#But my fatigued self needs name help

[changingplumbob]

Name the next Chopra(s)? - Girl version

If you've been following along you'll know Cassandra is pregnant for the third time but doesn't yet know the gender or number of babies. For their next kid/s Rahul and Cassandra have been wanting name/s that align with their heritage more than naming after a specific person. So I searched up some names of Indian, Greek, Cypriot and Moroccan origin. Non binding poll but voice your choice below!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

CALL MY NAME AND I'LL COME RUNNING ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru can be irritating, at times. but even if you push him away, he’ll always, always be there for you when you need him.

word count; 8.7k (this was supposed to b a short drabble but i was possessed by the devil halfway through)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, reader n toru have a fight, mild swearing (a couple fucks here n there), hurt/comfort, satoru has communication issues but he’s trying his best, depictions of stalking (reader gets followed by a random creep but satoru comes to the rescue dw), uhh implied thoughts of violence? (satoru wants to Maul said dude but doesn’t), literally just me being in love with satoru gojo for 8.7k words straight

a/n; no thoughts head empty only gojo running through the streets like a wild beast looking for u <33 im normal about him yeah.

“you’re so annoying sometimes, you know that?”

satoru smiles. the sentence isn’t one he’s unaccustomed to hearing.

usually, the words are soaked in an undeniable fondness, as they spill from your lips. rich with exasperated love. one that never fails to have the corners of satoru’s lips curling up, a mellow kind of joy blossoming in his chest.

but now, that fondness is nowhere to be found. 

you sound thoroughly exasperated, and a little bit fatigued. more than anything else, there’s a vague irritation behind the tilt of your voice, something almost cold. it makes all the difference in the world. 

and yet, despite that, a certain someone chooses to pay no heed to the bad omen.

“aw, c’mon. you know you love me, baby.”

satoru is grinning. lighthearted, awfully sweet. there’s a certain smugness to it, though, one he couldn’t wash away even if he was aware of it; you wouldn’t do so even if you could. that smugness is a part of him, one that you’d usually find endearing. 

but right now, it only seeks to further your frustration.

it was a stupid fight, truthfully. completely meaningless. satoru had forgotten to pick up after himself for, like, the fourth consecutive time, and so you grew annoyed. not by a lot, but enough that you felt the need to be firm when you reminded him not to make the same mistake over and over again.

but satoru had only grinned, in that self-satisfied fashion of his, and apologized in a way you couldn’t possibly call sincere. then he did what he usually does — promises to work on it. to not do it again. he never follows through, though.

but even that thought wasn’t anywhere near enough to make you truly angry. what really began to irk you was the fact that satoru wasn’t taking you seriously, even in the slightest.

that’s how he always is, when it comes to this kind of thing. and you try to be patient, you do. you try to be understanding. sometimes you even appreciate that he keeps the atmosphere light, but other times, you just can’t help but feel irritated by it.

and the current situation happens to fall into the latter category.

you don’t care if satoru leaves a candy wrapper or two out, every once in a while. of course you don’t. it’s a silly thing to argue about. but would it hurt for him to just listen to you? to try to put himself in your shoes, for once? it’s not about the wrappers, or the undone dishes. it’s about the way he treats you when you complain about it — like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t matter. even if it obviously does, to you.

so, gradually, the topic of your little argument began to shift, into a conversation about satoru. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to talk about the things that bother you in a serious fashion. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to take you seriously.

and he just keeps proving your point, with every word that falls from his lips.

at this point, you’re genuinely beginning to feel a little angry. but satoru doesn’t see that as the warning sign it is — he just thinks it’s cute. he’s just been cooing at you, this whole time, despite your numerous attempts to actually explain how much his behavior affects you sometimes. it feels a bit like talking to a wall. satoru keeps on teasing you, even as you try to be firm about your point, and only brushes you off with empty promises to do better and more unneeded comments about how much he wants to hug you when you pout like that.

and you falter, a little. of course you do. you’re weak to satoru. weak to his words, that sweet voice of his, that pretty grin. but that only makes everything worse, because if you let yourself look even a little bit flustered at his comments, he sees that as his cue to continue.

you don’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose, at this point. is he doing it because he knows it’ll annoy you, or does he genuinely not understand that you’re upset? you’d like to think that there’s no malicious intent behind it, but can’t he see how troubled you are? you don’t get it. you don’t get him, and that frustrates you most of all. satoru can be so goddamn convoluted, sometimes.

so you simply can’t help but feel annoyed. angry, even. how long have you been arguing for, at this point? you’re not sure. but you feel the frustration inside of you grow, as the minutes tick by, into something you know will eventually explode.

a sigh falls from your lips, deep and exasperated. a little bit exhausted. “i’m serious, satoru. you’re not even listening.”

“i am!” he protests, stubbornly. childishly. “you just look so cute when you’re all mad. not my fault you’re so distracting.”

satoru smiles, voice sugar sweet, but all you can do is frown. does he really think it’s cute that you’re upset? the thought makes you somewhat sad. but you can’t show that, can’t let that part of you win — you don’t even want to think about the possibility of you crying, because of this. yeah, no way in hell. 

so instead, you channel it into anger. as the blood inside your veins comes to a boiling point, you dig your nails into the skin of your palms, gnawing at your bottom lip and shifting from one foot to another.

”satoru, i’m —” another sigh, sharp and vexed like the blade of a knife. ”i’m trying to have a serious conversation, here. can’t you see that i’m upset?”

satoru takes a moment to look at you, from behind the black glass of his shades.

he can. of course he can see that. you’re frowning, and there’s a crease between your brows, and you keep huffing and sighing every three seconds — you’re obviously, undoubtedly upset. and satoru wants to take you seriously, he does. it’s just that the part of his brain that only ever wants to coddle and tease you keeps persuading him not to.

he’s not lying, either; you do look cute. almost too cute to take seriously, when you’re pouting so sweetly, a little red in the face from all the frustration bubbling inside your chest. you look so small, glaring up at him like an angry puppy. 

satoru can’t help but smile. it’d be impossible not to.

and he will listen to you, will take you seriously. he knows you’re angry, knows you’re upset, and he intends to deal with that properly. but he doesn’t need to do it right now.

just a little more teasing, before he has to stop beating around the bush. satoru dreads it, a little bit, dreads having to genuinely be serious, be open and apologetic. it always feels so strange, so discomforting. 

all that stuff can wait until later. for now, he just wants to see you blush a little more, huff and puff at his limitless affection, that he knows you love deep down. where’s the harm?

(and therein lies the problem. satoru is observant, and typically good at seeing the line that he shouldn’t cross when it comes to you. but there are times when he slips up, times when he doesn’t realize that his words have begun to sting. times when the line becomes blurry, because he knows some part of you enjoys the way he babies you, and sometimes it blinds him to the part of you that doesn’t.)

satoru is smiling. it’s the same as always — big, bright, glazed over with honey-sweet adoration. smug and teasing. it’s such a satoru-like smile that it makes your breath hitch, sometimes, makes your heart race with wonder. but now all it does is annoy you. everything you love about satoru is annoying you, right now. 

in your eyes, that pretty smile of his seems almost taunting. like he’s trying to pick a fight with you, trying to make you even more upset. you don’t want to blow up over something like this, you really really don’t — but for some reason, you feel dangerously close to. it’s not like you at all.

you bore into his eyes with a cold glare, even though you can’t exactly see them with his shades in the way. posture straight and rigid as you try to make yourself look bigger. you must look at least a little bit menacing, like this. right?

“i’m seriously angry with you,” you say, hoping your voice sounds as austere to his ears as it does to yours. “don’t you get that?”

satoru coos, unable to hold the sound back. he doesn’t notice the flicker of hurt in your eyes, only focusing on how the sunset rays frame your figure, kissing your skin with sun-soaked fervor. you look so pretty. and that angry look on your face is too tantalizing not to tease.

“aww,” he croons, inching closer to you. there’s a teasing glint in his eyes that you can’t see, unmistakably fond. “is my little baby that upset?”

you blink. his voice sounds even more sugar-sweet now, obviously exaggerated. there’s amusement there, too — like this is just one big joke to him. you think he must be doing it to belittle you, to embarrass you. speaking to you like you’re some kind of grumpy toddler, and not a grown adult trying to have a serious conversation with their partner. your blood boils, boils, boils.

— and so the cup overflows.

“oh, go fuck yourself.”

it’s almost in a hiss that the words fall from your lips, cold and harsh; they leave the confines of your throat before you have a chance to reconsider them, sudden and sickeningly heavy. crude, too. you’d never be so crass with him under normal circumstances.

but you’re overwhelmed, thoroughly and completely, and satoru is being particularly infuriating. you genuinely feel hurt by the way he’s disregarding your feelings, and that realization stings more than anything. 

so you can’t help but say the words, louder than you meant to, before turning on your heel swiftly and walking out of the room. 

you don’t even have time to register what you’re doing, legs moving on their own before your mind can catch up. brisk and heavy steps carry you to the door, all while you furiously attempt to blink away the tears of frustration that begin to form in your eyes.

it only takes a second for you to grab your jacket — then you’re out.

satoru hears the front door close, echoing off the walls of your apartment. you don’t quite slam it shut, but you close it with more force than usual, and he can’t help but inwardly wince.

a moment passes. 

then, he flops down on the couch, lanky arms and legs dangling uncomfortably off the edges. the groan that slips from his lips is muffled by the soft cushion as he burrows his face into it, while replaying your interaction inside his mind.

satoru can’t help but feel uncomfortable, with this conclusion. a little bit irked. a vague something rests inside his chest, something he doesn’t quite want to admit to feeling. it makes him feel a little bit sick.

(”oh, go fuck yourself.”)

he can’t recall you ever raising your voice at him like that. when it comes to him, you’re usually so patient; soft, understanding, gentle. for you to have snapped in such a way — to have stormed out of the apartment in your anger — he must have pushed you pretty far.

satoru sighs.

he really pissed you off, huh?

(he can never quite seem to get this right, can he?)

it was never his intention to make you genuinely mad. he just lost sight of the line, for a second. that’s all.

and maybe he was also trying to avoid the issue, trying to avoid actually arguing with you. because he hates it. he hates it more than anything. satoru would much rather see you smile and blush than act all serious and sad. 

he just wanted to make you laugh.

was it insensitive? yeah, probably. he just can’t help but fuck this up, it seems. now he’s gone and made you angry — and as much as the sight would usually thrill him, as cute as you look when you’re irritated, a pit of anxiety settles in his gut. everything just feels wrong.

more than anything, satoru feels restless. because, right now, there’s nothing he can do. he can’t chase after you, even if just to apologize — that’d make you even angrier.

he knows he needs to give you space. you were obviously overwhelmed; some fresh air will do you good.

it irks him, though. satoru wants to fix it. he always wants to fix everything, before it even breaks. and even now, all his mind can do is spin in circles, wondering how he could possibly cheer you up.

he’ll just have to apologize, when you get back. and hope you forgive him. maybe he can get you something sweet to munch on, or a bouquet of flowers. would that make everything okay again?

satoru doesn’t know. so he just scratches his head, and tries his damndest not to think of how defeated you looked before leaving.

your steps are heavy, dragging you forward, leading you somewhere you have no knowledge of. it’s chilly out, and the sun is already setting.

everything in the world feels so wrong. like it’s tilted slightly to the left, like the earth stopped spinning around its axis. like everything suddenly lost its saturation. 

you just needed to get away from him, for a while. away from that smug smile, that patronizing tilt of his voice. you couldn’t even stand to be in the same apartment as him. it’s not often you feel that way, not often at all. 

and it only increases your growing frustration. 

you are beginning to calm down, though — you know you are. the crisp evening air and the pleasant mingle of people soothes your muddled senses, smoothing down the crease of your brow and the ache in your chest.

a heavy discomfort, and a growing guilt. that’s all you can feel, as the anger slowly seeps out of you, turning into vapour with every exhale of your breath.

you hate arguing with satoru. you hate it more than anything. the guilt clawing at your chest barely leaves any room for anger — you almost yelled at him. just the thought of doing that to satoru makes you want to cry.

because you love him, at the end of the day, even when he’s being absolutely insufferable. he’s a sweetheart, your sweet boy, always trying to lighten the mood and make you smile. maybe you should have been a bit more understanding; you know satoru’s bad at this stuff, bad with emotions and vulnerability. and deep down, you know he’d never hurt you, not on purpose.

he probably just didn’t realize that you were genuinely upset. it’s a mistake that anyone could make.

but it just makes you feel so frustrated. like he’s not even looking at you. always hiding behind those shades, never opening up. never letting you see him wear anything but a smile. you want him to take it slow, open up to you at his own pace, but that doesn’t make the wait sting any less.

it’s not like you were asking for a lot. first, you simply asked him to pick up after himself. the way you do, the way anyone does. then, you simply asked him to treat you with respect.

a sudden pang of bitterness runs through your chest. sure, you could’ve handled it all better — but he could have, too.

every step you take hits the pavement with an irritated kind of decision. whatever. whatever. for now, you don’t want to think about it — all you want is to walk around and take in the sights, enjoy the peace and quiet.

so that’s exactly what you do.

before you know it, the sun has set, and the moon has risen — shining down and painting the streets in a mesmerizing blue, ephemeral and tranquil. it’s enough to give you some peace of mind, as you lurk around familiar streets, soaking in all the open space. so different from that suffocating apartment, and the man inside it, with that shit-eating grin and those breathtaking eyes.

(he’s called you, a couple times. you haven’t been gone for long — an hour or so, you think, maybe two. some part of you wanted to answer, just to hear his voice through the phone, but the part of you that’s still awfully irritated shut that down immediately. so, stubbornly, you just let it ring.)

the streets are empty, and the sky is dark. the light of all the lampposts illuminate your way, along with the soft flicker of the moon and stars. an endless galaxy stretches out before your eyes, little pale dots of stardust shining like jewels.

an ever-lasting, never-changing sky, that continues on for infinity. limitless. all the space you could possibly want, and then some.

for a moment, you can only look at the glittering stars in wonder, soaking in the feeling of absolute solitude. 

— it doesn’t last, though.

“you alone?”

a sudden voice calls out from behind you. close, discerningly so, enough to make you flinch. you curse yourself for not noticing anything sooner, caught up in looking at the starry sky, in angling your phone to take a picture of it.

hesitantly, you turn your gaze towards the sound — wincing under your breath when you see the man a couple steps away from you. he looks a little crazed, you think, shifting from foot to foot and hunching over. 

oh fuck no.

great, just what you needed. that’s just your luck, isn’t it? your brain can only spin in circles, trying to get your body to react, to run. to do literally anything except just stand there like a deer caught in headlights.

in your nervosity, all you manage is a painfully awkward laugh, as you stutter out a halfhearted response.

“oh — no, i’m just waiting for my boyfriend!” you smile, unconvincingly. your face must be soaked in unease. whatever he wants with you, it can’t be anything good.

at least you said that one word clearly — boyfriend. you can only hope it’s enough to scare him away.

but the man only shifts a little more, emitting a gruff kind of hum, not saying anything else. your spine tingles with apprehension. every cell in your body wants you to leave. he seems a little intoxicated, you think, and the thought only stirs the anxious feeling in your chest further.

god. why does this have to happen to you? why now?

thankfully, you’ve got your phone in hand. as your mind scrambles for solutions, your fingers tap at the screen, urgently scrolling through your contacts. in such a frightened state, your acting must be positively awful, but you make a vague attempt. not like you’re getting any oscars for this, either way.

“sorry — he’s calling me now!” you stammer out, taking a step away from the man. he doesn’t make a move to follow you, so you take your chances and press your phone to your ear, feet carrying you forward with haste.

in your fear, you don’t think twice about calling satoru — but you can’t help but internally wince at the decision, as the anxious patter of your own heart resounds in your ears.

how are you supposed to talk to him, exactly? what are you supposed to say? hey, i know i just told you to go fuck yourself, but will you hear me out? i need your help. 

and you do. you do need his help. all you want is for him to swoop in, to take you in his arms, your knight in shining armor.

satoru’s said it to you, before — that if you need anything, anything at all, you can come to him. that you can always, always lean on him, without exception. 

you know that he likes helping you. likes it when you open up to him, when you put your trust in him. when you aren’t afraid to ask for his help.

so despite everything, you hold your phone to your ear, walking away with brisk steps and praying that he’s not petty enough to ignore your call like you did to his.

back home, satoru is still resting on the couch, tapping his feet and trying to distract himself. 

he’s a little anxious. it’s dark out, and you’re not answering any of his calls. when you’re out of sight, like this, he can’t help but feel a little helpless — worried about everything that could happen to you. but it’s not like he can force you to pick up. 

you’re probably at a friend’s house, or something. telling them all about what an asshole your boyfriend is. as much as the thought stings, satoru hopes it’s true; it’s all he can comfort himself with. anything is fine as long as you aren’t out walking alone, in the cold, in the dark.

entirely caught up in his spiralling thoughts, satoru almost flinches when the phone rings. laying on the table in front of him, just within arm’s reach. it only takes a second for him to react as his gaze flits to the bright screen, and he sees the contact name, the many heart emojis littering it.

with a start, satoru jumps up. his back straightens out, and his hand flies to grab the phone — he’d feel embarrassed at his own eagerness, but right now he just can’t help it. even under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t let the phone ring more than twice, always giddy to hear your voice whenever possible. 

this time, however, he does falter slightly.

he takes a split second to simply stare at the phone in his hand, at the affectionate contact name. what is he supposed to say to you, exactly? how is he supposed to act?

satoru doesn’t know, but as if afraid that you’ll change your mind and stop the call, yourself, he opts to simply answer. he’ll just have to figure out what to say on the fly.

(unfortunately, satoru’s instinctual response to anything is either smugness or playfulness.)

“well, well. look who finally decided to pick up.”

you’re the one who called him, not the other way around — but satoru can’t be bothered with small details like that right now. he only hopes you don’t notice the faint nervosity in his voice, the stiffness as he tries to sound unbothered.

you don’t notice anything at all, mind far too muddled, too clouded by fear. all you can do is take a deep breath, desperately trying to grasp control over your wavering voice.

“— satoru?” you call out, voice meek and frail. the man in question notices it immediately, sitting up a little straighter, but before he can say anything you continue. “i’m sorry, i just — are — are you still at home?”

there’s an anxious tilt to your voice, one that’d be impossible for satoru to miss. your words are a little breathy, spoken in a fast tempo, and he feels a sudden dread crawl up his spine.

something is wrong, his senses alert him.

“yeah,” he hums, trying to hide the turmoil in his own voice. “why? is everything okay?”

the line is quiet, for a second. “it’s just —“ an exhale, as you once again attempt to steer your voice in a less nervous direction. “just… some creepy guy tried to talk to me. i told him i was waiting for my boyfriend and now i’m walking away from him but he’s still following me.” another exhale, as you worriedly sneak a glance over your shoulder. ”i just — i don’t know what to —”

“where are you?”

satoru cuts you off, voice eerily serious. his gaze turned cold the moment he heard creepy guy, legs moving him towards the coat rack by the front door as if on autopilot. 

he’s already left the apartment by the time you answer, looking around you meekly.

“i… don’t know,” you sigh. “i’m not far. i walked past that one crêpe stand by the park but then i, like… continued up that street? and now i don’t really know where i’m going.”

you continue, a little exasperated as your gaze flits around the dark street. attempting to recall your steps, a difficult task with how on edge you feel. “i’ll try to look for a sign, or something,” you gulp. “… i’m sorry. i just wanted to get away from him.”

satoru’s voice is comforting, when he speaks, eager to console you. grounding and soft. “hey, it’s okay. i’m heading there now, alright?” he smiles, hoping you’ll hear it in his voice. “i’ll be there before you know it.”

you do hear it, and his words ease a little of the anxiety in your chest, despite your fear. “okay.” 

the line grows quiet, again, and your brows furrow in worry. “can — can i keep talking to you?” you ask, uncertain. a little pitiful. ”please?”

“of course,” satoru answers, instantaneous. he’s already making his way towards the crêpe stand with decision in his steps, mentally scanning the area ahead. despite his own anxiety at the situation, he attempts to sound as secure as he can possibly manage, desperate to soothe the worry in your voice.

“try to relax for me, okay? nobody’s gonna hurt you. not while i’m here.”

his words are absolute, as he consoles you. he sounds so sure of himself, so much that you can’t help but believe in his words. so you nod, emitting a weak hum when you remember he can’t see you.

“can you tell me what you see, baby?”

“uhh…” you look around, blindly, trying to find some sort of meaningful hint around you. “there’s like… some toy shop?” 

satoru only hums. “can you check your location on your phone?” 

you blink. 

of course. why on earth didn’t that cross your mind before? 

“oh — yeah — fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i didn’t —“ you sigh, heavy. “hold on.”

following satoru’s instructions swiftly, your gaze scans over the screen. he waits, patiently, already heading past the park and up ahead. as soon as you succeed in finding the name of the street, you echo it to him.

satoru sighs, a little relieved. “okay,” he hums. “i’m not that far away. i’ll be there soon.” he only hopes his words can soothe your fear, even a little. “is he still following you?”

you glance behind you, and meet the gaze of the stranger. just like you were afraid of, he’s still following you — if anything, he seems to have gotten a little closer. with a jolt, your heartbeat picks up.

“yeah,” you gulp. 

satoru’s chest tightens. he emits a low hum. “just hold on. i’ll hurry.”

focusing only on the tilt of satoru’s voice, you try to calm your breathing. you just want to see him. the thought of doing so is the only thing keeping your trembling ribcage intact, at this point. 

you swallow a shaky breath.

“thanks, toru.”

a sudden pang of ache sprouts in satoru’s chest, like thorny vines curling around his ribcage. his heart hurts. you sound so scared, so very small. 

this is all his fault, he thinks. all of it. he got too careless; none of this would’ve happened if he had only been more considerate. if he had just stopped you from leaving and apologized, or hadn’t upset you in the first place. then he wouldn’t have to hear that scared little voice, wouldn’t have to imagine your body shaking like a leaf in the cold night. so far away from him. 

but satoru can’t beat himself up over it, not yet. there’ll be more than enough time for that later. for now, he needs to get to you — that’s the only thing on his mind.

so he lets his feet carry him forward, running towards your location with bated breath. he’s sure you can hear it, through the phone, even though he tries to contain it.

the sound consoles you, if anything. it reminds you that satoru is there, that he’s on his way. that there’s no need to be scared. 

but you can’t help but freak out, a little, when you hear the man call out from behind you.

“hey!” he slurs, stumbling towards you with unsteady steps. his voice is loud, angry, and it sends your mind reeling into panic mode.

a flinch overtakes your body, before you stumble forward, walking even faster than before. you’re almost running now, breath hitching as you gulp. satoru hears it all — your panic, the echo of the man. his own tempo picks up.

“baby, calm down, okay?” he consoles you, voice concerned and honey-sweet. “just keep walking. i’m almost there.”

“sorry —“ you squeak out, between flurry breaths. breathing uneven, laboured and anxious. but you try your best to calm down. “‘s just scary.”

it almost feels physical, the way it irks him. satoru wants to pull you close, more than anything, but he can’t. and that just makes the calamity inside his chest grow, clawing at his ribcage as if trying to escape, to go to your side. 

(he never, ever wants to hear that kind of fear in your voice again.)

“i know,” he soothes. “you’re doing good, honey. listen — he’s not gonna touch you. i won’t let him. you have nothing to be scared of.”

you nod, even as you exhale a shaky breath. ”i know.” 

and you do. you know there’s a truth, to satoru’s words, one that’s never failed you before.

because satoru is your safe space, at the end of the day — he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and sometimes he’s bad with emotions. but he tries, you know he does. and, more than anything else, you know that he’ll always, always be there when you need him. he’ll always be there to protect you. 

and a part of you is sure that everything will be okay, as long as he’s around.

(it’s easy to forget how trustworthy satoru really is, how much he cares. how dependable he is. and how serious he can get, when he truly needs to be, despite his childishness. it’s moments like these that remind you of that.)

but it’s still scary, at the end of the day. you can’t help but feel uncomfortable, a little lost in the world. because you and satoru just fought, you just told him to go fuck himself, and yet here he is. running to your side, in the middle of the night, because you’re scared and alone and you need him.

the man continues to shout, behind you, muttering curses you can’t quite make out. you look over your shoulder nervously, steps hurried.

and satoru runs like a man possessed, through the moonlit streets, gaze scanning the area like a wild beast. his most visceral instinct is screaming at him, tugging at his flesh and bones, desperate to protect you. to comfort you. to wash all your worries away. 

as he makes a sharp turn, he momentarily stops the movement, halting to look around. he thinks he must look a little crazed, with the moonlight illuminating his eyes, but he couldn’t care less.

especially not when his gaze lands on a certain person, further down the street — small and alone.

your eyes meet his.

with the darkness of the street, it’s hard to make anything out, but the light of the lamppost helps. though even without it, satoru’s sure he’d know it was you, just from the sensation that unfurls in his chest as his gaze lands on your figure. 

an audible sigh of immense relief falls from his lips, and his tense shoulders relax, eyes softening just a tad. he hears a similar noise coming from the phone in his grasp, and he assumes that means you recognize him too. not bothering to end the call, he puts it in his pocket, walking over to you with brisk steps. 

you stumble towards him, yourself, the worried crease between your brows now smoothed away. the closer he gets, the faster you move, until you can see the blue of his eyes. two pocket-sized moons.

satoru swoops you in for a hug before either of you can say anything.

he cradles you close, awfully close, so close you can hear his heavy breathing against your ear. it tickles your neck, along with his soft hair, and you shiver. his fragrance envelops your senses, a blend between fresh laundry, strawberries and some expensive cologne. your favorite scent in the world. 

and suddenly, the world is devoid of danger. nothing can get to you while satoru’s there. all that exists is you, and him, and the soft flicker of the moon.

satoru squeezes you tightly, ensuring himself over and over again that you’re safe. he might be squeezing you a little too tight, but he can’t bring himself to think about that just yet.

finally, that growing calamity inside his chest is satiated. winding down at the feeling of you pressed up against him, the indisputable proof that you’re okay. with you in his arms, satoru feels like everything is alright, again.

the fear inside his chest, so foreign it leaves him shaken to the very core, finally begins to dissipate too. he doesn’t think there’s anything that makes him feel quite as hopeless as the thought of not being there for you when you need him. he never wants to feel that fear again. it’s suffocating. it crushes his lungs.

all he can do is hold you close, his big palm smoothing down your hair, the back of your head, your spine. warm and comforting. keeping you steady against him. he can feel your heartbeat, rapid and anxious, so fast that his heart aches. satoru is eager to soothe you, eager to make it go away.

”i’m here, baby,” he breathes, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head. ”you’re safe now.”

the words are spoken softly, right by your ear, and you exhale a shaky breath. you’re bundling up his clothing with your fists, anchoring yourself to him. after a little while, you let go, opting to wrap your arms around his midriff instead. nuzzling into his broad chest, you try to blink away your tears and contain your sniffles.

you nod against him, and satoru kisses the crown of your head.

and, finally, his gaze strays. it falls farther down the street, until it lands on a certain man — shifting from one foot to another. watching you both in silence.

the calamity inside his chest rouses from its slumber, once more.

satoru makes sure to keep his hands on you, still rubbing your back with one steady palm cradling the back of your head. keeping your face hidden in his chest, safe and secure.

then he raises his head, back straight, full height on display as his eyes meet the stranger’s. he can tell they do, even with the distance, the darkness of the street.

and satoru knows he looks menacing. he knows the light of the lamppost illuminates his figure perfectly, framing his tall stature and broad shoulders. and he knows the moonlight caressing his skin illuminates his face, his cold eyes — blue and uncanny, glowing even brighter than the moon. staring daggers into the man’s soul. if looks could kill, there wouldn’t even be any remains left to find.

the man stiffens, visibly, and satoru delights in it. he doesn’t leave, though, and for a second satoru wonders if he’s really intoxicated enough to come closer — 

but, sure enough, all he does is stagger a little. then he walks away, grumbling under his breath, hands in his pockets.

and satoru isn’t satisfied, with this conclusion. not in the slightest. he wants to run up to the man, wants to hold him up by the throat, wants to tell him off. because he has the nerve to terrorize someone like that, stalk them with intentions he knows can’t be anything but revolting. the nerve to do that to you, of all the people in the world —

satoru doesn’t know if he’s hated anyone quite as much. 

and a part of him wants to make him cower. make him fear for his life, just to make sure he never does anything like this again. leave him with a fear so great it’ll linger for as long as he’s alive.

(and a more animalistic side of satoru, one he doesn’t want to acknowledge, wants to do things that are much, much worse.)

— but you come first. without question, and without exception. he refuses to leave you alone, and refuses to make you look at the man for even a second more. 

so he’ll focus on you, entirely.

he can tell you’re still shaken up, heartbeat pulsating against him, little flutters of life prickling his skin. there’s a desperation in the way you hug his waist, like he could disappear at any moment. like he’ll slip away if you don’t keep him close. the sight tugs at satoru’s heartstrings. 

his first priority is to soothe you, always and forever. so that’s exactly what he does.

satoru smiles. it’s small, in the wake of the situation, but awfully sincere. fingers reaching down to trace over your jaw, he gently urges you to look at him; when you do so, hesitant, he cups your cheek with his palm.

your teary eyes feel like daggers to his heart, an unmistakable proof of his failure. his failure to protect you, to keep you safe and happy. but at the same time, he’s glad, from the bottom of his heart — that you’d let him see you like this. even after everything.

you look very meek, blinking the tears away as you look into his eyes. they’re bright, and comforting. you wonder if he left the shades at home, if he rushed over here so hurriedly that he didn’t think to bring them with him. you’re happy, in any case — the effect they have on you is undeniable. 

you can’t bring yourself to look away, consoled by the flickers of white inside his irises, like fluffy clouds in the blue sky. ever-lasting, never-changing.

satoru tilts his head, smile sweet and understanding. ”that was scary, hm?” 

his voice is tender, somehow so mature. like he’s some older, wiser being, comforting a scared child. it’s so soothing, so very grounding.

squeezing your eyes shut, you can only bring yourself to nod, as you nuzzle back into his chest.

”you’re okay now, honey,” satoru coos, smoothing down your back as you sniffle. an immense softness seeps through his whisper. ”i’ll always be here to protect you.”

there’s a truth to the statement, heavy and pious. like an oath, a pledge, something for you to believe in unquestioningly. you allow yourself to soak in the words, knowing them to be true.

you’re safe, now. there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. satoru’s here, and he’s hugging you, pressing kisses against your shoulder.

but you just can’t stop crying.

when you speak up, your voice is weak, barely above a whisper. close to breaking apart at the seams. too tired after everything to resist the guilt inside your veins, you sniffle, and part your lips.

”i’m sorry i yelled at you.”

satoru stills.

then, his gaze softens, considerably. he hears himself coo, softly, palm smoothing down the back of your head. 

his sweet angel. apologizing to him, when he’s the one who started this whole mess. when you’re still so shaken up. because he let you leave the house angry, because he made you angry in the first place. because he didn’t see how important the discussion was to you.

(“you’re not even listening.”)

yeah. he wasn’t. he didn’t really want to.

an acute sense of shame. an intense guilt. that’s what he’s been trying to push down, all this time. that’s the unnamed something. 

it’s hard for him. to be as sincere as you, as open with his feelings and emotions. as mature. because even in a situation like this, you can swallow your pride and frustration, and apologize. even when you aren’t in the wrong. you’re always the bigger person, always the one to give in first, because he’s too stubborn to do so himself.

next time, satoru pledges, he won’t let you. next time he’ll be the one to swallow his pride.

because, yes, being vulnerable and admitting that he was in the wrong makes him feel a little like he’s being skewered alive — but you’re important to him. he loves you. and he wants you to know how much he trusts you, how special you truly are. 

if he can show you that, by being a little sincere, a little serious, then any discomfort he feels in the process is a small price to pay.

satoru’s lips meet the crown of your head, as he encircles your smaller frame, arms reaching around your neck to pull you close. he rests his jaw lightly on the top of your head, breathing in your scent. ”you have nothing to apologize for, baby.”

a pause lingers between the words he’s already said and the ones he yearns to say, but can’t seem to pull out from within his throat. it takes effort, to squeeze them out; but every time he replays your own apology in his mind, it gets a little easier. he squeezes you lightly before opening his mouth, as if to give him strenght.

“i’m sorry.”

you blink. 

for once, satoru sounds sincere when he apologizes — almost painfully so. bordering on something you think may be nervosity. you try to look up, to catch a glimpse of his expression, but he keeps you hidden in the crook of his neck.

”i was being immature,” he continues, sighing. you don’t know if you’ve ever heard satoru sound so uncomfortable. ”you know how bad i am with this stuff. but i never want to — you know.” 

he makes a gesture with one of his hands, as if that will say the words for him.

“— i didn’t mean to upset you. honestly.” satoru inhales the cold air, in hopes it’ll make him more honest. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you listen. intently, not missing a word, not a single tilt of his voice. it all sounds so genuine, almost foreign on his tongue. satoru seems to be trying to find the right words, grumbling a little under his breath. 

he’s cute, like this. kind of awkward, but that only makes him cuter. you nuzzle closer to him, comforted by his very existence.

”… i’ll work on it,” he whispers, at last. “i’ll listen to you. i promise. i really, really will.” 

you think satoru’s voice wavers, just a little, when he says his final piece. 

“so please don’t cry.”

this time, satoru doesn’t stop you when you attempt to lift your gaze, loosening his arms around you and raising his head from where it rests on top of yours. 

your eyes meet. satoru is smiling, weakly. he tilts his head, looking at you with something you could only ever describe as love.

”okay?”

such a lovely smile. so painfully genuine. his eyes are on full display, shining in the dark of the night, like splotches of moonlight. like someone stole the moon down to earth, and carved out little pieces to put in his irises. an ethereal hue.

he’s so gorgeous. hair just a tad messy, tousled from all the running he did to get here. cheeks a little red from the cold. when he smiles, his eyes crinkle. but he looks almost pained. 

(he was so, so worried.)

blinking away the tears clinging to your lashes, you simply stare, entirely mesmerized by the sight. satoru’s thumb goes to wipe at your glassy eyes, smoothing away the drops that threaten to fall. you want to engrave his expression into your memory, so you can never forget it. but it’s just a little too much.

so you hide in his chest, once more. the word that falls from your lips is tiny. “okay.”

satoru smiles, kissing the top of your head with a relieved exhale. bathing in your presence, still reeling from his show of vulnerability. he feels a little like he just cut himself open, let you peek inside his ribcage. the night air stings his skin. 

but you’re so warm, hugging him tightly, breathing and heartbeat finally relaxed. 

(he doesn’t mind it, not if it’s you — having you look inside his chest. if you asked, he’d let you build a shelter there. right between his fourth and fifth ribs.)

now that the words are out of his throat, they don’t burn at all. satoru feels a little silly, for being so scared to say them out loud. he knows you’d never use them against him.

all you do is snuggle closer, as if silently conveying your forgiveness.

you stand there for just a little while longer, wallowing in the tender atmosphere. finally, satoru makes a move to leave, and you begin to walk back home.

“sure you’re okay now, baby?”

you nod, exhaling a flurry breath. it turns into vapour in the cold of the air, drifting up and dissipating in the expanding starry sky. “yeah. thanks for coming so quickly.”

“of course,” satoru only says, choking back a yawn. 

your hands are intertwined, and he’s halfheartedly swinging them back and forth. it soothes your anxiety, and satoru’s protective instincts. you know neither of you will slip away, like this.

you shiver a little, subconsciously inching closer to satoru to protect you from the harsh bite of the midnight breeze. he notices, giving you a glance and a tilt of his head. “you cold?” 

“just a little,” you mutter, smiling weakly as you look up at him. ”i’m fine.”

satoru huffs. did you really think he’d be dissuaded by such a weak retort? there’s no way he’s letting you walk around all cold and shivering. 

so you come to a standstill, as satoru begins to shrug off his coat. he refuses to let go of your hand for even a second, making the process slower than usual — your heart flutters a little, as his fingers curl around yours, delicately. 

when he finally gets it off him, he wastes no time in draping it over your shoulders. it’s big on you, warm and soft, shielding you from the chilly air. satoru can’t help but giggle sheepishly, as he always does at the sight — you look so cute. 

“c’mon. let’s go home,” he grins, ruffling your hair teasingly.

satoru doesn’t feel cold, not in the slightest, as he holds your hand tightly. just your presence is enough to warm his bones to the marrow.

the silence between you is comforting and soothing, as you continue to walk. hand in hand, admiring the starry sky. you’re both too tired to speak — but satoru does so, anyway.

“i meant it, y’know.” satoru sounds sleepy, but earnest. ”i really will work on it.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it, yawning softly and stretching his free arm. gaze fixed on the morning star. 

“oh.” you pause, squirming a little. sheepish. “thank you. i’m sorry that i — i mean.” a sigh. “i probably overreacted a little.”

satoru shakes his head, waving off your guilt. “nah. you’re right. i never want you to feel like i’m not taking you seriously.”

his gaze meets yours, tentatively. his eyes shine like wedding rings. “you mean a lot to me.”

the sincere words manifest themselves as a heavy pressure to your chest, closing in on your heart as if crushing it. it’s a pleasant sensation, though, overwhelming as it is. you’re a little scared that your knees will buckle if he keeps this up, but even if they do, you wouldn’t want him to stop — satoru’s love is terrifically overwhelming when there’s nothing to hide it, when it’s just love and nothing else.

but you’d never reject it. you’d let it crush you to death with a smile on your face.

all you can do is avert your gaze, afraid that you’ll fall into the blue sea of his eyes if you don’t. heavy thumps of blood resound in your ears as your heart beats, warmth spreading throughout your entire body.

“… you mean a lot to me, too.” you echo, holding his hand just a little tighter. warmth rises to your cheeks. “i just felt really frustrated, i guess. like you were looking down on me. i know you weren’t actually, though.”

satoru chews at the inside of his cheek, almost anxiously. “i know i can be a little much sometimes,” he says, tasting the words on his tongue. “and i appreciate you for putting up with that. i’m sorry i let it go too far. i’ll be more considerate.”

your heart stutters in your chest. you’re not sure what to say — the way he forms his words makes them feel so absolute. and you believe him.

“i’ll be more considerate, too,” you echo, looking down at the pavement. “i shouldn’t have blown up like that.” a pause. you mumble, quietly, a little embarrassed. “i shouldn’t have told you to go fuck yourself.”

satoru breathes out an amused huff, chuckling lightheartedly. his eyes carry a teasing glint when they meet yours. “i probably deserved that. no worries.”

“still,” you pout. satoru giggles. 

“we’ll both work on it, then,” he hums, tilting his head to find your gaze. “right?”

you blink. a small smile breaks out across your face. “right.”

satoru swings your hands back and forth, looking awfully happy with himself. you’re proud of him. really.

“oh —“ he says, breaking the sleepy silence once again. “and i’ll stop leaving wrappers around, too.”

this time, you’re the one who huffs out an amused breath. “thank you,” you grin, looking up at him. he thinks the sight is terribly precious.

a yawn leaves your lips, drowsiness sneaking its way into your bloodstream. you’re not sure if it’s due to the dark, or if you’re just a tad exhausted after all the arguing and panicking.

satoru notices, and gets an idea.

“you tired, baby?” he coos, eyes teasing but soft around the edges. “d’you want a piggyback ride?” 

when you give him a look, sleepy and kind of exasperated, satoru grins. you huff out an amused breath, just a tad embarrassed, but it only spurs him on.

so he crouches down, one knee meeting the pavement, letting your hand slip from his. you blink, tiredly, at the loss of contact. you can’t see his face, but you know he’s wearing that lovesick, smug little grin of his. 

”c’mon. your big, strong boyfriend’ll carry you.”

satoru’s feeling playful, you can tell. that’s usually a bad sign — but you can’t deny that you’re tired. and the prospect of getting carried all the way home is eerily tempting. 

your gaze falls on his back, and his broad shoulders. silently, you walk towards him, and wrap your arms around his neck. satoru holds you up by your thighs, and then stands up, jostling you a little; he does so without a hitch, and you’re reminded of how strong he really is. his grip is secure, and you trust him not to drop you, no matter what. 

you let out a content sigh, basking in the chill of the midnight air as you nuzzle your cheek against his soft hair. satoru chuckles.

”my sleepy lil’ sweetheart,” he coos, voice a tad raspy. ”lucky thing you’ve got me, huh?”

there’s a softness to his voice, despite the teasing tilt obscuring it. you can only huff out a breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, and cling to him tighter.

satoru will get you home safe. he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and he can be bad with emotions — but you can always, always trust him on that. 

so, with his coat shielding you from the chilly air, and his back warming you up as he carries you back to your apartment, you allow your eyes to flutter shut; enjoying the cozy feeling his presence brings you.

he’ll always be there when you need him.

[muletia]

𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader 18+ content, minors don't interact!

summary: orion hasn't seen you for a long time (2 days) and desperation clouds his common sense. when he visits you at home and drops by the garage he shows you how much he has missed you

cw: gentle!dom!reader, sub!orion, established relationship, fingering, handjob, praise kink, overstimulation, orion cums untouched several times (that's hot), L-bomb, reader is teasing the fuck out of him, this is probably the most self-indulgent thing i have ever written

word count: 2670

my first time writing transformers smut. this isn't really canon to my orion 'storyline', just wanted to get this out of my system because i love making characters submissive and breedable :))

"Orion?" you call from behind, and he jumps in place, his helm striking the ceiling of your garage. Even when mass displaced, the small space of you garage was a challenge for him. "How long have you been sitting here?"

You step inside and close the door behind you, setting your backpack and a shopping bag to the side.

He grows flustered, seeming to shrink before your eyes. He hunches slightly, trying to make himself appear even smaller like he was ashamed of something. Sitting back on his calves, his hands are perfectly placed on his thighs.

"I simply... I truly wanted to see you. It has been a long time. I missed you."

Your sharp gaze shifts downward, and Orion wishes he could bury his head in the ground. You were always perceptive — a quality he deeply admired. But now, he would give much to have you overlook just this one detail.

"I think I can tell how much," you say with a warm smile, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

It hasn’t even been three minutes since you reunited, and he is already proving just how deeply he missed you. Droplets of cyan fluid, strikingly similar in color to energon, were slowly seeping through the seams of his interface panel, betraying the intensity of the spectacle unfolding within.

"Do not... look." He whimpers, trying to shield you from the mortifying display.

"Hey, hey, it's all right," you reassure him, seeing the panic written across his faceplate. "Orion, love, I am not going to judge you. I just... didn't expect that you, too, felt... desire. What a delightful surprise."

It feels as though the temperature in your garage has risen a few degrees. You weren’t disgusted, nor were you disappointed. And you called him... "love." That pet name wasn’t unfamiliar to him; you’d used it a few times before. But in this context, it hit differently—deeper, more shamelessly.

His spike pressed painfully against the confines of its cage, but Orion had to remain patient. He couldn’t risk frightening you, couldn’t destroy the atmosphere that had been so delicately built. Under no circumstances could your smile shift into revulsion. He faced a monumental challenge, as the simple utterance of "love" had nearly caused him to overload.

"Forgive me; this sight must be... disgraceful to you."

Oh, how frightened, how shy, skittish he was. You already knew you couldn’t be too direct with him, couldn’t afford to tease or play games. This time, you would have to slow down, and match his pace— no matter how much you wanted to see what lay hidden beneath that panel.

"Not at all," you reply, shaking your head. "Hey, I could help you if you’d like."

His answer comes after a pause.

"I am certain you must be fatigued after work," he improvises, not ready yet. He needs time to accept for himself that only your touch can bring him relief. "I would not wish for you to exert yourself on my account."

You raise an eyebrow because you’ve never heard a bigger bullshit in your life.

"So what, you just want to watch a movie together?"

He attempts a smile, trying to show that this option is perfectly agreeable. If not for the accumulating transfluid pooling around and beneath him, it would be hard to tell he was aroused. This game of restraint demanded immense self-control, but he was willing to suppress his desires for your comfort. He would rather die than make you feel uneasy because of him.

"Of course, I would be delighted."

All right, so much for the promise of not teasing him. You couldn’t bear to see him in this state; ignoring the problem would only frustrate both of you, especially him. You might not be entirely familiar with his anatomy, but in this instance, you assumed that keeping an erection (quite literally) locked away must be excruciatingly uncomfortable—especially for someone so openly expressive with his feelings and needs.

"Okay, but before I grab the laptop… can I kiss you?"

His optics widen.

"Pardon?"

"Can I kiss you?" you repeat, watching with satisfaction as his weak bluff crumbles. "It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. I want to show you how much I’ve missed you."

He doesn’t ask why now, why not immediately after you greeted him. His focus is solely on the fact that you’re about to touch him, likely in multiple places at once. Your soft lips would be on him, showing him affection, bringing you closer together. He begins fidgeting with his digits, terrified of the overwhelming influence you have over him and how little you need to do to leave him feverish. Yet at the same time, he has no objections—he can’t refuse you.

He feels like he’s about to explode.

"Yes… you may. I beg you."

"Wonderful!"

Orion leans forward slowly to make it easier for you, but you still place your hand on his audial. And he fucking yelps. He squirms restlessly, unsure of what to do with his body. You overstimulate him, tugging at every possible sense, playing with him, teasing him—and there is no doubt that you are doing it intentionally. Yet he doesn’t pull away anymore; he doesn’t try to hide.

"I missed you too, you know?" you whisper, and he smiles. "It’s nice that you came by."

You move in for the kiss slowly, lulling him into thinking you’ll play his game. You see his optics flutter closed, his excitement mounting, and his lips—such as they are—pursed ever so slightly in anticipation. He needs this, but you’re not going to give him that satisfaction. Not yet. You want to hear him ask for it, to be absolutely certain he consents.

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and pull your hand away, though you stay close to his faceplate. You don’t hide your smile when he opens his optics again, looking utterly crestfallen. You almost feel bad for teasing him during such an innocent act—almost. That is, until you hear the muffled sound of dripping. Under other circumstances, you might have laughed.

"[Name]?" he asks desperately, alarmed by your retreat.

"So… I’ll get the laptop. What movie do you want to watch?"

Now he looks terrified. His servo shoots out to grab your wrist before he can even form a proper argument. There’s no time for that—you can’t leave him now. And as if strength alone wasn’t enough, he starts pleading. Panicked, hysterical.

"No, please! Don’t go, I beg you!"

"What? I thought we were watching a movie?"

"Ah… Stay… please."

A simple, innocent touch, and he was already losing his mind. It was difficult for him to form constructive, clear thoughts when you were so close. All his senses were focused on you. If you were to leave him now, Orion could literally die. He needed you, he longed for you. Only now did he release your wrist.

“If you have not changed your mind… I would like to ask for your help.”

You smile; you had been waiting for these words. You send him another quick kiss, watching with a reassuring sense of pride as such a large being shifts uneasily, trying to stifle the moans escaping in soft whimpers. You caress his cheek, and Orion instinctively leans into your hand, shifting his legs. Your touch drove him wild, yet he could not pull away, could not sever the connection. Completely at your mercy. A mortal playing with a god. A god humbled before a human. An addictive state, empowering but also terrifying, easily taking control.

Not today, not now — you reprimand yourself.

“Of course, love.”

“Ah!” he whimpers and closes his eyes. His digits claw at his thighs as he struggles to find a purpose for his hands. He overloaded. From a single pet name.

Orion gasps heavily, as if he truly needed oxygen to survive. It was not hard for you to guess what had just happened.

“Well, you are welcome.” You stroke his cheek, wanting to gain his full attention. His large cyan optics turn towards you. They are filled with love and joy, but they are also dimmed, not as sharp as usual; desire has overwhelmed common sense. This was not the end yet. “Hey, are you okay?” you ask, just to be sure. You needed to know what was going on inside him.

“Yes…” he pants. “But please… I want more… I need more.”

He could not take it any longer. He was about to truly explode. With a quiet hiss, he pulls back his interface panel, and cool air surrounds his battered and tormented bits. More hidden transfluid spills onto the floor, with some slowly trickling down his thighs. It was a pitiful sight, but Orion no longer felt shame; he simply did not have the strength. When your eyes look down, curious about the sound, he can only manage a quiet moan, for everything had become real at that moment.

“Wow, you guys have two? Cool.” You smile, as if you felt no shame at all. “Next time, we will try with pegging.” You wink at him.

“What is this ‘pegging’?”

“You’ll find out next time.” You respond dismissively. “May I… touch you?”

The response comes instantly.

“Yes, please.” he squeaks.

Slowly, you touch the tip of his spike, wanting to get familiar with its texture, to see how much it resembles a human one. Its hardness does not surprise you, as it was made of living metal. It also does not surprise you that he begins to shudder, and a few drops of transfluid, a vivid blue, trickle from the tip. The same happens at the back; his valve glistens with desire, covered by a layer of the same fluid. Curious about the consistency, you spread it on your finger. It is thick and sticky, resembling honey but more liquid.

“Ah!” Orion moans loudly. An exquisite sound from such a deep, low baritone. “[Name], I am about to… ah, I am going to overload!”

“Hold on for a moment, alright? Will you do that for me, baby? I would like to make you feel good.”

He already felt incredible, even without the touch, but he would be a fool to deny himself this pleasure. He wanted you to touch him, to overwhelm his senses even more, leaving him with no escape.

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?” you press, this time for your own satisfaction.

“I am not going to… mph…” you circle your finger around his tip, teasing him, testing if he can endure. Oh, how cruel you were today. “I promise, I am not going to overload.”

“Good mech.”

A few more drops escape. Orion is so close; a pet name or a compliment separates him from bliss. But he wants to be good for you, to show his worth and that he can obey. Your disappointment is the last thing he wants to experience. So, he patiently waits for your move, which comes instantly.

You smear the transfluid on your hand, as it is the only lubricant you have, and wrap your hand around his spike, or at least try to, as it turns out that the gigantic robot also has quite an impressive dick. Every move from you is accompanied by a pitiful, loud moan sung by Orion. His helplessness cannot be matched by the concert of sounds he makes when you start sliding your hand down the length of his spike.

He cannot hold on. It is too much, definitely too much. At first, you maintain a steady rhythm, playing with him and his needs, observing. Your gaze also excites him because there is not an ounce of shame in it. It is the complete opposite of his, as his optics cannot focus on one thing. He wants to peek, to see how your hand moves, how beautifully it fits around his spike. How compatible you are. But he cannot, for his processor is on fire. He can only focus on pleasure, on you. The softness of your body, the texture that his spike has never felt before. The only thing he can manage to produce are deviant moans. And it seems you can read his mind, as you ask him a question that demands an answer.

“How do you feel, baby?”

You are cruel, but he physically cannot be angry at you. So, he tries to please you, to remain obedient, even though thinking is beyond his grasp at this point. The inside of his helm has turned to mush.

“Hah, s-splendid,” he stutters.

You click your tongue teasingly, unsettling him, as he does not know this human expression of emotion. But before he can be concerned by it, you tighten your grip, as if you want to crush him, and all he can do is yelp.

“Agh, [Name]!” he whimpers your name, not knowing what he did to deserve such treatment.

“Only splendid?” you ask, now drawing slow circles with your thumb around his tip.

“N-no!” he tries to protest, but complex words cannot leave his voice box. “No! Hah…”

“Hmmm, I think we need to change that, don’t we? I can’t let you feel only splendid.”

The confusion lasts only a moment as you lean closer, drinking in his drunken, love-drained expression. When your other hand reaches his valve and you press two fingers into the overheated, surprisingly soft metal, Orion can no longer think of anything. He tilts his helm back and lets out such a raw, loud moan that it could be heard by everyone within three kilometers.

Now, you are working with both hands. One hand works on his spike, the other pumps your fingers into his valve. Shallowly, even too shallowly for his taste, but it is enough for him to reach the stars. To experience what true pleasure is.

He wants to climax, he needs it, he cannot take it any longer. He feels as if he is burning alive, his vents working loudly and rapidly, trying to keep up with the ecstasy. His digits scratch at the floor, making visible grooves. Completely overstimulated, but chasing the pleasure, he grinds down on your fingers. Deeper, harder, faster.

He does not need to say anything; you understand perfectly. You increase the pace, adding another finger.

“I hope this is better than splendid now.”

“Mhmm, ah! It is!” he stutters.

His spike begins to tremble, and his valve tightens around your fingers. That is your signal to evacuate, it is time for the fireworks.

“Would you like to climax, darling?”

“Yes! Please, ah! I beg you…” he whimpers.

One last movement, one final push from you. You torment him for a moment longer, only to end his suffering.

“Then come, since you performed so well. Love you.”

You withdraw your fingers and leave his spike alone, watching as Orion climaxes so powerfully that his transfluid lands on the ceiling. He moans your name, panting heavily, completely drained of energy but still full of adoration. Still thinking only of you.

“Orion? Baby, are you alright?” you ask, abandoning the teasing tone. You’ll save that for another time.

He blinks rapidly, returning to the present. His optics focus on you, and he musters a weak smile before leaning forward, compelling you to hold his helm in your arms. He nestles against your chest, taking a moment to recover. He never gets enough of being close to you.

“Orion?” you ask again. The urge to pet him is overwhelming, but your hands are still coated in transfluid.

“I am alright,” he murmurs and tilts his helm back for a moment to look at you. He smiles, and he is so beautiful that you momentarily go blind. And in his optics, there is so much love, so much gratitude reserved only for you, that you forget about the world around you. Especially the neighbors who will surely confront you tomorrow about disturbing the night’s peace.

[khanger]

Help them change their life from despair to hope

In the tent siraj family lives, the harshest kind of misery below is just a brief summary about the heat living in a tent.

In heat of the tent, you live neighboring the rats and scorpion and other types of insects that you didn't know existed.

In the heat of the tent, nobody can keep acting like their old self, the quiet, and the dreamers all lost what makes them.

In heat of the tent, headache is your companion and the low blood pressure and skin rashes and general fatigue that you can't get over and choked cry every time you feel like you're drowning in your own sweat

Dear person who read this

Please know that every one that you read in this about the inhumane condition of living in a tent is something that you can imagine and how much that imagine and think about it. You're not the one living in it.

Siraj family is in dire need urgently awning to reduce summer heat that couldn't offer to buy due to the high cost of everything in Gaza.

Please let's help reach the goal of 55k before next Thursday

Vetted by @el-shab-hussein num 219

Currently at $50,549\$82,000 CAD (23 August)

$37,411 out of $60,245

Conversion Rate

1 CAD = 0.735970 USD

1 USD = 1.35875 CAD

TAGGING FOR REACH

♡Message me for removal♡

@opencommunion @heliopixels @schoolhater @neechees @northgazaupdates @beserkerjewel @brutaliakhoa @sayruq @deepspaceboytoy @kibumkim @rhubarbspring @lesbianmaxevans @malcriada @turian @appsa @neptunerings @transmutationisms @vampirevoice @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @buttercuparry @captainsaltymuyfancy @timetravellingkitty @socalgal @xinakwans @kahin @anneemay @halalgirlmeg @userpeggycarter @brokenbackmountain @decolonize-solidarity @deathlonging @briarhips @mahoushojoe @sawasawako @irhabiya @pcktknife @feluka @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria @mangocheesecakes @mothblossoms

[thecoochiefairy]

𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖞

━━ 𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑠 .ᐟ toji.

warnings 𑄽𑄺 12k word count. boxer toji, third person omniscient pov, black woman, vaginal penetration, angry sex, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, daddy kink, squirting, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, a lil degrading?, fingering, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, aggressive toji, lil bit of sweet toji, physical violence, talks of body image issues, minors aren’t welcome!

song to play while listening; 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒 ; 𝑙𝑖𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ if you didn’t see it already, there is a trigger warning for talks of body/self image issues! i’m a girlie that deals with a lot of that, so this was a bit heartfelt for me. this is dedicated to any of my girls/gay’s/they’s that feel down about themselves! you’re all perfect 🫶🏽love your body + your body will love you back! enjoy!

OF COURSE SHE FUCKING WOULD. 

Blood drips down his chin, eyes shooting over at the mirror as his scar is now reopened, ripping between his bottom and top lip. His anger seeped through his face in a way it’d never shown before, staring back at the woman he’d kill for. They had their ups and downs—this definitely had to be their worst fight. 

Their now five year relationship blossomed in an uncanny place—The gym, an environment where people didn’t expect to be approached or distracted from their routine. He didn’t mean to bother her, he just couldn’t help it.

She stood at the Smith’s machine, blowing out a breath as she gripped the bar that looked to hold a weight of forty-five on each side. He watched her. Her skin is a warm toffee complexion, scrunchie holding her onyx curls, tendrils falling around her face that’s painted with thousands of freckles. Full dark eyebrows furrow lowly, baby pink lips sinking under her bone straight teeth. Her brown eyes stare out of focus, long lashes curling atop of her pupils. She was mesmerizing. 

She was more curvy than the women he usually went for. Even from under the sweater she wore, her full breast, large hips and pudgy stomach, her ass— god, he couldn’t get enough of her, and he didn’t even know this woman’s name. She seems frustrated. She twists her body under the bar as she squats, taking a deep breath as she goes to lift it up, her arms trembling. It causes her to quickly drop the bar back in place, a roll coming to her eyes.

“It’s better to train muscles when they’re at failure,” Is the first thing he says to her. 

Her eyes follow up to him. She nearly trips over the bench beneath the machine as she takes in this man. He stands in front of her, long sleeve black compression shirt pulled at his elbows that showcase a couple of tattoos on his muscular arms. His dark hair falls along his eyebrows as it seems he’d been sweating. Scarily handsome features, strong jaw, deep eyes with a confident aura she wasn’t used to. This man was fine, holy fuck, she thought. 

“Excuse me?” She stutters.

“I’m tryna’ be a boxer, so I have to sustain muscle in order to stay in my weight class. Fatigue means muscle activation. So… say you’re doing a set of ten squats, by the fourth or fifth squat you’re tired as fuck,” he talks, her eyes only blinking in response, “Any squat after that is typically the ones that are increasing your muscles.”

Her eyebrows only raise. He then chuckles as he places his hand behind his neck, “My fault, I just…needed a reason to come talk to you.”

“To me?” She questions, her lashes falling over her cheeks.

“You, doll,” He chuckles, her eyes falling to the silver ball along his tongue as his mouth slightly opens. She wants to gulp. 

“What’s your name?” He then asks.

She crosses her arms over her chest as she asks, “Why you’ wanna know? You tryna’ get in my pants or something?”

That makes him laugh. He shakes his head as he speaks, “Five minutes of talking to you and your ass is already being stubborn. That's cool, I like that.”

“It’s Sonali,” she then replies, “Pronounced Sah—nah—lee, not So—nah—lee, I hate when people say my name wrong.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I wanna say your name a thousand times.”

“Damn. You don’t hold back, do you?” She tilts her head. 

“I want you,” he states flatly. 

“You’ manifesting that or something?”

“It’s a fuckin’ promise.”

And it was. She never had a man so affectionate, thoughtful—good as fuck in bed— it was the first time she’d experienced an authentic love. She could admit, the first two years were rough. Mostly from her own overthinking. Anytime they were out in public and the eyes of other women fell upon him, she gripped herself tighter around his arm. She didn’t want to be the jealous type, but as these girls continued to throw themselves at him, it was like she didn’t exist. Was she not good enough? Pretty enough? Skinny enough? 

She eyed every single person in the gym. Everyone's body was different, but the ones that got the most attention were the standard preference of beauty nowadays. Slim, able to go into a store and fit a piece of clothing in the first try. No problems in the world. Call her dramatic, call her apathetic of even the “perfect” people’s issues. Maybe if she was perfect, she’d have less problems than her own. 

There were so many times Toji caught her staring at herself in the mirror, noticing she would turn away from it when she undressed. As many times as he’d purposely fucked her in front of it, nothing changed. But he knew that it wasn’t his call to make her confident within herself. He just wished she knew how perfect she was. 

He could feel himself straying away from Sonali, a particular type of anger building within her body that only increased the closer he tried to get to her. Anytime a woman tried to talk to him, she was mad. When he suggested that she wear more clothes that didn’t dishevel her figure, she was even more mad. He didn’t understand what he was doing wrong, only wanting her to feel as beautiful as she was. Nothing worked. Yet through all of it, he was always so patient with her, never becoming angry or ever raising his voice to her. Sonali’s own self destruction almost caused them to break up—and then, her father had passed away.

Sonali’s life had fallen apart. It was just as tough for Toji, coming to learn that her father owned a boxing gym in the city, sparring and bonding with a man that seemed perfect in health. He watched his girlfriend spar aggressively with her father, giggling like a little girl as she did so. It made him smile to see that he was the one person that could rid all that attitude. When he died, nobody knew he was sick. Not even Sonali— his death was a shock to their entire family. But with Toji there for her, all of her pain seemed easier to manage. He loved her no matter how angry she was. In general, or at him. The more she pushed away, the more he pulled forward. She cried in his arms for nights at a time, wishing she hadn’t lost her father. Wishing she could be the confident woman he raised her to be. Wishing everything wasn’t so damn difficult. 

That anger never subsided, grief turning to rage very quickly. It all mushed into one emotion when a random stranger verbally attacked her, calling her a racial slur and spitting at her. That was her final straw. She lunged forward as she attacked this woman, ripping the frail blonde hair from her scalp, punching her with a strength of almost two men. When Toji pulled her away, the cops captured her next, dragging her out in a chaotic scene. 

Once again, there Toji was. Right behind her in court, nervously listening in as the judge explained her assault charges. The woman now had a busted artery in her face, paired with a ruptured eardrum that caused her to go completely deaf on her left side. The charges were thankfully dropped due to witnesses explaining she was only in defense of herself due to discrimination, plus her record being completely clean. That situation proved to Sonali that she wanted to change for the better. Mentally, physically, emotionally, even if that meant some self reflecting she wasn’t ready to face.

“I think you’re perfect the way you are, baby. But if you wanna change, we can work towards that, too,” Toji’s deep voice comes in her ears that same night, cleaning the blood from beneath her fingers, staring in her face as frustrated tears drop from her eyes. 

“We can start by finding a place to put all of that anger. Imma’ put you in the ring with me, I’d never need a mouth guard again,” He teases, causing her to softly giggle as he continues, “You got a mean ass left hook. You learned that from your father.”

“Yeah. Taught me a few things, although most of my skills came from petty street fights” she mutters. 

“I get that, you need technique. I was damn near enamored with all the Rocky films. Even had a punching bag in my bedroom,” he chuckles.

“You need technique. I can show you,” she suggests.

“Me?”

“You’re quick, but you lack the repetition of catching your opponent off guard. That’s how you win. Relax them into thinking they have that negative space to hit you, then swing where they least expect it,” she shrugs.

“Teach me some shit, then.”

“I will.”

In those three years, Sonali faced all the issues she felt she withheld, having a support system behind her that had truly changed her for the better. Her patience, temper, eating habits, sleeping schedule. She felt like a new her. A better her. Toji saw her progress as well, falling more in love every single day—he just had to ask for her hand in marriage. 

Here they were now, Sonali giving co-ownership of her father’s boxing gym to Toji, allowing him to reopen the business for other local boxers. He was easily recognized, known to never lose a match, knocking someone out in less than five minutes. She wasn’t used to seeing him have a somewhat celebrity status, but it made her happy that she could be beside him for this new time in their relationship. Just like she saw changes in him, he definitely saw changes within her.

“C’mon, Fushiguro.”

He heard his manager's voice within his ear. Shiu leaned  against the rope of the ring where Toji stood inside, across from another man as they continued to spar. This was his usual routine on a regular day, constantly upping his skills to prepare for his next match. 

“You’ distracted or something?” The man across from him asked, smiling in an almost taunting manner. 

“Yeah. I’m bored, you hit like a bitch.” 

“Show me some shit then!” The man laughed, hovering the gloves over his face, arms out in a protective position. 

‘I BE DAMNED’  by Comethazine continues to play along the speakers in the ceiling. Toji remained where he was, hands mimicking the protection stance as he stared at his opponent. He stepped back, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet with narrowed eyes. He studied his movement like a test. Just as the man was about to talk more shit, his glove quickly lashed out and smashed his opponent in the jaw as he flashed forward, knocking him to the floor. Toji harshly taps his gloves together, continuing to bounce on his feet as the man quickly stands up, ignoring the cringe that goes around the ring. 

“Y’all acting like girls,” the coach says, “Fushiguro, you gotta perfect this move you keep dodging. Lead uppercut, straight,” He commands.

“I got it,” he says lowly.

“So do it.” 

Him and the man continue to spar for a bit. From another pair of eyes, his hands smear into the atmosphere, catching every movement the man makes in front of him. He knows all of his techniques. His focus is encapsulated on the gloves in front of him, never noticing as the large bodyguard enters the gym, standing to the side with his hands in front of his abdomen. 

When he does see this, he slows down as he calls, “De’Angelo, where’s Sonali?”

“She’s not here, sir.” De’Angelo replies, no emotion to his face. 

Toji steps back from his opponent as he tilts his head, “I’m not a fucking idiot. Don’t play with me. I can see that, she’s supposed to be with you.”

“She told me to come here, sir,” he explains, “Said she wanted to be by herself.”

“I don’t pay you to fold,” he gruffly reminds, twisting his neck as he cracks the bone, “Did she tell you where she was going?”

“No, sir.” 

He becomes immensely irritated, flaring his nose as he wants to punch the shit out of his bodyguard. He didn’t necessarily need one, but with the status he was beginning to withhold and having a schedule where he couldn’t constantly be with Sonali, he hired De’Angelo for her safety. Her and him had created a friendship essentially, De’Angelo obviously being wrapped up in her sweet nature, allowing himself to be distracted by his job. Shit, he wasn’t the first. 

“Imma’ give you five minutes to find her before I step out this ring.”

The funny thing was, De’Angelo was a man that nearly stood at 6’5, bigger and scarier than most. But Toji was bigger and scarier than any man combined when he was pissed. 

By god’s grace—and to De’Angelo’s luck—Toji’s ears almost hike up like a dog when he hears her feminine voice, involuntarily sultry as she speaks. She appears within the frame of the gym’s door, leaning her head against the phone to her ear as she giggles softly, “Girl. You should’ve seen the cashier's face. Looking at me stupid cause I counted four hundred dollars in one’s. Mind your business, hoe!” 

Another issue Toji was recently beginning to face. With all the evolving Sonali had done in the years of them being together, her beauty had become tenfold. She went from a ten, to a fucking twelve. Her proportions were almost exaggerative. Full breast, sitting upright perfectly under the soft pink gym set she wore, long sleeve and clinging to her curves. Her waist was comparative to a Coke bottle, hips large as if she’d given birth. Thighs toned and supple, ass—soft, full, fat. She was a dime. As she entered the building, her dark curls bounced around her shoulders, pulled out of her face by a hello kitty shaped hair band, one she usually wore if she was doing her makeup or going to the gym. Yet, her face is rid of any cosmetics, freckles spraying along her cheeks and forehead, nose ring shining in the light. She absentmindedly sipped the matching pink cup she had, holding a numerous amount of bags in her other hand. 

Jealousy. A word that he never expected to feel within his own body anytime she was without him, the eyes of other men hungry as they watched her. He knew the kind of beauty his woman withheld, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it when they stared. He was like her guard dog, always hovering over her as she danced in la-la land, giddy and happy as he protected her from the monster that was the reality. The same cat-like eyes that were tattooed on his forearm became slender as she smiled. Her hips twisted as she came in, calling into the phone, “Imma’ call you back. See you later, bookie!” Hanging up as she turned her attention to their bodyguard.

“Hey, D. I got both of us a drink! I got you some lime Kombucha, I know you said your stomach had been hurting. This should help your digestion,” She smiles, handing the soft green drink to him. 

Toji stumbles slightly as he feels his opponent connect his glove into his shoulder, lightly trying to get his attention. As everyone else laughs around him, he glares in return, the laughs quickly dying down as the coach mutters, “Should’ve minked his ass in the face. Let's take a five,” he then states. 

“Fuck you. I’m taking a ten,” Toji replies, removing his gloves and only being left with bandages as he drops down from the ring, coming over to her as she continues to speak to De’Angelo. 

His face goes slightly warm as he takes the drink, “Try it in the car. I’ll be out there in a second, okay? I’ll show you the playlist I made for you,” she talks.

“Yes ma’am,” he ducks away from Toji’s death stare, exiting the building.

His face softens as he now looks down to her. He watches as she drops her bags, placing her cup down on the ground as wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Babydoll,” he rasps, “Where were you?”

“Hi, Daddy,” she smiles happily, “I missed you.”

He narrows his eyes down. She softly rolls her eyes as she speaks, “I just came from the gym, did a little shopping afterwards. Why you’ making a face? Are you upset?”

“‘Nali, baby,” he sighs, bringing his arms around her ass, gripping the skin within his hold, “I don’t like to have to put my foot up D'Angelo's ass everytime I can’t find you with him. Please stop sending him off.”

“Okay, sorry. I just wanted to have a little girl time, that’s all. You’ mad? Tell me you love me.”

“I love you. You know that,” he brings his face down, sucking her tongue into his mouth. He could never be mad at her for too long, even if it was warranted. Her grin widens as she says, “Good. How’s he doing?” She then brings her attention to the men in the ring, pulling Toji’s hand as she makes her way over to them.

“Distracted by you. Get out,” Shiu expresses, annoyed.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she brings her eyes to his coach, “Why y’all beefing? What’s the problem?” 

“We’ve been trying to get him to perfect the uppercut, straight-hit. He’s being soft.” 

“What's that?” One of the newer members of the gym asks, climbing into the ring as his session is coming in the next fifteen minutes. 

“It’s when you dip down to the right, punch within the airway of your stomach, then lean towards the left and tag your opponent in the face,” Sonali explains, rubbing Toji’s arm who seems more annoyed than his manager.

“He would’ve done that shit if you were here,” the coach points out.

“Why don’t you train? You know this shit better than most of us do.” The other guy asks.

She shakes her head, “Had to get my hands registered when Toji did. Fighting is a bit traumatic for me now. Plus, I’m in school, I don’t really have the time.” 

Toji knew her real passion, wanting to be a postpartum nurse and help new mothers with their babies. She currently worked a part-time job making the milk within the hospital for their NICU department. He also knew she could easily just be as good as him in boxing if she put her mind to it. 

“Too bad. Put this motherfucker in check, his head is somewhere else when we have a fight tomorrow,” Shiu snaps.

“Wanna get in the ring with him, Shiu? Better yet, with me?” Sonali asks.

He stares silently, muttering as he speaks, “I gotta take a phone call. For your damn fight,” He looks to Toji, stepping down from the ring as she makes his way to another part of the gym. Sonali calls, “C’mon, Shiu! I was just fucking with you.”

“I don’t have time for his prissy ass today. Imma’ get the move, I’m good,” Toji finalizes to his coach.

He replies, “You better.”

Everyone steps down from the ring as they allow the other boxers to get their time in, Sonali sitting on the ground with Toji as she wraps his bandages for him. She sighs, “Shiu’s giving you shit today. Why?”

“He’s pissed at me cause I didn’t take some endorsement deal they called me for. I’m cool with the status I have now. Even that is too much,” he replies honestly.

“You don’t enjoy all the pretty girls gawking over you?” She teasingly asks.

He shakes his head, “The only pretty girl I want fangirling over me is you.”

“Awe, you’re so fake.” She lightly mushes her hand against his face, “Should’ve taken it. Would’ve put more money in our pockets.”

“Money isn’t a problem. You know that,” he reminds, “Don’t I keep you in the life of luxury?” He teases back.

“Of course. But getting calls for endorsement means that they see you have the potential to be bigger than you think. You can make a household name, Fushiguro. Don’t miss that opportunity. You have me. I have you. We’re a team,” she speaks.

He sighs, knowing that she’s right. He wasn’t too fond of being in the limelight, but if that meant more financial stability and to be able to take care of her more than he did now, he found an upside to the situation. 

He changes the subject, “What’d you spend all my money on today?”

“Um, wrong. I spent my money today, playboy. I got it like that,” she corrects him, running her fingers over his olive skin as he chuckles, “I bought the cutest Telfar purse in the store. It was ballerina pink. I had to have it, I also bought some more gym shirts for you, and some outfit choices for my friends party tonight.”

“You didn’t tell me about a party,” he frowns.

“I’m telling you now,” she blinks.

He blows out a breath, scratching the back of his neck as he asks, “What are we eating tonight?”

“Oh! Well, I bought some ingredients to cook you some vegan tacos. I also got a couple of fruits to make smoothies—“

“Why can’t we eat like regular people? I’m a grown ass man, baby. My carnivorous needs aren’t being met.”

She rolls her eyes, “Because I’m under a calorie deficit, and red meat is too heavy for my stomach. And yours,” she replies.

“Ah shit, here we go with this calorie deficit bullshit,” he groans, leaning back on the ground as he continues groaning like a toddler.

“Don’t start with me, Toji. I swear to god.”

Although he was supportive of her new lifestyle as far as her diet was concerned, it sometimes became a frustration between them when he was also forced to eat the same foods as her. He felt like he needed to eat twice after one meal, trying to maintain his correct protein count. 

“Fine, I’ll get you some chicken. It’ll keep you shaped like the Hulk.”

He leans his head up, “If only I was actually that big. I’d fly across the city and burn every vegan-calorie-deficit-item known to man.”

“You’re my biggest hater, you know that?” She raised an eyebrow.

“And your biggest fan all in one.”

She tilts her head, “I almost forgot to mention the last place I went. I stopped by the Savage-Fenty store. Got me a couple lingerie sets,” she rolls her eyes, looking at her bags as she feels Toji sit halfway up.

“But all my items seem so uninteresting to you. So I guess I’ll just take them ba—“

She’s interrupted as he grips her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he grabs all of her belongings with him. She coughs at the sudden movement, giggling as he begins making his way towards the exit.

His coach calls, “Aye! Where the hell you’ going, Fushiguro?!”

“I’m done for tonight. I’ll come back in the morning!”

“You better know how to tap a motherfucker by the time you come here tomorrow!”

“Oh, Imma’ tap something!” He calls back.

Sonali places her hand over her mouth, shockingly laughing as she shouts, “Toji!” His coach shakes his head as he watches them disappear out of the building. 

                              ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡

“You like it? Maybe I should’ve gotten gold. Shit, maybe pink. Ugh.”

Sonali stands indesively in the full body mirror within the bathroom, eyeing herself and pulling any critique she can. She brings her vision behind her as she watches Toji sitting in a bathtub full of ice, absentmindedly scratching his chin as he leans his arms on the sides of the bath, staring at his phone. 

“So anyways, like I was saying. Amara didn’t invite this other girl to the party because when she invited us out to her birthday dinner, she told us that it was a split the bill type of thing, right?”

“Right,” Toji mutters, never looking up from his phone.

“So I tell Amara, girl. What the hell do I look like splitting the bill with somebody? I’m paying for my meal, tipping the waiter and taking my ass home.”

“Right,” he mutters again, stretching his arm back as he scrolls his thumb across his screen.

“The girl catches an attitude and is like, ‘It’s my birthday. I wanna go to a steak restaurant, and imma’ ball out on shrimp, oxtails, lamb chops. Everyone will pay an equal five hundred and sixty—“

“And?” He cuts off, wide eyes shooting up as he hears the number, “There’s an ‘and’ after that number? ‘The fuck I look like paying five hundred American dollars for something I’m not consuming? That lobster better revive itself and boil all over again,” he exclaims.

“Moral to the story is, her and the girl aren’t cool anymore and now she’s blowing up Amara’s phone because she’d already bought her outfit for the party. Make the check out to that lamb chop, bitch,” she finalizes, turning towards him as she then asks, “But seriously, do you like it?”

He takes focus on her outfit, which…wasn't actually an outfit. She stands across from him, wearing a chrome triangle bikini top with matching bottoms, turning to the side as her entire ass was out due to it being thong styled swimwear. He catches his name that’s tattooed on her hip, coming to the conclusion that there was barely anything covering her if he could see that. 

“It’s sexy as hell,” he replies, “A little too sexy, babydoll.”

“It’s a pool party, Toji. Was I supposed to go in a large shirt?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs.

She rolls her eyes, turning back to the mirror. She sighs, “Maybe I should’ve gotten a one piece. I need to tone up a bit in my stomach, it’s getting a little soft,” she mutters, running her fingers over her abdomen. Toji looked over her body, seeing her abs coming through her upper stomach, trying to figure out what the hell she was going on about.

He turns his head towards her, dropping his phone as he asked, “You need to be fucked in front of that mirror before you go?”

Her eyes go wide as she turns, “No!” 

“ Stop talking about yourself then,” he replies, lifting his phone back up. 

She sighs, knowing that she might be being exaggerative. But every time she stares at herself, she sees the girl that would’ve worn a large T-shirt to a pool party. She wished she could get out of her own head. 

Toji steps out of the ice bath, Sonali catching a glimpse of the monster that hung between his legs, a towel quickly being thrown around his waist before she could put a microscope to him. 

“You look good,” he walks past her, slamming his palm on her ass, “The color goes well with your skin tone.”

He wanted to scream for her to take it off. To stay with him in bed, unable for other men to see the demon of a body she had. He let that thought subside. 

“Even if I wanted some dick, did you forget that I just recently got back on birth control? Today’s the last day before it actually activates,” She reminds.

“I know that. Maybe I want a baby,” he shrugs.

She rolls her eyes, “Please. You have Muffin.”

“Of course I do. Muffin!” He then calls.

The large Cane Corso speeds into the room, attacking him as the dog flops onto the bed. Toji groans happily as he wraps his arms around the animal. 

“My Muffin. You won’t put on a skimpy ass bikini and throw yourself to the wolves, will you?” He sarcastically asks, the dog panting in excitement as he rubs her belly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you not want me to go?” She comes out of the bathroom, beginning to search for her makeup bag in the closet. She doesn’t hear a response from him as he lays next to Muffin, opening the laptop beside their bed. She comes out from the closet as she says, “Hello?” Raising an eyebrow.

He really doesn’t want to have the conversation of him feeling some type of way about her outfit. He doesn’t want to show his jealousy or insecurities, although it probably would’ve been the better option to do. 

He sighs, “Nah, baby. I want you to have fun. What shoes are you wearing?”

“Nothing too crazy, probably my YSL’s,” she shrugs, “I’m more so worried about my hair and makeup. I’m not getting in that damn pool, too much chlorine and I had a wash day not too long ago!”  

“Maybe those clear heels I bought you will go better with your color scheme.”

“The stripper looking ones?”

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Mmm, okay, fashionista! And here I thought you were just in the shackles of your black long sleeves and sweatpants combo.” 

He chuckles, “I am in the shackles. But forreal, don’t have too much fun. I did tell De’Angelo to come pick you up from work tomorrow, let you get ready and then to bring you to my dressing room before my fight. You'll be there?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Daddy,” she grins, going over to him as she plops herself on his lap, laughing as he groans from the impact. 

She stares over the tattoo along his ribs as he continues to glance over the screen of the computer, his eyebrows peeking up as he then asks, “Why am I getting an email from the neighborhood saying we’ve been reported?”

Sonali pauses. She purses her lips together as she flips off of him, making a whistling noise as she says, “C’mon, Muffin. You’ ready to eat?” 

The dog immediately jumps up as she begins following behind her owner. Toji calmly calls her name, “‘’Nali.”

She lets out a deep breath as she says, “Okay, okay. Fine. Me and Muffin were out on our morning jog a couple of days ago and this guy approached me and asked for my number.”

She sees his face twist up as she then continues, “I told him no and that I was engaged, of course. He kept pressing me, asking about Muffin and why she wasn’t on a leash. I told him she was trained—“

“Why were you still talking to him?”

“…I don’t know? I was being nice.”

“‘The fuck you being nice for?”

She pauses as she hears the slight raise of his voice. Her tone goes soft as she finishes, “He asked if he could shake my hand. I told him no. When he put his hand out anyways, Muffin bit him. I immediately reported it to the office, but I was only in violation of having her off of a leash.” 

“And you’re just telling me this now?” He stands from the bed, Sonali quickly turning into the bathroom as she sees him following behind her, “Muffin should’ve bit his fucking arm off, brought it home to me so I could find his ass and beat the shit out of him with it. He could’ve done anything to you.”

“I know that, Toji. I was fine. I could’ve defended myself if needed—“

“I don’t give a fuck, Sonali,” he calls her by her full name.

He sees her face change, a soft frown coming to her lips. She’s not used to him being upset with her. It’s not that she took advantage of that, she just hated seeing him upset, so it was easier to keep things from him. He runs his fingers over his damp hair, coming towards her as he lifts her onto the bathroom counter.

“You have to tell me when stuff like that happens, baby. God forbid he tried to hurt you and I wasn’t there, I would’ve lost my fucking mind. Please just be careful when taking your daily runs, okay?”

She nods her head, “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry,” she brings her arms around his neck, pulling his forehead to hers as he replies, “I’m not mad.”

“You sure? You’re not gonna go find him and kill him?”

“Imma’ mush his fucking skull in. But I’m not mad at you,” he clarifies.

She rolls her eyes, pushing him away from her as she hops off of the counter, “Mmm, whatever. You’ jealous or something?” She taunts, making her way back out of the bathroom as she retrieves her makeup. He squeezes his fists together as he thinks, maybe, taking another breath as he heads back into the bedroom.

 

                              ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡

The night falls on the next day rather quickly. Buzz about the fight goes along the entire city, Sonali watching as De’Angelo pulls up to the front of the building, seeing long lines of men and women—a huge influx of women— chatting excitedly as they hand their tickets to the person within the booth, making their way into the arena. 

She takes D’s hand as he pulls her through the crowd, eyes lightly glaring over her as they jump the line and walk through, Sonali politely thanking anyone working within the building. They guide them upstairs to the second floor, leading them to a door with ‘FUSHIGURO’ aligned in all red. 

“Yeah?” Toji calls out with a slight groan as he hears a knock, his tone sounding slightly exasperated as the fighters focus was on his upcoming match.

Sonali slowly presses the door open as she softly asks, “Can I come in?”

As she slowly opens the door, Toji sits in his full gear along the dressing room sofa. Black mouth piece, compression leggings beneath the black shorts he wears, his name titled along the hem of his bottoms. His tattoos seem to stand out more as he wears darker attire.  Harsh eyes focus in as he talks to Shiu and his coach. That focus slowly dissipates as he looks to the door, a look of shock crossing his face as she enters, quickly gazing over at the barely fitted dress she wears. It was onyx, white lace trimming the top and bottom of the short material. Extremely short. A soft pink bow sits in the middle at the top where her breasts are pushed up, nearly spilling from the fabric, it being thin where everyone can slightly see her brown nipples. To top it all off, it barely covers her ass, the skin jiggling with every movement she makes, clearly ill-fitting as she has to lightly pull it down with every step. She wears the clear tall heels he’d bought her, his leather jacket hung over the entire dress—although that didn’t change how fucking preposterous it was— her usual dark curls now lengthened out in loose waves, small pink bows cascading in her hair. She was fucking gorgeous. Sexy. Edible. Fuckable. Toji wanted to kill her. 

She smiles softly as she sees him while removing the leather jacket, throwing it to the side of the sofa as she presses her knees against the cushions, wrapping her arms around Toji’s neck as she slightly bends down to do so. From across the mirror, Toji catches her pink hello-kitty panties as she bends down, Shiu and De’Angelo also sees this. Everyone can’t help but stare.

“Hi, Shiu. How are you?” She asks. God, this girl was so bad with awareness.

“Uh…I’m good,” he adjusts his suit, the sight of the dress quickly arousing the man without trying to do so. 

Toji’s gaze remained fixated on her as he said nothing. His emotions went from annoyance, to arousal, to complete rage as he now caught the sight of the other two men.

“You need me to glue your eyes back into your head? Or better yet, rip them out of your eye sockets all in one? Get the fuck out,” he spits to both of them. 

Both Shiu and De’Angelo practically run out, Sonali frowning softly as she asks, “What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face as he stands from the sofa, throwing his mouthguard onto the mirror dresser. He had a lot—repeat—a lot of patience with Sonali. Her naivety to dangerous situations, the way she dressed, the way she smiled in the attention of any man without realizing what she was doing. But this had to be his icing on the cake. 

He drops his hand from his face as he finally speaks, “What in the actual fucking hell—are you wearing, Sonali?”

She blinks. Standing from the sofa as she comes behind him, laughing uncomfortably as she sarcastically mutters, “A dress? What else would it b—“

“Do you see me laughing? Do I look like a fucking joke to you?”

Her mouth clasps closed as he comes inches away from her face, hovering over her smaller frame. She ducks back a bit as she puts together that he’s entirely serious. Shit.

“You bought this for me, Toji.”

He smacks his lips, actually finding something funny in that. “Nah. I didn’t buy that, I just paid for it. I would’ve never let you have a dress like that had I seen you try it on, don’t be fucking stupid.”

Stupid?

“Stupid?” She looks around, “Who the fuck are you talking to?” She comes even closer to his face, ducking down as she squints, “Wanna rewind? Clearly you’ve lost your mind.”

“Damn right I’ve lost my mind. I’m talking to my fiance who decided to come to my fight wearing half of her fucking outfit!” He exclaims, “This is my first time seeing you today. God fuckin’ knows where else else you’ve been in this stupid ass dress!” 

“I was at work!” She fired back, “Which you should know, you keep De’Angelo chained to me like he’s my fucking babysitter!” 

“I wouldn’t have to hire a babysitter if you weren’t such a goddamn child, Sonali. Just no fuckin’ awareness to any situation! First it was you not making a big deal out of the fact that some motherfucker in the neighborhood damn near attempted to assault you, now this! Things happen to women too fucking fast. I can’t protect you if I’m not around, or I don’t know what happened! That’s why you have De’Angelo. But none of this even matters if you wanna make shit harder by walking around dressed like a fuckin’ slut!” 

She jerked back at his words. Her eyes went slightly wide, immediately feeling as they filled with hot, angry tears. She hadn’t felt this type of rage in so long. The only other time she’d felt like this, her fist was plummeted within a woman’s face. She felt disrespected, hurt by his words. 

“You know how long it took me to even be able to wear a t-shirt without sleeves? Anything that showed my stomach? Any part of my body, really. This was my fear. To be judged. But I didn’t think it would be by the person who got me out of my shell in the first place,” she spoke with a depth, wanting him to hear every word, tears dropping mindlessly down her face. 

His anger softened for a moment as he heard her words. Realizing the things he said, he knew he couldn’t take them back. His biggest fear was hurting this woman in a way he couldn’t repair, and hitting her in her biggest insecurities definitely was a way to do that. He watches as she presses her hands over her face, masking her tears as she holds in her cries, finally releasing as she trembles out a soft sob. She quickly turns away from him, beelining for the door.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “Babydoll. I’m—“

It all happened so fast. When he reached for her wrist, she turned towards him, rapidly swinging her right fist forward as it plunged into the middle of his stomach, Toji unable to block her hit as her left fist painfully knocked into his jaw. He stumbled back as he caught himself against the mirror. His eyes immediately went down to her left fist, seeing the blood along her knuckles, finger bare of her ring. Even as pissed as he was, he still knew everything about her. Of course she removed her ring to prove just how lethal her left hand was. 

He stared at her, the anger from earlier washing over his entire body. He wasn’t just angry now. He was pissed. He spat against the floor, watching as a pool of blood dropped from his mouth, looking over to the mirror to see she’d punched directly on a previous scar. She knew it was wrong to become violent with him— she figured she just wanted to do something to hurt him as well. 

“That’s how you do that move,” she sneered, placing her ring back on her finger. 

The door then opens as Shiu enters, seeing the scene in front of him. Sonali’s fists grip under her fingers, hands still shaking as she only focused on Toji who stared evilly back at her. 

“We’re up, Fushiguro—“

Shiu grunts as Sonali bumps his shoulder, flying past him. His eyes go back to Toji as he says, “Should I ask what happened?”

Toji says nothing. In silence, he turns back towards the mirror as he looks for his mouth guard, only saying, “Bring me my gloves.” 

She felt like she was gonna have an anxiety attack, leaning against the wall outside of the dressing room as she held her chest, feeling all of her emotions that she buried down returning. They had their disagreements, but this had to be one of the worst. The way he spoke to her, her reaction to his words. She felt regretful. She wanted to apologize, she hoped that he was apologetic as well. 

She clears her eyes of tears as she can hear the rumble of chaos coming from downstairs, hearing as they call his name through the speakers in the arena. Pulling herself together as she turned the corner where De’Angelo stood, gripping his hand as she pulled him forward, “Let’s go.”

Anytime she came to his show, she had a front row seat directly across from the ring. This time she wished she was in the nosebleeds. She sits next to De’Angelo who stares everywhere but her, noticing how her eyes stay along her legs, adjusting herself uncomfortably in her dress. 

“Mr. Fushiguro told me to give you this, he knew you would be cold,” He says, handing her the leather jacket she previously wore earlier. 

“He said that?” She asks.

“…Yes ma’am,” he replies softly, watching as she slowly takes the jacket from him. 

He helps her put the jacket over her shoulders, her eyes coming upward as everyone around her cheers. An uproar goes along the building as Toji appears in the ring. She sees that his scar is healing faster than she expected, a small hint of relief coming from her at that. Usually he would wink at her before any match she came to, this time, she assumed he would keep his head in the opposite direction. But no. He turns, looking directly at her as he winks. She frowns.

“May I say something, Sonali?” 

She’s taken out of her thoughts as she turns to De’Angelo. She sighs, “Are you about to ‘dad’ me right now?”

“You need it. I’m old enough to be your father. God rest his soul,” he speaks, Sonali crossing her arms over her chest, feeling a ball forming in her throat. 

“Both of you were wrong for the way you handled that situation. But he should’ve expressed that in a different way. My daughter would’ve been hung on a flagpole by this goddamn dress. But you’re grown, I can’t tell you what you shouldn’t wear. The ultimate issue is you also shouldn’t have hit him, even if you know he can take a punch. You just need to apologize to each other. And quickly, when y’all are fighting it fucks up my chakras.”

Sonali turns her eyes to him, unable to help but softly laugh. She sighs, “I don’t like you sometimes.”

“I’m your babysitter, remember? You’re not supposed to.”

As she brings her eyes back to the ring, she sees they’d already begun. It was always a nervous time for her to watch him fight. But she also knew that he was fast, and his strength was terrifying. He patiently awaits for his opponent to make the first move, the opponent ducking down, Toji quickly moving out of the way as he sends a devastating hook to the man’s face, flying him backwards against the ring. The crowd goes wild, the referee having to step in as Toji continues swinging his gloves along the man’s face, probably knocking all of his thoughts out of his head. He’s agile, knowing immediately which part of the man’s body he wants to connect with next, giving him no room to defend himself. She could feel his anger pooling off of his body, fists throwing various strikes, the opponent panting as he gets in a few hits himself, Toji immediately blocking them. 

It was one second as she watched his opponent give him a good hit to the face, Sonali cringing as she shut her eyes, leaning her elbows on her legs as she muttered, “Fuck. C’mon, baby.”

Regardless of how they felt about one another right now, she was here. He had her support. He doesn’t show any sign of fatigue, even after that good strike against his chin. Her eyes scatter along their moving bodies, Sonali never expecting as Toji dips down with his right fist, punching the man within the airway of his stomach, coming back up as he strikes him within the left side of his jaw, his body dropping down to the ring floor. Chaos goes along the audience. Sonali’s unable to hold the relieved smile that comes along her face, De’Angelo clapped as she cheered at the succession of him achieving that movement. His team patted his muscular arms and shoulders, pulling him back down to give him time to breath. A countdown went along the room as his opponent still hadn't gotten up. When Sonali thought this would all be over, the opponent struggles as he stands, either crazy or just plain stupid as he’s ready for another round.

She frowns as they call for a thirty-minute break, the opponent complaining about how Toji commited a “foul,” claiming he’d kicked him a couple of times. Sonali rolls her eyes, leaning back against her seat as both opponents leave the ring, scurrying back to their dressing rooms. 

“Mr. Fushiguro requests that you come back to his dressing room.”

Her eyebrows furrow, “Right now? I’m sure Shiu doesn’t want me distracting him.”

“I’m just telling you what Shiu told me. Don’t get me in trouble again,” he reminds, Sonali chuckling as she replies, “I’m going.”

Making her way back upstairs, she feels herself become nervous. She wants to find the correct words to have this conversation with him, hoping that he’s in the same headspace as she is. 

“You’re not coming in?” She asks De’Angelo who stands on the opposite side of the door.

“No ma’am,” he starts firmly.

She raises an eyebrow at that, muttering, “Uh, okay.”

She pushes the door open as she makes her way inside, preparing herself for the amount of adrenaline she’s sure he carries from the fight. She expects to see Shiu and his coach in there speaking to him, seeing as he stands across from the mirror by himself, carefully unwrapping the bandages on his fingers. 

She blows out a breath, “Toji—“

“Come here.”

Once she enters the dressing room, she can immediately hear his heavy breathing. He says this as he doesn’t turn to look at her—His tone was clear for her to listen. 

She slowly comes forward, standing a couple of inches  away from him as she says, “I want us to talk—“

“On your knees,” he calmly interrupts, eyes still not upon hers as he finishes unraveling the last bit of his bandages. Her heart thuds in her chest as she hears this, seeing as he now turns his face towards her. He was completely serious. 

“Now?” She asks.

“Now.”

She still stands in confusion. He becomes impatient, gripping her firmly by her hair, pulling her down as her knees come to the floor. Her eyes only watch him, becoming almost doe like, body becoming infinitely aroused as she awaited for his next command.

“You want my dick in your mouth, don’t you?”

Her mouth waters at the thought. She doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, but she nods her head nonetheless.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” 

He grips her hair tighter, using his other hand as he pulls out his length from under his boxers, veiny and large as it stands across from her face. 

She nods her head, correcting herself as she says softly, “…Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.”

He pulls her jaw open, forcing himself past her lips as he knocks into the back of her throat, pulling her down by her hair as her mouth makes contact with his hips. Sonali moans as she opens her mouth wider, choking out a cough which sends vibrations throughout Toji’s body. He grunts as he watches her, Sonali drooling more each time she pulls her mouth back to his tip, swirling her tongue on the inside of her cheek. She keeps her face upwards, looking straight into his as he leans his head down, eyes blown with lust. 

“You see that?” He asks, digging his fingers within the scalp of her hair, moving his hips rhythmically into her mouth, creating a wet noise with each connection. 

“This fuckin’ mouth of yours. Imma’ make a mess of your fuckin’ throat. It’s mine,” he tells her. She hums at that, feeling her jaw slightly burning, spit running down the sides of her mouth as she twists her head, falling deeper within the trap of his words. It gets to a point where she barely does any movement herself, her throat full as he slams into the back of it, eyes becoming watery as he doesn’t plan to be gentle with her.

He finally relaxes as he pulls her back, Sonali breathing heavily within her chest as she runs her tongue over her lips. Toji tilts his head, “So fuckin’ needy, aren’t you? You want more?”

She nods her head, feeling her nipples hardening at his words as he gently smacks his palm against her cheek, “Say you want more. Use your words.”

“I want more,” she says quietly.

“Louder.”

“I want more, please,” she raises her voice a bit more.

He then pulls her up by her hair again, pushing her against the mirror dresser as her back is now against it, legs spread widely as her knees fall along the black marble. She shivers at the coldness of it, feeling as Toji scoots her down towards him, pulling her panties to the side as he attaches his mouth to her clit. He immediately moaned at the taste of her. She shudders at the cold feeling of his tongue-ring, bringing her eyes down as she watches him circle his head slowly in between her legs, bringing his tongue in a dreadful up and down motion as he spreads her legs wider, holding her down by both legs as he makes out with her opening. Sonali presses her hands to the back of her knees, raising her head as she watches.

“Yeah, baby. That’s it,” she moans, “Eat my pussy just like that,” she talks, shuddering out a whine as he spanks the skin of her ass beneath them. She raises her head fully to look at him, pushing her hand through his hair to look within his eyes that don’t come up to hers.

“Baby…look at me,” she asks softly.

He grunts at her voice, never fulfilling her request. It frustrates her. Diving his tongue deeper into her, he motions his head back and forth, Sonali biting her lip to hold back her dazed smile. She continues to speak to him, “That’s so fucking good, Daddy,” she whimpers, “Fuck my pussy with your tongue. I love that.”

He became annoyed with her talking, not eating her out for the sake of her pleasure. He was simply preparing her body for the way he was about to fuck her. On the other hand, her voice was like a drug he couldn’t stop withdrawing from, feminine and soft as she whined, spreading her legs wider and dipping his tongue deeper with each word. It was like lighting a fire in hell, knowing how aroused she could make him by just speaking.

“Here, let me help you,” she says, gripping his hair as she raises his mouth from her clit, slowly placing it back down as his lips create a suctioning noise from that. Sonali grinds herself against his mouth, watching as Toji moves his tongue all around her core, going back down to her opening as he fully pushes his tongue inside, fucking her as she asked. She becomes more wet from that, gushing out each time he removes his mouth just for a second, shoving right back in. She giggles sultrily, twisting her head to the side as she watches. Her head falls against the black marble of the dresser, back arching as she whimpers, “Don’t stop. I’m gonna squirt all over your fucking mouth, baby. Just the way you like it. Just the way you want me to, okay? I promise.” 

His entire body inflames at her words, standing up fully as he keeps a hold of her panties with his other hand, dropping his tip along her clit as it smushes arousingly against it. He mutters, “Hold your legs up,” Sonali doing so as he takes a hold of her ankles. She leans her head back against the dresser again, grunting slightly as he’s already pushing his tip inside her, taking that hand as he lifts her head, “Nah. You’re gonna watch me go inside you. Take every fuckin’ inch of this dick.” 

Her legs tremble as he fills her, her mouth going agape as she watches all of him being swallowed by her opening. An intense pinch is within her abdomen as she closes her eyes, whimpering deeply in her throat. Her body feels complete, regardless of how big he actually was, no matter how long he ate her out for—she couldn’t handle him.

“Oh my godd…” she quivers, moaning loudly as she tightens around him, Toji spanking her as he demands, “Open my pussy. I’m gonna ruin you. You’ll love every second of it.”

She’s unable to reply, her voice lost as he slowly pulls back, somehow going deeper when he pushes all the way in. An influx of curses leave her mouth, Toji’s hand moving from her hair to her lips, shoving his fingers into her mouth as he grits out, “Watch your mouth.”

He pulls her by the bite of her teeth, the back of her thighs dirtily clapping with his hips, Toji taking the hand that’s still around her ankle as he brings his thumb to her clit, rubbing in circles to relax her. Sonali closes her eyes, in a high state of mind almost, vision rolling to the back of her head as she moans dumbly, intelligence thrown out the window with each thrust. 

“This fuckin’ dress,” he growls, pulling it up her hips as it now almost looked to be a shirt. His actions are a mix of lust and frustration. Nonetheless, he’s unable to hold back his desires and feelings as he grabs a hold of her hips, shoving her down to meet his body. He watched every reaction she gave. He was clearly still pissed off, but the way she looked up to him with her eyes, her mouth sucking his fingers deeper into her throat as she moaned, whined and writhed beneath him, it didn’t help in the slightest. He wanted to tear the entire dress apart. He brings his hand back down, spanking her ass again, this time leaving a bruise. 

“You think I want every man in this building to see my woman? I think you like it when I’m mad. Shit turns you on,” he grunts, Sonali jumping as he continuously spanks her. 

“I…Toji…” she softly cries, wanting to reach her hand to his. He takes her hand, roughly placing it back behind her knee as he says, “Hold your legs. Shut the fuck up.”

Her mouth closes as she whimpers, lightly grazing her teeth against his fingers as he shoves them within her throat. All she can do is watch. She tries to hold herself together, wanting to adjust her body as she’s trapped in a position where she feels every…single…thrust. Her eyes tear away from his, more curses releasing from her lips as he immediately smacks her cheek at that, moving her face away from his hand as she whines, “Fuckk, baby.” 

“You love it, I know,” he becomes irritated, “Daddy’s always gonna fuck you like this. You’re wet as fuck,” he continues, her thighs smacking into his skin, she hiccups as she nods, “I love being fucked like this. Don’t stop, don’t stop. Don’t stoppp,” she can’t stop whining, becoming more wet with her own words. Toji can’t help but moan in response, slowly slipping from the mask of anger he wears. 

The mirror knocks into the wall, Toji bringing his hand back into her hair as he pulls her head backwards, forcing her to look at herself. 

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, babydoll. Look at yourself,” he talks, Sonali’s eyes closing as she speaks, “Stop it.”

“Believe me. You’re pretty as fuck, baby. Never seen a woman more beautiful. Even in this stupid ass dress,” he grunts.

Sonali can feel herself becoming emotional at his words, a mix of pleasure also collecting in her eyes as tears begin to form. She moans, voice shaky as she replies, “You don’t mean that…” 

“I mean every word, ‘Nali. Never loved a woman more than I love your pretty ass. Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he tilts her head more, Sonali lifting her eyes to show her attentiveness. She can see from the mirror as he holds her other leg by the ankle, nearly lifting her hips off of the marble as he drops them down onto his length, Sonali whining loudly as he continues to speak, “Look at my wife. My fuckin’ wife.” 

She cries softly at his words, closing her eyes as she pulls them away from the mirror. He keeps going, “So fuckin’ sorry, babydoll…”

She ignores him, moaning softly as he removes himself from her and brings his lips down to her clit, sucking and swirling his tongue against the throbbing in between her legs. She holds his hair in her hands, body becoming immensely tired from his movements. Toji was the opposite. He was only getting started. 

She inhales as he then wraps his arms around her waist, picking her up as he then brings them over to the sofa, sitting himself back against the furniture as he sits her against his lap. 

He kisses her shoulders, gradually moving up to her throat as he drags his tongue against the skin. Her body shivers from the jewelry in his mouth, always adding an extra touch of pleasure to anything she was feeling. It was a soft touch, but it was enough to make her react. That reaction made him want to keep going. He touches her face as she looks down to him, he thinks she looks adorable, then confidently pulling her face forward as he kissed her. It was always warm, his mouth completely hot against hers. She immediately relaxed into the kiss. They stopped all of their other movements as they were only focused on kissing each other, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him deeper, an assertiveness coming out from him as he pulled her down, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, allowing Sonali to catch it each time it entered past her lips.

She wasn't sure why her face became slightly warm at his sudden sweetness. Instead of telling him what she wanted, she pulled his lips to her throat as she wanted him to kiss there again, feeling as Toji chuckled at that. She felt the coldness of the piercing return, his hands sliding down to her ass as he squeezed. She gripped his neck, lightly whimpering as he placed his tongue back in her mouth, legs wanting to squeeze shut as she could feel herself becoming aroused even more.

Her body trembles almost embarrassingly. He goes from kissing her to dragging his tongue along her neck. She hides her face within his shoulder as she lightly speaks against his ear, “I want you…” she says softly.

He lets out a soft grunt of satisfaction when he hears her  words, smiling as he keeps kissing her on the neck, not being too aggressive, keeping it going at a decent pace. 

“You want me, huh?” He teases.

“Yes,” she admits, nodding her head, face completely red. Her breath hitches as he firmly grips her face, pointing her eyes to his as he speaks, “Repeat that to me.”

“I…I want you,” she repeated again, flustered at his aggression.

“Say it louder. Mean it. Tell Daddy you wanna show him how much you love this dick,” he taunts her. 

“Baby, please,” she begs, “Don’t be mean,” she pouts. She went to protest again, her mind swarming as he roughly pulled her panties to the side of her ass, holding the thin material. Her mind goes numb as he slightly lifts her up with his other hand, sinking her down onto his length. Her mouth drops open, eyes falling to his as she whines, dropping her face within his shoulder again as she could hear him ask, “What was that?”

His voice sounds more gruff than usual, "Was that a complaint?"

“No…I…fuck,” she curses, unable to finish her sentence as a moan broke through her lips, her arms relaxing around his neck as he picks her up, dropping her back down on his hips. Her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head at the feeling, thighs trembling in response. She couldn’t stop gasping, biting her lip to stop the sounds. She became more aroused with each movement, hips plummeting together as she held onto him, whimpering along his ear. 

“I’m waiting for you to show me,” he spanks her, Sonali jumping in response. 

She feels her muscles weakening, body becoming sore as she places her hands along his hard stomach, lifting her hips as she slowly brings them back down, moaning softly at the pleasure she feels from doing so. He watches her with hooded eyes, leaning back along the sofa as he only keeps his hands along her back, allowing her to fuck herself. 

“F—feels so good…” she repeats, circling her hips down, moving her hair out of her face as she becomes hot. 

He was enthralled by her beauty. Her hair was messy around her face, makeup slightly messy as she continued to dig her teeth into her lip. But as his eyes traveled down, his anger began creeping back up as he stared over this damn dress, seeming this caused their entire issue in the first place.

“Let me show you.”

He suddenly places his arms under thighs, lifting her up on his lap as she’s now half-way in the air, Toji bringing her up, slamming her back down, bouncing her against his hips in a way that it caused her to shout. She nearly feels this man in her stomach. She becomes incoherent, Toji arrogantly chuckling as he talks to her with every bounce, “Fuck, baby. Look at you, you’re creaming’,” watching as her arousal appears more on his length with each raise of her hips as he continues talking to her, “This is how I want you. I wanna see you cry,” he keeps going, ignoring the squelching of her opening, Sonali sobbing mercilessly atop of him. 

“Tell me how you feel,” he asks.

“I feel so good, so good, so good,” she cries, “Ungh, babbyy.” 

“I know, babydoll,” he coos mockingly, “Keep taking my shit so well,” he’s relentless, bringing his hips up to meet the movement he causes, snapping upward to hit her deepest spots.

Sonali places her hand on his leg, leveraging as she begins meeting his rhythm, coming back down onto him as she grinds, “Yes, baby. I love your dick….So much…so fucking much,” she softly cries, barely able to get the words out, “Why are you fucking me like this…”

“‘Cause you asked for it.”

He continues moving his hips with her on top, pressing her down more and more. He slows down, keeping them stationary so that she could feel everything that he’s giving to her, allowing her to experience the moment fully. He takes his hand against her throat, now using that to tug her down, grunting as he feels himself cumming. It happened before he realized, Sonali keeping her eyes closed as a warmth filled her body, trapped in his hold as she continued to drop down on his thighs. Her body could barely take anymore, a feeling of relief almost washing over her at his release. 

“Baby, I—“

“I know.” 

He pulls out of her, twisting her around so she’s now laid on his lap with her back pressed to his chest. He rubs his hands along her body, squeezing her breast within his hand as he drags his fingers down her stomach, placing both of her legs against each side of his so they’re spread open. Her eyes face the mirror across from them, feeling her face going warm at the sight of them together. He takes his other hand as he places it on her throat, fingers by her inner thigh traveling over to her clit, beginning to rub in circles.

She places her hand along his face as he looks down to her, continuing to rub her clit as she begs, “Kiss me.”

He does. He places his mouth over hers, the both of them dirtily wrapping their tongues around one another, Sonali moaning as his fingers gently trail over her core, rubbing the area in a way that had her feening for more. She lightly raises her hips up, Toji chuckling within her mouth as he feels her become more wet.

“Look at you. My pretty babydoll,” he compliments against her lips, “I’m sorry, baby. I was mean to you, wasn’t I?”

The hand that’s gently against his face begins lightly gripping his jaw as he rubs his fingers faster, whimpering as she nods her head. She attempts to kiss him, her mouth staying agape as he spreads her opening, rubbing one finger directly along her clit. 

“I hate this fuckin’ dress,” he groans, “Hate that you look so fuckin’ sexy in it. Hate that other eyes see what’s mine.”

“‘M sorry, baby,” she whimpered against his mouth. 

“But they’ll never get to see you like this, will they?”

Her mouth drops open again as he takes his index and middle finger, sinking them inside of her, slowly pulling them out halfway as he sunk them back in. He continued this, pulling her head upwards as she was back to the mirror.

“Crying all over my dick, now crying from my fingers. But you want more,” he moans, feeling his fingers being pulled back inside of her, wanting more. Needing more. 

“Squirt on my fingers, baby. Wanna see all of you,” he begs, whimpering himself, “Please.” 

Sonali trembles at his words, gripping his neck as she cries, her entire body shuddering as she listens to him slam his fingers within her, soaking the sofa with her arousal. He sticks his tongue in her mouth, laughing arrogantly as she orgasms, writhing against him as she screams. She can’t stop screaming, sobbing out his name as her hips tremble with each thrust of his hand. 

“So fucking beautiful. I love you,” he grunts, smashing his lips to hers, “Tell me you fuckin’ love me.”

“I love you so much, Toji,” Sonali cries, her entire body shaking as she continues to orgasm. He holds her as she calms her breathing, her body still trembling as he passionately kisses her again. She’d never felt this much need and desire from him in a while, accepting his kiss as he spanked her opening, laughing within her mouth as she whined, “Stop it.”

“I’m done. I promise,” he chuckles, picking her up so she cradles within his lap. He moves her hair out of her face, gripping her chin as he sees her makeup running down her face, tears still blinking within her eyes. 

“You okay?” He softly asks, still feeling her body shuddering, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, babydoll.” 

“I’m fine, Toji. Don’t get all sensitive and worrisome,” she brushes him off, wiping her face. 

“I didn’t mean anything about the sex. I fucked you stupid, I know you like that,” he says, her face going warm as he continues, “I’m saying in general. I’m really sorry about what I said. I’d never wanna hurt you in that way. I was just…”

He takes a deep breath, “Jealous.”

She frowns, “Jealous?”

“Babydoll, we’ve been together for years. I’ve seen you grow in more ways than one. To be at your full potential and the attention you get from it…it scares me, it scares me that I won’t be enough for you. You’ll continue to grow. The dress just kinda mixed together with the other insecurities I was facing,” he admits.

She sees the vulnerability within his face, pulling her forehead to his as she speaks, “No other man is comparable to you. You’re my heart. Please know that,” she states. 

He smiles weakly at her words, kissing her cheek as she continues, “But I have some apologizing to do as well. I should’ve never put my hands on you, no matter how upset I was. And…maybe the dress was a bit much,” she mutters to herself.

“I deserved it. I was a dick. And honestly, I don’t care what you wear, baby. I know you’re gonna come home to me with that damn outfit on. I’ll buy you a thousand of these dresses, fuck you in every single one of them,” he promises, making her giggle as he tickles her with his lips along her neck. 

“Maybe I can buy them in mediums next time,” she suggests. 

“We can always do the big t-shirt idea,” he also suggests. 

She then rolls her eyes, standing from his lap as he pulls the dress down to her upper thighs, a knock coming along the door as a voice shouts, “You’re late, Fushiguro! Round two!” 

“You should go,” she reminds, placing the leather jacket over her body as she zips it up halfway, covering the rest of the dress from the bottom. She looks to Toji’s eyes as she sees an amusement in them, glaring as she says, “Don’t say anything.”

“Wasn’t gonna. Until you zipped it up. I must’ve really punished your ass, huh? You’ sore?”

“I’m leaving,” she mutters, making her way to the door. “Maybe I will buy those dresses all in a small. Just to spite you!” 

“You’ need another reminder? ‘Cause I can really wear your ass out—“

“No,” she replies, sticking her tongue out, shrieking as he steps forward to grab her. 

He then grabs for his gloves and mouthguard, winking at her as she sticks her middle finger up, making her way back downstairs to watch him fight.

“That’s what I thought.” 

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"Twix."

Blue says your name in a single exhale of relief. You didn't expect her to be awake. She sits with her legs outstretched by a barely-there fire as you enter the cabin, the busted door groaning shut behind you. Fatigue sinks you to the floor beside her. You're about to curl your numb hands within the long sleeves of your new jacket, but the burn on your fingers makes you wince from the friction.

“You're filthy." She reaches for your hand, gently inspecting the burn. "And someone hurt you."

"Well, technically, I hurt them."

Blue shakes her head, the tone of her voice hardening the moment she drops your hand. "You shouldn't have gone."

"It was important—"

"It was stupid. You saw how those guys tried to kill us!" She huffs out a breath before snapping her gaze back to the flames. "You... you didn't tell me you were leaving. You didn't even say goodbye. I just woke up and you were gone.”

"I didn't want to wake you this morning because you needed rest,” you reason.

"That's a shitty excuse," she grumbles back, gesturing to the pink bracelet on her wrist. "I may not have a lot of friends, but I do know they're supposed to tell each other things like this."

Your eyes trail down from the burnt skin on your fingers, red and bubbly, to the cheap, plastic beads encompassing your wrist.

"You're right," you speak softly. "I should have told you."

A few minutes lapse in thick silence. In the midst of it, you swallow a few chalky pills to help with all the pain. You've been conservative in using them so far, but with your additional score of medicine, you figure you can afford some relief. There's no way you'll be able to sleep with your bitten wrist throbbing incessantly.

You're about to lean against the wall and let your eyes flutter shut when Blue speaks again, this time her voice so quiet you wonder if you're imagining it. 

"You know, I was excited to go on this trip," she whispers, still looking at the fire. "I even secretly hoped we'd run into other people, just because—" she pauses to swallow, "—because I never get to meet any. And the ones we have met, my dad always kills. Except for you."

She drags her sleeve over her face and it’s now you notice she is crying. A knot forms in your throat and, after the day you've had, you struggle to find the right words. 

"He kills them for a reason," you settle on, voice equally hushed. "A lot of people are—"

"A threat, I know." Blue repeats the words like a bitter mantra, then looks at her bandaged leg. "What does it feel like?" she asks after a moment, sliding her glossy eyes to yours. “Killing a person. Ghost told me it feels just like killing an animal or a Grey."

You inhale, then fix your stare to the dark ceiling. "No— I don't think it feels the same. It's much worse. I still get sick from it,” you admit.

"How many have you killed?"

"I don't remember anymore, but not that many." Certainly not as many as Ghost has. "It was always in self-defense. Always because I had to."

"I wish nobody ever had to," she says.

"I know. Me, too.”

With a sigh, she carefully scoots closer to you. "I'm sorry for getting mad. I just want to go home.”

"Don't be sorry. I’m the one who is sorry." You shake your head and offer her a shoulder until both of you have your backs against the wall. Her hair tickles your cheek. A small hand slips around your waist in a tender embrace, her fingers latching onto the fabric of the jacket. The sore muscles of your core flex instinctively from the touch before you finally force yourself to relax. It’s just Blue.

"Your dad says we're going back tomorrow,” you whisper, jaw grazing the crown of her head. “Sleep. It'll be a long day again."

"A long day for you maybe," she murmurs against your shoulder. "I get to ride on his back."

"Lucky you." You drape the heavy blanket over your bodies. Together you are warmer, if only by a little. 

Deft wind whooshes through the trees, kissing your wet skin. Splotches of wriggling orange and red follow the water's current, along with a trail of brown muck as you scrub your breasts, hair, and cheeks. The sight of fish makes your stomach grumble. It's been far too long since you've had anything but squirrel and deer and berries, but this is not the time or place to ponder a way to catch one. The blue wash of early morning lightens with each second that passes. You wring out your hair, rewrap your wrist, and put your clothes back on before carefully climbing up the slope, satisfied enough with your icy bath.

"Ready," you announce, blowing a white breath into your hands and rubbing them together. Ghost crouches down so Blue can teeter onto his back. The backpack full of ammo hugs his front. He appears exceptionally bulky with all the baggage, and yet, he makes it look effortless.

Together, you head towards the infamous bridge, if one could call it that. Silvery fog makes it hard to see more than ten meters ahead of you, but Ghost seems to have the area memorized. Your hands ball up in your pockets, feeling empty and useless. With no bow, you have to rely on Ghost to get you back. It's a weird thing. Though, you suppose if there's anyone you'd want to be stuck out here with, it would be him. His presence alone offers more safety than the measly knife around your ankle.

"Ghost, we should go behind her," Blue says when you reach the beam.

He steps aside to allow you on first. "Try not to go for a swim this time."

A flush of pink bites your cheeks, though you blame it on the cold. It's hard to believe just four days ago you slipped off this thing. With his hands preoccupied, Ghost can't hold onto your shoulders like before, but he lingers close behind and repeatedly orders you to keep your eyes on the bank. 

Once you're all across, a calm quiet settles, a vast contrast to how talkative Blue was the first time around. It makes you absentmindedly pick the skin around your nails. By the time you reach the road, you've looked behind your shoulder at least ten times, half-expecting to spot a burnt face hiding among the trees. Squirrels prattle by. A starling calls above your head. But no people. You force your eyes onward and take a deep breath.

"So, uh, would you rather get mauled by a bear," you break the silence, stepping over a stray tire, "—or be struck by lightning?"

It takes a second for Blue to respond. "Oh. That's a good one. Do I have a gun while the bear attacks me?"

"No. No weapons. Just you and the bear."

"Then lightning." She pats Ghost's shoulder. "Could you take a bear?"

"On a good day, maybe," he answers.

"What about you, Twix?"

"No," you instantly scoff, kicking at a rock. "A bear would rip me apart. I would choose lightning because it'd be quick."

"Okay, I have one," Blue quips. "Would you rather be ripped in half, or fall off a tall building?"

"Ripped in half by what?" Ghost asks, tilting his head back.

"It doesn't matter." You can hear the roll of her eyes.

"It does matter. Might change my answer."

"Fall off a building," you interject. "The way down would suck, but I bet you don't feel a thing once you hit the ground."

"But you'd look like a dead bug," says Blue.

"I don't care what I look like. I'll be dead."

Ghost clears his throat. "My turn, then."

"No! You have to pick one," she exclaims. 

"Building," he drawls. A shadow of movement passes to the right of you. You naturally flinch closer to them, but it's just a doe hunkering down tall weeds that reach out of the concrete. A chuff of breath leaves your lips as you look away, only to find Ghost staring at you. For a few seconds, his eyes flicker between you and the deer before he goes back to focusing straight ahead. 

"Would you rather," he begins, "—chop off all your fingers, or take out your own eyes?"

"What do I use to take out my eyes?" Blue asks.

"Knife."

"I guess my eyes," she winces. "I mean, I'd rather get rid of two things than ten."

They both glance at you expectantly. A frigid gust of northern air takes hold of your hair, so you tuck the unruly strands behind your ears. "Uh, fingers," you decide after a moment. "I could probably live without them."

In the village, the air stinks enough for Ghost to come to a halt. Before, he was able to pass right through. This time, a group of fourteen or fifteen Greys seems to be trapped on the main street between a crumbled wall and a fallen telephone pole. He has to decide between expending ammo or time. It's not long before he nods to a small building and the three of you scale the rusted fire escape. From the safe distance of the roof, he takes out the Greys one by one with an accuracy that barely leaves a dent in the ample stockpile of cartridges. With the route cleared, he's saved at least an hour or two of precious daylight. 

The fog lifts. The ambery sun tries to peek through the clouds, but the sky is bent on staying grey. By the time you are back, your blisters have blisters. Blue has fallen asleep, cheek smushed against the back of Ghost's neck. Relief, thick and palpable, tastes sweet on your tongue. The fence, the rabbit hutch, the much-cozier cabin; none of it is home to you, but still, it calls your name in a welcoming coo. 

You have to aim Ghost's flashlight so he can unlock the gate. Blue stirs, but her eyes remain closed even when he pushes inside the cabin. It's shrouded in darkness. You prop the flashlight on the table as his boots scuffle against the floor.

He puts her to bed. As he does, you feel around for the sofa and nearly choke when your worn fingertips graze shabby fabric. Not icy water or solid wood or muddy ground, but something soft. You're about to sink into it, your bones desperate for the springy cushions, when he returns to the threshold of the hallway with an ugly, flannel sheet in his hands. 

"Here."

It's hard to be certain if you thank him or not; your brain conjures up the words, but your voice doesn't seem to function quite right. One thing is certain: you accept the sheet, tuck it on with urgency, and then lay down, burying your face in the crook of the pillow and arm. You kick off your boots and let the darkness take you, swift and heavy. It could be a coma or death disguised as sleep, and you figure you'd still slip into it without fuss. 

Those first days back are quiet. Blissfully uneventful. You sleep and sleep. In fact, you don't move from the couch except to relieve yourself and eat a little. Ghost and Blue don't seem to do much, either. Or maybe you just don't notice.

At one point, you wake up to a small stack of shirts beside the couch. All black. One long sleeve, the rest short. You change into one and continue sleeping. 

At another point, Blue hovers above you with a whisper that draws out a groan from you. "Hey. Ghost is making me skin some rabbits. Apparently, it's the only chore I can't get out of. Do you want to help me?"

"I think I'm good." You stuff the pillow over your face to make your point. 

"You've been sleeping for three days, you know."

"I could go for another three."

She takes the hint and staggers away. Walking now. You hear her right leg drag a little.

The sleep is good until it's not.

On the fifth night, you're no longer fatigued enough to keep the dreams squandered. They start as whispers. Hoarse and gritty. Then they get louder and louder, shouting your name until they are so loud it feels like someone is screaming in your ear. Different voices blend into an indecipherable cacophony. One screams in pain; another in anger. You feel someone's cold fingers take hold of your neck and are finally pried awake, flying up against the couch with fiery pants burning through your lungs. But all that's there is a dark room.

Sweat clings to every inch of you. It feels like everything is on fire, and all you want to do is cool down. You haven't bathed since the river. Catching your breath, you swing your legs down and quietly pad to the bathroom where you hope a little water is left. Luckily, in the glint of moonlight, you find a bucket used for washing hands and scoop some to your face. Then, you comb it through your sweat-laced hair. 

You unwrap your wrist and brush your fingers over the bite. You dab some water on it. You can't see well, but you feel the constellation of congealed scabs beneath your fingertips. Scars. Wounds. Your nostrils flare as a you wonder if one day you'll be so covered in them you won't even look like yourself. It's a good thing there is not enough light to spot the reflection of your face in the mirror, because you're not thrilled to greet the one now on your brow.

On your way out of the bathroom, something solid and immobile blocks your path. You startle backward, sucking in air as you peer up at a masked face. Ghost. It's Ghost. You haven't spoken to him since getting back, and in this moment, you long for the ability to push past him, but his wide shoulders consume the narrow hall. 

It's silly to think you can avoid him when you sleep in the same space now. The thing is— you have no idea what to think of him. Before, it was easy to settle on fear of how easily he could snap your neck, and annoyance for how he treated you. And then, when forced to, you could engage in a pragmatic conversation about how to keep yourselves alive.

But now, you don't know what you are supposed to feel around him, and you have spent zero time reflecting on it so far.

"Sorry. I was just, uh, washing my face."

"In the middle of the night?" he rasps, tilting his gaze down.

You teeter back a step, keeping a healthy bubble of space between your bodies. You're not sure why he hasn't just moved out of the way, or what he would be up and about for at this hour, but briefly, you wonder if he is suspicious of you. If after everything you went through, he still thinks you're trying to do something and might send you back to the shed. The three of you relieve yourself outside the cabin since the plumbing doesn't work, so it certainly does seem odd that you'd be in the bathroom during the night. 

"I was sweating a lot." Inwardly, you curse at yourself. "I mean, I haven't bathed since we got back, and I..." You trail off in a whisper.

"And you what?"

"I don't know." You fiddle with the hem of the oversized shirt he gave you. "I'm not trying to kill you or your daughter in your sleep, though, if that's what you're thinking."

He simply stares at you. It feels like he can see right through you, and your eyes drop to your wool socks. Then, he murmurs, “I wasn't thinking that."

"Okay," you reply carefully. "Could you... please move, then?"

Finally, he steps out of the way, but you feel the burn of his eyes on your skin as you brush past him. 

"Twix."

You pause, looking back. "Yes?"

A shake of his head. And then: "Take a proper bath tomorrow. You could use it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Will do." 

With that, you crawl back onto the couch.

[kurogane2512]

Did Vautour's event and interrogation in one sitting cause I'm a simp and I love her so much now 😭 This is inspired from that massage supervision incident with her😩

18+ CONTENT

Game: Path to Nowhere

Characters: Vautour Bleu x fem!reader (Chief)

Type: Fluff and smut (Spoilers for Vautour's real name and backstory)

Vautour Bleu, a mysterious and enigmatic new Sinner you had recently allied with. Her reputation as a merchant was spread all around in the WhiteSands as a shrewd woman who’d leave no scraps and would always benefit from a deal. Eventually, you ended up making a deal with her as well, a deal that involved her offering herself to be your Sinner willingly while you promised her a future for the people beyond DisCity. Although, you let her continue her business with her caravan, she was still required to abide by some regulations as a Sinner which caused her to come to the bureau every now and then.

Today was one of those days when she was called in for some checkups and had a psychological consultation scheduled. Despite her having a fairly friendly demeanour, she still harboured some deep trauma that shaped her to be known as the ‘blue vulture’ she is today. You decided to personally attend her session today in hopes of knowing her better and helping her as needed. She was secretive about her past and deflected all the questions thrown at her, barely giving any information about herself. You had expected this, you still didn’t even know Vautour Bleu properly, there was no way you could know her past self so easily.

However, as the session continued, you noticed traces of fatigue and tiredness in her expression and eyes. You had come to recognize she was quite laid-back, but her mind was always active. This looked like genuine tiredness that you’d normally not see on her and became worried if something was wrong.

“Vautour, are you not feeling well today?”

Vautour seemed taken aback by your question and the way you gestured at her face.

“Really? What makes you say so?”

“You have got dark circles under your eyes and are constantly moving your neck. Did you have trouble sleeping last night?”

A trace of a smirk adorned her lips, her voice letting out a hum.

“Hmm, paying close attention to me, aren’t you?~”

You blushed for a moment and cleared your throat, “O-Of course, you are my Sinner, it’s my responsibility to take care of you.”

Vautour smiled faintly then tilted her head while pondering.

“Now that you mention it, I did sleep in a weird position last night. My neck and shoulders are rather stiff.”

“Oh, was the bed or pillow not comfortable? I’m sorry, I’ll have them changed immediately.”

She let out a chuckle, “No need to trouble yourself with such trivialities. The facilities were fine, I’m just getting used to sleeping in a new place. I’m not going to be sleeping in every day so it’s no point going that far.”

“It’s no trouble, I don’t want any of my Sinners to be uncomfortable.”

“Hehe, how kind you are to your Sinners, little Chief~”

She rested her head on her arm that was draped across the chair, gazing at you with a smile.

“W-Well, anyways. It seems a massage would be a good therapy for you today. If you don’t mind, I can give you a massage.”

“Oh? That sounds wonderful. It’d be my pleasure~”

You walked behind her and waited as she removed her blue coat, bringing her upper back and shoulders to view. You felt warmth on your face looking at her fair and smooth skin as she parted her thick and fluffy blonde hair to the side.

“I’m ready, little Chief~”

You snapped out of you trance and came closer to place your hands on her shoulders.

“Where does it pain the most?”

“Hmm.... just there, a little below....” she instructed as you dragged your hands to where she wanted, “Yes, right here....”

You began by applying gentle pressure at first, carefully finding the knots.

“Is this alright?”

Vautour let out a pleasured hum, “....Yes, you can go harder.”

“Okay....”

You pressed down with your thumbs near her shoulder blades, making her arch in response with a sweet sigh.

“Oh, that was good.... Yes.... just like that~”

Her voice almost sounded like a moan, instantly making you flustered but you kept your composure and continued massaging her. Your fingers traced in circular motions over her upper back while your thumb clenched in and out, making a rhythmic pattern to ease out her muscles. She tilted her neck as you came up to massage near her nape, again letting out the same kind of relaxed hums that could easily be misinterpreted. You wondered if she was doing this intentionally, or if the massage was really just that good.

“Hmm.... more in this spot....” she brought her hand to hold yours and guided you to the centre of her back, “Do it just like before, that felt perfect~”

“Y-Yes, as you say....”

Vautour gazed into the distance as her eyes became hazy, enjoying the sensations. You understood her relaxed state and decided to ask her a bit about herself, hoping to earn some answers now.

“So, your real name is Madeleine, right?”

She remained silent for a moment and contemplated her answer then decided to reply truthfully.

“Madeleine Noailles..... Hehe, it’s been more than a decade since I heard it.”

“Noailles.... I have never heard of that family name in DisCity. You lived very far away, didn’t you?”

“Mhm, on the opposite end of WhiteSands. I lived with my family- my parents and brother- and a team of kind and helpful servants.”

This was the first time you heard her speak of having a family, she had said she was alone. You wanted to know more about her family but weren’t sure if it was the right time.

“I see.... What made you become a travelling merchant in the WhiteSands?”

Vautour again remained silent and contemplated her answer.

“When disasters strike, even the noblest are forced to dirty their hands to survive.”

Of course, she answered it cryptically. It was a standard answer most outlanders in the WhiteSands would give. You waited in hopes for her to say more but she became silent and you decided to stop probing for now, patience was the key with her.

“Hmm, you are quite skilled at massaging, Chief~”

“I wouldn’t say skilled. I just spend a lot of time at my desk so I have learned some key techniques to work out the knots myself.”

You withdrew your tired hands after a while. Vautour rolled her neck and shoulders slightly before standing up to wear her coat.

“Thank you, that was wonderfully relaxing~”

“You are welcome. We can end our session for today, I look forward to our next meeting.”

You raised your arm forward in a handshake position. Her soft hand joined with yours in agreement before she traced her fingers up your arm and walked near your ear to whisper.

“Next time you need a massage, you can let me return the favour. I’d be more than happy to be of service, dear Chief~”

Her voice came in a hush, warm breath tickling your ear and making you flustered. You merely nodded at her proposition then watched her leave, your thoughts still stuck on the lingering sensations of her soft skin. You took a deep breath then wrapped up your things from the room and went back to your office. A few days passed without Vautour Bleu’s visit; her next session was scheduled for after 10 days. You continued keeping in touch with her through letters as promised and were glad to see her doing fine with her caravan, even sending more refuges your way to take care of.

It was one ordinary night when you were staying up late in your office doing paperwork as usual. The end of the month was approaching and you had to finalize the reports of all your work done in the past month, which had been quite a handful due to the incident with Desir. You leaned back on your chair for a moment and stretched out your arms, rolling your neck and shoulders and pressing down on some spots. You suddenly remembered that day with Vautour when you had given her a massage and she promised to return the favour, now would have been a good time if she was around.

A sudden knock was heard on your door followed by a familiar figure walking in, “Working till late, little Chief?~”

It felt like a miracle that Vautour Bleu was here just when you thought about her.

“Vautour? What are you doing here? Your next session is in a week....”

Vautour closed the door and walked inside, “I felt like staying for the time being, until the next session. Work has been going well lately, the caravan can handle without me for some time.”

“I see, it’s good to have you then. Your room is intact, I’ll send the cleaning staff right away to give it a polish. You can wait here till then.”

Vautour nodded with a smile and took a huff from her pipe as you informed the cleaners. She looked at the way you tilted your neck and stretched your arms, a smirk drawing up her lips.

“Need a massage, Chief? I gather you have been working for quite some time.”

“A-Ah, you are right, I have to complete many reports for this month.”

Vautour smiled wider and walked closer to you, “Seems I came at the perfect time then. Let me return the favour as promised.”

You were hesitant to agree, “I-It’s okay, you don’t have to really do it. I appreciate the thought....”

She extended her hand to hold yours, slowly intertwining your fingers together.

“I insist. I don’t like owing favours to others. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to receive service once in a while, would it?~”

You knew she wouldn’t let it go and decided to agree.

“Alright, thank you. Uh, I think we should sit on the sofa, it would be easier for you.”

Vautour nodded and kept down her pipe at your desk then followed you towards the sofa.

“You should remove your shirt; direct pressure will be more effective.” Vautour suggested.

“Uh, okay....”

You turned away from her and unbuttoned your grey shirt, leaving your black undershirt on. Vautour was about to suggest taking off the undershirt as well but held back her words for now. You sat on one corner of the sofa sideways and waited as she took her seat behind you. You suddenly became shy of her presence as she placed her hands on your back, gently gripping your shoulders.

“Uh, just around the neck area and top of the shoulders....”

She dragged her hands to where you instructed and started applying pressure, trying to feel up your tense muscles but your undershirt was making her hands slip and be unable to feel you properly.

“Remove this as well, I can’t determine the right pressure.”

You were reluctant to considering you’d left in just your bra, and didn’t want her to see your bare skin.

“Uh, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it too hard....”

“I won’t be satisfied if it’s not done right.”

She continued insisting, making it difficult for you to deny. Her face came closer and you could feel her breathe against your skin as she whispered, “Just relax, you don’t have to worry about anything with me~”

You pursed your lips then finally agreed. She helped you pull up the undershirt from your back and intently watched your naked body come in view, but the sight was a little surprising. There were some scars and faded wounds, mostly around your upper back and one near the waist. She realized this was perhaps why you were hesitant to show yourself, but to her it didn’t matter a bit. If anything, she became more impressed by you. She had come to understand you were different than the other officials, but this further proved how hard you worked to fight Mania and protect your Sinners.

She didn’t speak a word and placed her hands on the same spots again. Just when she was about to start, you hissed and recoiled in surprise.

“Sorry, your rings felt cold....”

“Oh, my apologies. Let me remove them, they will hurt you anyways.”

She took off her rings and kept them on the table in front then placed her hands on your back again, starting to rub and apply pressure. Her gaze lingered over each scar, noticing their intricate patterns while her hands didn’t stop massaging. Your skin was rougher than she anticipated, quite a contrast to her own soft and clear skin despite travelling in the barren and scorching WhiteSands so much. As she moved lower to your shoulder blades, she couldn’t help but trace a finger over the scar there and earned a shiver of surprise from you.

“V-Vautour?”

“Relax, I was merely curious~”

She continued her massage, now rubbing your shoulder blades and pressing down on certain spots with her thumbs. You let out a hiss as she focused on some hard knots, arching your back slightly from her touch. The reaction was amusing to her, but she held back her teasing for now.

“....Were you expecting something different?” the question left your mouth before you knew it, you weren’t sure why you asked that.

Vautour Bleu simply hummed, “Whatever do you mean, little Chief?~”

“The scars.... did they surprise you?”

Her hands stopped for massaging for a second before she moved them down near your waist, you also felt her lean close, so much so that her warm breath brushed past your ear.

“Perhaps, a little. But, just to assure you, I don’t find them unsightly. I know you are different from the officials at the Outland Affairs Bureau, even the FAC- that’s the reason I even proposed the deal. I suppose I still underestimated you a little.... can you blame me for that?~”

“No, it’s okay.... You aren’t the first one to be surprised. I guess I appear like someone who just sits behind a desk all day, haha~” you feigned a laugh to lighten the atmosphere but Vautour didn’t buy it. She parted your hair to the side and pressed herself to your body, placing her head near the crook of your neck and resting her face on your shoulder.

“That’s not the case. I have done my research on you now; I know all the work you have done for DisCity. It’s my own preconceptions that are a little difficult to break....”

Her hushed voice flew past your ear, sending more shivers down your body. Her hands slowly wrapped around your waist and she placed a kiss behind your ear, earning a startle from you.

“Would you like to know the real reason I came to stay here tonight?”

You didn’t expect her to bring this up but were equally curious to know hence nodded.

“I have always travelled in the WhiteSands with my caravan, staying in makeshift homes before Desir came along. In no time, I made it my hideaway and a place to call home. Whenever my wings would get tired, I’d fly to Desir. After it’s fall, I was once again on the road all the time, drifting in the endless sands. Then you took me as your Sinner and gave me a place here. It is far less luxurious than my abode in Desir, but there is a strange sense of homely comfort here. I have not stayed for long, yet I find myself yearning to come back. After all, even a vulture needs a nest to fly to at the end of the day.”

She spoke in a whisper, making her words come out in a gentle and soft tone.

“Who would have guessed a bird would find solace in a cage?~”

You were surprised by her confession, perhaps she was much simpler to understand than you thought.

“....I’m glad that you see the bureau that way, you are always welcome to come here.”

She smiled and planted more kisses along your neck, “You are exceptional, little Chief. I have confidence that you will uphold our deal and not disappoint me. And these scars? Beautiful, they show your resilience. Never see it any other way. Now, shall we continue the massage? I can feel you are still very stiff in some places~”

You nodded, “Thank you, it felt nice to hear that....”

Vautour smirked to herself then placed her hands on your back like before, pressing down on the stiff spots and massaging them. Her soft hands massaged in a magical manner, draining all stiffness and fatigue from your muscles. You sighed in relief at some places, making her intrigued. She suddenly pressed down on your shoulder blade, earning a strangled moan from you.

“Ngh-!~”

Oh, how she loved that sound.

She found out your sensitive spots quickly, intentionally pressing on them harder than usual to make you moan and whimper.

“Aaahn-! Vautour, a bit softer, please....”

She smiled, “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. This will relieve you~”

She slyly leaned closer to your back, making sure you wouldn’t feel her presence. You merely felt her breath brush past your ear and didn’t think much of it. Her finger again traced over a scar near the middle before she wrapped her hand around your nape and massaged it, your head automatically arching into her palm.

“Aaah.... yes, that part pains a lot....” you muttered in breathy moans.

“Very stiff your body is....” her voice suddenly drew close to your ear, and you finally realized how close she was sitting. Her clothed breasts pressed on your back and her lips touched your ear, warm breath tingling it.

“Why don’t you delegate some work to other staff? You have an Adjutant, don’t you?”

“Nightingale already handles many things, most of this work can only be done by me....”

“Hmm, I see~” she hummed in a low voice.

She moved her hands down to your lower back and made gentle circles on your waist.

“Do you plan to work more after this?”

“Mhm, likely for an hour.”

As you spoke that, you felt her hands wrap around your waist again, but this time her fingers traced teasing patterns on your abdomen right above the waistline of your pants as if suggesting something.

“Why don’t I help you loosen up in another way then?~”

“W-What? Are you suggesting what I think you are....?”

Vautour smirked and rested her face on your shoulder, drawing her lips near your cheek.

“And what are you thinking? Do tell me, my little Chief~”

Her fingers kept teasing over your belly, tracing some of the scars and daring to go lower.

“N-Nothing, I’m fine now. Thank you for the massage, I’ll continue my work-!

“Shh~” she hushed in your ear before dragging her lips to plant a kiss on your cheek.

“You still look quite tense. Let me help you, ma chèrie~”

“Vautour.... mmh.... you don’t have to....”

Your gaze lowered to where her hands were, watching them rub up and down on your stomach while her slender, long fingers teasingly slipped under your pants occasionally.

“I want to. I have been so intrigued by you since the day we met in Desir, how I have longed to see you in this state~”

She continued whispering in your ear in a low voice, your body shivering from the sensations. You could barely resist her touch every time, it felt like she had cast some spell on you with just her presence. How could you deny this moment?

“....If the great Ms Vautour Bleu is so eager to offer her services, then who am I to refuse?~” you tried to tease back, not wanting to appear too pliable in her hold.

“Hehe, we’ll see who’s the eager one here, little Chief~”

Her fingers wasted no time to unbutton your pants, effortlessly opening them in a single tug. Her left arm wrapped around your torso to keep you in place, your body automatically leaning back at her and she seemed to welcome it. Her right hand now slipped beneath your pants, rubbing your core over your underwear.

“Oh, what do we have here? Seems you have been anticipating this with how wet you are~” she husked, feeling amused at your arousal.

“No, t-this is....” you tried to counter back, but had no excuse.

“Shh, don’t make things hard for yourself. I know what you have wanted since that day~” she lightly bit your ear, eliciting a whine from you.

You expected her to make you wait more and continue teasing you, but she already began slipping her hand in your underwear and softly caressed your folds.

“My, so wet for me already? I haven’t even touched you properly, ma chèrie. Was it the massage that made you this way, hm?~

“N-No, not the massage....mmh~”

She pulled you a little closer to herself, now making you rest on her body completely. Her slender fingers made their way over your vulva, simply touching here and there with soft motions as if caressing a delicate flower. It reminded you of the way she used to tend to the datura in her balcony, careful and lovingly. Her thumb rubbed your clit in slow circles, not giving you too much pleasure at once in order to extend the time. Her index finger now made its way over to your hole, slipping in just the tip as if to test you.

“Look, how tight you are around here.... Already clenching me when I haven’t even gone deep~”

Your eyes lowered as if on command, looking at the way her slim and long finger touched you everywhere yet nowhere at once. It was exactly her way of doing things, be it business negotiations or simple conversations. She parted your folds with her index and ring finger then finally inserted her middle finger inside, producing a squelching sound as your walls accommodated her. Your head threw back with a moan on her shoulder as she went deeper, giving her the chance to lick up your neck in response.

“That’s it.... let’s ease this tightness, shall we?~” she whispered against your skin.

Her movements were slow and calculated as she took her time to explore you inside, the tip of her finger caressing every crevice of you. She gracefully traced your walls, teasing along the spots where you gave unique reactions, but not giving them any more attention than normal. You simply yielded to her deliberately slow touch submissively, taking deep breaths to hold your composure. Vautour intently noted your every reaction, her finger consistently exploring to find your most sensitive spots all the while edging you closer to release.

“Aaah.... Vautour.... C-Could you....” you tried to tell her to finally touch you more, to do it where you want it the most but were reluctant to beg.

“Hmm, what’s that, my little Chief? Care to repeat it?~” of course, she knew what you wanted, but she was intent on making you say it.

“C-Could you.... ngh.... move t-there....haaah~”

She smirked to herself and leaned near your face, pressing her cheek to yours.

“Could you be more specific? I’m afraid your directions aren’t clear right now~”

You bit your lower lip, desperately holding back from saying what she wanted to hear.

“You know I can bring you anywhere in the world, so why don’t you help us both and make it clear where you want me?~”

If her touch wasn’t already making you overwhelmed, her hushed voice flying so close to your ear would certainly do the trick. The combined effect of them was ethereal on you. Vautour expected you to give in long ago, but she was ready to play this dance with you for as long as you wanted. Perhaps she felt excited herself, to find someone keeping up with her.

“A-Ah.... fuck.... you know what I m-mean.... mmh~”

“Tsk tsk, such crude language doesn’t suit you, ma chèrie~”

She licked up your ear again then bit it with her lips, earning a startled whimper from you. Her left hand that was patiently holding you now started travelling up to your breasts, teasing your nipples through your bra. You held your lower lip in your teeth tighter, threatening to draw blood but she didn’t let you as she swiftly held your jaw and pulled it to the side to kiss you. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sensation of her soft, plump lips on yours.

“Oh? My, you just clenched me even tighter. Hehe, was the kiss so stimulating? I merely did it to save your delicate lips~”

You looked into each other’s eyes before lowering your gaze to her tempting heart-shaped lips, passion burned inside her with the urge to take you and she kissed you once again. A smoky taste travelled in your mouth before being replaced by a sweet, cherry-like flavour. Her tongue licked up your lower lip and easily parted it to enter your mouth, dancing your tongues together in slow and intimate movements. At the same time, she didn’t forget to stimulate your insides with her finger. You didn’t realize when she slipped in a second finger, easily pushing it through and touching more places.

You moaned into the kiss from the sudden sensation of 2 fingers inside you, almost feeling a little stuffed with how tight it became. Vautour parted her lips to let you breathe, knowing she was going to make you breathless soon. Her left hand went back to touching your breasts, now slipping past the bra and lightly gripping your nipple with her fingertips. She suddenly increased the pace of her fingers buried inside you, scissoring them to touch all your sensitive spots at once. You gasped louder, tilting your head back and eyes rolling to the ends.

“Is this where you wanted me? Are you finally ready to reveal yourself, little Chief?~”

“Y-Yes.... please.... more.... r-right there!~”

You ended up begging her despite trying hard to resist, but it was no point in being stubborn. Vautour had the patience to play this game for long, you were the one on the losing end. The softness of her fingers grazing your sensitive spot was tantalizing, and her fingertips pressing as deep as they could- burying to the hilt- was mind wrecking. Your mind became hazy as you edged closer to release, chasing that sweet pleasure with her.

“Hmm.... close, aren’t you? Do you really think I’ll let you off so easily?~”

“Hng...! T-Time is essential to a merchant.... aahn.... you have more m-matters to attend to after this.... don’t you.... mmh!~”

“Hehe, while you are correct in that, you have missed one important detail in this exchange....”

She paused and came near your ear to whisper in her low, hushed voice, “When it comes to you..... I have all the time in the world, ma chèrie~”

Her words caused you to become tighter, practically clenching her fingers in a vice grip and making it difficult for her to move. She chuckled at the way your body reacted to her, finding it enjoyable how easy to bend you were yet showed strong willpower.

“Oh, seems like you want to keep me here for longer as well. I don’t mind, we have all night to spend. I can assist you with your work tomorrow, dear Chief~”

“N-No.... aaah.... that’s not what I.... mmh.... m-meant~”

“Then you should clarify.... make me understand what you want~”

She moved her fingers awfully slow now, denying the pleasure you wanted. Your body arched off as you tried to seek friction, rutting your hips into her hand to make her touch where you wanted. Vautour’s eyes hooded at your desperation, her cruel façade breaking as she felt you didn’t deserve this reprieve.

“Helping yourselves now? You know it would be so much easier if you just give in and ask for my help~”

She was right, you couldn’t continue this for long. Your vision was becoming cloudier by the minute, heart racing faster at every bump of her fingers against your insides.

“P-Please.... Vautour.... touch me more.... I need you!~”

A victorious smirk adorned her lips seeing you finally accept it. She tilted your head back and pressed her lips to yours while beginning to thrust her fingers in and out at a consistent pace. You moaned into the kiss before letting go with a gasp and whining, coming closer to release.

“That’s it, little Chief.... Cum for me, show me how you come undone~”

She kissed your cheek and down your neck as you arched up, rutting along with her fingers and grazing all the right spots.

“Yes, ma chèrie.... you are close, aren’t you? Do it.... cum for me, make a mess on my fingers~”

She encouraged you further, feeling aroused from your state. She wanted to see the sight badly; watch you crumble in her hold. You body jerked up with a loud moan when you finally released, the knot in your stomach snapping. Your essence pooled around her fingers as she kept them inside for a while, relishing the warmth of your walls and essence. She finally pulled them out with a squelch, watching as it dripped down her fingers before gazing at your defeated state.

“How delightful.... You are truly one of a kind, little Chief~”

She praised before leaning down to kiss you gently. She pulled out the handkerchief in your pants’ pocket and wiped her hand while you sat up and composed yourself, buttoning up your pants and wearing your shirts.

“Thank you, that felt really good....” you said shyly with a blush.

Vautour leaned in and placed the used handkerchief in your shirt’s pocket then gently gripped your shoulder, her face merely inches away.

“If you truly want to thank me then.... return the favour someday, dear Chief~”

You blushed more but nodded, “I promise, any time you want....”

She softly smiled then pecked your lips and stood up, putting on her blue coat again and picking up her pipe then making her way out of your office. She turned to look back at you one last time when she reached the door and saw you looking at her as well, your eyes locked in. With a simple tilt of her head and wave of her pipe, she bid farewell to you.

“Keep in touch, little Chief~” were her parting words.

[lostinwildflowers]

The 4 Times Sierra Six Almost Kisses You, and the 1 Time He Does

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: Sierra Six almost kisses you on four separate occasions. However, one time is different, and you both know it.

Word Count: 14.2K

Warnings: mentions of parental death(mentioned as a plot point but not described/elaborated on; mother), almost panic attack because of grief, minimal angst, swearing, Six has some self-deprecating thoughts at the end but not bad, mentions of canon-typical violence/guns/wounds/blood/etc., just LOTS of pining and yearning for thousands of words, idiots to lovers but also friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, and Six being so husband at the end~

A/N: Hello my darlings :) I'm back with another fic for Six and I have loved every minute of it. I've missed writing so much and the brain rot is never-ending. I've always wanted to write one of these types of fics, so please enjoy and lmk what y'all think!!! :) - Birch <3

The first time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you convince yourself it is just a part of your imagination.

You had just finished up a long mission abroad - weeks away from the States and the comforts of your home. Six, your mission partner, was ready for a break as well.

The two of you had successfully eliminated an international intelligence officer and were boarding a flight to head back to America. A private flight, thankfully, but it would be hours until you were in the comforts of your home.

The sky was dark, the sun having set hours ago. It had been a long day, and the dreary feeling of the rainy night had exhaustion creeping throughout your body.

Now, with yellow-toned lights shining off of the rain sprinkling on the runway, you could catch your breath. The flashing red lights coming from the plane in front of you released tension deep within your body, a silent promise that peace and quiet were mere moments away.

The stars were trying to twinkle and dance around the sky, fighting through the light rain as you and Six finalized your plans to get home. You were thankful for the coolness the rainy night brought, it helped to calm your heightened instincts after the thrill of the chase.

Your belongings had already been taken aboard the plane while you and Six regrouped, your assignment to go home ringing in the back of your mind. Clouded with fatigue, your footsteps seemed to drag up the steps leading into the belly of the airplane.

"I'm so ready to get home," you grumble to Six, the tall man just two steps behind you, patiently waiting for you to haul yourself into the aircraft despite being splattered with unrelenting rain. You can hear him hum lowly behind you, an agreeable sound that indicates you know that he's tired as well.

The sound of someone's voice calling your name through the pitter-patter of the storm halts you in your tracks just as you begin to duck inside the plane. A frown tugs on your features as you glance over your shoulder, eyes scanning for the owner of the voice, but dropping to look at Six.

The agent momentarily glanced over his shoulder to see who was calling to you, but after realizing they didn't want him, turned back to you. You can see the lingering question in his gaze, one that you had bouncing around your head.

Who could possibly need me?

You sigh and fully turn around to face the outside air, scrunching your face as a gust of damp wind whips across the expanse of the jet walk. You shuffle to stand off to the side of the stairs, making room for Six as he pauses beside you.

You open your eyes from where they had snapped shut from the wind, slowly trailing upwards from his dark boots to his tracksuit pants. Your vision swirled around the red and blue colors of his tracksuit jacket, the raindrops racing down the water-proof material.

When your (colored) gaze finally reaches his face, you have to squint up at him. Your eyes blink rapidly to deflect the droplets falling from the sky, attempting to focus on his angled features instead.

The question still lingers on Six's face when you lock onto him, and he quirks an eyebrow as he murmurs, "You gonna see what that's about?" A sigh slides through your nose as you shrug and grumble, "I suppose so."

As you begin to slip past Six's broad form, you call over your shoulder, "Save me a seat by the window!" You can hear him scoff, and his squeaky footsteps disappear into the plane.

You begrudgingly make your way down the slick steps of the plane back to the tarmac, water pooling on the not-so-level areas of pavement. There are a few CIA-adjacent men who helped coordinate your movements that are waiting for you a few yards away.

Your squinted gaze lands on the man who had called your name, and you make your way over to him stiffly. You are tired, wet, and your body is sore from the exertion of the day.

What could these guys possibly want?

The man is wearing a boring black and white suit, his hands crossed in front of him as he awaits your approach. You come to a stop a few feet in front of him and gesture with one of your hands, "What do you need?"

The man shuffles uncomfortably before clearing his throat with a shake of his head, "Agent, I regret to inform you that your mother has suffered a heart attack and has passed away. I am sorry for your loss."

The world stops.

The whirling call of the wind grows quiet, as well as the hushed whisper of the rain. Jet engines that had once seemed to roar fade into silence, the only perceivable sound now the blood rushing through your ears.

The man's words hit you like a grenade detonating. The air seems to be sucked out of your lungs as time stands still. He simply nods at you and states formally, "We are just following protocol, agent. You may board your flight. There will be officers at the destination's airport to arrange transportation for you to the hospital."

He walks away a moment later, leaving you to stand alone with tears and rain burning at the edges of your vision. You can't breathe. You can't... breathe.

Your chest begins to heave as you watch the agent disappear into the dark of the night, panic starting to flutter in your gut. You know you're going into shock, but you have no choice but to turn back toward the plane, where the crew and Six await your return.

A shaky hand finds its way to your mouth, where it clamps down to keep sobs from escaping your lips. Your body feels like it's vibrating, unknowing on how to solve this system-wide pain.

Unbalanced footsteps start leading you back toward the aircraft. Your feet, already heavy with exhaustion, feel like lead as you take each step.

Your right hand grabs onto the slick railing, the metal cool and wet to the touch as you climb up the stairs. Your mind is at war - trying to fight your emotional, human, nature while the training instilled in you is telling you to remain steadfast.

Once you make it to the top of the stairs, you release your hand from your mouth as you take a shaky attempt at a deep breath. You use the back of your hand to wipe at the wetness coating your face, and blowing air through puffed cheeks, you ready yourself to face Six.

The flight crew was already in position as you maneuvered toward the middle of the private jet, quickly closing the hatch behind you as they readied the aircraft for takeoff.

You keep your (colored) gaze focused on the floor as you make your way to the middle of the jet. You can hear Six's muffled movements, and you recognize that the agent is pouring himself a cup of water.

He casually glances over at your approaching figure once as he pours, then rapidly darts back as he reads the emotion etched in your body language.

Slouched shoulders, not from the rain or wind. Downcast gaze. A slight hitch to your breath. Something was wrong.

Six immediately sets his cup down and faces you. To an outsider, they would say he was the image of stoicism, a neutral expression on his features as he regards you.

To you, his mission partner of countless years, you could see the concern written all over his face in one glimpse. You rush to try to avoid his gaze, but Six knows you better than that.

"What happened?" he probes gently, leaning back against the bar, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest. He took his wet tracksuit jacket off. The movement distracts you from your thoughts for a moment before the pain of realization sets back in.

You force yourself to look from his chest up to his face, your eyes vulnerable and slightly timid as you note the softness in his. You open your mouth to respond, but your voice catches in your throat.

Six can feel his heart lurching in his chest at the silence that falls between the two of you, and then he starts to piece it together. He sighs and looks off to the side, his gaze clouded as he mumbles, "Who died?"

The question would have been harsh and crass if not for your line of work. You know that the words weren't meant in a careless way, just that it was the nature of life. Some were created to live until it was their time, while some were created to die before the choice was made for them.

You shut your eyes tightly as you managed to croak out, "My mom," and the floodgates opened. A sob rips out of your throat from deep in your chest, and your hands come up to cover your face as it twists in pain.

There is movement behind you, and you turn to see a flight attendant through the cracks in your fingers. You know that she's coming to tell you the plane is getting ready to take off, but Six's voice cuts in, "Give us 5 minutes," and she disappears without a trace.

Six pushing off of the bar draws your attention again, another wave of tears flooding down your cheeks. He stops in front of you, his eyes laced with deep sorrow and a crease in his brow.

Opening his arms to you slowly, he whispers, "C'mere." He doesn't have to repeat himself, and you all but lurch forward into Six's embrace as it hits you.

Despite being a CIA agent with little to nothing in your file, there was one agreement you had made with the government before you started working. You would become one of their "dirty" agents, but you would get updates on your mother, the only family you had left, if anything major happened.

Now, with them following through on their word, you couldn't help but regret that choice.

His muscular arms lock around your waist as your arms fold around his neck. Six tucks your head under his bearded chin, and he slowly works his fingers up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you.

Your tears are soaking into the soft material of Six's t-shirt, but he doesn't seem to mind. He is warm and firm under your frenzied touch, which you are grateful for.

You barely hear him when he quietly says, "I'm sorry to hear that," your fingers fisting at the nape of his shirt as you weep.

Then, Six shuffles and there is a brush of something over your forehead, making your crying cease for a moment. It was feather-light, a barely there touch that just seemed to tickle your skin.

You could have convinced yourself it was just a piece of hair on your forehead from your body shaking, stuck there with rainwater. It could have been your imagination - a fleeting touch from your mother, saying everything was going to be alright.

But maybe... maybe it was Six's lips grazing your skin so tentatively. So very tenderly. So very lovingly, to try to ease your pain.

You don't have long to dwell on it, as Six pulls back a few inches from you. He catches your teary gaze and with a small, sad smile, he whispers, "I saved you the window seat."

A huff leaves you, a crinkle of a smile on your lips as you give him a nod, "Thanks, Six."

The words weren't just for the window seat. He slowly pulls himself away from you, handing you the water that was meant for him, and gestures to the seats.

Wordlessly, you take your position at the window, sipping at the cup your hand was clenched around. As the plane starts to move and the stars seem to blur into the night, you trace the spot on your forehead, wondering if the whole thing was a dream.

The second time Sierra Six almost kisses you, the two of you are working undercover. You weren't the biggest fan of covert undercover missions, but when your higher-ups told you that Spain would be your destination, well... you didn't complain.

However, you were internally wrestling over the details of the mission. You and Six had cover stories for the mission - not an uncommon thing for your line of work. The inner turmoil came with the grounds of you and Six posing as a newlywed couple traveling abroad for your honeymoon.

Deep down, you knew the mission's goal was of the utmost importance. But, you can't lie. You had been surprised at the notion of being fake-married to Six.

After mulling it over for a while, you supposed it did make sense that the two of you were selected for this mission. You had worked together for so long that you knew you could trust each other in any scenario. So despite your initial reservations and Six's usual stoicism, you put on your big girl pants and doubled down for the mission.

The mission left you and Six in the middle of Spain at a dimly lit bar. The air was thick and hazy with cigarette smoke and the heat of the day, making it a little hard to breathe.

Set in the rampant and colorful streets of Madrid, Six was on alert. You could feel how tense he was next to you, despite wearing a loose cream-colored button-up and some matching slacks to go with it. You knew he was on edge, his gaze remaining sharp as he scoured the busy bar for the target.

"Take a breath," you murmur quietly as you sip at your water. You feel Six's gaze flash over to you as you focus on the opposite entrance through the bottom of your glass.

Six shifts to try to relax his body as he leans in close to your ear, "I don't like this." You finish your sip and set the drink down, your hand delicately coming up to your mouth to fix your lipstick.

You turn to face him, giving the agent a knowing look as he finally gives you more of his attention. Six lets his blue eyes flutter from your dolled-up face and hair down to your revealed collarbones.

His gaze seems to slow when it reaches the curves of your light blue sundress. There are flowy sleeves that stop in the middle of your bicep, patterned with small white line art of flowers.

The dress cinches around your bodice, not uncomfortably tight though. You can't lie, the girls look good. From there, the dress flows out around your hips, the material light and airy to beat the heat.

You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, coughing as he looks down at his feet and then allowing his gaze to sweep over the crowd. He shuffles and rubs his hands together once, his gaze flashing back to you.

Confusion pulls your eyebrows together as you rest your hand on his shoulder and ask, "Everything alright?" The frown on your face eases as Six holds your gaze, clears his throat, and whispers nonchalantly, "Uh huh."

You leave him to his thoughts for a second, the warmth of the bar sending heat waves through your body. You shiver with some kind of anticipation, and you move to stand up off of your stool.

"I'm going to use the restroom real quick," you say lightly to Six with a kind smile, one that you know people won't see through. Truly, any smiles you share with Six come naturally. But, you are supposed to be pretending, right?

Six is almost flush against you the second you stand up straight. It makes your heart lurch in your chest at his sudden proximity, but you take a shallow breath to calm yourself down.

His right hand comes to rest on the side of your waist, his eyes sharp as he pinpoints the location of the restroom. "I'll walk you there," is all he says.

Six turns and starts to guide you around the edge of the bar, his hand shifting to rest on the small of your back. The warmth his touch brings combined with the smell of alcohol and smoke makes you dizzy.

Any other day you might say his hand drifted too low to be casual, but then you remember. He's pretending too. You take a deep breath as you reach the bathroom, turning toward Six with a practiced smile.

You let your hands flatten against his chest slowly, testing the waters. You can feel his pecs tighten on reflex but then quickly relax, and you move to straighten out the fabric of his shirt. With a soft blink you chirp, "I'll be out in a minute."

At that, you step back and push through the bathroom door. You gravitate toward the porcelain sinks, catching your reflection in the mirrors lining the walls. You grip the edge of the sink as you attempt to straighten out your line of thought.

He's just pretending. It's all for show. Focus on the mission. Don't let your desires get in the way.

Desires? Where did that come from?

You take a deep breath to center yourself and then you glance up at your reflection in the mirror. You see where your lipstick is still a bit smudged, so you reach for a paper towel to tidy up the line of your lower lip.

The air conditioning helps cool the sweat starting to form at the back of your neck, and you pat your face with the clean side of the paper towel to remove any excess oil. You throw the paper towel away and quickly wash your hands, remembering that Six is waiting outside for you.

You pull the door open, your (colored) eyes finding Six's broad frame almost instantly. You see his gaze snap over to you, his eyes once again slowly trailing up the length of your body.

He's not checking you out. He's making sure you are still put together. He's making sure no one laid their hands on you.

You pause beside him and motion with your head toward a free table. "Want to go back in?" Six just looks at you blankly for a second as thoughts race through his head.

No, I don't want to go back in. I want to take you back to that bathroom and -

He stops himself. This is you. He can't be thinking about you like that. This is work. Even if he has to pretend to be married to you, he can't think like that.

But God, he wants to.

"Six?" you question, stepping closer to him as a woman slides past the two of you into the restroom. Six seems to snap out of his thoughts at your proximity, and quips quickly, "What do you want, sweetheart?"

The pet name rolls off of his tongue before he can stop himself, and his stomach drops when he realizes the implication. He should have asked you before you went into the field if anything was off-limits.

But, when that smile of yours slides back across your lips, he knows everything is okay. You giggle for a second, selling the love-sick look of newlyweds as you rest your hand on his chest again.

"Can we get some food?" you ask with a dreamy sigh, and Six's lips tug into a smile as he nods, his hand finding its place on your back again.

As he guides you in the direction of the free table you had motioned to, he stops in his tracks and pulls you to the side quickly. He ducks down close to your ear as he rushes out, "Target is at the table in the corner on the other side of the bar."

His lips and goatee brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, and you just giggle and let your hand come up to the back of his head, pretending he told you a funny joke.

Your hand threads through the dirty blonde locks as you lean into him and whisper back, "I see him. I'll sit down, go order me a drink or something over there."

Six nods briefly into your neck, pulling back ever-so-slightly but positioning himself in front of you. The only time Six has ever been this close to you was when he hugged you on the plane.

You swear you can almost feel his breath on your face, and your heart stops when he leans in. Every movement he makes is calculated and slow, giving you plenty of time to move.

His lips land on your right cheek, gentle but firm. You could have seen sparks shooting out of the lights on the wall at the electricity humming through the air.

Six pulls back, a slight twinkle in his eye as he nods, "Anything for my girl." At that, he steps back, shoots you a wink, and walks through the smoky atmosphere to the other side of the bar.

He leaves with such a swagger to his walk it makes your knees weak. You can't help but let your powerless gaze follow him before you see movement coming from next to you.

It's the woman who slipped into the restroom after you. She catches sight of Six walking away, and with a friendly jibe she says, "You are one lucky girl!"

She doesn't wait for your answer, instead disappearing into the other side of the bar. Your hand comes up to brush your cheek where Six's lips had been moments before.

Your heart was finally slowing down from beating erratically at Six's intimacy. A puff of air pushes through your lips as you force yourself to walk over to the free table, your mind racing as you replay the fleeting touch on repeat.

Once you sit down, you close your eyes to regain your focus.

The mission. I need to focus on the mission.

And so, you push down any feelings bubbling in your stomach, your eyes flickering to the door you had originally been watching from the bar.

There will be time later to think about Six's actions.

The third time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you are on a mission following the fake-marriage ordeal. There hadn't been much time to think about Six's actions, because you were exhausted and on a flight with said man sitting next to you.

This time it was a standard, run-of-the-mill operation. Nothing too crazy or high stakes, just get in, eliminate the target, and get out. Thankfully, your higher-ups were kind enough to give you a night's rest in between the missions.

Truly, you believed it was so that you and Six could plan out your movements and be prepared, not so much as to catch up on rest. But, you weren't going to complain about catching up on some sleep.

The flight goes by silently, and after a short car ride, you and Six are left at your hotel for the evening. Apparently, there must have been an event in town that night, as the hotel lobby was crowded with people waiting to get their rooms.

Always one to pack light, Six had one medium-sized duffle bag slung over his shoulder and was standing in line just a step ahead of you. He was silent as he grabbed for his traveling card, his eyes scanning the crowd looking for threats.

You also had packed light, with just a small backpack hanging off of your shoulder and your traveling card already in hand. While Six is on alert, you can't help but let your tired eyes wander down the figure of your companion.

He's standing right in front of you, how can you not look at him?

He's tall, but you knew that. His shoulders are broad, and not even the loose tracksuit jacket he loved could hide that. Despite the flimsy material, you know there is hard, thick muscle covering his back from his meticulous workout routine.

Just as your eyes land at the bottom of the jacket towards his hips, the line moves forward. This seems to help pull you out of your thoughts and taking a step closer toward Six, you shuffle slightly off to his side.

The two of you hadn't talked about the mission you had just finished, and you were afraid to bring it up to the stoic man. You shift your weight as you glance over at Six, who now has secured his card in his hand.

His blue gaze is slightly downturned, tired, but still on alert as always. He looks over at you as you come into his peripheral vision, and he raises an eyebrow in a silent question of, What's up?

You shrug, "Waiting, same as you." The words come out a little hollow, but Six doesn't push. The interaction is slightly awkward, and you bite your tongue and pull your backpack higher up onto your shoulder.

Six sighs through his nose as his head tips back, rolling his neck to loosen some tension. Your mouth runs dry as you get a view of the tendons and ligaments flexing and releasing under his tanned skin.

It looks so inviting. So soft. So... kissable. You almost slap yourself as the thought rolls over you, you tear your eyes away from Six to look at the front desk.

Thankfully, Six doesn't seem to notice, and you rush out, "Looks like we're up," and take a step forward toward the front desk. You give the receptionist a tight smile as you start, "Hi, two rooms, please. One bed in each."

The receptionist takes both of your traveling cards to swipe you into the system, working as fast as she can. She turns to you and replies, "Here are the key cards to your rooms, top floor."

The walk to the elevator is quick but quiet with Six leading the way. It seems as though the crowd from the front desk dispersed, leaving the two of you alone.

Six presses the "up" button and steps back to resume his place next to you. You rock back and forth on your heels for a second, waiting for the elevator to make it to the ground floor.

"Antsy about tomorrow?" Six's voice comes, low and barely audible. Your head just about whips around to face him, but his gaze is still trained on the elevator.

You turn your head to look straightforward again, clearing your throat and replying softly, "Not really, just been a long week." This gets Six to look at you, a frown pulling his eyebrows taut.

"Hopefully not because you were stuck with me," he tries to joke lightly, but there is a very small hint of unease to his voice. You swear a million thoughts run through your head at his words.

No, I loved spending the week with you. I wish we could have spent longer in that fake, perfect world. Yes, it was a long week of pretending. But I wasn't really pretending, was I?

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You use the opportunity to step forward, head ducked down. Six's arm darts out, grabbing onto your bicep to hold you still.

Your heart jumps to your throat at the contact, and then he's pulling you back against him. A second passes, and a little girl and her mother walk out of the elevator, sharing a kind smile with you and Six.

You internally groan at your own stupidity, and you hear Six murmur, "That desperate to get away from me?" You pull away from him, only to turn around and glance at him.

You frown at the uncharacteristic insecurity Six seems to be displaying, and you quickly grab his hand that had pulled you back. You sigh, exhaustion settling on you as you reply, "I'm sorry, I'm just not paying attention. I'm glad you're here with me, Six."

At the end of your words, you gently squeeze his hand. His palm is warm against your own, causing heat to bloom all across your body. This seems to ease his doubts, and now he's the one to move, pulling you into the now-empty elevator.

It takes him a second to release your hand, the doors to the elevator sliding closed behind the two of you. He silently reaches forward, pressing the button for floor 20.

There is a quiet jingle humming through the speaker, but it does nothing to ease the obvious tension between you and the CIA agent. You could kick yourself for your actions and lack of words, and you open your mouth to speak at the same time he does.

"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable-" "I'm sorry if I made you feel-"

You both clamp your mouths shut and Six gestures for you to go first. You turn to face him, uncertainty lacing your features as you gush, "I'm really sucking at talking tonight, but I'm sorry if I made you feel like I don't want you here."

You take a quick breath and continue to blurt out, "I'm honestly really glad it was you on that mission and not some random agent. I don't think I would have been comfortable with anyone else and you were just so reassuring and kind to me."

You hold your breath as you try to gauge Six's reaction. You don't realize your body goes rigid as you wait, your attention focused on Six's face.

It goes from being blank to a softened, kind look that lets you exhale. Six nods once in thoughtful understanding before stating, "I was just going to say I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable on that mission with anything I did. I should have asked if you had any boundaries before we got thrown in."

You shoot him a grateful smile, butterflies welling in your stomach at the level of concern he had for making you uncomfortable. It's quiet for another moment and you mumble, "I appreciate that. But I don't think there's much you could do to make me uncomfortable with you."

Heat burns across your cheeks and ears as you finish your words, facing back to the front of the elevator as it dings for the 20th time. Quite literally saved by the bell, you step out, this time making sure there is no one in your way.

Your eyes start scanning the hallway for room numbers, looking for room #2007. You hear Six move behind you, positioning himself next to you as the elevator doors slide shut, descending to a lower floor.

Six clears his throat, seemingly trying to distance himself from the conversation in the elevator, and asks, "What room are you in?" You blink and look at your room key even though you know the answer and stutter, "Uh, 20- 2007. What about you?"

Six sighs and grunts, "2045, I guess I'm down the other hallway. I'll walk with you." He doesn't give you much of a choice, starting down the hallway with the lower numbers.

You feel your stomach flip again, the feeling of butterflies making you teeter nausea. You move to follow him though, shuffling the backpack on your shoulder and taking another breath you release as a sigh.

It only takes a few moments to find your room, and you quickly swipe the key card, deposit your stuff on the bed, and check the main room for anything hidden or suspicious.

Six had a similar thought, checking the bathroom for you before stepping back out into the hallway. You step out with him, leaving the door propped open with the door stopper.

"Thanks for seeing me to my room," you voice, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. You raise a hand to your face to stifle a yawn, and you see some emotion wash over Six's face.

You can't quite pinpoint what it is exactly, but you try not to think about it as you wipe at your eyes. Six steps closer to you, his duffle bag plopping to lay on the floor near his feet.

His hand slowly comes up to your face and you instinctively drop your hands to your sides to give him access. Your breath catches in your throat and the lull of exhaustion is seemingly gone as a rush of adrenaline shoots up your spine.

The air is suddenly thick and it's hard to breathe. His hand settles under your chin, the supple touch making you shiver. He tilts your chin up ever so slightly, his gaze dark as his eyes flit around your face.

You try not to notice how they linger on your mouth for a second, but then you realize your lips have parted at his touch. You can't stop yourself from whispering, "Six, I-"

And he steps back.

His hand falls to his side and he quickly reaches down to grab his duffle. Not making eye contact with you, Six nods and dryly states, "Goodnight, I'll see you in the morning."

At that, he turns and walks down the hallway, steps even and methodical. You stand there, dumbfounded for a second until you see his figure turn into a small dot at the other end of the hall.

You lean your head back against your door, a solid thud sounding out. It may have hurt a little, but what the fuck was that?

Only when he disappears from view do you slide into your room, shutting the door with a click. You make sure to turn the lock and fasten the deadbolt, but with your mind racing, you can hardly focus.

You glance at the clock on the nightstand and recognition sets in your brain that it's late. You go through the simple steps of your night-time routine, your head swirling with thoughts of his touch. His gaze.

Just, Six.

That night, you went to bed even more confused.

The fourth time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you need him more than you care to admit. The mission had gone south, fast. Too fast.

One second, Six is next to you, firing shots toward enemy men. The following, he is getting sucker punched out of nowhere, leaving your flank uncovered.

A lone gunshot rings out, and a second later pain erupts in your thigh. The bullet grazes the outside of your right thigh, causing you to cry out as agony starts to crawl through your system.

Your yelp must have caught the attention of Six, who is in a hand-to-hand tussle with another enemy soldier. He quickly smacks the butt of his gun across the face of the man, sufficiently knocking him out.

As you regain your bearings through your bleary pain, you hear another shot ring out. This time, you locate the source of the shot instantly.

It was Six.

He has his gun pointed at the falling figure of a man who had been hiding behind boxes on the balcony above you. The now-dead man had been the one who shot you in the leg.

With the last of the targets eliminated, you slowly hobble over to Six, hissing as you shuffle around fallen weapons and men.

"You good?" you wheeze out, trying to put the throbbing sensation of your leg out of your mind as you look him over. You can tell he is mainly unharmed. He's got a cut on his forehead leaking blood down to his eye and some light bruising to go with it, but otherwise no major injuries.

Six finishes one last sweep of the room with his eyes before they lock onto you. His blue gaze darts around your face first, checking you over for wounds.

When he doesn't see anything on your head, his eyes scan the rest of your body and they freeze on your thigh. He ignores your question as he asks gruffly, "Can you walk on this?"

The material of your tactical pants has been blasted away by the gunpowder from the shot, the area now wet with dark red blood. You stumble a bit as the pain wells up, and Six's free hand flies out to steady you.

"Y-yeah, I can," you groan, and then pant, "I may need a bit of help but I can walk out of here." Six moves to stand behind you, leaning you back to rest against his chest while his hands release you.

Fingers working faster than you can comprehend through your pain, he reloads his weapon and wraps his arm around your waist. He offers you silent support as the two of you maneuver out of the room and to a planted, but safe, vehicle.

Six helps you get into the car before hopping into the driver's seat, setting off for an unknown destination. It's all a blur, though, as you flicker in and out of consciousness due to blood loss, pain, and exhaustion.

Time smudges by as trees whip past you, everything becoming a haze of blue skies and indistinct greenery. You don't realize the car has stopped until Six opens the passenger door next to you.

"We're here," he grunts as he bends down toward you, motioning for you to start shifting your way out of the car. You nod and shuffle toward the edge of the seat, your arms reaching for Six.

The Sierra agent is there in a heartbeat, wrapping his arms around your torso to help haul you to your feet. Pain soars through you as the movement, your leg screaming with a sharp pulsing.

"Gah!" you yelp angrily, your weight shifting onto your left leg which is unharmed. Six slings your arm around his neck, his left hand wrapping around your waist. Another hiss of pain slides past your parted lips, and then you grumble out, "Where are we?"

Six starts guiding you toward the small building and muttering, "Safehouse, we should be good to get you cleaned up here." Your head nods in relief, your whole body feeling a wave of relaxation at the thought.

It does make you slump against Six, but he doesn't say anything as he shifts your weight to press against his hip. His fingers fumble under the railing leading up to the building, reappearing a moment later with a hidden key.

This gives you a moment to give the safehouse a once-over from the outside. It's small, no bigger than two or three rooms. The outside is simple, unassuming, and not entirely in style.

As Six unlocks the door and does a quick sweep of the place, he leaves you gently at the entrance of the house. You take a second to glance down at the throbbing in your leg, seeing dark red liquid slowly oozing.

Six reappears in front of you, grabbing your attention from your leg. He stops next to you and gives you a silent thumbs-up.

You grip the doorframe tighter as you shuffle and start, "Can you-" "Yeah, I got you," Six cuts in, moving next to you again before instructing, "The bathroom is just up here and to the right."

"Thanks," you wheeze out as Six's arm regains its place around your waist, pulling you toward what must be the smallest bathroom you've ever seen. There is hardly enough room for both of you to stand comfortably, with Six basically flattening himself against the wall to try to give you space.

"I'm sorry, there's not much room in here," Six mumbles, his voice getting quiet as he flicks on the light. You reach forward to grab the counter and you huff through clenched teeth, "It's gonna have to do unless you want to get blood on the carpet."

Six scoffs at your forced joke, slipping behind you to a cabinet above the toilet. He fishes out some medical supplies, and you stumble as you lean back against the counter for support.

"So, uh," you start, your voice catching in your throat. You clear it, trying again, "How are we going to do this? I can put the lid down on the toilet and sit on it, but that won't leave a lot of room for you."

Six glances over at you as he sets the supplies on the very edge of the counter. He lets a sigh out through his nose, his blue gaze sliding to the minimal remaining counter space and then back to yours.

You raise an eyebrow at him, your mind swirling as you picture how to get up there. "You think that'll be best?" you ask with uncertainty, and Six gives you a nod with a quip of, "It's gonna have to do unless you want blood on the carpet."

A smile tugs on your mouth as he throws your words back at you, and you playfully go to swat at his shoulder. He easily catches your punch, moving closer into your personal space.

"I'll help you up," he says gently, his free hand sliding under your thigh. Your heart flutters in your chest, and you pull your hands away from him to brace them on the counter behind you as you give the bearded blonde a nod of confirmation.

"1, 2, 3," Six counts before lifting you onto the counter, his hands firm but gentle as he sets you down. You have to awkwardly avoid the faucet, but you manage to shift until your back lays flush against the wall.

A groan quietly slides through your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as a new wave of pain washes over you. Six's brow furrows as his hands slide from underneath you to the side of your thighs, being careful to not touch your open wound.

"You alright?" he asks lowly, trying to keep the energy in the room calm as his right hand works small circles on your uninjured leg. You hiss as you shift, "Y-yeah, I'll be good. How about you? You didn't answer me earlier."

Six mentally curses at your observation skills. Even despite your pain and wounds, you were still thinking about his safety. He turns his attention to the medical supplies and tuts, "I'm doing better than you, there's nothing I can't clean up."

Without making a big deal of it, Six gently parts your thighs to give himself more room. He does it slowly and methodically to avoid your wound hitting the coolness of the countertop, centering himself as he starts to rip open the supplies.

"Let me help you," you urge, sitting forward and biting your tongue to keep a grunt of pain at bay. You move to grab a washcloth, but Six is one step ahead of you, swiping one from the rack next to you.

He quickly dabs at the blood running down his forehead near his eye, his sharp gaze focused on his reflection in the mirror. You take in the angle of his jaw, the slope to his nose.

You let your eyes wander over the face you know as Sierra Six. His cheek is a little busted from where he got sucker punched, and you know it'll be sore in the morning.

You reach up and skillfully swipe the cloth out of Six's hand, the agent's eyes widening in surprise at your movements. You turn the cloth over in your hands to find a part not smudged with blood, and you flick on the sink to wet the material.

Six moves to grab the washcloth out of your hand again, but you quickly tug it toward your chest and light-heartedly snap out, "Let me help you!" The Sierra agent knows there isn't any malice in your voice, and that you are stubborn as hell.

He sighs and glances up into your (colored) eyes, slight but playful annoyance resting there. Six leans forward, resting his hands on the countertop on either side of your thighs, waiting for you to move.

After waiting another second to make sure Six is going to let you work, you slowly bring your hand up to his face. Brushing his scruffy cheek with the back of your hand first, you feel his warmth just by the simple touch.

You then spin your wrist, allowing for the dampened cloth to make contact with the trail of drying blood on his temple. Six's gaze is almost piercing as he watches you, and suddenly you wonder if this is what Six's enemies feel like before they die.

You swallow as you pull your gaze from his, your fingers delicately swiping the cloth over the blood trail until it is gone. You then flick the washcloth to another clean side, softly bringing it up to the cut on his forehead.

When the material makes contact with the cut, he flinches in surprise, his hands moving from the counter to grab at the meat of your thighs.

In his haste, he brushes against the wound on your thigh, making you whimper in pain. Six steps back rapidly, his back thudding against the wall as he removes himself from your personal space in a flustered rush.

Surprise and guilt flood his features as he rushes out, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" "It's alright," you cut in, setting the washcloth down next to your leg, "I know you didn't."

Six swallows and tries to redirect, "I can step out if you would feel better cleaning yourself up alone." You roll your eyes at him, trying to bring the lighter mood back as you jibe, "Yeah, okay, Mr. Gentleman, Sir."

Unfortunately, Six doesn't find your joke nearly as funny as you do, and you sigh and mutter, "Sorry, can't help it." You point to your leg and continue with a softer tone, "I could use some help, though."

Six glances from your injured thigh back to your face and he gestures to your pants, "Those are probably going to need cut off or taken off to get full access to that blast wound. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You groan and lean your head back against the wall with a thump, "For goodness sake, Six, help a girl out!" The desperation in your voice is what finally gets Six's resolve to crumble. He steps forward from the wall, still uncertain, his hands reaching for the scissors next to the supplies.

"You tell me if you get uncomfortable, okay?" Six pushes, not wanting to overstep. You reach forward and grab his free hand the best you can, and giving it a squeeze you whisper, "I will. There's not much you could do to make me uncomfortable with you, remember?"

Six shoots you a quick, but more assured smile before turning his attention to the blast on your leg. He gently works the scissors around the fabric, cutting the material loose to give him access to the bare expanse of your right thigh.

You shiver as the metal of the scissors brushes against your skin, your fingers moving to curl around the edge of the countertop. Six does his best to work efficiently, cutting your pant leg completely off to reveal the wound.

He takes a moment to look at it, scanning it for any debris or dirt chunks that need to be plucked out. After not finding any, he glances up at you and murmurs, "Just gotta clean this up and you'll be good."

You give him a nod, resting your head against the wall again as a shaky breath falls from your lips. You knew that no amount of mental preparation would brace you for the sting of alcohol against your open wound. But, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, forcing oxygen into your body in an attempt to calm your nervous system down.

Six glances at you again, his gaze kind as he looks over your figure. You were waiting on him to bring the alcohol wipe over your leg, and you both knew it was going to hurt like a bitch.

"Ready?" he asks as he finishes ripping open the packet containing the alcohol wipes. His fingers gently rub at your uninjured thigh, trying to distract you for a moment.

You take a quick, short breath and chirp out, "Yep, get it over with." Six doesn't waste a second, tenderly brushing the alcohol wipe over your wound. It immediately stings.

A gasp of pain forces its way out of your mouth, and your face scrunches in agony as your right foot swings out and then slams back into the cabinets below the counter. The reflex is one you couldn't have controlled, and you clamp your teeth down on your tongue as tears rush to the edges of your vision.

Six somehow avoids your involuntary kick, trying to work as fast as he can as he bloodies wipe after wipe. His blue gaze is focused as he works, and he murmurs after a moment, "You're doing good."

He grabs a new alcohol pad, applying it directly over the heart of the wound. You cry out hoarsely, your body crumpling forward toward Six's.

He holds pressure on the wound, not allowing the alcohol wipe to slip despite your wriggling to get away from the pain. Your forehead lands at the junction of his shoulder and neck, and you brace yourself against him as tears slide down your cheek.

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothes, his free hand continuously rubbing circles on your unharmed leg. When his soft touch doesn't seem to help or distract you, he kneads at the flesh instead, trying to draw your attention away from the intense burn.

This seems to help a little more, but you can't stop the sob that jumps out of your throat as waves of pain work through your body. Six is patient as he waits for you to settle down, his hand sliding up and down your left leg in another attempt at distracting you.

Only when your hand clutches at him, does Six stop. Your fingers try grabbing onto the material of his shirt, grasping for anything solid to ground you.

Six slowly turns his head to look at you leaning against his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. His hand moves steadily as he runs it over the back of your head and over your hair.

You hear him clear his throat and mumble, "Are you alright? I know this sucks."

The burn of the alcohol is the only thing your mind seems to fixate on. You want to answer him, but it feels like your blood is on fire. You open your mouth to reply, but you can only let out a strangled hiss.

Six frowns as he glances down at you, now bringing his hand from the back of your head to gently cup your cheek. The rough texture of his hands initially distracts you, your vision blurring as he pulls you away from his chest.

Your cheeks are wet with tears and you can barely make out Six's figure as you hear his voice wash over you, "Hey, hey, eyes on me. Eyes on me, okay? Do you trust me?"

Six's fingers gently tilt your head back, his thumb pad brushing away your tears as he looks over your dampened cheeks. You blink a few times, trying to focus on the man in front of you as the burn of your wound begins to ebb away.

You nod and sniffle, "Y-yeah." Your voice is weak and quiet, deprived of energy. Six gives you a warm smile, his fingers moving from cupping your cheek to quietly brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

You suddenly realize your proximity to the Sierra agent has decreased rapidly. Your face is only a few inches away from his own, and he is the only thing you can focus on.

With your vision focusing, you can now see the concern lacing his stormy gaze. There is a furrow in his brow that you know is there because of you.

Six is holding you so tenderly, so patiently. It makes your heart flutter and a lump form in the back of your throat. A second passes and you swear you can feel Six's breath on your face as he silently waits.

Waits for what? You aren't really sure. He is staring at you, calculating.

Then, he leans in slowly. You swear your heart is going to beat out of your chest as a strand of his hair tickles your forehead. At the last second, he shifts and turns his head.

Six's lips land on your cheek softly. You can feel the tickle of his beard against your skin, and it makes your fingers tighten their grip on the material of his shirt.

You feel like you could vomit, your nerve endings are in pain, confused, and happy? You are instantly brought back to your senses as he lingers close to your skin, painstakingly slow to pull away from you.

He pauses as he pulls back, now only an inch or two away from your lips. Six's eyes had fluttered closed, but now, they flicker open, gauging your reaction.

Your eyes are half-lidded. From pain? Maybe. From pleasure? ...you aren't really sure. Six is so close to you, you can't think straight. You have never felt this way before, both excited and terrified.

You know all you have to do is tilt your head and you could close the gap. But you are hardly breathing. And when Six's hand slowly removes itself from pushing your hair out of your face and cups your cheek again, you think you're going to have a heart attack.

A moment passes and Six leans into you ever so slightly, the two inches now becoming one. He subconsciously tightens his grip on you, his fingers holding your face pulling you closer.

At the same time, his hand holding the alcohol wipe on your thigh also increases in pressure unconsciously. A new, fresh wave of pain roars through your body, tearing you out of the dream-like state you had been in.

You involuntarily gasp and drawback as pain floods your system, a pang of hurt flooding over you at the way Six immediately pulls away from you.

His face is instantly stone-cold with no emotion, and he pulls his hand holding the alcohol wipe off of your thigh.

The silence is painfully loud.

You can hear every movement around the safehouse. The wind is knocking into the roof and the heater attached to the wall is creaking. Otherwise, it's just the quiet rustle of medical supplies as Six silently finishes patching you up.

He puts an ointment on a gauze pad, avoiding eye contact with you, before placing it over your clean wound. You bite your tongue as hard as you can to avoid making any noise, and you try to not move or shift as he works.

Your heart rate is slowing down, but you are left with an uncomfortable feeling of hurt, guilt, and something else you can't place.

Six finishes patching your wound by wrapping your leg with a pliable gauze and taping it off. You know the wound will need to be redressed in the morning, but you don't want to think about it.

As Six throws away the used supplies and starts to gather up the clean stuff, you clear your throat. Your voice is shaky and quiet with uncertainty when you offer, "I can-, I can finish cleaning the cut on your head."

You gaze at him nervously, your hands having released him and now lay awkwardly in your lap. Six doesn't spare you a glance as he finishes putting the supplies away and mutters, "No, I'll be fine. You should go get changed, there are clothes in the bedroom."

His words are straight to the point and very matter-of-fact. You sigh and nod, forcing yourself to move despite your leg protesting. With wobbly movements, you hop down from the counter and begin inching toward the bedroom around the corner.

Six had slipped out a moment before you, heading toward the kitchen across the hall. You grunt with effort as you latch onto the door handle of the bedroom, and this makes Six pause, turning around to look at you.

Whatever silent treatment you both shared in the bathroom seems to have dissipated. He motions toward you and prompts, "Just yell if you need help."

You know he's offering as a courtesy, but you can't help but crack a grin and call over your shoulder, "I will, I don't want to get blood on the bed too, you know. Unless you're into that sort of thing."

You don't wait to see if he responds, instead slipping into the bedroom with as much grace as you can muster. You shut the door behind you, leaning up against it as your eyes flutter shut.

On the other side of the door, Six is left with pink flooding his cheeks. He walks to the kitchen, and leaning over, grabs the countertop with both hands.

He huffs out a deep breath, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his... muddled thoughts. After a moment, he can't help but let his head drop as a chuckle falls from his lips.

A pleasant smile sits on the curve of his mouth as he replays the scene over and over in his head. Gosh, he was ruined by you. However, his smile quickly fades as he starts to mull over the interaction in the bathroom.

What a pussy you are, he thinks to himself.

Similarly, you aren't much better. What kind of wuss am I? you ask yourself as you push off the bedroom door toward a small closet tucked around by the window.

You sigh as you unbutton your pants, trying to carefully shimmy your way out of them. Thankfully, your heart seemed to have calmed down. You weren't sure how Six was going to take to you resuming your normal banter, but you hoped it would ease the obvious tension.

The tension?

It was all you could think about. And now? You knew you needed to confront whatever feelings you were experiencing. Because after today?

Sierra Six was driving you insane.

You slept on and off that night, fits of restlessness followed by sheer exhaustion that pulled you under. It was a rough night, to say the least.

The combination of your injuries and the torment of your interactions with Six left you flat-out tired. So when your body finally gave up and forced you to sleep around 3 a.m., you weren't complaining.

Six, ever the gentleman, slept on the couch in the living room and gave you the bed for the night. It was an unspoken agreement - you had basically collapsed on the bed after getting changed and didn't move.

Six knew this, and figured that he would be up for a while as the events of the day replayed in his mind. Not wanting to disturb you, he knew the couch would be his solace for the night.

The following morning, Six woke up early out of natural instinct. His muscles were sore and stiff from being crammed on the small and uncomfortable couch, but it wasn't anything a good stretch and walk couldn't fix.

With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, which read 6:25 a.m., Six knew he had a while until you woke up. You hadn't come out of the bedroom since you had disappeared the night before, and he didn't want to bother you.

So, Six makes a quick pot of coffee and does a couple of stretches to loosen his body and wake up his mind. Pouring the coffee into a sealed thermos, Six makes his way to the front door.

He slides on his boots and shrugs on a jacket that he had left on the coat rack. It was pretty cold outside - a sharp wind that cut to his core and knocked the snow off of the branches of the large pine trees around the safehouse.

A sigh falls from Six's mouth as he takes a sip of his coffee and sets out to do a perimeter check. He can't be too careful, not when you are basically out of commission. So, he does a quick scan of the vehicle he parked outside before setting off toward the edge of the property.

With the cold air biting at his cheeks, Six can't help but let his mind wander to you. You. You were... irritating to him, to say the least.

You just had to be the best thing that had ever walked into his life. From the moment he met you, Six knew that you were going to change him. And you certainly did.

His feet crunch over the snow as he walks the tree line, his blue eyes darting in and out of the wintery trees. Six watches two white-haired rabbits jump around in the snow 30 feet in front of him, pawing through the frozen flakes toward the hidden grass below.

He can't help but smile at the small animals as his mind drifts back to you. He knows you would love their cute whiskers covered with snow. Hell, you would probably try to chase one and pick it up.

The bearded blonde pushes forward, skirting around the rabbits and taking another sip of his coffee. The sun is just barely over the horizon, the woods still dark with the chill of the night. There is enough sunlight illuminating the snow that Six can easily navigate through the deep dawn, his eyes scouring the nature around him.

Six's smile fades as last night's memories flood his brain as he walks. He had been a coward. Truly, he had been a coward for a lot longer than last night.

There had been seemingly countless times when he had wanted to tell you how he felt. Deep down, Six knew you would listen to him make a fool of himself.

You were his best friend.

He didn't think he would ever have one of those, but then you showed up and flipped his whole world upside down. You were kind, reliable, and always quick with a bad joke.

You loved to banter with him, playfully jibing and quipping at each other until you got Six to smile. You had seen him through tough missions where things almost went south. You had had his back when he miscalculated things, picking up the slack like it was second nature.

You had the biggest heart despite being a part of a cruel, cruel profession. He knew he wasn't special to you when you smiled or said something kind. That was you, being you.

Six knew this from the beginning. And yet he still somehow found himself falling for you, even after telling himself he wouldn't jeopardize your partnership and friendship like that.

So now, here he was, having almost kissed you four separate times. And it was driving him crazy. It irritated him. He knew he was being a coward.

You deserved a good, kind, brave man. And Six wasn't any of those things. He lived in a kill-or-be-killed world. He didn't get to settle down and live a white-picket-fence kind of life. You deserved that.

But damn it, you had his mind bewitched. He couldn't summon the courage to tell you how he felt because he didn't want to ruin your friendship.

He knew you would be sweet about it when you let him down easy. He can picture the way your face would twist into a sad, apologetic look as you told him you didn't see him that way.

And he can't stand that.

But then another part of his brain says that you feel the same. Six knew you found some comfort in him. That was proof of when you crashed into his arms after finding out your mom passed away.

He knew you trusted him when you followed his lead on the mission in Spain, letting him guide you as if you were truly in love. Then when he helped you at the hotel? His self-restraint had barely kept him composed.

Then with last night looming in his mind... Six knew he was fucked. He had to get his shit together and tell you. It was going to eat him alive until he did something about it.

Maybe, just maybe, things would go his way. If they didn't? ...well he would figure it out. You may ask to get reassigned or pretend that nothing happened.

Six didn't want to think about that, though, and instead forces himself to continue on his walk around the perimeter of the safehouse.

Inside, you had woken up. You had heard the front door swing shut, despite Six trying to keep it from closing with a loud thud. It was slow-moving for you to get out of bed, but you carefully took your time to avoid causing yourself excessive pain.

You figured Six was probably securing the perimeter, so you didn't think it was a bad idea to get a shower and try to make breakfast.

Surprisingly, getting in and out of the shower was pretty easy, and redressing your wound seemed to breeze by. However, getting to the kitchen was a bit of a struggle, with your thigh now aching from being used and the fresh sting of ointment.

You have to hobble and hop to get the short distance from the bathroom to the kitchen, but you are immediately drawn toward the cabinets around the coffee pot.

You grab a glass from one of the cupboards above you, fiddling with the faucet to pour some water into the plain cup. You take a quick sip as you peer out the window above the sink, the sun slowly sliding up over the horizon.

The snow is tinged with pink and orange, casting an illuminating glow over the peaceful scenery. A sigh falls from your lips as you set your glass down, putting your attention on trying to find something to eat.

There probably isn't anything fresh in here, it's a safehouse for goodness sake, you think to yourself as you start rifling through the other cabinets. Inside one of them, you find a box of pancake mix that hadn't expired.

You smile at it and huff, "This'll do!" You set to work, finding a bowl to mix the batter in, as well as an old cast-iron skillet to cook with. As if it's second nature, you pour batter onto the skillet, carefully watching and flipping the pancakes as they turn golden brown.

Just as you start digging through the freezer, you hear the front door creak open. You swivel on your uninjured leg as you turn to face the source of cold air swirling into the house.

Six is standing at the threshold of the front door, surprise evident on his features as he gazes at you. You note the thermos in his hand and the heavy jacket he has covering his shoulders.

As he moves to step inside, you sheepishly smile and mumble, "G-good morning! I'm making some breakfast, if you want any." Six makes quick work of his boots by the door, shuffling out of his jacket a moment later.

"You should be resting," his voice comes out low and firm, and hearing it makes you realize how much of a comfort it brings you. You turn back toward the freezer as you try to ignore his words, but he doesn't seem like he's going to let it go.

Six moves into the kitchen with a couple of long strides, the smell of pancakes hitting him as he stops next to you and sets his thermos down. He gazes down at your shy figure digging through the shelving of the freezer, and he crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.

"You should be resting," he repeats pointedly, "Not digging through an ancient freezer." You ignore him for another second before smiling at something you pull out of the rusty ice box.

You finally turn to face him, shutting the freezer door by taking a step closer to the bearded blonde. You try to push down the wave of nerves you feel at the closer proximity, images of last night flashing through your mind.

You offer him the package and remark, "Then you, also, should be resting. Not taking adventures around the property in the snow." Six's gaze hovers on you for a second, a look on his face knowing he'd been beaten by his own logic.

Instead, he focuses on the frozen package you hand him. He recognizes it as a bag of frozen breakfast sausages and glances back up at you with a question in his gaze.

You shrug and motion to the stovetop, "Wanna help me? The pancakes are almost done." You start hobbling past him, a quiet grunt sliding across your lips as you stop in front of the pancake skillet, flipping the bready goodness over with relative ease.

Six can't help but watch you for a moment, his fingers growing cold with the bag of frozen meat in his hand. His heart warms as he realizes you don't hate him for his cowardice the night before.

You want his help, and damn it, he's going to help you. He moves to stand next to you again, waiting for you to finish with the pancakes.

As you pour the last of the batter into a final, very large pancake, you smile up at Six with a glance and a chirp of, "My dad used to always do this with the leftover batter. He would always eat it, no matter how ridiculously large it ended up being."

Six lets a small, close-lipped smile pull across his face as he listens to you recount the memory. Setting the bag of breakfast sausage on the counter next to the two of you, he says, "That sounds nice."

Your smile fades as you watch the pancake start to form bubbles, and you shrug, "It's just a faraway memory now." Six watches you silently for a moment before pointing at it and mumbling, "I'll take it."

Your (colored) gaze makes its way over to Six, and you see a kind look resting on his face. It makes you feel better, calming the swirling thoughts in your mind.

You give him a nod before focusing back on the large pancake, flipping it over with more difficulty. Without looking away from the pancake, you ask, "Could you open the bag of sausage and grab 2 plates for us?"

Six, without hesitation, replies, "Yes ma'am," and cuts open the bag of sausage with his pocket knife. He leaves it next to you before beginning to look through the cabinets to find the plates.

After a minute of digging around, he returns with two plates and sets them near the coffee pot. You pluck the large pancake off of the skillet and slap it down on one of the plates.

You and Six continue to quietly and comfortably work through making breakfast, with Six cleaning the used utensils while you finish frying the meats.

After the food is made, eaten, and cleaned up, Six nods his head toward the bedroom and states, "I'm going to grab some clothes and get a shower. Just yell-" "if I need help", you finish with a smile, "I got it."

Six lets a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth before he backs up and disappears from view, leaving you alone in the kitchen. You breathe a sigh of content as you are left alone with your thoughts.

That was... surprisingly pleasant, you ponder as you shuffle toward the living room on the other side of the kitchen. You let your curiosity get the best of you, skimming through the simple decorations and furniture.

You are drawn to the small side table next to the couch, and you see a blanket piled up next to one of the pillows. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings when you realize Six slept on the couch and let you have the bed.

You hadn't even thought to ask him about the sleeping arrangements. You try not to dwell on it, though, and focus on trying to find something to do.

Your eyes catch on a few books on a shelf near the wall, but you don't quite feel the energy to read something. Instead, you are drawn to a deck of cards poking out next to a small book.

Faulty footsteps eventually lead you to the shelf, where you easily pluck the box of cards up. You maneuver back to the center of the small living room, ungracefully plopping yourself onto the floor and positioning yourself with your back to the couch.

You lean back against the cushions and slightly grimace at how firm they are. You were going to have to apologize to Six for making him sleep on these all night.

Focusing on the cards in your hands, you fish them out and fumble with them for a minute. You had never been one who learned how to play cards, so you initially struggle to shuffle them. After toying with the crisp cards for a second, you start to get the hang of it.

Triumphantly, but still awkwardly shuffling the cards, a smile eases across your face. Just then, the bathroom door swings open and Six steps out, freshly dressed and showered.

Your smile widens when you see him and hold up the cards to show him your find. Six is running a towel over his head as he notices you, and he shakes his head to get the hair out of his eyes before asking, "Where'd you find them?"

You point toward the bookshelf and shrug, "Just sitting over there by the books. I don't really know any card games though." Six slings the towel over his shoulder, his face thoughtful for a minute before he offers, "I can show you a couple."

The cards almost fall out of your hand at his suggestion, but you cover it up with a wide grin and a giggle of, "That would be great!" You turn around to lean against the couch again, fiddling with the cards while Six hangs up his towel.

He joins you a minute later, flopping down on the ground next to you with a groan. You snicker at him playfully, and he shoots you a glare with no malice behind it.

Six reaches over and plucks the cards from your hands, and in doing so, makes you pause. His knuckles are busted, something you hadn't noticed before. There are a couple of scrapes across them, as well as bruising around several of the joints.

You frown and reach out, gently grabbing his hand. Six stops his movements, looking over at you as you turn his palms over to look at the angry red skin on the other side.

"You're hurt," you mumble, the frown on your face deepening as a crease forms between your brows. Six lets you run your digits over his own, enjoying the soft touch of your skin on his.

Six is quiet, not uncommon for him, and you look up at him with concern etched into your features. The bearded blonde is taken aback by the intensity in your (colored) eyes, and averts his gaze, shrugging, "I've had it worse. Nothing to get upset over."

Your grip tightens on his for a second, but then you release his hand and shift to face him. You lean your elbow on the hard cushion of the couch and prop your head in the palm of your hand.

"If you say so," you reply quietly. You give him an apologetic smile and murmur, "I also owe you an apology for letting you sleep on this couch last night. This thing is terrible."

You finish your words with a giggle, your hand slipping from propping your head up to whack at the stiff material. Six brings his blue eyes to watch you, a soft look on his face. It makes your heart flutter in your chest, and this time it's you who has to look away.

He clears his throat and turns to shuffle the cards as he says, "It wasn't that terrible. As long as you were comfortable last night." There's a double meaning to his words that is so subtle you almost miss it.

As his fingers flip through the cards to shuffle them, you reach out and rest your hand on his bicep closest to you. Your features have relaxed, and you whisper, "I was comfortable last night. I- I wasn't sure if you were."

Six pauses halfway through shuffling the deck. It's quiet in the safehouse, again. While you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, this time it's not the kind of silence that makes you want to scream.

It's the kind of silence where you want to see what happens next.

He sets the cards down on the ground next to him, still not meeting your eyes. You shuffle so that you are sitting facing Six, with his back leaned up against the couch.

The bearded blonde is quiet, pensive. You slide your hand from his bicep to the hand now resting on his lap, gently grasping for it. He lets you thread your fingers through his own, and you continue quietly, "Last night, I- I thought that maybe..." and your voice trails off shyly.

"Maybe, what?" he whispers, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb across the back of it. He glances up at you, catching your gaze. You see an unusual expression there - one of vulnerability that you hardly ever see.

It hits you with a wave of butterflies so hard that you look away and try to backtrack, "I-I don't-" "Just-" he cuts you off, his voice still gentle as he urges, "Maybe, what?"

You sigh as you feel heat burn up your cheeks and start curling down your neck. You want to shove your face in your hands, but instead, you tighten your grip on Six's hand as you mumble indistinctly, "I thought that maybe last night there was a change. A, a shift or something."

You chuckle dryly as you try to pull your hand away from Six, but he holds you there in place. His grip tightening on your hand finally makes you look at him, and your wave of nerves hits you all over again.

He swallows thickly, his blue gaze stormy as he replies, "There was a shift, I felt it too." You hold your breath as you wait for him to elaborate, but it doesn't come.

Six takes a moment, his mouth parted as he tries to come up with words. He sighs in frustration, his free hand coming up to rub at his face before he mutters, "Fuck it."

Before you can ask him what he means, Six is pulling you into his lap, letting your legs delicately straddle either side of his hips. He releases his grip on your hand to grip the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair and pulling you down to him.

Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize what's happening. Your hands fly up to brace yourself on his chest as his free hand finds its place on your hip.

Despite all of this being completely new, you can't help but feel comfortable and almost as if you were made to sit on his lap. He doesn't give you long to think as he pulls you down to him.

Only when your mouth is hanging open in mild surprise, inches from his own, does he slow down. His gaze is half-lidded, but now when you search for the name of the emotion on his face, you can place it.

Six whispers hoarsely, "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop. We can pretend this never happened." You slide your right hand from his chest to the back of his neck, letting your fingers slide through the drying locks there.

Your (colored) eyes flit between his blue ones, and you whisper back, "It's all I've ever wanted, Six." And that's all it takes for him.

With electricity crackling in the air, Six closes the distance between the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat the second his lips meet yours, and you can't help the soft gasp that you let out as sparks shoot up your spine and your eyes flutter closed.

Your hand unknowingly tightens its grip on his hair, and Six lets out a throaty groan as his mouth starts to move in sync with yours. Butterflies that had once bloomed with nerves now flutter with excitement as your lips chase his, moving in perfect synchronicity.

Six pulls you closer with his grip on your hip bone, angling your head with his hand tangled in your hair. He deepens the kiss, his soft lips slotting over yours in ways you never could have dreamed of.

Your nose bumps against his as you take in the sweet taste of his mouth, something that is minty but reminds you of home. His kiss is soft and gentle, accompanied by the tickle of his facial hair on your chin and cheeks.

You find yourself becoming desperate when your lungs start to burn, but you don't want to stop. Not now, not after so long. Six seems to be in agreement, his mouth hungrily chasing after yours despite knowing you are both running out of oxygen.

The bearded blonde gives into the burn, though, and pulls back just long enough for the two of you to gasp for air. You can't stop the fire burning in you, and you lunge forward, crashing your lips against his without respite.

He catches your kiss eagerly, his hand resting on your hip sliding up your back and pulling your chest flush against his own. The angle causes your legs to burn, but not because of your wound.

Your mouth falls open at the pain, and Six seizes the opportunity to let his tongue swipe across your lower lip, testing the waters. When you willingly open your mouth for him to explore, Six swears he is in heaven.

His tongue gently explores your awaiting mouth, trying to memorize the taste of you. A soft whine pulls from the back of your throat, and Six slowly brings the kiss back from hungry to tender with his hand moving from your hair to cup your cheek.

His hands are rough on your skin, but you don't mind. Not when he is kissing you senseless. You follow his lead, though, and slow your mouth and heart down as you pour every ounce of affection into the kiss.

Six is the one to pull back, but not far. His chest is heaving, as is yours, leaning his forehead against your own. His nose brushes yours tenderly, and his blue gaze flutters open to meet yours.

Your cheeks are burning with heat when you finally make eye contact with him, and you are hit with a sudden wave of shyness. You go to glance away, but Six's hand keeps you right where you are.

He leans in again, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet and gentle peck, sending another wave of butterflies through your body. The hand resting on your back gently rubs up and down your spine, and you look up to meet Six's gaze for the umpteenth time.

When you gaze at him, you suddenly have names for all of the emotions you've been feeling and seeing.

But Six beats you to it.

"I have wanted to do that for so, so long," he starts, his voice scratchy but tender. He sweetly brushes a piece of hair out of your eyes before continuing, "But I have loved you for even longer, Y/n."

Your heart swells in your chest at the simple confession, and you bring both of your hands up to cup his cheeks as you smile up at him. You giggle once as you hold him close to you, basking in his words before replying, "I've wanted that for a long time, too, you know."

Six smiles at that, but you keep talking before he can respond, "I love you, Six. I- I didn't want to read too much into things and ruin what we had."

The bearded blonde gives you a grin and chuckles out, "Well I think we might have ruined what we had, there's no going back for me now." You smile at the meaning of his words and nod in response, "I suppose you're right. You could've been kissing me like that for years."

Six's grip tightens on you as he all but growls out, "Guess I'll have to make up for lost time," and he crashes his lips against yours without another word.

All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and hold on. It may have taken Six a while to get his timing right, but you weren't one to complain now.

After all, Six would make sure he made it up to you.

[astra-ravana]

Ronove's Ritual Of Infernal Creativity

This is a ritual with the demon Ronove to enhance creativity, technical ability, dexterity, and critical thinking for writing or art. Ronove, also known as Ben, is a powerful demon listed in the Ars Goetia. He is known to assist with communication, eloquence, knowledge, and creativity, making him an excellent spirit to invoke for enhancing artistic and intellectual skills. This ritual is designed to help you tap into your creative flow, increase your technical skill, and boost your dexterity for the purpose of writing or creating works of art.

Needed:

• Sacred Space (undisturbed place where you feel comfortable and inspired)

• A black or red cloth

• A white or purple candle

• Incense - frankincense (for wisdom) or sandalwood (for spiritual focus)

• A sigil of Ronove (you can draw or print the sigil of Ronove and place it on your altar)

• A pen or pencil and paper (for writing or drawing), or any artistic tools you use in your creative practice (paint, sketchbook, etc.)

• A small offering - this can be a piece of fruit, incense, or a small coin, symbols of gratitude for the demon’s aid

Instructions:

Preparation - Conduct this ritual on Wednesday (associated with Mercury, the planet of communication, intellect, and creativity), or on a Waxing Moon to amplify the growth of your artistic abilities. Before the ritual, it is recommended that you clear your mind and open yourself to creative flow. Take a few moments to meditate and ground yourself, so that you are receptive to the energies you wish to invoke. Light the incense and candle, and begin with a moment of deep breathing to center yourself. As you breathe in, imagine inhaling creative energy and mental clarity. As you breathe out, imagine releasing any blockages or mental fatigue. Focus on the flow of creativity that you seek to amplify.

Invocation - In a calm and respectful tone, call upon Ronove, requesting his presence and assistance in enhancing your artistic and intellectual abilities. Say,

"Ronove, I call upon you,

Master of eloquence, creativity, and skill,

With respect, I ask for your guidance,

To unlock the depths of my imagination and mind.

Grant me the dexterity to create,

The insight to think critically,

The technique to perfect my art,

And the clarity to express my thoughts and ideas.

With your power, let my creativity flow freely and without hindrance."

After invoking Ronove, focus your attention on his sigil (drawn or printed on your altar). Gaze at it for a few moments while visualizing yourself creating freely—whether that be writing effortlessly, painting with great precision, or bringing ideas to life in whatever medium you choose. As you focus, feel the energy of Ronove’s influence strengthening your ability to concentrate and channel your creative energy.

Creative Activation - Hold your pen, pencil, or creative tool in your hand. Close your eyes and begin to visualize yourself working on a specific project—whether it's writing a piece, painting a masterpiece, or solving a creative problem. Imagine the energy of Ronove filling your body, especially your hands, as they grow more dexterous, your thoughts more clear, and your ideas flowing effortlessly.

While doing this, say the following affirmations,

"With Ronove's power, I create with ease,

My mind sharp, my hands skilled,

The creativity I seek flows unhindered,

And my work is crafted with precision and clarity."

After focusing on the sigil and invoking Ronove’s assistance, take the pen or brush and begin to write or create. Allow your thoughts to flow naturally, without self-judgment or inhibition. Trust that the creative process is being guided by Ronove’s influence, and know that you have the ability to bring your ideas to life in ways that are original, skillful, and deeply fulfilling.

If you find yourself stuck or facing any mental blocks during this process, say Ronove’s name aloud or focus again on his sigil, and repeat the phrase,

"Ronove, guide my hands and my thoughts,

Unblock the path of creativity,

Let my mind and hands work in harmony."

Closing - Once you feel the energy of the ritual has been fully absorbed, or once you have created something, take a moment to thank Ronove for his assistance. Say,

"Ronove, I thank you for your guidance,

Your wisdom, skill, and creativity now flow through me.

I am grateful for your power,

And I give thanks for the knowledge and talent you’ve bestowed."

Blow out the candle and incense, symbolizing the end of the ritual.

After the Ritual:

• Continue your creative work: Trust that the energy you invoked during the ritual will continue to support you, and continue your creative practice with renewed focus and inspiration.

• Document your experiences: Record in your magical journal any insights, feelings, or shifts you noticed during the ritual. This can help you track how Ronove’s influence works over time.

• Offer your gratitude: After completing your artistic work, make a small offering to Ronove—this could be a written piece, a visual work, or another form of dedication that aligns with the ritual’s intent.

Tips for Success:

• Consistency: Perform the ritual regularly to deepen your connection with Ronove and improve your skills over time.

• Clear Intentions: Be specific about your creative goals—whether it's overcoming a creative block or improving a certain technique.

• Patience: Sometimes, results may not come instantly. Trust that Ronove is working with you behind the scenes to enhance your abilities.

This ritual, when done with focus and sincerity, can help you tap into a wellspring of creativity and enhance your technical skill, providing you with the support you need to excel in your artistic and intellectual endeavors.

[minhosbitterriver]

─── ⋆⋅☆ STEADY LOVE ( xdinary heroes )

❛ A collection of heartfelt stories where love finds its strength in gentle understanding, as partners navigate the world together with unwavering support and care for each other's unique needs.

𝐱𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.4k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 29 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This was so self-indulgent to write, so a very big thank you to my lovely 🍀 Anon for this request! Reblogs and feedbacks are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has AuDHD in each member's piece, mentions of bees as a special interest, descriptions of being burned out and struggling with change, some very slight ableism mentioned (not from any of the members), descriptions of overstimulation, mentions of stimming, terrible flirting, overall this is very much hurt + comfort, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

구건일 ── GOO GUNIL.

The day felt like it had conspired against Gunil, stretching itself out into an agonizing eternity, as if determined to sap every last bit of energy from him. Each second dragged on, the clock's hands moving at a snail's pace, mirroring the heaviness in his limbs. Finally, after what seemed like an endless rehearsal, an exhausted sigh escaped his lips, the sound barely noticeable amidst the hum of tired voices from his bandmates. With a practiced, almost mechanical motion, Gunil returned his well-worn drumsticks to their designated holder, a small nook on the wall that had become as familiar to him as his own reflection. The drumsticks settled into place with a soft click, the only sound in the practice room that had served as their second home. 

As his bandmates began to shuffle out, their movements sluggish, weighed down by the day’s efforts, Gunil barely registered the chorus of goodbyes. Jungsu’s voice cut through the haze, a final “see you tomorrow” accompanied by a wave before disappearing into the hallway. Gunil mustered a lazy half-smile, lifting his hand in a farewell that felt more like a reflex than a conscious action. The room, once alive with the pulse of their music, now felt eerily quiet, the silence amplifying the fatigue settling deep into his bones. He reached for his backpack, its weight pulling down on his tired shoulders, just as the sharp ring of his phone shattered the stillness.

The sudden sound jolted him, but when he saw your name on the screen, a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the exhaustion, even if just a little. “I’m done rehearsing, love, I’ll be—” Gunil’s greeting was cut short by the unmistakable sound of your excited squeal. He couldn’t help but chuckle, his heart swelling with affection at the image of you practically vibrating with energy on the other end of the line.

“Goo, you have to come home as soon as you can!” Your voice was bright, almost bursting with excitement, and Gunil could easily imagine you doing your little wiggles of joy, the ones that always made his heart melt. 

“Yes, baby,” he replied, his tone gentle, hiding the weariness in his bones so as not to dampen your spirits. “I’ll be home in no time. What’s got you so excited?” 

As he turned off the lights in the now-quiet practice room, the faint clicking of your keyboard reached his ears. He pictured you perched at your desk, your laptop open before you, eyes wide with curiosity. The image made him smile. 

“I found this new video, and Goo, it is so cool! It's a swarm of Japanese honeybees defending their nest by slapping ants with their wings, but this one is honestly so fascinating because apparently, this colony got infected by the Varroa Destructor Mite — but they were still so aggressive against the ants and they won! Isn't that so cool? Oh, Goo, please hurry, you have to watch it!” 

Your words tumbled out in a rush, barely pausing for breath, your excitement making the details spill over each other in a joyous cascade. Gunil found himself chuckling softly, warmth blooming in his chest as he listened to your passionate rambling. There was something so endearing about the way you got lost in your own world, especially when it came to bees. He could listen to you talk for hours, your voice animated and full of life, a stark contrast to the weariness that had settled over him.

He thought back to the early days of your relationship, when you had nervously explained your autism to him, worried that it might be too much, too different. But to Gunil, it was simply another beautiful facet of who you were, something that made him love you even more deeply. “That does sound very interesting, my love,” he said, trying to match your energy despite the exhaustion tugging at him. “I really can’t wait to watch it!”

The promise of coming home to you, to your bright, infectious enthusiasm, gave him the strength to push through the final stretch of his journey. “I’ll be home in about ten minutes, so hang tight,” he added, a smile in his voice as he ended the call. As he neared the apartment you shared, the sight of a family-owned flower shop caught his eye. 

Even through the fatigue, his gaze lingered on the blooms in the window, your favorite flowers standing out like a beacon. The thought of surprising you with them, especially when you were already so happy, sent a thrill through him. Without hesitation, he ducked into the shop, the sweet scent of fresh flowers wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. He selected a bouquet with care, imagining the way your eyes would light up when he walked through the door with them in hand.

The weight of the day began to lift as he paid for the flowers, the simple act of thinking about you bringing a renewed sense of energy. The thrill of coming home to you, your voice still echoing in his mind, made each step lighter. As he walked out of the shop, the bouquet cradled carefully in his arms, he felt the anticipation build, knowing that soon, he would be by your side, sharing in the simple, beautiful joy of being together.

김정수 ── KIM JUNGSU.

The corners of Jungsu’s lips tightened into a worried frown as he gently rapped on the door of your shared bedroom. Not waiting for an invitation, he nudged the door open just enough to peer inside. The sight that greeted him was one of persistent discomfort. There you were, lying on your side of the bed, your expression etched with visible distress. Your laptop, casting a soft glow in the dim room, played the familiar episodes of your favorite show—one you had practically memorized through countless viewings meant to soothe your troubled emotions.

Jungsu let out a soft sigh, his concern growing with each passing moment. He stepped into the room, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps as he moved towards your side of the bed. Perching himself on the edge, he settled into the space beside you, his presence both reassuring and tender. You kept your gaze fixed on the screen, as though it were the only refuge from the turmoil roiling within.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and unshared burdens. After a few moments, you finally turned your head to meet his gaze, a weary sigh escaping your lips. Jungsu’s heart ached at the sight of your frustration and weariness. “I ordered takeout,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as if afraid to shatter the fragile calm. “It’s your favorite.”

He noticed the fleeting flicker of interest in your eyes, a brief spark that was quickly extinguished as you turned back to the screen with a frown. “I don’t want to eat right now,” you murmured, your tone resolute and final, leaving no room for negotiation. The firmness of your refusal stung, and Jungsu could only nod in resignation. He sighed once more, his shoulders slumping slightly as he retreated from the room, leaving you to your solitude.

For nearly a week now, this had been your reality—an ongoing struggle that Jungsu could only partially grasp. Despite the year you had been together, he had never seen you like this before. He understood that adapting to sudden changes was particularly challenging for you, especially when they disrupted the routines that provided a semblance of stability. The day you had called him from work, sobbing uncontrollably while locked in the bathroom, was seared into his memory. You had told him about your old manager’s abrupt departure and the arrival of a new, unfamiliar face. The sudden shift was more than you could handle, especially when your new manager refused to accommodate the adjustments necessary to make your work environment bearable.

As the days went on, the pressure became insurmountable. Each day, you returned home to face the aftermath of panic attacks you had kept at bay and to collapse into bed, seeking solace in the comfort of a show that could no longer ease the heaviness you carried. The joy and relief it once brought you were now overshadowed by a pervasive numbness, a stark reminder of the emotional toll that had become all too familiar.

Jungsu’s heart ached with the weight of your struggle, and though he sympathized deeply with your plight, it did little to quell his worry. He remained steadfast in his resolve to support you through this storm, even as he grappled with the helplessness of seeing you so diminished. Each day, he hoped for a glimmer of recovery, a sign that the storm within you might begin to abate. But for now, he could only offer his silent presence and unwavering support, waiting for the day when you would once again find your way back to the light.

Jungsu was grappling with uncertainty about how to pull you from the depths of your distress, but a sudden spark of inspiration ignited within him as his gaze fell upon the television in the living room. Resolute to offer you a sliver of comfort, he began a frenzied quest to transform your shared space into a sanctuary of solace. For the next half hour, he darted around the apartment, arms laden with an assortment of blankets, comforters, and pillows—each one a small testament to his unwavering determination.

With every trip in and out of the bedroom, his expression was a mixture of earnest concentration and quiet determination. You watched with a blend of curiosity and amusement as he repeatedly entered the room, his movements a flurry of purposeful activity. At one point, he even attempted to gather your collection of stuffed animals, struggling under the weight of their collective softness as he staggered out, his focus unbroken by your gaze.

The sounds of his labor—the shuffling of furniture, the occasional grunt of exertion—filled the space, drawing your attention away from the show you had paused. You listened intently, your curiosity piqued by the rhythmic clamor of activity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bustling, Jungsu reappeared in the doorway of your bedroom, his face illuminated with a blend of triumph and excitement. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, catching the soft light of the nightstand lamp as he panted, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“Baby,” he called out, his voice breathless but laced with an infectious enthusiasm. His hands rested on his hips, a gesture of pride and anticipation. “Can you please come out? I made something for you, and I think you’re really going to like it!”

Despite the storm of emotions swirling within you, the sight of Jungsu’s eager, childlike gleam in his eyes tugged at your heartstrings. Intrigued and touched by his effort, you pushed yourself up from the bed, the pull of his unwavering support more compelling than the urge to remain cocooned in your sanctuary. He extended a hand towards you, which you accepted with a grateful smile, allowing him to guide you toward the living room.

The transformation that greeted your eyes as you entered the living room took your breath away. The coffee table, once a fixture in the center of the room, had been pushed to the far wall. In its place stood a grand fortress, a whimsical creation of mismatched blankets and comforters meticulously draped and layered into a cozy haven. Strings of Christmas lights peeked through the folds, their gentle glow casting a warm, ethereal light that danced across the room. The television, positioned just in front of the fortress’s entrance, was primed to play your favorite show, a comforting familiarity in its soft glow.

As you inhaled deeply, the fragrant aroma of your favorite meal wafted towards you, a final touch to the heartwarming scene. Overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude, tears threatened to spill as you turned to embrace Jungsu. Your arms wrapped around him tightly, your body shaking slightly with the emotion you struggled to contain.

Jungsu chuckled softly, his arms enveloping you in a hug that was both firm and reassuring—just the way you liked it. “Is this okay?” he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper as you pulled back to look at him. The tears in your eyes glistened with a profound appreciation as you nodded vigorously, your voice wavering with emotion. “This is perfect, Jun,” you managed to say, your voice cracking slightly. “It looks exactly like how my grandmother used to do it when I was upset as a child.”

Jungsu’s smile widened, his satisfaction evident in the warmth that radiated from him. As you turned and practically bounded towards the fortress, a trail of contented giggles followed in your wake, each sound a balm to his worried heart. The sight of your joy, so vividly reflected in your laughter, made his heart flutter with a tender affection that seemed to encompass the entire room.

곽지석 ── KWAK JISEOK.

The outdoor market was a vibrant tapestry of colors and sounds, alive with the energy of families and couples weaving through stalls brimming with fresh produce and handcrafted jewelry. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, flowers, and street food, a cacophony of sensory delights that usually set your heart racing with excitement. But today, the thrumming pulse of the market felt more like a storm brewing on the horizon. 

You had been standing in front of a stall, fingers lightly tracing the delicate patterns of handmade trinkets when a sudden influx of noisy tourists swarmed around you. The once-open space now felt suffocating as their loud voices clashed against one another, creating a wall of sound that made it impossible to think clearly. The proximity of strangers pressed too close, stealing the breath from your lungs and sending your heart into a frantic rhythm. You glanced around, searching desperately for Jiseok, who had been right beside you only moments ago, but the crowd swallowed him up, leaving you feeling isolated and vulnerable.

As your anxiety began to claw its way to the surface, your body responded in familiar, desperate ways. Your fingers found their way to your hair, twisting and pulling at the strands as if they might tether you to something solid. Your leg bounced uncontrollably, tapping out an erratic rhythm on the cobblestones beneath you. The sharp sting of your nails digging into your palms became the only thing anchoring you, yet it also edged you closer to a breaking point that felt terrifyingly near.

It felt like an eternity, but finally, Jiseok emerged from the crowd, his eyes immediately locking onto you with a mix of relief and concern. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he could see it in the way your body had tensed, in the rapid, shallow breaths you struggled to control. Without a word, he reached out, gently but firmly taking your hands in his, halting the destructive cycle of pulling at your hair and digging into your skin. He interlaced your fingers with his, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

"Hey, let's get out of here for a bit," Jiseok's voice broke through the chaos, a soothing melody that cut through the overwhelming noise around you. He didn’t wait for a response; instead, he drew you close, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your head against his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat against your ear was a familiar comfort, a lifeline in the middle of the storm.

Guiding you through the press of bodies, Jiseok kept you close, his arms a protective barrier against the world that had become too much to bear. His grip tightened slightly, applying the firm pressure that always seemed to calm your racing thoughts. "Look, we can go there for a little bit," he murmured, nodding towards a small park that sat like a hidden gem amidst the market’s frenzy. The greenery promised a respite, a quiet place to breathe again.

But it wasn’t the park that brought you solace—it was Jiseok himself. The vibration of his voice against your back as he spoke, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his embrace all worked together to gently pull you out of the whirlpool of anxiety that threatened to drag you under. As he continued to speak, his words becoming a soft, mindless ramble meant only to distract, you could feel the storm inside you begin to subside. Your heartbeat, once wild and erratic, slowly began to sync with his, finding a steadier, calmer pace.

As Jiseok gently guided you through the bustling market, his hand remained a steady presence on your shoulder. Every so often, he would give a gentle squeeze, three soft pulses of reassurance—a silent code you both had established for moments like these, where words seemed to dissolve into the fog of your anxiety. It was his quiet way of asking, "Are you okay?" The simple gesture, familiar and comforting, anchored you amidst the swirling chaos. 

In response, you reached up to grasp his forearm, fingers curling around his warmth as you squeezed twice, signaling back, "I'm better." The exchange was small, but it spoke volumes—a tender conversation held in silence, where no words were necessary, just the understanding between two souls who had learned to navigate these storms together.

The noise of the market gradually faded into the background as Jiseok led you to the park. Here, the world softened, with the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant murmur of others who had also sought sanctuary from the market's overwhelming energy. The park felt like a refuge, a place where the intensity of the outside world couldn't quite reach you. Jiseok spotted a secluded bench beneath the shade of a large, ancient tree, its branches stretching out like a protective canopy. The dappled sunlight danced through the leaves, casting a soothing pattern on the ground, and the bench offered a quiet place to rest, away from prying eyes and the relentless pace of the market.

Once seated, Jiseok remained close, his presence a calming force beside you. Your breath, which had been shallow and quick, began to slow as you settled into the quiet of the park. Jiseok's fingers found their way to your hair, gently playing with the strands in a tender contrast to the earlier harsh tugging you had subjected them to. The soft rhythm of his touch was a balm, easing the lingering tension in your body. His other hand rested on your thigh, grounding you with its comforting weight.

He spoke in a low, soothing tone, his words a gentle caress to your frayed nerves. "We can leave whenever you're ready," he suggested, his gaze drifting out to the serene view of the park, "Maybe we can grab some food and cuddle at the dorm. I'm sure the members won’t mind. I’ll kick Seungmin out of our room if I have to; he’ll just have to suck it up."

As the tension within you began to melt away, you found yourself repeating the last few words of his sentence—a familiar and comforting habit, a happy stim that signaled your return to a place of calm. "...have to suck it up," you echoed, your voice lighter now, carrying the trace of a smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

Jiseok chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket of comfort. He squeezed your hand gently, checking to ensure your nails were no longer digging into your palm. "That's my favorite sound," he teased, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he grinned at you, his love evident in the gentle curve of his smile.

This shared moment of lightness, of humor, further dispelled the remnants of your anxiety. In his presence, you were reminded that you didn’t have to face these moments alone—that even in your most vulnerable states, Jiseok was there, offering his unwavering support and love. The park, with its serene beauty and the quiet strength of your bond, became a haven where you could breathe again, surrounded by the safety of his embrace.

오승민 ── OH SEUNGMIN.

JYP Entertainment hosted an exclusive and lavish party at a luxury hotel, where the atmosphere blended the grandeur of celebration with the intimacy of a private gathering. Unlike the typical public events, this one was strictly by invitation, creating a sanctuary for idols to bring their partners, friends, and families without the constant pressure of cameras. The setting was resplendent, with elegant decor that reflected the significance of the occasion.

The entertainment options catered to a variety of tastes. In one corner, a live band played soft jazz, filling the room with soothing melodies. Nearby, a DJ spun upbeat tracks, enticing those who wanted to dance. For the more playful guests, a karaoke setup allowed for uninhibited fun, and a photobooth adorned with glittering lights stood ready to capture the night’s memories. A gourmet buffet stretched along one side of the room, offering an array of international cuisines, the rich aromas mingling with the laughter and chatter that filled the air.

Despite the festive atmosphere, the constant flashing of lights and the relentless pulse of the music began to overwhelm you. This was your first time attending an event of this magnitude, and though you had agreed to come because of the way Seungmin’s eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of sharing this moment with you, the environment soon proved too much. Even as you admired him, his figure so striking in the finely tailored suit that accentuated his lean, muscular build, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the grand room was closing in on you. Your hands trembled despite your best efforts to maintain composure, and a cold sweat began to form along your hairline.

You stole a glance at Seungmin, who stood a short distance away, his face illuminated with genuine joy as he engaged in animated conversation with his bandmates and senior idols from the company. They were discussing the future direction of their music, reminiscing about their journey since debuting, and Seungmin’s laughter rang out, a clear sign that he was fully immersed in the moment. For a brief second, you hoped that his distraction would allow you to slip away unnoticed, just for a moment, to calm the rising tide of anxiety within you.

The party, though well-intentioned, was far beyond your comfort zone, and the sensory overload was beginning to take its toll. You needed to escape, to find a quiet space where you could breathe without the weight of the world pressing down on you. But as you discreetly made your way to the bathroom, seeking refuge from the overwhelming stimuli, Seungmin caught sight of your retreating figure. 

Unbeknownst to you, Seungmin had anticipated the possibility of you feeling overwhelmed in such a busy atmosphere. Understanding how easily you could be overstimulated, he had made sure to pack your well-loved noise-canceling headphones in the expensive messenger bag his stylist had provided. As soon as he saw you slipping away, his concern for you took precedence over the conversation, and he politely excused himself, following you to the bathroom.

Upon entering the lavish bathroom, Seungmin offered a polite bow and murmured apologies to the few occupants before your shallow breathing caught his attention. He quickly moved to stand outside the stall where you had taken refuge. 

"Love? It's me," he called softly, his voice gentle and soothing, careful not to startle you in your vulnerable state. Inside the stall, your hands clenched in a futile attempt to stop their violent trembling as you struggled to steady your breathing. 

Seungmin reached over the door, his hand holding the familiar headphones — a lifeline in the storm of your frenzied thoughts. "I thought you might need this," he murmured. 

You reached up and snatched the headphones, the urgency in your movements reflecting the desperation you felt. As you placed them over your ears, the chaotic world outside was mercifully muted. The overwhelming cacophony faded, replaced by the comforting silence you had so desperately needed. Finally, you could breathe again, the noise-canceling barrier providing a sanctuary where you could begin to reclaim your peace.

You were immensely grateful for Seungmin’s patience, relishing the brief respite as you took a few moments to catch your breath. The bustling noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, creating a cocoon of calm around you. Just as you began to steady yourself, your phone vibrated in your hand — a text from Seungmin, despite him standing right outside the bathroom stall. His name illuminated the screen, and a calming wave of relief washed over you, your erratic heartbeat finding a more measured rhythm.

Seungmin understood that in moments like these, communication through text would be the most comforting method. The message on your screen read, Feeling any better? 

Your fingers, still slightly trembling, moved to reply. A lot better, thanks to you. Everything just became a little too much for me. 

The reply came almost instantaneously, and you noticed how the tight, claustrophobic feeling had dissipated. I’m glad I thought of bringing the headphones. Why didn’t you tell me though? The words on the screen seemed to convey a trace of concern, as though you could almost see the frown forming on his lips as he awaited your response.

A pang of guilt pierced your heart. You knew Seungmin would have dropped everything to help you if only you had spoken up. But you didn’t want him to worry or to spoil such a significant night. I didn’t want to ruin such a big night. I thought I would be able to handle it...until I couldn’t anymore. You sent the message with a sigh, already anticipating the comforting words that would follow. 

Baby, these parties mean nothing compared to your well-being. You didn’t ruin anything, I promise. A warm smile tugged at your lips as you read his soothing words. 

Moments later, another text from him appeared. Do you want to stay here for a bit, or would you like me to take you somewhere quieter? 

Relief flooded over you as you replied, Can we stay here for now? I don’t want to go back out yet. 

Of course. Do you want to let me in? The offer was genuine and well-intentioned, but it made you feel uneasy. 

You texted back, No. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can handle being touched or having anyone at close proximity right now...sorry. 

Hey, I get it. I’ll just stay here until you’re ready to come out.

Seungmin settled in by the door of your stall, his presence a reassuring anchor in your storm of anxiety. Leaning against the door, he continued to text you intermittently, checking in without overwhelming you. Despite the guilt that gnawed at you for keeping him away from the main event, you found solace in the sight of his polished shoes peeking out from beneath the stall door. His calm and patient demeanor provided a sense of security, a reminder that he was there for you while respecting your need for space.

To lift your spirits, Seungmin sent small jokes and snippets of gossip from the party, aiming to lighten the mood without pushing you too far. His thoughtful gestures made the wait more bearable. When you finally felt ready to emerge, you texted him, signaling that you were prepared to leave the bathroom. Seungmin maintained a respectful distance as he guided you out, his focus on ensuring your comfort. He stood by your side, a steady presence as you stood by the bathroom sinks, allowing you to regain your composure.

As you began to feel more at ease, your heart soared when Seungmin gently pulled you closer, swaying with you to the rhythm of a slow song that was apparently playing at the main party. The music and his embrace melded together in a soothing harmony, offering a sense of peace and connection that made the night’s earlier chaos feel like a distant memory.

한형준 ── HAN HYEONGJUN.

You and Hyeongjun had been together long enough to know that your bond was more than just a fleeting connection—it was a deeply rooted love, a steadfast commitment that had withstood the test of time. The idea of moving in together had always felt like the natural progression of your relationship, a step that would solidify the foundation you had built together. The thought of creating a home, a sanctuary where your love could continue to blossom, was a dream you both held close to your hearts. 

After months of searching, of walking through countless doorways in hopes of finding the one that felt right, you finally discovered a small, charming apartment nestled in a quiet neighborhood. It was perfect in its simplicity, a place that felt like it could become your own little haven away from the world. The moment you stepped inside, hand in hand with Hyeongjun, you could almost see the future unfolding before your eyes—a future filled with love, laughter, and the simple joy of being together.

However, as thrilling as this new chapter was, the journey to get there was anything but easy. The excitement that buzzed in your chest was often tempered by the looming dread of packing up your lives and making the transition into this new space. Despite the weeks you had spent mentally preparing, gathering boxes, and organizing your belongings, the reality of the task ahead felt overwhelming once the packing began in earnest. The room that had once been your sanctuary, a place of comfort and familiarity, now looked as though it had been ravaged by a chaotic whirlwind. The bed, once a cozy nest of warmth, was buried beneath a patchwork of clothes—some folded neatly, others discarded haphazardly in the frenzy of sorting. Your once-tidy shelves had succumbed to disorder, with books that had been carefully arranged now lying in disarray, their pages splayed open as if they, too, were crying out for the order that had been lost.

Boxes were strewn across the floor, some half-packed, others overflowing with belongings that seemed to resist categorization. Trinkets and mementos from your relationship and childhood, tokens of memories that had shaped you, were scattered across every available surface. The room had become a chaotic testament to your inability to start a task and see it through to completion, the once-organized process now devolved into a mess that mirrored the storm of emotions brewing within you.

As you stood in the center of the chaos, trying to take it all in, the room seemed to close in on you. The sheer magnitude of the task at hand made your head spin, and the weight of the change—of leaving behind the familiar to step into the unknown—pressed down on you like a heavy blanket, smothering you with a growing sense of panic. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your chest tightening as the reality of what lay ahead threatened to overwhelm you entirely. You felt frozen, trapped between the urge to curl up on the floor and the fear of succumbing to the full-blown panic attack that you could feel building inside you.

In that moment, the dream of a shared home, of a future filled with love and laughter, felt impossibly distant, overshadowed by the immediate reality of the overwhelming chaos that surrounded you.

Hyeongjun had been meticulously packing utensils in the kitchen, each clang and clatter a small, careful note in the symphony of your impending move. The rhythm was comforting in its predictability, a soundscape of progress amidst the chaos. But it was the sudden, uneven hitch in your breathing that cut through his focus like a knife. The familiar, faint tremor in your breath sent his instincts into overdrive. He abandoned the half-filled box without a second thought, his concern drawing him swiftly to the doorway where he paused, eyes immediately searching for you. The room’s disarray only served to heighten his worry, but it was the look on your face—pale, strained, eyes wide with the first signs of panic—that sent him rushing to your side.

His presence was immediate, solid, a tether in the storm of your thoughts. His hands hovered just above your trembling frame, a question in the tension of his fingers, as if even the act of touching needed your permission in this fragile moment. His voice, calm and steady despite the urgency he felt, broke the silence, "Touch or no touch?" It was the question he always asked, a gentle reminder that he was there, ready to offer exactly what you needed.

Your throat tightened, the pressure of unspoken fears constricting your ability to breathe freely. It took a moment, but you managed to force the words past the lump of anxiety, your voice barely above a whisper yet laced with raw desperation. "Touch, please. Hard." The plea was met with immediate action. Hyeongjun closed the distance between you in an instant, his arms wrapping around you with a firm, reassuring pressure that felt like a lifeline. He pulled you close, your face pressed into the warm, solid comfort of his chest, as if he could shield you from the overwhelming chaos that threatened to consume you.

His embrace was everything you needed—strong, grounding, enveloping you in a cocoon of safety. His hands moved over your back, each squeeze purposeful, designed to remind you that you weren’t alone in this moment. The weight of his arms anchored you, offering a physical connection that countered the spinning in your mind. As you struggled to sync your breathing with his, he guided you gently, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, coaxing your frantic gasps to slow. The familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, like home—began to permeate your senses, grounding you further with each breath.

Hyeongjun understood you in a way no one else did. He knew how deeply change unsettled you, how even the most exciting transitions could unearth old anxieties that clung like shadows. This move, this beautiful step into a shared future, was something you had both yearned for, yet the enormity of it was daunting, and he recognized that. 

Still holding you close, he gently guided you to the edge of the bed, never loosening his protective grip. His voice, soft and steady, filled the space between your breaths. He began to speak, his words a soothing balm, painting a picture of the memories he hoped to create with you in your new home. 

He spoke softly of lazy Saturday mornings, where the two of you would linger in bed, wrapped in each other’s warmth as the world outside moved on without you. He painted a picture of sunlight streaming through the windows, casting golden hues across the room as the smell of fresh coffee filled the air, mingling with the comforting scent of your shared space. He imagined those moments when you would shuffle into the kitchen, still half-asleep, to find him waiting with a mug in hand and a soft smile on his lips. The day would stretch out before you, unhurried and serene, a canvas for whatever simple joys you decided to indulge in. 

He envisioned quiet evenings in the living room, where the two of you would sit side by side, your legs tangled together as you watched movies, your laughter or quiet conversations filling the room. Or perhaps, he mused, there would be nights where no words were needed—where you’d simply sway to the rhythm of music only the two of you could hear, dancing slowly in the dim light of your cozy space. Those were the moments he looked forward to, where nothing else mattered but the gentle pulse of your love, a steady, comforting presence that would fill the apartment with a sense of belonging.

He spoke of the laughter that would echo through the kitchen as you experimented with new recipes, each attempt a delightful adventure, whether it ended in culinary success or a flour-covered mess. The thought of you animatedly talking about bees, your special interest, brought a tender smile to his face. He was excited to hear you ramble on about your latest findings, to listen to your voice light up with passion as you shared the intricacies of something you loved so dearly. For him, the simple joy of coming home to you after a long day, of seeing your face light up when you saw him, was a treasure beyond words. It was in these everyday moments, he believed, that the true beauty of life together would unfold.

Each word he spoke was a delicate thread, weaving a tapestry of the life you would build together—a life rich in love, comfort, and endless moments of shared happiness. As he continued to paint this picture with his words, you felt the tightness in your chest begin to ease, the panic that had gripped you slowly loosening its hold. The overwhelming mess that surrounded you, while still daunting, no longer felt like an insurmountable mountain. 

When he offered to help you pack your bedroom, it wasn’t just the task at hand he was addressing—it was the unspoken promise that you wouldn’t have to face any of it alone. With Hyeongjun by your side, you knew that no matter how overwhelming the process might seem, you would get through it together. The future you were moving toward, though filled with uncertainties, was also brimming with the promise of love, and that was more than enough to keep you going.

이주연 ── LEE JOOYEON.

Since childhood, Saturdays had been your sacred ritual, a cherished time when you sought refuge in the comforting embrace of your favorite internet cafe. Nestled on a tranquil street near your home, this digital sanctuary had become your second haven. The space was a dimly lit enclave, bathed in warm amber hues that softly illuminated rows of screens and keyboards. The gentle hum of cooling fans and the rhythmic clatter of keys created a soothing symphony of focused activity. The walls were adorned with neon posters of popular games and vibrant advertisements for energy drinks, their colors shimmering and pulsing with the memories of countless gaming sessions. Each desk bore the marks of countless hours spent in virtual worlds, with personal touches and signs of frequent use that told stories of dedicated gamers. The chairs, worn and comfortable, had molded to fit their occupants perfectly.

The employees, who had long grown accustomed to your weekly visits, had come to appreciate your presence. They reserved a specific PC for you, tucked away in a semi-secluded corner you had claimed as your own years ago. This desk, bathed in the soft, reassuring glow of your screen, was where you felt most at ease, completely immersed in the digital adventures you embarked upon. The ritual of arriving, settling in, and losing yourself in your chosen game was a comforting certainty, a bubble of predictability in a world that often felt overwhelming.

However, recently, this cherished routine had been disrupted by a new and vibrant presence. Jooyeon, as you would eventually learn, was the boy whose frequent visits began to unsettle the calm monotony of your Saturdays. His arrival was like a burst of vivid color and exuberant energy crashing into your serene haven. The air would come alive with his boisterous laughter and animated conversations with friends, his presence a dynamic contrast to the quiet you had grown accustomed to.

Despite this disruption, you found yourself surprisingly receptive to the change. Jooyeon, with his strikingly handsome features, was impossible to overlook. His mischievous grin, ever-present and wide, seemed to illuminate the room as if he were the very essence of playful charm. Dressed in soft, well-worn hoodies paired with relaxed jeans, and with his shoulder-length hair cascading like a dark, flowing waterfall, he exuded an effortlessly cool demeanor. His interactions with friends and his choice of games created a vivid contrast against the backdrop of your reserved routine, adding an unexpected layer of excitement to your once predictable Saturdays.

There were moments when, despite your best efforts to stay focused on your own game, you would catch fleeting glimpses of him from the corner of your eye. You tried to remain unobtrusive, but Jooyeon's unabashed enjoyment of the popular games he was engrossed in was impossible to ignore. The occasional flicker of movement or the burst of his distinctive laughter would effortlessly draw your gaze, breaking through the veil of your concentration.

On one particular Saturday, Jooyeon’s frustration had reached its zenith. After what felt like the hundredth defeat in his solo game, he dramatically slumped back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head in a gesture of surrender. His eyes, alight with a mixture of defiance and amusement, wandered towards your screen, where you were deeply immersed in a particularly demanding quest. As you navigated through the game with meticulous keystrokes, Jooyeon’s gaze lingered on you, an unspoken challenge mingling with curiosity that sent a flutter through your heart.

Despite the distraction of his intense scrutiny, you managed to achieve a hard-fought victory, leveling up with a triumphant flourish on your screen. The soft hum of intrigue that escaped Jooyeon’s lips prompted you to finally look up, your heart racing as you became acutely aware of the flush warming your cheeks. Jooyeon’s grin remained undiminished, his eyes sparkling with an affectionate, teasing light. After a moment of shy silence, his laughter bubbled forth, a soft, infectious sound that seemed to fill the space between you. His amusement wrapped around you like a playful embrace, acknowledging the unspoken connection that had quietly woven itself into the fabric of your Saturday rituals.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low murmur, meant only for you to hear. “I heard that game is pretty good. Do you mind if I join?” The simple invitation opened the door to a new, intimate connection. From that moment on, Saturdays transformed into a shared adventure, where you and Jooyeon would indulge in games together, swapping playful jabs and cracking jokes. The hours spent with him became the highlight of your week, and the growing affection you felt for him added a layer of significance to each interaction. You found yourself seeking ways to show him how much he meant to you.

Noticing his habit of picking at his skin whenever he was stressed or anxious, you returned the following week with a thoughtful gift: a textured, silicone stress ball from your own collection, designed to help him redirect his nervous energy without damaging his skin. On another occasion, as you patiently waited for him to clear a level in a game you were both playing, you couldn’t help but be charmed by the expression of concentration on his face. Without fully thinking through your words, you blurted out, “You have this cute habit of pouting when you’re really focused. It’s kind of distracting, but in a way that makes me want to keep watching.” The sudden boldness of your words left you both blushing, but Jooyeon’s shy attempt to hide his wide smile made the moment feel worth the slight embarrassment.

When Jooyeon revealed that he was an idol, the bassist for the rock band Xdinary Heroes, you found yourself spending the entire week immersed in his music and learning everything you could about him. By the time Saturday rolled around again, you were eager to confess your newfound knowledge. As he settled into his usual seat beside you, you said with a grin, “I was thinking about you so much that I ended up reading every article, watching every video, and listening to every song from your band. I have so many questions about you guys!” The sight of Jooyeon’s typically casual demeanor giving way to shyness, while his grin widened, was heartwarming. He eagerly entertained each of your questions, his enthusiasm is infectious as ever.

Finally, on one late evening, as the employees of the internet cafe gently nudged you both towards the exit, you lingered outside, a smile playing on your lips. Turning to Jooyeon, you said softly, “I really like spending time with you. You make my brain feel all fizzy, like I’ve had too much caffeine, but in a really good way.” 

To your surprise, he chuckled lightly and replied, “Okay, so, I don’t usually say stuff like this, but...whenever I’m with you, it’s like my brain gets all tangled up in butterflies and excitement. I really like spending time with you, too.”

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ My permanent taglist is open! @joosbasschick (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

[changingplumbob]

Name the next Chopra(s)? - Boy version

If you've been following along you'll know Cassandra is pregnant for the third time but doesn't yet know the gender or number of babies. For their next kid/s Rahul and Cassandra have been wanting name/s that align with their heritage more than naming after a specific person. So I searched up some names of Indian, Greek, Cypriot and Moroccan origin. Non binding poll but voice your choice below!

[nonotnolan]

Fiverr Warlock: Holiday Magic

Christmas can be a tricky for us magic users. A lot of clients come to us, hoping for budget miracles or last minute holiday magic, so it's easy to start feeling like people just take you for granted. Plus, warlocks are notoriously difficult to shop for. Most of the things we really want for Christmas, we can just conjure something up ourselves. I was started to get really, really burnt out on the holidays until I figured out a trick to raise my spirits-- as a bonus, it's even easy to do. I just pick a random deserving person and give them some charity magic.

Take a look at Jake, here. He's one of the lowest clerks on the totem pole, but he's also the only tailor I know who sees me as a person and not a commission payout. When he told me last week that he was on his second low sales write-up and about to get fired, I decided to make him one of this season's recipients. I know he's a great guy, but I can't blame a random person off the street rejecting a tailor who can't even wear a properly fitting suit. Improving his appearance will go a long way, I think. The problem is Jake would never accept my direct help for free, so I'll have to be subtle about it.

The first step was getting rid of his facial hair. Some guys look good with scruff, but Jake's body isn't growing hair thick enough for a good beard. I'll start there, and work my way up. As far as Jake knows, I was there to buy some dress shoes. I was actually there to cast a delayed change spell on him that would remove all of that unwanted hair overnight. While I was there, I added some skin moisteners and a long-lasting fatigue remover. Finally, I added a mental shroud so that he wouldn't notice the changes to himself.

When I went back to check on my work, I was pleased to see that Jake already showed a noticeable improvement. He was clearly doing a lot better, even if he didn't know why. Could I have left it there? Sure. But I don't half-ass my charity cases.

He greeted me when I walked in, but today I deflected his attentions. "I'm just browsing today. I meant to ask you, though, have you ever considered OnlyFans?" My words hid the casting of a compulsion spell.

He blushed, and slipped his hands in his pockets. "Oh, I don't think I quite have the body for that... but thank you, sir. Let me know if you need anything."

To his credit, Jake's former body was pretty unremarkable. I say former because I cast another delayed transformation on him. This time I gave him 20% more muscle mass, a deeper voice, and increased his self-confidence. I also took a few more years off, for good measure.

The next day, I was able to find his OnlyFans account under his name. It was tempting to increase his muscle mass further, but doing so would risk breaking the mental shroud I cast over him. Besides, massive muscles and a bronze tan often went hand in hand, and I would hate to ruin his beautifully pale skin.

No, better to leave well enough alone. Otherwise I'd be casting minor spells on him for weeks. Jake was no longer struggling through life due to his disheveled appearance, and that's what mattered. Another Christmas Miracle, crafted by yours truly.

-------------------------------------------------

Want to read more by this author? Dicked (Over) by a Demon by Nolan Sempers, for sale on Amazon.

[beemovieerotica]

warning for talking about OCD related paranoia, please don't feel pressured to respond to or even read this if that might bother you.

I just rly want an opinion on this from someone else who has ocd, and I literally dont know anyone who might understand and wouldn't treat me like I'm crazy. The new administration has affected my ocd so badly. I'm so stressed every day about the possibility of any information that I've put online, publically or "privately," over the course of my whole life being dug up and used to incriminate me somehow. Such as anything expressing views the administration disagrees with. Which has been a worry of mine for a while but it has ramped up with all that's going on recently. And the thing is I know that that's not entirely outside of the realm of possibility, but I dont know how likely it is. I dont know where reasonable concern starts and ocd begins. And I get like literally paralyzed with stress over this. Have you experienced anything like this and if so what did you do about it? Thank you if you read this.

yes 100%, I think a lot of fear of what's going on can be compounded by OCD beyond what is helpful to protect one's self.

I'm not going to provide reassurances here because that's one of the big no-no's of talking to someone with OCD: it turns into a cycle of us seeking reassurance from others in a way that can escalate our behavior and place an undue burden on others. And it ultimately doesn't work.

on my own end, I need to put hard limits on how much reading the news I do, otherwise it can literally go on for hours as I keep searching out tiny bits of new information that will supposedly help calm me down. but the relief doesn't ever happen. I just get mentally fatigued and shut down, and that's not the same thing as relief. at a certain point I have to just do a hard pivot. completely change scenery, change tasks, do something new to get my brain off that path.

I think limiting fear spirals related to current events would be the first step in reducing overall anxiety, since that goes hand in hand with upticks in OCD behavior.

I've been able to exposure-therapy myself slowly on this blog, but I can't say that will work with everyone. I show my face, people know my first name, etc - it's something I'm able to afford to do as an adult and it's helped me overcome some of the fears of ever being known, and of having my political stances be connected to me.

there are other more tangible ways to dip into free and open expression - consider writing a letter to a public official, getting out and supporting queer events in-person, or even just dropping a $10 donation for a cause - something that puts you in a community or attaches your name to a community that needs help, little by little.

I think there may be a pivot point where that fear can be channeled into action, like a "fuck it, I'm doing this" attitude. and you can feel *good* defying your OCD when it comes with that realization of, "hey, I like these people. I like being in this space." some of the wildest things I ever did in my life were a "fuck you" to OCD, powering through the warning sirens in my head and I ended up with experiences and friends I never thought I'd ever have. I think this is one of those times where really crucial communities are being born out of this intense hardship and stress, and we all need each other. OCD thrives in isolation, and you've gotta have a support network to help you live your best life despite it.

[thesixthplaneteer]

Probably gonna be a lil tmi but want to go on a little personal rant. Kind of expose myself here a bit.

There have been a few vague posts of my medical issues. Well, it's nothing life threatening so don't worry. This year I've made it my mission to become healthier, stand up to doctors wanting to just blame my weight on all my issues. I've ALWAYS been chunky except for the time I nearly starved myself and exercised multiple hours a day in high school. Like I'm just destined to be a big guy. And with learning to accept myself more over the last few years I've come to accept that too. But I also got winded going up a flight of stairs so I obviously needed to do something.

I've been dealing with terrible fatigue that turned out to he caused by sleep apnea. Basically I was not breathing more than actually breathing in my sleep. Idk why it took so much fighting with the doctor and all but a written note from my wife of the symptoms of apnea I'm showing in my sleep, but anyways I've got a cpap machine (thank you to everyone who commissioned my amazing wife @crownedinmarigolds) had to get the damn thing without insurance because it was 300 dollars cheaper than with. But it has done wonders. I don't feel like I'm carrying rocks in my head all day, passing out every time I sit still for more than 5 seconds, and just the complete lack of motivation that comes with fatigue. I'm not the energizer bunny by any means but the simple act of getting out of bed in the morning doesn't feel like I'm trying to Weekend at Burnies my own fuckin body anymore. It's also helped with my anger and a big help with my anxiety a good deal. Who knew not being miserably sleepy could put someone in better mood lol.

I also got a vasectomy. Might be a lil tmi on that but I didn't realize how much that was getting to me. I feel a little more confident and even more comfortable with myself. Although they are trying to ruin it with their dumbass billing bullshit I'm fighting right now. Trying to charge me for drugs I never received, the fuckin audacity. But one hilarious thing, during the procedure the dr walked in with Hunka Hunka Burning Love playing from his phone and was like "uh, sorry it's playing through Pandora." The Valium made it pretty fuckin funny.

I even downloaded a self-help app. It's called Birch and it's basically tamagatchi-like with completing daily goals giving your little bird energy. They grow up and go on adventures, it's some cute shit. Mine's name is Birdtney.

Anyways, this is all in an effort to talk about myself more, be a little more open, and actively interact with things more. I mean, shit I've been "active" on tumblr for like a year now and have been mutuals with some of yall for that long. And I don't really share much about myself. I've found myself about to make a post or comment then just fold and delete it so many times. Fuckin anxiety man...

Anyways, rant over. Thank you for coming to my ted talk. ❤️

[howlingday]

Jaune: (Scroll buzzes, Answers) Hey, Ruby. What's up?

Ruby: (Via scroll) Jaune, I need your help. You're good with diagnosing people with mental illnesses, right?.

Jaune: Among other things, I guess. Why, what's up?

Ruby: So, I've got this friend, but I don't want to name them.

Jaune: Aw, that's nice. And what's the issue with your friend?

Ruby: So, my friend, I love hanging out with them, but I noticed they're not as happy as they used to be. Like, they're not liking the stuff they used to like as much as before.

Jaune: Okay. Loss of interest in things they used to enjoy.

Ruby: They're always walking around like they're really sad, kinda slow and heavy when they walk.

Jaune: Depressed mood... And I wanna say they're fatigued.

Ruby: And when I was talking to him, he kind of sounded like he, well, didn't want to be alive anymore, and I think I saw some scars on him.

Jaune: Oof. Self-harm and suicidal ideation. Just one of those is a red flag. Anything else about your friend? Do they drink, do drugs, have any kind of prior history with another mental illness?

Ruby: No, not really. I mean, no to the drugs and not really to the history thing. Actually, the other day, while we were talking, he kind of spaced out and I had to wait for him to respond.

Jaune: Hm... Loss of concentration. Well, it sounds to me like Major Depressive Disorder.

Ruby: Are you sure?.

Jaune: Yup. He checks off just about every box he could.

Ruby: Can you help him? He's right outside your door.

Jaune: Already? (Hears knock) Man, he must be a good friend of yours if he's coming to me of all people for help. (Opens door)

Ruby: (Holding a mirror, Hangs up) He's not just a good friend. You're my best friend, Jaune.

Jaune: ...Okay, this was pretty clever, not gonna lie.

[kairiscorner]

more married life with nanami please

OWKAJDKSLAMDUODAJWJS he is always in my mine 7/3 ("that's not a thing"– it is now.)

married life. — kento nanami x spouse!reader (part 2)

summary: you've always been the cure to nanami's bad days, now let nanami help cure you from yours with his simple acts of kindness and love. pairing: nanami kento x gn!spouse!reader genre: fluffy bread fluff !! author's note: kento definitely knows how to bake and make the tastiest buns (like his own ;>)

(part 1 - 🍞)

kento nanami is quick to notice you aren't acting as peppy as usual, and though he knew that people would never be the same all the time... there was just something about your silence, your distant demeanor that felt off to him.

kento nanami was always quick to worry when it came to you not acting like your usual self, several alarm signals went off in his head that something was definitely the matter with you when you didn't return his greeting at the door when you came home and trudged upstairs all silently.

kento nanami isn't the type to immediately ask himself if he did anything wrong, but seeing you act like this seriously made him wonder if he did anything wrong to make you act this way.

kento nanami tries asking you what's wrong, if you're okay or anything, but you just mumble out how exhausted you've been this whole week, and nanami felt the need to do something nice for his dearest spouse to cheer them up.

kento nanami heads down to the kitchen to get to work immediately, pulling out all the ingredients and utensils he needs to be able to make just the right thing to brighten your mood.

kento nanami doesn't usually worry about the food he makes not being good enough, when he cooks for himself, that is; but when he's cooking for the love of his life, he needs to make sure everything's perfect, and always has a dash of his love for you poured out into it.

kento nanami knocks on your door and calls out your name in a gentle voice; clutching the tray or bowl of your favorite treats and smiles at you all gently and lovingly, his soft, brown eyes gazing at you with the same love and affection as when he first met you, when he first loved you, exchanged vows with you at the altar, and spent his honeymoon with you–his beloved spouse.

kento nanami encourages you to spoil yourself for once, to rest and let yourself go. he reassures you through his touch and words, especially through his actions, that you deserve to have a break, to have the best, for once–or rather, all the time.

kento nanami reminds you that no matter what difficulty you face, no matter how exhausted you may be, he will always treat you like royalty, and will fulfill his duties as your husband to be with you in sickness and in health–he'll nurse you back up from your fatigue and keep you from overworking as much as he can because...

kento nanami loves his dearest spouse like it's their wedding day and honeymoon night all over again; he can't deny you, and he won't ever, because you have his whole heart–and he'll do everything he can to make and keep you happy, relaxed, and content with him.

tags !! @rohansdisciple