#i swear i can draw hands just don't stare for too long please

[nabikyu]

I don't know if he really said that or it's just edited, but still wanted to make a redraw and put in practice my lineart and painting

[frickingnerd]

truth or dare?

pairing: leo valdez x gn!reader

summary: after a kiss during a game of truth and dare, leo starts to avoid you. when you confront him about his reasons, he reveals to you that he's been worried you don't reciprocate his feelings...

tags: angst with a happy ending, wholesome fluff, confession, idiots to lovers, leo & reader are both dense, worries about unrequited feelings, leo & reader share a kiss

leo had been avoiding you like the plague, ever since the two of you had shared a kiss during a game of truth or dare. your friends all knew that you had been crushing on him for quite a while and were attempting to help you. 

and for a moment, it did seem like it was helping. kissing leo was one of the best things that had happened to you in the last few months. he seemed so into the kiss, yet ever since that night, he had been avoiding you. he didn't reply to your messages, he turned around when he saw you outside and he barely even looked at you anymore! 

it really seemed like all hope was lost. like you had ruined things between the two of you by kissing him. but you still hadn't given up! you were determined to go all in and confront him! either he gave in and told you what was going on or he'd tell you to leave him alone and you could at least draw the line there and move on. 

"leo!"

you spotted the boy outside on a bench, calling out for him. when he heard your voice, he jumped up, ready to turn around and leave, but you had already grabbed his hand by then and stopped him from leaving. 

"please, stop ignoring me…"

you sighed and looked down at your hands, before letting him go and taking a step back. 

"stop ignoring what's going on between us…"

you could swear you could see leo's face go red as he quickly turned away from you. 

"there… there's nothing going on between us, y/n. we just kissed once at a party, we really don't have to pretend like there's anything between us now!"

you stood there quietly, looking at him. the bold and flirty leo you knew seemed gone. the boy in front of you seemed rather timid. this wasn't the leo you knew! 

you took a deep breath. 

"there is something between us. at least… something that i feel" you were making things sound so complicated. "what i mean is… i like you! a lot… and i really liked the kiss. if you liked it too, then please don't hide it from me, leo…"

leo stared at you, the surprise being written on his face. he hesitated, opening his mouth multiple times to say something, but always just closing it again and staring at you. 

"then, at least tell me you aren't interested in me… if i know you don't like me that way, then at least i can move on…"

"no–!"

finally, leo had opened his mouth. and all it took was to threaten him to move on. seems like he really did not like hearing that…

"i– fuck!"

leo ruffled his hand through his hair, seemingly frustrated with himself. perhaps because he couldn't find the right words. or maybe something else entirely. 

"i do like you that way! i really do, y/n! seriously, i've liked you that way for a really long time!"

you couldn't help but smile as leo admitted his feelings to you. finally, he had said it! 

"i'm just… i'm an idiot. i didn't think someone like you would go out with someone like me. you're way out of my league and when we kissed that night i just– i felt stupid for getting my hopes up and tried to just ignore you until my feelings for you would go away again…"

you gently took leo's hands again, intertwining your fingers. he looked up at you surprised, not expecting such a soft gesture from you. 

"you weren't the only one getting their hopes up that night. i was really hoping something more could happen between us, but then you ran away and i never got to tell you how i feel about you… until now"

you tilted your head, softly smiling as you began to close the distance between leo and you. 

"but… maybe we can start over? forget what lies in the past and try again. perhaps… with another kiss?"

leo stared at you, unable to believe his luck. you were so close now that your lips almost brushed against his, yet you had stopped moving. if he wanted you, he'd have to make the next move.

"this time i'll do things right, i swear!"

and finally, leo closed the gap between the two of you and your lips met again. only this time you knew that he'd stay after the kiss and that there were many more kisses that would follow…

[hippiepowrs]

he's a goner

eddie munson x gn!best friend!reader

a/n: this is the first fic i'm ever posting on here i'm so nervous plz don't eat me guys

warnings: pining. yearning. longing, if you will. just eddie being totally whipped. swearing. weed use/vague descriptions of being high. d&d terminology. one line from gareth. no use of y/n or reader's pronouns. eddie's pov.

wc: 571

Eddie’s in way too fucking deep.

Maybe this is salvageable?

No, he’s a goner.

It’s not like this is a scene he hasn’t watched before–his best friend laughing, giggling, and smoking with the rest of the older Hellfire boys–hell, it happens every week. But there’s a certain point where the high starts to hit him just right, and he can’t help himself from staring at you. Despite his typical loudness, the usual brash and joking demeanor that overtakes him, he just sits in his chair, quieter than ever. It’s not unheard of for him to get quiet, so nobody thinks anything of it.

You’re the prettiest person to ever exist, he thinks. He finds himself thinking that a lot. The way one corner of your mouth lifts a little more than the other when you smile, the way your eyes crinkle, the way you sparkle as you giggle; he loves it all. He loves the way you look when you blow smoke through your lips. He’s never been more honored to roll in his life. He’d buy all the weed in Indiana if it meant he got to watch you smoke it. 

Eddie often finds himself wanting to write about you or draw you, but he’s nervous he won’t capture you correctly. You’re the kind of beauty that only the Greeks could capture. He wishes he could sculpt like them, just to be able to sculpt you.

A nudge to his arm breaks him out of his trance. He sees you smiling up at him from the floor. It’s a sight he hopes he’ll get to see for the rest of time.

“Ed,” You say, voice soft and a little tired, “Can you back me up here? Can you please tell these nerds that fighter isn’t the best class?” 

“What?” He mumbles, still out of it. “Guys, literally any class is as good as you make it. Except monks.”

“Fuck off.” Gareth responds, throwing a handful of chips in his mouth.

Eddie zones back out after that. Whatever B-horror movie Jeff brought continues to drone on in the background as you and the guys continue to argue, but he can’t be bothered to listen to any of the words he hears. By the time he zones back in, the guys are standing up and brushing themselves off, clearly ready to leave. They say their goodbyes and Eddie waves them off, leaving him alone with you. 

“Is it cool if I sleep over tonight?” Your voice is his favorite thing to hear. Even better than Hetfield or Dio.

“‘Course.” He says, voice more grumbly than he expected. “You know you’re always welcome to.” 

He watches you stand up, watches the way your shirt rides up as you stretch, admires the sleepiness in your eyes. He wants you in his bed, next to him, he wants to wake up to your face in the morning. He wants the smell of your shampoo to overwhelm him. He wants to kiss you, soft and sweet.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He mumbles under his breath, running a hand over his face before standing back up. Your footsteps are already trailing down the hall to his room, and he quickly follows. You’re halfway through throwing one of his shirts on, which you do every time you sleep over. He’ll never get tired of the way his worn-out shirts hang off your body. He’ll never get tired of you. 

[vagabond-umlaut]

paper planes

brother to fushiguro tsumiki. (unofficially adopted) son to gojo satoru and you. nephew to a host of sorcerer uncles and aunts. (unwilling) assistant to the white-haired idiot. and, finally, ringbearer at your and gojo's still-undetermined wedding.

one teeny-tiny boy with one too many identity is what fushiguro megumi is - until he isn't. with lots and lots of sniffles and sniggers...

▸ gojo satoru x fem! reader; established relationship; post hidden inventory arc; manga spoilers; proposals; adoptions; alternate universe happy for everyone except toji lovers (sorry ＞︿＜)

▸ two fics in a week, wow. guess this is what is called a brainrot, huh? read this post by @/mintmatcha on tumblr and started writing this lol. but the plot of this story is miles, tons, eons away from that post, i swear. also, this fic is set in the same universe as blue hawaii but you need not read that first to read this. treat this as a stand-alone if you wanna! 😊 anyways, gif, divider and characters ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"yeah, yeah, i've got it all planned."

a discreet eye roll is all megumi gives as he goes through the menu card in his hands. a little distance away, he can spy tsumiki and you seated at a table, you tying his sister's long hair into braids while the latter laughs, probably at a joke you cracked.

a tiny smile rests on the little boy's face at the sight - which vanishes when he feels a large hand tousle his hair. you had spent hours and hours righting his hair into a proper shape; why must this idiot always mess everything up?

megumi looks up to find his guardian looking down at him with a shit-eating grin; though he can clearly see the nerves it's covering.

idiot.

phone wedged in between his ear and shoulder, gojo mutters a "one sec, suguru," and crouches down to the boy's eye level. the latter gives back an unimpressed stare.

"decided what you wanna have, 'gumi? remember mom and sis there asked you to choose for them today."

megumi feels an urge to say you two aren't his real parents - but stamps it down instantly. the both of you have been as good as real parents can be to their kids - or maybe even better. the boy has read books, watched movies and listened to his classmates talk about their families; the tiny urchin-head knows.

with a huff, he points at the double chicken fillet burger box - it's tsumiki's favourite and you too don't seem to dislike it. with a nod, gojo rises and placing his orders, returns to the call, beaming expression again directed at megumi.

"yeah, yeah, don't worry, man," he speaks into the phone, then drops his volume to a mere whisper, "'my little kiddo here is a born actor. he remembers the entire plan, step by step - don't you, buddy?"

megumi gives an imperceptible nod, itching back to get back to the table. he already would have - needless to say, the little munchkin prefers your company to gojo's, way way more - but their orders have not been delivered yet and the boy promised to be-

a little tap on the shoulder draws him from his musings and he cranes his neck up to find gojo frowning. "no, megumi didn't want to discuss the plan with me before leaving. no, he doesn't like you better- hey," the man looks at him, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose revealing his indignant gaze, "you wanna discuss with uncle suguru one last time?"

an indifferent shrug is all the reply he gives.

while uncle suguru isn't the best uncle he has, he isn't the worst either. the others are- oh, wait. the others include uncle kento and uncle yu. they are literal angels compared to him. so... maybe... he is the worst... never mind. it's too late to back out anyways.

grumbling, gojo hands him the phone. "hello uncle," megumi greets just like you and tsumiki have taught him to. the man behind mutters something along the lines of ''traitor" or something; the boy pays him no mind.

"hey champ," the voice floats over the line, pleasant, kind and the way people talk to babbling babies. megumi's bored face turns irritated. "let's discuss the semantics one last time before boarding your flight, okay?"

"yeah, okay," megumi says, and casting a sideways glance at his bundle-of-nerves guardian, continues, "we're going to reykjavik," he looks at gojo, silently asking if he pronounced it correctly. the man sends him a thumbs-up with an encouraging grin.

the kid continues, "the plane will land at noon day after tomorrow, which is mom's birthday. first, we will go to the hotel. then, after resting, in the evening, we will head out in a car to watch the northern lights. and then-"

"-when it's the right moment, your dad will pop the question to your mom and you'll click the camera. got it, mr. future ringbearer?" finishing the rest of the sentence for him, the man at the other end asks, sounds of pans clacking and food sizzling in the background. nana-chan and mimi-chan must have woken up.

megumi nods. "yeah, got it, mr. future best man."

a chuckle comes in response to his comment. "you're a lot like your mom, y'know?"

"yeah," he mumbles, waving back to you and tsumiki, a little smile on his otherwise-impassive-but-always-adorable face, "i know."

"good," the man says, then pauses when a loud crash booms through the air and through the phone, a set of two wailing voices following it not soon after. megumi can quite literally picture the wincing frown his uncle is wearing as he says the next words in a hurry, "okay, 'gumi. talk to you later. bye, and best of luck! satoru's counting on his little assistant."

"yeah, thanks," he responds but is too late - the call is already cut by then.

giving the phone back to gojo, who's tapping his sneakers-clad feet on the floor, he looks back ahead, wondering when the hell heck their token number will be displayed and when they will get their food.

to the kid's great relief, it doesn't take a lot of time.

before long, the four of you are seated around the table, gojo stealing a sip from your drink and you stealing fries from him, all the while tsumiki giggles loudly at your antics. megumi smiles, before he hides it behind the burger which he takes a bite from.

the four of you really look like a family, don't you?

"hey, guys, can i have your attention for a sec, please?" your sudden question startles him from his mind. the boy turns to find you with your usual grin, albeit a smidgen of anxiety can be found in the way your fingers drum on the table.

megumi shares a look with tsumiki and gojo. they look as confused as he feels. "do i have your attention, people?" you ask again, manner growing a tad solemn unlike your usual, though the affection is still evident in your tone.

gojo and tsumiki nod immediately. you turn to him, gently smiling, "can i have your attention too, 'gumi? please?"

the boy nods his head instantly. "yeah, yeah. sure," he replies, scooting his chair closer to yours. you send him a relieved smile. "good, 'cause what i'm going to say next is very important. so, listen to me carefully, 'kay?"

all three of them are eager to nod in affirmation and anticipation.

scouring through your backpack, you retrieve a couple of pretty important-looking papers, and placing them back on the table, clasp your hands atop them. the kid spots gojo shoot you a worried look to which you respond with a reassuring smile.

the man's frown fades a little.

gaze now darting from one kid to another, you begin, "you two know, right, we love you very much?"

"yeah!" tsumiki exclaims, but is quick to fall silent when megumi shoots her a glare. you proceed, lips pressing into a thin line, "but we cannot adopt you two, in spite of how much all us want it to happen. we tried to, many, many times. but those higher-ups just won't let us do that."

a second passes - one wherein his young brain registers your words - before, lower lip wobbling, the boy casts his gaze down upon his light-up sneakers.

is this where you'll say he'll be sent to those zen'ins? away from his sister? away from you and gojo? away from all his uncles, aunts, nana-chan and mimi-chan?

megumi feels a hand card through his locks gently. looking up, he finds you with a soft smile. "but the thing is 'toru and i didn't let them defeat our purpose. we thought, you two can choose to be my clan's wards. not 'toru's, because of fucking - sorry, please forget i said that word - i meant, idiotic clan politics. so, what do you think?"

megumi turns to his sister, a pensive look plastered on her face the way it is on his. gojo adds, a tender smile in place of his usual stupid grin, "no pressure, kids. the both of us won't love you two any less and will be equally fine in case you choose not to."

"you guys can take how much ever time you need to think. there's no hurry," megumi hears you say, your warm hand rubbing circles on his back, as he turns back to his half-eaten burger.

a long moment passes.

passengers enter the cafeteria, they leave the cafeteria. the four of you remain seated, quietly munching on your food.

the boy finally removes his gaze from his now-empty tray and sends an inquiring, confused, hopeful look to his sister. tsumiki smiles back with a tiny nod. the little kid feels his heart burst with joy.

"we want to," the two of them answer in unison, and within a fraction of a second, megumi finds himself swept up in a warm hug alongside his sister, by you. "thank you for giving me, for giving us a chance," he hears you mutter quietly in a tear-choked voice. the boy simply pats your back the way you do to him. he soon feels another set of arms wrap around the three of you.

megumi thinks he has never felt happier or safer than in this moment.

a while passes with the four of you in this manner, enwrapped in an embrace, before you all finally pull away from each other.

the boy returns to his seat, rubbing his eyes. a minute passes in composing all of yourselves before you state, munching on another fry, "so, step one, including tsumiki and megumi into my legal family is done and successful. thank you, my loves."

tsumiki beams back at you; megumi returns a tiny smile. you grin at them - which, the kid watches, turns slyer as you switch your focus to your boyfriend.

the little boy stares at you, then stifles a snicker - he thinks he has a pretty good idea of what's gonna happen next. his gut instincts are rarely wrong, after all.

"but, 'toru..." you drawl, grin giving way to a smirk as gojo smiles back - perplexed but loving all the same. "for the step two, making you my legal family too, guess i need to wait to say 'yes' until the northern lights viewing two days later... don't i?"

a beat passes, then another, and another.

a loud gasp sounds from tsumiki. megumi turns to his dad - who's gaping wide-eyed at his mom now, the man's face whiter than his ugly hair - and smirks. just like the imp the goggles-wearing idiot always calls him at home, despite you repeatedly telling him not to.

gojo looks back at him, shock written on, engraved into his features.

"though i didn't really help you propose, i'm still the ringbearer, right?"

▸ masterlist

[kitorin]

LOVE ALL PLAY. - ITOSHI RIN

TWO - ANNOYANCE

contents. one kys joke, swearing, nsfw jokes / mention (again, it's just me writing shidou as a typical high school boy), smau component :>

"Two nil."

You remain facing the front, just to avoid getting caught by the teacher for speaking in class again. But regardless your whisper is aggressive, full of energy and Rin doesn't have to see your face to comprehend the smug expression you were most likely donning.

The teacher smiles ever so slightly. "Well done y/n."

Rin glances to the side as the teacher goes back to scrawling on the blackboard, teal attempting to capture what was happening without drawing too much attention.

Oh how he wishes he could wipe that shit eating grin on your face.

He scowls at the sight of you. "The fuck are you on?"

"One from running the other day. The other from just now."

With a scoff, indignation rolls his eyes. "Correction: You did not beat me. You interrupted practice like the little shit you are."

"I won."

Rin hisses, careful not to be louder than the teacher's lecturing. "We weren't competing. And I never will. Quit being delusional."

Now, neither of you are bothering with remaining unnoticed by the teacher. "Why so defensive? You scared?"

"I have no reason to be." He scoffs. "Midget."

"'Course you resort to making fun of my height. That's how you know you're truly losing."

Suddenly, Rin's arm shoots up, to which the teacher addresses instantly. "Yes, Itoshi?"

"Because war literature's purpose is to illuminate the dictatorial essence of warfare, the injurious effects it inflicts on entire communities and the brutal changes it forces upon generations. The author utilises a form differing from the traditional novel, as visual representations can express what words cannot." It takes a lot not to smirk at the impressed gasps buzzing around the classroom, as he controls his voice to sound passionate, but not obsessive; calm but not emotionless. "Adopting a different form of literature simply allows the author to amplify and convey their ideas in a manner they desire."

By now, all eyes were on him. It's oddly exhilarating, he knows very well this moment doesn't compare to the 'point' you scored earlier.

"Very impressive, Itoshi. Please maintain that effort for the rest of the year."

Rin smiles, one that displays appreciation evidently, whilst being polite and not excessive. "Thank you sir."

"What the hell was that? That came out of nowhere, I thought you weren't paying attention as well."

"One point for a sufficient answer. Another for being 'very impressive. And one for every classmate that turned to stare." Satisfaction blossoms inside of him, he'd take a photo of the way shock paralysed your features and capture the moment forever. "First set's mine, and you didn't score shit."

"You don't get to decide that."

Indifference pulls his shoulders into a shrug. "You insisted on earning two points for your delusions. I'm just stating the obvious."

You're sweating, because of summer's insolence but Rin liked entertaining the idea that it was you getting flustered. A hand reaches your face to fan it. "I'm not delusional you're just crazy. Did you even understand what you just said, Mr 'dictatorial essence of warfare'?"

"Yeah." He replies, as if he simply didn't memorise synonymous words with an intelligent complexion. "Did you?"

Rin doesn't miss the exasperated roll of your eyes. "Obviously. You can't hide a simple message behind fancy words. All you had to say was that literature's form changes the manner of how it illustrates a piece's concepts."

"Only an average Joe would be satisfied with an answer like that."

You grumble whilst copying down notes. "And only an idiot would feel the need to hide behind obnoxiously long words."

He imbeds sarcasm into his tone. "I can't believe an honor roll student would say such things to a fellow peer. Anyways, hurry up and admit your loss."

"You know, I hope you trip over and ruin your uniform in the dirt during training today."

"And I hope you melt into a sad puddle, in the same way Hiori's ice block did."

Restraint disappears, as you raise your voice. "You—"

"l/n. I'm about to send you out into the hallway if you don't behave. That applies to anyone else in this class." Rin feigns innocence at the teacher's scolding, maintaining stoic composure. Conversely, you seemed to find it difficult to do so, apologising to the teacher.

Victorious, Rin whispers. "Second set. One nil. My way."

For some reason, you were oddly calm now. "Your fly's undone, by the way."

His eyes widen with alarm, glancing down and realizing too late that you were kidding. By then, his well sustained equanimity had gone out of the window.

"You fucking—"

"Itoshi. Get out of my class."

"Rin Rin, please help meee."

As if automatic, Rin frowns at the nickname and Isagi's pleading, pausing from his drink break. "With what?"

"Literature. I didn't understand a thing you said in class today..."

Neither did he. "Read 'The Book Thief'?"

Isagi pouts. "I did. But I don't see how sir reached his conclusion while analysing it."

Rin doesn't even bother looking at his teammate. "Same." Instead he watches Shidou and Bachira (an irksome pair, Rin thinks) argue with Reo over a goal, as Yukimiya attempts to serve as a mediator.

"Huh?"

"What? It's not that hard to reword the things sir says and what you find on the internet."

The older player narrows his eyes. "You're a liar, then."

"Excuse me?"

"You told y/n you knew what you were talking about. Behind your wordy answers is just a search history filled with synonyms."

Rin scowls. "It's not a lie. I do understand what I'm saying."

"You're prideful in things other than soccer too... I mean I can't say it was unexpected." He places a (sweaty) hand on Rin's shoulder. "It's okay to be bad at something, you don't have to be perfect." Isagi was being genuine, though he was treating Rin like a stubborn five year old.

Yielding it as a weapon, Rin grabs the towel draped around his neck, trying to hit Isagi with it. Instinctively, the victim dodges it, barely in time.

"Fuck off—" Rin yells, recoiling the towel to smack Isagi again. "What are you on this time?"

"It's okay Rin Rin, we support youu." Isagi doesn't even take Rin's anger seriously, effortlessly dodging his towel, agile and quick on his feet. "Self esteem issues are valid no matter what. You and y/n are equals no matter what."

The use of the nickname and the mention of you only fuels his anger, Rin doesn't give up, but neither does Isagi. "Don't compare me to that little shit."

"Should be stop them..?" Reo asks Nagi, who was for once, not hyperfixated on his phone.

"Nah. This is funny." He dries the sweat soaking his fluffy white hair, Rin notices it from the corner of his eye. "Do better, Rin."

"Shut up the fuck up, Nagi." Rin chases Isagi (who seemed to be having a great time), around the side of the field.

"Sounds like a skill issue to me." Nagi yawns. "Cope harder." This time, he yells it out loud. "Reo, how much are you betting for Rin to hit Isagi?"

Gaze averted, Reo doesn't even bother watching their quarrel. "None, because it's not going to last very long." He points in the other direction. "Coach looks pissed."

Rin takes notice of this too, it was beyond too late to pretend nothing happened, as he halts his movements. So does Isagi, bowing to Ego when he approaches the two.

"I leave for five minutes and you idiots are fighting." He runs his fingers through his straight bangs. "You're packing up today. Try something like this again and I'm removing you off the starting team."

Relief washes over him, thanking Ego silently for a second chance. "Yes sir."

Ego dismisses the rest of the team. "Isagi. I was referring to you as well. Go help Itoshi."

"Pardon?"

Their coach glares at him. "Don't try to act innocent. I already know you well enough as the type to be annoying. Anyways, don't forget to lock up. Get home safe too."

With that he leaves, murmuring something about teenagers being irritating, and after the events of today, Rin couldn't agree more.

"This is your fault." Rin says, as he collects the cones.

Isagi doesn't bother teasing him. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Get this done so we can leave quicker.

Though he'd never admit it, Rin agrees in silence, exhausted at the antics he had to tolerate today.

It's late at night when conversation stirs in the group chat, Rin texts with one hand while the other dries his hair.

Hair now dry, Rin flops into his bed, face landing in his pillow. He can't stand practice with Shidou, let alone a full studying session where he's the focus. He hasn't known him for long, yet is already sick of him and his jokes regarding his older brother.

But from a logical standpoint, it was a good idea. He's hopeless on his own, only literature permits utilising the art of bullshit to pass, and he refuses to ask for a proper tutor; they're expensive and Rin doesn't intend on going to tertiary education.

Just do it for soccer, Rin thinks to himself as he drifts off to sleep, drained from today's chaos.

ONE | MASTERLIST | THREE

pairing. itoshi rin x reader

synopsis. all itoshi rin ever wanted was a peaceful high school career, his plans go to ruin thanks to the school's badminton genius; entangling their lives—and emotions together.

contents. rivals to lovers, badminton player!reader, sports romance, fluff, high school au

taglist. @yuzurins, @silly-ez, @chigirizzz, @kaiserkisser, @httpshujii, @saesins, @yoimyas, @saetorinrin, @hxniplayz, @certaindreampost, @rroxii, @jar-03, @celestair, @satoruskitchenrag, @kaitfae, @biaonww, @hellothere9597, @its-ur-pillow, @saesofficialwife, @miyanaranagikenmal-intp — bold means i cannot tag you

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[inlove76]

are your request opened if not please ignore this but if they are can you make a yandere gojo r sukana with male reader where the male reader doesn't care about anything and is just like meh and when gojo r sukana sneaks in to readers house and reader wakes up and catches them going through his draws and stuff he's just like "uh ok" and then goes back to sleep leaving the other one confused and then after a few seconds reader realizes what's going on and just has a big oh shit moment

yes yes I can

stupid very stupid

yandre gojo and sukuna (separately) x male reader

so as many people noticed m/n was stupid. well not stupid just a little dense when it came to important stuff so as dense as he was he was completely unaware of a certain somebody having a complete and  utterly obsessive crush on him.

for him there was nothing wrong he was okay with everything.....

y'all: really? *judging*

alright let me rephrase that he didn't give two shits about anything or anyone.

y'all: that's better

anyways as m/n was on his way back home from his tiring job completely unaware of the person following close behind him and watching his every move.

m/n finally made it back to his home and how long that took was crazy. m/n was ready to pass out and so like any sane man he got in a shower and hopped into bed his eyes fluttering closed as he got comfy unaware of the person right underneath his bed

satoru gojo

gojo swiftly climbed from under your bed and stepped over to the right to watch you sleep. this kinda thing would have never been expected from gojo but he couldn't help it with the way you were kind to people but also didn't give a fuck about any of them it was intriguing to say the least but hey everyone's got something that makes them special

for gojo it was his obsessive love for you I guess anyways gojo had finally snapped out of the trance like state he was in and went over to your dresser the main reason gojo even bothered coming here was so he could find out more about you.

from his observations (stalking) you didn't like much and didn't do much either so to him you were a complete and utter mystery to solve. as gojo was going through your stuff: old pictures, dairies,notebooks and more he got startled by you waking up and sitting up to.

warm e/c eyes met beautiful blue ones. gojo froze preparing for the worst for you to realize he's not supposed to be there, for you to scream and back away throwing stuff at him. of course that didn't happen as you were too tired to process that gojo the gojo was in your room and going throw your stuff, but to be fair even if you did realize would you have honestly cared?

no. the answer is no you would not have cared and as gojo got ready for you to get freaked out, you went back to sleep

gojo stared at you in utter confusion "he just....fell asleep?" gojo mumbled to himself. gojo knew you liked sleeping from his um...investigation on you (stalking).

he waited a few minutes to see if you were actually aware he was here or not. it took your half asleep mind a few minutes to realize he was here and when you did you sat up rather quickly and wiped your head so fast he could swear he heard it crack over to gojo.

gojo just stayed there frozen and in shock "holy shit" you yelled and then sprung up out of bed

"who the hell are you and why are you in my house?" you asked the shocked white haired male in your room, it took gojo a minute to realize you were talking to him and he cleared his throat "I'm gojo..gojo satoru and I'm here to uh..." gojo trailed off not knowing what to say but one good look at your face and he realized he just gave himself away

"mhm okay yep I'm going to throw this knife at you if you don't tell me why your here" you explained as a knife just appeared out of thin air into your hand

"I was snooping trying to find out more about you" gojo blurted out for god knows why in all fairness gojo could easily kill you in a heart beat are you know limit your moving space but he didn't and wouldn't simply because you were you.

"....creep" you muttered as the knife vanished which was impressive since the whole time gojo has been watching (stalking) you you've never seemed the one to be a jujutsu sorcerer of any type

"if you wanted to know me you could've just asked to know more about me not break into my house and go throw my stuff" you had a point there but where was all the fun in that?

"well to be fair if I just randomly came up to you and asked you questions about your self would you have answered?" gojo asks fidgeting in place

"if you asked yes " you responded simply shocking gojo

"anyways since I'm tired and your here and woke me up you've gotta sleep with me"

.....

......

.....

"sleep with you huh?" gojo says with a grin forming on his lips before a pillow came in contact with his face "not like that you pervert" you huffed and flopped back onto bed getting comfy as gojo walked over to you.

"does that offer still stand" he asked as you gave a simple nod and before you knew it you were being squished into his chest as he rubbed you back soothingly "your still a creep" you mutter and fall asleep

"your mine" gojo mumbled and then fell asleep

Ryomen Sukuna

since sukuna was a curse it wasn't really all that hard to get information about you yet he still found it hard very hard.

even as sukuna looked through your stuff he still couldn't find anything it was like you were a locked book nothing could get out

with that being said and done as sukuna looked through your stuff he could sense you were waking up he turned around as soon as you sat up and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes even though it didn't work

'shit shit shit' sukuna thought as he looked over at you. red eyes meeting half asleep e/c eyes. sukuna didn't care if anyone liked him or not but the thought of YOU hating him. it hurt, he didn't want the second person he loved to leave not again he couldn't lose you he just couldn't

sukuna walked over to you and cupped your cheeks "go back to sleep" he said basically pleading

what he didn't expect was for you to listen and go right back to sleep "he...went back to sleep?" sukuna muttered to himself as he gazed down at you he was surprised to say the least

you just caught someone in your home correction you just caught a curse in your house and you went back to sleep so easily ,

he stared at you for awhile waiting for you to realize there's someone in your house, it took you a minute are two but you finally did get someone was in your house and sat up

"who are you"

"sukuna"

you both looked at eachother before you hopped up "HOLY SHIT" you yelled as you got out your pocket knife.

"you sleep with a knife" sukuna asked surprised and impressed "you don't" you responded

after some more talking you and sukuna started getting along even tho you just caught him going through your stuff

"what's your favorite food?" sukuna asked as he had you in his lap playing with your h/c hair.

"f/c" you answered as he smiled

"you know you were quite calm when you first saw me in here why?" sukuna asked as you looked forward "well because you didn't come off as threat well not much of a threat" you answered "oh really" sukuna said as he moved his hands from you hair to you waist and started rubbing down

you didn't think much of it until his hands went inside your shirt and started playing with your nipples "ngh sukuna what are you doing" you half moaned out as his hands kept twisting and pulling at your hard nipples

and it ends here cause this is supposed to be fluff

[reinedeslys-central]

"I think you should totally get in the back of my truck, actually," Leo says, linking pinkies with Jason. "What's the line? 'I can show you the world'?"

Jason stares down at where their fingers are curled together, peach on olive. He can't stop looking. "You don't have a truck."

Leo groans. "That was one time. I promise this one's legal. See?" He gently untangles their hands and slips behind the blue Chevy, returning with a slip of wrinkled paper that he triumphantly shoves in Jason's face.

LEO, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU BREAK MY CAR WHILE I'M IN IOWA I WILL HAUNT YOU TO THE END OF TIME.

Your loving cousin, Nyssa (P.S. You can take your boy for a ride. I'll allow it. There's blankets in the back (and please help yourself to the glovebox). Don't tell me.)

Jason's eyes travel down the sparkly purple pen, catching on the note at the bottom before flickering back up. There's something that aches in his chest at the words 'your boy'.

He's not sure what expression takes over his face, but Leo, for his part, sees him and immediately ducks his head down so he can read the paper too, frowning. Jason follows his eyes down to the same line as they widen and Leo turns a raging, glorious red before hastily re-crumpling the note and sticking it into one of the many pockets of his cargo pants.

He clears his throat awkwardly while inspecting the dying grass at their feet. It looks like it could be good grass if it ever rains again this month, nice and long and thick.

..Yeah, nevermind.

He takes his glasses off and cleans them in an attempt to - what, exactly? It's not like he's got the object permanence of a toddler. It's not like looking away will stop him from thinking about red-hot blushes and bouncing curls and sharp smiles and -

Leo claps once, calling Jason's attention back up to him and the pretty blush staining his freckled nose. He looks just as awkward, laughing bashfully.

"Well, that's just Nyssa. Uh, she probably wouldn't actually haunt me, she doesn't believe in ghosts - not, I mean, if you do -" his words trip over each other, diverting the original innuendo that was definitely just meant to tease Leo since Jason's never even met her, not to mention he's not his, finally ending with - "but as you can see, it's clearly perfectly legal. So."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt that." Leo groans. "Oh, come on, dude, live a little, why dontcha?" He sidles up to him again, draping a warm arm over his shoulders and drawing him over to the car doors. "I know, you know, your dad's in California, your mom's in Paris, and your sister's at a party."

Jason opens his mouth to protest again and -

"- and before you say that you have homework," Leo scoffs, "allow me to remind you that we did our homework together yesterday, and you're already done your math homework for tomorrow, because you're a nerd."

Jason closes his mouth. "It's a school night," he offers weakly.

"Yeah, and every minute you have us waste out here is another minute we're not in the car, ergo another minute we're wasting, on a school night." Leo steps around him and holds his hands out again, eventually latching on to Jason's wrists and tugging him closer so he can peer into his eyes.

Jason may or may not forget how to breathe.

"Are you tired? You don't look tired," Leo frowns. "If you really don't want to go, I won't force you, y'know."

Jason forces his lungs to expand, contract, expand, so he can blurt out, "No, I mean, you got me. I'll go."

Leo grins as bright as the setting sun and twists around, whooping. He not-so-gently pushes Jason towards the car door before jogging over to hop into the driver's seat.

It takes a while, once they're actually on the road and leaving their neighbourhoods behind, that Jason finally goes, "You know, I'm just as concerned with how legal this is as I am with the fact that you still haven't told me where we're going."

Leo glares at him through the mirror. "Hey, if I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"

Jason hates surprises. "For all I know, you just kidnapped me for a surprise road trip to Toronto, and I didn't even pack my toothbrush."

Laughter bubbles out of the boy sitting at the wheel, quickly escalating into a full guffaw. "You're funny," Leo gasps, wiping away tears at a red light. "How did I not notice that you're funny?"

Jason's definitely never been told that he's funny. He might joke, sure, but being 'funny' is reserved for people like Percy, people like Leo or Cecil, who carry humour on them like sugar on a pastry, baked into their laughs and sprinkled over top with how clever they are.

No matter how hard Jason's tried, he's never been very clever.

Leo's still laughing, now more of a soft giggle as he pulls into the left lane to make a turn. He tries not to let it affect him.

"You should joke more often, dude. Bet all the girls would love that."

Jason looks outside at the trees and farms they're passing. Judging by the position of the sun, they're heading pretty much due south. There's nothing down south for them to be doing, though, especially not this late at night.

Skinny dipping, maybe. He wouldn't put it past Leo to suggest something like that and actually go through with it. But dragging him along? They barely know each other. What's a couple months on all the other people he knows?

"You wanna turn the radio on?" Leo says. Jason looks over to see him watching him with an odd smile. "Shotgun's choice, right? Don't worry, I won't judge. Even though I bet you listen to those 24-hour 'nature recordings' for fun and don't know what real music sounds like."

Jason rolls his eyes and plays with the dial until the 106.1 comes on. Leo groans. "Seriously? They keep playing, like, the same six artists over and over. Sure, Top 40's fine, but show a little variety, you know?"

He shrugs. It's like Leo said - he doesn't really know radio stations. His dad - when he deigns to drive the family places - is much more of a silence-of-doom, or failing that, an ominous-car-conversations person. "You put something on, then, if you're so set on it." He replies.

The warm light from the street plays over Leo's knuckles as he switches the wheel to one hand, blindly flailing the other one towards Jason until he hits the box behind the gear shift. "Pick a CD from here, whatever's fine. Eh, maybe not the Chopin or Metallica though. Might shift the vibe a bit too much."

Obligingly, Jason tugs at the black, faux-leather box until it comes open with a muffled thunk. Inside is a stack of CDs, spanning everything from Katy Perry to Vivaldi to Iron Maiden to Monsta X.

"Your cousin's got quite the music taste," he tosses out, rifling through the stack while giving periodic glances out the window to make sure they're not, like, five seconds away from a crash or something.

If there was anything Beryl Grace taught her kids, it was how to be a responsible passenger.

Almost on autopilot, Jason digs the pink-purple Teenage Dream CD out of the pile and then has to hastily shove the polaroids that spill out from underneath it back between the surrounding paper disc-sleeves (Mamma Mia!, he sees, and ..Heng:garæ? Whatever that means). That can't be safe for the discs, especially in a moving card, but then again who is he to judge. He doesn't even own any CDs.

They've fully left the town behind now, sailing down the open road with nothing but trees, farms, and the occasional streetlight in sight. He leans over and pops the disc into the CD drive, wondering again for the hundredth time where Leo's taking him.

Leo rolls to a stop at a four-way and watches him skip over the first two songs. "Whadya choose?"

Jason smiles. "Is now a good time to tell you I was born in Pasadena?"

The open bars of 'California Gurls' start to play, and Leo's warm, penny-brown eyes widen before he laughs, bright and a touch wild, incredulous.

It's weird. It's so weird. Maybe this is what his father meant when he said not to get any weird ideas in his head so close to finally reaching the decade-long goal of an Ivy League school. Maybe this is what his mother meant when she'd chastised him, saying hormonal teenagers got more impulsive with puberty and he should take care to keep listening to his parents, lest he lose everything he's worked so hard for.

If anyone else had tried this, he thinks, he wouldn't have said yes. He would have stayed at home, studied ahead for bond enthalpy and subjunctive Spanish, made tomorrow's lunch and cleaned his room. Adhering to routine. Acting - being normal.

You have to be normal, Jason. That's how they love you.

I will not tolerate an abnormal son.

Oh, Jason, it's like you just don't understand. What will people say? About you? About our family?

Leo isn't normal. Or maybe he is. Normal doesn't exist, when he's with Leo. He likes that about him.

He takes a risk and rolls the window down halfway so he can lean his head out and watch the sky, crisp wind tousling his hair. Leo smirks at him and switches the wheel to his right hand so he can roll his window down to match.

"Ten minutes," he says. "Look alive, buddy."

"There must be something in the water", Katy Perry croons.

also from 'burning like a glowing star', this valgrace fic I'm writing.

more stuff: Writing Directory

[lucs-dxve]

tame

pairings: kaeya x gn!reader

genre: smut (MINORS DNI.)

warnings: nsfw, top!reader, sub!kaeya, mild swearing, dry humping, slight!dacryphilia, pet names (sweetheart, dove)

wc: 3k

summary: there’s hell to pay for kaeya’s misdemeanour. you love him to pieces, you do, but sometimes your lover gets a little too full of himself.

"quiet, alberich," you tut disapprovingly. "you don't get to make demands tonight."

kaeya's voice, caught somewhere between a chuckle and a choked moan, comes from underneath you as he pushes himself up with his elbows. you'd mistake his tone as flippant but you know better thanks to the shivers wracking across his body.

you could feel them; each and every minute jolt of his sculpted form. it's— it’s delicious, if you dare be so honest with yourself.

a guilty pleasure from where you're perched sitting pretty on his lap.

"aren't you being a little mean, sweetheart?"

there’s something about the way kaeya’s chest heaves that satisfies something deep within you- some obscured need. something primal. more visceral.

the knowledge that you have such a powerful, sought-after man in your bed, at your very fingertips, draws a smile from you. a proud one.

“a little,” you agree, but the smile drops as quickly as it came. “though it’s nothing compared to how you’ve been acting this evening.”

kaeya flashes you that signature grin, all teeth, feigning innocence as if he hadn’t been your personal hell less than half an hour ago. cheeky bastard.

“i have no idea what you’re—”

a single, steady hand on his chest pushes him back down onto the bed before he could finish making any excuses. he goes easily, falling with little to no resistance.

the man snickers as you raise a single brow at him, at his sly attitude. you let him laugh.

you have a feeling he won’t be soon.

silently you lean over him until puffs of his warm breath fan your face, and with two fingers you angle his chin so that he’s staring directly at you with those periwinkle eyes.

you had discarded his eyepatch long ago. it lays strewn across your floorboards, not that either of you particularly care; you were now able to search him in his entirety, and he could now admire you with a vision unobscured.

something you can only describe as twisted pleasure hits you, then, as you feel him squirm beneath you. your thumb rises up to glide indulgently over his lips and you can’t help but sigh at the feel of his skin.

kaeya’s lips are warm, plush, and soft— words you’d never associate with the vision granted to him by the gods. they follow the movement of your thumb as you pull and smooth over the delicate skin. he gives you a chaste kiss with them, all the while never breaking eye contact.

the action elicits a pleased hum from you, and you don’t miss the way his leg jumps at the sound.

he’s being so pliant, he is. so malleable under your touch.

so behaved - if that was even a term applicable to the cavalry captain - unlike how he was at the tavern.

archons. it kind of makes you want to kiss him, really.

but that’s something only good boys deserve, and kaeya alberich is anything but.

what a shame.

“tell me.” your voice is low, a gentle purr, seductive against the shell of his ear. you trace the area, touch ghosting. “just what were you trying to get at, earlier?”

kaeya can’t help but shudder, making a noise akin to a soft groan. sensitive, his ears were. so easy to make flush. his head is swimming, thanks to your alluring scent and voice. your touch. they all fill his thoughts with nothing but you, you, you.

not like you ever left. you were stuck there, an untouchable beacon of everything good in his life, ever since he met you all those years ago.

shit.

is that the cologne he bought you a few weeks ago? he’s certain it is- that potent mix of sunsettias and calla lilies. he remembers the scent well. the realisation sends another shiver down his spine, coaxes another suppressed grunt past his lips.

truthfully, he imagined this night going completely different; different in the way that he was supposed to be the one on top, and not the other way around. that was simply just the natural position for the pair of you.

it wasn’t like he was complaining, though. far from it. it was rare for you to top him like this, and he welcomed every moment with open arms. this side of you was a rarity- a delicacy. a treat, all for him.

but he’s still kaeya alberich, no matter how pliant he is beneath you. no matter how easily he bends to your will.

he does his best to match your forwardness if only to push your buttons.

always pushing, this one. always.

there’s a pause midway through his answer as if mulling his words over.

“i was only playing with you, dove. it was hardly anything,” he says matter of factly, like it was the truest thing in the world. that grin was still plastered onto his handsome face despite the heat seared onto his cheeks.

you wonder how long it’ll stay there. not long, judging by the telltale signs of his arousal.

“groping me under the table isn’t hardly anything,” you hiss. “we almost got caught, kae. i know you're practically half blind, but didn’t you see the way charles was looking at us? archons above, even diluc was staring!” the memory has your face burning despite yourself.

kaeya hums, drawing out the sound. there’s a glint in his eyes that you, unfortunatley, depending on how you look at it, know very well.

you’re a patient person.

he’s testing you. wants to know how far he’ll get before you crack.

you swear you are.

“so they were, yes. and what of it?”

but even the most patient of saints have their limits.

“‘what of it’...?”

before kaeya could so much as blink, you pin the both of his wrists onto the bed as you settle back onto his groin. roughly. you begin a slow grind- so slow it’s near agonising for the man you call darling.

a simple back and forth motion.

you delight in the melody of his startled choke, drinking it in and savouring the taste like a parched animal. such a pretty voice for such a pretty man. a light sigh of relief escapes you as you feel that familiar bulge pressing up against your heat.

how well endowed, this man. truly, he had it all. everything.

had you all. everything, everything.

you watch with ravenous eyes as kaeya struggles to maintain his cool facade. there are fissures, cracks, now, within his glacial walls that you see all too clearly. every last trace of faux confidence is gone, now that the only thing on his mind is the pleasure of you grinding down onto him. he curses, breath ragged and mind foggy.

shamelessly he starts to roll his hips up onto you, matching your set pace. kaeya’s moans grow just the slightest bit louder, more salacious, as you press the rest of your weight onto his straining cock.

but you want more.

always are wanting more- more of him, to be exact. his pain, his pleasure. you want it all. 

want it so bad that you’re willing to destroy yourself for it. for him.

you aren’t normally this needy. or at least, you think you aren’t. but the way he’d been palming you underneath the wooden table at the tavern earlier had left you hot and bothered despite the chill of his cryo-infused hand.

and yet despite your growing need, there’s a sliver of guilt within your subconscience for wanting to covet such a gorgeous man. there are times where you wonder if you’re truly worthing of having kaeya all to yourself, despite his constant reassurances and promises. the questions lingered at the back of your mind, taunting you when you least expect it to.

and this moment was proof of that. even in the midst of your shared passion do these insecurities sing in your ears like sirens. seductive mistresses in your bed.

you don’t realise your pace has almost all but stopped, nor do you realise the sudden flash of concern within kaeya’s frosty eyes.

“dove?” he watches with a frown as his soft call falls on deaf ears. the heavy expression on your face told him all he needed to know, and he, too, stops his motions in concern for you.

what place did you, a lowly baker, have at the side of someone such as he? an upstanding member of ordo favonius? the insecurities are enough to consume you whole sometimes, enough to keep you awake even as he finds refuge in your arms at night.

but you’re nothing if not a tad selfish.

and with the way that kaeya was sprawled so vulnerably across your sheets, letting you see the most hidden and intimate side of him, peering at you with a gaze so gentle is enough to quell your worries and hold them at bay.

this is the kaeya that only you, and you alone, were privy to. the fact that he trusts you this much is a testament to your relationship, how far you've both come; it placates you, and so does his hand stroking your cheek. you turn to give a lasting kiss on the palm that cradles you.

thank you.

the words go unspoken, but you trust he understands you nonetheless. he always does.

he’s so picturesque like this; half naked, cobalt hair cascading down his form in waves, and looking up at you with those eyes... kaeya is perfect. so perfect, in fact, that it’s almost painful.

yes, you murmur silently. you are selfish.

you pick up your pace, and he gasps.

the sudden change in your movements, once slow and teasing but are now faster and more deliberate, has kaeya reeling. his head falls back onto your pillow and the action exposes the length of his throat.

the sight makes you think of biting him. 

“hmm...” a single finger ghosts lightly at his jugular. kaeya whimpers. 

whimpers.

you change your mind. you’re going to bite him.

ducking down, you lave gently over the spot that you know has him seeing stars- an apology for the possible pain to come. then, experimentally, and for your own curious pleasure, you push down on the area with your tongue before finally nipping his skin, sucking the bite tenderly.

the action has him gasping your name into steamy air of your bedroom and thrusting shallowly back onto you.

oh, what a glorious noise.

you wonder, absentmindedly, if he knows what he’s doing.

he’s unravelling you without even trying, and you could only hope that you make him feel even just a fraction of what he does to you.

you click your tongue after giving the bite an apologetic kiss. the mark blooms a pretty red once you leave. you hope it'll turn purple. blue, even, if only to match his azure hair.

but perhaps you’re being too mean.

the sound of rustling fabric catches your lover’s attention almost instantly, kaeya’s gaze snapping up to your fingers that move to unbutton your shirt. it’s hard, trying not to act phased when he’s stringing curses like a piece of jewellery.

he’s shameless roving his eyes over your exposed upper body. a devious idea comes to mind and you stretch, bringing your arms up sensually above your head, if only to tease the man further.

and what a sight you were.

you're only a little too pleased with yourself when you catch his adam's apple bobbing as he gulps.

you can feel it, his cock. feel it throbbing away within the confines of his tight pants. you wonder if it hurts to have it strain so much; there’s a twinge of pity welling up inside you, but you pay it no mind.

after all, he dug his grave as soon as he made you flush at the tavern; buried himself as soon as he pushed all your buttons, testing you with his bratty behaviour.

he’d pay with his pent-up frustration.

leaning back on your hands, you slow down once again and begin making small circles with your hips pressed impossibly closer to his ache. a heat licks up your groin as you watch him melt like ice before you. his chest rises and falls with each shaky intake of air, eyes squeezed shut before opening, half-lidded, to watch you with fervour.

you smile coyly at him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“do i look good to you, mr. alberich?”

“please,” it’s sinful, how utterly debauched he sounds. how it sends pleasure pooling straight to your gut. “please, need to— need to touch you.”

need. not want, need.

he’s adorable when he wants to be, truly. you almost give into his wishes.

almost. but you're no pushover.

“touch me and it’ll be the last time you do for the next month.”

you indulge in the way kaeya whines in assent- the sound, almost imperceptible, makes you coo down at him. his hands fall helplessly to his side, left with no other choice but to grasp at the silken sheets. a sweat begins to build upon his temple thanks to his efforts, and you stoop down to kiss at the area.

he’s so good. so good, and he doesn't even know it. 

for a captain, he sure knew how to take orders from others rather well.

perhaps it’s time for a reward, then.

making a show out of it, you run your tongue over two thumbs, ensuring that he could clearly see the pink of the soft organ, before gently pressing them down onto kaeya’s pert nipples.

you flick them in a steady rhythm; up with one, down with the other, groping at his pecs at random intervals.

you’re truly blessed to be able to have your hands on someone so gorgeous. your hands lay claim to each and every single dip and curve of his body.

it’s difficult not to feel anything but aroused when he’s practically bucking up into you now, clawing desperately at the bedding.

he looks like he’s about to cry. you think you want him to cry. he’s awfully pretty when he cries.

“you’re— you’re killing me, sweetheart!” your breath hitches audibly at the sheer desperation in his tone.

you’re fucked, you think, for wanting a man so badly. for him to reduce you to a such greedy mess with nothing but his voice? you’re completely, utterly fucked in every sense of the word.

you offer him a dry chuckle. “well, this is all you’re getting.” a pause, crossing your arms and tapping your chin as if in thought, “so be a darling and enjoy yourself.”

kaeya’s surprised he hasn’t torn through your bedding already with the restraint it’s taking him not to just flip you over and have his way with you.

there’s nothing he wants more than to touch and spoil you with his affections, litter you with love bites and make you go silly. but seeing as he's in no position to do so, he instead focuses on chasing his high, closing his eyes in pure ecstasy.

“n-ngh…”

“that’s it,” you coo. “such a good boy for me, isn’t that right?”

kaeya’s world spins as he nods his head. he can’t seem to stop the tremors coursing through his body at your soft praise, can no longer hold back the tears from spilling past his lashes. they run down his face in pretty rivulets, leaving glistening streaks in their wake. 

but alas, you’re no cruel lover. having kaeya beneath you, the very picture of vulnerability and submission, is enough to satiate your desires. 

he has been good, after all. much better than before.

“alright,” you cede. kaeya’s floating through the haze in his mind, and he barely manages to catch the rest of what you had to say.

touch me, kaeya.

with your permission finally granted, kaeya all but shoots up to lean his upper body against the headboard. sturdy arms fly to wrap around your waist as he all but smothers you to him, and it’s all you can do to sling your own around his neck and hold on.

a pent-up kaeya was not one to be taken lightly.

he’s all grunts and wanton moans now. not that he wasn’t already, but now that he’s able to have his hands on you he can’t seem to keep himself sane. his grip is almost bruising as you're smushed against his neck, hands wandering to your hips, to your lower back, then back around your waist as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

kaeya practically rabbits into you as he presses you onto him. restraints be damned, he’s so close.

so, so, impossibly close.

the friction of his clothes rubbing against his constrained, throbbing dick and the feel of your warmth surrounding him has the captain breaking at the seams. he’s close.

you’re in no better position yourself; gone is your authoritative tone, and all that slips past you now are muffled whimpers and pitiful gasps. you bite your lip in an attempt to stay as quiet as possible. quite the shame for kaeya, he loves to hear your pleasure.

but your lover doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment, when it comes to volume. never has, really.

“‘m— ‘m gonna—!”

kaeya finds himself at the precipice of bliss, and he falls hard, sated, with the knowledge that it was you who brought him there.

the sound of him reaching his orgasm is something you’d never tire of. if his regular voice already had you weak at the knees, you had no idea how to describe what his orgasm did to you.

it’s… it’s angelic, as sinful as the sound may be. it has you tossing your head back, eyes closed and mouth agape.

has you climaxing soon after, and hard. his voice, so sickeningly saccharine, sends you into a state of euphoria as you sing with him, shaking helplessly in his arms. your voices harmonise in a wonderful duet.

kaeya is loud. so, very loud.

but so are you, in the end. you gasp and whine and writhe at the feeling of his seed soaking through your pants.

archons. you fucked like animals, and now you’re making noises like them, too.

barbatos strike you down.

kaeya pets absentmindedly at you as he rides out both your orgasms, murmuring variations of ‘i love you’s as he kisses the expanse of your neck. you lay slumped against him, the both of you indulging in the rapture of your highs.

in post-orgasmic glow you realise that his pleasure is truly just as much yours as it is his. for you to have come just by watching and hearing him climax…

fuck. 

he’d be the death of you, surely.

but that’s fine. something tells you the sentiment goes both ways.

[silentium-symphony]

Work of Art Modern AU (Link x Reader) I

(a/n) AAAHH I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!! i've reached that point in the semester where i've got either a project or an exam due every week, and i haven't had any time to write :( but i'm here now with a brand new fic for you! so thank you for waiting :)

parts will be linked and will also be available on my masterlist when they're available!

cw: link experiences unwanted sexual advances in the beginning (nothing too explicit) so please proceed with caution, afab!reader, swearing, zelda and link are besties :}, breathless conversations in a stairwell, you and link are just some awkward goobers

wc: 2.3k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"And this one-of-a-kind masterpiece depicts the moments leading up to the Hero's decisive victory over the Demon King. For just a moment, let's draw our eyes toward the finer details the artist has decided to depict. Look with me now at the use of light in this scene, and how it starkly contrasts..."

Is that a new crack?

Blue eyes absently traced the thin line that fractured the pillar's marble surface. A wisp of gold tickled the tips of his lashes and he huffed, coursing his fingers through his hair in a bid to keep it in place. He kept his eyes trained on the small, black fissure that coursed through the white stone.

Definitely a new crack.

Taut fingers absently fumbled the ring of keys latched to his belt while the other hand thumbed the baton's cold metal. Link's eyes fluttered shut and he let out a soft sigh, adjusting his feet to abate the blood pooling in his heels.

"--Ahem."

His broad shoulders twitched and ocean blues met irritated meadow greens, which juxtaposed the seemingly sweet smile Zelda flashed him. Link dropped his hands immediately, causing the metal nuisance to sing a dying song against his thighs; a quiet chorus of giggles served as the encore.

"Thank you," his best friend cleared her throat, "as I was saying--"

Hylia, he was so bored. He rocked on his heels and watched Zelda motion to the large, newly restored painting before them. He knew how hard she had worked on restoring the old thing, and he was proud of her for sure, but if he had to listen to her spiel about the painting's history one more time--

"Hands off the rope please." He uttered softly to the woman dangling off the red velvet. She scoffed, but her look of disdain eventually softened into something... heavier. A sultry smirk snaked its way onto her lips and her eyes turned lidded.

"Sorry, sir. I just couldn't get my eyes off such a gorgeous masterpiece. It's a work of art, y'know?"

"I understand ma'am," his knuckles tersed. "But please refrain from touching the rope."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." She dragged out. "Can I make it up to you with some coffee?"

"No thank you. I suggest you turn your attention back to the presentation. That is why you came, right?"

"Well, what if I told you I actually came for something--or in this case... someone else?"

A shudder wriggled down his spine; she continued before he had time to draft his next sentence.

"I know you've seen me around... Why do you think I visit this dump of a museum so often? To stare at the same paintings day-in-day-out?"

Her fingertip traced the velvet rope, nails softly scuffing the luxuriously-textured barricade. He kept his eyes focused on the little strands of hair peeping out of the mole on her forehead, his throat constricting and drying at the waft of cheap perfume.

"C'mon... After the museum closes, let's grab some food and head over to my place, yeah?"

"He said 'no,' ma'am." A soft voice deadpanned behind the both of them. A pair of bewildered eyes locked with calm, unblinking (E/C)s. "No means no."

"Excuse me?"

"Stop harassing him." You spat, cold venom honeying your tone. "No. Means. No. Do I need to scream to get that through your fucking head? That would draw the crowd's attention to you, don't you think? I wonder how they'd feel watching you harass someone in broad daylight...”

“Tch… Worthless piece of shit.” Red heels clicked right past you as she side-bodied your smaller frame, sending you back a step or two. Your eyes followed the storming figure as she dipped past the grand marble staircase.

“--And with that, I would like to extend my most heartfelt gratitude on behalf of all our curators here. Without your support, our work in restoring these priceless historical pieces would not be possible. So from the bottom of my heart--“

“--Thank you.” He mumbled, his pulse quickening.

You flashed him a soft smile.

"No problem. I'm sorry you had to go through that.

"It’s okay. This... Isn't the first time."

"What, she tried pulling this shit on you in the past?"

"Oh, no, I mean..." He sighed. "It's not the first time someone's done something like this. I never really knew what to say, so I just... didn't say anything, so… Thank you."

"Well, I'm glad I could help." Your smiling eyes averted towards your buzzing phone. “Oh, fuck... Sorry officer, I gotta run! Have a good night!”

"W-Wait, can I ask for--"

--your name?

You raced down the same path his unwanted suitor went a few minutes prior, back disappearing past the staircase. The warmth of gratitude in his chest chilled into a growing, aching hole. Gods, if only he had gotten your name!

"Soooo... who was that?" Zelda snickered, saddling up to the flustered man. Link's cheeks reddened and a small pout bloomed on his lips.

"No one."

"Really? So 'no one's got you all hot and bothered?"

"'Hot and--?' Nah.."

"Uh-huh, whatever you say." She slinked an arm onto his shoulder and dangled off his steady frame, watching the thoughtful wander of the museum's patrons. The air about her turned somber, and her voice dipped to a volume only the blonde could hear. "... Did someone bother you again?"

Link's lips curled into a soft smile--a rare sight, even for his lifelong friend. Confusion ticked Zelda's features as she saw this new reaction.

"Well, the one who ran off helped me with another 'admirer.'" A dreamy sigh. "I was just thanking her."

A soft, contrite smile graced the curator's lips.

"I'm happy to hear that... I'm sorry this is such a regular thing for you. I wish there was some way to know what kind of person we're selling our tickets to..."

Link waved off her concerns and shrugged her off, throwing his arms above his head and feeling the sweet, satisfying pops in his joints. His neck craned from side to side, filling the air with a chorus of crackles; Zelda visibly grimaced.

"Stop doing that! You're gonna snap your own neck one day."

"If I do, does that mean I get a day off?"

"Of course not." She retorted mirthfully.

"Man..."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Of course the elevator was broken.

Link heaved open the heavy metal door which led to the winding staircase unused by most tenants.

And of course he lived on the 6th floor.

With a huff, he lifted his foot on the cement step blackened from gunk and other dubious substances. He tried to pay little mind to how his shoes grew stickier with each step, or how the flickering light's buzzing drilled a dull ache through his temples. He rounded the first of many corners and kept an even pace, already beginning to feel a bit spent.

Hands fiddled around his hoodie's pocket, feeling for the familiar roundness of his earbud's case and the soft edges of his phone. As he popped his earbuds in, his eyes glazed over the dozens of unorganized playlists that littered his screen, eventually resting on the simply named 'workout' playlist. His music's volume amped up to an almost painful level in a futile effort to blend his rapidly beating heart with songs from his chosen playlist.

"ᴼ⁻ᴼᶠᶠᶦᶜᵉʳˀ"

He stopped to respond to a meme Zelda sent and texted an equally unhinged one back. The greasy scent of takeout wafted to his nostrils and he looked up, slightly confused.

"ᴼᶠᶠᶦᶜᵉʳ, ᶦˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘˀ"

A body filled his peripheral; pure fear coursed through his veins as his overactive imagination transmogrified a very real and alive person into eldritch nightmares unutterable by man. His phone leaped for safety, clattering down the flight of stairs for what felt like an eternity before rolling into its final resting place by the suspicious goop in the corner.

A moment of shock-spawned stillness blanketed the two persons--before Link was racing down the staircase.

"Hylia! Are you okay?!" A familiar voice called out. He stopped, fingers hovering a few hairs away from his phone as he slowly careened his face behind him.

There you were--gorgeous, gorgeous you--donned in sweats, a hoodie, Crocs with Socks™, and a steaming bag of takeout. The harsh fluorescent light softened your silhouette, casting an almost ethereal aura about you. Link gabbled an... exclamation of sorts as he grabbed his phone. He slinked the grimy thing into his pocket as he cooly made his way up the steps, shame and a newfound desire to drink lava inapparent on his blank face.

"Yes, thank you." He rubbed his (clean) hand against the back of his reddening neck. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I can say the same to you!" You laughed, shifting the takeout from one hand to the other. "How was the rest of your shift?"

"It was uneventful, thankfully. I'd like to thank you again for helping me out earlier... I really appreciated it."

"Aww... Of course. I'm really glad I could help you out back there."

Gods, how could a smile both ease and excite him all at once?

You both started up the steps once more, silently thanking and cursing your luck. After such a hasty exit you thought you'd never see the man again, but here you were, walking side-by-side up a neverending staircase. You looked down at your food, making sure the handles weren't gonna snap or anything, and happened to catch a faint mustard stain right by your heart. If only you didn't look so... grimy.

"S-So," you started, praying he didn't catch your stutter for air, "uh, what were you listening to?"

"Um..." He panicked slightly, "Just... workout music."

"Yeah? What song?"

"Something that... always gets me pumped." He cleared his throat. "What'd you order?"

"Oh, just some poultry pilaf from the Gerudo restaurant that opened up recently!"

"The one by 3rd Street?"

"Yeah, that one! Have you tried it yet?"

"Nah. But let me know how it tastes."

"For sure!"

A much-needed silence filled the air, both of you desperately trying to hide the fact that you were fighting for your next breath. A bright red '4' filled your vision and you groaned, throwing your head back.

"Gods, these stairs go on forever."

"Tell me about it." He hissed shakily. His eyes wandered to your slightly trembling arm holding your dinner. "Do you want me to hold that?"

"Oh, no, I'm okay." You subtly wiped the sweat beading your brow. "My floor's coming up. Thank you though."

"What floor do you live on? If you don't mind me asking."

"The 6th!"

6th...?

"Me too."

"Really? I'm surprised I never saw you around though. I’d definitely remember someone as cu—“ You coughed suddenly, rubbing a fist into your chest. "C-Cool as you!"

That... wasn't much better.

As you proceeded to curse the day you were born, furled golds and narrowed blues widened in disbelief before softening into a bashful smile.

"T-Thank y--

"Oh look, our floor!"

With a hop, skip, and a step, you bounded up the last flight of stairs and swung the hefty metal door, your frame teetering on the loose door handle.

"After you." You gestured grandly, giggles flitting between the two of you. He raced up the last of the steps and grabbed the edge of the door a little ways past your head, pulling it gently from your grasp.

"No, after you."

"Why, thank you, um..."

"Oh! Link." He stuck his hand out, a boyish grin splitting his lips. "My name is Link."

"Link?" You took his hand. “It's nice to meet you. I'm (F/N)."

"(F/N)..." You hated how your heart swooned just now. "What a cute name."

You canned the need to scream into the void as you slinked through the threshold, laughter alight. You waltzed to the crossroad leading to the separate wings on your floor. “I’m going this way. What about you?”

“I'm heading that way too.”

"O-Oh, okay!"

He strode to your side and you descended down the long hallway, the silence stiffening your throat. It felt... kinda weird knowing where he lived or vice versa; your eyes flitted to the wall's yellowed moulding, a path your eyes had taken hundreds of times.

You rounded a corner; so did he. You trailed along the gentle bend in the hallway; he did as well. Your heart started to race. A prickle of doubt heated your chest as you approached your door. He wasn't following you... was he?

When's he gonna turn when's he gonna turn when's he gonna turn when's he gonna

"You're my neighbor?!" Heads whipped around to catch the other's surprised gaze. A stiff laugh cracked between the two of you and you creaked your gazes away.

"W-Well." You coughed out. "Um, goodnight..."

"N-Night.."

Your bodies slipped past your respective thresholds and softly clicked the door shut. You sunk your body into the door; the thick metal drew the extra heat from your back, but it did little to remedy the red in your cheeks. Knees wobbling, your frame slid down, down, down onto your doormat as you cradled your face in your hands, heart thundering in your ears.

It was almost loud enough to drown out what was undoubtedly tapping on the wall.

You clambered to your feet, plopped your nearly forgotten dinner on your countertop, and skated to the source of the sound, pressing your ear against the drywall with bated breath.

There it was again!

You returned his taps with the same level of enthusiasm. If you listened past your drumming heart, you could trick yourself into thinking you heard a laugh. You giggled as well, heart fluttering at your newfound, totally-platonic-and-definitely-not-love-laced relationship you managed to foster all in one night. A tight knot ached your sides and your belly protested loudly.

Oh right! Your pilaf!

[brave-and-gentle]

Angel vs. Devil: Reader x Jean Fluff Part 2

I got more ideas after I wrote the Ice Sculpture Fluff, so now this is a mini series - surprise! If you haven't read that yet, please read it here.

If you like this, be sure to check out my original character x Jean fic on Ao3 here

Pairings: femme reader x Jean

Summary: Weeks after your first kiss with Jean, you're wondering why nothing else has sparked. He's evasive about a night out with friends that he's not going to – and you decide to find out why.

Warnings: none, this all v cute fluff, a self-indulgence

Word count: ~4K

It's been weeks since your first kiss with Jean after seeing the ice sculptures together. Weeks – and nothing. You thought things might progress, but bar trivia nights were too big and crowded for much to happen, though you were still thoroughly enjoying them. You and Jean had kept up your schedule of meeting at the coffee shop twice a week for you to write and for him to draw, but it was all very platonic. At least, you thought. A couple times you swear you caught him staring at you, but as soon as you looked up he was buried in his sketchbook again.

On Wednesday nights, the coffee shop switched to wine after 5 pm, while you met on Saturday mornings and enjoyed your favorite coffee orders. Sometimes you chatted nearly the entire time. You learned a few more things about Jean – he switched back and forth between straight black coffee or sugary lattes – no in between. He almost quit the soccer team his first year of college because of the emotional stress, but Marco talked him into staying. He had a habit of squeezing his hands into fists when he was frustrated or anxious.

He learned a few things about you too – that you twirled your hair when you were stuck in writer's block, that you chose to Trost for college because you knew nobody from your high school would be there, and that you were a sucker for the baked goods at the cafe and wouldn't share with him.

Sasha is just waking up when you yell that you're heading out to the coffee shop with Jean.

“Have fuuuuun,” she teases. Though she's buried in blankets, you know she's winking. You told Sasha everything, and she's just as baffled as you – why hadn't Jean made another move? “Don't come back unless you've got some good Jean tea!”

“I'll do my best,” you roll your eyes and head out the door.

~

You smack Jean's hand out of the way as he tries to take a piece of your chocolate chip muffin.

“Funny that you and Sasha ended up as roommates, you're just as stingy as with food as she is,” he accuses in a playful tone. The Saturday morning sun streams in through the windows and over Jean, giving his hazel eyes even more warmth. He runs his fingers through his hair to push it out of his eyes and dives back into his sketch. Fuck, why is he so cute? Though you do notice dark purple circles under his eyes and wonder what's been keeping him up at night.

“You can buy your own,” you retort and tap your pen on his elbow. You take another bite of your muffin, still warm. The chocolate chips melt in your mouth. You put it back down on the plate to get back to your character development worksheet, but Jean interrupts you.

“Oh, you uh. . .” he trails off and you glance up to see him pointing to the corner of his mouth.

“Hmm? Oh.” You realize you must have chocolate from the muffin on your face. You lick around your lips and look down, refusing to make eye contact. “All good?”

“Ah, not quite, here.” Jean's long arm reaches over to you. You freeze and hold your breath. His thumb rubs the corner of your mouth with a gentle but strong touch. He lingers for a second and brushes your bottom lip and – someone at the front of the coffee shop yells your name.

“And Jean, you're here too!” Jean jerks his hand away from your face and turns around to see none other than Connie bounding over to your two-person table. He grabs another chair from a table and plops down.

“Why are you awake before 11 am?” Jean glares at his friend.

“Because it's the big day! Don't tell me you forgot!” Connie throws his hands up in excitement for what, exactly you're not sure. You and Jean exchange a blank look. “Not you too?? C'mon guys, the basketball game is tonight!” Shit. You did in fact completely forget this one. Normally you are so honored to be invited something that you remember every detail, but watching sports has never been your thing. The Trost Titans are hosting their rival, the Marley Warriors, which apparently is a big deal. Connie “knows a guy” and scored everyone tickets. “I need everyone there in Titans gear for good luck, or Reiner, Bert and Annie will never let me hear the end of it.” You remember that those three are from Marley.

“Ah, I'm not sure Connie, basketball's not really my thing. . .” you trail off and worry that you'll seem ungrateful since he already got everyone tickets. You might be up for it if it were a sporting event outside – that's the big reason you and Historia played intramural sand volleyball in college, but trying to pretend to care about basketball inside in arena surrounded by die-hard fans doesn't sound appealing in the slightest.

“It's no sweat,” Connie says your name, “think about it, or at least meet up at our place after.” You nod and consider that meeting up after could actually be fun. Connie, Eren and Armin all live together and you haven't been to their place yet – ironic considering Connie practically lives on the couch in your apartment with Sasha. “What about you Jean?”

“I already told you, I can't.” Jean doesn't look up from his sketch.

“What do you mean you can't??” Connie throws his arms up again.

“I mean, I can't. I have a thing.” His voice grows with irritation. You have to admit that meeting up after the game without Jean there sounds a little less fun, although maybe it'd be a good distraction from pining after him.

“What thing? Got a hot date tonight?” Connie presses. You notice Jean's tell tale sign of his free hand closing up in a fist.

“No, a work thing.”

“Whaaaat? Why you working on a Saturday?? Come out and play with us!”

“Because I have a work thing, Connie, now get off my back!” Jean tears his eyes away from his sketchpad to narrow his eyes at Connie.

“Geez,” Connie leans away from him. “Whatever got up your ass this morning must be sideways. Anyways, that's my coffee order.” He points to the barista at the counter “Hope to see you tonight.” Connie waves at you before he grabs two coffees, presumably the other for Sasha, and dashes out the door. You turn back to Jean, who's sending invisible laser beams at his sketch. You had never asked Jean what he was working on and vise-versa. It's like an unspoken agreement.

“So uh, what is your work thing tonight? If you don't mind sharing,” you ask with caution. He finally brings his head up but avoids eye contact.

“Ah, it's an open house fundraiser for the kids. We show their art like a gallery and there's a suggested entry fee. It's mostly their family and friends.” He shrugs. You perk up at this endearing side of Jean you haven't seen since the ice sculpture night.

“Oh, that's actually really cool. Will you or any of the other teachers have pieces on display?”

“Not sure yet. I'm going to head there early and see if I can finish something up.” He continues looking away from you and places his hand on his neck. “Anyways, you'll have fun at the basketball game?” He gives you a questioning glance.

“Mmm, like I said, not sure basketball is my thing.”

“Yeah, I hear that,” Jean says as he packs his sketchbook away. “It is a fun time though – you'll get to see Connie get completely sloshed and try to pick a fight with someone. And believe it or not, Annie gets pretty amped for the game.”

“That's almost intriguing enough,” you laugh. You had never seen Annie anything other than stoic. She and Armin are truly like the moon and the sun. “Would it be weird if I came to your fundraiser?” You blurt out the words before you realize the gravity of what you asked. Why does your brain keep short circuiting around this man? Jean pauses and grimaces.

“It'd probably be pretty boring for you, it's just a bunch of paintings made by melodramatic 13-year olds. You'll have more fun at the game. Anyways,” he tosses his backpack over his shoulder, “I'll see you at the after party.”

“See you,” you say with a monotone voice. It's like a punch to the gut.

~

With your phone in hand, you pace back and forth in your living room. Sasha and Connie had already left to pre-game. As soon as you get home, you call your best friend to see what she made of the situation.

“But why was he being so weird about it? It didn't even sound like he was going to have any of his art there,” you muse.

“I don't know,” Historia says your name, “maybe he was telling the truth, maybe it is really just boring.”

“But still. Wouldn't he want a friend to show up to support what he does? Am I overthinking this?” You flop down on the couch, which is covered in crumbs from Sasha and Connie's late night munchies. Historia would've cleaned it up already, but you don't mind the mess. It's a sign of life, of fun.

“Maybe. . . “ she trails off.

“What if I just went?” you propose. Apparently, your brain was still short circuiting.

“Why do you even want to go?”

“I'm not sure,” you confess. “Something just feels off with how evasive he was.” You hear a muffled yet abrasive voice in the background. “Is that Ymir?”

“Um, yeah, I hope it's okay – she heard everything.” At this point, you assume Ymir knows anything and everything you told Historia.

“HEY,” Ymir shouts your name. “I think you should do it! Go to the art thing. Fuck around and find out!”

“But he seemed like he didn't want anyone there,” Historia counters in her gentle way.

“Exactly,” Ymir retorts, “You gotta find out why.”

It was like talking with an angel and devil on your shoulder. And today, you choose the devil.

~

This was quite possibly one of the stupidest things you've ever done. You linger outside of the nonprofit art studio that Jean works at and shove your hands deep in your parka to protect against the cruel wind. Although really, zero degrees was quite balmy in comparison to the -20 degrees you and Jean braved for the ice sculptures. The slightly dimmed, warm lights beckon you inside as you wonder what in the actual hell you're doing here.

A gaggle of giggling girls interrupt your thoughts. They head for the front doors of the studio, give you a pointed look, and then collapse into giggles once again as they enter the building. Despite the nearly subzero temperatures, heat rushes to your face. Somehow, it's worse getting bullied post-school.

Another sharp wind cuts right through your parka and you can't take it anymore. You rush into the building and involuntarily hum with relief. You barely hear what the kid at the table propped up in front of the doors says to you. Without thinking, you shove a $10 bill at them and walk further into the studio. As expected for an arts nonprofit, it's small – not really a studio as much as a couple connecting classrooms someone tried to dress up as a studio. You dart behind the coat rack and scan the room for Jean, but he's no where to be seen. Parents mill about with their middle school kids.

You keep your parka on, in case you need a quick escape. Plus, it's fucking cold. You begin wandering through the sea of student paintings. A sign at the start explains that the theme is peace. Some paintings are right on the nose – a dove flying with an olive branch or a collage of psychedelic-looking peace signs. Others are a little more nuanced. You chuckle at the painting of a cat stretched out on a floor in a sun spot. You too would like to be sunning yourself and lazing about. Another is a woman, you assume the student's family member, baking bread. You cycle through the student showcase faster, eager to see if Jean has anything on display. Finally, you reach the back corner of the studio. Your eyes flit to the tags below the instructor's paintings. True to what Jean told you earlier, you don't see Floch's name. At the very last tag, you find “Saturday Coffee – Jean Kirstein.”

You look up and find yourself face to face with -

Yourself.

You are on display for everyone to see. Exposed. Your eyes widen and your lips part in shock. Jean has captured you perfectly – from the exact shade of your hair and eyes, to the way you hold your pen, even the slight scars on your skin from a severe case of acne in high school. In the painting, you're at the coffee shop writing. One hand holds your pen, the other your cup of coffee.. There's even a half-eaten muffin to the side.

I'm going to kill him.

A torrent of emotions flood you – violation, honor, embarrassment, humility. Footsteps approach behind you.

“It's beautiful, isn't it? That's my Jean boy's painting.”

You turn to find none other than Jean's mother. Even if she hadn't said anything, her eyes were a dead give away. Nobody else could have his exact shade of earth-like hazel eyes.

“Yeah, um – it's – it's” you stutter.

“Oh,” her eyes light up. “It looks just like you! Are you his muse?” Her laughter is like deep music, but she's interrupted by an aggravated voice.

“Mom, what are you doing here? I asked you not to come.”

Jean. Shit.

Heat flushes your face as you make eye contact with him. And goddamn, he looks good. He's wearing Vans, black loose fitting jeans, and an olive green sweater. Based on his facial expression, you're not sure which of you is more mortified at this situation.

“Oh – “ he says your name and softens, “you're here too.”

Horror and humiliation take over your body.

“So this is why you didn't want to come.” You jab your finger at your mirror image. Jean shrinks into his sweater.

“Look, I can explain - “

“Explain what? That you drew me without telling me?” You try to ignore his mother's worried eyes darting back and forth between you two. Your throat chokes up and you whip around and head back toward the front door. Jean follows you and says your name.

“Wait!”

“No!” You turn back around to face him, tears threatening. “Shit Jean, you at least could've fucking asked me first.”

Hurt flashes across his eyes, but you don't care.

“Ooooo!” The middle school students are entertained by the show you don't realize you're putting on. All too aware of every eye on you, you dash out the door. The now subzero temperatures suck the air out of your lungs. The door behind you doesn't slam shut as expected.

“Please, give me a chance to explain,” Jean pleads with you. You turn around and soften at the sight of him running after you with no coat on, his ears instantly red.

“That was humiliating,” you voice cracks.

“I know, I know.” Jean tips back and forth on his toes and shoves his hands deep in his pockets. Fuck men for getting pockets. “Look, I gotta stay here for a little bit longer, but can you give me a chance to explain? I'll take the painting down immediately.” You raise an eyebrow. Though you do want to know why, the devil in you wants run home and leave him hanging. It's what he deserves. “Meet me at the brewery around the corner? Beers on me? Please?”

This time, you choose the angel.

~ ~ ~

By the time Jean gets to the brewery, you've already guzzled nearly all of you raspberry sour. You take the last sip and eye him as he walks in, flushed from the sudden heat.

You knew exactly what brewery he had referenced as it was the same one that you, Historia and Ymir frequented after intramural volleyball games. After one game, you three sat in the back corner and Ymir scratched “Historia + Ymir + their pet” into the brick wall. You're still not sure how she managed to scratch all that and not get caught.

One year later, you sit in the same spot – but alone. Until Jean comes running up to you. He tears his knit cap and winter coat off, leaving his lengthening hair sticking up in all different directions.

“You started without me?” He points at your now empty glass.

“Mmmhmm.” You nod and cross your arms.

“Can I get you a refill?”

“Yep. Raspberry sour.” You push your glass toward him. A few moments later, he returns with your drink and an IPA for himself.

“Explain yourself,” you demand as soon as he sits down.

“Right,” he agrees and sighs, running his fingers through his hair before resting his stubbled chin on his hand. His face is still flushed, but probably not from the heat inside anymore. “I panicked, honestly. I'd been trying sketches all the time we'd been at the coffee shop, but I was getting no where with the peace theme. I already didn't show anything at the last showcase, which isn't a huge deal, it's mostly for the kids, but I figured it would be a good way to get back into it. Then one morning, it hit me that what I needed was right in front of me.” He gestures his hands to you. “It was you. You were writing in your notebook and drinking coffee, nothing special, just our usual Saturday morning, but you looked so at peace. It's different from how I normally see you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your eyebrows. “Different how?”

“Oh, um,” he scratches his stubbled jaw. Fuck. You are not immune to the effects of a well defined jaw. “I guess when we're all in a big group, I've noticed that you're a little tense, like you have your guard up – which makes sense in a big group of people you don't know very well. So it's been nice to see you relaxed and in your element.” He shrugs, seemingly embarrassed of all he just divulged, of just how much he pays attention to you.

“Hmm.” You keep your arms crossed and nod, unwilling to think too deeply about Jean's accurate observations. “And you didn't bother to ask my permission because . . . ?”

Jean takes a deep breath. “Because I was staying up past midnight painting and I was terrified you'd think it's weird. I didn't want to risk not showing anything tonight, so instead I just hoped nobody would show up. And that's not an excuse, I know. It was a stupid decision. I should've given you the chance to say no. I've taken it down and I promise I won't show it to anyone without your permission.” He slumps down in his chair and looks to you for a response.

You clear your throat. “Thank you.” Jean's face loosens a little.

“Actually, you can have it, if you want. You have more of a right to it than I do.”

“No,” you shake your head and take a sip of your drink. “That feels weird. I can tell you put a lot of time into it, if nothing else.” He nods, but remains silent, unwilling to accept the compliment – probably out of shame. You're not sure if you're quite ready to forgive Jean, but you also don't want to talk about it anymore. “So what was the deal with your mom?”

Jean's head jerks up. “Ah, I owe her an apology too. She's come to every single one of my shows, but I was nervous that she'd get the wrong idea. The curse of living in the same city as your mom means she'll find out anyway,” he smirks.

“And what would be the wrong idea?” Your heart skips a beat as you wait for Jean to answer.

“That we're . . . together,” he purses his lips together. “We're friends, right?”

“Right,” is your knee jerk reaction. Disappointment and glee fill your body at the same time. Glee because you do in fact want to be friends with Jean. Disappointment because this clearly meant the kiss meant nothing to him. You remind yourself that you barely know Jean, yet the attraction is undeniable, especially as a broad grin stretches across his face, which sends you melting.

“Good. Thought I'd lost you there for a minute.”

You return his smile and give his long leg a gentle kick under the table. It's all too easy with how far they stick out. “Just don't do anything like that again,” you warn, half kidding, half serious.

“On my honor,” he says, placing his right hand on his heart in a mock salute. “But seriously, I feel like I owe you a lot more than a beer on me. Can I take you out around Trost sometime?”

Those are date words, but a small voice in the back of your head reminds you that this is an apology – and you don't want a pity hang out.

“You don't have to do that – hang out with me because you feel obligated to.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “That's not what I meant! I mean, I do actually want to hang out with you. It'd be fun to see you outside the coffee shop and trivia. Really, you'd be doing me a favor. Marco's been so busy with his nursing shifts and there's only so much of Sasha and Connie I can handle.” His words spew out almost faster than you can comprehend.

You know what he means, but you tease him. “So you want to hang out with me because your other options are out?”

“Ah shit, I'm really digging myself in a hole here.” He looks down and rubs his fingers through his godamn sexy hair again. He says your name, “I want to hang out with you because I like spending time with you. Better?”

You laugh. “Alright, you've got me. What do you want to do?”

“It'll be a surprise,” he gives you a wry smile and takes a sip of his beer.

“Hmm, mysterious.” Your phone buzzes – someone's calling you. Nobody ever calls you except Historia. You take your phone out and it reads “Connie Springer.”

“Connie?” You answer.

“HEYYYY,” he slurs your name. Jean busts out laughing. Connie's voice is plenty loud enough without speaker phone on. “We WON! Titans win! Get your ass down to our place NOW! And make sure to bring that horse face with you.” He hangs up before you can respond.

“Horse face?” You ask Jean, who crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

“Eren's insult turned nickname, I guess.” Something tells you that it's endearing from Connie and infuriating from Eren. “Do you want to go after we finish these?” He points to your still mostly full drinks.

“Sure, though I'm not really sure what to expect. Never really been into super competitive sports.”

“It's a lot of fun, even if you're not into it. Mikasa and Armin are pretty 'meh' about it, and they still manage to have fun. Expect Connie to be belligerently drunk and insufferable. Sasha will be off the wall. Reiner might be in tears.”

“Tears?? For a basketball game?” It's hard to imagine the beefy guy in tears.

“He's a big dude with a lot of feelings,” Jean chuckles. “Shall we find out?”

[broodybuck]

Title: Draw Me Like One of Your Brooklyn Boys

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Rating: E

Tags: 18+ explicit smut, daddy kink, overstimulation, handjob, dom Steve, sub Bucky, dirty talk, artist Steve, insecure Bucky

He's lying on the couch completely nude and he'll admit it's a little chilly in here. Part of him is sure Steve put the air down before they started this. Then again, Bucky likes it cold in the apartment so he can bundle up in comfy clothes.

His cock being hard isn't helping things. That part he knows is Steve's fault. When he asked Bucky if he could draw him, he said he'd reward him afterward. And well, how could Bucky not get hard just thinking about what his reward might be. Bucky's sure he's getting fucked. How could Steve not want to fuck him after studying his body for this long? But that's just the problem, this is taking way too long.

He swears it feels like an hour has gone by and Bucky can't help but fidget in and out of position. Steve's pencil stops and glances over his sketchbook.

"Bucky, what did I say?"

Bucky sighs, resting his limbs flat again. He wonders why it's taking so long. Is Steve erasing and redoing parts... the parts of Bucky he doesn't like? Bucky wiggles again. He's restless and his cock feels heavy sitting hard in between his legs.

"Buck, you have to stay still," Steve warns.

Bucky tries to relax, he really does, but now he can't get it out of his head. What if Steve doesn't even want to draw his cock when it's all needy and enlarged like this? Maybe he'll skip over it.

"How much longer?" Bucky asks.

"Almost done."

"Please, can I have a break?"

"Of course," Steve says, putting his pencil down.

He stands from his chair. He steps over to the couch and gazes down at Bucky's naked form. Bucky squirms under his heated stare. He glances at his cock, he knows Steve can see how hard he is. No one could miss it but suddenly, he's not sure if he wants Steve to see.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks.

"I don't look good, are you sure you wanna draw me?"

Steve's expression drops.

"Why would you say that?"

Bucky shrugs. He hasn't been insecure about his looks in a long time but occasionally it creeps up on him at the most random times.

"Bucky," Steve says softly, his hand cups Bucky's face giving him a sense of comfort just from the gentle touch. "You look perfect."

Steve sits down on the edge of the couch, his thumb strokes across Bucky's jaw. Bucky leans into the touch.

"Can we be done, please?" Bucky asks.

"Yes, baby," Steve allows and nudges Bucky forward with the hand. Bucky sits up and crawls into Steve's lap, hugging him tightly. Steve rubs a palm up and down his back comfortingly.

"Buck, do you need a reminder of how much you're wanted?"

Bucky hums non-committedly. He's just happy to be in Steve's arms not posing motionless on the couch anymore.

"Come here, let me see," Steve coos.

He gently pushes Bucky back and then stares down between his legs.

"Beautiful," Steve marvels.

He grazes the shaft with the softest touch of a fingertip. It makes Bucky shudder and he remembers how good Steve makes him feel. Okay, maybe he is happy Steve is looking at his cock again.

Steve leans in to kiss the side of his neck, then the edge of his jaw, and finally his lips. Bucky melts into the kiss, his whole body sagging forward from it. Steve holds him up with his hand above his ribs. When his other thumb smears a dribble of precum from the head, Bucky moans brokenly. Steve spreads it down the shaft and then wraps his hand around it. Okay, yeah. Bucky wants it now, really fucking wants it.

Steve starts with a slow up stroke, then rubs under the sensitive head. He repeats the motion, pulling his fist down to the base then back up and rubs. Bucky's eyes squeeze shut, his breath shudders.

"You're perfect, baby. I'm gonna give you everything you need."

Bucky nods, hiding his face in Steve's shoulder. Steve's fist sets off in a fluid motion, pumping him faster. A perfect mix of heat and speed firing up and down his dick until Bucky can't keep still. He needs to whine and thrust up into Steve's hand.

"Please, please, please," Bucky begs, panting.

Steve doesn't stop, he pumps him hard and tight until the pleasure is coiling at Bucky's spine. His toes curl, his nails digs into Steve's shoulder blades and he comes.

The pleasure rushes through him and he can distantly recognize the warmth of Steve's hand continuing to stroke him up and down. The pleasure begins veering on the side of too sensitive and Bucky starts to squirm helplessly.

"Daddy—" he gasps.

"Have to get it all out, every last drop," Steve commands.

He covers the wet head and twists his wrists in quick circles that make Bucky's body jerk from the overstimulation. He cries and writhes from it.

"I can't—"

Steve keeps going and massages his balls with his other hand until soon the near pain turns to pleasure, blinding pleasure. Bucky's body shakes with it and he feels his cock come again, dribbling more release into Steve's heated palm.

Steve finally frees Bucky's spent cock and kisses him. Bucky's heart swells under the kiss, his body feels high. Steve pulls him against his chest, holding onto him tight. Bucky snuggles into him, then feels another kiss press onto his forehead.

"I'm always gonna take care of you, baby."

[lemonflavouredchaos]

Pretty Girl

Aka - Y/N is insecure about her body and Eddie decides to show her exactly how much of a pretty girl she is.

Eddie Munson could fill books, many books, with the things he doesn't know, but he knows that you look like heaven in a sun dress and sin in nothing but his oversized Metallica T-shirt. One of the things he doesn't know, sadly, is what you look like wearing nothing but skin,

"Hey, Pretty Girl," he murmurs, "what're you thinking?"

"Nothing," you whisper and let a cloud of smoke into the room,

"Sounds like a lie," he draws the word out like a song as he teases the shirt higher up your body, frowning when your hand clamps down to stop it from cresting your stomach, "take it off." He rolls to press his lips to your ear, "please."

"Why?" You ask with a cheeky smile, but your heart is thundering with something like panic, "no panties, Eds, no need."

"Maybe no need," he says and rolls until his elbows are framing your body, "but want. Very much want."

"Eds..." you sigh, but his big brown eyes are like pools, "I just don't like being naked."

"Why," he almost whines, "God I bet you look amazing." You scoff. "Like a goddess."

"Edward."

"Y/N." He meets your gaze with brazen lust and rubs his nose against yours. "Pretty girl, please. I'm on my knees..." He looks down at the mattress. "Figuratively." You laugh and push him off, making your way to the bathroom,

"I'm going to shower,"

"Can I come?"

"In your hand?" You tease,

"In you. In the shower." He rests his chin on his fist and gives you an appreciative look, and you blush, waving your hand as if to brush away the shivering need that's started to take over your mind.

In the steamy shower, you keep your eyes upturned, feeling the soft, textured skin on your stomach and hips. Stretch marks. It's not fair, you think, you're healthy, you do your best to take care of your skin. Moisturize it every night. Every morning, too. It's sensitive, your mother had said when she found you sobbing, she was the same. Men don't mind, she had said. If a few tiger stripes were all you had to worry about, you could consider yourself lucky.

But it didn't make it easier to see girls like perfect Chrissy in low-cut jeans and belly tops showing off their perfect smooth stomachs. You almost don't hear the door opening,

"Eddie!"

"Sorry! Sorry, my eyes are closed, I swear, but you don't have any towels," his eyes are closed, in fact, and he's holding the towel out to the mirror, facing the wrong way entirely, wild hair already curling in the steam. It's endearing, it's sweet. Your lip wobbles,

"Eds," you say and he turns to meet your voice, eyes still closed,

"Princess?" He asked,

"If... what if you don't like me?" You ask and he stays silent,

"I need a little more, honeybunch."

"If you see me... naked. What if you don't like me anymore?" You ask and he scoffs, dropping the towel to press his hands to his hips dramatically,

"Of all the possibilities, that is the least likely. More likely I'll die of a heart attack," he says and wriggles his nose, "or happiness."

"I..." you swallow. Maybe it's the comforting cloak of steam or the way he's standing with his eyes closed, not even asking if he can open them. Or perhaps it's the desire to Know one way or the other. You take the towel as you step out of the shower, holding it in front of you. "Open your eyes," you say and resist the urge to giggle when he pouts,

"Thought I was getting the cookie for a second there," he said and pressed his hand to his forehead with dramatic flair, "alas, the princess is cruel." He stands stock still, letting you sidle around him until you're standing in front of his bed.

When you drop the towel with a panicked giggle, his jaw drops. Eddie stares, just stares until you self-consciously cover your breasts. Then he acts, crossing the space between you in one long stride to grip your wrists,

"No, no, no," he mutters, "don't you dare."

"Eddie," you whimper, but he drags your arms down,

"Fuck..." he mutters and drops to his knees, as if knowing exactly where your worries are concentrated, and kisses your stomach softly, rubbing his face against the skin a few times before he looked up at you with those big, brown eyes, "you are so fucking precious."

It's a strange choice of word - it makes you giggle, but he doesn't even crack a smile,

"I mean it," he whispers, "my pretty girl."

Then his mouth, that clever mouth, goes lower and his big, broad hands grip your hips pulling you close as his tongue pushes between your legs. It's ungrateful, ungainly, and somehow that's hotter; he struggles to get to where he wants to be, dragging one of your legs onto his shoulder to create a precarious balance as his lips close on your clit. For a few seconds, there's only the giddy thrill of the act, how illicit it feels, then your body starts to react and you grip his hair. When you stumble, however, he stands and scoops you up and crosses the few steps to the bed as if you weigh nothing,

"Yeah? This is ok?" He asks, waiting until you gasp a garbled affirmative, and then slides down to kiss your thighs and push two thick fingers into you, curling ever so slightly. Even while he's worshipping your body, you find your hands creeping up to cover what they can. "No." He grunts and bundles you further up the bed, standing only to discard his soft sleep pants. His cock is hard, precum gathered on the head, "don't you dare," he pants, eyes wild. It's hard to believe that it's just the sight of you that's done this to him, but it must be... you whimper when he holds your wrists, then guides your hands to the back of your thighs, "hold these pretty legs open for me." When you do what you're told, he gives a sinful grin. "My good girl." You moan, flushing with pleasure, and his hands wander, cupping your breasts, running down your stomach to grip your hips as he sinks into you.

"God," you gasp,

"Yeah? Feels good?" He licks his lips and starts to thrust into you in steady, deep strokes that set fireworks off behind your eyes,

"Yeah," you gasp and nod,

"You're so fucking pretty," Eddie groans and bites his bottom lip, "can't believe you've been hiding this from me."

"I-ah," your words come out in garbled gasps and whines,

"Hiding this pretty body," he murmurs and his hands slide over your stomach, up to your breasts, "these fucking perfect tits, God I knew you'd look so fucking good-" now he's gasping, words running into each other as you arch your back, chasing the friction as his pubic hair rubs against your clit roughly. The room is filled with wet, soft sounds and the slap of skin on skin.

"Eddie, I need, ah, please," you whimper and move one hand to touch yourself, but he pushes it away, replacing it with his own,

"Shh, it's ok," he manages to gasp, "I'll take care of you pretty girl. Just keep those legs nice and wide." His touch is clumsy, fingers fumbling as his eyes start to close, "fuck."

The vulgar sounds, the feel of his hands, and the way your tits bounce with each thrust... it all comes together to make the sensation of his fingers more powerful. Toes curling, back arching, you find the edge and tip over gently, whimpering and gasping his name like a prayer. Eddie leans over, covering your body with his, and the way he whispers in your ear is sweet and soft and warm. You don't need to understand them to know what he's saying; his hands are tender, his hair tickles your face. It's perfect. When he pulls away, spilling onto your stomach you shiver and sigh, kissing his face and neck softly,

"Thank you," you whisper, and all the possible meanings, all the words you can say, are crammed into those two words. Eddie smiles as he rolls onto his back and drags the sheets over you both,

"No, thank you."

[shieldofiron]

One subby billionaire Steve please with dom blue collar worker Billy

Oh coming right UP! CW: We're doing a little daddy dom, light bdsm (they're just getting started.)

Steve doesn't take off the suit until Billy tells him. He doesn't do anything until Billy tells him, but he especially doesn't take off the suit. Billy's fingers, tipped with callouses, burn through the layers of expensive fabric, and Steve whimpers. His blood feels like it's on fire, his head is feverish, and he burns, he pines, he perishes.

Billy taught him that. Billy, who reads Moliere and giggles in the bath, who moved in and brought his box of books and bright clothes and color and life to Steve's sad sterile penthouse. Billy, who makes him groan and cry and laugh and delights him beyond belief.

"Fuck, so good for me, angel, were you waiting long?" Billy whispers in his ear, moustache tickling. He smells like motor oil and cigarettes and the detergent that Billy swears works better than Steve's fancy stuff.

Steve whimpers, "No, daddy."

Billy's laugh tickles along Steve's back where Billy's chest is pressed, sends goosebumps scattering across his skin.

"Long day?" Billy whispers.

Steve has a tension headache between his brows, and he groans, leaning back into Billy's chest, "Yeah. Just... yeah."

"Poor little angel, not enough workers to exploit?" Billy shakes his head.

"The charity set up is taking longer than I expected, and I'm just... fuck... Daddy, please?"

"Okay, I'll quit teasing ya," Billy nuzzles his nose against Steve's neck, "Let me wash up."

"Can I-?"

Steve trails off and he can feel Billy stare at him, "You want to come with me?"

Steve nods, "I'll wash your hair, maybe?"

Billy smiles against Steve's cheek, "Yeah, baby? You gonna take care of me?"

"Yes, please. Always."

Billy digs his fingers into the knot of Steve's tie, tugging at his clothes, "Fuck, angel, you're being so good for me."

"I could be bad," Steve whispers longingly, following as Billy tugs them into the bathroom.

"No," Billy laughs, pulling at Steve's Italian wool jacket, "Not you. Never you."

Steve warms to the compliment, burns under Billy's hungry gaze as he strips Steve and asks him to draw them a bath.

"Got so many ideas Angel," Billy smiles, sitting on the edge of the tub, "Get in and grip the sides. Don't move, okay?"

Steve complies, realizing only when he grasps the sides of the tub that his hands are shaking, he's hot all over and gasping already.

"Good boy," Billy coos, "Now, let's take the edge off, Princess."

Steve intends to say more, but then Billy turns on the handheld shower head and flips it to the massaging function. His hands are stained with motor oil, and he dips the shower head under the water, pressing it to the underside of Steve's half-hard cock. Steve jerks, letting out a wailing gasp.

"Don't move, angel," Billy corrects, leaning over Steve and pressing an indulgent kiss to Steve's forehead. The steam makes Billy's curls curlier, and his eyes are heavy lidded, sliding down Steve's body like the water.

Steve tries to hold still, thighs trembling, while the water pulses along his cock. It's unlike anything else, too much and not enough all at once.

"Oh, I'm sorry baby," Billy moves the shower head and it pulses right against the head of his cock.

Steve jerks, splashing water up against Billy's mechanic's shirt, plastering it to his chest.

"Relax, Angel," Billy whispers.

"Kiss," Steve gasps, trying with all of his power to still his hips, "K-Kiss, please-"

Billy leans in and parts Steve's lips, kissing his lower lip slowly and then slipping his tongue inside. He tastes like cigarettes and hot wet skin and Steve melts into it, muscles going lax and weak.

As soon as he relaxes into it, he realizes he's so close, embarrassing close.

"B-Billy," Steve whimpers pressed against Billy's lips.

"Do it, angel," Billy's voice is harsh and rough, "Fucking do it, we have all night."

Steve doesn't take off his suit until Billy says, and he sure as hell comes when Billy says. The water seems to pulse right to the core of him, and he groans, hips jerking, lips seeking up for Billy's. He can feel tears burning hot behind his eyes, the rasp of Billy's fingers where they cradle Steve's head at the nape of his neck, the water, lapping against him hothothot.

He comes to a moment later, cum swirling in the water and Billy's indulgent chuckle in his ears.

"Good for you Angel?"

"Get in here," Steve whispers, head lolling weakly.

"Don't need to tell me twice," Billy's mustache twitches.

[einsatzzz]

*sliding into your inbox on fuzzy socks, rocking my very own labcoat*

*adjusts glasses*

*whips out clipboard from hammerspace coat pocket*

*clicks pen*

"I HAVE READ THE WIKI AND SOME RANDOM POSTS (which i spam liked) AND I COME BEARING QUESTIONS!!!"

*points pen at Kurumi*

"YOU! You have a sentient, hoverboard great sword! AND IT CAN CHANGE ITS SIZE! That's the coolest shit, literally super hardcore badass, please be my friend so I can watch you smack the shit out of people with your sword. Questions time: How much sentience are we talking about here? Can you get vague feelings from it when you use it or is it just it "chooses its wielder" kind of sentience? How long can you hover? Is there a time limit? Do you ride your sword into battle?"

*strangles urge to ask more sword questions and chooses the next topic/victim aka Yui*

"Heya lab coat buddy! Caused any explosions recently? Set something on fire? Well, never mind that. I've heard you trolled Kurumi by teaching her swear words in foreign languages, which btw nice prank!" *holds up hand for high five* "so ... do you speak these languages fluently? Or did you just look up curse words for the lols? If you do speak them fluently, what languages do you speak? Also, do you have a favourite mechanics project, like is there something you made which you are very fond of?"

*turns to Kana, sees the glare and wisely decides to back off for now*

"Uhhh.... Yeah that's it from me for now!" *quick glance at Kana who's still staring holes into me* "Yes, yes, I'll be on my way BUT! I will come back, just you watch!"

*slinks away into my gremlin cave*

----

Well... that just happened *sweatdrops* I should really come with a warning label at this point with the amount of questions I ask. Take all the time you need, pick it apart however you want and please no pressure to answer all of them, I know I can be a lot lol 😅

*crawls out from under a big rock after temporarily escaping the underground stuDYING jail* Thank you so much for sending this ask Lix! I had lots of fun coming up with how to draw this out 😆😆 It actually became my daily (almost) 30 min drawing exercise so that I don't get too rusty jfhdkdhdjd so it took a while, but here it is now! Also I added a smol Chief last minute in there, but I have a different wip planned for him hehe (with how im struggling rn with studying, prob won't be able to finish till july since I'll be a bit semi-inactive after this post dkgdjdgxjx)

Anyway hope u enjoy! Looking forward to other asks you can come up with and send over to Yuipachi-sensei hehe (they're really really good practice tbh!) This even made me finally draw a design for Kanarobo lmaoo it's inspired from Mi/kuda/yo and Ne/nero/bo actually.

[agerefandomrambles]

Title: Shut Down

Word count: 1050

Little! Spider

Cg! Missy + Quinni

Warnings: swearing, arguements, autistic shut down

Plot: When spider and Ant get into an arguement, spider regresses and shuts down, making Missy freak out

Spider and Ant are sitting alone during recess. There's a large circle of space around them but that's because they're arguing loud enough that people don't want to get too close.

"It's always about you! I feel like a fucking walking second place around you spider!" Ant screams, getting in Spiders face.

Spiders eyes immediately well up but instead of letting them spill, he screams back, "well maybe if you had a personality outside of bimbo, people would see you!"

"Well fuck you too then!" Ant screams, before stalking away, visibly fuming.

Spider just sits there in shock. In the back of his mind, he knows that everyone in the courtyard are looking at him and Ant but he just can't find it in himself to care.

His eyes follow Ant as he storms off and his shoulders sag. He reaches up to rub his eyes, surprised when they come away wet.

He let's out a pitiful sniffle and pulls out his phone, texting Missy a very jumbled text before putting his phone away and curling up in a ball to escape the stares.

He doesn't know how long he stays like that, curled up with his head tucked into his legs and sniffling softly, but at some point in time, a tap on his back pulls him back to reality a little bit.

He pulls his head up, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden influx of light. Once he can see, he glances around before his gaze lands on Missy.

She's sitting beside him, looking at him with concern written clearly on her face. That's one thing that he loves about her. That she never hides what she's feeling.

He just looks at her with wide, unfocused eyes. He blinks slowly and softly rubs his thumbs of his knuckles, an old nervous habit from when he was little.

"Hey kiddo. You had a fight with Ant huh?" Missy asks. She's dealt with regressed spider and Ant before and it's not uncommon for them to fight like brothers. This is the first time that he didn't starting sobbing or yelling after a fight though.

Her frown deepens when he doesn't respond to her question. He just keeps staring at her, almost as if he weren't here.

"Spi? What's going on? Are you ok?" She asks, the knot in her chest tightening at his lack of response.

Spider dimly registers that Missy is talking to him, but it's as if he's underwater or perhaps moving in slow motion. He can see her lips moving but the words that come out of her mouth are jumbled and confusing.

The thing that vaguely worries him in his slowed state is the look on her face. He reaches our and roughly moves her face with his hand, trying to fix it.

"Hey kiddo. I'm just going to call Quinni really quick. I'm not going far" she says, doing her best to mask the quickly growing panic. She give him a chance to respond, not that she was expecting a response anyway.

She steps just far enough away that noone will be able to hear her before pulling out her phone and quickly dialling Quinnis number. The phone only rings twice before quinni picks up.

"Hello?" She answers politely.

"Quinni. Thank God you picked up. I think something is really wrong with Spider. He got into a screaming match with Ant and now he won't respond to me at all and I just don't know what to do. Can you come help please?" Missy rambles, pacing back and forth as she watches Spider.

He just sits where she left him. He draws his legs balc up but other then that, he doesn't move, I stead just staring blankly at the wall.

"I'll be there in 3" quinni responds, before hanging up.

Missy glances over at spider and decides to watch him from where she is so she doesn't freak him out any more.

True to her word, Quinni takes exactly 3 minutes before appearing at Missy's side.

She briefly glances at Missy, giving her a quick nod before squatting down to Spiders level

"Hey Spi. It's Quinni. I'm going to give you a pair of headphones and then we're going to go to the drama room away from all these people." Quinni narrates what she's doing as she's doing it. Spider follows her with his eyes but otherwise doesn't say anything.

Soon, Quinni, Spider, and Missy are sitting in the drama room.

Quinnis pulled out her emergency kit and Spider is sitting in the corner with a fidget cube, a paci, a weighted blanket stolen from the nurse and has noise cancelling headphones on.

Missy and Quinni are sitting on the other side of the room, talking quietly.

"Quinni? What the hell is wrong with him?" Missy quietly says, her eyes wide and scared.

Quinni chuckles lowly before answering, "it's called a shutdown. Basically, he got so worked up about his fight with Ant that he kinda turned his brain off. Once he comes down from the arguement, he'll go back to normal."

So, Quinni pulls out a book and Missy pulls out her headphones and the unlikely trio sit in comfortable silence for an hour.

Eventually, a small whine from Spider pull the two caregivers attention.

"Hey buddy. Do you want some communication cards?" Missy asks kindly. Spider nods, so Quinnk roots around in her bag and pulls out his favourite shark themed communication cards.

He flips through them before showing them the "Thank you" card, and quietly says "feeling a little better"

"I'm glad to hear it" Missy says, a small grin evident on her face. "Can I hug you?"

Spider doesn't even nod, he just launches himself into her arms.

They sit, relishing the comfort of one another for a long time before Spider pulls back. The caregivers only need one look at his face to know he's not little anymore.

"Thank you Quinni. Thank you Missy. I feel a lot better now" Spider says, his cheeks a slight pink as he puts the little gear away.

"I'd like to go find Ant and apologise" he says as he stands up, helping Quinni stand too.

"That sounds like a brilliant idea" Missy supports, grinning as he walks out of the room.

[utterlyrandomperson]

Lister's Demise (Or Victory, Depending On Who You Ask)

Fandom: I Was Born For This / The Ark

Summary: Lister is up to his usual shenanigans, Rowan retaliates, and Jimmy observes.

Content Warning: tickling, swearing

A/N: I heavily based this fic on the only piece of tickle-related content I could find about The Ark / IWBFT, which were these The Ark headcanons by @secretleeblogging (I hope that's okay for you, if not please let me know). In case this fandom isn't entirely dead and there are some people out there who were waiting for a The Ark tickle fic: here you go! Enjoy :D

"What are you doing?"

The way Rowan squints his eyes would've put Jimmy to flight long ago, yet all Lister does is tilt his head.

"Tickling you", he answers as casually as if he's been asked what the weather's like. Rowan bites his lip and just stares at the other for some seconds. Then his pokerface suddenly disappears as he flinches and chuckles when Lister starts poking his side. He slightly curls into the touch, but to Jimmy's surprise makes no attempt to stop the other.

"I figured. And why exactly are you doing that?", Rowan asks in an exaggeratedly patient tone. The corners of Jimmy's mouth twitch upwards when he sees irritation flash in Lister's eyes and realizes that Rowan isn't fighting him off because he knows that that's what Lister wants him to do. And he knows that not giving the other the big, loud reaction he expects will piss him off. He's not wrong about that, Lister's expression does turn sulky for a second. But the drummer isn't disheartened that easily - much to Rowan's discontent- and responds to the latter's antics by tickling him with a lot more intensity.

Rowan gasps when his hips are squeezed and can't stop the reflex of grabbing onto the offending hands. He lets out a small noise that sounds suspiciously like a giggle. Lister smirks at the reaction and nimbly draws his hands back, then latches onto the other's ribcage a second later.

Rowan pushes him off as soon as he manages to coax some real laughter out of him (which doesn't take too long) and simply says, "Okay okay, alright, enough now", as if that would settle the matter.

But this is Lister Bird we're talking about. And the moment Rowan turns his back and starts to walk away, he's back at it. Jimmy can't help but grin at the way Rowan jerks and yelps when Lister buries his fingers in the back of his ribcage.

"Lister-", Rowan starts in a warning tone but is cut off by his own gasp and a narrowly suppressed fit of giggles. Lister cackles. "Oh? Not that unaffected by it after all, are you?"

Rowan raises his hands to push the older away, but Lister is quicker. He wraps his arms around his bandmate and pulls him very close. What looks like a tight hug at first turns out to be a restraint for Rowan and an opportune position for Lister to wiggle all of his fingers into the younger's sides.

Rowan flinches and tries to break free - without effect. And now that he is forced to endure more than a few seconds, it doesn't take long until the ticklish sensations tear down his self-control. Lister cheers when Rowan finally breaks into laughter.

"Ha! I knew you were more ticklish than you let on", the drummer says triumphantly. Rowan let's out a noise that Lister later insists was definitely a shriek when he feels fingers worming their way under his shirt and tickling his lower back. He squirms and struggles until he manages to block most of the area with his pinned down arms.

"Lister believe me, you don't want to do this", he warns and Jimmy is impressed that despite sounding strained, his voice doesn't waver. The threatening tone in it is unmistakable. Yet again, Lister decides to ignore all red flags. He sighs and moves his hands so one is skittering all over the younger's back, the other over his stomach.

"I'd love to believe you Ro, but how can I when tickling you results in this?" He squeezes Rowan's hip as he says 'this', which forces a laugh and several swear words out of the younger. "How could I not want to do this?"

Rowan opens his mouth to answer, but not a single word makes it out. Instead, he immediately bursts out laughing because Lister starts tickling him everywhere he can reach. The older's nimble fingers dart from sides to shoulders and neck to ribs, moving too fast to give Rowan the chance to fight them off. Jimmy is intrigued as he realizes that Lister has been going easy beforehand. But now he isn't anymore, which Rowan's slightly panicked fits of laughter are proof of.

Jimmy isn't sure if Rowan still has a chance to get the upper hand back because at this point he is laughing really hard. It's an endearing sight since Rowan typically doesn't let this side of himself show too much. Well. It's not like he chose to show it this time but rather Lister who is forcing him to by pinching his upper ribs over and over and over again.

Rowan seems on the verge of begging for mercy. He has bent his body as much as Lister's hold on him allows and his knees keep buckling, like they can't support his own weight much longer. His eyes are shut and he gasps for breath in between fits of laughter. And Lister doesn't relent. He keeps on tickling him, keeps on squeezing his sides, wiggling his fingers into his armpits, until-

When Jimmy hears the helpless "Lister plehease" tumble from Rowan's lips, he is convinced this is the official declaration of Lister's victory. The latter seems to share that conviction because he lets out a triumphant laugh and eases up on his attack.

But what do they say? You may have won the fight, but you haven't won the war. Because the moment Lister's hold on him weakens, Rowan frees his arms with a powerful tug and pushes the older away. As Lister stumbles backwards, Rowan pounces.

Lister's back hits the floor before Jimmy has the time to finish wondering where Rowan suddenly got that much strength from. The latter just then grabs Lister's wrists and pins them to the older's chest using only one of his own hands. When he speaks, his tone is ominous - but he has a wide grin on his face and his eyes sparkle playfully.

"Your should have listened."

Lister's eyes widen and he shakes his head back and forth.

"Nonononono-"

He lets out an actual scream the second Rowan's fingers make contact with the bare skin of his stomach, causing Jimmy to flinch and cover his ears.

"Jesus!", he exclaims, both in shock and amusement.

Rowan laughs and starts tracing little shapes with his nails which causes Lister to panic even more.

"Don't, Ro don't- RO! ROWAN!"

But Rowan doesn't seem to be in a listening mood because he picks up the pace and skitters and spiders his nails all over the older's tummy and sides. Lister immediately becomes frantic. He bursts into a fit of giggles and kicks his legs in all directions.

He gasps and tries to splutter some words, but Rowan hinders him when he swirls a single finger over Lister's lower side, then starts scratching and prodding it. Jimmy isn't surprised when Lister screams with laughter and desperately tugs at his pinned arms. He knows from experience that that is a spot one can kill Lister with.

And currently it seems as if that's what Rowan is aiming for because he is being merciless. Lister has definitely seen that coming from ten miles away and provoked him anyway. Typical Lister.

"Are you seriously this ticklish?", Rowan asks with a smirk because the older doesn't seem capable of doing anything other than laugh and shriek. Lister just shakes his head and continues giggling like crazy. Rowan continues for some seconds, then begins switching between firm pokes and feather-light spidering. Lister screeches, which makes Rowan flinch. The latter chuckles incredulously.

"Oh you’ve got to be kidding me-"

He moves his fingers towards the older's waistline and Lister immediately kicks out and starts laughing so hard that his whole body trembles.

"Here too?", Rowan teases with a wicked smirk.

Lister looks like he's out of his mind at this point and Jimmy can't blame him. While it is fun watching Rowan tickling their drummer to pieces, it's also low-key scary how skilled and tactical he is. Jimmy makes a mental note to never provoke Rowan into tickling him that ruthlessly.

Although Rowan probably never would. He always recognises when the fits of laughter start sounding too breathless or even distressed and he never keeps going from there. The thing with Lister is that while he starts screaming the moment someone tickles him, he does have an incredibly high tolerance for it. Sometimes Jimmy thinks that it's more than just tolerance... judging from the amount of times he has provoked people (mainly Rowan) into tickling him, it should be fair to assume that he... likes it.

The thought that Lister doesn't just look happy because Rowan is making him laugh but that he actually is happy because Rowan is tickling him makes Jimmy smile fondly. It would definitely fit, though. Lister has always been the type to bond through physical touch.

Just as Jimmy is thinking all this, Lister finally manages to gather enough air to form words again.

"Please! Plehease, Jimmy hehelp me!!"

Jimmy sees the tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes, but he also notices Rowan slowing down and giving the older the chance to catch his breath.

"You did kind of do this to yourself", Jimmy responds with a raised eyebrow and an impish smile. He can't help teasing him now that he has the chance to because normally it is Lister teasing him about all sorts of things.

"How right he is about that", Rowan says nonchalantly and starts tickling Lister's thighs as if that wasn't another spot that has the drummer in hysterics after only seconds.

For the first time, Rowan seems to have trouble holding the other down because he is writhing and kicking his legs like his life depended on it. Yet Rowan manages to keep his hand wrapped around the older's upper thigh and squeezes it over and over again. After unsuccessfully trying to shake Rowan's hand off, Lister just shuts his eyes and tilts his head back.

"Plehease! Rowan please, this is torture!"

Rowan clicks his tongue.

"Oh shush. Tickling here would be torture." He wiggles a finger into the other's armpit and Lister flinches heavily.

"You're lucky I can only manage to pin your arms to your chest and not above your head."

"You're lucky I have sore muscles from working out, otherwise you wouldn't manage to pin my little finger with your twig arms."

Jimmy cracks up when he sees the look of utter disbelief on Rowan's face. There are few things that can render Rowan speechless, but Lister's out-of-nowhere clap-backs are definitely one of them. It takes Rowan a couple of seconds to remember that he's the one who's supposed to be in control. But once he does, the vengeful sparkle in his eyes makes Lister's smug smile wobble.

"Are you sure it's because of your sore muscles? Or is it because you are just too bloody ticklish to be able to defend yourself once you start laughing?"

Lister doesn't respond and Jimmy notices the faint blush on his cheeks. Rowan's just too good at this. Seeing their playful interactions suddenly makes Jimmy's mischievous side emerge and he props himself up.

"Will you let him go after that if I help you?"

It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in.

Once it does, Lister chokes on his spit and Rowan cackles.

"Deal", the latter says.

Lister panics.

"No. NO! Jimmy don't, don't you dare- noho! Plehease, you can't betray me like that!"

He breaks into anticipatory giggles as soon as Jimmy gets up from the sofa and approaches them.

"You asked for my help, but I don't see a reason why I should help only you. So I decided to help Rowan and you."

The drummer shakes his head. "Yohou're not helping me!"

Jimmy crouches down next to his bandmate and gives him a crooked smile. "I am! I bargained for Rowan to let you go afterwards."

"You're such a hypocrite!"

Jimmy pokes his side and Lister gasps.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you."

Lister stops protesting and instead lets out a giggly whine. Jimmy's heart does a somersault because of how cute he is. He throws a glance at Rowan and the fond look on the other's face tells him that he shares that feeling.

Jimmy leans forwards and grabs Lister's wrists, then tentatively pulls them upwards.

The older starts squirming and shakes his head and it does take some effort to pin his wrists above his head... but Jimmy knows that Lister ultimately lets it happen. The older is stronger than him and if he really wanted to, he could most probably free his wrists. Jimmy smiles to himself but doesn't say anything. Lister would probably die if Rowan knew.

"Ro you can't- NO! Waitwaitwait plehease-"

Rowan smirks at the gasp Lister lets out when he starts tracing extremly light circles onto his exposed underarms. It doesn't take five seconds until Lister is shaking with laughter and starts begging.

"Nonono plehease! I cahan't stand this! Roho!"

Jimmy giggles at the sight of Lister almost losing his mind because it really doesn't look like Rowan is torturing him. He's still just drawing slow, lazy circles with his nails.

"I'm barely doing anything!", Rowan comments on exactly that.

"You knohow that makes it wohorse!", Lister splutters, desperately trying to dislocate Rowan's hands by squrming left and right. Rowan raises an eyebrow and exchanges a look with Jimmy, whose wide grin is virtually spelling 'Lister is the cutest being in the entire fucking universe'. Rowan chuckles incredulously.

"I did, in fact, not know that. But thanks for the tip. So does this mean that it will tickle really badly if I-"

And he sneaks his fingers into the sleeves of the older's shirt and curls and uncurls his nails on his bare armpits in the most gentle way possible. Lister screams before he bursts into a fit of high-pitched giggles, which quickly transforms into low and loud belly laughs.

"Rowahan!"

The mentioned grins.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Lister gasps and frantically shakes his head. The tickling has weakened him so much that he's barely squirming anymore. He just keeps trembling with laughter.

"Oh my Gohod! Ro stop torturing mehe!"

Rowan suddenly picks up the pace which makes the older shriek and throw his head back.

"Oh come on Lister, you know what I want to hear. And as long as you are too stubborn to apologize, you suffer."

Jimmy expects Lister to start rambling instantly, but the latter does no such thing. He just keeps on laughing. And somehow his laughter begins to sound like he is laughing at Rowan. As if he finds the idea of apologizing to Rowan absolutely ridiculous. The latter makes a frustrated noise and Jimmy is very amused by the fact that despite the circumstances, Lister still manages to piss him off. But retribution comes quickly.

"Okay. For the record: you did this to yourself."

After that comment, Rowan starts tickling Lister all over. And boy is he merciless.

He tickles everywhere he can reach and changes spots so fast that Lister is constantly flinching. He scribbles over his neck, then squeezes his thigh and hip, then slides his hands under his shirt and traces shapes over his stomach and the part of his lower back he can reach. Some seconds later, he pinches up and down the drummer's ribcage in a torturously precise manner.

Lister endures maybe ten seconds before he breaks. Tears are sparkling in the corners of his eyes when he finally splutters an apology.

"Alrihight I'm sohorry! I'm sohorry for annoying you, Rowan plehease."

Rowan teases him for some more seconds, then he finally relents.

"That took you long enough", he comments dryly, but the look on his face is extremely fond as he watches Lister curl up once Jimmy lets go of his wrists.

Lister doesn't respond and Jimmy can't blame him. His chest is rising and falling as he gasps for air and some residual giggles are still tumbling from his lips. Jimmy reaches out to soothingly stroke his back and the older flinches when he registers the touch but soon after relaxes into it.

"Your image would be ruined if people saw how damn cute you actually are", Rowan teases with a chuckle. Lister groans.

"Shut uhup you asshole."

"Wow, you apologize to me and then manage to insult me within the next thirty seconds. Must be a new record."

Lister sits up and glares at Rowan.

"I tickled you for maybe twenty seconds. Your retribution was absolutely disproportionate."

Rowan snorts and returns the look.

"Oh stop it with the hypocrisy. You knew exactly what the consequences were gonna be when you decided to be an annoying prick. In fact, I'm starting to think the consequences are why you choose to be an annoying prick in the first place."

Oh. Rowan's not that oblivious, then.

Lister blushes and doesn't respond, but the look he gives Rowan very clearly says 'if you say one more word I will murder you in your sleep'. Rowan's smirk is nothing short of wicked. He holds eye-contact for some seconds, then he turns away.

"I'll go make some tea."

And he leaves the room as if nothing has happened.

Lister side-glances at Jimmy but doesn't meet his eyes, as if he's afraid of what he will find there. Jimmy gently touches his knee.

"He's not judging you, you know. Neither am I. But..."

He waits for Lister to meet his eyes and while the look he gives him is fond, his smile is mischievous.

"But we will tease the shit out of you for it. We have years of you being a pain in our asses to catch up on."

Lister's blush intensifies and he averts his gaze on reflex. After some seconds of staring at the floor, he bites his lip and throws Jimmy a sideglance.

"Prick", he murmurs and breaks into a grin. Jimmy can see the relief in his eyes. The younger shakes his head and laughs. He tries to squeeze Lister's side, but the latter is expecting it and fends him off.

He squeezes his knee instead, which makes him squeak.

"Come on. Let's channel our inner 'old man energy' and join Rowan for tea."

A/N Wow, didn't think anyone would make it this far ^^'. Thanks a lot for reading and in case you just read the fic without knowing who the hell these people are, go read I Was Born For This, it's amazing <3

Masterpost