#I am feeling soft in this chilli's tonight

[shslskaterboy]

Akira’s preferred vocal stim being singing will always be so real and true to me. I just hc him as always humming or singing little songs, mostly so quiet that no one else notices, but Ryuji notices. At first I think Akira would probably be kinda embarrassed about it, but Ryuji would be like “dude don’t even worry about it, you’ve got a nice voice” and that would be enough to help him relax about it. It would just be very nice for him to be able to sing without having to be self conscious about an audience, and I also think Ryuji would find it very relaxing bc Akira does have a nice voice and it’s very soothing to listen to. Sometimes Akira will purposefully sing for him when he’s feeling stressed, they’ll snuggle up together and he’ll hum so softly and play with Ryuji’s hair and give him gentle little kisses until every last bit of tension is melted away and they’re simply content together ❤️

[ultravi0lence14]

IN THE BEGINNING. . .

DEAN WINCHESTER X DEMON!READER

SUMMARY: how dean and little monster found their blended little family

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

sitting in the living room of his barn style home, watching as his little monster riled all of their children up for a movie night, dean wondered how he got here.

his life wasn’t anything good before this. hunting, dying 24/7, trauma that could last someone a lifetime. yet somehow, he ended up with something good; with someone like you.

you loved him unconditionally, stayed with him through everything. every demon attack, every life altering experience, you were there, and dean couldn’t think of a better person to spend the rest of his life with.

the children were just an added on bonus that dean knew he wouldn’t be able to live without. staring at each of them, he reminisced on each child’s story, on how each one of them came to be in their little family.

LINCOLN

the air was chilly in maine, a breezy october day that had you bundled up to the high heavens. dean was working at the garage, and the farm house the two of you just moved into needed some food.

your towns local grocery store wasn’t too packed, and you found yourself being in and out in less than an hour. you and dean had plans for a movie night tonight, and you were anticipating your next rewatch of coraline.

though, confusion splintered into your bones as you walked closer to the beat up dodge caravan that dean had repaired for you. there was a boy by the driver side door, no older than 10, with dark brown hair almost the shade of ebony wiggling a clothes hanger into the lock.

steps faltering, you watched as the boy tried to break into your car. the sight of him made alarm bells ring in your head. you didn’t know if it was the obvious disarray he was in or the fact that he seemed to be alone, but you found yourself approaching him with nothing but calm in your veins.

“hello.” you called out, watching as the boy stilled and slowly turned his head to you. the fear in his eyes was palpable, and you couldn’t blame him. dean had told you countless times that you had a scary resting face, and it wasn’t just because you were part demon. “do you need help getting into my car?”

your voice came out in a joking lilt, yet the boy in front of you still shook with worry as you walked closer. you were going to call the cops on him, he just knew it, and he couldn’t be sent back to that house he was supposed to call home, not with his moms new boyfriend lurking around.

dropping the hanger at the gravel by his feet, the timid boy lifted his hands up, protecting himself in a feeble attempt that made your supposed black heart crumble with sadness. “i’m sorry, really i am. please don’t call the cops, i can’t go back home.”

his words have your eyebrows lifting in confusion, and your gut feeling gets worse and worse as his words settle in your bones. “i won’t, i’m just curious as to where your parents are?” your voice is soft, and the boy finds himself sagging slightly at the nice tone of voice you’re using.

“home.” he breathed out, wringing his fingers together uncomfortably as he stares at his feet. “i don’t want to go back there though.” his voice is a whisper, and you find your heart breaking even more somehow.

“why don’t you want to go home?” you are now a good couple of feet away from the boy, seeing the freckles that dust his cheeks and the hazel in his eyes that matches dean’s. when he shrugs his shoulders in response, you double down on your question. “do you like being at home.”

shivering, he shakes his head, whispering something that you barley catch. but you hear it, and it breaks your heart when the words, “mom’s boyfriend dave isn’t nice,” registers in your head.

“what’s your name?” you finally decide to ask, ignoring his whispered statement for the time being.

“lincoln.” he replies sheepishly, finally staring up at you with unshed tears in his eyes. the sadness he seems to be carrying breaks your heart, and you want to help him so badly.

“how old are you, lincoln?”

“ten.”

and god, if your heart didn’t break right there and then.

“well,” you reply, moving to unlock the car and placing your grocery bags in the backseat. “when was the last time you ate, lincoln?”

the shock on his face is palpable, yet he renders in his emotions and answers you in a soft tone of voice. “last wednesday.”

that was almost a week and a half ago, and you finally understands what it means to have your heart splinter in your chest. this boy ran away from a bad home, and you would be damned if you left him in this parking lot.

“let me take you back to my house then.” you answered with a smile, closing the back door and walking closer to lincoln to get to the drivers seat. “my dean makes amazing peanut butter sandwich’s, and you seem like you need one.”

lincoln was always taught stranger danger. yet, as this scary yet smiley woman encouraged him to come home with her, he didn’t seem to be thinking about stranger safety all that much. he was hungry, tired, and didn’t want to go home. so with a shrug, he rounded the car and hopped into the passenger seat, driving back to a beautiful farm house where he would meet dean winchester and his amazing peanut butter sandwich’s.

THATCHER AND SCARLETT

three months into having lincoln stay with her and dean, little monster runs into the inhabitants of the haunted house on top of their small towns hill.

living by the water their whole life, thatcher and scarlett surprisingly never learned how to swim. at nine years old, the set of twins didn’t know how to do many mundane things actually. ride a bike, tie a proper shoelace; it was all unknown knowledge to them.

that’s the price of having no mother and an abusive, alcoholic father apparently.

their mother was a fighter the entire time she was pregnant with thatcher and scarlett, though her fight gave out when she gave birth to the two healthy twins and passed away not even thirty minutes later.

it wasn’t their fault. how could it be? they were only newborns, and it wasn’t in their control of what happened to their mother after she gave birth to them.

but their father didn’t understand that.

all he saw was that his wife was dead, and it was thatcher and scarlett’s fault. why was it fair that they were here and she wasn’t? none of it was fair, and he felt his anger fester and fester towards the twins more and more.

the abuse was happening long before you crossed their paths, yet you somehow managed to stumble across a particularly bad day when you decided to go on a walk that beautiful january evening.

dean was at home cooking dinner with link, and you decided to take in the cool evening before dumps of snow hit your small town. it was such a peaceful night, soothing and relaxing. that was until you heard the piercing scream come from your right.

whipping in the direction of the noise, you watched in horror as a small frail girl ran down the large hill, light blonde hair blowing behind her in the wind as fat tears fell from her ice blue eyes and streaked down her pale cheeks.

it was a haunting sight, and when she bumped into your frame, weeping loud enough for god to hear her, you knew that something terrible was going on.

“hey, hey, it’s okay. shh you’re going to be okay.” your one arm went around her small shoulders, the other moving to cup the back of her head and bring her to your chest. “what’s wrong, sweetheart? what’s happening?”

she was so inconsolable, so distraught, that nothing but choked sobs were her response to your question. it wasn’t until she wailed words in between her cries, clutching onto your dark shirt with her hands and staring up at you with those beautiful, sad blue eyes that you understood the situation.

“my brother!” she cried, clinging onto you tightly. “daddy’s going to kill him! he’s going to kill thatcher!”

your body went rigid at her words, holding onto her shoulders tightly as you looked back down at her. “what do you mean sweetheart? what’s your dad doing to your brother?”

“thatch forgot to put the dishes away,” the little girl hiccuped, gripping onto your wrists. “he forgot to put the silly dishes away and when dad came home we went insane! he’s hurting him so bad, there’s blood everywhere!”

moving into action immediately you grabbed the girls hand and instructed her to show you where your daddy was hurting thatcher. you didn’t want her to go back into that house, but you needed to find this little boy and save him quickly.

the sight when you walked into the front door was ghastly. there, in the main hall, was a brooding man. he was on the floor, straddling something with his fists flying rapidly. it took you a second to realize that the flying fists were directed towards a lanky boy beneath the bigger man’s body.

he looked exactly like his sister, and you deduced that they were twins. his light blonde hair had streaks of blood in it, pale face dusted with scraps and cuts as his equally blue eyes poured tears and tears. his screams and pleads were ear piercing, and you almost broke down sobbing if it wasn’t for the rage in your body.

moving instantly, you gripped the back of the man’s shirt and flung him across the room. he landed against a wall with a thud, slumping down as you instantly ran to the boys aid.

“shh it’s okay, i won’t hurt you.” the boy was as inconsolable as his sister, and you gingerly picked him up and attempted to carry his tall and skinny body towards his sister. “you two go wait outside, i’ll deal with your dad.”

instantly, the boy grabbed his sisters hand, mumbling a, “c’mon scarlett,” between sniffles as you saw them run out the door and towards the hill. when you knew that they were out of sight, red flanked your senses and you stormed over to the groaning man at the floor.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” your voice came out in a grumble, grabbing the man’s collar and haling him to his feet. “beating on a poor innocent child like that? you make me fucking sick!”

the way you killed this disgusting child abuser wasn’t quick. it was slow and painful, the end result made out to look like an accident. you made sure to get as minimal blood on your clothes, not wanting to scare the two children outside who you believed was named thatcher and scarlett.

the walk back to your house was quiet, and when you walked through the door, scarlett in your arms and thatcher shyly trailing behind you, dean knew there was going to be more additions to your little family.

“who are these two cuties?” dean asked with a smile, putting down the wooden spoon he was using to stir the pasta sauce.

“this is thatcher,” you introduced, pointing at the timid boy behind you. “and this is scarlett.” your words were punctuated with a grunt as you placed scarlett on her feet, the girl instantly moving to her brother when she came in contact with the floor.

“well hello!” dean introduced, using his spoon to point at himself and then lincoln. “i’m dean and this is link. why don’t you two go and help him set the table while i talk to this little devil over here?”

the twins looked on warily, looking at each other and speaking in that telepathic conversation dean knew all too well. when lincoln slowly coaxed the two over to the table, dean looked at you with concern etched on his face. “what happened to the kids eye?”

“their father.” you replied sadly, watching as dean’s fists tightened on the spoon. “don’t worry, i handled it. let’s just say he won’t be talking with his throat ‘accidentally’ slit.”

“that’s my girl.” dean praised, kissing you on the forehead as he continued to make the pasta, listening to thatcher, scarlett, and lincoln have an animated conversation in the dining room.

SAM

how sam came around was a slow, drawn out process. he and scarlett were friends, and when he wasn’t enduring countless torment at his foster home, he was over at yours and dean’s ranch, hanging out with his best friend.

scarlett knew something was up with sam. at only eight years old, the boy wore his emotions like a daunting cape. anytime you or dean would call out that it was time for him to go back home, his eyes would widen and his fists would clench, body shaking uncomfortably.

one day, when you had called that sam’s foster care owner was here to pick him up, scarlett watched as his hands shook, feet unsteady as he stood to go meet the lady who caused him more pain then he could voice out loud. with a stern hold, scarlett clutched sam’s wrist, making the dirty blonde freeze, brown eyes meeting ice blue as he turned to look at her.

“you don’t need to leave,” she whispered, standing up so they were eye to eye. “my mommy and daddy can take you in like they did with me, thatch, and link. you could live with us, sammy, you don’t need to go back to that place.”

the boy was so young, yet too wise beyond his years for the stuff he had to see and the trauma he endured. shaking his head, he pulled his hand away from scarlett’s and walked to her bedroom door, turning around before he whispered, “i don’t have a choice.”

it hadn’t even been a week since scarlett’s conversation with sam when there was a knock at the door. when dean opened it, he looked on confused when he didn’t see anybody, freezing when a small cough was heard around his torso. looking down, he looked at sam’s dirty blonde head, brown eyes staring up at him with tears and and shaky hands.

“it’s the anniversary of my parents death and they made fun of me,” he whimpered, wringing his hands out when a tear dropped from his eyelids. “scarlett said i could stay here, if that’s okay with you and your lady friend.”

dean’s heart broke. he always had a soft spot for little sam. how couldn’t he? the kid had the same name as his little brother. he also reminded dean so much of his sammy; how shy and timid he was as a kid, just like this sam right in front of him.

the june heat tore through dean’s bones, making him open the door a little wider and usher the small boy into his home.

the home that sam would be able to call his from now on.

CLARA

the summer had flown by in a haze, and now it was september 2nd, the first day of school for the four kids that now lived with dean and his little monster.

you and dean had picked up sam, thatcher, and scarlett from elementary school, watching teary eyed as sam braved third grade while thatcher and scarlett braved fourth. it was all so new for you and dean, yet the swell of pride in your chest was something you were excited to feel for years to come.

pulling up in front of the middle school, you and dean talked quietly as you waited for lincoln to come out of his first day of grade five. the three kids in the back seat were talking loudly, yet dean noticed your far away look almost instantly.

“what’s wrong baby?” he asked, grabbing your hand as you stared out the window. “he followed your line of vision, seeing a tall, dirty blonde haired girl waiting by the school entrance. she couldn’t be more older than link, yet the scared and nervous expression on her face made both yours and dean’s stomachs drop.

“somethings wrong over there,” you voiced out loud, watching link as he hurried past the girl and bounded towards the car. “something just feels off.”

squeezing your hand, dean leaned over the middle console and whispered softly in your ear. “how about this? we go home, let the kids settle in, and then you can come back here and make sure everything is okay.”

you just nodded, listening as link entered the conversation and dean peeled away from the school’s car park, leaving the lonesome girl behind.

it hadn’t even been an hour before you were pulling back into the school parking lot, heart sinking as you saw the girl slumped over, head in her hands as her shoulders shook. she was clearly upset, and you were out of your car in an instant to make sure she was okay.

“hey,” you spoke softly as you walked over to her, hands clenched into fists by your side as you watched her teary green eyes stare back at you. “what’s wrong honey? where’s your parents?”

“god knows where, probably on a bender.” the girl replied back hoarsely, looking up at you like she recognized your face. “wait, i know you. you and your husband take in kids right? let them stay with you when they have no where to go?”

you didn’t want to blush at the idea of dean being your husband, so you resorted to nodding, looking down at the girl with concern. “yeah, that’s me and my dean. do you have no where to go, sweetheart?”

“my parents were supposed to pick me up,” the girl explained, taking your outstretched hand and standing up to her full height. “but knowing them, they’re probably high off their asses, wasting all our money. i can’t keep doing this! i’m twelve, going on thirteen! i’m going to be in high school soon.”

“hey, it’s okay,” you soothed, taking the girls backpack from her and putting it in the backseat as she climbed into the passenger’s. “what’s your name?”

“clara.” she replied, buckling up her seatbelt, staring at you as you climbed into the drivers seat. “i don’t know what to do anymore,” the tears started back up, making you reach across the seat and squeeze her hand. “this has been happening my whole life.”

“it’s okay,” you replied, holding onto her hand as you drove with the other. “me and dean will help you.”

clara was accommodating into the house nicely, getting along with the rest of the kids just fine. her and scarlett were like two pea’s in a pod, and you and dean were so happy to be growing your little family.

it only took two weeks before mayhem in the sound of loud banging and shouting from the front door came.

when you swung the door open, you were greeted with two people who clearly weren’t in their right state of mind. their pupils were dilated, and both of them were swaying on their feet.

before you could even speak, the lady pointed her finger at your chest, trying and failing to push you back. “where the fuck is my daughter!” her voice was a shrill shriek, and you could hear dean rallying up the kids behind you as they all freaked out in unison.

you knew they were talking about clara, and with the menacing stare you used to give all those supernatural creatures back in the day, you stood your ground and blocked their entrance into the house.

“i don’t know who the fuck you are,” the words from your lips were spit with malice, and you didn’t stop when the man went to cut you off. “but you’re both insane if you think i am leaving the amazing girl with you two. you left her alone, at school, for two whole fucking weeks. now, you better get the fuck off my property before something gets ugly.”

as you finished, you flashed your black eyes, watching as the two grown adults grumbled skidded away, too doped out to even register the change in your face.

slamming the door behind you in emphasis, you turned around to see dean smirking at you, hands crossed over his chest as he looked you up and down.

“that was pretty hot.” his words came out in a joking lilt, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him.

moving over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck, you stared up at your man with love in your eyes. “where are the kids?”

“safe, in the living room, where they are supposed to be.” his words were followed with a searing kiss on your lips, and you felt your world shift as you kissed him back even harder.

LILY

the small little three year old that you had taken under your wing wasn’t as complicated as the other children, but it was still just as upsetting.

lily’s mom was young when she had her daughter. she was also not in the right frame of mind to take after a child, so she decided to give her away and let her grandmother take care of her.

now this woman was in her mid eighties, and after two, almost three years of having to take care of lily, it got a little too much. so after a while, she spread word about needing a helper around the house, and that’s where you came in.

for about a year, you helped the nice old woman named myrtle with whatever she needed. taking care of lily, feeding her, playing with her, putting her to bed. the bond you grew with the little girl was strong, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to let this little cutie go.

around the time of lily’s third birthday, myrtle grew ill. you and her both knew that she wasn’t going to make it, and as her dying wish, she told you that she wanted you and dean to take in lily and make sure she had a good home.

you had never agreed to something quicker, and after staying by myrtle’s bedside until she passed away, you made sure that her wish stayed true.

lily’s head of light blonde curls were all you saw as you carried her out of the hospital, tears in both of your eyes as you mourned myrtle. lily was only three, but the sadness in her blue irises was palpable.

the december night you brought lily home was a joyous one. clara and lincoln helped dean bake a cake, thatcher had helped scarlett and sam make a banner welcoming her to the family, and you couldn’t be more grateful for all the people that were infiltrating yours and dean’s life.

LUKE AND MILO

it was mid march, only three months after lily started living with you and dean permanently, and dean found himself having a major case of deja vu in his auto body shop.

one second, he’s looking under the hood of a car, checking to see if he needed to fix anything else, and the next, a small boy was whizzing past his feet, with an angry man following right after him.

dean recognized the man as the owner of the grocery store a couple feet away from his shop, and he was confused as to why he was chasing after a little boy and barging into his space.

“come back here you little punk!” the man roared, stalking around the car’s and trying to see where the boy hid. “you need to pay for that bread and peanut butter.”

in that moment, dean felt his heart drop to his ass. this sounded all to familiar, and he was getting flashbacks to the time that he did the exact same thing so sammy wouldn’t go hungry.

when dean noticed the man getting closer to the little feet behind one of his cars, he decided to take matters into his owns hands. walking over to the man, he tapped him on the shoulder and held out a twenty dollar bill when the man turned around.

“here frank,” he sighed, waving his hand when the man took the cash with a huff. “go back to your store, i’ll deal with the kid.”

when the man was gone, dean found himself slowly walking towards the car, freezing when he noticed the little boy no older than five, holding an even smaller boy who looked like he was younger than lily.

the older of the two was wide eyed and scared, one hand clutching the bread and peanut butter while the other held on tightly to who dean assumed to be his brother. this was getting all too similar for dean, and he truly felt a chill run up his spine.

bending down to the little boys level, dean placed his hands on his knees and smiled softly at the two boys. “hey you two,” he spoke softly, looking between the brothers. “i’m dean, what’s your guys’ names?”

“i’m luke,” the older one mumbled, jutting his chin in the direction of his brother. “and this is my brother milo.”

it was freaky really. these two looked so much like dean and sam when they were younger. light brown hair, hazel green eyes, it was really throwing dean off kilter, and he thought that if his little monster could bring in so many children, then he could bring in at least two.

“why did you feel the need to steal luke?” dean asked, watching as the eldest placed the food on the shop floor and cradled his brother tightly to his chest.

“he was hungry.” the boy replied sheepishly, shuffling milo in his arms as he looked up at dean. “we’re in the system, but no one wants to take the both of us together. i’m six, he’s two. we’re not the newborns everyone wants, and if they do want us, they only want one and not both. i can’t be separated from my brother, dean, he’s all i’ve got.”

dean’s heart broke as he heard luke’s admission. he knew the feelings he was talking about, for dean had felt the same about sammy when they were young. sam was all he had in their shitty childhood, and he’d be damned if he let anyone take his brother away from him.

standing to his full height, dean grabbed a rag and wiped his oil stained hands, looking at the two brothers as he did. “how about this,” he said, throwing the rag somewhere unknown and looking down at the two boys. “me and my girl can help you, okay? we can give you a place to stay, give you food and a place to sleep. somewhere that won’t separate the two of you. how does that sound?”

luke’s eyes widened, and he looked down at milo who had his fingers in his mouth. “that. . . that actually sounds amazing dean, thank you.”

that night, when dean walked through the door with the two boys hot on his heels, he couldn’t help but yell into the quiet house, getting your attention. “baby! we’ve got two more!”

SADIE AND MARLEY

though they weren’t blood related, sadie and marley viewed themselves as sisters. with sadie being the eldest at seven, and marley being only two years younger at five, the two girls had grown up in the foster system together, being inseparable every since they had met.

sadie was a fiery redhead, with freckles dusting her pale cheeks and bright green eyes that could coerce anyone she put her mind too. marley couldn’t be anymore opposite in looks. her long, curly black hair reached her mid back, and her dark brown eyes shined against her equally pale skin to sadie.

they went to the same school as the younger kids in the winchester clan, and had heard talks about how they fostered children, yet sadie and marley didn’t think much of it.

well, sadie didn’t.

marley always wanted a home, and when she and sadie ended up at the winchesters door step selling girl scout cookies, she couldn’t have been more excited.

when you opened the door, seeing the two adorable girls in girl scout uniforms holding cookies, you couldn’t have swooned more. they were so adorable, and the way their arms were linked made you believe they were as thick as thieves.

though she didn’t have the chance to greet them before marley was bouncing on her feet, looking at the children running around behind your legs. “hey lady!” she waved, smiling brightly up at you. “do you want some cookies! and maybe two children!”

your lips quirk up in surprise and a small smile, while sadie elbows marley in the ribs. “what the heck marls? you can’t just say stuff like that!”

“what?” marley says defensively, listening to sadie as she reels of reasons why you shouldn’t say that to people.

“you two are too cute,” you coo, watching as the two talk animatedly to each other. looking at marley, you direct your next question to her. “why did you ask such question, sweetheart?”

grinning a toothy smile at you, marley goes into a whirlwind of reasons why she asked such a crazy question. “well, sadie and me don’t have a home. well, we do, but we share it with twenty other girls.”

“we live in a foster home.” sadie replies, making sure that marley’s words make sense. “i have since i was a baby and marley came when she was one.”

smile slightly dropping, you look at the two girls and lower your voice slightly so they can hear you better. “do you two like it there?”

“it’s okay,” sadie replies, marley nodding enthusiastically. “i mean, it’s not the best, but i’ve got marley, and she makes it better.”

you can’t help the urge you have to keep these little girls at this house. they would make ten, and honestly, that seemed like a perfect number for you and dean. these two would fit perfectly with all the rest of the children, and you couldn’t stop yourself when you invited them inside for dinner to meet dean and the rest of the kids.

both sadie and marley instantly clicked with the kids, all ten of them running around the backyard with your three dogs as dean grilled something on the barbecue. when he saw the two extra girls join the fray, he looked over at you with a soft smile and reached his arm out to wrap it around your waist.

“ten is enough.” he whispered in you ear, pressing a delicate kiss to your cheek. “i think we’ve finally made our perfect family, little monster.”

TAGS: @titsout4jackles @starzify @daylighted @deansbeer @sunsbaby @deanangel @bluemerakis @haunteres @figthoughts @beausling @dulcescorderitas @deanswidow @honeyryewhiskey @cowboysandcigarettes @h8aaz @florchids @misatxox @a-lil-pr1ncess @s0urw00lf @flow33didontsmoke

NAT BABBLES: i love their little family so much!! bree and i have put so much care into these little cuties!!

[s4kura-tr3]

Happy Valentine’s Day!

(A little angst in Sugurus part..)

Gojo - The city was dusted with snow, the streets lined with pink and red decorations that shimmered beneath the streetlights. Valentine’s Day in Tokyo was always a little extra — heart-shaped balloons tied to storefronts, couples walking hand in hand, and cafes boasting limited-edition desserts.

You weren’t sure why you expected today to feel like just another Wednesday. Not with Gojo Satoru as your boyfriend.

Your phone buzzed right as you stepped into your apartment.

Satoru: Come to the rooftop. Now. No questions.

You raised an eyebrow but couldn’t fight the small smile that tugged at your lips. With Gojo, surprises were inevitable. You grabbed your coat and made your way up the stairs, pushing open the door to the rooftop.

The sight took your breath away.

Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a soft golden glow over a small table set with desserts and a thermos of what you assumed was hot chocolate. A thick blanket was spread out beside the table, lined with cushions. The city skyline glittered in the distance like scattered diamonds.

And there, standing with his back to you, was Satoru. He turned when he heard you step forward, that trademark grin appearing as soon as his eyes met yours. His blindfold was gone tonight, leaving his vibrant blue eyes on full display.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” he said, spreading his arms dramatically. “Aren’t I the most romantic boyfriend ever?”

You chuckled and walked over to him. “I mean…you did set the bar high last year with the impromptu trip to Okinawa.”

“True,” he mused. “But this year, I thought — why travel when we can just…stay cozy here?”

He pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sank into him, warmth spreading through you despite the chilly February air.

“You really did all this?” you asked, glancing around the rooftop setup.

“Of course! Who else would go this over-the-top for you?” His voice was teasing, but there was a softness in his eyes that gave him away. “I wanted tonight to be about us. No curses, no missions, no interruptions.”

Your heart gave a little flutter. Gojo wasn’t always the best with words when it came to feelings — but when he showed it, it hit like a freight train.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you toward the blanket. “I brought your favorite pastries from that place you love.”

“You went all the way across town for those?”

“For you? Always.”

You sat together, sharing bites of pastries and sipping hot chocolate as the night unfolded. Gojo kept making ridiculous jokes, most of which made you groan but left you laughing anyway. His hand never left yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly.

As the night wore on, he grew quieter. You turned to find him gazing at you with an expression you didn’t see often — vulnerable, unguarded.

“Hey,” you whispered. “What’s that look for?”

He hesitated, then gave you a crooked smile. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Your chest tightened. You squeezed his hand. “Me too, Satoru.”

Geto - The February air was crisp, the scent of snow lingering despite the clear sky. Tokyo streets were alive with Valentine’s Day cheer — couples strolling beneath pink banners, flower shops bustling with last-minute customers, and cafés offering heart-shaped treats in every window.

But the warmth of the city didn’t quite reach you tonight.

You sat by the window of your apartment, absently tracing patterns on the frosty glass. Your phone sat on the table beside you, the screen dark except for the faint reflection of your own face.

You shouldn’t have expected a message.

Not today. Not from him.

The familiar ache stirred in your chest. It was easier most days, the distance between you and Suguru Geto a wound you learned to live with. But today? When the world seemed to revolve around love and companionship? It hurt.

You squeezed your eyes shut and leaned your forehead against the window.

Stop waiting, you told yourself. He’s not coming back.

But then your phone buzzed. Once. Twice.

Your heart lurched as you snatched it up.

Unknown Number: Look outside.

Your breath caught. The number wasn’t saved, but you knew who it was. Even after all this time, you’d never forgotten the pattern of his messages — the deliberate wording, the weight behind so few words.

You stood slowly, heart racing as you stepped to the window. Outside, beneath the streetlamp across from your building, stood a figure dressed in black. His long, dark hair was half-pulled back, the rest cascading over his shoulders. Even from here, you could feel the weight of his gaze.

Suguru Geto.

Your knees went weak, and your breath hitched.

You shouldn’t go to him. You knew better. But your body moved on instinct — grabbing your coat and rushing out the door, heart beating louder than the sound of your footsteps down the stairs.

The cold night air hit your face as you pushed through the entrance and crossed the street. He didn’t move until you were standing in front of him.

“You’re really here,” you whispered.

“I shouldn’t be,” he said softly. His voice was deeper than you remembered, but it still held that same calm, steady rhythm. “But…I couldn’t stay away today.”

His eyes softened as they met yours, the faintest crack in the mask he wore now. You searched his face, noting the faint scars, the exhaustion in his features. He looked older. Colder. But beneath that? The man you once loved was still there.

“Why now?” you asked, voice trembling.

He hesitated. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day. And no matter how far I go…you’re still the one I think of today.”

Tears burned in your eyes, and you clenched your jaw to hold them back. “Suguru…you left. You chose—”

“I know.” His expression tightened with guilt. “And I still believe in what I chose. But that doesn’t mean I stopped—” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily. “It doesn’t mean I stopped missing you.”

The cold wind swirled between you.

You should walk away. You should tell him that missing you wasn’t enough to erase everything he’d done.

But your heart betrayed you.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. For a moment, he stood still, as though unsure if he was allowed this. Then his arms came around you, holding you tightly, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered against his chest.

“I know,” he murmured, voice cracking.

“And I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know that too.”

Neither of you moved. The world faded — the lights, the decorations, the laughter from passing couples. For one night, time stood still.

“Just tonight?” you asked.

His hand cradled the back of your head. “Just tonight.”

Valentine’s Day was supposed to be sweet, but with Suguru, it was always bittersweet.

Because tomorrow, he’d be gone again.

And you’d be left waiting for a ghost.

Nanami - February 14th had always felt like a manufactured holiday to Nanami Kento — an excuse for companies to push chocolates, flowers, and overpriced dinners. He wasn’t a cynic about love; he simply didn’t believe in grand gestures dictated by a calendar, he believed it should be an everyday thing.

But then he met you.

And now he found himself standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, meticulously arranging a plate of homemade chocolate-covered strawberries. Each one was dipped perfectly — because, of course, Nanami wouldn’t settle for uneven coatings — and sprinkled with just the right amount of crushed hazelnuts.

He glanced at the clock. 6:58 p.m. You’d be home any minute.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint jazz music playing from the speaker. A bottle of wine was already breathing on the counter, and dinner was simmering on the stove. Simple. Elegant. Thoughtful. Just like he knew you preferred.

The lock clicked, and he turned just as the door opened.

“Smells amazing in here,” you called as you stepped inside, cheeks pink from the cold. When your eyes landed on him — standing there in his crisp white shirt, apron still tied around his waist — your smile softened. “Did you…cook?”

“Of course,” he said, walking over to help you with your coat. His hands brushed against yours, warm and grounding. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“You hate Valentine’s Day.”

“I dislike the commercial aspect,” he corrected. “I never said I dislike making you happy.”

Your heart melted a little. Nanami wasn’t a man of grand speeches or showy declarations. His love lived in the details — the way he remembered how you liked your tea, the gentle hand on your back when you crossed the street, the soft “be careful” every time you left for work.

You stepped up on your toes and kissed him. His hands found your waist instinctively, pulling you closer. His lips, warm and deliberate, moved against yours with that same steady devotion he brought to everything he did.

When you pulled back, your heart was racing. “So…what’s for dinner, Mr. Romance?”

He arched a brow. “Homemade pasta with a cream sauce and seared salmon.”

Your mouth watered. “You made homemade pasta?”

Nanami gave a modest shrug. “It’s not difficult with the right tools.”

You laughed, slipping your hand into his and letting him lead you to the dining table, where candles flickered gently.

The meal was perfect, of course. Nanami didn’t know how to do anything halfway. As you finished the last bites, you leaned back in your chair with a content sigh.

“You really went all out,” you said softly.

Nanami reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb traced absent circles on your skin. “I know I don’t always say it the way others might…but I need you to know how much you mean to me.”

Your throat tightened. “I do know.”

“I don’t need Valentine’s Day to remind me to appreciate you,” he continued, voice low and sure. “But I’ll use any excuse to make you smile like this.”

Tears prickled in your eyes. You squeezed his hand, heart full.

“Well,” you said, blinking them away with a teasing grin, “if this is what happens when you don’t care about Valentine’s Day…maybe I’ll have to start pushing for more holidays.”

Nanami chuckled — a soft, genuine sound that always made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

And when he kissed you again, slow and deliberate, with Nanami, every day felt like Valentine’s Day.

Toji - Valentine’s Day was just another day to Toji Fushiguro. Overpriced chocolates, corny decorations, couples trying too hard — none of it made sense to him. Love? Romance? He’d seen how easily both could crack and fall apart.

But then came you. And somehow, against all odds, you stuck around.

Which was probably why you were sitting on the couch that night, wearing your favorite hoodie, scrolling through your phone, while the clock ticked past 10 p.m. Your gaze flicked to the door every few minutes, even if you tried to pretend otherwise.

You weren’t one to make a big deal out of holidays, but…you’d hoped, just a little, that Toji might remember.

When the lock clicked and the door opened, you sat up. He stepped in with his usual swagger — black coat slung over his shoulders, hair damp from the light snowfall outside. His eyes landed on you immediately.

“Waitin’ for me?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

“No,” you said, maybe a little too quickly. “Just…watching TV.”

He hummed in response and kicked off his shoes. “That so?”

You turned back to the screen, determined not to let disappointment show. But then Toji’s hand appeared in your line of vision, holding a small, slightly crumpled brown paper bag.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking it cautiously.

“Open it.”

Inside the bag was a simple plastic container, the kind convenience stores use for pastries. Through the clear lid, you saw a strawberry shortcake — two layers of sponge cake with cream and fresh strawberries sandwiched in between. It was slightly smushed on one side, like he’d carried it under his arm for a while.

Your chest tightened. “You…got me cake?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “Figured you’d like it.”

You tried to bite back the grin tugging at your lips. “From that bakery I told you about?”

“Tch. What do I look like, a guy who stands in line for fancy desserts?” He flopped onto the couch beside you, throwing an arm over the backrest. “Nah, just grabbed it on the way here.”

But you noticed the faint red sticker on the container — the bakery logo you’d gushed about weeks ago. The one that was always packed.

You turned toward him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Toji…did you actually go out of your way to get me a Valentine’s Day cake?”

He groaned. “Don’t make it weird, sweetheart.”

“Too late.” You bit your lip, eyes glimmering. “This is…really sweet.”

He grunted, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. “Yeah, yeah. Just eat the damn cake.”

You didn’t push him further. Instead, you stood, grabbed two forks, and plopped back down beside him. You handed him one and opened the container.

The first bite was soft, sweet, and just a little crooked from the journey here. “Mmm,” you said, closing your eyes. “Perfect.”

Toji watched you, his fork twirling idly between his fingers. “Good?”

“Very.” You held out a forkful for him. He leaned forward, taking it without hesitation. His lips closed around the fork, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he chewed.

“Eh,” he said with a shrug. “Too sweet.”

You laughed. “You’re too grumpy.”

“Yeah? But you still like me.”

“Somehow.”

He set his fork down, watching you for a moment. Then, without warning, he tugged you into his lap. You squeaked as you landed against his chest, but his arms locked around you before you could move.

“Toji!”

“Hush.” He kissed your neck, the rough scrape of his stubble sending a shiver down your spine. “Only did this stupid Valentine’s thing for you, y’know.”

“I know,” you whispered, heart racing.

“Don’t expect this every year.”

“Of course not,” you teased. “Just every other year.”

He nipped at your ear in response, making you squeal. The cake sat forgotten on the table as Toji buried his face in your neck, holding you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Valentine’s Day might not have been his thing, but for you? He’d put up with the sweetness — cake, cuddles, and all.

Sukuna - Valentine’s Day was laughable to Sukuna.

Love? Affection? Gifts wrapped in pretty ribbons and declarations whispered in the dark? Disgusting. Humans were so easily swayed by fleeting emotions, so eager to bend to each other’s will for the sake of something as trivial as romance.

Yet here he was. Sitting on the edge of your bed. Waiting for you.

The box of chocolates on the nightstand mocked him — heart-shaped, adorned with a delicate satin bow. He didn’t even know if you liked chocolates. He just knew that the cashier had smiled a little too sweetly at him when he bought them, and he’d had to resist the urge to rip her tongue out.

The things he did for you.

The door creaked open. “Sukuna?”

You stepped inside, cheeks pink from the cold, hair slightly mussed from the wind. Your eyes found his immediately — sharp and glowing even in the dim light.

“You’re here,” you said softly.

“Obviously.” He tilted his head, gaze raking over you. “Who else would be stupid enough to sit around waiting for you?”

You snorted, shrugging off your coat. “Nice to see you too, Your Highness.”

Sukuna watched you with a predator’s patience as you moved around the room, kicking off your shoes and tossing your bag onto the chair. You always did this — acted casual, like the King of Curses lounging in your bedroom was perfectly normal. Maybe it was, by now.

But tonight, he was restless. And he hated it.

“What’s with the face?” you asked, eyeing him.

His jaw tightened. “Tch. Nothing.”

Your eyes flicked to the nightstand. “Wait…what’s this?”

Sukuna didn’t respond as you picked up the box. The bow slipped between your fingers, and you looked at him with wide eyes.

“You bought me chocolates?”

“Don’t read into it.”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“Coincidence,” he muttered.

You bit your lip to contain your smile. “Uh-huh. Sure. The King of Curses went out and bought chocolates for a mortal on Valentine’s Day…by accident.”

His eye twitched. “Careful, little one.”

But your delight was contagious. You sat beside him, holding the box close like it was some priceless artifact. “Seriously, Sukuna…thank you. I didn’t think you’d—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted. “Don’t get sappy.”

Too late. You were already leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder. His muscles went rigid at first — softness wasn’t something he welcomed — but then his arm settled around you, palm splaying over your hip possessively.

“You know,” you said after a moment, voice playful, “if you wanted to spend Valentine’s Day with me, you could’ve just said so.”

He scoffed. “I don’t want to spend it with you.”

“Oh?”

“You just…happen to be the only person I tolerate.” His fingers slid up your side, brushing the hem of your shirt. “And I had the night free.”

“Of course.” You tilted your head to look at him. “No other humans to torment?”

“Not tonight.” His gaze dropped to your lips. “But if you keep running your mouth, I might make an exception.”

“Mm. Terrifying.” You leaned up, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth. His breath caught — just for a second — before his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you in for a rougher, deeper kiss.

When you finally pulled apart, your lips tingling, you whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Sukuna.”

He smirked, thumb running over your lower lip. “You should be terrified that you’re mine.”

“Maybe,” you said, voice soft. “But I’m not.”

The chocolates sat forgotten as Sukuna kissed you again, harder this time — desperate to remind you, on this silly mortal holiday, that you belonged to him.

And maybe, just maybe, he belonged to you too.

Yuji - Yuji Itadori had never been great with romantic stuff. Sure, he could crack jokes, be a goofball, and brighten any room with his smile, but Valentine’s Day? That was a whole new level of pressure.

But this year was different. This year, he had you.

And Yuji Itadori was determined to make it special. “Okay, okay, wait,” Yuji muttered to himself, pacing his tiny apartment. “Flowers. Check. Chocolates. Check. Dinner reservations—” He glanced at the takeout containers on the counter. “Uh…sort of check.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the nerves starting to eat away at his confidence. He just wanted tonight to be perfect.

You deserved that.

The knock on his door made him jump. “Okay,” he whispered, straightening his sweater and taking a deep breath. “Cool. Calm. Romantic. Yeah, I got this.”

He opened the door, and there you stood — cheeks flushed from the cold, bundled in your favorite coat, smiling at him like he hung the stars.

“Hey,” you greeted, voice soft.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “Wow. You…you look amazing.”

Your lips quirked up. “I’m literally wearing jeans and a sweater.”

“Yeah, but you make it look good.”

He stepped aside to let you in. The warm scent of takeout curry drifted through the room, along with the faint aroma of the candles he’d lit — all mismatched shapes and sizes, creating a cozy, slightly chaotic glow.

“Yuji,” you said, turning to him. “This is…so cute.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink. “Yeah? Not too much?”

“It’s perfect.”

He visibly relaxed. “Good. ’Cause, uh, I kinda went all out.”

He motioned toward the table, where a small bouquet of daisies sat in a glass jar. Next to it, a heart-shaped box of chocolates and two plates of steaming curry rice waited.

“Yuji,” you whispered. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah, but…I wanted to.” He shifted on his feet. “I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day. And you’re, like, the coolest person I know. And I…” His voice faltered. “I really like you.”

Your heart melted. “I really like you too.”

The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by that signature grin. “Okay, cool. Awesome. Let’s eat before the rice gets all weird.”

Dinner was filled with laughter, teasing, and Yuji’s endless supply of goofy jokes. The curry was delicious, and the chocolates turned out to be your favorite kind — something he claimed was a lucky guess but had secretly researched for weeks.

Later, as the candles burned lower, you sat on the couch, leaning against him while he scrolled through movie options. His arm draped around your shoulders, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on your arm.

“So,” he said, voice soft, “was this, like…an okay Valentine’s Day?”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “More than okay. It was perfect.”

His smile turned shy. “Good. ’Cause, uh…I kinda wanna make it a tradition. You know…if you want.”

You reached up, cupped his face, and kissed him — soft, sweet, and lingering. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide, lips parted in surprise.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’d like that.”

Yuji’s grin stretched wide as he pulled you into another kiss, this one filled with pure, unfiltered happiness.

Valentine’s Day might not have been his forte, but with you? He was pretty sure he’d nailed it.

Megumi - Megumi Fushiguro didn’t care about Valentine’s Day.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself. Every year, he watched people get swept up in the holiday — chocolates, flowers, declarations of love — and he thought it was all pointless. Why dedicate one day to something that should be shown every day?

But then he met you.

And suddenly, Valentine’s Day didn’t seem so ridiculous. The afternoon sun cast a pale, cold glow through the windows of Megumi’s apartment. He stood at the kitchen counter, scowling down at the small box in his hands. It was a simple gift — dark chocolates you liked and a handwritten note tucked beneath the lid.

Nothing fancy. Nothing loud. Just…something to show you that he cared.

He set the box down and rubbed the back of his neck. “This is stupid,” he muttered.

But when his phone buzzed with your On my way! text, his heart kicked into an anxious rhythm. Too late to back out now.

When you arrived, you were all smiles, cheeks pink from the cold. “Hey, Megumi.”

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.

The warmth of his apartment was a welcome relief, and you sighed as you slipped off your coat. “Smells nice in here.”

“I…made tea,” he said, clearing his throat. “Thought it might help warm you up.”

“Aw,” you teased lightly. “Thoughtful as always.”

His ears burned at the compliment. “Yeah, well…it’s cold out.”

You followed him into the living room, where two mugs of tea waited on the table. You sat beside him on the couch and curled your legs underneath you, taking the warm cup with a grateful hum.

“So,” you said after a sip, “any big plans today?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Right. Because you don’t care about Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly.

You gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. Megumi had always been a little awkward when it came to expressing emotions — but you’d learned to read the small gestures. The way he made you tea when it was cold. The way he always stood closest to you in crowds. The way he remembered your favorite foods without you ever having to remind him.

After a moment, his gaze flicked toward the table beside him. “Uh…I got you something,” he said, voice low.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait — seriously?”

He grabbed the box, hesitated, then handed it over without meeting your eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Just…open it.”

You carefully undid the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside were neatly arranged chocolates and a small, folded note. Your chest tightened at the sight.

“Chocolates and a card?” you teased, though your voice was soft. “Megumi, you’re going all out.”

He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Don’t make this weird.”

You unfolded the note and read his handwriting:

“I know Valentine’s Day is supposed to be about big, romantic gestures, but I think the little things matter more. Like how you make everything feel lighter, even when things are hard. I might not say it much, but…I’m really glad you’re here. Happy Valentine’s Day — Megumi.”

Your vision blurred for a moment, and you set the note down with a wobbly smile. “Megumi, this is…perfect.”

He shifted uncomfortably, face flushed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m really glad I’m here too.”

He squeezed back, his thumb brushing yours. His eyes softened, tension melting from his shoulders.

“Good,” he said quietly.

The chocolates sat untouched for a while as you leaned into his side, your hand still held firmly in his.

Megumi Fushiguro didn’t need grand gestures or fancy gifts to show he cared. For him, love was quiet, steady, and honest.

And for you, that was more than enough.

[jacqueline-01]

[He’s obsessed]

A.H x Y/N

To be loved is to be truly seen and heard.

Aaron made sure of that through his quiet, thoughtful actions. From offering you an extra blanket on the plane ride back home to listening intently as you and Morgan bickered like siblings, he was always present. Though he rarely showed it, he couldn’t help but be impressed by your quick-witted comebacks to Morgan’s every remark. In his mind, you were one of the few who could stand up to his inner prosecutor, navigating his sharp, sometimes unyielding personality with ease.

Every time you caught his eye, there was a quiet connection, an unspoken understanding. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know that he was paying attention. You could feel his gaze on you during cases, the way his subtle smile would appear when you offered your perspective, no matter how small. It wasn’t loud or brash, but it was there — a constant, steady presence that comforted you.

You, too, found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just the way he led the team with calm authority, or how he could read people in a single glance. It was his silence, the way he carried a quiet strength, the way he never asked for anything in return. He made you feel seen, truly seen, in a world where most people overlooked the small, tender moments that meant everything.

There were moments you caught him staring at you when he thought you weren’t looking, and in those moments, your heart would race. He was a man of few words, but those fleeting moments of eye contact spoke volumes. He didn’t need to say “I love you” because you already knew. You could feel it in the way he would adjust the collar of your jacket on a chilly morning, or the small, comforting touches during stressful moments.

As the weeks passed, the air between you shifted. It was subtle, unspoken — but it was there. The way his hand lingered just a little too long when passing you a file, the soft smiles he gave you when no one was looking, the way his voice softened whenever he addressed you. The tension was building, and you could feel it in your bones. But neither of you dared to break the silence.

One night, after a particularly grueling case, you both found yourselves at the same bar, unwinding with a drink. The dim lighting, the hum of quiet conversation around you, and the warmth of the moment made everything feel just a little more intimate.

The evening was quiet, the weight of the day’s case still lingering between you. You sat at the bar, nursing your drink, the low hum of conversation in the background. Aaron had been silent the entire ride over, his usual stoic presence beside you in the car, but tonight, something felt different. There was a palpable tension in the air, something unspoken that both of you had avoided addressing.

You took a sip from your glass, trying to push away the heaviness in your chest, but the silence was too much. You wanted to know if he felt it too — the way his presence made everything seem a little brighter, the way your heart beat a little faster when his gaze lingered on you just a moment too long.

Finally, you spoke, your voice softer than you intended. “Do you ever wonder… if we’re all just pretending? Pretending that this,” you gestured between the two of you, “isn’t something more than just… whatever this is?”

Aaron’s eyes flickered to you for a brief moment, his brow furrowing slightly, as if unsure whether you were talking about the case or something more personal. He studied you for a long second, the same way he did when he was trying to read someone. But this time, it was different. He wasn’t trying to figure out the suspect — he was trying to figure you out.

“You’re not talking about the case, are you?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You shook your head. “No. I mean… I guess I am. But not really.” You set your drink down, eyes fixed on the bar in front of you, afraid to meet his gaze. “I don’t know, Hotch. It’s like… I’ve always been aware of the way things are, but lately, everything just feels… louder.”

Aaron let out a breath, setting his drink down too, his gaze steady but intense. “Louder how?” His voice had a quiet curiosity to it, the kind that only surfaced when he was genuinely interested in someone’s perspective.

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I guess it’s just… when we’re together, when we’re talking, it’s like I’m hearing everything, but also nothing. It’s confusing, you know?” You glanced at him then, your eyes meeting his for the first time all night. “I’ve been wondering if maybe… I’m just hearing what I want to hear.”

Aaron didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his eyes searching yours. “And what do you want to hear?” he asked, the question loaded with an intensity that you could feel in your chest.

Your heart beat a little faster. “I want to hear you say that you feel it too,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “That all this silence, all these moments… they mean something.”

There was a long pause. The air between you was thick with the weight of your confession, but Aaron didn’t flinch. He didn’t retreat into his usual quiet self, the one that hid his emotions behind a mask. Instead, he leaned closer, just enough for you to feel the heat of his presence.

“I’ve felt it,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “More than I’ve let myself admit.” He reached across the bar, his hand brushing against yours in a gesture so small, but it felt like a promise. “I’ve been waiting for you to see it too.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. He had felt it. For how long? How long had he been waiting for you to say something? The realization hit you like a wave, crashing over everything you’d been holding back.

Before you could respond, Aaron spoke again, his voice now steadier, more certain. “I’ve been silent because I didn’t want to make this harder than it already is. But if I’m being honest with myself…” He paused, the words hanging between you. “I think we’ve both been pretending that this silence doesn’t mean something. Pretending that we don’t both want more.”

Your heart raced as you processed what he was saying. The silence that had hung between you for so long wasn’t just the absence of words — it was filled with everything that you both couldn’t say.

And then, as if all at once, the distance between you closed. Aaron’s hand found yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away. No more pretending. No more silence. Only the quiet understanding that, in that moment, everything had finally clicked into place.

Without another word, he leaned in, his lips gently meeting yours. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of everything you had both been too afraid to say. And as the kiss deepened, you realized that sometimes, it wasn’t the loud declarations of love that mattered. Sometimes, it was the quiet moments in between that spoke the loudest.

[hitomisuzuya]

OMG OPEN REQUESTS 😩 so basically this past few days I've been thinking how scara has that line that's something like "cant fall asleep around me?" cause usually you can't sleep around people you don't trust and all, SO LIKE I've been thinking about how he'd feel the first times he actually feels safe and trusting enough to sleep around his s/o? 🥹 Just pure fluffy fluff 🥹 hope it was understandable 😔🥲

scaramouche x fem! reader. fluffy fluff fluff, but that's not really a warning, is it?

it for sure would be a pivotal moment for him🥺

for scaramouche, trust wasn't even something he considered remotely investing in someone. unless they showed they trust him first. and that didn't happen very often.

the moment he realized he was seeing you show that you trust him completely threw him for a loop.

lately, his work as a harbinger kept him busy. he told you that he would come and see you later that night once he finished with work. however, it was very late. despite that, scaramouche came to see you anyways, fully expecting you to be to asleep long before he got there.

"what are you still doing awake? i told you not to wait up for me," there was a hint of frustration in his voice when he came into your room. it was very late and you needed sleep. sleep was a necessity for you, but a luxury for him.

scaramouche felt his chest tighten in a way he didn't think possible seeing your eyes light up. "scara, you are here. i missed you," you greeted, dog earring your place in the book you'd been reading and immediately going to him.

he promptly raised an eyebrow at you. "i didn't want to go bed without you," you added, looking away shyly with a blush on your cheeks that made him grit his teeth for a moment. it was just so..so cute.

that was when the screeching realization came up on him. you were showing trust in him. you stayed up and waited for him practically all night, trusting him to keep his word that he would come and see you.

"lucky for you i am staying here tonight," he announced, crossing his arms. "some weirdo is going around breaking into people's houses. and you left your front door unlocked," you trusted him enough to leave your front door unlocked in the middle of the night. trusted him enough to walk in whenever he pleased.

that had been hours ago.

since it was chilly out, scaramouche insisted that you sleep under a blanket. you curled up against him, resting your head on his chest. nuzzling against it, and letting out a soft sigh.

a sigh that said you couldn't fall asleep without him. were you restless without him? he swore his body aches being without you.

scaramouche's eyes widened a little looking down at you. you'd stopped responding to his casual questions about your day. your breathing was steady and even against his chest. you'd fallen asleep to the sound of his voice.

fallen asleep around him. he'd told you from day one you shouldn't trust someone like him. and yet, here you were, trusting him enough to fall asleep around him. he was very, very still for the longest time. moments like this were fragile. he thought if he twitched even a muscle, the moment would shatter like glass.

it wasn't long before his fingers started idly stroking through your hair. your hair felt so soft under his fingers. your body felt so warm and comforting against his. you are his. and he is yours. he was further comforted by that thought.

sleep was a luxury scaramouche didn't need, but could choose to indulge in whenever he wishes. as his eyelids drifted closed, he wondered if this was what all being right with the world felt like. he is right where he needed to be.

feeling needed helped him feel safe.

and that was more valuable than anyone could possibly imagine to him.

[rangerbarbz]

Professor Pines pt 3

Author’s Note: Y’all really like Dr. Pines (me too) i am so happy this has been received so well!! I hope that yall continue to enjoy this story bc i love writing it <3 I’m so sorry it's been so long since the last update. It has been insanely busy like dawg these finals are not gucci mane in 2006 however after this semester i’ll have my bachelor’s degree so there’s that 😩

June 16th 

You and Ford again found yourself in the woods, searching for the game cameras you had set up to take pictures of the elusive critters you were studying. You had no luck seeing them yet, unfortunately, and you were feeling a tad discouraged. Thankfully, Ford helped you remain positive throughout the past couple of weeks. 

“I just don’t understand, Ford,” you sighed. “When I came out here earlier in the year I saw so many of them! I just hope we aren’t too late.” 

“Don’t worry, my dear, we will find them. I know it.” You looked at him to see him giving you a reassuring smile. You could feel the butterflies forming in your stomach.

“Thank you. I hope you’re right.” You faced the game camera and crouched down to remove the SD card from the bottom of it. Then, out of the corner of your eye… You saw it.

Your eyes went wide and all the air left your body in the form of a gasp. “Ford!” you hissed, tugging on his wrist. 

“What? What do you see?” he asked, concerned. He started looking around in all the wrong directions. On a whim, you grabbed his chin and turned his head to face forward.

“Look,” you replied quietly, pointing towards the furry creatures littering the ground. “It’s them.” You were looking at the entire reason you had made the trip to the Appalachian. They were small creatures with thick, brown fur covering their round bodies. Scaly legs peeked out from underneath their fur along with a spiky, scaled tail; the face was that of a weasel or mink.

“It’s what we’ve been looking for,” you said breathlessly, your hands shaking. Ford glanced at you with a fond, but proud, expression on his face. Tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. You then felt his warm hand around your shoulder, pulling you towards him. At this point, you were both kneeling in the soft dirt of the forest. His broad body enveloped yours in an embrace, his arms holding you gently against him. He was warm and so strong. 

Ford’s chin was placed on your shoulder. “I am so happy for you, Y/N.” His voice rumbled in your chest. “I never doubted you for a second.” He pulled away from you to have his eyes meet yours. You were wiping away the tears that were now flowing down your cheeks. He squeezed your shoulders, his thumbs stroking the soft skin below the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Thank you for believing in me, Ford,” you replied shakily. You were filled with an unbelievable amount of joy as you watched the creatures waddle through the creek in front of you. 

“Well, we have no time to waste.” Ford stood up, offering his hand to you. You grabbed it and he helped pull you up from the ground. “Let’s get to work.” 

After you and Ford developed a plan on how you were going to study these creatures of the summer, it was time to celebrate your success. Ford had suggested that you roast hot dogs and marshmallows over a small bonfire tonight. You agreed immediately. 

“I would love that! It’s been too long since my last marshmallow,” you said forlornly. Ford laughed and removed his sweater to reveal the plaid button-up he was wearing underneath. It had been an uncharacteristically chilly day for summer in Tennessee, but now it had started to warm up. 

“I’ll go ahead and start chopping firewood while you finish up cataloging today’s progress. How’s about that?” Ford asked. 

You grinned back at him. “Deal.” Ford returned your smile before walking out the sliding door of the kitchen to the backyard. It didn’t take you long to type the long-awaited update on your project into the laptop in front of you, so you decided to wash the dishes in the sink from this morning’s breakfast. Ford had decided to surprise you with pancakes and eggs. To be completely honest, they weren’t that tasty, but you appreciate the sentiment. Not everyone can be good at everything. Not even the smartest man you’ve ever met. 

You began to run warm water for the sink, dousing the plateware in dish-washing liquid. When it was bubbly enough, you grabbed a rag and began to scrub them. 

Thunk!

You looked up and out the window above the sink to see Ford with an axe, chopping wood like he said he would. But, my God. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms. You could see the dark brown hair that covered them; the sun had begun to highlight the sweat collecting in the follicles. The blue jeans he wore were taut against him, accentuating his strong legs with every swing of the axe. 

Thunk!

He had cracked the wood in the middle, causing it to separate into two pieces. Your mouth was slightly agape, saliva pooling in the curve of your bottom lip. Just like that, he had set up another log onto the stump, raised the axe above his head, and brought it down with all his might. You gasped as he made a large dent in the wood. He paused to tilt his head and examine the damage he’d done to it. Probably looking for the most efficient way to chop it you had thought. But you wanted him to take it nice and slow. You could watch this all damn day. Ford then ran a hand into his thick, gray hair before turning his head towards the window you were gawking at him through. 

“Shit, shit,” you whispered, suddenly very interested in the soapy dishes in front of you. You began to wash them as nonchalantly as possible. 

What you didn’t see was Ford’s self-satisfied smirk knowing he had caught you staring. Truth is, he could be going faster while chopping this wood, but when he first noticed you looking at him, he wanted to put on a little bit of a show. He went slower, swung a bit more dramatically. It made him feel good to know that he was being admired. Especially by you. 

Later that night, you and Ford were sitting on two lawn chairs beside each other, laughing together over a story you told. You had finished your campfire meal long before then; talking with Ford made time fly by. He had the most interesting stories about cryptids he had faced in the past and how he studied them. While you didn’t have as many swashbuckling stories as him, he was a very active listener nonetheless. He asked questions, had commentary, and reacted in all the right moments. You had both stayed out there so long that he had given you his coat to keep out the cold of the night air. It was lighter than you thought it would be and didn’t really have any sort of cologne smell. It more just smelled like the outdoors which was fine. You were warm and his forearms were out again, so you were okay. 

You could’ve sat there all night long with him, but you could feel your body succumbing to sleepiness, and you still needed to shower. You yawned and stood to stretch out your arms. “Ford, I would consider today one of our best days so far,” you declared as he rose to his feet next to you. 

“I would have to agree with you, my dear,” he replied. “It was an exciting day, indeed, finding the creatures and all.” 

“I mean,” you said, “even if we hadn’t found the little guys today, I still would say this was one of our best days.” You gave him a small smile, feeling your face become warm. “I really enjoyed talking with you. That was a lot of fun. I could listen to you for hours.” At this point, you were looking at the ground too bashful to look him in the eye. 

The night helped cover the tinge of pink that covered Ford’s cheeks. “The feeling is mutual, Y/N,” he murmured. There was a short pause between you two as your eyes finally met. You were mimicking each other’s dopey smiles. “Well, I know you need to get ready for bed and all, so I won’t keep you. I hope you have a goodnight. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, so you’ll need the rest. Don’t worry, I’ll put out the fire.” 

You nodded. “Thank you, Ford. I’ll see you in the morning. I hope you have sweet dreams.” With that, you went inside the cabin to shower, brush your teeth, and crash into a coma like sleep on your bed. 

Ford had gone into the bathroom after extinguishing the fire to shower off today’s work. Showering was always something he looked forward to. It was one of the only things that helped him relax his tense muscles. He finished his shower after a thorough wash and when he swished the curtain to the side, he noticed his coat hanging off the hook of the bathroom door. Ford then smelled a sweet, floral scent coming from the fabric inside of the coat. 

It was you.

He walked to his room as quietly as possible, making sure to miss some especially creaky floorboards to not wake you up. When he got to his room, he sat at the end of his bed taking a deep inhale of the coat. 

This must be your perfume, he thought. It was intoxicating. Ford exhaled deeply. This is so wrong. You were his student. He was supposed to be your mentor. But damn it all, the way you look at him, the way you speak, the way you do anything… Breathtaking.

Ford inhaled the most potent spot of the coat, closing his eyes this time. He lifted himself off the edge of the bed slightly to pull down his sleep pants. His erect cock sprung forth and he began to stroke himself, practically suffocating in your scent.

The coat managed to stifle his moans as his mind began to wander. He thought about laying you down on this very bed, undressing you, worshipping you. His hands would slide up your soft skin while he left hickies on your collar bone, letting everyone know you were his. He would massage your soft breasts and take your nipple into his mouth. He imagined you mewling, your fingers carding through his hair. He would then… 

“Oh, fuck,” Ford moaned, stroking faster. 

He would then push your legs up so that he could get a full view of your dripping cunt, dragging his finger across your folds. He would pump his finger faster and faster, your breasts bouncing along with the force of his hand. He would make you cum on his fingers, watching your face be contorted with pleasure. He would then…

“Please,” Ford whimpered into the coat, taking another inhale, a sacarrhine aroma filling his senses.

His tongue would delve into you, exploring your taste while your thighs wrapped around his head, clenching harder as pleasure took over. You would grind down on his nose, chasing another orgasm. The way he imagined you screaming his name brought him to orgasm. 

A guttural groan escaped his throat. Hot, white cum spilled over his fist as Ford’s chest heaved. He removed the coat from his face to see his reflection in the mirror. Red splotches covered his face and neck. He shook his head and looked down at the mess he made.

“I’m going to Hell.”

[aisiedaisie]

Helllllo!! Could you maybe do a wolfstar x reader (or anyone if you don’t do that :))) with a reader who lovesssss makeup and has like a big collection and spends a bunch of money on it and maybe the boys being super intrigued or confused by it? <3

Hello hello~!!! Thank you for this amazing idea! I wasn’t sure if you were asking for romantic or platonic wolfstar but I may have gone the romantic route. I hope you enjoy it!

Also, it seems I am utterly incapable of writing short stories... Hopefully you don't mind!

Poly! Wolfstar x Fem!Reader WC: 2k

You breathe out, the exhale a soft puff that lingers in the chilly air. Your fingers run through your hair, frustration creeping up your spine.

It's a mess—which wasn’t new for days like this. The winter winds have stolen every ounce of moisture, leaving your strands dry and unruly. The static makes each strand stand on end, refusing to fall into place as you try to tame them with a bit of leave-in conditioner.

But today, of all days, it needs to cooperate.

You glance in the mirror, taking in your reflection. This is the first time you're hosting date night at your place, and after hours of prepping dinner, tidying up every inch of the apartment, your hair had become the least cooperative part of the evening. You sigh, trying to smooth the mess down, but it feels hopeless.

A light knock on the door pulls your attention away, snapping you out of your frustration. Your heart gives a flutter, and you take a moment to steady your nerves. The knocking continues, a little more insistent, and you curse under your breath as you give your reflection one last look. Your cream knit sweater and well-worn jeans are fine—fine—but not exactly what you'd imagined wearing on such a special evening. It’s casual, maybe too much so, but you tell yourself to let it go. You smooth down the hem and force a shy smile.

The door creaks open, and you greet them with a soft, sweet "Hey." Your voice betrays a touch of nerves, but you stand tall, holding the door wide open as you invite them inside.

Remus and Sirius stand frozen in the hallway just outside your door, their eyes taking in your appearance with an intensity that makes you feel as though they're seeing straight through you. A soft smile spreads across Remus’s face, while Sirius’s lips curl into a wolfish grin. They both seem to sense the knot of anxiety in your chest, reading it effortlessly, as if it was as obvious as the frazzled mess of your hair.

"Hey, dove, you okay there?" Remus asks, his voice a gentle murmur as he bends down, pressing a warm kiss to the crown of your head. The sudden contact sends a spark of calm through you, though the tightness in your stomach doesn’t quite fade.

"Yeah, you look a bit nervous," Sirius adds, his tone teasing yet soft. His lips brush your cheek in a quick kiss as he steps past you into the flat, his eyes flicking over the space, taking in the cozy chaos of your preparations.

The living room, while small, is filled with the soft charm of the season. A few scattered holiday decorations dot the space—pine cones nestled in a crystal dish on the dark wood coffee table, their spiced scent mingling with the candles burning nearby. The flickering lights cast a warm glow across the room, the air thick with the comforting scent of mulled cider and cinnamon, drifting lazily from the kitchen.

They’ve been here before, of course. They’ve picked you up for dates, lingered in the living room while you finished getting ready. But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, they’re not just picking you up. They’re settling in, staying awhile, and something in the atmosphere shifts. The space feels fuller, more alive somehow, even with the quiet tension you’re trying so hard to hide.

"Come on in, make yourselves at home," you say, your voice a little steadier now, though still laced with uncertainty. You close the door behind them, your fingers brushing along the handle as you take their coats and drape them over the back of the couch. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding, giving you something to focus on.

You lead them into the dining room, where the table is set in preparation for dinner. White tealights glow softly, casting delicate shadows on the polished surface. Your nice dinner plates gleam under the candlelight, silverware set just so, ready to be used. It’s a simple, intimate setup, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s enough.

Remus pauses in the center of the room, scanning the flat before turning back to you with a gentle smile. “Do you mind if I use the restroom, love?” he asks, his voice soft but carrying a hint of amusement as he looks around the space, searching for the door.

You smile softly, pointing down the hallway. "It’s the second door on the left," you say, your voice light.

Remus nods with a grateful look before darting down the hallway, eager to relieve himself. Sirius watches him go with a shake of his head, chuckling under his breath. "He’s had to pee since we got to your street," Sirius says, his tone laced with affection and amusement.

You can’t help but laugh, your fingers busying themselves with pouring warm cider into mugs. 

That’s when you hear Remus’s voice, sharp and full of surprise. "What the hell?"

A rush of concern flutters through you, catching your breath. You freeze, the warm cider sloshing in the cup you hold, spilling a few droplets as you try to make sense of his exclamation. What did I forget? Was it your hairbrush on the counter again? No... you made sure it was put away. You rack your brain for a moment, but nothing stands out.

Sirius, ever the quick one, is already walking down the hall, following the sound of Remus’s voice. You move to follow, two steps behind him, a strange tightness settling in your chest.

You watch as they reach the second door on the right, and your eyes widen.

Sirius peeks in first, curiosity piqued, and his voice rings out with a hint of amusement. "Moons?" he asks, stepping into the space. He tilts his head to look around, his gaze landing on the long white vanity in front of them. Your heart skips a beat as you catch up, now standing in the doorway just behind them.

The vanity stretches out before you, gleaming under the soft light. Clear storage cabinets line the sides of the mirror, each one filled to the brim with various cosmetics: lipsticks in shades you can’t even name, neatly arranged bottles of foundation, and an assortment of brushes that you’d long since given up organizing. Your cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and mild surprise, realizing they’ve stumbled upon your private little collection.

Sirius raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, while Remus stands there, his expression somewhere between shock and genuine curiosity. The air between the three of you crackles with unspoken words as you stand in the doorway, feeling every bit of their gaze on the cluttered, yet carefully curated, space.

Your lips press together as you try to formulate an explanation, feeling a wave of heat rise in your cheeks. What can I possibly say now that they've seen all of this? You stand there, torn between embarrassment and amusement, watching the two of them as they take in the sight of your beauty room.

“Holy shit, love, I knew you liked makeup, but I didn’t think you liked it this much,” Sirius says, his tone an odd mix of shock and awe. He steps closer, eyes roving over the meticulously organized rows of products. Beside him, Remus examines the array with a look of sheer bewilderment.

“You... you actually use all of this?” he asks, gesturing to the overflowing drawers, as if struggling to comprehend.

You nod shyly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Not all at once, of course, but... yeah.” You glance over at them, hoping they’re not overwhelmed.

Sirius reaches out, his eyes lighting up as he picks up a familiar tube. “This is the lipstick I bought you for Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs, a fond smile spreading across his face. He turns the deep red Gucci lipstick in his fingers, the one he’d surprised you with on that special day. It’s a brand you’d never splurge on for yourself, and the fact that he remembers only softens the moment.

Remus clears his throat, breaking the quiet. “Alright, hang on—I really need to pee, but we are so talking about this when I get back.” He gives you a quick, reassuring smile before dashing out of the room, leaving you alone with Sirius, who is still absorbing the scope of your collection.

Noticing your discomfort, Sirius settles himself into the plush chair in front of your vanity mirror. He catches your eye in the reflection, a mischievous gleam brightening his gaze. “Love, can you do my makeup?” His grey eyes lock with yours, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head.

“What do you want, Siri?” you ask, moving to stand behind him, your hands instinctively finding their way into his dark, unruly curls. His eyes flutter shut as he leans back into your touch, a low groan escaping his lips.

“Reggie’s been wearing eyeliner lately, and it actually looks pretty cool. Can you do that for me?” he asks, keeping his eyes closed, totally at ease.

A sweet hum escapes you as you think it over. “Are we talking waterline or a wing?” you ask, fingers combing gently through his hair.

“Which one’s easier?” he asks, eyes cracking open to meet yours, genuine curiosity lighting his face.

“For you? Probably a wing,” you explain with a smile, reaching over his shoulder to grab your favorite liquid liner. “Putting it in your waterline can get uncomfortable. I’ll go easy on you.”

He chuckles, a small smirk forming as he settles in, clearly ready for whatever you’re about to do.

Remus steps back into the room, his hands settling on your hips with an easy familiarity. You feel his warmth as you focus, steadying the felt-tip pen and carefully flicking it to form the perfect wing at the corner of Sirius’s closed eyes.

“And what exactly are you two up to?” he asks, voice laced with fond amusement. His hazel eyes shine with a soft curiosity, watching as you carefully hover over Sirius.

You glance up, meeting his gaze with a playful smile. “Just spreading my love of makeup,” you quip, your voice light with humor.

At that, Sirius opens his eyes slowly, catching sight of himself in the vanity mirror. The sharp lines of the eyeliner bring a new edge to his look, making his grey eyes look strikingly intense. A small, satisfied grin spreads across his face as he takes in the transformation. “Damn—I look good.”

“When don’t you look good?” Remus laughs, shaking his head as he leans in closer. There’s a warmth in his gaze, a kind of love that makes the room feel cozier.

You smile, leaning across Sirius once more to reach for your favorite lip oil. Without a second thought, you swipe it across your lips, the slight sheen catching the light before you turn, tiptoeing to press a soft, lingering kiss to Remus’s lips. He blinks in surprise, feeling the film of oil on his lips, and a bashful smile spreads across your face.

“There. Now you’re dolled up too,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Remus’s cheeks flush, and he lets out a quiet laugh. “Lucky me,” he replies, squeezing your hips gently.

You dart your gaze away, the warmth of the moment lingering as your eyes catch the soft glow of the digital clock on the corner of your vanity. The numbers blink back at you, a gentle reminder of time ticking by.

With a small sigh, you reluctantly shake yourself out of the cozy, dreamlike bubble surrounding the three of you. “We should head back out. I’ve got dinner in the oven.”

Sirius groans dramatically but rises from the chair, throwing you an affectionate look as he reaches out to link his arm with yours. Remus follows, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, the three of you moving back into the warmth of the dining room, surrounded by candlelight and the smell of cider that fills the air like a promise of a perfect evening ahead.

[avonne-writes]

What would you do with ¹⁴⁾ a coffee shop at two in the morning for buff omega Gale :)

This has been in my inbox for quite a while, sorry! I'm going to combine it with one of my Mota 1st birthday bingo prompts 😊 Just a short drabble, but I hope it's at least entertaining.

What kind of coffee shop closes this late, Gale thinks morosely as he watches his boyfriend of three months lock the last cabinet and turn to him with a smile, spinning the keychain around his finger. He had a spectacularly bad day, and standing in the middle of an empty coffee shop at 2 am doesn’t make it any better. He craves warmth and soft fabric, cuddles in a full nest lulling him to sleep. All this dark, cold space around him prickles his skin. Even under the light of Bucky's smile, he can’t help but shiver.

It doesn't escape Bucky's notice. The excited tilt of his smile gentles as he walks over to Gale, and he throws his arm around Gale's shoulders to press a soft, smacking kiss to his cheek. "Ready to go home?"

"Hm. You bet."

Home, home, home. That's what Gale needs. Not this. But home wouldn't feel right without Bucky there. Not tonight, when Gale can feel the discomfort of his pre-heat crawling up his back, spreading like goosebumps down his arms. He doesn’t want to go back to his empty apartment. That's why he left in the first place, why he drove here in the middle of the night to wait awkwardly until Bucky closed the place. If only they had moved in together already. But they aren't there yet. Not even close. And it’s scary to need someone like Gale needs his alpha now. He’s not ready to give more of himself over yet, but on nights like this, he wishes he was.

"You’re thinking an awful lot for how fucking late it is." Bucky yawns into the back of his hand, pulling Gale gently towards the door.

Gale curls his arm around Bucky's waist and turns his head to tuck his face into the crook of Bucky's neck and scent him. The calm, warm smell of him settles in Gale's chest like a soothing weight. He doesn’t pull away even long enough to watch his step, too busy trying to soak it in. He trusts Bucky to guide him outside. When the cold air of the street brushes his skin, he pulls his coat tighter around himself and sighs.

"My heat's coming up." He says dejectedly over the creak of the door closing.

It’s not that he minds the heats themselves - in truth, he loves losing himself to the love and affection of it if he's safe - what bothers him is having to ask if he's going to have company this time or not. He hasn’t yet had an alpha he was so confident in that he knew he wouldn’t have to ask. "In a day or two."

"I know, baby." Bucky murmurs. He sounds amused. "Why do you think I took the night shift today? I got time off for your heat."

Gale's heart stutters in his chest. He didn’t even consider that Bucky might have asked his boss to shift things around just because of Gale's heat. It makes him feel even warmer inside, mellow like honey. "Figured you lost a bet."

"Me? Never." Bucky snorts, pulling away from Gale for a second to lock the front door and pull the metal shutter in place. When he turns back, he cups Gale’s cheeks. His hands are cold from the metal, but all that discomfort is forgiven when his warm lips press to Gale's in the chilly winter night. "My lucky charms actually work, you know."

Gale gives him a doubtful look. There's a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue, but another shiver runs through his body and cuts that thought off real quick. Perhaps his heat is closer than he thought. Getting home after work only to be greeted by silence sucked - parting from Bucky now sounds like the worst idea in the world. He curls his fingers around Bucky’s lapels.

"Can I sleep at your place?"

"Mine?" Bucky asks, surprised. "I thought you'd want to stay home for your heat."

Gale considers it, tries to be rational about it. He has all his supplies at his place. Hell, he was ready to go through it alone there, as usual. But all he can think about now is Bucky's cozy apartment where everything smells like him, where Gale built a nest just a few weeks ago because he was too happy to resist the instinct. That's the space he longs for now.

"I want to stay at yours."

Bucky's first reaction is a pleased smile, then he gives Gale a sheepish look. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Are you sure?"

Gale frowns. The situation feels familiar. A soft rejection from an alpha who still wants to keep him around, but doesn’t want to keep him. He reaches up to tuck a strand of his long hair behind his ear, suddenly conscious of his size again, the lack of softness on his frame. Rejection just before his heat would be awful, but he can take it. He's strong enough not to let it break him.

"You don’t want me there."

Bucky's expression shifts into embarrassment. "I do, of course I do."

He leans in and rubs the tip of his nose to Gale's neck, where his mark will be one day if they decide to become mates. His arms loop around Gale's shoulders to hold him close even as Gale remains tense under his touch.

"Then what?" Gale asks, annoyed. He tries to look at Bucky’s face, but Bucky seems to be trying to hide it in his neck.

"I still have your nest in my bedroom." Bucky mumbles at last.

Confusion, fuzzy and sparkling, overtakes Gale's irritation. "What?"

Finally, Bucky straightens again. Even in the cool light of the street lamps, he looks just as flushed as Gale feels. He takes Gale's hands from his chest to draw them around his neck, then curls his arms around Gale's waist.

"I kept the nest you made." He leans in close enough that their exhales mix in a cloud of mist between their lips. "I missed having you there. Couldn’t bring myself to take it apart."

Relief and affection expand in Gale's chest, cotton-candy sweet on his smile. He tilts his chin up to give Bucky a kiss, laughing when Bucky makes a noise and pushes hard into it. As if he was the one with the heat building slowly under his skin, not Gale. His arms tighten around Gale's waist.

"But it barely smells like you anymore." Bucky heaves a plaintive sigh.

"You could've just asked me to come over and make a new one." Gale points out with a small smile, too happy to even pretend to be unaffected. Alphas don’t tend to keep an omega's nest if they're not mated to them. It’s too intimate. He can’t fathom what made Bucky keep his, but it's a good sign.

"I didn’t want to overwhelm you." Bucky kisses him again, chasing the bite of cold on Gale’s lips with the heat of his mouth. He’s sloppy in his exhaustion, but sweet and hungry as ever.

"I love you." He says through a gasp swallowed by Gale's lips.

Gale doesn’t even realize what Bucky has said at first. His mind feels fuzzy with joy and the simmering need of his pre-heat, so he just dives back in to kiss Bucky one more time, combing through his curls. It’s only when Bucky touches his face to soothe him that he realizes -

"Oh." He breaks the kiss so abruptly that Bucky sways after him, then catches himself.

They both pause. Gale's racing heartbeat pumps loudly in his ears.

Bucky waits for a moment, but when it becomes clear that Gale doesn’t know what to say, he presses his forehead to Gale's. "I'm sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to say it like that."

Gale curls his fingers around Bucky’s coat again. "But did you mean what you said?"

"Yes." Bucky's reply is simple and earnest, the brush of his thumb over Gale’s cheek gentle. "I love you."

The laugh that escapes from Gale pushes past all the boundaries of his composure to lay his joy in front of Bucky like a gift.

"I love you too." He says through his smile.

~♡~

It's Bucky's turn to laugh out of happy relief. The half-moons of his eyes crinkle at the corners and his beaming smile brightens Gale's entire heart. He abandons his attempts to kiss Gale again in favour of lifting him off his feet in a tight, giddy hug. Although he can’t quite spin Gale around, Gale still feels like he’s flying.

Who knew that coming to see his boyfriend at 2 am in a coffee shop would give him the happiest moment of his life so far?

The bingo prompt was: love confession ❤️

[mingtinys]

[11:45 p.m.]

pairing : song mingi x gn!reader

fluff , humor , comfort fic

warnings : thunderstorms

word count : 0.7 k

requested ? no

a/n : i am not the least bit ashamed to admit this was slightly inspired by that one ouran host club episode. it is my comfort episode. sue me.

Typically, you're one to enjoy a good Summer storm. You're rather fond of the cozy peace they bring. Especially late at night, when the heavy rain starts to sound like static and lulls you into a deep sleep. Interrupted only by soft rolls of thunder and the occasional blue flickers of lightning.

But the one tonight is far too aggressive for your taste.

The rain is deafening as it continues its onslaught against your poor window. And each startling crash of lightning precedes an even louder boom that shakes the room. Rattling picture frames that hang delicately on the walls.

You won't be sleeping tonight. That's for sure.

Anxiety wraps its nimble fingers around your heart and squeezes with each subsequent lighting strike. Digging its claws deeper and deeper until you can't take it anymore.

Your comforter is quickly tossed to the side, skin exposed to the chilly night air in your desperate escape. You tiptoe your way to the living room, searching for the giant scaredy-cat you know is likely up calming his own nerves.

And sure enough, there he is.

Cuddled up on the couch with the fuzziest blanket he owns draped over his shoulders. He's mindlessly acrolling through his phone with his headphones on at full volume. You can just barely make out the faint song playing through them.

You creep up slowly so as not to spook him, though it doesn't do much good. Mingi still flinches as soon as your shadow casts across the room with yet another flash from outside. Whipping his head around so fast you're surprised he doesn't get whiplash. But he quickly recovers, laughing at himself once he realizes it's just you.

He slips off his headphones and lets them hang from around his neck. "Storm keeping you up?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you liked storms," he frowns.

"I do, this one's just a little..."

Mingi hums. "I get it. Come, sit." He pats the open spot beside him and you sit. His arm wraps around your shoulder, enveloping you into his blanket cocoon and pulling you in until you're smooshed against his side.

"Did the storm spook you too?" You ask, resting your head on the junction of his neck.

"Pfft, no, I like being awake–"

A giant crack of lightning strikes the pavement outside a little too close for comfort and startles the both of you. Mingi even lets loose a sharp string of curses. It makes you giggle, which unwinds the knot in your stomach just enough to tease your boyfriend.

"You were saying?"

But then the power flickers as the wind picks up and you're eating your words. Tensing at the near-instant karma for teasing Mingi. The wind is the worst part, in your opinion.  You hate how it howls and bellows as it whips around the corners of your home. It echoes through your head, sending you into a spiral of anxiety. Heart racing so fast you can feel its pulse in every limb.

Until suddenly, it all stops. Muted by calming tunes blasting through the headphones placed over your ears.

You glance up at Mingi, pulling one side back. "Are you sure you don't need them?"

"No, I'll be okay. Besides, I'm your big strong boyfriend, it's my job to take care of you." Mingi puffs his chest, looking rather proud of his heroic act.

"You're such a dork."

He just smiles and shakes his head at your comment. Then taps through his playlist to find music he knows you like. "Just try to get some sleep," he says as he readjusts the headphones and presses a long kiss to your temple.

To his credit, the headphones do a wonderful job of blocking out the storm. You wouldn't even know it was still ongoing if it weren't for the way Mingi jumps up every so often. Completely defenseless against the rampage outside now that you've taken his only protection. And even though each time you look at him, he reassures you with a tight smile, you know he's dying a little on the inside with each boom of thunder.

So, eventually, you coax him to lie down and tuck his head to your chest, holding him with your arm pressed over his ear. He hums when your fingers slowly toy with his hair, the vibration of it tickling your skin. Within seconds, he's fully melted into you. The both of you slipping into a slumber with the storm now nothing but background noise.

taglist: @dontwannaexsist

[ki-kink]

Hi. I've been interested in the wereteenager theme and in particular in the transformation, but I have trouble imagining it. It seems to be gradual and has various phases. Is there a precise sequence in the physical changes? How do fat mass and muscle mass change in the various parts of the body? Is it painful? What thoughts or images form in your mind during the various phases? In short, if we were to shoot a scene from a film that represents it in its entirety, like the one in "An American Werewolf in London", how should we imagine it.

There is no photographic or even filmed documentation. What I have found is this protocol of a patient. Sorry, that's all I know….

22:00: Photo for the transformation protocol is taken. It's the usual feeling before a Friday night. Anxiety. Anticipation. In any case, it's a strange feeling.

06:00: The alarm clock wasn't actually supposed to ring for another 20 minutes. But like almost every Friday, I'm woken up by an incredible morning erection. Like almost every Friday morning, I also had a wet dream. I have to make up the bed.

06:30: To get rid of the erection, I masturbated in the bathroom. It didn't take long to ejaculate. The plan to measure the amount once didn't work out again as I spread my sperm uncontrollably around the bathroom. My testicles are covered in soft fuzz, as is my upper lip.

07:30: After showering, I had to masturbate a second time. I have the feeling that the ejaculation was stronger than the first one. Although I'm freshly showered, I already smell of sweat under my armpits again. My armpit hair is much bushier than usual.

09:30: The morning board at Teams was torture. I find it hard to concentrate. Especially when Luke is in a call. He looks incredibly hot. I have a steadfast erection and a wet precum stain in my pants.

12:00: The morning has been exhausting. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. To be honest, I've been online most of the time. Watching football scores, TikTok, Instagram… My colleagues went out for a salad. I had such a craving for a burger. I went to a burger joint around the corner. There were three hot high school jocks sitting at a table. I asked if I could sit with them. The looks were a mixture of disgusted and amused.

2:00 p.m.: Had to jerk off, couldn't help myself. Fantasized about standing in the shower with the guys from the burger joint after a soccer training session. When I washed my hands afterwards, I looked in the mirror. Despite shaving this morning, there's already beard fuzz on my upper lip again. But apart from that, my reflection pisses me off. That's not me. I'm not an old man.

4:30 p.m.: End of work. At last. On the subway, I see that I'm wearing my worn-out Chucks. It's a good thing none of my colleagues saw. The sun will set in a good hour. I still have no idea what I'm going to do tonight. There's not much pocket money left. Shit, I have to piss. Good thing I have to go out next stop.

4:35 pm: Yo, I'm at the station loo, takin' a leak. Bro, my dude: Däng! This thing's rock hard, like a baseball bat, no joke! My whole body's shakin', but not 'cause it's chilly. More like when you're doin’ your thing on the QB's ass. Man, my bladder was about to explode. Piss everywhere—looked like I got sprayed. Had to swap my threads. Good thing we got football practice today, right?

4:42 pm: I'm at the sink in my jersey and shorts, checkin' my hair, feelin' fresh. Then this dude sneaks up behind me, crazy eyes and all. His hand's on my junk, and he’s old—like 30 or somethin'. Just goes “50”. Bro, 50 bucks for a blowie?! Jackpot! This night is gonna be lit!

02:00 am: Dude, I'm so lit right now! Almost forgot that damn control pic. But the team doc and coach need it, I think. Gotta hit up that skater dude I met at the club. Total lean machine, dude’s got stamina, and an epic cock! Let’s go!

[kathlare]

i love you, i'm sorry

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Set against the enchanting backdrop of Paris during the holidays, Amelie embraces fleeting moments of joy with Rodrigo, her steady and kind companion.

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Warnings: kinda mature content

full masterlist // request over here!

December 20th, 2022 - Paris, France

The Parisian streets glistened with the soft glow of fairy lights, the city dressed up in its winter best. Amelie wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck as she strolled hand-in-hand with Rodrigo along the Seine. The crisp December air was filled with the scent of roasted chestnuts and the distant hum of street performers. Paris, the city of love, had always been magical, but tonight, it felt even more so.

Rodrigo glanced at her, a soft smile playing on his lips. —Cold?— he asked, his voice low and warm.

Amelie shook her head, returning his smile. —Not when you’re holding my hand,— she teased, earning a laugh from him.

They had spent the past few days exploring the city—museums, quaint cafés, late-night walks by the Eiffel Tower. For the first time in a long while, Amelie felt like she was breathing again. She wasn’t consumed by the weight of the past or the questions that had lingered in the back of her mind. She was just... here. And it felt good.

As they turned a corner, the warm glow of a small bistro caught Amelie’s eye. They’d been wandering aimlessly, their plans intentionally loose to savor the spontaneity of it all.

—Hungry?— Rodrigo asked, following her gaze.

—Starving,— she replied with a grin.

The bistro was cozy, the kind of place that felt like a warm hug on a chilly night. They found a corner table by the window, the flicker of candlelight adding a soft glow to their faces. Rodrigo ordered a bottle of wine, and as the waiter poured their glasses, Amelie leaned back in her chair, letting the warmth of the moment settle over her.

Rodrigo watched her, his gaze unwavering. —You’re happy,— he said, almost like a statement rather than a question.

Amelie tilted her head, meeting his eyes. —I am,— she admitted, surprised by how easily the words came. —Paris has that effect, doesn’t it?—

He smiled, but there was something deeper in his expression, something that made her chest tighten. He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. —It’s not just Paris,— he said softly. —It’s you. Being with you makes me happy.—

Amelie felt her breath catch. She hadn’t expected this—not tonight, not so soon. Rodrigo’s eyes searched hers, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.

—I love you, Amelie.—

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and light all at once. Amelie blinked, her heart racing. She hadn’t been prepared for this, not yet. They hadn’t been together long—barely over a month—and while she cared for Rodrigo, love? That was a different kind of weight. A different kind of truth.

But the way he looked at her, so open and vulnerable, made her feel like she couldn’t let him down. He had been nothing but kind, patient, and understanding, and he deserved to hear those words back. Didn’t he?

She forced a smile, her voice soft as she whispered back, —I love you too.—

The words felt foreign in her mouth, like they didn’t quite belong there. But Rodrigo’s face lit up, and for a moment, she convinced herself it was enough. She could grow into those words. She could try.

After dinner, they returned to their hotel, the night quiet except for the occasional hum of a car passing by. Their suite overlooked the city, the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance. Amelie stood by the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared out at the view.

Rodrigo came up behind her, his arms sliding around her waist as he pulled her back against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his voice a low murmur in her ear. —Beautiful, isn’t it?—

Amelie nodded, her gaze fixed on the glittering tower in the distance. —It really is.—

But her mind was elsewhere, replaying the moment at dinner over and over again. She tried to shake the unease creeping into her chest, convincing herself that this was what she wanted. Rodrigo was good for her—kind, steady, everything she hadn’t had in a long time.

He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, his lips warm against her skin. —You’re quiet,— he said softly. —What’s on your mind?—

She turned to face him, forcing a smile as she looked up into his eyes. —Just taking it all in,— she said.

Rodrigo studied her for a moment, his hands resting on her hips. —I still can’t believe I get to be here with you. With everything going on in our lives...— He trailed off, his gaze softening. —You make everything else fade away.—

Amelie reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek. —You have a way with words, you know that?—

He chuckled, his hands tightening their grip on her waist. —It’s just how I feel.—

Their lips met, and for a moment, Amelie let herself get lost in the kiss. Rodrigo’s touch was gentle yet insistent, his hands moving to cradle her face as he deepened the kiss. She responded automatically, her body moving closer to his as the world outside their suite disappeared.

When they pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her skin. —Stay here with me tonight,— he whispered.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she nodded before she could think too much about it. —Okay.—

Rodrigo took her hand, leading her toward the bed. The room was dimly lit, the golden light from the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the walls. Amelie hesitated for a fraction of a second, the weight of the moment pressing against her chest. But then Rodrigo’s hands were on her again, his touch grounding her, and she let herself fall into the moment.

They moved together slowly, tentatively, as if they were learning each other for the first time. Rodrigo was gentle, his focus entirely on her, and Amelie tried to let herself sink into the moment, to push away the thoughts lingering in the back of her mind.

Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, Rodrigo’s arm draped over her waist as he pressed lazy kisses to her shoulder. Amelie stared at the ceiling, her body still, her mind racing. She wanted to feel happy, to feel the kind of love that Rodrigo clearly felt for her. But deep down, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was missing.

She turned her head to look at him, his face relaxed and content as he drifted toward sleep. He looked so peaceful, so certain of his feelings for her. And in that moment, Amelie made a silent promise to herself: she would try. She would try to move on, to leave the past where it belonged. Rodrigo deserved that, and maybe she did too.

But as she closed her eyes and tried to follow him into sleep, her mind betrayed her, conjuring an image of someone else—a pair of blue-green eyes and a crooked smile that had once been her whole world. She pushed the thought away, burying it deep as she pressed herself closer to Rodrigo.

It would get easier, she told herself. It had to.

-------------

liked by stelladayman, tchalamet, and others

ameliedayman: je pense que vous souffrez d'un manque de vitamine moi

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fanaticforyou23: Amelie in Paris with Rodrigo? Girl’s living a movie. 🎥✨ → ameliefanatic99: @fanaticforyou23 No fr, she’s the main character. Paris just hits different with her vibes. 💅

rodrigoriquelme: Cada día contigo es un sueño hecho realidad, mi amor. ❤️🌹 → ameliedayman: @rodrigoriquelme París contigo lo es todo, te amo. 🫶✨

hatersalert99: Another trip with Rodrigo? Can she chill for five minutes? 🙄

landoxfan88: Winter break in Paris? Lando must be shaking. 🤭 → ameliefan_queen77: @landoxfan88 Bro, Lando is in the past. Focus on the present. 😂

parisgirlboss21: She really said, "I’m gonna make Paris look better." The power. 😩🔥

rodrigolover24: Amelie doesn’t deserve Rodrigo. He’s too good for this "pop star" stuff. 🙄 → ameliequeen_77: @rodrigolover24 They’re literally thriving, stay bitter tho. 😂

victoriadayman: Mi niña, disfruten mucho su tiempo juntos. ❤️ ¡Cuídense del frío! → ameliedayman: @victoriadayman Gracias, mamá. Siempre te extraño. 🥰✨

wanderlustbaby29: STOP, her Paris fits are giving chic af. I’m crying. 😭🖤

haterenergy22: Another perfect trip. Do we ever see her actually work? 🥴 → amelie_stan69: @haterenergy22 Imagine hating from your couch while she’s thriving in Paris. Couldn’t be me. 💅

bestie_vibes99: The way she makes Paris look like a fairytale... I need her life for 5 minutes. 😩🌹

[jobean12-blog]

In It for the Long Ride

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (Biker!Joel AU)

Word Count: 1,656

Summary: Joel is out for the night and when he returns early and wants you to leave work and come home you know something isn't right.

Author's Note: Just because I love him and missed him and this seems like something that could really happen when you're with a biker. PS our sweet little black kitten Ink is here too- she's getting big and just loves Joel of course! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: soft and sweet fluff, little angst sprinkled in here and there, mentions of blood but very light

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Joel just text me that he’s here.”

You look at your friend Jade with worried eyes.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t he going to come in?” she asks.

“He said he can’t come in. He wants to know if I can leave now.”

“Of course you can babe,” Jade says quickly. “Dan and I will be fine tonight.”

“Are you sure…I don’t know what’s goin…”

“Don’t worry,” Jade assures you. “Just go to him. I’m sure everything is fine.”

You nod with a hard swallow and rush to the back to gather your things, texting Joel as you go that you’ll be right out.

Your legs are slightly shaky as you approach the door, a feeling of dread weighing you down with each step.

At first you don’t see him but then you hear the rev of his engine and your gaze is drawn to his bike. He’s parked across the street with his headlights off.

“Joel?” you question when you reach his bike.

He holds his arms out for you and you rush into them, burying your face in his neck.

“What’s going on?” you mumble into his skin.

“Let’s go home,” he says quietly.

You pull back to look at him and let out a gasp.

“Oh my god, what happened? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine darlin.’ Really I am. Just need a little help gettin’ cleaned up.”

Your eyes instantly well with tears and you lift your finger to gently brush it across his bruised cheek.

“Aw angel, no tears. I promise it’s nothin’.”

“But Joel…you’re bleeding and bruised…”

The tears roll down your cheeks, hot and wet, and his hands cup your face, thumbs sweeping across your skin to wipe them away.

“Are you ok to drive? Should we take the car? Do you need a doctor?”

Your questions come out in a rush and your voice is high pitched with worry.

He shakes his head no and the side of his mouth twitches with a smile.

“No. Just need you.”

You study him, your eyes lingering on his face until you whisper, “ok, let’s go home.”

He takes his helmet from the handlebars and secures it on your head before unzipping his leather jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“Let’s zip this up. It’s chilly tonight,” he says.

“Shouldn’t I be taking care of you?”

“You always do darlin’.”

He kisses you softly on the side of the mouth and then helps you onto the back of his bike.

The ride home is short, less than ten minutes, but in that time the wind picks up and sky opens up with rain.

As you near the house the headlights from his bike reflect off the growing puddles on the street and you shiver against his back.

He pulls over and kills the engine, holding out his hand for you to hop off. He tucks you protectively under his arm and walks you to the door.

“I hope you didn’t get too wet angel,” he says.

“I’m fine,” you say as you walk in and turn on the light.

You turn to him and fresh tears fill your eyes.

“Let me just get us towels and the first aid kit. Don’t move.”

You rush off to the bathroom just as Ink hops off the ledge of the front window. She meows at Joel and then starts to rub between his legs.

“Hey, you,” he says as he picks up the small black cat.

Her tiny pink nose delicately explores his chin before she reaches up with a paw and softly presses it to his cheek.

“Don’t be worried like your mama. I’m fine,” he tells the cat.

“She knows you’re hurt,” you say when you return and find the two of them standing by the door staring at each other.

You take his free hand and walk him toward the couch.

“You might have to set her down for a minute. I want to get your wet shirt off.”

He puts the cat down on the couch and then grabs the hem of his shirt.

“Wait,” you say quietly. “Let me. Please.”

He drops the material and looks at you with big brown eyes.

“Ok angel. Whatever you want.”

“Lift your arms,” you instruct him as you start to peel his shirt up and off.

Inch by inch his wet skin is revealed, his tattoos along with it and you find yourself inspecting every inch of him for more injuries before gently pressing the towel to his chest. You do nothing to hide your shameless perusal of him and he’s clearly enjoying it, his eyes sparkling and his lips turned up into a boyish smirk.

“Anything else hurt?”

“Nah, but you can keep checkin’ all ya want.”

He winks at you when you look up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Ok sit and tell me what happened.”

He sits with a plop and extends his arm to pet Ink while you start to work off his boots.

“I can do that angel, it’s no…”

When your eyes meet his he clamps his mouth shut, only opening it again to explain that some out of town biker gang had started some trouble with him and the boys. No of the boys were hurt more than some bumps, scrapes and bruises but the other guys weren’t as lucky.

“Thank goodness it wasn’t any worse,” you sigh. “I got so scared when you said you wanted me to come home and all. I figured you would come in and have a drink…”

“I know darlin.’ I’m sorry I scared you. I knew I couldn’t go in the bar lookin’ like this though.”

“It’s ok. Just promise me you’ll always be careful.”

“Always,” he whispers.

After you have his boots off and dry socks on you stand and straddle his lap, settling your knees on either side of his waist and taking a smaller towel to run through his hair.

You then comb your fingers through the wet strands and give it a slicked back style. He raises a brow when you smirk and drag your teeth over your bottom lip.

“What?” he asks.

“Looks really good.”

“Yeah angel? Even with the blood?”

“Somehow it makes it even hotter…but I’m still so upset you’re hurt.”

“I’m ok.”

“You keep saying that.”

“But I am darlin.’ Honestly, couldn’t be better at the moment.”

His hands slide along your thighs and then settle on your waist. He pulls you closer and runs his nose along the column of you neck to breathe you in.

“Don’t you dare,” you gasp. “I have to patch you up first.”

“Mm hm,” he murmurs as his lips press to your skin and his fingers dance higher.

You flatten your palms on his chest and give him a light shove, giggling when he looks at you with pouty lips.

After a soft kiss you get the first aid kit and start to clean the cut above his eye and the one on his lip. When you press the antiseptic to the wound he winces, leaving his eyes closed as you continue to carefully wipe each spot.

You inspect every area of his face, especially focusing on the skin beneath his beard, lovingly caressing the gray spots as you go. He relaxes into your touch and you let your fingers gently trace his features.

“All clean,” you whisper.

You hand him the small ice pack you got from the freezer. “Hold this on your cheek.”

“But my hands are busy,” he sighs.

His hands graze the skin beneath your shirt, calloused thumbs caressing the softness before they inch higher.

“You only need one hand for this,” you lightly chide.

His eyes pop open and he gives you a stern look. “Fine.”

You bat your lashes at him and wait until he has the ice pack pressed to his cheek.

“Just until I finish up.”

You put medicine on the cut above his eye and one butterfly stitch then clean up the dried blood on his knuckles.

“You must have gotten a pretty good punch in.”

You can see his muscles tense when you press the pad to his bruised knuckles.

“You bet I did angel,” he boasts. “And that’d be plural…punches.”

When you meet his eyes he winks again and throws you a smug grin.

You kiss it right off his lips then smudge some medicine on his knuckles. He immediately puts down the ice pack and places his hands back on your body.

“That could probably stay on a bit longer,” you tsk.

“Later,” he murmurs.

Ink walks along the back of the couch and sits herself down right behind Joel. She blinks at you several times then starts to swat at the curls of hair at the back of his neck.

“She likes them almost as much as I do,” you tease.

“She’s just wantin’ attention,” he grumbles. “Gets that from you too.”

You shoot him an incredulous glare and then give him one more once over.

“Think I did a pretty good job,” you state.

“I feel brand new,” he says as he drags you closer and smooths his hands along the curve of your back.

When your lips meet you’re mindful of his cut but he doesn’t seem to care at all and dances one hand higher until he grabs the back of your neck and kisses you harder.

He moans into your mouth and tugs at the hem of your shirt. Your hands delve into his damp hair and then slide down to his shoulders. His bare skin is warm and when you feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers you ease away and battle with the reminder of what happened, your eyes glassy.

His large hand cradles your cheek and he smooths his nose along your jaw, bringing his lips to your ear.

“Darlin’,” he coos. “It’s all right. I’m fine…let me prove it to you.”  

@hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @littleseasiren @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989

[thevalkyriesshadow]

Okay, so when I read this out loud, it went over the 7 min requirement for the erotica fanfic event LOL but only by 2 mins so I am working on whittling it down but...

Who wants some gwynriel alien smex?!

The cool night air blew in through Gwyn’s open window, its chilly touch a tantalizing caress across her skin.

Sleep was a little difficult tonight. The idea of needing to explore Azriel’s sexual anatomy for research made her…

Shy? No.

Nervous? Sure a little bit…

Wet? Yes. 

She felt the drip of it between her folds every time she thought about what Azriel might be hiding under his clothed pants. If his tail played a part. If touching his wings would make him cum immediately.

Flopping back on the bed, Gwyn turned her head, glancing at the paperwork on her bedside table. The questions in that packet were seared into her mind:

How do they procreate? 

Live births or eggs?

Do they have other extremities involved in their sexual interactions?

Please describe the genitalia. In detail.

The list went on. All these things that she would need to ask Azriel. 

Gods… images of her finger up his asshole while she asked him how his species procreated made her –

Well…horny as fuck.

A soft knock brought her out of her lewd musings. She sat up quickly. 

Who was knocking at her door at this hour?

She should’ve known, as she opened the door, that Azriel would be standing on the other side. His hair tousled about. Worry etched in his brow. As if he too had been tossing and turning in his bed

“Gw-yn.” His pronunciation of her name had gotten so much better after he’d been using the translation device over the past few weeks. Though Gwyn would attribute it to the vocal cord strengthening they’d been doing. Having him sing to warm them up was one of her best ideas yet.

“Azriel – hey.” 

Okay, it wasn’t outright strange to find Azriel here at her door so late in the night. They’d spend many nights telling each other stories. He would sprawl on her bed with his wings fanned out, his tail swinging slowly back and forth, and his head in her lap as she read him stories.

Something pulled in her gut, tugging lower and lower. Pooling deep in her core. A gut feeling that Azriel was here for one reason.

“May I – come in?” 

Gwyn nodded, stepping back to let him through. “Everything okay?” She asked.

Azriel stopped in the middle of her room before turning to face her. His shadows billowed about. The reflection of dark matter that followed him everywhere he went slid along the floor. Curled around Gwyn’s bare feet.

She blushed then, realizing she was in a sheer nightgown. 

Its hem barely skimming her upper thigh. 

Her peaked nipples were absolutely noticeable through the sheer fabric.

Azriel’s eyes did wander. Just a little. Until he pulled them back to her gaze. He swallowed and said, “I can not explain copulation.”

“Oh –”

“It needs to be experienced.”

Gwyn blinked, “Ex - perienced?”

He nodded. 

“Okay…so how do you propose –”

“You are scientist, Gw-yn. You know.” He closed the distance between them. His tail lazily swirling behind him. His wings flapped with excitement as he took a hold of her face. A gesture he’d done from the moment they met.

“You want me to experience it?” She asked, breathlessly.

“Yes.” His forehead rested on hers. Sharing a wave of his soothing vibrations. “I want to experience – with you.”

“Show me,” she said, the words tumbling from her lips. Before she could say another word, Azriel was moving her. Lifting her with scarred hands curled under her thighs, his fingers dangerously close to her throbbing center. She let out a ‘oof’ as Azriel deposited her on the bed.

He wasted no time. His hands traveled up her torso, sliding along the silky nightdress. “Beautiful,” he whispered, his purr rolling the last syllable in that alien way she could never achieve. His large form was over her a heartbeat later. Caging her in with thick, solid thighs and sinewy muscled arms.

She knew Azriel would take care of her, be gentle and loving and fuck her hard if that’s what she begged for. 

She also knew he’d stop if she asked. 

“If I say stop?”

“I stop.”

“If I say harder?”

His hand slid up her thigh as he said with a purr, “I make it harder.” Azriel ripped open his pants without warning. Causing Gwyn to gasp loudly and giggle nervously as she laid eyes on his cock for the first time.

His long, thich shaft jutted out, dark grey like the rest of him. Except for the upturned head which was a shade darker, flushed with the blood that filled his skin.

Gods! Where was all that supposed to go?!

Azriel tossed the shredded fabric of his pants to the side and plunged between her legs, wrenching them open with strong, wide hands.

Gwyn moaned and Azriel stilled at the sound. Never having heard her make such a lustful noise before. “Again,” he ordered. His hands continued to move while he stared right into her eyes. The moment his thumb ran along her glistening seam, she was gone, moaning like a feral animal. “Don’t stop. Gw-yn. Moan for me.”

And Gwyn moaned. She whined and giggled as the tip of Azriel’s godsdamned tail slid along her center and – oh gods it was already coated in a lubricant.

“Self…lubricating?” She asked, panting. The tip of his tail flicked against her clit and holy gods above and below! His tail played with her entrance, mixing their slick. Spreading it around and around…

She nearly came from him just prepping her.

Then his tail ventured further. Towards her tight asshole which suddenly felt like it needed to be filled.

“Have you ever – ?”

“Yes –” she panted, “Many times…” Azriel smiled at that and then his tail pushed against her puckered entrance…

Gwyn’s head fell back against the pillow as the tip of his tail probed and pushed. Working her open.

Again when she thought she would come, Azriel stopped and leaned over her. The head of his cock pressing into her folds. Gwyn’s legs fell further open, her body aching and bowing for him. He rubbed the tip up and down, working his hand along his shaft. When he touched her skin again, she felt the slickness.

“Your penis is self-lubricating too?” 

He chuckled, “It is.”

“Fuck me –” 

And he did. Gods does he fuck her. His too large cock slid into her tight, warm cunt with ease. Pushing past her pulsating walls. His tail continued to work her asshole until he could enter her with ease. His now free hand plays with her breasts. Squeezing and pulling her nipples. Massaging them in his greedy touch. 

It was an overload of sensation.  Her asshole tickled and teased. Her pussy filled to that point of blissful pain as he rocks slowly into her. Canting his hips until he’s sitting deep inside her.

Just as she wishes he’d touch her clit, something hard rests against her entire cunt. The pressure of it surrounding her clit and too stretched walls.

Gwyn looked down and –

“Fuck!” She cried. The hard hood that had formed around the base of Azriel’s cock began to vibrate. Sending her straight into her first orgasm. The waves hit her suddenly and with force. Rocking her from the inside out.

“Yes…louder, Gw-yn.”

His hips moved faster, slamming into her. His vibrating hood massaged her deeply. His tail finally breached her puckered hole and he filled her completely. 

Wholly and fully. 

“Oh fuck…oh fuck – oh gods Azriel!” She came again. Shuttering in his hold as he rode her through it. Harder and faster. Going deeper with every plunge. 

Just as she was pushed to her breaking point, Azriel stilled, holding all his extremities inside her he asked her something she never thought she'd be asked, “Can I implant my egg inside you?”

“You have eggs?”

“Yes. Males carry them and deposit a singular one into the females and -”

“Will it…hatch?” she asked, cutting him off. The need to release another orgasm was building and this conversation was taking way too long…

“If I ejaculate my seed while it is in your cervix and they take hold, yes.”

A strange, warm feeling filled her. The need to be filled not only with his cum, but with his egg too had her writhing beneath him. 

“Fuck it,” she blurted. “Do it. For – science. Now Azriel…do it now!” Her walls clenched her body shaking as his cock hit her so deep she could feel it as the tip opened against her cervix and –

“Holy gods…oh gods oh gods ohhhhhh” 

She felt the egg as it traveled through his ovipositing dick. Squeezing past her vaginal opening then pressing with an almighty force deep inside her. 

It was pain and pleasure all in one and gods she was addicted.

She bellowed as she came, scratching at Azriel’s back, clenching herself around any part of him she could reach - and she saw stars and flashes of light and tingling sensation flowing through her all at once.

She hadn't realized she'd been screaming his name until she was coming down from her high.

Azriel stayed sheathed inside her, his cum still filling her. Coating the egg. 

Settling against her, he rubbed her temple with his scarred thumbs and whispered, “Does that help to fill out your packet?”

Gwyn nodded. “Mhmmm,” was all she could manage as she tried to remember how to speak.

“Did I break you?” True concern flashed across his face.

“No, well…maybe in a good way,” she mumbled.

Azriel smiled. His hazel eyes lighting up, “Good. I'd be sad if I did.”

Gwyn giggled, then moaned as the movement stirred another wave of heat inside her.

“So…wanna go again?”

Azriel answered her with a deep, longing kiss. And they went again…and again…and again…

Sooo that was my first time writing alien smut 👽 let me know how I did! 🤭 also I know the foursome won the poll, but when I read it out loud, it doesn't hit as good as reading it in my head/with the whole chapter. But I have time to decide so we shall see!

[roamingleaf]

"Dormant Demons"

Tw: Somno, St@lking, R@pe, Breeding, Freeuse

The first time I broke into your room, it was calculated. After what seemed like an eternity in weeks of observing, nay, studying that marvelous little frame. Where you went, what you eat, who you're with, right down to when you went to sleep. If I'm to be honest I hated when you went out with your male friends. But, I bided my time all the same. Tonight, I intended on making use of my research notes; once the clock struck half past 1 am your slender, well-tuned, canvas was already tightly tucked in with a one way ticket to Dreamland.

As if your windows wished to betray you, they quietly glided themselves up and opened with but a mere coaxing of my fingers. Slinking softly between that once barricaded gateway my feet all but tip-toed hurriedly to the edge of your bed for a closer inspection of my sleeping beauty. From your awaiting bedside my hands couldn't contain their excitement any longer. Both of them raced to the weighted, warm, blanket that kept my trophy safely wrapped up from the chilly autumn wind that was now rushing through the opened window. Once two handfuls of that blanket had been acquired, down it would be peeled. Slowly though, for this unwrapping must be done delicately, vigilantly, and above all else, carefully.

Not enough to disturb that peaceful rest, no, that would be silly. In no time at all that hand quilted, heavy blanket found itself resting at the door steps of your supple, voluptuous hips for I had grown tired of the long tease. Weeks, hours, and seconds of planning were all about to be rewarded. I needed you; Like a human needed breath, you were the air about to fill my lungs. As all these thoughts swirled in my mind, my instincts took charge and guided me between the weighted shroud of your bed to lay right behind you. It was all so overwhelming at first, the smell of your nightly shampoo, the soft mixtures of the weighted fabric cover, the aroma from your nightly ritual of creams and lotions. What predator in the stalking savanna would have been able to resist this concoction of lust?

If only you could understand how amazing it felt as my arms finally got the chance they pined for over this agonizing week. Finally, they would feel the royal silken embrace of your flawless figurine pressed against them as they calmly crawled along the well curved hillside you hailed as hips. Though, I couldn't comprehend the lack of panties that careless canvas had forgotten. Such a naive, naughty, victim. This was only one of the plenty of reasons why I picked you from the crowd of all the other girls. You're just the way I like my trophy to be.

With each slithering step my fingers started to take around and down your snowfall soft navel you had unintentionally gotten me started. The further south my fingers slipped, the more your serene, hushed body pressed back further into me. Till I could finally feel it, your squeezable, curved, peach pressed against my tightening jeans. That need for you was swiftly evolving into an unhealthy obsession. There was this lingering, growing hunger that had awoken the moment I first laid eyes on you; now, with you lined up against my shaft I was going to feast upon this bunny like a rabid wolf. What truly intrigued me the most, was those babbling little whispers you eeked out in your dreams.

Did you know I was behind you baby? Did you know I was about to claim you as my own? Or, were you happy to finally be lost in rest after your finals? Had exhaustion taken control of you so much that you couldn't even register a monster in sheep's clothing? Either way, that cacophony of cozy cooing would be the final encouragement for my shaft to find itself slowly pushing inside your tight pussy. Once the entry to your supple, alluring, cove was penetrated my once wandering palms tightly grasped to your hips to hold that slumbering frame in place to receive a proper reshaping.

There was no telling how much time had been spent lost inside the clutching waves of your slippery lake, but, no sooner did your otherworldly frame start to stir from dreamland did your moans take center stage to drown out the creaks of the bed. Even with the firm grasp from one of my palms keeping those lips shut, nothing could bring absolute silence to that sirens call. The neighbors would know you belonged to.

I'm sure if I were in my right state of mind, the amount of guilt I would feel as I drunkenly listened to your muffled plea and cries would have made me sick to my stomach. However, whatever hex you had placed upon me only made me more feral the more you cried for it to end. This was your fault. Don't try and blame me for it now.

-🪶

[tired-teacher-blog]

Is it fair that I haven't written anything Shouto related in months– even though he's one of my absolute favorites? No, no it's not, so here is a little silly something to make up for it.

It's one of those chilly nights..

The falling snow is moving in rhyme with the playful wind outdoors, tapping on the giant glass of your living room window before succumbing downward to join the beautiful cottony carpet that's covering the roads outside.

You sigh contentedly and shift your eyes from the mesmerizing sight to focus on the heavenly one right before your nose.

_ "Isn't this amazing?" your whispered words pierce the quiet atmosphere surrounding you, but they don't seem to startle the man laying on top of your relaxed form.

_ "It is, I don't even want to move at all." and you can faintly sense the curve of his lips against your neck as he breathes the reply.

_ "We don't have to, we can sleep here if you want." your fingers move through his soft bicolor hair, brushing it away from his handsome face.

You bite down on your lip to stifle a giggle when you realize how impractical your suggestion is, because as big and comfortable as it is, this poor sofa was not made to contain your boyfriend's giant stature, though he doesn't seem to share your concern as he humms in agreement before nuzzling you deeper.

You gently caress his broad shoulders and back, relishing the feeling of his flexing muscles beneath your touch as he hugs you tighter.

His fair skin is concealed under a long sleeve cotton shirt, but you are aware -more than anyone else- of every single cut, burn and scar he has acquired over the years of being a hero, after all, you've always been the one treating his injuries after every single mission.

You kiss the top of his head affectionately, once, twice, thrice, and a couple more times because you simply cannot get enough of this man, your man.

He's big and heavy, almost knocking the air out of your lungs while trapping you beneath his weight, but you don't mind it at all, there is nowhere else you would rather be but right here with him, tucked away from everyone else.

It's a simple thought and a simpler wish, and the breathy laughter it has brought out of you is hard to miss.

_ "What's going on?" he props his chin against your chest and looks up at you with curious mismatched irises, though an adorable grin has already found its way to his lips as he anticipated your response.

_ "It's nothing, I'm just thinking how lucky I am to have you."

He is caught off guard by your words, and the wide blinky eyes staring back at you are proof of that.

He is cute, always has been to you, especially when as lost as he is right now, stirring you up to the point where you cannot help but cradle his cheeks and bring his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

_ "I love you, you know that?" he murmurs huskily before leaning back a bit to gaze into your eyes.

The warmth of his words is spreading throughout your body to leave a blissful tingle behind, and your fingertips are tracing his handsome features to linger over the burn scar surrounding his left eye.

You smile widely as you recall the first time you kissed him there, right on the mark reaching halfway down his cheek.

Back then, he was as surprised with your action as he is tonight with your random confession, but he didn't hate the feeling of your soft lips on his scarred skin one bit, in fact, it was the salve he didn't even know he needed.

_ "I love you too, Shouto."

[leviscolwill]

i know i'm annoying, and i deeply apologise for that. but you have no idea how happy it'd make me if you wrote for ferran. I KNOW, i am a mad woman, i am aware..

i would die for this prompt

dialogue 9 : "are you wearing chapstick?"

i love you

cherry flavoured conversations ★

pairing: childhood bsf!ferran x reader

note: my lovely zowa, this is my first time writing for ferran, it’s quite short but i hope you’ll still like it. i love u so very much xx

now playing cherry flavoured by the neighbourhood…

winter holidays at the torres’ family house were always fun. you got to spend two entire weeks with your best friend and both your families, and your only concern was whether you should go ice skating, sledging, or just spend the day by the fireplace watching movies.

on the other hand, this time of the year was the hardest for you to hide your ever-growing feelings for your best friend. it was becoming increasingly harder to pretend you didn't feel anything past friendship while he was by your side pretty much 24/7.

it was one of those chilly nights, and you were having dinner with your families. ferran immediately got up when arantxa asked you to bring dessert to the table. his gentleman manners taking over, even though you clearly didn't need any help with the task.

ferran noticed you were significantly quieter than usual during dinner, lost in your own thoughts. your feelings were eating you alive, his smile, the sparkle in his eyes whenever he was talking to you only made your thoughts grow louder, and the irrevocable need to grab his shoulders and scream ‘can’t you see how much you mean to me?’ was only getting stronger.

his hand met yours before you could grab the plate, your eyes instinctively met his, filled with worry. “what did i do wrong y/n?”

ferran’s eyes didn't leave yours for a second, desperately searching for an answer in them. his hand was still on yours, his thumb drawing small circles on your skin.

“you didn't do anything wrong, i’m just feeling down tonight. please don’t worry fer.” from the look he gave you, you could tell he knew there was something else going on, but he didn't add a word.

when his eyes finally left yours, you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding, and noticed his eyes focused somewhere else; the ceiling.

ferran’s gaze fell back on you. he let go of your hand to point at where he was staring, right above the two of you.

mistletoe. you could tell it had been taped to the ceiling not so long ago, and you already had an idea of who was behind this idea. and what a cruel idea that was, what if ferran just outwardly expressed his disgust at the mere thought of kissing you? you didn't know if you’d be able to hold back the tears if it happened.

his hand tilted your chin up to make your eyes meet once again. his face was dangerously close to yours, so close you could count every beauty mark, every freckle on the face you adored.

“we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” his voice was soft, almost whisper-like. if you were to kiss, which ferran really wanted, he wished to share this moment with you and not with both your families eavesdropping on you like they always did around you.

unable to find the words to answer him, you stood on your tiptoes to close the gap between your lips. softly at first, afraid he would vanish into thin air like when you’d wake up from another vivid dream with him as the main character.

but none of that happened. ferran’s grip on your jaw only got tighter. yet his touch was still loving, just enough strength to show his yearning for you. when you finally pulled back from his enticing hold, ferran had a puzzled look on his face.

“are you wearing chapstick? it tastes like…” ferran licked his lips, trying to guess the flavour of your chapstick still lingering on his own lips.

he took the opportunity to kiss you again, lips meeting yours once again in a quick peck. “raspberry?”

you shake your head, faking a disappointed expression on your face. “cherry, close enough though.”

“can i get another cherry kiss before going back?” this unexpected chain of events almost made you forget what you were here for in the first place. you grabbed the plate, before kissing the corner of ferran's mouth. which brought a frown on his face, before remembering he’ll get other opportunities to get a better taste of your chapstick later.

when you both stepped back to the dining room, arantxa looked at you both with a knowing look before winking at you, not trying to hide her implication in the mysterious case of the mistletoe. while your parents were still in a deep conversation. unaware of the moment you just shared, the heat rushing on your face and ferran’s beet-red ears.