#I can't think about it without you coming to mind...

[erimyya]

Thinking about an Otome game au with Phainon with sprinkle of self aware au. Someone said Phainon is born to be in otome game but force to be a tragic character in turn base game. I cannot unseen it.

Imagine if hoyo made an otome game dedicate to Phainon after the whole Amphoreus patch.

You get to interact and see more of the character outside of the story quest and literally date him. Although it's a different game, it still connected to one another. You can call the otome version as a sequel to the main story in their main game. Take it as a heart warming dessert all of us player deserve after sobbing over this man.

Tbh it's almost the same as LaD concept, you can custom made your mc, dress your mc and take picture with Phainon in various poses. The different is you can run around freely in the open world with him or not— that's up to you. Now, why wouldn't you bring Phainon along with you? What is he there for? Decoration? You can explore the Amphoreus world in different perspective, more detail perspective. The building that you can't enter in hsr? You can enter it but whatever you saw in there better stay there. Phainon had to drag you out before you cause more peace disturbance and get in trouble.

Not to mention, you can jump now. Don't try to jump off the building. You don't want to give Phainon a heart attack now, would you? Game or not, you can respawn or not, just don't do it. Ignore the intrusive thought. He's begging you.

You can toggle with the pov perspective too! You want to feel more immerse in it? Use the first person pov! You want to see the world in more wider perspective? Just use the third person pov! Use the first person pov more often, Phainon may kabedon you when there's no one around.

You can fight too! But you gotta bring Phainon with you or else the game won't let you. That man forbid you from fighting by yourself.

Don't forget to build him. Yes, you gotta grind for his relic all over again. Additionally you need to build your mc as well. Then you just log in the next day and find Phainon hitting big damage. When you check the build, your Phainon is almost perfectly build. You just startle like two days ago? Let's just assume that the game copied your phainon's build in hsr since the two game is connected.

Did I say the two game is connected? Yes. If you used the same account to play the otome game, when you log into your hsr game, there will be some easter egg where he mention you from the otome game after you finished the whole Amphoreus quest. Phainon mention of your very recent activity from your interaction in the otome game almost everytime when you play around in his voice line or just talking with him in the over world.

When you log in into the otome game, Phainon will sometimes slip something like "You're not getting bore of me, are you?" or "You haven't been using me for a while now. Why is that?". You never suspect a thing because you thought the otome game keep track of your characters usage in hsr. You're not wrong, he did keep track of your interaction with other character.

Gacha system? Yes, they have it there too. Is it really hoyo without their gacha system?

You can gacha the lightcone —brace yourself for the fluff and angst those lightcone brought along— that come with their own specific outfit. Cough cough Flame Reaver's outfit. Phainon may or may not be jealous if you prefer his alter ego more though. But most of the time, I'm sure he don't mind.

Sending message to you. Yes. You bet he will. Phainon cannot send message directly to you in hsr but in otome game his own dedicated otome game. He can freely do that. So don't be surprise if you get a notification from the otome game, a message from Phainon begging asking you to take a stroll with him.

After what he's been through? Let this man have his quality time with you. He will appreciate it very much.

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ . experiencing a pregnancy scare with fwb!rafe.

warnings — adult themes. mentions of friends w benefit situation with rafe. soft!rafe x vulnerable!reader.

cherie’s note — working on more requests soon bby’s! wanted to post something from my drafts though. <3

your legs ache from the position on the toilet's lid — legs crossed over one another. arms wrapped around yourself like a shield. the bathroom is cold — too cold for july, too cold for the outerbanks — but maybe that's just your nerves. your phone sits against the porcelain of the bathroom sink, the clock timer counting down like a bomb. and with the tension in the small space, there might as well have been.

the bomb of truth. a positive or a negative, but you both prayed not the latter.

rafe leans against the edge of the sink, chewing his thumbnail down to the quick — biting down until it stung, a moment of panicked relief washing away at the prick. his knee bounces restlessly, his other hand gripping the countertop like he needs the grounding. he hasn't said a word since you got in here.

the silence is unbearable. excruciating, even.

"three minutes is like a fucking year," you mutter, voice bristle.

rafe's laugh is dry, hollow. "tell me about it."

silence again. the timer ticks down, somehow even slower than before. 1:57... 1:56... 1:55...

there's something unspoken in the air — not regret exactly, not panic either. just a shared disbelief. like you'd both been caught somewhere between this can't be happening and what if it is?

"we were careful, right?" you ask, playing with the frayed edges of your hoodie sleeves. like the tone of your voice would help with the severity of this at all.

he nods, but doesn't look confident. a little unsure, every time you'd hooked up playing in the back of his mind like some fucked-up slideshow. "yeah. mostly. i mean... sometimes we weren't."

this wasn't something new — i mean, you knew there had been slip-ups, but hearing it come from his lips made it seem so much more real.

"are you gonna be mad if it's positive?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head without a beat of hesitation. "no. not at you, anyway. maybe at myself for being such an idiot."

you nod, gaze flickering back towards your phone, bracing yourself for the longest thirty seconds of your life.

"you'd stick around, though?" you blurt, genuinely curious.

he looks at you like you'd just said something insane. "of course i'd stick around. jesus."

"i don't know," you say with a shrug. "this was supposed to be casual."

that makes him huff out a real laugh this time. "getting you pregnant kind of blows a hole in the whole casual thing, don't you think?"

you smile, softly. gentle.

rafe goes quiet. then he pushes off the sink and starts pacing the small bathroom, dragging a hand through his hair. "i just... i keep thinking like— i'm not boyfriend material. never was. definitely not dad material. but if it's yours... i don't know. that'd make it different, right?"

you watch him, carefully. you notice the way he won't meet your eyes now.

"it scares the shit out of me," you admit.

he nods, finally stopping in front of you. "me too."

the timer goes off. a shrill little chime that feels way too loud in the silence of the room. you both jump, like it'd reached out of the phone screen and bitten you.

your fingers are trembling as you reach for the stick on the edge of the tub. you stare down at it, too scared to breathe properly — soft, shaky little breaths falling from your lips. rafe doesn't move — doesn't even blink — just watches.

you read it. once. twice. a third time, just to be sure.

"negative."

he let out a long, shaky breath, running his hand over his face. "holy shit."

his shoulders drop. relief, or something else, floods his face as he steps toward you, crouching down and wrapping his arms around your waist. you let yourself bury your nose into his neck, resting there gently.

your hands find his hair, running your fingers through it. just for a second.

"you okay?' he asks, voice muffled against your shirt.

"yeah. i think so." you nod.

your joints creak as you uncross your legs and push yourself up. the test's still stilling on the tub ledge, face-up now. that single line feels like it's staring at her. one single, pink line. not pregnant. not today.

you don't look at rafe, but you can feel him watching you from the bathroom door, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. he watches when you open the sink door, tossing the pregnancy test into the garbage bin, filled with used tissues, once used makeup wipes, a receipt from the pharmacy

that's when he says it — soft, sudden.

"is it bad i was kinda hoping it was positive?"

and it punches the air out of your lungs.

the room feels impossibly small all of a sudden, like the wall sare closing in with the weight of what he'd just said. you want to say something — anything — but the words catch in your throat, tangled. instead, you turn slowly, heart hammering in a way that feels strange. because maybe — maybe — you were hoping for the same thing.

the silence between you speaks louder than any word ever could.

[niwaart]

Family Without Light

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I want to thank these amazing people for helping me choose a name for the twins.

@lazyemmy @sir-lawrence-felidae @watchmakerhippo @r-u-s-s-i-a-h @obsessedwithromance

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[#Part1 #Part2 #Part3 #Part4 #Part5]

Damian and Tim carry out their little plan.

The plan was for Damian to befriend the twins, which would bring him closer to Y/N. He left school early and waited for them to arrive. Of course, the first thing he saw was his mother, Y/N.

His attention had been distracted since Y/N was out of the house. All the training Talia had given him to maintain his sobriety had gone to waste.

But his mind returned as soon as he saw her concern for the twins. He was almost burning with anger, despite all the nurturing and kissing she placed on the twins, but he had to calm down. Today's mission was to be their friend. He tried to sit with them in the cafeteria and walk with them after school, but... what he didn't expect was for the twins to hate him.

They ignored him.

No one had ever ignored him when he was nice!

Then Damian realized that becoming friends with the twins was a failure, and he didn't know why....

Well, maybe he knew why they hated him.

Because he was mean to their aunt, Y/N.

He hurt her... a lot.

So Damian gave in, seeing his dear mother once again take the twins to the car after school with a gentle smile that was supposed to be his...

As for Tim, he still insisted on meeting with Y/N. He knew Y/N could call him out on his lie by saying, "More cooperation will improve both companies," but he didn't care. He just wanted to see his mother. To have her pity him like she always did, to ask him how he was and why he looked so tired, to gently stroke his cheek...

He was in a bad mood, and all he wanted was to sleep while she told him a story. He regretted not recording her voice earlier, and now? He was going to take advantage of every kind word she said to him and record it to listen to later. Because he knows...

He knows deep down that his attempts are a failure, and that she'll never return home...

After Damien's school day ended in failure, and Tim's meeting ended in another disappointment, Y/N took the twins home from school. Upon arriving, she was surprised to find Dick outside the door, muttering. Someone might think he was crazy.

Y/N walked over to him, the twins trailing behind her. "Richard? What are you doing here?"

Dick froze. Any words he had planned to say evaporated instantly.

He was about to lose his mind when he heard the name... She didn't call him Dick, she called him Richard... Didn't she love him anymore?

Dick collapsed to his knees, startling Y/N who tried to hold him. "Are you okay?! What happened?" Y/N hugged him tightly, trying to determine if he was hurt.

Dick was speechless. How could he speak when his mother, the thing he thought would never change in his life, now... hated him?

The feeling of her embrace and her warm words made him cry like a baby. He cried on her chest, clinging to her as if she would evaporate if he left her.

Y/N gave the twins the house key and asked them to enter the house. The twins were confused and scared, so they immediately listened to their aunt's words and entered the house.

Y/N tried to get Dick up and get him to stand and let him inside, but he thought she was going to leave him, so he cried even more and held her tightly.

"No... you can't, please..."

Dick begged, sobbing, his words barely comprehending Y/N's words. So after making sure he wasn't hurt, she tried to calm him down.

"Richard, Richard, look at me."

Y/N tried to get him to lift his head, but he cried even more, muttering, "Not Richard... Not Richard..."

Y/N didn't understand what was wrong or why he was crying. "Can you stand with me? Come on, I'll take you inside. It's not good to sit on the floor like that... Come on, try to stand up..."

When Y/N said she wanted to take him inside, he didn't refuse or resist. He stood up, still holding on to her as she led him into the house. She closed the door behind her, sat him down, and sat next to him.

"Try to calm down. Take a deep breath. Come on..."

Y/N patted his back gently, trying to calm him down. Then she took the tissues from the table and began wiping his tears.

Dick began to calm down a little, leaning into Y/N's touch. He'd missed this. Living in Blüdhaven, being self-sufficient wasn't easy.

Y/N motioned for one of the twins, Mark, to bring a glass of water, while the other twin, Kevin, watched Dick angrily. He hated the Wayne family. They made their aunt cry over and over again, and no one comforted her, while she always comforted them for nothing.

Y/N comforted Dick and gave him the time he needed to calm down and collect himself. She didn't force him to talk as long as he didn't. He was holding her arm, so Y/N couldn't get up, so she left him alone.

Mark brought the glass of water and then sat silently next to Kevin. Y/N took the glass and slowly made Dick drink the water. Dick had calmed down by now, but he was still in a state of complete delirium.

Half an hour passed and Dick was asleep on Y/N's shoulder. Y/N gently moved him to lie on the couch.

Then she led the twins to the second floor and said calmly, "Go to your rooms and change, then I'll help you with your homework, okay?"

Mark nodded, but Kevin was angry, so he tugged on Y/N's hand to get her attention.

"Hm? What's wrong, Kevin?"

"Is that guy leaving soon? I don't like him. He cries like a baby," Kevin grumbled, frowning.

Y/N sighed, then picked up the twins and led them to their room. "Well... he'll be leaving soon, so don't worry about him. Just don't cause any trouble, okay?"

The twins nodded, and she placed a kiss on their cheeks and set them down to change. She went to check on Dick.

Dick was sleeping peacefully on the couch. She placed the blanket over him and stroked his hair gently.

Seeing Dick like this made her yearn for when he was a child, losing his parents at a young age. He was fragile, seeking the attention and affection he'd lost. She had no experience with children at the time, so it was difficult. So she read a lot of books, listened to Alfred's advice, and asked some parents about good parenting. She didn't like the responses of some parents, so she had to test it herself. She tried to see what he liked, what made him happy. At first, Dick thought she was trying to be his mother, which he completely rejected, and he didn't cooperate with Y/N.

He was stubborn, screaming that she wasn't his mother. Y/N tried to tell him that she wasn't trying to be his mother, but rather to give him what he was missing. To be a substitute. Because she knew what it meant for a child to be alone, without love or affection.

Y/N sighed as she remembered all the memories with children... even the bad ones...

She placed a kiss on the top of Dick's head and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. But Kevin was watching from the top of the stairs, looking angrily and sadly, whispering:

"Is my aunt going to leave us?"

As for Damian, he was sitting in front of the school, despairing. Not because Jason was late today, but because he refused to leave. Jason was sitting on his bike in front of the school, looking at Damian, waiting for him to give up and agree to go home. He knew Damian was waiting for Y/N to show up and take him home, which she wasn't going to do.

Jason lit a cigarette and decided to wait with him. He had nothing to lose.

In the Batcave, Alfred was looking at Bruce with concern. "Master Bruce, I think it's time you took care of yourself and the kids."

Bruce barely moved from his chair as he worked on a new case. "This isn't the time for this, Alfred. And I also don't know what you're talking about."

Alfred sighed angrily and immediately turned off the screen. "I beg your pardon, Master Bruce, but enough is enough. The children are suffering on their own. They need a father, someone to lean on. You need to get out of here. Take Damian from school. Try to see Tim and talk to him. Your relationship with Jason is worse than before, so fix it. I don't want to hear any excuses. This is your family." With that, Alfred turned and went back inside, leaving Bruce watching in astonishment.

Bruce pulled back his mask as he looked at Alfred's back... confused. What did he mean by 'talking to Tim'? Wasn't Jason supposed to pick Damian up from school?

And what did Alfred mean by 'they're suffering'?

Alfred's words and his anger at him made him wonder... Was he missing something?

No, the question was, was this more important than saving Gotham? Because Damian is doing a good job as Robin, Tim is still a master tactician, and Jason still leads Crime Alley and hasn't killed anyone in a while. Dick is doing well in Blüdhaven, so why does Alfred say they need help? They're fine as long as they can save people, Bruce thought, then went back to work.

But he still wondered, was there something he didn't see in his sons?

@itsmadamehydra @sirenetheblogger @insomniaccorner @nommingonfood @supernaturalmarvelfan @moe-moes-stuff @stickyricewithmangosauce @emeraldcutie44 @randomlyappearingartist @type-ink @kittzu @west-cOast-OO @hjgdhghoe @sweetconnoisseurgardener @bat1212 @wassupbroski55555 @purplelady22 @c4xcocoa @sillyheartmoonnyx @hearts4mica @qardasngan @randomlyappearingartist @pink-jello-fish @kore-of-the-underworld @00hellohello00 @superstarbucks @rue-eru @middevil465 @devils-blackrose @crazycaoticsimp @faimmm @fto6 @cutelittlesugarfairy @devilslittlehelper @mercuryathens @nyxie-00 @jsprien213 @ferchu0406 @levi-09 @runaaclou @anthy-jay-ander @eyeless-kun @ryuushou @cat-lover-over-9000 @tatsuri-zomushiki @classicsimpforaaronwarner @justatimidcreator @confusedparticle @friedchicken345 @ilovvesleepp @anyisaravia2001 @simpforlanzhan @sirairi @reey0-2 @optimisticmoonunknown @iwannaflyaway @ladyred0 @bunniotomia @post-ed-ing-it @whiteoakoak @venomsvl @rtyuy1346 @lingxio @adri-atics @unadulteratedcoffeetastemaker @rochy2175 @matthewmoralis @athenaeg @saltyfriendsaladbandit @thatbitchanna27 @wpdarlingpan @agustdpeach @iiwsmr @seanwalbrecht @d4kf10w3r @trash-blog-reblogs @zephrnyx @theall-seeingone

[pastellaspinkparadise]

Call Out my Name

synopsis. No one understands just how powerful the human voice can be, that is until they hear yours. Like an angel that fell from grace, a devil whispering a prayer, your voice alone could mesmerize millions. And it does. Which is why you play an instrument instead of singing. But a certain someone wants to hear your voice, wants to fall under your spell.

pairing. Bottom! Male Character x Top! Siren! Gender Neutral Reader ✧˖° nsfw, shy reader (only at first), voice kink, degradation, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, phone sex, drinking, hypnotism, reader is a siren, voice so strong even just you speaking does enough, reader is basically "mute", until they finally speak, and then it's game over from there.

Imagine your favs!!

edit. Here's pt.2

The ring in your ears would be like nails on a chalkboard for anyone else but you. You loved this sound caused by the loud rhythms from your bass guitar and other instruments your bandmates played. From the loud cheering and chanting of your fans. You wish you could sing for them, really give them something to go crazy over but there's no fun in that.

No fun in a crowd full of sexually aroused zombies.

Your eyes scan the thousands of people in the small venue. Bodies damn near stacked on top of each other just to see you guys preform. One glance over and you see him. Your friend that comes to every concert and every showing, it's endearing really. He's a day one fan of yours ever since the two of you befriended each other senior year of high school.

Your bandmates noticed the massive crush you had on him and bombarded him with posters and invites to every concert you guys put on. All it took was for him to come to one, and he's been to every one since then. It was awkward at first, considering how you refuse to speak to anyone, due to your power. You wanted a real friend, a real connection not a lie, so you kept your voice a secret. Made everyone think you're just mute. Overtime he learned what every facial expression and hand gesture meant, well almost every one.

With the show now over and the venue winding down you made your way to him to thank him for coming. His eyes light up when they spot you. "Y/N! You guys sounded great!"

You wave and your lips curl into a soft genuine smile as you nod your head. You wish you could just say thank you, but you can't. It tears you apart deep down to lie to him like this, but this is the way it has to be. He talks your ear off about liking the new song you wrote, about how crowded it was, and how one of the fan posters that said "I would sell my family for you."

Your smile widens and you jokingly shake your head. You couldn't blame them, fans will be fans.

"Y/N! We're about to leave are ya coming or not?" One of your bandmates yell. You had almost forgotten about the plans to go drinking after. You said yes, knowing damn well none of your friends could make it back home without you. Not wanting your friend to leave just yet you nod your head in the direction of the exit, pointing to him and you.

He gets the memo, "Taking me out for a couple of drinks eh? Is this what I get for being your #1 fan?" He teases. You playfully shove him and rolls your eyes. You were no stranger to his flirtatious personality, he was like that with everyone. Little did he know the comebacks you had stored in the back of your mind, your flirtatious words die on the tip of your tongue every time.

It was fifteen minutes tops before your friends ended up getting piss drunk yet again. You were drinking a simple mimosa, can never go wrong with mimosas, meanwhile they were taking shots.

"C'mon Y/NNN, just one..." Your drummer's words slurred together.

"If you don't say anything then it's a yes." Your lead singer says.

You shake your head no with your lips in a pout. That's not fair, they can't do that. You turn and look over at your company, hoping he would bail you out, little did you know he had other plans.

"I mean it's just one little shot. Can't do much harm." He says and you fake a gasp, feeling betrayed. "Unless you're a lightweight, then that'd be hilarious."

Everyone laughs and you blush. You know you're not a lightweight, you know your alcohol tolerance. You had nothing to prove. It'd be stupid to fall for their pressure and yet you prove them wrong anyways, taking not only one but two shots back to back.

Amidst the cheers and uproar you internally regretting it. Whatever you just drank was gross.

"You took that like a champ." He says, sly smirk curling onto his lips. "Didn't expect crown apple to be your thing."

You gag, the feeling of needing to scrape your tongue begins to surface. No wonder it was disgusting. Your friends are all occupied with goofing around the bar, you begin to wonder how you found yourself among them until his voice bring you out of your thoughts.

"Y'know sometimes I get really curious..." He slurs his words. "About what you're hiding under that shy exterior of yours." His eyes catch yours and suddenly the noise of the bar slowly disappears.

"I want to see the real you... hear the real you..."

You begin to feel hot, maybe it's from the shots or the heat that's pooling in your stomach. He looks good like this, face a tad bit red, clothes just the tiniest bit disheveled, and his eyes locked onto you. You want to stop hiding, say what you've been wanting to say for years, but you hold back.

"Ah what am I saying... you're mute." He takes another sip from his glass. "But if I could hear your voice, I bet it'd be the prettiest thing I'd ever hear."

You hold onto whatever resolve you had left. You're used to his flirting yes but that was just bold even for him. You start to think if letting him hear your voice would be that bad, it'd be just one time right? The damage couldn't be that bad...

The night ends with you dragging all your bandmates home one by one. Your friend left a bit early, saying he doesn't want to be too hung over for work in the morning. You smiled innocently as he left but you could tell something was up.

Once you got home you immediately plopped onto your bed, The cold sheets soothing your warm skin. You replay the night in your head a million times as you undress and dress into a oversized shirt to sleep in. The second your head hits the pillow you hear your phone buzz.

"Hey" He texts you. You tilt your head confused why he's still awake.

"You're still up? Don't tell me you got a nightmare" You text back.

"As if. I was just up thinkin..."

"Thinking about...?" You question, something tells you that you already know the answer.

"You... and your passion for music."

"You're so good and you write really good songs"

"If you could sing it'd be such a cherry on top. No one could handle it."

You don't know how to respond. You've told him your frustration with singing before, your lead vocalist sounds great but they can't fully grasp the emotion you felt while writing the song.

"Y/N I'm so drunk."

"Yeah no shit" You finally respond.

The texting ends when he suddenly calls you.

Huh?

Why is he calling you when he's knows you can't speak? You pick up anyways.

And you instantly regret it.

"Y/N I need you." He says breathlessly, you can hear the frustration in his voice. The utter need in his voice. That sentence came out like a whine. Like a prayer. "I know you can't talk but I...mnh..."

He sounds distant, as if his hand isn't holding the phone next to his mouth. As if the phone is somewhere else and his hands are touching someplace else. You can hear the rustle of his sheets, his soft breaths and desperate gasps.

"Are you...doing what I think you're doing???" You text, face flushed red from the implications.

"Yes! I- mmn... I'm sorry I can't... I need..." He says.

Arousal begins to stir in the pit of your stomach and everything starts to feel hot. You didn't take him to be this needy, this submissive. He sounds like he's about to burst any second now. And so is that resolve you were holding on to before.

You're not evil, you mean no harm to anyone, but the potential power you could have over him gives you a rush. The confident flirtatious man you once knew turned into a desperate whore with just one word from your lips.

"Y/N...I want you... I need you... I need to...hear you."

Fuck.

"Stop." The word leaves your mouth before you even realize. It's been a while since you've heard your own voice. Only breaths of air could be heard from the other end of the line. "You have no idea... how hard it was to keep this a secret."

"Y/N...you... your voice... is so..-"

"Pretty? Sexy? Intoxicating? Oh trust me I know. It's why I stayed quiet so whores like you can learn to control themselves."

He moans shamelessly at your degrading words. Whatever idea he had of shame dwindles away under the power of your voice. You can practically hear a switch flip in his mind. The switch that gives you full control.

"I want that hand that was on your cock up to your mouth. I want you to suck on two fingers like they're mine."

"F-fuck.." You can tell by the wet sounds he does just that. The rush of power that surges through you sends chills down your spine.

"Get them nice and wet for me." You say so tooth rottingly sweet.

You can hear him moan around his fingers, he's already so far gone. You start to think he might not survive the night.

"Take them out and finger yourself for me baby, don't you dare touch that cock of yours."

"Yes!" You can't see it but the image is clear in your head. His fingers deep in ass and mind completely gone. All it took was a few sentences and he's yours, all yours. You wonder what he's going to be like once he years you sing. You begin to give into your own arousal, a deep sigh leaves your lips the second you make contact with your sex.

"Tell me, were you really drunk? Or was that just your excuse to get me all hot and bothered? Hmm?" You say, voice dipped in the most sinful but sweetest honey.

"I-I wasn't...ahh... I was tipsy! F-fuck...Y/N..."

You loved the way he moans your name, as if it'll make you appear before him.

"Tsk tsk such a naughty boy, seducing me with those pretty sounds. Tell me, did you get home and immediately pull your cock out? Did I get you that aroused baby?"

"Yes god yes, I couldn't help it, I've felt this way for years." He moans.

"You've wanted hear me this bad for years hmm? How did you know?" You ask genuinely curious.

"I didn't..I...mmm... I just imagined what you would s-sound like..." And his imagination could only get him so far. Deep down he wished someday some miracle would happen and he'd get to hear your voice.

His wish got granted.

"Is this what you imagined I'd sound like?"

"No, but this is so much better!"

More moans fall from his lips and you can tell he's getting closer and closer. You wish you were there to see the sight, there to take his fingers out and replace them with your own. There to stimulate his ass, cock, and brain all at the same time. One hand around his length, the other plunging into his hole and lips saying the dirtiest things that could come to your mind to turn his into mush.

"Yeah that's it baby, be loud for me. Call out my name."

"Y/N! Please...please let me cum!" He yells desperately.

"Cum for me." You say and the most high-pitched moan of the night escapes his lips. He takes deep breaths as he comes down from his high.

"Y/N..."

You chuckle, knowing there's nothing else on his mind besides you and only you. It's not permanent, still hot nonetheless. You imagine him laying there boneless and limp with a distant look in his eyes, covered in his own cum. Would be such a beautiful sight.

"Oh baby, we're not done yet."

I imagined Mark Grayson while writing this, he's such a bottom.

Should I make a pt.2?

[authorhjk1]

Regarding the Lips request…..I don’t have a concrete idea but something where Dahyun gets facefucked in a bathtub?

Lips #1

(Dahyun X Male Reader) Wordcount: 1304 words

"I-I'm so sorry."

Dahyun doesn't answer.

As her manager, you should've knocked before going into the bathroom to take a shower. Even if the door was unlocked. But you didn't think about Dahyun being awake this early. Now you're standing in the room, naked. While she herself is lying in the bathtub. You can only see her face. And you notice how Dahyun's eyes are glued to your crotch. Your morning wood seems to leave her stunned.

"Dahyun?"

You're not sure if you should feel flattered? Or is she just shocked?

She doesn't answer for a couple more seconds. Then finally she speaks without moving her eyes.

"Come here."

You hesitate, but then decide it might be best to do what she says. Four steps and you stand right in front of the bathtub. You want to look away, but you can't help yourself. Dahyun's naked body seems flawless underneath the water's surface. Her skin as white as porcelain, her breasts just the perfect size and shape. You're so distracted that you jump when you feel her wet hand wrap itself around your cock.

"D-Dahyun?"

She finally looks at you properly. For the first time you walked in on her. For the first time since she saw your cock.

"I want it."

You swallow hard. You know that once she wants something, she needs to have it. As her manager, you learned that very early on in your time working for her.

And it's not like you're getting nothing out of it either. So who would complain? Dahyun's hand already feels amazing as she gives you one lazy stroke. From tip to base and then back. You feel her slightly pulling you closer. Stepping forward, your cock is now right in front of her face.

"Damn."

She lets out a chuckle as she gives you another stroke.

"Not bad, Mr. Manager."

Her teasing tone and the compliment combined has you twitch in her hand.

"Mind if I give it a taste?"

Her grin and her sparkling eyes seem mischievous. It sounds like she's giving you a choice, but you know she isn't. You quickly nod, your breath already shaking.

Dahyun moves her head forward, over the side of the bathtub, and wraps her lips around your tip. The sudden warmth makes you release a sigh as her hand moves down to your base. You feel her tongue swirl around your tip once, then Dahyun takes more of you into her mouth. She stretches her neck out and her lips glide along your length. She reaches barely a quarter of the way, then she stops. Her brows furrow and Dahyun slowly backs up again, until your cock leaves her mouth. Your breath hitches.

"This isn't gonna work. Not like this."

She looks up at you, almost annoyed.

"You know what? Why don't you just fuck my face? It'll be easier for the both of us."

Dahyun phrases her order like it's a question.

"S-Sure."

You're excited and nervous at the same time. You didn't expect this when you woke up earlier, but here you are. With the idol you're supposed to take care of telling you to fuck her face.

You reach out carefully and place one hand on the back of Dahyun's head. She bites her lip in anticipation as her eyes focus back on your cock. You push your hips forward as you slightly lean over the side of the bathtub. Your hold on her head helps you to keep your balance. A satisfied hum leaves Dahyun's lips as your tip pushes past them. You feel her warmth around your cock once more. You push deeper, until you're halfway inside her mouth. Your tip is now brushing against the entrance to her throat. Dahyun never said anything about using her throat, so you decide to stop there.

You let out a shaky breath, enjoying the feeling of her mouth warming your cock. Her tongue is just resting on the underside of your length. Slowly, you begin to pull out. Your dick drags along the walls of her mouth, until only the tip rests between her lips. Dahyun's dark eyes look up at you as if she's telling you to fuck her face properly.

You take a deep breath and tighten your grip on the back of her head. If that's what she wants, so be it. You thrust forward, filling her entire mouth with one stroke. Before Dahyun can even moan, you pull out again and impale her mouth on your cock for a second time. You don't even think about going slow at first. This might be your only chance to do something like this with Dahyun. And now that you've gotten a taste, you plan on using this opportunity to the fullest.

One stroke after another has Dahyun moan and groan around your length. Whenever your tip not just brushes, but bruises the back if her mouth, Dahyun can't help but gag a little. The sound only makes you want to increase your pace. You hear it over and over again as you fuck her face. At some point Dahyun's spit begins to leak out of her mouth and fall into the water she's lying in.

You have to close your eyes, unable to look down at Dahyun. You'd cum immediately if you did. She just looks so hot with your cock in her mouth. You can't see how she looks up at you, silently laughing at the way you look. It's clear how hard you try to hold on.

"Fuck Dahyun."

A load groan leaves your mouth while hers is stuffed with your cock. You feel yourself getting closer towards your release, but you can't stop. You can't even slow down. You just continue to fuck her face. One thrust after another. You use her mouth like a fleshlight. Your fingers dig into her skull as Dahyun lets her tongue move a little. It moves like a snake underneath your cock. As if its trying to coax you into cumming. And it's working. She's driving you closer and closer toward the edge.

"So close."

It's all you manage to say. The sound of Dahyun chocking becomes louder as your power increases and your pace quickens. As you finally look down, you see a tear run down her cheek. But her eyes seem to challenge you. As if she's daring you to cum right now. Right into her mouth.

You do your best to hold on, not sure if that's actually what she wants. But you can't pull out either to let her speak. Her mouth just feels so good. Her tongue just seems to hit the right spots everytime it moves.

Dahyun makes the decision for you by lifting her arm out of the water. She drenches the carpet you're standing on and places her hand on your ass. She pulls you in and with your next stroke you are so deep that you push past the barrier at the back of her mouth. Your tip and a good amount of your cock invade her throat. It feels better that you thought it would. It overwhelms you. The unexpected pleasure has you groan and finally brings you your release.

You shoot your load down Dahyun's throat. It makes her cough while looking up at you. If your vision wasn't blurry, you'd bet she's smiling around your cock. You feel her throat milking you dry, until your legs threaten to give out underneath you.

Eventually, you manage to pull out of Dahyun's mouth. Her hand leaves her ass to give your sensitive cock a few lazy strokes. You twitch whenever she touches your tip.

"I think I'm gonna take a long bath every day now."

Dahyun smiles up at you and you glance down at her naked body one last time.

---------

Hi everyone!

I hope you liked this first chapter of the series. The next one will be out tomorrow.

Stay healthy!

[cxsmicbaby]

Hi I love you’re writing!!! It is soooo good! I love your “Johnny Has A Crush” stories. I love the publicist reader and I LOVE the way you write Johnny. Those are incredibly hot. You should consider writing another part! Would love to see him get taken care of too. But either way just wanted to tell you you’re a great writer and I love your Johnny Storm stuff!

hiiiiii anon thank u sm 😘😘😘😘😘 i'm so happy you like it!! i was already thinking about writing a part 3 where johnny gets some love so i decided to write it in response to this ask :) (note: i didn't even mean to blueball him both times LOL, but i think something about him being so narcissistic but lowk a giver for the reader is fire.) hope you enjoy!

part one | part two

mdni!

something's definitely changed since the night you were in johnny's room.

well, the second night. the first time, everything had been so eerily unchanged between you that you wondered if you'd imagined the whole thing. but this time, the shift is palpable; you almost wish he was trying harder to conceal it, because you had a sinking feeling some of the others were beginning to catch on.

it's mainly ben. he's got this uncanny ability to read johnny like a book, so the moment he's let on there's something happening, it's unfortunately noticed. johnny does his best, trying not to linger too close to you when someone's looking—not that he hadn't been doing it before, but now when he gets too near he just can't help the look on his face, and it makes everything painfully obvious. even you, oblivious to all his other more evident tells, notice it. the expression is almost like a yearning, and it makes you kind of sick.

three days have passed since the night of the party. johnny hasn't been hanging around you as much, though when he does it seems like he's really happy to see you. you don't really know what to think of it and have grown a bit tired of trying to decipher his actions, so you try not to care. (unsuccessfully).

johnny is actively trying to stay away from you. well, really, he's just cut down the time he spends pestering you; whenever you come around him he's not exactly telling you to leave. he's still sitting next to you at dinner and he's still teasing you, but now it feels more like just flirting. he can tell it's an accurate read when reed is staring at him across the table, no doubt noticing the way your banter has changed. he doesn't make eye contact.

your office is uncannily quiet without johnny buzzing around. you would think you'd be able to get more work done this way but the silence is more distracting than he would've been.

you find yourself zoning out a lot, spurred by a thought of him, and your mind spiralling helplessly into the memory of his searing touch. then you're thinking about the look on his face when he was under you, flustered and lacking any of that infuriatingly attractive smugness he's so well known for. you're practically aching to see him like that again. to see how far he'd let you push him.

you catch johnny in the kitchen, on the fourth night since the party. it's his turn to wash the dishes. you admire the muscles in his back flexing as he scrubs dutifully, humming an unfamiliar tune while he does so. it's almost cute.

"hi, johnny," you say, making yourself sound extra sweet on purpose. he jumps at the sound of your voice, turning over his shoulder to see you. it's late enough that it's acceptable for you to be roaming the tower in your pajamas; he's seen you in them before, but something about how unguarded they make you look has his heart skipping.

"hey," he greets, turning back to the sink. "you look cozy."

you roll your eyes silently, inching closer. you position yourself next to him, close enough to reach out and touch, but keep your arms crossed over your chest.

"you always do the dishes so late. why not just do them after dinner?" johnny thinks your voice sounds almost suggestive despite the innocent topic of conversation. he could be hearing things. sometimes just hearing you talk a certain way has him sweating.

"i get tired right after i eat. plus, doesn't really matter—i'm doing them, aren't i?" he internally curses how petulant he ends up sounding. he hadn't meant it that way, but your proximity is steadily fraying his nerves, and the look in your eyes is distracting, to say the least.

you giggle softly, and johnny gulps like a goddamn cartoon character when your arms unfold, and one of your hands is on his shoulder. your touch is light, and he inhales sharply when you rub down his bicep; it's almost comforting. he feels himself slowly unraveling.

"no need to get all defensive," you say, and now he's sure you're doing it on purpose; your voice is a little hushed, your fingers on his arm squeezing just barely. he places the glass he was cleaning onto the drying rack, leaning his hands onto the edge of the counter. he's a little afraid to look at you; doesn't want you to see how easily worked up he knows he is.

"i was just thinking, washing the dishes is a really... brain-stimulating activity. must be hard to fall asleep if you do them right before bed."

you move a little closer, your hand gliding across the cotton of johnny's shirt to his shoulderblade, fingers digging into the flesh, like you're massaging him. your chest brushes against his upper arm; his hand splayed out on the counter's edge is only an inch or so away from grabbing at your hip. and johnny is melting, struggling to build himself back up quickly enough to take control of the situation.

"who said i was planning on going to bed?" he counters, finally forcing himself to look at you. your face is so close to him now that one movement would have him kissing you again, the way he'd thought about every day since the first time he got the chance. you smile at him. johnny is not sure where your sudden confidence has come from—maybe all his rambling about noticing his desires really got to your head.

he's certainly not complaining. maybe a little bit, but nothing real.

but then you're shrugging, pulling away. "suit yourself. you're the one who has to wake up early tomorrow."

johnny doesn't have the chance to think before he's reaching out to you, hand wrapping around your wrist with a look he knows is a little desperate. he can't say anything, afraid of what will come out, but lucky for him you have all the words he doesn't.

"well, if you're having trouble sleeping," you start, eyes twinkling, "i could think of a few ways i could help you."

his breath hitches, mouth twisting up in an awed grin. neither of you seems to remember you're in a relatively public space, and that any one of the other members could walk in right now. johnny can't think of anything that matters to him less.

"oh yeah?" johnny breathes, his grip on your wrist loosening, because you're leaning into him of your own volition now. "my brain does feel awful stimulated, now that i think about it."

that's how you end up hooking up with johnny storm for the third time. he didn't even finish the dishes, you think, as you're letting him press you into the wall, his hands squeezing at your hips. his tongue explores every inch of your mouth, and the kiss is sloppy, like you've both been holding out and are now finally giving in. the truth is not far from that.

he kisses you breathless, and you have to pull away for air, forehead resting against his. a string of saliva trails between you and he chases it, licking at your bottom lip shamelessly.

"johnny," and he's sure you're about to beg him to get on his knees again, which he would do with ease, "sit down."

oh. that's not what he was expecting to hear. johnny blinks at you a second, processing your request, but when you don't say anything else he figures he should probably just do what you say. it's not a difficult task for him; he would pretty easily do anything you said, but would rather die than let you know.

johnny reluctantly parts from you, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. he's buzzing in anticipation, because he's not entirely sure what you're going to do, but has some idea—a hope, really. his hands rest behind him and he leans back to watch you approach. your fingers glide into his hair gingerly, scratching at the nape of his neck as you stare down into what you think are pleading eyes. his chin rests against your navel and for a second you just look at each other.

"sweetheart," he whispers, eyebrows quirking up just the slightest bit. johnny feels a little suffocated by the intimacy of the moment but does not for the life of him want you to stop. "be careful."

you don't ask what he means. instead, you slowly kneel between johnny's legs, relishing the way his eyes flash as he catches on to what you're planning to do. he says nothing. your hands run up and down his thighs, eyeing the prominent bulge in his black jeans. you can't wait to figure out what he tastes like.

"you look pretty from this angle," you tell him, in a rare moment of honesty. johnny hates how that effects him. he swallows hard and ignores how the corners of your lips quirk up as you notice his reddening ears. "take your shirt off."

he does it without hesitation, tossing it somewhere in his room, he's not sure where—his eyes don't want to leave yours. he doesn't have the chance to fluster you back, because you're already moving forward, your palm curling around his length as best as you can, through the thick fabric. the shaky breath he lets out is a little embarrassing. at least, for him. you seem to think differently.

you lean down, eyes staring directly into his soul when your tongue pokes out, running flat from the base to where his tip would be. johnny is getting a little scared—if this is how it's starting, his brain might be empty by the time you're finished.

"holy shit," johnny mutters, hand twitching to sink into your hair. "you're kinda nasty, huh?"

you smile a little, fingers going for his zipper. he's trying to keep his face neutral, to not give you what he knows you want—for him to end up just like you had last time, begging to be touched, pliable under wanting fingers. he won't let it happen, he swears.

well, he'll certainly do his best. at the very least.

you unzip and unbutton johnny's pants, reaching into his boxers without hesitation. johnny's breath hitches when you wrap your bare hand around him, and his eyes fall on your face, watching with a little pride how entranced you seem to be when you finally take him out.

you let go of him, mouth watering just a bit when he bobs against the skin right above his belly button, tickling his happy trail. you've never actually wanted to suck a guy off as much as you want to do that to johnny right now. he's got one of the prettiest cocks you've ever seen—long, just the right amount of thick, a few veins rippling up the length of it, ending in an angry, pink tip, already glistening with precum just from the way you're appraising him.

"you like what you see?" johnny says, pathetically, regretting it the moment it leaves his mouth.

your hand wraps around the base of him in response, slowly making your way to the tip of him, and back down. his face is as neutral as he can possibly be expected to keep it, but you can hear his heavy breathing, and the muscles in his lower stomach twitch, giving him away.

you eye him with a teasing little smile, your bottom lip slipped between your teeth. he's opening his mouth to say something, but then your lips wrap around him, tongue lazily swirling over the very tip—johnny makes a quiet sound, like he's been punched, stomach caving in a little before he catches himself. still, the only sign that he's struggling in his expression are his twitching eyebrows, furrowed deep with the effort to keep the rest of his face from letting anything on. he's made it into a game, and you're more than willing to play.

"feels good?" you ask, voice hushed. your hand continues to work him slowly, cheek nuzzling into his length. god, where did this come from? johnny thinks he'll choke if he speaks, and he doesn't want to give you the satisfaction, so he stays silent as he can.

you frown. "you're not gonna answer? guess i should stop then."

johnny's stomach drops as your grip on him really does loosen, like you're actually going to stop—it hadn't occurred to him that you would have it in you to do that, as ridiculous as it sounds.

"wait, wait," he rasps, chest heaving. "don't stop."

a smirk plays on your lips. your hand stays still, wrapped around his base, but your tongue goes flat against the ridge of his most prominent vein, tracing from its start to the place it tapers off, right beneath the tip. he can feel a flush of red wash over his face, forcing himself to keep eye contact with you, even as he lets out an embarrassingly ragged sigh.

"yeah, it feels good. fuck, it feels so fuckin' good." his eyes flutter when he says it, and he's surprised that he doesn't regret letting you win that one at all. it clearly has its benefits.

you hum, vibrations going straight to the building heat in his lower stomach. you let go of him, spitting into your palm before you start working him over in earnest, other hand going to play with his balls. johnny's face is flushed pink and his lips are permanently parted with his uneven pants, eyes having trouble staying open.

"see? that wasn't so hard, was it?" your voice is deceptively calm and johnny's hips twitch up into your touch, swearing under his breath.

you slow suddenly, your eyes lighting up at the drawn out moan he finally lets out. you think that might the prettiest sound that's ever come from his overactive mouth.

"shit, baby," johnny breathes, hand going to run through his hair. "and you said i was a fuckin' freak."

you smile up at him, and take him into your mouth again, sucking on the very tip for just a second to watch him get overwhelmed, groaning soft and pretty as his eyes squeeze shut. then, you push further, mouth softening around him as you hollow your cheeks.

"fuck," he mutters, struggling to keep his eyes open but determined to watch you. it's quickly become one of his favorite ways to look at you; second only to the view between your legs. "fuck, fuck..."

johnny can't help it—his hand roots itself gently into your hair. he manages to wait a second, just a second, before his hips are lifting and he's rocking slowly into your mouth, not enough make you choke, but enough to make his eyes roll back, head falling back loosely between his shoulder blades.

you start to bob your head up and down, hand twisting around the length you can't fit. johnny is all but crumbled above you and you've already gotten what you want, so you think you might let him cum. might.

you decide against it.

you swat his hand on your head away, pulling off him slowly; you wipe the saliva that stretches between your lips and the tip, giggling softly. johnny almost lurches forward at the loss, eyes beginning to look a little crazed. you've got him right where you want him.

"don't—don't do that," he pleads, voice shaky. his chest is heaving. "fuck, sweetheart, i'm so close, don't stop now."

he looks genuinely upset, like he's ready to get on his knees and beg you to keep going. you'd like that very much but you don't have the patience for it.

"i don't know," you say, hand beginning to stroke him so slow you almost pity him, "i guess i'm not sure you want it bad enough."

johnny gapes down at you. he knows what you're asking him to do and even as his body wants to yield he knows that by doing so, he'll have lost the game entirely. does it even matter? you're looking at him like he's more than what he is and he's all but done for.

"please," he finally utters, and it comes out like he's surprised, like it's someone else who's said it.

a satisfied smile curls onto your face. you give him some relief, wrist twisting as you move it a little more quickly, but you know it's not enough. "please, what?"

"please, let me cum," johnny rasps, head hanging, "please. i need it, so fuckin' bad."

it sounds even sweeter than you thought it would.

you want to tease him some more, but when you finally put your mouth on him again johnny whines, almost like he's in pain, and you decide to let him have what he wants. he's already given you what you wanted, anyhow.

you're immediately taking as much of him as you can into your mouth, your hand working the rest; your other hand massages his balls, and you can feel them tensing to the rhythm of your movements. the pitch of johnny's voice is rising steadily, his hand finding purchase in your hair again, hips twitching up every time the warmth of your mouth leaves him.

"fuck, fuck, i'm gonna cum," johnny says, his words bleeding together. he says it like he's confessing something secret that he's been forced to share. you double down on your efforts, relishing the broken, almost guttural sound he gives you that echoes in the room.

"oh baby i'm gonnacum, don't stop, don't stop." it sounds like he's really afraid you might. poor thing. his voice trembles, shaky gasps tumbling out as his hips lift higher, chest flushing red. he's so loud now you're a little scared someone's about to come knocking on the bedroom door, but you're not scared enough to stop. he sounds too sweet.

you hum around him, and that's it—johnny stills suddenly, and then his eyes roll back and a wave of pink rolls over his skin, lower stomach twitching violently. his arm resting on the bed buckles, and he falls to his elbow. his mouth cracks open and he moans, fingers pressing into your scalp to keep you still while he's cumming down your throat.

when he lets you go, you bob up and down a few more times, just to watch him twitch, his face twisting in something close to overstimulation. maybe next time you'll see how many times he can cum before he starts to cry. you're a little shocked at how much you want to reduce him to nothing and even more at how you know he would let you. finally, you pull off of him, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip before tucking him back into his boxers.

"holy shit," johnny sighs, hand massaging weakly at your scalp like he's apologizing for grabbing at it too hard. "i can't remember the last time i came that hard."

your heart swells at the praise, however unintentional. you remain seated on the floor between his legs, and you're surprised when johnny sits up, smile entirely dazed, arms reaching out for you. you let him pull you up into his lap, let him kiss you—it's open-mouthed from the beginning, he's too spent to work up to it.

"i win. i definitely lasted longer," you say, resting your head on his shoulder. johnny makes a brief sound of confusion, brain still a little fogged, but then it registers and he just laughs, poking you in the stomach.

"well, how can you blame me? you don't know how pretty you look, staring up at me. makes me feel like i'm in a dream."

you pause, eyeing him suspiciously, but johnny does not seem to be fluffing you up—there's no reason to, anyway. there's nothing more he could really want from you (well, there is one thing, but you know he wouldn't try that corny shit with you. at least, he wouldn't really believe it'd work). so, you just smile, and press a little kiss to the corner of his lips. he likes that.

he offers to return the favor, make you feel good, and you tell him maybe next time; he only acquieses because he knows there will, indeed, be a next time.

you sleep in his room that night, mostly because johnny clings to you and won't let you leave. you complain about the possibility of being caught and he sets an alarm for early the next morning, promising to wake you up if you don't hear it. he sleeps on his stomach, arm wrapped tight around your torso, nose almost buried in your neck.

it's comfortable. it feels dangerous. you let yourself fall into it anyway, ignoring the warning bells going off in your mind. you fall asleep so easily it's hard to think about anything at all.

[ellewritesx]

guide me slowly

(part four of the teach me slowly series)

Summary: One hand around your throat. The other between your legs. Turns out, Harry's very good at listening.

Warnings: early stages of a relationship, age gap, talk about kinks, fingering, knee riding, choking, praise kink, some dom!Harry

Based on: this ask!

A/N: this took one took foreverrr to write, sorry lovelies! i've just been so busy, but thankfully i'll have loads of time to write this month. how have you guys been doing? my inbox is open, come talk to me! hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think, love you sm x

Word Count: 3,556

...

You're smiling when he pulls open the heavy wooden door, a hand on the curve of your back over your dress as he gently steers you into the restaurant. There's something so natural about it, about the ease with which you move together now, the unspoken awareness of his fingers grazing your hip as he thanks the hostess.

The glow of candlelight paints the wood-paneled walls in a golden hue, tucked away in one of the more high-end streets of the city. You get the feeling he likes it that way, the quiet, the seclusion. The kind of place that feels like it's pressing pause on the rest of the world.

You settle into the booth Harry reserved for the two of you, and he slides in beside you, thigh brushing yours. He takes the bottle of wine already sitting in a cooler and pours you a glass, then his own.

''Alright, go on,'' he says, voice teasing as he picks up a menu. ''Tell me how charming I am again.''

You raise a brow at him, smiling behind the rim of your wine glass. ''I never said you were charming.''

''No, but you're blushing. That says enough.''

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are a little warm. ''You're lucky I like you.''

He leans in just enough for you to catch the scent of his cologne, and you can't help but squeeze your thighs together under the table. ''You have no idea,'' he murmurs, eyes scanning your face.

The air shifts, as it always does between you two. A joke turns into a moment. A glance turns into a throbbing between your legs. You're still getting used to it, the way he pays attention to you, the way he always puts your needs before his own without hesitation.

The waitress comes and goes with your orders, barely glancing at you once she sees who she's serving. Harry doesn't seem to notice, or he does, but pretends not to, and you watch the side of his face as he orders two bowls of a pasta dish he insists you have to try and thanks her, polite and unbothered, like he's not the most famous man in the restaurant. You wonder how often he's had to pretend not to notice the stares, how it feels when everyone knows your face.

He turns back to you with that familiar, lopsided smile, the one that makes you feel like you're the only person in the room, and now that you're alone again, the conversation starts to unravel into something softer. He asks you how your week's been. You tell him about a book you've been reading, a walk you took the other day, the little things that most people don't care about, but he listens to everything you say like it's the most important thing in the world. After a sip of wine you ask him something that's been rolling around your mind.

''Do you ever get tired of being… y'know. Recognized? Looked at?''

Harry tilts his glass in his hand, eyes scanning the table as he contemplates the question. ''Sometimes. Depends.''

''On what?''

He exhales slowly, like he's trying to decide how honest to be. ''On the day. On the mood I'm in. Sometimes it feels harmless, someone smiling at me in a grocery store, or a fan wanting a photo. It's nice. Other times…'' He pauses. ''It makes me feel like I'm in a glass box. Like I'm being watched through it, but I can't touch anything on the other side. It's... isolating, at times. I don't know.''

Your heart twists a little at the image. ''That sounds lonely.''

''It can be,'' he admits. ''But it's part of the deal, right? I asked for this. Not all of it, not the way people think they own you, or the weird entitlement, but the rest of it. The music, the performing, the connection with people. That's the part I couldn't live without.''

You nod slowly, letting his words settle. ''Do you think people ever really see the real you?''

He glances sideways at you, then nudges your foot under the table. ''You do.'' He reaches for your hand and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it like you're some old-Hollywood starlet.

Your breath catches.

''Alright. That was depressing, let's move on,'' he says, looking at you with a conspiratorial smile as he leans in closer, your hand still in his. ''Deep questions or embarrassing childhood stories?''

You laugh. ''Are those my only two options?''

''I mean, I could ask about your thoughts on parallel universes, but we've only had half a glass of wine.''

You pretend to think. ''Embarrassing stories, then. I want to know all your secrets.''

''Dangerous.'' He leans back in the booth, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. ''Okay. I had this phase, I reckon I was around nine or ten, where I genuinely believed I was going to be a magician. I made my mum sit through hours of these dreadful performances in the living room. My sister still has the photos, I'm sure.''

''I'm going to need to see those.''

...

Harry fumbles with the keys, and you lean against the doorframe, watching him with your shoes dangling from your fingers and your smile still stuck in place. You're both laughing when you walk through the door, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment.

''Remind me to never let you order in Italian again,'' you say, squinting at him. ''Your accent is awful when you're drunk.''

He grins, dimples deep. ''It's called authenticity, darling.''

''It's called cultural appropriation, Harold.''

He lets out a bark of laughter and tosses his keys on the entryway table. ''And I'm not drunk, I'm just... tipsy. Barely. Just like you are.''

''How come you're such a lightweight at, what, 170 pounds of pure muscle?'' you say with a huffed laugh, heading toward the kitchen, ''I'm revoking your wine privileges.''

''You wound me.''

But he's already trailing after you, tugging his rings off one by one and setting them carefully on the counter. The top few buttons of his shirt have come undone over the course of the evening, revealing the slope of his collarbone and the beginning of that stupidly pretty chest you try not to stare at. His sleeves are rolled up his forearms, and the tattoos scattered across his skin look like they're moving under the soft kitchen lights. You bite your lip at the sight of the swallows on his collarbones, sinful thoughts flooding your mind.

You turn away quickly, focusing on taking off your earrings.

The silence is comfortable, filled with the occasional clink of jewelry being set down, the soft sloshing of wine as Harry uncorks another bottle behind you and pours two glasses. You send him a disapproving look, but he cuts you off with a smug smile.

''You know,'' he says, passing you a glass and bumping his shoulder into yours. ''You look very beautiful tonight.''

You glance at him. ''Only tonight?''

He grins again, softer this time. ''Especially tonight.''

You roll your eyes fondly but take a sip of wine to hide your smile. ''Flattery will get you everywhere.''

''That's the plan,'' he grins, leaning against the counter beside you.

You both fall quiet for a moment, and you let the hush settle around you. He looks relaxed like this, sleeves rolled up, wine in hand, curls a little unruly from where your fingers kept brushing through them on the drive home. There's something about this version of him, the real him, that makes your chest ache a little.

''Can I ask you something?'' you say eventually, swirling the wine in your glass.

He hum softly, gazing at you intently over the rim of his glass.

''Is it hard pretending to be somebody you're not? Like... in the media?''

The question hangs in the air for a beat. He exhales slowly, setting his glass down on the counter.

''I don't. I show the public a side of myself,'' he says after a moment. ''If I presented myself to be a completely different person... I wouldn't be able to keep up with that. What the public sees, it's... limited, but it's still me. A part of me, anyway.''

You nod. ''That makes sense.''

''It's weird, really, when the entire world thinks they're entitled to knowing everything about you. They want to know all my intimate, dirty secrets while they keep their own hidden. It's invasive, and wildly hypocritical,'' he says, staring at a scratch on the counter, before smiling softly. ''But the view I have from the stage... It's worth all the scrutiny, the speculation, the vile headlines. All of it.''

Your nod softly, and your voice is quieter when you speak. ''For what it's worth, you'll never have to deal with any of it alone as long as I'm here. The highs and the lows.''

''I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. You.''

The words sit heavy in your chest. You take another sip of wine, then shift your weight so your hip bumps lightly against his.

''Hey,'' you say, glancing at him sidelong, wanting to lift his spirits. ''You're not the only one with layers, you know.''

Harry raises an eyebrow. ''Oh?''

''I have hidden depths. Mystery. Intimate, dirty secrets.''

He smirks. ''Any of these dirty secrets you're willing to share?''

You pretend to think. ''Maybe.''

His voice drops a little lower. ''Like what?''

There's a flicker of curiosity behind his eyes now, of interest. That quiet kind of intensity he gets when he's trying to read between your words. You chew the inside of your cheek and shrug, trying to keep your tone light, and you know you have him hooked.

''I don't know. Like… I guess I've thought about certain things. Wondered what I might like.''

''You can tell me,'' he says, softer now. ''No pressure.''

You glance down into your wineglass, suddenly hyperaware of how close he is, how warm the air feels around you. ''Okay,'' you say, half-laughing at yourself. ''But only if you go first.''

He lets out a low chuckle and sets his glass aside completely, folding his arms loosely across his chest. ''Alright. Let's see…'' There's a thoughtful pause before he continues. ''I like being in control. I like guiding things. Making someone feel safe while still pushing a little. Watching them fall apart and knowing I'm the reason.''

Your stomach flips.

''And I like praise,'' he adds. ''Giving it, mostly. I like letting someone know when they're doing well. When they're being good for me.''

You don't realize you're holding your breath until you exhale.

He smiles, a little smug. ''Too much?''

''No,'' you say quickly, ''Not at all. I just… I didn't expect you to say all that so easily.''

He shrugs, playful. ''You asked.''

There's another pause. He doesn't press, just waits. His patience is almost worse than pressure, because you want to tell him. You want him to know. But the words seem to be stuck in your chest, the weight of them making it a little harder to breathe.

You take another sip of wine and then clear your throat.

''I guess I've always liked the idea of… being told what to do,'' you admit. ''Not in a 'do my laundry' way. Just in bed. I like the thought of someone being a little more dominant. Someone guiding me.''

Harry nods, gaze soft but focused. ''That makes sense, especially when it's your first time.''

''Exactly why I'd want someone to take control, take some of the pressure off me. And maybe…'' You hesitate, and then decide to hell with it. ''I'd like to be blindfolded? To surrender control to another person like that... I don't know, the mutual trust, it excites me.''

His smile deepens, slow, pleased. ''That can definitely be arranged.''

''Stop,'' you say, flustered, nudging his arm. ''We're just talking.''

''I know,'' he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. ''But I'm taking notes. So, guidance. Trust. A little control. Anything else?''

You open your mouth, then close it. Then open it again. You run your hands through your hair, debating on your choice of words. ''I think... I'd like to try, um, having your hand around my throat?''

''How?'' he asks breathlessly, taking a step closer and brushing your hair over your shoulder. He takes off your necklace with reverence, fingers deliberately brushing along your collarbone.

You swallow. ''Not like… suffocating. But enough to feel lightheaded, to feel the power you have over me in that moment. I don't know.''

''Like this?'' His voice is almost a whisper as his hand slowly slides up your body to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just... there. You tilt your head back to lean on his shoulder, trying to ignore the undeniable throbbing between your thighs.

You nod once, barely able to move your head with his grip on your neck, but he's not satisfied. He gives your throat a gentle squeeze, just enough to make your lips part and your breath hitch. ''I asked you a question, baby. Be a good girl and answer it for me.''

Your eyes flutter shut, heartbeat thrumming in your ears. ''Yeah... Yeah, um, exactly like this.''

He hums appreciatively, pressing a kiss to your temple.

''We're still just talking?'' you ask, teasing but shaky.

He smiles, softer now. ''For now.''

...

By the time you make it to the bedroom, the air is thick with anticipation, with desire. Harry shuts the door behind him with a soft click, and while you don't turn to look at him, pretending to be focused on the glow of the bedside lamp, the way it spills light across the sheets, your entire body is aware of his presence.

He doesn't say anything at first. Just walks up behind you, slow and steady, like he's giving you a chance to back away if you change your mind. But you don't. You stand still, letting the heat of his body press against your back, and when he dips his mouth down to kiss your shoulder, your breath catches like it always does.

''So brave,'' he murmurs, lips dragging up your neck. ''Telling me what you want.''

He turns you around then, hands firm on your waist, and his eyes, half-lidded from wine and want, flick across your face. The veins on his forearms, running through the inked skin, stand out as he holds you. His thumb slips beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming the warm skin just above your waistband.

''Tell me again,'' he says, voice low. ''Tell me what you want.''

You inhale, shaky. ''I want you to touch me. Guide me, Harry.''

The groan he lets out is quiet and restrained, but it curls hot in your belly. ''Good girl,'' he says, kissing you hard, quick. ''Get on the bed.''

You do. You sit first, then scoot back until you're in the middle of the bed. He follows, nudging your legs open with his knee and climbing between them as he crashes his lip into yours. You reach for his shirt, undoing the last few buttons while he watches you, the heat in his eyes dark and undivided. He shrugs it off his shoulders and tosses it aside, and for a second all you can do is stare at him.

You've seen him shirtless before, but it never fails to take your breath away. His chest is rising and falling in anticipation, his skin flushed and glistening in the lamp light, his eyes drinking you in.

He leans down and kisses you again, slower now, deeper. The kind of kiss that sinks into your bloodstream, lighting up every part of your body with lust. His hands are everywhere: your thighs, your waist, palming your breasts over your dress. And then, without warning, he shifts forward and presses his knee right between your legs.

The pressure is instant. Your hips twitch toward it.

''Oh,'' you breathe, gripping his shoulders.

He smiles against your mouth. ''Feel good?''

You nod. ''Yeah. Really good.''

''Ride it, baby,'' he says, kissing down your jaw. ''Wanna watch you fall apart.''

You do, slowly, rhythmically, grinding against his knee as his lips work down your throat. He worships your skin, kissing, biting, licking a stripe up the side of your neck. One hand finds its way back to your throat, resting there like a promise, not squeezing yet, just reminding you of what you confessed to moments ago.

You moan softly, the sound catching in your throat when he shifts again and bumps his knee into you harder.

''Fuck,'' you gasp, hands twisting in the sheets.

''You're soaked already, aren't you?'' His voice is rough, your eyes nearly rolling back at the sinful sound. ''Just from a bit of pressure.''

You nod again, this time more desperately.

''Good,'' he says. ''God, you're perfect.''

He keeps his knee pressed against your throbbing cunt, letting you grind against it, letting you whimper and gasp and beg. Eventually, he pulls back slightly, just enough to drag his fingers down your chest, bunching your dress further up your hips.

''Can I?'' he asks.

''Yes,'' you say instantly, breathless.

''Want to hear you beg next time,'' he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. ''Just so we're clear.'' You whine at the promise in his voice.

His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and he groans. ''Fuck. You're soaked, baby.''

You bite your lip.

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, right above where his hand is still pinning your neck down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder as he slides a finger inside. You gasp, clenching instinctively, still getting used to the foreign feeling of it, and he stills.

''You okay?'' he asks gently.

You nod. ''More. Please.''

He gives you exactly that, one finger at first, slow and steady, curling up inside you with expert precision, then two, pumping into you while his mouth never leaves your skin.

''Doing so good for me,'' he whispers. ''So fucking good.''

You're dizzy with it. The rhythm, the praise, the tension coiling low in your belly. His fingers still work inside you, his palm grazing your clit deliciously, and his other hand experimentally squeezes your throat.

Not hard. Just enough to make you feel it. Just enough to send a jolt of something new down your spine. It's not fear, it's a powerless sort of pleasure, the heady thrill of giving in completely.

''Is this okay?'' he asks, even as his grip tightens slightly.

You can't speak. Not because of his hand around your throat, but because you're too blissed out to think clearly, so you just nod, eyes glassy as your hands twist into the sheets, gripping the fabric.

''Good girl,'' he says again. ''You tell me if it's too much, yeah?''

You manage a small noise of assent.

The pressure of his fingers, the drag of his thumb against your clit, the weight of his palm at your throat, pressing you into the mattress as you moan beneath him. He's watching you, utterly focused, eyes fixed on your mouth as it falls open, your chest as it rises and falls in short, gasping breaths, your hips as they twitch, chasing his touch.

''You're so fucking pretty like this, love,'' he mutters. ''Don't think you even realize what you do to me.''

You whine faintly, overwhelmed.

''Prettiest thing I've ever seen,'' he insists, voice strained. ''My sweet girl. Letting me in. Letting me take care of you.''

You're close, he can feel it. Your walls flutter around his fingers, your legs twitch, your back arches. His hand squeezes a little tighter, constricting your airflow for just a second, and that's all it takes.

You fall apart.

Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, blinding and white-hot. You cry out, throat strained beneath his hand, body convulsing around his fingers as he keeps moving them, drawing every last tremor from your core until you whine in overstimulation.

Then, slowly, gently, he eases off. His grip on your throat loosens. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple, murmuring soft praises as you come back to yourself.

''Breathe, baby,'' he says. ''There she is. There's my girl.''

You blink up at him, dazed. He brushes the hair from your face and kisses your forehead.

''You okay?'' he whispers.

You nod, slow and heavy. ''Yeah. I'm… yeah.''

''And this... it was okay?''

''It was perfect,'' you sigh contently, stretching leisurely and sinking into the mattress, feeling like you're floating above the clouds.

''Good,'' he smiles softly and reaches over you for his phone on the nightstand, fingers brushing your body as he moves. He lights up the screen, just checking the time, you assume.

You feel his body still on top of you, and look up in confusion just in time to see his smile fade instantly. He goes quiet.

You blink up at him, the haze of satisfaction still blurring your thoughts. ''What is it?''

He doesn't answer right away. Just stares at the phone, jaw tightening, brows pinching together in frustration.

''Harry?'' you press, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Finally, he glances down at you, eyes unreadable, the softness from moments ago returning when he sees your worried face.

''We need to talk, love.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices @fangirl509east @sstylezzz @hontpwk @lichi-dunkera @prettygurl-2009 @violinheartxx @gotthecinema @ghstyles @triski73 @chronicallybubbly @makytka

teach me slowly series tag list

@maddiesalvatore1839 @mleestiles @imaginexxharry @litlmisss @billweasleyswife @rockmelikeahurricaneee @nikkihs

...

[lululoveyy]

so like imagine you’re at work and then you and jake like fuck in the open but not really like you did the nasty in the lounge room

idk this is really random 😭

omg yes??? needy jake that can't control himself is hot as fuck.

m. list

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: s. jaeyun x fem! reader

ᡣ𐭩 genre: smut

ᡣ𐭩 tw: begging, minor handjob, finger sucking, unprotected sex (wear condoms!!), half public sex (during work)

you don’t hear him enter, but you feel it, him, his presence, the quiet shift in the air, the subtle way your shoulders straighten before your mind catches up.

you glance up from your screen and there he is. jaeyun. standing in the doorway of your office, hoodie sleeves half-pushed up, hair tousled like he ran his hand through it on the way in.

he grins. shy and smug at the same time.

“hi,” he says, like it’s normal. like he’s not in your office at 11:43 a.m. on a thursday.

“you’re supposed to be in the studio,” you murmur, already feeling your pulse change.

“we finished early.” he shrugs and rolls the spare chair next to yours like he owns the place.

he doesn’t say much after, just sat besides you with practiced casualness, only he could pull off— roller chair pulled too close, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, his eyes on you like he hadn't seen you in months, not three days.

he doesn’t touch you. not really. just lets his knee brush yours under the desk, a soft bounce that’s entirely innocent— until it’s not. until you feel it every time he moves, like a whisper pressed to your skin.

you try to focus. he watches your hands like they’re hypnotizing him. when you pause to type something, you feel his eyes on your mouth. he’s quiet, too quiet, and it makes it worse.

by the time lunch came, you weren’t surprised when he tugged at your wrist and whispered “come with me.” his voice is low. tight. barely holding it together.

you follow him down the hallway, past your coworkers, into the unused lounge room with the soft couch and blinds half-drawn. he closes the door behind you. locks it.

the lounge room was empty. quiet. lights off except the sliver of sun coming through the blinds. he turns to face you, chest rising and falling like he’d been running.

“i need you,” he breathes, already pressing closer, voice low and strained. “baby, i need to feel you, i can’t. I’ve been thinking about it since last night, please”

he’s rambling, whining, too warm and too desperate for someone who said barely ten words all morning.

his hands were on your waist, his head dropping to your shoulder. he was already breathless.

“couldn’t think, not with you so close and your fingers moving like that and your mouth, fuck, just thinking about you teasing me is making me soo hard”

you don’t answer. you kiss him. once, slow and firm. your fingers slid down. slowly. deliberately. you watch his lips part and his knees weaken as you move your hand under his jeans.

he whispered your name when your hand wrapped around him through his boxers. soft. just enough pressure to make his whole body flinch.

he groans, barely holding back. every sound he makes is shaky. grateful.

“this what you wanted?” you whispered.

he nodded too fast. whined. his forhead dropped to your shoulder again.

“please, please let me feel you. need you to ride me. need to be inside you, please please.”

you stroke him through his boxers just enough to hear his breath catch, to feel him tremble under your hand. and then you pull back.

you didn’t answer. not with words.

you walked him back until the back of his knees hit the couch and he sat down. you moved in silence. slow and cruel. pulling up your skirt and letting it rest against your waist. you reach under your skirt, hook your thumbs in the waistband of your panties, they fall to the floor in silence you watch the way his hands clench the sides of the couch like he’d lose it if he touched you without permission.

jaeyun’s eyes are wide, reverent, lips parted like a prayer. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just watches.

you climb into his lap and he gasps.

his hands grip your hips like he’ll fall apart without the anchor. your movements are sharp. unrelenting. you give him nothing to hold onto except you.

you pull him out of his jeans and boxers giving him two strokes before lining him up. you sink down slow, inch by inch, letting him feel you wet and stretching around him. he choked.

his hands moved to your thighs, hands already trembling and shaky.

you didn’t let him adjust, didn’t give him time to breathe.

you rode him hard, merciless. your hands rested on his shoulders and you let your nails sink into his skin, leaving behind marks.

he moans. louder than he should.

you lean forward and press two fingers to his lips.

“open.”

he didn’t hesitate. you slide them past his lips and his lips wrap around you fingers, eyes half-lidded. flushed and ruined. his eyes flutter shut, cheeks flushed, mouth wet. he sucks around your fingers like he needs it to stay quiet.

he drools.

you smile.

he whines.

and you push your fingers deeper, moving faster on top of him.

- lulu

[jasontoddbeinghappyfanaccount]

Bruce definitely has scary parent texting like the aggressively correct punctuation, grammar like he's writing a business email, emoji uses are rare and Unsettling or a barely comprehensible nonverbal miscommunication minefield, with regular short unclear statements that leave everyone concerned for B's safety and/or feeling like he is mad at them.

Please help me decide his five top used emojis

My votes are:

1. 😐 bruce uses this as a smile because its what most of his smiles look like. None of his children realize this they think he is constantly disappointed in them but actually this is roughly equivalent to ☺️this emoji in Bruce's mind

2. 🧐 bruce uses this emoji like my dad uses the sunglasses emoji. He thinks its cool. It is not. He is bullied relentlessly about it behind his back by his kids.

3, 😕 this is bruces actual disappointment emoji but his kids dont take it seriously because it looks... well .... like that

4. 👍 its a classic i had to include it

5. 🆘 pretty self explanatory but can be used in combination with some others like 🆘(pretend theres a cave emoji) for like its an emergency come to the cave asap

Honorable mentions:

I feel like bruce uses the clock emojis when hes talking about times ex.: be there at 🕜

He lowkey loves the bat emoji but he never actually uses it to "avoid suspicion" 🦇 Or maybe he just plays up how much he doesnt want him or his kids using it because he likes when they rename his contact to 🦇dad or spam text bats with the effect that makes the texts fly across the screen and he Can't admit to enjoying that or they might Stop

🔍

He occasionally messages two emoji combos using the ? Emoji like: 🛌❔ 🤕❔🚗❔👴🏻❔ Are you awake? Are you injured? Wheres the car? Have you seen alfred? Its a constant guessing game because frankly because occasionally he'll text like 📂‼️🕞❔or 🪑🚪🧩❔or 💡⚖️💰🐧❔ and everyones just like bruce please stop just use words(this inspired be me sometimes when im nonverbal i also cant type words but can sometimes still emoji)

He rarely uses heart emojis but when he does its 🖤 or on rare occasions 🫶 but that usually means hes sick and delirious or about to do something really stupid and dangerous and lowkey thinks he might die so its almost as bad as seeing the 🆘

If ever 🆘🫶 was sent together the batkids would have a collective panic attack strong enough to power the bat computer without electricity for amonth

Alright! So I like to imagine that all the BatKids have a very ‘unique’ way of typing. That only comes out in their family group chat. They can all tell who is speaking, even when any known number is added cause their civilian phone broke for the 4th time that week.

Dick: old time smileys; ;) , :] , ^^. Will be updating them with a photo after every message, and with 50 emotes. prefers flip phones, for the drama of clapping them together

Jason: Victorian child letter:

“Rations are low” = ‘I need groceries’.

“The plague has once again wrecked havoc on the land” = ‘I got a cold’.

Tim: as little text as possible for speedy texting:

“R u comin round l8r? J8sn got sumin 4 dinr 4 us.

‘Are you coming around later? Jason got something for dinner for us’

Damian: like mission rapports. “I am still alive.” “I’m arriving soon” “I have brought the package” groceries.

Cass: all emoji, texting as little as possible “👍👍👍 😁😁”

Steph: All gifs, texting as little as possible

Duke: Voicenotes all the way, can’t be bothered to text when he can just talk.

“Sparkes sent a voice note 12 minutes”

Barbara: the only one who texts even slightly normal, but only once every blue moon, otherwise she’ll just remember until they’re on coms. “Oh yeah, that question you asked 3 days ago, yea we do have enough trash bags”

[auroracalisto]

clark kent x gn!reader — not even going to title this one because it is just a self-indulgent blurb. reader having a small panic attack over a phone call they had for their job as a journalist and clark finding them in the stairwell. yay. yes. that is all. word count: 839 a/n: he's just so scrumptious, bro. come onnnnn.

It was punishment enough that Clark Kent was your co-worker. The dorky journalist who had somehow managed to weasel his way into your heart without even trying. Literally. He barely had to look your way for you to get flustered and unable to think straight. But of course, the universe just had to grant you with the ability to have panic attacks on a whim, hm?

A bad lead, a terribly construed phone call, and now you were pacing back and forth at the top of the stairwell, hair mused and bottom lip tightly held between your teeth. Blood would soon blossom if you weren't careful, but at the moment, you cared little for it.

Being a journalist was difficult. You had to be tough, had to be able to do what whatever it was to get the story. That's what you had tried, that's what you always tried, and each time you did, it chipped away at your resolve little by little.

Maybe you'd take up your friend's offer and work at the coffee shop she was at. It would be a hell of a lot better than whatever the hell was going on now.

Anything would be better than your racing mind, your inability to calm it, your inability to hear the stairwell door opening and the shuffling of one Clark Kent. His voice drew you from your thoughts almost instantly.

"You alright there?"

Your eyes widened and you looked over your shoulder, quickly turning to face him. Your hands dropped by your sides, breath hitching in your throat.

"Mhm," you supplied, though the sound alone was enough to let Clark know everything he needed to. He made no move to step closer, brows cinched together in that oh-so-familiar way.

"You sure about that?"

Your lips parted to agree, or object, or God, you didn't know because what left your lips definitely wasn't what you wanted to say.

"I'm quitting. I have to quit. I can't keep doing this, I'm—"

Clark stepped forward, a hand raised in a placating manner. "Hey," he began, your name leaving his lips soon after. "Come on. Take a deep breath. What happened?"

Your hands rubbed your face in frustration and you silently cursed yourself, hoping that the product you had on your face hadn't moved in the slightest. You groaned softly and crossed your arms over your chest, taking a breath.

"Bad call," you said, shaking your head. "Bad lead. I thought... well, I..."

"Did they threaten you?"

His voice catches your attention once more. You glanced up at him, frowning deeply.

"No, I... I don't even know why I'm freaking out like this," you admitted. "I just... I called, asked a few questions, and then they went on this long tirade that only ended because I hung up the phone." You huffed and looked away from Clark once more.

"Surely that's not the only thing that's got you so upset," he said. He glanced over at your bag which laid on the concrete floor. In one swift movement, he picked up the bag and looked at you. He threw the strap over his shoulder.

God, the man could have taken everything in your bag, stolen every last dime, and you think you would have let him without complaint.

"No, I... I guess it's just..." What was it? The way that your life was going at the moment, your landlord, your shitty social life. It was as if everything was collapsing all around you and a phone call at work sent you over the edge.

"Come on," Clark said, motioning to the stairs. "There's a café not too far from here that I've been meaning to try. You think you can manage?"

You snorted softly. "Is caffeine the best thing for me right now?"

"They have other things," he said, haphazardly mentioning your favorite beverage in the process. "They have pretty much anything you could think of. May even be a good place to write an article for if you needed to."

You eyed him warily for a moment. "You want to go with me?"

"Wouldn't have asked you if I didn't," he said, a soft smile on his lips.

For all the faults of your job, it sure as hell had some pretty people floating through the reports and keyboards.

"That... sounds nice," you said.

As he began to descend down the stairs, you followed.

"You're not going to tell anyone about my meltdown, are you?" you asked.

He glanced up at you, a slightly admonished look on his handsome face. "Do I look like the kind of guy who would do that?" His smile alone was enough to placate your momentary fears, reminding you why you had taken a liking to the man in the first place.

He was kind to you even when it didn't matter. He had calmed you down with just his presence, even if you had yet to realize it.

Oh, yeah, fourth freakout of the month aside, you were down bad for the man.

[littleaipom]

A trollhunter barbara AU fancomic! based on something i wrote years ago and re-dug-up. the original text version below the cut.

I'm also going to count this as a contribution to StrickLake month given the timing hehe

[[IDEA NOTES: Walt gets roped into becoming friends with the main crew and starts to really believe in Barb, especially when she expresses loads of empathy for trollkind and changelings and the stolen children etc. Their relationship could really be ramping up when walt is suddenly interrupted with the info that killahead bridge is finished. OR. Walt is the one to come into possession of the final piece[nah]. Walt could be helping out on another TH outing when interrupted by Bular storming in to take barbs amulet in order to open the bridge. Bular of course expects Walt to help out, but it is at this point that Walt had just changed his mind entirely. Barb could be stepping in and protecting walter from the big scary rock monster as per standard, when Bular interrupts with some remarks toward Walt: ]] 

Without warning, a large black troll came charging through the foliage. Bular skid into the clearing, snapping several tree branches in his recklessness. All eyes turned toward Bular's entrance as the brute roared over to the trollhunters, closing the distance between them with an enthusiastic threat "The Killahead Bridge is complete, Trollhunter! You have no where to run!"  

"For the glory of Merlin daylight is mine to command!" Barbara instantly donned her armor and took a fighting stance alongside Argh, while Blinky did his best to not look too terrified at the situation. Barbara instinctively looked for Walter and found that he was safely nearby, staring at Bular with panic in his eyes. She shuffled a few paces toward him to ensure she was securely between Walter and the nearby threat. "Stay back, Walt! this guy is really dangerous."  

Bular began a slow confident march toward the group, and now visible behind him was nomura and a small army of goblins gathered for the occasion. The goblins crept along like spiders, threatening to surround them from all sides. Bular shouted as he walked closer "The final piece of the bridge arrived this morning. We even have access to TrollMarket. Your puny trollhunter couldn't stop us before, and you certainly wont stop us now--My father will rule again on the surface!" Bular gave a hearty laugh while Barbara traded nervous looks with Blinky and Argh beside her. "All we need now is that amulet of yours, trollhunter. And don't think I'm not willing to rip it off of your corpse if I have to!" The troll sneered as if he rather enjoyed the idea. 

“you’re not getting the amulet, Bular!”

The obsidian troll paused some few yards away, sneering at the sight of something behind Barbara's shoulder. "What are you doing still cowering behind the fleshbag, impure?"  

Barbara traced Bular's line of sight and shot a glance backwards "Walter, what is he talking about?" 

Walter stayed where he was standing, still on-edge. "Barabara, I--" 

Bular interrupted with a hearty laugh "

"You think the fleshbags are worth siding with!? They will never accept you. Does she even know what you are?"  

At that, Walter strode forward past Barbara to stare down the massive troll several times his size. Barbara was beginning to feel panicked at the situation, not certain of what information she was missing and upset that Walter would be so brazen as to put himself in such obvious danger. "Walter, what is going on?" 

Continuing to face Bular, Walter replied in a voice far more confidant than Barb was expecting, "It doesn't matter what I am. All she needs to know is that I'm on her side." He spared a moment to give an empathetic smile to Barbara before turning and pacing even closer to Bular--almost within reach of the monster now. 

"What are you doing!? You can't take him on, get away from him!" 

Just out of reach of Bular's grasp, Walter took on a fighting stance  

"Forgive me for not telling you about this" Suddenly Walter burst into a bright light and afterward what stood in his place was a green troll.

[Walt fights alongside the group or serves as an opportunity to help the rest get away. ]

[darlingxs-blog]

CW- 'This isn't an realistic description of a panic attack' this is what happens when I experience a panic attack, respectfully remember I'm writing everything from my own experience. Thank you.

Oh yeah and most of the things written after the uh 'You know it is, you want it to,' line are things I've actually thought to myself so YES you can call it cringe but you can't call it unrealistic. 😎

There is a shitty description of me trying to explain an addiction without using the word drug 'I think I let it slip at least once' . (╥﹏╥)

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This bitch LIED?

Chapter 06 - "Soulbound" Saja Boys x Reader

[Mystery isn't in this one but Romance is.]

(I will, in fact, be using this gif again for a super special chapter wink wonk)

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The city feels claustrophobic when trying to go on a regular outing with the Saja Boys.

People surround you.

The shouts, the never-ending compliments and questions coming from every direction around you enters your head through your ear and mix together until it's just a jumble of noise.

How could anyone go through this with a smile on their face?

The Saja boys are doing it just fine.

The amount of people around you is more than you are used to, way more. It's too much, too soon.

You start picking at the skin around your fingernails to try and mask the way your hands tremble.

Your head falls down, hair acting as a curtain to block any eyes from peering into your own as you focus on every line you step over as you continue forward on the sidewalk.

Inhale for four seconds.

Hold it for four.

Exhale for four.

Do it again and again and again until your anxiety has dulled enough for you to push it into the back of your brain.

It will be there.

Stabbing your heart and crushing your lungs between your ribs, making your entire body shake and shiver with tremors that are so intense they border on painful.

Of course it will be there.

But at least you'll be able to actually move your body.

The breathing doesn't help.

You only feel worse, but a different type of worse.

Something is missing.

the Saja Boys are missing.

You look up and see the backs of a crowd of fans in front of you, you got separated from the Saja Boys and you have no idea how far away they are.

You can't see them, you don't know where they are. It makes you feel sick.

The shouts muffle together, turning into a soft white noise that backs the sound of multiple shoes stepping forward like a hoard of zombies.

You can only follow.

You're desperate to make yourself feel better, but you aren't desperate enough to try and squeeze through the cluster of fans who are dying to get their hands on their idols.

You can't move forward.

So you move back.

Awkwardly, you turn around and take the path back to your apartment complex.

The farther away you get,

The worse you feel. But you can still walk, so you're walking back.

The minutes tick by so much slower when you're alone. Alone without a distraction.

You tried to take your mind off the uncomfort in your body by sleeping, that didn't work.

You tried to use your phone but all your socials were flooded with Saja content, and that make the feeling worse.

You tried to read but you just got stuck on the same sentence. Your eyes never left it and you were stuck re reading it for around five minutes until you gave up with a heavy sigh.

You couldn't sleep.

You couldn't distract yourself.

You don't feel good, at all. And you have no idea what you're supposed to do about it.

You pace around your cheap apartment. Walking from your bedroom, to the kitchen, to the living room and back to your bedroom only to repeat it over and over again.

The way your legs tremble threaten to make you fall if you dare stop moving and if you tried to sit down to relax a feeling of guilt sat heavy in your gut.

Does your body you think you aren't allowed to relax? Probably.

When the Saja Boys are around you feel comfortable, better.

It's not the best you've ever felt, but you prefer the company of the worst over the familiar isolation of loneliness.

A memory of Mystery comes to the front of your mind, the way his tusks pierced into your skin and tore at your flesh just enough for blood to start streaming down. He lapped it up until he was dragged off of you. You remember his eyes, how his pupils expanded at the first taste, how cold they got the further he was dragged away.

He acted normal today, you aren't sure if he remembers what happened. You do, you remember it all.

Especially the way you didn't feel any pain.

It didn't hurt.

It was supposed hurt, you were supposed to be in agony at the feeling of pain and someone who was supposed to be taking care of you hurting you without hesitation nor mercy.

You felt nothing.

Or, well. You felt something.

It felt right, like he was supposed to do that.

You accepted it, yes. But it also felt pleasant in some way.

Like it was supposed to happen.

It stopped.

The shaking, the guilt sitting heavy in your stomach, the constant worry over something you aren't sure of.

It all stopped.

What made it all go away?

Why isn't it coming back?

You should be glad it hasn't, all you feel is uneasy.

Your mind kept on wandering back to those damned demons and you hated it.

They were vicious.

cruel monsters, you hated how safe you felt when they were near- how much better it felt to be in their presence.

"You missed us, hm?" Romance's voice is impossibly smooth, and incredibly teasing. His hands slide over your shoulders and guide you down to the couch. "Ah, don't try to lie. We felt it."

"That yearning, that desperate need to be at our side. We felt it, the same way you felt it."

Your head lolls to the side, and you almost respond back with a dismissive response.

You would have, if you weren't so damn tired.

"Awh, it's okay...we're here now, right?" his hand raises, he bends his finger and his knuckle slides under your chin.

Lifting your head up and down like a puppet.

"Mmh, you'll feel better soon..let me take care of you."

Soon after, chilled euphoria washes over you. Your body relaxes- no, it falls completely limp. You've felt this before...

It's cold, but not unpleasant.

The feeling flowing through your veins is intoxicating, but it doesn't settle in your body.

No, it's supposed to do that.

It's supposed to keep you craving, keep you chasing a pleasure you want to obtain, and it will always be just out of reach.

Your soul is getting stolen, again.

You know it is, you want it to, you don't care that you're gonna die.

You don't care that you are about to die?

Well, of course not. Right.

That is what you've always wanted, isn't it?

To die, to leave.

You hope you won't be forgotten but ultimately, you know you will.

Is there anyone left to remember you? No, if you can't remember anyone, why would anyone remember you?

It hurts. Not physically...well, kinda. You can feel that melancholy feeling leaking from your heart and swirling around in your stomach like a whirlpool. It's not gonna calm down, because you can't. You never could.

Never did.

Jinu said he remembered you, from his past...will Jinu save you? You're his lover, right?

Even if it's from the past.

A mocking coo brings your attention back to Romance, his hand goes to your face and wipes off the tear you didn't feel.

"Oh you poor thing...you really believed that sweet little hoax, huh?"

_________________________________________

A/N- haha erm sorry I have, in fact, not been okay lately but like hey I cooked with this chapter.

I hope that last line made sense but if you didn't just comment and I'll answer it for you (again I am really sorry)

I PROMISE MORE CHAPTERS WILL COME OUT SOONER RATHER THAN LATER I PROMISEE

TAG LIST LETS GO

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@httpsjetzt (the goat)

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@lostsomewhereinthegarden @zomqiez @deputy-videogamer @princethehunter @fluffykitsune28 @ace-spades-1 @vaultofqueenorion @c4s3y-216 @chosentri @alastor-simp @creatorbiaze @ifear-myrefregrator @iwanttobeacloudnow @pebble-bb @amievenreal222 @anime-lover-2016 @yourtownidiot

@apelepikozume @yumi-does-stuff

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Unconventional Truth: Two

Jack leaned on the railing of the roof and watched the sun spill red gold over the rooftops. Like the blood of some god everyone forgot about. And just breathed in the city. A maisma of dumpster, concrete, iron, and life.

"Good to see you over on this side," Robby observed.

"Wasn't the worst day," Abbot answered. "Saw an old friend. More of him than I wanted to but- he came through surgery fine. His kid sister is with him now."

Kid.

It felt weird calling you a kid when he knew you were 32 now. But in his mind all he could really see was your school picture. Beaming at the camera behind silver wire frames. Mischief and baby fat.

Robby came and leaned on the railing next to him, nodding. "Gonna go see them?"

"Thought I'd stop by. Check my work," Jack said shrugging.

"And check out the sister?" Robby snorted.

"It'd be nice to meet her," Abbot admitted.

Robby looked at him, brow furrowed and Abbot's lip twitched. "I served with Walker. His sister was just a kid and she used to write him stories and send them to him- it became," he broke off for a second. Grappling to describe it. "A distraction. It broke up the boredom. The stress."

He shook his head and chuckled. "I was actually mad at a 10-year-old on the other side of the world once because she killed off my favorite character."

"Sounds like she had a fan club-"

"She did," Abbot said. "She really did." He glanced at Robby and then back out over the rooftops.

Remembering for a moment the way it had felt when Walker got an Envelope with stickers all over it. The way they'd cheered when a letter from home came; from the parents that had a news paper clipping. You got a little poem published in the paper and you never even told them you sent it in. Walker's feelings had been hurt about it, but he kept that poem in his pocket anyway.

"How old was she then?" Robby asked, curious.

"10," Abbot said.

"So-"

"Shut it, Robby," Jack said warningly.

"I was just going to tell you to get her Autograph. And maybe see if she can get you copies of anything still. She might have kept them."

_______

Jack knocked on the door and waited until he heard Walker's "Come in."

"Hey, man," he said, "How's the pain?"

"Felt worse" he said, "When the ex wife took the '56 in the divorce for her new man-"

"Damn," Abbot cringed, "that's some shit."

"Yeah, well." Walker shrugged. "That's what I get for not listening to my dad I guess- the bastard."

"In fairness," a new voice added, as the door opened, "Dad also liked to stick his dick in crazy. I think it's genetic."

"Your mom was just the fun kind of crazy," Walker snorted. "And you well-"

The two of you are bickering, playfully and Jack can't really focus. He knows who you are without an introduction. The eyes and the big bright smile are the same. Even without the baby fat on your face.

Kid is definitely not a good descriptor anymore. You're a woman. Comfortably into your 30's with a healthy figure and a presence. You don't demand his attention but he's drawn to you anyway. And it startles him a little.

"This is Dr. Abbot," Walker said, "Abbot, this is Y/N, the baby baby sister."

"Nice to finally meet you," Abbot said, taking the hand you offered. It was... solid. Warm and real. He wasn't sure what he expected but when your hand met his it was a jolt.

"Likewise, Dr. Abbot-"

"Jack," he said, smiling, "Call me Jack. Even if you did kill my favorite dragon once."

"Sorry," you tell him wincing. "I was stuck. And my teacher told me if I had less characters-"

"To just kill someone to further the plot?" Jack mock scolded.

"For the plot... yes. Just the plot." You give him a conspiratorial wink, "Never to solve any other problem ever."

"Before you ask, Jack," Walker put in from the bed, "Yes. She's always like this."

[alwerakoo]

'Eyes off of you''

TMNT 2012, post-canon Donatello x April first kiss/getting together, 5k words

art by @nerdy-turtle-enthusiast

[READ ON AO3]

---

“So, how do you feel about corn?”

April blinks.

It's such an absurd question it makes her pause, her thumb still frozen on the screen where she held it to pick up the call. Then she laughs, one hand raising to her face to cover her mouth.

“What?” She asks through a giggle, shifting to sit on her heels.

There's a rustle on the other side, like Donnie was doing something just now and didn't even really realize he called her. It's happened before, but not in a few years, and she wonders what got his mind so scattered now.

“It's really not that funny,” he says, in that voice that makes it easy to tell he's not really offended. “Answer the question.”

“I don't know,” April says, moving to stand. “Normal?”

She's been making a dent in the huge pile of textbooks next to her bed that she's been 'organizing' for the past week, but she puts it away for now, happy for the excuse.

April falls onto her bed, the springs in the mattress squeaking under her weight.

Donnie hums. She thinks he might be typing on his computer, or maybe disarming a bomb – it's a little hard to tell with him nowadays.

“What about corn mazes?”

“I do like puzzles.” He can't see her, but she raises her other hand anyway, tapping a finger on her temple. “Only when I can cheat, tho.”

She stares at her ceiling, tracing the long crack in it with her eyes.

Her new apartment has a lot of those. And a minor mold problem.

But it's hers, and she was allowed to pick out whatever awful looking thing she happened to find on Facebook Marketplace and paint the walls a bright yellow that her dad always said 'gave him headaches', or something like that, so either way – she's more than in love with it.

“There's a festival,” Donnie says finally, which sounds like the thing he's been meaning to tell her from the start. “A few towns away. It's like, uhm, I don't know. Kind of cringe. But it might be fun to go tomorrow, if you want to.”

It still feels weird that this is something her friends can do now. Not without any struggle or many unpleasant stares, but it's a start, and isn't that something.

The world they build up after The Shredder is a fragile and young one, wary of mutants but pushing forward despite it, kept upright by years of wild desperation. She knows her boys well enough to trust they won't let their chins fall now that they can finally look up at the sun.

“And what, it's corn-themed?”

Some more typing from the other side.

“Indeed.”

April laughs again.

She's been doing that a lot recently, definitely more than she ever did in her final year of college.

School was fine, and she liked all her new friends, and her college town was just big enough to keep her busy, and it all weighed down on her more and more every year. She missed home, and she missed her real friends, and it all feels a bit like finally taking a breath of fresh air after a long, long time.

She's been laughing a lot more around Donnie too, which is something she usually tries her best not to think about.

“Do you wanna go?” Donnie asks.

“Oh,” April says, voice full of something catty. “You'd make a space in your busy schedule for corn?”

“Sure,” he says, in that voice where it's hard to tell if he's joking or not. “I love corn.”

“Are your brothers coming?” She asks. What she really means is 'it's cool if they are, but please say no'.

“I'm not sure it's really their vibe, to be honest,” Donnie says. And what he really means is... Something. April doesn't dare assume.

She doesn't assume anything, and she wants nothing, and she's going to keep telling herself that until she finally believes it.

“Alright!” She says, voice light. “It's a date.”

She pulls the phone away so quickly she almost drops it right onto her face, ending the call. She lingers there for a moment, her apartment quiet.

Finally, she lowers her phone, holding the edge of it to her forehead.

Softly, she swears under her breath.

***

“You'd think the world's largest cob would be a lot bigger, huh?”

She stands leaning against his car, hands tucked away behind her to not stain her dress. It's one of her better ones – white and simple, and exactly the kind she wears to a date when she wants the guy to call her pretty, and then kiss her goodnight, and then never see her again.

Which is ridiculous, because this is not a date (probably), and she would definitely hate for at least one of these points to happen tonight.

(She's not sure about the other two, and that is a thought she tries her best to push deep, deep into the back of her mind.)

Donnie closes the door to his car, coming around to stand next to her. He tilts his head, like it could make the giant lump of yellow and green plastic grow any taller.

He's wearing sweatpants and at least three layers of shirts, including a plaid, and standing next to him, April feels quite overdressed. It's silly, and she pushes herself upright, smoothing down her dress just to keep her hands busy.

They've spent a good while trying to find a spot in the visibly improvised parking lot, and she's almost certain Donnie actually took up two of them, but whatever they used to paint the white lines on the grass washed out a long time ago. So really – not their fault.

She looks over her shoulder, watching Donnie fiddle with his car for a moment longer.

It's an awful thing, really. Old and beat up, with some value April's almost certain old men make up just to feel better about the piles of junk rusting away on their lawns for years.

She knows Donnie can fix it, but he won't, because he'd rather 'keep it authentic', which apparently means no AC in the middle of the summer, and at least two jammed windows.

He loves that thing to bits, and she can never bring herself to say any of this to his face.

“Okay,” he says, slowly pulling away, hands raised in the air like it's a spooked animal. “It's fine now. Let's go.”

The festival is just about what she expected, if she's being honest, and maybe that's the best part of it.

They're close enough to New York to only get a few side glances, and far enough away to feel as close to anonymous as they can be nowadays. There's a modestly noisy crowd of locals and a bigger, obnoxiously loud sea of tourists, and it's easy to get lost in.

She's glad they went in the evening. It's a full moon, and the dark sky and strung-up fairy lights make every cheesy sign, every dumb attraction, and every awful radio song feel just a little bit more purposeful.

It's nice to spend time with Donnie, too.

Obviously, it is, but there's something to how light it all feels, how their conversations flow and loop back around themselves, and how he looks her in the eyes and doesn't shy away.

It's fun, and it's normal, and it's like those long months where they weren’t speaking never happened. As if he was always like this – tall and confident, and quiet in that way people get when they grow older and realize half of the voices in their heads don't make that much sense after all.

She missed him.

She missed him when they were teenagers, in those moments where he seemed to forget she was his friend before she was a girl, and she missed him when she left and he texted her happy birthday, which made her realize it was the first private message she'd gotten from him in the last six months, and she missed him when she moved back and couldn't quite recognize him anymore.

She thinks that the last part might be mutual.

He's been looking at her a lot lately.

Donnie stops her next to the long line of cheap (and scammy) looking carnival games, his hand on her shoulder.

“Wanna win a plushie?” He says, in that weird way he always does when he both genuinely means something and thinks it's dumb.

He points to the closest cart, a simple balloon dart game, with his chin.

April thinks for a moment, taking a sip of her overpriced lemonade (eight dollars, what the hell?).

“It's not really fun if I play,” she says. They're close enough to the cart that the guy running it can probably hear them, but she stopped caring about those kinds of things a long time ago. “Too easy.”

She taps the side of her head with a finger.

“Too bad,” he says, “'cuz I want one.”

She knows Donnie has no actual interest in anything soft and cute, because he hates life and fun, but he'll probably give it to Mikey, which is really sweet when she thinks about it, so she follows him when he steps closer to the cart.

The guy behind it looks about her dad's age, with the same balding pattern, and he smiles in a way that quickly lets her know he's the only one winning anything tonight.

“'Evening, young man.” He nods at Donnie, giving April a full view of almost all of his teeth. “Winning something for your girl?”

April knows he doesn't mean anything by it, but the comment still almost makes her wince.

But this is so normal, and there's a part of her that still only feels amazed she and her friends can do things like this now, like go to a festival, or to a concert, or to the store, or to be mistaken for a couple, and she's content enough with letting it pass without acknowledgment.

Donnie doesn't say anything for a moment either, busy turning one of the darts around in his hands. He looks so focused it almost makes her laugh again.

“Not my girlfriend,” he says, which surprises her a little. He leans his elbow on the cart, head tilting to point to April with his chin. “She's my sister. The resemblance is uncanny, isn't it?”

April laughs – that loud and sudden thing that very few things can punch out of her. The man's eyes open a little wider, and then he chuckles, a little awkward, like he honestly can't tell if it's a joke or not and doesn't want to offend.

Donnie holds up one of the darts, finger pushing on the metal needle.

“Also, this is dull as hell,” he says. April squints, looking at it more closely, and can't help but agree. The old pocketknife she always keeps in her boots seems a deadly weapon in comparison. “How about I give you two bucks more, and you give me a real dart?”

A few minutes later, they're walking back to the car, giant blue dinosaur in tow.

Donnie looks ridiculous holding it and seems painfully aware of that, his hands stiff like he needs everyone to know this is not for him.

It's equally annoying and cute.

She opens the door for him, and he bends almost in half to push the plush into the backseat.

He's so tall now. They used to be almost the same height, especially when April hit her final growth spurt at the end of high school and gave up on heels for good.

But she has to tilt her head to look him in the face now, and she wonders when all of this happen.

There's so much to Donnie now, so many things she missed in the five years she was gone.

He didn't offer the plushie to her, which feels like something Old-Donnie would trip and fall over himself to do. Because he liked her, so it didn't matter that she wasn't all that interested either, and it didn't matter if she could do it on her own.

And Old-April would hate it, and it'd make her feel stupid and no better than all those prizes hung along the carts.

“You can get these things for like five bucks online,” says New-Donnie, pulling out of the car. “It's a real rip-off.”

“Yeah,” says New-April. “It really fucking is.”

**

April doesn't dance.

It's what she's been saying at every family function, at every prom, at every house party, at her graduation.

And it's mostly the truth, because she doesn't – not with her family and not with her school friends.

She's far away from the painfully insecure teenage girl she used to be, but she always thought there's something everyone ought to keep from those years, and this is hers.

But there are very few things she'd insist on keeping away from people she fought a war with, Donnie being one of them.

She's a city girl, really, unless someone else calls her that, in which case she was "born and raised in the countryside, fuck you". But there's a certain charm to barns and stacks of hay and miles and miles of nothing but corn that she can't quite resist.

“I want to dance,” she says, leaning against the wooden doorframe.

This barn is a lot bigger than anything they ever had at the Farmhouse; repainted and polished up for the tourists. There was a crowd here the whole evening, but it's now late enough for most of the families with kids to fade away, replaced by adults only now going out, or drunk enough to stay.

They're playing a song she vaguely knows, something from the 70's or 80's, and she's feeling warm and fuzzy from overpriced food and good humor.

“I'm not stopping you,” Donnie says.

That gives April a pause.

Because: A – he's being polite and giving her an out in case she wants it; or B – he's dismissing her.

She's not a gambling woman, and she doesn't like her odds here, and there's a part of her that wishes she could just ask him.

But it's one of the many things she doesn't allow herself to do, because she feels like she can't.

She can't talk about things like wanting something more with her ex-not-boyfriends, and she can't go back and forth on her own word now, and she can't have a crush on Donnie, because all of those things are what caused them to drift apart in the first place.

Even if she really, really wants to.

But she can have this evening, and she can have this dance, and if it makes everything awkward and awful again – then be it.

“Come with me,” she adds.

Donnie looks at her.

He told her once that he feels like his brain just works fster than most people's, and she's willing to believe him, judging by all the small expressions that pass over his face.

She knows this is something he would've killed for just a few years back, and this little hesitation makes her feel strangely secure.

Donnie's so different now, free from every awkward habit that clung to him as a teenager. There's so much of everything she used to (and still does) love about him on full display, dressed in a new layer of confidence.

He laughs the same, and there's still that familiar spark in his eyes when something interests him, and he still tends to ramble till he falls out of breath. She always liked that, those moments when they were just two friends, hunched over microscopes and computers together.

But she also likes this new way he makes her feel now – like there's no image she has to fit into, like she can be just April – not an A+ student, or a perfect daughter, or a pretty girl.

There's some bitter irony in that.

That the result of Donnie finally letting go is what made her fall for him like this.

“Alright,” Donnie says, finally. “But I'm an awful dancer.”

***

He really is.

He's stiff and tense, but he doesn't step on her feet, and that's good enough for April.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks over the music, maybe just for the sake of saying anything.

“No,” April answers, because she has a feeling this isn't all that serious, at least not in a worrying way.

He's been keeping a respectful distance, but April steps closer (mostly) to hear him better. She wraps her hands around his arms, and that finally gives him enough courage to rest his palms on her shoulder blades.

“I think Raph is going to propose soon.”

She expected a lot of things but not this, and it makes her blink – taken aback.

And then she grins, squeezing Donnie's shoulder with sudden excitement.

“Fucking hell!” The older couple next to them gives her a look, and she lowers her voice again. “How come?”

“He's been acting weird lately. Asking about good spots for a 'nice date' and all that,” Donnie says, leaning down a little. Maybe just to hear her better. Maybe. “Oh, and I saw the ring.”

April raises her eyebrows.

“Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

“Say the most important thing last. You think Mona will like it?” She questions.

“You think she'd say no?” There's a sudden drop in song and Donnie pulls his arm out to spin her in, her dress twirling around her in a circle.

“What? No,” she says, a little breathless from smiling and laughing now. “Obviously she'll say yes. But I don't know if aliens do proposals like that.”

She steps forward, hand wrapped around Donnie's back, until he's leaning in something resembling a dip. It must look ridiculous on the outside, but the closeness makes her heart beat a little faster.

“I mean, you're the only other alien we're close with.” He straightens again but doesn't pull away this time. “So, what do you think?”

April hums, like she's thinking long and hard.

“If Raphael wants to propose to me, I'm all in.”

“Stop that,” he says, voice a little rough with amusement and something else she can't quite put her finger on.

“I think he should just ask her about it.”

“But then it wouldn't be a surprise.”

The song changes into something a little more upbeat, and she spins again, a little ungraceful in her heavy boots.

“I don't think proposals should be a total surprise,” she says honestly.

Donnie looks at her, maybe a little surprised.

“Really?” It seems like he doesn't really share the same view, and she never expected him to. The helpless romanticism is the part he kept from his teenage years.

“Well, yeah. Like, you should talk about getting married in general before it.”

Donnie seems to think about that for a moment. April knows she has the point here, and that he might never admit it, and she's fine with that.

“What if you dated a really great guy for, like, ten years, and then he suddenly proposes? Does it matter then whether you talk about it before or after?”

In April's mind, ten years and no talk of marriage is an answer enough.

“I don't know,” she jokes. “Ask me in ten years.”

“That's a long time.”

“You said that's how long it'd take for someone to marry me.”

“I'll marry you now.”

And just like that – the world stops.

April freezes mid-step, her smile falling. Her face feels numb and hot, every part of her body twisting with a sudden rush.

Suddenly she's six, and a boy in her class gave her a flower on the playground, because it was orange like her hair.

She's ten, and her crush just asked her to the school dance when she thought he didn't know she existed.

She's sixteen, and there are two boys fighting over her, and she hates the twisted sort of pride it makes her feel.

She's twenty, and the guy she's been 'casually dating' just told her he loved her.

She's twenty-three, and she's dancing in a barn with her best friend, who she just might be in love with, and she's every April she ever was and ever will be – all at the same time.

The silence stretches forever, but it can't really be more than a few seconds. The chorus isn't over yet when Donnie says:

“Oh my God.”

He pulls away, hands raised in the air like he's suddenly scared to touch her, even though she didn't mind it just a few seconds ago and really, this is not the issue here.

“I-”

“I'm so sorry,” he interrupts, voice fast and panicked. “That was a joke. I promise, I was just kidding, I just didn't think- Shit. I'm sorry-”

“Okay.”

She says it louder than maybe necessary, but she feared that if she didn't – she wouldn't say anything at all.

Donnie brings his hand close to his chest in a nervous gesture, breathing fast. It's so rare to see him so off-balance and upset nowadays, and it makes April feel even more awful.

“I believe you,” she says, because she does.

She wouldn't five years ago, but she does now.

She can see Donnie force his breath to even, but he's not looking at her anymore, and maybe that's the worst part of it all.

They stand there until the song ends, and then April says:

“I need fresh air.”

***

There are picnic tables set up outside the barn, close enough to hear the music but far enough away to keep some privacy in case anyone wanted to have a discreet smoke, or make out, or recover from a possible near cardiac arrest.

April sits on one of them, boots on the bench.

Donnie leans against the other side, the distance painfully noticeable. He didn't even follow her outside until she looked over her shoulder and waved him over, and she supposes she really can't blame him for any of that, as painful as it feels.

She leans her elbows on her knees, resting her chin in her hands. There's not much of a view – mostly green fields and dark sky, but there are more stars here than she ever saw in New York.

“Shame you don't see them much in the city,” she says.

Donnie blinks. He's been chewing on his thumb, visibly distracted, and it takes him a moment to realize what she's talking about.

“Oh. Yeah.” he says. Then: “April, listen, I'm really-”

“Donnie, it's fine,” she interrupts with a sigh. “Sorry I made it weird.”

His mouth draws into a thin line, like he doesn't really believe her but won't argue about it.

But it really is fine.

She knows it was a joke, and that he didn't mean anything by it, and it's her fault because she thought about it a little too hard.

And she got scared.

She got scared that there would be another night like this, where she's warm and safe, and so, so in love, and he will say the same thing, and this time, she'll say yes.

And then nothing will be the same ever again.

She's terrified of it – of losing him again, of making the same mistakes they made when they were kids.

“You're right, by the way,” Donnie says after another quiet moment. “It is a real shame.”

“Yeah.” April reaches down, wrapping one of her shoelaces around her finger, just to keep her hands busy. “Makes you wanna move to a farm.”

“If Leo doesn't have to almost die this time, I'm all in.”

It's the sort of joke that doesn't really make anyone laugh, even after all this time, but it makes it all just a little easier.

April shifts on the table, moving a little closer to Donnie. He doesn't pull away, and she takes that as a good sign.

“I wouldn't, tho,” she confesses. “Move to a farm, I mean. I'd miss it here. Maybe that's why I keep coming back.”

Donnie hums.

“Yeah, I mean,” he shrugs, “I'm glad you're back now. I missed you.”

It's a simple statement, all honest and innocent, and it makes all the blood inside of her veins boil.

Because fucking hell did she miss him.

There was a wall between them after she left, something she started to lay down herself, but it hurt her either way when he put down his own part.

It was for the better, and she believes that even now, no matter how hard it is sometimes. They couldn't be friends, and they couldn't be anything more, and there was a part of her that resented him for it.

She hated feeling like that, like there was nothing she could do other than hurt his feelings or lie to him. There must've been a moment when he realized it, too, because it was never the same after she moved out.

She missed New York and her family, and she came back every month, called every week, texted every day.

They were a group, that little family she carved out for herself – April and her boys. But she only really saw Donnie when they were all together, learned about his life through second-hand remarks.

It was Leo who told her Donnie started to take online classes, that he found a part-time job in some local car repair shop that could never afford him if he actually cared about the money, that there are now people who'd kill for every piece of scrap metal and motherboard his hands ever touched.

If they talked directly, it was brief but never tense, and he'd ask her about that one class she aced, or that professor who insisted she intern for him, or that local newspaper that published her article, and she knew he heard that from Leo, or Casey, or whoever else.

He was hers, and she was his. They all were, in that way only people who lived through and saw the things they did could be.

But she thinks that somewhere along those five years – they stopped being friends.

Leaving opened up a part of her she didn't notice before. They occupied so much of her life – Donnie and Casey, that she never even thought of taking that space for herself, under her own rules.

She dated guys in college; nice boys with pretty smiles and curly hair, who dressed in oversized sweaters and always modified something in their coffee order.

They never stuck, and she never minded.

She finished college like she said she would, and then she came back – like she said she would.

And then Donnie was suddenly there, and everything between them clicked into place, like those rough edges they managed to sand down in the last five years never existed. Like they were always this comfortable next to each other, like they always talked every day and went to dumb festivals, like it was always this easy.

She's not even sure it's really easy now. It doesn't feel like it.

She must be quiet for just a moment too long, because Donnie looks at her. April doesn't know what her face looks like, but it can't be good, because he frowns with worry.

“Sorry?” He says, unsure.

And she's so, so tired of this.

Of all the things she can't say or do, of every day they wasted on not being friends, and every day they're wasting now pretending it's enough.

“I missed you, too,” she says.

She doesn't remember moving closer, but here she is now. The table is tall, and they're almost at the same height. When he looks her in the eyes, it feels like every unsaid word.

“This-” He starts but doesn't finish.

He stands still, like he's scared any wrong move could make her turn and run, and she supposes he's not entirely wrong.

“I hated it,” she confesses. “When we weren't talking.”

It's selfish to say that, because it was exactly what she wanted. What they both needed, maybe.

But Donnie says:

“Me too.”

And it's easy to imagine a world where it was all different.

Where she stayed in New York, and they grew up together, and there wasn't a single moment where she doubted if she even knew him anymore.

“But I needed time,” Donnie says.

And she knows it's true.

Because in the world where she didn't leave – where she never felt that painful blow of understanding she's not the smartest kid in the room, where she never went to house parties and never lost her shoe stumbling her way back to her dorm, where she never cut her bangs in the middle of the night and regretted it by morning – she wouldn't be sitting here right now.

Donnie would be different too, for better or for worse, and he wouldn't be standing in front of her, carefully raising his arm to take her wrist in his hand, squeezing lightly.

His eyes are careful, face drawn, and then he shifts his fingers a little further up.

He's testing the waters, and in a different world – April would pull away.

But she doesn't.

Donnie slides his hand up until he's cradling his elbow, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps on her forearm.

“I know,” April says. “Me too.”

“I wanted to...” He starts and then stops again, calculating every word. “I wanted to move on.”

“And did you?”

He watches her for a long, careful moment. Then:

“No.” His voice is rough, like it's been a while since he admitted this even to himself. “But it got easier.”

Her dad used to say that 'old love doesn't rust', and she thinks she might finally believe him.

April moves to sit at the edge of the table, letting Donnie rest his hand next to her, their knees touching.

“Yeah,” April says, so quiet it's almost a whisper. “Me neither.”

One moment they're like this, still and quiet, with soft music and laughter coming from far away.

And then the next – she's cradling his face, fingers smoothing over his jawbone, and he has his hands on her hips, firm and grounding, and her head is a buzz of every hidden feeling, every second of doubt, every wasted moment.

When Donnie kisses her, it feels like every orange flower, like every school dance, like every prideful bone in her body, like every 'I love you'.

When April kisses Donnie, it's every corner she carved out for herself, every space she filled up on her own rules, every dance they ever shared, every 'I'll marry you now'.

She thinks she might be dead, or dying, and the only things keeping her alive are Donnie's hands on her hips and his warm breath on her lips, and she pulls away, tilting her head back to laugh, every bone in her body humming.

Donnie laughs too, a quiet and dazed thing, like he's still not really sure what's happening, which is fine, because April doesn't either.

“If I knew, I would've driven you out here a long time ago,” he says, which sounds like a joke but probably isn't.

She leans forward to kiss the side of his neck, his cheek.

“It's not the barn that did it,” she says.

It feels so nice; to finally let herself ignore all the things she can't do, or shouldn't, or any other thing her careful mind has been telling her.

To let herself be selfish, just this once.

To forget everything that happened between them at fifteen, sixteen, nineteen, and remember that this is her friend, one of the bravest people she's ever met, that his eyes light up every time he looks at her, and how much she missed seeing him laugh like this.

She kisses him, short and sweet, before finally saying what's been gathering in the back of her mind for months now.

“I want to give this a shot.” She rubs her thumbs over his cheeks, smoothing over the lines on his face. “It's- I can't help it anymore.”

It's raw and honest, vulnerable in a way she doesn't usually allow herself to be.

Donnie watches her for a moment, eyes wide and red in the dim light.

“Yes,” he says, voice light with something hopeful. “Fuck, yes.”

It all feels a bit unreal, and like she might wake at any moment, or make a wrong move, and it'll all fall apart again.

But she knows it' different this time, because they're different, and she won't let Donnie go, even if it doesn't work out.

She kisses him again, in the middle of a field, with yellow lights and country music all around.

She's twenty-three, there's a moldy apartment and minimum wage internship waiting for her back home, and there's everything she didn't know she needed this bad – right between her hands.

And maybe, for once in her life, she thinks that's enough.

[gamerism]

i think a lot about goromi and outsider perception of her. like how she must look to people without *gestures* all the context. and then i think she must look like a transphobic caricature.

while it's a lot more complicated than that in actuality, i do think we could talk more about fandom rehabilitation of her and how successful it is?

like i think there's a few ways you can approach goromi (as in her canon or near canon design) in good faith. the 2 main ones that come to mind are: a drag persona that's not trying to be very good/deliberately bad drag that's making a statement or a Gender Thing for a transfem or genderfluid majima who does not, will not, try to pass or reach some standard of "feminine enough"

most goromi takes i see fall into one of these two categories, largely unspoken.

but well, what was goromi in canon?

a transphobic/queerphobic drag joke. not the worst one that's ever been. (in english at least) it's kind of softened in it's landing. kiryu isn't all that mean to her really. but the shot revealing her with music cues and the whole "arent you pissed to get a man!!" of it all make the intention clear.

and her design...it reflects this intention. it does. and we as a fandom perpetuate it endlessly. like we've come up with reasons and ways to make it mean something more but i can't help but think about this whole thing in wider context sometimes.

i dont say all this as a condemnation of what the fandom does with goromi. i love her. i really, really do. and all we've collectively created of her. but i do think a bit of thought and self awareness about what we do with transness and gender non-conformity in yakuza is good considering the mixed history the series has with both.

[lunabug2004]

In my opinion, you can make a case for Mileven in seasons 1-3, but in season 4, it's just not possible.

I'm gonna be completely honest here. I'm currently rewatching ST for the millionth time, and I decided that this time around I'd open my heart up to Mileven again; not so that I'd want them to be endgame, but so I could possibly see a way where it'd be possible. So I watched with an open mind. I'm now on episode 5 of season 4 and these are my thoughts at this point.

In season 1, they're absolutely adorable. I still think that it's strange that Mike didn't show any romantic interest in El until Lucas put the idea in his head, but other than that it's very cute (minus the first kiss bc it makes me very uncomfortable).

In season 2, we don't get much of them together. But Mike is very obviously struggling without her, whether that's because of survivor's guilt, self-guilt, romantic love, platonic love, or a mix of it all is not clear. What we do get (the reunion, the Snowball) is again, adorable. The part that I feel most off about is the almost-kiss because of Mike's expression, but I guess you could write that off as weird direction or something. Mostly, though, what we see is still very cute.

Now, we get into season 3. I think in season 3, despite the show treating their breakup as a big joke, you are still able to make a case for the couple. They're young kids in their first relationship— they're gonna make mistakes and they're gonna have fights. They're not gonna know the healthiest ways to respond to said fights, sure. The biggest problem I have with season 3 is Mike's weird aversion to saying "I love you" to El's face. Because as much as you can argue that he's said it, it doesn't mean much (in my opinion) if he didn't think she was around to hear it. Then, of course, we have the "realization" face after the kiss at the end. Again, though, say that last scene I mentioned in just weird directing. You can still make at least an ~okay~ case for Mileven.

But then. Then. We get to season 4. As I've said, I've only watched through season 4 at this point, but I feel like that's all I need. Because I don't see a case that can be made for them anymore. At all. I mean, they're both faking smiles the whole time they're together (before the 'shmaking', that is). They have the same issues they did in season 3 — lying, not saying "I love you" — so you can't make the excuse of them being inexperience with these problems. These are persistent and don't seem like they're going away. Mike says himself that "it's a fight you can't come back from." He's right. That fight is, in my opinion, the death of their romantic relationship. It's why I don't think El believed Mike during his monologue, because she knows it, too. Season 4 breaks any case you could scrounge up for Mileven, in my opinion. Even just season 4 volume 1.

(I may add more to this later. I feel like I didn't express my exact thoughts well enough. Let me know if y'all can think of anything I should add! Or obv feel free to add to it yourselves! <3)