Lemons — Brant

Argenti has really been on the brain as of late…I miss my wife….how do we feel about vampire agrenti//getsranover

love bites! — argenti

summary. argenti would do anything for you, even if that anything went against his own moral code.

notes. i think ANON YOU COOKED. YOUUUU COOKED. YOUUUUUUUU COOKED.

warnings. ehhhh… i’ll give it a 16+, suggestive content, as per usual you’re a freak, but argenti is also a freak so it’s okay, as the ask suggests argenti is a vampire, blood, biting, ummm, yk. vampire stuff. but it’s romantic i think.

You feel the couch dip next to you with added weight, and Argenti rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He has barely just gotten comfortable on the couch when you decide to be a thorn in his side. You grin wryly down at him. “Wanna try it?”

Argenti flutters his lashes in confusion.

You huff. “There’s a reason I wore a low cut shirt, dude.” You gesture towards your neckline.

“Oh!” Suddenly, he looks guilty. “As much as I appreciate your offer, I’m afraid I must decline.” He shakes his head and offers you a kind smile of his own. “I have staved off blood for years. I cannot start now. It would be… very unbecoming of me.”

“But, I want you to,” you try lightly. “And it’s your birthday.”

Birthday. As if his birthdays meant anything anymore. Argenti has had hundreds by now. Still, you always manage to make him feel like the most important man in the universe.

He laughs. “My birthday is two months away.”

“Early present,” you conclude firmly.

Then, you lean forward and wrap your arms around his shoulders. His skin has been bloodless since the day you met him, but there’s something so beautiful about it’s near translucency. It’s iridescently white and brilliant, and it’s like pearl silk when his hair spills over his shoulders.

Speaking of which, his hair smells of cherry and coconut.

Hmm, hmm. He’s used your shampoo—not that you mind. Not at all. He uses it because it is something to remember you by when he leaves for extended voyages. And it’s cute.

“C’mon.” It comes out as a childish droning low whine as you hit his shoulders gently. “I see the way you look at me when I get hurt. It'll be good for you.”

Argenti appears sheepish, though he indulges in your hand that cards over his scalp. His fangs poke from behind his bottom lip.

He glances away for a moment. His eyes have traced down to your neck, and he almost abandons his willpower to taste your skin.

“Just a teensy weensy bit.” You pinch your fingers together for good measure.

“It will not be ‘teensy weensy,’” Argenti explains softly. Although his voice falters for a moment, his hands do not tremble. “I will not be able to stop myself. You have always been tempting.”

“Aww.” You bop him on the shoulder. “You’re worried about me?”

“Well, of course. I do love you.”

Your heart falters. You’re sure he can hear how your blood stutters in your veins. He’s said it those words again—how many times? Almost everyday—and it still manages to fluster you.

How you managed to score this dude was beyond you. Maybe the ‘tempting’ part of you was the friends we made along the way.

You giggle like he’s smacked you over the head with his giant spear and caused a concussion. That’s what it feels like, at least. He makes you feel dizzy, but in a good way, like you’re being spun around and around by a lover when you return home after a long day.

Your fingers are still pinched together. “Just a little bit.”

You see him swallow.

He fidgets with his fingers for a moment.

He’s staring at your jugular, and though he appears apprehensive, there’s something clouding over his gaze.

He can’t say no to you. It goes against all of his moral principles.

“If it will make you happy.” Just a taste. He’s set in his ways, now. He’ll prick your neck, allow your blood to wash over his tongue, and then he’ll pull away.

And he really does love to make you happy.

“Hell yeah, it will.” You press your chest to his. “All yours.”

Oh, goodness. He swallows harder, and his hands that are usually confident with how they move, are suddenly hesitant now that they rest on the sides of your face. His hands are free of his gloves, and though his skin isn’t warm, you enjoy the callouses and marks that rub against your flesh.

Dutifully, you push his hair behind his ears.

You’re jealous of how lovely he is.

“Are you certain this is–”

“Yep.”

His brows knit together. “But this–”

“Argenti.”

He smiles apologetically. “I just want to make sure this is something you want, and not something you are doing for my sake.”

You sigh.

Then, you press your lips to his. You don’t let the taste of him distract you, however—and you know that’s secretly what he’s plotting by how his eyes flutter shut.

Argenti appears disappointed when you pull away.

“I want you to do this.”

Uh oh. You’re in for it now. You know that look.

He wants to. He does. He’s wanted to for a while now. But it is selfish of him to drink the blood from your wounds, so he instead ignores the desire.

Now, he can’t ignore it any longer.

His lips press to your cheek first. Then he moves to your jawline, painstakingly slow, but still considerate with how he dotes upon you. Maybe he’s trying to coax you from making the worst decision of your life. Wouldn’t be the first time.

You hum, pleased.

His nose is cold when he buries his face into the side of your neck where the throbbing arteries lie beneath thin supple skin.

And you smell delicious. He smells every throb of your veins as your heart pumps in your chest; that metallic earthy smell, like soil after the rain, and dew on rose petals.

Suddenly, you grow nervous.

He notices.

He tries to reel back, but you lock a hand behind his head.

Still, he tries, “you’re uncomfortable. I won’t–”

You’re excited. Your legs are jittery. The adrenaline rush is exhilarating, and sugar flows through your veins like hot ash.

Your skin feels set alight. You’re burning to the touch.

The scent of you is too much. He pinches his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to control himself.

“Bite me.” You feel his lips bump against your neck. “C’mon.” He lets out a stuttered gasp against your skin. “Do it.”

His will is not strong enough.

He wets his lips and they then part to allow sharpened canines to dot along the skin above your veins. He knows each and every path beneath your flesh. He knows where danger lies. He understands your fragility, for he was once the same.

He steers clear of the artery, as enticing as it is. It’s wrong; and he could very well hurt you beyond repair.

Your heart stutters when his fangs slice through your skin.

And it hurts. Of course it hurts, and Argenti knows as such. His other hand that is not trying to hold you still rubs along the other side of your throat soothingly. The pinpricks of his teeth are slow and deliberate. Perhaps it would hurt less if he was quick, but the sharpness stirs hot on your flesh anyway.

You try not to voice your anguish. Instead, your fingers curl firmly into his hair.

He lingers with his teeth lodged into your vein.

It’s uncomfortable, especially when you feel something hot and wet trickle from the puncture wounds and slip over his cold teeth, but you’ve never felt so alive.

His teeth pull away with a wet pop and you shiver.

You’re bleeding, rightfully so. It’s not a major wound—he’d never. You knew he’d never—but with how sticky the holes were growing, you would be convinced otherwise.

Gingerly, you felt a warm tongue swipe over the wound.

That hurt, too. You hiss then, and you feel Argenti wince against your skin.

The damage is done.

“I’m fine.” And you are. You’re practically jumping out of your skin. “Keep going.”

After a pause, his tongue cards once again over the fresh blood spilling from the wound. It doesn’t help the fire in your veins when he slots his lips over the punctured skin and begins to suck. The noises are alarming at best, and you can hear him swallowing.

It hurts.

But it’s good.

You stiffen in his hold.

Argenti stops for a moment to pepper sticky kisses over your wound. You’re sure it’s stained in the shape of his lips. Stupidly, you giggle at the idea.

He continues to indulge and he’s slow. Maybe he’s hesitant, or maybe he’s savouring you. You’re not sure.

When you’re sure he’s finished, Argenti’s bloodied teeth scrape lower along your neck until his fangs sink into the junction of your throat and your shoulder. Somehow, it hurts more.

More bloodied kisses that make your skin stiffen. His tongue draws over your flesh again.

Both the wounds are still bleeding when he decides to add another to your body.

This one hurts even more. You can tell because his teeth don’t sink in cleanly. The other side of your throat has that arterial vein you know he wants to get to. You also know he wouldn’t ever. He’s inching dangerously close to it, though.

He’s sucking and sucking and you smell copper in the air and you’re stomach is churning and your neck is covered in blood.

Your hands slacken from around his head.

The fourth puncture wound comes over your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter for a moment.

He’s not stopping.

In fact, he hasn’t even opened his eyes to check on you. He’s way too absorbed in your taste to notice your slackening grip on his shoulders.

His tongue grazes your shoulder.

“Argenti.”

He doesn’t even hear you. You move your hands to push him away, but your arms tremble. You’re growing weaker with every second.

Oh, God. This was a bad idea. You’re good at making those.

You hit his shoulders weakly.

“Argenti.” It comes out strangled and weak.

His teeth pop out of a new wound. He hums.

You’re already dizzy. Weakly, your arms wrap around him and grip loosely onto his clothes.

As sexy as this is, and because you feel like the main character in some cheesy vampire story, the stupid primal urges in your brain to survive shut down the idea of laying there, taking it, and letting him ruin your neck until you fall unconscious.

Argenti finally understands just how strong you smell and is horrified at what he’s done when his eyes finally refocus on you.

He lays you down properly on the couch and rushes to get a first aid kit.

When he comes back, he’s mumbling strings of apologies. He looks forlorn, because he’s betrayed himself, and you.

You don’t think it’s appropriate to comment on how the blood around his mouth is almost enough to make you jump on him. Only issue is you’re not sure your bones can support your weight at the moment.

The alcohol stings as he tends to the punctures, but not as much as his teeth did.

You sigh, but it’s happy.

Argenti looks at you. Guilt is smeared over his face like a thick paste.

“You look just as beautiful as the day I met you,” you murmur to him. Because that day had been a wild day. Not only did a giant man with flaming red hair stop to offer his sincerest compliments on how radiant you were—dressed in flip flops and pyjama pants because you were simply hosing your front lawn—with two squirrels at his feet and five birds resting on his shoulders.

If Argenti could blush, you figure he’d be bright red by now.

Instead, he lets out a shaky laugh. “You flatter me so. I know nothing more enchanting than you.”

The wounds have stopped bleeding now, and he makes sure to clean each one thoroughly. He expresses no concerns about a stitch job. You’re relieved at that one.

Weakly, an arm raises to push his hair behind his ears again.

That alone takes all of the strength out of you.

“You okay?” you ask him.

He looks confused at your question. “Fret not, I have had my fill. It is you who I’m worried about.”

“I feel alive.” It’s partly true. As woozy as you feel, it’s like warm sugar still lingers in your veins. “That was great. I bet you enjoyed it.”

Argenti’s grin turns crooked. “Very much so. Perhaps too much. I’ve hurt you.” His fingers rub over the tender skin surrounding the puncture wounds. “But, you are as sweet as I thought you’d be.”

“I’m so in love with you, dude.” Very appropriate thing to say. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Amazing pet name, too.

Still, Argenti flusters. He clears his throat for a moment and his fingers still around your neck. “Words cannot convey how often I think of you, or better yet how often I long to hold you.”

He behaves as if this is his first confession of many to come.

Oh. Your heart is racing in your chest.

Arms much too tired to move, you instead pucker your lips obnoxiously.

Argenti eagerly leans down to kiss you again. His lips are still bloody, and the scent and taste of metal makes your stomach twist for a moment, but it’s him. It’s him and how gentle he always is—and how can you still be so gentle when you’re enraptured in cutting holes into your partner’s neck? Beats you.

“Still so sweet,” he whispers against your lips. “Is all of you this sweet?”

You kiss his cheek. “Wanna find out?” You’re happy to play pillow princess for an hour.

Argenti smiles at that, but it’s cheeky. His eyes crinkle with mischief as he moves to your lips again.

"objectively physically attractive but in possession of negative rizz" is one of my favorite character concepts. i think it's so great when there's an absurdly hot person who's just a complete fucking loser. the mood is unsalvageable the moment they open their mouth kind of deal. you get no bitches because you're so sucks.

—reject me not!

in which : when your sudden confession catches blade off guard, his response comes across as a rejection. though he realises his mistake, and tries his best to make things right. (...it gives the whole hq a headache)

slight humor, idiots in love, mutual pining, misunderstanding, you tease him w/o realizing (n he gets back at u hehe), reader is a stellaron hunter, stellaron hunters wingwomen!!!, art by @/kkuekkue on x. reblogs are appreciated! please enjoy <3

wc: 4.2k // hm secret santa? HOHOHO @mikashisus, rayray!! u might pull ur hair out at some parts idk :joy: happy reading n merry christmas my little elf xx

"i think i like you."

the words leave your mouth quicker than your brain can second-guess them. 

blade freezes mid-step, his back visibly stiffening. when he turns to face you, his sharp, cold eyes betray a fleeting glimmer of surprise, perhaps, or confusion —but it disappears as quickly as it came.

he stares at you, his eyes widening just slightly, the faintest crack in his carefully maintained composure.

but then, his lips part, and all he gives you is a single, flat response.

"i see."

two short, dismissive words. not a smile, not a frown —just two clipped words. you tilt your head, expecting some form of elaboration, but instead he just turns on his heel, his coat swishing behind him as he starts to walk away.

(what you don’t see is the way his hands curl into fists as he walks off, how his steps falter just around the corner, or the way he presses a hand against his chest to steady the sudden, overwhelming ache blooming there.)

…must this guy really be so blunt?!?!!

you sigh, a little laugh escaping despite your current situation. of all the possible responses you could’ve imagined, ‘i see’ definitely wasn’t one of them. you shake your head, a part of you wonders if elio is watching, silently laughing at your predicament right now.

it’s fine. really. you should’ve known better than to think he’d say anything different.

though the big problem now is, blade knows about your silly crush on him, so facing him in the future is going to be a total nightmare that you’re not ready to accept. you can already feel the embarrassment creeping up like it’s going to suffocate you.

“where's [name]?” 

blade steps into the base. silver wolf, tucked in the corner, engrossed in her console, raises a hand in greeting without looking up. blade nods in acknowledgment, before replying to kafka, "i went ahead of them," his voice sounds a little more strained than usual, before quickly turning to make a beeline for his room.

but kafka, ever perceptive, senses something’s off. she tilts her head with a smirk, "bladie, did something happen?"

he denies it with a quick shake of his head before slipping past her. having no other option, she resorts to… unconventional methods. 

with a flick of her wrist and a soft, almost melodic whisper, she purrs, "listen to me.”

the moment those familiar words hit his ears, a wave of calm washes over him, and against his will, he halts mid-step. "now tell me what happened, will you?"

he sighs and he rubs the back of his neck. “take your time, bladie.” after a long pause he speaks again, "[name] said they... they liked me."

kafka watches him closely, a grin slowly spreading across her face. "and then what happened, hmm?" she teases.

out of the corner of his eyes, he sees silver wolf perk up at his words, but he pays her no mind as his thoughts are too tangled in what he’s about to say next, the words barely scraping past his throat.

...

the next hour consists of him being ‘lectured’ by his fellow coworkers.

he tries to tune out the barrage of teasing, but something about  “bladie, that's not how you reciprocate,” to “ain’t no way bro fumbled that badly,” managed to stick with him, unfortunately. (he looks over to firefly standing to the side, but she only giggles and shakes her head at him.)

but really, how was he supposed to tell them that he panicked? that he was so stunned by your confession, so overwhelmed, that he could barely form a coherent sentence? that his awkward, dismissive reply wasn’t rejection, but a pathetic attempt to mask his own vulnerability?

the thought of you avoiding him, of thinking he doesn’t care, makes his chest ache with a pain he hadn't experienced for the past few centuries. 

blade makes a mental note to find you as soon as possible. he doesn’t know how to explain himself, not entirely; words have never been his strong suit, but somehow, some way, he’ll make it up to you.

later, you return to the base, your steps hesitant as you walk in. the moment you enter, the group falls silent, all eyes snapping to you. there’s an awkward stillness in the air, like they were caught in the middle of something. your gaze sweeps over the room, and it lands on blade. when you lock eyes with him, a flush creeps up your neck, and you quickly avert your gaze.

"excuse me!" you blurt out and almost sprint to your room.

...do they all know?! this has to be the most embarrassing day of your life.

you agreed to meet kafka at a bar near your current mission to discuss your next task. the magenta haired woman had mentioned it casually when you’d asked, cryptic as usual, only revealing that the task was important but leaving out certain key details —such as conveniently leaving out the part about blade being there too, of course.

(“bladie,” kafka’s voice took on a singsong lilt, her playful smile unmistakable as she glanced at him. “you’re going to use this chance to make it up to them, ‘kay?” 

blade only kept his eyes trained on the entrance, silently waiting for you to arrive.)

running late, your prior mission having dragged on longer than expected, you found yourself hurrying to the bar, weaving through the sparse but lingering foot traffic of the evening.

after what feels like hours, you finally make it to the bar. stepping in, your eyes scan the room for kafka, when suddenly, a man steps right into your path.

the man smiles warmly, though you could tell he’s had a few to drink tonight. his tone is friendly, with just a hint of flirtation as he strikes up a conversation, casually asking if you’d be interested in grabbing a drink sometime.

he’s polite, respectful even, and there’s nothing about him that feels overly forward or aggressive —just a man who’s trying his luck, that’s all. still, you can't help but feel a slight annoyance at the timing.

as you try to figure out a way to decline his invitation, you remain oblivious to blade’s gaze —specifically, how it's fixed on you, or rather, more pointedly on the back of the man’s neck.

“you’re going to snap his neck if you keep looking at him like that.” kafka’s voice cuts through the tension, her tone teasing as she watches the exchange from the side.

“i don’t like what he’s doing,” blade mutters, his voice low and filled with an edge that suggests far more than just mild annoyance.

kafka chuckles softly to herself, already knowing where this is headed. it’s not an outright confession of jealousy, of course —he would never admit to something as petty as that, and she knows better than to push him on this one. 

nevertheless, she still catches it, her lips curling into a knowing smile. even if blade would never call it jealousy, it’s enough to push him into doing something completely out of character —something he’ll never, ever do (until now).

kafka notices immediately. her eyes widen just a fraction before she sets down her wine glass with a graceful motion, amusement dancing in her eyes. and perhaps to make sure he doesn’t look too foolish, she decides to play along and help him act the part.

a sharp clang of glass hitting the table catches your attention. your brows knit in confusion; you glance over instinctively, your eyes meeting kafka's for a brief moment. her expression is unreadable, but the faint curve of her lips makes you wonder what’s really going on.

curiosity pulls your gaze lower, to the drunk figure slumped over at her table, seemingly drunk, his head resting heavily on his arm. the spilled drink pools on the floor beside him, glinting under the dim light. 

at first, you only catch a glimpse of dark, tousled hair, streaked faintly with deep crimson at the ends —so strikingly familiar it makes you pause. then, as your eyes trace over the sharp line of his jaw and the stiff set of his shoulders, realisation dawns on you. 

wait a second.

your jaw nearly drops as you piece it together. the man lying there, seemingly drunk out of his mind, is none other than the last person you would want to see right now.

blade.

your gaze darts between him and the polite man still standing awkwardly in front of you. blade, on the other hand, never lets his guard down, so this... state of his? unprecedented. 

apologetically, you offer a small smile to the man before rushing to blade’s side, urgency in every step as you push past the tables, heart hammering in your chest.

blade’s eyes subtly flicker over to you as you approach, and you can almost sense the slightest shift in his demeanor, the thought of you giving your time to someone else, especially someone so... ineffectual —grates at him.

he swallows the ugly feeling down his throat. perhaps he’s let this irked him more than it should. but it’s too late to back out now that you’re standing right beside him, the weight of your presence making the tension in his chest only more pronounced.

as if on cue, kafka’s voice breaks the silence, “as you can see, [name], our dear bladie here has gotten himself a bit... roughed up,” she says, casually catching the wine glass that had been teetering on the edge of the table.

her lips curl into a playful smile as she glances at blade, whose jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “drinking doesn’t seem to suit him, wouldn’t you agree?” kafka continues, her tone light but unmistakably amused. her eyes flicker between the two of you, as if she’s thoroughly enjoying the situation unraveling before her far more than she should.

you blink, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected scene. your worry only deepens as you shift your attention back to blade, who remains uncharacteristically silent, his head now resting on his arm as though he really had overindulged. 

“blade,” you say softly, your voice carrying just the slightest edge of concern. “what happened?” 

before he can answer —or before he’s forced to lie —kafka chuckles, waving a hand as if to dismiss your worry. 

“oh, nothing serious. he just got a little too carried away with his drink.” she leans back in her chair, a sly glint in her eye that you’re too preoccupied to notice. your gaze falls back to blade, his hair slightly tousled.

without thinking, you reach out, gently brushing a strand strand from his forehead. his eyes flutter open at the contact —those striking, sharp eyes you’ve always found yourself drawn to, dark yet you can’t bring yourself to look away from. 

you notice the faint redness creeping across his cheeks and the line of his jaw, down to his neck. his skin hot to the touch under your fingers. “you’re warm,” you murmur softly, assuming the alcohol is to blame.

if only you knew the warmth searing through him has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with you. 

“ah,” kafka hums, pulling you out of your thoughts. “it seems something urgent has come up that needs my attention.” there’s an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eyes. “i’ll leave you two to it.”

you glance at her, startled. “wait, what about—?”

“don’t worry about it,” she interjects, already getting up from her seat. “the bill is already on my tab.” 

well, that wasn’t what you were about to ask anyway! 

a sly smile curls her lips, and she tilts her head ever so slightly. “hmm, it’s rare to see him like this. [name], you’ll take good care of him, won’t you?” her tone is light, but the underlying implication is clear, leaving you flustered as she turns on her heel, striding off, leaving the two of you alone.

blade leans heavily against you, his tall frame making it an awkward challenge to keep him upright as you guide him out of the bar. one arm is slung over your shoulder, while his other hangs haphazardly against his side.

his head is tilted forward, strands of his dark, crimson-tipped hair brushing against your cheek, and you can feel the warmth radiating from him —whether from his predicament or his proximity, you’re not sure.

you shift your grip, looping an arm around his waist for better support, and his body tenses slightly under your touch. for someone playing the part of drunk so convincingly, he’s strangely aware of your every movement, his hand tightening just faintly on your shoulder when you stumble over a crack in the pavement.

“blade,” you murmur under your breath, trying to shift his weight more evenly as you inch forward. “you’re not making this very easy, you know.”

casting a glance his way, you’re met with a low, almost lazy hum in response. his expression is nothing short of a hazy indifference, though you swear you catch a flicker of clarity in his eyes —a brief, focused intensity that seems out of place, before he looks away.

you can feel the heat of his breath against your temple as he wavers with every step. the night air is cool, but the warmth radiating from his body is undeniable, pressing against your side in a way that sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. the closeness between you feels almost intimate in a way that will surely have you screaming into your pillow later that night. 

as you continue down the empty street, blade’s mind races; this is his chance. he knows it. he should say something now, anything, to make it clear —to tell you how he feels. (and how it’s been eating at him for longer than he cares to admit.)

this is it, the moment he’s been waiting for, but all he can do is breathe in the scent of your skin and the warmth of your touch. the sensation is all too familiar, like the pounding in his chest —but this time, it’s not from the heat of battle.

just how much longer he has to deal with this utterly insufferable feeling?

it’s worse now, because as you navigate through the halls of the base, he’s beginning to wonder if this is what it means to care for someone —to be vulnerable. 

“here,” you say softly as you stop in front of the door to his room.

he doesn’t want this moment to end. 

you glance at him then, finally meeting his eyes, and the look in them knocks the breath from your lungs. they’re hazy, yes, but there's a sharpness beneath the mask of drunkenness, a quiet intensity that makes your heart beat a little faster.

you clear your throat, breaking the silence. "do you need anything else?"

"no," he answers, almost reluctantly. "i’ll be alright."

a twinge of disappointment surges through you. right… it was foolish to expect anything different. he’s already rejected you, and you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous for thinking it would be any other way.

you stand there for a moment, the silence between you growing thicker with each passing second, before you force yourself to nod, your voice soft as you try to mask the heaviness in your chest.

“goodnight then."

just as you turn to leave, you feel a sudden pull on your hand, your wrist tugged back with surprising gentleness.

"wait," blade suddenly says, and this time, there's no mistaking the sincerity in it. "thank you.”

his bandaged hand rests over yours, and a soft breath escapes you; flustered, you open your mouth to respond, ready to brush it off.

"oh! It's no pro—"

but you’re cut off before you can finish. he raises your hand, pressing his lips to the back of your palm in a soft, lingering kiss.

"—blem..."

your voice falters slightly as a rush of warmth spreads through you. every nerve in your body seems to spark awake all at once, making you hyper-aware of the spot from where his lips brushed against your skin. you freeze, your breath caught in your throat, unable to do anything but stand there, your hand still resting in his.

then, as if nothing happened, he steps back into his room and shuts the door behind him, leaving you standing there, still processing the unexpected moment.

safe to say you got little to no sleep that night. you roll over, staring at the ceiling, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. it feels ridiculous, embarrassing even, how many times you've replayed that scene in your head every time you close your eyes.

you couldn’t help but smile to yourself like a fool. 

(“so bladie, how’d it go?” / “...”) 

you hadn’t even planned on leaving the base today, let alone stepping foot into the brightly lit chaos of an arcade, but silver wolf had insisted —no, nagged, until you caved. and somehow she’d managed to drag blade (of all people) along, her smug grin all too telling as she pushed the two of you together and skipped off to “go play some gachas”

now, you stand awkwardly by blade’s side, the flashing lights casting a colorful glow over his impassive face. it’s hard to ignore how out of place he looks, his dark coat, sunglasses, and the mask covering his lower face a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere. 

yet, somehow, he doesn’t seem to mind the sharp sounds of arcade machines beeping nor the kids screaming in excitement. he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you fumble with a stack of game tokens.

“you look thrilled,” you mutter, a sarcastic tone in your voice as you glance at him.  it’s strange, though —there’s something oddly endearing about the way he’s standing there, the dark lenses of his sunglasses reflecting a faint outline of your own face. you catch yourself staring for just a moment too long, wishing you could see beyond the lens, wishing you could read his eyes—

you shake the thought off, it’s all just wishful thinking.

behind the shield of his sunglasses, blade’s eyes tracked your every subtle movement, almost unconsciously. he caught the way your expression softened as you turned toward the claw machine, how your lips curved ever so slightly when your gaze settled on that… thing.

it was maddening, how effortlessly you held his focus, how even a trivial moment like this could stir something deep in him. he told himself it was nothing, but the tightening in his chest said otherwise. 

he wasn’t one to indulge in sentiment, yet something about the way you stared at that silly plush made him restless, made him want to do something about it, if only to keep that smile on your face a little longer.

would your smile grow brighter if that plush were in your hands? 

“let’s go.”

“to where…?” you asked, glancing back at him, the curiosity evident in your voice.

he didn’t answer immediately, but you felt the familiar tug at your hand once again, gentle and insistent, as his gaze slips toward the claw machine where you had been staring earlier.

it’s not hard to imagine the scene as a sweet little moment, with him focused on the claw machine, trying to win you a plush like a doting partner would. 

with a soft click, the claw tightens around the plush, and before you can react, it’s being lifted out of the pile, swinging toward the prize chute. you can't help but stare as he pulls the soft toy from the machine with a sense of quiet satisfaction.

(you pocket the rest of the tokens. guess he won’t be needing those…  for a first-timer, he sure got lucky —must be beginners' luck, huh?)

you blink, slightly impressed. “wow, you’re good at this,” you remark, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. 

without a word, he hands the plushie to you. 

you tilt your head slightly, a bit unsure. “for me...?”

“it's yours. take it." he looks to the side; suddenly thankful for the mask —if it weren't for that, you'd surely see the crimson tint creeping up his cheeks right now.

you hesitate for a second longer before reaching out to take it, your fingers brushing against his, a tingle of heat pulses through you, leaving your hand feeling strangely warm.

“th-thank you," you manage to spit out, and your eyes dart away, suddenly very aware of how close he is. surely, this isn’t good for your heart!

the twilight sky stretches wide, the clouds are heavy, and you’re looking oh so earnestly at him. his heart beats a little faster, louder now, as if his body knows exactly what he wants but refuses to let him act on it.

but then, he blinks —once, twice; snapping himself back to reality. he can feel the space between you growing smaller, your presence growing closer.

his eyelids flutter shut instinctively.

and then, the soft press of your lips against his cheek.

a soft sigh escapes him, and his eyes crack open. if you could see his expression right now, you'd catch the vulnerability that flashes in his gaze. he swears he can feel the warmth of your kiss in his very bones.

though not quite the kiss he imagined… it was something. (re: you got his hopes up)

the shock of your own actions hits you like a wave. you swallow thickly, “sorry —i'll go find silver wolf.” avoiding his gaze as you fumble with the tokens in your hand. "i… i’ll pass the extra tokens to her."

without waiting for a response, you turn and hurry off, your pulse pounding in your ears, praying that the ground would swallow you whole.

that night, you lay in bed, the plushie clutched tightly in your arms. the softness of it contrasts sharply with the rush of confusion filling your chest. 

why was he being so kind to you? after everything, after the way he rejected you just a few days ago, it made no sense. his actions felt contradictory.

you try to push the memory of the kiss out of your mind; impulsive decisions… often lead to mortifying outcomes. though when you glanced at him afterward, you could’ve sworn his ears were tinged with red, just peeking out from beneath his hair. nevermind, it’s probably your mind playing tricks on you.

blade, who’s as cold as the frost-kissed dusk, walks beside you through the lively festival, his dark coat a striking contrast to the vibrant reds and greens around you.

the faint scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider fills the air, mingling with the sound of distant carolers. he doesn’t say much, but there’s something about the way his gloved hand brushes yours, intentionally or not —that makes the chill in the air feel less biting.

you swallow, focusing on the festive stalls ahead, the decorations glittering in the night. “you don't have to stick around, you know. i can manage by myself.”

his steps slow just slightly, and he turns his head toward you, finally speaking. “you think i’d just leave you here?”

the words catch you off guard, and you fumble for a response. “i-i just meant—”

“relax.” he interrupts, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips; his hand grazing yours again. this time, his fingers linger for a moment longer, almost as if testing the waters, before retreating back into the safety of his pocket.

your cheeks flush, and you pretend to be deeply interested in a nearby stall selling hand-knit scarves. just then, his voice cuts through the festive hum. “last week… when you said you liked me,” he starts, and your breath catches.

you whirl back to face him, your heart pounding. “don’t worry about it! really, i—”

“i wasn’t rejecting you,” he says, with an unexpected gentleness in his gaze. “i like you too, [name].”

blade removes his coat, the fabric warm against the cold air as he drapes it around your shoulders, pulling you closer. you stumble, your hand instinctively pressing against his chest to catch your balance.

you look up at him, your breath quickening, as his face draws closer, his eyes locked on yours with that familiar intensity. you let your eyelids flutter shut, lips trembling, heart pounding in your chest as the space between you narrows.

but instead of the kiss you were anticipating, you feel the gentle warmth of his lips brush against your forehead.

your eyes snap open in confusion, only to meet his smirking face. oh... this asshole!

“what?" he teases, his tone deceptively casual. “you seem pretty eager,” his voice drops an octave, hand gently tilting your chin as he leans in just close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin.

you glare up at him, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. the way your lips quiver, unable to hold his gaze for long; the fact that he actually adores that flustered expression on your face... well, that’s when he realises. he’s too far gone.

what a dumbass lmfao

MASTERLIST.

— KISSES OR KISSES? : honkai star rail

premise. testing out your new lipstick is no fun (normally), so what better way to make use of it by kissing your lover senseless? not to mention, leaving a little something behind.... (aka, lipstick kisses with them.)

ft. blade, dan heng, boothill, dr. ratio, aventurine !

warnings: feminine reader! reader is ultimately genderless but you may interpret this as fem!reader if you want, reader wears lipstick. nicknames hehe, boothill is his own warning, mid writing tbh, unedited

a/n. the lipstick trend does not escape me at all 😞😞 but this consumed me so now i write about it ijbol

MAIN MASTERLIST || PART 2 (sunday, jing yuan, gallagher, sampo, gepard.)

“what are you doing?”

BLADE ceases all functions. like, immediately.

you'd think he'd even stopped breathing once he'd felt the soft sensation of your lips on his, and the pretty sight of the normally aloof stellaron hunter covered in multiple lipstick kisses all over his face to his neck nearly makes the rest of his other comrades keel over from laughter. his silence is indicative of his rather unusual state of shock, the only indication a menacing furrow of his brows (to an outsider, they'd think he's plotting a murder spree, but you know him too well for that) that twitch and simultaneously react the more you kiss him everywhere on the face.

silverwolf will then relay to you that blade walked around for nearly 5 system hours covered in your... marks of ownership, kafka helpfully supplies, and was only made aware when firefly accidentally bumped into him, face exploding in red when she saw the audacious sight of blade covered in your lipstick. “er, blade.... your face is...”

—

blade has never known mortification quite like today, but the intense feeling of something akin to shame is vivid as he stares at himself in the mirror, glaring.

his face is a mess, to put it simply. trailing a hand on the red stains your lips left on to him leaves him with a smudged countenance, furthering the utter chaos that is his kiss-ridden face.

“...ridiculous girl.” avoiding the uncharacteristic way his fingertips feel hot, blade reckons this is probably why firefly stopped dead in her tracks and gaped, stared, and flustered.

clever as you were, and with your equal penchant for mischief, blade, the ever unsuspecting lover he is (he doesn't normally allow anyone to touch him, but you're not just anyone) had easily become the target of your new tricks.

“pfft, nice get-up, old man. got yourself a good day?”

....so that's what silverwolf meant.

DANHENG immediately scolds you, but not in the serious way he normally does whenever stelle wants to eat an origami bird or dives into trashcans or when march accidentally destroys one of the archive books, but in a way that only dan heng ever shows you. he's red, painfully red, and is struggling to face you because he knows that the smug grin you're holding has to do with the sight he'd glimpsed himself to be in moments prior.

unfortunately for him, for all his ways of trying fervently to remove the lipstick stains plastered all over his face, it only took march one look and a melodramatic gasp before the entire express knew, the conductor included.

—

“dan heng and [name], sitting on a tree-”

“k-i-s-s-i-n-g~”

my friends are all senile, dan heng thinks, rolling his eyes while avoiding himeko's friendly (read: eerie) smile. and he's already given up on trying to meet welt's eyes. (read: concerned but not surprised)

the reason? the rouge tinted matte lipstick generously spread all over dan heng's face, slightly smudged and spanning from his cheeks to his lips, nearing his neck.

he'd never tell, but a part of him—one that was reptilian in nature, a primal need of possessiveness—adored the show of affection you showered upon him. it was only right—he was yours, and you were his.

welt is sheepish, coughing lightly that all five heads of the express members turn to him (pom-pom included) “dan heng, is that your tail wagging?”

“....”

“....”

“....”

(a resounding click! can be heard afrerwards. oh, dan heng is so going to steal march's camera.)

the loud whir of BOOTHILL’s cooling system can't even keep up with how fast he's overheating, because one thing led to another and one look you gave made him weak in the knees and now his body is covered in your kisses, scarlet against the metal gray of his limbs. he no longer has a heart, but the rapid feeling of heat emitted by his body speaks more about his current mental state in more ways than one—he can't even form words because his brain chip is practically glitching itself up into overdrive, because your lips were so warm, soft and gentle and—

“...oothill? boothill? your circuits are—”

a startling sound that sounds just like a mini explosion reverberates somewhere in the tangle of wires near boothill's power source.

oh dear.

( p.s: no warp trotters were harmed, rest assured )

“[name]...” AVENTURINE’s voice falters when you press a soft kiss near his forehead, your lover closing his eyes as he lets out a soft sigh of joy — a bit like a peacock preening... but in any case! he certainly sees no argument being swayed by you, his dignity in shambles, yes, but when you were showering him with affection like this (which, in all honesty, aventurine did not think he deserved) leaves in in a flushed and tattered mess of a man, whose strings are wholly puppeteered by you and you alone.

you are everything; and aventurine certainly can't get enough. (he doubts if enough will even be enough someday) he's the lover who'd proudly want to flaunt such salacious marks everywhere, though his craftily built reputation as a stoneheart—blood sweat and commodity code and all—leaves him to hide your marks on him, as much as he'd like them to stay. (you are a weakness that aventurine keeps like an oath, and an existence that he'd do anything to keep.)

that doesn't, however, stop him from getting you to leave a kiss near his collar, discreet enough to signal his status as irrevocably, undeniably yours.

DR. VERITAS RATIO is actually the most calm and most normal (read: boring) of all the men above when barraged by your kiss attack. letting out a tsk that's more chiding and speeachless than actually annoyed, he casually pulls you away from his face, nevermind his rapidly heating cheeks, which is only made more humorous given his lipstick stained face.

“stop that. you're making too much of a mess of me, fool.” <- is visibly leaning to your face to allow said actions. you're not fooling anyone here, doctor. smh.

however, he does get pretty flustered when a certain blond gambler notes the new addition of a ‘tattoo’ right near his lower lip. “wow, doctor. seems you woke up on the good side of the bed today.”

he spends a whole day scolding you hoarse afterwards, whatever that may entail ;).

(as a way of petty revenge, he will make sure to kiss you senseless right after, until he's sure his own lips are swollen and covered in the warm red of your chosen shade.)

a/n: blog is running on queue as of today, so this post will probably come wayyy overdue lol but hope u enjoy nonetheless!

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

Ive drawn so many asl hugs. But not these two before. Because. They make me sad.

HOWEVER ☝️

I am a completionist.

So here we are.

Close up pics 👇

who was gonna tell me the straw hat badges were a limited time thing 😔

Hello 👋,

I hope this message finds you well. My name is Aziz, and I’m reaching out with a heartfelt plea to help my family find safety and reunite with our mother. 😞

The ongoing war in Gaza has torn my family apart. My mother and newborn sister are stranded in Egypt, while I, along with the rest of my sex family members, am trapped in the midst of the genocide in Gaza. We have not only been separated but have also lost our home and are enduring unimaginable hardships. 💔

Your support can make a difference. Whether by reading our story, donating, or sharing our campaign with others, you can help us reunite, find safety, and start anew. 🙏🕊

Thank you, from the depths of my heart, for your kindness, compassion, and solidarity during this difficult time. ❤🍉

https://gofund.me/58268669 🔗

.

⭒ 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯𝑯𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

gn reader x blade, dr ratio + moze ( separate ) ; fluff - sfw. you prank them by withholding affection. i’ve already written a similar drabble for sunday here. stoic men who have become too attached to affection unwillingly. ₊ 𓂃 masterlist.

⭒ BLADE

As much as Blade may not be the type to cling to your side or shower you in kisses— he was the type who got used to it. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy your displays of affection, it was actually quite the opposite, it came more from a stoic place than one of distaste.

He’d found himself silently enjoying the farewell kisses you’d give him before a mission— followed by the welcome home ones that would be waiting for him coming back. You were more familiar with the acts that he was, but he’d gotten into a habit of seeking them out as he’d grown used to you and your relationship.

Which is why Blade can’t exactly hide his frown as he rests beside you now— holding his sword in one hand while you bid him farewell, holding onto the other.

You’re wearing the same cute expression as always, but you’re not leaning up to wrap your arms around him like you normally would be right now. Your lips aren’t on his cheek, then on his own and he can’t help but grumble at how much colder his skin feels in the absence. It makes his hand squeeze where it holds yours.

“What’s wrong? Are you nervous about the mission?” You ask innocently, though you know exactly what Blade’s waiting for as you try hard to not let your sly smile show.

“Not at all.” His response sounds as more as huff than anything else, and despite the way you know he’s due to leave in a few minutes, he makes no attempt to leave your side as he stands there silently— staring at you. Though he only seems to last a few extra moments of silence before he’s grumbling again.

“Alright. That’s all then.” Blade groans, yet he remains still besides the way his eyes seem to narrow ever so slightly. The act always makes you smile as you fight hard to resist the temptation to just give him his goodbye kiss— but you want to see when his breaking point is. Even if just out of curiosity.

And he looks quite cute when he frowns.

“Hurry home.” You’re smiling now but the Stellaron Hunter looming over you only seems to find himself sighing despite the bright response. His patience doesn’t appear to last much longer when his next movement is to suddenly lean down beside you, as if to give you a better angle to press the kiss he’s waiting for onto his cheek.

Even when you don’t immediately, Blade just waits there as you gape at him.

Though ultimately you do decide to give in eventually when he seems to make no attempt to stand back up straight again. Seeming quite content to lean over and wait for your lips to press against his skin, and you find yourself giggling when you finally give him just that.

Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders and his arm quite quickly comes to wrap around your waist as he holds you there, feeling you press quick kisses against his features before he’s turning to meet you with the next. It’s deep the way Blade kisses you, pressing his tongue between your teeth as he twists into your mouth, and it makes you feel suddenly unsteady on your feet— though thankfully steadied by his strength as he presses himself into you.

But just as you find yourself melting into him, he pulls away. Leaving you a kiss-drowsy mess as you make a feeble attempt to pull at his jacket. The look he gives you afterwards is quite unreadable as you send him a pout of your own— it seems your positions have switched quite quickly now.

Blade turns to leave you as you feel your cheeks burn,

“I don’t understand your games. But for now there is another matter, so you should consider that a good thing.”

⭒ DR RATIO

It had become a sort of routine for you to come into Ratio’s quarters to find him resting on the couch, flicking through a book most likely on natural theology, mathematics… anything of the sort as he offers you a mere glance in acknowledgment.

Your routine normally consisted of you making your way into his side and he’d make space for you much like he always does as you push your way beneath his arm. He’d grown to enjoy the gentle moments between you both— though he’d never openly admit it (because there was no reason to), it was quite obvious given the way he seemed to be ready for you.

So much like always, your routine begins much the same as your footsteps sound softly along the floorboards and you make your way closer to Ratio. You even watch him adjust himself briefly, as if allowing you a route to push your way into his chest but you seem to stop short of doing just that.

Instead, your figure drops down onto the opposite side of the couch and the next look he gives you seems more of a curious glance than anything. You bring your feet up to rest on the cushions, pulling them into your chest as your back rests against the arm of the couch, and you look at him.

“Something the matter?” Ratio’s voice sounds only a few seconds later, though he doesn’t look at you again when he asks. He says it in such a way where it come across as a mere innocent question rather than an accusation as to why you’re not in your usual spot.

So because of that, and who he is, you decide not to jump the gun thinking it’s a reaction too soon.

“What’re you reading?” You respond innocently, not exactly answering his question but he doesn’t seem to pry any further into that for now. Instead, Ratio seems to readjust himself on his seat again as his bangs seem to fall handsomely— framing his features as his eyes continue to linger on the pages.

“If you’re so curious, you need only come closer to see for yourself.” Though it’s subtle, you do pick up the implication in his words. A means to bring you closer to him, though he’s assuming it would bring you up against his chest rather than just close enough to take a quick look. And maybe he’d be right about that, you’d be acting well within his calculations.

So uncharacteristically, you opt to shrug instead, “Yeah but i’m kind of comfy here.”

“Hm, very well then.” There’s a twitch to Ratio’s features as he responds, though he still doesn’t look at you so it’s quite hard to pick up on otherwise. But you can hear the tighter sort of tone his voice takes, he only lets the silence rest between you both a few more seconds before he asks again.

“And you are certain nothing is bothering you?”

“Is something bothering you?” You tilt your head at Ratio and that seems to garner his attention enough for him to turn his head to meet you. There’s something akin to a frown on his handsome face, and as much as he seems to try his best to mask it when he realises— you still can’t help but find yourself feeling like this may actually be affecting him more than he lets on.

He tuts at you, as if he can read your mind. “Not at all. I’m merely questioning your uncharacteristic choices, as one would. And as much as your little game seems delightfully amusing, we’ll see how much longer you can keep it up.”

Ofcourse Ratio would be able to pick up on the fact that you’re no doubt playing a prank of sorts, but that doesn’t mean that he’s able to go completely unaffected by it. Because as much as he may never admit it, it seems he really has become quite accustomed to your close proximity.

You only appear to follow his statement with a hum, feigning your innocence as you press your back a little harder into the arm of the couch behind you. And the man opposite turns his attention back to his book as he sighs, propping up his head on his fist as his brows narrow back on the pages.

A few more quiet seconds pass before you’re smiling, “Are you pouting?”

And Ratio replies almost too quickly, “How laughable. Ofcourse not.” Actually, he hasn’t even turned his page since you arrived so you know he’s not reading, or taking any of it in atleast. Though he seems to be tapping his finger quite impatiently against the sturdy exterior of his book instead.

His tongue clicks again when he notices the way your lips seem to be unable to hide the playful little curl of your grin, before ultimately he opts to give into your little game— only so he can focus on his reading obviously. “Enough of this nonsense. Just come here then, won’t you?” He grumbles as he sends you another frown, sighing. “Subtlety isn’t exactly a strength of yours.”

Despite your game, you waste no time in making your way closer to Ratio with his invitation. Though, not without teasing him a little as you push yourself beneath the muscle of his bicep as he lifts it for you— squeezing it around your waist as you find yourself pressing up against his chest.

“Grown used to me?” You hum, voice taking more of a whispered quiet tone with how close you both seem now.

Ratio turns to face you as you do, well aware of the closeness of your faces, were he to lean in a few mere inches his lips would be against yours. He’s well aware of that, but still— he keeps his space. “Oh please. I just couldn’t bare to see you in such a state of unrest.” Yet his eyes do trace down to admire them as he blinks, covering it up with a scoff.

“Though, one might argue that you were the one who was so easily swayed, were you not? I need to say no more.” Your fingertips rest gently on the muscles of his chest as you smile at his response. Allowing him to have this despite the way you can still quite clearly see the frown he was wearing only minutes ago.

You feel Ratio’s arm squeeze affectionately around your waist as he moves to finally turn the page of his book.

“Okay then. I’ll admit defeat only because you’re far too comfortable, Veritas.”

⭒ MOZE

Your displays of affection when accompanying Moze around the streets while off-duty were subtle but they were something he held quite dearly. Whether that be holding onto his coat or squishing yourself into his side to make sure you don’t get lost— he had become particularly used to the way your hand felt interlocked tightly with his.

Maybe that is exactly why he feels a little out of sorts as you both walk around now, enjoying the quiet atmosphere together side by side. He’s hyper aware of the way your hand hasn’t reached out to intertwine with his yet, and you’re hyper aware of his realisation considering how often he seems to be casting it glances.

It’s like Moze wants to reach out for it, but doesn’t want to make you feel like he’s forcing you to. He wants you to want to hold his hand too.

So in the meantime, he seems to be getting as close to you as he can with every given opportunity. Even in ways that could seem unnecessary— such as ushering you through groups of people with his hand tightly wrapped around your waist, until you’re squishing into his side and he’s covering it up with a “Careful. Stay close to me.”

But then as soon as you’re both in the clear again, you seem to break away from his side and it’s quite hard for Moze to hide the almost disappointed crease in his brows. It almost makes you feel bad for withholding your affection from him, even if it is a prank. Though you must admit he does look quite handsome when he’s lost in thought like this.

You hum to yourself as you feel the man to your side close the distance ever so slightly, he even goes as far as to brush his hand against yours. But then you’re pulling it back to readjust the fabric of your blouse and it’s almost immediately that you find yourself being lured into a quiet alleyway by your lover.

Moze’s expression looks almost pained and he all but looms over you as soon as you both come to a halt, it seems to make you sway when you look up to meet his gaze. Though he finds himself reaching out to steady you quite quickly, as if by instinct. “If I may ask, is there something on your mind?” He asks earnestly and it makes you pout as you offer him a soft blink.

He continues, “You seem different is all.” His voice seems to have taken a softer sort of tone— like he’s making sure not to upset you further. Be that the case as to why you’re acting this way.

But you only shake your head as he lets his lidded gaze hone in on your features, “I’m fine, I promise.” You smile as you respond and Moze finds himself only wanting to come closer.

So he takes another step. “That’s good.” He hums, though he doesn’t seem quite convinced— he opts not to pry as to not make you uncomfortable. So instead, he reaches out to let his fingers graze along yours again and you don’t pull away this time.

“Then is there any way I can be of help to you?” It’s quite sudden the shift in the atmosphere as Moze asks, and you’re not sure if it’s the longing way that he’s looking at you or the deep growl of his question. But suddenly you want nothing more than to be closer to him, and the realisation makes you shuffle on your feet.

You take a half step, “I don’t think so..” And then you pause like you’re thinking. “Do you want something from me?” You’re smiling when you ask, which is proof enough that you were teasing him but even so— he doesn’t seem to have much to say on that.

Instead, Moze’s hand only seems to reach for yours— finally letting his fingers encompass your own before he’s bringing them up to his face. “Hm,” He murmurs as he lets your fingertips rest against his cheek, and he almost looks content when he lets his eyes rest closed with his next blink, leaning into your touch.

Though it’s only for a second before he’s intertwining your hands together and letting them fall by his side this time. He wouldn’t want to let his guard down when you’re together— anyone or anything could be watching you both. (That’s what he’d say anyway if you were to ask about his own almost affectionate display).

So instead you just smile as Moze gives your intertwined hands a satisfied squeeze. “That feels better.” He admits, almost softly and you can’t help but find yourself moving quickly to take your usual spot pressing up into his side with a giggle.

“You’re so cute, Moze.”

“Is that so? Well, then stay close to me.”

line dividers by @ saradika-graphics

hi!! congrats on 300 followers <3 i’ve just recently discovered your blog through your event, your writing is so charming and sweet!! i was wondering if i could participate as well and request ritsu with f, g, and k? thank you so much and congrats again :-)

SAKUMA RITSU + F, G, K

warnings: mentions of suggestive stuff

f = flirt (how do they flirt? are they smooth or awkward?)

Ritsu’s style of flirting is so smooth, that it manages to catch you off-guard every time. The things that come out of his mouth are so incredibly flustering, sometimes they render you unable to speak. All he has to do is call out to you to reduce you to a puddle on the floor. He’s a master of his trade, calling you names that make you melt, taking any excuse to put his hands on you, not-so-platonically pressing his lips to your cheek… His touches, his words, his smiles, all of it? Means something. He’s not called Knights’ strategist for nothing. Ritsu doesn’t do anything without it having a part in his overarching plan–that being, to win your affection and your heart.

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

All things considered, Ritsu switches between both sides of the spectrum at will–usually without prior warning. One day he might rest his head in your lap and snuggle into you as you pet his hair, and the next he’s shoving you against the wall and kissing the air from your lungs. All Ritsu wants is to love you and be loved by you, so he can’t help it if he gets a little…overenthusiastic sometimes. Still, at the end of the day, Ritsu’s about the softest thing you could ask for. His sleepy smile, his droopy eyes, his fluffy hair…all this gives him the appearance of an oversized cat and honestly? That descriptor isn’t too far off the mark. Because the way he looks at you is nothing short of gentle.

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

Ritsu’s kisses are like a dance. Filled to the brim with teasing steps, his lips sliding against yours in a smooth rhythm as he giggles into your mouth. He loves to kiss you any place he can reach, brushes of lips over skin that feel like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings… Ritsu can be a little jealous, sometimes leaving little bruises and love bites. Well, it’s not like it’s entirely his fault… He just loves you so much that he needs everyone to know that you’re taken. When it comes to the other way around, Ritsu does not care at all, as long as he gets to bask in your affection. The love you have for him, transmitted in the form of kisses, is something he craves.

notes!

WC: 422 words

reze txt hiiii~ ty ty !! fhsdkfkj ur gonna make me blush :3 tysm for the compliment aswell <3 but here is ur ritchan !! ty again <3 and enjoy