#even the other day he hit me in the head for “laughs” and when i got angry because he hurt me he just went like “are you stupid?”

[salsakiyoomi]

sukuna had been gone for ten days.

he won't answer his phone, he won't answer his texts, you even tried to send him an email — yeah, no use.

by the tenth day, you were starting to feel less worried and more angry.

that's when he finally came knocking at your front door.

it was a random tuesday night when you were crying your eyes out at an angsty romance movie when a series of knocks came at your door.

quickly, you wipe away your tears and you head towards the door, creaking it open slightly to see who it is.

a gasp escapes you at the familiar sight of the tattooed face of your stupid, stupid boyfriend.

you swing the door open and before he could get any words out, you drag him in by the collar of his shirt and slap him across the face.

stunned is an understatement.

if anything, sukuna is thoroughly dumbfounded — sure, he knew you were feisty, except, he never thought you'd throw hands, especially as sexy as you did just now.

“where the hell have you been?!” you yell at him, but he's still flabbergasted, with his hand on his cheek where you had just slapped him.

“sukuna.” you growl, and he knows that he’s in trouble.

“sorry, something came up.” he says under his breath, rubbing his cheek.

holy hell, you sure knew how to throw a slap.

“really?” you huff, an angry scowl on your face at the audacity of his curt and vague answer, “that's all you have to say for yourself after ten whole days of being MIA?”

“look, baby, i'm sorry —” “i don't want your apology! i want an explanation! i called you, i texted you, i even sent you an email and you never responded!”

sukuna feels something close to guilt and maybe even…joy? because wow, were you really that worried about it? how flattering.

“i just had a deal going on.” he mutters under his breath, knowing you're going to reprimand him for it.

“what?” you utter out, “a drug deal?! seriously, ryomen? again?! you promised me you quit that shit!”

“it was a good deal, okay?!” he responds, starting to feel frustrated now, “and i needed the money.”

“you could've asked me for money!” you tell him and he scoffs, “yeah, like you're any less broke than i am.”

“sukuna.” you warn and he shakes his head, avoiding your gaze.

“look, i'm sorry, okay?” he says, “it was a moment of weakness.

“yeah, like all of the other times?” you ask sarcastically, “get out.” you add, pointing at the front door of your dorm and already ushering him out.

“oh, come on.” he chides, using the tone that he knows makes you weak, and looking at you with those stupidly convincing red eyes of his, “i said i'm sorry baby, okay? i won't do it again, i promise.”

“you stress me out, ryomen.” you huff, crossing your arms.

“i know,” he says smoothly, “i won't do it again, for you.”

he knows he's let you down again. in his history of fuck ups, this was probably one of the worst — breaking your trust, again.

and yet, he knows you'll always come back to him, forgive him and coddle him — just like you always do.

there was no denying that you were weak for him.

“....fine.” you mumble, “but if you do it again, i'm breaking up with you.”

“yeah yeah, i know.” he chuckles, his hands at your hips, “i won't.”

“good.” you huff.

he hums in response, leaning in to kiss you to make you forget about everything he's ever done and he practically feels the way you melt into the kiss, sinking into his touch as he caresses the soft flesh of your hips.

he was a manipulative piece of shit and he knew it, but if it meant having you under his touch? yeah, he won't give it up.

you bite on his bottom lip and he groans, pulling you closer.

after a moment, he pulls away, the both of you gasping for air.

he smirks, “i can tell you miss me.”

“shut up.” you huff and he chuckles, his hand sliding up to caress the back of your neck and pull you in closer.

“i'll hit from the back tonight if you let me.” he whispers in your ear and you blush, slapping his chest.

“ryomen!” you exclaim and he laughs, “come on, baby. don't you miss me?”

before you even get a chance to respond, he's hauling you up and carrying you to your bedroom.

sukuna's a manipulative piece of shit who probably has nothing better to do than play around and break hearts — he doesn't get attached.

and no matter how many times you threaten to break up with him, he knows you'll always stay.

he was just that good.

[deansbeer]

friendship in the sun ・ BABY!DEAN WINCHESTER. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕��𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ library

୨୧ synopsis. you meet baby dean at the playground and share your snacks, and unknowingly become his first real friend.

୨୧ warning(s). fluff | slight angst | mentions of neglect (fuck john winchester) | implied emotional burden | light apprehension (baby!dean was nervous he'd be left out) — i might have missed some warnings, so do let me know !

୨୧ word count. 1.1k

୨୧ kari notes. currently sobbing over this and what bree is sending me about what is to come soon for starlight … my chest physically aches (is that even possible + i hit my vape too hard earlier) and feels so SO heavy rn. do not hate me i promise it does have some cuteness to it <3

the sun is warm against your skin, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and melting popsicles. kids are running across the playground, screaming and laughing, their sneakers kicking up dust from the wood chips beneath the swings.

you're in the middle of a game of tag, your legs pumping as you run, breathless and giggling, dodging outstretched hands. the world is simple, bright, and full of endless fun—until you hear a small voice behind you.

"can i play too?"

you turn around and see a boy, about your age, standing a few feet away. he's got short blonde hair, green eyes that are wide and hopeful, and a pair of scuffed-up sneakers that have clearly seen better days. he looks a little nervous, like he’s expecting you to say no.

but you love making new friends.

"yeah!" you beam, nodding excitedly. "you can be it first!"

the boy grins, the nervousness melting off his face, and before he can say anything else, one of the other kids taps his arm and yells, "tag, you're it!" before sprinting away.

he lets out a genuine laugh and takes off running after them, and just like that, he's part of the game, part of your world.

you find out his name is dean.

as you both climb onto the swings, kicking your legs to go higher and higher, he tells you about his baby brother, sam.

"he's two," he says proudly, gripping the chains of the swing as he leans back, letting the wind rush past his face. "he's real small, but he's super smart. like, i think he’s gonna be a genius or somethin'."

you smile at that, loving the way his face lights up when he talks about his little brother.

"i have a baby sister," you tell him, slowing your swing down until your sneakers drag against the dirt. "she's really tiny, though. like, just a few weeks old. my mom says she can be a handful sometimes."

"bet she cries a lot," dean says, wrinkling his nose.

"yeah, but she's cute," you shrug. "sometimes i help my mom with her. i hold her bottle and stuff."

dean looks thoughtful, like he's tucking that information away for later. like maybe he'll try that with sam next time.

after a while, you start to feel tired, so you reach over and grab dean's hand, tugging him toward the bench where your mom is sitting. she's got your baby sister on her shoulder, gently patting her back, and she smiles when she sees you.

"you hungry, sweetheart?" she asks, already reaching for your pink lunchbox—the one with flowers and disney princess stickers all over it.

you nod, plopping down on the bench, and pat the spot next to you. dean hesitates for a second before sitting down, his little hands resting awkwardly in his lap as he watches you open your lunchbox.

"look what i got!" you say excitedly, pulling out each item one by one. "fruit snacks, a pudding cup, cookies, and—" you pause for dramatic effect, "a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!"

dean watches you with a small pout, his lips pressing together as his stomach rumbles. he looks away quickly, like maybe if he ignores it, you won't notice.

but you do notice.

"what was that?" you ask, tilting your head.

"nothin’," he says quickly. "you're probably hearin' things."

you frown, glancing at your sandwich before looking back at him. he's trying to act like it's no big deal, but at six years old, you already have enough intuition to know.

he probably doesn't eat much at home.

you don't say anything about it, though. you just take your sandwich—cut into two perfect triangles—and hold one half out to him with a small smile, a gap where your front tooth used to be showing.

"here, you can have this one."

dean's eyes widen slightly, and he glances around—like he's making sure no one, especially his dad, is watching—before reaching out and taking it.

"thanks," he mumbles, looking a little shy, but also really, really grateful.

you just nod, opening up your pudding cup while he takes a bite of the sandwich.

after a moment, you pull out your cookies and push them toward him, too.

"you can have some if you want."

dean looks at you like you just handed him the best gift in the world, and after another quick glance around, he takes one.

you both sit there, swinging your legs, eating peanut butter and jelly and cookies, and passing your red gatorade-filled pink sippy cup back and forth. most kids might think it's weird to share a drink, or to drink out of something so pink, but dean doesn't care.

he just likes being here with you.

likes that, for once, he doesn't feel left out.

the sun starts to dip lower, casting golden light over the playground, and your mom calls for you to start wrapping it up.

"five more minutes!" you call back, grabbing dean's hand and pulling him toward the jungle gym.

you both squeeze in as much playtime as you can, climbing, laughing, chasing each other around—until a deep voice cuts through the air.

"dean!"

dean stops in his tracks, his little shoulders going stiff. you turn to see a man standing near the parking lot, holding a small toddler in his arms. sam, you guess.

"c'mon, kid, we gotta go," his dad says, adjusting sam on his hip.

dean looks at you, a little disappointed, but you just smile and take his hand again.

"let's go."

you walk with him toward his dad, your fingers still laced together, and when you reach them, you let go just long enough to lean in and press a tiny kiss to dean's cheek.

"bye, dean!" you chirp, giving him a big, toothy grin before running back to your mom.

dean just stands there for a second, blinking, his face suddenly very warm.

he doesn't even realize he's touching his cheek until his dad makes a noise—something halfway between amusement and impatience.

"c'mon, romeo," john mutters, shifting sam in his arms as he turns toward the impala.

dean frowns, his stomach sinking as he trudges behind him.

"gonna need you to watch sam tonight," john says, not looking back. "got a routine hunt to do."

dean doesn't say anything.

he just glances back—just once—to see you climbing into the backseat of your mom’s car, your baby sister still nestled against her shoulder.

you catch his eye and wave.

he waves back.

and then he climbs into the impala, sam curled up against his side, already half-asleep.

the warmth of your hand still lingers in his.

the taste of peanut butter and jelly still sticks to his tongue.

and for the first time in a long time, he thinks maybe—just maybe—he might have a real friend.

៸៸៸ special tags. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @beausling @aileenunfiltered @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @dollyfiles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @eepwtf @chris444evr @deanswidow @voidsuites @jasvtsc @cowboysandcigarettes @stereotypicalbarbie

[justcat-judging]

₊ ⊹𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐎𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞!⊹ ₊

˚ʚY/N told them her ideal type which was the complete opposite of them. ɞ˚

˚ʚRin Itoshi x Reader, Sae Itoshi x Reader (seperate)ɞ˚

˚ʚpt.2, pt.1ɞ˚

---

₊ ⊹ 𝐑𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 ⊹ ₊

Rin Itoshi wasn’t nosy.

He didn’t care about pointless conversations, especially when they had nothing to do with soccer.

And yet, here he was—standing just out of sight, muscles tense, pretending he wasn’t listening to your conversation.

He had only stopped by the locker room to grab his water bottle, but the second he heard your voice, he froze. He had no reason to stay, no reason to care. But then Isagi asked that question, and suddenly, walking away felt impossible.

“So, what’s your type?”

Rin didn’t know why he was waiting for your answer. It wasn’t like it mattered.

But when you hummed thoughtfully and finally replied, he regretted ever pausing to listen.

“My type?” you mused. “I think I like guys who are warm, funny, and super outgoing. Y’know, someone who can make me laugh.”

Rin’s grip on his bottle tightened.

Outgoing. Warm. Someone who makes you laugh.

That was the exact opposite of him in every possible way.

Isagi snorted. “So basically the complete opposite of Rin?”

Bachira gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Oof. Critical hit. Poor Rin-chan.”

You laughed, not even denying it, and Rin felt something sharp twist in his chest.

It shouldn’t bother him.

It shouldn’t feel like he just lost a match before it even started.

But it did.

Because, for the longest time, Rin had been harboring a quiet, inconvenient crush on you.

You were everything he wasn’t—bright, sociable, easy to like. People naturally gravitated toward you. You had a way of lighting up any room you walked into, while Rin… Rin was the type to stay in the corner, arms crossed, scowling at the world.

He knew he wasn’t the kind of person people liked. And now, hearing you say it so casually, so easily, just confirmed what he already knew.

He forced himself to walk past you, shoulders tense, pretending he didn’t hear a single word. But as he passed, you turned toward him, blinking in mild surprise.

“Rin? You okay?”

“Fine,” he muttered, not looking at you.

You tilted your head, smiling. “You should smile more, y’know. You’re kinda scary like this.”

Like this. Like always.

Rin gritted his teeth. “I don’t care.”

He walked away before he could see your expression.

Before he could let himself hope.

---

Later that night, Rin lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

It was stupid. He was being stupid.

Why did he care so much? It wasn’t like he ever thought he had a chance.

But still… the thought of you being with someone else—someone warm, someone outgoing—made something ugly coil in his stomach.

He hated it.

Because he wanted to be that person.

But he wasn’t.

And maybe he never would be.

---

A few days later…

“You really don’t think Rin’s attractive?”

Bachira’s voice was teasing, sing-songy, and Rin—who had just taken a sip of water—nearly choked.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

Rin paused, heart pounding.

“Oh?” Bachira wiggled his brows. “So you do think he’s attractive?”

You huffed. “Of course I do. I’m not blind. He’s probably the most good-looking guy here.”

Rin froze.

Wait. What?

Isagi laughed. “Then why isn’t he your type?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. It’s not like I wouldn’t date him. I just… I always imagined myself with someone different, you know?”

Rin didn’t know.

All he knew was that your words sent his heart into a freefall.

It wasn’t a no.

It wasn’t a never.

And maybe—just maybe—he still had a chance.

Before he could fully process it, you turned to him with a smirk.

“By the way, Rin…”

He blinked. “What?”

You grinned. “It was a prank.”

Rin stared. “What.”

You giggled. “The whole ‘outgoing guys are my type’ thing? I made it up.”

Rin’s brain short-circuited.

Bachira burst out laughing. “Damn, Rin-chan, you looked so pissed the other day.”

“I wasn’t pissed,” Rin muttered, scowling.

You leaned closer, eyes shining with amusement. “Were you jealous?”

“No.”

“You totally were.”

“Shut up.”

You giggled, nudging his shoulder. “Relax, dummy. I don’t actually have a type. But if I did…” You paused, tapping your chin. “It’d probably be someone serious, talented, and a little grumpy.”

Rin’s heart stopped.

Wait.

Was that—was that supposed to be him?

You winked before he could respond, walking off with a satisfied smile.

Bachira patted his shoulder. “Congrats, Rin-chan. You might actually have a chance.”

Rin didn’t respond.

He was too busy trying (and failing) to stop himself from hoping.

₊ ⊹ 𝐒𝐚𝐞 𝐈𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢⊹ ₊

Sae Itoshi didn’t consider himself an easily bothered person.

Annoyed? Sure. Impatient? All the time. But bothered? No.

That was, until you decided to test that theory.

The two of you were sitting together at a quiet café, his treat after he made a promise to take you out once he had a break from training. It was rare for him to have time like this, so he enjoyed the peace—until you opened your mouth.

“So,” you started, casually stirring your drink, “I figured out my type.”

Sae raised an eyebrow, sipping his coffee. “You figured it out? What, were you confused before?”

You smirked. “Not confused, just undecided.”

He rolled his eyes. “And?”

You leaned back in your seat, tapping a finger against your chin as if deep in thought. “I think I like guys who are cheerful. Y’know, warm and goofy, someone who makes me laugh all the time. A golden retriever type.”

Sae paused mid-sip.

Slowly, he lowered his cup, staring at you with an unreadable expression. “…Huh.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. He was so bad at hiding his reactions.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Nothing,” he muttered, averting his gaze. He set his cup down, a little harder than necessary. “Just sounds annoying.”

You snorted. “You think everything is annoying.”

“I have good reason to.”

You grinned. “So you’re saying you don’t fit my type?”

Sae exhaled, crossing his arms. “I don’t think anyone has ever described me as warm, goofy, or cheerful.”

“True,” you mused, taking a sip of your drink. “Guess that means I’d never date you.”

Sae went silent.

You expected him to roll his eyes or make some sarcastic remark. But instead, he just stared at you for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without a word, he picked up his phone and started scrolling.

You blinked. “Uh… what are you doing?”

“Looking up flights back to Spain,” he deadpanned.

You burst out laughing. “Sae!”

“What?” he said, not looking up. “If I’m not your type, I clearly have no reason to be here.”

You were wheezing at this point. “Oh my God, are you pouting?”

“I don’t pout.”

“You so do,” you teased, leaning forward with a smirk. “What, did you want me to say you’re my type?”

Sae clicked his tongue, locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket. “I don’t care what you say.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t.”

“Sure, sure.”

You took another sip of your drink, watching him struggle to keep his expression neutral.

“…It was a prank, by the way,” you finally admitted, grinning. “I made that up.”

Sae’s eye twitched. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

Silence. Then—

“…What’s your actual type?” he muttered, not quite meeting your gaze.

You shrugged. “Not sure. But if I had to choose…” You leaned forward slightly, voice teasing. “I think I like serious, talented guys who pretend not to care but totally do.”

Sae’s grip tightened around his coffee cup.

“…Huh.”

You smiled. “Still booking that flight?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes—but this time, there was the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

“Shut up.”

(Guys which duo should I make next?)

[octaneink]

Food Market Dates

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : A totally cute, innocent date at the market where they try out new foods Warnings: Implied sexual themes towards the end and a discussion about pineapple being on pizza Notes: I am sorry gang idk what happened to me when I was writing this. It was like I was possessed, mostly for that part at the end.

The train rattled along the tracks, the dreary UK weather outside the window a mix of grey skies and the occasional drizzle. Will sat next to you, his long legs stretched out into the aisle, his hand resting comfortably in yours. His thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter. He was scrolling through his phone with his free hand, the faint sound of whatever video he was watching barely audible over the hum of the train.

You, on the other hand, were engrossed in a book—paperback you’d picked up at the station earlier. It was one of those novels you loved, the kind that end up with a dog-eared cover and pages that smelt faintly of coffee. You were halfway through a particularly juicy scene when Will suddenly squeezed your hand, pulling your attention away from the page.

"You know what I’m most excited about today?" he asked, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the train.

You looked up, marking your page with a finger. "What? Finally admitting that I have impeccable taste in food?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Impeccable taste? That’s a stretch. Remember the time you tried to convince me that pineapple belongs on pizza?"

"Because it does!"

"Because you’re wrong," he shot back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. So what are you most excited about, then?"

He leaned back in his seat, his hand still warm in yours. "The food, obviously. But also… just this. You, me, no plans, no stress. Just a normal, chill day. No arguments about pizza toppings, no you stealing the last bite of dessert—"

"Hey, that was one time!"

"—and no me having to remind you that pineapple is a crime against pizza," he finished, his grin widening.

You nudged him with your shoulder, laughing softly. "Well, for the record, I’m excited too. Even if you do have terrible opinions about food."

"Oi, my opinions are flawless," he said, though the twinkle in his eyes suggested he knew exactly how flawed they were.

You shook your head, leaning into him slightly. The train swayed gently, and you let your eyes drift back to the window, watching the grey landscape blur past. Will’s hand tightened around yours, a silent reassurance that pulled your attention back to him.

"So," he said, his tone light and teasing, "what’s the first thing we’re getting at the market? And don’t say something weird like… I don’t know, candied eels."

You laughed, the sound soft and warm in the quiet carriage. "I was thinking skewers. Or maybe that tea place we saw last time. You know, the one with the really colourful drinks?"

"Ah, the one you made me try even though I said I didn’t like boba?"

"You loved it!"

"I tolerated it," he corrected, though the smile on his face betrayed him.

"Sure you did," you said, rolling your eyes. "And I’m sure you’ll tolerate it again today."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you felt his thumb brush over your knuckles again. "Fine. But only because you’re cute when you’re smug."

You shook your head, laughing softly, and let your gaze drift back to the window, the train rattled on, the rhythm of the tracks steady and comforting.

The market was a riot of colours and sounds—stalls draped in vibrant fabrics, the sharp hiss of oil hitting a hot griddle, and vendors’ voices rising above the hum of the crowd. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, sweet sauces, and the occasional waft of fresh herbs. Will walked beside you, his hand brushing yours every so often, his touch light but deliberate, as if he couldn’t quite resist the pull to be closer. The two of you wandered through the bustling aisles, the smell of freshly steamed dough and savoury fillings drawing you toward a stall selling bao buns.

You stopped in front of the stall, the golden, fluffy buns piled high on the griddle, their tops glistening under the soft glow of the stall’s lights. You pointed at the pork-filled ones, turning to Will with a grin. "Can we get these?"

He nodded, already pulling out his wallet. "Anything for you," he said, handing over the cash to the vendor with a quick smile. His voice was soft, almost tender, and it sent a little shiver down your spine. Turning to you, he added, “But don’t let it go to your head.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way his lips quirked into a smile made it hard to stay annoyed. There was something about the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the entire market—that made your heart skip a beat.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with two fluffy bao, the steam rising in delicate curls. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the buns. "Alright, let’s see if these are as good as they look," you said, picking one up and blowing on it gently before taking the first bite.

The rich, savoury filling hit your tongue, the flavours of tender pork, sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger mingling perfectly. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a small, contented hum escaping you. When you opened your eyes, Will was watching you, his gaze soft and intent, as if he were memorising the way your face lit up.

"That good, huh?" He asked, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning.

You nodded, carefully breaking off a piece of the bao, making sure to get a bit of the tender pork, the sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger in one perfect bite. Holding it out to him, you grinned. "Your turn."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your fingers as he took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Alright, that’s incredible. Another one."

You laughed, breaking off another piece and holding it out to him. He took it from your fingers, his lips grazing your skin again, and this time, you felt the warmth of his breath against your hand. The simple act felt strangely intimate, and you couldn’t help the way your pulse quickened.

The two of you went back and forth, sharing the bao bun between you—breaking off pieces, you feeding Will, and laughing as you tried to avoid getting sauce on your hands. The warmth of the buns contrasted with the crisp autumn air, but it was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through your chest every time Will’s fingers brushed yours or his eyes met yours with that soft, knowing look.

By the time the bao was almost gone, you held up the last bite, raising an eyebrow at Will. "Final piece. Who gets it?"

He grinned, his eyes locking onto yours as he leaned in. His lips grazed your fingers again, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary as he took the bite. "Cheers, love," he said, his voice low and teasing, the endearment slipping out so naturally it made your breath catch.

Your fingers froze midair, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin. You quickly looked away, pretending to fuss with the napkin, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. Will caught your reaction—the way your eyes flickered, the slight smile you tried to hide, the way your fingers lingered in the air for a second too long. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a knowing smirk.

Before you could recover, he leaned in again, this time pressing a quick, soft peck to your lips. You blinked, startled, but before you could say anything, he pulled back slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his own lower lip. "Sorry," he said, his voice teasing, "you had a bit of sauce there."

You stared at him, your face burning. "There was no sauce," you protested, licking your lips.

He shrugged, his smirk widening as he followed your lips. "Could’ve sworn there was. Ah well, there's none now. You're welcome, by the way."

You shook your head, laughing softly to cover your fluster. Will glanced around the stall, taking in the steam rising from the griddle and the vibrant colours of the surrounding market. "Alright," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "What’s next?"

You and Will wandered through the aisles, the vibrant colours of the stalls and the chatter of vendors creating a lively backdrop. You had just left the bao stand, the taste of the fluffy buns still lingering on your tongue. Will walked beside you, his arm brushing against yours as you navigated the busy aisles. His hand occasionally grazed yours, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that felt deliberate, like he was testing the waters, seeing how close he could get without fully taking your hand. Each touch sent a little spark through you, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

"So," he said, glancing down at you with a grin, "what’s next? You’re the food expert here."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m not an expert. I just like eating."

"Same thing," he replied, his tone teasing. "You’ve got that… vibe. Like you know what’s good."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. "Alright, Mr. Compliments. Let’s see…"

You scanned the stalls as you walked, the two of you weaving through the crowd. The market was a maze of options—sizzling skewers, steaming dumplings, colourful desserts, and more. Will kept pace beside you, his hands in his pockets, but sometimes, he’d bump your shoulder or let his fingers brush against yours, sending little jolts of warmth through you. It was like he couldn’t help himself, and honestly, neither could you.

"Remember that time we tried to make bao buns at home?" he asked suddenly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Don’t remind me. That was a disaster."

"Disaster?" he repeated, laughing. "Mate, we set off the smoke alarm. Twice."

"Yeah, because someone thought it was a good idea to crank the oven up to max," you shot back, grinning.

"Hey, I was following your instructions!"

"You were not!"

The two of you laughed, the memory of flour-covered counters and charred buns still fresh in your minds. Will nudged you with his elbow, his grin widening. "We should try it again sometime. Third time’s the charm, yeah?"

"Only if you promise not to touch the oven," you said, raising an eyebrow.

"Deal," he replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His fingers brushed against yours as he lowered them, and you felt the warmth of his touch linger even after he pulled away. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the noise of the market seemed to fade into the background. There was something in his gaze—something soft and unguarded—that made your heart skip a beat.

As you continued walking, the smell of grilled meat caught your attention. You glanced toward a stall selling skewers—yakitori, grilled prawns, and lamb kebabs. The skewers were glistening with a sticky glaze, the aroma irresistible.

"Skewers?" you asked, nodding toward the stall.

Will followed your gaze, his eyes lighting up. "Skewers it is."

You approached the stall, the vendor busy flipping skewers on a hot grill. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the options. "Can we try one of each?" you asked, turning to Will.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Greedy today, aren’t we?" He teased, but he was already pulling out his wallet and handing over the cash. His fingers brushed against yours as he handed you the tray, and you felt a little shiver run down your spine.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with the skewers, the smell of charred meat and sweet marinade making your mouth water. Will watched as you picked up the lamb skewer, taking the first bite.

The rich, slightly gamey flavour of the lamb skewer hit your tongue, and you wrinkled your nose, clearly not a fan. You glanced at Will, who was already watching you with that amused glint in his eyes, like he’d been waiting for your reaction.

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. "Not your thing, huh?"

You shook your head, handing the skewer to him. "Here, you can have it."

He took it without hesitation, biting into it as he kept his gaze on your face. "What’s wrong with it?" he asked, mouth full, his voice muffled but still teasing.

You shrugged, already reaching for the yakitori. "Just not my thing. Too… gamey."

Will chuckled, still chewing. "You’re just using me as a human bin, aren’t you?"

You grinned, taking a bite of the yakitori. The tender chicken, glazed with a sweet soy sauce, was perfect—juicy, flavourful, and exactly what you’d been craving. "Pretty much," you said, your mouth half-full. "But hey, you don’t seem to mind."

He finished the lamb skewer in a few quick bites, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb in a way that was unfairly distracting. "I don’t," he said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you a beat too long. "But don’t think I won’t remember this next time you’re eyeing my fries."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Noted."

He reached for the grilled prawn next, holding it out to you. "Your turn."

You took a bite, the smoky flavour of the prawn hitting your tongue. It wasn’t bad—grilled to perfection with a hint of chilli and garlic—but it wasn’t your favourite either. You gently pushed the skewer back toward him. "Here, you can have this one too," you said, laughing.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. "Are you sure? These look banging."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m sure," you said, though a small part of you wondered if he’d noticed how your pulse quickened when his fingers brushed yours. You took another bite of the yakitori, the savoury flavour grounding you. "I’m sticking with this."

He shrugged, taking a bite of the prawn. His eyes lit up as he chewed. "Alright, you’re missing out. This is delicious."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’ll take your word for it."

Will reached for the yakitori, taking a small bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Okay, you’re right," he said, his voice warm and a little teasing. "This is superb."

You grinned, holding out the skewer to him. "I know, right? Want more?"

He shook his head, pushing it back toward you with a soft smile. "Nah, that one’s yours. I’ve got the prawns."

You smiled, taking another bite of the yakitori as Will glanced around the skewer stall, taking in the sizzling grill and the vibrant display of meats. His eyes lingered on the vendor flipping skewers with practiced ease, the flames from the grill casting a warm glow on his face. For a moment, you just watched him—the way his lips curved into a small smile, the way his shoulders relaxed as he leaned casually against the stall. He looked… happy. Content. And it made your chest feel impossibly warm.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Drinks?"

You nodded, finishing the last bite of yakitori and tossing the skewer into a nearby bin. "Drinks sound perfect. But only if you’re paying."

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you felt his hand brush against yours again as he stepped closer. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. "C’mon, then," he said, tugging you gently toward the next stall. "Let’s find something sweet to wash all this down."

As you wandered further into the market, you spotted a stand selling bubble tea. Visual samples of colourful drinks were lined up in tall plastic cups, the boba pearls glistening like little jewels at the bottom. You pulled Will over, studying the menu, your fingers still loosely intertwined with his. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter.

After a moment, you pointed at the Thai iced tea and the classic milk tea with boba.

Will raised an eyebrow, his smirk playful. "Two drinks? Greedy, aren’t we?"

You smirked back, already reaching for your wallet, but he beat you to it, pulling out his own with a wink. "My treat," he said, handing over the cash before you could protest.

The vendor handed you the drinks, and you immediately took a sip of the Thai iced tea. It was sweet and creamy, the perfect balance of flavours. The rich, spiced tea blended perfectly with the condensed milk, and you couldn’t help but hum in approval, your eyes meeting his, Will was watching you his expression soft and amused.

"That good, huh?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, holding out the drink to him. "Your turn."

He took a sip, his eyes widening as the flavours hit his tongue. "Wow," he said, his tone genuinely surprised. "That’s… incredible. Not too sweet."

You laughed, taking the drink back. "Told you."

Next, he reached for the milk tea, taking a cautious sip. The chewy boba pearls rolled into his mouth as he chewed, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Okay, this is amazing too. How do you always know what’s good?"

You grinned, taking a sip of the milk tea yourself. The chewy boba was a pleasant surprise, and you couldn’t help but smile. "It’s a gift," you said, your tone teasing.

Will noticed your reaction, holding out his hand for the milk tea. "Let me try that again."

You handed it to him, and he took another sip, his eyes lighting up as he savoured it. "Yeah, no, this is definitely a winner. You’ve got impeccable taste."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I know."

Then he reached for the Thai iced tea again, taking a longer sip this time. His face lit up even more, a look of pure delight crossing his features. "Okay, wait, this one might be even better. How is that possible?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Of course you like the one I wanted. Typical."

Will grinned, holding the Thai iced tea out of your reach. "Finders keepers."

"Oi!" you protested, trying to grab it back.

He held it high above his head, laughing as you jumped to reach it. "You’re such a child," you said, though you couldn’t stop smiling.

Will finally relented, handing the drink back to you with a smirk. "Alright, alright. You can have it. But only because you’re cute when you pout."

You rolled your eyes, taking the Thai iced tea and taking another sip. Will glanced around the drink stall, taking in the colourful display of drinks, but his hand never left yours. His fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but notice how warm and solid his grip felt.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Dessert?"

You nodded, "Dessert sounds perfect."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he tugged you gently toward the next stall. The market lights flickered on as the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. The air was cooler now, but you barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his hand in yours and the way his shoulder brushed against yours as you walked.

The dessert stall was a colourful explosion of sweets—mochi, taiyaki, and towering soft serve cones in flavours like matcha, black sesame, and hojicha. You pointed at the matcha soft serve, the vibrant green ice cream swirling into a perfect peak, its colour so vivid it almost glowed under the soft lights of the stall. The earthy aroma of matcha wafted toward you, mingling with the sweet scent of condensed milk. "Can we get one of those?" you asked, turning to Will with a hopeful smile.

Will glanced at the cone, then back at you, his expression softening as he took in the way your eyes lit up. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached for his wallet, his fingers brushing against yours as he pulled it out. You couldn’t help but notice the way his lips curved into a small, private smile.

"If it makes you smile like that, of course," he said, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning. He handed over the cash to the vendor, his movements unhurried, as if he were savouring the moment as much as you were.

You and Will moved away from the stall, weaving through the bustling crowd until you found a quieter spot near the edge of the market. It wasn’t much—just a small alcove between two stalls, sheltered from the main flow of foot traffic—but it felt like your own little haven.

Will leaned casually against the wall, his shoulder brushing yours as you stood side by side. The hum of the market was still there, but it felt distant now, like background noise to the quiet moment you were sharing. You held the cone between you, the coolness of the ice cream a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body so close to yours.

"Alright, let’s see if this lives up to the hype," you said, leaning in and gently wrapping your lips around the creamy peak, sucking lightly to pull a bite of the cold, velvety ice cream into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the soft serve like a whisper of spring—earthy, sweet, and impossibly smooth. The bitterness of the matcha balanced perfectly with the creamy sweetness, and you couldn’t help but let out a small, contented hum.

When you opened your eyes, you caught Will staring at you, his gaze lingering on your lips for a second too long. There was something in his expression—something soft and unguarded—that made your stomach flip.

"Your turn," you said, holding the cone out to him, pretending not to notice the faint flush creeping up your neck.

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had momentarily distracted him, and took the cone from you. But instead of taking a bite, he held it carefully in one hand, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft serve was starting to melt slightly, a tiny drip sliding down the side of the cone, but Will didn’t seem to care.

Before you could say anything, he stepped closer, his free hand sliding around your waist to pull you in. "I think I’d rather taste it this way," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

And then he kissed you.

His lips were warm and insistent, capturing yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. You could feel the cool sweetness of the matcha still lingering on your lips, and Will seemed determined to savour every bit of it. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he tilted your head just slightly, deepening the kiss.

At first, his tongue brushed against yours tentatively, a slow, teasing exploration that sent shivers down your spine. But then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, the kiss grew more insistent, more passionate. His tongue swept against yours, warm and searching, as if he were trying to memorise the taste of you mixed with the earthy sweetness of the matcha. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, the fabric of his jumper soft under your fingertips. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, quickening just like yours.

The world around you seemed to fade away—the low chatter of the market, the sizzle of food on grills, the faint hum of music from a nearby stall. All that mattered was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the way his body pressed close, solid and reassuring.

When he finally pulled back, it was only slightly, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His blue eyes were dark, his pupils wide and blown with want, his gaze heavy with something that made your stomach flip. It wasn’t just unspoken—it was hunger, pure and undeniable. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment, sent a shiver down your spine.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough and a little unsteady, as if he were struggling to keep himself in check. "Definitely starting to see the appeal."

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, where a faint trace of matcha still lingered, and you could feel the slight tremor in his hand. It was as if he were holding himself back, but just barely. The air between you felt charged, electric, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the way he wanted to kiss you again, to pull you closer, to lose himself in you completely.

"Will," you started, your voice soft, but he shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips.

"Don’t," he said, his voice low. "If you say my name like that, I’m not going to be able to stop."

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared up at him. There was no mistaking the desire in his eyes, the way his gaze dropped to your lips again, like he was already imagining kissing you a second time. He wanted you—wanted you in a way that was almost overwhelming, and it was written all over his face.

But instead of giving in, he stepped back slightly, his hand sliding from your waist. He glanced down at the cone, as if grounding himself, and let out a soft laugh. "Guess I got a little distracted," he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still burnt with that same intensity.

"Just a little," you said, teasing, though your voice was a little breathless. You couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed around the cone, like he was fighting the urge to reach for you again. Before he could say anything, you reached out and gently took the cone from his hand, your fingers brushing against his in the process. The contact sent a little spark through you, and you saw his eyes darken as he watched you.

"Careful," you said, your tone light but your gaze holding his. "You’re going to drop it if you keep getting distracted."

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded a little strained, and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly helping," he said. His eyes dropped to your lips again, and you could see the way he was struggling to keep himself in check.

You took a small bite of the ice cream, the cool sweetness a sharp contrast to the heat building between you. Will watched you, his gaze intense, and you couldn’t help but tease him a little. "Want a taste?" you asked, holding the cone out to him, your tone innocent but your eyes playful.

He shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I already had my taste," he said, his voice dropping lower. "And it’s going to be a problem if I have another."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. Will stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the cone. "But since you’re offering…" he said, his tone teasing as he took a small peice, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in the way he looked at you, something raw and unguarded, that made your pulse quicken and your cheeks burn.

He handed the cone back to you with a smirk, his arm still wrapped around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. "Next time, though," he said, his tone playful but his eyes soft with something deeper, "I’m picking the flavour."

"Deal," you said, leaning into him, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the cool evening air. You took another bite of the ice cream, the earthy sweetness of the matcha mingling with the lingering taste of him on your lips. The market buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like the two of you were in your own little world.

Will’s thumb brushed lightly over your hip, his touch sending a shiver through you even through the layers of your clothes. "You know," he said, his voice low and warm, "I think this might be the best date we’ve ever had."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. "Yeah," you agreed softly. "It’s pretty perfect."

He chuckled, the sound rich and full, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "Glad you think so," he said, his tone light but his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Because I’m not done yet."

"Oh?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, though your voice was a little breathless.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Nope. Not even close."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. "You’re horrible." you said, though the way your heart raced betrayed how much his words affected you.

Will grinned, pulling you closer as you continued walking through the market. The lights twinkled above, casting a warm glow over the stalls, and the scent of spices and sweets filled the air. His hand never left yours, his fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As you strolled, the sounds of the market fading into the background, you couldn’t help but think that moments like this—simple, sweet, and shared with him—were your favourite kind. Will’s hand in yours, his laughter in your ears, and the promise of more ahead made everything feel just a little bit magical.

😮‍💨 damn. I got carried away with this one… Was that kiss realistic? I've never kissed anyone that wasn't a peck, so I just guessed at what it would be like. Was that okay? Do people have any pointers for writing reasonable make out sessions? 🤭But anyways… I hope people enjoy!

[chunkzdeluluwife]

𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢- 𝑑𝑎𝑒𝚑𝑜

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: 𝑑𝑎𝑒𝚑𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝚑𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑡𝑠𝑑

𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑: 𝑦𝑒𝑠!

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 860

Your marine boyfriend, Daeho, had finally come home, his face lighting up the second he saw you. But beneath that happiness, there was something else—something heavier. He had changed. You didn’t know when he was coming back, so seeing him suddenly left you frozen in shock. But as soon as the realization hit, you jumped off the couch, running straight into his arms, nearly knocking him over.

“Daeho! I’ve missed you!”

His arms wrapped around you just as tightly, his grip firm, almost like he was afraid to let go. “I’ve missed you too…” he whispered, resting his head against your shoulder.

Still holding onto him, you pulled him toward the couch. “Come sit with me.”

He nodded and sat down beside you, but even then, he didn’t let go.

You smiled, trying to lighten the mood. Nudging his shoulder, you playfully smacked his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home? I would’ve planned something!”

The second your hand made contact, his entire body tensed. The reaction was quick—barely noticeable—but you caught it. His flinch wasn’t from pain. It was something deeper. Still, he forced a smile, covering it up like nothing had happened.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said softly, taking your hand in his and tracing gentle circles on your skin with his thumb.

You frowned slightly, sensing something off. Cupping his face, you leaned in. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into your touch, exhaling like he had been holding his breath this entire time. Then, without a word, he turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to your palm.

“I missed you so much, love…”

Over the next few days, everything felt like it was back to normal. But then you started noticing things. The small flinches. The way his body stiffened whenever you touched him unexpectedly. The way his eyes flickered with something—fear?—before he forced himself to relax.

It wasn’t normal.

One night, the two of you were sitting on the floor playing Uno. You grinned as you slapped your second-to-last card onto the pile. “Uno!” you shouted, laughing.

Daeho flinched. Hard.

Your laughter faded. You stared at him as he sat completely still, eyes wide with guilt.

“Daeho…” you said, voice quiet.

His whole body tensed even more. He knew you had seen it.

“Y-yeah?” he asked, trying to sound normal.

You set your cards down. Reaching over, you gently took his from his hands and intertwined your fingers with his. “What’s going on?”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. His eyes stayed on your hands, his grip on you tightening slightly. You could see the hesitation in his expression.

“…It’s nothing,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “Daeho. We promised to be honest with each other. Talk to me.”

He sighed, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles as he finally gave in.

“I… I just get a little PTSD from my time in the Marines,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, like he didn’t want to say it out loud. “It’s not a big deal, I just… I get jumpy sometimes.”

Your heart sank. “Daeho… that is a big deal. 

You let go of one of his hands to cup his cheek, tilting his face up so he had no choice but to look at you. “I love you. That hasn’t changed.”

His eyes fluttered shut again, and he leaned into your palm like he was trying to ground himself. His hands found your thighs, gripping them gently. “I know… but I’m supposed to be strong.”

You frowned. “You are strong. You served in the Marines. You went through things most people can’t even imagine. That’s strength, Daeho.”

His breath hitched. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just pulled you into his lap and buried his face in your shoulder. “I don’t feel strong… not at all.”

You wrapped your arms around him. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

His grip on you tightened, his body trembling. “I don’t deserve you… I’m a mess.”

You pulled back just enough to hold his face in your hands. “Look at me.”

His teary eyes met yours.

“I don’t care what your mind is telling you. You are still my loving, kind, strong Daeho.” You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and as you pulled away, you felt a tear slip down your own face.

That was it. That was all it took.

The dam broke. His tears fell fast, his shoulders shaking as he held onto you.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice raw.

You smiled through your own tears, holding him even closer. “I love you too, Daeho.”

thank you for reading ! this is my first squid game fic <3 so I hope you enjoy it

here is the request proof

I hope they liked it and I tried to meet your expectations 🤍

[grimesve1l]

Dessert

Read previous part here

Summary: It's been a while since Rafe decided to change and things couldnt be better for him and Y/n

Warnings: Swearing, suggestiveness, smut (mdni), oral m!receiving, p in v, lowk dom!Rafe, lemme know if i missed any!!

Rafe was woken up out of his sleep by the back of Y/n's hand hitting his head. He moved her hand and looked to see her still fast asleep. "Damn." he said barely awake. Although they'd been living together for a couple weeks at this point he was still getting used to her many quirks. One of which being how much she moved in her sleep.

He looks at the clock on his nightstand and notices it's about time for him to get up. Ever since he got his act together, his life has gotten so much better. He got sober and quit selling which put him in much better standing with his dad. In fact the reason he's getting up so early is because his dad is wants him to come to a meeting regarding the company's next big project.

He also started prioritizing his relationship with Y/n. The night of the kegger he promised himself he would change and be better for her and he's kept good on that promise. Hell, he even tolerates her friendship with the pouges. He's still not a big fan of theirs but as Y/n says he's taking "baby steps".

Rafe had just gotten out of the shower and was grabbing some clothes when he heard a whistle come from behind him. He turns to see Y/n propped up in the bed watching him. "You enjoying the show?" he asks. "Mhm but i'd enjoy it more without the towel." she responds motioning to his waist.

"I bet you would, you freak." he responds jokingly before turning back to his underwear drawer. "I thought you liked me being a freak." she answers, getting out of the bed. She moves to wrap her arms around his waist. "Oh, trust me baby I love you being a freak." he says looking over his shoulder.

She laughs and goes to brush her teeth but not before delivering a swat to Rafes ass. "Hey!" he calls as she giggles on her way to the bathroom.

Rafe had suggested that she quit her job at the country club but she wanted to have something to keep her occupied during the day. Now the two were getting ready to leave and get their day started. They were walking out of the house when Rafe grabbed her arm.

She turns to look at him and he smiles before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. "Have a good day, baby." he says once he pulls away. "You too, love you." she replies. "I love you too." he says as he lets her go. They both get in their respective vehicles and head out.

For Y/n the day went by fast. Being a cart girl has its ups and downs but she can't say she doesn't enjoy it. Rafe on the other hand had mixed feelings about his role in his father's company. He loves that his father trusts him enough to be so involved but he also can't stand the boring meetings and long nights.

Y/n knows this and during her shift she decides that when she gets off she'll rush home so that Rafe can return home to a nice dinner. Once it's time for her to leave she puts her plan into motion. She hurries home and starts cooking.

She gets so occupied on making sure things are right for when she came home that she doesn't notice Rafe's truck pulling in the driveway. When he walks in every thing is exactly how she wanted it except her. She had planned to change into something much nicer than her uniform from the county club but she lost track of time.

She's grabbing plates out of the cabinet when she feels his arms wrap around her waist. She jumps, not expecting it. "When did you get home?" she exclaims. "Just now." he responds laughing at her confused expression. "What's all this?" he asks motioning to the meal Y/n had prepared.

"You've been working so hard lately and I wanted to give you a little surprise." Y/n says with a grin. "Awe thank you baby." Rafe replies pressing a kiss to her head. "Go sit down I'm almost done." she tells him as she ushers him out of the kitchen. "Okay okay." he says putting his hands up and heading to the table.

Y/n finishes cooking and plates the food before she brings it to the table. She sets Rafes plate down in front of him and does the same with hers before she takes a seat. "Oh my God. This is so good babe." Rafe says after taking a bite of his food.

She laughs before thanking him. The two make small talk about their day as they eat their meal. Y/n doesn't miss the way Rafes brow furrows when he talks about how stressful his new position is becoming. Once they finish eating Y/n takes the plates to the kitchen but tells Rafe to stay at the table for dessert.

"Damn, how long were you cooking?" he responds leaning back in his chair. He hears her laugh in response but for some reason she sounds farther away than the kitchen. He waits for a couple minutes before hearing heels approaching the room.

He's confused because he could have swore she was wearing tennis shoes. Suddenly Y/n appears in the door way in the skimpiest lingerie he's ever seen. "What do you think?" she asks walking towards him. He doesn't answer and simply stares at the way the material accentuates the curves of her body.

She makes her way to him and sits in his lap facing him. He puts his hands on her hips as he continues admiring her. "So, this is my dessert?" he asks now letting his hands roam. "Mhm. You like it?" she answers leaning forward so her chest is closer to his face. "Fuck, baby." he says looking down.

She takes this as her queue to connect their lips. He quickly takes control of the kiss as he pulls her head back by her hair. She gasps which gives him the opportunity to thirst his tongue into her mouth. Their tongues tangle together as Y/n begins to grind her hips against him.

He grunts into her mouth as she feels his erection growing under her. He moves his hands to lift her onto the table but she stops him. "Not yet." she says getting off his lap and sinking to her knees in front of him. "Oh shit." he says leaning back realizing what she's about to do.

Y/n unzips Rafes pants and takes his cock out of his boxers. She wraps her hand around it and starts stroking him. As her hand moves up and down she takes his tip in her mouth. She hears Rafes breath catch as she begins to take more of him. She works her way down until his cock hits the back of her throat.

She comes out just for a moment before she returns to her previous actions but this time she starts bobbing her head. He continuously hits the back of her throat as gagging and slobbering sounds can be heard throughout the room. Rafe takes her hair in his hand, making a makeshift ponytail.

He starts thrusting his hips before telling her he won't last much longer. She continues bobbing her head up and down until Rafes hips stop and she feels his release spurt into her mouth. She pulls back before swallowing what's in her mouth and going to like what's left on his cock.

"You look so sexy on your knees like that baby." Rafe says looking down at her. She stands up and gives Rafe a look he knows too well. He quickly stands as well before picking her up and placing her on the table. He pushes anything that could be in the way and gently lays her back.

He spreads her legs and pulls her panties to the side to see her already soaking cunt. "Sucking my dick gets you this wet? Huh?" he asks running his finger through her folds. She only whines in response. He suddenly thrusts a finger into her. "I asked you a question." he says.

"Yes." she cries out as he starts pumping his finger in and out of her as he uses his thumb to play with her clit. He reaches up to pull her tits out of the lacy bra she's wearing. "You want me to fuck you?" he asks speeding up his hand. Once again Y/n can't respond. This time he takes her nipple and pinches it enough to bring her back.

"Answer me, Y/n." he says. "Yes, I want you to fuck me." she responds desperately. "Was that so hard?" Rafe responds as he pulls his finger out and lines his dick up. He slowly inches in until he's halfway. He pauses to look her in the eyes before he thrusts all the way in. This makes Y/n cry out as Rafe begins rapidly thrusting into her.

He takes her legs and pulls her so that her ass is hanging off the table and he's supporting her. He continues thrusting as he takes his hand and begins playing with her clit again. "I don't know how much I can take." she says as she lays on the table helplessly. "You can take it baby." he tells her.

Soon his thrusts get sloppier and he knows he's about to cum again. "Cum inside me." she tells him. "What?" he answers, thinking he heard her wrong. "I got on the pill just please cum inside me." she responds. This is all it takes for Rafe to speed back up. Rafe cums first and Y/n follows soon after.

He maneuvers her so she's back on the table and he leans against it. He pulls out and watches as his cum drips out onto the floor. "Rafe?" she calls out to him. "Yeah?" he responds. "Can you help me take this off. I have a wedgie and I can't feel my legs right now." she tells him.

He laughs before agreeing. He decides to carry her to their bedroom where he helps her get out of the lingerie and they get cleaned up. After they clean up they decide to lay down for the night. As they lay back in bed Y/n asks about the mess in the dining room.

Rafe tells her he'll take care of it tomorrow before pulling her closer. The mess can wait. Right now all he wants to do is hold his perfect girl.

A/n: this was supposed to be fluff. idk what happened but I hope y'all liked it anyway! Also this may be the last part of the barry's cousin!reader series, i'm not sure yet but lemme know if y'all want more!!<3

[gvshing]

Bloodied and Hurt Again.

Vi comes home after another fight and you find yourself bandaging her up like every time before. (C.W. mentions of blood and fighting) masterlist

Vi coming home with blood wasn’t out of the norm. It was a semi-constant occurrence. Nonetheless, it still freaked you out when the door swung open and Vi trudged in, bloodied and feet dragging. Worry was the first emotion that swirled through you every single time. What if this was the last time she came home with blood caked on her? The last time she came home ever? While you scramble around looking for all the first aid supplies you threw around last time, in the same panic you find yourself in now, she finds herself lumbering over to the couch and falling back on it. She presses her hand to the shoulder where the blood is spilling out in a heavy stream of crimson. Wincing every time it gets the slightest bump. She closes her eyes but you’re yelling at her almost instantly to keep them open, afraid of the unthinkable. Eyes shooting open she groans and rolls her eyes, landing on you as you scoop up the rest of the gauze you had found. Her line of sight fixed on you, watching you scamper over and tossing the miscellaneous supplies onto the table in front of you. “Vi, I’ve told you to be careful. I hate seeing you come home like this.” you scold her, knees hitting the ground as you set up the hoard of first aid in a hurry. “What if I can’t fix you one day?” You mumble under your breath, tears springing to your eyes. Quickly, wiping them away aggressively with your shoulders so as to not contaminate your sterile hands, you take a deep breath. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” She gives a pained half-ass chuckle. “I’ll always spring back. I’m strong.” You sigh deeply at her confident remark. “But what if, Vi? What if one day the cut is too deep? If the wounds are deadly? What will I do? Huh? I can’t lose you.” Moving closer to Vi now to inspect her wounds, you see a gash in her shoulder covered in the thick red liquid. Maybe from a rough fall, or a gunshot? Maybe a knife. You’re never sure anymore.

You sigh and move to grab the antiseptic cleaning fluid. Vi grabs your shoulder, with her good arm, pulling you back to look at her. “You won’t. I promise.” You both gaze at the other in a silent battle of worry. You nod at her solemnly. “Okay. I trust you. I just am so worried about you all the time. We’re supposed to grow old together and die in each others arms while bad reality shows play on the TV. To do that you need to stay alive that long.” She laughs and nods her head. “Understood, Hun.” A small smile spreads over your face, not quite reaching your eyes. Worry and panic are still flooding your nervous system. She lets go of you, finally able to grab the antiseptic you pour a generous amount over the wound. Blood cascading away revealing the gash is not as big as the blood made it seem. You sigh in relief. “You get away with it this time. It’s not bad, you won’t need stitches I think.” She smiles at you and elbows you, wincing immediately at the movement that shoots up to her shoulder. “Good news then, yeah?” You shake your head, a small smile still present on your face. “How did this even happen?” She looks away from you and mumbles something under her breath. “What was that?” Immediately you know it’s a fight she started. “Ya know, you look so pretty today. Your hair looks different, did you cut it?” You give her a look of annoyance. “Vi.” She groans loudly. Pouting at its finest, truly. “Somebody was being a dick at the bar! It’s not my fault, the guy was practically begging for a fight. It’s not my fault he’s a bitch who brings a knife to a fist fight.” You stare at her, not even surprised. “Vi, you kill me. You know that?” She grins up at you. “Did you win?” You ask, continuing to clean and bandage her, supposed, knife cut. “PSH. You know I did. I win all my fights.” You halt your gauze wrapping. “We both know that’s not true. That girl with the bob fucked you UP.” exaggerating the ‘up’ in your sentence, she squints at you. “Okay, she was fucking superhuman. That doesn’t count! If I was made of drugs I could’ve beat her ass. It was an unfair fight!” Defending herself she huffs in annoyance, most likely replaying the memory in her head; imagining all the things she should’ve done to make that fight go more in her favor. You laugh at her defensive-ness.

Patting her head, you stand up from your place next to her. “Alright, you’re good. Don’t get in any fights until this heals. I’d say don’t get in any period but I know I can’t stop you.” She cackles and nods fast. “Hey, if you think about it, I’m just fighting for your honor. That way anytime someone thinks about starting a fight with you they’ll instantly back off once they remember who your girlfriend is.” You roll your eyes and walk to the kitchen to throw away the trash. Vi comes up behind you and wraps her arms around you, holding you in place, swaying back and forth. Her head rests on your shoulder and she sighs into your neck. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’d be alive without you.” You sigh and grab onto her arms that encircle you. “You wouldn’t be.” Fingers trace circles into Vi’s skin. She presses a kiss onto your cheek and backs up. You turn and smile at her. “I’m glad you’re okay.” You say, dropping your frustrated tone. Her lips quirk up into a half smile and she nods, looking down at her feet for a second before meeting your eyes. “Me too.” You step towards her and hug her tight before pulling away and walking towards the living room once more. Vi watches you walk away from her, adoration adorning her features. You call from over your shoulder, “Well? Are you coming? Shitty reality shows won’t watch themselves.” She leaps after you and bounds towards the couch, swiping the remote before you can even reach the spot next to her. “Snooze ya lose!” She laughs loudly and switches the TV on. You find your place next to her, giggling at her boisterous energy. Impressed with her ability to have such energy, all things considered. You curl into her and sigh with content, happy she’s home safe and all fixed up. Until the next time at least. But, just like every time before and every time after, you’ll be there waiting for her. Waiting to make her feel better and bandage her up. As frustrating as it is for you to constantly have that worrying feeling of ‘when’s the next time? And how bad will it be?’, you’re glad you’re here to help. Glad it gets to be you. 

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

thank you for reading! I haven't written to Vi quite yet so I do hope it's not awful :')

[deancaspinefest]

If Only the Cat Could Talk

Author: TwinOne | Artist: golby moon

Posting on Friday March 14

Being a homeless kitten sucks. I was cold, hungry, and barely hanging on. But then Tuna showed up—low, growly voice, warm hands, and absolutely no clue what he was doing. I knew right away I’d hit the jackpot. Now, I’ve got a cozy home, endless food, and a human who thinks he’s in charge (adorable, really). Training him has been my greatest challenge, but I’ve done a fine job. Everything was perfect… until he brought in Salmon. I like this one—deep, steady voice, nice safe smell, excellent chin-scratching technique, and he actually listens to me when I meow. The problem? They were never with me at the same time but seemed to always wish they were. Seriously, how long are these two going to dance around their feelings? I may be a cat, but even I know what’s going on. If these humans don’t claim each other soon, I just might have to take matters into my own paws.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

John took another long sip from his beer. “You’ve been chosen, son. Looks like you’re the new caretaker. This has ‘cat distribution system’ written all over it.”

Dean, still stunned, looked down at the tiny furball in his lap. It seemed utterly at home, kneading the fabric of his jeans as if it had done this a thousand times.

“I swear, this cat’s got better moves than I do,” Dean muttered. “He’s already got me wrapped around his ugly little paw.” The kitten was even dirtier than the day before, leaves and dirt were clumped on his fur, making his bright yellow eyes stand out when he looked up at Dean.

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about being alone in this house anymore.” The kitten gave an exaggerated yawn, stretched out, and settled in for what looked like a very long nap, completely uninterested in anything but its new domain.

“It’s disappointing that he’s going to have to stay outside, though,” Dean sighed, hands still in the air.

“What do you mean?” John asked after taking a sip of his beer.

“What do you mean, ‘What do I mean’?” Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I am allergic to cats. That’s why we never had one growing up, right?”

John grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, you were allergic. That’s the story I told you, wasn’t it?”

“You did,” Dean confirmed, then turned back to stare accusingly at his Dad. “Are you saying I’m not?”

John leaned over to whisper conspiratorially. “I totally made it up.”

“What the hell Dad.” Dean pushed John away and then looked down at the kitten finally giving in to the urge to pet him. “You know, I’ve always had some doubts. I mean, I’d never actually broken out in hives or anything… But hey, I trusted you. You told me I’d get all sneezy and itchy, so I just… well, I avoided cats.”

John let out a deep laugh, almost snorting into his beer. “Oh, come on. You weren’t allergic—I just didn’t want to deal with a cat. You were like, what? Eight? I couldn’t have you getting attached to some cat and then suddenly the thing becomes the ruler of the house. So I made up the allergy story.”

Dean stared at his father, jaw dropping slightly. “Wait, what? So I spent my whole life thinking I was allergic to cats because you didn’t want one in the house?! That’s a crap reason to lie to your oldest son.”

John’s grin widened, and he shrugged. “Hey, I was just trying to keep my own sanity. And look at you now. You’re the one with the kitten in your lap. No allergic reaction, no sneezing. Just a whole lotta cat love.”

Dean stared at the kitten, which was now happily purring and stretching out across his lap, clearly in charge of the situation. “You know, I’m going to be honest with you, Dad,” Dean said slowly, shaking his head. “I think you owe me, like, a whole lot of allergy medicine. And maybe some new furniture when this thing claws everything to shreds.”

Keep reading on Ao3 after Friday March 14

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Just A Touch

You hadn’t noticed it before—not really. It was just one of those things that existed in the background of your life, like the hum of the refrigerator or the way the clock on the wall ticked just a second too slow. But then, one night, curled up in bed next to him, it hit you: if Marshall was in the room, he was touching you. Always.

Sometimes, it was obvious—his arm slung over your waist in bed, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your hip. Other times, it was more subtle—a hand grazing the small of your back when he passed by, his knee knocking against yours when you sat beside each other, a casual tug on the end of your sleeve when he wanted your attention. It was constant, unconscious, like breathing.

So, you decided to play a little game. Just to see.

You wanted to know how long it would take him to notice if you stopped touching him first.

The first few hours were easy. You went about your morning as usual, giving him a kiss on the cheek when you got up—because skipping that would be too obvious—and then you let him take the lead. He brushed a hand along your back as he passed you in the kitchen, pressed a quick kiss to your temple as he stole a sip of your coffee. You smiled, but you didn’t lean into it like you normally would. Just let it happen.

By midday, you could feel his eyes on you. Not in the usual way—Marshall always watched you, like he couldn’t help himself—but this was different. Curious. Assessing.

At dinner, he tested you. When he reached for your hand across the table, you pulled yours back at the last second, pretending to adjust your napkin. When he sat beside you on the couch later, his thigh flush against yours, you shifted slightly—not enough to be obvious, but just enough that you weren’t quite touching anymore.

He frowned.

You bit back a smile.

By bedtime, he was restless. Normally, he was the one pulling you into him, locking you against his chest like you were a part of him. But tonight, when he curled an arm around your waist, you subtly shifted away, turning onto your side.

A beat passed. Then another.

“Alright,” his voice was gruff, laced with suspicion. “What’s wrong?”

You feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”

His fingers curled around your hip, turning you to face him. His blue eyes were narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line.

“You’re acting weird,” he accused. “You—” He paused, realization dawning. His hand tightened on your hip. “You haven’t touched me all day.”

You laughed, not bothering to deny it. “You noticed?”

His expression was deadpan. “Are you serious? ‘Course I noticed.”

You grinned, reaching up to brush your fingers through his short hair. He exhaled, leaning into the touch like he’d been waiting for it all day—which, you supposed, he had.

“Just wanted to see how long it would take you,” you admitted, sliding closer until your body was flush against his. His arms locked around you instantly, as if to make up for all the lost contact.

“Not funny,” he muttered against your temple, pressing a kiss there. But you could hear the amusement under his faux-annoyance, feel it in the way his hands mapped over your back, reassuring himself you were still there.

You smirked, nuzzling into his chest. “A little funny.”

His grip tightened. “Never do that again.”

You only hummed in response, letting yourself melt into him, game over.

Maybe you’d try again another day. But for now? You’d let him win.

A week later, Marshall flipped the script.

At first, you didn’t notice. You were busy, rushing through the day, and it wasn’t until evening that it clicked—something was off.

Marshall was around, close enough, but something was missing.

Then it hit you.

He wasn’t touching you.

Not once. Not in passing, not absentmindedly, not even when he reached across the couch for the remote, where he would normally brush his fingers against your knee. Nothing.

Your brow furrowed as you replayed the day in your head. Had he kissed you goodbye that morning? Had he pulled you into his side when you sat down for dinner? Had he even so much as bumped into you?

No. And now, you were the one feeling restless.

You waited, expecting him to slip up, for his usual habits to kick in. But they didn’t.

By bedtime, you were glaring at him. He raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, feigning innocence.

You narrowed your eyes. “You know what.”

His lips twitched, barely holding back a smirk. “I don’t think I do.”

You huffed, shifting closer, but he didn’t budge.

“Marshall,” you warned, voice dropping.

He chuckled, finally letting the act drop. “Just wanted to see how long it’d take you.”

You scowled, shoving at his shoulder, but he caught your wrist, pulling you into his chest in one swift motion.

“Payback’s a bitch, huh?” he murmured against your hair, smug.

You sighed, melting into him despite yourself. “Fine. You win.”

His grip tightened. “Damn right.”

You smiled against his skin. Maybe he did. But at least now, everything felt right again.

[rxakii]

Sketching trouble

Hyunjin x f!reader

Enemies to lovers

Words: 1,171

Hyunjin had always been the quiet one in class, the kind of guy who lived in his own world, filled with paintbrushes, charcoal pencils, and endless sketches. He wasn’t the type to get involved in drama or conflict—except when it came to one person.

Y/N.

She was everything he wasn’t. Wild. Reckless. The girl who showed up late to class, leather jacket draped over her shoulders, gum snapping between her teeth. She rolled her eyes at authority and walked through life like it was hers to control. And for some reason, she had made it her personal mission to annoy the hell out of him.

Hyunjin didn’t get it. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t provoke her. Yet somehow, she always found a way to mess with him—blocking his way on purpose, taking his seat in class, stealing his pencils just to smirk as he scowled at her.

And yet…

He was obsessed with her.

Not in a romantic way. At least, that’s what he told himself. But Y/N had this raw energy that fascinated him, something untamed that made his fingers itch to capture it on paper. Her sharp jawline, the way her dark eyes sparkled with mischief, the way her lips curled when she was about to say something sarcastic—it was all too perfect.

So, when their art teacher announced a free drawing period, Hyunjin did what he swore he wouldn’t.

He drew her.

---

The classroom was quiet except for the scratch of pencils against paper. Hyunjin’s fingers moved instinctively, capturing every detail of Y/N’s features. Her defiant stare. The slight tilt of her head. The way she slouched in her seat like she didn’t care about anything.

It was the best thing he had ever drawn. And the worst decision he had ever made.

Because when the bell rang and class ended, he was too distracted to notice Y/N walking straight toward him.

She didn’t just pass by.

She shoved him.

Hard.

His sketchbook slipped from his fingers, landing open on the floor.

Hyunjin’s heart stopped.

Y/N, pausing in mid-stride, looked down. Then, with infuriating slowness, she bent and picked up the sketchbook, her eyes scanning the page.

A slow smirk stretched across her lips.

“Well, well, well,” she mused, tilting the sketch so the light hit it just right. “Didn’t know you were so obsessed with me, art boy.”

Hyunjin felt his face heat up. “Give it back.”

She ignored him. “I gotta say, you really captured my good side. Damn, should I be flattered? You got a little crush on me or something?”

His jaw clenched. “I said, give it back.”

But Y/N, as always, did the opposite of what he wanted.

She flipped through the pages, humming under her breath. “Let’s see… any other secret love letters to me in here?”

Hyunjin grabbed for the sketchbook, but she dodged effortlessly, laughing.

He should’ve known better than to expect her to play fair.

“Admit it,” Y/N said, twirling the sketchbook between her fingers. “You like drawing me.”

Hyunjin exhaled sharply. “You’re just—interesting to draw. That’s all.”

She cocked her head, pretending to think. “Interesting? That’s one way to say you’re obsessed.”

He crossed his arms, glaring. “Are you done?”

Y/N grinned. “Not even close.”

Then, before he could react, she plucked a pen from his desk and scribbled something in the corner of the sketch.

Hyunjin snatched it back, eyes narrowing as he read her scrawled message:

"Next time, draw me smiling. Might be a challenge for you, art boy."

His grip tightened on the page, but when he glanced up, she was already walking away, that damn smirk still on her lips.

Hyunjin groaned. He was in so much trouble.

And he wasn’t sure he hated it.

---

Hyunjin tried to ignore her.

Tried to pretend that she hadn’t gotten under his skin, that he hadn’t spent the next few days sketching her over and over again, trying to get her expression just right.

But Y/N didn’t let him ignore her.

She leaned too close when she walked past. She stole his pencils when he wasn’t looking. And worst of all—she started smiling at him.

Real smiles.

The kind that made his chest feel too tight.

The kind that made him realize he was in deeper than he thought.

So, one afternoon, when he caught her eye across the room, he made a decision.

He flipped open his sketchbook, tore out the drawing of her, and marched right over.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the paper toward her.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“You said you wanted a drawing of you smiling.” He crossed his arms. “There. Now you can stop bothering me.”

For the first time since he had known her, she looked surprised.

Then, slowly, her fingers curled around the paper, and she studied the drawing.

“…Damn,” she muttered. “You really are good.”

Hyunjin felt his pulse quicken.

Then Y/N looked up at him, and something in her gaze shifted.

“So,” she said, tucking the sketch into her pocket. “When are you drawing me again?”

Hyunjin swallowed hard. “What makes you think I will?”

She grinned. “Because I know you, art boy. You can’t help it.”

And when she walked away, this time, she didn’t shove him.

This time, she brushed her fingers over his, just for a second.

Just long enough to make him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one obsessed.

---

It started small.

A stolen glance. A lingering touch. Y/N sitting next to him in class, watching as he sketched, her voice softer than usual when she asked questions.

“You ever gonna draw me again?”

Hyunjin hesitated. Then, without a word, he flipped to a new page.

Y/N smirked. “Told you.”

And this time, when he looked up at her, he didn’t mind the teasing.

Because somewhere along the way, her smirk had stopped being annoying.

And started becoming his favorite thing to draw.

[kingslionheart]

parents' incapability of apologising to their children should be studied

[tonycries]

F*ck You! (Literally) - T.F.

Synopsis. Of course, you hated your ex-husband. Of course, you found yourself in bed with him on your wedding anniversary.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, exes to lovers, angry séx, spítting, degradation, y’all are both mean, rough, jealousy (Toji’s side), bréeding, smackíng, arguíng during it, cúmplay, overstím, oral (female receiving), mentions of Megumi and Shiu, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.7k

A/N. Gojo next week because I miss my man smh.

It’s not often that you contemplate something that would definitely end up with a night in jail - but it seems that somehow whenever you did, your ex-husband Toji was always sure to be the cause of it.

Like that time he had the audacity to ask you out to dinner right outside the divorce attorney’s office, mere moments after signing those papers. Or when he “accidentally” sent you some mouthwateringly shirtless photos - through email, of course, because you had him blocked otherwise. Although, you’d saved those pictures - a secret you’d take to the grave.

And now. 

Standing right outside your front door, on the night of what would’ve been your fifth anniversary. His imposing figure filling the frame, that tiny scar you loved and hated so much quirking up ever-so-slightly as he shoots you a sly grin. 

He’s here.

Looking as devastatingly handsome as the day you left him.

“Happy anniversary, ex-wifey.”

And just as irritating, too. 

That snaps you out of your traitorous little reverie, and before long you’re sputtering out a shaky, “Y-you. What do you think you’re doing here?” Not even waiting for his response before moving to shut the door in his face.

“Oh, believe me,” Toji lets out a humorless little laugh, reaching up a sculpted arm to stop the door in its tracks. “I wouldn’t be here even if I wanted to.”

That was a lie - and Toji knew that. He had half the mind to think that you knew that. But it didn’t matter when you’re glaring up at him so prettily. The confusion evident on your face as you grit out a shrill, “Then why am I seeing your stupid face tonight?”

“Chance? Luck? A blessing?” 

Scoffing, “A curse.”

“That mouth’s still as sharp as ever, huh?” He cocks his head in amusement, “Did you not see my email?”

“No, I uh-” you mumble, face burning. And oh you wish you could stop yourself from thinking back to those photos - stop yourself from wanting to smack the smirk off Toji’s face that told you he was, too. “-blocked you on…that…as well.”

“Mhm.” he hums, eyes lingering too long on your comfy pajamas - his favorite ones -  and the way you’re squirming so adorably under the intensity of his gaze. “Well, m’just here to pick up one of that brat’s toys. Won’t take long n’ I’ll be out of your sight, doll.”

And you can’t say anything about that familiar little petname, because it hits you with a pang - oh, how you missed Megumi. 

He’d thrown a tantrum until he was allowed to visit you occasionally, of course. But still, it was nothing compared to how inseparable the three of you were before your relationship with Toji soured. His line of work too dangerous, the fights more frequent until you’d had enough.

“Ah, yes. Megs probably won’t even leave the house without it.” you chuckle, opening the door wider. “I was surprised to find it the other day since he said that lil’ plushie was his best friend. After me.”

“After me.”

“Liar.”

“Gorgeous.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fitting for our anniversary, huh?” And oh how Toji enjoyed riling you up. To spy that little furrow between your brows as he strides inside your apartment like it was his own - he did know it like the back of his hand. “I already know where the bed is, after all.”

“Yeah, and you know where the door is too.” you mutter, acting like it didn’t make your head spin to think of Toji - in your home. With you. You and Toji. In your home. You and Toji in your home. 

You hadn’t seen him since the divorce just four months ago, and here he was looking so unfairly like he fit right in. Taking up much more time than necessary as he walks towards that little wolf toy on your couch. Eyeing up the sappy romance movie paused on-screen, and those familiar photographs on the wall. 

You still had that one of the two of you from that beach getaway two years ago, he noted with delight. 

“Heh, for someone that hates me so much, s’funny you have my face hung up here.” he smirks, words just dripping with that familiar dark tone that has shivers running down your spine. “Knew you were still into me.” Defiant - challenging, even, because he always did like to push all your buttons. 

Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fall for-

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, walking towards where Toji stood. “I jus’ use it to scare off clingy dates in the morning.” 

And you loved to push his buttons even more. 

“Oh? Dates, huh?” And something about those words make you feel like something’s too-tense. Exciting, even. Especially as he repeats - more to himself than you, “Dates.”

“Jealous?”

“Heh, of whatever scrub took you out? In your dreams, doll.” Maybe it was the way Toji was joking - but didn’t sound like he was at all. Or maybe it was the way he didn’t move as you stepped closer, enough that you’re almost toe-to-toe with him. Probably it was the way he murmurs out a strangled, “M’not jealous.”

Oh. 

You watch the way his body stiffens, darkened eyes flitting between you and the picture and you- Smirking “Good, because m’having one over soon.”

“Oh, you little bitch.” He spits out the words, gaze hardening in a way you knew did not bode well for your - or down there. Hitting it where it hurts, “This is why I’m so fuckin’ glad we divorced.”

“Fuck you,” you tilt your head, anger simmering beneath your skin - and you didn’t know who was pissing each other off more. “So then you can get out before my date gets here.” And the emphasis on “date” isn’t lost on him.

“Such a liar.”

“M’not lying.” You were - but you didn’t care if Toji could tell because it was ticking him off just the same. “You could say he’s an-” Now close enough that you could feel the heat of his proximity. A finger stabbing right in his pecs with each word, “-upgrade.”

Suddenly you’re being pulled to his rock-hard chest, all the dips and curves of his body so sinfully obvious against your skin as he questions, “How so?”

“Well, for starters he’s-” you gasp, casting a sidelong glance at the way the muscles in his arms ripple. And it takes everything in you to try and keep your voice steady, “-bigger.” Thighs pressing together at the tiny grunt of disbelief that leaves your ex-husband, too-aware of the strong hand wrapped around your waist. “And sexier.”

“And?”

“And what?” you gulp, raising your head to blink up at him in confusion and oh- 

Oh, shit. You weren’t going to make it out alive. 

Toji’s eyes were wide, a mirthless smirk spreading across his face, jaw tensing as he leans down to whisper hotly against your ear, words hoarse - stilted, like it pained him to even speak them into existence. “And what other lies are ya gonna make up?”

And you might be a genius - you might just not know what’s good for you. 

Because you’re batting your lashes just the way you knew he liked, the words - saccharine sweet, and falling from your lips faster than your whirling brain could even register them. “And he makes me cum so much harder.”

Toji’s lips are crashing against yours - and you knew it was coming. You wanted them to. Bruising, angry - like he was telling you to just shut the fuck up, another word of your imaginary date and it would kill him. 

He tasted the same as he did all those months ago. Sweet, like those cheap lollipops he would buy you and that absolute sin of his scar rubbing against your lips. 

“Fuck-” he lets out a guttural groan into your lips. Only a sloppy mix of teeth and spit as he kisses you with the collective desperation of a little over four months. “Hate how you’re-” Like he didn’t even care if it left your poor lips swollen and bruised - at least that might give whatever loser coming here a hint. “-still addictive.”

With that, he picks you up like it’s just nothing, your traitorous legs easily wrapping around his toned waist. Letting you pull off that sinfully snug t-shirt to feel the smooth planes of all his muscles. Soft. Warm. 

You gasp at how he manhandles you so that your thin pajama pants are just above his achingly hard cock, throbbing, and so so angry against your core. Trousers already so damp with- precum? Your slick? 

“Hah- not jealous my ass-” you hiss, grinding down on his bulge.

And Toji’s parting mere millimeters, chuckling darkly at the disappointed little whine that escapes you. “Yeah, well, does he ever get you like this?” He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, purposely not giving you what you want. “Does he ever get you this-” Grinding you against his straining erection, two fingers sliding down, just teasing the drenched front of your shorts. “-this fuckin’ wet?”

“Nah,” you pull on Toji’s silky locks, nipping at his collarbone. “He gets me wetter.”

“You little-”

It’s like something snaps - whatever’s left of Toji’s sanity, your patience, possibly you by the end of this. Anything but the thick, suffocating - tension in your living room. Now too small. Too hot. 

Before you can react, your back  is hitting the soft cushions of your couch. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw as Toji looms over you. 

“Thought you knew where the bed was?” you manage to get out, in the heat of it all. 

“Thought you hated me?”

“Gonna kill you if you break this cou-” but the rest of the retort on your tongue dies as Toji’s hands are suddenly everywhere.

Groping your breasts - your waist - your ass. Barely giving you time to even think before fisting your shirt in one hand. Too impatient - too starved - to do anything other than pull down, down, down until it-

RIP!

“Oh you fuckin’ slut.” Toji’s jaw drops into a soft little oh! at the sight of your heavenly breasts before him. No bra - exactly how he liked it. “How I missed these.” Massaging them under his hands, “Is this for him or ya really had no idea I was coming?”

“You’re t-too fuckin’ hah-” you whine as he immediately takes one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your sensitive nipples. “-full of yourself.”

And you don’t even know if Toji registered the insult - looking like he was on cloud nine as he rolled your other nipple between two fingers. Pulling off with a lewd pop! only to say, “Wonder if you’re the same down there.”

You are - Toji discovers, with wonder. 

Hooking a finger underneath the hem of your already-soaked shorts to pull them off. And, hey, Toji hasn’t had this view in months - so he really can’t help himself from bringing them up to his face. Your jaw drops at his pure audacity as he breathes in the scent of your dripping pussy with a strained, “M’keepin’ these, doll.”

“You’re sick.” 

“And you’re soaked.” strong hands spread your legs so shamefully. You can’t fight it - how fucking wet and glistening you were for him under the dim-lighting. Toji grins cockily, “Who’s she this wet for, huh? Me or him?”

“Not- not you-” you whine, despite how your sloppy cunt was leaking all over your legs - such a mess. A mess that Toji was shifting down the couch to lick up. Slow, lazy circles right at your inner thighs. Sweet - so sweet, his favorite. Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste and oh, how Toji missed this. 

Missed teasing you until you broke. 

Which, it turns out, happens fairly early.

“Y-you’re just fucking talk.” you hiss, but it comes out more breathless than you intended. Your voice betraying how badly you wanted him. Needed him to do something - anything. “He-”

Toji doesn’t even let you finish your sentence - and you don’t need to - because without another word, he’s surging forward until he was nose-deep in your messy cunt.

Licking one, long stripe up your swollen folds - up and down, up and down, up and- He murmurs into your cunt, “Do ya still like when I-” Hot tongue flicking roughly against your clit. Just barely, and you’re bucking wildly underneath him. “Ah, you do. Old habits die hard, huh?”

Of course, the only response that Toji gets is a wet, pathetic murmur of something - maybe a plea, probably a curse at him to shut up. 

But it’s something that has all the blood rushing to his aching cock, something that has him biting down lightly on your inner thigh - just a little punishment. 

“What was that?” he purrs, “Didn’t seem to hear you right, wifey.”

It takes everything in you to gasp out, a barely-audible determined little, “I-I said-” fingers threading through Toji’s hair, pulling up his face. Hard, so that he’s forced to meet your eyes instead of admiring your pretty lil’ cunt. “-fuck you.”

And you don’t know what you expected - maybe an insult back, maybe for him to get up and leave you all high and dry right then and there.

But oh you should’ve known your ex-husband better, because he has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh. Laugh, more to infuriate you than anything as he promptly spits on your quivering pussy. 

Once. Twice.

You flinch as some splatters against your thigh, and you both know it’s on purpose. Because Toji Fushiguro always had perfect aim - but when it comes to you, well, he had to knock his bratty lil’ wife down a few pegs. 

Throwing your legs over his shoulders to lick all over your sloppy pussy once more. “Fuck me, huh?” he groans out little profanities into your cunt, “Fuck me fuck me fuck me-” 

Smack!

You register that delicious little sting on your ass far before the realization that Toji smacked you - and even later do you realize that you liked it. Slick beading through at the painfully good feeling.

Liked the way his rough palm was soothing over the sting, words strangled and slurring together as he smacks his lips against your swollen, sensitive ones. “I’d rather you fuck me than some hah- other loser.”

“S-so fucking mean-” you moan.

“So what?” His thumb draws tight little circles on your throbbing clit, the other hand looping around your waist - bruising - as he drags your sloppy pussy all over his hot mouth. “No one else could do this.” Soft tongue going all the way up from your base, “Get you this wet-” Just dipping into your clenching hole. “-taste you like this.”

“Hngh- fuck-” you groan, as he alternates between flicking your clit so mean and squeezing his tongue into your tight cunt. “Fuck fuck fuck- s’too much-”

Too much? Toji wanted to laugh - if he wasn’t so addicted to the feeling of your gummy walls stretched out so obscenely on his tongue, anyway. He knows you can take it - you always did. 

And he tells you that - a little over ten times, actually, as the hand on your waist arches you deeper and deeper onto Toji’s tongue. Fucking you so harshly - merciless. Unrelenting. Like he was taking any and every shred of anger out on your ravaged cunt.

Bucking your hips wildly, you tipping your head down to look at the sight below you and oh-

You gasp at how sinfully blissed out Toji looks between your thighs. Eyes glassy and hooded, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. Your slick glossing his lips so prettily - and if you angled your head just right you could catch the way it drips down his jawline. Yeah, maybe you really did like his face between your legs. 

“Always knew ya did, doll.” he echoes against your glistening lips and shit, did you say that out loud? 

It doesn’t matter, because Toji has his lips smushing against yours, such a filthy mess of spit and fingers and tongue - everywhere. Like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to taste more. “Knew your pussy missed me, even when you’re such some other bastard. She’s still so sweet.” Thrusting in and out faster past that first, feeble ring of resistance. “So messy f’me. Fuckin’ my tongue so good for s-someone that hates me.”

And you have half the mind to wonder whether it hurt - how his fingers weren’t cramping up yet, lips aching. Letting you push his face deeper into your pussy, ankles locking around his broad shoulders in a desperate attempt to shut him up. Close. 

“Y-you talk ngh- too much.” Blood roaring in your ears, feeling his smirk against your cunt. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

“Nah, I know you ah- love it.” Smack! Another handprint on your ass that has you stuttering and jolting on his face. “Can feel you clenching all around me because I-” Toji gives you such an infuriating wink from below,  “-eat this pussy the best.”

 And you would be mad at how cocky he was being - if you weren’t cumming all over his pretty face. 

Stars behind your eyes with each little lick of Toji’s tongue as he fucks you through your high, lapping up all your sweet sweet juices. 

“W-wait oh-” you were letting out such delirious little whines. “S’too sensitive- too- hngh-”

“No-” he grits out, voice shot. “No no no no- wan’ it. Need it.” Scrambling to pull your hips back onto his mouth. Fingers just bruising on your skin. 

He was like a man possessed, and you can only lay there and take it as Toji tips his head back to let your slick slide, down, down, down his throat. Voice shot, as he grits out, “Oh fuck, been holdin’ out on me.” Eyes unfocused and miles away as he comes up to squish your cheeks together in an embarrassing little pout. “Open that fucking mouth.” 

And you barely even realize it when you are - tongue lolling out so sinfully. The only thing jolting you back to whatever senses you have left is Toji spitting in your mouth. 

A steady, angry stream of saliva before his lips are clashing once more with yours. Purposefully letting your juices smear all over both your lips, tasting yourself and him and how desperate you were on his tongue-

“O-oh my god.” you break the kiss at the feeling of something so hard against your cunt. Delicate strings of spit snapping as you whirl down to look. Shit, when did he even take off his-

Ah, how Toji loves the breathless little whimper that leaves your lips at the sight of his too-tight boxers, the insults failing you now. Humming, “Like what ya see?” 

As if to prove his point, he tugs them down just enough that his rock-hard cock springs free. Fuck, you think you’ll never get used to it, even after so long - Toji was so fucking massive. Flushed red, soaked in beads of precum that drip down, down, down all the way to the tufts of black at his toned pelvis. 

So thick and angry that your legs were clenching together just at the mere sight. And Toji notices - how could he not?

“Yeah…” he murmurs, as if continuing a conversation from before. Muscled arms pushing your thighs apart to watch how your sloppy pussy was drooling all over the couch. “She definitely missed me, look how much she’s gushing.” Pooling your juices on his fingertips, “Clean your act up, doll”

“Shut up.” you squeal, embarrassedly, giving Toji a glare that makes his balls squeeze so painfully. Smirking, “You’re not even as big as him.”

Oh. 

Well, Toji didn’t like that - not one bit, in fact, as he shoves his dripping wet fingers in your mouth - pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knows will have your pretty eyes welling up with tears.

“Then why aren’t you with him, you little bitch. Think I like you better when you’re f-fucked dumb.” he spits dangerously against your lips. Fisting his cock to lazily drag up and down your puffy folds. “Don’t you hah- agree?”

He doesn’t get to find out if you agree - and he doesn’t care, either. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to give an answer even if you wanted to. Because his swollen cock was too thick, the stretch too sinful, too dizzying as Toji splits you apart on his unforgiving cock. 

“Mmmpf- fuck! Hah-” you mewl, torn between running away from his cock and bucking down for more more more-

“More?” he laughs, “Ya ask him for more like this too?”

And oh how so very cute and pliant you were being stuffed full. He barely gives you the time to adjust because - why would he? Toji has his mouthy wife all breathless and splayed out so shamefully, desperately trying to milk his cock for all he’s worth. 

Barely even halfway in, yet he rocks into you in shallow, teasing little grinds just to fit himself inside your tight pussy. So mean. Not giving a fuck about those teary whimpers leaving your mouth.

“They ever ngh- fuck you like this?” he rasps, dropping his head to leave little bites down your tender neck. “Ever h-having you crying for his dick like ngh- this?” And despite all his confidence, Toji didn’t want to hear the answer - didn’t want to know the truth. “Such a slut.”

Your nails rake angrily down his sculpted shoulders - a warning, and it’s about the only thing you can do as Toji speeds up. Faster. Deeper. 

“Heh, what? Markin’ me up for others to hah- see?” he cooes, mockingly. And you could just cry as his grin widens, finally - finally - pulling his fingers out. “Why don’t you ngh- use your words instead?”

And you should probably breathe, probably tell him to fuck you exactly the way he wants to - to confess to him that this is all you’ve ever wanted on those lonely nights these past four months. But the both of you know that it’s more fun this way.

So instead, you smile sweetly, “F-fuck you. They do - a lot better, too.”

If only your voice hadn’t cracked so unconvincingly at the end - if only you hadn’t let out such a pornographic moan as Toji pulls your face to meet his. Kissing you over and over and his hips-

“I’m the one fucking you, doll.” he bites down on your lower lip, tugging and pushing at a senseless little rhythm - the complete opposite of his hips. “Remember that.” And that’s all that’s said before Tojis finally bottoming out all the way to the hilt. Heavy balls smacking sinfully against your ass, fat head just kissing your cervix. “It’s me. I don’t give a hah- shit if it’s been f-four mouths, it’ll always be ngh- me.”

The couch creaked in protest as Toji fucked you like it was the last thing he’d do. Like he was trying to fuck every thought of whoever came after him right out of you - along with those silly little thoughts about the divorce.

“B-but-” your eyes widen as Toji runs his mouth - as hasty and urgent as his movements now. Fingers snaking up to toy with your still-sensitive clit, not even drawing circles anymore - just messy, little patterns just to get you off. “We’re already-”

“You s-still think we’re oh- nothing but exes?” he questions, sounding as surprised as you felt. “We can’t stay ah- God, we can’t stay apart and you fuckin’ know it. So…”

You gulp, already knowing the answer to the question he was just goading you into asking. “So?” 

“So…” Toji muses, giving your swollen lips a short, chaste peck. Whispering against them, “M’gonna hah- fuck you till everyone knows you’re mine.”

A promise that Toji Fushiguro was well and fully intent on fulfilling. And you didn’t doubt that he’d have any trouble with it, in fact. 

Because he’s rutting into you so animalistically now, so so sloppy. Torn between savoring the feeling of your plushy walls squeezing him to insanity and abusing your poor cervix. Prominent veins making you feel a maddening little thump thump thump as he roams for that one-

“Ah! Hngh- Toji!”

Found it. 

And Toji had everything he needed - you, his wife, spread so sinfully and stuffed to the brim with him. Hitting your sweet spot over and over- 

“No loser’s gonna fuck you like this.” he breathes against your ear. “Have you ngh- feeling this good.”

“I- ngh- fuck fuck fuck, Toji-” you let out, hips mindlessly bucking down in a pathetic attempt to meet his rough thrusts. “S’too- hah- oh my god. S’too good-”

“Shut up.” Oh he sounds so absolutely wrecked. Sanity crumbling away bit by bit every time he’s plunging his cock - so painfully hard - into your wet pussy. “Do you even ah- realize how sexy you look right now?” Toji throws his head back, eyes still locked on you like it killed him to look away. “Never lettin’ anyone else s-see ya like this. They’re gonna look at you and see me-”

You don’t even know what he’s babbling about anymore. Just that his achingly hard cock was making such a mess of you, pulling back only to go deeper. Massaging all the right spots as fucked you harder into the couch. 

“Me-” he gasps. “That date is gonna fuck- know,” Hips stuttering and absolutely filthy, “That cashier d-down the ngh- street that eyes you up every time is gonna know-” Angry. Desperate. So, so needy. “Your fucking lawyer- ngh- s’gonna know. They’ll s-see you and see me me me me-”

At this point you can only nod deliriously, letting out a broken little, “Hngh- yeah, wan’ that, Toji. Wan’ you so bad.”

Toji presses another chaste kiss - this time to your forehead. Whispering a quiet, “Then cum f’me, doll.”

You do - the hardest you ever think you ever have in your entire life. Thighs shaking, vision spotty, sparks of white-hot electricity going all the way from your hazy brain to where Toji was fucking you through it.

Muffling your moans with his mouth as he gives one, harsh thrust. Then spilling into your gummy walls, painting it all an obscene white with rope after rope of hot cum. 

So wet and hot - with him. All him. 

And you look so cute taking it all like the good little wife that you are, that he can’t help but press down on your lower stomach. Awe-struck at how your cunt gushes around him, coating his twitching cock as Toji fucks his seed deeper and deeper into you. 

But, hell, that wasn’t his favorite part - not by a long shot. Instead, it was probably when you pulled him into his arms, whispering sweet little nonsense in his ear about “how you missed this” and “that date wasn’t real anyway” as he fucks the two of you through your highs. Sweet. Familiar. 

“Oh, God-” he mutters into the crook of your neck, slightly calmer now. Much more clear-minded than the two of you were mere seconds before. “We broke the couch.” 

And it was true - one side was sagging much more than the other. Though you can only let out a giggle in response. Doesn’t matter, the two of you’ll pick out a new one tomorrow - he always hated this new one, anyway. “Happy anniversary, wifey.”

---

“Damn kid, that ol’ dad of yours sure is running late.” Shiu crosses and uncrosses his legs with slight nervousness. Eyeing the small, dark-haired boy playing with blocks a few feet away, “Maybe we should-”

“It’s okay. He’ll be back.” Megumi deadpans, sounding like the absolute last thing on his mind was why his dad was taking way too long for what should’ve been a half an hour errand. Shiu - on the other hand - had his mind whirling with imaginations of traffic accidents or murders or- what if the two of you killed each other- “And he’ll bring back mama too.”

You could almost hear the record screech to a halt. The older man stared wide-eyed at a slightly-smiling Megumi. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Wait- no, what did you-”

“Nothing.”

Because, hey, Megumi might’ve had to go without his favorite wolf plushie for a bit - but a magician never reveals his tricks, right?

A/N. So how does it feel to be played by a kid, hm?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[sugarwarachan]

sex pollen troubles - ft. k. bakugou

summary: prohero!Bakugou gets hit with a sex quirk. too bad his roommate hates him—right?

wc: 1.8k

pairing: prohero!Katstuki Bakugou x roommate!reader

content warnings: MDNI, Bakogou has a roommate because his therapist tells him to, fem!reader is an investigative journalist, gratuitous use of Ace (hello gilmore girls fans) idiot Katsuki, pining Katsuki, fingerless gloves make an appearance sorry not sorry, making out, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names like baby, pretty girl, princess, breeding but only if you squint

a/n: word vomited this out in less than 24 hrs

He’s praying you don’t pick up.

“Bakugou?” You sound annoyed, a little suspicious even.

He never calls you.

“Ace.” You hate that nickname, but the thought of saying your actual name in the desperate growl that is his voice right now makes his head spin. “I need - fuck - are you home right now?”

Sex quirks are a dime a dozen these days. He’s been hit with a few before, simple one that are usually pretty easy to shake. (He still hates the premature ejaculate memory, though, coming home with his boxers stiff and an image of you spread out on his bed playing like a film in his head. He hadn't been able to look you in the eyes for weeks.)

He’s never been hit with one as strong as this. The second the mist hit his nostrils he was huffing up the scent of vanilla and citrus and strong black coffee, just the way you like it, before he realized what was happening, the villain ripping down the street in the opposite direction while arousal hit him like a truck.

Bakugou's practically doubled over talking to you now, the ache in his dick throbbing in time with his fucking heartbeat.

“Yeah, I’m home.” Even annoyed you sound like heaven. “What’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”

He barks out a laugh, and before he knows it, he's telling you the truth. “Got hit with a sex quirk. A big one.”

Your breath bitches slightly on the other line. He’s pretty sure his cock jumps at the sound.

“And I - " need you right fucking now - “fuck - I can’t call anyone else.”

It has to be you. He’s got women he could call, sure, anyone who might want to get into a pro hero’s pants, but it has to be you for a reason he doesn’t want to look at too closely.

You’re silent for a beat, before you say, “Send me a pin. I’ll come get you.”

He hated you at first. Always talking his ear off about every fucking thing, bringing up articles that remind you of cases you're covering—it was like living with Deku dialed up to 11.

But what he hated even worse was when you stopped talking. When you realized he wasn’t actually gonna come around and be nice to you, when you figured out, oh fuck, he’s actually just an angry prick, and left him alone.

One day he could count on constant chatter when he was back from patrol, the next, nothing at all. You even switched up your schedule so he barely saw you, a fact he didn’t tell his court-ordered therapist because he was supposed to be getting better at being around other people, not worse.

He hates remembering this now with his dick hard as steel and weeping from the tip like he’s fucking 15. The alley is secluded, thank fuck, so no one can see him shaking and groaning, forearms braced on the wall in front of him, head hanging down like a panting dog. He can barely move; every brush of his pants against his erection like a live wire to the brain.

By the time you pull up—five minutes, forty six seconds later, he counted—he’s so frayed and tense that the minute he sees your face, he shouts, “Took you fucking long enough."

Your face shutters closed the way it always does around him, and he wants to fucking die.

“Fuck, Ace, I’m sorry - it’s just, I’m fucking miserable right now - "

“Why did you call me, Katsuki?”

It’s a mistake to look you in the eye. His restraint is a razor’s edge at this point, and seeing your beautiful face is too much. You've always been pretty, but the light shining on your soft hair is convincing him he can write fucking poetry all of a sudden.

“You know why,” he grits out.

You step forward, vanilla and citrus and coffee flooding his nose.

“No, I don’t. You act like you fucking hate me half the time and ignore me the rest.” You scrape a hand across your face in frustration. “And then you call me sounding like that. Why wouldn't I be confused?"

“I want you.” It’s out of his mouth in a flash, and he knows it’s the right thing to say by the way your shoulders relax. “I’m a fucking asshole, I know it. I’m not good at feelings, baby, I'm sorry, but I want you so fucking bad it’s like I could break my teeth over it. It has to be you, Ace, fuck, I’m sorry, it can’t be anyone else - "

You shut him up your mouth, your lips locking into his as both of your noses bump against each other. He doesn’t care; he just needs you as close to him as he can get you. It’s better than anything he imagined, finally touching you, finally giving in to the attraction that’s dogged him ever since you walked into his life.

You taste like coffee and a little bit of that strawberry lip gloss he loves so much. He licks into the seam of your mouth and relishes the shiver that goes through your body.

“Like that, baby?” He breaks away, nosing at your jaw, nipping at the juncture of your throat. That makes you gasp. “You smell so fucking good here.” He jerks his hips, hisses through his teeth as his cock jumps in his pants, pulsing with need.

“Let me,” he hears you say, and you’re tugging his pants open to get your hand around him. The second your fingers wrap around him his eyes roll up in his head. He could cum just from this, he realizes.

“Of course you’d have a pretty dick,” you say with a look of annoyance, and he’s not entirely sure what to say to that besides puff up his chest. You laugh, and it’s almost fond, and goddammit he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything else -

With a growl, he pulls your hand away and backs you up against the wall, peppering kisses down your neck. The whines he’s pulling from your mouth is making everything in his life worth it. He’d fight a thousand fucking villains if it meant this, fingering the seam of your panties under your little skirt as you cry out for more.

“Wear this for me?”

“Like fucking hell I did,” you retort.

“Sure thing, princess.” He runs the pad of two fingers over the soaking wet seam of your panties. A feral grin passes over his face as your thighs tremble and press together. “This just happened to you all on your own?”

He roughly pulls your panties to the side to gather up the slick at your entrance, pushing your hips apart and settling himself between them.

“You’ve gotta come first, pretty girl.” You like when he calls you pet names; he’s been watching the way your skin breaks down out in goosebumps each time. It’s a like a drug being this close to you, making you feel this good. “The second I’m inside ya I’m gonna blow my fucking load so be good and come for me, yeah?”

The rough material of his fingerless gloves rubs against your clit as he stuffs two fingers in your pussy. Your little hole sucks him in greedily as you whine and buck against him.

“Harder, Kats, please - you won’t fucking break me - "

He adds another finger to stretch you out, keeping his palm rocking against your pubic bone with every grind. You’re fluttering around his fingers, whimpers echoing off the walls in the alley.

“That’s it, baby, there you go. Fuck, yeah, you like me stuffing this pretty pussy full?” You dig your nails into his scalp as you hold onto him for dear life, whimpers ratcheting up to moans and cut-off screams as he starts to feel your cunt clamp down hard on him.

You moan his name against his neck as you cum. “Just needed to think about me stuffing you full?” He can’t help but smirk, which quickly turns into a hissing groan when your hand finds him again and positions him right at your core.

“I could say the same for you,” you smirk, rolling your hips and coating the head of his cock in the slick of your orgasm. He chokes on his spit, bracing one forearm on the wall behind you, his free hand stilling your hips in place.

“Lift me up,” you pout.

“Didn’t know you were bossy.”

“Didn’t think you would like it,” you shoot back, rolling down onto his cock and taking an inch of him inside you. “This position’s better, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, you devil woman.” He can barely think. “Baby, I don’t - god fucking damn it - I don’t have any - "

“I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

“Same. Clean, too, I mean.” He’s rambling. He never rambles. “I’ve got my check-up stats in my phone if you’d like to see them.”

You laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard in his entire life.

“Can I kiss you?”

It takes him aback, but he’s been dying to know what you taste like since he met you, honestly.

“Yeah, pretty girl. You can kiss me.” He nips at your mouth and laughs at your pout when he pulls away. “Let me get all the way inside ya though first, huh?”

He feeds you his dick inch by inch, clenching his teeth at the way you squirm and plead for more. You’re slippery and warm, your cunt making obscene squelching noises with every rock of his hips.

With one final thrust, he’s seated up to the hilt, balls slapping against the meat of your thighs and ass.

“So fucking perfect,” he moans in your ear. “All for me - just for me, isn’t that right, Ace?”

Your head jerks up and down in affirmation.

“Say it, pretty girl. Say you’re fucking mine. Tell me how much you like my dick getting this pussy nice and tight. Bet I can get her to scream again, huh?”

He pinches your clit between two fingers. You jerk in his arms.

“Close, princess? Like it a little mean?”

He rocks his his up so he’s dragging the head of his cock across your g spot, over and over. Your eyes roll back in your head and your breathing gets shallower, shorter.

“Please please don’t fucking stop, ohmygodohmygod feels so fucking good, Kats- "

Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice and all rhythm flies out the window. He grabs the meat of your hips and fucks up into you roughly, shooting thick ropes of cum against your cervix.

The creamy sticky ring at the base of his cock when he pulls out is probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He looks up at you, sees the appreciative gleam in your eye. You're turned on by that, too.

“Can we do this again when we’re home?” he asks. “Maybe after I’ve made you dinner?”

The smile you return is like the sun. “We better.”

[makismei]

“stay on it,” he breathes, arms circling around you to keep you on his cock. his lips brush against your chest, lightly nipping at the skin.

“satoru, i can’t!” you whine, legs shaking as you try to get off his lap. “‘s too much, I’m gonna cum again!”

satoru doesn’t even bother pulling out when he thrusts, just grinding his dick into you while he watches you fall apart. “you like it baby, come on.”

head falling onto his shoulder, he bites back a grin as he thrusts up. your eyes are rolling back, feeling him pound into you from below. you don’t think you can take it anymore, but it’s all you want.

he isn’t wrong when he says you like it.

your hands slap his shoulders, not able to do much as he manhandles you to bounce on his dick. “satoruuu, fuck, oh my god!”

legs shaking, he manoeuvres you to lay on your back. throwing your ankles over his left shoulder, he continues to thrust into your cunt, hitting your g-spot with ease.

“give me some more, pretty.” he grins, “you’re not done until i say you are.”

you hate how he’s so good at keeping you pinned, but then again, when he uses his strength to keep you pliant, you’re practically looking up at him with hearts in your eyes.

“what a slut,” he laughs, “you like this.”

you nod furiously, “mmm, i love it!”

moving one of your ankles to his other shoulder, he leans down, smothering your face in chaste kisses.

burying his face into the crook of your neck, gojo starts slamming his hips into you. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

you feel like your eyes are crossing as he forces orgasm after orgasm out of you. your legs are quivering while he continues to poke and prod everywhere you’re sensitive.

“so good for me,” he says, breath tickling your ear, “i could have you like this all day, baby.”

he feels you clench down on him and he sloppily kisses your cheek, “i feel it baby, give it to me.”

“satoruuu, ‘s too big,” you cry, “i think ‘m gonna make a mess!”

he shushes you, calming you down by cupping your face in his hands, keeping your eyes on him. his thrusts don’t slow, feeling his release. “‘s okay, don’t worry—i’m gonna cum baby, where—”

“insideee!” you whine, “need it inside!”

he cums the second he hears you and you follow, squirting all over his abdomen. he drops majority of his weight onto you, feeling his cock go limp inside your cunt. he presses a kiss to your temple, praising you softly.

when he pulls out, he props your hips up with a pillow, keeping your legs spread so he can admire the mess.

whistling lowly, he thumbs at your slit.

your legs immediately twitch, whining. “no more, please.”

he nods, laughing, “‘s okay baby, ‘m just looking.”

[chuluoyi]

𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

he is your husband and you are his wife. but of course you know the bitter truth—you will never be able to replace her.

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, drunken sex, mentions of injury, blood, hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here), spoilers! from zayne’s bond story nostalgic sweetness

note: wc. 8k ! i've been having these bits and pieces scenarios for zayne in mind and then i thought what if i combined it all into one angst joyride? :)) tagging per request: @kissxcore @rjreins @i2s2m @tom-pls-fuck-me @yueyoonie @sanriosatoru

07.15 p.m

Zayne would be getting off work soon. He had just finished an emergency surgery, and it had been exhausting. Now it was quite late.

“Dr. Zayne! Great job today!” Greyson exclaimed, suddenly strolling into his consultation room with a grin. “Want to grab dinner with us?”

Honestly, he was starving too. “Where?”

“Oh, you know, that new place that just opened nearby! They have the tastiest tiramisu, or so I’ve heard. C’mon, we’re inviting the nurses too!”

He knew he needed to head home soon, but fatigue and hunger blurred his thoughts at the mention of dessert.

“Alright.”

. . .

08.25 p.m

Getting together with the hospital staff was always nice. They were rowdy, but it was definitely a great way to unwind after a hard day.

The tiramisu was as great as Greyson said. Speaking of his assistant, he and Yvonne were having a blast. Other doctors were getting drunk. Zayne could only shake his head, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had been here quite a while.

It was only when he turned on his phone and saw the time that he realized, with sinking heart that—

He was supposed to meet you at six.

If you were asked how you felt about your life now, you’d be hard-pressed to say you were completely content.

You were a stellar fighter in the Hunter Association, more than content with your job, and you had a good husband. To some, you had what they would call the perfect life.

The wife of the Dr. Zayne. True, it was a flattering title, yet unbeknownst to everyone, also a humbling one.

And the notion struck you once again when your husband of almost two years stood you up on your dinner date without so much as a notice.

“Miss... we’re about to close now...” The waitress approached your table for at least the third time, and you nodded sheepishly, finally finishing your meal.

You paid for it and left the restaurant. The chilly night air hit your skin, giving you goosebumps as you walked home. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Granted, Zayne had a packed schedule, and you figured he might've had an urgent matter to attend to that he forgot to let you know.

Still... it hurts. Knowing you were not a priority in your husband’s eyes wasn’t a fun feeling.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket the moment you arrived at your shared home. Your husband’s name flashed on your screen. The time now was 08.40 p.m.

“Hello, Zayne?”

“Y/N?” Your husband’s voice sounded frantic. “Are you still at the restaurant? I’m going—”

“Ah, no need to. I’m going home.”

“I’ll pick you up then. Stay there—”

“I’ve already arrived.”

An awkward silence settled between you, and you could clearly hear the noise on the other end. Greyson’s laughter was unmistakable.

You forced a laugh, still trying to sound cheerful for him even when realizing that he had completely forgotten about you. “It’s totally fine, Zayne! Are you heading back?”

“Yeah...”

“Take care then. See you at home.”

You ended the call with a sigh, trying to shake off the sting in your heart. As you made your way upstairs to your bedroom, you passed by a large portrait on the wall, and a bittersweet sensation washed over you.

Your wedding photo. Both of you were smiling on what was the most wonderful day of your life. Zayne’s smile was reserved, but yours was radiant.

It is the most wonderful thing that has happened to you... but is it the same for him?

At that time, despite everything, you were convinced a lifetime of happiness awaited you, yet now... it got harder to fool yourself into believing it.

Your marriage has always been lukewarm.

Zayne wasn’t an overly excited person, and you were his opposite—but try as you might, some things between you just didn’t work out. As a result, both of you tended to keep certain things to yourselves.

Most days, this didn't bother him. He valued his privacy, so the way things were suited him just fine. However, several days later, when Greyson approached him with a worried expression and a news, even Zayne had to draw the line.

“Dr. Zayne? Uh, how do I say this? I think I saw your wife being wheeled in earlier with the injured from the hunt zones raid…”

. . .

“Your husband is a doctor here. Why aren’t you calling him?”

Xavier, your fellow Deepspace Hunter who was partnered with you in this mission, questioned you with a hint of annoyance as he observed your pathetic state on the stretcher and crossed his arms. “Why do you have to bleed out in ER when you can get him?”

You winced, pressing the bloodied cloth against your stinging abdomen as you felt yourself growing faint. “He’s... a surgeon,” you panted. “He’s busy.”

Above all, you didn’t want Zayne to see you like this. You could already imagine his angry face, and that mental image alone made you recoil.

“What sort of husband is busy when his wife is injured?” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least notify him?”

You shut your eyes, feeling a migraine coming.

“I will then.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you—”

“Shut up, Xavier—”

The curtain was suddenly pulled back, and you braced yourself for whoever had come to check on you next. To your surprise, the cloth in your hand was snatched away, and you felt your uniform being torn open with urgency.

When you opened your eyes, you barely made out your husband’s figure through your hazy vision. “…Zayne?”

His expression was stern, unforgiving even, as he started to disinfect your wound. Despite the tension, you couldn't deny the relief that washed over you. You knew you were in good hands, even if you had to face his fury later on.

Your consciousness slipped away not long after that.

. . .

The next time you woke up, you found yourself in a private room, with a nagging itch where you had been injured.

You groaned, your limbs stiff and heavy, and the room slowly came into focus—along with your husband's face.

"Zayne?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper. He stood pristine in his white coat and glasses, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Your wound is, thankfully, shallow," he said flatly, his tone lacking any real concern. "You'll be discharged tonight. I'll take you home as soon as my shift is over."

"Ah..." You blinked several times to clear your head. "Good then. Sorry for showing up out of nowhere. Xavier and I were on a rescue mission, and I accidentally—"

He walked away before you could finish, the abruptness snapping you fully awake. He was furious, that much was clear.

"Ha ha..." You forced a laugh, fiddling with your fingers, trying to ease the awkward tension between you. "It doesn't hurt much, actually. You're right—I'm fine..."

Zayne shot you a sharp glance. "You passed out due to blood loss."

"This isn't the first time it has happened and nor will it be—"

"And it didn't even occur to you to inform me at all. I found out that my own wife was wounded because Greyson passed by the ER and saw you."

His words left you silent, caught red-handed, but your annoyance was reaching its limit. You had imagined how nice it would be if he panicked about you, showering you with care when he found out. But instead, Zayne chose to rebuke you the moment you woke up.

“I’m not a child,” you reasoned, keeping yourself calm. “I’m a hunter. This is nothing new, and you should understand that.”

“The least you could’ve done is to tell me—“

“Do you know why I didn’t? It’s because I know how you’ll react!”

“—and it would do you better to prioritize your safety and not rush headfirst into danger.”

“Believe me, I do but—!”

Suddenly, Zayne spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with fury as he raised his voice. “I’ve told you so many times already, you have to stay back, or you’ll end up—!”

He stopped abruptly, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, but right at that moment, you knew all too well who he meant, and what the implication was.

His, without a doubt, greatest love. His childhood friend, a hunter like yourself, someone he had vowed to save but succumbed to her illness before he could do so, died on arrival.

The irony was sharp. You had become everything she once was. You knew her well, too. When she passed, the entire Hunter Association mourned her loss. And more than that, on the night she died, you had been with him.

Looking back, you should have seen it coming. Still, it hit you like a splash of cold water. Your husband was still preoccupied with thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, and worse yet, he saw pieces of her in you.

And you suspected he had for a while—perhaps even, from the very beginning.

For a second there, not for the first time, you felt your heart shatter.

“I don’t have Protocore syndrome,” you stated, steeling yourself against the heartbreak. “My heart won't suddenly fail because I get injured. I’m not that weak.”

You turned away as Zayne refused to respond, missing his look of disdain as he stormed out of the room.

That was when your first tear fell.

Right from the start, you knew you had to brace yourself for this. You knew that eventually, this tragedy would overshadow your marriage. Because while Zayne might be your husband by law, deep down, his heart still belonged to someone else.

To her.

You two are too much alike.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed it. And it wouldn’t be the last.

On bad mornings, when his eyes were bleary and he hadn't had a good sleep, he would see her instead of you in your shared bed. And with that mistaken sight came a fleeting sense of relief... until his vision cleared and he remembered she was truly gone and it was you.

Zayne knew how wrong this was on so many levels. It was terribly unfair to you.

Still, his concern for you was genuine. Seeing you lying still on the stretcher brought back that very same nightmare, and really, he truly never wanted you to be hurt.

After his outburst and your clipped response, the two of you barely exchanged any words for the rest of the week. To make matters worse, he was sent on a business trip the following week, and all in all, you went two weeks hardly speaking to each other.

And before he knew it, her death anniversary was only a couple of days away.

. . .

"How much is this?"

"Ah, the bow is 50,000 Gold, sir!"

Inside the airport's souvenir shop, Zayne examined the intricate light blue and white bow clip. Made of tweed and adorned with small pearls, it looked nice.

He thought it'd suit you well.

"I'll get this then."

"Right away!"

As the clerk went to wrap the trinket, Zayne reflected on these past two weeks. A nagging feeling twisted in his gut as he thought about how curt he had been with you in text messages and how often you had left him on read.

Husband and wife shouldn't be this way. He wanted the unbearable air between you to end. Determined to resolve things, he planned to talk to you when he returned. He was on his way to the airport taxi when—

"Zayne!" He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar voice, and turned around.

There you were, waiting by his car with a smile.

It was never in you to stay angry for long. It was a blessing and a curse, really, because while you no longer wished to give your husband silent treatment, a part of you still felt conflicted.

"How was your trip?" you asked as you started the engine, pushing the events of the past two weeks to the back of your mind.

Zayne didn't immediately answer, and you felt his gaze on you as you drove the car. "It was okay."

You hummed in acknowledgement, and he followed up with, "How is your wound? Do you dress it daily?"

"Mm-hm. It's getting better."

"I'll have a look at it later."

"Sure."

Silence. Usually you would ramble to distract him, but now, even you weren’t sure if you should.

Then, he said, "You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have made my way home on my own."

To that, you pasted on a smile. “You always pick me up whenever I have to go on business trips. It’s only fair I do the same for you, husband.”

Ah. Was it the wrong move? The word had slipped out so easily that you didn’t realize it until after you said it.

But to your surprise, Zayne let out a chuckle and played along. "Well, thank you then, wife. It certainly felt quite off without a certain someone the past week."

So, he actually likes having you around...? The thought made you almost giddy. Despite his usual taciturn and sarcastic demeanor, you knew he was genuine in his own way.

"Bet you missed me," you teased, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

"Nope. But I did miss getting new snowmen."

"...why do you like them so much? I've made plenty for you already."

"No particular reason. Snowman just kinda reminds me of you somehow."

The tension between you had melted away, and you felt a sense of relief. Beside you, even Zayne couldn’t hide his smile. For the rest of the drive home, you chatted like you used to.

When you arrived back at your shared home, he suddenly stopped and presented you with a little box. "I got you something."

"Huh?" you paused, bewildered, as he took your hand and placed the box in it.

"Open it."

With curiosity, you lifted the lid, and were surprised at the sight of a pretty bow clip inside. "Whoa, how cute..."

Zayne eyed you expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Your eyes lit up with delight, and a smile spread across your lips.

"Yes!" you beamed at him with zero hesitation, and in that moment, something struck a chord within him. Zayne had always thought you were easy on the eyes—

—but when you smiled like that, you were truly charming.

"It's healing nicely."

You felt somewhat self-conscious as your husband examined your bare abdomen, where your injury was, as you lied on your bed. His hands, cool and practiced, tenderly removed your stitches.

It wasn't as if Zayne had never touched you. You two had been married for almost two years, and of course you had been intimate several times, but it wasn't as if you were a passionate couple to begin with—so you often found yourself flustered.

"Mm." Despite yourself, you squirmed. Noticing this, he looked up at you, his unfazed eyes meeting yours with a frown.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really... It just feels as if you're tickling me."

He was positively unamused. "I'm not trying to tickle you."

"I know!"

Zayne wrapped your midsection securely with the bandage. When he was done, he let out a sigh and you felt like you had to show him your gratitude somehow.

“Thank you, Zayne…” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. But in the next second, your heart skipped a beat as his hand rested gently on your head.

"You can thank me by being more careful next time." Your husband looked at you with the smallest of smile. "Your safety comes first, always remember that."

Without either of you realizing it, you both had tried to bury that argument from two weeks ago, yet it was still gnawing at you all the same. The thought that he too was bothered with it made you warm.

"Noted," you cheekily grinned. "If I'm not safe and sound, a certain iceman will get angry at me."

Zayne shot you an unimpressed look. “If you come to me injured again, I’ll start charging you fees.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. "How stingy! I'm your wife, not just some stranger!"

"A very uncooperative wife, you are."

You huffed, and he chuckled. You really thought all was well between you two now, until Zayne suddenly stood up and grabbed the car keys. “Well then, rest. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stop by the florist—”

And it hit you. In two days. The day everything ended three years ago.

Zayne seemed to realize it too, but you quickly masked your falling smile with a faux one. "O-oh, right..."

No matter how, it's still going to be an important day to him. You had nothing against it, really. Your husband's late girlfriend had once been your colleague too, and you mourned her just like everyone else did.

Still, even with that understanding, in your heart of hearts, it remains just as bitter.

You didn't want to, but you needed to find closure. You hoped that by doing this, it would finally put an end to all your insecurities.

"Let's go together, Zayne. I want to pay her a visit too."

Two days later, you and Zayne, a bouquet of flowers in hand, stood before the grave bearing many colorful flowers and postcards.

You supposed you knew already, but seeing it firsthand, you realized just how deeply she was loved still. The outpouring of respect from the Hunter Association was evident in the tribute left behind.

"It's been a while," Zayne, dressed in his most formal black suit, said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the pristine stone.

You watched as he knelt to place his flowers and then brought his hands together in prayer. You followed his lead, placing your own bouquet beside his.

What should you even say to her? Your mind raced with countless thoughts, but none felt right to voice before the woman who had so deeply captured your husband's heart.

In the end, when you sensed that Zayne had finished with his prayer, you decided to remain silent and rose with him.

. . .

“Does it get easier?” you asked out of curiosity afterwards. “Three years has passed already.”

Although Zayne wasn’t one for drinking, even the need won today. He didn’t meet your eyes as he sipped his wine, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhat. As they say, time heals.”

You two stopped by a fine restaurant after visiting the grave. The cemetery had been a two-hour drive from Linkon City, and now it was already evening.

“She loved jasmines,” you remarked, recalling the pot of them you once saw on her desk and the flowers overflowing at the grave earlier.

“She did.” The alcohol seemed to loosen his tongue as he continued, “She loved old popsicles and macarons too.”

“And you like them as well.”

“To be honest, I started liking them back when we were kids…” Zayne had this pained, faraway look in his eyes as he had another sip. “She cried over her melted popsicle and it got me to wonder if it was really that tasty...”

The idea that you had to compete with a dead woman for your husband’s affection left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you had failed thoroughly as a wife.

Despite hating yourself for asking, you needed to know. “Do I help you… in any way at all?”

Zayne was clearly taken aback by the question. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto you, mind whirred as he tried to grasp your meaning.

“Y/N, you...”

It was foolish, you knew. But you waited with bated breath for his response, even when one wrong word could shatter your heart beyond repair. You were ready for any sort of unfavorable answer, but then—

“I... am glad it is you.”

His words made you look up, and you found yourself caught in his gaze. Zayne’s ashen eyes were steady, piercing into you.

“You were there on the hardest days. And ever since, you’ve always stayed by my side.” He held your gaze firmly, voice was thick with emotion you couldn’t quite name. “I’m grateful for that.”

And then, with a sincerity that pierced through every uncertainty, he added, “What I want to say is... I’m glad I married you, Y/N.”

You have loved him for so long. Since the days when you know he isn’t yours to love, until now.

Your heart swelled with so much warmth that tears brimmed in your eyes. His acknowledgment of your presence filled you with a profound sense of belonging you never knew you needed before.

Was it the alcohol?

You suspected it might be, because in nearly two years of marriage, Zayne had never lost his control like this. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, he pushed you against the wall and devoured your lips hungrily.

“Mmph!” His hands gripped your arms while his lips and tongue pried yours open. The kiss was searing, almost forceful, with the faint bitterness of wine still lingering.

“Zay…ne…” you gasped between his kisses—teary, breathless, your voice trembling.

But your breathy grunts only seemed to spur him on. His dark eyes, clouded with lust, fixed on you as his hands slipped beneath your blouse, deftly unclasping your bra with a flick.

He is hot. Your husband was everything a woman desired in a man. Cool, handsome, blessed with hands that could do wonders—

In no time, he had you naked and wet before him, and with alarming speed, he too discarded his own suit and pants, throwing them away in flurry. And you could hardly believe what you were seeing next.

He spitted on his hand, ran it along his member—stroking himself with a practiced ease, never breaking eye contact with you. The next thing you knew, he yanked you into another burning kiss and made you topple on top of him—

“Ah!” his hands guided your hips with precision, positioning you and entering you. The instant he did, you whimpered at the sudden, sharp sting of pain.

“Does it hurt?” he asked almost in a growl when you clung to his shoulder with uneven breaths.

It was too sudden, and you hoped the discomfort would pass, so you timidly shook your head.

“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.” Zayne tangled his fingers in your hair, turning your face to his. “Understand?”

There was always a distinct, almost commanding aura about him whenever the two of you were in your marital bed. Perhaps the way his voice sound lower, but it just hit different.

And you are a willing prey... whenever he becomes that beast.

He inched inside you slowly, making you moan with each instance. He was thick, warm, and taking him in was a challenge in itself. And when he finally sheathed himself fully, your nails had made its first scratch on his skin.

You felt full, and the way your womanhood stretched and clenched around him with each breathe you took made you dizzy. Panting, you finally met his gaze. Zayne’s gray-hazel eyes were still clouded with desire as he placed his hands firmly on your hips. Unable to resist, you reached out to caress his face.

"Hmm..." he subconsciously leaned into your touch, pressing his eyes shut together. "You smell nice," he huskily muttered.

Right this moment, all negative thoughts eluded you. It felt gratifying that your husband sought your touch like this as you towered over him.

And yet, despite that...

“Do you... finally see me now?” you asked, trailing your other hand down his toned chest and starting to grind against him. Zayne drew in a sharp breath and groaned, his fingers gripping your bum tighter.

Depending on his response, you would either find peace or face another heartbreak. You had placed your happiness on this pedestal more times than you could count, and it was a cross you had to bear.

But you never received your answer.

Your husband merely gazed up at you with a dangerous gleam. And oh, you could've sworn, this sight of Zayne eyeing you as if he were about to ruin you right then and there, would live-free in your mind for many days to come.

He then buried his face in your bosom, sucking on you with such fervor that your hands instinctively reached for his head to massage his scalp. The room was soon filled with your erotic groans and the squelching sounds from where your flesh were joined together— as he thrusted inside you over and over.

Right in this moment, you felt truly desired and wanted.

You are so happy. Incomparably so.

At the crack of dawn, Zayne woke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was how spent he felt, his limbs stiff and a throbbing headache pulsing at the back of his head.

Then he turned to his side, and the sight that met him twisted his gut in such a way that snapped him fully awake—

You were beside him, barely dressed and still deeply asleep. Your hair was a mess, and love bites were scattered across your skin, some on your chest looking almost like bruises.

It dawned on him that he, too, wasn’t decent. A sudden coldness gripped him, though it wasn’t just the morning air.

Him and you... last night...

Yesterday marked the third year. He meant everything he said to you, but the fact that he did this, with you, on the day of her death...

There was... nothing wrong with what he had done. You were his wife, no one could condone him for what he instigated. Yet, it still made him shiver.

And to make it worse, his thoughts from last night echoed back with vengeance, and—

He suddenly feels so immensely guilty.

. . .

It was the best sleep you’d had all week.

When you woke, sunlight had seeped through the window, and you discovered yourself already in pajamas, tucked snugly under a blanket. Still groggy with a dull ache in your lower belly, you relished the lingering afterglow, sighing in pure contentment, until you noticed Zayne wasn’t beside you.

Where did he go? You wondered amidst your haze. Sluggish, you stumbled out of the bed, flinching when your foot met the cold floor.

You eventually found him downstairs, sipping coffee at the dining table still with messy hair. "Zayne?"

He glanced up at you and nodded. There was something different about him, a subtle shift you couldn’t quite place. As you took a seat across from him, you hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Before you could find the right words though, he spoke first.

"I'm... sorry," he said, his tone laced with regret, causing a sharp pang of unease inside you.

"What?" you stared at him, feeling small and unsettled. "What are you sorry for?" you questioned as you gripped the hem of your shirt.

And then came the killing blow—

"Last night," Zayne muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. It was a mistake."

Mistake. The word echoed in your mind, but it was still hard to grasp its full weight.

"How was that—" you faltered, trembling, as the realization hit you like a truck and you gasped in disbelief. "Oh..."

Her. Again, and again, and again! Even when he was married to you, even when you were the one next to him each and everyday— even so!

Your husband considers that a night spent with you—his wife—a mistake!

The last of your patience snapped, as you broke down in sobs before him. "You're the worst!" you screamed at him amidst your mournful tears.

Zayne seemed taken aback at your outburst, his eyes wide. "Y/N, wait, you don't—"

"Screw you!" But you were beyond explanations at this point. You fled back to your bedroom. Zayne followed you suit, but you slammed the door in his face and locked it. As you collapsed onto the floor, the realization hit you with full force.

No matter what you did, you would always come second—or not at all.

The fracture in your marriage was undeniable.

Things had changed. Your home felt colder, and the tension was so stifling that you sometimes spent the night at the Hunter Association’s dorm just to escape it.

Zayne initially tried to reach out, but you were unwilling to listen, and eventually, he gave up. Before long, nearly a month had passed with this strain in the air.

You threw yourself into more rescue operations, using work as a distraction from the turmoil that lingered in your mind. Despite your best efforts to distract yourself, the unresolved thoughts and feelings clung to you.

"Xavier, am I lacking as a woman?"

Your frequent partner these days cracked open an eye despite his attempt to nap before today’s rescue mission. "What...?"

"No, forget it."

Things couldn't go like this forever. It was obvious by now—as long as he couldn’t let go of his past and you couldn’t accept him as he was, this marriage couldn't be saved.

Just as you headed towards the printer in the room, Xavier responded. "You talk a lot, eat a lot, and always bothering me when I'm about to sleep..."

You shot him an irked glance, disbelief evident on your face. "Hey!"

"But—" his clear voice cut through the air as he turned to you with half-lidded eyes. "You're exceptionally kind. If anyone can't appreciate that, then it's their loss."

At that moment, the ice inside your chest melted. To know that your own co-worker thought that kindly of you gave you a little boost of confidence.

But then Xavier added, "Sometimes you're stupid too. It's funny to watch."

"—?! You're so mean!"

A subtle smile curved on his lips as he turned to his side, ready to resume his nap. "Anyway, what are you printing?"

You feigned a huff as you gathered the papers and brought them to your desk. "Just something I need to submit when necessary."

A part of you wasn’t fully committed to it, of course—it was just that your emotions had no proper outlet even until now. As you pushed the drawer shut, a wave of bitterness washed over you as you reread the title on the blank form:

Petition for Divorce.

Zayne genuinely wanted to treat you well.

You were a nice girl. Too nice even. From the moment he laid his eyes on you some years ago, as a friend of a friend, he knew you were nothing but kind and cheery.

He still remembered that morning vividly: the hurt on your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, and then you breaking into inconsolable sobs. That sight inflicted something in him—it felt as though his own heart had been split in two.

Believe it or not, he cherished you too.

That night, even though he didn’t show it, he was still mourning her. When alcohol took over his mind and he saw you, you seemed like a perfect escape. He thought that even if he forced himself on you, there would be no consequences.

He hated that he had thought that way. He hated that how, in the end, you had become a means of relief for him.

Now you couldn't even look him in the eye, and Zayne didn't want to risk trying to coax you further. You were angry with him and rightly so, but when you ignored him and went home late more often, he was worried.

It was what drove him to volunteer for the rescue mission. When he saw your name on the hunter list, he felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

. . .

It was strange to see you on duty.

With your hunter uniform and your hair tied up, you were the picture of a very capable hunter. Zayne found himself unexpectedly following your movements as you came and went.

"Dr. Zayne, are you checking your wife out?" the EMT next to him teased with a grin. "Well, when you have a pretty wife such as Y/N, of course..."

He cleared his throat and the EMT giggled as he sauntered away.

So, you were also considered attractive here. Of course you were. Zayne knew it, but he just didn't expect that anyone here would blurt it out so openly.

But that wasn't the most surprising of all—

"Xavier, shush!" you playfully punched the blonde man next to you in the chest, your broad smile lighting up the moment. The two of you whispered closely, and Zayne found himself feeling uncomfortable, like being prickled by several needles.

He has never made you laugh so openly like that. The nagging feeling inside him grew stronger as he watched you—even if it was just in a platonic sense—with another man. It stirred something within him, making him want to pull that blonde aside, give him a word or two, and overthrow him altogether.

Amidst the growing storm inside him, you suddenly turned sideways and caught his eye, and Zayne could've sworn... he felt time stopped at that moment.

It was so candid that it took his breath away. The way your earnest, unclouded eyes met his. How natural you were while loading your gun...

Ah, they were right. His wife was exceptionally pretty.

But before he could fully appreciate it, you broke the eye contact and turned away, pretending as if you hadn’t seen him at all.

Zayne wondered then, why did he feel so hurt all of a sudden?

Battlefields were always a place of chaos, and Zayne was no stranger to it.

He was on standby at the makeshift hospital as patients surged in, continuously aiding first-aid. Some were hunters on duty, and his heart was in his throat the entire time, anxiously hoping you wouldn’t be among them.

"Doc... it still hurts," a little girl sniffled right after Zayne wrapped her injured arm with the gauze. Despite the anxiety, seeing this tearful girl softened his frown.

"It's just going to take a while, hmm?" he patted the kid in the head. "It's going to be better soon enough."

"My mom is still inside..." she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Doc, will they get her out?"

Zayne hesitated, his thoughts briefly drifting to you. He managed a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, they’ll—"

Crash! —all of a sudden, a loud explosion shook the hospital, the sound echoing through the chaos. The little girl clung to his coat in fear.

"Call for retreat!" someone suddenly shouted from outside. "Alert all personnel immediately!"

Retreat. The thought that you might be safe soon brought him a sense of relief. He turned to the girl, trying to keep his composure.

"Look, the hunters are retreating, it means most are already evacuated." Zayne managed a reassuring smile. "Stay here. I'll help you find her later, okay?"

He went to the survivors' camp outside, attending to the wounded and keeping a vigilant eye on each returning hunter. Even until 30 minutes later, he still hadn't seen you. Thinking to contact you, he reached out for his phone.

"Who hasn't gotten out?" Jenna, your team leader, demanded the receiver with a stern voice, standing tall several feet away from the camp, and Zayne overheard the snippets of her conversation.

A frantic voice responded, "Xavier is still inside! Y/N too!"

"Those two! They are always—!"

What?

Zayne almost dropped his phone when he heard your name. Terror gripped him instantly, and then suddenly, again, it was his greatest nightmare realized.

You are still inside. You could be hurt. It was possible you had no means to get out of there.

He didn’t register letting go of his coat or crossing the police line—all that mattered was getting to you. He sprinted away, ignoring the shouts of those trying to stop him.

No. Not again!

Debris flew everywhere, and the roars of Wanderers grew louder as he neared the building wreckage. As a splinter was about to hit him, ice shot through his palms, creating a barrier that shattered it.

"Y/N!" he shouted your name, his voice cracking with panic. "Where are you?!"

All he could think about was the memory of you bleeding out in the ER. Zayne never wanted to see that again. Should anything happen to you now...

He didn't want you to be hurt. He hated seeing you cry. For the past weeks, it had torn him apart to see you so unhappy. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, the one you looked at with love.

The realization washed over him like a tidal wave. Yet it wasn’t an epiphany but a simple truth he had always known but never fully grasped until now.

If he lost you now, it'd destroy him.

He continued screaming your name over and over. And then, after turning several turns, he finally saw you, standing alone in the middle of the wreckage—

You turned to him in surprise when you heard your name in his shout, and were rooted to the spot, in disbelief that your husband was right before you.

Zayne felt a wave of relief wash over him, until a hollow croak from above caught his attention. He squinted—

A glass panel had crumbled and was falling directly towards you.

A sense of dread so great overwhelmed him, a lump formed in his throat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. He sprinted forward, and with everything he had, he pushed you out the way.

The next thing he knew, everything went pitch black.

"Zayne? Zayne!"

A memory flashed in his mind's eye. The one memory he wished he didn't have to relive ever again.

Sitting on the deserted hospital bench, his eyes were vacant. Utter hollowness choked him, leaving him motionless. It was over. There was no blood on his hands, yet it felt as if there were.

Your grip on his shoulder was tight, shaking him. "Zayne, snap out of it!" and only then he brought himself to meet your eyes.

"She died." That was the only thing he could mutter, pain woven in each word. "She really died."

Your eyes widened in horror, an inaudible gasp left your lips. "Oh..."

He didn't really know what happened next, but he remembered the warmth from when you pulled him to your arms, when sobs wracked his body as he thought the world was ending.

Since then, you have always been there.

And subconsciously, he may have regarded you as his lifeline.

. . .

Another memory.

"Are you awake...?"

His mind was hazy, but he recognized your voice. He blearily opened his eyes to find you placing a cool compress on his forehead.

"Who would have thought the great Dr. Zayne can get a fever?" you said with a soft laugh, patting his hair. "Don’t worry about me. Go back to sleep."

You came to see him. He remembered telling you not to. But you still did, and the fact thawed the ice in his heart.

Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out and pulled you closer. "Don’t go."

"Are you trying to make me catch your cold too?" you teased with a soft laugh.

"Hmph. Who told you to come here...?"

"Ah, so you're whiny when you're not feeling well," you observed with a smile. "Okay, I'll stay! But only if you agree to nurse me if I catch your cold!"

You were noisy, but endearingly so.

. . .

"Don't pay her any mind," you fidgeted on your seat, a frown on your face. "My mom always does that."

There was never any talk about the nature your relationship between the two of you, but it was clear to everyone nevertheless. You were always around him, and he seemed to enjoy your company just as much.

And not for the first time, your mother pushed him towards marriage with you.

"People are always getting the wrong idea," you grumbled. "Sorry, Zayne..." you lowered your head, seemingly in regret.

He was puzzled, because to him, it wasn't necessarily false. All things you did together lead to this.

"What if it isn't a wrong idea at all?"

You looked at him with slight surprise. "Huh...?"

Your presence was a gift. That tragedy was devastating, but having you constantly by his side made it bearable. He was fond of you, and the thought that if it's you, then surely...

In this memory, he was more sure than ever. What he said then, it came from the truest place in his heart.

"What if I told you... as of right now, I can't imagine being with anyone but you?"

The side of his head was throbbing with pain. Everything hurt, the hard asphalt was bruising his face as the headache set in. He could smell the scent of blood and sweat, but more than that—

"Zayne! Ah, hah— Please, please! No!"

Your voice, choked with tears, blared in his ears as you desperately shook him. You sounded so heartbroken, so utterly panicked, and your voice gradually pulled him back to consciousness.

Opening his eyes took tremendous effort. At first, everything was a blur, but then it came into focus—the sight of you disheveled, smeared with soot, with tears streaming down your face. But still you— the woman he had married two years ago.

Yet his heart lurched. You're crying again... why is it that whenever with me, you're always crying?

"Are you... alright?" he rasped, lifting his hand to touch your face.

"Why did you—" You were startled by his question, your gaze fixed on the blood pooling on the side of his face. "Your head is bleeding!"

Ah, so you're fine. The sheer knowledge brought him relief, a faint smile forming at his lips. "I'm glad..."

"I'll help you get back! Hold onto me—" you said after brushing away your tears, lifting him up and draping his arm around your shoulder. "Can you walk?"

"I'm... fine..."

"You're not!" you refuted harshly, voice trembling. "You have to go back!"

You made him lean on you as you made your way back to the makeshift hospital, each step accompanied by your sniffles as you supported his waist.

Zayne glanced at you, feeling a warmth in his chest despite the migraine. "D-Don't cry... I'll be fine."

"You're an idiot!" you choked out, struggling to hold back your tears. "Why did you even come out here?"

"I... have to find you. They said you haven't returned."

"There are still civilians inside! I'll return eventually!"

"I can’t wait for that. I... have to know you're safe."

His response only fueled your frustration. "You don't have to—!"

"You are my wife—" he snapped, turning to you sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. "How can I not worry— for you?"

The forceful tone in his voice went straight to the most tender part of your heart. It really struck you at that moment that he had come out here for you, that his concern for you was that profound.

And that after all these weeks, he still keeps you in his thoughts.

He had pushed you out of the way, even at the cost of himself, barely missing the fallen billboard in that violent crash. If he was in the wrong position, he could've lost his life.

You stared at him, tears glossing your eyes.

"That's enough... Don't cry again." Zayne reached out to wipe your cheeks. His hands, however, were smeared with his own blood, leaving streaks on your face. "Ah... I got blood on you..."

But in that moment, you couldn’t care less. There was this indescribable sting of grief, but also paired with a sense of relief so great in your chest the very second you realize that now, he sees you.

You threw yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly as you sobbed, calling out to him in broken voice. “Z-Zayne...!”

“Why are you crying again...?” he let out a resigned sigh, but still embraced you regardless. “What a crybaby...”

You buried your face deeper into him, shaking uncontrollably. “You... saved me...” you managed to say amidst torrent of tears. “Y-You... got hurt...”

“I’ll be fine,” he retorted in your ear albeit in a hoarse voice, holding you close, even as blood trickled down the side of his face. “And I’d do it again. I refuse to see you hurt.”

You cried harder, and he pulled you tighter, his chest aching at the sight of you so inconsolable. And in that moment, he made the decision right then and there.

He will protect you so long as time will allow him to.

It was as if the invisible wall between you had crumbled to dust after that incident. You stayed by Zayne's side night and day, monitoring his condition.

And one night, several days later...

"Here, don't move..."

You carefully dressed the wound on Zayne's temple, sitting close beside him. He quietly observed your worried eyes and trembling fingers without a word.

"You even need stitches..." you lamented, biting your lip as you wrapped the bandage around his head. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by the concern you were pouring into the task.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," he gruffly insisted in an attempt to erase your mournful expression. He felt the delicate, almost hesitant touch of your fingers on his face. "It'll heal with time."

Even as he said that, a part of you was still troubled at the sight of the wound on his head and cheekbone. No matter what he said, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault.

"I'm done. Now go rest," you said softly, your voice tinged with bitterness after tying the gauze. You rose to put the kit away, but even after you finished, Zayne remained upright on the bed, so you leveled a frown at him.

"What, why aren't you— Ah!"

Before you knew it, he pulled you by the arm, and you tumbled into his chest in surprise. "What are you doing?!" you yelled at him, clinging to his shoulder and looking up at him with ire. "You could've hit your head!"

He looked down at you with a flat expression, or is that a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes? “Can't a husband cuddle his wife?”

You blinked dumbly, caught off-guard. “Yes, you can, but...”

His arms then enveloped you, fitting you on his chest and he sighed against your hair. “Then there’s nothing wrong with it. Let’s just stay like this for now.”

And so, that was how he decided to sleep throughout the night—with you on top of him, held close. You felt self-conscious as Zayne had never initiated this closeness with you since that night.

"Are you sure you want to sleep this way?" you wriggled a bit in his grasp.

He draped an arm around your waist, pressing his eyes shut. "Mm-hm."

"You..." A part of you recoiled at the vulnerability but decided to ask anyway. "Won't this be… a mistake...?"

That caught his attention, as Zayne's eyes fluttered open. He looked down at you, who avoided his gaze with a pout and a torn expression, making yourself small in his embrace.

It dawned on him then that this persisting issue in your marriage was thoroughly his fault. His past was something he could never—and would never—trade for anything, but right now, you were that sense of peace that grounded him.

At one point, he has to let it go. These feelings inside him… they drive him to.

He softened, his gaze full of understanding as he gently brushed your hair back. "No," he said quietly, his voice tender. "We’ve come too far for it to be one."

Your clear, innocent eyes reluctantly met his, and at that moment something akin to clarity resonated within him.

He once thought nothing could ever mend the hollowness in his heart. And once, he indeed hoped that being with you would provide some form of relief or replace what he had lost.

But right now, feeling how vulnerable you were in his arms like this, he understood that you were not, and could never be, a replacement for anything else. Even before he realized it himself, what he felt for you was something entirely different— something dear that had grown and evolved into a genuine affection different from what he had felt for anyone else before.

Those times spent with you, wanting to protect you... Now that he reflected on it, it was never about filling a void, after all.

“I... want to treasure you better.”

Oh. Your heart thumped loudly as those words left his lips, warmth spreading through your entire being. Overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice, you clung to his chest, feeling a surge of love and a profound sense of being freed from the chains of insecurity that had taken you hostage all these years.

Most precious. Zayne smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This time for sure... I will.”

And at last... he could say it without any lingering guilt.

[pupkashi]

satoru is the kind of boyfriend that you are constantly falling in with over and over again

he takes out a spider that you found in the hallway, promising he’ll let it into the backyard and won’t kill it. he’ll tease you relentlessly for running to the other side of the house while on the phone with him, begging him to come home to take care of the ‘grave danger’ you were in. satoru never once tells you how his heart flutters knowing your instinct is to cal him for help.

satoru is the kind of lover to pick flowers for you when you walk hand in hand, giggling as a spring breeze hits the two of you. he smiles, bending down and picking the daisy from the ground.

“look! i got you a flower” he grins, handing the small flower to you with a smile on his face.

“oh wow this just for me? you broke the bank with this one” he can’t help but laugh loudly, “I’m in deep credit card debt,” he replies, “think you can cover dinner for tonight?” you laugh, nodding your head- knowing he’d never let you pay for anything as long as he was around.

the kind of boyfriend to run late, but pick up flowers on the way to make it up to you, buying extravagant bouquets on a whim and making sure every vase in your home is filled with flowers at any given moment. there comes a point in the relationship where you have to sit him down and ask him softly to cut down the flower buying to once a week, as you’d run out of vases to put the flowers in.

satoru ends up buying you more vases, but realizes it’s gotten out of hand when you have no free surfaces in your home due to the overflowing amount of flora. he cuts it down to once a week after he found a bee in the house one day.

your lover brings back souvenirs from all the places he goes when on missions, trinkets that he knew you’d love spilling out of his pockets as he walks into your shared home.

“i think you’d love this little bunny figure so i got it!” he’s beaming at you, his face lights up even more when he sees how excited you are, gushing over the small figure and thanking him with a plethora of kisses.

satoru is the kind of boyfriend to tell you ‘told you so’ when you get cold because you didn’t bring a jacket, all while simultaneously taking his off and giving it to you. he tries his best to hide how much colder he is to try and make sure you stay warm, but his shivering six foot something body is hard to miss.

“satoru i think you’re colder than i was, please just take it back” you beg, shoving his jacket back into his hands, he just shakes his head, teeth slightly chattering as he lies to your face.

“im not even cold, you need to stay warm” he’s steadfast and stubborn on his stance, only taking his jacket back when you two enter a cafe and make it a point to say how hot you felt when you stepped inside.

satoru is the kind of boyfriend to hang mistletoes all over the house, giggling when he pulls you in by your waist and places a giddy kiss on your lips.

“man i love christmas” he sighs, pointing at the fourth mistletoe in the last hour as you two decorated for the holidays.

“seriously how many of these did you buy?” you laugh, pulling him closer to you and placing your lips on his. satoru smiles into the kiss, chasing after your lips even when you pull away and managing to steal one last kiss.

“mmm, alot” he whispers, snowy hair tickling your face as he presses a kiss to your cheek before continuing on with the tree lights.

satoru gojo is the kind of boyfriend to kiss you from 11:59 pm on New Year’s Eve to 12:01 am on New Year’s Day, just to say he made out with you into another year. he also does it just to make sure you can’t say you haven’t kiss him since last year.

“you’ve been kissing me since last year sweetheart just admit you’re crazy about me” he teases you, his cheeks and ears flush from the two cups of champagne he’s had.

“angel boy you have no idea” you giggle, taking in how beautiful he looks as the fireworks pop around the two of you, making his crystalline eyes shine a little brighter.

satoru gojo is the kind of boyfriend that makes you believe in soulmates, because there was no other way to describe what he was to you other than that.

satoru gojo was your soulmate, and you were his.

a/n: hi hi ! just wanted to write something short and sweet to get me back into the flow of writing <3 hopefully this help kill my writers block :3

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