#when the sketches were quick and tiny

[deathtodickens]

Who cursed Helena with this gift of giving the gift of life.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I Tiny Bit of Angst I idiot4idiot I First Kiss I 1.8k I SFW

“We're out of Mountain Dew,” Eddie yells into the living room.

“There's another case in the garage, I think,” Steve yells back, “I'll go look.”

Eddie slams the fridge shut. “No, don't get up, I've got it.”

“Quit being sweet on me!”

He's teasing, it's nothing, but Eddie's pulse jumps anyway, horrified that he's being obvious again. “I'm not sweet on you! I'm repaying my life debt!” Not the whole truth but not a lie either. Satisfied that he's dodged a bullet, he jogs to the garage, grabs the 12 pack from the moderately-wealthy-person's-modest-second-garage-fridge and drops it off at the ultra-wealthy-person's-expensive-and-shiny-main-fridge. He brings two back to the living room, gets ready to leap over the back of the couch so they can resume the movie, before he realizes Steve is MIA.

“You taking a shit?” He yells out.

Steve doesn't answer, which he supposes is answer enough. He resumes his roll over the back of the sofa, cracks his can open, chugs, and waits for Steve to return.

The TV is still paused on Kurt Russell’s rugged face. What a man. Eddie idly wonders what Steve would look like with a beard. He could sketch it out and then hide the evidence in one of his old D&D manuals.

Speaking of Steve…

“Yo, did you fall in?!” No response. “Hello?”

Okay, now it's getting weird. A chill runs down his neck.

Steve is fine. There's nothing to worry about. It's just weird he hasn't responded yet; the downstairs bathroom is ten feet away.

He jumps up, just to check for himself that Steve is okay. Which he is, because everything is fine.

The bathroom is empty…

“Okay, this isn't funny, asshole! You know I have trauma!”

No response to that either. What the fuck.

“Steve,” he yells up the stairs next, “seriously, dude, where are you?”

He takes them two at a time, because there's no good reason for Steve not to be yelling back. He pictures him being chewed on by a last remaining Demogorgon and preemptively starts planning his own sacrifice. Because if Steve is dead on Eddie's watch, killed while Eddie had his head in the garage fridge, he doesn't deserve that second chance at life.

“Hello?” He croaks down the hall. All of the doors are ajar, but that's not unusual. They're forever in and out of the various rooms; Steve into Eddie's, Eddie into Steve's, the both of them into his parents' empty room because they have the better bathroom.

Still nothing from Steve. It's getting ridiculous. He's not being eaten by a monster either, too quiet for that, so what the hell is going on?

He marches into Steve's room and finds it empty too. He almost continues on to Steve's en suite but he stops, notices the comforter on Steve's bed is missing, which is weird. A clue, maybe? He glances around, a look underneath, a peek around the side of the bed, but it's nowhere to be found.

He goes to call Steve's name again but then he hears something, like a sniffle.

The closet doors are shut but between them is a chunk of Steve's blanket, a tiny corner sticking out at the bottom.

Eddie tiptoes over and listens.

Yup. Another sniffle.

He parts the doors gently.

Steve throws the blanket over his head before Eddie can see him, only getting a quick peek at his knees before they disappear.

“Uhh, wha’cha doin’ in the closet, Stevie?”

He thought he'd said it soft enough to not scare him but when he immediately bursts into loudy, snotty tears underneath his blanket, Eddie can only assume he's fucked up anyway.

He crouches down. “Hey, I'm sorry, don't freak out, it's just me. C'mon, man, talk to me, what's going on? You're scaring me.”

“I'm fine,” Steve croaks.

“Yeah…clearly.”

The lump that is Steve groans and then falls over, landing on a pile of old shoes, which he doesn't seem to notice or care.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Okay. Now that Eddie knows Steve is upset about something, he thinks back to what they were doing before they paused the movie. Which was nothing.

“You said you'd seen The Thing before.”

Steve sniffs. “I have. At Mike's fifteenth birthday.”

“Okay. So why are you freaking out about it now?”

“Why the fuck- Uhh. Yeah. The movie. Scared me real bad.”

Eddie frowns at The Lump. So it's not the movie. Something happened when Eddie got up. Think, think, think!

“The life debt thing?”

Steve doesn't respond. He does curl into a smaller ball, which seems like an answer in itself. What it means, he has no idea. Why would that leave Steve a sobbing mess? It's not like he can undo Steve saving his life! Of course he owes Steve everything!

“Please talk to me,” he begs softly. “I'm not good at this. I'm not Robin.”

He gets a scoff. “Robin is also not good at this.”

True. Just because she's a girl doesn't mean she comes equipped to handle emotional outbursts. She's more of a ‘pat, pat, there, there' kinda gal.

“Would you tell her what was wrong?”

“Yes,” Steve admits after a short pause.

“Would you like me to go get her?”

“No,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But you don't have to stay in here with me. You can finish the movie if you want. I'll be okay.”

“Steve,” he pats what he hopes is Steve's shoulder, “I might not be good at this emotional vulnerability shit but even I know you don't leave your friends crying on the floor of their closet.”

Since he's touching Steve, he can feel the short, hitching breaths he's taking, trying so hard not to be heard.

“I'm fine. I'll be fine,” Steve tries to convince him, “I just need a bit to get over myself. Like a week or…six.”

“Over what?”

He sniffles some more. “Nothing.”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong, dude.” To prove his point he shuffles fully into the closet and pulls the doors shut behind him. “There. Our closet breakdown.”

Steve groans, tries giving Eddie a little kick but his feet are trapped inside the comforter, so it feels more like a nudge.

“I'll be over here by this pile of old basketball jerseys when you feel like talking. Number twenty-one? Is that lucky?”

“This is so stupid,” Steve mumbles.

“Hey, you're in charge of this rodeo, just tell me what's wrong and we can mosey on out of here.”

“You sound like Wayne when you say shit like that.”

“Well, he did half raise me. Tell me what's wrong.”

“No.”

“So you don't trust me?” He says just to be an asshole, to get some kind of reaction. “We're not that good of friends I guess.”

That gets him a reaction alright, just not the one he wants. Instead of getting pissed, Steve somehow curls even tighter, near silent sobs emanating from The Lump.

All of this had had a sort of surreal, humorous quality before, finding Steve having a nervous breakdown on the floor like a toddler told to go to bed, but it's getting less cute now.

Eddie gets up and lays the opposite way, head down near Steve's. He wants to bundle Steve up and rock him like a baby, but it doesn't seem like Steve wants that. “If I'm really hurting you…if this is my fault and you want me to go, I'll go, but I don't want to. I want to fix this. What do you want me to do?”

He's quiet. Not actively crying at least. After a long stretch, he mumbles, “Is that what you've been doing this whole time? Trying to fix things? Doing what you think I want because you think you owe me?”

Okay, now they're getting somewhere.

“I do owe you, Stevie, but that's not why… That's not why.”

“Then why?”

He swallows. “Because you deserve more than you get.” There. That's fine. That's platonic and still vulnerable and absolutely true.

“And that's it?”

What the fuck does he say to that? ‘No, actually, I want to treat you like the god damned royalty that you are, not in the fake high school sense, but in the way that knights willingly followed Kings onto the battlefield?’

“What do you mean?” He asks instead, like the coward he is.

“I mean… You close all the curtains in the house when you notice I've got a migraine. You learned to play my favorite songs even though you think they're mediocre. You corral the kids when they get out of hand and start being mean to me. You invite me to family dinner at Wayne and Gail’s. We live together and make breakfast together and spend all of our time together and I guess that's just because we're friends. That's what friends do. We're just friends.” He's worked himself into a fit again.

Eddie can do nothing but stare at the blanket lump and try not to panic. Either Steve has been onto him for months and has finally had enough or…

“Stevie? Why are you crying in the closet?”

“Don't make me say it.”

He chokes on his own sob, months of being good, keeping it tucked away and out of sight, welling up in his chest and in his eyes.

He finds the end of the blanket and pulls until he can crawl underneath too, finding Steve with his head turned away, like he's still trying to hide. Eddie slides both hands onto the sides of his face and turns him away from the floor. He blinks at Eddie, looking every bit like a tragic Prince in a fairytale. Or a baby cow.

“Please,” he begs, voice breaking, “tell me why you're sad.”

Steve studies Eddie, eye roaming over the tear tracks Eddie can't stop, over his trembling lip, the blush that must be painting his cheeks. He's going out on a real limb here, betting it all, but Steve doesn't leave him hanging for long.

“I thought you were sweet on me.”

Eddie coughs out a relieved a laugh. “I am, baby. I'm so sweet on you.”

Steve's face could outshine the fourth of July. “Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? You think I'd crawl back into the closet for just anyone?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, head falling to land on Eddie's shoulder.

“Hey,” he nudges softly, “whaddya say we come out of the closet together?”

“Why do I like you so much?”

“Aww, you sweet on me, Stevie?”

Instead of answering, he throws back the blanket, bringing fresh air, and then Steve basically knocks Eddie into the door, spilling them out onto the floor of his room. He crawls on top of Eddie, pinning him down with all of his jock glory.

"I am so sweet on you."

And then he kisses Eddie. Kisses him like he's been thinking about it just as long as Eddie has, which is a real bitch of a realization. Months they could've been doing this.

He's got two handfuls of jean covered ass when Steve pulls back far enough to whisper, “We have to make up something else to tell Robin. She can't know it happened like this, I'll never live it down.”

"Let me touch your dick and I'll tell her whatever you want. You fought off a bear in the backyard and I was overcome with desire."

"Deal."

[rhyrhy]

Thinking about loser! Barista Abby! And the girl who works in the bookstore across the street…

[Contains]: cutesy headcannons!

Barista Abby! Who works Sunday to Wednesday, carefully balancing the rest of her week.

Sure, she gets hit on—at the gym, sometimes even at work. And while it’s flattering, she always turns them down. Why? Because lately, she’s found herself watching the clock, waiting for 10 a.m.

A different cozy outfit every time, a tote bag always slung over your shoulder, a pencil tucked behind your ear. Such a sweet sight. Yeah. She was a goner.

Barista Abby! Who told her coworker (and dearest friend) that she’d say something… eventually. But she never quite works up the nerve. She hates when it rains—raindrops littering the windows, ruining her perfect view of you across the street.

Barista Abby! Who wanted to duck behind the counter the first time you walked in. Crushes weren’t something she developed often, but you? The pretty girl balancing more books than you could carry, nudging the door open with your foot. The girl who always checked on the flowers outside the store, The girl who sat in her car for a few moments before heading home, deep in thought.

Barista Abby! Whose face burned when you made a flirty comment in passing, suddenly hyper-aware of herself in ways she never had been before.

“Are you on the menu?” You leaned in across the counter, eyes slowly scanning over her.

“Uh, no, but—but I could be? Like, theoretically?” she stammered.

Barista Abby! Who was a bookworm herself but couldn’t find the nerve to bring it up—until the day she saw you holding City of Thieves by David Benioff, a book she’d read a million times.

“Wait—you’re reading that? Like, actually reading it? Not just holding it for aesthetic purposes?” she blurted, pointing at the book tucked in the crook of your arm.

“You have to tell me what you think. Like, every thought. Immediately.”

And when you said you liked it? She practically beamed with excitement. “Okay, if you liked that one—please, please read The Nightingale and All the Light We Cannot See. Thank me later.”

Barista Abby! Who, over time, grew more comfortable flirting back. Who lived for the giggles she earned, for the way your smile lingered all the way until the red neon CLOSED sign flickered on.

Who perfected her coffee art—so of course, she started drawing tiny hearts and silly faces in your drinks. Who started leaving little notes on your cups. Sometimes a simple have a good day, sometimes a quick sketch of the way your hair looked that morning. Who gushed to her coworker about the spark she swore she felt when your fingers brushed against hers that morning. Who spent the whole day thinking about it—until she finally worked up the nerve to ask you out.

The sun was out, she was off for the rest of the week, and she knew you were too. So she said it. Do you want to go out with me? And when you didn’t even hesitate before saying yes? She let out a tiny scream of excitement in her car—only to immediately stop, remembering her windows weren’t that tinted.

Barista Abby! Who melted the first time you kissed her cheek after your second date.

Who finally stepped foot into the bookstore where you worked, taking in the scent of paper and vanilla—the same scent that always lingered on your clothes. And as she watched you move between the shelves, smiling at customers, in your element, she thought—

Yeah, im really, really gone.

[meleeyz]

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗦 ꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ Thank you so much for the support on the first oneshot, this is mostly fluff because I have to heal the wounds in my heart that arc two left behind.

୨୧ I'm still learning how to use masterlists and stuff (😿) but you can send me requests if you want! For now I'm only going to write about Ekko (or until I learn how to use tumblr) then I'll post the list of characters I could write for.

୨୧ Inspired by some headcanons of @blllllllllllllllllllue

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The Firelights’ hideout always felt alive, even in its quietest moments, but your little corner was a chaos. It was where you crafted, creating not just the masks that symbolized your rebellion but tiny pieces of identity for your comrades.

"Something like this?" you asked, holding up a rough sketch for the recruit seated across from you. He was new to the team and still shy around most people, but with you, he seemed to relax, likely due to your welcoming demeanor.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” he said, leaning in to inspect it. "But, uh, could you make the eyes a little bigger? I want it to look more… intense."

“Intense. Got it.” You jotted down the adjustment in the margins, smiling as you worked. “Anything else?”

The recruit hesitated for a moment before glancing at you sheepishly. “So, uh, are you Ekko’s girl? Like… his girlfriend?”

The question caught you so off guard that the pencil slipped from your fingers. Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you scrambled to compose yourself.

“Oh! Uh, yeah. I mean—yes. I am.”

The recruit grinned.

“Thought so. He talks about you all the time.”

Your heart did a funny little flip, equal parts warmth and embarrassment.

“He does?”

“Yeah. Like, a lot. You’d think you hung the moon or something”

The boy’s teasing tone made you flush deeper. Before you could decide whether to be mortified or flattered, another voice broke through.

“Hey! Ekko’s looking for you!” A little boy poked his head in the door, oblivious to the conversation he was interrupting. “Said it’s important.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” You turned back to the recruit, already rising to your feet. “I’ve got everything I need for your mask. I’ll start on it soon.”

“Take your time,” he replied, giving you a knowing look as you walked out.

He nodded, and with a small wave, you left the workshop and made your way to Ekko’s space.

The closer you got to Ekko’s workshop, the quieter the base became, the energy from the rest of the Firelights retreating into the distance. You pushed the door open cautiously, only to find the room eerily calm. The usual clatter of tools and the whir of machinery were absent.

When you stepped inside the workshop, the quiet was almost eerie. Tools and half-built gadgets lay scattered across Ekko’s workbench, but there was no sign of him.

“Ekko?” you called, glancing around.

No answer.

A small knot of worry tightened in your chest.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny—”

Before you could finish, arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you off the ground. You let out a startled yelp as you were spun around, your voice mixing with laughter that bubbled up despite yourself.

“Ekko!” you cried, trying to sound indignant, but failing miserably as he set you down, his grin impossibly wide. “You scared the life out of me, you jerk!”

“Couldn’t resist,” he admitted, still chuckling. His voice carried that familiar mix of playfulness and warmth that always made your heart skip a beat. He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You swatted at his arm, trying to suppress a smile.

“What did you need me for, anyway? And don’t say it was just to scare me.”

“Relax, Firefly,” he teased, stepping back. “I’ve got something for you. Close your eyes.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“If this is another prank—”

“It’s not,” he said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Promise. Just trust me.”

After a brief hesitation, you sighed and shut your eyes.

“Okay, but if you throw something at me—”

“Shh. No peeking.”

You heard him moving around, the soft clang of metal and the scrape of something being picked up. Your curiosity burned, but you kept your eyes closed, hands fidgeting nervously at your sides.

“Alright,” Ekko said finally. “Open.”

When you did, your breath caught. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers, but not just any flowers—each one was intricately crafted from scrap metal, their petals shaped and welded together with incredible precision. They shimmered faintly in the light, their edges polished to a soft gleam.

“I made these for you,” Ekko said, his voice quieter now, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d react. His smile, though, was radiant, the little gap in his front teeth only adding to its charm. “You like them?”

“Like them?” you echoed, reaching out to take the bouquet. “Ekko, they’re beautiful. You made these?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking both proud and bashful.

“Yeah. Thought you’d appreciate something… different. Real flowers don’t last long down here”

You turned the bouquet in your hands, marveling at the craftsmanship. Each flower was unique, and the care he’d put into them was evident in every detail. Your chest felt tight with emotion as you looked back at him.

“Why, though? What’s the occasion?”

Ekko’s grin returned, mischievous but endearing.

“The right way to ask my girlfriend out on a date. Tonight.”

Your lips parted in surprise.

“A date?”

“Yeah. Thought it was time we did something just for us. No missions. Just you and me.” He stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours. “So, what do you say?”

A warm, fuzzy silence hung between you, the weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes tying your tongue. Your gaze flicked to his lips, the same thought clearly mirrored in his mind as he leaned closer.

The moment stretched as the world outside seemed to blur and fade. Just as your lips were about to meet—

“Oh, uh, sorry!”

Both you and Ekko jumped apart as the recruit from earlier barged in, a sheepish look on his face.

“I just—uh—I had another idea for the mask and thought—”

Ekko sighed loudly, his previous grumpiness overtaking his usual charm.

“Seriously?”

“I’ll just—uh—leave” the recruit stammered, already retreating back through the door.

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s fine,” you told him. “We can talk about it later.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension melting away as you stepped back.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later, huh?”

Ekko’s pout was almost comical.

“You owe me, Firefly.”

As you turned to leave, you blew him a playful kiss. Ekko grinned, pretending to catch it in midair and press it to his chest.

“See you later.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[wolvietxt]

Hey! Could you do Bucky Barnes with this prompt?? 👀

grumpy’s soft side: sunshine accidentally finds grumpy’s secret stash of cute little things they’ve kept as mementos - like a doodle sunshine made or a pressed flower from a walk they took together. grumpy tries to act embarrassed, but sunshine can see the fondness in their eyes.

BUCKY BARNES was many things - grumpy, stoic, and impossible to read most of the time. but sentimental? that didn’t seem to fit, or at least, that’s what you thought.

until today.

it had started innocently enough. bucky had left to grab groceries, grumbling something about you forgetting the eggs, leaving you alone in his apartment. with some extra time on your hands, you decided to tidy up his desk - a cluttered corner of his otherwise neat space.

you knew bucky wasn’t the most organized person. papers and odds and ends were scattered everywhere, some of them clearly years old. while straightening a stack of books, you noticed a small drawer slightly ajar. curiosity got the better of you, and you slid it open, intending to tuck away the loose papers.

instead, you froze.

the contents weren’t what you’d expected.

a tiny doodle you’d drawn months ago sat on top of the pile, the edges a little crumpled but otherwise intact. it was a quick sketch you’d made while teasing bucky - an exaggerated cartoon version of him with a cat on his head. he’d scoffed at it at the time, rolling his eyes, but apparently, he hadn’t thrown it away.

beneath it was a pressed flower, carefully preserved between wax paper. it was from a walk you’d taken one spring afternoon, when you’d playfully tucked the flower behind your ear and teased bucky for being grumpy even on such a beautiful day.

there were other things too: a stray button from his jacket you’d helped sew back on, a photo booth strip from an impromptu outing, and a receipt with your handwriting scrawled across the back.

your heart twisted, warmth spreading through your chest as you took it all in.

bucky barnes, who rarely let his guard down, who always acted like nothing phased him, had been keeping these little pieces of you.

the sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts.

“damn cashier was slower than molasses,” bucky muttered as he walked in, shaking his head. he stopped short when he saw you standing by his desk, the pressed flower in your hand.

his blue eyes narrowed. “what’re you doin’?”

you turned to him, holding up the doodle with a small smile. “you kept all this?”

a flicker of panic crossed his face as he strode over, snatching the drawing from your hand and shoving it back into the drawer. “it’s nothin’,” he mumbled, slamming the drawer shut.

“it’s not nothing, bucky.” you took a step closer, your smile widening. “you kept a doodle, a flower… even a button? this is -“

“don’t say it,” he cut in, pointing a finger at you. “don’t you dare call it cute.”

you bit back a laugh, unable to help the way your eyes sparkled. “but it is cute. bucky, this is adorable.”

his jaw tightened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “it ain’t cute,” he grumbled. “just stuff I didn’t get around to throwin’ out.”

you raised an eyebrow. “a pressed flower isn’t exactly something you ‘forget’ to throw away, buck.”

his gaze darted to the side, avoiding yours. “it doesn’t mean nothin’,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

“doesn’t mean nothing?” you echoed, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of him. “bucky, it means something to me.”

his eyes flicked back to yours, guarded but softening just a little. “you’re makin’ a big deal outta nothin’, doll.”

“because it is a big deal,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “you kept these things because they remind you of me, don’t they?”

he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “maybe,” he admitted, his tone reluctant. “but don’t go readin’ too much into it.”

your smile softened, and you reached out to place a hand on his arm. “too late. i’m already reading into it.”

he groaned, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“and you’re a big softie,” you shot back, your grin widening.

he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look annoyed. but the way his lips twitched betrayed him, the corners tilting upward despite his best efforts.

“fine,” he muttered after a moment, his voice gruff. “maybe i kept ‘em ‘cause they remind me of you. happy now?”

your heart swelled at his quiet admission, and you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “very.”

he froze for a second before letting out another sigh, his arms falling to his sides. “you’re gonna tease me about this forever, aren’t you?”

“oh, absolutely,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

despite his grumbling, bucky reached out to pull you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

you laughed, resting your head against his chest. “your secret’s safe with me.”

he relaxed a little at that, his hand settling on the small of your back.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbled, his voice low but affectionate.

“you’re luckier,” you teased, earning a low chuckle from him.

and as he held you there, the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart grounding you, you couldn’t help but smile. because as much as he tried to act grumpy, bucky barnes had the biggest heart of anyone you’d ever known.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[prettypinkprincessa]

Rafe with a shy reader!!

You are too pure for this world. Is what he thought when he first laid eyes on you. Cute big doe eyes, soft cardigans, and the little tiny sketch book you carried everywhere with you. You were adorable.

“Hey, kid.” He spoke out. You jumped slightly at his sudden outburst and smiled, waving at him as he sat down infront of you.

“Do you talk?” he asked. Your eyes widened and your lips fell into a pout. You weren’t quite fond of your own voice. It was quiet and small and everytime you spoke someone asked you to speak up. It got to the point where you just stopped talking in general.

You nodded your head slowly and looked away. Avoiding his heavy gaze. He caught on pretty quick.

“Whats your name?” He asked slyly. Knowing that you’d have to talk.

You looked up slowly from your sketchbook and sighed.

“Y/n..” you spoke softly. Giving him your name then going straight back to drawing. He was shocked to say the least. Taken aback by your voice. It was so soft and sweet, he wondered why you never spoke. And ever since then he’s made your life hell by making sure you speak everytime he sees you.

💗 he would purposely trip you (and catch you) or scare you just to hear your cute little whimpers and screams. He found every little noise you made adorable.

💗he would invite you over for sleepovers at his house just to listen to the cute little noises you make in your sleep. (Yes, kinda stalker-ish but he’s head over heels for you)

💗 he would act overly interested in stories you tell so you wouldn’t get self conscious and go all quiet on him. He’s grown used to your shyness and knows how to bring you out of your shell.

💗 every time you want something he makes you use your words.

“rafey?” You say while pointing to his hand.

He looks down and sighs lovingly.

“Hm? Use your words baby.”

You whine lightly, “can I hold your hand?” You whisper, as if you were telling him some deep secret.

He chuckles softly and smiles, “of course, baby.”

💞 not proof read so sorry for any mistakes!!

[obsessivevoidkitten]

A Day In Blood-Swell Swamp

Yandere Frog Hybrid x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon, non-human genitalia, oviposition, general yandere behavior, misunderstanding, reader stuck in mud) Word Count: 1.7k (The yandere in this is a cinnamon roll. A real sweetie. Needed another one like him. He misread the reader's intent and is not at all a bad guy. Really hope you guys like him)

You were an artist on a mission. You were traveling all over your country to sketch the flora, fauna, and landscapes of various habitats. You had already visited several different forests and a couple of prairies.

Now you found yourself in Blood-Swell Swamp. The waters of the swamp were a deep red color. Many people in nearby towns were superstitious about the place and its odd colored water, but you knew it was just a combination of iron filled water and algae.

You rowed the tiny boat you had purchased and found a dry outcrop of trees overlooking the water logged scenery.

When you looked at the impressive sanguine waters and wetland forest sprawling out in front of you, you knew you had made the right decision.

You got out and tied the boat to a tree, the waters were still, but better safe than sorry.

Once you decided on a good spot to look at you pulled out your sketchbook. The first thing you sketched was a frog on a lily pad beside a blooming water lily. The next thing was a cluster of unique purple flowers.

After that you began the larger task of drawing the landscape as a whole.

You had just about finished when you heard a splash and then an enthusiastic male voice behind you.

"HI!!!"

You turned around and almost fell over. If the sudden presence of an unknown man behind you hadn’t been enough to scare you, the fact that he wasn’t human would have.

He was crouched down on very athletic looking legs, wearing nothing but a loincloth. He had long webbed toes and fingers that matched, though he only had four fingers. His mouth was a bit too long and his eyes were large and purple. He was a bit shorter than you but he clearly had a strong and compact body.

But the most odd thing was the color of his skin. He was a deep cherry red with the color transitioning into blue on his arms and legs past his elbows and knees.

His medium length black hair dripped as he tilted his head and spoke again.

“Hello? Are you okay? What are you doing?”

You collected yourself, still frightened by his appearance despite his so far friendly demeanor.

“Uh…”

“Are you okay??”

You flinched backwards as he stepped towards you. He stopped approaching as he noticed you were uncomfortable.

“I just… never saw a… what you are before…”

“Oh! Well I am a frogkin. I have seen a human or two before, but only from a distance.”

You were about to respond but he cut you off, he seemed to be really excited to have someone to chat with.

“My name is Cobi, what’re you called?”

You mentally scolded yourself for your rude and frightened demeanor and forced yourself to calm down and introduce yourself. You were in his territory after all, and he had been nothing but polite to you. You gave him your name and explained to him that you were an artist there to sketch the beauty of the swamp. You showed him your sketches.

“Oh wow, we don’t have any artists here. I have never even heard of sketches. We have some wall paintings in some of our huts, but nothing like this!”

The frog man was clearly impressed.

“Oh, I couldn’t live without being able to draw all the beauty around me. Hey, could I draw you? Just a quick sketch!”

If the skin on his face wasn’t already red you would have been able to see that he was blushing. If you drew beautiful things then that must mean you thought he was beautiful. The notion made his heart flutter.

“S-sure!” Cobi said in his ever chipper voice.

You spent some time sketching him, despite your original plan to get just a quick one in, he happily let you get a couple extra. One with him in the water and one of him crouched on a dead log.

When you finished your sketching you fished some sandwiches out of your backpack and offered one to Cobi. He took it and sniffed inquisitively trying to figure out what it was.

“It’s food, it’s called a sandwich.” You took a few bites of yours and then he took a few cautious nibbles before his eyes lit up and he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth at once. You had to stifle a laugh.

"Thank you, that was super yummy!"

Cobi was blushing more. You drew him because you thought he was beautiful. Attractive. And now you gave him food. Surely that meant you were interested in him right? People of the swamp didn’t just give food away! You gave food to those you liked. Friends, family, and potential mates you were courting!

Even if it was subconscious you probably were trying to court him. And he really wanted to explore the possibility of being your partner too, you were so kind and interesting.

But he didn't want to jump the gun and assume before he had a bit more solid evidence. So instead of asking or acting on what he felt all the evidence pointing to he just hung around and chatted with you a bit more while you finished your meal.

You finished your food slowly, enjoying your time getting to know the inquisitive frogkin. You answered all of his seemingly inexhaustible supply of  questions.

When you finished and said your goodbyes he seemed sad, but you were a traveler. You couldn't really make lasting friendships. And then, when you started to get up, you fell right over your own feet. Your arm stuck in some thick mud with your face low to the ground and your ass pointed up.

And that was all the confirmation Cobi needed. Ass up and presenting. The universal signal to breed!

If you had been able to see his face you would have seen that he was flustered beyond measure. You were also far too preoccupied to notice what Cobi was muttering.

"Oh... well I thought that maybe you just wanted to c-court and get to know one another better... I thought.. I j-just um... well it's just that... I-I have never even done it before... but... it seems like you really want to..."

Despite it being a bit fast he supposed he had become quite smitten with you. And, well, maybe humans coupled faster than frogkin. And he really didn't want to hurt you or offend you!

"O-okay, I'll do it!" He exclaimed loudly.

You were finally almost out of the muck and were about to ask him what he was going to do when he suddenly pulled your pants down and slid his huge tongue right into your entrance. You shuddered in shock and ended up with both hands stuck in the mud.

"Wh-what are you doing!?"

Cobi wasn't paying any attention to your words, not as lost in his efforts to loosen up your hole in preparation for the main event as he was. He gripped your legs with his webbed hands as his tongue probed you as deeply as possible, kneading and throbbing and gently stretching out your insides.

The pleasure was indescribable. You wanted Cobi to stop, but time you tried to articulate a protest the only sound you managed to produce was a loud moan or gasp.

And of course the only possible reaction Cobi could have to that was to think that he was doing a great job making his new mate nice. And he wanted to feel good with you.

He removed the slimy tongue from your entrance and removed his loincloth. Cobi then aligned his engorged cock and drew circles against it with before tip before slowly sinking into your tight heat. He had held reservations about making love to you so soon into courting, but now that he was inside you the last of them had melted away.

"Oh, oh, ooohh, you feel so amazing! I-i think you were meant for this pretty artist~"

Much in the same way that your resolve had melted away under the burning flood of pleasure Cobi was drowning you in. Judging by how it felt it was no human cock. It was much longer, a little thicker, and felt a bit slimy. With every thrust you lost a bit more of yourself until you were moving back against his movements, desperately trying to chase the orgasm you were building up to.

You had just come here to help along your art and now here you were in the mud mounted like a bitch in heat and enjoying it. It would have been humiliating if you had the capacity to dwell on such matters.

There were more important things to think about right now. Like the cock breeding you. The feel of unnaturally heavy nuts smacking into you. The soft and attentive lips kissing up your backside, straining to reach your neck.

You arched your back as you had the most mind shattering climax of your life.

"I can't hold back anymore. You sketched for me. L-let me just paint your insides for you~"

And then you learned why his nuts felt so heavy as they slammed against you. As he filled you he deposited much more than just normal cum. Over dozens of small round objects flooded into you and adhered themselves to your walls.

"Wh-what the?"

Cobi plucked you out of the mud with ease and pulled you into his lap as he sat down, with his prick still buried snugly inside of you. He held you close to his sweaty body and caressed your belly lovingly.

Now that you had a moment to process your predicament and the events that had just transpired you were completely dumbfounded. One moment you were trying to get out of the mire and the next you were being fucked.

"I'm so glad you wanted to be mates~"

Your mind was reeling trying to come up with a response to such an outrageous claim. When had you expressed anything resembling such a des-

"Mmmm~" Instead you could only reply with a pathetic pleased whimper as Cobi began rolling his hips, grinding into you and very slowly fucking you for a second time.

"Don't worry, I have plenty more eggs just for my sweet artist~"

You could only lean back against him and drool as he wrapped his arms around you possessively and temporarily fucked your mind away once more.

[xianji]

tied by ink | choso x reader

for the @phantasmaebg event

wc: 1350

your soulmate tattoo showed up on your sixteenth birthday, scrawled across your wrist like a bold declaration: “stay.” it wasn’t cute, romantic, or poetic like you imagined. it was blunt. vague. frustrating.

and years later, you still had no clue what it meant.

that’s why you were here now, sitting in a tattoo parlor that smelled like antiseptic and fresh ink, the fluorescent lighting humming faintly above you. you didn’t know what you wanted yet, but you knew you needed something.

“you here for a consult?” the girl at the counter asked.

“yeah,” you replied, your fingers twitching nervously at your side.

“choso’s got time. best hands in the shop.” she grinned, jerking her thumb toward the back.

you nodded, muttering a quick thanks before heading toward the artist’s booth.

as you turned the corner, you saw him sitting there—dark hair pulled into a messy half-bun, loose strands falling around his sharp face. tattoos covered his forearms, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt.

hot.

his dark eyes flicked up as you approached, pinning you in place.

“you’re here for a tattoo?” his voice was deep, smooth like it didn’t belong in this tiny shop.

“uh, yeah,” you stammered, your heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

he gestured to the chair in front of him, and you sat, trying not to fidget as his gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long.

“so, what are you thinking?”

you hesitated. “something small, but meaningful. i just… need something new.”

he tilted his head, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read you. “first one?”

“yeah.”

he hummed, his gaze dropping to your wrist. you’d forgotten to cover the soulmate mark today, and his eyes lingered on the word inked there.

“soulmate tattoo,” he said casually, like it wasn’t the most personal thing he could’ve pointed out.

you tensed. “everyone’s got one.”

“not everyone,” he replied, his voice low, almost teasing. “what’s the story with yours?”

you glanced away, your face heating up. “there’s no story. it says ‘stay.’ it’s… complicated.”

“complicated how?”

you met his gaze, your frustration bubbling up. “it doesn’t mean anything. not yet, anyway. and honestly, i’m not holding my breath.”

his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “so you’re one of those people who doesn’t believe in soulmates?”

“i didn’t say that,” you shot back. “i just… don’t think everyone finds theirs. or if they do, maybe it doesn’t work out.”

he didn’t respond right away, but the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smirk. “fair enough.”

you watched as he grabbed a sketchpad, his tattooed hands moving with practiced precision. “let’s figure out something that fits,” he murmured, his focus shifting to the page.

the way his fingers moved, the way he hunched slightly over the paper, made it impossible to look away. he radiated confidence, like he knew exactly what he was doing—not just with the drawing, but with you, too.

“so,” he said after a few minutes, his voice breaking the silence. “you’ve never thought about finding them?”

“my soulmate?” you asked, trying to sound casual even though his words sent a weird shiver down your spine.

“yeah.”

you shrugged, leaning back in the chair. “not really. it’s not like they’re going to show up out of nowhere.”

“sometimes they do.”

his tone was calm, but something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. you glanced at him, your brows furrowing.

“has it happened to you?”

he didn’t answer right away, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours for a split second before returning to his sketch. “maybe.”

cryptic much, you thought, but you couldn’t deny the way your pulse jumped.

“what does your tattoo say?” you asked, leaning forward slightly.

his lips curved, but he didn’t look up. “you really wanna know?”

“obviously.”

“you’ll find out.”

“that’s not an answer,” you muttered, but he ignored you, his focus back on the page.

when he finally turned the sketchpad around, your breath hitched.

“what do you think?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“it’s…” you swallowed. “it’s perfect.”

he gave you a small nod, standing to prep his station. “this’ll hurt a little,” he warned as you settled into the chair, rolling up your sleeve.

“i can handle it,” you replied, though your voice came out shakier than you wanted.

his hands were steady as he guided the needle over your skin, the soft hum of the machine filling the room. the sting was sharp at first, but it quickly dulled into a strange sort of comfort.

“so,” he said after a while, his tone almost conversational, “if your soulmate walked through that door right now, what would you say?”

you hesitated, the question catching you off guard. “i don’t know. maybe… ‘where the hell have you been?’”

he let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a tingle down your spine. “bold.”

“what about you?” you asked, desperate to turn the attention off yourself. “what would you say?”

his hands didn’t falter, but his voice dropped a notch. “depends on if they’d stay.”

your heart skipped, his words hitting deeper than you expected. you glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable, his focus entirely on your arm.

when he finally pulled back, he wiped the tattoo clean, tilting your arm toward the light.

“done,” he said simply.

you stared at the design, your chest tightening. it was beautiful, perfect in a way that almost felt… familiar.

“thank you,” you murmured, your voice softer now.

he leaned back, his gaze meeting yours. “anytime.”

as you stood to leave, you caught a glimpse of his wrist as he reached for something—a single word inked there in bold black letters.

“stay.”

your blood ran cold.

he noticed your pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as he followed your gaze. when your eyes met again, there was no denying it.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whispered.

he smirked, leaning casually against the counter. “took you long enough.”

“you—” your words caught in your throat, your pulse racing. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“wanted to see if you’d figure it out,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm.

you took a shaky breath, your mind reeling. “so what now?”

he pushed off the counter, stepping closer until the space between you felt suffocating.

“now,” he said, his voice low, “you decide if you’re gonna stay.”

[bananasplit133]

Hiii I can request Tenna x employee reader who keep drawing him when he not looking and he discovers their sketchbook

HI ANON!!! :D

THIS IS PRETTY SHORT AND ALSO RUSHED BUT I HOPE ITS TO YOUR LIKING!

-----

'Ant' Tenna x Artist!Employee!Reader

The hum of the studio had finally quieted down for the evening, leaving only the soft flicker of screens and the distant buzz of machinery. You sat at your small desk tucked away in the corner of the employee lounge, the sketchbook balanced on your knees. For weeks now, you’d been sneaking moments here and there to sketch Mr. Tenna — his ever-shifting static screen, the sharp angles of his frame, the way his mechanical fingers flexed when he worked.

You loved capturing those little details. The way his head flickered between white noise and faint color streaks when he wasn’t paying attention. The way his movements could seem stiff and precise one moment, then almost human the next. It felt like the only way you could connect with him — without the showbiz spotlight, without the endless performance.

You flipped the page quietly, tracing your pencil over the outlines of his figure frozen mid-step, the glow of his screen-face carefully shaded. You barely noticed the door sliding open behind you.

A cool shadow loomed over your shoulder.

“Is that…me?” The voice was low, curious, with an edge of disbelief.

You jumped, closing the sketchbook hastily. But it was too late.

Mr. Tenna’s screen flickered, static flaring softly as he reached out with a slow, deliberate hand to take the book from your lap.

You swallowed hard, cheeks warming. “I—I didn’t mean for you to see it.”

He flipped the pages with surprising gentleness, his mechanical fingers careful not to smudge the graphite. Each drawing was a silent story: some were quick sketches, rough but honest; others painstaking, capturing tiny details like the way the light caught on his metallic wrist or the faint crackle of static around his screen.

He paused on a page where you’d drawn him standing with his head tilted slightly, the static on his screen flickering unevenly like a soft glitch. His mechanical fingers hovered over the paper, hesitant.

“You’ve been watching me,” he said quietly, voice low and just a bit shaky.

You blinked, cheeks heating up. “I guess… it just kind of happened. When you’re around, it’s hard not to notice the little things.”

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of machinery. His screen flickered erratically — a clear sign of his flustered state — and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words.

“Most people just stare, or ignore me,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not many actually… look.”

You shifted nervously, suddenly aware of how much you’d drawn him. “I didn’t mean to make it weird,” you said quickly. “I just like sketching. And, well, you’re kind of... interesting.”

He looked down at the sketchbook again, his fingers tracing the page you’d stopped on — a simple sketch of his silhouette, the flickering screen softly glowing.

Then, unexpectedly, he cleared his throat, a little too loudly for the quiet room.

“Well, I… I wouldn’t be opposed to being your muse! Heh…” His screen flickered wildly for a second, then he abruptly coughed into his mechanical hand, a faint static burst cutting off the awkward laugh. “EHEM. I MEAN… IF THAT’S ACCEPTABLE.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden confession.

He shifted on his feet, the usual calm and collected demeanor nowhere to be found.

NOT THAT I’M SAYING I WANT TO BE DRAWN ALL THE TIME OR ANYTHING. JUST… IF YOU WANT TO.”“ His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “It’s… not unpleasant.”

You smiled softly, feeling your own cheeks warm.

“Thanks, Mr Tenna. I’d like that.”

He gave a slow nod, the static on his screen settling into a softer glow — his version of a shy smile.

For a moment, neither of you said anything more. The quiet between you felt different now. Lighter, maybe.

“JUST… TRY NOT TO CATCH ME OFF GUARD AGAIN.” he added, voice still a little breathless.

You laughed quietly. “No promises.”

[idyllwave]

more self!aware gojo

Gojo’s foot tapped restlessly as he used whatever measure possible to look into your room, at your phone, and even into your sketch book.

Slowly but surely, you were drifting away from him.

He could remember it clearly when he first stumbled upon him, or, more accurately, when you first found him.

You were scrolling through youtube mindlessly. Your teeth gnawing on the inside of your cheek as boredom threatened to kill you. Which was when a recommended video popped up. The title was something simple. “Top ten new gen anime to watch” or something like that. Already finishing your winter anime for the season, you decided to give it a watch. And at 1:30 of the video, he saw you and you saw him. He could see how your eyes shined just a tiny bit as you sat up and focused more on the screen.

Jujutsu Kaisen.

You noted the anime title quickly as you exited the app and went searching on where to watch it. Luckily for you, the anime was on Netflix, and much to Gojo’s amusement, you had immediately started binging the first season.

And throughout each episode, he got to know you.

You were a college student. A hardworking on at that. You still lived with your parents. Had a decent manga collection with figurines lining your bookshelves. You had two close friends that you had since middle school. And you were a total loser.

Gojo was in love.

He was used to the attention. He got it from everyone in his world and everyone in yours (or, at least, the people who actually watched anime or read a manga).

But he quite liked your attention the most.

You didn’t go overboard, but were still a fan that slowly started collecting the manga and looking for merchandise with his face on it.

Oh, you were so cute.

Your social media pages were dedicated to him. Your usernames having some sort of variation of his name. Your sketchbooks and fanfics were littered with his face and speech patterns. It was adorable. And unlike other fans, you did try to get to know him. Sure, you don’t try to do those character analysis posts, but you still try and he likes the effort.

Which was why he put so much effort in getting to know you too.

And yet…

As the manga continued he started to notice a sort of distant from both him and you. And it truly started to show right after his death and the end of the manga.

He watched as you changed your username. Your sketchbooks became empty. And your fanfics became so few. Your lengthy 1k fics turned into 50 word drabbles. Your username highlighted other characters he never even heard before. And you rarely turned a page of the Jujutsu Kaisen manga anymore.

Were you bored of him?

He didn’t want to lose! He couldn’t!

“Hey.”

Your voice rung in his ears as he snapped his attention to you.

Luckily you haven’t put his figure or poster into a cardboard box yet…

“Y/n! How have you been?”

He watched as you smiled. He recognized the voice on the other end of the phone. Sarah, her name was, a childhood friend of yours.

“Ohhh, nothing much,” you said as you went to cuddle into the comforts of your bed. Your free hand trying to untangle your blankets so you could get comfortable.

“That’s great! I’m planning on going to that anime convention this weekend! Want to come?”

Gojo watched as you perked up, a small smile on his face as he watched you. He has known you for years and it never gets old seeing you so excited for an anime con.

But as soon as the excitement showed, it was quick to disappear as you huffed, “I would love to, but… I have work.”

“Take a few days off then!”

You shook your head, “no can do. They need me for this project, Sarah.”

Gojo hummed, distinctly remembering you talking about it with your parents and how stressful it has been these past few months because of it. Right when you graduated college, you got a job and moved out almost immediately, much to Gojo’s delight. He was happy to see you be able to make it on your own (though, truthfully, he would much prefer to provide for you instead…).

Sarah sighed on the other end, “well, alright… do you want me to get you anything there?”

You played with your bedsheets. Your fingers pinching at the fabric and rolling it between your fingertips, “maybe a Gojo figure?”

“Gojo?”

“Yeah, you know, my all-time favorite character?”

Gojo could hear Sarah laugh on the other end, “kind of hard to imagine since you haven’t been talking about him lately.”

You rolled your eyes, “only because he died… ever since his death and the manga itself ending … I don’t know, I just really miss him. So, I tried to block him out. You know? If I don’t see him as often then maybe I won’t be so sad? Not to mention that work has been stressful lately. It feels like I don’t have any time to myself lately. And I’ve been itching to reread JJK again.”

Gojo could feel himself preening, you weren’t tired of him after all! You were just mourning his death. Which was cute. He liked how you cared so much.

“Alright, alright. I get it. One Gojo figure coming up!”

“Thanks.”

You both talked a bit more before eventually hanging up. He watched you toss your phone to your nightstand before reaching over and fiddling with the switch. After a couple of failed attempts you finally managed to switch it off.

Delving back into his own world where he sat comfortably on his couch, he leaned back. His head tilted back so he could stare up at the ceiling.

He needs to find a way to bring you to his world.

[amyzworldds]

Title: When Life Gives You Tangerine

A shy girl from Jeju who secretly admires her lively classmate, Boo Seungkwan, through small, thoughtful gestures. As their lives take unexpected turns, her quiet support evolves over the years, blending childhood memories with dreams that grow far beyond their little island school. Pairing: Boo Seungkwan x Reader Genre: Fluff an: OMG, I forgot to include this part!! This was supposed to be included in Part One, and when I reread it, I just realized I forgot this. I'm sorry huhuhu😭

Seungkwan wasn’t as clueless as Y/N thought. Sure, he’d teased her that rainy day in class—“You! The quiet girl! Is it you?”—but he’d known all along. Those tangerines with their wobbly smiles and tiny “Fighting!” notes? Only one person in their class had cheeks that turned tangerine-red when she got shy. He’d caught her sneaking glances, seen her duck behind chairs, and he’d loved it. Every morning, he’d sit down, spot the tangerine grinning up at him, and feel like the luckiest kid in Jeju.

“Another one!” he’d say to Doyun, holding it up like a trophy. “Look at this heart—it’s so crooked, it’s cute!”

“You’ve got a secret admirer,” Doyun would snicker. “You should thank them.”

“Nah,” Seungkwan said, peeling it open. “She’s too shy. I don’t wanna scare her off. Plus, these tangerines? Best part of my day.”

But then, they stopped. The desk stayed empty, and so did Y/N’s seat at the back. Seungkwan frowned, poking Doyun one morning. “Hey, where’s the quiet girl? She sick or something?”

“Dunno,” Doyun shrugged. “Maybe she’s just late.”

She wasn’t late. Days passed, and Seungkwan started to worry. “What if she’s really sick? Like, really sick?” he whispered to himself, imagining all sorts of dramatic scenarios. Finally, he overheard Mrs. Kim talking to another teacher: “Y/N? Oh, she’s moved to Seoul with her parents.”

“Seoul?!” Seungkwan yelped, loud enough that Mrs. Kim turned around.

“Seungkwan, indoor voice!” she scolded, but he barely heard her. Y/N was gone—just like that?

That afternoon, he grabbed a tangerine from home, scribbled a quick “Get well soon!” on it (just in case she was sick), and marched to her grandparents’ house. He knocked, shifting nervously as the door creaked open.

“Oh! You’re the singing boy!” her grandma said, her eyes lighting up. “Seungkwan, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, holding out the tangerine. “Is Y/N here? I heard she’s… gone?”

Her grandpa nodded, stepping out. “She’s in Seoul now, with her parents. Left real quick—didn’t even take all her things.”

Seungkwan’s shoulders slumped. “Oh… I brought this for her.”

Grandma smiled, taking the tangerine. “You’re a sweet boy. Wait here.” She shuffled inside and came back with a little sketchbook. “Y/N left this. We think you should have it—she was always drawing you, you know.”

“Me?” Seungkwan blinked, his cheeks going pink. He took the book, flipped it open, and—wow. Pages and pages of him: Seungkwan with a mic, Seungkwan with stars, Seungkwan on a stage with a crowd of tangerines cheering him on, their little faces beaming. He laughed, loud and bright. “She’s so funny! Look at these tangerines—they’ve got eyes!”

“She believed in you,” Grandpa said, chuckling. “Said you’d be a star someday.”

Seungkwan hugged the sketchbook to his chest. “I’m keeping this forever.”

Back home, he taped his favorite drawing—the one with the tangerine crowd—above his bed. Not long after, his life took a wild turn. A teacher uploaded a video of him singing at a contest, it blew up online, and suddenly, a company called Pledis was on the phone. High school hit, and boom—he was a trainee, sweating through dance practices and vocal lessons in Seoul.

Some nights, when he was bone-tired and ready to flop, he’d glance at that drawing. “You were right, Y/N,” he’d mumble, smiling. “I’m getting there.”

The other trainees noticed, of course. One day, Hoshi plopped down next to him, peering at the sketch. “What’s with the tangerine army, Seungkwan?”

“Oh, this?” Seungkwan grinned, holding it up. “It’s from my secret tangerine girl. Back in Jeju, she’d sneak these cute tangerines onto my desk—smiley faces, hearts, little notes. She was so shy, her cheeks would go all red!”

“Aw, that’s adorable!” DK cooed, leaning over. “Did you ever tell her you knew?”

“Nah, didn’t wanna embarrass her,” Seungkwan said. “But when she moved away, she left me this. Look at those tangerines—they’re my first fans!”

Mingyu smirked. “You’ve got a fan club before we even debuted. Lucky.”

“I know, right?” Seungkwan laughed. “She drew me like this—like I’d be a real singer. I wanna find her someday and say, ‘Look, your tangerines got me here!’”

Debut came, and Seventeen took off. Stages got bigger, crowds got louder, but Seungkwan never let go of that drawing. He’d tuck it into his bag for every tour, a little piece of Jeju magic. “Y/N’s out there somewhere,” he’d tell the boys backstage, grinning. “She doesn’t know it, but she’s the reason I kept going. I bet she’s still drawing tangerines for somebody.”

One night, after a massive concert, he stood on stage, waving to the sea of lightsticks. He didn’t know Y/N was out there, clutching her own tangerine, cheering him on like always. He didn’t know she’d become a Carat, her shy little heart still rooting for the boy who’d made her days brighter. But he held onto that hope—someday, he’d meet her again, show her that drawing, and say, “Hey, tangerine girl, we made it!”

[k1ng-ej]

vincent often makes you pose so he can draw you. you’re stuck in awkward positions for a few hours while he studies and memorizes your body to draw. he notes all of your curves, the slight dip in your hips, a few long scars that line your back and your thighs. he briefly wonders how you got them, and plans to ask you later if you’re comfortable sharing. he makes sure to add the barely noticeable freckles across your face, and the birthmark that was so delicately placed on your jawline.

vincent is very satisfied with his work, he thinks he has captured you perfectly in his drawing, and he is excited to show you. you’re glad to finally be able to move and stretch. your heart flutters in your chest when he shows you the drawing, to see how someone else views you through their eyes feels surreal, you are so used to seeing yourself through mirrors, or cameras, that you overlook details about yourself that vincent didn’t. you didnt notice the tiny freckles on your collarbone, or the small moles on your mid back. you were sure vincent had memorized all these physical details about you. he already had your favorite foods and drinks memorized, he knew what toppings on pizza you preferred, how many ice cubes you liked to have in your drinks. he was a man that paid close attention to detail, but that wasn’t surprising given how he made such beautiful but intricate wax sculptures, he was talented, and you praised him every day for that.

he was also very caring toward you, a trait his brother, Bo, didn’t exactly possess. vincent always made sure to include you in things so you wouldn’t feel left out, he would let you draw in his sketch book, something he didn’t even let his brother touch— for some reason. you’ve looked through his sketches, and found nothing bad, so you weren’t sure why he guarded it so much. if anything, his sketches were beautiful, you even found a few he did of you, and you could easily tell that he did these on a whim when sitting near you. they weren’t as detailed as others, just a quick something to busy his hands, or maybe he just wanted to capture your face in that moment.

vincent loved you dearly, and you could feel it through his actions and words… or letters. that was another thing he did. late at night, when he was left with nothing but his thoughts, he would write you heartfelt letters explaining all of the traits he loved about you. these letters were often multiple pages, to make up for all of the things he doesn’t say.

in conclusion, he is an amazing partner, and you love everything about him, and everything that comes with being with him, which includes his brother, who can be a bit mean sometimes, but you’ve learned not to take it to heart.

[hivemuthur]

a lil request, for freaktor friday or not

soo

what if vik found out the reader comes easily and is a visual learner so he would make them come just by making them watch him suck strap buckled to their hips and giving them a lil show

I feel like this should have a new day of the week invented, but I say it's Freakday since I lack better options :v

Oral Fixation

viktorxfem!reader explicit! blow jobs (?) + fingering (fem receiving since it just came out this way), established relationship, disgusting love, Reader is a complete simp, but Viktor likes it.

word count: 3,3K

author’s note: I feel like this belongs in the pegging universe, so I just kinda nodded to myself in this one, you can treat it as a part two -> here's the pegging fic. @rennethen beta read! RIP all of us cockless. Also, i hope you didn't mind the ask spam people and happy Freakday :v

—

It’s impolite to stare—you were always told. But whether out of sheer defiance or overwhelming curiosity, you’ve never paid much attention to what’s polite and what isn’t. You were right, of course, and the world was wrong. Your long ogling sessions have earned you a partner with equal levels of fixation and a mind as brilliant as it is open—keeping up has only ever been a thrill.

What started as one tiny indulgence on your part—a glance toward his hands—soon bloomed into full-blown obsession. The fruits of which would betray you to anyone who opened your notebook, now full of sketches. Every knuckle, every wrinkle rendered with the kind of care that screams affection.

And it betrays you, as you feared, when those same hands—immortalised in ink—leaf through the pages. Heart plummeting, you watch him carefully. See if he’s noticed. But the moment Viktor holds the book at arm’s length and compares one of your sketches to his open palm—you know it’s over.

He teases you for weeks after. “Is it just my hands that interest you?” he asks, all innocent and smug. “Or are you curious about other people’s hands too?” You swat him for it, ignoring the ‘cripple’ card he pretends to pull, but you’re still smiling as you walk away. You can’t help it.

And what turns out to be true—despite everything—is that it was never just his hands. Nor anyone else’s. It’s the whole of him. The strange, perfect sum of all his parts.

The next fixation is his eyes, though you don’t linger long. He’s too quick, too perceptive, and your stares never go unnoticed. So you move on. His nose comes next. Here you stay for a while, long enough for him to finally clock your silent advances. And Viktor—mercifully—makes the first move.

This, of course, opens up a whole new range of possibilities. All those parts hidden under layers of clothing that you’d only been able to imagine are now granted to you—completely denuded. Pure skin, and sinew, and bone, laid bare only for you to worship. Falling asleep with your ear to his stomach is bliss. Kissing over the bruises left by the brace—a privilege. Pressing your mouth to where his underbelly hollows, trying not to let your breath tickle him—pure joy.

There is one part, however, that managed to escape your attention—until recently. Viktor’s lips.

They are not the kind of mouth you’d notice at first glance. Not full, not plump. But you’ve watched them closely now, and they are a wonder in their own right. The way they purse when he chews absently on a pencil, softening when the pressure eases. How his fingertip comes to rest at the corner of his mouth whenever he’s deep in thought, tapping once, twice, then stilling. You’ve seen him lick his lips after a sip of too-hot coffee, tongue darting out to chase the steam before it vanishes. Watched how they part around a spoon or the edge of a fork, cheeks rounding slightly as he eats, the motion making his whole face look softer—almost unfamiliar.

And when he smiles—genuinely, openly, without irony—his whole face pulls taut with it. The corners of his lips lift first, then the skin around his eyes creases in that way that makes your heart ache. His mouth was never just a mouth. It was a thousand quiet gestures stitched together into a portrait you hadn’t even realised you were memorising.

Viktor, the ever present hawk eye, notices. Mid-sentence, no less, pencil resting slack against the paper while you fixate on the way he mouths the words, vowels rounding tenderly, adding new meaning to the phrase soft-spoken. He doesn’t call you out this time—not exactly. Just tilts his head and smiles in that way that means he’s caught you again. You fail miserably in looking away.

Later, when the work is packed and the clock tells you it's much too late to be lingering, Viktor rises and holds out a hand with purpose.

"Come," he says, voice low with something just shy of caballing. "I’ve thought of something that might make you happy."

You quirk a brow. "You're awfully confident for someone who still insists on instant coffee."

He hums, not rising to the bait, just draws your hand into his and begins walking. The halls are quiet. His cane clicks softly against the stone. "You’ve been looking at my mouth like it holds all the secrets of the universe," he says. "I figured… maybe it should offer a few answers."

You stumble a little, less from the pace and more from the way heat curls in your stomach at the implication. “And you’re not going to tell me what you mean by that?” you ask.

“I think you’ll understand soon enough,” he says, glancing at you sidelong. “If I’m right—and I usually am.”

Viktor doesn’t lead, not in the traditional sense. He doesn’t drag you behind him or push you to move faster. Instead, he floats ideas, opens doors—metaphorical and literal—and lets you choose whether to walk through. He is an eager and generous lover, yes, but also a careful one. He has never once assumed. He doesn’t chase power, he invites trust.

Even when he first offered you his most tender parts, baring himself not to surrender but to be seen. That night had been many things—electric, cathartic, almost embarrassingly emotional—but what lingered most was the way Viktor had looked up at you afterward. Like you’d cracked open something in him he hadn’t known was closed. Like he wanted more.

And now, this. Another door. Another idea. Wild, hushed for now, but clearly mapped out in that labyrinthine mind of his.

The lock clicks behind you as he shuts the dorm door. Viktor turns to face you properly, smile curved like he’s hiding something behind his back. "Will you let me show you?" he asks. His voice is quiet, but sure.

You nod, cheeks blooming into that lovely vermillion he likes so much. He watches the colour spread like paint in water—utterly taken. “Good,” he says simply, and nods toward the chair near his desk. “Get undressed. Sit there.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, already pulling at your shirt hem. “Are you getting undressed too, or am I the only one baring all tonight?”

Viktor’s smile curves sharp, wicked. “There will be no need. Not yet.”

The way he says it—not yet—twists in your belly like silk pulled tight. You settle into the chair, shifting as your skin meets the cool seat, but Viktor is already moving, reaching to the drawer by his bed. He returns not with flourish, but with quiet certainty, cradling the harness like it’s something precious.

“Is your attitude in need of… maintenance again?” you tease, though your voice comes a little thinner than intended.

Viktor glances up, bemused. “Not particularly,” he says. Then sits—gingerly, carefully—onto the pillow he’s placed at your feet. One leg at a time, he slides the straps up your calves, his hands as gentle as they are precise.

“Not tonight,” he repeats, fastening the harness into place on your hips after you lift for him obediently. His thumbs skim the edges where leather meets skin, slow and certain. “But I do have another gift for you.”

You glance down, and your chest flutters with a shaky laugh that barely makes it out.

He’s loosening his cravat now, slow enough to watch your eyes track every movement. The silk slips through his fingers, down his chest and off to the side. The top buttons of his shirt follow, granting you a view of the elegant dip of his collarbones, the pale skin of his throat. He’s flushed—not just the dusting across his cheeks, but his ears, the tips of them going pink like they always do when he’s on the verge of something exciting. His pupils are near-black, and his lips curl into a smile that might’ve passed for shy, had you not known him as intimately as you do. He’s so distractingly pretty you almost overlook the cock hanging between your legs.

“I’ve noticed,” he begins, voice low, “that the full-body scan you’ve been giving me lately seems to halt on my mouth for quite some time.”

You start to object, or maybe laugh, or deny it outright—but Viktor continues, silencing you with little more than a look. “I don’t think anyone’s ever taken me apart so lovingly before,” he murmurs, and you feel the weight of that confession settle in your chest, curling into a warm ball like a cat that has finally found its place. “So allow me to indulge you.”

He shifts between your legs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. Then another, higher. His breath is warm, his lips scalding. But he doesn’t rush. Instead, he reaches up for your hand and brings it to his mouth.

The first kiss lands at your wrist, soft and gentle. Then he begins to drag his mouth over each finger, tongue flicking along the pads like he’s trying to ruin you right there. His lips close over your index, drawing it in with slow suction, warm and slick, and your breath grows heavy and burdened with need.

But Viktor takes his time. Tongue curling underneath, tracing the crease where knuckle meets palm. Then he shifts to your middle finger, sucking deeper, until the wet sound of it becomes a pulse between your legs. His eyes remain fixed on you, half-lidded, patient and unhurried. You can feel the way his tongue presses up against your skin—how he lets the pad of it slide along your body with intention, tasting you.

He nips, briefly, at the base of your thumb, then soothes the mark with a kiss so gentle it barely registers. There is no part of this that is idle. He worships, he savours. He learns.

Your eyes have not closed for a while. Even when you blink you make sure you can still see him, utterly beguiled by the trace of shiny spit his mouth produces around your fingers. The slide of it, the pout he makes to suck around you until your own hand burns with all the hot blood circulating through it. You are certain Viktor can feel your pulse on his tongue.

He releases your hand with a quiet pop, a fine thread of slick still connecting the two of you. For a moment, he simply looks at you—then his gaze drops.

One hand steadies your thigh, fingers splayed and gentle. The other slips between your legs. First, to check something very important. Whether he was right.

He teases your entrance, clever hand searching, and when he finds the answer, he gasps softly. The quiet sound that follows is unmistakable—confirmation, and proof, and reward. Your eyes flutter closed, unthinking.

“Eyes on me at all times, love,” he says. A small, firm correction. Not harsh, never. But enough. You open them again, immediately.

He’s already looking up at you, chin tilted, lips parted like he might lean in and take a bite. The light catches in his eyes—hungry, but so focused, so careful. His fingers stroke through you again, slower now, like he’s waiting to see every reaction he can draw from your face with just the tiniest movement.

When he speaks next, his voice is lower. Intimate. Pleased. “Good. That’s very good.”

And then, oh—a kiss. Nowhere near your skin. On the tip, sweet and teasing, it pries at the hinges of your jaw, makes your eyes go wide. It is as if you can feel whatever Viktor presents. Your mind, drunk already, soaks in the sight of him at your feet—but mostly, his mouth. Wrapping solemnly around the length nestled between your thighs. With the slide of his lips, two fingers ease inside you.

They curl, slow and steady, knuckles grazing soft where you’re most sensitive. But even that stretch is a distant hum compared to the way your brain short-circuits watching him.

What Viktor is doing is maddening enough with the phantom feeling between your legs, and you cannot stand the idea of what it would actually feel like. He’s not rushing. No frantic bobbing, no mess—yet. Just the steady, measured pressure of his lips gliding down, then pulling back.

And though you don’t feel the warmth of his mouth there, the sight of it—him—at your feet, eyes half-lidded, cheeks hollowing—is enough to have your body tensing up and toes curling.

Whenever your eyes fall closed, he stops. “Watch me,” he says firmly, pulling back just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip in a mockery of a kiss.

The pace he sets when you obey is punishing in reverse—the slowness of it, tormenting. His fingers inside you only add to this feast of teasing, but it strikes you that you can endure it, so long as Viktor never rises from his spot.

Innocence is not your virtue—you’ve thought about it. But now you're convinced that vivid imagination isn’t your virtue either, since the fantasy has absolutely nothing on the reality of Viktor’s mouth caressing the underside, lips shining. Gorgeous, you think.

He moans, pleased, as if to perplex you, a glint of joy dances in his eye when his tongue flattens out and the inanimate head slaps against it. Drool wells around your cock, and you imagine how warm it is, how smooth the slide must feel in Viktor’s mouth—how it would feel to you if it were actually attached to your body.

And as if all of that is not maddening enough, Viktor pushes back down. Lower, further, past the barrier of throat, where his vein is faintly risen, where you can see his quickened pulse painted in pale blue. He doesn’t stop when he gags—just squeezes his eyes shut for a beat, breathes through his nose, and steadies himself. The sound it makes is so vulgar, and it only seems to spur him on. He pulls back, lips stretched glossy around you, then lets it rest heavy on his tongue. Holds it there, looks up, eyes dazed but daring.

You gulp, and he doesn’t. Not until he needs to, and even then, he does it dramatically—lets it fall from his mouth with a slick gasp and a trail of spit, only to drag his tongue along the underside as he catches his breath.

All the while, his fingers are moving with studied intent inside you, curled perfectly, just shy of unbearable. And then—

He takes it again. This time deeper. Swallows it down. At the same moment, he thrusts his fingers to the hilt and presses his thumb firm against your clit. You cry out, reflexive and raw, will your eyes to stay open through the blur of tears, desperate to not miss anything.

It’s not enough to come, but nearly. Nearly is worse. So you move, slow at first, unsure, rocking your hips in shallow thrusts—meeting the wet heat of his mouth, and pressing his fingers deeper in return.

He hums around it, and the phantom vibration flutters straight through you, your brain somehow wills it into existence. You watch the lines of strain on his face, the determination behind his eyes.

It’s odd, in a way. Viktor is always speaking—explaining, coaxing, teasing. But now, his mouth is busy, and the absence of his voice only makes you crave it more.

You hear it anyway, conjured from memory. How he sounds when he praises you. How he groans when you ride him. How he whispers your name like a confession. But the sounds he’s making now—wet, guttural, wanting—are nearly enough.

Before you know it, your ass slides to the edge of the chair, wood creasing the skin of your cheeks, hips spilling over. Your hands come up to cup his face, and it’s the first time Viktor closes his eyes—calm smoothing over his features, as if your fingers have ironed out the tension.

And then—oh God—you’re certain Viktor plots to ruin you eternally, when his jaw slackens, and he offers you a gift. Control. Messy, and glistening with his spit.

He brings your hands to his throat, one at a time, guiding them. Your thumbs prop his chin, and he waits—mouth provocatively open, trusting—waiting for you to move your hips into his palm, between his lips.

It’s surreal, the way he opens for you—so patient, so steady. The way he makes himself available without ever surrendering power. You can see it in the set of his brows, in the calculated push of his fingers inside you, the press of his thumb against your clit timed with every breath he takes around the length in his mouth.

You move, slowly at first. Testing the tension in your thighs, the wet glide of his lips. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. His hand stays on your hip, just placed there, letting you do the rest. And whatever you do is yours to decide.

So you fuck his mouth tenderly, a rhythm born of instinct and awe. Not for the cock, not for the illusion—but for him. For Viktor, who has always known how to give. For Viktor, who never rushes but always sees you.

He moans again—low, almost a hum, the vibration somehow finding a way of seeping straight into your gut. You want to tell him he’s beautiful. That he’s undoing you. That no one’s ever looked so good sat on their ass with a cock between their lips. But your mouth won’t cooperate—your mind, already fraying, can't hold language when he curls his fingers just right and presses the flat of his tongue along the length.

The chair creaks beneath you when your hips stutter. His lips are wet, stretched, cheeks hollowing with every pass.

It comes faster than you expect. Your hand finds his hair and you pull— just enough. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and unblinking. Your mouth falls open, your thighs tremble. He groans around the base, and it tips you over—hot and high and breaking against the inside of your chest.

Your body curls forward. His hand, warm on your belly, holds you through it. Hazy, you gasp and breathe heavily, the rise and fall of your stomach made real by Viktor’s touch. When you step beyond the other side of climax, the side of warmth and pliancy, you slip down from the chair, knees finding the floor, and Viktor’s arms open instantly. The harness shifts between you—warm and slick with his spit, now nudging his stomach awkwardly. It makes you both laugh, breathless and low. Still, you clamber into his lap, careless of grace, needing only to be close.

Your arms go around his neck. His hands bracket your hips. You wrap yourself around him like you might fall through the floor otherwise, pressing your face into the crook of his neck and breathing deep. The scent of him, the sweat on his collar, the faint ghost of whatever soap he used this morning—all of it hits like safety. Like home.

“God,” you sigh, voice threadbare. “How do you know me so well?”

He hums. You feel it in his throat before you hear the answer. “I am very observant,” he murmurs. A kiss to your temple. “And curious.” His hands shift at your back, stroking slow. Then, softer still: “And I love you an insane amount as well.”

The words crack something open inside you. You hold him tighter, and mumble quietly into his shoulder. “There is no other way to love you than an insane amount, Viktor. You are my biggest fixation.”

“My fixation,” he repeats, tasting the word like it belongs to him now. “Come to bed.”

[zeroseuniverse]

Folded Notes

Word Count: 875 Summary: When Jeongin wasn’t looking, she slipped a folded note into the side pocket of his backpack."I saw you smile at the little kid playing outside earlier. It made me smile too." Pairing: Jeongin X Fem Reader

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The sun filtered through the wide classroom windows, casting dappled patterns across the desks. Jeongin sat a few rows from the front, glancing discreetly to his left. There she was, perched near the window, her notebook open and pen in hand. He smiled faintly to himself as he watched her draw, her fingers gliding over the margins of her notes. The sketches were small but intricate—flowers, clouds, little animals that seemed to frolic across the page.

She didn’t know it, but Jeongin admired those tiny details more than she could imagine. He wasn’t brave enough to strike up a real conversation, even though she’d exchanged polite smiles and the occasional "Hi." Words always seemed to lodge in his throat when he thought about speaking to her. Instead, he channeled his thoughts into something simpler: little notes, left anonymously in her sketchbook.

It started on a whim.

One day, she’d stepped away from her desk, leaving her sketchbook open. Jeongin had noticed a drawing of a small bird perched on a tree branch. He scribbled a quick message on a sticky note: "Your art is beautiful. Keep going!" With his heart hammering, he tucked it between the pages and returned to his seat.

When she came back and found it, he saw her surprised smile from the corner of his eye. His chest warmed at the sight, and he knew he’d do it again.

Over the next few weeks, the notes became a ritual.

"Good luck on your exam today—you’ll do great!""The bunny you drew yesterday was adorable!""Your flowers make even the margins look like a garden."

Jeongin spent more time crafting those small, heartfelt messages than he ever spent on his own assignments. He would sneak them into her sketchbook during breaks, always careful not to get caught. The way her face lit up each time she found one made it worth the risk.

But what Jeongin didn’t know was that she had started to notice him, too.

At first, she was simply curious about her anonymous admirer. Who was kind enough to leave such sweet messages? But as the days passed, her attention drifted to Jeongin—the quiet boy who sat a few rows away. She noticed the way his pencil tapped rhythmically against his notebook when he was deep in thought. She caught the soft hums he let slip when he thought no one was listening. And that laugh of his—low, shy, but utterly infectious—it lingered in her mind long after class ended.

It didn’t take long to piece it together.

The timing of the notes, the proximity of his seat, the way he avoided her gaze whenever she caught him glancing her way—it all pointed to Jeongin.

The next day, she decided it was her turn.

When Jeongin wasn’t looking, she slipped a folded note into the side pocket of his backpack.

"I saw you smile at the little kid playing outside earlier. It made me smile too."

When he found it later, Jeongin froze. His heart raced as he read the message over and over, his mind spinning. Was it... her? He glanced in her direction, but she was focused on her notebook, as if nothing had happened.

The game had begun.

The following days were filled with small exchanges.

"You have a really nice laugh. I wish I could hear it more often.""I noticed you always lend people your extra pens. You're really thoughtful.""That doodle of the cat with sunglasses? Hilarious."

Jeongin couldn’t believe it. The person he’d admired from afar was now leaving notes for him. Each message felt like a gentle nudge, encouraging him to be a little braver. But still, neither of them made the first move.

The tension built with every exchange, a delightful mix of excitement and nervousness. She started leaving notes in his notebook. He began slipping messages under the edges of her sketchbook. The unspoken game pulled them closer and closer, like magnets drawn together.

One crisp afternoon, Jeongin finally decided he couldn’t wait any longer.

Class had just ended, and most students had filed out. Gathering his courage, Jeongin walked over to her desk. His hands trembled as he slid a folded note onto the corner of her sketchbook.

She looked up, startled, meeting his gaze. For the first time, he didn’t look away.

With a small smile, she unfolded the note.

"Can I take you out for coffee?"

Her heart fluttered. Without a word, she opened her bag and pulled out a bundle of folded papers. She placed them on the desk between them.

Jeongin’s eyes widened as he recognized the notes—his notes. But when she flipped through the stack, he realized something else: his notes were mixed with the ones she’d been leaving for him.

“I guess we’ve both been playing the same game,” she said softly, her cheeks tinted pink.

Jeongin stared at her, his lips parting in surprise. Then, a slow, radiant smile spread across his face.

“So... is that a yes?” he asked nervously, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, laughing lightly. “I’d love to.”

And just like that, the game of notes ended where it was always meant to—with two hearts finally meeting, no longer hidden behind words on paper.

[mahalachives]

Thank you for writing my request for acotar fics. Really if I'm going to be honest I didn't expect you to write it so quickly. But wowww. Again thank you and would you like consider to write a azriel and human mate reader where she has like tablet as well as a telephone and earphones and she explains a technology to inner circle.

Title: Tech Support: Velaris Edition

pairing: azriel x human!mate reader

Hope you enjoy!

The first time Azriel saw you talking to yourself, he thought you were mad.

The second time, when you told him you were “on a call,” he genuinely started to worry about your sanity.

By the third time, you had pulled out what you called a tablet, and suddenly, the entire Inner Circle got involved.

And so here you were, seated in the House of Wind, facing a very skeptical group of Fae while Azriel stood protectively beside you, arms crossed but utterly amused.

You did not expect absolute chaos.

It started when you pulled out your phone.

“This,” you said, holding it up like it was the Cauldron itself, “is a cell phone.”

The room stared at the tiny glowing rectangle in your hands like it was a live bomb.

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, narrowed his eyes. “It’s…glowing.”

“Yes.”

Cassian unsheathed a dagger. “Kill it.”

“CASSIAN, NO—”

Azriel, standing protectively beside you, let out a suffering sigh as you shoved Cassian’s arm down. “It’s not alive, you battle-obsessed maniac.”

“Are you sure?” Amren drawled, unimpressed. “Because that thing hummed.”

“It vibrated—it’s a notification!” You waved your hand. “It’s how I get messages!”

Rhys leaned forward, smirking. “So, humans store voices in tiny glowing bricks now?”

“… I hate how accurate that sounds.”

Nesta arched a brow. “So it’s like a magical book?”

“No, it’s better.” You clicked on a video, and the screen moved.

Cassian screamed.

Nesta dropped her tea.

Amren nearly fell out of her chair.

Feyre’s jaw hit the floor.

Rhysand, High Lord of Velaris, the most powerful High Fae in existence, flinched.

Mor gasped dramatically. “IT’S POSSESSED.”

Azriel—your lovely, brooding mate—only sighed deeper, rubbing his temples like this was the worst day of his life.

“IT’S JUST A VIDEO,” you shouted over their horrified screams.

“IT’S A TRAPPED SOUL,” Cassian accused, pointing a trembling finger at the phone.

“IT’S NOT—”

Nesta hissed at the screen.

Feyre, looking way too concerned, whispered to Rhys, “Should we… should we free it?”

“IT’S NOT TRAPPED,” you nearly shrieked.

Azriel put a calming hand on your shoulder. It did nothing.

“This is normal for humans,” he explained, attempting damage control.

Mor, still clutching her chest like she had seen a ghost, muttered, “Humans are terrifying.”

You groaned. “Okay, forget the phone. Let’s move on to the tablet.”

More skeptical looks.

You turned it on, and Rhys immediately backed up.

“I hate this,” he muttered.

Cassian squinted. “Why is it so big?”

“It’s just a bigger version of my phone!”

Nesta looked at the screen, unimpressed. “Does it also hold souls hostage?”

“…It’s literally just for books, movies, and drawing.” You clicked a random sketching app and made a quick doodle.

Silence.

Then—

Cassian leaned in. “You—you’re making magic symbols—”

“I AM DRAWING.”

“WITH LIGHT,” Feyre gasped.

“WITH MY FINGER.”

Rhys looked between you and Azriel. “You mated with a sorceress?”

Azriel sighed even harder. “She’s not a sorceress.”

“She controls light magic,” Mor insisted.

“Oh my god.”

Nesta pinched the bridge of her nose. “I thought nothing could be dumber than Cassian.”

Cassian gasped, clutching his chest. “Nesta, how could you?”

“Okay,” you groaned. “Forget the tablet—here, let’s try earphones.” You plugged them in and played music. “Put this in your ear.”

Mor eagerly took one.

The second the bass hit, her eyes flew open.

“WHAT. IS. HAPPENING?”

She grabbed Cassian’s arm. “DO YOU HEAR THAT? IT’S IN MY HEAD—”

Cassian yanked it away like it was a venomous snake. “GET IT OUT—IT’S CURSING HER—”

Azriel looked like he wanted to jump out the nearest window.

Rhysand, ever dramatic, massaged his temples. “Mother above, why did I let her do this?”

Nesta, still sipping her tea, shrugged. “I think we should let them suffer.”

Cassian—who had immediately shoved both earphones into his ears—jumped to his feet.

“THIS,” he declared, “IS THE GREATEST THING HUMANS HAVE EVER CREATED.”

You smirked. “Told you.”

Cassian whipped around to Rhys. “BRO, WE NEED THIS AT RITA’S.”

“No."

“PLEASE.”

“Absolutely not.”

Cassian was already running. “I’M STEALING THIS—”

Azriel extended a foot, expertly tripping him.

Cassian ate the floor.

Azriel plucked your phone from his unconscious hand and handed it back to you.

You smiled up at your mate. “Thanks, love.”

Azriel sighed. “You’re never showing them the internet.”

[el4ise]

ᯓ LOVESICK | 리키

PAIRINGS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ grumpy!riki x sunshine!reader

GENRE ⊹ ࣪ ˖ fluff, grumpy x sunshine

WARNINGS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ light swearing

SYNOPSIS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ convincing riki to be partners with you seemed to be light work, maybe because actually getting to be his friend takes up 99% of your energy.

🂱 part two of “beneath the ice” !

RIKI HAD HIS HEADPHONES ON, blasting clearly loud music that was seeping through. he leaned against his chair, sketching lightly on his pad. you tapped him gently on the shoulder— he looks up at you, the light in his eyes making you a bit flustered.

“sorry.. did I disturb you?” you say, nervously fiddling with your fingers.

he puts his head back down, resuming his agenda. but replies, “no, you're good.” you let go of the breath you didn't even know you were holding. “oh, thank god. anyway uhm.. where do you want to work on the project? a cafe or somewhere out is good, but I don't think we'd get to work on it properly with a crowd around us. and in my house or yours may give us a better privacy, and stuff.. but still! I'll be alright where you're more comfortable.”

he paused for a moment, probably debating in his mind. “yours,” he said. it's really a handful with him barely saying sentences. but atleast you can talk to him. you just hope he'll warm up more as time passes and you can actually get a good, working conversation.

“alright, I'll meet you by the gates after class.”

you stood outside the gate, scrolling through your phone while you waited for riki. soon enough, tiny drops of rain hit your head. it's raining. you quickly grab an umbrella and shield yourself, though you start to worry about riki, if he had an umbrella. since the umbrella you had could only fit one.

a little while later, he tapped your shoulder, revealing him with his hoodie, the hood up on his head. “do you not have an umbrella?” you asked, he shook his head. you just nodded and proceeded to lead him to your house, walking slowly as the rain poured slowly. you tried your best to shield both you & him, but his taller figure makes it hard for you.

he notices your struggle, and takes the umbrella without a word and holds it for the both of you. you look up at him, seeing him covering you with your umbrella, but due to it being just enough for one person, you see the rain still hitting him. causing one side of him to be damp and the other to be dry.

“hey, you're getting we—”

“I'm fine.”

his tone wasn't rude or anything, but you knew better than to fight it. luckily, your apartment wasn't that far.

you both arrived soon enough, and you pet semi (your cat) before finally settling in.

“uh, riki?” you glance at him, his figure sitting on the couch.

“I have some spare clothes from my brother. he doesn't live with me, don't worry. he just has some here incase he visits, go and borrow some so you don't have to stay in that wet uniform. you can return it to me the next day.” you said as you handed him your brother's clothes. he mumbled a quick thanks before changing in the bathroom.

you waited until he finished before you started the project, opening your textbooks & doing some research.

TWO HOURS LATER

it's currently 8:06pm. you looked at the clock then back to your work. you've done quite alot in terms of work, but if it means any progress on you and riki's 'friendship', then nothing was made. in the whole hours of working, only small talks like “pass me that,” or “are you done with that?”. you didn't want to pressure him nor force him, but it really was frustrating you how difficult this was.

“it's a bit late. we can finish this the next day or two, the rain stopped too. do you want to go home?”

he got up and nodded, “yeah. I'll get going. thanks, __.” you smiled, leading him out the door.

“text me when you get home.”

“okay.”

UNKNOWN CONTACT: it's me, riki. I'm home.

to your surprise, he actually texted you. you grinned.

CHEOL Y/N: oh, that's good!

[CHEOL Y/N SET NICKNAME TO 'RIKI']

[RIKI REACTED '♡' TO YOUR MESSAGE.]

you smiled, knowing you'll be going to school on the next day with a grin on your face. you tucked yourself to bed, anticipating tomorrow.

tomorrow came, you got yourself ready, getting in your school uniform and tying your hair. you walked to school, as you got there, you already started looking for a specific dark haired boy— riki.

you went to the class, confused to not see him in his seat. he's usually early, earlier than everyone. this was new. classes passed, and he still was nowhere to be found. you were starting to get worried.

your lectures ended, it was 5:05pm. you quickly texted riki.

CHEOL Y/N: riki? why were you absent?

RIKI: oh, sorry. I got sick because of the rain last night. I had a fever and a cold. sorry.

seeing this you instantly made your way to his house. grabbing your bags and heading your way.

the doorbell rang, riki wondered who it could be. to his surprise, he saw you—standing right infront of him as he opened his door.

“are you okay- was it my fault? 'm sorry! my umbrella was small, I'll repay you, I promise. I'll take care of yo—”

“how'd you get my adress?” you chuckled nervously, embarrassed. “.. well, i asked the professor. he has records of student's addresses in case of emergency. and I knew you wouldn't give it to me if I asked..” you rubbed the back of your neck.

“but anyway! how are you feeling?” you turned to him, he looked really tired. “I'm fine.”

you put the back of your hand to his forehead, feeling his temperature. “you're not, you feel hot. go back to bed I'll prepare your meds. I bought some on the way.” you exclaimed, shuffling through your bag.

“but—” before he could protest, you were already leading him up his bed.

after taking his meds, you put a damp lukewarm towel on his forehead to aid with the fever.

“just, relax. you won't get better if you don't get rest.”

you say as you sit at the chair near the bed, “I'll go home once you sleep. I need to make sure you actually listen.” you laugh.

“okay ma'am,” he joked, closing his eyes.

time passed and he started to make little snores. you observed his features, this was the first time you saw him this close.

you didn't realise how detailed and beautiful he actually was. your heart pumps a little faster.

you didn't realise you slowly started drifting to sleep, resting your head on the edge of the bed.

THE NEXT DAY

he stirs in his sleep as he woke up, surprised to see you sleeping on the edge of the bed with your body still on the chair. though, he figured you got tired after taking care of him. it confused him why you cared so much. others would've loved if he weren't present in the class anyway.

he glanced at you, noticing your half parted lips and your chest rising up and down. he would be lying if he said he didn't find it endearing.

he stayed still for a few minutes, just loving the comforting silence between the you & him world

© work of saoirsezz | sho