#i should just write it down like actually

[ladyzephroar]

Wait... What? There's actually people saying that there should be a dislike button on AO3? Why? What would the point be outside of dissuading fanfic authors from posting their stories or even continuing a story that they've started?

There's other issues I see with this option as well. A lot of bullying goes on within fandom with authors being catty towards one another. These authors could totally take advantage of this dislike feature to send hordes of their fans to bully and intimidate authors they feel are stealing their thunder out of fandom- and potentially off the writing sites altogether.

There have been fic I've read over the years where I just don't get on with the writing, the plot, the themes of the story (or sometimes lack thereof), and the way the canon are portrayed. If I don't like the story, then I press the back button and move on. Even if such an option existed where a dislike button was present, I would never use it because that is just so cruel.

I was part of Wattpad when they allowed down voting to happen on stories. Not sure if they still do it even though I have an account (for reading purposes, only)- but let me tell you just how detrimental that down-voting system was (still is?). It chased away so many writers because of how misused the feature was. I've heard arguments both for and against the down-voting feature. Apparently, some people viewed it as a form of criticism (Newsflash, it's not)- anybody who is too much of a coward to express their criticisms of a story in words has no business calling themselves a concritter.

And even then, criticism of a story should be worded in a way that is polite and supportive. Down-voting is just so cruel. Adding a dislike feature to sites like FFN and AO3 is cruel and I am glad to see that it has never taken hold even though I have seen arguments for it.

Anyway, this got longer than I expected... It's just, can we please stop treating writing sites like social media platforms? Can we stop making these sites which are meant to be safe spaces for everyone so toxic?

One of the many reasons for why I left Wattpad as a writer was because there is a feature that can be compared to a dislike function. It hurts authors, regardless of their skill level as a writer... and it hurts future writers who are looking at different sites to judge which platform works for them as a writer.

heard someone say archive of our own should install a "dislike" button and I thought I should say this: no, there's absolutely no need for archive of our own to install a "dislike" button.

why? because archive of our own isn't tiktok or youtube or twitter/x where users can monetize their content. archive of our own is a nonprofit site run by fans for fans, which means every content — every fanfic — you see on archive of our own was made out of pure love and passion from the artists/authors.

ao3 authors write because writing about these characters is their happiness and passion. they write for themselves, but they were generous enough to share with you their creations.

they're not "content creators" the way tiktokers or youtubers or instagram models are. they don't "make content" for views and engagements that can be monetized.

so no, you don't get to "grade their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "say what you dislike about their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "dislike" works that are not made specifically to please you in the first place. you're just a guest in someone's house, a house in which they let you in because they were kind, you don't get to roam around their house and say what you dislike about their furniture. you don't get to roam around their house and say you "dislike their house".

of course, you can have your opinion about the house its host invites you in. but if it's a negative one and you find yourself not liking the house, the polite things for you to do is excuse yourself and leave without telling them you dislike their house.

and just because you personally dislike the house doesn't mean the house is "ugly" either. the house you dislike could be a favorite, most luxurious place to many others.

my point is, don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that you get to enjoy for free. don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that were made out of love and passion — things the artists made for themselves for fun.

it makes you look like an entitled jerk with main character syndrome. the universe does not revolve around you.

now repeat after me: don't like don't read. no one forces you to continue reading a fic you don't like. quietly leave instead of being rude to authors who write for free because writing is their source of comfort.

people are so used to contents that were made because it's a trend / contents like tiktok that were made with the main purpose of reaching high engagement and making profits that they forget sometimes things can be made out of love and be made just for fun. sometimes things are supposed to just be for people to enjoy, and if some people don't enjoy them, then they can simply leave without being unnecessary unkind.

[sunderwight]

Shen Qingqiu gets hit by a rare wife plot.

And it actually is a rare one because Airplane didn't even write this one down! He toyed with the idea before ultimately dismissing it as being too controversial for the tastes of his readers, and adapting only a few of the same elements for a subsequent chapter of PIDW.

But apparently the System can pull inspiration even from the author's thoughts, especially when there's nothing to contradict the concept and even a few threads of it still to be found in the original, and somehow Shen Qingqiu runs afoul of this previously-unwritten plot bunny.

The core concept was a cuck scenario, of all things. One of the Luo Binghe's wives gets afflicted by a poison that can only be cured by dual cultivation, but specifically can't be cured by by dual cultivation with anyone who has mastery over demonic qi. Something something conflicting energies, something bullshit something. Peerless Cucumber would have ripped the chapter to shreds if it had actually made it to publication, not just for the insult of implying that Luo Binghe should let one of his wives sleep with someone else, but also because why would Luo Binghe -- able to use both kinds of cultivation -- somehow not be able to keep his demonic energies from influencing the situation just in this one case?

Well it turns out that in his specific case it's because sex gets him too worked up to keep things strictly separate, and the degree of control required to treat the affliction whilst dual cultivating is extensive enough that even a little slip-up would be fatal.

Of course, in the actual chapter of PIDW, this same plot device was altered and used to create a harem orgy where Luo Binghe oversaw several of his wives "treating" one another's "afflictions", but Shen Qingqiu just had to go and get a fatal of dose of the more severe version (he didn't realize the risk, because again, this version didn't even make it into the novel).

Anyway, of course this ends up with Shen Qingqiu trying to figure out another way to cheat death, while Luo Binghe goes through the five stages of grief before accepting that he's just going to have to let someone else fuck his husband. This leads to an argument because of course Shen Qingqiu's not going to cheat on Luo Binghe, and he's especially not going to force one of his martial siblings to sleep with him, come on now, and Luo Binghe trying not to cry tears of blood while bringing himself to explain that a fair few of Shen Qingqiu's sect siblings would be happy volunteers for this task.

Shen Qingqiu's just like, well of course you think that, for some bizarre reason you think everyone wants to sleep with me. Bias is what it is. Really it's flattering Binghe but obviously every other person we know is straight, that's just statistics, and everyone in the entire cultivation world knows that Qi Qingqi would sooner chew glass than have sex with a man!

Luo Binghe, weeping now: Shizun please. This is serious. I need you speak words that make sense in the order you're saying them.

They argue, they reach an impasse, the clock is ticking. So Luo Binghe reluctantly turns to the most reliable source of information (outside of himself) on Manipulating Shen Qingqiu to Do Things That Are in His Own Best Interests -- Shang Qinghua.

At first Shang Qinghua is like, well I'm flattered Junshang but I don't think I could shoulder the baggage of fucking Cucumber-bro for you. But then Luo Binghe is like no I need someone who is way hotter and more capable than you, if Shizun is going to fuck someone else at my behest they're going to be TOP TIER so that when I fuck him better afterwards he's really impressed with me. Liu Qingge, obviously.

Not Yue Qingyuan, Shang Qinghua asks? (He'd take the insult a little more personally but honestly he's just relieved that he's not being asked to navigate this social minefield.)

No, Luo Binghe says. He's not 100% sure he could beat Yue Qingyuan in a fight even to this day, which in his mind also translates to not being 100% sure he could do sex better than him either, so Yue Qingyuan is an emergency last resort. He's way more likely to cry on Shizun too and Shen Qingqiu is into that shit, it's too risky.

Alright, says Shang Qinghua, and he thinks about it, and then he comes up with the beautifully simple solution:

Luo Binghe has to fuck Liu Qingge first.

Because of course the crux of the issue is that even with permission, Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to cheat on Luo Binghe. But in the twisted annals of his mind, Luo Binghe himself is still entitled to a harem, even if Luo Binghe is also happily monogamous in this life. So if he shacks up with Liu Qingge first then Liu Qingge essentially joins Luo Binghe's harem, at which point if Shen Qingqiu sleeps with him it's not an affair, it's the gay version of those fanservice-y 3P scenes that the wives in PIDW did. Shang Qinghua translates the concept as best as he can to Luo Binghe, who -- though slightly dubious -- must accept that so far Shang Qinghua's wisdom hasn't steered him wrong with regards to his shizun's eccentricities.

Luo Binghe's mission: seduce Liu Qingge, or at least convince him to have sex, or possibly to lie and (convincingly!) tell Shen Qingqiu that they had sex. That last one is the longest shot so he's probably going to have to just fuck him (Luo Binghe still underestimates how willing his husband is to believe that just about anyone would have sex with him).

Shang Qinghua's mission: convince Shen Qingqiu that he owes his husband steamy threeway gay sex or something so that this plan he pulled out of his ass doesn't backfire and get him killed.

[spr1ngtweaks]

📖 Scenario: “Leyley” & The Anger of the Picky Eater

/ Note: most of this is just my headcanon of Harley before the "event" happened, it won't be 100% canon and might be ooc. I'm just writing for fun, please don't come to me. ;-; My grammar pretty shitty bc Eng is not my first language/

You accidentally—or intentionally—called him "Leyley" in front of the junior staff. He slammed the folder down on the table and looked at you as if you had just committed an unforgivable crime.

You don't remember the first time you called him "Leyley," but you know that as soon as the name left your lips, Harley immediately stopped whatever he was doing.

He slowly turned his head, his deep-set eyes flashing with danger. The pen in his hand spun a circle between his fingers, as if he were contemplating whether to stab it into the table or straight into you.

"Never call me that." His voice was icy, not loud but filled with warning.

Of course, you gave a faint smile. "Oh really, Leyley?"

Clack!

The pen is stuck straight down on the table, less than an inch away from your hand.

"I'm not joking."

You just shrugged. No matter how annoying he gets, you know he won't actually harm you—or at least, you want to believe that. And gradually, you keep repeating that name deliberately, each time making him growl or shoot you a murderous glare. But despite always reacting like that, he never issued an absolute ban against you.

That makes you realize something important: he hates this name, but he endures it—for you.

Another time, you discovered an interesting fact about Harley: he is as picky as a child.

You notice that every time there is a dish with a sour or sweet taste, he frowns. If someone accidentally brings something with the smell of lemon or strawberry, he will immediately push it away with a displeased expression.

"What the hell is this?" He looked at the food box that an employee had placed on the table, his expression as if they had just served him a pile of trash.

"Food." You replied nonchalantly.

"Why does it smell like lemon?" His voice turned stern, his eyes showing irritation.

"Because it's lemon chicken?"

"Take it away." He waved his hand as if he didn't want to come into contact with it for another second. That employee hurriedly took the lunch box away immediately, fearing that if they delayed, they would be punished by him.

You chuckled softly. "You really are picky about food."

He squinted. "What?"

"You don't eat sweet and sour food, you don't drink tea with floral scents, and you clearly hate anything with a fruity smell." You leaned on the table, tilting your chin up. "Are you being childish?"

"I am not picky." He emphasized each word, his tone carrying a hint of annoyance. "I just don't waste my time on meaningless things."

"Oh, so sweet and sour food is pointless?"

"Exactly."

You scoffed. "I thought a surgeon like you would have a more refined palate."

He crossed his arms, his eyes full of defiance. "I have a simple and precise palate, not one for overly sweet or sour chaos."

You raised an eyebrow. "So what do you actually like to eat?"

He was silent for a moment, as if he had never really thought about it. Finally, he simply replied:

“Meat.”

You burst out laughing. "I should have figured that out sooner."

Based on this thing on wiki because I find it hilariously ridiculous. But it's kinda cute =)

You are the only one who dares to tease him with the name "Leyley," even though he absolutely hates it. He is surprisingly picky, especially hating sweet and sour food. If someone doesn't do what he wants, he is ready to scold or punish them without hesitation. But when facing you, he endures more than he thought he could.

[vacuously-true]

Okay yes that is often the complete explanation, and I'm sure that's part of the explanation in the case of allergies, but also allergy prevalence has actually changed over time.

Allergies are what happens when our immune systems flip out and think that something that's actually harmless is an invader. There are lots of theories that could explain why allergies are becoming more common and probably reality is a combination of these theories. One theory is that allergies are becoming more common because our world is much cleaner than it used to be, since we know how to do crap like wash our hands and treat diseases and disinfect our homes and public places and filter air. This means that our immune systems mature differently than they used to. We aren't exposed to as many diverse stimuli as children as we used to be so our immune systems don't get as much training, so they're worse at identifying the difference between a deadly pathogen worth freaking out about and like, a tasty protein-filled legume snack. Then they're more prone to freaking out about stuff that's actually harmless. One specific example of "coming into contact with less stimuli" is that there's lots of evidence that a child born via c-section is more likely to have allergies than a child that is born via the birth canal. Why? Traveling through the birth canal lets the child pick up a more diverse microbiome- more stimuli for the maturing immune system to learn from.

This DOESN'T mean we should like, stop cleaning and doing reasonable medical procedures in order to prevent allergies or something. Here we DO come back to a sort of twist on the original post: it's not entirely "kids with allergies used to just die" it's also "kids were less likely to have clean homes and public spaces and medical procedures so they didn't develop as many allergies but also sometimes the lack of cleanliness killed them." The world where we have hygiene practices that prevent far more suffering and death than could possibly be cancelled out by a small but very real increase in allergy rates IS the better timeline. But it's objectively false that allergy rates haven't been rising, and researching what makes them rise is important because if we can nail it down we can try to prevent it, without giving up life saving hygiene.

Here's a podcast episode about this that I found useful enough that even though I first heard it two years ago, I still remember it and thought of it while writing this post.

[checkeredflagggs]

Febuwhump Day 14: Becoming the Monster

pairings: gen

summary: a story about y/n, Redbull’s new second driver, told in non-sequential order

a/n: I love febuwhump and have participated before for other fandoms but this is a first for me — attempting to compete it via smau only. Hopefully I can write a complete story eventually and I will be posting it on its own masterlist in the correct order to read but it’ll be written based on the febuwhump prompt list! @febuwhump

a/n2: based on the 2024 year; sorry checo but you got replaced earlier!

a/n3: listen I like Lando but I needed a villian here

Masterlist | Taglist

y/n_gossip

liked by user, user, and 1,836,622 others

tagged: y/n_rb, landonorris

y/n_gossip: it seems like little Lando Norris might be thinking of a matador career — he keeps tempting the bulls! After a few close calls with Verstappen, Norris and L/N collided resulting in a DNF for our girl with some pretty harsh words coming from both of their radios afterwards.

view all comments

user1: this is what racing is!

↳user2: I know — I was on the edge of my seat…

user3: pretty harsh?? Girl sounded like she was gonna run him down on foot and take him out

↳user4: lol did you see the rb team after she got back to the garage?

↳user5: they literally just picked her up and moved her away from the reporters 😂😂

user6: oh the post race interviews are gonna slap

↳user7: I can’t wait!

user8: that’s so completely unfair! y/n was ahead at the apex — Lando should have given it away, not crashed into her

↳user9: seriously?? Where on earth did you get that information??

↳user8: uhh by watching the screen??

user10: oh shit….

↳user11: Lando’s post interview??

↳user10: how dare he say something like that???

f1gossip

liked by user, user, and 1,457,987 others

Transcript:

interviewer: and what are your thoughts on y/n and your collision today?

Lando: obviously not ideal. You know you never want to be in a collision- especially when it’s not your fault. Y/N…she should spend less time with Max, don’t need her becoming another monster, ya know…

f1gossip: what an interview! During his post race interview for Austria 2024, where he was forced to dnf after two different collisions with both Redbulls, Norris didn’t hold back his thoughts. During this brief moment, he talked about the close friendship between this year’s Redbull drivers — saying that y/n (a rookie) should take a step back from her more senior teammate because no one “[needed] her becoming another monster,”. He also went on to say that he was losing respect for Verstappen and the way he raced.

view all comments

user12: did he really just fucking say that?

↳user13: oh my god he did

↳user14: it’s even worse when you actually watch it because you can just barely see max next to him — when Norris said this, both max and the interviewer froze

↳user13: i mean i would too. That’s a really harsh thing to say about someone

user15: people want cunty f1 back again but can’t handle this little spat??

↳user16: cunty? Yes. Whatever this was? Absolutely not

user17: he’s just salty she’s better then him

↳user18: how do you figure that??

↳user17: she literally won her very first f1 race? He’s been racing for years and only just won his first this year

↳user18: it doesn’t count really. Everyone knows that redbull cheats

↳user17: oh my god just shut up

user20: i feel bad for y/n…it really wasn’t her fault nor did it affect lando too much but he’s (someone she’s said she looks up too before) putting her on blast with some pretty harsh words…

↳user21: she looks up to him??

↳user20: yeah! She’s said multiple times that she really admires how open he is talking about his mental health and that she really wanted to emulate him

↳user21: oh ouch…then today and that interview has got to hurt…

user22: anyone else interested in what she’s gonna do to retaliate?

↳user23: 🙋🏾‍♀️🙋🏾‍♀️

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @msimpala-67

[my-darling-boy]

Just saw a reel of a bookseller claiming to have found a letter from a WWI soldier left in a bible about the Christmas Truce and I was like oh boy here we go and he’s barely looking down at the paper as he “reads” what is essentially the epitome of all mainstream news outlet articles on the event, majority of it is not even worded how people used to write back then, I could tell immediately what photographs, illustrations, and articles he was extensively describing pretending it somehow all fit on the two little notebook pages and I’m cringing thinking “Surely no one believes this” and of course the comments are all of people believing it (except for one person who calls the seller out). This guy was just fabricating almost an entire story based off a letter written a day after Christmas which was not even about the truce at all. Now I don’t have beef with the comments which are all of people saying what a powerful example of humanity the event was, I have beef with a seller making stuff up for views and how quickly people accepted disinformation with only a couple out of 51,000 picking up on it. And before anyone can go “Not everyone is an expert in WWI!!!” he holds the letter up to the camera. Pausing to read even just the first sentence and you would’ve known this guy has made everything up (that one person in the comments even transcribed the real letter). There was an actual artefact from someone in the trenches but this clown figured that wasn’t cool enough for promoting his book business so instead of reading out someone’s actual words and following it up with explaining the truce, he just decided to pretend it was in the letter purely for clicks. Also half the content he reads out is from news articles where the historical information is only speculative or was even somewhat sensationalised by the soldiers themselves so what he reads out is also not even entirely true, but that’s another story. Point is, you don’t always need to be an expert in something to catch disinformation, especially when they hold the source they’re reading from up to the camera. Info these days is tailored to fit sales, so it should come as no surprise just looking at this guys account, he sells bibles priced in the thousands. He’s moonsrarebooks.official btw so you can avoid his videos, bro has 1 million followers on insta. Done with popular people making up bs for views

[goldfades]

can you write something for nika? maybe reader being an ‘24 alum and going back to watch the game with nika

i missed writing for baby nika, so here's a fic! <3

Walking back into Gampel as an alum felt surreal. The banners still hung high in the rafters, the court still gleamed under the lights, and the student section still roared with the same energy that used to send adrenaline coursing through your veins. But it wasn’t yours anymore. It was weird, standing in a place that once felt like a second home and realizing you weren’t a part of it the way you used to be. No shootarounds, no film sessions, no huddles with the team. Just the echoes of memories that clung to every inch of the arena.

At least you weren’t alone in it.

You both stood near the tunnel, watching as the team went through their warm-up drills. It was muscle memory at this point—Aaliyah catching in the post, Paige pulling up from three, Ice going through her ball-handling routine. A scene you’d watched a million times before, but this time from the outside looking in.

The two of you had made a plan to come to the game together a few weeks ago, but it was Nika who really made sure it happened. She’d sent you a text the morning tickets dropped—"We’re going. Don’t argue."—and that was that. Not that you needed convincing.

It was comforting, going back with her. Walking into the gym side by side like you had for years, only this time without the weight of expectations on your shoulders. You could just be—be present, be proud, be in the stands as fans instead of players.

“You look nervous,” Nika murmured beside you, bumping her shoulder into yours as you both stood near the entrance, taking it all in.

You huffed, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets. “I don’t know if nervous is the right word.”

She gave you a knowing look. “Yeah, okay. What, you think they’re gonna put you back in a jersey the second they see you?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “I think that would actually be illegal.”

“Exactly,” she grinned. “So relax. We’re just here to watch.”

It had been her idea to come tonight, though you’d like to believe she knew you wanted to just as much as she did. Neither of you had been back for a game since graduation, too caught up in your own next steps to really return in any real way. But the second she brought it up—“We should go to the game. Like, actually go. Sit in the stands like normal people.”—you found yourself agreeing before she even finished the sentence.

Nika nudged your side, tilting her head toward the court. “Think they can tell we miss it?”

You let out a breathy laugh, glancing down at the way your foot was bouncing against the floor, the way her fingers twitched like she was itching to hold a ball again. “Probably.”

“Think we could still give them buckets?”

You snorted. “We definitely could.”

She grinned. “Good. As long as we’re on the same page.”

The crowd started filling in more, and a few students in the front row spotted the two of you, pointing and whispering before working up the nerve to yell: "NIKA! Y/N! WE LOVE YOU!"

Nika turned, putting a hand to her chest like she was deeply moved. “Aww, my fans.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

She threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in like she had a hundred times before, the scent of her familiar—clean laundry, vanilla, and just a hint of her perfume. “Too late,” she said, smirking.

And just like that, the game itself wasn’t the most important part of being back.

[nctinthehouse]

afternoon pick-me-up

❝ pairing: barista!reader x Jaehyun — genre: fluff — wc: 0.6k — ⚠️ warning(s): none — a/n: happy jaehyun day!! 🍑 a little something for jaehyun’s birthday! damn i actually miss him :(( ❞

It’s currently late afternoon. All you can hear is pitter patter of rain against the windows accompanied by chill café music in the background.

Usually, you would be dealing with the aftermath of a lunchtime rush. Sometimes, it can get really busy during those times. However, today wasn’t much of a rush at all. Maybe because it’s been pouring down since early this morning.

You haven’t really got anything to do so you just decided to check your phone for a little.

You glance up as you hear the door open and spot a familiar figure coming in.

He’s somewhat a regular customer, probably orders a drink, two or three times a week. Usually either the same or you notice that he takes a little time, staring at the menu, maybe thinking he should venture out a little with something different.

He’s quite a happy chap whenever you see him and, you think he’s cute too.

You really want to know his name and ask for his number, but, you being you, you absolutely do not have the courage to do so. Especially with someone so handsome and probably out of his league. And usually, it’s quite busy whenever he’s here, but today, right now, it’s very quiet. Probably because it’s pouring outside. Perhaps today’s the day you pluck up the courage and spark up a little conversation with him?

You sometimes wonder what he does for work. Is he a model? Could be, especially with a face like that.

You spot him finally making his way over to you as he decides what to get.

“Hi!”, you say with a smile on your face. “What can I get for you today?”

“Hey!” He responds with a beaming smile as always, whenever he’s here. “Um, can I get an iced latte please?”

“Sure! Anything else?”

You notice his facial expression slight changes, to a hesitate one it looks like but you ignore it.

“Um yeah…” his voice comes out a little hoarse so he clears his throat. “C-can I also get your number, please?”

You stare at him with wide eyes, blinking at him a few times, not expecting that. “W-what?”

The guy repeats his question, seemingly with confidence this time. “Can I get your number, please? I-it’s just that I think you’re really cute and you seem like a really sweet person. I’ve always wanted to talk to you. I mean, other than you taking my order, but, I know it can get quite busy here so I don’t want to disturb you. I mean… It’s okay if you say no-!”

You butt him in mid-sentence. “What? No, no! It’s cool!”

He looks at you with a beaming smile on his face again; dimples popping out in view. Gosh, you just want to poke his dimples.

“Thank you…” he takes his phone out and passes it to you so you can write your name and number. You pass his phone back and looks at your name and number.

“Thanks… uh, Y/N.” he smiles. “Cute.”

You let out a small chuckle.

“I’m Jaehyun by the way. Nice to meet you!” He reaches out his hand, and you reach back, shaking hands in unison as you both chuckle.

“Nice to meet you too!”

“So, Y/N, I’ll call you, or text. Whichever you prefer.”

“Sounds good”, you say with a smile.

“Great! I’ll, uh, see you around” he gives you a wink. You give him a small wave and he does the same back, you watch him walk out of the store.

You kind of stare at the door for a while, thinking back to what just happened. A slight blush forms on your cheeks, and you softly tap them with the tips of your fingers, trying to stop yourself from blushing even further. Then suddenly, you had a thought.

“Wait, did he just order a drink and walk out without one?”

As you get lost in thoughts, you suddenly feel a buzz in your pocket and take out your phone and see a text from an unknown number.

“Forget about the drink haha, I just wanted your number today :)”

masterlist

© 2025 nctinthehouse — All Rights Reserved.

[kiame-sama]

HAE Valentines Special~

Valentines really isn't a thing in the HAE AU, given the have mostly different holidays, but i figured y'all could have a little confession/love thing. I was going to write NSFW for the Dorm Leaders for Valentines day, but time got away from me. instead, here is a little something different.

Warnings: Still yandere, HAE TWST AU, monster AU, Human/Reader is (They/them) to be inclusive, suggestive themes, ficlets, kissing, confessions, suggested cannibalism (Azul path), Unicorn, Nemean Lion, Caecilia, Genie, Harpy, Shinigami, Dragon

Riddle Rosehearts:

"Everything needs to be perfect!"

The Unicorn huffed as he looked over the preparations for the day's Unbirthday party. This would officially be the fifth time he has rechecked the preparations and Trey couldn't help but feel amused at how stressed his friend was.

Though Unbirthdays were common when it came to their dorm, this was supposed to be a special one for several reasons. The beloved Human of Night Raven College was going to be attending this one and Riddle was planning to confess his feelings for them. It was no secret the Unicorn had feelings for the Human, though the Human seemed to be unaware of how the Unicorn actually felt for them.

Still, that didn't mean Trey couldn't have a bit of fun with his close friend.

"I don't know, Riddle, do you think the roses should be painted a different color?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, painting the white roses red is traditional for an Unbirthday party, but this isn't just an Unbrithday party anymore. Why not paint them something that goes with (Y/n)? Like their favorite color?"

"That's-! Actually... that isn't a bad idea."

The Unicorn turned back to look at the roses but another voice cut in before he could decide what to do. That voice belonged to the Human that everyone seemed to adore as they walked over with a warm smile on their face. If anything, it was more surprising that the Human came to the Unbirthday party at all given how Riddle reacted during the first Unbirthday party they attended.

He was determined to not make the same mistake.

"(Y/n), you're early!"

"Well, I thought I could show up and lend a hand! I am enjoying the party too, I shouldn't just get to sit on the sidelines and not help out. What do you need me to do?"

Riddle was thrown off by the sudden offer to assist him and he could feel his chest tightening as his face warmed with a flaming blush. He wanted to wait to confess his feelings for them at the height of the party, perhaps even during croquet. Still, something about the affectionate and kind Human made Riddle absolutely melt and all of that careful planning fell to the wayside.

"(Y/n)," He started, picking up their hands in his own and kissing the back of one affectionately, "the only thing I need from you is for you to listen."

"Okay?"

Riddle swallowed hard, suddenly feeling his mouth go dry as he tried to cobble together what he wanted to say. Nights spent practicing and rehearsing for this moment all suddenly seemed so distant and far out of his reach as he struggled to find the words he was looking for. Luckily for him, dear (Y/n) was as patient as ever to let the Unicorn gather up his thoughts.

"I have spent my life trying to be the best I can, from classes, to being a son, and yet it always felt so hollow and empty. Despite everything I could want being available to me, there was nothing I actually needed. Not until... until I met you. I know I have no right to ask this of you, and I understand if you turn me down but I... I..."

He struggled to force the words out of his mouth as he found himself choking at the last minute. The idea that this amazing person could turn him down poisoned his thoughts and made tears fill in his eyes, especially because he knew he wouldn't be able to handle being rejected. He needed the Human to accept his love completely and wholly or he would lose his mind in grief.

"I love you too, Riddle."

Those words made his mind come to a screeching halt as his breath caught in his throat. He was quick to glance up from their hands to their gently smiling expression as his heart leaped into his throat.

"Y-you do?"

"Of course I do. How could I not?"

"Because I'm such a mess! I attacked you when I Overblotted and-"

He cut off sharply as their hand rest against his cheek, gently pulling him down to lock their lips with his. The Unicorn couldn't help but let out a soft little squealing neigh at the feel of his lips pressed against their own and he hungrily melted into the gentle affection. Their warm body against his own had his face blushing bright red. Riddle found himself panting and longing for more when they broke the sweet kiss, pulling back to look at him adoringly.

"I love you, Riddle Rosehearts."

"And I love you (Y/N). I always will."

~~~~~~~~

Leona Kingscholar:

"Oi, Leona, get up and help!"

Ruggie grumbled his complaints to the dorm leader, who was lounging on some sun warmed rocks as he spent the day dreaming and thinking about what could be, if he only tried. The dorm had been cleaning and tidying up after a rather eventful evening in anticipation of that blessed Human stopping by. Naturally, the lazy Lion wasn't too interested in helping out his Pride even though he was the primary reason the dorm was so messy.

Wrestling and playful fights were common in Savanaclaw and Leona had been the undefeated champion of his Pride for a while now. The night prior has gone about the same and made it clear to all the newcomers that Leona was the leader of his Pride for a reason.

"Nah."

"The hell you mean, nah? (Y/n) is gonna be here any minute-!"

"That's why you're here, Ruggie. It's your job to clean, not mine."

"You-!"

The Gnoll seemed more than a little annoyed with Leona and was about to voice that frustration when another voice was carried over on the wind. (Y/n) had said they would come over for a visit and maybe even make some lunch for the dorm, so they were an expected presence. Still, it made Leona's heart leap up into his throat when he heard them.

The Lion was quick to rise to his paws when he heard the shouted greeting and seemed to have a kind of energy now that he knew his favorite squeaky toy was present. He couldn't resist the lazy smile pulling at his face as he saw that soft Human making their way over to him with a happy smile. What he wouldn't give to have that smile for himself, to keep and to be the only one that got to see such an affectionate expression.

"Mousey, took you long enough."

"Oh, hush. You know it takes a lot for me to be able to slip away from the others to even come here."

"I know. Did that Lizard throw a fit over it?"

"Of course he did, you know how Malleus is, Leona."

He did know.

Leona knew that the Dragon was far too interested in (Y/n) and it made hate burn in the pit of his stomach to think about that overgrown Lizard getting his hands on that soft Human. The idea that he could be relegated to second place yet again only made the anger burn brighter. Years of being second place to everyone else left a chip on the Lion's shoulder regarding the way others perceived him and how he always seemed to be the secondary choice.

He wasn't going to let himself stay second place anymore.

"So what did you want to do-"

The Human's questioning tone cut off as the Lion pulled them to his chest, locking his lips almost immediately with the surprised Human. They hesitated for just a moment before reciprocating the kiss, much to the Lion's enjoyment and vague astonishment. He figured they were fond of him to some extent, but it felt so nice to be able to have that affection returned in full.

As he broke the kiss, he almost chuckled when he saw the slightly dazed expression of that soft Human staring up at him. If they kept looking at him like that, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from taking more than just a little kiss from them.

"You're mine, you got that, Mousey? All mine. That damned Lizard doesn't get to have you anymore. I am your number one."

This made a small smile pull at their lips as they leaned into the hold of the Lion. It was almost laughable to Leona now to think that he ever believed they could possibly like that Lizard more than they loved him. He was dangerous and came from a long line of Human eaters, but they were never bothered by what his ancestors had done in the past.

"All yours."

~~~~~~~~

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul nervously sat glancing at the phone in front of him as he awaited the arrival of his date for the evening. He had gone though countless plans and countless ideas before he settled on the current one, and now he had to wait while the time ticked away.

It was a relatively cool evening in the Mostro Lounge and Azul had ensured to reserve the entire VIP section just for this occasion. If anything he was nervous and vaguely worried that his invited date wasn't going to show up despite the fact that they had agreed and it was still early to the time he requested they arrive. Still, he found himself constantly looking back to check the time only to see seconds had passed despite the fact that it had felt like hours to him.

The VIP section was lit with small candles and had been cleared out of everything excepting one round table that had two chairs on either side of it. The view of the large external aquarium was quite lovely from where the table was placed as a pair of whale-sharks slowly swam by, circling and dancing together in playful affection. Even the silk table cloth he had placed over the table seemed to have the gentle reflections of light through the water shining onto it, making it look just as fluid.

"Oya, Azul, you seem so pent up and stressed. Could it be you are worried about being rejected?"

The gentle teasing of his second in command and childhood friend, Jade, chimed out and Azul couldn't stop the way he glared over at the smiling Eel. Of course he was nervous and terrified. He didn't know what he would do if he was rejected after going through all of this effort to put together a nice dinner for himself and the soft Human he adored.

There was a part of him- the part he kept mostly hidden- that insisted there was no way the Human could ever love a crybaby like him. Why would they go for someone like him when they could have their pick of anyone in the world? Princes, wealthy tycoons, Kings, anyone they wanted would happily accept their affections, so why would they settle for someone like him?

Jade was well aware of Azul's stress, as the Octopus couldn't even snap back in reply to the light teasing. It was clear to anyone that knew Azul that he was nervous and could hardly sit still in his own seat. His eyes glanced back to the time and he felt his three hearts pound heavily in his chest.

It was time.

"Hey, Azul! Hope I'm not late."

The kind voice of the Human he adored filled his head and only made his hearts hammer even faster as he stood to greet them. They were breath-taking, dressed in the fine clothing he had sent along with the invitation to this candlelit dinner and he almost swooned when he saw them. They looked absolutely enchanting beneath the shining light from the aquarium and he couldn't help but blush bright blue.

"Goodness, this place is beautiful! I don't think I've ever been in the VIP section before. Did you do all of this for me?"

He did. Azul had even gone as far as to sever one of his own tentacles- it would grow back- so he could have a unique dish to serve them just for the occasion. It was typical of male Caecilia to offer their own tentacles as a meal to their mates, he just hoped the Human would accept him as their mate.

"It isn't much," he stated, gently leading the Human to the waiting table, "but I do hope you like it."

"Of course I do. But, this doesn't seem like a friendly little dining experience, is it? This seems more like a date to me."

"W-what? I- Well this isn't- I mean, it could be if you wanted? If you don't want it to be-"

Azul stumbled over his words, feeling his entire face flush a deep cerulean as he tried to save face. Those thoughts and ramblings all came to a screeching halt as the Human gently rest their hand against his cheek, pulling him into a light kiss that left him breathless.

"I would love for this to be our first official date."

"I love you, (Y/n)!"

"And I love you too, my sweet octopus."

~~~~~~~~

Kalim Al-Asim:

Food of varying spices and make were lain out among the various seating areas of the Scarabia dorm, while the dorm members happily sat and talked to one another in excitement. It was normal for the dorm to be having a little celebration amongst themselves, but there was to be a unique guest of honor arriving soon and it had them all buzzing in excitement. Almost everyone in the dorm adored their dorm leader and they were all hoping that the party would go in his favor.

Unlike most in Night Raven College, Kalim Al-Asim was a kind soul who tried to help others despite his own failing in magic. Those who were in the Scarabia dorm had long come to appreciate the Genie that greeted them with warm smiles and affectionate behavior. They were also all in on the plan to get Kalim and the Human he so clearly adored together in a relationship.

Jamil- Kalim's right hand and Vice-Housewarden- was not of the same enthusiasm as the others, but he was still willing to lend his help to the Genie he had spent his life serving. He had been the one to craft all of this fine food, after all, and he was willing to do what it took to keep the Human close, even if meant he had to share with the air-headed Genie. Now, all that was needed was the Human themselves and then the party could really get into full swing.

"Kalim!"

A familiar voice called out and the Genie was quick to rush over to them, almost tackling the Human in an excited hug as he nuzzled against their neck. They chuckled and returned the affectionate hug with their own as they allowed the Genie to pull them to where he had been resting as the head of the group. A kind of hush fell over the gathered students who were all excited to see their beloved Housewarden with the Human he clearly adored.

"(Y/n), before we get the party started, I have something to tell you!"

"Oh? And what would that be?"

Kalim found himself somewhat nervous, but his face didn't show it as he smiled at them, trying to get his ever bouncing mind to calm down just enough to speak his peace. He really hoped that (Y/n) would return his affections at best, or at worse still want to be friends with him after he confessed his feelings for them. The only thing he had to do was actually confess to them the way he had planned.

He seemed to remember the speech he and Jamil had written out has he quickly grabbed the paper from his pocket, looking over it quickly to try and find exactly what he was looking for. He frowned at the paper- as well written as it was- and decided that he no longer needed it. If he was going to pour out his heart, he couldn't let some silly paper get in the way of it.

"(Y/n), I know I'm not the best at magic, and I know my wishes are dangerous, but even with all of that, you're always so nice to me. You don't get mad when I forget things. You don't yell at me when I get a little loud. You're always there when I need you to be and you don't ask me for things in return for you kindness. I feel like I can't think most days, but suddenly I can think like a genius whenever you are close to me. (Y/n), I like you. I really like you. No, I love you, and I was just wondering if there was a way you could possibly love me too?"

There was a moment of silence as the surprised Human stared at him and he felt his heart racing in his chest. Only in that quiet did he possibly think that maybe the Human didn't feel the same way for him as he felt for them and that idea made his heart constrict. He was almost ready to nervously shout that it was all some joke before they smiled at him, pulling him close to press their lips against his.

The moment their lips touched, the other students in the dorm began to cheer, but it all fell on deaf ears. Kalim couldn't believe it. He was actually kissing them! They were so soft and gentle against his lips, he couldn't help but excitedly pull them closer as his Genie tail wound around them to hold them against his chest.

"Of course I love you, Kalim. How could I not?"

The Genie let out a loud cheering whoop which was echoed in kind by the others around him as the Party began in earnest, the Genie never leaving the side of the Human he adored. Even as the Naga glared from the sidelines, feeling maligned and ignored in the height of it all, it did mean that the Human would stay close, and perhaps he could worm his way into their heart the same way Kalim had.

He just needed to bide his time and let the chips fall where they may before he made his move.

~~~~~~~~

Vil Schoenheit:

Another day done, another meaningless photo shoot. As per usual, the great Vil Schoenheit looked amazing on the cameras and off of them, yet he found himself missing a key piece to his the event. No matter how many photos he took or how he posed, he never seemed to have that same spark as he did when his beloved (Y/n) was taking photos with him.

Something about the way they fit in his arms and melted into his hold had the Harpy yearning for their touch and their ever affectionate smile they gifted him that always seemed to be able to make him breathless. He could feel the way his tail ruffled and moved when he thought of them, just wanting to display and dance for the Human that he wholeheartedly adored. What he wouldn't give to have them by his side and hold onto him the way he longed to hold onto them.

Even as his manager spoke with the photographers and parsed out more deals and photoshoots to be had, he found himself not interested in the simplicity of their conversations. Not even the modeling contracts he had held the same interest they once did before he met the Human he had fallen so hard for. Countless others swooned and praised his name, longing for just a moment of his time or attention, yet his heart was set on the one who never seemed to seek him out.

"Roi du Poison!"

The familiar name his boon companion used for him drew the contemplative Harpy out of his thoughts, his purple eyes flicking over to see what it was the eccentric Drider needed from him. The moment he saw the Drider everything else seemed to fall away, as that soft and lovely Human was approaching with him. Naturally, the photographers seemed to notice the profound change in the typically icy model as he warmed and a smile took over his smooth expression.

This was no demure smile, mind you. The smile that pulled at Vil's lips was one of genuine affection and joy as he turned to fully face his two favorite companions. Several photographers paused their disassembly, even choosing to put the cameras back in place just in the rare case that they were going to see something amazing take place.

The Human paid no mind to the cameras or to those who were watching curiously and instead chose to approach the smiling Harpy with and equally excited smile.

"(Y/n), to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Just wanted to stop by and see you! Rook said you would have a moment after you photoshoot and I wanted to know if you wanted to come over to Ramshackle for a quick bite to eat before your next activity?"

"I would love to."

"Really?"

"Of course. Why would I refuse such an invitation?"

"Well, I was just worried you might be too busy since you always seem to have so much to do..."

The almost shy behavior of the Human warmed Vil's chest as he felt his tail once again stirring to display itself for the sweet Human he adored. Perhaps, with the better lighting and the relaxed atmosphere, his tail would have a greater impact on them than it had in the past when he fist chose to display for them. As they rambled off about how busy Vil always seemed to be, he caught their hand, quieting them quickly.

"(Y/n), do you know what it means when a Peacock Harpy displays their tail for someone?"

"Rook said it means that the Harpy is interested that person and wants to be their mate."

Vil smiled at this, his tail and crest feathers rising up to a full display, the light catching the many colors as his wings extended out to either side of his body. Each feather moved and seemed to create the illusion of dancing as the Harpy circled the Human, parading his feathers for them to behold in his own dazzling display of affection. The Human seemed surprised by this sudden show of affection, but they also seemed to take it in stride as they caught the dancing Harpy in a tight hold, surprising him slightly.

"So, does this mean what I think it means?"

"What do you think it means?"

Instead of answering the Harpy's question, the Human pulled him into a quick kiss, locking their lips with his own. He almost broke the kiss to yell at the nosy photographers as he heard the many sounds of cameras clicking, capturing the moment on film. Rook was actually the one to begin admonishing the photographers for Vil as the Harpy broke the kiss, resting his forehead against that of the sweet Human he adored.

"It means I love you, (Y/n). Judging from your response, you love me too."

"How could I not? You're amazing and absolutely beautiful, Vil."

~~~~~~~~

Idia Shroud:

"Idi-nii."

Another win down, another win to go. Idia was on a hot streak and there was no way he was going to slow down for anyone. If he kept this up, he would be able to get drops for all the gear he needed to complete his set. He might even be able to get gear for his secondary character that ran DPS.

"Idi-nii!"

"What?"

The insistent voice of his little sibling drew the Shinigami out of his trance, moving one headphone off of his ear so he could turn to look at his exasperated little brother. He was about to complain at Ortho that he was busy and interrupting his streak would throw off his game when he noticed the littler Shinigami was not alone. Standing next to the technomantic Shinigami was a familiar Human that made Idia's heart skip a beat and made him turn away from the game, his streak quickly forgotten.

"Did you forget (Y/n) was coming over to play games with us?"

"... Maybe?"

"Idi-nii..."

Otho was clearly frustrated with the behavior of his older brother, but the Human was not put off by the forgetful behavior of the older Shinigami. Instead, they chuckled softly in response to his nervous statement and it made him smile. Usually he thought others were laughing at him whenever someone chuckled around him, but he couldn't help feeling that the Human was actually fond of him.

Most avoided the awkward older Shinigami who kept to himself, but the Human had made it their mission to actually befriend him however possible. Even as he smiled back at them, he could feel the way his hair changed from the consistent blue to a gentle magenta. Unfortunately, the Human seemed to notice this as well.

"Hey, Hellkitty."

"Hello to you too, Gloomurai. You ready to play some games with me and Ortho?"

"Yeah, just let me log off of this and I can get a game started up for us."

"Okay. Quick question, though."

"What's up?"

"Why does your hair change color whenever you see me?"

This actually threw Idia off as he began to stutter, stumbling over his words to try and come up with a reasonable lie to throw off his true feelings for the Human. He didn't think he was ready to confess that to them, or to anyone really, and he was worried that there was no way the Human would possibly love such a weirdo back. He had to think of something quickly.

"Well, you see- you see it means- I- I mean it- it is because-"

"It's because Idi-nii loves you, (Y/n)."

Idia could practically feel himself blue-screen as Ortho easily said the words he struggled to find and he felt the sting of betrayal deep in his chest. How could Ortho, his trusted brother, do this to him? To voice his feelings just like that for the Human to deny or even be repulsed by? He didn't know if he would be able to forgive-

"Oh, is that all? Well, good thing I love him too, or this would be really awkward."

"... Huh?"

"I said, 'good thing I love him too', you silly Shinigami."

"L-LOVE?? You love me?? Really? But why? I'm just a freak with flaming hair who-"

Idia was cut off mid rambling by the sudden feeling of lips against his own and his entire brain seemed to shut down completely. His hair burned a deep magenta as he rest his hands over their shoulders and pulled them deeper into his affection, his long limbs wrapping around them to hold them close. He could faintly register the bright glow of his hair as the magenta color reflected off of their skin, giving them that same bright glow.

"I love you, Gloomurai. I don't care if you think you are weird, I adore you in all of you awkward glory."

"W-Weeheehehe~!"

~~~~~~~~

Malleus Draconia:

The evening was a lovely one, not too cold and not too balmy either. Somewhere in between with a warm breeze that seemed to soothe the turbulent soul and a soft caress of an affectionate lover. It was the prefect kind of evening to allow the pair to walk mostly undisturbed across the campus.

As a Nocturnal Dragon Fae, Malleus was more at peace in the evening than he was during the daytime, allowing him to let down in guard under the cover of night. Even as the Human walked by his side, he knew they were happy and protected in the cover of darkness. All felt right with the world, so long as he had his Human by his side.

Overhead, the stars glimmered and shined like the very cosmos were rejoicing in the peaceful moment shared between two souls. It didn't matter how the shadows clawed for attention, not a moment would be spared spent focusing on anything other than the Human that held to Dragon's arm. He would ensure they were protected and nothing else truly seemed to matter to him as the two walked together.

The Dragon had a reason to spend this auspicious evening by the side of his Beloved and he was ready to lay his heart out for them, if only for a few more seconds of their treasured time. Of all the gifts that they had given him- from his quirky nickname to the simple moment spent enjoying one another's company- he had yet to give them something that could compare to the joy they had given him. He planned to correct that oversight with his own heart offered up to them to keep.

"It's a beautiful evening."

They commented off handedly, keeping their voice low to not disturb the peace that had settled over the usually lively campus they wandered. It was certainly lovely, but nowhere near as breathtaking as the Human he held in his embrace.

"Yes. Very lovely."

"Did you want to just have a nice walk, or was there something else that you wanted to talk about tonight? You even told Lilia he couldn't come, so I'm guessing you have something in mind?"

Ever the observant one, (Y/n) always seemed to know when there were thoughts plaguing the Dragon even before others did. It was that observative behavior and quick understanding of him that Malleus valued above all others. So few could read the Dragon half as well as his beloved Human could, and he knew he could never let the crown jewel of his Hoard escape his embrace.

He needed to let them know how he felt about them.

As he paused by their side, they were quick to turn their curious gaze to him, looking up with their head cocked to one side in an ever endearing way that made his heart swell in his chest. To think, the precious short lived creature had managed to entangle the heart of the lonesome Dragon with such adeptness he didn't even realize how hard he fell until his own emotions seemed to slap him across the face.

"(Y/n), I've been meaning to talk to you about something. Something that is very important to me."

"What is it, Tsuno?"

He paused and relished the feeling of his beloved so close to his chest and so warm against his own naturally cold body. They seemed to fit perfectly in his hold and he couldn't stop himself from pulling them closer, chuckling as they gasped ever so softly.

"I find myself thinking of you whenever we are apart. Longing to hold you, to taste your lips, to embrace your body and soul with my own. I have never felt such a rush from anyone other than you, and it kills me to think of anyone getting to hold you the way I long to."

"Malleus..."

"(Y/n), Dragons love deeply and fiercely. I don't want to consume you in the flames of my passion if that is not what you want of me. I love you (Y/n) (L/n). I would burn the world to ash if you only asked it of me and I would embrace you in the ruins of the burning land around us for the mere pittance of your smile. If you don't want this... if you don't want me-"

The Dragon was cut off as his head was pulled down into a passionate kiss, feeling his chest swell with adoration for the gentle and fragile soul he held in his arms. There as no more need for words to be said, the action speaking far louder than any sweet nothing that could be whispered into the night. Such adoration made his heart ache in affection as he embraced the love of his life, knowing they willingly embraced him in return.

He could live thousands of years with no one other than (Y/n) as his company, and they would be the happiest years of his life. All he needed was his love by his side and the gentle embrace of their affection to fill his heart.

He would never let them go.

[ladyloveandjustice]

I mean, Legend of Lattes did have a conflict, her coffee place straight up burned down? It wasn't a major focus for most of the book but it happened.

I've only read a few cozy fantasy things, and didn't find a few of them super memorable myself, but the definition of cozy fantasy is pretty broad from what I've seen. Emily Wilde is categorized as that and it is FULL of conflict and action and has some great and memorable characters.

But people have always liked stuff that's low tension/stakes/fluffy. See coffee shop aus in fanfic, or fanfic tagged fluff. See slice of life anime where characters are just hanging out. It's not a new thing. People have always wanted to watch or read things that just give cozy vibes and allow them to hang out with characters. The book industry realizing there was a market for that was inevitable. If it's not for you, it's not for you, but it's obviously for someone or it wouldn't be doing well.

I also think this is a good example of how condescending we can get when talking about a genre we don't like. Rather than say "it's not for me, I don't find the characters memorable and want better stakes, maybe there should be more variety" (which was more where OP was at) it has to be somehow bad for people to read it and write it. like...

And so sometimes it feels impossibly challenging to write any book except one where nothing bad happens and nothing is in danger and nobody is really bothered or worried about anything and everything is mostly fine and there aren't any major setbacks…..

That is a hell of a condescending assumption to make about those writers. Jesus. I'm a professional author too, but I would not want to make these assumptions about my fellow writers.You don't know if they're doing it because it's easy, or if they're doing it because they felt there was a need for it, or it was just an idea they liked writing. You don't like it, great. That doesn't mean those writers are slacking off or doing something wrong somehow. You don't know that they don't also write books with tension and conflict. I feel like most of them probably have, actually. Assuming they sat down and thought "omg this will be easy I'm so lazy" is just...do you make the same assumption about romance writers? It can get pretty formulaic, but that doesn't mean it's easy to write. Have you tried to write a cozy fantasy and sell it and make it do well? If not, I don't think you should talk about how easy it is.

But that leaves readers cold.

I mean not all readers obviously, since it wouldn't be doing well or selling well?

And frankly, I don't feel like it does much of anything to nourish either our souls or theirs.

It feels like eating a bag of potato chips for dinner instead of going to the effort of even just heating up a frozen dinner that has a vegetable in it.

Why does reading HAVE to "nourish your soul", whatever that means? What's wrong with eating a bag of potato chips? You teach college, so I wonder if you've ever run into a colleague who thinks this way about regular fantasy and sci-fi. Where they think that genre fiction is inherently more disposable and less challenging than literary fiction. I've sure as hell run into those professors, that look down on readers and writers of "commercial fiction", and I've seen the bad impact they have on their students. Do you agree with them? Because you're sounding a lot like them right now. This is the exactly the kind of argument they'd make.

You don't know whether these people don't also read books with more stakes or a variety of genres as well. Low effort reading has it's place, it just maybe shouldn't be the only thing you read if you want to actually experience the breadth of literature.

And I see this a lot in the book community, but dissing the stuff people are into and saying they need to challenge themselves more or they won't be smart like you (I see this with YA a lot too) is not going to convince them. It frames reading as a chore, and people often don't like doing chores in a life full of them, and reading is a hobby for a lot of people. Rather that say "you need to read this to better your mind" say what can be interesting or intriguing about these books that are more challenging, what kind of cool things you can get from them. Sometimes it seems to me like the point of these arguments is to feel superior, rather than actually convince people.

Nothing's wrong with reading low effort books or watch low effort shows--it's when say, a YA reader says books are inherently flawed if they don't spell things out like YA sometimes does or has more challenging themes. Or a cozy fantasy reader acting like all books should be cozy fantasy and books with tension are bad. Those are the people that ruin the discourse. But, doing the inverse isn't any better.

idk, man. I've taught university classes about this shit, but what do I know.

I teach grad school classes on writing, (I don't like to pull that card, since it's not like teachers can't have flawed ideas about their subject but since we're here) and have taught similar lessons. Yet, here's what I think I do know: telling students the genre they write is wrong is not something a teacher should do. Those literary fiction professors love doing that, and I'm not them.

As a teacher with a variety of students in a variety of genres, I have to read genres I don't like all the time--god I hate most 'dark romance' and man do I not get or like omegaverse, but I sure as hell had to read both. But just because I don't like them doesn't mean they're worthless, or there isn't a market for them, or it's wrong to write them. So I put those feelings aside, think about what kind of help the student needs to be successful in their chosen genre, and what the audience would want, because that will help them improve. (though I do try to hint if something seems like, incredibly sexist, that maybe we should reconsider that, or look at it from all angles and decide if it's something the story needs). And at the same time, I do teach them basic lessons on how to structure a story, and what's good about conflict, stakes, etc.

But I wouldn't tell any of them they're wrong for writing cozy fantasy even if it's not always my cup of tea, because there is a market for it, and I want them to do well at it and do what they love. What pays the bills pays them, and if you actually like what you do, that's also important. Writers do need to challenge themselves, which is why I encourage students to be open minded about all genres, try out writing them, try writing different POVs, different stuff even if they don't publish it, because that can only help them get better at what they do. But if what they publish is cozy fantasy, hey, it gets them good money and they like doing it, that's more than I can say for most jobs.

Cozy Fantasy and Why It Doesn't Work

I think I am among many who feel like they should love cozy fantasy and have found it an incredibly lacking genre.

This newly branded "cozy fantasy" genre that has taken readers by storm since 2020 and while it is new that books are now marketed as cozy, the genre itself isn't new. Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones is a great example of the genre before it was labeled and also how to make it work.

Cozy fantasy is defined by many as fantasy with low stakes. Fantasy aesthetic but less sword fights. On paper, it sounds great. But the execution has been less than stellar for readers like me. The lack of physical stakes has also impacted the emotional stakes of these books, creating forgettable characters with boring problems. As a romance reader, I find this frustrating. Romance is known for being a predictable and formulaic genre, the now defunct Romance Writers of America defined romances as needing happy endings, a term romances have continued to follow. Yet these romance texts manage to have low physical stakes (how to date your neighbor, how to confront your toxic friends, etc) while still maintaining high personal stakes that keep readers invested and begging for more. So I was initially confused why cozy fantasy authors struggle to write texts that connect to readers like me.

I think I have found the answer which is the genre is just here for vibes. It is all about aesthetic, not even worldbuilding that fantasy is known for as most cozy fantasy I read have so many problems as soon as you ask one question. It is hard to acknowledge that a genre that is pitched to work for readers like me doesn't work for many of us. Especially because occasionally there is one that works beautifully to my taste.

I often say my favorite cozy fantasies that are more contemporary are short and visual, which I plays into the idea of the genre being an aesthetic. The Bakery Dragon by Devin Elle Kurtz is a good example because it is a simple story that is given the perfect amount of pages and gorgeous visuals without dragging on when the message is very clear and easy to understand. Books like The Phoenix Keeper and Legends and Lattes have absolutely nothing for me, their very clear message hitting the reader over and over so the readers don't miss it and focusing on the aesthetic of worldbuilding rather than the reality of the fantastic elements within the world.

I guess my point is. . . I realize this genre isn't for me since I have realized it is more of an aesthetic than anything. .. .but I want it to be. Should I let it go and put my efforts elsewhere? Or should I keep exploring this new trend and find the hidden gems?

[00valentina-writes00]

hii i love your grayson fics soo much, your grayson is so real and you have a wonderful writing style!!

could you please do grayson x reader, who is overworked and going through a mental breakdown and grayson comforts her with words and touches. maybe even some nsfw in the end, as you wish

♡♥︎“Let Me Take Care of You”♥︎♡

Your hands tremble over the stack of papers on your desk, the ink smudged where your grip has grown too tight. The words blur together—meaningless, tangled strings of letters that refuse to make sense no matter how hard you try to focus. Your breath is shallow, coming too fast, chest tight with a pressure that feels impossible to push down.

It’s all too much.

The exhaustion, the deadlines, the expectations piling higher and higher until you feel like you might suffocate under them.

You don’t even hear the door open.

Not until a warm, steady hand presses against your back.

“Sweetheart.”

The voice is deep, calm—soothing in a way that makes something in you crack.

Grayson.

Her touch is gentle as she kneads slow circles into your shoulders, fingers pressing into the knots of tension wound tight beneath your skin. She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t push—just stands behind you, letting the warmth of her presence sink into your bones.

You inhale shakily, but it stutters on the way out.

“You’re shaking,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you.

You press your lips together, blinking hard against the sting behind your eyes.

“I—I’m fine,” you manage, voice rough.

Grayson hums, unconvinced. “Come here.”

You don’t resist when she gently pulls you up from your chair, guiding you into her arms. She holds you firm against her chest, her chin resting atop your head. The steady rise and fall of her breath presses into your back, grounding you in something real, something solid.

“You’re working yourself too hard again,” she murmurs, her fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles against your arms.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I can’t stop,” you whisper. “There’s too much to do, I just—”

She hushes you gently, lips brushing your temple. “You can stop. Just for a little while.”

Your body resists at first—muscles still locked in tension, mind still racing with all the things you should be doing. But Grayson holds you steady, arms firm but comforting, the scent of her lingering after a long shift—the faint musk of leather, metal, and something warm that belongs entirely to her.

And slowly, bit by bit, you sink.

She feels it too—the way your body finally starts to relax into her, the way your breathing evens out just the slightest bit.

“That’s it,” she soothes, her hands stroking gently down your back. “Just breathe, love.”

You do.

For the first time in what feels like hours, you actually let yourself breathe.

The weight of her hands, the warmth of her chest against your back—it makes you feel small in the best way, like you don’t have to hold everything up by yourself for once.

Grayson shifts, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before murmuring, “Come lie down with me.”

You hesitate.

“I’m not tired,” you lie, voice hoarse.

She chuckles softly, but there’s something fond in it. “Sweetheart, you’re exhausted.”

Her fingers slip beneath your chin, tilting your face up so you’re forced to meet her gaze. Those dark eyes study you, soft yet unwavering, seeing through you in the way she always does.

She leans down, brushing her lips over your forehead before whispering, “Let me take care of you.”

Your stomach twists, not in nervousness, but in something warm.

You nod, letting her guide you to the couch, pulling you down into her lap once she sits. She keeps you close, one hand resting at your waist, the other stroking absentmindedly over your arm, up to your shoulder, back down again���an absentminded, grounding rhythm.

“You do too much,” she murmurs after a while, fingers tracing slow, lazy shapes against your skin.

You swallow.

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

She sighs, pressing a kiss against your temple. “It’s more than enough.”

Her lips trail lower, soft against your jaw. “You are enough.”

Your breath catches.

Grayson takes her time with you, every touch slow and careful, every kiss a patient reminder that you’re here, that you’re safe, that nothing outside this moment matters.

When her hands finally drift lower, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, it’s not rushed. It’s not urgent.

It’s just her.

Taking care of you.

Loving you.

Her hands slip lower, fingertips teasing beneath your shirt, skimming along your stomach, brushing higher until they’re cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples through the fabric.

Your breath stutters.

She smiles against your skin, enjoying the way you shiver, the way your body slowly starts responding to her touch.

“Good girl,” she murmurs. “That’s it.”

Her hands ease lower, dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, her fingers slipping between your thighs.

You gasp, your hips jolting, thighs parting instinctively for her, giving her access to where you need her most.

Grayson hums approvingly, lips ghosting over your jaw.

“Always so tense,” she muses, voice dropping as her fingers stroke between your folds, parting them with slow, teasing movements. “You just need a little help, don’t you?”

You nod, breathless, forehead resting against her shoulder, letting her guide you down onto the couch.

Grayson settles behind you, legs framing yours, her arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close as her fingers continue their slow, torturous pace.

“You’re soaked,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers through your slick. “Been needing this, haven’t you?”

You whimper, hips rocking instinctively into her touch.

She chuckles, low and warm, slipping a finger inside you—slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch as she curls it just right.

Your body melts, the tension unraveling, pleasure seeping into your muscles like warmth after a long winter.

“That’s it,” she whispers, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “Let go for me.”

She adds another finger, pumping into you slow and deep, her palm grinding against your clit, her free hand stroking your stomach, grounding you in sensation

You moan, breath hitching, body arching into her, needing more.

Grayson obliges.

Her pace quickens, fingers fucking into you with steady, unrelenting precision, her mouth trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

She knows your body. Knows exactly how to touch you, exactly how to pull you apart, how to take care of you in a way no one else does.

“You’re safe,” she murmurs. “You’re mine. You don’t have to do anything but feel this.”

And you do.

You feel everything.

Your body surrendering, your mind quieting, every last ounce of tension unraveling as pleasure overtakes you completely.

Time slows.

The world fades.

All that exists is her.

Her touch.

Her voice.

Her love.

You’re safe here.

Safe in her arms, in her warmth, in the slow, steady rhythm of her fingers guiding you into bliss.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself relax.

You let yourself breathe.

[crimsoncandy04]

Have u ever thought of Scara w tentacles😳 like he was an experiment and we are the one in charged of cater for him, then one day he escape and take us with him to breed cause' he really likes us... Idk if it's possible but might lay eggs for him. Please try writing it one day!! Tysm for those fics u feed uso(≧▽≦)o

I should really check my inbox more often than I do. This is literally such a hot idea.

(also just a heads up, I'm absolutely blasted right now while writing this so if it's not perfect I'm so sorry. Cannabis gummies are a double edged sword for me. On one hand I get the BEST ideas to write but then on the other I forget how words work)

Hope you like it;)

You had seen some weird stuff in your 25 years. It was expected though. You WERE working for the fatui and under one of the more deranged harbingers known for fucked up experimentation too.

However, being put in charge of one of the less important projects involving the sixth harbinger had proven to be more than you were prepared to handle.

A LOT more.

You had no idea why he allowed this to happen or if it was just a bizarre side effect of another failed experiment. But one thing was for certain, the sixth harbinger had been altered physical and now needed to be restrained at all costs. He had actual tentacles growing from his back. Like REAL ones. And for some reason they seemed to have minds of their own at times.

Thrashing around and hitting the thick glass of the containment room as if trying to break out while the young man at their base sat on the cold concrete ground and refused to look at you each time you went over to slide him food through a small opening in the wall that your hand could barely fit through.

You weren't important enough to know the details of what went on in your boss's lab but you had to admit that the sentient tendrils were a bit pretty to look at.

They were a deep indigo. Almost black with small barely discernable silver accents along the sides.

They appeared almost metallic in the right lighting and you had to make yourself look away and stop staring sometimes because you didn't want to be rude.

You were here to complete a job and that was all.

Until the night everything went to shit of course.

You were summoned sometime after midnight along with two other subordinates to check the lab for accidents after a security alarm was triggered for unknown reasons.

You rushed in and immediately you felt your blood go cold at the sight before you.

He had escaped.

Shattered glass lay at your feet as well as blood presumably from the guard who was now nowhere to be seen and most certainly dead.

You heard a yell from the room next to you.

"Stay here!" The other man with you insisted as he drew his gun and took off after the source of the cry.

You didn't need to be told twice.

Because right now you were confused but also rightfully scared.

What happened to the sixth harbinger? He never once gave you reason to believe he was distressed or restless before. He never even spoke to you when you fed him and checked the condition of his holding room.

Did you perhaps miss something?

What caused him to suddenly lash out and attack the guard?

And most importantly what happened to-

*PLOP*

You hear something hit the ground next to you and slowly turn your head to look.

You shriek.

On the ground next to you was the decapitated head of the subordinate who had just left to search for the other man.

You immediately tried to run but were stopped in your tracks as something wrapped around your waist and hoisted you into the air.

You tremble and go silent. Preparing for the worst when you look down and meet eyes with the sixth harbinger.

One of his many new appendages coiled around your middle and rendering you helpless as you silently prayed to every archon you could remember that if you were to die here it would be quick and painless.

He narrows his eyes up at you.

"You. You didn't want to try killing me as well?"

You struggle to answer as you shake violently.

"No sir. I see you nearly every day. I assumed something was wrong and that you were seeking help. I didn't feel like it was right to murder you."

"Are you scared?"

You felt your heart race.

Something about his tone seemed off. Different.

Did he...enjoy the fact that you were clearly terrified?

You closed your eyes and sighed.

Alright.

Every life had its end. This was surely yours.

Don't think about it. Go to your safe place Y/N.

You suddenly feel more tentacles slither around your arms and legs.

You immediately open your eyes as you feel them spread your knees apart.

What the FUCK!?

There's a chuckle from underneath you.

"I must admit... I am enjoying your terror immensely."

Obviously.

You feel an indigo tendril slowly slide up your shirt and wiggle underneath your bra. coiling around one of your breasts and squeezing it roughly as you feel your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. It was cold and slimy but thanks to what you assumed was the natural power of the young man before you, the tentacles emitted a gentle electro current throughout their entire lengths and the sensation caused the muscles in your limbs and stomach to relax unwillingly as you were fondled.

The entire stimulation was now sending jolts of unwilling arousal through you. Scaramouche's eyes darken as he feels your nipple stiffen against one of his slick, muscular coils which had wrapped itself tightly around one of your tits and was now rubbing its head against your delicate peak. Making you struggle to stay quiet.

"Your body is betraying you. How does it feel existing in such a delicate and worthless form? I'm not even trying yet-."

Another tendril snakes up your thigh, sliding beneath your skirt, the cool slickness a shock against your bare skin as you didn't expect this so quickly. It inches higher, brushing against your clothed sex.

Scaramouche chuckles darkly at your soft whimpers then, his voice a sinful caress in your aroused mind as you're made to enjoy this against your will.

"I can still feel you with these. You're so wet already. Does it feel good being teased in such a disgraceful manner? Or were you always this much of a slut?"

He grins wickedly, a predatory gleam in his indigo eyes. The tendrils tighten their grip, squeezing and kneading your most sensitive places, stoking the fire within your core. The air crackles with his power and reeks of your excitement.

A small tentacle hooks into the waistband of your panties and suddenly rips them off completely, baring your glistening sex to the cool air. Another one quickly begins to rub against your slick folds, teasing your wet entrance.

"What a cute little hole~ hmm. I wonder what would happen if I-"

The thick tentacle at your entrance instantly rams itself inside in one painful push, stretching your tight pussy and curling in to rub against your sweet spot as it began to thrust quickly. You could only gasp and cry out as you felt another tentacle slither up your thigh and rub your clit at the same time.

Your eyes widened.

It hurt yet it felt like you had ascended to Celestia all at once.

You force yourself to cry out before you went insane.

"S-Scara! Please! It's too big! You're... stretching me!"

Scaramouche smirks up at your quivering body as he feels your tight walls clenching desperately around his invading tendril. He grinds it deeper, relishing your breathy moans and gasps, the electric current making your body shudder with every caress and thrust.

"Too big? Ha. Your greedy little cunt is taking every inch like it was made for it. Like it was made for me."

He pulls back slightly, then slams the tentacle in deeper. The wet squelching sounds of the violation fill the room, mingling with your increasingly wanton moans and whimpers.

"Listen to yourself, enjoying the feeling of being so ruthlessly defiled. You can't deny your true nature Y/N. You're a weak and disposable creature. I've seen how you go out of your way to try and care about me. How you act so..."selfless" and "considerate" when forced to tend to me knowing damn well it was all only to delude yourself into believing you were making a difference. Tell me, was it tiring?"

Tendrils squeeze your breasts harder, the electric shocks making your nipples stiffen into aching peaks. Another then pushes into your mouth, silencing your cries and leaving you gasping around the slick intrusion.

"It must have been exhausting. Pretending like you actually cared so much. Did you enjoy your little charade? Was it nice pretending like you weren't worth less than the dirt on my shoes because you were "helping "?"

Scaramouche's voice is a dark, lustful growl as he crosses his arms and continues to watch as his tentacles ruin you. The tendril pistoning into your cunt speeds up, the electric shocks growing stronger, pushing you closer and closer to a reluctant release.

"Come for me, Y/N. Come on my tentacles like the wanton slut you are. You wanted something like this right? To be seen and "loved"? Well let go then."

As Scara speaks, another tentacle snakes down to your puckered rear entrance. It teases the tight ring of muscle, the electric current making it relax. Slowly it pushes inside, stretching your virgin hole around the slick invader.

"Such a tight little asshole... I will enjoy breaking this in as well. You'll be my perfect little fuck toy, ready and eager for me at all times. How does that sound?"

The tentacle in your mouth begins fucking deeper into your throat, making you gag and choke a little. The one in your ass pushes deeper, stretching you impossibly further now as everything borders on pleasure and pain now in an overwhelming way.

"That's it, just like that. Take it all. Take every inch, every inch of my desire. You'll learn to crave this, to need this, to be nothing but a set of holes for me to fill and use. I'll give you a purpose. A reason to exist. Just like you always wanted."

Scaramouche's eyes blaze with sadistic lust as he watches you try to writhe and struggle, your body shaking with unwanted pleasure, your mind clouding with shame and need. He knows he has you now, knows that he can shape you, mold you, ruin you for all others.

And it's driving him insane.

You had caught his attention long ago but of course you were too stupid to notice. You always thought his tentacles were just being "aggressive". No. He had been trying to get you to say something to him. But every time you just stared at him, gave him a stupid little tray of food that he didn't even need. And then just left.

You couldn't blame him for getting a little frustrated and impatient. You had practically forced him to make the first move here.

A couple of minutes went by and suddenly you feel something else being stuffed into your stretched cunt alongside the enormous tentacle already buried inside.

Two smaller and practically microscopic sized tentacles wiggle in and begin to tease your cervix opening. Slowly coaxing their way into your womb as you feel yourself climaxing from the intrusion.

The tentacles writhe and squirm in your womb, painting your inner walls with their slick, tingling essence.

You suddenly feel a deep pressure as something is pumped directly into your womb. You wince and cum again as Scara begins to forcibly impregnates you with his offspring yet instead of your earlier nervousness or shame, you now feel oddly at ease. As if your new reality finally set in for you.

It was kinda enjoyable.

Scaramouche chuckles darkly as he feels your womb trying instinctively to reject his eggs. But the tendrils hold fast, forcing the small yet soft jelly-like lavender eggs deeper, stretching your most intimate space to its limits.

You had finally accepted your place it seemed. Utilizing your body's full potential from here would be far more easy with you now more willing to endure the process and transformation.

The tendrils continue their relentless assault, pumping more and more of the eggs into you, each one a cruel mockery of a seed, a promise of the countless times he will fill you after this as well. You had one purpose now. To be used, bred like a bitch in heat. All for the singular goal of birthing a new army for Scaramouche and his future plans.

You were important for this reason alone.

"Welcome to your new life, mortal. Welcome to eternity as my personal fuck toy, my breeding bitch, my eternal plaything. And you will love every moment of it. I promise."

A few hours pass and your belly swells quickly. During this short incubation period Scara manages to stretch your holes even further almost to the point of beyond recognition. Three tentacles now thrusted in and out of your ruined asshole and Scara had decided to reposition you both to keep an eye on you and to jam another thick tentacle deep into your pussy and continue to ravage it while he silently marveled at your swollen belly from where he now stood over you.

His hands roam possessively over the stretched skin of your stomach. He can feel the eggs he's planted inside you, each one a testament to his dark triumph, a promise of the future that he envisioned where he was untouchable by absolutely anyone. God or human alike.

"Look at you, already so round and full. And this is only the beginning, my dear. I will fill you again and again, until you know nothing but the feeling of carrying my offspring."

He leans down, his lips brushing against the taut skin of your stomach, his voice a dark, mocking murmur.

"Such an easy bitch to breed, so quick to take my eggs, to let them take root inside you. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant to be my incubator, my vessel. And now, here you are, already looking like a proper mother~"

The tentacles continue their relentless assault, stretching you impossibly further, The one now sucking on your clit pulses in time with your racing heartbeat, pushing you to yet another orgasm.

More tendrils move to your heavy, aching breasts again, squeezing and kneading the swollen flesh. They latch onto your nipples, suckling greedily, the electric currents making milk drip faster as it's quickly consumed.

More time goes by. You aren't sure how much exactly but then.

You feel movement in your belly and an uncomfortable shift as the eggs begin to hatch within you. The tentacles in your pussy immediately slide free and smaller ones seize your battered lips before rudely pulling on them to reveal your now loose and sloppy canal in its entirety.

Within seconds a small writhing indigo tentacle pushes its way out of your cervix and begins its descent.

Scaramouche's eyes widen with a fevered, manic light as he watches the first of his offspring emerge and fall to the floor with a small thud. He leans in closer, his breath coming faster as he watches the next little and writhing indigo tentacle push its way out, covered in fluids and its own natural secretions, a grotesque parody of a newborn.

"Look at that... your womb was actually able to grow these things without issue, your body has given life to my creation. I knew I made no mistake when I chose you for this."

The tentacles in your ass begins to writhe and pulse at that moment, easily pulling free from your body to make room for more of the "children " to emerge. Within seconds they start slipping out of your abused holes like nightmarish serpents and forming a horrific pile beneath your deflated body. Their movements are jerky and erratic, their beautiful flesh glistening in the dim light as they slowly start to slither up your legs in search of the warmth they once knew moments ago.

"Such a good mother, so efficient in your purpose. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant for this. And now, look at you... a true incubator, an ideal vessel for what is to come."

Scaramouche reaches down, his fingers brushing against the writhing mass of tentacles, stroking them like a proud parent would a newborn. They pulse and twitch at his touch, as if recognizing their creator, their master.

"They will be the first of many, the vanguard of a new age, a new era of power and dominance."

Your belly continues to churn from inside, more of the eggs hatching, more of the small tentacle creatures slipping out to join their brethren. The floor quickly fills with their jerking, twisting forms, a nightmarish scene.

Scaramouche's maniacal laughter then rings out, echoing off the walls, a sound of pure, unhinged joy at his dark triumph. He knows that he has won. Because with this plan now in action, no one would be able to oppose him for long.

And the world would be his for the taking.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Van's Valentines - Anniversary

Worst! Wolverine X F! Reader

A/N: This came out incredibly angsty, I'M SORRY. It actually stems from an idea for a series I wanna write!

Plot: Logan brings you flowers for your anniversary

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, death, alcoholism, depression, fluff, established relationship/sort of broken up vibes but not really

Word Count: 2222 (ironically this is an angel number representing partnership lol)

Logan stumbled out of the bar, barely able to keep his balance as the two men shoved him down the barstep. 

“Get out of here mutie! Sick of seeing you here!” One of them yell. He stumbled again when he took a step, and he heard laughter.

“Sick freak!”

He clenched his fists, as he could feel the sharp steel pricking at this skin. There was no point though. Whatever he did, wouldn’t matter anyway. He could let out that animal inside him, that fury, rage. Show the assholes what it means to deal with the Wolverine. Whip out the claws that make people cower in fear, drench himself in blood as he did years ago when seeking wrath against those who wronged him. 

He loosened his fists, and moved forward. 

He regained his balance, and began walking down the sidewalk, a small lag in his step as he tried to keep himself steady, the effect of booze still lingering- it should, he practically drunk the whole bar. Had to, with powers like his. Booze don’t effect him like normal people, forcing him to take in large quantities to get the desired effect of being drunk as a skunk, allowing to be granted temporarily relief of...Well, you know what.

He shoved in his hands in his pockets as he walked down the street, people staring at him, shooting him glares. Some go out of their way to bump into him- knocking his shoulder back as hard as they could; others cross the street just so they don’t have to be near him. 

He kept his eyes to the ground as he walked, as he felt the feeling of drunkenness slowly fading away, his factor of self- healing kicking in. He walked past restaurants, filled with endless chatter- not sparing a glance to the people that surround him. 

He stopped when a small heart floated in front of him, landing right by his feet. His brows creased as he stared at it, before looking up and noticing the cafe he was next to was filled with heart decorations. A string banner along the window, pink and red, with the words

Happy Valentine's Day! 

Strewn across it. He let out a deep sigh. Valentines already?

He was so lost in his day to day life, barely dragging out his survival that he really saw no point in. The dates pass by and he doesn’t even notice. 

Valentines Day though, Valentines Day was important. 

His mind thought of you. A memory of a past Valentines flashed in his head, where he took you out to the coast, filled the bed of his truck with blankets and pillows, as you shared wine and ate your favorite snacks that he packed for you, watching the stars twinkle over the ocean, listening to the waves lapping against the shore. The way your lips parted and your moans echoed through the air as he laid down his passion for you right there. He remembers how you looked at him then, 

How you still look at him. 

He took a deep breath, turning back to the street as he looked for a nearby store that sold bouquets. Down the street, he spotted a Florist sign, and he quickly made his way down the sidewalk towards the small shop.

The vendor was just starting to close up, Logan reached out- stopping the man from shutting the cooler that sat in front of the shop, typically what held the bouquets inside. 

“Woah, hey, got anything left?” Logan asked as he pulled his wallet out, opening it up to reveal cash.

“Sorry pal, we’re closed. Should’ve come earlier if you wanted to get your girl some flowers.” The vendor shook his head.

“Come on, I had to work all day.” Logan sighs, the white lie passing through this teeth naturally. “Cut a guy a break.”

The vendor looked at Logan, a small sniff of his nose and roll of his eyes. He surely smelled the booze lingering on him. “Alright, I got these left, which you think your girl would like.”

Logan stepped forward to peer into the cooler, a few bouquets sat inside, a few looking a bit ratty and old. One though- perfect. Had all your favorite flowers. He pulled it out, examining it. 

“This’ll do.” He says, pulling the cash out and paying the vendor. “Thank you.”

“Better fix yourself up before you see your lady man. I’d hate to be her.” The vendor comments with a shake of his head, before going inside the shop and locking it behind him. 

Logan stood there, bouquet in hand, as he stared at it blankly. He looked up, seeing his reflection in the stores window. Jesus, guy was right. He did look rough. He couldn’t go to your house looking like this. He messed with his hair a bit, fixing up his clothes so he looked a little less like a bum. Then sighed. 

Not like you haven’t seen him in worse shape…

He walked back to his truck that he had parked down the street. He jumped in, carefully setting the flowers down on the bench seat before putting his keys in the ignition and turning it and listened to it rumble and cough before the engine finally roared to life. The old thing was finally starting to give out, he hadn’t given it the TLC he used to. 

He drove down the roads, mapping out how to get to your house mentally in his head. Well, he calls it your house. Technically it was his too. He hadn’t lived in it for years though. 

He drove up the familiar country road, surrounded by dense and quiet forest. His nerves always felt at ease here- although the idea of seeing you made him sick to his stomach. Not because of you, no. 

He pulled up the driveway, sitting in the truck for a moment as the engine idled lowly- threatening to stall. The lights were on in the cabin, and he stared at it as the warmth seeped out of it. Part of him wanted to run inside, curl up in the safety that the cabin represented, never step foot outside again. Another part of knew that he didn’t deserve the luxury. 

The front door opened, and you stepped out, standing there on the porch, watching his truck as you waited. You had an expression of annoyance stretched across your face. Your eyes met across the yard, and he finally gathered the courage to shut the truck off and stepped out. He walked across the yard and stopped at the bottom of the porch.

“Hi you.” You greet softly, your arms crossed. He wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Remembered todays date did you?” You asked, glancing at the flowers held at his side. His glanced at it, before stepping onto the porch, handing them to you and finally meeting your eyes. 

You looked tired, but still beautiful as ever. You wore a sweatshirt- one of his actually, and a pair of sweats. Nothing fancy, but made him want to grab you and pull you in for a deep, heated kiss. He didn’t though, just lifting the flowers to hand over to you.

You smile and take them, taking a deep sniff, closing your eyes. A flash of sadness on your face, before disappearing as you looked back up at him, smiling softly. 

“Thanks Lo.” You say softly. “They’re beautiful.” 

He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets as his looked back down.

“Are you going to say anything?” You asked. He looked away, staring into the darkness of the trees that surrounded the cabin. He huffed.

“What’s there to say?” He finally says. He saw a flash of hurt in your eyes. Can never stop fucking up, can you Logan?

You pursed your lips together, turning your attention back to the flowers. He wondered how did he let it get like this. 

It started when the X-men were killed. 

By some grace of whatever God is out there, you weren’t there that night. You left after him, searching for him when the humans came and committed their slaughter. When Logan came back from the bar, and discovered the grisly scene- he thought you were in there. Everything was so…. Mutilated, the bodies of the X-men, of his family like wood. He went into a rage, set onto a path of bloody vengeance- killing everyone who caused this, and then some.

You found him. Found him in the warpath he set on. It was you that stopped him from continuing to kill- to rip apart every human being that made the unfortunate mistake of getting in his way. When he saw you- saw you alive, he broke. He sobbed and sobbed and clung to you for dear life as you cried too, over the lost your family, of your old life, of the man he’d become.

He pushed you away. You shouldn’t be with him. One way or another, he’ll get you killed. It was his fault the X-men were dead. Had he never turned away, everyone would still be here. 

You wouldn’t let him, you still don’t. You’ve long given up trying to get him to stay with you, but you still watch over him. You visit the bars he frequents to check on him, occasionally pay his tabs and curse out anyone who tried to hurt him. Your number was in his wallet in case something happened, so that someone could get ahold of you so you could go get him and take care of. You’d visit the motels he’d sleep in, pay for the nights, clean his room up while he laid in the bed, in one of his depressive episodes where he can’t be bother to get out of bed. 

It ate at him the way you continued to care for him, how you continued on. He knew you were grieving too. He knew guilt ate at you too. He wanted you to scream at him, to attack him, beat the shit out of him, tell him that you don’t love him anymore. 

But you do. You still love him. He still loves you. 

When he’s functioning, he does little things. Like this. Bringing you gifts on the important dates. Valentines, your anniversary. 

He’ll check on the house when he knows you’re not home, fix any issues, like the drafty window or the leaky plumbing. He’d stock the firewood back up in the fireplace. Put up those shelves you set out - knowing he’ll stop by and put them up for you. 

Once in awhile, you’ll seek the other out, and embrace each other, savoring each other's bodies once more as you used to, in the comfort of your home, a motel, even in the truck. I love you’s whispered in the passion. It was true, it’ll always been true. There’s a reason he doesn’t completely leave. He could disappear, make sure you never find him - but he can’t let you go. 

“I should go,” He says as he turns to step off the porch.

“Logan.” You stopped him, hand on his arm, you tugged him back onto the porch. Setting the flowers to the side, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him in a hug that he returned with no hesitation, moving to kiss the top of your head softly. You pressed your face into his chest, turning so your ear was pressed to where his heart was beating. A faint smile appeared on your face, a reminder that he was alive and so were you. You took a deep breath, looking up at him. “Come inside.”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t think-”

“Lo.” You stopped him. “At least for tonight. Stay with me baby.” You beg softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his chin. “Please?” 

A small quiver of his lips as he let out a shaky breath. You stood on your tip toes and moved to press your lips against his, in which he returned. You could taste and smell the alcohol on him but you didn’t care. “So?” You ask as you parted from him. He nodded finally and you smiled in relief. Stepping back from him, you grabbed his hand and the bouquet, leading him into the house. He thought to himself, 

I have to do better for you.

When he stepped inside, the fresh aroma of something delicious cooking in the kitchen hit him, as you moved to take out the flowers in the vase that sat in the living room. The old flowers, dried and falling apart - Logan recognized them as the ones he got you for Christmas. 

You set the new bouquet in, moving to throw the old ones away and he followed you, dropping his keys in the decorative ceramic bowl - something Marie had made for you for you birthday. 

“I made your favorite.” You say as you go to the oven, stirring the veggies and chopped meats in the pan. He felt his stomach grumble, and he came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, as he pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“Thank you.” He mumbles, resting his chin on the top of your head. You swallowed, fighting back tears as you leaned back into him.

“Happy Valentines Lo.”

“Happy Valentines sweetheart.” 

[duckybarnes1917]

Bad Idea, Right?

18+ Only

Ex-boyfriend! Gojo x Reader

Summary: You left Gojo Satoru for a reason. He wasn't reliable. He wasn't serious about building a future together. He was always gone. But one thing he was...amazing in bed. Much better than your new husband. Could anyone really blame you for falling back into his bed just one more time?

Warnings: The only actual trigger warning is this fic contains cheating. Reader is cheating on her husband with Gojo. It's angsty. Other than that...it's smut...be pleasantly surprised 😘

AN: This is my first time writing in the JJK fandom! I just finished season 1 a couple of days ago so this fic is based on limited knowledge of the characters! Happy Valentine's Day! Oh and I took liberties with the powers and such!

Thinking about ex-boyfriend Gojo, who you can’t help but call. Dealing with his infuriatingly cocky attitude is worth it for the way he fucks you like no one else can. Every time you fell into his bed, you swore it wouldn’t happen again, especially now that you were newly married. You didn’t love your new husband, but he was rich, and he took care of you. You married him hoping to secure a future for yourself–and hoping the sex would get better–you could teach him, right? Gojo wasn’t that special– right?

Wrong. 

It had been a month since you got married and as many times as you tried to teach your new husband what you liked, what turned you on, he just couldn’t get it right. Tonight had been your last straw, you had tried so hard to be patient. He was doing better, but he had finished before you got off. And then had the audacity to fall asleep. 

You shot a glare his way as you climbed out of bed noisily and slunk off to the bathroom. The door slammed behind you and you waited for any kind of response. You got nothing from the other side of the door but more heavy snores.

The drawer across the bathroom, where you kept your toys, was calling your name. You knew it wouldn’t be the same, but what choice did you have? Maybe if you set the mood, it would be better. You turned off the overhead light, lit a candle, and listened to soft music on your phone. Still, you stared at the toys in the drawer with disappointment. Your most trusted wand was waiting for you on top, and you sighed as you picked it up. 

You tried to block him, to picture anyone else except for him as you worked the toy over your sensitive flesh. But there was no one else. And you were too close to the edge to care anymore. You let him flood your thoughts. His hands, his scent, his voice, his mouth–the toy died in your hand and you let out a groan of despair. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” you nearly yelled in frustration. No, you were beyond frustrated. You were aching, and desperate, and only one name was running through your mind. 

“Fuck it,” you muttered to yourself as you grabbed your phone off the counter and opened his contact. The last message from him was dated a little over a month ago. A slight tickle of shame nagged at you, but your fingers pressed on. 

You up?

His typing bubble appeared immediately. And you bit your lip anxiously, excitedly, as you waited for his response.

Be there in 5 minutes. 

Maybe less.

You rolled your eyes at the fact that he didn’t even try to pretend you were texting him for anything else. Despite your annoyance, your body clenched in anticipation. You bent over the sink to splash cold water on your face–you couldn’t stand to face him so achingly desperate, you needed to cool down. Just as you were thinking you should probably go wait for him on the porch–because he was obnoxious enough to ring the doorbell at three in the morning–he suddenly appeared behind you in the mirror, that obnoxious grin on his face. His big hand covered your mouth before you could scream. 

“Don’t want to wake hubby before I even get you off,” Gojo teased in your ear before he let you go and spun you around to face him. 

He wore his familiar deep blue-black uniform, a black blindfold over his eyes that held his white hair perfectly in place. He always towered over you, but you felt smaller than usual in nothing but your robe, looking up at him from where he was caging you against the marble sink. Even in your dark bathroom, with only the light of one candle to guide your sight, his beauty still struck you in all the right places. 

“Fuck you,” you huffed as you pushed his chest. He didn’t move, unaffected by your attempt.

He grabbed your wrist before you could pull it back. “Well, hello to you too.” He leaned in closer, his grin spreading wider and you held your breath, prepared for his lips to meet yours. But he pulled back quickly and moved next to you to lean against the counter. 

“So,” he dragged the word out as he crossed his arms. “What's up?” He could barely keep the smile off his face as he toyed with you. 

“Satoru,” you crossed your arms, mirroring him. 

He simply raised one arched white brow, waiting. Was he really going to make you say it? Asshole. 

“You know why I called you,” you grumbled. 

He tapped his chin with one long finger, humming in thought. “A chat? Is your dishwasher broken again? Oh, I know,” he snapped his long fingers and jumped up from the counter. You winced at the volume of his voice. “You want a rematch on Mario Kart! Sore loser.” 

“Shut up,” you hissed, anxiously glancing at the bathroom door, “dumbass.” You were starting to regret this already. 

“Would it have anything to do with this?” 

You turned back to him and found that he had moved to the other end of the counter where you had left your drawer open, your failed toy now in his hand.

“Hey, don’t touch my stuff!” You moved to snatch it back from him, but of course, he easily moved it out of your reach.

 He waved it tauntingly at you before he pushed the button to turn it on. 

“Doesn’t work very well,” he fake pouted. “Need some help?”

You swallowed your desire to fight him. “Yes,” you answered, just barely above a whisper. 

“Sorry, didn’t catch that sweets.” Gojo leaned down as if to hear you better. 

You clenched your hands into fists. “I called you because I thought you would get me off, not talk my ear off.” 

“What do you take me for?” Gojo straightened himself, his hand on his chest. “I’m not a whore, you could have at least made me dinner first.” 

“Seriously, Satoru, fuck you. I don’t even–”

“Where?” He cut you off and tilted his head as if he was thinking about it. The playfulness was seeping away as he stepped closer to you. “Should I fuck you right here, keep you quiet so your husband doesn’t hear?” The word husband rolled off his tongue with a mixture of annoyance and glee that you knew meant he was getting off on this more than he should be. “Or take you back to my place so you can be as loud as you want?” 

Your mouth opened to answer him, to give him the only logical answer, but no sound came out. You hated this effect he had on you. 

“What do you want, sweets?” He moved closer, lifting you with ease onto the bathroom sink. His fingers trailed up your thigh under your robe and you opened your legs for him, trying to force him to make the decision. You were not in the mood to think right now. 

He smirked and moved his fingers teasingly up your inner thigh and over your hip instead of where you wanted him.

“Toru,” you pouted, too wound up for his teasing. “I want your mouth–please,” you added on the please to try to win him over. The word felt like broken glass in your mouth.

Gojo’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you nearly whined. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, sweets.” Gojo leaned in and placed his lips at your ear as his fingers finally started to explore where you needed him most. He paused, losing his words for a moment, and you felt your cheeks heat at how wet he found you–how needy. 

He cleared his throat once and continued, “You’re gonna come on my fingers like a good girl right here in this room next to your sleeping husband. And then I’ll take you home and fuck you however I want for as long as I want.” 

His long fingers were already inside of you–you would have agreed to anything he said. You nodded your head frantically as you gripped his shoulder. “More, faster,” you were trying to be quiet, but when he added a third finger, the sound that came out of your mouth was foreign to your ears. 

“Fuck, I like you desperate,” Gojo’s voice was husky in your ear. All traces of his playful attitude were gone as he expertly crooked his long fingers inside you.   

“I’m close,” you gasped. “Don’t stop.” 

“Already?” He teased. “He’s not taking care of my pretty little pussy at all, is he?” 

You wanted to argue with him. No part of you was his . But you both knew you would have been lying. Your head hit the bathroom cabinet as your hips arched up, trying to get even closer to him. You covered your mouth as you came on his fingers. His smooth voice faded in and out, praising you as your ears rang. Before you could come back down to earth, your surroundings shifted as he teleported you both to his apartment. 

Your back hit his soft bed, and you immediately reached for him, pulling him closer to you as you devoured his mouth. He tasted sweet, and you imagined he had been eating candy before he appeared in your home. His tongue worked against yours deliberately, sliding across the roof of your mouth and you knew he was teasing you on purpose. You wrapped your legs around his waist and moved your hands to his face. The sticky substance your hand came into contact with on his cheek made you pause and pull back. 

“Toru, what the fuck?” You sat up as he began laughing. He flipped on the light and you gasped at the blood on your hand and over his face. “What the fuck?!” 

You jumped off the bed and ran to his bathroom. He was still laughing as he followed you. 

“It’s just a little blood. Don’t freak out. I was working when you called.” 

You scrubbed your hands furiously in the sink as you glared at him in the mirror. “Why the fuck would you answer your phone if you were on a mission?!” 

Gojo wasn’t fighting. He was sitting with his back against a tree trunk, long legs stretched in front of him and a bag of sour candy in his hand. He watched his students work together to exorcise a curse. It was well within their ability to handle it, with a little guidance from him. He had already handled the more serious threats–it got a little messy, but it was easy work. 

He smiled proudly as Itadori landed a skilled hit. Then his phone buzzed, and he glanced at it quickly. It was probably just Ijichi asking for an update on the reports he was behind on. He had to do a double-take to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating your name on his screen. 

Nope. 

Not crazy. 

It was you. 

“YES!!” He yelled, jumping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air. 

“What is it?!” Itadori yelled from across the field, blocking an attack, as he looked back at Gojo with concern. 

“Gotta go! You got this team!” 

“What?!” Itadori and Kugisaki yelled. “Where are you going?!” 

“Don’t bother asking,” Fushiguro said with the knowledge of someone who had spent plenty of time dealing with Gojo and his antics. 

“You’ll understand when you’re older, bye! Proud of you!” Gojo gave them one last wave before he disappeared. They’d be fine. He had waited too long for this…okay like a month.. but still that was much too long. 

  “It wasn’t a big deal. My students are taking care of it,” Gojo shrugged.

“Jesus,” you muttered as you wrung out a washcloth and turned to clean his face. “I could have waited.” 

“Please,” Gojo scoffed as he took the washcloth and cleaned the places you were too short to reach on your tiptoes. “You practically came as soon as I touched you.” 

“I really hate you.” 

You snatched the washcloth back from him and threw it on the sink for him to deal with later. The heat of his gaze followed you as you walked back to his bedroom, dropping your robe on the way. 

“I know.” Gojo smiled at you as you laid back on his bed. “Need something, sweets?” 

You groaned and sat up on your elbows to glare at him. “You can not seriously be as unaffected as you pretend to be.” 

You couldn’t see his eyes, hidden under his blindfold, but something shifted momentarily on his face. It made you shiver. 

“I asked you a question.” He crossed his arms as he leaned against the door frame. “Or I can send you back home?” He raised his fingers in threat. 

“No!” You glared at him again. “I need you, Toru. Need your mouth, please.” 

“Good girl,” he smirked but finally made his way to where you lay on his bed. He kissed you gently before trailing his lips down your neck, your chest, and over your stomach. 

This is what you had missed the most about him. His damned mouth was both the bane of your existence and your personal nirvana. Your husband didn’t share Gojo’s talents or desire in that department. The few times he had even offered to go down on you had left you more frustrated than pleased. 

Gojo’s big hands held your hips down as he teased your belly button with his tongue. “Tell me I’m the best.” 

“Wh–what?” You nearly laughed even as you were trying not to moan.  

“You heard me.” His mouth moved lower and goosebumps erupted over your skin as his breath hit your swollen clit. 

“Toru, please,” you breathed out, body tense. 

“Say it.” His fingers entered you slowly, hitting that spot that made your toes curl with ease. 

Fuck him. Seriously. 

“Come on sweets, I’ll make you feel so good, just tell me–”

His breath on your clit had you close already. 

“Fuck! Just—” he blew cool air on your clit and you lifted your hips in desperation. “You’re the best, Toru, fuck , you fuck me so good!” 

“Better than your husband?” 

“Yes!” You pulled on his hair, urging him forward. “So much fucking better it’s not fair.”

His mouth wrapped around your clit, and you came instantly. Thighs shaking around his head as he moaned against you. His tongue replaced his fingers as he drank you up. It truly wasn’t fair how easy this was for him. And how were you ever supposed to move on knowing that this was one text away, anytime you wanted it?

Gojo’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, spreading them further apart as he lost himself in you. His once teasing tongue, now filling you so nicely that you were babbling nonsense. Praising him like you never would normally. But you would have said anything to keep his mouth right where it was. The arrogant asshole had the biggest praise kink you had ever seen. 

“It’s so good, Toru,” you whimpered. “You feel so good, fuck!” You buried your hand in his white hair as your hips bucked up, grinding against his face. 

He pulled back, and you whined at the loss of sensation.  

“Aww, you wanna ride my face sweets?” 

You nodded and watched with rapt attention as he stood and undressed himself. He grabbed the high collar of his jacket with his teeth as he yanked the zipper down. The rest of his clothes disappeared just as quickly. You gulped at the sight of his cock, heavy and ready for you. 

“Focus,” Gojo pointed to his face and your eyes snapped up. He laid back on the bed and beckoned you forward. He was beautiful, as always, all lean-toned muscle and ridiculous abs. You could have stared at him for hours, spent even longer worshipping every part of him. But right now, you have one sole purpose. Your eyes moved to your prize. His pretty mouth, smirking at you. “Come on sweets.” His words are honeyed and tempting. 

Hurriedly, you crawled over him until you hovered over his ridiculously handsome face. His hands splayed over your waist, ready to pull you to him. 

“Wait,” you paused him and ran your fingers over his blindfold. “Can I?” 

“Always.” 

You pushed the silk black blindfold off his face, revealing his sparkling blue eyes. They were dilated with hunger that made your thighs clench. 

“You’re so pretty Toru.” 

He didn’t give you time to regret the words. 

“Not as pretty as you, sweets. Now come on, ride my face like I know you’ve been dreaming about.” 

“Cocky bastard,” you muttered as you sat on his face, not giving him a chance to respond. 

Even you had to admit that riding his pretty face, hand buried in that pretty hair, staring into those pretty eyes–he had the right to be cocky. How could anyone else ever compete with this? 

You were close, thighs clenching around his head. You looked back to watch him stroke himself–knowing he needed this too made you come all over his pretty face. 

He groaned against you, moving both his hands to your waist to hold you in place while he fucked you through your orgasm. 

“God, fuck that was good,” you sighed as you slid off of him. You intended to ask for a break, your legs felt like jello and you were sensitive after so many orgasms back to back. But Gojo had other ideas. He flipped you onto your stomach and lifted your hips, he was inside you before you could protest. 

“Fuck sweets,” he groaned, “you feel so good every damn time.” 

His cock was too much. The stretch burned, and his blunt tip hit the perfect spot with every thrust of his hips. 

“Too much–Toru” you gasped as he gave you another sharp thrust. 

“You can take it,” he answered, his body weight falling on you as he ran his tongue over the shell of your ear. His hand wrapped around your throat, two long fingers dipping into your mouth. “ You called me. You’ll take what I give you, yeah sweets?” 

Seriously, fuck him. 

You hummed around his fingers and nodded. 

“Good girl,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. “Take it, know you need it.” 

He moved his hips faster, and tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. He felt so good–otherworldly. Exactly what you had been craving. You couldn’t breathe, he stole each breath with each thrust of his hips. He leaned over you again and intertwined his hands with yours. You felt his lips as they began a path on your left shoulder, leaving searing kisses down your arm. 

“Fucking perfect. Just being wasted. I’d never let you out of my bed. Mine.” A sloppy kiss followed each word until he reached your wrist. You turned your head to watch him as he kissed the ring on your finger, running his long tongue over it. It was too much, you had to close your eyes as pure pleasure melted your brain. Stars twinkled behind your eyes and you couldn’t stop the tears born of ecstasy anymore. 

“Aww, are you cryin’?” His cocky voice should have made you want to punch him, but you were teetering on the edge of another orgasm. His tongue licked up your tears and you shattered around him. “So good for me, sweets.” 

Gojo pulled out and flipped you onto your back. His gaze devoured you from head to toe before he met your teary eyes again. His fingers brushed your cheek gently. “Need one more, sweets, just one more. You can do that for me, right?” 

You couldn’t speak, you made a small noise of consent and he rewarded you with a smile.

“You’d do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?” He nipped at your skin, tongue teasing your breast while he pushed your thigh up. “So pliant,” he spoke mostly to himself as you closed your eyes and let him slide into you again. “You don’t let him fuck you like this, do you?” 

You knew he was talking about the lack of protection. You also knew the answer he was hoping for and you couldn’t give it to him. You wanted kids, he knew that. Gojo had never offered the security you needed from him–he was always gone, always so flippant about everything. He was never going to be marriage material. That’s why you had left him in the first place. 

You felt his smile fade against your skin as he sat up to look at you. 

“Not yet, but Toru–I’m off the pill. You knew I wanted this.” 

His face darkened, and you saw a hint of anger in his blue eyes. He didn’t say anything as he lifted your leg and put it over his chiseled shoulder. His pace had slowed, but he was hitting those deep spots inside you that only he had explored. Finally, he took a breath and leaned back down to your ear. “Gonna send you back to him full of my cum. Full of my babies.” 

You gasped even as your pussy clenched around him, betraying you. “You can’t,” you tried to argue. 

“You want it, I can feel it.” 

You did want it, both the feeling of him cumming inside you and his kids. But you’d never let him know that second truth. 

“I hate you,” you whimpered against his lips, tears brimming your eyes again. 

“I know, I know, I hate me too.” 

He didn’t give you time to question what that meant. He quickened his pace, fucking you so hard you couldn’t form words if you had tried. 

Your back arched off the bed as you moaned for him. 

“Hold on sweets, not yet.” He lifted you off the bed and held you in his lap. He helped your hips move faster than you could manage on your own. He watched your breasts bounce for a moment, eyes transfixed, before he took one in his warm mouth. Your whole body was so sensitive, you cried out for him and one of his big hands moved to squeeze your free breast. He was messy, a string of saliva connecting him to you as he moved his mouth from your tits to your neck. He was going to leave a bruise, you could feel it. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped. “You have to–I can’t take anymore.”

“I said not yet,” he growled against your throat. “I’m not ready to be done with you. Not yet.”

Me neither. 

You wanted to say. 

I never want to be done with you. 

But you said nothing. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hid your face in his snowy white hair.

Your world shifted, and you gasped as you suddenly found yourself back in your bedroom–in your bed–your husband still peacefully asleep right next to where Gojo was laying you back on your pillow. 

“Toru, what the fuck?!” you whisper-shouted at him as you hit his chest. He simply laughed, loud and annoying. You shot a panicked look at your husband, but he didn’t move at all. 

“Don’t worry, sweets, he won’t bother us.” Gojo put your legs back where they belonged, over his shoulders, and resumed his brutal pace. 

Your headboard rattled, and the sound of his hips snapping against yours filled the room. Still, your husband slept as if nothing was happening. You didn’t question it–Gojo had his ways. You couldn’t possibly think straight with how well he was fucking you, anyway. You dropped your head back and squeezed your eyes closed against the pleasure curling low in your stomach. 

“Do you think about me when he fucks you?” 

“Yes!” you answered with zero hesitation, and you felt him shiver under your hands. “Always you.” 

“I hate you,” he groaned quietly, painfully. 

“I–” you couldn’t think of a response to that line, which usually only came out of your mouth. You couldn’t think of anything but how deep inside you he was. 

“Come on, sweets,” his normal voice was back, cocky and needy. “Come all over my cock.” Gojo’s finger rubbed tight circles on your clit and you groaned. 

“God, fuck, fuck , Jesus !” 

“Say my name,” he panted against your mouth. “Say it, fucking say it.”

Satoru. 

Satoru. 

Satoru! 

You couldn’t stop saying it. 

“I’m cumming,” you gasped, “Toru, fuck!” You continued chanting his name and you could tell he was close, too. His thrusts got sloppy, and he whined in your ear when you pulled his hair. 

“Don’t make me stop,” he groaned, planting sloppy kisses on your neck. 

You should. You absolutely should make him stop. 

“Don’t,” you whimpered, “don’t stop, Toru.” 

“Fuck,” he moved from where he was hiding his face against your neck and pulled your head back to look at him. “Say it. Louder.” 

He was frantic, his eyes so dilated, that you could just barely see a ring of blue. His tongue swiped at your lips in a messy kiss. 

You never stood a chance. 

“Come inside me, Toru. Please. Please, fill me up. Want it, need you.” 

“Fuck yes, take it,” he panted against your lips as he came. “Such a good girl took me so well.” 

You whimpered against his lips as he gave you a few more sloppy kisses before pulling out of you. He laid on his side, propped up on his elbow to smile cockily at you. 

“You’re a sick fuck, you know that.” You glanced over at your husband, who still hadn’t moved. 

Gojo smiled and shrugged his shoulder. “You’ve called me worse.” He swiped his fingers through your folds, pushing his cum back inside and then licking his fingers clean. 

You stared at him in awe and hatred, no words coming out of your mouth. 

“Mmm,” he hummed as he laid his head on your chest. “What a great night. Killed some curses, had amazing sex, and I get to collect on my bet with Kento. I told him you’d cave in less than 6 weeks.”

Heat prickled up your spine. If you hadn’t been so blissfully fucked out, you would have thrown him off of you. You settled for pulling his hair hard until he babbled out an apology. 

“Idiot,” you hissed as you let him go. 

“Kidding,” he rubbed the back of his head as he frowned. “Come on, shower.” 

He hopped out of your bed like nothing was amiss and when you didn’t follow, he came back and picked you up as if you weighed nothing. 

“Sorry, forgot you probably can’t walk right now.” 

Too tired to argue with him any longer, you snuggled against his neck and let him carry you to the shower. You let him bathe you and dress you and carry you back to bed. You were half asleep by the time he laid you down on your pillow. That didn’t stop you from laughing at the sight of him in your robe. He didn’t think to teleport clothes with him. 

“Shush,” Gojo pulled your comforter up to your chin, and you nuzzled against your pillow, inhaling his scent now embedded in the fabric. 

“Thank you,” you whispered as he kissed you. 

“Anytime, sweets.” 

“Last time,” you mumbled. “Go get a girlfriend.” 

“Not likely,” he chuckled. “I’ll wait for you.” 

He meant he’d wait for your next text, for your resolve to break again. That’s it. You wouldn’t let yourself believe anything else. 

You felt him brush your hair back, a whisper of a kiss placed on your temple. 

You reached for him, to pull him closer, but your fist closed around air. You opened your eyes to find him gone, just as quickly as he had appeared.

        Gojo teleported back to his apartment before he said anything else stupid. He should change and go to sleep. But being alone was…hard. The silence in his apartment felt like it was choking him. His laissez-faire attitude worked best with an audience. 

Quickly, he put his uniform back on and secured his blindfold over his eyes. After a quick text to Kento to pay up, he teleported back to the field he had left his students in. Thankfully, they were still there. The curse was almost exorcised. They did not need his help at all. He could make himself feel better by watching their growth and achievements. Or…he could kill something. 

  Gojo removed his blindfold as he let himself float off the ground. The cursed energy that coursed through him built and built as he thought about you. He shouldn’t have gone. He told himself that every time. And every time he left you feeling shitty he told himself that next time he wouldn’t answer. He remembered the way he had literally leaped for joy at your text. Idiot . 

“Gojo?” 

Itadori’s voice from below. He’d be disappointed he didn’t get to finish the job. But Gojo couldn’t stop the cursed energy as it flew from his hands. The curse exploded into a million messy bits with a scream of horror. Gojo winced as blood splattered him from head to toe. He glanced down at the kids. Fushiguro was shaking blood out of his long hair and he could practically see the steam coming out of Kugisaki’s ears. 

“Ice cream?” Gojo asked cheerily, a big fake smile on his face. They ran to him as his feet found the Earth again. 

“Yes!” Itadori exclaimed. 

“What the hell was that?!” Kugisaki yelled, her hands balled into angry fists. 

“Where did you go?” Fushiguro asked quietly as Gojo led the way to the black car waiting for them. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Fushiguro fell quiet but looked up at him again hesitantly. “Are you okay? You looked…scary up there. And that curse was practically exorcised already.” 

Gojo ground his teeth. Now the kid chooses to get talkative. He looked down at Fushiguro and almost blew him off again. But the kid looked so earnest. Gojo put his arm around him and pulled him closer. 

“I did something I shouldn’t have. Something selfish.” 

“That’s not new.”

“I suppose not,” Gojo sighed. The ache in his chest had only been slightly dulled. Too bad there wasn’t another curse lurking around to kill. 

“How are you going to fix it?”

Gojo hummed, pondering. “Well, I guess when you love something, sometimes you have to let it go. I’ve been too selfish to do that.” 

“Something or someone?” 

Gojo flinched as Itadori popped up on his other side, big curious eyes boring into his face. 

“ That’s why you left?” Kugisaki groaned. “Ew.” 

“That’s not–no I–” Gojo stuttered, and they all broke into a fit of giggles. Even Fushiguro had a smile on his face. 

“No ice cream for any of you.” Gojo stomped off, leaving their pleas and apologies behind him. 

You had always thought that his love for his job and his students meant he would make a great father. You never understood why he never wanted that with you. It hurt you and he hated it. Hated that it cost him everything. But you never understood that his job was exactly why he couldn’t have that future with you. He couldn’t be there for you and you deserved someone who could. 

He sat in the car, staring at your contact on his phone. The next time you called, he wouldn’t answer. His finger slid across the screen and pressed the red delete button next to your name. 

His heart felt like it had been exorcised. A big empty hole in his chest that could never be repaired. He heaved a sigh, clutching his phone so tightly that it was a wonder it didn’t shatter, and said, “Last time.” 

He loved you enough to give you that.

[magicalbats]

Persist and Resist (Sunday x Reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7730

Warnings: afab!reader, handjob, cum eating, a pinch of femdom, canon typical Catholic guilt

A/N: Happy Valentine's everyone! I actually started writing this one in response to an ask I got back when I was working on last years kinktober but at some point in shuffling the text around from here to Google docs it seems Tumblr ate the initial message, which is a big bummer. I do, however, recall that the sender wanted to know what I liked about Sunday ... and the answer to that is clearly 7730 words long! lol Please enjoy the fic and if you're still around, anon ... this one is for you. ❤️

⭐

“Just relax,” you murmur, ignoring his startled gasp when you lean in from behind to rest your chin against his shoulder. “You’re always so stiff. That’s not good for your health, y’know.”

He hesitates, seems to think about it. Deciding how he should react. 

Forcing himself to draw a slow, carefully measured breath this time and further betraying his feelings on the matter, Sunday grits out a terse laugh. It’s soft and quiet. A barely there chuckle that carries with it only a very small fraction of the self assured confidence he’d displayed back on Penacony. 

You knew now that the real Sunday was not quite so sure of himself or as comfortable in his own skin as he’d first appeared, although he still tries very hard to hide that insecurity from you despite being far, far away from his old home. Like some sort of defense mechanism meant to protect and shield the delicate fragile parts of him from threat of the outside world, but it doesn’t work. Not when you were sitting so damn close to him as to feel every stuttering beat of his heart.

Pressed right up against his back like this, there’s not much he can keep from you, in fact. You’re keenly aware of even the most imperceptible shift in him, from the steady expansion of his lungs down to the loose flex of his hands where they’re resting across his lap. His body language makes it clear that he’s not accustomed to sharing such close proximity with another person and he’s not quite sure what to do with it. Right down to the molecular level it’s obvious he’s way out of his comfort zone given his subtle fidgeting, as if he just couldn’t help himself.

He was nervous. Maybe even a little scared, too.

“How interesting.” He finally murmurs. “I wasn’t aware you filled the important role of medical expert on board the Express. I’ll have to make note not to end up in need of your services again.”

Turning his head, Sunday pointedly looks elsewhere in your new room on the train, much preferring to focus on anything other than its owner at the moment. 

Situated above the party car and effectively cut off from the more heavily used common areas, the privacy here is absolute and precisely why you’d extended an invitation to him. There was more than enough room for you to share this space with the wayward traveler who, as far as you could tell, had been sleeping on the bench seats in the car below while you worked to get everything set up to your liking. But he never complained about it or tried to demand better accommodations even though you were certain it was a drastic downgrade in the comfortability he was used to. Like some self flagellating martyr, almost. 

The thought that he might be using the Express’ lack of additional rooms to further punish himself, convinced he deserved that or even less, was what ultimately swayed your decision to open your door to him. You wanted to show Sunday that there were still good things in this world that he could have, things he could enjoy and appreciate the same way he had in his previous life even if they weren’t quite as luxurious or posh as he was accustomed to. 

You also wanted to show him that you were willing to forgive him and, in the process, maybe even convince him to forgive himself. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” He insists, just a bit too tightly for it to be believable. “But I’ve seen you in action before. You’re not exactly what I’d call a gentle hand, and this … bedside manner is beyond me.”

That makes you smile into his shoulder as you wind your arms more securely around him, gently nudging Sunday back against your front. Still, he refuses to relent though. Staying perfectly motionless and straight as a board now, he almost feels like a statue made of solid granite sitting on the edge of the haphazardly made bed with you. Would have, were it not for the slightest hitch in his chest.

You realize in a distant, immaterial sort of way that his subconscious reaction was in response to your breasts pressing into his spine. He must like it then, even if he was loathe to say it. This was admittedly something you found to be charmingly cute in its guileless unassuming but it also made you want to tease him even more for it at the same time.

“That might be for the best,” You softly coo at him, keeping your voice light and barely more than a whisper as you trail a single hand higher up to pull at one of the clasps on his jacket. “I don’t have a medical license, after all.”

He sucks in another inhale, sharper this time. “You’re shameless.”

“That may be true, but I don’t see you trying to stop me.”

A strange little sound puffs out of him, something equally torn between indignation and fluster.

He either can’t or he won’t bring himself to reject your advances though, and he just sits there while you make careful work of unfastening his cozy coat. Idly, you wonder if this was the first time he’s ever had someone touching him like this. But he’s either making an attempt to be more polite than he otherwise would have been when someone was invading his personal bubble like this or, more likely, he considered it another facet of his penance. Further punishment for a sin he’s already been punished for twice over in your eyes. 

Sighing a quiet sound against his neck, you tentatively slip your hand into the inner layer of his shirt once you’ve got it nudged up enough to reach inside.

The skin along his stomach is enviously soft and smooth when you brush your fingers against it, and he outright jolts at that first hint of contact. Even then he still does not protest or try to pull away, though. His breathing deepens, coming slightly harder and faster now, but he makes no move to disengage from you, and you finally rouse yourself to tip your face up at him in question.

“I was only joking, Sunday. You can tell me if you don’t want me to keep going.”

“So you can hold it over my head later? I think not, Miss Stellaron. Against all odds, I still have some pride left in me.”

You frown at that. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re not a prisoner here and I’m not your jailer, so you’re free to make your own choices. I just want to help you.”

For a drawn out moment it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any kind of response from him, and you’re just a bit disappointed about that. But then, ever so slowly, he turns his head to cautiously glance back at you. The deeply embarrassed flush staining his cheekbones manages to surprise you, making your brows climb up to your hairline before you can suppress the reaction and stop it.

“I fail to see how this could be in any way helpful to me.” He intones, keeping his wing tucked forward across the lower half of his face so he can hide his mouth from your line of sight. Acting as a final barrier in case you were to decide to take that last inch from him. 

“I thought this might help you relax. You are pretty stiff, you know. I wasn’t joking about that.”

That defensively tucked in wing gives a brief flutter to make the soft feathers ruffle slightly, like a helpless bird trying to puff itself up to look bigger. It would have been adorable had his eyes not narrowed at you in warning in the same breath.

“I’ve never heard of such a method for relaxation. This isn’t how the Family does things.”

“But you’re not part of the Family anymore, are you? It’s okay to do things differently now.” Holding the air in your lungs, anticipating the coin drop, you slide the hand inside his shirt a little higher up to rub over a tiny nipple. “Let me show you, Sunday. Please?”

He twitches at the touch of your fingertips and quickly swings his attention back around to avoid having to look at you any longer. You can feel the shudder that runs through him but he still refuses to utter the one word that would make you back off. ‘Stop’. That’s all he needed to say. And you would, if he really wanted that. 

Something told you he didn’t completely hate what you were doing though, and it’s not like he’d ever admit to liking it anyway.

So you take your time softly petting over the petite bud, coaxing it to full stiffness which even then doesn’t leave much for you to play with. Every part of him was so slim and compact that as you feel over his chest you find yourself wondering if he was perhaps malnourished despite the life of relative luxury he’d lived back on Penacony. He shouldn’t have had to go without food, at the very least.

Deciding to find him a slice of cake in the kitchen after this, or at least a cookie, you redirect your hand to the opposite side of his chest to tease that nipple as well. Sunday stiffly arches against you in response, nudging his narrow chest up at the sensation even as he whimpers a quiet noise into the still room. He was slowly getting more and more fidgety, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react to what you were doing. How to process it or how to reconcile any of it in his mind. 

But a simple glance down at the front of him tells you everything you need to know without having to break the static charged silence by asking him how he was feeling. He wouldn’t have been honest with you anyway, of that you were certain, so there would have been no point in it.

The reluctant tent pushing up through his pants speaks for itself though, and this part of him could not lie. No matter how much he tried to fight it or wrestle it back under control, there was simply no subjugating the natural urges of his body. He couldn’t fully control it no matter how much he might want to and you can tell that bothers him a great deal in the way he softly seethes under his breath.

He was supposed to be disciplined and steadfast, not easily swayed by the compunctions of flesh and blood. And after rejecting it for so long, stuffing it down into a sealed box in the back of his mind where he wouldn’t have to look at it or think about it, he was now quickly succumbing to the full brunt of his neglected sensitivity. All you’ve done so far was tease his nipples a little bit and his cock was already needily flexing up into the placket of his slacks as if with a mind of its own. A hungry beast that couldn’t be contained no matter how hard its master might yank on the leash trying to bring it back to heel. 

It’s a little sad, in a way. You can’t help feeling sorry for him and all the simple pleasures he’s denied himself for the sake of exerting some amount of control over his own existence when he otherwise had none, but you also feel a sharp stab of arousal too. There were so many things you could teach him, if given half the chance. So many different avenues of pleasure and satisfaction, and intimacy that the two of you could explore together if he’d just allow himself the freedom to experience them for once in his life.

In truth you’d found Sunday quite interesting from the moment you first set eyes on him in front of the check-in counter of the Penacony Grand Hotel, like there was some sort of magnetic force at work urging you closer into his orbit. You knew now that at least part of that compulsion was a result of the Harmony and the other was his natural charisma as a Halovian. But there’s something else there too, something not so easily explained or written off.

He was not that much unlike you, was he? Someone who was so utterly bereft of a home to call his own in this vast cosmos that the nomadic existence of a star-bound wanderer was the only feasible option left to him. Everything from his identity right down to his own sister had been taken from him and he was alone now, save you and the rest of the Astral Express crew. You could understand that well enough even if you didn’t have any memories of what you’d lost before ending up here, just the same as he eventually had.

But you wanted to show him what having that freedom was really like, even if it was just a tiny glimpse of what awaited him on the other side now that he was free of Penacony’s slumbering birdcage.

“Do you trust me, Sunday?”

He tries to laugh again, fails miserably at it, and all that comes out is an odd little croak instead. “I don’t see that I have much of a choice in the matter, do I?”

“Of course you do.” 

Carefully sliding your hand out of his shirt, you reach down to tug at his belt buckle with deliberate slowness, giving him ample opportunity to protest. He just groans the most threadbare little sound you’ve ever heard though, and finally allows himself to reluctantly ease back into you. Still unfalteringly stiff and halting, but at least you were making progress.

With a brief clink and a rattle, his belt comes loose. You set your sights on his pants next, fumbling with the top button just as slowly so as not to spook or startle him. He really was like a defenseless bird caught in the sights of a much larger predator and unable to fly, to flee or to fight. He remains passive in your arms, luckily, but the building anticipation of what you were doing does make him start to squirm. He quickly forces himself to stop and be still though, merely watching what your hands are doing with his face tipped down towards his lap.

Soon enough you have those neatly pressed slacks open and you slip your fingers inside to feel along the band of his underwear before trailing even lower. You find his straining cock easily when it’s already stiff and rigidly pushing up from his body, giving it a gentle squeeze through the last layer of laughably thin cotton, and he responds with a tortured, half choked gasp.

“M - Miss Stellaron …”

You can hear the hoarse rattle in his voice as much as you feel it where you’re pressed right up against him like you are. At some point your breathing seems to have synced with his and you find yourself quietly panting right along with him as you work to nudge his pants down far enough to free him from them. 

Clearly picking up on your intent, Sunday hesitates to do it and he sways almost unsteadily between your arms before he at last manages to shyly angle his hips off the edge of the mattress to help you in your endeavor. He whimpers softly while he does it, and you consolingly coo at him as you press your face into the crook of his elegant neck to breathe deep the smell of him. Soap and clean linen, and a hint of downy fuzz that makes your head feel light with the impression of warmth. Perfect for cuddling. 

“Shh. Just relax for me. I promise I’ll take good care of you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Tipping forward, you place a tender kiss to his drooping wing and you’re delighted by the sensitive inhale he sucks in at the sensation of your lips brushing against the feathers. You’d always wondered if they were as delicately receptive as they looked and you were glad to have your answer even as you tug at his underwear to slide the band underneath his straining length.

And it immediately springs up into the air, already flushed and leaking as it weakly twitches in his lap as if in a desperate bid for attention. You’re amazed at not only how beautiful his cock is, average in size at best and yet so perfectly shaped as to look somehow beyond the pale of mere flesh, but also at how satiny soft and smooth it is. The flawless texture almost makes it look like something made of alabaster, and you eagerly reach around to take him in your hand.

“Oh!” His back dramatically arches against you, his hands flying up where they hesitate over yours for a harrowing moment before he allows himself to latch onto your wrists. It’s the first hint of reciprocity on his part, intentionally touching you instead of remaining a bystander as he had up until now, but you still hold your breath as you wait to see what he’ll do next.

If he was going to push you away this would be the time. The situation had clearly escalated beyond what could be excused as simple platonic affection and you brace for his reaction. His rejection. 

To your genuine surprise, however, Sunday just holds onto you by the wrists and weakly rolls his hips up in a shuddering, painfully stiff thrust. The motion sends his cock stuttering across your fingers before pulling back when he eases down to sit fully on the mattress again, wheezing softly at just that brief stimulation. You sorely wished you could see his face again but Sunday’s attention remains down and that fluttering wing stays an ever present screen for him to hide behind as well. 

No matter though. You didn’t really have need for visual cues when you could feel everything in stunning high definition through the point of contact between his body and yours. 

Closing your fist tighter around his cock, you gently begin to pump him, hand dragging from the base where ticklishly coarse hairs tease your knuckles straight up to the tip to make his foreskin bunch over the head. You can hear the sticky wet click of precum but it’s quickly lost under the harsh, frazzled gasp he raggedly pulls in. And it almost manages to surprise you, how sensitive he really is and how vigorously he twitches at your ministrations. There was some part of you that hadn’t been sure if he was even able to put on such an animated display, thinking he’d fight tooth and nail to keep up that implacable facade no matter what manner of duress he was made to endure. 

That is not what happens though. 

Instead he suddenly comes alive, unable to stop himself from full on shuddering and twisting his narrow hips against your hold. Hissing an overwrought sound into the otherwise still and silent room, he clutches at your arms in such a tight deathgrip that the leather of his gloves softly creaks. Not to stop you or to push you away, you dully realize when he groans your name like a plea. But because it felt good and it overwhelmed him, and he needed to hold onto something or risk shattering into a million pieces right then and there. 

Stealing another quick, almost giddy look down at the cock gripped in your fist, you don’t think that’s going to help him or stop the inevitable though. He’s flushed pink and raw from nothing more than just a few brief pumps of your hand, and you can feel the intense throb of him pulsing under your fingers. Not only was he going to cum quick and hard, considering how fiercely he shakes for you, but it was also going to take an embarrassing lack of effort on your part to get him there. 

“Oh, Sunny. Are you enjoying yourself now?” You purr into his shoulder, delighted at how abruptly he’d changed his songbird’s tune. From proud and immovable to a writhing, pathetically whimpering mess in just the blink of an eye. And all it had taken was the firm hold of your hand on him. It was in many ways astounding. “I always knew you had it in you.”

“I told you — nnghn! Not to … not to call me that.” 

Humming a low sound of agreement, you slowly drag your hand back down the length of him to peel away his foreskin in a tortuously stilted motion. Another sticky click hits your ears and he grunts a harried noise of distress when the cool air wafts against his exposed glans unimpeded, making him judder wildly in response. But you keep him held tightly against you even when his back dramatically bows, using your anchoring arm wrapped around his flexing stomach to keep Sunday pressed into you while the opposite hand gives his base a pinched squeeze to stave off his release. It wouldn’t hold it back for long but you were happy with even just those few extra seconds you’re given to admire him. 

And admire him you do. He’s sticky with an excess of eager, dribbling precum that coats the glistening head in a filmy sheen, inviting you to reach out and rub him there. You knew that would undo him in alarmingly short order though, so you hold off for the moment. Rather, you gently smooth your touch down to caress over his balls and wrap your fingers around their delicate weight, cradling them in the palm of your hand. 

Surprising you a great deal, Sunday outright yelps at the sensation and jolts as if you’d just electrocuted him despite how careful you’d been in handling his testes. Slim chest heaving on an uncontrollable, stuttering rhythm, he heavily leans back into you and tips his head to keen up at the ceiling. The sound itself as much as the volume of it makes your heart leap into your throat where it threatens to suffocate you. He was getting much too loud, wasn’t he?  

Your thoughts immediately flash upon the idea that someone might be just downstairs in the party car but you aren’t sure how well sound travels between the two floors, and that makes you nervous. Would they be able to hear him clearly and figure out what was happening just over their heads, or would it only seem like muffled and distant noise? Hell, even if one of your other crewmates wasn’t down there Shush almost certainly was. That damned robot hardly ever moved from behind the polished bar unless it was to pester someone with its awful jokes. What would it even say about the things it could hear going on up in your room? 

Quickly deciding you really didn’t want to test fate like that, you unlock your arm from around his middle and reach up to lightly palm over the graceful line of his throat instead. His Adam’s apple bobs thickly under your hand with the rough inhale he pulls in, swaying between your thighs when he turns his head to blink at you as if he were drunk and seeing double. But at least it looked like you had his attention again. 

“You need to watch your volume. If someone hears us, that's going to make having breakfast together way more awkward than I’d like.” You warn him, keeping your voice gentle and soft. For someone who’d acted with such overwhelming confidence on his home turf he’d quickly proven himself skittish and easy to fluster once you got your hands on him. You didn’t want to scare him off after all the effort you’d had to put in just to get this far. 

“I … I’m sorry.” He mutters with no shortage of Herculean effort. Gone are the impeccable manners and lofty words of the head of the Oak Family, and in their place there was now only a raw vulnerability you hadn’t expected to see in him. “It seems I’ve — forgotten myself. How embarrassing. I - I’ve never …”

“Been touched like this?” You supply, giving his balls a featherlight palpitation for emphasis. 

It’s enough to make Sunday hiss through tightly clenched teeth though, squeezing his eyes shut against the sensation as he turns his head away. “Yes. I mean n - no. This is my … first time.” 

That makes you smile. “I can tell. You’re so sensitive, Sunny. Haven’t you ever thought to touch yourself before?” 

His little wings flutter in response, flapping an irritable rhythm that makes the feathers softly smack against your face as if to bat you away. It’s hard to say if he was offended that you would even think to ask that of him in the first place or if it was because you’d used that insufferable nickname again but either way his reaction makes you laugh. 

Yes, there were a great many avenues of mischief the two of you could get into. It would be fun exploring them together, and this was only the first activity on a very long list of things you wanted to introduce him to. It was a bit out of order but maybe you could try kissing next. 

Your own excitement grows at the thought, and you eagerly swing your attention back around to Sunday’s lap. Giving his balls one last, gentle squeeze, you curl your hand upward so you can wrap it around his shaft and feel that silken skin under your fingers again. The seething noise he makes sounds suspiciously like that of a tea kettle getting close to boiling but he makes a valid attempt to keep his voice in check when you offer that rigid length another slow, savory tug. 

Unfortunately he quickly loses hold of that threadbare control as you reach the glans and the drag of your fist makes his foreskin slide up to bunch over the fleshy slit. The sensation seems to nearly bowl him over and he judders helplessly, squawking an oversensitized sound. Even with the threat of discovery an ever present danger, you still can’t quite stop yourself from grinning at his decidedly innocent, unassuming reaction. 

“Oh, Sunday … what are we going to do if someone comes knocking on the door because they heard you? Something tells me that look on your face would give us away no matter how we tried to explain ourselves.” 

He full on whimpers at that, sounding sad and deeply ashamed in at the implication of guilt. It’s clearly getting harder for him to maintain his usual cool the longer your hands are on him though, and you realize you’re going to have to do something to help him out. He was much too sensitive, too easily overwhelmed to roll the dice in this particular situation when getting caught together could mean the end of everything. 

Licking your lips, you momentarily consider choking him just enough to cut off his air supply and make it impossible for him to cry out. Your fingers idly flex around the bobbing curve of his throat at the thought. Although it’s certainly a tempting idea you ultimately think better of it, sliding your hand higher up to brush over his jaw instead. 

Finding Sunday’s mouth, you slide your palm over it and press down firmly to elicit a startled yet blissfully muffled sound from him. He jolts and lurches in your hold, as if only just now realizing the true scope of the danger he was in, but it’s much too late. 

Readjusting your hold on his cock in the other hand, you firmly drag your fist down and then back up, settling into a steady rhythm that continuously works the foreskin over his receptive glans. Back and forth, back and forth, up and down; rubbing, sliding, sticky slick clicking in your ears. And Sunday outright shrieks behind your fingers, twisting and tossing his head like a wild animal caught in a trap. His belt rattles softly where it’s spread open across his thighs, still twisted up in his pants, and his wings slap a furious beat that has you turning your face into his shoulder to avoid the full brunt of his ratcheting alarm. 

He’s hard to keep ahold of like this, especially when he digs his heels into the floor and tries to wrench himself free, but your physical strength proves greater. Despite being a man and in spite of having a few inches on you in height, he just isn’t equipped to fight you off. Not when you’ve got his cock in one hand, stroking it with the continuous glide of your palm over all of that sinfully smooth flesh, and the halfhearted way he shoves at your arms quickly morphs into desperate grabbing instead. 

Blindly, he latches onto you; your thighs where they bracket his shuddering hips, the bend of your arm, so he can squeeze tight and hold on for dear life. His muffled sounds of pleasure turn dazed and intoxicated as he rigidly slumps against you at last. And when he tips his head back to rest along your shoulder, tiny wings still fluttering helplessly but starting to weaken and droop, you dare to lift your face to look at him. 

Wrecked is the only word that immediately comes to mind. His usually perfectly styled hair is tousled and sweat damp where it sticks to his skin in a few places. Cheeks so hot with color you know he’d be warm to the touch. It’s the far-away glisten in his golden eyes, once so sharp and pointed, now distant and too heavy to keep fully open anymore, that really seals the deal though. Sunday’s higher functioning mind may still have been fighting against it but his body was singing like a deftly plucked chord while the violently crashing waves of pleasure slam into him with every slide of your fist. 

Feeling devious and a little too eager to stop yourself, you take advantage of his draining will to fight it and adjust your hand over his mouth so you can plunge two of the fingers inside. He squawks a decidedly undignified sound at the sudden intrusion but even his attempt to turn his head away is half hearted at best. Only somewhat reluctantly does he allow you to probe at his squirming tongue, feeling the perfect line of his teeth scrape over your knuckles when you reach back just far enough to make him gag. 

The compulsion is an odd one, you understand that much, but it’s as if your own pounding excitement won’t be satisfied until you’ve thoroughly torn down every one of his mile wide defenses. You needed to leave him debauched and utterly disillusioned from his old role, his previous identity, or this wasn’t going to accomplish what it was supposed to. How else could he be expected to move on and undertake the journey ahead of him if he was still clinging to his old ways and holding himself to the same standards as before? 

Sunday needed to see that despite his once high-minded ideals he was still just human, that his flesh and blood body was not some great sin for him to reject or punish. That he didn’t need to self sacrifice and martyr himself just for his life to have meaning. You wanted him to understand that it’s okay to be a little messy sometimes, and there’s nothing wrong with letting go of his almost fanatically held control. 

So it is with a great deal of pleasure that you keep his jaw wedged open with your fingers, carefully moving them back and forth over his tongue while he whimpers and whines so sweetly for you. It doesn’t take long for the excess of saliva to build up and dribble out at the corners of his lips, his spine dramatically flexing when he feels that first unseemly rivulet run down his jaw. His mouth works futilely around your digits, alternating between trying to spit them out or to somehow swallow around them but it doesn’t work. The drool just keeps coming, slowly bubbling out to track sticky paths down his face. 

You even catch a glimpse of shuddering moisture wetting his lash lines but you politely look away despite the eager jump in your pulse at the sight of those tears. It would have been all too easy for you to tease him for them, really lean into the humiliation he was probably feeling, but that was not your goal here. Not this time, at least. 

Instead you focus your attention back on the hand wrapped around his cock. Your ministrations had slowed to a stop while you were stuffing his mouth full and now you can see the length of him, flushed a pretty pink that almost matches his face, flexing needily against your hold. He was leaking enough precum to smooth the glide of your next upward stroke, watching in fascinated wonder as the fleshy hood of his foreskin comes up with another soft click to make the clear discharge slowly ooze down the sides of his shaft. 

His hips wildly buck and he wails a garbled noise as he needily arches up off the bed, jutting his pelvis out as if in desperate supplication for more. Both of his hands have latched onto your thighs now and he squeezes them tight enough to hurt. But you give him what he wants, what he so clearly needs, pumping your fist up and down the length of him on a steady, energetic rhythm. 

Sunday freezes like that, poised with his back bowed and his body flexed away from the mattress. Distantly, you realize that he seems to have stopped breathing altogether, holding the air in his aching lungs while the rest of him stiffly shudders and twitches steadily closer to the edge of oblivion. He was beautiful like this, like something out of a tawdry, lurid painting of some ethereal being from legend or myth. 

“Oh, Sunday,” You coo at him, so soft and gentle. Coaxing him ever towards his own ruination. “Are you going to cum for me?” 

Wailing a frazzled sound of distress around your spit soaked fingers, he gives his head the barest shake as if to deny the simple reality of what was happening. Unfortunately his own body betrays him almost instantly, and you stare in rapt fascination when his narrow hips stiffly lock up before nudging forward in a reluctant thrust. He’s holding himself far too unrelentingly to execute the full range of motion but it’s enough to have him fucking into your hand in painful, tortuously slow increments. 

He just can’t seem to help himself or smother the urge completely, even when the rolling grind of his pelvis was clearly something foreign to him. But it’s instinctive and hard coded, muscle memory carved into the very atoms of his body more than anything else. And you can see the musculature in his slim thighs trembling fiercely, the flex of his stomach dramatic while he wheezes and gasps his pleasure into the otherwise still air. You knew your fingers weren’t doing as sufficient a job at muffling him as your palm would have, but you can’t quite bring yourself to move or even care very much about that right now. 

Especially not when he gives one final, stuttering thrust into the squeeze of your hand and his cock positively erupts in a sudden spray of white. Creamy and thick, it shoots up into the air on what you would consider an impressive arc before splattering across his front. A second jet quickly follows the first, and then a third, while Sunday all but sobs through his orgasm, wetly choking on it even as he gradually sinks back down to the bed in a drained heap of splayed limbs. 

The eager pulse along his length quickly slows, oozing yet more of that clear discharge to dribble down the length of his shaft in sticky tracks before at last subsiding completely. He’s already a complete mess with various bodily fluids coating his skin but you still give him one final squeeze and drag your hand up to draw the last little bit of his release out of his flagging cock. He seethes a delirious sound in response, head lolling back in doped out bliss while he tries to even out his breathing again to no avail. 

“How was that?” You prod, smiling to yourself as you withdraw your fingers from his mouth. A sticky wad of saliva follows after you, catching on his bottom lip, and you brush your thumb up to helpfully wipe it away, ignoring the mirthless, gasping laugh he rattles out. “It looked like you enjoyed it to me. Was that really your first orgasm?”

Somewhat awkwardly clearing his no doubt dry and scratchy throat, Sunday pointedly turns his head to look elsewhere. Still shy and reticent to openly show any of his emotions, but he certainly felt more relaxed in your arms than he had before. “I wouldn’t have any reason to lie about that, would I? Or do you take me for some kind of shameless masochist?” 

Allowing a brief giggle to slip out, you lean further into him so you can find his neck and deliver a soft peck to the still thrumming pulse under his skin. Sucking in a deeply flustered inhale, he snaps his attention back around to look at you with wide, startled eyes. That makes you laugh too, much to his pouting confusion. 

“What?” He demands at last. 

“Nothing. I was just thinking how cute you really are, that’s all.” 

His brows shoot up almost too fast for you to track the motion. “Cute? M - me? But I don’t —“

“It’s alright, Sunday. Just go with the flow. You feel pretty good right now, don’t you?” Grinning at the uncertainty that flashes across his face, you lower your chin to rest against his shoulder, much like how you’d first started. Realistically only a few minutes had passed but it felt like an entire lifetime had come and gone, and yet you were still right back to this again. 

In the following silence while Sunday chews on that and mulls it over, you rove your attention down to inspect the damage you’d caused. Luckily his coat had been more or less out of the way where you’d spread it open earlier, and it looked like the quickly cooling evidence of this sneaky tryst had mostly landed in harmless flecks across the darker inner shirt underneath. That was a small relief, if you were being honest. You didn’t even want to think about all the fussing he’d do if you stained his white jacket like that. 

“Well,” he says at last, rousing you from your thoughts. “While I still think your methods are unscrupulous and incredibly underhanded … I suppose I still owe you my thanks. I do indeed feel more at ease than I did before. Now if you’ll excuse me —“ 

Quickly looping your arms around his middle when he makes a move to stand up, you yank him back against you with another laugh. “Nuh-uh. We’re not done yet, Sunny. I need to help you clean up that mess first.” 

Choking on a protest, he reaches down to shove at your arms but you don’t budge, pointedly nuzzling into him from behind as if to prove that he wasn’t going anywhere until you decided to let him go. After another brief moment of cursory struggle, he finally gives up and slumps against you with a terse click of his tongue. 

“Really, is this truly necessary?” He grumbles under his breath, lifting a hand to subconsciously wipe the remaining spit off his chin with an air of distaste. “Haven’t you gotten what you wanted out of me already? I'd think you would be satisfied by now, Miss Stellaron.” 

You hum a sly sound at that, coquettishly walking two of your fingers up the front of his shirt to one of the bigger globs of milky white bleeding into the material. He goes still against you, mouth dropping open in what could only be abject shock when you swipe one of the digits through the mess before lifting it up to your face. 

Looking appropriately scandalized now, Sunday tracks the motion with wide, horrified eyes. “Wh - what are you doing? That’s —“ 

Popping your cum coated fingertip into your mouth earns you a strangled gasp and he tries to reel back from you as if in disgust. But you keep your arm locked around his middle, holding him firmly in place while you suck the digit clean. Sunday’s wings flutter an anxious beat and tuck forward to curl defensively over the lower half of his face but it does very little to hide the furious blush staining his cheeks. He looked even more like a ripe cherry ready to be plucked than when you’d been holding his cock in your hand. 

“It’s nothing to be so embarrassed about.” You tell him candidly when you slide your finger out and reach back down to swipe it through the sticky fluid on his shirt again. “You don’t taste bad, if that’s what you’re thinking. I like how you feel in my mouth.” 

His eyes nervously darting from side to side, up and down, anywhere but directly at you, he tries to speak, croaks, and then awkwardly clears his throat again. “But - but that’s … unhygienic, isn’t it? That came out of my … my - -“ 

Softly laughing at how dangerously close he seems to fainting dead away like some sort of swooning maiden in an old movie, you catch a clinging glob of his spend and lift it up towards his face this time. “It’s fine, I promise. You taste good, Sunday. I wouldn’t lie to you. Here, try it for yourself?” 

He makes a face at that, reminding you of a kid that doesn’t want to take his medicine, but at your gentle prodding he slowly lowers his wings. The drooping feathers brush against your curled fingers just so, almost making you tremble at their light touch as you watch him differentially drop his gaze. Submissive and pliable, a clear sign of his bending to your will. 

Your earlier arousal flares back to life with a vengeance, making you feel uncomfortably warm and damp between the legs. Holding the air in your lungs, you nudge your hand closer and he obediently parts his lips for you with a tiny, shuddering whimper. Eyes slipping shut when you slide into his mouth again so you can drag your fingertip across his tongue and smear the salty discharge, making sure he got a good taste of it, he issues a faltering breath that puffs against your knuckles. 

“See? Not so terrible, is it?” You murmur, your voice drawling at a lower octave than usual. Watching him come to terms with his own body was almost as distracting as the need pulsing in your loins, demanding attention and relief in equal measure. You wanted him. More of him. All of him. 

But would he have you? 

Groaning a threadbare little sound, Sunday flutters his lashes and cautiously opens them to peer over at you. For a drawn out moment the two of you just stare at one another, gazes locked and searching. Questioning. Begging. 

And then, ever so sweetly, he closes his mouth and gives your finger an experimental suck, swallowing down the evidence of your illicit activities. A stuttering exhale escapes him as you slowly withdraw your hand, giving him just enough space to breathe for a second. You wanted him to decide for himself how he wanted to proceed, what his next move should be. 

Because what you’d said earlier was the truth. You were not his jailer, nor were you going to willingly facilitate that self flagellating streak of his either. If he wanted to come to you it would be in mutual pleasure and enjoyment, as equals with a vested interest in each other's happiness. Not as punishment or penance for something you’d already decided to forgive him for. 

“M - Miss Stellaron, I …” 

The way his wings start to shyly curl inward again, wanting to hide behind them, brings another smile to your face. He really was too cute like this. “What is it, Sunny?” 

He sucks in a mildly bothered breath at that. “I told you not to — never mind. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. And you were right. It wasn’t terrible. In all honesty, nothing you’ve done today was … entirely disagreeable in my eyes. So if you’d like to … I mean, if it pleases you we could …”

“Keep going?” You helpfully offer up, making his expression pinch in obvious embarrassment. 

“W - well, should you insist I … I guess I wouldn’t have any complaints about that. But only if you want to. I don’t care either way.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Practically grinning from ear to ear now, you place your hand against his shoulder and push to get him turned around. He still refuses to look directly at you, evidently finding the pattern on your bedspread far more interesting in that moment, but he doesn’t change his mind or try to pull away when you lean into him. 

Tipping your head so you can dip into the space between his nervously fluttering wings, you find Sunday’s mouth and kiss him. Tentatively at first to see how he’ll react, but when all he does is whimper a flustered sound against your lips you press harder, letting your hunger for him dictate your actions. His hands carefully come up to slide around your neck while his wings slowly fall open, letting you in as he holds you against him, and you feel like you just might burst. 

To be wanted by someone like him felt like a blessing and a curse all wrapped up in one. By initiating this had you only sped up his ruination from perfect and holy to mere mortal, or had you just engineered your own downfall in the same breath? 

You’d find out soon enough.

⭐

Cross posted: here

[cozmowrites]

Valentine's Day (2025)

It wasn’t that Bakugou Katsuki hated Valentine’s Day. He just hated how stupidly obvious his feelings were on it.

For months, he’d been struggling with this.... thing. A crush. On you. And as much as he wanted to deny it, his body refused to cooperate. His eyes always searched for you first in a crowded room, his heartbeat picked up when you smiled, and—damn it—he actually cared about what you thought of him.

Today was especially awful because everywhere he looked, people were handing out chocolates, writing dumb love letters, and whispering about confessions. Worse, his stupid friends kept teasing him about his feelings. Kirishima elbowed him during class, wiggling his eyebrows. Mina kept giving him these ridiculous knowing looks.

And you? You were as infuriating as ever, laughing and chatting, completely unaware that you were wrecking him.

What he didn’t know was that you were suffering just as much.

You had been crushing on Bakugou for months, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find the courage to tell him. He was intimidating, loud, and way toogood-looking for your sanity. Even worse, when he wasn’t yelling, he was doing things that made your heart race—like carrying your books without being asked or standing just a little too close.

And today? Today was hell.

You’d spent the entire morning overthinking. Should you confess? Should you just give him chocolates and run? Or should you pretend like this was just a normal day and suffer in silence?

Neither of you were prepared for what actually happened.

+++

It started when you both reached for the last bottle of your favorite drink in the vending machine.

“Oh,” you said, blinking up at him.

His eyes flicked to you, then to the bottle. “Tch. I was here first.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We got here at the same time.”

He scowled. “Yeah, well—”

And then, like an idiot, he just... handed it to you.

Your breath caught. “You—are you sure?”

He grumbled something under his breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just take the damn thing.”

Your heart thumped painfully. He didn’t have to do that. He could’ve taken it for himself.

You hesitated for half a second before blurting out, “I like you!”

A beat of silence.

His head snapped up so fast you worried he’d get whiplash. His face turned red in record time.

“What?!”

Your hands flew to your mouth. Oh, no.

Oh no oh no oh no—

Bakugou gawked at you, brain short-circuiting. His body moved before his thoughts could catch up, and the next thing he knew, he was yelling, “Well, I like you too, dumbass!”

A second, heavier silence.

Your hands were still clamped over your mouth. His eyes were impossibly wide. You both stood frozen, staring at each other in complete shock.

Had you seriously just confessed at the same time?!

It took all of two seconds for the reality to sink in before the both of you absolutely lost it.

Your brain shut down, your entire body heating up. You turned on your heel, about to flee, but Bakugou grabbed your wrist before you could escape.

“Oh, no you don’t!” He barked, face still red. “You don’t get to drop that bomb and run!”

“I didn’t mean to say it!” you wailed, covering your face with your hands.

He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “You think I meant to?! It just—fuck! This is your fault!”

“My fault?! How is it my fault?!”

“You—you were just standing there, looking at me with your stupid face—”

“My stupid face?!”

“I meant—you always look stupidly cute and it pissed me off, okay?!”

You swore your soul left your body. Bakugou’s eyes went wide when he realized what he said, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to explode on the spot.

And then, because neither of you had control over your emotions, you started laughing.

You doubled over, holding your stomach, while he groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Shut up,” he grumbled. “This is the worst confession ever.”

You gasped between laughs. “You—you just called me cute while yelling at me.”

His glare was weak at best. “I’ll kill you.”

“You won’t.”

He huffed, looking away. “...I won’t.”

The laughter eventually died down, leaving a strange sort of warmth between you. Your hands fidgeted around the drink bottle. “So... now what?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “....Wanna go out with me?”

Your breath caught. “You’re actually asking me?”

“Obviously!” He scowled. “I just yelled at you about liking you, dumbass.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“...Good.”

Neither of you moved at first, still a little stunned. But then, hesitantly, Bakugou reached for your hand. His palm was warm, rough but careful. Your fingers intertwined naturally.

“...I’m still taking you on a proper date,” he muttered.

Your heart swelled. “Looking forward to it, boyfriend Katsuki. Happy Valentine's Day.”

His face turned red all over again. “Shut up.”

But he didn’t let go.

+++

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