#soul plane movie

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[littledemo0n]

Watched last night across the spidervers and two days ago rotb

Im... gonna explode with the amount of everything going through my brain..

[hiphopurbanpop]

Bologna Pony??

Playing the trombone??

Earjobs??? 😭

Check Out HIPHOPURBANPOP on Tik Tok

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Your Guardian Angel

Male Angel Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Extremely dubious consent, stalking, possessive yandere, jealous yandere, general yandere behavior, manipulative yandere, emotionally manipulated reader, reader dies nonviolently but the story continues with them in the afterlife, reader's boyfriend momentarily has cancer, religious themes and concepts, heaven, angel disguised as a demon, mild biting, soul claiming, heartbroken reader) Word Count: 2.5k (This was written within one late night/early morning writing session and was not beta read, I hope you all like it and I apologize for any errors.)

Not everyone receives a guardian angel, there are simply too many humans in the mortal plane to meet that type of demand. Instead guardian angels are allocated based on greatest need to those who might be most vulnerable to dark forces and to those with stronger souls who would be too dangerous if corrupted by the likes of a curse, demon, or vampire.

But you were one such soul. Perhaps the trials you had struggled through in life had left your spirit bruised and battered and dark entities were primed to take advantage.

Or perhaps the things you had experienced had strengthened your will and that was reflected on your soul, making it a tempting mark for corruption.

Either way it really didn’t matter, the result was the same. You had a guardian angel, Eriphel.

Eriphel was, relatively speaking, still somewhat new to the work of guarding humans. He had been at it for a few human generations. Which was very short, considering the immortal life span of an angel. He was one of the younger angels that had been created for this task.

He protected each charge he had with complete determination, always near his assignment, remaining unseen to the mortal realm despite being on a plane that overlapped with it.

When he started watching you when it became apparent in your early adulthood that you required a guardian the job was no different from any of the others that he had.

But… there was something about you that fascinated him. He hadn’t allowed himself to pay much attention to the personal details of his previous charges.

Eriphel didn’t know what was different about you but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. No matter what you were doing he just had to drink it all in. Watching you do your job, watching you cook, watching you read, watching you do all your little human hobbies, watching you do anything filled his entire being with such foreign alien sensations.

His heart fluttered and his chest filled with warmth and longing. He even felt his pants tighten with arousal for the first time in his life. It was so euphoric… and torturous at the same time. The longer that he was around you the stronger all these sensations became.

After around a year it was no longer enough for Eriphel to merely watch you. To be only a passive observer as your life played before him like a movie he had no control over.

He started sleeping beside you in your bed, wrapping his wing around you protectively. Of course you didn’t know he was there, but your sleep did noticeably improve. No nightmares or insomnia, not on his watch.

Eriphel also developed a habit of hugging you at work, wrapping his arms around whenever you became upset or stressed. It helped your mood a lot.

The angel’s divine light was washing over your soul in these moments and even if you could not see him he knew he was the best thing for you. But he also knew that eventually you would pass away as all mortals did and your soul would slip through his fingers as it transcended to heaven.

He couldn’t allow that, he had to take ownership of your soul in the same way that demons did.

If he made a soul pact with you then he got ownership of your soul when you eventually moved on and then you would be his and his alone until the end of eternity.

But he didn’t have to rush it, you were not in any great danger and he could protect you and keep you alive from any external threat that could threaten you… even if it violated a few rules to intercept mundane physical threats.

He had plenty of time.

Or so he thought.

A bit of time passed and you met someone. A man by the name of Jason. A mutual friend had set the two of you up. You tried not to think too much of it at first, how could this tiny insignificant human have any possible influence on you when your souls had felt the holy embrace of an angel’s wings?

But as the days turned into weeks turned into many long months it became obvious you were in love with him.

Eriphel wouldn’t stand for it.

He had been with you for nearly two years by this point.

He knew your favorite color, he knew your favorite foods, he knew every single password that you had for every website, he knew what expression you had when you were deep in thought, when you were annoyed, when you were in the middle of an orgasm.

There was nothing he didn’t know about you.

As he stood before you in the dead silence of night watching your lover spoon you protectively tears rolled down his cheeks. He had never cried before, but he recognized the behavior from the humans he had watched over.

Something had to be done.

If he could just claim your soul then he wouldn’t need to worry about the relative tiny amount of time you spent in this world because you would spend eternity with him when you passed on.

Eriphel decided he would interact with you directly as you slept. He’d disguise himself as a demon and make a deal with you. Then you’d be his and everything would be alright. He was shaking with the sheer anxiety of what he was about to do, he had barely said anything to a human before and even then that was only with some who were deceased.

That night you had a vivid dream, it was so real. A demon came to you and made you a fabulous offer of wealth beyond imagining. You couldn’t remember what he wanted, but you felt the price was too high. You were scared. You turned him down and ran.

Eriphel should have known an offer of wealth wasn’t enough to gain what he wanted from you, still he thought it was worth a try. He knew you’d at least be tempted by all the good you could do with money.

When you next saw the monstrous demon in your dreams you remembered it even more clearly than you had before. You were in a pristine palace of obsidian and red, richly decadent but with an undeniably sinister undertone.

The demon spoke in a voice that sounded like several people talking in unison.

This time it offered to let your parents live longer, to give them pristine health for their age so that they could spend more time with you.

This time you were tempted, you hesitated. But after some consideration you still declined before fleeing. Your parents weren’t in bad health as far as you knew and them having a few extra years wasn’t worth the price of your soul until the end of time.

Eriphel was homing in on the solution, getting closer to the offer that would have you as his. But he wasn’t there yet…

A couple months passed and you and your beloved Jason moved in together. But tragedy struck as not long after that your boyfriend went to the doctor to get some worrying symptoms looked at.

Cancer. Inoperable brain tumor.

The news broke you, but you had to put on a strong face for Jason’s sake. He had always supported you and been the strong one when you needed him and now he needed you.

Jason fell asleep with his head on your chest as you held him in your arms. You made sure he was sound asleep before you let yourself cry silently.

It took a long time but finally the emotional toll of the day caught up with you and dragged you into sleep as well.

Once again you were in that clean, rich, sinister building of polished red and black. The horned demon standing before you again, terrible and proud.

“I can save him. I can cure him with a snap of my fingers. All you have to do is agree to hand over your soul after your death.”

You were shaky, you couldn’t think clearly after the events of the day, you wanted nothing more than for Jason to live the full life he deserved. If it meant you had to be a demon’s victim and tortured for eternity after your death then so be it, the years you had growing old with Jason were worth any price.

“Yes! Please! S-save him!!!”

He smiled and approached you, grabbing you by your clothing.

“Wh-what are you-”

“This is how a soul pact is sealed. You do want this deal don’t you?” You nodded and hung your head silently as he peeled off each article of clothing one by one. Suddenly you were in a different room, laying naked on your back with your legs propped up on the demon’s shoulders.

You knew he was a wicked and power hungry entity but the way he looked at you was almost like a human looking upon a holy relic. He took his time, shaking hands rubbing up and down every part of you.

This was not how a soul pact had to be sealed, but he couldn’t wait any longer to feel you.

The red skinned monstrosity kissed up your thighs, careful not to harm you with his horns. He was as gentle as a lamb.

When he finally got to the point where he was lining up his large cock with your hole he kept that same gentleness. You thought he’d have just ravaged you but he didn’t do that at all.

The demon slid his cock in you slowly, this wasn’t your physical body and no lube was needed, he glided deep inside you painlessly and moaned loudly as he did so.

Heaven was nothing compared to being inside his beloved darling who before today could have only dreamed of what it felt like inside of you.

As he slid his entire length in and out of you he bit at your chest, hungrily, but not very hard. Not enough to really hurt. Just enough to stimulate you and to taste your skin. He trailed up to your neck and licked, sucked, and kissed there over and over again like it was some drug he was hopelessly addicted to with no chance of quitting.

Your hands gripped the bed sheets feebly as he began to pick up speed. You felt a bit sick. You didn’t think that this would be pleasurable. You thought this would be as painful as he could make it, but it was so good. It made it feel like you were really cheating on Jason.

Even if this was probably just a stress induced dream your brain made to help you cope with devastating circumstances.

Eriphel couldn’t last long, being his first time and doing it with someone so supremely important.

His pace remained steady as his strong hands gripped your hips and pulled you close, slamming you down to his full nuts as he emptied them into you and the two of you shared a mind shattering orgasm. You could feel your very soul being claimed by his magical seed.

The demon kissed you passionately and then you and Jason both woke up to the sound of his phone ringing.

It was the doctor.

He was calling to explain that the machine was busted and was showing false tumors. He wanted Jason to come back in tomorrow for a scan on a different machine. He was probably okay.

The demon had kept up his end of the deal.

The two of you hadn’t slept long but now with the new test looming over the both of you neither of you could manage to go back to sleep.

When the time came the both of you got in the car with him driving and you in the passenger seat. Everything was fine and you both tried to calm yourselves and not get your hopes too high. Jason was likely okay, but there was always that small chance that he wasn’t.

You idly looked at the houses and trees as they passed when you saw movement from the rearview mirror. The demon hissing and lunging towards you. You screamed before everything went dark.

Doctors later examined your body and determined that you suffered a massive stroke. Not really what happened. Eriphel just couldn’t wait to have you, and he never said that he’d let you grow old with that… thing… you called Jason.

No, he said he’d cure him. And he had. It had been easy enough to reverse the magic he had used to give him cancer in the first place.

When you woke up you were in a large white room that looked like it was made out of marble, gold, and silver. The lights around the room looked to be carved out of pure milky white crystal.

You were confused. If you had died by the hands of that monster wouldn’t you be in the place you had seen in your dreams?

“Hello.”

You turned to see a tall lean man adorned in white robes, his hair was sparkling silver, he had a pair of great wings outstretched from his back, the feathers looked as if they had been dipped in the most thin and fragile layer of silver possible. His whole body glowed with a faint white light and his eyes were an otherworldly shade of shining gold.

“I understand you are confused. I am Eriphel, I am an angel that scours the mystic planes for demonic presence and eliminates it where I can. You were attached to a foul demon, a parasite of human misery. I noticed this just in time and snatched your soul at the moment of your death…”

You took in his words while staring transfixed at his beauty. You were really dead then. You introduced yourself and thanked him several times before calming yourself a bit and asking what you desperately needed to know.

“Is this heaven? Will I eventually be reunited with my boyfriend?”

Eriphel had to suppress a bit of rage that began mounting at that last inquiry.

“Sadly, your soul was marked by a demon, you can never enter the proper realm of heaven without being cast to hell, where that demonic entity would surely get you. But you are safe here, in my home. You will have to stay here… forever…”

His voice was mournful, and his eyes were wet with sympathy at your plight… or so you thought. Eriphel was really just crying because his fondest dream had come true. With no one else to interact with and his intimate knowledge of your every like and dislike you’d certainly fall in love with him.

The angel pulled you into a comforting hug as you sobbed into his chest at never being able to see Jason again, and he smiled wickedly as he rubbed your back. No one else would ever come between you again.

[sadesluvr]

Turbulence

You join the mile-high club with a mysterious English gentleman. 

Tangerine (Bullet Train) x Reader

A/N: First BT fic! Been obsessed with this movie, and just had to make something with one of our favourite assassins. I had to do a weird amount of research on flying for this... It won’t be my last so follow for more! :)

Set pre movie. 

Word count: 2.5K 

Tags: SMUT / Porn with little plot / Minor spoilers for references in Bullet Train (2022) / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Hookups / Mentions of birth control / Quickies / Canon-typical language / Canon-typical banter / Minors + Ageless blogs DNI

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard Flight 4B7 to Tokyo. We are currently second in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately five minutes time. At this time, we ask you to please fasten your seatbelts and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. I’m Goldie, and thank you for choosing our airline. Enjoy your flight!” 

Hanging the speaker up, you smoothed out your skirt as you fixed yourself to take the final walk before take-off. ‘Goldie’ wasn’t your real name of course, but a nickname given to you by a sleazy boss. You would’ve hated it, but you found that it greatly helped with creepy passengers who were searching for a place in the coveted ‘mile high club’, or those who simply flew with the intention of sleeping with flight attendants across the world. On the contrary, it was always cute when toddlers cooed your name from across the plane, calling for you as if you’d known them their entire life.  

As you pushed past the curtain to the business class, your eyes fell on a pair of men; one dark-skinned with curly dyed hair, the other with long, slicked back hair and a moustache. They wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary had the moustached man not been holding a phone to his ear. Great. There was always at least one person who never listened to the announcements, but there was something about those who rode in first or business class that held a different kind of entitlement entirely. 

Swallowing, you put on your best customer service and sauntered over to them. The dark-skinned man noticed you first, raising his brows before nudging the one next to him, who seemed deep into an important, but strained, conversation. 

“...Yeah, yeah. We get the kid and the briefcase, then the train to Kyoto...Yes, we know who we’re dealing with, I forwarded Lemon the briefing. Right, can we go now? Take-offs in two minutes --” 

“Excuse me,” you cut in. “You’re going to need to hang that up...” 

The man did a double take, holding his phone away from his ear as he glanced up at you. If it wasn’t his old English accent that captivated you, it was his eyes, a striking blue with hints of grey that seemed to stare directly into your soul.  

“I’m going now.” He said snarkily to the person on the phone before hanging up, placing the object into the pocket of his navy-blue suit before staring up at you with a charming, but cheeky smile. 

“My apologies darlin’,” he said, his voice as smooth as butter. “Work won’t give us a break.”  

“Don’t I know it?” you replied, shifting your weight as you prepared to move on. “Thank you, sir. Enjoy your flight...” you said before looking down at his hands; strong and adorned with gold rings.  

“...Nice watch.” You finished with a knowing smile. Given the parts of the broken conversation you’d heard, and the elaborate way they were dressed, you figured that they were at least some kind of secret service members - not that it was any of your business, of course. Still, there was something particularly arousing about the blue-eyed man in the three-piece navy suit with the nice watch, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you broke your ‘no-sex-on-the-job’ rule, just this once. If he wasn’t busy with mission stuff, of course. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He replied, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled, watching you as you walked off, admiring the questionably short length of your skirt in the process. Sitting back in his seat, he chuckled to himself before turning to see his brother Lemon hastily swiping through the movie selection on the screens. 

“The fuck are you doing?” 

“Tryin’ to see if they’ve got Thomas...” Lemon said matter-of-factly. “It’s alright though. I always come prepared.” he finished, tapping his laptop pointedly. Tangerine frowned, shaking his head as he sat back in his seat, side eyeing you as you made your way to your jumpseat in the corner.  

It was going to be a long journey, but at least he had a nice view. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

As soon as it had been safe to take seatbelts off, you’d wasted no time in making your way back down to the business area. The best part about the job was that you were able to walk about, getting a good glimpse at the passengers you thought were attractive – all under the guise of providing good customer service. The man with watch was reading a book, whilst the other seemed engrossed with whatever was on the screen, with his fingers covering his face in a concerned manner. They seemed like polar opposites, yet seemed to work so well together, something that made your job a lot easier when it came to seating passengers. If only everyone was like them. 

If it hadn’t been obvious, you were rather interested in the blue-eyed gentleman in particular. Whilst he hadn’t given you definite signs he was interested, you fixed your make up in your compact mirror regardless, and opened a button on your blouse so it was just a little lower than industry guidelines. It never hurt to try, and it certainly wasn’t as if you were going to see him again. 

Smiling, you guided a cart down the narrow aisles, stopping at the pair of men. 

“Refreshments?” 

The dark-skinned man, ‘Lemon’, as he had been referred to, answered first, eagerly pausing his screen to speak to you. 

“I’d love somethin’, love,” he said, holding the same accent as his partner. “D’ya have anything fizzy?” 

“Of course,” you hummed. “We have Coke – regular, Diet and Zero, Dr Pepper, Sprite, some SanPellegrino --” 

“I’ll have a Coke, love. Make it Diet...” he said, and you nodded, quickly finding the box for the right can. “It’s a shame ya don’t do any bubble milk tea up here...I got a real craving for one...” 

You laughed as you handed him the can. “Luckily for you Tokyo is full of great places to get one. You probably could even find one in their vending machines...Don’t get those in the West, do you?” 

“Certainly not in London,” he chuckled, opening the can and taking a swig before pursing his lips and tapping a finger on his chin. “Say, I don’t suppose you could settle a little argument for me, could you?”  “Oh here we go...” the other man interjected, drawing himself from his book to huff and look between the two of you. “Fucking unbelievable.” 

Lemon rolled his eyes.  

“That SanPellegrino of yours...Which flavour do you sell the most?” 

You bit your lip. 

“Depends...It’s usually lemon because people think it might taste like lemonade. The orange one never goes to waste, though...” 

Lemon gave the other man a pointed look, and he scoffed before looking at you. 

“Not to completely waste your time, love, but if you had to choose between a lemon or a tangerine...” he didn’t finish, probably because it would’ve pained him to, and moved his hands as if he were balancing weights on scales.  

You stared blankly between the two men, confused but utterly endeared. 

“Tangerines are good on their own, but lemons are far more versatile...”  “See?” Lemon said triumphantly, celebrating with himself before shaking your hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, darlin’.” He grinned before restarting his movie, moving on as if nothing had happened. You chuckled to yourself, conscious of the hundred other guests that needed you, but looked back to lock eyes with the other man, ready to ask him the same question. He wore a knowing smirk on his face, the curve of his pink lips still evident under his thick moustache and tutted chidingly. 

“Really thought you’d be on my side there, sweetheart,” he sighed. “Suppose you can’t trust everyone, can you?” 

“I’m sorry,” you pouted. “You must give it to him though. Lemons are pretty good.” 

“Darlin’ I don’t have a problem with the message, but the messenger,” he said, nodding to the man next to him. “He’s a grown arse lad watching Thomas, that one.” 

You chuckled, glimpsing at the screen to see that it was indeed correct. Shaking your head, you scanned the crafted features of his face before raising a brow. 

“So, what’s your poison?” 

“A gorgeous lady pushing a cart, it seems.” 

“Smooth,” you hummed, unable to ignore the way a dangerous heat shot through your stomach and down to your core, making your legs feel like jelly. He’d hardly done anything, and yet you were under his spell. “What would you like to drink?” 

“Nothin’ at the moment, love,” he grinned. “I’m a bit peckish, if anythin’...” 

Sighing, you quickly checked the man out again, this time eyeing his body. Broad shoulders, muscular thighs, thick legs...The total package.  

“Hurry, up! I’m thirsty!” Someone from across the aisles said. The man was about to argue, but you halted him, nodding in the direction where the voice came from.  

“I tell you what,” you said softly, lowering your voice as you stared into his eyes, your composure so controlled that it would’ve been impossible to tell that your heart was pounding in your chest as you spoke. “-- Us staff have our own snacks. If you meet me by the toilets in fifteen, I can get you some...” 

“Don’t leave me hangin’, sweetheart.” The man grinned, not-so subtly uncrossing his legs and giving a cheeky wink before you headed off down the aisle. Gripping onto the handle of the cart, you tried your hardest to walk straight, excitement boiling in your loins as you counted down those fifteen crucial minutes with every strained smile at a customer. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

He was there when you arrived. 

“Took ya’ long enough -” was all he said before cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a passionate kiss, pressing your body against the wall of the bathroom. It was by far the most glamorous place to have sex, but there was something about the sleaziness of it all (with such a put-together man, nonetheless) that made it that more enticing. His scent was an ode to his masculinity; aromatic and woody, and it consumed you as he kissed down your neck, nipping at your collarbone as his large hands caressed the sides of your body. You moaned, writhing your front against his pelvis, desperate to feel the outline of his erection against your own. Admittedly, you weren’t entirely sure what to do with your hands, settling to drape them around his neck in fear of messing up his hair. He seemed like a man who took pride in his appearance, and he certainly wasn’t going to be able to fix it up in an airplane bathroom. 

“Feel me, darling. I don’t bite...” he whispered, his hands now sliding between your thighs as he fought to push your panties to the side. You took this as a hint, and you combed your fingers through his roots with one hand, whilst the other fumbled to undo the button on his trousers, difficult to do with his considerable bulge. You let out a broken gasp as you felt his cock, likely over average sized with a nice girth, and he shuddered in response. 

“Goldie, is it? You’re a naughty one...” he sighed, slipping a finger into your wet cunt. 

“Mhmmm,” you crooned. “’S nickname. I don’t suppose you’ll give me yours?” 

“You’re a bright bird, ‘m sure ya figured it out.” 

“Tangerine, huh?” you hummed, throwing your head back as he began to finger fuck you, his gold rings adding the extra girth that would prepare you nicely for his cock. “I like tangerines...” 

“Ya didn’t seem to back there.” 

“Well, give me a reason to...” you chuckled, and he grinned, grunting before he hoisted your leg up around his waist, his cock dangerously near your entrance. 

“Better be quick,” you teased, staring at him through your lashes. “They’ll get suspicious if I’m not back in five.” 

Tangerine chuckled.  

“I can do that. Just know it’s not a reflection of me at my best.” he sniffed. 

“Good to know.” 

Your words were unfounded as he pushed into you, his girth filling you completely as you moulded perfectly around his cock, gripping onto his shirt as he began to buck his hips. The man grunted, accosting himself to the feel of your warm, wet hole – raw and unfiltered, sighing into the nape of your neck as he fucked you. He steadied himself with his hands, gripping onto your thigh with one as the other rested above you, lending him the luxury of staring into your eyes as he drilled you. 

“God...” you panted, your lips wet and raw from his kisses. “T-Tan -- You’re so good...” 

“That’s it, love,” he beckoned, words rolling off his tongue like honey as he rolled his hips deeper into you. “Say my name...” 

“Tangerine...” you whined, eyes fluttering shut as you drowned out the vacuum-like ambience around you, focusing on the small grunts and sweet nothings the man whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending chills up your spine. The room around you was making a slight creaking sound, and you barely even cared that your calf was banging slightly against the door.  

With every passing second his thrusts became more focused, solely intended to bring you both to that point of ecstasy- yet you didn’t doubt that Tangerine was the kind of man who made sure you finished, even if he himself didn’t.  

His hair was beginning to become undone now, brown strands falling in front of his face, just barely clouding his vision, but enough to make him look even hotter. Both of your shirts became more and more dishevelled as he pressed up against you, the muffled sound of his clothed thigh against your bare ones becoming more frequent as he growled, the sound coming from deep within his muscular chest. 

“Fucking hell, darlin’...’M gonna make a mess...” he hissed through laboured breaths. “I’ve gotta pull out --” 

“It’s alright,” you lulled, and you could’ve sworn that his cock twitched at the phrase. “I’m on the pill...” 

“You naughty girl...You’re gonna get me in trouble --” he groaned, throwing his head back as he gave you a few fast and sloppy pumps, shutting his eyes as you clamped down on him during your own release, creaming around his cock as he filled you with his own. You dug your nails into his clothes as you rode off your respective highs, hair and clothes askew as he rubbed small circles your trembling leg before lowering it to the ground. 

Panting, there was a brief silence as you dressed yourselves, with Tangerine preening himself in the tiny mirror. 

“You look good as gold.” You said with a smirk, fixing your hat.  

“Thanks,” he said with a broad smile, popping some gum into his mouth as he looked you up and down. “You’re a dime a dozen, y’know? Fly this route often?” 

“Sometimes,” you hummed, opening the door so that the sign no longer read ‘occupied’. “Why, are you thinking of coming back?” 

“I’ll be headed to Kyoto,” he said, looking around before he stepped out. “Maybe I’ll catch you there.” 

“Yeah,” you grinned, fixing the final button on your shirt. He’ fucked you so good you could barely even remember what your next journey was. “Maybe.” 

[fyodorloveclub]

i could be the one, or your new addiction

toji x afab reader (no pronouns used) this came from the deepest depths of my soul in abt 30 mins. cw: risky places, somno mentions, just pure unadulterated horniness. minors dni! (divider by @benkeibear)

toji cannot fucking get enough of you. toji cannot get enough of fucking you. it makes him feel like a goddamn nymphomaniac, but he can’t help it. how could anyone? it’s damn near impossible to resist bending you over the closest surface with the way you look at him, the way you sway your hips when you walk, just the way you exist. you’re like a siren, with the curves of your body and the singsong nature of your voice drawing him in at every moment, his pupils so blown his emerald irises are completely obscured.

and he usually can’t resist it. toji typically prides himself on being pretty self-disciplined, but you’ve torn him apart at the seams. at least once a day your legs are spread and your hole is stretched by his girthy cock, throat going sore with the screams you can’t control.

the bed frame hasn’t survived the ordeal - the wooden supportive slats underneath having cracked and split from the regular, violent shaking. there’s multiple spots in the bed where the mattress uncomfortably dips, but it’s the absolute last thing on your mind when your knees are touching your shoulders as he pounds into you relentlessly. it’s not due to a lack of funds that you haven’t replaced it, just that you both know damn well the next one would just be destroyed too.

there’s no position you haven’t tried at this point, either. obviously missionary, doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, mating press, spooning, prone bone, full nelson once or twice - the list goes on. it honestly doesn’t matter though. your lover is so talented with his cock that he could hit your sweet spots even in his sleep. and… he has. sometimes the insatiable, unbearable libido infects you, and you can’t even wait for him to wake up to slide his length into your aching cunt and fuck yourself on it. toji loves opening his tired eyes to you fucking back onto him as he spoons you, or you bouncing on his lap moaning and whining uncontrollably. even grinding against his mouth a few times.

location doesn’t hinder the two of you either. countless public bathrooms and dressing rooms have bore witness to your lewd activities - to him spitting on your pussy before he eats it raw, or driving into you so hard and deep it’s almost certainly audible from the outside. the riskiest so far was when you fell to your knees and sucked toji off in a movie theater, or maybe jerking him off on a plane before fucking in the tiny bathroom. he’s even pushed you against a tree in the middle of a hike on a public trail, tugging your shorts down just enough to give him access to your sopping hole. and fingered you in a crowded elevator.

others have noticed, too. how you’ll wear scarves far too regularly in the heat of the summer to cover the smattering of bruises on your throat, or waddle like a heavily pregnant person - despite not being one - after a particularly rough night, it’s really not hard to put two and two together.

maybe it’s an illness, a debilitating obsession that needs to be rehabbed, but neither you nor toji could give less of a fuck. it feels good, it tastes good, and it keeps you active. what’s the harm in that?

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hiya! I'm happy that You enjoyed my idea! And I realy liked how you wrote it! Especialy the Furina part :D

I'm not sure if you are okay with writing this, but if you are: Which of the Genshin characters would handled their lovers death the worst?

- 🐶 anon

oooo this one was really good! i couldn't pick just one so i did five little short ones! I hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including lots of talk about death, delusional behavior, childish temper tantrums, making puppets of reader, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Furina would throw an absolute fit, upset at the idea of you dying on her, of you leaving her. She has to be pulled away from your corpse by Neuvillette because she’s screaming as she shakes it in a panicked manner. She’s desperate for you to wake up, screaming and crying as she tries to convince herself that you aren’t really dead. That you haven’t left her. She has to take a leave of absence from the court for a while, grief is a difficult thing and she doesn’t handle it well. 

Yandere!Raiden would be enraged. You promised to spend eternity with her, and now you were trying to back out of it? She won’t let you. She does everything in her power to bring you back, from creating a puppet of you to trapping your soul in the Plane of Euthymia. Nothing is right though, the puppet doesn’t feel the way you used to, it doesn’t behave like it should. Your soul isn’t any better, it can only replay strong memories from when you were alive, leaving Raiden feeling like she’s talking to a movie. She destroys the puppet and hides your soul away in a far corner of the Plane, though she feels equally as awful afterwards. 

Yandere!Wanderer is distraught when he loses you, he had lost so many before and yet, this one hurt the most. He sits on the outskirts of Sumeru City for a while, remaining stock still on a bench as he just feels. While he seems composed on the outside, on the inside he’s in pure agony. He doesn’t want to think or feel or move or do anything at all because everything just reminds him of you. It takes months for him to move from the bench, sitting there day in and day out despite the weather, and when he does move it’s only to sit in front of your grave. There he sits for another month, just staring at the name that once belonged to his loved one, now passed. The lover who left him, just like everyone else did.

Yandere!Xiao blames himself for your death, whether it's an accident, intentional, or simply of something you couldn’t stop like aging or sickness, Xiao will think it’s his fault. It’s always his fault, everything was because he wasn’t strong enough to protect you. The next year is spent with Xiao hardly being seen by anyone, not even food could lure him out. He spends all his time fighting, killing anything and everything in sight that deserves it as he tries to let the burn of his karmic debt distract from the ache in his heart. He refuses to visit your grave, making Zhongli bury you and not even attending your funeral. Not because he doesn’t love you, but because he can’t bring himself to attend. He thinks he’s the reason you’re dead and he didn’t think you’d want him in attendance. He spends the rest of his life span thinking you died hating him, blaming him.

Yandere!Diluc is unsure of how to feel when you pass. He’d felt the pain of losing his father, and while he’s not dead, Diluc had lost his brother for many years in a way. But your death was different, it didn’t make him so upset he was driven to violence like his father, but rather made him want to simply lay there and cry. He spent a week straight just in bed after your funeral, hands idly tracing over the side of the bed you once slept on. He keeps everything exactly how you left it, never touching a thing incase one day, somehow, you came back to him. He wanted you to know that he loved you so much that he left everything just how you liked it.

[buckyalpine]

hiii i love your writing sm!!! i was hoping u can do one where the reader gets their nails done and bucky starts fantasizing their hands wrapped around his di-🤭 he just gets incredibly horny. LOVE U SM 

Bucky loves your nails

YESS THIS IS SO HOT

Drabble for this "Hey Buck" You plopped down beside Bucky, the both of you sitting in the living room while you admired your fresh manicure, your long nails painted a dark shade, perfect for fall. "Whatcha doing"

"Hey y/n..." Bucky stared at your nails while you  tapped away on your phone. "Uh...was watching something...a movie..."

Bucky's mind was fully focused somewhere else now. Your pretty little hands. Those perfectly painted nails. So fucking pretty. His mind started to wander. No matter how much he tried to stop it, he couldn't. How your nails would feel grazing his scalp. How they'd feel clawing his back. They'd look so pretty wrapped around his co-

Stop.

Bucky shifted uncomfortable beside you, his eyes growing wide when he realized his boner could poke an eye out. He grabbed a cushion, swiftly holding it on his lap, his eyes still flicking over to your nails.

Fuck he can't help it, the way he'd have his sweats pulled down just enough to free his cock, your pretty fingers wrapped around him, his head thrown back while you squeeze and tug his length. His head would be thrown back, thrusting his hips up into your hand, moaning, telling you to stroke him faster, twirl your wrist around his sensitive head. He’d tell you you were such a good girl, so perfect, how fucking pretty your hands looked playing with his cock, so thick for you to wrap your fingers around. 

He’d bust his load all over your hand, cum dribbling down his length, covering your fingers. You wouldn’t stop, you’d keep pumping him, milking every drop out of him till he was overstimulated, using his cum as lube. Your nails would looks so sexy covered in his arousal, licking your fingers clean.

"Fuck..."

"You okay Buck?"

Bucky's eyes grow wide when he realized his breaths were heavy. He gives you a strained smile, quickly retreating to his room without saying a word. He doesn’t bother laying on his bed, he already knows he won’t be able to control himself. He’s stripped all his clothes off, hopping in the shower, his back leaning against the cold tile wall while hot water sprays down on him.

His deep groans bounce off the shower walls as his hand goes down to play with his balls before trialing up to his shaft. His lip is caught between his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed. It doesn’t take long for him to reach his climax, his cock throbbing from a few strokes. It’s not like you’d hear him from the shower, he doesn’t hold his moans back, your name falling from his lips each time he imagines you on your knees, stroking him, both your hands wrapped around him. 

“Fuck y/n!” 

His cum shoots onto his chest, some getting in his beard, his hand completely covered. He’s panting, taking a moment to collect himself before rinsing off and grabbing his towel. He opens the door and his soul nearly leaves his fucking body. What the fuck. 

“You okay Sergeant” You smirk, sitting on his bed, cocking your head to the side while Bucky stares at you with wide eyes, the blush spreading from his cheeks, down to his neck. 

“I-you-w-what you doing here?”

“You left your phone in the living room. I came to give it to you” You shrug, still not moving from his bed. 

“Thank you” He whispers, still rooted in place, . Your eyes flick to the water droplets that are dripping down the hard planes of his body. 

“Hmm, I’ll see you around then” You giggle, giving him one last smirk before leaving his room and closing the door on the way out. 

What the hell just happened. 

*****

It was just you and Bucky left again; the rest of the team had called it an early night from their movie marathon. Bucky held onto the cushion for dear life; you were sitting in nothing but an over sized t shirt, your pretty hands resting near him, while you sat in the corner of the sofa. 

“Buck, could I use the cushion?” 

His breath hitches in his throat when you reach over for it, his thick cock straining in his sweats. Just what you were waiting for. You bite back a smirk, crawling over to him, your hand resting on his abs, your nails scratching slightly, stopping just before where he needs you. 

“Y/n...”

“Shhh, just let me”

Bucky swallowed thickly, tugging his sweats down to pull his cock out. You hum, leaning over so you can play with him better, loving the way his body tenses in anticipation. 

He moans the second your soft hands wrap around his length, the feeling of your silky skin was better than anything he imagined. You start off slow, your lips pressing little kisses onto his neck while your eyes are focused on the pink tip of his cock already leaking with arousal. 

“Is this okay?” You whisper, swiping your thumb across the tip, getting his cock wet before licking some of his precum off your finger. Bucky moaned at the sight, his eyes rolling back, there was no way he was going to last as long as he wanted. 

“Y/n...” Bucky moaned, he almost sounded like he was in pain, his head thrown against the couch, his hips rocking in your hand in their own accord. He forces his eyes back open, your perfect nails, perfect hands stroking him faster, moaning along with him because he sounds so sexy when he’s this deep in pleasure. 

“Baby, m’gonna cum” He whines out, his eyes locked with yours, this is better than his fantasies, his balls were throbbing, he knew he was going to make such a mess. 

“You gonna cum soldier?” You coo, while he nods, his hips trusting in your hand, chasing his orgasm. 

“M’gonna cum so fucking much baby” He moans, “Fuckfuckfuck gonna cum so hard-yes fuck YES” You can feel his cock harden in your hand, his veins throbbing as cum shoots out of his swollen tip, covering your entire hand, dribbling down to your wrist. You keep stroking him until his cock is soft in your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it go. 

He cries out when you overstimulate him, his face buried in your neck, whining and whimpering because he doesn’t want you to stop even if it hurts, your hands look too pretty to be anywhere else. 

“You taste good baby” You smirk, licking your fingers clean while Bucky pants, his eyes glassy, cock still throbbing.  He takes your hand, placing it back on his cock, he can’t get enough. He pulls you into a messy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue before pulling away, the both of you desperate and needy. 

“Want your mouth next doll” 

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hello! Ash from @ashes-writing-corner here and I just had a brilliant idea!

What if König had a secret admirer that left him little love notes and tokens of appreciation? Nothing crazy but really sweet stuff. Poetry, notes, just pouring words of love on the page in pretty hand writing. Maybe they're good at calligraphy and/or are ambidextrous so he can't decipher who's handwriting it is. So he's gotta try and figure it out ^.^

Teasing König with love notes is a foolproof way to make our man obsessed ❤️

He thinks he’s a romantic at heart (and maybe he is) but it’s movies and such that mostly taught König how to deal with women. He wasn’t popular in school and never had a lot of friends from whom to learn how to date girls, ask what they like, how they behave… So to him, women are a bit of a mystery still. Cute letters and notes written in pretty handwriting are something he would try to do were he to court someone for real.

Seeing that he has a secret admirer is a life-shifting event because usually it’s he who does the admiring from afar (rather obsessively at that). Trying to find out who this romantic soul is becomes a priority. His head spins around during meetings, at lunch, in the plane, he's on high alert literally everywhere he goes. Curious to who's sending him this stuff, he sometimes lies awake at night, a bit delusional. Someone seems to have a crush on him, someone is sending him pieces of poetry like it's the 18th century, but who?

Who are you…?

Are you a pilot? A cafeteria girl? A fellow soldier?

König is starting to resemble a paranoid owl, trying to catch if someone is sending him secret signals, pretty shy smiles or lingering looks. He gets high on this shit... And also, a bit anxious. Are you even real…? What if this is just a prank? He's going to fucking strangle someone if it is.

Sniffs the letters and notes when they arrive, trying to catch your scent on them. Has every single one stored near his bedside, and reads them at least five times, both to make his heart swell again and to try to decode who this mysterious calligraph girl is. He’d write back to you if he only knew who you are…

One day, just before he goes to bed, there's another note pushed under his door. It's just a folded piece of cardboard paper that has no poetry in cursive; instead, it's written with a simple black marker pen and says:

“Hello hansome... Do you want to see me? If yes, come to the cafeteria tomorrow morning at 8. Bring a flashlight.”

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Per your request for prompts: Buck/Tommy - Buck loving the feeling of his hand being encompassed by his partner's for once and trying to find excuses to hold hands.

The past few weeks have been a learning curve…in the most wonderful way possible. 

Sure, there's been some awkwardness. A few growing pains. How could there not be? He's basically done a hard reset of pretty much everything he thought he knew about himself at the age of thirty-two. The awkwardness is fleeting, though, the growing pains nothing compared to the relief of something he never even realized was out of joint clicking into place. The past few weeks have been a chain of new discoveries, and each time he finds himself thinking, “this is the best.”

The rasp of stubble against his lips, his stomach, his thighs. This is the best.

The feel of hard, firm planes of muscle under his hands, against his back, pressed against his chest. This is the best.

The damn near giddy excitement of being manhandled onto his kitchen counter, tossed across his bed, pushed up against his front door. This is the best.

Buck enjoys sex in all its forms and permutations, always has. He likes to think he's good at it…certainly he's never had any complaints in that department, even when his partners seemed to have complaints about literally every other aspect of their relationship. It is unsurprising that sex with Tommy (in all its forms and permutations) is amazing. Buck has never been shy about his body and all the things it can do for, to, and with his partners, and he knows Tommy is pleasantly surprised by just how eager, adventurous, and generous a lover Buck can be. 

Tommy has, in fact, been incredibly vocal about how pleasantly surprised he is by how eager, adventurous, ans generous Buck is in bed. 

And on the couch.

And in the shower.

And on the kitchen counters.

And…pretty much anywhere else they can both fit and be reasonably certain of privacy, really.

And every time, Buck can't help but think, “Okay, this is the best.”

The thing that really, finally, and thoroughly short circuits him though? Is nothing to do with the very (really, extremely) satisfying and athletic bedroom activities they've been indulging in as frequently as possible. It's…nothing special, really. They're over at Tommy's place, basking in an unhurried morning where both of them have the next twenty-four hours off. The remains of a delicious breakfast–they split cooking pretty evenly, and Tommy's no slouch in the kitchen, but he happily cedes breakfast to Buck most days they eat it together–sit cooling on the kitchen counter, and a movie they'd both wanted to see but had missed in theaters for one reason or another plays on the TV.

He and Tommy lounge on the couch together, still in the clothes they'd slept in (Tommy is just coming off a 48 and Buck's shift last night was hell…they really hadn't been interested in anything other than stripping to boxers and t-shirts and collapsing into bed together last night). Buck isn't quite cuddled up next to his boyfriend (holy shit, he has a boyfriend and it is one of the top five greatest things that has ever happened to him), but they're leaning into each other's space. If Buck wanted to, he could tip his head down just a few inches and rest it on Tommy's shoulder. He's got one hand resting on top of Tommy's thigh, just casually, and Tommy has been idly playing with his fingers for the last few minutes as the action unfolds on the screen.

Still intent on the movie, Tommy ever so casually, and ever so gently (he's always so damn gentle, so aware of Buck and his comfort level, even when he's leaving beard-burn on Buck's inner thighs and trying to suck his soul out through his dick, Buck doesn't know what to do with it all sometimes) gathers Buck's hand up in his own. Without ever looking away from the screen, Tommy raises Buck's hand to his mouth, presses a soft kiss into the center of his palm, and twines their fingers together before resting their joined hands back down on his leg. 

Buck's mouth goes dry.

There's nothing even particularly sexual about it, no hint that Tommy wants it to lead to anything more. There's no heat, just the warmth of Tommy's hand holding his like it's something delicate and precious, long, blunt fingers wrapped around Buck's, thumb stroking the backs of Buck's knuckles. His hand covers Buck's, envelopes his, hard callouses and rough, scarred skin, but none of the slim, delicate, soft hands that Buck has held before have ever felt this good. 

Ever made him feel this good. 

The warmth of Tommy's hand feels like it's traveling all the way up Buck's arm, seeping into his whole body, and he's never felt this safe. This treasured. 

Buck's learned his lessons. May experience he learned them slowly, and painfully, but he's learned. He's not jumping into the deep end with Tommy the way he has done so many times in the past. They've only just started to define what they want this thing between them to be. 

Maybe Buck really has finally found the thing he’s been searching for his entire life…maybe this will be the epic love story he’s been longing for. 

Maybe this is just another in a long line of flings–a bit of fun and some great sex and then an amicable parting of ways. 

Maybe it’s another heartbreak waiting to happen, another wound about to be opened on a heart that he’s sometimes afraid is too full of scar tissue for anyone to want. 

Or maybe it’s none of those things. Maybe it’s something as new and different as the rasp of stubble against his lips. As the feel of hard, firm planes of muscle under his hands. As the giddy excitement of being manhandled onto his kitchen counter. 

Tommy holds his hand like he’s worth something. Like he’s something precious. Like he's something Tommy wants to take care of. 

He lets his head tip those last few inches to rest on Tommy's shoulder, feels his new boyfriend immediately relax, resting his temple against Buck's hair. 

Okay.

This is the best. 

[0cta9on]

Their schedules got canceled and they are stuck in the hotel. What would you do if you've got 10 minutes in each of their rooms?😉

And which hotel room would you end up staying in?

Hmmm, 10 minutes isn't a lot of time, what to do...

Sakura: She makes me sit on the bed and straddles my lap before pulling her top up to free her breasts. I start sucking on them while her hips grind against my crotch until my erection strains uncomfortably in my pants. Before we can take things further, however, she tosses me out of the room, saying she'd rather work on her crochet projects and catch up on some sleep now that her schedule is open. Right as the door closes, I catch a glimpse of a sly smirk on her face as I stand in the hallway horny and disappointed.

Yujin: When I get to her room, the door is already unlocked and I can hear muffled moans from the other side. Upon entering, I see that she's already splayed out on the bed, masturbating. After noticing my presence, she beckons me with her finger, begging me to fuck her just by the look of her eyes. I pull her hips towards me, plunging my still-erect cock into her dripping heat, and after a couple thrusts, Yujin cums quickly thanks to her touching herself already. Right as I suggest another position, she gives me a small peck on the lips before kicking me out of the room, saying that she's too tired now and wants to rest.

Chaewon: I knock on her door, and once she answers, she immediately notices the bulge in my pants. With a smirk on her face, she pulls me in and sits me down on the bed, whispering in my ear about how she'll "take good care of me." Chaewon kneels in front of me, unzipping my pants and freeing my cock for the third time that night. She begins deepthroating my cock, licking my precum and commenting how I "taste a little like Yujin." Right as I'm about to blow my load down her throat, her phone buzzes and she stops to read the text, much to dismay. Chaewon says that the Le Sserafim girls want to get some dinner now that their schedule cleared up and that we'll have to continue this some time later, leaving me alone in her hotel room.

Liz: While sitting alone in Chaewon's room, in desperate need of a release, I get a text from Liz telling me to come to her room to watch a movie with her. Not expecting anything, I knock on her door, and Liz answers wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe on. The sight of her exposed shoulder and her slim legs is enough to drive me crazy. I barge into her room, shutting the door behind me before untying her bathrobe and forcing her to bend over the bed. My fingers dig into her hips as I plunge my cock deep inside of her pussy, caring about my own pleasure over hers. Before I can even think about pulling out, I dump a massive load inside of her while my soul ascends to a higher plane of existence. My body collapses next to her on the bed, and I apologize for the roughness. Liz giggles, assuring me that it's okay and that Yujin texted her to take care of me since she couldn't. We spend the rest of the night cuddling while watching a movie, eventually falling asleep in each other's arms.

In the end, I think I would pick Liz's room to stay in :) She seems like she would give the best after sex cuddles and there's just something about the cute face paired with that hot body that's so alluring. Maybe its her dimples :3

Thanks for the ask, frisky! This is probably a longer response than u were expecting, but it was really fun to write so lol

[the-authoress-writes]

Dangerous Games

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Navy Nurse Wife!reader

Synopsis: The saying goes “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes”.

Well, Mrs. Thomas Kazansky is about to learn another version of this saying; “Play dangerous games, win dangerous prizes”.

But she doesn’t exactly mind.

Warnings: Mrs. Kazansky gets a little frisky in public, but nothing explicit, some cursing, and a little bit of steaminess, but again, nothing explicit.

Author’s Note: “I don’t write reader fic”, she said.

“I really don’t”, she said.

But here we are.

And I entirely blame both @valmare and Val himself.

I wrote this as a writing exercise, actually, because @valmare and I have slightly different approaches to Tom Kazansky; she has a more dominant take on him, while mine is more romantic and soppy, but no less passionate (I think).

I wrote this just to see if I could somehow combine both traits/takes in one story.

And… hoo, boy, I like to think I was successful.

That, combined with reading one of my grandmother’s ancient Silhouette Romance novels, I thought it was about time that the turns were tabled on the men.

Let’s be the ones to snap them like twigs, and not the other way around.

Without further ado, here we are!

“So what’s on the agenda today,” she asked her husband, as he sat at the kitchen counter eating his breakfast, while she stood on the other side, finishing her cup of yogurt, before she had to head to work for the shift she was called to fill in at the last minute yesterday.

“Well,” Tom began, after swallowing, “not much, just a meeting which apparently couldn’t wait until Monday, in the afternoon—other than that, nothing else really.

And uh, Mav and the guys are coming back home tonight; like I said last week, Sli and I were going to greet them, and they’re going out for drinks at the O Club later, but I can tell them I can’t go—”

“No, you go, enjoy yourself, I know it’s been a while since you last saw Mav and the flyboys,” she smiled.

In a rare occurrence, Mav and Tom’s deployments didn’t match up, leaving him and Slider on shore, while Mav and Merlin, Wood and Wolf were at sea.

She could hear the calls Tom would make in the evenings to the Vinson, to the various officers who owed him, already rather influential at the recently-received rank of Lieutenant Commander, for updates on Mav in particular.

She’d heard the stories both from the man himself, and from Tom, how the Mitchell name hung like an albatross around the diminutive pilot’s neck, how his basic medical needs were overlooked by dint of his “traitorous” surname.

As a nurse, especially a Navy nurse, it was beyond unconscionable.

She was glad that Mav had Tom as a friend, and it touched her to see the care he extended to his whole TOPGUN class.

“Such a Mother Goose,” Mav and Slider would say, both with sadness, but the former with a soul-deep sadness.

“Are you sure, milaya?” Tom’s voice brought her back to the present, as he came around the counter to step into her personal space, his hands on her waist, infusing her whole being with the warmth that only he could give her. “Because I’m really feeling bad that I have basically a whole day off, and you have to work.

We could have a movie night with some popcorn and ice cream, and you can talk about how people like me are the craziest sons of bitches around,” he grinned, referring to how they met a little over three years ago, after a little training mishap. “I’ll gladly keep your misery company.”

She smiled, resting her hand on the chiseled plane of his bare chest, as her index finger idly played with the chain of his dog tags, “No, like I said, even last week, you go and enjoy yourself with the boys.” Her smile took on a more devilish quirk, “Besides, you can make it up to me later.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, “Oh, I can, can I?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll manage,” she teasingly replied.

“Uh-huh,” he breathed, stepping impossibly closer, “and how exactly do you want me to make it up to you?”

“You’ll think of something.”

“How about a little down payment, then?”

He didn’t even bother waiting for her positive, always positive, response before one hand was buried in her hair, and his lips were on hers.

It was a kiss full of the easy confidence of a man who knew he was given what he took, and the passion and devotion of one who knew what a gift that was.

She could have gotten lost in her husband’s embrace and kiss for eternity, but the rude realization that she had a shift to prepare for, made her reluctantly, oh-so-reluctantly, push him away.

“As much as I’d really love to continue this, I can’t.

I have to go.”

He pouted like a child, the effect amusing to see on his already-full, kiss-swollen lips, and she gently carded her hand through his hair, soft and slightly curling without the gel, pushing it away from where it flopped onto his forehead. “I know most of this day didn’t pan out how we wanted it to, but we’ll make the best of it—we always do.”

“I know.

You’re sure it’s okay with you if I go out with the boys tonight?”

“Yes, Tom, how many times do I have to tell you?

Go have fun—but not too much fun,” she smiled.

He leaned forward, tucking his head into her neck, inhaling deeply, “You’re the only one I want to have fun with.”

“I would hope so, Thomas Vasilyevich,” she replied, lightly poking him in the side, “seeing as I’m your wife.”

“Oof,” he mock-winced, drawing back to look her in the eyes, “Russian naming me, huh?

Well, Mrs. Kazanskaya, two can play at that game,” he rejoined, leaning in to kiss her again.

However, she pushed him away, laughing, “You are a menace, Thomas Jacob Kazansky!

I have to go!”

“Worth a shot,” he laughed, letting her go.

She gathered her lunch into her bag, along with her paperwork, and shouldered the tote, before turning back to face Tom, who was leaning against the counter, long, sweatpants-clad legs crossed at the ankles, mirroring his arms, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Not going to kiss me goodbye?”

With a sigh, she asked, “If I kiss you goodbye, will you keep your hands to yourself?”

He clicked his tongue, “You drive a hard bargain, lyubimaya moya, but I’ll try.”

“Don’t try, just do,” she replied, amending one of Mav’s favorite sayings, stepping closer to peck him on the lips.

True to his word, he didn’t move an inch, but the regret on his face made her have to resist the temptation to kiss him and say to hell with her shift today. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

And here, a sudden idea struck her. “Hey, wait a minute, you said that you guys were going to the O Club, right?”

“Yes,” he replied, drawing out the syllable. “Why?”

“Because I was thinking that if I can, maybe I can meet you guys there, join you flyboys.”

Tom’s eyes lit up. “That’d be great!”

“You guys won’t mind?”

“I won’t mind,” he shook his head.

She good-naturedly rolled her eyes, “I know you won’t mind, what about the guys?”

“I’m sure the guys won’t mind, but they can take it up with me if they don’t like it.

Try to make it?”

“I will—hopefully, I’ll see you later.

And you’re sure you don’t need your other girl today?” she asked, double checking that he didn’t need his Chevelle, since her car was in the shop that week.

“No,” he shook his head, “Slider’s picking me up, you take her.

I love you, milaya.”

“I love you too.”

With that farewell, she dashed out the door, fleeing her own house like Lot, because she knew she’d never leave if she looked back at Tom.

Chaos.

That was what her shift at NMCSD was like.

Some unlucky or hapless person somewhere had probably said “It sure is quiet around here,” or some other variation of that phrase, and brought the wrath of the medical gods down upon them.

She’d had no less than ten emergencies to deal with, and at the end of her shift, she felt—no—knew—she deserved a drink.

A quick glance at her watch showed that it was just before 1800–from her experience, the carriers usually docked at 1500 or 1600, which meant they should all be at the O Club already.

Not wanting to give the charge nurse an opportunity to call her for something else, she practically ripped off her uniform, changing into the nicer spare clothes she kept in her locker just in case she had somewhere to be that wasn’t the grocery or straight home.

It was a worn, but well-fitting pair of jeans, sensible shoes, a tank top, and finally, a white buttondown with vertical blue stripes which she pilfered from Tom’s closet, that she never saw him wear.

After throwing on the shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, and tucking in her tank, she hastily walked (okay, ran) out of NMCSD, and headed to her parking spot.

God had mercy on her, as the traffic was light all the way to the O Club, the Almighty surely knowing that she’d reached her limits of bullshittery, that all she wanted after this day was a stiff drink, and her husband’s company, despite the fact that there would be others around, friends as they were to her.

It was a Saturday night, and the parking lot was full, but she managed to find a spot on the far end of the lot, a slight sheen of sweat breaking on her skin despite the AC, as she maneuvered in, not wanting to scratch her husband’s beloved car.

The flaring, insistent ache in her feet was testament to the long walk to the entrance, exposing just how many people had to be here, and true enough, once she pushed the doors open, the bar was hopping.

She moved through the crowded bar, searching for Merlin, Slider, or Tom—there’d be little hope of finding Wood or Wolf, and no hope of finding Mav, in this press of people.

She was heading through the crowd towards the bar when she smacked straight into someone.

An apology was on her lips, when the person turned, and she heard, “Hey, Mrs. Ice, how are you!”

And she looked up, up, up into the smiling face of Sam “Merlin” Wells.

“Hey, Merls, how are you, how was deployment?” she said, hugging the ludicrously tall RIO.

“Ehh, hot, as usual, but otherwise, uneventful; just running our CAPs, and buzzing the tower every now and then.”

She guffawed, “That’s Mav for you—I don’t know who’s crazier; Mav, or you, for willingly sitting in the same jet as him.”

Merlin leaned down, “Tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Probably me, because I actually enjoy it,” he murmured.

She chuckled, “Oh, Samuel, never change.”

“Hey, what am I doing, let me get you to the guys’ table!

Come on!!”

He put his hand on her shoulder to make sure she didn’t get lost in the crowd, and led her to a table in the back. “Guys, look who I found!”

“Well, hey, if it isn’t my favorite Ice Queen!” Mav cried, leaping to his feet and pulling her into a hug.

“Hey, Mav, how are you?” she beamed, glad to see her husband’s best friend and wingman.

“Better, after seeing your pretty face,” the black-haired pilot grinned a grin which would probably make quite a few people here swoon, if its full force were turned on them.

She smacked his shoulder, though she was unable to stop her smile, “Stop it, you incorrigible flirt, you’re not my type, and even if you were, I’m very happily taken.”

“Ah, you wound me, my fair Ice Queen,” Mav dramatically clutched his chest.

“You’ll live,” she teasingly rolled her eyes.

“Mind getting your hands off my wife, so I can say hello to her, Mav?”

A glance behind Mav showed Tom standing there, a sight in his summer whites, an arch expression on his face, but those who knew him would be able to see the glowing humor in his eyes—but over all, the joy and love.

Mav moved aside, gesturing grandly at her. “All yours.”

“You bet your ass, Mitchell,” Tom nodded.

“Excuse me, I have a very nice ass, I have that on good authority,” the other pilot affrontedly stated as he walked backwards to his seat.

The voice of Charles “Chipper” Piper called, “Ugh, come on, Mav, no one wants to hear about your pasty ass.”

“You’re one to talk, Chip,” Marcus “Sundown” Williams chuckled.

Tom shook his head and stepped closer, making everything else fade into the background, his beautiful smile on his face. “You came.”

“I needed to,” she sighed, “I need a drink.

And the whole you being here is a nice bonus.”

He blushed slightly, ducking his head. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, come on, let’s get you that drink,” he replied, leading her to the table, around which sat Mav, Merlin, Slider, Wolf, Chipper, and Sundown.

“Hey guys,” she waved, taking the seat beside Tom.

They all greeted her as Tom called over one of the waitresses, ordering his usual vodka on the rocks along with her usual Old Fashioned.

When it arrived, she shocked them all by drinking more than half of it in one sitting, heavily setting the glass down on the table.

“That kind of day, huh, sweetheart?” Tom asked, his voice full of sympathy, warmth, and the slightest hint of laughter.

She turned a baleful look on him. “What do you think?”

He blinked, obviously weighing his words, the rest of the flyboys holding their breath. “I think maybe I should get you another one when you’re done with that.”

“God, I love you, Tom Kazansky,” she breathed.

The table collectively exhaled, as Tom grinned. “Aren’t I lucky?”

The night wore on, dinner eventually being ordered from the bar’s kitchen for everyone, and Merlin was the first to leave, saying that his wife was coming home late that night from taking care of a medical emergency with her mother, who lived on the other side of the States, and he wanted to be there to greet her.

The flyboys tossed peanuts teasingly at Merlin, Chipper and Mav whooping, Merlin flipping them the bird with both hands as he laughed, and said goodnight.

The remaining group continued on, and the vodkas Tom had drunk had loosened him up—he wasn’t drunk by any means, but his laughter was a bit louder, his eyes a bit brighter.

He was telling a story about one of the instructors from the TOPGUN session he’d been asked to help out with, since he wasn’t deployed this rotation.

It was a story she’d already heard, and so she allowed his words to fade slightly, just watching him as he spoke, fiddling with the straw of the second Old Fashioned Tom had ordered for her.

She smiled as he gestured animatedly, making the light glint off the gold ring on his left hand, which matched the one on hers.

Seeing it did funny things to her stomach, seeing the tangible proof that that man was hers.

Add to that the fact that Tom was in his summer whites… it was a cocktail more intoxicating than anything the bar behind her could ever offer.

She exhaled evenly, taking a sip of the water she’d switched to after her second Old Fashioned, admiring the figure he cut, an exemplar of US Naval excellence.

If you asked her later, she wouldn’t be able to tell you why she did it.

But the devilish thought of wanting to see if she could tilt him off-kilter entered her mind regardless, and she hid a smile behind the rim of her water glass.

She nonchalantly shifted her chair closer to Tom and innocently placed a hand above his knee, making him glance at her, and offer her a fleeting smile, while continuing the story.

Ever so carefully, she inched her way towards the inseam of his trousers, rubbing small circles as she went, which got her a minuscule narrowing of his eyes and a barely-there glance as he spoke.

She smiled back, stilling her hand, and he continued.

Once he had relaxed into his chair again, she began moving again, shifting her hand higher and higher, letting her fingernails catch repeatedly on the seam.

He cleared his throat and soldiered on, shifting in his seat, but the slightest tone of strain was beginning to creep into his voice now, and she mustered all the stoicism she’d learned from her husband to keep her face straight.

As her hand moved further up his inseam, she was treated to the sight of his jaw tensing, the sheen of sweat gathering at his temples, the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly, the sound of the strain in his voice, and the hitch in his breath.

She knew that if she continued this, she was playing a very dangerous game, but she couldn’t bring herself to care at that moment.

So she inched further up, letting her fingernails dig into the seam, flicking it almost audibly, which elicited a cough from her husband.

Slider whacked Tom on the back, saying, “You okay, Ice?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, “just—just swallowed the wrong way.”

At this point, she was mere inches away from being so obscenely high on his thigh that the other flyboys would probably see, but just to see what Tom’s reaction would be, she made as though she were going to go there.

Smoothly, he placed his hand atop hers, somehow managing to conceal the fact that he had plucked her hand from basically his lap, bringing it up to his lips as he finished the story, his eyes stormy as he cut his gaze to her.

Maybe, she realized, as she looked into his tempestuous eyes, maybe she had made a very, very big mistake.

After another hour, they began to wrap up, hugging and slapping each other on the back, and for the first time since she’d met Tom Kazansky, she was not looking forward to being alone with him.

When the final farewells had been spoken, Tom wrapped an arm around her shoulder, walking them towards the distinct shape of his Chevelle, visible now that they were some of the last people at the bar.

“I can drive us, if you want,” she offered, testing the waters.

“No, I’ll be the one.

Keys.”

His tone was unreadable, and she fished the keys out of her pocket, handing them to him.

He led her to the passenger’s side, but just before she reached for the handle to open the shotgun door, she found herself pressed against the back passenger door, looking up into her husband’s face.

She refused to buckle at his impassive stare, looking evenly into his eyes; depthless blue, the color of the sea at twilight, in the dim illumination afforded by the streetlamps.

His hand shifted, and her breath hitched, but he only moved his hand past her, the familiar click of the Chevelle’s door release echoing in the thick San Diego night air.

Tom pulled the door further open, inclining his head and stepping back.

She swallowed, but moved to sit in the passenger’s seat, the sound of the shutting door feeling like some sort of passage of sentence.

Moments later, he opened the driver’s side door, sliding in and shutting it, however, he didn’t start the engine.

She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do next, but he only started the car, the purr of the Chevelle doing nothing to ease her tension, serving only to ratchet it up, the familiar streets leading home passing by.

The silence in the car was almost a living entity, made worse by the fact that Tom kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road before them, and she would be lying if she said that her heart wasn’t racing.

She was beginning to see the reasoning behind her husband’s callsign, between his nonchalant attitude and his unerring patience to wait her out, wait for her to slip.

Well.

She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

…

She hoped so, at any rate.

She’d always been weak for him, honestly, and she suspected she always would be.

Much too soon, they pulled into their driveway, and Tom cut the engine, leaving her in silence, literally and figuratively, as he stepped out without a word.

She briefly debated whether or not to stay in the car, but knew deep down that that was not an option, so she got out of the Chevelle, also making her way inside.

After locking up the doors and checking the rest of the house, she exhaled and looked warily up at the stairs. “‘Screw your courage to the sticking place,’ woman,” she murmured, striding determinedly up the stairs.

The lights were on in the bedroom, and she saw Tom at the dresser, keeping his submariner in its box, his face somehow still impassive.

She moved to the bed, picking up the pile of night clothes she’d laid out that morning, muttering, “I’m going to the bathroom,” and darted towards the en suite.

However, before she could make it there, a hand wrapped around her upper arm, and once again, she got the breath knocked out of her, finding her body pressed against the wall behind her by the solid mass of her husband before her, his hands on either side of her head.

“What was that about tonight, hmm, milaya?” he spoke lowly, making a shiver run down her spine.

“What was what?” she replied, affecting a light tone.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he replied, implacable.

“Oh, that,” she shrugged, caving slightly.

“Yes, that.

And just what were you thinking?”

“Ehhh—nothing much, really.” Well, she mentally admitted, that much was true.

“Uh-huh.

See, I think you were trying to get me to lose it,” he declared.

She somehow managed to muster up an innocent expression. “Uh, nope, not at all.”

“Sure.

So your hand at my inseam was just complete coincidence, was it?”

“Has to be.”

He stared her down just like he had in the O Club parking lot, attempting to keep his expression stoic, but this close, she could see his eyes—how there was only a thin ring of midnight gray, his pupils blown wide from the desire he was trying to keep down.

She inhaled sharply, her lips parting, and his gaze immediately locked onto the sight.

When he spoke next, his voice was low and trembling. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I have some kind of idea,” she breathlessly murmured.

“Fuck—” he whispered brokenly before kissing her like he was at 38,000 feet and she was the oxygen he needed to breathe.

Caught in his riptide, she was helpless but to hold onto him.

Air surged back into her lungs as his kisses moved down to her neck, only to be stolen from them moments later, a cry halfway between pain and pleasure carried on her breath, when his ardor seared into the delicate skin there.

“That hand of yours—and you wearing my shirt—you drive me crazy,” he spoke into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“I think you like it, though,” she whimpered, hitching her legs around his unfairly narrow waist, as he adjusted his arms to hold her up.

“Damn it, I fucking do,” he groaned, moving them towards the bed.

They had just collapsed onto the comforter, kissing like teenagers, when he broke away to breathe, “You’re still going to pay for what you did, though, you’re not getting out of that.”

“Oh, am I, because it seems to me like your mouth is writing checks your body can’t cash… Commander,” she cocked her eyebrow.

His jaw dropped slightly, followed by a shaky inhalation. “…I shouldn’t have told you about my rank thing.”

Her smirk was halfway to a grin by now. “What are you going to do about it?”

He tilted his head. “You’re asking for it, at this point.”

“Well, then, do what you’re going to do, flyboy; that’s an order.”

A wicked smirk quirked the corner of his lips, full of promise. “Yes, Ma’am.”

NMCSD: Naval Medical Center San Diego

The USS Carl Vinson is a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier commissioned in 1982, and she is still on active duty.

I stole @valmare’s headcanon that Tom drives a Chevelle, because if it’s good enough for Mir, it’s good enough for me!

I’m so sorry Mir!

According to a production photo, Tom’s full name is Thomas Jacob Kazansky, but since I headcanon him as Russian, his patronymic is missing.

So thusly, you have Thomas Jacob Vasilyevich Kazansky.

When Mrs. Kazansky refers to Tom as Thomas Vasilyevich, that is considered a casual, informal, yet somehow in its own way, formal, method of referring to someone.

There’s cultural rules about that.

Tom calls Mrs. Kazansky “Mrs. Kazanskaya”, which follows the Russian and Slavic convention of gendered surnames.

CAPs: Combat Air Patrols

Summer whites are the white version of the khaki uniforms, and you can see them in The O Club bar scene in Top Gun ‘86.

“Screw your courage to the sticking place” is a quote from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth”.

Did I basically steal a line from Top Gun, and completely change the context of it?

Yes.

Yes, I did.

Mrs. Kazansky calls Tom simply “Commander” instead of Lieutenant Commander, because of the convention regarding “double-barreled” ranks.

Russian Glossary

Disclaimer: endearments and translations taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Milaya: dear, darling (there are other translations of this word, however)

Lyubimaya moya: my darling/my one and only sweetheart

Taglist

@valmare

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[gonetoforks]

My first post on here, hello!! 👋 These drawings are from what I call my ROTTMNT Haunted! au!! Below is a pretty long explanation ⬇️

When Casey jr went through the portal, as the lone survivor raised by the Hamato clan, all the spirits from the timeline he knew went with him. After the movie, on the morning of halloween, Michelangelo wakes up to discover the undead spirits of himself and his brothers from the Darkest Timeline in his house. He can talk to them, touch them, but nobody else except Draxum can even see them.

Future Mikey, who has been affectionately dubbed “Uncle Angelo,” has a theory for why they aren’t at rest; Hamato souls have specific slots in the ninpo family line. Since their exact souls already exist in the good timeline, they’re duplicates who don’t have anyplace to go. So he devises a plan; create a mystic spell to add additional slots to the family line to let the Dead Dogs lie.

Casey jr has almost nothing to do all day, so he’s been spiraling lately, not getting sleep and constantly looking for things to do. Every time he finds something enjoyable, he just wishes his family, the family that raised him was there to see it. He always tags along on missions to create and fulfill the slot spell, even if it hurts.

Future Leonardo (“gramps” to Mikey,) tends to fixate on Jr, how/what he’s doing. He’s pleased to see his mental health in a good state, but that’s only because he saw him when other people were around. When the truth about Jr becomes clearer to him, he becomes more.. reluctant about the spell.

However, as time passes, the veil between the spirit world and the mortal plane begins to thicken, and the lines between the present turtles and their future counterparts begin to blur. Mikey starts dreaming about fights he never fought, older than he ever was in kraangified wastelands he’s never seen anything close to. He’ll wake up in a cold sweat, thinking like an old wizard before he remembers he’s 15, he lives in the sewers, and he stopped all that stuff from coming to pass. These nightmares are becoming more vivid. Time is the one luxury they do not have.

Will the spell work?

(Additional context; Donatello can move things with his pointer finger slightly, like that politician character from that Ghost show. Additionally, Leonardo can try to deliver messages to people in their dreams, Mikey has some control over wind, Raph can make things rattle a bit, and April, they don’t know where she went. They know she’s here, where is she?)

These drawings are from months ago, I’m reposting them here because I’ve given up on revealing the lore through comics 😭😭😭 it’s easier for me to write it out. I can’t keep the Thoughts a secret anymore, I have to talk about it aksjakshaj, textposting save me textposting

[cookierunauprompts]

Im tryna cook here so hear me out on this : what if SMC(shadow milk cookie)​&reader are in the same trope of Rudolph​&Catherine from dangerously yours?(it may not be same-same kidda wipe cuz I didn't watch the movie yet lol(srry not srry))​ : It's started from reader got send by the witches to spy keep eyes on the old ancients(before corrupted-after corrupted)​but suddenly reader fell in love with one of them(aka SMC)​and so do he,but then after he and the other got corrupted he become obsessed toward them(obviously)​but then he started to realized that the witches are planing to seal him and the other fallen ancient​s away cause​ of their actions of being corrupted and cause choas on earthbeard, so he conveice reader to tell him how to get to the witches(reader's witches spy and have their own specific way to contact/went to face the witches)​ and get him and his friends revenge on the witches but reader ran away instead and not telling him,and in the end they met each other​ again at the silver tree where the witches was going to seal them in and the line between reader&shadow milk will be like : "your time is up" "do you think actually going to let it happen?to let them seal me?to seal us?!" "..i mean just that" "....... well then go ahead" "i'll get this over with" "You won't do it,you won't let this happen...you won't because you love me."-"it takes a very brave and and a very cold person to do that,(y/c/n)"-"I don't think you can..."

Note / I think amma gonna end it here and I'll let u imagine it on ur own😭actually it was gonna be longer than this but I accidentally delete half of it so my lazy ass just tell me to get this over with😔(no any​one's oc x canon pls I beg u(Im srry))​

throwing this into the Warden Reader AU, because silly.

Requested Prompts #44 - 💔💓

The words of the witches ring through your head as you stand ready in your position. " You have to be there, Reader Cookie." They had said. " For you are the only one who can see through his deception, it's how we know that the seal will truly work on them all." You knew what they'd really meant, but it was whatever. This was your purpose, what you were made for. There was no defying your own destiny when your were chained to it. It was an anchor dragging you down into the abyss of the sea, dread it, run from it, hide from it all you wish but it will still drag you down all the same. And then, you saw him. Your destiny made personified right in front of you in the form of a far too large blue cookie. Shadow Milk Cookie, the Cookie of Deceit as Elder Faerie had put it. The grin he wore was wide, yet not open enough to look insane as it usually did. His eyes were focused on you, keeping track of each and every action you took and each reaction you displayed. Such analysis befitted the former Cookie of Knowledge, but only fragments of the past were left in the beast before you. He'd strayed from how the witches made him due to the power of the soul jam, all of them had. You steel yourself after a mere millisecond of hesitation, pointing your spear at him with determination. " Your time is up." You coldly announced, not daring to let anything else slip into your tone. He'll use anything to get the upper hand, all you need to do is to distract him until the seal is prepared. His grin widened. " You mean you're actually going through with this? You're actually sticking by them, even though they're betraying you?" He asked, almost mockingly in tone. You knew not to search his expression for a hint of genuineness in his expression like you did in the past, and yet you did for just a moment. And maybe there was something, but you stopped yourself from looking. " ... I mean just that." You replied. You watched as he shrunk down, each step he got smaller and smaller until he was just a bit taller than you. " Well by all means, go ahead my dear." He said almost cruelly, taunting you by laying his head upon the tip of your spear. You hesitate, " This will be your finale." you state to his amusement. He smiled, an airy chuckle seeping through his lips. " You won't do it, you can't bring yourself to let this happen. All because you love me." The beast taunts, pressing his neck closer to the blade in a way that was just enough to draw forth a few droplets of his blueberry jam. " It takes a very brave and cold cookie to do that, I don't think you can."

----

Or, what happened before the witches sealed the beasts in the Warden!Reader timeline, and during.

[welcometohell09]

Ok ok ok. Consider.

Having your soul possessed while you're being scientifically astral-projected so you can kiss your toxic yuri ghost girlfriend be on the same dimensional plane as the pretty pretty dead girl you met three days ago is. PROBABLY not scientifically. The most healthy or normal thing to do.

So, consider a very self-indulgent but FUN post-canon AU:

- Phoebe is biologically dead

- She goes ghostey instead of sleeping. She thinks she's having vivid dreams for the first few nights until she realises she doesn't have a pulse.

- being biologically frozen, as the author you may choose wether or not she A) ages, B) can eat/digest food, and C) die; potentially none of the above for maximum angst potential

- let her keep the language she freed the god in. She now curses in a pre-Sumerian language.

- maybe suspend disbelief with magical paranormal sciencey cold-breathing powers if that's your cup of tea. Think eldritch horror movie type character: "I'm colder than you".

Have fun! Or don't.

[andkisses]

♡ futon | enha ♡

ot7!enha headcanon: there’s something brewing between the two of you… if only he knew what to do about it

♡ ot7 x gn!reader | wc. 1.8 ♡ genres/tropes: uhhh angst ? yeah def a lot. you aren’t dating but u def should be lol; lots of they’re best friends but they won’t confess. ♡ mentions of/warnings: some jealousy what can i say ♡ a/n: little something for every member <3 jungwon’s first and the rest below the cut ^^ each part is inspired by lyrics from futon by ūla <3

♡ masterlist ♡

✧･ﾟ: * jungwon - “no dissing her, but you should be with me”

he’s almost certain this isn’t the way he should be going about this, but jungwon is also almost certain he’s out of options. he feels like he couldn’t be more clear about his intentions–his affections and romance and advances. he could hire a plane to fly a banner over you declaring his interest but you’d still be oblivious. maybe, he ponders before hitting send, it has to do with the friendship between you, and how long that version of the two of you has been a thing. maybe, he bites his lip as he types out his message, it’s because he’s seen you talking and for sure being flirty with other people. the five words at the end of his already short text feel the most potent: you should be with me. jungwon tries to keep his features still and serious as he watches you read the text from across him. maybe, outright confessing during a study session that’s worth nearly half your grade isn’t his wisest decision. but, again, he’s nearly out of options. at least texting you keeps it quiet–the cafe around the two of you none the wiser when your head shoots up, eyes wide, and cheeks red after reading. whatever your answer, jungwon knows it will be between just the two of you. and when he reaches out, placing his hand on top of your free one, he feels like everything is upside down waiting for your answer.

✧･ﾟ: * heeseung - “we could be together for like so long”

some would say he’s delirious, or delusion, but heeseung is convinced that if he somehow managed to catch your eye like that, you would be the best couple, a power couple to be contended with. at first, his cheeks would flush hot read when he realized he was staring at you–his best friend–so endearingly, somewhere beyond the ‘we’re just friends’ line every relationship like this has. now, he hopes maybe you’ll turn your head, catch him staring, and just ask. he’d pour his soul out for you, word by delicate word, if you asked. just so he could say how much he loves you, try to get you to see. your head snaps up from where you’d been resting it on a closed fist in the corner of the couch. heeseung’s own books flutters shut in his hands from where he sits in a nearby club chair. the blood rushing in heeseung’s ears–because, oh god, he realizes, he just said it outloud–makes it hard for him to discern, exactly what you say in response, but he knows what’d you say. plus, he can clearly see the confusion on your face, the gears turning in your head about how he said it, and what way did he mean it. heeseung places his book on the side table, quickly crossing the room to kneel beside you. he’s already said it, and maybe you asked when he couldn’t hear, so he might as well pour out his soul, word by delicate word. he hopes for the best.

✧･ﾟ: * jay - “sleeping in your sweater on my futon”

it’s been like this forever, he knows that. you go to his place, or he comes to yours, and you hunker down and try to watch as many movies or episodes of a tv series at once. ultimately, the night will always end with you slumped against each other, breaths matching. you’d wake up, necks sore from sitting upright and sleeping crooked on each other’s shoulders. it was so… innocent. delightful. now, as jay watches you from across the room–you, in his sweater you took without asking because you were cold, and he let you without question–he wonders when it changed. the way he saw you. one day you, you were his friend–his best friend since as long as he could remember. then, one day, or maybe gradually like how the night fades into the dawn, jay saw you different. an exciting, terrifying different. suddenly, it was the sparks he felt with your hands brushed, or how his heart swelled like whenever you would rest your head on his shoulder. oh, if only he had the bravery, the courage, the guts to say everything he thought. the way he wants to hold you, and spoil you, and do everything he could for you. sometimes he’s convinced you feel the same way, the way you laugh with him or reach out to touch him, his shoulder or hand or cheek. other days, he’s not so sure. so for now, he’s stucking, watching you sleep on his futon, wondering when he would ever find the words to speak to you.

✧･ﾟ: * jake - “i can make it better if you hold on”

he never thought it would get to the point, where the something between the two of you was finally something almost tangible. yes, jake probably should have felt bad for you when you called, heartbroken and crying that your boyfriend–well, now your ex–had dumped you. it should have torn him up inside, seeing you like that. and it did, really. that unique feeling you get in your chest when someone you love seems like they’re falling apart. he wished he could have said something to your ex, but ultimately you were more important. you always are. however, this event also sparked a unique joy–one that brought everything he’d tamped down back to the surface. jake thought he would need to keep these feelings under wrapped and near-forgotten forever. but now? his chance, his luck. whatever you wanted to call it, jake was going to do his best to make it happen. he’d either finally be able to be with you, or you’d finally reject him outright. either way, he’d be rid of the current problem plaguing his heart. the after effects? what could befall the friendship between you two, the one that had grown from strangers to acquaintances to the closest of friends? the ones who get mistaken for lovers all the time? quite frankly. not his problem right now. right now, he had to muster enough courage and time to tell you first.

✧･ﾟ: * sunghoon - “you should just forget her and we'll move on”

sunghoon was used to you dating–you were “particular” about your dates, you always said. they needed to have a certain something, not that you would ever elaborate on it. it used to be cute, something endearing sunghoon found in you, his friend. but then something changed. maybe the earth titled too far on its axis one day, or maybe sunghoon just hit his head so hard he forgot. but now, when he sees you, it’s somewhere beyond his best friend. you exist in his mind in the grey area past the line of “oh we’re just friends.” you exist so close to the line that, if you cross it, sunghoon gets to call you his, call you mine, all the time. he gets to brag on you, show you off. give you everything. but here he is instead–sitting across from you on his couch as you are talking about this one date you had months ago. again. maybe it’s the fact you only ever cycle through the same mundane talking points. the way you just haven’t moved on. maybe it’s the weather, your talking about this again, or the futures he envisions where he’s waking up next to you or you’re falling asleep together in each other’s arms. sunghoon didn’t mean to say those words–and definitely not with so much sincerity and spite. he feels his ears blush and burn as your words fall away, eyes wide, jaw slightly agape. now’s the time to find out which line you’ll end up crossing. at least you’ll be out of that grey area.

✧･ﾟ: * sunoo - “noticing you, are you noticing me?”

he’s gotten used to being the one who watches, who notices. sunoo feels like he knows everything about you at this point. the way you walk when you’re mad, or how you take your time to do your makeup before a big exam or something important. how you always use that word with him—friend. at first, it didn’t hurt. you were just a friend to him too. then, somewhere along the way, like all the love songs and all the cliches, you became different. or maybe the difference happened with sunoo. he would know–you still did everything the same, so uniquely wonderful and you. sunoo, spiraling in this realization, began to question everything–every interaction, every tine you were close or laughed with him or touched his arm or fell asleep next to him on the couch after a long day and a particularly boring movie. he’s thought of it all, to the point he began acting slightly off around you. he isn’t sure if he could handle your unknowing proximity anymore. surely, you didn’t act like this with everyone? surely, this was special and just for him? yes, sunoo watches and notices you, but it’s you. nothing else. curiosity, hope, and perhaps a good helping of dispair pull the question from sunoo’s lips one evening when you’ve done it again–laughed into his chest, hand on his arm. you look up at his serious expression, something new and inviting in your eyes. now, sunoo knows, you’re noticing him.

✧･ﾟ: * niki - “do i even matter? will you call my bluff?”

he thought he’d held his guard up well enough. niki couldn’t remember when his crush on you began, but he’s certain it’s called a crush because of the massive weight that now exists on his shoulder, on his mind. gone are the carefree adventures with you, and in are these mind-crushing emotions niki isn’t sure how to handle. they’ve always said you’ll know–is this what they mean? the panic he experiences when you’re so close to him he catches your perfume in the air? see the faint freckles on your cheeks? maybe he’s not as good at hiding his feelings as he thought,, because now here the two of you are, out on the sidewalk, stuck in place. the wind rustles through your hair, and niki does his best to keep his expression neutral, no matter how angelic you look. he watches as your eyes scan his face–great, now he’s got to live through this kind of scrutiny, too? maybe he should just tell you, right here as the sun sets and everything has been tinted blue. you’re smart, clever. you’ll figure him out eventually. he can’t keep this act up. maybe he doesn’t matter to you like that. maybe, you’ll decipher what all his actions mean and call him out. could niki handle you telling him to get over it? to move on? worse, could he handle the potential of never knowing how you feel? the world where two people are too afraid, too comfortable to express what they’re feeling. as you step closer, niki swallows, mind racing. maybe this is it–the moment where something happens, and he’s relieved or the crushing either gets infinitely worse.