#cookie writes

[silenceofthecookies]

CW: past mention of abuse, possessive behavior

You sat down behind your desk, grateful for the silence your office brought. Being the assistant of a harbinger wasn’t easy, but the job came with its perks, a calm work environment being one of them. Especially after the mess with your fellow Fatui members yesterday… 

You jumped as the door slammed open. Scaramouche, who seemed to be in a fouler mood than usual, walked in. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him, simply heading to his chair. You could hear him mumbling something about Dottore, but couldn’t exactly make out what. You didn’t ask either, it was none of your business. Scaramouche may not have been kind with his words, but he was always clear when he’s addressing you. You got up to close the door behind him before sitting back down at your desk, processing the documents Scaramouche had asked you to work on yesterday. 

“Hey, you,” Scaramouche barked. Him addressing you as ‘you’ was nothing new. He never used your name. “go wash this for me.” 

Scaramouche held out his catalyst to you, which you could see was covered in blood. You got up from your desk and accepted the weapon, taking it to an adjacent bathroom to wash it. As much as you were not a fan of it, you were used to it. You rolled up your sleeves and got to work. 

Once you were done you went back to your office and placed the now sparkling catalyst on Scaramouche’s desk. Before you could walk back to your desk, you heard a firm ‘stop’. You froze in place and looked up at Scaramouche. His eyes seemed trained on your arm. 

“Lift your sleeve.” 

You looked down at your arm and felt anxiety settle in as you realized part of the bruise from yesterday was showing. 

“Sir, it’s nothing se-” “I told you to lift your sleeve, not to talk back.” 

Anxiety turned to fear as you saw cold eyes glaring at you. He was angry. You lifted your sleeve, revealing the hand-shaped bruise under it. Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed as he saw the bruise. He glared at it for a few seconds, before looking you in the eyes.

“Who did that?” His voice was colder than you had ever heard. 

“Sir, it-” “I asked you who, y/n.”

You muttered the name, hoping to not anger him any more. Scaramouche nodded and left the office without another word. He would teach them that nobody messed with what was his.

It was only after he closed the door behind him - gently - that you noticed that for the first time, he had used your name.

[slushycoookie]

Miguel needs you... 18+

“Please.”

He says your name while towering over you in the dark. Your calves pressed against the edge of your bed, your eyes up towards him. Miguel’s face stained with tears while searching for an answer. You want to ask what’s wrong. Why he’s come to you distraught in the dead of night. But no words escape your lips. 

Instead, you nod.

Miguel does all of the heavy lifting. He picks you up, laying you carefully on the sheets. Whatever he’s feeling, he’s not taking it out on you. He’s gentle, removing your clothes and his suit. His lips on yours were desperate, the unknown emotion fading with every kiss. His calloused hands trace your body as if you were a painting. The tips of his fingers move like a brush stroke. 

You whimper from his caresses and he swallows them all. Completely absorbed by you. His fingers dip along your sex, chest rumbling at how wet you were for him already. Miguel holds you close while slowly pumping two fingers into you. A thumb lazily circling your clit. You try to hide as he pleasures you, but he demands you look at him. Desperation decorating his crimson eyes while they mix with lust. And you get lost in them. Relaxing your muscles only for them to jolt in pleasure. Pushing you to the deep end.

Miguel helps you ride your high as much as he can. His fingers slick with your arousal. As he turns you over, his lips press along your head, then goes down. To your neck, your shoulders, your back. All while making sure your hips are up in the air, face down. Even then he takes his time, making sure he's kissed every single part of your back. 

Then he slides into you.

You whine at the stretch, tangling your fingers into the sheets. Miguel groans at how you feel, slowly settling himself all the way in. He leans over, a hand on top of yours while the other a firm grip on your hip. His face on your head as he takes a minute to be completely absorbed by you. Pretending you two were the only people in this world. Right here and right now. 

When he starts to move, you sigh at him pulling all the way back then pushing forward. Slow but powerful thrusts almost knock the wind out of your lungs. He lovingly traps you under him, his hand squeezing yours after each snap of his hips. His breath traveling down the nape of your neck, not wanting to part from you at this moment. 

He picks up the pace of his slow rhythm. The grip on your hip gets harder and he starts being more vocal, whining in your ear. Sweat from your skin sticking to his chest. Goosebumps forming at hearing the sticky, wet sounds of your exchange. And you know he’s close so you let him ride that wave. 

Miguel stills, letting out whatever he was going through. Filling you up with his cum while buried in your neck. He presses further into you, clutching on to make sure not a drop escapes. In the crisp silence, the soft sounds of crickets outside your window, he kisses your head. Still inside you.

“Thank you.”

A/N: Thank you, 'Dopamine' by Jackson Wang, for inspiring me.

[cookiepie111]

Inspired by @yeyinde got me thinking about regency era simon . I blacked out and wrote this. Simon x black reader. Not proofread

That questionable man that follows Mr price everywhere, the one that spoke 3 times in house when Mr. Price and his wife were away, managed to somehow disgust all the maids and servant men.

It seems you got the short end of the stick. You're the one he needs something. A drink, finding a room, a cut arm.

He's Got you cornered at the edge of the servants kitchen, presenting a bleeding hand. The servants dont make it past the door when they see his back, opting to leave him and the poor you pressed up against him.

The man's cut all over from things worse than severing knife, he'd be fine, just wrap some cloth around it. But that's no good he wouldn't have your soft hands pressing down a little too hard on the wound, wouldn't get to sit so close to you taking in all the shades of brown in your face and the smell the sweet orange perfume Mrs price gave you. He thanks you with a kiss to neck, something you told him to stop too many times before.

He's safe, it's John's maid he's messing him, if ghost asks, john will present you so nicely to him and even pay for the wedding. Only he's wrong, your Mrs. Price maid so when you cry to her about the nasty man who won't leave you alone, she's wringing John's ear out.

"Tell your dog to keep his grubby hands off my maid!"

"come on now he just being nice."

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Bad Habits

Kim has developed a bad habit. 

Ever since Mae died, he hasn’t been able to sleep alone. Pa never entertained this weakness, even when Kim went sneaking into his room at night for comfort, for the familiar scent of Mae’s perfume that was steadily fading from their pillows, so he began sleeping with Tankhun, instead. Khun never minded. He always told Kim how nice it was to have his own little heater to keep him warm at night. 

It helped that Kim didn’t take up much space; he was small for his age, even smaller when he curled up into a tight little ball for Khun to cuddle, like a bearded dragon around a heat rock. 

Kim doesn’t sleep with Khun anymore, though. Not since his brother was kidnapped and came back wrong. Frightened and distant, his body an empty shell for his shattered soul. He can’t stand to be touched. Not by the doctors or the guards or their father. Not by Kim. 

The first time Kim sneaks into Khun’s bed after a nightmare, Khun wakes screaming, kicking and clawing to get away, his nails raking stinging welts into Kim’s arms. The guards outside come running in and Kim slips out behind them, an ache in his skin and his eyes and his heart. 

Kinn finds him sometime later, after Khun is settled and sedated. Kim is hiding in the music room, beneath the piano, curled up as small as he can with his arms wrapped around his head. One of the scratches is bleeding. 

“Khun says he’s sorry,” Kinn says softly, after bringing Kim to his own room, examining the scratches. “He didn’t mean to scare you.”

Kim doesn’t say anything. 

***

Kim still doesn’t sleep alone, but he doesn’t sleep with his brothers, either. Khun still can’t stand to be touched and Kinn doesn’t want him around. He’s like Pa, thinks Kim shouldn’t need to sleep with someone else to feel safe, like a baby.

[peggingprowl]

A gift for @cmofirstaid! Hope you enjoy this as much as do <3

A Helping Hand

Summary: First Aid has been daydreaming about you and your touch. When you walk in on him, you decide to give him a bit of a helping hand.

Tags: oral sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, x reader, bot!reader, 1300~ words

First Aid bites his lips, stifling a whimper as he drags his servo along his spike. He slowly pumps it, taking his time to feel the texture of his biolights and ridges— all the while imagining it was your servos touching him.

The idea makes him whimper again. Frag. Would you tease him like this, slowly dragging your servo along his spike? Or perhaps you'd like to play with the slit on top, wringing out droplets of transfluid that you'd lick up.

"Ah, fragging Primus—" he moans, gripping his spike hard as he staves off an overload. He didn't want this to be over so quick—

"Need a hand?"

First Aid startles, squeaking in surprise as his facemask slams shut instinctively. Primus above, he wasn't actually expecting you to show up. He knew doing this in his office was a risk, anyone could walk in, but you? Of all mechs? He feels mortified, but his spike still twitches in his servo, betraying is arousal.

"I-I. It's. Frag me. I wasn't expecting any— Haven't you heard of knocking?!" he sputters, still painfully hard and exposed. He knew he should've gone with his valve, he could've closed his panel then, nevermind the inevitable mess!

"Oh, I did. You didn't answer, so I got a bit worried. Color me surprised to see this delicious sight," you purr, "You never did answer, Aid. Do you want a hand?"

He sputters for a moment, processor whirling as he tries to understand that curveball that just slammed into him face first. He's not sure that this isn't a wild processor dream, and he runs a quick diagnostic to make sure.

Yep. He's awake.

He watches you take a step forward. "C'mon now, show me that handsome face again," you crone, reaching a servo out.

He lets his faceplate slide back with a soft clink, mesmerized by your optics. Ever so slowly, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. He whines slightly, optics flickering behind his visor as you pull him deeper. He opens his mouth against your insistent glossa, the kiss quickly morphing into something more messy and desperate. Clearly you had been wanting this as much as he has— the thought makes him dizzy.

"Please," he begs breathlessly against your lips, his own grip upon his spike slacken.

Who are you to deny him?

You pull away, his lips swollen and flush from your kisses. How pretty, he looks. Kneeling down in front of him, you pull his slackened servo away from his straining spike and replace with your own.

First Aid's vocalizer hitches the slight touch, hips bucking up. You tut, swirling a finger around the pre-fluid already decorating his spike.

"Look at you, so desperate for my touch. Don't worry baby, I'll take care of you."

And with that, you begin to languidly pump, eagerly watching him for his reactions. You drink in the sighs and twitches and moans as he falls apart under your talented fingers. His servos grasp hard at the chair's arms as you drip a finger into his slit, his head tossing back as he loudly moans.

"That's it baby, make all those pretty noises. Let me know how much you're loving this."

"Ah, Hng— F-frag, please!" He whines, writhing under your touch. Broken moans laced with static pour out of him.

You lean in, taking the tip of his spike inside your mouth.

"AH—!" He cries out, delirious with pleasure. You hum around his spike, savoring the sweet flavor of his transfluid. Swirling your glossa around, you tease at the nodes lining the head, before dipping down into his slit.

He babbles broken pleas above you, and you feel copious amounts of pre-fluid leak from your actions. Seems like you found a sensitive spot. Good to know.

You double down, wanting to pull more of those wonderful sounds out of First Aid. He does not disappoint.

He wails in pleasure as you descend further down his spike, servo pumping in time.

First Aid doesn't know how much more of this he can take— he feels his overload approaching fast.

"I-I'm-! Frag— ah! I'm close!" He chokes out. You hum around his spike, delighted.

He convulses, moaning loudly as overload washes over him. He unloads a gush of transfluid down your throat— and you continue to suck and pump, eager to milk every last drop from him.

His spike gives another few twitches under your ministrations. He moans lowly, panting as he recovers.

You still don't stop.

He shifts under you, whining slightly. And then louder. You still continue.

First Aid thought you were done after he came, but evidently you were not. His vocalizer hitches as you prod his slit with your glossa again.

"Wha— what?" he stutters weakly, head lolling.

You pull off slightly, still slowly pumping away. "I'm not done yet, baby. Just hang on a little more. I know you can handle it. Let me hear you," you murmur.

First Aid only nods, mouth wide open as he pants, charge begining to simmer once more. He loses himself in the swirl of your glossa, letting you bring him back up to that peak once again.

Another hard suck and swirl, and he breaks, moaning weakly as his second overload crashes over him, transfluid bursting once more into your awaiting mouth.

With a slow pop, you pull away

"Good boy," you grin. His spent spike twitches at the compliment.

You give him a moment to recover, his fans blasting after the two back-to-back overloads.

You weren't done with him yet.

With a gentle servo, you tap on his valve panel.

"Huh—?" he says, picking his head up to glace down at you.

You grin up at him."Baby, I said I take care of you. I've treated your spike, but I have yet to see your valve. Open up? Please?"

First Aid contemplates it for a moment. Hng. He just had the best blowjob of his Primus damned life. That glossa on his valve? Would probably kill him. But what a way to go.

His panel slides open, a silent invitation.

His valve is absolutely drenched in lubricant from his past two overloads. The plush white folds gleam, highlighted by his pulsing red nodes. You lick a stripe along one side, gathering that delicious lubricant, letting put a pleased hum as he twitches under you.

You delve into his swollen folds, spurred on by the gasps and moans he gives. Digging your glossa inside of him, you trace every nook and cranny you can reach. Your servos grip tightly upon his thighs, stabilizing yourself. You flick your tongue to his bright node, swirling around it before gently sucking.

A loud, broken wail escapes First Aid. It was so much. He bucks his hips at the overstimulation, it was still so soon after his previous two overloads— and yet a other was coming at him like a freight train.

Another suck to his node. First Aid feels tears gathering in his optics. Frag. He's so close.

He lets out a sob as you continue, your vice-like grip not letting him pull away from the onslaught of your glossa upon his folds. Tears trickle down his cheeks, mixing with the drool that clings to his messy, flushed face. He grinds down, chasing the overwhelming pleasure.

First Aid tosses his head back, spasming as overload once more overtakes him. An absolute flood of lubricant squirts out of him, drenching your face and his thighs as he cries and whines, mouth agape.

You pull away, futilely wiping your face as he crumples into his chair.

....He's probably going to need a new chair. This one is absolutely soaked in his transfluid and lubricants.

Standing up, you cradle his limp head with your servo, giving him a gentle kiss. His mouth still open, he whimpers at the taste of his own lubricants.

"Good job, baby," you whisper, "Let me know if you ever need another hand."

[bluecookiesabi]

Sugary Sweet. Absolutely Adorable. Floating On Cloud Nine. And what's this? Maybe even a little steamy?

When First Aid was kicked out of work for a mandatory break, he wasn't expecting much. But when a chance encounter leads him to Brainstorm, he gets more than he could ever have imagined. Follow them as they soar to new heights—in more ways than one—and find a connection that will leave them dizzy for more!

Special thanks to @hashi-moma for creating the wonderful art piece that inspired and will accompany this story! It was truly a pleasure to work with you in the @tf-bigbang this year, and I hope everyone will enjoy what we've created together! I highly encourage everyone to check out Hashi's art blog @hashipebbles, and to look forward to both of our full pieces once the posting period starts later this month <3

[sugarc00kie5]

Shin Soukoku Angst

Trigger Warning for Suicidal Ideation

⛧°.⋆༺♱༻⋆.°⛧

Akutagawa wasn’t afraid of dying. In fact, he embraced death. It was the final note in a haunting symphony. Death was a place of solitude, a place where no one was better than anyone else.

At night, he often thought about good reasons to freeze to death. Maybe he’d bleed out in the snow, staining the pure white a ghastly red. His blood would sink into the cold wet earth, twisting around the cancerous roots. Come springtime, no flowers would grow over his grave. Akutagwa didn’t like pretty things because they were full of empty promises.

The blooming flowers would draw everyone’s eye if they grew there. Then, some little kid or lovestruck teenager would pull them from the ground. They’d get put in a glass vase to adore. Or maybe they’d have their petals plucked in a declaration of love, while he was forever stuck in love-me-not limbo.

Dazai had buried Akutagawa deep in the snow. Atsushi was the stubborn flower growing over his grave. Akutagawa would try to wriggle out of his casket and stomp on the flower until the pretty striped petals were smeared across the dirt. Yet, no matter how many times he destroyed Atsushi, he always grew back stronger and prettier than before. Then, Dazai would pry him from the ground, praise his perky petals, and teach him how to live as a flower in a world full of darkness.

Meanwhile, Akutagawa would sink deeper and deeper because no one wanted to choose the dirt over the flower.

⛧°.⋆༺♱༻⋆.°⛧

[cookieslittleocs]

Hello my friends! This is my sideblog, for posting anything about my ocs, including art, writing, an∂ anything else! You can ask me any questions about my ocs here, im happy to infodump about them! You can also request who to draw next

[moonlit-orchid]

There are two versions of Astral in my head:

One can't swear to save his life

The other can and will always accidentally begin swearing before seeing the kids (Yuma + Numbers club) and without dropping a beat change it to another word. Example, "Oh sh-" sees Yuma "-itake mushrooms." And Yuma didn't even realise what he was doing until they were adults. He just thought Astral used weird phrases. (Kaito also tries this but he fails every single time to cover up his swearing, and he hates how well Astral pulls it off)

[papercranes-and-hope]

The inexplicable science between human contact and why some of it feels so foreign,

The reason behind some touches leaving Infinity around Gojo Satoru and some leaving butterflies in your stomach

I’d unravel this science, conduct experiments with strange ease,

Because with your arms around my waist, in my hair, on my face,

I’d have the answers to everything.

[crazycookies73307]

Multi x reader master list

Missing half

First love: Pt 1. Pt 2.

Heartbreak

[silenceofthecookies]

CW: No pronouns used, sadness

Tears clouded your vision as you walked up the bridge, searching for that familiar face. You had heard he’d just come back, and to you it felt like he came back at just the right moment. Just when you needed him. As he always was. As if he knew. 

Before you saw him, you heard Ajaw’s voice, loudly boasting about ‘his’ achievements, and how useless his ‘servant’ was. You followed the dragon’s voice to find both him and Kinich walking towards you. When Kinich spotted you, he smiled a little and started walking towards you. 

“Hey, y/n. How are y-” 

He cut his own words off as he spotted how glossy your eyes were, and you could see him getting awkward. 

“I’m sorry… it seems something is up… Kachina is around, I’ll go get her for you.” 

He turned to get her, but before he could take a single step, you’d already grabbed one of the ends of his headband. Kinich froze in place and slowly turned back to you. 

“No?” 

You shook your head, and gestured for him to follow you. He nodded and did so, keeping his eyes trained on you. You walked towards a cliff where not a lot of people came - a place you and Kinich often came to chat and have some time for just you two. Kinich understood you wanted him to stay with you, and the very thought made him nervous. He was not the person to go to for words of comfort. Balancing costs and actions, that was his specialty. Emotions were foreign territory. He sat down with you, and noticed the tears were rolling over your cheeks now. He wanted to say something - anything - but Ajaw was faster. 

“HA! Look at this pathetic mortal, crying at the mere sight of the great-”

Before Ajaw could utter another word, Kinich grabbed him and threw him as far away as he could. He may not have been an expert at emotions, Ajaw was an annoyance at best. Not what you needed right now. 

You gave him a small, teary-eyed smile in gratitude, before leaning to rest your head on his shoulders, letting the tears run freely. Hiccups turned into sobs, and before Kinich could react you were full on crying on his shoulder. What would he say? What words would make you feel better now? Should he ask what happened? 

Paralyzed by his own thoughts, he carefully placed his arm around you, pulling you a little closer to him. Your hands came up to cling to him as you continued sobbing. Kinich’s hand carefully rubbed your back as you continued sobbing.  You never wanted any words from him. All you wanted was him.

[fanatic-freakshow]

Summary: The first meeting between the Jindapats and the Siridechawats after the acknowledgement of Pat and Pran’s relationship. Ming and Dissaya had the tools to wreck it, but Pat and Pran took it to a whole new level of catastrophe. #Couldn't they bicker on a different day?

New one-shot PatPran fanfic.

Available on AO3 and Wattpad.

[cookiepie111]

John "black women are for grownups " price 🥰

[the-cookie-of-doom]

"I don't want to talk about this." Kim doesn't have anyone he can talk to about this.

Porsche takes three shot glasses out from behinds the bar and lines them up. Fills each. "Drink," he orders.

Kim side-eyes the glasses. Looks around the bar; near-empty at this hour.

He drinks, one after the other. It burns going down.

"I'm still not talking about it," he says.

"I know." Porsche pulls a single shot for himself. Kim admires his restraint. Then again, only one of them can afford to get laid out, and Porsche has decided it's going to be Kim.

Kim taps one of the glasses, and Porsche obliges him with two more pours. By the time he sets the second face down on the bar top, he feels it. Warmth in his face and cotton in his head. He can convince himself he's barely tipsy, so long as he doesn't move his head, because then the earth tips out from under him. Tipsy.

"Ready to talk about it?"

"Ask me."

"Are you trying to sleep with my baby brother?"

Kim hums. Shakes his head. Regrets it. "Nope, not ready."

Porsche whistles, impressed, and pours another shot.

"You're going to be so fucked up tomorrow."

The six shots Kim sucked down slam him twenty minutes later. He should have expected it; Porsche probably did, and that's why he's laughing at Kim now, snapping pictures of him slumped over the bar and moaning in misery, offering no comfort. It was Porsche's idea to get him loose-lipped with truth serum in the form of alcohol, but Kim let him do it, so it was his fault, really.

Once Porsche has gotten enough blackmail material to last a lifetime, he closes up the bar, then drags Kim over to a booth so they can talk.

"So. Porchay."

"Porchay," Kim agrees, a lyrical slur into his arms.

"You wanna tell me what's going on there?"

"I like him s'much. He's so, so-mmm, good, he's good, and nice, and..." Kim trails off, mumbling something incoherent. "Kissed him."

"What?"

"I kissed him. On his face. I missed. He smells s'good. I wanna kiss 'im again."

Porsche laughs. "Are you trying to sleep with him?"

"Mmmno. Maybe?" Kim tries to push himself upright, and only manages to slump enough enough that he can side-eye Porsche as he says, "Dunno how."

"What?"

"Are you gonna be mad?"

"Probably not. What do you mean, you don't know how?" Kim makes a miserable sound. His eyes are fever-bright, and his cheeks are flushed, and Porsche is pretty sure it's not just from the alcohol. Kim buries his face back in his arms to hide. "Kim, are you-?"

"No." He waves a hand at Porsche. "Kinda."

"Kinda."

"You know."

Porsche does know, but he a mean part of him wants to make Kim say it, because he's an asshole, and bullying little brothers is what he does. He's definitely not going to bully Chay about this, his poor brother would die. So he can harass his own boyfriend's younger brother instead. He relents, though, because Kim looks all kinds of pitiful and sad when he next surfaces from the sanctuary of his arms. Scratch that, he looks distressed.

"I think I want to, I do, I want it - but I haven't - and Chay - I don't want to - what if I'm not-"

"Take a deep breath, kiddo." Kim does. "What, you're afraid of disappointing him?" A small nod, and Kim looks so young, and nervous, that it pulls at Porsche's heart. "Aww. You couldn't."

"Yuh-huh," Kim mumbles.

"Nah. Trust me. That kid is so gone on you." This makes Kim smile. Bright and beautiful and bigger than Porsche has ever seen. In person, at least.

"I love him so much."

"Yeah?" Porsche knows for a fact that Kim has not told Chay as much. He already knows how smitten Kim is, and has for a while - it's why they're having this conversation at all, because Kim is over his head in love, and doesn't know what to do about it, and God forbid he talk about it sober - but the confirmation is nice to hear.

"I gotta - gotta tell him." Kim squirms around until he successfully gets his phone out of his pocket, pushing at the buttons on his lock screen in an unsuccessful attempt to open it. Porsche careful reaches across and take it from him.

"Hey, no, absolutely not. The first time Chay hears that from you is not going to be in the middle of your drunken ranting. He deserves better than that."

Doesn't mean he won't want to know about it later, though, which is why Porsche has had his phone on and recording this entire exchange. He'll save it for their wedding.

"I'll write him a song," Kim declares. "I'll write so many songs, a whole album. all about him, I'll-I'll-" He seemingly loses his train of thought, patting around the table like he's looking for something. Probably a pen. Porsche helpfully hands him one, and Kim latches onto it, scribbling lyrics into a napkin. Porsche can't wait to see what he comes up with later.

"Why haven't you talked to him?" Porsche gently prompts, interrupting his creative flow. He's pretty sure whatever lyrics Kim is coming up with right now are nonsensical anyway.

"Afraid."

"Oh what? Of him rejecting you? Because that's impossible."

Kim shakes his head, looks like he's about to throw up, manages not to. "The other thing."

"What other thing?"

"Him wanting me." Except Chay does want Kim, and Kim has to know it. He's not blind. Porsche tells him as much, and Kim shakes his head, says, "He thinks so, because he doesn't have me. But if he does, and he doesn't want me anymore, because I don't, I don't..."

Porsche thinks Kim might say, I don't know how to be loved, and it breaks his heart. He slides around the booth so he can pull Kim into his side, and tries not to react when Kim bursts into tears. He didn't know Kim knew how to cry.

"Chay's so good, he's everything, and I'm not, I'm not, I don't-"

"Hey, hey, stop that. Calm down, it's okay, you're okay. Come on, what's all this?" Porsche ruffles his hair and laughs. "You're Wik! You're Khimhan Theerapanyakul.

Kim wheezes, "Not good," and Porsche crushes him in a one-armed hug that Kim doesn't even try to fight.

"Good enough for my little brother. Kay? Trust me, I'm the expert, and I'm giving you my blessing. So pull yourself together."

"Nnng?"

"Yeah, idiot, I'm giving you my permission to defile Chay."

"I wanna hold his hand and kiss his cheek and take him on a date. A real date. Imma get him flowers. What kind of flowers does he like?"

"He's allergic."

"Oh."

"But you can still do the other stuff."

"Oh." Another brilliant smile. "Yay."

"But before that..." Porsche waits for Kim to put it together, but he doesn't, blinking up at Porsche with his big brown eyes and waiting for direction. Porsche finishes the thought. "You have to talk to him first."

"Oh. Not yay."

"Hey, at least you already know what the answer's gonna be." Porsche cuffs his shoulder. "Do it for Chay, so you can have all that filthy hand-holding and cheek kisses and dates."

-

The next day greets Kim with the worst hangover he's had in his life, his body violently rejecting every ounce of alcohol he forced into it. When he can stop throwing up long enough to string together a coherent thought, he texts Porsche to inform him he's the worst person alive, his ideas are horrible, Kim is never trusting him again, and he's going to kill him the next time he sees him, just for good measure. His body hurts in ways he didn't know were possible, and it's Porsche's fault, and vengeance will be had. Just as soon as he can walk again.

Drink plenty of fluids! Porsche cheerfully replies. And don't forget to talk to Chay. Or else I'm sending him the video of you last night.

Well.

Fuck.

[peggingprowl]

hiiiii...happy Valentine's Day!! im here with a blurb request: Jazzprowl with the prompt of "Use your words" I love them, so much...🥺

A GOOD FIRST PROMPT. LETS GO.

Jazz whines as he feels Prowl, yet again, teasingly brush against his blinking node. Prowl, the cruel, unyielding fragger he is, had been teasing him for what felt like hours. He bucks, desperate for more friction.

"Ah," Prowl tuts, pulling his servo away, "You know the rules. Use your words, Jazz."

"Prowl, please," begs, static leaving his voice, "I need you!"

Prowl caresses his thigh. "Need me to what?"

He bucks again, the small touch like fire to his sensor net. "I need you inside me!" he yells, barely intelligible through the static.

Prowl smiles fondly. "As you ask," he murmurs.