#...he's STILL taking care of the others in these little ways without regard for himself)

[hard-core-super-star]

brought you together so nice [W.Maximoff + N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!natasha romanoff x sub!reader x switch!wanda maximoff

summary: natasha takes care of you until wanda comes back. needless to say, the witch is more than happy about the arrangement you both came up with in her absence.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> porn with very little plot but even more feelings; mommy + daddy kink; slightly more established dom/dub dynamics; a dash of pet play (as usual); bondage; gagging; soft domme nat + bratty wanda!!!!; vibrator use [R receiving]; praise + degradation + a dash of humiliation; hair pulling; spanking; aftercare

wordcount: 4.1k

a/n: well, well, well...guess who got too attached to another series? yup, me 😅 these two have taken up more of my mind than i originally thought so here is part three of this little series. i don't have a plan to make another full part, but i might mess around and write a few blurbs here and there. we'll see what happens. anyway, thank you for all your support, especially regarding this little series. i'm thinking of opening my requests back up until the start of the new year so keep an eye out for that ;) [commissions are still more than welcome, though!] okay, i'll stop rambling for now, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

Natasha could be sweet when she wanted to.

That was the first thing you learned after agreeing to become her and Wanda's submissive. 

The rules and details weren't too clear yet, the redhead promising to answer all your questions as soon as the Sokovian came back from her mission. Still, she did what she could to fill in the gaps of your knowledge, allowing you to ask her as many questions as you pleased before showing you, in great detail, what she meant.

Despite the cold exterior you'd learned to love, she was much softer with you than you'd ever imagined. Sure, she was still a mean domme at heart, but she wanted to show you heights of pleasure you'd never experienced before.

And she went to great lengths to guarantee it.

It quickly became clear to you how much she loved impact play. Even outside of play sessions, she would always come up behind you, landing a hard smack to your ass before pulling you into her arms. You didn't mind, even when she did it in front of the others.

(Although Tony did whistle at you guys once and promptly earned himself a punch to the stomach. He laughed it off but made sure to never tease the Widow about her behavior with you again.)

You knew there were a lot of things you didn't know or fully understand, but Natasha always seemed to find a way to make you feel more excited than nervous about it. It was almost funny how quickly her personality changed once she allowed you to see past her walls.

Sure, she was still a little mean and more than a little snarky (which is exactly how you liked her, if you were being honest) yet there was a softer, affectionate, side that started coming out more and more.

She told you it was simply because Wanda wasn't around and she wasn't allowed to "break you in" without her around. Maybe it was a silly excuse perfectly crafted to keep you on your toes, but you didn't really mind.

Well, except because you really missed Wanda.

Being without the witch was harder than you thought it would be, but the Widow kept you busy enough to forget the empty spot beside you in their bed.

Your bed.

That was the second thing Natasha made you learn. 

Yes, you were technically an addition to their relationship, but you weren't an outsider. You never were.

That was the third thing you learned.

Both Natasha and Wanda had their eyes on you from the very beginning. They loved each other, and their relationship made them happier than they could put into words, and yet they always felt something was missing. A third energy to keep them in check. To stop them from getting too rough, too mean with each other. To help remember how to be soft after spending so much time fighting with the world.

It was...strange, but you couldn't deny what they meant to you. The attraction you felt toward them had always been there and after Wanda opened that door...well, let's just say there was no going back.

You didn't understand how real that was until now.

Because somehow, someway, after carrying guilt you didn't even need to have in the first place, you were here.

You were theirs.

You were waking up in their bed with Natasha's arms wrapped tight around your waist.

A shudder ran down your body as the redhead's lips met your bare shoulder, peppering kisses across the skin. "Morning, detka. Sleep well?"

"Yeah," you reply as a smile forms on your face. "You're a fantastic cuddler."

"Shut up," she mumbles. There's a clear lack of annoyance in her words despite her attempts at sounding tough. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your grip on me begs to differ."

At your response, her hands move to grip your waist, her nails digging into your soft skin. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching almost instantly. You can feel the redhead smiling against your skin. It hasn't been that long and she already knows your body better than you do.

"Sorry, were you saying something?" She says, taking advantage of your reactions to grind against your ass. "You seem a little distracted."

 It's a bit of a cruel game but it's one she loves to play with you. Truth be told, she loves playing with you, period. You're so different from Wanda, so much more responsive, more honest about your constant neediness.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you mumble, not so subtly grinding back against her.

Just because you were slowly learning the rules regarding your place didn't mean you didn't love pushing Natasha's buttons whenever you could. Which really only happened in the mornings and during aftercare. Those were the only two moments when the older woman allowed herself to be soft with you, to let you see behind the walls she'd expertly put up to keep everyone out. Everyone except you and Wanda, it seems.

Her voice remains low, straddling the border between a tease and a warning. "Is my good girl trying to be a brat?"

Your heart skips a beat at her words. At the mention of being her good girl. Of being hers.

After the rough beginning your relationship had, you never thought you'd be let into her heart in any way. And yet here you are. You're her good girl, her kitten, her darling submissive.

"No..." You trail off, trying to decide whether to behave or push her buttons a little more. Ultimately, your desire to be a little shit wins out. "...Daddy."

Natasha chuckles behind you, her hands moving from your hips and toward your breasts. She gives them a soft squeeze as her thumbs tease your hardening nipples. "Oh, kotenok, you woke up cheeky this morning, huh? You know what mouthing off like that will earn you, right?"

You do know. She's told you many, many times before, usually while she's praising you for being so good for her and drawing out orgasm after orgasm from your overstimulated body.

However, she's never actually acted out any of her warnings. It's a good thing, you know that, and yet you can't stop yourself from wanting to see what it will feel like. To explore what that kind of submission will do to you.

"Yes, Daddy. I know."

She hums before going right back to kissing across your shoulders, nipping at your skin just to get you to arch into her teasing hands. "I see...you want to be punished, don't you? Want Daddy to remind you of your place until there's nothing else inside your mind?"

You're about to reply when you're interrupted by F.R.I.D.A.Y. "Miss Romanoff, Miss Maximoff has asked me to notify you of her return."

Your cheeks flush, even though the disembodied voice can't see what exactly you're up to this morning. At the very least, F.R.I.D.A.Y. is a lot less nosy than Jarvis ever was. Although, if you're being honest, you liked him better before he turned into a robot.

"I'm assuming she'll be at the Medbay for a while?" The Widow replies, her mind no doubt full of the things she'll do to you to pass the time.

"Yes, it seems she'll be there for the next half hour."

"Good. Thank you, Friday."

The AI doesn't reply and you can practically imagine her making a swift exit out of the room, leaving you to face whatever it is that the redhead has come up with.

"y/n..." Natasha purrs, her breath hot against your ear. "I have an idea. Why don't we give Mommy a nice surprise, hmm? Don't you want to be her pretty welcome back gift?"

You're not sure what being Wanda's "welcome back gift" will entail, but you can't deny your curiosity about it. Especially since the witch has no idea what you and her girlfriend have been up to. You have no doubt she has her suspicions, she is a mind reader after all, but it'll still be nice to surprise her.

You agree before you even know what you're doing, and Natasha wastes no time in springing into action.

In a matter of minutes, you go from lying comfortably under the covers to being spread out on your back, your limbs tied to each corner of the bed. You're exposed, vulnerable, and you love every second of it.

Of course, Natasha isn't satisfied with that. No, to top off the pretty sight you make, she places a deep, dark red ball gag between your lips. You shouldn't be surprised since, after all, you did ask for it.

"There we go," the redhead hums appreciatively, her eyes taking in the beautiful sight. "Now, just sit tight, okay, detka? I'll be right back."

You whine instantly, but she pays no mind to you, quickly making her way out of the bedroom and going to look for Wanda. You're not exactly happy about being left alone yet, there's nothing you can do. All you can do is throw your head back in frustration and wait for your lovers to return.

You're not sure how much time goes by, although there's no doubt in your mind that Natasha does her best to draw out their return just to mess with you, but eventually, they make their way back to you.

The sound of the door opening makes you practically vibrate with excitement, your hips wiggling from side to side without thinking.

"Well, would you look at that," Wanda says as she steps further into the room. "Looks like someone was having fun without me."

Natasha follows her in, standing behind her and wrapping her arms around her waist. There's something so domestic about the action that makes your heart clench.

"I had to get her ready for you, darling," the redhead replies as her chin finds the other woman's shoulder. "She looks good, doesn't she?"

"She sure does. I take it you worked out your issues?"

"We came to an...agreement, yes. I couldn't let you have all the fun."

Wanda chuckles, the corners of her mouth quirking up into a fond smile. There's no mistaking the fire in her eyes, though, the desire simmering below the surface. "And you said I was crazy for wanting her to join us."

The Widow grumbles, clearly not quite ready to admit her girlfriend was right. "You're still not off the hook, you let her believe you cheated on me."

"When are you going to let that go?"

"I'm not sure, maybe you should make it up to me."

Natasha's eyes remain on you but Wanda turns around, silencing her girlfriend's complaints with a fiery kiss. All you can do is watch, feeling left out and far too involved at the same time. You're slowly getting used to their competitive antics.

Their kisses turn desperate in nothing short of a few seconds, leaving you far too desperate and needy while you squirm around on the bed. They take their sweet time getting back to you, though, instead letting their hands wander over each other's bodies.

You'd love to complain but you're still gagged so talking is pretty much impossible. More than that...you can't say you're not loving the view. It makes you feel a little dirty, like you're watching an intimate scene you shouldn't be, and it brings a rush unlike anything you've ever felt before.

They know, because of course they know, and your obvious arousal only motivates them to tease you.

Natasha moves first, expert hands reaching for the hem of Wanda's shirt and lifting it over her head in an instant. "I missed you."

"Are you talking to me or my boobs?" The witch replies with a perfectly raised eyebrow.

"I'm talking to all of you."

"Nice save, 'Tasha."

"Shut up."

There's something comforting about the scene in front of you, even as your frustration builds. You've been with them before, but it's different this time. You can feel the change in energy, the easy chemistry that flows between all of you now that Natasha isn't trying to push you away.

"Come on, I think we've teased our good girl long enough," Wanda says, taking the redhead's hand and leading her toward the bed. "Isn't that right, sweetheart? You're feeling a little frustrated, hmm?"

You nod desperately in response, tugging at the rope that holds you down. Your actions only make both of your lovers chuckle.

"Look at her, she's drenched and we haven't gotten started yet," Natasha comments, her eyes trailing up and down your body like a predator assessing its prey.

"I'm guessing this means training's going well."

"She's a quick learner. A bit bratty sometimes, though."

The way they talk about you as if you're not a part of the conversation has you clenching around pure air. It doesn't help that the Widow is so accurate in her assessment of you. You love being submissive, being under their control, but you can't deny how much fun it is to disobey. To push against the boundaries she's set for you, not to defy her but to tease her. Maybe even test her a little.

It's far too fun.

"Is that right, sweetheart?" Wanda asks, even though your body language makes it clear how correct Natasha is. "I thought you liked being our good girl. Because if you don't, well...you know what happens to naughty girls, don't you?"

Of course you know. It was one of the first things the redhead taught you. Sure, the rules and terms weren't too fleshed out yet since Natasha had wanted her girlfriend to be a part of the whole exchange, but she'd gone over most things with you. Rewards, punishments, hard limits, all that stuff.

You're unable to tell the witch that, though, thanks to the gag in your mouth. Your incoherent mumbles seem to entertain her for a few seconds while Natasha sneaks off toward their closet.

Wanda's chuckle cuts through the air. Your attempts at convincing her you've been good clearly amuse her. "I know, baby, I know you like being good. Otherwise, Nat wouldn't be so attached to you."

"I'm not attached," the redhead grumbles.

A month ago, her words would have made your heart drop into your stomach. Now, though, you know she's only playing a part. She has no problem telling you how she feels outside of a scene, but when you're playing, when you're being their pet, she's right back to being mean. Right back to degrading you and humiliating you until you're riding the edge of pleasure and pain.

"Keep telling yourself that, darling."

"Oh, I will."

Their banter is borderline comforting. You've loved spending time with Natasha, but this, being with them and seeing their personalities come together, this is where you thrive.

Well, it's not like you're doing much. Then again, they like you most when you're like this. Vulnerable, at their mercy, and so obviously loving every second of it.

Wanda climbs onto bed with you, crawling over your body until she's hovering over you with a gentle smile that steals all your worries away. "'Tasha's such a liar, isn't she, sweetheart? It's okay, let her act like she's the big bad."

You want to laugh, but it's a little hard when she's leaning down to pepper kisses all over your face. The action is far softer than what you were expecting and it makes your heart soar.

You were ready for a rougher training session, for a trial run meant to show you what you had been missing in the witch's absence. But this? This is really good too.

Wanda continues her loving assault on your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw and toward your neck. You tilt your head back in response, earning a soft giggle muffled against your skin, as she kisses and nibbles all up and down your throat. There's no doubt in your mind that she's littering your skin with hickies and noticeable marks, but you find you really don't mind it.

The witch steals your attention long enough for Natasha to gather a few supplies before making her way over to you. You feel her set a few things down next to you, but you don't get to see what they are. Not that you really mind considering how busy your mind is.

"Stop hogging her attention, that's not very fair."

"It's not my fault you left her so fuzzy-headed. Poor girl didn't even stand a chance, huh?"

You shake your head, a few muffled whines making their way out of you.

Natasha chuckles as she shifts onto her knees next to you. Her hands find their way between you and Wanda's bodies, teasing your skin as she explores the territory she's spent the past few days claiming.

"Oh, please. This is nothing. You should've seen the state she was in last night."

The reminder makes you squirm in your restraints, trying to get closer to them to no avail. You know how desperate you look, how absolutely needy you are, but you can't find it in yourself to care. This is what you had been waiting for. To be completely theirs. To surrender to them and accept everything they were willing to give you. Sure, it was intimidating and yet it felt incredibly right.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" Wanda responds, working her way down your body, expertly avoiding the areas where her girlfriend is touching you.

"You deserve it. Wasn't this your fantasy?"

"Maybe. It was hers first, though. Isn't that right, detka?"

The change in topic makes you blush. It shouldn't be surprising to hear that the witch had already known about your feelings for her but it's still a little embarrassing. At least she seems to enjoy it.

You nod, your movements slightly frantic and no doubt fueled by the feeling of her lips on your flushed skin. She takes her time dragging her lips up and down your inner thighs as Natasha teases your hardening nipples.

"Such a good little slut. I bet you're already so fuzzy. Just want your cunt played with and nothing else." The redhead distracts you with her words, leaving you completely unprepared for Wanda's continued assault.

You don't hear the thrumming sound of the vibrator coming to life, but you sure feel it against your sensitive clit. Your whole body shudders in response as your hips buck in a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sensation.

Your reaction makes the witch laugh and she leans down to press a few more kisses to your thighs. "There you go, that's what I like to see."

Her words feel more like humiliation than praise and yet you can't find it in yourself to care. Not when it feels so good that it borders on painful.

"Excuse you, we were having a little chat." Natasha's tease is coupled with a firm grip in your hair as she tilts your head toward her. "I'll have to train you if you don't fix that attention span, pet."

"Be nice, Nat, it's not her fault she likes me more."

"God, you're such a brat, Maximoff." Her free hand leaves your body to land a sharp smack against Wanda's ass. "I'll put you in your place too, if I have to."

The witch hums in response, very clearly pushing herself back against the redhead's hand. "You know I'd enjoy it."

Natasha spanks her again and the sight has you bucking your hips faster as you search for more pleasure. You let out a string of whines, already feeling yourself on the edge of an orgasm. It's a little embarrassing how quickly you're reaching your limit but in your defense, you've been worked up ever since you woke up. You were bound to lose from the beginning.

"Don't tell me you want to cum already, sweetheart? We've barely gotten started."

You want to defend yourself, but your attempts are instant failures. Natasha seems to get off on how pathetic you sound, though.

"It's alright, kitten, why don't you go ahead and cum for me? Mommy hasn't earned her reward just yet."

Wanda opens her mouth to object but she doesn't get very far since the redhead goes right back to spanking her.

You're not used to seeing the witch in a slightly more submissive position. She always seem to straddle the border between being fully in control and immersed below Natasha's dominance. This change of pace is more than welcome, though.

The vibrator gets pushed harder against your sensitive clit and the pressure sends you over the edge almost instantly. You don't get a chance to warn them, all you can do is give in to the sudden pleasure as your body trembles beneath them.

They're both distracted by the sight of your orgasm crashing into you so suddenly. So beautifully.

"What a good girl," Natasha murmurs appreciatively. "You could learn a thing or two from her, Wands."

"Whatever." You miss the way the witch rolls her eyes since your eyes are more than a little blurry and there's a soft ringing in your ears. "It won't be my fault when she forgets her place, Daddy."

That earns her another spank, but she's too busy moving the vibrator away from your drenched cunt to care. You whine softly at the loss of contact even though you feel far too sensitive to take much more.

Apparently, you look as out of it as you feel because the older women take a few moments to let you catch your breath.

Wanda's hands gently stroke up and down your legs to keep you grounded while Natasha shifts closer, her hands reaching out to undo the ballgag. "How are you feeling, kotenok? Do you want to keep going?"

Your throat's a little dry, but you manage to form a reply. "I'm okay. Just need to catch my breath."

The Widow nods before reaching over to grab the bottled water on the nightstand. She helps you take a few sips of water while Wanda continues to caress your skin, both giving you as much time as you need to recover. It's such a small thing and yet it's a reminder of why you're so attached to them. Why you need them more and more with every day that goes by.

Your relationship with them might have had a bit of a rough start, but you couldn't imagine a better outcome. Couldn't imagine two better people to surrender your heart to.

"Someone's in a romantic mood," Wanda pipes up with a soft smile.

Her words cause an instant response in you and you feel your face grow warmer by the second. "Why are you in my mind right now?"

"Because your thoughts about me are so loud," she replies almost instantly. "Don't look so embarrassed, detka, I think it's cute."

"Shut up," you mumble, momentarily forgetting where you are and what you're in the middle of doing.

Wanda's smile turns slightly dark and her hand comes down against your thigh before you can even think about what you did wrong. "Where'd your manners go, huh?"

The sensation makes you shiver, but Natasha reaches a hand out to stop the witch from smacking your thigh again. "Time out, darling. I don't think we're quite ready to keep going."

You want to argue with her and yet you make no real effort to. As much as you might want to keep going, you can't deny how overwhelming it all was...and how desperate you are for some cuddles.

"Sorry," you mumble.

Wanda instantly shushes you as she uses her magic to undo the restraints keeping you tied down. "Nonsense, you have nothing to apologize for."

The second your limbs are free, Natasha's hands are on you again. This time, though, she merely maneuvers you onto your side so she's able to slide in behind you. The second her arms wrap around your waist, your shoulders let go of the tension they've been holding. 

Wanda wastes no time in joining the two of you, laying down in front of you and reaching up to play with your hair. "Just relax, we have all day to pick up where we left off."

"Don't rush her, little witch."

Natasha's words make you chuckle and you lean forward until you're practically buried in the witch's chest. "I'm okay, guys. I don't break easily."

A beat of silence goes by as they allow you to soak in the afterglow, in the feeling of their embrace.

But the Widow really can't help herself.

"Are you sure? Maybe we should test that out."

Her words are a tease, but none of you can deny your curiosity...or your arousal.

Needless to say, you spend most of the day tangled up in their bed.

Your bed.

With the two women who mean the absolute world to you.

[vldcanondaily]

Lance becomes the dedicated team morale

Episode: S05E02 - Blood Duel Time: 21:09

The team finishes the battle with Zarkon to get Sam Holt back, and Lance is the one to do the whole, "Nice job, team" afterward. Before we get clone Shiro, it seems like Shiro's our main guy congratulating the team after wins, but Lance takes up that role by this season even though we also see him dealing with not feeling supported as a team member himself.

tl;dr Even when Lance isn't getting enough individual support from the team, he's still there to feed the support to everyone else.

[bokunoheros]

˚࿔ LOVE BUZZ | KINKTOBER 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

🪲 authors note :// to my 7 iida fans, I hope my kinktober posts of him will feed you well

topics discussed and warnings:// modern/no-powers au, smut, tenya works a 9-5, you work from home, apology sex, thigh riding, shower sex, very light bdsm undertones (mentions of tenya iida being a switch), established relationships (you two happen to be married), hand jobs, kissing, p in v, readers gender is not specified but i do use female anatomical terminology and reference reader as ‘wife,’ FLUFFFFFFFFF, slice of life a little, tenya is such husband material i love him so much, ‘rough’ sex

word count:// 2404 raunchy words

ᯓ heed the warnings laid before you, your media consumption is your responsibility! ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

every WORD under the cut will be R-RATED- SO, +18 only, respect my wishes regarding interactions.

𝜗𝜚 no beta, we die like men.

✎ᝰ His texts were always so formal with you.

“Eat without me. I’ll be late.”

“I’m very sorry, I promise I will make it up to you.”

“I won’t be any later than 8 pm. I’m sorry, I love you.”

Though disappointed, you weren’t surprised to be eating dinner at the table alone again. You worked from home, and your husband, Iida Tenya, worked away at a law firm. You sent him back a vague and honestly petty ‘love you too’ message as you ate dinner alone for the third time this week. You could never be mad at him, no, never. You’d only play it up just to get coddled by him, kissed and spoiled.

After you finished your portion of dinner, you packed up his and sat it in the fridge, before wandering into the living room to have your personal phone time. A few minutes passed and he texted you that he was coming home and would be there soon. You didn’t care to reply, just huffing as you read the message before continuing to scroll through your image feed.

Within 15 minutes he’s knocking at the front door. He usually would let himself in, which was odd at first but you figured he probably had his hands full of paperwork. You got up from the couch with a tired groan, following the echoed noise of knocking until you opened the door.

There your husband stood with a tired smile on his face, holding his briefcase with one hand and a nice bouquet in the other. Your originally cold and upset expression melted immediately, your lips parting with a soft ‘oh.’

“I’m sorry I’m late. Again.” Your husband sighed, adjusting the flowers in his hand. They were your favorite kind too, dotted about with other smaller flowers like baby's breath and eucalyptus branches.

“Tenya,” you pouted, stepping closer to take the arrangement from him, holding it gently in the palms of your hand. He stared down at you, studying your reaction. “I got done as quick as I could but, I figured I owed you something.”

You snorted, “You know you don’t have to,” your fingers brush over every petal, savoring the velvety feel of each one.

“You always say that.” Tenya chuckles, rubbing the side of his neck. He watches you chew on the inside of your cheek while you observe the flowers he’s bought you.

You glance up at him before hoisting yourself up on your tippy-toes to give him a gentle peck on the lips. “I’m not mad at you, I promise.” Tenya nods, but he still looks dissatisfied with himself for hardly being home and letting work consume him. You step out of the way so he can come inside, closing the door behind him and locking it. He slips off his shoes with a sigh, dropping his briefcase of paperwork to the floor with a clunk. You stride to the kitchen to find a vase to put your flowers in, and when you finally place them into their glad enclosure with a hum, you're startled by your husband wrapping his strong arms around your waist.

“Gah!” You yell, chuckling while he tightens his arms around your front. “Mm, sorry.” He purrs into your neck, his glasses scratching your skin briefly as he moves to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Want any dinner? I put it in the fridge for you.” You ask, leaning into his chest.

He shakes his head, “No, save it.”

“Are you sure?” You questioned him, rubbing his forearm with your hands. “You worked all day, did you eat lunch?”

Tenya chuckled into your shoulder, nuzzling his nose against what the collar of your tee shirt exposed. “I ate what you made me, it was delicious.” His arms tightened around you ever so slightly, “Forget about me, did you eat?”

You nod, raising one of your hands to brush into his hair. “Good,” he says, lifting his lips to your ear before he whispers: “Care for dessert?”

The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you can’t help but shiver at this obvious proposition. You smile faintly to yourself, pretending to act as if you didn’t catch his drift. “What did you have planned?”

Tenya’s voice vibrates in your ear, “Hmm, I dunno…” he trails off momentarily, his tongue swiping a line down your neck. “You.”

You sigh as his teeth brush against your flesh, rolling your neck to the side for him. “Why don’t you join me in the shower, hm?”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” you chortle, nails scratching his skin. He lets out a pleased sigh, “Get in without me, it’s my turn to do dishes.” A hand slides over your rear, squeezing the fatty flesh there before he pulls away from you. You roll your eyes at him, lovingly of course, before you head to your master bathroom.

You leave the door open as you start to undress, listening to the sounds of plates clinking together as your dear husband washes them. Once you’re fully undressed, you open the doors to your glass shower and start the water, stepping in when it’s the right temperature to steam up the glass.

You’re rinsing your face when your husband joins you, slipping behind with a soft ‘hello.’ You share the water for the moment, letting each other rinse off, and taking the time to massage one another’s back when you swap back and forth between the shower head. When you go to swap again, you turn to your husband and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you. Your lips mingle and his big hands find your fleshy hips, sighing into your mouth as he feels you up and down. Without his glasses the metal isn’t poking you in the face, and it makes it so much easier for you to slip your tongue as far as you can into his mouth. Tenya grips you tightly, pulling your hips flush to his. His semi-hard erection presses into your lower stomach and gives you butterflies.

“I love you,” he huffed into your mouth, licking his tongue along your bottom row of teeth. You hum in response, dragging your hands down his chest. He only lets you hum back as he moves you, pushing you flush against the tile. You shudder and gasp into his mouth when the cold ass tile hits your bare skin.

You recovered and snake one of your hands down to his cock, teasing his balls in your palm. Your husband breaks away from your lips and nuzzles into your cheek with a puff, his wet hair dripping onto your shoulders. You move to kiss his neck, licking up the water in his skin as you move your thigh between his legs, hoisting your foot onto the lip of the shower. He grunts as you force your leg between his, and he unconsciously grinds his hips into your thigh. Holding his arms above you to stabilize himself, he rocks back and forth while you continue to kiss at his neck and shoulders, using one hand to wrap around his dick and start a gentle pace.

“Mm, my God…” Tenya breathes, resting his forehead against the tile in front of him. You pump his cock until he’s fully erect in your hand, using your free hand to force him to ride your thigh. You chuckle into his skin, sucking a bright red mark into his collarbone. “M’You like that, baby?” You ask him, kissing his jaw tenderly.

He moans your name as you fist the top of his cock in your hand, “Mhf— Fuck, I do.” He grinds back and forth on your thigh, lazily rolling his hips while you jerk him off. Tenya isn’t one to curse, but when you two have sex the words roll off his tongue so naturally. You purr against his skin, squeezing his shaft as your other hand teases his rear, spreading him apart ever so slightly. He bites his lip to swallow a grumbling moan, balling his fists up.

He narrows his eyes, his demeanor changing as he starts to feel himself grow closer and closer to the brink— “Stop, mm’wanna cum in you.” he grunts, one of his big hands finds your throat, turning you to look up at him before he slams his lips against yours again. Your stomach flips and any objections are muffled by his puffy lips, his calloused fingers tightening around your jaw softly. You let go of his cock, straightening yourself back up and removing your leg from between his thighs. His hand moves to hold you steady by the nape of your neck, biting your lip as he kisses you. You moan softly into his mouth when you feel his over hand slide up your abdomen and to your left breast, groping the meat there.

He moves both his hands to your waist, turning you with him so that his back faces the tile wall while yours faces the glass doors. Tenya has to force you off of his lips to turn you around, facing you towards the doors. You pant as he presses you softly against the foggy glass, your cheek wiping the dew away. His hands land on your hips, his thick erection resting against the valley of your ass. He huffed behind you, his hands admiring every inch of your curves as you watched slack-jawed against the glass. Grinding against your ass, you hum, resting your palms on the glass while you push your hips back against his. Tenya leans down to kiss your shoulder blades with a gentle smile, muttering softly into your skin.

“Missed you so bad,” you moan at his words, moving your feet as he kicks your ankles open. The dominant hand on your hip moves over your navel before his skilled fingers find your cunt, using his index and middle finger to tease your clit. Your legs shake as he twirls his fingers in circles.

“Mm’Tenya, please—“ you mewl and he shifts his balance, straightening up his back. One hand leaves your hips to curl around his dick, angling himself for your cunt. Your husband uses his thumb to spread your lips, before he teases your clit with his cockhead. You shiver, pelvis twitching as he pushes himself against your puffy bud. He plays with his cock around your cunt, lathering himself in your arousal before he finally braces himself to enter you.

His thick cock slips in with little to no resistance, and you can’t help but hold your breath at the stretch. Your husband groans as he pushes himself in until your hips are flush together and his testicles tease your clit. His hands find purchase on your hips once more, keeping you steady as your knees quiver.

“Mmhhf…” you huff, pressing your forehead against the glass. He slowly pulls back, staring at how your pussy tries to suck him back in. “God, you always feel so good…” your husband mutters under his breath, keeping you spread with his thumbs. He pulls back until he’s barely inside of you before torturing you with another slow thrust, shoving himself balls deep again.

“D—Don’t tease me, Tenya…” your eyes flutter shut when his cockhead glides over that one fucking spot, “Fffuuck.”

He shushes you, gripping your hips tighter. “Just…” he trails off, biting his tongue. He pulls his hips back again, before thrusting back faster this time. He’s driving you fucking insane, but holy fucking shit does your husband have the cock of a god so you can’t complain. “Stay still, honey.”

His words roll off his damn tongue like molasses even though he’s starting to pick up the pace. His balls slap lightly against your clit as he keeps filling you with himself over and over. One hand leaves your hip to grip your shoulder, forcing you back on his cock as he starts to fuck you like a feral man. You spew moans from your mouth as he suddenly starts a rough pace. You move your face to rest your cheek against the glass, glancing back at him as he fucks you from behind.

Your sweet husband glances up at you with a smirk, slowing down just to spite you. Your eyes flutter shut with a pathetic moan, letting him manhandle you how he wants. He moves you closer to the glass so that your back is flush with his chest, doing this all while he is completely still inside you. You wince as your hard nipples slide against the cold glass doors, before his hands come to grope your tits.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters into your ear while he starts to speed his hips back up until he’s fucking barreling his cock into you, and the only thing you can to is cling to the glass like some fucking frog. Those big hands of his bite down hard into your tits, making you cry a painful moan. “Mm’my beautiful fucking wife—“ Tenya groans, and keeps fucking you into the glass until the panes shake, your eyes rolling back into your head before they flutter shut at his compliment. You can help but squeeze him tighter and tighter, your legs starting to shake as he fucks you closer to your orgasm.

“Tenya— mmfffhh, fuck—“ you mewl, “‘Gonna make mmm— cum—“ he suckles your neck at your words, nipping and biting at your skin as he keeps his pace, his dick brushing over right where you need him over and over. You tense, moans getting caught in your throat as you start to come around his cock, your knees buckling under yours and his weight. He lets go of your breasts and catches you, but he doesn’t stop his pace. You hold onto him, gritting your teeth as he bites into your shoulder as he comes, shooting all of his pent up arousal into you. Your husband gasps against your skin as he pushes himself as far as he can, making sure to coat every inch of your cunt with his semen.

“Hmm, Tenya.” You hummed with a pleased expression on your face. He hurries his face into your neck with a sigh, “Sorry, I might’ve been too…”

You shook your head before interrupting him, “No, I liked it.”

You sighed, “we're gonna have to shower again.” Tenya chuckled, “We’ve already wasted so much water.”

THANK YOU FOR READING! if you wish to see more of me, ₊⊹

my carrd // kofi (tip me!). // kinktober 2024

[missglaskin]

Yan!HOTD Characters as Greek Gods

I want to thank @aphroditelovesu for giving me the inspiration, also side note do not take the gods canonical relationships literally

Viserys as Hades + God of the Underworld and the Dead

Viserys was a god who stood out from the gloomy darkness of his realm. The seat once shared by his beloved wife is now long dead with all the other souls. No temples were erected in his honor on the earthly soil, for the underworld served as his shrine. Still, Viserys lent many of his powers and crafts to help the other gods defeat their enemies, either it be a monster or a titan. When he needed to see his family, he would emerge to the earth itself. There a moral caught his eye. 

Viserys spent a great deal of time observing your everyday life. He enjoyed catching on to all your little habits and tendencies. The god was prepared to wait until your life's string came to an end. In the mean time, all good things came your way. While he wouldn't be able to stop your death from happening, he can certainly make it as peaceful and painless as possible. Viserys will welcome you with the greatest warmth when you arrive in his realm, and you will be surrounded by servants who will carry out your every wish.

Just as he has done all those other times Viserys will give you the time and space you need to adjust to this new, strange world. Desiring your happiness, Viserys might let you visit Earth but only for a short time. The god can't go too long without you by his side. He detests the idea of using coercion to get what he wants, but Viserys must make sure you never leave him. It is a blessing that you are a mortal, completely unaware of the pomegranate seeds that are given to you.

Daemon as Ares + God of War and Courage 

It was Daemon, out of all the gods, who was most frowned upon, the one with the endless list of foes. Many came to fear him and they had every reason to. For Daemon was a powerful god-quick to anger and raring for a fight regardless of the consequences. A jest spread among the gods was that Daemon's one and only true love was war itself. But what a shock it was to see the mortal in the god's arms. With his remarks and the severe violence he inflicted upon the mortals, Daemon, again and again demonstrated nothing but contempt and superiority over them.

Why you attracted the god of war's attention will forever remain a mystery. Could it be you had a fire inside of you that never went out or you had such a gentle soul that the god saw it as his duty to ruin you, or perhaps he saw you as a fair trade for one of his victories. Truthfully, Daemon himself is not fully sure what drew him to you. Still, the god comes to you, luring you in with lavish gifts and words sweet as honey. And if you aren’t compliant, the god sees no issue picking you up while you struggle to free yourself-screaming and clawing. 

Daemon has no care for what other Olympian deities thought when he kept you near him. They were already not fond of him and he was amused to no end to see their frustration, even having you displayed seated on his lap. Your life with Daemon is strangely not as dull and miserable as one might anticipate. He will always be rough and harsh, but you are shown a rare side of gentleness. You may never know if the god truly loves you, but you can be sure that if someone takes what he views as his, he will go to war a hundred times over it.

Rhaenyra as Athena + Goddess of Wisdom and War

Rhaenyra is a goddess with pride. A great warrior. Rhaenyra does not, however, hold humankind in such low regard as the many gods who came before her. She saw herself as their protector and rewarded those who came to worship in her temple. But it's not as if she isn't dangerous. The goddess is unmerciful in her use of curses. Any offense or insult will result in a terrible fate. And what fate bestows upon you when the goddess herself watches you. Desiring you from the very moment she caught sight of you. 

She is a master of disguise. Every word she spoke enticed you further and further into her grasp. There were the fleeting touches the goddess made to your skin to pique your desire. Her lips were painted with a smile that lowered your guard. You find yourself becoming a puppet as Rhaenyra hovers over you, pulling the strings to speak the words she wants you to hear, to touch her how she wants to be touched, and look at her how she wants to be gazed upon. 

Rhaenyra never wants you to leave her realm. The goddess is ready to gift you whatever your heart desires, but the earth is no longer a place you can call home. Rhaenyra will never lay a hand on you; gentle and soft with you. The only times you no longer see your lover but the goddess of war is if you are foolish enough to believe you can get away from her. She won’t understand. Has she not dedicated herself to you. Has she not given you every ounce of her heart. Whatever the reason is, your place remains by her side and she will make sure you know of this.

Rhaenys as Hecate + Goddess of Magic and the Moon

Rhaenys, the goddess of sorcery and the moon, who her domain also extends to creatures of the night; particularly hounds and ghosts. She’s often seen accompanied by her black hounds, donning a long robe, holding burning torches. Neither was she evil, nor was she wholly benevolent, but she did reveal her nature through actions, rewarding loyalty among her followers. Captivated by your presence in her temple, the goddess of sorcery was drawn to your compassion and innocence. She found herself spending more time just observing you, enchanted by how your features glowed in the gentle embrace of moonlight. 

Rhaenys has always been confident and assertive, when she’s certain that she desires you, she’ll do whatever it takes to have you by her side. However, she’ll stray away from using force. If she’ll seek your companionship, Rhaenys resolutes in waiting it be your choice, to love her the same rather than do it with instilling fear in you. Her introduction was gradual, allowing you to adapt in time to her presence. Much of this is involved in simple conversations, where she enjoys getting to know the little details of your life (even if she already knew most of it). 

Instead of overwhelming you with extravagant gifts, she opted for small trinkets. And adding to the ease of your connection, Rhaenys’s mystical hounds display a fondness for you, allowing you to pet them. Even when you remain in her domain, Rhaenys remains steadfast in not forcing you to love her. She has all the patience as the goddess begins to slowly express her affection more openly with gentle caresses to your face as she presents you with more lavish gifts. Her patience was rewarded seeing how eager you are to spend every moment with her.

Corlys as Poseidon + God of the Sea and Waters

Not only was Corlys the god of the seas but also associated with earthquakes and horses. He stood out as a highly ambitious deity and known for his unwavering loyalty to Mount Olympus. Unlike some deities, Corlys is willing to engage with mortals, after all, they have a dependence on the seas for trade and travel. However, it’s also known that when dealing with the god of the sea, do not try to trick or cross him, for he has demonstrated a vengeful nature when felt insulted. 

It was during your many ventures near the beach, having a profound love and fascination for the sea that you encountered the god of the sea. In your frequent visits, the shores yielded treasures ranging from the most beautiful seashells to even a literal pearl, a gift from the god. Upon making his presence known, Corlys takes matters into his own hands. Taking you to the temple beneath the sea as he cannot rely on chance encounters by the shore and it’ll save him all the trouble of finding you if you choose to never visit again. 

Your place from now on remains with Corly’s temple. He has made promises to make you visit the shore from time to time once he’s confident you won’t attempt an escape. Eager to please, Corlys has an allure of lost treasures within his home, offering you any if you desire. He also takes great care to ensure your comfort, harboring no intention of causing harm or raising his voice. His desire is clear- to have you willingly at his side. 

Laena as Aphrodite + Goddess of Love and Beauty

Laena was more than just being thegoddess of beauty and love; she was one of fertility, pleasure, and eternal youth. Occasionally she presided over marriage. Legends went so far as to attribute her beauty to being the cause of the Trojan War. Despite her being desired and adored by everyone, even capturing the affections of the infamous god of war himself, Laena's heart chose you; a mortal who didn’t seem all that extraordinary. But none of that mattered to the goddess of love, who found herself drawn to you, desiring nothing more than for you to share her boundless love and adoration. 

When Laena first approached you, she displayed no hesitation in expressing her clear intentions of wanting to court you. Doves and sparrows seemed to fly around you. In the vicinity of your home, myrtles and roses bloomed abundantly and Laena took it upon herself to personally hand you the blossoms, alongside the most marvelous seashells. Whenever you expressed gratitude or attempted to deny her gifts out of politeness, Laena would firmly assure you that you deserved nothing but the best. As she would engage in conversations, Laena would hold your gaze, running her fingers on your cheek or shoulder with such tenderness. 

Even after you became hers, Laena never stops showering you with praise and luscious gifts. The dresses she adorned you with were among the most lavish you had ever seen, and men would certainly go to war for the jewelry that adorned your skin. And for her home, which she claims is now your home too, she’s willing more than anything to accommodate any of your demands to make it all the more welcoming. Whether it’s placing all your favorite books or presenting you all your favorite foods. After all, you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with her.  

Otto as Zeus + God of the Sky and Thunder 

Otto stood as the god among gods, the force behind the establishment of order and justice in Olympus. It was his duty as king, to reign and ensure harmony throughout the divine realm. He had a number of children; it counted those that were outside of his marriage. Mortals and gods alike collectively averted their gaze, as the god of thunder desired to maintain an image of a prudent and a pious. And while like any god, he considered himself above mortal beings, he would observe them with keen interest. 

Unfortunate for you, if you happened to catch his eye, resisting him was a futile endeavor. It began with him orchestrating ways to make your life more comfortable — discovering the lushest trees near your home, bearing the most delectable fruits you'd ever savor. An eagle, acting as his messenger, would shower you with all sorts of gifts, from fragrant olive oils to delicate silver coins and ivory trinkets. The weather seemed to dance to his whims, birds serenading under the radiant sun.

It was also his way to signal his presence, a silent acknowledgment a being beyond the mortal realms was watching. And when his presence becomes known, he vows to treasure you for eternity (hinting at what’ll become of your mortal life). It’s difficult to deny him with all the myriad blessings he bestowed upon you. Once you’re brought to his home, he will present you with a luxurious silk robe and servants who dutifully follow your every command. Even if you resist, his determination remains unswayed. As a god, time was his ally and he believed in due course, you would succumb to his temptations.

Alicent as Hera + Goddess of Marriage and Childhood

Alicent stood as the embodiment of matrimony and domestic life, a revered figure to whom women turned in prayer for the blessings of harmonious marriages, the safe return of their husbands, and in hopes of birthing a healthy child. Despite her attempts to project a demure demeanor, the goddess had a silent reputation for her jealousy and occasional vengefulness. Alicent had divine authority, navigating the intricate game of politics and perhaps that was why no one dared to question her decision to bring a mortal being along.  

It was all under the reason of needing a servant though you were not yet married, still, no one dared to voice it. As her supposed servant, you were strangely exempt from menial tasks such as washing clothes or scrubbing the floor; such duties were deemed beneath you. Instead, the majority of your days were spent in the company of the goddess. You found yourself dressing and brushing Alicent’s hair as she shared her grievances about the perceived foolishness surrounding her court. 

Your time was further consumed by tending to Hera’s children and grandchildren, and her strictures extended to where you were not permitted to eat meals with other servants. In truth, the goddess had little need for another servant. But you a mortal, had sought her prayer, coming to her temple wishing for a happy life for the arrangement your parents orchestrated for you. But Alicent had been watching you long before and you have become the object of her desire. She promised to find you a suitor but the intensity of her gaze and the uncanny resemblance between the necklace of hers and the one she gifted you hints at something beyond that. 

Aegon II as Dionysus + God of Wine and Pleasure 

Aegon is known for seemingly lazy nature and rarely being seen sober, he’s notorious for the wild parties and dramatic theaters he orchestrates. The many lovers he has are ones that no one bothers to learn their names, as they typically don’t linger beyond a day. The few bastards he fathered are not accounted for. When the god of wines comes upon you, there was an unmistakable eagerness to have you in his bed. While you and others are at no fault to assume that it was driven solely by lust, you soon find it unraveled beyond that. 

As a mortal, the prospect of rejecting a god was not a reasonable one. His presence was suffocating with a possessive jealousy over your interactions with others and an incessant need for you to be near him. At times, he would pull you into his lap, craving for your affection and praise. Besides his constant need to have you share his bed at every turn, his lingering hands, and wanting your every attention, it’s not as terrible as one initially assumes. 

The god of wine provided you with the sweetest food, accompanied of course by his signature wine. He adorned you in exquisite clothing, though in the privacy of his chambers, they were far more revealing and sheer. While it was somewhat accepted to have fleeting lovers for a day, appearing with you by his side on every occasion garnered disapproval from the other gods. However, Aegon was indifferent; no stranger to being considered a disappointment. You were the one thing he was sure of, even harboring a secret desire to make you immortal, hoping you don’t notice how different your wine tastes.

Helaena as Persephone + Goddess of Seasons and Vegetation

Helaena possessed a kind of gentleness that was unusual among the gods. She carried herself with such grace and consideration. Helaena grew up to be a lovely woman who caught the interest of gods and humans alike. With mortals, the goddess did not look down on them. If anything, Helaena seemed to see the goodness and beauty in them despite all of their flaws. It therefore comes as no great surprise when the goddess seems so enchanted by you-a simple mortal. 

Helaena spent many days watching you. She possessed unending patience. What a fascinating sight you are. Deemed by the goddess to be the most beautiful being to ever walk this earth. Helaena cared nothing more than your happiness hence why you come home to a plethora of gifts and trinkets. It could be the most delicious fruit you've ever eaten or a dress the goddess sewed herself. And wherever you are, you found plants growing all around that never seem to wither-fruits and vegetables you never imagined would ever grow there.

Helaena was content as long as she could see you every day. Even if she couldn't speak or stand before you. All that mattered to her was to see your lovely smile as you open her gifts or to hear your joyful laughter. But shall you wish to meet her. Shall you seem unsatisfied with your life. Helaena will make her presence known. The goddess is nothing but a tender lover. Giving you all the time you need to adjust to her realm. Happy to watch from a distance and just speak with you.

Aemond as Apollo - God of Sun and Art

Aemond was also a god of music, truth, and healing, he was considered wise even at such a relatively young age. He enjoyed writing poems and believed in law and order. Unlike his brother, Aemond was recognized for his numerous contributions, particularly in the realms of medicine and prophecy. Aemond shows intense loyalty to his family and a great love for his mother but also is known for his jealousy and a wrathful nature; particularly when he perceives insults directed at his family or either himself. 

Many of your actions could’ve caught his eye, your visits to his temple, your singing voice echoing through the fields, how you immersed yourself far away from everyone else with the books you read. He doesn’t wish to frighten you,  guided by a gentle approach to engage you in conversations. You can feel his gaze follow you, a silent presence that seems to accompany your every move. In due time, Aemond would express his desire for you to be his lover, to not only give him your body, but your mind and soul. Even if you do not share his feelings, denying him is not advisable, Aemond is not one for rejections. 

Even if you were to deny him, Aemond would still bring you to Mount Olympus, introducing you to the other gods, making sure you understood that your place belonged with him. And while he attempts to give you some space, the god of the sun cannot bring himself to stay away. Aemond sought to spend every moment of the day with you, from sharing the same bed, to waking together to sharing meals. He yearns to hear your every thought from the flowers you liked to your opinion on the poetry he’s dedicated to you.

Criston as Heracles + Demi- God of Strength and Heroes

Criston was born a mortal. Yet even as a child, Criston showed such strength and courage unmatched by any other. He has proven to be a fierce warrior over the years. While he was hailed as a hero, many of his rage-fueled actions beg to differ. It took Criston to die to be reborn as the Demi-god. Taken from the flames to Mount Olympus where he was granted eternal youth and the right to live among the gods. He was offered a goddess, but Criston had his eyes set somewhere else.

Criston believes he must protect you. That you need him far more than he needs you. You are just a mere mortal. One fall can be fatal. Doesn't matter that his involvement could be the very reason your life is at forfeit. Makes no difference the many times you struggle and try to escape him. Criston holds you in his arms, repeating the same mantra over and over. That you have a need for him. That he must shield you from all those who will harm you. He rarely leaves your side, and no amount of begging or insults will convince him to do so.

As your lover, you have a man capable of crushing a village to ruins, capable of winning against an army. You bring out the worst in him, the madness. A madness seen in the mere thought of you being in another’s arms. Criston won't accept the possibility of your death. He was blessed with the gift of immortality and will stop at nothing to grant you the same blessing. A wonderful thought to him, but a nightmare to you. Given the chaos that will be left behind, the gods may grant him his wish.

[bokunokamijirou]

I recently had a tooth removed and my dentist advised me on many things but what I found funny was her saying "no kissing for a month" I found myself wondering how a couple would deal with this.

A scenario with LoV X Reader reacting and dealing with the news of no kiss for a month XD + them taking care of the reader

I love your work <3

oh i looove this one!! and thank you <3

NO KISSES FOR A MONTH!

ft. LoV

Shigaraki

He doesn't believe you at first, he thinks you're punishing him for something. Until he tries to kiss you and you wince in pain, then he's like o h, you're serious.

Then he subtly takes care of you. He comes home one day with ice packs and heating pads to help with the swelling. He makes the rest of the League deal with freezing and heating them up, but he always delivers them directly to you. He won't let you lift a finger unless you have to. He puts Kurogiri in charge of assisting you whenever you need it while he's gone, which barely happens bc he never wants to leave your side when you need him. He falls asleep on a couch next to your bed during the day, and always ends up spooning you at night <3

Dabi

He's PISSED about no kisses. He pouts about it literally all day. But when you start to complain about how in pain you are, he drops everything to help you. He'll hand feed you your meds and he'll tell Shigaraki he's off duty until you're better. He refuses to leave your side, such a needy guy. He makes you soup because that's easier to eat, and he'll blow on it to cool it down before feeding it to you - and yes, he indeed does feed it to you on a spoon. He'll keep you warm and safe, no matter what.

He's not great with the no kisses rule, so he kisses your forehead and nose and temples frequently. He just can't help himself. <3

Twice

He understands no kisses but he also DESPISES it!! He personally wants to talk to the dentist and tell them off!! But he also wants to shake their hand and thank them for taking care of you. In regards to that, he's somehow both the most gentle and the most distant. But he explains to you it's only because he can't stop himself from wanting to kiss you whenever he sees you! Still makes sure you know how loved you are, waits on you at every hour. He worries about you so much !! <33

Toga

Oh no kisses? No problem for our vampy girl! She gives you love in so many other ways. She cuddles and holds you, basically carrying you throughout the house starting when you came home from surgery. She's adamant that she can take care of you - almost to a fault. She starts to forget to take care of herself a little bit. You make sure to cover her in blankets when she passes out from exhaustion, and you end up taking care of her more than anything. <3

Spinner

He's a sweet guy, so of course he's not going to tell you how upset he is about not getting to kiss you. He looks disappointed at first, but then he realizes that means he has to show his affection through other ways. He taste tests all your food first so that they're soft and smooth enough for you to eat. He spends the days in bed with you playing video games while you rest, and he always ALWAYS makes sure that the room temperature is perfect for you. <3

Compress

Oh he's absolutely the most dramatic about it. While he understands you must heal, how can he NOT smooch those lips??? He spends the entire time trying to figure out a way to kiss your lips without it hurting you. Him and his silly magic - he actually attempts to hypnotize you just so that he could get away with it still - but he remembered how worth the wait it would be to be able to kiss you without you being in pain. He spends the rest of the time entertaining you with his whimsical stories <3

Kurogiri

Kissing isn't really a big part of your relationship, so he doesn't care entirely about that. What he DOES care about is how much pain you're in, and he wonders if he can transport the pain away from you. He hates seeing you sad, and does his best to take care of you. He brings you to the prettiest mountaintop to pass the time while you heal. He sets up a picnic for you both and you sit in silence together, happily. You're kinda glad you had surgery! <3

Magne

She's a bit mad about it, but she gets over it quickly when she realizes that the sooner you heal, the more kisses she'll get! She also waits on you hand and foot, she's sure to make sure to try and anticipate your needs before you even know what they are. If there's one thing she's gonna do, it's protect you from the stupid shit you usually do that causes you to get hurt (tripping is the number one thing). She will rush in to catch you everytime, and call you a ditz while kissing your cheek and carrying you to wherever you were headed! <3

[death---dealer]

Berry Foraging. ( Planet of the Apes Imagines. )

Characters below includes: Ceasar, Noa, Anaya and Soona ( The Trio babey. ), Blue Eyes, Koba. Prompt: You've gone Berry Foraging. How would the scenario play out with each characters? Rating: T. ( Some language, primarily in Koba's LOL. ) Caesar.

The sun felt good against your skin now that you had shed your jacket, leaving you delectably exposed to the clean air. Caesar found it difficult not to watch how your shoulders move when you worked, when you shifted next to him to dive inwards towards the blackberry bush in front of the two of you. As simple as an activity it was, and as easy as it was for the Ape King to pin the task on someone else, to have you escorted to the Red Woods to pick berries, he did relish in the mild silence that surrounded the two of you as you intently placed your fingers against a vine and inspected it for ripeness, bringing it ever so closer to your face as your eyes narrowed at it. The way your mouth opened as you muttered to yourself, saying that it wasn’t ready before seeking another vine to inspect… Caesar found it difficult to actually focus on finding his own to pick. Like he would know how. Like he actively came foraging with the female Apes when they came out once a week in a group. Huffing to himself at that, he was careful to watch you.

You were surely faster than he was, deducing that the vine you had turned your attention to was more than good and you began plucking them berries off one by one, placing them delicately into the basket that was between your bent knees as you had crouched down to inspect the berry bush properly. Admittedly… This was something that Caesar had not done for years.

Well, at least since the Colony first took hold and he was demanded to be stationary there in case danger arose. Always easier to be in the same spot than to be missing in action and having tens of Apes out in the woods on horseback looking for their leader. Now, with Blue Eyes coming to age, and with the assistance from Rocket and Maurice, Caesar was able to take in moments like this, laced intricately with his favorite type of intimacy.

“No, no,” Your hands were suddenly grabbing at his own, the touch itself setting Caesar’s calloused hands alight as you grasped at them and pulled them towards you, “Do you see here?” Your pointer finger gestured at a berry at the very top of the vine that Caesar had figured was okay to pick at. Obviously not as you explained to him in a gentle voice, one that he would drown in if he was allowed, “They’re still a little green. Not ready yet.”

Were… Were you… telling him how to do this? Caesar narrowed his eyes, brow pulling in on itself as he looked at you, perplexity written completely over his expression. He chortled at that- At someone telling him what to do, how to actually do something correctly.

“Look here,” Lifting a hand up, you placed it against his bicep as your other hand reached and grasped it considerately as to not place any damage to it, “See how they’re colored? Darker?” Caesar looked at what you were referring to and gave a slight nod. Smiling at him, you squeezed where your grasp was placed on his body before pushing both hands forward and plucking the berries off with content, “That’s the color you want. Otherwise they’re going to be too bitter to eat. I don’t know any Ape who would enjoy that.”

Caesar tried to follow suit, almost mimicking your body language as he fell into a deeper crouch, inspecting the bush for what you had in turn told him to seek.

“Koba,” He said suddenly, the brazen and deep baritone of his vocals drawing you in without any regard for your other senses. He knew you liked to joke, in fact, Caesar found himself more prone to do just that when alone with you and it was a great way to put you at ease, to put you in a good mood - Or, if flirtatious in nature, enough to get you to lay with Caesar. This joke fell into the ‘good mood’ category as he finished his statement, “Koba would enjoy.”

That made you snicker, nodding in agreement. Caesar felt entranced momentarily as the sun caught your hair, giving the impression that you were ablaze as your gaze reached his own and you laughed in return, “Bitter berry for bitter Ape.” Noa, Anaya and Soona.

There were tears very visible at the corner of your eyes. Noa felt a small sense of panic wash over him at the expression, how you looked down at your feet in absolute defeat. Rested right in front of you were the remains of the berries you were so careful to pick, so careful to clean as you placed them in the wickered basket, scattered all along the floor of the woods. Now covered with mud and sediment and you were on the very verge of crying as a result. Anaya hadn’t meant to - He apologized the moment it happened, the moment the basket hit the ground and you let out a rather startling yap. Anaya swore to Noa he was just playing around, hiding behind a tree in a bid to scare you. In fact, your hands were still dangling mid-air out of shock like you were still holding the basket. Soona was silent next to Noa, her eyes looking between the raspberries and you, wondering why you were having this reaction. She then turned her attention to Noa in hopes that maybe he could translate. Unfortunately, for all three Apes, there was no clear translation. The look Noa gave her, the look Noa gave Anaya, biting around the edges but never enough to ruin a friendship, told them to back off slightly. You spoke - alerting all three of them that you were still there, not completely lost in the abandonment the poor berries must have felt being on the ground. “My… rasp… berries….” Shaking in tone, Noa tried to flank you so he could see your face but your chin was dipped and your eyes were now tracing the shapes the berries made. A few of them, in your mind at least, looked like a poorly drawn flower. You swallowed softly and looked at Noa with a distressed gaze, “They’re all gone.” Anaya yipped, “Sorry---” Noa placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Removing his hand just as quickly as it was placed, Noa reached down and grasped the basket in front of you, crouching on all four in front of you to obscure the vision of your now wasted forage. The pads of his fingers lined the wickered basket, catching here and there against the rough nature of his skin as he attempted to hand it back to you, his arm extending before dropping at the crushed visual of your face. The twist in his stomach was incredibly uncomfortable as the basket was placed on the ground and suddenly, Noa was encapsulating your entire vision. He placed a hand to your cheek first, caressing the smoothness of your skin before bringing his head in to rest against your own to comfort you. You didn't move in response and Noa took a step forward in a bid to captivate your attention.  “A… A lot of bushes here, can pick more.” A small sniffle hit your nose as you nodded in agreement, suddenly aware of your mated love’s closeness. Of course there were more. You were in the middle of the woods, your favorite spot in fact, and were surrounded by many bushes, riped, lush for the picking and taking.

You sniffled again, finally breaking the awkward stance you were holding and raised a hand to wipe the underside of your nose before you grasped Noa’s forearms, beckoning him nearer, to keep him close to you so you could have a speckled moment of privacy in front of Anaya and Soona, who were entangled in their own argument about the entire situation. You could vaguely make out Soona telling Anaya to apologize again. “T-They were for you,” Noa’s eyes widened at the declaration and with that, he held you a bit closer, almost to the point where it felt like a headache was forming where your foreheads were cusped. “I picked them for you, you-you really like raspberries and we-we never have enough at dinner and I---” Anaya shifted towards you and Noa, looking at his friend first who stepped aside slightly. Anaya  offered you the basket that was against his back, half full. He never went back with a full one, often picking some out to eat while plucking subsequent berries from the bush and often indulged on the journey back to the Clan. He gave you a gracious smile, extending his arm out with the basket. “Can… can take Anaya’s.” Swallowing gently, you grabbed his basket delicately and gave him a half-hearted smile as he apologized under his breath again, “Th… Thank you.” Noa watched the encounter and softened his gaze at that. Just one more thing; the Eagle Clan leader stepped forward and lightly brought his thumb along the top of your right cheek to catch a tear from falling. You smiled slightly at him, looking down at Anaya’s basket and finding yourself maniacally entranced in laughter. 

“He ate all the raspberries.” Blue Eyes.

Cornelius was so… Small. You tilted your head at that thought, hands full of fuzzy blackberries. You found it difficult at the moment to find a better description. But, it was beyond true. The berries in your hand found a home in the basket in front of you. Incredibly cute and so very small. Fragile, almost. That was not the case at all; if anyone even looked at the baby Chimp with the wrong indentation, Blue Eyes was prone to attack out of protectiveness. Watching with bated breath, Cornelius brought himself to cling a little further closer to his older brother, splatted along his back as Blue Eyes was crouched next to you, Ash on the other side. They had gotten you to go fishing, it was only fair you got them to go berry picking.

The added bonus? Cornelius was under Blue Eyes’ care today, and the little stow-a-way was eating the berries right out of the basket that his older brother was trying to fill. You chuckled at that, watching the small frame dip himself down Blue Eyes arm, onto the ground and then quite literally, into the basket itself. The quaint hoots and small howl at a blueberry warmed your heart, but the absolute chaos of Blue Eyes' gaze on his baby brother was universally known. Wise older brother, annoying little brother who got in the way. It was not more evident than in the moment as Blue Eyes grasped him softly, placing him outside of the basket before Cornelius jumped right back in. A growl escaped the older of the two before he repeated it and signed at his brother, ‘stay’ with one hand. Smiling at him when he made eye contact with you, you were flushed and eager to turn your face back towards the action of your hands.

Funny how that worked. Sibling annoyance was truly known across all creatures. Smiling at the Ape Prince when he made eye contact with you, you were flushed and eager to turn your face back towards the action of your hands. Pulled into a state of lulling day-dreams, you slid your fingers along the vines that held the berries and found a mild prickle sitting at the base of your spine when Blue Eyes’ fingers brushed against yours when you went for the same bunch. You apologized quietly, letting him have his fill, Cornelius’ small eyes watching the berries fall into the basket with intensity. He raised his hands to grab one but Blue Eyes simply ignored it as if it were second nature to deflect the annoyance that rose when Cornelius ended up in his way. Truly siblings, you thought to yourself with a small chuckle.

You were being nudged--- Humming under your breath, your focus turned to Ash who was peering down at your basket with focused intent. You blinked, swinging yourself back into reality, right out of the nice thoughts of Blue Eyes and his baby brother. Wh--- You blinked again, the munching sounds overtaking all of your senses as Cornelius shoved the freshly picked blackberry into his mouth before looking up at you.When did he get there? How long were you daydreaming? There was a mild stare down between yourself and the younger of the two brothers. It felt like you were enthralled in each other’s presence but it was quickly shot down when Blue Eyes finally took notice and pulled his baby brother out of your basket and placed him back onto his shoulder silently.

‘Sorry.’ Blue Eyes signed at you, digging into his basket and placing a few of his berries into your own as recognition that Cornelius had eaten some of your own. His were okay to eat, but yours? Off limits.

Koba.

“Human,” The gruff nature of Koba’s voice was more than grating enough to take you out of the quiet day-dream you had going in your head as your fingers were quick to push blueberries off their twig home and into a basket laying beside you. Groaning to yourself, you dropped your head before looking up at the Bonobo who had been so graciously blessed by Caesar to take you into the woods to forage for berries. He didn't even bother to dis-mount his stallion and rested on it for the last thirty minutes. “Almost done?”

This was the fifth time he asked you if you were ready to leave in the last ten minutes. Your patience felt like it was teetering between an insane breakdown, which you resisted waging that yelling at Koba was not going to earn you any favors, and quite aggravation. You drove with the second choice and smiled sarcastically at him, “Do you think my answer is any different than it was two minutes ago?” Silently, Koba fell back on his saddle, the action in itself rather reminiscent of a child who wanted to leave the grocery store but was placed in the shopping cart of a prison to ride the remainder of the trip in disappointment. Without a doubt, he was going to have words with Caesar about this later, figuring it to be just a punishment for causing mutiny without a abandonment. You laughed at that to yourself, knowing that Koba’s complaints were going to fall of deaf ears.

Bothersome silence ensued beyond your capacity. It felt bubbling, the way that he looked at you with his one good eye. The sweep against your entire body as you moved to another bush, content with what you had foraged from the previous. The glare against the back of your head as you began diligently working the new bush. You quipped sarcastically at him, looking at the berries in your hand before letting them slide down your palms into the basket, “You know what would make me go faster?”

Koba tilted his head in thought, though you knew what he was thinking with reckless care. He’d surely say something like ‘you… to be dead’ or a rather clever ‘Koba… threatening you’. Smiling at the sudden wash of familiarity at the fact that despite his best efforts, you knew how he could respond, the grin you gave him was more than shit-eating as you grumbled, “If you’d get off your horse and help me. I need to fill the basket.”

The narrowing of his expression was something you could write a book on. The tense nature of his muscles, gleaming it seemed as the sun vibrated off his fur, the permanent scowl of his brow and mouth. Koba had to be the metaphorical poster child for ‘human hater’. Not that it was a problem most days, but right now, you wanted to be left in some semblance of peace to pick your berries without having to hear him complain over and over again about wanting to go back to the Colony. Without his absolutely relentless dry inquiries about whether you were done or not. He hummed - deep in his chest and the sound was brutal to your ears. “Koba does not…”

The grimace on his face tempted you to double over in laughter, but you were positive that would be interpreted as a threat and you’d be pinned to a nearby tree with his teeth in your jugular. Bringing your knees together, you bounced in your squatting position and looked up at him, almost asking with your eyes to finish his statement. “Koba… does not… pick berries.” No shit, you wanted to say but refrained. You filed away the response to be used at a moment when you were around others who would ensure your safety. “Just thought I’d throw the option out there. If two of us were doing it, we could go back in like… Ten minutes.”

There was no processing your words, or at least, there was no clear indication that Koba actually considered them. More often than not, they slid right off him and he just ignored them, preferring to sit in petulant silence which was exactly what he was doing. With one more look at the Ape, you proceeded forward and found pleasure in how your fingers moved around the bush to find what you were seeking, all too aware of the heated scrutiny you were now being surveyed under. Looking right into his eyes, you smiled viciously as you popped a berry into your mouth and chewed painstakingly slow. For sure, you thought to yourself with a chortle, Caesar was going to hear about this from Koba.

[ginkgo-phyta]

Hotch would definitely give you the princess treatment, and you know what? Jack would too, after seeing his father he knows how to treat a girl right. And the team would definitely tease Hotch, because his son is going to steal his partner from him :)

omg no LITERALLYYY tho like just like omfg alright i got carried away with this and its not even really what you're talking about but listen to me okay LISTENNNNN

tagged spencer reid x reader because i want more people to see this teehee pls dont hate me i have spencer fics yall should read if you havent already but also you should still read this too

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH AARON HOTCHNER AND ITS INFLUENCE ON HIS SON JACK gn!reader, FLUFF, no warnings(?) another informal blurb typa format :P

you and hotch decide together you'd like to date for a while first, take things slower and fully solidify and strengthen your relationship, before you become a part of jack's life. you didn't want jack to get attached to you or write you off too quickly in case life took you in different directions. you didn't know it at the time, but hotch introduced you to jack when he was sure he was going to marry you some day- and soon. he had been so incredibly head over heels in love with you and once you and jack got close, the little guy really got to witness how highly his father regarded you- and just how he showed you it every day. even in the little things. from the way hotch pulled out your chair, held all doors open for you, always kept your favorite drinks and snacks stocked up in the fridge and pantry, never let you open your own car door, the way he made spaces for you in his bathroom and closet without even being asked, and how he always stuck to your weekly dinner date- whether in person or over the phone. to the way his father would look at you, listen intently to whatever you were talking or ranting about, how he'd cup your hands and press quick kisses to them or move any bothersome strands of hair from your face when you'd eat, and how enthusiastic he always was when you and jack would spend time together.

jack was a bit hesitant with you at first, he was a bit older at that point and the quickness with which beth had left his life had admittedly stung him, leaving an ever-present welt behind. but he warmed up to you, appreciative of the way you welcomed him with open arms, never pressured him to spend time with or even like you (letting him accept you at his own pace) and how you clearly were not trying to take the place of his late mother- even many, many years into your relationship with his father. what he loved the most was how you always encouraged hotch to recount stories of haley, put pictures of her in jack's room or wherever else he wanted them, and how you would remind him: "your mother would be so proud of you jack." you would watch old home videos of their old family and jack never failed to notice how you wouldn't ever feel negatively about it. that was really what won him over. he also loved how open you were with both him and his dad- every day you'd say "i love you!" both casually and purposefully. it instilled in the young boy the importance of expressing appreciation, love, and care for others.

before you, hotch was always a just bit emotionally closed off. even when it came to jack he liked to keep himself a bit more reserved. he tried to stay a strong and unwavering inspiration, only wanting to show his son his best face. but once you came into their lives you inspired hotch to open up more than he had the last few years after haley's passing, inspired him to embrace even the "uglier" emotions he felt in life: grief, anger, sadness, and tiredness. it ended up passing onto jack in small ways, allowing him to feel even closer to dad. you became a huge structural post in jack's life. your love for one other inspired him, as he grew up he dreamed of one day having a relationship like yours. he looked forward to being able to treat his significant other the way his father cares for you.

you loved jack as if he was your own, though you never wanted to say that to him for fear of overstepping your role. aaron would always assure you, especially as jack grew older, that his boy felt it. you watched him go from a playful child, to a moody teenager, to a budding adult eager to make his mark on the world. and you were there supporting him the whole way.

you'll spend a lifetime with the both of them and although there will be many funny, loving, or frustrating moments you'll hold in a special place in your mind, there's one memory from when he was still a youngin that you love the most. it was a surprise dinner party at your fancy restaurant, aaron had booked the whole place just for you and the guests to celebrate your engagement and he had enlisted jack's help to plan the whole thing. jack, the bau team, and your friends and family were all there to shower you in love. the most memorable part of the night was the moment everyone sat down for dinner, all around a giant table (possibly multiple tables pushed together). as everyone moved to take their place jack ran so eagerly in front of you to pull your chair out before his father got the chance. you were shocked for a second before bursting out in a melodious laugh- it was so unexpected but you were incredibly moved. "oh, jack, thank you!" your loving, excited, and genuinely appreciative tone made jack's already huge grin grow even wider and more endearing. everyone else had noticed this too and laughed in joy along with you. "oh my god!" "that was so freakin cute" "he did not just do that!" rang out around you. of course aaron noticed, standing in silence for a second, a similar smile mirrored on his face, before he shook his head with a chuckle. as you took you seat, jack made sure to push your chair in just before you sat down fully, diligently executing what he'd studied his father do hundreds of times before. you turned to thank him, but before you could even open your mouth jack moved to take your cloth napkin from the table, shake it open, and carefully place it in your lap. awwws flooded in from all sides of the table

"oh you are just so adorable jack, thank you so much." you said as you pinched his still slightly chubby cheek "you are just the kindest, sir." you playful tone cause jacks entire face to blush and he shyly walked over to take a seat next to you.

"what? you take my job, and now you don't even want to sit next to me?" hotch spoke up from you other side. jack knew his father was joking, but he still bashfully giggled, sinking a bit more into his seat

"you better be careful, hotch," derek spoke up from across the table, motioning to his former boss with a breadstick, "looks like you got some competition there."

everyone broke out into more laughter, especially aaron. in the midst of the hysterics, the once-stoic man's hand crept into your lap to hold your own, thumbing over the back of your hand and the beautiful engagement ring wrapped around your finger. you shared a glance while you both laughed before you looked over to jack. wordlessly, your hand suddenly hopped up to ruffle up the little boy's hair, causing him to scrunch up his nose and giggle even more.

but you didn't have to say anything, your eyes held the truth. love. jack continued to look up at you, feelings of warmth, joy, and safety draped over him like a fuzzy throw, covering him from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. he knew that with you in his life now, besides him and his father, everything would be okay.

A/N: SCREAMING how was this anon? sorry i didn't delve into the team teasing hotch more bc these thoughts were swimming in my head and i NEEDED to get them down perhaps i could do another post of just teasing quotes if that's something you'd like! i got a few ideas swimmin already teehee i hope you enjoyed my love!!

[grandline-fics]

hi! i just read all of your oneshots and they’re perfect, i’m in love. hoping it is okay to request something with zoro having a soft spot towards reader? he doesn’t even realize it a first, but since reader is somehow quiet and gentle (not weak though!) he starts to take note of small things to do/don’t do or notice their actions (ex: taking care o the crew) a lot more than others. thank you. <3

DESCRIPTION: Who knew you were Zoro’s soft spot? Apparently both of you are the last to know 

WARNINGS: none, just pure fluff

CHARACTERS: Zoro

WORDS: 856

A/N:  Thank you for your kind words and for this request! I hope it's to your liking. I've been feeling a little under the weather these past couple of days so some fluff was needed <3

MASTERLIST

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

It’s tiny things; little, practically meaningless things that are so easy to miss but they’re there. When you first joined the crew, your presence fell into the likes of his and Robin’s; strong but relatively quiet and easily looked passed if you wanted. You didn’t see the point in wasting energy needlessly and knew the value in waiting until letting yourself be known. Zoro unknowingly enjoyed that kind of calm you naturally brought and found himself gravitating towards it because it seemed even when he was in his own space you were still in his eye-line. In the beginning he found it a little strange that it kept happening, he knew you weren’t following him. Hell most of the times you were on the other side of the ship or talking with someone else so he cleared it as coincidence and thought nothing of it. As time went on, there was a lot he was putting down to mere coincidence. 

When you were all exploring new islands it was purely happenstance that you two walked side by side. Neither of you were the type to bound about and race ahead without a cause for urgency. He found he didn’t get lost as easily when you were close. You always seemed to know the way to go. On one trip Brook had commented to Zoro how lucky he had been that you were there to talk to him at the right moment otherwise he would have kept walking towards a path that would have taken him towards a ravine. Because of your voice suddenly pulling him into conversation he’d kept the right track and avoided possibly injuring himself and getting a lecture from the others. Lucky right?

It was also luck of the draw that when eating or drinking off the ship, Zoro was sat at the table in such a way that his back blocked you mostly from view from any unwanted stares. It was never in a subconscious way to keep you from interacting with others but it was like another sense he had that he was able to tell when you just wanted to sit with the crew and enjoy your meal. It seemed to go both ways too in that regard. If women tried to approach and flirt with him you effortlessly had a way of making a joke to dissuade them and steer them in Sanji’s direction. Was any of it done out of jealousy, possessiveness of the other’s attention, or an overwhelming need to protect? Not in the least, it was just doing what needed to be done to help out a friend and fellow crew-mate.

On the Sunny it’s no different. It’s not even a second thought, his body just reacts without thinking. In the early, barely waking hours when he’s finished his night watch and is about to grab a quick snack before training he always pulls out a specific mug from the cabinet and sets it on the counter. It’s never for him and like clockwork you appear just as he’s finished drinking a glass of water. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes and stifling a small yawn you always offer him a small smile and greeting that is returned. You both pass each other, your only motivation is caffeine to see you through the last of the watch before everyone else is awake while he goes to the crow’s nest to train. 

After all this time it’s never occurred to you to question why your mug is waiting for you when you rise. You don’t know why but it’s something that immediately makes your morning a little bit brighter. It’s also routine now that an hour or so after breakfast, you and Zoro both nap; him to rest between his training sessions and you to grab another couple hours after your night watch. Nami occasionally glances up from her charts to shake her head at your sleeping forms. Robin finds it adorable while Brook chuckles, nostalgic over youth and love’s first stages. 

“Jeez they’re both so clueless.” Sanji grumbles, he’s accepted long ago that he doesn’t have a chance with you but is so infuriated that nothing has actually happened. He lost you to the swordsman who hasn’t even thought to make a move. Usopp grins and watches as you stir slightly in your sleep which in turn makes Zoro react before his body relaxes again. Currently he’s lying on his back with one hand tucked behind his head. While the other that’s draped over his chest, his fingers almost touching yours that are curled by your head as you sleep on your side. 

From his spot on Sunny’s head, Luffy grins. “I don’t know. I think they do know, in their own way.” It’s the little, insignificant things that you both do for each other that are easy to miss and while a lot of little things add up into something bigger, none of it compares to the way that you and Zoro unknowingly look at each other at any given chance. Because that is something so big that no one else can ignore. 

[simpjaes]

thoughts on jayhoon (maybe hyungline) with an inexperienced gf?!.. please 😩🫶

hyung line + inexperienced reader

★ heeseung:

i'm not saying he would look for an inexperienced girlfriend so she sees him as a sex god, but i'm also not saying that it wouldn't be a plus in the relationship.

I think he'd be gentle on purpose at first [probably struggling to hold back too], working his way up, up, up to where he wants to be regarding his sex life. the first time would probably be vanilla sex, where he's sliding in nice and gentle, praising you and cooing in your ear like "feel how wet you are for this, baby-" and "you're really loving this, yeah?"

and he'll be like that for like...idk, a week tops before he starts being dirty rather than gentle. snapping his hips and cooing out the same praise when you tense up at the force. caressing your cheek when he face fucks you :( loving how you gag consistently because you've only sucked his dick before.

idk, i think heeseung would be obsessed with being the standard™ and i also don't think he'd be able to stay gentle with you when you just...like...let him fuck you however he wants.

☆ jay:

he likes inexperienced girls because they get soooooooooooooo fucking wet. and the only thing he loves more than girls who drip for him is a girl who makes him drip for her.

thankfully, it goes both ways when it comes to inexperienced girls. he'd def get soooo so so hard knowing he can please you without much effort. i'm talking one little touch to your clit, one slide of his cock into you and you're quivering? he'd def be the one saying shit like "this is all it takes to have you like this?" and "here, spread your legs more, i can go so deep-"

probably entirely obsessed with knowing he's one of the only cocks you've taken. fr so possessive and not wanting you to take anyone other than him after the fact too. also obsessed with showing you each new thing and loving how you try your best on him too. from being bad at sucking cock to having him shaking within just a few days. he loves a high sex drive fr, you're such a fast learner too. probs worries about you running off someday and using that tongue thing you picked up on someone else ;-;

plus, it never hurts for jay to be the one bringing the majority of the pleasure. In fact, it's probably his favorite role to play.

★ jake:

jake is the guy who is confidently fucking clumsy with his dick. an inexperienced girl would be perfect for him for several reasons.

for one, you're probably willing to try just about everything without him feeling embarrassed or weird about liking certain things. secondly, you'd be so easy to turn on and that, in turn, would have him nearly cumming in his pants. lastly, you'd probably be so fucking tight that he wouldn't have to do much at all in regards to thrusting. just cock warming feels like he's fucking you senseless with the way you grip and clench him.

i am a firm believer in switch!jake, so i think he could not only take care of you and become utterly drunk for such an inexperienced pussy, but let you become drunk for his more experienced cock in whatever way you please.

he would not care whether what you to do him feels good, hurts, or feels absolutely awful. he'd be gentle with his words too, guiding you with that pretty smile on his face like "here, try holding your hand still so I can fuck up--" or "hold onto me," when he slides in, following up with moans of "feel how tight you are around me? fuck, i don't even have to fuck you, do i?"

idk, jake would be a perfect lover in any regard because i think he'd be rough when asked, submissive when asked, or simply vanilla when asked.

☆ sunghoon:

on fucking god this guy would be so gentle, going at your pace and consistently checking up on you despite wanting to rail you into the next fucking dimension if you so much as asked him to.

i don't think he'd really want an inexperienced girl because he wouldn't want to have to hold himself back, but it wouldn't be a deal breaker for him in the slightest.

the issue is that like, when you moan so much with such a pretty, strained voice, he has to fucking fight gods to keep himself from holding you down and just taking you for all your worth. but man is it worth it when you're ready for him to do that to you.

im not saying he'd train you or anything, unlike heeseung, who definitely would. I'm just saying you'd grow so accustomed to his size and the way he fucks you that you'd probably find it hard to think of anyone else knowing your body like he does.

sunghoon would def take his time learning your buttons and pressing them to get what he wants. the first time you ask him to go faster or harder though???? oh man would that lead to a full fucking night of him giving you his all. saying things like "it's okay, just--just relax," when you're tensing up under him from the force of his hips, "fuck, i can't- god you're fucking squeezing me so tight-"

fr would be unable to stop until he's cumming only to eat you out as an apology for ruining that pretty pussy of yours :(

[24-05txt]

In regards to the whole soul mate thing, Soap's been through all the phases.

He'd started curious, then confused, then mournful, then resentful. For now he's settled somewhere in the vicinity of apathy—maybe spite.

He doesn't have a soul-mark. Never has, never will, and that's... fine. He's far from the only one lacking that kind of connection, and that's enough for him to feel understood. Not alone. He's got plenty of good friends besides—with and without soulmates of their own—and he's happy that way. Really, he is; it took him a fair amount of work to get to a place where he could say that and it not be wishful thinking. He's got friends, family, dalliances, motion and company and light in his life despite the lack of a mark that tells him where his place is.

And then he meets Ghost.

The Lieutenant is huge in the sense that his presence alone takes up what space his height and muscle can't. He's quiet, too, at least before Soap makes the effort to worm his way under all that tacgear. (The man is intriguing, what can he say? Who else walks around with a honest-to-fuck skull mask day in and out.)

Ghost seems to tolerate him at first, then inexplicably starts to prickle and grouch whenever Soap comes within six feet of him. He could make up a few reasons for why that is, but instead contents himself with pretending he doesn't notice—pushing the implied boundary until Ghost mans up and tells him off.

He never does, though. And it's not long at all until Soap's found that the boundary has given way and Ghost is—well he's actually pretty pleasant to be around. He's funny, and patient, and gives way too much of a shit to be in a career that pretty much ensures the death of everyone he works with. (He likes to pretend he doesn't, but there's no other reason he would have been waiting up in that church for Soap—in fact he shouldn't have still been there at all, since he'd already scoped an escape route. The bastard's soft, is what he's saying.)

And that's when things start to backslide just a little.

They're sitting in the mess—only three of them, the Captain unable to grace them with his presence—and Gaz is talking about his sister's husband's new boyfriend being the result of a late-discovery soulmatch.

"Could you imagine," he says, pausing to chew his mouthful before he continues. "Going thirty years knowing there's someone out there for you, and not seeing them until after you're already married?"

"Could be platonic," Soap pointed out, not bothering with the same courtesy of chewing his food. Ghost kicks him under the table for it, but he honestly can't be asked to care for only three words worth.

"Could be, but still—could you imagine?"

"Nope." Soap pops the 'P' and grins. Ghost doesn't kick him this time since he hasn't taken another bite yet. "I'm a wee bit hopeless in that department."

"Ah, brother." Gaz reaches out and they clasp hands for a moment, then he nudges his shoulder. "You and me both. Never much got the fuss about it, but that does seem like some sort of cosmic irony yeah?"

"Issat irony?" Soap asks. "Don't think that's right."

Obviously, that incites a short argument that ends when Gaz pulls out his phone to look up the actual dictionary definition of 'irony', and Soap grasps to change the topic to literally anything else to avoid Gaz gloating on the off chance that he's right.

"Lt, what about you?"

Ghost blinks at him as if he hasn't been staring at the both of them through the whole conversation.

"I know what irony is, Johnny."

"No—" he can't help the scowl, and talks over Gaz's sudden jeering as he shoves his phone under his nose. Soap lifts his chin to avoid it. "You got a soul mark?"

"Read it and weep, Soap!" Gaz cheers, only slightly subdued in respect for every else in the room.

"I do." Ghost says at the same time, dipping his head in a tiny little nod, and Soap's world ends just a little bit, right there in the mess hall. Curls up, withers, and dies without so much as a squeal.

He's not able to ask if Ghost knows who it is, or if he's met them, or if they're still alive, or if it's romantic or platonic; he's not sure if it even matters, because Johhny knows right then that he will never be as close to Ghost as they are.

And it hurts.

It hurts in a way he wasn't entirely expecting.

He must hold it together well enough through the rest of dinner, and then through walking with Gaz back to their rooms, but once he's got the door locked behind him he feels the smile fall off his face. He sits down on the edge of his bed.

Ghost has a soulmate.

Ghost has a soulmate and Soap is pissed about it. Because that soulmate isn't him—it can't be, since he doesn't have a mark of his own.

It's just—it's unfair. They work so well together, on the field and off. He knows for a fact no one else can read Ghost as well as he can, no one else talks to him like he does, he doesn't hang around anyone else like he seems to hang around Soap. If anyone should be Ghost's soulmate, it should be him.

But he's not. Which means there's someone else out there that can watch his six better, understand him more, have more satisfying conversations—and it seems fucking impossible, because he doesn't even know how it could get better given the time they've known eachother... and yet.

And yet Ghost has a mark, and Soap doesn't.

It takes him days to get over it—at least enough to act himself when he's in company. Ghost tries to get him to talk about it three separate times before he can manage to get his shit together. He won't *lie* to Simon, nor is he about to admit to what's eating at him, and it leaves him snappish. Leaves the vitriol closer to the surface than it ever has been around Ghost and he hates to see how he reacts to it; he doesn't cower, doesn't flinch, doesn't avoid him, just stares—in a different way than before. John's temper will flare and Ghost will freeze a little, tilt his head, furrow his brow, and fucking stare at him until the moment passes. It might be better if he raised his voice in return, let it escalate into a proper fight—or even if he shut Soap down hard and told him to cool off. Instead Ghost looks at him like he's gone and become a stranger; like he's confused where he doesn't expect to be, and that hurts almost as much as finding out his place isn't next to Simon—or at least, he doesn't have any rightful claim to it.

[zara-renata]

Wine time with Sylus | ao3 | other stories in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person pov, no use of y/n

This story contains: fluff, banter, angst, mc with obvious self esteem issues, grief, self-destructive behavior, profanity, alcohol use, criminal activity, allusions to violence, sleepy kissing, biting, inappropriate thoughts regarding kitchen tools, the mental gymnastics mc engages in to avoid acknowledging or recognizing feelings on either side should come with their own warning to be honest, one very thirsty mc whose thoughts are NSFW. This part ends with a misunderstanding that you can bet Sylus will not put up with for long.

In the days following Sylus’s latest little… visit, you’re called out more frequently than usual to counter wanderer attacks. You’re barely home, and the few times you stumble home late into the night, you peel your sweat and sometimes blood-stained hunter’s uniform off right in the entryway, promise yourself you’ll do laundry soon, and drag your aching body to the shower. Then you usually spend what little night you have left lying there with your eyes closed, carefully keeping your mind blank as sleep remains elusive. You have to admit to yourself that the few times Sylus kept you company overnight, you slept like the dead, but you refuse to go so far as admitting that you wouldn’t mind if it were more frequent. If you were to admit it to yourself, which you will not,  you only yearn for it strictly for the sake of your sleep schedule, and absolutely not because you’ve come to crave his warm, comforting bulk against your body.

Tonight is no different, but you’re both looking forward to and dreading the next few days, as Captain Jenna has ordered you to take some time off to rest and recover from the brutal schedule you’ve been keeping for months now, capped off by the recent spate of increased attacks. All of your wheedling to let you keep going, that you’re fine, that the people of Linkon need you, that you need the constant distraction, has proven useless. Apparently the frequency with which you are getting injured remains acceptable, but she is finally at the end of her patience reading your barely coherent, misspelled reports with unfinished sentences that you only manage to submit before Association mandated deadlines by the skin of your teeth.

“Go home, get your head on straight, and come back rested … and literate again, please.” She looks back down at the tablet on her desk, trying to dismiss you, but you stubbornly remain at attention at her desk.

“That’s discrimination, Captain. I can be a perfectly functional hunter without being able to read or write,” you protest, while Xavier winces behind you. “I mean, obviously I can read and write, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Still able to destroy wanderers!”

Jenna’s already formidable expression begins to darken, but you’re not cowed. You open your mouth to helpfully point out that wanderers don’t care about how well you can spell, when you feel Xavier’s gentle hand on your arm. “Come on, why don’t we go together to get some snacks on the way home? I think they’ve started re-issuing that wasabi flavored chocolate bar we tried at the beginning of the year,” he says softly, and Jenna shoots him an appreciative look before proceeding to ignore you both.

You glumly follow Xavier out into the early evening. Rush hour is over, but the sidewalks are still bustling with life. You weave through the mass of humanity, resisting the urge to drop-kick anyone who cuts you off or brushes against you accidentally. I am a role model for the Hunter’s Association, even when I’m off the clock, I am not allowed to arrest someone for bumping into me…. I am not allowed to arrest someone for…

Xavier tries to distract you from your obvious frustration by describing the plot of the latest manga series he’s reading that he thinks you’ll like as you two make your way  home. You listen absently, feeling slightly calmed by his soothing voice, despite its graphic descriptions of violence in the manga that you are pretty sure you’re going to really like.

“Are there any hot guys in it?” you ask as the mass of people begins to thin the closer you get to your building.

“Hot… guys?” he blinks in confusion, his impossibly blue eyes flashing in the streetlamps that have just turned on.

“Yeah. Like that other one we read, Help, I, a lowly office worker, went to sleep and woke up as the Queen’s assassin in the book I fell asleep reading. The main guy in that was super hot.”

“Well, it is by the same mangaka, so you’d probably like the way they draw the main character in this one too,” he says uncertainly, but with a strange expression on his face, like he suddenly doesn’t want you to read it with him anymore.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try. Have you finished the first volume yet? Can I borrow it?”

You’ve reached your building, the trees surrounding the courtyard rustling in the soft end-of-summer breeze.

“…Great,” he says after a brief hesitation. He holds open one of the entrance's doors for you to enter the your building’s foyer. Your boots and his echo on the polished floor as you make your way into the lift. “I’ll be finished by tomorrow. How about we go the bookstore and afterwards you can come over and read since we have the day off? You can start volume one, and I’ll start volume 2. Does that sound good? We can make fancy ramen,” he says, his normally sleepy energy spiking with the idea of adding a boiled egg and some frozen vegetables to the normally plain ramen the two of you consume more often than not while on the go. Xavier’s idea of fancy has always been adorable to you.

The idea of not just sitting in your apartment alone on the first day of your forced leave is a welcome one, and you agree that he can come find you when he’s woken up, so that you don’t risk waking him up. He likes this plan, because obviously, you’re hardly sleeping at all, and he sleeps longer than you ever would have imagined possible for humans until you met him. As the elevator approaches your floor and the doors slide open, you’re about to step out when Xavier’s soft voice behind you has you turning to look back at his pretty face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “I know you feel like you’ve lost everything right now, and that the pain seems unbearable.”

You quickly turn your head—you were not expecting this sneak attack of sympathy and kindness from him. You nod jerkily, trying not to let his warmth sink into you, or else you might start crying.

“It sounds cliché, but with time, even this pain will fade. And you have so much time ahead of you. I can promise you that. One day you’ll wake up, and it will be slightly less unbearable. That doesn’t mean you forget about what you’ve lost. But you can think of it without… without feeling like you’re destroyed again, every time.” He’s looking at you, but you also have the feeling that he’s looking at something else, from a great distance. Knowing how secretive he is, it’s unlikely you’ll ever know what it is he’s seeing.

You nod again, and whatever he sees in you profile seems to satisfy him as he offers you a soft ‘Goodnight,’ and you scurry from the lift to your front door. You tuck away his words, and push them down deep. You know they’re well intended. But you can’t handle crying right now. Not yet. Not yet. So you focus on possible plans for the days stretching ahead of you.

There is a part of you that’s looking forward to possibly being able to rest, it’s true. But the stretch of empty days, without work and battle and the social interaction of colleagues, had been filling you with anxiety before your plans with Xavier were made. But even after tomorrow, you’ll try to make the best of it. You can… try to remember what hobbies you had, before your life blew up. Maybe you can take up a new hobby! Within the span of a few days. Yeah, you can teach yourself to crochet,or make stained glass art, in a day, right? Online videos are super helpful. Maybe you’ll even deep clean your apartment, and go grocery shopping, properly, for the first time in weeks. You’ll buy vegetables that have to be prepped instead of the hottest insta-ramen you can find and slurping packets of applesauce while telling yourself that it counts as fiber, right? You can cook, and bake! You just haven’t in… a really long time. Maybe you’ll bake an entire cake, and then eat the entire cake. Yeah. You have plans, you think to yourself, pressing your fingerprint to the scanner under your flat’s door handle and pushing the door open when it beeps.

As soon as the door closes with a soft whump, you carefully hang up your blades and pistol holsters on your wall-mounted weapon rack, and then you’re furiously undoing the laces on your knee high leather boots, hopping from one foot to the other as you try to kick them off without actually having to sit down and pull them off. You yank off your socks, then shimmy out of your pants, which you also kick off unceremoniously. You’re going to be positive about this little holiday! You’re so close to being comfortable and staying that way for days. You almost rip your buttons in your haste to remove your shirt, and just as you’ve gotten the last one undone, you finally notice the dark, looming figure in the shadows at the end of your foyer.

You’re in your fucking underpants, barefoot, and your weapons are out of reach due to your current strangulation by your own shirt sleeves.

Heart racing, you throw yourself backward against the door, prepared to make a strategic retreat and escape into the building’s hallway to buy yourself some time to free yourself from your shirt, no matter the cost to your pride at being caught out in your underwear, when familiar scarlet-ink tendrils of energy gently wrap themselves around your waist and softly lift you in the air. You find yourself kicking and squirming like a kitten picked up by the scruff of its neck.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you choke out.

“Why are you still struggling, when you can clearly see that it’s me? Cease, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Why are you using your evol on me without my consent?” you retort, wriggling some more for good measure simply because he told you to stop.

“To prevent you from giving your neighbors the show of their lives without even charging admission,” he responds languidly, eyes the color of sunlight filtering through a glass of wine drifting from your probably red, sweaty face down your barely clothed body.

“Oh, they don’t get a free show, but you do?” you sneer, continuing to struggle to no effect.

“Look at yourself,” Sylus commands, and turns his head as if bored. You note absently that he’s wearing a ruby stud earring in his ear... the one that matches the earring in your own ear. So you never bothered to take it out. That doesn’t mean anything—you’re just lazy. You refuse to think about it anymore deeply than that, and then notice that Sylus not only looks bored, but also looks almost… offended? You do as he asks, and see that his evol is wrapping itself around your body in such a way that its bright-dark tendrils are covering all of your exposed, sensitive areas like a fluid robe.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“Oh, indeed.” He continues to look away from you, aggressively bored, but his evol gently lowers you enough so that your bare feet rest on the ground, and then it loosens, but remains swirling around you.

“Then I’ll… just go get dressed.” You begin making your past him, but stop when you see him nonchalantly hold up a large, elegant shopping bag. It’s black, with some brand name you don’t recognize written in flowy silver script. “What is this?” You look from the bag to his face. He deigns to look at you again. Your eyes drift to his other ear, and you see that where it is pierced is empty.

“Wardrobe options,” is all he says, jerking you out of trying to puzzle out this opaque maniac’s intentions. You take the bag from him and quickly walk to your bathroom. No way you’re going to put on new clothes while feeling filthy from a long day and night of annihilating wanderers. His evol dissipates the moment your bathroom door shuts behind you.

It’s becoming a pattern. Thinking the worst of him, only to be proven wrong. But you don’t know how to overcome the cognitive dissonance of Sylus from your first meeting, and this Sylus who seems intent on taking care of you better than you take care of yourself.

You rinse off as quickly as you can in the shower, towel yourself dry, and take a peek in the bag that he gave you. The first thing you see is a black…? You lift it out of the bag, and it unfolds into a very large sweater. It’s thick, the fabric obviously of high quality. You touch it gently, running your hands along a sleeve—is it cashmere? It’s unbelievably soft. It’s probably a nightmare to wash. On impulse, you lift it to your nose, and take a deep breath.

Your suspicion is confirmed. It smells like him. This isn’t a brand new piece of clothing. This is one of Sylus’s own sweaters that he has worn before. The scent of his clean skin, the sharp tang of gunmetal, the bright burst of citrus, probably from some ridiculously expensive shampoo or body wash. The mix sends a thrill through your entire body: after only a few encounters, you already have bone-deep associations with the way Sylus smells. Fear and adrenaline, yes, but also anticipation—and bizarrely, safety. Instead of feeling terrified, you feel the way you would before riding a roller coaster. Yes, you’ll be screaming and holding on for dear life the whole ride, but you are also inexplicably convinced that in the end, you’ll have your feet firmly planted on the ground, safe again. A part of you whispers that it’s safer to avoid the roller coaster altogether—bolts come loose, wheels pull free from the track, tragic accidents happen all the time. But standing here in your humid bathroom, bone-weary from the day behind you, sniffing Sylus’s unwashed sweater makes you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a very long time.

You pull his sweater over your head, and you’re basically swimming it, it’s so big. The collar is big enough that it threatens to fall off one shoulder. But it’s so soft. And cozy. You hug yourself, and peek into the bag again. There are a few more sweaters, each dark with varying degrees of dramatic flair. This is part of Sylus’s wardrobe, after all. But there are also little sleep shorts, like the ones you were wearing the last time he invaded your home. You pick up a pair—no way would they fit on his big ass. You try, so, so, so very hard not to picture his thick cake stuffed into these tiny shorts.

You fail.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds.

When it comes back online, you lift out a pair, and the fabric glides silkily along your skin. You’re pretty sure these are silk. They’re black, because of course, but they also have little red … happy pomegranates? Dotted along the hems. They’re adorable. You pull them on over your own bare ass and the sweater-shorts combo is probably the softest thing you’ve ever had on your body. The sweater swallows the shorts and makes it look like you’re wandering around without bottoms on.

You look at yourself in the mirror, silently telling yourself that you shouldn’t get on this particular ride. You don’t know where the track leads, and it scares you. What if it ends over a cliff, and the last thing you ever see is Sylus’s triumphant, cruel face looking down at you as you fall? There are other, less risky rides, certainly ones without wanted posters, right? Right? On second thought, you don’t even have to go the amusement park at all. You’re just fine with trying to get some fucking sleep, with continuing to hone your combat skills, with just trying to be a good person despite really liking knives and being an enthusiastic hunter.

But maybe you can just. Be friends with the roller coaster? Like, you don’t have to ride him. IT. THE ROLLER COASTER. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO RIDE THE ROLLER COASTER. You can just, watch it from a safe distance. You might indulge in little fantasies about what it’s like to ride… the roller coaster. And honestly, fantasies are almost always a hell of a lot better than the reality ever turns out to be. Not to mention! Sylus has never directly expressed any desire to ride … your roller coaster. Sure, he shows up unannounced and cares for you in ways that no one ever has, and he touches you a lot for someone who has no physical interest in you, but physical isn’t necessarily sexual, right? Maybe it’s an evol thing, and the way he touches you has to do with why you both find yourself inexplicably connected for periods of time. Like charging a battery. The point is! There will be no tickets to either ride, thank you, you aren’t open for business and he definitely does not have the proper safety inspection certificates in order, so. No.

You nod firmly to yourself in the mirror. This should be fine. You can be friends with Sylus. You don’t have to let him drag you over a cliff. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him—he seems to be pretty competent at a lot of things that might be useful for certain aspects of your job. Like intimidating people. And exploding people with a thought and twitch of his fingers. And convincing them to do things they don’t want to do by sheer force of obnoxiousness.

Having sufficiently deluded yourself into believing that your plan of action has a chance of success, you slip out of the bathroom and find Sylus in the kitchen, next to a pretty wine glass that you certainly do not recall owning on the kitchen island.

He’s slicing strawberries with a very sharp knife that you do recall owning, because you do spend quite a lot of time sharpening the set it belongs to. They’re not kitchen knives, per se; you actually have them for work and they are really nice to throw. You already had so many knives before you moved into this place that you didn’t see the necessity of spending more money on probably inferior kitchen knives. But the large, really nice butcher block-style cutting board that he’s chopping the fruit on is not yours. And neither are the delicately arranged variety of cheeses, thinly sliced meat, and savory tarts set in puff pastry that fill up most of the cutting board. And lastly, you do not recall purchasing two bottles of what look like red wine sitting next to the wine glass, nor cleaning your kitchen so thoroughly that Zayne could probably perform surgery in here without worrying about risk of infection.

Despite your presence standing at the island before him now, he continues to serenely slice the ever-growing pile of fruit.

“Sylus?”

“Have a seat,” he says, not looking up.

“Oh, why thank you for offering such hospitality to me, in my own home,” you mutter, pulling out one of the wooden bar stools at the kitchen island. You’re about to sit down when you realize that the repetitive chop of the knife has stopped, and you look up to find Sylus frozen with the knife mid-slice in a fat strawberry. His eyes drift from your neck and exposed shoulder, down the soft expanse of sweater, to your bare legs, and then back again. You’re suddenly self-conscious—he’s the one who gave you these clothes. And now he’s staring at you like a wanderer is about to burst out of your chest.

“Did I misunderstand the assignment or something?” you ask, plopping down on the bar stool in the hopes of breaking him out of whatever weird trance he’s apparently glitching in. He swallows, flicks a final look at your shoulder, and then goes back to slicing.

“I’m simply shocked that you actually did as you were told, for once,” he responds, seemingly unruffled again. “You should also put one of the sweaters in your go bag as a backup in the event that your uniform gets destroyed, again, which it does at an alarming rate these days. The Association’s overheads for keeping you clothed must be in the stratosphere.”

“Mm, yes I’m sure you’re very concerned about the costs of doing business for the Association.” You rest your head in your hand, propped up by your elbow on the counter. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, with only the snick of the knife filling the space between you. The lights underneath your cabinets are on, emitting a soft warm glow from below, but you notice that he hasn’t put on the harsher, brighter overhead lights. The city’s skyline blinks serenely like an endless fleet of starships in the dark expanse of space through your windows, and a cool breeze wafts in from time to time.

Finally, Sylus is done, and he carefully rinses the knife in the sink and sets it on the counter. He turns back to you.

“No interrogation regarding why I’m here this time?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a light sweater in a deep grey, of a style quite similar to the one you’re now wearing. He looks domestic, and delicious, and you tell yourself sternly that he is friend shaped, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster—

You have to say something. “Oh, are you missing my very effective questioning techniques? Sadly, I left my handcuffs at the office,” you lift your shoulders in a what can you do? gesture, and his eyes follow your bare shoulder again.

“Handcuffs aren’t the only means of restraint available to a truly resourceful hunter,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed.  “Your lack of imagination is boring.”

“Okay, Sylus. But only because you’re basically begging for it: why are you here?”  You lift a puff pastry and brandish it at him like a knife. “Answer honestly, or you’ll really get it this time!” You take a big, aggressive bite as if to illustrate what he’s got coming to him in case of his non-compliance, and then moan because what the fuck, this is so good, is it goat cheese and honey? And suddenly you’re devouring it, licking your fingers clean when you’re done because you can’t get enough.

“This definitely counts as an enhanced interrogation technique.” His voice is low, and has a rough quality to it that normally isn’t there. You glance up from slobbering all over your fingers and find that he’s staring at you in what is probably disgust.

“Ha, yes, and I’ll keep subjecting you to it until you tell me what you’re doing in my home, again. And how did you even get in? I never got you a key.” You finish licking yourself like an animal and reach for a strawberry. If he’s going to play chef in your kitchen, who are you to refuse to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor? You just live here and pay the damn rent.

He holds up the index finger of his right hand, which is sporting a band-aid that you recognize as one of the same kind you have in your first-aid kit. They’re super cute, with a design of sad little cartoon mushrooms. “I was at my accountant’s, which happens to be in this neighborhood, and I got a paper cut while signing some documents.”

You pause before biting into the berry. “You… came to my flat. With extra clothing, wine, wine glasses, and various appetizers, in order to get a band-aid for your paper cut. Is this a correct summary of events?” You decide you’re not going to wait for him to answer, and take a big bite of the strawberry, feeling some juice drip down your chin. You catch it with your index finger, and then suck the juice off after you’re done chewing.

There is a long pause, and you look up to find him staring intently at your finger. You widen your eyes and wave your hand in the universal gesture of hurry the fuck up, get on with it already? He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. Apparently you’re so horrifying to witness eating that he needs to seek some zen before he can answer. It’s not your fault that he brought you half of his wardrobe and wine glasses but didn’t think to bring any napkins. “Yes, that is a correct summary of events,” is all he offers.

You look at him.

He looks back at you, occasionally flicking his gaze down to your mouth and back to your eyes. You consider baring your teeth at him just in case he wants an eyeful of the strawberry undoubtedly stuck in them, but refrain because you’re polite.

“Okay. Do you care to explain the motivation behind these events?” you ask slowly, thinking that maybe you will brandish a real knife at him to hurry up this so-called interrogation so you can straight up devour the rest of this charcuterie board that this wanted criminal has inexplicably prepared in your kitchen.

Fortunately, you don’t have to go for the knife, because he begins to speak. “There was a wine merchant that looked rather appealing on the way to your place. Since you revealed a deplorable lack of discernment when it comes to selecting a good bottle of wine the last time you hosted me, I thought I’d do my civic duty for the week and educate the less fortunate on how to choose, and enjoy, a decent bottle of wine.”

“I see.” You nod slowly. “That’s very civic-minded of you. You’re truly a model citizen. And the food?”

“It’s not wise to have a wine tasting without something to eat. Otherwise, you might find yourself making questionable decisions. We wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetie?” he seems to have recovered from his nausea at watching you wolf down food, because he says this with a playful lift of a silver eyebrow.

“Because letting a man whose baggage includes a wanted poster into my home whenever he wants could hardly be considered a good decision, and I made that one while sober,” you sigh. “I see your point.”

“Exactly. Just imagine what kind of trouble you could get into after a bottle of wine on an empty stomach?” He tilts his head to the side, and runs a middle finger slowly over his brow.

You shudder, because his big hands. You can’t pursue this line of thought.

“And the clothes?”

“Now you won’t need to borrow your partner’s clothes in case of an emergency. And I’ll have something to wear at my safe house in case you decide to assault me with beverages again.”

“That was one time. And if you don’t show up, then there’s no chance you’ll be assaulted. Therefore, no need for a change of clothes. And, pardon me, but your safe house? I think you meant, my flat. But what you’re telling me is that the whole reason you were coming to my flat in the first place was to put a band-aid on your boo-boo.”

He lowers his hand and begins running his thumb along his lower lip. “Even a small cut can turn life-threatening if not treated properly. And I wouldn’t want a scar, now would I? It’s not much of a safe house if I can’t make use of it when in danger of lasting bodily harm.”

“Mmm yes, what with your evol that renders scarring impossible for you, we wouldn’t want your paper cut to cause you lasting bodily harm. And you couldn’t acquire a band-aid at a pharmacy, perhaps like at the one next to the wine merchant I’m pretty sure you’re referring to?” You refuse to look at his big thumb pressing into his thick, soft-looking lower lip. You stare up at the ceiling, and consider cataloguing wanderers in your head to stem the sudden urge to vault over the island counter separating him from you and pulling that damn thumb into your own mouth.

“They didn’t have a box containing such cute little designs. I never knew I wanted anthropomorphized fungus to decorate a bandage intended to protect an open wound until I saw your own box.”

It takes you a second to remember what the hell the two of your were discussing when you realize he’s talking about your adorable little mushroom band-aids.

“A wine snob, and a band-aid snob.”

“I prefer the term cultured, but yes, I’ve told you before. Life is too short to waste on the inferior. Your sad little champignons surpass all others.”

He’s done it again. He has hardly even moved this entire time, and has managed to exhaust you to the point of blissful indifference. He shows up unannounced, rifles through your first aid kit, decides what you’re going to wear both this evening and in the future when you need a spare change of clothes, and has prepared an hors d’oeuvre spread worthy of at least a mid-ranged restaurant for you to eat while offering you a wine tasting? Fine. “Okay,” you say, reaching for another one of those puff pastries.

He watches you steadily for a few moments, as if trying to sense a trap. “That’s it?”

You shrug. “Sure. I told you that you could use my house if you needed it. I’ve just learned my lesson: next time I’ll be very careful in drafting the conditions of any deal we make, since your interpretation of certain terms appears to vary wildly from any reasonable person’s.”

“I think I’m quite reasonable,” he examines his nails. “I come bearing gifts, and this is how you show your gratitude? By insinuating that I'm unreasonable?”

Another thought occurs to you. “How did you even get in, Sylus?”

“Ah,” he says, squinting and looking out the window, as if contemplating a very deep philosophical question. “While you were sleeping last time… I took the liberty of adding my fingerprint to your door’s fingerprint scanner.”

What. The. Fuck. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Again, it’s not much of a safe house if I can’t access it without your presence. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like I can’t just use my evol to teleport into your place anyway, but I thought you’d appreciate me coming through the front door. Fewer feathers. You didn’t seem to like cleaning those up the last time I teleported out of your place.”

You just stare at him. How would he even know that you cursed him, loudly, as you were mopping up the mess of blood and feathers he generously left in your entryway after being shot? And then it comes to you. Mephisto. Of course. You pinch the bridge of your nose, and visualize violently shaking that bird until his circuits are rewired.

Sylus continues, ignoring your mounting rage. “Come to think of it, we should probably upgrade your locks, kitten. It was laughably easy to override the system and add my print as authorized for entry.”

Forget riding the Sylus coaster—you think that maybe he isn’t even friend shaped after all. He might just have slid right back to enemy shaped. Frenemy shaped? Where does a frenemy lie on the spectrum of “fuck his brains out” to “polite, but distant acquaintances?” But then you remember that it’s not a linear spectrum, and fucking his brains out is not mutually exclusively to being mortal enemies. You’ve read enough enemies-to-lovers romances to know that perfectly well, so even if he is enemy shaped… you shudder. Why are you like this? You redirect your self-disgust and deflect, like a true emotionally well-adjusted adult:

“Why can’t you be normal? Like, do you do anything like a normal person?”

“Why would I pretend to be normal when I’m so obviously extraordinary?” he scoffs, looking at you like you’re the unhinged one in this little situationship.

 “Sylus.”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?”

You stare at him, and he gazes back at you, leaning leisurely back against your counter, arms folded and long fingers slowly tapping out a rhythm on one bulky bicep. You know that if you remove his authorization on your locks that he will just teleport himself right into your place, and you’ll be endlessly cleaning up feathers. And you also really don’t want your neighbors to wonder who the hell the creep is loitering around your door at all hours of the night and then start asking questions if he actually honors your request not to simply appear in your place on a whim. You did previously offer him a key. Which he declined. Apparently because he was already planning this. You run your hand along the back of your neck in an effort to relieve some tension. “You can’t just let yourself into my place anytime you want. There need to be rules.”

“Fair enough. Provided that they’re not moronic, I can follow your rules.”

“And who decides whether they’re moronic or not?” you ask, knowing the answer.

He just smiles at you, radiating satisfaction.

“Okay. Rule number one—” you begin, only to be interrupted as he lifts a finger.

“I’ll follow your rules, if you promise to taste the wine I brought with me tonight.”

Even though you had already resigned yourself to whatever he had in store for you tonight, you can’t help arguing at this little added condition. “No, the deal is, you can use my flat, with your fingerprint, when you need it, if you follow the rules,” you huff.

He starts shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, kitten. You should have set rules at the beginning of our deal. You can’t just impose new conditions halfway through. A deal’s a deal. I suggest keeping that in mind the next time you have to deal with anyone else less… generous, than myself,” he intones, as if you’re a somewhat lacking student in need of instruction.

“So you’ll follow the rules if I promise to… taste wine tonight?” you ask, hoping that you can catch him out on a technicality and beat him at his own game. He considers for a moment, but must see something in your expression, because his eyes narrow and his smile widens to reveal his sharp canines.

“I’ll follow your reasonable, and not moronic, rules if you promise to taste the wine I brought tonight, with me,” he says.

You need to work on your poker face. You need to get Sylus to teach you how to improve it. Ugh.

“Fine.” If this means more food can happen soon, and honestly, yeah, a glass of wine, you’ll accept anything at this point.

He straightens from the counter and claps his hands once, looking more eager than you think you’ve ever seen him. “Excellent, let’s begin.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what the rules are,” you protest, watching him fish out a wine corkscrew from his trouser pocket. It looks heavy, with a handsome wooden handle, and the stainless steel flashes under the soft lights.

“Send them in a text, I’ll redline them and return them to you, you can counter, and so on and so forth until we have an agreement. Like any proper contract negotiation. For now, it’s wine time.”

And with that, he sets to work opening the wine, humming a little tune so off-key that you have no idea what melody it’s supposed to be. It occurs to you that you’ve never used a corkscrew as a weapon, but as Sylus uses the small blade to slice through the foil covering the neck of the bottle, and then unfolds the lethal-looking twisted screw and begins expertly driving it into the cork, you realize that it could come in really handy in a fight. And there’s something else that’s really appealing to you—the combination of the contained savagery of the corkscrew, the assured movements of Sylus’s hands, the penetration of the cork—you feel a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the sweater you’re wearing.

“See something you like, kitten?” Sylus’s smoky voice drifts into your thoughts, and you look up, realizing you’ve been unabashedly staring at his beautiful hands, again, and the corkscrew, with undivided focus for the past few moments, and he has noticed.

You clear your throat, and then gesture weakly at the corkscrew. “That’s uh, a very nice looking wine opener.” You nod to emphasize your very normal approval of this very normal household item, because you are not thinking any thoughts about Sylus’s huge hands or screwing or penetration. None.

“Good eye. I’m rather fond of this model. I’ll have one delivered to you,” he says as he firmly pulls the cork from the bottle with a soft pop. He sets it on the counter, and picks up the other bottle.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that the kind of wine I drink tends to come with a screw cap instead of a cork,” you decline, shaking your head. You can buy your own damn self a corkscrew for tucking into your pocket if you ever find yourself at a wine bar that doesn’t allow patrons to be armed, but you anticipate needing some kind of weapon.

“Refuse me all you want,” he murmurs, and you feel like there’s an implied part of that sentence that he’s just not saying out loud. But then he’s repeating the opening process with the second bottle, and you suddenly find the night view outside your window immensely fascinating, because whatever is continuing to happen in front of you is just. Boring. Utterly sleep-inducing. You can’t look or else you might just pass out from the tedium of it before you even get to taste the wine. And a deal’s a deal, as Sylus is fond of repeating ad nauseum.

After hearing the soft pop of the other bottle, you sigh and turn back to find Sylus holding the wine glass and pouring the first bottle’s wine along the inside of the glass until it reaches the widest part of the bowl. For the first time, you notice that there’s only one glass on the counter. But before you can comment, Sylus begins to lecture.

“Now, if this were an ideal tasting, I’d have brought a decanter to let the wine breathe properly for an appropriate period of time before pouring. We'd also be using a container for spitting each mouthful out in between tastes, to avoid the intoxication and poor decisions I mentioned earlier and interfering with our judge of taste. But since we only have two bottles to try, and it’s just you and me here, I took the gamble that you wouldn’t mind if we were a little less formal.”  

You wait to see if he has any other fun facts to share, but he’s looking at you to confirm that indeed, you can live with not waiting even longer to taste this wine that better have gold leaf flakes in it or something to justify this amount of ceremony and can also live with not… spitting out said wonder wine after tasting it.

But you recognize that Sylus appears to be truly passionate about this, and he’s looking at you so earnestly—you do not have the heart to meet his sincerity with sarcasm, when he's so sweetly trying to teach you something new.

“Your gamble paid off. I don’t mind at all,”  you say, meaning it. He perks up and gives you one of his almost smiles, with just the corners of his generous mouth lifted. He then proceeds to explain, in great detail, what type of wine this is, where the grapes for it are grown, its signature characteristics, what year it was bottled, and how it was received by the international wine community. It’s all actually quite interesting, except once again, right now you’re at the end of a long day, you’ve run the gauntlet of interacting with this unpredictable force of nature walking around in the body of an extremely attractive man, and you feel like you should be taking notes to actually retain any of this information.

After he seems to have informed you to his satisfaction and is looking at you expectantly, you nod. “That is… very fascinating. So how do we go about actually tasting it?” You might be an uncultured heathen, but even before Sylus’s lecture, you knew there are rules when it comes to tasting wine. You just always had other things you needed to learn first, like the weakest spots on a wanderer or human body. Or the best method of sharpening knives for the sharpest edge. Or how to clean guns to prevent jamming. How to affix a scope on a sniper rifle and measure the effect of wind speed and direction on a bullet’s trajectory. Or whether you should use baking soda or baking powder as leavener when baking certain kinds of cake. You have priorities. But tonight, it seems, is the night for you to learn about wine.

Before he answers, he moves around the kitchen island to where you’re still seated on the bar stool and leans down, gently spinning your stool so that you’re facing him instead of the counter. He then pushes the one next to you closer and seats himself. Even sitting, you have to look up into his face. You suddenly realize that the way he has positioned the stools puts him so close to you that his long legs don’t have anywhere to go—he just spreads them so that one is stretched out on one side of you, and the other is between your own, his knee incredibly close to your lap. If you shift forward even a little, you could grind on him.

Why is he doing this to you? What does he want? But then it occurs to you that Sylus has never seemed to either recognize or respect boundaries like a normal person—maybe this is just how he interacts with his friends. Constant, small touches, no sense of personal space. You wonder if he and the twins huddle together on the couch, sharing a blanket, while watching something on television.

So maybe you’re the freak, imagining riding this poor guy’s meaty thigh when he’s only just trying to share his appreciation of a sophisticated beverage with you. You close your eyes. It doesn’t matter whether he’s playing this little game on purpose or not. You refuse to let him see how much his proximity is affecting you, because then he wins. You don’t know what he wins exactly, but you will beat him before you let him have it. You try to think about his big hand choking you, but instead of having the intended effect of reminding you why you should never even consider buying tickets to the safety hazard now wedged between your thighs, it has … unforeseen consequences instead. What has this man done to you?!

You open your eyes, reach across the counter and grab a handful of carefully cut pieces of cheese, and then promptly stuff them all into your mouth at once. When in crisis, cheese is always a good solution. Except for maybe the blue cheese you accidentally mixed in with the Manchego or whatever-the-fancy-fuck he brought with him. Aaaand now you’re going to smell like blue cheese for the rest of the night.

You stare at him defiantly as you chew with puffed cheeks, and brace yourself for whatever is coming next. He side eyes you, face impassive.

You’re expecting some biting comment, but “Well, that’s one way to make sure you’ve eaten enough to absorb the alcohol,” is all he says. He slowly slides the glass with two fingers along the base across the counter until it’s sitting between the two of you. “Whenever you manage to finish inhaling all that dairy, we’ll be sure that we’ve given the wine enough time to breathe.” He pauses. “It occurs to me now that while I was preparing the food, I didn’t think to ask if you’re lactose intolerant.”

You deliberately chew as slowly as you can, making him wait as a punishment for making you feel things that you should not be feeling. When you’ve swallowed, you shake your head. “Fortunately, not one of my many flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw.” He shrugs. “How can anything you can’t control about your body be a flaw? And Luke and Kieran are lactose intolerant, so I always have lactase enzyme tablets on me to avoid… unwanted consequences when they decide to have a cheese tasting contest.”

You cock your head. “A what now?”

 He rubs his middle finger between his eyebrows. “Yeah, they can’t help themselves from making a competition out of every single human activity, so on the nights the chef prepares a cheese board with dinner, they try to outmatch each other regarding who can identify the most flavors of cheeses without cheating by asking the chef or querying Mephisto or searching online. Or asking me, because I’m undefeated.”

You stare at him, and think if there’s ever any universe in which you voluntarily return to the base where Sylus kept you captive for days and touched you like he owned you, hand violently clasped in his, where you were terrified for your life, exhausted and confused… and if you ever have a friendly enough relationship with the chaos twins, you’re going to practice your ass off so that if you’re ever invited to such a competition, you can wipe the floor with them. Their cheese-off sounds fun.

Your train of thought is derailed as it registers how smug the last thing he said was. “You’re undefeated,” you repeat, giving him a chance to redeem himself. “At identifying cheeses by taste.”

“And smell, yes. So I’m not allowed to play anymore. My palate is too refined, and they know they don’t stand a chance.”

Oh, you’re definitely going to start sampling cheese every week. You cannot let this smugness stand.

“Ah yes, his royal snobness and his impeachable palate,” you roll your eyes. “Now, will his grace the Duke of Gouda please get on with the wine instruction?” You would give him a little mock bow, but that would put your face right in his formidable cleavage and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from motorboating his unfairly huge pecs. Ugh.

He snorts. “Finally, you’re showing me some long-overdue respect.”

You nod gravely, thankful that the aether core in his eye is not currently delving the depths of your depravity. It’s time to focus. On wine.

“So why do you have to let wine breathe before drinking it?” you ask, because you’re focused.

He looks pleased that you’re interested enough to ask a question. “Much like people, it’s good to expose a greater surface area of the wine to fresh air for a while—it allows undesirable scents and flavors to dissipate, so that it tastes better when you do take a sip than if you drink it straight after opening.”

“Well aren’t you wise, philosophizing about wine and people,” you smile. You find yourself being surprised again and again tonight—at his presence, his bearing gifts, his surprisingly sweet attempt to teach you something, his kind takes on lactose intolerance and what people need to be healthy.

“Did you think I only consist of feathers and spite?” He lifts the wine glass by the stem with one hand, and your hand in his other. He gently wraps your fingers around his own.

“Let’s not forget hubris and violence.” You watch as he gently swirls the wine in the glass held between you. His hand is so warm compared to your own.

“If that’s all, then you still have a lot to learn about me,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t seem offended. Almost as if he’s simply determined. To do what, you’re not sure. “I’d tell you that you should always hold a wine glass by the stem so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the temperature of the wine through the glass itself. But your hands are so cold—I don’t think that would be a problem for you. But if you want people to think you’re a connoisseur, you should anyway if you’re ever on an undercover mission. Now, before you take a sip, inhale the scent we’ve just released by swirling the wine.”

You do as you’re told, and lean over, hovering just over the edge of the glass and taking a deep breath. The scent of the wine, warm and deep, fills your senses.

You look up at him and smile again. “It smells really good.”

“Of course,” he lifts the bottom of the glass with his free hand so that you can straighten, and guides your other hand to support the glass while slipping his own from around the stem and allowing you to hold it by yourself. Your hand immediately feels cold again. He leans one elbow on the counter, “I chose it for you. I’m not going to let you drink plonk.”

“Plonk?” What a cute word.

“Shit wine.”

“Mmm, not allowing me to drink shit wine, you’re truly a knight in shining armor.”

“I don’t need armor, kitten. Now that you’ve established that the wine hasn’t gone off by smelling it, you can take a sip.”

You’re about to lift the glass to your lips, when he reaches up and runs his fingertips along your wrist to stop you. “As you do, don’t swallow immediately. Roll the wine with your tongue in your mouth, and try to really think about what flavors you can taste: can you detect the oak from the barrels, earth, tannin, fruit or spices? Is it sweet or dry?”

You nod, mouth suddenly dry. But you follow his instructions and take a slow sip, rolling the rich liquid around in your mouth, and then slowly swallow. A familiar warmth spreads from your stomach, radiating out through your body. His blood bright eyes follow the movement of your lips, your throat. “I taste… fruit.” You pause, trying to appear very serious about finding the perfect description of flavor. You take another sip, close your eyes. “Yes, very fruity notes. Grapes, in particular.”

You open your eyes to find him scowling at you.

“Aren’t you the comedian?” he growls. “I’m going to revoke your wine privileges if you don’t take this seriously. How are you going to feel confident if you ever need this knowledge on a mission? Or on a date?”

You just laugh at him and try to turn a little on the stool, lifting your arm to keep the glass out of his reach, but his knee between your legs prevents you from moving, and he easily leans forward, fingers drifting up the length of your arm to then wrap around your own hand on the stem. He carefully pulls it back between the two of you. Your hand feels warm again. Safely wrapped in his.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my needing to know how to pass as a wine snob on a mission. What kind of missions do you think I’m regularly going on?” You gently lift the glass again, pulling his hand with you, and take another sip. It really does taste so good. You can’t tell if it’s wildly different than the wine you normally get, but you know it doesn’t taste like it’ll leave you with a headache in the morning.

He shrugs. “If we didn’t have to bring the place down when we were at the auction, people would have been watching you at the dinner banquet. What would you have done if people started to notice that you were clutching the wine and swigging it like a drunken toddler and started to suspect that your behavior wasn't matching your cover identity?”

You gasp. “Excuse me, you don’t know how I normally drink my wine!” Who does this bastard think he is? And here you were, thinking he was sweet, sincerely trying to share one of his interests with you. “I don’t need you patronizing me regarding how I’d manage at a formal event or on a date! I’ve been on plenty of dates where I was able to drink wine without driving off my partner.” You try to pull away from him, and the wine sloshes dangerously with your movement.

“Sit still,” he commands, holding your hand tight with his and placing one large palm on your bare thigh. You immediately freeze. “I watched you gulp wine from a mug the last time I was here,” he retorts.

“So you think that just because I don’t care what you think, I can’t read the room and act according to the demands of the situation?” The indignation coursing through you is amplified by the wine spreading through you.

“Then is it fair to say that you didn’t feel the need for any pretense between us last time because you’re so comfortable with me, and not because you’re as civilized as a cactus?” he asks, running his thumb gently back and forth along your inner thigh.

Your brain is being scrambled by his thumb, how close he is to you, his clavicle exposed by the V of his sweater’s neckline, the scent of his warm, clean skin, the wine going to your head after a long exhausting day.

“I’m saying I don’t feel the need to impress you in my own home when you show up uninvited and demand beverages and band aids,” you finally manage. You’re warm. Too warm. “And what’s wrong with being a cactus?”

“Did I say there was something wrong with it? Cacti can survive the harshest conditions on earth and still produce the most beautiful flowers. And they hurt when they stab you.” He smiles like the thought pleases him immensely.

You can’t process this. He says shit like this so easily—he can’t possibly mean it in the way you are trying so hard to deny that you want him to mean it. You refuse to be lured in, only to see the cruel lines of his face when he realizes you have pathetic feelings for him. The man who could as easily rip your spine from your ribcage as offer you a glass of wine, if you lose your usefulness to him. A usefulness you still don’t know the nature of.

You’re suddenly viciously aware of how close he is to you, how he is watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel like the use of his aether core is unnecessary: you’re afraid that he can see everything you’re feeling, and you hate it. You need space. “What are we even doing, Sylus?”

His eyes drift from your eyes to your mouth, and you try very hard to steel your expression, to conceal how utterly raw and exposed he’s making you feel. You can’t tell if you’re successful, when he finally lifts his hand from your thigh and runs the back of his knuckles with such softness along your cheek that it makes you ache. You resist the urge to turn your face and nuzzle his palm.

“We’re tasting wine, sweetheart.” He leans back, pulling the glass of wine you’re still holding with him. He inhales deeply, and then takes a sip, eyes glittering over the rim, watching you. “It is a good vintage. But it’s not the only one I brought.” He guides your joined hands to set the glass on the counter, and then gets up, rounding the counter to rummage in a bag on the floor on the other side. When he stands up, he’s holding another wine glass.

You do a double take. “You brought two glasses?”

He looks from you to the glass in his hand, then back to the glass still on the counter, and then lifts his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why haven’t we been drinking about of separate glasses then?” you demand.

He shrugs. “That glass is for that bottle,” he nods to the glass sitting next to you. “This glass is for this bottle.” He gestures at the other, untasted bottle sitting on the counter. “No need to rinse our glasses in between tastes.”

You want to laugh, and cry. You’re so fucking done with thinking for tonight.

“Okay, Sylus. Whatever you say,” you sigh.

“Oh, I quite like the sound of that,” he smiles, one canine peeking over his lip. “Then you’re going to enjoy the sorbet I brought for us as a palate cleanser.”

He proceeds to go to your freezer, scoop out some of the aforementioned sorbet that has apparently been in there all evening into a bowl, and takes the stool next to you again. This time, he situates one long leg on either side of you, caging you in. He takes a spoonful and offers it to you. “This will help rinse your palate so that you can taste the next bottle without any lingering effects of the other.”

You look from his seemingly guileless face to the spoonful of sorbet. Yup, you’re really done thinking for tonight. You lean forward and open your lips. He slips the lemon sorbet into your mouth. His eyes remain on your lips as he pulls the spoon away, dips it back into the sorbet, and brings it to his own mouth.

After he continues to trade spoonfuls with you until the sorbet is gone, he pours the second glass of wine, and you both take turns sipping it in companionable silence.

“Now tell me. Which one is your favorite?” he asks after you’ve finished the second glass, and return to the first to finish it as well.

“I like them both,” you shrug. “Sorry for not having a more sophisticated answer.” You’re feeling drowsy and loose. He can walk off a tall building for all you care if he doesn’t like your answer.

“They’re both excellent wines. Each one is suited for multiple situations or meal combinations. They’re versatile, just like you are. And I don’t require any particular answer, except your honest one. I think you already know that you don’t need to put on an act for me, ever.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, mirroring his position, and rest your head in your hand. “Why would I pretend with you, if you can just force the truth out of me?”

“I will never do that to you.”

You look away. “You’ve already done it to me once before. What else is there to hide, when you’ve seen the ugliest parts of me?”

“I will not do it again. Not unless you ask me to,” he says so solemnly that you’re tempted to be a fool and believe him. “And is that what you think? That what I saw was ugly?”

You sit up, take the glass from him and knock back the rest of the wine in one gulp. You can't do this right now. You can't think about the the violent hunger, the savage thirst, that his eye brought from the depths of your soul when he forced his way into your deepest, darkest desires the night you met. The extent of how much you wanted to kill him, and make it hurt, when you thought he had killed Caleb and your grandmother. How you still feel that hunger and rage, with every wanderer you kill, every time you hope some dealer in modified protocores resists arrest so you can put them down, with prejudice.

“I’m tired, Sylus. Thank you for the lesson. Now I can successfully fool rich assholes at upscale dens of corruption and unsuspecting dates into believing that I’m a sophisticated connoisseur of overpriced beverages, and swindle them all. And I’ll never horrify you again by swigging wine out of a mug like a drunken toddler. You should invoice the Association for your services. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“I see. You’re still on guard, and defensive, when you're drunk too. How fascinating.” He narrows his eyes, not seeming to get the hint that you want him to leave now.

“I’m not drunk. I’m maybe tipsy, and I’m fucking tired. I’m going to bed.”

“All right,” he says easily. He stands and begins tidying up the counter.

“All right,” you repeat, feeling a little dizzy, a little empty. “You know where the door is.”

“As you say,” he says serenely, pulling out food storage containers you also didn’t realize you own and packing the food away.

���Thanks again,” you say, because you are polite, dammit. You make your way into the bathroom and begin getting ready for bed. When you emerge, your flat is dark. The kitchen looks pristine in the streetlight drifting in through the windows. You stare for a moment longer, wondering if maybe he’s finally given up on whatever his agenda with you is after your little emotional display tonight, and he’ll stop coming by now. You’re fine with that. Maybe this is what you’ve needed to do all along. Get drunk and sloppy. Guarded, defensive, he called you. What an asshole.

You pad into the bedroom, yawning, pulling up your phone to look at it as you walk. Maybe you should try listening to audiobooks to try to help with the insomnia. Like, boring ones with deep, sexy voiced narrators who can bore you to sleep like Sylus did the other night. You crawl onto the bed, and then—

“The fuck, Sylus?”

He’s sitting in the middle of your bed, sweater off and replaced by… nothing. Just the expanse of his big, creamy chest. And he’s wearing a pair of silky looking loose, black pyjama pants. An impossibly soft looking line of silver hair drifts from his tight navel, disappearing under his waistband. His gold-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, like last time, and he’s scrolling through something on his tablet. He glances up at you, but then goes back to his… spreadsheets?

“Haven’t we already been through that little routine tonight?” he asks, and yawns. “I’m getting déjà vu.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” you seethe.

“Going over the financials from the meeting with my accountant today.”

“Why?” You just sit there on your knees, on your bed, gaping at him like an idiot.

“To ensure that my next acquisition is suited to purpose.”

“What?”

His gaze flicks to you, and he pushes the glasses further up his nose. “Well, I made a promise that I wouldn’t change a thing about my latest business venture, so now I need to ensure that the next chain of businesses I acquire can serve one of the functions I had intended for the arcades.”

“What function is that?” you ask, curious now, despite yourself.

“Well, one of two primary functions,” he amends, tapping his temple thoughtfully with a finger.

“Okay,” you say slowly, inviting him to continue.

“Money laundering.”

You shake your head. “Come again?”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure I’d ever receive one again, what with your heavily implied dismissal earlier.”

“Sylus!”

“Yes, my most precious gem?”

“What do you mean you intended to use the arcades for money laundering?” You want to cry even thinking about it.

“To be fair, after you asked me so sweetly not to change a thing, I immediately agreed. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But that’s why you wanted to buy them?” How many times can a heart hurt in one night?

“I said that was one of the two primary reasons I wanted those arcades,” he says, reaching out with one hand and softly stroking your knee.

You look down, watching his calloused fingers drifting so sweetly across your skin. How can this man be so cruel and so gentle at the same time?

“What was the other reason, then?”

“Guess.”

“I’m done playing games with you tonight, Sylus.”

“When was I playing a game tonight?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Just promise again that you won’t change anything about my favorite arcade.”

He sets the tablet on his lap, and reaches over to grasp your hand. He links your pinkie with his, and lifts it to his lips. “I already promised. And I promise again.” He seals the promise with a brush of his lips, and then rests both of your hands on the bed between you.

You don’t know why, and you will probably never know why, but you believe him right now. It’s clear that no matter what you do, he will not be leaving tonight without great violence on your part, and once again, you’re just too tired to fight him anymore. He reads your body like a damn book, because he silently hands you the glass of water that was sitting next to him on the nightstand. "Even if you're not drunk, but only maybe just a little tipsy," he says, doing an awful imitation of your voice. "You should still drink some water so you don't feel terrible in the morning."

Perhaps because of your easy compliance with his reasonable advice by simply taking the water and drinking it, he seems to deem it safe to pull you into his side. You go down, resting your head on his thick shoulder, and let your gaze wander over his tablet.

“So what are you thinking of buying this time?” you ask, yawning.

 He shifts, lifting your head so that he can wrap his arm around you, repositioning you so that you’re tucked a little closer under his chin, cheek resting against his chest. “A chain of casinos.”

“Casinos?” you laugh softly. “That’s on brand, I guess.”

“Mmhmm.” He runs his fingertips absently along your arm, from wrist to elbow and back again. “Lots of money changing hands. Ideal for functioning as a washing machine for the dirty proceeds from the weapons business, which comes out clean in the pockets of lucky winners.”

“You make your living profiting off the worst in people, you know that?” you ask sleepily, the numbers on the screen blurring.

“They’ll continue being terrible, with or without my involvement. I don’t make them take the bet, or pull the trigger. And if I don't, someone else will put the chip or gun in their hands. Might as well be me collecting the paycheck.”

“Maybe, through the power of friendship, I can change your mind,” you murmur. You don’t think you’ll need that audiobook to fall asleep tonight.

“Friendship, huh?” Sylus asks, but when he looks down at you, he sees that you’ve already fallen asleep. He traces the long sweep of your eyelashes across your cheeks with his eyes, feels your measured, calm breath drifting across his skin. He gently touches one finger to the ruby earring you haven’t taken out yet. The thrill of satisfaction he felt when you answered the door still wearing it would sustain him for weeks. He is absolutely certain that it won’t be the power of friendship that’s going to change him.

He pulls you a little closer into his chest, snorts when he feels you begin to drool onto his pec, and continues scrolling through his tablet.

That night, you dream. You’re walking through your childhood home—but not your childhood home from before your memories, because you will never know what that home looked like. This one, the home from your earliest memories, with its wood panelling on the walls, old-fashioned lace curtains in the windows that you can’t see out of, because it’s pitch black beyond the glass. Hallways lengthening at the same pace as you can walk down them, boots echoing on the polished hardwood floor. You walk and walk, and you can never reach the end. Doors that won’t open, but you know Caleb might be behind them, because in your dream logic, his bedroom is behind every door you pass. You turn the handles, but they remain locked. Sometimes you think you can hear the sound of someone biting into an apple, crisp flesh giving way to sharp teeth, but the door won’t open no matter how hard you throw yourself against it. You hear your grandmother speaking, just around every corner, but you can’t understand what she’s saying. You follow the sound, and every time you think that she’s just around the next turn in the hall, the corridor stretches in front of you again, empty.

You have been in this empty house for years now, and you’re afraid that you’ll never be able to get out. But you’re more afraid that once you get out, you’ll never hear them making these particular sounds again, this slim proof of their existence echoing through the empty hallways.

Slowly, you wake up, and in that endless moment caught between your dream and reality, it’s just peaceful and black—you are coming from somewhere so far away toward something you know will hurt, and you’re not ready to feel that yet. But then a feeling of suffocation is overwhelming you, and you open your eyes to realize you’re literally being smothered by a very big, very warm body.

The relief you feel, the gratitude, that Sylus is still here, that you aren’t waking up alone, again, from the nightmare in your sleep to the reality that the nightmare is real, and you’ll never be able to see your family again, is more overwhelming than your current need for oxygen. Sylus is still here, and the yawning emptiness you were carrying with you for what felt like years during that long dream dissipates in the warmth of his body against yours. You can’t help yourself. Your throw your arm that isn’t being crushed by him over his torso and hug him tightly to you, giving in to the urge to nuzzle his chest and just listen to his steady heartbeat.

You lie like that for awhile, blissfully listening to his soft breathing, when suddenly you realize that pressed so close to him, you can feel every contour of his body, from your chest against his abdomen, his muscular, silk-covered thigh wedged between your legs, and his apparently very, very big dick pressing into your hip.

You freeze, feeling like the creep you have accused him several times of being. He’s just sleeping, and you’ve plastered yourself against him like a vacuum sealed burrito. You have absolutely no business being utterly thrilled that this part of him matches the rest of him in terms of size and intimidation. You will not be taking this joy stick for a test drive. You can get out of this. You’re a very good hunter, and you can evade detection and make a tactical retreat when necessary. And it’s very necessary right now, because you do not want him to wake up and find you attached to him like a love-sick leech.

Slowly, sooo slowly, you slide your arm from where it is slung over his waist, and begin to incrementally scooch backwards, his leg slipping from between both of yours, freezing when he seems to shift a little, and then continuing the slow slide away when he settles again.

You’ve managed to extricate all of your limbs from him, except the one that is currently numb and squashed underneath him. You slowly roll onto your back and contemplate how you’re going to get it out from under him without waking him, when suddenly his arm flops over your waist. You jerk in surprise, eyes flying to his face, but his are still closed. His hand slides from your waist to your hip, and then snakes around to take a big handful of your ass. He makes a little happy noise and then pulls your body into his again. In the process, he has managed to jam his thigh back between your legs. You stare at his face, trying desperately to see if he’s starting to wake yet—how did you even end up in this situation? Then he pulls you even closer, causing his thigh to press deliciously against you. You suppress a whine, because it has been so long since someone has touched you liked this. But of course the person who is touching you is a maniac and is doing so while still asleep. You reach up and pat his cheek to wake him up, simultaneously trying to to pull away from him, but tightens his arms around you again, dipping his head to your shoulder still exposed by his too-big sweater.  You freeze in shock as he inhales deeply and hums, and soft kisses trail from your neck down, and before you can push him away he bites into the meat of your shoulder. The pain, pressure, and warmth of his mouth on your skin have you trying to arch away and into him—you do whine this time, loudly, because it hurts but you want.

Suddenly, his whole body seems to tense. The pressure on your shoulder eases, and he sighs, his breath cool drifting along your over-heated skin.

“Good morning.”

You open your eyes, realizing you’d been squeezing them shut through the last few moments, and meet his sleepy gaze.

"Were you awake?” you demand, terrified of the answer. Because if he was, then what the hell was he thinking, pretending to be asleep? And if he wasn't, was he just dreaming? Was it you in his dream, or was he dreaming of someone else? You don't want to know. You have to know.

“Your rather loud response to my love bite woke me up, I think,” he smiles softly. "I didn't realize that I was... dreaming until then."

“So you didn’t mean to—” you start to pull away.

He tightens his arm around your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sylus, let go. I’m sorry for not waking you fast enough. I was just—I was just shocked. I know you wouldn’t have done that otherwise.” You struggle, but his arm is a steel bar holding you in place.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have,” he agrees, and you feel whatever fragile, tender root that had been growing in the cracks of your broken heart wither, the dry husk drifting away in an autumn breeze. Replacing that faint feeling of hope, you're livid that you do not share the same teleportation ability that Xavier and Sylus have. If you could, you'd teleport in a poof of glittering light or melodramatic feathers. To anywhere else but here.

You nod, and nod, and nod, because he’s not letting you move but you have to do something or else he’ll see it right on your stupid, open face, and you’d rather he slit your throat than see the pain his rejection is inflicting on you. You had lied to him earlier, about not having anything to hide, about always being honest with him. You've been lying to yourself, and to him, ever since you met him.

“What I mean—” he’s looking at you intently, and you want to cover his eyes with your hands, because as always they’re seeing too much, but suddenly, the doorbell rings through your flat.

You both turn your heads to look at the bedroom door at the same time.

Oh. Fuck.

Xavier.

Sylus turns to look back at you, so close that his nose brushes yours. “Expecting company, kitten?”

“It’s Xavier. Shit.” You try to roll away, and this time he lets you. You grab your phone off the nightstand and see that Xavier has already texted you a few times to see if you’re ready to head to the bookstore yet. The texts grow increasingly concerned the longer you don’t respond. The doorbell rings again. “You have to go. Now.”

You turn to Sylus, who is now lying leisurely on his side, head propped up in his hand, silky silver hair cascading across his forehead, occupying the bed like an imperialist force annexing a weaker neighbor’s territory, with no intention of leaving.

“And what are you going to do?” he asks, eyes drifting from your face, to your shoulder, down to your bare legs.

“I need to answer the door and tell Xavier that I’m running late.”

“Late for what?”

“Sylus, I don’t have time for this. You can’t be here. Xavier helped me get into the N109 zone, he spends a lot of time there—he’s smart enough that if he finds out what you look like, he might eventually be able to figure out who you are. You can’t be here,” you repeat, starting to panic. Sylus may not have any feelings for you beyond friendship or a predator toying with its food, but you still don’t want him to get caught because of you.

“You’re not working today. What plans do you have with him?” he asks, completely ignoring your distress.

“We’re going to the bookstore. We were going to spend our first day free just reading manga and eating junk food,” you rush out impatiently.

Sylus just looks at you for a few beats, the picture of lazy boredom on a weekend morning.

“Okay? Are you satisfied? Can you please leave now?” This is good. You can avoid the inevitable, It was a mistake, thought you were someone else, was dreaming about a giant amorous anthropomorphized ruby, you’re not exactly my type, because my type is someone who has their shit together, can identify what fucking region a certain grape was grown in and its exact soil acidity based on the year of the vintage, my type is someone else, anyone else—you reach down and hit yourself hard in the side of your thigh with a fist to get your head on straight, and start heading to your closet, intent on throwing on a robe or longer shorts so that you don't answer the door looking like you're not wearing any pants.

Sylus's irritated voice follows you. “Satisfied? No, I'm not feeling satisfied. But I would advise against answering the door wearing that.”

You jerk to a halt. “Excuse me?” You turn to find him scowling at you.

He waves a dismissive finger at the sweater and silk shirts you’re still wearing. “I think you should change before you answer the door.”

“I look that bad, huh? Thanks for the advice. You need to be gone when I get back.” You turn, hating everything and everyone, and make your way to the front door.

You throw it open, just as Xavier is lifting his hand to ring your bell again. His sky blue eyes, usually so calm and sleepy, widen when he takes in the dumpster fire that you are today.

“Hi, yeah, sorry. I overslept,” you rush out, hoping you can skip this part and go straight to the moving on with your day and your entire life part. “I just need like, fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be ready.”

“Did you get in a fight with a wanderer last night after we go home?” he asks, hand lifting again, this time toward you, as if he wants to touch you, but then thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. He’s wearing the white hoodie that Sylus stole from him. What even is your life right now?

“What? No, I just had some wine and was really tired.” He’s staring at you, brow furrowed now, and it takes a minute to realize that he’s staring at the sweater hanging off your shoulder. You suddenly get a really, really bad feeling. “Why?”

He lifts his hand again, and points, but in a kind of timid way, like a little kid who knows that it’s rude to point but can’t help himself anyway so just points a little so that his mom won’t get mad at him. “It looks like a wanderer bit you.”

You lift your own hand and touch your shoulder, and feel the too-warm skin there, the ache spreading deep into the muscle.

“Oooh, yeah. Yes.” You decide that you need to take acting classes. That is what you will do as your new hobby, on your few days off. You’re going to win the best actor award if it kills you, because if it doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will kill you instead. And you’d rather die convincing everyone that everything is normal and you’re fine, and not from the embarrassment of the fact that your not-boyfriend, not-fuck-buddy, not-interested-at-all, probably not even your friend anymore Sylus accidentally bit you while fucking asleep and left evidence of it for all the world to see. “I did respond to a really minor alert in the neighborhood last night. It was only one wanderer. Hiding in a trash can of all places,” you laugh, not at all sounding unhinged. Convincing. “Bit me pretty good, but it really was nothing, I had completely forgotten about it. So, still on for the bookstore?” you ask, chipper, eager, well-adjusted!

Xavier stares at your shoulder for a few seconds longer, and then just nods. “Yeah, just text me when you’re ready.”

Bless him. You’ve almost put him back to sleep with your absolutely stellar performance. “Okay, great! See you soon.” You back into your flat again and let the door shut with a heavy click.

Xavier stands outside your door for several moments after you’ve scurried back inside. He thinks about how sharp his light blade is. He thinks about how he’s going to use it on whatever motherfucker thinks that he has the right to mark Xavier’s partner like an animal. And then he yawns, and meanders back to his own flat to wait for your text because he has all the time in the world, and the patience to match it. Xavier is your partner, and he’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. If he murders whatever asshole was in your flat last night right now, that might interfere with your bookstore plans with him.

You stand on the other side of the door for a moment, just trying to collect yourself. You lean against the cool surface, look up at your ceiling. Breathe in the smell of shoe leather, oiled metal. Absently you lift your hand to your shoulder. Why didn’t Sylus warn you before you went to open the door? He even admitted that he wouldn’t have … done that to you if he hadn’t been asleep. Why would he just… and then it hits you. He did tell you to change clothes before you answered the door. The asshole just didn’t tell you why. But he would know by now that you’d actually do the opposite of whatever he says, because he’s not the boss of you. He played you like one of his fucking records.

But why the fuck would he want Xavier to see what happened between the two of you? Does he enjoy your humiliation that much?

You have no idea if you’ll ever have the chance to figure him out, especially if he got the hint that you don’t want to see him anytime soon. You shake your head. Even though you should be exhausted after staying up so late and ending up on the human embodiment of a roller coaster with its wheels coming off despite all of your promises to yourself last night, you feel well-rested. You will survive this. You can survive anything.

You head back to your bedroom to confirm that Sylus is actually gone, because last night proved that whether he actually listens when you tell him to leave depends entirely on his own whims. As you enter, the late morning sunlight spills into the room. He really left. The room is empty. The books and various weapons on your nightstands have been stacked neatly and lined up just so. The clothes that had been left haphazardly hanging off your chest of drawer handles or strewn over the floor are nowhere to be seen. It would be the tidiest your bedroom has been in weeks, if not for the fact that your entire bed is covered in a thick layer of black feathers.

“This bitch,” you breathe.

It’s going to take at least two full size trash bags to clean this mess up.

You decide then and there that Sylus doesn’t have a choice about whether he’s going to see you again. You’re going to bag up these feathers and then tar and feather him with them the next time you see his gorgeous, petty fucking face.

[hannieehaee]

content: badboy!wonwoo (he's actually a cutie pie he's just v careless with his safety T-T), established relationship, break up, angst, fluffy ending (it's always fluffy endings here or i die), mentions of shady work, mentions of bruises, etc.

part 2

wc: 1191

a/n: thank you so much to the person who requested this!! im rlly bad with angst so this was hard haha if any of u want a smutty continuation pls lmk <3 i was gonna finish w smut but i wasnt sure ;-;

masterlist

"how can you expect me to care about you when you have such little regard for yourself?"

those were some of the last words wonwoo had heard from you last time he saw you.

he had, once again, arrived home late, blue and grey from yet another altercation he'd found himself in. he had promised you he'd leave his shady past behind. that he'd take care of you and you'd exist happily together, never having to worry for the other's safety.

it had taken you a while to break, begging him to put you out of your misery and either leave you or promise you a life in which you wouldn't be terrified every time he stepped foot out of the door. living without you was just unconceivable for wonwoo, which left him with only one choice.

he managed to keep his promise for about a week or two, happy to arrive punctual at home every night and find you waiting for him, more than ready to shower him with your affections.

he hadn't meant to break his promise. nothing broke him more than the look in your eyes as he entered your shared home, two hours late and with twenty missed calls from you. his skin was once again covered with bruises, disheveled hair and exhausted state to match. he hadn't thought this would be the end. that despite of his pleas to please stay, you'd still pack your bags, eyes filled with tears as you cried at him that you couldn't stay and watch him slowly kill himself like this. what you hadn't realized was that nothing could kill him more than your absence.

~

it had only been two weeks since you left him. two weeks since his last genuine smile graced his face. two weeks since he was able to sleep. and most ironically, two weeks since he'd gotten into some type of life-threatening altercation. his bruises had healed by now, taking longer than usual now that he didn't have you to tend to him like before. he still kept up with you, watching you from afar as you cruised through life. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, hoping to respect your decision to leave and take his heart with you, but your absence was too much for him. if he couldn't have you, he'd at least watch you from afar, dreading what he had lost. so that's what he did, and thats what he was currently doing right now.

you were attending some party, he'd found out. which meant he needed to be in attendance too and watch over you. he felt dejected as he watched you have fun with your friends, sad that maybe the breakup just hadn't been that big of a deal to you. maybe you were truly better off without him. maybe he needed to leave you alone and allow you to enjoy life without a burden such as jeon wonwoo.

he wanted to leave, he truly did, but his body wouldn't let him. he just wanted you back into his life so badly. everything had turned bleak the moment you left, making him just a shell of himself. he wanted to approach you and get on his knees (in front of all the wasted party goes, even) and beg you for forgiveness. he wanted to cry out to you how much he loved you, that you were the light of his life, that he'd leave it all behind for you. but he was too much of a coward to do that. so, he prepared himself mentally in order to leave, sparing one last look your way before disappearing into the crowd. except you were gone. in his distracted state, you had left. your friends were still there, but you were the sole disappearance. wonwoo knew he should've just left you alone, but he couldn't live with himself if something were to happen to you.

he frantically looked for you for a good five minutes before finding you in some empty balcony, sitting down against the rail with your legs hanging from it. he could only see your profile, but was able to spot the shine of your cheeks, a clear indicator that you'd been crying. he once again couldn't help himself when he spoke up.

"baby?" he was slow at approaching you, not wanting to surprise you too much.

you jumped a bit anyways, "wonwoo? what are you doing here?"

"i ... i wanted to see you. i'm sorry"

you had gotten up, now facing him but keeping yourself closed off, arms wrapped around yourself and eyes not meeting his, very much unlike your usual affectionate self.

"wonwoo ... you can't keep doing this. i know you've been following me around. you need to leave me alone."

"i .."

"do you think this is easy for me? i love you. so fucking much. i just cant watch you get hurt over and over. i cant wait home late not knowing if you'll actually come back," you'd began ranting, your emotions getting stronger by the second, "every time you leave it's like i have to hold my breath, and i cant breathe until i have you back to me safely. i can't do this anymore. i love you, i-"

wonwoo couldnt take it anymore. he walked the rest of the way and held onto you. he lightly grabbed you and placed you in his arms, engulfing your shaking form against his chest. you'd begun crying halfway through your speech, your words becoming slurred and you shook and sniffled throughout. wonwoo couldn't physically handle seeing you in such distress without wanting to take it away. so he held onto you. what surprised him was that you held him back. you nuzzled your face into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him as you sobbed against him, crying that you loved him.

"i love you ... so fucking much," pulling away, he made sure to look into your eyes as he spoke, "i can't exist without you. i'll stop- i stopped. i'll leave it all behind for you. we can leave. together. i'll do anything for you, just- please. please come back to me. i love you."

"wonwoo ..."

"i mean it! i'll keep you safe. i'll keep us safe. we can start new. just us. you'll never have to worry about me again, i promise. just need you back. please. i can't do this without you, i-"

like in any other cliche, you pulled him into you, kissing his words back into his mouth. but he didn't care. he kissed all emotions right back into yours, letting all the sadness he had in him dissipate against your lips. you kissed until you became lightheaded, sighing against each other's lips even when you were out of breath, refusing to pull away. wonwoo was finally the one to pull away, almost losing his mind at the way your lips chased after his.

"let me take you home? i love you. wanna take care of you."

and with that, you walked back into his life, hand in hand, with the promise that his love for you would keep him safe.

[stawbeemilk]

⤷ insecurities they think are beautiful – hq

✩ characters: various

✩ warnings: none

✩ a/n: my first post eek! this is pretty self-indulgent shdjsj but i hope it makes someone else feel a little better about themselves as well ◡̈ enjoy!

⭑ stretch marks

he literally thinks they're so pretty, and can't understand why you'd even be self-conscious about them in the first place— as far as he's concerned they only make you even more beautiful. nothing makes his heart ache more than seeing you pulling down your shorts or skirt in an attempt to hide the pretty marks residing on your thighs. he likes to trace over them when the two of you are cuddling, fingertips grazing over each mark adorning your skin while his eyes are filled with nothing but adoration, hoping that in time you'll start to appreciate them just as much as he does.

⤷ bokuto, sugawara, goshiki, inuoka, koganegawa, washio, kita, aran

⭑ hip dips

he often finds himself staring at your hips, unable to take his eyes off them— it doesn't help if you're wearing something a little tighter than usual that hugs your figure in all the right ways. the last thing he wants is for you to feel as if he's judging you, but he doesn't miss the way you subconsciously try to hide yourself from his gaze whenever you notice his eyes wandering and he swears he feels his heart shatter a little more each time. if he catches you looking at your body in the mirror for a particularly long time, he'll come over to you and rest his hands on your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze as he looks at your reflection with a tender smile.

⤷ iwaizumi, suna, yamaguchi, akaashi, aone, semi, sakusa

⭑ soft tummy

in his eyes, your tummy is just the cutest thing, and he sometimes has a hard time keeping his hands off you. he likes to randomly come up behind you when you're just going about your day, hands wrapping around your waist before discreetly slipping underneath your shirt to squish the soft flesh. after a long day, the only thing he wants is to come home to you and rest his head on your tummy while you play with his hair— and usually, that's exactly what he does. with the way he presses his lips against your skin and nuzzles into you, it's hard to feel insecure around him as it's so obvious how much he adores you.

⤷ osamu, yamamoto, komi, matsukawa, daichi, kai, futakuchi

⭑ imperfect teeth

he absolutely loves your smile, it's one of his favourite things about you. it was one of the first things he noticed about you when the two of you met, and it still makes his heart flutter just as much as it did back then— nothing breaks his heart more than seeing you erupt with laughter without a care in the world, only to hide the lower half of your face behind your hand a few seconds later. he won't hesitate to grab hold of your wrist, gently prying your hand away and granting him a full view of your cute smile. who cares if it isn't entirely perfect? it only makes him adore you even more, and he wishes you could see what he sees.

⤷ fukunaga, kuroo, hanamaki, nishinoya, konoha, hoshiumi, komori

⭑ small chest

he honestly doesn't even understand why you don't like them. he's not trying to invalidate your feelings or anything, he just… doesn't get it. whenever you express any sort of insecurity regarding your chest size, his response is always “but there's nothing wrong with them?” because he genuinely thinks you're perfect just the way you are. he encourages you to wear tighter or lower cut tops that accentuate your chest, and won't hesitate to let you know how pretty you look, feeling his heart flutter when he sees you smile bashfully and grow a little more confident from his words. likes to tell you that when he hugs you it just means your hearts are closer together <3

⤷ yaku, oikawa, kunimi, tendou, hinata, kenma, atsumu, hirugami

⤷ please do not repost my works on any other sites!

[strawberrymochin]

𝐀 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 ☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

satosugu x fem!reader

Synopsis- Satoru once came across a rumour regarding a cafe he visited years ago. Rumour has, it possesses the capability to whisk one back in time— to the past. He never took time travel seriously. After all it was a law of nature, a string left to be untouched even by jujutsu. Yet, now years later, he finds himself fiddling in front of the cafe contemplating whether to get in or not. 

Warnings- time travel!au, gojo travels back in time to meet geto one last time and talk to him without regrets, so so so angsty with fluffy fluff that makes one melt, deep conversations, emotional conflict, mentions of death & blood, geto being so soft with gojo, reader being so cold to gojo, cozy vibes, based on ‘before the coffee gets cold’ by toshikazu kawaguchi.

Word count- 4.3k

a/n- omg! i finished writing this in one day. i had this idea ever since i read the series. i really wanted satoru to travel back in time and meet geto. this is a fic i wrote for me. please tell me if this brings a smile on your face. comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. do read the book its amazing and yeah have a good day besties. oh and a yuuta fic is coming soon.

Gojo satoru, always had a big cocky smile plastered to his face. A smile which overshadowed his eyebags, his half healed melancholic wounds and his regrets. 

He loved being a jujutsu sorcerer. But often he had not. Especially, when past memories come back overflowing in his mind, drowning him out of the present. Sinking him in the despair of not being able to save someone who was so close to his heart. And he regretted it. 

He regretted the words he left unsaid to geto suguru, the one who once claimed to be his best friend. 

The one, who's body is lying, trapped in cold webs of death. 

Gojo wasn't a person who had enough time to reminisce about the past. He had to take care of missions, exorcising curses, teach his beloved students and save the youth of the young generation to feel less guilty. 

Most of the days being hectic which he'd spend with the same cocky smile, grinning from teeth to teeth. And yet amongst his tight schedule which only allows him 3 hours of slumber, he still couldn't get a brink of sleep without having flashed the face of his best friend. 

And the familiar feeling of having a lump in the throat, unable to shout out the words he intended to say. He intended to cry out desperately for geto to stop. To not leave him behind. 

But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get one word past his lips. He just simply couldn't. Maybe because he knew geto wouldn't listen. Or maybe he was afraid of rejection. Whatever the reason might be, back then, now it's all excuses. 

Years later, the itch of unable to form those words still persists and it grows each day. Thrives in the threshold of the suppressed emotions gojo has buried deep in his heart. 

Yet.

And yet.

Here he was, standing infront of the cafe ‘lá láttes’ contemplating whether to get in or not. 

He used to frequent this cafe with geto during his first and second years. Before everything went wrong. 

Geto always found this one cafe, a bit peculiar with bits of comfort hidden inside. He loved coming to this cafe and always used to order pumpkin spice latte without the maple syrup. Odd indeed gojo thought. 

Though he loved the way geto drank up his latte, the way he used to gulp and nod satisfactorily at the taste being not very sweet. 

The cafe was situated at the outskirts of Tokyo, back in a narrow alley. It was a basement cafe with only 9 seats to offer. Most of the time it didn't attract any new customers but only a bunch of regulars, among whom geto was one.

The cafe still looked the same from a decade ago. Only a little to no renovations were noticed. 

The board which displayed the cafe's name was still covered with the big leaves of a money plant curling itself from the stand. 

Clang-dong

The glass door opened as gojo shifted his head to the other direction trying to appear nonchalant. He slowly brought back his vision to the person who came outside to dump the trash. The recognition rang through in his mind as pictures of the owner flashed in his mind. He has grown old, now grey tainting his previous brown hair.

The owner looked at gojo, dusting off his hands, as his eyes narrowed at him. 

“Omg, the blue eyed? Aren't you?” 

Gojo frozen for a second, mentally cursing himself for gaping at the owner. Smiling nervously, he nodded at the owner, “good afternoon.” 

“Haha, good afternoon, you've grown up quite a bit hah!” The owner closed the distance between them before grabbing the door handle and opening it. “Come in. Let me treat ya’.” He said, gesturing to him to come inside. 

“Oh no! You don't have to.” Hands vigorously shaking criss cross, not wanting to freeload. The cafe itself has a very few customer base, gojo can't sit right with the idea of freeloading. 

“Nah! It's on the house. Come in boy!” the owner dragged him in. 

Clang-dong

The doorbell chimed through the staircase as the owner guided him downstairs to the basement. The smell hasn't changed too, musky and rich with the aroma of crushed coffee beans. 

As expected the cafe was empty except for two customers, one occupying the seat very last to the third row. His back hunched over several magazines, scribbling information on a small notepad. 

While the other one was a lady in white, a big straw hat placed on her table while she read a novel with golden letters printed on the covers —‘The lovers’, barely looking up from the book. 

Gojo recognised her as a regular. He'd noticed her often when he tagged along with geto. She wore the same white flowy dress down her knees and always read the same novel. 

The owner asked him to sit on the counter and order a drink of his choice, passing him the menu card. 

“Pumpkin spice latte,” gojo said without bothering to look at the menu. “Without maple syrup.” His eyes growing foggy as distant memories start clouding his mind. He sighed, before turning to look at the regular seat they used to occupy. The middle one in the first row. 

Did geto still used to visit this cafe even after they stopped contacting each other? He couldn't help but wonder. 

“Do you know the rumours about this cafe?” Geto said, sipping on his pumpkin spice. 

“Rumours?” 

“Yes, people say this cafe can whisk one back in time.” Gojo choked on his drink trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in his throat. “Really? You want me to believe in this shit?” 

“Naah! But it's interesting, even a jujutsu sorcerer can't interfere with time.” geto’s crescent moons crinkled a bit as he quirked a sassy eyebrow at him. “If you could go back in time, who would you meet?” geto asked raising his eyebrows. 

“I simply wouldn't.” 

“Huh? Why?” 

“Because it's not possible.” Gojo laughed it off, while geto just sulked a little. He firmly believed that interfering with the flow of time isn't possible. It could distort the world and just simply impossible. 

He didn't answer geto’s question back then. 

He wondered why?

Maybe because he didn't have any reason to go back.

But what about now?

“Here…” the owner passed the pumpkin spice latte to gojo as he muttered thanks to the owner. “So, haven't seen you here for a while…. where's your friend?” 

Gojo stopped midway on his sip of latte, he looked at the owner and put the glass back down. “eh…you see…” he couldn't quite find the right words to say. Normally he would have maintained his composure and maybe even winked and said ‘sowwy I killed him.’ with a peace sign included. 

However he seemed unable to regain his normal demeanor. The mask he put on for so long was broken. And it shattered into pieces with his vulnerable self showing, bare to the world. He felt ashamed for no reason. 

“He…um is dead.” Awkwardly shifting in the round stool, he couldn't meet his gaze with the owner. As if he could see through him and will be disgusted by the truth. The truth he hated for so long— of killing his best friend with his own hands. 

Of abandoning the corpse unable to handle the burden, leaving it to rot. Gojo felt disgusted, yet he masked himself with the same cocky smile he was fed up of wearing and went to his students.

Oh how awfully obnoxious he felt. 

And how desperately he wanted things to change. 

Later that night, he kept on washing his hands for hours. Scrubbing his skin with his nails, scraping the hands tainted in the blood of his beloved. 

His hands were clean. 

Though the red splatters of blood kept appearing again and again. 

“Oh,” the owner gulped, shifting his eyes from gojo to the kitchen. 

Gojo opened his mouth once again. He had practiced these words for the past week. He was the strongest. Then why was he getting nervous now? He gulped his own saliva trying to moisten his dried throat. 

The pumpkin spice latte was still untouched. 

“I wa—” he didn't get to finish his sentence as the owner interrupted him. His old wrinkled eyes now had a dull spark. Dangerous even, saying to be left untarnished but as if compelled to a spell, he spilled the words in gojo's stead. “So, you want to go back in time.” 

If you could go back in time, who would you meet?

“Yes,” gojo lets out a shaky breath, wiping his clammy hands on the fabric of his pants. “Yes, I do.” 

He sounded desperate, for he'd been wretched in anguishing fraught, so long that now the cry echoed in his ears. He'd seen geto, controlled by kenjaku. His body, being used even after his death— a weapon. 

Is this the curse of being a jujutsu sorcerer? 

He regretted the very moment. If only he'd said those words back then maybe the present he was living in would be a bit different. 

If only he tried a little hard.

If only. 

“Why?” the owner asked him with unwavering eyes, piercing through his soul. “What reason do you have to go back?”

“I…there are words I need to convey.” Gojo gulped feeling hot and sweaty even though the basement was well ventilated. The owner narrowed his eyes as if scrutinizing him. “Can I really go back in time? I really need to tell him something.” 

The owner stayed quiet. His hands simply wiping the inside of the freshly washed glasses. “Sounds trivial.” 

A voice emerges from the kitchen as you handle the owner, a fresh pack of coffee beans yet to be grinded. 

“Wha—” 

“Y/n! Don't be rude to customers.” The owner said in hushed voice, which was clearly audible as the cafe was almost empty. 

You rolled your eyes at gojo and get back in the kitchen. 

“I'm sorry for my daughter's behavior.” 

“Oh…it's fine.” Gojo stayed quiet a while clearly offended but when the owner said nothing more, he stood up from his seat. That's right it was a rumour after all. Time travel isn't possible, what is he on drugs or something? He felt dumb for believing in something even kids wouldn't trust.

“I'm sorry for taking up your time. I'd like to pay for the drink.”

“eh…you're not going back?”

“To where?” 

“To the past.” 

“I…I can? It's true.” 

The owner smiled wryly before answering, “yes. It's true.”

Gojo felt like a dummy and his head spinning, he didn't wanted to believe in this, yet the slightest chance to meet geto and maybe change the future. 

“Though I would like to inform you, one can't change the present.” gojo’s eyes widened as if caught red handed stealing. He didn't get it, if all this was a joke or he was the joke. 

“Huh?” 

“You can travel back in time. That's upon the customer to decide. If you want, sure you can. But…” 

“But?” 

“Traveling back in time comes with lots of risk. And there are certain rules. One of them being— you can't change the present.” The owner explained now pouring the fresh coffee beans into the grinder. 

“What do you mean? Isn't a change back in the past followed by a change in the future?” 

“Well it's for the folks. However, no. You cannot change the present,” the owner waved his palm flat in the air, gesturing him to return to his seat. “You can try but the present will not be altered. A friend, dead will not be alive even if you try to prevent it.” 

“So are you still willing to go…even if the present can't be changed?” The owner shifted the grinded beans into the pot, ready to brew a handmade fresh cup of coffee, while waiting for gojo’s reply. 

Gojo looked back to the seat they used to occupy in the past. So what if he's still dead? If gojo can somehow share his feelings, or maybe even see his face— see geto, the real geto, the one who has its own soul and not controlled by kenjaku, the one who recognises gojo. It won't be that bad right?

“I still want to go,” gojo was disappointed, but even if seeing geto for one last time was possible he would not miss it. He'd regretted not acting upon his impulse before and he doesn't want to regret it again. Not now, given any benefit of doubts. 

“Sure.” The owner nods painfully slow, having gojo rethink if this isn't some vile prank. 

“So..?” 

“Oh, I'm afraid we'll have to wait for a while. The specific seat is now occupied by…um the lady in white. Y/n can explain the rules to you meanwhile.”

“Why? I can just request her to unoccupy the seat for a while.” Gojo suggested, standing up when the owner halted his actions. “Oh no! I'd suggest you not.” 

“Why?” 

“You see…the lady is…a ghost.” 

“A curse you mean…I can exorcise it.” 

“No. A ghost. Not a curse.” 

“Are you kidding me? If the thing is just a rumour you could just tell me the truth. There's no need to make excus—” The owners deadpan look caused his words to die midway. 

“How long do I've to wait?” 

“A little while. She will soon go to the washroom. You can finish your drink till then.” 

Gojo had no other option but to comply with the owner's words. He tried using his six eyes but for some reason it didn't work well as if the cafe has its own domain blocking out the powers of other jujutsu. 

A while later gojo had ordered two more drinks he finished sipping and the lady was still glued to her seat. ‘what a bummer!’ he thought. 

You walked out again from the kitchen this time with a bunch of paper napkins. “Why are you still here?” 

“Y/n!” The owner hushed you again, explaining you the entire situation and ushering you to explain the rules to gojo, who was sitting confused. 

You hated when people came here to travel back in time. The fact you even hated yourself more than you've to be involved in this.

Rolling your eyes in annoyance, you step infront of the white haired guy. “I expect you know the rules?” You cocked an irritated eyebrow at him.

“Um…no.” 

“Ah…I might advise you to run away then. The rules aren't made for someone weak.” You smirk clearing away his empty cups for a wash.

“do you even know who I am? I'm gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer throughout heaven and earth.” he'd enough of your brat behavior.

“The strongest in your dreams…why are you so desperate to go back then? Do you regret anything you should've done but couldn't since you're a coward?” 

“Y/n!,” the owner scolded you, as you rolled your eyes again. “I'm sorry, she's always sensitive when we have customers wanting to travel back in time.” Gojo just nods at the owner. Your bitter words rang through his ears. And worse that you're more or less right. 

Do you regret anything you should've done but couldn't since you're a coward?

“I will be stating the rules…better be attentive.” You say taking in a deep breath calming your raging heart. 

“you can't change the present no matter how hard you try.

“you must sit in a specific seat for being able to travel back in time.

“you can only meet people who have been in the cafe.

“Once you're back in the past you can not get up from the seat. If you do, you will be forced back to the present. 

“Your time starts in the past once I start pouring the coffee in your cup and it lasts till your last sip of the coffee.

“That many?! Isn't it too overboard?” gojo interrupts you, his jaw opened wide hitting the counter. “Overboard or not. You've to follow…” 

The creaking noise hits both of your ears drawing attention to the lady in white. She slowly raised from her seat, flipping the book shut and placing it on the table. Emptying the seat, she went outside to the left, where the bathroom was. 

Clang-dong

Gojo looked at you. 

“Alright go take your seat.” 

What's so special about this specific seat? He thought but went anyway. Upon settling in the seat, he realised it’s no different from the ordinary chairs. Pretty much the same, however the temperature of the air surrounding the half of the table was slightly different from the rest of the cafe. It was a bit cold. 

Will he now go back to the past?

To geto suguru? 

What will he say? 

He'd practiced it so many times in his head, in front of the mirror, on his way to this cafe and yet he felt completely blank right now. 

He won't be able to change the present or the future, still….

You came over to his seat carrying a silver tray with a kettle of similar silver. There was nothing so special about the cups you placed infront of him too, clearing away the previously used ones of the lady in white. 

Gojo’s blank mind had millions of thoughts flooding now. What will he do if he ends up at the wrong time? Will he really travel back time? 

“You just need to imagine the time your friend was sure to visit while I pour the coffee.” You say, picking up on his thoughts, brewing the coffee now. 

The rich aroma of the coffee filled the entire atmosphere surrounding him. He wasn't really fond of coffee, especially hand brewed ones, he looked for the owner, his old eyes plastered on the glassdoor. 

“I will pour your cup now. Just remember to finish the entire cup before the coffee gets cold.” 

“what happens if I don't?”

“Then you will be sitting as a ghost in this seat until someone else occupies your position.” Gojo shot his head up to look at you, your eyes had the same deadpan look as the owner. “Just sip it before it gets cold and you will be fine.” 

You start pouring the coffee without allowing gojo anymore questions. 

He was about to speak, he didn't understand the last rule. What did it mean? But he couldn't get any voice out of his throat. 

A thin string of hot steam coming from his coffee gulped him in as if he was the steam himself, flowing up along with it. The three clocks surrounding the walls of the cafe now became big and blurry yet striking clear. Its hands are each revolving in different directions. It's not the time to think about what's happening. He closes his eyes, trying to imagine the day geto would surely make his visit. 

Saturday mornings.

Soon gojo’s waving body materialized as he felt his sensations back. His eyes still closed shut. Slowly he opened his eyes. The cafe was pretty much same. Nothing changed. Except it being totally empty. And at the counter a much younger owner. 

Did he really travel back in time?

But he was all alone. Geto wasn't in the cafe. 

The owner looked at him, and ignored. 

“Um…” gojo said, trying to get the owner’s attention. 

“Yes…oh the blue eyed. What happened?” He asked concerned, the wrinkles under his eyes looked much softer. 

Clang-dong

Gojo looked behind the owner, his breath hitching as his eyes widened. 

It was geto suguru. 

The owner followed gojo’s eyes and welcomed geto in. 

“suguru…” his voice barely a whisper echoed through the entire cafe. 

Geto, who finally noticed, freezed a while, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Satoru?” Geto gulped, before awkward tugging his hands back in his pockets, unwillingly walking up to him and sitting down at the seat opposite to him. “The regular…” geto ordered, before turning his head back to gojo. 

“Why are you here?” Geto asked directly. 

“I…uh I was just passing by.” He lied. 

Geto leaned back in his seat, his eyes unreadable. 

Gojo sucked in a breath. What is he doing? This isn't why he was here. He wanted to talk. But he couldn't find his words again. He gulped thickly ready to blurt any incoherent talk at him. 

Gojo didn't think anymore. He didn't cared about words any more, he just wanted to have one last conversation. 

“just why?” Geto hissed, “why did you come back?” 

He knew?

“I…ah..”

“Satoru you can't expect me not to know when you're sitting here in this seat.” He blurted frustratingly, bringing his thumb and index to massage his temples. 

“I wanted to apologize,” he met his eyes with geto, saying nothing for a while. The owner brought and placed geto’s pumpkin spice in the table, whisking himself away to the kitchen to leave both of them alone. 

“Drink.” Geto ordered. 

“What?” 

“Drink the coffee, you moron!” He let his head fall in his palms, before groaning. 

Gojo sipped the bitter coffee a bit, placing the cup back down to the saucer. It was still warm. 

“Why are you so infuriated—” 

“How can I not satoru? You know you're being mean. Why must you do so? Just sip the entire coffee and go back.”

“No!” he protested, maybe first time being so vulnerable to someone but he didn't care. “No, I want to talk to you!” 

“satoru ple—” 

“Suguru, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being with you when I should've been there. Sorry I turned a blind eye to you. Sorry for neglecting you. I told myself I was the strongest…but no I'm not. You asked me if I'm the strongest because I'm satoru gojo or I'm satoru gojo because I'm the strongest…let me answer you,” he took in a deep breath before continuing, “I'm not the strongest suguru. I'm not. I was the strongest— because of you. Because you were with me. Because we were the strongest, suguru. I'm the worst friend ever. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I couldn't stop you that day. I wanted to, desperately. I wanted you to stop and not leave me behind alone. I wanted you to think of me suguru. But I couldn't say that.” 

The cafe was silent. So was geto. He never expected gojo to burst out like this. 

“So…do I die or what?” Geto laughed at gojo’s face twisting into horror. “So I do die.” 

“How can you laugh?” Gojo asked him as geto pointed him to sip on the coffee, which he did. 

“I'm laughing at how messed up you look without me…did you have a hard time?” gojo doesn't answer him trying to calm himself down. 

“Listen bummer, you don't have to feel guilty. I chose this path on my own. And I don't regret it, even if I die. Just take care of your shit.” geto sighed, “though I'm skeptical about the one who unalives me…bet it’d be you—” geto halts mid sentence.

Gojo felt something wet in his face, afraid, he brought his hands up to his face, wiping it only to find his tears. Great, he just cried infront of him. 

Geto gulped thickly, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry,” he bit his lips before continuing. “atleast you could do is curse me a little at the very end.” 

Geto’s words made him cry even harder. He didn't try to stop him though.

“satoru, please don't be mean to me, gulp the entire coffee and go back before it gets cold. You wouldn't want me to go into another depressive slump will ya’.” he forwarded his hand hesitatingly, wrapping around gojo’s. He knew the rules of this cafe, and he didn't wanted satoru to stay any longer, considering the bigger threat that looped at gojo’s neck. He didn't wanted the coffee to get cold and gojo to be stuck forever in the time loop becoming the next ghost to haunt the seat. 

“Drink it for me, will ya’.” he said in the most sweetest voice gojo will ever hear again and wiping his tears with the other hand he forwarded the cup to gojo. 

Unwillingly, gojo gulps the bitter coffee, not caring for the aftertaste, his time would end soon. He grips suguru’s hand even tighter. He didn't tell him about kenjaku or the mistakes he'd made, but at least he didn't regretted anymore. 

“Be safe and healthy for me.” Suguru’s words echoed through his ears as he lost his sensations in his body, as if floating upwards. geto's grip on gojo's hand wavered as if he's holding onto air. 

He will not regret anymore. 

“I love you.” he shouted, uncertain, if his voice would reach to geto or not. But he did shout. And geto smiled. He smiled as sweetly as the ocean smiles to those who willingly drown. He muttered something to gojo which wasn't audible to him. And before he knew he opened his eyes in the present again. 

You stood up straight from the counter, sighing in relief, before whisking yourself back to the kitchen. 

“I'm glad you came back safe.” said the owner.

“Yes. Yes thankyou.” He didn't knew but his cheeks still had those tear stains the owner chose to ignore. 

He didn't get to listen to suguru's last words but he didn't regretted anymore. 

“Move.” the lady in white commanded as gojo immediately stood up walking straight to the counter. 

“I'd like to pay.” 

“Yeah. But the pumpkin spice latte’s on the house.” 

“Sure.” Gojo smiled brightly, and for the first time in years he felt it wasn't a mask but a genuine smile. He'd soon catch up with geto.

“ So that will be 2700 yen.” 

“Here.” 

Clang-dong.

The lady in white sat on her seat and opened the novel again; the one titled The lovers.

© strawberrymochin 24 | please don't plagiarize my work |

[nonexistant00tmblr]

I love ii but it WILL be the death of me. I keep thinking about how Baseball's storyline is just so damn tragic, and nobody notices. "Always strikes out", And he 𝘩𝘢𝘴 his whole life (his whole time on the show).

Not rejoining, even when he earned it (Paper most likely had the sympathy of fans due to Paper having been there the longest, but Baseball had also been there almost just as long, and- 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. He 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 threaten to kill anyone upon his release! /sarc)

having a constant stream of ridicule from the other contestants regarding his weight lasting S1 AND the start of S2. Why do they even CARE about his weight brah. Ohhh, that's right! Meshart4 fated him to never get what he wants, like people 𝘯𝘰𝘵 seeing him for only his weight. Womp womp, I guess. Wow Mephone, projecting, much? (Also [in my opinion] weight seems VERY irrelevant for objects to care about, due to how most things that could change the appearance of a human [such as; diet, physical strength, hygiene.] Don't really change an object's appearance.) ((Also also being criticized for his armless-.. ness(?) Ouch.))

As much as being a team leader seems like it would be a 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 thing, with the team he had, it was like being a single mom of 10. Having to mediate all of the drama in his team whilst leading it in the first place put so much pressure on him, not to mention having the weight of his friend's problems weighing on him making things harder to deal with. The reason he and Nickel had that lil tussle back in s2e10, was BECAUSE Baseball had so many bad things happening to him. He just wanted that little reassurance that even with all the crap happening, he was an at least half-decent leader, and all he got was his best friend making a joke about it, and downplaying Baseball's very real feelings. He tried to save it, but just that first comment I feel definitely affected Baseball in a negative way.

//(Lil detour time, I wanna talk about how Nickel affected Baseball in GENERAL [for the better AND the worse.], Baseball clearly views Nickel as his best friend, even after everything they've gone through in season 2, but I don't think that's necessarily a good thing. I think it shows that Baseball was too scared to try and make new friends in the game, as to not accidentally make an enemy. I feel this is because Baseball was slowly realizing that most things he tried to do wouldn't go his way, so he'd cling on to Nickel as his only friend, hoping not to lose him, feeling lucky to have him at all (and Nickel would know all about luck/jjjjjjj). This lead to Baseball disregarding some of Nickel's actions towards himself and Suitcase as to preserve his relationship with Nickel. Though, I do feel that the bond they had was real. It started in season 1, where there was less drama built up over time(ex; Tophy and Knife in s2e1 planting the seed for their inevitable rivalry, vs Taco randomly being that bitch and that hoe. /silly), so Baseball most likely wasn't thinking about "preserving his friendship" with Nickel, but rather being friends with him in general. This gave them that time to have genuine interactions that build up the trust between the two. This is why Baseball played along with whatever Nickel did, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮. That friendship was real, and Nickel was taking advantage of Baseball without even realizing it. I doubt his did this consciously due to his s3 arc, and how he was programmed that way. Nta. /silly. Nickel getting eliminated was a real roadblock for Baseball because (as aforementioned) Nickel was Baseball's only real friend in the game at this point, and Baseball still had that very real connection with him. This is why I feel he was so awkward in s2e14, as he was trying to have that confidence that Nickel had, and he never did. As much as that's really good for him- like, yay! You go girl!! It's inadvertently horrible for him specifically, because he is hardwired to have all of his efforts for naught. It took Baseball all of s2e15 talking to Suitcase to realize all of Nickel's wrongs, and how ignoring them put him in the wrong too. Once he finally realized that, it seemed like Baseball was really coming into his own! Working out his own issues bit by bit.

WRONG!!🤑👅💜 s2e16. We got only one Baseball and Nickel interaction, but it was enough to change Baseball for the rest of the life he had left. Watching Nickel die/get X'd was like s2e13's elimination put to an extreme. It's clear that - even thought he was working out his issues - Baseball still had that strong attachment to Nickel. People respond to grief in many ways, but when things get too much for one person, they can simply go numb. Baseball was in a very sensitive mental state, and this really hit him where it hurts most. His best friend. He went numb, not telling anyone what he saw. Even in Baseball's last moments, he tried to take that leader-like stance, and help everyone but himself, just as Nickel told him he could.) // lil detour over (I say lil as if this wasn't long as HELL💜)

Though I did connect back to the main claim occasionally, Nickel was a very important part of Baseball's character development that matters to this conversation imo.

Getting out in s2e15 was also (possibly) a place where Baseball's programming played a part (alternatively, he got out because Suitcase had too many negative experiences with Baseball, and thought that her deep emotional views of him would impair her gameplay in the finale.) "Always strikes out", even with the people he thought were friends. Even with the person he thought was his friend. Even with Suitcase. I feel the reason Baseball had the response he did, was him coming to terms with things just not going his way, which sets him up in that sensitive mental state in s2e16. He seemed to have come to terms with Suitcase choosing Knife, and didn't want to procrastinate on the obvious, that he was just never enough. Not enough for Suitcase, not enough for his team, not enough to win the game.

He just wasn't the guy who could do it. And he knew he never would be.

He always strikes out.

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day thirteen: somnophilia kink

>>> y'all i worked breeding into the plot again officer take me away!! i just love soft and domestic sho, and it also totally feels like something he'd love!!

>>> starring: shouto todoroki x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: fingering, oral (fem receiving) somno, breeding, reader hates working lmfao, creampie obviously, mating press. >>> wc: 2.6k >>> event masterlist

 shouto loves relaxing. he was sure this was something everyone enjoyed, until he met you. you seemed to stay occupied at all times, delving into hobby after hobby to keep yourself busy. being professional heroes was draining enough, he thought, so why were you indulging in running clubs and extra gym sessions? why did you spend more time learning new recipes and anxiously cleaning the house these days than lounging in bed with him watching tv like you used to? of course, his first assumption is that he has done something to push you away or upset you, as he’s prone to doing. he’s naturally aloof and a bit distant, all things he tries to push past to connect to you, the only person who makes him feel warmth were his coldness usually lies. you know how he is, how he can come off a bit frigid and almost mean without thinking about it, or how he struggles to read your body language and cues—always missing the hints you throw him. you’re used to it by now, far more accommodating than a grown man like him deserves, so he figures this time he needs to get to the bottom of this and make it up to you and prove he can be in tune with your emotions too. 

you had grown restless, but it wasn’t all your husband’s fault. you felt so out of place these days, feeling awkward in your own role in life. you enjoy being a hero some days, other days you can hardly motivate yourself to get out of bed. work had become monotonous and meaningless, the streets of japan were safer than they had been in years past, so most of your days were spent patrolling and training if they weren’t consumed in paper work. you felt stagnant, and things were only complicated further by your conflicting emotions. all your friends from school were retired to spend time with their families or in the process of retiring to go home and take care of their parents or kids—and then there was you. a family would be…perfect, but it was a touchy subject with shouto and you didn’t want to press the matter just because you needed a change in life. so yes, you started tinkering around with hobbies to try and get your mind off of things, knowing you had accepted the possibility of not having children when you agreed to be his misses todoroki. he hadn’t taken the possibility completely off  the table, but you knew he wanted to broach the subject whenever he was ready. so you started using the home gym a little more, picking up books your girlfriends recommended, even working on your cooking skills all in an effort to feel something other than bored.

you didn’t associate your issues with shouto, still acting as normal as possible in other regards other than your drifting away. you really didn’t think he’d notice given the lack of emotional fluency he had, hoping if you could replace the void growing within you that everything would go back to normal and you could be as happy as you were five or ten years ago. but he had noticed, of course. he missed his wife alongside him, but it wasn’t his fault that he had trauma associated with family and was unsure of himself as a father. it certainly wasn’t his fault that when you got married right out of high school you hadn’t cared—knowing that you love him either way. this is still true, of course, but back then you hadn’t imagined  you’d feel this way, this tired of the life you worked so hard for. so ready for the next chapter, especially as ochako welcomes baby midoriya number two and you’re left in charge of the elder brother at the hospital. 

the little boy was only about four or so, absolutely adorable and the image of his father. he was a giggly kid, clinging to his “auntie” with excitement to meet his baby brother or sister. ochako called as soon as she was sure she was in labor, and you dropped everything to go support your closest friend, not that you needed an excuse to leave work early anyway. shouto was still working, of course, as a top five hero he was often kept busy. but that left you to wrangle the toddler on your own. it was way easier than you expected, even with the energetic little boy bouncing all over the waiting room waiting for his dad to come get him. he still conversed with you and ate his lunch like a good boy—though that’s because his parents were so good at raising him, but what would you expect from them? 

all the day proved to you was that you weren’t just making up solutions to your problems, having a family really is what you want. but still, you love your husband more than this want, so you’ll double down on your hobbies until you find something that sticks. 

he reads your texts over and over, waiting on you to get back from the hospital. he had set up a date, truly romantic when he tries to be, and when bakugou answers his calls. following his advice, he had your favorite dinner made and the dining room table was intimately set. ochako had her second baby, and that threw a minor wrench in his plans even lthough he was overjoyed for them, and for you for being their dependable friend in that moment. he sits at the table, all the food keeping warm in the oven as the wax of the candles starts to wane. he had flowers, wine, all the things he knew to try and connect with you and get to the center of your sleepless nights. 

when you walk in, he stands, smiling sheepishly. you smile back, though it doesn’t reach the entirety of your eyes. then you notice he’s guarding the table, and you creep closer. “hey, honey.” 

“welcome home, sweetheart.” he nods, stepping aside to show you the lovely dinner scene just for you. your heart melts a little at his effort, knowing it was always a great show of his love to do something like this, much preferring cuddle sessions and shared showers over grand displays of affection. 

“aw, shou.” you pout, giving him a big hug, “this is so pretty, to what do i owe the pleasure?” you giggle like everything is normal. he hums in thought, slender arms holding your waist as he stews over what to say. 

“you’ve been distant as of late.” he says without a trace of malice or disappointment. his words catch you by surprise–he did notice. he lets you go, pulling out your chair and tilting his head for you to sit. “why?” 

you clear your throat and sit, any charade you wanted to drum up crumbling in your brain. you can’t lie to him, but how could you approach this without feeling like you’re betraying his trust and wishes. you sigh. “i… i’ve just been trying to find new hobbies.” 

“you’re hardly sleeping, and i feel like i never see you anymore.” he frowns, making his way to the oven to retrieve the dinner the chef made. “what is it really, sweetheart? do you feel as if you cannot talk to me? is it something i’ve done?”  

you chew the inside of your lip as he assembles food on your plate. “i don’t enjoy hero life anymore. i’m ready for the next chapter, to feel important for other reasons.” you reply, not wanting to make him at fault for your whirlwind feelings as of late. 

he takes in what you say, smart enough to connect some dots. the picture you sent him of you holding baby midoriya in your arms and big brother proudly sitting on your lap was the happiest you’ve looked in some time. “the next chapter…as in, motherhood?” 

you look up at him, studying his mismatched eyes for a hint of how he feels. you sigh, “i know, i know. i guess that’s why i’ve been a little withdrawn…i feel bad about it, i know what you want.” you chuckle sadly, sipping at the wine provided. “really, i’m trying to get over it, i guess. maybe we could get a dog?” 

now he was disappointed. not in your desires, but that you put his possible feelings above your actual ones without ever speaking to him about it. just like you, he had changed as well. he wasn’t the same unsure eighteen year old he was when you married him, and though he still held trauma from his childhood, he had long accepted the concept of being a father since you were by his side. he could do anything if he was with you. he cuts into the meal and gives you a sympathetic glance. 

“you should have told me. a family…i think i’m ready for that, if you’re saying you’re ready to stay home in that way.” he hums, knowing you wouldn’t put yourself in harm’s way after becoming a mother. you gape at him, replaying his words over in your head. 

“wh–i don’t want you to do it just for me.” you double down, blindsided by his revelation. had you really put yourself through all of this for nothing? 

“i would do anything for you.” he replies instantly, and he meant that with no restrictions. “but i had considered it again around the time izuku welcomed his first.” 

“meaning you were ready four years ago?!” you almost cry out just from the shock alone, and he chuckles softly. 

“not ready to have one then, but i knew i would want some eventually. now is a good time. we’re stable. you made me nervous.” he sips at his wine, eating his food nonchalantly. 

“i made you nervous? i–” you sputter, still grappling with the fact that shouto was more than willing to try for a baby. 

“i thought i messed up, you were drifting from me. i wish i had known all you wanted was a child.” he hums thoughtfully, a full plan coming together in his head to comfort both of you. “and you haven’t been getting enough sleep for weeks, so i’ll make sure you get both tonight.” 

you took that to mean that he’ll fuck you to sleep, another thing he’s prone to do at times. so you shower and meet him in bed, trying to repress your giddiness. you didn’t notice the devious smirk your husband gave you as you sink into his arms. he pulls the blankets over you both, leaning in to give you the routine kisses before bed, and then he turns over like he’s going to sleep. 

you look at the ceiling in the dark with confusion. did he forget or change his mind? 

“you have to go to sleep before i’ll give you that child, sweetheart.” he speaks into the night, making your heart pound with a mix of frustration and intrigue and warmth at how he cares for you, as worked up as you were for him now, you groan and turn over. your brain is quiet as it’s your heart that races for once, and eventually you’re able to drift to sleep. 

he waits a few hours to make sure you’re good and asleep, his whole plan would be ruined if he woke you up. shouto loves you more than anything, and he hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he was worried. you had to be well rested, especially if you hoped to give him a baby after all. so only when he hears your quiet snores and deep breathing does he scoot closer, gently positioning you on your back. you dressed in a little nightgown in anticipation of him anyhow, so it was easy for him to locate your waiting bundle of nerves. he rubs you carefully, drawing small circles over your hood as you squirm the slightest bit beside him. he slides his fingers down to the familiar hole beneath, nodding at the feeling of slick appearing, your sweet body was responding to him. he crawls between your legs and carefully pushes your nightgown up over your chest, completely bewitched at the sight of your nipples perking up and goosebumps covering your perfect body. 

he thinks it’s almost ridiculous to think he wouldn’t want children with you. you’ve been in his life since his ua days and no one knew him like you did. you were someone so clearly meant to be a mother, it would be a crime not to give you the family you deserve. he easily parts your thighs, massaging and kneading the thickness he finds there as he lowers his face to your slick cunt. he’s always so gentle, but no time more than now as he hopes to remedy all your problems in one fell swoop like a good husband should. he laps at your center, angular nose bumping against the sensitive clit nestled above until he can hear your breathing change. he didn’t think he’d like it this much, but knowing that your body responds to him even subconsciously has his dick growing in his pants. you taste just as good as usual, growing wetter against his face with every passing second. he slides his fingers in, needing to know when you came. you spasm around the digits as his mouth focuses your swollen clit, and he knows you won’t take much longer. he may need his time understanding emotions and the like, but he knew your body like he knew his own. a few more flicks of his tongue over your nub and pumps of his fingers tickling your insides has you unraveling, and even in your sleep you look majestic cumming on his face. 

he shoves himself out of his boxers, admiring the way you still jerk when he presses his his fingers to your sensitivity. he draws your thighs around his slender hips, angling his pretty cock to your folds. he nuzzles the length along your folds to coat himself despite the pre oozing from his pink tip, taking a second to enjoy that sight in and of itself. then he sheaths himself, careful not to hiss too loud. you feel amazing, clenching him so tight even in the r.e.m stages of sleep, it’s almost too much for him to process. this was the first attempt at a baby, a family he never imagined himself having until he married and matured with you. it’s intoxicating, really, the way he rocks his way into your waiting pussy, silky walls guiding him in and out without any resistance. he has to bite down on his lip not to grunt and moan at how you feel, promising himself that he’d stay quiet and fill you to the brim. he pushes your legs to your chest, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. you only pant softly as he draws in and out of you, figuring this deep angle would be the best for his seed. 

all you did was follow his orders, getting the rest he demanded in exchange for his cum, even though he really won in the end. getting you to sleep, getting to see your body recognize and beg for him, getting to shove his cock deep and impress himself on your womb was more than a fair trade. a soft grunt slips past his lips as his hips stutter. his balls feel unimaginably heavy and then they don’t, his heavy load being fucked even deeper by the determined man you married. even when his warmth pools around his own dick as it goes soft inside you, he doesn’t quit, rolling his hips until he’s too sensitive to continue. 

he’s the one that doesn’t get any sleep that night, watching you sleep with his seed tucked in you only inspired him to take breaks and keep pumping you full, resigning himself to rest hours later  when he can’t possibly cum anymore.