#I haven't been paying too much attention to it honestly

[sesamenom]

no living man may hinder me: The Gilded Wraith of Numenor

from the Reverse Gondolin AU, based on @who-needs-words's idea for Ar-Pharazon's fate! (they also wrote a ficlet for it, check it out here!)

[aberooski]

I honestly wish my birthday wasn't in 2 weeks. I always get really depressed around my birthday.

[indiiglow]

HI I’VE RETURNED FROM THE DEAD TO LET YOU KNOW THAT I’VE MISSED YOU AND THAT I HOPE YOU’VE BEEN DOIN’ WELL 🥺

HII OMG I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE YOU WERE AWAY!!!

I've been doing??? *static noises* but this is so sweet thank you for dropping by!! ☺️

[lovelyney]

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯DATING THEM !! FONTAINE GUYS⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

CHARACTERS: freminet, lyney, neuvillette, wriothesley.

SCENT: headcanons

WARNINGS: mentions of nsfw on everyone’s but freminet’s.

FLORIST’S NOTE: wow !! took me long enough ☹️ im so sorry for the wait pookies. also how are we liking this new layout for these ?? ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯2023 !! #©LOVELYNEY

꒱₊˚ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓 !! 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄����𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐓𝐒

𖠵𝟎𝟎: SWEET BABY BOY FREMINET I LOVE HIM SM.

𖠵𝟎𝟏: As we know, Freminet's quite shy; he doesn't have much experience with romance, but he tries his best !!

𖠵𝟎𝟐: He wouldn’t hear the end of it from Lyney when he first started crushing on you. . . He kept on asking and asking when he was going to confess.

𖠵𝟎𝟑: Doesn’t like going out very much, but if it’s at the expense of your happiness and being with you, he’ll try and push through.

𖠵𝟎𝟒: Bought you a handmade plush of Pers since you always like to cuddle the robotic one while he’s away.

𖠵𝟎𝟓: Loves whenever he sees you wearing his clothes. he’d probably give you his entire closet if he could.

𖠵𝟎𝟔: Has a bunch of pictures of you and him that he keeps hidden in his dressers.

keeps one on him for good luck !!

𖠵𝟎𝟕: I honestly can’t tell if he’d give you a pet name ?? It’d probably be something like “nestling,” “my love,” and “baby/bébé.” (/ Meaning he uses both the English and French ver.)

❝H—Hey bébé. . . If you aren't too busy, would-would you maybe want to accompany me to brother’s magic show tonight ?? I-I could really use your company and I know we haven't been a date in a while. . .❞

𖠵𝟎𝟖: Crafts you all kinds of trickets🫶🫶

𖠵𝟎𝟗: Brings you the prettiest stones and little things that he finds when he goes deep-diving.

𖠵𝟏𝟎: Lyney “adopted” you into the family the moment you and Fremi started dating.

𖠵𝟏𝟏: He cringes whenever Lyney calls him a nickname, but he melts when you do it.

𖠵𝟏𝟐: Isn’t a big fan of PDA (he’ll obvi hold your hand) but in the confines of his room, he’ll cling to you.

𖠵𝟏𝟑: Will sometimes get pouty when you’re cuddled up to Pers and not him.

𖠵𝟏𝟒: Doesn’t get jealous like at all, he’ll just get annoyed and nervous at most.

𖠵𝟏𝟓: Didn’t pay much attention to his appearance initially, but ever since you started lovingly thumbing, kissing, and counting his freckles, it’s become his favorite thing about himself.

𖠵𝟏𝟔: I can imagine him liking his hair played with.

𖠵𝟏𝟕: Silently protective over you, you know ?? Like he’ll squeeze your hand if he senses someone you’re around is dangerous or unnerving. Or if he wants to leave and doesn’t want interrupt your conversation.

𖠵𝟏𝟖: Strangely warm !! He isn’t sure why you enjoy hugging him so much, but never complains, hehe.

𖠵𝟏𝟗: Likes to be both the big and little spoon !! If a day comes where he’s just exceptionally tired, he’ll want to be the little spoon. But if he wants to feel like the bigger person or you need comforting, he’ll be the big spoon.

꒱₊˚ 𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐘 !! 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀

𖠵𝟎𝟎: I’M 1000% COMPLETELY NORMAL ABOUT THIS MAN, I PROMISE 🤐🤐🙏🙏

𖠵𝟎𝟏: Lyney, as we know him, is very incredibly playful and can be very charming !! He uses this to his advantage.

𖠵𝟎𝟐: Was obsessed with you before you started dating and is still obsessed with you now 😭

𖠵𝟎𝟑: The complete opposite of Freminet. He will not shut up about you to his siblings. . . (Sometimes he might mention you to “father.”)

𖠵𝟎𝟒: Wants nothing but for you to be safe and protected. (Bonus points if it’s in his arms.)

𖠵𝟎𝟓: Going back to the Knave, Lyney might share the relationship you two have with her but won’t give any explicit details about who you are as a means to protect you.

𖠵𝟎𝟔: “Darling,” “gorgeous,” “lovebug/bug,” “my (love)/mi (amour),” “my sweet,” and “sweetheart/chérie.”

❝Thank you so much for coming to today’s show, my love! It always fills me with so much energy seeing you in the seats, staring up at me. . . I ought to put together a show just for you, hm? How does this Friday sound?❞

𖠵𝟎𝟕: Loves to tease you !!

𖠵𝟎𝟖: Does not like waking up in the mornings, especially when you’re lying in bed with him.

loves to hide his face in your neck whenever he’s lying with you.

𖠵𝟎𝟗: Loves PDA. He cannot give a single fuck if you guys are in public. If anything, he’s proud to show his love for you to everyone.

𖠵𝟏𝟎: Can sometimes be unintentionally flirty with other people without realizing it. Don’t get it twisted, though; he’s incredibly loyal to you.

𖠵𝟏𝟏: Many people (of all genders) find him very charming, and as much as that might sting you, Lyney always finds a way to bring you into the conversation to dismiss their advances.

𖠵𝟏𝟐: Can be a little feisty sometimes. Examples are: biting your lower lip when he’s kissing you, biting your ear and nibbling on your neck in public, and placing his hand dangerously close to your thigh.

𖠵𝟏𝟑: Uses incredibly cheesy pickup lines and one-liners.

𖠵𝟏𝟒: If someone is continuously making advances towards you, then he’ll get jealous.

he’ll walk over to you, put a hand on your waist and act overly affectionate towards you hoping it’ll drive the person away.

𖠵𝟏𝟓: Seems innocent (enough), but if he sees you’re upset by someone’s actions, he’ll flip that fatui switch on immediately just to see you smile again.

sometimes asks Lynette and/or Freminet to comfort you while he’s taking care of the person.

𖠵𝟏𝟔: Surprises you by showing up in the most unexpected places in your house.

𖠵𝟏𝟕: Hates being away from you for long ): That’s the main reason why he hates arguments between you two.

𖠵𝟏𝟖: (↑) Although he lowkey can be petty sometimes. . .

𖠵𝟏𝟗: His hands are really soft !! Sometimes you’ll gently caress them, and he’ll literally melt on the spot.

𖠵𝟐𝟎: Also one who loves to see you in his clothes !! 𖠵𝟐𝟏: Really wants to have matching outfits with you. 🫶

𖠵𝟐𝟐: Loves whenever you dress yourself up !! He just adores seeing all sides of you.

𖠵𝟐𝟑: You have a whole bouquet of rainbow roses from the amount of times he’s randomly pulled one out and gave it to you. . .

꒱₊˚ 𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 !! 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐎𝐑��𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

𖠵𝟎𝟏: The most gentleman to ever gentleman, I believe ?!?!

idk man, it’s something with the dragon guys in Teyvat. . .

𖠵𝟎𝟐: I’d like to believe that when he started liking you, the Melusines caught on, because he seemed to always be lost in thought. . . 🤭

𖠵𝟎𝟑: Despite him being absolutely stunning and incredibly smart, he somehow felt like he didn’t have a chance with you. . .

the Melusines and Furina were not having any of that !! they devised a plan where she talked to you, and they talked to him. it all worked out in the end.

𖠵𝟎𝟒: Being in love with a busy man has its pros and cons, obviously; Neuvillette always tries his best to balance them out. ☹️☹️

𖠵𝟎𝟓: You guys tried to keep your relationship hidden for as long as you could with how Fontaine loves its drama. . .

and when you it got out (guess how), rumors, whispers everything spread like a wildfire. it was incredibly overwhelming for you, and he tried his best to quiet everyone down and comfort you 😞☹️ you can imagine the weather. . .

𖠵𝟎𝟔: (↑) Some people were muttering how you didn’t deserve him or weren’t “pretty enough” for him, which really pissed him off, but he had to remain civil (for the most part, lolz.)

𖠵𝟎𝟕: Your emotions have an incredible impact on him ?!?! If you start crying or if you’re sad, it’ll domino effect onto him. He loves you so much that it physically hurts him to see you distraught.

𖠵𝟎𝟖: All the Melusines adore you !! They absolutely see you as their other parental figure since you guys started dating.

𖠵𝟎𝟗: (↑) MELTS whenever he sees you interacting with kids. . .

𖠵𝟏𝟎: “Cherie/sweetheart,” “honey,” “my (dear/dearest)” and “my (love)/mi amour.”

❝I’m home, mon chéri. . . I must apologize for coming home later than usual—an issue in the case I’m looking into has presented itself and I went to personally deal with it. Hm, what was that, love? Ah, what was the ‘issue?’ Don’t worry about it, my dear. What matters is that it’s been dealt with. Now, have you had dinner yet?❞

𖠵𝟏𝟏: His trust in you runs pretty deep, so he trusts you when others are flirting with you. However, when people aren’t leaving you alone or are masking their interest behind innocent actions, he’ll get pissed.

𖠵𝟏𝟐: God forbid anyone lays their hands on you. . . Neuvillette doesn’t take people hurting you lightly at all.

𖠵𝟏𝟑: (↑) He isn’t a big fan of people touching what’s his in general, but he knows he (unfortunately) can’t have you all to himself. . .

𖠵𝟏𝟒: (↑) Safe to say, he’s quite territorial. . . He is a dragon, after all. They are quite protective over their treasure..

𖠵𝟏𝟓: Wrio likes to bring you up in conversations over tea !!

𖠵𝟏𝟔: This man has always been head over heels for you. Whenever you two are shopping together, he’ll follow you around like a puppy—always insisting that he holds your bags and pays.

𖠵𝟏𝟕: Pretty gentle with you. . . The farthest thing he wants is to hurt you, but sometimes his primal instincts kick in and he can’t help but want to mark what’s his !!

𖠵𝟏𝟖: Spoils the hell out of you. He literally can’t help it. He’ll see something that he’ll think you’ll like or something that reminds him of you and gets it without another thought.

𖠵𝟏𝟗: Really doesn’t like that you can tell his mood based of whether or not it’s raining. . . He hates worrying you.

𖠵𝟐𝟎: Furina loves to ask about you !! She thinks you two are so cute together.

𖠵𝟐𝟏: Loves whenever you visit him in his office while he’s working !! He’ll always try and persuade you to stay with him while he works—coaxing you to sit on his lap and such.

𖠵𝟐𝟐: He’s still relatively new to understanding human emotions, so he really appreciates you being patient and helping him out.

𖠵𝟐𝟑: Whenever you’re mad at him or giving the silent treatment, he’ll just look at you with the most saddest eyes ever. Guarantee heavy downfalls until you two make up 💔

꒱₊˚ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !! 𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘

𖠵𝟎𝟎: Literally the almost perfect definition of my type 😭

𖠵𝟎𝟏: He’s smart, cocky, and hot. You’re in for a wild ride with this one 💔👍

𖠵𝟎𝟐: Secretly a deep-rooted hopeless romantic at heart, he just hasn’t had the time to explore that part of him because of his duties in the fortress.

𖠵𝟎𝟑: Like Neuvillette, this man is head over heels for you. It’s just that he’s better at hiding it (most times, anyway.)

𖠵𝟎𝟒: A big teaser !! He loves to get under your skin.

𖠵𝟎𝟓: Can and will protect you at any cost. He loves you so much, it’d kill him inside if something were to happen to you.

𖠵𝟎𝟔: A bit of a sadist, I think. . . He’ll watch you struggle for a bit before actually helping you with something.

𖠵𝟎𝟕: Before you two started dating, Sigewinne kept on insisting he confess to you because of how obvious it was.

Clorinde also gave him shit for it.

𖠵𝟎𝟖: “Baby/babe,” “doll,” “my (darling),” “my (dear),” “my (love/lovely),” “pretty/my boy/girl,” and “sweetheart.”

❝Oh? I wasn’t expecting you to stop by for a visit today, doll—not that I’m complaining, of course. . . Lucky for you, I just finished up all my paperwork for the day, so I’m all yours ~ Wait, what? What do you mean you’re only here to deliver more papers? Please tell me you’re joking, babe. . . Archons sake, please at least stay for tea. I haven’t seen you since this morning.❞

𖠵𝟎𝟗: Roughly smells like freshly brewed tea with a mix of his cologne—it’s a rather comforting smell, actually.

𖠵𝟏𝟎: Hates whenever you’re gone too long above ground. He gets grouchy (more so than usual) whenever he hasn’t seen you for a certain amount of time.

𖠵𝟏𝟏: Surprisingly like a sloth when you two aren’t at work. . . He loves clings to you, doesn’t matter what you’re doing or where you’re at.

𖠵𝟏𝟐: I’d like to think he doesn’t give a shit about what people normally think of him, so he’ll love you on wherever and whenever.

loves to rub his cheeks/stubble against yours despite your whining !! i’m weak

𖠵𝟏𝟑: One of his favorite things about the two of you is your size difference. He finds it adorable his hand can comfortably envelope yours and somehow perfectly fit around your throat. . .

𖠵𝟏𝟒: A waist holder !! He loves to have a hand on your waist one way or another. Whether it be him pressed against you from behind or simply just a hand on your waist while you’re standing next to each other.

𖠵𝟏𝟓: Protective and possessive !! Not too much to the point where it’s toxic, I think. He’s just very territorial, and does not like when people get too close to you. He always denies he doesn’t get jealous, but he isn’t fooling anyone.

he doesn’t want your future to repeat his past, so he tries desperately to protect you from those kinds of people.

𖠵𝟏𝟔: (↑) All for marking you in obvious places if he sees this is a frequent thing. . . He’s far from shy with it, as well.

𖠵𝟏𝟕: Always prepares an extra cup of tea for you just in case you were to stop by his office.

𖠵𝟏𝟖: Nearly suffocates you if you’re in bed facing him—he’ll smoosh your head against his chest so you don’t have a chance to leave.

𖠵𝟏𝟗: People were genuinely shocked when they found he was dating someone !! Some didn’t believe you until Wrio proved them wrong.

𖠵𝟐𝟎: Is a mixture between gentle and rough with you. . . He doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you or you know, break you.

𖠵𝟐𝟏: He claims he’d be fine if you two broke up but in reality, he’d be a complete mess. (Sigewinne knows this without a doubt.)

𖠵𝟐𝟐: (↑) Pouts whenever you spend too much time with her and not enough with him </3 He can be a literal manbaby sometimes.

𖠵𝟐𝟑: Literally doesn’t know what to do with himself whenever you ignore him or give him the silent treatment.

goes to Clorinde for help if he’s really stuck. which may or may not be proven helpful depending on her mood. . .

𖠵𝟐𝟒: Adores whenever you’re resting on top his chest !! He always says that’s where you belong, lol.

𖠵𝟐𝟓: (↑) Also likes it when you rest on his lap when he’s sorting out paperwork. He claims you “give him the energy needed to make it through the day.”

𖠵𝟐𝟔: The one for you if you have a praise kink and the one for you if you have a degrading kink !! Two birds with one stone, amirite ?? kill me

[delightfultheoristfox]

Never had a thing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

I have no clue how this works the thought process was like: since I'm stuck in the worst writing block of my life why don't I start crossposting on Tumblr so it kind of feels like I've accomplished something while the truth is that I haven't been able to complete a WIP in two months? 🫠 I never posted on Tumblr. Is this okay? Anyways, Simon Riley brain rot. That's it. That's the post. Also, you can find this on AO3. 18+

Word count: 10k CW: smutty!!! jealous Simon Riley BECAUSE I honestly crave that. Soft Simon Riley because I crave that as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon had groaned like a battered dog when Price gave him the news that he needed to lie low. “Someone in Konni’s got your name” he’d said. “We don’t wanna take any risks. Just for a few weeks.”

He was sure those few weeks would turn into a few bloody months if he didn’t get a move on. For that, he’d hastily packed his things from the poor excuse of a flat the army had granted him, and started looking for a place to stay that wasn’t in Manchester.

Initially, Simon almost fantasized about buying his own flat. Maybe a piece of land and fulfill the wishes of the outcast that he was – living away from people, giving them the same treatment they’ve always given him.

Too bad he was legally dead. He had nothing to his name if not a grave that didn’t even exist, all his possessions were cursed memories and metaphorical things – a rank he didn’t hold, a flat that wasn’t his. Even his name barely pertained to him anymore.

The SAS wasn’t offering any accommodation, the tightwads. He couldn't buy a house, or rent one. He couldn't lean on any of his teammates, or he'd put them in danger – he wouldn't do it, not to them. Taint their lives with his name and the death it inevitably brings.

Price had helped him settle in a glorified motorway hotel. But he wasn’t picky – after all, he only had to stay for a few weeks.

A few days into his exile, he’d entered a Tesco with his head bowed and his hood on, a surgical mask on his face. A pack of Marlboro was all he wanted since the dodgy motel he was staying at (hiding) didn’t care if he smoked within the room. Plus, he reckoned that the smell of nicotine and combustion was a much better alternative to the rancid stench of mold.

However, as he plucked ten quid from his wallet, his eyes absently fell on a bulletin board behind the store clerk. There were tons of leaflets there: missing cats or dogs, people looking for a job or offering one. And then, a bright yellow paper caught his eye. Whoever printed it lacked taste but sure as hell knew how to catch one’s attention. He’d stopped in his tracks, a tenner between two fingers.

DESPERATE!!! PhD STUDENT LOOKING FOR A FLATMATE. NO SPECIFIC GENDER OR AGE AS LONG AS YOU CAN PAY RENT ON TIME. Two-bedroom flat, third floor, no elevator. If interested, please contact this number.

At the end of the flyer, the paper was cut into tear-off strips, so that interested individuals could rip the section with the phone number.

He liked that first word: desperate. He wondered if this person was as desperate as he was. Would they accept a man who wore a balaclava and looked proper sketchy? How desperate were they, really, if he asked to rent on verbal agreement – no contracts, no signatures whatsoever?

He decided he wanted to test that before he died of mold poisoning.

Nevertheless, when he dialed the number on his burner phone a few hours later, he wasn’t expecting the voice coming through the line. A shriek. A goddamn banshee. Chirpy and cheery, sounding like those damn advertisements on the telly for children’s toys. Whoever was on the other side of the phone was trying to sell.

The obnoxiously happy voice he’d heard through the receiver surely did match the person he found at the door of the flat a few days later - and the apartment itself.

It was a splash of colors Simon wasn’t even sure matched, from oranges and greens in the living room to yellows and blues in the kitchen. Walls of the same room were painted differently, and a brown leather couch lay on a round and fluffy turquoise carpet. A glass coffee table stood in the middle of it, hosting a clay vase with orange tulips.

You were a splash of colors yourself. Bright clothes, vibrant smile, and matching eyes.

Notwithstanding the loud energy that came with your presence, he could see you were tense as you guided him through the apartment. Simon didn’t blame you – he wasn’t the most trustworthy-looking lad. While he’d ditched the balaclava and had decided to go for a surgical mask, even hewould walk on eggshells around himself.

“Only a few weeks.” He’d said, deciding that he could withstand the eyesore that was the decor of that flat. “I’ll cover the rent while you find someone more permanent.”

And to his utter surprise, you’d accepted. He thought it was much too naïve of you, to let him rent without a lease. Without a document, without anything to prove that he'd pay as he'd promised in that listless fashion of his. Maybe you were as desperate as your tasteless leaflet said, in that dive of a Tesco.

He moved in in the span of a few days. You helped him with the boxes, although it was clear he didn't need a hand – especially not from a tiny thing like you. Not that you were small, he was just built like a brick house and you – well, you were made of wood, like in those cautionary tales mums tell their children. Pigs and wolves and shite.

You didn’t question why he wore the balaclava, nor why he never left his room, but sometimes you’d knock on his door to ask if he wanted pizza too, since you were ordering. He’d eat it (and any of his other meals really) in the cramped space he'd managed to rent, hosting only a bed, a poor excuse of a closet, and a desk.

Until one day he heard booming noises coming from the telly in the living room, so he peeked from the door he’d left ajar only to be greeted by Tom Cruise’s mug – Top Gun. 

Silently, he joined you on the sofa and he started correcting the way Maverick held the gun or grunting about how an aircraft couldn't make that maneuver. You never asked how he knew, but it had been a few weeks since he’d moved in and he’d already gathered how brilliant you were. You didn’t need to ask questions to connect the dots.

Simon wasn't keen on giving you his phone number, even the one on his burner phone. The paranoid that he was, and with a bit of experience to back it up, he didn't want to leave you with anything that could connect you to him.

So, you started leaving post-it notes on the fridge.

Dinner leftovers on the second rack. He’d tick off the sentence to let you know he’d read it, whether he ate them or not. Simon had this inborn ability to ghost people even without the use of phones.

Tried a new recipe. Tupperware with the blue lid. He’d write a score out of ten on the corner of the note.

I used your milk for breakfast!!! Sorry!!! He had huffed and grumbled when he’d headed out for groceries afterwards, but ever since that day, he started buying two cartons instead of one.

And he'd leave post-it notes for you, too.

Out for a few days. That’s how he would vaguely tell you he was being deployed. You would always draw a sad emoji next to it.

Watered your plants. Bloody things were more dead than alive. You’d mark down a very happy emoji, going as far as to add two poorly drawn thumbs up.

He barely noticed when his meals started happening on the kitchen table instead of his desk. Similarly, he couldn’t recall when he’d stopped taking pains to ensure your mealtimes wouldn’t coincide.

Friday night pizzas were always shared; it was a silent house rule you’d both agreed on. The both of you on the settee with the carton boxes on your thighs, two cold beers on the glass coffee table, and the telly playing a movie.

Your cheeky arse often chose a war film, and Simon had to refrain from rolling his eyes at how obvious you were being – trying to get to know him.

Zero Dark Thirty.

“Is it true you use callsigns?”

“Yes.”

“You have one?”

“Yes.”

“What is it, then?”

“Classified.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Negative.”

The hurt locker.

“You ever defused a bomb?”

“Yes.”

“No shit – oh my God. How was it?”

“Dangerous.”

“Why thank you for the chat.”

“No problem.”

“When did it happen? Like, what was the situa-”

“Classified.”

You made a face and mocked his accent. “Classified.”

Apocalypse now.

“You are a bit like Kurtz.”

He gave you a look. “Mental?”

You huffed. “No. I meant the things he says, not the whole insanity bit.”

Simon scoffed but otherwise stayed silent. The film rolled in the background.

He murmured, then. “The horror, the horror.”

And you laughed.

He found it inexplicably easy to strip down for you, until he stood metaphorically naked in front of your eyes. Until he told you his full name and gave you his personal phone number. Until he showed his face.

Until he noticed you'd stopped looking for a flatmate, and his weeks of rent turned into months like he’d initially foreseen, but for another reason entirely. Months turned into years, but he could’ve never predicted anything in his life to last this long.

Until two summers later, while sporting a mundane black surgical mask and casual clothing, he took a photo with you in your doctoral gown, in front of your Uni. The same picture that now hung next to the entryway of your flat.

Until two years became three, and then four.

Until he just kind of… stayed.

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon’s day has worn him to the bone. The only thing he wants now is to go home, down a beer in two gulps, and knock himself out on any flat surface available.

He’s risked his fair share of speeding fines on the motorway, parked the car in the building's garage, and trudged up the three flights of stairs that led to his apartment. When he unlocks the door, he finds a sight that melts his frustration into a puddle at his feet.

You’re lying on the sofa, absolutely unbothered, looking lovely and homely. A lousy romcom plays on the telly. One hand is hiding in the crinkling shell of a packet of Walkers, and your other one is curled around the neck of a Stella Artois. Simon gathers that your workday must've finished a little earlier than normal because you’re already in your loungewear: a pair of loose sleeping shorts and a t-shirt he knows all too well.

All too well, because it’s his. 

And he could give you the benefit of the doubt; after all, you often wear oversized clothes. It could’ve been a laundry mishap; you could’ve absently taken it out of the dryer without a second glance, thinking it was yours. But the blatant British Army patch on the sleeve and his surname written in white block letters on the back give him very little to work with to excuse you. He doesn’t even remember he still owned that tee, probably because, factually, he doesn’t anymore.

It's clearly yours, now.

He drops the house keys in the tray lying on the floating shelf next to the doorway, before closing the door behind him. The sound must’ve alerted you, because your head drops backwards, rolling against the armrest of the sofa.

"Evenin'." You beam, looking at his downward image. Your head lolls and your mouth looks busy chewing on a handful of crisps.

Ever the vigilant bastard, he wants to flick your forehead and remind you that chewing upside down could lead to choking, but you aren’t a child. Although, with the crumbs of what smells like salt and vinegar crisps littering the corners of your lips and the baffling, chaotic way your hair is tied in a bun, you sort of look like one.

You curl your legs to leave a free spot for him, patting your foot on the sofa’s cushions. "Wanna join me?"

Simon hums quietly; his eyes flicker over to the TV for just a glance. He isn’t in the mood for a romcom, not at all. But he does want company. He sighs and shrugs off his jacket before toeing off his boots. His balaclava is snatched off by a tired hand, and dropped somewhere he doesn’t care to check. Only two wide steps with his annoyingly long legs and he’s already by the sofa, flopping onto it like a wet rag slapped on the leather cushions.

He eyes the bag of crisps in your hand and raises a questioning eyebrow.

You’ve learned how silent communication works with him because most of the time (especially after particularly hellish days or long deployments) he wanders around the flat like a haunting specter more than a living being.

You mockingly raise your own questioning brow, but alas, you hand him the pack of crisps he’d wordlessly asked for. And just because you can, and because he’s never said anything when you did it, you stretch your legs to rest over his thighs.

That earns you a grumpy side-eye that softens just as quickly when he spots the checkered pink and green socks he gifted you for your graduation.

Simon doesn’t know much about things like that. He isn’t daft, he knows how big it is to earn a PhD. But presents aren’t his thing, nor are the pleasantries built around big achievements.

At the time, he was just tired of seeing you walk barefoot around the flat and thought you needed those more than anything since, apparently, slippers weren’t all the rage in your book. Surely, before his life-changing present, Simon was used to you asking if he’d seen your other slipper while you stumbled about the flat only wearing one on your feet. He’d find them everywhere: under the sofa when vacuuming the carpet, hidden in a groove between the floor and the kitchen counter, forgotten on the washing machine or in the washing machine.

He’d figured that the only way to ensure you’d avoid knocking your pinky toe on the corner of some furniture was to make sure you couldn’t simply drop the footwear. Socks were it, apparently.

He remembers how your eyes had shone like the bleeding sun when he’d given them to you, how you’d clutched them to your chest as if he’d just gifted you a pot of gold. It had been a lovely sight, one he carefully keeps tucked in the almost empty corner of his mind, the one reserved for happy memories.

Nevertheless, Simon has rarely minded your habit of lounging with your calves across his thighs. The opposite, actually. Your friendly sentiments make him feel like, for once, he isn’t about to get stabbed in the back. Moreover, the fact that he is letting you invade his personal space like that, when he never allows anyone else to so much as touch him, truly is a testament to the monumental trust he’s placed in you.

You take a sip from your beer. "Alright?"

“Peachy.” He grumbles dryly.

Your lips purse to conceal a smirk, but hell is it hard. His dry humor never fails to rob a halfhearted smile from you. He has subconsciously started using it more often than socially acceptable just because of that.

You wiggle your toes against his abdomen, trying to steal a smile of his own from him – even if those tend to appear once in a blue moon.

What you are given, however, is only a slap on the ankle.

Catching on his mood, you down one last sip from your Stella and then you wiggle the bottle at him.

"There," you offer. "Seems like you need it more than I do."

He tosses the bag of crisps on the coffee table and accepts the beer from you, taking a rather large gulp from it. He isn’t a light drinker by any means. In his defense, it takes a whole lot of alcohol to knock him out. He has the metabolism of a properly trained soldier and his liver has processed much worse things than a bloody Stella Artois.

“Why are you being particularly friendly today?” He asks with thinly veiled sarcasm.

He isn’t complaining, per se. But he is a pessimist, one who can’t seem to grasp the notion that people can act accommodating without asking anything in return. Even if that has been your only behavior for the past four years.

Therefore, Simon understands why you narrow your eyes at his question, all offended and a tiny bit sour, as if he’s just asked something outrageous. However, he also knows you’ll brush off his comment because it is true, what he said.

You are particularly cheery.

"I'm back in the game." You state, sounding as if you've achieved some great thing. "I have a date next Friday."

That.

That is what Simon needs to hear in order to give you a genuine reaction.

He raises a single blond eyebrow and glances away from the TV to look at you with that signature hooded gaze of his – the kind that could cut through steel.

“A date?” He grumbles. “Who’s the bloke?”

In response, you squirm a little on the couch to lazily reach for your phone on the coffee table. One of your legs swings to keep your balance, and if Simon didn’t have the reflexes of a sniper, you’d have heeled his face. He automatically grabs your ankle to both prevent your fall and save the integrity of his nose, releasing a sigh – bloody used to it.

You're absolutely unaffected by whatever's happening at the other end of you, awfully concentrated on your task at hand. Fingertips graze the phone enough to slide it closer until you finally manage to have it in your grasp. It’s painfully clear how you can’t be bothered to stand.

You lie back down on the sofa with a sigh, as if that has been an exhausting endeavor.

Simon scoffs.

Your legs return to his lap with apt nonchalance. Then, you swipe through your screen. Simon can only see the phone covering your face from that angle, how the screen light illuminates your features – brows furrowed and the tip of your tongue peeking between your teeth, all focused on finding something on it.

After painstakingly long seconds, you turn your phone to him. Simon squints at the screen and then focuses on the picture you’re showing.

The man is… somewhat handsome, he has to admit. Brown hair, blue eyes, charming smile with possibly fake teeth. Definitely older. Probably a boring, pretentious tosser. Probably wouldn’t appreciate your carefree nature. He wouldn’t return your lost slippers at your door. He wouldn’t buy you socks so you’d stop whining about being on the verge of breaking your toes. He definitely wouldn’t let you paint only one wall of the living room orange, because, in your opinion, having all four would be “too flashy” - as if one on its own isn’t obnoxious enough.

He has to admit, however, that you look beyond excited, and maybe a little enamored. It’s an adorable view, really, and he hates himself for being unable to rejoice about it with you.

"Adam." You tell him his name, even if he never asked. "Thirty-nine. Associate professor of Linguistics at the Uni where I graduated. Found him on Bumble.”

Simon has to physically stop himself from giving a scoff in response to that.

“Looks like a knob.” He takes yet another large gulp of beer, finishing the last drop. You frown, and before you can interject, he adds. “Looks old. Tory, probably.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his thigh with the tips of your toes.

"He ain't a Tory." You scoff. That little frown still lingers on your features, carving a small line between your brows, as if he'd personally offended you.

His comment prompts you to turn your phone to yourself and look at the picture of this Adam lad you found on Bumble of all places.

You look back at Simon and his deadpan stare. Then back at Adam and his million-dollar smile.

Your eyes swivel back to Simon again, and you tentatively ask, "You think he's a Tory?"

Simon places the empty beer bottle on the glass coffee table. The sound somehow makes you take a metaphorical step back. "Nah. He can't be."

You purse your lips, concentrated and slightly, just slightly amused.

Eyes back to Adam. Then to Simon. "Right?"

Simon looks that ounce of smug enough to be considered annoying once he notices how you’re about to go cross-eyed in changing your focus, all hesitant and that bit concerned. He already knows how you have zero faith in your own judgment of character even if you refuse to make peace with it.

A little too naïve for this world. A tad too innocent. When the topic would come up, you’d get all riled up and primitive in your frustration, muttering indiscernible words and expletives that sound like grunts. Brows all furrowed and pretty lips scowling. He'd remind you how you let him in your flat without a single proof that he wasn't a serial killing sociopath, and your mouth would lock in place.

His hand lands on the curve of your foot, smoothing down towards your ankle; the warmth of his palm bleeds through the fuzzy fabric of your socks. He sighs, a little overdramatic as if he were about to tell you some sad, sad news. "Definitely a Tory.”

You want to reprimand his lack of faith in your choice of men. But his hand on your ankle feels so nice and you’re a sucker for physical contact. Begrudgingly, you settle that your bruised ego and your wounded pride are worth the gentle giant’s warmth.

However, the lingering touch does nothing to discourage your fire, so you glower. The least believable thing he's ever seen.

It takes much more to upset a special forces operator with a series of achievements as long as Simon Riley’s. A doctor with a mop of hair lazily tied in a bun, checkered socks in his lap, and residues of crisps around her lips surely isn’t it.

"Well." You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'll ask him on Friday when we’ll have dinner."

He scoffs.

“You’re gonna bring up politics at dinner on a first date, yeah?” A condescending pat on your ankle. “Sounds really romantic.”

His dry humor again. It wins in its intent to steal a chuckle from you.

The fight leaves as quickly as it entered your bloodstream, and you flop on the couch with a sigh, your phone falling somewhere on the turquoise carpet.

"Gotta make sure I ain't dating a conservative." You quip.

Simon watches you clasp your hands over your belly as it ripples with the first waves of a breathy laugh. You crane your neck forwards, eyes squinting in mirth clocking his own.

"He looks like he’d vote Tory." You concede with a laugh and pinch the air in front of your face. "A tiny bit - just a tiny bit."

“A tiny bit?” He snorts. “Lad probably has a framed photo of Margaret Thatcher in his bedroom.”

You laugh again, rubbing an idle hand over your eyes as you shake your head, utterly defeated. He can see in the way your shoulders sag that he’s shattered the careful castle of hopes and dreams you'd built brick by brick around the man.

"God no." Equally as exasperated as entertained, you sigh. "Can't imagine shagging him with the ol' Iron Lady staring at my tits."

He scoffs again at the mental image you have just provided him with. He doubts he’ll ever forget the picture, to his dismay. “Christ. Didn’t need that in my mind.”

In the afterglow of that belly laugh, you don’t notice how he’s somewhat tightened his grip around your ankle. Simon knows you aren’t one to pay attention to those subtleties. Too focused on other people's well-being to realize when yours is being put first. He can already imagine how your heart is unraveling with the knowledge that you’ve managed to make him quirk a smile, however small, even if his day had been a proper shitshow.

The selfless angel that you are.

You turn your eyes to the ceiling, looking for something that clearly isn’t written on the colorful paint of the walls.

"All jokes aside," you murmur. "I hope it goes well."

Your eyes touch his. There’s a melancholy in yours you only allowed him to see. Thinly veiled vulnerability, heart bare just for his eyes.

"Really need a confidence boost," you say with a wistful smile. "And some love on the side."

He mutters under his breath. “Right.”

Simon tries not to wince at your words and what they imply. He thinks you’re too good to rely on other people (men, above anything) to boost your confidence. As if what he thinks are mouthwatering looks, a striking sense of humor and a brilliant mind aren’t enough to make you feel a peg above everyone else.

He hates that you don’t seem to understand it. Hates that you require other people’s approval even when you have a brain that could put most to shame and a series of achievements to boot.

He hates that despite how sharp you are, you’re slow when it comes to emotional intelligence. And it’s Simon fucking Riley who’s saying it, the most emotionally unavailable man he himself knows. It isn’t that you can’t discern signs and tells, you aren’t stupid by any means, but it’s painfully obvious how you just can’t fathom why people would be attracted to you that way. Thus, you’d always dismiss compliments and advances with annoying levity.

In four years, Simon has witnessed all your relationships wither because your lack of self-confidence made you question everything.

Seemingly aware of the tense air your comment has caused, your cheeky grin makes a comeback just to lift his spirits. You wriggle your foot under his grip to get his attention. "You think he'll like my socks?"

Simon has to admit (finally, at least true to himself) that your tireless search for reassurance about your date isn’t exactly doing wonders for his heart or his sanity.

“He’ll love them, you muppet.” He deadpans.

You chuckle at the comment, and then you relax, thinking the conversation over. Comfortable with your eyes on the telly and your hands clasped over your stomach, that gentle feeling of home and familiarity lulls you into a soft rest.

Simon on the other hand, is anything but relaxed. His jaw clenches involuntarily as if he despises even the mere idea of another man getting to see you like this: lying down, all soft and sweet and sleepy in the fuzzy socks he’s bought you. With his surname plastered on your back, of all things.

His eyes flick to the hand on your ankle. He wants to keep holding on tighter and stop you from leaving altogether. Keep you tethered to that couch without ever needing to stand up.

He could tell you to drop it. He could.

But you’re a grown woman, in her prime, with her doctorate and her big girl job that gives her enough money to start a war of her own but for some reason has never decided to pick up her things and leave that shabby flat she shares with him.

And he is poor with words. Communication is a skill he’s never learned, unless it involves extracting precious intel from skin-trading bastards or bloodthirsty pricks. He surely isn’t going to communicate with you that way, even if it's the only one he knows. The realization makes his lips dip into a scowl of self-hatred for being seemingly unable to keep you.

Simon’s eyes rake over your body – your silhouette concealed by his shirt, softly draped over you like finely carved marble. With natural flow, his hand follows the path traced by his pupils, and very deliberately slides up your leg, towards your knee.

Initially, the movement only prompts you to steal a glance from him. But when your eyes land on that frown, as if he were deep in thought, it feels natural, instinctive, to give him your undivided attention again.

Softly, you ask for the second time that day, "Alright?"

He nearly lets out a huff of laughter. Such a simple question yet so goddamn loaded he’s on the verge of blowing a gasket – his patience wearing thin. 

He locks his eyes with yours, only to snark once more. “Peachy.”

His humor this time isn’t successful in the effort of stealing a smile. In Simon’s defense, he hasn’t used it to make you crack one at all.

You frown, a tiny fracture between your brows. A little confused, mostly concerned. He can see it in your doe eyes, how you’re already miles away – overthinking every minute detail you might have missed during the conversation. You always thought so much Simon had joked, once or twice, that your skull was too small to host all that.

Your eyes shift from his face to his hand. Simon dares to be bolder and slides his palm a little higher. His fingers curl around the plush of your thigh.

"Peachy, eh?" You inquire, clearly suspicious of his antics. "You look far from peachy.”

A low scoff slips past his lips.

He is anything but peachy, he’d give you that. He is anything but sweet, far from it. Bitter, would fit better. Jealous, would fit best. He is downright pissed, but not at you. Never at you. He wishes he were a gifted conversationalist, so he could put into words what the idea of you shoving your tits in the face of some twat is making his hackles rise. He barely entertains the thought of you talking and laughing with him, never mind brushing with the concept of you riding the life out of that bastard. God forbid you brought him over and did all that in your flat – his flat.

He swallows in a piss poor attempt at juggling his feelings. His eyes shift to the TV to further conceal them.

“Just thinkin’ about work is all.” He mutters. Simon can almost hear Soap’s Scottish lilt calling him a “pining sod.”

Oh, but you’re an insistent little thing, aren’t you? Simon can hear the sheer doubt in your tone when you hum in response. The slight changes in the vibration against your frowning lips, the curves in the intonation of that simple, but so very telling sound. He catches each and every one of those details like the guard dog that he is.

In his peripherals, he sees the shifting of your eyes, from his hand to his profile. He sees you take in the crook of his nose, broken a few times (a tough job and a harsh childhood did that to him).  His furrowing brows, light honey, like his hair – all ruffled and staticky from removing his balaclava when he got home.

"Work." You deadpan, but it comes out softer than intended.

His fingers aren’t as sneaky as before when they slide further up your thigh. Simon knows you feel that same electric spark because your quadriceps stiffen under his palm.

“Work,” he affirms, his jaw tight as his hand journeys farther to reach the hem of your shorts. His thumb rubs from side to side over the skin at the edge of the fabric, and Christ, he’s fighting the growing itch to just pull them down.

While the two of you have watched plenty of films on this same sofa, in this same position, Simon has never touched you.

As in, touched you, touched you.

He’s averse to that, to anything that isn’t a noncommittal gesture. This one, however, obviously isn’t.

His hand is so big against your thigh, that plush skin underneath his callouses almost makes him feel guilty. The hardened palm used to disperse death shouldn’t touch such soft things. He feels the peachy fuzz brush against the pads of his fingers, he sees how they leave divots in the meat.

It makes his heart beat a little faster, blood pumping in all the wrong places but his head.

His expression is blank, dull eyes staring straight at the television. However, his mind is not as quelled as he portrays. It’s leading him to a very unholy place, where he wonders if your skin is as soft on your belly as it is on your thigh. Whether you’d whimper or groan if he were to flick his tongue over your breasts. If your eyes would roll back, were he to plunge his fingers deep into your core.

So many ifs he wants to put to the test.

He gently skims where your thigh meets your hip, and Simon swears he hears you gulp. He can tell you’re absolutely blindsided. You've been living with him as your flatmate for four years. Four fucking years, and if he ever tried to give you anything more than his usual snark, he might have been a little too subtle about it.

Simon glances at you, before returning his focus to the telly. One look is all he needs to hear your thoughts as if they were his own – the self-deprecation, the anxiety, that tormenting feeling of not being enough.

How torn you look. Stiff fingers curl around air only to release it right afterwards, fighting an invisible enemy. Let him do what he wants, let his hand slide up your shorts, and find the cotton lace of your panties. Or, pull away and retreat into your safe bubble, where no one can hurt you.

As if he’d ever lay an ill hand on you. All you have to say is “Stop” and he’ll take back his arm – cut it off for good measure.

Your eyes are hooded as they turn to look back at the malleable flesh of your thigh in his hold. His fingers disappear under your shorts until the first knuckle. He brushes along the hem of nice lace undies, feeling the rough fabric under the pads of his fingers.

Your voice is deliciously breathy. "Wha' about work, then?"

Avoidance. Normally, he'd let you. If it were any other situation, he'd brush it off with you. He'd keep up with the chat, coddling you in that safe place you seem too keen on spending time in.

Not now.

His head turns back to you; hungry eyes fixed on the way your mouth parts to yield that soft whisper. It makes his eye twitch, a splinter in his veneer.

“Reckon work can wait,” he rasps.

Simon is hyper-aware of how close he is to your core – a knuckle away from the throbbing heat between your legs. He sees your bowed head, eyes lidded with that primal desire he is instilling in you.

You look as if your brain has turned into soup; the ingredients a mix of shared memories and touches – even the most indifferent, neutral ones. To his utter joy, for the first time in your life, it almost looks like you’ve finally turned off your thoughts.

Your jaw clenches in a desperate attempt to get a grip on yourself. He knows you’re confused; he is too. Because it’s wrong to indulge in intimacy when more than just a friendship is at stake. Money's involved, a roof over your heads, a bed to kip, and food in your bellies – four years of shared everything is involved.

But you agree. You nod your head a little dumbly, and suddenly work can wait. To Simon, the fucking world can.

Your voice is a mumble. "Yeah, guess it can."

“Mhm.”

His gaze flicks up to your eyes, depriving your lips of the attention they were given, and he is delighted to see that you’re just as affected as he is.

Simon's fingers get squished between your thighs when you clench them together. He squeezes, feeling how the flesh rolls between his fingers, how it folds where the stretch marks crinkle.

“Lift your leg up for me,” he rasps.

Breath is stuck in your throat in utter anticipation. Simon knows it's been a long time since you've been touched in any way, shape, or form. You could've gone out and found a man willing to have a shag, it wouldn't have been hard to find someone who needed it too – someone as desperate as you look right now.

After all, that single word is the one that led him to you in the first place.

Yet you never did it. Simon has never seen you bring a man, or a woman, back to the flat. Sometimes you’d disappear with a text, saying you’d be sleeping out, but you never brought anyone home. And he never asked why – mostly, because he thought it wasn’t his business. Another part of him, however, was afraid that if he did, you’d take it as an invitation to do so. Obviously, he wasn’t too keen on the idea.

After giving it little thought, you part your thighs for him. One still rests in his lap while the other dangles off the sofa.

There's very little resolve left in you, Simon can tell by the way your eyes are so focused on his disappearing hand, and by the way you shatter when he experimentally glides one finger over the damp line on your panties.

“Fuck.” You hiss, tilting your head back.

You must want him dead, he thinks, as he gawks at the way your throat curves.

“Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He pushes the pad of his thumb down the cotton, feeling how it sticks to your slit. “Barely touched you.”

He wants to take his sweet time. He does. Wants to take it slow, reduce you to a mess of please and more before he finally gives you what you want. But he’s just as desperate as you are, isn’t he? He’s craving, clawing at the walls, to feel you clamp around him. Feel you drip down his hand until his callouses are coated, slick flowing down the crevices of his palm.

He’s no better than you are, currently.

So, his fingers slip under your panties just enough to touch your folds.

You can't help but tilt your head forwards again, only to look down at the bulge under your shorts created by his hand.

But when your eyes flit back to his, he stops.

Maybe he’s gone too far, he thinks. Maybe you’re realizing this is one hell of a mistake that can only end with you going your separate ways, something he will never forgive himself for.

However, it’s then, that you nod. That worry line between your brows, ever-present, seems gone. Smooth skin between your beautiful, beautiful eyes. And Simon feels whole again, feels wanted. The battered hound dog that he is, only useful for one thing and one thing only – sowing the seeds of death, and reaping them afterwards – is wanted.

Not tolerated. Not required. Wanted. Needed.

He knows your brain is turning its cogs, fighting against the fog of a kind of hunger that can’t be extinguished, one that only wants to be sated – by him, and him only.

Why is he doing this. 

What does it mean.

Is it because of the date you should have the next Friday. 

Is it because he's frustrated at work and you’re simply there, lying on a silver platter.

So many fucking questions it irritates him that, somehow, while his middle finger is tracing lazy patterns to part your folds, you’re still thinking. 

He doesn’t allow a single one to leave your lips, because he plunges one finger inside your cunt.

His first if is answered, then. Your eyes don’t roll back like he’d expected.

Your brows flutter to your forehead, and your mouth parts to form a pretty oval. Your chest swells as if you've just taken the first breath in your entire life. Your eyes, hazy and blurred, hold his own. And somehow, that is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Your leg on his lap is taut and stiff, toes curling under those loud socks you’re wearing.

Simon takes in the sight of you – all flushed and panting. The only sound in the air is the quiet drone of the telly in the background and your sharp inhales.

He can only describe himself in that moment as wrecked. Maybe even more so than you are right now, all rigid in anticipation of his first movements.

“Keep your eyes on me," he growls out, and when you nod, he curls his pad inside of you.

Your fingers seem to mimic his own, but they grip the edge of the sofa’s cushions instead. Your nails scratch at the leather with such voracity they leave beige lines against the dark brown.

He struggles against the double layer of fabric entrapping his hand to your cunt – the lace scratches the knuckle on his thumb, the cotton of your shorts is a manacle on his wrist. But fuck if he cares about all that when your hips twitch to encourage his movements.

You look ruined. And he loves that – the effect he has on you, the fact that he’s the one to have you like this.

He moves his finger in slow, long strokes. He doesn’t do it to torture you, no. He observes, because for once his constant vigilance is not only useful to quell his paranoia, but also to feed your desires. He tests movements, tries different spots, looking for that one within your walls that will make you scream. 

And he finds it, then – to his utmost delight. Here you are: your breathy moans, soft and honeyed, turn into a stuttering and almost pained "Oh." And he knows he has you under his thumb, all perfect and yearning, unraveling with just one of his fingers. He’s looking straight at your face, not wanting to miss a single twitch of an eyebrow. Your pretty lips are all slick with your spit and they part to release the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

His strokes intensify, drawing back as much as he can with the limited movements he has, only to push in and hit ever so slightly that rougher patch of nerves he’s located. He doesn’t want to make you squirm, but he has something tickling his brain – questions. Or better, one question.

He places his thumb over your pearl, unsheathing it from the fleshy hood with a glide. He drinks the way it makes your breath hitch and stutter in sudden hypersensitivity. He rolls his pad tentatively, only to see you grit your teeth and groan – muscles and sinews all tensed up in your neck. It's like molten lava in your belly. It's syrupy hot and gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his finger, down to the knuckle.

“D’you think you’ll need to go on that date on Friday?” he rasps and rolls his thumb again.

His question doesn't seem to make you falter; your hips are unrelenting in their chase for release, as you push against his hand, grinding like your life depends on it. However, he can tell that it irked you. That blissed-out look pinches in frustration.

You're breathless, on a feverish hunt for that taste of heaven his finger’s promising, and Simon has the gall to bring up another man? One he's been mocking for the past half hour? He's surprised by himself as well.

You whine. "Does this look like the bloody time?"

“No,” he concedes, sounding a little patronizing.

He has the upper hand, quite literally, and to give you a friendly reminder of the power he holds, he slides another finger in.

You're absolute putty in his hands now. Your fingers grip at the sofa, your cheeks all flushed and warm. Your back arches, and he knows he just gave you that fullness you've been chasing. The sensation that causes the right amount of pleasure and pain of the stretch. He’s knuckle deep inside of you, his fingers trapped by your velvety walls as he strokes harder, lingering a little longer where you like it, but not faster. He keeps that steady pace that takes your breath away, not forgetting to lavish your clit with attention, and leaves you with just enough air for you to free those clipped and breathless moans.

He’s shameless as his other hand clamps your shin on his lap and pushes it down onto the painful tent on his jeans. He shifts his hip upwards to grind against your calf and hisses when it causes the zipper to graze his cock.

“Gonna cancel it, then?”

It’s bliss. You look like an angel.

"Yeah," you breathe out, a little incoherent. "Cancel it, 'course."

Your voice is more of an unintelligible mumble than anything else – two fingers in and his thumb on your nub drawing idle circles. Perfect pressure. Perfect fit.

He’s never seen you look this beautiful, all abandoned and relaxed, with your big brain he loves so much shut off completely. Synapses only working to generate a wish for release, so sweet and simple, and nothing else. And who is he to deny such a plain request, you sweet thing.

Simon would give you the moon if you asked.

He’s powerless in your presence, undecided if to focus on your face, or to stare at your hardened nipples. They brush against the black training t-shirt he once owned – right below the two crossing swords painted under the royal crown. It should be blasphemous. Should be bloody illegal to sully the name of the monarchy that way.

That is, if he gave a fuck about it. And even if he did, he’d see no wrong in it – because what can you taint when you’re the purest thing he’s ever touched.

Your hips move in tandem with his fingers, your face scrunched in that desperate look of someone who has a piece of heaven just out of reach. He watches you as you fall apart under his fingers and keeps your leg down so he can grind against it. If the situation were different, he’d feel like a wild animal in that regard, but there isn’t a spot on you he doesn’t wish to worship.

Especially now, when you look like this. With your hair sticking to your forehead and loose locks escaping your low bun.

He can’t take his eyes away from you – you have him absolutely entranced.

“s too much.” He hears you whine amongst the mist in his brain

“It ain’t.” He manages to grunt as if it's an order.

And you’re a little insubordinate, because you try and squirm away. But your shorts are his shackles as much as they’re yours – they fasten his hand to your cunt, while locking you against his unwavering fingers.

“Simon,” your voice is so wrecked when you beg. “Please - fuck.”

And how he finds the strength to snark is beyond him. His voice is thick and heavy. “’m tryin’.”

He drags his fingers deep down where yours can’t reach, where he’s found that patch of nerves that reduces you into a puddle of yourself. His thumb on your clit is steadfast, rubbing just above the hood where you’re not as sensitive, only to drag down again and make you see stars.

And the way that string of “Yes” leaves your lips, in that euphoric wheeze that tugs at the corners of your lips, makes his cock ache to be anywhere but in the confines of his jeans.

Your eyes are all glossy when you prop yourself on your elbows to fuel his resolve. Petal lips red and shiny, catching your teeth in an attempt to muffle your moans – bone-deep ingrained insecurity you can’t seem to get rid of. He doesn’t force you, though – he wants to hear you, sure, but most of all he wants to see you crumble to shreds. And if hiding your voice is what you need, then feel free to be his bloody guest.

Your hips stutter and your belly ripples under his large tee draped over it, and he’d recognize those signs anywhere. 

“Cum f’ me,” he orders. “C’mon, love. Give it to me.”

It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and Simon feels it before he sees it. You clench around his fingers in rippling waves, thrumming rhythmically. Your cunt deliciously threatens to cut them off just above the knuckle.

And fuck, aren’t you a goddamn sight. 

Simon thinks it's almost cathartic to simply watch you. How your head tilts back to hit the armrest of the sofa, the way your toes curl in his lap and your foot on the floor rigidly lifts. The sway of your hips as they undulate to meet his thrusts and the liberating groan that leaves your lips, touching the sky with your fingers.

He unconsciously guides you through it, but truthfully, he has absolutely no idea what to do with himself – not with you looking straight out of one of his most unhinged dreams. His fingers slow down but keep moving relentlessly.

However, it would be a lie for him to say he knows what he’s doing.

You come down from it and your eyes are blinky and unfocused, staring at the ceiling. Your body deflates on the couch, limp and sated. Syrupy and warm. With your chest free to move now that the heavy weight on it has finally been lifted. He allows you this moment of privacy as you recollect yourself, although he truly wants you to look back at him again. He doesn’t want to miss a beat of this, yet he sort of understands.

Your breath comes out in puffs. He’s not faring any better on that note.

"Simon," you breathe, his name exquisite from your lips. "Christ."

He’s gawking. Watching your face for a moment more, he meets your eyes as they flick back to him down the slope of your nose.

Thumb still on your clit, the movements are gentler and featherlight. His voice is hoarse and rough as he speaks. “Alrigh’?”

You chuckle, breathless and a little nervous now that the appetite has been sated – much more self-aware than before.

His fingers are still inside of you and you’re already overthinking this. He knows it. He just hopes, deep down, that you’re not regretting it – because he sure as hell isn’t.

"Peachy.” Is your reply.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Joke’s on him, he’s fed you enough sarcasm for you to start throwing it back at him. Simon feels too weak to even smirk. However, his eyes do narrow, in a similar manner to how yours would at his snarky comebacks.

He gently slides his fingers out of you, mindful of your current sensitivity. He brings the hand up, seeing the gleam of your slick shamelessly coating their lengths down to the knuckles.

“Fuckin’ look at that.” He murmurs, unable to discern whether he’s talking to you or to himself, “Messy girl.”

He thumbs his middle finger and rolls the juice between the pads, thinking; tongue out to lick his lips like the voracious beast he is.

Simon reaches over and brings his hand towards your mouth. A jerky nod of his jaw, “Open.”

He knows he’s already crossed a line the two of you never even dared to toe before. And if he’s going to lose you after this, if you’re going to turn your back on him and leave the flat (leave his life) then he’s going to make the most of it.

Your brows are pinched in sudden uncertainty. A contradicting spectacle, if mixed with the way your chest is still heaving and how your cunt is still wet.

But tonight, you seem eager to catch him off guard, because you oblige. Your lips part and you offer your tongue, never breaking eye contact.

Each time he thinks you can’t look more beautiful you prove him fucking wrong.

He hums lowly in approval, and there’s something dark in that sound. He gently runs his fingers across your tongue, coating it with your taste. Fingertips slide and follow its curve. He stares at you with such an intensity, like he could consume you if he had a mind to. You devour him first, wrapping your lips around his knuckles.

When your tongue delves around his fore and middle fingers, he has to close his eyes. He has to roll his head, releasing the tension in his jaw. He has to, or he’ll cum in his goddamn jeans. The sharp inhale he takes almost burns his nostrils; his sigh heavy and anguished when his lips surrender to it.

“How d’you taste, dove?” he asks, blinking his eyes open.

The way his voice rasps out that pet name, rough like sandpaper, makes a shiver run down your neck. He sees it, the tremor of your shoulders, the goosebumps on your arms.

Simon reluctantly pulls his fingers away only so you can answer. His wasn’t a rhetorical question, and by that blush on your cheeks and the embarrassed hint of a smile on your face, you’ve guessed it already.

"Not as sweet as I thought."

His lips twitch.

“No?” he asks, his voice much too broken for his liking. He brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks, tasting your spit and your cum. A low rumble of a chuckle escapes him – must be a blue moon tonight. “I think you taste pretty sweet.”

This can go two ways: a fairy tale ending, like those romcoms you like to watch, or an absolutely dreadful one – in which you leave. And truly, Simon doesn’t believe in a higher power; God has abandoned him more times than he cares to count. However, he hopes that whoever’s up there realizes that he's owed big time for all the crap he’s been put through.

And he asks for nothing, but you.

His face is hot, and he gathers his cheeks might be a little pink. The rare sight must give you some comfort, the fact that he’s just as overwhelmed as you are, because he feels your leg relax in his lap.

You purse your lips to hide a bashful smile - as if you have any right to be coy right now. "Flatterer."

He hums, seemingly wanting to bite back at you but unable to find the spirit for it. His eyes rake over your body, from your flushed face to your chest covered by his tee, until they land on your quivering thighs, still splayed open for him.

For him.

His hand travels up your leg, following the same route that has led to this. When his palm finally cups your hip, his fingers curl at the waistband of your shorts and tug.

“C’mere.”

You do.

He sees you bend your knees and shift on the sofa so you can crawl to him on shaky legs. As the gentleman he never thought he’d be, he helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap with your knees on either side of his hips.

Afraid you might say something hinting at regret, he selfishly grabs your jaw and pulls you down, finally tasting you the way he’s always wanted. His lips mold with yours, and they’re so soft he has no business claiming them as his own. His fingers tilt your head so he can deepen the kiss, and only when he sees your eyes flutter closed through the slit of his eyelids, he allows himself to surrender to you.

Your lips peck the thin scar on his cupid’s bow, but before you can run away from him (as you should), he captures you once more. He never wants to let you go, so his tongue slides across the seam of your mouth, and you, so pliantly, oblige him.

Your hands are resting on his shoulders when the kiss starts tentatively, while his slender fingers follow the curve of your waist.

But then your nails dig at the fabric of his t-shirt, as if eager to rip it, and his palms journey to your rear. He grips at the flesh through your shorts, before shoving out of the way their distressed hem and directly groping the plump meat of your ass.

The two of you never part. If anything, everything gets more heated.

He doesn’t recall when it is exactly that you start grinding your hips, nor does he remember when his shirt was removed – whether you did it, or if he’s taken the matter into his own hands.

However, he does snap out of it when he feels your palms leave his shoulders to grasp at the hem of your tee. While he wants to feel his skin on yours as much as you do, what’s separating your chest from his is not a mere layer of cotton.

He pulls away and – to his pleasure – he sees you lean in to have more. His hand lands on yours, stopping you.

“No.”

He sees you blink, dazed. A myriad of emotions travel through that pinched expression you wear, thinking like usual that you’ve done something wrong.

He quells your fears in seconds, when his other palm skims over your arm. It journeys unhurriedly, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, until it lands at the base of your throat. His thumb brushes over its column, forcing your neck to tilt backwards and your back to arch, presenting your chest.

Simon models you like clay under his warm fingers, and he takes his time to drink you in and sculpt you as he wishes. Because you seem so docile now that his intents are less covert, clearer.

He brings his mouth to your throat, and his nose scrunches when he presses it against your neck, keeping you still with one thick arm around your waist. With sluggish movements, he tastes the salt of your skin and the tang left by your perfume.

Simon pulls back only to run his tongue from the hollow between your collarbones up to your jaw, feeling right under the muscle how your throat bobs when your breath lodges in between. He curves his head and digs his teeth into the plumper flesh on the side of your neck, enough to get a taste but not enough (never enough) to cause pain.

“Keep the shirt on.” He breathes against your skin, “I wanna fuck my name into you.”

And he does just that.

It’s effortless how he lifts you in his arms, guiding your ankles to lock at his tailbone. Clothes, both yours and his, freckle the floors in a trail that leads to his bedroom. He’s famished; there isn’t a single surface along the path he follows where he hasn’t placed you – if only to savor every piece of you for a little longer.

Until he has you on that bed, the one he should’ve gotten only for a few weeks and instead became his own alcove.

You look wonderful on it.

But you’re even more gorgeous when he sits at the edge of the mattress, facing the full-length mirror in his room, and places you on his thighs to straddle his lap – your back facing the reflection.

He runs his hands over your chest, riding up the t-shirt to your neck only so he can feast on your tits. Grabbing greedy handfuls of fat and muttering unintelligible praises when his mouth all but devours every inch – sucking on your puffy nipples and grazing his teeth around each peak.

Another if is answered by the whimper that escapes your kiss-bitten lips.

You look like an angel, when your soft hand goes to grab the base of his cock and, without much ceremony, you guide it inside of you – sinking on it easy and slow.

You feel like heaven, too, impaled on him. Perfect fit, always made for him, and him only.

Simon’s not sure what he did to deserve you, now riding his cock like you’d been deprived of it your whole life. Unbridled, free. You moan and groan without a care in the world, the hesitation he saw before vanished into thin air – and oh, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

His hands curl at the hem of your (his, his, his) shirt, lifting it up slightly at your waist, only so he can see in the reflection how your ass slaps against his thighs each time you drop. Or, how your glutes clench when instead of trying to pleasure him, you please yourself – rolling your hips to grind your clit against his happy trail.

Simon’s hands leave the shirt only to grab more of you, kneading at your hips to guide your cunt down his cock until he has you filled to the brim. Your eyes roll back, breath stuck in that pretty throat of yours. He bites at it - laps at the skin like a starved dog.

Simon shattered his chains the moment you came undone on his fingers, and now he knows no restraint – not when he has you like this.

“Look at you,” he growls, slapping your ass only to watch how the fat ripples in recoil in your mirror image.

He grabs the back of your neck and tilts your head downwards. Your foreheads touch as he guides your eyes to look at where your bodies join. The foamy ring at the base of his cock, how the folds of your vulva hug around his shaft and tip at your unhooded clit, all puffy and red.

He tugs at your mound with his thumb, stretching the flesh to expose more. With a deliberate roll of his hips, he makes a show of how effortlessly his cock slides into you, how your cunt greedily stretches to welcome him whole. 

“Look at that.” His voice is equally as raspy as it’s enraptured. “Perfect.”

Using his hand on your nape, he angles your face to kiss you again. He thrusts into you only to have you part your lips in a stuttering moan, and he drinks it dry.

When you resume grinding your hips, he whispers in your open mouth, “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Simon sees how your thighs quiver under the strain of the effort, hamstrings taut and probably burning in the attempt to wrap around his hips. He won’t keep you like that for long, don’t worry. He’ll take good care of you, like he always has.

But now, he indulges in a selfish moment.

Spare seconds in which he watches your reflection bounce on him, and you’re too lost in the feeling to notice how his hooded eyes take in the view.

The profile of your face in the mirror (his little cherub), with your mouth parted and brushing against his temple as he nuzzles your shoulder through the fabric of the shirt. One hand ecloses his nape and your other palm is on his cheek, keeping his head close to your breathless lips. Your eyes are closed in bliss – lashes shy against your flushed cheekbones.

In the scantly lit room, the reflection in the mirror of you two is as dark as everything else, but the stark white writing on the back of your tee has never looked brighter. Your hair sways with your movements, and that RILEY that peeks through your locks has him impossibly enamored of you.

And you’re so smart, he thinks. So clever, because you know, even when your senses are clouded by euphoria and your eyes are closed. You know he’s never had a thing. You know that whatever he’s held, no matter for how long, has always slipped through his fingers before he could even get a taste of it.

“I’m yours,” you whisper in his ear.

And so, Simon surrenders. He’s at your mercy, you have his trust and whatever’s left of his heart – and he knows you won’t break either.

He helps you out of his t-shirt only to hold you bare against his chest. He brings you down with him, lavishes your skin with his palms and his lips. Nose buried in your hair, Simon breathes you in. The smell of sex and the smell of you and how it has him drunk when it whirlpools with his own – a new fragrance, one that burns itself into his brain with the threat (sweet promise) of never letting go.

Because he’s never had a thing, his name barely pertains to him anymore. But the moment he saw it on you, he finally realized where Simon Riley belongs.

[dollfacefantasy]

(you drive me) crazy ♡

satoru gojo x fem!reader x suguru geto

you and satoru haven't been getting along lately, so suguru intervenes to give you the guiding hands you need to come together

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, threesome, oral sex (f receiving), handjob, daddy kink/ddlg, mlm

a/n: wrote this as a request for my sweet lovely bestie @nexysworld <3

"'Toru quit it," you whine from the living room.

Suguru could hear the sounds of your protests coming from down the hall where you and Satoru were hanging out. He listens closer from his place in the bedroom for the other man's response, trying to discern if the conflict was playful or not. 

The past week or so, you two had been getting into it pretty often. They weren't serious disputes; usually just Satoru bossing you around or going too far with his jokes. He had power over you in your relationship dynamic, and that was how he played with it. Still, Suguru felt the need to intervene if his jabs got too rough for you. You were delicate while you were in a submissive mood. Feeling small meant you were too sensitive to handle teasing beyond what you knew was part of the game.

"Why would I quit when you're liking it so much?" Satoru taunts, "I can feel those pretty nipples getting hard, princess."

A series of whimpers drift down the hall to Suguru's ears. It was honestly hard for him to tell if the two of you were playing around or not. The little spats never stemmed from actual trouble between you three, but he wanted to make sure it stayed that way. He knew Satoru would figure it out with you soon enough, but for now, this dynamic was still new to him.

There's some more giggles and whines before you sharply yelp "Ow!"

Satoru laughs and then there's a little scuffle.

"You're such an asshole! Give it back!" you say.

Suguru sighs. It's as if he can already see Satoru's long arm stretched upwards, holding something out of reach. He gets up and heads toward the commotion.

"What? Are you too little to reach it?" Satoru mocks, "You weren't even paying attention anyways."

"That doesn't matter! I had it on cause I wanted it on," you say.

Suguru walks into the room and stands there momentarily, taking in the situation before him. His boyfriend was stretched back into the corner of the couch while his girlfriend was climbing all over him trying to reach the tv remote he dangled above them.

"Quit being a whiny brat," Satoru continues, giving your face a gentle shove with his other hand.

"Enough," Suguru interjects.

His voice is all it takes to snatch both of your attention. You turn around on top of Satoru while his head straightens up to look at the dark-haired man. You both know from the look on his face and the cadence of his voice that he's not in the mood for back talk.

At least you think you both know that. But Satoru decides to chance it anyway.

"Oh, she's fine. She was just being a big baby," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"From what I could hear, the both of you were being petulant brats," Suguru corrects.

It's almost as if you can see a gray cloud form over Satoru's head upon hearing that.

Suguru approaches the couch and sits at the end opposite the two of you. He grabs you by your hips and pulls you into his lap, leaning you against his chest and holding you close.

"Turn off the tv," he directs. 

Satoru actually obeys this time and clicks the power button before setting the remote on the table. His eyes return to the other man, both waiting to see his next move and wanting to be involved with whatever it is. He even scoots a little closer to ensure he won't be left out.

You're still glaring daggers at him, but the man holding you puts a quick end to it with a light tap to your nose.

"None of that," he chides, "I want the two of you to start getting along. There's no need for all the petty fighting."

"He's always being a dick-" you start before being promptly cut off.

"Watch your language," he tells you with a sharp look. "Good girls don't use words like that."

You tear your eyes away with a huff to spare yourself from seeing the smug quirk in Satoru's lip.

Suguru sighs and leans back into the cushions of the couch, keeping you close to him. Soothingly, he rubs the small of your back while shaking his head. His other hand stretches out to run through Satoru's white hair and massage his scalp.

"What am I going to do with the two of you? There's no reason for you to be bickering so much. You aren't in competition with one another," Suguru starts, speaking matter of factly.

He's relieved to receive no pushback on that point. Your eyes stay aimed up at him obediently while you relax in his lap, and Satoru's head melts against his hand as he rubs his head. His hand falls to the other man's jawline, sweeping down in and brushing his thumb over his plush lips.

"Come a little closer, pretty boy," he says. He knew the instant effect his voice uttering that pet name would have. He could all but see Satoru's pupils dilate.

Just as had been requested of him, the light-haired man inches closer so that his legs touch yours and Suguru's.

"The two of you are going to learn to behave together. I don't have the energy to put up with both of you acting so fussy all the time," he tells the both of you.

"But daddy-" you start to whine. You had to clear your name and make sure he knew that this was mostly Satoru's fault.

"Ah ah," he hushes you and leans in to quiet you with a brief kiss. Of course, Suguru knew a majority of the blame fell on the other man's shoulders. But he also knew that man in question, and he knew that he would never acquiesce if he felt defensive. "Show me you know how to act, sweet girl."

A grumble of frustration rumbles in your chest, but you simply lean into the kiss and move your lips with his. He's soft like always, smells so so good. Every breath you take lets him take over your senses. Every time, he was so easy to fall into. You swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, but as you're ready to go deeper, he pulls away.

"I think Satoru deserves a turn, baby," he chuckles lowly.

Your eyes glance over at your tormenter who'd been watching the whole time, analyzing every little movement between you and Suguru. You wanted to insist that no, actually, he did not deserve a turn. But that's something Satoru would do, and you're smarter than him so you control your pettiness for now.

Suguru brushes his thumb over your lip to wipe away some saliva before he turns his head and guides Satoru in for kisses similar to the ones he'd given you. The two men move their lips together with almost divine synchrony. Always the neediest of the group, Satoru moans quietly and scoots even closer to you and Suguru.

You watch them, and as you take in how they meld into one, you remember why the three of you do this. Because you can't stay mad when watching your lovers look so beautiful with one another. You can't hate Satoru when he looks so pretty with his skin tinged pink and his white lashes dusting his cheeks. You can't resent him when all you want is to make him feel the same way.

With Suguru, the rule always was once he had touched you, you were then allowed to touch him. So you lean in and nose at his neck, latching your lips onto his warm skin next. Being so close, you can hear the rhythm of his breathing stutter at the feeling. He stays focused on the one he's kissing until he catches sight of what you're doing and follows suit.

He occupies the other side of Suguru's throat and lavishes teasing kisses onto it. The man in the middle sighs and tilts his head back to give the both of you more room.

"There you go. Working together for daddy just like you're supposed to," he mutters.

Your hand slides onto Suguru's lap as Satoru's does the same. Fingertips brush against each other in the middle, a gentle reminder of why you loved Satoru too despite all the grief he caused you.

The touch pulls you together like magnets. Both of your lips glide over his throat to the center near his Adam's apple. You're both still focused on him, but then you aren't sure if Satoru's tongue flicks yours or if it's yours that brushes against his. Either way, your lips end up coming together and tangling the two of you in a series of kisses.

You lean away from Suguru's throat a bit. Satoru's hands cup your cheeks and keep you within his range. The man who had been the center of attention peers up and smirks at the two of you. He watches your tongues explore each other's mouths, watches as hands get grabby and breaths become bated. His hands stroke down the back of your heads like the delicate things he sees you as.

"Good babies," he coos, "It's more fun when you're playing nice."

But make no mistake, Suguru wasn't going to be left out of this little moment. He guides your chins upwards and presses his lips to the spot where yours meet. The intrusion is awkward for a split second, but it quickly becomes welcome. Satoru turns his head and engulfs the other man's lips in a kiss while wrapping his arm around your waist and keeping you close.

The three of your mouths move together. All sets of lips find a rhythm and always have their place in the mix. It's messier kissing with an extra person, but you like it that way. You like Satoru's breath chilling the skin coated in Suguru's spit. You like having his tongue in your mouth while your other lover nips at his bottom lip. You like feeling his slender fingers dig into your hip while Suguru's bulge swells beneath your ass. 

You squirm your hips, providing some friction to the growing erection, but his hands still your movements.

"Not yet, pretty girl," Suguru coos. He pulls back from the threeway kiss looking a little flush himself. His lips are puffed up like yours and Satoru. The main difference between him and the other man is that Satoru's eyes are completely clouded with lovesickness.

"I think Satoru owes you a little apology for teasing, hm?" he asks.

Thanks to his hazy state of mind, his reaction is a bit delayed, but once Satoru registers those words, he whines. 

"We made up. She doesn't want an apology," he says before looking at you, "Right?"

Your mind is a little fogged up from the heat of kisses. The desire for revenge had faded, but the memory of its intensity made you pause to consider siding against him.

Though before you can, Suguru swoops in.

"You did make up, but I want that to last this time. I don't want the two of you fighting again thirty minutes after I make the both of you cum," he chides, "I want you to remember that when our baby feels good, you feel good too."

You watch the resistance die in Satoru's eyes, suffocating under the mist of pure adoration he has for the man in front of him. Suguru strokes his jaw and returns the gaze, keeping him hanging on each word he says.

"Lay back for me, baby boy," he says gently.

Satoru obliges and leans back, spreading his long body across the couch. He tugs off his shirt and exposes the pale, muscular expanse of his chest to your eyes. Like always, he looked so pretty. He'd be gorgeous enough to make you jealous if you didn't love him so much yourself.

Suguru bounces you on his knee a few times to get your attention back on him. His hand rubs up and down your thigh soothingly as he leans in, speaking in the voice that lets you know his words are for you.

"Now Satoru's gonna make it up to you, sweetheart. After this, I want no more petty arguments, understand? I know he goes too far when he teases, but you need to try and work with me, ok?" he says, every word cooed at you like it'd be too difficult to understand otherwise.

"Ok daddy," you agree, your own voice softening as you're lulled into that soft, docile head space.

"Good girl," he praises as he pecks your temple, "I want you to go sit on Satoru's face. Think you can do that for daddy?"

You shoot a glance at Satoru whose eyes are on you and Suguru. The tent in his pants is on full display from this angle. It makes your mouth water, but you know better than to question daddy's plans.

"Mhm," you hum with a lazy nod.

"Perfect."

With that, Suguru boosts you to your feet. He helps pull your panties down and lets you hold his shoulder for balance while you step out of them. Then he takes your shirt off for you, kisses up your tummy and onto each breast.

"Alright, honey. Climb on," he says, giving you a pat on the ass and guiding you in Satoru's direction.

You crawl onto the other man's body, scooting up over his abdomen and pausing at his chest. You look down at his lust-blown eyes. The agreement had been made between you and Suguru, but it's Satoru's hands that pull you forward and get you hovering right above his face.

"No need to wait," Suguru directs from behind you.

That's all the man below you needs to hear before yanking you down and latching his mouth onto your cunt.

Your knees dig into the couch and you clutch the armrest in front of you for support. Being needy brought eagerness as well for Satoru. He loved receiving pleasure, but if giving it was how he could be the center of attention, he gave his all to that just the same. 

Suguru honors Satoru's dedication by tugging down his pants and letting his hard cock spring free. He boosts his hips to make it easier to get his clothes all the way off. His dick is leaky and flushed, resting against his pelvis, pulsing with the desire to be touched.

His lips engulf your pussy as he makes out with it, wanting every inch in his possession. His tongue laps over the length of it as if he's running out of time. He kisses your clit and laves at your entrance. The way he grips your thighs makes you feel as though you're being used as an instrument of suffocation

"Easy, Satoru," Suguru chuckles, stroking his smooth inner thigh.

He whines against your sex at the feather light touches, his hips buck involuntarily, so desperate for something to thrust into. The sound reverberates through you, sending a shudder up your spine.

"Daddy!" you whine for Suguru. Your arm sticks out behind you, flailing in a fruitless attempt to grab his hand.

He knows what you're doing as soon as he hears that whine. You always did this, always wanted Suguru to coddle you when things got the slightest bit intense.

"No no, baby," he tuts, "Daddy can't reach from here. Why don't you hold Satoru's hand instead?"

As soon as the words hit your ears, your pleasured mind decides that solution is good enough. Your fingers fly to your leg and pry Satoru's hand off so you can hold it. He doesn't complain at all, giving your palm a tight, reassuring squeeze.

Suguru watches, satisfied at the two of you getting along. He rewards Satoru's squeeze with one of his own, his fingers wrapping around his shaft. He gives it a few gentle pumps, relishing the guttural groans that come from between your thighs.

"Good boy," he coos, "You see what happens when you're nice to our girl? Daddy makes you feel good too."

You feel him nodding as he licks. His tongue never stops working on you. The warm wetness slides through your slick, swirls over your sensitive spots. You hold his hand like a lifeline. Your thighs tremble with the urge to clamp around his head.

"Daddy wants both his babies to feel good," Suguru continues from behind you while stroking Satoru's cock, "Is he doing a good job, baby girl?"

"Y-yeah," you choke out and look down at the mop of white hair exploding from the apex of your thighs. You can see those bright, blue eyes beaming up at you too. They're drooping with lust, dazed with the desire to please.

He moans while sucking on your clit. A ways down, Suguru spit down onto his hand as he fists Satoru's cock. The noises from his motions start to grow louder, his dick glistening with the mixture of saliva and precum spread over it.

"Keep going, Satoru. Make her cum, and daddy'll make you cum too," he coos.

His hand continues to jerk his cock with fluid motions. His thumb swipes over the dripping tip as Satoru's tongue prods your entrance. You grind your hips down into the blissful sensation. It starts with gentle rocking, but it's soon full-fledged humping.

"Oh, she likes that," he croons, "Look at you go, baby. You're gonna wear yourself out early riding his face so fast."

"Can't stop daddy," you mewl, "Feels too good."

You want to say more, but thoughts vanish from your brain faster than your hips are moving. You feel release blossoming in your belly. Your free hand laces itself between Satoru's locks to hold onto another part of him.

"Daddy, gonna cum," you whine.

"Alright, sweetheart. You can cum," he tells you before giving Satoru's dick a squeeze to indicate his words are now for him, "As soon as she's cum, you can cum too."

The words get Satoru working twice as fast. The tip of his tongue serpentines over your swollen bundle of nerves before suckling on it and flicking at the bud.

Your body goes taut, and it only takes a few more skilled touches to strike the right chord. Your back arches and the shriek you let out is high enough to break glass. You hold Satoru's hand so tight, it's possible you've shattered a couple bones.

Your hips swing back and forth with a mind of their own. Only one goal in mind, prolonging your high for as long as possible. Your eyes droop and gloss up, and everything starts feeling soft and warm.

Satoru can feel you swaying above him, but his hand splays across the small of your back to keep you up right. It stays there until you finish, and Suguru can guide you back into his lap. You watch him jerk off Satoru closer to the edge.

His fist twists languidly, stroking up and down in a perfect rhythm. You glance at Satoru's face. You watch him bite his lip as his features contort with ecstasy. He looks fucked out despite not having cum at all yet.

"Come on, sweet boy. Let me see it," Suguru coos, "You deserve this. You deserve your reward for making her feel so good."

The other man whines, but his hips start to jerk. You watch the first rope of cum spurt out onto his tummy. More follow and his legs squirm with the feeling of release.

"That's it. Cumming for your daddy just like a good boy should," Suguru says.

Once Satoru's ridden out his orgasm, you look up at Suguru for permission to love on him a bit more. He smiles at you, both for your intention and your inclination to ask for approval. Approval that he gives you, of course.

You crawl up the other man's side and snuggle in next to him, nuzzling his neck. He turns and presses some hazy kisses to your face. He doesn't want to get his hopes up too early, but Suguru is really starting to believe this one will be the time that lasts. He rises to his knees and haphazardly situates your legs into a more accessible position.

"You just stay right there, angel. Daddy's gonna fuck that pretty princess cunt, and Satoru can clean us up again if he wants," he says.

You turn your head to look up into the piercing set of blue eyes. From the glint they hold, you know he'll want to.

[emdeerm]

I'm a Grandpa? Again?!

My brain got away from me. srry

This might be a horrible, horrible idea that will have so many butterfly and directs effects on the DC canon that I know nothing about but...

Consider this: Bruce is Danny's clone/test-tube baby.

Danny has lived for many, many years and somewhere along the lines, he got his DNA stolen again (in his human form mind you) by someone and they made a clone/baby (most likely cause the child would destabilise without more DNA. Human Danny is just 1/3 of the DNA he has). Maybe the League and Ra's is responsible. Maybe some other party I have no knowledge about. Maybe it was GIW. But it happens.

Anyway, whoever succeeded, had some intentions with the clone if it had powers. He did not. Was a failure and was dumped as a 3yo in Gotham. Tom and Martha Wayne found him and adopted the child.

Now, Danny doesn't know it. He just goes around, living his best life with his partner/(s), works somewhere new every 5-6 years or so, trying out new professions when he wants. When his DNA got yonked, he was a practicing cook. By the time Batman is old enough with all his kids he is a doctor or something.

Let's throw in the Ghost King for fun. Love the trope. Could be just him being a super strong and respected Ghost in the Realms who helps himself to Pariah's treasury. Not like the guy needed it anyway.

So, YEARS pass. All parties are unaware. Meta human protection happens. Ecto Acts get ruled out automatically by the Government somewhere in a list of all stuff that change. The Ghosts haven't been sighted for over 30 years. The Government disbanded GIW wven esrlier just cause they were a moneh draining leach. The JL didn't even pay that much attention honestly (let's say Batman wasn't there for some reason to check the final copy), just one more thing that changed for the better in their eyes.

So, Danny and his kind are now legally in the clear. Does he so something with it? Well, not much. Just uses his powers more freely. His rogues don't find the Living Realm all that interesting now and just come to Phantom to play. Except Sculker. That ass is still unbearable.

...

I got sidetracked from my original idea. Anyway-

...

Damian in school has to do the ancestory assignment. And finds out that he has a weird relation to this Random DudeTM. (Maybe Tom's and Martha's DNA was indeed used in the process of creation. Who knows, maybe it was their doing all along in the name of Doctor Science. Idk. All options are fun) Came out of nowhere. The relation is unclear too.

That gets brought up to Father. Father is surprised. Investigation happens.

The Bats are flabbergasted by the results.

Danny gets the news that he is a surprise Granpa again (Dani was the first one to come with a grandchild out of nowhere. Adopted. You know what? Let it be Cass. Let her have a traveling super mom).

[kelluinox]

Current mood as an anti Russia Russian jew:

- Watching western college kids spout the same propaganda you heard on channel one growing up

- Hearing chants of "Death to America" and seeing the destruction of the American flag and whispering "of course" to yourself because you know exactly where this rhetoric came from and who sponsored it

- Watching the world waste its time on a democratic country fighting back against terrorists instead of paying attention to the real evil in the world like Russia, Iran, or China, because... antisemitism is more entertaining and you guys haven't been allowed to kill jews in a while I guess

- Being frustrated by the protests because nobody exerted this much energy on Ukraine and everybody has already forgotten about Ukraine and it's so painfully obvious that you all just hate jews

- Remembering the time you sat in class and had to listen to your professor say shit like "America is the greatest evil", and "America is committing modern day colonialism through globalization and global market" and then comparing that rhetoric to that of the brainwashed western college kids'

- Being terrified of the upcoming 9th of May because you have no idea what kind of shit your country will pull on the 9th of May

- Being very familiar with Islamic fundamentalism because you live near Chechnya and for as long as you remember you have been witnessing the murder of human rights' activists, attacks on lawyers, and young women and girls trying to escape families who promised to honor kill them, mutilated them or poisoned them with medicine - some successfully crossing the border to Georgia but many more being dragged back to Chechnya from where they were hiding in Moscow and St Petersburg to their deaths

- And then watching the west pretend that there is no extremism or problems because then you will be called a bunch of names and obviously that's very scary 👍

- Realizing you have nowhere to run because the west has been thoroughly infiltrated and is digging itself a grave and hasn't stopped doing so for 8 months now

- Losing friends because they either fell for the propaganda and don't see the danger you see so clearly, or they are too cowardly to call out the mob and lose followers on social media. Even though losing followers will be the least of your fucking problems when you lose your democracy and freedoms

- Being furious 24/7 because more sane people aren't standing up, again afraid of the mob and losing their social media status

- Honestly just expecting to be bombed by now

[11cupids-tarot11]

What can help your dreams ★Manifest☆ ?

1 -> 3

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Tarot Deck used: Garbage Pail Kids

Oracle Deck used : The Roast Iconic

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 1- The Devil, Six of Coins in Reverse, The Hanged Man

Oracle cards- "Billionaire: Are you hoarding wealth to fuel your King or Queen Baby dreams? Do not pass Go, do not collect a million dollars, don't even go to jail or pay taxes- think about doing some good and using your hoard to end WORLD HUNGER ALREADY!"

"Black Square: Apparently, you are only down for doing the bare minimum during an incredibly significant time to stand up and advocate for human rights. Drawing this card reminds you that your actions need to not be just performative, they must be based in real knowledge and include follow-through, both online and IRL (in real life). You don't have to be on the front lines, but at this point in history, you can't be silent either."

Hi my pile 1's 😭 I feel like it's been forever I hate being away from my blog for too long cause I start to miss y'all literally lol.

So anyways for your reading today I feel like Spirit is wanting to draw attention to maybe some addictions, self sabotage is what I heard while shuffling the cards. I feel this heavy energy of someone purposely messing up their own blessings in a way I feel like maybe someone's stuck in this very heavy energy but also not really doing anything about it? Like maybe you know something's not good for you, maybe it's a connection or even a job that's tiring you out, it's something along those lines but you just can't stop it, you know? I heard someone needs to do an energy cleanse! I heard take some time off. Maybe someone's drowning themselves in something like studying too much, there's something about over doing something. Someone could have very curly hair here.

So I'm hearing here someone should take the time off and do something fun, relax a little. I think there's a message here also of feeling like you haven't done enough of something and you're obsessing about it mentally a lot and spirit is saying just take a little break from it and endulg in something else, something that makes you happy and makes you feel like you, you know? Even if it's just taking a walk while listening to your favorite music or maybe reading your favorite book and watching your favorite movie, you know? So with the six of coins here I'm also getting a message of like you've worked really hard already and you've done a great job honestly it's okay to rest and not be perfect already already, Rome wasn't built in a day I'm hearing!

The hanged man is just confirmation you've definitely been making yourself sick and stuck by obsessing over this thing. I also feel like maybe you're stuck because spirit is wanting you to see things from a different perspective, like in my garbage pail kid tarot card Wacky Jacky is hanging and all stuck in a tree but while she's stuck she realizes she sees the world in a whole different perspective and it's then new ideas come to her. Approach your goal from a new angle!

I feel like someone here is also someone very important with a very hard position and that might be why you work so hard, you have a lot of pressure on you maybe. Take what resonates!

Hope you enjoyed this reading! Let me know, I love you and take care ♡

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 2- Queen of Wands Reversed, Seven of Wands Reversed and Three of Cups.

Oracle cards- "Troll: Are you a Necessary Evil? Do you feel you must play Devil's Advocate? Or are you someone who hates themselves so much they feel they have to try to get others to feel the same way? If you answered "yes" to one or more of these questions, please seek help or therapy, or get a hobby."

"Bitch: Are you being a Bitch, or just making sure they can't take advantage of you? Stand up for yourself, but make sure you don't steamroll anyone in the process. Do no harm, but take no shit."

Hi pile 2's, hope you're doing amazing 🤩

So right off the bat I'm picking up shy energy lol, someone who's maybe more reserved or introverted. I don't want to say basically Spirit thinks you should be loud or more outgoing but I definitely think you'll go through a time period of weird energy and out of the ordinary situations happening that are forcing you out of your comfort zone. You might not get any more extroverted but I definitely do see branching out might help, sitting with your close friends and just letting yourself let loose or just enjoy the company. You might be someone who people look at and not get the big picture right away, like they have lots of accusations about you but you're kind of closed off so these accusations aren't 100% true because there's more to you than people know, you're just not the type to go and give yourself away that easily. You might be someone who prefers to keep a very close knit group of friends, I heard something about trust issues.

You could be petite, someone who doesn't look like they're very strong and that's what surprises everyone when you finally do show them you are indeed strong. You can be loud and extroverted too I think it's a choice to really be in this shell of yours, maybe it's what's comfortable and that's exactly the problem, when we're too comfortable we don't see the point in changing. Like why fix it if it isn't broken? But you hold great significance, you're just a significant person to the universe and I'm not even sure if you're aware but you are lol.

It's crazy because I'm picking up mixed messages lol, with the Queen of Wands in reverse it makes me feel like someone here is very down and unsure about themselves, needs to take some me time and get away from socializing but with the Three of Cups someone here needs to "stop being alone so much" is how I channeled it, advising you to go out more with the people you love and celebrate, have a good time and just have fun so take what resonates as you know yourself best and what applies to your situation.

With the seven of Wands I'm getting a message of someone who's stressed, you maybe have felt very tired, over worked maybe, even dealing with certain responsibilities or relationship makes us feel tired and all worn out so take this how it resonates. You're on the brink of giving up, maybe you felt like it's not worth it or simply just can't find results you've been wanting to see, maybe this thing is literally killing you because Spirit is stressing you drop it enough to take the stress off you. I wouldn't advise anyone to just give up, but Spirit used such words as "drop it" like maybe the thing you're supposed to drop isn't serving you and that's why it's making you feel so bad. I'm just hearing Spirit even ask if you think all of this is worth it? This is something tough that's been bothering you, it could even be as simple as negative thoughts with all of the wands energy here, I think this is a group in their head a lot always trying to hold themselves accountable and very motivated to just do right. I heard a message that it's hard coming up for new creative endeavors because of all of the negativity in your thoughts holding you back, this energy is blocking your ideas. It's like you vs you almost, I think you have the power to help your dreams manifest all on their own just with your thoughts alone so keep a check for your energy, watch who you share your energy with because it's important and powerful. You're powerful I heard!

I hope you find this helpful! Take care angelz love you! ♡

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 3- Seven of Cups, The Chariot and King of Wands.

Oracle Cards- "Black Square: Apparently, you are only down for doing the bare minimum during an incredibly significant time to stand up and advocate for human rights. Drawing this card reminds you that your actions need to not be just performative, they must be based in real knowledge and include follow-through, both online and IRL (in real life). You don't have to be on the front lines, but at this point in history, you can't be silent either."

"Red Flag: No matter how often you try to bleach the red flags white, they only turn back to red. You have been warned- now PULL ANOTHER CARD!"

"Cult Leader: You are not a guru, a Timelord, or a demigod. You are an egomaniac who needs minions so you can feel like an authority to compensate for your own feelings of inferiority. Grow up!"

Hi pile 3! Hope you're having a fantastic day where you are!

So right away I'm picking up a message of not seeing the bigger picture, this pile feels more like a "How to Manifest more quicker" lol. I'm hearing this very slow moving energy, someone refusing to move on to the next chapter though you might be aware it's time to even but I'm getting a sense of fear. Even if you are unaware of these changes there's still so much anxiety and fear surrounding you at these times because the universe is basically forcing you to move lol! Move or be moved I'm hearing.

So overall I feel like someone in this pile might have lots of distractions, someone might have adhd and a hard time concentrating on tasks. Spirits drawing your attention these times and reminding you to stay focus.

With the Chariot card I feel like there's some movement here that needs to happen, you need to take action. I think that's the best way to help your manifestations right now, maybe someone here even forget exactly what they were manifesting and Spirit is like "Uhh HELLO? DO YOU REMEBER THAT THING??" lol. I heard someone's just been away from the job a little too long, I even get from the Seven of Cups it might've been you were distracted with something else that just sparked your attention better, but all that glitters isn't gold!

So I think you're working on being in this King of Wands energy, someone who is very productive, knows what they want, speaks up about anything, rather it's an idea they have or just wanting authority. I feel like a few of you even might know exactly what this is, I feel like a few of you might not even have a specific dream you want to manifest just clicking on the reading for fun lol but there's still a secretive message here I think you'll understand as you apply it to your situation.

Spirit is asking you to maybe think about the roots you want to plant and start from there, stay true to your craft and perspective and be committed.

I hope you enjoyed this reading! I love you, see you soon ❤️ ★

[sturniolo04]

Ignoring for 24 Hrs Prank M.S.

Bf!Matt x Gf!Fem!Reader

Summary: in Matt ignores Chloe.

Matt: okay today I am doing something that I know I'm going to regret

He sighs out as he confesses to camera

Matt: I'm going to be ignoring my girlfriend Chloe for 24 hours if I make it that long

He admits honestly under his breath

Matt: so anyway me and Chloe were suppose to be going to dinner tonight but obviously we aren't considering I'm supposed to be ignoring her

He states simply already feeling guilty about it

Matt: let's just see how this goes

-time skip hehe-

Matt's POV: Chloe finally arrive at the house and routinely had made her way to my room nothing out of the normal for her. I know I'm going to feel so bad

Chloe: hi

She greets as Matt keeps his attention on his phone

Chloe: hi

She greets again coming over to Matt opening her arms to get a hug

Chloe: Matt

She says seeing he didn't it give her a hug

Chloe: okay are we still going to get dinner tonight

She asks him shaking off that fact he didn't even say hi to her and give her a hug

Chloe: Matty did you hear me

She questions seeing she didn't get a response. She looks over to see Matt's attention is still fixated on his phone. She walks over and grabs his phone out of his hands

Chloe: hi hello Matt pay attention to me your girlfriend

She exclaims staying calm from Matt clearly being annoying as she slips his phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

Matt playfully smacks his face to keep him from giving in already considering it hasnt even been an hour yet

Chloe: what are you doing

She giggles out noticing his actions hoping he is now going to give her any kind of attention but no

Chris had made his way to Matt's room and by this time Matt had move away from Chloe sitting on the floor next to his bed.

Chris: hey Matt hey Chloe whats up

Matt: nothing much

Chloe: what you're kidding

Chris: what

Chloe: he didn't respond to me

Chris: weird

Matt: do you and Nick want to get dinner Chris

He states fixating his eye contact with Chris

Chris: I'm down what time do you want to go

Matt: 7 is fine I guess I don't haven't anything going on

Which was a lie because that was the exact time him and Chloe were suppose to go to dinner

Chloe: matt what hi hello about us getting dinner

She exclaims now finally sitting on the floor next to him. Him still ignoring her presence

Chris: okay word I am going to get ready then

He replied leaving Matt's room as Trevor slowly made his way to Matt in his room.

Matt patted the spot on the floor for Trevor to come over but instead of Trevor sitting there Chloee moved

Chloe: do want me to sit right here

She states trying play along.

Matt proceeded to smacks himself lightly trying not to laugh at his girlfriends actions

Matt's POV: ok I think I might have taken the whole ignoring Chloe for 24 hours too far but what's weird is she is being some what of a team player because I know if she pulled this shit ok me I would loose my mind

Chloe: Matt why are you not speaking to me

She slightly whines out trying not to cry

Chloe: what did I do

She says sighing letting a couple tears fall down her cheeks. Matt faces her as she looks at him as she is fully crying right now

Matt: No don't cry chlo it was just a prank

He exclaimed standing up slowly

Chloe: noo Matt

She cries out as she scoots away from him knowing that it is clearly evident she is crying

Matt: I'm sorry it was just a prank

He states again as he reaches out to her grabbing her waist and standing her up with him hugging her. He pulled away and looked at her as she moved past him and climb into his bed

Matt: noo Chloe

He exclaims out trying to pull the covers away from her

Matt: it was just a prank

He reiterates as she finally turns her face to him as he caresses her face with his hand

Chloe: I hate your pranks

She states pushes his hand playfully away and he giggles at her actions

Matt: but you know you love me

Taglist

@adirtylittleheart @mintsturniolo

[icyminghao]

If you're taking requests can you maybe do jealousy with boynextdoor?? I love your blog I haven't seen anyone write about them yet! <3

boynextdoor when they’re jealous

pairing: boynextdoor (ot6) x gn!reader genre: fluff, headcanon

note for anon: thank you so much!! hope you like it :)

JAEHYUN

as soon as he spots someone else getting too close to you, he turns into a clingy and whiny puppy

he’s not one to control who you interact with, but this particular person has been talking to you for the past hour, and he just wants your attention

he’s immediately going to your side and getting all up in your space, backhugging you and kissing your temple to show the person in front of you that you’re taken

acts dumb once the person takes the hint and leaves the two of you alone

holds your hand and never lets go for the remainder of the night (needs cuddles when you get home too)

“Well, yeah, I find it quite fun— oh!” your conversation with the random guy (Jongseong was his name, but you couldn’t be bothered to remember) in front of you at the party is interrupted when you feel a pair of familiar arms snake around your waist, Jaehyun’s chin coming to rest on your shoulder so naturally.

Jongseong looks a little taken aback, eyes flitting between Jaehyun’s arms around your waist and you. “Your boyfriend?”

You nod, pursing your lips together, and Jongseong makes up some flimsy excuse and leaves, unable to handle Jaehyun’s wary eyes on him. Jaehyun remains in his position long after Jongseong leaves.

“Who was that?” he whines, snuggling into your neck.

You smile, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “I don’t know, baby. I suppose he was just being friendly. Were you jealous?”

“What? No! Why would I be?” Jaehyun scoffs unconvincingly, refusing to meet your eyes.

“Sure, baby. Let’s go home, hm?”

SUNGHO

so sulky!!

he’s immediately whining and pouting and sulking in the corner the moment he spots you talking to some other guy

is honestly shocked at how this guy doesn’t know you’re taken with the way sungho literally wouldn’t leave your side the moment the two of you stepped into the party (that is, until he left to go to the bathroom)

saunters up to you and stares the guy down until he leaves, and then he’s immediately turning to you and whining about what just happened

needs reassurance from you that it was nothing, or he’ll be overthinking this interaction for a while

he just loves you too much and is so scared of losing you :(

“Quit staring, man. If looks could kill, that guy would have died ten times over with how you’re looking at him like that,” Jaehyun laughs, patting Sungho’s back.

Sungho had been glaring at this one guy who had struck up a conversation with you while he left for the bathroom. That sneaky little shit, Sungho thought, his gaze hardening by the second.

As if on cue, you look around and meet his gaze from across the room before he can spiral into an overthinking session, and you beam brightly at him.

The next thing he knew, you were standing right in front of him, seemingly having said something he was too lost in thought to pay attention to.

“Sorry, could you repeat that, sweetheart? I zoned out,” Sungho snakes an arm around your waist, squeezing the clothed skin with his hand.

You giggle, booping his nose, unaware of just how much he loved it whenever you did that. “I said, do you want to get out of here?”

“With you? Always.”

RIWOO

he strikes me as a silent overthinker :(

he isn’t the type to be confrontational about it with you, so he probably tends to bottle up his feelings and mope about it by himself

will probably try to act like everything is fine when it isn’t

he’s upset, yes, but he wouldn’t bring it up until you do (please do)

needs lots of reassurance that he won’t get left behind, please protect him T-T

“Hyeok, baby? Are you okay?” you nudge Riwoo from where the both of you are resting on the couch after coming home from a high school reunion dinner.

Riwoo doesn’t respond, seemingly lost in thought, and jolts when you snap your fingers in front of him. “Y-yeah? Did you say something?”

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm? You know you can tell me anything, that’s what we promised each other,” you rub his arm affectionately, reaching out your free hand to cup his cheek.

Riwoo sighs. “It’s stupid… but Sunoo was so obviously flirting with you the entire time we were there, and I couldn’t help but recall how he had such a big crush on you in high school, and-”

You cut him off with a chaste kiss on his lips, smiling softly at him when you pull away.

“Hyeok-ie, it’s you I want to be with. Not him, okay? And your feelings are never stupid, baby. Never.”

The huge smile Riwoo beams at you in response is one that you keep in your memories for a long, long time.

TAESAN

good luck to whoever was trying to pick you up at the party you both were at, because taesan is pissed

at this point the whole world knows the two of you are dating with how he practically makes you wear his jacket all the time

he’s dumbfounded at how the guy who’s blatantly flirting with you couldn’t tell

i mean, his hand is literally on your waist. that’s evidence enough

stares him down and smirks as the guy squirms under taesan’s gaze before taking the hint and scurrying off

he’s not letting his hand on your waist go for the rest of the night

“Woah, did you see the look on his face? He was genuinely scared,” you turn to your boyfriend as the guy who was talking to you left somewhere hurriedly.

Taesan was very obviously stifling a laugh, before pursing his lips together and turning serious. “Yeah, it’s not like we were scaring him or anything.”

Your eyes narrow at his blatant attempt at acting. “Dongmin… did you do something to scare him?”

Taesan squirms under your gaze, before sighing and leaning his cheek on the top of your head in embarrassment. “Come on, baby! He was so obviously flirting with you! In front of me! How could I not do anything?”

You let out a laugh, reaching up to pat his head. “Okay, you big baby.”

LEEHAN

is in disbelief at the whole situation

someone!! is trying!! to pick up!! his person??? he cannot have that

goes over to your side immediately and snakes his arm around your waist, giving you a chaste kiss in greeting

gives the guy who was talking to you an eye smile like nothing happened, introducing himself as your boyfriend with a polite smile on his face (but with venom dripping from his words)

the guy takes the hint and leaves immediately, finally leaving the two of you alone together

is so cocky after the whole ordeal

“Wow, look at him, Hyunnie, it’s like he’s scared of us,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around Leehan’s left arm.

Leehan chuckles, looking down at you with the fondest look in his eyes, “Or, maybe he just realised how in love you are with me and how much he doesn’t stand a chance against me.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Hyun. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you tease, jokingly removing your arms around his.

Leehan simply smiles wider, turning to rest his hands around your waist. “Come on, babe. You love me.”

You sigh, returning his gaze with as much affection as you can muster. “That I do.”

WOONHAK

another sulky bf/overthinker

he’d literally be sulking in the corner and refusing to look at you for a while when you find him because he’s 1) jealous and 2) embarrassed for feeling jealous

he trusts you with all his heart, but he can’t help but compare himself to whoever is getting too close to you, and tends to spiral into an overthinking rabbit hole until you stop him

you’ll have to squish his face and reassure him that you’re only his and he’s only yours, and stay by his side for the rest of the night before he finally feels secure

never lets go of your hand after

“Woonhak? They told me I’d find you here,” you open the bedroom door, peering in only to find Woonhak sitting on the bed, eyes on his feet. “What’s wrong?”

Woonhak purses his lips together as you sit down beside him, saying nothing. You sigh, looking at him worriedly as you reach out to take his hand in yours, rubbing small circles on the back of his palm to give him silent reassurance.

After a while, he speaks up, so softly you almost don’t catch it. “Why do you love me?”

You’re stunned. Woonhak must’ve noticed your reaction, because he goes on to elaborate, “I saw Heeseung talking to you earlier, downstairs. And, I don’t know, Heeseung is just, so much cooler than me and I couldn’t help but think of-”

You rest your index finger against his lips, effectively shushing him. You feel your heart shatter into a million pieces.

“Oh, baby,” you frown, cupping his face in your hands, “I love you because you’re you, Woonhak. Nothing and no one can change that.”

Woonhak looks like he’s about to burst into tears, and he reaches forward to wrap his arms around you, head resting on your shoulder. “I love you.”

You sigh contentedly, stroking his hair. “I love you, too.”

a/n: hehe i had quite a lot of fun writing this i hope y’all like it too!!

masterlist

[cupidscrule]

JJK MEN AND THEIR LOVE LANGUAGES!

Ft - Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Toji, and sukuna :3

SATORU

Teasing you, straight up harassing you

You haven't been paying attention to him in a minute? He'll just throw something at you, calling you stupid names you hate, he would jokingly say he's gonna push you off the bridge You're on. He throws you onto the bed, or really anywhere he wants.

One time he was mad at you and when you tried to make it up to him with a kiss he turned on his infinity so you just hit it like a Pigeon on glass 🥹

NANAMI

Acts of service 100000% he would do anything for you, kinda like princess treatment as well

Awe you're tired? Easy fix he'll just carry you around, want a snack? He's on it. Feeling a little sick then this man has everything prepared.

He would always pick you up flowers, fresh bouquet every week. As well as chocolates of course!

TOJI

Teasing, he would call you names.

I don't really have a lot for him but I feel like this man would call you stupid shit, he'd make fun of your outfit and hair.

In all good fun though, when he's not a dick he's really caring..? In his own way, he'll spend physical time with you, hugs and kisses forever

CHOSO

He doesn't have one directly, he honestly just does whatever you like.

If you want something he'll get it, if you want quiet time he'll do that. If you wanna cuddle with him he'll gladly accept it. He likes brushing your hair sometimes, words of encouragement as well.

SUKUNA

He doesn't have one he'll call you multiple slurs, beat the shit out of you, blame you for it, then he would threaten your life because you blinked a little too much. He's so romantic

[yamujiburo]

I'm so thankful for you sharing the importance of protecting minors from sexual content. My parents and I didn't have much knowledge back then and I was exposed to this kind of stuff too early. I developed bad habits. I somehow deceived my family into trusting me way too much and, when I saw I had lost control and I asked for help, I saw my family was also hurt and they spent a lot on therapy and my anxiety medication. I have forgiven them for not knowing back them. But I still haven't forgiven myself for getting them through all that stuff. It's important to understand how much we need to protect minors from sexual content. Family members and artists, please pay attention to the content young audience is exposed to.

Of course! I can relate a lot to this. My parents were really good at monitoring what I was doing online for a while but they started trusting me more and I unfortunately started seeing a lot of stuff I shouldn't have but would keep it secret. Gonna talk about my experience a lil bit under the cut just bc I've been reflecting on it a lot recently (tw for grooming)

I gained a following of around 25K on deviantart by the time I was around 15/16. It was in the worst fandom too (mlp). I'd have a lot of much older men talking to me, drawing/writing nsfw of my characters who were underaged (they'd draw nsfw of myself and my sonas as well). It was so normalized for me and I didn't see anything wrong with it at the time.

I'd shipped Spike and Rarity at the time (very much do not anymore) and adult men would use that ship as a basis for trying to talk to me or get in a relationship. "We're just like Sparity! You're young but you're very mature for your age, so it's fine." I remember one guy trying REALLY hard to try and get me to move in with him. I was pretty creeped out then, but like holy shit that's SUPER creepy and I'm fortunate that he didn't keep trying after I gave him a hard "no".

It bled into my real life a bit when I met a 22 y/o man who asked me out when I was just 16 just turning 17. Luckily the relationship was NOT long lasting (I think he realized that I'm a very boring person LMAO) but I think about how I thought that that was a perfectly normal. I'd date go on to date people who were probably too old for me.

Also around when I was 16/17, people started shipping me with another artist in the fandom who was several years older than I was (side note: nothing wrong with an age gap! but it's very not okay when there's "waiting" for someone to be of legal age involved). I did end up dating said artist after I turned 18 and it was fine, I wasn't hurt or anything but I did find weird that we were shipped when I was still a teenager looking back (there was also nsfw drawn of us together before/when we were dating)

I just had such a warped sense of reality for a long because of this shit. I'm glad there's more conversations about this stuff and it's more known that adults should have little to no personal interaction with kids on the internet and vice versa. There's way too many stories of kids getting taken advantage of in fandom spaces. I think I got off fairly lucky all things considered. But bottom line YES kids need to be protected online and their exposure to sexual content/adult spaces should be limited or monitored. It's also really tough though because not all kids have adults in their real life that they can trust or go to to ask questions about sex so they seek solace in adults online and it's just a constant cycle.

I'm honestly unsure of what to do about that and I don't have all the answers but I ultimately just don't want kids online to end up in similar positions I was in when I was younger. I just do my best

[secretagentsociety]

loves makes people crazy

yandere dragon X madly in love reader

Here's another idea,a yandere dragon like all powerful and scary the villager is scared of him,the king is scared of him,the Wizards and pretty much everyone and their grandmother is scared of him but then there's you,you different breed of a human decides to see him for the first time and say "yes that's my hubby" and the rest is history

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• people often called you crazy, dilusional and others not so nice insults for being still not being married despite hitting the big 2 0 that and also rejecting the local lords and basically anyone who tries to court you

• now just because people say it doesn't mean you HAVE to follow it yk?oh but you did you played their little fantasy of you being crazy so perfectly people were honestly scared for your mental well being,why?you may ask

• well it's because when khum first arrived at the village (I say first but it's really his 100th time terrorising the village) you decide to whisper something that some people might have heard "he's perfect" you said eyes filled with hearts watching him scaring the sht out of the locals

• honestly you're staring so much he could feel you boring holes into his head,curious he looked around for whoever it is that dared to stare at him for so long and BAM! He saw you,at first he thought you're staring at him in contempt or anger maybe both but then you sigh lovingly and waved at him a fools smile placed upon your face

• he had to look around and points at himself just to made sure he even mouthed "m-me? you're talking to me?!" But you blowing him a kiss and winking made it pretty clear it was him,well let's say after that he couldn't help but think about you "what an odd human" he thought

• "oh my god haven't you heard?! The dragons visit has been so frequent lately our village can't keep affording the rebuilding cost!" One of the villagers said,you aren't paying attention but just hearing him coming back more and more made your heart flutter "I know it's a blessing" you sighed melting into the seat as you remembered the first time he talks to you

•well it happened,khum stood Infront of you folding his hand,what is his plans anyway?kidnapping a human all of a sudden,a weird one at that,"human,do you have a name?" He said

• "you can call me yours,and I'll call you mine" you said "how about the name....treasure?no too basic maybe clove?nah um.....oh darling?" he said tilting his head,khum never thought one day he'd witness a human visibly explode and faint but here we was

• it was a rocky start to the relationship,well...rocky as in everything was so perfect it's scary, here's the recap,on day five of your kidnappings you've opened up to how the villagers had been treating you(not that it's hard to make you open up,all he had to do was give you food and call you pet names while stroking your head and bam! you're dumping your entire trauma onto him) and oh boy was he not happy

• now despite everything he's still a classy dragon,he ofcourse had hoarse of treasure but he also had a pretty nice castle he may or may not seize from a royal you don't have to know that tho so moving on,and with a huge castle come servants and with those come soldiers who needs to maintain security,not that he needs any but you know he likes to have thing's completed and that including the castles needs

• now when his subordinates first saw you absolutely gushing on how cute he was they were absolutely shocked,because one he literally look like a demon ripping out people's heart and two this isn't some flower field it's a grusome battle scene yet you couldn't help but blush when his shirt got torn off,you even closed your eyes to savor the moment after a while

• khum really can't understand your fixation on him,is it like his love for you?but even then he acknowledges your weird behaviour but you literally looked at him as if he was a god,not that he minds,he gotta admit that day he kinda wore a shirt that's a couple of size down so when he does some movements that needs intents flexibility his shirt would rip off in some cool cinematic style,it worked,it worked too well

• so apparently his stamina had their limits he'd come to know it last Night after the battle,oh but the details won't be necessary,oh but don't be fooled if he were to actually try you'd be the one to pass out

• now is he dilusional?nope he knows full well that it's not healthy but does he care?nope he's a powerful dragon,are you dilusional?maybe?...idk...probably....yes?.... Well he is cute so I'll give you that

• he is possesive, but it's really hard to show possesive when the person he loved won't look at other people,you will talk to people normally but once he entered your line of sight the other people can forget ever having a conversation with you

• now for the big question does this technically make you a yandere? maybe..yes.

•i feel the need to say he is 100% taller than you, I'm sorry but it's just the rules 乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ

• yes he has two pp lets move on now

• he had a way of marking you so other beasts knows to back the fuck off it's called biting,the first night you ever discover the chamber of secrets together(wink wink nudge nudge)he bit down on your neck,it leaves a pretty little flower mark that's imbued with his power it's very very very tiny teeny I cannot stress enough how tiny it is so it's safe

• now if you EVER even say someone else is cute then oh boi oh my,now I have established that he is jealous have I?,no?well too bad because he is,and his jealousy doesn't play nice,he will rip out the heart and torture the person over and over and over each time reviving them again and again and put a curse of Resurrection on them only to leave them in a forest of ravaging beasts that has lost their minds to be feasted upon and tortured until he sees them having suffered enough. ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ Moral of the story? don't just don't say anyone is cute (yes not even babies) (he won't like k.o them but he will like curse them or sum sht )

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on that note good night people

[actual-changeling]

when gabriel/jim (jabriel?? gim?????) talks about his "one particular person", aziraphale's smile is such a blink and you will miss it moment but so incredibly precious and we don't pay enough attention to it.

so, welcome to another round of alex's unhinged meta corner where i over-analyse micro expressions while losing some more braincells.

firstly, here's a clip of that scene just so we are all on the same page since i don't know how much time everyone else spends watching that show. don't ask me it's probably at least 6 hours a day at this point

what i want to focus on is aziraphale's reaction to jabriel's words right after "person". did i slow the clip down and then go through it frame by frame to get the following screencaps? yes. yes i did.

there are two parts to this, the spaced-out smile and then his shock/fear. also before we start can i just say how fucking insane whoever made the trailer was for putting the 1941 dinner scene RIGHT THERE??? with THAT expression??????? yeah. no. i need therapy for that alone.

anyway.

while he is talking, aziraphale is looking at jabriel the entire time, but honestly, i don't think he is actually seeing him, he's neck-deep in his memories of crowley. he as that sparkle in his eyes he tends to get around crowley/looking at crowley and that smile appears rather slowly (or as slow as something can be while lasting less than a second).

personally, i'd call that expression "completely and utterly in love" or besotted if you wanna keep it simple. a content little smile meant for no one except himself, the kinda look he probably wears in private while calling crowley to ask him to come hang out. aziraphale loves him and in this short moment, he knows it - and so do we.

when jabriel (preferable over gim, in my opinion) trails off, aziraphale remembers that hey, wait a minute. that's my boss. that's the archangel fucking gabriel. he can't know about me and crowley.

at this point, neither we nor he know what exactly is up with jabriel, so there is a very real danger that everything aziraphale says or shows will be reported back to heaven. the shock sets in, the smile disappear and aziraphale falls from cloud 9 (pun intended) and lands face first back on earth.

while aziraphale does not have crowley's memory of what exactly went down in heaven when they tried to burn him to a crisp, he has always been incredibly anxious around gabriel and the other archangel. he is fidgeting, unable to stand still or even keep his gaze from flicking around. the only moment he calms is, you guessed it, when he is zoned out and thinking of crowley.

the very real fear that settles on his face is not just about himself, it is mostly about crowley. if heaven knows, hell will, too. everyone knows about the back channels, most just try and keep up plausible deniability. the fact that it is michael who seems to be directly in contact with hell for the most part and not gabriel is worthy of its own post at some point.

another thing worth mentioning is that aziraphale is so afraid, in fact, that he physically backs away from jabriel and gets as much distance between them as possible. jabriel looks like a lost toddler, very non-threatening, but the trauma runs so deep that it does not matter how much of a danger he really is right now. he has been a constant threat for over six thousand years, you cannot deconstruct your view of a person, especially your boss, that quickly. not even if they turn up with total amnesia on your doorstep. naked.

this was less unhinged than some of my other posts but i think this is a moment that gets overlooked a lot. at least i haven't seen anyone talking about it yet since we are all understandably focused on the ending of episode 6.

[b3ach-bunn7]

LEATHER COATS AND PIZZA PART 2

You and Touya’s unspoken feelings come to head on the hood of his car

No quirks AU, a bit nsfw but nothing too bad

—————————————————————————

You don’t care how much you miss Hawks. Nothing is worth being at this party.

Too many people all crowded in the hallways and the living room. The stench of alcohol, the stupid music that you can feel thumping in your chest. The only blessing is Hawks is loaded beyond belief, evident by the fact his hallway was probably the size of your living room. This means there is ample room for you to hide away from all the noise and chaos.

You’re nursing a cup of coke mixed with what you think is probably vodka. You weren’t paying much attention when Toga had poured it for you. You’re sitting on the stairs just close enough to the front door that when your social battery is drained you have a quick getaway. You're sure Toga is bugging some guy on the dancefloor with Twice at her side, and Shigaraki doesn’t even show up to these things. He’s probably at home watching TV, and you can’t help but feel jealous. You think Spinner’s in the kitchen, and Dabi. You haven't seen him all night.

Or Touya, you should say. It’s been about a week since that day, since he asked you to call him Touya. Which you have been. Nobody’s commented on it and you’ve chosen to ignore the smug looks Toga is so insistent on sending you every time you use it. She’d asked about the kiss, too. According to her, it had looked just as passionate and intense as it had felt. You told her it was just a game and she told you that she wasn’t stupid.

The leather of Touya’s coat warms you even though you're sure you don’t need it. You still can’t help but wear it wherever you go. You keep telling him that you’ll give it back and he keeps giving you a hard time about it. But he doesn’t actually mind, you think. Because he’s had ample opportunity to take it back. Two days ago when it had been hung up on the back of your chair at lunch, or when you’d left it in Spinner’s car.

You think he likes it, honestly. You know you do. You’d caught the eye of some girl you knew he used to hook up with last lunch period. You saw the way her eyes had darted to you, to the coat, and then to where Touya had been sitting next to you. You had to admit you liked the jealousy on her face a little.

You wonder where he is now. You decide to just scroll on your phone for a bit. Maybe your Twitter feed is more entertaining than this. If not, an Uber was calling your name.

“Someone’s not having fun.” You follow the voice and look up, quickly enveloping Hawks in a hug.

You could definitely have a crush on Hawks. You think everyone does, just a little. His hair was always so perfectly windswept and dirty blonde, tan skin shining even in the winter months. He was training to be a pilot and so you’re sure the promise of future plane rides is enticing to anyone. He’s charming, charismatic. You’re yet to meet someone who doesn’t like him.

And yet, even with his arms wrapped around your waist, feeling the hard line of his lean muscle under his shirt, you just can’t seem to break that barrier.

“No offence, Hawks, but parties aren’t my thing. Especially ones as loud as yours.” You smile bashfully, and he laughs.

“Don’t worry about it, birdie. I take no offence.” He nudges you and you shuffle so the two of you are sat side by side on the stairs.

“So. Why the long face?” He asks.

“Not sure. Not feeling up to it today.”

“Are you sure it’s not because we’re missing a certain emo at my little party?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, looking away. “Shush, you. And I wouldn’t call this little.” You huff as you watch another few people walk into the house with a case of beer.

“I’m only teasing, but. I’m not entirely wrong though.”

“Well…” You trail off, unable to even lie to him.

“Yeah. I’m never wrong. It’s one of the greater curses of life.” He hangs his head and you snort.

“No, I don’t. I don’t know. We’re just friends.”

Hawks lifts his head up. He shuffles further back on the stair. “Didn’t you guys kiss?”

You feel your face heat immediately. “How do you know that?”

“Toga told me.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “That girl. Look, we were playing truth or dare. It didn’t mean anything.”

Hawks frowns. “I disagree.”

“Were you there? No. I’m telling you, it was. It was fine.”

Hawks studies you for a moment. He suddenly says,“If i asked you out on a date would you say yes?”

You choke on the sip of coke you take. “What?” You splutter.

Hawks taps your back. “It’s okay, birdie i'm not actually asking you out. If i were, would you say yes?

You think for a moment. “I. No, I don’t think I would.”

He hums. “Why not? I’m good looking, I’m smart.”

“Modest, too.”

“I’m being serious. We get along well. You like me and I like you. It would be fun. What reason do you have to say no, other than the fact that you like someone else?”

You’re speechless. Hawks grabs your cup and downs the rest of it. You tut, but don’t make much of an effort to take it back.

“Now, if say, Dabi asked you out, would you say yes?”

“God. I think I would.” You rest your face in your hands.

Hawks rubs your shoulder sympathetically. “It’s not all bad. He’ll ask you out one day.”

“I doubt that”

“He will. Maybe he’ll even be all romantic with it.”

You giggle as Hawks pulls his hair over his face, drops his grin to brood at you. He grabs your face and you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“Oh, Y/N, please do my cold dark heart the honour and go out with me.” He deepens his voice to the low gravelly tone Touya speaks in and you shove him away.

“Fuck off, weirdo.” You grin. But it doesn’t last long before you knock your head on his shoulder, your face falling.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s more emotionally stunted than I am. I doubt he’d admit it to himself, let alone to me. It’s hopeless.”

“Well, you- Oh hey, Touya!”

You shoot up from your seat on the steps. Touya is standing by the front door, looking very good in a black top and joggers. It seems Hawks forcing you to admit that you might like him has upped Touya’s attractiveness level, and you very purposefully look at anything but him.

“You two look close. Having fun without me?” He drawls.

You stammer, “I- We weren’t, I wasn’t-“

“It’s okay, baby, I’m not jealous.” He grins.

There he goes again with the ‘baby’. That nickname had seemed to be in his vocabulary much more the last couple days.

Him and Hawks do some weird boyish handshake and you watch from the foot of the stairs, arms wrapped around your waist. You ignore Hawks as he makes a kissy face behind Touya’s shoulder.

“So what are you two up to?” Touya asks.

“Nothing much. Y/N was just about to leave.”

“I was?”

“She was. She thinks my party’s not good enough.” Hawks pouts.

“I- Hawks.” You frown. “I didn’t-“

“It’s okay, I know they’re not your thing. And I know Dabi hates them too, so why don’t you guys go do something you’ll enjoy more?” He grins innocently.

You know what he’s doing. You know exactly what he’s doing and it’s so painfully obvious that you’re sure the weird way Touya is eyeing you means it’s obvious to him too. You curse under your breath and wish that you had something in your hand you could throw at Hawks.

“Cool. We can go get food if you want.” Touya says, eyes moving from the jacket around your shoulders to your eyes.

“Uh, yeah. I could eat.” You nod.

“Perfect! You two go have fun, I’ll stay here and make sure nobody breaks any more of my mums china.”

Hawks hugs you, ignoring the threats you whisper in his ear, and disappears into his house. Touya turns to you and the two of you walk out.

He showed up in his car so you quickly climb in the passenger seat. Touya told you once the only positive to having the father he did was he had money, and his love language was throwing it at him and his siblings. The seats of his Audi are warm and you fall back into the soft leather.

“So what are you feeling?”

You hum, thinking. “Something greasy and cheap that’s probably going to give us food poisoning.”

Touya grins. He’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other hanging out the open window. It’s only eight in the evening, so the sky is just light enough you can make out everyone walking around outside. You can also make out how good Touya looks.

“Alright, Wallies it is.”

Wallies was the local chicken shop every person under the age of twenty inhabited. It was cheap, fast, and the easiest food for you guys to stop by. Touya parks quickly, bringing one hand up to rest on the back of your seat as he reversed into a parking spot. You look out the window for something to do that isn’t ogling him.

You wait while he orders food, cheering when he comes out of the shop with a bag of burgers and fries. He’s dumps them in your lap through the open window and you reach in and grab a fry. Once he’s sat back down, Touya holds out his hand and you drop one in his hand.

Once Touya starts driving, the wind from the open window tussles your hair, blows over your face. You shiver slightly, pulling the coat closer against your body.

“My coat not warm enough for you?” Touya says.

You huff a laugh. “Nah, it’s awful. Might throw it out.”

“I’d hope not. It’s looking like I’ll never get it back.”

“Oh shit, sorry.” You wince. “I’ll give it back to you tonight.”

“No!” He says suddenly.

You look at him, confused at his sudden reaction. He averts his gaze. The tips of his ears turn red, and you think this is Touya nervous.

“No, it’s fine you can- You can keep wearing it. Looks good on you.” He clears his throat.

You smile softly. “Thanks, Touya.”

He has the look on his face again, the soft one you find yourself doing anything you can to make it appear. He doesn’t reply, just nods his head once.

Touya ends up driving you two the field you seem to be frequenting a lot recently. He parks just on the top of a hill, the hood of the car facing the setting sun and expanse of grass. You both prop yourselves up on the hood, spreading the food out in front of you.

No

It’s a messy, impromptu picnic that you decide might be the best meal you’ve ever had. Conversation with Touya comes easy. It always has from the very first moment the two of you met. Part of you wonders why nothing happened between the two of you before. Why your first kiss had been at the hand of truth or dare, of all things.

You wonder if Touya still thinks about it. You know you do. His hand in your face, the feel of his shirt curled around your fingers. You wish it had gone on for just a second longer, that you could’ve tasted him for a breath more.

“You alright there?” Touya asks suddenly.

You look up at him. He’s tilting his head slightly, a chip hanging out his mouth.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About me?” He flutters his lashes at you.

You snort. “Why, of course. What else?”

You hope he doesn’t realise nothing about what you just said was sarcastic.

“That’s alright. I’m doing the same.”

Your eyes widen. He cleans up the remaining wrappers and crumbs away from you two. He gets up and chucks the rubbish away. He grabs his packet of cigarettes from his back pocket. You wrinkle your nose at the sight but say nothing. It’s an useless argument you’re not bothered to have right now.

“You are?”

Touya nods. Leans against the car right next to you. You move to the front of the hood so that you’re closer to him. The smell of fast food still lingers in the air.

“Have been since last week.”

You swallow shakily. “Last week?”

“Mhm. When we kissed.”

He says it so easily. Like it means nothing. You laugh nervously. He puts out the cigarette, tossing it on the floor and trodding on it with his shoe. He turns so that he’s facing you. Even on the hood of the car, you're shorter than him, and he looks down at you, placing his hands either side of you.

“You. You think about it?”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about. Every time I see you. Or every time I think about where my jacket’s gone.” His fingers fiddle with the zipper, right where it’s closed against your throat.

“When else?” You whisper.

“Every time I see Toga. She keeps bringing it up, you know. Hawks, too. He thinks I should ask you out.”

You feel your face heat. He’s close enough that you think he might be able to feel it. Blue eyes trail up your body, up your chest and over your lips and back to your eyes.

“It’s why he was acting so weird. At the party.”

“What do you think about that? Asking me out?”

Touya smiles slightly. A hand comes up and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand stays there, resting against the side of your cheek.

“I was going to. I am going to, if those two stay out of it.”

God. You think he’s trying to kill you. He just stays there for a moment. You swallow roughly, impatience spiking in you.

“Touya?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to kiss me or shall I do it?”

He grins, eyes shining with something much more heated then the soft way he usually looks at you.

“No dare this time?”

“No. No, just-“

You can’t really finish that thought because Touya uses the hand resting against your face to pull you impossibly closer, pressing his lips against yours. Your arms immediately snake around his neck, a noise erupting in your throat. Your lips move against each other fiercely, his tongue licking into your mouth. After a while he breaks apart, the both of you gasping for air, and he groans.

“So beautiful. Did you know that? Gorgeous, baby.”

He clumsily unzips your jacket, hands immediately descending on your body. His hands trail up your waist, over your chest. You sigh, leaning your head back, and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your face, down your neck. He sucks a dark spot right by your collarbones and you moan, hand running through his dark hair.

“Touya, don’t- My parents will see.” You say, breathless.

“Don’t care. Need everyone to know your mine.”

He continues kissing down your body, down your collar bones, the valley of your breasts and right over the hem of your dress. His fingers slip beneath your dress, but you stop him. Despite the fact it takes very single ounce of self control to do so, you are in public. You tell him as much and he frowns, placing another lasting kiss on your lips, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he breaks apart. He frowns, hands refusing to leave your body.

“You’re killing me, Y/N. I’ve waited forever for this.”

“Forever? Why didn’t you ask me out before, then?” You giggle. You trace your fingers across his face, following the lines of his smile.

He pauses for a moment, pondering. He kisses your lips, your jaw. “I had to be sure you liked me.”

“And how did you become sure?”

He leans back. Touya looks at you again so full of feeling you feel like you might burst.

“That kiss at Shiggy’s. It sounds fucking stupid, but. I don’t know. There’s no way you can kiss someone like that without having any feelings for them.”

So it wasn't just you who felt it. He did too.

“Alright. I guess that’s a good excuse.”

He rolls his eyes and you laugh. “So now what?”

Touya thinks for a moment. He lets his hands fall to your waist, dragging you closer, until you're practically sitting between his legs. He leans forward, his mouth right against your ear.

“How about I go show you what I would’ve done to you here if you hadn’t stopped me?”

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the highly anticipated part two 😱 I think I might try write some established relationship stuff, because I always write how they get together but never after? We will see. Hope you enjoyed!