#and also learn how to turn water into wine

[blainesebastian]

best behavior

word count: 9,441 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: While you're excited to see your brother when he comes to visit, you know that it'll also come with a dinner with your parents. And that's something you're never looking forward to. notes: just wanted an excuse to write some protective and supportive nick 🥰 notes2: gifs from here, masterlist is here!

Smoothing a hand over your face, you sit down on the edge of your bed where Nick is on his stomach reading a book. It’s a lazy Saturday, just spending time with one another, a long day of hanging out at his place in the pool and eating way too much food after the fact. He drove you back here with the windows down and the music a little too loud, his hand stretched across the divide to lace fingers together, resting his palm along your thigh. Your cheeks are warm from wine and a shower with the water too hot, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You’ve been dating Nick for two years and somehow, days like this always make you feel like the very beginning. Butterflies in your stomach, a warm glow behind your ribs. Just utterly in love with him. 

That’s always been the easy part. 

The hard part? Well. You’re still working on it. 

It’s always been a little difficult for you to open up, to share things with Nick. It’s not him, exactly, that’s hard to talk to. It’s just that you’re used to people judging, used to them not understanding, not seeing you. It’s unfortunately been a staple in your life—with family, with friends, with relationships. 

Granted, it only takes one instance with Nick for you to learn that that’d never be the case with him. 

It’s a combination of things, you realize, happening at once. 

You’ve bottled things up your entire life. Your parents aren’t exactly the poster-children for handling or managing their emotions well. They never talk about how they really feel or why it’s important to vent or share before tidal waves swallow them. The sad part is, this isn’t even something that’s passed down to you—this is memorized behavior. Your father is a block of ice, a deaf ear, and your mother has somehow convinced you that oversharing (or rather, sharing in general) isn’t attractive. 

Distantly, you know that’s not healthy and you do your best to unlearn it in relationships that mean something to you—your brother, friendships, boyfriends, but it’s a lot harder than it seems. Especially when you put up resistance and no one pushes, no one gently tries to take down a wall that you’ve carefully crafted around yourself to keep your feelings in. 

No one, until you start dating Nick. 

Which is probably why, when he senses something is off and asks you for the second time in different and supportive words if you’re okay —that bottle that’s been tipping back and forth inside of you for about two days explodes. 

You love your job at the bookstore, it’s one of the things that feels most put-together in your life. Especially for a future that you want working with kids, becoming a teacher—you’re able to spend time reading books and help develop reading programs and activities for the kids that come in. You made the mistake of trying to tell your parents about an event that you put together because you were excited about it. In turn, you get a twenty-minute lecture about how your future job needed to have more ‘substance’. 

A conversation that’s not new, yet is painful all the same. Something that you’ve learned to swallow, smile and nod about and then move on. To brush it under the rug where it belongs because lingering on it will do nothing but hurt. 

And yet you’ve let those feelings build for far too long, and when Nick gently tries to pry you open, because he can tell you’ve been upset for the past few days, a wave of emotions come crashing down—hard. 

Your face crumples and you try to hide the reaction with your hands but you’re not quick enough, a sob bursting out of your mouth before the onslaught of tears comes. Embarrassment stings in your chest so sharply that you attempt to turn away from him, 

“Hey,” Nick gently reaches for your elbow, tugging you closer. “Oh, hey. C’mere.” He whispers, wrapping his arms around you. He holds you tightly, absorbing every shuddered cry that rocks your body.

He has to think this is so pathetic, the fact that you’re crying over something that happened two days ago, that you don’t have to listen to what you’re parents are telling you about what to eventually do with your life, like it’s somehow written in stone—that this is the first time in a long time it feels like someone actually cares enough to hear what’s wrong. 

But of course, Nick doesn't make you feel like that at all. 

He doesn’t try to ask you what’s happened, just keeps you against his chest for the worst of it, his one hand mapping circles up and down your back while the other threads his fingers through your hair. He presses so many kisses against your forehead and temple that you begin to lose track. 

Eventually, when you pull back to look at him, Nick cups your cheek. He brushes his thumb along the bone underneath your one eye and offers you the softest of smiles that somehow lightens the heaviness in your chest. 

Which is why when your breathing evens out and the tears stop, you tell him everything. 

Still. It’s not always easy. You’ve gotten a lot better at it, but the moment something happens that you want to tell him, something that’s important…you feel yourself clam up, snap shut, bury it. 

Which is how you’ve been sitting on this particular nugget of information about your family for the past week. Something reaches deep into your chest and clutches, creating a heartbeat in your ears. 

Nick bumps your leg with his elbow, snapping your attention to him. The brush that was sitting on your thigh almost tumbles onto the floor. You manage to catch it, a soft hum of amusement from your boyfriend. 

“Fast hands.” 

You smile a little, a small sound rumbling in your chest. “You would know.” 

Nick sets his book down, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your knee. “I would.” 

He shifts on the bed until he’s seated behind you. There’s a silent conversation as he kisses the back of your shoulder, his arm slipping around your waist. You’re not wearing much, just underwear and one of his t-shirts, but the touches here and there are not inherently sexual. It’s more of a deep-seated intimacy, something that fills you up so entirely that you’re not sure how you didn’t have it before. 

His one hand rubs at your waist while the other reaches for the brush on your lap. You close your eyes when his fingers begin to thread through your damp hair, guiding the brush to follow afterwards. The touches are deft and measured, getting tangles out. But it’s not just about combing out the strands, there are gentle questions he’s not asking, because he knows you. Can sense the tense lines in your shoulders, can feel the way words are tucked underneath your tongue. 

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asks softly, his breath fluttering along the back of your neck. 

Despite the soft sigh that leaves your chest, a twinge of a smile tugs the corners of your mouth. Because he understands what you need. It’s almost frustrating how well he’s able to see right through you. Almost. You appreciate that no matter how tightly wound you might appear, he’s always there, gently encouraging you to open up. 

There’s a tender, knee-jerk reaction to keep him out, to hide, but his hands brushing your hair unwind some of your hesitation. “My brother and his fiancée, Gina, are coming to visit from New York on Tuesday.” 

Nick doesn’t pause in his ministrations but you can tell he’s listening to you, calm and even breaths that sweep against your back every so often, encouraging you to keep talking. You glance down at your hands, wringing your fingers on your lap. 

“I haven’t seen him in a few years, not since we moved here, so,” You swallow over an emotion in your throat.  Truth is, you get along amazingly with your brother. He’s one of your favorite people in the world. Much like Nick and his relationship with Maddie, you and your brother, Alec, have been inseparable since you were kids. Despite the fact that he’s five years older than you, you’ve grown up playing together, looking out for one another, and getting into trouble for shared shenanigans. That closeness has never been diminished, not even from living further away, even though you miss being able to just show up at his place without an invitation to hang out or check in. 

You can’t wait to see him, even though sometimes his presence comes as a double-edged sword. Your parents have done their best work at trying to drive an invisible wedge between the two of you where it doesn’t belong. For whatever reason, he’s always been the golden child all throughout growing up. If anyone were to meet Alec though, you’d never know that he was constantly put in the center of attention, he’s never let that praise go to his head. He’s down to earth, kind, funny, and dedicated—everything that he has, he’s worked his ass off for. And yet, for reasons that feel like a briar patch in your lungs, your parents practically worship the ground he walks on. Like everything he touches literally turns to gold. 

You’re not saying that there’s no justification to praise Alec for any of his accomplishments, especially lately. He’s working as one of the youngest positions in a supply-chain company and gets paid really well for it. He’s also been putting funds together to fix up an old brownstone to eventually move in with his soon-to-be wife. Gina is practically a Disney princess; she's so sweet, not to mention successful in her own right. They’re just a really good couple. Textbook, almost.

You couldn’t be happier for Alec, he deserves it. 

And yet…it always seems like some sort of competition between the two of you in your parent’s eyes. Even though it’s never been like that privately for you and him. Neither you nor Alec take much stock in that commentary, it’s just something to smile and roll your eyes over. You’ve learned a long time ago that your parent’s approval is not the be-all-end-all to how you feel about yourself. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. Though it doesn’t make it any less painful when it’s pointed out. 

You don’t even realize you haven’t finished your thought process until Nick speaks up, starting on the other side of your shoulder. He runs the brush through the locks there, over and over, and it settles your heartbeat in your throat better than anything else. 

“I’m sure you’re looking forward to seeing him.” 

You nod, leaning back a little until your shoulders bump against his chest. Nick stops brushing your hair, his arms wrapping around you from behind. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, tipping his chin down to press a kiss to your jawline. 

“Yeah, I just wish my parents weren’t ruining it by having some sort of overzealous dinner.” 

That’s totally bogus, anyways? You know them. They just want to show off and pretend to be something they’re not in front of Gina because she comes from money. Despite Gina being one of the most grounded people you’ve ever met, it’s like your parents think they need to impress her, that she’ll report back how everything was to her own parents. 

You roll your eyes, your head tipping until it rests on Nick’s collarbone. He doesn’t comment but instead, gently squeezes you. He’s only met your parents a handful of times but it doesn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together to figure out that Nick doesn’t like them. Or rather, he doesn’t respect them and it’s directly related to how they’ve made you feel. How they continue to make you feel. 

Regardless of that, Nick has always been a perfect gentleman around them. He’s never said anything outright to your mom or dad, has never caused waves, has always been polite and respectful. A mask that fits in with a few others you’ve seen sliding over the features of his face, indistinguishable if you don’t know him well. You understand that mask perfectly well, after all, you tend to wear your own when handling your parents’ disappointments. You’ve already told him that it wouldn’t be worth it to get into it with them, anyways. You’ve been dealing with their sour mood swings all your life, you can take it. 

Nick lets out a long breath out of his nose, “You said it was on Tuesday?” 

Chewing on your lower lip, you nod, “Yeah, I was hoping you could…” Then the upcoming week slams into view as your eyes snap to the calendar hanging above your desk. Fuck, “Shit, I didn’t realize it was the same night you had that fight scheduled.” 

You can feel Nick shake his head but you keep talking, so annoyed with yourself that you didn’t put it together when it came to those dates. As much as you hate watching Nick fight in the ring, you’d much rather be there than at a dinner table with your parents. 

“Lion’s been trying to organize that for forever and I can’t—” 

Nick squeezes you again, “Hey,” He whispers in your ear, waiting until you turn a little in his arms to face him, “I’ll be there.” He holds your gaze, nuzzling your nose with his own until a ghost of a smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. “Okay?” 

Admittedly, there’s a bubble of relief that bursts in your chest when you know you won’t be going to that dinner alone. You’re definitely excited to see your brother, you don’t want your parents to ruin it or take that away from you. But it’ll make you feel better to have someone in your corner. 

You nod, wanting to thank him but you know you don’t need to. He wouldn’t let you anyways, that’s not what he’s after. He just wants to be there for you, as he has been since you’ve met him. And you can’t help but love him a little more for that. 

Planting a kiss to his cheek, you turn as he shifts so that you’re both leaning against the headboard of your bed. He’s propped up against a pile of pillows while you get comfortable against his chest. 

“Can’t promise the food will be good either.” You mumble. 

A soft laugh rumbles in Nick’s chest that you feel more than hear, “We’ll go to the diner after—french fries and milkshakes.” 

“Something to look forward to.” You agree with a grin and finally feel your body slowly begin to relax against him, one muscle at a time. 

—

Smoothing your hands over your plaid dress for what has to be the fiftith time, you chastise yourself for wearing something so fucking uncomfortable. This is a typical occurrence for you, unfortunately. Despite settling into the fact that no matter what choices you make your parents will probably never be happy with the things you do, wear, or say…there’s still that niggling inside of you to try and appease them. 

Hence this stupid dress. 

It’s something your mother bought you three Christmases ago and it’s not your style in the slightest. Maybe if it didn’t have puffy sleeves, or if it was more low-cut than the stifling high neck…maybe if it didn’t feel like it was suffocating you. You got ready at Nick’s house, kind of hiding out there until this dinner reared its ugly head. You should have brought options instead of just…this.

“We can turn around,” Nick says, not looking at you as he drives, but his one hand leaves the steering wheel to squeeze yours that’s on your thigh. “Or stop at a store, buy you another dress.” 

A laugh rumbles up out of your throat, “Right, because I have money to burn for that.” 

Nick’s lips twitch, like you don’t already know that he’d buy you whatever you needed, whatever you asked for. “Can forgo the dress altogether then.” He shifts at a red light, turning his head to look in your direction. 

“Oh yeah, that’ll really be something to talk about at the dinner table.” 

He shrugs his one shoulder, his eyes giving you a heated onceover despite this stupid dress choking the life out of you. “I know what you’re wearing under there, I’ve got zero complaints.” 

A small snort leaves your nose, your cheeks flushing as you playfully poke his side with the hand he’s holding. You appreciate his offer, even moreso at his attempt to distract you as you head to your parent’s place. You wish this dinner was somewhere public, as if the bustle of a busy restaurant might help detract from whatever conversations are going to spin between your family. 

He eventually pulls into the long driveway that leads up to your parent’s house. You don’t come from near as much money that Nick does, or apparently what Alec is marrying into, but you’ve always been comfortable. You’ve never wanted for anything a day in your life and you know most have it far worse off. You also know that the profession you’re interested in is severely underpaid when it comes to teachers. Which is probably another reason why your parents are against you becoming one, they’ve always been the type of people to crave things they don’t need, including acceptance and notoriety. The only thing they asked about when you told them you were dating Nick is what his parents do (and then once more when they realized Nick was directly responsible for a successful ride-share app). 

When he parks, you squeeze Nick’s hand after he pockets the car keys. He looks over at you, raising his eyebrows when nothing comes out of your mouth. Your jaw ticks, gaze wandering towards the front door. You don’t want to say anything, exactly? But…

His eyes soften as he follows your gaze, lifting your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles, “I’ll be on my best behavior,” He teases, “Promise.” 

You let out a long sigh, but there’s the softest of smiles pulling the corners of your mouth, “I owe you one.” 

He shakes his head, opening up the car door, “You really don’t.” 

You follow him out of the car, a small grimace crinkling your nose because…you’re not sure about that. The night still has yet to happen and you already know there’s a ton of better things you and him could be doing that’s not this. 

His hand reaches for yours again while approaching the front door, fingers lacing absentmindedly. You tug him a little closer, “I don’t know, I can easily think of a few ways I could make this up to you.” 

Nick smiles and rings the doorbell, turning his head to kiss the bridge of your nose. “I’ll take you up on that if we survive.” He winks, nipping at your lower lip before offering a small kiss that melts some of the remaining nerves. When the door opens, you look over as your mother lingers in the doorway. 

Carole gives a small smile, her eyes instantly grazing over your dress before humming, “Don’t you look beautiful?” Then, “Though maybe another size up would have been more comfortable.” 

You let out a breath, tipping your head towards Nick to change the subject, “You remember my boyfriend, right mom? Nick?” 

Your mother’s gaze snaps to him standing beside you and even though she’s smiling, you can tell that you’ve thrown her a bit off kilter with him being here. You didn’t let her know you were bringing him in case your parents attempted to feed you bullshit about not being allowed to have a guest at a so-called ‘family dinner’. 

She clears her throat, nodding, stepping aside to let you both in, “I do. How are you Nick?” 

Nick slides his leather jacket off, handing it over to your mother to hang up as she opens a side closet door. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans that probably could pass as black and an expensive short-sleeved, collared, cream colored sweater. His accent jewelry is the same, a tiny bit of gel in his hair to tame the wild curls near his forehead. Your stomach does a flip as a waft of his cologne, combined with something that’s purely him, brushes your nose. 

“I’m good Mrs. Y/L/N, thank you.” 

She hums, not asking any additional questions and certainly not offering for him to call her ‘Carole’. Which is just fine for Nick; the moment your mother stops speaking, his attention returns to you, his hand reaching out for yours. 

Though before he can manage that, you hear your brother come down the hallway with a boisterous, “I thought I heard Y/N.” He grins when he reaches you, picking you up in a spinning hug that easily makes you laugh. When he sets you down, he grimaces at the dress, “Really?” 

“Shut up.” You laugh, swatting his chest, but god—it’s really good to see him. 

Alec is dressed in a pair of light colored jeans and a dark blue button down rolled up at the sleeves. It’s almost unfair how casual he can dress and probably nothing was said about it. But your usual style is met with commentary and not so subtle looks as if you’re wearing a dead fish and not long silky dresses paired with spiky heeled boots. 

Your brother squeezes your arms, bringing you back from your thoughts. He’s taller than you but he’s got similar features that leave no doubts to you two being related—same hair color, eye color, and a dimple in his one cheek when he really smiles. He glances over at Nick, raising his eyebrows.

“You must be the boyfriend that I’ve heard so much about,” He offers his hand and Nick takes a step forward to shake it. 

“Hopefully good things.” Nick offers back. 

You smile, your hand finding his when he’s done greeting Alec, “Only good things.” 

“And the occasional rant,” Alec teases, winking in your direction before motioning down the hallway. “C’mon, Gina is excited to see you too.” 

Your mother clasps her hands together, humming, “Dinner should be ready in a few minutes here.” 

Drawing in a breath, you glance over at Nick and press a kiss to his cheek as you follow everyone towards the kitchen. Gina is there in an apron, helping your mother put the finishing touches on anything that still needs to be done. She’s got her long, blonde hair tied up in a loose ponytail, a pretty pink lipstick bringing out the shades of blue in her eyes—she’s the type of easy beauty you wish you could pull off. When she looks up and notices you, she gives a bright smile as you all come in. 

Introductions are gone through again and Gina gives you a firm hug before offering a piece of cucumber that she’s cut for the salad that’s in a bowl in front of her. You take it with a hum, popping it into your mouth. You don’t see your dad anywhere, but knowing him, he’s probably in front of a football game in the living room as he waits for everything to get set up. Or maybe even trying to figure out what bottle of wine to put on the table to go with the food at dinner. 

“We’re going to need another plate setting.” Carole comments and even though her tone is light, you know her well enough to detect a slight edge. “Not sure if there’s going to be enough food…” 

“There will be more than enough,” Alec comments, pouring himself some more water. He cuts off the fabricated hysteria before it can start and you give him a small, grateful smile. 

Leaning your elbows against the counter, Nick stands beside you, his hand resting on your lower back, “Want some help?” You ask Gina, she’s been cutting cucumbers but there’s still other things to do. You feel like doing something with your hands will only help with the nervous energy.

“Sure,” She grins and shares the cutting board with you, grabbing a knife so you can begin slicing cherry tomatoes in half. “Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it?” She asks and you nod—within the next month. “Did you decide what you wanted to do? Alec said you were thinking about Italy?” 

You scoff out a laugh, “I wasn’t being serious. I just said it’d be cool to go one day because I’ve never been.” 

Gina lets out a romantic sigh, glancing at your brother, “I’ve been trying to convince him to do our honeymoon there. So I understand the pull.” 

You grin, “Let me guess, he’s happy with going to Disney World.” 

“Hey,” Alec huffs, playfully smacking your leg with a dish towel, “It’s the happiest place on earth.” 

Another laugh leaves your lips and Nick brushes a kiss at your temple; you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I’m not debating that. Cinderella’s castle is super romantic.” 

Gina rolls her eyes but it’s that kind of love, you recognize, in which she’d do anything for Alec. Even a honeymoon in Disney. But knowing your brother, he already has something up his sleeves that involves Italy, just like his fiancée wants. It’s one of the reasons you were talking about it on the phone, not just your whims for a birthday trip. Though it’d definitely be nice. 

“I’ve been taking Italian lessons just in case,” Gina then shares, gathering up a small stack of cut cucumbers into her hands and plopping them into the salad bowl. “Waking up in Florence, can you imagine?” 

“I told Y/N that’s where we could go,” Nick shares, raising his eyebrows with a soft smile. 

And he has. He’s offered you that getaway option for your birthday. You, him, Lion and Jenna escaping to Italian cities, as many as you could fit in distance-wise the week of you turning a year older. But…you can’t possibly shirk responsibilities for that, right? You’ve got a day job and college classes coming up to fill for your teaching degree. Not to mention you’re kinda strapped for cash unlike the three of them are. Nick has never suggested for a moment that you’d need to pay for anything but…you’re not sure if you’re comfortable with that. 

Regardless of how romantic it is. 

“And I told Nick that it’s way too much.” 

He smirks a little, which is mostly just air leaving his nose. He squeezes your side almost in a purposely ticklish place so your body arches closer to his own, “And I told you that your birthday is worth it.” You know what he’s saying, that you’re worth it. You can’t help but smile, shaking your head as you lean over and plant a quick and soft kiss to his lips. 

Gina hums, her eyes darting between the two of you, “Alec, I hope you’re writing down notes on romance.” 

Alec grunts but he’s smiling, mostly at Gina, “Actually I’m ignoring everything that has to do with my sister at the moment.” He does motion towards the other end of the kitchen though, where it leads into a study, “You any good at pool, Nick?” 

Nick nods, “I can hold my own.” 

You playfully bump your hip against his, encouraging him to follow your brother in that direction. Dinner is almost done anyways, so it’s not like there’s much to do in the kitchen as you and Gina finish this salad. You’ve been wondering why your mother has been so silent but it’s then you realize she’s left the kitchen at some point, probably to go find your father. Relief splinters throughout your body that she didn’t hear about your birthday aspirations. Though you know that just means that dinner will probably have even worse commentary than if she would have been in here to give her criticisms on all the Italy talk. 

Nick pulls away slightly, his gaze finding yours and holding it for a moment. He’s making sure you’ll be alright if he leaves and while you appreciate the sentiment, you like the idea of him getting to know your brother, having some time with him. When you nod, he leans forward and brushes a kiss over your forehead before following Alec out of the room. 

Letting out a long breath, you look up at Gina, who’s wearing a warm expression. “What?” You laugh. 

“Nothing,” She shrugs, “He’s really sweet. Nick.”

You hum knowingly, grabbing another tomato to cut in half, “He is.” And a hundred other things running through your thoughts, “Still not sure what he’s doing with me,” You joke, “I dunno how I got so lucky.” 

Gina just smiles, her gaze wandering towards where Alec and Nick went. “I know exactly what you mean.” 

—

After helping Gina with the salad, you wander past the study in search of your father to let him know it’s time to eat. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you hear the soft echo of Nick and Alec ribbing one another over the pool table, not keeping score but having a good time anyways. It touches something deep in your chest that they’re getting along, both of them important to you in different ways. Especially with how difficult family can be. 

Speaking of, you round the corner and pause at the small wine cellar that’s attached to your father’s office, watching him examine a bottle in his hands. 

“Dinner’s ready, dad.” 

He looks up, adjusting his glasses, “Oh, Y/N.” There’s a once-over on your dress, a prickle between his eyebrows because he recognizes it, then, “I’m just preparing you, your mother wants to talk about a few things at dinner.” 

You sigh softly—that can only be about one thing. 

“Even though the ‘prince that was promised’ is here?” You mumble under your breath and then wince about that because…your anger, your jealousy, is not with your brother. Not really. Rubbing the back of your neck, you straighten your shoulders. 

“Shouldn’t we focus on Alec? There’s plenty to ask him about his business and the wedding.” There’s no need to talk about me, whispers against the back of your mind, almost out of your mouth. 

Your father gives you a tired look, like this song and dance isn’t new, so why are you putting up a fuss? “You know your mother. This wouldn’t be so painful if you considered what she’s trying to tell you. We only have your best interests in mind.” 

Except it doesn’t feel like that at all. Instead, it feels like the fifth time in the variation of this conversation, of not being heard, of being disregarded. You think that hurts the most—what you want isn’t considered. It’s merely pushed aside as something irrelevant.

“Dad…” 

“Y/N.” He replies, tone final, taking his glasses off. He looks at you calculatingly, like one would a bottle of wine. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, the bridge of your nose stinging as you shake your head, dismissing the words stuck in your throat. What would be the point? The acquisition might be led by your mother, but your father is just as complicit—a silent bystander, never adding to the conversation but never being helpful, either. Never on your side. 

You turn to head upstairs, slipping inside the bathroom to compose yourself. You don’t dare look at yourself in the mirror, afraid of what you’d see there. That stupid fucking dress feeling like it’s getting tighter around your throat by the minute. You stare at the porcelain sink, your eyes filling with tears. Blinking rapidly to clear them, you sniffle, wiping one away that skitters down your cheek. 

Taking a few moments to breathe and run your fingers under your eyes, you eventually open the door, turning to go down the hall towards the dining room—

And see Nick waiting for you right outside the bathroom. He’s leaning against the wall, his gaze drinking you in the moment you’re in his frame of view. 

He takes one look at your face before, “We can leave if you want.”

A wet scoff leaves your lips, “I wish that’s what I wanted.”

But he reads the unspoken words beneath the ones you’ve said. You wish your parents supported you, respected you, that they’d just make things easy. Like they do with Alec. 

There’s a question in his eyes as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb over the bone where the rest of your tears haven’t fallen yet. You bite down on the side of your tongue so that they don’t. It’s not worth it. You know that. 

And then, like you’ve been trying to do more of, you share how you feel with someone who’s always been in your corner. “My dad basically just said to grin and bear it through dinner.”

Nick’s face clouds over in a telltale sign that he is not pleased with what’s been said to you—that you basically just have to endure whatever hurtful words are spat over the tablecloth and fancy dishes. 

Sighing softly, you shake your head. “Don’t.” You whisper. “It’s one dinner.” 

“It’s not.” His voice is quiet but sharp, a knife wrapped in velvet. “That’s another reason why I’m pissed off.” 

Meaning they’re like this to you all the time, any time they feel like they can get away with it. And that’s why it’s even more fucked up—your parents aren’t doing this to be malicious. They just…don’t consider your feelings, don’t seriously take how you want your future to go. There’s a lack of respect that you can’t understand. But you’ve lived with it your whole life, you’ve tried to fight those battles, you’ve stood up for yourself the best that you can. What else is there? Totally cutting yourself off from your parents? You’re not sure if you’re ready for something like that…if you could do it. 

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “Best behavior,” You tease lightly, trying to steer him away from looking so murderous. “Remember?” 

He lets out a slow breath out of his nose, a halfhearted eyeroll. His jaw clenches but eventually he nods, tone gentle and at odds with how upset he is. Angry on the behalf of you. And it means more to you than you think you can voice without crying. 

“Come here,” Nick encourages you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. He squeezes you tightly, as if he can convey without words how much you mean to him. You read him loud and clear, allowing your eyes to close so you can focus on stopping your lower lip from wobbling. 

Your arms snake around his waist, one of your hands holding onto his sweater like a lifeline, until your pulse slows. And when you eventually have to pull apart, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and holds onto your hand to lead you into the dining room where your family is waiting. 

—

Dinner starts off as it usually does—easy. The conversation is light as dishes are passed around and drinks are poured. Your mother has made your brother’s favorite meal, which is lasagna. Even though you’ve never been a fan of fennel, you pile a large piece onto your plate and eat your fill of it. You’re mostly just here for the warm bread and butter and your dad’s apple pie dessert. After finishing one piece of bread, the basket suddenly appears by your plate again and when you turn to glance at Nick beside you, he offers a playful wink. 

You can’t help but smile, grabbing another piece and lathering it up in butter before having a bite. Nick’s mellowed out a little as everyone started eating, but you think it’s for your benefit more than anything else, to help you feel relaxed. You’re not going to lie and say it hasn’t helped. 

Pushing thoughts of the words exchanged with your father aside, you pay attention to your brother as he fills your parents in on how his job is going. He just got a raise last year, so he’s headed in the right direction with his company. You’re perfectly happy with the conversation bypassing you, flitting through the air back and forth between Alec explaining aspects of his job or life in New York and your parents offering encouraging sounds and hopeful words. 

Except you know better, because it never stays like that. 

“That’s what we’ve been trying to discuss with Y/N.” You tilt your head up at your name being said, eyes landing on your mother. So it begins. “A job needs to have a clear ladder of success.” 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—by ‘success’, you know she means ‘money’. 

Alec lets out a breath, but he’s smiling as he purposely twists what she’s saying by using the job you have now instead of the one your mother is talking about, “Oh c’mon mom, Y/N climbs ladders every day at the bookstore.” 

A soft giggle rumbles in Gina’s chest, her hand slipping over Alec’s in solidarity and you can’t help but smile at your brother too. Your parents don’t approve of the direction your life is going in, but what else is new? You’re pretty sure you could pick anything under the sun to pursue and they’d have some sort of issue with it. 

It just so happens you want to be a teacher, maybe elementary, maybe middle…you haven’t decided yet. But that’s the whole point of college, to figure it out. At the very least, you know you want to teach art, so you’re navigating what classes line up with the education ones you need. But you’re really serious about it…and everyone that matters has been supportive. After talking with your father, you’re reminded that even if you followed what your parents wanted to a T— went to the college they picked, pursued the job they selected, eventually married whoever they deemed worthy, they still wouldn’t be satisfied. 

You take a very small amount of comfort in that. 

Nick clears his throat, turning to look towards your father, “My dad mentioned the company that you work at the other day, Mr. Y/L/N. Something about a joint project coming up?” 

Your father’s eyes light up a bit at the attention and you could practically kiss Nick over his plate of lasagna for the shift in discussion. Even though he’s listening to your father’s reply, his hand moves under the table to rest on your knee, giving it a comforting squeeze. You lean a little into the touch, allowing it to distract you as you put another small portion of food on your plate. You’re getting full but even so, you’re hoping Nick meant what he said about a diner stop after this. You feel like a cleanse of crispy fries and thick milkshakes is just what you need. 

When everyone eats what they want, the table lingers and talks before dessert and coffee. You’re almost hopeful at getting through this dinner with your parents unscathed but…it’s wishful thinking as the conversation pendulum swings back in your direction when Alec asks, 

“So you ready for college?” He has another sip of wine after Gina fills his glass, “You know, I was thinking about that arts and crafts program you do at the bookstore—it'll probably look great on a resume for your teaching job.” 

Warmth spreads throughout your chest at being seen. Alec’s always encouraged your journey in figuring out what you want to do with teaching and the fact that he brings it up means more to you than you can express with words. But that same warmth is quickly snuffed out when your mother interjects, 

“I’m still unsure how that is part of your responsibility at the bookstore,” She shakes her head, “It’s like taking care of someone else’s children at a daycare.” 

You straighten your shoulders, letting her words roll off. You give yourself a moment before you reply, not wanting to say something you’ll regret, and have another forkful of lasagna. It’s beginning to taste like ash on your tongue.

“It’s something I asked my boss if we could do,” You shrug, “There’s a lot of kids who come in after school and places like libraries have those sorts of things all the time. I just figured it might be a good idea.” 

Not to mention, a lot of the kids stick around and then pick out books to read—and really, isn’t that the whole point? To get them excited about reading? 

“It is,” Nick reassures about it being a good idea, his hand squeezing your knee again. Your own slips under the table and brushes your fingers over his, playing with a ring that’s on one of his fingers. 

There’s a blinking red light in the back of your mind that tells you to stop while you’re behind, but your mother’s tone digs right under your skin. That she can’t find anything worthwhile about the time you’re spending building experience with what you want to do with your future, that you obviously love art and working with kids. That teaching is something you want to do. 

You draw in a calming breath, trying to straighten your spine and not feel like a deflated balloon. “Besides, teaching will be a lot more than that?” You tell her, “Looking after someone’s kids, I mean. It’s—”

She gives you a look that is almost amusement but it’s obviously at your expense, like you’re the one misunderstanding here, and it cuts you off at the knees— “I’m just trying to get you to understand that you can find a job that not anyone can do.” She has a slow sip of her wine, cutting into another piece of lasagna. “You can pull a random person off the street to become a teacher.” 

Her words hit like a slap to the face, your cheeks heating with embarrassment even though you know what she’s saying isn’t true. But the fact that she’s equated teaching with being an ‘easy’ profession that anyone can do…it just goes to show that she knows nothing about what being a teacher is. It’s so much deeper than people give it credit for, it’s so much more than just building and carrying out curriculum. 

Nick bristles beside you, his hand shifting to grip yours when it begins to tremble. Fuck, you should have known better than to try and have this conversation right now, so openly at the dinner table. It’s not worth it—your mom is someone who will never see eye-to-eye about this. You knew this was coming and yet you still pushed forward, tried. You feel like a fool even though you know that’s the furthest thing from being true. 

You clear your throat, trying to remove the lump that’s found a home there, not daring to look across the table at your brother or Gina because you don’t want to do something stupid like cry. 

“Well, I guess we can agree to disagree.” You reply, voice as even as you can make it. You just want the subject to shift into something else. Nick’s thumb brushes over your knuckles and when your mother makes a soft noise of contempt, you chance a glance at your boyfriend. 

“We’re not going to ‘disagree’ about something as important as your future.” 

Nick’s body is still but there’s an undercurrent of ice settling in the usual warmth of his brown eyes, a muscle flexing in his jaw like he’s grinding his molars so he doesn’t say something. He lets out a slow breath from his nose, picking up his water to have a sip—

“You’ll end up a glorified babysitter, it’s not a job to be taken seriously.” 

And then his restraint snaps. “That’s enough.” 

The phrase is sharp and commanding, settling in the room like a nuclear bomb. The aftermath is utter silence in which you almost need to hold your breath, like you might have imagined Nick speaking up. But you didn’t, because your mother’s face almost turns red at being scolded. 

“I beg your pardon?” She’s practically choking silverware in her hands. 

You’re holding onto Nick’s hand so tightly that you’ve got to be hurting him, but all he does is brush a soothing thumb along your knuckles again. You want to say something, to cut this conversation in half, to somehow…move on? But you know by the stance of Nick’s body that he’s not backing down from metaphorically stepping in-between you and your mother. He might not be in the ring but it doesn’t change that he’s geared up for a fight. 

“With all due respect, you heard what I said.” To his credit, Nick’s tone doesn’t change. His voice doesn’t elevate, his anger is cold. Which somehow makes it worse. “You’re belittling her into making her feel like she’s less than she is because, what? She wants to be a teacher?” He lets a slow breath from his nose. “I can think of worse things. Like monotonously clicking open a spreadsheet or endless conference calls with China over what supplies they need to order. There are other ways a job can pay that has nothing to do with money.”  

He glances towards your brother. “No offense.” 

Alec’s lips twitch into an almost smile, shaking his head, “None taken—it’s definitely not for everyone. And neither is teaching, that takes someone special.” Which goes directly against what your mother has said about how ‘anyone’ can jump into that job. 

Your father at least has the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed, but he doesn’t intervene. He never does. At this point in your life, you don’t expect him to. He never wants to deal with the backlash so he just lets her be like this. Because it’s easier. 

Your mother just lets out an offended gasp, her hand resting near her collarbone like she’s trying to control her reaction. Her animosity, however, is not directed towards your brother at all—her lazer focus is on Nick. 

“Your father will be severely disappointed when he hears how rude you’re being after you were invited into our home—to a dinner you weren’t supposed to be at, mind you.” 

You get the implication immediately. You never told her Nick was coming, that your mother considers this a family only dinner. 

But Nick is your person. 

When he feels you tense up beside him, ready to defend him, he shifts his hand so that he’s squeezing your wrist, stopping you from saying anything. Your mother’s comment lands flat, Nick’s not threatened or flustered in the slightest as he calmly puts the napkin that was on his lap onto the table in front of him. 

“The only thing my father is going to be disappointed in is the fact that I didn’t open my mouth sooner.” 

Your mother actually sputters but Nick doesn’t respond with anything else, the implication is clear: she can say whatever she wants about him, but he’s not going to sit here any longer and listen to her disrespect you. 

Whatever Carole is about to say, it’s silenced by your father putting his hand on her arm. She straightens her back, hard lines on her face as her eyes alight with flames, “I think it’s time you showed yourself out.” 

Nick is standing before she even finishes her sentence and you begin to follow him, tossing your napkin on the counter. You’re certainly not staying here without him. Alec clears his throat, 

“I think you owe her an apology, mom.” 

“Don’t,” You manage softly, finding your voice, “It’s alright Alec.” 

It’s not, but you appreciate him. His jaw ticks, like he wants to argue, but eventually nods softly before looking over at Nick. 

“Really nice to meet you.” And you can read right through that too, he likes Nick, approves of what’s just happened with the attempt to put your mom into her place. 

It probably won’t help in the long-run, but you can’t help but feel a flicker of warmth behind your ribcage at being so thoroughly stood up for. It means everything to have him in your corner.

Nick gives him a small smile before nodding his head at Gina too, “Yeah, likewise.” 

He puts his hand on your lower back, guiding you out of the dining room and down the hall to where his coat is hanging up. You can hear the hushed voices of Alec arguing with your mother but you don’t try to listen to what they’re saying, you’re just happy to be leaving. Your boyfriend tugs his leather jacket from the closet and you follow him outside towards his McLaren. 

He pauses in front of the car, turning to drape his jacket over your shoulders. He gently pulls the fabric closed over your chest, using it as momentum to tug you closer. You let out a soft sigh, not even realizing that you’re still shaking a little bit until you slide your arms through the sleeves. 

Tilting your chin up to look at him, you whisper a small, “Thank you.” 

Nick shakes his head, “You alright?” 

You manage a small smile because…no. Not really. Despite having Nick stand up for you and how good that felt, it unfortunately doesn’t change the fact that he needed to do it in the first place. It’s heartbreaking and discouraging that your mother is so against something that obviously makes you happy? Your father seems indifferent, but that silence does nothing but fuel your mother’s fire. 

Nick’s gaze softens, his hands cupping both of your cheeks before he leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth. You swallow over that lump returning to your throat, closing your eyes before tears can form, the bridge of your nose stinging. He shifts to wrap his arms around you, drawing you against his chest, his one hand clasping the back of your neck while the other rubs up and down your spine. 

He holds you for a few minutes, your face tucked into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his laundry detergent and something purely him. 

“C’mon,” He says softly, “Let’s get you home,” His house, which honestly feels more like home than where you just left. “Cut that dress off you.” 

You sniffle out a laugh as you pull back, nodding as he opens the passenger door for you. That awful feeling that lingers from dinner automatically begins to dissipate the moment Nick’s hand finds yours as you back up out of the driveway. 

—

Nick holds that promise, he uses scissors to cut you right out of that dress despite the zipper working perfectly fine. A series of occasional giggles leave your lips, your hands covering your mouth, but you think that’s his intention. He presses random kisses along your body—your arm, your waist, your hip, your thigh…and then lifts you up onto his bathroom counter. He slips down between your legs, your dress falling in a flourish to the floor, forgotten about. He kisses the center of you, the seam of your lips through your underwear. 

Your breathing shudders, your hand running through his curls, keeping him as close as possible. 

He tugs your underwear aside, sliding his tongue along your slit and the moan that leaves your mouth echoes against the tiles of the bathroom. He definitely smirks against you, your legs widening as much as you can without losing the ability to ground yourself. Your eyes flutter closed when he begins to circle your clit and it takes such a short amount of time for Nick to have heat spinning through your veins. It begins to gather in pulsing waves in your lower belly, building and building—

Then his tongue slips inside you and fuck. The way he’s able to use his mouth should really be studied for science. 

“Nick,” A breathless noise leaves you, warning him you’re about to cum. 

He hums, bringing his attention back to your swollen clit, and within moments you shatter. You completely fall apart against him. He holds you steady, drawing out your orgasm until you begin to close your legs from sharp sensitivity. Your hips jerk with a soft whimper and Nick shifts as you lean back until your spine rests against the mirror. 

He smiles up at you, lips wet from your arousal, curls mussed from your fingers running through them. His elbows rest on either side of your legs until you cup his cheek, encouraging him closer by playfully pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. Leaning down to kiss him, a soft moan leaves your throat, your other hand attempting to slide down between your bodies. 

But Nick leans away, shaking his head a little, his fingers squeezing your wrist. Your eyebrows draw together, voice slightly breathless when you talk, “But you didn’t…” 

“I know,” He whispers, running his thumb along your pulse point, “That was just for you.” 

That warm, fuzzy feeling behind your chest blooms outward and you can’t help but smile as your lips brush his, drawing him into another kiss. It’s something lazy and languid that takes time until he pulls you into his arms, carrying you to bed. 

—

Once you’ve both changed into comfortable clothes, which consists of a t-shirt and a new pair of underwear for you, Nick in his boxer briefs and an open zip-up hoodie, you lean against a pile of pillows along the headboard. The fries that you picked up at the diner are a little worse for wear since it took you so long to get to them, but neither of you seem to be bothered by it. Picking up your milkshake from the nightstand, you have a long sip, humming at the pleasant taste of chocolate smoothing over your tastebuds. 

Your phone buzzes with a few texts from your brother, 

Alec: sorry about mom, should have said something sooner Alec: Nick’s a really good guy, I like him…even though his confidence in pool is questionable Alec: hang out tomorrow? Just you and me? 

You smile at the messages, hearting the one about Nick and giving a thumbs-up at the last one before setting your phone face down on his nightstand. Giving up on the fries, you turn to lie on your side, propping yourself against Nick as your TV plays a random movie. You’re not paying attention to it though, for the most part your gaze keeps wandering towards your boyfriend. The light reflecting from the TV is pretty against his skin, against the soft gold in his curls and you can’t help but smile a little, tucking your chin along his shoulder. 

You press a soft kiss there and Nick turns his head, his lips grazing your temple. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offers—tonight, your mother being the absolute worst, your father’s silence, any of it, all of it. And while you appreciate the offer, his concern, there’s nothing to really discuss. No matter how many times your mother is put into her place, regardless of how you try to explain to her your wants and needs, she’s going to continue to be utterly blind to them. Selfish. There’s nothing to change that. 

But dinner kind of made you feel like…maybe that doesn’t matter. You’ve always had people on your side, but tonight solidified just how important it is to only listen to the voices that don’t mean anything. 

“No,” You whisper, closing your eyes when he kisses the bridge of your nose, “I’m okay.” 

You knew that tonight wasn’t going to be the best, it was to be expected given that you know how your family can be. And yet, you’re so grateful Nick was there, you’re not sure if it would have been something you could have stomached without him. 

A twitch of amusement tugs the corners of your lips, remembering something he said when the dinner was brought up in the first place, “So…that was you on your best behavior?” 

Nick smirks, eyes warm as he looks down at you. You can read the unspoken words right in his eyes—he has zero regrets about how he acted at that dinner, the things that left his mouth, the way he’s protective over you. 

“Definitely.” 

[sunandflame]

NSFW Alphabet - Dracule Mihawk

Warnings: nsfw

Word Count: 1319

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x Reader

crossposted on AO3

A = Aftercare Mihawk isn’t overly affectionate by default, but after an intense encounter, he shows his care through quiet actions — cooling a cloth for your skin, offering you wine or water, holding you against his chest while the silence stretches in comfort. If he’s especially pleased, he’ll murmur something in that low voice, lips brushing your hair. It’s not about coddling; it’s about presence.

B = Body Part (Favorite) He has a quiet obsession with your neck and throat. Something about how vulnerable that area is draws him in — not to harm, but to dominate gently. His calloused hands curl around your throat just enough to make you feel claimed, never in danger. He’ll kiss there, breathe against your skin, whisper things only meant for you.

C = Cum Mihawk is controlled, always — even when it comes to release. He prefers finishing inside, especially if he’s emotionally tied to you. It’s a primal thing, but unspoken. His gaze is locked on yours when it happens, like he wants to watch the moment his control finally slips.

D = Dirty Talk Not constant, but deliberate. Mihawk speaks with purpose — low, razor-sharp words designed to unravel you. “Do you understand what you do to me?” / “You begged for this. Now take it.” When he’s particularly rough, his voice drops even further, accented and cold — and it only makes you melt faster.

E = Experience He has had lovers before, undoubtedly. He approaches sex with precision, almost like swordsmanship — learning your reactions, knowing exactly where to touch, how to pace, how to undo you without needing to ask. He doesn't flaunt experience, he simply uses it — with devastating effectiveness.

F = Favorite Position Mihawk prefers positions that let him maintain eye contact — missionary with your wrists pinned, or taking you from behind with your body bent beneath his, one arm wrapped firmly around your waist. It’s not just about power — it’s about watching every flicker of emotion on your face.

G = Goofy (How serious is he?) Goofy? Never. But sometimes, if you’re especially teasing or playful, you might catch the corner of his mouth lift in amusement. In bed, though, Mihawk is focused — intense, intentional, and never silly. He does like when you get flustered though. That might be the closest he gets to playful.

H = Hair (Grooming Preferences) Always clean and well-kept. Mihawk values discipline — he won’t expect perfection from you, but he appreciates neatness. If you pull his hair or run your fingers through it, he’ll allow it — even lean into it, silently. It means more than words if he lets you touch him like that.

I = Intimacy His brand of intimacy is quiet, slow-burning. A hand resting on your lower back, a long stare that says more than a sentence. When he’s in love, his passion deepens — he becomes rougher, but also more attentive. It’s like being the only person in the world when he touches you.

J = Jack Off He prefers the real thing. If he’s away or restrained for long periods, he may take care of it in silence — thinking only of you. But he sees it as a last resort, not a habit. He has discipline, after all. If you walk in on him doing it, you’ll get a long, unreadable stare — and then an invitation to come closer.

K = Kink Control. Mihawk isn’t cruel, but he likes having power over you — guiding your pleasure, holding you still, whispering things that make you tremble. He also has a soft dom streak: quiet dominance, pressure at your throat, hand at your back, you’re mine in a look. He doesn’t need ropes — his voice alone could hold you in place.

L = Location He prefers privacy. His home, especially the bedroom or the wine cellar’s cool stone walls. Somewhere he can take his time and hear every sound you make. He has no interest in risk — he wants every second uninterrupted.

M = Motivation He’s not driven by lust alone — what turns Mihawk on is reaction. The way your breath catches when he speaks low against your ear. The sight of you kneeling, waiting for him. The tension of anticipation. He thrives on control, yes — but only when it’s willingly given.

N = NO (Things he won’t do) Mihawk won’t share you, ever. Threesomes, voyeurism, anything involving others — a hard no. He doesn’t raise his voice in bed, doesn’t degrade. His control is absolute, but never cruel. Anything that leaves a permanent mark? Denied, unless discussed.

O = Oral (Giving & Receiving) He’s a master at it — no surprise. When he goes down on you, it’s with precision and purpose, and he takes his time. He watches your face, reads your body.

Receiving? He won’t ask, but when you offer — and especially when you do it unprompted — he’ll reward you. A hand on your head, a muttered “Good.” Maybe even a groan. If you make him lose composure? You’ll feel it later.

P = Pace Controlled. Slow, steady, with deep, hard thrusts that drive the breath from your lungs. When he gets close or if you push his limits, it gets rougher — but never chaotic. Every movement has purpose.

Q = Quickie Rare. He doesn’t like rushing something meant to be savored. But if the situation absolutely demands it — and you tease him past his limit — you might find yourself bent over a table, muffled against his shoulder while he holds your hips still with one hand and covers your mouth with the other.

R = Risk (Spontaneity/Experiments) Calculated risk only. He’s open to experimenting, but on his terms. You bring him an idea, he’ll consider it — and when he agrees, it’ll be his execution. Not chaotic, not reckless. Always intentional.

S = Stamina Inhuman. This is Mihawk, the world’s strongest swordsman — he can go for hours if he chooses. But he won’t always. He prefers to draw it out, leaving you completely undone by the end of a single round — unless you beg. Then you’ll find out just how much endurance he really has.

T = Toys Minimal, but he’s not against them — especially if it means watching you squirm under his gaze. He prefers using his hands, his mouth, his voice. But a toy in your mouth or between your thighs while he watches? He’ll allow it… for training.

U = Unfair He can be teasing, especially when you’re desperate. He’ll hold you just at the edge, lips brushing your skin, voice murmuring things that make your knees weak — but he won’t break you. Unless you ask.

V = Volume He’s quiet — but when he moans, it’s low and guttural, like something pulled from deep in his chest. The first time you hear it, it’ll echo in your mind for days. When he’s rougher, you might hear a quiet “Mine.”

W = Wild Card (Something unexpected) He has a soft spot for post-sex wine. If he’s pleased, he’ll pour a glass, hand it to you, and sit beside you in silence, letting the glow linger. It’s oddly romantic, in his own Mihawk way.

X = X-Ray (What’s he packing?) Long, thick, and curved slightly upward. A perfect match for his frame — elegant, but intimidating. He knows exactly how to use it, and rarely, if ever, lets you forget it.

Y = Yearning He’s not obsessive — but when Mihawk wants, he wants. He’ll pin you with his gaze, and you’ll feel it like a sword drawn across your skin. He doesn’t say “I need you” — he shows it with the way he holds you still, the way he touches you like you’re fragile and powerful all at once.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly he sleeps after) He stays awake longer than you. Watching. Thinking. One arm around your waist, the other folded behind his head. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing, the warmth of his body, and the faint clink of his wine glass as he takes one last sip in the dark.

[amamozarte]

Finally caved and made a dunmeshi oc… meet Iroha :D she’s a hedonist fun loving ogre girl who’s currently traveling the world and bar hopping. She loves alcohol and gambling (enough to get exiled from the Eastern Archipelago about it) and will socialize with just about anyone.

[peachylynnie]

sick

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: in which sylus sneaks into your apartment and finds you sick. yet, you're not resting. why?

contains: sylus x mc!reader (they're not dating but sylus is pining and reader is confused), reader is implied to be in college, slightly obsessive sylus, mentions of violence and sickness, suggestive themes, cussing, and fluff.

a/n: i got sick yesterday. what better way to rest than to write about sylus? do NOT copy or steal my work. sylus WOULD NOT endorse plagiarism :)

you don't want to admit it. you really don't. but you're sick. there's no denying that with how short of breath you are, how nauseous you feel, and the goddamn soreness in the back of your throat that didn't go away with the first sip of water.

"shit…" you mumble as you sluggishly move to empty the dishwasher as your roommate asked. it's bad enough that you were sick, but you were also stressed out of your mind. midterms have been kicking your ass this semester. big assignments have been piling up on your already heavy shoulders. in essence, this was a burnout month, and all that lack of sleep and unparalleled stress had finally caught up to you. in the form of a cold, that is.

"of all the times," you grumble as you struggle to stack the dishes in the cabinet. "why now…" indeed, this was a terrible time to get sick. how were you to complete all your tasks while feeling absolutely miserable? you glance at the microwave clock in desperation. 10:00 PM, it read. although you meant to sigh a breath of relief, you let out a painful cough. maybe you could finish an assignment or two by midnight. that way, you can focus on studying tomorrow, you thought to yourself.

you sniff as you return to the dishwasher to unload the rest of the dishes. as much as you were happy for your roommate leaving for the weekend to finally see her family, you couldn't help but feel resentful. why were you here struggling to do the dishes while she got to have fun? shaking your head at your bitter thoughts, you bend down, trying to grab the utensils from the dishwasher. keyword: trying.

the sudden pair of strong arms that wrapped around you prevented you from doing so. normally, you would've swiftly elbowed the person behind you and turned around to land a hard blow that would have them seeing stars. instead, you exhale shakily. you recognize the mysterious backhugger's scent. the scent of sweet wine and sharp citrus. sylus.

how the hell did he get in? you don’t remember giving him a spare key when you told him your address. you look behind you, angling your head to meet his garnet eyes. "i did not give you my address just so you can sneak in like this," you say, trying your best not to sound like you're dying.

unfortunately, the nasal tone of your voice does not go unnoticed by sylus. instead of offering his usual quips, sylus furrows his brows and unclasps his right arm from your waist. you try not to flinch at the chill of his slender fingers touching your forehead. he frowns. "you're sick."

you immediately avert your gaze. "i'm not sick," you mutter as you try to bend down once more to grab the stupid utensils from the dishwasher. sylus doesn't let go. this time, he spins you around with his left arm, making sure that he can see you properly.

"you're burning up, sweetie." sylus says as flips the hand on your forehead for good measure. "you're sick and you know it."

you roll your eyes, squirming to get out of his grip. you did not want sylus to see you like this. a sick, miserable mess incapable of doing something as simple as emptying the dishwasher. you had an image to uphold after all. being vulnerable with someone like him could mean getting hurt again. last time you were vulnerable with someone… well, let's say you learned your lesson.

weakly, you push at sylus' arm around your waist with your small hands. you try not to think about how minuscule they looked next to sylus' deliciously veiny forearms. great, you're sick, and your mind decides to lust after sylus' arms. you shiver at your thoughts and attempt to push sylus' grip away once more. normally, escaping sylus' hold would be a reasonable task for you. after all, your sparring sessions with him prepared you to get out of sticky situations. but you were sick and exhausted out of your mind. all you could manage was a feeble squirm.

sylus' gaze moves from his hand on your forehead to your eyes. your half-lidded baggy eyes. his frown deepens. you looked extremely fatigued. your face was noticeably pale, and your intake of breath was short. not to mention, sylus could see the slight wince of pain whenever you tried to swallow your saliva. sylus sighs as he removes his hand on your forehead and replaces it with his own. you were neglecting yourself again.

under normal circumstances, you would've shied away from sylus' physical advancements. his hand on the small of your back? an immediate flinch and glare, signaling him to stop. a tap on the crown of your head? a swift jerk of your neck and avoidance of eye contact. instead—again, you blame it on your exhaustion—you tiredly close your eyes, relishing in sylus' cool forehead against your heated one. no resistance to be shown.

you don't see it, but sylus' sharp eyes soften at the sight of you accepting his touch. even with the eye bags and ghastly skin, you looked ethereal. like an angel sent from heaven to save him from his own solitary hell. as much as he wants to savor this moment of you finally giving into his touch, sylus knows what he must do. you're unwell and unrested. you need to be in bed immediately.

"you should be in bed, sweetie." sylus murmurs as he pulls away from your forehead. you try not to sulk at the loss of the soothing chill of his skin. though, not without feeling conflicted because why you would even sulk about him? for god's sake, he was a criminal. he's taken countless lives. not to mention, he choked you upon meeting you, called you a disappointment, and tried to alter you after three straight days of relentless attempts at a forced resonation… just thinking about him drives you nuts and being driven nuts is the last thing you want right now.

"i'm fine, sylus." it was your turn to pull away, trying to put as much distance between you two as his firm grip around your waist would allow. "besides, nothing a little old tea can't fix."

with that, you turn to face the dishwasher and reach for the utensils for the umpteenth time of the night. sylus sighs and pinches his nose bridge with his free hand. as much as he admired your stubbornness, he could not help but resent it at times like these. times when you were in desperate need of a break. before you can grab the utensils, you feel yourself get lifted off the ground effortlessly.

sylus' arm on your waist had moved to your shoulder, and his other arm was hooked under your thighs. he had you in bridal style in less than a second. your eyes widen, realizing the sudden change in positions. "what are you doing?!" you cough painfully. "put me down!"

you do your best to escape sylus' new grip on you by kicking your legs and squirming uncontrollably, but it was hopeless. you were weakened due to your sickness, and sylus was determined to make sure you looked only at him instead of the goddamn dishwasher. one more look at it, and he swears he's gonna break it with his evol.

quickly and confidently, sylus exits the kitchen with you in his arms and arrives at what he guesses is your shared bedroom with your roommate. he tries not to get distracted by the fact that this is his first time in your room. god, the entire space smelled so much like you, he wanted to become one with it and watch you forever and ever. dismissing his intrusive thoughts, sylus gently places you down on your bed and starts to cover you in your blanket.

"wait, sylus," you start, trying to get up. "i have to empty the dishwasher. i have homework, too." sylus tuts as he shakes his head, his messy silver locks following suit. although he doesn't respond, sylus continues to spread out your blanket. you furrow your eyebrows at his strange behavior. "sylus…" you whine. you actually whined. something you never thought you would do, especially in front of sylus. you could feel his intense gaze prick at you like little needles. you avoid his gaze, hoping to hide your flustered state.

adorable. that's what you are. incredibly adorable to the point sylus wants to grab your chin and force you to look at him as he coaxes more and more of your pretty whines out of you.

trying to fight his indecent thoughts, sylus locks eyes with you, a firm yet pleading look on his face. "you need to rest, sweetie," he leans in to adjust your pillow. "you won't get anything done in this state." you try to protest again, but sylus beats you to it. "rest. i'll take care of everything."

well, fuck. how can you say no when sylus, in all of his gorgeous glory, is centimeters from your face, telling you that he will take care of everything and asking you to do the one thing you've been longing to do for a very long time? besides, you felt sleepy ever since sylus took you in his arms. just this once. just this once, you'll allow yourself to be vulnerable with him. so that you can rest, of course. totally not because sylus had a way of comforting you so sweetly and breaking your defensive walls so charmingly.

your labored breathing slows as you cautiously nod. "fine," you yawn. "the utensils go in the very left drawer of the island while the pots and pans go in the stove oven, and…" you can feel sleep beckoning for you as you continue to list instructions. sylus can't help the grin that appears on his face as he watches your cute blinks grow in intervals.

"noted, sweetie." he caresses a stray hair strand out of your face. "i'll make sure everything is back where they belong." like you to him. though, he doesn't say that part out loud. maybe another day. when you are no longer wary of him and are willing to acknowledge his very obvious affection for you. deep in his fantasy, sylus almost misses your cute snores. he chuckles, taking this chance to admire you now that you've fallen asleep.

you truly were an angel. the way your eyebrows furrowed here and there in your sleep. the way your plump lips parted at times. the way your button nose twitched sporadically. oh, sylus loved it all. he could watch you sleep forever. but he had a better task at hand: to take care of you. he assured you that he would take care of everything. and sylus is a man of his words. carefully to not wake you, sylus cups your face with his right hand. closing his eyes, he places a delicate kiss on your forehead.

"rest well, sweetie. i'll see you soon."

[ssa-dado]

Cat Equals Sign Of Integration

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, smut (implied) Summary: Aaron, ever the strategist, decides that a little wine might help soften the blow of figuring out with you how to tell the team you’re dating. A solid plan - except for one tiny flaw: wine makes him a whore. Warnings: +18, MINORS DNI Hotch is a touch starved whore, a few cuss words here and there, wine gets a bit into both of your heads. Word Count: 5k Dado's Corner: Did I hallucinate this while working on one of the many requests still on my to-do list, only to realize halfway through that it was completely derailing from the main plot - but too cute to abandon? Yes. Is this fun? You tell me (pretty please).

masterlist(s)

One of the many rules you and Aaron had in your relationship was that if you cooked for date night, he was the one doing the dishes.

His idea.

You had been opposed to it at first - not because you minded, of course. You were actually a huge fan of grown men handling household chores without whining like toddlers about how it might somehow demasculate their poor, fragile egos.

No, you were opposed because you didn’t want him doing it out of some sense of obligation.

It took you a while to accept that Aaron wasn’t doing this because he owed you - he was doing it because he wanted to.

Because that was just… Aaron.

Ever the caregiver, always looking for ways to make life easier for the people he loved. He could give you the world and still come to you like a wounded dog, begging for forgiveness because he thought he wasn’t enough.

It was infuriating - for all the deep psychological reasons you could analyze for hours, but also for a much pettier one: when it was his turn to cook, instead of letting you do the dishes like the so-called rule dictated, he just… did them anyway.

And thus, the noble Mr. Clean - brave warrior of dish duty, his arms submerged in treacherous, frothy depths - found himself utterly helpless against the sudden, most dreadful buzzing of his phone.

A cruel twist of fate, indeed!

Stranded, defenseless, bound by duty to his porcelain captors, he could do nothing but stand there, a tragic figure of great importance, cruelly denied his right to immediately bestow his undivided attention upon whatever poor soul dared summon him.

Oh, the agony! The injustice! How swiftly the mighty are humbled… by a sink full of bubbles.

That was because, logically, if even a single drop of water touched his phone, he would instantly lose all of the very important, highly classified FBI secrets stored inside. Of course, phones couldn't possibly be waterproof.

Ha, imagine?! What a concept.

“Who is it?” Aaron asked, still scrubbing at your wine glass like he was trying to erase its entire existence.

Which – by the way - was completely pointless, considering that in less than five minutes, he planned on refilling it with some more. A different wine, yes. But for God’s sake, you weren’t going to die if the last few drops of white mixed with the red.

…What a fussy man.

“Penelope,” you replied, admiring the view.

What a view, really. That man was all legs and no ass, and you were finally learning to appreciate it. 

“Ignore it,” he said, not even turning around.

Unfortunately for him - and for the HR department still blissfully unaware that their most serious, by-the-book boss was fraternizing with a subordinate - you were a profiler.

The U.S. government literally paid your bills every single month because you were exceptionally good at reading people.

And the way he answered? Yeah, that wasn’t the tone of a man casually dismissing an unimportant text. No, that was the tone of a man caught red-handed, scrambling for plausible deniability.

Embarrassed. Secretive. Suspicious. Frankly, if you didn’t already know what he was hiding, you’d be halfway to slapping cuffs on him. Wouldn’t even be the first time.

And so you read it – out loud.

Penelope Garcia, 7:56 PM:

hotch sir hotch bossman sir, i am DYING please tell me if you found out who her mystery boyfriend is i am suffering!!!!!!!! i know you know. i know it in my heart. if you can’t say it just give me a hint. a tiny one. a cryptic riddle. a blink. i will take anything.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

By her, of course, she meant you - because despite a few months of keeping your relationship under wraps, you still hadn’t gotten around to telling the team. Your colleagues. Your friends. Your unwanted, overly nosy adopted children.

That their elusive "mystery boyfriend" was, in fact, your mutual boss.

You were going to tell them. Eventually.

Didn’t know when. But you would.

Then again, it wasn’t like you were surrounded by some of the best profilers in the country, trained to pick up on the slightest behavioral shift.

It’s not like the second two incredibly touch-starved people like you and Aaron started walking around with even a fraction of happiness, that wouldn’t immediately raise suspicions.

…Except, apparently, it hadn’t.

Because somehow, the team had only managed to land on half the conclusion: you were seeing someone.

But Aaron? Not even a blip on their radar.

It was almost impressive, really. The answer was so obvious that they had discarded it entirely, still wandering around in the dark, trying to piece together a puzzle that was sitting right in front of their faces.

Just like Penelope was doing now, so desperate for some reason that she was straight-up asking him outright - when not that long ago, she still thought twice before even making a dirty joke in his presence.

And so, you got up, walked over to Aaron, and held the phone directly under his nose. “What does this mean?”

He squinted at the screen, then at you. “Oh, honey, I don’t know. She always sends me that - I don’t understand what exactly equals the sign of integration”.

…What?

You were suddenly just as confused as he was.

He blinked at you, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in that utterly sincere, slightly bewildered way of his. “That sign before it,” he said, completely lost. “It looks Chinese. Thought you knew Chinese, sweetheart.”

…What?

Oh, for the love of God.

If this man hadn’t already seen the absolute worst horrors the world had to offer, you would fight for his innocence with your nails, your teeth, and - if absolutely necessary - one of the worst shooting records ever logged in the Bureau.

You looked at the screen again.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

Oh.

Oh, that’s what had confused him.

“Aaron,” you said gently, doing your absolute best not to kiss him right then and there, “that is a cat.”

You sighed, then pointed at the message again. “By the way, the ‘sign’ in the middle is in Korean, not Chinese.”

He looked at the screen again - then back at you. “…Cat equals sign of integration?”

“No, honey,” you said, barely suppressing your smile, tapping the little text emoji. “It’s just a cat.”

He studied it for another second. “Oh.”

There. That did it. You gave in. Leaned in and pressed a loud smooch to his cheek.

At least your dignity was still intact - he had no idea why you’d done it, just assumed it was one of those spontaneous bursts of affection that came with being hopelessly in love.

Honeymoon phase truly did work wonders.

“Do you think I can have the cat too?” he asked, grabbing the bottle of red and a corkscrew.

That was a trap.

Because Aaron Hotchner still signed every single text he sent.

And while it wasn’t an issue when he was sending something standard -

Lawyer, 6:17 PM:

They found a new body, we’re gathering at the precinct in 30.

A.H.

- it became a lot more unsettling when he sent the filthiest, most depraved things you’d ever read, only to end them with that stiff little A.H. like he was dictating official Bureau correspondence.

Lawyer, 11:51 PM:

Sweetheart, if only these stupid walls weren’t so thin, I’d have you right here with me, bent over, face pressed against this mattress, making you come so many times you’d forget your own name. At least three. Maybe four, if I’m feeling generous.

A.H.

So now, standing in his kitchen, watching him pour wine like he hadn’t just permanently scarred you with his painfully bureaucratic approach to sexting, you knew that if you admitted he could simply copy-paste that ‘cat equals integration sign,’ it would only be a matter of time before you were subjected to something truly traumatizing, like -

Lawyer, very-late-office-hour PM:

It’s your fault I’m getting distracted with the paperwork, because I’m still thinking about how good you tasted last night while sitting on my face. God, I can still feel your thighs shaking, you were so sweet for me, honey, so fucking perfect.

P.S. How many reports do you still have left? Because I’ve been thinking about having you on my tongue again before the night is over. I think I’ve got about an hour or so left but then I’m all yours.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

Yeah. No. Absolutely not.

That man could not be trusted with the cat.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades as your fingers brushed over his back. “I don’t think you can get it. She must have programmed it herself into her phone.”

You truly hoped you were as convincing as he was clueless about text etiquette.

“It’s a pity,” he sighed, both of your wine glasses in hand as he made his way to the couch. “I would have loved to send you the cat.”

…Of course he would. Smug ass.

But as the words left his mouth, something shifted in him - just barely. A pause that didn’t usually belong there... weird.

Still, you followed, watching as he settled in, patting the cushion beside him with a half-smile. “Come here, sweetheart.”

A misleading gesture, considering his legs were very much spread - a much clearer invitation. At least, that’s how you chose to interpret it.

Because you could swear - those legs spoke to you. Called to you. So you slid right into your rightful seat - his lap.

…Would have been rude not to answer.

“Back to Garcia,” he said, resting a hand on your thigh as he handed you your painstakingly polished wine glass - so clean, so immaculately spotless, that the red wine inside looked redder than red. A real masterpiece, Mr. Clean. “She doesn’t seem to be letting up about finding out who you’re dating… This is the fourth message this week.”

You raised a brow, taking a sip of your wine. “Well, she’s second only to you when it comes to being nosy about gossip.”

Aaron exhaled, shaking his head, that same small half-smile back on his lips.

That particular smile.

The one he used when he was trying to convince someone he was fine when, in reality, he was not - when he was trying to reassure everyone else while simultaneously refusing to admit, even to himself, that something was eating him alive.

Oh, now you knew what this was about.

He had definitely practiced this conversation in his head - refined it down to the perfect phrasing. Measured. Logical. Reassuring.

A version so well-rehearsed, so carefully constructed, that he’d convinced himself first before trying to convince you - that this didn’t scare him.

That this was just another rational step forward.

That it was fine.

Because if he could make it sound easy, maybe it would be.

Maybe it would give you something solid to lean on, because the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were standing on shaky ground with someone just as fractured as he was.

But in the end, even the best-laid words couldn’t withstand the weight of his emotions - whether he liked it or not, even rocks are meant to erode.

“I think it’s time we come clean to the team,” he admitted, completely veering off-script - though, of course, he still made sure to soften the blow with a kiss to your temple.

Not that it made much difference. You both knew this moment was inevitable, but somehow, you’d managed to delude yourselves into thinking that if you just kept putting it off, the perfect time would miraculously appear.

At first, you’d delayed it until things were official.

Then, because you needed to be sure this could work in the long run.

Then, because you wanted time to just enjoy each other.

Truthfully? If it were entirely up to the two of you, you’d probably keep postponing it indefinitely - at least until the day you were both retired, far away from any fraternization rules or painfully awkward team dynamics.

Unless, of course, your eyes had been deceiving you all along, or life decided to be cruel and rip this happiness away from you before you ever even got the chance. All you could do was hope not.

Aaron sighed, watching you carefully. “So, how do you want to do this?”

At least he could take comfort in the fact that his very specific plan of having wine while discussing this was still intact - especially since the very large sip you took the second he asked hadn’t gone unnoticed.

He huffed a laugh.

Yeah.

This was going to be fun.

“Are we sure we have to?” You groaned, tilting your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart. It’s the only way to keep them from getting the satisfaction of figuring it out first and do this our way…”

It was his turn to take a long sip now… he surely wasn’t thrilled about the lack of an actual game plan.

“…Still need to figure out what exactly we mean by ‘our way,’” he admitted. “But, you know… that’s what these are for.”

He tapped a finger against his temple, then against yours, clearly implying that your very skilled, highly trained profiler brains would surely work this out.

You, however, were placing your bets on your problem-solving skills drastically improving after a few more glasses of wine, because right now?

“We are so fucked,” you commented.

Aaron clinked his glass against yours, deadpan. “Completely.”

You both took long, slow sips of wine like it might somehow provide divine intervention.

It didn’t. You were indeed left pretty much alone in this.

You sighed, setting your glass down on the coffee table. “Well, you definitely have the face of someone who already has a plan...” You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “...a very handsome face.”

Cheesy. But deserved.

Aaron chuckled. “I believe…” He kissed you on the cheek – twice - before setting his own glass down too. “…We should tell them directly. Get ahead of it. Lay it out as matter-of-factly as possible.”

“Matter-of-factly?”

He nodded, all serious, like he hadn’t just suggested the worst possible approach.

“Sweetheart…” You pinched his cheek, making him scrunch his nose, hoping – more like praying - that it would snap him out of whatever fantasy land of logic, reason, and good intentions he was apparently living in.

“If we tell them directly, Penelope will throw an actual partypersonally design matching t-shirts, and have the entire team wear them.” You paused, leveling him with a look. “And you know it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I know.”

“Emily and Derek will immediately start making jokes like two middle schoolers who just learned what sex is and will not let us breathe.”

“I know.”

“JJ will be quiet but then ask all of a sudden, ‘So when’s the wedding?’ which will restart the chaos all over again.”

“I know.”

You turned to face him, deadly serious. “Spencer-”

“-Will hit us with a full statistical analysis of workplace relationships,” Aaron finished, exhaling sharply, already bracing himself.

Because there was only one team member left to account for - the worst of them all.

“And… oh God… Dave…”

And with that horrifying realization, he did the only logical thing a man in his position could do - he face-planted directly into your chest with a dramatic, muffled groan of pure defeat.

You blinked down at him, amused. “Honey…”

Why was he even so touch starved like that?

“All I ask,” came his muffled voice, still very much nestled between your breasts, “is five minutes of peace.”

You snorted. “You do realize this isn’t exactly discouraging me from making fun of you, right?”

He sighed again. “You do realize that if you keep laughing, you’re just shoving them further into my face?”

…Damn him and his irritating ability to state the obvious.

You sighed, fingers absentmindedly combing through his short spikes of hair. “…So we’re back to square one.”

Aaron exhaled, still very much face-first in his chosen safe haven. “Unfortunately.”

You hummed, “Okay, hypothetically, if we just… never tell them, how long do you think we could get away with it?”

That was so absurd that it actually made him lift his head. He blinked at you, utterly offended by the suggestion.

“I am not spending the next decade pretending I don’t stare at your ass every time you walk away.”

…Alright. That was definitely the wine talking.

In vino veritas, as the Romans said. Wine makes people say dumb shit: the truth.

“Wow. Didn’t know you were a poet, Hotchner.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t pretend you’re above it, because I catch you every time you drift off during briefings just to stare right at-”

“Alright, alright,” you cut him off, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could fully call you out... he was not happy about it. “We’re both shameless…"

You needed an exit strategy. Fast.

You reached for his wine glass over the coffee table. “Well, at least the bright side of telling them is that we won’t have to schedule our coffee breaks in advance anymore and pretend to look surprised when we see each other.”

And all of that was just for one single moment.

The fleeting brush of fingertips as you handed him the cup you always poured for him.

The way his hand was always warmer than yours, despite the fact that you were the one holding the scalding mug, as if basic thermodynamics simply did not apply to Aaron Hotchner.

And if it was one of those days, sometimes, there’d be a little extra something.

A longer touch.

Eye contact that lingered just a second too long.

A slow sip from his cup while still holding your gaze, and suddenly, it felt indecent - like something you definitely shouldn’t be doing in broad daylight, let alone in a federal building.

And now - here, in the comfort of his apartment, with nothing and no one to stop you - he reached for the wine glass you were offering, except… he wasn’t actually reaching for the glass.

He was just holding your hand.

Aaron chuckled, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles. “I think we’re holding onto this touch just a little too long,” he murmured, nuzzling into you, his breath warm against your ear. “Might start looking suspicious.”

Didn’t he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh, also some-” you started, or at least tried to, because as if everything else wasn’t enough, now he was kissing just behind your ear, his lips just brushing the sensitive skin there, warm, and slow, and wet and… God…

Okay. Okay.

Maybe it was the wine.

Maybe it was the fact that you were always kind of a little bit obsessed with him.

Either way, the result was the same: you really, really wanted him right now.

You sighed, tilting your head to grant him a little more access - but not too much, or you might actually end up using the full length of his three-seater couch instead of stubbornly remaining curled up in the same cramped two-foot space you’d unofficially claimed as your own. Ergo - going horizontal with him instead of just being seated on his lap.

“I thought we were having a serious discussion,” you murmured, though the breathy edge to your voice wasn’t exactly helping your case.

Aaron hummed in response, slowly dragging his lips from behind your ear down along the curve of your jaw, pressing a kiss at the hinge. “We are.” Another kiss. “What were you starting to say, sweetheart?”

And another one.

You tried to think. Really, you did.

But it was getting increasingly difficult with his mouth still very much on your skin, moving towards places that were making it exponentially harder to form coherent thoughts.

You would’ve made a mental note to never wear anything that resembled a tank top around him again, if only you had the actual brain capacity to form any notes right now.

“Aaron-”

Aaron smirked against your skin. “You were saying?”

…Blank. Absolutely blank.

Your brain stalled for a solid three seconds before mercifully rebooting.

“I-” You licked your lips, cleared your throat. “Penelope.”

That, thankfully, was enough of a keyword to get him to back off - though, the second he did, you already desperately missed the warmth of his mouth on your skin.

He tilted his head, “Penelope?”

You swallowed. “She’s… gonna be beaming.”

Aaron blinked at you. “Beaming.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, because God, he was too cute when he was confused like this. “Her and Kevin have been desperate for another couple to go out with. Ever since JJ and Will stopped leaving the house because they’re too busy baby-proofing every square inch of their lives.”

Aaron’s brows furrowed slightly. “And by ‘go out with,’ you mean double dates.”

You hummed, fingers grazing his cheek. “Mmm. Yeah. Double dates.”

Aaron didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You blinked, pulling back slightly. “Wait, what?”

His face was resolute. “I’m not doing double dates.”

You squinted at him. “Okay, but why?”

And that’s how you learned that if there was one thing your boyfriend hated - more than messy paperwork, more than delayed flights, more than the Bureau’s budgeting meetings - it was double dates.

Not specifically with Penelope and Kevin. God, no. He was practically the puppet master of their relationship in the first place. Just… double dates in general.

“They’re impractical,” he said.

You snorted. “What do you mean?”

Aaron sighed. “They are a waste of time. You sit there, and for the first fifteen minutes, it’s fine. The usual small talk, polite conversation…”

You nodded, barely biting back a grin. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Honestly, this just sounded like some classic Aaron Hotchner being the most adorable introvert to ever exist.

He shot you a look, deadly serious. “It’s a trap.” You nearly cooed. Adorable. “Because at some point, you end up talking one-on-one with someone from the other couple. And right when the conversation is actually getting interesting-”

He suddenly paused.

His hand started at your shoulder, innocent enough - until it wasn’t, until it drifted lower, fingertips skimming down until they found your thigh, before sliding inward, squeezing your soft flesh there.

“See?” Aaron murmured, voice deceptively casual. “It starts off innocently. A hand on the shoulder…”He angled his fingers just a notch further up your upper thigh. “…Then the thigh. Then-”

He leaned in, kissing you just at the corner of your mouth.

"A little kiss here," he murmured, lips barely brushing your skin.

Then another - softer, lingering just at the very edge of your lips.

"A little peck there."

Okay.

Ahem.

For a man who hated double dates, he was making a very strong case for them.

This was clearly foreplay.

Had to be foreplay.

You chose to interpret it as foreplay.

So, naturally, just as you were about to pull him in properly - to finally taste the wine on his lips – he pulled back.

Mixed signals whore.

“And then,” he continued, and you swore his voice had gotten even lower - sluttier, if you were being honest - "it escalates.”

...Wine-induced yapper. "Because one couple decides a little peck isn’t enough, so they turn and start devouring each other’s faces… in public.”

The wine that was in your system, instead, suggested you should have him biblically, right here, right now, on his couch.

“Care to demonstrate this part too?” You licked your lips, tilting your head.

Aaron sighed “Honey.” You knew you were in trouble the moment he smirked. “You’re demonstrating my point…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…You want more.” Aaron tutted, shaking his head, feigning disappointment. “Of course you want more. A chaste kiss isn’t enough. How could it be, sweetheart?”

Hell yes you wanted more.

Badly.

You might have even nodded without meaning to.

“But imagine if this was happening in public. In front of two other people. What about them?” he murmured, tilting his head, voice dropping into something dark, silky, dangerous. “In front of two other people.”

You swallowed, very much not thinking about them right now.

“Because at that point, they only have two choices: they either sit there - third-wheeling, watching - or…” His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying wide over your bare waist, gripping, pulling you that much closer. "… they start doing it too."

Your breath hitched. “Aaron-”

"With just a kiss, it creates an environment," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear, "where both couples get competitive. Where they start copying each other - but making it more…"

He dragged his nose along the curve of your jaw, the ghost of his lips tracing just behind it. "Passionate."

A teeth-grazing kiss against your pulse.

A slow drag of his lips down the column of your throat, before he made his way back up, tilting your chin up with his fingers just so, forcing you to look at him.

And God, that look.

"More tongue," he continued, letting you see it first - his own darting out, wetting his lips just before he brushed them over yours.

Not kissing.

Not yet.

“More biting.” Aaron caught your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just enough to confirm what you already knew -

He tasted like red wine.

Rich. Dark. Addictive.

And so did you.

“More touching.” His hand drifted, fingertips just skimming over your ribs, teasing along the underside of your breast - so close, so close, before he let it trail lower again, just as his lips ghosted over your ear.

"More sounds."

You barely bit back the breathy, desperate little moan clawing its way up your throat because -

Aaron shoved you off his lap.

In one fluid motion, he shifted, pressing you back into the couch, caging you in beneath him, his arms bracketing either side of your head.

His knee slotted between your thighs, pressing up just slightly - just enough to make you gasp, make your hips twitch without thinking.

You were pretty sure now that this was, in fact, foreplay.

“At that point,” he murmured, lowering himself, pressing his body against yours, pinning you down with nothing but his weight, “if you’re already getting ideas…”

Aaron rolled his hips against you, his knee shifting just enough to have you sucking in a sharp breath. “…it’s better off just staying home. Because at least then,” he whispered, “we can do this.”

And then he kissed you. Properly.

Deep and hungry, pressing you down into the cushions until you moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer as one of his hands slipped under your shirt.

“You-” you swallowed, trying to find words, but he stole them from you, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “You expect me to believe this is why you hate double dates?”

“I expect you to understand,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of your neck, “that if I ever go on one…” he nipped at your pulse, making you gasp. “…I’ll be thinking about this the entire time.”

Then - click.

The sound of the button of your pants being undone, followed shortly by the hiss of your zipper. You felt the warmth of his fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, resting over your hip bone.

Well, fuck.

“You’ll be sitting across from me,” he continued, voice so unfairly composed, so infuriatingly smooth, “pretending to listen to whatever they’re taking about.”

He tilted his head, kissing along your collarbone, then much lower. You made a mental note to always wear anything resembling a tank top in his presence from now on.

“And the entire time…” his fingers dipped just slightly beneath the elastic of your underwear.

You shuddered. “Aaron.”

He hummed, pleased - so deeply pleased - before finally sliding lower, his fingers finally brushing right where you needed him most.

You whimpered.

“I’ll be remembering,” he murmured, “exactly how you sound right now.”

Your back arched into his touch, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting into muscle as his fingers moved.

“And how you look,” he added, his lips brushing the curve of your breast, “when you fall apart for me.”

Your breath hitched-

And then.

Then-

He stopped.

Just - stopped.

His hands left you completely as he leaned back, settling onto his knees above you, looking far too pleased with himself.

You gaped at him, betrayed. “Are you kidding me?”

Aaron just smirked, gaze flicking over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uneven breathing, the way your body was still desperately aching for him.

“See?” he shrugged, voice so damn smug. “This is why I hate double dates.”

How funny would it be if these ended up being his last words?

You huffed, adjusting yourself on the couch, crossing your arms like you weren’t still ridiculously turned on and very annoyed about it. “Alright, you know what? Fine. No need to suffer through a double date if we just… conveniently wait to tell the team about us until after JJ and Will start going back out with Penelope and Kevin.”

Aaron smirked.

At least you’d both come to an agreement - the exact same procrastination tactic you’d been using, just with a new and improved excuse attached.

“…Smart girl.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathing heavily, still so deeply unsatisfied, as Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple, then stood, stretching his arms.

“I’ll clean the wine glasses,” he mused, already heading toward the kitchen. “And then I’ll be back to you.”

You stared at him.

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder, smirking.

You huffed, sarcastic, “glad we could work this out.”

You were not glad. Not at all. Especially because not even a full minute later, your phone buzzed with a text.

From him.

From Mr. Clean himself, who was currently just a couple rooms away from you.

Lawyer, 8:43 PM:

Sweetheart, I hope you're ready, because I’m going to spread you out on that couch and fuck you so deep, you’ll still feel me when you sit at your desk tomorrow.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

"Garcia just told me how to get the cat," came his voice from the kitchen - so damn smug you could hear the smirk in it, followed the sound of his footsteps getting closer.

Before you could turn, before you could say anything, he was there - leaning in from behind the couch, arms sliding around you, caging you in, whispering into your ear -

"It was just a simple copy-paste."

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe2

[itsrlymine]

i apologize for the really long ask but i really wanted to share my thoughts and i would make my own loa blog but i dont have it in me to deal with anons so i fear i will dump them all on you 😔 first off i want to say THANKKKK YOUUUUUU you literally changed my manifestation journey i used to be really into manifestation back in 2021/2022 and i was trying to manifest my dream face but it never happened no matter how much i affirmed or listened to subs or anything so i was just like fuck it this manifesting stuff isnt real imma just move on with my life and thats how i went about my life until you popped up on my dashboard a month ago and usually i would click not interested on any loa content but i was like you know what lemme give this stuff a chance again bc i did try the non manifesting route and it didnt work out bc when i tell you my life went DOWNHILL i used to protect myself from negative experiences by having the belief that i was simply the exception to terrible stuff but the moment i left the loa behind and was like no thats unrealistic anything can happen well guess what!! so many bad stuff happened in my life the last 2 years its genuinely crazy. so i was like lemme try this again and i went through your blog and really tried to materialize everything you were saying and read it with the attitude that what you are saying IS real instead of the doubting attitude i had towards loa advice/info back in 2022 and things really shifted for me.

so the first thing i learned is that MANIFESTATION IS REAL and more importantly NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE what i went through these past two years was proof to me that manifestation is real because once i adopted that negative mindset and dropped any positive beliefs i had my life became a nightmare and all those terrible thoughts manifested right before my eyes. for example i used to believe that i always looked pretty no matter what, this was just something part of my belief system but when i abandoned the law and everything i told myself no thats crazy i cant mAniFeSt looking pretty its unrealistic if im not pretty then im just not and bro when i tell you i was at my lowest appearance wise I WAS AT MY LOWESSTT my classmates at school would come up to me and tell me i looked so different and so dull even my mom would say the same stuff to me and tell me i changed i also noticed a difference when i looked in the mirror. the reason why i felt like manifestation wasnt real was because it just seemed really crazy to me, i felt like things materializing out of nowhere and appearances changing drastically was just like something fantastical and just not possible here in the real world. well i am here to tell you that is NAWT THE CASE! the world is not logical and im gonna tell you why. most of us here have grew up religious, and whats more illogical than religion? there are so many stories in the bible where illogical stuff happen like youre telling me some guy can turn water into wine? doesnt that sound like something out of a fantasy movie? but it happened, right? you believe in the bible so you believe in all the stuff that happened in it even the magical stuff. and another thing with growing up religious is that we always hear stories about miracles where for example a neighbor who was really sick suddenly woke up completely healthy. and we also were taught that we can ask god for anything and that god can make anything happen. i remember when my dad would teach me about religion he would say that god can make the grass is purple if he wanted to. it isnt just in religion but also in another spiritual communities and stuff they also have their own stories where things that dont really make sense logically happen. this goes to show that the world and humanity were never logical and that illogical things can happen, they've been happening since the dawn of time. people just came up with their own explanations. so get that thought that you cant change your entire face because its too crazy out of your head because it isn't. anything is possible. we literally live on a rock and we somehow move and speak and talk and somehow atoms exist so pls get with the program aint nothing logical in this life and the sooner you come to terms with that the better. nothing is too crazy because existence itself is crazy.

the second thing i learned was that MANIFESTATION IS NOT A PROCESS. i used to hear this all the time back in 2022 and it never made sense to me i was always like what tf are yall talking about???? my understanding was that manifestation is the act of trying to get something, but i was so so wrong. everything changed for me when i started approaching manifestation with the attitude that i was reminding myself of what i have, not trying to get what i want. basically stop thinking of manifestation as manifestation if ykwim. to really understand this im gonna have to talk about the whole "decide that you have your desire > affirm that you have it > keep presisting" thing and break it down.

so what do people mean when they tell you to decide that you have your desire? does it mean saying out loud "i have __" and then a few seconds going "alright wheres my ___?" no. it means you in your mind decide that its ALREADY YOURS and that you ALREADY GOT IT. i dont know how to word this any differently because its so simple its literally in the words. im gonna try an example. im assuming that youre reading this with your eyes so you have eyes. are you trying to 'manifest' having eyes? when you say "i have eyes" are you using an affirmation to get eyes? is having eyes a desire youre trying to 'manifest'? no because you literally already have eyes bro how else are you reading this with your bootyhole??? so when you say "i have eyes" you arent manifesting via affirming, youre just saying it to remind yourself because well you have eyes. you arent trying to manifest eyes because you already have them. thats what it means to decide that your desire is yours. it means to stop treating what is yours as a desire because its literally yours. stop seeing it as something youre trying to manifest because you already have it, wtf do you need to manifest for? do you get it? don't think of doing this as you tricking your mind into thinking you have your desires because AGAINN you arent tricking anything you literally already have it. when you say "i have eyes" and you have eyes are you trying to trick gour brain? no. that sounds silly. im sorry that this is so repetitive but its literally that simple idk what everyone else is doing complicating the most simple thing ever.

and now, what do people mean by affirm that you have it? does that mean using affirmations to manifest your 'desire'? (i put desire in quotations bc you already have it since you decided you do) no. it simply means reminding yourself that you do. ill go back to the eyes example. if you were to say "i have eyes" right now would you understand that as some woo woo manifestation affirmation technique? no because you already have eyes. what youre doing is simply stating a fact and reminding yourself of it for funsies. you arent trying to manifest anything because you already have it. affirming doesn't mean tricking your brain or your subconscious that you have your desire or whatever, its just you reminding yourself.

and finally, what does it mean to persist? does that mean fighting for your life trying to convince yourself that you have your desire? no. because you already have it. it simply means that everytime you ask yourself "oh why isnt this showing up in my 3d?" you tell yourself "bro what tf are you on about were not manifesting anything we already have it are you crazy?" that's all. going back to the eyes example, you know you have eyes, so if someone came up to you rn and was like "hey did your eyes come in yet?" you'd probably think they hit their head or something because your eyes are literally right there its how youre seeing their dumbass. that's the same attitude you have to have towards your 'desires'. stop thinking of your 'desires' as desires, stop thinking youre trying to manifest anything, stop thinking you have to wait for anything to show up in the 3d or that the 3d is lagging behind or whatever, stop seeing manifestation as manifestation, stop imagining yourself sending in success stories asks when you get your desires, basically just stop dawg. you already have it. "dont contradict yourself" (although again you arent contradicting anything bc you already have it im just running out of ways to simply something thats already so simple). thats what it means to manifest instantly.

anyways thats all i wanted to say. im so sorry for the horrendously long ask i would make it even longer by talking about my success now but i think you would beat my ass if i did. bye bye love u

!!!!! you ate this whole thing up. y'all better come read this.

[athenaeum-of-the-herald]

Libations

As a Hellenic polytheist, one of our most important duties to our gods would be to give libations. Libations are liquid offerings to our gods, not only in recognition of them and their importance but as an invitation into our lives for them.

When it comes to giving libations, it can be difficult for those of us practicing and worshipping in secret. So in this post I'll go over typical libations and how they're given, and then some methods I believe would be helpful for those that can't give openly! Please keep in mind that the suggested methods (for those practicing in secret) come from someone who is still navigating and learning her own religion. As always, do your own research where needed and do methods that make you most comfortable in your practices.

Typical Libations

Wine (typically red)

Symbolic of the divine ether, and Zeus's influence on the soul. Additionally, dark red wine represents the blood of Dionysus/Zagreus. We drink his blood as reflectance for his sacrifice by the titans and the eating of his flesh. It represents his metamorphosis, and in turn, our own cycle of birth.

Milk

Representative of Hera and Ira, whose breast milk formed the galaxies and cosmos. Milk also represents the earth.

Honey

Honey is golden which is incredibly symbolic of the gods, particularly their ichor (the blood of the gods). Honey is also a powerful preservative representing the immortality of the gods.

Fine oil (typically olive)

Oil historically symbolizes life, prosperity, and the divine spirit.

Milk and honey together are also a considerable libations but is particularly good for death related gods and the honoring of the dead. Milk and honey libations for them should NOT be consumed.

Giving Libations

To give libations, you would first pick up the offering bowl full of whatever you are giving with your right hand, then hold it with both and recite a dedication. The dedication itself is up to you but the example I saw is as follows:

"We dedicate this libation to khrismôdós Apóllôn and aithǽrios Diónysos and to all the happy, deathless Gods!"

Libations can be made to a singular god or multiple at once. Just ensure you have enough for them equally. Dedications can also be to a singular god or you can name the ones you are dedicating to.

Once you've made your dedication, you'll transfer the bowl to your left hand and pour your offering on the ground or into whatever reservoir you have dedicated to it on your altar. This is your libation, and the offering now belongs to them. Once you've made your libations, you may sip from the remaining contents of the bowl as communion. Before doing so, you may recite a prayer. Here is an example:

"We drink the blood of Diónysos! May the Aithír of Zefs intoxicate our souls and transform us!"

Please be aware that you should NOT drink libations to the dead or to death gods.

When sipping from the remainder of your libations, do NOT sip from the part where you poured. You should drink from the opposite end of the bowl.

Libations in Secret

When you're practicing in secret, this method of libations can be incredibly difficult. So with that, here are a few ways that I think could be helpful!

Can't access or drink wine/milk/honey? Substitute them for water or better yet, flavored juices!

Pomegranate juice can make a good libation for Underworld gods and goddesses, apple juice would be good for Zeus, etc. Research your deity's associations and try working with them. Water is also life-giving and integral to life.

Can't pour your libations outside or in a dedicated offering bowl? Use cups!

Pour your libations directly from the bottle to a cup and sit it on a shelf or desk or wherever you've dedicated to your god. You can recite your prayers and dedications in your head as well.

Worried about wasting drinks? Offer a smaller amount!

Typically what you give should be more than you keep, but your gods understand your struggles and would be understanding of your intentions. Offer a small amount of your drink, honey, etc and inform them of your reasonings and intentions. Your gods love you, they'll be happy with your efforts regardless.

Can't do your libations during the day? Do them at night!

Give your libations while everyone is asleep. You can even hide it under your bed or behind something to keep it for the time you want. (Please be careful of doing this with honey and be mindful of possible insects, pets, pests, spills, etc)

A minor? Do your libations at school!

You can do your libations while at school by making them during a PE class, during lunch, or any period of time where you can take a moment to do so! (I'm not condoning using your bathroom breaks to sneak off and do them, I'm just saying you definitely could do that)

Regardless of how you do your libations and with what, your practice is your own as is your relationship with your god(s). Do what feels right for you ♡

[abusivegymrat]

Pollyanna.

You’re the leading member of a paramilitary organization that’s been a pain in their ass for quite a while now, suspected of various war crimes but the clues somehow never led to you. It frustrated them to no end.

When they finally got a hold of you, Laswell insisted (begged) them to keep you the fuck alive, while Ghost would’ve just preferred to put a bullet through your skull and Price would prefer tearing you with a crowbar after you scratched Soap’s arm with your nails fighting for your life.

You’re now on house arrest, though of course, not in yours. Gaz just wanted to put you in a moldy cramped studio apartment but Laswell was remorseful enough to give you some space to walk around for reasons the guys have yet to understand. Nothing massive or luxurious, just a normal family apartment meant for probably a few more people than you. The walls of the two children’s rooms were broken down, leaving a lot of empty space. Larger halls, abrupt corners, sharp turns that had you hitting your head around like a damn moron on your first two days here.

You like it here, your kitchen is a big American one in one big room with your living room, your bedroom has a king sized bed and a dressing room, your bathroom is also big enough and clean. That part was thanks to you, though.

You don’t seem to mind how there are cameras on every corner of your place, how every edge is bugged, obvious or not. How 4 men take turns watching you over the cameras 24/7. You’re comfortable, maybe too comfortable.

You don’t abstain from singing in the shower, refrain from dancing around your kitchen with music blasting in your headphones, sometimes walking around naked as you looked for what PJ set to wear for the night. You dress pretty, even though you know you won’t go out. Do your makeup just to feel good. Not for them either, for you. Living for yourself.

You’re not afraid of trying new recipes and making a mess of the kitchen: you’ll clean it later, nothing is worth more than the fun you’re having right now.

They’ve learned a lot about you in the past few months too, how you always have your head in a book, hands on a pen, eyes out the window whenever you have the chance. How you like to listen to jazz when you cook. How your showers are only warm on Saturdays because cold water makes you feel cleaner, fresher and wakes you up. How you prefer red wine with red meat and white with fish. How you’re not too bad of a cook (they find Soap often drooling over your cooking). Every small detail that makes you, well, you.

You, you, you.

They can find it embarrassing, they can find you weird, call you crazy, you don’t care.

And they do, when a young, bright voice asks you curiously:

“Y’know we’re here, right?”

You don’t know these people, can’t associate their voices with their names or their names with their faces. But the first interaction you get in months perks your interest, you continue the conversation.

“I do.”

“Watching you all the time.”

“Mhm.”

“So why?”

The person doesn’t elaborate, but you get what they mean. You seem bright, happy, almost delighted, thankful to be there. It’s confusing. They’ve seen people lose their minds, bang their heads against walls, beg them to get them out of there, that they’re innocent. Some couldn’t even stand a single day of solitude, spilling everything they knew.

You sigh. “You could kill me tomorrow. I could stay here forever.”

You can practically hear his eyebrows raise, the sound of a door opening reaches your ears, someone, perhaps multiple people walking in at the first time they hear your voice. This could be vital for the mission, or whatever they were after.

“In my last moments, i don’t want to look back and regret.” You continue. “Life’s too short for tha’.”

The air shifts, something changes.

Their opinion of you slowly evolves into a meaningful admiration. The veil coating their vision on life lifts.

They’re mesmerized.

just had to spit this one out of my system<3

hey you!! check out my masterlist

[natalievoncatte]

“Today?” Kara said, “really?”

There was a silence in the house, as a pall had fallen over it. Everyone was gathered for the festivities and the turkey in the oven was filling the house with a delightful scent that made Lena’s mouth water. Thanksgiving was supposed to be the one day that Lena could forget about her waistline and just indulge herself. She’d been “helping” Eliza along with Alex and Kelly and Nia while the boys and Kara were out back tossing a football and pretending that she and J’onn didn’t have an outrageous advantage over Brainy and James.

Now Kara was standing in the living room as the news broke in over the football game and announced that a rampaging alien was tearing apart Rio de Janiero.

“Guys,” Kara said solemnly, “I have to go.”

Lena’s heart sank. She knew better than to protest. Kara had already glumly removed her glasses and was about to go grab her suit. Lena reached out and curled a hand around her bicep.

“Please be careful, darling.”

Lena could feel eyes on her back, Eliza and Alex and Nia all watching, silently urging one of them to just finally make a damned move. Lena *lived with her*, for God’s sake, and had since she sold her penthouse. They shared breakfasts and Kara gave her foot rubs and still they were stuck in this maddening limbo without defining what and who they were and it seemed neither dared to ask.

Lena knew what she wanted the answer to be, and how it ached inside her.

Kara glumly trudged down the stairs in full Supergirl regalia, regal and imposing as ever and just as beautiful. Since she’d revealed her identity to the world she’d been freed from the constraints of having to disguise herself, and a few months ago had buzzed the left side of her head, having trimmed the rest to shoulder length, and Lena longed to run her fingers over the fuzz.

She’d also altered her suit again. It no longer had sleeves. Every time Lena saw her, it felt like her soul was going to escape her body.

Kara came over and put her hands on Lena’s arms.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

Lena gulped down her anxiety.

“I can hear your heart, you know.”

“Just be careful. Please.”

Kara started to turn. Maybe it was the audience, maybe she was just tired of being mired in this thick tension between them. Maybe it was the wine. She grabbed Kara’s arm again and sprang forward to brush her lips against Kara’s cheek, dangerously close to Kara’s mouth.

“For luck.”

Kara’s eyes flew open wide and she gaped at Lena.

“I’ll be b-back,” she said, and swept out the door, cape billowing majestically.

God how Lena hated that cape, sometimes. It blocked the view.

What had been a festive gathering grew quiet. Everyone gathered around the television to see what was going on, save Eliza who politely excused herself to the kitchen, hiding tears that everyone politely ignored.

Lena joined her. She was making the gravy.

“A life of fighting isn’t what I wanted for her,” she said.

“Me either.”

They were alone in the kitchen and Eliza was whisking a roux as she waited for the raw flour smell to cook off.

“Lena, do you have feelings for my daughter?”

Lena swallowed hard, grabbing a knife to chop carrots for glazing so that she’d have something to occupy your hands.

Eliza’s voice was soft, something wistful in her eyes. “You must know how she feels about you.”

Lena had to stop to avoid slicing open her finger, almost feeling the touch of the blade. She cleared her throat.

“I do,” she admitted. “I very much do. If I’m going to be honest with myself, I’ve been in love with her for years.”

Eliza nodded, utterly unsurprised. “Kara is very hesitant about delicate things. When she first started living with us, she used to rip doorknobs off and break things at random while she learned to control her powers. She’s probably told you about Streaky.”

“She has.”

Eliza began pouring stock into the pot, her whisk making soft scraping sounds.

“She’s still that way about everything. Afraid if she pushes too hard, she’ll break something.”

Lena nodded. It was at that moment that Alex stormed into the kitchen. “She’s back.”

Immediately, Lena rushed out into the living room. Kara trudged through the door, and sighed.

“He got a few good hits in but he’s contained.”

Lena could only stare. Her suit was covered in scorch marks and even worse, Kara was bruised, her knuckles especially battered. She smiled weakly.

“I just need a minute to clean up.”

With a deep sigh, Kara turned and headed upstairs.

Lena could feel the eyes on her before she glanced back. Eliza motioned a silent “Go”, and Lena went.

She knocked at the bathroom door.

“Lena?” said Kara.

She always knew. Super-senses.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

Brief hesitation, then, “yes.”

Lena stepped inside and closed the door. Kara was washing her hands, the injuries already vanishing. Lena didn’t care. She took Kara’s hands anyway, gently washing them under warm water.

She then fumbled at the clasps and unhooked Kara’s cape, and folded it. It was surprisingly heavy, made of a dense material from her long lost home. Setting it aside, she rested her hand against Kara’s deliciously broad back, silently waiting for permission.

“Go ahead,” Kara said in a shaky voice.

Lena freed the tab of the hidden zipper and pulled, baring Kara’s expansive muscular back, and peeled the suit away from her shoulders. Kara had nothing but a sports bra and boxer briefs on beneath. She finished shimmying out of the suit on her own.

Lena has seen Kara in bathing suits, or caught flashes of her changing, but this was different, somehow more intimate. There was a vulnerability, not just in the woman disrobing but in the goddess showing Lena her bruises. Lena gently touched a black and purple mark on Kara’s flank.

“This one hurt, didn’t it.”

“It always hurts. I can feel it, I just pretend I don’t.”

Lena looked up at her and met her gaze.

“Kara, may I kiss you?”

Kara blinked and Lena could actually feel her tremble.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Lena rose on her tiptoes and pressed their lips together very softly, with a deliberate slowness. When Kara kissed her back and pulled her into a delicate embrace, hands bracketed low on her hips, Lena felt like she could fly.

Kara was looking at her in wonder.

“Was that for more luck?”

Lena felt bold. She had seize the moment now, before she lost her nerve and they fell back into tense limbo.

“Kara Danvers, if you want to, you can get very lucky tonight.”

Her eyes were wide and Lena grinned.

“I umm, I…”

Lena trailed a finger down the center of Kara’s muscular chest.

“Dinner is almost ready, darling. Take your shower. Just remember to save room for dessert.”

Kara favored her with a delighted smile as Lena stepped out of the bathroom and padded down the stairs.

When she reached the ground floor, everyone was pointedly focused elsewhere, either on the football game or cooking, and Kelly and Nia were playing cards at the dining room table.

Alexa, though, handed her a beer. Lena took it with a shaking hand.

“Fucking finally,” Alex whispered. “Just don’t get too loud tonight, okay? Go down to the beach if you can’t control yourself.”

Lena’s eyes narrowed.

“I hate you.”

“Love ya too, sis-in-law,” said Alex.

“We’re not married yet.”

Alex tipped back her brew. “Six months, tops.”

Lena took a long pull on her beer and scowled.

(It ended up being four months)

[antinousletmehit]

Pairing: platonic!Antinous x fem!reader/ Telemachus x fem!reader

Note: a chapter of this series will come out each day because I’ve already pre written this stuff PRE ITHACA SAGA so the future chapters regarding that may or may not be changed. Also I will go through readers and Antinous’s backstory as siblings soon.

THIS IS PART 3

Here’s where you can find part 2–> https://www.tumblr.com/antinousletmehit/771422711234887681/paring-telemachus-x-femreader-notes-first

N/N= nickname

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/n strolled out of the hall, her smirk lingering from the sheer delight of watching Telemachus squirm. The cool, quiet halls of the palace gave way to the raucous noise of the main hall. Laughter, shouting, and the occasional clatter of a goblet hitting the floor filled the space.

The Suitors were sprawled around the room, gambling with dice, boasting of how Penelope looked their way and didn’t frown, and play-fighting as if they were on a battlefield. Plates of half-eaten food littered the tables, and amphorae of wine were passed around with careless abandon.

Y/n weaved through the chaos, dodging an overly enthusiastic shove between two men sparring with wooden swords. She reached for a cup of water from a passing servant’s tray, taking a sip before a familiar voice cut through the din.

“Well, if it ain’t little N/N!”

Y/n turned to see her brother, Antinous, standing near one of the tables, arms wide in mock celebration. He was surrounded by a few of the rowdier Suitors, his grin as sharp and confident as ever.

“Don’t call me that,” she said, though her tone lacked any real annoyance.

“Why not? It suits you,” Antinous replied, leaning on the edge of the table. “Little N/N, always poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Tell me, who have you been tormenting now?”

“Who says I’ve been tormenting anyone?” she asked innocently, taking another sip of water.

Antinous laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh, come now. You have that look about you. The same one I get after outsmarting some poor fool.” He narrowed his eyes at her playfully. “Let me guess… Telemachus?”

Y/n smirked, leaning against a nearby pillar. “Who else? He’s so easy, Antinous. All I have to do is say a few words, and he’s blushing like a maiden on her wedding day.”

The Suitors around Antinous erupted in laughter, one of them slapping the table so hard the dice scattered. “The prince of Ithaca, reduced to a stammering fool by a girl!” one of them crowed.

Antinous grinned, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “Well done, sister. You’re learning from the best.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “If I’m learning from you, then maybe I should start charging him for the privilege of my company.”

“That’s the spirit!” Antinous said, gesturing for her to sit at the table with him. “Why waste your talents on free entertainment when you could profit from them? You could even outdo me one day.”

“Outdo you?” she repeated with a laugh, setting her cup down. “Is that even possible?”

The two of them shared a laugh, their sibling bond clear in the way they teased each other. Around them, the Suitors continued their games and boasts. But in the back of Y/N’s mind, an image lingered—Telemachus, standing defiant despite her taunts.

Y/n leaned back in her chair, her smirk lingering as Antinous poured himself a goblet of wine. Around her, the Suitors’ voices ebbed and flowed in waves of laughter and drunken arguments, but Y/ns focus was on her brother.

He was always the center of attention, effortlessly commanding the room. He had a knack for it, a charisma that even she had to admire. Still, as much as she enjoyed their games, Antinous’s antics sometimes grated on her nerves.

“Do you ever get tired of playing king?” Y/n asked, swirling the water in her goblet.

Antinous arched an eyebrow, his grin unwavering. “King? No, sister. I’m merely trying to keep the throne warm for the day Odysseus never returns. Someone has to take charge, after all. And that old relic is too busy mourning a dead man than to choose the man who’ll have her to wife.”

“Is that what you call drinking, gambling, and pretending you’re invincible?” she quipped. Her smirk sharper than the edge of Antinous’s blade.

Antinous laughed, unbothered by her jab. “Careful, Y/n. Envy doesn’t suit you.”

“Envious? Of you?” She scoffed, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “I’d rather be the serpent hiding in the shadows than the lion roaring in the open. You should know better than anyone how that story ends.”

Antinous paused, his grin faltering just slightly. It was fleeting, but Y/n noticed. She always did. He recovered quickly, leaning back in his chair with an air of practiced ease.

“And yet, here you are, mingling with the lions,” he said, gesturing to the raucous crowd around them. “Perhaps you’re not so different from me after all.”

Y/n didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she let her gaze drift over the room. The Suitors were a sorry lot, drunken fools more concerned with games and glory than anything of substance. Telemachus wasn’t wrong to hate them. She hated them too, in her own weird way.

Her mind wandered back to the interaction with Telemachus, to the flash of anger in Telemachus’s eyes as she goaded him. It wasn’t the first time she’d pushed him, and it wouldn’t be the last. There was something about him, something raw and untapped, like a blade waiting to be sharpened.

“You’re quiet,” Antinous said, breaking her thoughts. He tilted his head, studying her. “What are you thinking about now?”

Y/n smirked, meeting his gaze. “Nothing you need to worry about, brother. Just thinking about how boring this lot is.” She gestured to the rowdy group around them. “Don’t you ever wish for something… more challenging?”

Antinous chuckled, leaning closer. “Challenges are for those who have something to prove. I don’t have anything to prove, I know who I am and I prefer to enjoy myself.”

“Of course you do,” she said dryly, taking another sip of her water.

Antinous didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the game at hand. Y/n, however, let her thoughts drift again, this time to Telemachus.

Y/n smiled to herself, setting her goblet down. The lions could keep roaring. She would remain the serpent, coiled and patient, waiting for the right moment to strike.

[mamiobesssionfics]

The Quiet Between the Thunder

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Summary: You’re a florist who lives quietly and loves deeply. Rhea Ripley crashes into your life, unexpected, loud, and fierce.

Part 2

It started with a broken vase.

You hear the shatter from the backroom. Your head snaps up, the scent of lilacs and eucalyptus still clinging to your sleeves as you rush forward.

Glass glitters across the floor of your flower shop like scattered stars, and in the centre of it stands a woman, tall, tattooed, looking like she was carved out of leather and lightning.

She holds her hands up, sheepish, with sheepdog eyes and black nails.

"Shit," she says. "I was just trying to grab the black roses."

You blink. Most people ask for peonies.

Not obsidian-dipped stems and thorns like daggers.

“I’ll clean it up,” you murmur, crouching with a dustpan.

“No, I broke it. Let me help.” She kneels beside you, big hands awkward around delicate shards. “I’m Rhea, by the way.”

Of course, she is.

The name fits the storm she carries.

You learn that she’s buying flowers for her sister, for a birthday.

You suggest deep burgundy ranunculus and wine-coloured calla lilies. She listens, really listens, head tilted, eyes soft.

She leaves with a bouquet wrapped in black paper and tied with a crimson ribbon. Before she steps outside, she looks over her shoulder and smiles.

“I’ll be back,” she says.

And somehow… You believe her.

She returns the next week.

No broken glass this time. But she lingers.

Her boots thud against the floor as she walks the shop slowly, trailing fingers near the petals but never touching.

She asks questions. About meanings. About arrangements. About you.

You tell her little things that you like silence that you talk to your flowers. That you named your favourite fern "Bartholomew" and he’s very fussy about light.

She laughs. Loud and warm. It startles you at first, but it also pulls a smile from your lips.

“Y’know,” she says, leaning against the counter, “you’re not what I expected.”

You glance at her. “What did you expect?”

She grins. “Someone afraid of me.”

You look at her, really look—past the ink, the muscle, the sharp tongue—and find shadows under her eyes.

A softness in the way she keeps her hands close to her sides. You smile.

“I’m not.”

It becomes a rhythm.

She shows up, sometimes bruised from a match, sometimes tired.

You make her tea. She helps you close the shop.

She watches you tie ribbons with practised fingers. You give her lavender for sleep, chamomile for calm, and roses when she’s quiet.

Sometimes you don’t speak.

Sometimes she talks too much.

Sometimes you lean into her side without thinking, and her breath catches like it surprises her every time.

One evening, the lights are low.

Rain patters against the windows like soft drumming fingers. She sits on the floor, back against the counter, while you water the violets.

“You know,” she says suddenly, “I used to think gentleness was weakness.”

You glance at her.

She doesn’t look at you. Just stares at her hands. Big, scarred, strong hands.

“But then I met you. And you’re the softest thing I’ve ever seen. And the bravest.”

Your heart flutters like a moth against glass.

You set the watering can down.

And sit beside her.

Close.

Not touching.

But not far.

“You don’t have to be made of thunder all the time,” you whisper.

She turns to you.

And there’s a look in her eyes like something breaking open.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

You reach for her hand.

Thread your fingers through hers.

“You don’t have to. Not all at once.”

The first kiss happens weeks later.

No roses, no drama.

Just you.

In your little apartment above the shop.

Wearing a sweater too big for you, sleeves covering your palms.

Her in joggers and a t-shirt, hair wet from the shower.

She touches your face like you might vanish.

And when she kisses you, it’s slow. Careful. A little clumsy, like she hasn’t kissed in a long time.

You cup her jaw and pull her closer. She exhales against your lips like she’s finally breathing right.

Later, her head rests against your chest, and your fingers trail her tattooed arm like it’s the most sacred thing you’ve ever seen.

“You smell like lilies,” she murmurs.

You smile against her temple.

“You smell like trouble.”

She grins. “Guess we’re a good match, then.”

When she makes love to you, it’s with reverence.

She unravels you slowly, fingers tracing skin like petals.

Your breath hitches. Her mouth follows.

She whispers your name like a secret—over and over—until it’s the only thing that matters.

And afterwards, tangled in your sheets, she pulls you close and buries her face in your neck.

“You’re everything I didn’t know I needed,” she murmurs.

You kiss her hair.

And hold her tighter.

Part 2

[jeyunhos]

Midnight feast | jyh [ Interactive story! ]

pairing: vampire!yunho x human!fem!reader cw: blood, drinking blood, vampirism, oral sex (female receiving), oral sex (male receiving), public sex, alcohol consumption, if I miss any tags let me know Summary: After your friend stands you up at a bar, a handsome, mysterious stranger tries to light up your day. A/N: Finally!! my second interactive story, this time with yunho. This story is a choose-your-own-path story, each link at the end will take you through different routes with different plots and endings. I always have a lot of fun making these so I hope you will too. This story is 18+, minors do not interact.

Keeping up with his desires was not always easy, as a creature of the night in modern days some things had gotten just plain complicated. Furthermore, it didn’t help that he was picky about his tastes and likes, but when he landed his eyes on a target he did not rest until he had it. 

He had to have you. 

He realized it when he saw you across the bar, all on your own, toying with a glass of an untouched beverage. You looked rather… disappointed, if he had to put a word to it; vulnerable women weren’t exactly his type, but something about you was dragging him in, it was making him thirsty. 

“A glass of wine, please, cabernet.” he had approached your side on the bar and turned to the bartender “And whatever the lady wants to replace that watered-down drink of hers.” 

It took you a second to realize that he was talking about you since you were too absentmindedly toying with the slim red straw that your glass had as decoration. 

“Oh, no, that’s-” you tried to refuse politely, not really wanting to offend the handsome stranger, but also not in the mood for some random guy to be hitting on you. 

“Please, I insist” he raised a hand in your direction, accompanied by a charming, captivating smile that made you feel warm within yourself. “I know what it’s like to be stood up” he added “Asshole boyfriend?” his eyes searched for yours with a tilt of his head. 

At that moment you took a proper look at him. He had deep black hair that somehow shined blueish whenever the dim bar lights angled enough to hit his face. He was wearing frameless glasses and a turtleneck sweater adorned by chain-like necklaces that were barely covered by his leather jacket. Fair skin that contrasted perfectly with his deep black eyes. Those eyes, certainly profound enough to drown you in them if you weren’t careful, you could tell. 

As you were weighing your chances to come out of this exchange unharmed, which you deemed very slim, the bartender came back with his order. Then you noticed the nails when he took a hold of the glass, they were long for a man and they were almond-shaped as well, covered in shiny, transparent rocks. 

Despite his attention leaving you briefly to properly hold his drink, his eyes were deeply focused on yours, awaiting an answer to his question that was purposely formulated to test his own chances with you, and it wasn’t like you were particularly interested…

But there was just something about those eyes. 

“More like an ungrateful friend” you finally spoke, as if something was compelling you to do so. 

“I know the type.” he tried to sympathize in hopes you wouldn’t push him away “Care for some company?” 

Granted, you did not really want to get hit on tonight, least of all to go home and hook up with a stranger, but you figured why turn some free drinks and a nice conversation down? You decided to amuse him for a while. He was alluring, not bad on the eye at all, why not? 

After the first few minutes of awkward conversation and introductions, during which you learned his name was Jeong Yunho and he insisted on you calling him only ‘Yunho’, the conversation began to flow easily. It was almost as if he could see into you, that something was forcing you to keep talking about yourself no matter how stupid, embarrassing, or utterly unnecessary the information was. To every single bit of said information, though, he had an answer ready, some were of sympathy and understanding, and some similar stories of his own. You could feel a connection, a real connection that didn’t happen often. 

Yunho felt about the same way, the one difference was that you could feel it in your chest, and him? In the endless throbbing between his legs and the urge to make a mess out of that beautiful neck of yours. 

“...and I swear, the cat just climbed all the way up my leg and, before I knew it, it was on my head!” as he finished his sentence, he began to laugh at the reminiscing of his own story. 

You couldn’t help but laugh along; it’s not that the story was particularly funny, but he was enjoying himself so much it was infectious. 

“Must have been really talented, climbing a man as tall as you” you observed, your hand landing teasingly on his thigh “Gotta say, I’m kinda jealous” 

Maybe it was the booze of the few drinks you had had, maybe it was the fact that he smelled like morning dew, or maybe he was just ridiculously hot and you had started to get horny a while ago, but all this banter and laughing had gotten to you, and you were curious about what could happen next, or if he had the same interest in taking you home, hell, taking you at all. 

Yunho, smart and experienced as he was, picked up on the signal real quick, his eyes darkened at the prospect of having you, and if he was honest with himself, he’d rather that be sooner than later. 

“Well, we can’t have such a beautiful lady’s heart filled with such a nefarious feeling” he said as he took your hand and gently brought it up to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it. “Shall we move this somewhere else?” 

Follow him to the alley Follow him back to his home

[ladyofrosefire]

fuck it, bg3 companions shower routine

Shadowheart: Shar hates self-care, but a Shadowheart does take pride in her hair, and a Shadowheart who has learned to be kind to herself can indulge. Long, complicated hair routine, very specific water temperature, and a tendency toward long-ass depression showers. LOVES a bubble bath and will make a whole event of it with flower petals and candles just for her. Will bring a book with a little book tray and a glass of wine.

Astarion: Similarly complicated hair routine. Gotta hydrate the curls, and being dead does not do nice things to your hair. Less prone to standing there staring at nothing while the horrors set in, but prone to scrubbing too hard. Similarly fond of a bubble bath, although without the book or flowers, although he will fuck with an essential oil heater and likes to make his own blends.

Lae'zel: Queen of the 4 minute shower. She has been accused of not even waiting for the water to heat up, but she likes it blistering. Does not actually use 3-in-1, thank you. Having fairly short hair helps. She finds the other companions baffling. Would get bored in a bubble bath unless she had company (rubber duck counts).

Wyll: Sings. If someone called him on it, he would be embarrassed, the first time, for about a minute. Neither wildly efficient nor inclined to standing there for ages and ages and prefers to shower in the morning. Washing his hair is a chance to relax and take care of himself, although before he has his family back, it can be a bit melancholy. He has fallen asleep in the bath before. I feel like he'd love a bath bomb and he'd love the full romantic evening with candles and flowers and music.

Karlach: Please, please someone boil her. Once she gets her engine fixed all the way, she tries a cold shower just to remember what it feels like and keeps up a running commentary about how much it sucks while also not turning up the temperature. Absolutely loves sharing a shower with someone and will also sing. Should not attempt her little jig on wet tiles. May try anyway. Someone should introduce her to proper hair/skin care because if anyone is using 3-in-1, I'm sorry, it's Karlach. Genuinely cannot sit still for a bubble bath unless she has company to cuddle.

Gale: Voted Faerun's Most Likely to Relitigate Arguments in the Shower, Even if He Won Originally. Loves to pamper himself, canonically, loves a spa day, also canonically. You simply are not getting the bathroom back for a good hour, although not all that time involves running water. Plays around with different products and researches the living hell out of everything. Loves a long soak. The only person with a feline in their house to ever bathe in peace. Constantly torn between wanting a book with him when he has a bath and not wanting to get the pages steamy and damp, much less actually wet.

Minthara: Her ideal hair wash involves someone else doing it for her while also having the utmost certainty that the person will not attempt to murder her. If her partner washes her hair for her, she turns into a puddle. She has an incredibly specific lineup of products. If she shares, understand that she has bestowed upon you a great gift. More about bath salts than bubbles and could be persuaded to a sufficiently elegant bath bomb (it would not be a difficult check).

Halsin: Low-flow showerhead user. Hell, he might be the kind of person to turn the water off entirely when not soaking/rinsing out his hair... However, he is not immune to the "shower together to save water" line even though he KNOWS it doesn't work that way. He needs low-scent soaps/etc considering his heightened sense of smell. And listen, this man does not fit in a bathtub unless he goes somewhere special or finds a particularly large one. He made everyone floaty ducks, properly sealed against water damage, and he has one for himself that holds his soap.

Jaheira: Understands that having a chair in the shower is just being kind to yourself and proceeds accordingly. Will revisit arguments she had that day, but despite that has a quick and fairly simple routine. She needs the water pressure to pound the everloving hell out of her back. Loofa on a stick user. Like Wyll, she has fallen asleep in a bathtub, in part thanks to having and using a bath cushion. Truly, the expert on bath-based comfort.

Minsc: Also sings in the shower. LOUDLY. Boo is allowed to sit a shelf out of the way. The best way to get him to use lotion is to give him something that smells yummy. He has similar problems to Halsin regarding fitting in bathtubs. He tries anyway. He has been banned from at least one hotspring for doing a cannonball.

[tiny-pretty-sana]

gf mina | headcanons

warning: nsfw content (+18), men and minors dni

sfw

mina is synonym of elegance, serenity and beauty. being by her side feels like watching the waves crashing on the shore when the sea is calm during a sunset. 

she is shy with a serious appearance and elegant, controlled mannerisms, all of which together can give an impression of her that is far from reality.

she is a quiet person, she demonstrates more through her actions than with her words. but if it’s something she’s passionate about you can hear her talk for long.

when she is ready and voices what she thinks or how she feels, she does it just as she is, calmly and elegantly. even when she demands something it doesn’t sound like it and you just feel the need to listen to her.

she's not oblivious to the effect she has on people and especially on you, she will demand your attention in subtle but effective ways. she knows what makes you weak.

your first impression of her is that she was sexy but cold and mysterious, it turns out she is the definition of “loser trapped in a hot girl's body”.

she's a nerd. she loves video games, knows the names of too many pokémon, watches superhero movies, recreates poses of anime characters and builds legos that she then puts in display cases. 

when you started going on dates you noticed she seemed too focused on something and you felt something was off. turns out she was a bit self conscious of her walking. 

time passed and soon enough she stopped hiding her penguin like walking around you.

her love language is gift giving, but also acts of service.

you do whatever she asks (or commands), but she is always there for whatever you need. whether it's to help you, to be by your side or to do it for you.

she isn’t a romantic person, although she does romantic things. expect to receive bouquets of your favorite flowers, stuffed animals, the snacks you like the most, something she has crocheted or made.

for your birthdays, anniversaries or valentine's day she won't post anything on social media or do anything that other people can see. you like to celebrate things privately.

mina's favorite dates are the ones that include going to a nice restaurant, a bakery shop, eating ice cream or trying new food. no matter what you do, food is a must. 

when you don't stay home with a nice wine, home-cooked meal or take out to watch a movie or play video games you enjoy quiet dates. 

you go to the movies, go to a museum, the aquarium, botanical garden or shopping so she can indulge in her hobbies.

when you go shopping together she stuns you when she tries on clothes and the next minute she's dragging you through the whole store to show you a minecraft tshirt. 

the gifts mina gives you are things you like and will use. if she gives you jewelry it's nice, but also something you can wear in your everyday activities. and another day she might give you an overpriced toaster in your favorite color. 

mina is the kind of person you have to take care of and make sure she eats on time and drinks water. if she has a new game or building a big lego set, you have to remind her to take breaks and go to bed. 

she is a homebody and sometimes you have to drag her out of her home but a promise to grab some food and a few kisses will do the trick.

when situations in her life, work or your relationship overwhelm her, her way of dealing with it is to walk away. 

she is learning to count on you and understand that she is not a bother, but it can be hard to break out of old habits.

mina is a private person. she won't say she loves you out loud or kiss you in public. instead she gives you affection in subtle ways to let you know she is there for you. 

she follows you with her eyes, feeds you, slides her hands between yours, places her hand on your thigh, or keeps her hand on your lower back while you talk. 

she sometimes gets overwhelmed in big crowds or when meeting new people, when this happens she clings onto you.

she is not jealous at all, she is very confident in herself and also in you. she knows she has you hooked.

in private she's all over you. she’s really affectionate and touchy once she lets herself go, sometimes she sits on your lap while she plays or will ask you to straddle her while she’s gaming on the computer.

nsfw

once again her calmness and quietness may give you the wrong impression of her. mina is not innocent at all, it didn't take you long to realize it.

sex with her is passionate, intimate and fun, but also dirty and rough. behind closed doors you get to see the less elegant, soft and collected version of mina. 

mina gives herself to you whether she is in control or not. and you have no choice but to give her everything she needs, no matter if she begs for it or demands it.

to put it in another way, mina bottoms most of the time.

she knows how hot she is and she knows she has you wrapped around her finger. she knows exactly what words to use and how to touch you to get exactly what she wants from you.

she's a tease. it doesn't matter if you're in public or private because she'll find the way.

her gestures, her touches or the way she looks at you may go unnoticed by others, but you know perfectly well the intentions behind them, however subtle they may be. 

when you’re at home she wears obscenely short clothes, she purposely raises her arms until her t-shirt slides up showing her abs or bends over to give you a perfect view of her ass. 

she enjoys teasing you but it’s even easier to tease her since she’s horny most of the time. a look, a few words and a suggestive gesture would have her blushing, looking avoiding your eyes and squeezing her thighs together.

you let her misbehave all she wants because it's not like you can punish her. she loves to be spanked, being edged or whatever you come up with.

she will use pet names rather than titles with you (unless you tell her). however, if you use them with her, especially the ones she has taught you in japanese, she becomes putty in your hands

mina is kinky, a freak, a pervert… you name it. she has so many kinks that you’re still finding out and she’s willing to try so many things. that includes bdsm dynamics

once you called her a pervert to tease her but it just turned her on. 

she’s both into praising and degradation, she can’t help it when she just loves getting any type of attention from you. 

she enjoys degradation, humiliation and sadism. for these she enjoys being the receiving end more but when she's in a certain mood she doesn't hesitate to inflict it. 

she also enjoys bondage, impact play, temperature/sensation play and wax play among others.

she likes to try new positions and take advantage of her flexibility but nothing compares to having you eating her out while she plays. 

she has a staring problem, she can't take her eyes off you, your chest or any exposed skin. you don't miss the opportunity to remind her “my eyes are higher up” just to see her reaction.

this does not only happen with you, but also with other people. that's why she doesn’t get jealous even though she's possessive. truly she also gets turned on by the idea of you catching her.

to be fair, years of doing ballet makes you notice other women too much and it's not even a sexual thing, unlike her oral fixation. 

you have no complaints when she puts her oral fixation to good use whether it's with your breasts, putting her between your legs or making her suck the strap.

you can expect anything from her. one day she's wearing a beautiful lingerie set to surprise you and the next day you pull her pants down and find some minecraft boxers

mina has a collection of sex toys that she loves you to use on her, most of them she also uses by herself. dildos, vibrators, whips, paddles, handcuffs, plugs, ropes...this does not only happen with you, but also with other people.

she orders them online but she made an exception of going to a specialized store to get you a leather collar with your name engraved in a silver tag.

mina is always quiet, so during sex it's not much different as long as she's in a more submissive and needy headspace. she'll let out the most adorable breathy moans and whimpers. but if she’s being dominant... she will talk you through it, guide you and bossing you around

it can get rough when she asks for it. in these cases she is the one who needs the most aftercare, but even then she asks you if you are ok and makes you know that she enjoyed it. during the whole aftercare process, she gets shy and hides in the crook of your neck.

[gremlin-girly]

Valentine's Night

Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, established relationship, petnames (dolll)

I don't want to spoil the story with the last tag but it's all Fluff I promise.

Not beta'd and I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI Machine.

Summary: Your boyfriend is determined to ensure you have a good Valentine's day.

Word count: 752

Dividers by: @/enchanthings-a

Navigation | Valentine's Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist

Bucky used to be a romantic. Emphasis on used to be.

It's not that he wouldn't buy flowers or do romantic things but more the mindset of life being lovey-dovey, sunshine and rainbows after living 70 years as a ghost was seemingly pointless.

Until he met you.

Re-learning to be a romantic was probably one of the hardest things Bucky had re-learned to do. Turns out, what used to be normal in the 30s was now one of many things; misogynistic, toxic, too fast, desperate, archaic, or bordering on stalker behaviour.

He hadn't wanted to come on too strong but your patience with him and slowly fanned the embers deep within his soul and now flames soared in their place. You'd only been dating a short while, although Bucky had been pining after you for some time, and when he'd mentioned Valentine's Day (hoping to gauge your thoughts on a romantic dinner) he was surprised to find that you despised the holiday and all that it (currently) stood for.

"It used to be a celebration of love," you said, scrunching your nose in disgust as you stab at your food. "Now it's commercialised by companies to make a major profit."

Bucky smiled half at your cute expression and half relieved that it wasn't something he had to plan for in too much detail.

"So, what would you want to do doll?" He'd asked, testing the waters.

You blinked in surprise, faint splash of pink gracing your cheeks. "Oh. Well. Erm... I'd like a quiet night in with some wine."

Bucky nods, taking a forkful of food and chewing thoughtfully. If a quiet night in was what you wanted, it was what you'd get. However, Bucky was determined it was going to be a night to remember.

Bucky had set up everything perfectly. A dozen red roses (because he couldn't help himself), wine, ice cream, blanket fort and a good movie.

Nothing over the top, no glitter, no hearts.

But Bucky was still nervous when you came over after work. He wrung his hands and raked his hair every two minutes, completely restless. Moreso when you handed him a card and a bar of his favourite chocolate.

He hadn't gotten you a card, he felt awful. But every card had "I love you"'s plastered all over them and Bucky didn't want to scare you off, even if he really wanted to give you one.

You, on the other hand, were also a nervous wreck. You'd tried to downplay your expectations for Valentine's Day, not wanting Bucky to feel pressured to do anything extravagant given how early you were in your relationship, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want anything at all. Despite being concrete in your stance that Valentine's Day was now a horrid money-making scheme, Bucky had exceeded your expectations by miles and you were struggling not to blurt out something that could potentially tank your relationship, and ruin your card, in mere seconds.

Bucky gently opened the red envelope, muttering an apology for not getting you a card, pulling out a card covered in red hearts and two cartoon bears hugging eachother.

The front of the card read "To the one I love on Valentine's Day" and the inside of the card had a message scrawled in your handwriting, and a printed Happy Valentine's Day in red slap bang in the centre. It read as follows;

"To Bucky,

Happy Valentine's Day!

I know I said I didn't like Valentine's but I couldn't not get you something. These last few months have been amazing and I look forward to many more together.

Love you lots,

Y/N xxx"

Bucky's breathing all but halted, his blue eyes scanning your message over and over again. You shifted uncomfortably, wondering if you'd been too forward, if he was scared by your very roundabout declaration of love for him.

"Listen if it's too much too soon I-"

"I love you." Bucky blurts, flushing red. Your face follows suit as heat rolls up your neck and your heart thuds happily. "I mean, too. I love you too."

"I love you too, Buck." You reply, a giant beaming smile appearing over your face. "And happy Commercialised Heart Day."

Making your first declarations of love on Valentine's Day took the sourness out of the day itself, and replaced it instead with a tradition of wine and ice cream every year from then on - with plenty of kisses and "I love you"'s to make any Valentine's card jealous

End

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@awkwardgiraffe726 | @irishhappiness | @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers

[bomertheshark]

Riding

A Nanami Kento x top male reader

Short

You can’t quite remember how you got to this point. The very man who you had been chasing for ages now was now bouncing up and down your cock in pure bliss… what the hell happened?

You had an infatuation with a man named Kento Nanami, he had been working at your firm for some time now. You met him when he was a new guy since you were the assistant of the guy who had to show him the ropes. You thought he was a nice enough person, not too talkative but still not timid. The only real conversation you had was at a company dinner. You had been sitting across from each other and decided to strike up a conversation with him. Through out the entire night you both talked about this and that as he drank, you never drank much so you decided that tonight was not the night to try and hold your own. You learned a lot about him that night since his lips had gotten loose from the alcohol, and you suppose that’s when it all started. You spent months after that trying to get him to date you. You weren’t shy about it either, you came out and just confessed of course he thought you were joking but that didn’t matter to you, you never stopped flirting with him. You would talk to him everyday going out of your way to have lunch with him and other things to try and court him.

“Listen I think you should stay for dinner, I know it’s a cliche you know, stay for dinner cause it’s raining and I’ll confess my love to you that whole thing. But I just think it’ll be safer and we spent a long time on this project and I think we could use a break, plus you already know I like you and I’m one hell of a cook. And it’s not like this overtime or anything. ” You said moving around your kitchen to start preparing for the meal. “I suppose it’s fine, just don’t try to get me to stay any later than that.” He said as a response while going to sit down at the island.

After making the dish and serving it you sat across from him and ate in silence. “Is there anything you’d like to drink while we eat? I have wine, beer, champagne, water and some soft drinks.” You said after swallowing a bite of your food. “Some wine would be nice, preferably red.” He said in response “yeah I have some Saldo… does that work?” “That’s perfectly acceptable.” You poured the both of you some Saldo albeit you have yourself less just so that you could keep a clear mind in your own home.

Time had passed and you had finished one bottle of the Zinfandel. You cleared the plates and put them in the dishwasher. You were thankful you hadn’t had that much to drink as it seemed that your counterpart was having a hard time being clear headed. He had gotten up to help with the dishes but had ended up leaning on you and rubbing his face into your neck. To say this was embarrassing was an understatement, not only was your coworker probably drunk but he also happened to be the very man you had been attracted to for months.

“Okay Nanami I’m sure you don’t have a very clear mind right now so why don’t you sleep it off on my couch, I’ll make sure you’re on your way after you’ve sobered up.” You say to him trying to pull his arms off of you and start walking to the couch. He obviously didn’t like this idea as he whined a cling onto you tighter. Once you managed to get him on the couch you were turning to walk away and get the blanket that had fallen off in the process when he had grabbed you and you fell on top of him, he obviously enjoyed the position as he keened and started to wrap his arms around your head. This was a very compromising position for you, you could feel yourself start to get hard and flush. “Look Nanami we are coworkers and while yes I do really like you I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to do this when you are intoxicated.” You managed to get out of his grip as he whined and stood up. You have him the blanket and as soon as he got situated he fell asleep.

You finished the dishes and decided to go ahead and go to bed since Kento was already asleep for the night. You fell asleep pretty quick since you were exhausted from the work and trying to deal with Nanami.

You were having the strangest dream when you woke up to a weird feeling. It felt like someone was in your room, you looked at the clock to see it was 4 o’clock in the morning. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes you looked around to see Nanami standing near your bed, in confusion and a bit of fear you asked “what are you doing in here Nanami? Did you want to go home now? I can get up and take you if you really want to leave.” He didn’t respond just getting closer to the bed. “Nanami..? Nanami you’re freaking me out a little I can’t see you that well.” At this point he was now at the foot of your bed, you couldn’t see his face but you knew it was him, why wasn’t he wearing any pants…? “Kento are you alright?” He got on your bed, starting to crawl towards you as you backed up. “Are you still drunk Kento? You’re freaking me out man talk to me.” He was now straddling you peering down at you, you had put your hands on his thighs to stabilize him, when he started to grind on you you knew something was weird.

All of that led to now. Where the man who you had been chasing for months was now on top of you riding you like his life depended on it. With every rock of his body he gasped at how deep you reached. This was your third round and it was already day break. The both of you were sweating and panting, the pleasure that coursed through your veins spurred you on and you continued letting him ride you as he used your chest to stabilize himself. The view was impeccable. You couldn’t believe that you were experiencing this with the very man who you wanted to spend all of your time with. All of it was perfect just like him.

You were really hoping that this meant he would finally take you seriously and let you indulge yourself in loving him with every fiber of your being. But for now you focus on the time you have with him and not the fact that today is a work day.

I really hope you guys like this 😭

I’m sorry it took so long to post!

P.S Saldo is my favorite red wine 🫶