#((feels nice to know this fandom is still kicking))

[galacticlamps]

actually ascension needs its own post since that's the one with the most details to speculate over and im starved for soho talk so i will talk to myself if need be

First the cover again, because I kinda can't get over it:

my only thing is that I had been hoping we might get Lizbeth on a cover again since she's never been on one of the boxsets before, despite being the 2nd person credited on all 4 of them (even if that's just alphabetical, still, she's the only one of the four main characters who never makes the cover)

But letting that go...

I know we already kinda knew the brief for this one but damn I didn't expect it to go quite this hard. Maybe that's just because the Parasite & Ashenden covers were (comparatively) similarish to each other and I was so pleased with Unbegotten's, and then got so used to it as the placeholder for Ascension while they kept postponing it, I wasn't expecting anything this colorful or detailed or with what I can't help but register as Fun New Outfits even though these are still like, pretty damn basic as far as costumes go. Still, it's a different vibe from everyone in suits and trenchcoats on every cover, technically. (Oh the woes of being an audio fan such that two characters owning sweaters actually does qualify as new information)

On top of just being visually delightful though, I know we knew religion was gonna be a fairly big part of this one, but I didn't actually expect to get quite this much of it - though I'm glad of it for a number of reasons. The BF twitter already made the ineffable joke so I don't have to, but also yeah I did very much spend all of season 2 episode 4 of good omens half convinced Samuel Barnett & Dervla Kirwan were about to pop up around any given corner (if you will go around being gay supernatural and horrible at your messy bureaucratic jobs in midcentury soho then I'm sorry, this is where my brain's gonna go) - so, fuel to that fire. But in terms of actual important things, at least one of my Soho wishes looks to be being granted because we have a Rev Edward Folgate on the cast list, which must mean we're finally meeting Norton's father, even if his mother & brother don't appear (which they could, technically, I've definitely seen BF not list all the doublings on their cast tabs before). Religion, domesticity, and the nuclear family are all things that absolutely fascinate me when it comes to Norton's character, so getting any amount of story involving his father & his church is something I've been actively hoping for for a long time now.

(I will say I'm a tiny bit bummed Saffron Coomber isn't on the cast list to play Mia again, but I kinda figured she wasn't going to be since Greg Austin's Armitage, who's making his first recurring appearance after originating in Unbegotten, was listed ever since the boxset was announced - presumably if she was also returning, that would've been handled in the same way. But since Unbegotten ended with Lizbeth and Mia going on a date, I still held out hope. Who knows though, maybe things did go well for them and Lizbeth just has a better work/life balance than Norton so she can date someone without them getting dragged into every scifi plot. I know that's not a very common accomplishment for any Torchwood agent, but a gal can hope)

At this point I know I'm completely in the realm of speculation & even wishful thinking, but I'm really really hoping we get some more clues as to Norton's overall timeline in this one, and I have a feeling that even if there's nothing as direct as dates given, the events of a plot like this one are going to heavily influence my personal interpretation of it.

To say that life & death are major themes for the soho crew feels wildly reductive, but even by Torchwood's standards and taking into account its origins as a piece of media with Jack Harkness & his newfound immortality at the heart of it, the living/dead status of this bunch has always been fantastically up in the air to me. Obviously Ghost Mission introduced Norton as kind of a ghost before revealing more obvious ghostly characters later on to which the title might have been referring, but his being from the past did beg the question of his survival into Torchwood's present era all the same, which Outbreak later alludes to much more directly, and his habit of showing up via hologram in multiple stories only further obfuscates any certainty we might have about where & when he definitely can be said to be alive and well. Then you've got Lizbeth and Gideon both being effectively 'brought back to life' via paradoxes that prevented them ever having died in the first place. Again, they are very very far from being the only Torcwhood characters this happens to (for a sprawling EU, it's really rather impressive how often & in how many different ways Torchwood as a whole manages to circle back to being about like. chaotic undead queers at the end of every day. though I suppose that consistency is part of why I keep falling in love with its different iterations again and again). That's without even getting into the question of Norton's dubious fate in God Among Us - and I say dubious because I know some people take that to be his ultimate death, but I personally think that reading something as vague as that as having any kind of finality rather goes against the spirit of this whole world/series, not just because I want him to live. (There are obviously other ways to make him survive/reappear, but I don't see this as a River Song scenario where we can safely assume one of his earlier-released adventures had to happen at the end of his personal timeline). But wherever God Among Us falls for him, he does very much meet God in it - or at least, a god, since the sentinel in Unbegotten is also described as a god of sorts, and even if he doesn't ultimately have the status of the god Jacqueline King is playing there, Unbegotten is still full to bursting with ghosts/undead/came back wrong/echo characters to continue underscoring that life/afterlife theme.

So all things considered, even allowing for the fact that we know Norton's twin hobbies are lying about himself and abusing time travel to suit his own ends/ever-shifting alliances, I find it difficult to believe we could get through a whole 6-part boxset about religion & death without something providing some kind of compelling evidence about where this adventure fits in among his other run-ins with apocalypses and gods and ghosts and dead-but-still-here characters/creatures, so I'm very much looking forward to any further exploration on that front.

And lastly, and least intellectually, I really want to know what the hell 20th-century Torchwood's obsession with Reginalds is. Reading through the cast list, I had to do two separate doubletakes over the character 'Sir Reginald Peebles' - firstly, because I had Reginald Rigsby on the brain, this being Soho (and the other Troughton brother being so active on BF's releases for this same month) - and secondly, because reading this in conjunction with the announcement for the July monthly adventure in which the new main Torchwood guy of the 20s is apparently called Sir Reginald Dellafield, there was a brief moment where I took that monthly release to be a tie-in with Ascension. I don't expect it to be, but damn. was it really so popular a name?

anyways, catch me thinking about those stained glass windows for the next couple months I guess (and knowing Torchwood Soho, for a long long time after it comes out as well lol)

[mantisgodsdomain]

i just wanna say that you're 100% right about Vi, i also wish people wouldn't just toss her aside like that, she's just as important to the team. like, she has depth dang it! she's more than just Funny Bee Who Likes Berries! also you're super right about people trying to squish Team Snakemouth into little nuclear family shaped holes. that's all, just wanted to give you a high five for complaining about stuff that also annoyed me

We've been chattering about it for... more than a year now, we think? Not necessarily via public venues, since this fandom's close-knit enough that stepping on toes is a major issue, but Team Snakemouth is a TRIO, not a duo, and trying to squish the relationship down to just "two dads and their baby kid" really just seems... reductive. Exhausting.

Vi's one of our favourite characters in the game, and it gets really tiring to see her treated as a third wheel. Even beyond the infantilization that's utterly rampant in this fandom, Vi, more than everyone else, gets things... sanded off, or just ignored. Either she's a bratty little kid who doesn't know better, or she's a background object, and that's just... taking a big chunk out of the team dynamic. She's got complexity! She's part of the team, not some random kid that Kabbu and Leif are dragging along on their adventures! She's a valuable part of the team, and she should be treated as such!

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[hello-universe-lovers]

Sooooo...I was going on a nolstagia binge of BBB and saw this on my dash.

One thing lead to another, so have my rendition of your Runo. This legit saved me from art block so thank you

i go without finishing a drawing for months and then i churn out a runo drawing in a day it is what it is

[griffonsgrove]

omg hello!! I saw you post those vox headcanons and wow I was literally kicking my feet and giggling LOL. I also saw you take requests right now! (at least that’s what it said in your rules) and I wanted to request something : D

could I request general alastor headcanons with a GN! Reader please ? :D

Thank you!

General Dating Headcanons | Alastor

a/n: Of course my dear!! I love how Alastor is portrayed in the series, he’s easily one of my favorite characters! I’ve been wanting to do these for quite a bit, so thank you for the request!

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Wordcount: 1991

Cw: Hazbin Spoilers, minor violence, mentions of death, murder

(PLATONIC):

Ah so you managed to capture the attention of the infamous Radio Demon? You should be honored he even considers you worth his time! Not most demons have that luxury, they never live long enough to see.

Al strikes me as the kind of guy who knows everyone, he’s very observant and has eyes everywhere (his shadow friends extend throughout the entirety of the pride ring). He’s got connections in just about anything. He’s bound to have at least seen you once.

That being said, he views other sinners as inferior to him, if you don't have any power, he doesn't really see you as much of a threat (let’s be honest even if you did, he still wouldn't feel threatened)

He’s quite intrigued when he sees a frail little thing like you walk through the hotel doors. You're here on your own free will, seeking redemption? Oh, this will be quite entertaining.

You’re well aware of who he is, having been in hell for quite some time, even before his 7 yearlong disappearance, you knew to be wary in his presence.

It often left you being timid or skittish around him at first.

The deer demon had a knack for popping up at the most inconvenient of times, out of nowhere it seems (perks of being able to shadow travel). He would scare the daylights out of you nearly every time. Whether it was intentional or not, it always got a good laugh out of him.

And that smile…He was always smiling, you can't ever recall a moment where he wasn't, not even a falter. It's definitely an intimidation tactic you think. After all, you're never fully dressed without one!~

Despite this, he’s a charmer. He has this flare about him that oozes confidence whenever he speaks with you, to anyone really. He’s able to talk his way into and out of anything. One of the many perks of being a showman. Alastor is witty, charming and entertaining to say the least. Life is never dull with him around.

And if you happen to be from the same time period?? It’ll only want him to be around you even more! Finally, someone he can relate to in this cesspool.

This man is quite the chatterbox. He looooves to reminisce about the good ol’ days, always talking about how things were in his radio days. He could talk for literal hours and not break a sweat. You’ll often have to politely interject when he rambles on for too long, not that he minds.

Did I mention he can cook too?? Really well, surprisingly. He claims he learned from his dearest mother. He had to put a name to her famous Jambalaya recipe! When you tried it for the first time your socks were nearly blown right off from how much cayenne pepper he put into it. He likes a little spice.

He's!! Always!! Humming!! The man loves to sing, he often finds himself absentmindedly humming old tunes from the 20’s as he goes about his day. Whether he’s out for a stroll, enjoying a nice cup of tea, or running around the hotel, he’s humming.

This has been stated before, but Alastor is not big on physical touch from others unless he's the one initiating it. There have been many times where he’s pulled you into a little dance or twirl while he explains something. It never fails to surprise you each time.

He’ll often use his microphone staff to push or touch something, more specifically someone. He doesn't like to touch sinners that often, God knows where they’ve been. You’ve seen him whack Angel upside the head with it before, the spider tried getting a little too close for comfort. But for you he’ll make an exception.

Very well groomed!! He puts a lot of effort into his appearance, and cares about how he projects himself to the public eye. His hair is always neatly styled to perfection, shoes shined, and is always dressed to the nines. I mean did you see how mad he got when Pentious ripped a part of his coat off?

As the two of you begin to spend some more time together, you find yourself often having little meetups, the both of you would chat, share a cup of tea and just enjoy each other’s company. He liked to sit on the patio, he had a little table, and everything set up for you two.

Alastor makes sure to keep an eye on you regularly. He may have his shadow sneak around and stalk you while you're out. He’ll use the excuse that ‘Hell is a dangerous place!’, He can't have some low-life sinner trying to harm you, that would make him a terrible friend!

Undeniably has a soft spot for you that he’ll never admit aloud, he genuinely enjoys your company and likes having someone around that will humor him and listen to his stories. Grandpa.

Overall, Al is quite a good friend to have, you feel like you can confide in him at any point, he’s surprisingly a wonderful listener. The more time you spend together only strengthens your little friendship. Even to the point where you both will grow to have a mutual respect for each other. He initially scared you at first, given his reputation, but underneath all the ruthless chaos is a true gentleman.

(ROMANTIC):

My man is sooo conflicted at first, He’ll spend hours in his den thinking about his feelings. (We’ve all seen the inside of his room, literally half of it is a swamp). The scenery can only soothe him so much as he contemplates on what to do.

This is probably where you will begin to less and less of him for a time being as he works out his inner turmoil.

But, once he finally comes to terms with these undeniable feelings, he decides to confront you privately, away from any prying eyes. Ahem Angel…

Very old-fashioned, this is where he will properly ask to court you. 

You’ll never know this but he was actually kind of nervous, he was worried you’d reject his offer, but imagine to his surprise when you said yes!! He kind of felt giddy.

Congratulations! You now have a cannibalistic deer overlord as your boyfriend

He’s such a gentleman, I literally cannot say it enough, the man was raised right and he respects you! 

You literally never have to open a door with him around. He holds your chair out for you, always walks on the outer side of the sidewalk, pays for every meal and is constantly giving you compliments left and right. And they say chivalry is dead.

Alastor loves to gift flowers to you. Every few weeks or so he’ll give you a new bouquet. They're different each time, some have a meaning while others he simply thought you’d enjoy. You have a special place in your room where you keep them.

Now that you’re in a relationship, the two of you are basically joined at the hip. Wherever you are, Alastor is not far behind. He doesn't want to admit it but the overlord is kind of clingy. He doesn't like being too far from you.

If there’s ever a reason he has to be away from you, he’ll often have a few of his little imp dolls watch after you. You always thought they were cute little fellas anyways.

The both of you aren't exactly private about your relationship, but at the same time you’re not screaming it out from the rooftops either. Alastor is well aware of the dangers you could possibly face due to his status. He’s made a lot of enemies in his time, and doesn't want to see you get hurt on his behalf.

That being said though, no demon in their right mind would try to threaten you.

God forbid they touch you either. They’d be ripped in half before they could even get another word out. 

He's fiercely protective over you. He tries to play it off as nonchalantly as possible, but you know he cares about you immensely, it’s rather sweet really.

Now about physical affection. Things will go very slowly in the beginning, as said before he's fine with things as long as he's the one initiating it. If you two are out for a stroll you’ll have your arm gently looped with his as you walk down the chipped sidewalks. You’ll have to be extremely patient with him, he’s not used to this “love” and “affection”

If you’re ever having a bad day however, he’ll slip out of his comfort zone for you, and allow you to hold onto him for as long as you please, in the privacy of your own room of course.

One of his favorite things to do with you, is to slow dance. There's something so intimate and special about it. It could be late into the evening, when everyone else had gone to their respective rooms for the night, If you listen closely though, you’ll hear the soft hum of music coming from Alastor’s den, he has you in his arms, the both of you gently sway in a slow waltz across the room to the quiet love songs emitting from his radio. It’s here that you truly savor these private moments with him.

Speaking of music, Al loves to sing to you. Oftentimes it may be a ballad or love song, and if you join in with him? He’ll fall for you even more. 

Cooking! He loves to whip up all his favorite dishes just for you, oftentimes you’ll help him in the kitchen, even if it’s the smallest thing. It's become an annual thing you two like to do together. He makes sure that you get only the best meat that this side of hell can provide.

He’ll often call you a mix of different pet names, here's a few of his favorites: Cher, Darling, Beloved, Dearest, Love, Mon Amour, Doll

Which btw on the topic of meat, Al is canonically a cannibal, he’ll often eat demon meat in his meals, and will have you try it at least once.

Admittedly has gotten slightly jealous of his own shadow. The mischievous thing was always trying to steal your attention away from him, oftentimes it would work, you would always give in and humor him, saying that ‘Even his shadow needed some loving too!’. With a strained smile, Alastor shoots a glare at the inky mass of himself, who just looks at him with a smug grin.

Will have you meet Rosie at least once. She’s one of his other closest friends, and a real sweetheart. At first she comes off as really scary and intimidating. but the more you get to know her, and she's for certain that you wont hurt her friend, she’s much more friendlier. 

You two actually bond together somewhat, having little chats about Alastor occasionally, or about her business.

It’s safe to say that this man would kill hundreds if not thousands for you. You have him wrapped around your little finger. If you ever have someone bothering you, they might as well already be dead, because this man will hunt them down like prey. And eat them too.

Honestly, Alastor as a lover is nothing short of wholesome. He’s so attentive and caring when it comes to you. Which is so refreshing to see, especially coming from one of hell’s most feared overlords. Things will most likely start of slow, but if you’re patient with him, all the hard work will be rewarded tenfold. He had initially thought the Princess of Hell’s Hotel was one of the biggest jokes of the century, but what he wasn't expecting was you to be one of the best things to come out of it. You both were cast down to suffer an eternal damnation in hell, but at least now you can endure it together <3.

[jasonswhitetuftofhair]

“Come at me, Baby”

Characters/Pairings : Jason Todd (Red Hood) x female!reader.

Synopsis : Jason and Reader spar and after training things get steamy filthy.

Content Warnings : SMUT. Slow burn. Poor writing. Lots of plot. Training/Sparring (reader learns combat). Curse words. Pet names. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasms. Protected sex. Size kink (barely noticeable). Oral (fem rec.). Fingering. Dry humping. Use of object as toy (Jason uses a muscle massage gun on you). Vaginal intercourse. Light bondage (Jason ties your hands w/ resistance bands). Reader insert (sorry). Aftercare.

Fandom : DC, Batman.

Word Count : 5202

Author’s Notes : First fic I’ve written. Like ever. Also, this is a repost; I originally posted this for the first time in October 23’ but I deleted it in December 23’ due to insecurity.

This week had been tiring. Multiple meetings, a lab breakout scare, a few late night patrols all on top of studying the material you’d been given had started to add up. All you wanted was to retire for the night, go to your room and take a nice, relaxing, long, hot bath. Gorge yourself with junk food and put your show on, and then sleep like the dead. But no, tonight called for an evening training session with your training instructor.

Jason. Jason Todd. Before you had entered the gym, you weren't sure if you would be up to train tonight. But watching him enter the double doors with his hot-as-hell all black tactical pants, skin tight athletic t-shirt and combat boot ensemble quickly made you reconsider. As if it was hard.

Ever since Bruce had finally gotten Jason to accept his proposal of conducting training sessions with everybody, you’ve been feeling like a sitting duck. You had been trying to hide your feelings from the older vigilante for a while now. A while as in since you first arrived at the manor. Nearly eight months had you been stumbling around whenever he was near, barely making eye contact and feeling like an idiot because of him. And you had been succeeding, too! Barely, but still. He didn't know anything and now with your new arrangement, how could he not pick up on the vibes you were sending out? It was only a matter of time before your feelings were compromised and you were left heartbroken and feeling like a fool, your friendship with him long gone.

It wasn't so bad, though. You had always been good at adapting and Jason wasn't necessarily bad on the eyes. It was kind of fun, too. His little dry humored remarks, shared inside jokes and just…him, made him good company. After all, he was your friend. You haven't known him long, but it still felt like you’ve known him forever. But that was the problem. Your friendship with him was too much of a treasure to have it be risked just because of a little crush. You’d rather be plagued by the overwhelming melancholy of your predicament than not have him at all. If the only way you could allow yourself to indulge in the feel of his hands on your body was when he was training you in combat, then that was something you were okay with settling for.

“Earth to Y/N. Um hellooooo, you there?” Jason’s equally teasing and concerned words pulled you from your trance you hadn't even realized you’d fallen into.

Your embarrassment quickly appeared on your face and didn't go unnoticed by him. “Yes! Sorry, I’m here.” Having been snapped out of your thoughts, you noticed that Jason had you held against him mid-air. You threw a punch at him, but he of course dodged it so you did what you first thought next. You tried to kick him in his side but he quickly grabbed your ankle and gently but strongly twisted it so that your body changed direction. Before you could lose balance and fall he grabbed your other thigh and caught your body against his, holding you to him. You didn't react at all, though, and his initial thought was that he crossed a line he didn't know of and did something to upset you. He called your name and you didn't answer the first time so he paused the lesson and brought you back to him.

He was a little worried, honestly. He knew you to be like this, often catching you staring off into space and likely daydreaming or stuck in deep thought. It was your expression, though. The mild sorrow, a little bit of adoration shining in those pretty eyes he loved so much, too.

“You sure? We can take a break if you need it,” he offers, gently smiling at you, “is everything okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?” he asks worriedly. Gazing into his eyes, your heart almost swells up. He looks so genuine, like it would hurt him if he hurt you and you let yourself pretend it's for other reasons. “Yes, I’m fine, promise. Just have a headache s’all.” It's enough to relax him just the slightest but he doesn't believe you. Your body language is just not convincing enough. He finally puts you down and lets his eyes skim all over you. He tells himself it's to check for signs of discontent or injury, but he knows he can't lie to himself. Youre just too fucking beautiful. He shakes himself out of it before the blood rushes south and gets back to the lesson.

“So. You really need to get out of the habit of kicking. It can't be your first instinct, sweetheart. You're exposing an entire limb to the enemy and you're not skilled enough yet to counter whatever it is they plan on doing. I know it's hard, but you need to really start implementing your upper body strength,” he explains to you, occasionally letting his fingers linger on your skin when showing you what the enemy could potentially do to you. You truly appreciate how gentle and accommodating he is when it comes to teaching you. You’ve seen him train with the others and sometimes his harsh tone is enough to make you jump even when his words are directed to someone else. He’s been so patient with you and the thought of him going out of his way to train your aversion-to-fighting self makes your heart flutter. You nod along with him, letting him know you haven't gone off to La La Land again.

“Alright. Come at me, honey,” he orders while positioning himself in the default defense stance. Legs strong, but ready to move. Arms by his side ready to catch and balance. Core strong and taut, chest puffed. Eyes on you, just as he likes it. He finds it adorable how clueless your little expression is. Eyes wandering all over the place, arms trying to find a good way to support yourself and legs waddling to their correct position. Like a baby deer learning how to walk. He hears your little words of encouragement to yourself and watches your eyes, watching the gears turn in your brain. While his focus is stuck on your pretty face, he doesn't notice your left hand curling behind you while you spin yourself around, pressing your back to his front. He grunts and catches your right hand before it can land around his bicep. You quickly move your feet backward and jump behind him, putting all your strength into kicking his back hamstring, but he’s already several steps ahead of you. He turns around before your foot can land and grabs your ankle, destabilizing your legs and grabbing your wrists, holding them tight in his right hand.

This of course leads his mind to other things, things that would involve this very position. You curl your leg around his stretched leg and twist your body around, landing you on top of him. Your legs straddling his abdomen and palms resting on his waist. He doesn't mind at all, though and senses a pause in your movement. He notices your tired expression, your flushed face and neck, the sweat on your hairline, neck and brow. You jump, as if just now realizing the position you had him in. You move to sit next to him and he moves into a sitting position, no longer back to floor. You flash him a cheeky grin, happy with yourself for winning this time.

“Did I do good?” you ask him excitedly and he chuckles, your pretty little smile having caused his heart to skip a beat. ‘Did I do good?’. That phrase would be on repeat in his brain for a little while, he could tell. The way you seeked his approval caused his groin to stir and he stood up, quick to distract himself.

“You did. I’m proud, that was much better. We’re gonna focus on your upper torso, now, okay?” He guides you to stand and places his hands on either sides of your shoulders, guiding you to stand in front of him. “I'm gonna throw at you, and you're going to block them.” He playfully wiggles his fist in front of you and you grab onto it giggling. Oh how he adores that sound. He sneakily aims and his fist appears next to your collarbone, you move your body out of the way. He does it again, this time it comes next to your left shoulder. You grab his wrist with both hands and block it. He doesn't miss the way you needed both hands to wrap around his wrist. He moves again, fist to the right of your face. Your eyes widen and he shushes you and you relax. You both know he wouldn't make a move to successfully cause you harm.

This goes on and on for what seems like forever. Your stamina has dwindled down a while ago and he can tell how tired you are. He thinks about cutting training early, but for his own selfish reasons he decides against it. He doesn't want your time together to end. Still, you're barely putting in any effort and you're certainly not trying to hide it from your instructor. His eyes haven't left you since the session began and he was very pleased with all the intel he’s received. Your short, panted breaths. The way your cheeks and neck flushed with that pretty shade of pink that suited you so well. Your wide eyes, how they seemed to sparkle under the annoyingly bright lights of the gym. How they seemed to water whenever he stared into them for too long. Your wobbling lip whenever you got a little too into it. How you went out of your way to put both of your hands on him, regardless of if it was beneficial or not. The way you didn't even move out of the way of his punches anymore. You just watched the muscles of his arms flex and wished they were around you instead.

“You gotta put in some more effort for me, princess. I know you can do it,” he tells you, cooing at the way you whine at him, silently wishing he would end training early. He chuckles. “C’mon, block em’, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes and try to muster up whatever strength left in your exhausted body. Your hands meet his and successfully block a hit. He doesn't forget how you rolled your eyes, though. What he wouldn't do to have you bent over his lap for that. He finishes with the punches and leads you to the equipment.

He stands you in front of the power rack looking thing, gripping your waist and holding you up, waiting for you to grab onto the handles on top. “Chin-ups. Fifteen of em’,” he tells you and you groan. He knows you hate chin ups. “Tsk, tsk. C’mon, princess. Don't make it twenty. These help with your shoulder and bicep strength. Use an underhand grip, palms facing you.” You sigh and get into position, starting what he told you to do. You made sure to be as dramatic as possible, though; you were too tired to keep the brat in you at bay. Jason, on the other hand, doesnt try to hide the way he is blatantly staring at your ass, thighs and waist. He burns the image in his mind and moves closer to you, holding onto your waist to make you feel secure.

You huff and sigh out, hoping he’ll give into you. Throughout the entirety of the session, his hands have been on you. His breath has been on your neck. The feel of his body on yours. Him in your proximity. It was frustrating. Having him so close, but far away. Little did you know he felt the same. His hands move to rub encouraging circles into your hips and you whimper out loud, to your embarrassment. He doesn't even try to hide his smirk, though. Once the exercises are done, he holds onto you, purposefully moving his big hands to rest on your ass, bringing you down. You’re done with his teasing and turn around, pressing your palms flat to his chest and keeping him at bay. You signal with your eyes that you’re not in the mood for the teasing and he coos, holding your face between his two hands. “Is there something you want, baby?” you whine and cry out for him trying to hide your face into his chest but he only lifts your chin back up so he can see you. “Come on, sweetheart, if you want something you have to ask for it.” “hmph! I want you to stop teasing me, Jason!” He smiles wickedly and lets you go. “Training is over,” he states simply and you sigh contentedly, walking to the locker room.

Before you can open it, though, Jason’s hand wraps around your wrist and you turn to him. “You didn't actually think I was done with you, did you?” he asks but doesn't wait for an answer. He opens the door to the locker room and guides you into it before locking the door. In an instant you're pressed against the door, cold wood on your back, and Jason’s mouth on yours. It's not much of a fight for dominance, his tongue having beat yours instantly. It feels heavenly. Not just the feel of his tongue in your mouth, tasting yours, but finally all this pent up tension leaving your body. You sigh into the kiss, Jason’s hand comes up behind your neck to grab the hair at the base and you mewl against him.

You were losing oxygen and his kisses traveled from your lips, to your chin, to your jaw, the sweet spot on your neck. His big hands wrapped tightly around your waist and the feel of his open-mouthed kisses on your neck has your jaw slack and breathing uneven. He smiles at the way you look like a puppy with your open mouth and panting, practically drooling.

“This okay, sweetheart?”

You were practically soaking through your panties by now and the tenderness of his words and low pitch of his voice certainly wasn't helping. You nod a yes and throw your head back at the feel of his harsh sucking on your neck and collarbone. He growls and spanks your bottom, “I need words, Y/N,” he commands and you whine out loud yet again. “Yes! Please, need you, Jason,” you tell him and that’s all he needs to hear.

Carrying the two of you, he picks you up and holds you against him. Your legs wrapped against his waist and he sits down on a bench, you still on his lap. His kisses don't stop and the feel is euphoric. His hands haven't stopped roaming your body. The feel of his big hands groping at your soft, supple flesh through the clothing separating you from him combined with just…him, was damn near enough to make you go crazy. You were tugging at his hair and pressing your face against the crook of his neck, desperate to smell his pheromones and your soft lips pressing kisses of your own against his neck had him hard against you already. When you felt his hardness against your tummy you gasped and tugged on his hair a tad bit harder and he moaned against you. Little curses left his mouth and you were seeing stars. Nothing had barely even happened and you were already this close to being admitted into Arkham Asylum.

Suddenly his hands paused their movements and his tone became one of seriousness. He grabbed your chin and forced your face towards his. Your pretty little glossed over eyes shining up into his had his breath hitch and for a split second he forgot what he needed to do. He could see the curiosity on your face, your teeth tugging your lower lip and he had to avert his eyes.

“Fuck, Y/N. I need to tell you something. I-I like you, Y/N. And not just in a friendship way. I understand—” he started but you cut him off, lurching towards him even more and grabbing his head between your hands, kissing him with a force you didn't know you could possess. He could feel you smile into the kiss and he let you have control this time. Not for long, though. He grabbed your hair into his fist and you gasped. “I-I like you, too, Jason. Have for a while now,” you mumbled against him and he grabbed your plump bottom with both hands, bringing your body flush with his. This only fueled the fire, though; his rock hard cock straining against his pants feeling your core against him had him clenching his jaw and closing his eyes, trying to control himself a little bit.

“I like you a lot, Jason. A lot a lot,” you whimpered against his lips and he smiled. You could see the genuinity in his eyes and the softness in his smile. He placed a gentle kiss against your forehead and then one on your nose and finally one on your lips. “I'm glad, sweetheart. Very glad,” and with that he grabbed your hips and shifted your legs a little bit. He forcedly rocked your clothed cunt against his hardness and your eyes closed, head tossed back. It was almost too much, too fucking much. You had been teased all night long and with all this foreplay you weren't sure if you would last. You tried to paw his hands off of your hips and stop your movement, but you just weren't strong enough. His devilish grin staring up at you, his pretty girl, had you whining and grow the ache in your pussy. “Stop, ‘s too much, stop, please, Jay,” you begged against him and all he could do was smile. “Stop? You want me to stop? But I’m not even doing anything, baby,” he teased. He knew he was teasing the damnit out of you. Even as you begged for mercy, there you were, still riding his clothed dick. You couldn't help but follow his lead though, your hips couldn't help but relish in the feeling of his hands tight on them, guiding you back and forth. Even if you wanted to you weren't sure if you could stop. God, it felt so good. Nothing you had ever felt like before. His hands on your hips and his mouth abusing your sensitive skin. The hardness of him grinding directly onto your clit. It was all so amazing.

He could tell you were close. He’s never had you before but he already knew all your tells. Your panting and labored breaths. The way you couldn't keep your eyes open. The stuttering of your hip movement. How you tried to get closer to him, even though you were flush to him. Gasps and whimpers leaving your mouth. Your hands tried to paw his hands away yet again. Think you’d learn the first time. His mouth went right back to sucking marks into your skin and he cooed at you. “C’mon, babygirl. You can do it. I know you need it, sweetheart. Just let go and cum for me,” he softly commanded. Hips following his words, your pace quickened and he ground you down onto him. His own hips jerked up and his cock spanked your core. Within moments the climax unraveled and you let out a screech. The white hot bliss greeted you and the power of your orgasm could be felt in every nerve ending of your body. You shook for a good thirty seconds and your vision went blurry. You slumped against him tiredly and he chuckled. His soothing hands rubbing circles into your back and sweet nothings helped calm you down and your high rode out. You lazily started unbuckling his belt and he grabbed your wrists, stopping you. Oh how you liked the feel of his hands grabbing you like that. “Tsk, tsk, Princess. ‘M not done with you yet.”

In an instant he was untying your shoe laces, kicking them off your feet and forcing your pants down to your ankles. His hands ripped your panties off and you were exposed. The brisk air was biting against your wet cunt and you gasped slightly. He raised you up against the lockers and wrapped your legs around his head, hands planted firmly on your ass holding you midair. The smell of your arousal and the previous orgasm dripping everywhere had him painfully hard. “Tell me if it's too much, baby, and I’ll stop, okay?” You whispered a ‘yes’ and he finally satiated his desire to have your cunt in his mouth. His mouth went straight for your clit and you shrieked at the feeling. His light little sucks on the nub had you rolling your eyes back and jerking your hips. Continuous moans leaving your mouth only encouraging him. He licked a stripe straight up and down the length of your pussy and his own moans left him. You tasted fucking delicious. Like everything he had imagined. All those times he imagined how you’d feel and he was finally fucking seeing for himself. He felt like a kid on goddamn Christmas, his hands tightening his grip on your ass. You were sure there’d be handprints in the morning. His thumb went to rub rough circles on your little bundle of nerves while he thrust his tongue in and out of your weeping hole. You started to cry out for him, hands pushing against his head and fingers gripping his hair attempting to pull him off of your pussy. Absolute the fuck not. He looked to his right and to his luck there was a set of resistance training bands hanging from a hook. He smirked and looked up at your fucked out face and he chuckled to himself. Holding you up with one hand, he reached to his side and grabbed a cable band. You watched his movement and saw what he was doing and your eyes widened. The kinky bitch. “C’mon, princess. Give em to me. Since you don't know how to keep your hands to yourself, I have to take em away from you,” he teased playfully condescending. He tied your hands together behind your back with the workout gear and he hummed satisfied with himself before resuming his meal. He was fucking merciless with his tongue and you soon learned your crush was a borderline sadist. His mouth wrapped around your clit and his sucks were harsh and unforgiving. Like a man starved, he ate you like you were the last source of hope for his soul. His finger started fucking you, too. He started with one but your drenched hole quickly accommodated for more. Soon enough you were on the brink of another orgasm and he forced it from you roughly. “Again, sweetness. You can cum again, cant you? Give me another.”

The orgasm brought tears to your eyes and you wouldn't stop shaking. Your thighs were quaking around his head and your back arched off of the cool metal of the lockers you were propped against. Toes curling, head thrown back, continuous moans and screams leaving your lips. Your second climax of the night arrived and you screamed into the locker room, little sobs leaving your ruined body. He let you ride out your orgasm against his tongue until he was fully content and gently brought you down, placing one last kiss against your lower body. He sucked his fingers that were just shoved inside you, not breaking eye contact with your tired eyes. He placed his forehead against your own and wiped away your tears.

“You okay, baby? Was that too much?” he asked worriedly. He didnt want to fuck up his first time with you and feared he lost control of himself. You smiled tiredly against him and shook your head lightly. “‘M okay, promise. Jus’ need you, Jason.” He smiled and shuffled you towards the mirror and sinks. He took off his shirt and laid it on the edge of one of the sinks he was about to bend you over. You realized it was for your comfort and smiled up at him, feeling your heart swell up. Even when he was about to absolutely obliterate your cunt, he still managed to be a gentleman. He unbuckled his pants and finally his cock sprung up. He sighed, finally feeling relief. He watched you stare at his size through the mirror, seeing your eyes widen and your teeth tug on your lip. He lightly guided you into the position he wanted you in and you sighed contently, feeling comforted by the thought you would finally be fucked by him. Watching him pull a condom out of nowhere and rip it open with his teeth had you on the edge of your seat. He sheathed himself with it and made sure everything was ready. “Ya’ ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked while lining his tip up with your entrance, smearing your wetness all around his head. You gasped and shouted a little “yes” and he chuckled, sinking in. Even with two orgasms loosening your little cunt up for him, he was still a little much to adjust to. Both of your heads tossed back in sync and you closed your eyes, sighing for him. You worked your hips against him, wanting to feel more. He grunted and grabbed you by your hair, bringing your head up to look in the mirror. “Keep your eyes up here, baby.”

Once you were fully adjusted to his size, he slid almost all the way out and then re-entered your warm, wet heat. It felt so good. He set a pace and it was so heavenly. You could cry with how good it felt. You both needed this, needed this release for all the pent up frustrations in your lives. Sounds of flesh smacking against flesh and his grunts and your little sighs filled the room and the smell of sex was heavy in the air. His hands were on either side of your hips and his eyes met yours in the mirror. It was fucking exotic. Seeing your eyes perfectly, watching the pleasure unravel on your face. Pleasure he was giving you. His pace quickened a hair and you gasped. Your hips moved backwards against him, in time with his thrusts. You felt him deeper and the perfect rhythm of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you almost hypnotized you. He smirked a little bit as he watched your fucked out face in the mirror. No thoughts, head empty. It was clear only pleasure was what you felt.

You didn't even notice him reaching above the both of you and retrieving something from the cabinet. Only when you heard the familiar buzzing noise did you wake up from the transe you were in and see what he had in the mirror. A muscle massage gun. For a moment you were a little confused, why was he hurt? Then you felt the big spherical head of the gun against your clit and your eyes rolled to the back of your head for the umpth time that night. He smiled and cooed at you from above. Yeah, he was definitely a sadist. He angled the gun a little bit to the left, wanting to overstimulate your abused little button. His thrusts hadnt ended and it was too fucking much. His pace was faster and harder and deeper now and had you both moaning up a storm. Your hands were finding themselves gripped onto the sink counter and you were struggling to keep your eyes open and in the mirror. He moved the massage gun setting higher and kept it firm against you. Your thighs were shaking and you were glad you were being held against the sink by him. You weren't sure you would be able to keep yourself up if you weren't.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Give me one more, please. I know you can. Cum for me, sweetheart.” You closed your eyes, feeling bliss about to erupt in you again. He quickly corrected you, though. His hand not being used to hold the machine to your clit came up to your throat, squeezing lightly on the sides. Not enough to cause genuine pain or prevent oxygen into your blood, just enough to give you that lightheadedness and in an instant you came on his cock. Your final orgasm was so intense and pleasurable—not surprisingly—and it lasted nearly thirty seconds. He removed the massage gun and returned both hands to your waist. His brutal thrusts as he chased his own orgasm helped you ride it all out. That blissful feeling that lasted longer than your orgasm did. All the stress leaving your body. Finally his sputtering hips stilled as he emptied his hot load into the condom and you whined, half wishing he was emptying himself into your wet little cunt instead. One day.

You both sighed and felt content again. You were sated and had finally gotten what you wanted. His loving palm rubbing circles into your lower belly, soothing you. He peppered light kisses on your skin and slowly slid out of your heat. He turned you around and kissed your forehead. All this loving kissing of his was making you wanna cry, it felt so good. Not just to be fucked right by him, but to have him, too. He was yours, now. And you were finally his. He grabbed your face between his palms and gazed lovingly into your eyes. “You okay, baby? Was that good? I didn't hurt you did I?” You smiled softly and nodded, “Yes, Jay. I'm perfect. You were amazing,” you reassured him with a blush.

He picked you up and sat you on the edge of the counter and got a washcloth from a basket, wetting it under the sink. He wiped the sweat and cum off your body and gave a kiss to each spot after it was clean. He helped dress you and by the time he was carrying you making his way to your room in the manor it was late. He opened your door and locked it behind him, leading you both to your attached bathroom. He undressed you again and turned on the shower. He lightly coaxed you in, seeing as you were so drowsy from all the night’s activities. He undressed himself and got in, lathering your body wash on a loofah and cleaning you. He wanted to make sure his baby was clean and cozy and content. When he was done washing you, he washed himself and enjoyed smelling like you a little too much. He carried you out of the shower and dried you off, clothing you in jammies and then put on some clothes you had stolen from him a while back.

He held you in his arms and you two cuddled each other all night long. You were his now and he couldn't be happier.

[jadeactuallysucks]

Idc what people say I loved seeing him a terrorist. He’s exactly how I would’ve imagined someone outside of his perspective seeing him

Also doing research on Azrael Angel of Death I can’t tell if he’s supposed to be a fallen Angel or just an Angel but I don’t know religion that well

More stuff I wanna say

With all of you chosen defenders out there saying it was dark who killed mitsi, nahhh we need A train Chosen, I’m calling him over during valentines. Ruin some relationships. Including yours. How is it not a surprise he kills people?He’s quite literally made to be a weapon with all the powers and violent tendencies.

And he was absolutely at fault for making dark a terrorist too no complaint about it. Very hedonistic ideology in which the two of them could do whatever they wanted. In which the world was their sandbox. Up to interpretation

Obviously I view chosen, especially my version of him, different than others. Some of you sickos are treating him nicely!!!!

Low-key mitsi didn’t need to be in the story at all. Just tweak a bit, and also the box would’ve been a lot more callous, instead of agent and victim hating chosen for killing their fridged gf, I would’ve loved the more controversial morals of victim hurting chosen for whatever justification he wanted to come up with. And like there’s too much of a pattern with killing off characters for the sake of plot. I think dark is a good exception cause he was a rabid dog and needed to be put down sorry dark lovers also not sorry cry

I liked that ambiguity, I know most people like stuff spelled out for them with backstories but I like mysteries cause that’s how fanart and fics can be made. Some stuff does need to be explained like how victim escaped and founded rocketcorp which I get.

Oh yeah agent 😛😛😛😛 smash smash smash I see why victim is on the bisexual dance floor he’s amazing. And I don’t need merc backstories, I can just guess he recruited work buddies or just buddies

First part and terrorism parts my favourite scenes, can’t wait for Ava 12 to make or break my interest haha. The box will forever remain my favourite episode the glaze is real

Oh my god victim getting tortured during the first scene. By far the best part (except chosen and dark) in the episode. Kicking and giggling seeing him get revived after being unsaved. I feel like it kinda one ups Chosen’s trauma so I definitely hope that stupid shit gets it worse than victim. Honestly this is the stuff I want left out. I want to imagine the pain he went through rather than see it. Cause even after that he still forgives his tormentor like a dog crawling back to its owner

Uhhh also I have a big complaint about women (sorry women) I don’t like the stereotypes. I don’t need to know they’re a women by the colour pink or long hair. But this is me screaming at a wall cause I watch the same thing kids watch and the main audience is children. I need more characters like blue. Where you can’t tell if they’re a girl or not and you don’t need to care cause they’ll be taking performance enhancing drugs either way

These were all made in the moment so yk agree to disagree. I can’t get myself to hate the episode like how other people manage to do. I guess it’s just cause I stuck around for a year to see this. And I’m sticking around 3 MORE SEASONS BABY

Also like this is a good day for multi fandom me. Al of the stuff I watch is getting new stuff. Like omg Ava, then walten files, then interloper and digital circus and prolly more but I can’t count as you can tell I can only count to four

[cburambles]

Depending the timeline, degree of closeness & knowing how he goes re-assure Pamela & Judd in the caves while showing confusion & not knowing that he's feeling empathy, has his first line in TKAA being about how Elena feels & catering to her need ( while standing around despite his leg pain before going back to sit in his wheelchair) & how he gets angry at Evan for not looking strong & confident in front of Kyrie ( which is I think is a mix of toxic masculinity/projection)

One of Rufus main problem is how his suppressed empathy is also linked to the way he walks to the beat of his own drums & how insensitive he can be in gen. He doesn't pay attention how Tseng feels when he talks about Aerith in 7R & TKAA, he almost get killed in CoS by one of Kylegate's men as he made him feel belittled. However you also see a caring & more respectful side slowly him resurging too when he start to get attached or when the problem is put in front of him or someone is willing to stand up to him.

So with someone like Elena, who doesn't have a filter & is rather strong-willed & vocal about how she feels or the situation they end up?

I guess he would panic a bit while trying to act confident but fumble a bit due to years of isolation, problem solving side & how he usually tend to behave in a rather buisness like manner. But that's also what he might need to grow. Sometime people need to be sad for the sake to feel better & you can only just be there for them while they go thru that. I also imagine the goofiness resulting of his first awkward attempts to be there for her.

Heck I can even see him admiring her for it because yo, you let yourself show that vulnerable side of you without fear to be belittled for it or yelled at for it & you just bounce back from it?It would also mean a lot to Elena too, knowing how her own emotionnally neglectful family tend to behave toward her for any flaws she might show.

Added to that Rufus was never shown rejecting his own emotions or those of people around him too & a part of him seemingly knows people have to be comforted. It would be fun to see him putting in the work to learn to be & how to be emotionnally avalaible on a personnal level.

I'm using Elena for this example because it seems most fitting but how does Rufus deal with a woman who suddenly starts crying? Like, Elena seems like the type who just goes and goes and pushes herself until she's so tired she bursts out crying. But is completely fine five minutes later and ready to kick ass again (learning ur limits comes with age, its ok).

Does he panic? Leave? Get disgusted and demand she stop?

[mae-gi-writes]

let it be me | kuroo tetsurou (3)

In which you, as a new divorcée, can't help but crush on your 4-year-old's new PE Coach.

genre: singleparent!reader x coach! Kuroo, fluff, acquaintances-to-lovers

taglist: @patpatspatz @matchagirliris @multi-fandom-fanfic @alittlebirdahgaselx @kuroos--little--kitten @menacejelly12 @aeshiue @dreamlessnight @altheades @loonalockley @not-your-average-fangirl @bertqut1 @sunlixfl-blog @nabboo007

a/n: enjoy! <3 thanks for all the love given to the first part of this story! here's the second part. Third part is coming soon ~

---- previous | part three | next part >>>

"Seems like the night out helped then?"

Osamu can't hide his grin from the way you're flushing a deep red. It's so cute and adorable to see you this way, after months and months of just having the corpse of your soul wander around his coffee bar like you didn't know where else to go.

Now it seems, is a completely different story. You're glowing.

"How do you know that?" you almost splutter out your coffee as you gawk at your cousin from the other end of the bar.

Osamu proceeds to wipe down the counter. It's a Monday afternoon and it seems that the activity has slowed down somewhat, giving him a chance to catch up with you. He tries to stop the smile from spreading across his face as he answers, "how do you think I know?"

"Your brother can't keep his mouth shut now, can he?" you mutter into your coffee with a scowl.

Osamu laughs, "can you blame him? This is probably the first time since your breakup that you've even considered the possibility of going out and meeting new people. Let alone go through with it. You should be thanking him--"

"He takes too much credit for my happiness. He doesn't need more stroking to his ego."

"Point taken," Osamu can't argue with that. His brother is somewhat of an egocentric bastard. One with a kind heart and a nice smile nevertheless. But still a bastard. Done with the cleaning, he walks over to you as he leans atop the kitchen counter, "so? How was it then?"

"Fine."

Osamu's brow raises, "give me a bit more than that, y/n. I'm not stupid."

You pause, "it was..." the words feel weird swimming along your tongue, "...fun."

"Right?" your cousin breaks into a grin, "and how's the little chica doin'?"

"The little chica is a little too obsessed with her PE teacher."

"At least she likes him."

You hum, "point taken."

Talking to Osamu is a lot easier than his twin counterpart, solely because he isn't as dramatic and is rather subtle, able to control his emotions better and easier to have a conversation with actual sense without going off the rails every five minutes. It was refreshing, despite the fact that you didn't spend as much time as the grey-haired young man due to clashing schedules.

"So...this Kuroo guy..."

A groan can't help but fall from your lips as your head hits the counter, "Osamu, I'm twenty-nine. I don't need any boy talk--"

"Oh yes you do honey," he sing-songs and leans even closer, grey eyes sparkling. It's in these moments that he resembles Atsumu so much you wish to whack him one, "just because your father ain't here doesn't mean you get to do whatever you wa--"

"Enough." your hand shoots out, slapping onto Osamu's mouth.

He pulls away with a cackle, wiping his hands along his apron, "I'm serious though. Kuroo's a good guy, but if he ever does anything out of line--"

"Yeah yeah I got it."

"--I'll kick his balls so hard--"

"Osamu!"

"Okay okay," he chuckles and holds out his hands in surrender, and you glower at him from your seat.

It's bad enough that Atsumu has constantly been wheedling some answers out of you. Adding Osamu to the mix is not something you want on your agenda. Ever since that night, you have been exchanging messages with the said PE Coach despite the growing anxiety about where this will all lead to. But in-between organizing events for your job, baking cakes and debating on whether to sign those darned papers, it's been a welcome distraction.

Okay, maybe more than a welcome distraction.

It's been...amazing.

Something to look forward to. Someone that seemed to understand you, your sense of humor, who doesn't judge and makes you smile no matter what mood you might be in. And somehow, it's hard for your heart to just close off when Kuroo is so insistent on making it melt into a puddle of goo.

Like that one time you were late to pick up Sakura from athletics practice for instance, having been taken up with a client on the other side of the city centre only to have rushed through traffic like a madwoman, arriving when the courtyard was practically empty. Panicked and more than a little worried about Sakura's whereabouts, you had found her at the entrance of the gymnasium, playing footsie with none other than Kuroo.

"Oh," Kuroo noticed you first, golden eyes lighting up just as your daughter's head turned towards the source of curiosity, "Mum!"

She'd dashed over and you'd cradled her in your arms, your heart finally able to resume its normal beating now that you knew she was safe and sound.

You'd looked up at Kuroo then, with his ball tucked under one arm as he casually strode over to you. The words felt pathetic and useless as they tumbled out of your mouth, "I'm --thank you, for staying with her."

"It's no problem," he stopped before you, a smile dancing across the curve of his lips, "it's a good excuse to see you, I suppose."

You blinked at him, "huh?"

And then the words hit you like a truck.

Your face colored so fast even Sakura took note, tilting her head up at you as her eyebrows furrowed in concern, "mum are you okay? You're all red--"

"Oh I'm fine, just--you know, the heat--" you were glad for that excuse. Your entire chest area felt on fire, "I--uhm--It's nice to see you too, I guess--Kuroo-sensei."

It was just impossible to miss the sparkle in Kuroo's eyes and you swore you could feel the warmth from him, like a cozy blanket on a cold night wrapping around you. That was before you'd quickly excused yourself and practically bolted.

Another time you'd been late in dropping Sakura off, having slept in and barely being able to shove a few bits of toast down your throat in hopes of beating the morning traffic. Kuroo, it seemed, had been assigned to morning duty that time, and as you'd rushed through the gates with Sakura in tow, you quickly bowed to him before ushering Sakura to her class.

"Go now," you pressed a quick kiss to your daugher's forehead, "I'll see you after school okay?"

"Yes mum," and Sakura had sauntered away as you watched, breathless and chest heaving, a piece of hair stuck to your lip.

"Everything okay, Kosuke-san?"

When you turned to see Kuroo, hands in the pockets of his basketball shorts and looking all too fine with his PE jersey draped over his broad shoulders like a runaway model, your eyes flitted away with embarrassment.

"Yeah," you nodded, "morning traffic is terrible."

"I bet," Kuroo's eyes flitted down and you followed, only to make a small sound of embarrassment as you spotted two different pairs of sneakers on your feet, "someone woke up late today."

You really want to hide. Maybe duck your head in a whole. Maybe ignore him—

But you can’t, and so you can just shuffle awkwardly like a penguin, “I—was trying out a new style.”

Lame. But what else could you say?

Kuroo’s laugh bought warmth to your cheeks and before you knew it, his fingers had come up to untangle the hair stuck to your face. He pushed it back behind your ear.

“Suits you,” his voice drops to a murmur.

Every single cell in your body had exploded and you’d quickly fumbled for an excuse before rushing into your car as far away as you possibly could.

You tried your best to push him to the back of your mind, for there were a million other things to take care of. Like the divorce papers for example, which had been glaring at you from your coffee table ever since the mailman had deposited it right outside your doorstep.

You were all for signing it, but every time you mustered up the courage to, Atsumu’s words rang like an echo inside your head:

Don’t do it unless you’re getting something out of it.

It keeps eating away at you, the mixture of guilt and remorse. Not to forget the fact that you’ve been adamantly staying away every time you see Aoi’s name flashing across your screen. That all comes to an end one Friday evening when he rolls up in his car to pick up Sakura for the weekend.

Your daughter, unaware of what’s going on, is quick to stick her face to the window, “papa!”

Her shriek makes you wince. Once, this name had made your heart warm.

Now, it just hurts.

“Hey,” Aoi lets himself in with practiced ease and you turn away to stuff the remaining items in Sakura’s bag, all so that you can avoid watching the scene because it hurts a little too much.

“Papa, I’ve been playing a loooot of volleyball recently!” Sakura’s jumping around like an excited pup, “—and I even scored a point once!”

“You?” You hear Aoi chuckle and zip up Sakura’s bag a bit too harshly, “you barely have the height to reach the net!”

“It’s not the actual net Papa!” Sakura scowls then, “it’s a children’s net! Papa, you really need to come pick me up more often. You’ll understand what it looks like then!”

“Yeah you’re right Kura, maybe I should.”

Ache and longing seep through your chest. You couldn’t help not listening in when they were right in front of you, but you did your best in blocking out your ex-husband’s voice as you wrap up the last of her belongings just as Sakura’s voice belts out in surprise:

“Kuroo-sensei?!”

Huh? Your head whips up so fast that you feel the ache of it at the back of your neck. Sakura meanwhile, jumps up and down in barely restrained excitement while pointing at the window, “mum! Mum did you see?! Kuroo-sensei is here!” She turns to look at you, “Why is he here mum?”

Sure enough, the said young man stands at the doorstep, hands in his pockets and leaning against the threshold in a manner that has your heart racing.

You scramble to your feet at the same time that Aoi straightens and swivels towards the door.

Surprise flits through Kuroo’s eyes, lasting a millisecond before he’s grinning and extending a friendly hand, “hey,” he directs it towards your ex-husband, “I’m Kuroo, Sakura’s PE coach.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aoi gives his hand a deft shake and you want nothing more than to disappear, “I’m Sakura’s father.”

“Yes, I see the ressemblance,” Kuroo smiles wanly just as the said child bounds straight into his arms, “Kuroo-sensei! What are you doing here?”

You ignore the way Aoi is drilling holes into your skull. Now is definitely not the time for explanations.

What kind of explanations do you owe him anyway? It's not like he's asked for your permission before he went and played love island with some kind of bimbo you barely knew existed.

“Hey munchkin!” Kuroo sweeps her up and she shrieks in delight before settling her back down, “I’m here for your mum today.”

He is? Your eyes widen, finding his own golden irises in a silent question that Kuroo only responds with a bashful grin.

“Really? Where are you taking mum? Can I come along?” Sakura, as clueless as ever, bounces up and down in delight.

You’re quick to intervene, “Sakura, you’re spending the weekend with Papa remember? He’s been waiting all week to spend some time with you.”

“Yeah, don’t you want some time alone with your dad, kiddo?” Aoi spreads his arms, “come on! Didn’t you want to go to the zoo?!”

Sakura gasps at that, her eyes going round, “we’re going to the zoo?!” She all but squeaks.

You can’t resist smiling at her reactions, leaning down towards her before tucking her hair behind her ear, “that’s what you wanted wasn’t it?”

But her chubby hand grabs onto yours, “are you coming?”

The words pierce you and you take a small inhale. Your eyes find Aoi’s from across the room and though you know it’s not his fault, you know this isn’t something he did just on a whim, your eyes say everything you cannot: you did this to us.

Instead, you’re forced to smile down at her, smoothing one hand over the back of her head, “it’s just going to be you and papa today alright Sakura? And then I’ll see you when you get back tomorrow.”

Her face falls and something twists in your gut, “okay,” her voice is small when she answers.

But you have no choice but to let her go, watching as her father grabbed onto her hand and walked out of the door. You can’t look at Kuroo’s face, knowing that there’s probably pity written all across his features. Definitely not something that you’d want if the situation were reversed.

You’re surprised he still hasn’t high-tailed it back to his car up until now. But maybe he’s just being polite.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that makes its way out of your mouth when you finally gather up the courage to face him.

Your eyes stay glued on a spot along his shirt, glad for his tall height as you continue muttering out, “it’s just a bad time, I didn’t know you were coming—“

“Actually I’m the one that should be sorry.”

Your eyes flit up to his, the gentleness in his voice throwing you off guard and what you find in those golden pupils make your heart flutter slightly.

Kuroo just gazes down at you with a small smile,looking a little sheepish, “I realize I just barged in when I wasn’t really welcome.”

“No—no, no! Not at all!” You lift your arms in a sign of surrender, “I’m curious though… why did you? Come, I mean. Is there—“ you hesitate slightly, “—is there something you need?”

“Well,” his smile blossomed into a grin. Pressing against the countertop, he leans forward towards you, “I wasn’t kidding when I said that I came by to see you.”

His words cause a blush to spread across your cheeks, “don’t—say things like that,” you stammer out, “people will misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what exactly?”

“What we are, our relationship,” you let out a breath and shake your head, “anyway, it doesn’t matter. So? What’d you come here for?”

“Like I said,” his eyes are golden glimmers, sparkling with mischief, “I came to see you.”

“Surely it’s not just that,” you splutter.

“More specifically I came to hang out,” he continues, “I heard there’s this new italian place that just opened up a few streets down. Since you seem free, would you like to accompany me?”

“I—uhm—“ the request is so sporadic it sends your brain into a fuzzy cloud, thoughts scattering and making no sense as you try and piece together a reason as to why you cannot make it out.

Your subconscious is begging you to go, practically kneeling on both knees and jumping up and down in excitement. Your brain though, the logical part, is pulling her hair out at the atrocity of it all.

“Fine,” is what you blurt out. Before you even realize what you’ve said. But when Kuroo gives you that million-watt smile you think that maybe it’s all kind of worth it.

———

“No way, he wouldn’t do that—“

“Oh no, he did.” Kuroo snorts into his drink. Leaning back against the parisian chair in which he’s seated as he splays his legs out before him, you fold one leg over the over, all too aware of how physically close he is. If you moved your leg any further you’re certain to brush against his knee.

A delicious, yet terrifying thought.

Kuroo chatters on with the story about Atsumu being kicked out of the boy’s dorm, “when the manager finally found him, they made him do two-hundred pushups and thirty laps around the training grounds. Was a pretty worthy sight, if you ask me.”

“That sounds exactly like what Atsumu would do,” you can’t help but roll your eyes. Trust your cousin to go through all that incessant stuff just because he’d opened his big mouth.

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?” Kuroo leans back in his seat, golden eyes scanning your face as if trying to piece together his memories of whether he’d seen you or not, “you’re related to them. You should’ve popped up sometime in the picture.”

“I—“ a lump fills the back of your throat and you press your lips together, look away, “we weren't close as we were growing up. They were so--so overwhelming and I was a shy kid. Until Sakura came into the picture."

Kuroo's eyes are warm. Warmer as he keeps on gazing at you with a softness, with the kind of gentleness that makes your heart ache. He's not supposed to look at you like that. Most people will clear their throat at this point in the conversation, or turn their head away.

But he doesn't. He just keeps his eyes on you at all costs. Like you're the most important thing in this room.

You're not sure how to feel about that.

"But when they heard I was pregnant, Atsumu and Osamu were there practically every day," a small smile flickers across your face at the memories that resurface, "they took care of me a lot, especially since my parents were so angry."

You let out a small chuckle, but it's definitely far from funny. It sounds hollow even in the bustling restaurant.

Kuroo leans forward so that his arms rest atop the table, muscles bunching and tensing as he does so. Gorgeous, you think to yourself as he says, "you were alone during your pregnancy?"

"Not actually alone," the smile you show now his bitter, "I had Aoi. At the time he was a really good husband. We got married quickly, just civil, because our parents didn't approve of us keeping the baby. It was quite a shock for them. And I had my two cousins to help me out whenever Aoi wasn't there."

"That must've been hard."

"It wasn't that bad," you take a sip of your water, glad for the distraction.

Kuroo shifts, his knee brushing yours. The warmth sizzles up your leg and a knot forms in your chest. God, you really can't take this.

Almost out of impulse, you find yourself blurting out, "Kuroo-sensei, can I ask you something?"

He tilts his head to the side, a sign for you to go on.

"Why--" the words get clogged up in your throat, "why are you being nice to me?"

The last few words are said in a whisper, for fear of what he will say in return. You hide your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking, but it seems your leg takes on a life of its own as it starts jiggling up and down.

"Kosuke-san."

And that's when Kuroo's hand rests atop your knee. Barely there. Yet searing hot.

Your breath hitches.

You blink at him, heart racing.

He cracks a small, comforting smile. The kind of smile that is crooked at the corners and makes his eyes crinkle up, "you're not scared of me, are you?"

"No," you mumble out, "just scared of your answer."

You shouldn't be so comfortable with him touching you like that. It's gentle, barely there, feather light. It should be scandalous. You should be technically ripping his hand off because in any other normal setting this would count as perverse.

And yet.

Yet, his touch ignites heat that sears right through the material of your jeans. Your heart flutters at his touch and your leg freezes in mid-shake, unsure of whether to continue when his gaze makes you feel a multitude of things, things that you're not sure are good considering what happened in the past.

When Kuroo answers next, you almost swoon right out of your chair. His voice dips into a murmur, one so raw and throaty it turns your insides to mush:

"Because I think you deserve some kindness."

"So," your forehead creases as you attempt to decipher his words, "do you pity me, then?"

“No, well—maybe a little, at first,” he catches himself, cheeks suddenly blazing full pink under your gaze, “obviously, it’s hard not to sympathize when I see a single mother doing her best for her daughter.”

“Surely I’m not the only single mother in that entire school.”

“No, but you’re different,” Kuroo’s eyes fill with warmth, “and also, not all parents are as kind as you are."

"That's not really--"

“You’d be surprised,” Kuroo cuts you off with a raised brow, “don’t be so naive, Kosuke-san. People aren’t as nice as you might make them out to be,” his eyes lock on yours, “but you are.”

You look away and swallow thickly, “yeah— I suppose.”

His hand is still on your knee. One part of you wants to move away. The rational part screaming that this shouldn’t be appropriate at all. Yet another bigger part of you is squealing in delight in hopes that he never takes it off.

You don't know which part of your brain you wish to turn off and trample on until it's just an afterthought in your subconscious.

Thankfully, the waiter approaches and Kuroo's hand drops away from your skin. He insists on paying the bill despite your best efforts and even goes as far as to drive you back home in his beat-up truck.

"Thank you," you mumble as you spot your front door, void of any activity now that Sakura's at her father's. It's always like this; lonely nights, with thoughts of what-ifs trickling through the back of your brain like a never-ending stream of water that gets muddied the more time passes. You understand and are happy that she at least has a father who wants to be in her life. That's the least you could've asked for from your ex-- well, soon to be ex-husband once you sign that darned paper -- but it's the thought of the other woman that makes you sick in the stomach. Jealousy churns like an ache that spreads and knots and tightens. What if Sakura likes her stepmom better? What if the other woman gives her everything she wants, everything she needs without batting a single eyelid?

You're so caught up in your own head that you barely hear Kuroo's murmur, until he's calling out your name from the driver's seat.

You quickly spin your head towards his, a guilty smile curving across your lips, "sorry, I got lost in my head for a second," you chuckle in hopes that it will dissipate the sudden tension filling the vehicle, glancing out of your apartment complex and glad that, for once, there's a bit of light flickering in the corridors.

"Thanks for bringing me home," you tell him.

"Pleasure is all mine," Kuroo replies. His eyes are on you though, as if reading right through you.

So you quickly try to dispel his worry by saying, "I'm just going to go up and rest. It's been quite a day and--"

"Do you--" he hesitates, purses his lips in thought, "do you want me to hang out for a while? Until you're sleepy and kick me out."

You're not too certain what to do except gawk at him. Which he takes as a cue that you might've twisted his words in the wrong way. For he quickly adds in a scramble of words, "Not--Not like you're inviting me over or anything. Just--I mean, as a friend. I just--I could keep you company."

His words echo in the silence and something in your heart swells at the kind gesture. Kuroo says that you're kind, but he clearly doesn't see how much effort he does for you. And here he is, sitting there looking bashful and embarrassed about asking to keep you company. Your heart melts a little and you agree, showing him the way to the guest parking.

Just as a friend, you try to tell your heart, just as a friend. And nothing else.

-----

If someone had asked you, a few weeks ago, whether Kuroo was a fine catch. You'd probably answer yes and move on with your day.

But now, your life seems so entwined with his that you're not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing.

After your little outing a few weeks ago where he'd decided to keep you company in the dark hours until the very early morning, you'd seemed to have crossed a bridge that you cannot back-pedal no matter how hard you try. If you close your eyes, you can still imagine the vivid picture of the two of you; first at the kitchen table sharing a glass of wine as you kept babbling about random stories and tales from your childhood, before you'd finally landed on the couch playing a crazy game of Mario kart, courtesy of Aoi's mistake of having forgotten his Switch when he'd first decided to move out.

You'd never had so much fun in so long that you'd almost cried yourself to sleep that night, right after Kuroo had stumbled out of your flat. He'd blatantly refused your couch as guest room, saying that staying over would just be more of a hassle when he had early classes the next morning.

But that doesn't stop him from seeing you when he can. Nor you him. And it's become something of an addiction.

He drops by every week now whenever Sakura's gone to her father's place. These nights are spent playing scrabble, watching reruns of Harry Potter like the nerds you are, and holding conversations that run longer than you'd expect them to. It seems like routine for Kuroo to clock out around one in the morning and every time he does walk away and disappear down the corridor, something in your heart clenches at his absence.

The flat does feel a little too lonely once Kuroo's gone. But you'd never tell him that small fact.

Today he's come around a little earlier than usual, due to a special meeting between teachers and parents that the school had organised. He's busy playing house with Sakura while you're preparing the pizza base for your night in, something that you hadn't done since--well, ever since Aoi had moved out actually. But now, you're even humming to imaginary music and glancing at the living room couch where Kuroo is currently giving a full-on review about Sakura's imaginary cooking skills.

Your heart swells tenfold and you swear the sight makes you cry. It's what you crave for, it's what Aoi had done for you once, for your family. Before he'd decided that you weren't good enough and had moved on to someone else.

"--perfect combination of sweet and spicy. I think I'mma gives this Mac and cheese a perfect ten out of ten," Kuroo was saying just as the front door rang.

You went to open it, wiping your hands down the front of your jeans before unlocking the door.

The sight of Aoi always made your heart sink and your stomach churn.

But not today. Today, your heart barely acknowledges him and you think it's good progress. You even go as far as give him a smile, "hey Aoi."

"Hi Y/N," he keeps glancing behind your back and you're pretty certain why; it's the sight of Kuroo with his daughter, probably, that unnerves him.

Your suspicions are proved right when he mutters, "what's he doing here again?"

It's low, like a grumble, so that only you can hear it in this vicinity.

You straighten, "he's my friend. He's spending the evening with me today."

"Like he's been doing every week?"

"Yes," you raise a brow, prop a hand on your hip, "is that a problem?"

"I have one problem, yes," Aoi scowls back, "why is he spending time with our daughter like he deserves it?"

"Why is that a problem? Do you not let--what's her name again? Josie? Jodie? -- do you not let her play and spend time with Sakura?"

"It's Judy, and she's going to be my wife, Sakura's stepmother," Aoi hisses and you can't help but flinch, "don't you think you're just making it harder for Sakura? It's been bad enough with the divorce and everything--"

What? You chuckle and that ignites into a laugh so hollow and void of emotion that Aoi flinches, "excuse me?" the nerve of this man. Your voice hardens, "I'm the one making it harder for Sakura? Tell me Aoi, who's the one who left?"

"I left because I was unhappy--"

"So was I!" you suddenly spit out, anger rising through you. You don't care that Kuroo can hear you now. Well, you should care that Sakura's witnessing one of the many fights you will have with her father. But you can't take it. Not all this belittling.

Not when you're finally feeling something other than this overwhelming grief that plagues you and breaks you into tiny pieces every time you look at that fucking darned document.

Your knuckles shake so hard you have to tighten them into fists that you glue to your sides.

You continue, "I was unhappy and guess why? It was all because of you! Because you always had something--you barely spent time with us after Sakura was born and--and we barely talked! You didn't want to talk. Heck, you made sure to steer clear of me whenever we were in the same darned house," your voice rose with each sentence, the clench in your stomach finally unleashed after restraining it, holding it in for Sakura's sake.

"But I endured. I endured it, because we had a daughter. We had a child, and goddamn it I was responsible enough to think of her first, and not myself," you snarl, for once glad that Aoi seems at loss for words, almost panicked, "and--what? You're lecturing me about making it hard for her? About being selfish?" you snicker and spread your arms wide, "look around Aoi. You know who's responsible for this mess, and it's definitely not me."

The silence that follows your little monologue is so heavy and laden with emotion that nobody dares break it. Even Sakura has stopped talking, though you don't know what's happening behind your back, wanting to keep your eyes on that fucking bastard and end this, once and for all.

When Aoi does nothing to answer -- because what's he going to say when you're right?-- you swivel, go to retrieve the signed divorce papers atop your kitchen table you've been dutifully ignoring until now, and storm back to him.

"And here," you thrust the papers at him so suddenly he shrieks as he grapples with the folder, "you can take your damned divorce papers. I don't need them, and I don't need you."

And before Aoi can say anything else, you've slammed the door in his face.

Bang.

Silence.

You can hear a pin drop.

You're heaving, chest rattling with every breath, gaze fixated on the door.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It's the relief that sweeps in first, through the cracks of anger that slowly melt away.

And then, realisation that nothing will ever be the same.

Then, grief.

It hits you like a truck.

Everything you've worked for. Everything you had lost.

You're not sure when your body decides to crumple to the ground, just that there are warm arms to catch you this time before a soft baritone echoes through the side of your head, through your chest and making you want to cry.

Kuroo is talking, and somewhere in-between the lines of numbness and pain you make sense that he wants to take Sakura out for a bit, just enough time for you to recollect your thoughts. You're so lost in your own thoughts that he has to repeat a question twice for you to snap to attention.

"Do you want me to stay? Or do you want me to go? Up to you, anything that makes you happy."

Kuroo is babbling, but the fact that he even asks you for what you want, for once, makes your chest ache with terrible sweetness. You don't deserve him in any shape or form.

You nod, and Kuroo takes it as a good sign, for he prompts, "what do you want me to do Y/N?"

As if on impulse, his hand pushes stray hairs away from your face. The action is gentle, kind. Almost loving.

Almost.

"Take her out," you manage to mumble, "please, Kuroo. I--I don't want her to see me like this."

"Got it." And Kuroo's off, scooping up Sakura with a playful tone, distracting her from the mess that you are huddled over in the corner of the living room as he shoves his shoes on and strides out of the flat so that all is left is you, the echo of silence that remains, and the feelings lying in the pit of your stomach.

-----

It's some time later that you hear the lock twisting in the door. You've managed to pull yourself together by then, finishing up the pizzas so that they're warm and fresh out of the oven. Sakura's footsteps echo against the wooden floor as she runs over to you.

"Mum!"

You force a smile. It comes a little easier when you see your daughter so excited, "hello, you," you coo. She slams her entire body right into your mid-section and your arm wraps around her, "how was the walk with Kuroo-sensei?"

"We saw ducks! And--And Kuroo-sensei let me play on the swings. He even pushed me so that I went up high!" Sakura's chubby finger pointed towards the ceiling to show just how high it was, and you chuckled before hugging her close. Feeling the warmth of her small body against yours is something you'll never really get over. It's like she fits and moulds right into the crevices of your broken parts to make them whole again.

Your eyes travel over to the said young man in question who's been responsible for so much of her happiness, and you soften, "thank you," you mouth to him over the kitchen counter.

He shakes his head and sends you a smile. It melts your insides, warming your tummy and instantly causing your cheeks to flush bright red.

You look away with a sharp swallow, "I've made something that looks like dinner," you propose tentatively, "if you'd like to stay."

You don't look at him as he strides over, big steps closing the gap between the front door and the dining table. He shrugs off his coat in the process, "I'm always in for food."

It would be stupid of you to think that such a normal dinner routine might make Kuroo forget all about what happened a little earlier. But it's the way his eyes search your face when he thinks you're not looking, the way the concern swims in his entire demeanour, like he's not sure whether he can completely relax yet.

Part of you is more than horrified by this turn of events. You don't want Sakura's sports coach thinking you're an unsuitable parent, nor do you want him to know about your personal matters considering he's a bit too close to home. It's embarrassing and humiliating and every time you meet his eyes by accident across the table you make sure to look away as quickly as you can.

The other, more selfish part of you, though, is suddenly relishing in the warmth that Kuroo's presence brings to the flat. And you can't help but crave for more, despite knowing this is not what's best for you and your little girl.

After all, even if Kuroo did think of you that way -- which he doesn't by the way -- he'd be tied down with a liability that's too hard to bear when it's not your own child.

Cleaning up after dinnertime in silence, Kuroo volunteers to take charge so that you can put Sakura to bed. You send him an apologetic smile, quickly going through the bedtime motions with your daughter before you can tuck her into bed.

"Mum," Sakura's voice is merely above a whisper as she cuddles into her blanket. The sight is so cute, it makes your heart swell and you resist the urge to coo, "Are you okay Mum?"

You pause, hiss in a breath.

What are you supposed to tell her?

What exactly are you supposed to say?

You manage to choke out a soft, "I'm alright."

"Is Papa okay?"

"Yes," your heart breaks a little more. You barely manage to murmur, "yes he's okay sweetie. Just--It's been a hard time."

"Why Mum?"

You don't know what to say, so you opt for pushing her hair away from her face, "well, sometimes adults face difficult decisions. And those decisions ...they hurt us. Sometimes."

"Did Papa hurt you today?"

Tears well at the corner of your eyes but you refuse to sniff, refuse to show her that you're as battered and beaten as what your heart says.

"No sweetie, he didn't--he would never hurt me, or you. Because he's your Papa and he--he loves you very much."

"Does he really?"

"Yes," you wrap your arms around her in a hug, hoping that this will dissipate all her queries, all her suspicions of her father, "yes he does. He really does love you. A lot."

From the depths of your arms, you hear your daughter's soft echo of, "okay."

It takes more than just a few minutes for Sakura to doze off. But you tuck her in gently when she does, rearranging the blankets around her frame before slowly backing out of the room. You find Kuroo still at the kitchen sink with your supposed apron around his waist, and the sight of him -- so domestic, like he's been living here all along -- makes you want to cry all over again.

"She's asleep?" Kuroo's voice causes your shoulders to jump. You nod and walk over to where he stands, taking note of the amount of dishes left.

"Thank you," you gesture towards the squeaky clean plates hanging off to dry, "it's all good now, I'll take over--"

Kuroo throws you a look and tuts, "sit down. I'm gonna make us some tea."

"But--"

"Kosuke-san," the dip between his brows deepen, "go sit down."

It's non-arguable and you let out a soft sigh of defeat as you pad over to the couch, grumbling something incoherent under your breath. Does he have to be so perfect at everything? It's almost like living in a fairytale dream.

Or is he just being nice because he wants something out of you?

A shudder suddenly makes its way up your spine and you shake your head, ridding yourself of all negative thoughts. No, he won't do that, your brain chides, he's not like that.

He's not like Aoi.

"Here."

You look up to find none other than the said man settling down beside you, nudging a cup of what seems to be hot water into your hands.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "I couldn't quite find your tea. Your place is a bit like a labyrinth."

"Yeah that's what happens when you have a toddler," you grimace, "but thank you. I do appreciate--" you hesitate, a small smile flickering across your lips, "hot water."

Kuroo chuckles, "right? It was made with love."

You sip on your hot water as a comfortable silence settles over you, with only the hum of the fridge and distant cars from afar filling the room. The weight of all your troubles are finally getting to you, making your body sluggish as it succumbs to the comforts of your pillows.

"Kuroo sensei," you bite down onto your lower lip, before your eyes flutter up to his face to find that he's already been looking at you, "I--"

"It's Kuroo," he interrupts, "we're friends, right?"

You try to bite back your smile, "yeah. I suppose," your head dips back down to your lap, "I just--I wanted to say thank you. For everything. But...especially for today."

"Kosuke-san, I think it's fair enough to say that you were having a hard time," Kuroo answered, "I just did what I thought was right. And--also, not to be that person, but he didn't have to do it in front of his daughter."

"Yeah you're right," you sigh, "well, that's Aoi for you. Selfish, self-centred, always wants what's best for himself."

There's a moment for the words to digest in the air. You sip on your hot drink, not wanting to meet Kuroo's eyes for fear of what you'll find there.

If you had any doubts about Kuroo questioning his interest for you, that had to be long gone by now. Nobody in the world wanted someone who already had baggage, and a physical baggage that would forever be a reminder of your past.

The truth hurts. It punches you straight in the gut.

You suck in a sharp breath, loathing yourself for even thinking about it. For even entertaining the idea.

But then, Kuroo asks you a question. One that instantly breaks down your walls no matter how much you fight it.

"Are you alright?"

You can't help it.

You break.

It's as if all tears once bottled up are suddenly let loose. Pressing your hands up to your face to muffle your cries, you feel Kuroo's arms wound around you again, pulling you insistently to his chest despite your best tries at resisting. But he's warm and for once in your life you don't feel like fighting, which is how you find yourself sobbing into his shirt, hands gripping it tight like he might disappear at any given moment.

All that time, Kuroo merely lets you cry, one hand smoothing over the back of your head while he presses his cheek against your temple.

"Shh," he keeps murmuring into the shell of your ear, "it's okay. It's going to be okay."

Some time later finds you in his arms, practically cuddled up to his chest and your cries reduced to mere sniffles. Kuroo has leaned back onto the couch so that you're resting against him, soft curves pressed to his firm ridges and hands absentmindedly running through your hair in a way that makes your eyes flutter with the heaviness of sleep.

It's comfortable. Too comfortable you might just fall asleep here.

Kuroo dares to peek at your face, noticing that you're staring off into space.

Your phone suddenly buzzes from your pocket, startling you out of whatever daydream you'd concocted. Quickly fishing it out of your pant pocket, you unlock the screen only to find Atsumu's message.

Atsumu: I suppose you're with Mr. Hotshot? Any chance of getting laid tonight? ;)

Your face colours right when you feel Kuroo's chest vibrate with a laugh.

You quickly whip the phone away from his view, "y--you're not supposed to read other people's texts!"

Your heart is practically cartwheeling at this point and you swear you feel sweat dot your hairline as Kuroo throws his head back with even more laughter.

You scowl at him, "what's so funny?!"

"Nothing, oh--god, nothing at all," he can't seem to control himself, shaking his head with a grin so wide it makes the sight adorable for some unknown godforsaken reason. He runs a hand over his face, trying and failing to calm down, "I just--oh man Atsumu. Do tell me more."

"Like I said, it's rude to read other people's texts," you snap.

"Oh I'm sorry, you opened it in front of my face though," Kuroo's grin is so wide that it frustrates you to no end. But before you can shove him away, his hold tightens as he pins you closer.

Your eyes widen, fluttering up to meet his golden brown pupils in surprise. He's warm, and firm, and just about as delicious as you had imagined. It makes your stomach knot, makes you slightly dizzy as you get a whiff of his deodorant--something musky, something that smells just like him.

When he speaks next, his voice has dropped two octaves.

"So how long were you going to keep it a secret from me?"

His murmur sends a chill up your spine. Your hands, not knowing what should be done with them, curl along his shirt.

Your eyes find a blank spot in the middle of his chest, "it's...not a secret. It's just a--a joke. Of some sort."

"A joke?" his smirk widens, "well share it with me too."

"It's none of your business."

"Pretty sure you made it my business by opening it in front of me."

Oh god. You can't even stop your heart from beating so loudly it's like a hummingbird. You're pretty certain Kuroo can hear it. "I--uhm--"

Your brain tries to scramble for words. But it's impossible. Not when he's so close. Definitely not when he's looking at you like that. With those eyes.

"Something tells me you've been holding out on me."

"Not at all."

You're still very adamant on averting your eyes. But his hand finds your chin, tilting it up until you have no choice but to look straight into those beautiful swirls of golden shimmering with amusement and what seems to be -- tenderness? Affection?

"Tell me," his murmur is raw, throaty. Like warm, melted chocolate.

You take a soft breath. Your chest constricts. It's impossible to breathe.

"Atsumu," you start in a shaky whisper, "he thinks--" you swallow, "he thinks that we might have... a--a thing."

"A thing?" his arm laced around your middle tightens slightly, "what makes him think we might have a thing?"

"Well I don't know, I--' god, is this supposed to be this hard? To admit that you have a small crush? You suck in air in-between your teeth as you bite the inside of your cheek, turn your head away, "I guess I talk a lot about you."

He hums in reply, "I like the sound of that."

And with another tug at your chin your eyes have no choice but to lock on his. There's a softness there in those beautiful pupils flecked with long, drawn out eyelashes.

""The sound of what?" you blink.

"Us having a thing," Kuroo's hand seems to find it fun to caress up and down your hipbone. His touch is searingly warm against your skin, "you talking about me, you blushing because of it."

"Well don't be so full of yourself," You huff out, "you're a good friend, and I'm grateful--"

"Y/N."

Woah.

You've never imagined the sound of your name falling from his lips. But here it is, laced with some kind of attentiveness, with some sort of affection that makes you weak at the knees and causes warmth to drip to your lower belly.

Your lips part. But you find you can't seem to formulate words. He continues, "I like you, not just as a friend. I think you're brave, incredibly kind, smart--"

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?" Kuroo frowns, "I--What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I don't know," you're starting to panic, pulling away slightly in the process, "that's what I'm asking you."

"Well I--" a small chuckle echoes past his lips, "I guess what I'm trying to do is ask you out."

"Oh." the words take a few seconds to register in your brain.

Oh.

"Oh." you repeat like an idiot. Oh shit.

He's actually serious.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

"Uhm--" your throat has suddenly gone so dry that nothing seems to come out of It no matter how hard you try.

Kuroo just lets out a small laugh before his hand goes up to push a few stray hairs out of your face, "cat got your tongue?"

"Kuroo-sens--I mean, Kuroo--" you try to stutter out through the butterflies rippling through your chest at his gentle action, "It's not that simple, I--I have a daughter. It's a responsibility. A liability. And I'm no casual dater, I'm more of a long-term relationship type of girl."

"And?"

"And there's absolutely no reason for you to like me other than as a friend, because I have baggage. I'm not a single woman, I'm on the brink of a divorce and I have a four--almost five year old -- always running around," you realise you're babbling but it's impossible not to, especially not with him looking at you like that, "trust me, that's probably the last thing you want--"

"When I say I like you," Kuroo murmurs, "I mean all of you. And that includes Sakura."

"You don't mean that, until you actually experience--"

"I do mean it."

You shake your head, "Kuroo I--"

"Can I just take you out?" There's a slight note of desperation in his tone. In a smooth motion, the hand twined around your waist slips up to your hand, thumb drawing soft circles over your wrists as his eyes pin you down with an intensity that makes you want to squirm, "just one date. That's all I ask."

Your immediate response is no. Because why would you? You're literally just getting out of a relationship. The last thing that you want is another of these holes that you'll take months to recover from. And what if Kuroo decides you're not what he wants after all? He's younger than you, dashingly handsome, and can get whoever he wants in this entire world.

So why you?

But as soon as you open your mouth to tell him no, your thoughts fly back to this afternoon; the way he'd cared for Sakura when you were having a mental breakdown, the way he'd cradled you in his arms like you were fragile porcelain, the way he hadn't hesitated the moment you'd asked for help.

Even back then, Aoi hadn't taken charge this way. Aoi hadn't even bothered. And so you'd gotten used to not asking. To do things all by yourself.

Looking back into those golden-hued eyes makes you hopeful. And that's the worst thing that can happen to you, hope. But still, it's impossible to say no when Kuroo's gazing down at you so fondly. Like you're the only thing holding his world together. like he'd do anything to be with you.

So you say yes.

[tesscourtes]

saw you had asks open, not a drawing request but wanted to know if there was any more story to your human bill’s punishment-for-weirdmageddon-is-to-turn-weak-human au, I really like it (sorry if you explained this a while back, I only just watched gravity falls😭I’m a late-comer to the fandom)

it’s just superepiccool to me, how are dipper and mabel about him being human now? Soos n Wendy, Stan and Ford? What was it like for them (especially Ford) when he just turned human? What was it like for Bill?

oh hey don't worry, I haven't really talked much about the details of the AU like ... ever. I just started reviving it because I got my partner into the show (they are also a new fan! yay, new fans! Funny enough I had no idea TBOB was coming out so the timing was mad exquisite.) and they have just been an amazing help shaping my messy thoughts and coming up with new, fun plots! It's also nice to know there's someone out there interested in it, so thank's for asking! Now that I read TBOB I want to change the premise a bit, but the core is still the same.

Let me tell you this AU is silly. I'm aware Billford is toxic and there are many corners to dive into to picture their messy relationship. But I kinda wanna keep the spirit of the show here and make it equally as fun as it is disturbing. Given that Bill canonically is trapped in endless Therapy gives me even more food to work with, he just out there being toxic and people repeatedly telling him to cut it out.

I'm not gonna go into too much detail because I'm actually working on the first comic chapter for this AU, but regarding the characters: Each of the Pines, as well as Wendy and Soos, are not happy seeing him, but individually grow more accustomed to him and with him. I guess going from "most accepting" to "least accepting", Mabel took it the best. I wouldn't say she was quick to forgive, but quick enough to give the guy a chance. And I honestly have to say that, although this is 100% a Billford AU, there's so many plot ideas for just Mabel and Bill and their amazing, chaotic shenanigans. Put these two together and the stories basically write themselves. Wendy is pretty similar, and the most chill in actually helping Bill figure out human stuff.

Naturally, Ford took it the hardest. I'm aiming for slowburn here, haha. They got to figure out some stuff that I'm so ready to put onto pages... Ford is a lot of emotions. Confused, angered, curious... Meanwhile Stan is Bills biggest hater. (There is a lot of bullying in this AU) He just keeps up with it because his Family makes him. He's very protective and tries to kick Bill out several times. Soos sticks with Stan, but he's also Soos and has a big heart, so in Bills eye, he's very gullible and a target he can mess with easily.

Dipper is not a fan either, he has a hard time adjusting to the triangle just getting to ... be there. He's suspicious for the most part and Bill has to try hard to get on his good side. But honestly he might be more upset with Mabel (and later on Wendy) for making friends with Bill so easily, even though he knows that's just their nature. I just recently started thinking about Gideon and how I'd like to include him, but nothing worth mentioning so far yet.

With Bill himself, one my favorite parts trying to portray so far is how he's dealing with his new mortality. He adjusts to the body fine, he knows how to navigate flesh, but he has a hard time accepting that it's his body. His new prison, essentially. If it's gone, he's gone. If he treat's it like shit, he feels like shit. Then we add the psychological aspect of things. And more importantly, we add Ford to the equation. When I tell you, that demon is experiencing psychological damage here, and it's fully his fault. TBOB really pointed out to me that I need to dive into his obsession with Ford. How do you even get a man you fumbled so bad, to even acknowledge you again?

I love yapping about this AU, thanks again for giving me the grounds to do so anon! I'm an insecure writer so it'll probably take another hot minute to choose which script feels best to draw out, haha. But I'm glad you seem to be up for the ride!!

[bunny-jpeg]

hi bunny can I get tiramisu, shortbread cookies, a bagel and chai with Daniel Ricciardo please?🙏🏽

bakery menu!!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! thank you to all of those who have submitted orders, i am working tirelessly to get them all completed!! they have been a pleasure to write though, so thank you!! i love that the daniel ricciardo fandom is still going strong! i've received a tenfold of requests since he got the boot! so i hope ya'll love this <3

tiramisu: “my little slut to ruin.” + shortbread cookies: "and who does this belong to?" + bagel: “gonna paint you with my teeth.” + chai: biting/hickies served by daniel ricciardo (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, biting & hickies, dirty talking & praise, doggy style

pearly whites. the kind of smile that made most weak in the knees. daniel ricciardo was the epitome of the sun. bright and inviting, smiles that could light up rooms. even at his worst he was still smiles, he still could make anyone swoon with them. it was like welcoming the sun into your home.

however, most of all, you loved those teeth most of all in your neck.

daniel wasn't a controlling lover. he cared too much about you and your autonomy to really feel a need to control you. you were your own woman, you were allowed to make your own choices. it was only fair.

but that didn't mean the word 'mine' wasn't thrown around. especially when he had both of his hands up your t-shirt. he groped your breasts while his lips were on your neck. you could feel your heart pounding with lust as he felt you up.

"you're mine." he said, "my little slut to ruin." he licked at the nape of your neck while his grip on you tightened. it almost turned your knees into jelly as pleasure shot through your body.

"danny."

he chuckled, "shh, shh. i know. you know that i know that i'm right." he licked you once more, "i've got you all figured out, beautiful. how much you need this. how much you love when i touch you. i know exactly how to do it, to turn you on till you can't think of anything but, my cock."

"you've ruined me for other men." you whined.

he yanked you as close as he could to his chest and pulled away to look you in the eyes. his eyes carried lust and were beautiful. he grinned as he said, "good."

you ended up in your shared bedroom with daniel determined to get your clothes off. he pushed up your shirt while he walked behind you to the bedroom. eventually that was off before you even made it to the bed.

"danny."

he chuckled, "so beautiful." he got your bra off and eventually your sweatpants you had been in most of the day. he got himself undressed as well and took a moment to admire you. he cupped his hard cock through his briefs and said, “gonna paint you with my teeth.” the idea of you with his marks excited him before the two of you were on the bed and both fully naked.

you gasped loudly when he bit into your neck. your nipples went hard and your back arched. you held onto his shoulders as he left a massive hickey on your neck.

his cock dripped pre-cum onto your stomach as he went in for another series of hickies. he made a little pattern down to your breasts where he bit at your nipples until you were practically kicking out your legs.

"paint you nice and purple with my teeth." he groaned as he rubbed his cock up against your stomach, "you always look better with my marks. now i have to know, who does this belong to?" then reached down to drag his fingers across your achy cunt.

"yours, danny. always."

he just smiled once more before he played with your nipples and left little bruises across your pretty tits. you wouldn't be wearing low cut tops for a good while.

you ended up on your stomach with your hips raised. he admired your backside and wondered how much he could mark up your pretty skin. he pushed himself against you, watching your hips raised a little and admired your beauty.

"you drive me crazy, beautiful." he said with a smile before he started to leave a few dark marks on your backside. he swore he could feel your rapid heartbeat from your back. he rubbed his scratchy beard up against the bruises he left on you.

your back arched and you moaned. the noises only got louder when he sank his cock into your sweet, wet pussy. you held onto the pillow under your head and whined into it.

"danny." you moaned as you felt the pleasure in your gut. your skin ached a little from your lover's hickies. but it left your core feeling warm. you loved it, the same teeth he flashed the cameras were dug into your soft skin.

"i love you, honey." he said as he fucked you. he thrusted his hips and watched your ass shake from the movements of his hips. he could feel the warmth in his gut as he moved against you. you looked beautiful in every way he could have you.

from expensive clothes to one of his t-shirts to nothing, it was all beautiful and it only riled daniel up more as he pleasured you. he groaned a little bit, accompanied by your sugary sweet moans..

"daniel. fuck." you whined as you tried to grasp onto the covers for some leverage. you were so easily moved by his body. he large hands and strength moved you as he saw fit.

but he was never a greedy lover, he made sure his woman came first. he made sure you got your pleasure. he groaned a little bit, "so fuckin' pretty." he chuckled a little bit, "don't you agree? my woman is beyond pretty, even beyond beautiful." daniel laid the praise on thick when he fucked you. but you loved it, you loved when he called you all manner of lovely names.

you were his little slut to ruin, but in the sense that no other man could ever compare to him. he was just simply too perfect. even when he left a messy trail of hickies across your neck.

his pace started to stagger and you felt the pleasure curl in your gut. his whined spurred you on as he fucked you deeply. he wanted to make sure that you took all of him. you felt like a perfect dream around his cock as you panted wildly.

"beautiful girl." he purred, "so fucking beautiful."

you whimpered and arched your back a little bit. you felt the thrum of pleasure in the back of your mind. you clung tightly to the pillow and moaned. with a few more heavy thrusts of his hips, you came around his cock. you felt him bruise your softest areas as you finished.

he came soon after, heavy thrusts that left you seeing stars. it was hot for you and both of you were left breathing heavily. you whined a little bit when he pushed his cock into you once more before he pulled out. a gooey string of cum connected your cunt to his cock. and that made daniel shudder.

he pulled out and you laid in his arms. he kissed at your face tenderly and you felt the warmth of love throughout both of you. you smiled against his kisses and he just beamed at you.

a bright smile with all teeth, you cupped his face lovingly. those pearly whites were just on your neck and took sweet bites out of your delicate skin. his smile was blinding and his bites were bruising <3

[megwritesriddles]

Coming Clean ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Tate Langdon x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 9 - Masturbation & Voyeurism. Tate has been watching you since you moved in, enjoying your shower routine each night without you knowing. To you, he's the boy next door, only a friend. Oh, how he wishes you knew.

Tags: Masturbation (f and m), Voyeurism, Non-consensual voyeurism (or not???), Fantasising, Perverted behaviour, Ghost!Tate, Not canon compliant, Very mild fluff.

Word count: 2.4k

all fandom masterlist | ahs masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: Yes the title is a cum pun... I'm sorry!! I ended up combining two kinks for this one because I had essentially planned the same plot twice (kinktober has made me realise I'm an awful planner tbh oops)!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Tate waits, like he does nearly every day, in front of the door for you to get home. He’s impatient, even though he knows you’re not even running late. Every weekday, you come home from work, throw off your work uniform and hop into a nice warm shower. You spend a nice long time there each day, massaging your calves, sore from standing at work all day, relaxing your shoulders and rolling your neck. It’s a show he’s never once missed since you first moved here, a show that he delights in every single time. He taps his foot, hearing your car pulling into the drive. A smile spreads over his face as he hears the lock on the front door click. You throw open the door and he’s stood right there, yet you don’t see him, brushing past him to set down your bag and kick off your shoes. Sometimes, Tate feels a little sad that he can’t show himself to you, to let you into his little routine, to become a part of yours. He often likes to imagine you coming home after a long day at work and seeking him out for a hug, but of course, you don’t do this. You don’t know he’s here right now, and you most likely never will. He follows you up the stairs to your bedroom. He knows from the way you glance around a little anxiously that you’re aware of ghostly presences in this house. In fact, you’ve confided in him a few times that you think the house is haunted. He likes to laugh you off, just because of the irony of it, telling you ghosts don’t exist.

He shows himself to you sometimes, appearing on weekends when it seems realistic he might have free time, claiming to live ‘a few doors down’ and not elaborating further. At first, you found it odd of him to come over, but you were still polite anyway. Eventually, the two of you had sort of become friends. This relationship was hard to maintain, you’d ask to get his number to text him and invite him over, but he has to improvise a story as to why he doesn’t have a phone. He has to come up with a fake job, something you could never investigate. He can’t say he works at the local grocery store and then have you visit it and find out he’s been lying. He tells you he works in the city, in an office. You’re not interested enough to press, especially as he makes a show of lamenting how tedious it is and how he doesn’t wish to talk about it. He’s sure you’ve noticed some inaccuracies in the things he’s told you, especially as he’s often a little distracted while the two of you talk. However, he knows your first instinct won’t be to assume he’s a ghost, so he feels safe enough to let a couple of details get fudged.

He watches, leaning against your wall, as you sluggishly strip yourself of your work uniform. You groan, your body clearly sore. He imagines materialising behind you, sliding his hands onto your shoulders and offering a massage. In his imagination, you accept and turn to kiss him while he rubs your shoulders. He’s had a lot of time to fantasise over you, stuck within these four walls. He has a fantasy of what it would be like to materialise during every single step of your routine, and in none of them do you do the realistic thing and scream. In his fantasies, you seem to have always been aware of his presence and you’ve just been waiting for him to show up. He watches hungrily as you unclip your bra and slide down your panties, tossing them toward the hamper. He imagines materialising just in time to catch them midair, hanging them from his finger and smirking. You’d just giggle in surprise and make some comment about how you’ve been waiting for him to do that. You grab your towel and head toward the bathroom, he follows behind you, not even bothering to be subtle, you won’t see him anyway. The other ghosts have caught him occasionally spying on you, but no one bothers to intervene, there’s not much they can do even if they wanted to, which they probably don’t care to. Most of the ghosts are just trying to stay out of your way.

He leans against the bathroom counter, eyes following you as you turn on the shower, waiting as it warms up. You hang up your towel on the hook behind the door and he appreciates the way your body curves with the action. Your nipples are deliciously hard in the cool autumn air and he imagines flicking his tongue over them and the lovely little sounds you might make in response.

He’s kissed you once. One Saturday, while he was ‘over’ at your house, the two of you had played a drinking board game. Most of it had been divulging truths, several of his ended up being lies out of pure necessity, but he enjoyed the small truths he could share with you, and doubly enjoyed finding out some of your secrets in return. He already knew a lot of it, from watching you, but you admitting to having had a wet dream about him once was something he hadn’t known. He’d been smug the rest of the night, no matter how much you’d tried to insist the dream was a one-time fluke. He’d pulled a card that told him to kiss the person to his left, but it was only the two of you playing. He expected you to tell him to pick up the next card, but instead, you leaned over and kissed him, cupping his chin. The kiss was much longer than should’ve been necessary for the game, soft and sensual and dizzying. When you pulled away, he leaned over the board to try to kiss you again, taking the way you kissed him to suggest you wanted more. You gave him a few seconds before pushing him away and telling him that you’re not doing this. He didn’t understand, doesn’t to this day, but relented with a huff. Things between you were tense for the next few weeks. Currently, it seems the kiss has been forgotten, but not in his mind, never in his mind.

You step into the shower, the water cascading over you, making your hair stick to your skin. You sigh deeply, brushing your hair from your face. A thin film of steam covers the whole bathroom, billowing from the showerhead. Tate watches your blurry figure through the haze on the glass shower wall. He watches as your hands roam your body, distributing the warm water all over yourself. You lean down, starting to gently massage one of your calves, your thumbs rubbing circles over the tense muscles. You repeat this action with your other calf, sighing pleasantly. Tate moves as you go to grab your washcloth and saturate it with shower gel, into the shower to stand behind you. The view from here is perfect, your ass on full display as you bend over to scrub your legs. He slides down his jeans and boxers, taking his half-hard cock in his hand and starting to gently tug at it. He takes his time, knowing you’ll be in the shower for a while and he has no need to rush. He leans against the back wall, his eyes becoming hooded as he watches you, lazily caressing himself. He watches the suds trickle down your legs slowly as you start to clean your hips and stomach. He watches appreciatively, taking in all the various curves and lines of your body, familiarly yet entirely new to him too. He knows how you look by heart, but the feeling of you under his hands is still only a dream. A very frequent one. You swipe the washcloth under your breasts, over your chest and arms, under your armpits, everywhere you can reach on your back. He wishes he could offer to help you reach, wash your back and then lower his hands to grab the delicious curve of your ass. His hand speeds up unconsciously as he imagines pressing you against the wall, pressing up against your back, kissing down your damp neck. You rinse yourself clean and stand for a moment, eyes closed under the warm spray of water. His eyes follow various water droplets as they trace down the curves and valleys of your body.

With a deep breath, you fill your hands with shampoo and start to slowly work it into your hair, sighing softly. Perhaps he’s managed to condition himself, like Pavlov’s dog, because at the delicious scent of your shampoo, his cock starts to twitch. He knows what’s coming next. He’s gotten the sense you’ve had a stressful day, which makes him even more excited. He slowly pumps his fist over his length, twisting slightly, eager for the highlight of his day. The suds slowly dislodge themselves from your hair, plopping down onto the shower floor and swirling into the drain. You brush your hands through your hair, making sure to get rid of every last bubble, the water making your hair look like a sheet of satin. You squeeze out some conditioner into your hands, the smell of it making Tate even more excited, working it into the ends of your hair. You then neatly twist your hair, pulling it all to one side, to let the conditioner sit. You rinse your hands and then turn off the water. For a moment, the bathroom is eerily silent. He knows you turn off the shower while you do this to save water, but he likes to think you do it so he can hear your gorgeous little moans without having to strain over the spray of the shower.

You lean back against the shower wall, he steps to the side for a bit of a better view of you. His hand remains motionless on his cock, waiting for you to begin. Your hand snakes down your stomach, sliding between your legs, the tip of your finger tracing a teasing path around your folds, to work yourself up. Keeping a keen eye on your movements, he tries his best to match your pace, teasing slowly over himself, thumbing over the head of his cock. He wishes you were doing this to each other rather than yourselves, but he tries not to let that thought dampen his excitement. You start to gently circle your clit, letting your head lull onto your shoulder. You bite your lip, keeping your voice down, as if knowing you might be overheard, but not enough to keep him from hearing. You probably don’t realise just how close he is. He imagines biting the very same lip, imagines being the one whose fingers get to gently tease over your clit, rubbing delicately like you’re doing now. He tries his best to keep pace with you, but as your body writhes and arches away from the wall, his hand can’t but speed up a little. Your eyes flutter and a flush grows on your cheeks. He wishes he knew what you were thinking about. He’s pictured you thinking of him and calling his name so much that it echoes in his mind as if it’s a real memory. Your hand speeds up its motions and you gasp gently. If he really tries, he can distort the gasp to sound like his name. He tightens his grip around himself, fucking into his fist, picturing himself inside you. If he wanted to, he could materialise right now and take you, but he doesn’t, he knows he can’t. Still, his eyes are fixed on your cunt as he fucks his fist, a groan spilling from his lips. You echo him with a moan of your own, rubbing your fingers faster over yourself, back and forth or in circles, you’re going so fast he can’t even tell anymore. He pants your name like a prayer, staring straight into your hooded eyes. Every flutter of your eyes or twitch of your body makes him think you might have heard him, but you never do. He throws his head back against the cool tile, thrusting his hips forward in desperation as he sees you start to tremble. He knows you’re close, and he is too. Your hips rock, your free hand grabbing at your breast. He hears your high-pitched whines and sees as your legs shake, signalling the arrival of your orgasm. He gasps desperately, squeezing himself a little harder to push himself over the edge, watching as you pant and gasp, recovering. He groans loudly, his hips arching away from the wall, biting his lip as his release spills all over the shower floor with a few heavy splats.

He leans back against the cool tile, the feeling soothing his flushed skin. He pushes away some sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, watching as you rinse the conditioner from the ends of your hair, the room steaming back up again. His release, which you couldn’t see anyway, disappears down the drain. He watches it go, an odd feeling in his chest. He hates that you can’t acknowledge any of this, that you can’t know. That if you did know, you’d presumably push him away like before. He tucks himself away, watching as your fingers carve through the condensation on the glass wall. You often like to doodle there, often stars or hearts, occasionally a funny animal. He’s still recovering a little, not completely focused. His eyes follow you as you shut off the water, stepping out of the shower and wrapping up in your towel. You squeeze out some excess water from your hair into the sink and then, with an odd glance in the mirror, your eyes flickering around the room, you leave to get dressed in your bedroom. He walks over to see what you drew on the wall this time, a small smile on his face as he thinks of all the cute little doodles you’ve unknowingly left him over the last few months. He frowns, brows furrowing in shock and confusion, because this time, you’ve written a string of words.

“Fuck me next time,” the words drip slightly. His mind spins and he swallows thickly. There’s no mistaking that you’ve left this message on purpose. He approaches the steamy mirror, hoping the message will stay a little longer here rather than in the shower. He wants you to see it. He materialises just long enough to dance his finger over the cool condensation.

“I will,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

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[silverstar70]

Fandom: Criminal minds Character: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Author's note: English isn't my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

Summary: During a training session, the tension between Hotch and Y/N grew stronger

Warnings: 🔞‼️ new relationship, smut, sexual tension, fluff moments, friends to lovers.

Words count: 4,579k Hope you like it and let me know what you think! Enjoy it!

Something new pt.1

Training session

The BAU training gym buzzed with quiet energy as agents filtered in and out, focusing on their workouts or sparring sessions. Aaron Hotchner, known for his discipline and dedication, was no stranger to this space. However, today, there was an unusual tension in the air, a palpable electricity that seemed to emanate from the presence of a single individual: Lieutenant Y/N L/N.

Having transferred from the Navy to the FBI for a joint task force operation, Y/N had become a familiar face at Quantico. Her strong leadership and tactical skills were undeniable, but it was her long-standing friendship with Aaron that intrigued the team. They shared a history, one that extended beyond their professional interactions.

Y/N had known Aaron before his time at the BAU, back when he was still with Haley. She had always harbored feelings for him but chose to distance herself when she realized he was happy. Now, years later, fate had brought them back together under different circumstances. Haley was gone, and Aaron was a different man—hardened by experience and loss.

Among the agents, Aaron Hotchner stood tall, clad in a fitted black t-shirt and matching athletic pants, his presence commanding even in a casual setting.

Across the room, Y/N tightened her ponytail, adjusting her workout gear. She glanced at Aaron, feeling a slight flutter in her stomach. They had always maintained a professional relationship, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken between them—a tension she couldn't quite place. Or maybe she could but tried to ignore it.

Today, the BAU was conducting a mandatory self-defense training session. The agents paired off, leaving Y/N and Hotch as the only unpaired duo. He watched as Y/N adjusted her gloves, her movements precise and measured.

She looked up at him, a small, confident smile playing on her lips. "Ready to get your ass kicked, Hotchner?"

He chuckled, a rare sound that softened his otherwise stern demeanor. "We'll see about that, Lieutenant."

They circled each other, assessing, waiting for the right moment. Aaron made the first move, lunging forward with a quick jab. Y/N sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. He felt the controlled strength in her grip, a testament to her training.

"Not bad," he grunted, spinning out of her hold. They continued the dance, a series of strikes and counter-strikes, each testing the other's limits.

As the session progressed, the gym seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them. The sound of their heavy breathing filled the space, mingling with the faint echo of their footfalls on the mats. Aaron couldn't deny the thrill he felt—her agility, her focus—it was exhilarating.

Y/N went for a high kick, aiming for his shoulder. Aaron caught her leg, pulling her off balance. She fell back, but not before hooking her free leg around his waist, dragging him down with her. They landed on the mat, bodies pressed together, the heat between them undeniable.

For a moment, they stayed like that, breath mingling, eyes locked. Aaron's hand rested on her waist, fingers brushing against the exposed skin beneath her shirt. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, mirroring his own.

"Nice move," she murmured, her voice low and husky.

He swallowed, struggling to keep his composure. "You're not bad yourself."

The tension was thick, a live wire crackling between them. Slowly, Y/N disentangled herself, rolling away and standing up. She offered him a hand, pulling him to his feet. As they stood facing each other, Aaron felt a surge of desire, a need to break the unspoken rules they both adhered to so strictly.

With each move, each counter, they seemed to communicate on a different level—silent yet profound. Aaron grabbed Y/N's arm, attempting to pin her again, but she twisted out of his grip with a fluid motion.

"You've gotten better," Aaron remarked, slightly breathless.

Y/N smirked, "You haven't seen anything yet."

She lunged, feinting left before shifting right, catching Aaron off guard. He stumbled back, but quickly regained his footing, a glint of admiration in his eyes. He countered with a swift move, sweeping her legs from under her. She hit the mat with a soft thud, Aaron's body hovering over hers, his breath warm against her skin. The proximity was intoxicating, and for a brief moment, time stood still.

"You've always been a formidable opponent," Aaron said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart pounding. "You never knew the half of it," she replied, her voice equally soft but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper.

The air between them crackled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Aaron's gaze flickered to her lips before he quickly pulled back, extending a hand to help her up. She took it, her touch lingering a fraction longer than necessary.

They continued the session, but something had shifted. The sparring became more intense, their movements more precise. It was as if they were testing the boundaries of their own control, pushing each other to the brink. The gym seemed to grow warmer, the air thicker with the unspoken tension between them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aaron called for a break. The gym door creaked open, and JJ poked her head in. "Hey, we're wrapping up. You two coming?"

Aaron cleared his throat, stepping back. "Yeah, we'll be right there."

JJ nodded, shooting them a knowing smile before closing the door.

Y/N grabbed a towel, dabbing at the sweat on her brow. "That was a good session."

There was a moment of silence, thick with unspoken words. Aaron knew he should step back, and put distance between them. But something kept him rooted in place, his eyes locked on hers.

Y/N shifted, biting her lip. "You know, we should do this more often. Training, I mean."

He raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"

She shrugged, tossing the towel onto a bench. "Yeah. It was...fun."

Aaron's gaze softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Fun, huh? That's not a word I hear often."

She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eye. "Maybe you need to loosen up a bit, Hotchner."

He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. "Maybe you're right."

Standing there in silence, close yet distant from each other, the room felt small. The air between them cracked with electricity, Hotch lost himself looking at her as a shiver ran along his body and a feeling, he hadn’t felt in years began to spread in his chest. Every muscle tensed at the strange feeling; his stomach tightened, his breathing hitched in his throat and his heart seemed to beat out of his cage.

Y/N felt his eyes on her penetrating her soul, like he was trying to read what was going on in her mind. If only he knew.  “What?”

Her voice brought him back to reality. “Umm, nothing.”

Eager to get up from there, he grabbed his gym bag ready to rush out the door, but Y/N turned towards him at the same time he moved. Face to face, the distance between them was almost nonexistent, she could feel his hot breath on her face.

Driven by some invisible force, Hotch reached out, brushing a strand of loose hair from her face. His touch lingered, fingers trailing down her cheek.

Y/N's breath hitched, her eyes darkening. She leaned into his touch, her hand coming up to rest on his chest. "Hotch..."

He swallowed, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. The sound of his name on her lips sent a rush of heat through him. "We shouldn't," he whispered, even as he leaned in closer.

He hesitated, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. But in that moment, all he could think about was her—the feel of her skin, the warmth of her body. With a quiet groan, he closed the distance, capturing her lips in a fierce, desperate kiss.

Y/N responded instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him closer. The kiss was a clash of need and restraint, a desperate attempt to quench the fire burning between them. Aaron's hands roamed her back, pulling her against him as if trying to merge their bodies.

The world outside the gym ceased to exist. There were no rules, no consequences—only the two of them, lost in a whirlwind of desire. Aaron kissed her deeply, tasting the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lips. He felt her hands slide under his shirt, fingers tracing the muscles of his back.

They pulled apart, gasping for air. Aaron rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. "We should stop," he murmured, though his voice lacked conviction.

Y/N nodded but made no move to step back. Her eyes were glazed with desire, lips swollen from their kiss. "We should," she agreed, her voice breathy.

They stood there, caught in the aftermath of their shared moment. Aaron's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of exhilaration and fear. He knew they were treading dangerous waters, but the thought of pulling away felt like a betrayal of everything he wanted.

With a sigh, Aaron gently cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "We can't let this happen again," he said, his voice firm yet soft.

Y/N nodded, her eyes holding a mix of disappointment and understanding. "I know," she replied, her tone resigned.

They pulled away, the loss of contact a cold reminder of reality. Aaron took a deep breath, steadying himself. He offered her a small, rueful smile. "Thank you for the session. It was...enlightening."

She returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Anytime, Hotchner."

With one last lingering look, they turned and walked out of the gym, the air between them heavy with unresolved tension. As they stepped into the hallway, the sounds of the bustling FBI office reminded them of their duties, their responsibilities.

Aaron glanced at Y/N, who was already putting on her professional mask, her expression unreadable. He admired her strength, her ability to compartmentalize. But he couldn't shake the feeling that they had crossed a line, one that couldn't easily be redrawn.

As they rejoined the team, Aaron felt a pang of regret. He knew he had to be the responsible one, to maintain the boundaries. But as he watched Y/N interact with the others, a small, rebellious part of him wondered what it would be like to break the rules, to give in to the undeniable chemistry between them. A small part of him wished he wasn’t so strict with rules.

As the days passed, Hotch and Y/N fell back into their professional roles, maintaining a careful distance. The BAU team, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the undercurrent between them but chose not to comment. Work carried on, cases came and went, and the tension between Hotch and Y/N simmered beneath the surface.

One evening, after the team had finished a particularly grueling case, Y/N found herself in the conference room finishing some paperwork. Hotch noticed her and quietly entered the room, not wanting to disturb her.

He couldn't help but admire her. She was focused, her brow furrowed in concentration as she studied the files. Despite the exhaustion etched on her face, she radiated a quiet strength that Aaron found both admirable and alluring.

She looked up after a while, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Aaron standing there, his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

"Hey," she replied, her tone guarded.

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "I wanted to check on you.”

"I’m fine. It’s just being a long day," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Aaron nodded, watching her carefully. "Yeah, it was. You should get some rest."

She looked up, meeting his eyes for a moment before looking away. "I will. Just need to finish up a few things."

Aaron hesitated, feeling the familiar pull toward her. He knew he should leave, and give her space, but the urge to bridge the gap between them was too strong. He took a deep breath and closed the distance, his footsteps echoing in the empty room.

"Can we talk?" he asked, his voice gentle yet firm.

*

When the team noticed Hotch and Y/N in the conference room, they exchanged curious looks. Around Reid’s desk, everyone was trying hard to avoid gazing towards the conference room, keeping in mind the promise to never profile each other. Rules they broke repeatedly.

Of course, they notice the change in behavior between their boss and the Lieutenant, the tension filling the room every time the other walked into the room, and the stolen glances when they thought no one was watching. 

Truth be told, they hoped something would happen between them. They were so alike, workaholics, strict to the rules but ready to break them to save one of their own, authoritative and well-respected figures. Legends in their environment.

Hotch needed someone like Y/N at his side, someone who could understand the long hours. They never blamed Haley for the divorce, they knew this job took a lot from the people around them too, and wished that Hotch would stop blaming himself for what happened.

As the agents started gathering their things, Emily spoke with a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, what's the deal between them?" she asked in a low voice, just loud enough for the team to hear. "They seem... closer than usual."

Derek leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. "You think there's something going on between Hotch and Y/N?"

Spencer blinked, his brow furrowing in thought. "They do seem to have a strong rapport," he mused, tilting his head. "But it could just be a mutual respect for each other's skills. They're both highly trained professionals, after all."

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. "Always the rational one, aren't you, pretty boy? But come on, did you see the way they looked at each other? There's definitely something there."

“Whatever it is, it’s not our business,” Dave spoke, interrupting the arguments.

*

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it, her eyes widening. “I’ve got an emergency,” she said abruptly, grabbing her phone and standing up. "I need to go."

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat. "Is everything alright?"

She shook her head, not elaborating. "I’ll explain later. I have to go."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and hurried out of the room, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions. He watched her leave, his brow furrowing and a feeling of unease settling in his gut.

She rushed out of the room, walking past the team to head to the elevators. The team exchanged glances; their curiosity piqued by the sudden change in Y/N’s behavior.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Dave shouted from Reid’s desk, seeing her in a hurry.

“Work emergency.”

Aaron’s gaze followed her as she walked out the glass doors. He could sense that something was off, but he had no way of knowing what the emergency was. He sighed and returned to his office, desperately trying to avoid the team’s question looks.

Hours later, the office was quiet. The team had left for the night, and the building was nearly empty. His thoughts were consumed by Y/N; her sudden departure, the unspoken words between them. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was unresolved, and he needed to figure out what it was.

Hotch headed to the gym with a determined stride, hoping to clear his mind. The gym was dimly lit, with only the occasional beam of light cutting through the shadows. He changed into more comfortable clothes and started placing meticulously the bandages on his hands.

He started punching the bag with a force he didn’t even know he had. All the frustration, all the tension, was drifting out of his body, slowly, too slowly. Y/N occupied all his thoughts, every time she came to his mind, he felt something strange in his stomach. That kiss was wrong, so wrong and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it, about her.

Later that night, when Y/N came back that night, the gym was deserted. Or at least she hoped so. Already in her gym clothes, she was greeted by the rhythmic thudding of gloves hitting a heavy bag. The sight she met with was Hotch with his shirt soaked with sweat, punching the bag with intense force, his muscles rippling with each powerful strike. His face was a mask of concentration, brows furrowed and jaw set as if he was trying to punch away whatever demons haunted him.

Y/N stood in the doorway, watching him silently, not wanting to intrude. But the magnetic pull she felt towards him was too strong to resist. The shirt perfectly hugging his chest and arms, the sweat scrolling down his face, the grunts he made every time his fits touched the bad, did something to her.

The familiar feeling she felt when they kissed, was growing stronger in her stomach. The sight of him made her heart race, a fire started to spread in her chest, and a sense of admiration filled her. She had seen him in countless professional situations, always composed and in control. But this was different—this was raw, unfiltered Aaron Hotchner.

She leaned against the wall, her eyes never leaving him as he pounded the bag. She could see the sweat glistening on his skin, the way his muscles flexed and strained with each movement. It was a sight that stirred something deep within her, a longing that she had tried so hard to suppress.

The intensity of his workout mirrored the intensity of their earlier encounter. It was clear that he was using the physical exertion to work through his frustrations, perhaps his own confusion over their charged moment.

After a few moments, Aaron paused, wiping his face with a towel. He looked up and saw her standing there, her presence startling him. For a brief second, their eyes locked, and the weight of the evening’s events seemed to settle between them.

“Didn’t expect to see you back here,” Hotch said, his voice rough from exertion.

Y/N stepped further into the gym, her gaze steady. “Didn’t expect to see anyone here this late.”

She walked over to the bench and set down her water bottle, feeling his eyes on her every step of the way. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that wrapped around them, drawing them closer together.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

He shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Not at all."

He watched her as she carefully wrapped her hands and moved closer to him, his eyes scanning her face. "You seemed pretty rushed earlier. Is everything okay?"

She let out a sigh, her gaze dropping to the floor. "It was just some work-related stuff. Nothing to worry about."

Hotch wasn’t convinced but didn’t push further. He kept scanning her trying to catch any sign of discomfort. Once she was done, her gaze met his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.

She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. She knew that look. "Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Like you have any right to be worried.” She said sharply.

Her words hit him like a train. His features softened as he felt his heart broke in his chest at the pain. “Y/N. Of course, I’m worried. We’re friends.”

Friends. Odd choice of words, she thought, the word echoing in her mind. Friends didn't kiss like that, didn't share the kind of moments they had. But she knew why he said it, why he needed to draw that line. Still, it stung.

"Friends. Right," she repeated, her voice flat. She quickly brushed off her thoughts and changed the subject, not wanting to explore more of his assumption. “Want to go a few rounds?" she asked, her tone casual while heading to the mats in the center of the room.

He sighed, noticing her attempt but didn’t say anything. “Sure, why not.”

The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable, and Hotch felt a familiar thrill. He joined her on the mats, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. They stood facing each other, the air between them charged with unspoken tension.

"Alright," Aaron said, his voice low. "Let's see what you've got."

They began slowly, testing each other's reflexes with light jabs and evasive maneuvers. As the intensity increased, so did the closeness of their movements. Every block, every dodge brought them closer, their breaths mingling in the confined space. It was a dance of skill and desire, each touch igniting a spark.

Aaron's eyes were locked on Y/N's, the heat in his gaze mirroring her own. He feinted left, then moved in quickly, pinning her arms behind her back. She gasped, their faces inches apart. For a moment, they stood frozen, the sound of their heavy breathing filling the gym.

"Got you," he murmured, his voice husky.

Y/N smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Not quite."

In a swift move, she twisted free, using the momentum to sweep his legs out from under him. Aaron landed on his back, the air rushing from his lungs. Before he could react, Y/N was on top of him, straddling his hips. She pinned his wrists to the mat, her breath hot against his skin.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Lieutenant.” He said with a smirk on his face.

She leaned in closer, her lips hovering just above his. “You too, Agent,” she whispered, her tone teasing.

They stayed like that, locked in place, the weight of their unresolved feelings pressing down on them. Aaron could feel the heat of her body, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His pulse raced, a mix of adrenaline and desire coursing through his veins.

The space between them seemed to shrink, the air thick with anticipation. Aaron's resolve wavered, the boundaries he'd set for himself crumbling under the intensity of the moment. He could feel her breath on his lips, the intoxicating scent of her skin. It was a temptation he couldn't resist any longer.

With a low growl, he surged upward, capturing her lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. Y/N responded immediately, releasing his wrists to wrap her arms around his neck. Their kiss was a clash of passion and pent-up frustration, each trying to pour all their unspoken feelings into the embrace.

Aaron's hands roamed her back, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. He could feel the warmth of her body, the softness of her curves against him. His evident desire was strong under her, sending shivers along her spine. The world outside the gym ceased to exist; there was only her, only this moment. Their kiss grew more desperate, more urgent, as if they were trying to make up for lost time.

Y/N broke the kiss first, gasping for air. She looked down at him, her eyes dark with desire. “This is highly unprofessional,” she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

Aaron cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her swollen lips. "I know," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "But I can't stop."

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "Me neither."

With a shuddering breath, she leaned down, kissing him again. This time, it was slower, more deliberate. Hotch's hands slid down her back, tracing the curve of her spine. He felt her shiver under his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

As their kisses grew more heated, Y/N pushed against his chest, could feel his heartbeat. He ran his hands through her hair, his lips trailing kisses along her jaw and down her neck. The taste of her skin was intoxicating, each touch sending a jolt of electricity through him.

One of her hands slid under his shirt and Aaron's breath hitched as her hands touched his bare skin, her touch both tender and possessive. She leaned in, pressing her lips to the crock of his neck. He groaned softly, his hands tightening on her waist.

They paused, breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together. Aaron looked into her eyes, seeing the same mix of desire and uncertainty reflected in them. He knew they were crossing a line, again, but in that moment all he wanted was her.

With a soft growl, Hotch captured her lips again, pulling her even closer. Their kisses were frantic, their hands exploring each other's bodies with a desperate need. In the heat of the moment, Hotch rolled them on the mats, ending on top of her.

Pulling apart, their eyes locked again. Dark and filled with desire, it was like looking into each other's soul. Aaron rested his forehead against hers, his heart pounding in his chest.

Y/N was the first to speak, her voice playful but barely above a whisper. "Crossing the line again, Hotchner?"

He sighed, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "I know," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "But I don't want to stop."

She nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and pride. "Neither do I."

They stayed like that for a while, holding onto each other, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. Hotch knew they had a lot to talk about, a lot to figure out. But for now, he was content to just be with her, to enjoy the warmth of her body and the softness of her touch.

Eventually, they pulled away, their breathing steadying. “We should probably get going,” she murmured, a hint of a smile in her voice.

Aaron chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Yeah, probably."

Reluctantly, they separated ready to get up. As they recollected their belongings, they felt a sense of peace. Taking this step forward, not knowing where it would lead was a jump in the dark and neither of them was used to having things out of their control, but this time it felt different. It felt right.

As they left the gym together, Aaron reached out, taking Y/N's hand in his. She looked up at him, a surprised but pleased smile crossing her face. He squeezed her hand, a silent promise that whatever came next, they would face it together.

The night was cool, the stars faintly visible above the city lights. They paused by Y/N's vehicle, and Aaron found himself reluctant to let her go.

He glanced at her, his dark eyes searching her face. "Y/N... Come home with me?" His voice was soft, the question hanging in the cool night air. It was an invitation and a challenge, a step into the unknown. “Jack is with Jessica.” He added

Y/N looked up at him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she seemed to weigh the gravity of his words. Then, with a slight nod, she smiled. "Okay," she replied, her voice steady despite the tumult she felt inside.

A smile spread wide across his face and for the first time in a long time, Aaron felt hopeful. They walked to his car hand in hand, ready to explore those feelings they tried so hard to ignore over the past few weeks.

Tag: @sweetbearcolorgarden

Read part 2 here

[katz-rambles]

hello! proud member of the arcane fandom here, can confirm we are alive and well ! may i suggest a little something with ekko and a gn (or masc) reader? perhaps comforting ekko after the bridge incident of episode 7- thank you ! and take care <3

Yess! I js finished rewatching Arcane today, and the bridge scene is still one of my favorite fight scenes! Take care, as well, Anon!!

1k words, so it's a little on the short side.

(fluff, gn!reader, reader has some medical knowledge (but I don't, so I apologize if this is inaccurate), Ekko's a tease, illusions to sex but nothing actually happens.)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

It's safe to say that the day didn't go as planned for either of you. You're waiting at home, pacing around the room. You had a bad feeling about the whole ‘going to topside’ thing Ekko told you about. It's the day after, and there's still no sign of him. Even Scar hasn't heard from him. All your mind does is go to the worst. Could the enforcers have killed him, you don't know, and you're not sure if you'd want to know.

You were hoping that by the time you woke up, he would be there. You spend the whole morning pacing and panicking. You try to take your mind off it by getting out and seeing some of the other firelights.

It works. Talking with them and then playing with a couple of the kids helps. I'm mainly playing with the kids, though. It's fun. They convince you to play house with them, and one of them hands you a little doll. It reminds you of your childhood, and it makes you happy knowing that they get to have a somewhat normal childhood.

There's suddenly a lot of voices and clamoring when the entrance opens. So you go and check it out, it can't hurt to. You have to ,gently, push past some of the small crowd to get to see what's actually going on. “Hey, sweetheart,” Ekko groans and stumbles, and you're quick to wrap your arm around him to help stabilse him. When you look down, you're met with an odd sight. You can check having a councilor inside the fireflights base now. He clings to your side and lets you help him get up into your shared room so you can assess the damage.

You let him sit down on the bed, and he sighs, resting his head back on the headboard. You scan him for any big injuries. There's one that catches your eye, a bleeding wound across his stomach. “It wasn't supposed to go this way,” he starts, helping you lift up his shirt so you have access to the wound and the continuing, “it was just supposed to be, I go across with Vi and the other girl. Give them the stone, and then everything would be better. But no.” He winces when you pat some of the alcohol down on it, cleaning it so you can stitch him up. “I know, I'm sorry.” You sigh and press your free hand on his cheek. One of his hands covers yours, and he leans into your touch.

“This is going to hurt like a bitch, you know.” You warn him and grab a pair of tweezers when you notice the small pieces of metal lodged inside the wound. He lets out a shaky breath and nods, one hand grabbing onto the sheets of the bed. You can hear him wincing and groaning when you start to grab the metal, slowly pulling it out, trying not to hurt him too much. You drop the metal on the nightstand and stand up to grab the stapler. You dab some of the numbing cream around the wound in hopes that it won't hurt too bad when you close it. While you wait for it to kick in, you get on your knees and take a look at his ankle.

“It's not broken. Nothing a splint won't be able to fix.” You say as you feel his ankle for swelling or a broken bone. You grab the wooden splints from the nightstand, glad you grabbed them just in case, and place them on either side, securing them in place with a nice layer of bandages. You grab the stapler and Ekko groans in protest, “oh fuck, is that part really necessary?” You scoff and shrug. “I could just knock you out and do it,” You offer, pulling out a vial of anesthetic from the kit. You laugh when he stares at you like you just grew another head, “besides, I've already numbed the area, so this is the best it's going to be.” You say and press the stapler to his skin, internally wincing every time the sounds of it goes off and Ekko moans and groans with each staple. You thank whoever's listening that you didn't have to do too many staples. You don't think you could handle any more of hearing him in pain before you gave in and actually knocked him out.

“There.. all done.” You smile at him and rub the side of his leg. He nods, and you grab the bandages, wrapping it before you go and grab a new shirt for him to put on and take the old one. “Come here, please?” He asks and grabs your hand, pulling you towards the bed. Who are you to deny him, so you give in and crawl into the bed beside him, careful of his injuries, and lay your head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he mumbles and kisses your cheek, leaving smaller pecks on your nose and forehead before he kisses your lips, “what would I do without you?” He mumbles against your lips, and you laugh. “I don't know.. staple yourself and probably miss.” You tease, and he scoffs, giving you a glare before he kisses you again. You're just glad he made it home in one piece, and so is he.

“I guess this means I'm on bed rest for a bit, huh?” He mumbles, and you roll your eyes. “When have you ever complained about bed rest?” You scowl, and he laughs, a real laugh, not a fake one to make someone happy, a real one. You kiss him again, and he rests his hands on your waist and pulls you closer to him, his hands going lower until they rest on the curve of your hips and you smack his hands away. “What part of bed rest did you not understand?” You groan and push yourself back, hearing him laugh and rest his head on your chest. Finally resting. You're glad he's here.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Love Machines in Harmony

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 5244 Tags: PWP, Human AU, Rich Guy Dream, Mechanic Hob, the garage doesn't feature in this one though, Service Top Hob Gadling, Enthusiastic Bottom Dream, Dream is Not Quiet in bed, brief appearance by glass sex toy, anal sex, spünkelcouchen, strength kink, manhandling, burgeoning feelings, which shall continue to go unspoken, eye candy wardrobe choices, oral sex, mild temperature play, brief mention of come swallowing

Notes: Fifth (5th!) in the Turbo Lover series. This is an immediate sequel/continuation to Shift to Overdrive. Title (of course) taken from Turbo Lover by Judas Priest. Previously in the series, in case AO3 is down: Customer Service With Every Nerve Alive Loyalty Rewards Program Shift to Overdrive

Summary: Passions are running high after the limo ride home, and the drawing room is closer than the bedroom

On AO3

Hob pushes Dream up against the door as soon as it's shut behind them, seizes him by the biceps and kisses him fiercely. He's managed to calm himself a little between the limo and the house and he's not in danger of popping off immediately but his fancy tailored trousers are very distinctly tented and it's all Dream's fault, the way he'd just crawled over and taken Hob out and licked and sucked him like candy all the way home—

"Your mouth," he pants, breaking the kiss, moving his hands to Dream's face, "Dream, you magnificent creature, your fucking mouth—you drive me insane—"

Dream surges back into the kiss, tongue squirming into Hob's mouth, the same tongue that had teased him so relentlessly—he can taste himself on it, still. Fuck. Dream is whining hungrily and grinding his hips against Hob's; they're both hard, and god but it's gratifying to know that Dream did what he did in the limo because it turns him on, he's not just trying to get Hob off. Which Hob has certainly picked up on by now; Dream has loved sucking his cock from their very first tryst but it's always nice to see the proof of how much he enjoys it.

But Hob is so, so wound up from all that teasing; he needs to fuck Dream right now or he may go mad.

He grabs Dream around the back of his thighs and hefts him up, swallows down the delighted noise that Dream makes and swings them around off the door as Dream's legs wrap around him. Dream has this big house with all these rooms and most of them are closer than his second floor bedroom; Hob kicks his shoes off there in the foyer and moves for what Dream calls his 'drawing room' with its sturdy antique-style furniture, pauses in the dark.

"Lights, dove," he manages, pulling free of Dream's kiss and dipping to suck a soft mark to his throat.

"Computer. Lights. Ambient," Dream says, a bit breathlessly, but the automated system that's keyed to his voice obediently brings up the lights in the room to a soft cozy glow. Hob, able now to see where he's going, heads straight to the green velvet couch and drops Dream onto it gently.

Dream makes a highly-pleasured little sound as he lands on his arse and scrambles up to turn and kneel on the sofa, hands gripping the back. "Hob, please," he gasps, with all the urgency that Hob feels, and Hob's not about to keep him waiting.

"Can I assume you've got lube on your person?" he asks, reaching around front to undo Dream's trousers and take them down along with his pants. He strokes over Dream's cock as he goes, and Dream shudders.

"Yes—but Hob—" He sticks his arse out out, bounces it a little; Hob takes the hint and draws back to look.

He sees the broad jewel-like base of one of Dream's favorite glass toys peeking from between those milk-white cheeks, and it makes his breath catch.

"Oh my god, Dream—" He wriggles the plug, tugs gently without any intent to remove it, and relishes the way Dream squirms. "All night? Or did you just sneak this in before we left the restaurant?"

"All night," Dream gasps, clutching at the green velvet upholstery of the couch back. "I knew—I knew that you would be absolutely mouthwatering in your suit, that I would need your cock without delay once coming home—" He bears down with a whine, the plug surging gently into Hob's grip as he pushes it free; Hob sets it aside as Dream babbles on. "I had to be ready, Hob, fuck me, please—"

And who is Hob to argue with that? He drops his own trousers, lines his dick up and slides in.

Dream moans, a sound of pure pent-up relief and decadent joy, and Hob answers him in kind. It's so good, to have him open and ready and gripping hot around Hob's prick, finally, finally after that limo ride. He groans again, draws back and thrusts in repeatedly until he's fucking with more enthusiasm than finesse, and Dream's voice is just one long note of pleasure warbling out of him every time Hob slams in.

Dream is stretched and slick, but obviously he's had the toy in all night and while the friction that develops as the lube thins out is good for a moment, it quickly becomes too much, uncomfortable. "Need more lube, darling," Hob pants, pulling out reluctantly.

Dream fumbles into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket and hands a slim tube over his shoulder without a word, breathing hard. Hob can't help the delighted chuckle that escapes him; of course Dream is prepared, of course it's the good stuff. He slathers it onto his dick, strokes the excess into the rim of Dream's hole and sinks back into him with a groan of relief, squeezing Dream's hips as he sets into a steady measured rhythm. Part of him wants to pound hard and fast and get them both there as soon as possible after the work up Dream had given him in the limo. Part of him wants to calm down just a hair and draw this out, carry the frenzied need as long as he can, and it's that part that wins out.

"Can't believe you're real, sometimes," he pants, splitting his focus with words meant to also wind Dream tighter. "I mean. Course you're real, you're here, I can feel you"—he thrusts in, grinds deep, and Dream gasps a breathless cry—"but I just. You picked me, you let me have you; feels too good to be true and god, I'm so lucky—"

Dream is pushing back into every thrust, mindless and eager, fingers clenched on the wooden frame and emerald green upholstery of the couch back. "Picking you—ahh—picking you was the best decision I have made in—in months. Hob—" He tosses his head, lets it drop forward again as Hob keeps driving into him. "I nearly crawled into your lap in the car, Hob, I needed you inside me so desperately—"

"That sounds like a lovely idea," Hob gasps, a vision blossoming in his mind. Can he manage it? He's not a hundred percent sure, but he has learned by now that Dream goes a little feral for displays of Hob's physical strength when they fuck; it'll be worth the try. "I do like the sound of you bouncing in my lap—here, lean up—reach back, grab my arms—" He braces his legs and tightens his core, breathes deep as Dream obediently grabs backwards at his biceps; he scoops his arms under Dream's thighs and lifts, leaning back at the same time for balance.

Dream mewls his surprise, trousers round his dangling knees as Hob bears him up, dick still inside him. Hob trembles, straining under his weight, but manages a couple good strokes into him and Dream's head thunks back onto Hob's shoulder with a breathless whine. Hob thrusts up into him a third time, a fourth, and Dream moans desperately.

"Hob—Hob—!"

Hob grunts, shuffles a half-circle in place and drops to sit on the couch, only partially-controlled. He lands heavily, Dream still on his cock, and he feels the way that gravity drives him deep as Dream comes down on top of him. Dream cries out, chest heaving, clawing at Hob's forearms in their tailored sleeves, thighs working for more.

"Hob—fuck—Hob—!" He's squirming on Hob's dick, feet scrabbling in an awkward shuffle to kick off his shoes and yank one leg free of his trousers; as soon as he's got it both feet are planted on the edge of the couch on either side of Hob's spread thighs and he's fucking up and down on Hob's cock, eager and desperate and unconcerned for the clothes still tangled about his right ankle. He arches back against Hob, panting, frenzied, the sounds spilling out of his mouth a symphony of effort and satisfaction.

Hob is just along for the ride at this point, soaking in every little moan and cry, grunting his own pleasure as Dream rides backwards on his prick like a man possessed. He glances over Dream's shoulder, down past the open black jacket and loosened silk tie, moves one hand from Dream's hip to push his shirttails up out of the way so Hob can see his pretty pink cock straining tall, pearly-wet at the tip as it bounces in rhythm.

"Christ, I wish you had a mirror in here. Wanna see full-frontal how pretty you are writhing in my lap, fucking yourself on my cock—" He has a great view, all things considered, but god what he wouldn't give for a spectator's angle too. He wonders how Dream would feel about filming themselves.

Dream reaches up and back, grasps the wooden frame of the couch behind Hob's head, his body drawn into a beautiful half-dressed arc as he continues to fuck himself with feverish abandon. "I will—get—get a mirror—for next time—" He shudders, grinds deep, circles his hips in sharp little jerks that make both of them moan, then starts bouncing again.

Hob is struggling to keep himself from getting too close to coming; he's generally very good at pacing and stamina maintenance so that his partners get everything they need from him, but sometimes Dream makes it terribly difficult. And this is definitely one of those times, Dream arched backwards in his lap fucking like it's his mission in life, both of them still in suit jackets and shirts and loosened ties, Hob's trousers still around his ankles and Dream's still hanging from his right foot—the urgency is tangible in every move they make and Hob is hanging onto control for all he's worth. He won't come before Dream is ready for him to, he won't—

Dream is starting to flag.

He's slowing, getting less coordinated, the noises he makes tinged now with frustration and Hob can't blame his thighs for giving out on him, the pace he's been going. It's impressive he's kept at it this long.

"Ho~ob—" Dream whines his name, arches, squirms low on Hob's prick, still clinging to the back of the couch behind them both.

"I've got you," Hob murmurs, taking his cue. He shifts his hips forward a bit, grips Dream firmly under both thighs and lifts, just a little, just enough. It gives him room and leverage to thrust, taking over the rhythm that Dream had established and the way that Dream collapses into his support is so, so gratifying. "I've got you—" He fucks into him gently for a few strokes, the effort of holding him up muting the urgency of his own arousal somewhat, focusing and gathering himself before gradually picking up the pace.

It's no time at all until Dream is coming undone, hands clenched on the back of the couch, voice crying out in one long continuous note as Hob pumps steadily up into him. It's work to keep him slightly aloft like this, yes, and it would be easy enough to change positions for something less challenging but Hob won't, because he knows Dream loves this. He is forever grateful for the upper body strength his job has gifted him that lets him do this for Dream, who deserves every happiness and every fantasy that Hob can give him. He lifts just a little more, feeling it in his chest and every arm muscle; he'll be sore tomorrow, definitely, but it's so entirely worth it for the way Dream is arching and shivering and wailing under his care.

It's only another moment of this, Hob trembling under the strain, Dream crying out his pleasure, and then Dream's voice climbs higher, urgent and desperate and breathless. "Hob—Hob—Hob—!"

Hob doubles his efforts, fucking for all he's worth until at last Dream comes, shaking against him with the sweetest little scream, semen jetting into his crumpled shirt and jacket. Hob lets him down, flush into his own lap, pushes deep into the spasming clutch of Dream's body and holds, riding it out until Dream goes limp.

God, but he is such a lucky bastard.

Dream is panting, sharp little whines off the end of each heaving breath as he comes down from it, body gone slack against Hob, hands settling on Hob's forearms and head lolling back on Hob's shoulder.

Hob nuzzles into Dream's skin below and behind his ear, drunk on the smell of his sweat and shampoo, his dick positively throbbing in the sheath of Dream's clutching arse. "Do you want me to finish now, beautiful?" he breathes, nosing at Dream's earlobe, flexing inside him and earning a breathless whine. "I'm close, I'm so fucking close after everything you've done to me tonight and the way you just came on my cock; it wouldn't be long at all." He flicks his tongue up the back of Dream's ear, spreads his hand—his blue-collar work stained mechanic's hand—in the sticky mess of Dream's expensive shirt tails. "Or do you want me to take you upstairs, put you arse-up in your gigantic bed and fuck you until you come again first?"

"Please," Dream says, still a little glassy-eyed and breathless. "Strip me bare. Carry me upstairs. Fuck me as you see fit and fill me with your seed—"

Seed. As if anyone else would ever actually call it that. Hob smiles into Dream's neck, helplessly besotted. He adores this man, this horny rich weirdo who can drive Hob out of his mind with pleasure but can't drive stick to save his life, who somehow thinks Hob's cock is the greatest thing he could spend his time on. He chuckles, kisses Dream's damp and heated skin. "As you wish."

Dream arches against him, languid and restless; carefully, Hob shifts him forward just enough to start pulling at his clothes without dislodging him from his cock. He gets Dream's shirt and jacket freed from between them, wraps Dream in an embrace that's maybe a little softer than what they actually are, tells himself it's just a good excuse to unbutton Dream's shirt and cuffs. He helps Dream pull his arms free of both pieces, lifts the tie over his head, sets everything aside on the green velvet couch. He reaches, manages to free the trousers from where they're stuck around Dream's ankle, then sets to work on his own shirt buttons.

Dream shifts carefully on his prick, leans forward and works his own socks off while Hob struggles out of his suit; this would definitely be easier if he removed Dream from his lap and stood up but Dream hasn't dismounted and Hob's not going to make him until he has to. He tosses his suit and tie aside with Dream's; part of him cringes at how carelessly they've treated the clothes knowing that they cost more than he could afford, but on the other hand if Dream is unconcerned then he's just going to roll with it. Dream's probably got a guy he can take them to for cleaning and pressing and next time Hob sees them they'll be just like new.

He's got more important considerations right this second anyway.

He wraps his arms around Dream again to keep him steady while he kicks off his own trousers, does a little bit of contortion to get rid of his socks, and takes just a second to bask in the delight of having Dream held naked against him, held close in his arms. Normally the cuddling comes once they're all done and he enjoys sneaking it in mid-coitus far more than he should, probably, but he's also beyond caring at this point.

He likes Dream. A lot. And Dream likes him too, he's very sure, even if they'll never be more than whatever casual arrangement this is. It's good enough.

"Gonna have to move you off my dick," he says, with a soft kiss to the side of Dream's neck.

Dream makes a small sound of protest.

"Come on, precious, let me get you upstairs so I can fuck you senseless again." He moves his hands to Dream's hips, lifts him up enough to slide his dick out.

The sound of loss Dream makes almost has him sliding right back in, but that's not the current goal just now.

Shakily Dream stands and Hob levers himself up after, makes sure his path out of the room is clear of discarded clothing or other tripping hazards, turns Dream around and back into his arms. He'd asked to be carried upstairs and damned if Hob isn't going to indulge him. He briefly considers doing it bridal style, but no. Another time perhaps; his muscles are already complaining about the amount of lifting he's done tonight and they'll be better balanced if he's got Dream wrapped around him instead. "Arms round my neck, sweetheart, up we go," he says, gripping the backs of Dream's thighs and hefting him up, and then, because how can he not, he kisses Dream.

Dream clings around his neck, locks his legs around Hob's hips and kisses him back, soft and eager and the little whine in his throat sparks the heat still bubbling in the pit of Hob's belly.

He is so, so gone on this man, and so very ready to come.

And he's promised Dream another orgasm first.

Dream kisses all along his jaw as Hob maneuvers around the furniture, makes his way out to the staircase and climbs the two floors up to Dream's bedroom. He slings Dream gently onto the bed, an enormous and insanely plush comfortable affair, and clambers after him. "On your stomach, love," he says breathlessly, grabbing Dream by the hips, rolling him over and maneuvering him into position.

Dream whimpers, scrabbles to get his knees under him somewhat and pushes his arse up prettily, presenting it, all but begging for Hob's attentions.

"Christ, you're so gorgeous," Hob murmurs, splaying both hands over Dream's cheeks, squeezing them, spreading them. Dream's hole is right there, slick and ready and open, and Hob's dick twitches in anticipation. He leans to grab the lube from the bedside drawer, smears it generously over his first two fingers, sinks them deep into Dream's body.

"Hob," Dream moans, clenching around him, as if to draw him deeper, and Hob can't help the warmth that floods through him. He puts it aside, fingers Dream slowly for a moment, stroking him with steady unhurried attention and letting his own dick settle a bit so he doesn't pop immediately. Dream is so responsive, squirming on Hob's practiced touch and loudly voicing his pleasure; Hob can't help working him harder, deeper, zeroing in mercilessly on his prostate until Dream is a frenzied incoherent mess.

"Hob—please, Hob—please—!" Those seem to be the only words he can manage, voice raw and begging, fists clenching again and again in the duvet as Hob expertly drives him higher. He's squirming helplessly, knees splayed, hips rutting into the bed, arse clenching and unclenching on Hob's relentless fingers and Hob again counts himself the luckiest bloke in existence, that this is all for him.

He's sure it won't take much more to get Dream over the edge, and his own need is becoming unbearable. He gives Dream another half a minute or so, stroking deep and thorough, savoring the way he keens, and then pulls out.

Dream makes the most desolate sound of protest, squirming wantonly, bereft and needy and uncoordinated in his desperation; Hob seizes him by the hips, pulls him around and up into position, spreads his pristine cheeks with calloused workman's hands and sinks his prick in between.

Dream takes him with a low trembling moan, an eager gasp, pushing up for more and Hob swears.

"Fuck, Dream—" He resettles his hands on Dream's hips, draws himself out and pushes back in again, slow.

"Hob," Dream moans, like he's the only thing that matters, writhing up to meet him, and that's that. Hob gives a few more slow strokes, feeling every inch of the slide in and back out, and then shifts position. He leans forward, one hand still tight on Dream's hip while the other braces himself on the mattress, and starts moving faster. He watches Dream's back, the little ripples of his spine as he pushes up into Hob's thrusts, the sheen of sweat on his pale skin, marks the contrast of his own black-stained nails next to it.

Perfect. Beautiful. God, he loves this, this whole thing, but Dream most of all—

He pushes the thought aside, gives in to the heat of his own desire and fucks, barely holding on as Dream cries out. He keeps going, thrusting and pumping harder and harder until Dream is shaking underneath him, sobbing his pleasure into the bedclothes, screaming when he comes undone again at last. And then, only then, does Hob let his need slip its leash, plunging hard and fast and fierce into Dream's pliant overworked body, fucking and fucking until he spills.

"Dream—ohh, fuck, Dream—" He's trembling as it hits, wound tight in the heat they've built up all night and struggling to keep his tongue in check, to not let the overly-amorous words flow from his mouth while he's pumping the last of his spend into Dream's arse. That's not what they are; he's not going to ruin this with his inability to keep from falling all-in head-over-heels at the slightest provocation. He'll be whatever Dream wants, and that's enough.

Dream makes the most decadent satisfied little noise as Hob finishes, squeezes around him, wriggles happily. Hob, despite himself, drops to plant a kiss between his shoulder blades.

"There we are, love," he breathes, panting, spent. "Was that what you needed?"

"Exactly that, yes," Dream says, breathless and hoarse, shifting languidly underneath him. "You are so very good to me, Hob." He sighs, content, never mind that he's face down in his own wet spot with Hob's dick going soft in his arse.

Hob chuckles, fond and exhausted. "It's my pleasure, truly," he says, and carefully disengages before climbing off the bed. "C'mon, let's get cleaned up and I'll tuck you into bed, if you like."

"You will join me, of course." Dream says it like it was never a question, and it really isn't. But it's nice to know he's earned the welcome.

The duvet will have to be laundered; he should have put down a towel but in the moment it just hadn't crossed his mind. He uses a washcloth to clean it up as best he's able while Dream gets the shower going—they're sleeping under the duvet, not on top of it; it'll be fine for the night.

Dream is languid and cuddly in the shower (a big glass-enclosed affair with optional rain features and plenty of room for two), and Hob is delighted to indulge him; they trade lazy, sated kisses while washing up and Dream lets Hob towel his hair dry, lets Hob gently scrub his body dry as well, and offers his own help in rubbing down Hob's chest hair, his arms, his legs. And his back, of course.

It's so easy, deceptively domestic, and Hob loves every second of it. He picks Dream up when they're done, a proper princess carry this time despite the protest of several muscle groups, and takes him back out of the en-suite.

Dream makes a delighted little noise, snuggles into Hob with both arms around his neck, warm and content as Hob carries him to bed. Hob manages to hold him up with one fatigued arm and turn back the covers with the other, lays him down and tucks him in before skirting around to the other side to climb in himself. He scoots in close to Dream, who's made very clear by this point in their arrangement that he enjoys cuddling, and murmurs gently into his hair. "Lights, dove."

Dream gives a quiet little huff. "Computer. Lights out, whole house."

The lights dim out obediently and Hob settles in, arms around Dream, skin to skin, sated and content and sleepily certain that he is the luckiest bloke in the whole wide world.

~

He wakes slowly the next morning, on his back in Dream's enormous bed, warm and hazily blinking awake. Eventually he stirs, tries to roll onto his side to pull Dream in for sleepy snuggles, but every muscle in his body protests and he groans, biting his lip to stifle the sound. Beside him, Dream pushes up on one elbow and smirks down at him.

"Good morning, Hob Gadling," he purrs, eyes gleaming, hair a tousled mess, and god, but he's beautiful. Hob's heart gives a little thump.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he groans, flexing his leg muscles experimentally. Yep. Gonna be feeling last night for most of today, definitely. His arms protest in equal measure, but he can't complain. Totally worth it.

"It is already past nine," Dream tells him. "Were you needed in the shop today?"

"Later, maybe." It's Saturday; they're not actually open. He had plans to go in and catch up some paperwork Matty had asked him to see to, but there's no rush on that. "Right now I'm all yours, if that's what you want." He's pretty sure it is.

"Wonderful." Dream dips to kiss his cheek. "I should like to keep your company awhile longer, yes."

Hob smiles, warm, content, delighted.

"Let me find you something to wear," Dream says then, wriggling out of the bed. Hob watches as he crosses to the wardrobe, noting the very careful way he walks, and grins to himself. He knows better than to offer apologies; Dream has told him how much he enjoys carrying the feel of Hob with him the next day when he has demanded a hard and thorough fucking the night before. And Hob believes in giving his lover everything that he wants.

"Here," Dream offers, pulling out a short silky robe. "I should be very pleased to have you wear this; it's brand new." He tosses it to Hob, who picks it up gently.

He rubs the silky fabric against itself, careful of catching it on his rough calloused fingertips. It's beautiful.

It's not Dream's color.

It's a rich dark teal, the same color as the shirt that had come with his ensemble last night, the color that Dream had said would suit his complexion perfectly. Did Dream buy this for him, specifically?

Probably so. He's made no secret of the fact that he loves spoiling Hob with whatever suits his fancy.

Hob slips the robe on, wincing as his sore muscles protest, and finds that it isn't quite large enough to pull closed across his chest. He stands with a groan, pulls it all into place and finds that yes, it'll belt around his waist and nominally cover his bits and arse but it still doesn't meet across his chest. He's wondering, as he goes to use the toilet, if he's wrong about Dream buying it for him, or if perhaps Dream has badly misjudged his measurements (unlikely, given the tailored suit from the night before).

When he's washed his hands and come back out he finds Dream waiting for him. He's wearing a long black worn-soft t-shirt that hits him mid-thigh and probably cost more than Hob made in one day, with nothing underneath. It's a very appealing look and Hob forgets about his too-small robe until Dream reaches to smooth the lapels, clearly arranging them to optimally frame Hob's chest.

"Perfect," he purrs, with a sultry half-lidded stare, and drops a kiss on Hob's chin. "Come. I will cook you breakfast."

Hob follows him down to the kitchen, coming to terms with the fact that Dream has explicitly dressed him to be eye candy, and finding that he's actually one hundred percent on board with that. It's heady to have someone as pretty as Dream attracted to him, turned on by him, wanting him on display, and he's more than happy to oblige.

Breakfast is delicious, the tea Dream makes is perfect, and it's absolutely delightful to feel Dream's eyes devouring him and his silk-framed bare chest while they eat.

Dream makes coffee after they've cleaned up the dishes, puts his usual ungodly amounts of milk and sugar to it, and takes an appreciative sip. His eyes are on Hob, half-lidded with pleasure as he lowers his cup, and languid heat stirs in Hob's belly.

"It needs something more, I think," Dream pronounces, making an indicative toast-like motion with his cup, and pushes off from where he leans against the counter in his barely-long-enough tshirt. He splays the fingertips of his free hand in Hob's chest hair, directs him back and pushes him gently down into the high-backed kitchen chair in the breakfast nook. Dream sets his coffee aside on the table and folds to his knees, runs fingers warm from his cup over Hob's exposed thighs, down their insides, pushing them wider. The skimpy robe barely keeps Hob's dick covered and he's stiffening up beneath it; it'll do little to keep his modesty in another minute and the fact that Dream designed it that way only heightens the whole effect.

"Love the robe, by the way," Hob says, because he hasn't said it yet and he wants Dream to know he's one hundred percent okay with being dressed up and ogled like this if it's getting Dream hot.

"I should like to open it, if I may?"

"'Course, love." It's hot that he's asking, actually.

Dream's slim fingers pluck at the knotted tie delicately and Hob bites his lip; by the time Dream has the belt undone Hob's dick is already poking eagerly between the folds of the robe barely covering his lap. Dream peels the silky material back reverently all the same, like he's opening a gift, and Hob has to remind himself to breathe.

When Dream has laid Hob bare he reaches up to the table beside them, retrieves his mug and takes a long sip, then another. His eyes are on Hob's the whole time and when he finally sets the cup aside again, he takes his time about swallowing his final mouthful.

And then he speaks, voice low and suggestive. "Might I have a splash of 'cream', for my coffee?"

Oh, but he is insatiable, a seductive menace, and Hob has no interest in resisting. "Whatever you want, sweetheart, take it. It's yours." I'm yours, he'd like to say, but holds his tongue against the spectre of Being Too Much.

"You are so good to me, my Hob," Dream purrs, smile ripe with promise, and bends to his task.

His mouth is coffee-hot and talented as ever, and this time Hob needn't worry about holding back. He slouches his hips forward, buries his work-roughened fingers that Dream so loves in Dream's messy bedhead, groans breathlessly as Dream's tongue wriggles along his shaft; Dream pauses after a moment to drink more coffee and the renewed heat when he takes Hob's cock again pulls a deep whine from Hob's throat.

Truly, Hob thinks, as Dream works him steadily up to the edge and over, swallows him down greedily, chases it with another swig of coffee and a satisfied smile, he is indeed the luckiest bastard alive.

= Started: 7/25/24 Drafted: 1/27/25 Posted: 1/30/25

[inoreuct]

would you agree that we all need more Sanji getting nosebleeds over Zoro in this fandom?

YES *pelting down a hill waving the proposal for this in my hand like a madman* YESSSSSS

the first time sanji gets a nosebleed over zoro is his clue-in that oh. i’m not straight, am i. the swordsman’s doing a bench press (shirtless, as always) as sanji walks by (and sanji sneaks a look, as always, because who wouldn’t?) and when he glances over the plates he has to do a double take because what the fuck. zoro’s pressing more than twice his body weight. zoro’s repping more than twice his body weight. he’s just registered that maybe he’s stared for a bit too long when he feels something warm and wet on his upper lip, iron dripping over his mouth, and he books it for the galley.

he slams the door shut and presses his back against it before he slides to the ground and screams into his knees because what. the fuck. it’s not even that he’s getting hot and bothered over a guy; it’s just that the guy’s zoro. he’s not supposed to get nosebleeds over zoro.

but he does.

and it gets worse.

zoro walking around shirtless on deck? nosebleed. zoro re-tying the sails and just hanging on with his legs around the mast? nosebleed. zoro strutting out of the shower door, damp with steam and hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist? nosebleed. zoro tsking irritably and grabbing all of sanji’s food and packages from him to haul the whole lot over his shoulder? NOSEBLEED.

and not even that. he starts getting breathless around zoro and his chest hurts. he kicks zoro back while they’re sparring one day and the swordsman grins, feral and unrestrained and all challenge and teeth, and sanji’s heart spasms so hard that he actually wonders if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. he’s barely twenty, he isn’t ready to die— much less because of some stupid marimo. chiselled abs and a nice set of biceps are only worth so much of sanji’s dignity. he twists and smashes the sole of his shoe right into zoro’s pretty face.

still, it gets so, so bad that he’s elected to just. avoid zoro completely. he’s sneaking around corners and running across open expanses ducked low like some kind of goofy thief and he knows it’s so fucking stupid but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know if zoro likes— no. he doesn’t even think about it. there’s no way, and if he gives himself false hope he’ll just break his own heart. he doesn’t know if zoro likes men, or anyone, much less him; nobody in their right mind would, not really. he's nice to have but not to keep and he's come to terms with it.

…until zoro corners him in the galley and demands to know what the fuck’s going on.

sanji stays facing away, slowly washing the dishes even as his heart pounds so hard it hurts. he is painfully aware of the way zoro’s seething like an over-boiled kettle in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest and stock-still because he never, ever shakes his leg even though sanji knows he wants to.

his sponge squeaks across ceramic. the water’s warm against his fingertips, and his eyes flick up to meet his own reflection in the porthole window; he looks… well, he doesn’t know. scared, maybe. nervous. his mouth is thin, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a shudder running its fingers down his spine even as his heartbeat thumps between his ribs and god, fuck, it aches. and he knows. he looks himself in the eyes and he knows that somewhere along the line nosebleeds had turned into falling in love and he was the stupid idiot who had just let it happen because he was too weak to pry zoro out of his thoughts.

his gaze flicks down sharply when he hears the sudden scrape of the chair, and zoro spits, “look, i can’t fix whatever i did wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”

sanji’s heart throbs. “what?”

he can hear zoro’s scowl. “what, what? i obviously did something. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

the cook almost laughs. he bites it down and swallows his words, salty-sweet at the back of his throat. guilt nips at him; zoro’s his rival and and his personal annoyance and a blockhead but he might also, maybe, just maybe, be sanji’s best friend. and sanji hasn’t been very fair to him lately.

he swallows again, clears his throat silently. “you didn’t do anything, marimo,” he murmurs to the plate in his hands, trying for airy and getting more somewhat vaguely strangled. he coughs. “just forget about it. sorry i’ve been weird.”

sanji will deal. he will, somehow; he’d been careless and careless is dangerous and for perhaps the first time in his life, he has too much to lose. he’ll squash his heart into a box and lock it down tight like he always has and it’ll hurt, but when does it ever not? he mentally declares the matter done and dusted as he shakes off the plate and gently sets it on the drying rack.

his lungs hitch as a callused hand cups his elbow.

zoro pulls him around. he’s too weak to resist. the edge of the sink digs into his hip as stormy grey eyes scan his face and zoro looks tense, his jaw set in the way it only is when he faces off with a particularly vexing foe.

“did i not look happy enough at dinner?" he asks, and it could be mockery but it isn't, not with that edge to his voice; not desperation, but damn near. like filter paper burning its way to ash. "was it my clothes on the floor? my boots on the bed? what?”

sanji can't stand it anymore. he looks away, tries to twist out of the invisible bonds zoro has him trapped in, but fingers looped around his wrist are all it takes to make him stay and fuck, fuck, he's so fucked.

"sanji, what did i do?” zoro breathes, brow furrowed, voice too near and too damn earnest, and sanji's throat bobs as he digs the heel of his palm into his eye.

this isn't how it's supposed to go. zoro isn't supposed to care. zoro isn't supposed to be standing here in the galley saying his name in that tone of voice. a hand carefully pulls his own away from his face, and zoro doesn't fucking let go, and sanji feels too much like he's been stripped down to the bone.

"i know," zoro continues, gruff like he doesn't know how to be anything else, "that i upset you. so would you please tell me what i did so i can fix it?" he bends lower still, ducking to try and catch sanji’s line of sight but sanji just can't look at him. "i'll fix it, i—"

"you can't fix this." the words are out and in the air before he can stop them, and a bittersweet smile curves his mouth. "there's nothing to fix, so you can't fix it. just let it go, alright?"

zoro wants to argue. sanji can tell. but the swordsman lets out a measured exhale after a long moment and pulls back, face carefully neutral. "at least tell me what's going on, cook."

sanji looks down at his feet. "...i can't."

"like hell you can't," zoro replies immediately, and it's such an abrupt reminder of their normal banter that it wrenches a rough noise from sanji's chest. "i was the one who held your hair back after you had, like, seven margaritas too many. don't think you could tell me anything worse than the experience of trying to stop you from falling into your own puke."

"oh, jesus fuck," sanji swears on instinct, then laughs. it's unfortunately hollow. "that was one time, asshole."

"one time too many," zoro hums, raising an eyebrow. "so you gonna tell me what's going on, or do i have to make it a captain's order?"

sanji grits his teeth.

"i will drag luffy in here, i don't care—"

"fucking—" he holds his breath, flipping around to white-knuckle the edge of the sink and letting it out slow. "fine. you ever loved someone, marimo?"

"sure." zoro shrugs easily, crossing his arms as he looks out the window. "kuina, but i think i learned to love her memory more than anything else. luffy, nami—" a near-unnoticeable flutter of thick lashes. "you."

sanji exhales through his nose as he rocks back on his heels. squeezes out air till it hurts. "you know that's not what i meant."

"what did you mean, then?"

he turns to look at where zoro has settled lazily against the counter, the moon turning his eyes to silver. "I mean the kind of love that makes your blood race. that makes you want more even when you know you'll never take more than you're allowed. the kind that makes your heart hurt so badly you feel empty without it."

the swordsman's face is unreadable as he tilts his head slowly. "i did say i love you."

it hits sanji like a bullet. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his throat burns as he turns away and tries to stop his shoulders from heaving up. "don't fuck with me, zoro. not about this."

it feels rather like a cruel cosmic joke. he's so near yet so far, just one step away with a gauzy curtain between but he can't touch it. he won't. he's got too many things on the line and yet he can't even name one of them.

"hey."

he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of salt that shouldn't even be there, and look at that. little sanji's gone and broken his own heart again.

"hey," zoro tries again, more insistent, one hand hovering in the space between them and sanji feels the pull of it like a magnet.

he doesn't turn away as it cups his cheek. doesn't run as fingers slide through the short hairs at his nape, a thumb behind his jaw. his lashes are damp. it is everything he wants and everything he cannot have and he can't—

"look at me."

"i can't," he breathes, lungs rising fast and shallow. he's afraid to open his eyes. he's afraid of what he'll see.

"yes, you can." zoro shifts closer and another hand joins the first. it's big and rough and warm and he holds sanji's face like he's the moon herself. "look at me, curly."

he can't.

he does.

zoro's gaze is almost painful to meet straight-on with how intense it is. he seems to realise, face softening as he leans closer, closer, posture loose enough that it would be no problem for sanji to shove him away. "you love me," he breathes. "yes or no?"

sanji's heart stops. his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his brain a mess of yesnoyesyesnoiwon'tican’tido—

"don't think." zoro's voice cuts through the haze as he shakes his head slowly; a sword through smoke, silver-bright, singing in the air and leaving silence. "don't think. you love me, yes or no."

the galley swims around sanji as his vision blurs. he feels his tears spill hot down his cheek, knows the way zoro aches to brush them away and yet stays still. he opens his mouth and it feels like stepping out of the only shelter he's ever known; he is an open fucking wound and he's raw and everything hurts, everything but zoro. zoro. zoro. "yes."

just one word, three simple letters, and still it feels like damnation; if he'd never said it he could deny it but now it's real. the swordsman relaxes, shoulders dropping enough that his forehead brushes sanji's, and sanji tracks the way his throat bobs. the way steel-grey eyes flicker over his face, molten in the light of the electric lamps and the moonlight spilling through the window, gilding zoro like something out of a dream. a fairytale sanji read as a child until the edges of the pages fitted familiar to his thumbs as his little hands reached for a happy ending that was never meant to be his.

he shakes, now, as zoro reaches up to run tentative fingers through straw-pale hair. "let me love you. yes or no."

"i—" the sound that twists from his mouth is cracked jagged down the middle, unpolished as a common pebble picked up off the damn street. "you don't—"

"yes or no."

"i'm not what you want," he gasps, his face wet.

"yes or no."

sanji wants to break apart. because zoro sounds like he's begging, and he cannot fathom anybody possibly wanting him that much. he wants to scream and cry and claw at the walls until his nails break. he wants to shatter into pieces all over the floor without having to worry about putting himself back together. he wants. he wants, and zoro's looking at him with the closest thing to reverence he's seen in his life, and even that isn't enough for him to believe it. "i'm not what you want."

he can barely look at zoro. he can barely look at himself. the shame is clawing a pit into his stomach, and he lets it, feels every inch of it, because what kind of person doesn't know how to be loved? his breath catches wetly as zoro cups his jaw in both hands, tilting his face up, and once again sanji is too weak to pull away.

"you are everything i want."

the words are so fierce, so sure, and sanji is cracking apart at the seams. the stitches pulled tight by his own hand are unravelling and he can't stop it���

"yes or no."

zoro's breath ghosts warm across his mouth, fingertips in his hair, just far away enough for sanji to see the way his eyes are blazing and yet he waits. his thumb on sanji's cheek is the gentlest thing sanji has ever known.

"you'll get tired of me," he tries weakly, one last time for good measure, and zoro just shakes his head. the resolve in his expression does not waver even once.

sanji breaks.

"yes." the word scrapes itself out of his throat seconds before arms are going around him, and he sobs. lets the swordsman bring them both to the kitchen floor as he curls up in zoro's lap, fingers clawing into his white shirt, numb with how hard he cries because nobody, nobody has ever stayed. not without him getting hurt in the process. he pushes them away when he gets scared and they let him and then it becomes his fault when it all blows up in his face, but zoro's not leaving, and it's so foreign to him that he's shaking so badly and he can't stop.

a warm, heavy palm smooths over his spine and he lets himself be shifted closer, settles sideways as zoro wraps an arm over his shins and rocks them until his breathing evens out. the embarrassment hits like a gut punch; he knows he looks like a mess, face blotchy and hair everywhere and eyes puffy as hell, but zoro cards his bangs out of his eyes and looks at him like he doesn't care, and sanji turns away.

he feels... fragile. like he's made of tinted glass and spun sugar, like he'll cave in at the slightest touch. there is something melting in his chest and it drips down over his ribs; pools fresh as a river in spring, offset by the grounding presence of zoro's hands on his skin. "don't say i didn't warn you," he mumbles, masking his very real fear behind a layer of watery bravado as he hides his face in zoro's shoulder, and of course, of course zoro sees right through him.

the swordsman's thumb traces the swirl of his eyebrow before zoro rests his chin on top of sanji's head. "i don’t listen. you know that."

you know me, is what goes unsaid, and sanji doesn't deign to reply. he buries his face into zoro's chest and breathes in the smell of steel and sword oil and— he sits up slightly, eyes narrowing. "you've been stealing my deodorant, yes or no." the way zoro stills momentarily is a dead giveaway, and he yelps when the swordsman flicks his forehead.

"would you rather i be stinky?" zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes gently as sanji settles back down with a huff.

"you still are stinky. if we're gonna be together i'm expecting you to shower at least once every two days—" zoro groans, and he powers through, raising his voice, "—and if you aren't fussy i'll let you shower with me."

the way zoro instantly stops complaining cracks a laugh out of him. it's weak and watered-down, but it's a start. zoro's hands slide back into his hair and he hums as he lets his eyes fall shut.

the moon's full tonight. their ship rocks gently, and sanji gets comfortable; zoro's warm and solid and happens to make a perfectly respectable pillow. the thought that he can have this now sends a thrill through him.

he's not a fool. he's not optimistic when it comes to this. when it comes to love.

but with zoro's thumb rubbing mindless circles against the side of his thigh and a kiss pressed to the top of his head, he's got a pretty good feeling about this time around.