper.

His fingers brushed yours as he took it, his smile softening. “I won’t,” he promised.

Before you could respond, your manager’s voice called you back to work, and the moment ended as quickly as it began.

As you walked away, you felt Ni-ki’s eyes on you, the forbidden tension between you lingering like an unspoken secret.

Weeks passed after the Chrome Hearts event, and though you tried to maintain a professional distance, everything had changed. The slip of paper with your number on it had been the beginning of a line you never thought you’d cross.

It started with late-night texts.

The first one came a day after the event:

[Unknown Number]: Is it weird that I can’t stop thinking about how you chose that bracelet?

You stared at the screen for longer than you wanted to admit before typing a response.

[You]: It’s weird that you’re texting me when this is technically against the rules.

He replied almost instantly.

[Ni-ki]: Rules are overrated. Especially for something that feels this… different.

And that was how it began.

Over time, the texts turned into calls, the playful teasing evolving into deeper conversations. Ni-ki wasn’t just a global idol with an obsession for Chrome Hearts; he was surprisingly down-to-earth, funny, and honest in a way that caught you off guard.

But as the weeks went on, keeping things secret grew harder.

The first time he showed up at the store unannounced, you nearly had a heart attack.

He arrived disguised in a plain hoodie and cap, his presence still unmistakable. “I was in the area,” he said with a grin, leaning casually against the counter.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hissed, glancing nervously at your manager, who was busy in the back.

“And yet here I am,” he replied, his tone light but his gaze serious. “I couldn’t help it.”

Against your better judgment, you allowed him to linger, though every minute felt like a risk. When he left, he slipped a small silver ring onto the counter, one you’d once admired during your conversations.

“For you,” he said simply.

You stared at it, shaking your head. “Ni-ki, I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted softly. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

And just like that, the line blurred even further.

The turning point came during another Chrome Hearts event, this time at a private gala where the brand unveiled a new collection. You were there to assist again, your role similar to before, though now the tension between you and Ni-ki felt almost unbearable.

He arrived with the other members, dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit adorned with silver accents. When his eyes found yours across the room, the connection was instant, as if the noise and chaos around you didn’t exist.

As the evening wore on, he found small excuses to be near you—a whispered question about his cufflinks, a fleeting brush of his hand against yours as you adjusted his collar. Every interaction sent your pulse racing, though you tried to hide it.

But it wasn’t enough for him.

Toward the end of the night, he cornered you in a quiet hallway outside the main ballroom. His expression was serious, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more vulnerable.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, “this thing between us… I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t exist.”

You crossed your arms, trying to put up a wall you knew would crumble under his gaze. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Ni-ki. If anyone finds out—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “I know it’s risky, but I can’t ignore how I feel. Can you?”

His words left you speechless. For weeks, you’d tried to convince yourself that it was just harmless flirting, that you could keep things professional despite the way your heart raced whenever he was near. But now, standing so close to him, the truth was impossible to deny.

“Ni-ki…” you began, your voice faltering.

“I’m not asking you to break every rule,” he said softly. “I just want a chance. A real chance.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. Part of you wanted to say no, to walk away before things got even more complicated. But the way he looked at you—as if you were the only person in the world who mattered—made it impossible.

Finally, you nodded, your resolve crumbling. “Okay,” you whispered.

His expression shifted into a mixture of relief and joy, and for the first time, he let his guard down completely.

From that moment on, everything changed.

The relationship that followed was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. You met in secret, stealing moments when his schedule allowed it. Late-night car rides, quiet dinners in hidden corners of the city, and whispered conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning.

But the secrecy only fueled the intensity. Every touch, every glance, every stolen kiss carried the weight of what was at stake.

And though the risk was always there, neither of you could walk away.

Because in the end, some rules were meant to be broken.

Masterlist

Open taglist

If you'd like to be tagged in future updates for my other storys, let me know by:

-> Sending me a message or

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[arthurbristow]

Keep it close - Shigaraki x Reader

"Keep close," Shigaraki muttered, his crimson eyes scanning the bustling market around them. "I don't want to lose you in this crowd." His white hair fell messily over his face.

It was an unexpected outing, to say the least. The League of Villains rarely ventured out in daylight, especially to something as mundane as a game market. The two of you had left the hideout that afternoon, Shigaraki’s rare urge to indulge in some new video games coinciding with the League’s need for supplies. Dabi had been particularly insistent, his grumbling about running out of cigarettes becoming unbearable. So, with a list of groceries in hand, you accompanied Shigaraki to the market.

“Look at them, scrambling around for their mundane little pleasures,” he continued, hands twitching slightly as he spoke. “Pathetic.”

Navigating through the crowded streets, your eyes couldn’t help but notice the occasional glances and whispers directed your way. Shigaraki’s presence was hard to ignore, even if people didn’t recognize him. And you felt a wave of unease. The noise, the press of bodies, the constant motion—it was overwhelming. Your senses were on high alert, every fiber of your being screaming to find a point of stability. Shigaraki walked ahead, his posture tense but focused, clearly absorbed in his hunt for the perfect game.

The press of bodies around you intensified, and an accidental shove from an overenthusiastic passerby sent you stumbling. Without thinking, your hand shot out, grasping Shigaraki’s. The contact was immediate, grounding. Only a heartbeat later did you realize the full extent of your actions. His hand was bare — no protective gloves. A cold shiver ran down your spine. One wrong move, one slip of control, and you could be reduced to dust. Shigaraki’s Decay quirk was lethal, merciless. 

He stiffened, his head whipping around to look at you. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, but not entirely devoid of curiosity.

“I…” You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “I just… needed to hold on to something.”

His laugh was a harsh bark, but there was no malice in it. “You’re insane.” Tomura didn’t pull his hand away though, didn’t dissolve you into nothingness. Instead, his grip tightened slightly, with his pinky raised up in the air to protect you from being decayed on the spot.

The two of you moved through the market like that, hand in hand. It felt strangely intimate, a connection that defied the perilous nature of his quirk. The crowd seemed less daunting with him by your side, your anxiety ebbing away with each step.

Shigaraki led you to a stall filled with the latest games. His eyes lit up as he browsed through the titles, a rare smile playing on his lips. It was a side of him you didn’t see often, this almost childlike excitement. You couldn’t help but smile too, caught up in his rare moment of happiness.

“Found it,” he said, holding up a game with a triumphant look. “This is the one.”

“Great,” you replied, your voice steadying. “Now, let’s get those groceries before Dabi sets the hideout on fire.”

Shigaraki chuckled, “Yeah.”

As you moved to the grocery section, the crowd thickened again. Instinctively, you tightened your grip on his hand. This time, he didn’t question it, at all.

You quickly gathered the items on your list, your movements efficient despite the mass of people. Cigarettes for Dabi, snacks for Toga, and various other necessities for the rest of the League. 

Through it all, Shigaraki stayed by your side, keeping his head lowered, reading the information written on the box of his new game, your hand still in his.

Holding Shigaraki's hand was a paradox of sensations. His skin, surprisingly warm, radiated a heat that contrasted sharply with the chilling fear of his lethal touch. The rough texture of his calloused palm told stories of countless battles and hardships. Yet, beneath the coarse exterior, there was a vulnerability — a silent plea for connection. The knowledge that a single slip could mean your end made the experience electrifying, heightening every sense. It was like holding a live wire: dangerous, exhilarating, and oddly comforting all at once. In that grip, there was a fragile trust, a delicate balance between life and decay, and an unspoken promise that for now, in this moment, you were safe.

Eventually, you managed to complete your shopping list. Dabi's cigarettes, snacks and manga for Toga, and even a few items for yourself. Shigaraki, meanwhile, had amassed a small pile of new games, his crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

As you reached the entrance, you reluctantly let go of his hand. 

He glanced at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You apparently liked holding my hand, hmm?" Tomura cooed, his tone softer than you’d ever heard.

"Yeah…" You replied, feeling a warmth spread through your chest and flush claiming your cheeks.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Just don’t make a habit of grabbing my hand. Next time, I might not be so careful."

[simblrcc-site]

Simblr.cc - but better!

A lot has changed! Not only does it have a new lick of paint, it comes with way more features now!

Psst! If you are new to the site, please read this post first: Click me!

✨New Features

There are a lot of exciting new features:

An improved (Tumblr) importer.

A better Stories uploader.

A new lightweight uploader for quick, small posts.

A completely redesigned projects page with a fresh, modern look!

A redesign of the feed page + being able to like posts on said feed

You can now upload stories as "scenes" that appear on the feed, while still being part of a full, easily navigable story!

A new "Welcome" page, giving more people exposure to their stuff!

And... of course some bug fixes and teeny tiny User experience issues. 😉

🐦Lightweight Uploader

Something I'm super proud of putting together, the Lightweight uploader!

It streamlines the process of uploading simple pictures—no more navigating through multiple pages. Everything is on one easy-to-use page.

If you're logged in, you can access it directly from the Feed or via the "Upload/Post" option in the navbar.

Compatible Post Types:

WIPs

Gameplay

Personal

Lookbook

Familiar and Intuitive Features

If you're used to Tumblr's posting mechanism, you'll notice some recognizable elements:

Drag and Drop Images: Arrange your pictures to create collages! Each row holds up to 3 images, and you can add as many rows as you want.

Simpler Tagging: Tags are now easier to select.

Optional Titles and Descriptions: For WIPs and Personal Posts, titles and descriptions are optional. For other posts, they're still available but not required.

Streamlined and intuitive, the Lightweight Uploader makes sharing your content easier than ever!

📥 Improved Importer:

What's New?

New Importer: Pillowfort! We’ve added a brand-new import option: Pillowfort!

Tumblr Importer:

Previously, the Tumblr Importer relied heavily on your theme, which often caused errors if your theme wasn’t quite right. Fixing those errors was frustrating for both of us!

What’s changed? The importer now uses the official Tumblr API to grab your posts. This means imports will work flawlessly 99% of the time.

Plus, when you share a post on Simblr.cc, the importer will reblog it on Simblr.cc's Tumblr, giving you more exposure—that’s what Simblr.cc is all about!

What about past uploads?

I'm working to have the importer recognize whether your upload is CC or a Gameplay item (not live yet).

Support is being added to reblog posts from the old Tumblr Importer, so those uploads can still shine!

More import options are on the way in the future!

🖊 Improved Stories Uploader

Easier for Writers and readers! 😉

When creating a new story or legacy, you now have three options:

Chapter-Only Story

Chapters & Scenes Story

Scenes-Only Story

Important: All stories created before this update are currently set to Chapters-Only.

What’s the Difference Between a Chapter and a Scene?

Introducing Scenes! Previously, stories and legacies were strictly chapter-based, meaning you could only release a full chapter at a time. Now, with scenes, you have more flexibility!

A scene works like a storyteller’s post on Tumblr—it appears on your feed. This means your scenes can be shared on Simblr.cc’s Feed (but not the Stories browse page) even before the full chapter is published, making it easier for readers to discover your story.

Note: A "Scenes-Only" story works just like a "Chapters & Scenes" story—just without the chapters! 😉

Can I Change My Story Type?

You can change a Chapters-Only Story to a Chapters & Scenes Story. However, you cannot switch from Chapters-Only to Scenes-Only or any other combination.

Though, you will have to ask me to do this for you, due to the way it's currently set up.

Afterwords:

Note: Since this entire platform was built by just one person (me!), it might still have some bugs I haven’t come across yet. Please understand that most social media platforms have entire teams working on features like this, and therefore I can't promise a super "bug free" experience.

So, If you spot any bugs, please don’t hesitate to report them—it’ll help make the platform even better, and it also helps me out! Thanks for your support! 😊

[m00njelly2]

/\___/\

꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱

./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.~♡︎

|￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣|

| read the post |

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

Hello

This is my little hideaway for my horny thoughts! I’m a 19 year old, born in 2005, from the USA, & bi. You might recognize me from my old blogs @/littlec0ner, @/princessje11yf1sh, & @/moonjelly! I do have a throne list, telegram & cash app if you would like to support me they are at the very bottom !

BACK UP @m00njelly3 PLEASE FOLLOW IT

DNI

MINORS

Blank blogs

Racists

homophobic & Transphobic people

Zionists

MAGA weridos

What I’m into

Age g@p, daddy k!nk, size difference, strength k!nk, br33ding kink, fauc3t, an@l, r@pe fantasy, oral fixation etc (will add more as I remember & explore)

What I’m not into

R@ce Play, extreme violence, scat, toilet stuff, that animal stuff forgot what it’s called

Disclaimer

I don’t condone anything illegal, if you think/ wish anything about my fantasizes are real gtf off my blog! All fantasizes are between consenting adults with pre-established limits

How to interact with Me

First and foremost, I love interacting with people but I have rules that I asked that are followed for my own personal safety & comfort!

I prefer asks over DM’s: my DM’s get flooded easily & quickly, I’m more likely to respond if you send an ask!

When send asks make sure it’s something you would say to someone you just met, even if it’s a kinky ask the same thought process applies

If I don’t answer your ask don’t take it personally: either I don’t want to answer it, or I’ve answered something like this before, or it’s already answered in this post

If you chose to DM me remember: one if I don’t respond don’t take it personally. Two, I’m not always in the mood for sexting so if you come into the conversation with that energy I’ll straight up tell you I’m not down. Three, if I stop responding, again, don’t take it personally my DM’s probably got flooded again or I’m busy

I do have sessions but there are separate rules for that

Sessions

05433e9ef5daf73d221f2d4b46ded8720c7f5e416562e5efdb445acf1dc8500020

I’m more selective on sessions I’ll be honest lol

I’m more likely to respond if you send something interesting (aka be original 😭🙏🏽)

Featured Tags

Jelly’s thoughts - for all my thoughts

Jelly’s pics - for all my pics/videos

Jelly’s answer - when I answer asks

Jelly’s psa - all my important announcements

Physical Description

5’0 or 4’11

130 pounds

32 DDD / 32E

Long wavy/ curly black hair

More about me

I’m a student so I’m not here all the time a lot of what I post is on queue/ schedules

I’m a cat mom of 2

I’m an active person, I weight lift, swim, and hike

I’m a homebody, but still extroverted

I yap… like alot

My hobbies include reading, cooking(learning how to), kpop, anime, marine biology, Star Wars, & DC comics

I’m a virgin lol

Tend to follow back if I think you/your blog is cool/funny or if I like the aesthetic

If you decide to spoil me ($10 or more) let me know in my DM’s and send me proof, I’ll send you something special🤭 (just make sure I can submit media into your inbox, and remind me I forgot ) (also wanted to add that anything as of the 1/10/24 is being put towards my tuition.)

[yuechihua]

remember me as i am.

summary: When Harumasa asks for an unexpected favor, you accept, against your better judgement. The last thing you expected was to have to pretend to be his spouse at a doctor’s appointment.

notes: 4.5k words, author's notes, fake marriage, fake dating, ambiguous relationship/feelings, fluff with some light introspective sadness

“I need you to do me a favor.”

When Asaba Harumasa whispers those words to you across your shared desks at the Section Six office, hand cupped around his mouth for emphasis, eyes glittering with mischief, you can’t help but brace yourself for whatever ensuing trouble he’s going to drag you into.

“What’s the favor?” you respond evenly. “If it’s to convince Yanagi to accept your request for time off, I’m not going to do that.”

“It’s not that!” Harumasa insists. “But it’s about something that’s important for the well-being of Section Six.”

You glance around the room; Soukaku is doodling with crayons on some confidential reports, Miyabi has left for a meeting with the rest of the section chiefs (and you can guarantee that she isn’t paying any attention), and Yanagi is steadfastly working through a towering stack of papers on her desk, so high that you can barely make out the top of her head. No one is paying attention to the two of you.

“Well, what is it then?” you say, and Harumasa casts a furtive glance at Yanagi before leaning closer to you, bracing his elbow on your desk. He’s enjoying himself a little too much, you can’t help but feel, what with how his smile curls like a satisfied cat.

“We need to meet up on our day off, preferably in the morning and somewhere near Lumina Square,” he says conspiratorially. “It’s too risky to pull off here. But it’s important, partner, so make sure you’re not late.”

“If it’s something that’s important for Section Six,” you whisper, tilting your own head closer to the shell of his ear, “Maybe it’s something that we should bring up to the others. What is it? Some illicit venture into a Hollow? Should I call Phaenton, too?”

“There’s no need for all of that,” Harumasa says hastily. “You only need to bring yourself. Maybe a disguise,” he adds, “to avoid public notice. This is a confidential mission. I’m relying on you.”

You let out a small sigh. Visions of curling up on your couch tomorrow, browsing through books with a mug of warm, sweet tea vanish in front of your eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there. But you owe me for dragging me out on our only day off.”

“I’ll make it worth your time, I promise.” Harumasa has the audacity to wink at you, like you’ve agreed to some ridiculous, under-the-table deal. 

Maybe you have. It certainly feels like it when you drag yourself out of bed the next morning, donning sunglasses, a long, caramel-colored coat buttoned up to your neck, and pulling a hat low over your head to complete the look. You’re out the door and on the train to Lumina Square before ten minutes have passed.

You’re set to meet Harumasa at some nondescript corner of the square, an alley boxed in by towering buildings and mostly hidden from view. What does he have in store for you? Despite the playful attitude he had yesterday when asking you for help, there was also something serious underpinning his words, even as he tried to pass it off as a flight of fancy. Harumasa would never ask you for help unless it was something important. 

You’re certain that you’ll have to wait for Harumasa to show up a few minutes late, making some slap-fash excuse. To your surprise, he’s already waiting for you. You almost can’t recognize him at first. He’s forgone his usual headband; instead, he’s wearing a hoodie, a cap, and a facemask, slouching against the wall, staring aimlessly at the sky. 

“Harumasa?” you say.

At your voice, Harumasa immediately straightens, lifting himself off the wall. You can hear the smile in his voice, even if you can’t see it. “There you are!”

“You’re early,” you say. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

Harumasa slings a casual arm around your shoulder. “Well, I didn’t want to miss our date. But don’t let Yanagi know that I’m capable of showing up on time, okay?” 

“It’s not a date,” you say, lowering your sunglasses to give him an unimpressed stare, “It’s a mission. Or so you claim.”

“It is,” he says. “Come with me. I’ll show you our place of operations.”

Harumasa still has his arm around your shoulders, but you don’t shake him off as he leads you confidently through alleys and down back roads, avoiding the bustle of crowds in the main section of the city. The breeze is cool, the sunlight warm on your face againsr the winter’s chill.

Eventually, the two of you stop in front of a hospital, a towering construction of shining metal and glass reflecting squares of blue sky. People bustle in and out of the sliding front doors, letting out gusts of sharp, chemically scented air.

Harumasa is silent as he stares up at the building, his hat shading his eyes. You can’t make out his expression, but you lean your head on his shoulder, a brief, reassuring touch.

He seems to come back to himself, then, and Harumasa’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he resumes talking in a clear, casual voice, “So, this is where our mission is taking place. Here’s the gist of it: I need you to pretend to be my spouse.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he wheedles. “I’ve been avoiding coming here for a while, but they’re not taking my excuses anymore. And they wanted me to bring a family member over to verify some things.”

“You could have just said so from the beginning,” you say. “I was beginning to think you wanted us to infiltrate somewhere.”

“If you think about it, we technically are,” Harumasa muses. “Besides, isn’t it more fun if I tell you we’re on a mission, instead of just giving everything away? Also, this is necessary to Section Six; what are they going to do without their star Executive Officer?”

The arm around your shoulder is shaking imperceptibly; sometime during his words, his grip has tightened, just slightly, as if he’s clinging to you to keep from sliding down a cliff. The unspoken truths hover in the air: that you’re the only one in Section Six who knows about his Ether Regression Aptitude Syndrome, and that he can’t ask anyone else to help him for this.

“Why your spouse, though?” you say instead. “Why not just say I’m a distant relation? You could also just not specify what our relationship is.” 

“Because it’s more fun for me,” Harumasa replies. Typical.

Within the next few minutes, the two are checking in at the front desk after a brief wait, Harumasa wading through tedious paperwork and bureaucracy and health insurance forms with clipboards and pens that click more than necessary. 

“Make sure to tell the doctor I’m here with my spouse,” Harumasa emphasizes, tapping the clipboard with his pen. He slides his arm around you, drawing you closer to him, and you try to resist the urge to pull away and keep your face schooled in a neutral, pleasant expression.

“All right, Mr. Asaba,” the receptionist chirps. “He’ll be out to see you in a bit!”

The waiting room is filled with rows of yellow and white plastic chairs, carpeting worn by the tread of countless anxious patients, and stacks of old magazines on tables and televisions mounted on the walls playing a cheesy blockbuster with the voices muted. A bored child plays with the hospital’s block toys on the floor, his mother talks quietly into her phone in front of him, and an elderly man flips through a magazine, his cane resting on his lap.

You and Harumasa settle into your seats, side by side. In the space between, where your hands dangle, his knuckles brush against the back of your hand before he draws your hand into his. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve somehow become his stress ball, something he needs to touch to ground himself. 

“Still holding up alright?” Harumasa whispers. “You cleared the first hurdle.”

“Maybe I should be asking you that,” you whisper back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m used to it.” At times like this, you wish you could see Harumasa’s mouth, because his eyes betray nothing. 

Still, when the receptionist finally calls out, “Asaba Harumasa, the doctor’s here to see you,” you don’t let go of Harumasa’s hand. The doctor is stocky and short, with tired, drooping eyes, and he frowns when he sees Harumasa.

The three of you start walking down the hall, the doctor setting a rapid pace as he lectures Harumasa. “You’ve been avoiding my calls for the past week. Do you know how hard it is to get in contact with you? Proper medical care requires consistency!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harumasa says without sounding sorry at all, but he seems more focused on swinging your joined hands together like a child on a swing set. 

In the doctor’s office, the two of you are finally separated as Harumasa perches on the examination table. You’re sitting in a guest chair lined up against the wall across from him. The doctor moves through standard physical procedures with a deft, practiced hand. Harumasa follows along easily, thoughtlessly, as if these processes are second nature: the lights shining in his eyes, the blood pressure cuff around his arm, the routine questions. 

However, whenever the doctor is distracted recording results or marking down Harumasa’s answers, Harumasa will pull down his mask and make faces at you, to which you’ll respond with a roll of your eyes or your own exaggerated expressions of annoyance. 

“Have you been resting well?” the doctor asks sternly, turning back around just as the two of you quickly settle into more typical expressions. “You’re not pushing yourself at work, I hope?”

“I haven’t,” Harumasa says, with wide eyes. 

“Hmpth.” The doctor turns to you. “Well? Is he being truthful? As his spouse, I trust you’ll be honest for the sake of his health.” Behind the doctor’s back, Harumasa strikes you with an expression of mock disbelief, raising his eyebrows dramatically. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but you control the tremor of your lips. 

“He hasn’t been pushing himself hard at all,” you say smoothly. “If anything, I think my husband has been resting a little too well.”

“All right. And your medications, Mr. Asaba? Have you been taking them properly?”

“Right as instructed, every morning and night,” Harumasa says. “My lovely spouse would know. They’ve seen me dutifully take all of them.”

“He has,” you verify. From what you know, anyways, Harumasa never misses a dosage. 

The doctor peppers Harumasa with more health-related questions and logs down all his answers. It’s over before you know it, and Harumasa leaps off the table as soon as the doctor puts away his clipboard. 

“I’ve missed you, cutie,” he says, throwing his arms around you like you haven’t seen him in months, snuggling up to you as the doctor watches with a weary expression. 

“The two of you get along well,” he says stoically.

“Oh, we do,” Harumasa chirps. 

“Make sure to make a follow-up appointment, Mr. Asaba. Your health appears stable, and your symptoms haven’t worsened.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” you supply, shooting a quick, withering glance at Harumasa, who only gives you a pleading expression in return. “He won’t be late to the next appointment.”

“I appreciate that, Mx…?” the doctor trails off questioningly.

“Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa interjects. “That’s their name.”

“That’s right,” you say. “Thank you for your time today.”

Harumasa wraps his arm around your waist, giving the doctor a lazy wave, and then the two of you are through the door, down the hall, and out of the hospital. Once you’re a street away, Harumasa finally speaks. 

“You were excellent there, Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa says. 

“Of course I was. Though you don’t need to call me that.”

“Why? I think it has a nice ring to it,” he muses. “Mx. Asaba and Mr. Asaba.”

“I was serious about what I said back there, you know,” you say. “You need to make your follow-up appointment soon. And you should try to show up to it on time.”

“You’re so strict. What if I need you to come with me again to feel better?”

“Then just tell me when, and where,” you say. “If you need me there, then I’ll be there, no matter what.” 

A brief flicker of surprise lights across his face, before it smooths out into his usual relaxed smile. “You’re soooo good to me, Mx. Asaba. Since you went out of your way today to help me with such a confidential mission, let me treat you to some food!” 

“I suppose that’s what a good spouse should do,” you say. 

Harumasa’s arm is still around your waist, but you can’t bring yourself to shake it off as he enthusiastically guides you to whatever restaurant he has in mind. His grip is casual, loose enough that you could shrug it off if you really want to. But if you do, then he’d never pull close to you like again.

Harumasa is attentive in that way. If you set a line, then he would never cross it. All his jokes feel like a casual calculation of the distance between the two of you. How far is he allowed to go? How much are you willing to put up with? What’s the boundary of your relationship? 

It’s like he’s waiting for rejection, offering you the chance to push away from him in a way that would make it easier for both of you. The way he touches you is akin to possession, but from a man who’s afraid to say he deserves to call you his.

Yet, if you push a little too close, more than he’s comfortable with, then he’ll run away like a skittish cat, afraid your affection will turn to boredom or cruelty. You’ve been with him long enough to understand this. So you’ll play along with his jokes, his little white little lies and deceptions, if it’s the only way he’ll let you stay close to him.

It’s a date, or a confidential mission, or whatever excuse Harumasa wants to use. What a complicated, beloved partner you have.

“We’re here,” Harumasa says. You’re at a ramen shop, with low stalls pulled up the counter, the simmering heat and steam from the kitchen feeling like a miniature summer. Thankfully, it’s empty, but your disguises ensure that neither your nor Harumasa’s fans will bother you for pictures and autographs in either case. 

“Order whatever you want,” he says, and you pick up the laminated menu, browsing through the various options. “Oh, wait. Pose for a second.”

Harumasa pulls out his phone, opening the camera, and aims it in your direction. You make a quick peace sign, menu held aloft in your other hand, and the shutter snaps. “What’s that for?”

“You looked nice,” he says. “I’ll send it to you later.”

“I didn’t realize you liked photography.”

“It’s a good way to preserve things that are fleeting, but important to you,” he says. “Moments that won’t last, people that might leave. Things like that.”

“Are you planning on divorcing me already?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand, peering at him over the top of your sunglasses. 

Harumasa places a hand over his heart. “Me? Never.”

The two of you place an order for ramen, and it doesn’t take long for the noodles to arrive. It’s simple, but delicious: hearty, flavorful broth, bamboo shoots, seaweed, fish cakes, slices of charred, fatty pork, and an egg with a jammy yolk.

Neither of you talk as you sit in silence, slurping noodles and drinking spoonfuls of broth. It’s been a while since you’ve gone out for a meal like this, and even longer since you did so with someone that wasn’t some sort of business partner or official whose good graces you need to stay in. 

You glance up with a mouthful of noodles to find Harumasa watching you, chopsticks in hand, a small smile on his face, as if he’s never seen anything so charming, his own ramen forgotten. Your face burns for reasons you don’t want to identify; you’re only thankful he doesn’t ask for another picture.

Harumasa lets out a sigh of appreciation when he’s done, placing his chopsticks neatly over his finished bowl. “Soukaku once cleared out almost all the noodles in this place, did you know that? I’ve been meaning to go ever since she told me.”

“Did it match your expectations?”

“I don’t normally like heavy food, but this time, I didn’t mind it,” he says. “Or maybe it’s because you looked like you enjoyed it a lot. It made me appreciate this bowl more.”

“Smooth-talker,” you say. “If you’re done, should we head back–”

“Wait, there’s somewhere else we should go,” Harumasa interrupts, holding up a hand. “We need dessert after a meal, don’t you think?”

“Really? A dessert? What are you thinking of getting?” you ask.

“There’s a popular drink shop around here. They serve milk tea in these cute little Bangboo shaped cups,” Harumasa begins. “I thought it might be fun to check it out.” 

“I thought you hated sweet things,” you supply. The two of you stand, and you smooth down your coat as Harumasa adjusts his facemask. You’re ambling down the street again, but this time, you loop your arm through his, pulling him close. It’s an effortless gesture, and it’s startling how easy it is to press so close to him.

“Well, you don’t,” he returns. “And it’s a popular date spot too. Can’t I take my lovely spouse out some more?”

You bump him with your hip. There’s no need to keep up your pretense anymore. There’s no one else here to listen to your lies. Both of you know this, but you can’t bring yourself to state the obvious. If you point out the script, then the curtain will fall and the play will end, your fragile happiness disappearing as the actors take a final bow. “Sure, if you keep paying.” 

The two of you end up in front of an inconspicuous milk tea shop. There’s no outdoor or indoor seating, but there is a counter and a blackboard with the menu chalked in, alongside doodles of smiling Bangboo holding milk tea on the side. A tired salesgirl stands in front, her expression at odds with her bubblegum pink uniform. There’s a few teenagers milling nearby, hands cupped around their milk tea and conversing in giggles.

Harumasa tilts his head as he looks at the menu, hanging above the two of you. “They sell iced coffee here,” he muses. “I thought this was a milk tea place.”

“They probably want to offer a variety of drinks for people who might not like milk tea,” you supply. 

“What are you getting?”

“The Bangboo special milk tea,” you say immediately. “It’s their speciality, and it comes with a Bangboo shaped cup. If it’s cute, I might take it home and wash it so I can reuse it”

He eyes you with amusement as the two of you approach the counter, where Harumasa slides his card across the counter. You make a note to treat him out to dinner at some point; as much as you tease, it wouldn’t sit right with you if you didn’t return the favor. “One iced espresso and a Bangboo special milk tea for me and my spouse, please.”

“Got it.” The salesgirl doesn’t bat an eye as Harumasa leans against you, his eyes crinkling at the corners like a pleased cat.

It doesn’t take long for your drinks to arrive. Your milk tea is in the shape of a Bangboo’s head, and topped with a pile of jellies over delicately set tiers of differing flavors. You take a sip, and you’re flooded with a creamy, milky sweetness.

Harumasa, who hasn’t even taken a sip of his espresso yet, looks amused as he watches you. “Let me try some of yours.”

“You won’t like it,” you protest, but Harumasa is already pulling down his face mask and leaning towards you. You raise your drink to let him take a quick sip.

He licks his top lip in thoughtful contemplation. “Way too sweet.”

“I told you. Now give me some of yours,” you say. “It’s only fair.” 

He obliges without protest, tilting his straw towards you. You take a quick sip, but it’s cold and bitter. You wrinkle your nose; you’re no stranger to coffee, especially when shifts run late into the night, but you still like to add creamer and sugar to take the edge off. 

“Coffee is an acquired taste for true adults,” Harumasa says when he sees your expression. “Maybe I’m just a bit more mature than you.”

“Sweetness is also an acquired taste,” you quip. “It’s good to learn to enjoy the sweet things in life.”

“Maybe it is. Oh, wait. Before you finish your drink. Let’s take another picture.” Harumasa pulls out his phone again, and you don’t protest as he raises it and angles it down towards the two of you. You raise your cup, and Harumasa lopes his arm around yours, locking the two of you together.  

With a few press of his thumb, he’s done, and lowers the phone for your inspection. You examine yourself the same way a stranger might; the two of you huddled up together, Harumasa’s cheeks red from the cold, your lips drawn into a smile, looking almost like the married couple you’re pretending to be. 

“You look cute as usual,” Harumasa comments. “But it makes me look bad. I’ve got to stop taking pictures with you.” 

“That’s not my fault,” you protest. 

“Of course it isn’t. You can’t help being the cutest person in the world.” 

You’re saved from thinking up a response that won’t betray your own embarrassment by the curious giggles of the teenagers across from you. They keep glancing furtively from you to Harumasa, hands cupped over their mouths. You can hear whispers of “Section Six” and “celebrities” which doesn’t bode well for your current anonymity. 

Swiftly, you grab Harumasa’s hand and start pulling him away from the cafe, down the streets of Lumina Square. The winter sun has started to droop in the sky, painting the world in a vivid, melting, yolky light. Laughter drifts around you from people lost in their own worlds. 

You’re not sure where you’re going, only certain on heading away from anyone who can recognize you. Harumasa follows along gamely, your willing accomplice.

You fly up a flight of stairs and you’re suddenly on the walkway above the streets, the city stretching out below you, buildings stacked like decadent cakes, people little figurines trotting carelessly by. 

You’re far away from everyone else now, cocooned in your own world. Harumasa’s fingers squeezes yours playfully, and suddenly you’re aware of how his hand feels in yours, warm skin and calluses from his bow and reassuringly slender fingers wrapped around your own. 

You drop his hand, finally, and take a sip of your own drink, which is sweet, so sweet, as Harumasa walks up to the railing and braces his elbow against the metal. 

“You’ve been taking a lot of pictures of me today,” you say. 

“I want to treasure every moment we have together,” Harumasa says, without turning. A cool breeze stirs, sending his hair fluttering, his clothes rippling. 

He’s unfair when he talks like this, the tenderness in his voice making your heart ache over the inevitable future, a predetermined ending. Like he’ll slip through your fingers as easily as water at any moment.

You pull out your phone, swipe to your camera, and raise it to frame Harumasa in the center, backlit by the glow of the sun and the tart light from the windows of buildings around you. 

“Look over here,” you call, and Harumasa turns. He’s beautiful, so beautiful it hurts. “Strike a pose.” 

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking a picture?” he asks. 

“I want to remember you,” you say. “Forever.” 

Harumasa tilts his head back. “Me?” 

“You’re not the only one who wants to cherish every moment we spend together.” 

Harumasa slowly pulls down his face mask, and you can finally see his smile, more brilliant than the sun behind him, flooding through your nerves and filling every part of you with a warm light. 

You press your phone’s camera shutter, once, twice, immortalizing Harumasa for as long as you can. You lower your phone, and join him at the railing, looking down below at the peace you’ve both fought so hard to protect. 

The world is filled with such endless cruelty and stunning beauty in equal measure. And yet, it’s the only world you have. You tap your fingers against the railing, a nonsensical song. 

“For your next appointment, maybe we should try a different restaurant when you’re done,” you say. “And we can walk around and take more pictures. There’s a few art installations around.” 

“You sure you want to come back with me? You’ll have to pretend to be Mx. Asaba again, you know.” 

“I don’t mind,” you murmur. “It has a nice ring to it.” 

“If you talk like that, you’ll make me want to make it official…. Of course, I’m kidding,” he adds before the words can linger for too long. 

“Have you thought about getting married?” you ask.

“I couldn’t do that to someone,” he responds lightly. “Besides, it’d be bad for PR. You know how intense our fan clubs can get.”

Of course, you understand. Marriage is an alien thought for a job where you risk your life everyday fighting against Ethereals and venturing into Hollows. You barely have enough time for yourself after long shifts and overtime and late nights, ready to be called into action at the slightest emergency. Could you bear to leave behind someone you love under the circumstances? Could they bear waiting and worrying for you? You would never be able to provide them any form of normalcy.

“Leaving someone behind like that… I don’t think I could do it. Or ask them to understand why I can’t give them an ordinary life,” you say. 

“Right, right. I wouldn’t want to make my partner cry,” he says. “I knew you would get it.”

His eyes gleam, two precious pieces of gold. Of course. Neither of you are capable of an ordinary relationship. Whatever the two of you have right now, whatever form you let it take, can’t be named. Something will break if you try. 

Carefully, delicately, you lean your head against his shoulder. He stiffens only momentarily before relaxing, a silent affirmation of your presence. Below, cars rush by, the misty glow of streetlights winking into life as the sky darkens.

“I’ll let you know when I have my next appointment,” he says, voice carrying like the wind.

“All right. I’ll be sure to make the time for you, Mr. Asaba.”

He laughs, a low, soft sound. “Thank you, Mx. Asaba. I knew I could rely on you.”

And it’s nice, like this. For just a while longer, you can forget anything that’s happened before, or anything that might happen in the future. Right now, it’s just you, and him, together. 

[fudgechocolatepuff]

a lovebirds bloom! 🌷 pt.i

keigo t. x fem. reader | wholesome fluff :)

pt.ii of a lovebirds bloom , pt.iii of a lovebirds bloom

summary ⋆ ꪆৎ you with an unoccupied life intertwine paths with the fastest and busiest hero, where you both catch a break in your tranquil flower shop. lots of love in the air begin to unfold ꪆৎ

In contrast to the big city where everyone bustled to work in a hurry and longed for a minute more at home, you were met with a life you found quiet, but quite easy.

Fortunately, you were able to nag yourself a lovely position as a florist in a small flower shop tucked away from all the chaos that the streets carried.

You took your current job to be a gem, considering you had a never-ending obsession with flowers and bouquets since you entered high school that thankfully you kept as you approached your 20s.

Despite the fears that others had about these small jobs like lower compensation, you found peace in such a laid back and natural environment, an escape from the worldly problems that awaited you when you flipped the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’.

Of course, you were aware that the shop wasn’t very popular among those in the city, and you didn’t exactly “make bank” like you had intended to as a teen, but you still enjoyed the connections you made with your boss, your other 3 co - workers, and your clients. 

Due to the lack of popularity of the flower shop, it wasn’t normal that anyone of high status ever visited. They’d always be too busy with their inquires to bless you with their presence or had their assistants do it instead.

Until one day when you were browsing through your laptop, choosing and buying flowers from suppliers when you heard the jingle of the door bell ring faintly in front of you.

If there were anyone you weren’t expecting to walk in the shop to browse through the supply of plants, you definitely weren’t ready to see the number two hero in the country waltz through the door.

You stopped scrolling through the page you were on and stared at the hero, observing his movements in awe.

Out of all of the training your co-workers drilled into you, you had no idea how you were going to confront the winged hero.

Um, Hello?? Hero Hawks?? What brings you in our flower shop that’s literally the size of a dormitory room?? On a random sunday afternoon in the beginning of march?? What the flip??

The air of your workspace became too awkward for you to breathe in.

Gosh, it was just so random that such a well known hero like him would be in such a small flower shop like the one you worked in, the comparison was mortifying.

You knew that pro heroes existed, sure, but making interaction with them seemed like talking to someone of higher class.

Well, maybe it was like literally talking to someone of higher class, but in a scenario like this, it was 1000x more intimidating.

You watched his eyes as they glanced every few seconds in the ‘solid tones’ from the ‘pink’ selection to the ‘red’ selection, and then to the ‘baby blue’.

You weren’t the best analyst, but you quickly recognized the lost gaze he held in his eyes as he searched without a clue what he was even looking for in the first place.

It was kind of cute to see him so concentrated on some silly flowers.

Hawks then turned his head toward you and caught the admiration in your face, returning a gentle smile that made you mentally curse yourself for letting him catch you drool at him as if he were a masterpiece of art.

His revealed toned arms crossed against his chest definitely were a piece of art no doubt about that-

“ ‘scuse me, but could I steal you away for a minute? I jus’ need some help… doing all of this I guess,” the hero chuckled to you, his hand ruffling through the winded locks of his hair. 

Your knees shook at the warmth of his voice and his boyish laugh that you almost ignored the initial request all together as you treasured his being.

You swear his presence was a mesmerizing haze, leaving you dumbstruck for a few moments.

“Oh… oh! Yes, yes! I’ll be right there!” You exclaimed to him as you snapped out of your lovesick daze, skipping out from behind the register counter to resolve his flower fiasco.

You stood to his side, looking up at him with your hands clasped behind your back. “So, how can I help you today, Hawks?” 

His hesitation and ‘ah..’ that dragged out of his mouth revealed to you that he didn’t know how to start with his little issue. Poor him, you thought. Might’ve been a bizarre story for all you knew.

You assured him that you could help no matter how peculiar the situation.

Honestly, you wouldn’t mind if you had to stand there all day to listen to his melodic voice.

He put his hands in the fronts of his pant pockets as he began to explain,

“Alright, so, ya’ see, today happens to be one of my friends’ birthday, Mirko, I’m sure you know who she is, and ah.. I kinda forgot ta’ get her a present—hero duties and all, ‘course I’d forget, right?”

You nodded your head and hummed letting him know you were listening to his story.

He scratched the back of his neck as he continued,

“Only thing I can think of getting her right now are flowers, I know she likes them, but I dunno the first thing about flowers. You get where I am in this situation?” he smiled nervously, hoping you’d understand.

“Yeah, I have an idea,” you giggled, your hand making its way to cover your mouth as you poked fun at him, “kind of crazy how you would forget such an important birthday like that though.”

The hero put his hands up in defeat, “You got me there. That’s bad on my part, but at least I’m trying to salvage this,” he joked. “I’m just hung up on what to get her, I can’t picture any color, any theme, nothing.”

He turned to fully face you and tilted his head a bit to the right, a cheekier grin tugging at his lips. “Thankfully though I’ll be saved by the cutest florist who I’m sure will get me hooked up on the best selection of flowers.”

You felt your teeth suddenly grind against each other with a sharp breath you took in following after, making Hawks laugh at your stiffened reaction.

“So, what combination do you think would go well for today’s occasion?” He awaited your response with an owl-ish blink, crossing his arms again in anticipation.

Shaking off the embarrassment pooling in the core of your stomach, you took a moment to think.

‘Mirko.. although she appeared as a tough fierce woman, you personally believed she’d appreciate something elegant and light. (It made even more sense to you since the spring season would begin to bloom this week.)’

“I was thinking of something simple. Um, perhaps a pair of white roses and lavender baby’s breath..?” You searched Hawks’ eyes for any sign of approval, to which a glint in his eye shone as he looked back at you.

“I trust your judgment to whatever selection you make for me. I already know that I’ll leave this shop saved.”

His caring attributes and words were hypnotizing you as a timid smile curved at your lips and you held back the urge to utter an “awww.”

“I’ll get them wrapped up for you right now, it shouldn’t take too long.”

You still couldn’t fathom the fact that Hawks was literally the only one in the shop with you, it didn’t feel real, more like a dream where everything around you would turn into clouds and the two of you would levitate towards eachother until your lips met-

snip snip!

Hawks’ knuckles knocked rhythmically on the counter as his leaned figure watched yours snipping the stems of snow white roses.

He couldn’t help but let his eyes linger over your delicate fingers, handling the plants so well. He bet your touch was as gentle as a feather.

What was he thinking.

Hawks felt his heart tighten. He wasn’t sure if it was out of flattery, but his pinkening cheeks told him otherwise.

He should stop by this place more often.

He gulped down his thoughts, pupils looking up at you showing off your work to the hero.

The boquete was decently sized, definitely not small. The flowers were spread out and mixed evenly making the colors appear vibrant. From the stem up, the plant bunch was wrapped in a lovely baby pink sheet.

You extended your arm to his face, obliviously poking him in the cheek with the flowers as you finalize your final touches with a little ‘shift’ here and a ‘shift’ there.

“It’s not the best I’ve whipped up, but I hope this is good enough for Mirko.”

Standing up straight, Hawks took the boquete out of your hands, ever so slightly making sure to brush his fingers against yours, transferring the jolt of electricity from his body to yours.

It would be criminal to ignore a gesture like such. Who were you kidding—it left your beating heart throbbing, yearning for more contact. You had to keep it professional.

His hawk-like eyes stabbed daggers into yours, releasing a spell that couldn’t let you look away from the man in front of you.

“Knew I could trust you. Cutest flowers I’ve ever seen. They’re perfect.” he insisted, face not faltering one bit as he kept his eye contact with you—not looking away for a second—and craned his head the tiniest bit to the right to steal another flustered smile from you.

You hoped that he wasn’t talking about the flowers.

The three seconds that you and Hawks took engulfing each other in the moment felt like it lasted three years.

Yes, it was cliché, no need to yell it in your face, but it was nice. For both you and Hawks.

You had a delightful change of pace in your uneventful days, and with the most gorgeous man your eyes ever laid upon? Come on, you had to enjoy this.

You were a lovely girl to be around, really. Something about your personality just felt soothing after all the mental and physical wounds he endured throughout the years.

He couldn’t just leave it all here though. He was no casanova—quite the opposite, actually—but he knew you two had some sort of connection.

Hell, maybe he was delusional about this, but he couldn’t care less. He felt his stomach sink whenever he looked back at you, depicting whether it were butterflies or not.

He cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for the flowers, sweetheart. I better move along now, duty calls. How much do I..”

“Oh..! No, no, don’t worry about it, it’s on me this time,” You stimbled an awkward, but sincere smile as your fingers subtly fidgeted with a strand of your hair, gliding up and down the piece.

Hopefully the ‘understanding’ sprinkled into your smile would console him of his awkwardness. Even you could see it, and that was saying something.

The winged hero returned a soft grin to that, muttering a “thank you.” as he made his way to the door, his hand hovering over the handle.

He turned his head back to look at you, capturing your image in his mind so he could replay it over and over when he made his leave.

Raising your hand to wave him goodbye, you wondered when the next time you’d see him would be, or if you would ever even see him again. It felt bittersweet.

“Come back again soon.”

“I plan to do so.” He professed, pulling the door open and taking a few steps out the shop before he took off into the city, leaving you shocked and still in the shop by his bold remark.

If anyone were to be zipping through the winds at a decently fast speed, it’d be normal to be a bit cold.

But in this case, the winged hero was warming up the more your shop came out of view. He whipped out his phone from his pocket and opened his “imessage”.

hawks:

i think i just met the love of my life. and kind of ruined it sent 1m ago

rumi:

you dumbass. sent just now

a/n: longest and might be the corniest thing i ever wrote, cute tho! last part was kind of a joke, idk if hawks would acc text ppl like that. lmk if i should do another part! love uuu! 💗

[charliemwrites]

Sniff sniff sneeze… woof

Content: Dub-Con Touching, Dirty Talk, Invasion of Personal Space, Fantasizing

You’re browsing the back section of the bookstore when the scent of pine tickles your nose. It’s the only warning you get before a large hand lands on your hip, a low voice next to your ear.

“Quite a selection ye’ve got there.”

You nearly drop the stack, only for a thick pair of arms to come from either side, steadying you.

Soap. You stare in shock at the corded muscles of his forearms, the dark tattoo decorating one. His hands are so big and rough against the backs of yours. What would they feel like holding your own, on your wrists, your thighs…

“Th-thanks,” you manage, tucking your books to your chest and spinning around.

He doesn’t give you any room to do so, forcing you to brush up against him. Even pressing your shoulders to the shelves doesn’t offer much space between your bodies; he looms over you, eyes unnaturally bright in the soft bookshop lighting.

“Um… hi,” you manage after a moment, the silence so thick and heavy it’s like a weight on your tongue.

The smile he offers you feels almost mean.

“Hey yourself, hen. Nice to see you without all the…. distractions.”

All the convenient excuses to leave, you think grumpily.

“How - I mean… do you live in town?”

He tilts his head oddly. “Aye, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

He ignores you, eyes flicking again to the titles stacked in your arms.

“Looking for inspiration there, are we?” he asks, tongue rolling slowly over his bottom lip. “Doesn’t all hafta stay in your imagination.”

You flush hotly. Didn’t think he’d even recognize any of those titles.

“That’s not - it’s just for fun,” you babble. “I mean - it’s none of your business either way.”

God, you’ve never wished for Johnny and his man-hating tendencies more.

“‘S a little my business, aye? Gotta know just how you want me to ruin you.” He narrows his eyes a bit in amusement, teeth peeking out with his smirk. “What name you wanna scream.”

You puff up a bit, humiliation thankfully morphing into anger.

“The only name I’m going to call you is — eep!”

He’s got your face in one massive hand, cheeks pressed to your teeth. Your heart thunders in your chest, head spinning with confused adrenaline.

“Maybe we should start right here, eh? I can spank this pretty ass while you try out different names.” He leans in close, lips brushing yours. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find one I like before you lose the ability to sit.”

You whimper and squeeze your eyes shut, mortified to realize the dirt and gravel in his voice is making you slick.

“Stop it,” you whine, pathetic to your own ears.

Then all at once he lets you go and takes a big step back nearly to the other side of the aisle. His smile is easy and friendly, arms swinging casually by his side. The only indication of what he just said, what he just did, is the unnatural gleam in his eye.

“Something like that is what you’re after, aye?” he asks. “Here.” He reaches to the side of you shoulder and plucks a book off the shelf, setting it on top of your selections.

“You’ll like this I think.”

He winks and then saunters off, hands buried in his pockets.

—

When you get home, Johnny greets you at the door, immediately sniffing all the places Soap touched. He even noses at the book Soap picked out - and dammit, it was one you were looking for. Told yourself you weren’t going to let him ruin it…. and that it means nothing that it’s the first one you’re going to read.

But first…

“I’ll go outside with you in a little bit, bud.”

You head straight for your bedroom and your fully charged toy in the nightstand. Johnny saunters in, ears perked.

“Just… just gotta get it out of my system,” you mutter to yourself. “It’s fine since he’s not here.”

You won’t admit to anyone, ever, not even your dog, that you fantasize about Soap making good on his threat while you fuck yourself. Thinking about that big, calloused hand spanking you raw right there in front of god and everybody while you sob “daddy please.”

The next time you run into Soap - a less raunchy, but still exhilarating encounter in the Tescos where he reminds you get lube - you barely say hi to Johnny before making a beeline for your room. And then promptly throw it at the wall in a fit of frustration when you find the battery dead.

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Masterlist

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

romantic vs platonic

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader (Established Relationship), Conner Kent x Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 1k words

romantic:

Dick burrowed his face into your neck, breathing in your familiar scent and letting out a deep sigh once your fingers began running through his hair, gently massaging his head.

He took another deep inhale and twirled a lock of your hair in his fingers as he began placing kisses to your neck. It was that one strand that was always curlier than the rest.

"Your hair smells great, baby." He murmured and your eyes fluttered shut, the warmth in Dick's embrace beginning to put you to sleep. You thanked him for the compliment with a small kiss to the crown of his head.

"I love it when my pillow smells like your shampoo the next day." He confessed and you melted.

A hot blush was growing on your face and your bleary eyes took in the sincerity of his smile. Pressing a palm against his chest, feeling his faint heartbeat beneath your fingertips, you leaned close to kiss him.

“I love you.”

"I love you more."

platonic:

You sighed, letting your hair out of the uncomfortable ponytail that you had haphazardly put up so that it wouldn't be in your face while you ate lunch.

That single strand had been uncomfortably tugging against your scalp for last thirty minutes and you gently ran your fingers through the stands, bringing instant relief—

"Woah!!"

That was until someone reached out and yanked your hair so hard you almost fell flat on your behind.

"Dude, what shampoo do you use? Your hair smells great!" Conner commented, reaching out to grab a lock of your hair so he could sniff it once again and you smacked his hand away, staring at your best friend with an expression of disgust mixed with absolute bewilderment.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

***

romantic:

You stepped out of the bathroom, gently toweling your hair dry as you tossed some clothes in the hamper as you stepped back into the bedroom.

Dick looked up from his place on the bed, giving you a passing glance before he nearly broke his neck to look back at you in surprise, a grin growing on his face that was partly lovestruck, partly teasing but completely genuine.

"Is that my T shirt?"

You chuckled at the sight of his impish grin that threatened to split his face, choosing to ignore his blatant staring of your ass that peeked from the hem of the shirt.

"Yeah? Is that okay? I didn't bring any clothes with me." You explained, towel joining your clothes in the hamper when you had decided your hair was dry enough and you perched yourself on his lap, his hands immediately coming to wrap around your waist.

"More than okay," He chirped and you kissed his expectant lips, "You look beautiful."

platonic:

The amount of time it took Conner to recognize that there was something different about you was absolutely disappointing as you lay in wait, glancing up at him occasionally as you absentmindedly browsed through your phone.

"Is that my T shirt?"

You hid the cheshire grin on your face and instead schooled an expression of surprise, "Is this your shirt? Oh, I had absolutely no idea! I thought it was a communal shirt! Considering it was left in the dryer for the last couple days!"

He rolled his eyes, immediately knowing what you were on.

"Because you see, I know you wouldn't leave your clothes in the dryer for days so that it would impede me while I was trying to get my laundry done after the countless reminders I had given you. So I just assumed that this shirt was available for the taking. You know what the scholars say: 'Finder's keepers, losers weepers'."

You still managed to give him a smile even though your words came out through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, alright? I won't do it again."

You gave him a fake chuckle, "Yes, you won't because as of this moment you don't have any clothes left to launder. Considering they are my clothes now."

He glared at you.

***

romantic:

"Babe! You're never going to believe what just ha—What's wrong?" The delight in his voice immediately dimmed as soon as he caught a glance of you buried underneath the covers with your back facing him.

He knew you were awake; the frantic motions you had made to wipe away your tears as soon as he entered had told him enough.

"Baby, what happened? Why are you crying?"

He didn't even wait for a response before sitting beside you on the bed, leaning down to press several kisses to your hair. You didn't reply, sniffling and hiding your face against your pillow as you felt a fresh new wave of tears hit you.

"Oh, darling."

And then you were back again in the warmth of his loving arms. He wrapped himself tightly around you, making the heavy pain in your chest alleviate and be replaced with the content you usually found when lost in his embrace.

Before you could control it, you were sobbing softly into his shoulder while he cradled you against him, gently patting your back and raking his fingers through your hair, "Let it out; let it all out."

platonic:

Conner could only stare at you in equal parts of concern and disbelief as you continued to wail in front of him, tears streaking down your cheeks in fat droplets, each followed by an equally fat successor, all while you continued to wheeze and gasp for air in the middle of your sobs.

"And-and-and-*gasp*-then he-then he-*gasp*-he—"

"BITCH SPIT IT OUT!"

"He hung up on meeeee!" You wept, now hiding your splotchy face in your hands. He let out an affronted scoff, offended on your behalf but still sitting beside you to gently pat your back. Well, he thought it was gentle. You, on the other hand, felt the sobs being knocked out of you with each 'pat'.

When your loud wails eventually dissolved into equally loud squawks as you attempted to catch your breath, he asked, "Do you want me to beat him up?"

Finally, you were able to crack a smile.

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[stevieschrodinger]

I do not have time to write this, but I really need to write it down.

All the events of Stranger things happen as normal - one crucial difference, Eddie gets involved, but not in the same way. He's an innocent by stander who never made friends with the kids. He's a vague background character to the action. He's an extra on set, effectively, and when he drops out of school and leaves town abruptly, someone might notice, but no one really questions it.

Years later, the only thing that feels real about the whole thing are the scars Steve still carries on his body. Sometimes, sometimes, he has to call Robin, just to check it was all real. That he hasn't lost his mind. He still flinches when a light flickers, to this day his ears ring for hours after a loud noise. He has headaches.

The only people he can talk to about it are Robin and the kids; but he feels bad. The kids aren't kids anymore, and they all seem to have just...gotten on with their lives. Seemed to have grown and evolved past it all, even though Steve regularly still wakes in the night, sweating and fighting with his bed covers. He doesn't put that on them, he sounds happy on the phone, and he is, loves hearing about their lives, their relationships, their plans and their own kids.

Robin has a girlfriend, she's happy and settled. Steve's the only one who seems...stuck. Like he cant move past it. He bums around. Stays with Nancy for a while, then Robin. Visits Argyle, makes loose acquaintances and sofa surfs. Drifts, aimlessly, through life.

It's about time in his cycle to visit Robin, but the relationship is serious this time and she nags him to find his own place to stay near by - loosing patience with him when he fails to be motivated and finding it for him herself. It's tiny, the kind of place where the bed is also the couch and the TV rests on a short run of kitchen counter because there's no where else. Feels okay though.

Steve gets a job. Spends a day on foot, door to door, walking through town; lands in a record shop of all places, even though CD's have now well and truly taken hold and vinyl isn't much of a thing. It's dark inside, the walls painted black, the bare brick red. A couple of people browse through, but Steve heads right for the counter.

There's some screamo rock stuff playing that Steve doesn't recognize, but it's quiet, so it's okay.

Behind the counter, someone Steve half recognizes from another life. Eddie Munson, Freak of Hawkins High. What are the odds.

Eddie isn't who Steve remembers. He's angry now. Bitter. Has a horrible scar that creeps up his neck and onto his face, pulling the corner of his lip down. Steve does his best to ignore it. Begs for work.

Eddie employs him, but only because he thinks it's fucking funny how far the king has fallen. Now the king works for the jester.

Steve does his best at the shop. Cleans a lot. Gets on well with the customers, charms plenty of sales.

Eddie walks with a cane and seems to hate everyone and everything; but nothing so much as a cold morning. Seems to be in more pain than usual.

Steve wants to ask, Eddie tells him it was an animal attack. In 86.

Steve's seen some of the scars by now, caught glimpses of how bad Eddie was hurt; helped Eddie even when Eddie was spitting angry about accepting any help.

What the fuck kind of animal could do that much damage in Hawkins?

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

And Steve puts it together then, instantly and viscerally realizes in his bones what must have happened. No one ever believed Eddie. Why would they? How could anyone think that monsters coming out of the walls, out of the floors, out of glowing red portals could be the truth?

And Steve says, did it's face peel apart like a flower?

And then he tells Eddie. He tells Eddie everything. He shows Eddie his own scars. Tells him about every monster they ever come across. It was one of the demo dogs. Like Dart. Steve knew it must have been, but Eddie confirms with a description.

And then Eddie cries, because he finally has a explanation. He's not crazy. For the first time in his life, someone believes him.