#all but two instances of eye rolling are HIM

[sluttyminghao]

Hii, could you write honeymoon sex x mingyu? If so tysm! (🫧) anon

you had hardly put your bags down in your honeymoon villa room before your new husband practically pounced on you, his eyes dark with that familiar look you had grown to know and love. there was something else dancing in his eyes that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

it hadnt even been 24 hours since you and mingyu had said "I do", and honestly you were surprised he lasted this long before needing his release.

"so, i guess i don't even get to explore the room first huh?" your voice comes out as a whisper, and he chuckles before loosening his grip on your body.

"well, you can if you want, but I have something else I would much rather explore." he yanks his tight-fitting top over his head to reveal his tanned muscles and abs, your mouth going slack. he never failed to amaze you, even if you had seen his body 500 times before.

you both can't deny the feelings, and the clothing is draped in every corner of the room before you can blink. the only thing separating the two of you is his boxers, which are quickly flung off in his haste to get inside of you.

if there was one thing you loved about mingyu, it's his ability to make you feel loved no matter what he's doing. he will always put you first, and in this instance, even though he's aching with want and just wants to fuck you dumb, he's still going to take his time to rile you up with his foreplay.

from sucking pink and red marks into your skin, his fingers dancing delicately over your sensitive skin, he eventually caves into both of your desires and pushes his cock deep inside you, starting a rhythm that makes your eyes roll back immediately.

"my pretty wife," he mumbles as he thrusts harder into you, his hands gripping your hips like a vice. all you can do is try to catch your breath while he fucks you with the speed of 5 men at once.

you can feel his hips begin to stutter after a few moments, indicating he is more than likely close to cumming. you make a point of squeezing around him, scratching your nails down his back and moaning his name in his ear, which is all he needs to go crashing into his orgasm.

he stills above you, sweat beads forming on his forehead. he questions your devious smile, before realizing that he hasn't even made you cum.

"don't worry about it babe, it's all good,"

"no, you are not leaving this bed until you cum."

[imsofreakingtired]

what brings you to the lost and found?

read on ao3 chapter summary: sevika tries to come to terms with the loss of her arm. you make a risky decision. wc: 3.3k <- previous chapter ||

Sevika had assumed the worst of it was over. She’d always prided herself on her ability to adapt, her indifference to the shit thrown in her face time and time again. Since her childhood she had nurtured the belief that a new, hardened self had risen from the ruins of the Old Lanes, a different  version of her who had known hunger, cold, and pain; made death an intimate friend and held her cards close to her chest. 

A limb lost in the long run was no uncommon occurrence where she came from. She had known many people who had missing arms, legs, eyes, hands, feet—thanks to illness or fights with enforcers. She remembered admiring them, even envying them for that physical manifestation of their resilience. Yeah, the Piltie motherfuckers took my leg. So what? 

It was a humbling moment for her to realize how until now, she had taken her capability for granted. She had grown up, in a way, by her own hands. Fought kids in the streets for scraps of garbage to eat. Built shelters and scavenged clothes and swiped things she needed to survive. Now she couldn’t even tie her shoelaces. 

But she wasn’t the type to be discouraged by minor things like that. She could deal with the pain, the relentless throbbing and phantom itches. She could deal with the million infinitesimal discomforts: tying shoelaces, opening bottles, buttoning her shirt became daily tests of her forbearance. She kept the lights off and avoided looking in mirrors so that she couldn’t see the absence, the lopsidedness of her body. She drank herself to sleep and chain smoked to keep her thoughts foggy. She could deal with the pain. She could deal with the profound sense of loss that sometimes seized her in fits. She could deal with even the street scuffles—she made an easy target being one-armed, but the street hoodlums always ended up regretting their decisions to undermine her. 

What she couldn’t abide was the pity of the others. 

The two weeks before Smeech had the prosthetic arm ready for her were the most trying in Sevika’s life. For the first time since knowing him, Sevika was grateful to Silco—he was the only person who didn’t dance around her amputation, didn’t allude to it in insinuations like some of the other Chem-barons (we need you to oversee a group of Shimmer stockers in the Lanes, maybe another pair of hands can help?). He greeted her return with a list of items to pick up in the forum, and a longer list of tasks he needed her to carry out. Covering up Vander’s death, for instance. Shutting up the conspirators. Sevika didn’t say a word and set to work immediately. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for her since the explosion: pretend it never happened at all. 

The mass production of Shimmer was thriving by the time Sevika returned to business. Sales were soaring sky-high. Demands rushed in like never before. With the new money, she bought herself a cape to cover the vacant left sleeve of her shirt, hanging limply, stupidly at her shoulder. She moved out of her room above the Last Drop and bought herself a comfortable, if solitary, apartment near the heart of the Undercity. She adapted. 

What else could she do?

~~~

“It’s a top-of-the-line model,” Smeech said. “All the new fixtures.” 

Sevika stared at the prosthetic arm gleaming on Smeech’s workbench. It looked awfully clunky. The fingers of the hand were as sharp as individual razor blades—more claws than fingers. 

“Try it on, shall we?” 

Sevika blinked. Shook herself out of the hesitation. She undid the clasp on her cape and pulled it off, rolling up her sleeve over the stump. Smeech inspected the iron rod implant, the healed tissue, and checked the diameter of her residual limb. Sevika tried not to recoil from his touch. He was never a pretty sight, but the clicks and whirs of his own mechanical body sounded especially abrasive today. As if he was the emblem of her fate. She had a sudden vision of losing limb after limb until she was nothing but a head and metallic gears like Smeech. 

He cocked his ugly head to the right, then the left as he assessed her. Whistled. “Whoever worked on you sure knew what he was doing. People don’t usually survive big amputations like these.” 

“She,” Sevika corrected unconsciously. Smeech looked at her. “It was a she.” 

She didn’t know why a snaking sense of guilt followed her words. She realized now that you had not entered her thoughts since she left the Apothecary’s shop two weeks ago. 

“Beg pardon,” said Smeech with a chuckle. “I was under the impression that it was Singed’s work. But I remember now the poor bastard was also caught in the big blow-up. Anyway, to commence.” He went to the workbench, picked up the arm, and brought it to her. 

“A symbol of modernity, if I do say so myself,” he bragged as he adjusted the strap of the arm around Sevika’s shoulder. “The new biomechanical tech lets the electric currents in the gear connect to your nervous system. Hold onto yourself now, this might be a tad uncomfortable.” 

With a click sounding sickeningly like the shifting of bone, the socket of the arm latched onto the rod implant. The shock waves coursed through her shoulder. Sevika gritted her teeth.

“Give it a minute or two. Let your brain do the work.”

The arm hissed as it jolted into motion, she could hear inner gears whirring like the thin whisper of wind. The socket of the arm fit over her stump perfectly, but it felt as if her skin was encased in liquid metal. It was not as heavy as she expected. Within seconds she could move it as if it were her own arm. She watched the clicking and shifting of gears as she bent and unbent the arm at the elbow, clenched and unclenched the metal fingers. The sharp points gleamed in the light. She could feel the muscles of her shoulder contract as the socket responded to her movements. There was power here. Here was a reclamation. Here was a part of her reborn. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Smeech said. “Come back if you need a refit. Doubt you will.”

“How do I maintain it?” 

“Just oil the joints, keep it away from water, the basics.”

Sevika nodded. With the mechanical fingers, she drew out the purse hanging from her belt. “How much do I owe you?” 

~~~

Shimmer was all over the streets. The Apothecary had begun taking Shimmer—first out of curiosity, got it through her drinking mates—then it was as if something revelatory had awakened in her. Declared Shimmer was the future of medicine, despite all of your protests. Then she began to put drops of it in her potions and sold it to the poor suckers in the Lanes at double the price. When the business began to accelerate and you could see that no amount of arguing would dissuade the Apothecary from her new line of revenue, you had packed your things and left. 

You didn’t know what it was about Shimmer that repulsed you so much. The rumors of its benefits were far too many in number for you to ignore. Healing powers, strength-enhancers. In some instances you had even heard it could expand the body, change brain chemistry and muscle tissue and give the user superhuman levels of speed and virility. You knew nothing about the side effects. You had never used it yourself, so you couldn’t even be sure if your suspicions had any grounds. 

The only sure thing was that you did not trust Silco.

You could not trust a man who could command enough fear and blind belief in him to incite a person to throw herself into the path of death for him. And to return, like a dog, as soon as he called. You did not think any human being was worth dying for, let alone an abstract cause. 

And what fool was willing to die for it anyway? 

Sevika. 

You ground the name between your teeth at night, shut your eyes against the image of those maddening grey eyes. It was humiliating to still be thinking of her. Humiliating to even entertain the thought of ever seeing her again. You convinced yourself with desperate arguments that there had never been any hope to begin with. Sevika had been a patient, nothing more. Your first patient. 

And your last. 

The inn near Babette’s wasn’t a bad place, considering the price and location. Drunks howled on the doorsteps and you could hear prostitutes laughing and chattering at ungodly hours of the night through the paper-thin walls, but the bed did not have any maggots and you were even served a meager kind of breakfast included with the room rate. You didn’t plan on staying long. Where you would go, where you would next find work—you didn’t want to think about that yet. You had brought your stolen books on medicine, your tools and notes. You would pick yourself up again. You would forget your stoic amputee, with her colorless eyes and lithe waist and muscular neck. You would forget Sevika’s husky voice in the morning, the tears that wet her scarred face at night; the whispered confessions when she teetered in the liminal space between drunkenness and lucidity. You would forget Sevika’s perishable dreams and crooked teeth. You would forget her brown skin and silent, unspoken feelings. 

Your savings were limited, but you couldn’t bring yourself to figure out a course of action. You feared to step into The Last Drop, never went near the door of Babette’s. You knew that if you turned your steps in the direction of either, you would fall right back into your old habits, tumble into that time-honored void again. As if you had never left. But by god, it was getting harder by the day, when your steps traversed the Lanes without aim, returning to your room every night without having found an answer. 

All you could see was Shimmer. That damned substance everywhere. Shimmer was destroying the people. You could see it already, the dull gleam of their eyes, the sores on their skin. You could tell immediately the ones who were hooked, whose bodies weren’t able to handle the overstimulation of the substance but craved it anyway with open mouths. And then you would despair, and be enraged, circles of hopeless emotion. The Apothecary was never any help in advancing your station. But at least with that occupation you might have found a step up somehow. Now you were truly useless. 

You became obsessed with your remaining savings. You would crawl out of this place, one way or another. You would fight your way out tooth and nail if you had to, and find a way to clean the place of Shimmer. You skipped meals to save on food, skipped sleep to comb through the books of medicine over and over again. Nothing in the texts of Piltover doctors said anything about Shimmer use, or anything similar to it. 

You wandered the streets in the daytime when your brain refused to work anymore. Delirious as you were from lack of sleep and food, you were certain that you were hallucinating when you returned to the inn one day and saw the tall woman in the dusty red cape standing at her door. 

Sevika turned when she heard your step. She looked guiltily caught, as if she had been discovered somewhere she shouldn’t be, but the uncertainty passed over her face in a second. 

“The Apothecary said you might be here,” Sevika said. Her tone betrayed nothing but a mild, bored interest, like it made no difference to her whether she found you or not. 

But it must have. If she had been looking for you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” you said. You were still half-convinced Sevika was nothing but a mirage. How many times has the woman appeared, unwelcome, in your dreams? “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting any visitors.” 

Sevika looked you up and down. “You look like hell.” 

“Thanks. You look great, though,” you replied. “Listen, I need to go in. I have work to do…”

Sevika stopped you with a raise of her left arm. You hadn’t noticed until that point that the cape had been covering a bionic arm, and now your eyes fell on the metallic fingers showing from beneath the hem. You looked up at Sevika’s face. Fuck her, she was still as pretty as the devil. The burns on her face and neck had healed, but the scarring lined her skin—rivulets of powder blue. Where did the blue come from? Some radiation residue, you figured. You were more concerned with the knife-like fingers. This was not a hallucination; Sevika was here. She was well and alive, thanks to you, and she had a prosthetic with a deadly handshake. For a wild, paranoid moment you thought that Sevika had been sent by Silco to dispose of you. 

“I only need a minute,” Sevika said. “I never paid you for what you did for me.” 

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about that. Consider it a first time customer discount.” 

Sevika narrowed her eyes. “Are you drunk?” 

“No. I’m just very tired.” 

Sevika opened the money pouch, began to count out coins. You stopped her by putting a hand on her wrist. 

“I’m serious. Forget it.” 

“You have a terrible eye for business, you know that?” 

“There is no business,” you said, in spite of yourself. You had not wanted to betray anything of your situation to Sevika. “No more, anyway.”

“You saved my life,” Sevika spat out in an accusatory whisper, as if you had been pushing her to admit to it like a dirty secret. “I want to square my debt to you, alright?” 

You stared at her. Things began to come into light as Sevika glared down at you. Silco had not sent her here. She had remembered you. She was here to repay you. 

“Tell you what,” you said at last. “Come in for a moment, and I’ll do a quick check-up. Then you can pay me for that service.” 

Sevika stiffened. Glanced at the door of the room, the number etched on its surface. “I don’t particularly need a check-up.” 

“But I’d particularly like to do one.” 

“I don’t have much time.” 

“Clearly you had enough to come looking for me here. Least you could do is let me do my job.” 

At the last words, Sevika met your eyes. Did she hear the echo of her own voice in them? Did she sense the edge in your tone? If she did, she never showed it. With an impatient sigh she motioned for you to open the door. 

You led her into the small room, feeling self-conscious about the bareness, the scattering of books and papers covered in scrawls of scientific formulas and diagrams, the surgical tools sprawled over the floor. The chair of the desk was stacked with books, so you directed Sevika to the bed.

Sevika looked taller, more intimidating than you had remembered her, standing in that little room. It had only been a month since she left the Apothecary’s shop, but you could see that she had long left behind the trembling, pain-riddled woman who had been carried into your care. Now she was Sevika, Silco’s number two, the brute of Zaun. You had heard the rumors as you walked the streets. You could never associate them with Sevika, not with all the memories of seeing her so vulnerable. But now the truth of the rumors sank into you. When Sevika sat down at the edge of the bed, looking at you expectantly with a bored expression, you had an urge to—what? Knock her down against the mattress. Turn and run out of the room. Flee out the window. Fall to your knees and beg Sevika to stay, to go, to kill you after all. 

Instead you said in a voice calmer than what you felt, “would you mind taking off the arm?” 

You thought Sevika would retort, but she wordlessly did as you told her. The cape fell to the floor, innocent and red. Sevika detached the prosthetic arm socket, baring the stump. The tissue had hardened into a thick web of blue-veined scarring, but you saw no signs of inflammation. 

“No unusual pain, burning, blisters?” 

Sevika shook her head. Her foot bounced against the floor, and you softened at the sight of the nervous movement. You did not look at Sevika’s face. Concentrated only on the arm. 

“How are the phantom pains?” 

“Fine,” said Sevika. 

“Do you take the arm off at least for six hours at a time? Give your skin some air?” 

“Sure.”

Gently, you massaged the stump, and you heard a sharp intake of breath. “Did that hurt?”

“No.” 

You pulled your hands away. “Generally, a doctor can’t help a patient who lies about their pain. It’s the same difference as a banker who can’t help a client who lies about their debt. It’s a waste of time for both parties, really.” 

“Are doctors generally this lippy with their patients, too?”

“Only when the patient’s behavior warrants it.”

Sevika snorted. Didn’t say anything more. 

“From the looks of things, there’s nothing to worry about. Keep the socket of that arm clean. Give the stump time to breathe. I would recommend skin relief cream, but Janna only knows you’d sooner find a pig on the Council than one of those in a Zaun market.” 

Sevika’s grey eyes flashed at you. “There’s nothing the Topside markets have that we don’t.” 

You could have retorted, yes, indeed there are. There are a shit ton of things. An abundance of new bandages, for one. Real vials of medicine. Pills for sleep, pills for pain. Real food, fresh fruit. Clean water. But the sudden defensive anger in Sevika’s voice, the flash of danger in her face, stopped you from arguing. You didn’t have the time or energy. 

“At least listen to me about taking the arm off when you sleep. You don’t want the skin to fester.” 

Sevika was attaching the arm back on, fitting it over the stump with ruthless efficiency, as if her body itself was just another piece of machinery. You watched the stubborn line of her mouth. You were filled with the perverse desire to put your own mouth over Sevika’s lips. The next moment you wanted to slap her. 

Is your great and mighty cause worth all this? Is it worth drugging the helpless masses, is it worth breaking your own body? 

“I won’t accept negotiation,” Sevika said. She counted out a handful of coins and laid them on your table. You only needed a brief look at them to know it was too much. The coins were gold. Pure, filled ducats. The wealth of Pilties. 

“I won’t take it,” you said. 

“What did I just say?”

“I know where that money comes from. I won’t take it.” 

“Then let it sit there on that table for all eternity. I don’t give a shit.” Sevika stood and threw her cape around her neck. At the door, she paused and turned to you. “Think of it as a business investment.” 

You looked from the pile of gold coins, glinting arrogantly on the wooden table, to the tall woman standing at the door, an equally arrogant smirk on her face. You stood still, enveloped in silent rage. She knew the stinging insult of her payment. She knew the sick irony of giving you money stained with the very substance you had given up your job by rejecting. 

Then the door closed, and all that remained of Sevika was the faint smell of metal.

~~~

<- previous chapter ||

[hemoglobinjuicebox]

I'm mentally ill for him

1.8k words, Smut (18+), P in V, Allusions to past abuse

It had to be perfect. Today had to be perfect, for one day’s grace was all you were given.

The wakeful pink hue of the sky had barely begun to creep over the cloudless horizon as Astarion crept about. His locks hung around his sharp cheeks, wound in loose, wonderful coils that bounced as he walked. He had no time to tame his mane. The half-empty jar of ox fat and his comb would have to wait. There were much more important matters to attend to.

You, for instance. You were the most important matter of them all. Anyone that had any other (wrong) opinion could see Astarion about it, and he would relive the joys of overruling objections once again. How hilariously cruel, he had laughed many a tenday after killing Cazador, that he was turned into the “bloodsucking monster” so many of the losing cases thought he was. A dull ache thrummed in his still heart, and Astarion thought it best not to linger on his humors.

The white woolen trim of his favorite navy blue robe thumped against his calves as he hurried to draw shut the black velvet drapes of the hall. Slivers of sun pricked his pallid skin, but Astarion knew the dance well. If he held it at just the right angle, the copper rings wouldn’t catch on the knicks in the rods, and the drapes would follow smoothly. The little burns would fade away to the most darling freckles that were just barely visible to the untrained eye. He had freckles once, before the incident. They were never so lovely.

He padded along the ancient darkwood planks and limestone walls that had been there long before he was born (and that would surely be there long after), sparing the light only an occasional glance as he went. With each loss of sun, an iron sconce would alight in its stead. So clever and generous of Gale to create such a spell for the two of you. He asked for not one coin, either, citing the love of the challenge as payment enough for him. Astarion almost called his business practices into question, then he remembered that the wizard needed no special incantation to cast Sleep, for he could do it at will through a lecture. Gods only knew Astarion had sat through enough lectures in his life.

Ten windows. That was how many he had to close before he arrived at your doors. They were twice as tall as he was and twice as wide, too. With polished gold—not silver; unfortunately, it still hurt him—handles and a sculpted arch with the Elvish word for… master’s chamber—was it?---etched into the plaque above them. He squinted. The strokes were unfamiliar yet familiar all the same. It was something along those lines, and Astarion was fine to leave it at that.

He pushed down on the handle, opened the door closest to him, and slinked into your room. It shut with a soft click as the latch reunited with the strike plate.

Astarion had no dance to perform here. He had no drapes to tug across the glass, no sun to avoid. All he had was you, and, frankly, you were much more enjoyable than bursting into flames. Especially when you were snuggled up in bed, clutching the white cotton coverlet and grey linens to your chin and reaching across the mattress onto his side, your fingers groping the empty space—

You were looking for him.

Astarion was back in bed and at your side in an instant. He took you into his arms, laid his hands over yours, and gingerly lifted your head to make himself your cushion. You needed to feel him. He was no stranger to the feeling himself, but you tended to disappear from his hold just by simply rolling onto your stomach—not by leaving completely. He always found you quickly, too. There was only so much bed space you had to dally around on before you fell off. He kissed your forehead, your temple, anywhere he could reach. That small, bewildered frown soon curled into a content smile; you had found him. You could sleep soundly again.

Though he adored how sweet a face you wore as you slept, Astarion needed you awake. He was a rogue, a thief, and a charlatan through and through, but there were some things one just did not steal.

“Rise and shine, my love,” he crooned, pressing a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “I have a surprise for you, but you’ll have to open your eyes for me.” You mumbled something into the softness of his robe, then you lifted your head.

And when you gazed up at him with those sleep-riddled, half-lidded eyes and groggy pout, his entire being melted.

Astarion beamed. “Good morning, darling. How did you sleep?”

“Pretty well,” you replied with a slight slur to your words. Oh, you were just the cutest thing. You tried to put your head back down, but he propped it up with his thumb and index finger on your chin.

“Ah-ah,” he chided, his voice a light lilt. “Stay awake for me. I can’t have you half-asleep and take your answer in good conscience.” You rubbed the sands of the night from your lashes. At the first two quick blinks, Astarion knew you were at full attention. “Thank you. Now, since this is your first day off in the past five months, I thought we could start your morning off with something special. It has been a while since our last tender embrace…”

He shifted, guiding you onto your back as he straddled your hips. His lips met yours and brushed against them as he whispered: “Will you let me make love to you?”

In one pulse of your heart, you agreed. He felt your body start to stir. He could hear the blood rushing to your cheeks, to your neck, to your chest—by the gods’ good graces, that sound got him going far more than anything else ever did. You did that for him and only him. You were his. The two of you had tried other people (namely Halsin), but it didn’t work. It was fun, of course, but being alone with you felt so much better. It was easier. It was more intimate. Perhaps that was what got Astarion so riled up.

Or perhaps it was the way you squirmed as he discarded your night clothes with such ease. He wasted no time sliding your shirt over your head and slipping your pants off and throwing them somewhere behind him. His robe went with them shortly after, leaving you both in your bares save for your underwear. He felt you shiver as his icy palms roamed the swell of your hips and warm, gentle expanse of your thighs.

A slender finger caught the waistband of your underwear and tugged at the lace in a silent request for your permission. You nodded your head, and your underwear was gone not three seconds later. Astarion's would stay on. Just for the while. He nudged your legs apart with his own, slotting his knee under yours to lock you in place. One hand came to cradle your cheek as he kissed you; the other cupped your breast, stroking the pert bud in soft flicks with his thumb. He felt your arms relax over his shoulders and draw languid patterns along the nape of his neck. The way you felt beneath him, the way you moved, the way you whined into his lips when he teased you for a little too long…

Oh, how he loved it.

He pulled away from you with a satisfied hum. His hands lingered on your sides. “Lay back for me and just hold on, my love. I don't want you to do a thing. You work enough as it is. You deserve to be pampered for once.”

He hooked your legs around his hips, then adjusted the pillows to cushion your head and back. If you were going to be sore, then you were going to be sore from pleasure and nothing less—especially not from some ache in your neck. The only ache allowed in your neck were his fangs!

A hand traveled from your waist to the junction between your legs and found you drooling with anticipation. You whimpered and tried to rock yourself against his fingers. “No, no,” he cooed, pushing you back down with his free hand. “You're not to move a muscle to do anything but lay there and be perfect.”

He started with one finger, pumping slowly and surely. One became two, curling within you, hitting your core every time. Your meek, needy little moans were music to his pointy ears, and he played you with the dexterous, precise fingers of a practiced violinist. Soon, he couldn't help himself. The strong, heady scent of your arousal was going to drive him mad. He needed to be with you, be in you, now.

With you so masterfully prepared and soaked, Astarion slid his fingers from your core with a lewd squelch that made you gasp and threw away his briefs. He thought himself a decent size: big enough to please, but certainly not excessive. It had class. Were he any bigger, he'd be a brute.

“Are you ready for me?” he whispered in your ear. He felt you shudder, then you nodded.

Astarion pushed his hips forward and notched himself at your entrance. In one swift, smooth motion, he pushed inside you, swallowing your cry with his kiss. Your nails dug into the old, jagged scars that littered his back. He much preferred the sting of your ecstacy to that of Cazador's blade. Your blissful tears were ten time sweeter than the ones he shed.

He rolled into you at a slow pace, his touching but briefly with your hips with each thrust. He savored your murmurs, your quiet pleas, and your whimpers. He savored the warmth of your core and the softness of your skin. He savored how you looked up at him with those full, teary eyes that begged for him to keep going.

Your walls fluttered around the length of his cock. Your breathing grew quick. Your whispers and small ‘uh-uh-uh's became the most wanton sounds he had ever heard. They could have made Sharess blush.

You finished not with a bang, but a whimper as his lips stole yours again and took your breath from them. He felt your thighs quake and your walls clench around him. Your release spilled down his shaft and onto the sheets. Astarion stalled and settled atop your heaving form. He had the stamina to go twenty more rounds, but you needed some respite.

But as soon as you caught your breath, you were his again, for the rest of the day.

Forever.

[thewindowseats]

the ~writing regulus black~ experience

[kaijutegu]

Alligator Body Language and You, or: How To Know When An Alligator On Social Media is Being Stressed for Views

Alligators are wild animals. Despite the idiotic claims of animal abusers like Jay Brewer, they cannot be domesticated, which means they are always going to react on the same natural instincts they've had for millions of years. Habituated, yes. Tamed, yes. Trained, definitely. Crocodilians can form bonds with people- they're social and quite intelligent. They can solve problems, use tools, and they're actually quite playful. Alligators are also really good at communicating how they're feeling, but to somebody who doesn't spend much time around them, their body language can be a bit mystifying. And it doesn't help when social media influencers are saying shit like this:

That is not what a happy gator looks like.

That's a terrified, furious gator who isn't attacking because the ogre handling her has her in a chokehold. She's doing everything she can to express her displeasure, and he's lying about it because he knows his audience doesn't even know how to think critically about what he's doing. He knows that because his audience doesn't know anything about these animals, he can get away with it. This I think is why I hate him so much- he deliberately miseducates his audience. He knows what he's doing is factually inaccurate, he just doesn't care because attention means more to him than anything else in the world.

Let's change that! Here are two really important lessons for understanding alligator body language on social media.

Lesson 1: Alligators Don't Smile (in fact, most animals don't)

So what's going on in this video? Jay Brewer is aggressively choking his white alligator Coconut while scrubbing algae off of her with a toothbrush. And make no mistake, he is digging into the creature's throat while she is visibly distressed. He claims she's happy- but she's not. He is willfully misrepresenting what this animal is feeling. That's a problem, because people... well, we actually kind of suck at reading other species' body language. The reason for this is that we tend to overlay our own responses on their physical cues, and that's a problem. For example, let's look at an animal with a really similar face to ours, the chimpanzee. Check out Ama's toothy grin!

Wait, no. That's not a happy smile. That's a threat display. When a chimpanzee "smiles," it's either terrified and doing a fear grimace, or it's showing you its teeth because it intends on using them in your face.

How about a dog? Look at my smiling, happy puppy!

Oh wait no, this is a picture of Ryder when he was super overwhelmed by noise and people during a holiday party. He'd hopped up in my sister's lap to get away from stuff that was happening on the floor and was panting quite heavily. See the tension in the corners of his mouth and his eyes? A lot of the time when a dog "smiles," the smile isn't happy. It's stress! Why Animals Do The Thing has a nice writeup about that, but the point is, our body language is not the same as other species. And for reptiles, body language is wildly different.

For instance, look at these two alligators. Pretty cute, right? Look at 'em, they're posing for a Christmas card or something! How do you think they're feeling?

Well, I'll tell you how the normal one is feeling. He's annoyed! Why is he annoyed? Because the albino just rolled up, pushed another gator off the platform, and is trying to push this guy, too. I know this because I actually saw it happen. It was pretty funny, not gonna lie. He's not gaping all the way, but he was hissing- you can actually see him getting annoyed in the sequence I took right before this shot. Look at him in this first shot here- he's just relaxing, and you can see he isn't gaping even a little bit.

By the end, he's expressing displeasure, but not enough to actually do anything about it. He's annoyed, but he's comfy and that's where one of the best basking areas is, so he'll put up with it.

Reptiles open their mouths wide for a lot of reasons, but never because they are actively enjoying a sensation. Unless they're eating. No reptile smiles- they can't. They don't even have moveable lips. If a reptile is gaping, it's doing so because:

It is doing a threat display.

It is making certain vocalizations, all of which are threats. Alligators are one of the rare reptiles that do regularly vocalize, but most of their calls aren't made with a wide open mouth.

It is about to bite something delicious or somebody stupid. Check out this video- virtually all of the gaping here is anticipatory because these trained gators know darn well that the bowl is full of delicious snacks. (I have some issues with Florida's Wildest, but the man knows how to train a gator AND he is honest about explaining what they're doing and why, and all of his animals are healthy and well-cared for, and he doesn't put the public or his staff at risk- just himself.)

It's too hot and it has opened its mouth to vent some of that heat and thermoregulate. This is the main reason why alligators will often have their mouths part of the way open, but sometimes they'll open all the way for thermoregulation. This is what a thermoregulatory gape looks like- usually it's not all the way open, kinda more like < rather than V, but you can't say that 100% of the time. Additionally, a thermoregulatory gape... typically happens when it's hot out. If they're inside, maybe they've been under their basking light for too long. Heat's the dominant factor, is what I'm getting at.

There is another reason that a captive crocodilian might be gaping, and that's because it's doing so on command. Some places have their gators trained to gape on cue, like St. Augustine Alligator Farm and other good zoos. They have the animals do this in presentations that are genuinely educational. They ask the animals to open their mouths so that they can show off their teeth and demonstrate how their tongues seal off the back of their mouth. They'll also do it as part of routine healthcare, because looking at their teeth is important.

In this case, the animals aren't gaping because they're stressed, they're gaping because they know they're gonna get a piece of chicken or fish if they do it. And what's more, they're doing it on cue. They have a specific command or signal that tells them to open wide. It's not an instinctive response to a situation. It's trained. If the animal provides the behavior after a cue, the situation is much less likely to be negatively impactful.

It's also important to remember that there's a difference between a partially open mouth and a gape! As discussed above, alligators will often have their mouths a little bit open just to maintain temperature homeostasis. It helps them stay comfy, temperature-wise. These guys are all doing thermoregulatory open-mouthed behavior- that slight open and relaxed body posture is a dead giveaway. (That and it's the hottest spot in the enclosure.)

Lesson 2: A Happy Gator Is A Chill Gator

So if alligators don't smile or have facial expressions other than the :V that typically signifies distress, how else can you tell how they're feeling? One way is stillness. See, alligators subscribe to the philosophy of if it sucks... hit da bricks.

Basically, if they hate it, they'll leave. Unless, y'know, somebody has their meaty claws digging into their throat or is otherwise restraining them. (Restraint isn't always bad, btw. Sometimes the animal is going through a medical thing or needs to be restrained for their safety- which a responsible educator will explain.)

Let's look at a very similar scenario, in which a captive alligator is getting his back scrubbed.

As you can see, it's quite different. First, he's not being restrained at all. Second, look at how relaxed he is! He's just chilling there vibing! He could simply get up and leave if he wanted to, because he's not being held. Towards the end of the video, as he lifts his head, you can see that his respiratory rate is very even as his throat flutters a bit. I'm not sure what this facility is, so I can't comment on care/general ethics, but like. In this specific case, this is an alligator enjoying being scrubbed! And you can tell because he's not doing anything. A happy gator is content to be doing what they're doing.

Why Should I Listen To You?

Now, you should ask yourself, why should you listen to me? Why should you trust me, who does not own an alligator, versus Jay Brewer, who owns several?

Well, first off, there's no profit for me in telling you that what you're seeing on social media is in fact not what you're being told you're seeing. I'm not getting paid to do this. That's the thing with people who make social media content. The big names aren't doing it just for fun. They're doing it for money. Whether that's profit through partnerships or sponsorships, or getting more people to visit their facilities, or ad revenue, you can't ignore the factor of money. And this is NOT a bad thing, because it allows educators to do what they're passionate about! People deserve to be paid for the work that they do!

But the problem starts when you chase the algorithm instead of actually educating. A "smiling" alligator gets the views, and if people don't know enough to know better, it keeps getting the views. People love unconventional animal stories and they want those animals to be happy- but the inability to even know where to start with critically evaluating these posts really hinders the ability to spread real information. Like, this post will probably get a couple hundred notes, but that video of Coconut being scrubbed had almost 400,000 likes when I took that screenshot. Think about how many eyeballs that's reached by now. What I'm saying here is that it's just... really important to think critically about who you're getting your information from. What do dissenters say in the comments? What do other professionals say? You won't find a single herpetologist that has anything good to say about Prehistoric Pets, I can tell you that right now.

Another reason you can trust me is that my sources are not "just trust me bro," or "years of experience pretending my pet shop where animals come to die is a real zoo." Instead, here are my primary sources for my information on alligator behavior:

Dragon Songs: Love and Adventure among Crocodiles, Alligators, and Other Dinosaur Relations- Vladimir Dinets

The Secret Social Lives of Reptiles- J. Sean Doody, Vladimir Dinets, Gordon M. Burghardt

Social Behavior Deficiencies in Captive American Alligators (Alligator mississippiensis)- Z Walsh, H Olson, M Clendening, A Rycyk

Social Displays of the American Alligator (Alligator mississippiensis)- Kent Vliet

Social Signals and Behaviors of Adult Alligators and Crocodiles- Leslie Garrick, Jeffery Lang

Never smile at a crocodile: Gaping behaviour in the Nile crocodile at Ndumo Game Reserve, South Africa- Cormac Price, Mohamed Ezat, Céline Hanzen, Colleen Downs (this one's Nile crocs, not American alligators, but it's really useful for modeling an understanding of gape behaviors and proximity)

Thermoregulatory Behavior of Captive American Alligators (Alligator mississippiensis)- Cheryl S. Asa, Gary D. London, Ronald R. Goellner, Norman Haskell, Glenn Roberts, Crispen Wilson

Unprovoked Mouth Gaping Behavior in Extant Crocodylia- Noah J. Carl, Heather A. Stewart, Jenny S. Paul

Thank you for reading! Here's a very happy wild alligator from Sanibel for your trouble.

[fatherbrat]

TELL ME AGAIN, R. SUNA

sum. sequel to one last time. you visit suna after listening to the voicenote he sent you, just to talk, and end up doing a little more than that.

feat. rintaro suna

cw. cheating/infidelity, suna really got on my nerves while i was writing this and he'll probably get on yours too, arguing, choking (m. receiving), edging, cunnilingus, a little manhandling kinda, missionary, multiple instances of "i miss/ed you"

wc. 2k

Suna tries his best to keep the shit-eating grin off his face when you text him to ask if he’s home. 

He knew that voice message would get you. There was a tiny voice in his head that told him it would be a monumental embarrassment if you didn’t, but it was drowned out by all the other voices in his head telling him to send, send, send, send.

His stomach turns with anticipation. He doesn’t even answer your question, just orders an Uber and sends you the car make and model and how long it will take to get to your apartment. 6 minutes. And then 12 minutes from yours to his. 

He fishes out the fancy santal candle he knows you like from beneath the bathroom sink and lights it in his bedroom. Then he brushes his teeth and puts some music on and waits.

He jumps when the doorbell rings.

There’s a moment of silence when he opens the door, the two of you just looking at each other. It hits Suna that this is the first time he’s seen you in person in months. He used to see you everyday. There's a part of his chest that seems to ache at the realization. He ignores it.

“Hi,” you breathe.

He blinks once. Twice. “Hey.” He opens the door a little wider and shifts to the side so you can come in.

You take one step closer and then stop, eyeing him with unjust suspicion. “I didn’t come over here to fuck you.”

Suna takes one look at your outfit—shorts that are definitely too short to be comfortable in this chilly fall weather and a sweatshirt he’s pretty sure is his—and knows you’re lying. He doesn’t call you out, just grins and shrugs and ushers you inside anyway. 

You lean against the kitchen counter to survey the living room, pleased to see that it looks exactly the same as the last time you were here. Suna’s still standing by the door when you look at him again, arms crossed.

“So why’d you come over?” he asks.

It’s your turn to shrug. “You said you missed me.”

“Did I?”

You give him a sideways look. “You did.” You drag out the two words, nodding slowly and widening your eyes as if you’re speaking to a child.

Suna tilts his head to the side, smiling a little. “What else did I say?”

Oh lord. You should’ve known he’d be annoying about it. You shift your gaze up to the ceiling, pretending to struggle to remember even though you listened to his message several times, including once on the car ride over. 

“You said you weren’t happy for me…which is pretty fucked up.”

Suna just rolls his eyes. “What else?”

Eyes on the ceiling again. “You said you liked my Halloween costume. And that if I had sex with you it wouldn’t count as cheating because I haven’t been with him that long.” You put air quotes around his claim, sliding your eyes back down to meet his.

He’s standing closer to you now than he was a minute ago, looking like he’s holding back a laugh. “Now that part’s fucked up. Where is the boyfriend, by the way?”

You make a face and look at the time on the microwave. “Probably home. Probably asleep.”

“Yeah? How’s he doing?” He closes what’s left of the gap between you and tugs on the drawstring of your (his) sweatshirt to even out both ends.

“Fine…” you whisper, breath hitching when his hand brushes your ear on the way to your hoodie.

He hums after fixing the string and walks towards his bedroom, tapping your bare thigh as he passes you as a silent cue to follow.

You realize that he doesn’t believe your intentions for coming over are pure, which is true, but you don’t like that he didn’t even pretend to believe you. 

You follow his lead anyway, resting your head against the doorframe and watching him fish his phone out of his pocket and dump it on his desk. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks over at you with his eyebrows raised.

“I told you I just came over here to talk,” you snap.

Suna’s response is automatic. “No, you said you didn’t come over here to fuck.”

“Rin.”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” He leans forward, setting his elbows on his knees and his hands beneath his chin. “Alright. Talk.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you mutter. “I shouldn’t have come.” You twist your foot to turn around and immediately hear the bed creak with relief. Suna wraps his hand around your wrist before you can fully turn your back.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” he says. “Stay. Please?”

He sounds like he’s begging. He looks like he’s begging, with his slumped shoulders and pleading eyes and desperation written all over his pretty face. 

It’s not enough. 

“My boyfriend doesn’t taunt me like this, you know,” you tell him, indignant.

Suna’s grip on your arms loosens as his face falls a bit.

You continue. “He’s actually nice to me. And he’s romantic. Treats me like royalty.”

You watch Suna’s jaw tick. His hand returns to his side. “He’s boring.”

“He’s steady.”

Suna’s tone grows terse. “Dull. Stale. Bland. Vanilla.”

“Stable and secure and safe.”

Suna snorts. “Safe,” he repeats, sarcastic. “I seriously don’t get how you can date him.” 

“Because he’s my boyfriend who I love and not just some guy I used to fuck when I was lonely.”

It’s a low blow. You and Suna were friends long before the benefits came along. Good friends. Close friends.

If he’s offended he doesn’t show it, just latches on to the first part of your sentence. “You don’t love him.”

He’s right. “You’re wrong.”

“Really? Why are you here then?” He narrows his eyes. “And don’t say it’s because I said I missed you.”

You’re not sure when you started taking steps forward, or when Suna started moving backwards, but his calves hit the edge of the bed and suddenly he’s sitting again, looking up at you with that infuriating self-righteousness that makes your eye twitch.

And then your hand is squeezing his throat and your lips are on his and you’re straddling him and moaning into his mouth.

You feel him start to smile against you before he pulls away. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “Don’t fucking say anything,” you tell him, before tugging his face towards you neck. 

You can tell Suna’s still smiling, but he obeys, sucking the tender spot right above your collarbone without another word. His hands find the bottom of your sweatshirt and he pulls it up. 

His lips leave your skin and your hand leaves his neck so you can take your arms out of the sleeves and he can yank it over your head and drop it on the floor. Then he rests his hands on your hips and just looks at you. 

Goosebumps dance across your shoulders and arms. Suna wants to comment on how you're not wearing a bra but he doesn’t, just continues to stare. 

“What?” you ask.

He takes in the sight of you on top of him, the rise and fall of your chest—quicker than normal, a side effect of him riling you up. He revels in the weight of you on his legs and tries to recall the last time you had him beneath you like this. Your birthday? His birthday? Or maybe it was that time he tried to cheer you up after you got laid off. Either way, it’s been a long time and he hates to think about how you’ve probably been doing this with your boyfriend instead of him.

He can’t help himself. “You straddle the boyfriend like this?”

You huff and press your palm to his chest, shoving him onto his back. Your face hovers over his. “What are you gonna do if I say yes?”

Suna studies your face and puts his hands around your waist and beams. It’s the only signal you get before he flips you, putting your head on a pillow and taking his own shirt off before he drops it on the ground somewhere near your hoodie.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, glancing at the hard outline growing in his sweats as you trail your fingertips up his thigh. He leans into you and rests his forehead against yours. 

“I missed you,” he says softly. 

Your heart beats at a concerning speed. “I know.”

He gets up from the bed and snaps the waistband of your shorts before telling you to take them off and removing the rest of his own clothes. When he crouches over you again, you place the sole of your foot flat against him and tut. 

“You also said you’d do that thing I like with your tongue.”

Again, Suna chooses not to comment. He wonders how many times you listened to the message, because it’s sounding like more than once, more than a couple. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed, forcing a giggle out of your throat before he plants his head between your legs. 

He circles your clit, avoiding making contact with it directly and making teasing strokes with his fingers until you’re panting and quivering and making shaky demands for him to let you come on his tongue. When he does, you scream his name. 

“Music to my fucking ears,” he says under his breath, licking your slick off his lips. “You scream this loud for him too?”

You can't believe you forgot how aggravating he is. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He looks so smug. You start to think that the desperation from before was too short-lived, until he’s inside you and you’re filled with him and that familiar need that makes you wrap your legs around him and claw at his back.

All you can think about is how you miss him and you missed this, and you’re telling him to fuck you harder, and then his mouth is right below your ear and his hair is tickling your cheek and a stream of yes’s and Rin’s are tumbling out of your mouth like dominoes and youre trying to pull him impossibly closer and youre so surrounded by him that its dizzying and youre whispering i miss you in his ear and hoping it doesnt sound like i love you and hes saying i miss you too and youre wondering if he really means i love you too and then youre biting into his shoulder and—  

You lose count of how many times you come. Both of you do. The two of you are coated in sweat, laying on damp sheets in a room that now smells like sex and sandalwood. Neither of you speak, busy catching your breath and being lost in thought. You don’t want to say anything, afraid you’ll break the spell.

You didn’t have to worry about that, though, because you hear your phone ping loudly and realize it’s on the floor, still tucked away in the front pocket of your sweatshirt. Suna turns his head towards you.

“You should break up with him.”

You raise an eyebrow at the seriousness in his voice and sigh. “I know.”

“Today.”

A pause. “Okay.”

There’s another moment where none of you speak. And then–

“You should date me instead.”

You turn to face him and the earnestness in his expression catches you so off guard you have to look away again. It’s not that you never expected him to bring it up, you just hadn't expected him to sound so sincere when he did.

You had toyed with the idea before, a handful of times even, but everything between you two was so easy—why would you mess it up with a what are we? conversation? Although, you suppose you messed it up anyway by getting a boyfriend and ditching Suna without warning.

It takes you a long time to respond, long enough that Suna starts to game plan an exit strategy, but then you meet his gaze again.

“Okay.”

[incomplete-leclerc]

　𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗧, 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗧.　oscar piastri · #81

　　　your boyfriend loves to take naps, and occasionally, you decide to join him.

genres : fluff ... established relationship.　word count : 0.7k.　warnings : none.　 note : my first official f1 fic!! super excited but also nervous to be posting this :') it's the start of a new era <3　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

Oscar took the chance to nap whenever he could. The constant jetlag messed up his sleep schedule throughout the entire season, so when his body felt tired and there was even 5 minutes to spare, he would take the chance. Lando, not missing any opportunity to tease him about something, said it was because he was still going through growth spurts at twenty-three. 

Given your boyfriend’s habit and love for sleep, you often arrived to see him completely knocked out, whether in the garage, hotel room, or at home. It was endearing, and you had your own way of finding enjoyment in his habit. For instance, your camera roll was overflowing with sleepy Oscar pics; excellent blackmail material if you ever needed it, but most often, you just looked at them whenever you missed him. But your favourite part of it all was waking him up.

Tousling his hair, poking his cheek, booping his nose, kissing his forehead or lips— your methods were practically endless. A lovesick smile was permanently stuck on your face whenever you heard the groggy mumbles he let out as he woke up or saw his scrunched up face at the feeling of your touch. There was a certain charm to all his clumsy, loserish habits, contrasting so starkly with his confidence on track. There were many sides to Oscar, and you had fallen in love with all of them over the years.

It was around 2PM when you opened the door to your apartment, grocery bags in hand. It had been a day full of miscellaneous errands that you had kept putting off, one of which was stocking up on Oscar’s favourite snacks. Now that the 2024 season was finished and he was back home with you— yours for the next four months— you wanted to cook him some of his favourite meals. You had expected to see Oscar in the kitchen or living room, as he usually was. But the house was unusually quiet as you put away food in the fridge. Though, one look into your bedroom told you where he had been hiding.

After knowing Oscar since you were teenagers, it was unsurprising to you when you found him fast asleep on your bed, hugging your pillow to his chest. You smiled at the sight, figuring he must still be struggling to adjust back to the timezone. With you gone first thing in the morning, there wasn’t anything to keep him awake, either. It was no secret that Oscar was the clingier of you two (quite a problem when it came to races conflicting with your schedule), and for all the hoodies and shirts of his that you stole, he liked your pillows. 

The mere sight of your boyfriend comfortably cosied under the blankets on the bed had you starting to feel drowsy yourself. You hesitated for a second about whether to wake him up, join him, or leave him entirely and drink another cup of coffee to get through the day. But you realized quickly that more than anything, you missed his touch the last couple days. Cuddles to sleep was all you craved for. So with all hesitation gone, you climbed up on the bed, easily slipping your arms around Oscar’s waist, hugging his back. The movement was enough to wake him, and he blinked, slightly dazed as he turned around in your arms. 

“You’re back,” he mumbled, words barely above a whisper before he closed his eyes again like a cat squinting in the sun. You giggled, adjusting the pillows as Oscar nuzzled closer to you. “You smell nice… did you get a new perfume?” 

You smiled, closing your eyes as well as Oscar wrapped his arms around your waist and your hands found their way to his hair. “I did. It’s peach. You like it?” He hummed in confirmation. “Still jet lagged?”

A gentle squeeze from Oscar was all the answer you got, but it was all you needed to understand. With the scent of your perfume, your hands threading through his hair, and a soft kiss pressed to his lips, he was already falling back into his dreamland. You soon followed, wrapped in his arms; close, content, and comfortable.

[ssahotchnerr]

public displays of affection - aaron hotchner x reader

the aaron take on the derek/penelope workplace seminar (episode of reference: 9x12)

cw; bau!reader, established relationship, suggestiveness, small allusions to sex, fluff <3, bau family banter, aaron being mortified😭, references to the episode wc; 1.4k

"penny," you shut one of your files, placing it in your desktop organizer. "you're creating a draft."

"this is bad. oh so very very bad." she stammered, continuing to pace back and forth, "i'm just mentally preparing myself to be humiliated in front of the entire unit. for the second time, may i add. god, who blabbed this time?

"what did you even do?" spencer chimed in, his head lifting from his current read.

"i don't know." she exclaimed, an exasperated breath leaving her. "nothing out of the ordinary, so that means anything is possible. you," she pointed at morgan, who casually was making his way over to the rest of you. "we're in big trouble."

"this could be totally unrelated." jj reassured her. you agreed, giving penelope a nod and a hopeful smile. "there was no footnote on what this meeting consisted of."

"well, there was no footnote last time. and to this day, i still get asked what flarpy blunderguff means." she huffed, crossing her arms and turning towards derek. "i love you my hunk of a man, but this. this is a nightmare."

as two began rolling around, the bullpen filled in anticipation for the seminar, a light hum in the room as conversations were exchanged back and forth in waiting.

in addition, a presence soon stilled beside you. one always familiar, but surprising under the current circumstances.

"what are you doing here?" you looked up to find aaron's gentle eyes. he took a seat on the edge of your desk, just behind your chair.

meetings like these - usually below aaron's pay grade. he hadn't needed to attend the last, infamous meeting for instance, HR meetings were normally things he had prior knowledge of, or simply not worth his valuable time as unit chief.

"i got the email as well." aaron's hand found the back of your neck, his fingers comfortably kneading into your always-tense muscles. every so often, his hand would brush to your shoulder, and then back again.

"oh no," penelope slapped onto derek's arm, the smack covered up by slim buzz within the vicinity. "what did we do?"

"looks like we're about to find out." dave stated, his eyes following the woman who had just entered the bullpen, moving to the front.

the notorious HR lady of the bureau, nancy, sauntered over to the large presentation screen set before the clusters of desks. not wasting a second to get down to business, she turned toward the crowd of eager agents.

"thank you all for your attendance and time, this shouldn't take too long." she started, poised and head held high.

penelope took a deep breath.

"this afternoon's presentation," nancy clicked a button on her remote, displaying the title page. "public displays of affection."

oh no.

aaron's hand, which had continued to smooth out the stiffness in your neck, halted immediately.

"as you all- most are well and should be aware, keeping conduct professional in the workplace is a must to prevent disruptions within the environment. displays of affection - examples upcoming - can cause extreme feelings of uncomfortableness amongst your colleagues, and can be distracting nonetheless. all of which, creates a...."

just as last time, she clicked her remote. and adjacent to penelope and derek's presentation, in big letters across the top:

"hostile work environment."

derek immediately snorted under his breath, inviting others to openly laugh as well. despite the urge to shoot daggers at him, you were utterly incapable of pulling your attention away from the front.

it wasn't a top secret ordeal - everyone could infer the pair this presentation was centered around, and be correct.

"and so," nancy exhaled a breath, her eyes darting in your and aaron's shared direction for a smidge second, causing the heat to grow in your face and body. "i urge everyone to refrain from the following,"

similar to yours, aaron's face burned, comparable in color to his tie. he let out a nearly inaudible, nervous cough from above you.

"sitting on one's lap, while working on caseloads - not appropriate."

more laughter rippled through the division.

"oh god." you mumbled under your breath, uncomfortably crossing a leg over the other as your palm covered the bottom half of your face.

contrary to the present belief, aaron was a stickler on pda.

for the first few months of your relationship, he hadn't dared to touch your arm, back, anything in order to maintain such affection within the field; it was reserved for closed doors at home only. he loved you, but he wanted to uphold his reputable professional nature.

but as time moved forward and your relationship progressed, he hadn't gotten sloppy, per se, but more relaxed or lenient was a better way to put it.

some displays were accidental by habit. if he wanted to give you a quick peck, depending on the situation and setting, he would. seated beside each other, he would lovingly squeeze your thigh under the table, if you needed the encouragement or if you made him proud in some regard. if he were feeling frisky one day - sure he would do something, just to rile you up for later, to each of your benefit. so on and so forth.

and if he was initiating affection, you took that as the all-clear to do the same. in variation, of course.

so more often than not, it was in private. just not... always. and the lock on aaron's office door often came in handy for that.

"prolonged kisses in the bullpen, elevator, not appropriate."

once. you were caught once in a (very) heated kiss in the elevator.

as you and aaron cowered in embarrassment, both dave and morgan looked far too amused for their own good. the rest of the team - raised, entertained eyebrows, tossing glances to one another while trying to constrain their laughter.

nancy swallowed, as if she needed strength to deliver the next point, "grabbing one's behind when going up the stairs, not appropriate."

another mortified cough exited aaron.

she went on, giving more examples of affection aaron and you were completely guilty of. and if just one singular time wasn't enough, she went-forth on the explanation that such displays can cause a barrier within the workplace.

when you thought it would never cease, nancy finally delivered her ending statement, "save it for home people, thank you."

and with that, as well as the screen darkening, everyone disbanded, low murmurs and chuckles filling the room as each went about their usual routine.

you looked up at aaron in absolute horror, whose face was currently in his hand. but even that didn't hide the blush brewing within his face, his ears flushed wildly as well.

you reached up, grabbing his wrist to pry his hand away.

"nuh uh uh," derek grinned as he wiggled his index finger at the two of you, imitating nancy to a tee. "not appropriate."

"you hush." you got to your feet, allowing you to remove his hand more easily. you cautiously prolonged your hold, brushing your thumb across his knuckles before letting it drop. "aaron?"

his brown eyes found yours, full of embarrassment. "that was..."

"humiliating?"

he nodded, his head accelerating in speed with each nod, "yeah. that's the term i would use."

"oh you poor dears." penelope breathed out, the one compassionate member of the team.

"damn." emily chuckled.

derek cackled again, clearly not ready to let this go. honestly, he probably never would. "thought we didn't notice when you pulled the blinds in the office, did ya?"

aaron gave him a pointed glare, putting a very quick end to the conversation. just as the rest, the team carried on with their remaining work for the day - you and aaron remaining frozen in place.

but surprisingly enough, a laugh did escape him, shaking through his chest. "guess i have to tone it down a little, huh?"

"oh thank god," you blurted out and exhaled in relief, a small smile forming on your lips. "i thought this would cause an avoidance arrangement or something." you teased - partially.

"of course not. some reservation, maybe, but not avoidance." aaron laughed quietly again, a sigh escaping him.

"that was bad, wasn't it?" a slightly pinched expression took form on your face, your cheeks tinting once more.

"it wasn't... good." aaron admitted with some hesitation, but his brown eyes still glowed despite the lines of troublesome. his hand found yours - after scanning that no one was paying attention to the two of you - giving it a squeeze. "but hey, out of problems to have, i'd take showing my love for you any day."

[shaisuki]

itadori “i love kissing my chubby girlfriend” yuuji.

he kisses you every time he can. be it on public or with any other people. he knows you're not quite big on pda but he tries to control not to smother you with kisses. just hold your hands in public. your pudgy fingers intertwined in his thick digits but before he does that, he kisses the back of your palms like a true gentleman and then proceeds to where you both are going.

“take care, yuuji.” you say as you bid him goodbye. he smiles then takes off but stops midway, running back to you in a blink of an eye and then his lips are now pressed to your round cheeks and then to your lips. lingering there much longer and then there he goes.

every mornings and evenings you were always showered with his kisses, not that you mind. you love that your boyfriend loves you so much that he can't stop kissing you similar to a dog who loves their owner. there are also instances that he's being scolded and faux disgust coming from nobara that you two should get a room and he would only laugh at her and continues to kiss you.

and there's the private moments, where the pink-haired boyfriend of yours that likes to worship you daily. starting from kissing your feet and then your chunky calves. nibbling a bit on your flesh and then coming to your thighs and the real trouble starts. it's difficult to pry him off when he's full on serious with your creamy thighs. his calloused palms kneading on your soft flesh and bestowing slow kisses upon them. working to your inner thighs, leaving hickeys on its wake and then he's breathing on your fat mound.

your breaths are ragged and shallow then followed by a whine. “y-uuji!” there's an obscene sound coming from him from the way his mouth latches to your pussy lips. sucking your clit and licking a stripe out of your folds. he kisses your fat pussy the way he kisses you in the lips and despite your thick thighs wrapped around his head and possibly crushing his head, he remains steadily lapping at your cunt like he didn't got a taste for it a long time and when you have cummed and too tired he still continues to do so cause he loves kissing you.

it gets better when he's behind you. stretching you with large cock that pounds your fat cunt. watching as your ass ripples and the fat in your back are rolled. jiggling from the impact and the mmm and mwah after he kisses you got your pussy clenching around him as he continues to fuck you.

his brown pupils are blown but he doesn't stop. his cock nestled deep inside you. rubbing your sweet spots. your legs are resting on his shoulders and his holding the sides of your head as he coos at you. his saliva dribbling at the corners of his mouth and then he kisses you. the wet, sloppy kind of kiss that leaves you in a mess. exchanging spits and then he's whispering sweet nothings. kissing your neck, chu.ᐟ sucking that sensitive part under your jaw, chu.ᐟ and then his on your lips until you have cummed. he just love you like that and he won't get tired of it until he kisses all parts of you.

he just can't help but to adore his goddess.

[rainydayathogwarts]

We're all adults here - Steve Rogers

Summary: Reader covers up when training outside with the team because someone just happened to cover her in hickies the night before. But what happens when reader is forced to take her cover-up off? 0.6k+ wc

Going outside in the summer heat to practice with the team was not what you had in mind, especially when the modern indoor training facilities were all available, with a track just as big, and more importantly, air conditioning that worked perfectly well. Normally, you wouldn't have a problem with it, putting on shorts and a sports bra before joining Natasha outside, but usually, your boyfriend didn't go so crazy in bed the night before. Steve, ever so worked up after not seeing you for a few days while on a mission, had come home, making a beeline to your room where he finally pushed you up against the wall, pressing kisses on every inch of your skin before taking you on every piece of furniture he could find.

You felt Steve's guilty gaze on you the second you met with the rest of the team outside, clad in a thin sports jacket and shorts. At least you looked cute, despite how quickly you were going to overheat. "Oh you're crazy crazy." Comments Natasha the instance she sees you, beginning her warmup around the track. You quickly join her, rolling your eyes playfully at her, though it's hard to ignore the way you immediately feel the way the long sleeves are clinging onto your skin the second you start to perspire.

By the end of your laps on the track, your face is all red and you need to lean on your knees to catch your breath, panting heavily. You didn't think one little piece of clothing would have such an effect on your performance, but apparently it did, making you fan your hands in front of your face in hopes of helping with the heat. "Y/n just take it off, what's going on?" Remarks Clint bemusedly. "Yeah we all know it's too hot for this kind of clothing. Is there a particular reason you're so dressed up?" You put your hands on your hips, chest heaving up and down as you digest Bucky's question. You shake your head, gratefully accepting the cool bottle of water your boyfriend offers you, a guilty grimace on his face.

Steve's cheeks are flushed pink, and whether that's due to the warmup or how close you guys are to being found out, he doesn't know. The team have known about the two of you before you even knew, clueless about the other's feelings, but Steve, being the old soul that he is, prefers to keep details about your sex life private when possible. "Does Mr. Loverboy have anything to do with this?" Teases Tony, only half-joking, hints of a smile on his face. You scoff, which immediately has your teammates looking at you quizzically. Did Mr. Loverboy have anything to do with it? "Okay Y/N, on a serious note, you're going to overheat training in that." Tony adds, his eyebrows furrowing. "Look, we're all adults here." You defend, spinning away from your team as your hand hesitantly reaches up to drag the zipper of your jacket down your torso. When you turn back around, the rest of your team is still staring expectantly at you, leaving you to watch as their reactions form on their faces.

"Holy shit!" Clint exclaims, words drowned by the loud wolf-whistles Natasha sends you way, eyes glued to your chest. "Okay, stop looking!" You scold her, and Bucky immediately looks away from you even though the words aren't directed at him, slapping a hand on the back of Steve's shoulder in pride. The dark hickies are scattered all around your chest and neck, dipping under your sports bra, leaving the rest for imagination. You chuckle uncomfortably, tightening your ponytail "Wild night, am I right?" You hear Steve choke over his drink before you see it, spinning around to take a look at his red face, water dribbling down his chin and onto his tight shirt as he catches his breath. "Sorry sweetheart." You mutter, taking a step towards him so you can press a kiss on his cheek, his hand instinctively coming up to rest on your waist.

"Why are you apologising to him? Look at yourself!"

[withlove-xixi]

— SPENDING SPREE: sylus x reader

ᥫ cw: sugar daddy sylus .. or at least, he's trying to be ᥫ wc: 817 ★ probably not the first person to have written something like this w sylus but ... but i want him so badly ... cross posted on ao3

— IT ALL STARTED AS A TREAT.

[♡]: “here, sweetie,” he had said as he handed you his credit card, “get yourself something nice.” and you did get yourself something nice, a couple of different pastries that had gone on sale and a cold drink since it had been hot when you went out. though, sylus decides that’s far from enough.

IT STARTED OUT SMALL, REALLY SMALL. Simple things like treating you out to lunch whenever you two went out, always having your favorite snacks and drinks when you’d come over the base. Then things quickly started to escalate.

It went exactly downhill when he had simply handed you his credit card, smirking as he busied himself with paperwork and waved you off, suggesting you treat yourself to something nice when you go out to run some minor errands. And you, somewhat skeptical from his sudden show of trust, hesitantly take the card from between his fingers and tuck it safely into your wallet.

Now, Sylus has fully expected you to go all out, after all, he knew you were well-aware of his wealth and his willingness to do anything for you; no matter what you wanted, Sylus would make sure it was handed to you on a silver platter within the next five minutes. Safe to say he was a little disappointed when you had come back to the base with a bagful of assorted pastries, a half-empty drink in your hand and a satisfied smile on your face.

“Is this… that something sweet I had told you to treat yourself too…?” He asks as you sit yourself on his desk, nodding with a wide grin on your face.

“I got bread!” You announced cheerfully, digging through the plastic bag to show off your spoils.

“You got… bread…” Sylus repeats incredulously. His hands instinctively rest on your thighs as he rolls his chair closer to you.

“They were on sale too since it was midday, so I ended up buying a lot so it’d be worth it!” You say, pulling out one of the pastries packaged in plastic with cute animals on them.

“On… sale…” He repeats again, eye twitching slightly as he stares at the marked down price tag stuck on the packaging.

“Mhm!” You hum, oblivious to your boyfriend’s annoyance. “Look, this one’s shaped like a bear—”

“This is nice and all, sweetie, but was this all you got?” He asks, caressing the skin of your thighs as you blink at him.

“Hm? Oh, no.” And for a split second Sylus is hopeful. “I got this drink too since it was hot outside.” And just like that Sylus is back to being mildly annoyed.

Honestly, some part of him told him he should’ve expected this. You were never one to spend much, be it your money or his. Sylus isn’t all that sure if it’s because there just wasn’t much you desired or if it was simply because you didn’t like spending money, but either way, every instance he’s had the chance to offer to pay for your things, to buy that bag that been sitting in your cart on a tab left open for months now, to get you that book you had been wanting to read, to take you on lavish trips to the places you had only been dreaming of going, but you’ve shut him down every time. It was always a “maybe next time, Sy” or “I’d feel bad though” or “well, yeah, the bag is cute, but I don’t really want it, it was just on sale so I added it to my cart.” Sylus had thought that maybe giving you the liberty to spend his money on your own as you please would finally get you to loosen up a bit when it came to spending, but as you pull out a loaf of milk bread from the plastic bag with a content look on your face makes him think maybe it would take a bit more than that to properly encourage you.

“Sweetie,” he calls gently, pulling your attention away from the bread and pastries you had been pulling out of the plastic and arranging neatly on his desk. “I’m glad you’re happy with what you’ve gotten, but is that really all you want? Did you not want anything else?”

You hum for a bit, thinking back to the shops you had passed by and all the things you had seen, but inevitably you shake your head, pouting slightly. “Hm, no, the bread was it.” You reply softly. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Sylus sighs softly and shakes his head. “No, nothing’s wrong, kitten. I’m… just curious. If there was anything in the world you could get, what would it be?”

“Anything?” You ask and he nods. “Without any consequences…?” You ask again and he nods a bit more enthusiastically.

Sylus lets you think for a moment, fingers tracing patterns on your thighs as you look around the room, searching for your answer. His lips twitch, ready to smile because he thinks he’s finally cracked the code.

“Well… there was a tiramisu cake at the bakery earlier…”

Maybe it wasn’t that you didn’t like spending or didn’t have much you wanted… maybe… maybe you just liked things like bread.

[joelscruff]

imperfect for you (joel miller x f!reader)

masterlist | a/n written for @janaispunk's 1500 kisses challenge! i got joel + nose kisses with this lovely moodboard and actually managed to write something!!! believe it or not this started out as a drabble lmao. i hope you like it jana - sorry it's a bit late, and congrats again on your milestone 🤍 summary: you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby. warnings: age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles word count: 5.5k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics

"When's the last time you slept?"

He doesn't bother to grace you with an answer, hands clenched on the steering wheel as you barrel down the vacant stretch of highway back to Lincoln. He's been ignoring you for the past fifteen minutes now, eyes straight ahead, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. But he looks pale, almost sickly, the whites of his knuckles stark against the sudden greenish hue of his skin. The last thing you need is for him to pass out and for the two of you to crash into a damn ditch.

"I'm just saying," you continue with an exasperated sigh, "I could drive the rest of the way, we're almost there."

No reply. You roll your eyes and cross your arms indignantly in the passenger seat, returning his icy demeanor. He's in one of his moods again, the ones only Tess really knows how to handle, but you'd volunteered to try your hand at a supply run in her stead which means she's not here to mediate. You should've known some issue would arise, stubborn Joel inventing problems in typical Joel fashion.

"You could've tried to last at least one more hour pretending to like me," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't say anything.

Almost a year of working with them now, and you still don't understand him. You're not sure you ever will. Tess, she's much easier to understand, much more open to being understood. She'd seen your potential and taken you under her wing, brought you in to help, taught you everything you needed to know about smuggling. And Joel... well, he's a different story.

"You know, Tess thinks I have promise," you continue anyway, expression crumpling into a scowl, "She thinks I can do this. I don't get why you don't."

No answer.

"And don't say it's 'cause I'm a kid, because I'm not. I'm twenty three now, I'm past the point of being called a fucking kid. The shit I've seen in that QZ-" you cut yourself off, shaking your head, "I'm not a kid."

His lack of response is beginning to hurt deeper than you'd really like to admit. You glance over at him again; he's still staring straight ahead, still ignoring your presence. It makes unwanted tears prick in your eyes, nose stinging a little as you peer down at your lap and fold your hands together.

You'd been excited for this supply run, probably against your better judgement. You'd wanted to show him how much you know and understand, how hard you've been working, how you're up to the task. Hoped maybe he'd give you a smile - rare, but not impossible - and tell you that you did good, that he sees potential in you too.

You care what he thinks, almost more than what Tess thinks. And you know why, can sense it deep in the pit of your stomach and in the way your heart stutters when he looks at you, but you're clearly living in a fantasy world if you think he's ever gonna get past whatever this stigma is that he has against your age. She's too young, Tess. She'll get hurt, Tess. She shouldn't be doin' this, Tess. You've heard it all, muffled through closed doors in a dark and damp hallway.

He doesn't want you, and you're not sure how much longer you can go on like this. If he's not willing to change his stance, view you as anything other than an inconvenience...maybe Tess will have to find somebody else to help out.

"I know what I'm doing," you mumble, a tear dribbling down your left cheek, "I just wanna help."

You spare him one more look, fruitlessly hoping that maybe he'll feel bad now that he's made you cry - a childish thought, considering you're trying to make a case for being mature, but you can't help it. You know he's capable of being gentle, of being kind. You've experienced it with him before, quiet moments between the two of you in his apartment while waiting for Tess to return, making small talk, him peering at you with a softness in those brown eyes that have since made frequent appearances in your dreams. Moments where you swear you felt wanted under that gaze, but it must've been in your head, because you certainly don't feel wanted right now.

He doesn't look well, you have to admit. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, getting paler by the second, turning an unnatural grey color akin to some of the hair on his head. His eyes are glassy, dark bags settled beneath them that you've noticed getting worse and worse over the past few weeks. You shoot a glance at his hands again and are surprised to see that he's loosened his grip, that his fingers seem to be trembling against the rubber.

"Joel," you say, raising your voice a bit, "Joel, are you okay?"

His lack of response no longer angers you - it worries you. Carefully, you reach over and slowly wrap your hand around his right wrist, eyes trained on his face. At your touch, he finally turns to look at you, almost like he's only just noticed you're even there.

"You say somethin'?" he asks, voice raspy, a bit slurred.

Your grip tightens on his wrist, "I think you should stop the car."

He looks at you curiously, dazedly. It's the expression of a man who's running on two, maybe three hours of sleep in the last few days. You choose your next words carefully, eyes flickering back and forth toward his face and the road that he's suddenly no longer watching.

"Let's slow down a bit," you murmur, thumb stroking gently along his skin - he's warm, warmer than normal - "I'm gonna drive the rest of the way, okay?"

You expect some pushback, an attempt at an argument, but the tiredness is setting in quickly. Without any hesitation he eases his foot off the gas and you hurriedly reach your own leg over into his space to push down on the brake. He doesn't seem to notice the way your bare leg brushes his jeans, the crease in your knee bending over the warmth of his thigh.

"There we go," you say softly, bringing the car to a slow stop. He's still looking at you, eyes unfocused as you carefully lean over a little more to unbuckle his seatbelt. You try to ignore how good he smells, how big he is compared to you, putting all your attention on getting him out of the front seat. You unlock his door and then unbuckle your own belt, hurrying out of the car to his side.

"M'okay," he mumbles as soon as you open his door. You start to help him out, and you think he's becoming a little more aware of the situation now, allowing you to pull him to his feet as you tug open the back door. "What's happenin'?"

"You're just tired," you tell him softly, "It's okay, you can sleep in the back, I'll drive."

"Bill n' Frank's," he says as you lead him the right way, pushing him a little and helping him place his knee down on the seat, "Y'know where it is? You remember?"

"I do," you tell him confidently, your hand coming down to press flat against his back - he's so solid, heat radiating against your palm, "Only twenty minutes away now, I got it. You just sleep."

He doesn't argue; in fact, he makes your job easier by crawling onto the seat and settling down with a low groan, rolling onto his back and breathing deeply. You can't help but let a small smile cross your features, watching as one of his hands comes up to rest atop his belly, the other dangling onto the floor. His eyelashes flutter a little, lips parting, and you're about to shut the door when he speaks again.

"I know you jus' wanna help, baby."

You stand there for a moment just staring at him, confusion racing through your thoughts. Goosebumps rise on your flesh as the last word repeats like a mantra in your head, steady and slow as Joel drifts off. It's only when the door is shut and you're in the front seat that you're able to put some meaning to the words, eyes wide as you stare at the faded lines on the road.

I know what I'm doing, you'd said, I just wanna help.

You leave him in the car when you get to Bill and Frank's, typing in the gate code with a backward glance at his loose form in the backseat. They must see him on one of the security monitors, because as soon as the doors open you spot them sprinting out of the house toward you, a scanner gripped in Bill's hand. Typical.

"He's okay," you tell them as soon as you're out of the car, instantly alleviating their stress, "He's just exhausted, I think he needs to sleep for a little while."

"Understatement of the century," Frank replies with a relieved laugh, eyeing the backseat, "Think we can get him in the house?"

"Just leave him in the car," Bill says with a wave of his hand, already turning to head back towards the house with the scanner hanging out of his pocket, "He'll be fine."

Your gaze meets Frank's and he rolls his eyes, "Come on, baby, let's get him upstairs." Your brows go up at the pet name, the same word that had fallen from Joel's lips only twenty minutes ago, but then Bill is shuffling back over with an annoyed look on his face and you quickly realize he's not talking to you.

Getting Joel out of the car proves to be a lot more difficult than getting him in. You try a gentle approach at first, brushing his arm and stroking his skin with your thumb again like you'd done earlier. You can feel Frank's eyes on you as you squeeze Joel's bicep, his wrist, his thigh, and you pretend you don't see the look that passes between him and Bill as you step out to let them take a turn.

Bill goes for a much more aggressive approach, shaking Joel's shoulders wildly and practically yanking him out of the car. Understandably, Joel wakes with a gasp and kicks his legs out, hand reaching for his pistol as he frantically tries to escape Bill's grasp. Before he can grab it though, he's suddenly falling forward, knees buckling as he faceplants onto the pavement beside the car.

Well, that certainly wakes him up. His hands press into the gravel and his head shoots up, blood trickling down his nose as he peers up at the three of you, stunned.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Bill," Frank groans.

"That was not my fault."

Ignoring them, you kneel down and gently touch Joel's shoulder, a concerned look on your face as you eye the splattered blood on the ground, "Fuck, are you okay?"

"What in the hell is goin' on?" he groans, turning to look at you, "Did Bill just break my fuckin' nose?"

"Don't be dramatic," Bill barks, spinning on the spot and heading into the house, "Shoulda just left you in the car."

Joel starts scrambling after him, rising up and standing on wobbly legs, hand reaching for his pistol once again. You and Frank grab him before he can do anything, both of you taking an arm and holding him back.

"Joel, you're exhausted," you tell him quickly, utilizing all your strength, "You just need to lay down. Please."

He turns his face to look at you and something flutters in your chest when you catch the way his eyes soften, the anger in his expression fading as he acknowledges your presence. You can vaguely make out Frank watching the two of you in your periphery, but you try your best to ignore it, instead opting to give Joel a reassuring smile.

"Let's just get you cleaned up, okay?"

You're grateful that Frank leaves you alone with Joel to tend to his nose. You've only met him a handful of times, but each time he'd somehow been able to clock the way you interact with Joel, the way you look at him. The last time you'd been here he'd subtly pulled you aside to give you a few words of wisdom.

"You do realize he's extremely unavailable, right?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

He'd smiled, tapped his nose and given you a knowing look, "And I don't just mean because of Tess. That man is emotionally constipated, kiddo. He's an island." He'd laughed then at your confused expression, shaking his head, "Just be careful, s'all I'm saying."

You'd gone to walk away, forget the conversation even happened, when he'd softly called after you:

"And I'm pretty sure Tess would hang your head on her wall."

You think of those words now as you stand in front of Joel in the small bathroom off the landing, lip between your teeth as you eye the cut on his nose. It isn't broken, thank fuck, but you can see some dirt and gravel in there that you need to clean out.

"It's not broken," you tell him softly. He's sitting on the edge of the bath tub, peering up at you with a much more alert expression. The fall definitely woke him up, not to mention the choice words he and Bill had thrown at each other as you and Frank helped him up the stairs. He's still exhausted though, and he needs to rest.

"I know it's not," he grumbles, "Just wanted to give Bill a piece of my mind for once."

You laugh softly as you reach for the damp cloth beside you, bringing it up to carefully pat it against the gash on the bridge of his nose. You can feel his eyes on you, watching and assessing as you do your best to wipe the area clean.

"I can do that myself," he murmurs.

"I just wanna help," you say quietly, and your eyes fall to his in a knowing glance. He doesn't seem to remember though, just nods and lets you carry on.

It's rare for you to be this alone with him. And by that, you mean this far from Tess. You're painfully aware that it would be impossible for her to walk in at any moment, to see the way you're standing over him, touching him. Frank's words from last time echo in your head but you're not quite sure you believe them; would she really be that angry if she knew how you felt about Joel? It's not like he'd return it, right? The man is twenty years your senior and, as Frank said, extremely unavailable. Not to mention Tess and Joel's relationship has been a point of confusion to you for a year now, still unsure exactly what they are to each other - would she really care?

You reach for the antiseptic - one of the many perks of having an injury in a supply house - and carefully dab some onto the cloth. Your hand trembles a bit as you reach up to carefully hold Joel's chin, your thumb getting lost in his greying beard.

"You haven't shaved in a while," you breathe, your eyes meeting his, and you wonder if you've already crossed a line by even noticing.

He doesn't seem to mind though, sighing deeply, "I haven't slept in a while, so let's hurry this up," he eyes the cloth, "Don't gotta warn me, just do it."

His words bring you back to the present, and you slowly ease the cloth down onto his cut. He hisses a bit, a normal reaction, but it only takes a few seconds to clean and then you're already reaching for a bandage, reluctantly letting go of his chin.

"I was worried about you, before. In the car," you tell him softly, unpeeling the adhesive, "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

His eyes fall to the floor, "I just don't sleep good. Never have."

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shrugs, gives you a humorless laugh, "Handful o' pills and a couple sips o' whiskey usually does the trick."

It makes sense, then, why these past few weeks he's seemed worse. It's been longer than usual since your last supply run and the three of you had started running out of vital supplies over a week ago now, not only for buyers but for yourselves. Joel had written whiskey near the top of the latter list, along with hydromorphone which he'd underlined several times.

"You should've told me you weren't feeling well," you murmur, applying the bandage carefully, "I could've driven the whole way."

"Could've, should've," he dismisses you with a grunt, "Doesn't matter now, does it? We got here, that's what counts."

You linger a little longer than you should on the bandage, thumb falling to gently trace the crease of his nose as you assess your work. It might scar, but it feels pointless to voice this - he already has so many, scattered across his face and neck like confetti. It hurts a little, knowing he's been through so much, seeing the evidence written all over him.

"My mom had this superstition," you tell him softly, a smile playing at your lips as you trace one of the scars under his eye, soft and delicate, "Whenever I got hurt, skinned my knee or busted my elbow playing, she'd bandage me up and then kiss it. She said a kiss would seal her love in there, keep me safe and protected. And if it scarred, that meant it worked."

He blinks at you, expression faltering a bit, "That's...that's a nice thought."

You shake your head, "It's silly, and not true. But... but I still do it anyway, even though she's gone. Just in case," you bite your lip, "I mean, who doesn't wanna feel a little more safe? A little more protected?"

Your gazes lock, and neither of you seem to move, caught in the stillness of the moment and the way your thumb is still stroking his face. You know you have limited time, maybe a few seconds before he breaks it, so without much thought at all you lean down and lightly press your lips to the bandage, eyes closed.

He inhales sharply, a sound that triggers butterflies in your tummy as you hold your mouth against his nose, soft and sweet. It's the closest you've ever been to him, even if you're kissing gauze and not skin - you can still feel the warmth radiating from him, sense the way he freezes below you. A squeaking sound pierces the silence, his hand squeezing the edge of the bath tub tightly. It startles you, your eyes blinking open as you pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are tinged pink, eyelids heavy as he peers up at you with slow blinks.

"You're tired," you breathe, unable to stop your hand from flitting to his hair, pushing a little behind his ear, "Let's get you to bed."

The Joel Miller in Bill and Frank's guest room is not the Joel Miller you thought you knew.

This Joel is loose, pliant. He lets you lead him into the bedroom with a hand on his back, lets you carefully turn him on the spot to reach up and undo the buttons on his flannel. Frank had told you on your way up to make sure Joel didn't get blood on the sheets, so you're only following orders, only doing what you were told.

"Sorry," you murmur softly, fingers shaking every so often as they toy with the buttons, sticky with his blood. Joel doesn't seem to notice though, retreating more and more into the sleepy state he'd been in earlier.

Once his flannel is off you assess his t-shirt and jeans, and you're not sure how to feel about the fact that they didn't get dirty in the fall. On the other hand, though, you're not sure you'd have been brave enough to take them off. Instead you help him toward the bed, pull back the sheets and carefully push him ahead.

"There you go," you whisper, helping him under the covers and pulling the blankets back over him. The sun is streaming through the window, casting the golden light of early evening across the bed, and while it's quite beautiful you shut the curtains anyway, knowing he'll sleep better in darkness. When you turn back around, he's already fallen asleep, lips parted, face peaceful. A different man.

You don't linger, even though you want to.

It's around ten o'clock when you decide to check on him again. You'd watched a movie with Bill and Frank, feeling more than a little unwelcome as Bill tossed you a few dirty looks every so often, though Frank repeatedly told you to ignore him. Now they're in bed downstairs while you pad from your own room across the hall to Joel's, turning the knob carefully. The hinges squeak a little as you open it and you wince.

"Who's there?" you hear Joel grumble from the bed. So much for just taking a peek.

"Me, just me." You push the door wider and walk inside, eyebrows going up when Joel turns on the bedside lamp. He seems a little more rested, although you know he still needs a full night's sleep. "I sent a message to Tess through the radio to let her know we're not coming back tonight - well, Frank did. Picked a song called Tomorrow or something like that."

"Hope it was the Johnny Mathis version," he mumbles, and you watch as he brings his hands up to rub across his face. He accidentally dismantles the bandage and you step forward without really thinking, hurrying to his side and reaching down to fix it.

His hand comes up to grab yours and you freeze in place.

"I can do it," he says, giving you a curt look and then releasing your hand to adjust the gauze himself.

Well, you suppose lax and sleepy Joel couldn't stick around forever. You stand awkwardly by the side of the bed, toying with the edge of the blanket as he rubs his eyes and sits up a little, leaning back against the headboard. He looks so much older in this light; you can see the little flecks of grey in his beard and hair that have been starting to get more noticeable lately, the crows feet, the wrinkles.

He's so handsome.

He turns to look at you with a frown, as if he's only just realizing what you said, "We can go back tonight, I'm fine."

"You're not and you know it. Besides, it's already past ten and now I'm tired, I won't be able to drive."

"I can drive."

"Joel," you surprise yourself by sitting down on the edge of the bed, narrowing your brow as you give him a serious look, "You can't drive. You almost fucking killed us both."

"No I-"

"Yes you did," your tone is firm, suddenly angry - are you angry? - "If I hadn't been talking to you, if I hadn't noticed something was wrong, you would've driven us off the damn road."

He goes quiet at that, frown deepening, the lines on his face more prominent in the low lamplight. You sigh, eyes falling to rest on where your hand is settled on the bed, only inches from his. Part of you wants to reach out and touch, feel the warmth of his skin, the rough of his palm - the other part decides to do something even more stupid.

"You called me baby."

It's out of your mouth before you've even really acknowledged it, and once the words have tumbled out you know there's no taking them back. Your gaze snaps back up to his, slightly surprised to see that he doesn't seem very shocked by your admission.

He clears his throat a little, averting his gaze and shuffling a bit under the covers, "Did I?"

"...Yeah."

You think maybe he'll say something else - anything else - but he doesn't. God, it really is like pulling teeth with him; he's so fucking beautiful but so impossible, never being able to expand on something unless prompted, never being able to answer a single question without jerking you around first. How the fuck has Tess managed to deal with it for so long?

The thought of Tess sends a wave of guilt through your body, Frank's words echoing in your head, but you shove it down.

"What made you... I mean why..." your voice is soft, apprehensive and shy in the quiet of the bedroom, "why'd you call me baby?"

A beat of silence. Then-

"Don't ask me that."

The mood has shifted, your sudden anger ebbing and his annoyance fading into something else, something on the brink of being real. He's avoiding your eyes, peering at the window with the curtains drawn and tapping his fingers anxiously against the mattress, so close to your hand. He's nervous; you're making him nervous.

You stay silent, hoping he'll speak again, hoping maybe just this one time he'll tell you what he's thinking.

"I don't know why."

The words are barely a whisper, almost like he's telling you a secret, and he leaves them hanging in the air briefly before amending - "Well," he sighs and finally looks at you, an emotion you can't place crossing his features, "that's not true. But... I didn't mean - fuck, I was passin' out, for Christ's sake, I didn't realize-"

He cuts himself off again, raising his hand up to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose, briefly forgetting the bandage. He winces when he comes in contact with the gauze, "Can I take this off? It's drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

"Let me do it," you say quietly, inching forward on the bed and reaching for his face. He flinches when you go to touch him, and your hand freezes mid-air.

"Sorry," he mutters, shaking his head like he's shaking off a sensation, a chill, "Go ahead."

With careful - and slightly trembling - fingers, you remove the bandage from his nose. It looks much better than before, no fresh blood in sight, and you suppose it's okay for him to keep it uncovered for the night. Without really thinking about it you gently thumb the side of his nose just shy of the cut, the tips of your other fingers brushing against his cheek.

"It's not too bad," you murmur, and before you know it you're suddenly cupping his jaw, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Your gaze falls to his lips, your thoughts going a mile a minute.

You realize you're close enough that you could kiss him, if you really wanted to. If he really wanted to. All it would take is one small movement, one little push from the both of you, one leap of faith...

And then he whispers your name, almost a warning, and it's like his thoughts are mirroring yours - like he can see exactly what you're picturing, wishing for. Your eyes meet his and you feel a flutter in your stomach when you see the way he's looking at you, a quiet hunger hidden in the deep brown.

You decide to test the waters. You lean in and softly press another kiss to his nose, this time without the gauze in the way. Just like you'd thought, his skin is hot under your lips, soft but scarred, and his smell - god, he smells so masculine and safe, invading your senses as your lips trail downwards to press a small kiss to his cupid's bow, then another to the corner of his mouth. It's sharp, prickly from his scruff, but it doesn't bother you in the slightest - in fact, you kind of like the dull pain, the way it grounds you, keeps you in the moment.

"Baby," he whispers, and a soft little whine falls from your lips without meaning to as your lips move to ghost across his mouth, going for another kiss - a real kiss.

He pulls away before you get there, but then his hand comes up to touch your face, big and wide. He holds you like you're precious, small. His baby.

"S'not right," he whispers, though his thumb strokes your cheek soothingly, "S'not okay for me to want you like that."

You close your eyes at his touch, breathing deeply, "But you do."

"Yeah, I do," you hear him murmur, "You know I do."

"For how long?"

He doesn't respond right away, just continues to stroke your cheek, hold what feels like all of you in his warm palm. You tilt your head a bit to the side, eyes fluttering open to look at him again. You catch the way his lips turn up a little at the movement.

"Too damn long," he sighs, "But that don't... that's not..." he brings his other hand up to cup the other side of your face, holding you still as he peers at you in earnest, brow furrowed, "Point is, we shouldn't... you shouldn't be out here alone with me. Tess knows how I-" he cuts himself off again, and you can see now how difficult it is for him to communicate like this, to be open and honest, "I told her it wasn't a good idea."

"Why?"

He laughs lightly, thumbs circling the apples of your cheeks, "'Cause look where we ended up." He swallows, eyes falling to your lips, "Look where you are right now, baby. Look where my damn hands are for cryin' out loud."

"Keep calling me baby," you breathe, a desperation in your voice that betrays your emotions, tears pricking in your eyes as the weight of this conversation comes crashing down around you. He wants you - he's always wanted you. His words to Tess about not wanting to put you in danger, wanting you to stay away, those soft looks you've shared in his apartment, the small talk, all of it - it's because he wants you.

"We can't do this," he murmurs, leaning in to press his forehead to yours, eyes closing, "I can't do this, you're so- you're too-" he groans, fingers digging into your hair, "You're so young, baby."

"I don't care," you whine, butting your head forward to chase his lips, suddenly yearning to be kissed and held and protected by him, be wrapped in his embrace.

But he pulls away, removing his hands from your face and shuffling back a bit on the bed, away from you. Your hand drops but you reach out pathetically for him anyway, moving closer, attempting to pull the covers back. His hands capture yours and he squeezes them firmly, shaking his head.

"You need to go back to your room," he tells you, and his tone has changed from soft to serious, "It's late and I'm... well, you know I'm fuckin' exhausted. And you've had a long day." He looks at you with pleading eyes, like he's silently begging for you not to put him in this situation, "Let's just call it a night, okay?"

"But-" you start, tears shining in your eyes.

"Please," he breathes, "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

You do not want to get up from his bed. But you do.

You do not want to leave his room. But you do.

You do not want to lie awake in your own bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how his hands felt on your face, the way his eyes searched yours, the way his skin felt under your lips.

But you do.

You lie there for hours, thumbs twiddling against your belly, tears trickling down your cheeks every so often. All you can hear in your mind over and over again is the word Baby, punctuated by that soft groan he'd made, the way his thumbs had stroked your cheeks, how large and warm and safe he'd seemed in that bed.

All you want to do is be in that bed with him.

So it's no surprise when, as the sun is beginning to rise and that warm golden light starts to stream through your window, you crawl out from under your blankets and cross the hall one more time.

"We shouldn't" he murmurs when you climb into bed with him, when you tuck yourself into his side and bury your face in his shoulder, but his hands are already in your hair, fingers stroking along the back of your head.

Your bodies mold together like they've always been meant to fit that way, your legs tangled with his, arms trapped under big biceps and hairy forearms, breasts flush with his suddenly bare chest.

"I wanna be your baby," you whisper.

The nose you'd kissed brushes slowly up and down the side of your face, and he doesn't hesitate this time. He reaches up to turn your head, presses his lips against yours and lets you melt into him. Lets you trail your hand downward to unbutton his jeans in the silence of the early morning.

"You already are."

[chuluoyi]

✎ protect

- gojo satoru x reader

the word “protect” now means so much more to him

genre: soft and playful gojo, sugary dump fluff, pregnant!reader

note: anyone craving some soft gojo? :3 based on a suggestion by an anon who needs a soft gojo a while back, thank you!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

When he was 16, Gojo Satoru thought that protecting other people was a pain, and didn't take it seriously.

Later, when he realized that even non-sorcerers deserve to live their lives in peace, he dedicated himself to becoming stronger so that he would be capable to protect them more. However, even then, he didn't perceive their worth as significant.

But when you entered the picture, that measly, glorified word suddenly became so much more.

Usually people would only care about whether he had succeeded his mission or not. His formidable reputation as the epitome of strength means no one is genuinely interested in his wellbeing—no one after Suguru, to be exact—until you did.

After a whirlwind romance of attraction and banters, Satoru reached the conclusion that he wanted you, the only person left who actually made him feel like a human, to stay happy and safe. He would do it with his own hands, even if it meant reshaping this cruel world to be kinder for you with him as your shield.

And the word “protect” gained an entirely new meaning years later, when he rested his head on your swollen belly—the place where his new cherished treasure was growing.

“When will he come out~?” he asked in a whiny tone and a blissful smile, even though he clearly knew the answer.

You shook your head with playful resignation, unable to conceal your smile. "In three weeks. Now help me get comfortable, you dork."

He helped you turn over and fetched a pillow to place under your aching spine. Then, with a mischievous grin, he lightly poked your belly with two fingers, eliciting a yelp from you.

"Don't poke me! You're poking your child!"

To that, Satoru merely threw his head back and snickered like the dumbass he was. He then tenderly rested his hand on the taut skin of your belly, gently massaging it, smiling with ardent happiness.

"Can't really believe it," he sighed, brimming with the purest sense of contentment. "A mini Gojo, huh... You're really doing a honorable work."

A child of his and yours. He had always wondered how he would be after seeing him firsthand—would he laugh just like he had been doing now, or will it be the first instance that move him to the point of shedding tears? One of the reasons he eagerly anticipated his son's birth was just to discover how he would react.

Seeing the weight of his baby growing within you, making you rounder and fuller, stirred a deep well of warm emotions in him with each passing day though.

"I am," you retorted cheekily, rolling your eyes. "In fact, you should be revering and worshipping me for carrying your spawn."

He merely hummed in a childlike manner, feeling his baby move around under his touch. You were about to roast him again with something funny when he leaned down and planted a kiss on your tummy, whispering to it.

"Please come out already~ Papa wants to meet you!"

Your heart swelled with warmth at that moment. Gojo Satoru was many things, but he wasn't typically known for his softness—he was often seen as this all-perfect being, and so witnessing him acting purely on his human emotions brought you a sense of happiness.

“Who do you think he’ll take after?” you mused.

“Hmmm. Me, obviously. He'll be hot just like me!” he quipped proudly, and you playfully smacked him on the arm.

Satoru caught your hand and kissed it tenderly amidst his grin. "But I want him to have your personality. I'd hate to see him be a show-off."

"So you do realize that you're actually a menace."

He laughed out loud, patting the generous swell of your belly again with a smug look on his face.

"I know, but I'm your menace, and that's all that matters."

And when his adorable son was born less than three weeks later and you passed out due to sheer exhaustion, Satoru vowed by everything in the heavens and the earth that he wouldn't spare anything to protect you and his child from this curse-filled world.

Epilogue - on the night of the birth -

“Satoru—” you panted, grimacing, head jerking back as your womb throbbed and pulsed in order to bring forth your child into the world. “I… feel like I’m going to faint…”

Worry etched his face as you leaned on him. “Hey, hey… Calm down sweetheart, relax and catch up on your breath, okay? Don’t worry, he’ll come out soon.”

Somehow his words rubbed you the wrong way.

“Hahh—this… is because of you! This happened because you shoved your stick into me! You horny bas—aahh!”

“Well, hey! Last I remembered, you begged me to put it into you! And I'm not—pfft—”

“Then what are you?!”

“Hmmm, nothing but a man who got you pregnant, sweetheart~”

“If I bleed out and die, it’s going to be your fault, you evil, wretched sorcerer!”

[multifandoms4]

Annoying

Oscar Piastri x Norris!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You and Oscar tend to get on your brother’s nerves when you show PDA. Here are a few instances of that.

Word count: 700+

The first time it happened, it was a weekend off from racing, so you, Lando and Oscar decided to spend some time together and hang out. Y’all are currently playing Mario Kart and you are beating both of them. “For guys who drive race cars for a living, y’all suck at Mario Kart.” You tease them. Lando rolled his eyes and Oscar laughed at you. “Oh hush.” He retorted.

After you beat them once again, you decide to eat some takeout for dinner and watch a movie. You and Oscar are cuddled up on one couch while Lando is on the other. He looks over to see Oscar peppering your face in kisses. “I’m gonna vomit.” He says out loud and you start laughing. Oscar is soon to follow with the laughing. “Is someone feeling lonely over there?” You ask your brother teasingly. He rolls his eyes “No, but I still don’t want to see that.” He says with disgust.

“Oh boo. I just want to show my girlfriend some affection.” Oscar tells him. You giggle as him and Lando go back and forth with each other, all in friendly banter. “Do you plan on staying the night?” You ask Lando. He thinks about it for a moment and says he is going to. You get up and get the guest room ready.

~On a race day~

Another time you annoyed your brother was on a race day. You are standing in front of Oscar, he has his arms around your waist and his head resting on top of yours. Y’all really aren’t doing anything to crazy but Lando makes a gagging noise and pulls you away from Oscar. “No touching. I don’t want to see that.” You suppress a laugh and tell him to get over it. You go back to Oscar and give him a hug. They get called to go to their cars.

You lean up and give him a kiss and wish him good luck. You go to give Lando a hug and he is glaring at Oscar. “Calm down Lando, he’s my boyfriend and we are going to kiss.” “I still don’t like it. You’re my little sister, you’re not supposed to be kissing anybody.” He mutters. You shake your head and wish him good luck. You know he is giving you a hard time and doesn’t mean any harm by it.

~Time skip~

Today marks the two year anniversary since you and Oscar started dating. You are a little upset because Oscar has to work and is in another country at the moment. He called you earlier to say happy anniversary and it made you so happy. You go about your day and around dinner, you hear a knock on the door. Lando is standing there with a bouquet of flowers. “Special delivery.” He says. You laugh at him, knowing Oscar put him up to this. “I thought y’all were gonna be gone all week? And how much did he pay you to do this?”

“We got done early and moved some stuff around and he didn’t have to pay me anything. Just promised to keep the PDA to a minimum around me.” He teased. You rolled your eyes at him. “So where is Oscar right now?” You ask. “Just get ready to go. We are leaving in an hour.” He tells you. You put the flowers in a vase and hurry to get ready.

An hour later and Lando is taking you to the spot you and Oscar had your first official date. He is standing on the overlook with a blanket and a basket. You thank your brother and get out to go to Oscar. When you reach him, you pull him into a kiss “Happy anniversary, baby!” You say. “Happy anniversary!”

Lando rolls down the window, “I’m still here. Would it kill you two to wait till I’m gone?” He teased. You shrug your shoulders. “It actually might dear brother. Now go away, I want to spend some time with Oscar today.” He waves and drives off. “Even after all this time we’ve been together, the slightest amount of PDA still annoys him.” Oscar laughs at your comment. “I don’t think that will change.” He responds and you agree. Dinner goes well and you watch the sunset together before you head back home for the night.

[vivwritesfics]

Barking Mad - MV1

Overprotective BF Max. We Love overprotective bf max

(based on THIS post sent to me by @lillians-world-is-f1

Requests open

Masterlist

Max Verstappen loved Y/N so much, it was scary. Well, he was scary, actually. He could go from the sweetest man alive to overprotective boyfriend in up to two seconds. If Y/N was talking to someone and a frown began crossing her features, Max was barking at them.

Y/N would never admit it, but she loved seeing her boyfriend get all overprotective. There was one instance, back in 2019, where she was having a conversation with Charles. He'd just moved up to Ferrari and everybody was incredibly proud of him.

Y/N had known Charles just as long as she had known Max. The Monegasque felt like he could say anything to her without facing the consequences.

Whatever he did say to Y/N (it was so long ago that she didn't remember) it had her frowning. "Shut up, Charles," was all Max heard before he was marching over to her.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Max spat, pushing his girlfriend behind his body.

Y/N held onto his arm. "Maxie, stop," she whispered, but she was trying very hard to get him to back down.

Back down. Anybody that knew Max knew he didn't back down.

"Don't you ever say anything to upset her! Ever!" He shouted.

Charles looked to Y/N for help. His eyes were wide and his face had paled. What was he supposed to do? "Y/N?" He called, his voice squeaking.

"Come on, Maxie, he didn't mean it."

It wasn't all a bad thing, Y/N was quick to realise. She had a high profile boyfriend with millions of fans around the world. There was paparazzi around every corner.

Max was insanely protective over Y/N when fans or paparazzi were around. He always had his hand around her waist or he had her safely behind him while he pushed people away.

There was one person Max got madder than anybody else at. Before Max and Y/N had met, she was with another man. Her co-worker. His name didn't matter much, but, after they broke up he and Y/N still worked together. That meant social work outings together, Christmas parties and peoples birthdays.

He and Y/N were on okay terms. They could hold a short conversation about work related things, but that was about it. Max really didn't like him. He was convinced this co-worker was in still love with Y/N, especially now that was a world famous beauty.

At last years Christmas Party, Max completely lost his cool. He sat at the table as Y/N got them a drink and chatted to his co-workers. There were a few of Y/N's co-workers who knew who he was, but, after five years, they treated him like anybody else.

As Y/N chatted, her co-worker walked over to her. "Hey," he said and leaned against the table.

"Hey," Y/N answered.

Suddenly, Max was out of his chair.

Suddenly, Max was standing in front of his girlfriend, staring at her co-worker. "What do you want?" He spat, his gaze burning.

"Just speaking to Y/N," her co-worker answered with a tight lipped smile.

"Well, don't."

Y/N grabbed a hold of Max's suit-clad shoulder. "Come on, Maxie, let it go," she whispered to him.

Turning around, Max placed a quick kiss on Y/N's cheek. "I've got this, my love," he said and turned back to her co-worker. "Back the fuck off, man."

The co-worker rolled his eyes. "Call off your dog, Y/N," he muttered and poured himself another drink.

What the fuck did he just say? Thought Y/N. She pulled her hand from Max's shoulder and stepped back, letting her dog do his thing.

[reimaybe]

🎧: cherry flavoured — the neighbourhood

in all honesty, rin didn’t even really like cherries.

cherry keychains, cherry-flavored drinks, cherry lip balms, cherry-red lips… what? he blinked at the thought, his face now dusted with a light cherry-red hue.

the only reason a person as aloof and reclusive as him was dealing with something so ‘lukewarm’ was because you insisted on it. for instance, when he mentioned that his bangs were getting in the way while playing soccer, you were quick to offer a cherry hair clip as a solution.

to say the least, the school’s populace of girls were dismayed to see the introverted, aloof, and good-looking itoshi rin playing soccer with a cute cherry-red clip, a stark contrast to the way he destructively played the sport.

by halftime, rin approached you, all sulky.

“can i take this off now?” he grumbled.

you laughed. “no. you look cute.”

from the corner of your eye, you noticed a good number of girls sighing in defeat as they looked at you two. what could that be about?

rin rolled his eyes playfully. “okay, whatever. you’re lucky i like you.”

“...what?”

“what?” and with that, rin hurriedly ran away to join his team huddle.

you could have sworn his ears were tinged with a hint of red. your hand covered your mouth as you held back a smile, your cheeks flushing a soft cherry color.