#it just filled me with so much warmth and joy and adoration that I’m still on a high from it really

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[ksnzuy]

Hi koli i saw your request were open and was wondering if you could do a Tokyo revengers x reader (final timeline) where they have a baby and they say their first word with preferably: chifyuy, kazutora, baji, mikey, izana, rindou, shinichiro and any others you would like to include

۶ৎ. Babies First.

Tokyo Revenger Boys.

۶ৎ auth: ahhhh omg my first request in like so long, I’m actually so excited to work on this!!! Feel free to request any anime, show or movie, and any character!! :) I might make a taglist.

۶ৎ Summary: After so much back and forth to fix the future, you’ve finally settled down—and finally had a baby. The joys of parenthood only continue and your baby says their first words.

۶ৎ: sfw | scenario | fem reader | babies/parenthood | fluff | time skipped | implied poc reader, though you could ignore the information that doesn't fit you.

۶ৎ Characters Included: Chifuyu Matsuno, Kazutora Hanemiya, Baji Keisuke, Manjiro (Mikey) Sano, Izana Kurokawa, Rindou Haitani, Shinichiro Sano, Kokonoi Hajime, Ken Ryuguji.

۶ৎChifuyu Matsuno

It’s an ordinary evening, and Chifuyu sits with the baby on his lap, his calm, logical demeanor softened by the tiny bundle in his arms. His black undercut, neatly styled, contrasts with the gentle warmth that radiates from him as he softly coos at the little one, a sense of peace enveloping the moment. The baby’s big, curious eyes stare up at him, the faintest glimmer of recognition in their gaze.

You’re nearby, watching quietly from the kitchen, as usual, keeping a close eye on the small family gathering. The baby shifts slightly in Chifuyu’s arms, their little hands reaching out, exploring, unsure of the world but finding comfort in the familiar presence of their father.

Chifuyu looks at the baby, a tender smile creeping across his face. He’s normally so composed, always the steady one, but this… this softens him, makes him feel an unfamiliar kind of warmth. “Come on,” he murmurs softly, “say something for me.”

The baby babbles incoherently for a moment, small giggles escaping their lips as they grab hold of his finger, wrapping their tiny hand around it like it’s the most important thing in the world. Chifuyu chuckles, shaking his head softly. “You’re as stubborn as your mom,” he says under his breath, smiling at the thought of you.

Then, suddenly, the baby’s little voice breaks the silence. It’s not a full word, but there’s a clear attempt to speak. “Da-da!” the baby declares proudly, their voice high-pitched but full of delight. Chifuyu freezes for a moment, his face lighting up with surprise, a hint of pride showing in his usually calm features.

You, hearing the unexpected word, laugh softly from your spot, watching the exchange. Chifuyu’s usual composed self cracks for a brief moment as he stares down at the baby in awe. “Did… did you just say ‘Dada’?” he asks, though it’s clear he’s delighted.

The baby repeats it again, this time with even more enthusiasm, “Da-da!” Chifuyu shakes his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. “Guess I’ll take that as a victory.”

You walk over quietly, your heart swelling at the sight of Chifuyu, who’s always so composed, now with the smallest of smiles, cradling their child with complete adoration. The baby, seeing you, reaches out with their tiny arms, making a soft noise of recognition.

“Looks like you’ve got competition,” you tease, leaning against the doorframe, your voice light and playful.

Chifuyu’s face turns slightly red, his calm demeanor returning, though the smile still lingers. “It’s just a fluke,” he mutters, though it’s clear he’s overjoyed. The baby giggles again, the sound filling the room, and Chifuyu leans in, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead. “I can’t believe you said ‘Dada’ first,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of affection.

The baby, oblivious to the momentous occasion, just giggles again, content in the safety of their father’s arms. It’s a simple, tender moment, but to Chifuyu, it’s everything.

۶ৎKazutora Hanemiya

The air is still, heavy with the calm that comes with the evening as Kazutora sits on the couch, a small, fragile smile on his face as he looks down at the baby resting in his arms. His long, black hair, streaked with yellow, falls lazily over his shoulders, the strands a contrast to the tenderness with which he holds the child. There’s an unfamiliar peace in his expression, a quiet moment of solace after all the chaos that’s filled his life. His usually volatile demeanor seems distant as he looks at the little one, their soft breaths the only sound between them.

You’re just a few steps away, your presence like a gentle echo in the background, keeping watch as Kazutora carefully adjusts the baby in his arms, the kind of delicate handling that surprises even him. He’s never been one for softness, always pushing against the world with a hardness that left little room for gentleness—until now. He looks down, eyes tracing the baby’s tiny hands, the little fingers wrapped around his own with surprising strength.

The baby stirs, their wide eyes blinking up at him, and Kazutora’s breath catches slightly in his chest. For a moment, it’s as if everything else—the turmoil, the chaos, the memories—fades into the background, leaving only this quiet exchange between father and child.

Kazutora’s voice is soft, almost hesitant as he speaks to the baby, a far cry from the manic energy he once carried. “Hey, little one… can you say something for me?” he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet kind of longing, though it’s not for the world outside—it’s for this fragile connection he never thought he would have.

The baby, in their own way, tries to respond, making gurgling noises that grow into more distinct sounds. Kazutora watches in silent anticipation, a rare, genuine smile creeping onto his face as the baby’s mouth moves again. It’s almost as if they’ve been waiting for the right moment to speak.

Then, with a bright, innocent giggle, the baby suddenly blurts out a word, though it’s not what Kazutora expected. “Dada!” they say, the sound coming out in a clear, high-pitched tone.

Kazutora freezes, his eyes wide in disbelief for a second. His heart lurches unexpectedly in his chest, and he looks down at the baby as though they’ve just given him the most precious gift. His expression softens, a deep and almost bittersweet tenderness settling in his gaze. “Dada…” he repeats under his breath, as though trying to wrap his mind around it. There’s a tremor in his voice, something raw and vulnerable that he doesn’t often let surface.

You can’t help but smile as you watch the moment unfold, the baby’s innocent giggle filling the room, unaware of the weight they’ve just placed on Kazutora’s heart. Kazutora’s fingers twitch slightly as he holds them closer, his past, his pain, his regret all swirling beneath the surface of this simple, unexpected moment.

The baby, sensing the comfort of Kazutora’s embrace, reaches up with their tiny hands, trying to grab at his face. Kazutora laughs softly, the sound foreign yet warm as he leans into the baby’s touch. “You’re gonna make me soft, huh?” he mutters, though there’s no bitterness in his words—only a quiet affection.

You step forward then, offering him a soft, knowing glance. Kazutora looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, everything between the two of you seems to settle. There’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze, something that says more than words ever could.

Kazutora’s voice breaks the silence, still low and almost tender. “I never thought I’d be here, y’know? This… this feels different.”

You smile gently, watching him with the baby in his arms, a sense of peace settling over you both. The moment is fleeting, but it’s a reminder—Kazutora, despite his past, is finding something he never thought he deserved.

۶ৎBaji Keisuke

The night is quiet, the soft hum of the streetlights casting a dim glow in the room where Baji sits, his wild, untamed jet-black hair falling to his shoulders in loose waves. His usual grin is absent for the moment, replaced by a look of calm as he watches the baby in his arms, who is squirming lightly, their little hands reaching up as if trying to make sense of the world around them. There’s an intensity in Baji’s eyes, but it’s not the usual fire of a fight—it’s something softer, something that only surfaces when he’s with his family.

You stand by the doorway, leaning against the frame, quietly watching the scene unfold. Baji, who is always full of energy, the type to jump into action at any given moment, seems almost frozen in this moment, the wild spark in his eyes replaced by a rare tenderness as he holds the baby close to his chest.

The baby gurgles softly, their small face scrunching in curiosity as they look up at him. Baji’s lips twitch into a small smile, but it’s different than his usual mischievous grin—it’s something warmer, more protective. “What’s going on in that head of yours, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, though a hint of his usual playful nature is still there.

The baby babbles in response, their little voice almost a melody as they stare at Baji with wide, innocent eyes. And then, as if on a whim, the baby utters a word. It’s clear and unambiguous, the word they’ve been practicing, but it’s not what Baji expected.

“Dada!” The word rings out, not perfectly clear, but undeniably present.

Baji’s eyes widen, and for a moment, his usual grin falters, replaced by something almost vulnerable. He looks down at the baby, his hand resting gently against their tiny back, and the slightest breath escapes him. His fingers twitch as if unsure how to react to the sudden surge of emotion he didn’t anticipate. His heart pounds, a rush of warmth flooding through him, and despite all his bravado, there’s a crack in the tough exterior.

You smile, stepping a little closer to them, your heart swelling at the sight. “Looks like you’ve got a little fan there,” you tease softly.

Baji’s grin slowly returns, though it’s softer now, not the usual wild energy that so often defines him, but something more intimate. He leans down, his sharp canine teeth flashing briefly as he chuckles under his breath, the sound light and full of affection. “Yeah, I guess so.” He says it with his usual swagger, but it’s evident that something about the moment has shifted. This isn’t a victory he expected, but it’s a victory that matters more than any battle.

The baby reaches up toward his face, their tiny fingers brushing against his cheek, and Baji’s heart skips a beat. He looks at you for a moment, a wordless exchange between the two of you, before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead. “Good job,” he mutters, his voice soft but steady.

You can’t help but watch the moment unfold with a quiet admiration. Baji, the wild, adrenaline-fueled force of nature, has just experienced something that slows him down, something that pulls him out of the chaos of the world and into a simple, pure connection. The baby giggles, their tiny hands grasping for his hair, and Baji laughs too, the sound genuine and full of joy.

For a brief moment, the world outside seems distant, and all that matters is the little family in that room—the wild heart of Baji, softened and made whole in the presence of his child.

۶ৎManjiro (Mikey) Sano

Mikey sits in the quiet of the living room, the soft hum of the clock the only sound besides the gentle breath of the baby in his arms. His short, dark hair is parted neatly at the middle, the weight of the world outside this moment temporarily forgotten. The familiar carefree energy that Mikey is known for seems absent now, replaced by a tenderness he rarely shows. He’s holding the little one close, his hands steady and secure around them, the once-unshakable pillar of Toman now softened by something unexpected.

The baby stirs in his arms, their small face scrunching in confusion as they try to adjust to the world around them. Mikey watches them with a faint smile, though there’s something more complex behind his eyes. The carefree grin that usually defines him is replaced by a quiet focus, a vulnerability that he seldom allows others to see. His heart is heavy with thoughts of the past, of everything he’s lost, but in this moment, the baby offers him something pure, something he hasn’t had in a long time—peace.

The baby’s tiny hand reaches up, grasping for the fabric of his suit, their tiny fingers curling in and out as if trying to touch something they don’t fully understand yet. Mikey’s breath catches in his chest, his gaze softening. He can feel the warmth of their small body, the innocent trust they place in him without question, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of his own burdens lifts just slightly.

“Mama?” The baby says, the word coming out softly but unmistakably.

Mikey freezes. The sound is far from perfect, the baby’s voice still nasally and unsure, but it’s clear enough, and Mikey’s heart skips a beat. He blinks down at the child, his expression flickering between surprise and a strange tenderness, something unfamiliar and soft that he never expected to experience. His hand twitches, fingers tightening around the baby instinctively as if protecting them from the world outside.

You, standing nearby, catch his gaze, the understanding between the two of you unspoken. Mikey clears his throat, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he glances at you, trying to regain some of his usual bravado. “Guess that’s not the word I was hoping for,” he says, his tone playful, though there’s a depth to it, a warmth he’s not used to showing.

The baby reaches up again, this time grasping Mikey’s finger, their touch delicate yet insistent. Mikey smiles softly, the usual coldness in his eyes replaced with something warmer, something that speaks to the weight of the love he’s learning to give. “It’s okay, little one,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Maybe next time, huh?”

He presses a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead, his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary. The moment feels suspended in time, as if the world around him has faded and all that matters is this—the small, fragile life in his arms and the quiet peace they’ve brought him, in spite of everything he’s carried.

You step closer, watching the scene with a soft smile of your own. Mikey looks up at you then, his expression still soft, but now there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. He may have once carried a darkness that threatened to consume him, but here, now, with his child in his arms, that darkness feels far away, as if for a brief moment, he can just be… Mikey. The Mikey who is a child at heart, who’s capable of tenderness and love even amidst the weight of his past.

With a soft chuckle, Mikey leans back slightly, his hand still holding the baby close as he looks at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “You heard that, right?” he asks, his voice teasing but there’s something vulnerable in it too. “They said ‘mama.’ Guess I’m off the hook for now.”

You laugh, the sound light and full of warmth. Mikey’s grin widens just a little, and though it’s not the wild grin of a fighter or leader, it’s something just as genuine—something that feels like a promise, a reassurance that even with all the darkness he’s faced, he’s finding light again. And maybe, just maybe, this little one is part of that light.

۶ৎIzana Kurokawa

Izana sits in the dimly lit room, the soft hum of a guitar string resonating in the air. His large purple eyes, usually cold and calculating, are softened by the warmth of the baby in his arms. His wavy hair falls gently around his face, the strands catching the light as he adjusts the baby’s tiny body against his chest, the faint scent of plants and the soft ripple of water from the fish tank nearby offering a peaceful backdrop to an otherwise chaotic life. He had never imagined this—holding a child, one so small, so fragile in his arms. His usual detachment feels muted, replaced by a strange sense of responsibility, a sensation he’s never quite allowed himself to experience before.

The baby stirs in his arms, eyes blinking open and gaze unfocused, their small hands reaching out in curiosity. Izana’s usual composure doesn’t waver, but the faintest trace of tenderness lingers in his gaze as he watches the child, something unfamiliar surfacing beneath the layers of bitterness and coldness he’s built over the years.

The baby makes a small noise, a soft whine, their lips twitching as they try to vocalize something. Izana tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing, waiting. His fingers gently caress the baby’s back, an instinctive gesture of care that surprises even him. In the silence of the room, a soft and tentative word escapes the baby’s lips. It’s not quite clear, but the intention is unmistakable.

“Dada.”

Izana freezes. His grip on the guitar tightens for a brief moment, his eyes blinking as he processes the sound, the word hanging in the air like a sudden, unexpected shift in his world. It’s simple—just one word—but for someone like Izana, who has spent most of his life surrounded by cold, violence, and manipulation, hearing such a soft and innocent utterance stirs something deep within him.

A flash of his past flashes through his mind—the loneliness, the bitterness that once consumed him. He had never felt a connection to anyone, certainly not like this. He had always been the one to push people away, to make himself unapproachable, but here, in this moment, the baby’s small hand wraps around his finger, their soft grip a reminder of something pure, something he had lost long ago—the ability to care without expecting anything in return.

He exhales slowly, his face betraying nothing but the faintest softness that only the baby could elicit from him. His hand gently lifts the child, their eyes still wide with curiosity, before he leans in close, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead.

“Dada, huh?” Izana murmurs, his voice quiet but not without a hint of amusement, the corners of his lips turning upward in a small, unexpected smile. It’s a rare sight, one that doesn’t appear often, but in the quiet presence of the baby, it feels more natural than anything he’s ever known. “Guess I’m not as bad as I thought,” he adds softly, almost to himself.

You, standing nearby, watch the scene unfold with a knowing smile. Izana doesn’t often allow anyone to witness such moments, but here, now, with the child in his arms, the pieces of his past—the anger, the bitterness—seem to fade into the background, if only for a moment. Izana looks up at you then, his eyes softer than usual, as if silently asking for your approval, for reassurance that he’s doing this right. That he’s not as lost as he often feels.

He doesn’t say anything more, but the warmth in his eyes speaks volumes. The man who once sought power, control, and dominance has now found something far more valuable—a sense of purpose, a bond he never thought he would have. As he looks down at the baby, his grip tightening slightly around them.

۶ৎRindou Haitani

Rindou sat on the floor of the living room, legs stretched out, his back against the couch, the afternoon sun casting long shadows through the windows. His pinkish-purple mullet, with its dark blue roots and tips, was damp from a shower, strands falling messily around his face. He had a lazy, almost indifferent expression as he stared at his phone, absently scrolling, but his free hand rested on the baby seated between his legs, offering a steady support as they clumsily played with a soft, squeaky toy.

The baby babbled, gnawing on the corner of the plush thing, drool soaking it thoroughly. Rindou, ever stoic, just watched, raising an eyebrow whenever the squeak got too loud. His black stud earrings caught the light, a stark contrast to the rough Bonten insignia tattoo inked boldly across his neck.

“You’re gonna drown in your own spit,” Rindou muttered, lifting the baby gently by their underarms, pulling them up into a wobbly stand on his thighs. The child stared back at him, wide-eyed, chubby cheeks flushed. Their little fists grabbed at his shirt, seeking balance, and for a moment, there was a quiet exchange—a softness that rarely found its way into Rindou’s life.

The baby blinked, their gaze fixed on Rindou’s face with intense concentration, like they were processing something far too big for their small brain. And then, out of nowhere, they let out a small, clear sound.

“Dada.”

Rindou froze.

The word was soft, tentative, but unmistakable. His blue-gray eyes snapped to the baby’s face, as though he wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard it. His normally stoic expression cracked, a rare flicker of surprise flashing across his sharp features.

“What…?”

The baby blinked again, almost as if testing the sound, and with a little more confidence, repeated it.

“Dada.”

This time, it wasn’t a fluke.

For a solid five seconds, Rindou just stared. The usual snarky, blasé attitude was nowhere to be found—his mouth slightly open, the baby still gripping his shirt tightly, unaware they’d just done something monumental.

A scoff broke the silence, but it was soft, almost disbelieving. “… No way.”

He tried to play it cool—but there was no hiding the way his lips twitched, threatening to pull into a smile.

“You’ve got shitty taste in first words,” he murmured, lifting the baby higher until their noses nearly touched. The baby, delighted with their new word, kicked their legs happily and repeated, “Dada,” with even more enthusiasm, like they knew they’d hit gold.

Rindou exhaled sharply through his nose, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. He glanced toward the hallway, as if making sure no one else was around to witness this moment of weakness.

“Yeah, yeah,” he whispered, giving in as he brushed his nose against the baby’s cheek, the smallest, almost imperceptible grin forming on his lips. “I hear you. I’m your ‘Dada,’ huh?”

The baby squealed, a high-pitched giggle, and Rindou couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that escaped him. He was used to fights, to blood and bruises, to commanding fear—but this? This was different. And for once, he didn’t mind losing. Not to them. Not to this.

۶ৎShinichiro Sano

It was a quiet afternoon at the Sano bike shop, the scent of oil and metal lingering in the warm air. The faint sound of a wrench clinking against the concrete floor echoed through the open garage, where Shinichiro Sano sat cross-legged, lazily working on a motorcycle engine. His unkempt black hair stuck out in random directions, and a cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the thin tendrils of smoke curling upward.

He wasn’t in any rush—never was, really. Dressed in his usual pearl-white shirt and light-washed jeans, a jacket lazily tied around his waist, he looked as effortlessly relaxed as ever. A silver chain peeked out from beneath his collar, catching the sunlight every now and then.

Nearby, his daughter sat on a thick blanket, surrounded by a mess of soft toys and teething rings. She was barely old enough to crawl properly, but that didn’t stop her from making every effort to squirm toward her father, her tiny hands grabbing at the air.

Shinichiro glanced over at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips. “You getting bored over there, sweetheart?” His voice was raspy, warm, and effortlessly gentle as he set the wrench down and wiped his hands on a nearby rag.

She responded with a string of baby babble, half-formed sounds that made no sense but filled the space with life. He watched her, enchanted by the simplest things—how her little fingers curled and uncurled, how her eyes, a perfect mirror of his own dull black ones, lit up every time he spoke.

“Hold on, hold on. I’m comin’.” Shinichiro stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, rising to his feet with a lazy stretch. He scooped her up effortlessly, holding her against his chest, her small hand immediately tangling itself in the fabric of his shirt.

“You smell like motor oil,” he murmured with a chuckle, kissing the top of her head despite the mess on his hands. “Not exactly the ideal dad scent, huh?”

As he swayed gently, rocking her out of instinct more than anything, the baby stared up at him, wide-eyed and thoughtful, her chubby cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of the afternoon. She blinked slowly, as though studying him, her tiny mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something.

And then, soft as a whisper, it happened.

“…Da…da…”

Shinichiro froze.

The word was faint, breathy—so delicate he almost thought he’d imagined it. His heart skipped a beat, a strange, unfamiliar warmth surging through his chest.

“…What?” His voice came out quiet, almost disbelieving, as he pulled her back slightly to look at her properly. “What’d you just say?”

The baby blinked again, her expression pure and innocent, and as if sensing his awe, she tried again, this time stronger, more confident.

“Dada.”

Shinichiro felt something inside him break wide open.

He laughed—not his usual lazy, carefree laugh, but something softer, shakier. “You serious right now?”

Her tiny hand reached up, grabbing at the silver chain around his neck, and for once, Shinichiro felt completely helpless—in the best way possible.

“You’re not supposed to say that yet…” he whispered, though the grin on his face betrayed him completely. His thumb brushed gently over her round cheek, his eyes shining with a tenderness so deep it made his chest ache.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m your ‘Dada,’” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he breathed her in. “Lucky me.”

The bike shop, the tools, the cigarette smoke—none of it mattered in that moment. All he knew was the weight of his daughter in his arms, her tiny voice calling out to him, grounding him in a way nothing else ever had.

And for the first time in a long while, Shinichiro felt like he truly had everything he could ever want.

۶ৎKokonoi Hajime

The city skyline glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Kokonoi’s penthouse, casting long shadows over the sleek, minimalist living room. The distant hum of traffic blended with the soft jazz playing from the speaker, creating a calm, almost surreal atmosphere.

Koko sat cross-legged on the floor, dressed down in black sweatpants and a plain white shirt, his silver-white hair loose around his shoulders. He had a glass of whiskey beside him — untouched — as he watched their daughter with that same quiet intensity he reserved for high-stakes meetings… except this was different.

She was sitting in the middle of a plush play mat, surrounded by a chaotic scatter of toys, a stuffed bunny half-chewed, and a colorful book she had zero interest in. Her soft hair fell over her round cheeks, and she looked up at him with wide, thoughtful eyes — eyes that mirrored her mother’s so distinctly that Koko sometimes forgot how to breathe when she stared at him like that.

“Pretty, aren’t you?” he murmured, a faint smile touching the corner of his lips as he leaned back on his hands. “Got that from your mom… lucky kid.”

She babbled in response, smacking the bunny against the floor with impressive determination, her little brows furrowed as though she were solving some great mystery.

Koko’s gaze softened, a rare warmth breaking through his usual cool composure.

“You’re really giving that thing a hard time,” he remarked, watching her with a mix of amusement and fascination. “What did it ever do to you?”

She paused, blinking up at him, lips slightly parted, as though she was about to say something… but instead, she dropped the toy with a dramatic flair and crawled toward him, tiny hands smacking against the polished hardwood floor.

He sat up straighter, heart giving an odd little skip — not that he’d ever admit that.

“You comin’ over here?” he asked quietly, more to himself than her.

She reached him, pulling herself up with clumsy determination, her chubby fingers grabbing a fistful of his shirt as she balanced on unsteady legs. Koko’s hands hovered near her waist, ready to catch her if she wobbled too much.

And then, she looked up at him… and with a small, clear voice, said:

“Da…da.”

Koko blinked.

For a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. The word was soft, delicate, but unmistakable. His throat tightened, the glass of whiskey forgotten entirely.

“What… what did you say?” he asked, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.

She stared up at him with the same serious expression, as though this wasn’t a monumental moment — just another part of her day.

“Dada.”

The second time, it hit him harder.

A sharp inhale, and then — to his surprise — a soft laugh escaped him, the sound rough and disbelieving.

“You—” He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to ground himself. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

She, of course, said nothing. Just continued to stare at him, her tiny hands gripping his shirt like she had no intention of letting go.

“First word, huh?” Koko said, his voice softer now, almost fragile. “And it’s me…”

Something in his chest ached — something he hadn’t felt in years. He thought of how, for so long, he’d believed everything important in his life slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on. But here she was… holding onto him.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he whispered, brushing a gentle hand over her soft hair.

She leaned forward, her head resting against his chest in a way that made his heart squeeze painfully.

“I should tell your mom,” he murmured, though he made no move to get up. “She’s gonna want to hear this…”

But he didn’t. He just stayed there, holding her, listening to the quiet rhythm of her breathing, as though he was afraid to break the spell.

“Dada,” she mumbled again, sleepily this time, as if testing the word.

Koko closed his eyes for a long moment, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head, the faintest smile on his lips.

“Yeah…” he whispered. “I’m your Dada.”

And for once, there was nothing else he needed.

۶ৎKen Ryuguji

The rain tapped lightly against the windows, casting soft shadows across the small but cozy apartment. The scent of warm tea and baby powder lingered in the air, a comforting mix that made the place feel lived-in — loved.

Draken sat on the floor, back against the couch, his long legs stretched out, and their daughter nestled comfortably between them. His strong, calloused hands were gentle as he helped her balance, her tiny fingers grabbing at the hem of his patterned jacket with the determination of someone on a mission.

“Steady now, princess,” he murmured, his deep voice softer than usual, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched her.

She had her mother’s eyes — there was no denying it. That same soft, soulful gaze that could stop Draken in his tracks, no matter how tough he tried to act. The resemblance was almost eerie, especially when she stared up at him with that thoughtful, almost knowing expression, as if she could see right through him.

“You’re gonna be a heartbreaker, you know that?” he teased, running a hand over his buzzed undercut, the dragon tattoo on his temple stark against his skin. “Just like your mom…”

His daughter, of course, was unimpressed. She was too busy trying to pull herself up, grabbing at his jacket with clumsy determination, her chubby legs wobbling as she straightened herself.

Draken arched a brow, watching her with a mix of amusement and quiet pride. “Look at you… tough little thing,” he muttered. “Didn’t get that from her.”

She babbled something incoherent, rocking back and forth on her feet, her lips forming shapes that almost sounded like words.

“Yeah?” Draken chuckled, leaning in closer, his braid falling over his shoulder. “What are you tryin’ to tell me, huh?”

She paused then, swaying slightly before gripping his jacket tighter. For a split second, Draken thought she was about to fall — his hands twitched, ready to catch her — but she steadied herself, blinking up at him with wide, serious eyes.

And then…

“Da…da.”

Draken froze.

The word was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it hit him like a punch to the gut.

“What…?”

She said it again, clearer this time, her small voice filling the room in a way that made the air feel heavier.

“Dada.”

Draken stared at her, his heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt since his gang days. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say — wasn’t sure if he could say anything at all.

“You…” He swallowed hard, his voice rougher now, a little hoarse. “You just—”

Before he could finish, she took an unsteady step forward and fell right into his chest, her tiny arms wrapping around him as best as they could.

“Dada,” she mumbled again, her voice muffled against his shirt.

And that… that broke him.

Draken closed his eyes, his large hand cradling the back of her head as he held her close, his thumb brushing over her soft hair. The warmth of her small body against his made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t prepared for — a deep, protective kind of love that scared him more than any fight ever had.

“Yeah…” he whispered after a long moment, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, his voice softer than it had ever been. “I’m your dad…”

He stayed like that for a while, holding her, feeling her small breaths against him. He didn’t call for her mom — not yet.

This moment was his. Just for now.

[moonselune]

companions and drunk reader crying and cuddling with scratch + owlbear :33

I did this set at the reunion party because for some reason I thought that was part of the prompt but hey ho, some fluff to warm our souls and brighten us up during this darkside of the year <3

Karlach:

The reunion party was in full swing, the lively hum of conversation and laughter filling the air. Music played from a makeshift ensemble, and the scent of roasted meat and ale mingled with the crisp night breeze. You and Karlach had been inseparable for most of the evening, both of you reveling in the joy of being free from the hellish grasp of Avernus - even if it was a brief respite. Friends surrounded you, their faces lit with genuine smiles—a rare luxury in the trials you’d all endured together.

But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed freely, Karlach found herself chatting animatedly with Wyll and Gale about some shared escapades. It wasn’t until a lull in the conversation that she noticed your absence.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the crowd. Where had you gone? You’d been right beside her just moments ago. Her heart sank slightly as her mind played through the possibilities, but then she noticed a faint commotion near the far side of the camp, where the light of the bonfire barely reached.

Curiosity and concern prompted her to investigate.

As she approached, Karlach was met with a sight that was both hilarious and heartwarming. There you were, sprawled on the ground, your cheeks flushed from too much drink, nestled comfortably between Scratch, who was contentedly licking your face, and the owlbear cub—no longer a cub but still unmistakably affectionate. The owlbear had draped itself partially over your lap, its massive body radiating warmth, while you murmured incoherent endearments and occasionally giggled.

“You are such a good boy, Scratch,” you slurred, scratching behind the dog’s ears with one hand while your other patted the owlbear’s soft feathers. “And you—big ol’ fluff monster—you’re my second-best friend in the whole wide world. Don’t tell Scratch, though.”

The owlbear let out a low, rumbling coo, and Scratch wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Karlach leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, and just watched you for a moment, her expression softening. The firelight caught in her amber eyes, reflecting the warmth she felt in her chest. After everything you’d been through—fighting, surviving, struggling—it was moments like these that made it all worthwhile. Seeing you so carefree, surrounded by creatures who adored you, filled her with a quiet contentment.

“Well, well,” she drawled, stepping closer, her voice laced with affection. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’ve already gone and replaced me with fur and feathers.”

You looked up at her, blinking owlishly, and broke into a wide, dopey grin. “Karlach! Join us! There’s so much love here, it’s like… like a cuddle explosion!”

She chuckled, her heart melting a little more. “A cuddle explosion, huh? Sounds dangerous.”

“It’s the best kind of dangerous,” you declared, patting the ground beside you.

Karlach didn’t need much convincing. With a theatrical sigh, she dropped to the ground beside you, her warm body pressing against yours. Scratch immediately climbed into her lap, while the owlbear shuffled closer to include her in its feathery embrace.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and tender, “I think this might be the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“‘Cause I’m with you,” you mumbled, resting your head on her shoulder. “And Scratch. And Big Fluffy. It’s perfect.”

Karlach wrapped an arm around you, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

“You’re perfect, babe” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Minthara:

The reunion party was a raucous affair, the camp alive with laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional outburst of song. Minthara had joined reluctantly at your insistence, her usual composed demeanor barely hiding the faint amusement she felt as she observed the chaos.

The Drow paladin rarely indulged in such frivolity, the two of you had an Underdark to conquor afterall, but tonight she allowed herself to linger, even engaging in a deep conversation with Astarion, who had recently returned to the Underdark to settle down.

As the two shared dry wit and sharp banter, Minthara’s keen eyes darted across the camp, instinctively searching for you. When she realized you were nowhere in sight, she narrowed her eyes.

"Where has that fool wandered off to now?" she muttered under her breath, much to Astarion’s amusement.

“Ah, love,” Astarion quipped, a sly smirk on his lips. “It makes us chase after them even when we’d rather not.”

Minthara rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. She excused herself, muttering something about responsibility, and began to search for you. It didn’t take long—muffled giggles and low, rumbling noises led her toward the outskirts of the gathering. There, illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight, she found you sprawled on the ground.

You were nestled between Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it had long since outgrown the 'cub' moniker—and were clearly the drunkest she had ever seen you. Your face was flushed, your hair mussed, and your arms were wrapped tightly around the two creatures as if they were your most precious treasures.

“Listen,” you whispered conspiratorially to the owlbear, though your volume defeated the purpose. “We’re gonna take over the Underdark. Me, you, Scratch, and Minthara. She’s so scary and smart. We’ll rule everything. But don’t tell her—it’s a secret plan.”

Minthara crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she approached.

"A secret plan, is it?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock disdain. “Taking over the Underdark with a dog and an owlbear? Truly, you’re a visionary.”

You looked up at her with wide, bleary eyes, your face breaking into a sloppy grin.

“Minthara! You found me!” you exclaimed, holding out a hand. “Join us! It’s a cuddle coup.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, though there was a flicker of amusement in her crimson eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, turning to walk away.

But before she could take a step, you staggered to your feet with surprising agility for someone so far gone. With a triumphant shout, you lunged at her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her down to the ground.

Minthara yelped in surprise, glaring daggers at you as she landed unceremoniously on the grass.

“Have you lost your mind?” she snapped, but her anger quickly gave way to resignation as Scratch and the owlbear cub immediately joined in, nuzzling against her.

She froze, her normally stern expression softening as Scratch licked her cheek and the owlbear rumbled contentedly. She didn’t push them away, though she grumbled, “You’ve turned me into a damned pillow.”

You beamed at her, your face close to hers as you slurred, “You’re the best pillow ever. And the best everything else. I adore you, Minthara. You, Scratch, Owlie—you're all my favorite.”

Her cheeks darkened with a faint blush, though she refused to acknowledge it.

“You’re drunk,” she said curtly, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

“And in love,” you replied with drunken sincerity, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, but Minthara didn’t pull away. She sighed, her hand coming to rest on your cheek for just a moment before she let it fall.

“I'm going to kill you,” she muttered, though her tone was more affectionate than irritated.

You grinned, nuzzling against her like a contented cat. “I can't wait.”

Minthara rolled her eyes, though a small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of her mouth. As Scratch and the owlbear settled around you both, she resigned herself to her fate, lying back against the grass and letting the warmth of the moment wash over her.

Perhaps you were impossible. But you were hers.

Lae'zel:

The reunion party was in full swing, the air buzzing with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs. You’d coaxed Lae’zel into attending, promising her that Xan, your precious hatchling, would be fine under the watchful eyes of Voss and the rebels - who were surprisingly more than happy to look after him. Though she had reluctantly agreed, you noticed her gaze drifting toward the camp’s perimeter now and then, her brows furrowed with that familiar Githyanki intensity.

“Relax, Lae’zel,” you teased, nudging her gently. “Xan is fine. Tonight is about us.”

Lae’zel gave you a skeptical glance but said nothing, her hand brushing against yours briefly—a rare public display of affection from her that made your heart swell. For a while, the two of you enjoyed the festivities, sharing drinks and banter with your companions. But as the evening wore on and the wine flowed more freely, you became… well, significantly more inebriated.

At some point, Lae’zel turned to speak with Wyll, who was recounting one of his latest exploits. When she turned back, you were gone.

Her jaw clenched as she scanned the crowd, her warrior instincts kicking in despite the harmless nature of the gathering. She stomped through the camp, muttering curses under her breath as she searched for you.

“You couldn’t stay in one place, could you?” she growled.

It wasn’t long before she heard familiar, albeit slurred, murmuring. Following the sound, she found you sprawled on the ground near the campfire, flanked by Scratch and the now nearly full-grown owlbear cub. Tears streamed down your face as you hugged the animals close, stroking their fur and feathers.

“I love her so much,” you sobbed into Scratch’s neck. “And Xan. Xan is perfect. Perfect little hatchling.”

Lae’zel froze, her expression caught between exasperation and disbelief. She crossed her arms and glared down at you. “What are you doing, fool?”

You looked up at her, your face lighting up with drunken joy.

“Lae’zel!” you cried, holding out your arms. “You’re here! You’re so amazing, and strong, and—hic—beautiful. I love you.”

Lae’zel pinched the bridge of her nose, her shoulders heaving with a deep sigh.

“You are worse than Xan when he is hungry,” she muttered. Turning her attention to the animals, she pointed toward the river. “Drag this mess into the water. Perhaps it will sober them up.”

Scratch tilted his head, his tail wagging, while the owlbear let out a soft, rumbling croon. They looked at her, clearly uninterested in complying.

You giggled, stroking the owlbear’s feathers. “They like you, Lae’zel. They know you’re the best. Everyone knows you’re the best.”

Lae’zel’s irritation flickered, her lips pressing into a tight line as she fought to suppress the small smile threatening to emerge.

“You’re insufferable,” she declared, but there was no venom in her tone.

At her words, you burst into fresh tears. “Xan is so lucky to have you as a mom. I’m so lucky! How did I get so lucky?”

Lae’zel knelt beside you, her movements stiff but deliberate as she pulled you upright and into her arms.

“You’re drunk and ridiculous,” she said, her voice low but steady.

You wrapped your arms around her, clinging tightly. “But I love you,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

Lae’zel let out a small, exasperated sigh, but she didn’t push you away. Instead, she adjusted her grip, holding you firmly against her.

Her fingers brushed against your hair as she murmured, “You are fortunate I have patience tonight.”

You snuggled into her embrace, your tears finally subsiding as warmth and exhaustion took over. Though her expression remained stoic, a faint, hidden smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She did love you, she loved Xan, and the feathered and furred beasts weren't too bad either.

Shadowheart:

The reunion party was a vibrant celebration, a gathering of friends, companions, and allies, each reveling in the hard-won peace after so many battles. You and Shadowheart stood together, hand in hand, sharing a quiet joy amid the merriment. The news that the owlbear cub—now a formidable but still affectionate creature—would be coming back to your farm had filled you both with delight. The prospect of a peaceful life on your little slice of the countryside, surrounded by Scratch, the owlbear, your other small army of animals and each other, was everything you’d dreamed of.

You’d both mingled, laughed, and shared drinks, but at some point, Shadowheart turned to grab another bottle of wine, only to find you had disappeared. Her brow furrowed, though she didn’t panic. You weren’t exactly subtle when you were drunk, and it wasn’t hard to follow the sound of your voice, rising in animated, tearful elation.

When she finally found you, Shadowheart couldn’t help but pause, her arms crossing as she observed the scene before her. You were seated on the grass near the campfire, Scratch pressed against your side, his tail wagging lazily, while the owlbear nestled on the other side, its feathers ruffled as you gently stroked its beak.

“And you’re gonna love the farm,” you slurred, gesturing wildly with the bottle in your hand. “There’s fields to run in, and soft places to sleep, and you two—” you sniffed, your voice breaking slightly as you turned to the animals— “are gonna be so happy. So loved.”

The owlbear let out a deep, contented rumble, and Scratch licked your cheek, which only made your drunken tears flow harder. Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small smile.

“You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?” she said, stepping into the firelight.

Your head snapped up, your face lighting up as if you’d seen the sun itself.

“Shadowheart!” you cried, scrambling to your feet only to stumble and flop back onto the grass. “You’re here! Come here, come here—cuddle pile!”

Shadowheart sighed but couldn’t suppress her amused grin as you reached out for her.

“You’re hopeless,” she muttered, though there was no real bite to her words. She approached and allowed herself to be pulled down into the pile of fur and feathers, the owlbear shifting to make room for her as Scratch barked happily.

“This is the best night ever,” you declared, wrapping your arms around her and pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m so happy, Shadowheart. We’re gonna have the best life. You, me, Scratch, and this big feathery baby.”

She shook her head, laughing softly as she snatched the bottle from your hand.

“You’ve had enough,” she said, taking a swig herself. The wine burned pleasantly as it went down, and she let out a contented sigh. “Though I suppose I can’t argue with your enthusiasm.”

As the night wore on, Shadowheart found herself caught up in your infectious joy. She joined in on your rambling talks of the future—of gardens you’d plant, adventures you’d take, and all the little moments of happiness waiting for you both.

“You know,” she said, her voice soft as she leaned her head against your shoulder, “I think you’re right. This is going to be a good life.”

Your only response was a drunken hum of agreement, your arms tightening around her as the warmth of the fire, the animals, and each other enveloped you both. In that moment, everything felt perfect. Everything was perfect. Everything was going to be perfect.

Jaheira:

The reunion party was in full swing, laughter and music filling the air as friends and allies celebrated the peace you had all fought so hard to achieve. You and Jaheira stood together for much of the evening, your hand occasionally brushing against hers in a quiet intimacy. She was radiant in her element, speaking with old friends, trading stories of past battles, and offering wisdom to those who sought it.

At some point, she became engrossed in a conversation with Halsin, the two of them naturally drawn together by their shared love for nature and nurturing. Their talk turned to the orphans Halsin had come to care for, and Jaheira, with her ever-compassionate heart, shared tales of her own tendency to adopt and guide wayward children.

“I suppose I can’t help myself,” she admitted with a soft chuckle. “Perhaps it’s the druid in me, or perhaps just the mother.”

Halsin nodded with a knowing smile. “It’s a noble trait, Jaheira. The world is better for it.”

But as Jaheira began to share another story, she realized something: you were no longer at her side. She scanned the crowd, her brow furrowing in mild irritation.

“Speaking of wayward children,” she muttered under her breath, excusing herself from Halsin with a polite nod. “Now where have you wandered off to?”

It wasn’t hard to track you down; she simply followed the faint sound of sniffling and tearful rambling. What she found made her stop in her tracks, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh.

There you were, sprawled on the grass near the fire, clutching Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it was hardly a cub anymore. The owlbear sat with a dignified sort of calm, its feathers ruffled from your clumsy affection, while Scratch lay happily across your lap, his tail wagging lazily.

“And you guys,” you sniffled, gesturing to the animals with the bottle still clutched in one hand, “you’re the best. I love you so much. You’re good boys. The best boys.”

Jaheira approached, shaking her head as she took in the sight of you, your face red from tears and wine.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, though her voice held a note of amusement. You looked up, your tear-streaked face lighting up at the sight of her.

“Jaheira!” you cried, holding your arms out dramatically. “You’re here! Come cuddle with us!”

“Cuddle?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Darling, you’re drunk.”

“I’m emotional,” you corrected, your voice wobbling as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “And you have to cuddle with us, or—or I’ll never forgive you! Ever!”

Jaheira sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead as though trying to muster the patience of a saint.

“You are worse than Halsin's orphans,” she teased, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her tone. “And that’s saying something.”

Your lip wobbled, and you clutched Scratch tighter.

“Please,” you whimpered, the plea so earnest and pitiful that Jaheira couldn’t help but laugh.

“All right, all right,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “If it means that much to you.”

She knelt beside you, allowing you to pull her into the chaotic cuddle pile. The owlbear gave a soft hoot, adjusting its position to include her, while Scratch wagged his tail even harder at her presence.

“See?” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her as you leaned heavily against her shoulder. “This is nice. Isn’t it nice?”

Jaheira let out a long-suffering sigh, though a smile tugged at her lips as she rested her head against yours.

“You’re ridiculously impossible,” she said softly. “But yes, this is… nice.”

For a while, the two of you sat there, surrounded by warmth and fur and feathers. Jaheira found herself relaxing despite the absurdity of the situation, her arm slipping around your waist as she pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she murmured. You hummed happily, nuzzling into her shoulder.

“I know,” you slurred, the wine making your voice thick. “And I love you, too. So, so much.”

Jaheira chuckled, shaking her head as she tightened her hold on you.

“You’ll be the death of me,” she said fondly. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Gale:

The reunion party buzzed with energy, laughter and conversation flowing freely among friends old and new - thanks to Minsc's addition. You and Gale were nestled in a quieter corner of the celebration, a glass of wine in your hand and Gale gesturing animatedly with his own as he launched into an impassioned tale about his latest trials as a professor at Blackstaff Academy.

“…and would you believe it? One of the students thought it prudent to attempt wild magic on their first evocation test! I spent half the afternoon dispelling chaos and putting out fires—literal fires—and the other half explaining why summoning imps in a classroom was hardly conducive to learning.”

You nodded along, smiling as you watched the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of his work. His passion was endearing, and yet… a mischievous thought crept into your mind as you caught sight of Scratch wagging his tail nearby, the owlbear cub—no longer quite a cub—lounging lazily beside him.

When Gale paused to take a sip of his wine, you saw your chance.

“Fascinating,” you said quickly, standing and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Be right back, love.”

He blinked, caught off guard but easily reassured by the peck. “Oh, certainly. Don’t wander too far.”

You didn’t answer, instead making a beeline for the animals. A few moments later, you were leading Scratch and the owlbear cub away from the main gathering, giggling to yourself as you went. An hour later, Gale finally noticed your absence and set off to find you.

He tracked you down by the sound of your voice, soft and teasing as you lounged in a quiet grove just beyond the party. There you were, sprawled on the grass with Scratch snuggled into one side and the owlbear cub resting its heavy head on your lap. Your cheeks were flushed with drink, your eyes glassy with a mix of affection and mischief.

“And Gale,” you slurred, stroking the owlbear’s feathers as if imparting some great wisdom, “wanted to be a god. A god! Can you believe it? Silly Gale. He doesn’t need to be a god. He’s already… already my god. My love, my life…” Your voice dropped conspiratorially, and you hiccupped. “But he would’ve been a prick as a god. Don’t you think?”

“Do you think so?” Gale’s amused voice cut in, and you turned your head to see him standing there, arms crossed but a fond smile tugging at his lips. You gasped dramatically.

“Gale!” You grinned at him, patting the grass beside you. “Come here! Join us! Cuddle!”

“I think not,” he said, though the smile on his face betrayed him. “Someone has to ensure you don’t declare my divine candidacy to the owlbear.”

Your grin wavered, and you pouted, your bottom lip trembling as your eyes filled with exaggerated tears.

“You won’t cuddle with me?” you sniffled, your voice wobbling. “You don’t love me anymore?”

Gale’s resolve crumbled instantly. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I can’t say no to that face.”

With a dramatic flourish, you opened your arms wide. “Then get over here, Professor Dekarios!”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the laughter bubbling in his chest as he lowered himself to the grass beside you. Scratch immediately wriggled over to press against his side, while the owlbear gave a satisfied huff and shifted to accommodate him. You threw your arms around him, nuzzling into his chest as if he were the most comfortable pillow in the world.

“See?” you murmured, your voice soft and content. “This is perfect. My god. My Gale.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I suppose there are worse fates than being your god. Though next time, perhaps less wine and more water.”

You hummed in agreement, already half-asleep against him. Gale shook his head, his heart full as he tightened his arms around you and let the peaceful moment wash over him.

Astarion:

The reunion party was in full swing, with the warm glow of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. You and Astarion had arrived arm-in-arm, though the two of you quickly found yourselves mingling with different groups. Astarion had gravitated toward Minthara, the two of them caught in an animated conversation about how you and he had adjusted to life in the Underdark—a topic Astarion spoke of with a surprising fondness.

You, however, had been immediately distracted by Scratch, whose wagging tail and joyful demeanor were too much to resist. You’d spent some time tossing a stick for him before finding the owlbear cub—now fully grown—lounging nearby. One thing led to another, and soon enough, you’d wandered off, leaving Astarion none the wiser.

When he finally noticed your absence, it was only because Minthara raised an eyebrow mid-conversation. “It seems your partner has… disappeared.”

Astarion sighed, his eyes scanning the crowd. “They do tend to wander, don’t they? One moment they’re here, the next, they’ve likely befriended every stray within a ten-mile radius.”

It didn’t take him long to find you. The sound of your drunken sniffles and delighted murmurs led him to a quiet corner of the grove, where you were sprawled on the grass, your arms wrapped around Scratch and the owlbear cub. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glassy, and you were mid-sentence in what appeared to be an earnest declaration.

“You’re just… so cute,” you hiccupped, scratching the owlbear behind its feathered ears. “Both of you. The cutest. I don’t deserve you. Nobody does.”

Astarion stepped closer, his lips curling into a smirk as he crossed his arms.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “The drunkest I’ve ever seen you, cuddling animals and crying over their cuteness. Truly, a sight to behold.”

You looked up at him, your expression a mix of delight and indignation.

“It’s not my fault!” you exclaimed, sitting up—though the effort made you wobble. “Scratch… Scratch has been fetching me wine!”

Astarion raised a skeptical brow, his smirk widening. “Scratch has been fetching you wine? Darling, I taught you to lie better than that.”

You gasped, clutching Scratch protectively. “Are you calling me a liar? Scratch would never let me lie. He’s too good, too pure!”

The dog wagged his tail innocently, clearly pleased with the attention. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he moved to sit beside you.

“Yes, yes, Scratch is the pinnacle of virtue. Now, move over before you collapse completely.” He pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist. You immediately snuggled into him, still hiccuping slightly as you continued to pet the animals.

Just as Astarion was starting to feel truly settled, Scratch suddenly trotted off.

“And where are you going, you furry little enabler?” he called after the dog. Moments later, Scratch returned, tail wagging proudly as he carried a bottle of blood in his jaws. Astarion’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise, and then he laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Well, I’ll be damned. He really is a very good boy.”

He took the bottle from Scratch, patting the dog’s head affectionately.

“My apologies, my love. It seems you weren’t lying. Who would have thought Shadowheart’s greatest contribution to our journey all those months ago was teaching this beast to fetch drinks?”

You giggled, leaning up to press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Told you so. Scratch is a genius. The cutest genius in the whole wide world.”

"And what about me, am I not cute?" Astarion asked in mock offence as he brushed a rogue strand of hair out of your face.

"Not as cute as Scratch and Owlbear but you try -hey give me back my wine!" You whined as Astarion took your bottle from you, brows raised, suggesting you try again. You huffed and rested your head on his shoulder looking up at him with big wet doe eyes. "You are not as cute, because you are twice as beautiful."

"I don't know if that makes sense, but I'll take it." He said, giving you back your wine with a small smile. He would have taken it off you, you really were the drunkest he had ever seen but your so-called 'wine' was actually water, Scratch really was a genius.

Wyll:

The reunion party was in full swing, a mix of old friends, laughter, and the clinking of glasses raised high in celebration. The air buzzed with the joy of shared victories and the promise of futures finally free of hardship. You and Wyll had spent much of the evening together, arm in arm, swapping stories and indulging in the abundant wine. It was a rare, beautiful moment to simply be—no battles to fight, no worlds to save.

For Wyll, the sight of you laughing and glowing with life was a reward all its own. But as the hours ticked by and the wine loosened tongues and inhibitions alike, you had somehow slipped away.

It wasn’t unusual. You had a penchant for wandering when the drink took hold of you, curiosity leading you to wherever your heart fancied. Wyll, ever patient and knowing, only chuckled to himself when he realized you were gone. After excusing himself from a lively conversation with Halsin and Minsc, who were subtley trying to out-brag the other (nothing had changed there) he set out to find you, his long strides carrying him through the grove as he kept an ear out for your familiar voice.

It didn’t take long. He followed the soft sound of sniffling to a secluded patch of grass where the moonlight spilled down like a spotlight. There, nestled between Scratch and the owlbear—no longer a cub but still affectionately devoted—you sat, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you buried your face in the owlbear’s feathers.

“They’re just… so cute,” you murmured, your voice thick with drunken emotion. Scratch’s tail thumped happily against the ground, clearly basking in your attention, while the owlbear tilted its head in quiet curiosity.

Wyll stopped, the sight making him blink in surprise. His hand rose to cover the grin tugging at his lips.

“Oh, my love,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both amusement and affection. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and the moment your eyes met his, a fresh wave of tears spilled over.

“Wyll!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking as though his very presence was a miracle. “You’re here! And you’re so… so cute!”

Wyll blinked, momentarily startled, before laughter rumbled low in his chest.

“I’m cute, am I?” he asked, kneeling beside you. His grin widened as he took in the wine bottle lying haphazardly nearby and the glassy, adoring look in your eyes.

“Yes!” you wailed, throwing your arms out dramatically. “Your smile is cute, and your horns are cute, and your eyes are cute, and your hair is cute!” You punctuated each word with a hiccupping sob, your hand waving wildly as if to emphasize your point.

Wyll’s brows lifted in amusement, though his gaze softened with love.

“I see the wine has been particularly generous with you tonight,” he teased, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry for being so… unbearably adorable. Shall I tone it down?”

“No!” you exclaimed, clutching his hand as though the idea was unthinkable. “Don’t stop being cute! It’s the best thing about you—no, wait.” You gasped as though struck by a revelation. “Everything about you is the best thing!”

Wyll let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “You are truly something else,” he said, his voice warm as he reached out to steady you. “Even when drunk, you’re determined to flatter me into blushing.”

Your lip wobbled, and you suddenly looked utterly distraught.

“Even your boots are cute,” you whispered, as though it was the most profound truth you had ever spoken.

That was enough to undo Wyll completely. He laughed, full and unguarded, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“Alright, alright,” he said gently. “I’ll take responsibility for being impossibly charming.”

You sniffled, your tears slowing as the exhaustion of the evening began to creep up on you. With a soft hiccup, you slumped forward, burying your face in his chest. Wyll’s arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you close as he stroked your back.

“You’re a handful, you know that?” he murmured, though his tone held no irritation—only affection. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The owlbear gave a low croon and leaned in, its head nuzzling against Wyll’s shoulder as though to share in the moment. Scratch let out a soft bark of agreement, his tail thumping against the ground. Wyll chuckled, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“You’ve managed to rally quite the crowd,” he said softly, glancing down at your peaceful face. But when you didn’t respond, he realized you had fallen asleep, your breath even and steady against his chest.

“Oh, my heart,” he said, shaking his head with a fond smile. “What am I to do with you?”

Carefully, he adjusted his hold and scooped you into his arms. The owlbear and Scratch followed as he carried you back toward the firelight of the party. Wyll’s steps were steady, his gaze warm as he looked down at you. Even in your drunken, tearful mess, you were his mess.

And he wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Halsin:

The reunion party was nothing short of spectacular. Lanterns hung from the ancient trees, casting soft, golden light over the gathering. Music and laughter mingled with the sounds of the old faithful camp at night, a serene backdrop to the revelry. You had started the evening with Halsin, both of you basking in the joy of seeing friends and allies together again. It was a rare chance to relax, to celebrate the life you had built after the chaos.

Halsin was soon drawn into a conversation about the orphans you and he had taken in. A circle of the more compassionate companions had gathered around him, captivated as he spoke about the children’s growth, their joy, and the home you were creating. His deep voice carried over the crowd, filled with pride and hope. You stood beside him for a time, sipping wine and listening, but your attention was eventually caught by a familiar sight—Scratch wagging his tail and the owlbear, now fully grown, ambling nearby.

"Look at them," you murmured, already swaying slightly as the wine took hold. "Two perfect, fluffy creatures, and they need my attention."

With a mischievous smile, you slipped away, weaving your way through the crowd, wineglass in hand. By the time Halsin realized you were gone, you had already disappeared into a quieter part of the grove. He smiled to himself, fondly amused, and excused himself from the conversation.

“She’s probably plotting something,” he said with a chuckle, following the faint sound of your voice.

It didn’t take long to find you. Beneath a sprawling oak, you were sprawled on the grass, cuddling Scratch and the owlbear. You had an almost-empty bottle of wine in one hand, your other arm draped dramatically over the owlbear’s shoulders. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a bit disheveled, and your voice carried through the night as you spoke with exaggerated fervor.

"Listen here, Scratch," you said, poking his nose gently with your finger. "And you, too," you added, pointing to the owlbear, who blinked at you with wide, curious eyes. "You’re coming home with me. No arguments. It’s decided. We’re a family now."

Scratch barked happily, his tail thumping against the ground. The owlbear hooted softly, tilting its head as if contemplating your declaration.

You nodded solemnly, taking another swig of wine.

"Halsin might say no, but don’t you worry." You leaned in close, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that was anything but quiet. "I have my ways of convincing him. Very persuasive ways." You wiggled your eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, giggling at your own implication.

Then, as if struck by the sheer emotional gravity of the moment, your voice wavered, and tears welled up in your eyes.

"But if that doesn’t work," you said, your words thick with feeling, "I’ll just cry! Like this!" You dramatically buried your face into Scratch’s fur, letting out a loud, theatrical sob.

From the shadows, Halsin watched, arms crossed, a bemused smile playing on his lips. Finally, he stepped forward, his voice warm and steady. “Tears, my heart, will not be necessary.”

You froze, your head snapping up to look at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Halsin!" you exclaimed, scrambling to sit up and almost tipping over in the process. "When did you get here?"

"Not long ago," he replied, crouching down beside you. "Long enough to hear your… strategy."

You waved the bottle in his direction, sloshing a bit of wine onto the grass.

"It’s a good strategy," you insisted, pointing at him with exaggerated authority. "Very effective."

Halsin chuckled, his large hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I’m sure it is," he said indulgently. "But I assure you, no convincing is necessary."

“What about the other thing?” you asked, your voice dropping into a clumsy attempt at sultriness that only made Halsin laugh more.

“When you’re sober,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You turned back to Scratch and the owlbear, lowering your voice to a loud whisper. “See? I told you it would work. He may be Daddy Halsin, but we all know who the real daddy is.”

Halsin’s brows shot up, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest. “Do we now?” he asked, scooping you into his arms with practiced ease.

You clung to him, your head resting against his broad chest as you continued to mumble incoherently about your master plan.

"Fluffy family forever," you declared, nuzzling into his tunic.

Scratch barked again, wagging his tail enthusiastically, while the owlbear lumbered after you both. Halsin shook his head fondly, his smile softening as he looked down at you.

“You are a marvel,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As he carried you back toward the heart of the party, you sighed contentedly, your arms tightening around his neck.

“You’re the best, Halsin,” you murmured, your words slurring but full of affection. “The absolute best.”

“And you,” he replied, his voice low and full of warmth, “are an utter wonder.”

I hope you guys enjoyed this, I worked quite hard on it and it was quite a good distraction. Love you all - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[erensfeed]

content: boyfriends who would flash their headlights before leaving through the driveway, as their way of saying they love you.

note: i really love the concept & idea of a bf so i wrote this.

ps. i still can’t believe that men aren’t real :c

It’d become your ritual by now, this endless loop of ‘I love you more’—something you both say especially when you know you’ll miss each other, even if it’s just for a few hours.

Today was no different.

You leaned against the doorway, still wrapped in the warmth of his last hug, and watched him shoot you that adorable smile that always made your heart flutter as he walked backwards away from you.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said, his voice softer than his playful growing grin suggested as he took another few steps back.

Laughing, you said his name fondly. “We’re literally seeing each other again soon in like… five hours.”

“Yeah, but that's like…” he gently shook his head like you didn’t understand. “…forever.” he added, a small feigned frown forming on his face after.

You rolled your eyes playfully, but with a soft smile, you reminded him, “What matters is that at the end of the day, you’ll be back in my arms.”

And just like that, his expression softened, eyes warm as he took in those words.

“Fine… I love you.” he said as he was taking another step back, and by now, it’s instinctive — so with a deepening smile and a slight scrunch of your nose, you fired it right back at him, no hesitation. “Mmm, I love you more.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head once more as he started toward his car, already knowing where this was headed. “Okay, you know I’m not gonna let you win this one, right?”

“Oh, you just keep telling yourself that babe,” you teased lightly, a warm laugh slipping out.

"Only ‘cause it’s true,” his grin widened as he opened the car door. But before getting in, he lifted his hand to draw a quick heart over his chest, then pointed back at you as his way of saying—it’s all yours. And just to make sure you knew, he added, “That means I love you more."

He got you there, you couldn’t lie. Shaking your head, you decided to let him think he had the last word by nodding and even giving him a little wave as he climbed into the car. Once he settled in, you made a quick and small ‘buckle up’ gesture to remind him to, and he caught it right away. Through the windshield, you could see him mouth a ‘oh oops—yes, ma'am’ before that. And you noticed he never took his eyes off you as he clicked it in place, giving you a double thumbs-up with a boyish grin after.

Still smiling, you lifted your hand, making a little phone gesture by your ear—another silent reminder for him as you also mouthed a, ‘Call me when you get there, okay?’

He laughed, nodding exaggeratedly, as if he had no intention of forgetting as he started the engine. Already, you could feel that warm tug in your chest, the one that happens when you start missing him.

As he starts backing out onto the road, you couldn’t help it — you thought it softly, adding his name with those three words.

And then, as if he somehow heard you, his headlights flashed one—two—three—four times at you with a smile and a wave, just before he fully backed out from the driveway to the road. A quick, unmistakable, quiet message of:

‘I love you too.’

As you stood there waving back to him, your heart grew full when you processed it, a peaceful, quiet joy filling you as you watched him go.

The moment was so tender, because he was pretty much saying, ‘I’ll always find a way to say it back.’

And honestly, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

After his car had disappeared down the road, you headed back inside the house, settling onto the couch—that same small panging feeling of missing him coming back again. When suddenly, an impulse struck, and with a smirk, you whipped out your phone to quickly type out:

⊹ don’t think i’m letting you off that easily tho babe 🤑 i still love you the most 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

Seeing your text at the next stoplight, he smiled to himself like a fool.

eren. gojo. rafayel. caleb. jean. + your favs !

[babyboyjude]

early mornings and affirmations - Jude Bellingham

summary: Jude wakes up early on his day off so he spent his morning with his daughter.

warnings: not proofread

a’s notes: hello, my loves! Hope you’re all doing well and staying safe. This is my first time writing for Jude so if you guys like or hate it please lmk. Thank you so much for reading and seriously hope you like it<3

- -

The clock’s hands pointed to 6:23 a.m. when Jude blinked his eyes open, the remnants of sleep fading away. A gentle rustle caught his attention, beckoning him from the warmth of his bed. It was Brielle’s room, where he could hear the delightful sounds of his 3-year-old daughter bouncing on her bed, filled with giggles as she chatted animatedly, likely to her beloved stuffed bunny, Lulu. A soft thud echoed through the hall, prompting him to sit up and slip out of the cozy cocoon of blankets, careful not to disturb his girlfriend, who was blissfully entwined within a fortress of pillows.

Peering down the hallway, he spied Brielle, a whirlwind of energy, giggling softly while she flitted around her room. Her tiny feet barely touched the ground as she jumped in pure joy.

“Brielle, remember what Mama and I said about running and jumping in your room?” Jude called out gently, his voice a soothing balm in the early morning light.

She froze mid-jump at the familiar sound of his voice, Brielle halted mid-air, her eyes widening as an expression of innocent guilt spread across her cherubic face. A tiny, sheepish smile crept onto her lips as she replied, “Sorry, Daddy,” her voice a mere whisper, barely breaking the silence, before she sprinted toward him with arms wide open, resembling a small bird yearning to take flight. Jude caught her in an embrace, reveling in the warmth radiating from her little body as her soft cheek nestled against his chest. Instinctively, her thumb sought comfort in her mouth, only to be replaced quickly by her beloved pacifier. A symphony of giggles erupted from her, the sound of pure joy filling the air as Jude showered her cheeks with affectionate, playful kisses, creating a cocoon of tenderness around them.

Hand in hand, they shuffled into the living room, a sanctuary of comfort and familiarity, where they collapsed onto the plush couch, enveloping each other in a cozy embrace. Outside, the world unfolded at a leisurely pace, the morning sun casting a golden hue through the windows while the gentle chirping of birds harmonized with the cadence of their shared breaths. Jude’s fingers gently threaded through her soft, curly hair, a smile blossoming as he observed his daughter, blissfully fighting the inevitable lure of sleep. She was utterly adorable, lost in the warmth they shared, her eyelids fluttering as she valiantly attempted to stay awake.

Reaching for a nearby blanket, a colorful patchwork of soft fabric, he draped it over both of them just as a faint whimper slipped from her lips, a tender signal of her reluctance to part from his side. He carefully laid her down beside him, hand soothingly rubbing her back in gentle circles, quelling her soft cries. “It’s okay, my little princess. I’m right here,” he reassured her in a whisper, his heart swelling with an overwhelming tide of love.

Brielle’s small arms wrapped around his neck, clutching him with determined strength, her sleepy eyes still sparking with the need for connection. “Talk to me, Daddy,” she urged, her voice small and yearning, filling the silence with a tender plea.

“How about we say our morning affirmations together?” Jude proposed, his hand affectionately brushing against her chubby cheeks, a gesture that elicited a twinkle of excitement in her sleepy eyes.

With a determined nod, Brielle perked up, an effervescent spirit ignited within her, ready to share the special words they cherished. “I am brave, I am loved, I can do it, and I am special,” they recited softly together, the words weaving a tapestry of warmth and encouragement, punctuated by Jude’s beaming smile and the profound bond they shared, filling the room with a vibrant sense of joy and comfort unique to only a father and daughter.

He gently pressed his lips to her forehead, enveloping her delicate face in his large, warm hands, playfully squeezing her cheeks between his fingers. “That’s my girl,” Jude said with a tender smile as a soft “thank you” escaped her lips, carrying warmth and affection.

With a gleeful sparkle in her eyes, she nestled closer and climbed into his lap, her small hands gripping his face as if she were framing a cherished portrait. “Your turn, Daddy,” she announced, her voice filled with excitement.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and full of warmth, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I am confident, I am loved, I am strong, and I am enough,” he said, each word infused with sincerity. Brielle beamed at him, her eyes shining with admiration before planting a gentle kiss on his cheek, leaving a sweet warmth where her lips had touched.

Pulling back slightly, she clapped her little hands together in delight. “Good job, daddy! I’m so proud of you,” she cheered, her voice ringing out with joy. At that moment, Jude felt his heart swell with happiness, a rush of gratitude washing over him at her kind words and the bond they shared.

Jude felt a rush of emotions well up inside him, his eyes glistening with tears of love and pride as he absorbed the pure, heartfelt simplicity of Brielle's words. They pierced through any lingering doubts, reaching deep into his core. He took a brief pause to regain his composure, her unwavering faith in him reigniting his sense of self-worth. With a playful grin, he gently tousled his daughter's soft hair, the touch filled with warmth and affection. “You’re my biggest supporter other than Mama, you know that right?” he said, his voice thick with emotion, each word imbued with sincerity.

A melodic laugh bubbled up from Brielle, her delightful giggle ringing throughout the room like the sweetest music, infusing the atmosphere with vibrant energy. As Jude marveled at her spirited laughter, a mischievous thought struck him. He looked up, a playful glimmer sparkling in his eyes. Brielle’s eyes widened momentarily in delight as she nodded eagerly, her small hand reaching out to lightly grasp his finger, her skin soft and warm. The innocence of her expression enveloped him in a profound sense of trust and love. “Of course, I am. I love you so, so much,” she exclaimed, her voice whimsical and light, infused with the unfiltered joy that only a child can possess.

Jude felt his heart melt further at her sweet declaration. Overcome with gratitude for the bond they shared, he wrapped his arm around her in a playful embrace, pulling her close against him.

Brielle nestled into his side, her tiny frame fitting perfectly against him as she laid her head against his solid chest. She could feel the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, a soothing reminder of her father’s presence. Jude kept his arm around her, providing warmth and security, and for a moment, they simply rested there, soaking in the love that radiated between them. The air felt thick with affection, making every moment seem timeless. Just as he was about to share yet another loving sentiment, the soft sound of her gentle snores drifted up to him, a sweet reminder that sometimes, simply being together was the most beautiful thing of all.

[luvnanako]

Waking up next to Vi

Vi x Reader (wlw, fluff)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Intro

Hiii thank you sooo much for all the love on my last post !! I appreciate it sooo much it means the world to me, I hope you enjoy this one as well 𖹭

--------︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶---------

As the first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, you slowly open your eyes, finally ready to wake up after what felt like an endless night. The world around you is still quiet, the soft hum of morning just beginning to stir. As your vision adjusts, you catch a glimpse of the woman lying next to you, her peaceful expression framed by the golden light of dawn. She’s sleeping soundly, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, her hair adorably messy from the night’s rest. A soft smile tugs at your lips as your eyes trace the delicate freckles scattered across her nose bridge, glowing faintly in the morning light.

Completely caught in the moment, you find yourself unable to look away. Minutes pass as you simply lie there, drinking in the sight of her serenity, each second filling your heart with warmth and quiet joy. Smiling to yourself, you marvel at how lucky you are to share this space, this moment, with her. For now, the world can wait—there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

With a gentle slide of your finger, you brush a strand of Vi’s hair out of her face, revealing her puffy cheeks in full view. You can’t help but smile at how utterly adorable she looks, her face relaxed in deep sleep. A part of you is tempted—aching, really—to cover her cheeks in soft kisses, to shower her with affection until she wakes. But you hold yourself back, not wanting to disturb your sleeping princess just yet.

Your gaze shifts to her lips, lingering on the scar that cuts across them. There’s something about it that makes her baby face impossibly alluring, adding an edge to her softness that you can never resist. Kissing her scar is like touching heaven, a sensation that never loses its magic, no matter how many times you do it. The thought alone fills you with warmth, but before you can linger too long in your daydreams, Vi stirs beside you, mumbling something incomprehensible in her sleep.

“Mnm…” she grunts softly, her voice thick with drowsiness. You can’t help but chuckle at her little morning sounds, finding them endearing beyond words. Gently, you press the back of your fingers against her cheek, sliding them slowly across her soft skin until they come to rest on the inked lines of her tattoo. In that tender moment, you feel her hand tighten around your waist, a silent reassurance that even in sleep, she’s holding onto you.

You let out a content sigh, feeling your heart swell with love for this woman who’s become your entire world.

Vi shifts closer, pressing her nose against your chest with determination, her arms tightening around you so you can’t even think about moving. “Sleep… more…” she whispers, her voice soft and barely audible, still heavy with sleep. Mornings like these always brought out her clingy and cuddly side, something you secretly adored.

“Babe…” you whisper back, slipping your fingers into her messy hair. The effect is immediate—her body visibly relaxes, and a content sigh escapes her lips. This was her weakness, not the thrill of a pit fight against the toughest opponents or indulging in a hearty meal after a grueling day, but your hands in her hair. If she could, Vi would spend days and nights just like this, soaking up your touch.

Her hand slides down to rest on your hip, her thumb brushing against your skin as if savoring every second of this intimacy. You can’t help but giggle at her baby-like behavior, a sound that earns you an instant pout.

“Cupcake… stop laughingggg…” she whines, her voice dragging with mock irritation.

“I’m not laughing,” you reply, teasingly flicking her forehead with a smirk. “I’m just admiring you, dummy.”

“Heyy!” she protests, her pout intensifying, her expression so soft and endearing that it’s hard to take her seriously. “Have a little respect for your hardworking girlfriend!” Despite her words, her lips curl into a grin, still pressed against your chest.

“Oh, I do, babe,” you say, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her lips, followed by another on her forehead. You watch as her cheeks flush into a sweet shade of pink, and your heart swells at how effortlessly beautiful she looks.

“Are you free today?” she murmurs, her voice tinged with hope.

“Mhm,” you hum in response.

“I can finally spend the day with the love of my life.” Her lips spread into a cheeky grin. “Aaaand stay in bed with you,” she adds playfully.

You roll your eyes with a smirk. “Gosh, you’re so lazy, babe.”

“I can’t help it if I have my own personal heating teddy bear,” she teases, letting out a soft chuckle before pressing a wet kiss against your collarbone, the sensation almost like a playful lick.

“Viiiiiiiiii,” you pout, squirming slightly under her clingy affection.

“Mine,” she declares, her voice low and possessive, as she closes her eyes and peppers your chest and collarbone with playful kisses. You laugh softly, the sound only encouraging her antics.

“Okay, babe, it’s time to get up,” you say, gently nudging her.

“Nooooooooo,” she groans dramatically, her voice now raspy and thick with sleep.

“It’s already 9 a.m.,” you point out, glancing at the clock.

“So whattt,” she mumbles stubbornly. “I’m tired… now shush, I’m going back to sleep.”

With that, she wraps her strong arms tighter around your waist and buries her face into the crook of your neck. Before you can respond, she leaves a tiny kiss on your skin, so light it feels like a feather brushing against you.

“I love you, cupcake,” she whispers, her words melting into the stillness of the morning.

“I love you too, Vi,” you reply softly, your hand gently stroking her hair as she snuggles even closer, her warmth and affection making it impossible to argue with her desire to stay in bed just a little longer.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you so much for reading !! 𖹭

[kingofbodyrolls]

Say I Do (m) | jjk

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

You and Jungkook tease each other at your wedding reception.

→ Pairing: jungkook x female reader (no Y/N and unnamed) → AUs: non-idol!au, wedding!au → Genres: smut– like it’s just smut, nothing else 🤣 → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!) → Word count: 5.2k → Warnings/tag: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, handjob, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, slightly rough sex, choking, biting, spitting, ass grabbing, impreg kink, degrading names (whore used once). → Author’s note: I made this for my lovely friend Lua (@letjungcoook7)!!!! SURPRISE!!!! I hope you like it! I was inspired to make this because of our chat, and I just want to say that you are so fucking lovely, sweet and kind 💖 I really hope this isn’t too much, but I just had too 🥹 I really wanted to make it dirty, but it ended up being more sweet instead, I’m sorry! I would talking to you and I just wanted to let you know that I adore and treasure you 😘 Honestly Lua, I just wrote this to tell you how beautiful you are– mind, body and soul. Thank you Lua, I love ya 💜 This is just something very short while I work on ‘My Heart’s Home’. But I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think: my inbox is always open, and I love to hear from you, even a reblog/comment will put a big smile on my face 💜 Also!!! This is written from Jungkook’s POV (well I tried, lol). And normally I don’t describe the reader/MC, but she does have a tiny bit description in this, but I still feel it’s vague enough. But if that isn’t your thing, it’s completely fine 🙂 This is not proofread (because I’m too lazy for that right now). → Read on AO3? [link] 

Rising gracefully to his feet, Taehyung's infectious enthusiasm fills the room as he declares, “I propose a toast!” His radiant smile sweeps over the myriad of guests you meticulously invited to your wedding—more than a hundred souls sharing in the joy of your love story. 

As he prepares to speak, Jungkook can't help but marvel at the grandeur of the occasion. Despite his personal inclination towards a more intimate celebration, he wouldn't dream of denying you this moment, surrounded by the warmth of friends and family who have come together to witness the union of two hearts.

Despite Taehyung's earnest attempt to capture Jungkook's attention with a throat-clearing preamble, Jungkook finds himself inexplicably entranced elsewhere. Even in the midst of one of his closest friends delivering a heartfelt wedding speech—something he should be wholeheartedly absorbing—but it’s hard. As hard as his dick that you’re palming over his dress pants.

The tantalizing dance of your hand sends ripples of pleasure through him, an intoxicating distraction that eclipses all other thoughts. It's an artful symphony of sensation, each movement crafting a masterpiece of desire within him. The struggle to concentrate on anything else becomes an exhilarating battle. Fuck. 

You, the mischievous enchantress, wield your allure like a potent spell. 

A tantalizing awareness of your own danger courses through your veins, and you wield it with an expert finesse. Every knowing glance, every sly smile, is a calculated move in the game you effortlessly play. You've mastered the art of ensnaring him, wrapping him around your finger with a magnetic force that compels him to dance to your whims. It's a dangerous dance, but he willingly succumbs to the intoxication of your charm, embracing the thrill as much as he cherishes the intoxicating love he feels for you.

What the fuck is Taehyung saying?

Taehyung’s words dissolve into a meaningless buzz, drowned out by the illicit symphony you're orchestrating beneath the table. The audacious zipper sliding down and the tantalizing exploration of your hand over the fabric of his boxer briefs command all of Jungkook's attention.

Profanity trembles on the edge of his tongue, but it's lost in the overwhelming sensation that eclipses any coherent thought. Your stealthy touch renders him blissfully oblivious to everything else unfolding around him.

Suppressing a low, guttural sound, he clenches his teeth, using every ounce of willpower to stifle the moan building in his throat. As desire courses through him like a wildfire, he willingly parts his legs, a silent invitation for you to explore more boldly, granting ample space for the electrifying touch of your hand over the hardened length of his cock.

He marvels at your audacity, finding it both exhilarating and daring that you'd embark on such a provocative escapade during your wedding reception. Yet, deep down, he acknowledges that it's a reflection of the wild spirit that has always defined your relationship. It's a shared affinity for dancing on the edge, reveling in the allure of danger, and delighting in the thrill of engaging in activities that should, by all accounts, remain private. It's a facet of your relationship that has always been magnetic, drawing you both into a world where the risk of being caught only adds to the intoxicating excitement.

In the blink of an eye, your hand deftly maneuvers beneath the fabric of his boxers, sending a shiver down his spine. A hiss escapes his lips as your long, slender fingers confidently envelop his cock. The warmth of your touch is both a balm and an inferno, and he instinctively tilts his head back in the chair, a silent plea for discretion. 

As he surrenders to the delicious sensation, he can't help but cast a furtive glance around, fervently hoping that the clandestine ballet unfolding beneath the table remains a tantalizing secret shared only between you.

Despite the uproarious laughter echoing through the room in response to Taehyung's speech, Jungkook remains oblivious to its contents, ensnared the choreography of your hand beneath the table. 

The mirthful ambiance only fuels his curiosity, surmising that Taehyung must have delivered a punchline or shared a humorous anecdote. Meanwhile, beneath the table's concealment, your hand skillfully traces a tantalizing path along his hardened cock, drawing a hushed hiss from Jungkook's lips. 

With a steely resolve, he masks any trace of emotion, locking his features in a stoic facade and maintaining an impressive silence. His determined effort is not just to conceal the electrifying sensations your actions are evoking, but also to safeguard the clandestine intimacy you both share from the prying eyes of the unsuspecting guests. 

Every fiber of his being is a coiled spring, resisting the urge to yield to the pleasure that threatens to unravel beneath the veneer of his restrained expression. 

As his gaze shifts towards you, he's met with an unexpected sight—there you sit, an image of demure elegance in your exquisite white gown. 

The fabric caresses your curves in all the right places, accentuating the allure of your figure. The daringly low neckline teases a glimpse of the captivating silhouette of your bosom, leaving him momentarily breathless. The off-the-shoulder design unveils a generous expanse of your soft, tender skin, a tantalizing sight that aligns perfectly with his preferences. 

Despite the provocative allure of your attire, your outward appearance betrays no hint of the illicit affair transpiring beneath the table. If he didn't intimately know the secret you were concealing—your hand discreetly exploring the realm beneath his pants—he'd be fooled by the serene facade you present, seemingly absorbed in the captivating rhythm of Taehyung's speech.

In a silent plea of gratitude, Jungkook revels in the fact that the attention of the guests is fixed on Taehyung's speech, sparing him the scrutiny of prying eyes. 

Little do they know, the real spectacle unfolds beneath the table, where your touch becomes an exquisite torment. 

Every movement of your hand is a tantalizing dance, a blend of ecstasy and torture that threatens to unravel him. With a teasing finesse, your soft fingers caress his frenulum, tracing a path towards the depths of pleasure. The deliberate slide over his slit elicits a shiver of pure ecstasy, leaving Jungkook teetering on the precipice of desire that you expertly navigate.

Your hand envelops him, a cocoon of warmth that intensifies with each skillful stroke. The pleasure coursing through him is undeniably exquisite, a testament to the mastery of your touch. Yet, a lingering awareness tugs at the edges of his consciousness—an impending climax that threatens to unravel the careful threads of restraint. The exquisite sensations you evoke compel him to desperately anchor his thoughts, to redirect the intoxicating focus from the captivating dance beneath the table to Taehyung's speech.

The challenge lies not just in resisting the magnetic pull of pleasure but in maintaining a semblance of composure, navigating the delicate balance between the ecstasy you're orchestrating beneath the table and the public façade demanded by the occasion.

“We’ve been friends for so long, how many years is it now, Gguk?” As Taehyung poses the question, a hushed anticipation envelops the room, and all eyes converge on Jungkook. 

Fuck. 

All eyes are on him and he can’t think— he’s mind is clouded with thoughts of you. 

Taehyung– Fuck. How long have they been friends? 

In a sudden stumble of recollection, he breathes out, “17 years,” the weight of the shared history resonating in the room. Yet, the gravity of the moment is unexpectedly intensified as you administer an assertive squeeze around cock. Fuck.

With a chuckle that slices through the tension, Taehyung seamlessly continues his discourse, effortlessly reclaiming the attention of the room and redirecting every wandering gaze back to him. A collective exhale echoes in Jungkook's mind, a silent gratitude for the timely diversion that spares the clandestine spectacle beneath the table from becoming the unwitting center of attention. 

Relentless, you maintain the rhythm on his dick, displaying an unwavering determination that hints at an intention to push him to the brink, right under the unsuspecting gaze of the gathered guests. 

As the divine caress of your hand propels him perilously close to the edge, a surge of urgency overtakes him. Desperate, he turns his face towards you, eyes silently pleading for respite, but your gaze remains steadfastly elsewhere. 

Frustration wells within him, and he attempts to use his hands to guide yours away, only to find your grip tightening in response. The conflicting forces of pleasure and restraint collide within him, his muscles tensing as a hitch in his breath betrays the precarious precipice upon which he teeters.

Leaning in, you bring with you a halo of your natural sweet scent, an intoxicating allure that wraps around him, overwhelming his senses and leaving him slightly dizzy. 

Your lips, soft and plush, delicately find his cheek in what appears to be a tender gesture to the outside world. To the unsuspecting onlookers, it's a simple, sweet kiss on the cheek. 

Little do they know, in that same moment, your daring move involves not just the gentle press of your lips but the subtle exploration of your other hand slipping under his boxers to fondle his balls.

Fucking hell he’s gonna come.

Ecstasy courses through him like a wildfire, an imminent eruption fueled by the intoxicating cocktail of your skillful touch on his balls, warm breath teasing his ear, and the relentless grip on his pulsating desire. The threshold between pleasure and release narrows to a perilous edge, and he finds himself teetering on the brink, held captive by the maddening symphony of sensations you've orchestrated. 

Despite his valiant efforts to remain attentive to his friend's speech, the sheer mastery of your pleasure-inducing touch proves insurmountable. Every deliberate stroke, every strategic squeeze of his balls, propels him further into the abyss of ecstasy. In a moment of surrender, he can no longer contain the torrent of desire, and ropes of his essence surge forth from his throbbing dick. His lips bear the weight of a stifled moan, as you keep stroking him through his orgasm.

Beside him, your chuckle is a symphony of sweetness interwoven with a hint of mischief, a melodic backdrop to the ongoing crescendo of pleasure you expertly administer through his orgasm. 

As he traverses the realm of oversensitivity, a low, guttural grunt escapes him, drawing the curious gaze of Taehyung, engrossed in his ongoing speech. Though momentarily caught in a gaze of questioning inquiry, Taehyung forges ahead, resuming his speech with a peculiar stare, unwittingly oblivious to the spectacle unfolding beside him.

Thank fuck both of your parents aren’t seated right next to you. That would have been utterly mortifying and embarrassing.

With a deliberate finesse, you retract your hand from his crotch, guiding it gracefully over the table, where you nonchalantly employ a napkin to erase any lingering evidence. Seated there, you adopt an innocent facade, a picture of angelic composure that conceals the fact that, mere seconds ago, your hand delved into the forbidden realm beneath his pants. 

With an audible exhale, he reaches for a napkin, hastily attending to the aftermath on his pants. The damage is fortunately minimal, thanks to your deft intervention that efficiently captured most of his release. Smart girl.

But a mischievous spark ignites in his eyes, a silent vow echoing beneath the surface - oh, he's going to get back at you for that, you little minx. 

As the notes of the classic wedding waltz envelop the room, Jungkook marvels at the surreal reality—he gets to call you his wife now. The ethereal glow surrounding you transcends the physical, a radiant aura that has always defined you. Despite your humble protestations about your own beauty, he's captivated by the undeniable truth: you've always been, and continue to be, an enchanting vision. Countless times you've confessed to feeling otherwise, but in his eyes, you're a masterpiece. In this moment, as you dance together, you're not just a part of his world; you are his entire universe.

Gazing into the pools of your sweet, doe-like eyes, their exquisite almond shape captivates him, holding his attention in an unbreakable trance. He contemplates the nuances of your beauty, from the enchanting curvature of your slightly upturned nose to the endearing moments when he can't resist playfully poking it during your teasing exchanges. Every inch of you, in his eyes, is a masterpiece, and he pledges to vocalize his admiration every day, a ritual aimed at etching your beauty into your own consciousness. 

He dreams that with each affirming word, he'll weave a tapestry of self-love around you, until the day you see yourself as he does—undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

As you dance, your eyes ablaze with an unmistakable love, he luxuriates in the intensity of your gaze. A daring current of desire propels his hand, gliding with deliberate intent down your body until it boldly claims your ass. 

Uninhibited, he seizes it with audacious confidence, the bold move oblivious to the watchful eyes surrounding you. A soft, mischievous squeeze elicits a sweet chuckle from you, a harmonious note in the symphony of shared amusement that reverberates through the party, as the crowd collectively succumbs to the captivating allure of your uninhibited dance.

As the soft strains of the music envelop you both in a waltz, your heads draw nearer, the enchanting melody echoing the tender dance of your hearts. With the song nearing its end, he seizes the moment, leaning in intimately close to your ear. The hushed promise that escapes his lips carries a tantalizing undercurrent, his warm breath grazing your skin as he vows, “I'm going to get you back for earlier, babe.”

He senses the subtle shiver coursing through you as his touch lingers, a silent testament to the shared electricity between you. As the final notes of the song fade into the applause and cheers of the crowd, seizing the perfect moment, he leans in, embracing you in a sweet and passionate kiss. 

As the rhythm of a more upbeat song invigorates the dance floor, he seizes the opportunity to whisk you away from the lively crowd. Amidst the pulsating beats and the vivacious laughter of the guests, he guides you outside the building, their merriment gradually fading into the background.

In the crisp night air, he asserts a sudden dominance, pressing you against the sturdy wall. His gaze, infused with an unmistakable hunger and need, locks onto your beautiful eyes, creating a magnetic tension that reverberates between you. 

“You are a little minx, you know that?” His words, not laced with anger but rather a dangerous undercurrent of arousal, hang in the charged air. Your chuckle, a sweet symphony that further stirs the tempest within him, prompts a hiss as he succumbs to the magnetic pull, diving fervently into the captivating abyss of your mouth.

The kiss intensifies, a collision of passion that is both hard and rough, fueled by an undeniable need. In the urgency of the moment, he can't afford to wait, the impatience palpable in every fervent press of lips. 

You envelop him in the embrace of your arms, fingers intertwining at the nape of his neck, while your gaze rises to meet his. In the depths of his eyes, once warm brown orbs now transformed into pools of near-black intensity, a reflection of the potent arousal coursing through his veins. 

Your hand embarks on a daring journey, descending to the front of his pants once more, and the response is instantaneous – hardness reignites, a testament to the insatiable flame you kindle within him. Desire for you pulses like a constant current, an almost permanent state of arousal that defies logical explanation. Whatever enchantment you cast upon him, it's an irresistible force that weaves a tantalizing spell, leaving him perpetually captivated by the mystique of your touch.

Breaking away from the embrace of your soft lips, he wears a smirk laden with both warning and allure. “You're playing with fire, babe,” he remarks, the subtle edge in his voice echoing the intoxicating dance of danger and desire that swirls between you.

In a hushed whisper that flutters against your ear, he breathes, “You've been a naughty girl.” 

The words, laden with an undercurrent of sultry authority, send a shiver down your spine, awakening a cascade of tingles that traverse the landscape of your entire body. 

Descending to the delicate expanse of your neck, he peppers it with soft, almost teasing kisses, each touch a prelude to the symphony of sensations. Then, in an abrupt shift from gentle caresses, he bites down, coaxing from you a loud moan that resonates through the air—an intoxicating sound that echoes in the depths of his desire, a melody he'll never tire of hearing. 

Continuing his explorative journey, he ventures further south, his lips descending to the curve of your breasts. With a deliberate tenderness, he places a kiss atop the soft expanse of your tender tits.

Gracefully sinking to his knees, he gazes up at you with a mischievous smirk, the air thick with a heady mixture of desire and anticipation. His tongue darts out, grazing his lips in a provocative dance of anticipation, signaling the imminent exploration of pleasures yet to unfold. 

With an assertive grip, he seizes the front of your dress, drawing it away in a swift, purposeful motion. Despite the abundance of fabric, he deftly bunches it up with ease. “Hold your dress, please,” he directs, handing you the end of the gathered fabric. 

“Hmm. Nice lace stockings, and that girdle—what are you doing to me?” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing blend of desire and fascination. His gaze lingers appreciatively on your beautiful thighs encased in nude stockings adorned with lace at the top, fastened to a concealed girdle on your waist.

His eyes widen with a mix of surprise and arousal as they land on your wet and glistening pussy, the evidence of desire trickling down your thigh. “Oh my god. You're not wearing panties?” he breathes out, his voice carrying the weight of both revelation and anticipation. A subtle lick of his lips betrays the intensity of his reaction.

A playful chuckle escapes your lips as you hover above him, and without a moment's hesitation, he immerses himself in the intoxicating warmth of your desire. His lips eagerly find their destination, tracing a decadent path from the delicate folds to the pulsating essence of your clit. 

The sensation ripples through your body, igniting a shiver that becomes an involuntary response to the electrifying dance between tongues, pleasure, and the shared yearning that binds you together.

He embarks on a tantalizing journey of tongue and suction, starting with teasing caresses that send tremors of anticipation through your body. His hands, strong and purposeful, find purchase on your thighs, holding you in a firm grip as he orchestrates a symphony of pleasure with his skillful tongue, creating an intoxicating dance that blurs the lines between sensation and desire.

A throaty moan escapes your lips as his nose delicately brushes against your pulsating cl*t, his tongue delving as deep as its voracious hunger allows. The exquisite sensation of his exploration elicits an involuntary clenching around him, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs, unable to withstand the intensity, succumb to a tremor, trembling beneath the intoxicating caress of pleasure that consumes you.

His dexterous fingers ascend to your throbbing clit, and with a skillful touch, he sets in motion a rapid dance of pleasure, causing your entire body to quiver with newfound intensity. The quickened rhythm of your breath becomes a symphony of desire, a telltale sign for him that you're teetering on the precipice of ecstasy.

Eager to reciprocate the pleasure you bestowed upon him within the confines of the reception, he fervently laps at your tender folds. Simultaneously, his fingers engage in a deft dance around your throbbing clit, orchestrating a symphony of sensations that echoes the pulsating rhythm of desire between you.

With the harmonious fusion of his skilled tongue and nimble fingers, he orchestrates the unraveling of your senses. As ecstasy courses through you, your body convulses in euphoria, your walls clenching around his tongue, and the pulsating rhythm of your clit intensifying under the spell of his fingers. 

Waves of pleasure surge through you, causing your body to quake, and in the throes of ecstasy, you release a high-pitched, strained moan that bears his name—an intimate symphony of pleasure that lingers in the air.

Breathless and overwhelmed, you gasp out his name, a plea woven into the words, “Fuck, Jungkook. I can't stand up anymore.” As he gracefully withdraws from your core, his gaze rises to meet yours, locking in a shared moment of intensity.

He chuckles, the rich timbre of his laughter lingering in the charged air. “I know, babe. Do you want me to fuck you against the wall?”

You draw in a sharp breath, and he keenly observes the subtle clench of your hand, the fabric of the dress tightly gathered within your grasp. 

“Fuck yeah,” An unbridled affirmation escapes your lips, a primal declaration of desire. As he rises to his feet, a surge of urgency propels him to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss. The taste of your own release lingers on his lips, creating an intimate communion of shared pleasure that binds you together in the aftermath of passion.

As he engulfs you in a fervent kiss, the symphony of desire playing out between you, his hands deftly navigate the zipper of his dress pants. With a purposeful movement, he unveils his throbbing cock, stroking it in rhythmic cadence. 

His hands, driven by a primal urgency, seek out the contours of your ass with a possessive intent. “Jump up, babe,” he commands, the resonance of his voice weaving a spell of anticipation. As you obediently jump, he effortlessly lifts you, cocooning you against the wall. 

In a brief struggle against the bulk of your dress, both of you grapple with the fabric, pushing it away from the front of your entwined bodies. A shared chuckle hangs in the air, a lighthearted interlude in the midst of fervor. But as the fabric yields to your efforts, Jungkook seizes the opportunity, moving in with an insatiable hunger to bite at your neck once more. 

With a sultry whisper, he breathes, “I'm gonna fuck a baby into you, would you like that, hmm?” 

The words, pregnant with promise, glide against your ear, and the responsive clench of your legs around his waist speaks volumes. A knowing chuckle escapes him as you endeavor to pull him even closer, the shared desire resonating between you in the charged space.

“Please,” your plea, a desperate yet fervent entreaty, escapes your lips, a poignant melody of desire that resonates in the charged air. The subtle smirk that graces his lips is both a testament to your undeniable need for him and an acknowledgment of the power he holds over your cravings.

With a deliberate touch, he locates his throbbing cock with one hand and skillfully aligns it with your dripping entrance. The tantalizing dance begins as he teases your slick folds with the head of his pulsating dick, creating an electrifying friction that amplifies the anticipation between you two. 

“Gguk, please,” you plead with a mixture of desire and frustration, your voice echoing the urgent need for him to bridge the gap between anticipation and fulfillment. However, he remains steadfast, skillfully teasing your slick folds without granting the entry your body craves. 

With a desperate plea escaping your lips once more, he finally relents. The moment stretches with anticipation before he forcefully thrusts his thick cock into your eager pussy. The collision is met with an audible impact as your back forcefully meets the wall.

He forgoes the customary pause for adjustment, intuitively aware that you relish the exquisite stretch when he enters you so abruptly. Without hesitation, he plunges deep into your core, reaching the furthest recesses, his thick length grazing against your cervix. 

“You’re so big, the stretch feels so good!” 

You gasp breathlessly against his body, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. The intoxicating stretch sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, a visceral reminder of the intensity between you two. Determined to fully immerse yourself in the sensation, you pant against him, actively striving to ride the wave of pleasure, desperate to fuck yourself on him, the relentless pursuit of ecstasy evident in every ardent movement.

He establishes a relentless rhythm, driving into you with a force that resonates against the unyielding wall of the building. The symphony of your combined panting echoes in the air, a melodic accompaniment to the unbridled passion unfolding. Jungkook, captivated by the primal symphony, savors every delightful noise escaping your lips—a harmonious blend of desire and surrender, heightening the intensity of the fervent connection shared between you.

As he thrusts into you, each powerful motion striking your cervix, he elevates the intensity by trailing one hand up to your neck. With a gentle yet possessive touch, he wraps his fingers around your throat.

He knows you like it dirty and rough, and fuck he does too. 

His taunting words, laced with a playful yet provocative tone, cut through the charged air. “Did you enjoy the little game with your fingers down my pants while Tae was making his speech?” The rhetorical question hangs between you, a teasing challenge that elicits a subtle clenching reaction around him. 

In a sultry revelation, he whispers, “'Next to your bridesmaid and your parents. You naughty girl.” The hand steadying against the wall takes a firm hold of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh with deliberate intent. A resonant moan of pleasure escapes your lips, harmonizing with the rhythmic cadence of his thrusts as he skillfully targets your sweet spot. 

“So naughty,” he breathes, punctuating each fervent thrust with a rhythmic intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “You enjoy getting off in front of your friends, huh?” His words, infused with a seductive blend of desire and provocation, become a tantalizing soundtrack to the relentless grind of his dick into you.

“And getting me off too? Whore,” he seethes into your ear, the heated accusation leaving a scorching trail of desire in its wake. Your response, a shiver against his body, fuels the intensity of the moment. 

As he continues to fuck you with an unrestrained force, your breasts bounce in a mesmerizing rhythm that captivates him. So fucking perfect.

“Stick your tongue out,” he commands, his eyes intently fixed on you as you obediently roll out your tongue, anticipating the act you relish. The charged moment lingers, pregnant with expectation. With a deliberate move, he spits on your waiting tongue, and you, the embodiment of submission, dutifully swallow it.

Damn it, he knows he won't last much longer if he continues to be entranced by the rhythmic bounce of your enticing breasts—they possess an almost hypnotic allure over him. And that tongue of yours, oh, it's pure seduction. 

“And you can't even wait until we reach our hotel suite to be fucked. So fucking needy, and I love it,” he declares, a blend of admiration and desire lacing his words. The deliberate clench of his fingers around your throat follows, a subtle yet potent assertion of control. His gaze remains fixed on your eyes, watching with a predatory intensity as they dilate even more.

As he tightens his grip, the sensation of his fingers constricting around your throat elicits a primal response—your walls clenching around his cock. The synchronized symphony of pleasure and control intertwines, and a guttural groan escapes him, an audible testament to the ecstasy coursing through his veins. 

Driven by an insatiable desire, he redoubles his efforts to fuck you even deeper.

“My filthy wife,” he pants into your ear, the possessive term dripping with desire, a declaration that ignites a primal response within you. The sultry proclamation elicits a moan of his name from your lips, a vocal affirmation of the all-encompassing pleasure coursing through your body. His acute awareness of your nearing climax manifests in the rhythmic clenching around his dick, a tangible sign of the intimate dance between you two.

“Fuck, Gguk. I'm so close again. Fuck!” you pant fervently against the curve of his neck, the words laced with desperation and desire. He senses the mounting intensity in your voice, a symphony of passion reaching its crescendo. 

Yet, he's attuned to the nuances, recognizing the subtle signs that your body, though on the brink of ecstasy, bears the weight of fatigue, having navigated the day in those tantalizing heels. 

“You crave an audience, don't you? Want people to watch you, to hear you,” he moans into your ear, the words a sultry declaration that fans the flames of desire between you two. The acknowledgment of your shared exhibitionist desires ignites a fresh surge of pleasure, prompting an instinctive clench around him.

“Then scream my name, let everyone in the damn party know how damn good I'm fucking you,” he commands, the intensity of his voice sending shivers down your spine. As your walls clench with even greater fervor, pulsating around his dick, a wave of your liquid envelops him, transforming the intimate connection into a slippery dance of shared pleasure.

You unleash his name with a primal scream, the sheer force of your ecstasy reverberating through the open air outside. Your head drops against the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in the haven of his embrace as the waves of pleasure cascade over you.

He relentlessly thrusts his dick into you, the urgency palpable as he seeks his own release. “I'm gonna give you a baby, just like we've always dreamed of.”

“Ahhh, fuck, yes!” The exclamation bursts from your lips, a little too loud, as an uncontrollable surge of pleasure courses through you. Your teeth instinctively seek refuge on his shoulder, sinking into the firm flesh in an unbridled act of both ecstasy and restraint.

“Fuck, babe, I'm gonna come,” he confesses with a guttural moan, each subsequent thrust punctuated with the desperation of impending release. His rhythm stumbles, an involuntary response to the intensity building within him as he hurtles towards the precipice of his orgasm. And then it hits him.

The rhythmic bounce of your tits in his face, the soft and sweet scent that envelops him, and the melodic cadence of your voice—all converge to cast a spell on his senses. In the midst of your lovely moans, he succumbs to the intoxicating blend of sensations, unleashing a torrent of white-hot semen deep inside your spent pussy. 

Panting and gasping, you both struggle for precious breaths, bodies slick with the sheen of sweat acquired in the throes of passion. Amidst the shared exhaustion, a mutual chuckle reverberates between you, an intimate exchange that encapsulates the postcoital atmosphere.

With your head nestled against his, you gaze into the depth of his eyes and confess, “I love you, Gukkie.” The words, tender and raw, bridge the physical intimacy you've just shared with the emotional vulnerability of a heartfelt declaration.

“I love you too. Every damn inch of you, you're so beautiful,” he pants, a declaration infused with both desire and admiration. As he smiles at you, the post-passion glow accentuates the sincerity in his eyes, turning the exchange into a powerful affirmation.

He'll never tire of professing his boundless love and adoration for you, vowing to weave those sentiments into the fabric of each passing day. The promise to remind you, with unwavering devotion, echoes in his commitment to articulate his love every damn day.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story ��

[shonen-brainrot]

Home in unexpected place - LOV x birthday!Reader (fluff)

masterlist

NOTE: A very dear friend of mine (@doumadono) is celebrating her birthday tomorrow (May 25th), and after reading so many of her incredible stories, I felt inspired to give something back. She’s brought comfort and joy to so many of us through her fics and emergency requests, so I wanted to do something special to show my appreciation!! I know I’m a little early with the birthday gift, but since I’ll be away from my computer tomorrow, I’m posting it today. The story features a quirkless!Reader who accidentally ends up in the League of Villains, and once Tomura realizes she’s his soft spot, he decides to surprise her with a birthday gift (yes, even our gloomy king has his moments.) So with that said: I want to wish you the happiest of birthdays, filled with joy, warmth, and everything you love most. May all your dreams come true, and may your days ahead be filled with passion, creativity, and endless love 💙

Calendar dates never held any real significance in a society so obsessively fixated on heroes and their accomplishments. 

After your parents were killed in a warehouse shootout — an incident sparked by an inexperienced hero who, rather than apprehending the villain, allowed himself to be threatened, endangering everyone nearby — just another casualties in a city that chewed up the weak and spit out their bones — you slipped through the cracks of the system and disappeared into the kind of existence that asked no questions and offered no candles.

Birthdays were for those who had someone — families, safety nets, love wrapped in frosting and candles.

You had a switchblade, a too-big hoodie, and a scar across your ribs that hurt when it rained. So when the League picked you up — more like found you mid-fight, bleeding but still standing against two quirked villains three times your size — they saw something feral in your eyes and made a different kind of choice.

They chose to keep you.

To offer you shelter — skewed, makeshift, but still a roof to shield you from the world. It wasn’t much, but it was more than nothing.

While you lay resting, your wounds carefully tended by Kurogiri’s quiet efficiency, the remaining members of the League convened in the dim glow of their hideout to deliberate on what, exactly, to do with you.

It was Toga who broke the silence first, her voice lit with curiosity and giddy delight. She had made Skeptic pull surveillance footage, eager to study every detail. “She’s quirkless,” she had gasped, her eyes sparkling with fascination. “But look at her move. That’s better than a Quirk. That’s art. She’s art. I’d love to stab her. Just a little!” Her grin was wicked, dreamy, like she was watching a ballet danced in blood.

Tomura had slouched deeper into his seat, disinterest painted across his scarred face like always — but he didn’t argue this time. In fact, he mulled it over in the way only he did, fingers twitching, lips twitching, mind always working. And in the end, he’d offered a half-shrug and a low mutter, “Another pair of hands won’t hurt. She fights for the right cause.”

And just like that, your fate was sealed — folded quietly into the chaos of their broken little family.

A few months after you joined, Toga discovered your birthday. Of course she did.

“It’s totally today,” she declared to Spinner one morning, licking a streak of strawberry jam off her knife with gleeful nonchalance. “Skeptic owed me a favor, so I told him to dig up everything about her. Officially a spring baby. Isn’t that adorable?”

Spinner glanced up from the game he was half-playing on his handheld console. “We should do something for her,” he suggested, already picturing something small but meaningful.

Toga grinned, all teeth and mischief. “I’m baking cupcakes for Y/N! And you’re helping, whether you want to or not.”

Tomura Shigaraki happened to pass by the common room just as they were discussing cupcake ideas for your birthday. He paused — barely a second too long. It wasn’t like him to care about birthdays. The very idea seemed trivial, even irritating. Another year closer to entropy, to dust. 

But you were different. You weren’t like the rest. You were always gentle with them — even with him. Even when he was unkind, withdrawn, clawing at the raw edges of himself in the middle of sleepless nights, you stayed. You never pushed, just offered your quiet comfort. Your presence. Your warmth. The kind he didn’t think he deserved, and certainly never asked for, yet somehow found himself seeking more often than not.

He remembered all those late nights — when he’d spoken aloud thoughts he never meant to, when he forgot how to feel like a person, and you’d simply been there, grounding him.

You never expected anything in return. That made it worse. Or better. He wasn’t sure.

So maybe it was only fair. Fair to offer a gesture, however small, in the name of the day you’d been born into this mess of a world. He didn’t think you were the type to care about celebrations either — but that wasn’t the point. The point was you.

And Tomura Shigaraki wanted to see you smile.

"You? Shopping?" Dabi drawled when he overheard Tomura talking to Spinner about heading to the mall, adjusting his face mask and tugging his dark-indigo hoodie into place. "There’s no way I’m missing this. Watching you wrestle with capitalism sounds like the best entertainment I’ll get all week. I’m coming with ya."

That was how Tomura ended up in a shopping mall. A bright, clean, noisy mall. The kind of place with polished floors and food courts and bored teenagers.

And he was with Dabi, who had insisted on tagging along the second he heard the word mall. He’d probably run out of cigarettes again and figured it was safer to get them himself rather than ask Tomura to do it for him. Shigaraki always picked the wrong brand — some slim, dainty sticks that looked like they belonged in a perfume ad rather than between Dabi’s scarred fingers. And of course, every time, Dabi would give him that withering look, light up anyway, and complain loudly about how it was actually impressive for a man to consistently choose “cigarettes made for women with tiny hands and broken dreams.” 

Tomura stared at a storefront glittering with overpriced items and LED signs. "This is stupid," he said under his breath.

"Yeah, but you’re already committed," Dabi shrugged, sipping something out of a bubble tea cup he definitely didn’t pay for.

They stepped into a shop that smelled like sugar, synthetic peaches, and overwhelming pinkness. Every surface was either glittering, pastel, or plush — usually all three. 

Tomura looked like he’d been sentenced to the ninth circle of hell and had taken a wrong turn straight into a teenage girl’s dreamland. "Why are all the bears smiling like they know something?" he asked, eyes narrowing at a display of aggressively adorable plushies.

"Because they’re judging you, handyman," Dabi replied dryly.

"I should decay the whole shelf."

"And I should get a lobotomy, but here we are," Dabi muttered, trailing after him.

Tomura’s hand hovered over a round, pastel cat pillow, complete with a pink bow and an expression of insipid contentment. He picked it up gingerly, holding it like it might explode. "Would she like this?"

Dabi leaned against a shelf of glittery pens. "She is quirkless, fights grown men and still nearly wins. But yeah, give her the meow-meow. Real intimidating."

Tomura growled and decided to take the pillow nevertheless.

Two stores later, Dabi had slipped a couple of snack packs into his hoodie for Toga — because if he didn’t, she’d pester him for the rest of the week, wailing dramatically about how he never thinks of her needs. 

Tomura, on the other hand, was clearly spiraling. “Y/N doesn’t like useless crap,” he muttered, clutching the strap of his own worn bag. “It has to mean something.”

“Then why are we in a store that sells erasers shaped like sushi?” Dabi asked, voice deadpan.

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m the only reason you haven’t imploded from social contact yet, dumbass.”

They passed a leather goods shop. Dark displays gleamed under golden lighting — tough, practical, functional. 

Dabi stopped and nudged Tomura with his elbow. “She likes useful stuff, as you said.”

Tomura’s eyes landed on a small leather backpack in the window. It was compact, dark brown, rugged. It didn’t scream delicate or feminine — no frills, just clean stitching and durability. It reminded him, painfully, of the last time he saw your old backpack ripped apart mid-mission by a hero’s blast, your face blank but eyes dark with unspoken disappointment.

“…Not terrible,” Shigaraki stated softly, scratching his arm.

“High praise,” Dabi drawled. “Want me to distract the clerk?”

“No. We’re paying for this.”

Dabi actually choked on his own spit. “We’re what?”

Twenty minutes later, the backpack was neatly wrapped in tissue and bagged. Tomura held it like it might catch fire. “I hope the gifts will make Y/N smile,” he muttered.

“Oh my god, you care,” Dabi sang behind a snort.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You want her to smile. You fucking soft, decaying bastard.”

Tomura adjusted the bag’s strap over his shoulder. “Stop bragging and move.”

They were halfway across the food court when Dabi stopped dead, lifting index finger to point toward a glowing novelty photo booth, obnoxiously pink and buzzing like a trap.

“No.”

“Come on. Imagine her face when she sees your mug in sticker form. We’ll slap it on her notebook. So sentimental.”

“You’re deranged.”

“You fucking love it.”

Tomura didn’t answer — but he didn’t walk away either.

The photo strip was a four-frame descent into absolute anarchy.

First frame: Dabi, grinning like a delinquent cartoon character, struck finger guns at the lens. Tomura, beside him, wore the expression of a man moments from unleashing death upon the mall.

Second: Dabi licking Tomura’s cheek. Tomura mid-snap, clearly a second away from disintegrating the entire booth and Dabi with it.

Third: Both flipping off the camera.

Fourth: Blurry. Possibly due to an accidental fit of rage.

Dabi also managed to wrangle one semi-normal photo out of Tomura — just one, printed on glossy sticker paper. 

Tomura hadn’t been thrilled by the idea (in fact, his death glare could’ve curdled milk), but by then, his patience had already been whittled down to dust. Arguing with Dabi felt like trying to set fire to water: exhausting, infuriating, and ultimately useless. So he sat there, jaw clenched and eyes tired, letting the shutter flash without protest.

Dabi, of course, grinned like he’d just won the war. He examined the strip, smug smirk plastered on his scarred face. He also checked Tomura’s pic, nodding. Without ceremony, he tucked them into the shopping bag with the leather backpack and cat pillow. “Perfect,” he declared, like he’d just found a masterpiece.

You were in the common room, hood over your head, picking broken strings off a guitar you found in a dumpster last month.

You didn’t hear them come in. Not until Tomura cleared his throat like he was allergic to the very idea of saying something nice.

You looked up from the couch, only half-alert, already suspicious. He was standing there, hood down, holding a paper bag like it might explode. Dabi leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning like a bastard who knew exactly what was coming.

Your eyes narrowed. “Did you rob someone?”

“No.” Tomura’s voice was flat. Immediate. Defensive. Dabi snorted. “Not this time.”

Tomura extended the bag toward you without ceremony. You didn’t move. “What is that?”

“It’s nothing.” “Sure doesn’t look like nothing.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s your birthday, dumbass. Take it.”

Your brain stalled. The words hit harder than they should’ve. You blinked at him like he’d just spoken a foreign language. Birthday? You hadn’t heard that word directed at you in, well, long enough. You put the guitar aside and got up. Upon walking to Shigaraki, you reached for the bag slowly, like it might vanish.

Inside, there was a leather backpack, sturdy and scuffed like it could survive the apocalypse. Your fingers brushed across it, and the material creaked beneath your touch. Nestled beside it was a plush cat pillow — ridiculously soft, very girlish, ears flopped to one side like it had just woken up from a nap. And then something slipped out when you pulled the backpack out of the shopping bag: a small photo strip, creased at the edges, and a loose snapshot.

You picked it up, stared, and then snorted loudly. Then you laughed — an honest, bright sound that surprised even you. It bubbled out, cracked your ribs open a little.

“Is this—” you wheezed, “why is Dabi licking you?”

“Impulse,” Dabi explained matter-of-factly, way too proud. “Probably the grossest thing I’ve ever done. And that’s saying something.” Tomura’s face was turning red. Real red.

You looked up at them, something tight in your chest loosening without permission. “…Thanks,” you whispered quietly.

Tomura shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. “Don’t make it a thing.” But you saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth. The tiniest hint of a smile. Was this bastard actually proud of himself for making you smile, even if just for a heartbeat?

Dabi clicked his tongue. “"Alright, alright," the dark-haired muttered, backing toward the door. "I’ll leave you two alone so you can talk or whatever.”

Before either of you could reply, Toga burst in like a sugar-powered tornado. “Treats?!” she chirped, beaming as she skipped over and grabbed a fistful of Dabi’s hoodie, tugging on it like a child with a vending machine.

Dabi didn’t even blink. “Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up, you rabid gremlin,” he grumbled, digging into the oversized pockets of his hoodie. With a rustle of plastic, he pulled out a handful of snack packs and tossed them into her waiting hands. “Got your junk food, didn’t I?”

Toga’s eyes lit up as she clutched the treasure to her chest like sacred relics. “You’re the best best best friend ever, Dabs!” she squealed, spinning once in place. “Oh! The cupcakes are in the oven — almost ready — and then we’re gonna have a real birthday party for Y/N! Mr. Compress even brought champagne!”

She winked like this was the pinnacle of villain luxury.

Dabi just sighed and lit a cigarette with his index finger with the look of a man who already regretted all his life choices.

Tomura lingered near the couch after you went back to take a seat on your previous spot. His hands were still buried in the depths of his hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched, like he was holding in too many things at once and didn’t know which ones might slip out if he moved too fast.

You turned your eyes to him, expecting him to mumble something vaguely sarcastic and disappear. Instead, he cleared his throat. It sounded less like a habitual tic this time and more like he was preparing for something. 

He scratched lightly at the side of his neck, fingers twitching as if they were debating destruction, then stopped. He didn’t meet your gaze right away. But his voice, when it came, was low and raspy, almost too soft to belong to a man who could erase entire buildings without blinking.

“...So yeah, once again, happy birthday,” he said.

You smiled softly at him, nodding your head in acceptance. 

He drew a breath, deep and uncomfortable. “I know I don’t say stuff too often...” A pause, long enough for your heart to trip in your chest. “But I mean it.”

Your lips parted, stunned into stillness.

He looked down, then quickly back up at you like he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to say the rest if he lost your attention. “I’m glad you're here.” His voice dropped even lower, rough around the edges, quieter still. “You put up with a lot of shit. You could’ve walked, yet you didn’t.”

You swallowed, the heat behind your eyes building unexpectedly.

Tomura shifted his weight, fidgeted. "You’ve been… kind. To me. And I don’t— I don’t get a lot of that. Not really. But you—” His throat bobbed in a swallow. “You’ve shown me warmth. A lot more than I deserve.”

His fingers curled into fists in the pocket of his hoodie, knuckles pressing against the fabric.

Your heart twisted. You knew what this cost him. To say anything at all. Let alone this.

He looked away again, face stubbornly red now. “Don’t make it weird,” he muttered, too late. “Just know I notice. And I’m not… I’m not ungrateful.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. You couldn’t. Your mouth was full of emotion, unspoken and thick with the weight of everything you’d carried together.

But you got up and stepped forward, closing the distance between the two of you. And you touched his sleeve. Light and careful touch like reaching out to a star you weren’t sure would burn or bless you.

“I notice too,” you whispered. “More than you know, Shigaraki.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. But his hand, the one closest to yours, shifted, not in hesitation, but in a deliberate choice. He took your hand in his. Carefully. His fingers curled around yours, slow and cautious, as if you were something delicate — something he didn’t want to break. His pinky hovered just slightly above your skin, raised intentionally, a quiet precaution so he wouldn’t brush you with the part of himself that could destroy everything.

That alone made your chest tighten.

You smiled — soft, honest smile — and rubbed your thumb gently over the top of his palm. The skin there was rough, dry, but warm beneath your touch. “Thank you for the gifts,” you gave a nod, your voice low, as if you were afraid speaking too loud would shatter the moment. “These are beautiful. Especially the pictures. I’m going to put them in that scrapbook album I’ve been working on…”

His crimson eyes flicked toward you.  

You stepped a little closer, still holding his hand. “And thank you for reminding me that birthdays can actually be really nice.”

Then, without thinking — or maybe because you’d thought about it too much and couldn’t bear to let it pass — you rose on your toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Tomura froze. He blinked, mouth parting slightly like he’d just seen lightning strike an inch from his face and wasn’t entirely sure if he’d survived or imagined it.

You might’ve teased him, but the moment was too real for that. 

And then—

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

“Woooo!” Toga’s delighted squeal rang out like a firecracker, hands clapping with a grin stretched ear to ear. “Finally! Took you two long enough! You look cute together! Ayyye!”

You startled, and Tomura snapped his head toward the doorway just in time to see Spinner leaning into the room, fingers stuffed between his teeth as he gave a loud, impressed whistle.

Behind him, Dabi stood with his arms crossed and a grin on his face so wide it looked carved into his skull. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Scratchy,” he drawled, eyes gleaming with the kind of teasing that promised years of fuel. “That was almost romantic. A shame she had to be the one to take a breaking step though, handyman.”

Tomura’s eye twitched.

For a second, you thought he’d combust.

Instead, he turned back to the door, shoulders rising slightly, like a threat. His voice came out low and cool, “Get out.”

Spinner’s grin faltered. “Okay, okay. Damn.”

Toga giggled, twirling away from the door. “But we’re starting the party soon!”

“Out.”

With a collective groan and a shuffle of mischievous retreat, your very own band of misfits vanished again into the hallway.

The room fell quiet once more.

Tomura exhaled and looked down at your joined hands. He didn’t let go. Not yet. “…You really liked the gifts?” he asked, voice a whisper. 

You smiled. “I love them.”

And when he looked at you this time, it wasn’t with fear or doubt or any of that old, haunted tension. A serene gaze, the kind worn by someone who takes quiet pride in their actions.

The warm scent of freshly baked cupcakes slowly drifted through the air, weaving its gentle magic around a family forged in the fires of fight and misunderstanding. They gathered — scarred, battered — around the fractured remnants of a shattered world, united in their celebration of one singular, mere soul: you.

For the first time in what felt like forever, something inside you softened. Not faith in the world itself — that had long been broken — but in them, in this ragtag group of individuals who had somehow become your family.

And in the gift they offered you today. A gift far greater than anything wrapped in paper or tied with ribbon.

A home, found in the most unexpected of places.

divider by @doumadono

[onlygarden]

[when i look at you, i cannot find you.] - yang jungwon

genre: angst/ comfort

description: when jungwon's behavior towards you suddenly becomes hateful, you start to wonder where your precious boyfriend went.

a/n: this was a hard write i cant even picture jungwon treating someone like this omg

your head perks up as you register the sound of your front door unlocking, and your heart plummets to your feet as you watch jungwon walk in. it was strange for your body to react so despondently to your boyfriend’s arrival; his usual beaming expression (which beamed even when he wasn’t smiling) and glimmering eyes always painted any room with the most cheerful of colors. he was always so infectiously precious, filling any space he occupied with an indescribable warmth that touched all your senses. you normally couldn’t resist the enthusiasm that welled up inside you when he came home, springing yourself towards him and wrapping your arms around him as your heart bloomed even further with admiration for your lovely little garden. his recent actions were much more prickly, which justifies your current unmoving position on the couch as jungwon aggressively slams the front door behind him. 

he’s done that a lot recently, you think. he’s developed a habit of performing any action aggressively; placing objects down with great force, slamming any door he opened, yanking drawers open with a certain roughness. when you first acknowledged his behavior, he snapped at you, telling you to give him some space (almost in warning, it seemed). you obliged, and although you were shocked by his words, you weren’t particularly hurt by them. you figured he would confide in you about whatever was bothering him when his anger subsided. you were certain he would apologize to you for speaking so harshly, as well. but before you knew it, an entire week drifted by, and your beloved jungwon only seemed to descend further into his rage.

your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the silverware drawer being flung open. the sudden clanking sound startles you, since you’re still not accustomed to this sort of behavior from jungwon. he must be preparing a meal for himself, you think. you lightly consider approaching him and telling him to rest as you prepare a meal for him, but that inkling is quickly erased as you hear a loud sigh escape his mouth, followed by the loud slam of a cup onto the counter. 

you knew better than to annoy him further, remembering how he reacted last time. however, you couldn’t ignore the desire to ask him about what was burdening him. his behavior was far too uncharacteristic to just ignore, and you didn’t want the supposed anguish he was experiencing to get any worse. it bothered you a bit that he refused to discuss it on his own. then again, maybe you should’ve encouraged him a bit and reminded him that he could confide in you. 

you prepare yourself for the irritation you’ll be greeted with, and you begin to walk towards the kitchen. when you enter, jungwon is opening a bottle of beer, but his expression concerns you. his brows are furrowed intensely, and his lips flatly form a line on his face. what’s bothering him so much? you think for the hundredth time this week. 

“jungwon,” you start, placing your hand gently onto his arm. he tenses under your touch, and his gaze pierces the sight of your skin against his. you swiftly retract your hand, and he roughly drops the bottle opener onto the counter. he places his hands onto the edge of the surface, gripping tightly, and keeping his head low. not allowing his actions to discourage you from getting to the bottom of his behavior, you continue. “can you please tell me what’s bothering you so much? you haven’t been yourself at all, and i’m really worried about you.” 

he closes his eyes briefly before turning his head to meet your gaze. his dull eyes give you goosebumps. you couldn’t find any semblance of joy or delight within them. the normal adoration his eyes held for you was absent, too. he suddenly lets out a bitter chuckle, causing alarm to rise within you. 

“so you ignore me all fucking week, and now you have the nerve to tell me you’re worried about me? fuck off.” 

his deep, hushed tone caught you off guard more than the possibility of him shouting at you. above all, his sharp accusation that you’ve been ignoring him demands your full attention. the boy that cruelly dismissed your concerns pinned the blame on you for ignoring him. it just didn’t make any sense. in truth, he drove you away.  

you furrow your brows slightly, giving him a puzzled look. “are you serious, jungwon? you told me to give you space just a few days ago, and now you’re accusing me of ignoring you? i figured you would come talk to me when you were ready, but you just kept bottling it up. which is exactly why i came to you today.” he rolls his eyes at your words, then turns away from you, closing his eyes. you watch as his frustration with you seems to grow, and you cannot figure out why. 

“was it something i did, jungwon? is that why you’re so upset?” 

god she’s so annoying, jungwon thinks. he scoffs, turning to face you again. 

“‘was it something i did jungwon,’” he mocks you, spitefully matching your tone. raising his voice slightly, he continues, “give me a fucking break. you spend all this time everyday waiting desperately for me to come home, and you don’t even do anything useful while i’m gone. you just sit here like a fucking lump,” he remarks. 

you stare at him in disbelief. “what the fuck? do you hear yourself? i do every single chore around here just so you don’t have anything to worry about. even though i have a job too, i try to think about how tired you are when you come home.” you defend yourself, surprised at his blatant dismissal of your efforts. 

again, he rolls his eyes, almost completely ignoring you. 

“when i am home, you barely give me any space to breathe. did you ever stop to think that maybe you annoy the fuck out of me.” 

he turns his entire body to face you, his tall figure looming over you. you remain in the same spot, intimidated under his fixed stare. 

“you’re a lot to fucking deal with, and i need you far away from me.” 

with that, he grabs his dinner, and trudges past you in the direction of the living room. you hear him turn the TV on. 

you want to believe that jungwon is lying. he normally never even thinks to speak to you this way. you know something is terribly wrong. he keeps contradicting himself, ultimately looking for any reason to direct his rage onto you. but tonight, you decided you were too tired to find out. he was already angry and spouting harsh words at you, and you weren’t particularly eager to hear more. even if he didn’t actually mean what he said, it still hurt, and you needed time to recover. 

a sudden laugh emerges from jungwon. you assume he was laughing at something from the show he was watching. your body tensed up at jungwon’s sudden switch to such a casual mood. god, you really felt like you were sharing your home with someone new. how could he laugh so playfully after the way you just argued? has he already stopped thinking about the heartbreaking words he said to you moments ago? 

your eyes open lazily, and your body lifts itself from your sleeping position shortly after. upon noticing the vacancy beside you, you assume jungwon fell asleep on the couch last night. as you make your way down the stairs, you notice that jungwon has already left. 

as the evening approached, you busied yourself with yours and jungwon’s laundry to keep your mind occupied. he would be arriving home soon, and you were honestly afraid. there was no way to predict the way jungwon would feel towards you lately, but he was usually mad. even if he didn’t come home immediately mad, he would eventually grow upset over something you did, and you never knew just what would set him off. it was difficult to keep your obsessive thoughts at bay. jungwon’s words and actions kept blaring inside of your head. the more you pondered your argument from last night, the guiltier you felt for solely blaming him. maybe i am a bit pushy, you think. before he suddenly changed, jungwon would happily agree to give you all his time whenever he was home. maybe he truly did start to feel smothered by you, which led to him lashing out in such a cruel way. guilt begins to consume you at your belated realization. maybe he was only upset with you because you didn’t realize how you were suffocating him. 

the sound of the door unlocking snatches you from your thoughts. the door didn’t slam as jungwon closed it, and that gave you a glimmer of hope. maybe his mind was being kinder to him today. 

“y/n,” he shouts gently. “where are you, noona?”

‘noona.’ jungwon’s favorite way to refer to you, and it felt like an eternity since he last called to you in such an endearing way. you find yourself thinking of how adorable he is. 

you smile a bit before answering. “i’m in the laundry room, wonnie.” 

you hear a series of quick footsteps, and jungwon’s distant voice quickly grows closer. “look baby, i really wanna-”

he stops in front of you and stares at you, and you only catch a glimpse of his cheerful face before that dreadful expression you’ve been seeing too much of lately returns.

you look up at him as he scans your form. you quickly try to figure out what you could have done to cause his smile to drop so quickly. he sighs loudly, and briefly closes his eyes. 

“take it off,” he states plainly. 

what? 

“take what off?” you ask hesitantly. 

“you’re wearing my hoodie. it doesn’t belong to you. take it off.”

you almost thought he was joking. but with the way he was behaving lately, you’re sure he must be serious. jungwon is somewhere in there, but you’ll calmly comply with this monster until he was ready to come back, you decided. you felt guilty for thinking of your boyfriend that way, but the way you were being treated didn’t even slightly resemble the way your boyfriend normally treated you at all. 

you take it off slowly, left in the tank top you were wearing underneath. jungwon sighed at your leisurely compliance with his request, snatched his hoodie from your hands, and tossed it into the laundry basket in front of you. 

“from now on, leave my stuff the fuck alone,” he says, “don’t fucking touch anything of mine. it doesn’t belong to you.” 

he turns around, leaving you there, and heads up the stairs to get ready for a shower. jungwon normally wants me to wear his clothes, you think. you quickly shake the thought. there’s no rationalizing jungwon’s actions right now. he’s not in a normal state of mind at all. you don’t know what he’ll be upset about next. he could even come out of the shower perfectly content, acting as if nothing ever happened. it would be nice if he acknowledged his harmful behavior, but him pretending nothing happened certainly beats him growing irritated with you for another groundless reason.  

if there’s one thing you’re certain of, though, it’s that you’ve had nearly enough of this unusual side of jungwon.

as you begin plating the dinner you’ve prepared, you hear your bedroom door open. jungwon must be done with his shower. 

he enters the room, his beautiful face free of any sign of despair. you want to say that you’re relieved, but the sudden changes in jungwon’s mood are far too alarming. anything you’re doing could upset him. 

he looks at you, and you feel your body tense up. you watch as he walks closer to you, offering you a small smile. 

“it smells really good, noona,” he says gently, placing a hand on your lower back and kissing your cheek as you continue to plate dinner. 

there it was again. you’re not foolish enough to be deceived by his kindness towards you, just for him to bring you crashing down with another fit of hatred. it hurt you to see him this way, and it hurt that you were thinking of him this way, but you needed to protect yourself somehow. 

“dinner’s ready,” you tell jungwon, watching as he grabs his plate excitedly. you sit across from him at the dining table, watching as he stands up to grab something from the fridge. 

he returns with a beer in his hand, and you’re hoping it won’t sour his mood. 

“jungwon,” you start. he places his full attention on you, eyes shining and eyebrows slightly raising as he nods his head in anticipation of what you’re going to say next. you almost smile.

“am i,” you hesitate a bit, but he encourages you to keep going. “am i smothering you? is that why you’ve been so irritable lately?” 

his eyes leave yours for a moment before returning. 

“no, baby. you’re not.” he says calmly, but he completely ignores the second part of your question. 

“then why-” you watch as jungwon brings his bottle of beer to his lips, quickly finishing what remained. 

you watch as that awful expression returns to his face, and you start to wish you never asked the question. he sighs and rubs his hands over his face, and you start feeling guilty for even being in the same room as him. you begin to feel like your presence alone is worsening his burden. he stands up to clean his plate, and you watch as his eyes fall on the basket of laundry you didn’t fold yet. 

he sighs, tossing his plate onto the counter with such force that his fork bounces off and falls to the floor. he doesn’t bother picking it up. 

you can already feel the tears burning behind your eyes before he inevitably opens his mouth to berate you again. 

“why is this still sitting here? you can’t seriously be this fucking useless,” he rants loudly, just below a shout. “if you can’t even do something as simple as this, i’m not gonna let you stay around.”

“jungwon!” you yell, standing up from your seat at the table. by now, your tears are streaming down your face, and you can hardly speak coherently. you’ve had enough. your precious little garden was wilting, and you had no manner of preserving him. you couldn’t ignore your boyfriend’s behavior for another second. it was like torture; playing along when he would pretend like nothing happened, trying not to upset him even though there’s ultimately no right answer, watching as he transformed into the worst version of himself you’ve ever witnessed and you just couldn’t figure out why. it was all too much. 

jungwon turns to you, his face contorting into an expression of complete anguish. his heart sunk and shattered as an abundance of emotions ran through him, regret being the conquering force. 

“im so confused!” you sob, crying harder as every word of every thought you’ve had this week comes rushing to you at once. you can’t even begin to form a sentence, but jungwon understands. 

he walks towards your crying figure, hoping he could still make things right. what could he possibly say to you now? he reaches out to pull you towards his body, but you pull away from his embrace. he tries to pull your hands away from your face so you’ll at least look at him, but you yank out of his delicate grip. jungwon starts to breathe heavily. 

“baby,” he attempts. he rests his hands on your shoulders, which you don't try to fight. 

your cries calm down, and you finish wiping your face with the backs of your hands. jungwon rubs your arms, hoping to comfort you as he soaks in your expression, realizing just how much he hurt you.  you don’t even look at jungwon as you turn to walk up the stairs, his hands slipping off your arms and falling back to his sides. he watches you in alarm as your frame disappears. 

you walk into yours and jungwon’s shared bedroom, and you refuse to focus on anything other than packing. tears blur your vision again as you hastily throw your personal belongings into your suitcase. you hear jungwon running up the stairs; he stops in the doorframe, watching you in complete shock. jungwon begins to panic. 

he hurries towards you and joins you on the floor, grabbing your hands and begging your eyes to meet his. 

you try to yank your hands away to continue packing, but jungwon makes sure to hold tightly. you still refuse to meet his eyes. 

“noona, look at me please,” jungwon begs, his face decorated with worry and desperation. “please let me talk to you, i need to make this right.” 

you meet his eyes, and his breath quickens at your sudden indifferent expression. “i don’t know you,” you tell him coldly. 

he feels like he could cry. he’s your same jungwon, and there’s nothing he wants more than to tell you that. 

“you’ve never treated me so terribly before, and i just don’t understand.” jungwon feels guilt devour him at your sudden confession. “i didn’t know if it was my fault, or if you were dealing with something inside, but you never told me anything. you just pushed me away and made me suffer.” you feel yourself beginning to cry again, jungwon gently placing his hands on your jaw, and wiping your tears away with his thumbs. 

“baby,” he searches your eyes, “i don’t know whats wrong with me. i’ve never been more sorry in my life. it rips me apart to know that i hurt you.” he squeezes your face slightly, moving his hands to grab yours again. 

“is that all?” you ask, “how am i supposed to know you won’t get irritated with me tomorrow and start treating me the same way again?” you didn’t want to sound so mean, but you just couldn’t keep dealing with this. jungwon’s sudden tendency to behave this way frightened you, and it made you wonder if he would behave this way in the future if you stayed with him.

he shakes his head, looking down for a moment before meeting your eyes with desperation again. “i swear to you, i’ll never leave you feeling like this again. i know i can’t force you to believe me, but please just let me show you. you’re more than precious to me, and i’ll never let you forget that again.” he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles with fervor, trying to communicate his deep passion and longing with any method that he can. 

you look at jungwon. you’ve never seen your cutie boyfriend in such a state of misery before. your heart begins to feel sore as you explore his expression, his posture, his heavy breathing. he still hasn’t told you why. 

“then can you please explain how you ended up like this in the first place?” desperation makes it’s way across your expression, too. “what made you so hateful?” you prod. 

jungwon breathes out, the tension leaving his body. “i’ve just been feeling so drained lately. it’s getting harder to have the same motivation, but i don’t really understand why. it never used to trouble me that i don’t get very much rest, but now it’s starting to take a toll on me. that really bothers me.” he pulls you into his lap, squeezing your frame. “but i never meant to take it out on you, baby. i just didn’t know how to process the way i was feeling, and i let it get out of control.” 

you turn to him, moving his hair from his face. “all you had to do was come to me and talk about it. that’s all you ever have to do. it hurt me to watch you suffering when i had no idea what was going on, and no way to help you. please don’t bottle these things up anymore.” 

“i know baby, i promise that i won’t.” he pulls your body close to him again, beyond grateful that you didn’t leave him, but still guilty that he allowed himself to treat you that way. he can’t imagine how hollow his life would’ve felt without you. he couldn’t begin to describe his gratitude for your tolerance of his seemingly unforgivable behavior. you’re truly such a compassionate and tender person, he thinks. you shine so brightly it makes him blossom so eagerly. 

“i love you,” he says suddenly, sending you the fondest expression you’ve ever received. 

“i love you, too,” you return his expression, grateful that you can finally recognize the gentle eyes that stare into yours.  

he eventually helps you to return all your belongings to their rightful places, and you both return to the kitchen to clean up together.  you watch him as he cleans the dishes for you. he’s so cute, you think. you approach him smiling, and you stand at his side. unable to control the urge, you reach out to pinch his cheek. he fakes an annoyed expression, and you grab his face with both hands squishing him further. “you’re so cute!” you tell him, moving his face from side to side. you giggle when he fakes a snarl, and you let go. “hey,” he says, looking at you with a playful expression as he quickly dries his hands. he reaches his hands out to squish your face in the same manner, “how do you like it? huh?” you giggle and slip away, and he chases you throughout the house, shouting “but you’re just so cute!!!” to tease you.

[earthlybeam]

Hi, I just recently started rewatching and getting back into the Hobbit and LOTR and I found your blood and I’m in love with it. I love the way you write and how you portray the characters so well. If you’re still writing for LOTR and are accepting requests then could I ask how you think the elves (Legolas, Thranduil, and Elrond plus whoever else you like) would react to an aggressively affectionate reader? Like for example, with cuteness aggression, randomly when the reader sees Legolas and thinks he’s cute, they end up jumping on him and tackling him, possibly squeezing him extremely hard in a hug. The reader’s acts of aggression affection are random and happen whenever and wherever. The reader just loves their elf so much that they cannot control themselves. Please and thank you

Welcome back to the wonderful world of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings! It’s always exciting to revisit Middle-earth, and I’m so glad you’re enjoying it all over again. 🎉 And wow—thank you so much for your kind words! That truly means the world to me. Writing for these characters is such a joy, and knowing that you love how I portray them makes it even more special. 🫶 I absolutely love your idea! The contrast between the elves’ usual grace and composure and a reader who just cannot contain their love is hilarious and adorable. 🤣🤌

Thranduil, Elrond, Legolas and I added Gil-galad all versions below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand halls of Thranduil’s palace shimmered with the golden light of lanterns, their glow casting long, elegant shadows across the polished stone floor. Delicate carvings of twisting vines and woodland creatures adorned the archways, the very walls seeming to hum with ancient whispers of the forest. It was a place of quiet grandeur, of timeless elegance.

And standing near the entrance, draped in robes of deep forest green, was Thranduil—King of the Woodland Realm, ruler of the elves of Mirkwood, a figure of both awe and intimidation. His silver circlet rested regally upon his head, catching the flickering light with an almost ethereal glow. His expression was composed, unreadable, though there was a certain tightness at the corners of his mouth—an unspoken exasperation that only those who truly knew him might recognize.

He should have already been on his way, attending to whatever pressing matter awaited him beyond these halls. He had responsibilities, duties, obligations that demanded his attention. And yet… He could not move.

Because there you were—wrapped around his leg like an overgrown, determined koala, clinging as if your very life depended on it. The long, elegant lines of his robes pooled around you as you anchored yourself to him, arms and legs locked in a vice-like grip. Your cheek was pressed against the fine embroidery of his outer cloak, and from the way you stubbornly tightened your hold, it was clear you had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

Thranduil’s sharp, ice-blue gaze flicked downward, his expression a mask of pure disbelief. “…What,” he intoned, his voice as smooth as polished glass, “do you think you are doing?” You barely lifted your head, merely nuzzling further into the warmth of his robes. “No.” A single, elegant brow arched. “No?” You buried your face fully against the intricate designs woven into his attire, voice muffled but determined. “You’re leaving.”

“I am the King,” he reminded you coolly, the words carrying the weight of centuries of command. “I have responsibilities.”

“I don’t care,” you mumbled. Your grip tightened like a vice. “You’re too pretty to leave.” A long, heavy pause. Somewhere in the vast expanse of the hall, a nearby guard shifted awkwardly, very pointedly averting his gaze, as if pretending he wasn’t witnessing this absurd display. The soft rustle of banners and the faint flickering of candlelight were the only sounds that filled the air.

Thranduil exhaled a slow, suffering breath. By the stars, why were you like this? He could handle many things. He had led his people through war and shadow, navigated the treacherous politics of Middle-earth, survived centuries of rule in a realm beset by growing darkness. He had faced down dragons, battled the forces of Sauron, endured loss and grief that could break lesser beings. But this? This unrelenting, absurd display of affection that completely ignored all notions of decorum, personal space, and reason? He did not know what to do with you. “You will release me at once,” he commanded, his voice edged with warning.

You shook your head. “No.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. Thranduil’s lips pressed into a thin line. He was a king. A ruler of elves. A warrior who had seen battle. And yet he was currently being held hostage by a stubborn, overaffectionate mortal who refused to let go of his leg. “Do you truly intend to remain attached to me like this all day?”

“Yes.” Silence. The faintest flicker of something almost imperceptible crossed his features—something caught between frustration and bewilderment. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if considering his next move. Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. And yet, despite the exasperation curling in his chest, there was something else, something he could not quite name. A warmth. A quiet amusement, buried so deep beneath layers of centuries-old restraint that it barely made itself known. No one had ever dared to cling to him like this. Not as a king. Not as a warrior. Not as Thranduil.

He was Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm. His presence alone was enough to command both awe and fear. Yet you clung to him like he was just… yours. He sighed heavily, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if summoning patience he did not have. And then, without another word, he moved. In one fluid, effortless motion, he bent down, wrapped an arm around your waist, and lifted you clean off the ground. The world tilted. You let out a small yelp as you were suddenly airborne. “Hey—!”

He adjusted you in his arms with practiced ease, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing at all. His grip was firm but careful, one arm secured around your lower back while the other supported you effortlessly. “If you insist on behaving like a child,” he murmured, his tone smooth and unimpressed, “then I shall carry you as one.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily stunned. The sheer ease with which he had lifted you left you momentarily speechless. He didn’t even seem strained. The scent of his robes—fresh pine, autumn leaves, and something distinctly Elven—wrapped around you, grounding you in his presence. For a moment, all you could do was stare. And though his expression remained regal, unreadable, you did not miss the way his grip subtly lingered.

Without another word, he began walking. Through the grand halls, past the ever-watchful eyes of his guards, Thranduil carried you as though you were nothing more than an inconvenient parcel he had been forced to bring along. His posture remained flawless, his pace even, utterly unaffected by your weight. You, however, grinned up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes. “See?” you hummed, tilting your head in his arms. “This is nice.” Thranduil did not dignify you with a response. Instead, he merely muttered something in Elvish under his breath—something you suspected was not particularly flattering. But he did not let go.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The Council of Elrond was meant to be a place of solemn discussion, a gathering of minds to determine the fate of Middle-earth. It was a time for wisdom, for deliberation, for diplomacy. It was not meant for this. At the head of the long table, Elrond stood with effortless grace, a pillar of composure and dignity. His robes, flowing and regal, caught the light of the midday sun filtering through the high arched windows of Rivendell’s great hall, the silken fabric shifting with the movement of his breath. His hands, long and elegant, rested lightly upon the polished wood as he spoke, his voice measured, calm, and steady—each word imbued with the weight of centuries.

The gathered council members—elves, dwarves, and men alike—listened intently, their expressions ranging from grave contemplation to hesitant agreement. Some nodded in silent accord, others furrowed their brows as they pondered his wisdom, but all remained enraptured by the Lord of Rivendell’s presence.

His back was turned to you. And you, seated among the others, were watching him—watching the way he carried himself, poised yet powerful, a figure carved from both wisdom and war. He was too graceful, too composed, too breathtaking for his own good. And you loved him. You loved him so much it made something in your chest ache. Which was why, in an act of pure, unfiltered instinct, you launched yourself from your seat and sprinted toward him at full speed.

The world blurred at the edges. There was no room for thought, no space for hesitation—only the singular, all-encompassing need to be close to him. The air rushed past you, the murmuring voices of the council fading into the distance, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the sudden intake of breath from those around you. Elrond, for all his centuries of wisdom and foresight, had precisely half a second to sense the shift in atmosphere before it was too late.

The impact was swift and merciless. Your weight collided into him with full force, your arms locking around his shoulders just as your momentum propelled him forward. A startled inhale—sharp, indignant, and vaguely resembling a half-formed Elvish curse—escaped him as he pitched forward, his long fingers shooting out to brace himself against the council table. The polished wood groaned under the sudden weight of an Elf-lord and his very enthusiastic assailant.

Scrolls tumbled to the floor in an unceremonious cascade of parchment. A goblet tipped onto its side, spilling deep red wine dangerously close to a very alarmed dwarf, who yelped and jerked his legs away just in time. A quill snapped in half beneath an abandoned tome. Someone audibly gasped.

And you? You clung to him like your life depended on it. Elrond exhaled, slowly and deliberately, his forehead lowering to meet the table in what could only be described as the ultimate gesture of long-suffering patience. His back remained straight despite the additional weight, his arms still outstretched in a bracing position, his chest rising and falling in a manner that suggested he was counting to ten in Quenya before deciding how best to proceed.

The council chamber had fallen into absolute silence. Elrond did not move. Neither did you. The only sound was the faint rustling of fabric as you nestled against him, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin. A long, long sigh escaped him. “Mellon nín,” he said at last, his voice as even as ever, though beneath it lay a complex weave of emotions—resignation, exasperation, and, buried so deep it was nearly imperceptible, the tiniest sliver of amusement. “Was this absolutely necessary?”

Without lifting your head, you nuzzled into his shoulder, entirely unrepentant. “Yes.” His fingers twitched where they lay upon the table—whether from the urge to pry you off or pull you closer, even he wasn’t entirely sure. A chair scraped against the stone floor as one of the men leaned forward, brow deeply furrowed. “…Is this… normal?” From his seat, Gandalf let out a quiet chuckle, stroking his beard with twinkling amusement. “Ah, young love,” he mused. “Quite… enthusiastic, in this case.”

Elrond closed his eyes briefly, as if beseeching the Valar for strength. He was a Lord of Rivendell. He had led armies into battle, forged alliances with kings, stood against the darkness of Sauron himself. And yet, here he was—bent over a council table, carrying the full weight of someone who had, quite literally, thrown themselves at him in the middle of one of the most important meetings in the history of Middle-earth.

Still pinned beneath you, still braced against the table, Elrond finally turned his head just enough for you to see his face. His expression was unreadable at first—his brows slightly drawn, his lips pressed into a firm line, the very image of composed dignity fraying at the edges. But there, in the smallest crease at the corner of his mouth, was something else.

A smirk. A very small, very restrained smirk. “Are you quite finished?” he murmured, voice pitched just low enough for only you to hear. You grinned against his shoulder, squeezing him just a little tighter. “Not even close.” Elrond inhaled deeply through his nose. He did not move. He did not protest. He simply accepted his fate.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The moonlight bathed the clearing in silver, casting an ethereal glow upon Legolas as he stood at the edge of the trees. The gentle night breeze stirred his golden hair, making him look like something out of a dream—untouchable, otherworldly, perfect. His sharp gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, lost in thought, the weight of centuries pressing upon his immortal soul. And then—A blur. A rush of footsteps. A sudden, breathless surge of movement cutting through the quiet of the night.

Before Legolas could fully register what was happening, an impact slammed into him with startling force. Strong arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing with unrelenting affection. His body staggered back under the sheer intensity of it, boots skidding against the soft earth, his normally impeccable balance momentarily thrown off. His hands instinctively caught hold of the figure assaulting him, fingers gripping tightly to steady both of them.

His first thought? An ambush? No—there was no malice, no danger. Only warmth. Only the frantic beating of a heart pressed against his chest, the breathless laughter of the one person in Middle-earth who would dare launch themselves at an Elven warrior in such a reckless manner.

“Mellon nîn—” he exhaled, his voice a mix of bemusement and disbelief. Youonly clung tighter, your face buried against his shoulder, arms locked around his waist in an unbreakable grip. “You’re too pretty,” you mumbled into his tunic, your voice muffled but no less desperate in its declaration. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Legolas blinked, his mind catching up with the absurdity of the situation. Was this… an attack of love? A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, still breathless from the unexpected tackle. “And for this, you choose to strike me down?” he asked, amusement laced in his tone, though his arms had unconsciously wrapped around you in return.

You lifted your head slightly, your eyes gleaming with pure, unfiltered adoration. “Yes.” Your answer was simple, as if there was no other possible explanation. “You were standing there looking all beautiful and tragic under the moonlight, and I just—” You squeezed him tighter. “—I just had to do something about it.”

Legolas sighed, though the corners of his lips betrayed him by curving into a small, helpless smile. He was not used to this—this overwhelming, impulsive affection. Elves did not love in such a chaotic manner. Their passion was deep, but it was slow-burning, controlled, and tempered with time. But you… you loved as fiercely as a firestorm, with all the grace of a hurricane, and he—he was powerless against it.

“You are relentless,” he murmured, but there was no reprimand in his voice. Only quiet wonder. “Yes, I am.” You lifted your head fully now, eyes locked onto his, still latched onto him as though you had no intention of ever letting go. “And you’re stuck with me, so get used to it.”

Legolas simply looked at you, his arms still securely wrapped around your waist, his heart doing something strange and unfamiliar in his chest. He had faced countless battles, had stared down creatures of shadow and flame, had fought against the tides of darkness for centuries without flinching— And yet, here, held within your grasp, he felt utterly and completely conquered. “Then I shall endure it,” he murmured at last, his voice soft, reverent. “For as long as you wish it.”

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad sat in his study, his sharp blue eyes scanning the delicate script of an ancient elven manuscript. The flickering candlelight cast golden shadows across his regal features, highlighting the quiet intensity in his expression. His brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, his long fingers resting on the table as he contemplated the wisdom of ages past. His posture was perfect, dignified as always, radiating an air of calm authority.

But none of that mattered to you at this moment. Because as you sat across from him, watching his impossibly noble face, something inside you snapped. He was just too beautiful. Too serious. Too composed. And suddenly, an overwhelming need overtook you—a need so strong it nearly made you dizzy.

You had to squish his face. Before your rational mind could intervene, your hands shot forward, cupping his cheeks in your palms. His skin was smooth and cool beneath your touch, his cheekbones sharp yet softened by your fingers as you squeezed ever so slightly. His lips pursed slightly from the pressure, and his already strong jaw tensed in mild surprise.

Gil-galad froze. His piercing gaze, once lost in deep thought, now locked onto you with quiet disbelief. He did not pull away, did not even attempt to stop you—no, he simply blinked, utterly bewildered by what was happening to his very dignified royal face. “… What is this?” he finally asked, his voice calm but undeniably puzzled.

You barely heard him, too consumed by your own chaotic affection. His skin felt so soft. His cheekbones were so regal. He was like the world’s most serious, most elegant cat, and you could not help but give another gentle squeeze, watching as his expression remained caught between confusion and resigned amusement. “You’re too handsome for your own good,” you declared, your thumbs pressing lightly into the hollows of his cheeks. “It’s unfair. I had to do something about it.”

Gil-galad exhaled slowly, as if trying to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here he was, the High King of the Noldor, a warrior, a strategist, a ruler of Elves—and yet, here you were, treating him like a mischievous house pet in need of affectionate punishment. And the strangest part? He let you.

He did not remove your hands, did not chide you for your impulsiveness. He merely regarded you in silence, his face still gently smushed between your fingers, as if attempting to decipher how he had found himself in such a position. “If you are finished treating my face as though I were some—some petulant kitten…” he murmured, one brow lifting ever so slightly. You grinned, tilting his head slightly from side to side as if testing the optimal level of squish.

“… Not yet,” you admitted cheerfully. Another slow, measured blink. A pause. And then, ever so softly, the barest hint of a sigh—one that, if you listened closely enough, might have concealed a tiny trace of amusement. “Very well,” he relented, his deep voice tinged with something you almost mistook for indulgence. “Do as you must.” And so you did

[luv-nikki]

A night to remember♡

Dominik Mysterio x f! Reader

About: WrestleMania 41, a grand arena filled with thousands of fans, the atmosphere electric with excitement. The main event just concluded, and the spotlight is on Dominik Mysterio, who has just won the Intercontinental Championship.

⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿

As the final bell rang and the referee handed Dominik the Intercontinental Championship belt, the arena erupted into thunderous applause. The moment was surreal, a culmination of years of hard work, dedication, and the legacy of his father, Rey Mysterio. Dominik stood in the center of the ring, the championship belt glistening under the bright lights, a proud smile etched across his face.

In the audience, you cheered louder than anyone, your heart racing with pride. You had been by Dominik's side through every match, every training session, and every moment of doubt. The two of you had formed a bond that transcended friendship, a connection that felt electric and undeniable.

Once the match ended, Dominik made his way to the edge of the ring to soak in the adoration of the fans. As he looked out into the crowd, his eyes locked onto yours. In that instant, the world outside faded away, and it was just the two of you. You raised your hands in celebration, and he responded with a confident grin that made your heart skip a beat.

After the show, backstage was a whirlwind of activity. Dominik was being congratulated by fellow wrestlers, media personnel, and staff. Yet, amidst the chaos, he managed to find you, his eyes lighting up as he approached.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I did it! I really did it!"

You laughed, feeling the warmth of his excitement. "Of course you did! I knew you would. You were amazing out there!"

Pulling back slightly, he looked into your eyes, and for a moment, the cheers and voices around you faded. “I couldn’t have done it without your support,” he said, sincerity radiating from his voice. “You’ve always been there for me.”

You felt your cheeks flush, knowing just how much his words meant. “You earned it, Dominik. You’re a champion!”

As the adrenaline began to wear off, Dominik’s expression softened. “Can we get out of here? I want to celebrate, just the two of us.”

Your heart raced at the thought of spending a private moment with him after such a monumental night. “Absolutely. Where to?”

“Follow me,” he said, taking your hand in his. You both slipped through the chaos of the backstage area, finally exiting into the cool night air.

Dominik led you to a quiet rooftop terrace overlooking the stadium, the glow of the lights illuminating the sky. The crowd’s cheers still echoed in the distance, but here, it was just you and him, the stars above twinkling like diamonds.

He turned to face you, holding the championship belt proudly over his shoulder. “This moment feels perfect,” he said, taking a step closer. “But it would be even better if I shared it with you.”

Your heart fluttered as he leaned in, and without thinking, you reached up to cup his face. “You’ve worked so hard for this. I’m so proud of you, Dominik.”

In that moment, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the emotions of the night—joy, relief, and a hint of something deeper. When he pulled away, his eyes sparkled with mischief. ���So, what do you say? Champion and his biggest fan?”

You laughed, feeling lighter than air. “I’d say that sounds like a perfect team.”

As the night unfolded, you both shared stories of the journey that brought you to this moment, dreams for the future, and laughter that echoed into the night. With each passing second, the bond between you deepened, solidifying that this night would be one you would cherish forever.

And as Dominik held you close, the championship belt glinting under the stars, you knew that this was just the beginning of a remarkable journey together, filled with dreams, victories, and a love that would only grow stronger.

⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿

Authors note:

Heyyy guys please if you guys have any requests please don’t be afraid to leave them

[emmyrosee]

sleepy sundays with samu!! staying in bed until 1pm just cuddling and making out <333 he looks so good in the morning light, his eyes are so hazy but there’s so much love there and he thumbs over your hip bone and chuckles lowly when you tangle your legs with his and HIS MORNING VOICE UGH it makes u blush when he gruffly murmurs “baby stay in bed a little longer” i love him

NO I HATE YOU BC WHY ISNT THIS MY LIFE?

He’s so warm in the mornings that you wake up encased in his arms and torso and under the sunlight, it rouses you from sleep, but it makes you wake with a smile on your face and love in your heart.

Osamu’s face is carved under the creeping light, face twitching every few moments as if sensing your gaze, but he breathes in and out every few seconds, still deep in sleep happily. His hair is sprawled out against the pillow- he’s been saying for days how he needs to get it trimmed, but you’re secretly thrilled that he hasn’t yet.

He looks so peaceful.

Good thing you’re here to ruin that. 

With a smile, you slowly creep down his body, kissing the muscles of his pecs before moving down to kiss his stomach, relishing in the way the muscles tighten under your affection. He giggles softly as you pepper them rapidly, hips twisting to the side to get away from the sensation.

The blanket covering your head gets lifted, “good morning to ya, too,” he gruffs, eyes bleary with sleep and muscles of his face not quite moving with his words yet. His voice is but a low rumble, ones you feel slip through the thickness of the air, and you’re barely able to process as actual words if you didnt know him better.

You smile and sink your teeth into the meat just left of his bellybutton, making him let out a string of giggly whines before your scale back up his body with more kisses to make up for it. “You’re always so sensitive in the mornings, Samu.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. There’s supposed to be more words, you can feel it in his voice, but his eyes slowly start to close again before he can get them out. You click your tongue in adoration before cupping his cheek in your warm hand.

He happily nuzzles into it, smacking his lips sleepily. You shake your head, “baby, we’ve got to get up. We overslept.”

“No such thing,” he murmurs.

“Yes, such thing; it’s one in the afternoon.” You lean down to kiss his lips, which he forces his tired muscles to reciprocate. “We have to face the day at some point.”

“Can’t we face the day tomorrow?” He says, flipping onto his back. “Shop’s closed today, may as well enjoy it. Jus’ stay in bed with me, baby.”

And you want to argue back. Honest!

But the warmth of his embrace is calling you back, the way his breath still is desperate to even out has your heart squeezing from the precious sight, and you sigh before slipping back under the covers, rolling your eyes at the way he smirks at himself and curls his arms around you. “Don’t give me that smirk.”

“Oh I’m smirkin’.”

You lean towards him to kiss the smirk straight from his lips, him humming happily at the attention. A peck turns into a kiss, one that’s full of sleepy passion but so much love, you feel yourself becoming weak under him.

The arm he was laying on slips under your neck for your head to rest against, gently curling his hand against the back of your neck, cradling you preciously as you lazily kiss your man.

Your leg hooks over his waist, his hand immediately finding its home on the back of your thigh to hold you closer. You mewl at the warmth of his palm, closing the space between you both with a guiding heel into his tailbone urging him to come closer. When he does, your free leg slinks between his two, and he smirks against your lips as you do.

“And you wanted to get out of bed,” he chuckles. You laugh too, only to shut him up and make him kiss you more.

You could lay here for hours making out with him, the shuffling of cradling hands and pants of joy being the only noise to fill the room, your heads moving in harmony to make you both mewl happily against each other. You could easily slip your hands up his neck to grip your hair in your hands, making him whine euphorically, or slip them lower to settle against his hip, occasionally squeezing there to make him giggle breathlessly into the kiss and squirm just subtly.

And you just might.

[0omillo0]

hello!

i was wondering if i could request an imagine where han and reader have been dating for years (close to marriage) but reader is always in “competition” with lee know? they friendly fight over han but it’s never serious, like han giving the reader attention but lee know pokes his side to steer han’s attention away.

idk if this makes sense but i saw a tt that gave me the idea and i really enjoy your writing! anyways have a good day! 🤍

a/n : tysm I appreciate it so much 🫶🏻 hope you like it <3

fluff!! humor!! kinda short sorry🥹

Han x Reader (ft. Lee Know)

The afternoon sun bathed the cozy living room in a soft golden glow as you curled up with Han on the couch. After dating for years, you had perfected the art of just being together—no big gestures needed, just quiet moments, his arm around you, his smile close enough to catch your heart in an instant.

You looked up at Han, feeling his warmth and the soft squeeze of his hand, when you noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in. Just as you were ready to steal a quick kiss, a familiar poke jabbed at Han’s side.

“Hey, am I interrupting something?” Lee Know’s smirk was unmistakable as he slid onto the couch next to Han, conveniently wedging himself between you two with the stealth of a cat.

You sighed, rolling your eyes with a grin. “As a matter of fact, yes, you are.”

“Oh, my bad,” Lee Know chuckled, clearly not the least bit sorry. “But I think Han’s looking a little bored over here. Mind if I keep him company?”

Han laughed, nudging Lee Know back, though his hand still reached over Lee Know’s shoulder to lace fingers with yours. “Come on, Minho, you have all week to hang out with me.”

Lee Know raised a brow, his expression dramatic. “Oh, I see. Someone’s already whipped.” He gave Han a playful nudge, then leaned over Han’s shoulder to give you a mock pout. “How’s it feel to have such competition, Y/N?”

You crossed your arms, putting on your best fake glare. “I don’t know, Lee Know, maybe you should find your own boyfriend to pester.”

Han burst into laughter, his eyes crinkling with that adorable look that made you melt. But Lee Know was relentless. He poked Han’s side again, and Han squirmed, laughing.

“Okay, okay! Stop, that tickles!” Han chuckled, clutching at his sides but still keeping one arm firmly around you. “You two can share, how about that?”

“Oh no,” you said, leaning over with a smirk. “I’m not sharing. He’s mine.”

“Possessive, I see,” Lee Know said, a sly grin playing on his lips. “Han, blink twice if you’re being held captive.”

“Captive? More like captivated,” Han said, looking at you with a smile so soft, it made your heart skip. For a moment, Lee Know even seemed to pause, rolling his eyes at the sweetness, but a faint smile slipped through his teasing.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you two lovebirds a break,” he said, standing up with a sigh that could only be described as mock dramatic. “But don’t get too cozy, Y/N. I’ll be back to reclaim my bestie soon.”

He gave Han a final, exaggerated pat on the shoulder and tossed you a wink before disappearing into the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, Han turned to you with a grin. “You know he’s totally jealous, right?”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing. “But he’s got nothing on us.”

Han leaned in, his face close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” you whispered, as he pulled you into a soft, lingering kiss, undisturbed this time.

But just as you were about to melt into the moment, Lee Know’s voice echoed from the kitchen, “Don’t get too comfortable in there!”

The two of you burst into laughter, the sound filling the room with a warmth and joy only shared by people who love as deeply as they play.

[badboydevotee]

A Heartfelt Surprise

Summary: "It's my birthday?! Oops, totally slipped my mind... Thanks for remembering!" - Haru's birthday voiceline.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of your dorm room, casting a warm glow that danced on the walls. You stretched, taking a moment to relish the quiet stillness before the day’s chaos began. You glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall, and your heart skipped a beat. Today is Haru’s birthday.

Haru, with his signature orange vest and that delightful, easy smile, had always been a beacon of kindness in your life. From the moment you met, his eccentricity and passion for taking care of the myriad of anomalous creatures in the dorm drew you in. He could handle anything thrown his way, from rambunctious cats to mischievous gremlins. And then there was Peekaboo, the creature Haru adored as if he were his own child. The little creature had a knack for getting into trouble, but somehow, Haru managed to juggle it all, always with that infectious enthusiasm.

Determined to make the day special for him, you quietly gathered a few supplies while the dorm still slept. You rummaged through your stash of art supplies, readying materials to make a handmade card. As you crafted, thoughts of Haru filled your mind—his warm laughter, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and how he always seemed to know when you needed support. You wanted to give back, even if it was just a small token of appreciation.

Once the card was complete, you slipped it into your pocket and began planning a little birthday surprise. The Jabberwock dorm’s lounge would be the perfect setting. You arranged snacks, decorated the room with colorful streamers, and set up a small table for Peekaboo’s special treats. Just as you were about to place the final balloon, the door swung open, and Haru stepped in, his short dark brown and orange hair catching the light.

“Oh! You’re up early!” Haru exclaimed. He wore his usual attire, complete with that adorable black and orange necktie, and the ever-present sling bag slung over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Just… um, a little surprise for someone special,” you said, trying to maintain a casual tone while your heart raced.

His curiosity piqued, Haru tilted his head slightly, a playful smirk forming on his lips. “Special, huh? Are we talking about someone like… Peekaboo?” He gestured toward the little creature peering over the edge of his bag.

“Actually…” you began, but the words caught in your throat. The way he looked at you, with that friendly sparkle in his closed eyes, made it difficult to focus. “It’s for you. Your birthday, remember?”

For a moment, silence enveloped the room. Then, realization dawned on him. “It’s my birthday?! Oops, totally slipped my mind... Thanks for remembering!” His voice held a mixture of surprise and delight, his smile widening, a glimmer of warmth radiating from him.

You chuckled softly, motioning him to the lounge. “Come on, you have to see what I set up!”

As he entered the lounge, his expression shifted from surprise to pure joy. The decorations, the treats—everything was just for him. “Wow, you really went all out!” he said, a genuine admiration coloring his tone. He glanced around, taking in the effort you’d put into the surprise.

“I wanted to make your day special,” you replied, feeling warmth creep up your cheeks. “You do so much for everyone here, especially with the anomalies. I thought you deserved a celebration.”

Haru’s smile softened, and he approached you, his presence both comforting and electrifying. “You’re the best. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.”

In that moment, the air between you shifted. There was something deeper than friendship simmering beneath the surface, something that made your heart flutter and your palms sweat. As if sensing your inner turmoil, Haru stepped a little closer, his voice low and gentle. “You know, it’s people like you who keep me grounded. I’m lucky to have you by my side.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. “I feel the same way,” you admitted, a smile breaking through your initial nerves.

Haru’s expression brightened, and just as you thought he might say something more, Peekaboo bounded into the room, accidentally knocking over a stack of treats. “Ah, Peekaboo!” Haru laughed, the moment breaking as he rushed to scoop him up.

You watched Haru, your heart swelling with affection. There was something magical about how he balanced his responsibilities while still finding joy in the little things—like a birthday celebration, even if it had momentarily slipped his mind.

As the day unfolded with laughter, delicious food, and Peekaboo’s antics, you felt a sense of peace settle within you. Haru’s laughter echoed in the room, filling every corner with warmth.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, you found yourself dreaming of shared adventures, of laughter echoing through the dorm, and the undeniable bond that had formed between you and Haru. Today, you celebrated not just his birthday, but the magic of the connection you both shared—a connection that was bound to grow deeper with each passing moment.

Ao3 vers.

[sweetchildcloud]

||HOLD|| Written by me

Based on this pool results

Plot: Gojo holds baby Hotaru and something unexcepted and wholesome happens.

Tags: Gojo x Anon,heartwarming,cute,fluff,Gojo being an affectionate dad,first word

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia

“Me? Hold him?” Satoru’s tone turns amused. He smiles, then nods. “Of course” He takes Hotaru from you, and the baby cooes in his father's arms. He’s so tiny, so delicate… so vulnerable. Satoru grins, staring down at the baby. He knows how precious this child is. How fragile. He wants to protect Hotaru with every means possible. As he looks into the baby’s eyes, he can’t help but see himself.He stares at Hotaru’s soft, sleeping face for a moment, his breath catching at the baby’s gentle expression. “He’s cute” Satoru murmurs, gently holding the baby to his chest. Hotaru, still groggy from sleep, rests his tiny head against his dad’s body as Satoru stares at his closed eyes, feeling a sudden urge to cry. "Don't tell me that you're gonna cry again" You said holding a chuckle, your husband was too cute for his own good. “Shut up.” Satoru whispers, his voice breaking and throat tightening, trying to hold back tears for the millionth time. “He’s so goddamn cute… I can’t…” His eyes are glistening, on the verge of tears, as they fall onto the sleeping baby in his arms. He laughs softly “God, you’ve got no respect for my feelings…” He chuckles again, wiping away the tears. Satoru sighs, wiping away any tears that threaten to appear. “God damn it… I’m just thinking of how adorable this baby is. Look at him” He leans down slightly and kisses Hotaru’s tiny forehead, making the baby move his head slightly without fully waking up. “His big eyes and cute cheeks, that little smile, the way he just looks at me…” Satoru seems lost in thought and awe as his gaze wanders again. “I could just eat him up" He suddenly looks up after realizing what he just said. He’s just said something that makes it seem like he’s planning to eat Hotaru. “No, not… literally. I mean it as an expression” He clears his throat, trying to salvage the situation “Damn it. Just… You know what I mean.” "jeez you're such a cutie when you acting like this? you really cant control yourself when you see Hotaru uh?" “Don’t make fun of me…” He mutters, trying his hardest not to laugh at the situation. There’s some kind of strange power within this tiny baby. He can make his dad turn into a mush so easily. Satoru chuckles slightly at the situation, feeling utterly defeated in the face of his kid’s adorable cuteness. Then Hotaru yawns as he woked up “Aw… he’s awake” Satoru grins at the tired expression on Hotaru’s face. “You were having such a cute sleep, little guy” He kisses Hotaru’s forehead again, causing the baby to smile slightly before his lips curl into an "o" shape and he lets out a soft yawn. Hotaru cuddles up to Gojo’s chest and snuggles deep against it, as if craving the feeling of warmth. Satoru looks down as his son buries himself in his chest and sighs. “This is your new favorite spot, isn’t it, Hotaru?” He whispers softly, kissing his head as the baby’s tiny face nuzzles into Gojo's chest with a tiny sigh. “Dadda…” Hotaru makes a small attempt to pronounce the word, the tiny voice coming out as a series of gibberish that nevertheless fills Satoru’s heart with so much joy his eyes glaze over. “You… You said it… You said it…” Satoru almost breaks into tears as he continues to caress the baby, holding him close to his chest.

"yeah! that's right that's your dadda" You said happily and stunned as you picked up Hotaru "and im you're mama can you say M-a-m-a?" Hotaru’s tiny mouth tries to form the word “mama” but fails in the process. His lips pucker and his face scrunches up as he tries to pronounce the word multiple times. “Ma.. Ma…” Hotaru tries again, but as he struggles, he gets flustered and lets out a series of unintelligible sounds, ending with a frustrated whine. Hotaru’s attempts at pronouncing the word “mama” only gets the little baby more frustrated. He continues to struggle at it, scrunching up his tiny face and letting out more frustrated whines.

Eventually, he buries his head against his father’s chest, almost as if he’s trying to hide himself because he’s embarrassed about failing. Satoru gives the baby a gentle smile as he holds him close to his chest, rubbing his back softly. He feels the baby tense up as he buries his head into his chest, but his smile only grows. “It’s okay, little guy. Don’t feel bad! You said “Dadda…” even if you’re not able to say mama just yet” He laughs, kissing Hotaru’s head as the baby tries to hide his face even further but Hotaru ends up wailing feeling frustrated and overwhelmed "oh no no no no baby" You said as you immediatly picked up Hotaru trying to make him calm down. Hotaru’s wails become even louder, as he gets overwhelmed by the entire situation. As soon as you pick him up, he latches on to your hands tight, burying his face against your shoulder and wailing even louder. Satoru’s eyes widen at the intensity of the cry. "do you have his pacifier with you?" you asked looking at Gojo and Satoru pulls the pacifier out of his pocket, having brought it with him to make sure Hotaru wouldn’t have any problems calming down.

He grabs the pacifier and gently places it in Hotaru’s mouth, and like magic, the baby calms down instantly and sucks down his pacifier quietly. Satoru’s lips curve into a faint smile as he watches his son calm down with ease. He breathes in and out, relieved that the baby stopped crying so suddenly. Hotaru snuggles against his mother’s shoulder, looking completely at peace with the pacifier in his mouth and his tiny arms wrapped around her neck. The atmosphere is filled with a sense of calm and contentment. Satoru watches the whole scene, a smile appearing on his face as he watches Hotaru cling on to your neck.

Your husband is deeply satisfied with how peaceful the environment suddenly became. He reaches a hand out to gently pat Hotaru's head, letting him know that everything was okay now. "he really wanted to say mama too" You spoke tenderly "don't worry Hotaru you will someday"

Satoru chuckles slightly, hearing your tender reassurances. "He'll be able to soon, don't worry about it." The baby has calmed down completely, completely content with sucking on the pacifier. Satoru stares down at Hotaru, who gives you a tiny smile and reaches out his hands to your face. "He really wants to hold your face..."

You leaned down so that Hotaru can touch your face with his tiny hands feeling your features as he cooed

Hotaru’s tiny fingers explore every curve on your face, making soft “oo” and “goo” noises the whole time. Satoru’s eyes narrow just as he watches the cute interaction between mother and son. “Yeah… He wants to feel your face. You’re really his favorite.” He smiles, as he watches Hotaru’s hands continue to explore your facial features. Hotaru continues to explore your facial features for a few more moments, making cute “oo” sounds of contentment as he goes. Then, he leans his forehead on your face, feeling your skin with his own head and letting out a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a giggle. He rubs his little head against your skin for a few good seconds before pulling back and letting out a tiny yawn.

“Okay… He’s *really* cute…” Satoru laughs, watching the baby thrash around as his mother continues to tickle his belly with no regard to his feelings of mercy. You’re enjoying yourself, that’s obvious, because this is the first time you’ve smiled in days. It’s infectious, and Satoru is smiling as well.

"Gosh you're the cutest,just like your dad" you exclaimed tickling Hotaru belly and Hotaru laughs hysterically as his mother tickles him, squirming and waving his hands around in a futile attempt to escape. This only causes Satoru to laugh as well, watching with amused eyes as the child tries to avoid your teasing.

Hotaru finally gives up and lets out a squeal as his mother gives him one final tickle before she pulls away. He’s laughing hard, completely red in the face and breathless. His mother’s teasing has him giggling for several moments after the end of the tickling and he seems very content.

“He really is a bundle of joy, huh?” Satoru grins, looking at Hotaru with the warmest eyes. The baby’s smile is infectious, and it’s almost impossible to not smile as you look at the little bundle of joy and wonder at his cuteness.

“Yeah, he really is.” You reply softly, stroking the baby’s head and feeling him rest his warm body against your neck. The baby gives you a slight smile, as if he can feel your loving touch. Your son already has you wrapped around his tiny fingers.

“It’s almost like he already has our hearts wrapped around his hands already, isn’t it?” Satoru chuckles, watching your expression soften as you lovingly stroke your baby’s head. The two of you have a very different dynamic now, but the warmth of that connection won’t ever go away.

♤♡◇♤♡◇♤♡◇♤♡◇♤♡◇♤◇◇♤♡♤

Done hope you like this and I'm sorry for the long wait but I was full with homework stuff 😅

[fo1ktale]

Love Beyond Pages

Azriel approached his apartment door, a cascade of shadows swirling aimlessly behind him. A book rests in his left hand— a romance book that he would have dismissed without a second thought if not for her.

Her. A fae female who had managed to capture his heart, cradling it in her delicate hands. She had slowly pieced together the fragments of his shattered soul from the five hundred years of terror and heartache he lived though. She held him close to her every night, whispering sweet nothings which made his stomach flurry with joy.

On a leisurely stroll though the Velaris markets, he noticed a quaint stall tucked away in a corner of the crowded streets. He could imagine her as if she were right beside him, dragging him towards the obscure stall out of sheer curiosity. Without thinking, he navigated through the bustling crowd with a warrior’s grace to the stand filled with dozens upon dozens of unique books.

There was one book which he was particularly drawn to—an enthralling tale of romance, mystery, adventure. A book that he just knew she would absolutely adore. It took one thought about that earth-shattering smile on her face before he purchased that book.

As soon as he stepped into the apartment, his shadows abandoned him in search of the master that they much preferred. Azriel would have reprimanded them, but he too would much rather be in her company than his own.

The tendrils of darkness found a warm welcome from the female on the couch. She lay there like the gentle waves of Adriata, so at ease. Soft whispers passed between her and the shadows, and the tendrils of darkness practically buzzed with excitement.

She claimed to understand what the shadows were trying to tell her, and Azriel didn’t doubt it. It’s like a feeling in my chest, she once told him, I just know.

Azriel pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, and she hummed in greeting. “My love,” he cooed, brushing his fingers through her silky hair.

“Hi, Az,” she replied, her eyes looking up at him with so much passion that he almost fell off his feet.

“I got you something,” he presented the book that had been in his hand. She lifts herself off the couch as her back straightened and her mouth parted in shock. She gingerly reached for the book, taking it into her hands.

She then takes him by surprise, looping her arms around his neck as she pulled him in for a heart-stopping kiss. Their lips moved against each other and Azriel groaned from the feeling of having her lips against his. He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She sighed, then giggled and pulled away from him, and Azriel had to stop himself from whimpering at the loss of touch. She looked back at the book in pure glee and smiled wider than Azriel had ever seen.

In that moment, Azriel swore that he would give anything in the world just to see that smile adorned on her face again.

“You just randomly decided to get this for me?” Her voice was still breathy.

“Mhm,” Azriel rubbed his hands against her back, feeling so whole with her in his arms.

“You think of me.” She grinned.

“Every minute of everyday.”

She pecked his lips once more, before practically skipping over to her bookshelf to add her new book to the collection. Standing back a little, she took in the sight of her updated shelf.

“I’m heading out,” Azriel declared.

“What? Why? You just got back.” There was a slight pout on her lovely face.

“I’m going to buy a hundred more books for you, if only so I can get more of your kisses.”

She burst out laughing, and Azriel let himself relish in the lingering warmth of her laughter, before he moved towards the door.

“You aren’t joking.” Her face was set in shock. Azriel shook his head. He ignored her protests, knowing full well that they were only a courtesy.

“Azriel,” she whined. “I don’t need more books. I have plenty! Besides, your money isn’t finite, you know?”

“I know,” he responded. “But I’ll spend every cent on you if it makes you happy.”

He left her in the doorway, chuckling at the way she crossed her arms and ruminated over his words.

He was halfway to the stairwell when he heard a bright voice call out to him. “Wait for me, Az! I have a list!”

~

Azriel cherished the feeling of having his hands on her, a reassurance like no other. He could only thank his lucky stars that she seemed to love having her hands on him just as much. Azriel didn’t mind, no, he didn’t mind at all. He welcomed her touch, allowing her fingers to absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearms as he shared the events of his day. With a smile, he obliged as she threaded her fingers through his, their arms subtly swaying back and forth, back and forth. He would’ve allowed her to do whatever she dreamed to him.

Hand in hand, they wandered through the vibrant markets teeming with people that night. She paused at stalls, engaging in lively conversation with the vendors, inquiring about materials and prices. Azriel served only as her assistant, pulling out coins from his pocket, helping her gather her items, and letting her pull him along to the next store.

Luckily for him, a picnic basket had caught her eye. She cheerfully assisted in transferring all her newfound treasures into it and merrily took it in her arms, complimenting the craftsmanship and awing at it’s design. Shielding her from the headlight she nearly collided with, Azriel listened as she prattled on about how useful the basket would be in carrying all her items. He could only frown, wondering how she planned to fit everything he wanted to gift her into that small container.

A few more minutes passed and her basket became increasingly occupied with mangoes, soaps, scarfs, pens, and more. She insisted on carrying the heavy basket herself, asserting, “It’s my basket, Az. I want to carry it,” after his repeated attempts to help her grab the bag. A cheeky smile appeared on her face as she admired her acquisitions, dragging him along to the next store.

Her eyes glittered with delight as she picked up a bamboo brush. Her fingers trailed the engravings on the handle of the brush, following its loops and curls. A frown descended upon Azriel’s face when she put it down, claiming she already had one at home.

“But don’t you want it?”

“It’s just a brush, Azriel.” She reassured.

“You’re right,” he agreed, “it’s just a brush.”

Ignoring her protests, he handed a few silver coins to the stall owner and placed the brush into her basket, smiling slightly to himself.

“Azriel! You said it was only just a brush!”

“Exactly. It wouldn’t hurt to have it. Besides, I was giving that man some business. What? Do you not think he deserved it?” he teased.

She huffed, glaring at his playful quips. “You think you’re sooooo funny, don’t you?”

Bending down, Azriel pressed a kiss into her hair, melting her scowl into a soft smile.

“I love you,” she leaned into him and whispered. The crowd around them faded into another dimension and they kept their eyes focused solely on each other. “You’re the best.”

Azriel felt his heart squeeze, a genuine smile lighting up his face. That was all he ever wanted to hear— all he ever needed to hear.

“I love you too. From the moon and back, and to the moon again.” Leaning down, he kissed her, and he felt his head spin at the intoxicating sensation. Their lips moved in harmony, and they only pulled back when air became scarce.

Once again, her hands found his. She pulled his scarred hands up to her lips, gently kissing them. “Let’s go home, love.”

“Don’t we have one more place to go?” he reminded her, pointing at a bookstore.

Not just any bookstore, but her favourite one. She had spent most of her childhood there, loitering around the shelves, devouring books day after day, and she knew it like the back of her hand. The shop was always packed with books, courtesy of the shopkeeper who watched her grow up into the woman she is today. Even now, it held a special place in her heart and she often went back there to visit. She would spend hours there, browsing the shelves and chatting with the shopkeeper. There were multiple occasions when Azriel had to drag her out of the store, not before purchasing some books for her, of course.

On top of that, they had met at that very bookstore. They were both looking for a newly released thriller novel, and ended up reaching for the last copy at the same time. Azriel had let her have it, albeit, he was entranced by her presence, allowing her to ramble on about how important the book meant to her, and he had barely even realised it when she bought the book and left the store. Those next few days were spent lingering around that shop, secretly hoping to see her again. Since she practically spent her whole life in that store, they eventually came into contact a second time and they gradually grew closer.

“No, Az, I spent enough of your money already.”

“But you love books.” He stressed. “Besides, all you bought today was fruits and soaps. Those are stuff we need anyway.”

“I fear that if I go in there, I will never come out.” She smiled lightly, trying to pull the Illyrian away from the bookstore.

“Don’t worry, love, you won’t get lost in there.”

“Oh, hush you,” she chided, earning a smirk from Azriel. “I just don’t want to drain your bank, Az.”

Azriel didn’t know how to tell her that he would happily let her do so, in fact, he would help her.

He was never one to splurge. He lived comfortably, buying things he needed and occasionally spending more on the things he wanted. Rhysand had definitely been overpaying his family, and Azriel had more than enough funds to live a hundred lifetimes. But he never found much use for the money, until he met her. Suddenly, everything seemed worthy of buying. As long as it made her smile, no amount of money was too much.

Azriel faced her, placing his hands on her shoulders, sighing affectionately. “My darling love, there is nothing in this world I would love more than to let you spend all my money. What I have, what I am, is all yours, and you should never forget that.”

Her gaze was so intently fixed on him, eyes wide with affection. She gave him a gentle kiss, smiling softly against his mouth. “You’re too good to me.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “You mean the world to me. This is nothing.”

“Two books.” She proposed.

“Twenty.” He countered.

Her nose scrunched. “Five?”

“Sure, whatever you say, my love,” he kissed her once more, knowing full well that she would leave that store with a whole new shelf of books. “Whatever you say.”