#that big feeling when you get recognized from other platform—

[shokujin-art]

Literally went through ur entire acc, love the art and had a fucking mindless scroll session. THEN I RECOGNIZED U FULLY AND REALIZED I FOLLOW U ON TWITTERR <3 love what u do keep it up

HRRR THAT'S SUPER SWEET AAAH THANK YOU?? !!

[artemisiasmuse]

rafe cameron x fem!reader

this one is for the boys in the polos… he just gotta give me that look, when he give me that look then the panties comin' off

or reader is kinda tipsy and rafe looks a little too good in a black polo (3.1k)

cw: 18+ mdni, p in v, tipsy reader, possessive and a bit obssesive rafe but that’s expected, starts off with reader down bad but he very quickly matches your freak <3, praise k!nk, size k!nk, he has to make it fit :>, sweat k!nk(?), no protection (wrap it up!), dumbification if u squint

the neon blue mixer you’d been drinking all night was tasting more and more like candy than anything else and you could tell it was finally having its intended effect. rafe had made sure you weren’t given anything hard, he didn’t want his baby to be too drunk before he could make his way over to you. you’d gotten to the party hours ago and you had scarcely seen your boyfriend, he was busy doing business. sure in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t that long since you spent most of your day together but when your friends’ conversation started becoming boring and your feet began to hurt you wanted nothing more than his strong arms supporting your weight. usually he’d be against your back, biceps curled at the side of your head while he held you close. the pout on your lips was beginning to feel impossible to remove and the pathetic sighs were increasing in frequency. if you didn’t see him soon enough you’d go looking for him, to hell with his wishes that you stay out of his business. you mumbled something about getting more to drink, your cup still practically full as you walked on your damned platform heels in search of your man.

as if he could sense your growing impatience rafe was making his way downstairs. he could probably find you with his eyes closed as he made his way down, watching your body move through the crowd, in that damned baby blue tank that you’d worn cause “it matched his eyes”. he loved how you looked in it but hated that everyone else probably did too, especially since you sacrificed a bra for it. there was a pout on your shiny lips, your arms crossed as you looked around, looked for him. he wasn’t any better. he’d been thinking about you the entire time you were apart, wishing he was fiddling with the hem of your shirt rather than dealing to idiot college students. he stepped into your space, you recognized his cologne before you could register his presence, the expensive and overwhelming scent somehow comforting you, a large hand clasped around your waist and turned your body towards him. and it was as if you could finally breathe you looked up at him, your shoulders dropping and with it the tension you hadn’t known you’d been holding. blue eyes softened as they met yours. he looked too good, you hadn’t seen him when he left, he’d headed out early while you got ready with the girls. low light and his tan skin against the black polo accentuated his features and muscles. your arms looped around his neck before you even spoke and rafe’s lips curled as he watched the frustration in your eyes be replaced with need. your big doe eyes looked up at him, slightly glazed over from your drink and something he shared. as you raised up, your shirt did the same and his thumb swiped against the soft skin of your stomach. just enough contact to make you melt even more.

“‘missed you.” your voice came out small, almost a whine. oh his poor baby. he leaned down, forehead resting against yours and he didn’t care what it looked like, he’d do anything for you. no one would fuck with him or you regardless. the pout was back on your lips and rafe hated it.

“sorry angel, let me make it up to you hmm?” his hands caressed your skin, distracting you from your frustration, and the soft squeeze of your waist thoroughly removed any doubts from your mind. with a slight nod to your head, rafe removed one hand, the other coming to rest on your lower back as he pulled away and led you two away. heads turned as rafe moved you through the party, a satisfied smile creeping onto your lips now that your boyfriend was by your side and rafe felt the same. he could finally relax.

when rafe decided you’d reached your destination he removed his hand. you were on the other side of the house now, there were less people around and an empty couch rafe pulled you onto. despite the room for three people, you were promptly pulled onto his lap, not that you minded, you would’ve ended up there anyway. you leaned your head back to face him, the only downside to being on his lap was not being able to stare at him properly. rafe chuckled at something you weren’t privy to, you didn’t know how transparent you were when you were drunk. it wasn’t even the alcohol anymore that had you in such a state, it was him. the smell of his cologne, his strong thighs under your own, the possessive curl of his arm around your middle, it all had you so far gone you couldn’t even notice his amusement. his hand came up to press a thumb against your lips, his large hand cradling your face easily. god he hated when you pouted, your pretty glossed lips looked so much better when they were smiling, laughing, and especially when they were around him. the cold metal of his ring pressed against your cheek and you shivered.

“hey i’m here now.” you nodded, grabbing his large hand with two of your own and pressing a sweet kiss to the thumb that had been trying to force your lips into a smile. your wide round eyes always gave away your true feelings, you were fine now but you wanted to give him some hell, and he’d let you. rafe smiled at your actions, always so damn adorable.

“yeah it’s just you look really good, kinda wish i could’ve had you all t’myself.” the air left his lungs at your boldness, he knew it was the alcohol making you so careless with your words, but it didn’t matter when he was finding it near impossible to control himself. you were back to looking at his chest, you could easily meet his eyes but no you were just drinking in how tight the polo looked on his arms, how broad his shoulders were, how even though the material was dark you could see his pecs stretching it out, his gold chain peeking through under the collar taunting you. god you needed to buy him more black shirts maybe even a size too small. rafe caught onto your gaze, you had hardly been subtle. his jaw clenched at the way your thighs shamelessly pressed together as if he couldn’t feel them move on his own. he’d had enough, his hand moving down the side of your body, tracing your curves as it landed its target, thick fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, this finally made you look up. this time his laugh was less comforting, you’d been caught. his lips were on yours in an instant, and the force of his kiss made you squirm on his lap, his hand slipping under your skirt and making you gasp. you tried to match his energy, his tongue swirling in your mouth, drool collecting on your tongue and you wanted more. the slight roll of your hips made rafe pull back abruptly, could you even feel how hard he was or were you that far gone? the hazy look in your eyes and slight drool slipping past your lips gave him his answer.

“get up.” he glared down at you, the blue being swallowed by black and you watched his jaw tick in impatience. your body warmed at the way he looked at you, not angry no he was desperate for you. you knew the feeling. you nodded dumbly, a smirk curling his lips as he stood unceremoniously, you stumbling to catch yourself. he would’ve laughed had he not been so pent up, offering a hand as he led you away with fervor. it wasn’t to his car though, no you were going deeper into the house. anticipation coiled in your stomach, your lace underwear drenched through at how forcefully rafe was acting with you. you almost tripped at how quickly he was moving, his long legs making it hard for you to keep up, he didn’t care. you wondered if it might have been better if he threw you over his shoulder at this point. the thought made you even dizzier. rafe tried every doorknob before one opened, an empty guest room that you were being ushered into.

“what are-“ rafe pushed you back gently onto the bed. your mind caught up to his actions, you thought you were going back home, you were supposed to be leaving. the way he was looking down at you, made your skin prick with heat, you’d be lucky if you made it out of this room alive. his arms caged you on either side of your head, veins protruding and muscles taut from tension. he was gonna make you start begging for it if he didn’t act soon.

“not making it home.” the gruff answer was all you could take, a desperate sound crawling up your throat as you fisted the material of his polo and pulled him into a kiss. sloppy and feverish, you were more so trying to consume him than kiss him and he gave in, groaning as you bit his lip hard. at least now he could finally get his hands under that scrap of fabric you called a skirt, tracing the edges of your laced panties as you gasped at the ghost of his touch. and just like that he had the upper hand again, he could feel your nipples pebbling against his chest and he didn’t bother removing his clothes, he knew you liked how he looked with them on anyway. instead he was shoving your legs open, looping one around his hips to make space for himself, drawing a gasp from your glossed lips.

“what do you mean-“ your wide eyes looked up at him, hands instinctively curling into the fabric of his polo. eyes dripping with need and adoration, he wished he could keep you by his side forever he felt so fucking stupid for leaving you in the first place. the way you looked at him made his heart break.

“need you now, fuck do you even know what you’re doing to me?” narrowed navy eyes glared down at you through long lashes, tearing your underwear and skirt down in one fluid motion, the cool air against your sticky cunt making you shiver. “gonna burn this, everyone can see your tits, pissing me off all night.” rafe shoved the blue tank top up your chest, your breasts recoiling and bouncing down to rest against your chest, nipples hard and tempting. mesmerized, rafe was thanking every deity that he was the only one fortunate to see you like this.

“rafey-“ a whine of his name was all it took for something in him to snap out of his trance, without warning your legs were being hoisted over his shoulders and he was unzipping his pants. he was painfully hard and you groaned at the feeling of his weepy tip pressing at your entrance, shaking your head furiously for him to continue. you knew it would hurt, rafe had to prep you before taking him but clearly neither of you could care at the moment. your poor cunt spasmed as he shoved his way in, being pushed out once or twice as you felt your walls spasm in pain at the intrusion, all the while getting wetter in a frustrating dichotomy. such a stretch you couldn’t help the whines leaving your lips, rafe was cursing under his breath at how fucking tight you were. when he finally slipped in he let out a sigh of relief, one he’d been holding since he left your side those few hours ago. your warm wet walls enveloped his tip, holding him tight like he’d ever even want to leave. you felt so good he couldn’t help but want to propose to you every time, he had to hold his tongue the first time you let him hit raw. his calloused thumb reached down to stroke your clit, jolting your body and making you grab onto his shoulders even tighter, trying to relax you so he could be all the way in.

“so fucking tight baby god you feel like a dream, never gonna leave you again.” he gritted the words out, your nails now scratching at his back as you tried to ground yourself. rafe pushed against every ring of resistance, bullying his way in and you felt a lump in your throat, panicked that it was somehow his tip. you could feel every vein, every curve molding your cunt to take him.

“s’too big.” you whined and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. a moment of reprieve from the way he was treating you.

“you can take it, you’re my good girl right?” you squirmed under him at the praise, cheeks puffing up as you huffed out a frustrated breath. you were so damn adorable, rafe fought the urge to bite you. you didn’t respond, continuing your fight to adjust to his size. “let me hear you baby, ‘missed your sweet voice.” his words came out low and sweet, an adoring lilt to his tone that you know he only reserved for you. a siren beckoning you to your demise.

“yes rafey, im yours.” you had barely processed what he said besides the praise, you were slowly adjusting to him and the pain was giving away to pleasure. your adoring, annoyingly accurate, boyfriend had angled you just right so his tip pressed right against your sweet spot. you could feel him hot and angry inside you, leaking precum adding to the mess between your thighs. you didn’t have any space left so all of your arousal was dripping down your crack, pooling on the sheets in an obscene puddle.

“fuckkk that’s right you’re mine.” the kiss he pressed against you was less desperate than yours, sweet and slow, like you had all the time in the world and maybe you did. the weight of his body pressing into yours to kiss you was a welcome one, calming your nerves and reminding you of home. when he pulled back his blue eyes stared into yours, creased at the ends from how he smiled at you, you felt shy all of a sudden, closing yours eyes as you smiled and nodded for him to move.

despite how badly he wanted to rail you into next week he started out slowly, fucking his length in and out of you until he didn’t have to push into you each time. “shouldn’t have looked at me like that pretty girl,” you were starting to grow feverish, he was purposefully missing where you needed him the most, moving too slowly to scratch your itch. his words finally caught up to you, realizing he wanted a response before he gave you what you wanted.

“l-like what?” the sweat running down his neck looked tempting, you wondered if you reached up would you be able to taste him, but that would prove difficult in your current position. rafe could see your hungry gaze trying to work something out, his dick twitching at how even now, when he was 9 inches deep you were still desperate for him. he’d made you like this he knew that, how could he blame his poor baby?

“like you are right now.” your eyes flickered up to meet his, you were caught once again. you didn’t care any more, he was yours and you were his.

“can’t help it-hah-black suits you.” rafe scoffed at your indignant response, ramming his hips a bit harder than he intended and making you cream around him. there was a white ring forming at his base and he’d make you clean it up after. by now he’d had enough, he couldn’t ignore how painfully hard he was much longer.

“blue suits you baby, but just mine.” his sentiment was a bit insane in hindsight, you should have recognized that but you didn’t really care when he slid all the way out and rammed into you. the bed shook from the force of his weight pressed down into yours and you screamed. you were guessing it was his name but it didn’t matter because the next few times it definitely was. rafe was fucking you mean and hard, your legs were far past his shoulders as he slammed his hips against yours his rip bruising your cervix and your g-spot every thrust. you were shaking after being filled by him and then being left empty, every time your body went into shock from the sensation. he chanted your name and a string of curses, drops of his sweat and a few tears mixing on your cheeks and falling into your mouth. the pressure building inside you felt like a dam ready to burst, your orgasm came abruptly, and rafe didn’t even slow down a bit when your walls spasmed around him, trying desperately to hold him still. your back arched and violent shivers ran down your spine at the sensation and subsequent overstimulation. smalls hands shoved his shoulders and it was useless when he had you close to a second orgasm in seconds, as an apology for the sting he pressed a kiss to your ankle between thrusts. the second orgasm was warm and fuzzy, your mind going a bit numb to the pleasure and you’d blame him for making you so cockdrunk if he teases you later for what you were about to do. rafe felt your tongue lick a long wet stripe along his jawline, his sweat salty on your tastebuds and you hummed at the taste. he was close to coming from that alone. a groan left his lips, rumbling deep through you, washing over you like a silent command.

“rafe come inside please.” he slowed down at your words, thinking he might just knock you up if you keep talking like that. with the mean mating press he had you in, it wouldn’t even be difficult.

“fuck want it to-ugh-drip down your legs for everyone to see huh?” you whined at his words, nodding furiously and he smiled down at you, proud of how equally unhinged you’d become. your wish was his command, after all. he drew you to another orgasm before driving his hips into you again and cumming into you, making sure every single drop was given to you. his hips flush against you, with no space for anything to slip out, effectively plugging you full. with the cloud of pleasure slowly drifting away you started to feel the aches in your body and between your legs. no one would see anything because you’d have to be carried out. he rolled off you, pulling your underwear up your legs and making sure his cum didn’t slip away from you, it felt so disgusting but you didn’t have the luxury to worry about that. you were more worried about how you felt like you’d been body slammed by a linebacker. rafe looked thoroughly fucked out, you wondered how bad you looked. he didn’t tell you that he’d have to fix your makeup before leaving the room.

“don’t think i can walk.” you turned towards him on the bed, pulling your shirt down which he watched unabashedly. instead of frowning or faking some kind of empathy, the fucker smiled.

“hell yeah” you shoved at him and he laughed, pulling you closer as if it were possible, your forehead pressed against his. “don’t worry baby i’ll carry you, plus you were kinda slowing me down anyways.” a roll of your eyes and a twitch of your lips told rafe that you’d be okay, he’d pamper you tomorrow and maybe fill you up again, and again, just to see how it would look like running down your legs. you’re the one who asked for it, how could he deprive his baby?

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐧’ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

18+ MINORS DNI

or: natasha and you go to a concert

part of the short n‘ sweet universe

a/n: another request (who would’ve thought); don’t judge me for the title, i thought it’d be fitting since that’s the name of the tour as well 😗

summary: going to sabrina‘s concert with natasha; based on this request <3 (it took almost three months for me to get to writing this wtf)

warnings: smut (penetration, brief fingering), exhibitionism (i swear i use this tag on almost all sns fics…whatever), alcohol, natasha not being able to recognize emotional intelligence if it shot her in the face

word count: 12k

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Hooking up in the university's library is one of the dumber ideas Natasha's come up with so far.

The encyclopedia isle is usually empty — most people use Wikipedia, or another online platform. Physical media has, unfortunately, experienced a decline in popularity.

Sex hasn't, though. Which is why your 'study session' lasted ten minutes instead of two hours. Not much had to happen: Natasha walked in, knowing you'd be sitting between piles of books. She was still in her basketball jersey. Only her shorts had been swapped for slightly warmer sweatpants.

You've been hooking up for months at this point. You can't say you're dating, because you're not. You never really talked about it But when you're around each other, the possibility of her ending up inside of you is big.

Natasha looks up, her body still on top of yours. Her hands are braced next to your head, and you can see the sweat glisten on her neck. You lift your hand and wipe it away.

The floor you're on is carpeted and worn. It smells like old socks and books. You glance to your right and see the half empty packet of beef jerky someone discarded under one of the bookshelves.

"Someone walked in", she says, not making a move to get up. "I think it's that weird dude. You know, with the hoodies."

"That's great", you mumble. You shift beneath her. "I feel like we have more pressing issues, though."

She frowns and looks at you. At first, she doesn't understand. She's warm and comfy, and changing her current situation doesn't seem like the best way to keep up her good mood. But then she realizes she's still inside of you, so she quickly pulls out.

Sweatpants tugged back up, she gets up from the floor. You take the hand she offers you and get up, then adjust your skirt. Wearing that was probably one of the better decisions you've made today — easy access, quick to pull down and cover yourself back up. Natasha resists the urge to pout when your thighs are out of view again.

She was right — someone did enter, and they're approaching the encyclopedia aisle. You grab her hand and tug her back to the tables, causing her to stumble. She curses under her breath.

"Hey!"

"Sit", you urge her. She plops into a chair and you turn around. Before you can sit down, she wraps her arm around your waist and easily pulls you into her lap. "Oh- seriously?"

"You wanted to study", she points out. Her chin comes to rest on your shoulder, her head turns just enough for her to be able to kiss your neck. "So study."

You sigh and get comfortable in her lap. You may as well, since you're probably not moving for a while. Her hand is under your skirt already.

"I'm done with studying", you reply. She hums, lips sucking on your skin until a hickey forms. "Quit that."

"What? This is motivation. Positive reinforcement or whatever they call it."

The guy from earlier reemerges from the encyclopedia aisle, this time carrying a stack of books. The second he sees you, though, he whips around and heads in the opposite direction. Natasha laughs against your neck, a breathy sound, and squeezes your hip.

"What are you doing this weekend?", she mumbles.

You don't reply right away. You've learned that leading her on just a bit makes things better, for some reason — she gets more attentive, puts more effort into the time you spend together. It's not like she doesn't treat you well, because she does. But she sometimes needs to be reminded that, if she doesn't at least try a little, you can easily replace her.

"Not sure", you say vaguely. "There's this concert I wanted to go to with a friend. I haven't gotten tickets yet, though."

"A concert?" Natasha tries to sneak her hand higher up under your skirt, but you quickly grab her arm. "Who's performing?"

"You don't know her", you say, pushing her hand away. She pouts against your shoulder. "I doubt you listen to her music."

Natasha shrugs and puts her hand on your waist instead. She's aware you probably have a point. She's listened to one of your playlists before, and honestly, the only reason she didn't complain was because you were walking around her room naked. That wasn't something she wanted to interrupt.

Does she like the idea of going to a concert with you, though? She does. More than the idea of someone else accompanying you, whether they're just a friend or not.

"I could give it a try. I listen to all kinds of stuff."

A lie. You hear the dishonesty drip from her voice. Natasha's picky with what she listens to. However, she isn't picky about the way she spends time with you. Besides, she'll get to see you all dolled up again — that makes up for it already.

You give her a skeptical look. All she does in response is crack a smile and kiss your jaw.

"It's Sabrina. I probably won't get tickets, anyway", you tell her. Natasha shrugs. "It's this Saturday. I think it's sold out."

"Come on. If there's a will, there's a way."

You roll your eyes, but the way the corners of your mouth twitch betrays you. You turn toward your study setup again and start looking for a folder on your laptop. She watches, leaning forward and breathing in the scent of perfume.

"Don't be too excited", you warn her, opening the folder. A kiss to the crook of your neck makes you squirm. "It's definitely sold out."

"I'll find a way" she insists, glancing at the screen. A bunch of French phrases that you're supposed to translate have popped up. "Not this again."

You ignore her and start typing. She was probably expecting you'd go back to your dorm, like last time. Unfortunately, homework can't wait. Natasha has proven she'll stick around, anyway. That's clear from the way her hands run under your shirt to roam your stomach.

. . .

You get the text message only minutes after your takeout arrives. You're in bed, wearing shorts and a hoodie, the Chinese food still warm and the Sunkist ice cold. Your phone buzzes, so you start digging through the pile of blankets and pillows to retrieve it.

You knew it'd be her name on the screen. You didn't expect that message, though.

Natasha: meet me downstairs in five — 6.02pm

Biting into your egg roll, you try to reply to the message. Before you manage to do that, another one pops up.

Natasha: forget it, im coming upstairs — 6.03pm

There's no use in trying to keep her from doing so. She's stubborn, always has been, and you know her well enough to be certain she's walking up the stairs already. She doesn't even knock; the door just swings open.

"Hey", you mumble, scrolling through your phone and eating fried rice with one hand. "If you want food, order some."

"Forget the food", she says. You look up and raise your eyebrows when you see the two tickets she's holding. Pink and slightly wrinkled. "Look what I found."

You open your mouth to protest, but then close it again. Concert tickets — more than impressive, considering the show was sold out when you last checked. You set the fried rice aside.

"Are those real?", you ask, frowning.

"Very real. I got them from this dude on Facebook marketplace, really sketchy area." She shrugs off her letter jacket and sits down on your desk chair, swiveling it around and scooting closer. You snatch them from her before she can show them to you properly.

They do seem real. Wrinkled, yes, but looking similar to other tickets you've had before. You glance up at her.

"What's your plan?"

Leaning back and crossing her arms, Natasha shrugs. She kicks her feet up on the mattress of your bed, boots and all, and you sigh before nudging them off. You grimace at the bits of dirt that are left behind.

"You said you wanted to go", she says. "So let's go."

Secretly, you're impressed. A little bit, at least. She went out of her way to track these tickets down, just so you could see the concert. To be fair, she had another reason to — she gets to join, after all. But that doesn't make much of a difference. You didn't have to ask for her to do it.

She's looking a little too smug, though. Head tilted, eyes studying you like she knows she's getting some kind of reward for this. You get up, tickets in hand, and start digging through your closet.

Natasha watches as you take off your hoodie. The impatience makes her skin tingle, and she shifts in her seat.

"That's a yes?", she asks, still staring. You're taking your head out of its bun.

"Yeah", you say vaguely. You let your shorts fall to the floor, where they pool around your ankles, and step out of them. "Like I said, my friend really wanted to go. He'll Venmo you the money."

Her face twists into a small, offended frown. Maybe she should've been more specific, but she bought the tickets so she could go to the concert with you — not some random person. A guy nonetheless.

Speaking is hard, since you're standing in front of her half naked. She blinks and shakes her head. "Your...what?"

"Friend", you repeat. You peek into your closet again and push the jackets aside to look for a specific dress. "His idea."

Natasha stares for another moment, then she runs her hand down your face. Just hooking up. Not dating, not committed. The only argument she has is that she bought the tickets.

You glance at her over your shoulder and smile to yourself. You can see the distress slowly bubbling up in her. You'd keep going, but you're already running late for the concert. You can also tell she meant well — this is not her trying to get you into bed again. Making her spiral would be nothing but mean.

"You're so gullible", you say. You reach for a shade of lipstick that matches your outfit. "Of course you're coming with me. You'll hate every second, I need to see that."

She rolls her eyes and slumps into the chair again. She's relieved, but she also knows she probably came off as desperate. That thought is quickly forgotten about when you step closer, though.

There's a bracelet around your wrist. Pink beads, dangling stars. Small and delicate, but enough to transport back in time. She remembers a house that smelled like alcohol and weed, sex in a friend's bedroom, waking up and feeling conflicted for the first time ever. She doesn't even realize she's staring at the bracelet instead of you.

Cupping her jaw, you tilt her face up. Soft lips press against hers and leave behind lipstick. Suddenly, she's too flustered to speak. She's surrounded by your perfume, her mouth still tingling. She doesn't even register when you pull her up from the chair.

"Come on", you say, ushering her out the door. "Freshen up. I need to put on some makeup, I look dead."

"Dead?", Natasha protests. A head or so taller than you, yet she's letting you order and push her around like a well behaved dog. "Nah, you look good. I like the dark circles under your eyes, you-"

With one firmer push, you guide her right out the door and into the hallway. The door slams shut, and Natasha just stands there for a moment to process everything.

If this were someone else, she'd go home and ghost that person. It wouldn't be worth it — she knows enough women who'd sleep with her when asked. But it's you, so she rubs her face before padding down the hall toward the shared bathroom.

. . .

The parking lot in front of the concert venue is packed. Natasha barely manages to find an empty spot, and the one she finds is right next to a bunch someone left behind. Fast food wrappers, empty beer bottles, some dark mystery liquid — you lift your eyebrows at the sight.

She reads your thoughts like an open book. Rolling her eyes, she reaches behind the seats and pulls out a full bottle of vodka. The clear liquid immediately distracts you.

"Seriously?", you ask, grabbing it. She smirks and fishes out a bottle of orange juice as well. "Really thought of everything."

"Pregame", she replies. She pours the juice into a red solo cup and hands it to you. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but it's tradition for me. Clint brings an entire keg full of beer."

Slightly distracted by the task of adding vodka to the cup, you hum. It smells like oranges and alcohol, paired with the air freshener Natasha keeps in her car. You picked it out, back when you stopped at a gas station while coming back from a party.

It'd been her idea. Now it dangles from the rear view mirror, pink and shaped like a Christmas tree. Natasha can't even drive home from practice without being reminded of you, but that bothers her less than she'd expected.

You shift in your seat and lift your legs. Getting them across the center console is tricky due to your dress, but once you manage to swing them over, they land in Natasha's lap. She glances at your legs, blinking and putting her hand on your calf.

The drink tastes like every other you've had so far. Alcoholic, sweet and a little tart. When you've had enough, Natasha grabs the cup and empties out the two sips you left. Your lipstick transfers from the cup to her top lip.

You watch her for a moment, then lean over and wipe it away. Thumb gently pressing down on her lips, you tilt your head. "Ready?"

She raises her eyebrows and leaves a quick kiss on your thumb, then she unbuckles. "Ready", she says, opening the car door. "Come on."

After waiting in line for a while, you enter the venue. Natasha isn't too sure what to do with her hands — but when people start running and bumping into each other, she gives up the facade she usually puts on and wraps an arm around your shoulder. It's not what she's used to, but you sink into her side with enough ease to make her believe that could change.

"Wow", you mumble as you walk into the massive space. "Crowded already."

"Yeah", she says, frowning. "You can barely see the stage from here."

You shrug, subtly eyeing the people around you. Mainly girls, of course. All glitter and pink and cowboy boots. You get a little closer to Natasha.

"It's fine", you say. "This is good, too."

She glances at you, then shakes her head. She's getting you closer to that stage, even if it means getting in a fight with a few other people. Tightening her arm around you, she starts pushing through the crowd.

For her, it's easy. She has the advantage of both height and years of working out. All she has to do is slowly work her way forward utilizing her elbows. There aren't many verbal complaints, but the quick glares are telling.

"You'll end up pushing someone."

"That's the point", she mutters, pulling you in tighter. "Need to get them out of my way somehow, no?"

You shoot her an unimpressed look, but she keeps her eyes on the crowd. Step by step, elbows occasionally nudging someone aside, Natasha weaves your way through the group of people for you. Somehow, you make it close to the barricade.

From that point on, you don't have much choice but to stay where you are. The barricade is jammed with people, and honestly, staying a couple feet further in the back makes more sense.

Natasha believes she's on a mission, though. You have to poke her chest a few times to keep her from wedging herself into a group of girls.

"Are you trying to storm the stage?", you ask, gripping the front of her shirt. She stops in her tracks.

"You don't want first row?"

"I'm just glad we're here at all", you say pointedly. Around you, more people try to get closer to the front. Natasha is forced to step closer, so her chest is almost pressed against yours.

A bit taken aback, she stares at you. The lights have dimmed, and your face is inches away from hers. Your lipstick is smudged already — not much, but enough to remind her of the nights she's spent getting it into an even worse state.

"Yeah", she says dumbly. Her hand is still firmly planted on your back, keeping you close. "Me too."

You tilt your chin up enough for her to be able to kiss you if she wanted. Her heart beats a bit faster, but she tries to ignore it. Catching feelings isn't something she allows herself to do. She leans in anyway.

Just before her mouth reaches yours, the lights go out entirely. Cheers erupt around you, and you pull away too fast for Natasha to see it coming. She turns around and stares at the giant screen on the stage.

"That's a cartoon", she mumbles, still staring.

"It's the intro", you explain. You rest your back against her chest and feel her arms cross over your chest. "Just wait."

Natasha hums, her thumb rubbing back and forth on your shoulder. The cartoon ends, and a woman sitting in a bathtub appears instead. You lower your head enough to kiss her forearm.

"What's her name again?"

"Sabrina", you say absently, watching the screen go dark. It slides up smoothly, revealing a stage with winding staircases and curtains. When she steps out, wrapped into a white towel, and the spotlight tracks her as she runs from one side to the other.

Finally, she steps onto the stage. The cheers are loud as she grabs the fabric of the towel to open it and reveal a glittering golden bodysuit.

"Wow", Natasha murmurs into your hair. "Would you ever, you know..."

You smile against her skin. "Yeah?"

She shrugs. She's picturing you in it already, wearing it just for her. You'd step in between her legs as she sits on the bed. The glitter on the fabric would leave a residue on her hands.

"Would look good." She kisses your earlobe right as the music starts playing. You shut Natasha up by patting her arm a few times, the words already tumbling out of you as you sing along.

Natasha has no clue what the lyrics are, but she's pretty sure she's heard you play this exact song a bunch of times. Luckily, the crowd is loud enough to conceal the fact that all she can do is hum along quietly.

It's worth it, though. She's heard you sing along a few times before, but never like this. Her arms tighten around you as the people around you move, just to make sure neither of you fall. Your heart thrums hard in your chest, and she feels every beat like the music rattling her ribcage.

In the middle of it, you turn your head. You can't quite look at her, but that's not important. She leans in anyway to kiss your cheek. At this point, it's hardly platonic. Hardly something she'd be doing with anyone else, but also hardly something she'd ever admit.

"Liked this one?"

"It wasn't bad", she says. "You seemed to enjoy it."

You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows. She raises hers right back at you. Around you, the crowd gets louder when the next song starts. You keep staring, determined to make this last, but at some point, you have no choice. You turn towards the stage again, and Natasha swallows to get rid of whatever's lodged in her throat.

Focusing on the concert itself seems impossible. You're still pressed against her front, all body warmth and perfume, and the show isn't the most exciting thing anymore. Her hands settle on your waist and her brain blanks when you accidentally grind into her.

The word 'don't' is on the tip of her tongue, but she chokes on it. You have no clue what you're doing — you're singing along off tune, unbothered by the people around you bumping into you. It's not the first time you're ignoring her, but it might be the first time you're doing it on purpose.

"Do you know the difference?"

Natasha quickly looks at you. Your eyes are on her instead of the stage, and you've almost turned around enough to be fully facing her. She didn't even register the song ending.

"What difference?", she asks, hugging you tighter when a girl stumbles into you. Without realizing, she shields you from everyone else.

You gesture at the short blonde on stage, who's already started the next song. "You know — 'there, their and they are.' Were you even listening?"

Natasha goes from infatuated to slightly offended. Rumors have been circulating since forever, pretty much. That she's dumb, an idiot who's somehow got into college thanks to being a top athlete. You questioning her grammar skills hits that sore spot a little too well.

"Of course I do", she snaps, still keeping you wrapped up in her arms. A black tee, with the short sleeves straining around her biceps. "'There' as in where, 'their' as in belongs to them, they-"

The 'are' doesn't make it out. You get on your tiptoes instead, kissing her and swallowing the word. People cheer, either at the show or at you. You choose to believe it's you.

Hands grip your waist, thumbs pressing into skin. You hook one finger into her necklace and ignore the song. You focus on not stumbling backwards with her instead. She tastes lipstick and vodka. Suddenly, the bathrooms are way too far away — and she can't put a pause on the concert, so her only option is to slow down.

You pull away, cupping her face with one hand. Your thoughts aren't any less lewd than hers, but you're just as aware of the fact you're in the middle of a concert. Nobody's staring, really — they're too focused on what's happening onstage.

Natasha clears her throat and nods at Sabrina, who's performing a slower song now. Without hesitating too much, you turn back around and lean against her front again. Arms wrapped around your middle, she goes quiet.

You get peace for about 10 minutes. Then she pulls out a round bed and Natasha's ears heat up. She's still imagining you in that cute little getup, but now, she's flashing back to a specific night. One leg thrown over her hip, keeping her as deep inside as possible. Tugging at her shoulders and moaning into her ear. Lifting your hips a bit, just enough to meet her every thrust.

It'd been quiet in your dorm, apart from the music coming from another building nearby. It smelled like the cocktail you spilled and the new perfume you insisted on testing out on her. Between pinning her down in order to spray some of the perfume on her, she'd grabbed you and rolled over. Every nerve ending lights up, and heat licks at her spine.

"Hey", she mumbles, starting to get antsy. She's trying hard to keep it in her pants, but she needs a moment to calm down. "I gotta go to the bathroom. You'll be okay?"

You're barely listening, but you hear her anyway. You turn around and frown, your cheeks glowing with a mixture of body glitter and sweat. "Really? Now?"

"Just a minute", she snaps. "I'll be back in no time, I swear. Just stay here."

You give her a doubting look, but the more she fidgets and glares, the less resistance you show. With a defeated sigh, you turn away from her.

"Told you not to drink too much. Fine, go. I'll stay here."

Natasha nods, already making her way through the crowd. Her jeans are getting tighter with every step, her heart racing and her nape sweaty. She's seconds away from public disgrace, and the only thing that's able to save her is the bathroom. To get there, she has to elbow and shove her way through crowds of people. The second the door falls shut, she's bent over the sink and splashing her face with water.

The coldness of it seeps into her skin numbs it a little. Biting her knuckles, she looks up at her own reflection and nearly curses under her breath. She's flushed and dripping water all over herself.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck", she mutters, grabbing a few paper towels from the dispenser. She starts drying her face. "Shit."

Behind her, the door to the bathroom opens. She ignores the girls walking in and turns around, sniffling and rubbing her hands dry. She can't even hear her footsteps as she makes her way back into the venue — the music is too loud, even here in the hallway.

Natasha trying to reach the barricade again nearly gets her into a fight. She's always been stubborn, though, and her determination gets her back to your side within a few minutes.

You don't seem to notice her. You're leaning toward another girl, giggling and talking, and Natasha feels her blood pressure rise in a way that feels similar to the drop on a rollercoaster. The girl's fingers are grazing your arm, her head tilted — suddenly, Natasha understands why you get testy whenever she flirts with someone.

Whether it's for fun or not suddenly doesn't matter anymore. She grabs you without warning and muffles your squeak by pulling you against her chest.

"Are you insane?", you hiss. "What was that for?"

"Focus on the show", she says, shushing you. Your nose is right against her shirt, smelling deodorant and feeling the slight dampness of the fabric. "Hey, black suits her."

"Huh?" You turn around and groan. During that short moment of Natasha distracting you, Sabrina managed to pull off a costume change. Feather starts playing, but you're pouting.

Natasha glances at you, her heart thudding still. You're refusing to look at her now, and it's killing her. She's not sure where she went wrong, but it must've happened right after her return from the bathroom.

This is not what she wanted. In her mind, you'd have fun and go home together afterwards. She'd crash in your dorm, naked and hungover, and you'd be happy to have her there. Now, you look like you're about to storm off.

"Are you on your period?", she says, joking in hopes to get you to laugh. It only seems to make matters worse, though, because the look she gets chills her to the bone. "Jesus, alright. Shouldn't have said that."

You roll your eyes and turn around again, keeping your eyes on the stage. The crowd screams over the lyrics, it smells like perfume and sweat and alcohol. Behind you, Natasha rubs her neck. She's used to you two fighting, but she didn't expect it to happen now.

She hesitates, then steps closer. You stiffen at the feeling of her arms around you. Her biceps press against your sides, solid and familiar, and her lips meet your neck. It's enough to make you stop humming.

"Don't be mad", she mumbles, her thumb brushing along the underside of your chest. "You don't want to be mad, and you know it."

"You're a fucking manipulator."

"Only for you." Natasha kisses your neck again. Her hand sneaks higher upwards, cupping your breast and squeezing it. "Enjoy the show. Ignore me."

You scoff, but she doesn't budge. Having a crowd never threw her off, and you're fully aware of that. The library was mild compared to some of the places she's initiated sex in before.

"I would", you say, trying to peel her hand off, "if you weren't such a pain."

"Me?" She nuzzles your jaw. "Funny. You let this 'pain' fuck you four times this week. And counting."

You let out a laugh that signals her death is imminent. It may have been a while since that night at the party — where you slept together for the first time, tipsy and desperate in the sweat-stenched air of Pietro's room — but being reminded of it still sets you off. You'd sworn yourself you wouldn't end up as one of her one-night stands, but you fell for the whole basketball player-shtick anyway.

The worst part is that, even if you get a little nauseous when you think about her abandoning you like all her other disposable hookups, you'll probably still drag her home and into your bed after the concert. You're almost certain you'll end the night with a new dent in the wall behind your bed.

"I'll kill you", you hiss, trying to peel her hand off. "You can't grope your way out of this."

"Hey", she whispers. "Your favorite song."

Unfortunately, her quick distraction works. You look up when you hear Fast Times playing, and suddenly, you give up and let your body do its thing. You melt into her arms and stop resisting the natural course of order.

From that moment on, you forget about the fight. You don't even think about it anymore. When the song comes to an end, you're already over it enough to turn around and tug her into a kiss.

It's always been like this. First you're fighting, then you're suddenly shoving stacks of books off the desk. You can't recall talking an issue out even once. You doubt she has enough emotional maturity to even attempt that.

The vodka and orange juice earlier left a taste on her tongue. At first, everything seems to be under your control — you cup her face, keep her close, try your best to have this remain appropriate. Calloused fingers tug at the fabric of your dress and adjust it. She feels the heat beneath, her self-control wavering. It's a slippery slope from passionate to desperate.

Natasha nods her head to deepen the kiss. Teeth bump, and her hands start bunching up your dress a little. Before she can expose your underwear to an audience of almost 20 thousand people, you grip her wrists and keep her from pushing the fabric up more.

"No", you mumble. She pulls away, breathing heavily, and frowns. "Not now."

"Later?", she asks, rubbing her lips and smudging the lipstick you got all over them. You roll your eyes and shove your hand against her chest. "You were thinking it too."

You shake your head and turn back around, ignoring her as she curses quietly. "That's just you."

She accepts defeat because she has no other choice. Part of her knows she'll end up in your bed — she always does, even if you're arguing. She's never thought of herself as irresistible, but you've gotten close to letting her believe just that.

Her body feels as sweaty as yours as it wraps around you again. You smell sweat and cologne, Read Your Mind is playing, and you both think too much.

You stop paying attention. Her mouth is on your neck, her arms around your waist. The crowd surges every time the lights change. Flashing lights and bass drops blur together just like the songs.

You sing half the lyrics, mumble the rest. Natasha takes a picture of you, then a video. She never lets go of you, though.

"How many songs is that now?", she mumbles against your ear. Her hand runs down your arm until her fingers nudge against your bracelet.

"I stopped counting", you admit. Coincidence just started playing, and judging by how everything has turned into a blur, you're assuming it must've been a quite a few. "My feet hurt."

Natasha tries to sneak a glance at your legs. You're in high heels, but you're still a head shorter than her. The heels are probably killing you by now. She wouldn't be surprised if you ended up with blisters, especially after being nudged around by a crowd all night.

She doesn't understand why you'd put up with the pain just in order to look taller, but it's not her right to judge. Instead, she nods at her boots.

"Take them off", she says. You give her an unimpressed look. "Just do it."

"The floor is gross", you complain, already angling one leg to slip off your high heel. Natasha taps your waist. "What?"

"Stand on my boots."

You pause and stare. She stares back, then rolls her eyes and grabs the heel you're holding. She's not about to argue, because she knows she'd lose. Besides, if she lets you talk too much, you might start saying things that'll scare her. It's better if you both shut up.

"You're kidding", you say, but she's already scooped you off the ground. "Let go!"

"Take off the other one", she insists. She can already feel the sweat accumulate at the back of her neck. "Jesus, hurry up a little."

"I thought I was a lightweight", you hiss. You take off your other high heel, anyway. The leather of her boots feels cold as you stand on them. Natasha loosens her grip on you and exhales quietly.

"Comfy?", she asks, fingers drumming against your stomach.

You let out a begrudging hum and keep staring at the stage. You're not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing she saved you from being unable to walk the next day. Knowing her, she'd use it as leverage. Or to piss you off.

Natasha doesn't really mind your attitude. Not in that moment. You're standing on the toes of her boots, body flush with hers. She has the emotional capacity of a spoon, but there aren't many things she likes more than feeling you this close.

Another song ends. Then Juno starts, and you forget that you're supposed to act like you're mad at her. It's the one song you keep replaying, whether you're in the car or in your dorm. You've requested it at parties (and made a friend connect your phone to the speakers so you could play it if they refused), you added it to Natasha's playlist when she wasn't looking and you obsessively watched the different positions whenever someone posted them.

Natasha's unaware. You tend to doomscroll after sex, a thin sheen of sweat still coating your body, and lift your phone enough to make her see as well. She's tuckered out usually, with her eyes half closed and her face resting against the crook of your neck. She has no clue, but you show her the positions anyway.

"What's that?", she asks, squeezing her arms around your middle. "Why's everyone cheering?"

You briefly glance at her, lips twitching. "Don't know?"

The look she gives you makes you laugh. You don't need her to say it out loud — she's about to see, anyway. You're not too worried, as you've probably done worse than whatever position Sabrina is about to get into on stage.

You watch Sabrina run down the stage and get on her knees so she's almost sitting on the floor. Her knees stay bent for a second as she bounces on nothing a few times. The corners of your mouth tug into a little frown — you're not sure about the logistics behind it. Natasha, however, feels her brain turn into a lump of mush as she realizes what's happening.

It's a sex position. She shouldn't be too shocked, especially since she isn't one to reject experimenting with those, but she's already managed to picture you doing the same thing.

"What do you think?", you ask. She cranes her neck to get a better look at the stage, ignoring you. Her hand squeezes your side like you're about to evaporate and ruin her fantasy of trying this. If she hadn't already been toying with the idea of going home with you, she definitely would've made that decision now.

Sabrina's jumped back up and returned to performing. Natasha finally snaps out of it, but the image of you doing that very thing is burned into her brain. "That- yeah, no, that one's happening. We're doing that. Tonight."

You scoff. "Perv."

"She's creative", she mumbles. "We could be creative. Why aren't we?"

"You're disgusting", you retort, rolling your eyes.

She doesn't argue. She just shrugs, knowing you'll probably end up trying anyway. On stage, Sabrina is back to singing. You're not aware of it yet, but the lyrics plant a little seed in you. One that'll end up growing until you can't resist that itch anymore.

You turn your head to look at her over your shoulder. Natasha almost leans in to kiss you, but there's a glimmer in your eyes that makes her stop. She knows better than to push, as her being nosy has lead to issues in the past, but you have no problem bringing it up anyway.

You lean in closer, so close she can smell the chewing gum you popped into your mouth half an hour ago. Your eyes are dazed from both the vodka and the concert, and she can feel her fingers twitch with the urge to drag you somewhere. She doesn't know where, but anywhere without an audience would work.

She's sweaty, she's tipsy, she's horny. She didn't think you could make it worse. You prove her wrong just like every time.

"Want to give me a baby, too?"

For a split second, all air is knocked out of her lungs. She freezes, eyes wide and hands glued to your sides. Brain gone, body still. Her voice? Nowhere to be found. The music drowns out every thought that's running circles in her mind like a panicked rabbit.

Finally, she lets out a laugh. When she doesn't know what to say, she uses humor to deflect and pivots into touch. Distracting herself is key, otherwise she'll look like an idiot. Little does she know this moment will haunt her all the way to an important basketball game a few weeks later.

"What, now?", she asks, already kissing your neck. "Because I'd rather give you something else right now."

You lift your shoulder a little when her tongue brushes against a ticklish spot on your neck. "Smooth."

"I'm not joking. The bathroom isn't too shabby."

You shake your head and look at the stage again. Still, she keeps all her attention on you. Your shoulder is littered with kisses, her hands roam up and down, quiet curses escape her. You barely hear them, but they add to the thrumming inside you anyway. Alcohol, music, an idea that could either ruin everything or get something entirely different started.

The song has ended, thankfully. Natasha's head hasn't stopped spinning though, and you're somewhere between exhaustion and an inexplicable rush of giddy stupidity. The latter is intensified by the alcohol coursing through your veins. You didn't have much of it, but its effect is stronger thanks to the oppressive heat inside the venue.

You turn your head enough to be able to kiss her. She sucks on your tongue and gropes your stomach, feeling the heat beneath. Please Please Please is playing, you grab her face and deepen the kiss, and Natasha feels blood rush into her lower half. As if the heat wasn't bad enough, it's now accompanied by the recurring pressure in her dick.

Her hand slips lower with each passing second until she reaches what she's looking for. Her thumb brushes the curve of your ass and Natasha sighs, trying to tug you even closer.

No matter what you do or where you are, you always seem to end up in the same situation — with a hard-on pressing against you like a quiet reminder that this is what your relationship is doomed to be like.

You tilt your head as you part from her. She's seconds from bringing up the bathroom idea again, you can see it written all over her face. If you as much as look at her the wrong way, you're ending up with your back against a bathroom wall with sharpie all over it.

"No."

Natasha clenches and unclenches her jaw. She should've expected that answer, but part of her was too hopeful. Rejection therapy isn't something she ever had to get acquainted with, which led to her believing 'yes' would be the standard answer for just about everything.

"The concert will be over soon", you add, pulling away from her grasp. You step off her boots and onto the cold floor, grabbing your high heels again. Somehow, you managed not to lose them.

"Right", she says, watching you put on your heels again. The girl next to you bumps into your side, and Natasha keeps herself from tugging you back into her chest. "Got any plans for later?"

"You're trying to come home with me", you state, not wasting a second on your reply. She bites the insides of her cheeks. "Is that why you wanted to come here? Because it'd lead to sex?"

"You seemed like you wanted it too", she tries to defend herself. She's not sure she means what she said, but it's too late. The words hang between you, Don't Smile is playing and time is running out. You had a fight not too long ago — she doesn't want this to result in another one. She doesn't want to end this night with you being mad at her.

All you do is stare for a moment, then turn back around. Natasha runs a hand through her hair as she tries to come up with a way to salvage this. You still have to survive the car ride home, and honestly, the idea of dropping you off and leaving afterwards kills her. She shouldn't want this as much as she does — if her teammates knew, it'd be over for her —, but she can't exactly change it.

You feel her fingertips trace your shoulder blade. Nails rake over skin, fingers slip under the strap of your dress. She tugs gently, with just enough strength for you to notice. The strap snaps back against your shoulder. You don't react, not visibly, but your resolve weakens.

"Don't be mad", she says, hooking her finger under the thin piece of fabric again. "I'll buy you something at the merch booth."

"I have money", you say, staring at the stage. Her fingers find the zipper on your dress and give it a light tug. "Keep going and I'll call an Uber."

Natasha hesitates. The song is coming to an end, which means that she only has minutes left. Words tend to be her favored way of getting out of uncomfortable situations. She's ended arguments being a touchy smooth talker, murmuring bullshit until the other caved. With you, it's never been different, but there's starting to be more behind it.

"Smile", she says, wrapping a strand of your hair around her finger. "Smile and I'll kiss you."

You ignore the way your skin tingles when she reaches for the strap of your dress again. She tugs at it like it's a lifeline, like touching your body will make you rewind to the night were things were easy and hot and mutual. It's a flirty game, and she's using it to try and charm her way back into your good graces.

"I need you to mean that", you say, still not looking. It's like you just froze time, and the concert, for her.

She's stunned for a moment. Because she does mean it, even if everything about her screams she doesn't. There's no other explanation as to why she'd be putting herself through this otherwise. She has her pick of girls who'd sleep with her. Ever since becoming the basketball's team captain, that number has only increased. And yet, she's standing in a venue full of glitter and makeup products she couldn't name for the life of it.

Somehow, she enjoys being here anyway.

"What if I do?"

"You don't", you insist, your back stubbornly turned toward her. "I don't think you're capable of that."

Natasha rolls her eyes and steps closer. Her hand cups your waist, her front is right up against your back. Her idea of apologizing includes undoing a bra, but you still have an audience.

You don't try to escape her touch. It's not like there's much space around you to do that, but she feels something light up inside her regardless. Her hand curves around your middle and, when you fail to pull away once more, her lips brush your ear.

"I mean it", she mutters, too reluctantly for you to believe she doesn't mean it. It's lies that come easy to her — the truth scares her. "Now kiss me. I don't want you to be mad at me."

You keep your eyes glued to a random spot on stage, but they close for a split second. Inside you, your heartbeat stutters and the petty urge to make her grovel fades. You don't forgive easily — not usually, not when it comes to Natasha. You're already calculating the perfect moment to turn around, though.

You give up on that last bit of resistance when Espresso starts playing. You glance at her and meet her gaze, and paired with the music and the screaming crowd, it almost feels ridiculous. The fight was unnecessary, just like all the other ones you've had so far were.

"I'm sorry", she finally mumbles, licking her lips and looking at your own. "I'm stupid. I know that. Don't take that Uber."

A switch flips and, suddenly, your resolve crumbles quicker than you want it to. Natasha knows she's out of the woods when you roll your eyes, so she taps your lower back and cracks a smile.

"You forgot the kiss", she reminds you.

"Did I smile?"

She shakes her head. Her fingers drag over clothed skin, tapping and curling, and you squirm. You resist the tickling sensation about five seconds, then you let that smile slip that she's been waiting for. Natasha doesn't get to enjoy the view for long, though, as you immediately put on a frown.

"Fuck you."

She laughs, already pulling you closer. You get on your tiptoes right as she leans in. Her lips press against yours, soft and firm at once. You grip the front of her shirt, the fabric spilling out between your fingers. If she didn't know any better, she'd think you're angry about not being kissed this whole time — you're up on your toes just to kiss her back, at least. Natasha convinces herself that counts for something.

People yell around you, confetti falls like thick snowflakes in all kinds of colors. Drinks spill when the crowd moves and makes everyone bump into each other. You hear someone start to list names as they tell the audience to make noise for everyone, but you're both at a point at which you're ignoring it.

By the time you part, you're both out of breath. Natasha's silently swearing that she'll never pretend she isn't way too deep into this, and you're just trying to remember which way the exit was.

"Shit", you mumble, letting people squeeze past you as they start trickling out of the venue.

Natasha swallows and nods, her arm curled around your waist. "I fucking hate when you ignore me."

"Don't give me a reason to, then", you say. You glance at your wrist and touch it, a frown on your face. "I think I lost my bracelet."

"What?" She looks up and blinks, then grabs your hand to confirm. "Oh. Fuck. What's it look like?"

You start searching the floor — looking for the pink beads, the little stars dangling from it — but it's difficult to stay focused over all the noise. The chattering coming from all sides is almost louder than the concert itself, and you're cut off by people who try to get past you but don't quite succeed.

Natasha frowns as she helps you. It’s your favorite bracelet — it's the one you wore when you first kissed. When you first slept together, too. And now, the only thing tying you to that night in Pietro's bedroom might be gone.

Right as she opens her mouth to say something, a girl next to you steps on something. Whatever object her heel landed on crunches loudly, and both of you freeze.

"My bracelet", you groan, immediately continuing to search the floor. It seems impossible with all the people walking by and blocking your vision. “I loved that thing! It was so expensive, too!"

"Well...why'd you wear it?", she asks, panicking as well. But the object on the floor is a cheap pair of reading glasses, with the shards scattered around it. She lets out a breath. "Alright, you can calm down."

"'Calm down'? It's still gone, you moron!"

Natasha shuts up. She knows better than to keep going. As you continue searching the floor, she pads after you and tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans. Her fingertips brush against something cold and round.

She stops in her tracks and hesitates. Finally, she pulls out the bracelet. It takes you five seconds to notice she's not walking anymore. Like a switch flipped, you go from panicked to pissed.

"What, you're going to just stand there? Of course. It's gone, and you're just going to- oh, fuck you", you hiss. "It's gone!"

Natasha rolls one of the beads between her fingers. She hesitates again — you look like you're about to tear someone's head off, and it'd most likely be hers; but when you whip around again, she can't help it anymore.

"It's not gone", she blurts. "I have it."

You feel everything inside you be put on hold for a second. You don't believe her in that initial second, but then she's pulled out the exact bracelet you were looking for. With the same pink beads and history attached to it, now dangling from her fingers.

Finally, you let out a breath. You're by her side in a split second to grab the bracelet and give it a quick glance, then you put it on.

"This the one?", she mumbles, carefully watching your reaction. You nod and look up. Your hand cups the back of her head faster than she can register, and only when the bracelet gets tangled in her hair does she realize you're kissing her.

You pull away, staring at her. The air between you is charged with the afterbuzz of the concert and the mouthwarm of the kiss. You weren't happy about her suggesting that she come home with you after the show, but now, anything else wouldn't seem right.

"Yeah. That's the one. Let's just..." You nod at the exit. "Let's go."

Natasha nods and puts her hand on your lower back, even though there's no crowd she needs to guide you through. Outside, it's dark and still hot from the day. Cars speed down the highway nearby, and on the other side of the parking lot, two shadows are nestled against the side of a car.

"My dorm or yours?", you ask, trying not to be too obvious. Natasha smiles and lets her hand drop a bit lower.

"Yours."

. . .

Music is playing from your old portable speaker. The room smells like the chicken wings Natasha picked up on the way home. She's on your bed, heart-eyed and silent, as you're sitting at your desk with a vanity mirror in front of you.

"You're taking long", she mumbles, stretching. "Thought we had a deal."

"There was no deal", you reply, using a napkin soaked in makeup remover to clean your face. She sighs and rolls over onto her side. "You being gross doesn't equal a deal."

"It has before."

You give her a pointed look through the mirror. She raises her eyebrows, caught somewhere between flustered and horny. The concert wasn't long — and yet, it feels like she's been practicing involuntary celibacy for years.

"You want to try it, too", she adds. Your mind jumps back to the Juno position and you clench your jaw. Suddenly frustrated, you shift in your chair. Natasha notices, of course. "Don't lie."

"We've fought twice tonight", you point out, desperately trying to ignore the fact you're gripping the desk with one hand. You can't ignore it too well, though. Neither can she. "Don't let there be a third time."

Natasha rolls her eyes and props her upper body up on her forearm. Her hair is in a low bun that's slowly coming loose, and somehow, both her shirt and her cheek are speckled with glitter from your dress. You're still taking off your makeup, but she's got something else to take off in mind.

You should be distracted by the makeup remover dripping down your neck, but you're too caught up on the fact that there's someone lying on your bed. You're both still sweaty, still stuck in that weird, slightly disorienting haze caused by the bracelet. You move your foot, which was crossed at the ankle with your other one, and knock over one of your high heels.

"Are you still mad?", she suddenly asks. It's as unexpected as the cars outside, their tires screeching just a split second after she stops talking. You turn around and stare. "Is that a yes?"

"Guess, since you're so good at it."

Natasha rolls her eyes and slumps back into the pillow. You ball up the napkins on your desk and toss them into the trashcan, then you get up. The second she hears a zipper being pulled down, she lifts her head again.

Your back is turned to her. She watches the dress fall to the floor and, seeing more and more skin be revealed like something at a museum, feels blood rush south. Her boxers tent and she gives you a slightly desperate look when you reach for a pair of shorts.

"What?", you ask, eyebrows furrowed. She isn't sure whether you're irritated or genuinely confused, which throws her off more.

"You got glitter in your hair", she says innocently. Her fingers are twisting the hem of her shirt, her cheeks are dusted pink. She can pretend all she wants, but you know the tiny telltale signs by heart. That same girl who's thrown up on court and ghosted half the campus and flirted her way into your pants — she's nervous now.

You take out your earrings and pad to the windowsill to leave them there. She watches every move like she fully expects you to join her any minute. It's better to be prepared, which is why she feels for the thin square object in the pocket of her shorts.

"I got an idiot in my bed, too", you mumble. "Don't see me complaining about that."

Natasha, slumped into the mattress like she's a wounded soldier, perks up when you make your way to her side. She reaches out her hand and her fingertips graze your thigh, and when you sit down, she finally straightens up fully for the first time since entering your dorm.

"You brought this idiot here", she reminds you, her finger hooking into the strap of your bra. "You're so far away."

"You're kidding."

"I'm really not." She tugs at the bra strap and you sigh. Her fingers run down your arm until they reach your wrist — or rather, the bracelet dangling from it. "Do you hate me?"

"I'm thinking about it", you deadpan. She sees right through your lie, as usually, so your words don't have much of an effect. She keeps tugging, and you keep caving; once you've swung one leg over her lap, one knee on each side of her hips, it's over. You're still buzzing from the concert, and the bracelet, and there aren't many other things that'd be fitting for this situation.

You wrap her necklace around your index finger, pulling at it gently. She nods her head to press a kiss to your knuckle.

"Don't seem like you hate me", she mumbles. "You're still here."

"My standards have lowered significantly." Your lips twitch when she looks up, her eyebrows furrowed. "They weren't high to begin with."

Natasha huffs quietly, but her smile matches yours. She wraps one arm around your waist, biceps solid and familiar, and draws you closer. You don't mean to laugh, or brush your lips against hers, but it happens anyway. You pull away and she hums, staring at you.

You let out a breath. Your hands run into her hair to tilt her head back tugging just a little. Natasha feels the intention of keeping it casual fall apart, and to combat the feeling of anxiety creeping up, she kisses you again.

It's not much. Just soft presses of lips, sighs between them. Mouths open as the kisses grow sharper, a little more desperate. You feel the wet patch on her boxers before she does. You pull away enough to see the smudged lipstick on her mouth. You removed most of your makeup, but leaving that on was intentional.

One hand gripping her collar, you yank her closer. Hot lips press against yours, stiff due to her initial state of surprise, but then she kisses you back again.

Her hands settle on your waist after a moment. She brushes her tongue along your bottom lip, and when you feel her boner press against the inner part of your thigh, you roll your hips against hers. Your knees grind into the mattress and both of you are out of breath way too quickly.

"Hey", she mumbles, pulling away just enough to be able to speak. "You want this?"

"We're past asking, I think."

Natasha exhales and nods. Her hand curves around your back and up your spine, finding the clasp of your bra. It comes undone, the pressure around your chest loosens, and you let the straps slide off your arms. The piece of fabric ends up on the other side of the room, forgotten about before it even hits the floor.

Her hand is inside your shorts before you manage to kiss her again. You wiggle against her fingers, cursing quietly.

"Jesus, you're wet already?", she mumbles.

"You're the one dripping", you shoot back. Her hand moves slowly, too slowly for the both of you. You swear again, clutching her shirt so hard she feels the pressure around her chest.

Her fingers flex inside you. She keeps working you open until you have to clasp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from whining. Just seeing that happen is enough for Natasha to want to take it slow, but her boxers hurt from the pressure, so she pulls out again.

"Can you not?", you complain, her hand stuck in the waistband of your shorts for a moment. She raises her eyebrows.

"Still hate me?"

"You're on thin ice", you mutter. She puts her hands on your waist and guides you up, making your frown fade. "I'll kick you out."

Natasha glances at you, and somehow, she's able to make you feel bad. It's a guilt trip, heading straight for the spot that'll make you stop whining. Unfortunately, it works.

Once she realizes she's won, she looks much more content already. You're too impatient to put up much of a fight. There are always other ways to take revenge, after all.

"What's your plan?", you cave. She hums and lifts you up again, manhandling you as she pleases.

"Turn around", she says. "I want to try it."

Your back is already turned towards her when she says that. The moment you remember what she's talking about, you feel heat shoot up your spine and then back down between your legs. Natasha tugs at your shorts and waits for you to nod, then she helps you pull them off all the way.

It's hot in your dorm, summer heat clinging to both of you. With her only sitting there in a sports bra now, you can feel how sweaty and flushed she is. You straddle her facing away and lean back against her chest.

"Alright", she breathes, her hands on your waist. You lift your hips and feel her tip nudge into you. "There you go."

"Shut the fuck up", you moan, trying to sink down. The angle isn't making things easier for you — getting adjusted to her still hurts. "Don't move, don't move-"

"I'm not", she husks. Her fingers curl into your sides, leaving little crescents behind as she guides you. "Come on, just a little more."

She rocks up into you, bottoming out. Your hips are pinned in place. The bed creaks quietly and you moan.

The thrusts are long at first, calculated. You're still sitting up, still trying to take each roll of her hips. Her nose is against your neck as she breathes in, perfume and a hint of cherry gloss making it seem like a fever dream in the late of summer.

With her hands still guiding you, she starts going slower. The angle hits deep, the spots are sweet enough to make you gasp quietly. She's not thrusting, she's grinding. It's not rough, but relentless, and she feels her self control slip with each noise you make.

Then, you clench. Natasha curses as she barely stops herself from coming on the spot.

"Shit", she grunts, her voice low and lost between the slick, unhurried sounds that fill the room. Mentally, she's thanking Sabrina for introducing her to this. "Don't do that."

"Come on", you say. You're barely able to speak at this point. "This was your idea. You were so cocky earlier."

Natasha's forehead is glued to your shoulder. You lift one arm and move your hand behind you, cupping the back of her head. The bracelet around your wrist nudges her ear and gets tangled in a few flyaway hairs.

Her hands are grinding you down, her hips are rolling up into you. The room smells like sex and sweat, and when one of her hands suddenly starts roaming your body, you know it's over for you.

She presses down on your stomach, cups your breast, moves it all the way up to your throat. She barely wraps her hand around it before letting go again. It drifts to the aching spot between your thighs, where she's still buried inside of you, and she starts circling it without warning.

"Fuck", you stammer, one knee jerking. "Fuck, Nat-"

She ignores how your fingers tangle into her hair and tug. Her arm locks around your waist, keeping you pressed against her. She feels her own outline against her forearm and almost loses it.

At this point, it's almost too much. Natasha's been hanging on by a thread for hours, and you're not doing better. She tugs you fully into her lap as she keeps grinding up, sweat trickling down her bicep and her hair curling from the moisture.

"The bracelet", you moan, melting against her. "How did you find it?"

"I didn't." She makes a noise that sounds close to a sob. You'd laugh — it's you who did it, after all — but her hips jerk up and rid your mind of any thoughts. "I took it."

"Oh", is all you say. Her hand keeps working your clit, and each thrust goes deeper and deeper until she's all but grinding in spot. Her words linger, but you're too far gone to react.

The buildup is sudden and intense. She thrusts up one more time, her arm pulling you down as she rocks up, and that's it. Heat floods you, hitting each nerve ending. She spills, your back arches, and the bracelet almost rips a few of her hairs out when you adjust your arm.

"Shit", she pants, still nuzzling your neck. "That hurt."

"You're the one complaining?", you whine. You're twitching with aftershocks, nearly wheezed while talking — you could've sworn she'd rip a hole into you. Yet, she's talking about 'hurt' like she's the one who experienced it.

"Your bracelet, dumbass. It’s pulling my hair."

"Oh." You swallow and gently remove your hand. Her hand hasn't moved from between your legs. Her thumb keeps circling your clit like she's about to initiate something else. But you're sticky and trembling and in desperate need of a shower. "Get out of me before I cry."

You hear her swallow, feel the kiss on your shoulder. She hesitates before pulling out, slowly, and wipes your thighs with the back of her hand.

"I didn't mean to", she confesses, grabbing a tissue with her clean(-ish) hand. "I don't know why I did it. Guess it reminded me of...things."

"The party", you state. She shoots you a glare. "Don't look at me like that! You took it like some weird creep."

When she doesn’t say anything, all you can do is scoff and get up. Natasha, feeling like an idiot for confessing while too deep inside you and too pussy-drunk to form a single coherent sentence, jumps up and follows after you. She tries crossing her arms behind her head as you walk to the shower on wobbly legs, but even that  doesn't feel right anymore.

"You need help?", she finally asks. You grab your robe and head for the door.

"You need to leave", you say, hand on the doorknob. "You know that bracelet is important to me!"

"I know", she says slowly. She's seen it on you during the party, and then consistently after you started hooking up more. "I'm sorry. Don't be mad."

You roll your eyes and step out into the hallway. Natasha groans and puts on her shorts before walking after you, the floor cold beneath her feet. She makes sure not to step into some old chewing gum and then tries getting ahold of you.

The towel nearly slips. She retracts her hand like she touched the earth's core itself.

"What is wrong with you-"

"I wasn't thinking", she quickly says, fingertips grazing your wrist. "I swear."

"No", you shoot back. "You were thinking too much. See the issue?"

She doesn't understand at first, then she opens her mouth — and shuts it again. Because you're right, again. You're calling her out, which she both hates and loves. It's something that no one's ever done before, at least not like this. Not in a way that made her listen.

"And the concert", you add. "What was that about? Did you want to do something nice, or was it about fucking me again?"

"Okay", she stammers, rubbing the back of her neck. "I don't want to go off topic, but we're in the middle of the hallway, and it's late at night, and-"

"You don't want everyone to find out?", you snap. Her eyes widen immediately. "Little late for that, since under the bleachers seemed just fine for you."

Heat creeps up her neck and all the way to her ears. She rubs her eyes — if she'd just given up on the ticket hunt, she wouldn't be standing here right now — as she tries to find the right words. Somehow, that's where she always ends up: in some weird headspace that removes her ability to communicate verbally.

The easiest way to deal with this would be to drag you back into bed. But you don't want that — you'd probably kill her, in fact — and neither does she. Her only option is to find the right words, even if it seems impossible.

"It wasn't about sex", she mumbles, each syllable feeling like it's clinging to her vocal cords and refusing to let go. "You know that."

You shake your head and adjust your towel. Someone down the hall opens their door, but it shuts again almost right away. "You know, believing you is one of the biggest mistakes someone could make. So why should I?"

"No", she admits. "You shouldn't. But I want you to, anyway."

"It's not about what you want", you reply, fixing your towel again. You almost let go, and she immediately grabs the edge to keep it in place. "It's about being an adult. There's a thing called 'emotional intelligence', but I guess you won't even look at that until you can stick your dick in it."

"You're emotionally intelligent", she says unhelpfully. "Does that count?"

Another stare. Then you're headed for the bathroom, and Natasha has to follow suit again. Why she's fighting, she pretends not to know. Even if everything she does is telling her why.

The water starts running, and she joins you without asking. You don't bother trying to kick her out. It wouldn't work anyway, so you let her lean against the wall of the shower cubicle.

She exhales as you reach for your loofah. It smells like almond and vanilla, but for the first time ever, even that doesn't turn her on. She shifts and then pushes away from the wall to grab the loofah.

"What-"

"I'll be more thorough", she mutters, moving to stand behind you. "Don't move too much."

You scoff, but don't bother arguing. The rough material of the loofah is running along your shoulders already anyway, so you stand there and let her coat your skin suds. It's just the loofah at first — scrubbing away sweat and dead skin cells, cleaning you of every dumb thing Natasha's said that night.

Her hand follows, but it's not the usual little game of trying to get you into bed. Suddenly, she's tracing shoulder blades and your spine and gently poking the spot where the nail of her index finger left a faint mark.

"That's me."

"I know", you say simply. "It's not like there's anyone else."

Natasha nods and lets out a breath. She returns to washing your back, your arms, your sides. Her hand cups your waist and she leans in to kiss the back of your neck. You freeze, then relax enough for her to repeat it.

"I'm sorry", she murmurs, her lips against your skin. Her hand trails down your arm, right to the bracelet. "There's a reason. I swear. But you said it, I don't do well with the sappy stuff."

"Natasha."

"I like what it stands for", she says, slipping her fingers between the bracelet and your wrist. "It reminds you of something. It reminds me, too. I should've just asked for it."

You breathe in and out. Your fingers curl, your eyes close. Her free hand touches your lower stomach before splaying out on it.

She's not making sense. She never did. But you move your hand away from her grasp and remove the bracelet from your wrist. This time, you give it to her on purpose. It looks small in her palm.

"That's yours", she says dumbly.

"You stole it", you say, turning around again to rinse off. "If you can do that, you can accept it from me."

"Yes, but..." She shakes her head and looks up. "Why?"

Not even you know. Not really. All you know is that you’re tired, and if she wants to have a piece of you, she can have it. And maybe, she’ll figure out how to take care of it first.

You don’t tell her. Instead, you shrug, the water running down your body and removing all the soap suds. She tries her best not to check you out, so she quickly looks at the bracelet again.

"I want you to have it", you say, twisting the shower knob and making the water stop running. "Do with it what you will."

She watches you as you leave, your footsteps quiet in the darkened room. She doesn't follow — not this time. She hears the door to the communal bathroom close, then she glances at the bracelet again. It had one memory attached to it before: sex, at a party, mainly resulting from a game of 'spin the bottle'. Now, that may have changed.

Do with it what you will.

Natasha doesn't wear it. Not now, that is. But she keeps it in her wallet, next to her toothbrush, on her dashboard.

When she does decide to give you her jersey, she wears it beneath the sweatband on her wrist. It's hard for anyone else to see the faint outline of it — yet she does, anyway.

[etherealvampire6]

Bakugo Headcannons

|дﾟ)ﾉ Most of these headcannons are not mine and I do not take credit for all of them. But I just remembered reading them from many different platforms, so credit to the people who did think of most of these!

IF he has a crush on you ೃ⁀➷

● At first, he definitely would recognize that his perception of you had changed. He wouldn't label it as a crush though, he'd assume whatever he was feeling towards you was a distraction from becoming no.1, and try to forget you'd been crossing his mind lately.

● Was genuinely confused as to why you stood out in the first place even though you fit in with the rest of the class.

● If ignoring whatever it was he felt about you didn't work, he'd then try to push you away. When you two talk he'll brush you off and act more irritated. It would bother him if his attempts at dissolving his sudden thoughts of you weren't working. After talking with Kirishima, he would refuse to accept that he had a crush on you.

● He would start picking you as a training partner to try and find out why he likes you.

● He would be hyper aware of what he says around you and what he does. He doesn't want give away that he likes you on accident. He would rather die.

● I think he would be slightly annoyed if another person was hitting on you. He likes you because you're strong, and he not only views the other person as a distraction for your potential, but as a threat to him.

It's not like he was gonna make a move anytime soon, but he's been realizing you've been occupying his mind most of the time and being with somebody else just annoyed him, and he hated it.

● Bakugo would definitely wish things could go back to the way they were. He didn't know how to define nor deal with his emotions in this type of way, making his life a lot harder.

● He would want to know more about you, so he knows he doesn't have a 'crush' on a weird extra. but would refuse to call himself a stalker after he found most of your social media's (by himself) because he's not a obsessed extra. But he was curious about you nothing special.

● If you two ever did become friends, he would defend you. He can't have some lame extra disrespecting one of HIS friends. What does that say about him? He wouldn't make it a big deal in front of people, but he'd scare anybody who was rude to you into apologizing on their knees.

● He is not gonna treat you any better or any worse. He won't purposefully go out of his way to be mean or rude to you, like if he has to hand you something, he's not gonna throw it at your head. He'll hand it to you but still mumble about how annoying u are and that u better not get used to it.

● He's not gonna try and beat you to a pulp in training because he has some sort of feelings for you. He'll be a total show off, and when he's training with you he'd give you the same type of fight he would give his other classmates.

● And he will not immediately soften up to you or cry in front of you. Bakugo has too much pride, and he cares about his reputation. IF you two are close enough, he might have a rare vulnerable moment with you. "But he's cried in front of izuku!' You are NOT izuku. Izuku is a whole nother story.

● He won't hate you even more unless you give him a reason too, and if that's the case then he'll probably lose whatever tiny feelings he might have for you.

● Yes, he'll act more irritated by you, but he's not gonna have any actual hate towards you just because HE started feelings things for you. It'd be silly if he blamed you for his emotions, that's weak extra crap.

● He'll be annoyed and aggravated that he cant figure out and control his emotions, his anger isnt because of you, it's because he doesn't understand nor like the emotions he's suddenly aware of that he has for you.

● He won't hate it when you talk. The sound of your voice won't make him wanna take a swan dive. But he will act like he doesn't care one bit about what you're saying, but he will secretly take in whatever you're saying.

● Bakugo will not get offended or jealous at how strong you are. if anything, he'll find it attractive, that's why he likes you in the first place. if you were weak, you wouldn't even cross his mind the way you have been.

● During training, he won't change and cooperate just because of you. He'll try to outshine others like usual and be super annoying unless he literally has to work together to win. He's not changing his style because of you.

● He is going to give you an equal fight, maybe even give it all he's got on you. if he didn't see any potential in you, he wouldn't have liked you in the first place

● He knows you (and many others) found his personality annoying, and personally he never really cared about others opinions. but now that he likes you, whenever he sees you roll your eyes at one of his tantrums. he'll only feel even more angrier and embarrassed. But since he's stubborn he'll only double down on his behavior.

● If you ever decided to ask him out, he'd reject you because you beat HIM to it, and he's just that petty. but IF he asked you out and you rejected him, he'd insist until you said yes. And if you didn't he'd never talk to you again out of embarrassment.

● He will want you to find him attractive. He doesn't want you to be disgusted by him because he's aware that sometimes he acts like a rabid animal. He won't always try to be nonchalant

● He's a very honest person. He won't lie to you or anybodies face. even if he accepts that he likes you, he will want you to become better, he wouldn't wanna keep you in the dark about something.

●He be switching up sometimes. If he ever forced himself to try and have a conversation with you and it goes well, the next moment he's yelling at you for something stupid. Because why the hell is he trying so hard to conversate with you? But he can't help it, he'll subconsciously plan what he's gonna say to you and hates when it doesn't go his way. Denki got in his way? Boom! No more Kaminari.

● It's already cannon that he is SO nosy. God forbid you do something embarrassing thinking your ever alone.

● When you say something he thinks is funny, he forces himself not to laugh so he seems nonchalant? he doesn't know why he does this (he thinks his laugh is horrendous)

● Gets super mad if he's going out of his way to impress you and someone's else distracts you. 1. why is he trying to impress you and 2. His attempts were for nothing because when he turned around you were talking to denki, and that made him feel silly.

● If you playfully tell him to shut up, he might take it literally if he can't tell. He wants you to like him, because why should he be the only one 'suffering' because of his emotions. He's secretly worried about what you think of him.

● If you didn't listen to his every command during training or a mission he would be annoyed, but excited because your giving him a challenge, a reason to prove how good he is. But if you did listen to him when he bossed you around he would probably end up also listening to you during those moments as well.

● if he EVER gives you advice and you didn't take it. don't ever expect it again.

● His encouragement would sound super backhanded and come across as more of an insult. if you were feeling nervous and he said something like " Quit being like these lame extras and go do something badass, or else I'll make you regret it!" but he's not insulting you.

● Is not a sweet talker. You'd think he's your biggest hater but really he just likes you. Which is why he's always finding ways to get your attention, usually indirectly like being a show off.

● He finally stopped ignoring you and accepted his crush on you. And you'd both get into arguments pretty often about the STUPIDEST things.

●.When he feels butterflies around you, he'd immediately walk away. He HATES the butterflies and always grumbles about them, complaining about lunch rush being a terrible chef or whoever was cooking his meal that day.

● He accepted that you've been worthy enough for him to have feelings for you. and he'd hype himself up, cause what reason would there be to not like the future no.1 hero? but on the inside he's scared you probably don't like him, because most of your interactions are him brushing you off and backhanded comments, or petty arguments.

● Will try to stand out more around you for some reason to impress you. he knows he's the best, but he wants to make sure you know it.

● If he ever studders around you, he'd start yelling at you to shut up, and then go blow Denki up.

● He'd try so hard to be non-chalant around you, but fails 2 minutes later after throwing a yelling fit. He stopped trying when he realized you didn't seem to mind his yelling.

● Will try to do nice things for you but make it seem like he's begrudgingly doing you a favor, and that your just slowing him down.

● Would call you a lot more mean nicknames instead of just extra. not teddy bear, but a nickname he made up relating to your features. Like Kirishima is shitty hair for example.

● He is not changing his sleeping schedule just so he can stay up with the class and play Mario cart with you

● He'd threaten the life of anybody who caught onto his feelings for you, but there wasn't much he could do when even Mr. Aizawa noticed (was he that obvious?)

● Would lie awake thinking of things to get you out his mind, like insulting you for some mistakes you made. It didn't work because he knew you learned from them and got better unlike a weak extra.

● If you couldn't defend yourself he wouldn't do it for you. but if you didn't CARE to defend yourself but he know you could, he'd go threaten the life of whom was disrespectful or simply pissed all over your name or something.

● Once he learned your favorite food, he made it often but denied any accusations towards him when you said it was your favorite. Even once said it was his favorite and you copied him.

● wouldn't make any sort of move on you

● wouldn't want anything sexual with you during his time at U.A. he probably wouldn't even wanna date you until he graduated. His focus is entirely based on becoming better, training, and becoming no.1

● He started being distracted by his feelings for you, so if he messed up even a little bit. Automatically your fault

● He if you ever slacked off he would start to slowly lose feelings if your behavior wasn't changing.

● A compulsive liar, he makes up shit to be funny and then denies it when you say "really?" but he doesn't lie about anything that's actually true.

IF you were dating ೃ⁀➷

● I highly doubt he would even consider relationships until he graduated from U.A. even if he did during highschool, I'm sure the relationship would end faster then it started.

● he'd be very hesitant in opening himself up to the fact you both weren't platonic anymore

● he would need a minute to get uses to the dynamic switch.

● he also wouldn't hide your relationship, he isn't afraid of other peoples opinions or judgment. he wouldn't have gotten with you if he was ashamed of you or wanted you to be asecret. If you were dating it would mean you were important to him.

● He also would be less bothered about you knowing things he kept secret from everyone else.

● His boundaries would be non negotiable, he expects you to follow his boundaries just as he would yours.

● He'd be very protective over you. Dating you means he's come to terms that your strength matches up to him or falls closely behind his. If someone ever mistreated you (not including training etc) then he wouldn't hesitate to fix it.

● would never say "I love you" or anything that cheesy if you said it to him. But he would acknowledge it by nodding or a look of appreciation. Though he would likely say it if there was an emergency or you truly just needed to hear it from him.

● He would ask for your opinions more then anyone else's. and would reluctantly accept any corrections you had if he could understand why you'd said it.

● He'd be okay with you being in his personal space, most comfortable with it further into the relationship

● He's not gonna half ass it if he ever does start dating you. Because that would mean he's a slack off and he was wasting his time, so yes he would put effort into it... in his own way.

● arguments would be very one sided with him, if you had an issue with anything he was doing he'd yell at you or dismiss you without realizing it mightve been a genuine issue for you but he would try to fix whatever it was as long as it was too grand and went against his standards

● Is a man of his actions. He needs to apologize? he'd rather do it with his actions, he knows by now he isn't great with words at all and would probably mess things up further.

● He wouldn't be controlling in a unhealthy sense, but he would keep tabs on what your doing most of the time. he'd likely have your schedule memorized.

● Rarely, he'd let you stay near him as he's working on his pro hero gear. He's picky on who gets to see, and he likes to keep certain aspects of his designs hidden for his own advantage, but your an exception.

● he is amazing at noticing tiny details and changes in your atmosphere. He'd be able to tell if something was up.

● He would have to trust you of course to even consider dating you. Sometimes he'd get annoyed at how easily confident he was in your words, how well he listened to you and barely questioning things.

● He can be very level headed when it matters. Instead of act on impulse with you, he'd be careful when he's expressing his emotions or yours that he doesn't deal well with.

● he won't lower his standards for you. He'd expect you to uphold yourself without relying on solely him, if you couldn't do that he'd end the relationship that quick.

● He wouldn't discard your personal interests, even if he believed some were dumb, he'd listen to you talk about them. Although sometimes he'd tune you out if it was something he couldn't for the life of him understand.

● Would be honest if you did something gross or disgusting.

● You would not be the most important thing in his life, though he would hold you at a higher level of importance compared to other things.

● His focus would never move away from being the best, but he'd make sure you were also involved in his life as he aspired to become no.1 If he was busy, he'd allow you to watch or train with him.

● most likely wouldn't initiate any intimacy like forms of touching until he got a little older or of yall had been dating for a long while.

● No, he's not gonna call you baby or teddy bear. He will not catch himself being cringe. he'll most likely still call you idiot or dumbass like everyone else, but sometimes he means it in a caring way.

● He won't change his personality for you, he won't randomly try to he different with his humor to make you laugh. he'll say his usual backhanded comments that are unintentionally funny. Whenever he does say something funny, he'll make sure to not laugh to seem cool.

● He won't try to be quieter either, he'll be just as loud it's part of who he is. he tried being quieter and almost had a stroke.

● But he isn't an asshole, if he knows you have a headache or your genuinely having a bad day he'll tone it down a bit.

● It's practically cannon that he's obserbative, so if you dint tell him he'll probably find out. And most of the time he can tell when your feeling anxious or if your angry at him.

● Bakugo won't believe you should settle for how he is and not try to be better around you. he wont have a "she's lucky I even noticed her" type mentality. you won't catch him lacking, but one day he might look at himself and be like "why the hell am I doing this?"

● He won't be horrible to you, like he's not gonna forget to buy you gifts on holidays or important dates like your birthday. He'll get you a gift that's well thought out and one you'll like, once again he's very obserbative and took time to learn what you liked.

● He also won't disrespect you by making fun of your trauma or things that he knows make you extremely uncomfortable. He's not a monster. He won't outloudly say you can speak to him about it. He assumes you know he's available. He also won't gush all over you when you do, but he'll let you know he's listening. But if you're not that close yet, don't bombard him with personal crap.

[agreeewrites]

Hit Me Where It Hurts The Most | S.B.

feat. Sirius Black x Rowle!reader

SUMMARY: You and Sirius have known each other since childhood due to your families running in the same circles. But after a lifelong loathing of one another, the scale tips another way during the New Years Eve feast after-party.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, hate fucking, enemies to enemies that kiss, abusive siblings, toxic friends, reader is Thorfinn Rowle’s twin sister, side Rabastan Lestrange x reader (it's complicated)

series navigation | part two | part three | part four | masterlist

divider by @sxmmerberries

“Well, don’t you look supremely vicious this evening,” a low voice hummed in your ear, one you would recognize anywhere.

“Would you like a taste, Black?” You replied, turning your head just slightly so you could see him in your periphery. He looked exceptionally handsome, as he always did, with his regal bone structure and sage eyes, his hair glossy as raven’s feathers.

It made you sick.

“I’d rather chew nightshade. Far less dangerous.” Sirius stepped around to your front, openly surveying the outfit you’d selected for the evening: a black mini dress with long bell sleeves, a silver chain around your waist, and a platform pair of gogo boots that barely brought you up to his chin. “You’re lethal, darling.”

You and Sirius had known each other for years, having been in attendance for countless parties thrown by your families, and you always seemed to end up here, flirting like you were wielding knives instead of compliments. A competition to see who could deal them most flattering, and most lethal blow. And when he’d left his family for the Potter’s, that rivalry only deepened.

It was much easier to hate one another, to twist the most alluring parts of each other into flaws rather than admit the truth of what they were, or how they made you feel.

You were both at the New Years Eve feast afterparty in the Astronomy Tower, a rare multi-house event. Magic kept the blustering cold at bay, and the party safely enclosed in a bubble of warmth. Students from every house mingled, sipping straight from bottles of giggle water and dancing amid a haze of glittering confetti. The music thrummed through you, aiding the alcohol in loosening your tense muscles.

You loathed parties, but your brother, Thorfinn, had insisted. And what the oaf wanted, the oaf got.

Speak of the devil, you caught Thor’s eyes across the party, where he stood with Sirius’ cousin, Rabastan Lestrange, and the Carrow’s, scanning the crowd for their first unwitting plaything of the year. Thor’s gaze flicked to Sirius, and his expression darkened.

You turned your attention back to Sirius, rolling your eyes at him. “Better hurry back to Potter, baby. His hand must be getting cold outside of your ass.”

Your jab didn’t phase him, and he flashed you that dauntless grin. “What? Big brother says you’re not allowed to talk to me?”

Thor started to move through the crowd towards you, a battering ram through water, and panic curled behind your ribs. “I have no interest in speaking with you, reject. Leave me,” you hissed, as vicious as he accused you of being.

His smile tightened, your cruel words finally chinking his armor. Then, the bastard caught your eye flitting past his shoulder and turned, spotting Thor as he prowled ever closer. “Oh, he looks thrilled,” Sirius said, turning back to you. “Better turn that little brain off and play dumb like you’re so good at.”

Anger simmered under your skin, twining with the panic to make you feel a frantic, fevered.

With a huff, you stepped around Sirius and met Thor halfway, allowing him to take your elbow and steer you back across the party, his grip bruising.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, talking to that rat?” Thor seethed, his alcohol-singed breath wafting over your face.

“He came up to me,” you bit back, swallowing the urge to pull away despite the pain.

“So you walk away. Not play your stupid little word games.”

“I know, Thor. I’m sorry,” you said, feigning remorse, but tonight, he wouldn’t be so easily disarmed.

“Your lack of control is a disgrace,” he snarled, before shoving you away and almost directly into Rabastan, who caught you with a steadying hand before quickly releasing you.

“Just stay here,” Rab whispered in your ear, his heat at your back. “Pecking at my cousin isn’t worth the consequences.”

Rabastan Lestrange was far from a good man, but he wasn’t an unfeeling ogre like your brother, so you often took shelter in his calm demeanor and powerful name. If he wanted Thor shipped off to Azkaban, all he had to do was say the word.

Your parents hoped you would snag an engagement proposal from him by graduation, but the months were rapidly winding down. And you couldn't bring yourself to try all that hard, despite finding Rab both intriguing and exceedingly handsome. He was a Lestrange, after all, with angular features and the eyes of hunter, the kind of magnetic allure that only good genetics could buy.

You didn’t respond, snagging another flute of giggle water as it passed by and taking a delicate sip, Thor’s glare still trained on you. As your family demanded, you were to remain the picture of elegance, of restraint.

Appeased, Thor finally turned back to his hunt, and you exhaled.

You watched as students danced and flirted on the dance floor, gyrating and spinning with abandon. How badly you wished you could join them, could let loose for just a moment. And your opportunity arrived when the band started a slow waltz, and Rab’s hand caressed your lower back.

“Dance with me,” he said, not a request, but you didn’t mind.

He led you out onto the floor and you slid one hand up his broad chest, the other placed in his palm. He pulled you closer, his touch light and careful along your back as he started to lead you.

Dancing with Rab was effortless, fluid as water due to his extensive etiquette training, and you quickly got lost in the buoyant feeling of it.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured, and you looked up at him, finding his brown eyes trained on your face, thick lashes heavy, a new intensity blooming.

“Thank you.” You rested your cheek on his muscular chest, overwhelmed by that look in his eye. Your parents would be thrilled. So thrilled, they may not even care that you broke form by resting your head on him.

Rab certainly didn't seem to mind, his hand growing heavier against the curve of your spine and pressing you closer together.

From this new angle, you scanned the crowd, watching countless other couples get lost in their own love story. There was Pandora and Xeno, and Evan and Barty. Not far from them was Marlene and Dorcas, and James Potter and Lily. And to the right of James—your heart stalled, acrid, green poison spilling through your blood.

Sirius was dancing with a girl you didn't recognize, her hair tangled in his long fingers while she kissed up his neck, their bodies flush and swaying.

But his eyes—his eyes were trained on you.

You shifted closer to Rab, an unconscious movement, and he purred in pleasure, his fingers trailing up your spine and making you shiver against him. He smelled expensive, amber and peppercorn, Burberry wool. Warmth began to spread through your lower belly, cloying and dark.

You lifted your head, glancing around to check Thor's location. He was tucked into an alcove with Lucinda, and paying you no mind. With Rab, you were safe from Thor's constant shadow, the burden of the Rowle name. With Rab, you were shielded by his even loftier name, a Lestrange by association. A large enough legacy to disappear into.

It could have been Sirius, your mind whispered, unprompted, and you flinched in Rab’s arms. Where had that come from?

“Alright, darling?” Rab asked, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “Did something frighten you?”

You shook your head, fingers curling into his chest. “Just a little overwhelmed,” you murmured, hoping it comes off as coquettish and sweet instead of pathetic, like you feel.

You saw his gaze flit towards Thor, then back down to you. “Would you like me to throw him off the tower?”

You nearly choked on your surprise, then are stunned further to see a soft smile crinkling his eyes. A nervous flutter tickles your lungs, and you giggle. “No, no. That would be too obvious.”

Rab chuckled, his smile widening. “Fair enough, I suppose. Just say the word, love, and you will be free of him.” He pressed your head gently back onto his chest and you obliged, feeling his steady heart drum under your ear.

But, you couldn't seem to stop yourself from finding Sirius in the crowd once more.

He was dancing with Lily now, laughing and spinning her in wide circles, and that poison spread further, rooting into your bones.

It could have been you.

You flinched again, this time away from Rab. “I'm sorry, I—uh. I need some air.”

Rab looked around, you were literally outside, but nodded sympathetically. “Go on, little doe. I'll handle Thorfinn,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles before turning you loose.

You pushed your way through the crowd and down the stairs, bursting into the empty corridor below, the cold seeping in through the stone.

You leaned against the wall, drawing deep breaths, running your fingers through your hair. It was all too much, you were feeling too much, and you couldn't make sense of any of it.

Rabastan was finally flirting with you, and you ran away from him. From safety, from security, from your inevitable future. And for what? To avoid—

“Good ‘ole Rab scare you off?” Sirius drawled, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. “That was a very swift exit.”

You rolled your eyes, straightening. “Can't allow me a moment of peace, can you?”

He sidled up closer, looking sinful in his all black outfit, his shirt half unbuttoned, neck heavy with silver chains. “Not in my nature.” He smirked.

“No, you're nature is far too effusive. Permeates the fucking room.”

“Wow, I've really got you wound up tonight, doll. Profanities on that pretty, posh tongue? Be still, my heart.”

“Not everything is about you, imbecile.”

He prowled closer, his hand resting on the stone beside your head. “So who is it about? I highly doubt that Rabastan Lestrange has you so hot and bothered.”

“And if he does?” You challenged, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. Your bodies were so close, the heat of him pushing back the winter chill, and that bitter poison in your blood sweetened to something honeyed, sticky and slick and burning.

Sirius huffed a laugh, the warmth of his breath caressing your lips. “Then he’s an idiot for letting you out of his sight.”

“And why's that?” You prodded, bumping the tip of your nose against his, wanting to rip that smug smile off his face with your teeth.

“Because.” Sirius pressed his body to yours, solid and lean, so warm, too warm—”Someone else might burn in the fire he started.”

“You think we care if you burn?” You hiss, hating him so much you could scream, but wanting him so desperately you might cry.

“We?” He sneered, all mirth vanishing from his voice. “If there’s ‘we’, then why am I the one you're arching into? Why am I the one making your reptilian heart flutter?”

“Because you're insufferable and I hate you.” The last word skims the surface of his lips, the faintest brush of contact, a match striking the tinderbox.

“And you're a liar,” he growled, slamming his mouth onto yours in a vicious, wrathful kiss, the electricity between you combusting with a boom that rocked you to your core.

You gasped against his mouth, his tongue driving between your teeth to taste you, claim you. You bit down on his tongue, just hard enough to make him grunt in agitation, and his hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air and forcing your to release your hold.

His rings were icy against your fevered skin, his lips against your ear. “Oh, darling. How long have you waited to be bad?”

Unable to move, you flicked your tongue out, dragging it along the hard angle of his jaw, and he shuddered, loosing a wrecked groan.

He crashed your lips together again, open-mouthed and sloppy. He kissed you like every second was stolen, every lick was a victory, and it made your head spin. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen.

He released your throat and you sucked in a sharp breath of cold air, making your lungs burn. His lips moved down to your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as his hands bunched up your dress, fingertips grazing the bare flesh of your thighs.

“Sirius, not here,” you gasped, moaning as he sucked a mark just under your ear, where it could be easily hidden by your hair.

You felt him smirk, and you realized that you'd verbally accepted what was happening, the charade of fighting having fallen without you realizing.

“Why? Afraid you'll get caught with the reject?” He threw your words back at you, and you cringed internally. But there was no malice in his voice, just that infuriating humor.

You grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into a nearby classroom, locking the door behind you. He promptly tossed you up onto a desk, resuming his colonization of your neck, his narrow hips nestled between your thighs.

His hungry exploration of your skin had your blood boiling, your cunt slick and thrumming with need. It was so bizarrely discordant with the loathing in your mind, but it only made your desire burn that much brighter. It didn't help that he was so unbelievably sexy like this, his hair messy, lips rosy and bitten, his shirt wrinkled from your hands.

The image of that leech attached to his neck flitted through your mind, your anger flaming anew. You tangled your fingers in his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat. You laved your tongue up his esophagus and his hips bucked against you, the hardness of his cock tangible against your thigh.

You covered his throat in wet kisses and licks, marking every spare inch as yours.

“Fuck, doll. You're a feral little thing aren't you?” He rasped, his hand sliding around your thigh to stroke the outside of your panties. “And fucking soaked for me.”

You bit down on his neck, earning a hiss of pain and another stutter of his hips.

He pressed his fingers harder against your cunt, making big, messy circles over your slit and you cried out, the pleasure far more intense that you anticipated.

“Sensitive, baby? So warm and wet—you've ruined these expensive panties, y’know? Such a shame, I bet they look so fucking pretty—”

“Shut up, Sirius,” you hissed, throwing your head back as his middle finger massaged your clit, stars dancing behind your eyes.

“I don't think I will. I think you like hearing me whisper filthy things in your ear. Don't you, my naughty girl? Ah—shit, yes—feel that? Your cunt is practically purring in my hand, drooling all over my fingers—”

“Sirius,” you whined, the attitude draining from your voice as your orgasm prowled near, your entire body humming with desperation, with need.

“Poor thing, getting close, hm?” He pulled the gusset of your panties aside, the pads of his fingers making direct contact with your puffy clit. With his other hand he undid his trousers and you reached for him, pulling his cock out.

Fuck, it was pretty. Of course it was, it belonged to Sirius Black. Long and veiny, flushed and shining with slick. You licked your lips, longing for a taste, but you needed to come more.

“Merlin’s fucking—” he groaned as you pumped him, smearing precum over the rigid head with your thumb. “Ready, doll?”

You angled your hips forward, lining him up with your gooey entrance. He batted your hand away, grabbing his base and easing himself a few inches inside of you, hissing through his teeth.

“Of course you have the perfect fucking pussy,” he grated, almost angry. “Why wouldn't you fit me like a glove? You fucking brat—”

You were barely listening, lost in the delicious feeling of him spearing you on his cock, ripping you apart at the seams and stitching you back together in the shape of him.

“Fuck, Sirius,” you mewled, falling back onto the desk when he bottomed out, so full it felt like he was in your lungs, your heart, your throat.

He drew his hips back, pausing just before his tip left your entrance. “Say my name again,” he growled, leaning over you.

You bit your lip, eyes flashing with defiance despite the need tearing apart your insides.

“Oh, darling,” he chuckled. He shifted forward, slamming his hips into yours with a brutal punch to your cervix. “I'll get it out of you one way or another.”

He fucked you mercilessly, driving in and out of you like he'd somehow exorcise the attitude from your body. And you fucking loved it, keening and crying out as you thrashed underneath him, unable to get purchase on the smooth wood beneath you. But you held your tongue, refusing to say his name.

“You really are a brat, you know? So fucking spoiled,” he growled against your neck, breathless, his grip painful on your hips. “Giving me nothing but attitude, and here I am, giving you exactly what you fucking want.” He slapped your clit, making you jump and cry out as your orgasm pulled taught, a hairs width from shattering.

“Sirius, please,” you begged, tears squeezing from the corners of your eyes as the last of your resolve crumbled.

“That’s better,” he cooed, so condescending you'd punch him if you weren't about to explode. “See? You can be a good girl.” His middle finger found you clit again, moving into tight, fast circles, and you detonated.

An inferno burned from your core through every muscle fiber and tendon, every cell and every atom, eviscerating your mind until you were nothing but ash and starlight, weightless and scattered.

But Sirius didn't let up for a second, and you were quickly wrenched back into your body, oversensitive and wrung out, crying real tears as he fucked you through it.

“Fuck, that was beautiful. You even come pretty. Got another one for me? Shit, baby—feels like you do. Squeezin’ me so tight—fuck!” He roared as his own release crashed over him, his cock kicking hard against your tender walls and painting you with rope after rope of his seed.

The feeling drove you into another, smaller orgasm, your body lifting to wrap around his as you both shook and whined, clinging to one another through the onslaught.

He braced his hands on either side of your head, breathing labored and trembling so hard the desk shook beneath you. You collapsed onto your back, thighs clenching and unclenching around his hips, mirroring the frantic flutter of your used cunt.

He kissed you a final time, loose and featherlight, and your heart gave a weak trill. Your breath mingled another moment before he stepped away from you, tucking himself back into trousers.

You sat up, feeling his release squelch between your thighs, and shame crashed down over you, hard enough to steal you breath.

Thorfinn was going to fucking kill you, if he didn't kill Sirius first.

He noticed your expression shift. “Nobody needs to know,” Sirius said, his low, steady voice cutting through the cacophony of panic in your mind. “I won't say anything. To anyone.”

“Not even Potter?” You asked, hating how small your voice sounded.

“No, not even James. This stays between us,” his tone was soft, more sincere than you'd ever heard him, and it assuaged some of your fear.

You nodded, exhaling, though the relief was quickly overshadowed with sour guilt, and something else you refused to look at closely enough to name.

Sirius approached you again, catching your chin and tilting your head up towards him. “But when you go back up there, dance with my cousin, kiss him at midnight, I want you to remember who's dripping between your thighs. Who you were screaming for.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, jerking your chin out of his hold.

“Already did,” he smirked, disappearing into the corridor before you could say anything else.

Heat scorching your cheeks, you cleaned yourself up as best you could in the privvy before returning to party.

Rabastan and Thorfinn descended on you immediately. Sirius was nowhere in sight.

“Where have you been?” Thor growled, tugging you closer by the wrist, his giant hands making the thin bones grind together.

“I told you,” Rab cut in, his voice a glacial calm. “She stepped out to the ladies and to get some fresh air. These parties can be overwhelming for those with a gentler constitution.” Rab gave you a knowing look, a ‘keep your mouth shut and go with it' look, and you nodded in agreement.

His hand fell to your lower back, tugging you closer to him and away from Thor, and like the spineless coward you were, you went gratefully into his embrace.

As if his cousins come wasn't crusting along your inner thighs. Like your lips weren't still tingling from Sirius’ kiss.

“Now, take your hand off of her before I remove it,” Rab ordered, sharp as a razor’s edge.

Thor looked back and forth between the two of you, the singular gear in his brain turning.

Thor released you, suddenly seeming entirely too pleased, and dread coiled in your gut. Some kind of exchange had occurred, a currency trading hands, and it made you vaguely nauseous.

“Come, darling,” Rab murmured to you, leading you back towards the dance floor. “It's only a few moments ‘til midnight.”

When the clock finally wound down, the bell tower tolling loudly enough to shake the floors, instead of pulling you in for a kiss like you expected, Rabastan bowed low. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your ring finger, the same place a diamond would find it's home, and you flushed from head to toe.

Tingles erupted all over your body, your muscles tensing with excitement, but it was quickly followed by a twinge of exhaustion in your core, a sobering reminder of what you'd done.

God, what had you done?

Thank you for reading! 🤍

[cheol-e-kat]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. 𝐜.𝐬𝐜

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

word count: 3.0K

genre: fluff, magical realism, dreams more than dreams,

summary: seungcheol keeps seeing advertisements for an art show around the city - all the paintings seem to be of him, but he’s never posed for an artist and he barely exists on social media - at first his friends tease him but the more he sees the paintings, the more he knows he needs to meet the artist and find out why they keep painting him

warnings: explicit language

a/n: this fic is literally an idea i had over a year ago and finally i got inspired yayyyy and yesss...it's not the end ... just the first part - anywayyyy

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

You woke up from another dream with a long sigh, and stared at the ceiling. How long could you keep dreaming of the same face, you wondered. 

It would be one thing if you knew who he was, but you hadn’t a clue. And it had been months. Months of dreaming about soft, pink lips and big, expressive eyes with painfully long lashes. 

At first there were weeks of writing in your journal about a man you had never met and the details of his face: his eyes and lips, the shape of his jaw and the way his bangs always seem to fall in his face. 

You felt like you had this strange intimate view of him. You could easily recognize him in the real world, if you were to ever see him. But your hopes weren’t high.

Even if you sometimes stopped in cafes to watch people because maybe you would catch a glimpse of him. 

It was bad enough that you had been writing about him, but then you started sketching him, thinking that maybe you just needed to get him out of your brain and onto paper. But that had just morphed into putting your ‘dream’ boy onto canvas. You were a painter after all. 

And every painting simply brought him to life that much more. His eyes became brighter and thoughtful, and his face was layered with emotions you didn’t remember from your dreams. He seemed to be coming to life through every painting. 

You had a collection at this point - face after face after face. All versions of the same man - every emotion possible. 

Sometimes he looked happy, but other days his eyes had a way of almost seeming to stare at you, and no matter what expression was on his face, his eyes told you he was carrying a huge mental weight. 

You sometimes stepped back and stared for long stretches of time, trying to place him. Surely that’s all dreams were filled with, people and places you knew, even if you had only seen them in passing. 

You were convinced that you had at least met him, or bumped into him on the train platform, maybe? There had to be some tangible connection. 

Some random person on the street who had lodged in your brain. 

But the longer it went on, the more it felt like something else. You weren’t certain what exactly, but something besides a passing glance at someone as you furtively crammed yourself into a train car or grabbed a hot tea on a random afternoon. 

Some mornings you woke up feeling as those you had practically been next to him somewhere else. You could swear the ghost of his warmth clung to your skin and hair. If you closed your eyes fast enough, you could almost put yourself back wherever you had been. You could almost feel him again, hear his gentle breathing. 

And then there were mornings when you longed to return to whatever dream it was rather than face the day. In a strange way, you felt more and more connected to this man in your dreams. Especially when you stared at certain works. 

You were sure you almost heard something like echoes from certain paintings. Maybe they were thoughts or chatter around him in his real life. But they were tiny things that came to you, usually softly. Soft whispers, like someone murmuring under their breath. 

You were oddly sure that he was a living person who you could run into at almost any moment. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“Holy shit, man,” Mingyu gasped and pulled Seungcheol’s shirt sleeve, jerking him back to stand on the sidewalk where Mingyu was staring at an advertisement. 

They had been out drinking, and Seungcheol wasn’t perfectly steady on his feet, “Bro, what’s the holdup?” he glanced back at his friend, wondering why they weren’t crossing the street. 

Mingyu pointed at the advertisement, “Dude, it’s YOU,” Mingyu pushed Seungcheol towards the advertisement for some art show. “Let me take a photo of you next to it,” he demanded, shoving Seungcheol into place. 

Mingyu was already in photographer mode, and Seungcheol wasn’t in the mood to argue over five seconds of his life being spent next to an advert in the rain. 

Seungcheol sighed but stood still while his idiot friend took a photo of him with some random ad. 

“Dude, you blinked,” Mingyu mumbled in annoyance. 

Seungcheol shrugged starting to cross the street again, but Mingyu grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back again. 

“Seriously, it’s freakishly like you, let me get a good photo,” he was demanding and whiny all at once.

Seungcheol groaned. “Okay, fine, fine,” he muttered as he got back in position. He tried to look sober and less desperate to be at home and in bed. He let Mingyu snap several photos and waited until he seemed happy before even attempting to step away this time. 

When he felt his phone vibrate and checked to see the photo of himself in the gc, he assumed he was free to move again. 

“See, I told you, it’s you to a tee, like down to the scowl even,” Mingyu said as he pushed his own phone into Seungcheol’s face, pointing at the zoomed in version. 

Seungcheol finally nodded, admitting that there was a resemblance. But he certainly didn’t think it was some huge meaningful thing. Mingyu was just being Mingyu, overly exuberant over something no one else would have even noticed. 

He was just glad when they split up and he could get home without any more complications. He managed to stumble through the door and pass out on the sofa. 

He had no idea that his phone was exploding with messages as he slipped into a comfortable sleep. 

Even drunk, he knew he would have the dreams he liked. The ones he had been having for the last few months that made him look forward to sleeping more than normal. 

It wasn’t just that he was tired or exhausted, it was like slipping into this perfect moment that he couldn’t place, and he couldn’t experience it when he was awake. The sweet softness of his dreams was too good. 

He almost craved them - the dreams that made feel warm and content. 

He had no idea why he suddenly started having them, but he was glad he had. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

[photo attached]

[shua]

holy shit that’s more than ‘similar’ gyu 

[hannie]

fuckkk its like cheol in an alternate world damnnn 

[shua]

i feel like you mean replica ??

[hosh]

@ cheol ur posing for art whaTT sounds like lies 

[wooz]

that i have to agree with @ hosh is annoying, but agreed 😒 who thinks its gyu using some photoshop or smth

[gyu]

tf am i catching strays for?? i just found the insanity and shared

[hannie]

i think i know what i mean @ shua so stfu - alternate universe cheol

[shua]

@ gyu is this fr tho

[gyu]

dude yea fuck […]

it’s at the corner of wabash and fifth go look for yourself […]

and btw you dicks i found like 6 others [photos attached]

[wooz]

fuckkk this is funny and scary

[vern]

is it me or is he kinda hot in these

[shua]

@ vern he’s hot look at the one with the ribbon or whatever def heard jeonghan gasp when he scrolled

[hannie]

i didn’t gasp - i don’t gasp you twit

[wooz]

@ shua so he choked on air

[hannie]

i know your apartment code space boy

[gyu]

anyway back to the topic before there’s a murder inquiry […]

crazy  thing is there’s like even more and the artist says “i paint what comes to me in my dreams”

[hosh]

:OOOOOO spooky fr

[gyu]

def spooky where’s @ dk to hold me hehe

[hosh]

ohh ohh there’s a coffee place next to it let’s all go get photos with art cheol before he wakes up 

[dk]

me hold you? the other way round me thinks bro legit goosebumps at all of these […]

they’re so good to btw how does someone know how he looks even tho??

[cheol]

tf i’m awake @ hosh

[shua]

shhhhhhshhh we aren’t chatting to you dear

[cheol]

it’s the gc!!

[hannie]

right roght go to the one without him hdhsjsksjsjsjs

[hosh]

ok ok we all go to see the spooky paintings and hope that it isn’t irl horror situation just some poor person with @ cheol stuck in their poor brain

[cheol]

hate u all 

[hannie]

so cute 🤏 […]

we all have to go see these right??

[gyu]

tickets aren’t bad? who’s down 

[multiple users typing...]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Seungcheol had woken up briefly when his phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Even barely opening his eyes to read the texts, he knew his friends were up to something. There would probably be a million messages when he woke up.  

And probably a bunch of details about the artist if he knew Mingyu. 

Even falling back to sleep, he did wonder for a moment how a painting even resembled him. He wasn’t on anything - no social media, no photos posted or tagged or anything remotely like that. He hated having accounts, and he’d banned his friends from tagging him. 

He sighed and turned over, curling into the couch and hopefully returning to his dreams. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

You were watching your paintings be removed from packing cases. The gallery staff were - they left something to be desired in their handling of things. But the show had sold out. And there were several bids on some of the larger pieces already. 

There was a planned layout for walking through the paintings.

And you had decided the theme would be loosely based on ‘signs of love’.

Things like Eros shooting arrows into a flaming heart like some demented form of target practice. 

And there were actual myths at play too - your “muse” as Hades offering the viewer a pomegranate that would of course trap them with him to be his lover for all times. 

Him paused on a winding, dangerous path, eyes closed, hand on his heart, attempting not to look back and lose his love forever. 

These were the things you had been looking up recently because you had succumbed to the idea that you were meant to meet this person in some weird cosmic way. 

He was your muse purely through some means you couldn’t identify. Some long planned connection created by the universe that you couldn’t parse out. 

You had even looked up things about past lives and how some people believed that souls could be bound together and were always meant to find one another in their next lives.

That idea…you may have lost your mind a bit when you painted with it in mind. The painting was semi-nude, his entire body wrapped strategically in a red ribbon of fate that tied him to someone just out of view and out of his grasp. He had a painful, longing look on his face as he stared off the edge of the canvas into nothingness, looking for his soul mate who was supposedly on the other end of his tether. Hopefully, they were looking for him as well. 

His form and profile were beautiful though. It was almost effortless at this point - you could paint him, sketch him, whatever without even thinking. 

You doodled his eyes and lips in the corners or notebooks or on napkins in cafes while you chatted with people. His profile littered scraps of paper near your desk, all drawn while you researched fables and read poetry like a lovesick middle-schooler. 

One that you especially liked was being held to your fridge with a magnet shaped like a wiener dog. Très chic. Obviously. 

No matter because to your mind, the symbolism throughout the collection was fairly good, especially in the triptychs, particularly, you thought, in your version of him as Venus, appearing in all his glory. One of the biggest differences being that you had swapped the wind god out for various dream gods, since they brought him to you, melding them into a single style of your own. 

You were actually rather pleased with to it. 

There were many that were simply based on different eras, different time periods, since maybe you knew him in another life, but always coming back to some overall symbol of love being included. 

And a few truly reflected your dreams. How your dreams had felt lately. 

Your dreams had become more intense. You felt raw when you woke up - every part of you seemed on high alert. It felt like you were surfacing from underwater after having been there for too long, gasping for air, clutching your bedding, staring around and seeing nothing somehow.

You had seen and felt even more of him. You had no idea what it meant that every night your dreams felt more and more solid, like you had simply shifted without waking to some other place. It had made you frantic to paint everything that popped into your mind. 

There were still stacks of paintings in your studio that you hadn’t brought along, judging some too hastily done to be included. Or simply off theme. Or the paint still wet. 

And now you were finally watching them be installed. Your agent had already asked who your model was and where you had found him. You had simply shrugged and called it ‘fate’. 

It was maybe a blithe answer. But it was true in a way. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Seungcheol had started to get weirdly nervous the week before the gallery show opening.

He had no clue why. 

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that even just seeing the paintings alone was too much. He had gone through them alone, and they were frighteningly like him. 

His expressions and gestures were all captured. But somehow it felt like whoever it was had caught more than just how he looked and moved. It was like they had reached into him and pulled out parts of him for each painting. 

It was unnerving. And it felt too real. Especially since the artist was apparently super private and had no socials. 

Just like him. 

It didn’t matter how many searches he did, he couldn’t even figure out if the name they signed was real or basically their version of ‘Banksy’.

No photo. No bio beyond the college the artist graduated from and various accolades, which he had really had to dig for - that hadn’t been an easy item to find. It was from a years old version of an art gallery’s website. 

He couldn’t fathom how someone who seemed to know him so well could be so anonymous and simultaneously fairly famous for what they created. How was there no photo? No insta account? Nothing? He marveled at that as much as it scared him. 

It meant that even going to the show, he wouldn’t know if he saw the artist or not. He would have no clue. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

[hannie]

he has to come 

[shua]

he says it’s too weird

[incoming call]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“Come on, don’t you want to see them at least?” Jeonghan asked. 

“I have seen them,” Seungcheol said quietly. He was lying across his bed, talking into Joshua’s phone. He knew his friends wanted him to go. But he couldn’t shake off his nervousness. 

It felt too - he wasn’t even sure how to explain it. 

“I thought you said they don’t even look that much like you?” Jeonghan tried. 

“I lied,” Seungcheol retorted quickly, bluntly. 

Jeonghan hummed softly. “Don’t you at least want to know then? Who the artist is? Why you?”

Seungcheol sighed. “No - it,” he groaned, “does it even matter?”

“I think so - I would want to know.”

“That’s you though, I don’t want to know,” he huffed, “someone with nothing about themselves on their website? They’ll know me though won’t they?” He asked, starting to feel his stomach knot uncomfortably at the idea. 

“They say it’s from ‘dreams’, so maybe they have no clue who you are either”—

Seungcheol shook his head, cutting in. “They have to know me,” he whispered. “They’re all too much like they - it’s like someone sat next to me and painted me - it’s too…too strange,” he trailed off, starting to feel frustrated with the conversation. 

He listened to Jeonghan humming again like he understood everything Seungcheol was saying but was still preparing some other way to try to convince him. 

He bit his lower lip gently, waiting. He knew his friend. He wouldn’t give up. 

Jeonghan sighed. “I’ll come by to get Joshua then - we’ll send you photos,” he said finally. 

Seungcheol’s brow knitted in confusion. He hadn’t expected the conversation to end that way. For Jeonghan, it was fairly abrupt. Seungcheol had expected at least a few more rounds of back and forth. 

He shrugged, though, and gave the phone back to Joshua. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

[shua]

giving in so soon?

[hannie]

he hates missing out […]

just get ready and leave when i’m there […]

he’ll show up 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Seungcheol watched Joshua leave and locked the door behind him. He got a few texts confirming that he “really” wasn’t coming. 

He got even more texts when his friends were at the gallery. 

How amazing the paintings were in person. How they really captured Seungcheol - everything about him, apparently. Even the fact that he had a small mole on his palm. 

His nervousness had slowly started to morph into something else as he read his friends’ messages. 

He was missing out.  He was missing out on the moment, on the experience. 

He found himself getting dressed. He knew what everyone else wore, so he wasted some time in his closet before he found what he wanted - a balance of something understated but noticeable too. ‘Singular’ was the word Jeonghan had used earlier in the week when he tried to help Seungcheol pick something. 

He knew when he found it. 

And he was quick to leave once he had. For all he knew, the opening was over. He had the address but not the exact event details. 

a/n: tbd ^^

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

seungcheol master list & main master list & tag list

𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ^^

𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

angst - [ a ] || fluff - [ f ] || smut - [ s ]

teasers: all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight |୨୧| cold fire (cheol only - attorney au)

drabbles: co-worker & spanking [ s ] | gamer boy [ s ] | professor one [ s ] | valentine's day [ f ] | 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝. 𝚌.𝚜𝚌 [ s ] | the unknown sender + nudes ones [ s ] #kat_drabbles

oneshots: profound, not sudden [ f ] || bisou bisou request #001 [ s ] ||

series: obvious affection [ pt. 1 f ] [ pt. 2 f & s ] |୨୧| 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 [ master list ] [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] [ pt. 3 f & s ] [ pt. 4 f ]

seungcheol bingo [ all s] : knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (never let you go pt. 1) | bodyguard + drunk confession | anon sex + hair pulling + mask wearing (all up to you part i) | big dick!cheol + hate sex (choose your own adventure) | sexual frustration + ex sex |

omegaverse (a/b/o): alpha seungcheol [pt. 1] [pt. 2] || never let you go [master list] [part 1 f & s] [part 2 f ] ||

[tag list] ☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎ @nanabananananabatman ☁︎ @aaronwarners69thwife [e] ☁︎ @yoongznme [e] ☁︎ @gyuhao365 [e] ☁︎ @jeonghnie [e] ☁︎ @armycarat2612 [e] ☁︎ @shuas-winnie30 [e] ☁︎ @famouspoetrydinosaur [e] ☁︎ @ateezaddict24 [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @thepoopdokyeomtouched [e - multi/priv] ☁︎ @stupendouschildnerd [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @tokitosun [e - one/multi ] ☁︎

☁︎ @living0livia [ c.sc - e ] ☁︎ @angelarin [c.sc - one/multi] ☁︎

☁︎ @aaronwarners69thwife [e + wips] ☁︎ @daisymbin [e + wips] ☁︎ @babilou-pov [e + wips] ☁︎ @igetcarriedawaywithyou [c.sc - e + wips] ☁︎ @keyrecsfics [ e + one/multi & wips] ☁︎

[imdoingjustgr8]

hey

soooo... how have any fellow td fans been coping recently

meme aside, i got """a bit""" of a vent coming below that no one's obligated to read. and if you do, forgive me if it ends up long asf and kind of all over the place. it was 5 in the morning when i began writing and i just want a place to get all my thoughts out or i won't be able to sleep in peace.

so, here it goes:

td suddenly being taken down out of nowhere and confirmed to be canceled, never to come back was a massive bummer and all, but honestly? i've been taking the news of the official td discord server's impending deletion much harder. don't get me wrong, i do feel really damn bad for outlaik, i just find him dropping td much easier to accept than seeing the first and only big dc community i've ever joined, that encouraged me to post so much sonexe art in the first place, hell, even have made a bit of a name for myself in (literally being known as "the sonexe guy") be sent to oblivion along with it.

to think that i initially only played a random goofy-looking sonic.exe roblox game out of sheer boredom, to think that i initially joined the discord to only make player reports and maybe lurk around. but when i discovered the creations channel, i've ended up checking that very channel almost religiously, posted alot of my own silly drawings, and met so many cool, funny people and amazing fellow artists that have inspired me to this day.

i've only been around for 2 (and a half?) years, so to see everything go down to shit so suddenly was really jarring. i tend to be a really sentimental guy, like "i hoard 1000+ pictures of a sand sculpture i just built in multiple angles" levels of sentimental, so the thought of all those fun interactions and discussions, creative takes and suggestions, and amazing art that i couldn't all save becoming inaccessable to look back on, to become completely wiped out soon has been pretty distressing to me. it doesn't help that most of the artists i've followed on there don't seem to have links or have posted on other platforms.

one of my biggest comforting hopes at the moment is that if anyone else from on there i've interacted with happens to see this and recognize me, artist or not, i'd be really happy to give you a follow! and to those who don't, if i might not see you again for awhile or ever, i wish you well and hope you know you're cool asf. like, i seriously feel very lucky and grateful of how nice and unexpectedly crazy-supportive everyone was, especially with my first ever sonexe post. i really mean it when i said you're all what encouraged me to post without fearing massive judgement and made me feel excited to share my silly doodles and ideas. seriously, thank you all.

also, i feel as if this is something that needs to be said, or atleast said more; i hope that people would learn to be more considerate of outlaik's pov on everything. i seriously doubt anyone would have the motivation to continue a project they wanted to move on from long ago in the first place. getting a copyright claim on his ass, having his acc and dev career at risk, still being constantly interrogated about td's return (bc of ppl making shit up) when he's already done all he could was just the final nail in the coffin for him with the game. i respect him wanting to just quickly move on and i do hope he finds successs, possibly pull even more than what he got from td with current and future projects he can fully enjoy. i'd also have to thank him and his game for bringing us all together in the first place.

ok big sappy rant over. idk how to end this gracefully i just rlly want to go to sleep atp lmao. i've been typing for 4 straight hours kill me rn

good mor-night 😪

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @jdebbiel

Deb JJ Lee is a non-binary Korean artist based in Brooklyn, NY. They have appeared in the New Yorker, New York Times, NPR, Google, Radiolab, and more. Their award-winning graphic memoir, IN LIMBO, about mental illness and difficult relationships with trauma, released in March 2023 from First Second.

Below is our interview with Deb!

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

That implies I am over my art block, but I’m still in it! I think about Kiki’s Delivery Service a lot and how she had to stop doing a thing, and that you can’t really force it, and you have to let it come back to you. It’s a pretty humbling moment, realizing there is more to life than just drawing. I’ve been trying to consume other content like reading or watching movies—anything that is not drawing-related—and to trust that it will come back to me. I think not being afraid to do the small pieces before committing to the big pieces is helpful. Because big pieces are what I am known for, I dig myself into a deeper hole, thinking that each piece has to be bigger than the last one. So yeah! Relaxing and doing the small things before overcommitting to a big piece is the best way to go about it for me.

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

I feel like these are all artists that I have second-degree connections with! Jillian Tamaki, Victo Ngai, and Tillie Walden would be my picks!

What are your file name conventions?

…What file name conventions? I mean, I don’t have specific file name conventions, but I actually have a public Google Drive archive! But I usually put “djjl_whatever-the-title-is_final,” and I would always know it’s the final and legit version.

What is a recent creative project that you are proud of?

I did an illustration for the whiskey brand Johnnie Walker. It’s so wild because I only had four days to finish it, and it usually takes me a week and a half if I rush. And honestly, it’s probably one of my best pieces from this year, which is funny. It was for the Mid-Autumn festival, so I made it as Korean as possible.

How has technology changed the way you approach your work?

I only use my iPad to draw everything now, and if I want to pretend that I have a steady workstation, I’ll use my Cintiq. I still am not as comfortable on the Cintiq as I am on Procreate, but it’s still pretty solid and nice. That’s the good part about technology. The bad part about technology is how AI art has been messing things up for me. I’m currently in a lawsuit about AI art as a class rep. Some of my stuff got turned into AI art late last year, so I have to give a deposition at some point. 

What is a convention experience that has stuck with you?

Honestly, they’re all good! I feel like Lightbox Expo has been really nice because it’s truly been a convention for artists. I feel like that’s where most of my audience is, and they’re all around because their purpose is to be better at art. That’s where a lot of original artists do well because they’re getting art they’re inspired by, not so much fanart. I like the Lightbox Expo because it encompasses the pure love of art very well. 

Top tips on setting up an Artist Alley booth?

Use a Y axis, not just your X axis! Take advantage of it! Branding is also something to think about. It is definitely something I’m getting better at. Having an assistant is also very important. I’ve also heard that 8.5x11 to 12x18 inches is usually a good size for prints, but I also provide postcard-sized prints because sometimes people don’t want to commit to a larger size. 

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

You know this is so funny. I’ve been following @alicexz for over a decade on Tumblr and other platforms. I’ve followed her work since high school, and we’ve only recently become peers. I found her, and we met for the first time in real life, and she recognized me. And then I found all my drawings from when I was in my Alice phase, back in high school, and I was like, “Yo, this is when I was trying to be you so badly!” and she was cracking up and was like “Wow, this is so good!” It was such a sweet moment. I wanted to take a picture of her holding my drawing up. It’s really nice because now we’re peers.

Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing, Deb! Be sure to check out their Tumblr blog over at @jdebbiel.

[sacr1ficialang3l]

The darker the fruit, the sweeter.𖤐

DEAN WINCHESTER X GOTH!READER (meet her)

SUMMARY: The brothers and reader are investigating a new case when they makes a new furry friend. Dean is not a big fan of him at first, but they both soon find out that they are more alike than they expected. 5.3k

WARNINGS: fem!reader. this is all pretty fluffy and cute. finally getting together.

NOTES: goth!reader is back! I genuinely love writing for her so much. I had a more complex plot for this idea but it was way too long as it is. Maybe one day I will expand it and post it in ao3 instead. Let me know if you'd be interested in that! As always, English is not my first language. Enjoy<3

You hated hunts when you didn’t know what you were dealing with, but they were usually also the most “fun”, as fun as hunting monsters that can kill you can get. 

Because yes, vengeful spirits and vamp nests and werewolves were always easy to recognize, and more or less an easy gig. But when the creature was unknown, it was dangerous. Not knowing what you were dealing with could make the difference between life and death, but the research was just so much fun. 

Reading books and articles of lore about creatures all around the world, Sam and you hunched over his laptop for hours talking about Telkhines, or maybe an unicorn? And What the hell is a selkie?

It was like a big game of Clue where you had to put together who, where, and with what. Just that in this game, you could be the next victim, or Sam, or Dean. 

Anyway, the important thing was, you didn’t know how to feel right now. 

People had been disappearing without any explanation, not a trace of them anywhere. There was no connection or similarities between the victims, all different ages and different genders. It had to be your kind of thing, because the people would disappear from their home, usually at night, but there was never any sign of break-in, and it was very improbable that so many people from the same town had just decided to ditch for no reason. 

That is why, after a long day of talking to victims’ families and going over every police report and lore book available, Sam, Dean, and you return to the motel room with exhausted expressions and slumped shoulders.

The night was cold, and you couldn’t wait to take a hot shower and finally get some sleep, your feet aching from the platform boots you refused to stop wearing and your eyeliner smudged after you accidentally rubbed your eyes three hours into researching. 

When you had checked into the motel room that morning, you were told that there was only one room available. This was something that happened every once in a while, and if you had to be honest, it didn’t really bother you. Yes, three grown adults in one shitty motel room was a little cramped, but you had spent so much time alone, it felt nice to be around people, especially people you trusted as much as you trusted the Winchester brothers. This was also why you never minded sharing a bed. It was… warmer, less lonely. 

So every time this happened, you would swap who you share with. 

Sharing a bed with Sam was fine. He was huge and would eventually push you to the edge of the mattress, but it was fine. 

Sharing with Dean, on the other hand, was an ordeal. 

He would usually try to take the couch, except when the motel was shitty enough to not have a couch or for it to be more akin to a huge rock than a comfortable place to lay down. Those times, you forced Dean to sleep in the same bed with you. 

“It’s not big deal, Dean. Come on, stop throwing a tantrum. It is cold, get into bed.”

That would usually do the trick. You would lay awkwardly next to each other, both of you on your back and facing the ceiling. But then, when the only thing around you was the darkness and silence of the night, you would get more comfortable. Turning around in the bed, facing each other, knees brushing or arms touching. You would listen to the other breath, and your eyes would sometimes meet under the barely-there moonlight filtering through the window, both of you frozen, but feeling more at peace than you ever had. One night, when Dean had an especially bad case of insomnia, you ended up running your hand up and down his back until he fell asleep.

But you were friends, of course.

This time it was Dean’s turn to share, and you were equally excited and terrified. 

It all leaves your mind when you find a huge, majestic doberman sitting down in front of your motel room. The sight of the dog immediately makes all exhaustion fly away from your body, but before you can say or do anything, Dean is taking a step towards it.

“Excuse me, dude.” He murmurs, trying to get around the dog. 

The doberman immediately snarls, snapping his sharp teeth towards Dean. You watch as Dean jumps back, and in a reaction that you know is pure instinct from fighting monsters for years, he gets ready to fight. He doesn’t hurt the dog, doesn’t even try to. But his shoulders tighten in that way they do when he is expecting something to jump him, and he is thinking what the best way to knock it down is. 

Before anything else can happen, you grab Dean’s arm and pull him back.

“Don’t.” You command firmly, quickly dropping to your knees in front of the animal, who was still baring his teeth. You ignore Dean’s warning and you simply make yourself small while quickly taking all of the rings in your right hand off, sliding them into your jacket pocket before slowly, very carefully offering your hand to the dog.

Dean says your name urgently again. “I don’t think you should-”

“Shhh.” 

The doberman, who was almost taller than you as you kneeled on the floor, was still baring his teeth and tense, but he wasn’t snarling anymore. You slowly move your hand closer, palm down, and he growls when you get a little too close. Both Sam and Dean call your name this time.

“It’s okay.” You murmur gently, for both the brothers and the dog. “It’s okay, pretty boy. I won’t hurt you, okay?” 

Your sweet, soft voice seems to calm down the animal, and he moves his snout closer, smelling your hand from a distance. He is careful at first, hesitant, but a second later he is knocking the palm of your hand with the top of his head. 

“There you go, see? It’s okay.” You pet the top of his head, movements soft and slow. When the doberman stops baring his teeth, you scoot closer. “You’re not dangerous.You’re just scared, right?”

By now both your hands are petting the dog, cradling his little (or not so little) face, rubbing up and down his neck, scratching behind his ears. 

“See?” You ask again, but this time you do turn to look at Sam and Dean, who are looking down at you in disbelief. “There was no need to fight, he’s a sweetheart.”

“He looked ready to bite my head off.” Dean grumbles, and you are about to retort when the cold nose of the doberman hits your neck and he starts to sniffle you, from the collar of your jacket to the apple of your cheek. He ends up licking your face and it makes you giggle, leaning your face away and turning back to the giant animal.

“He was just scared, weren’t you, boy?” You ask in your best puppy voice. “The world has been cruel to you, and you learned to bite first.” You whisper as you notice how cold the dog was, how there was no collar around his neck, and the long scar across his right eye. Not to mention the fact that his ears and tail were cropped. “But all you need is a little love, isn’t that right? A little kindness and it all melts away.”

The dog’s nose nuzzles against your chest again and you almost melt from the inside out. You keep gently petting him as you turn back to Dean, who was now looking down at you with dark, unreadable eyes. It leaves you breathless for a moment, and you don’t know what even prompted that reaction. 

You open your mouth to say… honestly, you don't even know what you were going to say, but thankfully Sam, who looks like all the exhaustion has also banished from his body and is now smirking, walks past you and opens the door to the motel room.

You quickly get up from the floor, the doberman following your lead. You walk up to the door, both Dean and the dog behind you. 

“Come on in, boy.” You point towards the inside of the room when the dog– you would give him a name, but then you’d get too attached– stopped right before walking into the room.

“No way.” Dean interjects, arms crossed, and frowning. 

“Dean, it is freezing out here. We can’t let him sleep outside.” 

“I refuse to sleep with dog smell all over the room.” He insisted, and was that a pout?

“I’m team ‘he stays’” Sam announces, still grinning, before making his way into the bathroom. 

You cross your arms too, turning to look at Dean with a challenging look on your face.

“That’s two against one. And if I have to choose between you and the doggy, then good luck sleeping in the Impala.” 

You hold Dean’s eyes for a long moment, not faltering for a second. He looks at you in disbelief before he seems to notice that there’s no arguing with you in this one. You were incredibly stubborn sometimes, like when you refused to leave the cemetery that first night you met.

But that was the reason why you were here right now, so maybe you were right about the dog. He would never admit it, though.

He simply sighs in defeat, shoulders dropping, and a pleased grin quickly takes over your face. You do a little jump, and Dean once again feels impressed by how well you move in those high boots. 

“Yes!” You giggle with that sweet smile on your face, your lipstick faded from the long day out but still somehow that smooth wine color that made Dean weak in the knees. “Now come in, pretty boy.”

The dog, who had just been looking up at you during the conversation, seems to finally be convinced to walk inside the motel room. He still turns around to check that you’re walking inside too, sitting right by your side as you take off your jacket and boots.

It was adorable.

It had been a few hours since you had gotten to the motel. Right now, Sam was doing some more research while Dean called up Bobby to see if he could find anything. You had walked to the nearby grocery store to buy some dog food and some plastic containers. You served the food and some water on them when you and the dog returned from the store, since he refused to leave your side. 

You had to be honest, walking alone at night never felt safer with a huge black doberman walking alongside you. For just one second, you could live out your goth princess dreams. 

Now, the pup was eating his food. The poor thing was probably starving out there in the street. You wonder who could have abandoned such a beautiful animal, and leave him to freeze on the street. The dog was friendly enough, sometimes sniffing at Sam’s shoes but hiding behind your legs when he tried to pet him. He was clearly still scared, and you feel a sense of pride fill your chest at the knowledge that the dog decided to trust you.

You change into your pajamas and lay on the bed, groaning as your tense muscles finally relax against the almost comfortable surface of the shitty mattress. You hear the sound of paws hitting the floor and you turn your head to look down the edge of the bed, where the doberman was staring up at you with– there was no other way to describe it than puppy eyes.

You chuckle, and get more comfortable on the bed before patting the spot next to you once, and that was enough for the dog to jump. 

“Oh, come on! I gotta sleep on that bed.” Dean complains, but you ignore it in order to laugh when instead of the big space next to you, the dog decides to climb on top of you, laying his head on your chest and making you groan at the weight on your stomach.

“Seriously, dude?” You ask the dog, who only licks your cheek once and seems to get even heavier. 

You lay there on the bed, a giant puppy on top of you with no way of moving and no heart to push him away. 

You hear Sam laugh and you try to look at the brothers past the big fur ball resting right in front of your face. You catch sight of the younger one’s smirk and Dean’s unimpressed face. He looked almost offended, and it was hilarious. You laugh, and it causes the doberman to tilt his head and look at you curiously. Your heart aches, and you remind yourself not to get attached.

You sigh, starting to pet the dog gently. You distantly hear Sam and Dean chat and bicker about something, but you focus on the puppy on your chest. You scratch behind his ears and boop his nose with yours, murmuring sweet nothings under your breath. 

Humans were complicated. You had realized from a young age that not many people felt as much as you did, not everyone had so many emotions that they threatened to spill out every time they opened their mouth. Your heart was too big for your body, your mother used to say when you were a kid. But she didn’t say it as a good thing, because it made you too vulnerable, too weak, too much like her. So when you were confronted with the cruelty of this world, when you discovered how awful people could be, you learned to keep that part of yourself hidden, locked away in a little box on your chest that only opened up when you were writing poetry or when it was time for your monthly crying session. 

Or when you were in the presence of animals. Animals were pure creatures, sweet and loving and unjudging. When you found a stray cat in a cemetery, or when you encountered some critter while foraging, or when little moths landed next to you in the abandoned house you used to spend your time in, that little box opened up and you let all the words stuck in the back of your throat come out. Because animals were the only creatures that deserved them. Or that’s what you thought, until some green-eyed hunter, who at first looked at you with the same seemingly angry but actually scared eyes as the doberman had, had made his way into your heart and was now threatening to break the lock that kept the box closed.

You brush your thumb over the long scar across the dog’s eye. It is healed, but it also looks recent. 

“You’re so beautiful.” You murmur to the pup, giggling when he pushes his head up into your hand for more ear scratches.

“Aw, thank you.” Dean places a hand on his chest, as if he was actually touched by the compliment. He was now standing on the side of the bed, looking down at you with a teasing grin. But there was something in his eyes, an edge that you couldn’t recognize. “I knew you wouldn’t resist my charms.”

You laugh at that, shaking your head. Noticing that your attention wasn’t on him anymore, the doberman turns his head towards Dean, and he snarls again. 

“Hey, nuh-uh.” You scold the pup firmly, tapping his snout softly twice. It stops the snarling, but the dog is still baring his teeth. “Dean is a friend, okay? He is amiable, even if he doesn’t look like it.” You can’t help but tease Dean, making him roll his eyes.

The doberman’s eyes stay wearily on Dean, but he doesn’t make a move to attack. You try to sit up on the bed, but the dog seems to somehow push you down into the mattress. You laugh, accepting your fate and extending your hand towards Dean instead.

“Give me your hand.” Dean looks at you with wide eyes for a second, but then he places his hand on yours. You ignore the feeling of his rough skin on yours, how warm he is in comparison with how cold you always are, how his silver ring feels against your palm, how much you wanted to intertwine your fingers with his. 

Instead, you move both your hands closer to the dog’s nose, slowly.

“If the mutt bites me, I’m gonna kill you.” Dean warns, but he sounds a little out of breath. 

The pup lets out a low growl, and you move your other hand to scratch behind his ear. 

“It’s okay, I promise. He’s a friend.” Your reassuring tone seems to calm him down a bit, and he slowly leans in to sniff at your joined hands. You slowly move your hand until it is holding Dean’s wrist instead of his palm, letting the dog smell only Dean. He apparently deems the human acceptable, because he stops baring his teeth and leans the tiniest bit forward. You guide Dean’s hand to the top of the doberman’s head, letting it rest there softly for the hunter to pet him. “See, puppy?” you whisper towards the dog, but your eyes move up to meet Dean’s. “He may be a little rough around the edges, but he’s actually harmless.”

That makes Dean snort, eyes darting down to the dog still laying on your chest while he scratches his head, and you think his cheeks flush a little. 

“There are several creatures, both human and non-human, that might disagree with that.” He jokes, but his voice is softer and low. It is your time to snort.

“Well, I was never known for agreeing with the general public.” Dean meets your eyes again, and something passes in between you two. Your breath hitches at the rawness in his gaze, and then your fingers bump where you were both petting the dog. “I always had a soft spot for what others consider scary.”

A long moment of silence, your fingers brush against his again, Dean opens his mouth.

And then the doberman is licking your cheek and almost all the way up to your forehead. You let out a surprised shriek and you turn your face further to the side, laughing and trying to get away from the dog’s wet kisses.

“Hey! Stop, boy. Sto– ah!” You are trying to push the pup off of you, but there is no way of pushing him away. You try to turn his face away with your hand but instead he gives you a little bite. 

It is playful, a barely-there nip with his front teeth. You look at him with an offended look in your eyes, and you can almost swear the pup is grinning. Dean starts laughing at the scene, and you pout, turning to Sam for help. The younger Winchester is useless, simply giving you a shrug and going back to his research. You stare at the ceiling and start to question your life choices.

“How did I end up trapped in a motel room with three insufferable boys?”

Dean ends up not letting the dog sleep in the bed. You somehow manage to move him from on top of you and lay down a couple of blankets and some of your clothes on the floor next to the bed for the pup to sleep in. 

It was late into the night already, and you were half asleep already, lulled by Dean’s warmth. Because you gave one of the blankets to the doberman, now Dean and you had to share the other one. He complains about it for like an hour, and you had to admit the night was cold enough for one blanket to not be enough. But once you threaten him with letting the dog on the bed and sending him to the floor, Dean accepts sharing the blanket.

It turned out to be as much of a bad idea as it was a good one. Not only did it force you to be even closer to each other to fit in, but it also gave place for a lot more physical contact. Now when your knee brushes his thigh, it is skin on skin instead of over the covers, when his fingers brush your lower back, it is right where your Type O Negative shirt has lifted up. It was a magical kind of torture. 

At some point when you are more asleep than awake, you feel a new weight on the mattress. You are too tired to even register what it is or what it could mean. You just scoot to the side, giving the creature more space and pressing closer to the figure next to you. You would think that by this point, your hunter’s instincts would be more developed, but you weren’t very smart when you were sleepy. 

You quickly fall back into unconsciousness completely when the heat radiating from both your sides now envelopes you. You were cold almost all the time. Even in the summer, somehow your hands managed to find a way to stay icy. On low temperature nights like this, it was worse. You didn’t mind it, you enjoyed the cold, but the boys constantly complained when you touched them with your freezing hands. But right now, with two extra-hot bodies pressed against either side of you, you sleep through the night like you haven't in years.

The next time you wake up, it takes you a few seconds to understand where you are. The bed feels smaller than it did when you went to sleep, and there is a new weight on your waist. It isn’t until you hear two different snores that you finally open your eyes, confused. In front of you, curled up in the little nook created by your torso and bended knees, is the doberman sleeping peacefully. He somehow got into the bed at some point in the night, you register, and now he is taking up half of the bed. One of the snores is coming from him, but the other one comes from behind you, as well as the pressure on your middle.

A little panicked, you turn your head around slowly. As you feared, Dean has an arm around you, his chest pressed against your back. He too was fast asleep, mouth slightly open and his grip on you firm. You turn to look at the other bed, but you find it empty. Sam had probably gone out for his morning run, and you let yourself panic for a second. 

The little grunt that Dean lets out when you try to move and the way his arm tightens on your waist make you feel a little dizzy. You slowly, very slowly, slide down the bed. It is a miracle that Dean doesn't wake up, he must be really exhausted for his instincts not to alert him of the movement. The puppy also stays asleep, and you quietly scurry to the bathroom. You wash your face with cold water when you notice how flushed your cheeks are. You aren’t a high schooler, you can handle a little cuddling with a close friend.

But Dean was more than that, wasn’t him?

You brush your teeth, cursing yourself for forgetting to bring a clean set of clothes so you could shower. You mentally prepare to walk outside for them, repeating to yourself that Dean was asleep the whole time, he probably didn’t even notice what happened. It was fine, you were fine. 

(It had been years since someone had held you like that, it wasn’t fine.)

You step out of the bathroom in the hope that Dean would still be asleep, but you’re not that lucky. Instead, you are met with two sleepy boys staring at you from the bed. Both the doberman and Dean were now sitting on the mattress, Dean with messy hair and half-lidded eyes, the dog with a strikingly similar drowsy demeanor. They turn to you when they hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, and at the exact same time, they tilt their heads to the side in confusion. 

You stand there, staring at the big bad dog and big bad hunter in front of you, who are now soft and sleepy and pouty (at least Dean was) while they stare back with questioning looks. Almost as if wondering why’d you leave the bed, but that was probably wishful thinking. Like this, the resemblance between them was uncanny. 

“Good morning?” You ask tentatively when Dean doesn’t say anything.

The pup seems to finally snap out of it at the sound of your voice, and he jumps off the bed to say hi to you. He wags his tail and presses his head to your hand until you give him a good deal of head scratches before he is moving to where the food and water bowls are on the floor. 

You turn to Dean after that, and he looks a little more awake at least. His eyes are squinting and his eyebrows are furrowed, as if he is trying to remember something.

“Did the dog sleep with us in the bed?” You ignore the way his voice was even deeper after waking up.

You giggle, nodding. “Yeah, he got up at some point in the night. I don’t know how we managed to all fit.”

Dean chuckles at that while he rubs a hand over his face, and you beg that he doesn’t remember anything else. 

“Did he sleep next to me? I swear I could feel something pressing against me through the night, but then I woke up and he was laying down pretty far away from me.”

That makes you freeze for a second, but you just shake your head nonchalantly.

“Nah, he slept right when you found him all night. Maybe it was a Succubus” You joke casually while you move to grab a clean set of clothes. You had never been happier to see Sam than when he walks into the motel room right at that moment. Your eyes meet for a second, and you take in his post-running state at the same time he notices the clothes and the toiletry bag in your arms before the two of you both rush towards the bathroom.

“Not fair! I am all gross and sweaty.” Sam complains when you get there first.

You giggle, closing and locking the door behind you without saying anything.

“I could swear I was hugging something.”

You had finally solved the case two days later. As it turned out, the creature that was kidnapping people in town was a skinwalker. The reason why you hadn’t figured it out yet is because this one, instead of feeding on people’s hearts and leaving the bodies there for you to find, was actually dragging people from their homes and “storing” them in some abandoned house outside of town. You are able to discover all of this because your new friend, as you discovered that same day, was actually the pet of one of the people kidnapped. The scar over his eye had been made by the skinwalker the night it attacked his owner, and the puppy was able to track the scent of it once Sam, Dean, and you had found some fur in the house of one of the victims. 

Once you entered the abandoned house, you had found most of the victims still alive, all tied up in chains and waiting to have their hearts eaten out. Apparently, as the skinwalker told you and the brothers in his best attempt at a villain monologue, he had been exiled from his pack and forced to become an outcast. Having lived all his life in a pack, he could barely fend for himself alone. He had gone hungry, almost starving to death. That was why now, in an almost feral state, he was making sure to have enough food stashed. 

As weird as this was, it was good news. You were able to kill the skinwalker and free all of the survivors. It was always nice when you were able to save more people than you had expected. In between the freed people there was the doberman’s owner– some guy in his forties with long, wavy black hair and a whole tattoo sleeve. Yeah, it fits. You watch as the guy and the dog meet again, how it was so clear that they loved each other, and even if you’re happy for them, you can’t help the way your heart aches at the knowledge that you would have to say goodbye to the pup.

The doberman runs towards you after he finishes saying hello to his owner, and Sam quickly explains to the guy the dog’s stay with you while you kneel in front of the doberman and whisper your farewell. The puppy licks your cheek again and it almost makes your eyes water. The owner thanks you for taking care of Billie Joe –of course the dude named the dog after Green Day– and they both leave.

You stare at their figures as they walk away in silence for a moment, not being able to help the pout that forms in your face. Sam goes to talk with some more of the surviving victims, while Dean stays by your side. 

“You know, maybe dogs aren’t that bad. Even if that one could barely stand me.”

You chuckle softly, It’s subtle –Dean wouldn’t make it obvious– but you know he’s trying to lift your spirits. You shake your head, turning to look into his eyes. 

It always shocked you how beautiful Dean could look even after a hunt, when he was covered in dirt and all bloody.

Then again, you always had a thing for hot guys covered in blood.

“I think you two were just too much alike.” You tease, bumping his shoulder with yours. 

He laughs, but it’s softer than usual– quieter, less guarded. His usual edge is missing, replaced by something warmer, more open.

“Maybe.” He shrugs, looking at the ground before his gaze returns to you, taking in the way your smudged eyeliner made your eyes pop out, the way your black hair looked almost blue under the street lights, how gentle your smile was even with your sharp teeth and spiky jewelry. “You seemed to like him, though. A lot.”

A long silence follows the comment as you two stare at each other. The tension, simmering under the surface for weeks now, threatens to boil over. The memory of Dean’s arm around you while sleeping comes back to your mind, and you decide that if there was anyone you could trust with the key to the box in your chest, it was him.

“Yeah, I did.” You admit, barely louder than a whisper. “I never could resist a good train wreck.”

The next thing you register is the feeling of Dean’s lips over yours, and for a moment you wonder if this is why poets write. Because the sensations that travel all through your body as you wrap your arms around Dean’s neck and his hands wrap around your waist, the taste of his tongue, and the smell that clings to him are all so otherworldly and hauntingly magical that you feel compelled to delve into the entire English language to find the perfect words to describe it, but you just know that nothing will ever be able to convey what it was like to be held in Dean Winchester’s arms.

“Does this mean I can convince you of adopting a dog now?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What about a cat?”

“No. And there is no amount of kissing that can change my mind.”

“What about a raven? Or a spider!”

“God, what did I get myself into.”

NOTES: I am not completely satisfied with this so I might revisit it some day. Still, I hope you enjoyed it.

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[vegan-peppermint]

Dating the creeps would include

See the other creeps here

Character: Tim/Masky

CW: creampie, mean masky

SFW and NSFW prompts

Tim/Masky

Tim wasn't really intrested in you, or anyone for that matter

He knew his baggage well and was sure he did not want to involve anyone in all that mess

Especially someone so pretty as you

But you kept reappearing in his path

In line at the gas station, walking in the park, at the coffee store- he couldn't get away from you

You started smiling and waving at him after the third or fourth coincidental meeting

He finally decided to buy you a coffee after couple months of running into each other

Tim is actually a pretty good boyfriend

He tries his best to treat you right

He sets reminders every week to bring you something: flowers, chocolate, a plushie

Showing up for you is where he's lacking

More often than not he disappears for days, ghosting you on every platform

Causing you to show up to a restaurant reservation alone or having to explain to your friends you're not sure where your boyfriend is or if he's even coming to the hangout

He puts you through a lot of embarrassing situations

Then he comes back to your door steps with takeout and that stupid grin

God, you love that stupid grin

He lies to you, and you know he's lying

His parents were sick, his phone broke, he fell down a goddamn rabbit hole

It all sounds the same to you

However you never once suspected him of cheating

He's the kind of man that loves you with his whole being

And you feel how dedicated he is to you

In the kisses he overwhelms you with

The gentle touches, soft pulls at your sides

In how well he knows you- things you cannot even remember mentioning to him

He knows you whole.

So you let him in every time

Physical touch:

He wanted to take it slow, not trying to rush the physical part

Which got you very frustrated, as you wanted to rush the physical part

You noticed his shoulders from the first date

He leaned in for a hug, and you immediately felt overwhelmed by his size

You couldn't properly reach all the way across his back, so your hands settled on his shoulders and upper arms

Which only made it worse- you were made aware of the size difference, with a sense of vulnerability and safety

You just wanted to see how sturdy this man really was

It took Tim long enough before initiating

He was worried, scared maybe? He did not want to hurt you

But you were so cute whenever you tried to get him in the mood

Doe-like eyes and pouted lips- such a gentle invitation for him

The first couple times he tried to be on his best behavior

Kissing you softly, hands squeezing your tits lightly while whispering praises in your ear

But he cannot deny that dark, primal part of himself, especially when you trigger it with a mere touch

His hand would slip on your neck, almost hesitant

His teeth would barely scratch your skin

He was good, he'd tell himself, he's doing a good job taking it easy

But you just had to moan like that, you just had to whimper his name so breathlessy

His mind goes wild, getting those sounds of you is the only goal

His teeth sank in deeper, almost drawing blood

He angled his hips in such a way he'd pound into you deeper than you could even imagine

"F-Fuck, you're so needy for my cock-"

Your eyes roll in the back of your head, you grab desperately at his back leaving red marks

You did not recognize your sweet boyfriend in this violent, yearning man

But did this animalistic side of him transform you in a sobbing, wet mess

"Just take it, take it- you fucking whore,"

His thrusting pace increased, pounding you ruthlessly

He was just too big, pushing into you deeper than before

"Fuck~ Ngh~ Tim, please, please, please," you cry, the tension in your stomach growing

He's sinking completely inside your gummy walls. He grunted, your walls tightening around his dick, milking him shamelessly

Heavy panting from both of you

You got tears forming threatening to spill, you were so overstimulated

He kept himself inside making sure you don't spill one drop

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl.”

[american-horror-whore]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 | 𝐄𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫!𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

cw — nsfw, teasing, lap dance, just strip clubs in general lol

a/n — i was SUPER excited for this one, so i hope it gets some good attention

“And here comes the DILF crowd, my oh my!” One of your fellow strippers, and also your closest friend, swooned breathily. You roll your eyes, looking towards the door. She definitely wasn’t wrong.

A crowd of guys, looking like they were in their mid-to-late-thirties at their youngest, walked through the doors of Sapphire New York, your strip club stomping grounds, and the place that paid you almost $2400 per weekend. One specifically caught your eye. You recognized him. Evan fucking Peters.

“There’s no way,” You said, your eyes practically comically wide as you held your friend’s arm. “Evan Peters…he’s here. Look, right there! he’s at the bar-!”

Your friend scoffed back in disbelief. “Oh, you little liar! that’s a look alike..right..? He’s getting a drink, look..If that’s really him, go get him when he sits down,”

Was that a challenge? You could sense it in her tone. You would’ve done it anyways, but now you had extra motivation. You watched him tag along with a group of guys, sitting at their own chairs, watching the other dancers. He wasn’t gonna be watching anyone else for much longer.

You walk your way over to him, platform heels clicking on the floor. Your hips swayed seductively in your costume, your barely existent costume.

“Alright boys, which one of you wants to get me naked?” You smile, swaying your hips softly. The men laugh and cheer, each one of them eyeing you down hungrily. Especially your main target.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, you,” You smile, pressing a freshly manicured, long nail against Evan’s chest. He chuckles, his hands reaching for your hips. You pull your hips back, smirking.

“You gotta tell me what you want. Company policy,” You say, looking down at him with a small smile. Your hands gripped your hips tightly, standing seductively with one leg out.

“C’mon, can I get a lap dance?” He smiled, taking a wad of cash out of his pocket.

Holy shit, he was loaded. There were a ton of big bills in there. His large fingers sifted out a $20, pushing it into your waistband. His calloused fingers grazed your smooth skin, goosebumps forming as you felt the contact. He pulled out a $50, slipping that in as well.

“Ooh, okay, baby, I see how we’re playing this,” You smile, climbing onto his lap. Evan lets out a small cheer, folding his hands behind his head.

Your lips curl into a seductive smirk, starting to rock your hips against him. You press your hands to his chest, flipping your hair behind your back by turning your head, your beady pupils looking up at him from beneath your lashes. Evan lets out a scoff, which barely heard over the music. His lips try to move to your neck, unsuccessfully.

“Ah- My management wouldn’t like it,” You whisper to him, keeping his hands firmly planted at your hips, his fingers now massaging the skin and bones beneath.

“Oh, okay..Sorry, that’s my bad,” He chuckled nervously, what was visible of his cheek turned a pink hue, the rest of the bottom of his face mostly covered by his well-trimmed beard. It was so sweet. How apologetic and nervous he looked. How could a man look so nervous and so experienced at the exact same time? It was baffling to you. He was so…intriguingly sexy.

You continued to grind yourself against him, feeling him buck up against you periodically, basically every time you made a move that he liked. You felt the bulge in his jeans growing, poking and prodding against your sex, the only thing holding him back from penetrating your now leaking cunt was his jeans and your costume. You put your head back, letting out a breathless moan, feeling his poor, aching erection pressing against his pants. Evan pushes his hips taut against you, making sure it was pressed right against your heat.

You grind your hips in a circular motion, a hand sliding down his stomach. Your fingers drift to his crotch, grabbing gently at the bulge in his jeans. He shifts his hips up, the surprise evident in his eyes as he blinked quickly.

“Your boss wouldn’t l-like me kissing you, but you can do this?” He practically panted, his eyes still wide.

“Well, not technically,” You whisper, leaning into him. “But i’m willing to make exceptions,”

“Fuck…” Evan groaned, running his large, veiny hands over his face. His hands go to your ribs, feeling your heavy breaths. He stops you, his hands moving to your hips. They hold you in place with a firm grip. He leaned up, his lips almost pressing against your ear.

“Come home with me tonight,” He whispered, his hot breath causing goosebumps to grown across your skin. You never thought you’d hear those words. Especially from your favorite celebrity, the man you’ve been obsessed with for a good long while now.

“I can’t, baby, my boss—“ You whisper back, looking over your shoulder.

“C’mon, please, he won’t know— Your boss won’t know…I’ll wait for you until your shift ends,” He whispered gently.

You sigh, looking over your shoulder once more. You really didn’t want to get in trouble, or worse, fired. But you wanted to risk it for him.

“Fine.”

to be continued

— taglist: @fear-is-truth @dangeroustaintedflawed @newwavesylviaplath @coentinim @lacucarachapisser @evansonlylove @dearlizzies @oceanblvd111 @foreverviolets @emmasshitblog @jazz-berry @xrag-dollx @taintandviolent @colinzabelswife @marchsfreakshow @evanpeterspeter @whosbloom @redroses07 @lemoniiiiiii @partypoisxn @evanpetersbf @ultraviolamb @jdnymos

[demensrage]

f for fucking you until you lose your mind ⚊ • . with zaraki kenpachi

summary: when stress is beyond his ability to bear, kenpachi of the eleventh division must use his favorite container of semen to ease his mind.

cw: unestablished relationship, praise kink, petnames, big dick!zaraki, doggy style, fingering, oral (f. receiving), creampie.

wordcount: 4.6k

note: english is not my firts lenguage so please forgive me for the grammatical errors I may commit

© demensrage 2024. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

You always had a lot of work, especially because in the division you're part of, the work seems never to end. Having a boss with an unhealthy obsession for following the rules, there's always something to do, no matter how insignificant. I knew that being part of the Sixth Division would never be easy, especially because they always expect something from you. You don't do your job to become a captain or lieutenant; you really do it because you were chosen to be part of it.

You don't even know why you ended up in this division; you aspired to be part of the patrol corps. That way, you could legally travel to the human world without appearing as a deserter, but you don't complain. The atmosphere is good when the captain isn't lurking around, watching everyone's illicit movements, especially now that he seems to have had a reality check about how he views life. You thank Ichigo for making him see reason.

Things were starting to calm down in the Seireitei. For two months now, everything seemed lighter—less tension between the captains and more order. After the intrusion into the Soul Society, several meetings took place. From what you had heard, the surveillance forces were reinforced. Of course, they had to; some kids broke into the place believed to be impenetrable, and they must project a good image with the security changes and reinforcements, especially after Aizen and Gin's betrayal.

As you sat in the office, organizing the documents you had been given, you couldn't help but curse your luck. Renji was on a mission in the human world, which meant all his paperwork had ended up on your desk. You sighed deeply, wondering when Byakuya had decided you were more useful in the Seireitei dealing with bureaucratic tasks than on the battlefield.

Your pen glided over the reports, but your mind was elsewhere, distracted. The Seireitei was quieter than usual, and that only intensified your frustration. You had trained, you had fought, and now you felt trapped behind a desk.

You didn't even get the chance to deal with the Ryoka situation. Despite preparing for it, your captain had been clear in his decision: "I'm not going to waste your intellect on the battlefield," he had told you, as if those words were enough to quell the frustration you felt. But they weren't. In fact, they only made you feel even more trapped in this maze of papers, where your ability to fight seemed to have no value.

You looked at the pile of documents on your desk and felt a weight in your chest. You had always admired those who fought in the field, like Kenpachi, who found their greatest purpose in battle. And there you were, considered too valuable to waste on something as "mundane" as a fight, according to your captain.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the halls, and you immediately recognized who it was—that energy was unmistakable. Zaraki Kenpachi was nearby. It wasn't common for him to approach the offices, which sent a mix of curiosity and tension through your body.

The door to your office swung open abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up only to see his imposing figure leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, with his typical mocking smile.

"Let's go," he said, without even bothering to explain further.

The order was as direct as he was, and your heart skipped a beat. He didn't give you time to think or ask why he was there or what he wanted, though you could make a vague guess.

"Byakuya is nearby, Zaraki," you reminded him, trying to impose some logic on a situation that clearly had none. Knowing the friction between both captains, it was a bad omen for Zaraki to show up unannounced. Neither of them could stand each other, not even a little, and they avoided being near each other outside of strict work requirements.

Zaraki let out a harsh laugh, unfazed by your warning. "So what? Let him come if he wants... He could use some fun," he replied disdainfully, a dangerous spark shining in his eyes.

It was typical of him—defiant, irreverent. He didn’t care what Byakuya or anyone else thought. And although you had grown accustomed to Kenpachi’s unpredictable nature, his presence now made you feel vulnerable.

"It won't be fun if my work gets compromised," you grumbled, starting to file away the documents you'd already reviewed. You knew there was no escaping Zaraki once he'd made a decision, but that didn't stop you from expressing your frustration.

You could feel his heavy gaze on you as you continued organizing the papers, but Zaraki's impatient nature made one thing clear: if you took too long, he wouldn’t hesitate to do something even more reckless.

“Boring work,” he murmured with a mocking grin. “That’s not what defines you. Let’s go before you regret it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and though it irritated you that he barged into your space and routine, a part of you knew that going along with him would be far more exciting than the papers in your hands.

With curiosity scratching at the back of your mind, you finally set the documents aside and rose from your seat, resigned. You knew that despite your complaints, there was a part of you that couldn’t resist what Zaraki offered: an escape from the tedium, the monotony, and, above all, a dose of adrenaline.

Without saying anything more, you walked toward him, feeling the tension melt away as you left the office and ventured into the unknown. Zaraki turned around with his usual confidence and began walking without looking back, as if he already knew you would follow. After all, when Kenpachi Zaraki asked you to join him, you knew that “fun” was guaranteed, though sometimes fun with him could turn dangerously chaotic.

You had no idea how you ended up in such a compromising position, straddling his lap as his tongue roved over your skin with an insatiable hunger. He licked and sucked at the delicate skin of your breasts, barely covered by your shihakusho. The heat of his body, the wild scent that always accompanied him, and the way he engulfed you made you lose track of everything except the desire consuming you.

This wasn’t the first time you had found yourself tangled up with Zaraki like this. You’d lost count of how many times you’d woken up at his place, subjected to his will and his insatiable need to possess you.

You tried to make sense of the situation, but it was impossible. No matter how much you thought about it, you couldn’t tell whether Zaraki preferred to fight with you, fuck you, or if the two were intertwined in his mind, an extension of his untamable nature. The only thing that was clear was that when he had you like this, any attempt at control or reason was completely out of your reach.

The sound of your clothes being ripped filled the room, and the air became thick with tension. The way Zaraki kneaded your breasts, with a mixture of roughness and hunger, made a moan escape your lips. You couldn’t help it—your hands buried themselves in his wild hair, pulling him closer as his lips mercilessly claimed your flesh.

This whole situation was a damn contradiction. You had promised yourself and your principles not to get involved with him, not to fall into temptation. But the captain of the 11th Division was a walking sin, an embodiment of lust that pulled you in with just a glance. He enveloped you in his desire in the same way he did on the battlefield—with violence, with intensity, with a hunger that seemed endless.

And now here you were, completely surrendered to his touch, to the bites he planted on your nipples, sending waves of forbidden pleasure through your body.

It was messed up. Messed up because you knew you should keep your distance from him, but instead, you found yourself getting closer, relishing in the painful pleasure he provoked. You were growing feverish for him, for the man you should have kept away from, but who always dragged you into his jaws as easily as he crushed his enemies.

You explored his body with reverence, a mix of desire and submission. Every line of his tense muscles under your fingers was a reminder of the brutal strength he possessed, the same strength that now seemed to be given to you. You knew he was desperate—you felt it in the way he grabbed you, in the urgency of his hands. He always sought you when he needed instant release, when the weight of being a captain was too much, and the instinct to fight in him began to consume him.

For Zaraki, life was always a battle. And right now, this moment between your intertwined bodies was his battlefield.

Your fingers glided over his torso, tracing scars you knew well—marks from past battles that he carried with pride. Every touch seemed to ignite the fire in his eyes, and though he didn't say it, you understood what it meant. He wasn’t one for sweet words or affectionate gestures, but in these moments, when his desire overflowed, you were his escape, his way of releasing the pressure that came with being a warrior always on the edge.

Your lips brushed his neck as your hands continued exploring his skin. He growled, a low, guttural sound, and at that moment, you knew he was completely lost to you. There was no turning back. He didn’t need to tell you that right now, you were both his opponent and his release.

You arched your back as you felt him suck forcefully, sharp pleasure shooting through every fiber of your being as your nails dug into his shoulders. Zaraki was an unstoppable force, and though his desire was ravenous, there was something in the way he touched you that spoke of more than just lust. His need for you was as raw as his very nature.

To Zaraki, at first, you were just another arrogant figure, one more from the pretentious Sixth Division. The same attitude he despised in Byakuya, he thought you shared as well. He had no patience for pride games or the rigidity of rules and saw you in the same light—until he saw you fight.

That’s when everything changed. On the battlefield, far from the formalities and stiffness of your division, you had shown you were something more. He saw a spark in you that caught his attention, a fierceness he hadn’t expected to find. You weren’t as arrogant as he’d thought, not when you drew your zanpakutō and let your true instincts take over.

Your hips rolled over his hardness, feeling the pressure between you grow with every movement. The need to strip him of his clothes was almost desperate, an action seeking to release the tension building between you both. However, just as you were about to succeed, his voice echoed in the air, mocking and deep: "Anxious?"

His hands, strong and firm, trailed down your stomach, the touch sending a shiver of anticipation through your body. When his fingers slipped between your legs, an involuntary moan escaped your lips. It was a bold move, a reminder of his dominance, and at the same time, an invitation to lose yourself in the moment.

The way he touched you was both a question and a statement. His fingers explored, teased, and ignited a burning need that seemed impossible to quench. Every caress made your hips move with more urgency, an uncontrollable impulse that only intensified the tension between you.

You felt him curve his fingers inside you, pumping with a precision that stole your breath away. The pleasure hit you so intensely that your head fell back, your lips parted, releasing a raw and ragged moan that echoed in the room. Your body reacted instinctively, arching against his touch, as every movement he made caused you to tremble more.

Zaraki watched with a mix of satisfaction and hunger, his eyes locked on your expression of complete surrender. You could feel his own need growing with every passing second, but as always, he had his own pace, savoring every reaction he drew from you.

Your nails dug deep into his skin, leaving marks as you felt him lift you effortlessly, turning your body until you were lying on the bed. The moment your back hit the sheets, his hands disappeared, leaving an emptiness between your legs that made you arch desperately, seeking the pressure you had just lost.

Zaraki gave you no respite. With his gaze fixed on you, his expert hands tore off what was left of your clothes, stripping you completely in the blink of an eye. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but also eager, your body burning from the lack of contact. And like the hungry man he was, Zaraki wasted no time in taking what he wanted. He grabbed you firmly, parting your legs without consideration, opening you up for him with a brutality only he could manage, leaving you completely at his mercy, ready to be devoured.

His gaze darkened, taking in every corner of you, his heavy breathing and palpable need, and you, trembling under his control, could only wait for him to take you as only he knew how to do, with that mix of desire and savagery that left you on the edge of the abyss every time.

“First I plan to feast on this pretty little pussy you have for me,” Zaraki murmured, his voice husky and heavy with desire, as his thumb began to move firmly against your clit. The sensation shook you, making you shiver under his control. You arched into him, but he was determined to take his time, enjoying every second of your desperation.

He knelt between your spread legs, leaning over you, and began to leave kisses and bites on the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Each touch of his lips, each bite that left small marks on your skin, only increased the tension within you. You could feel his hot breath coming closer to your core, as your body responded with each caress, unable to contain the moans that escaped your lips.

You grabbed his hair tightly, pulling on it desperately, guiding it to where you wanted it most. Your body trembled, clenching in a void only he could fill, as your legs spread wider, offering yourself to him without reservation. You couldn’t think of anything but the urgent need to feel him, to have his mouth and hands tear you from the misery of waiting.

“Just a little,” you whispered, your voice cracking with desire, your hips leaning into him in search of that release he seemed to purposely deny you. Your pussy throbbed, clenching around nothing, eager for the contact Zaraki was taking his time giving you.

He placed a slow, deliberate kiss on your folds, the warmth of his mouth drawing a barely contained moan from you. His eyes lifted to meet yours, that dark gaze filled with desire. The smile that curved his lips was pure arrogance, as if he relished in your desperation, as if he knew exactly the power he had over you at that moment.

And then, without further warning, he devoured you. His mouth sank into you, his tongue moving with precision, licking and sucking every corner, drawing moans from you that you couldn’t control. The sensation shot through you like lightning, making you arch your back as your hands tangled themselves tighter in his hair, clinging to him as if he were going to consume you whole.

His tongue moved slowly but firmly, tracing every fold with a precision that made you lose your breath. The heat of his mouth and the pressure of his lips against you drew involuntary moans from you, louder and louder. Zaraki relished in every reaction from you, devouring you mercilessly, knowing perfectly how to bring you to the edge of ecstasy.

His hands held your hips in place as his tongue teased your clit, alternating between sucking and gentle licks that drove you wild. The pleasure built up, making you feel like you were going to explode at any moment. You arched into him, seeking more contact, but he remained in control, giving you exactly what he wanted and at his pace.

Every time you thought you couldn't take any more, he changed the pace, making your body tense with anticipation and desire.

You couldn't help yourself. The moment you felt his fingers sink into you with ease, you arched up and began grinding your hips against his face, seeking more of that delicious friction that was driving you crazy. The warmth and wetness of his mouth, coupled with the insistent rhythm of his fingers pumping inside you, had you losing control.

Every thrust, every movement of his, brought you closer to the edge, as your moans filled the room. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, pulling hard as you held onto the feeling he gave you, completely surrendered to the pleasure Zaraki knew how to draw from you.

Your hips moved against his mouth, feeling his tongue continue to play with your clit as his fingers curled inside you found that spot that made you tremble, making it clear that he wouldn’t let you go until he saw you completely broken by pleasure.

Zaraki growled against you as he felt your hips grind more insistently against his face, his fingers sinking deeper and moving with merciless precision. “You like it that way, don’t you?” he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and laden with satisfaction. "You're so damn impatient… you can't even wait, huh?"

His words turned you on even more, and you couldn't hold back a moan as your hands tugged hard at his hair, guiding him even closer. "Shut up and keep going…" you gasped, your body shaking with every movement of his tongue and fingers. You needed it, you wanted it, and there was no turning back now.

"Always so bossy," he taunted, his cocky smirk visible even as his tongue continued to torture you, licking and sucking with more intensity. "But look at how you're begging me… you're such a slut when you're like this."

Those words made you shudder, your hips instinctively moving against him, seeking more, seeking the finish only he could give you. "Fuck, Zaraki…" you moaned, feeling his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

"Do you feel it?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as his thumb pressed hard against your clit. “I’m going to make you cum, and you’re going to scream my name like the good girl you are.”

The combination of his mouth and fingers was too much, the pleasure building so fast you could barely think. “Yes… fuck, yes…” you moaned, your body getting closer and closer to the edge, unable to resist the absolute control he had over you.

But he had other plans for you. With one last teasing lick, he pulled away from you, leaving a void that made you moan in frustration. He looked at you with a mischievous grin as he removed his clothes, each item falling to the floor, revealing his muscled, defined body, perfectly designed for domination.

“Turn around and put that little ass up for me,” he ordered, his voice deep and full of desire. “I want to see that beautiful ass offer itself to me. Come on, I want to enjoy you.”

You didn’t have to think twice. Heart pounding, you turned around, arching your back as you lifted your hips, offering your body to his mercy.

“That’s it, good girl. Show off that perfect little ass just for me,” he said, his hands firm on your hips as he took in your exposed body. “You love it when I tell you what to do, don’t you? You know you’re mine, and I love it when you get like this.”

You nodded, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks at his words. “Yes, I love it… I want you to use me,” you replied, desire burning in your chest as you offered yourself completely.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice a lust-laden whisper. “I’m going to make you scream, and I want to hear you beg me for more. I just hope you’re ready for what’s coming, because I’m not holding back this time.”

Zaraki leaned forward, his warm, powerful body pressing against your back. You could feel his hardness against you, and it only increased the need burning inside you. “You’re so damn delicious,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips as he positioned himself to enter you.

With one firm motion, he pushed his body against you, filling you completely. A deep moan escaped your lips, and you couldn’t help but press your hips back, seeking more of that sensation only he could offer. “That’s it, baby,” he said, enjoying the way you gave yourself to him. “Let me feel you clench for me.”

He continued to move inside you, his pace slow at first, but soon turning into a mix of ferocity and control. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured, picking up speed, as his hands continued to roam every curve of your body. “Tell me. Tell me you like me using you like this.”

“Yes… yes, Zaraki,” you moaned, feeling yourself being pushed to the edge of your pleasure. “I love it… I love it when you take me like this.” Your words made him smile, and that only fueled the fire between you more.

“You’re such a good girl, always ready for what I give you,” he said, his voice deeper, as he increased the intensity of his thrusts. “Don’t play dumb, I know you want this as much as I do. Scream my name, I want to hear you break for me.”

“Zaraki…!” you cried, feeling the pleasure building in your belly, taking you to the point of no return. Each thrust made it more intense, each rub against your inner walls bringing you closer to the abyss. You knew you weren’t going to be able to hold out much longer.

Zaraki growled with a smile of pure pride as he watched you collapse onto the bed, your chest crushed against the sheets as you moaned and squealed under his control. His large, rough hands gripped your hips, making sure you couldn't escape what was to come. Every movement of his hips was calculated, searching for that perfect angle that would draw out every heart-wrenching moan he loved to hear.

Your cries of pleasure filled the room, but he only cared about one thing: getting you to the point where you couldn't think of anything but him, his hardness filling you completely.

“That’s it… stay there, hold on… you’re going to be cock drunk by the time I’m done with you,” he growled, increasing the pace until you were babbling incoherently. Your hands tried to grab onto the sheets, but you were too lost in the maelstrom of pleasure to hold on to anything. Each direct hit to your cervix drew louder cries from you, your walls clenching around him desperately.

Your eyes were completely clouded with tears of pure pleasure, you could barely see, but the sensation was overwhelming, filling you to the brim in a way only Zaraki could. Everything in you was shaking, the pressure in your belly was unbearable, and you knew you were close to breaking completely. Then, you felt him slide two of his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste them. The base of his cock glistened with a mix of your juices and his pre-seed.

“Look how fucking wet you are, baby,” he growled with a crooked smile, his fingers curling in your mouth, playing with your tongue as he kept up his relentless thrusts. “You know how good you make me feel, don’t you? All drunk on my cock, you can’t even think about anything else, right?”

Your eyes rolled back as you sucked on his fingers hungrily, unable to respond coherently, babbling between uncontrollable moans. Each slam against your pussy drew a gasp from you, as your inner walls tightened around him, a vicious cycle of pleasure that was tearing you apart from the inside.

And as he continued, your tears fell, your moans turning into sobs, completely lost in him, in that desperate need to feel him, to have him fill you to the point of no return.

Zaraki slowly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, leaving a wet trail as he guided them to your pussy, his large, calloused hands squeezing your bundle of nerves and pinching it. One of your hands shot up to his grip on your hip, seeking any sort of stability as he increased the force of his thrusts, making you feel every inch of his hardness sinking deeper into you.

The wet, messy sound of his thrusts filled the room, and with each movement, he ripped moans from you that could only be described as desperate. “More… please, more…” you gasped raggedly, unable to hold back the words that spilled from your lips.

Zaraki let out a husky laugh, pleased by how broken and needy you were for him. “You want more, huh?” I don't know if your body can take it, but I'm going to give you what you ask for anyway," he murmured, pressing his hands harder against your skin, lifting you up and pressing you against his body to make sure you felt every thrust deep inside you.

With each thrust of his hips, your body reacted as if it were on the verge of collapse. Your moans built into an uncontrolled crescendo, as you felt the pleasure drag you over the edge. “That’s it… keep asking, baby… I want to hear how needy you are for me to fill you,” he growled, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hip, holding you tight to sink even deeper into you.

You were completely lost, your thoughts washed away by the pleasure, and all you could do was cling to him, begging with incoherent moans and babbles, completely at his mercy, as he fucked you harder, deeper, bringing you to a point where reality and pleasure blurred into a whirlwind of intoxicating sensations.

You squeezed him tightly, feeling his seed flooding inside you, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. Pleasure washed over you, a rush of sensations that left you breathless as you rode the wave of ecstasy.

“Zaraki!” you commanded, your voice echoing with desperation and desire, as if you were trying to absorb every bit of him, every moment that belonged to you. In that instant, you felt like you would never get enough of him, of his body, of his intensity, of the way he made you forget the world and kept you completely caught up in his maelstrom of pleasure.

He let out a low, satisfied laugh as his gaze met yours, filled with arrogance and desire. “See? I told you I was going to leave you a mess, crying for more.” His hips continued to move, slow at first, enjoying every second, making sure you felt every inch of his p0ll4 still inside you, but increasing the pressure with one final movement.

“But, baby, this is just the beginning. There’s always more for you.” His tone was a whisper laden with promise, and you knew that every time you fell into his arms, you were swept away into a world where he was your only reality, where everything revolved around that intense, wild connection you shared.

The euphoria of his seed inside you transformed into a heat that left you yearning for more, and no matter how many times he filled you, there would always be an insatiable hunger for him.

[oofmybad]

Reader is a backup dancer for Doechii and performs at the Grammy’s. Billie is such a proud girlfriend and cheers the loudest for her woman while she’s living her dream 🥹🥰🫶🏾

Grammy performance

warnings: billiexfem!reader, fluff

a/n: yay okie, i loved this request. this was fun to write. also, it was nice having to watch the performance again. i love promts that require me to study a performance or an interview etc. so cutesy. love y’all, enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The audience around you is bustling. The arena, full to the brim of A-listers is loud with chatter. Everyone is applauding for the performance just gone. You are standing between two people: a fellow backup dancer and your wonderful girlfriend.

 

You’re dressed from head to toe in Thom Browne, all 50 of you dressed in the same manner. Hard to tell one from the other. That’s why when you creep up on Billie, whistling in her ear, she lets out a loud “Oh my god!” Her face is full of surprise, she didn’t know anyone was there. But then a sense of relief, even excitement, comes over her when she recognizes you.

 

Head in the game, you don’t look at her. Keeping in character, knowing this performance is the most important of your career yet. But you hear her. You smile inside at her supportive comments. Doechii appears on stage, pulling focus from those of you in the audience. Billie’s eyes never leave yours, though. She follows you as you race, ducked down, and up the steps onto the stage.

 

Waiting at the side for your turn, you watch as Doechii and the others perform the first song. Keeping count in your head – making sure you don’t get lost in the music. You watch as your friends create formations underneath Doechii— contemporary shapes to match the style of the performance.

 

Now, it’s your turn to walk onto the stage as Doechii’s platform lowers to the ground. You line up amongst the others and help Doechii off the platform. She takes your hand and steps off, indicating for you to snap into the next bit of choreography. You face the audience as you shimmy forward—just a line of you and five or so other girls. You feel the nerves and excitement coursing through you. You know everyone, both in the arena and globally, is watching you right now.

 

You position yourself onto the moving conveyor belts, laser-focused not to fall, and you spot Billie in the front row filming you. Smiling internally, you continue your choreography with your partner. Serving the most face you can muster up, knowing Billie will be posting her videos of you later on.

 

Moments pass, your mind swept up in the moment, and you hear the crowd erupt into cheers. Now you know that Doechii’s costume change went successfully behind you. You race to the back of the stage, assembling yourself among your peers for the group choreography before your quick exit to the side stage for Doechii’s solo moment.

 

As you stand there on the prop, you have a moment to look around you. First, you spot Finneas’ ginger bob moving with the music. You take note of that – waiting to tease him later on about it. But next to him, Billie stands, looking at you and clapping. Her eyes speak to you as she mouths “you got it”. You send her a quick, tight smile. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for your lover to know.

 

You come back on after catching your breath, ready to perform a big trick with Doechii. She’ll be using yourself and others as stairs and then seemingly floating in the air. Shit. This is the one that kept going wrong in rehearsals. You feel your heart rate picking up but vow to keep your cool, just like you promised Billie a mere hour ago.

 

The trick works successfully, and the performance is finally coming to an end, just a bit of group choreography left. But nothing major, only about ten seconds pass before Doechii is the only one left standing on stage, and it’s finally over.

 

** cut to half an hour later **

 

As you walk back out into the audience, freshly changed, you spot your loving girlfriend’s head peering around the room – evidently looking for you. So you pick up your pace from the side doors and rush over to her. Surprising her from the back, you throw your arms over her shoulders in a big hug from behind. She wriggles in your arms to turn around as she yells into your ear, “Oh my god! Baby! It was so good!” You can feel the smile on her face.

 

“Thank you, baby,” you cheese back, your face smooshed in her neck. Billie pulls back from your embrace and says, “I filmed the whole thing, I felt like my mom,” she laughs.

 

“Bil, there was nothing but cameras on me. I don’t think you needed to film that,” you giggle. Playing it cool, but touched by her actions. “Yeah, I know, but I wanted it for myself. No one else got my point of view,” Billie reasons with you.

 

You feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to see who it’s coming from. Finneas and Claudia are standing there, arms wide, ready to embrace you.

 

“y/n, that was amazing. I’m honestly gobsmacked!” Claudia says, pulling you in. “So you thought I was shit before? Is that what you’re saying?” you tease her. She lightly slaps your arm with a ‘come on, you know what I meant’ look on her face. Your eyes avert to Finneas now, “hey, Finch, I was up there, and the only thing I could make out was your bob rocking in time to the music. No joke,” you tease him, “I wish I could play back what I saw from the stage.” He just cackles at your joke - used to being teased by you by now.

 

As you chat with them two, you feel two arms snake around your waist from the side. Billie holds you tightly as you continue a casual conversation with those around you. You lean your head on hers when it isn’t your turn to speak.

 

“Hey, y/n?” she whispers up to you. “Yeah, love?”

 

“I’m so so proud and happy for you. I know this is huge for you, and it was so good. Really major.”

 

You smile, wanting to cry - partly from the relief, and partly because you’re so in love – and tell her “Thank you.” Leaning in for a kiss, as Claudia awws and Finneas wretches.

 

“Yeah, ‘cause you never do that,” Billie snarks back at Finneas. He simply laughs at her as you all fall into a comfortable silence amongst the loud chatter of the room.

 

“So… when can we meet her?” Billie yells, loud enough for everyone at the table to hear.

 

“I don’t know, Bil. You’re the one who’s Billie Eilish. Why are you asking me?” you laugh, affectionately shoving her body away from yours.

[binniesbooks]

halloo, I come with a request 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️ ofc feel free to ignore it if you don't feel like writing about it or js don't like the request, that's totally OK!!

but I have been thinking about idol!soobin x fan!reader (feeding my delusions HAHAH) maybe the reader started out as a fan but at a meet and greet or something, she caught soobin's eye and then yada yada they get together !!

then, one day, y/n is on her phone and comes across an edit of soobin. ofc edits of him weren't anything new to her considering she was a fan before she got w soobin but this one caught her eye bcs it wasn't about soobin specifically but about his hands 👀👀 she saw it in a whole different light but ofc was too shy to tell soobin herself so she keeps it a secret

but then another day, in their shared apartment, reader is watching yet another edit of soobin's hands but what she doesn't know is that soobin came back earlier than usual and was right behind her, seeing the edit. that's when it clicked, why y/n was more nervous than usual these past few days, staring at his hands. and then well smut😌😌😌 (kinda mean dom soobin plsss)

feel free to alter it as u like or not do it at all HAHAHA just needed to get my thoughts out!! love yaa

-🤍

• CHOKING HAZARD

SB 000 .F23 2024

wc 4.1k

pairings meandomidolbf!Soobin x subfem!reader

warnings size kink, choking, fingering, slight oral (fem receiving) unsafe sex, pet names, cum eating, creampie, slight degradation (plus if I missed anything)

faye's note TOTALLY DOWN BAD FOR SOOBIN'S HANDS THAT I WOULD GLADLY SIGN A PETITION TO START A FANDOM FOR HIS PRETTY HANDS??? GAAHHH! Anyway, although I felt like it took me decades to finish this fic, I enjoyed writing this one. Hmhmhm. 🙂‍↕️

"Girl, I swear! He was staring at you the whole time!" Your friend exclaimed on your way home after attending a fan meet event with your favorite K-pop boy band, TXT.

"Stop with your delusions, Rain," you chuckled. "Why would my bias stare at me? That's impossible," you said, scoffing at the idea your friend had been conducting on your way home.

"Oh my god, you're such a dumb Soobrangdan, I swear! You're losing your chance!" Your friend was about to burst out, lucky for you, there are only a few locals riding the bus, and they're not paying attention to your friend making a fuss.

You glanced at the photo card dangling on your bag, your bias really looks handsome. You like the other four guys, but you’re committed to Soobin. The tall guy gave the cute yet sexy and hot aura. His bunny smile and pretty face made you fall for him over and over again. --- You we’re a total simp for Soobin.

"Here! Look! MOAs are uploading pictures and videos here and there. Take a look and tell me if I'm wrong!" Rain frowns. You took her phone and scrolled through the platform.

'She's so lucky! Soobin has been staring at her the whole time!'

'She's a Soobrangdan, right? How lucky!'

'Oh, to be stared at by your bias!'

'Prayer reveal, sis!'

It was true. Soobin was looking at you the whole damn time. He looks at the crowd for a second, quickly returning his gaze at you. Oh my god! What in the world have you done to be looked at like this by your bias?!

"Oh fuck, I hope Taehyun would look at me like how Soobin stared at you last time!" It's been a couple of months since the last fan meeting you attended. And this time, you are attending another fan signing event again.

You weren't expecting anything at all, or so you thought. Maybe, deep inside, you're expecting Soobin to recognize you from the crowd. For him to look at you the same way he did last time.

"You're the one who gave me the crocheted KARA lightstick last time, how could I forget you?" Soobin's bunny smile flashed right in front of your face. His big hand is almost covering your tiny ones.

You were giggling the whole time. His hand envelopes yours. He even held your wrist in an almost teasing manner as he compared your size difference. Soobin couldn't stop smiling either. He adores how your hand fits perfectly on his. How the size of your ring finger is the same size as his pinky finger.

And just before you move on to the next member, he sneakily wrote something on the album he was signing.

"I really recognize you, y/n. I hope we can see each other more often," he whispered. "And... don't let anybody touch this album aside from you, yeah?" He smirks as he slides the signed album towards you.

You went home in a dazed state. Your friend couldn't even talk to you properly, frustrated she just shut up. You weren't saying anything aside from the constant "huh?" and "mhm!", while you were clutching the album against your chest tightly.

After doing your nightly routine, you jumped on your bed. The white and orange-colored album caught your eye as you quickly got up and grabbed it.

Sniffing the album, you slowly turned every page. Admiring every beautiful face on each page. Until you saw his picture near the middle part—it was Soobin's picture.

'Hi pretty, call me if you're free.' was written on the edge of the page along with a phone number. Your jaw dropped to the floor, confused and baffled.

You were expecting something more like a sweet message or such, not a 'call me' note.

Yet you found yourself dialing the number written on the page of the album.

"H-hello?" You muttered when you heard a deep breath on the other end. "I-is this Soobin? Choi Soobin?" You were practically biting your nails while muttering the words carefully. What if it's just a bluff?

"Y/n?" the voice answered. Alas! It was Soobin!

"H-hi! I... I'm... I just--"

"Calm down, sweetie," Soobin chuckled.

You took a deep breath and whispered a soft hi. Soobin hums as an answer. The call was short, because Soobin was busy with his schedule. Well, that one-time call already meant a lot to you, who are you to complain?

A couple of months later, TXT organized another fan signing event for their comeback stage. This time, it was a lot bigger than the other. This time, thousands of people are expected to participate. And once again, you and your friends were lucky to acquire the VIP ticket.

It was a crisp autumn evening, and the anticipation in the air was electric. Fans from all corners of the city had gathered for the long-awaited fan meeting of TXT, their favorite boy band. Among the thousands in attendance, you found yourself at the front of the stage, heart racing as the boys took their places.

As the event kicked off, Soobin scanned the crowd, his gaze dancing over faces filled with excitement until it landed on you. You felt your cheeks flush, unsure if it was the light or the warmth of his gaze that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as his eyes locked onto yours, a playful smirk breaking across his face. You quickly looked down, too shy to hold his gaze any longer, but not before you noticed the playful glint in his eyes.

“Who’s ready to have some fun?” Soobin called out, his voice laced with enthusiasm. The crowd erupted in cheers, but all you could think about was that moment of connection. As the various activities unfolded—games, Q&As, and performances—you couldn’t shake the feeling that Soobin’s eyes kept drifting back toward you.

During a particularly lively segment, he started to walk toward the edge of the stage, playfully teasing the fans. You held your breath, half-expecting him to call someone else into the spotlight. Then, without warning, he pointed directly at you. “You! Come here!”

Your heart stopped. “Me?” You stammered, disbelief evident on your face as you made your way to the front. The crowd parted with laughter and cheers, urging you on. With each step, the adrenaline surged, and by the time you stood before him, your heart was pounding furiously.

“Hi! What’s your name?” Though his eyes were actually screaming, he knew your name, leaning closer, his warm smile making it hard to concentrate.

“Uhm, it's y/n," you managed, your voice barely audible above the loud cheers around you.

“Well, aren’t you brave?” He said with a playful wink. “I have a feeling you’re going to be my favorite fan tonight.

”You couldn’t believe it—he was flirting with you right there in front of everyone! The other members laughed and encouraged him, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. As the event progressed, he kept making lighthearted jokes, steering the attention back to you each time.

When the event ended, he stepped down from the stage and walked toward you. “You know,” he said, his voice low enough for only you to hear, “I think we should hang out sometime. I’d like to get to know you better."

Your breath caught in your throat as the other members around you gasped. Was he really asking you out? “Are you serious?” You asked, trying to mask the disbelief with a teasing smile.

"Absolutely,” he smiled back, mischief dancing in his eyes. “What do you say? Just us, away from the cameras and crowds?”

After exchanging contact information with a heart full of hope, your night wrapped up, but that was only the beginning. Over the next few weeks, Soobin kept his promise. Text messages turned into phone calls, and soon enough, the two of you were meeting in secret cafés, parks, and even sharing ice cream on chilly evenings. Each moment together deepened the bond you were forming.

Dating someone like Soobin wasn’t without its challenges; the scrutiny of being in the public eye weighed heavily on both of you. But amidst the noise, you found solace in the quiet moments—the way he would listen intently as you spoke, the laughter you shared over inside jokes, and the warmth of his hand finding yours.

One night, while walking beneath a canopy of stars, Soobin gently squeezed your hand and said, “I never expected to find someone so genuine in this crazy world. I’m really glad you caught my eye that day.”

With your heart racing, you looked up at him, his face lit with anticipation. “I'd never imagined myself dating you, Soob, I even thought you're joking. But... You’ve changed my life in ways I never could have imagined. You made me love life even more,” you sighed.

In that moment, the world faded away, leaving just the two of you standing under the sparkling sky, two hearts dancing to a rhythm that felt undeniably right.

"Were you watching edits of me again?" You were startled from where you were sitting when Soobin spoke.

"Oh my god, Bin! At least announce that you're home, else I’ll end up dying young," you joked, your hand still on your chest.

Soobin chuckled, planting a kiss on your forehead, "I did, sweetie. Maybe you're just too focused on what you were watching that you didn't even hear me. What if it's not me? What if it's a killer or a thief?" Soobin pouts as he melts into your arms.

"What the hell are you saying? Do they have the house key?" Your eyebrows raised into a frown and Soobin pouted.

It's been only 3 months since you started officially dating him, yet you knew almost everything about him. You're too familiar with when he's stressed out, or when he's angry, or when he just wants to be clingy.

One typical Saturday afternoon, while the sun was casting a warm golden hue across the room, you sat on your bed, scrolling through social media.

You found yourself watching a short video clip that featured your boyfriend in a relaxed interview setting. He was gesturing with his hands, those long, slender fingers of his gliding through the air as he spoke animatedly about his passion for music. You couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest as you admired his natural charisma. You had always found him attractive, but something about his fingers today set your imagination racing.

The way he drummed his fingers on the table, or how he would push his hair back while speaking, was captivating. You leaned in closer, your face flush with warmth, almost forgetting the world around you. The clip had sparked a whirlwind of fantasies in your mind, and you lost yourself in thoughts of how his fingers might feel on your skin, exploring and teasing.

Just as you were about to replay the video for the third time, you heard a soft click at your door. Your heart raced as you quickly looked away from your phone, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

To your surprise, it was Soobin himself, looking casual yet undeniably cute in his oversized hoodie. “Hey, i'm home,” he said, a playful smile spreading across his face. You froze, phone still in hand, the video still playing in the background as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

“What were you watching?” he asked. You felt your throat go dry, words barely finding their way out. “Um, just a… a video,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze.

He stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. “Oh really? Is it something interesting?”

For a second, you thought of showing it to him, telling him about it, yet you shut it off and brushed it all aside.

"W-what do you want for dinner?" You muttered, shoving your phone in your pocket.

"Don't cook tonight, I booked a restaurant." Soobin smiled, shrugging off the matter that was the video on your phone.

You took a quick shower, picked some nice casual clothes, and took his hand in yours, walking hand in hand once again.

Soobin makes a joke about you might be cheating on him and that you're hiding something from him. But of course, you showed proof you didn't do anything of the sort.

Dinner went well. Aside from some pair of eyes probably boring holes in your skull, Soobin made you comfortable nonetheless. You had a good time with him again, after a while of being busy with his hectic schedule.

The next day, Soobin went out earlier than usual. They were called in for a sudden meeting for their upcoming shoot.

You were enjoying your time alone. Baking some goods for him to taste when he gets home. Cleaning and rearranging the house stuff for a cleaner and cozy space. You even changed the curtains, the sheets, the pillowcases, and the blankets.

After a whole day of cleaning, you sat down on your usual spot on the sofa, turning on your phone to consume some entertainment. You found yourself searching for the clip you had watched yesterday.

And once again, it made your head spin. His long and slender fingers look so pretty. His huge hand made you think about something unholy. Your fingers slowly digging into the soft pillow, your thighs rubbing against each other.

His eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “My fingers? What about them?”

You jolt up from where you were sitting, quickly shutting off your phone and shoving it face down on the couch.

"H-hey! Y-you're phone--- I mean home!" you exclaimed, quickly hitting your head and cursing yourself for messing your words up.

You felt your face grow even warmer, heart racing. The heat of embarrassment surged through you, but there was something unmistakably thrilling about his interest. Soobin tilts his head to the side, curious of what that was all about.

"They’re just… really nice,” you finally admitted, barely above a whisper, a mix of shyness and audacity washing over you.

Soobin’s smile widened, and a glimmer of something playful sparked in his deep-set eyes. “Nice, huh? I guess there are worse things to be complimented on.” He took a step closer, invading your personal space, making you acutely aware of how your body responded to his proximity.

You could feel the coldness of the concrete wall seeping through your thin shirt and kissing your warm back.

Suddenly, the air was thick with tension, a magnetic pull drawing you toward him. He leaned down slightly, tilting his head, his gaze locked onto yours. “You know, I can show you just how nice they are…” His voice dropped to a whisper, the teasing lilt sending shivers down your spine.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, and the space between you collapsed. The spark ignited, and Soobin captured your lips in a soft, tentative kiss. It was electrifying, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

As he pulled back, you gasped at the intensity of the moment, still dazed.

"Are you okay?” he asked, a mix of concern and mischief playing on his features. You nodded, your heart racing. “I think so… I just never imagined…”

“Neither did I,” he interrupted, his fingers brushing against your cheek, a subtle caress that felt intimate and exhilarating. “But sometimes, the unexpected can lead to something amazing.”

Before you could process it, Soobin pulled you closer, his lips finding yours again, this time more passionately. Your hands instinctively found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you melted into him. You could feel his warmth radiating off him, igniting an undeniable fire within you.

As the kiss deepened, his fingers moved down your arms, tracing patterns that sent jolts of electricity through your body. You pulled back for a moment, eyes searching his. “Are you sure about this?”

His playful grin returned, and he nodded. “If you're down, I'm down. Who am I to decline? Besides, I think you need me," he chuckled as he gripped your waist.

With a rush of adrenaline, you surrendered to the moment, letting go of your shyness and embracing the connection between you. It was as if nothing else mattered; the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in this shared sanctuary of desire.

The afternoon melted into an evening of exploration and passion, every soft touch and lingering kiss drawing you closer. Soobin’s fingers, the very ones that had ignited this whole encounter, explored your skin like an artist painting a masterpiece, each stroke igniting flames of longing in their wake.

"S-soobin," you choked out.

"Yes love? I'm here. I'm still here," he muttered, kissing your neck. He then pulled away and grabbed your arm, sniffing your wrist. "You smell sweet and amazing, did you take a bath already?" he asked. You simply nodded, pulling your hand away and wrapping them around his waist.

"Bedroom? I think I really need you right now," you bit your lower lip as you look up at him.

"You do?" Soobin taunts, lifting one of his hands, gently rubbing your lip. He pulled your lower lip down with his thumb. "I don't know what I could do to you. Your tiny body looks so frail and fragile compared to me."

"Please, need you..." Your eyes pleading to the tall man, rubbing your thighs together, wanting to finally feel him.

Soobin carefully wrapped his hand around your neck, slowly tightening his grip. You heard him curse under his breath when you gasped for air, clutching on his shirt. His grip easily made you lightheaded and your mind hazy. You're totally making him develop his size kink in a sexual way.

"B-bin... S-soobin..." You managed to squeak out as fat tears fell from your waterline. He pulled his hand away, and he watched you catch your breath, whimpering on his chest as you hugged him tight. Not wanting to let him know how turned on you are.

"Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, you just look... You looked so pretty when you're all drooling and crying with just my hand wrapped around your neck," he said as he hugged you back, his voice tinged with apology.

"F-felt good... Want more..." You admitted, burying your face in his chest. Soobin carried you all the way to your shared bedroom. Laying you down on the bed, carefully stripping you out of your thin clothes, and hovering above you.

"Y/n, if we don't stop now, I can't guarantee you I would be able to stop later on," he sighed, fingers gently brushing your plush thighs.

"Need you. Need you so much, please..." You begged, grabbing his toned arm. Soobin dipped his head down, kissing the tip of your nose.

"I love you, don't think that I only want your body. I love you because you are you, y/n." You weren't expecting him to spew assurance in the midst of this, especially since he was suddenly talking about your body, but it made you feel at ease for some reason.

He then grabs your hands, restraining them both with just a single hand above your head. "My hands and fingers are pretty, you say? Watch them for me, yeah?" he said as he slowly rubbed your clit.

"Mmphh!" You squirmed under him, a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks.

His digits slowly disappeared in your hole as he fucked you with his fingers. Grinning widely while watching your small frame thrash beneath him.

"Say it again," he commands, "That my fingers are pretty."

"B-bin mmphh! Your fingers are--- ahh! Are p-pretty!"

"How pretty are they?" he edged, curling his long fingers inside.

"Ohh! S-so pretty w-wanna c-cum--fuck ahh! W-wanna cum on them!" You managed.

"Mhm, go ahead, do it."

With a few more pumps, you came undone on his fingers, body twitching from sensitivity. His face lit up, looking proud that he managed to make you come on his fingers. When he pulled out his fingers, they were glistening with your arousal. Sticky. Wet. Creamy.

Yet your eyes were fixed on his essence-covered fingers. It didn't escape his sight, smirking as one nasty idea came to his mind.

He shoved his fingers in your mouth, letting you taste yourself. Allowing you to suck on his pretty fingers covered with your slick. Making you play with his fingers with your warm and hot tongue.

"Damn, you look so sexy like this. If only I knew about this, we should've done this earlier," he chuckled as he swirled his fingers on your tongue.

"Do you taste good? I bet you do." He smiled before pulling his hand away from you and dipping his head on the lower region of your body. Gripping your thighs to keep them open, licking a long stripe on your dripping pussy.

Your body arched as a guttural moan escaped from your mouth. "Damn, you do taste good, should've done this to you before."

If he has long fingers, no doubt that he has a long tongue too. That he could even tongue-fuck you and would possibly make you cum again if only he stayed longer.

Soobin pulled out a pack of condoms that had been sitting in his wallet for a long time now. "What if we hit it raw instead?" His voice was joking, yet you agreed.

Soobin was packing. Girthy --- Veiny. Thick. Long.

"B-bin too b-big!" You whined. He made you straddle him, claiming he'd reach deeper inside you in this position. Not to mention the pack of condoms discarded and long forgotten on the floor.

"Baby, you can take me. I know you can. You’re doing so good. Doing so fucking good, my pretty girl." His fingers traced the prominent bulge on your tummy. "See? I'm deep inside you. In here. Look. You're such a good girl," he coos, poking and pushing at the bulge.

His lips captured yours once again. Kissing you fervently yet carefully. "You're so tiny," he giggled as he leaned back, pulling your lower lip again with his thumb. He wasn't expecting you suck his finger into your mouth.

"Dirty," he remarks, and he felt you clench around his cock.

"Fuck, you want that? You want to be called dirty? To be called a slut?” He felt you clench around his cock again.

"Angel, didn't know you're this kinky?" he chuckled. "Aside from being choked, you quite love getting degraded, hm?"

"B-bin, 's too m-much?" You whined, wanting to hide on his neck, but he insists on watching your face contort as he rearranges your guts.

"Poor baby," he coos, red cock ramming your overstimulated cunt even harder. Your wanton moans got louder and high pitched. His thrusts got sloppy and erratic.

"Fuck, won't last long, mmphh!" His head thrown back as he grips your waist, pushing your body down on his cock, slamming through your cervix.

"M-me neither, please, n-need more," you whimpered.

One of his hands flew up to your neck, restraining your lungs to acquire enough oxygen, making your mind a little hazy and your pulse throb for a bit while he shoots his cum inside you.

"Shit!" he hisses, convulsing, as he leans his forehead on your shoulder, loosening his grip on your neck. The corner of his lips curled up when he heard you panting, gasping for air, your body twitching above him as you came undone for the second time. Your boyfriend developed many kinks, after all.

He slowly pulled away, a glob of cum flowing out from your spent hole. "Let's get you cleaned up," he whispers, along with the soft kisses being planted on your temple. You shook your head and pulled the blanket over your bodies instead, hugging him tight, neglecting the sticky feeling.

Soobin then decided to rest and clean up later. He doesn't want you to be sulky and mad anyway, so he just hugged you closer to him, gently massaging your sore body.

Smiling to himself with his eyes closed after realizing something. That when he chokes you, he now knows you love it. When he shoves his fingers on your mouth, he now knows you're reeling at the feeling. When he restrains both of your wrists with just a single hand, given how huge his hand is. He might be your big, clingy baby at times, but he's a total daddy in bed. He likes to show power and dominance towards you—his pretty little angel.

@binniesbooks 2024

[meanstepdad]

i made these little mini-zines as a way of processing. well. everything going on lately in the united states lol

"make zines" is a double-sided mini zine that includes a mini poster on the inside with instructions for how i made both of these zines.

"it would do us all well to make more art" comes with an additional PDF that gives instructions on how to print, cut, and assemble the zine from one double-sided sheet of paper.

both zines are available for free/pwyw to download and print from my ko-fi shop! feel free to print them, share them, take them apart to make your own zine templates, etc.

if you'd like to order physical copies of the zines together—because you don't have access to a printer, because you want to support me, or because it's nice to get things other than spam in the mail sometimes—i'm selling the physical copies together for $5.

here's a link to my ko-fi shop if you want to check out my other work!

and i'll put my big long rant about the thoughts i had while making these zines behind a cut.

i don't think that art is the solution to all our problems or that making art is on par with direct action, protesting, forming local community networks, calling representatives, donating to mutual aid funds, etc. art isn't a free pass to avoid doing the hard stuff. especially all of the stupid, silly art that i make, like my zine about the sims games lol.

when i think of discussions about the importance of protest art, i can't help thinking about that quote from vonnegut: "during the vietnam war, which lasted longer than any war we've ever been in -- and which we lost -- every respectable artist in this country was against the war. it was like a laser beam. we were all aimed in the same direction. the power of this weapon turns out to be that of a custard pie dropped from a stepladder six feet high."

creative doubts are a very leisurely problem to have in the scheme of things.

with that being said, these zines are more of a mantra that i've developed to pull myself away from all the spiraling thoughts that come when i spend too much time online doomscrolling, or when i think about the works i've made on gender, queerness, and anti-fat bias and how pointless it all feels.

and then i remember there are both very shitty, rich people and their very shitty, indoctrinated followers that would prefer i continue to feel this way, and that i and the people like me stop existing, or at the very least stop making our existence known and stop thinking our work and joy and community is of any importance. and then out of spite i resolve to scroll less and make art more, because i'm not going to give them that kind of resignation for free.

additionally, i think zines are a really valuable tool to utilize during a time when it's getting more difficult to organize and access information online. we're coming into an age now where we're really recognizing the impermanence of the internet—from important webpages and communities being wiped from existence to the increase in online content censorship that we see from platforms trying to appear more advertiser friendly family-friendly. this inherently conflicts with the nature of the world that we find ourselves in, whether it's talking about queer bodies or the ongoing genocides. additionally, it's getting harder and harder to access news that isn't from extreme right-wing sources without running into paywalls, which makes it difficult to educate yourself and others on important topics.

but nobody can shadowban zines. if your zines get taken off the internet for whatever reason, no one can stop you from printing off physical copies and mailing them, putting them in public places, or sharing them in-person with others. zines are both ephemeral and eternal, and also a great way of turning feelings of hopelessness into hope and community that you can share with others, whether they're about important things or silly video games.

[zenkindoflove]

You guys do not want to go down the road of starting to make blanket declarations that specific ships are "problematic" and "triggering". And let me explain why.

ACOTAR fandom, in my experience, is notoriously very far removed from general fandom. It's big and dispersed across many platforms that weren't created around fandoms, and so a lot of people enter it having little to no experience in other fandoms.

This discourse about what is or isn't a problematic ship and what kind of person ships a couple like that is not new. Fandoms of yesterday yore have had long fights about this and a general consensus has emerged which is anytime you start playing the morality policing game around people having fun with fictional characters, everyone loses.

Let's take this situation with Elain Archeron Week which is explicitly banning submissions for Elain with characters who are canonically known to be abusive to a romantic partner. Generally, the spirit of character weeks are to be ship neutral and importantly a concept that has emerged from prior fandom morality policing debate is the term Ship and Let Ship. Which means just because something isn't YOUR ship doesn't mean you need to come up for reasons why it isn't CORRECT to ship.

So, you think it's morally incorrect and triggering for people to see Elain paired with an abuser or a "bad guy"? That is okay for your own personal beliefs but if you start making rules around it for something that is supposed to be inclusive where do you draw the line or what that means? How about pairing Elain with the guy who runs Night Court Abu Ghraib? A role that means he actually tortures people physically and mentally to the brink that they are forced to "confess" to crimes. Is that some how morally superior to another character who emotionally abused their partner and confined them to a house?

See. That didn't feel good. Now did it? Do you actually want to get into a discussion about which wrong is morally worse than the other? Especially when it concerns a character week that is supposed to be about positivity and people having fun because they love Elain and they love the different interactions she could potentially have with characters in fanon?

And that is the entire point. When it comes to fiction, we all will be seduced by characters who have done bad things. Things that will trigger people. But, and I mean this whole heartedly, no one else is responsible for your triggers but you. You are the only one who knows what you can and cannot handle. Your Mileage May Vary. Tumblr's tag filtering system is in part for this very reason because of how fandoms use tumblr.

When you have a fandom wide event space, generally it's a bad idea to start throwing up these judgmental rules around people's character interests and shipping habits. Of course, any event runner is entitled to do what they please. But you also have to expect those who are excluded or know people who will be excluded are going to have something to say about it.

I really think the entire ACOTAR fandom could benefit from getting curious for once and actually digging into the histories of fandom, fandom lore and vocabulary, and start learning from from fandom elders. If so, we'd all be able to navigate these situations with a shared language that recognizes that the primary goal of fandom is to have fun first. And everyone's fun is going to look different and each individual is responsible for deciding what their squicks and triggers are. And the whole point of a squick is to let someone know this thing bothers me personally but I understand if it doesn't bother you. That sort of back and forth empathy across each side is how fandoms don't burn down in flames and people don't feel shame about what they like in fiction.

Now any fandom event can make whatever rules they want. But what I already see is a bunch of people (e/riels) are now actually making posts about why others who ship Elain with Tamlin are morally inferior, disgusting, perverse, and bad people. But hear me out, someone can easily think and say the same thing about you and your ship and if that is the kind of environment you'd like to fuck around in, well, aren't we all the worse off for it.