#put in some tunes and doodled and had a lot of fun with this one 💚

[zimithrus]

No sunshine? No problem! ⛈️

[stove-top96]

what if you did a valentine’s day one shot where the reader gets asked on a date and yandere batfam are not happy about it?

I LOVE your works so far!! I hope that you’re sleeping well and eating!! have a great day/night!!!💜💜💜

-🐈‍⬛

Please, Please, Please

Oneshot

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring Platonic: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

2.5K Words

Masterlist

You glance at the clock—15 minutes tell school is over. To pass the time you doodle on the corner of your notebook. Mr Miller's chemistry class was the worst. His monotone voice could lull anyone to sleep.

Your eyes drift to your desk mate, Parker. They seem just as bored as you, staring blankly out the window. Chemistry was the only class you had without Tim, which left you alone without anyone to talk to. Parker is nice, they’re the only friend you have that’s not already a part of Tim’s circle— If you could call them a friend.

They seemed to catch you staring because they started to scribble something in they’re notebook. A moment later they slid it over to you.

‘You understand any of this’ you smile and glance up at them. They had a cheeky grin. It was cute.

You shake your head and scribble something down. ‘Not a bit’.

They take the notebook back, Parker chuckles as they read your message, rolling their eyes.

“Guess we’re screwed than” they whisper.

You let out a small giggle “guess so”.

The bell rings before you and Parker can chat more. You’re quick to pack up your things, you wanna get home as soon as possible.

You sling your backpack over your shoulder but before you can head out the door Parker speaks up.

”Hey Y/n I got a question for you”

you pause before turning all your attention to them “yeah what’s up?”

”I was wondering…” their voice wavers and their cheeks go pink “well you know how Valentine’s Day is in a few days” Parker stumbles out, fingers tapping on the notebook. you nod.

”I was hoping… you and me could go out together, like on a date” their voice seemed to gain some confidence, and a boyish smile tugs on their lips.

You paused. You haven't really thought about going on a date with anyone, but the more you think about it why would you say no. Parker’s nice, funny, and they’re pretty cute.

You smile “Sure sounds like fun”.

Parker stares at you, wide eyed, like a deer in headlights. You take that as your cue to start heading out.

“Uhh. Yeah we’ll talk more tomorrow yeah?” They stammer.

“Yeah lets talk tomorrow” you call out from the other end of the classroom, before heading out the door.

Walking through the halls you check your phone. It’d been buzzing all class, it had to have been Dick.

<Dick>

Hey baby bird, how were your classes?

I’m in town today and we need to go out.

I Just asked Alfred I’m picking you up today!!

I’ll be waiting outside

Tim’s got a ride so don't worry about him

just you and me today!!

You scoff rolling your eyes. He easily could have sent these as one message, he just liked being annoying.

After putting your books away in your locker, you made your way to the parking lot. It’s packed with people and cars, but before you could spot him.

“Babybird I missed you so much!”

He yelled from across the parking lot, as he leaned against his car. You cringed as students stared at you and him. Could he get anymore embarrassing?

He ruffled your hair as you got into the passenger seat.

“C’mon let's go” he ushered you inside before, racing out of the parking lot.

“So I’m thinking we head to that new cafe you were talking about, and maybe stop by that old bookstore you like so much before we head home.” He keeps his eyes on the road.

“Yeah sounds like a plan” you smile.

He starts talking again, you tune him out. Your mind wanders back to when Parker asked you out. A giddy smile tugged at your lips. It made you feel all warm inside, this will be your first valentine’s on an actual date.

“You spacing out baby bird?” Dick raises a brow.

”sorry, sorry long day” you stammer. Dick makes a face, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

“sure.” His voice is a little irritated. Great, he's already starting to get pissy.

Your family’s always been weird about you. It's probably because you're not a vigilante but you can still take care of yourself.

It’s been getting worse as you get older, they just keep adding rules on top of rules. No going out past 7. No leaving anyone’s side at a gala. Always eat lunch with Tim’. Damian has way less rules than you do, and he doesn’t even follow them. It’s like they're scared to let you grow up.

Lately it’s been worse. Conversations stop once you enter a room. Touches lingering a little longer than normal. Eyes lingering for too long.

Whatever you’re used to their overprotectiveness.

It’s why you plan to keep your Valentine’s Day plans to yourself. You can just imagine everyone’s reactions. Dick will probably get super clingy. Tim will pull up their search history. Damian will go on a rant about how Parker doesn’t deserve you. Jason might corner them in some alley. and Cass will have that disappointed look on her face, the kind that makes you feel horrible.

Bruce might even ground you.

“Yeah” Dick’s grip tightened on the steering wheel tightens “no way” he mutters to himself.

Dicks muttering snaps you back to reality “what did you say?” You ask.

He forces a smile “Oh nothing baby bird, just excited”

You and Dick make it back after a few hours, and you’re exhausted. He took all across Gotham, trying to any and everything with you. It’s pretty obvious that he was trying to make up for lost time. He’s been in Blüdhaven more often.

by the time you step through the front door you want nothing more than to calloused into bed.

Instead you’re greeted by Damian. Judging from the scowl on his face he’s more pissed off than usual

Damian crossed his arms. ”You said you’d only take them out to eat.” He scoffed.

Dick slid off his shoes lazily , not even bothering to look up.”We were having too much fun and lost track of time.” Dick forced laughed.

Damian doesn’t move. ”You were gone for nearly 3 hours.” His voice is flat, clearly not buying the excuse.

“It’s my fault” you chime in, trying to diffuse the tension. Damian’s head turns toward you, his expression softens. “I asked Dick to drive me all over town” you smile, Dick ruffles your hair before heading down the hall. Damian doesn’t spare him a glance, his eyes locked in on you.

You start to make your way to your room, Damian follows— of course.

”you promised to be my model for my newest painting. When do you expect to make it up?” He asks. You hum “After dinner? You’ll still have a few hours until patrol”.

He pauses for a moment “I suppose that will work.” He says, the faintest smile forming on his lips.

You grip the handle of your bedroom door, praying you’ll get some alone time for once.

You don’t.

As you step inside Damian follows, his sharp gaze assessing the space. You sigh but don’t say anything.

Dinner should be ready in an hour, Damian’s not gonna leave anytime soon. might as well scroll through your phone in the meantime.

You and Damian head downstairs and as you make your way to your seat the conversation at the table does. everyone's eyes flicker towards you. You raise a brow but before you can say anything Alfred pipes up.

”I cooked your favourite tonight master y/n” he says, as if nothing is off.

You smile, shaking off the tension. “thank you Alfred”

As you go to take a bite you notice Jason’s gaze. it’s not his usual lazy smile. It’s sharper, more intense, watching. Did something happen? His anger is almost never directed towards you. Did Bruce say something?

Before your mind starts to wander your eyes glance towards Cass, she’s frowning like she’s almost disappointed in you but not quite.

“How was school today y/n?” Bruce’s voice cuts through the silence.

Everyone’s head turns to look at you. Waiting, as if they’re expecting something.

It’s fine you’re used to your family being weird like this.

You take a sip of your water ”it was fine” you force a casual tone. There is no way you can let them know about Parker.

Jason tilts his head “Nothing exciting happened?” He asked, studying your face.

You swallow “No not really.” You take another bite of your food, praying they don’t press the issue any further.

The family shares a look, silent but you noticed.

you pretend you didn’t.

Dick tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. But everyone seemed to be too lost in their thoughts to put in much effort.

The air remains heavy, the tension is palpable, and you feel everyone’s eyes on you.

It was the longest family dinner ever.

As the week drags on your family grows more intense.

It’s different this time.

They watch you closer, you never get any alone time. Even after spending more time with them than usual, they still expect something from you.

But what?

You don’t have time to think about that, todays the 14th, your first real valentine’s date. And you have everything planned.

At lunch you subtly drop a hint to Tim that you have this big chemistry project due tomorrow. Then after Lunch you’ll text Bruce and Alfred that you'll be home late, ‘working on it’. Bruce might check in with Tim, but Tim will confirm your story.

It’s practically fool proof.

Excitment courses through you all day. You have chemistry next, so you’ll be able to see Parker. You were just so excited— you deserved this.

At lunch Tim did not seem amused, in fact he looked quite pissed.

When you told him about your ‘Chemistry project’ he just forced a simile and nodded, he didn’t say anything for the rest of the period.

You didn’t pay him much mind though, you were to focused on your date.

As you walked through the halls to your chem class you kept glancing at your phone, waiting for Bruce’s response.

<y/n>

I have this super big chemistry project due tomorrow. My partner and I are gonna work on it together after school.

They’ll give me a ride back, don't worry.

<Bruce>

Ok, Tim will wait for you.

Shit.

what were you gonna do now? Tim was already onto you, there’s no way you’ll be able to go out now.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t even notice Parker sitting down.

“Hey y/n you okay?”

You frown ”I don't think we’ll be able to go out today, my family is on my ass right now”

Why can’t you just have one nice thing, for once?

”oh” Parker pauses, they fiddle with their bag. Parker’s clearly upset about the situation as well. Then suddenly their face lights up.

Parker grins ”What if we go right now?” they exclaim. Quickly packing up their things.

You blink “What do you mean?”

“There’s only 10 minutes until class starts. We can leave right now and the teacher will never know” Excitement exudes from their voice.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

you’ve never even thought of skipping class before. You family would kill you.

But then again they’re the ones that never let you do anything. They control everything

So who cares what they do, you want to have fun.

A grin tugs on your lips. You scramble to pack up your stuff “sure lets do you”.

Parker gives that same childish smile from when they asked you out.

Despite the small voice telling you this is a bad idea, you felt excited, giddy.

you felt free.

You race to Parker’s car. A mix of adrenaline and excitement made you run faster than you ever have before.

Behind you, Parker struggled to up ”Jesus, Y/n— I’ve never seen you run so fast before” they gasped, hands on their knees trying to catch their breath.

You chuckle “sorry I got excited”

Parker shakes his head, same childish smile on their face as they unlock the car, before sitting on the driver’s side.

Before you get in you look back at the school. A shiver runs down your spine and a little voice whispers at you to turn back.

For a moment you pause. If you turn back now you wont be in any trouble.

You shake it off and hop into the seat.

+++

A cozy cafe would be the best choice. It’s close to the school you’ve been there a couple of times, and the food is really good.

As they pull into the parking lot you’re nervous. This is your first date, what is supposed to happen? What’s even the proper etiquette?

You shake your head and brush those thoughts away.

As you and Parker walk inside, you relax. The cafe is warm, with subtle pinks and blues on the wall. It smells like coffee and pastries. Parker picks a table near the back, and you settle down across from them.

Conversation between you two just seems to flow. You never realized how funny they are until today.

Any doubt you had washes away.

Once you’re finished giving the waitress your order, you take a sip of water enjoying Parker’s company. Then the bell to the door jingles.

You briefly glance up— just to see who’s there.

Bruce. Jason. Dick. Tim. Cass. Damian.

They stand in the doorway, eyes locked in on you. Their faces are unreadable.

your stomach drops.

You’re stuck. frozen like a deer in headlights, under the weight of their stare.

How did they know?

They make their way over to your table.

Bruce stops in front of you, towering over the table. “I’m disappointed y/n” his voice is monotone, but you can see the crinkle in his brows.

you just stare back at him. Too stunned to speak.

you try say something, anything. But the words die in your throat.

Dick grabs your arm, his grip is soft but firm. ushering you out of your seat.

Dick and Damian walk you out. You don’t resist, you couldn’t even if you wanted to.

Before you walk out the door you glance back.

Parker is surrounded.

Bruce says something too low for you to hear. Your chest sinks. You can only guess what they’re saying to them.

They look petrified.

It feels like an eternity before everyone else gets into the car.

“You’re grounded” Bruce states. A faint smile, barely there tugs at his lips.

You want to disappear forever.

Being grounded meant one thing.

You’ll never be alone again.

Tears start to slide down your checks, your voice wobbles ”I’m sorry— please don't ground me”

No one speaks.

No one listens.

You glance out the window, watching your freedom slip away.

I got my first request done!!!!!! As you can tell I need a lot of practice with writing short stories/oneshots. I suck at making things fast paced but I did my best. I hope you like it 🐈‍⬛ anon, tysm I had a lot of fun writing it. I also kept Parker GN so that way the reader can truly be any self insert. I’m working on CH. 03 of wicked Game rn so that’ll be what I post next. But if you have any ideas send a request I need more practice.

Also 215 followers! Thank you!!!

[lrithill]

PASSENGER SEAT PRINCESS

Greetings to all the clowns of the second circle!

It is both my honor and my pleasure to offer you this new installment. This might just be the fanfic I've had the most fun writing, the one that made me the wettest, and the one that broke me the hardest… and the best part? It’s a REQUEST!!!

Wow… I truly have the best readers, because this idea never crossed my mind—AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHY. So, huge thanks to @partycityshowgirlfreak for trusting me and handing me this story like a loaded gun.

This is also a warning—a warning that any request you send me might be transformed into a full-blown work of art, because I don’t let go of a story until I’ve squeezed every last drop out of it… every last drop of blood and cum HAHAHA.

Also, a special thanks to @artstomfoolery, my primary gif dealer😂 . I could spend hours searching through Tumblr for that one specific gif—and it’s just NOT THERE, impossible to find. But then she swoops in and BAM, like magic—as fast as Art grabs the salt and bleach—, she sends me exactly what I need. Seriously, if you haven’t already, go check out her blog and follow her. She makes insane edits and videos, and her talent is the kind I can only dream of (we need to make a fic trailer one day 🤫 HAHAHA).

Now that the thank-yous are done… let’s get to the good stuff.

🖤Synopsis:

You and Art, after a night of unhinged slaughter, need an escape route before daylight hits. You need a car—but cars come with drivers, don’t they?

🚨 Warnings:

Unintentional voyeurism, humiliation, violence, and my general hatred for warnings because I feel like they’re spoilers… So let’s just say: A lot of sex, a lot cruelty, a lot of fun and a lot of blood, and all of it Art-style, which means a guaranteed thrill . Woohoo!

📊 Word count:

10,000 words (there were simply too many things for Art to play with)

You needed a car.

Urgently.

The sun was barely grazing the horizon, the night still reeked of gunpowder and scorched flesh, you were dragging a decent body count behind you—and it wouldn’t take long for the cops to start sniffing around.

In the distance—shining like a promise—stood the best place to find a ride: A gas station.

Bingo.

It wasn’t even 7 a.m.—the place was deserted, wrapped in that artificial silence and half-dead lighting. Still, odds were some idiot working the night shift was fueling up before heading back to their miserable little life.

Jackpot.

Next to one of the pumps, a big family car stretched lazily under the flickering yellow lights. A “Baby on Board” sticker decorated the trunk, along with some doodles that screamed “big happy family.”

The kind of car that smells like routine, bedtime prayers, and Thursday dinners with the in-laws.

You glance at Art—he’s already locked onto the target. Judgment has been passed.

You’re both soaked in blood. His clown suit isn’t black and white anymore—it’s black and red. A crimson trail stains the pavement behind you as you approach like wolves—soundless and certain.

You need the keys.

And there he is—your ticket. The driver, still inside the car, gently bobbing his shoulders to some soft blues tune—something mellow and catchy, the perfect soundtrack for a crime at dawn—utterly unaware of the evil creeping up on him.

Art looks at you, eyes gleaming—he gives you a light shove, lips curled in that twisted grin of his.

“Put on that pretty sad face of yours,” his mischievous look says—cruel.

You smile… you already know what to do.

CRACK.

You collapse right in front of the driver’s window, like a horror movie final girl—dried blood on your legs, torn clothes, perfectly timed gasps...

“Help… please…” you whimper. “I had an accident… I think my leg’s broken…”

The driver sees you—and freezes. His blood runs cold, his heart skips a beat—his face shifts, tightens, switches into action mode.

“Jesus! Hang in there!” he shouts, flinging the door open to help you.

You laugh on the inside. These idiots see a damsel in distress and immediately think they’re the hero of the story—they have no idea what kind of menace they’re dealing with...

You writhe on the ground—groaning, panting—, clutching your leg like it’s about to fall off in pieces.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” he says, pulling out his phone with trembling fingers.

He fumbles through his apps. Can’t find the dial pad—his pulse is betraying him.

And you already see Art approaching from the side—a shadow with teeth. But then, an idea slithers into your mind—a wicked one—so you shoot Art a look that says: ‘Not yet.’

“Wait,” you murmur.

He pauses, confused.

“I can’t see anything… can you turn on your flashlight for a second? I want to see the face of my hero before I pass out…” you whisper, sweet and soft like honey.

The guy blinks, visibly shaken, might even be smiling a little—and obeys. So well-mannered.

The flashlight clicks on—a white beam cuts across his face. He looks up, searching for your angelic face… but what he finds is something else entirely.

Nothing he could’ve prepared for: First, eyes—unblinking, wide, inhuman. Then the smile—two rows of jagged teeth, bloodstained and hungry. And then, hands like claws, snapping around his throat with the precision of a bear trap.

“Shame… I’ve always preferred villains,” you purr, lips pouting as you watch him choke.

You sit up slowly, unbothered, watching as Art strangles the man—his hands working with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. The poor bastard kicks a little, but he doesn’t stand a chance—Art knocks him out in seconds.

Silence.

Only the soft murmur of blues music hums from the speakers—a cheerful little tune playing as the man slips out of consciousness.

Art fishes the keys from his pocket—there’s a keychain that reads “Cool Dad”—then grabs his phone, still buzzing with incoming messages.

“Perfect, darling. Let’s leave him here, we’ve got our ride home,” you say, letting out a satisfied sigh.

But Art doesn’t move. He’s somewhere else—lost in thought.

He leans into his bag and… is that duct tape?

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh… I get it”

You wanted a getaway.

Art… wants a guest.

“Looks like he won’t be walking out of this… don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him” you giggle, and Art’s eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning.

—

RAAAHH.

Duct tape.

Hands bound behind the back.

Mouth sealed shut.

Knees tight together.

Ankles locked.

Torso disabled.

The only things left working: Eyes and ears—and you want them wide open.

Art—ever the gentleman—opens the passenger door for you with a theatrical bow. He slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting his blood-soaked suit like he owns the car. Grinning from ear to ear—so smug, so sure of himself—he checks his reflection in the mirror—the most illegal thing he’s done today? Being this fucking hot.

In the back seat, your new companion is starting to wake up. He stirs clumsily—bangs his head against the window—, trying to make noise, desperate to catch someone’s eye, to call out to a world that hasn’t woken up yet.

Art laughs—a sharp slap lands on his own thigh—, delighted by the uselessness of his struggle. He even has the courtesy to turn the music up—that dirty, sultry blues swallows the thuds and grunts, turning them into part of the rhythm.

The man stares—that stare: panic, defenseless, confusion. He has no idea how this happened, or why, or what’s about to happen to him. But he’s starting to understand that he’s trapped in a play he never auditioned for—and the two maniacs in front are the directors.

Art feels those eyes on the back of his head; and without turning around, he calmly adjusts the rearview mirror—until his gaze locks with the hostage’s.

And he winks—his tongue sliding over his teeth, his grin curling like a promise… a filthy one.

“You’re so bad,” you murmur, watching him do it—fully aware of the things that turn your psycho boyfriend on.

Art tilts his head toward you—amused. He bites his lower lip, eyebrows bouncing twice—a swirl of vicious thoughts brewing behind those eyes.

“I’m just getting started,” his look says.

And you know exactly what that means.

You start poking around the car.

A pine-scented air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror—the unmistakable stench of middle class.

You open the glove compartment. A photo: a smiling family at a water park. The dad—your passenger—and his wife hugging two little kids with duck floaties.

There’s also a canvas bag hanging off the passenger seat.

A crumpled grocery list.

Whole wheat bread, baby wipes, organic yogurt.

A forgotten parking ticket.

Art takes mental notes of the important things, of course—the night is young.

His eyes roam the dashboard, with restrained hunger gleaming in them—the car hasn’t shown him everything it’s capable of yet. He’s curious about the motor, he wants to hear it roar—he wants it to purr for him.

He slides the key in with intention—precise and firm.

BRRRUMMMMM.

That metallic growl pulls a smile from him. The car jerks and vibrates under his touch—obedient, like a beast under its handler.

And you… you feel it.

The hum of the engine crawls up your legs, coils in your pelvis. The vibrations buzz at your core—and your clit throbs, swelling from the involuntary friction. Your lip catches between your teeth, and your hips shifts in the seat before you realize it—just slightly… just enough.

He knows—of course he knows.

He wanted this—to warm up the engine, under the hood… and between your legs.

It’s getting to him too—not just you. He’s already picturing it: you trembling on top of him, the car growling beneath his cock, vibrating inside you with every thrust—like his body’s synced to the same pulse, throbbing with it.

He can feel it building—an undeniable erection is beginning to press against his pants—, shifting and swelling under the fabric as it takes shape.

“What’s the plan, baby?” you ask, biting your lips—your voice thick with smoke and want.

Art doesn’t answer with words—he simply raises a hand—elegant, dismissive… brushing your question aside like it’s nothing.

He’s telling you there’s no rush—just relax…

There’s so much to do… and he wants to savor every fucking second.

Art locks eyes with the rearview mirror again. The hostage is panting, his forehead pressed against the glass like he’s still trying to convince himself this is all just a nightmare—he looks like a rabbit cornered in a burrow with no way out.

Art stares at him—speaking volumes without a single word.

He can already taste it: the fear, the eroticism, the humiliation, the sex, the cruelty, the climax…

A full-course meal.

Then he looks at you: torn clothes, skin smeared with blood and sin—you look beautiful.

He wants you naked. Now.

But he won’t push—he’s not a brute.

He wants you to undress for him—wants the guy in the back to witness what it’s like to be craved like this—to see what it does to a woman, needing him like this.

So he lifts a hand—easy, unbothered, lazy—and presses a button.

Click.

The heater kicks in with a low hum… warm air starts filling the car, wrapping around you like an invisible tongue. The engine’s purr still buzzes beneath your thighs—deep inside you.

He smiles—a satisfied smile—like a magician pulling off a perfect trick. Without laying one finger on you, he already has you blushing, squirming, breathless, aching for him.

You know it.

He knows it.

And the hostage is starting to catch on too…

Your body grows sticky beneath the damp fabric. Every thread against your skin is torture—you need to get it off, you need to move, you need—

Art doesn’t even look at you. He’s still staring into the mirror—still wearing that smile.

Waiting.

And he does it—he reclines his seat slightly, spreads his legs, and folds his arms behind his head—clearly putting himself on disply… just so you’ll notice the erection straining against his pants—begging for your attention, impossible to ignore…

He’s sending you a message—saying everything without a single word… and you’re practically drooling at the thought.

“Strip for me—do it slow, do it sexy. Do it while he watches—I want him to see you… but only that. Fuck me.”

You nod, breath quickening. Your fingers glide across your torso—trembling from anticipation—over the dried blood, the torn fabric, as you begin to undo what’s left of your clothes.

Not for comfort.

Not because of the heat.

For him.

Because you want to show him just how obedient you are—and how feral when he lets you.

To both of them.

Art’s pupils twitch in their sockets—tracking your every move—, hunger burning behind his eyes as you begin to undress—you unbutton your shirt, slipping it off your shoulders to reveal a black-and-white lace bra (his favourite), your fingers reach for the zipper of your skirt...

But he stops you there. He doesn’t want you completely naked—not yet.

Your gaze flicks down to his hand on your zipper… then climbs back up to his eyes—so close, and still out of reach.

You see him bite down on his tongue, and he swallows hard—his Adam’s apple bobbing, the tension thick in his throat.

Touching you is the point of no return.

His hands move to your thighs—slow and deliberate—drawn to the fire he’s been stoking. His breath grows heavy—warm fog curling in the air between you. He feels how hard he’s getting, his arousal straining tight against his pants—an obscene bulge; twitching and dripping like a caged animal.

His hand moves upward, sliding along your thigh—he knows you’re melting beneath his touch—his fingers trace the edge of your skirt… and then slip beneath it, slowly—like a serpent.

You let out a soft sigh when you feel his cold fingers against your bare skin.

His fingers barely brush against your panties—right where you're burning, where you need him the most—and he feels the slick warmth of your arousal soaking through the fabric.

That jagged grin spreads across his lips like a wound.

Look what I do to you. thoughts swirl in his head as he brushes the moisture.

You let out a soft moan at that first touch, legs parting involuntarily—your body pleading for him to keep going—to explore you, enjoy you, lose himself in you…

Anything… but stopping.

His cold fingers move slowly over your clit, teasing it—making you tremble with that cruel kind of pressure—punishing you for wanting.

You can feel yourself dripping, your pussy opening for him like a sick flower.

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering closed, lost in the heat and the ache. You keep your legs spread perfectly wide for him—there’s no use pretending you have any dignity left.

You’re his.

“Art…” you whisper through clenched teeth, barely able to say his name.

But Art isn't looking at you—he’s watching the hostage through the rearview mirror. The victim stares back—wide-eyed, mouth sealed, face twisted in confusion, fear… and maybe something else?

And you feel it: the heat, the trembling, the need… Just his hand—just that—and you’re already soaked.

You need more.

Art slips his fingers under the band of your lingerie—finally breaching that thin, delicate barrier—and this time he goes for your wet entrance.

Two fingers ease into you, meeting no resistance.… and he starts fucking you with them—deep, firm—, those long, thick fingers that reach places you can never reach on your own.

How can hands so violent bring this much pleasure?

“Yes… yes…” you breathe, eyes shut, unraveling in his palm.

He finds your G-spot and presses—makes that motion, the one that drives you wild. He massages it in sweet circles, stroking it, pressing rhythmically,… the way he knows you crave.

“God… God… God…” you moan, each word a gasp timed with his thrusts.

Without thinking—driven purely by instinct—your hand slides to Art’s abdomen. You caress him, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles through the soaked fabric of his suit.

Art lets out his first sigh—needy for your touch, but still patient.

Your hands trail down his body—calm and deliberate. The heat from the car is making the dried blood liquefy again, coating your fingers like a sticky kind of lubricant.

Art tries to hold back… but he can’t.

In a sudden movement, he grabs your hand and drags it down—pressing it against his cock, still trapped behind fabric. His much larger hand wraps around yours, forcing your fingers to tighten around his aching manhood—right where he wants them.

He guides your hand up and down—dictating the rhythm—then releases you, letting you take control and stroke him on your own—just the way he likes it, feeling the weight of his need in your palm.

You work your hand along his cock, adding pressure with each pass—you love watching him unravel… live for the way he trembles under your touch.

With your thumb, you trace slow circles over the head—his most sensitive spot. You see his mouth fall open in a silent moan, his stomach tightens—abs rippling with tension—, his thighs tense without warning… His whole body betraying how much he feels it.

He wants to close his eyes… and yet, he doesn’t.  

He wants to watch the hostage. No—he wants the hostage to watch him. To see him enjoying it, to see him moaning under the touch of a woman he’ll never have—no one will.

The car windows are starting to fog up from the heat radiating off your bodies—a humid, heavy cave of lust. It’s thick, stifling… 

Inebriating.

Everything smells like sex, blood, and restrained desire.

Your breathing grows heavier by the second—the vibrations of the engine, the heat, the slick movements, the scent of sweat and iron, the hostage in the backseat...

And then—your eyes meet.

"Let’s show him how it’s done." You both think it, in perfect sync.

You straighten in your seats—and reach for each other.

You kiss.

Tongues tangled, mouths devouring one another in a filthy, hungry kiss—while the hostage watches every movement, eyes wide with disbelief. 

As you both keep working each other: you, stroking his cock with devoted hands, desperate to feel him inside; and him, pumping his fingers into you in wet, rhythmic thrusts—opening you up, stretching you, preparing you to take him.

Art pulls back, eyes locking with yours in raw desperation—and in a sudden, urgent motion; he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, snaps the driver’s seat back into place and slips into the backseat—like a man who’s reached his limit, on the edge of breaking.

He leaves the keys in the ignition, but takes the small remote with him—he’s not letting go of control over his new toy.

He settles beside the hostage—just one seat of space between them.

And you follow—immediately.

You climb onto him, straddling his lap like it’s a throne. Being on top of this beast—riding him, dominating him—it makes you feel powerful, sexy, dangerous.

Your tits—still wrapped in your black and white lace bra—, sway close to his face. Teasing him, taunting him—daring him to claim what’s his with kisses and bites.

Your lover—pupils blown wide—licks his lips at the vision before him: Your legs spread wide over his hips, your waist rolls slow over his aching cock—your bloodstained body… so obscene, so evil, perfectly soaked in sin—yet untouchable…

It’s exactly how he wants you.

You smile as you peel off your skirt, leaving only your lingerie—his favorite set: black and white,

the panties featuring a manual opening he knows all too well... Warm blood splattered across your exposed skin drips like a baptism in violence.

Then you feel it—Art shifting beneath you, rocking his hips with need—urging you to move in that way—his way—the way only you know drives him insane.

He’s searching for you—needing you.

His body is begging for the heat of your cunt, for your wetness, your tightness—that divine prison that squeezes him down to the soul.

He grabs your hips—firm, greedy—and grinds you down against him. He’s smiling up at you—he wants you to know what you’re doing to him, how much he wants you, how badly he’s dying to fuck you right here, right now, in this stolen car, with this bound man watching, beneath this cunt that exists for him alone.

You moan when you feel his clothed manhood—hard rock—press against your entrance—thick, throbbing, threatening…

Irresistible.

You move with the rhythm of the soft blues still floating through the air—slow, sensual, evocative. You match the rhythm of the engine, letting it buzz through your core as you ride his cock—teasing him—, without letting him in just yet, denying him entry—keeping him just where you want… dragging your slick heat along his length with your soaked folds.

He’s pinned beneath you—helpless—, while you grind on him like he paid for the best lap dance of his fucking life—and you’re overdelivering. The stage is yours and he’s so lucky to be under you.

And the bound spectator right next to you? Trapped in the front row of the filthiest show he’s ever witnessed.

Art’s eyes light up as his hands trace the full length of your body, gliding over your curves,

smearing blood across your soft skin. Your body shivers under his touch—so seductive, possessive, demanding, masculine… Art.

Every move draws him in, pulls him deeper—impossible to look away from. And when you meet his gaze, what you see there… can only be described as obsession.

Pure, raw, sheer obsession.

Your hands slide down his torso, beneath his magnificent clown ruffle, searching for the front zipper of his suit—you tug it down, slowly… revealing his body—pale as snow after a murder.

You pinch his nipples, gently, but with wicked intent—you can’t help yourself.

Art lets out a harsh breath, teeth clenched. He says nothing—just lets his hand do the talking, landing a stinging slap on your ass.

SMAK!

The sound cuts through the air—louder than anything the hostage could possibly muster.

You laugh—and moan.

You lean in, take his face in your hands, and kiss him. 

Deep. Slow. Damned. Making love to him with your mouth alone.

Your hips roll back and forth as you moan into his mouth, rubbing your swollen clit against the thick, dripping erection you've been teasing to madness.

Art’s hands tighten around your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh—right where they always do. He bites your lower lip with a hunger that leaves droplets of blood on your scarlet mouth, savoring you.

He growls as his tongue absorbs your essence—the one thing he aches for the most, and the one thing he can never truly claim.

You’re both floating in a toxic cloud of pleasure, wrapped around each other, losing yourselves,

burning together…

You are fire and gasoline—and this car is about to explode.

Then—a sound.

A dry, desperate sound.

The hostage is fumbling with the door using his elbows—trying to escape while you’re both too distracted—, a useless, clumsy, pathetic attempt.

Art chuckles, and presses a button on the remote.

Click.

Locked.

The last flicker of hope dies with a cheerful electronic beep.

The guy slams his head against the window in pure frustration. And Art—naturally—has to take it a step further.

He presses the button again… and starts to play.

The window goes down…

Then up…

Doooown.

Uuuuup.

Like he’s saying:

“You leave when I say so.” That grin of his stretches wide—every ounce of swagger in the world packed into one smug expression.

“Bet your wife’s never done anything even remotely like this to you, huh?” you taunt through a laugh, still grinding on Art, and you plant a hot kiss on his flushed cheek—which he accepts with a pleased smirk.

Art rolls his eyes and shakes his head, confirming your suspicions with mock exasperation.

Then he reaches out—arm casual, fluid—and pinches the hostage’s cheek. A playful, mocking squeeze—like a grandmother scolding her grandkid for being nosy and naughty.

“You’re probably so horny right now, huh?” you purr, voice thick with mockery. “You want this so bad, don’t you? But you know what? You’re not getting any of this. The only thing you can do is… watch.” You tell him, making sure he knows his place.

You slip one bra strap off your shoulder, tilting your head to reveal the imprint of a bite—deep teeth marks—already darkening like a brand.

“I belong to him. Only him,” you finish with a wicked, toothy smile.

Art sees it—and his mouth waters.

He leans in and licks it.

Not for you.

Not for pleasure.

He licks it for him—for the hostage.

So he sees it.

So he understands.

So it hurts.

“And now comes the best part,” you moan, eyes shutting—just as Art’s teeth sink into the imprint—driven by a mix of worship, lust and hunger.

His arms wrap around you like a perfect trap, his hands traveling with expert precision to your back.

Click.

The clasp of your bra pops open, the fabric slides down your arms, surrendering to him—like everything else. Your tits fall free—or into his captivity—as he lowers the straps with care, like unwrapping a present.

His hands trace over your bare back, and his mouth—God, his mouth—works its way over your neck, your collarbones, your shoulders. Kissing—devouring—every inch of skin he can reach.

You start pulling his suit down while he consumes you—as far as you can manage—letting him shrug his arms free, removing the hood from his head, kissing the pale skin beneath every piece of fabric you strip away.

And then—your world flips… upside down.

Art grabs your hair and yanks your head back, exposing your throat—that vulnerable stretch of skin, that one delicate spot where a single well-placed bite could bleed you out in minutes.

But no.

He won’t—he never would.

Instead, he licks you—slowly. Dragging his tongue up your throat, from the base of your neck to your chin—like a predator savoring his prey before the final bite… until he reaches your lips.

He kisses you—and smiles against your mouth.

And you melt into that smile—your spine arching for him, offering every inch of yourself.

You are his—and you want him to know it.

Then, without pulling away—still gripping your hair—he turns to look at the hostage. And he makes a gesture—a light tap under his eye with one finger.

Tap, tap.

"You don’t want to miss this."

Art releases you and turns back to meet your eyes.

You look at him.

No words needed—your gazes say everything

You lift yourself—just enough—and free him from the fabric yourself. It springs up, thick and heavy, smacking against his stomach—so hard it sure hurts. Promising you so many things…so much pleasure and pain.

You hold him in your hands like something precious—just like the rest of him—burning in your hands. It’s hot, pulsing, alive…

You spit into your hand and smear it across your chest, mixing your saliva with blood—his favourite lubricant.

You guide him to your soaked cunt, rubbing his head against it—preparing yourself to take him in. Your mouth parts with moans as you press his sensitive, dripping tip against your clit, and Art can’t help but close his eyes—he lives for this.

Precum, blood, and saliva mix, slicking your tight entrance—necessary.

You’re getting ready—you’re offering yourself.

You’re about to open for him like a beautiful wound.

Art takes the chance to cradle your face in both of his bloodstained hands—grateful—pulling you in for one last kiss before taking everything from you. Thanking you

And just like that, you sink down onto him—inch by inch—, your breath trembling against his mouth, moaning into the kiss as he fills you with his ruthless passion.

You break the kiss to breathe—your sighs and moans brushing against his shoulders like a fevered confession.

You whimper against his neck as you feel him push deeper—claiming more of you. His hands grip your hips like anchors, keeping you from pulling away. The only thing you can do is keep sinking… all the way down to hell.

The hostage can’t look away.

You close your eyes as he spreads you, splits you, fills you—destroys you with his love. Your insides part for him, bowing to his presence.

Your body yields to him completely—like always—, welcoming him once more.

“Fuck…” you mutter through gritted teeth.

It doesn’t matter how many times Art fucks you… it always hurts at first.

And you love it.

You’re full to the edge—can’t take anymore… but you know there’s still one last stretch to take.

Your body trembles, thighs tight like pulled cords, your back arches under the pressure, under the depth. You’re fully impaled—as deep as your body will allow.

You look at Art—and he’s smiling. 

That arrogant, knowing smile—and you know exactly what it means. He’s holding back—just a little. He still has more to give, of course—he’s not done. He feels that last part of him, just out of reach... waiting for your warmth too.

He tilts his head, giving you that look:

“Stuck there again? God, I love it.”

And he knows you know what’s coming.

He bites his tongue, barely fighting the urge—but his abs tighten, his nails dig into your flesh.

And then—

SLAM!

He slams in—fills you to the hilt. No space left, just wet flesh locked tight—your body, an extension of his own. Your spine arches like a broken bow, and your scream finally bursts free.

You collapse against him—undone by him, wrecked by him. Clinging to his neck like you might fall off the edge of the world. A tear slips from your eye—uninvited—, and Art feels it land against his neck. His pupils blow wide—it turns him on more than any moan, any scream, any word. A tear… drawn from pleasure, from excess

For him.

“Everything about you is deadly… you can't deny it”, you whisper in his ear—trembling

He holds you close, crushing you to him—your bodies pressed together perfectly, completely.

One hand caresses your back, sliding through the blood and sweat with an affection so gentle it borders on insulting. The other lifts to his lips, and—with a single finger—, he makes a gesture:

“Shhh.”

It’s not to comfort you—it’s because he likes the contrast. It turns him on to silence you while he destroys you.

He’s a bastard—a stylish fucking bastard.

And you couldn’t love him more.

You stay like that, bodies fused. Kissing—your tongues whispering everything your vocal cords could never express, everything your voices would never dare to say aloud.

Even Art needs a second.

Even though you’re the one bearing the more brutal trauma, he has to adjust too—has to carve his way inside you… and you don’t make it easy.

Your walls clench around him, strangling him with pressure—but at the same time, massaging him with that exquisite mix of pain and pleasure—, while his tip kisses your cervix in the deepest intimacy your body has to offer—rooted deep inside of you.

You feel yourself start to relax—the pain slowly, melting into pleasure.

There’s nothing in the world that makes you happier than having him inside you, wrapping him in your heat…

And you can’t wait to have him trembling beneath you—to ruin him.

So you start to move—drawn into that delicious, rocking motion your body craves... your hips swaying over his hard cock—wrapped tight around him—, dragging your wetness along his length—lost in the rhythm that only the two of you know.

In, then out…  In, then out…

Art exhales—a shuddering breath that trembles through his entire body—that vibrates beneath you as you begin.

His head falls back, eyes slide shut as he finally lets himself feel. His lips part—soundless moans escaping like breath—and his arms sprawl out wide and lazy along the car’s interior, offering himself to the moment, to you… 

One of them resting dangerously close to your guest.

Close? No—he wraps it around the hostage’s shoulders, like a whore waiting for her turn to ride him too. Though truthfully…he’s already very much involved in the act—doing his part as the good little sex toy he is.

“God, you look so fucking sexy right now,” you murmur, watching the way your movements unravel him.

Art smiles—eyes half-lidded.

The truth is: as much as he loves fucking you, there’s something next level about watching you ride him—seeing you worship him without being told, offering yourself like that, dripping devotion. It’s like having the power to force someone to obey… but without needing a gun—just by spreading his legs.

The hand resting on the hostage’s shoulder moves. Art runs it through the man’s hair, tender and soft—like stroking a beloved pet.

Which, of course… he is.

The hostage flinches—recoiling with a shiver—, trying to shrink away.

You act immediately.

“STILL.” Your voice cuts like a blade. “Or you’ll regret it…” you say, lifting his phone with an evil grin curling your lips. “You don’t want anyone to get hurt, do you?” you say, giving him puppy eyes.

You open his gallery—rows of family photos. His two kids and his wife. You pick one—a birthday shot.

“Happy 10th, Marvin… ooohhh,” you coo sweetly. “Might be the last.”, you finish—dry, flat, final.

You show it to him.

Not with rage—but with tenderness.

Like you’re showing him the ending of his own movie.

Both men lose their breath. Their eyes snap open—but for very different reasons.

One is paralyzed by sheer terror.

The other… nearly cums.

You are—without question—, his most powerful weapon.

The hostage instantly returns to his original position—silent, obedient—like a scolded dog. He’s finally understood who’s in charge.

“That’s how I like to see you…” you whisper—poisoned sweetness dripping from your voice as you stroke his chin, like you’re rewarding him.

Meanwhile, Art is still threading his fingers through the man’s hair, playing, mocking him.

Then he looks at you—stunned. You’re the sexiest thing he’s ever fucking seen—and also the cruelest.

You’re a perfect match.

“If he disobeys,” you say sweetly, just loud enough for the hostage to hear, “we’ll kill them, right;  sweetheart?” You ask it like a little girl asking for permission to cause mischief.

Art nods enthusiastically with a toothy smile. But it’s all theater—you both know exactly how this story ends.

BRRUUMMM BRUUUUUMMMM

Art presses the button on the remote again. The engine roars—like a beast awakening.

The vibrations intensify—the window glass rattles—shaking through your bones, ripping a moan from your throat that drowns out the soft background blues.

“ART—!”

Your hand flies to the window to brace yourself against the jolt. It leaves behind a perfect blood-red handprint smeared across the fogged-up glass—as beautiful as it is erotic.

A perfect signature on this masterpiece.

What Art’s really telling you is—he wants it louder.

He wants chaos.

He wants lust.

He wants blood.

He wants you completely unhinged.

“So you want me to hit the gas, huh?” you growl, eyes dark, voice hoarse with want, with power, with pure unfiltered lust. “You’re not ready for this ride… and I’ve already cut the brakes”, you finish by throwing him a defiant smile, trailing a finger lazily from his neck down to his chest.

Art mimics a bite in the air, baring every single tooth—all sharp and full of challenge. He’s dying for you, dying for your worst self.

You start to move—riding him with rhythm, your hips grinding in perfect sync with his. Your bodies separate and slam together again and again, filling the car with obscene sounds—wet, violent, animalistic.

Art holds you tight against him—your tits squashed against his heaving chest, your clit grinding against his vibrating pelvis with every relentless thrust.

Your eyes roll back, your mouth opens helplessly against his neck—obscene, slack, starving—your moans pouring into his ears and filling the car like a spell—like they’re trying to crawl under his skin.

You pull yourself free from his embrace for a moment—straightening up fully in front of him. Your perky tits bouncing up and down with your wild movements.

You look up at the ceiling like you’re praying… but all you do is curse.

“I’m your fucking whore,” you cry, drunk on him. “You ever seen a whore take your cock like this? This good? So obedient?! So fucking broken for you?!” you scream with your tongue out, drool spilling shamelessly down your chin.

Art closes the distance in a heartbeat, catching you in his claws again—as if you ever stood a chance. Pulling you back into his grasp like you never escaped in the first place.

And growls against your skin like an animal.

PLASH.

Another slap—sharp and loud—leaving five perfect red fingerprints. You deserved that—for being such a filthy little bitch.

His teeth sink into your neck—too hard. Skin splits, blood flows… God—there’s no name for how much this turns him on.

From your bleeding neck, jaw stained crimson, he looks up at you—devoted—, like you’re a fucking miracle.

He holds you like you’re his whole everything. Clutches you like the world would end if your flesh left his for even a second—like you’re part of him.

And by now—you are.

A red blur in the hostage’s vision—a distorted silhouette of blood and motion. A mess of flesh—writhing, breathing, groaning, laughing—reveling in its own depravity.

You kiss again—rough, messy, dripping with blood—as you keep riding him toward the end of the world. Which—coincidentally—, lies between his legs.

And then—one of your hands drifts toward the hostage.

He goes still. Paralyzed—he knows what happens if he misbehaves. You take him by the chin and force his gaze upward—to make him watch. 

“Don’t even think about closing your eyes... We’ll sew them open.” You warn him with a sweet, venom-laced smile.

Art blinks hard.

“How the fuck did I not think of that before?” he wonders—but mentally files it away for next time.

With one firm shove, you rip him off your body—force his back against the headboard, right where it was, right where he belongs—and start moving on your own again.

You change the rhythm—start riding him faster… faster and deeper. You lift yourself until just his tip kisses your entrance—and then slam down to the base, over and over. Fucking every inch of him—every rise a damnation, every fall a sentence.

Art’s eyes roll back into his skull, whites flashing in ecstasy—he’s in a trance. This is the rhythm that kills him: savage, deep, frantic, punishing.

“This is how you like it, huh?” you gasp between moans, never letting your pace break. “I love dragging this devil to heaven… and letting him split me right back to hell.” You moan, unhinged for him.

And for the hostage, to make sure he doesn’t forget where he is.

You dive for his neck—and Art stiffens instantly… it’s his weakness. You kiss that spot with tongue, with teeth, with hunger. Your mouth pays back every favor—latching onto the muscle, biting skin, licking his Adam’s apple, sucking his jugular, devouring him—owning him.

Art growls, mouth open in voiceless agony and bliss, eyes clenching shut—your rhythm is wrecking him, your mouth is shattering him. His cock is rock hard inside you, every twitch giving away how close he is… but you’re not letting him finish yet—and neither is he.

Suddenly, he yanks you off his neck and stops you—right before it’s too late. He looks at you—panting, ruined,—gasping for breath. Head bowed… so ashamed and submissive. 

Trying to hold himself together, like he's saying:

“Gurl… you can't do this to me—have some mercy ”, but he can’t even look you in the eye.

“Oh… is it too much for you?” you whisper like a lover, but it tastes like betrayal. “My poor baby can’t take it anymore? Feels too good?” you speak in silk, stitched with spite.

You turn to the hostage—offer him a smile as sweet as arsenic.

“You wouldn’t last either… But you won’t get the chance to find out.” you say, teasingly bringing a finger to your lips, amused.

And now, you lean in—toward Art’s ear.

Your warm breath caresses him, drowning out everything else—muting the world—, so that all that reaches him… is you.

Your tongue brushes the shell of his ear, lick the back of it, bite the lobe… And then—without warning—, you slide your tongue into his ear canal. Art melts, a shiver shoots down his spine, a guttural moan bursts from deep in his throat.

He drools—eyes fluttering, head slack, body limp. Your soft, wet moans reverberate inside his skull, a sensual echo that floods his brain—blending with the slow thrusts, the sweltering heat and your hands worshiping his body with criminal devotion.

He’s almost like a ragdoll—a puppet with its strings cut. All moans and drool and absolute surrender: eyes closed, eyebrows knitted in pleasure, a stupid smile on his parted lips... Utterly spellbound by your touch, barely clinging to consciousness.

And then—your voice.

A whisper—like a kiss… soaked in poison.

“Will you fuck me on top of him?” Just for him. So the hostage won’t hear—but to set Art ablaze again.

His eyes snap open—his pupils blown wide, his body tensing like a bow pulled tight.

“I want our faces—our climax—to be the last thing he sees. I want us to come while staring into his eyes.” you breathe sensually, tongue still working his ear like a wicked spell, your hands cradling his head.

The words pierce through him—a direct shot to the heart of his lust.

He rips you away from his ear and crushes your mouth with his teeth, letting you know just how badly he wants that—and more. He kisses you with madness, with sickness, with sadism.

And then his hips find rhythm again—furious, murderous, lethal—ready to strike again.

You cling to him with a grin—watching the world burn beneath you.

Your mouths part, leaving a viscous string of spit and lust hanging between your swollen lips, and there he is—your sex toy, your passenger princess—heart pounding, dignity in ruins.

Four predator eyes lock onto him.

Art licks his lips— so much slaughter, so much sex… 

It makes a man hungry.

You both stare at him in silence—cheeks pressed together, bodies still joined, frozen in time… and then you see it—a shy little bulge in his pants.

“Aww… poor thing, looks like he wants a taste too,” you sneer right in his face, irony dripping from your voice. “Bet he’s jealous,” you say, glancing at Art. “Bet he’s imagining himself in your place.” You know exactly which buttons to push—which wires to cut.

Art’s expression darkens.

Is this fucker imagining what he shouldn’t? Thinking about touching you? Kissing you? Fucking you?

No… absolutely not.

He’s not allowing that.

He leans forward, bends slightly—slips a hand into his shoe… and he pulls out a pair of scissors.

You feel his cock twitch hard inside you as he holds them—sadism bringing out the very best in him.

He opens and closes them right in the hostage’s face—that grin stretching ear to ear.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

He only has one free hand—so you help him.

(Yeah!)

You pull down the hostage’s pants with a bloodthirsty smile.

You grab his balls.

The almost-princess squirms in the seat, trying to retreat from the inevitable steel approaching—with mechanical precision, cold and certain.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

But every tug makes his balls ache, making it worse—only adding to the torment. The skin tethering his balls to his body pulls tighter with every desperate thrash.

You laugh as you squeeze and tug at his balls, stretching that fragile strip of skin that holds them to his body—that perfect little point of breakage.

Art’s eyes shine, his mouth hanging open in a huge smile—he looks thrilled, he’s having the time of his life.

You're still riding him—still fucking him—while he brings the scissors closer, while the cold blade grazes the hostage’s delicate skin.

He’s just a heartbeat away from mutilating his scrotum, from stripping him of his manhood, from turning him into something new, from castrating him forever.

Art’s eyes are wide, crazed. Your smiles are the most wicked they’ve ever been. Laughter—psychotic, unhinged, echoing in your skull—fills your ears in a rush of delirium, your hands working in sync—like a human chimera.

Nothing seems able to change what's meant to be.

And just then—

“Incoming call: Samantha Wife,” announces the car’s robotic voice.

And what follows is the most absurd ringtone imaginable: a xylophone—cheerful, obnoxiously cheerful.

You and Art freeze for a second—just one second. You stare at each other, eyes wide, blank with disbelief…

And then you burst out laughing.

You’re still full of him, and each laugh sends a tremor through you—your pussy clutching his cock in involuntary spasms.

Art slaps his thigh, cackling, gasping, moaning and laughing. Each contraction makes him grunt and huff beneath you—equally turned on and amused.

The hostage can’t breathe, he can’t move. He just cries in silence, pathetically—pants pulled down to his thighs, his balls still dangling between your fingers.

“Samantha... Wife,” you repeat like you're naming a ghost that just passed through the room.

Art doesn’t waste a second—the xylophone is still chiming. That call won’t last forever.

He grabs your face with his bloody hands, pulling you to him, forcing you to look at him—and in his pupils, you see something desperate.

His eyes are overflowing wells.

And then—he starts nodding, manically—like a child begging for an impossible toy.

His hands guide your head in sync with his—nodding together, your eyes just centimeters apart,

like two birds mid-mating ritual.

“YES, YES, YES”

Suddenly, he lets go, collapses into you, buries his face between your tits like salvation lives there. He clutches you—he’s one sob away from crying.

And the xylophone keeps playing—time’s running out.

The hostage is anxious—pants down, balls in your grip, scissors awaiting. 

His dignity hanging by a literal thread.

(Maybe… maybe this is his chance to call for help?)

“Accept call,” you say loud and clear, so the car’s AI picks it up like a loyal servant.

Silence.

Art still clings to you, face buried in your chest—he doesn’t want to look.

Then, a voice—feminine, tired, worried.

“Phil? Hello? Are you there? Why aren’t you answering?” She echoes through the cabin like a ghost.

You freeze. You have no idea what to say—your body stiffens, suspended.

And then the hostage—Phil, apparently—starts thrashing like a drowning rat. Grunting through the duct tape. Lunging forward, his torso slamming into the air, desperate to be heard, to create noise—to make that woman on the other end understand.

THUD!

Art’s fist slams into his gut—a clean backhand strike from the hand holding the scissors. Right to the solar plexus—precise, silencing.

Phil folds like a wet rag and falls silent—immediately. 

How dare he interrupt? How dare he try to upstage the star of the show?

“Phil?! Are you there? It’s almost 8 AM. You have to take the kids to school.” Her voice pushes through the speakers—tense, rising.

Art exhales against your chest, frustrated by your hesitation—your silence. Then he grabs your nipples—hard—twisting them without mercy, like he’s trying to tune your voice in. Like your body is a radio and he’s searching for your signal.

“Samantha…” It’s the first thing that comes out—choked by the pain.

Art softens at the sound. He leans in and licks your nipples—an apology. He strokes them gently, like he’s saying:

“That’s it… good girl. Keep playing.”

And you do.

“So you must be Samantha, huh?” you purr—already sketching the direction you want this to go, like tracing fresh skin with a hot knife.

A dry silence from the other side… Then, the question:

“Who is this?” Her voice lands sharp.

You smile. You feel it—confidence blooms. Art feels it too, through your hips—and his hands encourage you.

He starts to move beneath you—just a little. A slow push, a subtle rhythm, a gentle thrust of support.

He rocks you slowly, just enough to keep you warm, stimulated, aware—paired with the ever-present vibration of the engine beneath you both. Your bodies radiate heat—sex-charged warmth, thick and tangible.

You smile.

“Mmmmmm... You didn’t know?” you reply, tongue gliding over your lips, your voice a velvet blade—sensual, wicked.

Silence on the other end—but she doesn’t hang up.

You feel her frozen, listening—processing.

Art’s licks become kisses, kisses and caresses—he massages your breasts as you speak—rewarding you. Telling you without words that you’re doing perfect.

His hips grind into you—deep, slow—shaping every syllable with his body.

He wants to see you shine—he wants you sharp.

And just then—

Phil lunges—a reflex, a desperate, final attempt. His torso bent, wrists bound, duct tape soaked on his mouth.

His body—weak, restrained—but driven by pure, feral panic. He thrashes, he jerks, he writhes like a dying animal. Maybe he’s trying to scream, maybe trying to break something—anything that will make Samantha suspicious.

But all he manages to do is brush your leg with his shoulder.

A stain on the masterpiece.

Art reacts like someone just spat in his face during mass. 

First fantasizing about fucking you—and now actually touching you? Really?!

He smashes the glass of the side window with his elbow.

Grabs Phil by the hair—hard, brutal—and yanks him between you two, like a trussed-up piglet. 

Then, with the remote, he lowers the now-broken window, shoves Phil’s head out of the car in the cold—and starts rolling the glass back up. The blade-like edge of the shattered window rises—slow, relentless, sadistic. 

Phil’s throat gets trapped.

The pressure builds—and the razor-sharp glass starts tearing into the flesh of his neck, spilling blood down the window like a waterfall of pain. He fights to breathe, but the air leaks out through his torn trachea before it can completely fill his lungs—choking him from within. 

Each movement forces the sharp edges deeper into his bleeding flesh, making it worse to resist.

And Art has no intention of letting go. His finger stays on that button—until Phil bleeds out, suffocates, or freezes.

Art has him by the balls—literally—, and Phil coughs, gags, spasms under the glass’s murderous edge—but Samantha hears nothing…. because her husband is now outside the car.

You cling to Art’s shoulders, gasping, your body still flushed and pulsing from before—but now caught in that delicious edge between murder and desire.

That razor line where you both live.

And then—with the call still active, with Samantha likely crying on the other end, believing her husband is cheating on her—Art starts moving inside you again.

Rough.

Powerful.

Devastating.

All while gripping Phil, all while staring into your eyes—his face twisted in bliss and brutality.

Because the suffocating, bleeding body wedged between you is just part of the entertainment. Because the gagging, the twitching, the sobbing—It’s just background noise for your moans, music to your ears.

“Phil’s been having a blast this whole time. You should’ve seen us, hahaha!” you laugh out loud—bright, mean, unapologetic.

You keep riding Art—who still has Phil by the hair and the balls—without stopping. Your blood-splattered hips slam against Art’s vibrating pelvis with every deep thrust.

“We’ve done things…” you murmur through heavy breaths, biting your finger playfully, “things that would leave your jaw on the floor.” You’re not lying, not even a little.

“And the best part is…” you drop your voice to a sensual whisper, “we’re not done yet. The best is still coming.” You shoot Art a look. 

He’s losing it—laughing harder with every word out of your mouth. And the best part? He knows you’re absolutely right.

“Where is he… I want to talk to him, I need to…” comes the whisper from the speaker—a broken, trembling voice.

“Phil? Oh, he’s…” You glance at him—gasping through the window, barely conscious,

bleeding down the glass.

“He’s getting some air. It’s just… so hot in here. Poor thing’s outside, pants down, trying to catch his breath…” You shrug your shoulders, like it means nothing.

Click.

The call ends—abruptly. She’s heard enough—she can’t take any more.

And Art cheers.

You’ve been flawless. He’d be clapping if his hands weren’t full of hostage. You never broke character—not once. And all the while, you kept fucking him, both of you using Phil like he was just part of the set design.

Art starts bouncing you on his cock with the momentum of his hips—like you weigh nothing, making you jump, then slamming you back down onto his length.

He celebrates you.

Every thrust feels like he’s saying: “Hip hip hooray!”

You both brace yourselves on Phil’s limp body, kissing with feverish desperation as your hips keep moving—he’s stopped resisting. He’s not fighting anymore.

You use him—like a table, like furniture—as if his useless body was made just to support you.

Art lowers the window all the way to free Phil’s lacerated neck—he’s dizzy, disoriented, fading.

And you both look down at him with something almost like… tenderness, as he writhes weakly across your naked laps.

The important thing is… your princess is still alive.

Oops! Did I say princess?

That reminds me...

SNIP.

We left off right there, didn’t we?

The—now official—Passenger Princess is fully conscious again.

Art moves fast.

He rips the duct tape from his mouth in one swift, dry motion—and in the blink of an eye… shoves his own mutilated scrotum back inside it.

Without hesitation—like forcing medicine down a rebellious child’s mouth..

And then, reseals it—tape back in place.

Well, he won’t be making any more noise now, will he?

Art slams him down against the leather seats. And taking full advantage of the position Phil’s in—flat on his back, humiliated, turned into both mattress and rug at once—you waste no time.

You pounce on him.

You get on all fours—right on top of him as Art strips off the last of his bloody suit and positions himself behind you.

He lines up—presses his chest against your back—and sinks into you from behind. 

Doggy style.

You both moan from the pleasure of this new sensation, your bodies shuddering in response.

And from that angle—you both look down at your lovely victim. Your hands are planted on either side of his head, and Art’s face leans in over your shoulder, never taking his eyes off him.

You both smile down at him.

Your hair brushes across his face with every thrust, and Art bites his lip as he fucks you from behind—absorbed—, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist—over your stomach—pulling your bodies together as much as possible.

Your arms start to give out, buckling under the weight of Art pressing into your back—your strength is fading…

You let yourself fall without a second thought—you don’t care.

You both collapse onto him like a cross—settling atop him without missing a stroke.

You—body to body, chest to chest with the hostage. And Art—on top of you, inside you—pinning you both in place.

A human tower of sin: Three bodies, two lovers, one victim—one act.

A perfect threesome.

And beneath you, shifting like a ragdoll—his movements pulled by the rhythm of Art’s thrust… your princess.

Your soft, squirming mattress, creaking with every motion—your own private living bed.

Art doesn’t wrap his arms around you anymore—he takes the opportunity to wrap them around your hostage, just to make sure he doesn’t feel left out.

He hugs you through him—as if you were the steak, and the man-and-a-half were the bread in a meat sandwich.

And you gasp—between laughter and moans—feeling the weight of him crushing your back,

the burning heat of his skin, and his cock—unyielding—fucking the life out of you.

You smile—you close your eyes. Lost in the pleasure, lost in this madness you love—this chaos that is him.

Exactly this.

Exactly this is what you needed to come.

Your man giving you everything—on you, against you, inside you—filling you with himself like the end of the world depends on it.

You moan his name with a broken voice, drool slipping down your chin, eyes squeezed shut—your fists clutching the hostage’s shirt like it were a bedsheet.

That feeling—building deep inside you, rising higher and higher.

Art is holding you now—tight. So tight you can’t even move… All you can do is take it—take his cock until his grip finally breaks… until he cums.

Your bodies—naked, bloodied, overflowing, frantic—can’t take much more. 

So close.

So close.

Art bites your shoulders—his teeth ache like a teething baby needing something to gnaw on.

God—he’s hitting every single spot, every place you need. And your tight walls clutch him harder with each thrust, a velvet trap begging him not to stop.

And he won’t—not for a second.

Not the fucking.

Not the biting.

His tongue finds yours in a frenzy. And you kiss like oxygen doesn't matter—like your tongues have to melt together before the end comes.

Your mixed spit drips down onto Phil’s face, who’s right there—just inches away—unwilling witness to your sexual apocalypse.

Moans, growls, gasps, filthy sounds fill the car—a hellish symphony.

BEEP.

BEEP.

BEEEEEP.

The seatbelt alert—triggered by Art’s brutal thrusting—like a child kept awake by the sounds of his parents fucking in the next room.

From the outside, the image is absurd: a car bouncing like a cartoon, that shrill warning screaming alone into the empty world.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—matters now.

You’re on fire.

He’s on fire.

The world is on fire.

And Art… Art doesn’t stop.

His arms locked around your body like he hates you for how much he loves you.

“Come for me, baby,” you soothe him. “Fill my body with your poison… spill into me… flood me.”

You whisper it with all the heat in your soul, but some part of you starts to wonder—is something wrong with him?

You look back at him for a second. And he’s wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, sweat dripping down his temples, saliva trailing from his lips—in shock. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, erratic.

And then—you get it.

You lunge for Phil’s throat. You want Art to see you—to see your mouth soaked in fresh blood—hungry, feral, sensual for him.

He loves the sight of you like this. This is his favorite you—your freak self.

And he can’t help but do the same.

The princess moans beneath the tape. No longer fighting—but still feeling… and that’s all that matters.

Art licks one side of his neck. 

You lick the other.

One on each side—like two hyenas toying with a trembling fawn.

You feast on his throat with teeth and lust—leaving red, wet, gleaming marks—, sucking his skin like it’s candy, moaning as you devour the meat of his neck.

And then, the taste of fresh blood hits his tongue—seeping from the tiny cuts made by shattered glass… and he savors it.

That taste… Hot blood from fresh cuts, still full of life—slipping out of its vessel.

Art finds the wounds—and fucks them with his tongue. He plunges into the gashes, tongue twisting and probing, teasing the torn flesh before driving deeper into the raw, bleeding meat.

And then you feel it—a shift. The tension in his jaw, a tremor rippling through his entire body…

Art growls.

“No…” you whisper, already knowing what’s coming. “You’re not going to be able to stop, are you?” you say, already bracing for what’s about to happen.

And he can’t—his ragged breath, his blown pupils, his endless thrusting—they tell you everything.

It hurts you to see him like this—to know you can’t satisfy every one of his needs… 

“This is exactly what you need to finish. I know… do it,” you whisper to him—calm, loving.

He nods, eyes locked on that pulsing throat—he can’t resist any longer.

CRUNCH.

Hot blood splashes your chest, your face, your hair, your neck.

Art’s teeth sink into the Princess’s neck like ripe fruit.

And he starts eating—tearing off chunks of flesh as large as his mouth will allow.

The Princess spasms beneath you, moaning like a dying animal—his body convulsing under your writhing, relentless fucking.

This is the end.

And you look at Art—mouth dripping red, eyes completely gone, face twisted in pure, carnal lust—fucking you harder, faster and deeper than ever. 

And right then—he cums.

Inside you—violently, completely.

He closes his eyes, furrows his brow, his head drops to the angle of your neck, pressing his forehead against your skin. His mouth opens in silence—he’s screaming on the inside, riding the wave of his orgasm like it’s tearing him apart.

His cock pulses inside you like a second heart.

And you feel everything—under pressure.

All his sickness.

All his love.

All his hatred.

And you cum with him—as if your body has no choice.

Not with this image.

Not with this feeling.

Not with those final breaths brushing your neck, escaping his lips as he devours human flesh and clings to you like you’re his torture and the only relief from it.

You cum together—on top of the still-warm corpse.

Art’s thrusts don’t stop as you both ride out the climax—filling you with thick white ribbons of the most intense pleasure a man’s body can take.

He trembles as he clings to you, and you offer yourself completely—you stretch his orgasm out as long as you can—wishing it could last forever for him.

And he does the same for you, in that way only he knows—only he can.

This is the most beautiful part of sex: That moment when you trap each other in a cage made of pleasure.  That moment when it feels like nothing exists outside the other.

The car finally stills.

The beeping fades.

All that remains is your breathing.

And the echo of madness.

Art slips out of you—just for a moment, just long enough to turn you over—and slides back inside with the little strength he has left… just enough to kiss you until he gives in to exhaustion. 

“I love you…” you whisper against his lips, stroking his sinful, naked body. “More than anything,”

you continue between soft kisses that taste like human meat. “I’d do anything for you.”

And he holds you—not quite understanding what you mean, but utterly captivated by your sweet insanity.

He still moves inside you—soft now, but present—in a slow, ghostly rhythm. You close your eyes, letting the fading climax travel through your still-entwined bodies.

Foreheads pressed together, as he finishes unloading inside you—as he empties himself deep inside. The last of him—slowly trickling out in drops, like tears.

And then—a vibration: Phil’s phone.

A new notification.

Marvin Son: Dad, where are you? Mom’s acting weird and we’re going to be late for school.

Art sees it—squints—, and with fingers still trembling from the effort, he types:

Dad: I got lost, I think I took a wrong turn somewhere, and the GPS isn’t working. No clue how to get back home from here… Send me your location and I’ll be there in a sec.

Marvin: Ok. (location attached).

You lie there, eyes unfocused on the ceiling, utterly spent.

“Truth is…we need a nice, relaxing shower.”

Thank you for reading all the way to the end!!!

I hope you enjoyed this story just as MUCH as I did.

Although… I have to admit I might’ve gone a little too far with the poor guy.

There were moments when I genuinely started to feel bad…

Maybe I should’ve stopped after making his wife believe her husband was a son of a bitch.

Maybe I should’ve stopped when Art started choking him with a broken-glass-powered automatic window.

Maybe I should’ve stopped when Art cut off his balls (and stuffed them in his mouth…).

Maybe I should’ve stopped when Art was literally eating him alive.

Maybe I should’ve stopped before dooming an entire happy family.

Oh well. Terrifier things, I guess 😅 HAHAHA.

If you liked the story, please leave a juicy like—it seriously motivates me to keep writing and keep feeding you all.

Comments are also very welcome. I love talking to people as insane as I am.

And don’t forget about requests—I'd be more than happy to make all your dreams cum true.💋🩸

Thanks again for everything, and I’ll see you in the next Artventure.

[iamgoodtobeart]

Allright so, a little "my way" of doodling about Portal. I liked so much making the Wheatley Vinyl that it may happens... with other characters also AHAHAAH. I will use them for the editing of the next episodes obv and for the videos of "Making the Thumbnails"! So, here's the Wheatley one

The GLaDOS Vinyl (Yeah this morning i finished also Portal 2 and it's easily my favourite game of all times BUT I WILL REVIEW IT BETTER INA FUTURE VIDEO, just for saying, the "I want you Gone" and "Still Alive" stickers joke it's obv on pourpose :3) and yeah i have for the next days to edit all the episode of Portal 2

Chell Vinyl

Turret Vynil

Companion Cube Vinyl

WELL, i had really lot of fun making this little Joke. Here's the "Lemon Man & Potato Lady" Vinyl... Hope you can recognize them :3 (i love Lemon Man, he's such an asshole for the sake of his funny research).

LIKE I SAID BEFORE i finished Portal 2 AND I HAVE TO EDIT ALL THE EPISODE NOW✨😌 , i think they'll be like 4 episode in total, more or less. I already started to editing for youtube the second episode (that i think i will publish it after another kind of video, that can be the redraw of the first 2 portal thumbnails, another episode of Viewfinder or some other kind of character design video, but all the rest of the Portal 2 gameplay will be out really soon SO STAY TUNED).

This game is in my heart, i think it changes lot also of how i imagine writing stories and characters TwT.

Btw! Here's the video where i put the weathley one for the first time :3. It's also the first of "Making Thumbnails" ! Enjoy it

[luvsugu]

if gojo worked at starbucks, i'd budget to go see him often

cafe!AU where gojo is a cute barista that everyone just loves, definitely smth i'll continue later too LOL, not so heavy on the x reader but eventually it will be shjdjdhsdjfjsjshdjdj, also uni!AU,,, and AU in general bc no curses

barista!gojo who always begs to stay at the drivethru because it's so fun. he always changes up how he greets customers and he genuinely enjoys flirting with all the older women that come by. it's so fucking cringe but at least they're always in a good mood and they all started getting more tips.

barista!gojo who wears his silly little sunglasses even on cloudy days because his eyes are sensitive. sometimes he gets teased through the drivethru, but they always seem to ask why he does it and customers always melt when he tells them why. he ends up being told they're still cool anyway.

barista!gojo who also loves the drivethru because he gets to see the dogs that come with their owner for a pupcup. he loveslovesloves being able to reach over to say hello not to the customer but to the dog LOL!! (customers definitely wish he'd talk to them the way he talks to their dog). his favourite type of dogs are the smaller ones.

barista!gojo who often hums to himself while he's working. sometimes it's with the song playing on their store speakers, sometimes it's a completely different tune and he's in his own world. it's pretty endearing and other workers find it cute.

barista!gojo who, when asked what his favourite drink is, always laughs and warns the customer playfully that he has a massive sweet tooth. they always say it can't be that bad... but it truly is. a lot of customers don't actually get the drink, but gojo's had some girls say it sounds great (only for their faces to twist after one sip).

barista!gojo who always greets customers right as they enter the door when he can. he smiles and waves, saying something along the lines of "welcome in! how's it going!" (and people enjoy it so much that they actually leave good reviews LOL)

barista!gojo who comes into work even when he's not scheduled so he could study. he finds studying and doing homework there just stimulates his brain better—he doesn't like how quiet his apartment is sometimes. plus, he likes looking like a productive university student.

barista!gojo who referred geto when the store was hiring and put in a GREAT word for him to make sure he got the job. geto isn't as "passionate" as gojo and just wanted out of the mall job he was currently at. eventually though, geto ends up being yet another tip bringing and reason for 5-star reviews.

(i'll continue this later, but) barista!gojo who gives you at least one drink on the house (aka he buys it) when you're studying at his store for more than an hour. he writes silly notes and doodles on a napkin before he gives them to you. he does this to nobody but you!!! UGH!!!!!

[xekutozoren]

Kingdom Hearts x Shugo Chara Mash Up!

Following on from the Amuto inspired princess carry Aquaroth pic from a while back, I had this random idea to doodle Aqua and some others basing the poses off Shugo Chara screenshots.

-cough cough, I realised a bit too late the initial Aqua profile drawing wasn't done and just went lazy mode on that one, forgive me-

It's my first time drawing a lot of them so pls be gentle with me. ><"

I decided to just put the gifs alongside still frames bc I can't animate. So, you can just imagine it with me~

This anime was a big part of my childhood and a guilty pleasure of mine, I suppose - it has all the shoujo vibes that I enjoyed as a kid. (and still do now with certain things ( •̀ ω •́ )✧ )

This is not meant to be a KH/FF themed Shugo Chara AU (*￣;(￣ *)

As in, I'm not making an entire universe where the KH/FF characters replace the Shugo Chara ones and they have their own story or something. I just liked the cinematography of the first opening and wanted to do something with it.

That being said, I do see connections with Aqua and Amu; that whole thing of what you're expected to be and who you really want to be. Aqua, of course, always drowning in her own wishes to be "the good, responsible one".

But...yeah! This was fun. >w< Some of my art I'm just like ._. but oh well.

I apologise if it made no sense, hahaha

I'm definitely going to be doing some more Amuto scenes from this anime with Aquaroth in a similar style so if you're keen on that, stay tuned >w>

Anyway, thanks for indulging me as usual. Hope you found this fun/interesting(?) idk ♪(´▽｀)

Credits

Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy belong to Square Enix

Shugo Chara belongs to Peach Pit

MMD backgrounds by Desperative, amiamy111 and redRevolutionnaire

Opening video subs by Formula Subs (I wanted to use a clean version of the SC Opening but couldn't find one, and it doesn't seem it was ever licensed on DVD outside of Japan, unfortunately

[danothan]

have you watched cw the flash and if so what are ur thoughts :3

hey man where do you think my love for barry came from

(okay that’s not entirely true, i met him thru young justice first but he was just wally’s nice uncle to me at the time. i had no idea what was coming)

cw flash started my love for him, that was like THE show for me at the time. it was before i had a tumblr tho so i doubt there’s any traces, but i did have my fair share of doodling him in the margins of my notebooks at school

i stopped around s2 or 3 i think? but i remember being rly rly enamored -> then rly rly devastated by eddie. i shipped barry and cisco too, wasn’t too big on fandom back then so idk if that was a popular one, but it was my top barry ship at the time (ig i always had a thing for shipping barry with his bestie huh!). and caitlin and leonard were always so fun, i think i might’ve shipped barry with them too. i definitely also shipped him with eddie, sorry i was putting that man thru so much LMAO

i also rly enjoyed harrison wells, i remember making a whole animal au to assign each character and i remember none of them except that each of the “versions” of himself were different types of labradors? not sure what the inspiration behind that was but i’m still assigning animals to superhero characters to this day so not much has changed

my memory is honestly pretty foggy, i must’ve been a freshman when i got into that show, but i remember how fun it was to watch it with my sibling. we were having a major superhero “phase” at that time too, so lots of yja, cw supergirl, daredevil, x-men, etc. we were BUSY. but among those (barring yja), the flash stood out to me the most bc of how much speedsters resonated with me. i would fantasize abt having superspeed to the point i might’ve actually been convinced that i might get them some day 😔👊 the fact that barry was such a silly little guy definitely helped

fast forward 7-ish years later and i’m tuning into flashpoint paradox with fond memories distant enough to be nostalgic but not recent enough to reignite anything. and then i’m hit with a frame of barry waking up to the apocalypse and i knew it was so over for me.

i think the fact that i liked cw flash’s barry sm back then primed me to liking him now, but this version of barry, the barry that’s more comics-adjacent, felt so different that i hold them as 2 completely dif characters and phases in my memory. and i think for that reason, i probably won’t ever rewatch cw flash. i want to keep a good memory a good memory, and i can appreciate what the show had to offer as an adaptation, but i think they knew they were doing their own thing too

[techiebrots]

Hello so I’m going to be word vomiting in your ask box due to the beloved archive being down and I have thoughts tm about B team that weee caused by your drawings + others and also because you artist need to get an ask that is just a mega laser kung pow penis beam of love for what you create and I’m here to do that

B team look so friend-shaped! The way you draw them, with softer corners but keeping lines straight and the flat muted colors that are still bright and draws the eyes’ attention/greys which are layered in such a nice way

I also see the checkered orange-yellow blanket

ham is such a soft shade of pink which is easy on the eyes but is more vibrant than Peni and Noir (Morse obvious in noir and the contrasts between noir and ham is sooo good, opposite spectrums of color)

he’s more humanoid but he’s still cartoony and the way you draw him just fits so well with B team. A wonderful balance

Him and Peni together are just great, they’re probably incredibly chatty and Ham would get Peni more since he’s more in tuned with technology unlike noir’s old man soul

Peni having a round face in the artwork of B team napping together resonates with me, she looks so comfortable napping with her dads

also the doodles of ham and her brushing their teeth (or in ham’s case his eyes), her drinking out of her #1 daughter mug, and noir ruffling her hair :D the daughter and her two dads <3

noir! Dad and friend-shaped. Your rendition of him unmasked makes him so handsome and pretty, like he reminds me of the dad from my neighbors Totoro- except more worn out lol

The drawing you did of that fanfic where B team are chilling with Hobie and Noir listens to some of his music- that has been keeping me GOING through the blackout

he’s holding his hat next to his face and is one sentence away from hiding his face while ham is one moment looking at noir’s face from having his eyes turning into hearts

Im not really a writer that can put how much I adore the drawings into words that perfectly articulate every last thought I have but I hope I did pretty well and sound vaguely comprehensivable and that tumblr didn’t say something was wrong with send- god I had to rewrite this thing once already-

HOLY FUCKING SHIT- UH THANKS! At first I thought this ask was just headcanons of team b and I was so ready to hear you out

While reading through this I got just a small idea of team b and decided to draw it out, which will be posted soon after this so thanks for the brief idea

Now here’s where I say my OWN incomprehensible ramblings so yay more text!

I have NEVER had someone inspect my art or at least told me they have so thanks! I am currently freaking the fuck out and going crazy actually, I have like five messages to my friend freaking out about this ask, and I WILL be rereading this every minute of the day

I have a lot of drawings of them all that will never see the light of day, mostly since they’re warmup drawings and I’m still figuring out how to draw them all consistently but I’m having fun. I mostly based ham off of how he looks in in comics since I love how silly he looks in them and also taking inspiration off of other artists who draw him.

Now here’s the fun part about that exact napping post you’re talking about, that post almost never got made. Like I completely abandoned the idea at first since I didn’t like the first sketch I made of it and almost discarded the idea a couple more times during the process of making it since I had a different idea in my head of what it was supposed to be. Even when i was done with it I was thinking of just not posting it since I didn’t completely like it myself, but now here we are with it being my most popular post. I like the drawing now since I pretty sure I was just staring at it for too long

AND THAT FIC DRAWING- WIZARD MAKES GREAT FICS! I keep rereading them and I will probably go back and read them AGAIN once archive is up and running, I have ideas for some of their fics to draw out but nothing concrete yet

Anyways in short i fucking appreciate this so much thanks! I am currently vomiting everywhere

[justmeinadaze]

Good Neighbors Part 12 (Steddie X Reader)

A/N: I have one more chapter of this guys *cries*. I'm going to miss them when the time comes!

Warnings: Steddie smut and all that that implies (I regret nothing), Cameo from Wayne being a cute grandpa and the elder Harringtons being assholes. Lots of fluff. Like ALL the fluff lol

Word count: 3012

“Wow. This place is beautiful.” You fling yourself excitedly from the dining room of the home you four were looking at into the kitchen. 

“Mom! The rooms upstairs are big!”, Dylan’s feet stomp as he runs down the stairs. 

“Kid! Chill out. We don’t live here yet.”, Eddie giggles as he follows after him. 

“It’s right within your budget and down the street from this guy’s school.”, the realtor smiles at your son. 

“What do you guys think?”

“I like it. It’s closer to Robin to so I can sleep in longer before picking her ass up.”, Steve grins at the notion. 

“Oh, you know me, babe. I come from a trailer so this is like a palace to me.”

“Wonderful.” The realtor slams his briefcase on the desk and pulls out some paperwork. “Go ahead and fill these out. I can get that process started immediately. He points to sections on the documents, explaining things as you. “Now you and your husband will put your banking info and work information here—”, he gestures to you and Eddie. 

“Oh, um, I’m not her husband technically. Is that a problem?”

“No! Not at all.” He glances at Steve who shakes his head. “Ok, so then you’ll just put single for everyone and I’m going to need some more information for the three of you. I’m sorry for assuming. You said ‘babe’ and I just—”

“It’s ok. I’d like to marry her one day.”, Eddie leans over kisses your cheek. 

“Ew!” Dylan pretends to gag.

“Hey! You calm down over there.” The metalhead kicks his foot in his direction making Dylan laugh. 

################

“Hey Eddie.”, Wayne greets you guys from his place on the steps outside of his trailer. “And friends.”

“You smoke like Eddie!”, Dylan points at the man in front of him. 

“Oh my god. He used to have manners.” You look at him apologetically as Wayne chuckles. 

“Oh, don’t even worry about it, Y/N. That’s nothing compared to how this one was. Well, come on in. Where’s Steven?”

“He had to work but we were in the neighborhood looking at a house and I thought we could come by so you can finally meet this weird kid.” Eddie gestures at Dylan who responds by sticking out his tongue. 

“That’s thrilling. It will be nice to have a bigger place, I bet.”

The four of you spent the rest of the afternoon together. Wayne was wonderful with Dylan. You could see when they interacted that he was happy to be around a kid again. After lunch, he took your son outside to show him the land and the car he was trying to tune up. You grinned as you watched Eddie’s uncle point to things under the hood and explain to Dylan what they were.

After coming back inside to use the restroom, you found yourself distracted by Eddie’s room. You had been in here once before but because you were taking care of him you didn’t really get to look around. You ran your fingers over the posters on the wall, beaming at the doodles scrawled in random places. There were notebooks on the dresser and you grabbed one before lying down on his bed. God, it still smelled like him. 

“Get lost, Princess?”

“In your past, yeah.”

Eddie grins as he crawls into the bed, lying on his back beside you. You pointed at the writing in his journal. 

“Was this for you Dungeons and Dragons thing?”

“Yes, ma’am. One of the campaigns we did.” He watches your face as your eyes scan over the material. 

“This is really cool. I don’t understand why people would make fun of you for it. The fact that most of this came from your mind? Wow.”

When you turned your head to meet his gaze, you were met with his lips. “I wish we had known you in high school.”

You grin at him as you close the distance again, kissing him slow at first before it steadily grew more heated. Eddie quickly lifted his head, glancing out the window to make sure Dylan and Wayne were still preoccupied. 

“We’ll have to be quiet.”, he whispers as he presses his mouth to yours. Reaching down, you fumble with his belt buckle before unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down just enough to free his cock from his boxers. 

Eddie spits in his hand as your hips rise off the bed so you can push down your shorts. He pumps his length a few times before position himself outside your entrance. Your head lifts up slightly as you watch him guide his dick inside of you. You both groan as his head falls between your shoulder and neck. 

He’s quick and precise with his movements, knowing you both only have a short window of time. 

“Fuck, Eddie, baby. Just like that.” You murmur into the fluff of his hair as your hands tug at his shirt. His mouth attaches to your throat as he tries to muffle the grunts that escape. One particularly hard thrust hit your g-spot just right making you cry out causing Eddie’s hand to fly up and cover your mouth. 

“Quiet, Princess.” He chuckles as he bites his bottom lip. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N. Can you cum for me?”

With his palm still blocking your lips, you reached up pushing two of your fingers into his mouth that he eagerly sucks on, coating with his saliva. Bringing those digits between your legs, you rapidly began rubbing fast circles into your clit as Eddie thrusts into you faster to match your pace. 

As soon as he felt your pussy fluttering around him, he removed his hand replacing it with his lips as he swallowed and stifled every one of your whimpers as you came around him. He didn’t stop kissing you till his rhythm become sloppier and you felt him cum inside of you. 

Eddie gently pulls out before rolling on to his back and gasping for air. He takes your hand in his and bring it to his lips placing a tender kiss on the back of it. 

“I love you, Sweetheart.”

“Mom! Mom! Come check this out!”, Dylan calls for you outside. 

While you’re pulling up your shorts you lean over and kiss Eddie’s soft, beautiful lips. “I love you to.”

You smile at Wayne as you pass him, heading towards the hood of the car your son is leaning over while Eddie sits on the front steps with his uncle who offers him a cigarette. 

“I like them.” Wayne lights the cigarette before passing his lighter to his nephew. “Kid has picked up a lot from you it seems.”

“Oof. Hopefully not too much.”

His uncle glances over at him for a moment before focusing on the sight in front of him. “Eddie, you aren’t your dad and no matter what you think or feel you will never be him. You would never hurt that kid and that woman there would never allow it. She’s not your mother.”

Eddie’s eyes remained on you two but Wayne knew he was listening. 

“He called himself my son a couple of weeks ago.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

The metalhead smiled before taking another drag of his cigarette. “Proud.” When Eddie finally turned his head, he saw his uncle grinning. “Wayne, I never thanked you. For taking me in.”

Wayne’s grin grew as he tossed the butt of his cigarette into the yard. 

“You never needed to, kid,”

###################

Steve knocked on the door to his parent’s house before slowly opening it and guiding you two inside. 

“Steve, honey, are you sure you want to do this?”, you whisper to him as you wrap your arm around his waist. 

“Yeah. It’ll be fine, I’m sure. My mom wanted to meet ‘the kid I’ve been seen with’ and my dad is at work so it shouldn’t be too chaotic.”

“Steven!” A beautiful brunette woman meets him halfway in the living room and quickly envelopes him in her arms. 

“Hey mom.”, he grins down at her. “This is Y/N and this little man here is Dylan.”

Unlike with Eddie’s uncle something about Steve’s mom made your son nervous as he remained hidden behind your leg. The man beside you immediately notices and bends down to take the boy in his strong, protective arms. “It’s ok, dude. This is my mom. She’s nice.”

“Oh, that’s ok. I can come on a bit strong! Hi there.”

Dylan politely smiles as he gives her a small hello. His mother reaches out to shake your hand and you grin politely as well. She leads you all to a dining room table where lunch has been premade and set out. Your son jumps on one of the chairs and reaches for a sandwich. 

The atmosphere remained awkward as small talk was made. Steve had never really told you anything bad about his mom but you knew enough about her to be hesitant. If you had been her you never would have allowed Steve to grow up in the environment he had feeling unloved and underappreciated. 

“So Y/N, you were married previously?”

Her question shoved you out of your thoughts. “Yes ma’am I was.”

“May I ask what happened?” 

“Hey Dylan. My old room is down the hall there. Why don’t you take my phone and go watch something.”, Steve hands him his device before watching him disappear down the hallway. 

“Mom, that was rude.”

“What? I’m just curious!”

“It’s ok, Steve.” You reach under the table to take his hand in yours. “He was having an affair.”

“Pfft, I know how that goes.” You and Steve stare at her as she takes a sip of wine from her glass. “My husband tries to hide it but as you figured out they aren’t really good at it.”

“Can we not do this right now?”, Steve begs. As if on cue, the front door opens loudly causing his eyes to squeeze shut. “Shit.”

“Well, this is a nice surprise.”, Mr. Harrington throws his suitcase on the couch before entering the dining room. 

“Speak of the devil.”, his mom raises her glass in his direction. “How was work, honey?”

“Good. Good. Exhausting.”

“I bet.”, she spits.

“Should I go get Dylan?”, you whisper to Steve and he gently nods before reassuringly squeezing your fingers. 

You politely smile as you pass his father and powerwalk to find your son. 

“So, Steven… still playing the family man I see.”

“I’m not ‘playing’, Dad.” Steve rises from his chair to face his father. “Y/N and I have been together for almost a year. I love her and I love that kid.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t pay the bills with love. I heard you’re looking into getting a new house. That’s exciting. Can Family Video cover a mortgage? What about things children need to survive, Steven? Do you even know what a kid needs?”

“Do you!?”, Steve snaps. “I may not know everything but at least I know not to abandon him to fend for himself while I go off to work conventions and parties fucking anything with legs.”

His father straightened up, challenging his son with his frame. “You better watch who you’re talking to, Steven. There may a come a time, and knowing you there will be one, when you need some financial support and I won’t be there to bail you out.”

“Dylan, wait!” Your son flew into the room and pushed himself between the two men. He looked up at Mr. Harrington with angry eyes. 

“Don’t talk to him that way! Steve is my dad and you should be nice!”

His father looked down at Dylan in complete bewilderment. Steve collected him in his arms and the boy promptly wrapped his arms around his neck. 

“Do whatever you want, Dad but no matter what this is my family.” He reaches for your hand which you eagerly take and head out the front door. 

##############

“Hey, you good, little man?”, Steve asks Dylan as they enter your apartment. 

“I’m ok. Are you? When my daddy was mean to me it always made me feel bad.”

“I’m ok. Thank you for sticking up for me.” You son smiles up him before running to turn on the tv. 

“Hey, weirdo. I’m going to take Steve in my room so we can talk for a bit. Try not to burn the place down.” 

He scrunches his tiny face at you and you do the same back. Grabbing Steve’s hand, you lead him into your room. As soon as you turn to face him, his lips are on yours. He walks you back towards your bathroom, quickly shutting the door and pushing you against it. 

His mouth sucks and bites at your neck as his fingers pull at your jeans, roughly tugging them down. As soon as you step out of them, he lifts you by your thighs on to the counter. Steve holds your legs open as he sinks to the floor, pressing his face into your cunt.

You moan as his tongue invades your entrance. “Steve, please.”

He licks up your folds, pausing to wrap his mouth around your clit making your squirm. You watch him multitask as his hands reach down to pull off belt and push down his pants. 

“Steve, please.”, you beg again. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

He rises back up to his feet, pumping his cock with the precum that was leaking out before pushing himself inside of your needy pussy. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you whimpered. 

“Are you ok?”, he panted as he carefully pushed himself further into you. “You’re… really fucking tight.” His head falls on to yours as he leans in to place a kiss on your lips. 

“Yeah, I’m ok. Just go slow at first.”

“Anything for you, baby. I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” you giggle. “It’s fine. You two are just wearing this old lady out.”

A mix between a chuckle and moan escape his mouth. “You’re not old and I meant about today with my parents.”

He stood still when he bottomed out, just relishing in the feel of you around him. “Honey, you have no reason to be sorry.” You tenderly push his hair away from his forehead. “I’m sorry you have to put up with that.”

Steve begins steadily thrusting into you, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Jesus…”

“You…you can go a little faster now.”

His arms loop under your knees, lifting them up and sliding you closer to the edge of the sink. With his cock pumping into you more rapidly at this new angle, you felt like you were coming undone. You clasped your hand over your mouth to control the urge to scream out his name. 

Steve feels your pussy tightening around him as he drops one of your legs to rub his thumb over your clit. Your body shakes as you cum, your hand lunging for his own. 

Gripping both your legs again, he thrusts harder into you chasing his own high. His waist sputters as he releases deep within your body. 

After he pulls out of your now sore and sensitive hole, he reaches for the washrag in the cabinet and cleans you up. 

“Steve?” He answers you with a hm as he focuses on his task. “You’re not like him, you know. Your dad.”

He throws the rag in the sink behind you and lifts you up to place you back down on your feet. 

“I know.”

“Steve.” You playfully raise an eyebrow in his direction as he slides your panties up your hips. 

“I just… you’ll never have to worry, ok? I would never make you feel like I don’t appreciate you or that I don’t care about Dylan.”

“He called you dad.” You smile as he blushes, pulling up his pants. “How did it feel?”

“Good. The fact that he feels that way about us… it’s an honor. Scary but…”, he laughs.

“Welcome to being a parent! It’s always scary but worth it. When he was born, I remember being terrified that I was going to fuck up but when I held him and he looked up at me I knew. I knew I would do anything I could to protect this kid and make him happy.”

Steve tugs on your shirt, pulling you to him for a hug. 

##################

“So… they are going to Rivendell to destroy the ring?”, Steve’s eyebrows furrow as he glances at Eddie before focusing his attention back to the tv. 

“Noooo… they are going to Mordor to destroy the ring. They just left Rivendell.” You giggle at Eddie’s tone as he tries to not come off as annoyed.

“Mordor is the only place that can destroy it.”, Dylan’s eyes remain glued to the screen in front of him. 

Your phone on the counter rings and you smile as you get up to answer it, listening to them continue to banter. 

“See? He’s seven and he’s paying more attention.”

“I’m paying attention! There are just too many weird names to remember.”

“Hello?”, you laugh out. There’s silence as you listen to the person on the other end speak. “Oh my god. Thank you! Thank you so much!”

Steve pauses the movie as you hang up jumping towards your three boys with giddy excitement. “We got it. We got the house!”

“Are you serious?!” he gets up quickly, wrapping you in his arms.

“Wow, that’s fucking amazing. I don’t think I’ve lived in an actual house before.”, Eddie grins as you smack his chest before placing a kiss on his lips. 

“When are we moving?”, Dylan asks from his place by your side. 

You reach down to tussle his hair. “Um, next month. Jesus, there’s a lot we need to do beforehand.”

“Ay, Princess. Breathe. We have plenty of time. Tomorrow we can sort all that out. Today, we make fun of Harrington for not understanding Lord of the Rings.”

“It’s not my fault this stuff is confusing!”

#############

@adequate-superstar @kalinaselennespeaks

@luna-munson83 @decadentwombatmiracle

@katie-tibo @marsupiooo @local-stoner-bitch

@steamystrangerfics @lunatictardis

@actuallyspencerreid @moviefreak1205

@waylandmorgernsternherondal-blog

@kik51199 @strngrlytn @idkidknemore

@damon-loves-pie @k-k0129 @micheledawn1975

@eddie86baby @justmeandmymeanderingthoughts

@3rriberri @sashaphantomhive @chelebelletx @big-ope-vibes

[historia-vitae-magistras]

alfred straight up murdering his brother on accident just because he walked too quietly into the room is so fucking funny but how terrifying is alfred to regular humans? If he goes to casually throw some ridicously heavy thing he's working on over to the intern or whoever theyre not gonna get back up on their feet to chew him out for it lol. also... getting shot and squished by bisons still hurts like all hell right? does matthew start to get wary around him or is he just too used to it to be all that bothered?

Lmao right? I very much enjoy using these characters, especially fleshy loony-tune-style horror shows because good fucking god, it's funny. But its also very fun? Alfred javelining people into the water must be so fun. Alfred casually picks up Matt when he's on the sofa because he dropped his keys behind it. He will randomly rip up troublesome trees in someone's fields in the middle of the night. This is not a wholly negative, angsty or even humourous trait.

So for humans... not very as an adult. I think. Generally, Alfred puts his people at ease. He's handsome, funny, intelligent and friendly. Man has that kind of crooked smile and easy charm. The charisma, luck and social skills of the gambler and the grifters and drifters of the old Westerns if not the old West. When he was little and had less control because he'd get excited, I could see him getting himself in trouble and accidentally committing some violence. As an adult, I think he's much more careful around humans, and the only time he tends to bust out the super strength is to prevent accidentally killing humans. Picking up a car in front of someone getting aggressive will contain that person's aggression goddamn fast.

As for if things hurt, yes. Superheroes and Gods are boring for me to write about. I like making these fuckers creepy and overpowered sometimes, but I'm most invested in their humanity. So time to do the math. The average bison is about 816 to 1,088 kg, and the most recent record for a deadlift was 487 kg. So on the lower end of that, 816 divided by 487 is about 1.67; redeploy that as a percentage that's about 160% the strength of what's currently possible. I personally think this is why this dork is always snacking, so it has some effect on his metabolism and his physiology. He's not going to starve to death as fast as he should with that metabolism because there's that nation fuckery there, but my boy is peckish. So now that I've laid that nonsense out, I generally make him about 160% more resilient than the strongest human (yeah, my browser history is fucked, what about it?), but not in all ways because biologically, that would fuck up his brain something fierce cerebellum be whack big and I like my nerdy NASA boy. But I try to keep that 160 in mind, so it might sometimes be consistent? Maybe? But yeah, he's durable and walks away from a lot of things that most people wouldn't, but he can be shot, dropped, smashed, hit, etc. And his pain tolerance is limited because, again, that removes too much vulnerability and why are we invested in this nerd? Lord knows it's not patriotism on my end. Strong, but not indestructible.

Now with the biology and the physical aspect of my stupid brain's explanation of this yankee doodle dumbass (affectionate) articulated, onto the emotional and interpersonal consequences. This is a bit meta, but Alfred's perception of himself and his loved ones can reflect this fandom and canon. I don't know if canon makes them twins, but many people do despite some intrinsic differences in history, progress, culture and values. It's a valid take because who wants to lord over other people or think about being the superpower and the empire? And passport privilege, cultural dominance, and political hegemony are things that only come into play when we're online or in some sort of international situation. The world revolves around the US, but Alfred's 'first amongst equals' with the laurels of power is not his default setting. At home, he just wants to be another person. Abroad, he has to function on a different set of rules, and leadership, and that arrogance only comes out at certain points. He wants to be human, he wants to be loved, he wants to be normal. And it hurts his fucking feelings to be reminded he isn't, that it is lonely at the top, that no matter how similar, the Trudeau quote applies.

Matt's used to him, and Alfred's reasonably careful, but the gulf between them, Alfred's ability to just steamroll him if he wanted to (even if Matt would give him a hell of a fight) does leave its marks. Matt tries as hard not to show it as much as Alfred tries not to crush him. He's overjoyed about something and goes in for a hug, and there go a couple of subluxing ribs as he kind of affectionately slaps Alfred's shoulder like "indoor muscles! Indoor muscles, bud!" And its mainly because Alfred doesn't like thinking about being a weirdo, and Matt doesn't want to remind him. They want to be as equal as possible, but physics is a thing.

[bukojuiice]

— genshin boys as your late night study buddy

ೃ ft. childe, diluc, kaeya, zhongli, xiao and albedo x gn! reader

ೃ 200-299 words per character!  (they are your bfs in this! bc MAN do i desperately want one of the genshin boys to cram school works with and shower me with luv and affection.) ♡

ೃ tags: college au, modern au, and lots of fluff. 

ೃ thank you so so much for 1k notes on my very first batch of genshin hcs! i appreciate all the luv it received and i can never thank all of you enough 🥺 i’ll be making a genshin masterlist soon to compile all of my current and future works so pls stay tuned for that!

ೃ if you want to be a part of my taglist, answer this form! ♡

ZHONGLI:

– Zhongli would be a very chill study partner. He will always keep his cool and focus, never letting his attention stray away from less trivial things. If he can focus, he’ll focus. There’s always this sense of comfort surrounding him that brightens up your mood and productivity. The both of you are sat in this long table, papers, books, and cute matching pencils are sprawled about. You lean your head on his shoulder, as he serenades you with his deep and butter voice, explaining all the formulas to you. Being able to study in peace and quiet with him is always a blissful experience. He never fails to brew you green tea (as it helps the brain function) even if that meant going down to the kitchen at 2 in the morning. He always brings a small humidifier and some essential oils with him that can help brighten up the study mood and that emits a wafting vanilla pinecone scent to keep you happy. (He’s just fancy like that.) When he doesn’t understand the concepts right away, he’d turn to you, his sharp amber eyes gazing at yours with nothing but innocent and love, and asks: “(Y/N)... what reference is this supposed to be? pepe the frog? kermit the frog? here come dat boi? aren’t they all just amphibians? what are the differences between them? I am very intrigued.”

CHILDE:

  – Childe loves a challenge. An academic challenge. He loves the thrill of finishing school works the night before the deadline, he loves studying for a pop quiz twenty minutes before the bell rings, and most importantly, he loves to pretend he doesn’t know how to solve point a to point b if that means getting to spend time with you as you tutor him on how to do so. He’s at the top of the class, He’s popular and friendly, He’s the captain of the Archery Team, and one of the vice council members of the Fatui Club. But, no other title will ever come close to being your study buddy. You and Childe always chill on the bed whenever you study. Especially when the both of you have the sudden urge to just laze around. Well, it is the wee hours of the night, so just lounging around and trying to resist the urge of sleep is pretty understandable. Sometimes, the two of you would take power naps in between study sessions. This meant cuddle times! Childe will always cuddle with you, (he’s the big spoon and you are the smol spoon) and often times you would be immersed into your textbook while he’s scrolling through his phone and looking for some of the current and popular memes. He’d poke you on the cheek and show you what he’s found. It was quite annoying sometimes and you would reprimand him for it, but it never fails to make you laugh. You jokingly suggested one time that the two of you sneak in the library after closing hours, and your chaotic boyfriend turns to you with the biggest smirk plastered on his face. “Let’s do it baby. I know the law.”

DILUC:

–You and Diluc are the cutest pair of night owls. So, studying late at night is never a problem with him because with the help of each other, the both of you are unstoppable. An actual power couple. Batman and his love interest who? I only know (Y/N) and Diluc. Mondstadt University should be giving you the title of #NoSleepGang for the “Campus Cuties” awards because the two of you are able to ace every test still despite lack of sleep.  You and Diluc are very very organized. The both of you own matching couple planners (that the both of you had gifted to each for Christmas) and have your entire study schedule planned out already. Since the two of you prefer to study at night, your dates are usually done during the day. Which meant never having to worry about the upcoming finals whilst you’re at a cute little café with him. The both of you have respective desks whenever you study together, but you never fail to gaze at your crimson-haired boyfriend with the cutest pout and biggest puppy eyes. He always gives in and next thing you know, your swivel chairs are practically glued next to each other and the both of you are cuddling in your seats. One thing that Diluc never fails to do is pamper you with comfort food or little gifts that you love after a long and tiring week of hell (aka exams) It’s such a sweet gesture and the blissful relationship that you have can’t get any better than this.

“I got you some boba and that necklace from Pandora that you’ve always wanted. I-I’m so proud of you (Y/N). You did great, my love.”

KAEYA:

- You are the Lawful Good to Kaeya’s Chaotic Evil. Kaeya is always tempted to ask for answers from your professors. He’s quite the teacher’s pet, but with good intentions. That’s just how he rolls. Every time he jokes about going to the faculty to help out and the answer sheets are just out in the open, waiting to be snatched, you always glare at at him and punch him softly on the arm, every time he tries to bring up the idea. To which he would always reply with, “I’m kidding. Just kidding my love.” You and Kaeya have amazing study hacks. He is always able to find a movie that is somewhat related to the topics that the both of you are currently studying about. For example, when the topic was an introduction to different branches of science, Kaeya chose Big Hero 6  as the “Educational Movie Of the Day.” He is always able to find something fun and informative for the both of you to watch. Well, Kaeya does find fun and interest in everything. Another effective strategy that both of you do is every time you or him get an answer right, you reward each other with either a kiss on the cheek or a bear hug. Both of these affectionate gestures give you butterflies in your stomach anyway, so it doesn’t matter which is which. With the ideas that Kaeya constantly makes up every single day of your study sessions, there’s a high chance that you’ll never fluke a test ever again.

“Oh. That’s pretty cool of you (Y/N). You got 30 correct answers! If we count everything, so I basically gave you 15 forehead kisses and 15 bear hugs. Congrats! I know we’re going to ace our finals!”

XIAO:

– Xiao is extremely intelligent and talented in a myriad of things. However, he lacks self-confidence. You’ve sworn to your boyfriend that you’d help him gain confidence in his academic abilities. Which is why you became study buddies in the first place. It served as dates with him too! Although he stubbornly refused at first, his reasons being that he can do things by himself and he doesn’t need any help. You continued to encourage him that this was going to help the both of you and it was a way for the two of you to bond, and Xiao hesistantly agreed right after. As the captain of the soccer team, “The Liyue Adepti”, The only free time that Xiao has was during the evening which is the reason for your scheduled late night studies with him. This brought so much more intimate and sweet moments with him though! It meant sleepovers with him, midnight snack runs, and casual early morning strolls in the park. It became sort of a routine. Your hand interlaced with his, the crisp morning air, the little chirpings birds, and the tranquil swaying of the trees brought so much comfort to the both of you. Xiao would be the type of student to not speak up unless he’s called. Even if he knows the answer. The both of you sit on some floor pillows whenever you would study. So, whilst you read aloud, Xiao always hugs you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I don’t deserve the patience and love you give me, (Y/N). I am eternally grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I hope you know, that I’ll always be here for you.”

ALBEDO:

- Being the university’s library assistant has it’s perks. Access to infinite knowledge, quiet solitude within the library walls, and being able to hang out with your boyfriend. It was truly a perfect deal. After classes, Albedo would be heading straight over to the library to do his work. You’d meet him there and wait until he gets his work done, and then the two of you head home together or have dinner. Albedo likes to plan things in advance. He’s quite busy, being a part of university’s alchemist group and as a library assistant, but, he will always study with you. He even brings Klee with him at times too! She’s always an energetic and cute addition, + she tattles on and on about how in love Albedo is with you and how he would never shut up about you at home. Albedo puts a lot of effort into creating review materials for the both of you. He makes very intricate drawings of modules, dioramas of certain science models, and has all the formulas memorized for him to list down. He’s a genius after all, and although you’ve constantly told him time and time again that he doesn’t have to make a review paper specifically catered to you, he still insists. He always gifts you one whenever it’s exam week (he adds extra detail to them during your finals) The cutest thing about these papers are scribbled about in all of the pages. The cutest doodles of the two of you with hearts and flowers drawn all over. Albedo + (Y/N) is even written in the last page, along with a heartfelt message: 

“I put all my faith and belief in you, (Y/N). I know you can do this. I’m proud of everything you’ve reached so far, my beloved. and I know you’ll reach greater heights. Let’s continue to excel and thrive together. I can’t wait to spend the rest of this journey with you.”

[acacia-may]

Narah 💖

Thanks to @delirious-donna, Narah Roulacase (one of my Black Clover Babies/OCs) has a birthday now--which is today, November 6th! 💕 So I’ve decided to make this post about her.

Narah appears with her father, Finral, & Uncle Langris in Breaking the Cycle (Linked Here) and briefly appears with her older brother, Kalon, and best friend/cousin, Altan, in Birthday Buddies (Linked Here).

Narah has offensive spatial magic but is a sensitive child who is easily frightened, especially by her magical attribute (until her uncle helps her learn how to wield it properly). She is kindhearted and generous—very in tune to the needs and feelings of others. Since she is very close with her Uncle Langris and looks up to him very much, here is a quick doodle of the two of them together:

Some more fun facts about Narah are included under the cut:

Narah loves tea like her dad, and often gets him to play along with her tea parties (complete with dress up and everything--Finral takes it all very seriously). She can sometimes get Uncle Langris to play along too, but he staunchly refuses to dress up.

Langris has a particular soft spot for Narah, especially when he is teaching her to use her offensive spatial magic. He tries to be gentle and encouraging with his instruction, but there are a few times (through no fault of Langris’s) that the training was hard or painful for her and ended in tears. Narah is very emotionally expressive like her dad (she wears her heart on her sleeve, and cries easily), so it wasn't really Langris’s fault that she got upset. I imagine he still feels extremely guilty about it and has a lot of fears of pushing her too far or too hard (because of his own training as a child and the trauma related to that). There are more than a few times he swears he's going to quit teaching her, and Finral has to go and fetch him, reassure him that it's just Narah being Narah, and ask him to come back.

When Narah was a baby, her older brother, Kalon, would bring her all the randomest little things as "presents" (most of which had to be put away for later because they were choking hazards but it's the thought that counts). As she gets older, she starts to collect them properly because she looks up to her big brother so much. Unfortunately, she can’t join him on his time travel adventures because she looks too much like her mother and "Young Dad" is not ready for that... (and who knows what that would do to the fabric of space time)

Narah's favourite activities are dress up and arts and crafts. Between Vanessa and Gordon's sewing skills, she has more dress up clothes than she knows what to do with, though she is always the first to share with any of her friends/Black Bulls "cousins." She wants to learn how to sew herself and wishes she could with her magic, but her Uncle Gordon is teaching her how to sew the old-fashioned way. She has tried many other types of crafts too and loves to give handmade things to her family and friends. In the "Future Problems" Universe, she has a bit of a crafting club with her Uncle Gordon, and Grey & Gauche's son and daughter, Toshi & Mira. (Charmy's daughter, Anni, occasionally participates until she gets distracted by snacks).

Though Narah is incredibly empathetic and kindhearted, she is fiercely protective of the people she loves so if you cross her family or friends, she could and would hurt you. Very much that “looks like cinnamon roll but could kill you” type—which means she is often underestimated. She is particularly protective of her cousin, Altan, even though he is older than she is, and they are thick as thieves. It is very rare to see one without the other.

When Narah was very young, her prized possession was a pink quilt embrodiered with flowers that Vanessa made for her when she was born. It was very much her security blanket, and she often curled up in it for comfort when/if she was ever sad or frightened and her family wasn’t around. Even if they were, she’d just drag her quilt with her—into her favourite safe place to sleep as a little one, cuddled up in between mum and dad, for instance.

She's very motherly by nature, loves playing house and absolutely adores babies. She desperately wants to be a big sister for most of her early life but had the misfortune of already being the "surprise baby" of her family--though she was very much welcomed and doted upon (and probably even a bit spoiled as the youngest). In response, she has adopted her little Black Bulls cousins as her younger siblings. [Eventually, thanks to a writer friend who insisted "Narah deserves babies," she does eventually get younger siblings. How many depends on the AU].

She's a very powerful/talented mage and eventually joins the Roses (which has changed hands & colors a couple of times by that point) though I think her "what do you want to be when you grow up?" dream is much more akin to settling down somewhere as a seamstress and having a family.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

Yes hi, I'd love to know more about your tourettes sokka hc if you're up for it 👀 I'm starving for tourettes hcs so 👀

Oh boy oh boy oh boy!! I can talk about this SO MUCH (I will warn now, there will be some Zukka in this) okay so I guess I’ll start at the beginning...

Sokka was six when he started showing symptoms

It started with just some motor tics but everyone kind of just attributed it to this kid has a lot of energy ahhh

It became more noticeable when he kept almost killing himself with weapons because of his tics and slight carelessness

That’s one reason why he loves boomerang so much, none of the other weapons felt right to him and they would always get in the way of his tics, but he could throw boomerang and it would come back to him so he could keep throwing it and it made him feel calm

Then, Sokka started saying stuff that he didn’t mean to say, but again, everyone was just like hyper kid because it’s not like he was doing anything wrong

But they realized something was up when Sokka started yelling “FIRE NATION” without intending to and sending the whole tribe in a panic

So, Hakoda took Sokka to a nearby trustworthy Earth Kingdom village and that’s where Sokka got diagnosed with Tourette’s (and ADHD)

One of the things with Sokka is touch, like, he feels like touch is constricting and restraining sometimes. The problem is, he LOVES touch, he is a touchy person, but when someone touches him without telling him first or asking him, he doesn’t like it.

Sometimes he mentally shuts down when it happens, sometimes he tics more, the reaction depends on his anxiety levels and who touched him and when and where

The only people he gave a pass to was Kya and Katara. He didn’t even like it when Hakoda put a hand on his shoulder.

It was weird, he could feel the difference when Katara and Kya touched him compared to anyone else and he felt bad because he wanted his dad to hug him, but it felt so wrong

So, Sokka loves touch, but he likes to initiate it

So, moving forward, Sokka and Katara meet Aang, he’s the Avatar, they join and you know, there’s Aang the Avatar, Katara the Waterbender, and Sokka the guy with Tourette’s on the team

At least, that’s how they are known amongst the Fire Nation

Going undercover is so fun for Sokka, but he also has to be really conscious of what he’s doing and what he says and trying to suppress

It takes a lot out of him, but he knows he literally has to do it or he could get caught or expose them and Aang or Katara could get caught

On occasion, he has tic attacks (and for those who don’t know, they’re essentially a really bad TS day or moment where your tics are more consistent and seem to hurt more or you just have like an unending moment of tics where you just can’t stop for a little while. They are usually caused by anxiety or overstimulation or something like that, but they differ for everyone with TS)

The first time it happened in front of Aang, the sweet child panicked because he didn’t really understand what was happening and why Sokka was doing that and really what TS was

Katara is an angel, seriously. She is so sweet to Sokka when this happens and she knows exactly how to ground him and help him get through it

(Seriously, Sokka appreciates her so much. She is genuinely the one exception and anytime she wants a hug or any kind of touch she is allowed to do it)

the first time it happens in front of Toph when she joins is in Bitter Work when Sokka was in the hole

Just looking at Sokka in the whole sends my anxiety up because he literally can’t move! So like, imagine being in a hole for like five hours+ and needing to move like physically and you can feel the sensation in your body and it hurts and burns and tingles but you can’t. Sokka is not having a good time

So, Toph drags him out of the hole and is freaked out because she can’t see what’s happening and it’s scary because Sokka is making noises and hyperventilating and his heart rate is through the roof and Aang ran to get Katara and she can’t touch him because when she pulled him out of the hole he shrieked

She’s cool with it after that, she doesn’t think of him any less or anything, but it terrified her the first time because no one told her he had TS because they forgot to mention it and she couldn’t see what was happening

We all know that Sokka loves Suki and the Kyoshi Warriors with his whole entire heart and once they kicked his butt and helped him learn that sexism is bad, they were so fun to work with?? They taught him their style, obviously, but they also helped him incorporate his TS into it and how to use it to his advantage, something he had been struggling with his whole life

One of the things Sokka loved most about Yue is that she never even mentioned his sounds or movements she just let him do it without questioning him and that doesn’t happen a lot

I feel like Sokka having TS would make his time with Piandao even kore meaningful because he really struggles to keep his hands still so sword fighting does not come naturally to him

Piandao loves it though because it just makes Sokka even more clever and resourceful and he takes his time with Sokka, helping him as much as he can and never getting angry or anything when he can’t stand still

He also added more to what Sokka learned from the Kyoshi Warriors about incorporating his TS into his fighting and using it to his advantage

Not only was his sword an extension of his arm, but his TS was an extension as well

Did Toph and Aang help Sokka incorporate his tics into their scams? Yes, yes they did

Zuko joining the team was weird for Sokka because they kind of just clicked and he realized that they both have a weird thing with touch

On the balloon to Boiling Rock, Sokka is just comfortable around Zuko and his tics are like “cool yeah, have a break” and so he doesn’t tic and Zuko just “why aren’t you ticcing?”

and Sokka is ??? “Huh?”

and Zuko “You usually tic but you aren’t now. Why?”

and Sokka essentially explains that TS is weird and random and sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t, but he’s really comfortable and calm so his body is like “ye, let’s chill for now”

and Zuko is like “oh. that’s good. I kinda miss it though”

and Sokka d i e s because what?? Someone likes his tics enough to miss them? Like, they don’t annoy Zuko and he doesn’t tune them out?

and the bender goes on to explain that he likes the noises, they remind him that he is doing the right thing and that he’s here and he didn’t hurt team Avatar and they’re just comfortable / pleasing to the ear

and Sokka DIES

but then Zuko is like mmm maybe you should stay in the balloon and I’ll go to Boiling Rock and Sokka got pissed because he thinks Zuko said it because he’s a nonbender and he starts panicking and ticcing and Zuko panics and kind of just grabs his hand and Sokka... Sokka doesn’t hate it? Like, it feels nice and doesn’t agitate him?

but Zuko was like no I mean because everyone in the Fire Nation guard knows about the guy on team Avatar with TS and I don’t want you to get hurt

At one point in the prison courtyard, Sokka verbally tics really loudly about the moon and some guards hear and head to where they are so Zuko covers for him by screaming about how much he loves the moon

One of the worst moments in Sokka’s life was when Toph was falling and he grabbed her, but he wanted to tic and he knew that if he did, Toph would fall and die and he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t

(he still has nightmares about it happening)

when Sokka becomes an ambassador, some people are pissed because well 1) Watertribe 2) he’s a child 3) they suck 4) they think he’s distracting with his tics and Zuko is not here for it so he will destroy them

Like one time (after they started dating) Zuko overheard some councilors mocking Sokka’s tics and he got PISSED like so pissed and he went off and the found Sokka and hugged him because he is allowed to

oh! Sokka and Zuko’s thing is like hand-holding okay? They both kind of hate it because weird touch stuff, but it’s okay when they do it to each other?? Like, it feels right and like they’re completed and whole and it’s nice

before they start dating, they kind of do it a lot. Like, night before Zuko’s coronation, Sokka finds Zuko and he’s freaking out because what if he ends up like his dad and Sokka kind of just... grabs his hand and they sit there

Sokka is panicking because chronic pain and the cold of home makes it worse and Zuko finds him crying in the library and just... holds his hand

Zuko keeps little things on him all the time like paperclips and paper and writing utensils and things that click and buttons and stuff so if Sokka looks stressed during a meeting he can slip something under the table to him so he can play with it

Sokka also draws a lot during meetings, like, he doesn’t look at anyone throughout the whole meeting, even when he talks. He is able to focus more and pay more attention when he is doing something with his hands so he draws and doodles and sometimes takes notes

Sometimes he just writes the same word or sentence over and over again throughout the whole meeting

Sokka has sensory issues and a lot of noise stresses him out

It’s kind of the opposite of Zuko’s sensory issues? Like, Zuko doesn’t like loud noises and Sokka doesn’t like kind of static-y noises, like... when things sound muffled or muted or people are talking kind of quietly over each other

(Zuko definitely gives Sokka massages when his tics hurt a lot)

Random, but after awhile “yip yip” became a verbal tic of Sokka’s. Sometimes, he would say “you need to yip yip” and then he’d apologize to Appa and tell him that he’s yipping just fine

Toph is kind of like Zuko in how she likes Sokka’s verbal tics

She can’t see-see, but hearing his tics is nice sometimes, especially when she worries

She likes falling asleep to some of his tics

Even though Katara and Zuko are allowed to touch him whenever they want, more often than not they ask first because friendship is magic

Suki is lovely, okay? Like, just her presence is enough to make him feel better and she approaches helping him in a different way, she just talks to him and asks him questions to help him take his mind off of it

Sokka really doesn’t hate his TS, like, yeah, sometimes it pisses him off more than he can even explain, but it’s a part of him and as much as he cherishes when he can sit still, it’s wrong, it’s not him? He sits weirdly in chairs and changes his position every two minutes, he rocks his legs in his sleep, he sometimes even finds his own tics grounding...

Over time and with help from his friends, he learned to not be ashamed and that having TS didn’t make him ant less of a warrior

also, he, Toph, and Zuko are the disabled club✌🏻(and it makes them feel better sometimes in their own little way)

I have a lot more I could say but this is already pretty long, so I’ll end this sweet with Katara is amazing and Sokka’s relationship with her is wonderful and she knows how to help him with his tics in the way that Zuko does and can help center him like no one else and Sokka just loves her so much

Okay! Ah! That was kind of a lot but I hope you like them! Anyone can feel free to add more to this or lemme know if you have any ideas!

Thank you for the ask! I enjoyed writing these:)

[jtrbluv]

we’re not really strangers | pjm

summary: We’re Not Really Strangers is a purpose-driven card game and movement all about empowering meaningful connections. Three carefully crafted levels of questions and wildcards that allow you to deepen your existing relationships and create new ones. Ready?

or alternatively,

your furtive infatuation with your lifelong best friend proves to be hard to suppress when there’s (1) alcohol involved and (2) a card game that forces you to reveal more about yourself than you could ever wish for. in short, no, you are not ready.

[friends to lovers!au]

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: fluff, crack, slight angst

word count: 8.7k

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, two emotionally constipated best friend, PG-15

A/N: hi, i’ve been really excited about this fic for a while, and i’m genuinely so happy that i finally finished it! the card game is in fact real and i got inspired for this fic after i had played the game with a couple of friends myself. AHEM! @koushiningg​ ! we both cried and i do highly recommend to play it! but anyways, i hope you enjoy this fic because i had a lot of fun writing it! sending love always... jumi out!

EDIT: @bangtans-peaceful-piegon​ i’d also like to thank the lovely pidge for beta reading this 4 me as well! PIDGE I FUCKIN LOB U!!! 

PLAYLIST ; SEQUEL

♤ ♤ ♤

Not once in your life did you ever imagine a simple card game to become the bane of your existence. 

Yet Park Jimin was able to prove you wrong. 

Let’s play ‘We’re Not Really Strangers’ he said. It’ll be fun, he said.

You stare down at the card in front of you—everything else in your periphery was blurry in vision and you can audibly pinpoint the erratic beating of your heart. 

The card was practically taunting you, laughing in your face. It was as if there was a sentient being in the room who was aware of your own subconscious and the not so latent feelings you had for the boy sitting in front of you. 

Same said being loved to constantly place you in a state of trepidation concerning your current situation—your blood pressure skyrocketing—nearly feeling the muscular pink thing inside of you thrusting itself against your ribcage. 

The white card with crimson red writing made sure to leave an impact, making you feel the most ridiculed you’ve felt all night which says a lot—leaving your mind in a complete frenzy although you refused to let it be known. 

And so you sat there. Fiddling the card in between your fingers, feigning nonchalance. You were very much on the brink of cracking your facade—your sanity practically crumbling as the minutes ticked by. You didn’t think you’d last this long to be honest. Yet an hour and a half proved to be way too straining on your body, especially your heart. 

He simply sat there with his hands folded on the table—void of emotion, whistling a familiar top 50s tune you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You considered shifting your focuses on trying to comprehend the tune—hoping it would ease the concerning state of apprehension you were in. 

But then you remember that you aren’t that pathetic. Even though you both had probably been sitting in complete silence for about two minutes now. Up to the point where you could probably hear the crickets chirping outside his apartment, except the only sound that was filling your ears was your own conscience telling you how idiotic you were being. 

Your face may be gradually morphing the same shade of crimson as the writing inscribed onto the card itself, and you may have a whole line of sweat encompassing your hairline. But it’s just a stupid little card game. You could say any stupid little answer and the stupid not-so-little boy wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care. So you shouldn’t care. 

When did you become so pathetic after all?

-one hour and a half ago-

“Why can’t we just play Mario Kart or Uno? This sounds like there’s too much thinking involved,” you whine, leaning against the side of his couch. 

“One, we always play that. And two, I always lose,” he grumbles, plopping down onto the floor.

Jimin rests his back on the frame of the couch as he sits in the small gap made by the large piece of furniture and the coffee table that resided in front of it. You decide to sit on the floor as well, around an arm’s length away from your friend. He places the red box down onto the table—opening the cap and revealing the contents with a mischievous glint in his irises. 

Within the box was a deck of cards, separated into three piles with two pencils on either side. Knowing Jimin, you assumed this game had an ulterior motive you were unaware of, and by the title of the game, you could already tell that you weren’t going to like it very much. 

“How do you even play this?” You ask, causing him to look up in return.

He bites his lip, taking a couple seconds to ponder on your question, “I don’t know it’s my first-time playing too,” he shrugs. “I was watching Jin and Namjoon playing it a couple of weeks ago and for some reason, Jungkook started crying.”

“He is a sap,” you hum in agreement, thinking in retrospect of Jungkook crying from various situations such as Iron Man dying or that one time Jin farted on his pillow and he got pink eye for a whole week. 

“The biggest,” he concurs, “Hm, there’s no instructions in here.” He mutters while shuffling through the cards. 

“Why don’t you just search it up?” You suggest, sliding the box to yourself as he nods and fishes his phone out of his pocket. 

While holding the box in the palm of your hand, you scan the contents—turning it around in your palm until your eyes narrow in on the words printed at the bottom. 

“Oh, it says something here.”

His head perks up. “Hm? What is it?”

You clear your throat at the sight of the long explanation. “We’re Not Really Strangers is a purpose-driven card game and movement all about empowering meaningful connections. Three carefully crafted levels of questions and wildcards that allow you to deepen your existing relationships and create new ones.” You internally grimace at the words. The game hasn’t even started and you already had a bad feeling about it all. “Ready?” You say through clenched teeth, purposely keeping your head hung low. 

Jimin’s lips quirk up into a cheerful grin, unaware of the piercing stare you were giving him. “Okay, I think I got it,” he declares, eyes zeroed in on his phone once more, ”There’s three levels—perception, connection, and reflection. Each level we pass, the deeper and more thought-provoking the questions get. Helping us make a deeper connection and get to know each other better yadda yadda yadda.”

You nod in understanding, sliding the box of cards back towards him—forcing the grimace that kept threatening to plaster itself onto your face into a small, smug smile. 

“The first thing we have to do,” he begins, taking out two pencils and two small pieces of paper, “is write messages to each other. We won’t be able to open these until after we leave.” He explains, sliding a pencil and paper towards you.

“Wow, very cryptic,” you tut, biting down on your bottom lip before more distasteful remarks decided to leave your lips. He doesn’t catch your reaction or your comment though because he’s already got his pencil in his hand, scribbling vigorously onto the tiny piece of paper. Knowing him it could very well be nonsensical insults and doodles, or a whole essay about your friendship and what you mean to him. Most likely ludicrous and full of thought, either way, just like him. 

Without much thought, you lazily jot onto the paper.

know that i love u, u fucker <3 

-y/n

The sound of your pencil falling against the table causes him to look up at you, eyes knit together in confusion. 

“You’re done already?”

You chuckle, “I mean, I wasn’t going to write an essay. You already know how I feel about you. But it seems like you’re writing one though.”

His eyes narrow in on you—giving you an indiscernible look before letting out a small ‘hmph’ and lowering his focus back down to his pencil and paper. You dismiss his enigmatic behavior—deciding to mindlessly scroll on your phone while waiting for him to finish his MLA formatted essay.

Two minutes pass and you hear the sound of his pencil being placed onto the table. “Done.”

“You added citations too right?”

He scoffs, “No, but i’ll gladly add some if you’d like.” 

You roll your eyes for what seems like the umpteenth time in the last five minutes, “Just start the goddamn game.”

He takes the first stack of cards and shuffles them between his hands. “In all three levels, there are wild cards or basically dares we have to complete. And for each level, we get two ‘dig deeper’ cards. Pretty self-explanatory. So this is the perception level. It’s basically designed for first encounters and strangers, and we’re gonna be asking each other questions about ourselves.”

Your eyes widen at the whole confidentiality of it all. “Are we going through all of those cards?” You blurt out, staring at what seemed to be like 50 cards in his hands. 

“Oh no,” he quickly refutes, “It would take hours. We’ll just do like 12 cards each.”

“Alright,” you huff, letting out a small breath of relief. 

“Yay! Okay I’ll go first,” he beams, his toothy smile evident as he places the deck in between the two of you while grabbing a card from the top, “What do you think my name is?”

You snort at the conspicuousness of the question, “Jamal.”

He immediately guffaws at your response, throwing his head back in addition. “Hey, I don’t mind that.”

“Are all of the questions like this?” You say in between hushed laughter. 

“Nah,” he shakes his head as you pick up another card from the deck, “now you ask me.”

“Alright, what’s the first thing you noticed about me?” You ask, slightly taken aback by the sudden earnestness of the question, causing you to become genuinely curious about what his answer was going to be.

He hums, taking a second to think it through. “I think your smile and your laugh. It’s always been really contagious since the day I met you.” He admits, almost matter-of-factly as if it was something you should’ve known by now, yet you did not. 

Your heart nearly disintegrates into a puddle of goop right then and there, but you manage to conceal your reaction, “Aw, you actually like me.” You tease. 

He scoffs with a playful grin on his lips. “Don’t flatter yourself. You still cackle like a damn hyena.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “At least I don’t laugh at every single of Jin’s lame ass jokes.”

He gasps, jaw slack open due to your all too accurate truthbomb, “I did not ask to be attacked in my own residence.”

“Well, what are you gonna do about it then.”

He snorts. “Holy shit, do you remember when I banged my head on the corner of his coffee table.” 

“How could I forget? I had the picture of the bump on your head as my lockscreen for like a month.” You reminisce, resisting the urge to pull up the picture from your phone.

“Yeah, and that same month I bought and rotated between the same 10 hats.”

“Hey! It genuinely didn’t look as bad as you thought.”

He whips his head towards you, giving you a piercing glare that made you want to redact your statement immediately. 

He grins from ear to ear, the little shit, amused at the reaction he was able to garner from you. 

“Aha!” He suddenly guffaws, shooting out of the floor and prancing towards his fridge. He then takes out three bottles of lychee-flavored soju and makes his way back towards the table. 

Jimin being the borderline alcoholic he is, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you. Not even after he takes another trip back to the fridge to grab yet another three bottles of soju, mango-flavored to be exact. He has probably one of the stupidest grins etched onto his face as he held onto the bottles—meanwhile you were more concerned about the possibility of having to clean up a bunch of broken glass and wasted soju. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time. 

“And do you plan on drinking all of this by yourself?” you say, gesturing towards the bottles.

“I know my liver is strong, but I don’t buy this shit just to enjoy alone,” he retorts. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you shake your head as you click your tongue, “Playing this while tipsy just sounds ten times better don’t you think?.”

You shrug—although you had a strong hunch for what he was insinuating, “I mean I guess.”

He starts to pour soju into his shot glass, stopping just before it hits the brim. He slides the glass to you and you take it into your hand, eyeing the sparkling fluid and thinking about the way the contents would do its little all-too-familiar dance on your tongue. 

“Well, you know what they say,” he says, pouring a glass for himself, “drunk words are sober thoughts,” he finishes while dragging out the last word—downing the first shot in one quick swig. You follow his lead soon thereafter, refusing to let your mind linger on what he had just said and the viable likelihood of you spewing out the words that could just make or break your longstanding friendship and lead to a lifetime of regret. 

Obviously, everything’s going fine and dandy for you.

-

The next 20 minutes consisted of a plethora of superficial questions that would vary from:

“What's your favorite song lyric you can think of off the top of your head?”

Your head shoots up as if the lightbulb in your head just flashed on. “Easy. Shawty’s like a melody in my head that i cant keep out got me singing like-“

He lunges over to clap a hand over your mouth before you could sing the next line. “Na na na na no Y/N. Please stop.”

Or something along the lines of:

“What character do you think I'd play in a movie?” He asks with a smug smile. 

“You’d be the second male lead that everyone secretly wants to end up with the main character because you act all sweet and kind and and genuinely cares about her but instead she chooses the other guy because something about him draws her in and it was her ‘gut instinct’ or some shit like that.”

“So I would get second male lead syndrome?” He reiterates. 

“Yes.” 

He sets his shot glass back down with a glower, clearly taken aback. “That is the biggest insult I’ve ever gotten in my entire life.”

You also couldn’t forget about:

“Oh, this one says to create a secret handshake.”

“No.” You deadpan.

“And why not?”

“Your pinky‘s the size of a vienna sausa—“ 

He smacks you square in the cheek with a pillow before you could finish your sentence. You don’t even fight back because your mind was so slow to process what he had just done. The fact that you only slept for 5 hours last night didn’t help whatsoever. Your evident lack of energy causes him to jab his finger into your side, causing a loud shriek—your fight or flight response starts kicking in as you grab the back of his neck and slam his face against the fabric of the couch cushion. 

-

Soju was never able to make the two of you full on drunk—buzzed of course, but not enough for complete incoherency. And so you both down a bottle each before finishing the first round. 

“I’m surprised we didn’t get any wild cards that round,” he says while resting his head on the couch.

You purse your lips, “You spoke too soon.” 

His eyes flash open as he cranes his neck in an attempt to see the card. “Wait actually?”

You can feel your insides churn as you read the words in front of you, and you were sure that it wasn’t the alcohol talking. “Write down the three most important things to you in a relationship for 30 seconds and then compare.”

Jimin reaches over to grab two pieces of paper and pencils while unlocking his phone to find the timer app, “Okay, I’ll put a timer on for 30 seconds starting… now.”

And so the internal monologue in your head begins. 

Three most important things… only three? That’s not anywhere near enough to suffice. Wait, what would the first one even be… oh yeah, trust. Trust is very much important yes, yes, yes. What else? Um, communication? Yes of course, that’s essential. Okay, what would the last one be? 

You sneak a glance over at Jimin. His cheek is squished against the palm of his hand, making his cheek fat (an area in which he lacked in) more prominent and the pink, plush flesh of his lips appear even bigger than they already were. 

The ceiling light emitted a faint, ambient glow—the lights and shadows hitting all the slopes and curves of his face. You never understood how someone could be so effortlessly stunning. Even the mess atop his head that’s supposed to be his hair looks purposely tousled—the ebony strands sticking up in multiple directions was framing his temples and contrasted with the honey-like hues of his skin. 

Unlike the glow that radiated from the lights of the worn-down apartment and the radiance of whatever was beyond the glass of the window behind him, everything about him seemed to glow much brighter.

“Hello, earth to Y/N, your 30 seconds is up.” He interrupts pointedly, waving a hand in front of your face.

Blinking rapidly, you shake your head as well as all preceding thoughts that definitely weren’t consuming your mind a few seconds ago, “Sorry w-what?”

He laughs at your disoriented state, “Did you finish writing your three things?”

No, I wrote your name as number 3. “Yeah, I did. You can go first though.”

He nods with a small smile. “Oh, okay then let’s see. First, I put trust. I don’t know, I think everyone puts that to be honest. After that, I put communication. I feel like that’s just a given y’know. Another thing I feel like most people would say.”

You utter a timid “mhm” under your breath albeit zoning out and being unaware of what he was saying. Opportunely, you managed to scribble out his name with the mere seconds that had passed and now you were tapping the lead point of the pencil against the paper, littering the page with a bunch of grey, little dots—incognizant to the fact that he had his eyes focused on you the whole time. 

“I didn’t really know what to put last. Three things isn’t anywhere near enough in my opinion. But at the last second, I wrote down vulnerability,” he continues.

You look up upon hearing the last word. “Oh wow, that’s good. I didn’t even think about that.”

He chuckles unabashedly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Right? I just figured. At first, I thought it would go in the same category as trust but then I thought about it more. Yeah, you can trust someone and someone can trust you, but to what extent does that all go to. Where does it start? And where does it even end? You need to be able to open up to the person I feel like. So I guess trust and vulnerability go hand in hand.”

Impressed with his words, you decide to chime in.  “Wouldn’t communication go along with it too?”

“Hm?”

You place your pencil down. “You would open up to each other by means of communication, becoming more vulnerable, and then overall gaining more trust in the end.”

His brows raise at your sudden revelation, “Wait, you’re so right, did you just wax poetic and full cycle all that?.”

You smile, “I mean I guess,” you respond humbly, “ it does make sense though, does it not?”

He hums in agreement while downing another shot, “It applies to us, right?”

You force out a chuckle, but it comes out a lot more faux-sounding than you would’ve liked. “Haha, yeah I guess it does, doesn’t it.” Once again, starting to dive deeper into the abyss of pitiful hope and unrequitedness. 

“Describe your perfect day.” He suddenly interjects.

You quirk a brow. “Didn’t I just go?”

“It’s okay, I’ll go for this one too.”

“Alright,” you say, foot tapping on the wooden floor as you look past him and out into the glass window of his living room, “well, I wouldn’t have school of course. And I think it would all depend on how I feel that day. If I was feeling particularly lazy, the day would probably consist of me binge-watching shows in bed while eating a shitton of carbs. And the other case would probably be galavanting around the city or going to an amusement park with friends.”

Jimin listens intently and smiles as you speak, causing you to avoid his stare before pigment threatened to rush to your cheeks, “Both of those scenarios sound really nice. I better be included too.”

You roll your eyes, turning away to hide the grin creeping up your cheeks, “We’ll see.”

He groans, standing up from his spot on the floor and falling onto his couch instead, “My asscheeks hurt.”

Your face contorts into a look of disgust, “And you want me to do what with that information?”

Scoffing lightly, he leans back into the cushions and tilts his head back, “It was a declaration, not a cry for help.”

“Yeah, and it’s the bony ass for me.”

His head perks up. “It’s having a flatter ass than their guy best friend for me.”

Gulping down the sad but unequivocal truth, “It’s kissing up to every teacher’s ass for me.”

His eyes narrow in pure chagrin, “It’s the crying on your teacher’s doorstep for them to round your grade for me.”

“It’s splitting your pants on orientation day for me.”

“Fuck you, people would pay to see this ass! It’s getting a concussion from falling down the main hall stairs for me.”

“For fuck’s sake, I told you that they waxed the floors that day!” You snap back.

“Okay, and who said it was a good idea to walk down three flights of stairs while trying to cram for a midterm? Yeah, exactly no one.” He says incisively, giving you an even bigger urge to push him off of the couch, yet you digress. 

“This could go on for hours.” You heave out.

“Is that the sound of someone giving up I’m hearing?”

“Is that the sound of a midget I’m hearing?”

“But I’m taller than you?!” He screeches petulantly, smacking your shoulder. You burst out into a fit of laughter—toppling onto the wooden floor with pure malice. 

Gasping for air, you attempt to stifle your laughter and regain your breath. “Wow, I’m on a roll today! I deserve another shot.”

He shakes his head, his anger quelling at the sight of your giddiness. “Remind me to not let you drink and play this game.”

You turn over from your side to lay on your back. “This will be the first and the last time I play this game with you.” You say almost immediately—the words involuntarily slipping from your mouth before you could stop it. 

He sinks in his spot on the couch, brows knitting at your comment. “Why?”

Sobriety crashes into you like a colossal wave —your irritation dissipates almost immediately. The exaggerated tone your voice begins to register through your head—as well as the fact that you sounded a lot more disapproving than you intended. 

Groaning at your hindered ability to think and process properly, you attempt to clear the air, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. We just... practically know everything about each other I guess. What else is there to know?”

He hums. “You sure about that?”

What? “Wait what?”

“Nothing,” he chuckles awkwardly, “next question.”

The straightforwardness of the next question causes you to quirk a brow, “How are you, really?”

His eyes widen. “Well, that’s a deep one, isn’t it?”

You smile. “A little.” 

He sighs, a small grin lacing his features, “Hm, how am I,” he affirms, adjusting himself in his spot on the couch, “I feel content with where I am right now, I guess. Things can always be better, but at the same time they could be worse too.”

Your number one defense mechanism as of late has been to constantly tease and make jokes at the poor guy—essentially using him as your own mental punching bag. He went along with it out of the assumption that it was all caused by your stress from school while you knew the true origins of your behavior. 

You smile at his optimism, "Hey, that's always good to hear."

He chuckles, shifting his position on the couch so he could face you directly, "I don't know, maybe it's the new sense of freedom. Or all the amazing people I've gotten to meet and the opportunities that are offered here. Or the fact that I'm still going to the same school as my best friend after all this damn time."

"Chim, don't get sappy on me man." You warn him while pouting exaggeratedly— slumping onto the frame of the couch while he takes a strand of your hair in between his fingers. You bask in the moment, your eyes shutting close. 

"Hey, I'm just being honest! For some reason, it all makes up for the impending student debt and draining lectures and professors that have a superiority complex as fat as their paycheck."

"Too bad their paycheck still isn't as fat as your ass."

An audible gasp coming from the only other person in the room causes your eyes to flutter open.

"Aw," he coos, ruffling the hair atop of your head, "that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night. Admit it, you love me."

Out of instinct, you opt to stick your tongue at him instead of replying with a witty comeback. You turn away from him before mumbling to yourself, "More than you'll ever know buddy."

"What was that?"

Shit. "Nothing. Next question!"

-

After twenty questions and a whopping 10 empty soju bottles later, you are quite literally about to implode.

Your eyes stare down at the card in front of you—everything that surrounds it is blurry in vision and you can audibly pinpoint the erratic beating of your heart.

The card was practically taunting you, laughing in your face. It was as if there was a sentient being in the universe who was aware of your own subconscious and the not so latent feelings you had for the boy sitting in front of you. Same said being loved to constantly place you in a state of trepidation concerning your current situation—your blood pressure skyrocketing—nearly feeling the muscular pink thing inside of you thrusting itself against your ribcage.

The imminent headache was starting to spread towards your temples and you practically felt like you could feel your brain shifting inside your head at this point. Although you felt groggy, you were certain that your heart was at a rate that is way faster than it should be. And sitting on your legs has caused them to lose all feeling from the tips of your toes all the way up to your kneecaps. One attempt at standing and you would come crashing to the floor in a heartbeat.

The white card with crimson red writing made sure to leave an impact, making you feel the most ridiculed you’ve felt all night which says a lot—leaving your mind in a complete frenzy although you refused to let it be known.

To say you were mad was an understatement. Out of all the times throughout the entirety of this hour and a half that you were playing this game, he decided that now would be the best time to use his 'dig deeper' card.

There it was.

Admit something.

"Okay fine, I was the one who stuck pink hair dye in your shampoo last semester."

"Y/N, did you really think I didn't know? C’mon I know there’s something else in there.”

You scowl, brows furrowing, “Why would I keep something from you?”

“Why are you getting so defensive over this?”

"What the hell is there for me to admit to you?" You snap back in exasperation, the harsh tone of your voice rendering the two of you speechless. 

He averts his gaze, closing his eyes while inhaling a deep sigh. "Ever since we started college, why have you been treating me so differently?"

Your eyes widen in disbelief, stumped. Yet you refuse to wither out of this. 

 "I– are you mad?"

"No. Of course not," he quickly digresses, softening his gaze, "I just noticed after all this time that you've only been acting differently towards me. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong Jimin. You never have."

His eyes narrow, giving you yet another indecipherable look, "I'm using my 'dig deeper' card." He deadpans.

And so you sat there. Fiddling the card in between your fingers, feigning nonchalance. You were very much on the brink of cracking your facade—your sanity practically crumbling as the minutes ticked by. You didn’t think you’d last this long, to be honest. Yet an hour and a half proved to be way too straining on you in a variety of different ways.

He simply sat there with his hands folded on the table—void of emotion, whistling a familiar top 50s tune you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You considered shifting your focuses on trying to comprehend the tune—hoping it would ease the concerning state of apprehension you were in. But then you assured yourself that you haven't reached that level of patheticism yet.

Even though you both had probably been sitting in complete silence for about two minutes now —practically anyone else could detect was the crickets chirping outside his apartment, yet the only sound that was filling your eardrums was your own conscience telling you how idiotic you were being.

This was it. There was no point in trying to weasel yourself out of this situation. If you tried, your more than futile attempt could very well end up causing more problems than if you were to go with the latter.

So instead of constantly wracking your brain with witty banter and deceitful ways to gaslight your feelings for the man sitting in front of you, you come to terms with the fact that your time had run out. You internally commend yourself for putting up a good fight, as well as internally become accosted at how immature you were at handling the whole situation.

You sharply inhale through your nose, peering at the man sitting in front of you as his eyes meet your own, "Alright."

He offers you a small yet empathetic smile in return, giving you the tiniest sliver of reassurance. His hand pats the couch cushion next to him, motioning for you to sit down next to him.

You push yourself up from the floor, immediately propping a leg onto the couch to avoid your numb limbs to be the cause of your embarrassment.

You inhale slowly through your nose and out through your mouth. "This is going to sound really absurd. Like more than absurd. Possibly borderline hysterical." No Y/N, why would you say that?

He interjects, placing a hand on your forearm. "I'm beginning to think you're becoming borderline hysterical," he lets out a small chuckle, "slow down Y/N. One thought at a time."

Your jaw is still slack open due to your previous rambling. "I'm sorry, I just—I don't think I've ever felt this anxious… around you at least."

He bites his lip, eyes trailing away from yours as he tries to think of a way to aid you, "Will it help if I turn around?

"Maybe." You reply timidly, smiling to yourself as his back came into view.

“It’ll be pretty funny if we don’t remember this in the morning,” you start off with, “I shouldn’t be saying that either I’m sorry. Stupid alcohol.”

He snickers at your drunken state, it was adorable. “Pretend I’m not here Y/N. Like you’re talking to a wall.” He advises, back still turned. 

You nod although he can’t see you. “Okay. Well, hi Mr. Wall. I’ve been keeping a secret from my best friend for as long as I’ve known him and I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve suppressed it all this time in hopes that it would eventually fade away, and it almost did. No really, it actually almost did. But now it’s back again and all the same feelings came, but like freaking twofold. No, tenfold. No, like a hundred fucking fold.”

Jimin tries excruciatingly hard to stifle his laughter, cupping a hand to his mouth so he wouldn’t move and distract you.

“I’m literally in love with my freaking best friend when I know he doesn’t see me in that light nor will he ever. If he did, we wouldn’t be where we are right now because I am so shitty at hiding my feelings that I am more than certain that I’ve let the truth slip a couple of times.” You say all in one breath.

He slowly detaches his hand from his mouth, eyebrows raising in disbelief in the words you had just said. His body urges him to turn around. Yet you continue to think out loud. So he digresses. 

“Towards the end of high school, I think my feelings started to become more dormant because I had become more concerned over finishing high school and transitioning into college. I was content and I convinced myself that my feelings were fleeting for once.” You begin with, allowing whatever thoughts that you consumed your mind to spill all out for Mr. Wall to hear. 

You sigh, taking a pillow from his couch and squeezing onto it for dear life. “That was until we ended up getting into our top picks and going to the same school. I couldn’t believe it. My stupid head tried to convince me that life had always just paired the two of us up together for some reason. And that maybe, just maybe I had a chance. But whatever I guess. I don’t know.”

A notification causes your eyes to trail to your phone. Really, Professor La, this is not a good time to tell me to finish my research paper. You swipe at the notification, revealing your lock screen—a photo of you and Jimin at an amusement park back at your hometown, sporting matching university hoodies with bright smiles on your faces that were captured mid-laughter.

Setting your phone down, you lean into the couch—letting your head fall into the cushions as your eyelids slowly start to droop shut. “What also didn’t help is how college life just seems to suit him perfectly. He just always looks so happy now. Like yeah, he’s always been a social butterfly. Yet in addition to that he has top notch grades. He charms professors. For fuck’s sake the Dean treats him like a son. His passion, his laughter, his love, his happiness. It’s always been so infectious. But college just made the effect he has on people grow even stronger. I-,” you stammer, pausing breathlessly, “it just looks like he truly belongs here. Like college was just made for him.”

He sits there in a complete stupor—still trying to process all the words that he had just heard. His body is itching to turn around, take you into his arms, whisper soft nothings into your ear. Anythings. Everything. He never wanted you to feel anxious about his feelings for you ever again.  

“Mr. Wall, that was a lot, I’m sorry. But I’m really… really tired.” You utter quietly, a long yawn escaping your lips. You fall asleep. 

Ten seconds pass until Jimin sneaks a glance over his shoulder, scanning your body as he notices your shut eyes and timid grip on his pillow. 

“Y/N?”

You’re unresponsive. 

He grins at the sight. Getting up from his seat, he makes his way toward you—slowly prying the pillow from your grasp as you carefully slides his hands under your body and picks you up from the couch. 

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder as he carries you to his bedroom. You are very much still asleep, yet you always had the habit of needing something to hold onto while you were unconscious. 

Kicking the sheets aside, he makes room for you to lie down as he gently places you onto his bed. He quickly scurries to the other side, slipping into the covers himself as he lays down beside you. 

The sudden contact causes you to shift in your sleep—suddenly wrapping an arm around his torso. He lays there, completely stunned at your actions and begins to heavily debate whether he should give into his desires or not. 

The internal conflict lasts about two seconds before he turns to his side—placing his free hand on the small of your back and pulling you into his chest, leaving a small pocket of space in between your two bodies. 

Unknowingly, you close the gap almost immediately—nestling your head into the crook of his neck as your arm that was lazily slung over his torso starts to tighten its hold around his body. 

His arm slings over your unconscious form, his hands making his way to your back as he basks in the foreign feeling, being this close in proximity to you. It was different. Yet it almost felt like it was where he belonged. And he was scared because he didn’t want it to end. 

While gently placing his chin on the top of your head, he begins to stroke your hair as fatigue starts to wash over him as well. “Things will make sense soon Y/N, I swear.”

He retracts, craning his neck in an attempt to see your sleeping form. His attempt proves to be futile when an indecipherable groan leaves your lips—brows knitting slightly and lips curling downward from the sudden lack of warmth. 

His soft laughter fills the room as he obliges—carefully pressing a small kiss to your forehead before reverting back to his original position. 

“For now, just know that I love you too.”

-

The intolerable throbbing sensation in your temples caused you to stir in your sleep.

The only events you could recall from last night was being at Jimin’s apartment, playing that stupid card game, and downing the most soju you’ve ever had in one sitting.

It only occurs to you that you’re wrapped in someone’s arms when you open your eyes and the only thing in your periphery is a firm chest, steadily heaving each time they take a breath.

Your legs were messily entangled with theirs—arms slung around each other’s torsos as you felt a strange yet dense weight on the top of your head.

Carefully, you try to pry yourself from their grasp albeit your haphazard state of mind. You pull back ever so slightly, making sure not to wake them up in the process, discovering that the excess weight was actually their chin that had been resting on top of your head. Their fingers were still twined in your hair as you pulled back, making you freeze in your spot. Curious, you tilt your head, peering upwards and catching a glimpse of their face.

The boy is undoubtedly still asleep. Eyes shut and ample lips slightly parted. Your timid movement, to your luck, which hadn’t phased him in the slightest, as he was unperceptive and nearly immobile at this point. 

If it weren't for your abhorrent headache and the even more abhorrent symptoms that had rooted from your hangover, it would be an understatement to say that you would be freaking out right about now.  In reality,

You'd be in a complete state of manic.

Because of the fact that your body was paying for the despicable amount of alcohol you had decided to consume the night before, an influx of any intense emotion would cause your body to exacerbate itself even more. And the last thing you needed was to puke all over the poor guy after sleeping together for the first time.

While you were physically experiencing withdrawals, your mind felt slightly inebriated nonetheless. You weren't quite sure if it was from last night's affluence of liquor or the way everything's starting to come back to you. And the longer your eyes linger on the boy's face, the clearer everything starts to become. From the foolish banter to your childish outbursts leading up to your intoxicated yet conscientious confession.

You left your heart all out for him to witness last night, and now the only thing you could do is wait for a response.

Taking a deep sigh, you retreat back to his body—deciding not to ponder any longer on the matter and wait until you had felt physically capable of doing so. 

-

Steaming hot streams of water splash against his back. He stands under the shower head while massaging soap into his hair, replaying the events that had happened last night on loop. 

The words that left your mouth were engraved into his mind as they involuntarily kept replaying over and over again—particularly your inebriated confession, which kept garnering the same reaction of both hope and frustration within him. 

The solution should be simple. In reality it is, yet he still felt so internally scattered. 

“—he doesn’t see me in that light nor will he ever...”

That was the singular line that he just couldn’t wrap his head around. There was never a moment where he would hesitate to drop everything he was doing to be there for you and make sure you were okay. 

Yes, he knew that you two were best friends and that it was natural. But what best friend drives across town at 2am because you had the stomach flu and your parents were out of town. Keep in mind it was his mom’s birthday that day. 

What best friend ditches their prom date when yours had stood you up. Or coax the drama teacher into giving you the lead in the school play because he saw the ways your eyes glimmered when you saw the words ‘High School Musical’. And damn, weren’t you justthe greatest Gabriella he’s ever seen.

Little did you know that in reality, he always wanted you to be the Gabriella to his Troy, and not Chad. Yet you seemed to have believed the latter all along. 

But in the end, what the hell kind of best friend remains oblivious to the fact that for years, past exes have consistently broken up with him for the same reason.

“Your heart belongs to someone else.”

Or alternatively,

“I’m not the right person for you.”

Straight A’s don’t mean shit when no teacher has ever taught him how to realize that he was irrevocably in love with his best friend, and that she had always, almost candidly, felt the same way.

He shuts his eyes tightly, hands aggressively running through his soaked hair as he comes to a conclusion. 

Being strangers could never be an option. Being friends, or moreso, best friends was fine. But that’s it. It was just fine. It was normalcy. It has been for years.

And that just wasn’t going to cut it for him anymore.

-

Your arm traces along the fabric of the bedsheets, alerting you that there was a void of space and lack of warmth from the other side of the bed. Your eyes spring open to see that there was no one laying beside you. 

A long yawn escapes your lips as you stretch your limbs, body sprawling all over the bed before selfishly tugging the sheets all to yourself. 

Soft hissing from which you assume was coming from his shower was confirmed to be true when your eyes spot the closed bathroom door and the small beam of light that was emitting from it. 

A small, folded piece of paper that was taking up the space of where his head was resting was where your eyes shift to next. 

y/n <3

You knit your brows together, knowing that it was most likely put there strategically rather than a piece of trash that had slipped out of his pocket.

It was addressed to you after all and so you grab it while making a futile attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes. Your throbbing headache and churning insides had significantly died down. Regardless of your recovery time you internally make a promise to yourself to never get this wasted ever again. The chances of you sticking to it?  Highly debatable considering the current situation you’re in. 

Blinking rapidly, you finally are able to decipher whatever is written onto the paper. And it says:

hi y/n, i can already tell by the looks that you’re giving me that you already despise this game and im sorry. all i wanna say is that by the time you read this, i hope that we remain close as ever even though what i plan on saying tonight could obliterate all of that. i wanted to play this game bc i know we’re both hiding stuff from each other and it’s about time we get it out. at least for me. whatever happens, i love you. always will. 

- chim :)

EDIT: for fuck’s sake y/n i’m FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU TOO I WAS SUPPOSED TO CONFESS TO U FIRST LOSER NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND T-T

-

“Finally awake?” You hear a familiar voice call out. He walks out of the bathroom, fully clothed (to your dismay) while drying his hair with a towel, eyes immediately softening as they connect with yours. 

You swallow down your nerves, “Yeah, I’ve been.”

He walks over to the edge of the bed, eyes shifting to the piece of paper in your hand before reverting his focus back to your face, “What are you reading there?” 

“I don’t know,” you huff, feigning ignorance, “why don’t you tell me.”

A soft chortle leaves his lips as he throws the towel to the side, smiling as wide as ever as he jumps onto the vacant spot on his bed right next to you.

Propping himself up, he sits against the headboard, letting out a content sigh before looking down at you once more. “Come here.” He says, reaching his arms out in hopes that you’d fill the idle gap.

And you do, shaking the sheets off of your body as you place yourself in his arms, freshly revelling in the comfort. You wrap your arms snugly around his waist, letting your head rest on his chest while he clutches onto you tightly. 

“I’m sorry for pushing the subject so hard onto you last night.” He starts off with, “I guess I just never fathomed the fact that you could return the feeling, and I was too stubborn to even admit it to you in the first place.” He expresses while stroking your back,  “I didn’t mean to confront you so harshly, it’s unlike me, and I’m really sorry about it Y/N.”

“Do you think I’m mad about that Jimin?” You inquire, just barely above a whisper.

He pulls back slightly, peering down at you, “Are you?”

“Of course not. I should be the one apologizing anyways for being even more stubborn and resorting to such childish ways.” You disclose whilst mentally beating yourself up.

“Hey, there’s no use in beating ourselves up over it. Look where we are now.” 

“Where exactly are we Jimin?” You inquire timidly, head still resting on his chest. 

His fingers brush over the base of your chin, gently tilting your head up until your eyes found his. 

“Y/N, it’s honestly hard for me to formulate the words but all I know is that I think I’m in love with you. And I think I have been for a long time, no scratch that, I have been for a long time,” he says all in one breath, making you smile at how high-strung he was acting. 

The grin remains plastered onto your face, “I’m not drunk still right because did I just hear you say that you’ve been in love with me?”

“Y/N…” he whines, jutting out his bottom lip as he drags out the last syllable of your name.

You can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Go on please.” 

He bites his lip, “I honestly had a whole speech prepared in the shower but I forgot all of it.”

“It’s alright, I barely remember half the stuff I spewed out last night,” you chortle.

He chuckles, “Well, if you were wondering, you’re cute as fuck when you’re piss drunk.”

The compliment makes your breath hitch in your throat—your heart starting to pick up speed dangerously quick.

A few seconds pass, allowing you to slightly gain back some of your composure, “Why did you um– I mean– when do you think you fell in love with me?” You stutter. 

“I was actually trying to figure that out too,” he starts, “in the shower. Well, this is going to sound dumb,” he admits, sharply exhaling out of his nose, “But do you remember when we went on a field trip to that amusement park in 8th grade? Around halloween time.”

“I think so… but what about it?”

He nods. “I still remember that night so vividly for some reason,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts, “There were haunted houses all over the park. And they were all different themes. And I think the first one we went into together was—”

“The clown one.” You deadpan. 

“Yeah!” He beams, laughing at the way you shudder after your words, “Anyways, you were walking behind me with your hands on my shoulders, but you had a razor grip and I thought my arms were going to fall off, so I made you walk next to me instead. We had our arms interlocked and you were gripping onto me so closely and you had your head buried in my shoulder the whole time.” He explains, the smile never ceasing to leave his lips.

You don’t take his eyes off of him—smiling sweetly as he explains the retrospective moment that you never knew had held so much significance to him.

“All of a sudden, you grabbed my hand, and honestly, I think that was the scariest part of the whole experience,” he admits, chuckling softly. 

“But then I intertwined fingers with you. And I liked it. Thinking about it now, I probably loved it. It felt almost borderline euphoric. Like as if I was riding a high, and when we detached hands, it felt like there was just something missing. And I guess I never really put the pieces together because it just became a normal thing after that. And when our skinship kept evolving from there, I just kept dismissing it over and over again. Like as if that feeling was a normal thing to happen between friends, because I genuinely thought it was. Yeah, I think that’s the moment I pretty much fell in love with you.” He finishes, giving you a close-mouthed smile while he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Astounded was an understatement. You couldn’t believe that you both had been suppressing these feelings for so long. Yet somehow, this whole confession didn’t seem out of place or time, it was as if everything that had happened beforehand had led up to this very moment. 

“Wow, Jimin I– I don’t know what to say.” You reply.

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to say anything Y/N. I’m sorry for making you wait for so long, after all.”

You interject, “Please don’t say sorry, I think we were definitely both in the wrong here.”

He smiles, except this time his eyes crinkle up all the way, “Alright, but can you at least let me make it up to you?”

“I’m listening.” You jokingly reply.

“Let’s go on a date,” he declares brazenly, “but tonight, after we’ve recovered from our hangovers and what not.”

The corners of your lips upturn so high that your cheekbones sting, “Jimin, I’d love to–”

“Ah, wait! I’m not done.” He cuts you off, head inching forward, leaning in so close that you could feel his breath tickle your ear and the heat rushing up to your cheeks. 

“And at the very end of the night, I’ll make certain that you won’t be able to walk normally by tomorrow.” He whispers into your ear— voice low and full of lust.

Shivers run through your body as it feels like all the wind had just gotten knocked out of you. Yeah, this was definitely worth the wait.

-

-

-

MASTERLIST ; SEQUEL

[aquelina]

Hi guys and gurls and non-binary pals! some days ago I uploaded the sneak-peak to this picture here and I finally finished it! It actually was going to be uploaded for the Tsukasa week @piminka and other person that deleted both their personal tumblr and the tumblr of the week organized, and it was going to be for the very first day, whose prompt was “music”. For this prompt, I drew Tsukasa doing one of the scenes of Nayeon, of the K-pop girl group Twice, for the song “Scientist”!!! And it’s kinda a reader x Tsukasa but like instead of reader, “watcher” maybe?!?! I am kinda thankful now I had a bit of more time to finish this picture because I had so so soooo much fun drawing the background! Doing the blackboard and all it’s little lovey-scientific doodles was my favourite part! And I included lots of easter eggs so if you find them your 2022 will be blessed!  🎉

On another note, @amanne is organising the amane week! You will find here more about it because it is starting soon and I am so looking forward to everyone’s participation! And you’ll be able to look forward to mine too  🤗 after this amane week, I’ll continue uploading the rest of the days of what the Tsukasa week would have been but like actually putting some effort down the line! 🙌  Yay! A good way to stay tuned would be following me!  😉 See you soon  💕

[anxiouslyfred]

Edited Lesson Plans

for @dukexietyweek‘s day 5 prompt ‘School’

Summary: The science experiments Remus includes in his lessons baffle most of the staff for how he’s able to get them past health and safety concerns. Virgil is just glad he hasn’t been questioned over stealing the plans to add precautions to them yet.

Warnings: elusions to chemical accidents, vauge mentions of bad lab safety, explosion mentions

/\/\/\

“Again? He's managed to get these major experiments in his work plan again?”

“Who the hell is he bribing to be allowed to do this stuff? Even I couldn't get a risk assessment thorough enough to do these things!”

“Remus has to be like dating the headmasters daughter. That's the only way Mr stick-up-his-arse Read would be letting him do these experiments. They're just too dangerous.”

“I think that's why Remus is doing them. Have you seen him mope when one is rejected?”

The talk in the staff room had once again returned to Mr Remus Cethalapod as the lessons plans and class schedules were shared among the teams, including the weeks where teachers should expect delays from students leaving specific classes. Virgil was sat working on fine tuning his own quietly, listening in, but never expected to join in with their talk.

That was the other certainty he knew the other teachers and faculty held, Remus would include science experiments no sane person would demonstrate to their teenage students, and Virgil would only speak up about issues with lesson plans if he saw classes overlapping with his that could be risky. The only exception to his demands to see the risk assessments were Remus's despite those classes following or precluding his own most often.

He smirked, making a few quick notes on a plan for the woodworking module. If the class picked up the skills in a different time period to expected a few classes might be moved around which would help with when Remus had chosen one of the few repeated experiments to be done.

“What is up, Bitches! Have I convinced any of you to give up repeating the same old plans and get something interesting in those classes?” Remus yelled, barging in to check the schedules for next semester.

“Why would we need to include something interesting when your lesson plans could well blow up the school?” Nate scoffed, shaking his head, and clearly unhappy that his classroom designation for the next semester was beside Remus's.

Virgil was tempted to speak up at that, defend his risk assessments except he wouldn't even acknowledge to Remus that he'd regularly steal the other teacher's lesson plans to make sure they're safe, or at a minimum have all possible and extremely necessary safety measures in place. He was certain that his input was known about though.

Remus just beamed at the veiled criticism. “My fairy health and safety agent says every class I do is safe as long as I follow the purple ink. Can you say the same?”

“You're creating fantasy creatures? You're meant to be a science teacher!” Nate's protesting was cut off as the first school bus arrived and everyone refocused back on this semester rather than the next.

/VR\

Teaching Engineering and Resistant materials had always been Virgil's main interest, and a lot of that relied on science not only to improve and progress but to remain safe for the people who practised it. Getting a few journals on Chemistry added to his reading list wasn't too difficult to do after Virgil first met Remus.

He'd loved the passion and energy when he'd heard Mr Cethalapod teaching during a free period in the first year they'd worked together at the school. Discovering that the class had been mixing dangerous chemicals without enough safety precautions however had him basically panicking for 20 minutes before he forced himself calm if only to focus on his next class and the teenagers about to be playing with fire as much as soldering some metal together could be called that.

After that day Virgil would steal Remus's lesson plans, originally just to satisfy himself that they wouldn't be putting students or teacher in danger, but all too soon he was adding sheets with safety instructions and getting risk assessments filled out. Enough of the things he did could cross over, although temperatures in chemistry got higher than they ever would in resistant materials and the chemical element rarely impacted engineering to the degree it would of course inspire a chemistry class.

Remus even seemed to accommodate his lesson plans getting stolen, once when they were first written, once soon before the start of each subject and finally the week before he'd teach the class. When Virgil had first realised that pattern had been deliberately made he tried to hide more, put the things back exactly as he'd found them, terrified there'd be some consequence for his interfering. Remus had after all once made a class where a parent had complained over his teaching style only read their books for a term, conducting the experiments he'd planned to show or have them do silently at the front of class, and another time brought in a mobile lab so he could walk his class around behind the PE class after the teachers were disparaging his class loudly at the end of the day.

Instead nothing had happened, except occasionally his additions would have more corrections added. Of course the corrections were usually only on the severity of the injuries that could occur if one of the safety risks wasn't followed, but it was an acceptance of his guidelines regardless. Even Virgil's students had mentioned feeling calmer and safer during experiments with Remus bringing new precautions in, all of which had been his own additions.

Honestly, being called a 'fairy health and safety agent' had Virgil snickering for the rest of his day. He had the powers of magic and way too much fear on his side and with it would save the school from dangerous experiments. That sounded like a lot more fun than screaming and lecturing the headmaster whenever one of the other teachers blatantly failed to follow even the basic health and safety precautions.

When Virgil gets the lesson plans at the end of that week a tiny part of him was tempted to put fairy wings on of something while taking them. He wouldn't do that for fear of having to explain why if another teacher spotted him, but it was a thought.

A thought that vanished along with everything else that night when in green highlighter, covering the last page of lesson plans Remus had scrawled

Dear H&S Fairy, I'll clap all the times I can to make sure you exist if only you come with me on a date next Friday. Love and other Goopy Stuffs, Remus xoxoxo

Please, Virgil could only pray, please say Remus actually had figured out he was the one doing these plans, because he wanted, but could not face turning up only to find out Remus thought it was some other teacher or administrator.

Before he could worry about that any further he scribbled a reply just underneath the note, signed with a doodle of a fairy.

/VR\

Now it wasn't that Remus had forgotten asking the Engineering teacher out on his lesson plans, or that he hadn't seen the response once they were returned to his desk. It's that he absolutely hated planning ahead any more than was necessary and his dreams were just of inspiration striking for the perfect date the minute they met up at his car.

Only as he was setting out the lesson and getting the students ready to carry it out did he finally think that someone so concerned with safety they'd steal his lesson plans might actually feel better if he had a plan in place. Remus couldn't exactly create a plan while teaching though, so it really would just be up to the evening and the thoughts it might bring to do.

He couldn't imagine a date being as full of risk as playing with low level acids though.

Virgil was already leant against Remus's car by the time he reached it and all Remus could do was beam. “I actually got it right! Damn, and Mr Read always says I can't figure out anything except explosions.”

“Glad to be who you wanted, should I even ask if you have a plan for tonight or just accept you're making this up as we go along?” Virgil snorted, pushing himself up as Remus rounded the car.

“I can at least guarantee lower chances of injury than I might find if you weren't with me.” Remus countered.

Perhaps they'd only really communicated via lesson plans and occasionally crossing paths around the school up until this point, but Remus couldn't wait to see where this first date might take them.