#it surprises even me time and time again. even though i know it stems from this place that makes so much sense.

[handgiven]

it's genuinely something that aids my mental health so much to imagine a being that's seen the beginning and the end of the world, a being that's seen the best and the worst of what humanity can offer, a being that's had all the time in the universre to ponder about a purpose, and about the meaning of existence, and whose very simple response is just. be kind. in the long run, none of the other things matter. what matters is to allow your soul to blossom into something as beautiful as it can be, through little acts of kindness, whenever you are able. that's enough.

[muletia]

Hi, I want to thank you for your scenarios JAJSJAJ, they are so good, Optimus is so cute I just want to hug him and bite him 😭😭😭😭.

But, imagine if the reader for some reason stays overnight at the base, I'm 100% sure this big guy would just stand there watching the reader sleep, like "I wish she was dreaming about me" or like Pearl in that chapter where Steven finds out she's been watching him sleep all his life KKKKKKKKK.

Pd. Sorry if the writing is bad, English is not my main language.

I send lots of love to the author! Thank you! 🥰

hello and thank you so much, your idea was so cute that i decided to make a very small drabble about it <333 also yes, bite this man on the neck, he would love it. and don't worry, your english is great (fun fact english is not my first language either)

word count: 490

It's quiet in the base when Optimus returns from patrol. No sign of the kids or any of his team members. Even Ratchet is missing from his workstation at the keyboard, surprising the Autobot leader. Could it be that he finally went to take the much-needed rest he deserves? He sincerely hoped that was the case.

Still, sadness overcame him. This meant you weren’t in the base either. What a shame. He had naïvely hoped the two of you would meet again. Maybe he would’ve even driven you home...

He transformed gracefully. He intended to head to his quarters to grab a datapad, but before he could take a single step, something—or rather, someone—caught his attention. He wasn’t alone. He allowed himself a subtle smile when he noticed you on the couch. You had a laptop on your lap, though you weren’t typing, and the device’s screen was off. Were you recharging?

He stepped closer, but not even the sound of his massive footsteps woke you, giving him the perfect opportunity to observe your face. You looked so serene, so peaceful. However, he knew that your sleep likely stemmed from immense exhaustion, which you had eventually stopped fighting. Never before had something like this happened—you’d never spent the night at their base. It was his turn to gently remind you to rest. The last thing he wanted was for you to push your body beyond its limits.

He knows he shouldn’t stare, especially now when you’re vulnerable before him, unable to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable. He was using your slumber for his own satisfaction, indulging in a wickedness that fed his mania. And he hated himself for it, silently screaming that he needed to stop and that he was shameless. But he couldn’t.

How much he’d give to be able to recharge beside you. To hold your body close and finally rest. If you were so near to him, would you still haunt his dreams? Or would you finally allow him some relief? Would your embrace protect him from himself? He would likely never get answers to these questions. But that didn’t stop him from fantasizing, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t count how many times he had scolded himself, berating his delusions. It never helped. He was incorrigible.

He wanted to touch you, so badly, but in this regard, he managed to maintain self-control—he hadn’t yet crossed that boundary. He vented heavily and gently took your laptop, moving it to the other end of the couch. Then, he grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the couch, left there by one of the kids, and covered you with it after spreading it out fully. He allowed himself one more moment to gaze at you, to admire your form undisturbed by the realities of the awake world and then left to fetch his datapad. It was going to be a very long night.

[suzukiblu]

. . . anyway LISTEN I told 'yall November was gonna be "obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU" month, and I really did not INTEND to post my daily words for it again this year but also, like, fuck it, we ball. No promises I will update EVERY day this time around but again: fuck it, we ball. ( also uhhhhh I've been writing this fic kinda-sorta-semi out of order lately but there is still a significant chunk of word count I'd already written that I would've pre-gamed and posted YESTERDAY if I'd thought I was gonna be doing this, sooooo hope nobody minds us kickin' off the month with like an extra 5.9k on top of the 1.6k of obligatory sugar that I ACTUALLY wrote today behind this here cut? yes? no?? Bueller???? )

get sugared, Super-boytoy. Tim, you just . . . you just do your future-supervillain best over there, buddy. you just do what you can with yourself. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I wanted to,” Tim says again, and Kon glances away and bites his lip, turning the flowers by the stem again. 

“It’s, uh–pretty,” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, it’s–cool. Thanks.” 

“If I can’t bring you fresh ones, well . . .” Tim shrugs. Kon glances back to him, and very briefly presses one of the orchid blooms against his own mouth. His face is still all flushed and his eyes are still a little soft, and it’s . . . it makes a picture, alright, even if it's not one Tim's specifically set up to take. Especially with the gold eyeliner and his blue eyes both matching the orchids. 

Tim didn't plan that, obviously, but he thinks it makes up for the sapphire versus ruby thing.

“Um . . .” Kon trails off, biting his lip. Glances down at the orchids from under his lashes. It doesn't make him any less of a picture, for sure. “So, um–do you wanna see the ‘something nice’ I got?” 

Tim blinks, immediately thinks of the most embarrassing option that Kon could possibly mean, and desperately tries to fight back a mortified flush at the idea. But, well–everything he can see Kon wearing is something he remembers buying him already, so . . . 

Oh god, he needs his brain to shut up right now. Immediately. Right now and immediately and forever. 

“Sure,” he says like a normal person, trying not to panic. “What is it?” 

Kon, thank god, pulls a little rectangular package inexplicably–and inexpertly–wrapped in newspaper comics out of the same coat pocket he tucked the jewelry box in. There's plain white string tied around it in a bow. 

Tim . . . blinks. 

If he didn't know better, he'd think Kon had . . . 

“I, um, got you something?” Kon says, and Tim stares blankly at the package. He–what? “For once, anyway. Well, I guess, uh, technically you got it for yourself, and actually this is kinda stupid maybe, you can literally just get yourself whatever you want whenever, obviously, but I just thought, uh–” 

“You got me something?” Tim repeats in surprise. Kon turns pink and shoves the package at him. Tim is too bewildered not to take it. 

“I thought it’d be, uh–fun,” he says, biting his lip and still very visibly blushing. “I mean–that we could have some fun with it. Y’know?” 

Tim stares at the package for another moment, then looks up at Kon. Alright, this maybe isn’t exactly the vibe he was going for here in terms of who’s paying for what and who’s giving things to who, but . . . well, Kon apparently used his allowance for whatever this is, at least, which gives him a reason to have wanted the allowance, so . . . he can work with that, he figures. Like, it’s an “in” to work from; a step in the process. 

He can’t tell what Kon’s gotten him from the shape of the package, though the edges are hard even though it doesn’t feel like it’s in a box or anything. “Have some fun” isn’t much of a clue, though he supposes it does imply something interactive. Maybe it’s a game of some kind, or–

Tim unties the bow and splits apart the clumsy seam of the comic-page wrapping paper with his thumb, tugging through its layers to reveal the package’s contents, and Kon flushes a little darker and watches him just a little bit nervously. 

Tim doesn’t actually know what to say. 

“I just thought, um, a real one’d probably take better pictures than a phone can,” Kon says sheepishly, slanting his eyes away and half-hiding his face behind the orchids. “I made sure the battery was charged and the guy at the store said it's got a lot of storage, I guess, so . . .” 

“You got me a camera,” Tim says blankly, which is the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him short of, like . . . no, it’s pretty much just the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. By far it’s the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. 

“You like taking pictures, right?” Kon fidgets a little, then smiles just barely shyly as he glances back at him. Tim's heart skips a few beats. Or more than just “a few”, maybe. “So, um–I thought maybe we could go do that . . . somewhere. You know, after dinner.” 

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him a little stupidly. It’s not a particularly good camera, honestly–like, it’s a perfectly functional model for casual amateur use and a decently reliable commercial brand, but he’s got much better ones that are all professional-quality. He hasn’t used any of them in a while and most of them are admittedly a few years old now, but . . . yeah, this was a hundred bucks max, if that, and his cheapest camera was over five hundred. 

Note to self: raise Kon’s allowance. 

Also, apparently now his favorite camera is the kind of camera civilian amateurs just take random family photos on. Apparently that’s a thing. 

Tim really doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Kon not only remembered something he mentioned having an interest in, Kon bothered to actually get him something he thought he’d have an interest in. That is really, really not the dynamic he’s been encouraging here, for one thing. And also, why even would Kon do that? Like–really? 

“Thanks,” Tim says sincerely, turning the camera over in his hands and feeling incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “I love it.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, biting his lip around a smile. His face is still a little pink and he looks all soft and pretty like that, especially with the flowers still in his hand. Tim really was not prepared for Kon having “soft and pretty” in his repertoire. Like, that was not a thing he ever expected to see from his cocky, crowing brawler of a teammate. 

Kon’s only a brawler because he thinks he’s supposed to be, though, Tim’s pretty sure. Like–increasingly sure, at this point. 

He really, really needs to figure out how to get Kon to tell Robin more about his TTK. Or, like . . . anything about it, apparently. Just literally any single thing, at this point. 

“Thank you,” he says again, inspecting the camera assessingly and making note of all its functions and ports and the generally obvious basics. “We could go take some shots around downtown later, if you’re up for that?” 

Kon turns bright red, and Tim doesn’t understand for about half a second before remembering–the last time Kon had talked to him about taking pictures, he’d offered . . . 

Oh Jesus. 

Tim is either incredibly stupid or–actually, he doesn’t even know. Lucky? Embarrassing? The dumbest moron alive who didn’t even realize he was being flirted with again? All those things and several even worse ones? 

Kon had offered to let him take spicy pics of him the last time they'd talked about taking pictures, whatever “spicy” means to Kon–brash, impulsive, shameless Kon–and Tim’s the idiot whose first thought upon Kon following up that conversation by very literally giving him a camera was to go take pictures of fucking downtown.

He is the most useless “sugar daddy” to ever sugar. 

Well, to be fair, it is Gotham downtown, so it’s very–

“I like taking pictures of streets and buildings,” he blurts belatedly, fumbling to sound like just the oblivious idiot that he is and not some kind of weird fucking perv who’s trying to get Kon arrested for public indecency. Jesus, he’s stupid. “And people-watching is interesting too. You know, stuff like that.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and looks several ways at once, including both a little relieved and a little disheartened, which . . . okay, Tim would literally die if they actually went somewhere to take spicy pics tonight, so is unfortunately unavoidable. He’s not trying to make Kon not feel–attractive or anything, but he needs at least twenty-four hours to make a plan and also two or three or seventeen contingency plans before . . . anything like that happens. Ever. Even in theory. “Um–yeah, sure. That sounds cool.” 

“Cool,” Tim says, still desperately pretending to be an idiot. It’s not hard, on account of the fact that he very much is an idiot. 

Kon pauses for a moment, then perks up a little, seeming to think of something, and asks–“When’s dinner?” 

“Our reservation’s in forty-five minutes,” Tim says, double-checking the time on his phone just to be sure. “Well, forty-six. I figured that’d let us take our time walking over and maybe we could window-shop a little on the way.” 

And also shop-shop a lot, if Kon gives him literally even the slightest indication that he wants or needs something. Just if it comes up or anything. That’s all. 

Tim definitely did plan their route to the restaurant to cut straight through the middle of the downtown shopping district, either way. 

“We could’ve just met there, dude,” Kon says wryly, but grins anyway, glancing down at the orchids in his hand again. “Forty-six minutes, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Tim confirms. 

“And you like taking pictures of streets and buildings?” Kon asks, his grin turning just a little bit sly. Tim frowns briefly in confusion, not sure what the grin’s about. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Gotham has a lot of really interesting architecture and design. Like, it’s an old city, and one that’s been pretty resistant to updates in a lot of areas or just not had the money for those updates. So you get a lot of places with a lot of character and it’s basically the bastard child of gothic and art deco design with a side of industrial warehouse, depending on the part of town you’re in. Like, Crime Alley and the Diamond District have very different vibes, but they’re both very Gotham vibes, if you know what to look for. It’s–” 

Kon is grinning really widely at him, for some reason. Tim realizes he’s rambling like a moron and turns red. 

“Uh,” he says, repressing a wince. “Yes. Yeah. I like taking pictures of streets and buildings.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, and then he carefully packs the orchids back into their box and it back into the gift bag and transfers the chocolates and jewelry back into it too, then grins even wider at him as he hooks the bag’s handles over his arm and into the crook of his elbow. “Don’t drop the camera, babe.” 

“Wha–” Tim starts to say, and then Kon grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the closest alley, which is terrible survival instincts for Gotham, oh god, but before Tim can say anything about that Kon’s wrapped an arm around his waist just tight enough to just barely lift him off his feet and bolted straight up into the air with him. “Shit!”

Tim doesn’t drop the camera because he’s held onto cameras while falling off literal buildings before, but definitely only because of that. Muscle memory, or whatever. Also he’s been snatched off his feet by Bruce and Dick plenty of times and thrown off rooftops by multiple rogues and thugs over the years and these days gets regularly dragged around by Bart, all while holding very important things he could not afford to drop, so it’s not like either the sudden jolt or the effort to keep his grip on the camera are as disorienting as it otherwise would be. Just . . . 

Ugh, Tim realizes, absolutely unimpressed with himself upon realizing that the breathless feeling he’s having right now is not actually related to the swift and sudden increase in altitude, but is actually just because it’s Kon holding him. 

He is an idiot, isn’t he, he reflects resignedly. Just an actual literal idiot. 

Jesus. 

“Whatcha think?” Kon asks with a grin as he comes to a stop in mid-air with him. He stops very suddenly, but Tim notices a distinct lack of jarring with said stop, which implies Kon’s got his TTK around him again and probably completely around him, which means–

Oh god, Tim thinks, and very quickly makes himself stop thinking about that. 

“It’s cool,” he says, because a normal civilian would think flying was something interesting and unusual, but it’s hard to act too excited about a move Kon probably pulls on literally everyone he–

“I meant the view, babe!” Kon says with a laugh, and Tim . . . blinks. 

And then he looks down. 

They’re hovering a few thousand feet up, and downtown is already lit up bright in the early evening gloom. And Kon . . . 

“Streets and buildings, as ordered,” Kon says, grinning wider with a smug, cocky look on his face. 

Oh no, he’s hot, Tim realizes with dread, and then blinks again. Stares down at the city below, past the whipping wind and down into the busy streets and the bright, dazzling lights cutting through the murky gloom. He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, obviously, because of course he has–he’s been climbing these rooftops for years, and every night he runs across and swings back and forth between them and utterly fails to learn how to do more than a double backflip. 

One day, he promises himself distractedly, and then looks back at Kon. 

He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, but never just because someone thought he’d like it. Like–not like this, he means. Dick's shown him a few particularly special or exhilarating views over the years, yeah, but . . . definitely not like this. Not for a reason like this. 

And definitely not while peacocking all smug and pretty dressed up in clothes that he bought him and holding him close enough to kiss. 

Kon’s expression turns a little sheepish; a little soft. Not quite shy, but . . . 

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice pitched a little quieter, and Tim has the much worse and even more dread-inducing realization of oh no, he’s CUTE.

He swallows, briefly, and feels his face burn. 

“Yeah,” he manages in an almost-normal voice. “I like it.” 

Kon grins at him, brighter than any city light, and Tim barely keeps himself from dropping the camera after all. 

“Thanks,” he attempts awkwardly, making himself focus on the camera and resisting the urge to take an immediate shot of that city-light grin. 

Then he takes one anyway, because of course he does. Kon laughs in surprise, then makes a face at him teasingly. 

“Hey, you can buy this face in any cheap gossip rag, focus on the fun stuff,” he jokes, jerking his head towards the city below. Tim looks searchingly at him for a moment, and then for obvious reasons snaps another picture. Kon flushes a little again. They probably won't even come out from this close, but . . . 

“You’re the most fun I’ve had all week,” Tim says, which is definitely too honest but clearly necessary to make a point of saying. Kon turns redder, ducking his head and grinning around his bitten lip. 

“You don’t have to say that kind of thing to me, man,” he says, and it comes across almost like a reflex. Tim hates . . . yeah, just literally everybody Kon’s ever known in his whole entire life, actually? Like, pretty much everybody? Bart gets a break because he grew up alone in VR and is therefore terrible with people and the girls get a break because they haven’t known any of them that long, but everybody else can just take a long walk off a short gutter, in Tim’s opinion. 

Especially any “everybody” from Cadmus. 

Or Metropolis, at this point. 

“I’m not saying anything I don’t want to say,” he says simply, and goes to the effort to frame a few shots of the skyline so Kon will know he appreciates . . . well, not the angle, exactly, but the thought. 

Technically he is usually on top of a building when he’s doing this, so the angle is actually a slightly different one than he’s used to–not that he’s been taking photos lately, just–not the point, really. Kon got him a camera and brought him up here because he clearly thought he’d like it, and damned if Tim is gonna do anything to make him think he doesn’t. 

He has better cameras for things like this–aerial shots and night photography and long-distance and the like, and better cameras for closeup candids too–but he already knows these pictures are all going to be exactly what he wants them to be, even the ones that don't come out. 

Or especially those, maybe. 

He's not sure how he'd explain that feeling to someone else. 

Kon flies them around, staying out of sight behind the light pollution and among the shadows of the buildings, and Tim takes . . . a lot more pictures than he needs to, actually. He was just trying to make sure Kon knew he appreciated him thinking of him, but actually . . . 

Well. 

It’s fun, that’s all. 

It’s . . . been a while, kinda, since he got to spend this much time on just photography and nothing else. Or–any time at all, really. 

Not that this is nothing else, obviously, given that Kon’s holding him and it is very, very hard to concentrate on anything besides that, but it is the kind of a view a standard civilian never gets, and it’s kind of nice to be flying for non-work-related reasons, for once. Like . . . novel, he guesses. A different experience. 

Technically he and Dick do “fly” together just for fun, sometimes, but that’s different. Like–so many kinds of different. It helps them in their work–keeps the rooftops familiar and them both in shape and in sync–but he can’t take photos when he’s trying to keep up with Nightwing across the rooftops of Gotham, and it’s not like Dick’s carrying him either. 

Also, it’s much less flustering and difficult to concentrate through, because again, Dick is not carrying him, and also Dick doesn’t do things like wear clothes he bought or do his eyeliner and paint his nails for him. Or, uh . . . anything like that. 

Also, definitely the “spicy pics” thing is not at all a thing, with Dick. Like, not even slightly, in any way whatsoever. And they’ve also never made out in a changing room or the back of a planetarium or– 

Look, there’s a lot of ways it’s different, okay? 

A lot of ways. 

“I'm not boring you, am I?” Tim asks a little bit sheepishly as Kon lands them on a ledge just behind one of the bigger gargoyles, tucked in tight in the shadows between it and the building it's perched on. “We can probably still fit in some window-shopping before dinner, if you want.” 

“Oh my god, dude, I promise we can do things you don't have to spend money on,” Kon says with a laugh as he lets him down on the ledge. “Though if it helps you technically did spend money on this, given how I got the camera and all.” 

“It's your allowance,” Tim says, because he wants to make sure Kon actually gets that. “You can spend it however you want.” 

“Well, I spent it how I wanted,” Kon says, and then steps closer into his space with a smile. Tim ends up sitting on the gargoyle’s back as Kon leans down to kiss him, and it's not like he's never kissed anyone while perched on a gargoyle before, but somehow it feels like something new anyway. New and electric, bright and easy and smeared with the city lights and thrilling in its shadows, and– 

Kon breaks off the kiss, though he keeps a hand on Tim’s arm, probably to make sure the squishy untrained civilian won't accidentally fall off the ledge and get splatted on the concrete. Tim barely holds himself back from chasing his mouth. 

“It's cool, anyway. Um, doing stuff you're into with you, I mean,” Kon says, looking a little soft and almost-shy again, and never mind, Tim not only needs to chase his mouth, he needs to set up a damn manhunt for it. “You're real cute when you get excited, man. I mean, uh–just–” 

The manhunt is going to require a very significant budget, Tim notes. 

Then he kisses him again, obviously. Kon melts down into it–into him, really–and wraps his arms around his neck, and Tim feels several kind of ways about it. Admittedly, it's the easier option with him sitting on the gargoyle and Kon leaning over him, but Kon's put his arms around his neck a couple of times now, and, well . . . 

That's just not something he would've expected from him, he guesses. Not “cool” or masculine or badass or . . . whatever, exactly, Kon thinks he's supposed to be. 

So Tim . . . likes it, he thinks, that Kon doesn't seem to think he needs to be like that around Tim Drake. 

Robin’s sure as hell never seen Kon in eyeliner. 

Robin's loss, Tim thinks. 

. . . maybe he's compartmentalizing a little too much these days, but still. 

Kon makes a very, very soft little sound between their mouths and then laughs, and Tim promises himself he won't stop at Gotham: he'll take over Metropolis for this asshole one day. Even if that means putting up with Lex Luthor and Superman. And also, like . . . everything about Metropolis. 

He'll figure it out. Supervillainy is still a long-term plan, so he's got time. 

Anyway, if he gives it to Kon after he takes it over he won't have to put up with it, so it's whatever. Sugar daddies do that kind of thing, right? Get their sugar-ees a city? 

. . . okay, definitely not. Like, very definitely not. 

“Okay date idea, then?” Kon asks as he leans back a bit and does a very bad job of biting back a smile, his face a little flushed and arms squeezing a little tighter around his neck. 

Tim will get him Metropolis if it kills Lex Luthor. 

“Very okay,” he says, smiling back at him. Kon grins, his face turning just a little bit redder, and then kisses him again. Tim has absolutely no complaints about that. Ever. He can’t even imagine a complaint he’d have about that, in fact. 

Worst case scenario, he’ll get them in at another restaurant if they miss their reservation. 

He really doesn't know what else he's supposed to do about how easy Kon blushes. 

They definitely spend too long making out against the gargoyle and Tim definitely lets himself get too riled up during it–and does not think about tactile telekinesis or any kind of related passive perception while he does–but by the time he’s the one pressing Kon back against the building, he really doesn’t care anymore. 

The fact Kon is even willing to let him do that when there is literally no way Tim could ever actually pin him anywhere without a way to sabotage his powers is . . . really, really distracting. Just–so distracting. 

Jesus, Tim thinks, breaking off just long enough to catch his breath for a moment. Kon pants softly against his mouth, which sabotages that even worse than kryptonite would sabotage TTK. 

Jesus, Tim thinks again, and then crushes their mouths back together. 

He doesn’t need to breathe that often. 

Kon makes a softer, breathier sound this time, and Tim does not let himself make it weird by letting his hands wander anywhere outside of second base territory. Frankly he’s not sure second base territory isn’t him making it weird, but Kon started it, so hopefully it’s not? Like–logically it’d follow that Kon wouldn’t touch him anywhere he doesn’t want touched, right? 

Well–hopefully, anyway. 

The air feels tight, Tim notices suddenly, like the feeling of sinking into deeper pressure when underwater but all at once, and then realizes–oh. 

Uh. 

Okay. 

“Um,” he says, and immediately the feeling of pressure vanishes as Kon jerks back and claps a hand over his own mouth. Which is mostly him pushing Tim back, given their position, but he does crack the brickwork behind him a little. 

Whoops, Tim thinks. 

“Sorry!” Kon blurts. “Sorry, sorry, that’s–sorry! I just, uh–got a little too into it. I won’t do it again.” 

“It’s really not a problem,” Tim says, with absolutely no idea how to take the idea of Kon getting “a little too into it” when kissing him, or the idea that getting a little too into it apparently involves getting wrapped up in TTK a lot more noticeably than making him bulletproof at the museum did. “I mean–it didn’t hurt or anything, I was just surprised.” 

“I–yeah, I know, it’s just–weird,” Kon says, still looking mortified. “So–sorry. That’s all.” 

“I don’t mind weird,” Tim says, because actually the idea of being temporarily at least as invulnerable as Kon is while making out with him implies being able to devote a lot more attention to said making out, as opposed to keeping half an eye out for snipers or rogues or random rooftop criminals. Not that he’d stop paying any attention to that, obviously, just–yeah. Well. 

It’s a little tempting, that’s all. 

“Uh–you don’t?” Kon bites his lip, still looking a little embarrassed. 

“It kind of just felt like scuba-diving, but with less equipment involved,” Tim says with a little shrug, keeping his tone light because “seriously, you have no idea how much I’d like to not be compulsively keeping an eye out for snipers right now” isn’t a very “civilian” thing to say. “And I’m not about to complain about you enjoying kissing me that much either way.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and flushes a little. “Uh–really?” 

“Really,” Tim says, smiling at him again and tugging gently at the lapels of his jacket to pull himself back in. Kon blushes, and grins, and meets him halfway for the kiss. The sensation of pressure wraps him up again, gentle but undeniable, and Tim feels several kinds of ways about it. 

Maybe even a little bit safe, or at least as safe as anyplace outside the Batcave ever gets. 

Tim knows there’s no such thing as being perfectly, completely safe, but getting all wrapped up in Kon’s TTK and kissed for it makes it hard to remember that. 

Very, very hard. 

They spend a much longer time making out this time. Tim is vaguely aware that they still have a dinner reservation to make, but . . . well, he did pad the time to allow for window-shopping, so even with the time they spent flying around taking pictures, it's probably fine? 

Yeah, no, they’ve definitely missed their reservation by now. Probably way past missed it. Just so, so far past missed it. 

Weirdly, Tim doesn’t care as much as he should, even though he really prefers when things go to plan and also needs Kon to feel appreciated and like he got properly spoiled and taken someplace nice. He’s going to have to figure out something else on the fly, though, because he really does needs Kon to feel appreciated and also needs the excuse to get him more used to getting money spent on him and–

Tim remembers that he needs to breathe more than he's currently breathing and breaks off the kiss. Kon half-chases his mouth with his own, audibly breathless himself. Tim is not equipped to handle Kon breathless. 

That might actually be more flattering than the TTK thing. Or, uh–flustering, maybe. 

Both, maybe. “Both” is probably accurate here. 

Jesus, Tim does not know what he did to deserve Kon getting breathless over something he’s done to him, much less all soft and pretty and–

They have definitely, definitely missed their reservation. Usually Tim has a better sense of time than that, but usually Tim doesn’t have Kon wanting to make out on a Gotham rooftop with him, Like, he thinks he can forgive himself a little bit of disorientation on that one, considering. 

. . . as long as Bruce never finds out he messed up that bad, anyway. Because Bruce would definitely not like hearing he’d messed up that bad, TTK or not. 

Probably especially involving the TTK, actually. Probably Bruce would not take “yeah I let Superboy get distracted enough to unconsciously wrap me up in his Kryptonian-level superpowers while he wasn’t in full control of them and actually, like, encouraged it, kinda? like, explicitly encouraged it, actually”. 

Yeah, Bruce would not like that. 

“Um,” Tim says, and clears his throat a little awkwardly. “So, uh–hungry yet?” 

“You could say that,” Kon murmurs, then flashes him a sharp, wicked grin with his eyes slit open just enough to fix on Tim’s mouth. Tim spares a moment to compartmentalize just enough to not lose his mind about that, then makes the mistake of licking his lips anxiously, sees Kon’s hooded eyes go hot at the sight, and immediately fails to not lose his mind. 

“Uh,” he manages, and then decides they don’t really need to get dinner just yet and maybe they could just, like–no, no, Kon is definitely not getting enough calories from that stupid barely-legal underground lab’s stupid definitely-not-health-code-compliant cafeteria, Tim is not gonna be a bad enough date to not get his date a respectable amount of calories. That is just not a thing that he’s gonna, like . . . thing, as a thing. Or whatever. 

Not like Superman’s been bringing Kon casseroles or anything, the prick. 

“Um, I–uh, might’ve let us get a little too distracted, sorry,” Tim attempts after a moment of mental fumbling, making himself push back from Kon a little and pulling his phone out to check the time. Yeah, they have definitely missed their reservation. Very, very thoroughly have they missed it. 

Dammit. That is not Bat-quality situational awareness. 

“You think that was just you, man?” Kon asks with a little laugh, just barely ducking his head and biting his lip. It is . . . very distracting. As is his face. And his hands, which are still loosely on Tim’s back, and his TTK, which is still loosely . . . basically everywhere, yeah. Just–way too many places for Tim to be rational about, basically. 

“I mean, I was the one who made the reservation,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he does his best to at least fake rationality. “So, uh, I should’ve been paying attention to the time. I can see if there’s someplace we can still slip in, it’s a little last-minute for a Friday but–” 

Kon kisses him again. 

Tim was saying something, he’s reasonably sure, but he couldn’t remember whatever it was with a gun to his head. A gun to his head while out of his suit and without Kon on the same floor as him, to be clear. 

Kon leans back and grins at him, all bright and pretty and cutting right through the shade and shadows of Gotham like a spotlight-signal lighting up the cloud cover. Tim remains vaguely aware of the fact that he was doing . . . something. At some point. In theory. 

God, Kon is so pretty. So, so pretty. And everything he’s wearing is something Tim bought him, coat and clothes and jewelry and all. Just–all of it, as far as he can see. 

Tim does not let himself think about what else Kon might or might not be wearing right now. Just–that way lies madness, and also Kon not getting a decent dinner and decent spoiling. 

. . . there’s probably some other ways Tim could spoil him, technically, if he just– 

Tim does not finish that thought. 

“You’re so fucking cute, daddy,” Kon says, still grinning just as signal-bright and pretty at him. Tim is not prepared for literally any of that and nearly melts right off the ledge into an incoherent mess of street pizza. 

“Uh,” he says, swallowing roughly. “We should–are you hungry yet?” 

Kon laughs, for some reason. Tim very quietly and carefully burns alive, and then Kon floats up a few inches and ducks around him and back out into the open air, leaning down to grin at him and reaching to–probably he’s intending to pick him up again, Tim’s brain is vaguely aware, but the rest of Tim is thinking more like hurr durr pretty boy, which is definitely why he ends up reaching up to cup Kon’s face in his hands and tug him down for another kiss, pushing himself up on his toes on the edge of the ledge to reach him easier. Kon makes a soft, breathless little noise, then laughs in delight and kisses him back. 

The wind is cold and sharp and the evening sky is all heavy dark clouds and hazy light pollution and Kon’s wearing clothes Tim bought him, some of which Tim even suggested to him, and he put on makeup and painted his nails to come see him and he’s got a gift bag of little things Tim picked out for him hooked in the crook of his elbow and he liked all of those little things, and they’ve not only missed but obliterated their dinner reservation, and they’re half-on a ledge high above the street and kissing and Kon is just so pretty.

And Kon also bought him a camera and brought him up here because he thought he’d like it and called him “cute”, which are all facts that Tim is definitely going to have to compartmentalize to fully process later, or else he really will melt right off the stupid ledge. 

The spicy pics thing, also, is a thing. The spicy pics thing is, uh–very much a thing. 

Tim is maybe just never gonna process that particular fact in, like, self-defense. 

Ever. 

. . . god, he’s going to have to process that fact at some point, isn’t he. God. That is . . . that is a whole thing that he is going to have to do. Like, effectively and well and throughly.

Maybe it’s not too late to just go supervillain right now, actually. Maybe Kon would be open to, like, minionhood or something. Lots of supervillains put their minions up in their lairs, right? That’s totally a thing, isn’t it? 

Ugh, no, Kon deserves a place he can really feel like is his place and also he has not laid near enough groundwork to get Dick to switch sides. Like, Alfred would, obviously. Alfred will be on-board the second the rusty crowbar and shrapnel bomb plan comes up and will probably have useful notes to add. But Dick is gonna require some more long-term finessing and Babs definitely won’t come if Dick doesn’t and– 

Kon laughs into the kiss and cups Tim’s face in return, which is incredibly distracting, and then squishes his face, which is incredibly annoying. 

“Hey!” Tim sputters, and Kon laughs again and leans back just enough to grin at him. 

“You are so weird, dude,” he says. “I can literally hear you thinking.” 

“. . . that’s not me being detached from the situation, I–” Tim starts, unable to repress a wince, and Kon just grins wider, grabs his wrists, and tugs him off the ledge and–oh, okay, that’s a weird sensation, Tim notes, because gravity does absolutely nothing at all to him until Kon’s pulled him into his arms and wrapped him up in them again all easy and secure. . 

So that’s . . . yeah, no, “incredibly distracting” isn’t actually gonna cover this one, considering. 

“Uh,” he says, blinking a couple of times. That. That is definitely not how Superboy holds Robin. 

Frick. 

“I just gotta keep you better attached, right, daddy?” Kon purrs–really purrs, his chest briefly vibrating against Tim’s–and then grins wider at him again with eyes that are, unfortunately, literally goddamn sparkling right now–thanks, gold eyeliner, Tim didn’t need those higher thought processes–before giving him another quick little kiss that Tim actually would like to turn into a four-hour make-out session and maybe also a sleepover and–

God he needs to remember how to compartmentalize. He really, really needs to remember how to compartmentalize. 

Also he needs to kiss Kon’s literal friggin’ brains out, the smug friggin’ asshole.

Mid-air makeouts are the worst possible idea Kon has ever inflicted on him and Tim would sooner fight Killer Croc without his utility belt than point that fact out to him. 

He winds his arms around Kon’s neck and kisses him back, and Kon makes this tiny little–not pleased, not content, but actually happy-sounding noise and kisses back harder. Tim feels gravity stop being a particularly relevant concern again and feels like he’s floating in deep, heavy water but also like he’s the lightest he’s ever been in his life, and it is . . . it is a feeling, alright. 

Kon is a menace. Kon is a problem. 

Kon is so, so damn cute. 

“You are an actual literal brat, baby,” Tim mutters slightly more feelingly than he means to, and Kon’s laugh comes out a little breathier this time and he ducks his head to the side and his face flushes and–

No. Nope. No. Tim needs to not learn anything new about himself or Kon tonight, or, worse, anything about him and Kon. That is just not a thing he has time for in his schedule. He’s got to fit in an anxiety attack and three full files’ worth of casework this weekend, for one, plus his science presentation and that make-up book report, and also come up with someplace else nice enough to take Kon to dinner tonight. 

“So, uh–dinner?” he says very quickly–self-defense, again–and Kon bites his lower lip and grins around it, his face still turned just a little bit away. Tim pretends they’re not effectively pressed together from knee to neck right now. Pretends valiantly. “I mean–um, if you’re hungry yet.” 

Kon laughs, ducking his head lower, the dangling gold teardrop hanging from his ear gleaming warmly in the murky electric city light. Tim goes through multiple stages of emotional processing to keep himself from kissing his neck right behind that earring and completely forgetting about not only dinner, but all his homework and casework and even the anxiety attack. 

Does Kon laugh this much around Robin? 

Tim really doesn’t feel like he does. 

He also doesn’t tell Robin very important things like the fact that he can make other people bulletproof on a whim and map out an entire mall just by standing in it, which is objectively much worse and potentially dangerous a thing not to do, but also Tim is already positive he’s going to miss that laugh like crazy every time he sees Kon with the mask on. 

Robin doesn’t get to see Kon like this at all, even when he lets the asshole eat both stupid boxes of cinnamon bread. 

“Dinner, yeah,” Kon says, grinning again and then taking off backwards across the sky, apparently unconcerned about their chances of hitting a building. Tim’s not really in a proper carry so much as just stretched out against him and wrapped up in his arms, but given the nature of how Kon’s powers work, an actual carry is obivously not really a concern, so . . . 

Oh, Tim realizes as Kon tips back just enough to be reclining in the air, still flying without any apparent care or concern for the aerodynamics of the situation or anything but staying more or less out of view of anyone on the street below. 

Avoiding the street view is good. 

The part where now he’s essentially laying on top of Kon is . . . less good, maybe. 

Maybe he won’t have to convince Kon to go supervillain, at least. Maybe Kon’s already there. 

“Where to, daddy?” Kon asks with a smirk, keeping one arm looped around Tim’s waist and folding the other behind his own head like he’s laying out in a lounge chair on the beach. Tim thinks longingly of smothering him and also of getting him to take down his TTK so he could bite a hickey or five into his neck. Maybe six. He could probably do six. 

Or seven. 

“Northeast towards Broad Street,” Tim says as he tips his head in the appropriate direction, then pulls up the camera again and snaps a quick shot of Kon’s smug smirk, which immediately breaks into a surprised laugh as the other flushes again. 

He takes a picture of that too. 

“You flirtin’ again already, man?” Kon asks with a sheepish little laugh, like the bastard has any room to talk. 

“The position’s pretty good for it, that’s all,” Tim says with a level of casualness he absolutely does not feel. Kon flushes darker and bites his lip again, still just barely grinning. Tim, ethically, has no choice but to take a few more pictures. 

“Oh my god,” Kon says, laughing again and unfolding the arm he has tucked behind his head to hide his eyes behind instead. Tim is maybe a little bit too aware of the line of his throat under the neck of his shirt, without his eyes and the sparkle there to be distracting him into a useless stupid mushbrained might-as-well-be-a-civilian, observationally-speaking. “I’m not a building, you absolute nerd!” 

“I said I liked people-watching too, didn’t I?” Tim points out reasonably, though mostly his brain’s occupied with the question of–“Hey. If you let down your TTK a bit, could a baseline-DNA human give you a hickey? Like, is that physically possible, or are you too Kryptonian for that?” 

“Oh my god,” Kon repeats, laughing harder even as the flush on his face spreads down his neck. Tim wonders how warm that might feel under his mouth. “I, uh–dunno, man. Maybe?” 

Tim silently resolves himself to finding literally any excuse to conduct that experiment and moves a hand to cup the side of Kon’s throat, eyeing it consideringly. Kon makes a slightly weird noise and visibly swallows, and Tim belatedly realizes that he’s paid literally no attention whatsoever to whether or not they’re about to hit a building or a flagpole or a roof this entire flight; he just assumed Kon had it handled. The Bat-paranoia kicks in and he glances up reflexively, and just as reflexively slides the pad of his thumb across Kon’s pulse. Their flight path is clear; they’re high enough to avoid most of the buildings in this area. Definitely still gonna need to keep an eye out for radio towers and billboards, but . . . 

Kon swallows again, the gesture a little bit rough this time. Tim feels the other’s throat flex against his palm. That sure is . . . that sure is a thing that Tim feels right there. That invulnerable throat flexing right there against his palm, and maybe not necessarily having to be invulnerable, if Kon didn’t want it to be. 

. . . . . . he already said he didn’t have time to learn anything new about himself tonight, dammit.

[lxkeee]

I absolutely love your writing!! And don't get me wrong, I love Lucifer, but they way you write Azreal and the Eveningstar family lives in my head 24/7. The AU where reader ends up with Azrael is my absolute fav to come back to, along with the main series it stemmed from. I'd love to see more content of him in general. I've been driving myself crazy imaging a part 2 to the AU with Lucifer wanting to reconnect with reader and having this family unit with them, only to realize that he lost them completely when he fell and that they've moved one and found happiness without him. Very hurt/no comfort for Luci while reader finally experiences a returned unconditional love with Azrael.

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

—ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE

Pairing: Azrael Eveningstar x Seraphim Angel! Reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: hurt and no comfort for our short king

Notes: an alternate universe where [y/n]'s family is complete, Xavier doesn't have any daddy issues nor has any hatred for Charlie as he doesn't give any crap about her and Lucifer (well, he did at some point but forgave them), where it was simply the wrong person and wrong time. Where it was Azrael who is endgame. This isn't canon to the fanfic storyline, simply an au.

Additional notes: I LOVE IT WHEN READERS WANT MORE AZRAEL CONTENT OMG

CH. 1 | CH. 4 | NAVIGATION

They finally have done it. Hazbin Hotel is finally booming in business, many sinners are finally checking in and giving redemption a try.

Though, Lucifer cannot help but be nervous. Heaven or specifically, the Seven Virtues requested a meeting with him and his daughter and along with Vaggie, they wanted to talk about the hotel and also about his punishment.

Why wouldn't he be nervous? The last time he was in a meeting with them, they absolutely crushed his hopes and dreams and to add to the fact that his first wife, now ex-wife is part of the organization.

Lucifer doesn't know how to handle it, he's afraid of how he'll act once he sees her and the fact that Charlie told him about his son that he left her with. Absolute guilt.

He misses her, he misses [y/n] so much and he regrets how he treated her. He neglected her, abandoned her and their son. Even after all these years, his heart still longed for her.

“Dad? You okay?” Charlie asked worriedly, holding her bag. Currently, they are waiting for the portal to heaven to open for their meeting tomorrow. She noticed that her dad seems to be in deep thought, she knows what's plaguing his mind—meeting his ex-wife again and seeing his son for the first time. She too is nervous about what will happen when that moment comes.

“The portal seems to be taking a long time to open.” Angel Dust snickered and Vaggie elbowed him on the side, somehow both Alastor, Niffty, and Angel Dust wanted to join them. Leaving the hotel underneath [f/n]'s care, another overlord who joined the hotel.

“You're really complaining when you're not even invited,” Vaggie muttered before turning to look at Alastor, “I am even surprised that even you also decided to join us, how come?” Vaggie deadpans at Alastor and the taller demon just laugh, radio static filling the air, “Myyy~! I am merely curious what the heavenly realms looked like. Nothing more~” He grins, quite mischievously. Vaggie narrowed her eyes at the radio demon.

Lucifer sighs and shakes his head and gives Charlie a small reassuring smile, “I'll be fine, I'm just a little... Nervous.” he admits softly and Charlie nodded in understanding, placing a hand over her father's shoulder. She understands him, she too is nervous in seeing her half brother. Last time she saw him, he was giving her judgmental looks.

“I'm sure we'll be fine... Maybe this will be your chance to reconnect with them?” Charlie suggested, hopeful that somehow the two families can find a neutral area to get along with each other. After all, she always wanted an older sibling or siblings in general. She hopes that she and Xavier can get along.

Lucifer smiled, he too is hoping that this meeting will be fruitful and won't go so horribly.

A golden portal opened in front of them and they looked at each other, nodding as they finally took a step inside.

Heaven, is very bright compared to hell. Too much white, gold, and blues.

The crew looked at Lucifer, urging him to take the lead as he did come from here. Lucifer sighs, despite the nervousness, he decides to approach the pearly white gates of heaven. Standing in front of the counter of Saint Peter. The others are following him.

“Welcome to heaven, can I get your names please?” Saint Peter asked, opening his book. Lucifer sighs, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

“Lucifer... Morningstar...” Lucifer says, almost a whisper. Cringing slightly as he watched the Saint slam his book close, “Oh... Fuck!” Saint Peter exclaimed with a nervous chuckle.

“Um... I wasn't aware that you will be visiting today...” the Saint said with an awkward chuckle, Angel Dust just smirked while Alastor just grins, clearly interested in what heaven has to offer.

Charlie stood nervously beside Lucifer, unsure what to do next.

“Saint Peter, please grant them access. They are here for an important meeting.” a young masculine voice says, surprising the hell citizens. Turning to look at the gate and their eyes widened to see an almost exact replica of Lucifer—except for the eyes and height.

Lucifer's eyes widened and Charlie can be seen to become more nervous as the young man approached their group.

Saint Peter eyes widened, not expecting to see the young general today. “R-right. Please, come in.. heaven officially welcomes you.” Saint Peter says, opening the gates wider for the group.

Lucifer couldn't think, his ears ringing as he looked at the newcomer. Lucifer examined the angel's appearance—an almost exact replica of him and of course, he knows those eyes very well. The same [e/c] eyes his ex-wife has. The angel wearing a white military-ish uniform with gold shoulder pads, elbow length black leather gloves and knee high leather black heeled boots.

Charlie gave his hand a gentle squeeze in assurance, he squeezed it back, grateful for her support.

Alastor grins, not expecting a twist in the scenario.

The young man turned to look at them with a gentle smile, “Greetings, I am Xavier. I am tasked with showing you guys where you will stay for tonight.” Xavier says.

Xavier looked at his obvious half family from hell, before, he had anger for them but because of his mother's influence, he was able to manage his anger on them. But it doesn't mean he'll accept Lucifer and Charlotte his family, he already has his own family in heaven. He doesn't need them.

“Please follow me and keep up.” Xavier says, almost emotionless. It's a habit of his, it might come off as rude or cold to people he just met but he doesn't care. His mother is the angel of kindness, he needs to inherit her kindness instead of his father's pride.

The hell citizens just looked at him with slight nervousness—aside from the smiling one—before eventually following him.

Lucifer just stared at the back of Xavier's head, the golden halo shining brightly against his light blonde hair. He wanted to speak to him but words wouldn't come out of his mouth. He just follows in silence, his demon kind just looking at him in worry—except Alastor, who just gave him a teasing grin.

They followed him, it took a while but they finally arrived at their destination. A large white mansion with black and gold accents, surrounded by fluffy white clouds and trees. Sunflower and tulip fields decorating the front garden. [Y/n]'s favorite flowers.

“This is where you'll be staying so please, come inside.” Xavier says, the gates to the large mansion opening for them.

They admired the scenery, it is completely different from hell. Clean and tidy. Almost blinding to the eye.

They finally arrived inside the large mansion, completely in awe with its exterior and interior designs.

“Don't worry about the palace being too crowded, it's just me and my family living here.” Xavier explained, ushering them to follow him. Walking towards the supposed living room, they weren't able to see the large family portrait on the wall as it was mounted on a wall that they couldn't see.

“I am surprised we're staying somewhere luxurious this time unlike last time. How come?” Charlie asked and Xavier gave her a raised eyebrow before sighing.

“The guest rooms are currently full while waiting for new buildings to be created for the new souls. The seven thought it would be a good idea if one of them houses you guys.” Xavier shrugs before continuing to tour them around. Angel whistling in admiration.

“And this will be your room.” Xavier says as he showed Lucifer his room. The others are already settled in.

“Thank you.” Lucifer says, almost a whisper as he went inside the large luxurious room. Xavier nodded as he stood at the doorway.

“It's nothing, I'll get going now and if you need me, I'll be in the living room.” Xavier says before turning around to leave.

“Wait!”

Lucifer doesn't know what he was thinking, he just acted out on impulse. Xavier stopped, turning around to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What is it?” Xavier asked, looking down on him. Mom, why is he so small? He thought.

Lucifer gulped, clearly nervous, “Are you... My...?” he couldn't get all the words out as his ears were ringing.

“Son?” Xavier completed, crossing his arms to look at his blood father, “Yes.” he says flatly and Lucifer's breath hitched.

Xavier sighs, already done with this, “Look, I am going to be straight with you dear father of mine.” Xavier says flatly, Lucifer looking at the taller boy in front of him.

“Just because you're my blood father doesn't mean I want you back in my life, whatever you're trying to do. I don't welcome it. I couldn't care less about you or my half sister. Do you understand? So, stop. Don't give me and my family a hard time. You've done enough damage already.” Xavier says coldly, catching Lucifer off guard. The fallen angel's heart shattered at the boy's harshness.

“Excuse me, I still have work to do.” Xavier says as he quickly walked away. Lucifer nodded, almost robotic. He went inside the guestroom and cried.

Lucifer doesn't blame Xavier for acting that way. After all, he's a horrible husband and father to [y/n] and Xavier.

Dinner was oddly awkward, a tension between the three blood relatives. Xavier didn't join them, opting to only have a drink instead.

“Aren't you going to eat?” Charlie asked hesitantly as she sat beside her dad, Xavier didn't bother looking up from his golden holographic screen that came from his wrist watch, his other hand typing into the hair and into the hologram.

“I'll eat later.” Xavier answers nonchalantly, they can clearly see him texting his mom.

M: Don't be too harsh on them sunshine.

X: I'm trying.

D: Well you better try harder, kiddo.

X: 🙄

X: What time will you come home?

D: Late as usual.

M: Indeed, there are still many things to finish but your father and I will make it quick to join you for dinner.

X: Alright, stay safe.

D: Love you, kiddo. Goodluck lol.

M: We will, sunshine. Love you<3

X: love you guys too.

Xavier was grinning slightly as he texted some people, Lucifer assumed it was [y/n] and somebody else he doesn't know of.

Lucifer avoided Xavier after that, clearly heartbroken. Lucifer assumes the D and M profiles meant Mom and Dad and Lucifer assumed that [y/n] remarried and he can clearly see how happy Xavier is talking to them.

To shorten this all up, the meeting went smoothly. The Seven Virtues promised to fund the hotel and also asked for Lucifer's forgiveness for how harsh they treated him. Heaven took back his punishment and he can freely visit heaven anytime. Lucifer was able to find out that Azrael married [y/n] and she's happily married to the man. Though, she doesn't hate him and forgave him but she did make it clear that she doesn't want him back to her life and so did Xavier and Lucifer respected their wishes.

Finally returning back to hell, Lucifer was extremely heartbroken. He lost before he even got to start. But part of him is glad that [y/n] found a better man than him, someone who treats her better than him.

End notes: I got a little lazy at the end lmao.

TAGLIST:

[miyamoratsumuu]

COME INSIDE OF MY HEART (IV Of Spades)

↳ the fear of rejection and not being understood is always the biggest enemy of the longing to express love and affection. bakugou katsuki x gender neutral reader wc: 1.4k

navigation . . .

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I love you, but I don't really show you.

you could always feel someone's eyes on the back of your head. it almost felt like they were shooting lasers through you. it was easy to feel their eyes on you, but their presence was suppressed enough that you couldn't exactly pinpoint who they were. and every time you turn around in search of their gaze, you never see anyone looking at you.

but there was one person you would always look at first. it was that damned blonde loud mouth. you had always hoped katsuki would be the one looking right back at you every time you turned around.

it was valentine's day and the sun was still high in the sky. you were on your way to the 1-A dorms when you felt the gaze on you again. this time though, you didn't need to turn around to try and find the culprit.

you felt a semi-harsh tap on your shoulder, and turned around to find bakugou glaring at the ground in front of you. he had a bouquet of flowers in hand.

"go out with me." he almost demanded. almost. before you could express your surprise, he extended his arm to hand the bouquet to you, urging you to accept it. you quickly took it out of his grip, worried he was going to snap the stems in half with how tight he was holding it.

shock aside, you replied.

"right now?" he raised an eyebrow at you, finally raising his head to meet your gaze.

"yeah? today's that stupid holiday, isn't it? when else?" you chuckled and shook your head.

"I mean, yeah, sure I guess." you looked at him with a gentle smile. in return, he scoffed and looked to the side, giving you a better view of the way the tips of his ears turned red.

I'd call you, but only if you want me to.

the first date turned into two. then four, then seven. it quickly became a weekly routine for the both of you. despite that, neither of you had established a label between the two of you quite yet. you were itching to ask katsuki about it, and it seems he's noticed that.

on one of your restaurant dates, you were sitting on opposite sides of the table as you contemplated on how to bring up the topic with katsuki.

"the hell's the matter? you've barely touched your food." you looked up from your bowl, to be met with the blonde's piercing gaze. god that look.

"i-it's nothing, sorry." you rubbed the back of your neck, looking back at your bowl of untouched ramen. you picked up your chopsticks, as you began to poke at the noodles.

"don't apologize, dumbass. and if it was really nothing, ya wouldn't be acting like that for almost a week." guilt crept up to you as you heard his sharp tone. you know he didn't mean to be harsh, but he's right. what you didn't know was that he noticed. you felt even worse.

"it's just.." you paused as you thought about how to say it.

"what... are we, katsuki?" you took your time asking the question, not wanting to suddenly drop it.

either way, it seemed to catch him off-guard with how he stopped chewing and his eyes widened. you looked away from him, embarrassed of having to bring up the topic. it wasn't until he cleared his throat when you looked at him again.

he clicked his tongue, and eyed his own bowl of ramen.

"I thought you were worrying about something worse, jeez." you furrowed your eyebrows, not knowing where he was going with that.

"but whatever." he raised his head to look you in the eyes again, and placed his hand on top of yours across the table.

"can I be your boyfriend?"

oh, don't you let it stop oh, I won't let it happen, baby I will never stop, but only if you listen to me

you knew katsuki wasn't the type to casually open up to anyone. hell, he's never talked to anyone about his personal feelings or the things he's gone through all his life.

he's not the best at communicating, either. he tended to shut down whenever something was wrong, or things didn't go his way. he built walls around himself to protect his vulnerability. and never did he let anyone break those sturdy walls down.

you understand that that's just how katsuki is, and that's what he's used to, but being his significant other for almost a month now, you thought you would be an exception.

you thought it was slightly unfair how katsuki has seen you at times your guard was down, with tears covering your cheeks, and your arms wrapped tightly around your figure. he's helped you through those times, no matter how new he was to the feeling of having to comfort someone other than himself.

tonight was one of those times. you were on your bed, your legs folded as your knees were pressed to your chest. your arms were wrapped around your legs as katsuki sat beside you, quiet. the only sound in the room was the sound of your sniffling and quiet sobs.

he wasn't the best at words, and you both know that. so with a sigh, he moved closer to you, and whispered a small "c'mere" as he wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you to his chest.

his left palm gently cradled your head, as his other hand intertwined with yours as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"you'll be okay."

come inside of my heart if you're looking for answers, look at the stars, go a little bit faster

katsuki hasn't said a word to you the whole day. the only times he went out of his dorm was during breakfast and lunch. and every time you approached him, he left the room before you could blink.

dinner was quickly approaching, so you paid him a visit at his dorm. you knocked on the door and waited. and waited. and waited.

you furrow your brows, and knock again. no reply.

"katsuki? I know you're in there. come on, open the door." you said as you kept knocking.

you felt the wind of the air quickly opening against your face, as you were met with the figure of your groggy boyfriend. and he didn't look too happy.

"whaddya even want?" he snarked, turning around to walk back in the comfort of his room.

"what I want is to know why you've barely been out of your room the whole day! and every time I try to talk to you, you're out of the room before I could even speak. what's-" you were cut off by the sight in front of you. katsuki was sitting on his bed, his elbows on his knees and head hanging low.

you sighed and occupied the space beside him.

"I'm... I'm sorry for barging in like this. and for bombarding you with questions, it's just- I'm worried. this isn't like you." you lowered your head, attempting to make eye contact with him, with no avail. you sighed again and continued.

"sorry, again. I'll leave. but please, call or text me if you need anything or want to talk about whatever's wrong, okay?" you knew what was wrong. you knew about how a few hostages from the mission he was on yesterday were critically injured. all because the aim of katsuki's explosions got misdirected. the concrete of the building fell on the civilians and led to injury. he quickly redeemed himself, though. managing to grab all of them in time before the villain could cause more harm to them.

he recovered from his mistake. though you know the amount of guilt or regret he must be feeling. he's beating himself up for it.

you stood up from his bed, beginning to make your way to the door. until you felt a gentle grip around your wrist, and katsuki looking up at you with the most vulnerable expression you've ever seen on him. he managed to let out a

"stay. please." only loud enough for you to barely hear.

despite your worry, you managed to give him a small smile as you sat back down beside him, and slowly guided the both of you to lay down.

"I love you." you almost missed it with how quiet he said it. but you didn't. your smile widened as you replied with the same tenderness in your voice.

"I love you more, Katsuki."

the rest of that night was spent with katsuki's head on your chest, and your arms wrapped around him.

[daisynik7]

Neighbor Nanami headcanon where he uses his new neighbors mini garden on their balcony as a conversation starter. Man had a crush for his pretty neighbor since she moved in months ago, but his tongue is always tied but one day he notices she is growing cherry tomatoes among all the flowers and herbs and his mouth is faster then his brain

Author's Note: This has been sitting in my inbox for months now, I'm so sorry it took so long for me to reply! I hope you enjoy this little drabble. :) Heart divider credit to @/cafekitsune!

You sip your coffee on the balcony, relaxing into the patio chair, basking in the morning sunshine. It’s been almost two months now since you moved into this new apartment and it finally feels like home. The first week you arrived, your parents helped you plant a miniature herb garden and you’ve somehow managed to keep it alive since. It’s now sprawling with fresh basil, parsley, and cilantro, all of which you use often to elevate certain recipes. You glance at the pot beside it, inspecting the cherry tomato plant you received as a house-warming gift from a friend. So far, no fruit yet, only leaves, though you’re hopeful you’ll see progress soon. 

Right on cue, you hear the distinct swoosh of a sliding door opening, then see your neighbor step out onto his balcony. You smile at him, waving. “Good morning, Nanami.” 

He turns to face you, giving you a polite nod, a steaming mug of hot tea in his hand. “Good morning.”

Your conversations usually don’t last very long. Sometimes it ends just like this, with the both of you silently enjoying the quiet morning together until either of you decide it’s time to get ready for work. He’s a quiet man, maybe even a little shy at times. Though you find comfort in his presence.

You watch him from the corner of your eye as he takes a sip of his tea, staring out into the horizon. Golden streaks of sunlight shine on him, casting a beautiful glow on his figure. He’s handsome, that’s for sure. You’ve always thought that ever since you met him. 

Feeling chatty today, you stand up, walking to your garden, grazing the delicate basil leaves between your fingers. “Do you cook?”

He’s surprised at your question, hesitating slightly before he answers, “Yes, I do.”

“My garden is overflowing now. Would you like some fresh herbs?”

He walks to the end of the balcony closest to you. “Are you sure?”

You grin at him. “Of course! I don’t know what else to do with all the excess. I’m running out of recipe ideas.”

His mouth opens, but then closes, remaining silent. You’re curious what he wants to say, though you don’t ask, plucking the stems off gently. “I’ll put these in a bag for you.” 

When you return, you notice him staring at the cherry tomato plant, studying it carefully. You hand the herbs to him, hoping he’d ask you about it. Instead, all he says is a quiet, “Thank you,” before bidding you farewell, going inside. 

You sigh, sinking back into your patio chair, wondering what you’re doing wrong. 

When the tomatoes sprout, you can’t contain your excitement, spending the morning marveling at the round green bulbs decorating the vines. Nanami is out with you, remaining silent, though you catch him glancing in your direction a few times. You want so badly to converse with him, but you’re unsure how. He hasn’t mentioned anything about the herbs since you gave it to him over a week ago. Did he use them yet? What did he cook with it?

Finally, on the day your little tomato babies are bright red, Nanami speaks to you. “Cherry tomatoes,” he says, looking at your plant. 

You beam at him. “Aren’t they beautiful?” 

He gazes at you, smiling. “Yes. Beautiful.”

Butterflies flap around in your stomach and suddenly, you’re speechless, unable to think of anything else to say. But you don’t need to, because this time, Nanami does the talking. “I’ve used up all of the herbs you gave me. Thank you again.”

“I’m so glad you found a use for them,” you reply, finding your voice, standing as close to his balcony as possible. “I’m not sure yet what I’ll use these tomatoes for.”

He does the same, and it feels like there’s barely any distance separating you now. “I know a great pasta recipe I can show you. If you’d like.” There’s a hint of blush in his cheeks. Maybe this is what he’s wanted to tell you all along.

You smile wider at him, happy with this progress. “I’d love that.”

[stuffeddeer]

i just wanna hug dazai all the time randomly (i never get hugs at home) and if he were to hug me i would cry (a little)

i also feel likes his hugs would feel so so safe warm and comforting

(could i please be 🌹 anon?)

im collecting more anons like Pokémon omg YES you are in my Pokédex now hiiii 🌹anon sorry this took so long (like every rq oops!)

i included platonic hcs at the end as well bc why not

cw: dazai-standard suicide mention, i use the word vomit once ?

Hugging Dazai catches him off guard. Or it used to, you had found - randomly jumping on top of him throughout the day whenever you'd see him. It started sporadically and became more frequent, which led to Dazai becoming more prepared. He'd tense up as you entered a room, ready for you to pounce.

It started as a playful bit, knowing Dazai tended to short circuit when given affection. You'd seen it multiple times with Atsushi, the lovable boy having no clue why Dazai would panic a little when randomly given flowers that one time, or why he was so surprised when Atsushi spared a few kind words. It was little things, things Dazai clearly wasn't used to, and it always made you smile.

So of course, you wanted to do the same.

The first time he nearly pushed you off of him, choosing instead to hold his hands up like you were some cop trying to take him down. The second he'd merely frozen, breath baited as he waited for you to let go. By the third, he was able to brush it off with an awkward laugh, and the more it happened the more he was able to respond with a joke or the like. But you never missed the way his whole body seemed to pause for a moment.

Of course, once you noticed he was mentally and physically preparing before you even did it, you started to think you might've pushed too hard. Was he uncomfortable? Was he unsure of how to ask you to stop? It made you feel guilty, especially when he started flinching when you entered the room, knowing what was coming next.

You stopped.

It wasn't like it was hard, and the guilt eating at you was much worse. Dazai wasn't the only touch starved one, but you'd not-so happily give up the brief second of hug you got when seeing Dazai in favor of him feeling safe around you, as well as keeping your friendship alive.

It was hard at first, arms moving up slightly on instinct as you had to constantly remind yourself to stop. After maybe a week of no more hugging, you finally felt relieved - everything was back to normal. Dazai wouldn't freeze when you walked into a room, your hands wouldn't twitch as though trying to reach out for him.... Everything was normal.

Except Dazai, again.

Something was off, you could tell. While everyone gets confused sometimes, watching Dazai of all people furrow his brows and look away from you was almost scary. One of the greatest geniuses in Yokohama was confused by something - by you. Nothing had changed, had it? Maybe he was confused by why the hugs stopped, but you're sure he's smart enough to realize that on his own. You didn't want him to feel uncomfortable around you, that's all.

It didn't take long for the confusion to turn to veiled fear. He hid it well, you being none the wiser - but Dazai couldn't help the anxiety that grew around you. It wasn't like you were avoiding him, you still acted the exact same. You just kept your hands behind your back and made sure to maintain distance.

But that's what scared Dazai - the distance. The worry and fear he felt stemmed from the reason why; why had you stopped in the first place? All he could think of was that you finally figured out his secret. Dazai has a huge crush on you.

He’d always tensed up when you hugged him, feeling his heart rate far from his usual controlled pace and instead beating quicker than he could’ve imagined. Something so small and normal as a hug left him breathless when it came from you, and his greatest fear was that you felt the harsh thrumming of his heart and decided to stop. If you knew his secret, then this surely is you rejecting him.

The thought makes Dazai nervous. Being rejected is normal for him, never one to shy away from shooting his shot. Asking any person with a pulse to kill themselves with him left the brunet very accustomed to the response of “no.” Even being yelled at or hit by some unruly people was something he accepted with a smile, but the thought of you politely turning him down made his chest ache.

You stopped hugging him. Surely you didn’t feel the same.

Dazai understands he is an attractive person, both in looks and personality, and he’s more than used to leveraging these factors in his favor. Just a few weeks ago, he 100% was sure that you had a crush on him, a huge one at that, and he quite enjoyed toying with you every now and again when work days would drag on. But now, he couldn’t tell left from right. Daily hugs to quitting cold turkey made him so nervous, knowing you must be too uncomfortable to even touch him anymore let alone hug him.

That’s fine. He’s fine with that. People changing their minds about him, people leaving - Dazai is used to that. You deciding you don’t like him anymore (maybe just the attention he gave before rather than crushing on him specifically?) and moving on when you realized he likes you instead is fine. It’s fine.

Yet he still finds himself frowning in your direction when you aren’t looking. Nervousness is annoying, but he was hoping it’d lead him away from you. Still, however, Dazai finds himself following you with his eyes whenever you so much as re-situate yourself in a chair. He can’t help but silently beg for you to come over to him, even though he knows he’d nearly vomit if you did. How annoying.

Of course, sitting across from each other for lunch isn’t conducive for moving on and staying away from you, but you happened to stumble upon the brunet and his bespectacled coworker at the cafe and got an invitation from the latter. “I have to get back to work. Mind making sure Dazai doesn’t do anything too drastic again?” Kunikida had said to you, to which you kindly agreed - how could you have said no?

Dazai wishes you did, every brush of his knee against yours making him lose more and more of his appetite. With Kunikida gone, after a few beats of silence, you let out a sigh. “Sorry. I’ll leave you to it, okay? Good luck at work.” Just as you stand up to leave, Dazai - stupid, stupid Dazai - grabs your arm.

The action causes you to cock your head, confused as he grabs you. The face makes him quickly let go, grabbing his mug of tea instead so his hands don’t reach out again. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he starts, deciding to just get it out of his system. Maybe if you rejected him to his face, he could move on. “No more… hugs and stuff.”

Slowly, you slide back into the booth seat, a solemn look on your face. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs into the mug, not wanting to make eye contact. What does “yeah” even mean? Is this your way of saying you know? You know he knows?

“Um, well, I know you don’t really like affection. I know you aren’t used to it, I should say. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry for continuing for so long,” you finally apologize, the guilt that built up over time washing away finally.

“No, no,” he starts, turning to look at you rather than his mug. “Uncomfortable? You thought I didn’t like it?”

You deadpan, unamused. “Dazai, you used to tense up when I entered a room and I saw you flinch a few times when I got close.” Slowly, your expression turns, no longer unamused. “I’m not that stupid, man…” A small chuckle punctuates your last sentence.

Of course that’s what you took away from it. Dazai feels like an idiot, so worried that you might have realized his secret that he didn’t even pay attention to what was in front of him. You stopped for him, of course! Because you still like him. He’s sure of it, knowing you stopped something that clearly made you happy just for his comfort.

“Thank god,” he sighs in relief, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“..? Did you actually think I was that stupid?”

“No, you idiot - I thought you were rejecting me. You still like me, that’s perfect.”

You fluster at Dazai’s words, eyes widening at the bluntness of it all. “Wh-what?! How is that what you got from what I said?”

He only grins in response, the bandaged man leaning forward over his teacup to reach you. Dazai was never one to explain what was in his mind, leaving you confused and flustered across from him. “It’s okay, pretty - I feel the same,” he whispers into your ear, only so he can watch as you shiver at the feeling of his breath against it. After pulling back, his smug grin only grows. “I thought you were avoiding me because you found out.”

Staring at him, you wonder why it is that you like him. At least now you can go back to hugging him all the time.

platonic hugging Dazai hcs 😽

like above, he's caught off guard at first

but then he decides to return the favor >:)

dazai will try and catch you off guard with a hug and it quickly turns into high stakes tag

the two of you immediately make eye contact when you're in the same room, and actively RUN from each other so the other can't hug first

high stakes tag. dazai jumped off a roof to catch you off guard one time. now he isn't allowed roof access at the ada 🙂‍↕️

he can still jump from the windows

it hits a point where everyone Around you is nervous. you two have vaulted over tables and everything it's scary

rooms will empty if the both of you are in one

dazai is definitely winning sorry! he feels it in his bones when you're about to arrive and hides behind doors to jump out at you 🙂‍↕️

[edgeray]

Hi ray

Could write dragon! Arlecchino x hunter! Reader who hunts dragon because she was tasked to even tho she didn't wish to do so but little did the reader know that arlecchino is very strong

So when the reader was tasked she was warned by the villagers but what could the reader do but to only obey the orders when the reader met arlecchino trying to hunt her down she failed to do so

Dragon Hunter Mother

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Like always, if you want to request something from me again anon, give yourself a name/emoji ☺️ Also, I love this idea. I don't plan out my requests, plot just kinda comes as I write, so let's see what I do with this. I'm assuming you also want reader to be afab as well. Since you didn't say about arlecchino having a human form, I'm just not going to write it. Don't ask me how this turned to be over the limit I said these requests were gonna be. I got carried away with world building and plot. Sorry 😬 . Hopefully this was okay? Honestly, didn't know how I would make it romantic, but I guess I'll put it under romantic? I tried by best anon, feel free to request again if you want me to write it in a different way 🫶. Sorry for taking so long, but here it is!  Content warnings / info - author doesn't know how to write dragons, semi-graphic violence, if it wasn't obvious, Freminet, Lyney, and Lynette make an appearance, 2.6k words 

Stemming from a long line of dragon hunters, it was no surprise that like the rest of your siblings, you would take up the mantle of also being a dragon hunter. Dragon hunting is a service to the kingdom exclusive to only a few noble families like yours, hence why its hunters are practically revered by the kingdom's citizens. Protecting the kingdom, receiving glory after every slaughter, earning a large chunk of the kingdom's money, it's no doubt that many aggrandize and covet to be in the same position. 

You've never wanted to be a dragon hunter. It's an arduous job in a kingdom known for its dragon outbreaks. The Majesty is prompt in requesting dragon hunters, sending them from one corner of the kingdom to the other unhesitatingly, and frequently underestimate the duration that these kill orders take. When the process of dragon hunting involves tracking the dragon, finding the dragon's sanctum, preparing to combat against a dragon, and finally, killing it, it takes at least a week if it's one of the older dragons. The Majesty has high expectations, and it's a struggle to keep up with them. Kill orders were often piled on top of one another, which means immediately after you complete one, it is off to finishing the next one.

It is a job of ruin. When was the last time you've gotten more than a few hours of sleep? The last time you've had a full meal? The last time you were able to have a relaxing bath? 

Killing dragons is not how you would like to waste away your life, slaving away under a duty that everyone idolizes. As you carry on your role, you begin to learn more and more about these flying reptiles; dragons are fascinating, intelligent creatures. It is a shame that many villagers are so terrified of them, dragons actively avoid humans; though for one reason or another, dragons occasionally seek the nearest human civilization, eating farm animals and destroying any shelter or barricade that stands in their way. Perhaps you're just foolish, but you believe that there is a real reason for this behavior, and that there could be a solution to this. 

Until then, you could do little more but heed each order, slaughtering dragon by dragon. Their dying cries plague your dreams every night, leaving you empty and restless. 

You arrive at a village, the emblem on your chest plate that indicates your occupation glints as you step out of the carriage. The village head greets you quickly, settling you down in front of a cup of tea and some snacks, before cutting straight to the details.

“This dragon… I'd be careful. I've heard of you, a genius among geniuses in terms of dragon hunting, but I warn you right now. This dragon is different. Smarter, more powerful than your typical one, I bet. Its fire… even among other dragons, isn't comparable. It can torch the whole village, and it got damn near close to. Cunning bastard as well, it can pinpoint where our sheeps are and it can evade our traps. It disappeared from our village a few decades… we assumed it died naturally, but then it returned again earlier this season.”

“When was the last time it attacked? Do you know what kind of dragon it is?”

“No. We’ve never seen a dragon like it before. I'm not sure if it follows under the kingdom's classifications. It's black and white with three pairs of wings! And its tail… sharp like, like…like a scythe, can slice houses in half! Its claws are just as dangerous too. Can breathe fire, of course.”

Three pairs of wings… that means this dragon is considerably old. Dragons gain pairs of wings after their first set through molting, which only occurs every fifty or sixty months following reaching maturity, meaning this dragon was at least a century old. You grimace. Older dragons are always harder to get rid of. Most of the dragons that you encounter only have one pair, on the rare occasion, two. This is the first time you've been assigned a three-paired dragon.

Its colorings are also strange; you've never heard of a black and white dragon specifically. The tail description, however, isn't very uncommon; it could be a signifier that this is an incredibly rare hybrid among dragon species. If it's as powerful as it's said, and if you consider its age, then perhaps they come from one of the Dynasty species… but a descendent of that species hasn't been seen in many years. If this is true, then of course it wouldn't follow under the kingdom's ordinary classifications of dragons. Still, a hybrid? Mating between different species almost never happens. This really was a special case. And its disappearance? You couldn't even fathom why.

“Do you know at least where it lives?”

The village head turns to his right, pointing in that direction. “If you continue that direction, you'll come across a forest. That's where it goes. We don't know where it lives, we've been too scared to try and find out ourselves.”

You sigh. Well, this wasn't much to work with. “Is there anywhere I can stay?” 

“Yes, yes. There's a room above the bar that's just for you. Free of charge, of course. The food as well. Just please… eradicate this beast.” 

“I'll do my best.” 

—

No matter how many forests you go to, you never become fonder of them. Traversing them was always annoying. Too much greenery to walk through, too many streams and rivers to cross, and just too many damn trees. This terrain is especially difficult to find traces of dragons in. It'd be better to make your own traces then scour through the forest to search for them, hence why you're at a stream, catching as much fish as you can with a net. Fish makes for good dragon bait, though you don't intend to use it to trap the dragon. You doubt any trap you could make in the little time you have could kill or harm the dragon, but it will lure the dragon to you.

You pause to take a break, glancing at the pile of fish you've collected. The smell is starting to assault your nostrils. Ugh. 

You hear a crunch behind you, and you turn. Your eyes widen and you pick up your sword, raising them towards the three dragons that surround you. Adrenaline pumps through you as you stand up, observing the creatures. 

All of them only have one-pair of wings, with similar features and size; they’re as large as bear cubs, if you subtract their tail length, and you realize that they're baby dragons, yet to reach maturity. They have, notably, distinct colorings, but they all share the same black and gray coloring. Perhaps they come from the same hatch? The one to your right has red, almost maroon, splotches over their scales. This one is wide eyed, but its features are relaxed as if playful and curious. The one in the middle seems to be the smallest, fearful as if it’s cowering with its dipped head and the tail wrapping around itself protectively; this one has almost a marigold accent to it. The one to the right is teal, and passive, like it doesn't see you in the slightest. 

Baby dragons are hardly as aggressive or destructive as their adult counterparts, but that doesn't mean they can't pose a danger. Still, you don't want to harm them, not when they haven't done anything that would warrant you to.

The red one approaches, deliberately, sniffing towards your direction. You brace your sword, and it trudges up to you, nostrils grazing against your armor before it nudges against your hand. It then walks past you, its focus deadset on the pile of fish behind you. The two other dragons follow in the red one's lead, and you sigh in relief, placing your sword back in its sheathes.

Baby dragons, three of them especially, are a rare sight, as they're often sheltered in their father's den, and they don't venture out until they've fully matured. This being because they're quite vulnerable despite the threat they hold once they've matured. Eliminating them is a part of your duty, however, you never feel right killing creatures that have just hatched. They couldn't be more than ten years old; they still had a few more decades before they could pose a danger. If they're out like this, it's likely they've been abandoned. Mother dragons often leave their young after childbirth, and the fathers are left to take care of them; it could be that the father died recently. 

Whatever the case, you think that they deserve to live a little longer. Plus, they're kind of cute… 

Although, the more you observe them, the more you feel you should prevent the fish supply you spent all day getting from declining. They seem less cute now. You groan as they eat until there's no more fish, and they turn back to you, croaking as if requesting more. 

What are you, their mother? Your eye twitches in vexation. 

You spend your evening fishing for baby dragons at the river. Un-fucking-believable. Weren't you wonderful at your job? 

You decide to leave the dragons at the river bank as you search for wood to make a campfire. To your slight annoyance and amusement, the young dragons trail behind you. You get random twigs and branches that scatter the forest floor. One of the dragons, the yellow one, picks up a branch in their mouth, before offering it to you. 

Damn it, why did you have to be a dragon hunter? You take the stick in your hand, hesitantly petting the top of its head. This is something you’ve never done before, but you wouldn't mind doing it again. It leans into your hand. You don't deserve this treatment, you hunt their kind. Oh, how you wish you could tell them what you'd have to do once they grow up. Why did you have to be a dragon hunter? You're holding back tears as you continue the petting action. 

Its other siblings, unbeknownst to your existential crisis, follow its behavior, and you've turned the baby dragons into your personal campfire wood carriers. You think dragon trainor fits you better than a dragon hunter at this point, but that profession doesn't grant an affordable life. 

Seating yourself on a tree stump, you build your campfire and light it. You use it to cook a fish over, while you try to fend off said trout from being eaten by the dragons. By the time it's done cooking, the little creatures are exhausated, curling against you as the three fall asleep against your legs and back. You don't want to admit it, but it's a comfortable weight against you. You didn't even know that dragons snore until now.

Peace at last, you think, finally able to eat your fish alone. 

Too soon, too soon. You hear it before you see it, the whipping of winds that you can only associate with the beating of dragon wings as it flies. The sound grows louder, meaning it's heading straight towards you. You stand up, unsheathing your sword and bracing yourself for an assault. Shit, shit, shit, you're not prepared to fight in this territory whatsoever. What was it attracted to? The campfire? The smell of your fish? Or perhaps… you glance at the still sleeping creatures. 

You don't have much time to ponder as the ground shakes when the beast lands in front of you, right on top of the river, its gargantuan form making you tremble. An earth shattering roar escapes its throat, nearly making you tumble back from the sheer force, and your ears ring painfully. 

You've never seen a larger dragon before. You count the pair of wings through squinted eyes. One, two, three. This is the dragon you've been hired to hunt? 

The hand holding your sword doesn't stop shaking, no matter how much you try to control your muscles. The adult dragon nears, and your heart rate pounds louder and louder with each footstep. Black and white colorings? Check. Sharp tail? Check. You know you have to fight it, but how could you possibly? It dwarfs you in every single way possible. 

It swipes its tail at you, and you duck as fast as possible, just barely missing being sliced in half like the trees behind you. Its tail retracts to lunge at you again, and you block the sharp end with your sword, though it just swats you away easily, throwing you across the bank of the river. You land on the gravel with a pained groan, and you scramble to get up, facing the dragon. 

Piercing red-crossed eyes gaze back at you, and you no longer feel like the hunter. Instead, you feel like the prey, and every fiber of your being is telling you to run. You wield your sword again resolutely. If you die, then you die, but you'll die knowing you tried. The dragon tilts its head back, preparing its fiery breath, and you ready your wrist shield. 

Suddenly, a familiar croak comes from behind the adult dragon, and you see the baby dragons rush into the adult dragon, headbutting its feet. The dragon snaps its head back into its normal position, gazing down at the small dragons at its feet. You're afraid that the larger dragon will crush them, but instead it growls. The young ones chirp back, communicating with it. 

You stand there, bewildered, the pieces coming together in your mind quickly. Is the black and white dragon their father? Are they trying to save you? The tension in your shoulders relaxes the slightest bit. The father dragon whips its head back to you, and you freeze, paralyzed under its predatory gaze. Too swiftly does its tail shoot towards you, but instead of impaling you as you prepared, it merely wraps around your midsection, lifting you effortlessly. You drop your sword out of pure shock from being in mid air, and it brings you face to face with the dragon. 

The dragon snarls, baring its teeth, and you think it's the end once you see its pearly whites. Instead, however, it sniffs you, before pausing, observing you more. You're holding your breath, wondering when you will meet your fate. It opens its mouth wide, displaying a row of teeth in its oral cavern. You squeeze your eyes shut but all you feel is something warm, wet, and slimey. A tongue drags across your face, and you cringe, immediately bringing your hands to wipe away the thick saliva. The tail around you loosens, and you fall on your back, grunting from the impact of hitting the floor. 

Okay. Well, you're alive at least, you think, once you get the liquid out of your eyes but it is unfortunately in your hair. If it hasn't killed you yet, then it must mean that it likes you? 

You open your eyes, and see that the dragon lays in front of you, its snout just a feet away from you. Each huff from the dragon blows your hair back with hot air, but you don't mind it. The smaller dragons prance by your side, chirping and croaking with a high-pitched tone. Bemused but just grateful that you've yet met your end, you pet their heads. By the growl from the father, they approve of your action, and your heart melts. You reach out to pet the snout of the larger dragon, and it closes its eyes, further nudging against you before a grumbly purr escapes its throat.

Seems like you've just been forcibly adopted by a family of dragons. You don't think you'll complain that much. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Let's see if I make it through Monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

At Corissa’s insistence, and against your own reticence, you have a taste of nearly every course. The fiery red head gabs animatedly in her work, to her assistants and the servers, and even to you. You feel something very peculiar; you feel included.

That pleasant sensation is as fleeting as the night. The servers bring in the dishes, many untouched, and you clean them attentively, keeping the counters clear of clutter. Corissa mutters about the waste and has the leftovers scraped into containers, promising them to her hardworking staff. She even offers you one but you refuse, you’ve indulged enough. You suspect Mr. Laufeyson would be less than pleased to see you walking out with a to-go box.

You are not requested again to tend to the diners. Voices carry from down the hall and the front door opens and shuts between farewells. Amid the hue, you do not hear Mr. Laufeyson though you try not to listen intently.

Corissa and her staff depart with their work done and you’re left to clean up. It’s near midnight. You’re surprised at how long the gathering lasted and yet, you wouldn’t know what to expect. You’d never attended anything like that. You didn’t even go to your own high school graduation.

There’s a scuff and a shadow darken’s the edge of your vision. You lift your head to find Mr. Laufeyson crossing the threshold, his polished shoes clicking on the tile. You dip your head in acknowledgement and return to stacking the dishes neatly inside the cupboards.

“Do not forget the dining room. My guests proved to be animals,” he scoffs, “though, what use would you be if they didn’t leave you some work?”

You nod again. You close the cupboard door and move to the stemmed crystal. You open the glass cabinet that holds the various liquor vessels. You set each in tidy lines, following the pattern.

You wait for him to leave but he remains. Is he watching you or are you just paranoid? You clasp the door shut and face him, though you’re not intent on him. The dining room. You hope you might finish it quickly. You glance at the clock again.

“Do you recall what I told you at the beginning of the night?” He asks brusquely.

You gulp and part your lips, your words trapped in your chest.

“Speak,” he demands with a flippant flick of his fingers.

“Yes, I do, Mr. Laufeyson–”

“Not a look, not a word,” he retorts.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I didn’t–”

“The blond man. I saw your eyes stray,” he insists, “the worst thing you can ever do is lie to me.”

“I… I apologise, it wasn’t– I didn’t mean to–”

“Ah, enough,” he dismisses your protests, “this isn’t an argument. I am merely reminding you of the rules. I do hate to repeat myself.”

You seal your lips and put your chin down in deference. You made a mistake. You’re wrong, he’s right.

“Now you know. I expect it not to happen again,” he rebukes.

His sole squeaks on the floor as he spins and struts out. You look around, time to move on to the dining room. You tiptoe out and find the hallway empty. You creep down to the dining room and find it similarly abandoned.

You enter and begin your work. You wipe down the table and tidy little bits of food and forgotten napkins. You push in the chairs and remove a broken stem from one of the vases at the centre line of the table.

The clock ticks and heightens your impatience. You have to hurry if you’re going to catch the bus. If you don’t… you don’t know if you can budget a cab.

“There is another thing,” Mr. Laufeyson gives you a start as he appears through the archway, “something forgotten…”

You look at him with confusion stitched into your forehead. He reaches into his jacket and slips out a pinkish slip of paper. It’s folded into quarters with a curl in one corner. You recognise it immediately.

“I assume you didn’t mean to leave it on the floor,” he sneers as he comes closer, holding it between his index and middle fingers, “I almost tossed it but I did peruse it in case… Well, I don’t mean to pry…”

You take it and nearly thank him aloud. You look at the folded invoice and a cringe pinches your cheeks. You didn’t even realise you’d dropped it. You would prefer to forget about it but that would hardly void the debt.

“You look well,” he muses. You flinch; what does he mean? “I did note it was for the same date you were absent however.”

You tuck the invoice into your pocket and fix another chair. He lurks close as you try not to falter. He puts his hand on the next chair to stop you.

“You may speak. Humour my intrigue. You don’t appear very sick.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. It feels as if he’s making some joke you don’t understand. Your lips strain and you stare at his tie.

“My father had an emergency, Mr. Laufeyson. That is all. He is better now.”

“Ah, a loyal daughter,” he remarks, “it is almost endearing.”

You stand in a stalemate. Your eyes drift over to the clock and back to his slender tie. You’re almost done and you’ll have just enough time to get to the stop.

“I suppose you are eager,” he steps in between you and the clock, “to get home to your sick father.”

You clutch the cloth tight and scrunch your lips. Your stomach does somersaults. You want to beg him to let you finish so you can go home. So you’re not stranded but you already made yourself pathetic enough.

“I am not a man without empathy, I would not keep you long. However, I do wish to have a proper conversation,” he declares.

You nod and wring the cloth. You dare to peek at his face and find his attention on your hands. You still them and drop your eyes again. Is he going to fire you? Rather, tell the agency of your misdeeds?

“I would assume you rely on transit. I am in a rather bright mood after my little soiree so I feel of a mind to offer a favour. One which would allow us to converse,” he rolls the button of his jacket between his thumb and index, “I would drive you home and you would listen, yes?”

You nod and he shows his palm.

“Say it.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. That is very kind.”

“Isn’t it?” He preens and swirls away again, “ten minutes should be sufficient for you to wrap up. I will be at the door.”

“Yes. Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Wonderful,” he strolls out, his unusual glee putting you on guard.

🧹

As promised, Mr. Laufeyson is waiting at the front door. You only realise after checking the back door. You don’t feel good about accepting an unearned favour but the last bus is well and gone.

He opens the door as he sees you enter the foyer. To your surprise, he holds it for you to pass through first. You suppose it's a habit. He is fond of etiquette.

He follows and directs you to a sleek black car in the drive. You wait patiently at the passenger door as he unlocks it and lowers himself into the driver’s seat. It’s only then that you get in, gently closing the door. You put your kit between your feet and click your seat belt into place.

He turns the ignition and the engine hums quietly. It runs so smoothly, you barely feel it. He backs up before steering around the arch of driveway and towards the gate. He reaches to hit a button on the small fob dangling by the rear view and the wider gates split for him to pass through.

You wait for him to begin. He must be basking in your anticipation. Less than eager for what comes next, it's more a needling anxiety. 

“So, let us get down to it,” he begins, one hand on the wheel. The roads are near desolate in the late hour. “I’ve a proposition for you.”

You wait and listen. You assume that’s the deal still. He chuckles and carries on.

“An arrangement convenient for both of us. You see,” he pauses, exhaling as he measures his words, “I am not fond of the agency. I’ve not been for some time, neither have I had the time to search for an alternative. 

“Details are irrelevant. My ex-wife enlisted them for a maid. Just as she employed the gardener and the cook. She might be gone but her handiwork remains, though a very big void as well,” he turns down the next street as you twiddle your fingers, “that is too say, she managed the house and without her, I find myself lacking. I’ve not even the chance to acquire a house manager, but now…”

He lets his suggestion dangle but you’re not quite sure you understand. You hate to presume. Hate to think more of yourself than you should.

“What I’m proposing is that you step into her shoes. In the manner of taking on that management. The gardener, the cook, general maintenance and the like,” he explains, “but of course, you would also keep to your existing tasks, keep the house orderly in all ways.”

You still your hands and stare at your lap. You don’t really believe it. He thinks you capable of all that? Based on what? Some mopping?

“You are rather adept at following orders,” he says, “and you are in need of money, yes?”

You hunch down in shame.

“I will pay more than the agency for I would not take a cut as they do. You will be compensated appropriately for your efforts,” he assures, “as they would lessen mine.”

You look over the dash and at the road ahead. Your father will be home soon, he might need more help, and yet, you most certainly need money. You still have over a month left on probation and even after, you’re not guaranteed full-time hours.

“There would be a starting bonus,” he intones, filling the silence, “fifteen hundred. As an incentive.”

Your eyes burn. That’s what the invoice reads in red. He’s taunting you now. He knows that you need it badly. 

“This offer stands until you leave this car,” he says firmly, “so you may think about it.”

You blanch and keep your eyes forward. You can think all you want but that won’t change anything. There is no other answer. Even if it makes you nervous, even if you find that house stifling, and him terrifying. None of it matters. You need that money as much as your father needs you.

“I accept, Mr. Laufeyson,” you murmur. “I will do my best.”

He hums, a triumphant note, “I expect nothing less.”

🧹

You’re greeted by an empty house. It was too late to even think of going to the hospital. You wouldn’t want to wake your father during his recovery, and besides, his dejection sticks in your head. He told you not to come back.

You go to bed but don’t sleep very much. It’s hard in the lonely house. You want to tell your father that you got a new job. That you’re going to be able to pay for his hospital bills and that you’ll make things better. You will, when he gets home.

What has you just as wakeless is Mr. Laufeyson. He said you could start tomorrow. You’re nervous about that. Your only experience is the last month and a half of cleaning. He might expect more than you can do. Worse, you might not be able to meet those expectations.

You toss and turn, sleeping a few hours just before your alarm. You have your tea and get dressed. You bring your kit, just in case, and head out to catch the bus. You don’t like being in the house alone so you’re all too happy to get out.

You walk the block and a half from the bus stop. You realise as you come to the iron gate that you don’t have the new code. You stand cluelessly, locked out and listless. You notice the small button by the metal speakerbox. Does it work?

You tap the bell and wait. Nothing. You even lean in to listen to the speaker. It’s entirely dead. You try again. Still, nothing.

You lean in and peer through the bars, like a prisoner. The front door opens and Mr. Laufeyson appears, a harried pace with a hint of agitation. He comes to the other side and looks out at you. His eyes scan you from head to toe. He opens the gate from within.

“In, in,” he demands curtly, “are you not supposed to make my life easier?”

You step in and he swings the door shut harshly. He huffs and swiftly outpaces you back towards the door. You hesitate. You never go in that way.

“Do not waste my time,” he orders without looking back.

You jog to catch up with him. You hop up the steps behind his lithe gait and trail him inside. He stops and points to the mat. You leave your shoes on it even as he keeps his own on.

“I’ve a list made up. That is sufficient, yes?”

You nod and he sighs. He’s already moving as you slipping in an effort to keep up.

“Speak,” he drawls.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Very good,” he praises, a lilt of condescension dripping from his lips. “I trust you sent your resignation in. I would be happy to cut ties from that cursed agency at the soonest opportunity.”

You bite your lip. You didn’t even think of that. Your silence is telling.

“Add it to the list,” he says derisively.

[st4rgzer]

FLOWERS matt sturniolo

summary: you surprise your boyfriend with flowers and receive a delightful response

genre: fluff

cw!: none just pure fluff

a/n: not requested, I had sm fun writing this, i’m getting more used to fluff i think!

yesterday I saw on tiktok that 90% of men only get flowers at their funeral. Seeing this, I asked Matt if he’d ever gotten any, the response matched the study. A feeling of guilt loomed in my stomach, he’d gotten me flowers countless times but I’ve never even thought of getting any for him. So I made up my mind to change that.

The next morning I got up, making up an excuse for going out to not raise any suspicion, though I don’t think he had any to begin with.

I headed to the nearest flower shop, it was a local one, I knew the owner and they made the prettiest flower arrangements. I browsed the selection, smelling them, I eventually found one that slightly had a scent like my perfume, and opted for that one as the main flower. He had a sweater we bought together with engraved daisys so I also picked some of those out. The owner helped me choose some more, like baby’s breath, so I put some of those placed dispersed between the others. I spent a good 30 minutes looking at them, seeing if I made the right choices. I wanted the first bouquet he received to be special and unique for him, in every flower a memory or a little fact about him was engraved. Before I got home, I replaced the plastic wrap for some old brown newspaper for a more certain aesthetic that served to tie the whole thing together, I made sure to remove the thorns from the stem, cleaning it entirely. I was left satisfied with a pretty arrangement of a bouquet.

I giddily stepped into the house with a wide smile on my face, it faded as I remembered I wanted it to be a surprise and hid the present behind my arms. Matt quickly sensed my presence and went to the living room to greet me. I stepped away from him as he tried to hug me, worried that he would feel the flowers. He immediately caught on to my strange behaviour and a confused look dawned on his face, furrowing his brows. He became suspicious and started questioning my behaviour.

“are you okay? did I do something?” He asked panicked. His hand trying to find their way to my cheeks, stepped away once again, a “wait for it” look on my face.

“no, I have a something for you” I said, trying to stop the corners of my mouth from upturning. His brows raised in surprise, a small grin creeping up on him.

I revealed the bouquet from behind me and allowed myself to finally exhibit the smile I had been so eager to release. I awaited for his response as he stared perplexed at the flowers, at a loss for words.

“this…is for me?” He asked cautiously to see if it was a prank of some kind, untrusting due to the constant mischief of his brothers.

“yes, all for you” I said eagerly, handing him the arrangement gladly. His eyes lit up, overjoyed, he didn’t know what to say, instead he grabbed my cheeks and kissed me delicately, thanking me the best way he knew how to. He pulled away, I looked at him dazed, a lovesick smile plastered on both our faces.

“thank you, they’re lovely, you’re lovely” He whispered, kissing my forehead lightly, taking his hand into mine, a grateful expression sparkled in his gaze. I laughed at his praise, pleased at the result of my small gesture.

“I guess i’m buying you flowers a lot more often now” I half joked, definitely scheming to make this a more often tradition. I kissed his cheek tender heartedly, my thumb caressed his jawline softly as we both admired one another, he ended with a warm endearing kiss on my lips. He muttered “thank you’s” all throughout the rest of the day, “thank you for the flowers again my love” I easily quieted him down with a kiss.

Now every time I pass the florist, I grab a quick bouquet

taglist: @dwntwn-strnlo @oneirophobic @lovelysturniolo @gabbylovesreading @stvrni0lo @ssturniolo @strniolo @sturniololoverr @sturniolol @ifilwtmfc

[seeingivy]

labyrinth

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

remember this speak now fic. now reimagine it, except YOU'RE the one getting stood up at the wedding. and then you meet your ridiculous neighbor and fall in love in an elevator months later.

an: I believe it was my beloved @satoruhour who asked me if I could do labyrinth for taylor as gojo! and here I am <333 truly one of my favorites on midnights that makes me so, so emotional I could vomit. anyways, enjoy pookies

--

You think Suguru Getou is beautiful. On all days, both blatantly and inconspicuously, absolutely and wholeheartedly. When he wakes up in the morning with a messy mop of hair on his forehead, when he slides into your shared apartment with a surprise bouquet of flowers, and when he gives you a cheeky wink every time you're both done screaming at each other after arguments.

Suguru Getou is the first person you’ve loved. The only person you’ll love. He burns hot, bright - like the gazing sun, opening a locked cage you weren’t aware of until he handed you the key. Opening a spur of emotions - intense, extreme, fierce, and great. 

It all builds up to this. You and him - at this altar together, despite it all. That every rotten part of you is okay, because Suguru knows and looks past it. That nothing can chase him away, because you’ve weathered it down. It’s your turn - to settle down and it's in the palm of your hands. 

Under the palely lit lamps, on this day, Suguru Getou has outdone himself. He’s gorgeous. His hair is nicely tamed back at the nape of his neck, his pink boutonniere pinned to his perfectly crisp suit, and a bright, soft smile on his face as you both beam at each other at the altar. 

“In tradition, this is the moment to speak. Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” 

You look at Suguru and laugh - a moment the two of you left in the ceremony as a mere joke - as you look out at the stands. You both joked that one of your friends, like Haibara or Shoko, would stand up to make their last ditch efforts before you two got to continue forward to your vows. 

You turn your head to the side to give Shoko a wink, flirt with her one last time to get her to do it. Except when you catch sight of her, she has a horrified look plastered on her face. And when you scan the crowd, the same look is mirrored on everyone’s faces. Your mom, the girl you were best friends with in sixth grade, your neighbor from down the street, Haibara. 

That’s when you see her standing there. In her pale blue dress, hands shaking as she talks. 

“I’m-I’m not the kind of girl who does this and I-I don’t mean to barge in on such a big day but-” 

You feel your heart sink into your chest, the warmth and heat - any shred of elation, joy, bliss you were feeling mere seconds ago draining from your chest. You know what’s coming next. 

“But you’re not the kind of guy who marries the wrong girl, Suguru. You-it’s always been you and me. It’s never going to be anyone for me but you. And I know it's the same for you too." 

You swallow hard as you push your palms hard into the stems of the bouquet. You can feel your cheeks burning again - except in embarrassment this time. 

Does the preacher say something? Is Suguru supposed to say no? Is he even- 

You turn over to look at him, his hazel eyes moving to meet yours, the look on his face so blank, so foreign from the boy you’ve known for the past two years that you can barely recognize him. 

“Can we talk?” he whispers, nervously eyeing the crowd. You swallow hard, like burning acid is running down your esophagus and give a halfhearted nod. He takes your hand, giving you the tiniest of smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, as you two nearly sprint down the aisle past where Hana is still standing, tears streaming down her eyes. 

He slams the doors shut behind him as the crowd breaks out into loud chatter behind you, shameful, humiliating tears falling onto your perfectly powdered cheeks. 

“Y/N. I-” 

Through the messy blur of tears, when you squint your eyes, you see it. Suguru Getou is beautiful. At all times, but not right now. His face is filled with shame, his shoulders hunched over, and his usual calm, delicate manner all haphazard, panicked. He’s fidgeting with his hands, pacing back and forth, words carelessly falling out of his mouth under his breath. 

“You-you want to go, don’t you?” you ask, your voice a mere whisper in the air. 

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, stifling your sob into the fabric as his shirt as aimless apologies fall out of his mouth, his once warm hands, scalding - burning your arms. 

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was going to do that and I would never mean to do it like this. But-but I was standing there and I saw her and it kind of ca-came together-” 

“Did you know?” you ask.

“I didn’t even know she was com-” 

“Did you know you loved her still?” you ask, your voice more firm. 

He looks at you, eyes narrowed, before looking down at his hands, twisting the rings you were supposed to exchange in a few minutes in his hands. And you suppose this reaction - Suguru Getou’s silence, his first time being something other than beautiful is answer enough. 

Ten minutes later, he walks past you - your sister, the nanny you grew up with, your college best friends - hand in hand with Hana as they nearly run out cheesing, his initial despair left replaced with bliss as he leaves you in your white dress. 

And you know that out of the infinite moments of your life, it’ll always boil down to this one. That you’ll be getting over this - how tasteless, how cruel, how evil the situation truly is. 

After a month of being encouraged by people to move forward, to bounce back, you do it in the way people don’t expect. You move away. And three months after the fact, when your pain is still raw in your chest, you meet Satoru Gojo. 

--

You lean against the wall of the elevator, pressing the faded star button, as you scroll through your errands on your phone - buy paint, email landlord, mail ring. 

Mail ring. 

You reach into your bag, the thought of it possessing a sudden will to see it. You yank it out and press your coffee into the crook of your elbow, focusing on the jewelry - a silver band with a pear shaped diamond in the middle. The ring Suguru’s mom wore when she was married to his dad. The one you were supposed to wear when he married you. 

Suguru asked you to mail it back last night. A roundabout way of course - initially filled with concern, deeply sincere and rehearsed apologies, before cutting to the chase. And you question the thought process.

You break up with your first love. Date another girl for two years. Get engaged, plan an entire wedding, walk to the altar. Just to stand up and walk away, because it’s always been her. 

And a mere three months later, reach out to ask for the ring back, because he has to propose. Again. 

You ponder your options, in earnest. Granted, you’re definitely in the anger stage of your grieving process, corny terms used by your corny therapist, who is trying her best. 

One. Mail it back. Tell them to go to hell. 

Two. Throw it into the ocean and say you lost it. And then tell them to go to hell. 

Three. Don’t respond and pawn the ring for a decent amount of money. Use the fortune to send an ungodly amount of ominous letters to their house, telling them to go to hell. 

The elevator bell rings, stopping five floors short of the lobby, as two kids and a tall, pale haired man shuffle in. You give the three of them a polite smile as you slide to the side, opening up the space for them. 

“It’s female rage, Gojo.” 

“Female rage? I thought using the word female was bad, Tsumiki.” 

“It is. But not here.” 

“So if I use female as an adjective it’s not a bad thing?” 

The girl, barely thirteen you’re guessing, groans in frustration as she approaches the shorter boy, who is quietly leaning against the wall with his nose stuck in his video game. 

“Megumi. Tell Gojo he’s being stupid.” she states.

He looks up at the two of them, giving a soul shattering glare, before nudging her to the side. 

“On a good day, you’re both objectively stupid.” 

She rolls her eyes as she shoves him, muttering how annoying he is under her breath. And now they’re both shoving each other, pushing harder with each consecutive push before the boy bumps into you. You land against the wall and drop your latte all over your clothes, the cold liquid staining your white button down shirt. 

You groan, knowing you’ll have to go back up and change because the stain is so blatant, putting a pin in your errands and heading to work. You look up to find the pale haired man, blue eyes widely staring into yours, as he starts profusely apologizing. 

“I’m so sorry. We- I’ll pay for your dry cleaning. You know. Kids. They were raised in a barn.” 

“We were both raised by you.” they deadpan. 

You sigh, lifting the wet cloth off of your shirt as you look up at him, waving your hand in the air. 

“Ah. It’s okay, it happens. It’s no problem.” 

“No really. We insist. And-and problem solved. You can take my shirt instead!” he says, brightly smiling at you. 

You frown, looking up at him. 

“You’re like six feet tall.” 

“I’m actually six three.” he responds, winking.

You stare at him since he’s now unbuttoning his shirt as the elevator keeps moving down, and hands it to you. It’s pale blue and definitely too big for you, but he literally grabs your hand and places it into your palm, giving you a boyish smile. 

That’s when you take your moment to indiscreetly ogle him. For three reasons. First, he’s a stranger who just stripped in the elevator. Surely, a nutcase. Or a sex offender. Two, he’s smiling at you like he’s the sun. And three - he’s ripped. Like full on, toned Greek God ripped. 

“Do you want a picture? It’ll last longer.” 

“What? No- I wasn’t even looking. And-and take your shirt back. Who just takes their shirt off in an elevator? This isn’t going to fit me and I’ll look like a rodeo clown with this on and-” 

He laughs as he takes the shirt from your hands, holding open the sleeves as he instructs you to stick your arms in. You shake your head, which he rolls his eyes at, as he drapes the shirt around your shoulders, moving forward to pull your hair out of the collar. 

“You talk a lot, stranger.” 

“Huh?” 

“You. You talk a lot. Just put the shirt on properly and tuck it in - it’s like oversized and female fashion or whatever.” he responds. 

“Quit saying female. You sound like a pervert. And you look like one too.” the boy responds, rolling her eyes. 

The elevator door slides open, the lobby bustling in front of you. You shuffle out of the doors, yanking his shirt around your wrists as you adjust it on your frame. You turn your head to find him absent from your side, the three of them still standing in the elevator. 

“Are you not getting out?” 

“Miss me already?” 

“What? No. No, I just- you bothered me the entire way down and you’re not even getting out?” 

“Have to go get a shirt. I gave mine up for a pretty girl.” he responds, winking again, as the elevator doors close in front of you. 

--

Five days later, you muster up the courage to mail the ring. It’s packed into an envelope, sans words or writing, because if Suguru gave you silence at the end, he doesn’t deserve your words at the end either. 

You lean against the elevator, twisting over the envelope in your hands, as you feel the sweat sticking on your palms, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest that it’s really all over. 

It should be the end. But every sinking, disgusting part of that moment - the eyes on you, your family nearby, your dress made to perfection - make you think that you’ll be getting over this your whole life. That you’ll never move forward. And why should you?

The door stops, five floors short of your stop, and the same guy - the pale haired one from a few days prior springs in, a wide smile crossing his face as he sees you in the elevator. He leans against the wall with you, so close that you can smell his cologne - musky and fresh. 

“Hi stranger. How was the shirt?” he asks. 

“I don’t like the color you’re wearing. Please don’t take it off because I don't want it.” 

“I was asking about the shirt from a few days ago. Not the one right now. Though if you’re doing a reverse psychology thing, I’m more than happy to oblige.” he responds, laughing. 

You feel your cheeks burn at misunderstanding, reaching up to fidget with the ends of your hair as the elevator keeps moving down. The two of you stay in silence, the consecutive beep on each floor seemingly getting louder until it lands on one. 

You make your move to walk out of the elevator, except he’s blocking the entrance and very aggressively pressing the button that closes the door. 

“What? Hey, I was getting off on that st-” 

“You were getting off at that stop. And now you’re not.” he responds, pressing the shiny button marking the eleventh floor. 

You cross your hands across your chest, glaring bullets into this idiot's face. 

“Is it asshole day? What’s your problem?” you ask. 

“I need a favor. And I’ve been trying to catch you in the elevator for five days now and only just found you. Who knnows how much longer it would be until I saw you again?” 

“So you couldn’t ask like a normal person? You just had to trap me in here.”

“Obviously.” 

You groan as you lean against the wall, watching the floors beep as they go up again. 

“So what do you want, stranger?” 

“I’m glad you asked. And it’s Gojo. My kids - you met them the other day - I’m trying to do that whole touchy-feely thing with them so they open up more. And they’re learning how to apologize this week, stranger.” 

“So you want me to come so they can apologize to me? And it’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Huh?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say it. But yeah, just make something up about how that day was really bad for you or something so that they feel even worse and sincerely apologize.” 

You glare at him as the doors open and he grabs your wrist as he leads you down the hallway. 

“Lying is all touchy feely and perfect for processing your feelings right?” you ask, sarcastically. 

“Of course! I’m so glad you get it.” 

You glare as he sticks his key in the door and then standing behind you, two hands on your back as he pushes you in. The two kids are sitting at the table, the girl with her nose stuck in a book and the boy flicking through his video games again. 

You give the two of them a smile as Gojo holds out the chair for you, taking the seat at your left. 

“Hi guys. I’m Y/N. Gojo tells me that you both have something you want to talk to me about.” you say, giving the two of them bright smiles. 

“Megumi. And he’s forcing us to apologize to you. I personally think he should be giving you an apology for getting naked in an elevator and then waiting for hours going up and down to find you again.” he deadpans. 

You turn your head to Gojo. Hours? You mouth. He profusely denies the claim by shaking his head, signaling for you to turn back to Tsumiki. You nod, turning to her. 

“I’m Tsumiki. Uh. What do I do first? Oh- OH. I just want to ask if there’s anything you want to tell me about what happened the other day. Like how it made you feel or whatever.” 

You try your best to conceal your smile at her bluntness, focusing on what Gojo had asked you to do. 

“Well, thank you for asking Tsumiki. In all honesty, that day was…not an easy one for me. It started out pretty rough, like a lot of days do lately and” 

You pause, thinking back to that moment. Of that morning - when you couldn’t make your bed perfectly, the sheets still wrinkled, the coffee not tasting just right, struggling to find an outfit and settling for whatever was closest, and that god forsaken sparkly ring. You can feel your eyes burning, your vision blurring as you clear your throat. 

“I-I was going to do something that was really hard for me. I-I got engaged. I mean I was engaged and I actually almost got married. Like, walking all the way down the aisle and white dress married. And then I didn’t. And then I-I moved here because everything there reminded me of it and the guy, god that idiot, called me and asked me to send the ring back. And-and he wants it because he wants to use it for the girl who stood up at our wedding. And yeah, I get it, they’re happy and whatever and they want to get married as soon as possible, but god, it-it’s just humiliating to have the same thing happen twice and for things to move forward so fast when I’m still stuck there, you know?” 

You feel one of your tears fall straight onto your hand, suddenly aware that you’re crying in this stranger's house and you’ve said too much to a fourteen year old who's supposed to be learning how to apologize. You look up to find the three of them staring at you - eyes wide and pinched expressions on their faces.

“You got stood up at your own wedding?” 

“Tsumiki. That’s rude.” Gojo responds. 

“It’s okay. Yeah, I did.” you respond, waving him off. He looks wildly uncomfortable at the entire thing - probably because he's one of those emotionally repressed guys whose never seen a girl cry. 

“Please tell me you did something crazy when it happened. Like screamed or something, oh my god.” she asks, excitement filling her face. 

“Tsumiki.” 

“Um. Well, I think I technically broke a bunch of candelabras? Does that count?” 

“What?!” she asks, her excitement only growing as she takes your hands into hers. 

“Well, after the two of them left together, I went back in. And everyone was trying to console me and whatever and I don’t know it was just weird. Irritating. So I was trying to gesture them all to move away and I accidentally knocked down the candelabras lining the aisle. Except they were all so close together that I pushed one and then they all went falling.” 

She leans back in her chair, mimicking the motion as she turns to Megumi, the two of them discussing how loud it probably was. Gojo’s leaning onto the table, cheeks resting against his palms, as he stares at the two of them, a soft smile on his face. 

“Tsumiki. Megumi. You forgot something.” 

“Oh. Oh! Right. We’re sorry for what we did, really. That day must have been bad and you were probably just stuck thinking about how lonely and lame the entire situation is, like really it’s got to be depressing on so many levels and-” 

“Tsumiki.” 

“Sorry. Again. For making a bad day worse. And for bringing it up again. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re really cool. And he’s lame. Like most men, obviously.” she says. 

“Cool, huh? I’ve never had someone describe my situation as cool, Tsumiki.” 

“That’s because you probably know idiots. You’re like the main character of a really cool movie, where you like commit a murder or create a heist or something.” she says, jumping out of her seat as Megumi follows her into the kitchen, the two of them giggling about spies. 

You turn to Gojo, giving him a half smile as the two of you watch them in the kitchen. 

“You know when I said to make up a story, you didn’t have to add that much detail.” 

“What? Oh. That was all real.” 

He puts a hand on your head, awkwardly patting your hair as he gives you a weird look. 

“Ah. Sorry? My bad. That really sucks, babygirl.” 

You laugh at the utter awkwardness of the moment, at this gangly idiots' efforts to console you. You’ve seen every effort of comfort in the past three months - the awkward pinched smiles from your moms friends, your angry friends promising to egg his house, the half glass full righteous parents telling you that everything you lose is a step you take. But you’ve never seen this. 

“Gojo. Were you raised in a barn? What’s wrong with you?” 

“Sue me. I’ve never had a friend get stood up at her own wedding. What do you even say to that?” 

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if ‘that really sucks babygirl’ is where I would start.” 

“My bad. Please let me know your preferred term of endearment and I’ll do better next time.” 

You give him a smile as he leads you to the kitchen, splitting the only thing he has in his fridge - an eight foot white sheet cake - with you as you both smile at each other over the counter. 

--

You sit in the stands next to Gojo and Megumi, the three of you splitting a bag of skittles as you watch Tsumiki walk up to the plate. You’re not sure how you ended up here, exactly. The timeline gets muddled in your head. Because that apology led to you returning the next day to show Tsumiki a video of you breaking the candelabras. 

Then you were eating dinner with them the next day, all fancy and so that Tsumiki could knock over some candelabras of her own. Then Megumi wanted to do a deep clean of the apartment the next day, which you helped with. And then you picked them up from school when Gojo was stuck in traffic and then he drove all the way to your job with an umbrella so you wouldn’t have to walk home in the rain and then you just saw him all the time.

And now you’re here, at Tsumiki’s softball game. She’s an aggressive player, the metal making loud cracking sounds against the ball when she hits, her determination to run off even faster.

“Gojo.” 

“Hm, pumpkin?” 

“Gross. 3/10.” 

“Pumpkin is a 3/10 but sugar is a 5/10? You’re ridiculous.” 

Ever since Gojo’s babygirl line, he’s been testing out different endearments as he talks to you. You give him a rating out of ten, which he is always offended by. 

“Sugar is like old money. Leather jackets, slicked back hair, Danny Zuko.” 

“Danny Zuko is ugly. I’m way hotter than him.” 

“Anyways. Do you ever think that Tsumiki is a little…intense? I mean, I don’t know she’s all about rage and the thrill and exhilaration and that’s okay but-” 

He frowns, looking out at her - a determined, intense expression pressed on her face at second base. 

“I guess. But, that’s just because of everything that’s happened. She-she’s used to being so smiley and carefree all the time. And I told her that when she’s with me and us, that she doesn’t have to be anymore if she feels the need to be. And I guess letting go of that, letting everything out is intense for her. And she’s just trying to feel it all.” 

You put your hand on his knee and squeeze, giving him a smile as you look out at her too. 

“I get it. I used to feel that way when….you know. I guess I just thought it was right to do it the intense way, to fight, to love like a knife, like a closed fist. That if I argued and felt and did all these things as intensely as I could, it would be right.” 

He puts his hand on your knee now and squeezes, leaning his head against yours. Tsumiki sprints two bases, scoring a goal as she jumps up and down - her chest heaving up and down from panting. The two of you instantly jump up, hands locked together as you jump up and down just like her and excitedly cheer her name. Over the cheering, he responds, eyes still focused on her high-fiving all her teammates.

“I get what you’re saying. But, I don’t want her to think about love that way. It would kill me if she did. I want her to feel these intense feelings but love should be soft. It shouldn’t be a war, it should be a home. I don’t want her to ever have to fight for it, I want it to creep up on her - build a place in her heart that always stays there. Don’t you agree, pookie?” 

You turn to him, glaring at him through his stupid light blue sunglasses. One of the best things about being friends with Gojo? That he so earnestly, so deeply wants the best for Tsumiki and Megumi that it makes your heart hurt. That his love for them is so unconditional, that you just want to witness it - have the sweetness rub off of you. 

He makes two sets of dinner each night, because they’re both picky eaters. And every time you tell him to just be more firm, to sit them down and make them eat it, he refuses. Because the thought that either of them would be so stubborn that they wouldn’t eat dinner at all and go to bed hungry is worse than taking the time to make two sets of food. One now, because you always make the other. 

He makes Tsumiki watch documentaries about famous female figures - politicians, music artists, writers. Tsumiki’s well versed in every feat of women - from Taylor Swift’s sold out shows to Jane Austens’ impact as a romance writer.  He goes out of his way to make sure that she has positive female role models, to try his best to give her things that he can’t blatantly offer. He loves them so much. He loves so much. It’s truly the best thing about him. 

The second? That he takes something serious but still manages to make you laugh at the end. 

“Pookie, Gojo? Really? That’s a 0/10. You can do better than that.” 

--

“The reservation is under Gojo. It should be two rooms, connected. Four queens.” you say, tapping your knuckles against the counter as Gojo ushers Megumi to the bathroom - who has been complaining of a very full bladder the entire drive down. 

The four of you had come down to the closest beach town for Christmas and Megumi's birthday, planning to spend a few days in the area until the new year rang in. The woman hands you two keycards and you give her a smile as you wait by the elevator for the two of them to return. 

Six floors later and the four of you are pushing into your rooms, Tsumiki and Megumi immediately flopping on the beds and eating the little chocolates placed on the pillows as you and Gojo roll your eyes. 

You unlock the connecting door and push your bag through to find one king bed in yours and Gojo’s room as Gojo joins you at his side. He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin shoulder as you both groan. 

“Fuck. No blanket hogging, snookums.” 

“Disgusting. Negative ten, Gojo.” 

He immediately plops his things down onto the left side of the bed and you land on the right, setting out your chargers and taking off your jewelry as you hop into the shower. Eight months ago, you would have been so opposed and appalled at the affair - having to share a bed with Gojo - but you’ve honestly seen too much of him now that it doesn’t phase you. 

Granted, when you met him, he literally took his shirt off. But you're so casual now that the boundary of sharing a bed is virtualy nothing. And you've literally done it before.

You get ready in the bathroom while Gojo takes a shower, despite the fact that he’s literally naked a few feet away. You’ve shared his bed when you end up staying too late - because you’re not breaking your back by sleeping on the floor and neither is he. He eats from your plate because you never finish his own and you always steal sips of his coffee even when you say you don’t want one. 

One time he used your toothbrush by accident. That however, the two of you never moved past. 

You pad into the bathroom, filling up the room with a decent amount of steam as you fill up your scalding shower and indulge yourself in all the fancy bath soaps and salts in the shower. Leaving with muscles soothed and pruney fingers, you towel your hair up and throw on your sweats to nestle into the clean sheets. Gojo’s now sitting on the right side, lazily flicking through the channels. 

“Gojo. I was on the right.” 

“Yeah, my bad. I realized I totally claimed a side first. I know you hate sleeping by the window because you’re convinced some big bad man is going to come steal you. Now he can come get me!” 

You look over at your side table, the things you set up before now switched to your side. They're all laid out perfectly, the way you had left the, except on the opposite nightstand.

“Gojo?” 

“Hm?” 

“How’d you know how to put my stuff like this?” 

“Huh?” 

“The chargers. The jewelry.” 

“Oh. Just noticed that’s all. You spend like a few minutes every night before you go to sleep making sure it’s all right. That your chargers aren’t tangled, the rings and earrings are together and stuff. Just figured I’d put it that way so you wouldn’t have to.” 

You smile, cheeks warm at the thought of Gojo paying attention enough to notice that you do that and going as far as doing it for you. After he remembered your irrational fear of getting murked in the night and moved when he didn’t have to. Granted, Gojo’s thoughtfulness is always one of the things you’ve loved most about him. 

. 

. 

. 

Oh.

Oh. 

You look over at him, knees hiked to his chest, messy white hair and that loose old t-shirt on his frame as he pokes through your stash of snacks. His eyes are so intensely focused on the movie - Danny Zuko dancing on the screen in Grease - as he nervously fidgets with his knuckles like he always does. 

No. No no no no no no no no no no. 

You’re falling in love. You’re falling in love with Satoru Gojo, you’re falling in love again and you shouldn't be.

Gojo looks over at you, bored blue eyes immediately filling with concern as he jumps up, arms resting falling against your biceps. You bring your fists to your eyes, wiping away the tears, trying to push them down as he whispers, softly broaching the subject. 

“Hey. You okay? The fake burglar scared you that badly?” 

You snort through your tears as he squeezes your arms.

Fuck. You’re down bad. Down horrendous. That joke wasn’t even funny and it made you snort. 

“What’s wrong, my little tater tot?” 

“Five.” 

“I thought that was at least a seven. You love tater tots.” he whispers, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rubs small circles into your back, his soft voice vertebrates through his chest. 

What happened? When did you get like this? When did you start sharing beds and leaving a toothbrush and a spare pair of clothes at his place? 

Why-why is every part of you open with him? Why do you want to open it for him? 

You can’t. You just can’t. 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah?” you murmur into the clothed fabric of his shirt. 

“Words please. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” 

You crumple the fabric of his shirt in your fists, burying down every feeling - overwhelming, endearing, warm and bright - and lie through your teeth. 

“Nothing. I-I just remembered. It’s Suguru’s birthday.” 

He pulls you out of his arms, bringing up his hands to your cheeks, as he gives you a lopsided small. 

“Sucks. Want me to kill him?”

“Obviously.” 

“Consider it done.” 

You smile as he lets go, dragging you back onto the bed with him. And you both watch the movie - you swooning over Danny Zuko and Gojo telling you that he’s way hotter than him the entire time - until you somehow end up nestled in his arms in the dark, his soft sleep breaths lulling you to sleep. 

You're screwed.

--

You and Gojo pad down to the little restaurant the hotel has the next morning, leaving a very grumpy Tsumiki and so fast asleep he’s nearly dead Megumi in their beds. You and Gojo opt for a booth, sitting on the same side, as you look through the menu. 

“Splitsies?” 

“Huh?” 

“Splitsies. You pick the savory, I’ll pick the sweet, okay?” 

You nod, cheeks burning as you look through the menu at the implication, trying your best not to focus on your legs pressed together, his hand so casually placed on thigh like it’s second nature.

It is second nature, he does it all the time. But should he, if he’s just your friend? 

Your friend that you’re in love with? 

“And for you, ma’am?” 

“Oh. Um-” 

You scan your eyes down the menu and pick the first thing listed, eggs benedict, earning a weird smile from Gojo as they walk away with your order. 

“Okay, my little eggs benedict. You’re paying because you hogged the blanket all night.” 

“Three. Unoriginal. And you literally stopped my circulation at one point, so you pay.” 

“Ugh. The things you do for love.” he responds, eyes focused on the window to his left.

“Excuse me?” 

Gojo looks over at you, a weird expression in his eyes. And you feel your eyes widen when you realize this is another one of Gojo’s jokes - like when he calls you his wife, says that you’re both two parents roughing it through the world - and feel the embarrassment rush to your cheeks as you bury your face into the drinks menu. 

He slides his arm around your shoulder, whispering into your ears with a smirk. 

“It’s eight in the morning. Are we really going to drink right now?” 

We. 

“Sh-shut up. I was just looking.” 

“What’s wrong with you? You’re being all squirrely and weird.” 

“No, I’m not. Yo-you’re being weird. You fucking pervert, always going on about some we this, wifey this shit.” 

He drops his hands on the table, squinting at you like he’s trying to discern the writing on your face. And after a few seconds his face lights up, replaced by a devious smirk that you absolutely hate. 

“What, Gojo?” 

“You just realized, didn’t you?” 

“Realized what?” 

“That you love me.” he states, matter of factly. 

You feel your jaw drop as you stare at him, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as you feel your cheeks burn, his closeness to you making you even more embarrassed. At him saying that, so bluntly.

“I don’t love you, Gojo.” 

“Oh, you totally do. Is that what you were crying about last night? Overwhelmed with your love for me?” 

Satoru Gojo. Fucking mindreader. 

“No. No, I don’t- I can’t-” you mutter, hands in your face as the entire thing bubbles out, your big secret wide open. 

You can’t love Gojo. You just loved Suguru. And you don’t love anyone like you love Suguru and you shouldn't with what happened and

Satoru puts a hand on your head, ruffling your hair. 

“Y/N. Just, stop panicking. I'm teasing. You don’t have to be all embarrassed and figure out what it means that right away. You-you have a lot of baggage that comes with feeling like this. I’m guessing your first line of defense is to run off or push me away, so I can’t do to you what Suguru did. But - just calm down, okay? Eat eggs benedict and french toast with me and then drive along the coast.” 

You stare at him, his expression so calm, so serene at something so serious that it’s off putting. 

“Can you do that for me? It is my birthday, you know?” 

"Your birthday was like three weeks ago."

"Yeah but it's still my month. You have to give in."

You nod at which he gives a bright smile, squishing your cheeks with his hand as the plates get placed in front of you. You both tangle your arms, the entire elephant you just spilled out ignored, as you share your plates of breakfast. 

“Do you like the food, my little strawberry?” 

“Yes. And that was a 8/10, not bad.” 

“That was horrible. You're blinded by love already.” 

--

The entire thing twists into a maze in your mind. A labyrinth of every moment you’ve ever shared with Gojo, with Suguru, with every complex feeling that comes with love - picking up the kids from school, him brushing your hair for fun, comparing hand sizes, doing a staring contest but instead just admiring each other's eyes.

Which is why when you come back out from your day with Tsumiki and Megumi, tuck them both into bed, and end back up in your room, you’re so anxious it’s all tumbling out of your mouth. 

“Gojo.” 

“Yes?” 

“I can’t do this. This thing- I-I can’t do this. I want to go home. Can I go home?” 

“What? Are you okay, you-” 

He stands up, leaning forward to press his hands against your cheeks but you immediately back away, flinching away from his touch. He frowns, the motion catching him off guard, as he steps back. 

“You want to go home? I mean, I can wake the kids and take you now but-” 

“No, no. I want to go alone, I don’t want you there, this is all a lot and-” 

“Y/N. I said not to think about that. You-stop thinking it into this big thing it’s not.” 

You crouch down onto the ground, hiking your knees to your chest as you cry into your bones, the tears spilling down the side of your legs. You can feel the sobs racking out of your chest and Gojo’s arms holding you still, the presence you’ve relied on for the past eight months burning you.

“Y/N.” 

“Gojo.” 

“Are you scared I don’t love you back? I- you know I do right?” 

You look up at him, blue eyes widening in shock as he pulls you into his arms properly, squeezing hard. 

“I love you. I’ve loved you for a while. Don’t- don’t doubt it okay because I do. And-” 

“It’s not that.” you whisper. 

He pulls back again, hands resting against your cheeks - which you allow this time - as he frowns. He nods lightly, signaling for you to talk as he rubs his fingers back and forth on your cheeks, the touch soothing. 

“I’m scared that I love you.” 

“Hey. I’m not that bad.” 

You laugh, which makes him smile, as he lightly applies pressure to your cheeks. 

“I’m scared because I don’t know how to do it when it’s like this. I-I handed my heart over and someone broke it and if you do that, I can’t-

“I’m not going to do that.” he responds, voice firm. 

“You love soft, Satoru. You- there’s so many parts of me that are hard, my heart is all rough and calloused over and yours is soft and perfect. I love like a knife, like a battle, like it’s a war and I’m fighting for my life. You love like it’s the air you breathe, like you’re watering flowers and building a home. You-you don’t want to love me when I don’t know how to do that and I’m like this and you should just leave when you can. I’m like a labyrinth, a big jumbled mess that you’ll have to spend forever figuring out.” 

He sighs, eyes clenched shut and shoulders tensed up. 

“Y/N. You contradict yourself in every sentence and it pisses me off.” 

“What?” 

“You’re right. I love like it’s air I breathe, like I’m watering flowers and building a home. I’ve been building ours for months now and you really think I’m going to walk out of here because it’s not perfect? I knew this was what I was getting into and I wanted it.” 

You can feel your ears ringing, tears rising in your eyes because you know whatever he says next is going to inevitably make you sob. 

“Gojo. You, it’s a mess up here. I can't do that to you.” you whisper, tapping your forehead. 

“A mess to you, right now. Nothing about you is a mess to me. There-there’s so much that’s happened, that’s twisted all these things that are supposed to be good into bad. But just-just work with me here, okay? We’ll untwist them. We’ll make your labyrinth into a nice little garden with a pond, okay? 

You push your face into his shirt, his heart pounding against your ears, as he wraps his arms around you again. 

“You want a garden and a pond in our litte love house?” you whisper.

“Yeah. Megumi always stares at flowers when we walk to school, I think we should do gardening when we move out of the apartments. And we can sit there together, you know?” 

“Yeah.” you whisper. 

“Are you letting me?” 

“Letting you what?” 

“In. In here and here.” he says, pointing to your head and then your heart, which is violently thumping. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.” 

He leans forward, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead, before whispering a soft thank you in your hair. You cry a great deal more, his soft words soothing you down, until you’re tangled under the sheets together, every part of your body vibrating with what just happened. 

“Go to bed, my love. We have to get up early tomorrow.”

You turn to the other side and he snakes his arms around your waist, his breath tickling the back of your neck. 

“Satoru.” 

“Hm?” 

“My love? It’s ten out of ten.” you whisper. 

You feel him press a kiss to the back of your neck before you both fall asleep, the warmth enveloping you in the deepest rest you’ve ever had.

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot@itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

[kj-yikes]

25. Ink

(on ao3 here)

"Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?" Kara asks as she ghosts her fingertips down Lena's bare spine. They've been in bed all morning — a rare Sunday where Kara hasn't been pulled away for Supergirl duties and convinces Lena to be lazy.

Lena shivers as Kara's fingers reach the sensitive spot on the lower curve of her back. Chills erupt on her naked skin. "I almost did, once, just to piss Lillian off. It didn't seem like a good enough reason to get something permanently tattooed on my body. I got my piercings instead. At least I could take those out if I decided I didn't want them."

Kara smiles. She adores Lena's piercings, even though Lena rarely puts her studs in. Of course, there are other piercings, ones that had surprised Kara the first time she saw them, that drive Kara crazy. She'd graze her fingers across them now if Lena wasn't laying on her stomach.

"What about you? Would you get a tattoo if you could?" Lena asks, blindly reaching out to make contact with Kara, eyes still closed as she lazes in their bed.

"I don't know. Maybe," Kara hums. "I thought tattoos were fascinating when I first got to Earth, maybe because I knew I couldn't get one." She smiles, chuckles, remembering. "I used to draw on my arms when I got bored in class. Eliza would get so mad at me. I'd come home covered in doodles and the occasional Kryptonian when I thought I could get away with it."

Lena's green eyes open, and Kara is momentarily struck by her simple beauty. The sheet has slipped to just past her hips, hiding the curve of her bare ass. Her head is pillowed on her folded arms, and her hair is wavy, messy from the way she'd writhed against the pillow as Kara moved on top of her earlier that morning.

"When I was in the sixth grade, this girl I had a crush on, Sophia Jefferson, would draw on my arms. Just flowers and hearts and stuff. God, it made me feel things," Lena chuckles.

Kara captures Lena's lips in a slow, languid kiss. Lena sighs softly, fisting her pillow beneath her head. Kara pulls away and leans her head against Lena's forehead. "Was that a formative queer experience for you?"

"Oh, definitely. Pretty girls drawing on you? Very gay, very hot," Lena jokes. Kara raises an eyebrow.

"Is that right?" Kara reaches over and grabs Lena's arm, bringing it closer to her. Lena rolls to her side to allow for easier access. Rao, she's stunning. Kara tries not to get distracted by her naked wife laying so gorgeously in front of her, instead running her finger in swirls and spirals across Lena's forearm. Lena shivers again. "Can I draw on you?"

Lena eyes her curiously, bright eyes sparkling. "Okay."

"Okay," Kara punctuates the statement with a kiss to the soft, sensitive skin of Lena's wrist and extricates herself from the sheets. She pads across their apartment to retrieve a pen from the office.

Lena watches her as she crosses the bedroom and climbs back on the bed. Kara settles seated next to Lena and takes her arm back, placing kisses down from her wrist to her elbow before uncapping the pen.

"Any requests?" she wiggles her eyebrows.

Lena shakes her head with a sly smile. "Surprise me."

Kara grins and gets to work. The first thing she draws, right past the joint of Lena's wrist, is the house of El crest, just a simple sketch. Kara holds Lena's wrist up to admire her handiwork, and Lena laughs, a melodic sound that warms Kara from the inside out.

"Cheeky," Lena says, quirking a polished eyebrow. Kara laughs and continues drawing, winding long flower stems up Lena's forearm. It becomes almost meditative — Kara's fingers skimming Lena's oh-so-soft skin, covering Lena's alabaster skin in her art, feeling the weight of Lena's green eyes watching her, studying her as she concentrates.

After a few minutes, Kara is trying to find an inch of skin on Lena's arm that hasn't been covered in blooms or leaves. She pulls back to study, to plan her next endeavor, when she suddenly looks up at Lena.

Blue eyes connect with green, and even six years into their relationship, it still gives her butterflies. Kara's gaze roams over her hooded eyes, her seductive smirk, the slope of her neck and her collarbone.

As Kara's eyes wander, Lena rolls over and exposes her side to Kara. "If I was going to get a tattoo, I think I would've done something on my ribs. Draw me something?"

Kara traces her fingers down Lena's side, and Lena sighs. "You gonna get it tattooed?" Kara whispers, half joking.

Lena smiles mysteriously. "Maybe."

Kara's stomach clenches pleasantly. Kara loves that idea. Kara is wild about that idea.

But what should she draw?

She scoots closer to Lena and spreads her hands over the blank canvas of Lena's ribcage and considers. Then, it comes to her.

Lena squirms a little as Kara begins to ink her skin. "Sorry, I bet it's a little tickle-y."

"It's okay. Keep going," Lena murmurs. Kara looks up towards Lena's face and sees that Lena's eyes are closed and her brow is slightly furrowed. She places a soft kiss on Lena's ribs before resuming.

Her pen moves across Lena's ribs and she braces a hand against Lena's chest as she draws. When she's finished, she smooths a hand over the slightly irritated skin.

"There. All done." Lena opens her eyes and looks down, and then lets out a soft gasp.

"Is that a plumeria?" Lena's voice is hushed, awed. Kara nods.

"A plumeria and a Dar-Essa bloom," Kara answers softly. The smile Lena gives her makes her heart skip a beat.

"I love it, Kara," she says as she runs her fingers along where the two flowers overlap amidst the leaves behind them. Kara grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers, laying down next to Lena and snuggling close.

There's a pause as Kara's lips find Lena's jawbone.

"What if I did get it tattooed, though?"

[court-jobi]

i was just (re)reading your "reheat" oneshot and one part that stood out to me was izuku apparently "making a show" of him rolling up his shirt sleeves because reader finds it attractive. but my question is how did he find that out???????? did reader tell him that they find it to be alluring??? i need answers (just please dont do it nsfw, i'm not really into it lol) 👀👀

(btw i love your writing<3)

Ahhhh I'm SO glad someone caught this! I'm a sucker for the little details, and you found one of my favorites 🥰🥰 SFW it is~

And truly, it honestly shouldn't be such a saucy thought, Izuku rolling up his sleeves... It's a pure and simple fact that you love every bit of Izuku, whether he's dressed up or down. What's not to love? But here we are, and I'll tell ya exactly why.

How you came to enjoy this harmless little show was the sum of many 'harmless' moments, though they all have one thing in common:

Acts of Service.

Reheat shows it best, but here's how our darling Izuku reckoned it was a solid plan of distraction...

Pairing: Midoriya x reader

Reheat: ORIGINS

Izuku is an extremely thoughtful person, as we all know and love. He'll be in your corner to listen, tell you just what you need to hear, and do it all with a smile on his face. He'll also be the first to step up and offer his best if it would help make your life easier.

The first time you watched him do it was a night he came around while you were in a self-imposed baking marathon-- and were quickly running out of surface space in the kitchen. Once setting down his workout bag down at the dining table and shucking off his coat, he'd immediately come in reporting for duty...

'How can I help' chirps off Izuku's lips without missing a beat, and before you could even make mention of washing the dishes as you go (to help expedite the process later), he was already rolling the cuffs of his hoodie to keep the ends from getting absolutely soaked. When he catches you staring from he oven range at what he's doing, he assumes it stems from feeling guilty about putting him to work, or refusing the idea that he'd tidy up for you. It's such a high pile that's filling both sides of the sink already, and it's threatening to topple over onto your tray of still-cooling macarons.

He sees it as a stellar trade off: you cook, he cleans. It's a no-brainer in his book!

The next time he does it, you're visiting him at UA while he's hosting some late afternoon office hours (in case some students wish to stop by for some pre-exam help). It's a slow afternoon, and when he complains about it over text, you surprise him with a little green tea boba pick-me-up. By the time you arrive, he's on the phone with some insurance company about a rate change that he's been meaning to call about.

He's a bit grumpy over it. Why they keep hiking prices like this, he'll never fully understand, but would kill for some transparency in billing, y'know?

"No- I'm not interested in upgrading the policy, it's covering everything I need it to -back at my starting rate. No, no dependents. No secondary vehicles either-- maam, I rent an apartment; I don't even own a home yet- why would I need a byline for acreage protection?!"

Poor Izuku's brows are tented as he navigates the skin sufferable conversation... But all the while, he's flexing -a flick of the wrist in each movement- as he cuffs his sleeves towards his elbows.

You don't realize you're staring until he stops moving. Looking up to his eyes again, they're more confused at you now, with a built shoulder precariously balancing his phone to his ear.

'What's wrong?' he mouths to you.

You immediately shake your head, and just motion for him to carry on. You rest your chin in your hand when he continues, but he doesn't say more on the topic when the woman returns from the other end of the line with more bad news.

"-b-boating protec-?? Ma'am, may I be perfectly real with you? I-I am on a teacher's salary! Can I please just revert back to what I was paying before so I don't have to auction off my AllMight limited editions??"

So firm, so capable... so stupidly attractive doing such a small thing... Izuku maybe a bit preoccupied at the moment, but he's starting to catch onto you, for there's gotta be something behind your interest in his forearms.

Finally, it all clicks into place. In Hatsume's Tech Lab, where you're picking up Izuku from after an off-site field trip of sorts for his support course students does Izuku finally get what's going on.

He's taken up some elective classes for their class route, in addition to his hero course homeroom. In the R&D department, he's trying on some gloves and explaining their features to you in excitement for its intended recipient, his good friend Shoto Todoroki, while his students all bound off elsewhere.

"He even came up with the design; pretty stylish, I'd say! Much better than his first costume, less bulky as well. Mei says we're the same size so I could try for fit before she ships them out to him- hhhnr... well- still kinda hard to- c'you hold this one, baby? here, lemme get them on for real.."

Setting the gloves to your waiting hands, your eyes double in interest. Tongue wets your lips slightly. And shockingly, your mouth moves before you can stop yourself.

"Oooo, my lucky day~ Roll 'em up, babe~"

"that's the problem with this tech. There's safety resistance in the cuffs: they're great for compression, but it's a bit tight for tryin' to get over-- w-wait. What?"

Izuku chances a look at you in that one, thirsty moment.

"Do you-- like this?"

"Mhm~"

".. just- rolling up my sleeves? Like this?"

"Mhmmm~"

Though you've solidly convinced Izuku that his scars are to be worshipped just as much as his heart, he can't believe your starry-eyed look while he does this.

Cheeky, Izuku thinks surely you're messing with him, "Goodness the way you're looking at me, you'd think I was showing you my six pack..."

"Eh, that's nothin'," you tease, "impressive, don't get me wrong, Mr. Midoriya- but anyone can work out. This.. takes finesse."

Izuku sprouted a warming blush over his ears, wrenching a calm exterior into place despite your loving teases.

"Finesse, huh?-"

"Slower, babe," you sink onto a palm again, batting your eyes again, "you look good like this."

"Y-You're a mess..."

"I'm your mess now, handsome."

Izuku peeks up and out towards the hall having just settling his right cuff into place. Then, he's looking back to you all mushy at what he finds there. Complete love. It's earned you a kiss -to affirm his feelings for you, of course!- but also to get you to stop fawning over him where anyone could see.

Your fingers will trail over the sensitive undersides of his wrists while he cups your cheeks into place. Any insecurity he may have once held about his scarring has been snuffed out by you a long time ago, but Izuku now realizes it's not just an accepted sight, but a welcome one.

"Good to know this is a sure method to get your attention, honey," he'll whisper between kisses.

It's the preemptive motive that gets you:

Izuku is so ready and willing to help anyone at a moment's notice, to take charge and get things done: to the point where watching him prep to get his weathered hands involved is an attractive sight. He's the first to go the extra mile for you, no ask too big or favor too small.

It might be a quick adjustment to his outfit for comfort, but the look suits him so well. So yes, even as he rolls up his shirt sleeves, you find him insanely, unfairly handsome.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Focused again on Arthur’s poem regarding his parents, especially in light of what we know about his father now.

I’m especially focused on the highlighted bits, which indicated beforehand that the relationship between him and his parents was deeply complicated, before yesterday’s episode. Arthur referring to himself as a cause of grief sticks out to me because it’s almost as though he’s putting some blame on himself for his parents’ alcoholism and their misery, as well as their choice in ending their own lives. Assuming they both did so at the same time, as is implied, it’s no surprise he came to the conclusion he was part of the problem. He is young, and foolish, and is a strain on them and their lives. At least, that’s likely how he rationalised it. We know this poem was written by a grieving boy, so that has to be taken into account.

There’s also the focus on the positive aspects, and I think that’s why I like the portrayal of his parents so much. Arthur, in their death, acknowledges the fact his parents weren’t great, but still chooses to focus on the happier times, because it’s all he has to linger on. Even then, however, the coldness bleeds through, as he rests in their arms, however peaceful and safe he is, it cannot last.

It’s this memory in particular that gets me.

I’m curious as to whether this is before his Father started drinking or not as well, as they could completely re-contextualise the importance of it, of a boy with a father who is ruining his life, latching onto a moment where everything seemed okay.

Him lashing out at William doesn’t just stem from envy, but anger at his own father too, for choosing drink over him, for taking his own life without consideration of Arthur, because Arthur loved and hated his father, and would do anything to lie with his parents again. It isn’t just that William’s father was better than his own, it’s that William’s father is even still here in the first place.

As well as this, going back to those happier memories, William’s father is what Arthur wished his father was like all the time — consistently. He has proof in his memories that his father could be just as loving as William’s, that he could choose to be there for Arthur in the same way, and yet he wasn’t.

As if the poem didn’t hurt already, this new context really twists the knife.

Apologies if this is messy, I’m writing down my thoughts as I have them!

[owlespresso]

the cherries in your mouth spill stars tags: just makin' out in the gardens

Leona kisses you, then.

It’s heavy and hard and committal, his whole body laid across yours, pinning you into the dewdrop grass beneath. His lips are softer than you expected. A big hand curls against the back of your neck and drags you closer. Your hands clutch at the back of his uniform, no longer pulling or pushing, just frozen there. Stunned. He takes his time hovering there, working his mouth against your own. The open box of cherries lays next to your hip, abandoned. They’ve stained your chapped lips red, a rosen hue that he licks off. 

The feeling of his sandpaper tongue jolts you from your stupor. Your entire body flails, as though suddenly remembering it exists. Your feet dig into and your shoulder against the ground as you stare at him with eyes wide. Leona’s eyes snap open. He almost immediately looks peeved at you. His brows pinch and his lips quirk into a little frown, as if you’re the one in the wrong here.

“What was that?” you say. a little breathless, gawp at him with wide eyes. 

He fixes you with a flat, unimpressed look. “My tongue,” he deadpans, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Oh,” you say, “Yeah. That does make sense, doesn’t it?” your voice tapers off into a contemplative, reedy little thing. Your thoughts feel jumbled, the breath stolen from your brain as well as your lungs. You catch up late, voice pitching into something accusatory when you finally find it. “But–you kissed me!”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he echoes. He makes it sound like you’re stupid for even asking. He doesn’t recline from his position, hunched over you, instead, he brings his face closer. You can see every inch of his face in fine detail, make out every lush lash. His eyes are alight with something you don’t want to name. “That’s a stupid question.”

“No, it definitely isn’t! You’ve never kissed me before, or shown interest in kissing me at all! How am I supposed to not be surprised?”

Once it’s clear that you won’t let the matter go and simply return to kissing him, Leona sighs. He shifts the bulk of his weight off of you, scooping the container of cherries closer, plucking one out of the box by its stem. He idly toys with it for a few moments, contemplative and unbothered. Like he’s pretending that he didn’t hear you. You press your lips into a thin, flat line. 

Over the course of your time here, you’ve developed a certain amount of patience. Character development, you would call it, after so many of your peers tried to kill you. You stay quiet because you’re patient, not because you’re terrified of the leering look in his eyes, and the weight of all his broad muscle pressed against your body.

You spend the next few moments glaring at him, until he sighs and relents.

“Do you think I rub up on every herbivore stupid enough to sleep next to me?” he asks flatly. “The signs have been there. Honestly, you’re so dense sometimes… I really don’t know what to do with you.” He plops the succulent fruit onto his tongue, stem and all, chewing while you stew in your anger. 

“Sorry for not picking up on your… what? Beastman courting rituals?”

“Well.” He opens his mouth. The sweet pink of his barbed tongue is red with fresh juices. Atop of it is the leftover stem, secured into a perfect knot. 

The sight, for a moment, flabbergasts you. You’ve only ever seen it depicted in cheesy romance movies and trashy romance novels. A red rivulet escapes his mouth, running down the side of his chin–and the movement brings your gaze right back to him. He plucks it from his tongue between his forefinger and thumb, dropping it unceremoniously on the grass. 

“You’re forgiven,” he says breezily. “Be grateful, herbivore. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.”

You’re ready to ream him out, a devastating jab sitting on the tip of your tongue. And then he kisses you. Again. Slower this time, but not chaste. He palms your hip in a way that makes you sigh, and slips his tongue inside your mouth when your lips part. And it’s—weird. Weird in a way that makes you squirm underneath him, the lewd sounds of your osculation ungodly loud in your ears.

You pull back to gasp for air, get one lungful of it before he kisses you again. 

He licks hot into your open mouth. One of his big hands cups the back of your head to hold you still while he plunders your mouth. It’s all wet heat and consumption, with no build up. He kisses you like he wants to eat you, makes you feel light-heated and self-conscious and wet. Fuck, you’re getting wet from this? 

Your fingers twitch from where they’ve landed on his shoulders—when did that happen? 

You feel like you’re slipping into him, wreathed in his scent, in the heat of his body. It’s overwhelming, but it feels good. So good that it scares you, leaves you flayed open and gasping when he finally pulls away. He draws that sandpaper tongue across your lips again for good measure, long and slow, like he’s tasting you. A low hum rumbles in his chest. 

“You’re so docile, now. A few kisses is really all it took?” he taunts. The look in his eyes steals the breath from your chest. It awakens something within you—a primordial kind of fear that makes you go stiff and silent. 

He kisses you again. He still tastes of black cherries and sour sweetness.

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt. 8

Gif not mine, as always

Trigger Warnings: Smuttttttt. Horribly written smut.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-7 here

Chapter Eight

Translations: котёнок - Kitten; malyshka - baby; lyubov - love; dorogoya - darling; I probably missed some… I should have probably been doing this the entire time, no? Eh… My b.

A/N: Its uhhh.. My first time writing smut for the public so uh… be gentle pls? Lol. Lemme know how it went. Writing dialog and smut makes me cringe haha. This was also written while I was in the hospital. Is it bad that the 5 day stay was almost a vacation compared to life? Haha, living the dreeeaammm. Someone pls hit me with their car or something so I can go back and have 0 responsibilities for another week. Promise I won’t sue 😛

Once again, edited while floaty. Apparently that’s the only time I can get the motivation to open my laptop. In my defense, I’m currently in the middle of a move and starting a new job so pls forgive my laziness. I’m a tad overwhelmed. It’s finnnne. 

____________________________________________________________

During your time at the aquarium with Wanda, you hadn't noticed how late it had gotten. Logically, you knew it was around dinner time because you both had just eaten, but you didn't realize until you both entered the dimly lit cottage that it was so dark outside. Despite the long day you’d had, you weren't ready to go to bed just yet. Body thrumming with an unfamiliar energy, and you could tell it stemmed from Wanda's hand still holding onto your waist. Now that you were home, it would be socially acceptable for her to let you go, but instead, she chose to linger.

Never one to enjoy having others in your personal space, regardless of if you were touch starved, you were thrilled to discover that you didn't mind the witch being so close to you. In fact, the mere thought of being separated from her made your stomach roil with anxiety. Looking at the redhead next to you as you traversed the hallway towards your room for the evening, a new kind of craving overcame you. This one was different from the hunger you had experienced just before dinner, and you realized that you couldn't get enough of the witch’s touch and presence.

Reaching your shared room Wanda finally moves to separate from you, and as she heads opposite from you, her hand falling away, you make a split-second decision. Well. Decision was being generous. More accurately you allowed your impulses to take over, unable to think logically - you couldn’t let Wanda get too far. Not that there was anywhere for her to go in a bedroom you both shared, but your brain wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders at this time.

“Wait!” 

You don’t know what, or even if you were thinking, knowing only that in the scant few feet the witch was away from you, your whole world felt like it was collapsing. A lightly calloused hand shot out as you turned to grab her hand again, and in your exuberance, you accidentally ended up yanking the woman towards you. In an unexpected feat of grace surprising both of you, you managed to catch Wanda. Despite her velocity, you were able to use her momentum, spinning both of you. A small jolt of pain wracked through your bones as your back landed harshly against the smooth wall, with Wanda safely in your arms. Chests heaved for air, both of you having fully expected to collide, ending up in a heap on the floor.

After the initial surprise wore off, both women giggled, though neither made a move to separate. “What is it, Y/N?” the older woman asked. Amusement colored her gaze, mixed with something else you couldn’t quite decipher. You were still learning new facial expressions to this day. 

“I-” You started then stopped, trying to assemble your thoughts and determine just how vulnerable you were willing to be. “Thank you, Wanda. For today. For… everything. This was..” you trailed off, unable to find the words. “Everything.”

You hoped Wanda would understand what you meant by that even if you yourself weren’t quite sure just yet. What you were sure of is that you wanted to return to Wanda at least a fraction of the care and devotion she had shown you in all this time. You knew you didn’t want her to walk away, heart aching at the concept. What you didn’t know was what you wanted to do next, you hadn’t exactly gotten that far, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of being apart from her.

The redhead’s gaze softened at your words. “You don’t need to thank me, lyubov. You deserve so much, and I just want you to be happy.” 

The words “with me” went unspoken, though she was dying to let them out. Instead, well-manicured hands lifted the tips of her fingers to gently push some fallen strands of your hair from  your face, as she studied you curiously. A feeling you both were on the precipice of something settled firmly within the witch’s chest. Wanda was fairly confident she knew exactly what that something was, but she wouldn’t plunge you into anything you weren’t yet ready to fall into.

Though certain in her assumptions, Wanda was unable to clearly read your surface thoughts. A jumbled mass of emotions, each thought no more than fleeting before another took its place, your mind was a whirlwind. The next steps had to be taken by you, and if you weren’t up for that yet, the redhead was content with where you both were at this moment. 

A palpable tension filled the air, conveying an unspoken awareness that something transformative was about to occur. Anticipation lingered in the atmosphere, creating a delicate blend of nervousness and excitement. There was an understated, magnetic attraction that drew you closer to Wanda. Completely unaware as you were, enthralled by the alluring softness of her lips which stoked a longing within you to know if they felt as velvety as they appeared, you were unconsciously learning forward.

It was a moment of breathless expectation, where time seemed to stretch. The world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the beauty of the impending inevitability. Eyes finally connecting with Wanda’s, a silent, mutual understanding was shared, and in that moment, you made a decision.

”May I…?” your voice a husky tremor, thick with emotion.

Never had Wanda found you more endearing than in that moment. Your innocent consideration that you would need to ask her permission after everything. As if she hadn't been waiting for this very moment for so long. As if this wasn’t what she had been waiting for since first discovering the Darkhold, and all the possibilities of a multiverse.

“Please, Y/N.” The witch’s reply was all but a breathy whisper.

As your lips and hers finally connected in a gentle, exploratory kiss, an electric current seemed to pass through their bodies, igniting a fire within your souls. It was a moment of pure magic, a culmination of all the emotions and desires that had been building between you both. Breaths mingled, blending together in a perfect harmony of passion and longing.

The softness of the kiss spoke volumes, revealing a depth of connection that you were certain words could never fully capture. A tender exchange, filled with a delicate balance of vulnerability and trust. Each touch, each movement of Wanda’s lips against yours, was deliberate, as if she was savoring every precious moment of this newfound intimacy with you.

With every passing second, the world around faded away, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a bubble of pure bliss. Time seemed to stand still as you explored this uncharted territory together. A feeling as if something inside, you hadn’t known had been missing, was now perfectly slotted into place. Home.

When it came to kissing you, Wanda marveled at the stark contrasts between your Avenger variant, and you. While your other variant was self-assured, often taking command of a kiss with practiced skill, you, on the other hand, were gentle and tentative. It was evident that you were willing to let Wanda take the lead, which she found incredibly empowering, almost addictive. She knew she should probably take this first kiss slowly for you, however, your submissiveness was simply too delicious for her to pass up such an opportunity.

Long, slender fingers came to rest just under your jaw, firmly holding you close, Wanda using her body to press you harder against the wall, as if trying to merge your two bodies into one. A gasp escaped you at the length of the witch’s body pressed so intimately against you. Wanda, ever opportunistic, took advantage of your open mouth to deepen the kiss, her lithe tongue swiping softly at the seam of your lips in askance. 

You couldn’t even fathom a moment where you would ever deny Wanda this request, opening your mouth to grant her the access she desired. Her skillful tongue sensually slid against yours, eliciting a barely suppressed whimper from you. With a little coaxing Wanda was able to entice your tongues to engage in a seductive dance, leaving you breathless and heady. 

Eventually, the kiss broke, leaving both of you craving more. It had opened the door to a world of possibilities, and in that moment, everything changed. The bond between the pair of you had deepened more than you could know, and more than Wanda had hoped for. Despite initial reservations, your heart knew then you would follow Wanda anywhere, irrevocably tied to the witch forever. There was no one you wanted or trusted more.

While trying to catch your breath, no words were spoken. Taking this moment, your intrusive thoughts began creeping in because of course they were. Desperately you hoped the woman wouldn’t view the kiss as a mistake, praying that you measured up to your superhero counterpart. That you were truly what she had been looking for all this time, even if you weren’t anything special.

You would do anything to have her lips on yours again, and briefly a thought occurred to you that this woman could murder you, and you would probably thank her for the privilege. Therapy, maybe you should ask Wanda if she could get you in to see a therapist, because that wasn’t concerning at all. 

It wasn't in you to feel ashamed just then though, not when the very thought resonated in your soul. Gods, was this what you had been missing your entire life? And it had been right under your nose, for ages you had been unknowingly depriving yourself, hellbent on self-sabotage.

As you finally caught your breath, the witch gazed at you hungrily, causing a shiver to race down your spine.

"What do you want, detka?" Wanda asked, voice sultry. She tilted her head as if curious, but in reality, she was relishing in your disheveled appearance, eyes raking over your blown pupils, and kiss-swollen lips. So responsive for her, and this was only a kiss. Your first kiss with her, to be specific. Wanting to completely ruin you, it took every ounce of self-restraint for Wanda to wait for your answer instead.

Chest heaving, your brain struggled to pull together enough brain cells in order to provide her with an answer. When you finally spoke, your voice had a throaty quality you had never heard before.

”You. I want you.”

Green eyes, the color of jade, sparkled in such delight they could have practically illuminated the room with their vibrant glow. As you stared into her mesmerizing gaze, you got lost in her presence. Your mind was a myriad of thoughts, unable to focus on anything else. Every word she spoke, every movement she made, had a profound impact on you. As if the witch had cast a spell over you, weaving her magic effortlessly, and you willingly succumbed to her enchantment, eager to be under her captivating influence. 

A mischievous smile played upon her lips, adding an air of mystery to her already enchanting demeanor. The grin hinted at the hidden depths within her, the playful intentions that lied just beneath the surface. So, as Wanda’s mischievous smile lingered, you couldn't help but be drawn further into her web of enchantment, willingly surrendering yourself to the metaphorical spell she had cast.

"Oh, lyubov, will you let me ruin you?" she asked teasingly, her voice filled with impishness and a hint of excitement.

Swallowing nervously, you felt desire building deep within you. Your experiences in this matter were limited, but you trusted the former avenger all the same. Still, you had a sneaking suspicion that whatever Wanda had in store for you would likely test your limits, even if you had no idea what those were yet. Eagerly, you nodded, ready to throw yourself headlong into this unknown, trusting the witch implicitly.

The moment her silky lips met yours once again, a hunger ignited within her, surprising both of you with its intensity and passion. Wanda pulled you close, her fingers curled in your hair, keeping you in place as she plundered your mouth. You could do little but let her lead the way, trying not to embarrass yourself with how much she was turning you on. Her sharp teeth tugged on your lower lip before biting down hard enough to draw blood. A pitiful whine was barely restrained by you as Wanda lapped at the new wound she had caused.

Deciding to test your boundaries during the kiss, the redhead gently wrapped her other hand around your throat. Not tight enough to cut off your oxygen supply, but the pressure did restrict some of the blood flow to your brain, leaving you in a deliciously foggy haze. A breathy moan escaped you, which Wanda eagerly swallowed as you gladly ceded control of the kiss to her. Pride out the window, you were no longer capable of trying to withhold any sounds she could draw from you. Wanda found it delightful that so far you were proving to be the perfect little котёнок for her. The redhead eagerly anticipated discovering what other surprises you had in store for her.

The other hand not on your neck moved from your hair down to the first button of your shirt and hesitated. “Is this okay, Y/N?” She asked, voice surprisingly soft for someone who currently had one of their hands wrapped around your neck.

Sluggish thoughts hazy with lust, you nodded with what would have probably counted as an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. Having someone as gorgeous as Wanda in front of you, asking for your consent, you found you couldn’t be bothered by your eagerness. You were a simp, and you were fine with that. Anything to get more of Wanda touching you.

The former Avenger grinned, finding you utterly adorable. She was charmed by how needy you were for her. Unable to help but revel in the power dynamics between you, relishing the opportunity to challenge your blissed-out mind and watch as you struggled to comply with her demands. It was a delightful game for Wanda, and she was going to have fun training you.

Before she could continue though, the witch wanted you to be absolutely sure. Regardless of how long she had waited for you, if you weren’t truly ready, Wanda didn’t want to push you. She wanted all of you, everything you had to give, but if you still weren’t ready, weren’t sure, she could wait. Wanda would wait forever if she had to. 

 “Lyubov moya, if you want me to stop at any point, just say the word, and I’ll stop immediately, okay? Full stop, I promise, and I won’t be upset with you.” she insisted, voice thick with longing as her nose grazed gently across yours in a reassuring manner. 

Even now, Wanda was always putting your safety and happiness as her top priority, endearing her evermore to you. How could you have ever doubted that this woman had anything but your best interests at heart? The purest of intentions?

Knowing it was a bit over dramatic, while you appreciated her reassurances, if the witch didn’t do something in the next few seconds, you felt like you might combust. Releasing a needy whine, you hoped to convey your desperation to Wanda who only chuckled at your behavior. 

“Relax, malyshka, I’ll take good care of you, I promise. But first, I need you to use your words, darling.” The hand on your throat easing its grip a little, allowing more blood to your brain, giving you back some of your intellectual capacity.

With Wanda’s body covering yours, you petulantly ground against her in the hopes of achieving any sort of friction, causing her lips to quirk upwards in an amused smirk. You weren’t going to get out of this until she had confirmation of your understanding, and if she happened to tease you into a petulant, writing mess in the process, well, that was just the cherry on top.

Giving in, you let out a keening whimper. “I understand Wands, please. Just touch me. Please!”

A wolfish grin overtook Wanda’s face at your begging. Green eyes locked with yours, and she could see the desire and longing in your eyes, mirroring her own. The way you looked at her, with a mixture of vulnerability and trust, made her heart flutter with a sense of joy and fulfillment. You were willing to surrender yourself to her guidance, to allow her to take the lead and shape you into the person she knew you could become. That kind of implicit trust and faith you had in her shot her arousal through the roof.

With each passing moment, Wanda's excitement grew, knowing that she had the opportunity to train and mold you into her perfect little котёнок. She relished the thought of all the fun games that lay ahead, confident in her ability to guide you towards your full potential. Your willingness to submit to her desires fueled her passion, making her all the more determined to own you completely. This power was the ultimate high, and she didn’t think she could ever get enough of it.

Her hand moved from your throat to wrap around your waist with a firm yet gentle grasp, pulling you closer to her in an undeniable display of ownership. The touch of her hand on your hip sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, igniting a fire within you that you had never experienced before. It was a possessiveness that transcended the boundaries of mere desire, a possessiveness that spoke volumes about the depth of her emotions for you.

Far from being suffocating, her dominance was a testament to the strength of your bond. A tangible manifestation of the passion that burned between the two of you, it was a flame that only grew stronger with each passing moment. Her assertive touch was a declaration, a proclamation of her utter devotion and fierce protectiveness towards you.

In that instant, you couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings. A sensation that both thrilled and comforted you, it was a magnetic pull that drew you closer to her with each passing second. Feeling as if you were the center of her universe, the focus of her unfaltering attention, and you visibly preened under her attentiveness. Your hands which were clenching the bottom of her shirt held fast, unwilling to let her move more than a few inches away.

Now that she had your consent and had subtly established your place with her, Wanda's svelte hands returned to the task of unbuttoning your shirt. Unable to resist the allure of your lips for long, she passionately kissed you once again. As your lips moved against each other with a sensual rhythm, Wanda swiftly unbuttoned your shirt. Before you knew it, your shirt was completely undone, revealing your torso to her exploring hands. A shiver ran through your body as her slightly cool palm pressed against your abdomen for the very first time, the gravity of her body pressing you further into the wall. While you had felt her touch on your skin before, it had never been this intimate, this exhilarating.

As her hand glided over your bare skin, heat coursed through your body, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. The flames within you steadily stoked by every caress. Your breath hitched as her touch lingered, tracing delicate patterns along your abdomen.

Growing desperate you deepened the kiss. Your hands instinctively reach for her, moving from the hem of her shirt to tangle in her hair as you pull her closer. The magnitude of the moment was almost too much, feeling the desire consuming you from within.

Wanda's lips slid against yours with a fervent hunger. Her roving hands continued their journey, tracing every curve and contour of your torso with an almost reverent touch, sending pleasure coursing through your body. As your lips moved in perfect synchrony, heightening your senses, it left you yearning for more. The room was filled with a heady mix of desire and anticipation, as you both gave in to the draw of the moment..

Lost in the haze of passion, you couldn't help but give yourself completely to Wanda's touch. The way she explored every inch of your body with a delicate yet possessive hand left you breathless, craving more of her commanding aura. It was a dance of pleasure and surrender, a symphony of sensations that left you craving her touch like a drug. You had never needed anyone or anything as much as you needed Wanda to continue doing whatever she wanted to you.

As the kiss broke, both of you gasped for air. Wanda, still breathing heavily, leaned back to take in the sight of your newly revealed skin, her eyes darkening with want. Though never having been confident in your own body, often choosing to cover up, to hide in your self-consciousness, the way Wanda was looking at you now though left no doubt she liked what she saw. Yet still your insecurities plagued you, especially now that you were no longer covered up and there was nothing for you to hide behind.

The witch didn’t need to read your mind to know where your thoughts were going. The expression on your face, the way you tried to curl in on yourself made it plain. Voice thick with desire, Wanda needed to reassure you. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N. Don’t ever let yourself believe otherwise.”

Though you didn’t truly believe her words, her tone and the way she held you like she couldn’t get enough was almost capable of convincing you in and of itself. You decided then that throwing yourself into this was the fastest way to get out of your head. Throwing caution to the wind, you slammed your lips against Wanda’s again, desperate for more of her.

Impatient, you couldn't resist the urge to guide Wanda's hands lower, craving for her to touch you more. Deft fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, sending a surge of pleasure  shooting through you, and tearing a quiet gasp from your mouth. Your body responded eagerly to her every caress, arching into her hands, silently begging for more. Emboldened by your response, Wanda's touch grew daring, her kisses to your neck pressing harder leaving red welts that would purple over by tomorrow. Her marks on you would tell all who you belonged to. Her fingers began exploring your body with a newfound confidence. The touch was both gentle and possessive, leaving you with the utter clarity that she wanted to mark every inch of you as her own, even the parts of you no one else would ever see.

The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, heavy with desire. Feeling the urgency building within you, your body pressed closer to Wanda's, seeking to ease some of the pressure within. Her touch was all at once overwhelming yet not enough.

Determined to elicit every delicious sound she could from you, one of Wanda's hands finally moved to your breast. Gently she cupped it while her thumb teased you by gliding around your areola, avoiding your hardened bud. She took great enjoyment in your whimpers and gasps as she teased you. If she had it her way, she would keep you like this, never giving you quite what you wanted. Wanda would ease you into that eventually though. For now, this was enough.

Eventually she had mercy on you, letting her thumb lightly graze across your nipple. A deep, throaty groan emanated from within you, your hips bucking against hers, unbidden. Taking the opportunity you had presented her with, Wanda slotted her knee between your thighs, applying firm pressure just where you needed it most. You whispered an exhaled curse as your head slumped forward onto the older woman’s shoulder. Your grip on her tightened, the urge to just rut against Wanda’s leg nearly overpowering what little was left of your rational mind.

Wanda could feel the subtle grinding of your hips against her leg, and she encouraged it, pressing harder each time you arched towards her. The witch grasped your hips firmly, helping to set your rhythm as you desperately sought more friction between the apex of your thighs.

For someone who hadn't even taken off their pants yet, you were surprisingly worked up, but you were far too focused on chasing your high to be overly concerned about it. Sensing how close you were, Wanda pulled away from you, calling forth a keening whine from you. The older woman chuckled softly at your desperation. Her raspy voice next to your ear made you shudder. 

"Patience, dorogoya, I don't want you to come just yet unless it's in my mouth or on my fingers."

Wholly unprepared for her words as you were, they almost single-handedly threatened to ruin the witch’s plans as you nearly came on the spot. Wanda was aware that you had likely never edged before, and while she should have shown some mercy, she found no enjoyment in that prospect. Her intention was to have you so drunk for her to the point where you would become a helpless, trembling wreck, willing to do anything she desired just to reach that peak. Then, she planned to repeatedly push you off that ledge so many times that you would be a boneless, quivering mess for her by the time she was done with you.

As her words hung in the air, you felt a mixture of anticipation and hesitation. This was a new territory for you, one that you weren't entirely sure of what you were getting into. But as you looked into Wanda's eyes, filled with desire and a touch of mischief, you couldn't deny your feelings. You wanted to experience everything she was willing to show you, to give yourself fully and trust in her to guide you through this journey of pleasure.

With a deep breath, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper, "I trust you, Wanda."

A smug smile played on Wanda's lips as she gently held your cheek. "Good," she purred, her voice laced with satisfaction. "I promise you won't regret it. Now, let’s take this to the bed.” She didn’t want your first time together to be rutting up against a wall.

Wanda grasped your hand, leading you the remainder of the distance to your shared bed. Once there the witch assisted you in removing the remnants of your clothes, gently pushing you backwards onto the bed. Before joining you, she took a moment to admire your naked body, as you looked up at her with a combination of desire and excitement. You were uncertain of her intentions, but the fact that you were willing to trust her filled Wanda's heart with joy.

With a gaze that could only be described as ravenous, she studied you and quietly uttered a curse. "Fucking exquisite" she husked, hoping to drive home her words from earlier.

Squirming under her intense gaze, you blushed deeply at her compliment. No one had ever called you that before, not in your entire life. The longer you laid there, alone under her scrutiny, the greater your need for Wanda grew. Before you could ask her to rejoin you, she was already removing her own clothes with purpose. You waited with bated breath, as Wanda revealed her body which you swore could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Honestly, you thought it was a little unfair for someone to look so perfect. You felt absolutely privileged to be in this moment with her, that she had chosen you of all people to witness her glory. No one you had ever seen, in person or even on tv could compare. Wanda was a goddess, and you wanted to worship at her altar.

The redhead knew she was an attractive woman, but your loud thoughts were giving her quite the ego boost. She had you right where she wanted you, but Wanda would be damned if she allowed your self-deprecation to continue. There was not a single doubt in her mind that you were equally deserving to be here with her.

“Your thoughts are loud, malyshka.” She almost giggled at how red your face turned when she called you out, reminding you of her powers, and your gaze dropped.

 “While I’m flattered, darling, you need to know.” Wanda said with certainty as she began crawling up the bed towards you. Once she had crawled up the length of your body, the witch trailed her fingertips along your thigh, and up your torso to your face. Curling a graceful finger under your chin, she tilted your face upwards until you made eye contact.

“You are stunning, lyubov moya. There is no one else I would want to be here with right now. Not in the entire multiverse, believe me, I’ve looked. No one but you. Can you trust me on that, Y/N?”

Green eyes searched Y/E/C for any sign of lingering insecurity. With the witch looking at you so earnestly, your doubts faded into the background. They would likely never be completely silent, but in this moment, those thoughts were just white noise. Speaking was currently too difficult for you so instead you simply nodded at her words.

No longer able to hear your uncertainty as loudly, Wanda felt you were ready to continue. “Good, but just to make sure, I’m going to show you.”

Before you could ask what she meant, Wanda kissed you again. Her hand, which was previously under your chin, caressed down your chest and cupped your breast. She gave it a gentle squeeze, causing a soft sound to escape your throat.

As Wanda's touch re-ignited the flicker of pleasure within you, her lips and tongue traced a path of heated kisses down your neck, leaving a hot trail of saliva behind. Her skilled hand continued to explore your body, evoking an oeuvre of gasps and moans. Eventually, her lips settled on one of the places you desired the most, enveloping your nipple.

Once Wanda's lips closed around your hardened bud, a jolt of pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch your back in response. Her tongue teased and circled the sensitive bud, sending ecstasy pulsating through your veins. While Wanda continued to lavish attention on your aching nipple, her other hand trailed down your body, caressing and exploring every inch of your skin. The combination of her skilled touch and the intense pleasure coursing through your body made it difficult to think or focus on anything else. 

Her hand continued its exploration, gliding over your skin with a feather-light touch. Every brush of her fingertips, each flick of her tongue against you sent your arousal to new heights. Your senses were completely consumed by her, the world around you fading once again into a distant blur.

Completely at Wanda's mercy, you found yourself basking in her every touch and caress. The pleasure she was bestowing upon you was the best high you had ever felt, addictive and irresistible. Your mind was filled with a primal need, a craving for more of the pleasure that only she could provide.

Wanda switched breasts, moving to lavish attention on the other one ensuring it didn't feel neglected. Her hand continued to tease your flesh, raising goosebumps to form on your skin. 

Unable to sit still, your own hands came up to tangle themselves in the redhead’s hair. Head held firmly in place by you, Wanda's hand slid lower, exploring the wetness that had pooled between your thighs. Svelte fingers teased your entrance, and you gasped as the anticipation nearly undid you.  Back arched, begging for more, you whispered a “please!”

Helpless to deny your plea, Wanda's fingers dipped inside you, your slick allowing them to slide in with ease. You moaned lowly as she began to move her fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm, curling and stroking against your most sensitive spots. The pleasure built within you, radiating through your body like an electric current.

Your hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer to you as your hips instinctively rocked against her hand, seeking deeper pleasure. Wanda matched your movements, her pace increasing, driving you closer to the edge. Her lips found yours once again, swallowing your moans as the pleasure consumed you.

The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, the wet, almost obscene sound of her fingers moving inside you, and the symphony of your pleasure. Each stroke of her fingers sent you spiraling further into this rapturous euphoria, your body trembling with desire.

Lost in the carnality of the moment, you could feel the heat building within you, the pressure mounting until you were teetering on the edge. Sensing your imminent release, Wanda's fingers quickened their pace, driving you towards oblivion. Moans growing louder, they mingled with the sound of your ragged breaths.

“Are you gonna come for me baby?” She asked, voice dripping sweetly with lust, not letting up the pace even a little. The woman knew what she was doing to you, and couldn’t resist drawing it out just a bit. 

Beneath her, you squirmed and bucked in place, desperation eeking off you in waves. You hadn’t exactly had many partners to begin with, and you had certainly never been especially vocal with any of them. Wanda couldn't have you being all shy on her now though. She wanted to hear each and every sound she could possibly draw out of you as proof of how good she was making you feel, her fingers hitting that special spot deep inside of you that had always been just out of your own reach.

“Now dorogaya, use your words. Are you going to be a good girl and come for me? If you can’t answer me then I guess I should stop.” Wanda slowed her pace and you all but wailed your frustration.

“Yes, yes I’m going to come. I’m so close, Wands, please don’t stop!”

Truthfully that should have been enough for her but sadistically she wanted to push your boundaries further still. She smirked at your pleas. 

“I won’t stop, Y/N, but you can’t come until I give you permission.”

You didn’t think you had ever been on such a precipice of euphoria before. It was right there if only Wanda would let you. Part of you wanted to ignore what she said and let yourself go, but the part of you that yearned to be good for her won out in the end. 

You begged pitifully. “Please Wanda, please let me come! I’ll be your good girl, please, just let me come!” You would say anything the woman wanted as long as she would let you finally finish.

It was positively sinful how your submission made Wanda feel. She wanted to experience you like this every day for the rest of your lives. The tremor of your voice as you begged, how quickly and completely you accepted her commands, it was positively sublime.

“Well when you beg so prettily for me, how can I resist? Be a good girl, Y/N - come for me.” Her fingers curled deliciously, mercilessly hitting your new favorite spot. 

With Wanda’s permission, the world shattered around you as your orgasm crashed over. Your body convulsed with exquisite hedonism, every nerve ending alive with sensation. Wanda's name were the only words from your mouth as you rode the high, your orgasm careening over you in a tidal wave of pleasure.

For Wanda, feeling your wet heat tighten around her fingers, practically refusing to allow her to pull back to even help you through your peak, was so perfect. You didn’t know it, but it was enough to make Wanda topple over the edge alongside you, her head dropping to the crook of your neck while she whispered sweet nothings in your ear, struggling to bring you gently down from your high. 

As the aftershocks of your release subsided, Wanda gently withdrew her fingers, her touch lingering for a moment before she pressed a soft kiss to your lips. She held you close, her presence a comforting anchor as you came down from the heights of pleasure. You whimpered at the feeling of emptiness after being so joyously full.

Breathless and sated, you nestled into her embrace, feeling a profound sense of contentment and connection. And as you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt that this was just the beginning of something beautiful between you both. You had made the decision to trust Wanda with your body, heart, and soul, and in this moment, everything felt so right.

Wanting to return the favor, and make Wanda feel as good as you did, but as you tried to shift in her embrace, the former avenger simply held you tighter. Feeling rejected, you wilted in her arms. Perhaps you had already failed to live up to her expectations, so much so that she didn’t even want you to touch her. How heartbreaking to have failed so soon, to never get the chance to prove yourself.

Voice soft, Wanda alleviates your fears. “Not tonight, darling. Tonight was all about you. Rest with me for a little while, detka, I just want to hold you. May I do that, Y/N?”

Murmuring a quiet assent, you settled into the comfort Wanda provided. You both laid there, basking in the intimacy you both had just shared, feeling content and happy. It wasn’t long until your eyes began to droop, signifying you were about to nod off.

Sensing how close you were to sleep, the witch gently roused you. She giggled at your grumblings for the disruption but insisted you both needed to clean up. Shaking your head, you whined as you tried to hold her in place with you, unwilling to let her go for any reason. Wanda  had to actively restrain herself from cooing at your adorable stubbornness.

“Come on now, it’ll be just a few minutes and then we can go back to sleep, okay darling?”

Petulantly you shook your head, and Wanda full on belly laughed, holding you tightly to her while she did so. Her laughter was infectious, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as well, knowing you were being a bit ridiculous.

Eventually, both of you calmed down, and Wanda pulled away from your embrace, mentioning that she would be right back. You let her go, but you pouted the entire time she was in the bathroom. After a few moments, you could hear the sink running, and then the witch returned to you with a warm, damp washcloth in her hand. With an unprecedented level of care, Wanda cleaned between your legs, removing any trace of the night's activities, while being mindful not to overstimulate you.

“There we go, detka. All clean. Let me just throw this in the sink, and we can go to sleep.”

Doing exactly as she had said, Wanda quickly returned, swiftly maneuvering her way into the cozy bed beside you. With a few gentle movements, she skillfully arranged the soft sheets to envelop both of you, creating a warm and comfortable cocoon.

Once she was finished setting up the sheets, you wasted no time in crawling back into her arms, burying your face into the divot where her neck and shoulder met. You felt like you had been through the wringer, but in the best way. When she had gotten up to clean you both, with her no longer being in your arms, your emotions had run all over the place. Now all you wanted was to be as physically close to the redhead as possible, to reassure yourself that she wasn’t abandoning you after such a vulnerable act.

Wanda was not at all opposed. Quite thrilled in fact, and as she held you, one hand came to gingerly trace random shapes along the side of your face, whispering nonsensical words of love and solace. Pillowy lips placed a soft kiss to your forehead.

As you drifted off to sleep, feeling safer and happier than in your entire life, you heard Wanda whisper in her native tongue. You were curious, but too far gone to ask her what she meant.

“я так люблю тебя, дорогая. (I love you so much, darling.) I promise I will always keep you safe, and I will never let you go.”

A/N 2: ... Why do I have a higher word count for a chapter with smut than any other chapter? .... Reasons. We're going with "reasons". So uhhh... yay? nay? Yeet myself off a cliff? Also if anyone wants to be added to the taglist just lemme know in the comments.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop