#I just needed to get this out of my head and didn't need to bother on my main

[goobstars]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍

summary : after you had been hiding in your room for a few days, jax decided to ignore the excuses you had been giving everyone and go check on you in your room.

tags : angst, jax & reader are in a relationship, and the word 'hellhole'. didn't know if i should tag that but might as well in case.

notes : i'm going to start working on requests tomorrow, but this thought just wouldn't leave my head. i listened to "the moon will sing" by 'the crane wives' while writing this, hence the title! enjoy!

"i'm just feeling more tired than usual."

"i don't feel like going on an adventure."

"i'm a little sick is all!"

these were the excuses you had gifted jax—as well as others—for the past few days.

everyone around him had agreed that they were valid reasons as to why you wouldn't leave your room, and that you should not be bothered. it was clear you needed space, but unfortuantley, jax wasn't about that kind of stuff.

he was tired of going on adventures alone, but even when he was at the circus, you wouldn't let him enter your room. you'd hold the door back whenever he tried to get in, and that alone was enough to confuse him. even when you were exhausted before, you'd always let him in.

what was so different about now?

well, that's what he was going to figure out.

jax lightly whistled as he walked down the hallway with all the rooms, and a key was being swung around his index finger before he stopped in front of your door.

he grasped the key in his palm while he peered up at the photo on your door, and he smiled at the sight of your silly portrait. maybe he'd tease you about that.

"doll? you awake?" jax knocked on your door a couple of times, and once there was no response, he just shrugged. "oh, well. i'm coming in, anyways!"

a lazy grin was on his face as he placed the key in the keyhole, and he turned the key. the lock clicked, and jax placed the key in his pocket before twisting the knob.

he had a few assumptions as to what he would've saw when he walked in.

you sprawled out on your bed, you laying on the floor, or you messing with the random objects in your room.

but he didn't expect this.

glitched sounds echoed as your room was coated in scribbles and paper—random words that didn't even make sense carved into your walls. his smile faltered as he let go of the knob. what had happened?

that question was answered as soon as he peered up at you.

yet, his mind wanted to call you anything but you.

you were a monster. you were abstracted. you were something he had been faced with many times before, but this time, it made his stomach twist in a way that made him want to vomit.

you were a swarm of glitched-out pixels, and eyes were plastered all over your body with each one wielding a different shade of colour.

yet, none of those colours were the one he had grown to love.

every single one of your eyes shifted to peer down at jax, yet you didn't act. you didn't attack like those who were abstracted usually did.

you just stared.

you couldn't be abstracted, right? you were just joking with him to get back at him for all the pranks he pulled on you. if you were truly abstracted, you would be attacking him right now.

but you weren't.

"[name]?"

his words were shaky as a tense smile sprawled across his face, and a shaky laugh left his throat. "okay, i get it—you're messing with me, right? to get back at me?"

denial coated his mind just like how those black pixels covered you. how did you manage to convince caine to fake your abstraction just to get back at him? you both plotted this prank against him, didn't you?

"well, you got me. i'm officially freaked out—you can tell caine to turn you back to normal now..."

his words trailed as he slowly reached his hand towards you, and there wasn't a single thought in his mind that decided against the act. you were just joking with him, right? you were still with him, right?

right?

out of all the times he had been wrong, he was truly hoping this time was different, but to his avail, it was not.

a hand grasped jax shoulder before yanking him back, and at the sudden movement, a screech erupted from you. there was no hostility in the sound, though. just fear.

you were afraid, and there was nothing jax could do about it.

jax hastily peered over his shoulder, and his eyes hardened into a glare once he noted how caine was present. the grip on jax's shoulder was tight while caine just clicked his tongue, and the cane in his hand slightly twirled before vanishing in thin air.

"looks like we lost another one—oh well, i'll take care of it!"

caine's cheery voice rang out while jax hastily faced you—noting the way a black hole appeared on the ground—and it was being positioned right underneath you.

he hastily pulled away from caine's grasp as he darted towards you, and in that moment, he had no clue what he was doing. what was he trying to save you from?

the cellar? becoming more abstracted, somehow? death?

with your current form, and how each of your eyes seemed to wield a gleam of pain in them, death would be the best thing to happen to you—it would be your mercy.

yet, he was and wasn't thinking about you at the current moment. he was thinking about how he needed you, and he chose to remain oblivious to the fact you probably didn't need him. the only person you needed right now was the grim reaper to take your hand and release you of the monstrosity you had become.

to jax, though, you were anything but a monstrosity at the moment.

you were the person who he never got tired of—the person who kept him sane in this hellhole.

and the more your abstracted body fell into that hole, the more his sanity slipped.

he slid onto his knees as he reached the edge of the hole, but by the time he leaned forward to try and grab you, it was too late.

his fingers barely missed you.

you were now sentenced to the cellar, and there was nothing he could do about it. the idea of jumping in crossed his mind, but before he could do so, the hole closed.

and the last thing he saw was you—eyes seemingly pleading for something that he couldn't name. did you want things to go back to how they were? did you want him to do something?

did you want him?

your door slammed shut in front of him, and his question remained unanswered.

jax paused as he eyed the spot on the floor where you once had stood, and his eyes slowly trailed down to his palms as he closed and opened them.

why didn't he jump in?

the sound of people's footsteps scrambling from down the hallway wasn't enough to make him look up from his hands, nor the eruption of people's voices.

"what happened?" ragatha's question rang out, yet there was no answer as her attention moved over to jax and the door he was sitting in front of.

caine simply shrugged, "nothing important! now, how about an adventure?"

it didn't take a genius to figure out what happened.

caine's dismissal and the bright, red x that was slowly covering your photo said enough.

everyone fell silent, and caine only appeared confused as his arms slightly went limp by his side. "nobody?"

jax peered up from his hands to stare at your photo on the door, and he clenched his fists.

he could've prevented this. was he the reason you abstracted? did he do something wrong? why did he let you hide out in your room for so long? why did he listen to your excuses?

he could have prevented this.

he could have prevented this from happening again.

yet, he screwed up once again.

and because of his screw up, he lost you.

the only thing that made him sane in this circus.

[zablife]

Breathe

Joel Miller Masterlist

Summary: When you suffer a debilitating panic attack on patrol, Joel is summoned to coax you home. Luckily he knows exactly how to help.

A/N: Written for my lovely moot @mani-pedro.

Warnings: mention of prev assault, language, hint of nsfw at the end

A sharp knock at the office door stole Joel's attention from the mountain of paperwork. "Come in," he answered wearily, removing his glasses and tossing them onto the desk.

The young man before him twisted his woolen cap in his hands before finding the courage to address his elder. "Joel, I didn't want to say nothin', but now I gotta."

Joel leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk in a show of interest. "Say what you came to say, son.”

"I was out on patrol today with Y/n," he began, eyes scanning the floorboards nervously.

"What happened?" Joel asked, panic rising in his throat.

"I don’t know, she got a weird look and stopped talking, stopped riding,” he gulped, not wanting to continue. “I tried to get her back up on her horse, but it was like she didn’t hear me.”

Joel's jaw clenched involuntarily. “Is this your way of telling me you fucking left her?” he asked through gritted teeth.

"We couldn't get her to come back with us. I swear I tried," the young man admitted nervously, knowing the punishment he'd likely incur for leaving a fellow patrolmen.

The admission made Joel's blood boil, but there was no time for lectures now. “Where is she?" he demanded.

"The north gate," came a shaky reply. "Did you want me to go along or...?" he trailed off as Joel tossed him a look of disgust. He knew better than to say anything more, watching silently as Joel snatched his dark suede jacket from the hook on the wall.

"I'll handle it," Joel called gruffly over his shoulder, barreling down the stairs. All he cared about was finding you and bringing you home.

Sinking his heels into the fastest horse he could find, Joel made his way out of town. His eyes scanned the horizon for your bright yellow jacket, a color that always reminded him of the bright summer sun. And despite the drifts of snow, he spotted the vivid color you wore. As he got closer, he could see you propped up against a large pine tree.

Joel dismounted quickly, but took his time approaching your shivering form. He didn't want to scare you with any sudden movements that could make your current state of mind worse. He'd seen you this way before and he understood that you needed a gentle approach.

Ducking beneath the frost covered branches, Joel joined you. He kept his distance as he studied your blank stare, fearing the worst. However, he knew he had to try to bring you back around. "Y/n," he called out softly, reaching his gloved hand toward you as he might a frightened animal. "Baby, it's Joel," he offered tenderly.

To his relief, you turned your head toward him and his heart clenched at the tears in your eyes. "I-I just wanted to help. To do somethin' useful," you explained. And though Joel wanted to ask what had happened on patrol to upset you, he waited for you to tell him everything that was on your mind.

"I tried to stay to myself when I heard the guys laughin' behind me... I didn't know the jokes would bother me...didn't think this would happen over somethin' so stupid. I'm s-sorry," you stuttered before pitching forward to hide your head in your hands. You felt pathetic in that moment, nothing more than a liability to the patrol and a disgrace to Joel.

Joel slowly eased his arm around you, drawing you close to his body as he hushed your cries. "Shhh, baby. You're okay," he assured you over and over again as his large hands stroked your arms.

However, the closeness soon became suffocating, the flashback you'd suffered earlier crashing against you once more until you struggled to breathe. Fingers tugging at the neck of your yellow parka, you fought for breath, a frightening wheeze echoing in the frigid air around you.

Instantly alerted to your distress, Joel jumped into action, knowing by the wild look in your eye that you were no longer with him. He'd helped you through past panic attacks, learning afterward that you were feeling phantom pains of your assault, the crushing force of hands against your windpipe. He instinctively reached out to unzip your coat, pulling your long hair back from your neck so you might feel the icy breeze on your bare skin. It was one of the only sensations he knew that would draw you out of the pain you were experiencing.

"Breathe for me, darlin'," he urged quietly, afraid to raise his voice above a whisper. "Just breathe, that's all you gotta do. Nice and slow and deep, okay?" he instructed, watching the erratic movement in your chest. However, he fought through his own fear to help you as he urged, "Come on, baby, you can do it. Breathe like me," he told you, anxiously watching your shivering body. He wanted to slide beneath you, cradling your slight form against his, but didn't want you to feel stifled by him and so he stayed away, even though it tore at his heart to see you suffer alone.

He redoubled his efforts on the breathing exercises he knew helped most, inhaling deeply and exhaling loudly in hopes you'd follow the familiar pattern. Another sharp inhale, followed by his long sigh and suddenly he saw you do the same. Nodding swiftly to encourage you, he took another breath and nearly cried as he saw your face go slack as you relaxed with the renewed flow of oxygen.

"That's it, that's right," he encouraged you with tears pricking his eyes. It was always an emotional experience for him to guide you through something so terrifying. But you were slowly recovering there beside him, listening to the sound of his voice and he resolved to stay strong.

Finally you reached for him and he took you into his arms, an anchor in the storm of emotion you were desperately trying to navigate. When the panic finally eased, you allowed him to carry you in his arms toward his horse. You fell against his back as you rode into town, hands laced around his waist for the comforting warmth you badly needed now that the cold was setting into your bones.

As you reached town you found yourself dozing off against him, the slow, gentle movement of the horse lulling you into a peaceful feeling of security only Joel could provide. Suspecting you'd succumbed to your exhaustion, Joel called to you sweetly when you arrived at the stable. Helping you down from the horse, he looped his muscular arm about your waist for the short walk home, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Let's get you warm," he suggested, guiding you into the house. He stooped to remove your heavy boots one by one, steadying you so you didn't fall. Then he rose to pull your snow covered jacket from your slumped shoulders. He slowly guided you inside his living room to the comfort of the old, worn sofa, easing your against the cushions. Dragging a cozy afghan from the arm, he draped it over you before lighting the fire.

As the flames grew, emitting a soft glow and delightful warmth, Joel came to snuggle under the blanket with you. You welcomed the soft touch of his fingertips against your skin as they wandered aimlessly over your neck and chest in a soothing pattern. It didn't take long for him to peel the final layers of clothing from you as he warmed you thoroughly by the fireplace.

When he sensed the moment was just right, he slotted himself between your legs to lap against your wet folds in a show of complete and utter devotion. And you melted into the cushions as the sensation overwhelmed your senses and quieted your overactive brain. Floating somewhere between blissful reverie and sleep, you mumbled, "You make me feel so safe, Joel. Thank you for coming after me today.”

He didn't hesitate to respond. "Always gonna be here for ya,” he murmured as he pulled you into his chest, savoring the moment of closeness with you. “Love ya, darlin," he whispered as you dozed off in his arms, finally at peace.

[secretneverland]

desperate | han jisung

pairing: han jisung x fem reader

genre: smut - 18+ only MDNI

word count: 1,289

warnings: oral (f receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, overstimulation, jisung NEEDS you

smut below line!

"come on, baby, pleeeease?" he begged, head resting on your thigh as he laid between your legs. "you don't even have to do anything for me. just let me eat you out. you know i'll treat you good."

you sighed, placing a bookmark into your novel and setting it down on the nightstand before looking down at your boyfriend. "will you let me finish my book in peace if i do?"

jisung nodded his head quickly, eyes full of hope as he stared up at you. he nearly squealed when you huffed and nodded, giving him permission. he went to work immediately, pulling your shorts and panties off in one motion. gripping your thighs, he pulled you closer to him, making you lay down on the bed instead of being propped up against the headboard.

he wasted no time, licking a fat stripe up your pussy and humming since he was finally getting the opportunity to taste you. plump lips wrapped around your clit, lightly sucking at it as his fingers dipped into you just enough to tease. he got his fingers wet with your slick, just rubbing them through your folds as his tongue flicked at your clit.

you let out a soft breath as he licked at you, fingers only slightly dipping into your hole, teasing you. he wrapped his lips around your clit, soon pushing both fingers inside of you at once, knowing you could take it.

fingers thrusting quickly, he alternated between licking and sucking at your throbbing clit. "taste so fucking good, baby," he groaned into your pussy, curling his fingers.

"f- fuck, sung," you cursed, hand gripping his hair tightly in a fist. "keep going.. just like that."

at your request, he continued to curl his fingers to hit that sweet spot of yours, making out with your pussy at the same time. "cum for me, sweetheart. all over my face, c'mon."

your thighs trembled as you were reaching your high, yanking at his hair roughly to keep his mouth attached to your core. it wasn't too long before your legs nearly closed around his head as you came, moaning out your boyfriend's name.

jisung lapped up your release before sitting up on his knees. his nose, mouth, and chin were all covered in your slick, and he smiled proudly. "i could eat your pussy all day," he sighed happily, rubbing your thighs.

looking at him, your eyes trailed down to notice the tent in his sweatpants, a small spot of wetness there where he had surely leaked through his underwear in excitement.

"i want to fuck you," he said when he noticed your gaze on his hardening cock. "i need to fuck you."

your teeth sank into your bottom lip at his words. were you a little irritated at first when he kept bothering you to give you head? yes. was your pussy clenching at the thought of him filling you? also yes.

"then fuck me, jisung," you told him, sitting up to take your shirt off. your breasts falling prettily as they weren't secured by a bra.

he had already stripped down and knelt before you, bare. at your consent, he grabbed you and flipped you over onto your stomach. grabbing a pillow, he propped your hips up with it.

"fuck, i can't wait to be inside of that sweet pussy," he nearly growled, hands kneading your ass cheeks. his thumbs spread your lips apart, watching the way you clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled up.

you yelped as he smacked your ass cheek without warning, squeezing it afterward. "you ready f'me, baby?"

getting a whimpered response of consent, he rubbed his head through your folds, slowly getting himself wet with your slick before he finally pushed inside. he didn't stop halfway through, just filled you up in one swift thrust, making you moan loudly.

"that's my girl. always ready for my cock," he grunted, setting a brutal pace right from the start. now that he had you where he really wanted, there was no way you were getting out of this without your legs feeling like jelly.

when jisung was horny and desperate, he was frantic — he fucked like it was his entire life purpose. you had a feeling you'd be stuffed full of his cum by the time he had tired out.

"been wanting this all day– fuck," he cursed, hands gripping your hips so tight you were sure they would be bruised the next day. "my favorite pussy.. the only pussy for me."

his dirty talk and praise only caused you to gush around him even more. "s- sungie..!"

jisung bullied his cock into you, the angle pressing him as deep as he possibly could go. he was hitting that sweet, delicious spot over and over again with every thrust of his hips. hearing you whining out his name, he knew he had you. his fingers slipped down, circling your clit sloppily as he did his best to keep up the pace he had been fucking you with.

"jisung, i'm gonna – fuck – i'm gonna cum," you gasped, hands fisting the sheets of the bed on either side of your body. drool was leaking from your parted lips and onto the pillow your face was smushed against.

"cum for me, baby. gimme what i want." his fingers sped up, hips slowing just slightly so he could focus on your sensitive clit some more. "atta girl.. c'mon.. almost there—!"

a scream ripped through your throat as you came, pussy clenching around him. your chest heaved as you blinked, trying to rid your eyes of the sparkles you were seeing.

instead of stopping, jisung continued to fuck you roughly. his hips smacked against your ass loudly as he was chasing his own orgasm. he gave you only a few minutes before his fingertips found your clit again.

"s- sung, i'm sensitive," you whimpered, glancing at him through teary eyes.

though he knew from past experience - and the way your pussy was fluttering around his cock - that you didn't want him to stop and were still enjoying it.

"i'm almost there, pretty. you can take it," he drawled as his thrusts grew sloppy in desperation.

he kept up his pace on your clit until you fell apart beneath him once more, upper body collapsed onto the bed. holding your hips, he pushed in just a few more times before he spilled into you, hot cum painting your walls and leaking out as he slowly rode out his high.

"fuck, baby, you took me so well. always do." his hands smoothed over your ass soothingly as he tried to even out his breath.

you panted beneath him, tears drying on your flushed cheeks.

jisung pulled out, hissing at the way your pussy was still so tight around him. it was hard to resist letting himself slip back inside, but he knew you were wore out, so he behaved.

honestly you were fucked so stupid, you didn't realize he had left and come back until you were maneuvered onto your back and a warm, damp cloth was dragging across your skin. he was careful as he cleaned you up, knowing how sensitive you were at the moment. each time your body twitched in overstimulation he would softly apologize and place a kiss to your knee.

once you were wiped up, he tossed the cloth into laundry hamper and snuggled in behind you. strong arms wrapped around your waist, and he began peppering kisses along your shoulder.

"you did so, so good for me, you know that? you're the best girl," he complimented, a hand rubbing over your side. "love you so much, baby."

you hummed, relaxing back into him. "love you too, sungie."

want more? check out my masterlist!

[echantedtoon]

CLIPPED WINGS

(this is a NOT cannon sequel to Freeing Wings based on a what if idea. Warnings for some yandere themes, kidnapping technically, etc.)

-Ex Shadow Milk Cookie who's only concern is the fact that his beloved is ripped from him by the witches.

-Ex Shadow Milk Cookie who's screams are so loud they're heard outside the tree and scares hundreds of fairies.

-Ex Shadow Milk Cookie who's own rage and violence scares even Burning Spice Cookie into being quiet in his cell.

-Ex Shadow Milk Cookie who's screams of torment last almost a whole year.

-Ex Shadow Milk Cookie whom claws at the bars constantly like a feral wolf even as his body needs repairs from Dark Enchantress Cookie.

-Ex Shadow Milk Cookie who vows revenge on everyone he blames for keeping him away from his love.

-Ex Shadow Milk Cookie who constantly plans out EXACTLY what he's going to do to everyone he believes is responsible.

-Ex Shadow Milk Cookie who gets out of imprisonment and like a blood hound tracks down EXACTLY where they hid you.

-You sat there sitting on your bed when he eventually finds you. You knew that he was coming eventually. It was only a matter of time until he showed up again now that the Silver Tree and it's guardian was gone, although you were surprised by how long it took him to find you. You didn't even bother looking up at him, clutching onto the silver crown White Lily Cookie had gifted you before you were hidden, that was the last thing you had of your husband other than the ring on your finger.

-The air was quiet but heavy and tense. You knew what was behind you, but why did it feel so...strange?? Was he silently mocking you?? Reveling in your sorrow and misery?? Waiting for you to say something first?

-"You look familiar. Do I know you?" You give pause, a record scratch going off in your mind. Didn't know you? Was this some kind of joke? Had to be. Despite how genuinely confused sounding he sounded, it was just an act. He was good at those. You only clutched the crown to your chest tighter refusing to look up. More silence followed before a something happened. A sound of feet hitting the floor next to you. "Guess my icebreaker turned out to be a normal breaker instead. .... It's been a llllloooonnng time huh?"

-"Are you here to just to make fun of me?" A body flinched but you didn't see it. "Ah...To the point I guess. As much as I like to make things into a game, this isn't the time or the place." "Finally telling a truth? I'm surprised, unless you're still lying and planning to make this into a game either way." "Hey now. I may be a Beast but I'm not a complete monster." "You're very good at hurting people, Blueberry Yogurt." You finally looked up at the face. The same blue face that haunted your nightmares for centuries after his imprisonment. "Or should I even bother calling you that anymore? I heard you go by a new name these days."

-The silence again was palpable. His eyes staring at you in a way that looked over third lost, one third hard want, and one third trying to navigate this situation. Perhaps the long time apart had made him forget how to act around you, or maybe he wasn't expecting you to snap at him? He silently tilted his head considering something. "...You can still call me that if you want. I-...." He dared to even smile at you. "I missed you. A lot."

-"Yet you have the audacity to show yourself here." You shifted uncomfortably when those eyes locked onto the object you cradled. "You know he's dead." "....Yes." "You know by breaking out of that tree that you had a part of his death!!" "I know." "Then you know why I hate you." His body tensed, multiple pupils going small and you paused as he bristled expecting those strings to appear again..until he relaxed with a frown. "...Hindsight I...treated you terribly didn't I? You don't have to answer that. All my knowledge and I failed to realize that."

-You couldn't help but huff. "That's the only truth you spoke to me in a thousand years. But why are you here?" "..I...want to see you." "You did now leave me alone." "..I don't want to leave you again." "Are you intending to tie me up again? Make me a marionette for your whims and fantasies?" "No.." A hand reached out to caress your cheek. "But I still need you. I've never felt my soul jam beat for anyone else." "You realize that I can't live you. You know that but still refuse to leave me." Your head pulled away from him. "You're not going to leave me aren't you?" ...His eyes looked off. "Probably not, Poppet." ".....I hate you." "I know...I love you."

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

heyy! so ik u have a lot of requests n stuff so ill just leave this message here for when you can read it :)

ill give you 40 pounds of cookies if you give an happy ending to that james ff where the reader is in a coma.

A/n: I think it's a great ending that you will definitely love

Warnings: Angst, amnesia, yelling, smut, not much just quick descriptions, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Part 1, part 2

After walking out on his 'girlfriend' James went straight to the hospital, listening to her crying for him to stay as he walked out of the house. She didn't deserve to cry, what was she crying for? She had a house, she was breathing and awake, she'd never seen him with his face bash into the road. She didn't deserve to cry.

He left her wailing and went to find you, making a quick stop at a store to get you flowers. Your favourite, of course he remembered. He'd bring you a bouquet and watched the doctors take away your breathing, your blood, your organs. He'd watch them disperse you among the hospital and leave him with nothing. As much as he deserved for what he did to you.

James navigated his way through the hospital to the ICU and made his way to your room, only to find it empty. He shook his head in disbelief, scanning around in a panic. "Where is she?" He muttered to himself.

A nurse walking past had heard him and ventured in to talk to him. "Where's who, sir?"

James head snapped to the nurse. "Where's who- my-my wife, where's my fucking wife?! You weren't supposed to take her off life support until I got here, where the fuck is she?!" He yelled, unable to temper his emotions. You were gone, just gone!

Security was called to get him out of the room, to give him a moment to calm down. The doctor that had been helping you found him in the nearest waiting area and explained it to him; you were fine.

"How-how is she fine, she was dying, you were gonna kill her." James babbled, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes again. He didn't want you dead, obviously, but this was out of nowhere, as much as he didn't want to admit it he'd accepted that he'd never hold you again, he knew he'd never be able to love you again, but that had changed.

James walked through the plain white halls, following the doctor as he explained further. "Sometimes they just get better, your partner wasn't braindead just in critical condition." They turned a corner, nearing your room. "However, there is something-" James couldn't be bothered to wait, the second he saw you through the glass he burst into your room.

He collapsed beside the bed, sniffling as he held you, burying his face in your chest. "You're alive, oh my god..." He looked up at you with wet cheeks and glassy eyes. He reached up and cupped your face as you stared down at him with a less than thrilled expression. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, sweetheart... I'll fix this, I-I'll fix everything, ok?" He assured, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

There was a moment of nothing, of silence, then you finally spoke. "Who are you?" Every part of James shattered in just three simple words. Your voice was hoarse from the breathing tube and lack of use, your gaze was foggy and your mind wasn't all there.

"It's me." James said, exasperated. "It's Jamie, it-it's me, sweetheart... don't you remember me..?" He pleaded for you to remember him, needing just that. You were his everything, hate him if you must you had to remember him at the very least.

"Amnesia is not all too uncommon." The doctor spoke, standing in the doorway. "Sometimes it goes away, sometimes it doesn't, there's no telling how long it'll last." James couldn't listen to it anymore, you were here, you were out of the ICU, he could touch you and talk to you and you'd respond. In theory, you weren't talking much, even after the doctor left to let you talk.

James went on and on, getting more desperate as he recounted your memories together, only to be met with radio silence. "You don't remember me..?" He muttered, squeezing your hand. You shook your head and pulled your hand from his. You were awake but at what cost? You didn't hate him, but there was no love in your eyes when you looked at him.

You were supposed to be sent home, James, although not legally involved with you, managed to get you home with him. The car ride home was... different. "You never liked this music." He said in a lighthearted tone, knowing everything would be confusing to you right now.

You gave him an odd look and turned to the window. James chewed his cheek and turned on something he knew you liked, glancing at you every few minutes to see if you liked it but you didn't seem to care at all. He tried to rest his hand on your thigh but you'd shift uncomfortably under his touch so he'd pull his hand away.

Since that night when you finally had enough he hadn't gotten rid of that pain in his chest, that bomb he'd set there went off that day and he never recovered. Now you're awake, and it was all he'd been waiting for, and it only made that pain worse.

James pulled into the driveway after the long ride, you hadn't said a word. His girlfriend's car was there right next to his, it was nice and red, a newer model. He'd never buy you a car, that's what he would always say, that if you wanted a car to get a job, work for it. He bought her a car. "Stay here." He said, turning to you, instinctively leaning in to kiss you but you pulled away. He stared at you a moment longer before getting out.

The house was a wreck, pictures and broken glass all over the floor, furniture array. The upstairs hallway where yours and his shared room was, at the end of it lay his weeping woo. Her body shook and she'd dressed herself in his clothes, aching for his closeness. She looked up at him for help but was met with the cold glare you'd grown used to.

"Get out." He bit, footsteps getting harsher as he approached her. "Get the fuck out of my house!" He reached for her arm once he was close enough, all she did was beg for him to calm down, for him to talk to her, let her explain, anything. She was lucky he wasn't pulling her by her hair, this was a kindness he was doing. Dragging her by her arm, letting her keep his clothes and the car he'd gotten her. She could be worse off.

You watched as this strange man yanked a woman forcefully from what you could only assume was her own house. He was yelling and pointing, hitting the car and screaming at her to leave until his face went red. She was crying in her car, body still shaking but she managed to get it going and drive off, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

James was heaving while she drove away, his breathing uneven. He looked to you in the passenger seat of his truck and his breath stopped. You were terrified watching him, the way he grabbed her, dragged her, threw her in her car, it was all very violent and now he just stood there. You'd been in the car with him through traffic, all the way home, and he was capable of such terrible things. Worst of all, he knew that wasn't the worst of what he was capable of.

He slowly walked to the door and opened it, not yet reaching for you. "I'm sorry." He said simply, unable to tear his gaze away from your expression. "I'm sorry you saw that, she, uh," he swallowed thickly. "I needed her out, she was supposed to leave a long time ago... she wasn't supposed to be here to begin with..." His words weren't helping in the slightest, you were just sitting there shaking.

He reached over you to get the seatbelt, as soon as it unclicked you tried to make a run for it. He just barely caught you and held you tight to his chest. He buried his face in your neck, breathing shaking slightly. "I'm sorry, I really- I really am sorry, I can't let you run away, I-I fucked up before and I can't let that happen again." His voice broke, you didn't remember a thing and he was supposed to fix this, help you trust him and love him again and he was messing up at every turn already. Your scarred face was just another reminder of it all.

James carried you slowly into his house, bringing you upstairs to what had been your shared bedroom. He laid you down on the bed slowly, having already locked the door just in case. "You-you've got clothes in here, so you don't have to be in... that." He said, gesturing to your bloodied clothes from that night. He waited a moment for you to move but you didn't so he went to the closet for you, getting some clothes for you to wear instead, including a shirt of his he knew you used to love, not that he could remember the last time you wore it.

He left to room to let you change, heading down to the kitchen to get you some real food, you were looking so skinny since the hospital. You came down while he was cooking, keeping your distance when you saw him cutting up some herbs.

James smiled over at you when he saw you approaching, hesitant as it may be. "I'm making spaghetti." He said, gesturing to the pot of water boiling on the stove. "You used to love spaghetti." You nodded slowly, the gesture was nice enough. You still kept your distance, James didn't miss that.

His cutting slowed down until he stopped completely and looked up at you. "What can I do to make you feel safe?" He asked, a desperation in his eyes. He couldn't watch you be scared of him anymore.

You shrugged, looking around. "Do you-" You cut yourself off, not having expected your throat to be so raw. "Do you want help cleaning?" You asked after swallowing, hoping that would help some.

James looked around at the mess of the house. "No, I-" He stopped himself, thinking about it. "Yeah, actually... I'll make food and then we can clean, how about that?" You nodded, still nervous but settling in a bit.

James started giving you everything at any time, he was doing his best to make you love him again, and this time he would keep it that way. What you say went, he didn't pay for someone to clean or cook anymore, he did it with you instead. You didn't like the clothes in the closet so he got rid of them -stuffed them into storage because he couldn't bring himself to get rid of them, that was you, that was who he loved. He went with you to get a whole new wardrobe.

When it got easier for you to move around, rehabilitated after your prolonged stay at the hospital, James started taking you out on dates. You didn't know what you liked so every week was different, a fancy restaurant, a cute café, a picnic on a ledge, staying at home and watching a movie. All the while he slept across the hall to give you space, the one time he tried getting in bed with you it felt so wrong, you didn't say anything but you were tense and didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep either, so he slept across the hall.

Each month you got better, not remembering anything but finding what you did like. He saw you smiling brighter each day, getting more excited to do things, to find things. He got to watch it all, pushing down the pain of losing who you once were until it was like it was never there, but it was.

After another movie night James walked you back up to what had been your shared room, he liked walking you there because he couldn't walk you home. You'd gotten comfortable kissing him, that took about a month. Now it had been almost five, five months of him sleeping alone, wrapping an old shirt of yours around a pillow and holding it close until he'd finally cried all his tears and fell asleep. Five months of watching someone else smile in your body, knowing you'd never come back home the same.

He cupped your face in his big, calloused hands and leaned down to kiss you. You brought a hand to the back of his neck, holding him closer while the other hand went to the door handle, pushing it open. James pulled away, expecting you to leave him again, but you led him back with you into the room.

"What're you doing?" He asked, not pulling away. It felt like years since he'd last been in this room, though he came in every morning to get a change of clothes. This time felt different.

"What do you think I'm doing, James?" You asked, letting go of him and walking to the bed, pulling your shirt off as you went. James's jaw fell.

"You're not..." He trailed, watching you get onto the bed, taking your pants off.

"Oh, but I am~" You purred, tossing your pants off the edge of the bed and spreading your legs for him to see your choice of lingerie, nothing. A comfortable night in was the perfect occasion, worst case scenario you were a little bit freer that night.

Luckily things were looking your way as James stalked closer. "You're sure?" He asked, hesitating before getting on the bed and crawling over you.

You nodded, hand snaking down your body, spreading yourself for him to see just how wet you were. "I'm sure, Jamie." You purred, just to be pounced on.

James had to remind himself to be gentle, he'd nip your neck or thrust into you just a little bit too roughly. It made you moan louder but he didn't trust that's what you wanted. He took it slow, rolling his hips into you. The room filled with your airy moan, his deep grunts as he did everything in his power to not fold you in half right then and there.

When you came it was like the first time all over again, your whole body relaxing into the sheets, eyes rolling back, pure ecstasy pouring over you. James helped you ride out your high, prolonging it until your body was trembling underneath him, but he didn't bother continuing until he was done, he had to focus on you.

Instead he rolled over and pulled you to his chest, hoping that was ok. You rolled over so you were facing him, nuzzling into his chest as his arms wrapped protectively around you. "Not gonna cum?" You asked, looking up at him as you reached between your bodies to jerk him off.

He pulled awkwardly away from your touch and caught your hand before you could make contact. "No! No, I-I'm fine." He assured, bringing your hand back up and holding you tighter, more securely against his chest.

"Are you sure?" You asked while James traced shapes on your back. James nodded.

"I'm sure." He assured, kissing your forehead and smiling sweetly down at you. He was comforted by the almost normalcy of the situation.

Things only seemed to get better from there, you'd go out with your friends, Metallica got to work on another album, James was sleeping in your bed again. A year after the incident, as you called it, James refused to speak of it, things were almost perfect. You were still different than the person James used to know, but you were there and you loved him.

You were in the kitchen, making dinner for when James got back. Everything was frustrating him, Lars, he kept making mistakes, Lars, drivers, also Lars. He slammed the door shut behind him and trudged over to the kitchen where you were.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, kissing your cheek. You smiled warmly and returned to kiss. "Thank you." He said softly.

"Rough day?" You asked, reaching up to scratch his head. James inhaled deeply and nodded. "Food's not gonna be ready for a bit yet, why don't you go shower?" You offered, looking to him, only to be met with fiery, furious eyes.

"Why isn't it ready?" He asked, his voice taking on a much harsher tone than he should've, he knew it right away.

"Sorry, I got carried away, forgot, but I'm making it now." James stared at you for a long moment before walking away, towards the stairs. He came back down a minute later, a determined look on his face.

He got real close to you, so close he could grab you if he wanted. He was studying you. "You forgot?" He asked, voice coming out rough. "How the hell did you just forget?"

You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the pot. "I just did." You said simply, voice soft. James took in your words but he wasn't convinced, you weren't reacting like you normally would, well, you were reacting like you normally would, before the accident, like this was normal and all fine.

James slammed his hand down on the counter. "Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you!" He yelled, finally seeing your eyes. Tired. He turned and walked away, only making it to the bottom of the stairs before he came back. "Remember when I was talking about Cliff last week?" He asked. "Do you remember when I said he died?" He asked, Cliff had been the one thing you could not bring back, that one person you could never remember. He always tried getting you to remember him again but you just couldn't do it.

"September twenty-seventh?" You answered, pretending to have thought about it for a minute. James stood there in disbelief.

"You remember?" He asked, taking a few steps closer. "You remember everything and you just forgot to tell me?!" He demanded, making you look back at the pot. "Look at me!"

"You were doing so good." You said softly, mixing the sauce. James stared at you, he'd been doing so good, he'd been so loving and caring with you, and in one fell swoop he ruined everything all over again. "I think I'm gonna head to my parents house tomorrow, Jamie." He stared longer, feeling a heavy weight sinking onto his chest.

James shook his head. "I'll go..." He said weakly. "I'll go." He repeated, slowly trudging upstairs. He made it halfway to the top when he heard a jingle, he whipped his head around to the front door where you were standing with your keys. Tears stung his eyes and he shook his head. "Please." He muttered, taking a step down. Seeing you weren't moving he took another, you reached for the handle and he bolted down the rest of the stairs.

The door closed in his face.

[moonlight-sonata99]

Curls Galore

Bucky Barnes x Curly Hair! F!Reader! Drabble

Notes: I have curly hair myself, and sometimes I be getting tired of it but I also love it. And lowkey I feel like Bucky would be intrigued by curly hair

"God dammit!” [Reader] scoffed as the heat brush in her hand wouldn't turn on as she pressed the power buttons, sighing as she looked around and stood up looking through her drawers for any extras. “No no no” she groaned sitting on her bed as she twisted her wet hair into a bun with a hair clip, yelena who was walking by her room peeked in.

“What is the issue?” She asked, walking in as [Reader] sighed looking at Yelena. “My Blowout brush stopped working on me and I need itt” she groaned as Yelena chuckled. 

“Why not ask Bucky to borrow his?” The blonde teased as a smile graced [Readers] face. “You think he'd even admit to it?” She asked as Yelena snorted. “No, he wouldn't.” Yelena hummed. 

“Well I don't have anything…I would helped you if could” yelena said beginning to walk out

“Yea…thanks” [Reader] breathed out sitting on her bed. Sitting up and grabbing gel, her usual for her hair routine when blowouts didn't work out. Which was…usually never. 

Later [Reader] was sitting on a stool in the kitchen scrolling away on her phone, memes..stuff like that, she heard footsteps and didn't bother to turn. “Hey” [Reader] greeted them as they walked past her. 

“Hey,” Bucky replied simply as he opened the refrigerator, his eyes scanning for food.

“Oh Bob bought those muffins you like,” the woman said, gesturing to the cabinet, as Bucky followed her gaze. 

“Oh,” he said, standing up and going to the cabinet. Pulling out the carton of muffins.”Tell him I said thanks,” Bucky replied, his voice soft, opening it as [Reader] nodded. In reality, she had gotten those for him but- she didn't know why she lied, her gaze turned back to her phone as Bucky ate the muffin and it was silent..

“Your hair,” he said, sounding a bit intrigued as [Readers] eyes flicked up to the man as his eyes scanned her hair. “It looks good,” he said as [Reader] looked at him, she felt her heart rate become faster.  “Uh- really?” She coughed out, grabbing a curl and looking at it as she slightly pulled it and let it go as it bounced back. “I usually just blow dry it because it's too much of a hassle to maintain..” she murmurs her eyes on the strand as Bucky watches as the woman speaks.

“Speaking of-” [Reader] grinned leaning on the counter. “I know you have a Blowout dryer somewhere.” She teased as Bucky stared at her and a small smile tugged at his lips. 

“I don't know what you're talking about” he said, muffin in hand and beginning to walk out of the kitchen. 

“I know it's in your room somewhere!” [Reader] exclaimed her eyes following him as he left a goofy grin on her face as she turned back to the silence of the kitchen, her fingers examining the curls in her hair. 

“Your hair” Yelena said as they boarded the jet as [reader] sat, head full of curls. A style way different from her usual styled straight hair. “It looks nice.” Yelena smiled as she sat down next to her as [Reader] smiled, straightening up her posture. 

“Thank you.” [reader] replies as Yelena leans back getting comfortable for the ride. “Why the sudden change?” The blonde asked as [Reader] leaned back and her head turned slightly to Yelena.

“uh..you know with the Blowout brush out, I just- decided to give it a try you know. Something different. I actually really like them” [Reader] explained simply her head leaning back to the jet as it started up and yelena nodded. 

“Well, change is always good,” Yelena smiled as [Reader] nodded.

“Yea i suppose it is” [reader] said softly as her gaze slowly traveled to Bucky who had entered the jet, and her lips quirked up to an affectionate smile

“It really is.” 

[kallianthiutdr]

Extremely fair question.

Never are we told explicitly. But I also have to think he must. I always thought it somewhat a given, in my own interpretation. Back in the day a lot of fan content operated under this assumption but I doubt that's a valid argument. So, let's get into it.

First of all, they presumably shared living quarters at least at first. Mettaton doesn't need a bed if only to charge and I doubt he'd be provided with his own place right out of the gate since to everyone's knowledge he, was in fact, her robot. And, assuming that is in fact true–if Mettaton had no idea what going on downstairs–I doubt he wouldn't have insisted to make his dramatic entrance from that door. Alphys would have ridiculously insisted on the wall anyways, but Mettaton was basically “😐” with all her choices during that whole charade so I doubt she could've stopped him if he wanted to go down there.

The determination experiments started very soon after Alphys became royal scientist, judging by how Shyren's sister had been comatose since Mettaton was still living in Waterfall with Blooky, according to his diaries.

Which means Mettaton and Alphys' falling out also happens relatively early on. Entry Number 11 is when she mentions it, but it's probably already started by that time. “Now that Mettaton's made it big he never talks to me anymore unless to ask when I'm going to finish his body.” This is so early on that, to assume Mettaton's fame is the only thing bothering him would be an insane disservice for his character.

By that point they weren't amalgamates, so she had no reason to really scramble to hide anything from him. But by then, none of the bodies had turned to dust either and things weren't going well at ALL. “people are asking me what's happening. what do I do?”

And, listen you could say that MTT resented Alphys for taking ages to complete his body. You could even say he resented her because he blamed her for him leaving Blooky. But, by the EX battle he's genuinely sick of her, sick of her lies and her secrets–and his monologue gives the feel that he's sick of her excuses, too. And the Neutral Ending assumption is that he is surely just an asshole, but when you've completed the game you know better. The game expects you to re-contextualize a LOT after finishing it–and Mettaton is a huge part of that. You finally see that, maybe, just maybe, he had a very good reason to BE upset at her.

You could say that he's too self-centered to have noticed–but I think a lot of that is performance and overcompensation. I sincerely doubt little mister “thank you for making my dreams come true” was unable to get his head out of his ass for five minutes to notice his best friend was obviously hiding something big.

Even if he didn't know about the amalgamates specifically, he knew about the DT experiments, the comatose bodies, and the fact that Alphys was refusing to reply to anyone's family’s letters.

There were already cracks because of the fame and his own tendency to be a raging asshole. But, boy, I think the idea Alphys could be hiding something of this size, and specifically what exactly that hidden thing happens to be–would be a breaking point.

I even think that when he went in Waterfall–when he laid on Undyne's piano, eating grapes–he'd been planning to go to Blooky's house to expose the truth. To say who he was, to betray Alphys and to quit lying. Maybe even tell him about Shyren's sister, if he did know by then. (But he just couldn't, because he'd gained too much from this lie and because Alphys was Alphys. And he loved her despite it all. You can tell Alphys was in his mind by the fact he then proceeded to go to Undyne's house. He didn't like Undyne!) The fact he was even IN WATERFALL suggests he was thinking of Blooky, which means fame hadn't messed up his brain chemistry THAT much. If he was only so terrible to Alphys, while being generally liked by most of his employees and the general population (other than mr pessimism final boss) and while only being mildly annoying towards Undyne who he didn't likE. He was explicitly avoiding Alphys, not being a snob to people overall. And Mettaton avoids people he doesn't know how to talk to.

So, do I think he knew the full extent of everything? Hell to the NO. I think he started avoiding the True Lab and Alphys like the plague to protect his own sanity, after he saw maybe just the bodies. And, as a result, he wasn't there for her. He wasn't a good friend to her, but he still needed her. He wasn't a good friend with her, but he still entertained her charade with the human even for a bit. He wasn't a good friend to her but he couldn't stand not being her friend at all.

She was literally suicidal–and he was looking the other way, because, damn it. As I already said, he's already so entangled in her lies. His career, his identity, his abandonment of his family, his very existence. He's like, a closeted trans man who Doesn't Tell People because he'll Lose His Job– (alphys will lose hers, mind you.)

At the end of the day, that's enough to drive two people to falling out. Toby initially wants you to think it's all about the fame. But I have to think it's mostly about the baggage and the secrets–and, what secret is there bigger than this one? What expands on their relationship in the way that's most characteristic of the pacifist route's storytelling?

Of course you can also interpret it as the inherent tragedy of Mettaton having no idea what's going on under his own home. But honestly? I don't think he's that stupid. Just that he chooses to be.

I don't think there's a super specific audience for this ultra specific thing my mind can't stop thinking about. But, man, do I wish Mettaton and Undyne would interact in more fan content. Their dynamic and their subsequent parallels fascinate me and they have their fair share of interactions.

They both only tolerate each other for Alphys' sake, that much is obvious.

Undyn and Alphys are soulmates, of course. They relish each other's passion, they cover each other's weaknesses. Undyne fills a void in Alphys' heart at a very vulnerable time of her life, meeting her when she's literally about to kill herself. She never directly addresses that fact because she's not that type of person, but she shows up for her. She treats her well. She wants Alphys to know her value–she wants Alphys to love herself. Because she believes in her, she respects her, even if she thinks everything Alphys is into is just “nerdy crap.” In turn, Undyne becomes a beacon of courage for Alphys at a time when she seems to be completely alone.

Mettaton, meanwhile, owes everything to Alphys. His transition, his career, his hopes and dreams. Without her encouragement, he'd never have the courage or chance to pursue any of it. These two are soulmates also, platonic if we may. They understand each other–and even when Mettaton doesn't agree with her, even when he is actively furious at her, he humours her plan. He helps her. But then comes the baggage–and it's heavy. Mettaton's entangled in her lies. He's cut off his family. He lives with the knowledge that the sister of a good friend has turned into an amalgamate, amongst others, and Alphys is to blame. Even when he betrays her, he doesn't expose nearly as much as he could.

Undyne doesn't particularly like Mettaton because of how he treats Alphys at that particular time period in which she meets them. She lacks tons of context. To her, he's a superficial asshole who actively mistreats the woman who “made him.” Partially, she's correct. Fame did go to his head.

I think that, in truth, Mettaton respects her. He respects and resents her at the same time, for being there for Alphys when he wasn't. For being an actual, important symbol of hope. He himself is important, he IS a symbol of hope for monsters–he brings joy to their lives. But Undyne shoulders her position like a responsibility, a duty, while he lets his get to his head. For Undyne, it is always about the people and never about herself. Mettaton often forgets to prioritize his audience, because all he's ever wanted was to express himself. To be loved for being himself, which Undyne has always unashamedly and unabashedly been.

If Undyne knew Mettaton is Blooky's cousin, I think she'd find him to be a coward who ran, at least at first. But Mettaton is not a coward for choosing to be himself. He isn't a coward at all, judging by the genocide route. Look at Mettaton and Undyne's devastating musical mush-up eith power of neo and battle against a true hero sharing a leitmotif because now that Undyne is gone, mettaton wishes to be the hope alphys and the underground desperately need, even though he's nothing like undyne. even if he's never been that brave, that strong, even if his being "human eradication robot" is just a performance. even if, unlike undyne, he isn't a true hero, not in the typical sense–because he's nowhere near as clear headed and he falls in one hit.

Yet he tries to be Undyne. He tries. To be. Undyne. He tries to be the epitome of courage and bravey and determination, to protect all those he loves.

AND THEY DON'T EVEN LIKE EACH OTHER.

I said it, they tolerate each other. They share leitmotifs, they most love the same person, they're both admired symbols of hope in the underground, they both owe their confidence and abilities to someone else, (asgore+gerson, alphys) and use it to guide others/be idolized by them, (papyrus+monster kid, hotland lioness, shyren, many many others technically) (speaking of shyren both of them try to reach out to shyren when they see her struggling. yet another parallel!)

AND. THEY. ANNOY EACH OTHER--

The piano / grape-eating scene in undyne's house already says much about their dybamic. (mind you, I hc that he went to waterfall in a moment of weakness to come clean to blooky but he just couldn't do that to Alphys so he instead changed courses to undyne's house and put on his most obnoxious persona-) then the alarm clock dialogue, all with Undyne calling him a space heater (which was tbf a running gag) and him constantly fucking with her, like during the team ice hockey game when mtt played referee and chose the dog as the winner soley to annoy undyne. They are passive-aggressive to each other–and Mettaton is as jealous of her, because she is what Alphys needs and deserves. He is not so much jealous for her romantic relationship with alphys, like how Mew Mew is jealous because she has feelings for Undyne. No, Mettaton has show continuous encouragement for these two together. (will you two just smooch already etc etc) He is proud of Alphys for finally finding someone who brings out the best in her and treats her right. Even though he finds this woman insufferable and lives to torment her–and even if the opposite also applies.

Every interaction we know they've shared is hilarious and every narrative parallel is devastating. Why are there not a million more character studies/fics/comics that explore their co-existance even slightLy.

Give me more of their begrudging, desperate attempt at forming an understanding. Please.

[chimielie]

the lucky ones

summary: Hinata x Reader. on your twenty-second birthday, your well-meaning family does something awful.

word count: 1.5k

cw: reader's parents do something shitty, insecurity, mild peril, not a soulmate au but the concept of soulmates/fate/etc is central

a/n: elements of truth everywhere... aunt saki and uncle junichi's stories are real... everyone in my family met their life partner by age 21... i'm cooked

"We just want you to be happy," your mother says, her tone apologetic even through the tinny audio of your phone.

You smile with gritted teeth and wrap the arm not holding the device around yourself. It's cold standing outside the restaurant, your thin cardigan not doing much to protect you from the wind chill.

"I told you we shouldn't mess with this kind of stuff," you hear your father chide her, barely loud enough for the speakers to pick up on. "Just let it be the kid's birthday. We'll come now, okay?"

You have... a particular family inheritance.

Your grandfather and all of his siblings and all of their children met their soulmates by the age of twenty-one.

Aunt Saki met her husband in junior high, starting dating in first year, and have been married for twelve years. Great-uncle Junichi and his wife went to high school together and never spoke, then bumped into each other on the street while both on vacation in a different country a year after graduation and have a summer home there. Your mother had been engaged, met your father at university, and penned a letter to her fiancé right away that she had met someone who would make her laugh for the rest of her life.

To make things worse, they're all deliriously happy. You grew up surrounded by couples who loved each other truly, madly, and deeply, your childhood belief in fairytales cemented by the plethora of evidence all around you.

When you got to be of dating age, that belief had been rudely shattered.

The rest of the world didn't live like your clan did. You went on first dates and came away being told that you expected too much, that you would never find a partner willing to do all that for you.

You're nice, but I don't think I can give you what you need.

We're so young. I'd have to be crazy to commit this early.

I can't see a future with you.

Each mismatch chipped a little further away at the bubble your family had built. At the same time, as the years passed, your relatives began to grow antsy, subtly nudging you when an attractive man walked by, failing to comment casually when you posted a photo with a pretty friend. You wanted to think it was sweet, that they wanted the happiness for you that they had, but the closer you got to leaving twenty-one behind, the more you began to feel like each matchmaking effort, blind date, and engineered meet-cute screamed "what are you doing wrong?"

"This is ridiculous," you say finally, squeezing your eyes shut. Despite yourself, a tear slides down your cheek. "This is—don't bother coming. I don't want to see you."

You'd been meant to meet them for dinner tonight—for your fucking twenty-second birthday dinner—but you'd arrived at the restaurant and been guided to a table for two, an ornate display of roses sprayed up between the chairs, and a man waiting for you.

You hadn't been proud of it, but you'd refused to even speak to him beyond a perfunctory get out, knowing exactly what your parents had done. You click off the call and wish you could throw your phone in the street, tilting your head up and trying to force yourself to take deep breaths. How your own parents standing you up was supposed to make you happy, you had no idea.

You sigh and walk away from the restaurant, knowing that you'll never be able to come back. It's a shame; you really liked their coq au vin.

It's a busy night downtown. People stream past you on the sidewalk, couples and families laughing, the city lights so bright you imagine they're twinkling along with the music of love. You'd be appreciative if you weren't feeling so crushed.

You don't mind that you haven't met the love of your life. You know love is still out there—out there for you, even, not as jaded or lovelorn as your family seems to assume. You just wish the expectation from all the epic romances you grew up with wasn't so high-pressure.

As you stew, your pace quickening as you visualize the bubble bath and bottle of wine waiting for you at home, you don't quite look both ways when you cross the street.

There's a gust of wind—a screech—a shrill noise you only realize a few seconds later is your own scream. You blink and suddenly you're knocked on your ass, sprawled back in the middle of a cross walk, one of your wrists bent at an awkward angle. You stare into the headlights of the car that just missed hitting you by a hair, shaking out your wrist once you're sure it's really not moving anymore. Not broken, but it'll be stiff for a few days, you're sure.

"Oh—" there's a bitten off curse. You're still a little shocked as the owner of the car, his hair as orange as the vehicle and hurtling towards you twice as fast, rushes out, babbling apologies. "I'm so sorry, are you okay? Did I kill you? Crap, I killed someone!"

You shake your head slowly, starting to push yourself up and wincing as you lean on your bad wrist. The stranger offers you his hand, putting a hand on your back, not too low, steadying you. It must be the adrenaline—your nerves spark under the touch.

"Thanks," you say, your voice low. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

"No, I'm sorry," he shakes his head vigorously, unintentionally shaking you a bit with him. You laugh a little. It's hard to be angry with someone so dynamic.

You sneak a glance up at him as he guides you to the sidewalk. He's also handsome. He's stocky, well-muscled from what you can tell of his body that's supporting yours, but his face is almost pretty, his features delicate over strong bones. There are earrings, little gold studs, glinting in his earlobes that you hadn't noticed until he'd come this close. His eyes, though: they're alight with life, shining under the streetlights even as he's so obviously worried about you. You lose your breath all over again.

"I should make it up to you," he says when you've safely reached the sidewalk. "You could hit me, if you wanted." He starts fishing around in his pockets, presumably for his car keys, before you can even process that insane sentence.

"No, I don't want that!" You blurt as he pulls out a keyring, trying not to look at the way his shorts stretch around his thighs or his button-up over his pecs. "You don't have to—just, um, what's your name?"

"Shōyō," he says, and you can see it in his eyes again, that spark warming and steadying, like a wildfire put in a hearth. "Yours?"

You tell him. "Seriously, you didn't hit me."

"But your wrist," he takes your hand, stroking rough fingers over the exposed skin of your arm. There are bandages on some of them, making you wonder what he does for a living. Maybe carpentry? When your breath stutters in your chest, you swear he heard it from the snap of his gaze to yours, the subtle twitch that pulls you closer to him.

"It'll be okay," you insist. "But, um, if you really wanted to help me out... I've had kind of a shitty night and a ride home would make things much easier."

"Yes!" He says, his volume making you flinch back. "Sorry. Yes. Of course. Be happy to."

His car is still in the middle of the street, the hazards blinking merrily. It's a nice car, you note, its color as bold and vivacious as the owner. As you slide into the passenger seat, Shōyō holding the door so you don't have to use your injured hand, you notice something that makes your heart drop in your chest for the second time that night. A spray of red roses sticks out of the cupholder, the stems carefully protected by a clear wrapping.

"Are you on your way to a date?" You ask as he gets in on the other side, blinking at you owlishly until you gesture to the bouquet. "I'm so sorry, you really don't have to do this—I don't want to make you late—"

"No!" He assures you, yelping over your stumbling speech. "No. I, um, actually was coming back. She cancelled last minute. In fact," Shōyō says, tugging the roses out of their makeshift sheath. "I think these are for you."

You accept them, wordless with shock, slouching down a little in your seat. When you touch your cheek, your skin is warm, your chilled fingers against it enough of a sign that you're awake. Your phone buzzes under you, a notification from your dad that you swipe away without looking.

You were a late baby, stretching out your due date and waiting almost until midnight for the timestamp on your birth certificate. You're not twenty-two for another few minutes.

"Shō," you say, not sure what confidence possesses you to call him by a nickname when you've only just met. "What do you think of fate?"

[makixroll]

rawr first ask ever on tumblr kinda nervy

anways i immediately thought of harua getting pouty for beebadoobee's "don't forget to kiss me" like oh my days (aaah)

its kinda giving those tiktok/yt pranks where someone leaves w/o saying ily or w/o giving a kiss fjkewdkfjevroiejiorf

also ur music taste is highkey fire like okayyyyy + i love ur works

(i have thoughts about the other lyrics with other members but I wont share them yet unless they go untouched <3)

GLUE SONG — harua ۫ ꣑ৎ

pairing . . . harua x fem!reader

content . . . "don't forget to kiss me."

message . . . hi anon tysm !! lol i have a playlist full of love songs and likeee i really wanna add more but i was contemplating cause im not sure if my event will flop or not ANYWAYS!! im so so so excited for ur other asks!

Harua just came back from their tour, and to say the least, he was tired as hell. As soon as they landed in Japan, he didn't bother going back to their dorm. Instead, he went straight to your apartment. Now, he's taking a well deserved nap in your bedroom, while you were in the living room, waiting for your boyfriend to wake up so you could go to the grocery store.

You were on your phone, scrolling on tiktok to pass time when you suddenly stumbled upon a couple prank video. With sudden interest, you watched the whole thing, already imagining Harua's reaction if you ever do this to him. But of course, you're a nice girlfriend. You wouldn't do such thing that could potentially upset your cute boyfriend.

Okay... maybe you're not that nice when you found yourself wishing for Harua to wake up sooner, just so you could do the prank to him.

And as if the gods above had heard your prayers, you heard faint footsteps coming from inside the bedroom, and then, the doorknob twisted open, revealing Harua who's eyes are still half-closed with a messy hair he tried to get rid off by combing it with his fingers.

"Hi, baby. Had a good sleep?" You beamed at him. Harua glanced at you with a lazy smile as he nodded his head, walking towards the couch where you're sat. You turned off your phone, patting the space beside you. Harua sat with a slump as he leaned on your shoulder.

"I'm going to the store to buy us food. You want anything?" You asked, hands combing his hair as he snuggled closer to you, loving the warmth of your body right now.

"You already know what I want." Harua mumbled softly, now, his chin rested on your shoulder as he looked at you.

You gave him a smile, patting his head. "Okay, thought you wanted other stuffs. I'll go now."

Harua nodded his head, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds before he dettached himself from you. You stood up, gathering the things you needed before walking towards the door, not before glancing at Harua's sleepy form on the couch.

"I'll be quick, baby." You announced, waving your hand at him before you twisted the door knob.

Harua's eyebrows were now furrowed, sensing something wrong. Not to the surrounding, not to himself, but to you. He sensed something wrong, and he felt like something's missing ever since you left the couch. Then, something clicked.

No I love you's, no kisses before leaving.

His eyes shot up, "Baby!" He called out, Harua's voice coming out as a whine. You bit your lower lip, trying to supress a chuckle as you glanced back at him, a questioned hum leaving your lips. You observed his face, pouty lips and glaring eyes. Yup, Harua's sulky now.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Harua asked, trying to sound mad. But to you, he's the cutest boyfriend ever. You feigned confusion, tilting your head to the side as you stayed quiet for a few seconds.

"Am I? My wallet is with me right now, though." You answered in a mumble, cupping your pockets to look believable.

Harua groaned as he rolled his eyes on you, you couldn't help but let out the contained giggles from your mouth as he stood up from the couch and marched towards you. Once he was standing in front of you, he grabbed your chin softly and tilted it, he leaned down,

"Don't forget to kiss me." Harua whispered before he planted his lips on yours. You couldn't help but smile into the kiss, your hands coming up to wrapped themselves around his neck, kissing him back.

Now satisfied, Harua broke the kiss, panting softly as he stared at your eyes. His pouty expression no longer there, replaced with a cheeky smile.

"So that's what I forgot, huh." You said teasingly, before giving him another peck on his lips.

[flawedamythyst]

My live reactions to TOG2:

No one on this extremely wet and presumably windy fishing boat is wearing adequate deck shoes.

Did Nicky’s accent get stronger since TOG1? Or do I need to rewatch it? Or both?

Oh my boys are having such fun together, I love them. Also love the continuing combat pattern of Nicky getting someone down then going ahead to the next guy and Joe staying back to make sure the downed person stays down.

Well, this is a new and exciting take on 'who is the worst driver?' Both of them, apparently, if they're competing.

Choosing to believe they are going after this guy solely for his taste in interior design. The gun-running is incidental.

Nile, sweetheart, 'we dream of other immortals but I have decided to ignore this one reoccurring dream of a woman as irrelevant', REALLY? Come on.

Quynh's red coat is still fabulous. Slay, queen.

Oh, Joe, you soft-hearted prince, of course you couldn't maintain cutting Booker off.

So... the dreams are just unreliable then? This chap dreams of everyone but not the other way round? Or is everyone just pulling a Nile of 'just going to ignore these reoccurring dreams of this one person in particular'? I feel like if I was told I was prone to reoccurring dreams of people I have a Mystical Bond with, I would be keeping just the most detailed dream journal. And pestering everyone else to as well.

So...there are just loads of other immortals? And Andy has just not mentioned that to the others? Sure, okay, Writers, you're definitely not changing the rules just to bring new characters in without having to work for it.

Did Nicky and Joe really grow out their hair so much in six months? Does Immortal Hair grow quicker? No wait, Quynh's didn't grow at all underwater. No idea on that one.

I might take Discord more seriously if I didn't think of the social media site first every time. For example, they're all panicked that Booker has been attacked by Discord but I'm thinking that doesn't make him special, half of fandom has been attacked on Discord at some point.

Booker in an Adidas tracksuit is the most Sad Wet Frenchman thing.

Is anyone else shipping Tuah/Copley? Should I watch the whole film before picking ships?

Okay, Andy walking through time was fantastic, very good.

The reason immortals are hunted? Hunted by whom? Eh, I am fairly uninterested in Discord and her motives tbh, she's so obviously a cardboard cutout to cause Tension.

Oh of course Nile is Super Magic Special Powerful Immortal with a Special Mystic Birthmark. Couldn't just be a regular Immortal and still be interesting, nope.

Who wrote this legend? How the fuck would they know what Mystical Powers the Last Immortal would have??? I hate plots that rely on Ancient Legends without anyone digging into the provenance. Also is Tuah going to mention this to anyone else or just the least reliable idiot boy?

DUDE just tell Nile what the unreliable legend says her Super-Special Magical Power is, don't play silly buggers with a weird three-way fight. Just..why would you not use your words???

Why can't Andy know about this? Also why is Booker not healing from that wound when Andy healed from being stabbed and only stopped healing after? So confused, so annoyed that Failure To Communicate is being set up as the antagonist.

'I can't tell Andy about this unhealing wound so I will wander straight into what seems to be her bedroom with it.'

Aw, Nicky, such a romantic.

Booker not telling them he's mortal when they're heading into combat is a dick move but totally in character, tbh. Booker not having worked out/bothered to get around to passing his immortality to Andy before combat is... just dumb, tbh. But again, in character for Monsieur Every Choice Is A Stupid Choice Le Livre.

Probably shouldn't have laughed so much at the insta-freeze immortals.

Oh Booker did pass it on, he just needed to wait for a suitably dramatic moment to mention it. Yup, still in character. You twat.

Sebastian Le Livre: he lived as he died - for the pointless drama.

Why does Discord need everyone's immortality? Surely one will do?

The whole nuclear facility sequence would have gone so much better for them if they'd all strapped three or four loaded handguns on before going in. Honestly. Andy could have shot Discord so easily at the end.

Oh no, lads, come on, it took 5 years to get a sequel sorted, why the fuck are you banking on a third one??

Anyway, I did enjoy that, very ready for all the fic of Joe&Nicky playing silly buggers in Ireland.

[winchestergirl2]

COMFORT

Beau Arlen x Female Reader

Summary: Beau is there to offer you the comfort you need.

Word Count: 894

A/N: This is my first Beau fic. Written because I was in need of some Beau comfort.

Warnings: period talk, fluff/comfort.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

It was early evening, the constant and busy hum of the Sheriff's office beginning to quieten, as the current shift was coming to an end. Beau was sitting in his office, nursing a cup of coffee while taking a final look through his current case file, getting ready to clock out for the day. His phone began to buzz on his desk next to him, and a bright smile broke out on his face when he saw it was your name lighting up his screen.

He answers on the second ring. “Hey darlin” he starts in that southern Texas drawl of his.

“Beau, I'm really sorry. I know we had plans for this evening, but I need to cancel, I'm not feeling up to it. I'm so sorry,” you rush out, trying to get the words out, before the tears you can feel building bubble up to the surface.

Worry immediately sets in hearing the strain and slight wobble in your voice. “Do you need anything? I can come round if you need me too?”

“No I'll be ok thanks” you reply, really not wanting him to see you right now, camped out on your sofa, doubled over in pain, pain that is etched all over your face. Not to mention the near constant yucky feeling you have had since you got up this morning to find your period had started. A combination that had you refusing to move from your curled up position on your couch. “I'm just gonna take some painkillers and take it easy, I'll be ok” you reassure him.

“Well ok, if you're sure. Call me if you need anything, though.”

“I will, thanks,” you reply, breathing through the intense cramp that shot through you. Trying your best to disguise the pain.

He heard it anyway.

“I uh, I gotta go, I'll see you tomorrow ok.” 

“Ok sweetheart”.

Hanging up, you toss your phone back down on the sofa next to you as you settle back down, waiting for your latest dose of painkillers to kick in.

Beau puts his phone back on his desk, coffee and case files long forgotten after his call with you, and finds himself picking up his football tossing it around. Thinking. The conversation with you playing in his mind, bothering him. After a few moments, he knows what he wants to do. He gets up and strides out of his office with purpose.

Later on, there's a knock at your door. You groan to yourself and drag yourself up off the sofa and away from your tv marathon. Padding your way over to the door in your elasticated sleep shorts and baggy t-shirt.

Opening the door, you find Beau standing there.

“I know you said you didn't need anything but…” he trailed off, holding up the bags he was carrying. “I took a guess at what was wrong, and I came with supplies anyway. I've got a selection of snacks, a hot water bottle, and a new heat pad because I wasn't sure which you preferred. Carla always swore by these heat pad things, but Em prefers curling up with a hot water bottle” he rambles on, pausing only when he notices the tears starting to form in your eyes.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks, concerned, placing the bags down.

“No,” you shake your head. He breathes out a sigh of relief. “It's just… I really wasn't expecting any of this. How did you know?”

His lips twitch up at the corners slightly. “Took a wild guess. I do have an ex-wife and a teenage daughter, I can recognise the signs,” he shrugs, taking a step towards you.

“Really? I thought I'd done a good job at hiding them.”

“Well I am the Sheriff. It's kind of my job to notice things” he grins. 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into his chest. “Thank you” you whisper to him as he pulls you in close, one arm holding you tight to him while the other rubs soothing circles on your lower back.

You stay like that for a while until you start cramping up again and need to curl up. Beau swiftly grabs the bags of supplies as you lead him over to the sofa. Kicking off his boots he positions himself at an angle at the end of your couch, one leg propped on it, the other with his foot on the floor, leaving a space for you to sit between his legs. You settle yourself in the gap he left for you, pulling your knees up towards your chest and leaning back into him. His body heat creating some comfort for your aching back, his hands sneaking their way underneath your oversized shirt, pressing them to your cramping lower belly. Providing you with the first bit of relief you've felt all day. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“You doin ok?” He checks, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Yeah,” you sigh contently, turning your head slightly to look at him “What did I do to deserve you?” you ask, causing Beau to smile softly at you before leaning down to kiss you. A short and sweet kiss as if to say ‘I've got you’. You gently lean back into him, allowing the warmth of him and his embrace to soothe you.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed it!!

Rebog banner: @cafekitsune

Main Masterlist

[etvdes]

they missed her, and maybe that was part of why this was so hard. because they didn't know how to be the version of themself she fell in love with, but they were still pining after her anyways. and sure, there was so much that was real– the nights they spent together, the fun that they had – all of that was real to them. even if it wasn't real to her anymore, it was real to them anyways. they felt like they were on fire, their body felt like it was rejecting the lies that they had told. somewhere in the back of their mind they know this conversation has been a long time coming, that if they were going to spend time together, it was only a matter of time before all of this came out. after all, they had never really been good at maintaining relationships for THIS reason. and they knew that everyone at NA, especially their sponsor, had told them that. taking a personal inventory included coming to the conclusion that they needed to start being honest if they wanted a meaningful relationship with their own sobriety. they pull her tighter against themself, and they're not sure if it's more for her benefit or theirs. something about holding rowan had always made them feel more grounded – like breathing her in was the only thing that kept them from madness. they're listening to her intently, and despite their best efforts, their light eyes still shimmer with tears. they don't blame her for never mentioning– if it were the other way around they'd be just as nervous to ask her about anything that seemed like it was bothering her. they take a deep breath, mind locking on the statement of the beginning. because the beginning was so so long ago. a deep breath, and they're trying not to get too emotional about it. "it wasn't too bad at the beginning. a line here, a blunt there –" they mumble, "i guess no one really starts with the big stuff." they don't really notice that this is already big stuff. sure, a bit of weed here or there wasn't a big deal. but the normalcy with which they mention illicit substances could be a bit unsettling. "when i was eighteen i broke my jaw." they shrugged, "owed someone money, had it beaten out of me or whatever." they shrug, like it's not a big deal. and maybe to grey, it really wasn't a big deal. "after getting my jaw wired shut, that's when things got worse i guess." it's so odd, to lay it all out like this. clinical even. like they're not attached to the story, or the person they were back then. "i ran into mickey at a flop. when he and brodie fell out, i guess he kind of lumped the two of us together, so i hadn't seen him in a couple months." they shake their head, as though they're trying to shake out the memory. they feel like they can't remember how it happened. they can't remember when they lost their apartment, or what led up to that day with mickey. all they remember is that they happened in quick succession. "i've never been too good at telling anyone when something's wrong." another beat passes between them, and they feel so horrible for it. "i really love you," they start, not noticing the present tense, "that part was real." that doesn't feel good enough, even if it is true.

grey doesn’t need to be sorry. not really. it’s not like rowan wasn’t happy in their relationship. clearly she was, or else she wouldn’t adorn their sweatshirt on a day where she wanted to feel a little bit closer to them than she could ever be again. however, she is conscious of the fact that now she doesn’t know what was real. how much of their relationship was a false narrative presented to her that she lapped up? even if grey couldn’t fully be themself, surely that didn’t mean everything was a lie. moments the two of them enjoyed had to have been real, didn’t they? part of her wants to ask and another part doesn’t want to know should the answer not be one that she’ll like. at this point she isn’t sure anything that they say to one another today is going to be something she likes but she has to value the honesty above all else. she’s getting a glimpse into something they don’t readily share and it’s something. she has to tell herself that. she doesn’t mean to make this about her, she doesn’t want it to be about her. there is no denying she plays a part in the grand scheme of their relationship though and that is something she guesses she can let herself feel a little about. though it still makes her feel awful when it results in them having to comfort her. still, she takes it. sinks into the weight of their arm around her like it will ground her to stop her getting so wrapped up in what she’s done wrong. how didn’t she notice? why didn’t she pay more attention? “i think we’re starting from the beginning,” she admits, or at least what she can perceive the beginning to be. mickey. their friend. someone who died in a way that reshaped grey into being who they are now. someone who has more cracks in them than rowan ever noticed before because of her rosy view on life. “i guess i wondered about you sometimes. you seemed… i dunno. like there was something more going on and i just figured everyone has their own shit and you never said anything so i thought you were okay ‘cause i just assumed you’d tell me if you weren’t.” such a naïve way of thinking but one she honestly had believed. why would she think anything else? she got to see some great parts of grey though but has to wonder how much of them was for her benefit. finds herself racking through her memories. pulling out items like a filing cabinet that’s all out of order and she can’t find what she’s looking for. it’s not like they were never intimate. she’s seen parts of their body that might’ve raised some questions but… she has her own scars too. marks from surgeries and a gnarly little port site off to the side of her chest. it’s not something she’d ever want someone else to point out and so why would she do that to them? besides, she easily let herself become lost in anything else that happened. eyeing up flaws had been the least of her focus. “i don’t blame you for not telling me or anything. i know you couldn’t. you can’t.” has no doubt there’s more bubbling up considering the fact they still don’t seem to be at any sort of ease. “what i know now doesn’t change how i felt about you then.” she isn’t even sure if that’s a concern that they have but feels the need to say it anyway, “i was happy then and i thought you were too. i guess maybe now i don’t know if you were or if it was some sort of front or…” her heart feels like it shrinks a little. instead of beating it just rattles around inside the hollow cavern of her chest while she thinks up her next question. “was it… real? you know, any part of us?”

[ilovecoffeeandchemistry]

ooooh i woke up in a bad mood and it's so hard not to be a bitch about it

[racke7]

Got the results of the MRI.

No signs of anything bad.

Hmm...

[wileycap]

Selected Correspondence of Fire Lord Zuko

As preserved by the Royal Archives

1.

My good hotman Zuko,

It's Aang! Sokka let me borrow Hawky. Please feed him before sending him back.

I'm writing to ask if it's okay for me to drop by. Except I'll probably be there by the time you get this, because Appa flies faster than Hawky. Still, it's polite to ask!

Write back (or don't.)

Hot regards

Your friend Aang

-

Revered Avatar Aang

Hawky arrived two hours after you left. Never send me "hot regards" again. Like I keep telling you, language has changed in the past 100 years. It doesn't mean what you think. Future historians will think we were having an affair.

It's always okay to drop by. Hawky has been fed.

May your inner fire warm you (write that down somewhere)

Fire Lord Zuko

2.

Hi

need 3 fire benders (zappy) + few construction workers + a lot of copper

Delivr to harbor

sokka

-

Honorable tribesman Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, son of Chief Hakoda, Hero of the 100 Year War

No.

May your inner fire warm you

Fire Lord Zuko

-

Dear Jerk Lord of the Jerk Nation, Master Jerkbender and All-Around Jerk

quit being stingy and send me what i need. seriously. the fate of your nation is at stake. LOOK:

[drawing of two pickles, a stick figure and waves]

Hot regards

Sokka

-

Sokka

Your drawing makes no sense. I'm writing a law which bans you from owning a messenger hawk.

I found you three volunteer firebenders who can lightningbend. They'll be there in a week with four carts of copper. If you need construction workers, beg Toph, don't bother me.

Feed Hawky better. He's malnourished, he keeps begging me for more food.

And don't do that.

Fire Lord Zuko

3.

Dear Honorless Usurper

My, how the time flies. It seems as if it was only yesterday that I was supposed to be crowned Fire Lord, and here we are, celebrating the first full year of your doomed reign. I salute you.

Know this: you won't know peace for long. I have entered into an alliance with Admiral Noboru. He is a true patriot and has kindly offered me three ships and 2000 men to retake the throne. He has also generously offered to serve as my consort, "despite my mental deficiency."

I am writing as a courtesy, as it is obvious that the throne will soon be mine. I might even let you live.

May Agni's light shine on you*

Azula

Fire Lord-in-exile

[* common benediction for the dead during Fire Lord Zuko's reign]

-

Dear Sister

Thank you for writing. I spoke with Noboru. I told him that I was allowing an Agni Kai and that you were on your way.

Noboru has fled the country. He gifted you his whole estate, see the enclosed list. He said to tell you he's sorry and not to come after him.

Please come visit any time. I hope your healing is going well.

May your inner fire warm you

Your brother Zuko

[enclosed: A list of assets including a home in the 5th Province, a vacation home on Ember Island, 20 acres of farmland, a substantial amount of gold and silver and assorted property]

4.

Zuko

this is the worst copper i've ever seen??? i want a refund. you're the worst copper merchant ever.

sokka

-

Sokka

You didn't even pay for the copper. I'm not giving you a refund. And I'm not a copper merchant. I didn't even buy it, somebody else did. What's wrong with it?

I can send you more if you need?

Fire Lord Zuko

-

Sokka

I sent you two more carts of copper. This is the best copper we have, so if it's not good enough, you can get your own and stop mooching off of me.

Fire Lord Zuko

5.

[on a thin sheet of metal]

Sparky! Earth Rumble 8 is two weeks from now. I'm coming to pick you up in the morning two days before.

Check it out: I can write now. Katara helped me with the characters but I've got it now. Hawky isn't strong enough to carry these, but Katara's dad is letting me borrow Seabreeze.

It's TOPH.

-

Dear Lady Beifong

You can't just come pick me up! I'm the Fire Lord. Two weeks isn't enough time for me to arrange days off.

I'd like to come watch you knock some heads, but I can't. Sorry.

Feed Seabreeze. Seriously. What's wrong with you people? Every bird you send me is starving.

May your inner fire warm you

Fire Lord Zuko

-

[on a thin sheet of metal]

Sparky. Thanks for sending me a sheet of paper but my privy is stocked. I can guess what it says though: "I can't go I'm so busy and I'm too much of a wimp to clear my schedule"

I'm coming to pick you up. Tell your guards they can either get out of my way or get CRUSHED. It's gonna be fun.

It's TOPH.

-

A painting of Fire Lord Zuko, Lady Beifong, Master Katara, Avatar Aang, Suki of Kyoshi Island and Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. Lady Beifong is sitting on the Fire Lord's shoulders, holding up a decorative belt and smiling widely.

[curseluvr]

HONEYMOONERS ♡

Devotion consummated—how they cherish and claim you once the ring is on your finger.

ft. satoru, suguru, kento, toji, sukuna, choso

wc: 4.8k (i didn't mean to yap so much)

content: fem!reader, p in v sex, unprotected intercourse, est. relationships/marriage, possessiveness, praise kink, light bondage & restraint (sukuna), oral, creampies/breeding kink, pregnancy mentions, some emotional sex (crying, reverent language), overstimulation, marking, semi-public sex (gojo, nanami), gojo eats you out on a jet ski, mild voyeurism/exhibitionism (gojo, sukuna), just men in love

SATORU

Satoru doesn’t even bother to say good morning. Instead, he rolls over, pushes your robe open, and hums against your skin, “How many times can I make my wife cum before breakfast?”

It’s not even a question, it’s a challenge. He acts like you have all the time in the world, because you do. Satoru insisted on a month-long honeymoon. Thirty indulgent, jet-setting, skin-worshipping days where the world slows down and everything bends around his touch.

Week One: Maldives

It starts in an overwater villa with glass floors and no neighbors in sight. The sheets barely stay dry, the windows never stay closed, and Satoru’s face is basically glued between your thighs. He eats you out like it’s his first meal of the day and you’re also dessert. 

Always slow at first—kissing down your inner thighs, teasing your folds, whispering, “You sound so cute like this,” whenever you whimper for more.

Satoru doesn’t even touch himself most mornings. He just grinds his hard cock into the mattress while he makes you cum again and again, like edging himself for you is his favorite act of worship.

“One more, sweetheart. Look at me when you let go, mhm, there she is. That’s my wife.”

By the time you’re finally eating breakfast—sore, glowing, and satisfied—he’s already planning round two.

He eats you out from the back on a jet ski while you’re in the middle of the ocean. The salt spray mixes with your slick, and he comes in his swim trunks without even touching himself because you sobbed his name so sweetly.

Satoru takes you to a private island and fucks you against a palm tree while the tide rolls in.

“Told you I’d give you the world,” he whispers, biting your neck, “but it’s not enough. I need the world to see you’re mine.”

Week Two: Amalfi Coast

In Italy, Satoru doesn’t let you wear any of the underwear you packed. 

“No need,” he insists, slipping his hand between your thighs at dinner like you’re just a toy for him to play with. And you are. His favorite toy, his one and only. 

You ride him on the balcony of your hotel as the sunset casts a golden halo around your silhouettes. The Mediterranean breeze is warm, and he’s got your sundress bunched around your waist while Satoru leans back like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Come on, baby. Let ‘em hear how good I fuck you. You married a god, remember?”

You do almost get caught. An elderly couple walking by glances up, and Gojo just tilts his head, grinning lazily as your pace stutters. He slaps your ass to keep you moving. “Shy now? Thought you liked putting on a show.” 

The whiniest moans spill out of your mouth when you cum, body quaking with pleasure as Satoru smiles.

Later, he buys you gelato with the same fingers he fucked you with. Still sticky. Still smug. He licks the melting treat off your lips and says, “Sweet, but not as sweet as you taste when you cum for me.”

Week Three: Dubrovnik

You walk the city hand in hand. He’s smiling, chatting with locals, but his sunglasses hide the way his eyes stay on you—obsessed. Starving. The same man who bought the plane tickets mid-orgasm because you moaned that you’d never been to Croatia before.

In the mornings, he kisses your ring finger like it’s sacred. At night, he spoons you on satin sheets and plays with your pussy like he’s drunk off it. 

Says things like, “I could live in this moment forever. You and me, just like this. You’d let me ruin you every night, wouldn’t you, baby? It’s what you signed up for.”

Sometimes it’s slow. Reverent. Sometimes he’s unhinged—pushing your face into the hotel balcony railing and fucking you like he owns you. 

You try to protest, and he just laughs, “Shouldn’t have said ‘I do’ if you couldn’t handle the strongest.”

Before he comes, he pulls out and brings you to your knees. Satoru lets his cum paint your face, moaning how pretty you are, all for him.

Week Four: Macau

A high-rise suite, blackout curtains, and mirrors on the ceiling—because Satoru insisted. You stay in all day and only go out to enjoy the nightlife.

These days are more intense. Less playful. There’s a fever in his touch, a new kind of obsession brewing under the luxury. He fucks you with your legs thrown over his shoulders, watching your face contort in the mirror above. Presses a hand to your lower stomach and groans when he feels himself through you. 

“Would ya look at that. So deep in this pussy that was made for me.”

He ties your hands with silk and takes his time. Sometimes, you ride him with a hand around his neck, watching his pretty blue eyes gloss over. There’s one night he lends you his blindfold and teases you all night. Touch and go, kiss and retreat, until you’re crying from how badly you need him. 

He coos, kissing your tears away, “I just love how much you need me. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

By the end of most nights, all you can say is “Toru!” and “I love you.” 

And he always finishes inside. Always. Satoru never fails to hold you after, whispering, “I love every part of you. All I am is yours.”

By the end of the month, your body aches in the best ways. Your skin’s tanned, your throat sore from laughter and moaning, and your heart is full.

Satoru tucks you under his arm on the flight home and tells you, “If we don’t find out you’re pregnant soon, we’re going on another honeymoon.” 

You laugh against his chest, legs stretched across the plush leather seat, cozy in one of his hoodies. “I think you just like an excuse to keep me locked away.”

“Bingo,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “You’re so smart, baby. That’s why you’re my wife.”

He’s so warm. So calm. But there’s a shift in his voice, low and coaxing, and you know that tone—it always means he’s about to do something. His hand slides up your bare thigh, pushing your hoodie higher, knuckles grazing your inner skin like he’s testing just how much you’ll let him get away with.

“Satoru,” you murmur, quiet, warning, a little breathless already. “There’s a pilot—”

“Who knows not to disturb me,” he cuts you off, grinning as he kisses down your jaw. “And a privacy button.” He presses something on the side of the seat. The glass partition between the cockpit and the cabin begins to slide up.

“Oh my God.”

“Oh my husband,” he corrects smugly, slipping between your legs as he kisses you. “C’mon, baby. We didn’t break in the plane yet.”

You’re already melting by the time he tugs your panties aside, fingers teasing your folds. The low hum of the engines masks your gasp as he rubs slow circles over your clit, thumb firm, knowing. He watches your face like it’s his favorite movie, lips parted when he sinks two fingers inside you.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, fucking you slow with his fingers. “Is this ‘cause I said I’d get you pregnant? Or ‘cause you love my plane?”

“Shut up—”

He pulls back just enough to yank your panties down and get his cock out, already hard from the way you moan into his mouth. He flips you into his lap like you weigh nothing, settling you on top of him with your knees straddling the leather.

Your body sinks onto his with ease, and both of you groan at the feeling—tight, full, hot.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses into your neck. “You’re squeezing me so good. God, I missed this. Missed you.”

“We just fucked yesterday-”

“Still not enough,” he breathes, thrusting up into you with slow, decadent strokes. “Never is.”

His grip tightens on your hips, grounding you as he moves. The cabin lights are low, the sky outside an endless blur, and you’re bouncing in his lap with your hoodie still on and nothing else. His hands push it up to see your chest, and he latches his mouth onto your nipple, groaning against your skin.

“You’re gonna get me pregnant right now, on this stupid plane,” you pant, forehead pressed to his.

“Damn right I am,” he growls, kissing you again, his pace getting rougher. “My baby—our baby, fuck. I want that. I want you.”

You come with a desperate cry, gripping his shoulders as your whole body locks up, then shudders. Gojo doesn’t stop—he never does—fucking you through it until he’s right there with you, choking on a moan as gives you all his cum.

After, he holds you in his lap, still inside you, stroking your back and pressing kisses to your shoulder.

“Think it worked?” he mumbles against your skin.

“I think you’re crazy.”

“Let’s call it obsessed.”

You’re too blissed out to answer. Eyes heavy, body boneless, you drift off right there in his arms, lulled by the hum of the jet and the warmth of him around you.

Later, you’ll wake to find he’s buckled you into the seat, blanket tucked around you, and his hand on your belly like he’s already claiming it.

SUGURU

The destination was decided the moment he proposed—Bali. A peaceful escape carved into jungle hills, rice terraces, and the low hum of nature. Suguru secures a private villa with an infinity pool and open-air living space, where the warm breeze slips through sheer curtains and time seems to slow just for the two of you.

Every morning, he wakes you with soft kisses along your shoulder and collarbone before handing you a tray of fresh fruit and warm tea. He lets you eat in bed, sprawled beneath linen sheets, your legs tangled, the birds singing just outside. It’s a rhythm he could live in forever.

You walk barefoot through ancient temple grounds, explore artisan markets hand-in-hand, pausing to buy incense or admire a painter stroking the sea into canvas. He takes you to museums tucked behind hidden sanctuaries, and you spend lazy hours in quiet cafés, reading and people-watching in shared silence.

At night, you stroll dimly-lit paths lined with shrines and lanterns, his hand wrapped securely around yours. Then he brings you home to candlelit baths filled with flower petals. He sinks in behind you, warm water lapping at your skin as he kisses the back of your neck and hums something soft into your ear.

Suguru treats the honeymoon like a sacred ritual—a spiritual bond renewed night after night. Every touch deliberate, every glance a promise. At every opportunity, he worships your body like a temple.

He spends hours between your thighs, murmuring praises into your skin, taking his time until your voice breaks from moaning. His eyes stay locked to yours, even when your head tries to loll back—he catches your chin, kisses your temple, and whispers, “Eyes on me. Say it. You’re mine, wife.”

And when you do? He groans like he’s praying.

Some nights he undresses you like it’s holy. Like baring your skin is an act of devotion. He kisses every inch from your ankles to your knees and ribs until you’re flushed and trembling, body arching off the bed, mind going soft.

When he moves over you, it’s not just physical. It’s weight. His presence sinks into you like gravity. Suguru’s hands roam but never rush. He cups your jaw and makes you look at him as he slides his fingers between your thighs, working slow, steady circles over your clit.

“Forever, right?” he asks, even though he already knows.

It’s the easiest confession you’ve ever made. “Yours, Suguru. Always.”

And he leans in to kiss you—deep, sweet, all tongue and soft groans—before lining himself up and pressing into you with intention. Slowly. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you around him.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot on your lips. You clench around him and his eyes flutter shut.

“Fuck… you’re so warm like this. Let me stay, just for a second.”

Then he starts to move. Deep, rolling thrusts that steals the air from your lungs. His body never leaves yours, his hands never let go. He laces your fingers with his beside your head, and when your wedding rings touch, they catch the lantern light and gleam like another promise.

Suguru fucks you like it’s a vow. Like he’s carving your name into every part of himself. When you cry out, his pace falters—not from hesitation, but awe. He kisses the tears before they fall. Cups your cheek as your back arches and you come around him, full and aching and utterly undone.

Only then does he let go. His thrusts grow erratic, voice breaking on your name as he fills you, sweat slicking the space where your skin meets his. Even afterward, he doesn’t leave you. Just stays inside you, arms wrapped tight around your waist, breath warm against your neck like he’s afraid this could end.

With your legs tangled and your bodies warm, all he says is “don’t fall asleep yet. I’m not done loving you.”

KENTO

Kento goes all out with his honeymoon, as he does with everything involving you. Your honeymoon is a blend of both your dreams and his—an elegant, slow-moving escape across three countries that feel like a glimpse of the life he’s always wanted to give you.

It begins in Switzerland, your shared dream destination. You stay in a chalet nestled in the Alps, snow dusting the windows while a fire crackles beside you. Most evenings are spent curled up under thick wool blankets, sipping wine while he reads aloud from an antique book he found in a tucked-away shop.

Kento keeps you close, fingers intertwined, murmuring, “This is how life should always be.”

You take day trips to Lake Geneva, boarding private boats that glide across the still, glassy water, the mountains rising around you like ancient guardians. One morning, you ask, half-teasing, why he even rented the boat when neither of you has any experience. Kento quietly admits he got a boating license months in advance.

And that’s how you end up riding him under the Swiss sun, legs shaking as he grips your hips from beneath. He’s still wearing his captain’s hat. You try to laugh, but his cock is so deep and steady that all you can do is moan as he holds you flush against him.

“Keep your balance, sweetheart,” he says, breath ragged, voice low against your ear. “If you fall, I’ll follow you in and fuck you stupid right here in open water.”

Then comes the Côte d’Azur, France—your pick. A glamorous, sun-drenched stretch of paradise. You stroll Nice’s Promenade des Anglais at sunset, heels in your hand, his jacket draped over your shoulders. In Saint-Tropez, he watches you glow beneath the harbor lights, mingling with people as if you were born for it. And you were. 

He books five-star hotels, treats you to Michelin-star meals, but he’s never more satisfied than when your eyes sparkle across a candlelit table and you call him husband. That word, husband, undoes him every time.

And later, when he has you pinned against the glass window of your hotel suite, overlooking the Riviera, it’s the only word you can remember—gasping it into the crook of his neck as he rocks into you, slow and deep.

“Say it again,” he whispers. “Say it until you forget everything else.”

Finally, you land in Kuantan, Malaysia, Kento’s dream vacation. No itinerary, no pressure. Just quiet mornings and indulgent nights. He lets you sleep in every day, but the second you stir, he’s on you—kissing your neck, sliding his hand between your thighs, waking you up with slow, sleepy thrusts until your fingers are tangled in his hair and you’re breathlessly grinding back.

“I need you like this,” Kento groans, “every morning for the rest of my life.”

At night, he runs you a bath and massages your shoulders while you sit on his lap, water sloshing out of the tub as you sink down on him. You moan into his mouth, and he exhales like it’s a relief, whispering your name like a vow.

But when he takes you to bed—that’s when he falls apart.

Kento lays you out like you’re something sacred. Kisses your stomach, your inner thighs, the backs of your knees. His hands never stop moving, brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing every inch. He goes down on you with slow, thorough focus, eyes never leaving your face as you fall apart.

He holds your hips down when you squirm, murmuring, “Look at you. So beautiful… made to be mine.”

And then, when you’re breathless—wrecked—he presses into you with reverent force. One hand grips the headboard; the other anchors your thigh open. He fucks you slowly, deliberately, until your eyes are glassy and your voice is gone.

“Be still,” he murmurs, voice ragged with restraint. “Let me take care of you.”

But then you call him husband again, and the dam breaks. His rhythm shifts—rough, deep, urgent. His control slips with every thrust, every gasp, every whimper you make.

“So pretty like this,” he groans into your neck. “Mine. My wife. Don’t you dare forget it.”

Your honeymoon isn’t just a trip. It’s the beginning of a life where Kento, after years of restraint and duty, finally chooses joy and pleasure. And he chooses to pursue it with you.

TOJI

Three marriages later, Toji still doesn’t understand the concept of a honeymoon. What he does get is this: a week off the grid, your thighs spread across his lap, the adrenaline of almost dying on a hike, and your throat stuffed full by nightfall. So naturally, he books a wild trip to New Zealand, filled with rugged trails, volcanic springs, and as little clothing as possible. But by the end of the week? He sees the appeal. 

The second you check into the room, he’s got you pinned. Your luggage is thrown around haphazardly as Toji latches onto your neck. 

“Been waiting all day to fuck my wife,” he growls.

You swear he’s trying to breed you every time. His hands on your hips, his voice low and growling, “Gonna keep it in this time. Want you round and full, just like that.”

And everytime, you take it.

Day 1: You’re constantly on the move: Hell’s Gate, Rotorua. Steaming sulfur pools, mud baths, hikes through volcanic terrain that make your thighs burn. Toji’s behind you the whole time, watching the way your ass bounces with each step, palms itching like he's desperate for a handful.

That night, you're soaking together in a geothermal spring, steam curling around your shoulders like fog.

His voice cuts through it, low and smug. “Bet no one’s ever fucked you in a place like this.”

And then he proves it. He’s got you bent over a slippery rock, the mineral water scalding around your calves and his cock even hotter inside you. One hand on your hip, the other covering your mouth when you whimper his name. His wedding ring flashes in the moonlight, pressed to your skin.

“Don’t run from it, sweetheart. You married this. You married me.”

Day 3: You're mid-way through a remote hiking trail, stopping for water when a passing guide gives you one too many glances. Toji notices. He always notices.

His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you in close. He doesn’t say anything—just stares the guy down until he stumbles off, red-faced and muttering. 

Later, when you ask him if he’s jealous, Toji just scoffs. “Jealous? Nah. I just don’t like when people don't realize you’re fuckin’ mine.”

He ruins you in your cramped little camping tent, the zipper barely holding back your cries. He’s got your knees pressed to your chest, his body heavy over yours, fucking into you like he wants to brand the memory into your bones. You fall asleep sore all over, pinned under the weight of his chest.

Day 5: The ATV tour was your idea. Toji speeds through the jungle paths with a devilish grin. You’re screaming and laughing behind him, clinging to his waist while he yells back:

“Don’t fall off, wife. I’m not pulling over!”

You don’t fall, but your composure does. Later, you’re in the backseat of the rental car, thighs sticky with sweat, your pulse still racing. He’s sprawled out like a king—shirtless, cock heavy on his thigh—when you climb over and drop to your knees.

You’re slobbering all over him. Lips messy. Hands trembling. Spit sliding down to his balls. He groans, fingers in your hair, watching you with the kind of reverence that makes your gut twist.

“So fuckin’ good,” he pants. “What’d I do to deserve this?”

You pull off with a smirk, a string of drool clinging between your lips and his cock. Voice sweet, lethal.

“You took my last name.”

It wrecks him. You feel it in the twitch of his cock, the way his jaw flexes, the almost-growl he lets out as he yanks you back onto him—throat first, this time deeper, filthier, until you’re choking on his praise.

The rest of the trip is a blur of tangled limbs, high altitudes, low moans in high places. He fucks you in waterfalls. In a cave. On top of a cliff. Sometimes slow, mostly not. He’s rough, reverent, and definitely addicted.

And when the week’s finally winding down—your lips puffy, your thighs bruised, your whole body humming with the aftermath—he tugs you into his lap, zips his hoodie around your naked frame, and presses a kiss to your jaw.

“Next honeymoon, we’re doing Antarctica,” he mutters. “I wanna see you ride me in the snow.”

You blink at him, dazed. “That’s—oh!—not how honeymoons work…”

To which he just grins, sharp and smug. “Yeah? Well good thing this marriage will.”

SUKUNA

He chooses somewhere ancient. Alive. A place with heat in the air and thrumming under your skin. It’s sensual without trying—like him. There’s a sprawling riad with carved archways and silk-canopied beds, and he books the entire place out so you won’t be disturbed. 

The bed is a California king, but you never sleep apart. You’re wrapped around each other every night—his hand gripping your thigh, your face pressed to his chest.He likes the size for two reasons: so he can toss you around and still have room to avoid the stains you two leave behind.

Silk robes. Hand-fed fruit. Gold jewelry he bought for you but only puts on himself. He refuses to let you carry your own bags—growls if you even try. And he inspects every outfit you pack, every hem and button.

“You don’t wear anything unless I’ve seen how fast I can take it off you.”

He lets you be looked at. Adored. Worshipped by strangers, because they’ll never touch. He wants you seen—because they’ll never know what it’s like to hear you beg.

And whenever you get back to your room, he fucks you like it’s a rite. Not just sex—a ritual. A claim. A bond carved again and again into your trembling body.

“I could destroy everything,” he says one night, voice low, “but I’d rather build a world just for you. And set it on fire when I die.”

Sukuna leaves bite marks all over you and bruises on your hips. Smirks down at you, red eyes glowing, like he’s seen your soul and made a home in it.

He fucks you until your voice breaks, until you forget your name and only remember his. Then he makes you ask for more.

“What’s that, wife? Use your words. Or should I teach you again?”

One night, he pulls a collar from his suitcase. Thick leather. Heavy. He buckles it around your neck and drags his thumb over the tag. 

“This is how you should look every day. My pretty pet, my wife.”

You cum hard that night—so hard you cry—and he only shushes you, kissing your wet cheeks, licking tears from your skin like it’s nothing.

He makes you beg to cum, then pulls out  just to hear you sob. Cruel, yes. But when it’s over? The way he holds you afterward? That’s what ruins you more than anything.

He doesn’t talk much. But his love speaks through the way he kisses the back of your neck. Through the way he threads your fingers together when you sleep. Through the way he watches you like you’re the only thing he didn’t take by force.

And every night ends the same way, his voice against your skin: “Say thank you. Loud enough for the heavens to hear. You’re blessed to be mine.”

CHOSO

Your honeymoon is tucked away in a remote part of Iceland—just the two of you, wrapped in warmth while the world outside glows cold and otherworldly. You stay in a heated glass igloo, skin-to-skin beneath thick blankets, with the Northern Lights dancing above you in ribbons of green and gold. It’s quiet, sacred. Every night feels like a dream suspended in frost.

The first time he sees the aurora borealis reflected in your eyes, Choso cries. Not loudly or in a way he wants you to see. But the tears come anyway, quiet and reverent, as he murmurs, “Nothing compares to this. Not even close.”

The honeymoon is low-key and peaceful. Cuddling by the fire, cooking simple meals together, watching old movies in bed with your fingers tangled. You hold hands in gloves during your long, scenic walks, and he blushes every single time you call him your husband.

He brings his film camera and takes soft, candid photos of you doing nothing—staring out the window, making tea, laughing at something dumb. He thinks you’re the most beautiful like that, unposed and fully his.

But the way you look when you’re sucking his dick like your life depends on it… it’s a close second. It’s late into the night, firelight flickering across the walls, your cheeks flushed from wine and the weight of his gaze. You crawl into his lap without a word, kneel between his legs, and pull his cock out of his sweats like it’s yours to take. 

Choso just watches you with hooded eyes and parted lips as you stroke him once, slow, like a tease. Then your mouth is on him, warm and wet, kissing his tip before dragging your lips down his shaft. His breath catches, low in his chest, and he grabs a fistful of your hair as you sink deeper.

You’re filthy with it. Drooling all over him, moaning around his cock, looking up at him with glassy eyes while you choke just to take him further. He lets out a broken groan when you swallow around him, one hand tightening in your hair as the other strokes your jaw. 

He doesn’t last long—not with you like this, looking up at him like you’d die happy with him on your tongue. When Choso cums, it’s with a grunt and your name falling from his lips like a prayer. You swallow every drop and then kiss him sweetly, already getting him hard again.

The way Choso makes love is like saying thank you. He’s so gentle at first, overwhelmed by how much he loves you. But the second you moan his name like you need him? Something in him unravels. His mouth gets filthy, and his rhythm deepens. You’ll end up in his lap, bouncing on his cock as he grips your hips and growls about how pretty your wedding dress was, how perfect you looked saying “I do.”

He fucks you all through the night, stroking your thighs every time you cum and shake on his cock. But Choso never stops, like he’s starved for you. 

“So good,” you tell him on the brink of tears. “Always so good to me.”

His voice roughens as he holds you down, eyes wild with love and possession.

“Mine. My wife. My everything,” Choso moans. “You don’t get to walk tomorrow.”

“Won’t need to,” you reply. 

And you don’t—because he carries you everywhere. Holds you close like he’s never letting go. Both of you know he never intends to. 

a/n: interactions are appreciated :') lmk what you thought/if you have any requests! thank you for reading mwah

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.