#someone stop me before i attempt art for it

[ad-astra-per-aspera-1389]

now I'm thinking about emma bloom and edwin getting along after a case leads the dbda to cairnholm in the '90s

[brunchable]

Steve Rogers finally gets drunk.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x f!reader Themes: Funny? and CUTE. STEVE BEING CUTE WHILE DRUNK. Summary: Steve got wrecked by Thor's Asgardian Liquor and now he's stumbling under your balcony, reciting Shakepeare's Romeo and Juliet to you. A/N: I stumbled over a prompt that I have long lost now and this was the fruit.

It was a perfectly quiet night, and you were unwinding on your balcony, half lost in thought, when the unmistakable sound of someone quoting Romeo and Juliet—or at least attempting to—echoed from below.

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn... so—hic—bright!”

Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was some drunk wandering the street. But then, in a voice far louder than necessary, the mystery romantic slurred, “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night... like a rich jewel in... uh... someone’s ear!”

You sighed, trying to ignore it. But then there was a strange thunk against your temple—a small pebble had just bounced off your head.

“Ow!” you hissed, standing and scanning the area, annoyed—until you spotted Steve Rogers, lurching slightly, down below on the sidewalk.

You watched in amazement as he squinted up at you, attempting to focus and swaying on his feet like a flag in a strong breeze. He seemed to be mentally assembling the pieces of a big plan, his face all determination and zero sense. Another pebble tumbled out of his hand as he wobbled, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” he shouted, looking about as stable as a newborn giraffe on roller skates.

You blinked. “Steve... are you okay?”

Steve flung one arm into the air, as if delivering a grand declaration, nearly toppling backward. “It is the east, and Juliet is the... uhm... Juliet is... Juliet!” He thrust a hand forward, fingers spread wide, as if that added extra meaning. “And you—you—are...”

He paused, visibly struggling, his other hand braced against a streetlamp for support.

“A total mess?” you offered, eyebrows raised.

“A goddess!” he slurred, blinking up at you with the most sincere, lovelorn look you’d ever seen. “A bright angel!” he continued, pulling himself up, trying—and failing—to straighten his posture.

For a moment, he seemed to try and get a grip, but his feet betrayed him, and he ended up doing an awkward spin, arms windmilling, before stabilizing himself.

“Steve, how much have you had to drink?” you asked, starting to laugh despite yourself.

“Only... one cup,” he replied, attempting to measure out what he must’ve thought was a “tiny” amount with his fingers. But the gap between his thumb and forefinger was about the size of a baseball. “Well... one Asgardian... goblet.” He grinned up at you, eyes bright. “A small one!”

You tried to bite back a laugh as Steve clasped his hands over his heart, gazing up at you with tragic romance. “Deny thy father and refuse thy—thy name!” He paused, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Wait... did I—did I skip a part?”

“Just a few lines,” you teased. “You also hit me with a rock.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, frowning. He bent down, swayed, and then picked up a handful of pebbles. “Doth my lady forgive me?”

“Steve, don’t you dare throw those at me.”

He looked down at the pebbles in his hand, confused. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he tossed them aside like he’d just disposed of a dangerous weapon. “Not a pebble in sight!” He shot you a triumphant, lopsided smile.

“And why art thou—no, wait—why are you out here, Juliet?”

“I live here, Steve,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re the one making a scene.”

But Steve only clasped his heart, looking utterly enchanted. “Oh, fair maiden... would you come down and—uh, wait... no. Would you let down your hair?” He stopped, perplexed. “No, wait, that’s... that’s Rapunzel.” He scratched his head, lost. “Same thing, right?”

With a sigh, you leaned over the balcony railing, looking down at him with a smirk. “Steve, you should probably get home before you accidentally wander into traffic or—”

But he suddenly looked up at you with the most determined expression you’d ever seen, his eyes glassy but oddly focused.

“Doth thou love me?” he cried, one hand raised in a fist of drunken valor. “Say it true, or I shall be...” he paused, struggling, “...a total disaster!”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. “Steve Rogers, get your tipsy Shakespearean self home!”

He beamed up at you, his goofy grin full of pure, unfiltered adoration. “Parting is such sweet... uh...” he faltered. “...sorrow?”

Steve, swaying dramatically, looked up at you with a sudden, steely determination that only a man in his state could manage. “If thou shall not come down… then I… I shall climb up!” He pointed to the fire escape, his face alight with misguided heroism.

“Steve, please don’t—”

But it was too late. He grabbed the bottom rung with a graceless, lurching motion, grinning up at you with sheer triumph. “I’m coming, my fair maiden!”

With all the poise of a baby deer, he hoisted himself up, grunting as he fumbled his way onto the next step. Each rung seemed to be a new, Herculean task as he struggled to stay upright, clutching the railings like his life depended on it. His foot slipped once, making him lurch sideways, but he shot you a reassuring thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the danger.

“Steve! You’re gonna hurt yourself! Seriously, get down!” you called, half horrified, half laughing.

“Fear not, my lady!” he slurred, clinging to the railing and taking a very, very slow step up. “I am... coming for you!”

As he ascended, he attempted another line from the play, fumbling it badly. “Uh… But soft! What... yonder... light and window... um... something?” He shot you a sheepish grin. “Hold on... almost... got it.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wobbling and mumbling fragments of Shakespeare, he reached your level on the fire escape. He extended a hand dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process, and declared, “I have arrived!”

You laughed, hands on your hips as he wobbled in front of you. “Steve, that was a lot more ‘Romeo in need of a medic’ than ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ You’re absolutely out of it.”

He blinked, swaying as he tried to focus on you. “I came for thee,” he said proudly, managing to stand up straight—though his grip on the railing suggested it was doing most of the work.

Steve, still gripping the railing for dear life, looked at you with a mischievous glint in his glassy eyes.

“Fair Juliet… couldst thou… come a bit closer?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly, his face lit with pure, drunken delight. “I have something… uh… very important to tell thee.”

You arched a skeptical brow. “Steve, I’m pretty sure you can say it from there.”

He squinted, trying to look tragic but only succeeding in looking adorably pouty. “Nay… ‘tis… a secret of the heart,” he slurred, placing a hand over his chest with a lopsided grin. “I must whisper it… so only thou can hear it.”

Rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself, you leaned a little closer, watching as his gaze flicked from your face to your lips. 

“Alright, Romeo, what’s this ‘secret of the heart?’” you asked, half-expecting him to spout more mangled Shakespeare.

But instead, as soon as you were close enough, Steve leaned forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck, and he pressed his lips to yours in a soft, surprisingly gentle kiss from across the railing.

Caught off guard, you froze, feeling the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then, with a laugh bubbling up, you pulled back slightly, blinking in shock as he gave you a pleased, slightly dazed smile.

“There it is,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “My secret… is that thou art… perfect.” His gaze softened, and he gave a dopey smile. “And... very kissable.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Alright, Romeo. That was smooth—but I think it’s time to get you inside before you ‘heroically’ declare your love to the whole neighborhood.”

He grinned, still clutching the railing, looking like he’d just conquered the world. “Only for thee,” he slurred, leaning into your touch as you helped him down, his expression dreamy. “Only... ever for thee.”

Just as you were helping Steve down from the fire escape, a voice floated up from the street below.

“Steve! Where the hell are you?” It was Bucky, sounding frustrated and more than a little exasperated. You could see him pacing the sidewalk, looking around like he was on some kind of ridiculous rescue mission.

Steve’s eyes widened, and he pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at you. 

“Shhh!” he whispered, grinning like a kid playing hide-and-seek. His attempt at silence was immediately betrayed by a giggle that escaped his mouth, and he put both hands over his lips, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Steve, I know you’re around here somewhere! Get down here before you fall off something,” Bucky called out, still searching.

Steve, in a fit of tipsy brilliance, looked at you with a conspiratorial smirk and pointed toward your open window beside the balcony. Without a word, he started squeezing himself through, contorting like he thought he could make himself invisible in the process.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you whispered, half-laughing, as he awkwardly wedged his shoulders into the window, one leg hanging out, struggling like he was trying to sneak into a bank vault. He gestured wildly for you to help, but his clumsy movement only made him even more noticeable.

He leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “Shhh! The enemy approaches!” He stifled another giggle, clearly thinking this was the funniest thing in the world.

Just then, Bucky looked up, and Steve flailed dramatically, accidentally bumping his head against the window frame with a muted “ow,” then snorted, laughing harder. He pressed his finger over his mouth again, hushing you through breathy laughter.

“What the…” Bucky stared, his gaze following Steve’s ridiculous pose as he tried to disappear through your window, half-in and half-out, his other leg kicking as he tried to haul himself through.

“Hey!” Bucky called, hands on his hips. “Rogers, get down here. Right now.”

Steve froze, peeking over the window frame like a deer caught in headlights, then gave you a pleading look, as if you were his partner in crime.

“Shh! The man downstairs… he cannot know I’m here,” Steve slurred dramatically, squinting as if Bucky were some kind of Shakespearean villain.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

“Steve, you’re on the fire escape, not a secret lair. Get down before you fall off and end up in the hospital.”

Steve waved a dismissive hand, a drowsy, lopsided grin on his face. “I’m in safe hands, Bucky! I have my fair maiden to protect me,” he announced proudly, glancing at you with such conviction that you had to stifle your laughter again.

Bucky groaned, his exasperation palpable as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you’ve got one minute to say goodbye to your ‘fair maiden,’ then you’re coming with me,” he called, crossing his arms.

Steve turned back to you with a goofy grin, still wedged halfway through the window. 

“Didst thou hear that?” he whispered in a loud stage voice, pointing at Bucky. “The villain gives us but one more minute. But it shall be a glorious minute!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him gently. “Alright, Romeo. Time to head home.”

With one last dramatic sigh, he extracted himself from your window, blew you a clumsy, theatrical kiss, and began his wobbly descent down the fire escape. As Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder, trying to steer him down the street, Steve spun around, clutching Bucky’s arm like he was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

“Unhand me, Mercutio!” Steve cried, throwing his other arm up with all the grandeur of a Shakespearean actor. “Thou art but a hindrance to my love! Dost thou not know I’m with Juliet?”

Bucky froze, staring at Steve in complete disbelief. “What did you just call me?” His expression was halfway between horrified and annoyed, eyebrows knitted in utter confusion.

Steve pulled himself up, looking deeply wounded, his hand over his heart. 

“Mercutio!” he slurred dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at Bucky. “You are the friend that doth betray me! I shall not be parted from my love!”

Bucky blinked, visibly trying to process this. “Mercutio? Steve, what the—” He looked up at you, helplessly gesturing at Steve. “I’m Mercutio now?”

Steve waved a dismissive hand. “Alas, yes, for you wouldst steal me away from my Juliet,” he said, glaring with the most intense puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Steve, I’m not Mercutio,” Bucky groaned, looking over at you as if hoping you could talk some sense into him. “You are absolutely out of your mind.”

But Steve seemed lost in his own world. He placed a hand over his heart, gazing longingly up at you again. 

“Juliet,” he called to you, his voice full of melodrama. “Mercutio hath come to tear us asunder.”

Bucky’s face scrunched up in pure irritation. “Steve, I’m trying to get you home before you fall flat on your face. You’re gonna thank me in the morning.”

Steve shook his head, looking at Bucky like he was the ultimate betrayer. “Mercutio… thou art a traitor,” he declared, voice wobbling with fake tragedy.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I swear, if you call me Mercutio one more time—”

“Mercutio!” Steve interrupted, leaning against him dramatically. “Wouldst thou poison my love? Dost thou come between us to ruin the most beautiful thing?”

Bucky let out a defeated sigh, looking over at you with an expression that screamed, Help me. “Your ‘Mercutio’ is about to drag you home, Rogers.”

But Steve just shook his head again, mumbling about “betrayal” and “unhand me, knave,” as Bucky steered him away, calling one last time over his shoulder to you, “Fear not, Juliet! I shall return! Mercutio’s treachery shall not prevail!” You stifled a laugh as Bucky, looking thoroughly done with it all, muttered to himself, “Mercutio… unbelievable.” He gave you one final, apologetic look as Steve continued to mumble protests about “Mercutio’s interference,” until they finally disappeared down the street, Bucky still muttering, “I’m not Mercutio.” Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u

[stnkiconverse]

Hii :3 could I have sum of the creep boys (Ej, Toby, Jeff, Masky and Hoodie) with a reader who likes marking (bites/cuts/hickeys) their thighs? Pls and thank u 💛

This has been collecting dust in my drafts for months, im so sorry bby, i just needed to have my masky and hoodie headcanons in place before posting this😭😭

Also- Ik you said thighs, but i did mention some other places, i hope you don’t mind :3

E Y E L E S S J A C K

Jack is surprisingly unbothered by your habit. He views it with a mix of curiosity and amusement, often analyzing your techniques silently. (like this = 🤨)

"Hmm. Is this an attempt at branding? Or is this just for fun?" His DRY ASS humor makes it hard to tell if he's teasing or genuinely questioning.

He’s not fond of pain but does not shy from it either. The marks don't bother him, they heal faster than you think anyway.

If you center the attack on his thighs, he'll arch a brow and say something quick and sarcastic, like, "I'm honored you've chosen me as your personal canvas."

Jack has super sharp senses, so he's super aware of your touch. If you bite or leave cuts near sensitive spots, hips, or neck, for example, he might tense for a moment but never stop you.

His favorite places for you to mark? His shoulders or his ribs. He finds the sensation grounding in a strange way, though he'll never admit it. (he moaned once)

If you tease him about it, he'll deadpan: "Just don't expect me to reciprocate. My claws aren't…delicate." (😏)

T I C C I T O B Y

Toby is a little awkward about it at first, not used to someone being so physically affectionate in such an intense way. But once he gets used to it? He's all in. (fucking weirdo 😒 / lovingly)

He doesn't actually feel pain like others do, (obv) so he lets you go wild without flinching. "You're gonna have to try harder than that to leave a mark on me," he'd tease, looking down later to grin at the faint bruises or bites.

If you target his thighs, he might giggle a bit, kicking his leg. "That tickles, stop- stop!"

Neck and collarbone marks fluster him the most. He'll try to hide them with his hoodie but secretly love that they're there.

Sometimes, he'll encourage you in his chaotic way: "Oh, you missed a spot. Try here!" and point to random places like his back or ribs, sometimes even shoving his wrists in your face 😭😭

If you ever leave too many marks, he'll grin like a maniac and joke: "Guess I'm your chew toy now, huh?"

J E F F T H E K I L L E R

Jeff would be cocky about it, but secretly flustered. He'd smirk and say something snarky like, "Didn't know you were that desperate to get your hands on me," but the redness creeping up his neck gives him away.

He doesn't mind pain and might even enjoy it a little. If you bite too hard, he'll laugh and go, "Is that all you've got? You're gonna have to try harder."

Loves when you leave marks on his neck, it makes him feel a twisted sense of pride. He'll strut around the manor like a smug idiot, showing them off.

His thighs are a sensitive spot, though he won't admit it. If you target them, he'll squirm slightly and mutter, "Don't get any ideas..." but he won't stop you. (bcs he likes it 😏)

If you leave cuts or scratches, he'll trace them with his fingers absentmindedly, secretly loving the way they look.

"You're turning me into your personal art project, huh? Not that I'm complaining."

T I M / M A S K Y

Masky (Tim)

Tim is not immediately comfortable it, especially if it's in a more vulnerable spot like his neck or inner thighs. He'll tense up and grumble, "What are you doing?" but he won't push you away :3

Over time, he warms up to it, especially when he realizes it's your way of showing affection. He won't admit it, but he finds it oddly reassuring :p

Marks on his shoulders or upper back are his favorite. He won't say anything, but you might catch him subtly glancing at them in the mirror (😏)

If you bite too hard, he'll sigh and mutter, "You know I have to cover that up, right?" while pulling on another layer of clothing (i love him guys)

Surprisingly, he doesn't mind if you mark his thighs when he's sitting or lounging. He might roll his eyes but secretly enjoys the attention.

"You're a little too into this, you know that?" he'd say with the tiniest smirk, though the faint blush on his face betrays him.

B R I A N / H O O D I E

Hoodie (Brian)

Brian is surprisingly chill about your habit and takes it in stride :D

He'll joke, "Do I look like a notebook to you? Or is this some modern art thing?"

He's not huge on pain, so if you bite too hard or draw blood, he might flinch and gently push you away. "Careful, I'm not indestructible."

Loves when you leave hickeys or gentle bites on his shoulders or chest. He finds them oddly comforting and will trace them when he's alone, smiling softly.

If you go for his thighs, he'll laugh and tease you: "That's bold. Didn't take you for a thigh person."

Occasionally, he'll play along and say something like, "You missed a spot," pointing to random areas just to see you flustered.

Brian enjoys the possessive nature of your markings but is too reserved to admit it outright.

Instead, he'll say something teasing like, "Guess I'm yours now, huh?"

I hope this was good enough!! :D

sorry to keep you waiting so long 😭

[pinkanonwrites]

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in. 

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

 Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~” 

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow.  Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.” 

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Worship of a Sacrificial Lamb.

Pairing: ???!Gojo Satoru x Yandere!Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 8.0k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @elsecrytt.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Dub/Con, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Kidnapping + Prolonged Captivity, Physical + Psychological Abuse, Wildly Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Codependency, Suicidal Ideation, Mentions of Previous Suicide Attempts, and Blood. Gojo's Not The Yandere But He Sure As Hell Isn't Normal Either. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were sure, beyond the point of reason, that Gojo Satoru was an angel.

A guardian angel, actually. Maybe even your guardian angel, if you were going to let yourself be so sickeningly romantic. Even if you were going to hold yourself to some kind of distorted rationality, you weren’t sure how anyone could ever so much as look at him and not see an act of irrefutable divine intervention. He had the body of a marble sculpture – as if some great, ancient master of their art had taken decades aside to carve the embodiment of all things good and beautiful  – and a face any model would’ve killed for. His hair was the most brilliant shade of white you’d ever seem, purer than cloud and softer than velvet, and there was a special place in your heart reserved entirely for his lips – pretty and pale and so lovely that if you ever got the chance to kiss him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

Of course, his eyes were your favorite. Not that it was easy to pick a favorite part of Satoru – no, you’d spent long hours deliberating over the perfectly straight arch of his jawline and the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, the gentle slope of his shoulders and harsh angles of his hands – but if you absolutely had to, you’d say his eyes were the part of him you spent the most time thinking about, that you adored above all else, that would’ve wanted to keep for yourself if you couldn’t have Satoru as whole. The color of the sky and twice as clear, you could still remember the way they’d seemed to glow in the dim light of the deserted street where you’d first met, the way your heart broke just a little every time he blinked or fluttered those perfect snow-white eyelashes. If you could’ve, you would’ve liked to keep a spare set in a small glass jar – something clear and sturdy that you could carry with you whenever you didn’t have access to the real thi—

“...ma��am?” And then, leaning forward, flashing a perfect smile and snapping his perfect fingers, “I think I might’ve lost you, there.”

You perked up, nodding frantically before thinking better of it and, with a sheepish smile, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I—” You paused, clearing your throat and taking a sip of your coffee before going on. “I’m just having a little trouble concentrating. You can keep going.”

That was enough to earn a breath of a laugh from your perfect Satoru, and immediately, you fell in love with him all over again. He mirrored you, taking a sip of his own drink (some awful, adorable type of frozen hot chocolate served half-drowned in whip-cream) before responding, his melodic voice akin to birdsong and rainfall and every other delicate, beautiful thing in the world. “I know it can be a lot to take in. For someone in your situation, especially.” What that situation was, you weren’t entirely sure. Still, you nodded and smiled like he’d said the most comprehensible thing you’d ever heard. “Just try to stay with me. I promise – curses are a lot less scary when you know what they are.”

His head lulled to the side, his perfect eyes lulling into something softened and dream-like, and just like that, he’d lost you again. It was unfair, honestly. He’d been the one to invite you, scrawling down his name and phone number on a scrap of paper with the excuse that he owed you an explanation, but you’d picked out your meeting spot (a café on the edge of business district, somewhere he’d never go on his own but that suited his preference to a T), made sure you arrived half an hour early to claim a table in the most secluded corner and order a drink you knew he’d like just in time for his to be fifteen minutes late. You were lucky, really. Anyone else would’ve noticed your starry-eyed gaze and giddy smiles and figured out that there was something deeply, deeply wrong with you, but not your Satoru. He was probably used to hero-worship, even if the thought of anyone else sharing the same connection with him that you did was enough to make you grit your teeth.

Now wasn’t the time for that, though. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts as the corner of his lips quirked downward – the closest thing to a proper frown you’d ever seen him wear. Whatever he might’ve gone on to say about wizards and invisible monsters was lost entirely as he trailed off, his eyes darting to either side behind the dark lenses of his glasses. “Sorry, ma’am, I think I—” With an uncharacteristic clumsiness, he pushed himself to his feet, nearly tipping over his chair. In your peripheral, you watched for concerned samaritans and curious onlookers, but came up empty. That was good. That made sense. It was a busy coffee shop during the late-morning rush on a weekday – who’d ever think to pay attention to the couple in the far corner? Even half of that couple was a deity in the flesh. “I think I need a second.”

It was smart of him – to make such a hasty retreat. He barely waited for you to give one final, enthusiastic nod before cutting through the crowd and disappearing into a unisex bathroom.

It was smart, but it would’ve been smarter to run somewhere you couldn’t follow.

Saliva pooled under your tongue, your fingers drumming erratic and involuntary rhythms into the table, but while Satoru might’ve been an angel, you had the patience of a saint. You counted down the seconds, nursing your coffee and occasionally checking your phone, until three minutes had passed, only getting up when you were sure you would’ve been seen waiting. Rather than moving towards the exit, you positioned yourself at the edge of the counter, flagging down the youngest barista – a mousey girl in her late teens, with an expression that said she’d do anything to be helpful and a shrunken quality that told you she’d do even more not to get in trouble. “I’m so, so, so sorry to bother you, but—It’s my boyfriend,” you started, wringing your hands together and keeping your eyes on the floor. There was a sick thrill that came with calling Satoru your boyfriend, even if it wasn’t true, but you were careful to keep your tone strictly apologetic. “He’s, uh—He’s got a thing about crowds, and he’s kind of having an episode. Is there any way I could get him out of here without making a scene?”

There was – an employee exit just next to the door to the storage room, one that opened up directly into a back alley that would’ve kept a comfortable distance between you and the main road. Her eyes lit up, but she made a show of looking concerned, of glancing to her smothered coworkers, before looking back to you. “Well, we’re not supposed to let customers—”

“Please?” You tried, and then, with a type of cloying desperation, “It’s kind of an emergency. He just really needs to get outside.”

It took a second, then another, but finally, she cracked with a muted sigh. “There is a backdoor – past the bathrooms and to your left. I… I have to ask my manager, but I should be able to leave it unlocked.”

You didn’t have to fake your gratitude. You bowed your head, mumbling ecstatic little ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s as you turned on your heel and moved towards the restroom. You’d been prepared to pick the lock, but Satoru must’ve been more affected than you realized – he was already so out of it, he’d left the door open. You could only be thankful no one else had seen come in. You couldn’t imagine there was anyone in the world who could resist taking advantage of someone as wonderful as Satoru in such a vulnerable state.

Grinning to yourself, you shouldered the door open and stepped inside, shutting and locking it behind you.

Satoru didn’t make himself heard to find. He’d collapsed onto the faux-marble vanity, his feet still on the ground but his back braced against the mirror, one hand clamped around the side of the sick while the other struggled to form one of the strange, distorted symbols he’d used the night you met him. His half-lidded eyes widened when he saw you, his mouth falling open, but he didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. You couldn’t blame him. The sedative you’d used was strong enough to put a grown man under with a single dose, and you’d given Satoru enough to put a horse into a coma.

“Hey, pretty boy.” You took a tentative step forward, and when he didn’t react, another. His fingers twitched, but whatever he was trying to do was forgotten as soon as you took him by the hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “It’s not that bad, is it? You should just be a little tired.”

Again, predictably, there was no response. His perfect lips opened wider before sealing into an acute, adorable pout, and you drank in the sight like a man starved.

Cooing, you leaned in closer – placing your body in the space between his open legs and squeezing his hand before letting go entirely. Rather, you cupped his face, admiring the pink flush spread across his pale cheeks, the glossy sheen over those beautiful eyes. Suddenly, it was too much to take, and you jolting forward; your mouth crashing into his and your tongue pushing past his lips, his teeth. His taste was euphoric – caramel and cream and everything good and sweet and divine – but you didn’t give yourself long to savor it before you pulled away, dropping to your knees. You hadn’t meant to move this quickly, but you loved Satoru. You worshiped Satoru.

And no real acolyte would ever refuse to kneel in front of their sacred alter, if given the chance.

Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, he wasn’t hard. You let his jeans and boxers (the latter patterned with pure-white bunnies – cute) pool at his ankles as you wrapped a fist around his cock, pressing a kiss into the curve of his shaft. Like every other part of him, his dick was perfect – long and lean, with a slight left-leaning tilt and a few thin, ridged veins that you dragged you tongue over before taking the head into your mouth properly. Admittedly, it’d been a while since your last hook-up (and even longer since you’d cared enough about another person to put any more than a passable amount of effort in), but everything about Satoru seemed to come naturally to you. His reactions were limited to a vacant stare and the occasional, breathy noise, but soon enough, you felt him stiffen against the flat of your tongue, filling out your fist where you pumped lazily over his shaft. If it’d been anyone else, you might’ve been disappointed at just how quickly he went from soft to stiff to leaking thick beads of arousal, but not with your Satoru. Of course he was sensitive. Angels were supposed to be delicate.

Using one hand to brace yourself against his thigh, you reached up with the other and found his hand, still hanging dully where you’d left it. It was a bit of an odd position – trying to hold his hand while bobbing your head and doing your best not to choke on his cock – but you made it work. It wasn’t long before those little, breathy noises built into cracked whimpers and airy whines, before you could feel him twitching against the roof of his mouth. It was hard to see, given the angle, but when you thought to look, you could make out tears forming in the corners of his eyes, something new knit into his expression. It wasn’t quite distress – or, at least, not the kind of distress you’d been expecting – but you didn’t recognize it. That didn’t really matter, though, not if you were being honest with yourself.

It was coming from your Satoru, and that was enough to make it beautiful.

You moaned around him, and a pitchy keen slipped past his numb lips, his grip going vice-like where he held your hand. You swallowed him down to the hilt as he came, determined not to waste a drop of what you’d fought so hard for, before pulling back, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his cock for a lingering second, then another before that connection snapped and severed you from him completely. Suppressing the urge to mourn its loss, you pushed yourself to your feet and pulled him close – pressing a kiss into his neck, then his jaw, then the corner of his lips. “Such a good boy,” you purred, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “My good boy. My perfect little angel.”

This time, Satoru did react – slumping against you even as his hand remained braced around yours. You took him by the shoulders, leaning back just far enough to see his eyes lull, blink, then shut entirely. He wasn’t unconscious - you could see a certain stiffness to his shoulder, a rigidity to his posture – but it was clear that you’d worn him out. You smiled, shaking your head as you raked your fingers through his hair and laughing as you found it just as soft as you’d imagined. “Think it’s time to go home, ‘toru?”

Rather than pull away from you, he seemed to melt even further. It was barely more than a whisper, but you made it out as clear as day. “…home?”

“Yes, angel,” you laughed, pressing your lips against his forehead.

“Home.”

~

He was asleep by the time you reached your car, and thoroughly knocked out by the time you got back to your townhouse – a modest machiya in a neighborhood that valued its privacy. Admittedly, carrying a man twice your height with triple your weight in muscle could’ve gone better, but you managed. There was a short list of things you couldn’t do for Satoru.

The sedatives had already proved less effective than you’d been promised, but still, you had plenty of time to get him into his bedroom, lock the titanium collar around his neck, and most importantly, change his clothes. You’d already picked out a new wardrobe for him – all whites and creams and soft pastels, nothing as harsh as the restrictive, black uniform he usually wore. Not that Satoru didn’t look good in black; you were sure he’d look breath-taking in anything! Even if he decided to wear, you didn’t know, an all-leather body suit, you were sure he’d—

…

You’d have to look into ordering a custom set. Preferably in white, but you’d settle for blue, if you had to.

You’d also made sure his room suited him, too. After making sure you had the bare necessities (deadbolts, bars over the windows, etc.), you might’ve gone a little overboard. You wanted Satoru to feel comfortable, so you made sure to work-in a few of the cute, soft things that reminded you of him – string lights and stuffed animals and plush blankets all the same color as his hair. You knew he was prone to migraines, but you couldn’t stand the idea of letting him put anything between you and those beautiful eyes, so you compromised with permanently low lighting and heavy curtains over his singular window. Entertainment might be an issue, since you obviously couldn’t give him anything with an internet connection, but—

You heard Satoru stir, and immediately, every logistic thought you might’ve had died and fell away. You’d planned to keep your distance while he woke up, but in an instant, you were perched on the side of his bed, your gaze fixed on his lax expression as he slowly woke up.

It was surprisingly peaceful – his slow trek back into consciousness. Long seconds passed between the first awkward stagger in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the moment he actually opened his eyes, still glassy and unfocused with exhaustion. You didn’t rush him. It was all you could do to watch as he sucked in a harsh breath and pulled himself up, only to collapse against the headboard just as quickly. A hand drifted to his shirt, fisting at the alien material, then to the collar around his neck. He didn’t try to take it off, which was good. You didn’t want to have to resort to something so ugly so early on.

Finally, he seemed to perk up – glancing around his new bedroom, as if evaluating it. When he turned to you, you smiled, and Satoru remained blank.

You broke the silence. “Welcome home, ‘toru.” You swallowed back the temptation to tell him how happy you were to finally have him here, how long you’d been waiting for this moment, instead centering your attention on his needs. “Do you want something to drink? You shouldn’t eat so soon, but you were out for a while. It seemed like you could use a little rest.”

A beat passed, but eventually, Satoru shook his head – as polite as could be expected, given the circumstances. “…you’re the one who kidnapped me?”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re not a curse-user? Or working for the higher-ups?”

More made-up words. You decided to let him have his fun. “No, I’m not.”

“Why, then?”

Your smile widened. You’d been hoping he would ask. “You’re not dumb, Satoru. The day you found me—” Or, rather, the day you’d found yourself in his arms, barefoot and shaking, caught by a divinely beautiful stranger after taking a long fall off of a short building. The day you’d fallen in love with him. The most important day of your life. “I’m sure you know that no one actually pushed me.”

And, even if he didn’t, it couldn’t be hard to believe. There were only so many reasons a salary-worker would be on the roof of their office building in the middle the night, only so many reasons you would’ve left your heels and your coat on the same ledge you’d eventually topple off of. He’d been kind enough to get them for you, as you sat sobbing into your hands on the curb. He only pursed his lips, though, his eyes remaining perfectly lifeless. You took that as a sign to go on.

“My job is—” Terrible. Pointless. Soul-sucking. It paid well, and nothing you did was particularly hard, but the constant overtime and mindless pencil-pushing meant you had very little time for yourself and even less to show for it – besides the paycheck, of course. You couldn’t even say you hated it. You’d just been so ready for something, anything else, and it’d worked, in a way. You’d gotten Satoru. “—pretty boring. I’ve never really liked spending time with other people, and I’m not particularly good at anything aside from busy-work, so I really didn’t have a reason to stick around. But, then you saved me, and you were so kind, and so heroic, and I—”

You shut your eyes, curling your hands into fists. Not unlike a schoolgirl, too embarrassed to confess properly. “I love you, Satoru.”

There was no response, not at first. Internally, you panicked – what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he didn’t realize that this was for the best? What if he’d rather die than—

“You…” His tone was light, airy, only the slightest traces of shock shining through. As if he didn’t believe you. “You love me?”

“More than anything.” And, just like that, you were spilling open. “I—I thought it’d be enough to keep an eye on you from a distance, for a while, but after a few days – after seeing how much you worked and how little you slept and how terribly you took care of yourself – I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t live without you, and, well,” You cut yourself off with a sudden laugh, only a little forced. “You couldn’t have gone on much longer if I hadn’t stopped in. Not like that.”

For a second, he seemed to regard you. It was strange, how hollow he seemed compared to how vibrant he’d been every time he’d spoken to you previously, but you didn’t mind. Not all gods could be cheerful ones. Even divinity had to be morose, from time to time.

Still, your racing heart beat a little faster when the corner of his mouth twitched into a slight, cocked smile. He didn’t say anything, but he shifted, reached out, tentatively resting a hand on your knee before bringing it up to your thigh, then your hip. After waiting for you to nod (which you did, eagerly), he pulled you closer – into his lap. You managed to keep your guard up for all of three seconds before he collapsed onto you entirely, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You melted against him with just as much pathetic desperation, grateful beyond words to have the distance between you finally closed. “Do you really mean that?”

“And then some. When you reached out to me, my heart almost burst with happiness. It was hard to believe you even remembered that I existed.” You nestled against him. “I meant what I said about wanting to take care of you, too. You shouldn’t have to worry about yourself ever again, not after everything you did for me.”

There was more, of course. Rules to go over, punishments to warn against, specifics to lay out, but he wasn’t fighting back, or trying to escape, and he was tucked so sweetly against you – it would’ve been a shame to move, let alone start listing off threats. Thankfully, tragically, Satoru ripped the band-aid off first. Slowly, he lifted his head, drawing back just far enough to dart back in for a clumsy, lip-bruising kiss. You’d already, technically, stolen his first, but there was a difference between kissing his limp body and feeling his lips move sloppily against yours. It was a fragile, immature connection – all scraping teeth and kneading hands and Satoru’s little, throaty moans, but you didn’t dare break it off until your lungs ached. Even then, you held him as close as you could as his hands fell to your waist, a thumb slipping under the waistband of your skirt and—

“Down boy,” you laughed, and Satoru glanced up, pouting. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but not so soon. You’re still in shock, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

The impulse blowjob a few hours prior felt unnecessary to mention.

Satoru seemed conflicted. He was still in that sort of blank, softened state, but he let out a whine by way of protest. It was all you could do to sigh, kissing his forehead before going on. “Later on, ‘toru. After I’m sure that you can be trusted to behave.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to make love (‘fuck’ felt to crude, ‘sex’ too clinical; making love wasn’t perfect, but it was what you had) to Satoru. You would’ve done anything to take care of him, anything to keep him happy, but there’d always been a gap in your mind when it came to your own pleasure – an instinct that urged against expecting your love to be requited. As far as you could guess, it would come with time – after you’d started thinking of him as less of an angel and more of something able to love you back. The delay was for the best, really. Intimacy would make you vulnerable, exploitable. You needed to show Satoru how strong, how strict you could be, first.

“That sucks.” It was almost endearingly childish, just how shamelessly he sulked. It took a few more pecks and another minute or so of coddling before he sighed. “You can keep kissing me though, right?”

“Of course,” you said, automatically. It was a dangerous promise to make, with plenty of chances for unwanted escalation, but you never would’ve been able to say ‘no’ to Satoru – not so directly, at least. Not when he was looking at you with those beautiful, pitiful eyes.

“Anything for you.”

~

“So when are you going to use the collar?”

The question was posed casually, unprompted and unrushed. Still, you paused, humming as you glanced over to Satoru. He’d gotten more talkative in the two or three weeks since you brought him home, but he still seemed caught in that quiet, liquid haze of tranquility – all easy smiles and half-lidded eyes and slow, sloppy kisses from the moment you came home to the second you had to leave. He seemed to be enjoying himself, spending his time basking in your affection and letting you take care of him, and that made you happy. All you’d ever wanted was for him to be safe and looked after, and he was. You could make sure of that, now.

(Admittedly, there was a small, negligible part of that had expected there to be some resistance – a hissy fit, a muted protest, something aggressive and combative that wouldn’t be calmed with a few kind words and a gentle touch – and mourned the fact that Satoru was taking this all so well. It wasn’t that you wanted him to hate you, but you’d always struggled to trust what came to you easily. If you had to work for Satoru’s love, you could be sure that you’d earned it. If you had to smother him into submission, you wouldn’t have to wonder if he was only lulling you into a false sense of security before stealing away all the tools you used to keep him safe. You tried not to be so pessimistic – outwardly, at least.)

“I won’t have to, preferably.” Pulling a towel off of the nearest rack, you bent down to his height and started to ruffle his hair dry. He shut his eyes, but didn’t try to stop you. Currently, he was sitting on the wall of your bathtub, only partially dressed in a pair of tan sweatpants while you finished drying his hair. You could shower alone before work in the morning, but Satoru needed more care. He needed to be treated like something precious, and he’d already proved that you couldn’t trust him with such an important responsibility. “It’s kind of a last resort. It should only go off if you try to leave.” And then, as you burrowed your nails into the towel., “Is that… Is that something you’re going to do, ‘toru?”

“Never. You keep me too good n’ spoiled.” He flashed you a lazy grin, and just like that, you were looking away, biting down on your tongue, trying to coax your heart back into beating at a steady rhythm. You pretended to be busy rummaging through the nearest drawer for a brush, but Satoru only laughed. His next question was just as probing. “It came with a remote, though, right?”

“…like I said, it’s a last resort,” you repeated, too flustered to lie. “I don’t want to hurt you. Unless you tried to escape or attacked me, I really can’t see myself doing anything so—” Blasphemous. Unforgivable. Sinful. “—harsh.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Like always, he was a little too quick, a little too willing. You bit back a scowl. “I just think it could be romantic, y’know?  I’d get to see how much you’re willing to do for me, or something like that.”

You forced a bark of a laugh. “There’s nothing romantic about me hurting you, baby. ‘specially not if I’m only doing it because you acted out.”

“I promise, I’m tougher than I look.” Another smile, even more dazzling than the first. Again, you felt your head start to speed up, only to stop beating entirely the second he went on. “I used to have this friend – Suguru – and he’d—”

Your hand was in your pocket before you had time to stop yourself, the plastic remote clenched in your fist before you had time to think. You’d never read the manual, never thought you’d have to use it, but that didn’t matter. There was only one button, and it only did one thing.

Satoru’s voice cut out as the current picked-up, pumping the maximum voltage into his throat. Satoru didn’t scream, didn’t thrash, but he reacted – going rigid as his beautiful eyes went painfully wide. The whole thing was silent save for a low, almost inaudible buzzing-type sound, and you kept your thumb pressed into the singular button for a second, then another, before forcing yourself to let go. Even that was more difficult than it should’ve been. You couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him, but…

Fuck. You would’ve done anything not to hear Satoru say his name ever again.

To his credit, Satoru didn’t collapse. When it was over, he only buckled forward – catching himself on his thighs as he dragged in a jolting, ragged breath. You were on your knees in front of him in a second, his face in your hands and your mouth on his cheek, his forehead, his neck, as if you could kiss away the pain. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” you chanted, each word less coherent than the last. “It’s just—I’ve read about him in your diaries, and I should’ve known you’d bring him up, and—”

“I love you.”

You went quiet.

You tried to pull away from him, but his arms lashed out; wrapping around your midriff and pulling you closer – burying his face in the dip of your shoulder, the crook of your neck. Again, he repeated, “I love you.”

For a second, you thought about pulling away, about sending him back to his room while you pulled yourself together. For a second, you considered reaching for your remote, again.

Then, you settled against him, shutting your eyes and resting your head against his chest.

“I love you too, Satoru.”

~

Admittedly, Satoru’s apartment was the closest thing you had to a guilty pleasure. The first time you’d broken in, you were still on the fence about just how much he needed your help, but by the third, or the fourth, or the fifth, you’d already made up your mind about bringing him home. You’d only visited a handful of times since, but it was nice to stop in every now-and-then, to remind yourself there were two distinct eras of Satoru’s life – prior to the day he’d met you, and post. Getting to spend a few minutes tucked into a space so essentially Satoru wasn’t something you were opposed to, either.

You made your way slowly through his former home – stepping over heaps of abandoned clothes and stopping to straighten forgotten piles of cluttered paperwork he would never be forced to re-visit. Satoru didn’t have any close friends or family who’d stop by uninvited, which meant every little detail was exactly how Satoru would’ve left it. The fridge was still empty, the freezer stocked with frozen, pre-packaged desserts; the walls were still empty and drab, utterly devoid of life; and best of all, his bed still smelled exactly like him. It was a silly thing to be so excited about, especially when you had the source waiting for you at home, but you collapsed onto the mattress without hesitation, shutting your eyes and basking in the evidence of just how hopeless he’d been, before you had a chance to—

Clipped footsteps, followed shortly by the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open. You bolted upward, your pocket knife (because self-defense was important when you treated breaking-and-entering like a hobby) in your hand in a fraction of a second, but the intruder didn’t seem quite so concerned.

It was a woman – deathly pale and worryingly gaunt, just a little too short to be considered average. She regarded you with a cold stare before nodding by way of greeting. “I’m guessing you’re Satoru’s girlfriend?”

The irritation that came with hearing someone else use his given name was immediately overshadowed by pure, euphoric delight. Smiling like an idiot, you asked, “He calls me his girlfriend?”

“Oh, I’m not going to repeat what he calls you.” Her gaze dropped to your knife, now little more than an afterthought. “You can drop the weapon,” she said, holding up a manila envelope stuffed to the point of bursting. “Just here to pick up his lesson plans. It’s been a pain in the ass – having to cover for him since you two started playing house.”

She sounded agitated, but only mildly so. A small, rational part of your mind urged you to linger on the mild irritation in her voice, the odd casualness in the way she spoke to you. She couldn’t have talked to Satoru recently, not the months he’d spent with you, but if she was concerned for his safety, she wasn’t concerned enough to bring up the issue now.

The vast, easily distracted majority could only chant girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if Satoru had talked about you often, if he’d ever mentioned your name, if she remembered word-for-word what he’d said about you, but she was already gone – muttering a curt goodbye and slamming the bedroom door behind her. By the time you could force yourself off of his bed, she’d disappeared entirely.

That day, you picked up roses as white as his hair and forget-me-nots as blue as his eyes on your way home. Just to remind Satoru how much you really loved him.

~

Satoru greeted you as soon as you got home, like he’d done every day since you gave him permission to roam freely. You didn’t call out, didn’t ring the bell, and yet, as soon as the door was closed and locked behind you, he was there; his arms wrapped around your waist and your body hauled against his. He held you in that bone-crushing embrace for a second, then another before lowering you back onto your feet. You clung to him for just a little longer before letting go.

He always seemed to be smiling, but tonight, he was beaming. He pulled you into an eager kiss, only to jerk back just as abruptly, too excited not to start talking while his lips were still pressed against yours. “Happy six-month anniversary,” he managed, quickly enough for the words to blend together. “I, uh—It’s not much, but I got you something. I thought it’d be cute to leave it in your office, but that might’ve been— I mean, I can bring it to you if—”

“Remember to breathe, ‘toru,” you cut in, laughing. He let his head lull to the side sheepishly, and you went on. “You got me something?”

“It’s not a lot,” he reiterated, still shy. “I’m sorry, I’m not really used to this. I wanted to have dinner ready when you came home, too, but I think it needs a few more minutes.”

It was hard to believe, sometimes – just how lucky you’d gotten. There were only so many human beings who could say they’d met an angel, and you got to come home to one every night.

“You’re perfect.” Satoru blushed, and you pulled him close, pecking the bridge of his nose just underneath the bar of his glasses. “Finish up. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen to tell you how much I love my gift.”

Reluctantly, you detached from Satoru, and made your way to the home office you’d all-but abandoned after bringing Satoru home. His present sat on the edge of your desk: a small mason jar, just the right size to sit in the palm of your hand, filled with water and finished off with a jet-black ribbon tied around the lid. Two spherical objects floated near the bottom. Even from a distance, you recognized them immediately.

Satoru’s eyes.

If you’d been holding the jar, you would’ve dropped it. They had to be fake, but they couldn’t be – replicas wouldn’t have been so bright, so organic, so perfect. He’d been wearing glasses, but you’d been able to see his eyes, and— and even if you couldn’t, it wasn’t like he’d be able to carve his own eyes out in the nine hours you spent away from him. Had there been blood on his clothes? You couldn’t remember, now. Was he hurt? Had you ever seen him hurt himself? He couldn’t have left, but—

You felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your midriff, drawing you against a broad chest. The metal of his collar pressed into the back of your head as he slotted himself against you. “You mentioned how much you like my eyes, once,” Satoru explained, the eagerness in his melodic voice now painful to listen to. “I… I thought you might want a couple spares. For when we can’t be together. And, after dinner, I thought we could finally…”

He trailed off, embarrassed. Still, what he wanted was clear.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything.

Then, with a heavy exhale, you forced yourself to glance over your shoulder, facing Satoru with a smile. “Not tonight, ‘toru.” You’d never been thankful not to be able to see the clear blue of his eyes, before.

“But soon. I promise.”

~

You couldn’t find Satoru.

It was hard to believe, even as you hunched against the wall of his bedroom, your knees pulled into your chest and tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes. You’d looked everywhere – torn apart every room in your house, overturned furniture, called his name until your throat ached – but he just—he wasn’t there. You’d checked the locks (still in-tact) and all the windows (decisively unbroken), but the only sign of him you’d managed to find was his collar – cold and abandoned, undone and left carefully on the foot of his bed. It would’ve been impossible for him to take off without the remote still sitting safely in your purse, the mechanism was strong enough to endure getting hit with a car, and yet, it was here, and he wasn’t.

God. You were so fucked.

The open collar sat on the floor next to you, your pocket knife immediately next to it. Satoru was gone. He’d left you, or been taken – it didn’t matter. Your life was over. He’d go to the police, and you’d be arrested, and you’d never get to see Satoru again. Even if he didn’t go to the police, he was never coming back. Either way, it was a death sentence.

You were never going to see Satoru again.

Half-consciously, your hand found your knife, fingers curling around the handle. For the first time in months, you remembered what your life was like prior to meeting Satoru. You remembered what you’d tried to do - what you would’ve done, if he hadn’t been there to save you.

You drew in a shaky breath, tightening your hold on your knife and raising it – first to your chest, and then thinking better of it, your throat. You weren’t very strong, but you weren’t very durable, either. If you were lucky, it’d only take a minute or so before—

“Baby?”

You stiffened, blotting out. For a moment, your mind went perfectly, euphorically blank.

When you came to, you weren’t pressed against the wall, but on your knees – straddling Satoru’s waist. The knife was still in your hand, but you couldn’t see the blade. It was buried in Satoru’s stomach to the hilt.

To his credit, he didn’t scream. His reaction was uncannily alike his response to the shock collar – wide eyes and parted lips, pain and shock only visible in the absence of his smile. Warm blood soaked through the fabric of his uniform jacket, washing over your hand, but you didn’t care. Only half-voluntary, you pulled the knife back and brought it down. You did it again, and again, and again, each motion repetitive and mechanical. You’d never killed anyone, before. It was unfair that the first had to be Satoru.

It was only when the blade of your knife met loose pulp rather than solid flesh that you paused, dropping your weapon entirely. Rather, your hands found his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through tattered fabric and tearing. You let out a miserable sob as you clawed at his chest, trying aimlessly to dig to his heart. “You left,” you whined, like that would explain anything. “You were gone, and I couldn’t find you, and I thought I’d never see you again, and—” You cut yourself, gasping. “And you’re dying. Oh my god, Satoru, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

It never occurred to you to call an ambulance. Your body seemed to move on its own, clambering down just far enough to tear at the waistband of his pants, to free his cock. “’m just fine, princess,” he muttered, but you weren’t in a state to listen. With a frantic sort of desperation, you pumped your fist over his length, his blood serving as good-enough lubrication. Satoru let out a low groan – the noise impossible to read as pain or relief. “Even better, with such a pretty view.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Your fist wasn’t working. Too frantic to be graceful, you forced his cock past your lip and fucked the tip into the hollow of your cheek, doing your best to ignore how his natural bitter mixed with the near-overwhelming iron-tinge. That, at least, got you a reaction – another rough groan, his hand in your hair as his tip started to leak arousal and you felt his shaft stiffen against your hand. You almost choked on your own relief, but Satoru soothed you, his blunt nails scrapping over your scalp as he cooed. “Been waiting so long to see you like this…” He trailed off, laughed. You felt another jolt of fresh blood leak from the tattered flesh of his stomach. There was enough to pool on the floor below him, now. “’m sorry – did I say that already? Thought I could step out for a second before you got home, deal with a last-minute mission, but—” His voice hitched as you let out another sob around him. “—clearly, my pretty girl can’t be left alone for so long.”

You couldn’t understand why he was still talking. Every word hurt more than the last – like he was trying to make it that much harder for you to do the only thing you could. When you pulled away from him, it was only to let out a fractured cry, to bury your face in his thigh, muffling your voice until it was only a whisper above nothing. “You can’t leave me. If I don’t have—If you’re not here, then I can’t—”

“Hey, hey, don’t talk like that. I’m not going anywhere.” You felt the hand in your hair dip lower, cupping your cheek. Another caught you by the chin, tilting your head back, until you were staring at Satoru – blood-drenched and glorious, sitting up and smiling down at you. He shouldn’t have been moving, you shouldn’t have let him move, and yet, it was all you could to do jolt upward and throw yourself against his chest, your mouth latching instinctually onto his neck. You’d always been so careful not to bite, not to bruise, not to do anything that’d leave a mark and mar his perfection, but suddenly, your love felt less like an act of pure-hearted preservation and more like the desperate throes of a forsaken acolyte clinging to the blessings of a dying god. It was hard to worship divinity as something everlasting when your hands were stained in its blood.

 So you didn’t try to. You dug your teeth into the side of his throat without reservation, cautious only not to visit the same patch of skin twice. Satoru felt any pain, if he could feel anything after losing so much blood, his only reaction was an airy laugh and a shallow kiss to your temple as his hand found your hips, then your sides. You felt yourself leaving the ground long seconds before your processed that Satoru was lifting you up, and even then, your awareness was burdened by a numbing sort of confusion. You wanted to tell him not to move, not to breathe, to let you help. You wanted to find your knife.

In the end, though, you only strung your arms around his neck and let him lay you on his bed, the mattress dipping where he kneeled in the space between your open legs.

In a daze, you felt your skirt being slid up to your waist, your panties shoved aside and replaced by the soft warmth of Satoru’s mouth. Like always, he was adorably clumsy – the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as his tongue lapped and traced over your pussy. His fingertips dug too harshly into your thighs, his tongue thrusting into you too erratically, his little whines and occasional whimper too pitchy to allow for any real reverberation, but your poor nerves were so fried and your heart was still beating so fast and it would’ve taken a miracle for you not to cum – moaning pathetically as you bucked into his mouth. You’d imagined this scenario before, pictured yourself showering him with praise as you taught him exactly how to make you cum on his pretty tongue, but this was too quick, too abrupt, too out of your control. You weren’t in a state to teach. If he learned something from this, you doubted it would be the right lesson.

You reached for him as he straightened his back, but Satoru caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his stomach. Rather than mangled flesh and exposed viscera, your palm pressed against perfect in-tact, perfectly seamless skin. Like he’d never been injured. Like he hadn’t been on the verge of death only a few minutes ago.

Like you’d never even touched him.

“See, baby? I already told you – I’m not going anywhere.” His smile was soft, his voice soothing, but he was distracted. With a fist curled around his shaft, he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance, heavy beads of his arousal drooling onto your cunt and down your slit. “You had me worried for a while, there.” This time, his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “I know what I’m good for. Thought you might get sick of me before I ever got a chance to prove it.”

It would’ve been impossible to tell if Satoru was still in pain, or if he was capable of feeling something so human at all. The hurt that sliced through your chest, though, was agonizing. “I would never do that, ‘toru.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, too – it’s unfair to keep comparing you to him.” He bowed his head, dipping low enough for the heat of his breath to ghost over the shell of your ear, when he went on. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

There was a shuddering inhale, a sudden pressure against your slit. He pushed into you slowly, less concerned with your comfort than he was savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him, of your body inviting him deeper, closer. You held your breath, doing your best to memorize every curve and vein, to accommodate him even as his length threatened to split you open. It wasn’t painful, but even if had been, you wouldn’t have complained. This was what you were supposed to want. This was what you were supposed to do for Satoru.

You could only wonder, then, why it felt so cold.

It was only when hips pressed into yours and he was fully hilted inside of you that he picked himself up – a hand planted on either side of your head, a broad, careless smile plastered across his lips. You registered that his lips were moving a full moment before you recognized the sound of his voice, as angelic as it was unbearable.

“I love you.”

For the first time, you didn’t bother trying to say anything at all.

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

We know Ranma falls first and hard, so what about Akane? When does it start? unlike Ranma, I think it's a couple of things adding up in the background... and why wouldn't it start... here? walk with me

Doctor Tofu is kind to Akane, but I'd say the main reason she had a crush on him was: he was the one male figure outside of her family who made her feel safe. Taking care of her injuries would feel like a form of protection, and Akane wants to feel protected.

It's not just that Akane shows her fiery personality in fights... I recently noticed that while other fighters can show themselves cool and confident in the face of danger (like Ranma). But with Akane, she fights as if she never feels safe in a fight, you can see it. Even when she's the strongest and is winning every morning...

Winning every day could have made her approach these guys looking more "confident" or "relaxed," but she's never relaxed. She always sends Kuno flying, but notice how there's an air of uneasiness (even if she sees him as a buffoon) that doesn't disappear until Ranma comes into the picture.

Ranma showing up as a girl helps Akane relax and reach out as she's too used to being harassed by guys (so she keeps her distance). But even if she finds out his secret in the worst way, she doesn't beat his ass until he's picking on her.

Akane is the one offering the friendly match (connection) but Ranma is also doing something likely no one has ever done with her before: he's being soft, maybe even tender, with her... making her relax. he's making her feel safe (Ranma doesn't fight any other girl like this)

The bathroom incident makes her feel afraid, but when boy Ranma shows himself again, it's clear by the way she stops any attempt of violence to study him (and argue childishly) that the fear is gone. She's tested in the worst way (a way that plays into her worst fears about men, which is hard to shake)... but this tells you she still feels safe, even if she doesn't realize it.

If someone like Kuno had made fun of her proportions, Akane would've beaten him up and moved on. The fact that she's still thinking about it long after the fact tells you he's already stirring something (it's even connected with Ranma thinking about her because he too is also feeling something)

Part of Ranma "falling first" is that he sees her best very straightforwardly from the get-go (and is confused after). With Akane, she isn't even sure of what she's seeing, she's still dealing with her complicated feelings connected to the doc and constant harassment... but she's already interested.

It's obvious that Akane lives rent-free 24/7 in Ranma's head from the moment he meets her, but Akane is not exactly unaffected. It isn't accurate to say he only annoys her at this stage. She pays attention, confides with him, worries, goes after/covers for him... that's interest

You need to pull a rope from both ends to create tension.

Romantic tension requires both parties to feel something, and they already have plenty when Akane tries to help Ranma, and he is protecting her during the fight against Ryoga. Even if she still hasn't sorted out her old crush...

Akane wishes for and values normalcy (she actually has a life) but she only feels normal when compared to the clowns that arrive after Ranma. It's clear by the way her classmates see her that she's an extraordinary girl...

She loves martial arts, but doesn't have the sort of ambitions the insane fighters around Ranma have. She sees it more as a fun outlet, comparable to having a favorite sport. She only holds on to power when someone pisses her off (spite lol) but always chooses normalcy over it

Ranma brings both craziness and safety into her life. You can really see that with Kuno and the guys challenging her: Akane is comfortable supporting Ranma as he navigates the craziness around him, but she isn't comfortable when SHE is at the center of it

Ranma either stands by her side during the madness or straight-up redirects the focus on him (starting from the moment Kuno throws that rose to Akane and Ranma is immediately by her side, ending taking the challenge against Kuno himself). Akane might complain about Ranma "fighting her fights" here, but she quickly gives in to his protection (unless someone is pissing her off... spite, she's just like me fr etc)

In true gag fashion, when Ranma picks on her for her attention, he’s both giving her an outlet and making fighting, which she connected to danger and harassment, a very safe and childish thing. It allows her to relax in a way she hasn’t before he meets him.

When Ranma complimenting her smiles gets to her to the point she's still thinking about it hours after, or that Ranma essentially saying he likes her better as her true self makes her genuinely happy... it doesn't come out of nowhere. She's already been feeling something for him

[archangeldyke-all]

@sumilane made this gorgeous art and i wrote a little something for it! i posted it already last night as a reblog but i'm going to make it it's own post so gio can add more art to it!! eeek!!!

men and minors dni

sevika is feeling strangely vulnerable.

it could be the bottle of whiskey the two of you have been sharing this evening. it could be that silco, the one person she knew best in the world, is gone now. it could even be the brat he left behind for her to take care of who's been slowly worming her way into sevika's heart throughout the time spent fixing up her new arm and changing their looks together.

it could just be you, though. the sorta-sad, mostly resigned look in your eye as you lament your relationship woes to sevika.

"i dunno... every time i think i could have something with someone-- not even like, marriage, but y'know-- just someone to share some intimacy with-- something happens and it doesn't work. after a while i just start to think maybe it's not the circumstances that are fucked up 'n maybe it's just me."

"bullshit." sevika spits, shaking her head and quickly refilling her glass with more whiskey. she has to do something with her hands to keep from reaching across the table and shaking your shoulders as she speaks. "y-you're fine. perfect--" she cuts herself off, a furrow in her brow as she glares at her whiskey.

you snort. sevika's adorable when she's tipsy, stumbling over her words and staring into space. fuck. you need to stop rambling about your heartache to the woman you're hopelessly in love with. "i-i'm sorry for dumping this shit on you sev. 's boring and stupid and--"

"no, shut up, it's just--" sevika blinks up at you then curls in on herself in a manner that's almost... shy. she clears her throat and looks away for a moment, almost whispering. "i-i'd marry you."

you blink.

"what?"

"i'm saying you're fuckin' stupid if you think you don't have options." sevika mutters, hunching her shoulders so much she looks small.

you're heart's beating a mile a fucking minute, and you squeak when you bite your tongue to make sure you aren't dreaming. "you said you'd marry me?"

"fuckin'-- obviously only in some hypothetical world where you were into me." sevika shrugs. "but...yeah." she grunts, before reaching out and drowning the whiskey in her glass, muttering a "fuck." under her breath.

you blink a few times, tears spontaneously bubbling up in your vision and a lump forming in your throat. "i was under the impression that i didn't have a shot with you." you whisper.

sevika's eyes fly to yours, wide and shocked. "what the fuck would make you think that?!"

"j-just..." you trail off, gulping again. "you're the most interesting, attractive woman i've ever met, and i am one of about a thousand other fuckin' people in zaun who think so. a-and we've been friends for years and you never said anything..." you trail off as sevika stumbles out of her booth and over to yours, shoving in beside you and cornering you against the wall, clutching your jaw with both of her hands as she stares down at you-- bewildered.

"is this a dream?" she asks.

"i bit my tongue to check-- it's real."

"i-i was serious y'know. i'll take you down to the courthouse tomorrow morning." she says, her voice shaky and sincere.

suddenly, the full reality of the situation hits you, and you burst into laughter. "i-i've been in love with you for years." you admit through giggles. "years!"

sevika starts to giggle too. "m-me too."

"and your fucking haircut is so hot all i've wanted to do for the past two weeks is kiss yo--"

sevika cuts you off with her lips to yours, and you sigh, wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

it's a drunk, sloppy kiss-- years of tension and yearning finally bubbling to the surface as sevika attempts to pin you to the booth.

you have every intention of letting her do just that when she pulls away, grinning down at you.

"you really bit your tongue, didn't you? i can taste the blood in your mouth." she asks.

you nod, clawing at her desprately as you try to get her to kiss you again. sevika grins, swooping in to do just that-- but when she pulls away the second thime with her leps stained with your blood, you gasp. "oh, shit!"

"i tried to tell you." sevika giggles.

"do i need stitches? can you give stitches to a tongue?" you ask.

"this really puts a dent in all my plans." sevika cackles. you snort, and she passes you the bottle. "drink. it'll wash the blood away."

"w-what plans?" you ask as you take a swig.

"the plans i had for your tongue."

you choke, whiskey spraying everywhere as you cackle.

sevika--covered in your spit, blood, and whiskey-- smiles so wide you think her face might crack.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 19

(I know I'm tech on a break this week, but I could use the serotonin.) masterpost

“He understands that I am coming over?” Damian asked as he inspected his pencil case to make sure he had everything he needed. Father would be picking him up from art class to fetch lunch.

“Yep, Danny knows we’re bringing lunch over,” Grayson answered. His thumb swiped idly across his phone.

Damian took a slow breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. He loved Grayson, but it did not mean that the other was not an idiot sometimes. Sometimes family meant loving someone even though they were an idiot, Damian reminded himself.

In an attempt to start again, Damian stayed silent until he was sure that he had all of his supplies in his messenger bag. “I meant, does Danny understand that it is specifically me bringing the food? Does Danny understand who I am?”

“Oh, Dami baby, yeah,” Grayson said, voice softening in a way that made Damian bristle. At least Grayson finally set his phone down. “Jay talked to him about it and is still there at the apartment with Danny now. I’ll over over to give Jason a break and be there when you and Bruce come. Do you want me to double check with Danny before you arrive?”

Damian frowned as he adjusted the strap on his bag.

“Yes,” Damian answered after a pause and when he could meet Grayson’s eyes confidently. “I believe that the redundancy would not go amiss.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll be sure to double check before you and Bruce get there.”

“Acceptable,” Damian said and let to find Pennyworth for his ride to class.

Doing art calmed him. That knowledge had been a surprise at first. While Damian had, of course, learned about art as part of his cultural and historical training, actually being able to engage in art was was something entirely knew. Something that was available to Damian only because of his Father’s allowance.

No, that was not quite right. Father didn’t allow Damian to do art, Father simply wanted them to be happy and art is what made Damian… perhaps not happy, but at least more at peace.

Peace had been such a rare thing in Damian’s life.

He still didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Annoyingly, class that day didn’t quite manage to tamper the churning in Damian’s gut. He could (and would) ignore the feeling, of course, but that did not mean it wasn’t there.

Or that it didn’t grow as Damian was waiting for Father to pick him up for class.

“You have put in the order we discussed?” Damian asked as he buckled his seatbelt.

“Yes, it should be ready shortly after we get there,” Father answered. “You were out quickly today.”

“Tch,” Damian looked away from his father’s searching gaze and focused on the world outside the window. He hated to have tells, but in a family of detectives it was impossible not to. “If it unlikely to be ready, perhaps we should stop by the Turkish bakery that is near. Surely there are items there that are not too sweet for his diet.”

“That’s a nice idea,” Father agreed with a thoughtful hum. “He may have never had them before so we can get a little selection of what you think he needs to try.”

Damian worked not to physically freeze. That felt suddenly like a great deal of responsibility. Which was silly, it was simply food.

“That is a sound idea,” Damian said instead of trying to face his sudden worry.

It was even more overwhelming in the face of all the options. Damian certainly spent far too long making a selection, but Father doesn’t rush him, so Damian tries to allow himself the time. The food is easily acquired after. Far too quickly that they were in front of the safehouse door. Father rested one hand on the back of Damian’s back, a bracing presence, before he knocked.

“Coming!” Grayson called needlessly through the door a few moments before he it swung open. “Hey guys, come in. It’s all good.”

Damian resisted the urge to nod to that, took a breath, and crossed the threshold.

Danny sat on the couch. The fabled day saving blue bear was clutched in the boy’s lap; clutched too tightly. Damian shot Grayson an accusatory look. Clearly it wasn’t ‘all good’.

Grayson rolled his eyes and took the box of sweets from Damian to take to the kitchen with Father.

Damian was left alone with Danny.

At least it gave Damian time to properly study the other boy. Not blood son. Clone. Better and worse at once— a copy of Father. It was clear how much Danny looked like Bruce, a redundant thought now that they knew Danny was a clone, but it crossed Damian’s mind all the same. It was odd to see the still slightly sunken cheeks and too prominent collar bones on someone that looked so much like Father, so much more like Father than Damian did.

Idly, Damian wondered if Danny would ever reach Father’s stature, what with his past. Damian himself had started to grown into wild shoulders and broad chest that would someday be his body over the last year, but Danny had not.

Danny, at least a year older, was still far too slight.

But older.

The oldest blood.

Would he try to take Damian’s place now? It would only be just, with how poorly Damian had behaved when he first arrived, especially to Drake. And Damian’s brash attacks, Danny would have the right to his. He was oldest…

“Are… are you alright?”

Damian’s head snapped up at Danny’s words. When had he lost his focus?

“I do not know,” Damian said, too honest words tumbling across his tongue without his permission.

He didn’t know.

[mewtwoandme]

I was hoping this would all blow over, but since it's continuing to happen, now with people attacking other artists of the commewnity. I'm putting out my two fucking cents! Cause this whole art/character theft and pointing fingers, who stole what from who bullshit it driving me up the fucking wall!!

Long story short, it started with me and one other blog whose name I won't mention publicly. Despite the horrible light they tried to paint me in, I don't want anyone going to this person and ganging up on them. This person had some serious bitterness towards more "popular" artists and claimed that I've made characters similar to theirs and once used a pose they apparently used before (which was a very common pose, considering it was a reference from the game version of mega Y). Since then, they had desperately tried to conjure up evidence, narrowing down to the most miniscule detail how I've been stealing from them when I hadn't even known their blog existed until I was forcefully thrown into that unnecessary drama with the unhinged call-out posts they've made. With this being said, I'd like to point out that they never came to me or addressed this concern with me in the first place. They had every opportunity to privately DM me if they had suspected I was "stealing," but no, simply because they already made up their mind that I was a thief, that was a good enough reason to lack common fucking sense and decency, making what should have been a private issue public, going on to villainize and dehumanize me. And apparently, it hasn't stopped with me either, cause recently I've been seeing other artists in the community having to deal with this where people are being white knights on high horses, pointing fingers on how one artist's mewtwo looks "the same" if not "totally identical" as another artist's mewtwo. I refuse to believe it's a coincidence. But what makes me disgusted is that since TC's post, apparently it's had the opposite effect on some people and they're hopping on this blame bandwagon like it's some damn media trend!!!

This is NOT okay! Nothing about this kind of behavior is funny! It's upsetting to all of us. We dont need you causing problems where there isn't any, thinking you're doing us a favor! The majority of us are adults for gods sake! We are old enough where we don't need other people coming to us being tattle tails saying this person did this and that. That's what little children do! If you suspect any form of theft, I think I speak for ALL creators in this commewnity that we'd prefer you DM us privately saying something like "Hey, I think this person is copying you, might wanna look into it." And if possible, provide a link to the art in question, for which we would kindly thank you for making us aware and we'll handle it ourselves from there. Just a brief, yet SIMPLE interaction...that's all we ask!!! Don't even come at me with "Well, it's scary attempting to talk to an artist that's well known." Or dare I say ~pOpUlAr~ If you claim that taking the first step to send me a quick DM makes you nervous, yet you have no problem making public call outs in posts or asks, belittling and degrading what could actually be innocent artists doing nothing wrong, literally leaving yourself open to all kinds of comments and opinions from all kinds of people....I'm sorry but your anxiety isn't as bad as you say it is then, if being rude and ignorant in a public post/ask is easier for you. If you come to us, shaming someone else who 9/10 probably isn't doing anything wrong, thinking you'll be in our good graces for doing so, sorry, you're not going to be told, "Good job!" with a pat on the back and given a lollipop! You're just being an asshole.

Quick reality check for everyone who's made it this far before I end this train wreck of a rant:

People can have similar ideas that coincide with one another! There's only so much you can do when a whole community is focused around drawing the same character! We mainly draw mewtwos and mews, you're bound to find a plethora of similar colors, patterns, and designs because of it! Creativity only goes so far when trying to stay true to a character and not stray too far. It's not a crime to take inspiration from other artists' characters, we actually encourage this! It makes us feel good that you liked something we've done and you want to incorporate it into your own designs! It makes us happy that we inspired you! The line is crossed when someone does a literal copy/paste of a character down to the exact detail, and they call it their own original creation. That my friends is what stealing actually is!

[db0xtae]

Winning the Breakup | Chapter 1

- Minho (Xo Kitty) X Reader

ᯓ★ Summary : Y/N, a talented and athletic after an intense breakup, Y/N reluctantly agrees to fake date Minho, to make their exes jealous. What begins as a mutual arrangement soon turns complicated when their fake relationship starts to feel all too real. With humor, bickering, and tender moments, Minho and Y/N’s journey proves that sometimes the best way to heal from heartbreak is to allow yourself to fall in love.

ᯓ★ Warnings : None

ᯓ★ Word Count : 876

ᯓ★ A/N : Hi guys!!! Welcome to my first post and story written on Tumblr. It's my first time writing a story for the internet, so if there's anything I can improve on, please let me know. I hope you guys enjoy this story. I also started posting this story on ao3. Hope you enjoy!!!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Chapter 1: The Deal

The warm glow of fairy lights strung across the KISS courtyard illuminated the scene. Students milled about, dressed to the nines for the school’s fall social, a semi-formal gathering meant to ease the pressure of midterms. Tables were loaded with snacks, and a DJ played the latest hits while clusters of students swayed on the makeshift dance floor.

Y/N stood off to the side, leaning casually against a column, observing the crowd with her sharp, assessing eyes. A cup of punch rested loosely in her hand as she scanned the room. She wasn’t here to dance or socialize. Her goal was simple: to avoid her ex, Alex, who had been staring at her like she was a piece of art he regretted selling.

“Don’t look now, but lover boy is heading this way,” Kitty whispered, sidling up beside her.

Y/N groaned, tilting her head back dramatically. “Of course he is. Does he think lingering stares and awkward smiles will win me back? Pathetic.”

Kitty stifled a laugh, glancing at Alex, who was indeed making his way toward them with a nervous energy that bordered on embarrassing. “Maybe he’s hoping you’ll forgive him.”

“Not in this lifetime.” Y/N straightened up, smoothing the skirt of her chic black dress. Her posture screamed confidence, but inside, her annoyance was bubbling over. She wasn’t in the mood for fake apologies or shallow attempts to rekindle a relationship.

Before Alex could reach them, another voice cut through the noise.

“Y/N, you’re here. Great.”

She turned to see Minho, who was striding toward her with his signature smirk firmly in place. His tailored suit and easy confidence turned a few heads, but Y/N just rolled her eyes. Minho always knew how to make an entrance.

“Minho,” she greeted dryly. “What do you want?”

“Wow, no ‘hi,’ no compliment on how great I look tonight? I’m hurt.” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest.

Kitty snickered and quickly excused herself, whispering, “Good luck,” as she darted off.

“What do you want?” Y/N repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Minho leaned against the column next to her, his smirk softening slightly. “Let me guess—Alex is being a pain?”

Y/N glanced at Alex, who had stopped mid-step and was now awkwardly talking to someone else, clearly reconsidering his approach. “What gave it away?”

“The way you look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” Minho said with a chuckle.

Y/N shrugged. “Not wrong.”

“Here’s the thing,” Minho began, his tone dropping into something more conspiratorial. “I’ve got a similar problem.”

She crossed her arms. “Let me guess. Hyeri?”

Bingo. The mention of his ex-girlfriend made Minho’s jaw tighten ever so slightly, but he quickly masked it with a smile. “Correct. She’s been parading her new boyfriend around like he’s some kind of prize. It’s getting old.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Y/N replied coolly.

“It could be an us problem,” Minho countered, his smirk returning.

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at?”

Minho leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Hear me out. You want Alex to stop following you around like a lost puppy. I want Hyeri to stop acting like she’s winning whatever weird competition she thinks we’re in. Solution? We fake date.”

Y/N stared at him, blinking slowly. “Fake date?”

“Yeah. You and me, the power couple of KISS,” Minho said, gesturing dramatically. “We’ll show them both what they’re missing. It’s perfect.”

“Perfectly insane,” Y/N shot back.

“Think about it,” Minho urged. “We already look good together. People are always talking about how we’re the most attractive students at KISS—”

“Correction: you talk about that,” Y/N interrupted.

“—and it’ll be believable,” Minho continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “We hang out with the same group, so it won’t seem out of nowhere. Plus, I know how to sell a good story.”

Y/N hesitated. As ridiculous as Minho sounded, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Alex would definitely back off if he thought she’d moved on, and it would be satisfying to see his face if she and Minho started “dating.”

“And what happens when the whole thing blows up in our faces?” she asked.

“It won’t,” Minho said confidently. “We’ll set rules, keep it simple. Once they get the message, we ‘break up’ and go back to normal. No harm, no foul.”

Y/N frowned, considering the idea. She didn’t particularly like Minho—his arrogance was exhausting—but she couldn’t deny that he was persuasive.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But we do this my way. No over-the-top stunts or dramatic public displays. Keep it believable.”

Minho grinned, holding out his hand. “Deal.”

She eyed his hand warily before shaking it. “Deal.”

The whispers started almost immediately. By the time the party ended, half the school had seen Minho escorting Y/N to the dance floor for a slow song, his hand resting casually on her waist while they chatted and laughed like old friends.

“You two were…unexpected,” Yuri said the next morning as they sat in the cafeteria.

Y/N shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. “What can I say? Minho’s not as insufferable as I thought.”

Across the table, Minho smirked, clearly enjoying the attention. “And Y/N’s not as cold as people think.”

Kitty glanced between them, her expression skeptical but amused. “This is going to be interesting.”

[worstgenerationloser]

#NeedAceFicWithNipplePlaying/NippleOrgasmWithHeavyDirtyTalkingFromAce

Please and thank you🙏🏻

,, A little more... ''

Portgas D. Ace x F! Reader (NSFW!)

Summary... you can't get enough of sneaking around with the second division commander, he can't get enough of his hands and tongue all over you.

Contains... nipple orgasm, nipple play, edging, sloppy kissing, friends with benefits, some attempted dirty talk... (fail)

Words... 1.5k!

A/N: I cringed at myself trying to write the dirty talk IM SO SORRY, also another apology it's kinda short...

"Slow down— the door isn't even closed." You speak in a hushed tone, paranoid that there would be eyes watching through the crack in the door, Ace groans dramatically and rolls his eyes at your paranoia, however. It's not like he's some kind of exhibitionist, he's simply recognizing that you're being completely ridiculous in your worries.

"Yep. Mhm... there's definitely sober people on Whitebeard's crew that would think to check an old raggedy closet and see if Ace and Y/N are getting it down. I think half of them forget we even interact half the damn time, chill out." Ace giggles, that sleazy smirk and those heavy lidded, tired eyes drawing his whole look back into the same work of art he is always.

When you two first started this little arrangement, that may have been true, but you've kept this up for a while now and even though you don't plan on stopping, things would get a little more complicated if Marco actually spoke up instead of smirking each time you and Ace stare at each other. Suddenly, the hands on your hips pick up their previous pace, rubbing your upper thigh and gliding up your body smoothly.

He sits down on a dusty crate of unnecessary items bought by whoever it was, long forgotten in a secluded storage closet. Ace's hands reach the hem of your shirt, sliding under without a second thought. Before you could retort, the clicking of the door shutting sounds off into the room, and you're engulfed in darkness.

"Wanna do it in the dark?" He teases you with the ghost of his breath, the pads of his fingers tracing your stomach before holding your thighs before he pulls you up onto his own, a soft gasp escaping you despite yourself. Another teasing remark is coming, and so you silence him with your lips, the same way you did the very first time.

His warm lips meet yours, coated in saliva and desire with barely anything else to give other than something sloppy and dirty. His eyes are shut as if he were pondering something, and his hand comes to your face to feel how much warmth has gathered on your cheek, while his lips do their best to warm you more. Ace's tongue smears saliva onto your mouth, and it's an odd slippery feeling, but not that different from when his mouth is on your other lips. He doesn't like kissing you much, and you don't know why, but you can't complain about someone's preferences, maybe it's a good thing he withholds things like this from you, because he is utterly addicting.

Your body is warm, you start to feel sweat forming on the back of your neck and the inside of your elbows, things are steamier in the closet, literally. Ace is sliding his hands over the fabric of your clothing, raising goosebumps on your warm skin with his tantalizing touch. A moan slips into his mouth, your tongue quivering as you scrape his bottom lip with it, and he finally lets you go breathe your own air.

"You know I got a light if you need, just ask." Ace pants, but he still holds up his flaming finger for you to gaze at, his freckled face illuminated by orange flames. He's beautiful, you think to yourself, you know he would only scoff and roll his eyes if you said something like that at this time again. One day he's gonna see his worth, and you hope it comes from the time you two have spent together so far.

"You're a jackass. Just fucking touch me." You groan, better not make things too emotional, he's sure to view it as just sex. You keep having to remind your giddy heart that this isn't romance, it burns but not as much as when his flame flickers a bit too close to you. He puts out his light, and you're both back in the dark again. Gods, you're nervous and anxiously awaiting his eager touch.

His long fingers come to rest under your shirt, tracing the curvature of your breasts over your bra. You have recently learned that Ace's eyes carry a strong presence, you can always feel them on you no matter how far he seems to be, and it's just that much more intense up close. Slowly, he lifts your shirt up just so it wouldn't cover your breasts, and you feel his breath begin to tickle your sternum. Without a word, you take your blouse off yourself, giving him a bit more free reign.

The barely audible noise of your bra coming undone and hitting somewhere on the floor as Ace throws it aside softly resonates in the room.

"I'm gonna need that later." You huff.

"You'll get it later, we got better things to focus on." Ace chortles, his smirk prevalent in his voice.

The cool air of the closet stiffens your nipples, making goosebumps form on the soft skin of your breasts as well. A small hum escapes Ace's lips, and you hear the sound of saliva clicking in his mouth as he shifts closer towards you, then things are silent for a second... Before a soft sigh whimper escapes you when you feel two fingers gently tug at your nipple, rolling it under their warm touch. Your hardened nipples begin to soften upon contact with such warmth, and Ace seeks to stiffen them back up. His other hand reaches to grope your untouched breast, kneading it firmly while also keeping a dash of tenderness in his palm as he grabs it in his hands the way you like, he's always been a fast learner when it came to various things, you could say he's an expert in you and your body at this point in time.

"I ever told you that you got some pretty tits?" Ace licks his lips, just barely able to see better than you can in the dark, and he's got his eyes on the prize. His fingers quit toying with your nipples as he dips his head downwards, pressing his moistened lips to your areola in hot kisses. Breath heavy, his tongue darts out to swirl around your nipple and coat it entirely in his saliva, making you squirm in his lap. A desire bubbles up in your stomach, and your thighs coincidentally trap one of Ace's own.

Though you try and still yourself, it's harder becasue it's Ace, not some random guy you'll forget about the very next week. You've practically trained him in all areas, so what if he's got you horny and wanting more just from a little nipple play? It's a natural reaction with a boy like him. Squeezing your eyes shut, your brows furrow when you give a small roll of your hips into Ace's thigh. A chill runs down your spine, and you feel your arousal dripping into your underwear. Ace's teeth come out to play in a soft nibble against the fat of your breasts, his tongue is hot and heavy against your skin, and it's not stopping here.

"I can feel how hot your pussy is getting." It sounds like he's about to giggle, but his mouth is stuffed full of your breast to the point most of what he says is illegible besides his wet breathing and sucking, your suspicions are confirmed when he smiles midway into sucking on your nipple.

"Whose fault is that?" That retort of yours only fires him up more— literally. His back is bursting into flames, and it lights up the room a little too much for your liking, but atleast you get to see his pretty face showcasing what must be pure bliss with his mouth wrapped around your tit. It feels warm, now that it's colder outside Ace seems to be the only thing to warm up your body. Your hands reach around the back of his neck, fingers interlocking themselves between the messy locks of raven hair on his head, and it calms him... you think.

Ace lets out a low hum, drool trickling down under your breast.

"Hm... Is it mine? 'Cause I'm worried you've got a side piece you're thinking of." Ace's giggles are muffled into your skin again. Finding time to make small jokes during sexual things like this is a bit too intimate for people who are supposed to be just friends with benefits. The impending retort you had in mind is shoved back into the depths of your mind when you feel his hands slide down your body, heading for the waistband of your pants.

Ace always keeps you on your toes, who has need for someone else? You would tell him, but maybe it's better if you show him instead. Gently placing your hands to cup his face, you ease him away from your chest and he thankfully gets the message, but it feels like losing a part of you when his tongue is no longer tracing your skin. Cocking his head to the side, he begins to speak up.

"Not feeling me tonight?"

Resisting the urge to make a joke, you keep the retort to yourself. You'll be feeling him a lot tonight.

END.

(here is ace photos for you to enjoy because I left on a cliffhanger)

[matchpointfaist]

college best friend! art 🏸˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

stanford university ˋ°•*⁀➷ 2006

you and art were attending the birthday party of a mutual friend, some entirely too loud, keg stand affair on sorority row. you'd always hated shit like this, hated the skimpy dresses and the flashing lights and the way it always seemed to smell like vodka and cigarettes. art fit right in, despite his generally shy demeanor, all smiles and claps on the backs of his obnoxious guy friends, empty promises that he wouldn't leave without saying goodbye.

you spent the first hour glued to the sofa, an abandoned solo cup in one hand and your blackberry in the other, mindlessly scrolling through your contacts in an attempt to look busy. art had left you with a drink and a promise to return quickly, but your drink was half gone and he was nowhere to be seen.

finally, you spotted his familiar blonde hair through the crowd, a lazy smile on his lips as he returned to your side, "sorry, got caught up talking to the guys," he grinned as he flopped onto the sofa beside you, "you need another drink?" he was clearly drunk, or 3/4 of the way there, his eyes hazy and cheeks pink. "fuck it, why not?" you shrugged, "i don't have class tomorrow,"

so there you sat, legs dangling from your perch on the counter as art poured you each two shots, which you took with a grimace and tried your best not to gag. he took his own like a pro, smiling around the shot glass as he watched you.

two shots turned to three, which eventually turned to drinking straight from the bottle, art pouring the liquor straight into your mouth as you laughed. "you're a mess," he grinned as he wiped the corner of your lips with his thumb gently, smearing your lip gloss in the process.

you tried to ignore the way your cheeks heated at the contact; you were no stranger to art's touch, throughout all your time of friendship, but this felt different- charged, somehow. "we should dance," you found yourself telling him, trying to regain your composure as much as you could in your state.

you found yourself wrapped up in art, your back pressed against his chest and his arms draped around your waist, holding you to him as you danced to some fast paced, borderline trashy song. your vision was blurred by the alcohol and the cheap strobe light someone had hung on the ceiling, your heart pounding as his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you tighter, flush against his body.

"everybody's watching you," his breath against your ear would have been sobering had you not been so far gone, "prettiest girl in this room," your cheeks flushed deeper, the disagreement dying in your throat as his hands moved higher, ghosting over your ribs and chest, your skin burning as he brushed your hair from your neck, dropping his chin to rest on your shoulder.

"you fit so good against me," he mumbled against your skin, just inches from your hammering pulse point, "do you have any fucking idea how beautiful you look tonight?"

you twisted in his arms to look up at him, your lips parted as you took in his blissed out expression, the way he looked down at you with wide pupils and pink cheeks. "you're flirting with me," it came out like an accusation, your voice suddenly too loud after the tense silence, "why're you-"

his lips were on yours in an instant, cutting off your pointless question, kissing you like he'd die if he stopped, like the entirety of the room wasn't able to see, like every single passing moment between you had led to this. you were dizzy with the intensity of it, swaying in his arms until realization sunk in.

you pulled away, breathless, eyes wide as you blinked up at him, "art-" you all but panted, taking a stumbling step back, "we can't- what are you doing?"

you were out the door before you could see the stricken look on his face, before you could process the implications of the effects of this on your friendship.

art just stood there for a moment, in the space where you'd just been, his fingers pressed to his lips that tasted like vodka and your cotton candy lip balm. you stumbled home, collapsing into the single bed of your dorm, curled up in the hoodie art always left over.

he stayed at the party, trying to bury his yearning for you in some random blonde, kissing her with half the effort he'd given you, any satisfaction falling away when he opened his eyes and didn't find yours staring up at him.

[aamircoeur]

stop and stare ー Ken Sato rockstar au.

wherein someone in the crowd catches the eye of kenji sato, the lead guitarist and main vocalist of the band kaijus.

rakista kenji so real. sfw, one-shot. gn!reader, band!au. UNEDITED

edit: check out this art by @preatzells !! https://shorturl.at/kpMZd

the cheers started when each of the band members made their way up to the stage, but the volume of the screams only reached their climax when kenji sato made his way towards the center with his white electric guitar, a small wave directed to the crowd, and his million-dollar smile.

finally done prepping their instruments and themselves, their first song started with a beat from the drums, with the rhythm guitarist following its lead. kenji sato held the mic with one hand and his guitar with the other as he leaned in to the mic to sing.

ー "the mirror's image tells me its own time. but, i'm not finished, 'cause you're not by my side."

you had your hand up high, holding your phone while it recorded the band. you were a few rows behind the barricade, right at the middle, parallel to where kenji sato was singing.

ー "and as i arrived i thought i saw you leaving, carryin' your shoes,"

kenji was swinging his hips slowly as he sung and strummed his guitar, his rings reflecting the light of the spotlight that he was under. his eyes kept wandering within the crowd, looking at the row that was furthest from the stage before flicking his sight to the ones at front.

ー "decided that once again i was just dreamin' of bumpin' into you."

he took a step away from the mic before dropping his head low along with his torso for a headbang, before coming up to the mic, his rings scratching onto the windscreen.

ー "now it's three in the morning, and i'm try'na change your mind,"

you lowered your hand and stopped your phone from recording to stare at the way his fingers plucked at the strings of his guitar.

ー "left you multiple missed calls and to my message, you reply,"

it was as if kenji's body was in complete sync with the song that his band was playing; the way his chest rose and fell after and before every lyric that he sung, his hair, untamable, swaying and dropping to his face while he moved his head to the rythym.

ー ""why'd you only call me when you're high?""

you sung along.

ー ""hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?""

you were absolutely starstruck. working overtime at your job was definitely worth it just to afford vip tickets for your first concert now that you're in the middle of kaiju's crowd with kenji sato singing his heart out in front of you.

ー "somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite. i need a partner, well, are you out tonight? it's harder and harder to get you to listen, more i get through the gears."

you watched him, not caring of the pushes that the people beside you gave you out of their own excitedness. staring at him, the way he ran his hand through his hair for the nth time, and the way that his black-colored eyes ran it's way through the crowdー

ー "incapable of makin' alright decisions, and havin' bad ideas."

before it landed on you.

ー "now it's three in the mornin' and i'm try'na change your mind,"

your lips parted and your breath hitched at the eye contact. he was staring right at you.

ー "left you multiple missed calls and to my message you reply,"

his eyes quickly broke the contact, making you remember that you were actually allowed to breathe. you ran your hand through the side of your hair, tucking it behind your ear as an attempt to compose yourself.

ー ""why'd you only call me when you're high?""

without missing a beat, his eyes were on you again. flustered, you looked away to see the bassist smiling as they played, then your eyes were back to looking at him.

ー ""hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?""

to your surprise, his eyes were still on you. you felt as if there was a spotlight on you, too. everyone else, including the music that was playing, were nothing but background noise to you at the moment. kenji sato was looking at you.

taking a deep breath, you looked up at him and smiled, mouthing a simple "hello," to the vocalist.

you saw kenji sato smile from ear to ear before leaning into the microphone. "hello, baby."

[fashionteahouse]

out of your league - paul x reader

AN: The first 3 parts of this story has gotten love and I just wanted to say I appreciate all of you guys 💜 xoxo! <<prev >>next

He didn’t want to let you go.

You step out of the embrace, his expression is heartsick. He watched you the entire way as you make your way inside of your house.

When you’re in your house, denial sets in. You choose not to recap your day in your head, at dinner, as you wash the dishes, and even as you did your art.

You tried to sleep it off, feeling uneasy. You started to feel weird. As you lie down, you kept twisting and turning. At times you had to sit up, a part of your chest was hurting. It was dull but as the night grew old, it would gradually get stronger. You tried to drink water but it seemed like you couldn’t sleep, it felt uncomfortable.

You start to get angry. You wonder if this was because of Paul. Even though you had a peek into his lifestyle, he was still an enigma.

You push your covers back relentlessly and flick your lamp on. You sit at your art space and just go to town. Materials glide the thick paper, creating a portrait of what you saw today. You even recreate the earthy meadow that you were surrounded by you. You just couldn’t understand how a human could just transform into a wolf like that. Eyes heavy, you take a look back and admire your hard work.

The colors are vibrant and sucks you in. You could never forget the beautiful dark silvery fur. The way the wolf just screamed powerful. It screamed strength. It had all of the qualities to protect someone.

You wake up and the sun hit your eyes harshly. You blink a couple times and lift your face that was previously smushed in your bed. You look around until you receive a random notification on your phone and you catch the time. It’s way past the time for you to wake up. So late, you already missed a class or two.

You’re too tired to try to go to school. You just couldn’t do it after the night that you had. The pang in your chest is there but not as strong. You close your eyes but before you could drift, a semi long vibration shakes that makes you check it out.

“Im picking you up after school.”

It was from Paul.

You’re a bit more awake. You weren’t ready to see him yet, but you didn’t want him to arrive to the school for nothing. You quickly text back.

“Im not at school.”

He responds right away.

“Damn did hell freeze over ?”

You put your phone faced down and turn over to the over side. You retry your attempt to rest your eyes. You hear a knock at your front door. The house was silent, nobody home but you. The knocks repeat but are now more rapid. You groan internally and make your way downstairs and you fling the door open and freeze.

Paul walks in and makes himself feel at home. You close the door and whip around to follow his movements with your eyes. The events of yesterday is replaying in your mind.

“What?” he says as he sits on your couch and slumps back.

You were staring at him the whole time and you look down, feeling caught. You slowly walk to the other side of the couch. He’s watching you now.

“What?” you say to him now, his scent spreading to your nostrils and you wished, in that moment, you could bathe in it.

“What made you not go to school?”

You don’t say anything. You look anywhere but him. When you breathe in and breathe out, you noticed your chest has stopped hurting. Oddly, you feel somewhat at ease. He nudges you, which makes you look over and he chuckles, “Did you hear me?”

“I had a rough night.” You state with a hint of annoyance.

“Are you talking about…?” he asks.

You just shrug.

“I couldn’t sleep either.” he says.

Your ears are now open. “How come?” you ask in a casual tone. You have a feeling why.

“Had a pain in my chest. I’m here and it stopped thankfully.”

You stand up and face him. You don’t care that right now you look as rough as your night.

“This…is a bit too much.” you say. He keeps his position. The only thing changing is his face, wearing a furrowed expression. You continue.

“I had the same pain in my chest. I know that it has something to do with the… imprint.” You were too scared to say the word because it made it seem real.

He moves his eyes from you face and stares down a bit. “You don’t have to accept it.”

You groan, a bit cranky from the lack of sleep, “Is there a way to just…not succumb?”

His eye contact now is hardened to match his brassy tone, “I was born into this. There’s nothing around it. You think this is something I had asked for? At least you have a choice.”

You roll your eyes. You’re now frustrated. You couldn’t help but wonder, what would’ve happened if you didn’t get involved with him in the first place. But, he said fate brought you two together in the first place. You didn’t know what this meant for the future.

“Pushing it away isn’t going to solve anything. You either accept it or you don’t.” he adds on with his arm now resting on the back edge of the couch.

”What if I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know..whether or not you want to deal with someone?”

Silence is the only reply. You yawn instead, covering your mouth, the action leaving your eyes watery.

“You know, you should sleep while I’m here.” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

You trudge up the stairs with him following and you turn to the bathroom. You sit on the edge of the tub, facing the closed door, to just get your mind process together. You felt if you did go to sleep, you wouldn’t be able to get the questions off of your brain. You wanted to know so much. After cleansing your teeth, you walk into your room to find Paul sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Does your dad know?” you couldn’t help but ask as you join him.

He shakes his head, “Left out of the house before I turned.”

More silence. He’s patient.

“Were we ever like…dating?” you ask in a small voice.

He looks at you seriously, “That’s what I thought…” he trails off, “I mean.. I don’t do stuff like that with girls I don’t date.” he adds with a small laugh.

“What will happen if…I…don’t?”

“Don’t what? Don’t accept it?” he asks with hurt that makes you regret the question instantly, but you just have to know. You nod, not trying to look at him in the eye.

“Well…I’ll still be here for you, because that would be the choice that would make you happy. I won’t hate you forever or anything like that.” he says quietly and looks at his hands.

”So..when we’re around each other, that’s what makes the pain go away?”

He nods. He then turns to you. “Y/N.”

You meet his eyes, he continues, “You were happy..with me..right? Before all of this supernatural stuff I mean.”

“I believe I was,” you then nod, “I was.”

You get comfortable in your bed, “I’m going to sleep now.”

He lays on the other side and stares at the ceiling. When you awake again, feeling refreshed, you’re surprised that he’s still there. He watches you look at him.

“Can I take you to meet someone?” He asks.

”Sure…who is it?”

“Someone who’s been helping me with all of this. He understands.”

You both rise.

He steps outside of the room while you get yourself together. You two walk hand in hand, the contact makes you feel warm inside. It was a bit lengthy but it was the perfect opportunity to ask him something.

“It’s just you and your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Mom not in the picture?” You then ask.

“No.” That’s all he says. It’s driving you crazy. He won’t go deeper. You spot a flower along the way. You pick it, examine it, and you give the capitulum flower to him. He slowly takes it and he genuinely admires it.

He guides you to a tiny house, that only had one narrow window beside the weathered blue door, but the window box under it was filled with bright orange and yellow marigolds, giving the place a cheerful look. He has a grip on your hand and raps on the door.

The door swings open and a man who looks years older than Paul, appears. He first glanced at Paul, then to you, then to your intertwined hands, then back at Paul.

“This is Sam. Sam this is Y/N.” Paul introduced.

Sam gives you a tight smile like he finally recognizes you and allow you two to enter his home. You both have a seat at his wooden table, still keeping a grip on Paul’s hand. Sam intimidated you in a way, you started to bounce your leg up and down due to your nerves.

“No school today?” he asks as he looks at you.

You shake your head. Paul places a hand on your knee, stopping the bouncing, and he holds it there.

“She had a rough night. She even felt the same pain in her chest as me.” He explains.

“Hm..” the older man says.

A woman appears with the most beautiful dark hair. Sam and the woman both look at each other with more love than a romcom could ever produce. Their love on display was raw. As much as you admired the real love that was in front of your eyes, you look elsewhere. It felt introducing.

Emily greets Paul, makes eye contact with you and gives you a smile. “Who’s this?” she asks keeping some of her attention to Sam.

“Y/N.” Paul says.

Emily looks at you as if you were an old friend. She offers everyone something to eat. As she’s cooking, Paul is trying to take you in the living room but Sam calls him outside.

You two shared a look, not wanting to let each other go. A sense of panic sets in, you’re not familiar to anyone but him. He slowly lets your hand go but he immediately takes a hold of your chin and connects his lips to yours. He tries to pull back but he keeps going back for more. It felt like a drug. He felt like a drug. You’ve never felt so close to him in that moment.

Sam’s repeated calling of Paul’s name is what makes him strong enough to let you go. He looks at you with longing before leaving out. Leaving you a bit embarrassed of the public display of affection. You turn around and Emily is not really paying any mind. You drop your tense shoulders.

“Do you cook?” she asks you.

“I know how to, but I never really do it.” You reply.

She smiles and lets you take control what’s already on the stove while she preps another food choice.

“So…tell me about yourself.” she says to make conversation.

You watch the food in front of you. You kind of hated this question. “Um..I do art…I like to read.. a lot.” You say.

“Hmm. I like to read too!” she says in a friendly tone.

“Oh cool.” you say politely. The food in front of you is all the way cooked and it’s her turn to use the stove.

“How long have you and Sam been together if you don’t mind me asking.”

“We’ve been going strong for months,” she says, “I kind of didn’t want to give Sam a chance because of what I heard.”

“What did you hear?” you ask curiously.

“Oh just people saying he was trouble but those people barely even knew him.” she says laughing at the ridiculous accusation. She turns slightly to you.

“What about you? How long have you and Paul been together?”

You shrug and set the table, “I don’t know.. we were dating for a bit but then he disappeared and I haven’t seen or heard him in a long time. Next thing you know he tells me-…” you start to ramble but catch yourself, “I don't know if we’re still dating.”

She laughs and looks at you with humor, “What? Kissing like that and you don’t know?” she shakes her head smiling.

Sam and Paul walk back into the room and Paul is automatically by your side. You’re looking at the table and he caress your cheek to make you look at him.

“I’m starving!” another voice says out loud, with humor coating it. He appears through the doorway and flops at the table. He catches sight of you and snickers, “So this is the lucky girl that is an imprint to Paul?”

“Jared.” Sam simply says with such authority and Jared looks up at him and cuts it out. Food sits on everybody’s plates but you’re the only one sitting empty plated.

“Go ahead. Get you something.” Paul says encouragingly.

“I’ll…eat later.” you say.

Paul sucks in his teeth and says, “If you don’t get something to eat.” He watches you until you have some type of food on your plate.

His hand rest on your knee while you eat slowly. You’ve seen guys eat a lot but they ate a lot. With a cleared plate, Paul leans back and thanks Emily for the food.

“It just wasn’t me, I had help.” she boasts to him.

Paul looks at you with a look of deify. You’ll never forget it.

You help clean the kitchen and go find Paul. He’s in a room talking with Jared. You enter and Jared looks up at you and gives himself a dismissal.

“Alright man.” he says in a farewell manner. He moves to leave out and he touches your shoulder with a friendly feel.

You move into the room after he asks you to close the door. You sit in the same spot Jared was sitting. Paul has the capitulum flower in his hands, fingers following the flow of the petals. You watch him.

You look around and noticed some of Paul’s things are there. You feel a small tug and look to him. His head is titled, inviting you to come closer. A magnetic force pulls you to him automatically. You had no time to think before you’re pressed against him. Lips fitting and his tongue caressing yours while his hands leave goosebumps on the skin he touches. Breathing you in like you were the only source of oxygen. Pulling you over him, the tingles are so strong, you two grind into each other. Sighing into your mouth and when he sits up and shifts, you pull back with all of your willpower. You unravel from him and lie on your back.

He lies on his side, staring down at you as your chest rise and fall to even out your breathing. You stare at the ceiling.

“I never would’ve thought Jared would be in on this.” you state in a lowered voice to break the silence.

“Yep.”

“So..You’ve been staying here?” you ask.

“Live here now. I got the hell up out of there.”

“Was it always like that?”

He thinks for a moment.

“Just when my mother left.”

You back away from asking more questions, sensing the sensitive topic.

“When’s your birthday?” you ask instead. He huffed out a laugh and tells you.

“You’re gonna gift me something?” he asks.

“Maybe.” you say smiling to yourself.

“I can give you ideas if you want.” he says. You look and he’s wearing a mischievous look. You look away but he presses on and traces a finger on the skin of your bottom lip. Blush spreads across your cheeks, heart speeding up, and you feel the intensity of his gaze on you. It’s not fair how effortless he’s able to make you feel like this.

The action somewhat parts your lips. You didn’t mean to, but a piece of your tongue touches the skin of Paul’s finger and it makes him grunt to himself while he pulls his bottom lip to the top of his teeth.

You spent more of your free time at Emily’s. It was nice to know someone who was going through the same thing. You started to ask her what it was like. After all, she accepted her imprint and they’re already engaged. She tells you it’s like a dream come true. She doesn’t have to doubt or worry with Sam. The love that they share is genuine. She’s surprised when you tell her that you haven’t accepted the imprint with Paul yet.

One night, while Paul was sleeping over, you give him the artwork of the day he came clean to you. He stares at it in awe. His eyes rake over the picture. He had an idea of your talent but it definitely solidified any thoughts he had of it.

Towards the end of the school year, Paul has gotten more busy with patrols and his fellow shapeshifter brothers. The pain in your chest is intensified.

As you’re sleeping, a pain like no other pangs your chest. It was the worst pain you’ve ever felt. It knocked the wind out of you. You tried to move to get some water but the great pain makes you fall to the floor. You heave and sneak out of your house. Your adrenaline helps you run the whole way to Emily’s. You knock and knock on the door while panting. You know something is not right. You hear a blood curdling scream that makes you scared.

Emily opens the door with a panicked look. She pulls you in and tries to hug you hello but you ask for Paul.

“He’s hurt. Jared and Sam are-“

You didn’t mean to be rude but the circumstances make you fearless to walk away, not hearing any more she has to say. You push open now Paul’s room and find him covered in blood, mostly on his chest area. An older woman bandaging him and Sam holding him down with Jared as she does so. Preventing him from hurting or pushing the older woman.

“What’s wrong with him?!” you cry out.

They look up at you and you make your way to Paul’s side. He doesn’t even notice that you’re there until he feels your hand push his hair out of his face. He’s sweating, face scrunched in pain. He quickly tries to catch his breath and finds your eyes. You lay on his side, tearing up looking at him but you don’t want him to see. Due to instinct, you place open mouth kisses on his bloody wound. The coppery metallic taste makes you sniffle. Your face on his skin in disbelief.

“How did this even happen?” you ask yourself.

His hand goes to the back of your head and sucks in quick breaths.

“I’m okay baby,” *grunts* “I’m okay baby.” he tries to convince you but you whimper at him and shake your head in devastation at him still trying to convince you that he’s okay.

Bandaged, eyes heavy and exhausted. That’s the image of Paul. The older woman who took care of bandaging his injuries hands you a wet cloth to wipe your bloody face. Medicine that flows through him makes him go into deep slumber. As you wipe, the question speaks out.

“What happened.” you whisper.

“The boys were outnumbered. Cold ones mostly attacked Paul as he was the most threatening.”

You pause and stare at the body next to you.

“What’s a cold one?”

The woman goes silent.

“He- he hasn't told you?”

You shake your head.

“You might know them as vampires…”

Your heart drops and you definitely feel like none of this is real. Any minute, you’re going to wake up safe in your bed and realize this all was a dream. You couldn’t have been more wrong with this thought.

“My husband along with other elders tells stories that get more in depth. Next time we have a bonfire, you should come.”

You don’t say anything. Still in shock by everything.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says when she packs up her equipment, “It looks like you’re going to be here with him for the rest of the night so I’ll leave some things here.” She says.

“Thank you…” you say to her. She smiles as a response.

When you wake, Paul is already awake looking back at you. You know for sure none of it was a dream. You caress his cheek for a minute and turn over to lie on your back. You breathe out a heavy sigh and slightly shake your head. You hated this picture that was being presented to you.

“How are you feeling?” you softly ask him with your head facing him, seeing his misery in broad daylight.

Bags are under his eyes, “Like shit.” he rasps out.

You give him a look of pity. Pain and all, he nudges you, “Cut it out. I’m fine.”

“How come you haven’t told me about the cold ones?” you rush out.

His face turns into stone.

“I didn’t want you to worry. I wasn’t trying to have you be on edge while I protect.”

“When you said protector I thought you just handle crime or whatever. Not vampires.” you stutter out.

“Sweetheart, they do the worst crimes known to man…This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” he shakes his head, “Who even told you anyway.” he demands.

“Would you stop acting funky about it? The woman who nursed you told me. She was the only one who told me anything.” you say now getting upset.

“Why would I tell you something like that when you’re always nervous? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make any sense that you never tell me anything unless things bubble up to the point where you have to tell me. It doesn’t make sense how you want me to accept this imprint when I feel like sometimes I can’t trust you enough to not hide certain things from me.”

There’s only silence and Paul looks at you with glowering eyes. Maybe you went a bit too far with your words but the damage was already done. He didn’t even want to look at you anymore. You sit up and turn your back towards him.

Emily comes in, catches the vibe of the environment. “Are you guys hungry?” she asks quietly.

“Paul probably is. I have to get back home.” You say and left at that.

You go to the park, sitting on the swings. You didn’t know what to feel anymore. The wind blows your hair and you look to the sky, ignoring the pain that’s growing inside of your chest.

A familiar face comes into view.

It’s Kim. You don’t even have the energy to open your mouth to form words. You stare at her.

“Geez, Y/N. Are you good?” Kim asks you.

You sigh and look away and she sits on the other swing.

“How come you weren’t at school?” she asks.

“Something came up. An emergency.”

“Oh my gosh is everything alright?”

“I guess. I don’t know.” you say at the sky. You don’t feel like having this conversation.

“Well, I’m visiting a school this weekend, if you want to come with me.”

“I’ll let you know.”

She gets off of the swing and is about to leave but she turns around last minute and says, “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

The get off the swing and meet where she stands.

“What do you mean Kim? Like seriously.”

“Come on…missing school? Your parents called me asking if I knew where you went. I covered for you but I know you’re still hanging around Paul. You’re letting our friendship go to go hang out with some felonious guy. Is that blood?”

You move past her, bumping her on the shoulder, feeling a type of way. You felt lightheaded and like your vision was closing in, you realized that you missed Paul. It was exhausting denying it. You were irrevocably in love with him.

[domjaehyun]

the boy is mine (l.dh) TEASER 💖

coming relatively soon :) teaser WC: 1.1k

“Haechan.” 

“Mhm?”

“Can you walk faster, please? I’m not trying to lose a whole person in the Met.” you complain, stopping in your tracks and turning around to let Haechan catch up to you. The section you’re passing through is packed, the room filled with the din of various animated conversations all overlapping one another.

“Sorry, I’m just taking in all the art in front of me,” he replies, and your expression softens as you remember that this is, in fact, a museum exhibit you’re standing in and not merely a hallway to where you want to go.

“Yeah, the paintings are beautiful,” you agree, and he looks over at you with a confused look.

“Oh—yeah, the paintings are cool, too.” he answers unconvincingly, and you stare at him expressionlessly.

“What were you looking at if not the paintings?” you ask, confused, and he looks you up and down pointedly as if to answer your question. “You’re ridiculous,” you groan, turning to walk away.

“Oh, come on, you can’t blame me! You in that outfit is a goddamn masterpiece.” he defends himself, and you just sigh loudly as you keep walking. 

“Keep up!” you quip, and he catches up to you, leaning down slightly so his lips are by your ear.

“Don’t even get me started on this cute little skirt you’ve got on,” he murmurs suggestively, and an involuntary shudder travels down your spine from the ticklish sensation of his breath on the hair on the back of your neck. “Kinda driving me crazy,” he half-mumbles, half-chuckles.

“It can’t be that hard to drive you crazy,” you point out. “You already live on the corner of Bonkers Boulevard and Delulu Drive.”

“Wow, and you call me a menace?” he snorts in amusement, reaching over to pinch your side in retaliation and laughing when you dance away with a giggle. “Come back, I thought we had to stick together,” he complains.

You roll your eyes but stop just ahead of him, hands placed on your hips as you wait for him to catch up. 

“That’s better,” he finally says when he’s beside you once more. “You know, maybe we should hold hands.” he suggests, smiling wider and nodding vigorously in an attempt to convince you when you look over at him with a “no” already on the tip of your tongue.

“And why would we do that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side in a patronizing act of confusion.

“It’s crowded. What if someone walks between us and you turn to enter an exhibit but I don’t see where you went?” He frowns petulantly, and you scoff dismissively. 

“You can hold my purse,” you offer, holding it out to him.

“How is that gonna help me stay close to you?” he asks with a frown, and you shoot him a look.

“It’ll help me stay close to you,” you clarify. “All my stuff is in there, so I’m not going anywhere that bag’s not going.”

“Hm. I’d rather hold your hand but I guess this will do.” he sighs dramatically, and you snicker.

“Keep wishing.” you reply casually.

“Oh, I will. Got any loose eyelashes I can wish on and blow away?” 

“No.”

“Lucky pennies?”

“I don’t have change. Does the universe take Apple Pay?” you reply in a bored tone, and he snorts loudly in amusement.

“Man, gorgeous and funny,” he sighs contentedly, and it’s your turn to exhale in amusement. “Fine. I’ll wait until 11:11 to make the wish.”

“You know that because you told me what you’re gonna wish for, it’s not gonna come true now, right?” you remind him with a teasing smile, and his eyes widen comically.

“I’ll wish for something different.” he relents, and you can’t help but frown slightly at the crestfallen look on his face. You look around to see if anyone you know is nearby and, seeing no one, let out a defeated yet amused sigh before reaching out and linking your fingers with his. “I knew you liked me,” he remarks with an air of smug satisfaction, and you scowl at him before ripping your fingers from his. 

“...And you’re done.”

“Nope, too late,” he replies with a wide grin as he links his fingers with yours again, either oblivious to the fight you’re putting up or simply unfazed. “We’re locked in now.” he teases, and you raise your brows in a silent challenge. 

“Oh, yeah? Should I call you something cutesy like—oh,” you say, stopping mid-sentence and turning to look at him with a slowly growing mischievous smile. “What was that name Winter called you on the way here?”

“Oh, please don’t.” 

“Was it Snookums?” you think aloud, and he groans, tossing his head back dramatically.

“Please?”

“Cuddlebug?”

“No—”

“Oh!” you exclaim, snapping your fingers and pointing at him. “Pookie Bear.” you say triumphantly, and the grimace on his face is beyond rewarding.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Haechan says hurriedly. “In fact, I’d rather you not—”

“But I love calling you Pookie Bear, Pookie Bear.” you coo affectionately, putting extra emphasis on the embarrassing pet name to leave it dripping with saccharine sweetness.

“You know what’s kind of crazy?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Besides you? No.”

“Ha, ha.” he drawls. “What’s crazy is that it’s kinda hot the way you say it.” he points out, and you whine loudly in protest. 

“I can’t have anything, man! I get to torment you back for less than two minutes, and your freaky little self likes it?” you gripe under your breath as you pull him towards the large sign indicating the doorway to the beginning of the Greek sculptures exhibit. “We’re here!” you announce happily.

“Anything I should know before we enter this section?” he asks curiously, and you think for a moment before nodding.

“Most, if not all, of these statues have micropenises.” you warn him, and roll your eyes instantly at the immediate amusement on his face. “Keep the dick jokes to a minimum.”

“You got it, princess.” he agrees, nodding cooperatively, and you whirl around to look at him.

“Princess?!”

“You call me Pookie Bear, I call you princess.” he says with a nonchalant shrug, and you narrow your eyes at him in a silent staredown. “It’ll grow on you,” he says confidently as he starts walking into the exhibit.

And as you’re tugged along after him, protesting all the while that “it most certainly will not,” you can’t help but feel like it already has—that is, if the sensation you’re feeling of a lone butterfly fluttering around your stomach has anything to do with it.

[hueseok]

can’t stop thinking about college student!taehyung who you developed a crush on because of that one time when it was raining really hard on campus and just like a scene from a movie—he came rushing towards you, asking if he could share the umbrella that you were already using to shield yourself from the rain.

he approached you when you were standing close to this big tree, settling to hang around in that area for the meanwhile because it seemed to be the only nearby spot that could provide you with a bit of cover. it was either that or forcing yourself to continue walking to the library where you were intending to kill time before your next class, and this seemed to be the obvious better choice.

you first saw him as a blur of black clothes, going towards you with intention and abruptly ducking down to get under your umbrella. you stared at him, trying to decipher if he was someone you knew—but upon getting a good look on his face, you came to the realization that you didn’t know anyone who was this handsome for him to be an acquaintance or a classmate.

“i’m sorry, but can i stay with you for a while?” he asked, flashing you an apologetic yet charming grin. “i didn’t bring an umbrella and i’ve been running for like a full minute before i found you.”

your gazes met and you pressed your lips together, a poor attempt to stop yourself from appearing too obvious that you were struck by his visuals. “uh, yeah, sure. no problem.”

“thanks.” his grin widened. “let me hold the umbrella.”

you let him, diverting your gaze to the wet pavement.

the sound of the rain falling and the leaves rustling due to the wind are the only things you hear for a short while. you were hugging your bag in front of you, dozens of thoughts going in your mind, like who was this guy? where has he been all this time? was he even a college student? does he go to the same college as you? is letting a complete stranger share an umbrella with you a stupid decision?

“do you study here?” he suddenly asked. 

you glanced at him, your eyes meeting again. “yep. i’m from the liberal arts department.”

“liberal arts.” he echoed. “what’s your program? i have a friend who’s in broadcasting.”

“history.”

“oh—guess you two wouldn’t know each other then.” he laughed to himself. “i’m from the hospitality management department. culinary arts.”

“that’s…” you trailed, unsure of how you were supposed to respond. you certainly weren’t going to admit that you found him even more attractive than before. “that’s nice. you look like you would be in culinary arts.”

another laugh escaped him. “really? people usually get surprised when i tell them i know how to cook.”

“well, i’ve always preferred giving people the benefit of the doubt,” you joked, smiling for the first time that afternoon.

“really generous of you, then.” he joked back. 

you spent a few seconds chuckling at each other before he spoke again. “i’m taehyung, by the way.”

“____,” you replied, your cheeks warming up despite the cold weather.

after that encounter with taehyung, you always seemed to see him around the university grounds. 

and every time you did, he’d always call out your name and give you the brightest smile that would make everyone think that you two were best buddies or something. 

you made sure to always greet him back too (maybe not as enthusiastic, but still genuinely glad), and would engage in small talk with him on occasions he would initiate conversations.

it was because of that that some people even began speculating that maybe there was something going on between you two due to how random the friendship was, insinuating that the reason the both of you were suddenly ‘close’ was because a blind date was arranged and you both quickly hit it off.

you turned the rumor down every time though, saying that you and taehyung were only casual friends who didn’t even talk much.

one day—on another rainy day—you saw him hanging around outside the room of your last class, looking handsome as ever with a blue cap and black hoodie. 

he immediately spotted you when you got out of the room, raising his hand up to capture your attention, unaware that he already did without doing anything. you just couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wishing secretly that he’ll take notice of you like he always did.

“____!” taehyung called your name. “hey, it’s your last class of the day, right?”

you excused yourself from your friend, earning a teasing look from her before you walked away and approached taehyung, greeting him as well. “yep, it is my last class. why?”

“great. i want to bring you somewhere.” he seemed pleased at the idea.

you raised an eyebrow. “where?”

“to this café i really like. don’t you remember that i still have to treat you for not letting me soak in the rain a few weeks back?”

“you were serious about that?”

“why wouldn’t i?”

“i don’t know.” you shrugged. “i thought you said it out of courtesy. you know… just to be polite.”

“oh. well, i meant what i said.” he outstretched his hand, gesturing for you to hand him your bag. “let me carry your bag.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, confused at what was happening at the moment. you haven’t even recovered from the lecture you had to endure for almost two hours—and now your crush was possibly hinting that he was taking you out on a date.

“what is it that you’re actually doing here, taehyung?” you wondered out loud.

taehyung no longer waited for you to willingly hand him your bag, instead he gently pried it from your grasp. “i’m planning to buy you a mug of hot chocolate. it’s perfect for the rain.”

you still looked unconvinced, a fact that taehyung noticed, and with a playful roll of his eyes, he finally told you the words you’ve only managed to hear in your dreams.

“and i’m making this our first date, ____. would that be okay?”

you felt the familiar rush of warmth traveling to your cheeks. “you’re taking me out on a date?”

“i am.”

“but that would mean that you like me.”

“i do like you.”

your heart was leaping everywhere inside your ribcage. “you never told me that before.”

“i was supposed to tell you later,” he said. “but you’re confronting me right now, so…” he was being mischievous.

you nodded slowly, blinking. “oh.” everything that was happening at this moment still wasn’t processing as fast as you would have liked. “in that case… we should probably get going.”

he smirked, placing a hand on your back to lead you to the direction he wanted to go. “ever so nonchalant.”

you peered at him. “i’m not nonchalant.”

“sure, you aren’t.”

that day, you and taehyung ended up sharing an umbrella again like the moment you first met. only this time, instead of parting ways and moving forth with your own schedules after the rain stopped pouring, you and him continued to enjoy the other’s company, truly marking it as the first of many dates to come.

note. i was supposed to post this on tae's bday but couldn't squeeze the right words to complete this blurb on time hehehe,,, anyways this feels like an alternate version of another tae imagine i wrote way back but i guess i really do just love combining taehyung and the rain 🥹💗