#their expressions... the soft colouring....

[bullet-prooflove]

The Octagon: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fadeinsol @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @cowardlycandy

Summary: Smurf decides to show you the real Pope Cody.

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.

Prequel to:

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Everything - Pope's family life clashes with your time together.

Positive - Pope didn't expect for it to happen sooner rather than later.

Four Bullets - Smurf finds out about you and Pope, leading to dire consquences.

Misery (feat: Baz Cody) - Baz starts to notice there’s something wrong with Pope.

The Gruffalo - Pope finally lays eyes on you for the first time in months.

Kill The Queen - Pope tries to come to terms with Smurf's death.

The first time you witness Smurf’s cruelty is the MMA matches.

Pope’s been off the circuit for a couple of years because he broke his arm so badly during the last one it’s more metal than bone. At least that’s what Craig tells you as you stand outside the makeshift octagon in some run down trailer park by the beach. It started as a way of toughening him up as a teenager but he turned out to be a ferocious bastard, the kind that just won’t stop even when his opponent is tapped out.

It’s at odds with the man you’ve been cracking safes and stealing artwork with, the one who just opened the car door for you in the shitty parking lot.

“You don’t have to watch.” He had told you as he held it open, not making eye contact.

“Yes she does baby.” Smurf had said, jerking her head indicating for you to get out of the vehicle. “She needs to see exactly what you’re capable of.”

You know a powerplay when you see one. Smurf doesn’t like how close you and Pope have gotten during those long hours in your workshop. She doesn’t know about the outside jobs, the ethical thieving but she suspects something. Bringing you here, making you watch Pope fight, it’s meant to break the bond that’s growing between you. She wants you to see the wild animal she’s made him, her ferocious dog, barely tethered by his leash.

The guy he’s fighting is a flashy asshole, someone trying to make it big in the Redneck League which means he plays up to the audience. This match is about getting more wins on his card, he doesn’t actually know the legacy that is Pope Cody, that he’s about to get ripped apart.

The fight, it’s brutal. Redneck may have the height and the weight but Pope, he’s a scrappy, clever fuck. No move is wasted, every blow telegraphed precisely even the ones he takes to his face, his chest, his shattered arm. It all cumulates to the end result, Redneck hunched over on the mat, spitting blood onto the filthy white fabric.

“He’s not an animal.” You tell Smurf as she studies your expression behind her aviators. “You need to stop treating him like one.”

“My boy is feral.” She tells you, tossing a towel at her son. His whiskey gaze flickers up to meet yours before it darts away, his cheeks colouring with shame. “He’d tear your throat out with his teeth if I told him to, and then bathe in your blood.”

It’s when the rest of the family leave to retrieve their winnings that you grasp the towel that’s resting in his lap. You pick up the water bottle that Pope’s been sipping from, using it to dampen the fabric. He flinches as your fingertips caress the line of his jaw, tipping his chin up to meet your gaze. He’s not used to the softness, even now after the nights you’ve spent tangled up in each other.

“You’re not going to bathe in my blood.” You say matter-of-factly as you gently wipe the copper away from the cut above his eye. “And you’re certainly not going to tear out my throat.”

“I’d rather slice myself into a thousand pieces then watch the light die in your eyes.” He rasps, his voice a gravelly rumble in his chest.

“I know.” You whisper, your thumb tracing over the curve of his cheek. “She needs you to be a monster but you’re not Andy, you’re a man underneath all of this. One that’s so fucking tired and beaten down that he has no choice but to obey.”

“Not in everything.” He points out and you can see the subtle shift in his stare as the edges of his mouth tip up the barest amount. “Not when it comes to you.”

Don’t get too attached Pope, Smurf had told him, women like Dylan, they want to hurt the family, take from it.

You haven’t asked him for a damn thing over your time together. Not money, not information, not even a commitment because you don’t want to put that pressure on him when he’s still trying to figure out where his head is at.

“I wish I could kiss you right now.” He says with an earnestness that breaks your heart.

“Just kissing?” You tease before you wet the towel again and continue your work. “Because I’m imagining you and me in the shower right now-”

He growls in response to your words, a warning that you’re getting him going and that Smurf’s on her way back from the bookie.

“Later.” He promises you, taking the towel from your hand to clean up his own mess. “I’ll come by the beach house later, maybe we can grab that shower then.”

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[cannellee]

♡. TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE

𐐪 alpha! tokyorev x omega! reader · (draken, ryusei, kazutora, hanma, rindou, sanzu, shinichiro, chifuyu, baji, mikey)

— synopsis : their girlfriend says something totally innocent, or she thought. they catch the double meaning right away, while she remains clueless.

cw : suggestive dialogue, innocent and clueless girlfriend, misunderstandings, sexual references, kinda nsfw.

note : i'm slowly restyling my blog, finally saying bye to the red & strawberry-coded vibe. this post is part of the new look (although the only change here is the colour, and i also might change it again in the future). but i'm also working on a new masterlist layout. curious to know how you feel about the softer format (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

MY MASTERLIST : 💌

♡. ALPHA! DRAKEN (guys love when girls make sounds)

you're walking home with draken after a late dinner, the city quiet around you, just the echo of your steps and the occasional passing car. his jacket is slung over your shoulders, and you’re sharing a bag of snacks you picked up at the store.

you bite biscuit, then say thoughtfully, “my friends said guys really like when omegas make noises.”

draken slows a little beside you. “…noises?”

you nod, completely casual, thinking about the conversation you had earlier. “yeah. like when we’re eating or watching something. they said alphas feel more connected or something when they can hear what you’re feeling instead of just guessing.”

he stops mid-step, and turns his head slowly toward you.

you only blink up at him, a little confused. “what?”

draken presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, watching your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re messing with him. but you’re not. at all.

and so he exhales slowly through his nose and keeps walking.

you keep going too, unfazed. “they were saying stuff like, ‘don’t just sit there, if it’s good, let him hear it.’” you say, imitating one of your friends with a laugh. “‘make a little sound, show appreciation, y’know?’ i guess alphas are more sensory-driven?”

draken is staring ahead now, jaw a little tight.

but you dont notice any change in him, so you keep going, and glance up at him again. “i’ve been trying it. like earlier at dinner when that soup hit just right? I was like ‘mmh’ without even thinking.”

“…yeah.” draken’s voice comes out lower than usual. “i noticed.”

you smile brightly, proud of your progress. “right? it kinda feels nice too. like I’m not holding anything in.”

he hums, hand tightening slightly on the convenience bag. but as usual, you don’t notice.

“i think i’ll try it when we watch that movie you picked out. let myself be a little more expressive.”

draken clears his throat, shifting the bag to his other hand. “just—maybe tone it down if there are other guys around.”

you blink. “huh? why?”

he glances at you, expression unreadable. “because i know what they’ll hear when you do that.”

you frown in confusion, gentle eyes trying to understand what he meant by reading his face. “hear what?”

but he doesn’t answer. instead, he just puts his arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you a little closer to his side. his scent settles heavier around you, it's warm and grounding, you always love when he does that. it makes you feel safe.

“…what did you think i meant?” you ask.

he chuckles, lowly. “nothing, baby. just remind me to have a little talk with your friends.”

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! RYUSEI (nervous with first times...)

the sun’s lowering over the park, soft orange stretching across the concrete path as ryusei walks beside you, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding the soda you’ve both been sipping from.

your scent is warm in the evening air, the kind of softness only an omega can have, the one that lingers subtly when you’re relaxed.

you’re sitting on the edge of a bench now, legs swinging slightly. you take the soda back, fiddling with the straw mindlessly with your fingers. and then you say it, all quiet and casual :

“i get kinda nervous with first times.”

ryusei pauses, just a second too long and then repositions himself slightly, leaning an elbow on the backrest, his eyes sharp now.

“first times?” he repeats, his voice was soft but laced with interest. “you mean, like… trying new things?”

you nod without looking up, lips curling around the straw, taking another sip.

“yeah. i never know what to say. i always overthink it. but… i like figuring it out with someone I trust.”

and with that, he stills. because there’s no way you realize what that sounds like.

and yet, you're all soft posture, calm breathing, sitting close enough that your scent reaches him, untouched by the breeze. you’re not even doing anything, just being yourself in the most innocent way.

ryusei clears his throat, covering the heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“right,” he says, with a low smirk. “good thing i’m pretty experienced.”

and at that, you giggle, finally looking up at him. “you mean with awkward new things?”

“sure. whatever you call them.”

and then, there’s a slight pause. and just when he thinks you’re about to shyly apologise for saying something so out of pocket, the way you always do when you catch yourself thinking out loud, you tilt your head up and add : “like the first time i had to cook for a whole family. i totally froze. i didn’t even know how to preheat the oven.”

ryusei blinks at your confession, totally thrown.

“…oh,” he says, slightly after. and then he chuckles, leaning back and letting the tension leave his shoulders.

“that’s… not what i thought you meant.”

and you frown softly at him, not sure what he actually had in mind. “what’d you think i meant?”

“never mind,” he says, smiling lazily. his voice is lower now, but in a calm way. though you didn't notice how tensed he had been since you started talking.

you laugh a little, oblivious. “i burned the garlic bread. i was so embarrassed. but i didn’t feel as bad after, because they still liked it.”

and he watches you as talk, all sweet and happy, head tilted slightly. “you always do that.”

“do what?”

“talk like that.” his eyes narrow a little, still amused. “say stuff that sounds like something else, and act like you’ve got no idea.”

you blink slowly at him, looking genuinely confused. “…something else like what?”

he doesn’t answer you. he just leans in, close enough to catch another inhale of your scent, and takes the bottle from your hand.

“you really don’t know, huh?”

you smile easily with that soft look you always give him, shrugging. “i just like talking to you.”

ryusei exhales through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. his instincts tickling him upon witnessing how oblivious you could get.

he ends up handing you the soda back. “you’re dangerous.”

and you blink again, soft scent hugging him almost mockingly. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, dismissing your question. “you wanna go get dinner?”

and you nod, hopping up without hesitation, brushing your hand against his arm in passing, delighted to be spending time with your boyfriend.

and ryusei follows, quiet, amused, and just a little bit on edge, wondering how long he’s going to survive this kind of innocence.

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! KAZUTORA (been doing lots of stuff with other guys lately...)

you’re sitting side by side on the couch, both scrolling lazily on your phones. the room is totally quiet except for the faint city sounds slipping through the windows.

you're thinking a bit too much, as usual, and that's when, out of nowhere, you say like it’s nothing : “i’ve been doing a lot of stuff with other guys lately.”

kazutora’s eyes snap up, heart pounding a little faster. he tries to keep calm, but his voice drops low, cautious. “stuff?”

you bite your lip, thinking for a second, which doesn't help your case.

“yeah… like hanging out, talking, and sometimes they ask me to give them a hand with things.”

kazutora freezes for a moment, his mind racing. 'give them a hand' sounds innocent enough, but there’s an edge to it that makes him extra cautious, especially since kazutora knows how you somehow always end up in weird situations.

and so he leans in, voice quieter but tense. “what kind of things?”

you shrug, totally unaware of the implications. “oh, you know… stuff like helping them study or giving advice for group projects, but sometimes they ask for… other stuff too."

kazutora’s jaw tightens. his protective instincts kicking in hard, heart hammering, he doesn't know where this is going, but he somehow absolutely hates it.

“other stuff?”

you nod like it’s no big deal. “yeah, like sometimes they want me to do things i’m not really sure about. but I just say yes, I don’t like turning people down.”

kazutora exhales slowly but the worry doesn’t leave his eyes, it even gets worse, scent barely held in. he’s silent for a moment, trying to imagine what she might mean. his mind spins through possibilities, tension taking over all his senses.

“you’re telling me other guys ask you for things you don’t even wanna do… and you just go along with it?” he finally says quietly, trying to keep his voice steady.

you smile softly, still clueless. “yeah, basically. but it’s easier to just help out than explain why not.”

kazutora nods slowly, his jaw ticks and he laughs once, bitterly, like he can’t believe you just said that so casually. a few seconds pass in silence, the air thick with his rising anger, unsure what to say first, how to address the fact that other alphas have been taking advantage of your sweet nature.

but you don't notice that, and you add casually, "like the other day, this guy i don't even know asked me to help him practice introducing himself before a big meeting. he was really nervous.”

kazutora blinks, the tension draining away. his expression shifts to confusion, absolutely blown away by what you just said. but relief soon takes over his mind.

“wait… that’s it?”

you grin, completely unaware of the panic you just put him through. “yeah! i’m just too nice, i guess.”

kazutora laughs softly, shaking his head. he reaches over and kisses your forehead, feeling lighter now that the misunderstanding is cleared.

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! HANMA (like warm and sticky stuff)

the kitchen smells like vanilla and cinnamon, warm and sweet and a little chaotic. there's flour on the counter, a spoon is dropped into the sink, and you're leaning over the mixing bowl, swiping some of the gooey batter onto your finger with a satisfied hum.

hanma stands across from you, sleeves rolled up, grinning as you sneak another taste.

“god, i love swallowing warm, sticky stuff,” you sigh, licking your finger clean. “it reminds me of when i was little and used to eat frosting off the spoon. it’s just so comforting.”

and there’s a pause. then, with a loud clang, hanma drops the mixing bowl.

batter splatters onto the floor in slow motion, and you let out a startled yelp, “hanma! that was our last batch!”

but he’s not listening. instead, he’s bent over, bracing himself against the counter, laughing so loud. his whole body shakes, and he actually wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

“you—” his laughter makes it hard to speak clearly, “you’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

you frown, crouched down with a rag in your hand, already cleaning his mess. “what? i was just talking about the batter.”

he stares at you, absolutely delighted. “you don’t even know what you just said, do you?”

you tilt your head, confused, and repeat yourself. “that i like eating the warm—”

he practically chokes hearing you, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady himself.

“oh, my sweet baby,” he says between laughs, “you say the filthiest things with the most innocent face.”

your eyebrows knit together, clearly confused. “i’m not filthy! i was just—”

“—swallowing something warm and sticky, yeah, i got it.” he finishes, still grinning like it’s the best thing he’s heard all week.

you narrow your eyes at him. “why is that funny?”

he walks around the counter, still laughing under his breath as he crouches down to help you clean up the spilled batter, hand brushing yours as he leans close enough for his voice to drop lower. "you're dangerous, y'know that? sayin' stuff like that with no clue what it does to me."

you blink, soft eyes looking up at his amused face. “...for saying i like cake batter?”

and he just laughs again, shaking his head, clearly giving up on trying to explain.

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! RINDOU (guys love it when girls use their mouth)

you and rindou are sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building, the city lights twinkling below you. the night air is cool, you’re sharing a bag of chips and you’re mid-rant about your younger cousin’s school struggles.

“she’s so stressed,” you say, frowning as you remember the phone call you just had with her. “she says the boys in her class never get what she’s trying to say, and she ends up getting blamed for stuff during group work.”

rindou hums disinterestedly beside you, more focused on your voice than the actual words. he likes how you talk when you’re distracted : thoughtful, cute, a little out of breath from talking so much, and that sweet scent you let out only near him.

you dig in the bag for more chips and add, almost too calmly for him, “apparently guys love it when girls use their mouth.”

his heart misses a beat and he's snapping his head towards you. “…what?”

you glance up at him, puzzled. “yeah, like when they explain things properly? instead of just expecting guys to magically understand.”

he stares at you for a while, like he just got hit by a brick. but you don’t notice, as you’re too busy unwrapping the chocolate you found in your pocket.

“my cousin said the boys get super frustrated when girls just kind of stare and wait for them to guess what they mean. so i told her : just use your mouth. speak up. say what you want.”

he covers the lower half of his face with his hand, ears flushed pink. “please stop saying it like that,” he mutters under his breath.

you blink at him, absolutely confused at the change in his scent. “huh?”

“nothing,” he coughs, shaking his head, lips twitching as he tries to erase a grin. “just… remind me never to let you give advice when I'm not around.”

you shrug, tossing the wrapper into back into your pocket, “why? i think i give great advice.”

he doesn't respond, simply laughs at you, and how cute you're being. so you give him a playful nudge, not understanding where his agitation comes from. “you’re weird.”

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! SANZU (a nice, deep sleep)

you’re lying stretched out on the couch, the late afternoon sun spreading its soft shadows around the room. your voice is low and almost dreamy when you whisper, “i like it when i can’t move the next morning. it means it was a good night.”

sanzu, sitting beside you, blinks slowly, his eyes narrowing, playful but confused. “...what kind of night are we talking about here?”

you grin, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “sleep, silly. like, a really deep kind of sleep. you know, the kind where you wake up sore all over but totally refreshed.”

he lets out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face as his expression softens into something almost amused, looking at you with gentle eyes, as if you were the most precious thing ever. “baby, you don’t make it easy for me, do you?”

you lift your head, catching his eyes with a small, innocent smile. “well, maybe i like it when you tire me out.”

sanzu’s eyes darken just a little at that, and he moves closer to you, his voice dropping low and calm. “well, next time, just tell me. i want to be ready for you.”

you sit back, feeling the warmth of him beside you, his presence comfortable and making you feel safe and protected.

and the subtle hum of his steady breathing tells you he’s more than willing, even proud, to take care of his omega, no matter what kind of night it is. (soft sanzu!!!)

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! SHINICHIRO (need both hands)

you’re trying to help shinichiro carry a heavy box into the house, even though he insisted you stay still and safe.

the edges dig into your palms, and you’re struggling to keep a grip. suddenly, your fingers slip, and the box tilts dangerously.

you gasp, dropping it with a soft noise on the floor. “oh my god, it slipped out of my hands... it was so thick, I could barely wrap my fingers around it.”

shinichiro freezes, eyes wide in a second before his breath stays stuck in his throat. “…what now?”

you huff, rubbing your palms like that’ll make the sting go away, admitting shinichiro was right and that you should've just rested on the couch.

“the box,” you say, cheeks flushing faintly, “the corners are just too wide. you’re stronger than me though, so you can probably handle it better.”

he blinks slowly, then looks up at the ceiling as if asking the sky to give him patience. his voice is low, with a mixture of exasperation and amusement, visibly shocked at what can come out of his omega's mouth so innocently.

“i am SO in love with you, but damn, you say some wild stuff.”

you roll your eyes playfully at him and start to walk past him, muttering under your breath, “i'll need both hands next time.” oblivious to the way he almost drops to his knees at your innocent words, that sounded way too dirty for him.

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! CHIFUYU (so big it breaks your jaw)

you’re sitting outside the konbini store, sipping a peach juice from the carton. chifuyu sits beside you, slowly unwrapping his sandwich without saying much, only listening to your rambling.

you take a bite of your snack and mutter, “ugh, that was way bigger than i expected.”

that catches his attention, and chifuyu glances over, eyebrows knitting slightly in concern.

“like, i thought it’d be bite-sized, but my jaw literally cracked trying to get a single bite.”

you say it completely casually, as if you’re just talking about the size of your snack, which you are. meanwhile, chifuyu’s eyes look down for a moment, his throat tightens, and he shifts awkwardly, clearly caught off guard by the unintended double meaning.

“you… you okay?” he asks, voice a little unsteady, playing it cool but failing miserably.

you nod, poking at your wrapper and smiling softly. “yeah, just didn’t expect it to be that big. didn’t look that way from the outside.”

chifuyu clears his throat, cheeks flushing faintly, and he quickly looks away, blinking rapidly as if trying to reset his thoughts. feeling guilty for what goes through his head when you look so clueless and peaceful, munching on a little piece of chocolate you took from the bag.

you smile at him, oblivious to how flustered he’s gotten, and keep sipping your juice. chifuyu slowly calms down, thanking the comforting pheromones you let out, and reminding himself to keep his cool next to you.

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! KAKUCHO (poor gag reflex)

you’re sitting side by side on the couch with kakucho, sharing a big cup of bubble tea. the kind scent of your boyfriend surrounds you as you chew thoughtfully on one of the tapioca pearls.

and suddenly, you pause, brows furrowing slightly. “i always forget i have a really sensitive gag reflex.”

kakucho’s eyes narrow just a bit, his breathing steady but there's a faint surprise inside his gaze. “you do?”

you nod at his question, swirling the straw between your fingers. “yeah. these pearls... if i don’t chew them enough, they get stuck. one moment i’m fine, the next i’m tearing up like I’m about to cry.”

he watches you carefully, expression calm but clearly registering the unintentional effect of your words, amused but worried at how casually you can say such stuff.

he leans back slowly and lets out a shaky breath, voice low and even. “you don’t realize what you say sometimes, do you?”

you look up at him, genuinely confused, scent soft and innocent. “huh? i’m just talking about the boba.”

his eyes darken slightly as he meets your gaze, voice dropping again, low and steady. “you make it harder than it has to be".

you smile softly, oblivious to the weight behind his words, deciding to just go back to sipping your drink.

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! BAJI (love to keep a mouth full)

you’re sitting outside, enjoying each other's presence, your soft scents enveloping the both of you. the sun is slowly setting, the day coming to an end, leaving you all tired and in your own little world.

you pick up a pen from the ground, turning it thoughtfully between your fingers. and then, without much thought, you say to baji, "i’m kinda weird, you know? i really like having stuff in my mouth, even if it’s not food."

baji glances over at you, one eyebrow quirking up as a slow, knowing grin spreads across his face. "not food?"

you shrug, smiling softly like it’s no big deal. “yeah. sometimes i chew on pens or straws when i’m thinking. helps me focus.”

he chuckles low, leaning back on his hands, watching you with a mix of amusement and something quieter, loving how you can say the most out of pocket things. “never knew that about you.”

you shrug again, completely casual, unaware of the double meaning lingering beneath your words. “i guess it’s a bad habit or something, but i can’t help it. it makes me feel calm.”

baji’s gaze lingers on you a little longer, entertained by your innocence, knowing full well how that sounded. he keeps his voice soft, careful not to break the peaceful mood between you two. “good to know you’ve got your ways.”

you grin and hold out the pen to him, inviting him to do the same. “want to try?”

he laughs quietly, shaking his head with a smirk. “nah, I’ll leave that one to you.”

                                    · · ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ · ·

♡. ALPHA! MIKEY (sitting on it just right)

you’re hanging out by mikey’s bike in the garage, the afternoon sun peaking through the window. he’s wiping down the seat when you glance over, curious.

“i’ve never really sat on a bike like this before,” you say, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “it looks kinda… intimidating.”

mikey smirks, not saying anything yet, just enjoying your presence and how you always have so much to say, filling his ears with your soft voice.

you keep talking, totally chill, like you’re just sharing your thoughts. “i mean, you gotta really get on it, right? like, sit down hard enough so you don’t slip off. i bet it takes some time getting used to it.”

he raises an eyebrow at your words, but you don’t notice. you simply keep going, “yeah, and your legs have to grip it tight, or you’re not gonna stay steady when it moves.”

mikey finally looks up at you, a little amused. “you’re overthinking it.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “nah, i’m serious. i can imagine it’s kinda rough at first, but that’s just part of learning, right?”

he leans back, folding his arms, trying to keep his cool. “yeah… sitting on it the right way’s important.” he answers, a bit cautious.

you grin, nodding. “exactly! i don’t wanna mess it up when i'll first try. i want to be good at it.”

mikey clears his throat, voice low and amused. “maybe I should teach you sometime.” he says, watching how you happily hop onto the seat at his words, absolutely clueless at how your words affect him.

💌 thank you for reading (❀´ ˘ `❀) ♡

— i really liked the concept behind this one, but somehow i'm not entirely satisfied with how it turned out. i feel like it could've been better... i hope you still enjoyed though !

— i actually planned to make it into two parts, but i ended up writing for ten characters all in this one instead, so no part two ig! (or only if you have other characters in mind!!)

[iamgayjesus]

Study of Shadows📝🥀

Pairing: Professor Agatha Harkness x PhD!Reader

Tags: slow burn, possessive Agatha, power imbalance, academic tension, grief and magic, dark academia, angst and fluff, eventual smut, tags to be updated.

Synopsis: A guarded PhD student is assigned to the mysterious and powerful Professor Agatha Harkness. In their candlelit meetings, secrets unravel, and a slow-burning tension grows between teacher and pupil—where knowledge, desire, and possession intertwine in a dark dance of magic and longing.

Chapter Three: Glossolalia

🖋️Ch.1 // Ch.2

The morning was grey — not in colour, but in feeling. The kind of cold that slipped through wool and wove itself into your bones. Even the coffee burned bitter, unwelcoming, as you stood in front of the mirror, staring past your own reflection.

You’d slept, but only barely. Tossed under crumpled sheets with the memory of her eyes — that look — seared into the back of your eyelids. You weren’t even sure what it was. Concern? Disapproval? Something closer to possession?

And then Rio Vidal had appeared like smoke, all sharp eyes and silk. It had taken nothing at all for Agatha to fall into step beside her and disappear into the night, without a word more to you.

You’d stood outside the restaurant for a full minute after the door shut, your breath frosting in the air, fury and shame tangled in your throat.

It wasn’t jealousy. That would be ridiculous. You barely knew her.

But you were still thinking about it now, hours later, notebook in hand, thumb worrying the corner of the page as you paced the stone corridor toward her office.

You were meant to deliver the translation today — your work from the Occitan manuscript she’d given you, the one with the looping script and the broken margins, filled with half-legible accounts of heresy and exile. The kind of text that could shift careers if you handled it right.

Your boots echoed softly against the stone, the morning quiet swallowing your footsteps like a cathedral holding its breath. You paused outside her office door.

You pressed your hand to the cool doorframe before entering, clutching the manila folder tight against your chest. Inside, she sat at her desk, silhouette crisp—pin-straight posture, dark blouse buttoned to the neck, hair wound with purposeful precision.

Her head lifted as you came in. Pale eyes met yours, and something in her expression flickered—almost a smile, but sharper, more private. She waved toward the chair in a slow, refusalless motion.

“Pet,” she greeted you, voice low and even. The soft word landed in your chest like a promise—or a warning.

You swallowed. “Good morning.”

She didn’t hurry; the moment paused. “You look… composed.”

You shook off a flush. “The translation is complete.”

“You’re early,” she said, voice clipped. Polished. The vowels as sharp as her gaze.

You held up the folder, willing your fingers not to tremble.

“The translation. You said you wanted it by today.”

A beat.

Then she leaned back slowly in her chair, like she was measuring the distance between you.

“Of course. Leave it on the desk.”

You stepped forward, placed the folder carefully atop a stack of open books, and straightened.

She didn’t touch it.

Not yet.

Instead, her eyes stayed on you.

You shifted under the weight of them — that familiar pressure. As though she could read your thoughts inked across your forehead.

She flipped it open and lightly tapped the margin, fingers lingering over your annotations. “Efficient.” She looked up, gaze becoming an assertion. “And thorough.”

Something flickered behind her eyes—appraisal, hunger, interest. You couldn’t tell which. She paused. Then she added, voice silk laced with steel: “You behave exactly as I hoped you would.”

Your breath caught. You tried to meet her eye, but her glance pressed across your skin, tracking slow, deliberate.

“If you feel—” you started, noting the tiny hesitation that crept in, “—if there’s anything you’d like me to refine—”

“You’ve done more than enough,” she interrupted, soft but certain. “It’s precisely what I asked.”

The tension took shape between you—neither airy nor heavy, but alive. You wanted to breathe—but catching your breath felt like moving in a storm.

Her fingers brushed a margin where you’d scribbled an alternative translation. “You changed your mind here,” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It felt truer,” you replied. “The older reading flattened the nuance. This one allowed the metaphor to breathe.”

She didn’t respond for a beat.

Then, softly, “Good girl.”

Your stomach dropped.

The words were simple—commonplace even. But in her voice, they unspooled something hot and breathless inside you. You hated how it made you feel. Or rather—you hated how much you liked it.

You looked away. “I’ll leave you to read it—”

“No,” she interrupted. “Stay.”

You blinked.

Agatha circled the desk, manuscript in hand. “You’re here, you’ve done the work. We’ll go through it now.”

You sat, trying not to shift too much. Trying not to notice the way her eyes lingered. Or the way her voice dropped when she leaned over your shoulder to point something out. Or the subtle press of her fingers against the desk beside you, steady, deliberate, always just close enough.

“Your linguistic choices here,” she said, “suggest a certain… intimacy with the source material.”

“It spoke to me,” you said.

Agatha looked at you. “Did it?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

She was too close.

You were too aware.

There was something coiled behind her gaze—tension or amusement or something more dangerous. But before either of you could speak again, there was a knock at the door.

A pause. Then a secretary’s voice, muffled: “Professor Harkness, the seminar starts in fifteen minutes.”

Agatha straightened. “Tell them I’ll be there shortly.”

Footsteps retreated.

She turned back to you.

“You’ll be joining me,” she said.

Your brow creased. “I thought I was meant to join you next week?”

Agatha didn’t answer right away. Her gaze—sharp, ice-blue like glacial water just before it freezes—held you in place. There was that familiar flicker in her eyes, neither fully stern nor entirely amused, but something deliciously calculating, like she was weighing you against some invisible scale only she could see.

“This is a different seminar,” she said at last, her voice clipped but smooth as velvet. “Philology and the Arcane Tongue. I expect you to keep up.”

Your mouth parted in mild disbelief. “I haven’t prepared for that—”

A slow, deliberate smile curved her lips—half-mocking, half-inviting. She circled you like a prey, the subtle scent of lavender and incense drifting around her, sharp and intoxicating. The soft rustle of her coat followed, then the muted tap of her heels on the floor, each step measured and commanding.

She stepped closer, gaze steady, voice low. “You don’t need to prepare. You’re sharp. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

Her fingers lightly grazed the edge of your manuscript, just a breath against the paper, but enough to send a shiver up your arm. Her eyes dropped for a moment, lashes casting delicate shadows over her pale skin, before snapping back up, locking onto yours with that piercing intensity.

The fine lines at the corners of her eyes softened her sharp gaze — wrinkles not of age but of a lifetime lived fully, etched like delicate lace that only made her more captivating, more real. It was a beauty not easily forgotten, like a memory that lingers.

The fine planes of her face—high cheekbones, perfectly arched brows, a mouth always poised on the verge of a knowing smirk—made her seem carved from something cold and exquisite. Yet, there was warmth in that look now, an almost teasing fire beneath the surface.

“And besides,” she said, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach twist, “I like you best when you’re focused.” She flicked her wrist with elegant disdain, the movement sharp and graceful. “Pet.”

The word landed heavy and hot, and your cheeks flamed before you could stop them.

Agatha’s smile deepened, almost wicked now, the kind that promised both challenge and something dangerously close to pleasure. She gave a slight shake of her head, as if amused by your reaction, then straightened her posture with the faintest tilt of her chin.

Agatha stepped back with an elegant flick of her coat, the kind that made it clear she was done — not because she had to be, but because she’d chosen to be.

“Come,” she said, already turning toward the door, her heels clicking softly, a steady rhythm that pulled you in. “We’ve work to do.”

And just like that, she was gone—the echo of her heels fading like punctuation to a lesson you hadn’t yet realised you were being taught.

*

The corridor stretched long and echoing before you, the high-arched ceilings framed in crumbling filigree, glass panes catching fractured light. Your boots scuffed faintly against the old stone floor as you followed the crisp cadence of Agatha’s heels — sharp, decisive, never hurried.

She didn’t glance back to see if you were behind her. She didn’t have to.

Each step she took carried the scent of lavender and incense, curling in her wake like something summoned. And you followed it, as if compelled.

As if bound.

Your mind raced with the translation notes folded under your arm, but none of it seemed to hold shape. The memory of her voice — I like you best when you’re focused, pet — looped like a spell, caught between your ribs. You couldn’t name the feeling. Not quite panic. Not desire. Something between: sharp-edged and impossible to admit.

She paused at the threshold of a wood-panelled door. The brass plaque read:

Seminar Room III – Restricted Access

Her hand rested against the worn handle, a flick of her wrist adjusting her sleeve — a gesture practised enough to look accidental, but you were watching her too closely not to notice the precision of it. Everything she did seemed deliberate. Beautifully so.

You wondered, stupidly, if she knew the effect she had on you.

Then she turned her head just enough for her profile to catch the light — the high cheekbone, the curve of her mouth, a single strand of hair brushed back with a gloved fingertip.

“I expect you to observe,” she said, not looking at you, her tone low and unreadable. “Take notes. I’ll ask for your input toward the end.”

You blinked. “Input?”

She opened the door and stepped inside, letting her answer hang in the air like perfume.

You followed, trying not to look like you were hesitating.

*

The room was smaller than you expected — warmer, with lamps casting soft gold over worn bookshelves and a circle of desks. A handful of students were already seated, their faces drawn with the weight of whatever reading list they’d been subjected to.

Agatha took her place at the head of the room, sliding her coat from her shoulders with a single fluid motion, revealing dark navy tailoring beneath — sharp lines and a silk scarf knotted at her throat.

She looked — unreachable.

You hovered, unsure, until she glanced your way and murmured, “Sit there.”

She gestured to the seat nearest hers — not across, not down the side, but close enough that your knees would nearly touch if you turned slightly.

You took your seat, your pulse thudding dully beneath your skin. The papers in your hands felt heavier now. You weren’t sure if you wanted to vanish or be seen.

The room filled — not bustling, exactly, but dense with quiet tension. Eighteen students had filed in, coats damp from morning mist, shoulders hunched against the marble chill of the corridor outside. Most looked as though they’d come prepared for a bloodletting.

In a way, they had.

Agatha Harkness didn’t do casual. Nor did she tolerate underperformance. The students knew this. You’d seen it in their eyes as they settled around the old mahogany table, pens poised, spines straight. No one was foolish enough to speak without invitation.

When the final student settled, she stood with a grace so fluid it startled you, the soft click of her heels slicing the quiet.

“This is Philology and the Arcane Tongue,” she began, her voice low and clear. “We will not be wasting time.”

A shiver passed through the room. She let it hang for a beat before continuing, tilting her head slightly toward you.

She allowed herself a satisfied flick of her wrist — then gestured to you.

“This,” she said, tone formal but unmistakably proud, “is Miss Y/L/N. A doctoral candidate of considerable promise, currently specialising in magical oaths and binding language. She’ll be co-teaching this seminar.”

Several students glanced between the two of you. One of the boys — a tall, pale thing with too much gel in his hair — let his gaze dip too slowly over your body.

Agatha didn’t even look at him directly.

“If any of you forget where to keep your eyes,” she said, tone razor-smooth, “you’ll find yourselves reassigned. Permanently.”

Gulps. Silence.

“Miss Y/L/N’s background in arcane linguistic studies is exceptional. During her master’s, she produced significant work on the nuances of spellcasting dialects, particularly how foreign linguistic structures influence magical efficacy.”

A faint surprise flickered in your chest at her detailed knowledge of your past research. You managed a small nod.

Agatha’s voice softened but remained authoritative. “We expect rigorous engagement and discipline. Magic is not merely spoken; it is shaped by the tongue, the rhythm, and the subtle inflections of language itself.”

*

Agatha resumed her place at the front, the seminar flowing under her command. Her voice, rich and measured, wove through the room as she elaborated on the interplay between language and magic — how arcane utterances were far more than mere words, but living conduits of power. She gestured gracefully with a flick of her wrist, moving like a shadow cast by candlelight.

“As you see,” she said, her gaze sweeping the room, “the precision of language here is paramount. Even the slightest mispronunciation can shift the entire matrix of a spell.”

“Let us consider this transcript from the 14th century Drakonic codex,” she said, lifting a worn parchment carefully. “Notice the inflection in the final binding phrase — it’s subtle, but crucial. The sibilant ‘sh’ sound here softens the curse, almost redirecting the spell’s energy. Miss Y/L/N, what might this imply about the caster’s intent?”

You glanced briefly at the text projected behind her, then met her steady gaze.

“It suggests a deliberate tempering,” you began, voice clear and steady. “The caster wasn’t aiming to cause harm but to bind with precision, perhaps to limit collateral damage. The ‘sh’ sound acts almost like a linguistic brake, controlling the spell’s force.”

Agatha nodded once, sharp and approving.

“Excellent. Now, take us deeper.” Her voice lowered just slightly, the challenge clear. “Explain how this contrasts with the Sylvan dialect’s approach, particularly in their use of the trilled ‘r’—a phonetic element that often clashes with Drakonic’s harsher consonants.”

You stood, feeling the weight of the room’s eyes on you as you moved forward. The soft click of her heels echoed faintly as she settled into her seat with deliberate grace. Resting her chin lightly on the knuckles of her hand, she leaned forward slightly, her piercing blue eyes locking on you. Her lips parted just enough for the tip of her tongue to flick out and moisten them—a small, knowing smile curving the corner of her mouth. The delicate wrinkles framing her eyes deepened.

The scent of lavender and incense wafted subtly, grounding yet intoxicating.

Her gaze held you fast as you began to speak.

“The Sylvan dialect’s trilled ‘r’ introduces a rhythmic vibration that can enhance a spell’s stability but can also cause interference if misaligned with Drakonic’s sharper tones. When combined incorrectly, it may lead to a destabilisation of the magical matrix, sometimes causing the spell to backfire.”

Agatha’s eyes glinted with challenge.

“Very good,” she murmured, voice low but audible. “But tell me—what would happen if a novice caster confused the intonation of these dialects during an attempted binding?”

You hesitated for barely a moment before answering confidently.

“A novice would likely cause a misfire. The spell’s energy could become erratic, leading to unintended consequences—perhaps even breaking the binding entirely or causing harm to the caster.”

Agatha’s smile deepened, clearly pleased. She reclined slightly, fingers steepled elegantly, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

As you spoke, Agatha slowly removed her glasses, her fingers gliding over the frame before she tucked them carefully beside her notes. She rested her chin lightly on her knuckles, tongue just visible between her lips, eyes fixed intently on you.

Near the end, she fixed you with a particularly sharp look, voice lowering just a fraction. “Miss Y/L/N, consider the dialectical shifts in the northern incantations. How might these variations affect the resonance frequency required for successful spellcasting?”

You paused for a heartbeat, gathering your thoughts, then spoke with measured confidence. “The shifts alter the phonemic emphasis, which in turn requires a corresponding adjustment in the caster’s vocal modulation. Without this, the spell’s vibrational energy becomes unstable, leading to rapid decay or unintended side effects.”

The room was silent, the students hanging on your every word. Agatha’s lips parted slightly, eyes wide in genuine astonishment. She leaned back, fingers to her mouth, nearly speechless — an expression so rare it sent a thrill straight through you.

After a moment, she recovered her composure, voice calm but with a new, quiet respect. “Exceptional. Truly. You’ve not only mastered the theory but intuitively grasped the subtle art that many only ever glimpse.”

Her gaze lingered, an unreadable flicker in her brilliant blue eyes. “Well done, Miss Y/L/N.”

*

As the session drew to a close, Agatha’s usual poised command softened just enough to let a flicker of warmth slip through.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she said quietly, voice low but clear only ti you, “you’ve exceeded my expectations. It’s a rare pleasure to witness such dedication and intellect. I look forward to seeing how far you will go.”

The students stirred and slowly left , the spell broken, but your eyes remained locked on hers.

You felt the pull of her gaze, electric and insistent. “Thank you, Professor. I… I didn’t expect—”

Her fingers brushed lightly against your forearm, a touch so delicate it could have been accidental, yet it lingered—warm and deliberate. “Expectations are a curious thing, aren’t they? Sometimes they reveal what we really desire, rather than what we say aloud.”

You swallowed, still feeling the ghost of her touch. “I didn’t expect… that you wanted me to co-teach the others as well?”

Agatha tilted her head slightly, studying you in that maddening, quiet way that always made it feel as if she already knew what you were going to say. “Why limit yourself, pet?” Her voice curled around the word like silk. “The more you expose yourself, the better you’ll become. And I do like watching you rise to the challenge.”

She turned, her scent trailing in her wake as her heels clicked softly across the stone floor.

Just before she reached the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Tomorrow?”

But Agatha was already gone—disappearing down the corridor with her coat flaring behind her like a shadow come to life, leaving you suspended in the doorway with your pulse skittering and a dozen questions echoing in her wake.

~~~~

Hi!

I hope you are still enjoying this. Please let me know!

-A

——————

Tag list: @hannah-0730 @rmaximoff @warpdrive-witch

[imbaebi]

You, me and berries?

ִֶָ࣪☾. 서창빈 —

paring: bf!changbin x fem!reader

genre: strawberry fluff<3

warnings: none?

wc / cc : 762 / 4.2k

ss: 1

skz summer masterlist

synopsis —---

when your boyfriend sends you a 4 word invitation, how could you say no to this perfect combo?

—-- ⪩⪨⪩⪨

What better place to wear your strawberry frock than to a strawberry field with your boyfriend in his matching polo?

You two arrived at the strawberry field, it wasn't busy since it was only a weekday. There were a couple parents and their kids, teenage friend groups and a few couples like the two of you. A guide handed you both a basket and began telling you interesting facts about strawberries, how to grow the berries and how this field was founded. All interesting knowledge. When she was done she left you and Changbin to go pick some strawberries.

The fields were beautiful, red was literally everywhere you looked. It was your favorite colour. You felt like you were in heaven!

    “You look happy.” Changbin comments with a grin.

    “Because I am. I'm literally surrounded by my favorite fruit right now and I get to wear my strawberry dress in a field of strawberries with my favorite person in the world, how could I not be happy?” You sigh in content and grab your blushing boyfriend's muscular arm and start walking deeper into the field. “We have to get the most perfect strawberries.”

    “Yes ma'am.” He chuckles.

You were on a mission to find the prettiest strawberries ever. You inspected every strawberry carefully, and if you found it fit, you plucked it off the stem and threw it into the basket. Changbin was smiling at your antic while taking cute photos of you on his phone.

    “Binnie! Look how big this strawberry is!” You hold the strawberry up, your lips part and eyes are round with excitement. It almost the size of your palm, way bigger than the strawberries that would you typically buy at the store.

He quickly takes a shot of your expression. Changbin has a huge collection of photos of you, and he keeps adding more. He's like obsessed with you.

    “Is that the only one?”

You look shrug and look around you for a moment, “I don't see any more big ones nearby. Just small ones, itty bitty ones”

    “We're surrounded by cute little strawberries,” He takes note. Pause. “but they're not as cute as my strawberry.”

He smiles as he pinches your cheek. You pout and pull away, face already flushing. It was really nice day to be outside. The sun was shining brightly like it did in the summer. But it wasn't too hot. The sky above was really blue, a very pretty shade. If your favorite color hadn't been red then maybe you would have picked that shade of blue and deem it your favorite. There were hardly any clouds in the sky at this time. With happy smiles, baskets full of red berries and Changbin's photo gallery having new additions, you both make it to the end of the field.

There was a gift shop! You felt like you were in heaven again, surrounded by berry themed things. Everything was screaming at you to buy them. Oh but of course you couldn't buy whole shop, indeed you were a reasonable adult who spent their money wisely— well most of the time. You couldn't choose anything because they were all pretty well until your eyes fell on the jewelry stand and you knew what you wanted to get . You insist that you and Changbin got matching bracelets that had berry charms on them. Changbin couldn't say no to your cute face, however he wouldn't let you pay though. That's one of the only things he'd say no to you for. Changbin also got you a strawberry plushie even though you told him it was fine and that the bracelets were enough. Well you have a new plushie cuddled under your arm now.

You had your berries neatly packaged with a bow by the cashier and you two were ready to go home. You hold onto Changbin's arm with your free hand as you walk to the car. You place a soft kiss onto his bicep that was pushing out of the sleeves to his polo.

    “Thank you for the best date ever, Binnie. I had such a great time,” you say softly.

    “Glad you had a great time, Bunny.” He ruffles your hair.

This was going to be your most treasured date, well after the date he asked you to be his girlfriend of course. There's just something about summer and strawberries that make you want to smile.

    “We have so many strawberries now. Ooh, we could make jam! Oh and shortcake!” you list, happy tone like a child.

    “Whatever you want, Bunny.” He smiles.

©2025 imbaebi — all rights reserved, I don't allow copy of my work. Inspiration is one thing, plagiarism is another.

skz summer masterlist

taglist — (comment under the masterlist to be added) ;

@lezleeferguson-120, @swagblazemilkshake,

[moonyfest]

🌙 A sneak preview for prompt A120! 🌙 Title: Alizarin Check out the other snippets for this work here: X X Browse all the prompts || Sign up to the fest

Remus felt out of his own body, like he was watching it all unfold from some spot about three feet above and a bit to the left of where they were standing, and felt his already weakened control begin to fracture. 

“And here…” he continued, reaching up to tentatively brush the back of a trembling finger across the flush of Sirius’ cheek. “Here it’ll be crimson. But not the usual kind; not perylene, or some sort of cadmium.” He swallowed, shook his head dazedly. “No—for you, it’ll be alizarin.” 

Sirius was still as stone, eyes trained sharp and unblinking on his face. Remus was in no state to decipher the clues of his expression, didn’t have the discernment to stop himself when Sirius was so warm and soft and real in front of him, so close, pitching forward half a centimetre and letting out a quiet breath. It was silent and hot in the library, every inch of the room filled with that same heavy, electric tension as that night of the last storm, and oh, gods—Remus wanted. So bad he felt sick with it, so bad he could envision it crawling up his throat and tangling around his neck, suffocating and relentless. 

“But I’ll thin it out,” he muttered. He watched his own thumb trace a circle around the little freckle beneath Sirius’ eye, watched the skin pinken impossibly further and thought absently that his knees might give out entirely. “And I’ll let it build. Slowly, and carefully, over and over, in washes of colour, right here, and here, and…” He trailed the flat of his thumb across his cheekbone, traced a feather light line beside the bridge of his nose, and Sirius’ eyes slipped shut. Heat pooled low and hungry in Remus’ gut and his vision blurred, narrowed to the sight of his thumb hesitating at the curve of Sirius’ lips, brushing across the delicate dip of his cupid’s bow. 

“And there?” Sirius asked on an exhale. His eyes flickered open, dark and otherworldly as they slid languidly up his face, and Remus felt himself sway forward. “Crimson again?”

[npookie0]

Flower's Kiss ♡ Luce X Reader

You've been going out on dates with this cute florist next door for a while now. Your heart beats faster when you see her bright smile, or when she takes your hand and leads you around the garden. Is this what they call love? Do you confess your feelings? Do you get to kiss the girl?

Words : [ 1311 ]

This my original work about my oc Luce ! In this story Luce is not a serial killer, I know it is very sad, but she's still a badass strong lady! This story may or may not be a way for me to create a small part for my little project that involves Luce teehee!

(The reader is g.n. and is said to be a tattoo artist who also has a more grudge look to themselves so don't be surprised if I write it here! Totally not because of the project with Luce I have no no)

Enjoy this sweetness <3

You stood in front of the florist's store leaning on your car, a mint-green gift bag in your hand and your phone in the other. The time for your favourite florist to leave her store was almost here and you couldn't stop the smile from creeping on your lips. The excitement grew inside your body with every passing second.

You could already smell Luce's perfumes in the air, hear her sweet laugh in your ears and see her focused expression when she looks at the flowers in the restaurant you took her too and then talks about their condition for a whole hour and you listen to every word she says because she makes everything sound so interesting.

You raised your head from our screen when you heard the cheerful jiggle of bells coming from the door.

There she was.

Luce Gallo, the girl of your dreams, the girl who made your heartbeat quicken suddenly and who made your life gain colour. She was smiling brightly as always when she saw you. Her hair was put up in a signature with one loose strand that looked like a heart, her dress was pink with yellow stars all over it and reached a bit above her ankles, showing off her, also, pink high heels.

Your throat dried when you caught the sighed of her, smiling and waving at you excitedly. It felt like the whole world slowed down just for this moment.

"Hey, little rose." She greeted you and embraced you, her body felt warm, only now did you realise how warm she was when you held her so close.

"Hi Luce." You said, thanking the universe that you didn't stutter.

She backed away a little and you felt the gentle and cool breeze replace the woman's warmth. "Oh? What is that~?" Luce asked, eyeing the bag in your hand.

You blushed, embarrassed at the fact that you held it out in the open for her to see, when it was supposed to be kind of a surprise gift.

"It's a gift... for you." You said and handed the bag to her. You watched as she looked inside curiously and then put her hand inside, taking out a small jewellery box, though what she'd see inside wasn't a necklace or a ring.

She gently lifted the lid and you heard a soft gasp leave her mouth when she lifted the keychain with a whole sunflower bouquet painted on it. Her eyes were sparkling with joy and she looked like she was about to jump in circles.

"Oh my... little rose this is the cutest thing I've ever seen... Thank you!" She wrapped her arms around you again, happily thanking you and calling you the best. You held her with a relieved smile on your lips.

She's happy... I'm so glad.

After Luce attached the gift she received from you to her already jingly and decorated tote bag, you two entered your car.

"So where are we going?" She asked. Right, you didn't tell her where you'd two go, you just told her that it'd be a date.

You looked at her from the corner of your eye with a cheeky smirk on your lips. "You'll see when we'll get there, princess."

Her face flushed pink, she stuttered before she gently hit your shoulder. "You little! Don't call me that out of nowhere." She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Oh? But why? You look like a princess Luce, it's only right I'd call you that." You chuckled when she couldn't give you a repones, suddenly wanting to admire the gift from you.

"You're such a charmer now little rose, where did all that confidence came from." You didn't need to turn your head around to tell that Luce was looking at you.

"Maybe I've always been a charmer?"

"Yeah, especially when you talk about the people you pierced or the older ladies who want to crucify you because of your own tattoos." She giggled and you completely melted, no response or snarky remark about her own complaints about men who forgot about anniversaries.

The way to the secret spot was filled with your conversation and Luce's singing to the songs playing on the radio. Her voice was beautiful and you wished that you could record it then to listen to it on a loop. At least you created a new date idea in your mind... that is if she will want to go on dates with you after today.

"We're here." You said, opening the car door for Luce and outstretching your hand to her so she could leave the car.

She looked around in awe, you could see it in her eyes, she didn't know what to say in that moment, she was just admiring her surroundings.

"Holy fuck.... You really are something." She turned around to look at you. "Did you seriously remember that little thing about me dreaming of coming here?" She asked, hands clenching the fabric of her dress as she tried to hold back her excitement.

"Yeah, you were talking about it only for an hour about wanting to come to the Sunny Hill because it's known for its insane amount of sunflowers growing on it." You replied.

"Jesus... Little rose you really are something else, no one ever paid attention to my rumbling about flowers."

"Well maybe they just didn't deserve those rumbles then."

She blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Okay, less talking more moving, come on!"

And like that you were walking for over two hours around the hill, Luce took many pictures, some of the view, some of the flowers and a few of you. You took a few pictures of her in secret, you needed something to remember this day after all.

The sun was setting when you reached the top of the hill and as you looked at mesmerised Luce you made up your mind.

Made up your mind about confessing your feelings to her.

"Luce." You called out.

The woman turned around, she looked like she had an aureola with the sun directly behind her. She looked divine.

"Yes? What is it, little rose?" She took a few steps towards you.

"I... I need to tell you something." She looked into her eyes and hoped that she couldn't see how red you were.

"Oh? What is it? Tell me." She had a gleam in her eyes, like she was hopeful about something.

You took a deep breath and gently grabbed her hands in yours. "I... I fell for you, completely and utterly. Your chuckle, your smiles, your voice, all the things you say and do, I just can't imagine my life without them in it, without you in it. You are the brightest person I've ever met, both in smarts and personality. You are the Sun in my sad little life and... I am a sunflower, just gazing at you and hoping that you'll be in my life forever." You stopped, looked at her, you wanted to say something more, but couldn't when her lips found themselves against yours.

She was cupping your face, her soft and tasting like strawberry lips were against yours and you felt like you were in paradise, like this was the reward from the universe that you dreamed about.

This was the sweetest and affectionate kiss you ever shared with anyone, you were embraced by Luce's smell, warmth and taste, nothing could be better than this.

Or so you thought.

The kiss broke and Luce leaned her forehead against yours.

"I love you too, silly rose. I had for a while now and you don't even know how happy I am right now."

The Sun disappeared under the horizon, it was the only witness to your heart warning confession.

It was a perfect day ended with a perfect kiss.

LUCE CONTENT BOOM

i love this woman so much

if you don't want to kiss her then I WILL !!!

i hope you liked this short story <3 (would be longer but im out of time </3)

have a nice day !!

nate <3

[pamrak]

NATT KWON as KARAN REVERSE WITH ME

[dripping-moonlight]

[eluvisen]

Losing my mind over this gift from @stellorc of Vexx and Nephien having a soft moment together. Thank you so much! This was a surprise I wasn't expecting 💕

[bmpmp3]

i am a synthv user primarily because 1) i was always kind of a moresampler main on utau already :3c and 2) i am easily swayed by affordable pricing and extremely user friendly interfaces BUT the one problem with synthv studios focus on realism is how instead of just distorting vocals that are too high or low out of range, instead they just get breathier and REALLY quiet, you can get around it okay with parameter shenanigans but thats one think i really prefer about voisona and utau or sv editor - this is purely a preference thing, but I do love putting a synth far below its range and have it still functional (albeit robotic) LIKE go into c2. i know you sound like a broken jackhammer. go into c2.

[acourtofbooksandmemes]

The birthday boy! Don't zoom lmao I've never done digital art before but I wanted it coloured & I don't trust myself to not screw over the physical sketch.. eh I'm happy enough ♥️ (almost a week later but a friend reminded me to post!! thank u dearest @facepalmmylifeu )

Needs to be said: my two accounts have a completely different @, so it's my own art even if it doesn't look like it, gonna keep the twitter one tho idk how I'll manage in the future.

Credits to @/mochipanco on Twitter & Insta for their amazing clothing designs!! ♥️

[buttercup-barf]

Under the cut are mostly self-insert doodles of decreasing quality. Again, not much directly tied to Team Fortress 2. Might as well toss these out while I have no access to my puter. Much yapping under the cut and in the tags incoming.

Another self-insert, this time less of a "here's me as a tenth class" and more of a "here's my game experiences translated into the class I would take the place of". The Cleaner. Although I guess they could still be wearing either suit. It doesn't matter that much.

That one Convict's Case taunt with Backup would be extremely funny, because the man would be on the verge of a breakdown (he does not want to go to jail so bad you have no idea). The second image- I owe no explanation. You know what I am. You see the pattern with my favourites.

The duality of the man. Resting face versus "just heard you express interest in religion/Russian folklore" face. He's not that hard to make friends with, when you pull him away from all the explosions.

Some doodles of trying to figure his face out. Unfortunately, the more I stare at him, the more I worry that he looks like A Certain Guy With The Last Name "Kazarin", and the fear of never being original in my life caught up to me.

Don't look at me, don't perceive me, I refuse to explain any of my actions to you.

[just-eyris-things]

Vent post. Because i feel like kicking a hornets' nest.

Honestly im just tired of how people will call someone ignorant/uneducated and will go for the throat for every little thing, while they themselves say shit like pierogis all the time. If you're going to point fingers at others, you yourself should be without fault.

The question is... can you?

[wanderingmind867]

Ireally do like how Werner Roth draws the X-Men. He seems really good with making characters look distinct (X-Men #47):

[emeraldem]

had to put my phone down and scream at this for a sec. look at my boy

Wyll, painted using Procreate on the iPad 🎨

[vempoebooks]

She wears her story in full colour.