#I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense

[okwonyo]

ONLY YOU, MY GIRL ★ only you, babe.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝟏𝟕𝟏𝟏𝒾──── enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡ ⠀

𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦

HEESEUNG

holds your bag for you. he is always ready to do anything and everything for his sweet angel. when you go out together, he doesn’t want you to be bothered by your bag, especially if you are holding stuffs as well. therefore, in the proof of his devotion of you, he holds your bag whenever you are out. it has came to the point where he chooses his outfit that matches with the bag you are wearing that day.

take care of your appearance. not that you need to have anything changed about it. however, whenever he notices that your shirt is put in a weird way or when you have one of your eyelashes that fell onto your eye, it his mission to take the matter into his own hands. his favorite thing to do is to tuck a wild hair strand behind your ear when your hair is up in a cute ponytail.

shuts up as soon as you tell him. listen, what else can he do, really? heeseung tends to be very flirty, very chatty. you tend to get shy so easily. and when he starts to tease you with his flirting, your first reflex is to be a tad mean to him. “heeseung, shut up, i will hit you,” you tell him, pushing him away from you weakly. your tone is cold, yet the man giggles like a teenager and does shut up immediately.

JAY

praises you all the time. he can’t control it. he notices so much things about you— and he is always in awe of everything that you have, everything that you do. sometimes he praise you for the bare minimum, for eating lunch or taking a nap. he likes to pat your head ever so gently without ever forgetting to add, “good girl,“ and a kiss on your forehead while you blush.

puts on your shoes for you, even if you insist that you don’t need to. your boyfriend’s chivalry goes over the roof and he feels the uncontrollable need of always taking care of you. therefore, when you get ready to go out and he notices your shoes in your hands, he is quick to snatch them away from you and get on one knee. you always laugh at him, assuring that he doesn’t need to. “but i want to.”

doesn’t let you pay for anything. it’s really the first thing you noticed about him. at your first date, he payed for the dinner while you went to the bathroom. he did it at the second, the third and at every date you had since then. his habit extended to daily life; his card is the one registered on every shopping site you like, he slides it in your purse whenever you tell him that you want to go shopping and he buys even the smallest thing you mention.

JAKE

walks on the roadside. of course, he know basic gentleman actions. when you walk on the sidewalks, he makes sure that he is always walking on the side next the cars, the roadside. he doesn’t know why, it’s just a sense of urgency, an alarm that goes off, an unspoken rule. he slides his hand on your waist whenever you are walked where you are not supposed to, he moves to the side, “stay there, my love,” he tells you.

brings you breakfast in bed. it’s a lovely habit of his that you are always so surprised to witness. every few weeks, jake’s soft lips place kisses on your skin in the hope of waking you up. nothing new, that’s how he usually gets you out of slumber. but when you open your eyes, he has your pink apron on and proud smile on his face, “good morning, princess. i bring you breakfast.”

let’s you sit on his lap. he doesn’t let you, he actually wants you to be there very much. it makes him smile, whenever there is plenty of room, many seats where you can sit— even right next to him. yet, you decide to sit on his lap every single time. jake let’s you, without complaining. even if he is holding something in his hand or if he is busy talking to a friend. his girlfriend wants to sit? he’s eager to serve her.

SUNGHOON

lifts you up as much as you want it. your boyfriend is strong, stronger than anyone you have ever known. he can pick you off the floor without any effort needed. most of the time, the worlds doesn’t need to leave the barrier of your lips, he just knows. he holds you bridal style, like the princess you are to get up those stairs. he is happy to hop you over his shoulder to go to bed when you are too lazy to walk. a eyelashes bat is all it takes to get a piggyback ride out of him.

he is always so gentle with you. it is something so subtitle yet so important. your lover, despite his impressive frames and sculpted muscles is the most gentle person you have ever know. he holds your so softly, as if you were the most fragile porcelain doll he has ever seen. he takes you in his arms, presses you against his chest when he hugs you with such a care that it makes you want to cry everytime.

gives you the first bite of his food. it’s natural to him, when his food is served— when his dishes his different from yours— he takes his spoon, takes a bit of what is in his plate and guides it to your mouth. it’s not that he absolutely needs your opinion on it, although it’s better, he just feels like you should always have the first bite of his food: because he loves you that much.

SUNOO

gives you his jacket. he has seen many movies before; about a lot of different subjects, and about romance especially. he has seen that scene where the man gives his jacket to the woman he likes when she is cold. when he does it for you, when he takes off his precious jacket to drape it on your shoulder, he understands why it’s such a romantic gesture. loving you enough to know when you are slightly cold is his favorite thing about himself.

he hugs you when you are embarrassed. sunoo finds it adorable, how easy it is to tease you, how simple it is to make you shy. he is not a the type to tease, he never was, but there is something about the way you blush whenever he gets too playful for your heart. he especially adores when you hide your face in the crook of your neck out of shyness and he is alway happy to welcome you in his arms.

helps you take off your coat or shoes. he is surprised by his own actions— acting like such a knight in shining armor is something new to him. yet, it becomes one of his habit so naturally. whenever you come back home, he is quick to get behind you and take your coat off your shoulders as you sigh heavily. he even gets on his knees to help you take off your shoes. his reward is getting kissed by such a sweetheart like you.

JUNGWON

holds the umbrella for you. “babe,” he says, his nose facing the sky. his eyes squint as he feels droplets on his skin. he is always so fast to open his umbrella, as if he knew the weather like the back of his hand, “come here.” he tells you, although he is already holding the umbrella above your head. you tell him to get under it too, but he refuses, claiming that there is not enough space for the both of you.

brings you flower. jungwon is a little extra, perhaps. he doesn’t send your favorite flowers to wherever you may be at the moment. he goes out of his way to be able to give them to you in person, in the utmost need of seeing your smile when you receive them and to feel the joy that your lips on his own makes him feel.

his first priority is you. you are aware that your boyfriend’s life is full, that he is a very wanted and wanted man. never you have excepted for him to put anything but his work the priority in his life— which is why you are always taken aback when he proves you otherwise. he is alway there for you. whether you are sick or just feeling a bit down, he puts everything on the side to be there for you. “i’ll be home in a few, sweetheart, wait for me.”

RIKI

let’s you put cute things in his hair. if there is one thing he dislikes, it’s definitely pink. he doesn’t really know since when it started, but he doesn’t like that color anymore. but if there is one thing he likes, loves even, the it’s you—therefore, yes, he lets you put your sanrio hair clips and pink ribbons in his hair. he keeps them until you tell him he can take them off, and honestly, he is starting to like these in his hair.

goes shopping with you. when you bring your boyfriend to your shopping session, you pretty much just drag him all around the mall as much as you want. during your shopping spree, he is destined to do a lot of things; such as being a tester for the makeup, the perfume and the skincare. he doesn’t mind doing all of these stuffs honestly, because he gets to be with you. he serves you with all his heart, his hands full of your snacks and shopping bags.

shares his jewelry with you. riki values his dressing a lot, as the fashion lover he is. and the favorite thing about making an outfit is adding accessories. he cherishes his jewels a lot and you admire his collection the most. of course, he knows how much you like his rings, it’s obvious whenever you stare at his hands. “give me your hand,” he chuckles, taking off one of the rings on his hand. he slides it on your finger with a sweet smile. “now, we match.”

분지 ܃ i’m very tired so this is um.. but i hope you still enjoyed and i will try to post something better soon 💌

© 𝖮𝖪𝖶𝖮𝖭𝖸𝖮 ୨୧ 𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟓 ── taglist open 。

[mintyys-blog]

Got any HCs of the Variants +Main Mark with a virgin reader (⌯˃̶᷄ ﹏ ˂̶᷄⌯)ﾟ♡ ♡

Love the new theme btw •̀.̫•́✧

HEADCANONS | variants with s/o is a virgin

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS:

MAIN MARK

Mark notices right away that you’re new to all of this. It’s in the way you hesitate when things get intimate—the soft, uncertain pauses when you try to express yourself, the shy glances that betray your inexperience. Instead of overwhelming you, he wraps you in a gentle patience.

He’d always say, “Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere.” He makes sure that every touch is comforting rather than intrusive, guiding you slowly and explaining what he’s doing, even when the topic is as personal as love or intimacy. Every time you ask, “Is this okay?” or murmur that you’re nervous, he reassures you with a warm smile and careful words, “You’re perfect just as you are, and I’ll always be here to protect you.”

In quiet moments after a long conversation about your past hurts—and how you’re scared of losing yourself in love again—he’d hold you close, patiently letting you open up. His actions speak louder than any grand declaration; he makes sure you always feel safe enough to grow, to learn, and ultimately, to trust him with all of you.

With Mark, being inexperienced isn’t a flaw—it’s something he cherishes, because it reminds him that love is about being gentle, supportive, and true.

MOHAWK MARK

Mark clocks it instantly. You don’t have to say a word—he picks up on the nervous laughs, the flustered reactions when things get a little suggestive, the way your eyes dart away when he leans in too close.

At first, he finds it kind of amusing—teasing comes naturally to him. He’ll smirk and throw in a, “Damn, baby… you’re cute when you get all shy like that,” just to see the way you squirm. But he never pushes too far. He might be rough around the edges, but he’s not cruel.

Once he realizes that you’re a virgin, something shifts in him. He dials it back—not because he’s afraid of messing up, but because he doesn’t want to ruin it for you. He wants to be the one who shows you how good it can be, not just physically, but emotionally too.

He’s protective in a big way—like, “You don’t gotta know everything right now, I’ll teach you,” kind of way. He’d take pride in being your first, not in a possessive or boastful sense, but because it means you trusted him. And he doesn’t take that lightly.

You’d catch him watching you sometimes with this soft look that doesn’t match his usual cocky energy. Like he’s wondering how someone like you ended up with someone like him. And when things get serious, he’ll take his time, murmuring in your ear, “Just tell me what feels good, baby. I got you.” It’s still Mark, so the teasing never really stops—but it’s always wrapped in care.

SINISTER MARK

Mark doesn’t flinch when he realizes you’re a virgin. It doesn’t change the way he talks to you, touches you, or pulls you into his orbit. If anything, it just confirms something he already suspected.

He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t slow down. He’s not the type to ask how you feel—he’ll watch you squirm, flushed and nervous under his gaze, and smirk like it’s a game he’s already won.

“You’ve never done this before?” he’d say, voice dripping in amusement, brushing a finger along your jaw just to see you shiver. “That explains a lot.”

He doesn’t change, but that doesn’t mean he’s reckless. Mark is calculated. He wants to ruin you, but slowly—completely. He’ll overwhelm you on purpose, just to watch how you react. Not cruelly, not violently—just with an edge that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s seducing you or studying you like prey.

He’s not patient, but he’s attentive. He reads you like a book. Every sound, every twitch of hesitation—he uses it. Turns it into a reason to keep going.

And when you cling to him, desperate and unsure, he’ll lean in, lips brushing your ear with a smug whisper: “You’re mine now. And you’ll never want anyone else after this.”

It’s not about comforting you. It’s about owning the fact that he’ll be the one burned into your memory forever.

OMNI MARK

Mark can tell you’re a virgin from the way you hesitate under his gaze. The way your fingers fidget, the way you avoid eye contact when things start to get serious. And though he’s powerful, brutal, and often cold to the world—this is different.

He’s not soft, not exactly. But he does adjust.

At first, he’s quiet. His eyes narrow slightly, watching your every reaction like he’s trying to decode you. “You’ve never been with anyone?” he asks, voice low—not judgmental, but serious, heavy with implication.

When you nod, maybe embarrassed or uncertain, he doesn’t mock or tease. He processes it.

Because to Mark, that means one thing: you’re his first. And that’s something he won’t take lightly.

He becomes meticulous—almost reverent in the way he touches you. There’s intensity in every motion, like he’s claiming new territory, like he’s making sure no one else will ever be remembered. He teaches with purpose, with control, with the kind of unshakable dominance that says you’re safe because you’re with me.

“You don’t have to worry,” he’ll say, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close like you’re the most delicate thing in the universe—his delicate thing. “I’ll take care of everything.” Mark isn’t tender, but he’s intentional. And in his own way, he makes sure that the first time isn’t just unforgettable—it’s unmistakably his.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Mark doesn’t blink when he realizes you’re a virgin. If anything, he expected it. On Viltrum, strength and purity are often intertwined—so the idea that you’re untouched? To him, it’s not strange. It’s almost… honorable.

He sees it as a standard. A natural expectation. You’re his mate—why wouldn’t you have waited for him?

When you tell him—or when he figures it out—he doesn’t react with surprise or teasing. He just hums, nods once, and says something like, “Good. Then no one else will have touched you but me.”

And it’s not possessive in the way humans understand. It’s Viltrumite logic. A biological and emotional claim. To him, your inexperience isn’t a weakness—it’s a sign that you belong to him fully. Mind, body, and future.

When it comes time to be intimate, he doesn’t rush. He’s intense, yes—always—but there’s something almost ceremonial about the way he treats you. He’s firm, instructive, and attentive to every sound you make. If you hesitate, he simply says: “ I’ll teach you. You have nothing to fear.”

He moves with precision, power, and restraint, watching your reactions with a sharp eye, adjusting his pace, his grip, the rhythm—because for all his dominance, he doesn’t want to break you. He wants to mold you.

And when it’s over, when you’re curled against him, flushed and dazed, he presses a kiss to your shoulder and murmurs something quiet—barely audible over his breath: “You were made for me.”

PRISONER MARK

Mark is definitely surprised when he finds out you’re a virgin. Not in a mocking way—but more like: “Wait… seriously?” Like he genuinely didn’t see it coming.

You’re bold. You flirt. You kiss like you mean it. So when things start heating up and you get a little hesitant—he notices. At first he thinks maybe you’re just nervous, but when you finally admit it, his brows shoot up and he stares at you in disbelief.

“No way… all this time? And you’re untouched?” He’s grinning now. So smug.

You expect him to tease you—and okay, he does a little. He leans in close, voice low and cocky: “Damn, I must be doing something right if I’m your first.”

But what you don’t expect is the way his teasing fades into something softer. Not gentle—he’s not soft in that way—but careful. He might be rough around the edges, but once he knows, he switches up. Slows down. Checks in without making it obvious. His touches still burn, but he’s more focused, almost… reverent.

And when you’re under him, wide-eyed and clinging to him, he kisses your cheek and mutters: “You trust me with this?”

You nod. You’re already halfway in love with him, even when he’s frustrating and intense. He doesn’t say it back. Not yet. But the way he holds you afterward—arm locked around your waist, lips against your shoulder—says enough.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

omg i need a dark bucky fic but one where accidentally reader without knowing utters one of the code/trigger words to activate the winter soldier. maybe some smut then angst then aftercare? idk

Don’t Say It Again » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Beefy/Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You accidentally say one of the trigger words that activates the Winter Soldier without knowing it and Bucky makes it very clear to you that you should never speak of any of those words.

Warnings: Darkish, Smut (18+), Angst, Fluff ending, language, darkish!Bucky, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, Sergeant kink, metal arm kink, choking, degradation, aftercare, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

A/N #2: This is my first time writing something dark. My apologies if it doesn’t meet the standards of dark fics. Just know I’m trying and please don’t judge the way I write dark fics.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Bucky was in the living room, relaxing and reading a book while you were scrolling through your phone next to him. You had a blanket draped over your lap. You shivered a bit when you felt a chill in the apartment. You threw the blanket off of you and put your phone on the coffee table.

“I’m going to turn up the furnace a bit.” You say softly, walking over to the thermostat.

Bucky’s head shot up when you said furnace. He bookmarked the page he’s on in the book he’s reading and shut it, tossing it onto the coffee table. He stood up from the couch and made his way to you.

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky asks, standing closely behind you.

You yelped at your boyfriend’s sudden presence. You turned around to see Bucky standing behind you. You looked up at him due to the height difference between you and him.

“I was just saying I was going to turn up the furnace a bit.” You say softly.

Bucky grabbed your arm, leading you to the bedroom. He closed and locked the door behind him. His right hand grasped your jaw, squishing your cheeks to get you to look him in his eyes. His blue eyes are now dark.

“You’re gonna learn why you shouldn’t be saying that word.” He says darkly.

You nodded, feeling submissive. His hand let go of your jaw. He brought his metal hand up to your neck, rubbing his fingers across your collarbones before wrapping his hand around your throat and squeezed it. Not enough to cut off your airway or hurt you. Just enough to choke you with a soft firm grip. Bucky yanked you towards him and kissed you roughly. You moaned against his lips.

You could sense Bucky was mad about something, but you couldn’t figure out was he was mad about. He gets rough and aggressive when he’s pissed off about something. Sometimes he gets rough and aggressive during sex, which you don’t mind, because Bucky takes very good care of you afterwards.

“Take your fucking clothes off before I rip them off.” Bucky mutters lowly.

You nodded as he took his metal hand away from your throat. Instead of risking angering your boyfriend even more, you stripped your clothes off as fast as you could and left yourself completely naked in front of him.

“Bed, now.” He demands.

You quickly got on the bed, laying on your back and propped yourself up on your elbows. Bucky didn’t waste any time stripping himself of his clothes. His cock is hard and leaking with precum. He forcefully spread your legs so he could settle himself in between them. Bucky put his right hand on the middle of your chest and pushed you back against the bed so you were propped up on your elbows anymore.

Bucky lewdly spit on your pussy before rubbing it in with his cock, smearing it with your slick and his precum. A soft moan fell from your lips. Without warning, Bucky slid his whole cock in your pussy. A small whimper fell from your lips at the stretch from his cock.

“Quit your fucking whining. You’re fine.” He says.

Bucky wrapped his metal hand around your throat again when he started thrusting. His thrusts are rough and fast. You wrapped your hand around his metal wrist for something to hold onto. He swatted your hand away with his right hand.

“Hands above your head.” He orders.

You rose your arms above your head, resting them on the pillow around your head. Bucky put his right hand around both of your wrists, holding them together. You glanced up and tried wiggling your wrists out of his grip just to see how tight his grip is.

“Stop fucking moving.” He says.

You stopped wiggling your wrists and listened to him. You stared up at Bucky, seeing that his blue eyes are now lust filled. You were too focused on Bucky fucking you that you didn’t realize he was talking. Please was quickly taking over you that you couldn’t tell if he was talking out loud to himself or talking to you.

“Out of all words, you had to say one of those words.” Bucky said, referring to the trigger words that turns him into the Winter Soldier. “Were you trying to turn me into him?” He asks.

You shook your head frantically, but that wasn’t enough for Bucky.

“Use your big girl words.” He almost growls, slight tightening his grip on your throat with his metal hand.

“I’m- I’m not trying to turn you in- into him!” You stuttered and moaned.

“Then why did you say it?” He asks, pulling your head up towards him so your face was close to his.

“I-I don’t know!” You whimpered.

Bucky scoffed like you were lying. You knew the word furnace was one of the words that turns him into the Winter Soldier, but you swear that wasn’t your intention. You just weren’t thinking about the trigger words when you said it.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and not say it again?” He asks.

“Yes!” You squeaked out.

Bucky looked in your eyes to make sure you weren’t lying. He then loosened his grip on your throat with his metal hand. His metal hand held your throat loosely as he fucked you.

His thrusts sped up, fucking you at a brutal pace. You were loving it. Even though you’re most likely going to be sore afterwards, it’s totally worth it. You could feel your orgasm building up the faster Bucky fucked you. You weren’t sure how much longer you were going to last at this pace.

“Bucky, I’m-” You were cut off when Bucky’s metal hand gave your throat a squeeze.

“You gonna cum, doll face?” Bucky asks.

You nodded your head yes.

“That’s too fucking bad.” He said in a mocking voice. “You’re not cumming till I do, understand?” He says.

You gave him a nod. That wasn’t good enough for Bucky. He gave your throat another squeeze.

“Use your big girl words.” He says.

“Yes.” You finally say.

“Yes, what?” He asks.

“Yes Sergeant.” You say submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises.

You whimpered softly, not sure how much longer you can hold on. It’s not as long as you thought, because Bucky’s orgasm was building up as well.

“Sarge, please!” You whined.

“Hold it.” Bucky pants.

Bucky came after a few more thrusts, fucking his cum in you.

“Cum.” He says.

Your orgasm was so intense that your legs began to tremble as you came, moaning his name loudly. Bucky fucked you through your orgasm. His thrusts came to a stop after a short moment. He collapsed on top of you, being careful to not accidentally crush you. Both of you were panting.

“Are you ok?” Bucky asks after a few minutes.

“Yes.” You answered.

Bucky sat upright and pulled out of you, his cum leaking out of your pussy. He went to the bathroom to run a bath for the both of you. He came back to the bedroom and picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bathroom, helping you get in the bathtub since your legs feel like jelly at the moment. He got in the bathtub and sat down behind you. You leaned into his touch.

“Are you mad at me for saying one of those words?” You asked.

“I was, but I’m not anymore.” Bucky answers.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized.

“You don’t have to apologize, babydoll. Just don’t say it again.” He says softly, kissing your lips softly.

-Bucky’s Doll

[whump-galaxy]

The whumpee intentionally breaks something of the carewhumper’s to get their attention. The carewhumper goes deathly quiet, staring at the pieces on the ground.

As the seconds tick by, the whumpee begins to regret their choice. They wonder if the carewhumper will finally drop the caring act.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: john has a bad habit of running his mouth, especially during a sparring lesson — after taking it too far, he makes it up to you in more ways than one.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.2K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), john is a bit of an asshole, sparring lesson turned sexual, lots of banter, shower sex, teasing, cocky john, begging, making out, hair pulling kink, john walker’s praise kink, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), john is a certified munch, handjob, light face riding, suggestive ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: y’all do not understand how OBSESSED I am with him! like I love writing for him! this was based on a request I received! I hope you all enjoy & thank you all for your continued support! 🫶

John’s got a smug mouth — he wields it with a deft expertise, as well-honed with making offhanded quips as he is throwing around his shield. Arrogance bleeds from him like an open wound, cocksure with a constant desire to be right.

It’s a constant clash of retorts and smarmy banter that occasionally grates on the nerves of the team, including yours, even if you’re in a relationship.

Sometimes, he still speaks to you as if you’re still indifferent, when it couldn’t be further from the truth. It agitates you, but you’ve learned to pass it off as something innately harmless.

Despite the mutual agreement to conceal your newfound romance from the team, a sliver of you longed to scream it out into the open.

Instead, you resorted to stolen glances during breakfast, quick kisses in the corridor, and sneaking off at night like two teenagers.

Today, he’s wearing that peacocking attitude on his sleeve, remarks like teeth wrapping around a wound, taunting. It’s biting; beneath it are good intentions, but they’re lost to his condescension.

“You’re still leaning right.”

In the center of the training room, you’re squared up with a boxing bag, knuckles split and raw, beads of sweat glittering against your temple. Beneath your breast, your heart skittered at an accelerated pace, muscles burning with exertion.

Postured behind the heavy bag, John’s visage is one of obvious disgruntlement, jaw pulled tight, his arms folded over his chest. Blonde tresses are a touch disheveled, brows creased together.

The spandex shirt he wears occasionally distracts you, corded muscle glaringly present. He’s painfully handsome, and you want to hate him for it, especially in the moment. It’s difficult to concentrate.

It might’ve been a mistake to ask your boyfriend for hand-to-hand combat instruction; he got mean when he taught. It wasn’t malicious, but it wasn’t how you needed to learn.

Survival was a second skin to him, self-preservation interwoven into years of rigorous military experience. His instruction seemed more akin to a drill sergeant than a man trying to teach his girlfriend something new.

For John, it was ‘be stronger or die, fight or succumb’; he cared about you too much. Despite your abilities, close quarters was where you seemed to falter, and he was determined to whip you into shape.

“I don’t think so.” Composed, your gaze floats to him, standing behind the bag, blonde brows furrowing together. Flexing out an arm, you notice the tick of annoyance in his jaw.

“You don’t think so?” John echoes, countenance a half-grimace of determination. Stepping out from the bag, he mimics your boxing stance, though you’re convinced he’s exaggerating your hypothetical right lean. “This is what you look like.”

Indignant, your mouth falls open with a brief huff, as if the idea is simply preposterous to you. It doesn’t make any sense, but you concede to him, brows knitting together. “Fine. I’ll fix it.” You sigh, knowing he’s too stubborn to disagree with.

He’s taking this training aspect a little too seriously for your liking, even if the intent behind it is meaningful. “Go again.” He grits, reassuming his position behind the bag, gaze appraising your form.

A dull burn paints your sternum, breathing a touch hoarse from running drills, and his were less than forgiving. Regardless of his agitation, you prepare to go again, hands hovering around your face, body posturing against the bag.

With a soft huff, you begin again, hands pounding against the sandbag with noisy thwacks, knuckles raw, bruised from the leather’s rough exterior.

Muscles scream with a dull ache, unaccustomed to being used in such a violent manner. Fighting is something you aren’t exactly fond of; it never brings you any peace or comfort. Though, you understand the importance of learning, John is too zealous.

Stone-faced, John’s stern glower inspects your stance, following every swing of your hands, every clash of the bag. You’re still off-kilter, body teetering to the right side again, swinging with minimal momentum.

“Still leaning right,” John quips, listening to the irritated huff that tears past your lips. “Fix your stance, stop relying on your front leg.” He can taste the annoyance as it rolls from your being, but it’s necessary; he wants you to get it right.

“I’m not leaning right.” You protest, growing discouraged with your lesson. The footwork was something you could practice, but you felt as if the rest of your stance was formidable enough; maybe John was testing you.

A derisive laugh split his throat, sardonic enough to make you bristle, hands lowering to your sides. “You’re leaning to the right. Do it again, and you’ll fall over — do that in a real fight, you’re dead.”

Disdainful, your frustration only seemed to grow from there, marked by an unpleasant curl of your mouth, body running hot. The tepid haze of the training room was beginning to go to your head, air stale and arid.

“This isn’t a real fight,” Arguing over the semantics of a boxing lesson seems pathetic, but his attitude is grating on you; more so than usual. “This is practice, and you’re taking it too seriously.” You mumble, stooping to pick up your water bottle.

John scoffs, bewildered by your attitude. He doesn’t see it as practice; he sees it as a training scenario, and if you can’t properly defend yourself, he’s terrified that he won’t be able to save you in time.

He couldn’t save Lemar, couldn’t save his teammates in the desert; the thought of losing you too became a constant nightmare.

In his dreams, he was in Latvia, his shield stained with crimson, blood on his hands — sometimes it’s your blood.

His jaw twitches, the nightmare hanging fresh within the recesses of his mind, clawing its way to the forefront, as if to make the sting worse. John isn’t used to having someone care deeply about him, and vice versa.

Stepping away, you’re eager for a reprieve. “What, just like that and you’re giving up?” He’s pushing you, prodding; it isn’t right, toying with your vulnerability, but he wants you to be strong, to be capable.

“John, you’re being mean.” Within your softer cadence lies a stern warning for him to stop, as if attempting to quell his attitude before it gets worse. Cold water trickles down your throat, flesh matted by perspiration.

“I’m being realistic.” With a gritty counterpoint, John steps out from behind the bag, muscled arms folded tightly over his chest. “You need to know this stuff — if the mission gets too dangerous …”

“I can’t know it if you’re being like this.” Beneath the rugged, rough exterior, is a man who wants to ensure that you know how to protect yourself. You understand to some extent, but his demeanor is beginning to get to you.

Deciding that you’ve had enough of his lessons for the day, you walk toward the bench, retrieving your towel as you wipe sweat from your neck.

“I’m not going to coddle you,” John’s still going, attempting to make you understand where he’s coming from. “You asked for my help, and I’m helping you.” He’s already regretting the way the words sound; he’s being harsh.

Through an exasperated sigh, your brows furrow together, hands wrenched tightly into the towel as you try and relieve some of your anxiousness. Turning on your heel, you face him, chin jutting out with mild defiance.

“I don’t want you to coddle me. I just want you to drop the attitude and train me.” Despite the cordiality within your tone, you’re trying to avoid an unnecessary argument. It all feels so trivial, bickering over this.

“I don’t have an attitude,” Akin to a petulant child, his cadence is remarkably reminiscent of someone who has an attitude. Realizing how he sounds, he concedes, trailing after you as you make for the door. “Are you finished?”

“For today, yes,” Still, you’re calm, feeling him nipping at your heels all the way to your room. He doesn’t leave, much to your surprise, even as you open the door and clamor inside. “Do you have another retort to add?”

Once the both of you have privacy, the asshole demeanor begins to dissipate, as if he’s dissolving all on his own. Behind closed doors, he gets soft — and you’re the reason why.

Through a clenched jaw, John doesn’t say anything at first, watching as you dab the cloth over your brow. He cares about you so much that his chest begins to burn, despite himself.

A hush falls between, and he knows it’s a fight he lost; glaringly obvious, too. He resorts to standing by the door as you kick off your tennis shoes, a damp splotch of sweat around your collar, tresses matted against your temples.

A flicker of realization begins to dawn on him; he was being too much. You had a point with him taking it too seriously, but it was all done with the best intentions. He wanted you to learn the right way, and be safe.

John’s eyes momentarily screw shut, tension unfurling from his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” Apologizing used to feel like a weakness, but he knows it isn’t — he’s learned to accept that.

Expecting you to be smug or bite back with vitriol, you lift your head, countenance softening as you meet his gaze. “I know your intentions, and they’re good — but I’m your girlfriend, too. I want your help, but I don’t want the callousness.”

Conceding, John nods, a simple jostle of his head, blonde tresses disheveled. Even when slick with sweat and frustrated, he’s still handsome, painfully so, careworn palms rough from years of hard work. “I’ll be gentler.” He utters, sincere.

The bravado and grit wears off, as if it’s some skin he’s shed, revealing the rawness of the man underneath it all. In truth, he wants to make sure that you know how to protect yourself — eases the worrying, eases the fear.

There’s an inner turmoil he’s wrestling with; he wears it openly with you, less so with others. Vulnerability is still a concept he’s untangling, deciphering as he works through his own labyrinth of sins.

With every mission, he fears losing you — not fast enough, not strong enough, not man enough to protect you. The toxic values instilled to him by years of government propaganda are being unraveled; it’s a slow process.

“John.”

Through the shroud of his insecurities, you shatter it like sunlight through shadow, chasing away the swarm of darker thoughts that plagued him. A brief exhale escapes him as he focuses on you, his smile threadbare.

“I can’t think of a better teacher,” Truthfully, he’s incredibly skilled in all ways imaginable; he’s intelligent, too. There’s plenty to learn from him, despite his rougher methods of tutelage. “Just work on your teaching voice.”

With a bemused huff, his smile morphs into a characteristic smirk, charming — it ensnares you without a shred of effort. “I’ll work on it,” You know he will, too. “Are you okay?” He inquires, hoping that he didn’t kill your mood.

You slip off of your bed, tugging at the collar of your shirt, as it uncomfortably sticks to your skin. “I’m great, really,” Reassuringly, you smile at John, placating his brief tangle of nerves. “How are you not sweaty?”

John withholds the urge to make a flirtatious insinuation, uncrossing his arms as he watches you rifle through for clean clothes. “Watching you in those leggings did make me sweat a little.” He teases, subject to your grousing stare.

“Stop it.” You mumble, smiling despite yourself as he raises one hand in faux defense. A soft chuckle shakes his shoulders, a rarer sound that fills your bones with warmth.

Bridging the gap between you, his hands find your hips without pause, lightly tracing over the small of your back. “You’re pretty when you’re frustrated with me.” John murmurs, savoring your flustered expression as you press a hand against his chest.

“It’s a constant thing, you should be used to it.” He gets under your flesh and buries himself there, too sure of himself, mouth slacked into a gregarious smirk. Though, you like it more than you care to admit.

John attempts to kiss you, but you playfully turn at the last second, bearded mouth falling against your jaw, instead. You’re tormenting him because of the boxing thing, and he knows it.

Wriggling from his grasp, you shuffle backwards, padding toward your bathroom instead. You stop in the doorway, framed by a tranquil glow. “Are you coming?” You muse, catching him off-guard, much to your own amusement.

“What?” John’s mildly bewildered, but it seems to die down when he realizes what you’re propositioning. Hunger reveals itself with a snarl and yearning, arms flexing as his posture straightens up.

“Shower,” Despite the innocuous nature of your tone and the pretty smile, there is a hint of an ulterior motive. You squirm within your sweat-laden shirt. “I feel disgusting.” Peeling your top aside, you toss it onto the floor.

John bites back a grin, scratching at his beard before trailing after you, masking his enthusiasm. “Yes, ma’am,” He muses, kicking off his shoes beside the door, following you into the bathroom. “Want some help?”

You don’t need it, but you want it anyway, warmth spreading over the back of your neck as you turn, back facing him. Switching on the shower, you stay that way, feeling his calloused fingertips brush over your spine.

He’s unfastening your bra with a disarming tenderness, focused, warm breath pluming over the back of your neck. His musculature is firm against you, spandex t-shirt pulled taut over his chest, biceps tempting you.

Rough hands mold themselves to your body, mapping every muscle-deep bruise like a constellation, planting a kiss against your shoulder. It’s apologetic, sweet — John doesn’t have to say anything that you don’t already know.

Slowly, you turn, wedged up against the marble countertop, his body cornering yours. Wordlessly, your fingers drag to the hem of his shirt, curling into the fabric before easing it upward.

John removes it all in one smooth motion, fluid, physique raw and sinewy, corded with thick muscle, chest layered in a light dusting of blond hair. Heat wafts from his skin, peppered in days-old bruises, faded scars.

Whatever you wanted to say turns to ash in your mouth, gaze doe-eyed, adoring. It’s a look he’s still growing accustomed to, sitting with the notion that you genuinely wanted him.

“I really care about you,” Little more than a whisper, your admittance is saccharine, doing little to mask your affections for him. “Smug mouth and all.” You muse, feeling his hand dip to cup your hip, thumb tracing circles over your leggings.

“Smug mouth, huh?” John taunts with a smirk, cerulean hues burning with a desirous intensity, lips shifting to plant a kiss over your jaw. The scratch of his beard has quickly become one of your favorite sensations.

“The worst.” Your mumble is disarmingly sweet, your smile suppressed beneath an expression that attempts to veil your true feelings. Even then, he breaks through your barriers with ease.

Through a bemused huff, John’s mouth explores your throat, hands snaking down to tease the waistband of your leggings. “You don’t have anything to say about it when we’re in bed.”

The fiery quip sends a shockwave through your stomach, a stab of heat, tangling around your nerves like ivy. “John …” There is little warning in your tone, save for desperation. He’s being unfair.

Urging against your leggings, you’re subservient, letting his fingers hook into the spandex, easing you out of the garment altogether. He’s suave, cocky — that familiar arrogance is present again, but you find it attractive this time.

Steam begins to float through the bathroom, water sputtering overhead as you careen into his embrace. Stepping out of the thin fabric, you’re standing in your underwear, eager to slip beneath the hot water.

Nails idly trace over his abdomen, drawing little circles as he plants a string of kisses to your jugular. A soft exhale warbles through your nose, lips parted as you glance toward the shower.

“You’re getting distracted.” You murmur, visibly smitten as he lifts his head, hand greedily groping at the back of your thigh. John’s lips twitch into that visage of sardonicism, head cocking to one side.

“Can you blame me?” Smooth, his reply sets your nerves ablaze, something hot stirring within your belly as you sidestep toward the shower. You’re sliding out of your panties, and he’s right on your tail, kicking out of his clothes.

Stepping into the shower, a column of steaming water drizzled over your skin, washing away the sweat that clung to you. Reaching for your soap, you immediately begin to work on cleaning off.

Soothing the dull throbbing of days-old bruises and aching muscles, you sigh, stealing a glance at John.

He’s maddeningly well-endowed; annoyingly impressive like the rest of him, something you’ve told him before, and it all seemed to go to his head. He smooths a hand through his blonde tresses, slicked by water.

A delicate shade of pink clung to his cheeks; splotched, dappled over his skin, sunkissed and blanketed in a layer of freckles. Muscles flex and contort, cast in the dull glow of the bathroom, beaded droplets rolling over his abdomen.

“Are you done staring?” Ripping you from your thoughts, his snide inquiry makes you jump, caught in the act, but you’re unperturbed by it.

“No,” It’s easy to bait him by batting your eyelashes, gaze round and doe-eyed, catching the terse tick of his jaw. Your tongue scrapes over your bottom lip, soap suds gliding down your back. “You’re so handsome — just really attractive.”

The teasing lilt in your tone has dropped, replaced with a sweeter sincerity that makes his heart nearly come out of his chest. John’s gaze shifts to something heady, eclipsed by desire, festering with the shadow of want.

“Yeah?” Closer, he’s seizing your hips, lips crushing against yours in a bruising kiss. It stings, ripping every wisp of air from your lungs, leaving you burning for more. His beard scratches ragged, fingers pressed into pliant flesh.

A ragged sigh snares within your throat, manifesting as a mere hum, body vibrating with exhilaration. His pearlescent teeth briefly scrape over your bottom lip.

Eager digits clamor to sink into his chest, nails digging light crescents into his skin, a sting he thoroughly enjoys. “John,” A moan floats from your mouth, body humming with a muted buzz. “Want your mouth.”

He’s grinning, a cat who just caught the canary. That sharp tongue is already winding up with something devious to say, something agonizingly audacious.

“Thought you said it was the worst,” John grunts, remark branded against your mouth, hot and vainglorious. Impatient with his incessant teasing, his mask slips when your hand reaches to fist at the nape of his neck. “Shit.”

A flicker of surprise flutters over his features, secretly reveling in the way you’d roughly grasped at his hair. His growing arousal pulses heavily against your thigh, oozing heat, proof there for you to feel.

Mouths clash again, an amalgamation of teeth and tongue, ripples of pent-up repression oozing into each kiss. John wants you terribly, more than he ever thought possible, cock beginning to throb when you whine into his lips.

“Please,” Desperate, you’re craving him, hungry, letting it crawl over your flesh like some white-hot wave of heat. “I want you.” You say it again, pleading this time, digits threading into his hair, pulling with another wanton tug.

John is unable to deny you, gaze half-lidded, throat bobbing as he swallows the groan threatening to split through his chest. There’s some foggy, lust-ridden haze he wades through, succumbing to baser instincts.

Before another pathetic whine can burst from your mouth, he’s pushing you up against the shower wall, strong palms keeping you steady. “Jesus,” He groans into the warmth of your mouth, kissing you until your chest feels tight. “You’re killin’ me.”

His Georgian drawl tapers off with certain syllables, gooseflesh icing your spine as you let one hand caress his abdomen. He shudders, brows pinched, countenance wrought with concentration.

Water cascades over his back, an incandescent light that highlights his musculature, legs wobbling as he gets down onto his knees. His mouth paints kisses over your thighs, lifting one leg up over his shoulder.

The hand that continues to fist at the base of his skull makes him shiver, savoring the sensation as he bullies his way between your legs. Cerulean hues stay fixated on your face as his mouth makes contact with your slick cunt.

He shuts up quickly when he’s eating you out, you’ve noticed; the satisfaction flows through you in one smug wave. A scruffy beard scratches ragged against your thighs, prickling your silky flesh as his tongue drags over your slit.

The flat of his tongue rakes embers across your cunt, pulling a delighted gasp from your mouth. Everything feels hot, unbearably so, bodies tangled beneath the shower’s heated pressure.

Bracing against his body, his own musculature supports you without breaking a sweat, one hand molded to your thigh, the other firm atop your hip. “You’re so good at this.” You whine, knowing how much he savors your praise.

John growls into your cunt as if he’s some beast on all fours, tongue greedily splitting past your folds, caressing over your sensitive flesh.

He grips you like a vice, caging you firmly against the wall, nose grazing your mound. Keeping you anchored to his mouth, he’s consuming you like a man starved, deprived of sustenance.

Fingers flex through blonde tresses, tugging and pulling, coaxing him closer as your hips jolt unexpectedly. The friction isn’t unwelcome, and he treats you to a barrage of enthused laps, tongue possessing a mind of its own.

The cocksure demeanor diminishes when his mouth is preoccupied; he doesn’t complain, thoroughly getting off on letting you ride his face.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, John made sure to savor you, letting the flat of his tongue fall heavy across your clit. His name plumes from your mouth like a prayer.

The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit.

“J—John,” Raw, the noise splits through your diaphragm, heaving with labored sighs, cunt pulsing with spasms of pleasure. “Fuck, plea—please don’t stop!” A whine coagulates within the back of your throat, ceaselessly needy.

You urged him closer, hips rolling into the fervent heat of his mouth, thighs quivering as he treated you to a lap of his tongue. Circled strokes dance over your cunt; once, twice, three times.

This barrage of bliss assaulted your body with such intensity, molten heat churning within the pit of your stomach, oozing between your thighs.

Bittersweet arousal swarmed his lips, the taste of you, something he craved. His mouth is a thing of perfection, pleasuring you as if it’s his sworn duty, tongue lapping at every inch of your cunt.

His ministrations are gentle, disarmingly so, careworn palms caressing into your hips, keeping you slotted against his face. Lapping openly at your core, you shiver, feeling his nose graze your clit.

The scruff of his blonde beard scratches ragged over the inside of your thighs, sandpaper to silk, the sensation pleasant. You’re writhing, a tangle of nerves and mounting ecstasy, leg rattling beneath his hold.

His name emerges from your mouth again, desperate and wanton, breathy as you squirm. Lips climb from your heated core to your clit, pressing a string of kisses there, tongue brushing over the clutch of nerves.

John’s mouth is voracious, tongue endlessly greedy, eating you out as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Circling around your clit, he begins to lap over your pearl, feeling your legs tremor around him, muscles spasmodic, twitching.

“So handsome like this.” A ragged sigh is pulled from your diaphragm, ecstasy sown by John’s own need and determination. The remark is enough to make him ache, your body vibrating around him.

Daring to look down, your heart nearly bursts from your chest when you realize he’s watching you, smirk palpable, cerulean hues burning.

Through a shadowed stare, eyes blown with lust, he’s got you pinned, sucking the air from your lungs as if he owns you. He wants to say something, but he’s too absorbed with eating you out.

Rendered speechless beneath his incendiary gaze, your stomach churns with molten heat, body on fire, a ceaseless throbbing pulsing between your legs.

Your cunt pathetically clenches around nothing at all, hips absently grinding into his mouth. “John — fuck — please, m’close!” Slurred, you’re trying your best not to smother him.

As if to tempt you further, his lips purse around your clit, taunting, catching the blissed-out look in your eyes. It’s that damned doe-eyed stare he’s hooked on, sucking on that bundle of nerves with a twinge of passion.

Teetering on the precipice of an explosion, you’re rattling, shaking like a leaf, thighs tensing on either side of his head.

He presses you further, a low hum tumbling from his mouth, still fervently revolving around your clit.

White-hot spots blind your vision, jaw unhinged, a myriad of moans leaving you, unrestrained. The noise evokes a throaty groan from him, chest reverberating, sending tingles through your spine like spikes of heat.

John’s still buried between your thighs, interchanging between suckling your clit and broad, flat strokes of his tongue. Each caress, every lap of his mouth sends you into some frenzy, hips urging forward.

A white-hot rush of ecstasy swarmed you, voice tapering off into incoherent praises and wanton moans, filling the shower with your delighted cries. Half-babbles, whimpers, strangled whines emerge from your throat.

Feeling your body pulse around him, a low grunt splits his diaphragm, your legs trembling, muscles twitching in the aftermath. Even still, your mind is foggy, shrouded by a haze of desire.

Conceding, he plants another kiss to your core, followed by a rough lap of his tongue, beard soaked by both water and your arousal.

Unlatching his mouth from your cunt, he exhales, visage splotched with scarlet, pupils expanded with lust as he moves upright. Your lips press a lingering kiss to his collar, a flicker of mischief in your eyes.

His cock throbbed incessantly, the pressure coiled within his abdomen, unexpectedly seizing when your hand wrapped around his length. “Chr — Damn, easy.” John groans, sudden and wanting, hands seizing your hips.

It gets under his skin, how easily he succumbs to you, and with a mere flick of your wrist, he’s prepared to come undone in your hand. Flushed and frustrated, his mouth clamors for yours, biting at your bottom lip.

He’s painfully hard in your palm, bleeding heat, slick within your grasp as you give his cock several sluggish, gentler strokes. There’s a tension prevalent in his shoulders, one that unfurls when you make him cum.

John shudders, mouth dropping to the hollow between your throat and shoulder, maiming it with snags of teeth and bruising hickeys. A low whine escapes you, hand vigorous as you pull him into his release.

Your name spills from his tongue, hoarse and husky, warmth spreading over your body like an encroaching wildfire. It’s quick, but he was riled up already from eating you out.

Blissed-out and satiated, John’s brows pinch together, countenance a thing of unbridled satisfaction as you finish him off. After a few languid strokes of your hand, he’s looking relaxed.

“Jesus,” John forces a laugh, trailing a hand through his soaked tresses, reaching behind you to shut the water off. “Feeling better?” He remarks, unable to bite back the grin that curls the corner of his mouth.

Nodding, you’re smiling, smitten as he drapes a towel around you, planting a slow kiss against your jaw. “Mm-hm.” Humming, your hands are fumbling with the towel, drying yourself off before stepping out of the shower.

With a cheshire smirk, his hands grazed over your waist, lips molding themselves to the back of your neck. “That’s it? Just mm-hm?” He gruffs, his pride mildly wounded, hoping you’d have plenty to say.

Pillars of steam wisp from the bathroom, clouding through your quarters as you search for something comfortable to wear. “If I say what’s on my mind, you’ll brag. I’m keeping you humble.” You tease, lashes fluttering.

“Right,” John huffs, though you know it’s a mutual banter you’ve maintained, playful teasing that’s become incredibly soft. He doesn’t mind; he likes it, really. “When you’re begging me again, I’ll remind you of this conversation.”

Despite the theatrical, pointed glare you give him, you’re smiling; flustered, truthfully. He’s a cocky bastard, obnoxious, but he makes you feel protected, warm. He makes you feel wanted, when you always thought otherwise.

Some of his clothes have made it to your room after one too many nights together; he’s gotten used to it. A pair of black shorts sit on his waist, musculature bared for you, mostly.

John gawks, a brief huff escaping him when he realizes what shirt of his you’re wearing; it’s a callback, for sure. Custer’s Grove High School football, with the emblems of a bear on the front.

“Where did you find that artifact?” He scoffs, blonde brows furrowing with intrigue as you swivel around, clad in your underwear-and-his-shirt combination. You must’ve been digging deep in his wardrobe to find it.

“Underneath your dress shirts,” You remark, lips pulling apart. “I can take it off if it …” Trailing off, John silences you with a chaste kiss, playfully patting your leg, briefly squeezing at the pliant flesh of your thigh.

“No, keep it,” John’s cadence softens, cerulean hues clinging to a distant memory which seems to dissipate as quickly as it appeared. “You look beautiful.”

As he settles along the edge of your mattress, you’re climbing into his lap, eliciting a sarcastic chuckle from him, visibly perplexed. Lips softly tangle together, tender, and he feels himself steadily getting worked up again.

Evening the score, his hands wander toward your haunches, molding themselves to your flesh, palms squeezing and groping. Your digits are in his damp tresses again, tugging, visage riddled with a stern warning.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” John grunts, feeling your lips curl into a smile against his mouth. He withdraws, only to get a good look at you, prettier than anything he’s ever seen before. “I’m serious.”

“I’m serious.” As if invoking a challenge, your countenance pinches into a look of stoicism, though you’re poking fun at him simultaneously.

“Fine.” His voice is low and raspy, a delicious husk that fills your bones with fire. He fires off, strong enough to manhandle you onto your back, bullying his way between your legs, kissing you ragged.

You’re rendered immobile by morning.

[peanutalergy]

Mr. Winston - SR x reader

The BAU doesn't really need your help with the case. Spencer does. tags: post prison! spencer, fem! child psychologist! reader. cm type violence (blood, murder, etc), traumatized child. pre-relationship yearning MAYBE ? maybe fluff also sorry i still don't know how to classify these things. the synopsis doesn't really make any sense because this is kinda spencer's pov but idk guys sorry im really tired. w/c: 1.5k (this was originally 5.4k words but then i reread it and found that i actually hated every single one of them so...) a/n: okay so wow... i had so much fun writing this (let's ignore most of my posts from the past two weeks) THE THING IS i sorta already had a pt2 to this but then i thought well we can't have that without the beginning so i did kinda write this in a rush im really sorry that it's so short and shitty. . . ALSO i really love this reader & i'd love to write more of her but if you don't like it then i don't like it either and i'll never write again if you tell me not to. i do not think this is good by any means. i do hate it but if i stared at the google docs page for any longer i'd go insane.

Spencer doesn’t treat her like she’s made of porcelain because she’d be easily broken (though, she would, but neither of you say that since you can tell how hard she tried to look strong before coming to the precinct). He treats her like she’s fragile because he can’t remember the last time he didn’t break something like this — wide-eyed and shaking, holding onto something soft like it’s the only real thing around.

He was the one who convinced the team to ask for your help when the kid got involved — he always is. They insisted it wasn’t needed, you can deal with her yourself, you’ve always been good with children, or whatever, but your office got a call from him anyway.

No one knows why he sticks around. Maybe it’s the way you hold her; the gentle hand that runs through her hair, much warmer than the tiny fingers with chewed off nails and blood stains. Maybe he’s trying to memorize the tone of your voice — soft and sweeter than the apple juice she didn’t open, rambling about the silliest things you can think of — to imitate it next time he finds himself having to question kids. Maybe it’s the teacup in your other hand (the one he made you) and the way you so casually sip from it. As if this delicacy came to you as easily as taking a breath, while he struggled even with breathing.

Either way, despite his hesitance, he’s always sure to be around if you’re working on a case with them. Watching from the corner in a way that might have seemed creepy if only you didn’t smile so often back at him.

Amelia Murphy, 6 years old.

She sits at the end of the couch, legs tucked up to her chest like she’s trying to make herself as small as a crumb on the untouched sandwich going stale by her side. Spencer stands at the edge of the room, a smile threatening to peek through as he listens to your stories about the stuffed animals on your bed.

“You can’t tell any of his buddies, okay?” she nods, small but enough for you, “Mr. Winston is my favorite teddy out of all the ones I have.”

“Why?” You and the agent have to hide a surprised expression at the sound of her quiet voice, ragged and hoarse, coming out for the first time tonight. 

“Because he’s been with me since I was very, very young.” You chuckle lightly, “I must’ve been around your age when my grandma gifted him to me.”

“How do you know my age?”

You look at Spencer. He takes that as an ask for help (it really wasn't) and moves before you can speak again, still as careful as possible as he sits on the armchair next to the couch and joins in on the conversation like you suggested to him so often. “We don’t, actually.” She doesn’t flinch like he feared she would, so he continues with a soft smile, “I’m sure my friend was just trying to say she was young, like you are.”

Amelia tilts her head, small brows furrowed as softly as she mutters, “Really?”

“Yeah.” He nods, “We don’t really know how old you are.”

“I’m… six.” Her fingers, miniature sized when compared to Spencer’s, struggle for a second before arranging into a six, “This much.”

You smile and pretend to write it down on your clipboard, “That’s a lot.”

He laughs in half disbelief, half joy when she asks, “Well, how old are you?”

“Do you want to guess?”

“Uhm…” Tiny hand scratching her chin, she examines him like she knows what she’s doing. He looks to you in pure confusion during the seconds she stays quiet. “A hundred?”

He holds back a snort, “Not quite, no. Do you wanna try again?”

During most of the time he talks to her, you stay quiet. He often looks to you, hesitating, asking for some sort of reassurance that he’s doing this right — you always give it to him with a barely there nod and a big smile.

Always, except for the moment he started talking about his job in almost too much detail when she prompted what are you?. Though, that time, he didn’t need your confirmation or denial to figure it out. All it took was a different knit to her eyebrows for him to go back into smaller than regular talking tone, from the bordering robotical lecturing mode.

“I wanna be a model when I grow up.”

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle breathily. Thankfully, she doesn’t take it as an offense like both of you thought she would. She just nods back at you with a proud smile. 

“And do you know what models do at their job?” Spencer inquires.

“They sit pretty in their pretty clothes for the people to watch,” the girl shrugs, speaking in the same way one would say the sky is blue. “Like her.”

He laughs when she points at you. “Being pretty isn’t all she does, though, Amelia. She’s not really a model.”

“She should be,” she whispers and you pretend you don’t hear it.

“Yeah, she should.”

He’s still careful even in the way he looks at her. Like she’d feel his cold hands if he said something too loud, too much. Every time she shows any sort of reluctance, he goes even softer — like he’d learned from uncountable hours of watching you do this over the years.

The very first time you met — interrogating an unsub’s daughter, before all of it happened. Before Mexico and Maeve and Gideon and Dilaudid and Emily. Before his jaw was screwed permanently clenched and his brain painted foggy. When he didn’t think of himself as a ticking time bomb and wasn’t scared of what he saw in the mirror.

Even when he didn’t feel this way about children as well as every other aspect of his life, he admired your work and yourself. So, it only makes sense (to him) that, when he sees himself as some sort of monster, you look like you’ve hung the moon and the stars even though the only thing you’ve ever been is yourself.

“And, uh, Amelia…” he mutters, pointing to the stuffed bunny in her hands, all love stains and frayed stitches, “Your friend over there. Does he have a name?”

She shakes her head, then spins it around to show the bow hidden on the back of its head, “She’s a girl.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m so sorry,” he laughs awkwardly.

“She doesn’t have a name.”

“Is there a reason for that, sweetie?” you ask as soon as there’s a pause from both of them.

He just watches with a grin while you work with her to find names for her teddy.

The markers were Spencer’s idea. He didn’t mean for it to be anything more than a way for her to express herself — you’d both been drawing animals and trees and numbers. Though, when her page became full of red scribbles and what seemed to be portraits of her parents, you realized she might have more to say.

“Who are those people, Amelia?”, he places a hand on her shoulder. She’s so focused on her tiny fingers wrapped around the marker, that she barely shows any reaction to him. When her bottom lip goes wobbly and her hands impossibly shakier, he takes away the paper with a “Okay, that’s enough.”

She fell asleep on his shoulder after half an hour of sobbing while telling what she remembered of the story.

He can’t help the warm feeling that floods his chest when you tell him, “You did a good job.” after getting as much as one can out of a kid who just witnessed her parents’ murder. His expression and words go against it, though. With a small shrug, he mumbles, “Oh, it was nothin–”

“No, don’t do that,” you cut him off, “You did really well.”

“You would’ve gotten her to say a lot more in a lot less time. It takes you an average of five minutes and for–”

“Shut up,” a giggle.

“Would you please stop cutting me off?”

“Not until you admit that you are actually still amazing with kids.”

He sighs. “How’s Mr. Winston?”

“No, no!” you slap his arm playfully, “You don’t get to change the subject by mocking me for my friends.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Spencer raises his arms in defense, a smile brightening his face. “I’m trying to get to know you and your friends better. I can’t do that anymore?”

“Not if you’re mean about it,” arms crossed over your chest and a half fake pout on your lips, you mutter.

“When was I mean?” he cocks his head to the side.

“I can tell from your tone of voice. It gets higher and weirder when you lie. You’re not the only one who knows about psychology here, buddy.”

He just shakes his head with a laugh. “I’m being serious. How are they doing?”

“Well, if you must know, they’re doing amazing.”

“I’m glad.”

It takes 43 (he counted) chimes of the clock on the wall for anyone to say something again. It’s him, in a whisper, “Do you really think she liked me?”

00:09 doctor reid genius guy

Amelia’s aunt just picked her up. She said her bunny was now named Mrs. Winston.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. PLEASE READ AND LOOK UP DEFINITIONS OF WARNINGS FOR FURTHER CLARIFICATION. HUGE TW FOR THIS CHAPTER. CSA (only mentioned, not described), heavy angst, mentions of family death and family issues, fluff, panic attacks, showering together, and more prolly tbh

A/N: Conan gray is my bitch. Loosely inspired by this song because mf I don't got a Marylou and Jimmy irl </3

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P27: Feel Alive

“Baby?”��

Usually, the sweet pet name would make my stomach swirl with butterflies, but right now it doesn’t really feel like anything.

It’s been like this for days, and those days have felt like weeks, if not months. Numb. My brain, my heart, and every one of my senses has turned unresponsive—like some sort of plastic wrap suffocating me in my own skin that crawls with disgust everytime a slight memory of Baylen’s words about my dad echo in my head.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chris asks, walking around the corner of the couch before plopping down on the cushion next to me, his hand on my knee as his brows furrow. 

I can’t help but shift under his touch. The warmth of his hand doesn’t feel bad, it just feels off—like there’s some sort of rushing anxiety that all the memories of my dad touching me as a kid are gonna spontaneously come back to me at any given contact.

That’s how it works apparently. When Baylen had said everything, I felt something shift inside of me. It was like he unlocked a certain part of my brain that could remember feeling so confused as a child. 

Blurry memories and haunting scenes of the past made my bedroom unlivable. Baylen understood when I left and packed a bag. I’m not sure what the plan is for when my mom comes back home, but that would be a problem for later. 

“I’m just…” I shake my head, letting out a sigh as I let my eyes flutter shut. As my eyelashes brush against each other, it’s like I can see it—see more. 

And I hate it. 

I hate how uncomfortably clammy my skin starts to feel—I despise how big everything seems when I open my eyes to connect back to reality. 

And I see him—Chris. 

Staring at me with wide eyes full of concern, he tries to lean forward, his hand nearly touching my cheek. I shrink away from the touch. Chris’ face drops, his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

The way his eyes drop to his lap makes something inside of me burn. My heart aches in my chest, my feet shifting on the ground as I find my body empty of any air—any relief. 

“I—” 

I can’t speak. The words tangle on my tongue, the sentence blanking in my mind as I feel my face grow unbearably warm. His eyes trace back up to mine, his lips tugged into a pout as he hesitantly squeezes my knee.

“I’m here, okay?” he mentions, licking over his lips as he shakes his head with worry etched in his features, “-I…I don’t know what to do or what would help, but I’m here. You are not alone.” 

The words are comforting. However, as they settle in my mind, I can’t help but feel some sort of twist in the bottom of my gut—an uncomfortable churn of anxiety as I repeat the four syllables in my head. 

He used to say that—my dad was always the one comforting me, holding me, codling me like he truly loved and cared about me. All the monsters under my bed scared me, I’d always ask to be tucked in, begging for him to stay until I fell asleep. 

But the real monster was in my bed. The real monster actually existed—the real monster is the one person I used to always associate with love. 

“Chris, this…this hurts.”

His face furrows at my statement. He holds his arms open, welcoming me in a hug. My body itches at the thought of feeling trapped, my head shaking with refusal as Chris’ face tugs into a pained expression. 

“I—’m sorry, just—tell me what’s going on, how…” he looks around the room, his tongue darting over his bottom lip as his gaze returns to me, “-how can I help? Your cheeks are pink, are you too hot?” 

My mouth opens, but only a stuttered huff of air escapes my lips. I don’t know what I feel, all I know is every inch of my body itches with some sort of sting and my skin is too tight. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, his voice pulling my eyes to focus on his face, “-let’s…c’mere, you’re burning up.” 

Chris gets up, standing and offering a hand towards me. I slide my fingers into his palm, flinching as I notice how sweaty I am, my throat dry as I try to take more breaths, but none of them are enough—every gasp of air is shallow no matter how hard I try. 

He drags us down the hallway, pulling us in front of the bathroom door before he looks at me with a hesitant expression. “We just…gotta—gotta cool you down. Why don’t you take a cold shower? I can—I’ll be on the other side of the curtain. I don’t want you to pass out, but…I…” His mouth opens and shuts. I nod my head, grasping into the material of his shirt that covers his chest as I lean on him. 

Everything is so hazy. My eyes won’t focus at all anymore, it’s impossible to see or hear anything. The only vessel to reality I have left is him. 

My hand clutches the material tighter as he shifts. I hear the slight sound of his voice drowned out in the back of my mind, failing at understanding his words as I feel his arm wrap around me, pulling me into the bathroom as my feet land on the cold tile floor.

It’s hard to focus, it’s hard to feel alive. All I know is that I feel his hands on me, guiding me into the porcelain bathtub before a cold rush of water washes over me. My soaked clothes are heavy. I feel my body slug down with exhaustion, hands around my waist tugging my back against something warm—his chest. 

And I can finally breathe. 

“-okay, okay, it’s—it’s gonna be okay, is this helping? Fuck, I know this is what Matt does, I don’t—baby, c’mon–”

The echo of Chris’ voice is finally coherent enough for me to comprehend. I let myself melt in his hold, clutching onto his wrists as he basically supports all of my weight. 

“Thank you,” I say, my voice shaking as I feel him let out a sigh of relief, “-it…helps.” My words are muttered, barely audible between the running water and ragged breaths. 

___

It had been awhile, enough time to recover from the panic attack. My throat is sore. The rushed gasps of air for so long made my vocal cords feel raw, but I wasn’t trying to speak. I was only relaxing, finally just breathing and letting that be enough. 

“Here,” Chris offers, holding his hand out for me to hold. I slide my fingers to slot between his own, smiling as he squeezes my hand, our palms pressed flush against each other as we continue walking down the cement path.

I’m not sure where we are. It’s some sort of park, one he drove us to, but it’s really pretty. There’s a lot of surrounding meadows, a tall hill, and some crowding trees around a statue of a woman holding a child up towards the sky.  

“Where are we?” I ask, my lips rolling together. I feel his hand squeeze mine a bit tighter, looking over to find him staring at me with a soft smile that makes my cheeks flush with a feathery warmth.

Wordlessly, Chris guides me further down the first path between the trees, passing the statute. As we round a corner, I feel my heart clench in my chest.

Headstones. 

We’re at a cemetery. And by the way Chris pulls my hand tighter and keeps walking with determination, I know it’s not just any graveyard. 

“Chris…?” I voice, my tongue swelling in my mouth as I swallow thickly. Our feet stop as he halts in front of two headstones, Nicolas etched in one of the blocks, Marylou engraved on the one sitting adjacent. 

“She would’ve loved you.” 

His words brush through the air like petals, the tingle of warmth spreading up my spine as I lean onto his shoulder, staring down at the gravestones in front of us. He clutches my hand closer, his own head resting on top of mine as we both stand and gaze down at the graves in front of us. 

“How do you know?” I ponder out loud, my face scrunching as I hear him let out an airy sigh. 

“I just…I just know. I’ve told her a lot about you.”

Oh.

Oh.

His answer creates some sort of cooling sensation in my chest—a relieving temperature from the burning ache radiating from my heart.

“I…I talk to her a lot still—especially about you, I—I’m worried,” he rasps, his jaw tightening against the crown of my head before I feel him shift. I look upward to see him staring directly at me. His gaze softens, his eyes squinted with a depressing emotion that makes my face flush. 

“This…this can’t be easy. I know your dad was all you really thought you had for family, but…” his eyes flicker between my own, he squeezes my hand a bit tighter as he stares directly into me, “-but my family is yours. My dad…Matt—even Trevor…they love you. You have family that would never lie to you or hurt you. You…” he licks over his lips, his throat bobbing as his face scrunches with emotion, “-you have people to mourn. Even if you’re never met them, I know in my soul that they love you. There’s…there’s family here for you,”

I feel a tear rush down my cheek. His words and his eyes make the world around us turn into a blurry void as I concentrate on him and him only. 

“-on every side—even beyond life, you have family waiting for you. “

Something about his words—something about the way he’s saying them…it makes it feel okay. 

I don’t need to be scared about dying. I don’t need to be fearful about living.

It’s enough for me to just breathe.

___

“Close your eyes, kid,” Matt directs, his voice echoing from in front of me as I feel Jimmy’s hands on my shoulders. Chris’ fingers are tangled between my own, his touch guiding me with direct as Jimmy nudges me forward. 

The slight creak of a door rings through the air. “Okay…take a look,” Jimmy states, shifting as lets one of his hands rest on my shoulder, a gentle pat of assurance making my eyes peep open. 

Oh. 

My. 

God. 

The room door open in front of us is Marylou’s old craft room, something I knew went untouched—but not anymore. 

Art supplies and random craft materials are gone—not a single one in sight. A twin bed is placed in front of the window, the bright sunlight gleaming in the room that smells of fresh cleaning fragrances. 

“I…what?” I voice, utterly astonished as I walk further into the room. 

All hands leave my body. My feet patter against the carpeted floor, my face laced with confusion as I let my eyes float around the newly transformed bedroom. 

“It’s for you,” Chris says. 

My body freezes as I stare at the three men. Matt nods his head up and down, affirming the statement further. I let my eyes shift to Jimmy. His face is covered with a gentle smile, one of his hands resting over his heart as he lets his head tilt slightly to the side. 

“You’re welcome here—your own room, your own space…hell—I’ll make ya bacon everyday,” Jimmy laughs, “-point is, this is your home too. Whatever you need, we’re here. I don’t gotta know everything, all I know is my home is always open to you.” 

My eyes water, my vision blurry as my bottom lip wobbles. “I…thank you,” I voice, my words cracked as I sniffle. 

The heavy tears brimming my lashline make it impossible to see. I feel arms wrap around me—then another pair, and another. 

They’re all hugging me. 

They’re all welcoming me.

Family is always associated with blood—but this is more than that, it’s deeper than that. 

It’s unconditional love. That’s not something anyone can just make or find, it’s something that’s formed in a soul—something indestructible in ways that make my heart feel like it’s healing. 

It makes me feel alive. 

[brittle-doughie]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

∘•············•∘ʚ I’ll Take You: Eternal Sugar Cookie ɞ∘•·············•∘

[They miss you…]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

To each other, you two were a match made in oven. You had an angel would made sure that you were always happy through all kinds of loving affection. And the Sugar of Happiness had a Cookie made for her that she could cherish for as long as she lived. She was all too happy to show you what it meant to feel that joy and love in your heart.

She’d take your hand and fly around the fields of flowers to up in the sky where you two could lay on clouds as you both tell each other’s feelings. Here’s a hint, she loved you and you loved her! Not so much a secret, but always something she loved to hear come from your mouth!

She’d do whatever she could to give you everything and anything, but you’d decline these big gifts she’d give you. It didn’t matter, because as long as you had her, you were always happy. That alone is enough for the Sugar of Happiness to brighten her up the whole day. There was that extra security that you’d never be this close to any Cookie but her!

She was your everything.

To the Sugar of Happiness. You were a Cookie that she can call her everything…

“I never thought that you could make so happy for all these years, my angel…”

“And I could never have been a happier angel without you, my heavenly. I count my stars every day knowing that I was gifted such a wonderful Cookie…”

“What of the other Cookies? I wish they could be as happy as I am with you…”

“I might have the answer for that, my heavenly…”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When she made her paradise, it was to be a place where all Cookies who enter it would be happy. A place where suffering and disease would only be in memory. She gave you your personal spot where all your needs would be met…but to you, that wasn’t what you wanted. You started to see her less and less as she just let her paradise do the work of making you happy. It was her wish after all, to always see you happy.

You wanted her. Your heart yearned for her.

Yes, she’d tend to you when she senses your hurt emotions. You two have that special connection to each other, but she’d now would leave once you’ve calmed down to allow her paradise and the sugar angels to take care of you in her stead.

“My garden is a place where all Cookies must be happy, all of them. I’m sorry I can’t stay like we used to, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less…”

“I want you to stay. I don’t want to be left alone…”

“The Sugar Angels will gift you company, my heavenly. I must welcome the newer guests to my paradise…”

“Wait…”

And she was gone. Just like that…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You missed those times in the past…

Where she could make Cookies happy while still having enough time for you. Weren’t you meant to be for her? If you can’t be with her always, then what were you anymore?

No matter how many times Eternal Sugar tries to paint a smile on your soul, it never lasts…

You were…unhappy….

…

…

…

“What was the world like outside of this place?”

You ponder one night, lying on your back in your bed, looking up at the night sky…was it even a real one?

Just how much of the world would you missing out on when you remained here for all this time?

Were there possibly other places then here that could you feel…happiness? Joy?

….

You hoped your Creators were listening. You ask for them to please give you a sign…

….

…You noticed a faint red string coming from your chest, you somehow didn’t notice that up until now…

You went to reach for it, only for it to somehow come loose and float away into the air…

That felt…freeing? That weight in your chest from your emotions suddenly felt light, as if you weren’t weighed down anymore…

Your angel didn’t pay you mind as much anymore, she won’t seem to fret that much if one Cookie left her paradise…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The garden stood still.

The Bringer gasped suddenly as she clutched her chest, where her heart was located. She brought a hand to her eyes to see that she was crying, her hands start to tremble as she felt her heart being torn in two…she felt…forgotten…

She immediately knew what was wrong with her…

How was she so foolish…

…

…

…No.

She won’t allow it to end like this.

She can make you happy, just like she should’ve always been doing…

And if you refuse, she’ll just have to take you…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You had taken your first steps into this new world, for you. It wasn’t anything like the paradise, with the variety of colors and plants that littered the placed.

You were nervous about this, but you also felt excited.

What did this world have in store for you-

“Heavenly….? Where are you going…?”

You froze up at the worried voice behind you, knowing it too well to mistake it for any Cookie.

“I was just wondering what outside the garden was like. You told me not to go out in fear of monsters, but..I just wanted to see it had in store.”

“Heavenly…”

“Please, call me Y/N Cookie…”

This formality only brought fear to Eternal Sugar’s heart. It was like you two were just strangers in comparison to the soulmates you two always were…it only made her want to get you more quickly…

“Y/N Cookie. I’m relieved to hear you were only curious. Please return to the garden, I..want to talk to you there about something.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you can tell me…”

“Y/N Cookie-“

“Stop.”

…

…

…

…

“I’m sorry….”

“Sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone like I did. My paradise was meant to make every Cookie that live in it happy, but I failed to see that doing that only made you unhappy.”

“No, that was just your duty. It was just how…you’d leave me to let your paradise make me happy when you’re the only one that can…”

“I see that now! So please, come back with me! I want to make this right! To have things go back to how they were!”

“I’m sorry too, my angel. The world is calling for me, and I want to see what it can give me for my own happiness now…”

Eternal Sugar sighed solemnly. It looked like she really ruined things now….

And she aims to fix that.

“Your happiness is with me.”

She immediately flew at you and grabbed you, you try to resist as she pulled you back towards the garden.

“My angel, please!”

“Don’t worry, my heavenly! I’ll make things better!”

“You’re holding me too tightly!”

“Why wouldn’t I? I need to show you how much I love you!”

“If you love me, you’d set me free!”

“But I REALLY love you, so I’ll keep you here with me! Oh, just think of the memories we can make here!”

She held your face close to hers…

“Don’t you get it, my love?”

“You’re EVERYTHING to me….”

You’d never get to see the world. Why would you? SHE is your world now…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[aceecee]

Insatiable - Chapter Ten

TW: blood mentions

WC: 3.3K

Masterlist

Xavier was the fifth one to meet you.

He was the first to be surprised by you.

You’re supposed to be salvation, not his ruin. Be careful of what you do next, you’ve been warned. 

There’s something in the corner of the room.

It’s always around.

He’s not sure when it had become a comfort.

Most days it’s stagnant, not moving an inch from the position it had assigned itself. 

But then comes the moments where he cries and cries and cries.

What else can a weak child do?

Too weak to protect the one he loves, too weak to save her every time she’s carried in the arms of scientists, wailing out his name in hopes he’ll save her.

A hope he wishes will die out for it will never come true. He’ll never be her hero.

It moves when the first tear drops down his face. Its steps are always slow - cautious. 

Arms encircle his frame, his head pushed into a chest, held in a soothing grip.

It disappears with the last tear, back the next day in the corner of the room.

Years pass and he brushes it off as a result of a traumatised mind.

Until his fingers twitch uncontrollably around his new neighbour. Who he claims to hate yet burns with the need to touch.

To feel the sensation of those familiar arms wrap around him again.

“Don’t laugh!” the girl pouts at you.

You try to hold it in but it’s impossible. Her scowl deepens and you didn’t think it was possible for her to get even more red. Eiden’s stronger than you, he’s holding it in and looks not at all affected but you take notice of the way he’s clenching his hand and the smile he’s trying to bite down. Caleb is standing by her side, just as red and looking away. He’s sort of to blame for this, just a little.

But you would never tell him that.

You and Eiden had been waiting by your front door for the two of them, so you could commence your daily routine to walk to school when the other two joined. The reason for your laughter is the mess atop Mara’s head. “Gran is out,” she had tried to explain, “Caleb thought he could do my hair.”

Your laughter dies down when you see tears in her eyes, now you feel bad. “Oh, Mara, I’m sorry. Don’t feel bad,” you rush at the girl, dropping your school bag on the floor so you could comfort her. Eiden picks it up for you.

The feeling inside you when she pushes your arms away is indescribable. It’s the first time she’s ever denied your attention and you don’t know how to feel. Your fingers twitch at your side as your insecurities run wild.

You’d fucked up and now she doesn’t want you anymore, your voice screams in your head. How many times until you learn that you’re a failure meant to be discarded?

You take a step back and quickly throw on a mask, unbeknownst to you, your brother notices the blank face you had tried to cover up. His lips straighten but he doesn’t say a word. He quietly watches the flash of anger in your eyes when Caleb comforts Mara instead. 

You take a deep breath and try again. “I am sorry, Mara. I didn’t realise you were serious,” you gesture to your house. “Let me fix your hair.”

That has her attention on you again. “But…we’ll be late to school then,” she whispers. “Then we’re late,” you shrug. It would be a first for the four of you so you’re confident they’ll let you off easily. 

You feel a sense of relief when the tears in her eyes are gone, replaced by a bright grin. She turns to Caleb, “You go on then, I’ll see you later.” Caleb tries to disagree but his words fall on deaf ears, you step in for him instead.

“Let him stay, I’ll teach him some styles so this,” you point at her hair, “doesn’t happen again.”

The aforementioned boy just watches you silently in that regular way that makes you uncomfortable. You don’t know what his deal is but every time his eyes fall on you, it’s like he’s dissecting you, almost analysing you in a way that makes you afraid he’ll see the real you. More often than not you keep your guard up around him, just in case.

It takes you almost thirty minutes just to untangle her hair from the mess on her head, it’s not made easy by the fact that she has curly hair. The same hair that had been on Gia-

You offer her tips on how to take care of her hair. Another thirty minutes is spent on showing a variety of hairstyles she can do, Caleb who had taken his seat on your bed inched forward every hairstyle until he was practically falling off the bed just so he can memorise it all. You nearly laugh at the focused look he adorns, moments like these remind you that he’s just a child trying his best for the girl he cares about. 

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” you whisper to him, hoping no one else hears. He looks at you confused but you just send him a smile and go back to the task on hand.

Caleb isn’t sure why he feels his face heating up. 

You decide it’s best to not let a single soul know what destiny befallen on Finn. Maybe it would’ve been a good idea to let someone know that an entity of sorts lives inside you and can control you. But you have yet to wrap your mind around the thought itself. It’s too much.

Has this been the result of whatever was done to you?

You try to talk to it inside your head but it’s been two days now and still no response. You tell yourself that perhaps you’ve just remembered the situation wrong and if it responds, you’ll change your thinking. But for now, it’s all thrown to the back of your mind.

You’re back in the N109 zone. No other missions await you. You receive no congratulations from anyone either. 

Good.

Mary had texted you that the renovations had been completed. You let her know that you’ll be by today to see them. And see the kids. You missed them.

Is it wrong to use the comfort that little kids provide by being dumb and cute? Probably but you’re in desperate need for them to ask you stupid questions while clinging to you with sticky hands. 

You stop by the base, changing into a simple hoodie and sweatpants. You’ve learnt that no matter what you wear, you will be leaving with it in stains. It’s something you’ve long accepted.

“Going somewhere?”

Sylus’s voice doesn’t shock you. You had heard him moving around, slowly towards you. 

[“Orphanage.”] 

“Let’s go then,” the man waves his keys at you, walking by while leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway. You stare at his back, it would be just like him to invite himself into your plans as he pleases. 

And yet you continue to let him.

You’re jumped on the second you enter, bright smiles all around. Sylus watches on the sidelines, amused.

He watches the warm look in your eye, the gentle way in which you handle the kids, the way you try to communicate without your words. Something ignites in him, seeing you like this. It’s a new side of you he’s never seen. So patient and understanding. 

You’d make a good mother.

You feel a shiver up your spine, looking at the direction of the white-haired man. The look in his eyes makes you pause.

You’re in danger. 

“You wake her up,” whispers Kieran to Luke.

“No, you do it!” whispers Luke back.

“You’re older!”

“Says who?”

“Wake who up?”

The two masked men jump and scream at the sudden voice behind them. “Boss-man, shhhh,” Luke puts a finger to his mouth, “you’ll wake her up.”

Sylus glares at them, almost offended. “I’m whispering. You’re the ones shrieking.” 

The twins glance at each other and he sighs, it’s never good when they mentally communicate with the other. “Out with it.” 

He’s starting to think he should have just turned around and left when he saw them standing outside their own bedroom. He should know better than to be involved in anything they do. He should have stayed curious because explain to him why he’s being pushed into the bedroom, being used as a shield while the twins hide behind him.

“Look,” points Kieran at his side of the room, right at his bed. 

Now in too deep, Sylus has no choice but to go investigate. He immediately notices the lump on his sheets but stops as he gets closer. He can’t stop the look of shock (and jealousy) on his face.

Why the hell are you sleeping on their bed?

He looks back at the two nuisances who just usher with their hands for him to get closer. They’re not going to be any help.

He moves towards you, lips quirked up as he takes you in. You’re normally a composed person, the only time he can recall seeing you otherwise when he first met you. You had made sure since then to never appear a “mess” again. Sylus never said a word, he understood better than most your need to never show weakness. 

But not even you can control how you look when asleep. Your hair is a mess, covering your face. He had watched you enough on those cameras to know that there’s drool either on your face or on the pillows. You’re sleeping at such an odd angle, he’s sure your body is going to ache when you wake up. 

How cute.

He walks closer and gently nudges you on the shoulder. It’s barely a pat but it’s all you need. His little bird blinks slowly at him before glaring at the man who woke her up. Jealousy settles deep inside him, no one else deserves to see you like this. Only him.

Sylus moves himself so his body hides you from the two other pairs of eyes in the room, he sits down on the bed. “I hope you’re aware that you’re sleeping on Kieran’s bed?” 

You just nod and fall asleep. 

He’s left staring at your body, envious that you felt comfortable sleeping in the twins room and not his.

This won’t do.

He’s quick to scoop you up in his arms, the twins watch with no words as he leaves their room and walks right into his. They have the sense to not ask questions. Sylus places you gently on his bed and watches with satisfaction as you settle in. 

A groan stays stuck in your throat as you feel sleep leave despite your wishes. After so many years of insomnia, waking up after a good night’s sleep is even more torture than what you had gone through. Furthermore, there’s a comforting smell soaked into the pillowcases and bed sheets around you. The scent doesn’t belong to the twins, you know exactly who it does belong to. 

You had slept each night you had been with Zayne. After experiencing being so well-rested in years, you’d rather die than go back to your original state. So, you had come up with a theory that the smell of a person you trusted might help. And it did. 

You slowly open your eyes, taking in the room. It’s the first time you've been in here. Everything in it screams Sylus, the man has excellent taste. You look around for said man until your ears pick up the shower running. The perfect time to snoop. 

Ten minutes later, you’ve been nearly through the entire room with nothing to show for it. Sylus has nothing interesting in his room, you pick up the water turning off and rush back into the bed just as the bathroom door opens. 

Your eyes don’t leave his body, all he has is a towel around his waist. You shamelessly watch the water run down his body. Your fingers twitch as you see his muscles, you’ve always been one to appreciate fine art. 

Sylus smirks as he notices your eyes on him. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

[“No. You’re boring.”] 

He lets out a laugh at your statement, moving closer to you. “Or…I’m smart enough to not keep secrets in my room.”

[‘So, you do have secrets?”] your eyebrows raise.

“Want me to tell you one?”

[“Yes.”]

“Then say my name.”

The request gives you pause. You tilt your head in confusion. 

“You said that doctor’s name,” his voice is deeper when he lets out ‘doctor’. “Say my name,” it comes almost as a plea, he gives you a look that almost seems like desperation. You can’t tell if it’s like him or unlike him. 

You clear your throat. He perks up, it reminds you of a puppy waiting for a treat.

“Sylus,” it comes out much better than when you had said ‘Zayne’, no stutter too.

Before you can move, you’re thrown back on the bed, a heavy figure looming above you.

“Again,” his eyes don’t leave yours. You think you might have just done something that has changed the trajectory of your relationship.

You swallow.

“Sylus.” 

You say it so quietly that if you hadn’t spoken the words you don’t think it could even be heard. But, it seems to be enough for him. His head moves dangerously close to yours. Lips almost touching. He doesn’t move further than that. With the way he’s looking at you, you know the next move is yours.

You don’t hesitate. 

Your lips move desperately together. He’s devouring you in a way that you’re sure he’ll never be satisfied and will take. Again and again. Never stopping.

You break apart but he’s determined to take even your breath as he moves down to your neck, leaving soft kisses and as many marks as possible in his way. 

A hand gently grabs her wrist.

“No more,” Xavier softly commands. He takes the hunter watch off her wrist and pockets it. “You need rest.”

She doesn’t even have it in her to fight. The exhaustion has won. Neither of them say a word as he leads her into her apartment. They settle down on her couch. 

She fidgets with the ugly beaded bracelet on her wrist. In times of emotional crisis, it had become a clutch for her. The orange colour on one of the beads had become so faded in these last few months. 

“What does it mean to you?” his soft voice snaps her out of it. She looks in his direction to see him eyeing the bracelet. She finds herself wanting to answer. It’s shocking how close they’ve become in such a short time. Mara has no idea when Xavier stopped being a co-worker and became a friend. 

“My angel gave it to me.”

His eyebrows furrow a little in confusion. She understands, she’s never muttered the words ‘my angel’ out loud since you disappeared. It feels refreshing. It feels right.

She answers his question before he can even ask it. 

“She left me too.”

The watch on his arm beeps.

He’s not working today but a metaflux has been detected nearby and if he’s received the message then it’s just him alone. He’s informed that backup is twenty minutes away. A message that would give most hunters pause but he’s been alone for a long time, he can rely on himself. He knows he’s capable. 

The wanderers that appear before him are weak but strong in their numbers. One manages to slash him across his back. He grunts in pain but pushes through. His evol works with him to incinerate as many as it can. The fatigue settles in quicker now that he has activated it. How much sleep will he need after this? He’s too caught up in fighting to notice the wanderer that sneaks up on him, it’s too late for him to even teleport when he does. He waits for a pain that never comes up.

It’s then he notices the vines surrounding the wanderer’s body, holding it tightly in their grip. Before his eyes, the wanderer is ripped apart. Every other wanderer he can notice is in a similar predicament.

He’s not alone anymore. There’s a woman standing a few metres before him. She’s far enough that he can’t notice any distinct features. He makes his move.

From a distance, it looks like the sword he throws is meant for her but the woman doesn’t even flinch as it embeds itself into the wanderer behind her. With a loud thud, it falls before disappearing. Numerous protocores flop on the ground around them but neither party cares, too focused on the other.

The green shield around her disappears when he’s confirmed that there’s no longer a threat. The woman gives him a nod and turns to leave. Only for him to move much closer to her.

He doesn’t say anything, just taking her in. His heart beats fast as he looks her over, her hair, complexion, her clothes. He memorises everything. 

His throat suddenly feels dry as he notices the deep scar around her neck. That sense of peace and comfort he had given up crashes into him.

It can’t be…

After what feels like forever, he opens his mouth to speak. “Who are you?”

Why do you look like it? 

How do you exist?

He doesn’t ask those questions, too scared of the answers he might receive. 

The woman taps her mouth and then crosses her arm in an ‘x’ in an attempt to get her message across. It works. 

“You…” he takes a step forward, confused until realising. “You can’t speak?” 

The woman nods in confirmation.

The both of them stare at the other in awkward silence before the woman throws up a goodbye wave and runs away.

Xavier is too baffled by the situation to remember he can teleport. 

Throughout all his life, he finds himself before the statue.

As a kid when being a royal would get too much, after a gruelling training session and recently when he learnt the truth of his world…of his family.

The statue isn’t much to look at. One of the many in his family’s vast collection. Tucked away in the corner of a store room. He had stumbled upon it as a child, when he had tried to run away from his future as a King. 

It was covered in a white sheet but it called to him. With bated breath he had removed the sheet, eyes wide at what he saw.

It resembles a woman. One unlike any he’s come across. She’s beautiful.

No…

It’s too little a word to describe her. She’s a type of beauty that can’t be described for it would only limit her. 

He tried to ask around for any knowledge on who sculpted her, in hopes that maybe she exists and he could find her?

But no one knows anything.

“That statue? I don’t really know, your highness. It just appeared one day.”

“I’ve never seen a statue like that.”

“I have no idea, your highness.”

Even his father is no help. Neither are any texts they have. The mystery of the statue keeps him intrigued. It becomes a sort of comfort over time. He finds himself before her whenever life gets to him, ranting about it all. Anyone else would think him crazy but sometimes it feels like it’s listening.

Above all, one thing about the statue always stood out. The only crack on such old stone.

It was across her neck.

AN: I have to keep reader's interactions with Xavier and Rafayel short cause we need MC for more. Sylus has a breeding kink and you can't tell me otherwise, actually they all do. What nasty freaks.

Sorry for the late chapter, not only do I have three assignments due, I'm also sick!

Tag List: @serenity-loves-red @crimsonmarabou @reni502 @r0ckb1n @queenkymmie @plzdonutpercieveme @perqbeth @mephisto-with-a-knife @tumblingdevils @angelwhizpers @eolivy @yuurisfavblog @miuangel

[misticatarot]

🌙 What You’re Not Seeing Yet – Extended Tarot Reading

Pick an Image (1-2-3)

1) 🔄 Eight of Pentacles (Reversed)

❓ “What am I working for—and why?��

This card reveals a truth that may be hard to admit: you’re putting in effort, showing up, doing the work... but it may not actually be aligned with who you are. There’s a chance you’ve been following a path because it seemed right, or safe, or expected—rather than because it truly feels yours.

What you’re not seeing yet is that hard work isn’t always meaningful work. Sometimes, we end up investing our time and energy into building someone else’s idea of success, chasing rewards that don't really nourish us. The reversed Eight of Pentacles advises you to let go of what you are currently doing. All attempts to move forward will not lead to success. In the chosen area, you will not be able to grow or understand new things. You must quickly decide to abandon your goals. If you don't stop, there is a high risk of losing yourself and being disappointed by life.

🔹 Reflection prompt:

“If I stopped doing this—would I feel relieved or guilty?” "What is the meaning of my actions?"

There’s no shame in letting go of something that no longer supports your growth. Walking away isn’t always quitting. Sometimes, it’s the most self-honoring choice you can make.

2) ⚖️ Two of Pentacles (Upright)

❓ “How can I hold it all together—without losing myself?”

You’re balancing a lot right now—tasks, feelings, relationships, expectations. And on the surface, it might look like you’re managing. But deep down, are you thriving or just surviving?

This card reminds you that balance isn't the same as harmony. Sometimes, it’s just controlled chaos.

What you're not seeing yet is that not everything deserves to be kept in motion. Some things you're holding onto might be draining you more than supporting you.

🔹 Reflection prompt:

“What part of this is for me, and what part is just to keep others happy?” “Where am I sacrificing myself just to keep things from falling apart?” "Where is my center?" "How can I avoid losing my balance?"

True balance doesn’t mean juggling everything. It means choosing wisely where to place your energy. You’re allowed to drop the things that no longer serve your center. To solve the problem, you need to take many factors into account. You must try to combine different processes, take care of yourself and others. One process completely depends on another. If something is overlooked, the entire system could collapse.

3) ✨ Knight of Pentacles (Upright)

❓ “Where am I going—and what am I willing to give in return?”

This card speaks to your potential, your long-term vision, and your ability to build something lasting and grounded.The Knight of Pentacles is steady, focused, and patient. He doesn’t rush—but he always moves forward.

What you're not seeing yet is how much power there is in slow, intentional progress. You don’t need to hustle to prove your worth. You just need to keep showing up—with care.

But there’s a warning too: don’t get stuck in overthinking, and don’t try to skip steps out of impatience. Both hesitation and haste can sabotage your journey.

This road will not be short, but in the end it will lead to a well-deserved reward. The Knight of Pentacles card warns of the danger of stopping, or conversely, of rushing. To reach a new peak, you need to study and work even harder, and gain practical experience. Now is the best time to realize all the possibilities and talents of the seeker. If you take on a task that is too small or too large, there is a high risk of failure.

🔹 Reflection prompt:

“Am I respecting my natural pace—or trying to push or shrink myself to fit someone else’s timeline?” "What do I want to achieve?"

This card tells you: your efforts matter, even when no one sees them. The road may be long—but if it’s aligned with your truth, it will be worth every step. You need to find a middle way and avoid going to extremes. In this sense, the card symbolizes a confident movement toward high goals.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash Photo by Jessica Smith on Unsplash Photo by Dave Ruck on Unsplash

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Touch of Sweetness 9

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Loki Laufeyson

Sister series to mob!Thor

Summary: you make a new friend, but that’s not all. (short reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ���️

Your phone buzzes again. You’re starting to get annoyed. You’re trying to enjoy the day with Queenie and life just wants to bug you. 

The sunlight beams down around the gazebo as Queen lays on the bench. Through the arched window behind her, birds flit around and bugs buzz by. She looks terribly tired. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask as she yawns. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” she turns onto her side. “Just had... a long night.” 

“Huh, did you do something special?” You wonder. 

“No,” she shakes her head. “I just don’t sleep much. Oh well.” 

“Hm, did you try chamomile? Or a hot bath?” 

She shrugs. “It’s not your problem.” 

She rests her head on her bent arm and closes her eyes. The late morning is lazy. You’d like to bask in the stillness but your dang phone keeps going. 

“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” you hop up and slide your phone out of your pocket. She doesn’t react as you turn and flee down the steps. “Jada?” You answer after reading the display, “what’s wrong? Is it mom?” 

“Huh? What?” She sounds just as confused. “No, I’m just—I'm checking in. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” She quavers unevenly. 

“Why?” 

She sighs, “because... you’re my sister and I haven’t seen you. So... I’m checking on you. Like geez, I can do nice things. I’m doing one right now.” 

Her frustration breaks through the flimsy mask of compassion. You exhale and watch a white moth flutter by. You hum. 

“You never care about me.” 

“No, I do,” she insists. “Of course I do.” 

“What did you do?” You challenge. You think you get it now. When she knows she goes too far, she’s nice. It usually gets her out of trouble with your parents. 

“N-nothing,” she squeaks. “God. You’re such a—good sister, I just want to make sure--” 

“I’m fine, okay?” You reply as paranoia creeps up your neck. “And you don’t have to worry about me because you never do. I’m hanging out with my friends. Shouldn’t you be with yours?” 

She scoffs. She’s silent for a moment, no doubt plotting her worst retort. She grumbles. 

“Well, you have fun with those friends,” she makes her voice extra sweet. 

You frown. What the heck is going on? Wait? Is she jealous? After all these years of treating you like a loser, of you being the hanger-on, is she really jealous? You almost laugh. 

“Alright, I will,” you stick out your tongue even though she can’t see it. “Bye.” 

“Um, bye, but--” 

You hang up. You look at the phone and scrunch up your nose. Something’s off. Jada never calls. Sure, she’ll text you to demand something, or accuses you of stealing her favourite hair clip, but she doesn’t call you. She certainly doesn’t check in. 

You put your phone on silent and back in your pocket. You go back into the gazebo as Queenie sits up, leaning against a column as she gazes through the window. You drag your feet over and sit at the other end. 

“Everything alright?” She asks. 

“I think...” 

“Oh? What do you mean?” She turns to you. 

“It was my sister.” You huff. 

“Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine. She’s... annoying. You know, she doesn’t want anything to do with me, ever, and now I have a friend, a great friend like you, she’s bugging me.” 

“Really? I thought she was mean to you.” 

"She is. Most of the time. But she calls me up acting all worried,” you harrumph. “She just doesn’t make any sense.” 

Queenie hums and looks back out at the whimsical garden. It’s just like Jada to ruin your day without even being there. Now you’re all anxious trying to figure out her game. 

“Loki brought you here...” she says. 

You flinch and look at her, “yeah?” 

She shrugs and averts her eyes. She stares off thoughtfully. Her forehead stitches. 

“I didn’t ask him to.” 

Your heart thrums, “you didn’t?” 

She shakes her head. 

“Oh, but... I’m sorry if I crashed--” 

“No, I don’t mind. I’m happy you came. I’m just thinking.” 

“Right,” you nod. “Thinking about... what?” 

She shifts and turns her back to the birds and the bugs. She tilts her head and her cheeks dimple. She rubs her index against her thumb. 

“How did Loki find you? If you weren’t expecting him?” 

You blink. You don’t know. “Well, we ran into each other at the coffee place. I just thought maybe it was a coincidence.” 

“Uh huh,” she clicks her tongue. “Does he know about your sister?” 

“About?” 

“That she isn’t very nice?” Queenie sniffs. 

You shrug. “I guess I might have mentioned it. I don’t know.” 

She leans forward and hunches over her lap. She props up her head in her hands and she squints. When she sits up, she looks determined. 

“He likes you a lot.” 

“He’s nice.” 

“He’s not,” she insists. “He doesn’t even like his own brother.” 

“He doesn’t? But Thor is so nice.” 

She hesitates then waves off the thought. “Well, they are brothers. You know how siblings can be.” She pinches her lower lip as she thinks. “When did your sister start acting strange?” 

“Come on, it’s just Jada being Jada. She likes to mess with me,” you snort as you start to see her logic. 

“When?” She asks again. 

She’s your friend. You have to be honest. 

“I got home yesterday and she was all... weird. Acting all... nervous. She even cleaned the clothes she ruined with my berries. And cleaned my room.” You explain. 

“She did that?” Queenie gasps. 

You nod, “yeah, see. That’s how she is. Typically. She just does mean things to me but now...” 

Her eyes narrow. “You should leave. On your own. Call a cab.” 

“What? Did I upset you?” You’re taken aback by here suddenness. 

“No,” she stands and grabs you by your arm. “I’m not mad. I’m doing this for you.” 

“Why? I don’t understand--” 

“Look, maybe I’m wrong but I really don’t think I am. I know Thor and his brother. I know how they are. You’re too sweet to see it and you should keep it that way.” She drags you across the gazebo. “You need to go.” 

“But--” 

She stops you and makes you face her. “He did it. Loki. No one just has a moment of regret out of nowhere, especially when they’ve been getting away with it for years. I know that better than anyone. Loki left yesterday rather quickly, didn’t he?” 

“No, what do you think--” 

“Maybe he just threatened her or maybe he really did hurt her...” Queenie says. 

You gulp. You think of Jada and how she winced. You never saw her afraid like that but last night, was like someone threw water on a cat. You don’t want to believe it but there’s really no other reason you can come up with. Coincidences are nice but your mother always says they don’t happen. 

“No, he wouldn’t--” 

“Ladies,” Loki’s slither undercuts your protest. 

You and Queenie freeze, sharing a look of panic. You turn to watch him strut along the pathway. She lets you go and elbows you. You smile. 

“My brother sent me out. He had some lunch prepared.” 

“Of course,” Queenie slips her hand down to yours. “We were just saying how peckish we are.” 

[justanotherabbystan]

A glimpse into what Abby is like as a romantic partner.

⸻༺ ✿ ༻⸻༺ ✿ ༻⸻

♥︎ She never lets you overthink.

♥︎ She would never be the kind of partner to leave you lying awake at night, doubting your worthiness of love.

♥︎ Reassurance? You don’t have to ask for it. She instinctively offers you reassurance and support, especially when she senses you're being too hard on yourself. Having experienced the struggles of overthinking herself, she would never want you to endure that alone.

♥︎ Abby would move mountains just to see you happy. Her love is gentle, tender, and unwavering, always there to support you in both good times and bad. She listens with an open heart, understanding your struggles and celebrating your joys. Abby shows up for you.

♥︎ She understands your struggle with opening up all too well. When she senses you're facing an internal battle, she doesn’t pressure you to share. Instead, she gently reassures you that she’s there for you, that she’s got your back, and whenever you’re ready to talk, she’ll be there to listen.

♥︎ She never raises her voice in an argument, that’s simply not her way of doing things. She communicates calmly, and when you both find yourselves in a disagreement, she suggests taking a moment to breathe and gather your thoughts. The last thing she wants is to argue with the person she loves most.

♥︎ After an argument, she sits down with you to calmly resolve things. She makes it clear that even when you two bicker, it’s you against the problem, not against each other. Never against each other.

♥︎ Abby would never do anything to make you doubt her loyalty or love for you. She is deeply devoted to you, and her actions reflect that devotion. Being loved by her means you can rest easy at night, free from worries about not being good enough.

♥︎ She takes a genuine interest in your hobbies and passions. You could share the same topic with her a million times, and she listens with unwavering enthusiasm each time. Like I said, she’s hopelessly devoted to you.

♥︎ She’s your solid support, always protective and caring by nature. When she sees you’re having a tough time, her instinct to care kicks in even more. She’ll make it clear that she’s got your back, and even when you can’t find the words to express how you feel, she’ll just hold you close. With her arms around you, she creates a warm sense of home, letting you know that you’re never alone and that she’ll always be there to face anything together.

♥︎ Abby’s love is real, sincere, and loyal, the very bedrock of her being.

⸻༺ ✿ ༻⸻༺ ✿ ༻⸻

[ghostgirl-22]

i’ve been thinking of this for days and i cant get it out of my head but tashi and art playing good cop bad cop essentially with patrick in the bedroom, patrick had been pissing them off more then normally and they have had enough, art fucking patrick from behind making patrick lose any sense of speech going on and on about how pathetic patrick is for him, tashi holding patrick’s hand and tugging his hair while he eats her out whispering about how good he is being for them

whoops i went insane. Here’s 3.6k words anon. Help! Idk why this is so long. Also I’m really fucking bad at dominant Art like…i don’t know why it’s not clicking but here he is trying like i am.

CW: MDNI, NSFW, not really proof read, soft!dom art

—-

It’s always hotter when Art gets jealous. So pretty and sweet and compliant for her. He’s got this other side to him. This side of him that Tashi never really saw until Patrick came back into their lives. This side of Art that she’s kind of obsessed with. It comes out when Patrick’s flirting with other people… usually guys.  

Patrick’s always been flirtatious, it’s something of a default. But these days… the way the three of them have been unable to keep their hands off of each other… it’s just been so much… worse. And Tashi—well Tashi’s complicit actually. She often finds herself egging him on—sometimes even starting it. Both of them doing it just for a reaction. 

It’s an otherwise typical summer day, another hotel. Another tournament. Lily’s at home with Tashi’s mom, she’s going to day camp with friends from her expensive private school and she refused to miss any of it. 

So it’s just the three of them this week. On their best behavior.

Well… it’s only night one.

They have a couple hours off before a charity awards banquet and she and Patrick are lounging at the pool. It’s Tashi who notices when the pool boy spares an extra glance at Patrick spread out on the deck chair. Half naked, short swim trunks, still wet and clinging to his muscular thighs. 

“Someone’s got a crush,” she says softly, nudging between his ribcage and looking towards the pool boy. Patrick can’t resist. Suddenly he’s showing off, asking all about pool maintenance (like he fucking cares). Legs spread on either side of the pool chair, the beginnings of a bulge in his shorts just visible. The kid, he can’t be much older than 24, is practically drooling. Can’t keep his eyes off of him. 

It’s timed so perfectly when Art comes out of the hotel to join them on the pool deck.  Tashi can see the peak of color blooming on Art’s cheeks as he takes in the scene. Watches his eyes go dark and the way he grips his phone tighter. The pool boy is practically on Patrick’s lap. 

Art clears his throat and Patrick just waves, still flirting, acting oh so oblivious when he knows. 

Tashi grabs Art’s arm as he approaches, pulling him down onto her pool chair.  Whispers in his ear, “He’s so fucking out of control… I told him to stop flirting but you know how he is.” She pouts. 

They both look over at the manager who seems to be the only one more annoyed than Art. “Oh no, I hope he doesn’t get the kid in trouble,” Tashi says, genuinely.

That’s all the motivation Art needs. “Patrick let him do his job so he doesn’t get in trouble over you,” he says, coolly. Controlled. 

“Shit… I’m sorry. You can tell him it was all my fault,” Patrick says with a grin that makes pool boy blush. He stands up and stumbles a little. Tashi wants to laugh because she gets it… Patrick’s so annoyingly disarmingly charming he has that effect on people.

“Maybe I can tell you more about it later,” the kid says, eyes falling back down to Patrick’s shorts. 

“You can tell me whatever you want when you’re off the clock sweetheart,” Patrick smirks. 

Tashi notices the way Art’s white knuckling the pool chair, his jaw set.   

“Thank you mister… um…” 

“Just call me Patrick.” 

“Thanks Patrick,” the kid grins and then waves, hurrying back to his work. But he keeps glancing over, and Patrick’s always there to show off a little more for him. 

“What the fuck are you doing? You’re old enough to be his dad,” Art snaps. 

“Oh yeah, cause I was having kids at the age of 8,” Patrick laughs. “Don’t be jealous, baby. He doesn’t get to have it. He just gets a show.” 

But Art is jealous…so fucking jealous. “Tashi already told you to stop flirting. Maybe you need a lesson in how to behave,” He says it soft, but it’s definitely a warning. Tashi almost grins but she bites down on her lip instead.  

Patrick glances at her and then smirks, both of them knowing she told him no such thing.    

*

It’s the same thing at the gala that night. Patrick’s all dressed up in a three piece suit. It looks so good on him he might as well be naked. Pearlescent lavender tie, tucked neatly into his fitted waistcoat, perfectly tailored suit jacket to pull it all together. All the trappings of being a former rich kid slipping through. She can’t believe she’d ever worried he wouldn’t fit in. He's fixing his cuff links in the full length mirror and it takes everything inside her not to hike up her gown and straddle him before they leave. She can tell by the way Art’s gaze lingers on him that he feels the same way. Patrick knows it too… which is the problem. 

He’s preening all night. No one knows he belongs to them. They’ve all decided to keep it quiet just for the fact that they don’t really want the general public and all their crazy judgements and opinions in their bedroom. (She’s still seeing think pieces about Will and Jada’s open marriage for christs sake). 

But that just means it’s open season. 

Tashi’s playing both sides. In Patrick’s ear, pointing out all the pretty girls and boys who seem curious about the Donaldsons handsome new friend. And then pretending to be so furious alongside Art when Patrick flirts with them. 

She does sometimes wish that she was normal. That she didn’t find it all so exciting. She’s pretended to be normal for so very long. She’s a wife, a professional tennis coach, a mom. She’s even a token an honorary member of the stuffy all waspy parents board at Lilly’s school. She can’t imagine what any of those mothers would say if they knew what she was really like.  

“It’s pathetic really,” Art complains to her, clinking his whiskey glass on the table. Staring hard at Patrick who’s been cornered up against the bar by some handsome tall guy. Talking too close. Phone in hand for his number. ”How is he this fucking desperate for attention?” 

“Oh I know,” Tashi agrees, like she’s innocent. “I was thinking the same thing.”

She looks him over, he’s so fired up, blue eyes alight with hunger and frustration. It makes her wet. Makes her want to get on her knees for him right underneath their table and take him into her mouth… lick him till he feels better. Instead she reaches up and gently brushes his hair back, his hungry gaze falling onto her. “Mm sorry, it’s just annoying and we’re in public I wish he’d…” he sighs softly and kisses her on the cheek and then the shoulder, she responds by gently rubbing his thigh.  

“What if…tonight we taught him a lesson?” She suggests. 

Oh he likes that idea. For the rest of the night he’s eager, leg bouncing impatiently as they’re seated for dinner (Patrick flirting with the waiter). Nearly forgets himself as they get up to accept the award for their charity work. They’re taking pictures and shaking hands (and Patrick’s in the back chatting up some guy from the press).

Art can’t take much more. It’s how the night ends early. How they race to get Patrick back upstairs to the bedroom. All of them still in their finest dress clothes. Tashi sitting on the edge of the king sized bed watching Art play with Patrick’s tie, a gentle tug to pull him closer. “Why do you need so much fucking attention?” Art asks it like he’s shy.  

Patrick just grins, “What do you mean, Art? You’re the one who got the reward… I mean award.”

Art tugs a little harder on the tie and Patrick’s forced to stumble forwards. ”Come on… you know what I mean. Why do you have to flirt with everyone you fucking meet?” Tashi crosses her legs, leaning back on her palms, she’s so fucking obsessed with this dynamic.

“I can’t help it if everyone wants me,” Patrick says, Cheshire grin only widening. ”I’m not even married to you, sweetheart. You’re getting all this for free so honestly…you should just be grateful.”

That makes Art smile, but there’s nothing sweet about it. “Should I be grateful? Sweetheart?” Art asks, eyes so wide and “innocent” ...tugging full force on the tie so Patrick is made to lean in close, his hands flying up to brace himself on Arts shoulders. 

“Well yeah,” Patrick rubs at his neck, tenderly, still smirking. Their faces inches apart and Patrick’s tongue peaks out between his lips. Oh he loves it as much as she does. She can barely sit still. Barely be quiet. She had no idea this was in Art. He's so sweet with her. So compliant. So yes, no, whatever you want babe. Apparently takes it all out on Patrick. 

“I think if it’s attention you want…” Art shrugs, wrapping the tie around his fingers. “Maybe we should give you attention. What do you think Tashi?” he glances at her and Patrick follows his gaze, though he’s already on a really short leash. Two pretty boys, eager for her, eager for each other. Tashi tries not to reveal how desperately hot she finds all this. 

God she can hear the snobby mother of Lilys best friend now. “Two men. You have two men in your bedroom? I knew you were a freak.”  God forbid she found out they also fuck each other. This is so far from normal. But god she needs it.

She rests  her head on her shoulder, eyes darting back and forth between them. “I agree, I think he needs it.” 

“Bout fucking time,” Patrick says. 

His last bit of sass before Art makes him get on his knees. Patrick Zweig all prettied up in a ridiculously expensive suit, on his hands and knees on the floor of their fancy hotel suite, wiggling his ass suggestively for Art’s benefit. “Like this?”

”Yeah like that,” Art says, his tone light. Soft. He’s always so soft until he isn’t. “Now can you please say sorry to Tashi? Tell her how you’re really sorry that you acted like such a slut tonight.” 

Patrick snorts. “Sorry Tashi even though—“ 

“No Patrick…” Art cuts him off.  “Say it between her legs. Spell it with your tongue.” 

Tashi feels her heart rate pick up. She’s already squirming and now Patrick’s looking at her… eyes so hungry. 

“Mmkay,” Patrick grins as he crawls over, eyes dancing with their little secret. Co-conspirators. Both of them working together to get Art to this point. She uncrosses her legs and he plays with the straps of her heels for just a moment before he starts to move up her body. Slowly guiding the sheer fabric up her calves along her knees to her thighs. Peppering little kisses as he works his way up. She opens a little wider for him as the gathered fabric pools at her waist. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers. 

“Shh,” she smiles and he grins back. He plays his fingertips along her calves, under her knees, and she curls her fingers into his thick black hair as the soft scruff of his beard tickles her inner thighs. 

He mouths at her panties. “Mm, just like that,” she sighs softly as his hot tongue laps at the lacy fabric. He groans. She gazes up at her husband while Patrick’s tasting her, like she wants his approval. (“Am I doing it right baby? Is this how you wanna play it?”). It makes her giddy to be able to follow his lead.

He holds her gaze as he shuffles out of his suit jacket, his waistcoat, undoes his tie. There's a careful practiced control in his movements, years of being in the spotlight, a dominant player on the professional tennis circuit… he's got a good handle on his physicality by now. But everything’s still visible in his eyes. His gaze heated, intense, feral. She glances down, noticing the visible bulge along the inseam of his dress pants. 

God. Tashi bucks up against Patrick eagerly. Feels him slip his tongue just past her panties, directly into the wet heat of her cunt. It makes her gasp and he hums between her legs in response. the vibration of it makes her wiggle her hips, spread her legs wider. 

“Mm so good at that baby,” Tashi breathes. 

“Tastes good, Tashi,” Patrick breathes, hot against her thighs. 

“Why are you talking Patrick? I don’t think I told you to stop,” Art says, singsong, he’d been rustling around in their luggage. Now he’s approaching Patrick, a little bottle of lubricant in hand. Slowly he gets to his knees. Takes his time undoing Patrick’s pants, dragging them off of him. Followed by the deliberate tug of his boxer briefs. “God you’re a whore,” he sighs as he surveys Patricks bare bottom. 

Patrick whines and Tashi shivers in response . “It's okay baby, I've got you,” she says, trying to be gentle, but the tension in her body is rising. She feels so out of control she’ll probably end up shoving his face deeper into her cunt soon.

“Imagine if we weren't here to keep you under control.” Art continues. “I bet you’d let anybody come inside. I bet you’d let them line up for this. Men just taking turns loosening you up.” He slips his lubed up fingers inside, his eyes back on Tashi as he does it.

Tashi feels the ripple effect when Patrick moans.

“Thats what you want isn't it?”  Art murmurs, fingers working faster. “One man after the other after the other. All of them so hard for you. No time in between. Just boy after boy pumping you so full of cum you can’t think straight. Fucking you dumb like the horny brainless slut that you are.”

Patrick moans again. God. He’d love that. Boys standing in line jerking themselves off watching him take it while they wait their turn. He's already pushing back on Art's fingers while he laps at her, so hungry all the time. So greedy.

 “Oh fuck,” she whines, she can’t help pushing Patrick’s head down. She can feel herself thrusting up against his face, mouth and tongue, she drapes one leg over his shoulder. Pulling his hair to hold him there. His desperate lapping at her wet cunt starting to sound obscene. 

She feels it when Art takes hold of her heeled foot and places a gentle kiss to her ankle. “Fuck yes. Is he sorry baby? Does it feel like he’s sorry?” 

“Yes,” Tashi gasps, stunned by the whiny octave of her own voice.

“Mmm, i dont know,” Art’s voice breaking too… just a little bit. “I don’t think he’s sorry enough. I think he can do better.” 

Tashi whines as Patrick, desperate to prove Art wrong, presses his tongue deeper, teasing her clit. So much heated pressure all at once she’s holding her breath, toes curling in her strappy shoes. “Oh fuck Patrick… ohmygodohmygod oh. oh fuck,”  she whines, practically fucking his face as she feels the tension spill over and suddenly she’s clenching, over and over… her body spasming through orgasm, drawing whines from deep within her. 

“Fuck,” she hears Art whisper as she sinks back onto her elbows arching up while Patrick is gasping into her cunt. His big hands under her thighs dragging her closer to the edge of the bed, like even with his head jammed into her pussy, it still isn’t close enough. 

She has to shove his head away a minute later when it gets too sensitive. She catches her breath, pulling her leg off his shoulder. She realizes she’d been pulling hard on his hair so she makes up for it by gently brushing it back. He’s looking between her thighs like he wants to start again. She makes him look at her face, she wants to see the mess she made. His mouth all wet, eyes glimmering in the dim light.

 “Good boy,” she whispers. 

Patrick’s breathless and moaning and thats when she realizes Art’s still fingering him and he’s pushing back, eagerly. Whining as he presses light, eager, wet kisses into her inner thighs.

“Fuck Patrick…I'm barely two fingers in and you’re dripping all over the floor.” Art says, and oh he's breaking. she’s watching him fall apart in real time. He removes his fingers to the sound of Patrick whimpering and Tashi notices Art can barely keep his hand steady as he unzips himself. He’s shivering… the last crumb of control going out the window.

Art presses himself inside of Patrick, falling apart with every inch, desperate. Pretty, pretty boy. He's not gonna last. Patrick is taking it. Giddy for more. Needs it harder. Rougher. Faster. “Oh fuck yes, Art, fuck yes,” Patrick groans so giddy for something more substantial to fill him up. 

“Quiet,” Tashi says. She knows Art like Patrick knows Art. Too much talking will cut whatever time he has left in half.  

She slips two fingers inside herself and Patrick gasps watching her. “You want another taste?” She breathes. 

“God yes,” Patrick groans. She can’t help fingering herself just a little longer before feeding her sticky wet fingers into his mouth. God, shes so turned on watching Art fuck him it’s like she’s ready again. Like she didn’t just finish a minute ago.

She’s gentle with her fingers in his mouth at first. And then her mild tendency towards sadism takes over and she's sitting up…shoving more fingers in, shoving them deeper. Filling his mouth while Art fills his ass. Making him gag for her and then telling him, “it’s okay… shhh, you're okay.”

And Art so messy… so all apart. Skin slapping loudly as he shoves himself inside, talking like he needs it. Talking like its the only thing keeping him sane. “Dont you love it Patrick? All the fucking attention. Dont you fucking love it? ” voice like honey, sticky warm. punctuating his words with deep jerky thrusts. “You little fucking whore.” Fingers dug so tight into Patrick’s hips they’ll be etched there for days. “You think that silly little pool boy could do this? Hm? You think he could fuck you like this?”

Patricks whining with his mouth full. Eyes watering because of all the gagging. He wants to touch himself but Art wont let him. Its not long before he’s just a mess of moaning and whimpering and gasping. All sensation, all exposed. Like a raw nerve. 

That's when Art shatters. Groaning, hips stuttering as he releases, holding himself flush inside Patrick letting himself spill as deep as he can. It makes Tashi shiver. She pulls her fingers dripping from Patrick’s mouth and slides them under the buttery fabric of her dress. Pressing them back inside herself while she watches them.  

Patrick tries to touch himself again and she nudges him away with her foot because she knows it’s not what Art wants.   

“Fuck I need— I need—,” Patrick gasps. His breathing uneven, voice a raspy shell of itself. Christ. Patrick, absolutely wrecked, sounds so sexy.

Art begins to come down as he slips out. He lifts his pants back up over his ass and drops onto the floor, breathlessly looking at Patrick still displayed on hands and knees in front of him. “Look at you,” he hums like hes proud of his handiwork. “All dressed up just to be fucked like a whore.”

“Fuck, please Art can I— can I— just need a little—“

“Oh? You need more attention? After all that we just did for you?” Art says condescendingly. “Hey… why dont you go call that guy who gave you his number?”

Tashi giggles and Patrick groans. “Art, fuck, come on… tashi…” Patrick looks up at her desperately. Shamelessly. Her natural tendency isn’t to be nice but she’s fair… and to be fair they are kind of in this together. After all she did egg him on.

She gazes at him, slips her fingers out from inside where she’s been lightly playing with her clit and paints his pouty lips with her slick, his greedy little tongue following her movements. So gorgeous. “Baby be nice,” she says to Art. 

“Thank you, fuck yes, be nice. Thank you Tashi.” Patrick looks back at Art though…still begging him for permission.  

Art smirks at her and then shrugs as his gaze falls back to Patrick. “You’re so lucky aren’t you? You’ve got two people taking such good care of you…you little fucking show off… give us a show.” 

Patrick doesn’t need to be told twice. He clambers to his shaky feet. Stripping down to nothing for them. A strip tease that’s effectively more amusing than sexy…At least until he takes himself in hand. The full heft of him sliding between his thick calloused fingers, his biceps flexed, abs taut. Art on the floor, Tashi on the bed and he’s looking between them both as he gets closer and closer.

“Like it?” Patrick gasps out. “Just like when we were teenagers, huh? The time you asked me to do it while you watched me, Tashi.  Fuck. All those nights lying next to each other in bed while we did it together, Art.”

Tashi and Art exchange glances before looking back just in time to watch him finishing, blowing it all over his fancy dress clothes… puddled on the floor. Still tugging at it, heavy breathing, moaning as more of it spatters. Shameless.

Tashi feels antsy. She can see the way Art is beginning to tent his briefs. She knows this is only round one. No kids. Nothing to do tomorrow. They’ll be up all night. 

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

it’s always so fun to see suguru interact with literally anyone because it’s so clear how intentionally he presents himself depending on who he’s speaking to. and his values always bleed out through his interactions in one way or another … he’s polite towards authority figures / adults and finds it important to address them with respect but only if they’re actually deserving of said respect (child killers = generally No. LMAOO …) like he lectured satoru about using watashi or boku when speaking to tengen but was also on board with fighting them if it turned out riko wanted to live. he isn’t a kiss ass, his own morals ultimately override the importance he places on age hierarchies, he just recognizes the importance of politeness (or presenting yourself as such) = taking care not to step on anyone’s toes, especially as a young person, especially in a society where age matters a Lot,,, anyway suguru has a distrust of adults and it shows through his masking. because yes he’s respectful towards them but he’s also rocking his customer service smile the Whole time. his own values have a lot to do with Respect and Order and etc; like he cares about that kind of tradition but do i think he trusts the judgment of the adults around him ??? well . No. yaga is the only adult in the series that suguru feels safe enough around to act childish with (to . someee degree) (see also: him joking about yaga going senile and following it up with ’well jokes aside ^_^’ LMAO….) and even that bond ends up broken, presumably during his deterioration. he calls him a muscle-brained moron in jjk 0 and i don’t think he was putting up a front in that scene LOL ,,, he ultimately dislikes yaga’s social ineptitude (even though they both act more through subtlety than directness yaga is like ,,,, incapable of having tact. lol. i hate him sorry anywayyyy). all this to say suguru is a respectful boy towards adults but i do think he distrusts them more than anyone.

with his seniors in jujutsu high i think his respect is more sincere but it’s hard to tell since we only see him speaking to yuki when he’s … too depressed and suicidal to joke around, even if he wanted to. but i don’t think he would have even if he could. yuki is not only his senior but also strong(er than him… lol) other than that we only see him interacting with utahime, and this interaction is really interesting and telling because he acts really condescending towards her without realizing it. i also think you can read his initial words (”it’s not nice to pick on the weak, satoru.”) <- as playful in itself if not a little mean. which is weird because she is very much his senior, and it does make me wonder if suguru ultimately considers strength to be more important than age ,,,, in the sense that like . well. He’s the senior as far as ability goes. utahime is also their friend ,,, kind of . at least shoko’s friend so that could play a part !! but yeah i do think suguru would treat a senior with genuine respect, at least provided that they’re strong — he is a respectful boy and i believe it’s more than just for appearance sake, albeit still calculated (i said that people need to Earn his respect and i stand by that but i also think he’s more than capable of sucking up if that’s what the situation demands …. we never see him in that scenario, though, so i can’t say for sure but i would assume so. there’s a line, though.)

then we have his interactions with his juniors (<- or ppl who are younger than him in general) which are like . soooooo charming so very charming. haibara is the most obvious example and most clear-cut evidence that sugu has a senpai complex LOL (only half-kidding i do think he’s a little sick about it) because he pampers him … he’s not overly coddling but he’s so obviously fond, he buys him drinks, he puts effort into being a good senpai. he takes age hierarchies seriously in Many ways — there’s a responsibility that comes with being older that he doesn’t neglect. that being saiddd the riko scenes are super funny because unlike haibara she is Rude and mouthy even though suguru is older AND was kind towards her from the jump and his response to that is to punish her with satoru LMAO ….. and he’s playful with her in this scene !!!! even a little mean lol. and part of that is satoru’s influence but not by a large margin i do think he was genuinely irked by her lack of respect LOL ….. but then, when she finally opens up to him towards the end and confesses that she wants to live he softens !!! considerably!!!!!! and he’s back in senpai mode. ”let’s go home, riko-chan.” <- he sounds so brotherly here ……. that’s only me reading into the english phrasing tho…… anyway

kuroi is another good example i shouldn’t forget her … it’s kind of a similar situation as utahime actually because when he walks up to her and says ”well, aren’t you strong?” i do perceive it as slightly condescending. probably not on purpose? but again, kuroi is a case where she may be older but not Stronger — ANDDD kuroi is a non-sorcerer. he looks down on them by nature even if he doesn’t really get that himself lol. but he’s still kind and respectful to kuroi, considerate too (like telling her that she’s riko’s family ….) <- this has nothing to do with her age though it’s him being kind. because he is kind. i genuinely don’t think he realizes he’s looking down on someone until others point it out to him. AH BUT DO NOTEEE he is a lot less silly with kuroi than riko and i do think that part is an age thing. like he speaks to kuroi fairlyyyy casually ? but he’s soft-spoken and well-mannered and more mature-seeming. <- which. as has been established. is something suguru just does when it comes to adults. he doesn’t want to be seen as disrespectful or socially unaware (i should’ve mentioned this when i was talking about yaga before since i called him socially inept lolol. but i think it’s very safe to say that social awareness is really, really important to suguru, i’d personally call it a core aspect of his character … socially speaking he’s very intelligent and i think that’s something he takes pride in — he knows how he is perceived by the world, he knows how to give off a certain impression, he knows how to please people and keep the waters calm. he knows how to act according to what the situation demands from him; he’s prepared.) with adults he respects / admires i would guess that he doesn’t want to be seen as childish, either…. which he has no problem being when it comes to satoru LMAO.

and well that brings me…,, to satoru who i was going to focus on from the start but this post went out of my hands cough cough . i just wanted to talk about how his interactions are so interesting because it’s sooo obvious when he is and isn’t putting on a front, since we see how suguru is with satoru. shoko too but still mainly satoru. like he’s SILLY …. he’s petty and he gets irritated and pulls out his curse to teach him a lesson and grumbles about being put on the same mission as him …. (also the cute voice he makes in ep1 when he’s walking up the stairs and satoru teases him i do NOT remember what that was about but you get what i’m trying to say ……) he can be silly. he can act like a Boy and it’s almost exclusively with satoru — someone who is his age, his equal in strength and age <- Most of all. someone who does Not at all have the social awareness suguru does. someone who has opened his heart to him. i don’t think suguru would’ve acted as silly as he does in hidden inventory if satoru wasn’t a part of his class. he would still feel comfortable being annoying LMAO and a little silly too ,,, but not childish to the extent that he is with satoru. he laughs and grumbles and gets frustrated and flips off the screen when satoshoko take that picture after he loses at the arcade game …… suguru is unmasked here. there’s nothing to worry about, and no reason to view himself through the hyper-vigilant lens he’s grown accustomed to bearing in mind. he’s the moral compass of the trio, and the most responsible and ”proper” one, but with satosho he gets to enjoy being a troublemaker too. (i feel bad for singling shoko out because she’s sooo important to him and he feels very at ease around her too evidently ,, but there’s no denying satoru brings out a specific range of emotions from suguru that no one else is privy to).

anyway it MOVES me . so bad . his range of emotions is so delicious and i love that he acts so differently depending on who he’s speaking to. this is honestly even More obvious in jjk 0 because he is full on Faking his emotions and pretending to be good-willed rather than like … putting on a front, or sort of ”half-lying” or framing himself in a certain light …,, you get what i’m saying. cult!geto isn’t just masking, he’s putting on a performance. and he drops it as SOON as the non-sorcerers turn their backs on him. then he’s acting silly with manami (and i really don’t think he’s putting on a front in any scene where he’s alone with his family !!!!! he’s a silly man !!!!!!!! he loves them a lot and is obviously sincere with them, esp nanamimi — the flashback scene on the rooftop is honestly the most unguarded we ever see suguru other than some shots of akari.) ….. he puts on a performance with yuuta but i do think he seriously wanted to recruit him. and he was honest about his world-view; transparent, if nothing else ,, then satoru shows up and he’s full on forcing himself to be silly. because as soon as he’s back home he watches the sunset with the saddest pair of eyes and when satoru finds him nearly dead he immediately decides that he wants to ”die clean” (<- this is how the light novel puts it), only because it’s him and satoru at the end. and in this scene, especially the very last line where he’s like .., about to cry he is unguarded. i think cult!geto is really scared to be seen as vulnerable by gojo. but he just sort of crumbles; both before he dies, and in the afterlife of chapter 236. he’s snarky and sort of trying to come off as nonchalant in either one but in both cases satoru’s sincerity kills his attempt. sorry this somehow devolved into a stsg discussion ,,,, though it was kind of that from the beginning too.

[togeppy]

gentle touches ;

bodhi durran x reader

after rsc, bodhi helps take care of his girlfriend, getting her healed, washed up, and comfortable in his bed. ✧ : had to get at least one fic in for bodhi week on @empyreanevents, here’s day 6: soft bodhi!

Never before in your life have you felt so completely disoriented. You’re not sure how long you were in the torture chamber with your squadmates - has it been hours since you’ve seen been exposed to the outside world? Days? You’re in so much pain from RSC that you’re no longer sure where you’re injured, you just know that your body feels like it’s on fire, and you need to get yourself to the healers immediately. 

Your squadmates all headed in the direction of the infirmary immediately after being released, but with the daze that all of you are in, no one seemed to notice when you accidentally made a wrong turn and ended up separated from them all. The fact that your eyes are nearly swollen shut doesn’t help - you can barely see where you’re walking, completely unable to do anything but limp forward in hopes of coming across someone that can direct you to the healers. 

As you trudge forward slowly down the corridor, you can barely make out two figures approaching you head-on and you send up a quick prayer to Zihnal that they’re kind hearted enough to help you out instead of taking advantage of your situation. 

“RSC?” a sharp-but-familiar voice cuts through the silence, and you feel your nervousness subside upon realizing it’s Xaden, your wingleader, in front of you. For a moment, you think you’ve injured your head and eyes so badly that you’re seeing double, but with a few blinks to clear your vision, you realize it’s your boyfriend Bodhi standing next to him, the duo looking more like cousins than ever. 

You want to nod, but you’re in so much pain that you can’t even move your head forward enough to execute it. A gentle pair of arms wraps around you, holding you up, careful not to touch the areas where you’re visibly hurt. You’d recognize the careful touch anywhere, and your body sags into the man’s arms, letting him take the brunt of your weight. 

“What are you doing here, love? Shouldn’t you be going to the healers?” Bodhi asks softly, though you can hear how tense his voice is, likely angry from seeing you in this state. 

“Got lost,” is all you manage to get out, your voice raspy from the rawness of your throat. You’re severely dehydrated, and every single one of your senses seems to be currently impaired. 

“I’ll take her to the healers, you go on without me,” Bodhi says to Xaden. You can tell that he’s being considerate by trying to speak quieter than usual, knowing that you’re extra sensitive to sound. 

Xaden pauses before he moves to head off. “Sure you don’t need any help?” 

Bodhi shakes his head, “I got her, go.” Xaden nods and walks off, leaving you and the younger cousin alone in the corridor. 

“Are you feeling strong enough to walk, or would you rather I carry you?” your boyfriend asks, softly swiping your damp hair out of your face so that he can get a better look at you. 

As a rider, you want to be strong - you want to have the courage to have walked away from an interrogation, and walk yourself up to the healers to prove your worth. But, considering that you so quickly lost your squad, and the agony you were in making it this far, you allow yourself to be vulnerable and let the man you love take care of you. 

“Need help,” you rasp out again, hands weakly going to grab ahold of Bodhi’s arms. 

He hums in agreement. “I’m going to pick you up, tell me if I’m hurting you at all, and I’ll stop.”

He crouches, slowly going to pick you up bridal-style, his hands moving slowly as he carefully watches your features for any sign of discomfort. With a few winces and small adjustments, he finally has you in his arms in a way that doesn’t cause you any more excruciating pain, and he begins walking towards the infirmary. 

Bodhi mutters quiet encouragement as he walks, seeing your face scrunched up in discomfort from your injuries. 

“Nolon’s going to mend your injuries and you’ll feel better soon, I promise.” he whispers, soft kisses being placed against your temple. All you can do is exhale in response, but you’re fairly sure your nose is broken, so even that sends a shooting pain across your face. 

You’re even more disoriented when you make it to the infirmary, the boy needing to do the explaining on your behalf. He places you down on a vacant bed near where your squad is being treated, and one of your squadmates looks over, newly mended. 

“Wondered where you went,” he mumbles, still loopy from whatever medication they had given him. “Wanted to go back but we weren’t really sure where we lost you. ‘M sorry.” 

You want to respond but you’re still in too much pain, so Bodhi gives the boy a half-smile on your behalf. 

While you wait for Nolon to arrive and mend your injuries, your boyfriend doesn’t leave you for a second. He sits at your bedside, gently stroking your hair to calm you down. He keeps you distracted from the pain by catching you up on what you’ve missed while you and your squad were secluded - you learn that you were gone for three days, and in that time Xaden has had some… romantic developments with Violet that Bodhi can’t help but laugh about. 

You wince as you laugh, your broken rib sending a jolt of pain through you, and Bodhi pivots the conversation so as not to hurt you further. After what feels like an eternity later, Nolon appears to mend your injuries. Bodhi holds your hand through it all, murmuring soft praises as your leg is mended, then your ribs, then your face. Your arms aren’t severe enough to warrant mending, so you’re left in a sling and sent on your way with instructions to rest for a few days. 

To say that you’re in a daze afterwards is an understatement - you feel like you could fall asleep at the foot of your bed. The weight of the last few days hangs heavily over you, paired with the pain of the torture and mending, just keeping your eyes open is a challenge in itself. Luckily, you have your boyfriend to help you back to your room, otherwise you would have stumbled around aimlessly for a second time that day. 

One arm looped around your waist, the boy begins leading you back towards the second-year dorms in the riders quadrant. Only when you pass the hallway where you’d normally turn to your room do you look at him confused. “We passed my room,” you mumble, your head snapping in the direction of your room. The sudden movement makes you dizzy, and you stumble slightly, only for him to hold you more firmly. 

“I know love, we’re going to get you washed up first, then we’ll go to my room to rest,” he responds, continuing to walk in the direction of the showers. When you arrive, he takes a peek inside to make sure there’s no one there before leading you in. He helps you sit on one of the benches, before glancing at the door. “Give me one second, I’ll be right back.” 

Too out of it to question anything, you follow his command, and before you can even wonder where he’s gone, he reappears in front of you with a towel, toiletries, and a fresh change of clothes. 

“Okay, let’s get you washed up.” 

“It’s okay, you’ve helped me enough today. I can take a shower myself,” you try to protest, moving to stand up, but you feel the blood rush from your head and dark spots flicker through your vision. You stumble, and before you know it, Bodhi’s arms are around you again, holding you upright. 

“Wanna try that again or are you gonna let me help?” he asks, a cheeky smile on his face, knowing you have no choice but to accept his aid. 

“Fine.” you concede, allowing him to help lift your tattered shirt over your head, and undress yourself fully to step into the shower. He turns on the water so that the warm temperature will soothe your aching muscles, and he guides you under the stream. 

You sigh as your body finds relief at its warmth, and you see your boyfriend grin out of the corner of your eye. He begins washing your hair, lathering it with shampoo, and you can’t help but shut your eyes at the feeling of his hands running through your hair, massaging your scalp. He hums a quiet tune as he works at cleaning you off, your body fully at ease in his presence.

When he’s finished with your hair, you open your eyes again as he begins scrubbing off the blood caked to your body. He lets you clean the blood from your face and your injured arm so that you don’t feel utterly useless, but when he can tell you’re too weak to properly clean your back and your legs, he takes over once again, his touch never anything short of wholly gentle. 

When you’re moments away from nodding off in his arms, he turns off the water and hands you a towel to wrap yourself in. You dry yourself off, and put on the fresh set of clothes - he’s picked pyjamas that are loose on your body so as not to strain your newly healed injuries, and you’re completely grateful at the consideration he’s given to making you as comfortable as possible. He helps you re-sling your arm, eyes never leaving your face for a moment, watching for any sign of pain.

Taking the toiletries from your hands, the boy loops his arm in your own uninjured arm, bringing you back to his room. 

“Lie down, I’ve got everything else handled,” he says as soon as you step past his warded door frame, moving to put the toiletries away in their proper place. You shake your head, pulling him towards the bed with you. 

“Tomorrow,” you mutter, voice now less raspy from hydrating in the infirmary, “Come lie with me.” 

Bodhi doesn’t protest as you lead him to the bed. You flop down onto the mattress immediately, earning a soft laugh from him. He gently lifts the covers, allowing you to clumsily wriggle in beneath them. He follows you in, and allows you to rest your head on his chest. He gently rubs your back as you lie next to him. 

“Thank you for taking care of me Bo,” you whisper, eyelids heavy as you’re finally allowed to rest, feeling safe after everything you’ve been through in the last few days, “Don’t know what I would have done without you.” 

“Good thing that’ll never happen,” he whispers back, a soft kiss being placed to the crown of your head, “I’ll always be here to take care of you.” 

You hum a garbled thanks as you nestle further into his side. “RSC was scary, but I got through by thinking about finding you after.” You’re not sure where the confession came from, but despite your delirium, you feel that you need him to know how much he helped in getting you through it all.

“I hated being apart from you and seeing you so injured.” Bodhi moves his other arm to pull you closer into him. “If anyone tries to pull anything like that on you in the future, they won’t make it out alive.” 

You let out a tired laugh, the exhaustion finally starting to pull you under. He can tell by the way that your responses start to slur together that you’re barely able to hold yourself together. 

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” He begins raking his fingers slowly and gently through your hair, knowing it’ll comfort you to feel safe enough to finally rest.

“You promise?” you ask, all too aware of the possibility of RSC nightmares plaguing you through the night. 

“Tonight, and always,” Bodhi whispers, placing another soft kiss on the top of your head. “Now rest, I’ve got you.”

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

"I take it you’ve yet to tell your mother? Mm. Well. I don’t envy you." HELP?? 😭 I'm assuming mom doesn't really like Aurynn lmao. Does she "approve" of any of the other RO's??

Lol she isn’t a huge fan of Aurynn bc of his promiscuous reputation and she doesn’t want him fooling around or toying with MC. He’s also a very minor noble and she’d be more inclined toward a match of higher standing.

With Samira, she’d have a hard time coming around to the union bc MC would be marrying well below their station, so she sees no benefit to such a match. She could eventually relent seeing how happy MC is with Sam, but she’d be slower to stop dropping hints that MC could take her on as a consort and still marry within their rank.

While Nihm was born to a prominent noble house and is still treated as a pseudo-noble, they’ve technically been disinherited following their family’s execution and have no inheritance or family ties to offer in a match. This is something that will come up in the game, but Theians don’t really marry orphans in most cases. There are superstitions around orphans with no known lineage and in cases like Nihm’s, they have no family ties to offer; in Theia, marriages are a union between families, which is the most important unit in their society. So MC’s mother would treat it similarly to how she’d view a match with Samira.

With Lilith/Lucien, despite also being an orphan, they’ve been legally adopted and recognized as Lady de Arcanis’ formal heir, so they’d have an inheritance and significant family ties to offer. She’d be more amenable to the match in that sense, though she’d reserve some skepticism considering the last two wars Theia went through. She’d find L to be strange and somewhat off putting at first, but something about them makes her warm to them eventually.

While Kieran is royalty and would offer MC significant family ties and influence, she’d be very skeptical considering the family MC is tying themself to. She doesn’t trust King Novan and by proxy his child and would maintain reservations regarding the match. Despite the fact she values the socioeconomic implications of a marriage match, she still also does care for MCs happiness and well-being and would still want MC to have emotional compatibility with their partner as that is a priority in marriage matches in-universe. She’d be hesitant as she isn’t sure if MC is doing this out of obligation or bc they love Kieran. And even still, she doesn’t approve of Kieran’s family.