#he never looks right when i try to draw him so

[gumims]

tied by ink | choso x reader

for the @phantasmaebg event

wc: 1350

your soulmate tattoo showed up on your sixteenth birthday, scrawled across your wrist like a bold declaration: “stay.” it wasn’t cute, romantic, or poetic like you imagined. it was blunt. vague. frustrating.

and years later, you still had no clue what it meant.

that’s why you were here now, sitting in a tattoo parlor that smelled like antiseptic and fresh ink, the fluorescent lighting humming faintly above you. you didn’t know what you wanted yet, but you knew you needed something.

“you here for a consult?” the girl at the counter asked.

“yeah,” you replied, your fingers twitching nervously at your side.

“choso’s got time. best hands in the shop.” she grinned, jerking her thumb toward the back.

you nodded, muttering a quick thanks before heading toward the artist’s booth.

as you turned the corner, you saw him sitting there—dark hair pulled into a messy half-bun, loose strands falling around his sharp face. tattoos covered his forearms, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt.

hot.

his dark eyes flicked up as you approached, pinning you in place.

“you’re here for a tattoo?” his voice was deep, smooth like it didn’t belong in this tiny shop.

“uh, yeah,” you stammered, your heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

he gestured to the chair in front of him, and you sat, trying not to fidget as his gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long.

“so, what are you thinking?”

you hesitated. “something small, but meaningful. i just… need something new.”

he tilted his head, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read you. “first one?”

“yeah.”

he hummed, his gaze dropping to your wrist. you’d forgotten to cover the soulmate mark today, and his eyes lingered on the word inked there.

“soulmate tattoo,” he said casually, like it wasn’t the most personal thing he could’ve pointed out.

you tensed. “everyone’s got one.”

“not everyone,” he replied, his voice low, almost teasing. “what’s the story with yours?”

you glanced away, your face heating up. “there’s no story. it says ‘stay.’ it’s… complicated.”

“complicated how?”

you met his gaze, your frustration bubbling up. “it doesn’t mean anything. not yet, anyway. and honestly, i’m not holding my breath.”

his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “so you’re one of those people who doesn’t believe in soulmates?”

“i didn’t say that,” you shot back. “i just… don’t think everyone finds theirs. or if they do, maybe it doesn’t work out.”

he didn’t respond right away, but the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smirk. “fair enough.”

you watched as he grabbed a sketchpad, his tattooed hands moving with practiced precision. “let’s figure out something that fits,” he murmured, his focus shifting to the page.

the way his fingers moved, the way he hunched slightly over the paper, made it impossible to look away. he radiated confidence, like he knew exactly what he was doing—not just with the drawing, but with you, too.

“so,” he said after a few minutes, his voice breaking the silence. “you’ve never thought about finding them?”

“my soulmate?” you asked, trying to sound casual even though his words sent a weird shiver down your spine.

“yeah.”

you shrugged, leaning back in the chair. “not really. it’s not like they’re going to show up out of nowhere.”

“sometimes they do.”

his tone was calm, but something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. you glanced at him, your brows furrowing.

“has it happened to you?”

he didn’t answer right away, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours for a split second before returning to his sketch. “maybe.”

cryptic much, you thought, but you couldn’t deny the way your pulse jumped.

“what does your tattoo say?” you asked, leaning forward slightly.

his lips curved, but he didn’t look up. “you really wanna know?”

“obviously.”

“you’ll find out.”

“that’s not an answer,” you muttered, but he ignored you, his focus back on the page.

when he finally turned the sketchpad around, your breath hitched.

“what do you think?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“it’s…” you swallowed. “it’s perfect.”

he gave you a small nod, standing to prep his station. “this’ll hurt a little,” he warned as you settled into the chair, rolling up your sleeve.

“i can handle it,” you replied, though your voice came out shakier than you wanted.

his hands were steady as he guided the needle over your skin, the soft hum of the machine filling the room. the sting was sharp at first, but it quickly dulled into a strange sort of comfort.

“so,” he said after a while, his tone almost conversational, “if your soulmate walked through that door right now, what would you say?”

you hesitated, the question catching you off guard. “i don’t know. maybe… ‘where the hell have you been?’”

he let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a tingle down your spine. “bold.”

“what about you?” you asked, desperate to turn the attention off yourself. “what would you say?”

his hands didn’t falter, but his voice dropped a notch. “depends on if they’d stay.”

your heart skipped, his words hitting deeper than you expected. you glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable, his focus entirely on your arm.

when he finally pulled back, he wiped the tattoo clean, tilting your arm toward the light.

“done,” he said simply.

you stared at the design, your chest tightening. it was beautiful, perfect in a way that almost felt… familiar.

“thank you,” you murmured, your voice softer now.

he leaned back, his gaze meeting yours. “anytime.”

as you stood to leave, you caught a glimpse of his wrist as he reached for something—a single word inked there in bold black letters.

“stay.”

your blood ran cold.

he noticed your pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as he followed your gaze. when your eyes met again, there was no denying it.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whispered.

he smirked, leaning casually against the counter. “took you long enough.”

“you—” your words caught in your throat, your pulse racing. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“wanted to see if you’d figure it out,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm.

you took a shaky breath, your mind reeling. “so what now?”

he pushed off the counter, stepping closer until the space between you felt suffocating.

“now,” he said, his voice low, “you decide if you’re gonna stay.”

[tzyunaes]

HOLD ME , CONSOLE ME ⟡ CLINGY S/O

𝖲𝖴𝖢𝖢I𝖭𝖢𝖳 ‎ ✷ ‎  𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄.

[ 형선 ] 𓈒𓈒 bf!엔하이픈 ˖ 𝑓em!r g. fluff established relationship ──── EPHEMER𝒾S ( 74O ) cw. skinship && kissing.

jennifer says .. really mid and only hyung line cause i kinda ran out of ideas ://

LEE HEESEUNG──────the sun shone in its innate manner, basking a tranquil atmosphere. your head resting on your dear lover’s chest like it wasn't an annoying monday morning instead of a pleasant lazy sunday morning with your boyfriend.

he chuckled slightly when he saw you groaning by the realization and pulled you close, his arms curled around your waist, his eyes as observant as ever, “is my baby pouting?” he teased, not to mention how it only made your pout grow bigger.

“no. can you not go to work today please can you just stay here with me”, you murmured under your breath, drawing circles on his chest subconsciously and that's when he catches himself smiling faintly like a fool in love.

“you want me to stay here with you, doll? how about i give you two hundred and twenty two kisses and get out early from work tonight?” he whispered, already planting kisses all-over your face.

maybe to the point where he will achieve kissing your pouts away and exchanging into giggles.

PARK JONGSEONG──────you stare at your boyfriend from the couch as he got ready for office with a subtle pout on your face. he looked behind to face you as he fixed his tie for the last time, holding back the faint smile cause he didn't even need you to say it out aloud and already could tell what you were up to.

walking close to you, he cups your face with adoration in his eyes, “what, princess? don't want me to go to work?” he states rather than asking, noticing the frown on your face.

“no...why would i—” he cuts you off midway by leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “you know i would oblige if you just said the word, doll. anything it takes to wipe that pout off your pretty face.”

you looked away from him, a pink ray visible on your cheeks, “stop you're too cheesy.” you retort, sighing when you realized that he was being serious.

“you don't have to skip, baby. just bring me boba and—” “cuddles. and as many kisses as you want, baby.”

SIM JAEYUN──────your sigh fell warm on jake’s chest, he patted your hair in a tender and devoted manner when you nuzzled closer to him. he loved it when you were more affectionate than usual cause it gave him chances to express more of his clingy side. who could blame him, you were too adorable.

“why do you need to go to work...” you mumbled under your breath and he smiled, “i know right. that's exactly what im saying like fuck you mean i have to leave for work instead of cuddling my pretty wifey all day!” he murmured, his body pressed against yours. you giggled, his arms around your waist grew tighter.

“stop—” your words are interrupted by him planting dozens of kisses over your face. trailing down to your throat, he buried his face on the crook of your neck.

“okay i made my decision. i’m not going anywhere today,” he muttered between kisses and the seriousness in his voice would never let you second that.

PARK SUNGHOON──────sunghoon stared at you as you climbed on his lap facing him with amusement prepped on his face but his arms reached out to be wrapped around your waist. you stared at his eyes for a moment as if it was a staring competition before leaning in and prepping a peck on his cheeks.

a chuckle left his mouth when he finally understood what you were trying to do and pulled you closer for another kiss.

“trying to distract me from the fact that i have to go soon, baby? you know you don't have to try, right? i get distracted by you even when you're breathing, princess,” he says as he leaves a trail of kisses down your neck, your cheeks soon turned into a shade of pink by his teasing.

“that's not true, hoon. you're so wrong.” he just chuckled without another word and continued leaving kisses, although he was ready to leave for work.

with the last peck on your forehead, he got up, not forgetting to whisper, “don’t worry, angel, i'm gonna get out early for you.”

[syoddeye]

oh ho ho! so simon calls and asks the bartender out...what are we thinking? does he go all out trying to prove he actually isn't a loser and can pull off a suave date? or does he purposefully plan the most off-putting date possible to get back at her for being a pain in the ass?

prev.

i love that you think he's going to call right away. nope.

simon sends some version of you up? after close, then stews for hours when you don't reply. he sits in the dark, phone in hand, grumbling to himself. the cigarette between his fingers burns low, barely making it to the ashtray before he lights another.

he lasts three days. three nights of drinking alone at home, refusing to go to the pub and show his face. the thought crosses his mind to go elsewhere, where it'd take him all of fifteen minutes to find a bit of skirt, but somehow, you've gone and sucked the thrill out of that.

his pride keeps him tethered in place, stubborn to a fault, but even that has its limits. on the third night, the ashtray beside him overflowing, he finally caves. he calls.

"so you can follow instructions. i was worried i'd have to draw you a picture."

he doesn't waste time. "sent ya an address. i can be there in ten." 

"yeah, i looked it up. looks like a classy joint. free wifi." 

"…you comin' or not?" 

"mm, got a policy. can't sleep anywhere lower than three stars." 

"s'not for sleepin'." 

"then let's do yours. got a bed frame?"

simon straightens, caught off guard. that's unexpected—that you're game. he expected more of a fuss, but if you're just in it for dick, things are back on track.

he glances at his bed. the rumpled dark blue sheets are half-pulled off the mattress, still on the floor where he's always kept it. it's never mattered before, but no one's ever been here, either. hotels keep it impersonal. neutral ground. they reinforce the rules. they do the cleaning.

"can't. i'll come over." 

"oof, i've got another policy." you chuckle. "can't have someone over until we've gone on an actual date. you know, to make sure they're normal. or close to it." 

you have no idea.

he imagines sitting across a table in some overpriced restaurant, squeezed into a tiny chair, with loud music pounding in his ears. wasting money on drinks and food. all that just to stare at the tits he knows you're going to hide underneath some layers while you make small talk. it makes his skin itch.

but. if your stupid little 'policies' don't exist solely to jerk him around, he'll earn passage into your world. your place. unknown territory, somewhere to plant a flag and humble you all at once.

forget his lack of a bed frame, he hasn't had a bird in her own bed in ages.

"fine. tomorrow."

"sunday," you counter, and he hears the grin in your voice. "i'm off monday. send me a better address, and i'll meet you there. no french food."

he scoffs. "that, we can agree on."

you laugh, teasing. "bring that with you—the sense of humor. you're gonna need it."

[ikkyfics]

Wasn't it obvious?

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: For a moment, Dave stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused. “Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?” You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question. “I... I didn’t know.” “But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious."

Warnings: mention of sex (not explicit), insecurity, est. relationship, hurt comfort, a little angst

A/N: anon, I hope you can like it <333!!

Masterlist

The room was still bathed in the dim light of morning, with the curtains barely drawn, letting streaks of sunlight spill across the space. You woke up slowly, feeling the warmth of his body still so close. Dave’s breathing was soft and steady, the rhythm of someone deeply asleep. A heavy arm lay draped over your waist, a silent reminder that he had no intention of letting you slip away anytime soon.

Your eyes wandered around the messy room, clothes scattered on the floor—your shirt precariously hanging off the edge of a chair, his pants on the rug, half-hidden under the bed. You knew you needed to leave. There were commitments, schedules, things waiting for you out there. But the weight of that moment, of his warmth, seemed to beg you to stay.

“You awake?” Dave’s husky voice broke through your thoughts. He didn’t open his eyes right away, but the grip around your waist tightened slightly. When he finally looked at you, his blue eyes were clouded with sleep, dark curls falling a little over his forehead. “Stay a little longer. It’s still early…”

“I have to go,” you murmured, even as his fingers lazily traced the curve of your arm. His touch was so light, as if he wanted to draw out every second.

“No, you don’t.” He smiled in that way that always made your resolve waver—that small, crooked smile, almost boyish, but filled with something he probably didn’t even realize he carried. Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked straight at you, his eyes shining even in the faint light. “Who’s gonna care if you skip, huh?”

You laughed softly, knowing he was teasing, though there was a hint of truth in his words. Dave had this way of making you feel like the rest of the world didn’t matter, like that moment—just the two of you, tangled in messy sheets—was the only thing that did.

“You’re not going to make me stay,” you warned, but your voice didn’t sound as convincing as you’d intended. He seemed to catch on, because his smile grew wider.

“What if I hold you down right here?” He stretched his arms dramatically, trying to pull you closer, but you slipped out, laughing again.

“Stop it, Dave,” you said, trying to get up, though you could feel the weight of his gaze following you. You grabbed your shirt first, pulling it off the chair, and started putting it on with your back to him, all too aware of his eyes on you. When you turned around, he was still there, propped up on his hand, his hair messy, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made warmth creep up your face.

“You’re really gonna leave me here all alone?” His tone was playful, almost pouty, but there was something else beneath it—something that was always there in the spaces between words, something you never quite dared to name.

“I am,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, though something inside you tightened. You knew he wasn’t holding you there, that you were free to leave. But you also knew there were unspoken things between you, things that made moments like this harder than they should be.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the pillow, though his eyes never left you. “Fine. But only because I know you’ll come back.”

You paused for a second, still holding onto the waistband of the pants you’d just pulled on. His gaze seemed to carry more weight than his words. But, as always, you let it pass.

“Maybe,” you said, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. And before he could respond, you grabbed your things and started moving toward the door, feeling his eyes on you until the very last second.

“Hey,” he called out, just as your hand touched the doorknob. You turned to look at him one last time. He looked so at ease there, so comfortable, with his messy curls and that smile that always made your heart race. “You look amazing in the morning, you know that?”

“See you later, Dave,” you said, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat, and left before he could trap you with another comment.

The café was just busy enough that the hum of conversations and the clinking of cups against saucers created a constant noise, but not so much that it stopped you from relaxing for a few minutes. You sat near the window, the warm coffee cup in your hands, trying to organize your thoughts. There was so much to do, so many things you were trying to ignore—and one of them seemed to have a face framed by dark curls and blue eyes that took up far more space in your mind than you cared to admit.

"Hey, is that really you?"

The familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and when you looked up, it took a second to recognize the person standing in front of you.

"Katie?" The surprise was clear in your voice, but a smile quickly appeared on your lips. It was her, without a doubt—the same Katie Deauxma from high school, though now her features seemed more mature. Her hair was a bit shorter, but the easy smile she always had was exactly the same.

"Yeah!" Katie laughed, looking just as surprised to see you there. "Wow, it's been ages! How are you?"

"I'm good. Wow, it really has been a long time," you said, standing for a quick, slightly awkward hug. She seemed as comfortable as ever, and the conversation flowed naturally as the two of you sat down together.

Katie asked about college, what you were studying, and shared a bit about her own courses and what she'd been up to since high school. It was pleasant, even nostalgic, talking to someone who knew you from before.

Until she asked, casually, "So, are you dating anyone? Or just enjoying the single life?"

You hesitated for a second that felt like an eternity. The words formed in your mind before you could fully think through their weight, slipping out before you could stop them.

"Actually… I am dating someone."

It was a lie. Or wasn't it? You didn’t know anymore. But the sound of the word in your mouth brought an instant pang of guilt, something that tightened in your chest as Katie’s smile widened.

“Oh, really? That’s great! Who’s the lucky one?”

“Dave Lizewski,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. Katie blinked, surprised, before letting out a short laugh.

“Dave? Wow! I haven’t talked to him in ages. We dated, remember? Back in high school.”

You nodded, feeling your stomach sink. Of course you remembered. Everyone remembered. Dave and Katie had been the cute couple in school, the kind everyone thought was improbable, even cliché—the nerd with the popular girl.

“He was so sweet. A little awkward, but always so thoughtful,” Katie continued, oblivious to the storm of emotions building inside you. “You two must make a great couple, I’m sure.”

You smiled, or tried to, and murmured something vague in response. But all you could think was that she was right. Dave was sweet. He was thoughtful, even with his goofy comments and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. He held your hand in public. He made a point to walk you home when he could.

But he had never called you his girlfriend.

And now you were sitting here, listening to Katie talk about what he was like when they dated, and something inside you was breaking into pieces you didn’t even know existed. You remembered them together—how she’d hold onto his arm in the school hallways, how happy he looked next to her. And suddenly, you couldn’t help but wonder if he looked at you the same way he looked at her.

You finished your coffee as quickly as you could, saying goodbye to Katie with a smile that felt increasingly forced. She hugged you again before leaving, promising that you should meet up again sometime.

When you were alone again, the noise of the café felt louder, like it was echoing inside you. The empty cup in front of you felt like a weight holding you there, while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.

Girlfriend.

You’d said it. And now the word felt like it was haunting you, something far too big to carry. You never wanted to be this person, the one who lied or twisted things to fit into something that might not even be real.

But you couldn’t help it.

Because deep down, you wanted it to be true.

Thursday nights always held a special weight. It was an unspoken tradition between the two of you. No matter what happened during the week—piles of work, tough exams, or tight deadlines—Thursdays were reserved for you two. And no matter how hard you tried to focus on something else, the memory of your encounter with Katie had been pounding in your head ever since you left the café.

You had tried to shake it off with a stack of required reading, loud music through your headphones, and even a spontaneous apartment cleaning spree, but nothing worked. Katie's voice kept echoing, her smile, the way she talked about Dave. The way she referred to him as someone who used to be hers, as if there was still a part of him trapped in the past that might never belong to you.

And then there was you. And the lie. Or was it the truth? You didn’t even know anymore. The weight of the words that had slipped out before you could stop them—they felt heavier now, like stones sinking in your stomach. You said it because you wanted to believe it was real. But what about him? What would he think if he knew?

The sound of the doorbell yanked you from your thoughts. It was him.

You took a deep breath, trying to quiet the chaos inside, and opened the door. Dave stood there, as he always did, with his messy curls and a small smile that grew wider just for you. He held a plastic bag with a pack of fries and two sodas—the kind of thing he always brought because he knew you loved it.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping inside. His touch was warm, familiar. But tonight, it felt harder to relax around him, like the storm in your head was keeping you from grounding yourself in the moment.

“Hey,” you replied, closing the door as he made his way to the kitchen, putting the sodas in the fridge without even asking. He’d been doing this for so long that it was second nature.

“You okay?” Dave asked, opening the bag of fries and tossing one into his mouth. He looked at you with those blue eyes, his forehead creasing slightly with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answered quickly—maybe too quickly. He noticed. Of course, he did. Dave had always had this uncanny ability to sense when something was off, even when you tried to hide it.

“Are you sure? You seem kind of...” He gestured vaguely with his hand.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, a bit more firmly. “Just tired, that’s all.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, but the way he kept watching you while munching on a fry made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Wanna watch a movie or something? I brought that one you said you wanted to see...”

“I’m not sure I feel like watching a movie tonight,” you replied, trying to keep your voice neutral as you grabbed a glass of water for yourself. It was a small response, almost insignificant, but the tension was already starting to build.

“Alright, so what do you want to do?” He leaned against the kitchen counter, his gaze calm and his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the knot tightening inside you.

“I don’t know, Dave!” The words came out sharper than you intended, and the tone in your voice made his eyebrows lift.

“Okay, easy,” he said slowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was just asking. No need to bite my head off.”

You sighed, guilt starting to creep in. But instead of stopping, the words began spilling out before you could catch them. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just... I don’t know. I’m tired. I had a rough day, and then you show up with your fries like everything is so simple, like... like I just need a movie, and everything will be fine.”

He blinked, visibly confused, but his tone remained calm. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t know you were feeling so... like this.”

“Like this?” You crossed your arms, the tension in your stance growing. “What’s that supposed to mean, Dave?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, but now there was something in his tone that suggested he was trying to keep his patience in check.

“Actually, I don’t,” you shot back, your voice rising. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you felt the sting of tears welling in your eyes, and the lump in your throat that had been forming all day was now nearly unbearable.

Dave noticed immediately. Of course, he did. He might not have been great with words, but he never failed to pick up on when something was wrong with you. His expression shifted in an instant, confusion giving way to a concern so genuine it made you feel even more vulnerable.

“Hey, hey,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “What’s going on? Are you crying?”

“I’m not,” you lied, turning your face away, but he didn’t buy it.

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, and before you could step back, Dave was already close enough to gently take your hands in his. “Look at me.”

You hesitated but finally lifted your gaze. His blue eyes met yours, filled with so much concern it was almost impossible to hold the contact.

“Talk to me,” he said. It wasn’t a command; it was an invitation. “Please.”

The weight in your chest felt like it was about to explode, and the words came out before you could stop them.

“I ran into Katie.”

Dave blinked, visibly surprised. “Katie?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, trying to look away, but he stayed close, holding your hands with almost unbearable tenderness. “We bumped into each other by chance. Talked for a few minutes.”

He tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing slightly, now a mix of curiosity and concern. “And?”

“She asked about you,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. “And I... I told her I was your girlfriend.”

Dave went quiet for a moment. Not the heavy silence of judgment, but the kind of pause he always took when he was trying to fully understand something.

“Okay,” he began cautiously. “And... why does that seem to be hurting you?”

“Because I don’t know if it’s true!” you burst out, the confession hitting with a force that made you flinch. “I said I was your girlfriend, but I didn’t know if I was lying. We’ve never talked about this, never put a name on what we have. And now all I can think about is whether I said something that wasn’t real.”

For a moment, he stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused.

“Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?”

You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question.

“I... I didn’t know,” you admitted, your voice weak, barely a whisper.

“But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious. I mean, we see each other all the time, spend nights together, you steal my shirts...”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you cut him off, frustration mixed with nervousness. “People do that all the time without dating, Dave.”

“But I don’t do that with just anyone,” he countered, his blue eyes locking onto yours, as if he wanted to make this point crystal clear. “I do that with you because I want to be with you. Because I thought... well, I thought it was obvious.”

“But you never said it,” you argued, feeling the tears starting to return. “And I never said it either. And that’s what’s been driving me crazy. I didn’t know what we were.”

Dave sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He looked like he was processing everything all at once, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he stepped closer until he was near enough to hold your hands again.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Then let’s make it clear now.”

His tone was calm but firm, and when he spoke again, it felt like every word had been carefully chosen.

“I’m with you,” he said. “And I thought that was obvious, but if it wasn’t, I’m saying it now: I want to be with you. Just you. And if that means we’re dating, then yeah, I guess we’re dating.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“But...” you began, the word almost lost in the lump in your throat. “What about Katie?”

He frowned, clearly caught off guard by the change in topic.

“What about Katie?”

“She was your first girlfriend,” you continued, your voice cracking slightly. “And I remember how you two were. Everyone thought you were perfect together. And now, seeing her again, I can’t stop thinking that...”

“That what?” He tilted his head, his blue eyes filled with concern.

“That I’ll never be good enough,” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Dave was silent for a moment, but before you could say more, he shook his head with a soft, incredulous laugh.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice full of almost overwhelming tenderness.

You looked at him, confused.

“I broke up with Katie years ago,” he said, as though reminding you of something obvious. “And yeah, it was important to me. She was my first girlfriend. But that doesn’t mean anything now. She’s part of my past, that’s all. You’re my present. And my future, if I’m lucky.”

You tried to process his words, but the lump in your throat only seemed to grow.

“But what if I’m not enough?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“You already are enough,” he answered immediately, without hesitation. He stepped closer, so close that you were almost nose to nose. “More than enough. And you don’t need to compare yourself to Katie or anyone else. Because no one comes close to you, got it? No one.”

His eyes were so intense, so full of emotion, that you felt tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m here because I want to be here,” he continued, his voice now softer. “Because you’re who I want. And nothing—absolutely nothing—is going to change that.”

You closed your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it was impossible. When you opened them again, Dave was already pulling you into a tight embrace, wrapping you in a tenderness that felt both overwhelming and comforting all at once.

Dave’s arms tightened around you as if he were trying to shield you from the outside world—or maybe from yourself. The warmth of his body surrounded you, and for a moment, the only sound you could hear was the steady beat of his heart, like a reassuring rhythm that seemed to absorb all the anxiety that had consumed you until then.

“You’re more than enough,” he repeated, his voice low and steady, as if it were something he needed you to believe more than anything else. And you wanted to believe it.

Minutes passed like that, in a cocoon of quiet comfort, with him holding you as if the whole world had disappeared. And you stayed there, letting yourself surrender to that sense of relief, of not needing to worry about anything else. Just the present. Just him.

Finally, you lifted your head, your face warm and your eyes still a little teary but calmer. You looked at him, and he looked back at you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were being seen in a way no one else ever could.

“Do you really think I’m enough for you?” you asked, your voice softer now but still tinged with uncertainty. You knew he’d answered, but you needed to hear it again, to be sure.

Dave smiled, a smile that made his eyes shine with a mix of affection and certainty. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lightly grazing your skin, and answered with a tenderness that warmed your chest.

“I don’t just think,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I know. And if you let me, I’ll show you that every single day. Because to me, you’re everything. And nothing, no one, can change that.”

His words echoed softly but with a force that was impossible to ignore. And in that moment, with your heart racing and your breath unsteady, you finally understood what he was trying to tell you. It didn’t matter what had happened in the past or the insecurities you carried. What mattered was what he was offering you now. It was real. And you wanted to believe it. Wanted to allow yourself.

You gave a small smile, the tears still falling but now accompanied by a growing sense of peace that began to fill the spaces left by doubt. “I don’t want to compare myself to anyone,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But sometimes it’s hard.”

Dave gave a small laugh, gently cupping your cheeks. “I get it,” he said. “But never forget: you’re who I chose. And you don’t need to be like anyone else. You’re unique to me, and that’s all I need.”

He pulled you closer again, and this time, instead of insecurity, the embrace was filled with something softer yet stronger—a sense that you’d found your place, a safe place full of care.

Time passed slowly, and you felt calmer, as if his words had cleared the chaos in your mind. When you looked into his eyes, you no longer saw doubt or fear—just certainty. And you felt it too. The certainty that, with him by your side, everything would be okay.

“I love you,” you whispered, not thinking too much, but with a truth that burned through your skin and filled your chest with something so profound that words couldn’t fully translate it.

Dave smiled, that genuine, happy smile of his. “I love you too,” he replied, before leaning in for a gentle kiss that made the world seem to pause for a moment. A kiss that needed no explanations. A kiss that said everything about who you were—and everything you were still about to become.

[chrisstvrns]

𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐛𝐬𝐟!𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡…

warnings: male masturbation, public masturbation, inexperienced!reader x perv!bsf!chris, handjob on the beach, swallowing cum, mature content, not proofread, written in ten minutes so it lowk sucks. 

disclaimer: theres a mention of the reader being asleep, but chris knows shes not actually!! 

word count: 1,172

based off of this request!

chris had always found you attractive. since the day you guys met in your biology class in your freshman year of high school, he always found you to be the prettiest, funniest, smartest girl he had ever met. 

through your many classes with him, nick, and matt, you soon became friends with all of the triplets, yet always having a special, stronger connection with chris. when the boys moved to LA, you begged your parents to go with them, and, since you were 19, they- surprisingly- let you go. 

a few months after living with them in california, you worked enough to afford your own apartment, and moved right down the street from them. 

when you moved out, a small part of chris broke, even though you were just a 2 minutes walk down the road. it wasnt just the fact that he wouldnt be seeing his best friend everyday anymore, it was also the fact that when he woke up, you wouldnt be in the kitchen making your morning coffee, the bottom of your hoodie just barely covering your lacy panties. or when you were wearing a tight shirt with no bra, he wouldnt see your nipples poking through. 

luckily enough, you still were at their house nearly every day, and now you were at the beach with the three boys. 

nick and matt were playing in the water, and chris sitting in the chair listening to music while you tanned. face down. 

the fact that you asked him to put your tanning lotion on you made him turned on, but seeing you lay there? your hair up in a bun, your whole ass on display for him? barely covered by your pink, flower printed bikini. he grabbed a towel to put over his lap, already rock hard and trying to cover his erection. 

he clenched his jaw, not knowing if you were asleep or not. 

“hey chris? can you wake me up in 20? i need to switch to tan my front.” you smile, looking up at him 

“uh, yeah, yeah of course. ill set an alarm.” he stutters, fiddling with his phone to set the alarm

you smile resting your head back on your forearms “thank you, bubs” 

that fucking name. that name was enough to drive chris insane, and as soon as he saw that you were facing the opposite way, he very discreetly slid his hand down his swim shorts, wrapping his hand around his length while looking around to make sure nobody was around. 

he was nervous, even though you were at the farthest end of the beach where people rarely ever went. when he saw you were the only people in sight, nick and matt a good length away in the water, he threw his head back, biting his lip to stay quiet. he knew you werent asleep just yet, 

he didnt tell anyone about what he thought of you, not even nick and matt. he knew everything about you. he knew how you never had a real relationship. sure, you talked to guys. but you were never official. with anyone. you were definitely inexperienced. 

chris moved his fist up and down his length, biting back grunts and moans, his eyes trailing all over your bare back, landing on your ass, staying there. 

he throws his head back, biting his bottom lip so hard, nearly making it bleed. he lets out a loud inhale, trying not to cum just yet. 

“chris, you okay?” you mutter, pretending to be half asleep, meanwhile youd been awake the whole time. 

and he knew that. he saw you drawing your finger through the sand, and for some strange reason, that just turned him on even more. he was rock hard, slowly running his hand up and down his cock, careful not to be too loud. 

he stops his movements at your voice, though. 

“y-yeah, m’fine” he stutters, throwing his head back

when he looks back down at you, youre looking up at him, your jaw slightly dropped. 

“chris?” you whisper, your heart pounding in your chest

“fuck, i.. im sorry.” he mutters, taking his hand out of his swim trunks 

“dont.. dont stop.” you mutter, staring at him

“what do you mean?” 

you sit up crawling over to his chair, sitting infront of him, turning to check where nick and matt are, still playing in the water. 

“i dont know what im doing, but i know i want you to keep going. if thats okay?” 

he nods, staring at you in disbelief

“can i.. can you take your shorts off?” you softly question, biting your lip 

he nods, lifting his hips and shifting his shorts off, releasing his cock. you watch as it springs up, hitting his stomach as you lick your lips. 

“i dont know.. what to do..” you mutter, staring up at him

“you dont have to do anything, mama.” 

“i want to.” 

he looks at you, gently holding your cheek in one hand. 

“wrap your hand around it.. if youre okay with that. dont do anything you dont want to do.” he whispers, smiling as you nod 

you wrap your hand around his length, slowly moving it up and down. he bites back grunts, and you stop, looking up at him- concerned. 

“are you okay?” you worry, questioning. 

“fuck, dont stop, baby. im more than okay.” you grunts out, his eyes slammed shut, head throwing back on the chair.

within the next few strokes, hes slowly losing control, gripping the arms of the chairs. 

“fuck, baby, dont stop.. where.. where can i cum?” he pants, feeling his stomach tighten

“i.. i can swallow it? if youre okay with that?” 

he looks at you with wide eyes, shaking his head

“no, no, you uh, you never-” but you cut him off

“i want to.” you sternly say, repositioning yourself to get on your knees between his legs 

he lets out a deep breath, nodding a breathless “okay” as you continue stroking him, positioning your mouth above his tip, sticking your tongue out 

“fuck, baby. y’killing me..” he groans, clenching his jaw “are you ready?” 

you nod, looking up at him as you continue stroking, sticking your tongue out as he releases, a sour face as you taste him. 

he heavily pants, his chest heaving as you swallow his cum, licking your lips. 

“fuck, youre perfect..” he mutters, pulling you up as he shoves his cock back into his swim shorts “are you okay?” 

you nod, smiling at him as you whisper “im okay” 

you crawl back over to your towel, laying on your back, your front now being tanned. 

“wake me up in 20?” you question, smiling as you close your eyes, facing the sun 

chris stares at you in absolute shock, letting out a soft laugh, picking up his phone and setting another alarm, turning off the old one that was supposed to go off in a few minutes. 

“yeah, yeah. alarms set.” 

he smiles, watching you tan. his best friend. the love of his life.

────────────୨ৎ────────────

a/n: i wrote this in 10 minutes lmao idk how to feel about it

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

⋆˙⟡ tags: @lvrsturniolo @marrykisskilled @mattscoquette @emely9274 @wh0remikasas @mattsstarlet @pvssychicken @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @jvngle18 @sturns-mermaid @mattslolita @lolastrniolo @55sturn @oliviasthatgirl @hannahsturns @dykes4chris @y3sterdaysproblem @bernardsbendystraws @sturns-mermaid

[historiawon]

WHILE THE IRON IS HOT

You, Rafayel's bodyguard, ask if you can commission him to sketch your next tattoo.

Based on this post. Can also be found on AO3 :)

Tags: gender neutral reader, getting closer (professionally as well as casually), reader is NOT an artist, rafayel is NOT a numbers guy, bickering, close proximity, lots of eye contact

Kindly read under the cut!

They say, ‘Strike when the iron is hot.’

The mantra repeats excessively in your mind as you watch over Rafayel, the person who employed you as his bodyguard. Because the current chances of Wanderers attacking the Mo Art Studio is low (never zero), you give your mind permission to wander. A little. Just a little.

Your mind wanders as far as a few weeks ago: the request at the tip of your tongue. That will later be inked to your skin.

As they say, ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’ You’re standing a few feet away from a brilliant artist. This is your chance.

You cough. “Excuse me.”  

“I have a name,” Rafayel says, as he brushes past you to rummage through his box of tools. He takes out a scraper.

“Right. Rafayel?”  

“What’s up?” He returns to his stool.

“I have a question, and please indulge me: what do you think about doing commissions?”

“Commissions?” Rafayel repeats, as he scrapes the dried pigment off the canvas. “Like, other people paying me to paint for them?”

“Yes.” 

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you for a split-second before returning his attention back on the painting. He calculates a precise location before scraping again. “In your dreams. I don’t paint for anyone. I don’t even speed up my painting process for Thomas, even if he asked.”

“Even if it will earn you extra income?”

“And extra work! I already work hard enough to finish original pieces as they are.”

You nod and remember the instances of him submitting a painting late. “True. I suppose that your original works already earn enough to support you. . . and Thomas, ‘cause you pay him,” and me, as your bodyguard, you add as an afterthought. Wait, does he even pay me?

(You make a mental note to clarify that later; you have a more pressing concern right now.)

Slowly, Rafayel puts down his scraper and turns towards you. “You want me to paint something for you, is that it?”

“Hm.” You try to be vague. “No, I was just curious.”

“No, you’re not ‘just curious.’ There’s a follow-up question to it; I know.”

Silence hangs in the air as the two of you exchange a prolonged and loaded eye contact. Your breath hitches at the full attention. His pupils glance at your throat before looking back at your eyes.

Y/N, I know, his gaze seems to say.

Your steady look asks: You know?

With a nod, Rafayel’s expectant gaze answers, Try me.

We’re going off topic, Rafayel.  

“Ha! You blinked first!” He exclaims in victory then raises a hand as if to stop you from opening your mouth. “Yes, Y/N, I know a staring contest wasn’t what we were doing. But I know you have a follow-up question.”

“I do, but I was planning to take this slow. I know we have…” you gesture to the space between the two of you, “professional boundaries. I’m not in the position to ask for commission requests yet. It’s not even open.”

“So considerate,” Rafayel teases, but his gaze on you softens. “That’s cute.”

“Still, right?”

His ears flush pink, like he can’t believe what just happened. In a snap, he changes back to his usual self and touches his ear. “Just shoot your shot. Time will pass whether you ask me now or later.”

“My follow-up question was about if I can avail your services for an art commission. You can just draw; no colors. I’ll pay. What’s your price?”

“Assuring me straight up that you’ll pay? I like that in a customer!”

“We’re going off topic, Rafayel.”  

“Hey! What’s with the accusatory tone?” He says as he rubs his ears. The pink turns to red. “You’re no different. You went on a roundabout way just to ask me for a piece! You can just say,” he straightens his posture—highly reminiscent of your current posture that was earned from your job as a hunter—and imitates your tone, “‘Hey, Raf, can you make this for me? I’ll pay!’ Simple. Done.”

You break character and scoff. He chuckles at your reaction.

“Yes, but that was more of an opening rather than ‘off-topic.’ I’d rather know if you accept commissions or not before I ask you.”

“Why?”

“It’s polite.”

You bite back a grin when he makes a face. He apparently notices the way you hold back a smile—he glances at your mouth once and his ears turn red. Again. Redder than that dried pigment he’s been scraping off. “Whatever. I can be polite.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t.”

“It was implied,” he whined.

You adjust your expression back to a more neutral and respectful one to stay on track of the topic.

“So, how much will a sketch cost?”

“Hmm,” he looks at the ceiling and puts a finger under his jaw, which stains his skin with color. He seems too used to it to bother reacting. “Given that I’ve earned my spot in the industry, it would be, I don’t know. . . a lot?”

“Right. Do you have an exact amount?”

“Oh, cutie, I gotta be honest with you…” Eyes on the canvas, Rafayel scrunches his face with some hard-to-decipher smile. He picks up his scraper and scrapes off a small piece of dried pigment in the corner of the piece. A huge chunk of dried powder falls out. Yikes. “I don’t really know much about the numbers aspect. Will you bother Thomas with a hypothetical question? Don’t tell him I’m considering to give you a commission! I don’t wanna deal with his lectures.”

You make a mental note.

“Sure. I will do that. Do you want me to pay you directly? Since I imagine the price will be a lot, I can pay you in installments, if you accept.”

“Wow,” he drawls, tone impressed, “You thought this through.”

“Mm. I’m serious about this.”

Rafayel’s adam’s apple moves as he fixes his gaze at the canvas with intensity. “I’ll decide depending on the drawing. What do you want me to sketch?”

You imagine your budget, yet again. “Depends on the price.”

“Y/N,” he drawls. “We’re going in circles! Off-topic!”

“I was hoping you would sketch a tattoo for me.”

At that, Rafayel whips his head towards you so fast. The crack of his neck is loud enough for you to feel bad.

“What?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“Is your neck OK—”

“For—forget my neck. Off-topic,” he repeats, with his eyes almost teary on you. “Repeat what you said.”

“A tattoo. Just a small one. Under my ear.” At his stunned silence, you continue, “Well, it’s not every day that I can talk to a talented artist. I’m taking my chances and I’ll pay you, I promise. If I’m unable to pay it in full, then you can take money off my sala—”

“You—you want me to draw a tattoo?”

“Yes. For me.”

“I’ll draw it? Are you sure?” he almost chokes on his words.

“Yes, it would be an honor.”

“’An honor’—oh my god. No, it would be an honor to me. Not to you, to me.” Rafayel fans himself with his collar. “Wha—what—what kind of tattoo?”

“I was thinking of a sunset.” You feel a little unprepared at Rafayel’s reaction. His eyes are wide and mouth agape. No amount of spotlight could top the nerve-wracking feeling of someone’s full attention on you. “Like… I don’t know how that would look good, but… preferably, uh, you know those sketches that are made in a continuous line? Like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Does that look good? Any professional, artistic opinion?”

“Whatever you want,” his voice cracks again. You wince. “It’s a tattoo, silly. It’s supposed to be personal.”

“The mere subject is personal. I don’t mind much about the artistic style it takes to get inked on me, as long as it fits the way I look.”

“On your neck, huh…” he mutters. “I’ll help. Let’s make it perfect.”

A pause. Rafayel stands up from his stool and tears off a piece of paper from a sketchbook. “Uh, you might want to sketch what was in your mind. Then I will modify it, if you’re unsatisfied with what you made.”

“I just said I don’t mind ab—”

“A tattoo is personal. You should draw and I’ll check.”

You wave your hands away from the paper. “Ah, no! I already tried. I’m bad at drawing. That is why I need your help.”

Rafayel avoids your gaze and leaves the paper on the stool. “OK, um, I’ll be back. Let me wash my hands first—”

“You don’t have to do it now—” you say, but the man is already brushing past you to wash his pigment-stained hands (and face). He belatedly locks the bathroom door behind him, and you can hear muffled screams from where you are standing.

What’s up with him? You wonder. Is this what happens when you strike a hot iron? You didn’t think you would go this far.

_

Rafayel returns as if you didn’t hear his muffled screaming. “Who’s gonna do your tattoo?”

“I found a tattoo shop at Linkon city. They said we’re allowed to bring designs of our own.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and crosses his arms. “And you think they can imitate my genius?”

“I hope they can,” you indulge him a compliment. His ears flush pink—you can see it with the short distance between the two of you.

“How much is it?” You ask again. “Hey, does asking for your opinion have a price?”

“Geez. Why do you keep asking me about money and prices? I literally said I’m not a numbers guy. Don’t go back to the circle, Y/N.” He widens his eyes at you.

“I don’t know; you might be similar to a legal counselor. Don’t they charge clients per session?”

“We’re going off-topic, Y/N,” he says in exasperation. “I don’t know about other artists, but I’m not charging you for asking. Actually, you know what? Pay me with a favor instead. Don’t ask Thomas about a price! You’re commissioning me with a favor!”

The mental note in your head falls down like a ripped-out post-it. “Oh, OK! Thanks?”

“And no, my opinion is for free. You might never ask me for it again if I said it costs something.”

You shrug. “Possibly.”

“So let’s—” Rafayel looks around the room. “Sit down. Your legs must ache from standing all afternoon.”

You sit down on the couch he gestures to. It’s a little relieving on the leg area. Meanwhile, Rafayel tugs his collar with a nervous swallow as he sits next to you. In his hands are two pencils and an eraser shaped like an octopus.

“So, sunset?” He asks awkwardly.

You look at his eyes and smile. “Yes. Sunset.”

“OK. Sunset.”

“Uh-huh. Sunset. Should I get the paper you ripped earlier? And the sketchbook so it can be on top of something?” You say with hands already outstretched.

“So chivalrous,” he teases, but the frown on his face makes the teasing come off as awkward. You playfully scoff to avoid embarrassing him. “Yes. Please start.”

With the paper and sketchbook on your lap, you draw the first line.

The second. The third.

Then regret it.

“Yikes.”

“Hm?”

When you look at Rafayel, he no longer looks flustered. Replacing his awkward eyes is an intense, focused gaze. You instinctively cover the “drawing” with your palm, but Rafayel’s warm fingers pulls it back.

“This will be my tattoo.” You try to avoid feeling awkward.

He studies the drawing for a few beats. Then intently at your neck.

“Press your ear like this. I want to see the space where this will go.”

Awkwardly, you turn your head and press your ear forward to fold it.

“Is it this ear?”

“Yes.”

“Portrait?”

“Yes, portrait. I want it to be visible.”

You hold the pose for a few more seconds. Rafayel’s silence is making you feel more and more flustered. He exhales, mind in mid-thought.

“What do you think? As an artist?”

“I won’t answer that,” he says earnestly, “but do you want me to change it?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I mean, that’s what the entire conversation earlier was about, anyway. A talented artist to draw my tattoo. Hopefully.”

“I’ll make a few suggestions.”

Rafayel does not take the paper on the sketchbook away from your lap. Instead, he uses the second pencil and draws on it.

This is weird.

The warmness that radiates from him—from his close proximity with you—feels quite comforting. You suddenly remember the mattress of the bed when you used to live with Grandma. It just… it felt nice. You feel your upper body lose its tension.

Plus, you can see the violet strands of his hair up close. It’s a pretty color. Maybe violet will be your favorite color, from now on.

“Here, check this out—”

You snap out of your thoughts, but you do not make it obvious.

Rafayel created two sample tattoos, following at least two of the three lines you drew. It seems like the base for his modification drawings.

“What do you think?”

Your heart starts thumping in your chest like a lion in its cage. There’s a… there’s a rush of excitement in your stomach and in your throat. This is pretty. This is genius. Rafayel is able to turn something amateur into something great and you can’t help but be amazed. “That’s infinitely better, wow!”

“Are you sure? We can do better than that. I mean, this one’s stroke is out of line…”

“Sure, but these are pretty as they are! I must owe you a huge favor for this ‘commission,’ right?”

Something changes in Rafayel’s eyes. He looks a little sheepish. “Actually.”

“Yes?”

“I know what favor to ask of you now.”

“Tell me. Strike while the iron’s hot,” strike while we’re on the topic!

“How open are you to having me as your tattoo artist?”

[trickbxbes]

okay, hear me out.. dae-ho nsfw hcs, in particular him with a reader who is into pain play, bdsm and all that jazz?

love your work btw!

So I can’t see Dae-Ho agreeing to hurt you at all, but I’ll try to work around that 🫡

𝐃𝐚𝐞-𝐇𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐒/𝐎 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐃𝐒𝐌 (𝟏𝟖+)

Warnings: NSFW, Switch! Dae-Ho, hickeys, edging, pretty much what the title implies,

The first time you brought up to Dae-Ho about experimenting, he was curious and trying to be brave. He wanted you to always feel good of course. But when you got into detail, he was a little taken back. “Pain…play? That’s a thing?”

He’d be uncomfortable inflicting pain. Especially if it involves hitting or drawing blood. He just, can’t. He’d get a little sad just thinking about it. He’s had a very negative history with violence, and wouldn’t want to put that on his beloved.

But he wouldn’t want to disappoint you either, so he’d try with the other aspects of BDSM!

He’d start by being rougher with you. His normal nips and kisses on the neck turning into dark hickeys. He’d soon realize that seeing you all marked up was actually incredibly arousing. Like you actually belonged to him.

^ You’d claw at his shoulder blades as he ruthlessly sucked on the sweet spot on your neck. “D..Dae-Ho..” and in response, he’d cover your mouth. You didn’t think you could get any wetter, but alas.

At first he wasn’t sure what to expect when you bring in the handcuffs, blindfold and gag. Things that wouldn’t cause you direct harm, but experiment with the idea of teasing to a new level. But once he had you there, listening to the way your wrists fought against its restraints, he didn’t mind. It meant you needed him.

^ His face was in between your thighs, lapping up all your juices. You were a whimpering mess, gaged and cuffed to the bed frame. Dae-Ho looked up at you a second, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. “Are you still alright, (Y,n)?” Oh how you wanted to scream at him for stopping. But that’s what kept the gag on. You squirmed, whining desperately, trying to rut your hips into his face. Dae-Ho chuckled, shaking his head. He puts both hands on your thighs and pushes you down onto the bed again. “Patience, otherwise I’ll have to punish you, right?”

He’d try choking you if you really asked. He’d never do it hard enough where your face would change a color. But while he was fucking you senseless, his hand around your throat, he’d hear how animalistic your moans were. The differential desperation compared to your normal fucking.

Of course, after everything, he’d kiss every bruise, tend to you, check on you, and cuddle close.

BONUS!!

Now when you had convinced Dae-Ho to let you take the reins, he was more than a little worried. He did agree though, but you knew you had to ease into it.

You had his wrists tied to the bed frame with some lacy ribbon, soft to prevent any pain. You and him established a safe word, “Octopus.” You started off kissing down his body, slowly but surely. It wasn’t too different to when you were normally in charge, but this time, Dae-Ho couldn’t touch you. It took away a lot of his control. But you couldn’t help but notice the way his dick hardened even faster than normal at his helplessness.

Eventually, you moved to jerking and sucking him off while he was unable to do anything but feel. His senses were heightened thanks to the blindfold around his eyes. “(Y,n)~!” He mewled, his back arching. You giggle, licking his tip before pumping his base while speaking to him. “Hm? What is it, Dae-Ho?” You smirk at his whimpering self. Dae-Ho could barely get the words out. “G-gonna…mmph…! Gonna—“ And with that warning, you stop. Dae-Ho lets out an exasperated groan of desperation. “(Y,n)! P-please…! Please let me cum… (Y,n)!” He babbled your name like you were some sort of messiah, begging the same words like a prayer. His cock was throbbing hard in your hand, his hips thrusting upwards slightly.

He’d never admit it to you, but he loved being edged.

You caress his cock with your thumb, smirking. The gag was still an option, but you didn’t use it because, cmon, listen to him. “Mm, I dunno, will you be good for me?”

Dae-Ho nods frantically. “Yes~ yes…yes, yes yes. I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be a good boy, your good boy, so fuck… please…!”

How could you say no to that?

[imujings]

hoshi + work song by hozier? :)

when i was kissing on my baby and she put her love down soft and sweet in the low lamp light i was free

wc <1k. warnings FLUFF!!!, suggestive (they make out at the end. sorry. i’m normal), lots of kissing, hella praise (someone needs to tell soonyoung he’s doing good RIGHT NOW!!). jay’s musings i am so weak for soft sy + this song makes me go ABSOLUTELY FERAL .°(ಗдಗ。)°. you are so right anon. speak ur truth

The lighting in the room is dim, cozy. It’s well into the morning, sunlight streaming faintly through the curtained windows and finding home atop your bedsheets.

You press a long, soft kiss to Soonyoung’s bare shoulder. He’s been murmuring in his sleep for quite awhile now, shifting around like he’s trying to escape some paranormal entity unbeknownst to you. Your fingers inch under the covers and find his.

“Love,” you hum into his skin.

The man shivers at your touch, jolting awake with a gasp. His hair sticks up in all kinds of directions, unkempt from sleep, and you smooth a hand through it. Soonyoung leans into your fingers with an achingly gentle sigh.

“Nightmare again?” you tilt your head in a question.

He nods, eyes fluttering shut when you run a thumb across his cheek. You trace the knot in his eyebrows with your gaze, all the way down to the slope of his collarbone, exposed and vulnerable.

“I can’t remember much of it now,” Soonyoung confesses. “But it felt like I had this big weight on my shoulders—metaphorically, that is. There was so much guilt it was overwhelming. Like I couldn’t breathe, almost. I was in front of you, and you were looking at me, waiting for me to speak, and… I remember feeling terrified. Of what you would think of me if I told you about what I did.”

While you’re listening, your thumb on his cheek never pauses in its soft, methodical swipes along his skin. The barren sunlight leaves him dappled in a honeying glow.

Your heartbeat pounds loud in your ears, your mind taking action to bring his attention to just how much you yearn for him through a steady rhythm of love—if for nothing else but to soothe his worries.

To reiterate your thoughts, you pull him in, letting your arms lay loose around his neck. Your foreheads rest against the other’s.

“Soonyoung,” you whisper, lips brushing his.

His eyes flicker between your soft, melting gaze and the way your mouth curls to enunciate his name. His own lips are parted, waiting, and you’re eager to give, dipping in to steal a kiss.

“You could never,” you kiss him again and he chases your lips. “Never, ever ever, even try to get me to hate you.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Soonyoung says brokenly. “How could you say that?”

Another kiss—one that’s unhurried, searing with want. Your lips travel to the corner of his mouth and down to his jawline. He whimpers at your nibbling.

“You act as if we are made to be perfect,” is your hushed reply, pressing an open-mouth kiss to underside of his jaw. “You’re talking as if being loved and being perfect are synonyms. As if they mean the same thing.”

“In reality, they simply coexist together. Their relationship is more of a simultaneous thing; you are loved, and at the same time, you are perfect just the way you are. Did you know, I love you? I love you, in your entirety—all your sins, all your fears. I love you because they make you, you. Your hatred, your pain, your burdens—are they not just feelings that coexist with the love inside of you? I love you because you are whole and filled with emotions. I love you because you are love.”

There’s a pause, and you draw your face back up to his level again. Soonyoung is staring at you, eyes glassy and lips wobbling.

You’re wondering if you’ve gone too far with your nonsensical ramblings when he kisses you, and all air is knocked out of your lungs.

“Thank you,” he sobs, and you taste the saltiness of his tears as his lips press against yours, frantic, needy.

His hands are in a frenzy, gripping your bare skin like you’ll disappear at any moment. You whine at his touch, passion overtaking you as your fingers wrap themselves in his locks of hair. The man moans when you tug, and the noise sounds so melodic it has you tearing up yourself.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Soonyoung murmurs; you can’t tell what tears belong to who anymore, but you don’t think it matters when you’re this tangled up in each other.

“You are love, too. My love. You are my freedom—my life, my eternity. Thank you.”

wanna queue a song?

[revelboo]

Bro, you can't have me crying over tender-hearted spider-men like this😢

He just wants a friend

Disappear Pt 4

Tarantulas x Reader

• Clawed servos flexing, he works on tweaking the avatar and glances at where you’re stretched out on the scavenged mattress in your nest of blankets. Remembering the feel of your hand in his. Well, his avatar’s. You’re still skittish of his actual form. Watches you draw your legs up against your body, huddling deeper into your blankets. Cold? Mandibles shifting he sets the projector aside and lifts up onto his extra limbs, moving closer and easing down to crouch over you as you shiver in your sleep to tug your blankets more closely around you, a servo brushing you cheek and your skin is chilled.

• Startling as something thumps down near your head, you don’t move as his creepy spider limbs cage you while he pokes at whatever the thing is. And it begins to softly hum and- it’s a heater. He’d realized you were cold and made you a heater to keep you warm. Watching him stalk away from you to return to his work, you roll over to watch him. “Hey, Tarantulas?” Head turning and mandibles shifting, you make yourself look him in the optics. He still creeps you out, but you’re getting used to him. Suspect he’s really lonely. “Thank you.” You’ve never seen anyone visit him, no one ever contacts him. It occurs to you that you’re all he really has. And you’re scared of him and he knows it.

• Servos tapping on his work table, he vents. “If you freeze, who’s going to teach me to not be, what were your words? Serial killer looking?” He asks watching you smile and lay back down. And he’s half tempted to move closer. To try and coax a conversation from you, but he lets you be and returns to his work. You’re behaving only because you fear him, you don’t like him. You’re not friends.

• Stretching, you listen to the silence and try to gauge what time it is. And sitting up, you freeze. Because you’re free. Normally he webs you down before he goes to lay down to keep you from escaping. He’d forgotten. Pushing off the blankets, you stand up and go up on tiptoes to try and see where he’s sprawled on his front on his berth, a couple of spider legs and an arm hanging over the edge. Recharging. Heart racing, you move across the room. Hesitating at the open door of the crypt, your breath catches. All you have to do is go. Walk until you’re far enough away he won’t hear you when you bolt.

• Venting as he comes online, mandibles flexing, his head lifts and his spark constricts when he automatically looks for you on your little mattress. And realizes he’d forgotten to secure you before recharge. Primus, how much of a head start do you have? Is Ghost already on its way? Lunging upright with a snarl, he hears a little gasp and he freezes. Because you’re right there bent over the little cooler of food he’s been scavenging for you. “I swear you’re trying to give me a heart attack,” you mutter, turning your attention back to finding something to eat. You’d had the opportunity to run and you’d stayed with him? Hadn’t betrayed or abandoned him. Has anyone ever chosen him before?

• Stiffening as he stalks your way, his spidery legs come down on either side of you and your breath catches. Watch his head tip to make your skin crawl and you wonder why he has to be so damn unsettling all the time. A clawed hand lands near your hip as he leans down into your space to make every instinct scream to run. And he’s just staring, his mandibles slowly shifting. “After you eat your food, show me how to move correctly again,” he says, lifting up on his extra legs and walking away to leave you bewildered. Creepy, damn spider dude.

Previous

[thewidowsledger]

not a back story but i would really like to know what is happening with milf r and nerd nat right now that nat is in her household with her sons...

i love your work so much and all i can say is youre underrated, thank you

After seeing Nat, r never stopped squirming. Having to have the welcome home lunch with her sons and of course, the one she had a one night stand with that turned out to be her son's bestfriend.

She did her best to avoid Natasha or be alone with Natasha. You are welcoming to her and very accommodating but only when you are around your sons.

That summer was supposed to be a bonding season for you and for your children but now you try to avoid home as much as possible so you wouldn't have to see or have an interaction with your second born's bestfriend.

You told Thena all about it and all she did was laugh at your face about how odd and how small the world is for you. You would always spend your time with your friend that your children are becoming curious onto why you're always gone.

One time your Bruce had to ask you why you were not home the whole day, he asked you if you were seeing someone. And you froze on spot, holding tightly on your cutlery as you eat dinner with them, you saw Natasha looked at you—all three of them were looking at you. You let out a chuckle wishing it didn't come out nervously as you intended it to be. And, you said, yes. Lies.

Tony saying, "Can he take a punch?" And Natasha almost choked her food. You blinked as Tony laughed at his bestfriend. "I...he can, Tony." You said, hoping that he won't notice the lies that lay beneath your words. You only said yes, so whatever hope you see in Natasha's eyes whenever you look at her would fade.

They only stayed for 3 weeks, painful 3 weeks having not to spend so much time with your sons and having to see your son's friend that gave you mindblowing orgasm that the father of your children couldn't even give you.

The night before they leave your place, Tony told Natasha to accompany you to the market to buy some stocks like foods and toiletries for their apartment. You refused, almost scolding your son telling him that you don't want his friend to be tired and you have a long travel tomorrow. Natasha took that as a chance and told you that it's not a problem. Now, you can't refuse.

The drive on the market was painfully silent, Natasha was the one to push the cart, being a gentlewoman she is as she took the liters of water you were carrying, your hands grazing at each other before she placed it in the cart. She also took it to herself to carry everything to the car especially the heavy ones.

The drive back was full of tension unlike the drive on your way back to the market. It is the only and last moment you would be with Natasha, alone. "You're really seeing someone?" You nodded, lies. "Good for you." Because if you are, now there would be a reason for Natasha to move on.

You really tried not to talk or utter a single word with her but the feeling of being guilty walking out on her is eating you. "You're young, Natasha. You'll meet so many people along the way." You spoke after her little talk with you. "You're a big, smart girl. I know you know how much I love my children." She know what your words were hinting. She could only nod, suppressing the tears that are threatening to fall in her eyes.

"C-can...can I kiss you? One last time? Please." Fuck being in your driveway as she asked. You saw her reddened eyes with tears. You cupped her face with one hand and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek, she expected a kiss on her lips but you draw the line there. Your foreheads and noses touched for a brief moment before you pulled away. You have to, because if you don't you won't let her go neither will she even though you had painfully missed how her plump lips felt like on yours and as it travel on your body.

You didn't know that Bruce and Tony planned a surprise for you that's why they let Natasha go with you. The little celebration went well, filled with so much tension and stolen glances between you and Natasha. At the end of the night, you all took a photo together, one with Bruce, one with Tony, one with the two of them, and one with the redhead.

The day after, you never tore away yourself to your children. Hugging, kissing and babying them. Your children never stopped asking you about the one you're seeing but you would try to avoid the conversation by scolding and reminding them about stuff when they finally go again to the university. Meanwhile, Natasha never dared to look at you even before they leave the house.

After they leave, you took Natasha's shirt and the photo you had together where you two stood awkwardly with enough space between each other. A tear fell down your cheek as you put it on a box. You know that as you close this box the feelings you had with the young girl will forever be hidden with it. You two cannot be together, you love your children too much to be with her—but a part of you wished for the situation to be different—you wished that maybe in another universe her star would align to yours.

—

Author's Note: Sorry guys, this is not a sad ending, this is a realistic ending🤓 thank you for this request, nony! And thank you for the kind words, I appreciate it🫶

Fic link: Toothbrush

[always-just-red]

Hello! Y'know that one line of Sylus talking about his muscles saying "They're not real. But they move." The way he casually admits to not being entirely human

Could I request something angsty where Sylus has an uncanny valley aura about him where you just FELL something's not right and Sylus is all :( cause he can't make the MC feel comfortable around him but it's not like he can fix it either

Just a quick little fic for this whilst I work on a longer fic! Realised like two paragraphs in that I had the opportunity to do the most evil thing ever, so I did!! 😇 I'm really proud of this one guys pls show it some love! And thanks for the prompt, anon! You are my co-conspirator in all this evilness, mwa ha ha DISCLAIMER: This work does not reflect the feelings of the author, who would die for Sylus! Wants to hold Sylus's face in her hands and tell him he is everything good and pure in this dark, cynical chess game we call life! 😎✨

Monster

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: A Deepspace Hunter's instincts never lie...

Genre: angst oh my GOSH so much angst

Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, AU I guess as this is a different spin on an existing scene, *passes you some tissues* here you might need these! 🥰

| Word count: 800 | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You know monsters.

Earth-shattering. Sky-shearing. Teeth, reckless: always striving for something soft to sink into. To make a home in and to eviscerate. You’ve been grazed by it— kissed by that violence more times than you can count— and you are not soft anymore; there isn’t space for it. There are scars and then there’s armour, the kind you carry with you, the kind you couldn’t shed if you tried, and you haven’t tried, because why would you?

Horror isn’t loud and cataclysmic, it’s quiet. It’s those few seconds before your Hunter’s watch signals a fluctuation of Metaflux. A premonition, trained, or maybe just human instinct, raw and vulnerable: something is wrong, here. That prickle on your skin— the tip of that claw, raked, snaked down your spine. You feel it whenever a Wanderer lurks in the shadows, or beneath a stretch of water that’s unfathomably deep and far, far too still.

Sometimes, you feel it when you look at Sylus.

I know monsters.

Before you, a fragment of a mural tells a very old story, and beside you, a red-eyed man is thinking of flowers. It’s late, and the museum is quiet. You look at the fragment’s centre, where a female warrior is plunging a blade through a dragon’s heart. “Look,” you say, nodding at the figure with a half-smile. “My predecessor.”

Sylus hums thoughtfully. “What makes you say that?”

“Because that looks like a standard Tuesday to me. Some things never change, huh?”

But other things do. With a chuckle, Sylus draws closer to you. The rumble of his laughter is warm and familiar, and his hand is near yours as he bends to examine the mural. He wants you to take it, to thread your fingers through his like you do when you resonate, when you need his power and he needs yours, except neither of you need it now. Why, then?

You know. Of course you know.

The man is all softness, voice and gaze like an afternoon sun in late summer that lulls you to sleep with thick, golden light. Always trying to evoke a dream. It’s weakness, it’s the dragon on the mural with a split heart, bleeding, and you’ll never understand why Sylus wears his on his sleeve.

It’ll be the death of him, one day. It’s set in stone. Right here.

When Sylus touches you— when the tip of his finger catches yours and makes an honest, desperate request— you don’t pull away. Something inside tugs at you, warns you, tells you a monster without a sword in its chest is one that can bite. What colour of blood would your hands prefer? His? Your own?

Your veins are cold and something is wrong, but no, you don’t pull away, because Sylus knows monsters too. Some declare themselves with twisted horns, razorlike wings and a long, barbed tail. Others declare themselves with something as subtle as a touch, withdrawn.

When Sylus steps away from you, that gash of dread closes up inside you. Heals like his wounds: no mess, no scar, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He’s had a long time to look at the mural, and he smiles wistfully at the woman at its centre. “Some things never change,” he echoes, and it sounds as though there’s blood in his lungs, his throat, and that he has to swallow it down to say anything at all. It must sting.

“All in a day’s work for a Deepspace Hunter,” you joke flatly. You’re not even sure Sylus hears it.

Both of you stare at your fragment of history: an execution, a liberation. A matter of perspective. “Maybe…” Sylus begins, but then thinks better of it.

“Maybe what?”

He’s seeing something you don’t.

“Maybe what, Sylus?”

He spares you a glance. “The pose,” he says, indicating the warrior. “It’s ambiguous. Perhaps she isn’t slaying the beast, she could be—”

“Saving it?”

You’re considering a new perspective. Tapping a finger against your cheek as you lock eyes with your history— that elusive dream— ever oblivious to what’s behind you:

There’s a look of sheer, infinite longing— a gaze that’s been empty of you for too long, so sick of starvation, and determined to have its fill in the few, fleeting moments it can. It’s ravenous: dangerous, sharp, and irrevocably yours, if you would only turn around.

There are teeth and claws, but they’re all of them tame, and that makes them soft, doesn’t it? You could trust them on your skin. Turn around.

You do, and you are not the girl from the mural who tucked wildflowers into his hair and who sung him a song he still hears in his sleep. Sylus’s heart aches.

You are the girl from the mural who’s slaying a dragon, because it’s the oldest story, the only story.

Your eyes harden.

“Who would pull out a sword to save a monster?”

[buttercupblu143]

*clears throat* whale...it's something

Satoru's Psyche P3 - Psycho!Gojo x Nurse!Reader

(not gone cap chat, there's so many excerpt i could've pulled from this chapter, it was hard asf to choose so 😬)

“You just don’t seem like yourself today,” you say carefully, studying him.  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he fires back, his tone light but threaded with a subtle warning, though it doesn’t land because your mind is already spinning, beginning to wonder…if something is actually bothering this impenetrable terror. If anything could get under his skin?  The silence between you is getting to you though, thick with unspoken tension and tangoing with his eyes that are duller than you’d like and make you look away. Your gaze drops to your clipboard, fingers softly drumming against its edge, the muffled rhythm failing to drown out your thoughts. Swallowing them down feels impossible when they keep burrowing in, clawing at your throat for answers until it feels unbearable, daring you over and over again to poke the bear and find out what’s been digging at you ever since you first heard your name and Satoru Gojo’s in the same sentence.  But don’t be stupid.  And don’t let whatever charade Gojo’s putting on fool you. All it takes is one wrong move or word to tip this delicate scale into chaos. You know the risks—will never shake off how heavy they hang on your shoulders—and yet you almost feel helpless to resist how it pulls you in like a magnet, drawing a shallow breath to push you through as you take the plunge anyway.  “We’re going to talk about the incident,” you begin, slow and steady, relaxing your body. “What do you remember about that day? What were you feeling?” His eyes snap to you and there’s a pause, the kind that makes your chest go tight. You might as well have said the name Voldemort, the question you’ve been wanting to ask slipping from your tongue after waiting the longest for it to appear on paper and give you permission to do so.  You hold your breath as his gaze drifts back to the window as if it holds the truth he doesn’t want to say aloud. “Did it feel good?” you press, cutting through the silence. “What did that power feel like?” You lean in just enough to remind him of the space between you and Gojo shifts, your voice coming more softly this time. “Do you still feel it?” It’s as faint as whisper, but he hears you loud and clear, and when his eyes finally meet yours again, his grin returns. But it’s thin.  He sits a bit taller, head cocking. “You’re asking all the right questions,” he says, his voice a shade darker than before. “But are you really ready for the answers?”

i wanna fucking tear you apart P2 - Vampire SuguChoso x Reader

“Well, well.” He circles you. “What do we have here?”  Oh, fuck.  You knew they were real but never imagined them looking like this. Feeling like this. The way he speaks, you’d think he was trying to seduce you rather than trying to eat you up like mere nano-seconds ago. He’s not just ominous—he’s radiating threat, his aura alone making you want to shrink into the ground and your blood turn to ice. You always knew you were a snack, but he’s looking at you like dinner, licking his lips, as your hands fly to cover your neck—as if that’ll help much.  But what could you possibly say that won’t end up with your blood splattered all over the cobblestone just seconds after finally reaching your destination? You made a deal with the universe, dammit.

ty for the tag Kali and making me stress about choosing the perfect excerpt as if i didn't have enough writing woes on my plate 😅. don't ask me why i didn't follow the rules, i can't read .-.|tags: @halohelene @nkogneatho @ryomens-vixen

silly wip tag game!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

show us a paragraph, line or dialogue out of context from your current wip[s]. if you aren't a writer, feel free to share one from the last fic you read! ♡

these are from three different wips, the last one is something i wrote in december 2024 (those who remember me talking about nanami and a desi reader...yea), and the second one is something my aashi (@fushitoru) has been asking for since the beginning of time [hint: salaryman choso]

— npt: @gojocon @norikuna @sonnytoru @starmapz @aishi-toru @baepsays @gojosoups @indiewritesxoxo @madamechrissy + anyone else

[quibbs126]

So I was attempting to practice the Cyberverse style Optimus and Megatron, though as you can see, I got a bit distracted at the bottom left, and sort of just had to put something else to fill up space

I actually started practicing yesterday at work, drawing on my cardboard sheets, so it meant I was a bit more practiced when I started here. Though annoyingly, since I elected to not go over my pencil sketches with pen, I could barely make out details in the drawings, and I could barely tell what I was doing on Megatron

It was also going to be more than just their heads, but not only was Optimus’ body taking up most of the canvas already, I wasn’t really sure how to draw it at the time. The stuff at the bottom right may have been for filling up space, but I also did need to try and at least practice their bodies

*sigh* the real struggle is making them 3D things. It’d be so much easier to figure out the shapes if I didn’t have to. But oh well, comes with the territory I suppose

But back to it, I think I did alright with the head sketches? They aren’t bad, but they feel slightly off, like I haven’t quite got them looking right

I probably need more practice, and to actually draw them full body. Also probably wouldn’t hurt to look at more Cyberverse fanart for more exposure to the style

I probably also need to start actually drawing characters more consistently, instead of drawing sketches of characters once and then never doing it again. It means I never fully get the hang of it and I keep not really making much of substance

But yeah, I feel like drawing them again at a later date, possibly even with lineless. I just don’t know what to draw them doing

But anyways, on to the bottom left

So I had finished the sketches, and my brain was like “well since we’re here, and we have helm designs right there, we could try making up fankid designs?” and eventually I gave in and decided to start sketching. I knew it’d end up on the final product anyways, but I had to give in to my impulses

Sorry, I’m sure people are sick of me bringing up this sort of stuff

Then with my first attempt, I ended up with something I actually quite liked. So I was like, might as well fully line and color

I still like the original sketch, so I’m gonna put it here, and also since I feel like the vibes are slightly different from the final

But then a problem arose after lining and going to colors. Namely that I had designed this on a whim and I had no deep thought as to what colors to use

After some tries I ended up with what you see here, but I’m not sure if I want to keep these colors. I’m not sure it fits the vibe the original sketch had

The blue middle piece I’m especially not sure on. I think it looks off, but I don’t know what to color it

Oh also, his purple isn’t exclusive to his helm, it’s his main color for the rest of his body too. At least that’s how it is in my head right now

Also as you may notice between the sketch and final, the eye shadow came later, mostly because I thought he didn’t have enough Megatron in his face. But also because of that, I hadn’t made the eyes and eyebrows with that in mind. So if I draw him again, those’ll get tweaked

I still in general don’t know if he looks enough like Megatron. I suppose I should be wondering more if he should look more like Optimus, since general shape wise he takes far more from Megs, but I’m also aware plenty of his colors stray more towards Optimus anyways

Oh yeah also, he has blue eyes here, but I really don’t know about that. I wanted to give him something other than blue or red, purple being my initial choice, but I was struggling with the colors in general and so right now he has blue. It works but I wonder if it looks too much like a fusion of their eyes

He needs more work, just like Overdrive I think. But he is here

No clue his name. I wasn’t even sure about his gender until drawing made me think “oh yeah that’s a guy”. I do have a name in my brain for a megop kid, that being Starcutter (which the two probably didn’t pick), but I don’t know if that works for him

I do think I’m going with that idea I posed yesterday (well not yesterday, but yesterday I said “what if I put it in Cyberverse?”) of him being the secret megop love child that no one but Megs knows about

I don’t know anything about him other than he’s probably on the Autobot half of Cybertron but was never really involved in the war much. To involve him in any plot, he probably comes over to Iacon after the war to try and make some name for himself

Also another idea is that he and Megatron met again during his multiverse adventures, in some universe where he was actually raised by Megatron, possibly where the Autobots and Decepticons never split because Optimus was able to properly reason with Megatron. They didn’t take him on their multiverse adventures, probably because Megatron knows he exists in his own universe and doesn’t know how to handle two versions, but also possibly because he died, I don’t know. But it was these encounters that led to Megatron attempting to search him out when he returned to his own universe. This also means Dead End and maybe Astrotrain knows about the kid’s existence, but they’re under the assumption they only exist in these wildly different universes, not their own. Which may lead to shenanigans

But yeah I haven’t solidified anything else really I don’t think. Should work on a name

And I think that’s about it for now? Yeah I should draw more Cyberverse I guess

[marshmallowprotection]

world hard and cold, kissing saeran soft and warm

"You know... as much as I appreciate your attempt to distract me, and I hate to tell you this... but, it won't be enough to stop me. I'm afraid I am well-versed in maintaining my focus on not only what's in front of me but what's in my hands as well," he hummed.

"You mean to say I haven't done enough to distract you so far."

That was enough to draw a chuckle from Saeran's lips as you planted another kiss against the back of his head. He never seemed to mind the attention you gave him when it meant he could feel you close to him. How could you not give him a dozen kisses when he was bent over the kitchen counter? He was at the right height to have you not only wrap your arms around his waist but lean over and pepper him in kiss after kiss!

"You know I can't be distracted from baking dessert," he countered.

You could feel his muscles shift and contract as he continued to roll and press the dough beneath his fingertips. He mentioned earlier in the day that he wanted to have cookies after dinner, opting to try out a new recipe rather than purchase a pack from the store, and as cute as it was to see him adamant about what he wanted—

You wanted to tease him all the same for that serious look on his face! When he wanted to bake something, he took it with the utmost care and regard to not only the ingredients but to the notes he gathered in the process. There was no hurry to learn anything, he had all the time in the world to experiment in the kitchen, but nights like tonight were his favorite because he set aside an hour or two before bed to learn a new trick he saw somewhere during the week!

But, the kitchen wasn't the only place he put those research skills into practice.

It wasn't your goal to distract him from his quest, but it was your goal to pull his leg for sticking his tongue out in concentration like that. "Well, you can if I'm the dessert."

Saeran paused, briefly, to shake you from his back and twirl you around so you could settle in front of him and between his arms. Those kisses of yours had gotten to him, and that was enough for your satisfaction. It wasn't a game of trying to one-up each other, nope! It was a game of waves, pushing and pulling until you turned into a perfect shoreline of love.

"My love, I don't have to roll you over and pour flour on top of you to bring you to perfection. You're perfect just the way you are, I'm afraid. Though I will admit I'm not opposed to adding a strawberry on top for added flavor when I'm feeling peckish."

The giggle that escaped you was to his satisfaction, of course.

You glanced down at his cookie dough, "Saeran, might I ask why you've dug out the cookie cutters? Normally, you use this shape to create Gingerbread men. I may not know a lot about baking, but I know that not all cookies adhere to the shape of the cutter when they spread in the oven."

"That's why I'm tinkering with this particular recipe to find the right consistency," he explained. He returned to the dough and continued to spread it out across the cutting board.

You raised a brow, "Oh? What do you plan to do once you make the perfect cookie? Are you going to make an army of cookies? Will they guard the rest of your treats?"

"No, I decided that I want to bake you into a cookie so whenever you have to leave for work during the week, I'll have the sweetest version of you to keep me company," He said, the serious nature to his voice left you no room to prod to see if it was a joke. "Not that you're not a sweetheart, my love. You taste like a sweet spice, warm and cozy on my tongue, but the cookie version of you... will taste like the love we share... so saccharine that I'll be tasting you for hours."

You floundered, bouncing between words but none could come fast enough. Eventually, you settled for a simple whine of complaint to let him know what his words did to your heart. "Don't make me bite you!"

"Oh, should I make a cookie version of myself for you to take to work as well? I imagine you might like to bite into him, too."

"Saeran Choi!"

[streetchicken]

It's been 40°C (roughly 104 in freedom numbers) the past 2 days and I don't have the energy to draw anything, so y'all are getting sadboy nikghost hours as my first attempt at a minific-

NikPriceGhost? Mostly NikGhost worried over Price :)

Trigger warning: No beta, we go down like the helo when Ghost's piloting.

It's probably early morning now. Or at least Nikolai assumes it's early morning. He hasn't had much grasp on time since providing ex-fil for 141 earlier that day, or yesterday or whenever it had been.

The mission was a bust. It wasn't anyone's fault in particular. Intel was false, the site had been armed and waiting in the dark for the two-man stealth team. It was supposed to be easy. A routine recon with Lieutenant Ghost and Captain Price leading the mission. A mission they seemed overqualified for. In and out. Like shadows in the night, gone before witnesses could even gasp a last breath.

Nik takes a long breath then dangles the cigarette between his fingers, tapping the ash into a metal bowl. The tip faintly glows, not even enough to light his fingers in the cover of dark. God it had been dark.

Nik could barely see as the two hauled into the Black Hawk. The only light provided by buttons, small screens and the pop of rifle bullets as they ricocheted off the hull. He didn't get a chance to see the state of them, focused more on maneuvering out of firing range. He thought everything would be okay. These are the two best members of Taskforce 141, unstoppable, бессмертный.

The next breath comes out shaky, curling into little puffs of frost. The city lights blinked idly, watching him, waiting for Nik to crack. The silence feels so loud. Nik slots a shaky hand over his eyes. He can still hear it.

Ghost's voiced trembled. That man never faltered. To hear him so uncertain. ебать, he nearly put the copter in a nosedive at that.

"Price was hit." Nik can still hear the echoes of it. "Nik, i's bad."

The cigarette finds it's way between Nikolai's lips again. The taste of cheap tobacco sticks to his tongue. He couldn't find his usual quality stuff when they landed at a hidden base just on the outskirts of some random city Nik couldn't care to remember the name of. In fact, he'd nicked this pack off Ghost first chance he could.

The cigarette slips from between the russian man's lips. His eyes snap up to find one of those very shadows at his side. Chist, Nik hadn't even heard Simon come out onto the balcony.

"I forget they call you the Ghost." Nik rumbles into the otherwise silent air. A face if bravado slipping on easily.

Simon scoots the custom balaclava up to the bridge of his nose. His skin basically glows under the moonlight with just how pale it is.

Like a ghost. Nik muses, realising the moniker isn't just for how silently Simon can move. "Can I have cigarettes back?"

Simon takes up the seat on the other side of the small patio sofa. He could almost curse the hotel for cheaping out on the chairs. "Can' sleep?"

Typical Simon, right to the point. Nik swallows the rock that settles in his throat. Suddenly he contemplates stealing it back from between Simon's fingers.

"John?" Simon continues, easily guessing the reason for Nik's silence.

He sighs in response and hangs his head between his shoulders. The cold does little to quell the burning behind thick black lashes.

Simon studies Nik from his perch on the seat, free arm lazily settling on the backrest behind Nikolai. The Russian's hair is pulled out from the usual slicked back look, baby curls fanning at his neck and around his ears. "Th' doc said 'e'll be olright."

"'Alright.'" Nick mimics the word, trying to dispel the images of Price so pale and lifeless in the gurney. "He was shot, Simon."

"And i' isn't the first time, Nik." Simon rebuttles in that even tone of his. Nik settles against that tone, using it to stay level. Simon finishes the thought. "And i' didn't hit anythin' vital."

The air went quiet again. Crickets and distant traffic set a gentle hum as their backdrop.

Nik opens his mouth, but struggles to find the words. They stick to his throat, ache like barbed wire. It hurt to admit what he was feeling, but if this didn't go anywhere he's afraid he'd pop.

"I can't- I can't lose him, Simon."

Simon lets the words settle in the night, allowing Nik a moment to collect his thoughts.

"He...you, I-" Nik's voice breaks. It cracks pathetically in the face of silence. His eyes burn with unshed tears. "Черт, извини."

He sits back and runs a hand over his eyes. Nik presses the pads of his fingers into his sockets in a desperate attempt at dispelling the tears. His breath is shaky, laboured. His ribs feel so small, pressing into his lungs, his heart.

Simon breath puffs out around the cigarette. He's close enough already, so his fingers find the curls at nape of Nikolai's neck. They thread through the stiffened strands then settle in the juncture where Nikolai's shoulder meets his neck. It makes Nik's body rattle with a barely-there shiver.

With a soft tug Nikolai came thudding down against Simon's shoulder, his face finding that space in the crook of the Brit's shoulder. Simon settles his hand around Nik's shoulder and adjusts to hold his weight.

And all at once Nik could find the courage to cry.

He hides his face from the city lights, keeping the tears private as they soak into Simon's shirt. There's no sound, no hiccuping, no sobs or wails. Just quiet tears and shuddery breaths.

And Simon lets him. He leans in closer, chasing off the cold and just holding Nik. He doesn't offer any words. No encouragement or soothing. Just quiet acceptance and a warm shoulder.

Suddenly the silence didn't feel so loud anymore.

[fidogo]

Reader spontaneously proposing to Soap a/n: Been rewatching Gilmore girls for the 567th time and was inspired to do a little tiny fluffy drabble (literally a nonsense drabble but whatevs!!)

It happens on a random Saturday morning. There’s no picturesque sunset, no body of water nearby, no perfect moment. But it was the right time. You had just known. 

So you asked.

Soap had just stared at you, wide-eyed as his brain lagged, trying to make sense of your question. Johnny, will you marry me?

He could’ve sworn he was supposed to ask that. He’s got a little velvet box tucked away in a random drawer for that very reason. He was going to ask you. Somewhere nicer than this stupid cafe. It was a chain for Christ’s sake. 

“What?” Soap says after his brain finally reboots. You swallow nervously, squirming in your chair a little. 

“Will you-“ 

“Yes,” Soap says resolutely, brain still trying to catch up. He’s as serious as a judge, hands gripping your drinks a little too tightly. 

“Wait, you-”

“Yes.” His cheeks start to warm, and he smiles like the cat that got the cream, but he looks at you warmly. You feel your face begin to mirror his, and you settle back into your chair. 

“So you want to-” You can’t even finish confirming before Soap’s putting your drinks on the table and drawing you into a kiss. His hands are rough and warm on the sides of your face, practically pulling you up to meet him halfway. 

“Yes, let’s get hitched,” he says against your mouth, eyes heavy-lidded. It’s much too intimate for a cafe at 11am, but Soap’s never cared about that before. 

When he releases you and plops into the seat across from you, you feel a little dizzy, your head spinning and heart racing, excitement in your veins. 

“This is not how this was supposed to go,” Soap says, narrowing his eyes at you a little. “And, for all intents and purposes, you can now consider us engaged, but,” he jabs a figure at you, a single eyebrow raised in challenge, “I will be asking you again.”

You smile at him and nod, taking a sip of your drink. He watches you, eyes glued to your lips, and he inhales deeply. 

“We should go celebrate though, right?”