#Some fluff to enjoy

[seumyo]

pregnancy cravings with miya atsumu.

Pregnancy cravings never really made sense to Atsumu. Then again, he never got to the part of anatomy and physiology when he was studying physical therapy before he decided to go pro as a volleyball player.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t supportive; no, he prided himself on being a great husband. And now, with you, his wife, pregnant with your first child, he was determined to be the most supportive, loving, and accommodating partner ever.

Nothing was going to stand in his way—not distance, not logic, and certainly not impossible cravings.

It started simple. Like it always did.

You wanted a specific pastry from a bakery on the other side of Japan? Done. He booked the fastest delivery service he could find, and when that wasn’t an option, he flew there himself, picked it up, and brought it back.

Talk about rich.

Homemade food? Good thing Osamu had drilled the basics of cooking into him, though he still got yelled at by his twin when he accidentally burned rice. But hey, effort counted, right?

Then, the cravings started getting weird.

You’re sitting on the couch with a blanket over your lap when you look up at him with serious eyes. “I want Osamu’s cooking.”

Atsumu blinked. “Alright, I can ask him—”

“But I don’t want to eat it. You eat it.”

He frowned, confused.

“Huh? Ya want me to eat ‘Samu’s cookin’?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Atsumu scratched his head, wondering if this was some kind of test. “And that’s gonna make ya feel better?”

“Yes.”

“… Even if ya don’ eat it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Atsumu blinked. “That doesn’t make no sense.”

“Atsumu, please don’t question me.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Osamu. “Oi, ‘Samu, I need ya to cook somethin’—no, not for [Name]—for me.” There was silence on the other end before Osamu sighed heavily and reluctantly agreed.

That night, Atsumu sat at the dining table, stuffing his face with his brother’s food while you sat across from him, smiling in satisfaction as you watched. Osamu just did his part as a supportive brother for his twin.

The next day was even worse.

“A seedless mango,” you murmured, rubbing your belly.

...

“A what?”

“A seedless mango. I want it.”

“… [Name], sweetheart, baby, I love ya, but that don’t exist.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I want it.”

Atsumu groaned. “Where am I gonna get a seedless mango?”

“Figure it out, please?”

He spent hours searching online, calling fruit vendors, and even asking Osamu if his suppliers had some secret black market seedless mango (Osamu asked him if a volleyball that was going 120 km/h hit his head).

No luck.

In the end, Atsumu cut up a normal mango, carefully removed every trace of the seed, and handed it to you with a hopeful grin.

You took one look at it and frowned.

“It’s not the same.”

Atsumu wanted to cry.

-

“I need you to wear a face mask.”

Atsumu blinked at you from your bed. “Huh? Why?”

You huffed quietly, fidgeting with the sheets. “Because your face is annoying.”

Atsumu gasped, hand clutching his chest. “My face?! The one ya love so much?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya vowed to look at forever in sickness and in health?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya called ‘beautiful’ when I asked ya if I was hotter than ‘Samu?!”

“I love you, but right now, your face is irritating me.”

Atsumu stared, utterly betrayed, before sighing in defeat. He got up, went to the closet, grabbed one of the disposable masks he’d bought during flu season, and put it on.

“There. Happy now?”

You smiled sweetly. “Very.”

Atsumu flopped onto the bed with a groan, pulling the blanket over himself. As he lay there, sulking, you scooted closer and rested your head on his chest.

“I love you, you know that?” you murmured.

He grumbled. “Ya sure? Feels like ya hate me sometimes.”

You chuckled. “No, I love you. My hormones just don’t.”

He sighed. “Yer so lucky I love ya more than life.”

“I know. Pregnancy is so weird.”

And the worst has yet to come.

-

Atsumu should be asleep by now, but no, he had to be individually popping popcorn. One kernel at a time, as per your request.

He initially told you, “Yer kiddin’.”

You were not.

And that was how Atsumu found himself in the kitchen at three in the morning, painstakingly popping one kernel at a time in a tiny pan. Every time he accidentally popped more than one, you, who were sitting on a stool with your hands on your belly, would click your tongue disapprovingly.

“You put in two, Atsumu.”

“This is torture,” he grumbled, but he kept going.

-

“I want ice cream,” you said.

Atsumu perked up. “Oh, easy. What flavor?”

“I don’t know.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Uh… okay. I can get a few different kinds?”

“I need to taste them all.”

Atsumu frowned. “Like… all the flavors?”

“Yes.”

“… Babe, there are like fifty flavors at the ice cream shop.”

You nodded. “And I need to taste all of them before I decide which one I want.”

Atsumu let out a long, suffering sigh, but being the devoted husband he was, he marched straight to the ice cream parlor and ordered a ridiculous amount of sample cups. The poor employee stared at him in disbelief.

“You… want every flavor?”

“Yeah.”

“Every single one?”

“Yeah.”

“Sir, that’s—”

“My wife is pregnant, and if I don’t do this, I might not make it to the end of the week.”

The employee, upon hearing this, immediately started getting to work.

When Atsumu got home, you took one spoonful of each, nodded, and, after going through every single cup, announced:

“I don’t want ice cream anymore.”

Atsumu fell to his knees. Defeated.

-

“I need you to stand in the corner for a while.”

Atsumu looked up from his phone, confused. “Huh?”

“The corner. Stand there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like you should.”

Atsumu squinted. “Babe, are ya makin’ me into a damn decoration?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Atsumu sighed but did it anyway. He stood in the corner of your living room for a full ten minutes while you sat on the couch, happily watching TV. At some point, Osamu FaceTimed him, took one look at the scene, and hung up.

-

The next day, you called him while he was at practice, which was rare in itself because you did just leave messages whenever you knew he was practicing.

“Babe,” you said in a tone that made his stomach drop.

“… Yeah?”

“I need you to bring me a cheeseburger.”

He let out a relieved laugh, wiping the sweat off his brow. “That’s easy! I’ll grab ya one on my way ho—“

“But replace the buns with pancakes.”

Atsumu froze. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“I dunno if I did, sweetheart.”

“Pancakes. Instead of buns. Oh, and I want honey to go with it.”

Atsumu nearly dropped his phone.

“Yer messin’ with me.”

“I’m really not.”

And you weren’t. That evening, he stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with the precision of a professional chef before assembling the most unholy creation he’d ever laid eyes on—a cheeseburger with pancake buns, honey drizzled over the meat.

You took a bite and hummed softly. “Oh my god, this is better than sex.”

Atsumu, who had spent hours perfecting his technique in the bedroom, felt personally offended by that.

-

“Atsumu,” you murmur. “I need you to switch sides of the bed with me.”

He sighed. “No.”

“Atsumu.”

“[Name], baby, darlin’—I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my side is closer to the door in case of an intruder.”

You chuckled quietly. “Tsumu, please. I need to sleep on that side.”

Atsumu stared at you, conflicted. He had never—not once—slept on the other side. It was unnatural. Wrong. It went against the very foundations of your marriage.

But you were looking at him with those tired, hormonal, pleading eyes. And he was sure you’d tell him you could barely see your feet now and often experience heartburn, all because of his unborn baby.

With a heavy sigh, Atsumu switched sides with you.

“You’re a good husband,” you whispered, patting his cheek.

Atsumu, lying in the unfamiliar position, staring at the wrong wall, whispered, “I’m a broken man.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[saltcxrcle]

your skin on my skin ⇝ i. lahey

summary: seeing isaac between your thighs only happened in your dreams, it could never become a reality... right?

AU: where isaac came back from france and stayed for the rest of the series and everyone is going to the same college

pairings: isaac lahey x reader, isaac lahey x fem! reader

word count: 2.8K

warnings: MINORS DNI, no use of 'y/n', smut, oral fem!receiving, fingering, fluff, reader and isaac being lovesick idiots, implied p in v, characters are aged up to 18+ and in college, title is a lyric from fragile by laufey, kinda edited

a/n: RAHH i haven't written for isaac since july, so apologies if hes a little ooc but i miss him dearly so here's my first smut for him!! again minors please DNI please and thank you <3

but enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me!

𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘢𝘤 𝘭𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You made eye contact with Isaac’s cerulean eyes as his breath ghosted your bare stomach, making goosebumps rise against your heated skin as he sunk in between your open legs. You let out a shaky breath as you tipped your head back into the plush pillows, breaking the intense gaze between you and Isaac. 

You don’t know how you got to this position. Well, you do, but you never thought in a million years that this would be happening. Having Isaac in between your thighs only happened in your dreams and imagination when you had the apartment to yourself and wanted to work off some steam in your room, your vibrator on the highest setting as it worked over your sensitive and swollen clit. 

You had the biggest crush on Isaac since you met the scrawny kid in freshman year back at Beacon, since before you were pulled into the supernatural mess with Scott and eventually Isaac himself. But you hid it well. At least, you thought you did until Lydia cornered you one day and confronted you about your crush on him. 

You shrugged it off, of course, denying that you had liked him at all and that he was only your best friend, but Lydia was smarter than that, having caught you looking at him longingly as he stared at Allison. 

When Allison and Isaac got together, it hurt a lot. The pain of having the guy you liked start dating one of your best friends was one you wouldn’t wish on anyone. But you played it off and only teased Allison about the irony of being a hunter and being into werewolves. She laughed it off, but Lydia could see the pain in your eyes every time Isaac mentioned her or you saw the two of them close to one another. 

So when Allison died, you felt conflicted. Half of you was devastated that one of your best friends was gone, forever. But the other half was relieved that she was. You felt so guilty that you felt that way about Allison but kept it to yourself, internalizing it and locking away the information for life. 

You knew the toll that Allison’s death took on Isaac, but you guys still had the nogitsune to deal with. Once that was taken care of and you tried to talk to him about what happened with everything that had happened in the past year, he was gone. He fled to France with Allison’s dad. The pack didn’t know if he was going to come back, so you decided to swallow the devastation that flooded your veins at the thought of your best friend not coming back and moving on. 

But as the new year started and moving into your second semester of junior year, your eyes met a familiar pair of cerulean ones in the crowded hallways of Beacon Hills High. You felt your heart race at the fact that Isaac came back. 

From then on, you never really moved on from him. You tried, but he was always stuck in the back of your mind. Even throughout the craziness of the following year and a half of high school, the two of you stuck by each other and with the pack. 

After high school, you and some of the pack members went to the nearest college and decided to live in the same apartment complex. Stiles, Scott, and Isaac lucked out and got a bigger unit than you and Lydia did, but it didn’t matter since they usually came over to your place since it was “cozier.” You scoffed at them because they didn’t bother to furnish their apartment as well as you and Lydia did. 

“Hey.” Isaac called out your name softly, making you snap out of your reverie and look back down at him. His warm hands were settled on your thighs as his chin rested on your stomach and his gaze intently staring at you. 

Isaac’s were slightly swollen and pinker than usual from the heated make-out session that had started out of nowhere; well, it didn’t start out of nowhere. 

It was a Saturday night, and you didn’t feel like going out with the rest of the pack, so you decided to stay in and relax. You had expected Isaac to go with them, but to your surprise, he stayed with you. 

It was slightly awkward at first. The two of you hadn’t hung out for a while without the rest of the pack hovering around you since he came back from France. It’s not like you actively avoided spending one-on-one time, but you guys drifted apart when he came back, and the active threats to Beacon Hills didn’t help with the space between the two of you. 

You tried not to show that you were nervous around him, knowing he could hear if your heartbeat was erratic or not. You had planned to watch a movie in your room, so you invited him and joked that it would be like when we used to before he became a werewolf and hid in your room for a couple of hours before he had to go back to his place. 

The smile Isaac gave you at your invite had destroyed the plan of masking your fondness for him, feeling your heartbeat slightly faster at the sight of it. 

You sat next to Isaac when you finished setting up the movie, the two of you resting against your headboard, shoulders brushing against each other as the two of you settled in your queen-sized bed. 

You kept your eyes trained on the TV, the opening sequence of Iron Man flicking through the LCD screen. But Isaac couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, taking in your features being illuminated by the dim lighting of the fairy lights you hung around your room. He smiled, remembering your dislike for overhead lighting and preference for mood lighting. 

You took a chance, glancing at Isaac and finding that his gaze was already on you. You turned your head slightly to meet his eyes. 

“What?” You murmured. 

Isaac raised his hand hesitantly, brushing a wayward hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear before resting his palm against your cheek. You almost shivered at the soft caress of his thumb against the apple of your cheek. 

“Nothing.” Isaac said with a half smile on his face, slowly inching his face closer to you. 

You raised an eyebrow at him, trying to be unphased by his touch. “Really? Because you’re not watching the movie.” 

“You know I don’t care for Marvel.” Isaac smirked. 

“Then why do you sit through the movies with me?” 

“Because you like them.” Isaac stated as if it was obvious while shrugging. 

You looked at him dumbly, your mouth slightly agape. Isaac chuckled lowly before he moved his hand from your cheek to the nape of your neck and rested his forehead against yours. 

Your eyes fluttered shut involuntarily as you felt his breath fan against your lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” Isaac whispered. 

Instead of giving him a verbal answer, you placed your lips against his, drawing him into a soft kiss. It was a short and sweet kiss, but it contrasted how your body filled with heat at the feeling of his plush lips against yours. 

Both of you pulled away, your eyes meeting for a brief moment before your lips collided once more. The kiss was filled with passion and all of the unsaid emotions that you guys had yet to admit to one another. 

Your body had a mind of its own as your lips moved against Isaac’s. You moved to straddle his lap as your hands dived into his blonde curls while his hands made their way to your hips, guiding you to his lap. The warmth of his hands seeped through the fabric of the sweatpants you were wearing. 

You felt Isaac’s tongue swipe at the seam of your lips, a silent request that you accepted. You moaned softly at the feeling of Isaac’s tongue softly intertwining against yours. You unconsciously ground your heated core against the growing bulge in his jeans. Isaac let out a low hiss, making the two of you pull apart from one another, a string of spit connecting the two of you before it broke. 

You couldn’t help but the giddy smile that broke out on your face, your stomach flipping at the sight of Isaac’s wide grin as his hands moved from your hips to the hem of the shirt you were wearing. 

He tugged on it slightly, the unsaid question written in Isaac’s eyes. You nodded, and he slowly pulled it off of you, exposing your bare chest to him. You saw his gaze widen slightly, and you let out a small giggle at his reaction. 

Isaac smiled wider at the sound of your small laugh, his heart swelling with love, and he laughed a bit when he felt you tug at his own shirt. He leaned up from the headboard and shed his own shirt, your palms settling against his chest once the offending item of clothing was flung across the room. 

Isaac had a sly smile on his face, and before you could question him, you let out a small yelp as he used his werewolf strength and agility to put you on your back. He hovered over you before he drew you into a kiss that left you breathless. But it only lasted for a moment before Isaac trailed his lips down your jaw. He nipped and kissed at the skin of your neck before moving down your collarbone and towards your breasts. 

Isaac left teasing kisses in the valley of your chest as his hands moved from your sides and to the waistband of your sweatpants. 

He looked up at you, his breath fanning over the slightly wet skin of your chest. “Can I take these off baby?” 

You felt yourself melt at the softness of his tone and the pet name. “Yeah.” You gave him a gentle smile. 

Instead of responding, Isaac left a tender kiss next to where your heart was and slowly pulled down your sweatpants. As every new inch of you was exposed, Isaac kissed the skin as if it was fragile. You couldn’t help but the lump that grew in your throat at how tender Isaac was being. 

Isaac called your name again. He was looking down at you, chin no longer resting on your stomach. Isaac was hovering over you again, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You alright? We don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.” 

“M’fine.” 

“You sure?” 

You hesitated, biting your bottom lip. “Just-” You inhaled sharply. “I don’t know if this is going to be a one time thing.” 

Isaac shook his head. “Trust me, it isn’t for me. Is it for you?” He asked, nerves coloring his tone. 

“No!” You almost shouted before you cringed at your volume and cleared your throat. “No, I’ve been embarrassingly in love with you for a long time.” You admitted sheepishly. 

The grin that was on Isaac’s face was blinding. He kissed you hard before pulling back. “Thank god.” He breathed out, relieved. “I’ve felt the same way for a long time. Ever since I came back to Beacon.” 

You didn’t have any words to respond with, so you put your hands on his cheeks and kissed him, pouring all of the love and adoration you had for him over the years into it. Isaac couldn’t help but smile into the kiss before he deepened the kiss and blanketed your body with his, his bulge grinding against your clothed cunt. 

You moaned at the feeling of his denim-clad bulge brushing against your heated cunt, your underwear almost soaked through as the two of you made out. Isaac broke the kiss and eventually made his way back in between your legs, his heated stare directed at the wet patch in your panties. 

He threw your legs over your shoulder as his face drew closer to your cunt, leaving feather-light kisses on your inner thighs. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing in anticipation. Isaac started to kiss you lightly through the wet fabric, making you moan softly. 

“Shit, you’re so wet.” He breathed out before taking one of his hands and pulling your underwear to the side, exposing your soaked core to him. 

You could see the hunger in his eyes as he stared at your cunt. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.” Isaac praised, and you clenched at his words, biting your lip in hopes of keeping the whine that threatened to escape your mouth. 

Isaac couldn’t help but smirk at your reaction, but instead of teasing you, wanting to save it for next time, he leaned forward and pressed a sloppy kiss to your clit, and your hands went to fist at your comforter. 

A breathy moan left the confines of your throat, and Isaac licked a strip from your slit to your sensitive nub, collected the slick leaking from you, and swirled his warm tongue around your clit. He drew it into his mouth, sucking on it softly. 

One of your hands left the mattress to clutch at his hair, a low moan emanating from the boy in between your legs. The noise sends vibrations to your cunt and fills your veins with pleasure. Your cries and whines filled the room as Isaac ate you out like a man starved. You had barely registered that the bed was moving slightly due to Isaac rutting against the mattress and that he had ripped your panties off of you and completely dove into you, his tongue deep in you as he thumbed at your clit, wanting to wring out as much pleasure from you as possible. 

“Oh fu-uck.” Both of your hands were in his hair at this point. “Shit, Isaac.” You could barely form words between your moaning, the heat in your core building rapidly at his ministrations. 

Isaac smirked internally and moved his mouth to suck at your clit as he inserted a finger in you, the tugging at his hair and your moans spurring him on to try and make you cum. 

“Isaac.” You whined at the feeling of your cunt finally being filled. 

He quickly added a second finger, slowly thrusting in and out of your slick cunt. “Yeah, baby?” Isaac asked, pulling away for a moment, kissing your inner thigh, and tilting his head to look up at you. He could stare at your blissed-out face forever, it being the second most beautiful thing he’s ever seen from you (the first one being your smile). 

“I-i need to- fuck!” A choked moan leaves your lips as Isaac’s fingers brush against your g-spot. 

Isaac grinned. “Need what? You gotta tell me what you want sweetheart.” 

Through the haze of lust, you could hear the teasing tone of his words, but you didn’t care. “Please, let me cum.” 

“There you go, pretty girl.” Isaac began to pump his fingers harder, making sure to hit your g-spot with every thrust, and latched onto your swollen nub again. 

“Fuck!” You felt the knot in your core threatening to snap. You were practically writhing in your bed, sweat coating your body as Isaac continued to finger you. 

“I’m-I’m-” 

“Let go sweetheart.” Isaac mumbled into your folds before pressing hard against your g-spot and sucking your clit hard. 

The knot snapped, and a keening whine left your lips. Your warm walls clenched against Isaac’s fingers. His fingers slowed, working you through your orgasm until it subsided. He pulled his fingers out of you gently, mindful of your tender cunt. He peppered small kisses on your thighs, trailing up your body, waiting for you to come down from your intense high. 

You felt Isaac shift, resting next to you, and his hand brushed away the hairs that were stuck to your slightly damp forehead. You opened your eyes to find Isaac looking down at you with a gentle but shy smile on his face. 

You couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped your lips at how bashful Isaac was being and placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him down for a kiss, uncaring if you could taste yourself on him. 

Your lips melded with his, and you felt like you could kiss him forever; his lips were soft and warm against yours. Before you knew it, the kiss grew heated again. Isaac’s jeans were soon discarded, and his deep groans joined the chorus of moans that left you and filled your room as the two of you drew pleasure from each other.

Wolf whistles and clapping were your wake-up call the following day, your friends loitering outside of your room as they saw you and Isaac wrapped up in one another underneath your sheets. 

[here’s my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

[notsodailycake]

Ok, this was originally done as an apology for my angsty drabble about Shockwave controlling Prowl then straight up killing Jazz at the end lmao.

Now, with the added fic made from it, I feel like we fans will be needing some fluff, so i bestow yall with this little drabble.

This was based off of a little something that me and my sister have talked about few times. Laughter, and how much that can spiral out of control heh.

Hope this makes yall laugh as much as it made us while writing this (seriously, we ended up going on our own spiral of laughter while trying to get the ideas out to write).

To give the very deserved credits to my sister @saltynsassy31 who wrote down some of the parts of this fic herself, so give your praises to her as well for it!

Mecha pilot au belongs to @keferon

Now onto the fic:

------

"Human laughter scares me"

It had been a normal and quiet afternoon, how did it escalate to this?! That's all Prowl could think of when trying to rationalise this situation, currently holding a wheezing human on his palm.

...

Jazz was out of his suit, needing a break, by Prowl's insistance, to eat something. Despite not being an organic himself, he seems the one most concerned about the condition of his partner. Humans were so fragile, yet somehow very much not, it baffled the mech.

So many things worked against the survival of a human, their own bodies sometimes, the more he learned about it, yet somehow they prevailed.

But he was not about to take any chances, so, in turn, he made sure Jazz would be taken care properly, if not by himself, then by Prowl.

Jazz was sitting down on Prowl's desk, just telling a story from his home planet while the mech listened, the little human insisting that if he needed a break, so did Prowl, and his leader was not opposed to the idea.

As he went on about a random story of his childhood, the human seemed to remember something branching from that train of thought and when he tried to get to the point of the story, something odd happaned.

He snorted a little. That, Prowl has seen the human do a few times, even heard him do this strange noise when he was just seen as the mecha suit itself. He learned quickly that was simply how humans sometimes held their laughter, to try and compose themselves.

But that only seemed to be the start of it. As little by little, Jazz struggled to utter out a single word as he snorted and wheezed slightly the at words.

"Did you- heheh- Did you- Hahaha-"

And as Jazz attempted to say whatever it was he wanted to say, it was as if his body refused and rejected the word, air being sucked in hard with a wheeze before being pushed out even harder that it made a gutteral noise rip out of the human's throat. And if Prowl thought that was all he needed to push out the words he wanted, he was sorely mistaken, as this was only the start.

Jazz suddenly got up from his previous sitted position, wheezing a little as he lifted a trembling hand up to point at the mech, seeming to think that could help with his inability to speak out his thoughts. Instead that just caused him to let out a audial piercing screech. He moved his hands around more, trying to somehow convey whatever it was that caused this reaction, but the way they frantically moved did little to help and actually made whatever was happening to Jazz worse, if that was even possible.

And it was, because suddenly Jazz was clutching at his stomach and throwing himself backward as his voice became a cacophony of scratchy noises and incoherent mumbling, and what alarmed Prowl the most was how Jazz seemed to start getting dizzy and stumbling around, throwing one hand to try and catch anything as he stumbled forward but only swatted at air. Which, Prowl may add, seemed to be something that the human was struggling to take in.

And, if his memory serves him right, he needed that.

Quickly Prowl moved his servo over to Jazz, looming over him to catch him if he were to fall, or even just to serve as support. Jazz seemed to have taken on the offer, leaning a hand over the palm while his other hand clutched at his stomach.

That didn't last long though, as quickly as he made move to look at Prowl's servo, something clicked in his head, and quickly he stumbled back, letting out more uncomfortable and uncontrolled wheezed laughter.

Prowl got intensely more worried at his partner's condition, now deciding to call him out on it. "Jazz, what's wrong? Is everything alright??"

That seemed to have been the wrong move, as although the other had momentarily stopped to look at the mech with tear filled eyes and a strained smile, it quickly devolved to even more incomprehensible laughter and struggle to convey any words. Jazz tried his very best to form any words that would explain the situation, but it only came out as puffed wheezes following a rhythm that Prowl could only guess were the vowls of what he wanted to say, but he could distinguish none of them as he was not all that familiar with the language.

The human quickly fell to his knees, his hands clutched into fits as his knuckles turned white from the pressure and he slammed them on the desk's surface, as yet another strange attempt to bring air into his lungs.

Before Prowl could try and resson any sort of an appropriate action to this, Jazz let out a scream. Much less screechy than before, and much more like a war cry. Prowl wouldn't be surprised if somebot came in questioning what all the commotion was for.

"Jazz!!" Prowl called out exasperated and yet again, that was another wrong move, causing the human to start rolling on the surface of the table as maniacal laughter dripped from his intake, hands flailing around and slamming hard against the table as if that would somehow force his body to breath properly.

Jazz began to stutter, and sometimes his mouth would stay open yet not a single noise would cone out of it, neither did he seem to be taking in or exhaling any air, like he was frozen in the moment before an audial peircing noise ripped from the human's throat after a big gasp of air.

He had flipped over to his side before trying to lift himself up, body trembling with strain, before he suddenly dropped his head and slammed his forehead against the table and reached to place his hands over right behind his audials ears and shakily exclaim "it hurts!" While still smiling. It sent Prowl mixed signals.

The mech sat there in abstant horror as he processed what was being desplayed infront of him. In delayed reaction, Prowl could only mutter one word.

"What?"

And for the third time that was, once again, the wrong  reaction as Jazz let out a howling screech at that with more breathless laughter.

Prowl was left clueless as to what he should try and do to help his partner, simply reaching out and gently picking up the tiny, breathless  human to see if he could do something to ease the possible pain.

He moved his cupped servo close to his face to try and analyse Jazz's condition. Maybe he should take him to one of the medics who had been helping them so far with organic knowledge, but as far as he knew, this wasn't supposed to be harmful, it was simple human laughter! To express joy or humour to something, and clearly there was a lot of it to cause Jazz to get like this. But he was clearly struggling to breath with this, so it has to be something serious.

Could humans die from something as simple and supposedly joyful as laughter?

Before Prowl could open his intake, Jazz had seemed to have sensed his partner's internal struggle and need to understand it, and quickly placed a tiny hand on his dermas. Although it might have been quite aggressive, and hurt the regular human with its strength, it felt nothing but a pinch to Prowl.

"Don't-" he wheezed out, barely audible to Prowl, the second word lost to another wheezed breath, mouth only mimicking the movement it was supposed to take. Though, this time, the mech understood quite well what he ment.

So he did as instructed, and didn't utter a single word, hoping his optics did the job to deliver his thoughts.

That was the fouth time, and counting, the mech did something wrong, because it seems like his worried glance were funny to the little human. That his concerns for his health were humorous to him. And honestly, Prowl wasn't sure if he should take offence to that or not.

At this point, Prowl could do nothing else other than to sit there, dumbfounded, which was not a situation he felt pleased being in (and didn’t find himself often in, until this human came crashing into his life), as his partner laughed off uncontrollably, slamming his hands over his own knees, or sometimes at the palm of the servo holding him, while clutching his stomach in what seemed to be strained pain.

Prowl made move to get up now, thoroughly done with this and ready to deliver the troubled human to a medic. He was losing too much air at this point and it could very much fatal.

But just as he did, before he could even fully stand from his seat, the mech caught a glance over to Jazz who, despite his struggles with breathing at the moment, waved over an arm in signal for Prowl to stop moving. Prowl raised a questioning brow, which was the fifth wrong move (he might as well just assume everything he does that expresses concern will be a wrong move at this point), as Jazz quickly fell into more laugher, but the exhaustion was clear to any bot as he gasped far more aggressively for air in attempt to stop his uncontrolled laugh.

"Sit." He breathed out, gagging a little at the word before attempting to speak once more. "Don't- haha- move." After more strained giggles, he uttered one more word he deemed necessary; "please."

So Prowl sat down, and watched as Jazz let out whatever was left in his system. To his relief, it seemed like that had been the first correct move Prowl has done over the past joor, as Jazz was finally starting to calm down, fallen flat on his back by now, as he let out exhausted breaths.

It was quiet for a moment, Prowl wasn't sure how long, but slowly Jazz started to move himself from his fallen position to sit back up, using trembling hands to hold himself from the back. It took a little more of breathing before the human decided to speak again, hesitantly, as if to test for himself if it was safe to speak.

"S-sorry about....that"

Prowl was unsure if he should speak up himself, but deemed appropriate enough by now. "Care to....explain, all of that?"

Jazz let out another snort at that, which caused the mech to panic that he might have caused the human to spiral down once more. But he just shook his head while bitting down on his bottom lip, as if to hold his smile from growing.

"I just....lost control."

"Lost control?" Prowl raised a questioning brow, Jazz just kept looking away as if he knew just looking at the mech would cause trouble once more.

"Y-yeah."

Prowl had so many questions about how that was even possible, one such question being whether there could be a system override for such an occasion, but his processor quickly screamed back in reminder that that was not possible.

They sat in silence once more as Jazz caught up with all the air he missed out during his fit, and Prowl contemplated on what or if  he should ask something. Finally, after maybe a klik or so, Prowl finally inquired on something.

"Jazz, you looked like you were about to die-"

"Sure felt like it" the human chuckled, Prowl did not find humour on that.

"I'm serious Jazz, could such a simple thing as laughter really kill you?" The most demanding question on his processors, slipping out without a second to stop it. That seemed to have caught his partner off guard, and, thank Primus, such concern was not left for the human's humour as he looked genuinely guilty and possibly conflicted over the question.

"Weeellll..." As he made move to rotate one of his hands, as if to try and roll out a proper answer, the answer itself seemed to click for Prowl.

"Oh my Primus it can." The mech looked utterly horrified at the revelation. "You could have died Jazz-"

"NO! Wait Prowl, stop!" Jazz panicked, quickly trying to console his giant partner. "I would have been fine! It would take alot more to kill me!" That did not seem to comfort the mech.

"How much?!"

"Uhm, ok, 'm honestly not sure." Prowl raised his brows, looking very much not pleased with that answer, but Jazz continued before Prowl could, "but I know that worse case scenario I would've just passed out, but would be able to breath normally again. You'd just have to wait till I woke up again!"

The mech seemed to contemplate whether that was a satisfactory answer or not. He seemed to have landed in the middle.

"You seemed to be in genuine pain though, so pardon my concerns about it."

"'S cuz I was."

"Then why didn't you stop?"

"I just couldn't, 'nd I don't have the answer as to why honestly, so sorry to disappoint. Sometimes we humans just start laughing and it gets out of control, to the point where everything's funny, even a pencil drop could cause the spiral to worsen."

"Or a concerned partner's face?" Prowl mused

Jazz chuckled, "yeah."

After a few seconds, Prowl decided to muse a bit on something. "So, what was it that you wanted to try and tell me earlier?" He smirked down at his partner.

The human just shook his head, chuckling slightly, but not falling down exasperated laughter. "I'm not even gonna try that again."

-----

Final notes. I added a little moment of Jazz pressing the back area of the ears, idk what they're called, while exclaiming he's hurt, and it's from my own personal experience of laughing so much that area would start to hurt from smiling so much, and I'd have to scream out "it hurts!" To try and stop it.

Not sure if anyone else experienced that, so yeah. Either way, thought it be funny to have this happen with Jazz, as I dont think cybertronians can necessarily go through the same issue of laughing so much in insanity because of lack of air. And also, yeah, it can be deadly, but it would take alot for that...as far as I know-

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

this is a lil part two for this lil request fic i wrote about katsuki takin' care of a drunk reader ! yall rlly seemed to like it n asked for a part two so, here it is !! hope yall enjoy !

no pronouns mentioned, just pure fluffy katsu, microscopic angst maybe kinda and if you squint HARD (reader gets a little bit upset), soft katsu but he's also an asshat but we love him anyways, mentions of food n eating, mentions of bein drunk, lemme know if i missed sum else !

"ya told me you loved me yesterday."

it's all katsuki utters in the quiet of your apartment as he looks out the window.

you promptly choke on your toast.

you manage to cough down your bread. clearing your throat as you try to speak as naturally as possible. “oh yeah ?”

katsuki grunts in response, taking a sip of his orange juice and smacking his lips before speaking again. still looking at the window and away from you, it makes you nervous. “yeah, thanked me for always takin care of ya, r’something”

katsuki is trying his very hardest to speak casually and he’s praying to every god there is you can’t hear the slight quiver in his voice or see the slight shakiness of his hand when he brings the glass of juice to his lip.

“oh.” your heart beats so loud you can hear it in your ears. you try to salvage the situation and you force out an awkward laugh. “ i mean—i am thankful to you, y’know.”

“ya should be, nobody else could handle takin’ care of your ass.”

“hey !”

you think this is fine. you were drunk and stupid and you’re fine with him brushing off your accidental confession like this if it means it won’t make things awkward. if it means he’ll keep coming over to your house like he owns the place and cook for you because you apparently don’t know how to cook for yourself well enough for his liking. as long as you can keep hanging out with him and going out for drinks and having him take care of you. though, you might not drink as much next time you two go out.

after a minute or two he speaks again “did you mean it ?”

your hand is already reaching for his half bitten piece of toast when you freeze for the second time “did i mean what ?”

katsuki scoffs, smacking your hand away from his toast with two fingers, you let out a little whine “ i know you’re not dumb, so quit actin’ like you are.”

“but i don’t know what you mean !” you inwardly cringe at your dumb response.

“when you said you—“ katsuki cuts himself off with a quiet groan, grabbing his toast and splitting it in half, chucking one of the pieces onto your plate “whatever” he mutters to himself. your heart squeezes when you see the sad frown on his pretty face he doesn’t seem to realize he has.

you don’t know if you’ve still got alcohol in your system, you don’t know if you’ve fully slept it off yet, if you’re fearless or crazy or just plain stupid, but after taking a bite of the toast he’d given you you blurt out something you were sure you would’ve only had the courage to say if you were black out drunk.

“i did.”

katsuki turns to you the moment you finish your sentence, bright red eyes widened as he tries not to let his surprise show, he fails to though. “ you did what ?”

in the back of your mind you want to pout at him because you know he knows what you mean. you know he just wants to hear you say what he wants to hear and it makes you a little grumpy because it’s early in the morning and you don’t look your best at all right now. you’re too embarrassed to even look him in the eye yet his bore into you so hard it feels like a magnetic pull, like you’re being forced to look at him despite your best efforts not to. you want to be at least a little mad but you can’t blame him, you feel like you owe this to him in a way.

“ i did mean it..when i said..” you’re incapable of looking at him as you feel shame creep onto you, clinging onto you like a sweaty shirt, you manage to swallow down the piece of toast“ when i said that.” you trail off quietly.

no sound is made and no voice is heard for at least a minute, but you feel yourself wanting to cry more and more with each second that passes.

you get the courage to look up at him and instantaneously which you never had when you see a smirk on his annoying face.

“that ? that, what ?” he jeers with a grin bordering on evil, sharp teeth on display.

you throw your head back and groan “katsuki, oh my god !” leaning forward across your table you try to pull his nose after you hear him chuckling. he swiftly dodges you, grabbing your wrist and then your other one when you try to pull a fast one on him, unsuccessfully. you grumble as you sit back down and if you weren’t as enamored with him as you somehow ended up being you’d have knocked that stupid smirk off his face. everything seems to be against you, including your heart.

he hums once you’ve sat back down “ooh, you mean when you told me you loved me, right ? s’that what you meant ?” he snickers, shit eating grin on his face. asshole, he’s not even trying to look innocent.

“you’re not funny.” you huff, crossing your arms and glaring at him. “ like, at all.”

“you’re right, i’m not.” he responds, leaning his forearms against your table “ i’m hilarious, actually.”

a part of you wishes you could punch him. hard. another louder part of you just wants to kiss his smug expression off his face, both options sound extremely tempting but one of them more than the other.

“hilariously stupid.” not your best retort, but you’ll take it. katsuki huffs out a laugh as you pout and look off to the side, you’re so fucking cute.

his smirk doesn’t fade as he keeps staring at you but his eyes soften as he leans in to rip your arms away from your chest “ relax, m’just fuckin’ witcha.”

“yeah. haha. funny.” you spit. katsuki starts getting actually worried he’d hurt your feelings and quickly tries redeeming himself. he pokes at your cheek once, twice and you swat his hand away when he goes for a third poke. then he leans forward so he can tickle your side and inwardly sighs in relief when you swat at his hand trying to hold back your laughter. the way he’s leaning against the table is a bit uncomfortable for him but as long as he keeps that warmth on your face he couldn’t care less.

he gets up and grabs his chair, dragging it against the floor causing it to squeak and making you cringe, you let out a noise of displeasure but katsuki doesn't look the least bit phased as he bring his chair to sit next to you.

his cheeks are red, you realize it now that he's sitting so much closer to you. he speaks after a moment of silence "so you meant it, yeah ? when you told me you.." he trails off at the end of his sentence. he's quieter than you're used to. there's a certain hopeful urgency in his eyes that has you shyly nodding your head in response.

he’s looking at you and you’re looking right back

“i meant it.” you whisper.

“i know.” he whispers back after a beat, before pressing his lips to yours.

the kiss lasts about 10 seconds before he pulls away, then leans in again for another, slightly longer one. when you separate your breathing a little heavy. you place your hand on his face and rub his cheek, admiring the way his eyelashes flutter slightly and how the feeling causes shivers to run up his spine. you can't help the goofy smile that pulls at your face and neither can he, you both chuckle slightly.

then you take a breath as if contemplating if what you were about to say was worth it. but katsuki knows you don't care and he's right because you say it anyway.

"we should go out for drinks to celebrate !" you giggle. he playfully rolls his eyes, pinching your side making you let out a squeal.

even though you call it a celebration katsuki knows it'll be the same charade as usual. you'll drink until you pass out and he'll bring you home. he'll help you clean up and take you to bed and have breakfast made for your hungover ass in the morning. but this time, you'll be his. and to katsuki, that's worth so much more than the headache he knows you'll give him.

[ageofstarkey]

soft glow ✰ m. riddle

summary: sleepy mornings with matthéo

pairing: bf!matthéo x reader

warnings: slightly suggestive at the end, but nothing really other than that!! just tooth rotting fluff n théo who’s soft for u and no one else!! :’))

note: hi!! i’m not sure how i feel about this one but i still think it’s a lil tiny bit cute so i’m posting!! feel free to send in requests!!

masterlist

comments & reblogs are so appreciated! <3

✰ ✰ ✰

when you wake up, matthéo’s bedroom is warm with the soft glow of morning. golden rays of sunlight peek stubbornly through his drapes, and soft white noise filters steadily in through the window.

as you slowly come to, you begin to register the familiar sensation of matthéo’s touch. his calloused fingers glide almost curiously across your face; carefully tracing each curve and dip, as if to memorize your every detail.

with a soft hum, you finally blink open your eyes - squinting into the sunlight. you roll towards matthéo with a yawn, offering him a sleepy smile. “hi”

matthéo grins, smoothing a mess of tangled hair away from your face. “hi, darling.” his voice is raspy and painfully fond - and your heart aches pleasantly behind your ribcage. his hand slides casually to the back of your neck, and you quietly hope that your cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “how’d you sleep?”

“me? oh - i slept terribly” you’re aiming for deadpan in a desperate attempt to play it cool, but you wear a giddy little grin that almost certainly gives you away. “worst sleep of my life.”

“oh yeah?”

you nod with all the conviction you can muster - which admittedly isn’t much. “mhmm” with a little stretch, you’re leaning upwards to kiss his cheek. “you snore louder than my granddad.”

matthéo scoffs in mock offence, fingers poking teasingly at your side. “‘s that so?”

you nod once more, trying desperately to stifle a giggle. matthéo’s teasing is relentless, and you squirm clumsily away from his prodding fingers. in the end - it doesn’t take long for you to give in. “okay! okay - fine!” you laugh breathlessly. “you don’t snore and i had the best sleep of my life. is that what you wanted to hear?”

“yes actually. because you on the other hand - you do snore and it’s really quite loud - sort of like-”

“matthéo!” he’s being mean on purpose and you pretend to hate it. “i do not snore!”

“okay but how do you know you don’t snore, hm? i mean - if you’re asleep when it happens…” he tugs you towards his bare chest, one arm wrapped firmly around your back. “you wouldn’t really know, would you?” he punctuates his words with a soft kiss to your forehead, and you all but melt into his gentle embrace.

“i hate you.” with your face smushed against matthéo’s chest, your words come out awkward and muffled. “like - i really, really can’t stand you sometimes.”

he tugs you impossibly closer with a pleased laugh. “don’t lie, sweetheart”

“i’m not lying!”

he tilts your head upwards before slowly kissing your lips. you feel warm all over, and you chase him with a quiet whine when he pulls away. “if you really hate me, why were you screaming m-”

“you’re so awful!”

[hungharrington]

okay steve definitely wouldn’t care about body hair, but i just know that man goes feral over your freshly shaved, smoooooth legs

i took this to make him a sillay boyfriend 🫶 sorry if u wanted HAWTNESS this is just silly LUV…. forgive me

The sheets feel cool against your bare legs.

You can feel the scratch of your hair tucked against your neck but you’re too content, all but sinking into the mattress, to be bothered to move it. Your legs are tucked up, your arms splayed wide across the bed. You’ve just done the hard job of an everything-shower and lying down is your well-earned reward.

Across the room, Steve pulls the curtains to cover the window. Shadow falls across the room, banished after a moment when Steve pads to the bed, turning on the lamp. Amber coats the ceiling.

It’s balmy tonight. You feel warm without even being under the covers. Dozing off sounds like a pretty amazing idea right now.

“Not falling asleep with me, are ya?”

You smile at the sound of Steve’s voice, lifting your heavy eyelids to gaze at him.

He looks scruffy the same way he always does at the end of the day. His hair has lost some of its magnificent volume and he’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt from high school. You can see the beginnings of his five o’clock shadow on his jawline. He’s gorgeous.

And you’re the only one who gets to see him like this. The thought makes you smile wider.

“Mm,” you hum, definitely giving away your sleepiness. “Nope.”

A warm hand touches your knee, Steve’s hand reaching out and rubbing it tenderly. He tsks playfully. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby.”

You huff a quiet laugh and let your eyes fall back closed. Steve’s touch has always had a magnetic property, drawn to you whenever he’s near. It has a similar effect on your heart, which always feels like it’s surging forward in your chest to reach him.

The touch shifts, skimming down your shinbone. You expect him to maybe begin a half-hearted massage on your calves— he’s prone to giving them to you— but then, unexpectedly there’s another touch added to your legs.

You lift your head, peering down at him with squinted eyes. He’s crouched down beside the bed and he’s rubbing his cheek against the smooth skin of your legs.

When he knows he’s been spotted, he only grins, shifting his cheek again. “You’re so… smooooth.”

There’s definitely awe in his voice. You laugh, a real laugh this time, and shake your head. You should really stop being surprised when Steve’s a dork — he’s proven to be one time and time again. If you didn’t know different, you might assume this was his first ever relationship.

“Mhmm,” You hum. “That’s part of the appeal, handsome.”

Something glitters in Steve’s eyes at your pet name for him and his grin melts into something softer. His hand on your shin moves again, stroking softly up your calf. His face shows his bewilderment at your supremely smooth skin— and then betrays the look of mischief that crosses his face.

Your brows furrow instinctively. “Steve—” You warn.

He does it anyway, turning and licking one big stroke up your knee. You squeal, surprised at the sensation, and jerk your leg away from him.

“Steve!”

“What!” He mimics your tone, finally getting up onto the bed and crawling up to meet you. He’s smirking, looking terribly proud of himself. He plops himself down, half of his weight pressing into your shoulder as he nuzzles himself into your neck.

“S’just wanna a little taste, that a crime?”

His breath is hot and almost tickles against your neck. It’s impossible not to dissolve into quiet giggles, leaning into him. He snakes an arm around your waist, pulling the two of you closer.

“You’re a dork.”

You can feel the little puff of air he lets out in a laugh as well as the smile that spreads on his mouth. He pokes his tongue out, a minuscule touch against your neck that has you shrieking again— except this time, Steve’s holding you too tight to squirm away.

“Mmhm,” He says. “Your dork.”

You grin, turning to nose against his temple and make a noise of agreement. “Absolutely.”

[zeldalizzy]

If you’re still taking art requests and feel in the mood … maybe something you’ve been dying to try with your favorite LU character?

@stormysprite thank you so so so much for your ask!! likewise, i am SO sorry for not responding until now; life has been super hectic!!

So, if you've seen/heard of EPIC: The Musical, this is a shameless reference to Open Arms 😅 The first time i was introduced to EPIC was actually because someone said they head-cannoned Wars voice as Odysseus, and i listened and thought "oh my goodness this is so accurate!" so when i heard Open Arms, i immediately thought of Wars and Sky. So i guess this is something i have been dying to try, since i thought of it the first time i heard the song!

As for my favorite LU character, i love them all equally, and couldn't pick a favorite despite thinking about it for a looonngggg time lol.

So, I have Wars looking a little surprised here, and you can interpret it one of two ways:

1: Wars is startled because Sky comes up behind him and points out that he is tense (Wars just wasn't expecting it)

2: Sky actually bursts into song and Wars is just like 0_0

Anyway, i hope you like it!!! thank you so much for your ask and i am so sorry for getting it done so late!! i hope you have a wonderful new year!! 😊🩵

i just realized that @mercurymoths did something similar to this too! you can find the incredible art here!! ✨ lol when two ppl have the same idea randomly you know it's at least a little accurate, right? 😂

[koszmarnybudyn]

I finally did the trend

[bluewolfangel01]

Levi: "I don't understand why you like someone as pathetic as me, I'm not that good at anything other then being a nasty useless otaku, (insert more self degrading here)."

Mc: *blank faced, moving sneakily close to Levi and picks him up bridal style*

Mc: "Snake <3."

Levi: *Stunned silent, he doesn't move for a few moments, then his tail curls around Mc's leg, and leans into their touch.*

Levi: "Y-yeah...."

[historiawon]

WHILE THE IRON IS HOT

You, Rafayel's bodyguard, ask if you can commission him to sketch your next tattoo.

Based on this post. Can also be found on AO3 :)

Tags: gender neutral reader, getting closer (professionally as well as casually), reader is NOT an artist, rafayel is NOT a numbers guy, bickering, close proximity, lots of eye contact

Kindly read under the cut!

They say, ‘Strike when the iron is hot.’

The mantra repeats excessively in your mind as you watch over Rafayel, the person who employed you as his bodyguard. Because the current chances of Wanderers attacking the Mo Art Studio is low (never zero), you give your mind permission to wander. A little. Just a little.

Your mind wanders as far as a few weeks ago: the request at the tip of your tongue. That will later be inked to your skin.

As they say, ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’ You’re standing a few feet away from a brilliant artist. This is your chance.

You cough. “Excuse me.”  

“I have a name,” Rafayel says, as he brushes past you to rummage through his box of tools. He takes out a scraper.

“Right. Rafayel?”  

“What’s up?” He returns to his stool.

“I have a question, and please indulge me: what do you think about doing commissions?”

“Commissions?” Rafayel repeats, as he scrapes the dried pigment off the canvas. “Like, other people paying me to paint for them?”

“Yes.” 

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you for a split-second before returning his attention back on the painting. He calculates a precise location before scraping again. “In your dreams. I don’t paint for anyone. I don’t even speed up my painting process for Thomas, even if he asked.”

“Even if it will earn you extra income?”

“And extra work! I already work hard enough to finish original pieces as they are.”

You nod and remember the instances of him submitting a painting late. “True. I suppose that your original works already earn enough to support you. . . and Thomas, ‘cause you pay him,” and me, as your bodyguard, you add as an afterthought. Wait, does he even pay me?

(You make a mental note to clarify that later; you have a more pressing concern right now.)

Slowly, Rafayel puts down his scraper and turns towards you. “You want me to paint something for you, is that it?”

“Hm.” You try to be vague. “No, I was just curious.”

“No, you’re not ‘just curious.’ There’s a follow-up question to it; I know.”

Silence hangs in the air as the two of you exchange a prolonged and loaded eye contact. Your breath hitches at the full attention. His pupils glance at your throat before looking back at your eyes.

Y/N, I know, his gaze seems to say.

Your steady look asks: You know?

With a nod, Rafayel’s expectant gaze answers, Try me.

We’re going off topic, Rafayel.  

“Ha! You blinked first!” He exclaims in victory then raises a hand as if to stop you from opening your mouth. “Yes, Y/N, I know a staring contest wasn’t what we were doing. But I know you have a follow-up question.”

“I do, but I was planning to take this slow. I know we have…” you gesture to the space between the two of you, “professional boundaries. I’m not in the position to ask for commission requests yet. It’s not even open.”

“So considerate,” Rafayel teases, but his gaze on you softens. “That’s cute.”

“Still, right?”

His ears flush pink, like he can’t believe what just happened. In a snap, he changes back to his usual self and touches his ear. “Just shoot your shot. Time will pass whether you ask me now or later.”

“My follow-up question was about if I can avail your services for an art commission. You can just draw; no colors. I’ll pay. What’s your price?”

“Assuring me straight up that you’ll pay? I like that in a customer!”

“We’re going off topic, Rafayel.”  

“Hey! What’s with the accusatory tone?” He says as he rubs his ears. The pink turns to red. “You’re no different. You went on a roundabout way just to ask me for a piece! You can just say,” he straightens his posture—highly reminiscent of your current posture that was earned from your job as a hunter—and imitates your tone, “‘Hey, Raf, can you make this for me? I’ll pay!’ Simple. Done.”

You break character and scoff. He chuckles at your reaction.

“Yes, but that was more of an opening rather than ‘off-topic.’ I’d rather know if you accept commissions or not before I ask you.”

“Why?”

“It’s polite.”

You bite back a grin when he makes a face. He apparently notices the way you hold back a smile—he glances at your mouth once and his ears turn red. Again. Redder than that dried pigment he’s been scraping off. “Whatever. I can be polite.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t.”

“It was implied,” he whined.

You adjust your expression back to a more neutral and respectful one to stay on track of the topic.

“So, how much will a sketch cost?”

“Hmm,” he looks at the ceiling and puts a finger under his jaw, which stains his skin with color. He seems too used to it to bother reacting. “Given that I’ve earned my spot in the industry, it would be, I don’t know. . . a lot?”

“Right. Do you have an exact amount?”

“Oh, cutie, I gotta be honest with you…” Eyes on the canvas, Rafayel scrunches his face with some hard-to-decipher smile. He picks up his scraper and scrapes off a small piece of dried pigment in the corner of the piece. A huge chunk of dried powder falls out. Yikes. “I don’t really know much about the numbers aspect. Will you bother Thomas with a hypothetical question? Don’t tell him I’m considering to give you a commission! I don’t wanna deal with his lectures.”

You make a mental note.

“Sure. I will do that. Do you want me to pay you directly? Since I imagine the price will be a lot, I can pay you in installments, if you accept.”

“Wow,” he drawls, tone impressed, “You thought this through.”

“Mm. I’m serious about this.”

Rafayel’s adam’s apple moves as he fixes his gaze at the canvas with intensity. “I’ll decide depending on the drawing. What do you want me to sketch?”

You imagine your budget, yet again. “Depends on the price.”

“Y/N,” he drawls. “We’re going in circles! Off-topic!”

“I was hoping you would sketch a tattoo for me.”

At that, Rafayel whips his head towards you so fast. The crack of his neck is loud enough for you to feel bad.

“What?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“Is your neck OK—”

“For—forget my neck. Off-topic,” he repeats, with his eyes almost teary on you. “Repeat what you said.”

“A tattoo. Just a small one. Under my ear.” At his stunned silence, you continue, “Well, it’s not every day that I can talk to a talented artist. I’m taking my chances and I’ll pay you, I promise. If I’m unable to pay it in full, then you can take money off my sala—”

“You—you want me to draw a tattoo?”

“Yes. For me.”

“I’ll draw it? Are you sure?” he almost chokes on his words.

“Yes, it would be an honor.”

“’An honor’—oh my god. No, it would be an honor to me. Not to you, to me.” Rafayel fans himself with his collar. “Wha—what—what kind of tattoo?”

“I was thinking of a sunset.” You feel a little unprepared at Rafayel’s reaction. His eyes are wide and mouth agape. No amount of spotlight could top the nerve-wracking feeling of someone’s full attention on you. “Like… I don’t know how that would look good, but… preferably, uh, you know those sketches that are made in a continuous line? Like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Does that look good? Any professional, artistic opinion?”

“Whatever you want,” his voice cracks again. You wince. “It’s a tattoo, silly. It’s supposed to be personal.”

“The mere subject is personal. I don’t mind much about the artistic style it takes to get inked on me, as long as it fits the way I look.”

“On your neck, huh…” he mutters. “I’ll help. Let’s make it perfect.”

A pause. Rafayel stands up from his stool and tears off a piece of paper from a sketchbook. “Uh, you might want to sketch what was in your mind. Then I will modify it, if you’re unsatisfied with what you made.”

“I just said I don’t mind ab—”

“A tattoo is personal. You should draw and I’ll check.”

You wave your hands away from the paper. “Ah, no! I already tried. I’m bad at drawing. That is why I need your help.”

Rafayel avoids your gaze and leaves the paper on the stool. “OK, um, I’ll be back. Let me wash my hands first—”

“You don’t have to do it now—” you say, but the man is already brushing past you to wash his pigment-stained hands (and face). He belatedly locks the bathroom door behind him, and you can hear muffled screams from where you are standing.

What’s up with him? You wonder. Is this what happens when you strike a hot iron? You didn’t think you would go this far.

_

Rafayel returns as if you didn’t hear his muffled screaming. “Who’s gonna do your tattoo?”

“I found a tattoo shop at Linkon city. They said we’re allowed to bring designs of our own.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and crosses his arms. “And you think they can imitate my genius?”

“I hope they can,” you indulge him a compliment. His ears flush pink—you can see it with the short distance between the two of you.

“How much is it?” You ask again. “Hey, does asking for your opinion have a price?”

“Geez. Why do you keep asking me about money and prices? I literally said I’m not a numbers guy. Don’t go back to the circle, Y/N.” He widens his eyes at you.

“I don’t know; you might be similar to a legal counselor. Don’t they charge clients per session?”

“We’re going off-topic, Y/N,” he says in exasperation. “I don’t know about other artists, but I’m not charging you for asking. Actually, you know what? Pay me with a favor instead. Don’t ask Thomas about a price! You’re commissioning me with a favor!”

The mental note in your head falls down like a ripped-out post-it. “Oh, OK! Thanks?”

“And no, my opinion is for free. You might never ask me for it again if I said it costs something.”

You shrug. “Possibly.”

“So let’s—” Rafayel looks around the room. “Sit down. Your legs must ache from standing all afternoon.”

You sit down on the couch he gestures to. It’s a little relieving on the leg area. Meanwhile, Rafayel tugs his collar with a nervous swallow as he sits next to you. In his hands are two pencils and an eraser shaped like an octopus.

“So, sunset?” He asks awkwardly.

You look at his eyes and smile. “Yes. Sunset.”

“OK. Sunset.”

“Uh-huh. Sunset. Should I get the paper you ripped earlier? And the sketchbook so it can be on top of something?” You say with hands already outstretched.

“So chivalrous,” he teases, but the frown on his face makes the teasing come off as awkward. You playfully scoff to avoid embarrassing him. “Yes. Please start.”

With the paper and sketchbook on your lap, you draw the first line.

The second. The third.

Then regret it.

“Yikes.”

“Hm?”

When you look at Rafayel, he no longer looks flustered. Replacing his awkward eyes is an intense, focused gaze. You instinctively cover the “drawing” with your palm, but Rafayel’s warm fingers pulls it back.

“This will be my tattoo.” You try to avoid feeling awkward.

He studies the drawing for a few beats. Then intently at your neck.

“Press your ear like this. I want to see the space where this will go.”

Awkwardly, you turn your head and press your ear forward to fold it.

“Is it this ear?”

“Yes.”

“Portrait?”

“Yes, portrait. I want it to be visible.”

You hold the pose for a few more seconds. Rafayel’s silence is making you feel more and more flustered. He exhales, mind in mid-thought.

“What do you think? As an artist?”

“I won’t answer that,” he says earnestly, “but do you want me to change it?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I mean, that’s what the entire conversation earlier was about, anyway. A talented artist to draw my tattoo. Hopefully.”

“I’ll make a few suggestions.”

Rafayel does not take the paper on the sketchbook away from your lap. Instead, he uses the second pencil and draws on it.

This is weird.

The warmness that radiates from him—from his close proximity with you—feels quite comforting. You suddenly remember the mattress of the bed when you used to live with Grandma. It just… it felt nice. You feel your upper body lose its tension.

Plus, you can see the violet strands of his hair up close. It’s a pretty color. Maybe violet will be your favorite color, from now on.

“Here, check this out—”

You snap out of your thoughts, but you do not make it obvious.

Rafayel created two sample tattoos, following at least two of the three lines you drew. It seems like the base for his modification drawings.

“What do you think?”

Your heart starts thumping in your chest like a lion in its cage. There’s a… there’s a rush of excitement in your stomach and in your throat. This is pretty. This is genius. Rafayel is able to turn something amateur into something great and you can’t help but be amazed. “That’s infinitely better, wow!”

“Are you sure? We can do better than that. I mean, this one’s stroke is out of line…”

“Sure, but these are pretty as they are! I must owe you a huge favor for this ‘commission,’ right?”

Something changes in Rafayel’s eyes. He looks a little sheepish. “Actually.”

“Yes?”

“I know what favor to ask of you now.”

“Tell me. Strike while the iron’s hot,” strike while we’re on the topic!

“How open are you to having me as your tattoo artist?”

[erroryeswifi]

Smallarry doodle dump!

[jaybejaybenotsstuff]

[please insert their conversation in the comments]

[chilschuck]

hi there!!! I love your blog!!! I know you’re mainly a Chilchuck girlie, but I saw that you occasionally do Laios headcanons/drabbles, and I’m a massive Laios simp. if you have the time and inclination, would you maybe write about Laios realizing he’s falling for a reader who is also autistic like he is? and they’re both so in love with each other, but they don’t realize it bc they’re both idiots, so the party has to set them up lmao

OBLIVIOUS (IN MY LOVE FOR YOU).

꒰ warnings: ꒱ mutual pining, hopelessly in love silly guys, gn!reader. sfw as always!

꒰ wc: ꒱ 1.3k

✦ i hope this turned out how you wanted it!!! i felt bad that i’ve been doing so much chil and nothing for the others, so i was happy that you sent this request!! i’m not sure how to feel about this, but i’m happy to get something out for you!!! <333 honestly i’m worried this turned out badly, but alas, i feel that way about everything asdfdhgjhk. enjoy lovely!!!!

It was more than obvious to anyone but the two of you, much to the party’s displeasure. The mutual pining between you had been a constant back and forth for what felt like ages, and it was almost humorous how in denial it seemed you were.

Laios always spent time chatting with you before bed, his soft voice carrying so much warmth. You always noted how fuzzy your head felt whenever he’d talk about something he was especially interested in. It was almost heartbreaking to part with him to finally rest, longing to continue the conversation for as long as you could.

Little did the two of you know that the rest of the party had their eyes on you, tired sighs leaving each of them. This was every night now, and the fact neither of you were making an effort to come to terms and admit what you were feeling was beginning to become tiresome.

Chilchuck huffed, head in the palm of his hand. “I can’t believe that this is still going on. I’m tired of it.”

Marcille tutted, but the frustration at both of your ignorances was seeping through. “There’s got to be something we can do. They’re obviously so in love with each other...”

And right she was, with how absolutely enamored Laios had become. He’d never felt this way about anyone, the feeling seeping into his bones slowly but surely. With every smile you gave him, words of encouragement, or even reassuring touches, you made yourself at home in his mind and heart. Laios was content with just the whispered conversations and adventures together, not quite piecing together the entire situation just yet.

Marcille was not so sure that was something to be content with. Izutsumi was also getting fed up with the constant beating around the bush, and Chilchuck was sick and tired of watching this ordeal occur. The three of them had decided that enough was enough, and through gossip-like whispers, they decided on a course of action.

“I’ll try and talk to Laios,” Chilchuck settled, although he wasn’t entirely happy with the idea of helping an inner party relationship unfold. It was even harder to watch the two of you continuously pine after each other blindly, so he chose what he believed was the lesser of two evils. “You two convince you-know-who to get some one on one time with him somehow.”

Marcille hummed, finger tapping her chin. “Maybe we could get Senshi to cook something up just for the two of them, get them on a date of some sort.”

Izutsumi flicked her tail in annoyance at this entire scenario, before giving her own opinion. “Let’s just get them stuck in a trap or something.” At that, the elf across from her shook her head adamantly.

“Although that might work another time, I think setting them up would work best. We’ll all conveniently go off somewhere and leave the two of them to talk it out. Somehow…”

Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to get the two of you alone together. Laios would explain something about a monster your party had encountered earlier, delighted at your interest in anything he had to say. Before he knew it, the rest of the party had excused themselves after dinner, leaving just you and him with a cooked meal and unsaid words hanging in the air.

Even earlier, Chilchuck had decided to try and drill it into Laios’ skull that perhaps coming to terms and admitting what he was feeling wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Grasping for straws, Laios tried to create excuses that what he felt for you was just that of a close friend. There was no way he was falling in love, right? Yet, the look Chilchuck had given him shut him up quickly.

“You think friends just look at each other with that lovesick face you’re always making? And it’s not exactly hard to see just how much you care about them. It’s actually pretty obvious.” The half-foot grit out, floored that Laios still hadn’t figured out just how deeply he had fallen.

Marcille and Izutsumi had a similar problem with you, finding that you were convinced what you felt was just that of a deep friendship, of course you weren’t actually absolutely smitten with the man. Giving each other a knowing look, Marcille continued her prodding.

“I think there’s more to this,” the way she said your name so softly held your attention. “You need to talk with him. Maybe talk through just what you’re feeling.”

So now, as you took another bite of your dinner, you tried to figure out just what you were feeling. Laios was doing the same, and the silence, which was never a problem before, now hung with tension.

Both of you tried to speak, before signaling the other to continue, before giving a light laugh at the awkwardness. It wasn’t that just being in each other’s company was the problem, but more so that there was so much left unsaid.

Laios ran his hand through his hair, giving you that tender smile you had come to love so much. “You first.”

Another laugh left you, before your current train of thought followed through your words. “So I was wondering… Have you ever been in love before, Laios?”

That caught him off guard, swallowing hard before thinking of the right thing to say. “Well… I, uh…” A beat of silence followed as you let him find his words. “I wasn’t sure before today. What about you?”

Trying not to get your hopes up, or have the flame within you extinguished so easily, you smiled. “Same here, actually. I think…” You trailed off, just staring at his rosy cheeks and intent gaze making your heartbeat a little faster. Setting your plate to the side, you bit your tongue for a moment. Talk through what you’re feeling… You can do that.

“I guess I didn’t really realize, but… Lately, I’ve been really eager to be around you.” Your voice tried to fight back the tremors rising within you. Before you could continue, Laios grabbed your hand and gave you that intent expression again.

“Me too! I mean, I always really enjoy our talks. I look forward to them a lot.” He spoke a tad out of breath, trying to reign in how he was feeling. Another beat of silence, followed by the clearing of his throat.

“I think I’m in love with you.” You both muttered at the same time, before the feeling of both shock and excitement coursed through you. There was… no possible way, right? But with that doting smile and lovesick gaze he was sending your way, you began to think he did feel the same.

“Thank the gods,” you whispered, a huff of relief leaving your lips. “I had to have Marcille and Izutsumi make me realize.”

Laios laughed, cheeks flushed with delight. “Yeah, Chilchuck definitely gave me a talking to. I think Senshi tried to help me realize, too. It was definitely interesting.”

Both of you shared light giggles before Laios gently pulled you into an embrace. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, nuzzling into his neck.

“Sorry it took me so long.” He whispered, inhaling deeply, the air leaving him in a content sigh. Your eyes fluttered shut, shaking your head slightly in reply. “No need. That’d mean I’d need to apologize too.”

You pressed sweet kisses to his cheek, to his nose, to his forehead. Laios beamed, intertwining your fingers as he spoke from the heart just what he had been trying to come to terms with. You did your best to do so, too.

Chilchuck, Marcille, Senshi, and Izutsumi all let out sounds of relief at watching the two of you around the corner. Getting both of you to finally realize the extent of your feelings was difficult, but oh so worth it in the end.

“Finally,” Chilchuck grumbled, before scratching the back of his neck. “That only took, what? Forever?”

Senshi grunted, trying to recall just how long it had been. Izutsumi even watched as Marcille rocked back and forth on her feet, a certain sparkle in her eye.

She’d have to get the two of you to be open more often.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune!! <33

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Roasted Marshmallows

"C'mon," Harry urged, pushing Draco through the door of a cottage that looked like it had seen better days. "It's freezing out here."

Draco allowed himself to be shoved through the door but paused the moment they were through to survey the absolute mess that had been left. "You've got to be joking." This day had gone from bad, to worse, to even worse.

"Look," Harry said as he shut the door behind him, "I know it's not ideal-"

"Not ideal?" Draco all but shrieked, he could feel his blood pressure rising, he was trying to remain calm, honestly he was. "It's horrible!" he exclaimed. "My mother's been attacked and is in Mungos as we speak, my apartment was ransacked with who knows how much damage done, it's three days from Christmas and I haven't gotten any of my shopping done, and now I'm here in this horrible little safe house until the bloody DMLE can catch whoever it is that's been trying to kill me!"

Harry winced, looking around uncertainly.

Draco deflated, "and I know none of this is your fault. I know you're trying to help me. I know you had to call in a few favors to be the auror assigned to watch me. And I appreciate that, I really do, but-"

"Listen," Harry said, his warm hands cupping Draco's shoulders, "I know the past 12 hours have been a lot. Why don't you take a bath? I brought some of that lavender bath salt that you like, I'll put on some music for you, and by the time you come out everything will be right as rain out here."

He pulled Harry in, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his head against Harry's neck, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, love," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Draco's temple.

---------

When Draco emerged from the bath, feeling practically like a new person, he found that Harry hadn't been kidding. The whole cottage had been set to right, the couches had been uprighted and repaired, the floors cleaned, walls scrubbed, a fire burned merrily in the fireplace.

The smell of homemade food drifted through the cottage, something warm and hearty by the smell of it and Draco followed the scent to the kitchen where Harry was pulling something out of the oven. "Hey, you," he said over his shoulder as he set the pan on the top of the stove. "I made us a shepherds pie."

His eyes started to sting and before he could fully process what was happening, Draco was crying.

"Hey," Harry said, immediately dropping the spoon he was using to start serving their dinner. "Hey," he pulled Draco into his arms, "Don't cry." His lips brushed over Draco's forehead, "don't cry love. Everything's going to be alright."

"You made shepherd's pie."

"Sorry!" he said quickly, "I can make something else. We don't-"

Draco couldn't help it, he just started to cry harder. "Stop. It's not that I don't want to eat your shepherd's pie. I'm just," he shrugged, "I don't deserve you."

"Don't be silly," Harry said, rubbing Draco's back and directing him to a chair. In a matter of moments there was a glass of red wine in front of him along with a healthy helping of shepherd's pie. Then Harry was sitting down beside him and bumping his knee against Draco's. "Eat," he said softly.

So Draco did.

Once they finished dinner, Harry shooed Draco from the kitchen, telling him that his book was on the table by the sofa. It wasn't long before the other man also emerged from the kitchen, carrying two mugs with what Draco felt quite certain was homemade hot cocoa.

He set them down but before Draco could reach for one, Harry handed him a roasting stick and held out a bag of marshmallows. "Whoever was here last left the bag in the cupboard," he said. "I thought they might be just the thing we needed to go with our hot chocolate on a day like today."

"Thank you," Draco whispered, too overwhelmed by all of the emotions that he'd been feeling to say much else.

"Don't mention it," Harry said, bumping his shoulder against Draco's as they moved to sit in front of the fire and toast their marshmallows.

He swallowed, "I meant it, what I said earlier."

Harry raised an eyebrow uncertainly.

"I really don't deserve you."

"Darling," Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You've had a terribly traumatic day. Making you some dinner and cleaning up the cottage was the absolute least I could do."

"But-"

"No, I mean it," Harry said, waving him off. "I have genuinely done the exact same thing for other people that are in the Ministry's safe houses."

"Oh," he said, brow furrowing.

"But," Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows at Draco, "What I have planned for you after hot chocolate is exclusively for you."

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. His day may not have started out terribly well, but it looked like it was going to end markedly better.

[stargirlygirl]

spider monkey

hanta sero x fem!reader⋆｡°✩— college!au (still have quirks), hanta wants to recreate the iconic spiderman kiss with you, fluff, 1.6k words

a/n: for you @bloomstream

With a jangle of your keys, the door to your shared apartment opens. It’s a day like any other. You finished all your classes around 3pm and headed to the library to watch a few missed lectures. Before returning home, you grabbed some takeout from your boyfriend’s favourite noodle place.

And as you step inside, the salty-sweet scent of tender beef stir-fried noodles and miso soup diffusing in the air, you gasp at the utter pigsty before you. Books and couch cushions are scattered about the floor, the coffee table has been propped up against a wall, and there are metres of tape hanging from the ceiling fan.

You mutter in shock, “Oh my god.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see a swathe of black hair and pale skin darting about. With a thud, Hanta lands in front of you in a low crouch.

Rising to his full height, he takes the takeout from your hands and exclaims, “Thanks, babe! Did you get-oh fuck yea!” He leans down and chastely kisses your cheek before heading into the kitchen. Your wide eyes are glued to how perfectly he avoids every obstacle on the floor as he digs through the bag.

You point around your living dishevelled room while stuttering, “U-uh, Hanta, honey. W-what’s going on?” He chuckles warmly as he drops the takeout on the bench and fetches some bowls and cutlery.

He shrugs, “Just testing out my skills, spider monkey.” You take tentative steps toward the kitchen, trying your best to dodge the mess. You’re almost there when you nearly trip on a particularly large cushion. You catch yourself at the last second before you can fall flat on your face (with your heavy-ass fugly backpack on too).

With lightning reflexes, your boyfriend is already next to you, prepared to catch you should you wobble. He steadies you by your forearms, his thin brows furrowed and his full lips slightly pouty.

Hanta asks worriedly, “Are you okay, babe?” You nod and hum reassuringly as you let him guide you to the kitchen unscathed. He squeezes your arm gently before letting go and returning to dishing out your dinner. You lean on the bench with your chest resting on your elbows as you ask him about his day.

Same old, same old. He remarks, “I was actually re-watching Spider-Man.”

You laugh, “Oh yea? How many times is that now? Like 50?” He pushes two bowls toward you, one with your favourite noodles and the other with your soup, and gestures for you to sit down.

The tongs clank beside the sink as he says defensively, “Yea, yea, well… How many times have you rewatched Twilight?” Your mouth falls open, and your hand stills, sauce-slick noodles slipping from your chopsticks.

“Hey!” You call out as he grins cockily and plops down beside you.

“Just saying it like how it is, MJ,” he taunts, his smirk widening as he slurps on miso.

You groan as you pick at your noodles like they have personally offended you, “Will you stop calling me that? My name isn’t MJ.” With a comical gulp, he stares at you for a moment, seeming to assess you in great detail.

Hanta’s slender fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingertips ghosting your jaw. He finally cups your chin and turns your face toward him, tired eyes roving over your features.

All the cheekiness is gone from his expression as he says seriously, “Is that a new pimple?” You push his hand off as he guffaws.

You groan, “Just shut up and eat your noodles, will you?” His palm slams on the table as he doubles over from laughter, earning an eye roll from you.

You stuff your mouth full of yummy goodness, ignoring his heart-warming chuckles, especially how they melt you from the inside out and take off the edge from a long day at college.

He breathes out, “I-it hurts.”

After swallowing, you lick your lips and frown, “Damn right it should.” You reach for a napkin, but your boyfriend beats you to it. He cups your cheek with one hand and pats your oily lips with the serviette in his other. In return, you thumb his under-eyes, catching all of his stray tears.

He pouts as you draw back, “I’m sorry, babe. I couldn’t resist.” You shake your head.

“I know.” Hanta places the dirty napkin on the bench and releases you, resigned to watch in contentment as you continue eating. After a minute, you gaze at him and see his lazy smile and fond eyes, his cheek squished by the palm he’s resting it on.

With a mouth half full, you say, “What?” He chuckles softly as he shakes his head and turns back to his meal.

He mutters, “Nothing.”

Gulping down your food, you whisper-yell, “Is my pimple really that bad?”

He groans, “No, spider-monkey. I was just admiring my super hot girlfriend, jeez.”

Dabbing your mouth dry, you giggle, “Oh, well then, why didn’t you say so?” He sighs before munching on his noodles. As per usual, he finishes before you and starts cleaning up.

While Hanta’s putting the leftovers in the fridge, he reassures you, “Don’t worry, babe. I’m gonna fix the living room. Right after we kiss.” You nearly choked on your soup.

Coughing a little, you stutter, “W-what?”

He spins around and grins at you confidently, “I saw it today. You know, the iconic kiss scene? I was thinking that we could recreate it.” He stalks over to you and leans against the bench, his arms crossed as he continues, “I mean, I am kinda like Spider-Man, and you’re my MJ.” You roll your eyes and finish off your soup.

You thank your boyfriend while handing him your bowl, and he starts washing the dishes. You take up your rightful place by his side, drying and putting the dishes away once they’ve been cleaned. The rubbery snaps of the gloves cut through the quiet apartment as he yanks them off. He then wraps a strong arm around your shoulders and carefully leads you back to the living room.

Stopping in the middle, he raises his hands, palms facing you as he instructs, “Just stay there, okay?”

You whine, “But Hantaaaa, I’m gonna taste like noodles!” He drops his hands, head cocking to the side as gives you the “Are you being serious right now?” look. You nod and scamper off to the bathroom. You swish around mouthwash and spit it out before running back to him.

You chime whilst your heart pounds in your chest, “Okay, your turn!” He groans like this is the worst possible thing that’s ever happened to him and drags his feet to the bathroom, muttering to himself about how you two kiss all the time with morning breath or after dessert.

When he comes back, there’s a spring in his step. He stops in the hallway and calls out to you to stay right where you are. You nod and obey, slapping your palms on your sides as you wait for him to do his thing.

In the blink of an eye, tape shoots past you as he flies in front of you. You watch in awe as he rapidly jumps around the room, his tape sticking to various objects like the half-emptied bookshelves and couch until he wraps it around the tape-saturated ceiling fan.

You squeal as he covers it in impossibly more tape, “Hanta! You’re gonna break it, oh my god!” Your boyfriend has that cheeky smirk plastered across his face as he lowers himself down to you from the fan, hanging upside down. Your jaw is slack as he dangles right in front of you, his lips perfectly aligned with yours.

He says cockily, “You have a knack for getting in trouble.”

You groan, “Ugghhh Hanta.” You’re tempted to shove him just to see him swing from the ceiling, but you think better of it as you hear your fan creak.

He chuckles, “Fine fine, c’mere, MJ, n’ gimme a kiss.”

Sighing, you grab the sides of his face and tenderly kiss him. His lips are so warm and soft against yours, making you smirk. You knew that chapstick you bought for him last week was so worth it. He grips your hips and tugs you closer to him, making you yelp into his mouth. He swallows the sound whole as you tilt your head, the wet sounds of your kisses filling the air.

Once the ceiling fan groans like it’s on its last straw, you pull back and gaze up at it with wide eyes before looking at your boyfriend.

“Hanta!” You shriek.

He laughs breathily, “I know, I know. ‘M getting down now.”

You two spend the rest of the night cleaning up your living room. Hanta insisted that you sit down and relax, and you tried to really, took a shower, did a face mask and everything. But your poor pookie desperately needed help with ordering his comics by universe and release date. And the entire time, he was yapping off your ear about how cool he is.

Despite your attempts to humble him, you can’t help the smile permanently tattooed across your lips every time you think about your kiss, and more importantly, your very cool boyfriend.

[junkuna]

°❀.ೃ࿔* ink me like one of your french girls - sukuna x reader

chapter 6 : saviour ˎˊ˗

─────────────────────

࿔ pairing - tattooartist!sukuna x tattooartist!fem!reader

I summary - mahito is here and he is a villain we dislike him, he is important ! ! just the usual banter but things start to get a little weirdddd with mahito

࿔ warnings - ok here we go, mahito being an asshole, as in making u uncomfortable while u tattoo him. mild violence, (pushing / shoving)

࿔ fic tags - they're both idiots so 0 communication, DEFO gets frustrating at times / shameless smut, mostly vanilla though for the chapters ive already written / megumi is ur apprentice which is cute / sukuna + yujir BROTHERS / mahito is an asshole, mentions of attempted sexual assault. / enemies (ish?) to lovers / trying 2 go 4 a slow burn but i fear it's not as slow as i wanted it to be. will add more as we progress probably be i suck at describing my work

࿔ wc - 4.5k

a/n - forgot 2 mention i’m making a few tweaks from the original version on ao3 to upload here, i wrote this when i was balls deep in exams and i defo rushed some things, so if u see some differences that’s why !!

— enjoy! reblogs r appreciated ty 4 all the luv <3

════════════════════════════

You woke up to the violent pounding of your own heart, your head stuffed full of cotton and regret.

Groaning, you flopped onto your side and squeezed your eyes shut against the cruel brightness leaking through the curtains. Your mouth felt like it had been stuffed with sandpaper. Every muscle in your body ached like you’d been trampled by a herd of elephants in steel-toed boots.

Never again, you thought bitterly, clutching the edge of the blanket like it might anchor you to the earth.

Your phone buzzed weakly on the nightstand. You cracked one eye open, grimacing as you fumbled for it.

No missed calls. No disasters. Just a reminder about your only client today—a small booking at noon. Praise be.

You sighed into your pillow, giving yourself exactly three more minutes of self-pity before you dragged your body upright. Every movement felt like a personal attack.

Shuffling into the kitchen, you went through the sacred hangover ritual: two painkillers, one giant glass of water, and the strongest coffee you could manage without your hands shaking too much.

The bitter taste slapped you awake a little. Just enough to stumble into the shower.

You let the water beat down on your head, trying to wash the nausea away, trying to scrub off the weird haze clinging to your memories of last night.

The bar. The drinks. The stupid giggling.

Yuji trying to say something and Sukuna cutting him off.

And—oh god—stumbling home with Sukuna, hanging off his arm like some drunk bimbo.

You squeezed shampoo into your palm with more force than necessary, scowling at yourself. It’s over. It’s fine. Move on.

By the time you stepped out and wrapped yourself in a towel, you felt slightly more human. Still gross. Still achy. But upright.

You padded back into your room, grabbing a loose tank top and your old low-rise jeans from the chair by your bed. As you pulled them on, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror.

Your fingers hovered over the hem of your tank top.

Lower back, just above your jeans—there it was.

The stupid serpent Sukuna had inked on you. You stared at it for a long moment, memories flickering.

And then you remembered something else—a flash of his arm under the porch light.

The little flower. Still there.

You dropped onto the edge of your bed, staring at nothing.

Wait… did I actually see it?

Or was I drunk out of my mind and imagining shit?

You tugged your fingers through your damp hair in frustration. Everything about last night was a blur, soaked in alcohol and bad decisions.

Maybe it was real.

Maybe you wanted it to be.

You shook your head violently, standing up so fast your vision swam.

“Whatever,” you muttered to yourself, grabbing your bag off the chair. “I’ll check next time I see him.”

You yanked on your sneakers, ignoring the faint twist in your stomach that had nothing to do with the hangover, and slung your bag over your shoulder.

There were clients to tattoo.

You didn’t have the luxury of a man to pay your bills.

And you certainly didn’t have time to be daydreaming about some stupid little flower on Sukuna’s stupidly muscular arm.

You stumbled downstairs to the shop, every step sending a dull throb through your skull. The familiar scent of disinfectant and ink filled your nose—comforting, grounding. It helped. A little.

You flipped the sign on the door to Open, moving slower than usual as you went about the motions of setting up your station. Wiping surfaces, double-checking your machine, laying out fresh needles even though you already did it yesterday.

Muscle memory carried you through it, your brain still stuck somewhere between your bed and the half-formed memories of last night.

You were bent over the counter, sorting through ink caps, when a sharp knock rattled the door.

You blinked, confused.

You weren’t expecting your client for another half hour.

Straightening, you wiped your hands on your jeans and went to unlock it. The door creaked open, and you found yourself face-to-face with a man standing awkwardly on the threshold.

Tall. Skinny. Maybe mid-twenties. His eyes were a little too wide, his smile a little too eager. He had long, light blue hair. And stitches all over his face that seemed to hold him together.

Ew…Why did he look so weird?

“Uh, hey,” he said, voice jittery. “I’m here for the appointment?”

“Oh. Mahito?”

“That’s me!”

You frowned. “You’re early. Your booking’s at noon.”

He shrugged, stepping inside anyway. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, bouncing as he moved. “Yeah, I figured better early than late, right?”

You bit back a sigh. The logical part of your brain agreed—it was better than a no-show—but your pounding head deeply resented his existence right now.

“Fine,” you muttered, locking the door behind him. “Let’s just get you set up.”

He beamed like you’d handed him a medal.

You led him toward your station, mentally crossing out the ten minutes you were planning to spend mainlining coffee in peace. Whatever. The sooner you started, the sooner you could send him on his merry way.

As he settled into the chair, you stole a glance at the design he’d sent over when he booked.

A snake coiled around a dagger. Classic. Nothing too complicated. Nothing you couldn’t hammer out even half-dead from a hangover. But it wasn’t really your style, made you wonder why he didn’t take this hellish design to the epitome of hell across the street.

Still, there was something about the guy that made the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. Maybe the way he kept tapping his foot. Maybe the way his eyes darted around the shop, like he was memorizing it. Maybe the weird too-long way he stared at your arms when you rolled up your sleeves.

You kept your head down, pretending not to notice, but the feeling crawled unpleasantly under your skin.

As you switched to a finer needle for the detail work, you broke the silence, letting your voice slice the tension in the room.

“You know,” you said, not looking up, “there’s a shop across the street that specializes in this kind of design. You probably would’ve been more at home there.”

The buzzing of your machine filled the room for a beat before he answered, you sit down at your station and begin sketching the stencil.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, his voice oddly light. “I know.”

You paused for half a second, glancing up at him under your lashes.

He was smiling again. That same stretched, too-wide smile. It was kinda gross, the way his stitches stretched taut over his cheeks.

You imagined what’d happen if they were to unravel, would he unravel?

“Just figured I’d come here,” he added, snapping you out of your thoughts. His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. “More interesting artists over here.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, wiping a line of ink clean with a firm hand.

“Right,” you said dryly. “Because that’s why you booked.”

He chuckled, the sound skittering unpleasantly down your spine.

“Can’t blame a guy for wanting a pretty girl to put her hands on him, right?”

You stiffened instinctively, your hand pausing mid-motion.

Then you forced yourself to keep moving, burying the twitch of discomfort under a layer of professional detachment.

“Yeah, I can,” you muttered, keeping your tone clipped.

You worked in silence for a few more moments, the machine’s hum filling the air. It was almost soothing, if only the client weren’t so… strange.

Finally, you broke the silence, leaning back slightly as you checked the stencil. “Alright, so where do you want it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. You glanced up, expecting him to point to his arm or leg, or maybe even his chest. Instead, his gaze flicked toward his lower back, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“V-line,” he said, his voice low.

Your brow furrowed. Lower back? You could feel your professional instincts kicking in, the slight flare of irritation tightening your jaw. That’s an odd choice, you thought.

You gave him a skeptical glance. “That’s a pretty personal spot, you sure?”

He met your eyes, his expression too calm, too satisfied. “Yeah. I like it there. Thought it’d look good, you know, a bit more private… more intimate.”

A chill skittered up your spine as the weight of his words hit you. You cleared your throat, trying to mask the creeping discomfort crawling up your neck.

“Don’t be weird about it,” you sighed, exhaling slowly as you grabbed a fresh sheet of tracing paper. “Okay then. If you’re sure.”

He gave you an almost imperceptible nod, his lips curling into that too-soft smile again. “I’m sure.”

The next few minutes were awkwardly quiet. You focused on your work, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air. The spot he’d chosen—right at the curve of his V-line—made you feel strangely exposed. Not in a physical way, but in the subtle, unsettling way he watched you. His eyes never quite left you as you worked, the silence hanging heavy between each slow motion of your hand.

When you finally got the stencil placed, you checked it once more. “Alright, all set. You ready?”

He nodded. “Ready.”

You gave the machine a final test run, the needle buzzing sharply. And then, with one last deep breath, you set to work.

The tattooing felt… different. Even though you were in your element, you couldn’t shake the weird, uncomfortable energy surrounding this guy. He shifted every few minutes, tapping his foot again, and occasionally muttering under his breath as if talking to himself. He kept looking down at you while you worked, his beady eyes drilling holes into the top of your head.

You were just about done with the shading when he suddenly spoke.

“You ever think about getting one there?” He gestured vaguely toward the area you were tattooing.

You glanced up at him, your eyes narrowing.

“What?” you asked, not sure you heard him right.

“A tattoo there,” he repeated, his grin widening. “I think it’d look good on you. You’ve got the right body for it.”

Your stomach churned, but you ignored the discomfort, instead focusing on keeping your hands steady.

“I already have a tattoo, i don’t want another,” you said shortly, your voice sharp enough to slice through the uncomfortable haze in the room.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the slight tilt of his head, the way his smile twitched wider.

“Yeah?” he said, voice dripping with false casualness. “Really?”

You didn’t look up. You concentrated harder on the curve of the design, tracing the needle exactly where it needed to go.

“Just shut up,” you muttered.

He laughed—low, almost mocking. “C’mon. Not like it’s a big deal. Show me.”

The needle buzzed harder under your hand as your grip tightened. You forced yourself to finish the last line with precision before you sat back and switched off the machine, your heart thudding with an ugly pulse behind your ribs.

“No,” you said flatly, meeting his eyes for the first time. “I’m here to work, not entertain you.”

He held your gaze for a beat too long, the amusement on his face fading into something harder to read.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t let the discomfort show even though you felt like punching something.

After a second, he clicked his tongue and looked away, stretching leisurely like he hadn’t just made your skin crawl.

“Alright, alright,” he said, too easily. “No need to be so uptight.”

You said nothing. Just grabbed the wrap and the ointment, brisk and efficient, wrapping the fresh ink as fast as you could without being careless.

You peeled off your gloves with a snap and turned toward the counter.

“Aftercare instructions are there,” you said, voice cold. “Follow them. Or don’t. Up to you.”

He gave a low chuckle as he slid off the chair and collected his jacket.

He gave a low chuckle as he slid off the chair and collected his jacket. The tension in your shoulders only slightly eased—until he straightened, turned back to you, and asked, voice smooth as oil:

“Mind if I get your number? So I can follow up on the next one.”

You paused, gloved hands resting on the counter. Without thinking much, you shook your head.

“No,” you said flatly. “Not interested.”

His smile vanished in an instant, replaced by a flash of something dark. He took a step toward you—too close—and his fingers brushed the edge of the counter with enough force that the bottles rattled.

“Come on,” he hissed. “Don’t be like that.”

You recoiled, heart pounding. “I said no,” you repeated, voice cold and steady.

His jaw clenched. His eyes hardened. “Don’t be a bitch, you’re not even that pretty. I’m doing you a fucking favour.”

Before you could react, he lashed out, shoving his hand against your chest with unsettling strength. You stumbled back, nearly tripping over your stool.

“Hey!” you snapped, winded but furious.

He ignored you and lunged forward, slamming his jacket against the wall and knocking a framed print to the floor. It shattered against the tile in a spray of glass and splintered wood.

“Don’t test me,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Anger flared through you, burning away your hangover haze. You grabbed your nearest tool—a small metal tube used for wrapping—and pressed it into his ribs, hard enough to make him grunt. He staggered, blinking, caught off-balance.

“Get the hell out,” you ordered, your tone deadly calm beneath the adrenaline.

He hesitated, chest heaving. The moment stretched before he shoved off the counter, sending a bottle of green soap skittering across the floor, and stormed toward the door. Before he left, he spat over his shoulder: “This isn’t over.” Then he slammed the door so hard the lock shuddered.

You stood frozen for a moment—heart racing, palms slick with ink and a slick sheen of sweat—before reality surged back in. You dumped out the chair and locked the door, the clack of the deadbolt echoing in the suddenly cavernous shop.

Glass crunched under your boots as you walked to the wreckage. You knelt and swept the largest pieces into a dustpan, hands moving methodically even though your blood still roiled. The small metal tube you’d wielded glittered on the floor; you stuffed it into a drawer as evidence—just in case.

The thought barely registered before the world tilted.

Your breath caught, sharp and shallow in your chest.

The edges of the room blurred, the neon colors of ink bottles bleeding together like melting wax.

You gripped the counter. Hard. Fingernails digging into the wood.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale—

No, too fast, too thin, like you couldn’t pull enough air into your lungs no matter how wide you opened your mouth.

Your legs gave out and you sank to the floor, back pressed against the wall beneath the shelves. The coolness of the tiles seeped into your jeans, grounding you just enough to realize you were having a panic attack.

You pressed trembling hands against your thighs, trying to remember what you were supposed to do.

Count things. Focus on one thing. Breathe slow.

But your mind was a jumbled, chaotic mess—flashes of his hand pushing at your chest, the sound of glass breaking, the tone in his voice when he said “this wasnt over”?

What does that mean? Will he come back?

Your body shook, small tremors you couldn’t control, your skin cold and clammy.

You hated it. Hated feeling cornered. Hated feeling small.

You squeezed your eyes shut and dug your nails into your palms.

Five things you could feel: the rough denim of your jeans, the hard floor, the grain of the counter, your sticky skin, the cold air hitting your neck.

Four things you could see: the broken frame, the dustpan, the harsh fluorescent light, the scuff on your sneakers.

Three things you could hear: the hum of the fridge, the distant city traffic, the rush of blood in your ears.

Slow.

Focus.

Breathe.

You sat there for what felt like forever before the panic finally ebbed, leaving you drained and empty, like a sponge wrung out too tight.

You wiped your face with the back of your sleeve and slowly, carefully, pushed yourself up to your feet. Your legs wobbled, but you stayed standing.

The counter clock ticked forward. All this and the day hadn’t even properly started yet.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold together all the pieces that felt like they might fall apart at any second. You needed to finish cleaning. You needed to make that call. You needed to—

The soft vibration of your phone buzzed against your hip.

You flinched instinctively, heart hammering again, but when you glanced at the screen, it was just a text.

Sukuna [11:56]: Busy?

You stared at it. Blinking once. Twice. And for some reason, the oddest wave of relief washed over you, unwanted but warm.

You didn’t answer right away.

Fuck. I mean, you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.

But the buzzing fear in your chest dulled just a little. Just enough to make you breathe again.

You stared at Sukuna’s message for a moment longer, the words flickering in your mind. It was a small thing, but somehow it felt like a lifeline. You had been holding your breath for so long, trapped in your own thoughts, and the simple fact that he had reached out made you feel just a little less alone in the chaos.

You took a breath, tried to push aside the tight knot in your chest, and typed back:

You [12:00]: Not busy, just cleaning up. What’s up?

The reply was swift, almost immediate.

Sukuna [12:00]: I’m coming over. 😛

Sukuna [12:00]: Shit, wrong emoji.

Sukuna [12:00]: I meant 👍🏽

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, even though a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Typical Sukuna, teasing as always, as if he didn’t know just how much you were dreading the silence after everything that had happened. It wasn’t as though you didn’t enjoy his company—it was more the fact that right now, you couldn’t quite trust your own emotions. Everything felt raw, like you were standing on the edge of something, and you didn’t know which way to fall.

But he wasn’t going to let you wallow alone, was he? Much to your disdain.

The sound of the doorbell broke your spiraling thoughts.

You straightened up quickly, straightening your cami top and brushing at the sleeve of your jeans like you could somehow erase the heavy feeling inside you. The door opened with a faint creak, and there he was, leaning against the frame with that smirk you had come to recognize too well. His eyes skimmed over you, studying the way your shoulders were tight and your expression too carefully neutral.

“Don’t tell me you actually tried to clean this place by yourself,” he teased, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he stepped inside.

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him, trying to hide the knot in your throat. “I was doing fine until…” You trailed off, the words suddenly feeling heavy and unspoken.

Sukuna followed you to the back of the shop, raising an eyebrow as he took in the disarray, the subtle signs of chaos you hadn’t even realized were there. His gaze lingered on you, though, too sharp and perceptive for comfort.

“I was cleaning,” you muttered, turning away to grab your gloves. “What’s it to you?”

He clicked his tongue, and you could feel the shift in the air, like he was no longer just here to tease. His voice softened, just slightly, when he spoke next.

“I just came to steal more ink. Had a rough client?”

“Something like that.”

“Let me guess, they didn’t like your shitty minimalist stencils and walked out last minute.”

“Fuck you, asshole. I’m seriously not in the mood with your bullshit today, okay? So, wanna tell me why you’re here?”

He tilted his head at that.

“Something’s off with you. What happened?”

You paused, fingers freezing in midair as you worked the gloves on. It felt like the world was holding its breath, and for a second, you couldn’t find the words to speak. The truth was too heavy, too raw, and part of you still couldn’t shake the unease that crawled beneath your skin. You had already replayed the encounter with the client in your head a dozen times, trying to convince yourself it hadn’t been as bad as it had felt. But you knew it had been.

Taking a deep breath, you finally looked up, meeting his gaze.

“I had a client earlier today…” you began slowly. “He was… weird. Like, really weird.” You hesitated, swallowing. “He… He wasn’t okay with me saying no.”

Sukuna’s expression darkened immediately, his posture shifting as his eyes narrowed in concern. “What do you mean by that?”

You winced at the question, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “He asked for my number, kept pushing me after I said no. And when I wouldn’t give it to him…” You trailed off, biting your lip as the weight of it all hit you again. “It was so stupid, he just got mad and broke the stupid picture I had on the wall”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened even further, his brows furrowing. “Did he hurt you?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut. Your stomach twisted, your heart hammering in your chest. You shook your head quickly, the words escaping before you could stop them.

“…No. What do you care?”

But Sukuna wasn’t convinced. Without warning, he reached forward, his hand closing around your wrist with a gentleness that caught you off guard. His thumb traced the edge of your skin, and before you could pull away, he stopped, his gaze dropping to the first signs of a bruise on your wrist.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. His face softened, and the edge of his anger seemed to melt into something quieter, something more concerned.

His voice was barely a whisper as he asked, “Did he do this to you?”

You couldn’t speak. You just stood there, staring at the mark where his fingers had been, feeling the warmth of his touch against your skin. You had almost forgotten about the bruise in the whirlwind of everything else.

Sukuna’s thumb brushed against it again, and you felt your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the panic attack from earlier. The anger, the protectiveness in his eyes—it made something in you want to crumble. You didn’t want his pity, didn’t want to feel small. But in that moment, you felt something else—something you hadn’t expected.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough, “That shouldn’t have happened.”

”Well, yeah. I know it shouldn’t have. But it did—”

”I should’ve been there.”

You were surprised by the softness in his tone. Surprised by how… genuine it sounded. Everything about him usually screamed confidence, maybe even arrogance. But now, there was something else. Something deeper.

You looked at him, still holding your wrist, and you saw it clearly in his face—an expression of quiet sadness mixed with anger, as if he wished he could’ve been there, could’ve done something to prevent it.

You shook your head, trying to mask the vulnerability that crept in, pushing yourself back into that usual armor of indifference. “It’s fine. It’s over.”

But Sukuna didn’t let go. His fingers were still wrapped gently around your wrist, his thumb tracing circles along your bruise as if it physically pained him to see a mark on your body, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. It was as if the world outside didn’t exist—just the two of you standing there, the weight of everything in the silence between you.

“I’ll be here next time,” he said, his voice low, but firm. “If anything like this happens again, you call me.”

“Uh, sure.”

You swallowed hard, eyes dropping to where his fingers still cradled your wrist. It was almost too much, the way he was looking at you—like you were something fragile, something worth protecting. And maybe it was the adrenaline still crashing through your veins, or maybe it was the exhaustion catching up to you, but the words tumbled out before you could think better of them.

“He said…” You hesitated, hearing the weight of the memory pressing against your ribs. “Before he left, he said… ‘This isn’t over. No idea what that means, I think he was just being angsty and throwing empty threats at me.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking sharply beneath his skin. His whole body went rigid, as if barely holding back some primal instinct. He dropped your wrist carefully, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he took a slow breath, and when he spoke, his voice was low.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, firm, like it was a promise. “I’ve got it covered.”

You blinked at him, startled by the sheer certainty in his voice. Sukuna, with all his rough edges and infuriating arrogance, didn’t make empty promises. You could tell by the way he said it—the way his shoulders straightened, the way his hands curled into loose fists at his sides—that he meant it.

You hated how much that comforted you.

You laughed a little, but it came out shaky, brittle. “What, are you gonna beat him up?”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If I have to.”

You stared at him for a long moment, unsure what to say. Sukuna had never been the comforting type. His kindness was rare, almost accidental when it happened. But standing here now, seeing the unspoken promise written in the set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes, you realized he wasn’t joking. If that creep so much as breathed in your direction again, Sukuna would burn the world down without a second thought.

And somehow, that thought was steadier than anything else you’d clung to all day.

You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to gather yourself. “Thanks,” you muttered, staring down at the floor, embarrassed by how much you actually meant it.

He didn’t press you, didn’t ask for more. Instead, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s nothing. I’d prefer it if my only competition didn’t die on me, though. You’re the only one that challenges me.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say.

You cleared your throat, desperate to lighten the thick, almost suffocating tension hanging between you. “Well. Only because you keep stealing all my blue ink.”

Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You’re never gonna let that go, huh?”

“Not a chance.”

He smiled—really smiled—and for a moment, the anger and fear from earlier faded into something quieter, something almost easy. You realized, with a strange twist of your stomach, that this was starting to feel normal. Him barging into your life. You pretending you hated it.

Maybe you weren’t pretending as well as you thought.

Sukuna glanced toward the front door, then back at you. “You should get some rest. You look like shit.”

You flipped him off half-heartedly, but he just laughed, ruffling your hair on his way to the door like you were some grumpy cat he had decided to annoy.

As he disappeared into the night, the bell over the door jingling behind him, you finally allowed yourself to exhale.

The shop was silent again, but it wasn’t the same crushing loneliness from earlier. Somehow, it felt less empty.

And as you locked the door, flipped the CLOSED sign with a heavy sigh, and leaned your forehead against the glass, you noticed something.

You didn’t check if he still had the tattoo you did on him.

Fuck !!

————————

taglist : @beabamboo @snapcracklen