#this is very concerning… ty again for the warning. i appreciate it

[we-dont-talk-about-potato-nonono]

Hey, heads up that ville234 is known for requesting content from people and sending hate if they don't reply or refuse, as well as pressuring minors into writing nsfw for them. You can find some warnings in the tag for their username.

Thank you so much for the warning anon! yesterday after I told them that I refuse to do their warrior cat drawing request they already blocked me and even send me a really rude ask (my first hate ask yay) which I have deleted it anyway and even blocked their blog. Not only they asked a free art from an artist, they’re also being very childish about it when their reqs being declined.

[jjkamochoso]

Hi again :3 more noritoshi stuff,,, it's his birthday soon! Maybe reader takes him out on a date to celebrate ^_^

Yessss omg I’m loving writing these birthday fics because I’m the biggest lover of birthday celebrations so this is a total treat for me!! And as everyone knows Noritoshi is my number one so let’s celebrate him as much as we can🥳🎉 thank you for your request, I appreciate it so so much!!! Also I kinda ran away with this so I hope it still meets your expectations lol🫣❤️

The Best Birthday Boy

Fluff

Noritoshi Kamo x gn!reader

Warnings: none

When you asked Noritoshi what he wanted to do for his birthday this year, he told you he had never given that June day much thought and every year he treats it as any other day, going through the same routine and not doing anything special. You definitely weren’t letting that happen this year so you immediately went into planning mode, deciding how to make this day filled with memories he’d cherish for a long time. Now you were standing outside his door, balloons and flowers taking up all the use of your hands while you tried your best to knock on the frame with your foot. He either heard your knocking or your struggle outside but either way, he was there in an instant, opening the door to reveal you and your gifts.

“Happy birthday!” you greeted. Noritoshi looked taken aback as he let you inside.

“Is this all for me?” he asked, taking the bouquet from you so you weren’t juggling as many things.

“Of course, silly,” you replied, tying the huge group of balloons to his bedpost, “and this is just a taste of the fun to come. Are you ready for your big day of surprises?”

“Trust me, this is more than enough,” he told you, sincerity shining from his gray eyes as he wrapped you in a big hug. “You by my side is the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”

“Sounds like you’re getting sentimental in your old age.”

Noritoshi playfully scoffed as he pulled away from you to fill a vase with water for the flowers you brought him. “It’s my birthday, you have to be nice to me.”

“I am!” you whined. “Besides, I could’ve greeted you today with birthday punches instead of gifts. One for each year.”

“People seriously do that?” His voice was filled with concern as you laughed and shook your head.

“Yep. Apparently it’s very popular. But,” you ruffled his hair a bit, “I’d never lay anything but a loving touch on my precious Nori.”

He ducked out of your assaulting reach as you fell into another bout of giggles and he rolled his eyes.

“Alright, where are you kidnapping me to first?”

“Can’t tell ya.” You winked. “But I can say we’ll be outside and then walking around other places so dress casually and wear comfy shoes.”

“Got it.”

He left to get dressed and you looked around his place thoughtfully. Everything was always in such neat order and you were awestruck by the high level of organization and cleanliness he never failed to commit to. You noticed that there weren’t many personal items present as he opted to keep the decoration to a minimum, but your heart did a flip in your chest when you spied a picture frame showcasing you and him together. It was a selfie you had taken on one of your dates and while you were smiling at the camera, Noritoshi was resting his softest loving gaze on you. It was a picture you both treasured and you were honored that he felt strongly enough about you to keep your relationship so brazenly on display. You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard him enter the room again and your breath hitched in your throat when you saw how handsome he looked. He was sporting dark linen pants and a white t shirt that accentuated his muscles perfectly. He opted for white sneakers and topped the whole outfit off with a black fanny pack slung over his shoulder. He looked breathtakingly attractive in this sporty outfit and you were quick to let him know.

“Woah. You always look hot but this look really suits you.”

Noritoshi couldn’t help but blush at your words. “Are you trying to embarrass me into oblivion on purpose?”

“What? No,” you said, pouting a bit before placing a kiss on his cheek, “but it’s my duty as your partner to remind you how alluring you are.”

You started peppering more kisses on his cheek before moving to his nose, chin, other cheek, then placed one on his lips.

“There,” you mumbled, “instead of birthday punches, you get birthday kisses.”

“Much more agreeable,” said Noritoshi, locking your lips together once more. When you pulled apart for air, you jumped out of his grasp as fast as possible.

“Okay! You’ve bewitched me enough today, sir, it’s now time for the birthday celebration to begin! No more smooching or we’ll never leave.”

“Fine by me,” he shrugged and you shot him a look. “I mean, uh, let’s get going.”

“That’s what I thought,” a triumphant tone coating your voice. You took Noritoshi by the hand and led him into a Kyoto neighborhood that was about 20 minutes away.

“This is an interesting route you’re taking me,” Noritoshi hummed as you walked along the empty streets.

“I’m glad it’s quiet today. I think the universe is on our side.”

You continued walking until you finally arrived at your destination.

“A cafe? Coffee sounds perfect right now,” said an excited Noritoshi, opening the door for you. You walked in and had a quick conversation with the woman at the counter, keeping Noritoshi out of earshot. When you joined his side again, he narrowed his eyes at you.

“What did you plan for me here?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fun, I promise. Just be patient.”

“I’m going to say I trust you but I’m not sure how accurate that is right now.”

“You’ll get your coffee in a few moments, no need to get feisty.”

“You’re a pain, you know that?”

“But I’m your pain.”

You gave him a wink and the woman called you two over to a secluded table in the back. Laid out in front of you were 10 small sized cups, each filled with a different coffee flavor.

“It’s a tasting selection,” you explained to Noritoshi, thanking the woman as she left, “these are all rare, specialty coffee flavors you can’t get anywhere else in the city. I talked to the owner and she’s allowed us to try each one and whichever we like the best, we can get a full cup of and a bag to roast at home.”

His eyes sparkled with gratitude. “Y/n, that’s… this is amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” You gave his hand a quick squeeze before he pulled the chair out for you and you took a seat, him doing the same across from you. You had a great time sampling all the variations while chatting aimlessly with your happy boyfriend. You were relieved that he was very much enjoying himself, liking the challenge of identifying all the flavor notes in every cup. When they were all empty, you told the owner which ones you two liked the best and she gave you each a full to-go cup and bags of the beans. You thanked her profusely once more as you took your leave, sipping on the delicious drink.

“That was truly one of the coolest things I’ve ever experienced,” said Noritoshi, holding your hand as you walked to your next destination.

“I’m really glad you liked it. I was nervous that it would be too boring or something.”

“What? No way. Coffee can never be boring. It’s my favorite thing ever. Behind you, of course.”

“Nice save,” you replied jokingly. As you traversed the city sidewalks, it seemed all the birds and animals were out for their own strolls, too. You and Noritoshi had a fantastic time watching them scurry along on the mild summer day. There was one squirrel who seemingly led you to the park where the next birthday surprise was.

“Here we are!” you announced. A picnic blanket was splayed out under a big shady tree and on it was a huge array of snack foods, games, and art supplies. Noritoshi stared in wonder and delight as he took in this new portion of the celebration, unsure of what to say.

“I know, it’s a lot, but you deserve it all.”

“How did you…?” His sentence trailed off, finding it difficult to come to terms with the kindness you’d showed him.

“Miwa,” you confessed. “She set this all up while we were at the cafe.”

“Woah,” he breathed out, sitting down on the blanket. “I really don’t know… this is beyond words, y/n. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It’s your day to be doted on because I’m celebrating you and how happy you’ve made me all this time. I wanted to return the favor and make you feel as special as you make me feel every day.”

You leaned over and grabbed the paint brushes and some games. “Alright birthday boy, what’s first? Painting plein air or party games?”

Noritoshi chose to paint first and you set up the canvases and paint while he snacked on the food you prepared. The afternoon went by in a flash as you created artful pieces and played games to your heart’s content. You even took some time just to lay on the blanket and watch the clouds roll by as Noritoshi held you to his chest, not wanting to let go of the person he loved so very much. As the sun started to go down, you decided to pack everything up and head back to your room for one more surprise. You made Noritoshi wait outside as you put away the picnic supplies and prepared the rest of the celebration.

“Okay, I’m going to cover your eyes so you don’t peek,” you said, placing your hands on his face.

“An old man like me can’t be trusted to not spoil a surprise?” he teased.

“I won’t hesitate to cover your mouth, too. Don’t test me.”

You slowly walked him into your room, being careful to not let him trip.

“Ready? Three, two, one.”

Your hands fell from his skin and he couldn’t help but gasp a little at the sight he walked into. Your whole room was decked out in birthday decorations, streamers and balloons covering almost every inch of space. A stack of presents wrapped in brightly colored paper was residing in a corner and a round cake with candles was placed on one of your tables.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

Noritoshi couldn’t form a coherent thought, glancing between you and the festive room a few times before settling on bringing you into a long, deep kiss to show his appreciation when words failed him. Even though you’ve kissed him a fair amount of times during your relationship, you never lost the butterfly feeling in your stomach every time he pulled you in and met your lips with his own. You didn’t want to pull away but you also didn’t want the cake to start melting so you reluctantly shimmied from his gentle grasp and grabbed a lighter, setting the candles ablaze.

“Make a wish,” you whispered, your face warming from the affectionate stare of your lover. He blew out the candles in one swift exhale and you got to work slicing up pieces of the cake. You handed him a big slice on a paper birthday plate, then began savoring the delectable dessert.

“This is so delicious,” Noritoshi complimented. “It’s almost as sweet as you are.”

“Oh stop,” you chided, wiping a small bit of frosting on his nose. “You have a little something on your face.”

“I wonder how that got there,” he replied sarcastically. You giggled and grabbed a napkin, cleaning him up. When your plates were empty, you cleared them and brought over his gifts.

“Y/n, I can’t take much more of this whole birthday thing, I feel too guilty. You’ve done so much already, I certainly didn’t need presents as well.”

“Aww, that’s too bad I lost the receipts and can’t return any of them,” you shrugged. Noritoshi just shook his head while chuckling a bit and began opening his gifts. You had gotten him a fancy coffee machine that could make almost any type of drink his heart desired, a gift card to the local sporting goods store for archery supplies, and a shiny yet understated silver chain bracelet.

“I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me today,” Noritoshi said as you clasped the bracelet onto his wrist. “I still don’t think I’m worthy of all this spoiling but I’m thankful for you showing me how much you care.”

“You’re the love of my life, Noritoshi. You being born is a worthy cause for celebration in my book. I don’t know where I would’ve been without you in my life and I’m appreciative that I’ll never have to know what that’s like.”

The black haired man took your hand in his as he ushered you to the couch, eager to cuddle you in the quiet calm of your room, away from any prying eyes or gossipy mouths. More of these tender moments with you were what he wished for earlier and it seemed to have already begun coming true. You both eventually fell asleep, content in the comfort of each other’s arms, stomachs and hearts full. If you thought today was filled to the brim with fun, Noritoshi couldn’t wait to show you how he’ll celebrate your birthday next.

[bingbongsupremacy]

Drunken Mistakes Pt. 1

Pairing: John Murphy x Reader

Warnings: Use of Y/N, Pregnancy, Reader can get pregnant, swearing, throwing up.

Summary: It was a one night stand. That's all it was. Little did you know that it'd lead to something else.

*Not Proof Read*

This Fic does not mention body type, weight, race, gender, etc. If I happened to mess up and add a pronoun or anything that could define the readers appearance, please let me know so I can fix it. Ty!

*****

" How long has this been going on? " Clarke asks while casting me a sympathetic look.

I brush my hand over my mouth, trying to wipe off any remaining vomit off of my lips. The bitter taste of stomach acid lingers in my mouth, something that almost causes another round of vomiting.

" I'm not sure. A few weeks? " I try to create some distance between me and the nauseating smell a few inches away from me. I lean back against a rough fallen tree, taking a few deep breathes.

" Have you been feeling extremely tired lately? "

I nod. " I think it's just a cold, C. I'll be fine in a bit. "

I hope it's just a cold. Clarke saw me running out of the drop ship to puke and decided to follow me. Ever since then she's been asking question after question.

I just want to go lie down.

" When was the last time you had your period? " Clarke's question catches me by surprise.

My eyes widen. " Whoa. Look, I appreciate your concern but I don't remember scheduling a consultation, doc. "

I hadn't really thought of that. These questions...she can't be serious, right?

Clarke takes a seat on the tree next to me, her body turned to face me. " Y/N, I think you might be pregnant. "

What?

" No, no. " I shake my head. " No fucking way. "

Clarke sends me a small smile. " I think so. All the symptoms...I've seen this before. I'm guessing your chest has been hurting and you've might of had some cramping? "

I think back to the past few days. She's not wrong. My body's been very weird the past few weeks, especially in the morning when I seem to have my daily puke fests.

" You're pregnant, Y/N. " Clarke softly states again.

" I can't be. " I shake my head. My chest begins to develop a tightening feeling. I pull my knees towards my chest so I can hug myself. " I can't be fucking pregnant. Fuck no. " I bury my head into my knees.

" Look, I can't be one hundred percent sure on this. At least not yet. If you start to show, then we'll know for sure. " Clarke gently pats my shoulder to try to deliver some sort of comfort. " For now, just try to relax, okay? We'll figure this all out when we know for sure. "

This is the last thing I wanted. I knew I shouldn't have gotten drunk.

But everyone did. I mean, we were all so excited to be on earth for the first time. What else is there to do in a place like this but party and hang out with the people around us?

Should I tell John?

We don't know for sure. Not yet. Besides, who knows how he'll react. He's on some weird power trip. Who knows what he's capable of doing.

What if he doesn't want the baby? What if decides to convince Bellamy to banish me or has his friends kill me or something?

Plus we don't know anything about this planet. At least not about how it is now. Is it even safe to bring a kid into a world like this? We don't know what's fully out there. What if there's more than just mutated animals.

Relax. You don't know what's going on yet. It could just be a cold.

Hopefully it's just a cold.

*****

" You were right. " I blurt after bursting into the drop ship.

Clarke looks up from her heated conversation with Bellamy, her brows furrowed in confusion. " What? "

" You were right, Clarke. " I state again, my words beginning to wobble. " You were fucking right. "

Clarke's eyes widen as she realizes what I'm saying. She immediately abandons her conversation with the man in front of her, instead rushing to me.

" What's she talking about? " Bellamy calls after Clarke.

Clarke ignores him and grabs my arm, gently leading me out of the now suffocating drop ship. Clarke leads me into the forest, just far enough for our conversation to be private.

How tears of frustration begin to flow down my cheeks. " I can't believe this, I'm pregnant. I'm fucking pregnant. "

Over the past few days I started to notice a small protrusion in my stomach. Originally I'd thought it was just bloating. It's not bloating. I'm showing.

" What the fuck am I going to do, Clarke? I can't raise a baby. Not here! Not without my mom. I'm all alone and I don't fucking know what to do. " I cry.

Clarke gently takes a hold of my shoulders. " Hey, hey listen. You're going to be okay. You're not alone, I swear. We're here to help you. I'm here to help you. And, you have the baby's dad, don't you? "

The mention of Murphy causes me to let out a small sob. Do I? What if he accuses me of sleeping with someone else, claiming it's not his kid? What if he wants nothing to do with it? After all, it's not like we're dating or even friends for that matter. It was a one time thing. I can hardly stand him as it is.

" I don't know. " I shake my head.

" What do you mean you don't know? You don't know who the dad is? " Clarke asks in confusion.

" No! I-I know who the dad is. I just don't know if he'd want to help. " I pull away from Clarke and sit down on the ground, pulling my knees in to tuck into myself.

Clarke sits down next to me. " Who is it? "

" Murphy. " I mumble softly.

" Who? " Clarke asks again, apparently not hearing me the first time.

" It's Murphy. " I say louder this time.

Clarke is silent. She doesn't know what to say. She's not his biggest fan and I think part of her is thinking the same way. He might not want anything to do with the baby at all.

" I don't think I can do this. It's danger out there, Clarke. There's people we don't even know. What if I get the baby killed? What if we're attacked and I can't defend it? " I air out my worries. " Or what if I'm such a bad parent that they end up hating me? "

" Don't think like that. You don't know what's going to happen which is terrifying but also beautiful. Your baby will love you no matter what happens. And even if you don't have Murphy, you'll still have me and the others. We're a community. We're not going to let you deal with this alone. " Clarke reassures me.

" I don't know, Clarke. " I sigh.

" Listen-" Clarke begins before she's interrupted by one of Bellamy's lackies.

" Clarke, Bellamy needs to speak to you in the drop ship. "

Clarke lets out a small huff in frustration. " What is it now? " She mutters while standing up. She turns to me once more before leaving. " We'll finish this later. Just try to go relax. Maybe take a nap or something. Stress isn't good for the baby. "

This world isn't good for the baby.

Clarke follows the boy back towards the drop ship, disappearing after a few minutes.

I'm going to need bigger clothes in a few months. Where am I going to get them? What about baby clothes? Or toys? Or books? Medication?

Stop.

I force myself to try to calm down. It's going to be okay. It has to be.

I head back in the direction of my make shift sleeping area. Maybe some sleep will help.

Before I'm able to make it very far Mbeige stops me. " Where do you think you're going? " He asks, his voice stern.

" None of your business. " I spit, trying to walk past the boy.

He doesn't let me pass. " It is my business. We need this wall up by nightfall. Get to fucking work. " His voice is venomous, his eyes glaring into mine.

He's not playing.

" I need to go to my tent. " I try to push, not daring to back down from his stare. I fucking hate this guy. He and a few others including John, make it their daily goal to make the lives of everyone shitty.

" You don't need to go anywhere but the wood pile to start putting up the wall. " Mbeige persists.

I glare at the man for a moment, scanning his eyes for any signs of a possibility for him to let me through. Nothing.

" Fine. " I spit, turning on my heals. I walk towards the nearest wood pile and begin to pick up pieces of heavy, thick wood. I manage to drag a few pieces towards the wall and set them up before I feel sweat start to build up from the heat. I need water.

I struggle to pick up one particularly heavy log when one of Mbeige's friends shouts at me.

" Pick up the fucking pace. We don't have all day here. " He snaps.

Annoyance and anger burn up my face. Maybe they should get off of their lazy asses.

" Y/N! " Clarke's voice shouts from out of no where. " Put that down! " She demands while running over to us.

" Stay out of this, Clarke. Y/N's a big kid. They can handle a little weight. " Murphy smirks. He was alerted to the situation from Clarke's yelling.

I try to ignore the snickers from Murphy's friends as I continue to drag the log over to where it needs to be used.

" I'm serious! Y/N can't be carrying shit like that! " Clarke doesn't back down.

Murphy's eyes flicker over to me as he observes my struggle. Humor is evident in his tone. " And why would that be? What makes Y/N so different than the rest of us that they get special privileges' while we have to work? Hm? "

Clarke's expression is furious. She storms towards Murphy before whispering into his ear.

Murphy's friends immediately flock to his side, ready to force her away.

Murphy's eyes widen as they meet mine. His cocky smirk slides off his lips and his face falls into one of surprise. The malice in his eyes fades away and is quickly replaced with shock.

He knows. Clarke told him.

What the fuck.

" Take the wood from Y/N. " Murphy's words surprise me. His demeanor is very different now, his shoulders unusually tense. His gaze doesn't leave mine as he orders his friends around. " Now! For fucks sake, Mbeige, take the fucking wood! " He shouts.

Mbeige doesn't need to be told again. He swiftly takes the wooden log out of my hands and begins to pull it towards the wall.

Murphy's friends cast confused looks at each other.

" You need some water. " Clarke breaks the silence. She walks over to one of the pouches of water and picks it up.

" You're not seriously going to let them drink water when they just barely started fucking working. " One of Murphy's friends complains.

Murphy still hasn't taken his gaze away. " Mind your own fucking business. " He snaps aggressively.

Clarke brings the water over to me and I hesitate to drink it. Everyone around us has paused their jobs, instead choosing to watch us.

" I'm okay. " I shake my head and refuse the drink I so desperately want.

" Drink it. " Murphy orders again.

I meet his gaze again.

His eyes slightly soften. " Please. "

Feeling very uncomfortable, I accept the pouch from Clarke and take a sip. The cool liquid immediately soothes my thirsty throat.

" Back to work everyone! " Murphy orders to the people who are watching us. " This wall better be up by tonight or no dinner! " He threatens.

Once I've had my fill of water, I turn my attention back to Murphy. He walks towards me before stopping a few feet away from me.

" I think we need to talk. "

Oh shit.

[p3sephone]

Chapter 4.

Summary: you are a worker in the Stark Tower, only aiming to grow your career and keep your life simple. Actually, you were the kind of person who admired the avengers but from afar but Steve Rogers didn’t have the same plan once he started talking with you.

Warnings: non-stop anxiety, harrassing, forced soft kisses, implied stalking and Steve never leaving you alone. This serie is going to have very dark themes in the future chapters, so if you don’t like this please do not read. Minors are not allowed. Only +18. This character does not belong to me.

Note: I've been gone for some time but I'm glad I'm back. I will continue this serie even though I have lots going on right now, but I'll try not to be slow. Reblogs, comments and likes are always very appreciated! Ty so much in advance. <3

Serie masterlist.

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

You were hyperventilating. You couldn’t believe what had happened just the night before, all you knew was that you hadn’t managed to sleep a wink when you got home. There was only one more day to go and the weekend would finally arrive, your days off were approaching and first of all you would have a break from Steve, during which you would surely seal yourself in your own apartment, and secondly you could think about how to gain control of the situation that had arisen.

Control. That was what you were missing, that was what he had taken by force and that you could never get back: you and Steve Rogers could easily be considered as two separate species as far as you were concerned. And yet it was so surreal, he was an avenger, he had saved everyone. You hadn’t seen it coming and you never would have been able to, but now you were in that situation. The bruises on your body showed it and it wasn’t a banal daydream. You bent over the sink again and rubbed your face and lips, the same ones he had forcefully kissed, violently. The thought of him wanting to give you a gift and continue until he gave you God only knows what made your stomach turn.

And yet, you looked up at the mirror and realized that despite everything, you still had to go to work, you still had to work. And so you did: you got ready, you used makeup to make yourself look like a rested person and not a zombie who hadn't slept, and finally you went out and headed to your train stop. Finally, you got to work, and it took you another 10 minutes just to take a step forward.

Before you could even reassure yourself that you could control the situation at least a little, at least for a few minutes like this, you saw Steve Rogers going for a run with his partner Sam. Was it a morning workout? Maybe you could write it down somewhere, so you could understand his movements and use them. A lump formed in your throat as you turned around before he could even notice you and headed towards the entrance of the large building. You had to move, you had to get through the mass of workers who were going in the same direction as you and finally get to your office. Everything was going to be okay today… right?

"You look a little tired."

You froze on the spot, watching the other people go forward and wishing you could walk away with them. Instead, your feet seemed frozen and had become one with the ground.

"Good morning, I just slept a little badly, nothing to worry about." you said very briefly, not even looking at the man twice your size who was standing right behind you. You couldn't move a single facial muscle, not even the slightest sign of disappointment or despair because Steve wasn't the only one watching the scene. The others were looking at him, but he only had eyes for you. What almost made you laugh was that he actually looked worried. He seemed to. He just hummed in response, then grabbed your shoulder and invited you to walk with him, asking how you were or how much work you had left today. They were all weird questions and you couldn't focus on a single one of the answers to give because the mere thought of his hand on your shoulder made you feel sick.

You hadn't had time to finally get to the floor that you realized a small and inexorable detail: you were alone. You swallowed slightly, then turned and decided to try to cut Steve short, at least for that morning. You weren't ready and you felt like yesterday's dinner would soon be regurgitated at this rate.

"Steve, listen, we could meet up later maybe… I really have a lot of work to do-"

"Stark always fills you up with work, and you just accept it." he frowned, ignoring your veiled suggestion and crossing his arms, taking several steps towards you. Then, he smiled sweetly and placed a hand on your cheek, the same one from yesterday. Without thinking twice, you pulled away with a small moan, then slowly looked up from his hand to his eyes. They had become a little colder, like the day before: it was a warning and you preferred to take it.

So, when he brought not only his hand to your cheek again, cupping it, but also his body until it was attached to yours and looking down at you, you did nothing. It was as if your body was no longer yours, it was paralyzed and terrified there, only your mind remained.

"I have a little surprise for you. I would like to ask you out to dinner, today." Steve freely ignored your signs of anxiety and terror, preferring instead to leave a simple kiss on your forehead and pull you even closer to him. You were nervous, you didn't want to have him so close and you didn't want to see him at dinner. You were afraid of what he could do to you, though, if you said no. So, you played another card.

"I… I accepted the overtime for today, I can't back out, all those documents are due soon and they're very important." It was almost a whisper, you couldn't regain the grit you had the day before when you dared to stand up to him. You still had that anger buried, but you knew when it was best to keep it buried. Steve let go of your cheek and walked away from you frowning, then sighed heavily. He couldn't say anything back to that, it seemed, and you took it as a victory even if temporary. Then, suddenly, he lit up.

"But tomorrow you have a small workload, so you don't have to leave here late, you usually leave around five." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Your throat was dry and your pupils dilated as you stared at him, unable to give him an answer as he looked at you with his classic American golden boy smile. Did he know your hours? So maybe he knew where you lived. It wasn't possible, it had been so little time. It wasn't a hero you had in front of you, he couldn't be.

"Well yes, but…"

"But nothing. Whatever plans you have, don't make me take care of them for you, honey. I'll pick you up at eight in the evening and I can walk you home today, in the meantime…" what you had in front of your eyes was an excited Steve, he was almost happy to take a small black velvet box from his pants pocket. He opened it and inside was a necklace with a small ocean-colored diamond in the center. The necklace was really beautiful, but you didn't want it. In your eyes, it was like allowing him to put something of his on you, and you knew that if you put it on, you would suffer heavy consequences if you took it off.

A single tear fell from your eye as you quickly wiped it away and faked a small smile, trying to take the necklace. Instead, Steve smiled at you and pulled back, then used one arm to spin you around until your back was turned to him. He moved your hair and put the necklace on your face almost as if it were a completely romantic gesture, you could tell he had planned it down to the smallest detail. You shed two more tears before he could even realize it, then followed the force of his body again as he moved you right in front of him.

He gave you a chaste kiss on the lips and what scared you was that you could see how much he was holding back. The question was, what was he holding back for?

"It's just a little gift, I wanted to give it to you later but I really couldn't resist. I'll wait for you once you're done working to take you home, see you later honey." he left you with another kiss and a few caresses to your hair before walking towards the department where his room was and leaving you in front of your office, in tears and with an unwanted weight on your neck. You were afraid of what would come next, because you knew that no matter what, you would have no control.

[simplydannie]

Why is it always Veneer? :( mom said it’s Velvet’s turn with the angst

(I love your work, don’t stop ❤️❤️)

He’s my angst! I’m sorry! Lol I have done some Velvet ones, but if you really want another one 😈 (and Ty so much! You have no idea how much I appreciate it! ❤️):

TRIGGER WARNING ‼️ GUN SHOT REFERENCE

Floyd was surrounded by his brothers, the fear of nearly loosing him cause them all to embrace. Velvet and Veneer were on their knees, still trying to regain themselves as the blast from the exploding diamond had knocked them off.

“Vel?” He laid on his sister’s shoulder, “You okay?”

Velvet’s eyes were glued to the ground. She looked towards the Trolls as they celebrated their victory: they freed Floyd, they regained their brother back. That only meant one thing….The twins failed.

“They’re going to made Ven. Really mad.” She said to him. “We lost. We lost, Ven.”

“No we didn’t. We can….we can still escape this.” Veneer told her.

“How? How on earth are we going to escape this.” She told him. Veneer was silent. She was right…they wouldn’t be happy that the Troll had escaped them…but Veneer didn’t want to catch him again either, he didn’t want to put him the hell he just escaped. Floyd saw the look of concern on the twins face. He broke free of his brothers and went towards them.

“Floyd!” Branched called out. But Floyd continued until he was face to face with the twins. He looked up at them and they looked down at him.

“We can be free. You guys can come with me.” He told them. Veneer turned to look at his sister…Her look was distant, every event that could possibly happen unfolding in her mind. What could she say? What could she do? Everything was screwed up already, the promise she made to them was already broken…it was only matter of time.

“What if you loose the Troll? What if everything we worked for comes to light? What is your collateral?” They had asked her. Velvet sat in the room, six faces surrounding her, eyeing her every move. She was silent, she was from the under-city, what could she offer them in collateral? She looked down at the bracelet on her wrist….a beautiful pink jeweled bracelet Veneer had gotten her. It was made from one of the most precious stones in Rageous, one of the rarest too. It was one of the most valuable things she’s ever owned. Velvet took it off and offered it to them.

“This is all I have of value.”

“Rare gems are definitely valuable, but not valuable enough.” Said a male Rageon. One shifted in her seat and stood up, staring down intently at Velvet….they came to know her as The Mistress.

“How about your brother?” She said with a sly smile on her face.

Velvet’s mouth gaped open, “Wh-What…”

“Your brother. If you fail, if anything we are doing is exposed, we keep your brother and do our bidding on him. That is our agreement for collateral.” She said with a twisted evil grin. Vennie? They wanted Vennie…They knew….They knew her weakness.

“What if…what if I refuse?”

“Then you two are as good as dead.”

Velvet swallowed the lump in her throat. What had she gotten them into? How could she protect Veneer from this? What could possibly catch their attention other than her brother for collateral?….

“What about me?” Velvet finally answered. This caught all their attention, “I’m the one that agree and came to you for this offer, not my brother. I give you myself as collateral. If I fail…then…I’m as good as yours, do what you want with me, but leave my brother alone.”

“Continue.”

“My life as collateral, and exchange that you spare my brother. He…he doesn’t know about this, what I am doing. I just want to bring him out of the under-city. I just want to get out of that hell hole.” Velvet looked them all square in the eye, “I’m gambling with my life here.”

“I like this girl. Very well. We accept…But don’t you dare cross us. More over, don’t you dare fail us.” The Mistress said.

“Trust me, I wont.”

And here she was, kneeling at the foot of the yacht, the Troll free from her grasp, all of Rageous watching as the events unfolded…she failed.

“What if I told them it was me?” Her brother’s voice broke her trance.

“What?”

“What if I came out publicly saying this was my plan. It was all me. I go to jail and you’d be okay.”

“Are you crazy Veneer? No!”

“It could work…”

“No Veneer! It wont!” She yelled.

“Then how can we help you? How can we get both of you out of this? We can’t just leave now.” Floyd asked. “I made a promise to get both of you out. And I still intend to keep that promise today.”

They didn’t understand…she never told them what she promised that day. They could be coming for her any minute, their eyes were everywhere, their ears, their spies, “Take Vennie. Take care of him. I’ll have to figure things out.” She said.

“What are you talking about?” Veneer asked her, a frustration growing in his voice. “What is it that you haven’t told us? That you haven’t told ME, Vels?” She looked at her brother, she saw the worry plastered across his face….it had always been them two. How could she do this to him? She never wanted to imagine life without her brother. He was that constant thing in her life that she just knew she HAD to have, like breathing air. But she never thought about him, how it would break him if she was the one that wasn’t around…He was so fragile.

“I can’t Veneer…” She said.

“Vels, tell me please!” He begged. As he grew worried his eyes danced around their surroundings, scanning the audience…What was she afraid of, were they here?

“Velvet, I swore to take care of both you. I am going to keep that promise.” Floyd said.

“You can’t Floyd…You can’t protect us both.” She said.

“Vels…” Veneer began to protest.

“Veneer you have to just listen to me for once! You…”

BANG!

The sounded of the shot echoed throughout the entire area. People screamed and ran, some dropped to the floor covering their heads, trembling in fear. Veneer had jumped over his sister, shielding her from the sound they heard, he instinctively grabbed Floyd and held him close. They waited a few moments… Silence finally radiated everywhere.

“You okay?” Veneer asked Floyd.

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m fine. Vels?” He looked down at his sister. She looked up to meet his eyes, her hands clutching her heart…That’s when Veneer saw the blood seeping through her fingers. “No…No…No…NO…” Veneer muttered as she fell limp to her said. He caught her, cradling her in his arms. “Vels! You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” He reassured her…in reality, he was reassuring himself.

Floyd stared in horror at the sight in front him. He hoped down at Velvets shoulder pad, he could feel that her breathing was heavy, her body began to shake. He placed a small hand on her cheek. “Stay with us..” He whispered.

“I told you there’s no escaping them…” She said through ragged breaths.

“This was them…You knew they were going to do this…Why didn’t you tell me…” Tears began to fall down Veneer’s cheek as he held his sister tighter.

“Cause i know you, you idiot…”

“No. No this isn’t fair! I’m going to help. I’m going to save you. Hold on. Hold on for me….please.” He begged.

“…You weren’t their target…You can still get out…Leave with Floyd…Please, leave with Floyd….Get out…” Her sentences grow shorter and breathier as she struggled to breath, as she struggled to find the strength to speak.

“Okay I will. But you’re coming too.” Veneer squeezed her.

“Ven…”

“No. YOU’RE COMING WITH ME…..I can’t…I can’t continue on without you…” He told her. This broke her, she had never prepared him for this. He had become so reliant in her presence, that she was always going to be there for him, he never thought of the day she wouldn’t be…also because he was willing to sacrifice himself for her at any moment…but the roles were reversed. If they had their way, it would be Veneer in this position, and just imagine it tore her apart. He needed to live, he deserved to live, he needed to continue his goodness in this broken, damned world.

“Ven…” She said in a whisper, “Ven….You….I….” Her eyes grew distant, her hand went limp, her breathing had stopped…she was gone.

“Vels?” Veneer gently shook his sister in his arms, “Vels?” He hugged her tight and shook her again. “Vels..no please…please…please no…” His tears escaped him. He sobbed uncontrollably as he held on to his sister, he birdied his face at the top of her head. His cries and wails echoed throughout Rageous. Floyd attempted to hold back tears…but he failed. He hugged her cheek, the feeling of her skin beginning to grow cold.

“I failed you…Velvet, I’m sorry…I failed you…” The small Troll said in between tears. The two of them stayed for what seemed like ages holding on tight to her. No one dared call security yet, no dared called the medics. Floyd looked at Veneer through tear filled eyes…

“Ven…You have to come with me, while you can…please.” He told him.

“I can’t….I can’t leave her…” He sobbed. “I don’t ….want to….leave her.”

“Ven…I don’t want to either..but..”

“Please…” He sobbed. “Just let me hold one last time…” His heart ached. Why did this happen to her? Why her? Why not him? What did she promise them? Soon the tears began to fade as a new emotion settled in his heart… the sadness was soon replaced with rage… with anger…His breathing grew heavy as he allowed his anger to fuel him.

One day, he was going to find them…. And one day, they were all going to pay…

[heiheizouzou]

"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥…" - 𝙆𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙝 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

this is a very very self indulgent drabble...... just kaveh x a very tired reader.... cause i'm just a tired lil guy and i would love to cuddle kaveh rn...

gn reader, no other cw i can think of, tell me if there's anything i need to warn for :(

The sound of keys in the lock has Kaveh looking up from his sketchbook. As the door opens, he calls out, “Welcome home love!” and looks back down, preparing to return to sketching. When he doesn’t hear a reply from you, he sits up straighter, concerned, and puts aside his sketchbook to get up from the couch. Poking his head into the hallway, he sees you close the door and lean against the wall, looking utterly exhausted. 

“Darling…? Are you alright?” he steps towards you, concern threading through his tone. You mumble a reply, lifting your head to look at him. 

“Ah… i’m just tired.” you give him a weak smile. Trying to reassure him, you continue, “Just had a long day, that’s all.” Luckily for you, your boyfriend doesn’t buy it. He steps towards you, holding his arms out for a hug, allowing you to flop gratefully into them, your forehead resting against his chest. Wrapping his arms securely around your waist, he dips his head, burying it into the crook of your neck. You let out a soft sigh of contentment. Kaveh pulls his head back from your shoulder and presses a kiss to your forehead. Lifting one of his hands, he slides it into your hair, gently stroking it as the two of you stand tangled together in the hallway. He does this for a while, until he feels you nearly falling asleep on your feet.

“Come on beloved, let’s go lie down. You look like you need it.” He murmurs softly into your ear. You allow him to lead you to the couch and seat you down, eternally grateful that you have such a loving boyfriend. “I’ll make dinner, alright?” Kaveh moves to step away into the kitchen, but you tug on his sleeve, looking up at him. 

“Stay..? we can cuddle now, dinner later.” Kaveh knows you need to eat something, but how is he supposed to say no when you look so sweet all curled up on the couch looking at him pleadingly? Sighing fondly, he sits down next to you, and lets you crawl over, resting your head on his chest. He pulls you in close, comforted by the feeling of the rise and fall of your chest. As your breathing slows and deepens, Kaveh realises that maybe he should have actually made dinner first. But it’s too late now, and he can already feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, your soft breathing lulling him to sleep.

HIHI ty for reading if you made it this far!! sorry for any typos i made, i'll (hopefully) go back and proofread this again when i'm less tired...

reblogs and comments super appreciated!! (..any form of interaction super appreciated!!)

[thorin-baby-bear]

Hello!! Love your work makes me feel so appreciated :) I was wondering if you could do some cg!Egon Spengler and Little!reader who has an emotional support stuffie that goes everyone with them even when they’re big? Ty <33

Hiii! Sorry again for the wait but my motivation has been all gone :((

This fic was really fun to work on though, I hope you enjoy!

Little Friend

An Agere Ghostbusters fic!

Tags: Cg!Egon, Little!Reader, Gn!Reader

Warnings: Losing a stuffed animal (not really), minor melt down, involuntary slipping (I think)

Long nights were nobody’s favorites. Neither were open houses, but for some godforsaken reason it was almost 9:00 and you were still at the firehouse with a crowd of tourists. Your watch ticked at you from your wrist, making you look down and frown. You teetered from one foot to the other to stay comfortable. The other Ghostbusters were shuffling about tiredly to greet everyone politely (except Venkman, he was greeting them with a practiced rudeness.), and you made eye contact with Egon from across the room. The pained smile you shared said more than words ever could have. You reached into your coat pocket absentmindedly, feeling around for the soft fluff you knew should be there. 

It was empty. 

Your face must have done something very odd, judging by the way Egon frowned in concern. You began patting yourself down, reaching into every pocket and looking around on the floor until you were 1000% sure it wasn’t there. You could see the memory in your mind of you slipping the little thing into your pocket, seeing the brown fluff, feeling the fluffiness to calm you down, but it was just not there. 

You hadn’t even realized you were slipping until Egon came up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder. “Is everything alright?” He asked. You shook your head, your lip trembling. Egon nodded and held out his hand. You took it and stared at the ground as he led you away from the crowd. (You didn’t see it, but he motioned to Ray to make sure no one would come barging into the lab and bother you). He pulled the door open and ushered you inside. The lab was quiet and clean, a familiar environment that made it a little easier to think. You crossed your arms over your chest and sniffled. Egon stooped down a bit, looking over your face in worry before gently wrapping an arm around you and guiding you to a stool. You leaned on him as your eyes began to water and suddenly you realized that you had fully slipped into your regression. You reached into your pocket again for your stuffy before you remembered– it wasn’t there. 

Then the tears really started to fall. 

Egon pulled up a chair beside you and held onto your hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth comfortingly as you cried. He knew that if he tried to push for an answer before you were ready it would just make it worse. He waited patiently until the crying turned to sniffles before using his handkerchief to carefully dry your eyes. He patted your cheek gently and pulled his hand away. “Are you ready to talk?” He asked gently. You paused before nodding. 

Sadly, you showed him the empty pocket, the one that you always kept your stuffy in. Egon frowned, squinting at the empty pocket in confusion before making a noise of understanding. “Your, uh, little friend?” You nodded, trying not to let your lip quiver. Egon pursed his lips, trying very hard not to let out a little chuckle. “Sweetheart,” he said, “they’re in the washer, remember? They got slimed last time we went on a call.” Your mouth fell open as the memory came back to you. “You know, they’re probably about done, if you’d like to–” The words had barely left Egon’s mouth before you were off, bolting towards the back dryer. 

You threw the door open and pulled out your little friend, who was delightfully warm from they’re time getting clean as you hugged them tight. Their fur was extra soft and fluffy against your face as you nuzzled them happily. Egon grinned, watching fondly as you spun around and happily babbled. 

You giggled and ran over, beaming up at Egon as you squished your little friend tight. 

He ruffled your hair gently and took your hand, guiding you over to the area he had sectioned off just for the littles, a little play area in the corner of the lab away from all the chemicals and machines.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” Egon started as you plopped down on the carpet. You hummed and motioned for him to go on. “We could just stay here for a bit? They don’t need us at the party and neither of us were enjoying it, so logically we should just…” “Stay?” You supplied. Egon smiled and nodded. You frowned thoughtfully.

“Wha’ about Pete? He’d get mad.” Egon raised an eyebrow. “If he does, I can take care of it.” You scrunched your face thoughtfully. “Pomise?” You asked quietly. Egon glanced around before holding out his pinky. “Pinky promise. Can’t get anymore serious than that.” You giggled and hooked your pinkies. “Okay, stay!" Egon smiled back and pushed you gently towards the toy box. 

“Well then, what first?”

[fnaffersblog]

Eyyyy Spoilers for 'Moon Says GOODBYE in VRCHAT'

Trigger Warnings Below Cut for: Cursing

(This is a bit old at this point, but eh. Curse of loving a show that airs daily, yeah?)

Also, beep beep, ty to everyone for your nice comments and stuff in the tags, I see them and I appreciate them. I love that everyone loves this show. It's fun to do these little deep dive reaction posts. :)

RIGHT OFF THE BAT WE START OFF WITH SUN INSISTING MOON DOES NOT HAVE TO LEAVE

MOON INSISTING HE DOES

SUN RE-INSISITING HE DOES NOT

This was kind of what I was talking about in the last post. Sun does not have the confidence to ask for what he NEEDS. He knows what he needs. He needs Moon to STAY right now. He's pulling every excuse out in the book. He's trying to frame it as 'Maybe Moon doesn't really want to go.' which isn't going to work because yes Moon does. He's trying to frame it as 'Maybe Eclipse isn't really a problem' which isn't true. He's talking about the length of time. Framing it as being "A month of not being in your life."

Sun kind of DOES touch on the issue, mentioning that he'll be alone, which had to be INCREDIBLY difficult, just that one word, you know? Because even one word opens up the possibility of the question 'Are you okay?' and then the horses are out, you know?

He's desperate at this point to get Moon to stay here, dropping every explanation he can to try and convince Moon to stay but the only thing that's going to get Moon to stay is him saying, 'Moon I Need You To Stay Right Now'

Which SUUUUUUCKS

At this point I don't think Moon COULD put off going and getting the stuff for the satellite. He's right too. They don't know what Eclipse is up too and his disappearance is MUCH more concerning than if he was around being a nuisance. They also probably run the risk of being found out if they wait too long. They also now have Jigsaw locked up in the arcade (which, aren't there like, customers? How... why... there's... anyways)

But I'm sure if Sun SAID something, Moon would take a moment and re think it, maybe try and plan a way, bring him with or set up a method of communication. Time dilation or otherwise.

It does sounds a little bit like Moon is using this as a break which is something I did touch upon before, that Moon and Earth can't be constantly holding Sun up or they're going to get exhausted themselves. Something that may inadvertently affect Sun if they take said exhaustion out on him. Which happened last episode so that's a very likely possibility.

I am glad he's taking a break. They need it. This is just really BAD timing. It's nobody's fault. It just sucks.

"Gregory is a kid" OnLy WHen It'S coNveNieNT

"That the computer doesn't have ANY input on." "Damn it."

Lol

"Maybe FLUFFY dinosaurs?" That's not any better! Lol

There was a very fun, long ass section here about Moon and Sun that devolved into several pages of discussion melding and expanding upon stuff people have said to me and stuff I’ve said already.

Uh.

So I took it out. I’m hammering away at it slowly for it’s own post. Ppppphhhbt.

Ah 4-5 days NOT 45 days. I was confused at first I thought Moon's VA was taking a month off not a week.

Nope. Never mind. Moon hasn't changed at all. Still a dick. Reset didn't change anything. /j

He's such a gremlin. It would be funnier if Sun didn't sound on the verge of crying.

"I'm about to beat you to death with this thing. I'm actually happy you're leaving now." Lol. Siblings.

Cool. That's good. So Sun will still be able to contact Moon if he needs.

"Shall I read you your last rights?" "I hate you." Ahhh, AI1. ALWAYS a pleasure.

"He'll be fine for a week." Are you sure? Again. He's just... sitting in a public space in a giant arcade room in a pizzaplex made to entertain families. I think, if he were to threaten to tear a child's limbs out slowly, there'd be problems.

Good Eclipse! Good to see him!

Damn Eclipse, you keep ur daycare like this? Barrels all over the place? Clean up not a thing in this dimension? (lol)

I never actually watched the episodes with the british gator. Is this Lord Monty?

Oh no he's as bad

Oh no

Oh NO

Folks I have found a character on the Sun and Moon show I dislike

WHAt is He SAYING?

I HATE HIM

IM CRYING LAUGHING I DISLIKE HIM SO MUUUCH

Eclipses IMMEDIATE regret at the accent My brother in SaMs YOU DO THE GATORS VOICE

I love this it's so funny im crying

[rrxaiky]

hihihihhi!! grats on 100 followers!! may I req an angst/comfort w/ reader/mc/yuu being homesick? ty!!

Apocalypse! - Event page

♖ Thank you! My apologies if this isn’t very good, I’m not exactly the best at hurt/comfort ^^”

↠ GENERAL REQS CLOSED.   Navigation/ m.list + Rules/ Info  

CW/ TW: Homesickness (That’s it)

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐑. - 𝐀 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

     A truly weird world it was. Instead of fate being cruel every once in a while, why was it always so unfair to them? From dealing with this mysterious, new world to dealing with overblots with almost no knowledge of magic... It was beginning to get tiring. Yet, stopping now wasn't an option for them. It couldn't stop. They really couldn't. 

     All they wanted to do was simple. To go back home, to their family, their friends, and everything they were forced to leave behind when they were ripped away from their old life without warning. Every day, every night, they began to miss them even more no matter how hard they tried to forget about them, at least temporarily. They hated it. The feeling of it, the fact that they were in this messed up situation in the first place, the feeling of pain that lingered in their chest... They hated it all.

     The sky, the moon, the stars, the clouds. When they looked up at them, they were hoping that somewhere in the universe, “they” too were gazing at the skies, missing them as much as they did. Somewhere in their heart, their mind, they knew that there was a slim chance of them being able to return to their home, and there was a chance that they would never be going home. Never again. All those memories that they’ve made throughout their journey in their own world, with such a feeling now... Was it truly worth it?

     Now, they couldn’t possibly hide this feeling forever. They had to let it out one day. All this... It couldn’t go unnoticed by Riddle. Surely not. He was and still is an observant person... The change in the way they acted or spoke on certain days told him all he needed to know. The exhaustion in their voice when they spoke, even if it was early in the morning... It was becoming concerning to him. Just as they were thinking of their home more and more with each passing day, he too was growing more and more worried for them. 

     He wanted to help them. He really did. He didn’t want to see them like this anymore, and even though he wasn’t as good as others when it came to emotions, he would try for them, to at least loosen some chains that were bounded to their heart. 

     That night, he had walked over to their dorm, knocking on their door before entering the room. As expected, they were once again staring out the window, with a photo in hand. A photo, a clone created from magic, something they would never be able to see the original of for as long as they didn’t return. 

     “My rose... I noticed you feeling down lately. Do you want to talk about it?” Riddle asked the student who was staring at the photo. “Oh, so you knew... Nothing much, really. Just another episode of me being homesick.” Ah. It all made sense to him now. It was only natural, right? They’ve lost so much time already... Riddle went up to them, then hugged them, his hand stroking their back. “It’s going to be okay, we’ll definitely find a way for you to return back to your home.”

     “And once you return, promise me you’ll find a way to come back here to visit, okay?”

Reblogs + follows appreciated!     

[scaramoon]

he accidentally hurts you while sparring

DILUC, KAEYA, XIAO, CHILDE — gn!reader

warnings/genre: kinda hurt/comfort? idk it’s mostly fluffy, mentions of blood and (very) minor injuries, swearing in childe’s

notes: rbs are v much appreciated, please and ty !! also pls ignore that i got carried away w xiao’s </3

━━ diluc;

you’ll have to be insistent if you even want him to spar with you; he knows you’re fully capable of standing your ground but... he’s worried

he’ll act like he doesn’t, but it’s obvious that he keeps close by whenever you’re sparring with someone

but if you wear him down enough or you’re good with your words, you can convince him to be your sparring partner

lmao just tell him you’ll get kaeya to do it 💀

“don’t- don’t hold your sword like that.” he said, his tone was flat but you’d known him long enough to be able to find the concern in it.

“i know how to hold a sword, diluc,” you responded. “i asked for a partner, not a teacher, remember?”

red eyes flashed towards you and something like a smile appeared on your lover’s lips. you mirrored it, letting your lips curl into a grin.

“of course,” he said, smallest hint of a playful tone in his voice.

but he was quick, and you may have underestimated just how well trained he was. normally, you could have blocked him. this time, however, you weren’t expecting it and you’d already began to drop your dominant hand to your side.

he noticed that, but he was just a little too late. diluc was used to the momentum of his weapon, but it wasn’t often that he had to stop it. he tried to step back before he hurt you, your name falling from his lips, desperation and worry coating his voice.

and then, just as soon as he’s processed it, his claymore was on the ground and he was watching you crouch and hold your upper arm. your seethe of pain sent guilt rushing through him.

it took him a moment to decide whether or not to go over to you; he wanted to, he really wanted to, but a part of him feared that you didn’t want him near you.

he couldn’t help it though.

“y/n?” diluc’s tone was almost a command, loud but desperate, wanting you to look at him and tell him that you were perfectly fine — wanting that to be the truth.

tears pricked in the corners of your eyes but you looked at him nonetheless. he hated that look in your eyes. seeing you in pain was one thing, but the knowledge that he was the cause of it twisted his heart in unbearable ways.

“i’m ok, diluc,” you said, quieter than you normally would. “just a little scratch, see?”

you moved your hand from where it was holding onto your arm. blood coated your fingers and the clothing surrounding the new wound, but it was clear that the cut wasn’t deep.

he didn’t say anything. his lips were pressed into a thin line as he kneeled beside you. eyebrows pinned in worry and concentration evident in his eyes, he started ripping at your sleeve to get a better look.

“diluc.” you said. your voice was more commanding this time as you moved away from him. why couldn’t he see it really wasn’t so bad?

“i didn’t mean to hurt you.” this time you could see clearly just how distressed he was.

he looked like he was about to cry and he wasn’t the one that’d been hurt. not physically, anyway; you had no idea how his chest hurt, how he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

you stared at him for a little longer. “i said i’m fine. but if it will help you sleep at night, you can come help me clean it, deal?”

“of course, dove.”

━━ kaeya;

he actually likes sparring with you

he doesn’t often get the chance, but whenever both of you are able to, he sees it as time he gets to spend with you

and any time spent with you is never time wasted in his eyes

plus he gets to do the sword under your chin thing and tease you </3

“dead.” you said proudly, standing over your lover, your sword under his chin.

a playful grin spread across his lips as he let you enjoy your win. you backed away and allowed him to stand up, dust himself off. a stretch of his arms, and then he was picking up his sword to go again.

“ready?” kaeya asked, smirk stretching his lips.

“yeah,” you said, smiling back. your gloved hand tightened around your sword’s hilt; the gloves were making your hands sweaty, your grip loosening. “actually, w-”

“y/n!”

the next thing you realized was a stinging at you side. your hand immediately came to the cut, taking an instinctive step back. the sound of kaeya’s sword hitting the ground met your ears, his hands were on your arms a second later.

“hey, hey, you’re okay.” he tried to sound calm but if was a bad attempt. he crouched down onto the ground, guiding you to sit in front of him. cautious hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, kaeya looking up at you. “can I look, love?”

“yeah, but I’m fine.” you said, though your face was twisted in pain.

his eyes were full of pity when he looked at you, jaw clenching before he lifted your shirt enough to see the wound. on first appearance, it looked worse than it really was.

“see?” you spoke again. “all good.”

he didn’t say anything at first. he just pulled you closer to him, chin hooked over your shoulder, though he was careful not to agitate your cut.

“not really. but it’s okay, we’re gonna get you all better, yeah?”

“kaeya, seriously, i’m fine. you don’t need-”

“y/n.” his voice was still sweet and concerned, but more stern when he spoke this time. “let me take care of you.”

“...fine.”

━━ xiao;

good luck getting him to spar with you in the first place

it doesn’t matter how much you tell him you want to, he’ll keep turning you down

needless to say, you’ll have to play your cards right to get him to agree to it

“what if i hurt you, y/n?”

“i’ll be under-trained and get hurt if you don’t help me.”

“you know i’ll always be there if you call for me.”

“and if you can’t come?”

���...”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” he stated simply, eyes narrowing at you. you only threw him a smile.

“what’s the worst that can happen? you won’t even use your real pole arm, you have a stick. you can’t stab me with it, xiao.”

“I would rather not think about ‘stabbing’ you in the first place.” he huffed. “but... you need to be safe, in case one day I can’t keep you safe myself.”

a smile crossed your face as you gripped your weapon, ready for him to start.

you may have miscalculated the power and ability of an adeptus though. you quickly found yourself tired and overwhelmed, just blocking and dodging was almost too much. he could sense your fatigue already, and he was listening for you to call him to stop. xiao was ready to stop on a dime, but he knew that you were stubborn and insistent.

his “pole arm” came close to your side, and he really thought you would dodge this one. you’d done it before. but he felt the wood hit you, you falling to the ground, holding your side soon after.

his make-shift weapon was long forgotten now. he was kneeling beside you in seconds, gentle fingers running along what he was sure was a broken rib. he didn’t find one, but the guilt was already eating him and that knowledge did nothing to stop it.

“ow! that hurts, don’t touch me.” you said, seething in pain and making a pitiful attempt to move away from him.

xiao did not cry.

he didn’t, it just wasn’t something he was accustomed to, and quite honestly he wasn’t sure if adepti could cry. but the idea of you being scared of him started tears to fill his eyes; his chest was tight, and he had this uncomfortable lump in his throat.

“no, no,” you started, propping yourself on your elbows and then sitting all the way up.

you tried to reach and hold his face, to wipe the tears off, but he turned away from you; he kept kneeling, but shifted to a position a little farther away from you. the adeptus made a noise something like a squeak, and it seemed to surprise him. he didn’t wait for you to finish talking, he turned away and looked anywhere except you.

“xiao, baby, that’s not what I meant. you can- I just meant don’t put your hands directly where I got hurt... xiao? can you look at me?”

it took him a few more moments before he turned his head back to you. you knew he wasn’t always the most emotional, but you didn’t think you’d seen him like this before. he hummed, not trusting his voice. still, he wouldn’t look you in the eyes.

“I’m fine, you didn’t hurt me. its just a little bruise, there’s not even blood... I’m not scared of you, xiao, it’s not your fault.”

he stared at you for another moment before he cleared his throat and stood up. “can we at least have someone make sure you’re okay?”

“yeah.”

“...and you won’t ask me to do that again?”

“of course not.”

━━ childe;

he has mixed feelings about sparring with you

of course, it’s an odd form of quality time, but he likes it

plus that means he won’t have to watch you spar with anyone else

but there’s always the risk that you could get hurt

he’s an archer though, so he only “attacks” you with his melee — he thought he was being a lot more careful

“ready?” childe smiled, twirling one of his weapons around his finger.

“as always.” you said, gripping your own weapon.

“mhm, sweetheart, I’m sure you’re ‘always ready’,” childe said dropped his hands to his sides and stepping closer to you.

you knew what he was trying to do — he attempted to pull this off every time you sparred with him, and you never failed to catch him. seem relaxed, and whenever you thought he wouldn’t, he’d attempt to get the better of you.

this time, however, you were not as quick as you usually were. childe knew that you always saw through this; not once had you’d failed to block him, so maybe he put his trust in his weapons more than he should have.

he stopped when both of you look at the clean, but bloody, cut he’d made. his eyes widened as it sinked in, coming to the realization that he’d hurt you

“y/n- shit, I’m sorry,” he said, panic clear in his voice, though he tried to hide it. his hand was on your shoulder, guiding you to sit on the ground. “are you- you’re okay, it’s not that deep. we’re gonna get that healed and you’ll be fine, yeah?”

for words so reassuring, his panicked tone was saying something along the lines of ‘shit shit fuck dammit, i accidentally hurt my own partner, what the fuck-’

“yeah, it’s no biggie,” you said, smiling a little at him. “it’s just a little cut, I get worse on commissions.”

you knew that later he would claim he was totally calm. in reality, he was trying his best to clean the wound with his vision, and he’d get better help whenever he could get to bubu pharmacy.

“you owe me kisses though, y’know,” you teased.

‘good,’ he thought. ‘they aren’t mad at me.’

“whatever ya want, love.”

“oh? maybe I’ll take cuddles too.”

[evelxtus]

Hi I love you're writing its amazing! I was wondering if I could request a continuation of the moth reader headcanon but the reader ends up all dirty and the genshin bois end up having to give them a bath and clean them. I hope you're having a delightful day love! ~onyx 💜

giving moth! reader a bath !

pairing ─ ⸝⸝ scaramouche, kazuha, albedo, gorou x moth! reader.

summary─ ⸝⸝ the boys find you completely dirty after a day alone in nature. they know that you have difficulty cleaning yourself, especially because your wings are in danger if they come into contact with water, so they decide to take care of your cleaning for a day.

warnings─ ⸝⸝ no pronouns specified, scara calling you idiot once, sucrose appears in albedo's part for a while, maybe a little suggestive on albedo's part but i'm not sure?? (just take it as you want. 🤤), mentions of kokomi.

note─ ⸝⸝ i'm glad more people are liking moth! reader :'D ty for your request and your words onyx!! <3 reblogs are highly appreciated.

tags─ ⸝⸝ @kaeyasplsmarryme

┋scaramouche.

The fatui rubs your shoulders with the sponge, complaining under his breath about the extra work you give him. The truth is that he has decided to bathe you because he wanted to — you haven't asked him, but you're not going to complain either.

You give him a questioning look, and he shakes his head, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he moves you around to clean every part of your body.

You don't realize it, but his cheeks have a slight reddish hue, showing that his grumpy behavior is now actually justified — he covers his embarrassment with constant complaints to keep his mind occupied with any other thought.

You can't help but feel sad hearing his words, so a slight “I'm sorry” escapes your lips, slightly moving scaramouche for a couple of seconds, going completely blank as you blame yourself for his anger.

He hums rubbing the sponge on you again, this time more softly and quietly.

When it's time to rinse all the soap off your body, he seems to hesitate for a moment, and with a simple word he takes you out of your thoughts. “Hey.” he catches your eye, looking you in the face with a frown, cheeks flushed, but doing his best not to be hard on you. “do you trust me?”

It surprises him when you nod without a second thought and his brows relax, thinking to himself how you've survived alone for so long. Either way, he has no intention of hurting you.

“Good. Then spreads those wings, you don't want them to get wet.” he orders you, to which you obey with a concerned gleam in your eyes. “You said you trust me, idiot. Just stay still and leave the job to me, got it?”

And just as he said, there was not a single mistake in the procedure. Your wings are safe and sound, you're clean and he's... not at all upset with his time with you.

“We're done. Don't let anyone else do this to you. Just rely on me, understood? Keep that in that little brain of yours.”

┋kazuha.

Kazuha will be the first to offer to lend you a hand with your cleaning. It's impossible to ignore you and leave you like this, he wants to help you in any way possible, he really cares about you and your health.

And of course Kazuha will treat you all the time with extreme delicacy. It's the first time he's in this situation after all, but he stands firmly and confident so as not to scare you. He will use a very soft way of speaking so that you don't fear, and every now and then if he sees you hesitating, he will tilt his head a little to make eye contact with you and give you the most sincere of his smiles.

“Calm down. Everything is going well so far. If you want me to stop, tell me, alright?”

He warns you of every move he is going to make in advance so that nothing takes you by surprise. He is a true gentleman. <3 He knows water is not a great ally of yours so he'll be careful even with the simple details.

“Extend your arm a little. Just like that, very well done, y/n.”

When it's time to remove the soap from your body with the water, he will be very careful with your wings. He will put a hand on your shoulder, looking at you a little more seriously. “Y/n, now I need you to spread your wings and not move them. I trust you.”

If he still sees you scared, he will try to get your attention and distract you. Perhaps reciting some poems to you or telling you a story that he has heard during his travels, whatever it takes so that you don't suffer during the process.

In the end you end up so entertained that it's impossible for you to stop smiling. When everything's finished, Kazuha will realize what a good job he has done and it'll be impossible for him not to feel proud of himself.

“Looks like you were having fun after all. You liked the story that much?” the smile on his face shows through his words, and he lets out a small chuckle. “If you need anything else, from a story to another bath, I will be at your service. Please, do not hesitate to look for me.”

┋albedo.

It's not something Albedo's totally sure of at first. Is it okay for him to do this? Is it something normal between humans or between a hybrid race like yours? After thinking about it carefully, he decides to put those thoughts aside to take care of your needs. You are more important, you need help anyways.

But of course, first he will ask for your consent, just in case. He would not like to inconvenience you in any way.

“So, are you absolutely sure that you want me to help you with this situation? Doesn't it bother you in any way? Good to know, let's proceed calmly without wasting any more time, shall we?”

He may ask Sucrose for her assistance during important moments, although it's a great contrast for you. Albedo, serene all the time and keeping his composure, and Sucrose, a nervous mess trying to do everything right and trying to respect your privacy, looking around uneasily and with a big blush on her cheeks.

An extra pair of hands never hurts, especially if it's from someone so trustworthy, that's why Albedo saw Sucrose as someone viable for this little job, and the truth is that he wasn't wrong, because between the two of them they left you the cleanest that you've ever been. As Sucrose leaves, Albedo crosses his arms, looking with satisfaction at the results.

“Look at you. You look great… yes, great indeed…” before losing himself in his thoughts, he becomes aware of the situation, shaking his head and clearing his throat to come to his senses. “Anyways... I'll lend you some clean clothes, wait here please.”

Just as Albedo turns around, you say a soft “thank you, mr. Albedo.”, copying the way Sucrose refers to him, causing the alchemist's heart to skip a beat.

“It's nothing, really. Please, excuse me.” He swallows hard and leaves the room, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that he's a little bit altered.

┋gorou.

Don't tell anyone but Gorou has a secret, and it's that he loves water, whenever he takes a bath he starts playing with the water, splashing it everywhere and trying to bite the water that comes out of the shower head.

But now he must remain calm, and to achieve this goal, he will assign himself this task of washing you thoroughly as one more mission to guarantee your safety. And as if that weren't enough, Kokomi wrote in a book with 240 pages what to do if an unexpected situation occurs. Therefore, he's quite sure that everything will work out with no difficulties.

“Okay. I, Gorou, am totally ready to start this mission! Just follow my instructions and everything will be fine, okay?”

In the end everything goes to the letter, although from time to time Gorou's nerves won and he had to stop to read some notes and recommendations from Kokomi.

And when the water sometimes splashed on him, his tail would move from side to side with excitement, and he had to remind himself that staying calm was paramount.

Seeing how clean you got thanks to him, his tail shaked unconsciously again, but he had to resist the impulse and tense his tail just in case you thought of something wrong.

He gave up when he heard how you thanked him for his effort. A simple “thank you, Gorou” and his tail seems to come to life one more time.

“I'm just... I'm just doing my duty! Please let me know if you have any more problems from now on, I will do my best to solve them, I give you my word!”

[j4y-lvr]

❝are you jealous of my dog,❞

❝Are you seriously jealous of my dog,❞

pairing: sunghoon x reader

genre: angst (not really), fluff

warnings: being jealous of a dog- please do let me know if I should add anything!

wc: 619

"are you seriously jealous of my dog," said sunghoon as he stood at the doorframe. You hmph in annoyance at the question, "yeah, I am," you say snobbily.

"imagine seeing your boyfriend after a week because he's been so busy, and me being considerate, come to see you. And all I get is a hi, and you're off to feed your dog–" you huff out irritated, practically death glaring the dog in question, gaeul.

The boy said nothing in return rather than looking at you judgingly, "and you have nothing to say to that, just wow." You puff out a tch, getting up from your crouching stance and up on your feet before announcing, "i'm leaving," you say with your head held high, sending one last glare the dog's way, and out the doorway, you goes.

That didn't go as intended, as you lay sprawled out in your boyfriend's bed as he sat at his desk, typing away on his computer. Groaning in annoyance, you merely missed him, "are you just going to disregard my presence and type away at your computer all day," you drawl out, finding your patience running thin.

The silver-haired boy sighs heavily before turning back to look at you, sinking his head in his palms, soon, back to hitting away on the keyboard. His eyes skimmed over the text displayed, humming in aggravation at an error, hands advancing to the keyboard to fix it frantically.

Having watched the boy aimlessly stare at the screen for about an hour, laying there still on his bed, waiting for the said boy. You had enough, burying your head in the depths of his pillow, his scent evident, finding tears pooling up in your eyes. You blinked away the tears, helplessly dropping onto the pillow.

Sniffling, you sit up and attempt to ask one final time, with your nose runny and eyes red. "i asked if you had finished yet," you let out quieter than expected, causing the boy to click his tongue disapprovingly.

Pushing his chair away from the desk, he circles in it to face you, solely to be taken aback at the sight of your tear-stained face. Not sure what to do, he sprang out of the chair, eyebrows lifting in concern, taking a seat beside you on his mattress.

He slowly raised his hand, wavering on what to do before letting it stroke up and down your back. "sorry," he mutters, with a fallen expression, pulling you into his embrace, as you let a few tears spill out, staining the sweatshirt he adorned.

His arms hooked around your waist, drawing you closer to his chest. Your head rests on his broad shoulders. "sorry, I wanted to complete my essay, then join you..." he pauses, thinking how to phrase his sentence.

"i didn't mean to make you cry." He states, eyes portraying the sadness he felt at the very moment, his hand caressing your cheek while your head continued to rest on his shoulder.

"i want to give you my undivided attention, and the piece counts for my grade–" he blurts out, "no, I'm not saying you're any less important than my essay, it is simply that both are–" you squish his cheeks together preventing him from uttering any further.

"it's fine, now just stay with me for a bit," you say, removing your head which was nestled at his shoulder, fingers playing with the drawstrings of his sweatshirt. He grins at your cuteness, falling back on his mattress, dragging you with him, snuggling with you.

"your essay can wait, I can't," you teasingly say, a snicker following, the two relishing each other's company, shortly dozing off, the writing left to the side for you.

a/n: totally did not get this idea from being jealous of chenle's dog (not really)🤡and tbh idk how im posting sm, watch me slowly disappear when classes start again— ‍🏃‍♀️💨

anyways ty for reading, reblogs are appreciated♡

[quietlyimplode]

leave everything but your bones behind

Whumptober 2022: day 3 - gun to head

Warnings: headaches/vomiting/nightmares (discussed)/being sick/red room flashbacks

Word Count: 1.5k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha becomes unwell and only the Red Room can fix her. The choice is die or go back to the very place that made her.

A/N: ty for all the support and love. Comments/reblogs/likes are always appreciated <3 (please don’t repost, will be put on ao3)

Main Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

———

“It’s me,” he tries.

Glazed eyes stare, and he realizes she’s not with him.

Seeing but unseeing.

“Natasha,” he starts.

“You’re in your car, somethings happened.”

He’s as gentle as he can be, taking the gun off her, away from his head.

“‘Lint?”

She’s not all gone, he thinks, terror clawing at his throat as he smiles at her, trying to exude calm.

“‘Athappnd?”

Her eyes close, and she pushes her head into the car seat.

“Your head hurts?” he assumes.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

Clint wants to question her more, but he also wants to get her home.

“It’s time to go home?”

He doesn’t give her a choice. Unlocking the car, he leaves her to open the driver side door.

As soon as he opens it, the gun is at his head again.

“Natasha,” he admonishes.

“It’s me.”

It looks like it takes all the energy she has, to fully see him, lower the gun and stare at him.

“Clint?”

“Come on,” he prompts, helping her out.

The car with the broken window will have to stay here, she’ll be pissed when she realises but right now he doesn’t care, he’s an inch away from driving her to the emergency department.

She leans heavily on him, as he bundles her into the car, seatbelts her in and closes the door.

Natasha doesn’t talk, her eyes still closed even as he pulls into her apartment driveway to park the car.

“You’re home,” he prompts, unsure what to say.

He’s met with glazed eyes again, this time, when he touches her, he knows that her temperature is up.

He’s never known Natasha to be sick.

Not like this.

“Okay, almost there,” he holds her tight.

She grips his arm, but as soon as they enter the apartment she pushes off him and heads for the toilet, leaving Clint with Liho staring at him.

He shrugs to the cat and puts the kettle on, maybe some tea. Now is not the time for confrontation, he tries to convince himself.

But as he hears her vomit in the toilet, he knows there’s another one coming.

.

She passes out quickly.

Unable to handle Clint's concerned look, Natasha knows he wants to ask.

But she has no answers for him.

She just… doesn’t feel well. She’s hot, her head hurts, muscles ache, nauseous and shaky. It’s not like she knows why, and she doesn’t have the brain space for the conversation.

So she avoids him and puts herself into bed.

.

“She’s gone to bed, hasn’t she?” he asks the cat.

He peeks into her bedroom and finds her curled onto the bed, face flushed, a tremor intermittently running through her. It’s not a seizure, Clint tries to convince himself.

He’s helpless.

He should call an ambulance, but he knows how that will go. She’s already pulled a gun on him twice. He doesn’t want a repeat of Zimbabwe.

Instead, he calls Tony. It’s not even five pm.

“Clint,” he hears the billionaires voice, “where’s Natasha? She was supposed to be here an hour ago.”

Stress makes him pace.

“She’s sick,” he tells Tony, unsure of what to say next.

“I’m worried.”

There’s a pause as he hears Tony stop.

“What do you mean?”

“She had a seizure when we were sparring, I don’t know if it’s her first one. She’s currently sleeping.. I.. Ugh.. I don’t know about last night. I think she’s got a temperature.”

There’s silence.

“Shit,” Tony breathes.

They both ruminate in silence; Clint unsure what to say next and he feels Tony is thinking a thousand things.

He sighs.

“Come here,” Tony tells him.

“We have a medical suite, we can get Bruce here, we can run tests.”

There’s a pause.

“It’s better than being alone.”

“She won’t want to,” Clint reasons.

“Yeah well, there’s a lot of things she won’t want to do I think.”

He knows Tony is right.

This isn’t normal. Not for Natasha.

“She’s going to be okay. Get her her here.”

The words feel hollow, as Clint goes to check on her again. She’s still asleep, still flushed, and as he reaches to touch her arm, warm.

He leaves the room, nodding.

“Okay, yeah. We’ll come, I’ll tell her when she wakes up. Can you do me a favour, her car has a smashed window,” he proceeds to tell Tony about the events of the afternoon and asks him to tow the car. It’s probably an unfair ask, but he figures Tony is rich and can work it out.

He agrees, of course, and offers to send a car to pick them up. Clint declines, hoping that Natasha feels better in the morning.

Maybe it’s just a bug.

Maybe it’s nothing.

He feels in his gut though, it’s something bigger.

He always trusts his gut.

Thanking Tony, they organize the day tomorrow, hoping nothing is needed over night.

Next, he calls Fury, and lets him know they’re both taking a personal day tomorrow. He doesn’t have to elaborate, and truthfully Fury likely thinks it’s a mental health day, but he doesn’t say much, not sure what to say.

.

Clint feeds Liho, patting her gently, turning on the television, and looking around. The box on the table has Russian candy and he unwraps it eating it as he goes to sit down.

It does not taste great. It’s like coffee mixed with chocolate, he’s not sure how he feels about it but curiously wants another.

The evening passes slow, and still Natasha doesn’t arise. He checks on her intermittently but nothing changes.

Once he tries to wake her, but she just rolls over and mumbles to leave her alone.

It’s nine pm, when his phone starts to die from playing games and looking up possible causes for Natasha’s fatigue.

He thinks maybe poisoning, that maybe antibiotics might help, that he just needs to get her to medical and they can be the ones to answer the questions.

He hears a groan from the other room and he gently moves Liho off his lap, as he checks again.

It’s clear she’s in a nightmare and he’s caught between waking her or letting her work it through herself like usual.

“Nat? Natasha?”

He calls her name in hope; but it doesn’t work.

Clint moves closer but is beaten by Liho jumping on the bed. It’s like she knows what to do, as she invades Natasha’s space and pushes her body near her face.

It seems to work, enough anyway for Clint to squat next to her and brush sweaty hair from her face.

“Hey,” he whispers, her eyes tracking him.

“You’re okay, you’re here with me, in New York, okay?”

There’s a slight nod in her head as she seems to understand what he’s saying.

He repeats it anyway.

“We’re going to go see Tony okay?”

She sits up, Liho moving to the end of the bed, and Clint climbing in with her.

“Now?” she slurs.

Clint hugs her close.

“Tomorrow morning,” he assures.

“How are you feeling?”

Likely it’s an unfair question, but he asks it anyway.

He can feel her mumble against him, a nonsensical answer.

Wishing he’d gone to the toilet and put his phone on charge before climbing in with her, he closes his eyes and pulls her close.

.

Irina sighs, her head pounding as she repeats the ballet steps.

First position, second position then third. Repeat.

She’s already sweating.

Natasha watches her friend carefully, the shake in her arms as she holds them in front of her.

Madam turns her back and walks to the door, they all see Dreykov hovering.

“Hold!” She calls out.

They all hold the position, legs crossed and arm in the air.

“Are you okay?” Natasha whispers to Irina.

“Yes,” comes the harsh whisper.

They were all in medical, getting injections yesterday. Natasha had felt hot but it seemed better when she woke up. Irina, however, had stayed tossing and turning all night.

She leaves it. If Irina says she is okay, Natasha won’t ask again.

The lesson continues as Madam hits them with her switch, correcting positions and making them do repeat it, again and again until they’re all sweating with exertion.

They’re made to line up, Irina trips and starts to shake, her eyes rolling back as her whole body convulses.

Natasha knows she’s not the only one who’s terrified. They gather round her, trying to protect her from Madam who calls the guard, commanding them back into position.

No one moves except the guard who picks up Irina’s body, restraining her movement.

There’s water on the floor that Natasha is sure wasn’t there before and Madam gives the call again, anger that she’s had to repeat herself.

“Hold position four,” she commands; and she leaves behind the guard.

The girls don’t dare move.

The hour rolls on and just as they start to adjust position, Madam returns.

“Line up.”

Natasha thinks she can detect a hint of concern on the normally taciturn voice.

“Take them to medical,” she directs their line handler. Natasha feels the dread plague them all.

.

[thighs-of-betrayal-blog]

I Had It Under Control

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! reader (based on TFAWS)

Summary: After almost dying during a fight against the Flag Smashers, you wake up to an angry Bucky and a fight ensues. 

Warnings: angst, fluff, violence, cursing

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on my first fic! I really appreciate it!! For this one, I decided to incorporate a little angst. I hope you like it! :)

You wince as your back slams into the ground. The Flag Smasher that just knocked you down, turns away from you and heads toward Walker. With only a few seconds to get off the ground and collect yourself, you scan your surroundings. Bucky is to your right, dodging two Flag Smashers with knives, while Sam is to your left, landing punches here and there. You were losing this fight. It was the four of you against seven super soldiers. 

“Shit. This isn’t good looking.” You whisper to yourself. 

“It would be nice if you stopped talking to yourself and helped out a little, Y/N” Sam says into your earpiece. 

“I just got knocked down, thank you very much. Couldn’t really fight when I’m laying on the ground, trying to catch my breath” you say back. 

“You got hurt, doll?” Bucky asks worriedly. 

Sam laughs. “Mr. Knight and Shining Armor always worrying about if Y/N is hurt or not. Where was your concern when I got shot in the leg last week, huh?”

I could feel Bucky rolling his eyes from where he was standing a few feet away. “You walked it off. You were fine.”

“No, no, I didn’t walk it off, tin man. I couldn’t walk because I was shot in the leg and where were you…” 

You interrupt Sam before he can continue, “Alright, we get the picture. Let’s stay civil here. We already have enough around us to fight. Don’t need to start fighting each other too.” 

Right after you speak, you are surrounded by two super soldiers and instantly get into a fighting stance, already pulling the knife out of your leg holster. 

“Looks like we fancy the same type of weapon, boys,” you speak while gesturing towards your knife. “Unfortunately for you, I fight better with it.” 

You dodge the super soldier on your right, throwing your knife into his leg, and quickly grab your second knife from its holster, throwing it into the side of the super soldier to your left. Before either can react, you pull the knives out of both soldiers, sending them to the ground in pain. 

You step back and wipe the knives onto your clothes, cleaning the blood off them. 

“You know, fellas, it’s a shame it had to come to this. I was open to talking it through.” 

You turn to look towards Sam. “Now, who did you say needed to help out a little, birdman?” 

Sam’s reply is like a distant memory as you suddenly feel a tremendous pain in your stomach. You look down and see blood pouring out of you. Your hand instinctively moves to cover the bullet wound.

“And, unfortunately for you, sweetheart, I have a gun” says one of the super soldiers you stabbed. You turn to see him lying on the ground still, but this time with a gun in his hand, looking at you with a smirk on his face. 

Your legs give out beneath you, but before you can hit the ground, Bucky is there, holding you up. “I’ve got you, doll. I’ve got you.” He looks at you with nothing but terror in his eyes. 

“Sam!” Bucky yells. “I’ve gotta get them out of here.”

Sam comes running up to your other side. “Shit” he says. “Go, Walker and I will cover you.”

Bucky doesn’t waste another second, as he picks you up and starts running towards the nearest building. 

---------------------------------------

Once inside, he places you on your back, on a table in the middle of the room. 

“Bucky” you whisper. Your vision was starting to blur. You were losing too much blood. 

Bucky doesn’t hear you, as he is frantically ripping off your shirt and tying it around the bullet wound, trying to stop you from bleeding out. 

You lazily reach your hand up to grab his wrist. “Bucky” you say a little louder. 

Bucky whips his head to look at you. 

You reach your hand up to touch his cheek. “Bucky, I have something I want to tell you.”

“You can tell me after we get you stitched up.”

You start to talk a little louder. “No, Bucky, no, I need to tell you now. In case I don’t make it.”

“Stop that!” Bucky yells. “You’re going to make it. You’re going to be fine. Don’t say shit like that, doll. Just don’t.” Tears start to fall down his cheeks. “We are going to get you all fixed up. Just sit tight.” 

You start to cry. You reach your hand back down to grab his hand. “I love you, Buck. I love you so much. And, I have for so long. I just want you to know that. It’s important that you do.”

Bucky starts to cry harder. He opens his mouth to speak, but you don’t hear anything he says. 

The darkness in the corner of your vision starts creeping in and after a couple seconds, you fall asleep. 

------------------------------------

You slowly open your eyes and see white all around you. You hear a faint beeping sound to your left. Your body aches everywhere, especially your stomach. You feel a slight squeeze to your right hand and turn your head to see Bucky sitting in a chair next to you, with his hand holding yours and his head down. 

“Buck” you attempt to say, but your voice is so scratchy it doesn’t sound like anything. 

Bucky’s head immediately lifts up and he springs to his feet. 

“You’re awake. Oh my god, doll, I thought... Let me go get a doctor.” 

You shake your head slowly. “No”, you manage to get out. “Stay please. I just need some water.” 

Bucky nods. “Water, right, okay.” He hands you a cup of water. “Here you go, love.”

The water burns down your throat and you start to cough. 

Bucky instantly grabs your hand again. “Are you okay?” 

You nod. “I’m okay. Just burns a little.” You look him in the eyes. “What?” you ask him as he looks at you with a strange look. 

Bucky’s mood immediately changes. “I should be asking you that. What were you doing turning your back to the enemy?” he asks angrily. 

You scoff. “We are really going to have this conversation right now?”

“Yeah, we are. What the hell were you thinking? You can’t be doing that. You could have died!”

“But, I didn’t. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Bucky slams his hands down on the bed and stands up. “But, you almost did!” he yells. “You almost fucking died because you wanted to make some stupid comment to Sam, like a dumbass!” 

“Me? A dumbass? I had it under control. I had both of those men on the ground, while you were still busy trying to dodge the fucking knives being thrown at you! Some super soldier you are, huh?”

“Under control? You call getting shot ‘under control’?” Bucky screams at you. 

You look back at him incredulously. “What the hell is your problem?” 

He throws his hands towards you. “You! You’re my fucking problem. Damnit, you could have died! And, then what? Do you even care? I could have fucking lost you.” He starts to break down and cry. You look into his eyes, as tears run down his face. “I almost lost you and I love you too much to lose you! And, of course, you finally said you love me and I didn’t even get a chance to say it back. I was so scared.” He sits down next to the bed and places his hand on your face. “I was so scared. I’ve lost everyone. I can’t lose you, Y/N.” 

Tears run down your face. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, Buck. I’m so sorry I scared you. But, I meant it when I said I love you. I love you so much. I’m here as long as you’ll want me.”

Bucky smiles. “Then you’re stuck with me forever, doll, because I’ll always want you. Just please don’t do something like that ever again.”

You smile and lean up to kiss him. Right as your lips connect, the door opens. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What did I just walk into? I guess Tinman finally admitted his feelings, Y/N?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and moves back to sit in the chair. 

You laugh and look at Sam. “Cut him some slack, Sam. He’s had a long day.”

Sam walks over to your bed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better. Just sore.”

Sam grins. “Bucky’s lips make it all better?” 

Bucky turns to Sam. “Hey now, don’t start.” 

“Oh, yeah? And, what are you going to do, old man?”

You watch as Bucky and Sam bicker with each other and smile to yourself. 

Sam interrupts your moment of thought. “But seriously, please tell me you guys aren’t going to be making out every time I turn my back.” 

You and Bucky look at each other and laugh. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to be quiet” you say. 

Sam groans in response and Bucky starts to laugh even harder, just as the doctor walks in.

[landinoandco]

Our Love is a Game

Lando Norris x Reader

Request from @jamieeboulos

Warnings: pinch of fluff, cute ending because they are the best

Word count: 2.7 k

Requests are open :)

It all started with a phone number, an innocent exchange that would subsequently change the world you knew; mostly for the better. When you had met Lando, as far as you were concerned you had just met a 21 year old who lived in London and had a passion for cars. How wrong you were. It was only when things started to get serious that he sat you down and explained everything that came with being a formula one driver; more importantly the fandom that he was involved in. 

You had always been a private person and admittedly this piece of information almost broke your relationship but after some time to think you had decided that he was worth it all. You both decided it was a better idea to keep your relationship as quiet as possible - you took every precaution to make sure you stayed a stranger to the fans.

For the past 2 years, you thought you had managed to stay clear of the cameras, the photos and the twitch streams but it wasn’t until a fan-made compilation caused your world to spiral out of control. 

You and Lando were out for a run, it was a part of your morning routine - a great way to start the day and it was time that you two could escape the motor sport world and act like a normal couple without worrying about who might be watching. It was time you both valued and appreciated. On this particular morning, Lando had decided to add to his Instagram story, a short video of his morning adventures - the mist still hanging around the trees as you ran under a heavily graffitied bridge, the early birds song chirping animatedly. At the time you didn’t think much of it as you were too busy tying your hair back up to notice. 

It wasn’t until you got home and looked at his story that your heart stopped, rushing over to the kitchen island you placed your phone down and ran your fingers through your hair. It was a blink and you’ll miss it moment but in the corner of his video - the last millisecond before it ended - there was a flash of a purple top (the purple top you had been wearing) and a swish of brown hair as you chucked it back up into a ponytail. 

“Lando.” You called out, trying to keep your voice as calm as you could. You didn’t know why it had affected you so much - or why you were so desperate to keep your identity a secret. It wasn’t like you wanted to hide your relationship; you were the happiest you ever had been, everyday was exciting and offered new prospects - it was more that you were so used to being in this bubble with Lando, the idea of it bursting seemed rather unappealing. Usually you didn’t care for how others saw you but seeing some of the words that people used to describe him, it would be enough to trouble even the thickest of skins. 

Lando’s close proximity broke your thoughts as he stared down at your phone, pausing on the flash of brown and purple. “I am so sorry, love.” He almost whispered, his eyes widening at his carelessness. He picked your phone up to take a closer look. 

“It will be alright, won’t it? I mean, it’s a blink and you’ll miss it.” You had said, more to reassure yourself than Lando. He didn’t answer, anxiety building in the pit of his stomach because he knew exactly what he had started. 

The fan-made compilation didn’t go viral until a few hours later - as it turns out that flash of purple was the perfect cherry on top of an unappetising cake. Lando was sat on stream - not that this was out of the ordinary and Max had decided to join him, leaving you alone to rewatch Friends for the umpteenth time. 

The pair were sat reacting to videos on YouTube when a clip of a seal swimming into a shoal of fish started playing - the amusing part was that they kept quickly dispersing away from the seal in question. Unsurprisingly, they laughed and Lando spluttered: “This is me trying to find a girlfriend.” What the fans didn’t know was the apparent irony of that sentence and this was what caused the major meltdown; whilst Lando and Max were busy crying with laughter - that chat had filled up with the same link and references to the video you would be redirected through. 

Max was the first to stop laughing, tapping Lando on the shoulder as he pointed at the chat. Hundreds of the same message filled the screen: “That’s not what this compilation shows.” “Lando, what are you hiding from us?” “Lando and Max laughing knowing very well he has a girlfriend.” 

“Chat what on earth are you waffling on about.” Max chuckled uneasily, looking at Lando out of the corner of his eye. Lando sat with a forced smile, his nostrils flaring as he continued through the comments. He could only let out a tense laugh as he swallowed thickly - his throat feeling suddenly dry. You were still sitting, completely engrossed and unaware that Lando Norris was now trending on twitter. 

Max had come up with an excuse to end the stream not long after, Lando uncharacteristically quiet. His thoughts were with you in the other room, had you seen it? Did you know? How would you react? He felt as though he had lost all control, like he had failed you entirely - all he wanted to do was protect you yet he was the one to screw it up. 

“Hey,” Max nudged his shoulder, “It was bound to happen at some point. Let’s go and see if she’s seen it - if not then -” He took a deep breath, “We will watch it together. We need to know what we are working with here.” Lando nodded, unable to reply, his body went into automatic pilot mode and too quickly he was standing facing you. 

Pausing the tv, you looked at Lando - his jaw tightened and facial expressions set as though he had just seen a ghost. “Is everything ok?” You asked apprehensively. 

“There’s something you need to see.” Max reached for his phone, pushing Lando onto the sofa. You offered your arm to Lando, pulling him into a hug. Max pulled up the video and pressed play. A tense atmosphere held the room hostage - breath restricted and gazes fixed onto the tiny screen in front of you. 

It started with a clip from this year’s Goodwood - Lando preparing to drive his last hill climb - you remembered it well, a McLaren hat placed on your head mainly to cover your identity; knowing that there would be more than a few fans around. The clip moved to 3 separate stills - all of you in your McLaren hat. One with your back to the camera, you hand placed around Lando’s waist, the other two a side profile as you spoke to Max. 

The reaction was immediate, you slapped your hand to your mouth, Lando looked horror-struck and Max was watching you carefully. 

The video moved on, this time a clip from the quadrant video where Niran trains like Lando for 24 hours - Lando and Niran were in the kitchen preparing to eat their breakfast when once again the video moved to stills. This time they were of your reflection in the oven - holding the camera. You had thought at the time, if you were behind the camera it would stop every chance of you accidentally being caught on camera. Apparently not. 

The video had moved on again, this time to stills of Lando arriving on track - of course there was no way for you to get on track without being photographed and you were fine with that because you would just arrive after Lando either with Jon or Charlotte. Photos of you arriving with Jon and Charlotte flashed up - with them you were just another member of staff but put with those other stills and it really did yell out that you and Lando were romantically involved. Finally the flash of purple from Lando’s story. The game was up. 

“Oh my-” You stuttered as the video came to an end. Fortunately your Instagram hadn’t been shown but judged by how skilled you knew the fans to be - it would only be a matter of time. “I feel sick.” You admitted, wiping your hands across your face. Lando still hadn’t said a word, staring blankly at the floor. Max was the first to come up with something logical, turning to you and Lando. 

“It will blow over.” He started, “The fans will soon lose interest and move onto the next big headline. We just need to ignore anything we see regarding the subject.” He moved his attention to you. “Maybe avoid social media for a few days. Let everyone cool down -” Sensing your means to interrupt, he held his hand up. “I know you shouldn’t have to and I know none of this is fair but unfortunately people have no boundaries and believe because it’s on social media it is their business. If they were in our situation, I’m pretty sure they would be the first to complain. Let’s just go along with it for now. It will give you time to think about what to do next.” 

Lando cleared his throat, pulling you closer into him. “I’ve failed you. All I wanted to do was protect you.” At this, Max got up and left. 

Shaking your head, you pressed your lips to his forehead. “You could never. Think about how long we kept it secret for. Besides, until we announce or admit anything - it isn’t confirmed.” You offered, trying to soothe his worries. He nodded, still not convinced. 

“Our love is like a game and it’s not a game I enjoy playing.” He croaked, lacing your fingers together. 

“I know, Lando, I know. Let’s let everything calm down and then we can think about what our next step is.” 

Weeks later and it was the night before you were due to leave for your summer holiday. You would be spending it with Lando and some of his friends and family. Due to the current pandemic, it had been so long since you had been away - even if it was a bigger group of you going; you were still looking forward to spending that quality time with Lando. 

Max had decided to take himself and Tom off to the streaming room - leaving you and Lando to sort out the remaining items you needed for your time away. 

“I have a present for you.” He said suddenly, his hands behind his back. You beamed, taking a step closer to him. He shook his head, “If you want it - “ He pointed at his lips. 

Rolling your eyes, you pecked his lips then held out your hands like a child. Lando chuckled, “Close your eyes.” Hands still outstretched and eyes closed, you waited for Lando to present you with your surprise. He grasped your left wrist and attached something to it - “No peeking.” He added. A moment or two later, he dropped his hold of your wrist and said: “You can open them now.” You could hear the smile on his lips. You opened your eyes and looked straight to your wrist - he had given you a pink watch. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up at him, his eyes twinkled as he then pointed to the orange watch on his wrist. 

“Watches?” You asked, confusion laced your tone. 

Nodding, he said, “We all have matching watches but in different colours - they are for our holiday away.” 

You gave him a lopsided grin and wrapped your arms around his neck, “I love it. Thank you.” 

In the streaming room, Max was having to ignore the majority of the comments because they were all asking the same thing: “Who was the girl from the compilation.” He was trying his hardest to keep moving off the topic, instead showing off the watches - it had been his idea, blue for him, orange for Lando, a child’s watch for Tom and a pink watch for you. He had listed off all of the colours and said who they belonged to: “And then pink-” He paused, mentally face palming. He looked over to Tom for assistance - he hadn’t meant to say pink at all. “And pink is for someone.” He cursed his poor excuse but as if by magic - Lando walked through the door. 

Distracting the stream from his slip up. 

Croatia was a dream come true, the hot summer sun on your back and the time to just relax and recharge. Days spent with Lando sunbathing on the boat or stuck in a tense game of Uno. Not being the only female was brilliant as well - as they got to go off and not feel guilty about leaving you on your own. 

Currently, you and Lando were standing in each other's arms - the afternoon drawing into the evening as the sun began to set. You had your arms around his neck and his arms were around your waist, sighing contentedly you broke the silence: “This is nice.” He pressed his lips into your hair, a sign that he agreed with your statement. In that moment, it was just you and him - everyone seemed to disappear from around you and all worries vanished. It was the simple yet affectionate moments that had always meant the most to you. You felt as though you could relax every muscle in your body, listening to his steady heartbeat - you wished for this moment to never end, to forever be in his arms and to not worry about who sees you there. 

Ever since that compilation had been made, the thought had been on your mind a lot. Were you ready to go public with Lando? At the end of the day you were both happy and surely that was the most important thing. 

Later that night, you were sitting eating your meal when a phone was handed to you, displayed on it was a picture of you and Lando - in each other’s arms. 

Instantly you knew what this meant, looking at Lando you were met with the same expression. He did as well. 

You and Lando had decided it was time to announce your relationship, there was no point sneaking around anymore if people knew and were looking out for you. You had agreed that the best way to do it was if you joined him in a stream, that way they got to know you a bit more for who you were. 

“Is it ok to feel as nervous as I am?” You asked him, pulling up a chair beside him. He was setting up the stream, two mugs of tea placed in front of you. It seemed completely unnatural to sit facing the camera. 

“I mean, this is kind of a big deal so yes I would say, it’s completely natural for you to feel nervous.” He reached for your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Nodding, you took a deep breath. 

“Ok. I’m ready.” You said, your heart beating at a million miles an hour. The corners of his lips turned up, leaning in to leave you a kiss on the lips. 

“I love you and I’m so proud of you.” He admitted quietly, as though you were the only person in the world, his eyes flickered with complete adoration. 

“I love you too. Now, shall we start it?” 

Lando went to press the start stream button but paused. He turned back to face you, his eyes wide and offered an apologetic smile. 

“What did you do?” You asked, a smile toying at your lips as you had an idea of what it might have been. 

“Stream, meet my girlfriend.” 

He had already started it...

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

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